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Chapter 13 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡
The night had a suffocating stillness, the kind that clings to you like a heavy blanket, wrapping you in darkness. I tossed and turned, the events of the day swirling in my mind until they bled into my dreams.
In the dream, I was in the Forbidden Forest, the tall, twisted trees looming over me, their branches clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. The moon hung low, casting an eerie, silver light that barely penetrated the thick canopy above. Shadows danced around me, shifting and morphing into shapes that seemed almost human.
But it wasn't the forest that unnerved me. It was him.
Tom Riddle stood a few feet away, his back to me, but I could feel his presence like a weight on my chest. The air around him was thick, almost tangible, and I found it hard to breathe. He slowly turned, his gaze locking onto mine, those dark, piercing eyes holding me captive. His lips curled into a smirk, the same one I'd seen too many times, the one that made my skin crawl and my heart race all at once.
I wanted to run, to escape his gaze, but my feet wouldn't move. I was rooted to the spot, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he took a step closer.
And then another.
Until he was right in front of me, so close I could feel the coldness radiating from him. He reached out, his fingers brushing my cheek, and I flinched, but I couldn't pull away. His touch was icy, sending shivers down my spine, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from his.
"You can't escape from me," he whispered, his voice a soft, menacing hiss. "You belong to me."
I jerked awake, my heart pounding in my chest, my skin slick with sweat. The dormitory was quiet, the only sound was the soft breathing of minerva. I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to calm my racing heart, but the dream lingered, his voice echoing in my mind.
You belong to me
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The day passed in a haze, my thoughts preoccupied with the dream and the whispers that still followed me through the corridors. I could still feel the weight of their stares, the snarky comments being whispered. But I kept my head down, focusing on getting through the day, trying to ignore the gnawing anxiety that had settled in my gut.
It wasn't until I was making my way to the Great Hall for dinner that things took a turn for the worse. I was walking past a group of Gryffindors when one of them, a tall, broad-shouldered boy named Duncan Macmillan, stepped into my path.
Duncan was known for his brashness, always the first to make a snide comment or throw a punch when he felt like it. He was also fiercely proud of being a Gryffindor, and it was clear from the look on his face that he wasn't happy with the attention I'd been getting.
"Well, if it isn't the Gryffindor disgrace," Duncan sneered, his voice loud enough to draw the attention of those nearby. "Heard you made a fool of yourself against Riddle. Not surprising, really. A Mudblood like you never stood a chance."
His words were like a slap to the face, and I felt a surge of anger rise within me. But I kept my expression neutral, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
"Move aside, Duncan," I said evenly, trying to step around him, but he blocked my path, a cruel smile on his face.
"What's the matter? Too scared to admit you're not good enough? Riddle probably took pity on you, letting you off easy. You should be grateful he didn't finish you off."
My hands clenched into fists at my sides, but I forced myself to stay calm. "This isn't worth it," I muttered, more to myself than to him.
But Duncan wasn't done. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, threatening growl. "Maybe you should just stick to the shadows where you belong. Don't go thinking you're something special just because Riddle decided to play nice. You're still nothing."
It took everything in me to hold back, to not lash out at him. But I knew that was exactly what he wanted. So, instead, I met his gaze, my voice steady despite the anger boiling inside me. "You know nothing about me, Duncan. And if you think bullying me is going to make you feel better about yourself, you're even more pathetic than I thought."
For a moment, his eyes flashed with anger, and I braced myself for a fight. But before he could say anything else, another Gryffindor, Rosalie Fairburn, stepped in between us, her eyes blazing.
"Back off, Duncan," Rosalie snapped, her voice sharp and commanding. "You're not proving anything by picking on her. She's already been through enough."
Duncan glared at her, but after a tense moment, he grudgingly stepped aside, muttering under his breath as he walked away. Rosalie turned to me, her expression softening.
"Are you okay?" she asked, concern in her eyes.
I nodded, though the encounter had left me shaken. "Thanks, Rosalie," I murmured, grateful for her intervention.
She smiled faintly. "Don't let him get to you. You've got more courage in your little finger than he has in his whole body."
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By the time I reached the corridor leading to the Transfiguration classroom, my mind was still reeling from the confrontation with Duncan. I almost missed the group of Slytherins gathered near the entrance, their polished voices filling the air with laughter and conversation.
Among them, standing tall and exuding an air of effortless confidence, was Abraxas Malfoy. His pale blond hair gleamed under the dim light, and his aristocratic features were set in a lazy smile as he conversed with his peers. His presence radiated authority, and it was clear that, despite Tom Riddle's influence, Abraxas had carved out his own domain within Slytherin.
My first instinct was to turn around, to avoid crossing paths with him altogether. But as I subtly attempted to retreat, his sharp eyes caught sight of me. He broke away from the group, making his way toward me with that same infuriating smirk on his lips.
"Going somewhere, Gryffindor?" he drawled, his tone almost mocking as he closed the distance between us. "You're not trying to avoid me, are you?"
I stiffened, forcing myself to maintain eye contact. "Just trying to get to class, Malfoy."
He chuckled, a sound that grated on my nerves. "Of course. But before you do, there's something I need to discuss with you." He reached into his robes and pulled out a finely crafted invitation, embossed with silver lettering. "This," he said, holding it out to me, "is an exclusive invitation. Not many get the privilege."
I stared at the card, hesitant to take it. "Why are you giving this to me?"
"Because, despite being a Gryffindor, you've caught the attention of some rather important people. You should be grateful," he replied, his tone dripping with condescension. "Consider it an opportunity. If you really want to know what's happening, what Riddle's true motives are, you should come."
I hesitated, the weight of his words settling heavily on me. There was no doubt that whatever this invitation led to, it would be dangerous. But there was also the nagging curiosity, the desire to understand what Riddle was planning.
Finally, I took the invitation, my fingers brushing against the cool, smooth surface of the card. "And what if I don't want to go?"
Abraxas raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Then you'll miss out on a chance to see the bigger picture. But that's your choice, of course. If you do decide to come, the gathering will be at the Black Lake shore, near the old oak tree. Just after sundown. It's not a place for everyone, but it might be... enlightening."
I couldn't help but notice the subtle challenge in his voice, the way he almost dared me to decline. "Why me, Malfoy? Why bother with a Gryffindor?"
"Let's just say that not everyone in Slytherin is blindly loyal to Riddle. Some of us have our own interests, and we believe you might find it… beneficial to hear another perspective," he said, his voice lowering slightly, becoming more serious. "You're not as insignificant as you might think."
His words hung in the air between us, thick with implication. After a moment, he stepped back, his expression returning to that familiar, arrogant smirk. "Remember, little lion, this is a rare chance. Don't waste it."
With that, he turned and walked back to his group, leaving me standing there, the invitation in hand, and a storm of emotions churning inside me.
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Later that evening, I found myself in the Gryffindor common room, the flickering fire casting warm light across the room. Minerva was sitting nearby, engrossed in a book, but I could feel her sharp eyes glancing at me now and then.
I took a deep breath, deciding that it was time to confide in her about what had happened. "Minerva," I began, my voice hesitant.
She looked up from her book, her expression instantly attentive. "Yes?"
I pulled out the invitation, handing it to her without a word. Her brow furrowed as she read it, her eyes narrowing in thought.
"Malfoy gave this to you. The slytherin from 6th year?" she asked, her tone serious.
I nodded, feeling a mix of relief and anxiety. "He said it's an exclusive invitation, that if I want to understand what's really going on, I should attend. It's happening at the Black Lake shore, near the old oak tree. Just after sundown. School attire's the dress code"
Minerva's lips pressed into a thin line as she considered my words. "Abraxas Malfoy is not like the others who follow Riddle. He has his own group, his own influence within Slytherin. His family is powerful and wealthy, and that gives him a certain level of autonomy."
"So, why would he invite me?" I asked, the uncertainty clear in my voice.
She sighed, her expression softening with concern. "The Slytherin house's fraction is divided, you see. On one side, there's Riddle's faction—those who follow him, often out of fear or admiration. They see him as a leader, someone who will bring them power and recognition. On the other side, there's Abraxas Malfoy and his circle. They are from old, influential families, and they value their own power and status above all. While they may appear friendly, there's an undercurrent of rivalry between them."
I frowned, trying to make sense of it all. "So, Abraxas isn't loyal to Riddle?"
Minerva shook her head. "Not in the way you might think. Malfoy is loyal to himself and his family first. He's likely trying to gauge your potential, to see if you could be an asset in some way—or perhaps a threat to Riddle's growing influence. He wouldn't risk inviting you unless he thought there was something to gain from it."
"Should I go?" I asked, the uncertainty clear in my voice.
Minerva paused, considering her words carefully. "If you do go, be on your guard. These gatherings are not just social events—they're strategic. Everyone there will have their own agenda, and they'll be watching you, testing you. If you're not careful, you could find yourself caught in a web of alliances and betrayals that's difficult to escape."
I nodded, the weight of her words pressing down on me. "What do you think they're planning?"
"I can't say for certain," she replied, her expression serious. "But whatever it is, it's not something to be taken lightly. Keep your wits about you, and remember—Slytherins are masters of manipulation. Don't let them play you."
Her advice echoed in my mind long after our conversation ended, the invitation still burning a hole in my pocket. I knew that whatever awaited me at the Black Lake shore would test me in ways I wasn't sure I was prepared for. But one thing was certain—I couldn't ignore it.