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Chapter 15 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡
The firewhisky coursed through my veins, blurring the edges of everything as I stumbled away from the gathering, desperate for a moment to clear my head. I found myself in a secluded alcove nestled among the trees, the soft murmur of the Black Lake in the distance.
The cool night air was a welcome relief against my flushed skin, and I leaned against a tree, closing my eyes in a futile attempt to steady the dizziness swirling inside me.
I'd felt Tom's gaze on me all evening, a heavy, unyielding presence that I couldn't escape. Staying there, under his watchful eyes, felt unbearable. Leaving seemed like the only option, but deep down, I knew that running away wouldn't change anything.
There was no escaping the magnetic pull he had over me, no matter how much I wanted to believe otherwise.
Because Tom was still the fire, and I was the moth, hopelessly drawn to the flame.
Before I could fully gather my thoughts, the soft rustle of leaves announced someone's approach. I opened my eyes to see Abraxas
Malfoy standing before me, his tall figure silhouetted against the faint moonlight filtering through the trees. His gaze swept over me, taking in my disheveled state with a look that was part amusement, part concern.
"Running off into the shadows, little lion?" Malfoy's voice was low and teasing. "You're either braver than I thought, or the firewhisky's hit you harder than expected."
I tried to stand up straight, brushing off his concern with a wave of my hand. "I just needed some air," I replied, but my voice wavered slightly, betraying my dizziness.
He stepped closer, his smirk deepening. "Air? Or are you trying to escape before you do something you'll regret?" His tone was playful, but there was an edge to it, a genuine curiosity lurking beneath the surface.
I
rolled my eyes, determined not to let him see how off-balance I felt. "Maybe I just needed a break from all the posturing," I shot back, though my words were slurred.
Malfoy chuckled, a soft, rich sound that seemed to vibrate in the air between us. "A break? From us charming Slytherins?" He stepped even closer, his proximity making my heart race for reasons I didn't want to acknowledge. "And here I thought you were enjoying yourself."
"Enjoying? You call that enjoyment?" I retorted, my voice sharper than intended. "If that's your idea of fun, then I'm better off alone."
"Such sharp words for someone so... unsteady." He reached out, brushing a lock of hair from my face. His fingers barely grazed my skin, but the touch sent a shiver down my spine. "Careful, little lion. Wouldn't want you to stumble."
I opened my mouth to retort, but as if on cue, the dizziness returned, and my vision swam. I took a step back, misjudging the distance, and nearly lost my balance. Malfoy's hand shot out, catching me before I could fall, his grip firm and unyielding. His touch was surprisingly gentle, though his smirk never left his lips.
"There now," he murmured, his voice softening, "no need to rush. Wouldn't want you to get hurt."
I blinked up at him, trying to shake off the fogginess in my mind. "You don't have to pretend to care," I muttered, though the words lacked conviction.
"Oh, but I do care," he replied, his eyes narrowing in a way that made me uneasy. "After all, you're my guest tonight. It wouldn't do for anything to happen to you. Imagine the scandal."
"Scandal?" I scoffed, trying to pull away from him, but he held me fast. "I'm not afraid of a little gossip"
He tilted his head, his smirk softening into something almost genuine. "No, I don't suppose you are, the way you are handling the gossip related to the duel proves it. But still… we wouldn't want anything to spoil your time here."
Before I could respond, my footing slipped again, and I found myself leaning against him for support. His arm wrapped around my waist, steadying me. The closeness was unnerving, and yet, there was something comforting about it—a stark contrast to the calculated arrogance I usually associated with him.
"You're not going to faint on me, are you?" Malfoy teased, though there was a hint of real concern in his eyes.
"I'm fine," I insisted, though the words felt hollow. My head was spinning, and the warmth of his body was more grounding than I wanted to admit.
But before either of us could say more, a cold voice sliced through the night air.
"I believe you've done enough, Malfoy."
We both froze. I turned my head, and there he was—Tom Riddle, emerging from the shadows like a phantom.
His dark eyes locked onto Malfoy, and the air thickened with tension. Tom's expression was a mask of calm, but there was an unmistakable edge to his gaze, something sharp and dangerous that made my pulse quicken for an entirely different reason.
Malfoy didn't release me immediately; his grip on my waist tightened just slightly. "Riddle," he acknowledged coolly, his voice losing its playful tone. "I was just ensuring our guest didn't get herself into trouble."
Tom's eyes flicked to me, then back to Malfoy. "And now you can release her," he said, his voice deceptively soft. "I'd suggest you take her somewhere she belongs. You do realize she's intruding?"
For a moment, neither of them moved, as if engaged in some silent battle of wills. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, Malfoy let me go, with a final, lingering touch that made me shiver.
"Riddle, you don't have to remind me," Malfoy said, his voice steady and cold. "After all, it was me who invited her. And I assure you, what she does is none of your concern."
Tom didn't respond to Malfoy's sarcasm, instead stepped forward until he was in front of me.
He was so close that I had to tilt my head to meet his gaze. Whether it was the whiskey's effect or something else entirely, I couldn't say, but the way the moonlight illuminated Tom's sharp features made him look almost ethereal, as if he was carved from the night itself, an enchantment of darkness brought to life.
"How can you be so ethereal yet be so infernal?" I murmured, the words slipping out before I could stop them. It was almost a whisper, but somehow, he heard it.
For a fleeting moment, his usual cold demeanor slipped. Tom's gaze softened just enough to reveal a vulnerability I had never seen before. It was as if, for a moment, the walls he'd built around himself had cracked.
The corners of his lips twitched, as if he were on the verge of smiling, but then he scoffed, a sound more self-deprecating than mocking. It was a reminder that Tom was still very much the same person who thrived on control, who never let his guard down.
It seemed he was trying to use his mockery as a shield, a way to deflect from whatever that was passing between us at the moment.
But he was failing miserably, because the way he looked at me now didn't seem mocking. It was something else entirely, something that sent a strange warmth through my chest.
"You don't know what you're saying, darling. You are obviously so drunk and..." His voice trailed off in a soft whisper.
As he looked down at me, a few dark curls fell across his forehead, tumbling into his eyes. They seemed to beckon for attention, an invitation to brush them aside. Before I could think twice, my hand moved on its own, fingers threading through the soft strands as I gently pushed them away from his face. My fingertips grazed his sharp cheekbones, and I could feel the warmth of his skin beneath the pad of my thumb.
For a fleeting second, I thought I saw him close his eyes, leaning into the touch as if savoring it. He didn't pull away or flinch. Instead, his gaze roamed over me, trailing up and down my frame, taking in every detail.
His gaze, the one I'd tried so hard to escape, pinned me in place.
"You shouldn't be here," he said quietly, his voice stripped of its usual taunt, leaving only the raw honesty beneath. There was an unspoken warning in his words, one that sent a twist of unease through my stomach.
"I can handle myself," I replied, trying to sound more confident than I felt, but it came out all wrong.
"I definitely don't doubt it," he replied, his tone soft but controlled. "But that doesn't mean I'll let you wander around alone, especially in a place like this."
Before I could muster a response, Malfoy cleared his throat loudly, the sound cutting through the charged silence like a blade. It was jarring, yanking me back to reality and shattering the spell Tom's gaze had cast over me. The intensity that had gripped me, the magnetic pull that held me rooted to the spot, dissolved in an instant.
I blinked, suddenly aware of the weight of the moment, the closeness of Tom, and the lingering warmth of his cheeks where my fingertips had briefly touched. The haze that had clouded my mind dissipated, replaced by the harsh clarity of the roles we were supposed to play.
Tom pulled away then, the sudden movement breaking the fragile connection between us.
He averted his gaze, refusing to meet my eyes, as if he could no longer bear the intensity of what had just transpired.
His usual composed demeanor was betrayed by the flush creeping up the back of his neck, the tips of his ears turning bright red. For a moment, I wondered if it was just the chilly night air, but something told me it was more than that.
Without a word, Tom turned his back to me, squaring his shoulders as he faced Malfoy.
The distance between us felt colder than the night itself, a stark contrast to the warmth that had briefly ignited between us. Now, with his back to me, it was as if he had erected a barrier, shutting me out entirely.
I leaned against the tree, the rough bark grounding me as I let out a shaky breath. The adrenaline that had been fueling me, keeping me sharp and alert, seemed to drain from my body all at once.
My legs felt heavy, and I sank down slowly, the fatigue hitting me like a wave. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the quiet of the night wrap around me, trying to catch my breath and regain my composure.
I could hear Malfoy's muttering in the background, but it was a distant hum, barely registering in my tired mind. For now, all I wanted was to lean against this tree and let the exhaustion take over, to find a moment of peace in the midst of the chaos.
Malfoy's voice, usually laced with playful sarcasm, was now frigid, cutting through the night with a biting edge. "I don't recall you being her guardian, Riddle," he said, his tone cold and dismissive. "And besides, who are you to dismiss her? I am the host, and I invited her."
Tom's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of something dangerous crossing his face. The usual calm and control he maintained slipped just a fraction, revealing a sharp edge to his demeanor. "Your invitation doesn't extend to her well-being, Malfoy," he said, his voice low and dangerous.
Malfoy's expression hardened for a brief moment, but he quickly masked it with a smirk, as if to shrug off the tension with a touch of mockery.
"And you think it's your responsibility to protect her?" he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I didn't take you for the chivalrous type, Riddle."
Tom's jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with a cold fire. "I'm not," Tom replied coldly. "But I'll be held responsible if something were to happen to her. I am the Slytherin prefect, after all."
His words hung in the air, laden with a weight that was impossible to ignore. It wasn't a declaration of possession, but it was close enough. Malfoy seemed to recognize it, his smirk fading slightly as he weighed his next move.
For a moment, I stood up, caught between them, my mind swirling with confusion and the lingering effects of the firewhisky. The tension between them was palpable, like a storm about to break.
Finally, Malfoy sighed, his expression turning almost bored. "Very well, Riddle. If you insist on playing the guardian, I will oblige."
He stepped closer to me, his hand brushing my arm in what could only be described as a calculated move. "But I'll be the one to take her back to the castle," he added, his tone leaving no room for argument. "After all, she's my guest, and I do have a reputation to uphold."
Tom clutched his jaw, not responding immediately. He seemed to be calculating, weighing the options, before he finally nodded.
"Fine," he said, his voice cool. "But make sure she gets there safely, Malfoy. You wouldn't want anything to happen under your watch, would you?"
Malfoy gave a small, satisfied smile. "Of course not," he replied smoothly. "I'll take good care of her."
With that, he gently took my arm, guiding me away from Tom. As we walked back toward the castle, I glanced over my shoulder, only to see Tom standing there, his eyes following us with a look that sent a shiver down my spine. His expression was unreadable, but the intensity of his gaze was impossible to ignore.
As I looked back over my shoulder one last time, Tom's gaze immediately caught mine. His eyes had darkened, and his lips were pressed into a thin line, a tightness that spoke of controlled frustration.
After a long pause, Tom moved to the drinks section. He looked visibly pissed off, his frustration barely masked. With a grimace, he poured himself a shot of firewhisky. Despite wincing at the bitter taste, he kept chugging it down, his eyes never leaving mine, locked onto me with a steely intensity the whole time.
As I turned my head and shifted my gaze, the image of him, caught between irritation and stubborn resolve, stayed with me.
The way he drank, his focus on me, and the hint of anger, all spoke volumes about his unspoken feelings and his disapproval of how Malfoy was handling the situation.
It was a silent, powerful moment that left me feeling unsettled and made my heart race for all the wrong reasons.
As Malfoy escorted me away, I could still feel Tom's gaze boring into my back, it seemed like a reminder that I'd indeed no way of escaping him.