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Chapter 18 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡
Warm, hot breath grazed my neck again, sending a jolt through me. My senses went on high alert, hyper-aware of how dangerously close this person was.
Aware of how tightly my wrists were held, my wand trapped in a grip so strong it hurt.
Aware that, in an instant, my wand could be thrown to the ground, leaving me helpless.
Aware that if his hands trailed down just a bit further, he could snap it in half, and I'd be powerless to stop him.
This had to be the worst mistake of my life.
Yet even with a wand pointed at my throat, I couldn't shake the gnawing curiosity, that need to know why someone would be wandering the Restricted Section at 2 a.m. What could they possibly be after at this hour? And what would come of my own stupid, reckless need to find out, now that I was in a situation where I might not walk away alive?
My mind raced, every possible outcome flashing before me, all ending badly. But even with fear creeping up my spine, I wasn't going to go down without a fight. I sucked in a breath, feeling his grip tighten, the pressure unbearable.
Without thinking, I leaned forward slightly, then in one desperate motion, slammed my head back. Hard. I felt the impact connect with something solid—his face, I hoped. There was a sharp grunt, and the grip on my wrist faltered.
He stumbled back. For a moment, everything felt like it moved in slow motion. My hand was free. I tightened my grip on my wand, feeling the rush of adrenaline as I spun around to face him, heart hammering in my chest.
Even in the darkness It was visible that he was tall. Really tall. I barely reached his chest, but none of that mattered right now. I was free, and I wasn't backing down.
My wand raised in front of me, my eyes locking on his.
Who. Was. He?
But before I could react, a wand was pressed against my throat again, sharp and unforgiving. Mine was already aim at him, but it didn't matter. I had expected him to take a moment to compose himself after the impact, to recover from the blow that had to hurt.
But no. The second I turned, I was met with the tip of his wand.
And then I saw his eyes. Black. So dark that there couldn't possibly be any hint of brown. Like a black hole—like an enchantment of darkness, pulling me in deeper and deeper.
Only one person had those eyes. Those magnetic, sharp, black-hole eyes that always seemed to pull me in.
Tom Riddle.
I felt my body go rigid.
Of course, it had to be him. Out of all the people in this world, fate had truly decided to screw with my life.
Earlier that day, even the thought of crossing paths with him in the halls or during classes had made me uneasy. The night by the Black Lake, where I had been drunk and spouting ridiculous things, still haunted me. I had called him ethereal yet infernal, a bizarre mix of awe and disdain that I'd felt for him and it seemed so fitting at that moment when he stood illuminated underneath the moon with his hands wrapped around me... Now, it felt utterly ridiculous.
I had silently wished that I wouldn't have to deal with either Abraxas or Tom. Yet, as always, fate seemed intent on pushing me to the edge further. I had ended up in an unplanned collision with Malfoy.
Malfoy's taunting, while unsettling, was manageable. But this? If I had known I would end up facing Tom Riddle in the bloody Restricted Section of the library at 2 a.m., Merlin knows I would have done everything to avoid this place entirely for months.
But here we were, wands pointed at each other.
His wand was at my throat, mine aimed at his chest.
I tried to maintain a calm, controlled expression, though I was far from calm. His, surprisingly, seemed to mirror my attempt at composure. His eyes widened just a fraction before settling back into their usual cold, black-hole intensity.
It made me question if everything from last night had been a dream—a nightmare, more like. Had I really seen a crack in his façade, or was it all just a figment of my imagination?
I remembered last night vividly, though part of me wished I could forget. But somehow, another part of me didn't want to let go of those memories.
Last night, he had looked almost concerned for me. There had been a vulnerability in his eyes, the same gaze of the orphan boy whom I had once considered a friend. The boy whose gaze I had longed for, even if I denied it.
A part of me had waited for that, even if I refused to admit it. I had hoped for a glance back at the boy I had once known, if only for a moment.
Flashes of that night replayed in my mind. The way he had held me had been oddly comforting. He even convinced Malfoy to take me back. Even though I had told Minerva and Hagrid a different version of the story—one where Malfoy had brought me back on his own—both of them had questioned why he had done so. The real story was that it was Riddle, Tom Riddle, who had intervened.
So why had he done that, only to point his wand at me the very next day?
Everything seemed utterly bananas right now.
A sharp, quiet, and cold voice pulled me back to reality.
"It's you again? You've certainly made it your habit to sneak around the castle at night, haven't you? Or—" Tom drawled, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
In a split second, he had withdrawn his wand, and now was leaning casually against one of the many shelves with his hands shoved in his pockets. His wand lay on a nearby table, casting a warm light that illuminated him more clearly in the darkness.
He wasn't wearing his usual robes, just a white shirt neatly tucked into black slim trousers. His hair, surprisingly wasn't well-combed as usual but tousled, gave him that same messy look from last night.
He didn't give me a chance to answer or even ponder how he had moved so quickly to cast a spell. I hadn't heard a whisper of incantation. Had he already mastered casting spells without speaking?
"Have you started to assume you'd be getting special treatment from the Slytherin prefect just because he took pity on you one night and… you called him 'ethereal yet infernal' just last night?"
His eyes were locked on me, and his lips curled into a smirk.
I could feel my face flush with heat, creeping up from my neck to my cheeks. I quickly averted my gaze, unable to bear the intensity of his eyes. Those black, bottomless pits that always seemed to see more than I wanted them to.
Clearing my throat, I tried to regain control, forcing a calmness into my voice that I didn't quite feel.
"That was just nonsense," I said, my voice sharper than I intended. "I was drunk, clearly. Surely you know how a person acts when they've had too much to drink? Let me enlighten you—they act impulsively, without any consideration, and they say ridiculous things they don't mean."
I snapped my gaze back to him, determined not to let him see any hint of weakness. But the moment I did, his smirk widened, it made me want to scream. that damn infuriating smirk that always left me guessing whether he found me amusing or ridiculous.
"Oh, darling ," he drawled, his voice a lazy purr that somehow still cut like a blade. " clearly, I know enough, but I do appreciate your futile little attempt to educate me. However," he paused, his smirk morphing into a wolfish grin that sent a shiver down my spine, "as far as I'm aware, a drunken mind speaks a sober heart. Alcohol has a way of loosening the tongue, urging out those buried truths. Isn't that right?"
His words hung in the air between us, thick with the unspoken challenge that lingered there, daring me to refute him.
Tom pushed himself off the shelf, and in a few strides, he was only a couple of feet away from me.
My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it. Every beat was a reminder of how close he was now, how suffocatingly near his presence had become. His eyes gleamed, filled with that same arrogance that made my skin crawl, but I wasn't going to let him see me falter.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself. "And what exactly do you think you know about me, Tom?" I forced my voice to stay steady, though I felt anything but. "If you believe for one second that what I said was some kind of truth, then you clearly don't know me at all."
He raised an eyebrow, his silence heavier than any words he could've thrown at me, daring me to say more. The smirk on his lips hadn't faltered—he was definitely enjoying this.
He was amused and I was absolutely annoyed.
I stepped forward, refusing to back down, narrowing the already thin distance between us. "You think you're untouchable, don't you? That no one can challenge you because you hide behind that mask of lies upon lies. But you don't scare me." The words came out fiercer than I'd intended, but I didn't regret them. Not this time.
His smirk grew, like a predator amused by its prey's defiance. "Is that so? You claim you're not scared, but you should be," he whispered, his voice so soft it barely reached my ears, but it sent a shiver down my spine. "You're amusing, really. But do you honestly believe you can stand against me? Against what I am? Against the person you should be showing gratitude to rather than... spouting things you know would get you into trouble?"
The weight of his arrogance was crushing, like a shadow enveloping the entire room. But his words only made me more determined, igniting something in me that refused to let him win this time.
My grip tightened around my wand, and I squared my shoulders, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "Why don't we find out?" I shot back, my voice low and daring. "I challenge you, Riddle. Right here. Right now."
For a split second, his smirk faltered. I saw it—a flicker in his eyes, something that resembled amusement or perhaps surprise. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the cold, calculated look I had grown to expect.
"A duel?" he repeated, his voice dripping with condescension. "Have you already forgotten the outcome of our last one?" There was a dark glint in his eyes. "You're either incredibly brave… or incredibly foolish."
"Maybe I'm both," I replied, stepping back and raising my wand. My heart was racing, but I wouldn't let him see my nerves. "Or maybe you're not as untouchable as you think."
The silence between us was electric, crackling with tension that made the air thick. Neither of us moved, our eyes locked in a battle far deeper than words.
Then, with a quiet chuckle that sent chills down my spine, his wand was in his hand again. This confirmed my earlier suspicions. He hadn't even said a word again meaning he had used Non-verbal spells again . Of course, he'd already mastered them meaning I was at a disadvantage. We weren't even in sixth year yet, but this was Tom Riddle—of course, he'd taught himself more than any of us.
His smirk returned, sharper than before. "Very well," he said smoothly, his voice holding a dangerous edge. "Let's see if you can back up your words."
The air between us felt like it was buzzing, every breath a countdown to what was about to unfold. My fingers tightened around my wand, my resolve hardening.
This was it.
No turning back.