Next chapter is up! So I'm still playing around, it's short again (sorry) but again, I hope you enjoy.
"You honestly can't be surprised," Tom Riddle said expectantly as I stared at my new head girl badge.
"Of course I'm not," I replied slowly. Just satisfied.
Finally. Head girl. It had taken them long enough to mail me their confirmation of what I'd already known to be true. Entranced, I watched my reflection dance in the glossy brass.
"Was that even a real question?"
Tom smirked, ignoring my retort. "You excited to have our own quarters? Or will you miss the Slytherin commons?"
"What's there to miss?" I wondered loudly, watching the countryside fly by outside the train. Sitting here I felt stronger, felt better, felt taller.
"Another rhetorical," Tom laughed. "Are you just trying to sound mysterious today?"
"So funny," I said. "Wait-- head girl means--"
Jolting out of my fog, I abruptly turned and faced him head on as my epiphany struck.
"Tom, we're finally on top. Now--" I waved my badge irritably-- "now we have the school's authority backing us. We can do anything."
"What do you mean, anything?" Tom was intrigued; I could tell, he had a fantastic guard but I knew him too well.
"Let's open it," I whispered, leaning forward. "The chamber. This year."
"You want to do it?" Tom glanced nervously at the door like he thought someone might overhear. Sighing, I waved my wand and the glass shook then thickened. It's not like anyone would understand parseltongue, but he worries anyway.
"Can you please pay attention?" I interrupted. "And I want to do it. God. What is with you today?"
"Sorry," Tom apologized. "Listen, Zoe, I snuck into the library this summer and I read about something. Something with incredible potential."
I didn't appreciate him changing the subject on me, but knowing Tom it was going to be something important. Tom was silent, as if he expected me to urge him.
"Go on." I had little patience for drama or suspense; he was the only person I would allow to have any such nonsense.
"It's called a horcrux."
I frowned; dark magic was my passion. Despite my constant studying, he somehow could always find out about the fantastic little titbits I'd never heard of.
"What is it?" I sighed, sullenly meeting his eyes.
"It's something odd, really. It's the concept of literally breaking a part of your soul and storing it in objects. Theoretically, they make you immortal."
"Immortal?" Tom and I feared no one and nothing except death. Death was a dark shadow, a nightmare.
But perhaps not invincible.
"How do we make one?" I pleaded.
"That's all I could find," he said. Liar.
"Fractioning the soul," I muttered excitedly. "Brilliant. What would you have to do to make one? Torture someone? What about Mila Holloway? That bitch tried to talk back to me last year; something she will regret eventually."
"No," Tom said. "Better."
"Kill?" I asked, surprised. I wasn't opposed to the concept whatsoever, but it was complicated. Torture-- you get your way and you bend the mind. It's easy to erase and hide. Killing, however-- well, you have a body to deal with. It's messy. It's really not clean and efficient, which is how I operate.
"I think so."
"Damn it. Maybe not Mila then, her family would create a huge fuss. And then everyone would panic, which is such a pain."
"Zo, what about the chamber? You know….. the basilisk?"
Groaning, I smacked my forehead. "Good lord, Tom, I am really in a funk. You're a hundred percent right. It's almost too easy, just set the snake on some idiot mudblood like a dog."
"It's perfect," Tom agreed. "Unfortunately, it's painless."
"Pity. Now, I know Mila Holloway isn't a mudblood, but what if she was caught in the cross fire?"
"Come on, Zo," Tom said, standing up and stretching as the train began to slow. "And don't get too impatient to avenge Mila. We can't be sloppy."
"I'm never sloppy."
Tom grinned coyly. "I know."
The Hogwarts express emptied noisily, full of kids screaming and running into each other. It was the type of chaos I despised.
Despite the mess, the crowd roiled and pushed in order to nervously form a pathway for Tom and me. I was all too aware of the sounds, the hollow clack of my heels on the cobblestones and the muted whisperings that followed my shadow.
I shouldn't lie and say that we aren't feared. It didn't take long for this to happen, I recall becoming well known in my third year. Tom and I are careful, about our moves. Neither of us has ever been to detention, nor have we ever failed a test. Deliberate is my favourite word, my mantra.
I could almost taste the power in the air.
The crowd was watching us with our head boy and girl badges. As Tom said earlier, there was no surprise.
We planned to take a carriage all to ourselves, our plans were interrupted by some moron of a second year who didn't know our names.
"Can I sit here?" he asked squeakily, hair a bright auburn and nose a bright red. I stared, repulsed, at his shoes: cracked leather coated with mud and water leaking onto the carpet.
"No. Find another carriage," Tom responded coolly.
"They're all full," he sighed, setting down his things and slouching contentedly. That was not an invitation to sit down. I glanced at Tom; his stony glare assured me he had the situation under control.
"Go find another carriage," Tom repeated. "Now."
"I told you, they're all full!" the boy shouted, his voice cracking.
What a pathetic loser of a student. I bet he's a mudblood, I mused.
Tom glanced out of the doors to make sure the professors were gone-- they were, conveniently always were gone when we needed them to be-- then flicked his wand.
There was a muffled scream from the boy and a flash of colour and poof! he was gone. The carriages began to pull forward and I relaxed into the seat, recognizing the woody scent of Tom's cologne, watching out the window as we passed a crumpled figure on the muddy stones.