The Lunar Forest | Tom Riddle

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ •• As autumn's vibrant hues began to fade and the crisp bite of winter edged closer, an amalgam of excitement and warmth permeated the air from anticipation of the approaching holiday season. Daylight had begun to wane and shadows lengthened, so most students spent their time in front of the crackling fireplaces of their respective Common rooms.  Very few ventured out of the warm castle, but Inkeri detested the confines of four walls around her. The only person willing to accompany her into the village on the gloomy Saturday was Belladonna, who claimed she needed to buy broom polish for the upcoming quidditch match of Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw.  Belladonna's company was pleasant enough. Aside from all of the snide remarks about almost everyone that inhabited the school, she was far less intense than Adrielle— who had taken to pretending that Halloween night hadn't happened— and considerably more talkative than Asha, who often zoned out midway during conversation.  They had just left Spintwitches' Quidditch Supply Shop, and the sun was gradually beginning to sink on the horizen. "I have some business at the Hogs Head," Belladonna said suddenly. "Do you mind if we take a detour?" "Sure, why not," Inkeri decided, and the pair traipsed to the sequestered Inn. She wondered what business Belladonna must have there, but didn't want to pry.  Pushing open the rusted door and being met with the cosy warmth inside, they hung their coats on a dishevelled rack which was on the verge of collapsing. The innkeeper glared at Inkeri from where he was washing glasses behind the counter.  They claimed a table near the back and put their belongings down around it. "I am meeting with someone," Belladonna said, removing her red, woollen gloves. "She's upstairs. Wait here, I'll be back in a few minutes." Inkeri leaned back in her seat and surveyed her surroundings from the secluded spot. Most people tended to go to The Three Broomsticks, aside from some Ravenclaws who wanted a more quiet setting, studying in the corner.  The dubious location also hosted enough privacy for Niklaus Rosier and Tom Riddle to converse openly, their warm drinks long gone cold. Riddle's shoulders were tensed and Rosier appeared almost upset by whatever he was saying, although their voices were too hushed to fall upon her ears.  She was drawn from her thoughts by the waspish innkeeper standing by her table. "You have to buy something if you want to stay here," he said gruffly.  "I'll take a butterbeer then," she said, trying to smile at him amicably.  He just glared at her. "We ran out of that." Inkeri raised her eyebrows. "Okay... then a pumpkin juice would be alright," she tried again.  "Don't have that." The blonde witch glared at him. "What do you have?" She demanded. He shrugged. "A Gilly-water will suffice, I don't really care." He folded his arms and impossibly, furrowed his brows even further. "Used up all the Gillyweed in the last order." Inkeri breathed in slowly, trying not to lose her composure. "Very well," she said, plastering on a thin, false smile. "Just give me the water then." "Tap?" He asked, scribbling down the simple order excruciatingly slowly onto his notepad. "Or bottle?" "Just tap water will do," she said quickly.  "The tap's broken." Inkeri lost her patience and slammed her hands on the table, making the innkeeper jolt back with a start. "Just get me whatever the bloody hell you have then," she snapped, her eyes momentarily flashing with light.  They extinguished almost instantly, but it was enough to silence the innkeeper, and he finally left her alone. She relaxed slightly, only the commotion had stirred previously oblivious demons.  Rosier had caught sight of her, and muttered something to Riddle who turned his head briefly. When he saw her too, he rolled his eyes, a mildly irritated expression marring his features. He said something final to Rosier, then stood and approached Inkeri's table.  She raised an eyebrow at him as he neared. "You are not obligated to greet me if you do not want to," Inkeri informed him, quirking the corner of her lip upward into a small grin. "No need to look so agonized, Riddle." "Quite the contrary," Riddle chuckled, pulling out the chair opposite her and sitting down. "It is always lovely to see you. How have you been, Koskinen? Lessons are treating you more kindly, I hope." Inkeri watched him for a moment, and then leaned forward. The proximity seemed to unnerve him slightly. "The pleasantries are a little late, Riddle. They cannot redeem you. I know what you really are, so stop trying to fool me," she hissed.  His gaze on her darkened and his fists clenched, the good-natured mannerisms subsiding. Riddle went to say something, but faltered, eyes trained on something behind her. Confused, Inkeri turned, to see that Professor Slughorn had discovered them.  "Tom, m'boy, how lovely to see you," the Potions teacher remarked jovially. He kept his gaze fixed on Riddle, ignoring Inkeri completely. "What brings you here on this cold day?" "Koskinen and I were just discussing your class, Sir. What a strange coincidence," Riddle said with a polite smile. "I was offering her extra lessons in Potions. As you must be aware of course, she is struggling with the pace."  As Slughorn began gushing about how considerate his prize pupil was, Inkeri gave him a heat-seeking glare, and Riddle shot her an almost mischievous smirk.  Rosier was also beckoned over by Slughorn, and he obliged, though she didn't miss the vexation which passed across his face. "Hello, Professor," he said dully, shaking his hand, "what a pleasure to see you." "Actually boys, while I have the both of you present..." Slughorn said, trailing off as he fumbled around with the pockets of his coat. Finally, he pulled out two envelopes. "You simply must attend my Christmas event this year." Rosier began to speak, but Riddle cut him off. "Of course, Professor," he said quickly. "We would both be delighted to attend." Tom sent Niklaus a firm look, and the curly-haired boy glared down at his feet.  "Brilliant!" Slughorn enthused. "As my special guests, you two should certainly bring a a lovely lady along with you. Nothing to make a night more outstanding than a bit of young partnership." Inkeri detested the manner in which he spoke to the boys as though he were not a balding old man.  A devious smile suddenly came upon Rosier's face. "Thank you, Sir, I have just the person in mind," he said artfully.  Suddenly, he was looking directly at Inkeri with a distinct indication. "If Miss Koskinen should agree to attend with me, of course." For the first time that day, Slughorn acknowledged the girl's presence, as he eyed her doubtfully. "Are you sure, m'boy? I was quite certain that you would want to take Miss Shafiq— you both get along quite well, as is she talented at Potions..." "No," Rosier insisted, not straying his gaze from Inkeri, as she felt all of their eyes on her, rather flabbergasted by the unexpected scrutiny.  She looked at Riddle. Storm clouds had passed over his expression, and his murderous thoughts were vividly painted across his face at the thought of one of his own acolytes daring to act out so defiantly.  "Yes," Inkeri decided. She had found, oddly, that irking Riddle was rather enjoyable. "I would love to." Rosier smiled victoriously, nodding at her, while Slughorn looked disappointed. "Well, if you're quite sure," he grumbled, partially to himself as he left. Inkeri felt mildly offended by that remark. With a final, defiant look at Tom, Niklaus turned to leave, only pausing to say "I will see you around, Koskinen," before he left the Hogs Head, grabbing his coat from the rack. Riddle was hot on his heels, and Inkeri wondered if Rosier would make it back to the castle alive.  Inkeri frowned, then leaned back slightly in her chair, still contemplating what had just taken place, when the innkeeper came and set a glass of water in front of her, only the glass was chipped and dirty.  "That will be eight galleons please," the innkeeper said, holding out his grimy hand.  Inkeri stared at him. "Eight galleons?" She repeated incredulously. "For a chipped glass of dirty water?" She had become familiar with the general reasonable pricing systems used across the area, and she was certain that eight galleons was extortionate.  The innkeeper crossed his arms. "The glass is dirty,"  he muttered. "The water's fine."  "It does not matter. The point is you're ripping me off for bottled water, which you've given me in a dirty glass."  "It's also chipped," he pointed out.  Inkeri stood up, her chair scraping across the floor with a loud grating noise. She grabbed the innkeeper by the front of his apron, and he leaned back, eyes wide and terrified.    Belladonna flung open the door leading from the little staircase and sat down, glancing at them nonchalantly. "Making more friends, darling?" She asked amusedly. "Whatever is the matter?" Inkeri shoved the man away, and sat down, slightly embarrassed. "Nothing," she muttered. "Is everything sorted?" The Gryffindor stared at Inkeri for a brief moment with scrutiny. "Of course," Belladonna said convincingly, wiping her hands with a napkin. "Urgh, this place is utterly filthy. There was dust piled up on the hand-rails, for goodness' sake." The man cleared his throat impatiently, and as Inkeri reached into her purse, Belladonna stopped her hastily. "Oh don't worry, it's on me," she said brightly, producing a slender brown wallet from her cloak. "How much is due?" "Eight galleons."  Belladonna stared at him intensely, and he cleared his throat nervously. "Er... eight knuts, actually, got a little confused there..." "That's better," Belladonna said, placing the coins on the table. "Bring us two firewhiskeys, while you're at it." The innkeeper obliged, much to Inkeri's surprise.  "how rude," Inkeri said with outrage. "What on Earth is wrong with that man?" Belladonna sighed. "It may have escaped your notice, but people here do not take kindly to outsiders. I'm afraid your accent gives you away entirely, my dear."  Inkeri frowned and contemplated this. She had never even realised that her manner of speaking differed to the other— although, she could not distinguish between others' dialects either, like one weak of eye attempting to discern between garnet and carmine.  Belladonna had her drink, and then had Inkeri's drink too, chatting all the while, not caring about how Inkeri hardly listened to a word that she said.  By the time they left, pulling their coats further up their necks to protect them from the biting cold, it was evening, and the sudued colours of sunset pigmented the sky with the shade of Aphrodite's lipstick. An afterglow, was the name given to the optical phenomena, Asha had once said.  The goddess of love had kissed Belladonna's cheeks with the same rosy tint, as the fiery-haired girl giggled, slightly inebriated, throwing her arm around Inkeri and nearly dragging her to the ground.  "Tone it down, you drunk!" Inkeri exclaimed, trying to sound annoyed but a smile breaking through as the sound of Belladonna's juvenile laughter filled the atmosphere. In that moment, things seemed less austere than they had in a while, and the witch found a faint resemblance in herself of the foolhardy, carefree girl she had once been, before she was exposed to a world of devils and power-hunger.  Christmas decorations were already up, with banners and fairy lights adorning sparkly streetlamps, and the image reminded Inkeri of her previous thoughts. "Slughorn is having a Christmas party," she told Belladonna, who perked up at the news.  "Really?" The Gryffindor said interestedly. "It was absolutely brilliant last year. But how do you know of this?"  "Rosier invited me," Inkeri admitted blankly. Belladonna burst out laughing.  "How perfect!" She cried, "That boy does know precisely how to anger Riddle, he's simply genius..."  Inkeri realised that Belladonna may be her key to getting answers, and not for the first time. The girl seemed to know everything about everyone. "Why would Rosier want to displease Riddle? I thought that he was quite a central part of his group of followers."  "It's all for show, dear," Belladonna assured her, "Before our fourth year, there was nobody that detested Tom Riddle more than Niklaus Rosier— he didn't hide it either, mind you. The closer Riddle got, the further Rosier ran."  This information momentarily stunned Inkeri into silence. Finally, she gathered her thoughts enough to push further. "Well, what happened?" Belladonna shrugged. "Would could have happened? Once Riddle fixates upon something he wants, he stops at nothing until he has it. Nobody really knows why Rosier switched. I reckon they have something on him, but even I'm not sure." This answer was relatively unsatisfactory, and Belladonna's words had caused even more confusion rather than resolution, but Inkeri didn't pry any more.   "I am intrigued to go to this event though," Belladonna continued, moving on swiftly, "I cannot wait for Triton to ask me to attend with him." Inkeri laughed, as she noticed Asha and her brother Aryan sitting on a bench near the sidewalk. They were talking light-heartedly, and the boy pushed his sister gently to the side, laughing as she dramatically fell off the seat and pretended to die.  "That girl is so weird," Belladonna commented snarkily, smirking scornfully at Asha, who was sitting up and in a state of gleeful hysteria, leaves stuck to her coat. "Look at her, rolling around in the filth.  "She is having fun," Inkeri said defensively, her good mood subsiding. "There is nothing wrong with it."  Belladonna looked at Inkeri from the side of her eye. "Of course not," she said dismissively, but her words did not quite match the mocking raise of her eyebrows.   The rest of the walk back was somewhat awkward for Inkeri, though Belladonna took no notice of it, as she tried to play off her contempt.  When they entered the Castle, Riddle was waiting impatiently at the gate, still wearing his black coat, his nose still red from the cold of outside. His hair was slightly damp from droplets of condensation in the air, as onyx eyes roved judgementally over everything.  As soon as he saw Inkeri, he beckoned her over impatiently, as though she were late to a predetermined meeting— rather than him ambushing her unexpectedly.  "Koskinen," he said coldly, not even acknowledging the other girl. "I need to speak to you. Preferably alone." A scoff escaped Inkeri's lips. "Absolutely not," she said immediately. He continued to amaze her with the sheer nerve he seemed to possess.  Belladonna laughed. "You really tried, Riddle," she said. "Whatever do you have to say, that you cannot share with the both of us?"  Riddle placed a hand on Inkeri's shoulder, his grip firm and vice-like. "I did not know that you needed protection, Koskinen," he remarked coolly. He was directing his speech at her, but looking at Belladonna intently.  "I do," Inkeri said blankly. "I'm weak and pathetic and absolutely nothing compared to your ultimate divinity and subliminal power. Now, if my Lord allows it, may I take my leave?"  She was mocking him, and it was painfully obvious, but rather than responding in the way Inkeri had wanted, he looked at her curiously. Riddle tilted his head, as though she had given him an idea.  The sudden clatter beside her drew Inkeri from her observations. Belladonna had dropped her wand and stumbled, her face deathly pallid like chalk.  Inkeri helped her stay upright, guiding her towards the wall, as Belladonna looked at Riddle— who seemed indifferent— with unfocused eyes. "Belladonna?" Inkeri asked, her voice rising with worry. "What happened? Are you alright?" The Gryffindor did not respond, her  eyelids fluttering shut, and her limbs lost autonomy, slumping against Inkeri as Belladonna was claimed by insentience. "Belladonna!" Inkeri exclaimed again, shaking her in a panic.  "Pity," Riddle droned.  Inkeri stood up furiously, letting Belladonna fall to the floor entirely. "What did you do?" she spat, "I know it was you." He frowned. "That is a very bold accusation to make," he said, voice as smooth as obsidian. "Especially upon a Prefect." He pointed to the shiny silver badge pinned onto his sweater.  Inkeri drew her wand and stabbed in harshly against his chest. "I don't give a damn about your stupid—" she ripped the badge off the jumper, throwing it to the ground, "— Prefect status. Whatever curse you placed on her, remove it."  Tom raised an eyebrow, then brought his hand up and tucked a strand of blonde hair which had come loose from her ponytail behind her ear while he spoke.  "I will," he said disingenuously. "Once I've said what I want to say. And put your wand away, Koskinen, we both know that you will not do me harm. You're all talk; I have never seen you display an inkling of talent which should make me feel remotely fearful of your threats."  She barely listened to his monologue, too distracted by his condescending correction of her hair and concern for the passed-out girl behind her. Inkeri detached from Riddle to check for Belladonna's pulse, but to her alarm, she couldn't find one.  "You could heal her, if you wanted to," Riddle said. The entrance was deserted, everyone being snuggled up comfortably in their dormitories and sheltered from the biting cold. "I know that you could. Is it even a secret anymore?" Inkeri turned to him without warning, her eyes alight with glowing rage, as the newfound power which brimmed in her veins from the fourteenth day of the lunar cycle exploded through in her anger.  Riddle, who did not expect the outburst, was thrown backwards with such force that he hit the opposite wall. His head slammed against the stone, and blood trickled from the wound.  He remained there, momentarily stunned, in a rare display of almost human vulnerability. Then, he touched the blood which leaked from his head, as though shocked by the fact that he still bled, repulsed by his mortality.  A demented smile haunted his features suddenly, and Inkeri felt almost afraid, but she straightened and hid this feeling of nervousness.  She didn't hang around to find out how he would retaliate. Using every ounce of her strength, she dragged Belladonna further inside the castle, until she reached a spot which she deemed secluded enough. Calming herself, Inkeri waited until she reached a state of adequate mental serenity, before closing her eyes and letting her luminous magic probe through Belladonna's psyche. Riddle had used a curse on her, but it wasn't dark, and Inkeri overpowered it within a matter of seconds.  She let her light extinguish as Belladonna's eyes fluttered open. The girl seemed perturbed, but mostly mortified about being on the dirty floor, and Inkeri helped her up.  "I'm mildly confused right now," Belladonna muttered. "Where— what exactly just happened?"  "You were talking to Riddle and he cursed you and you temporarily died," Inkeri explained.  It was true; the spell was akin to the effects of a drought of living death. It would have taken Belladonna weeks to wake up by herself.  Belladonna stared at her. "You realise what that means, right?" She asked, twining her hands into her hair in distraught. "Riddle can do wandless magic."  Inkeri stared back. "Oh," she said. A beat passed between them. "So?"  "So," the red-head repeated incredulously. "How is that even possible? That boy is a sixth year, with no magical background. We certainly have not been taught this in school... it just doesn't make sense."  "What doesn't make sense?" Inkeri asked, completely lost.  "The fact that he can do wandless magic!" Belladonna exclaimed exasperatedly. "I haven't heard of anyone else that can except well... Grindelwald. It's a very difficult feat to achieve."  Inkeri thought about how she had duelled Adrielle wandlessly in front of the whole class, and internally berated herself for it. Malfoy and Lestrange had both been there. She also did not know what Grindelwald was, but Belladonna already seemed perturbed, and she didn't want to add to that.  "How did you heal me?" Belladonna asked suddenly. Inkeri was slightly taken aback; that explanation hadn't even crossed her mind.  "Oh, er— I was taught some healing spells before coming here," she said hastily. "Riddle's wandless magic isn't very powerful, it was easy to overcome."  If someone had told her all of the lies would be futile, she wouldn't have bothered.  Belladonna looked at her suspiciously, then shrugged. "Come, let's go to my dormitory. I need to drop all of these supplies off, my arms are beginning to tire from carrying them." As they walked, Belladonna talked and Inkeri thought. Riddle could now gauge the extent of her magical abilities, he knew they were not confined to simple healing abilities. Maybe, now, he would finally grow bored of her, his questions satisfied after finally seeing a glimpse of her magic, which had drawn him to her in the first place.  Or maybe his haunting fixation had morphed into obsession. •• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••