The Lunar Forest | Tom Riddle

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ •• Triton Nott [Knight of Walpurgis] Hogwarts was most peaceful at dawn, when students had yet to stir from their slumber. Frigid air nipped at the skin of Triton Nott's exposed face as he sat on the brink of daybreak by the edge of the Black Lake, gazing at the fiery orange sun which peeked over the horizon, rising slowly and bringing with it the early morning cries of nature, echoing from bare treetops.   Drinking in every detail of the landscape, working piece by piece each morning to imprint the scene eternally into his mind had become somewhat of a project. The world wouldn't stay the same for much longer, he knew that— he was one of the selfish ones trying to change it. So he cherished every element of familiarity, careful not to miss any details.  Triton had never considered himself exceptionally observant, until he'd discovered the level of sheer ignorance which others possessed.  He felt a shift in the air as someone sat down next to him. Her scent had slowly started to become more familiar; frangipani and sandalwood, mirroring the fragrant incense which she burned during her prayers.  "Good morning," Lohiya greeting in her customary gentle voice, inviting a response, but not demanding nor expecting one.  "Hi," Triton replied, giving her a small smile. He tried to tear his eyes back to the scenery, but couldn't. "How was your C-Christmas?"  She seemed surprised at the personal question, and he felt a pang of guilt upon the realisation that he rarely cared to ask her about herself. "Fine, I suppose," she shrugged. "I got to spend time with my family, which was nice."  "Nice," Triton echoed, trying to keep the acrid venom of jealousy out of his voice. "At least you get along with your b-brother— I wish I could dispose of Tristan, the little b-bastard... and the whole lot of them I sup-pose."  "But then who would bear the responsibilities of the noble household of Nott, esteemed member of the Scared 28?" Asha demanded. She was strangely lively today. "You, Triton Nott? You, who is frolicking with a half-blood right now?"  "I'm a disgrace," he murmured. Tainting his household name out of pure selfishness. "I think I would g-get more of an earful from Riddle and Malfoy than anyone else." Lohiya rolled her eyes mischievously. "Do not tell me that I am here only to listen to your self-pity," she said. It wasn't that she was being unempathetic— more that she knew talking wouldn't help his brooding mood.  "Of course not," he said, dipping his eyes to look at her soft lips. As though it were an instinct, he leaned forward, feeling her warm exhale against his skin, contrasting the cold surrounding them.  Every time he kissed her it felt the same, but the thrill only ever grew. At first like a whisper, tentative and shy, and then more intensely, as their confidence grew and the ice thawed. Initially it had been plagued with doubt and guilt, and promises and threats— threats about what he would do if she told anyone, and promises that it wouldn't happen again. Broken promises, he supposed.  For the first time, it was her that pulled away first, eyes darting around in fright. "Not now," she said, pushing him away, "and not here, where anyone can see."  "Let them see," Triton said frustratedly, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. "I don't care." He was only thinking about himself. As usual.  Lohiya smiled, rather forlornly. "Except you do," she said. Reluctantly, he sighed.  "Yes," he said falling back into his quiet tone. "And that d-does not bother you?" She shook her head, no, and for some reason this annoyed him. As though she should despise him. "Why not? Have you no sense of self-worth?"  She tilted her head, and looked at him oddly. His words were a little harsh, but harsh words had never deterred Asha Lohiya. Whether it was a reason for or a side of effect of her friendship with Selwyn, he did not know.  It was easy to be rude to her, and he was. His first friend in the world, the one that always came back, following fate blindly as it led her by the hand back to the start of the circle. Except this time with more vigour.  "Maybe not," she said, her joviality subsided. Triton seemed to have that effect on her. He made her think. "But then you have even less, because it was you who came back to me, which you seem to keep forgetting." It was easy for her to be rude to him too. Gentle souls who only knew how to take out their anger on each other. One of them turned violent.  A stunned silence ensued, in which Asha kept her eyes on the water, instant regret practically seeping from her, and Triton studying her face, unangered by the outburst.  He had never quite noticed her beauty. It was subtle, a tenderness which resembled the comfort for which he longed. No matter how far the traveller strayed in his search for precious gems, he always returned home to the solace of familiarity. "Yes," he said, voice almost carried away by the wind. "I think, no matt-ter where I go, I will always come back t-to you."  It was nothing short of a declaration, and Asha seemed stunned. "Then you should be careful with your words," she said finally. "Each time you are cruel to someone, they love you a little less."  "Then you would d-despise me," Triton said with a humourless laugh. "And we both know you don't." Green eyes met brown for a slight second, before their lips crashed together, her hands entangling in his hair and his just resting tenderly on her shoulder, a light touch akin to a feather.  They kept their eyes closed, exploring one another with their hands, tracing familiar routes that had been taken a million times, but felt different, a new-coloured spark in every light. He pulled her jumper off her shoulder, feeling her shiver and meeting teeth against the goosebumps on her skin.  Together, they were brought to perfection. With her he was fleetingly beautiful.  The chime of the bell, ringing to awaken everyone in the castle, made them reluctantly pull apart. She opened her mouth to talk, but there was nothing to say. Their fleeting moment of being beautiful was over.  Asha got off the rock. "Where are you going?" Triton asked. "P-people won't be out for at least another thirty minutes."  "Inkeri wakes up early," she explained sadly, and for a second Triton despised the foreign witch, who only seemed to be constantly adding complications to his life.  "Okay," he said after a second. "I shall... s-see you around."  She nodded, and left, and he watched her all the way across the grounds, until she was just a tiny speck, and then gone around the bend. They never talked enough; he hated talking, it felt futile, as though he could never express himself eloquently. But there were so many things he wanted her to know.  If only she could read his thoughts— but not in an invasive way like Riddle's Legilimency. And not the darker thoughts which lurked in every crevice of his mind, which would inevitably make her loathe him.  The persistent voice in the back of his head reminded him at every turn, every action, of how selfish he was, until it was inescapable. The voice had echoed through the hallways of his home, ringing through a closed bedroom door, and now they haunted the corridors of his mind.  It had taken him years to realise that the voice was his mother's. The heir, marred with imperfection. A speech impairment which brought nothing but shame to the family.  So if Triton was selfish, and flawed, he would indulge himself. He let himself claim what he willed, allowed himself to join Riddle's immoral gang of bloodthirsty malevolents for power, with the excuse that it was in his nature. That was how he had come to seek Asha, a girl with so much potential to give.   She brought him to perfection. She saw past his façade of constant kindness.  Gentle souls, but one turned violent. 

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In the numbing chill of the morning, Inkeri escaped the suffocating confines of the castle, venturing to the farthest corner of the Grounds that she could find. The sun, though casting its warm beams, was impotent against the pervasive cold that clung to the air like a spectral veil. On the other side was the Forbidden Forest, a path down which Inkeri was too afraid to go again, so she had wandered towards the other side. Caught up in her thoughts, she ended up reaching an area of complete seclusion, concealed in plain sight.  The closer she got, the more vividly a stone archway materialised in front of her, half-hidden by some sort of glamour charm. Something was carved into the brick wall beside it.  The Secret Garden of Helga Hufflepuff For those who seek an escape.  The last part was written in Latin. It didn't seem much like a garden though; beyond the archway appeared only to be a bleak field of dying grass, bleached yellow despite the cold.  Curiosity got the better of her. Tentatively, Inkeri stepped through the archway, and just like she had expected, the charm faded, and she was indeed met with a garden of sorts, though its beauty was only made possible by magic.  The garden was an amalgamation of nature's artistry and time's gentle decay. Frost-kissed flowers, their petals encrusted with delicate ice crystals, stood resilient against the cold. A stone fountain, its basin frozen into a mirror-like surface, reflected the surreal tableau. Ivy-clad statues, their forms draped in a glistening shroud of frost, stood sentinel, their expressions serene and knowing. Inkeri was drawn to one of the statues nearer the edge, with a glinting black eye and snakes sprouting from a scalp that should have supported hair. She touched the gargoyle's hand, watching as frost melted and ran down the sculpture's cheek.  "That is the gorgon Medusa," came a voice, disturbing the distilled peace of the landscape. It wasn't even surprising to Inkeri when she found Riddle standing beside her, leather diary held close to his chest. "Do you know the myth? She was cursed for being obscene with the God Poseidon in the Temple of Athena." "That is one version," Inkeri said coldly, not appreciating his condescending tone. "Others say that Medusa was just a victim of Poseidon's forcefulness." Riddle tilted his head interestedly, observing the way Inkeri clasped Medusa's hand almost protectively. "I suppose that is the version you believe then? The one where there is easily a man to blame." "Men never can just let a woman be," Inkeri said icily, holding his stare for a moment to make sure that he understood the implication. His jaw tightened slightly, but then he broke into a smile.  "That is true," Riddle agreed, much to Inkeri's surprise. "People do say, though, that there is nobody more brutal than a woman fighting for power in a man's world. That is why you must be most wary of them." Inkeri tilted her head, letting her hand drop from the cold stone and looking only at him with apprehension. Her forearm burned. "And how exactly do you identify the women to be wary of?" "It isn't difficult," he murmured, eyes following where Inkeri rubbed her arm painfully. "They always seem to be at the wrong place at the right time. But most of all, you hide behind secrets and lies, that always come out in the end." Gasping with pain, Inkeri dug her nails into the rune on her arm that burned agonizingly, and only then did realization strike her that Riddle's way of talking didn't sound like English. It came out as a strange sort of hissing noise; he same one that he had used to speak to the Basilisk. Inkeri reached for her wand, but in an instant Tom had his pressed against her temple. "If you move," he threatened, "I will blow out your brain." Her lips twisted. "I am not restricted by silly mortal instruments," she snarled, and with a swift motion of her hands, she sent his wand flying across the clearing.  Expecting him to back down now defenceless, she lowered her hands, but as soon as she let her guard down, he grasped her arm, twisting it painfully behind her back. In the time it took for her to cry out, he grabbed the back of her head— though not brutally— and plunged her face into the freezing water of the fountain.  Her mouth open, icy water flooded down Inkeri's throat, and the suddenness of it reminded her of the brush with death against Ajatar in the lake. Except this time there was no Mathias to save her; only Tom Riddle who was going to kill her.  Just as the edges of her consciousness began to fray, he pulled her out by the shoulders, laying her on the grass as she coughed and tried to expel the water from her lungs.  One of his hands pressed down on her shoulder to prevent her from standing up, and he knelt over her, one leg on either side, her own wand pressed against her throat. The warmth which he emanated starkly contrasted the painful chill of the frigid air meeting the water on her.  "Don't try to stand up," he warned, "The prolonged lack of Oxygen will just make you fall flat again." Calculated cruelty.  "Go to hell," she managed to splutter out, though the effort to make it sound stronger than a wheeze made her gasp for breath.  Tom brushed a strand of wet hair off her forehead, and she didn't flinch back from his touch. Not even when he leaned closer to her and dug the wand further into her chin. "You will answer my questions," he hissed, "how do you understand Parseltongue? I am the only heir of Slytherin— you are nobody." "Feeling insecure?" Inkeri resisted the urge to spit in his face; he was certainly close enough. "You're still special in my eyes, Tom, it's okay." "Stop trying to be smart," he sneered. "It doesn't suit you." "I could kill you right now if I wanted to," Inkeri snarled, "the only reason you are still alive is because I don't want your ashes to soil my clothes, nor the fuss that would ensue after your death." She felt a glint of satisfaction when his grin faded slightly, and a hint of doubt crept into his dark eyes. "You've threatened me many times," he said quietly. "Never have you actually acted upon it." He removed the wand from her chin, using it to push up the sleeve of her left arm, where he had seen her linger before. When he reached just before her elbow, he saw the two runes, twisted black ink on white skin unconcealable by any charm, glaring unprotected back at him.  His obsidian eyes gleamed with vindication. "This one I recognise," he said, tapping the second one with the wood, and it send a thousand volts of electricity shooting up Inkeri's arm. "This is how you evaded my Legilimency." They were so close now, that her breath hitched in her throat. The feeling was so familiar; it wasn't exactly unpleasant, more like a dull ache, which couldn't go away until he moved. She could feel his knees pressing into her sides, his hand holding hers down as he inspected the rune. She felt her anger rising. Inkeri realised it was a similar sensation to what she had felt with Mathias; pure, raw passion, though this time it was her hatred that burned, not lust.  Just in time, he turned to look at her, and found that her blue eyes were now glowing with sparks of light, purely white and consumed with rage.  He stumbled away from her, just as her body was set ablaze with more light than the moon reflects from the sun. Riddle shielded his eyes just in time, only inches away from being turned into stardust as Inkeri let her pent up anger from all those months explode into a supernova that would undoubtedly have been noticed by all of Hogwarts if they hadn't been concealed by Hufflepuff's secrecy charms.  When he reopened his eyes, the shrubbery and grass was on fire, spreading and working to consume the entire garden in its wake. Koskinen sat up seemingly confused, staring at her hands from which the light was now fading.  Always in his senses, he hauled her up and pulled her away from the spreading blaze. Malleable in her state of consternation, Inkeri let him pull her back out through the stone archway, as the centuries-old garden of Helga Hufflepuff was charred to ashes by the inferno.  Inkeri stared with shock at the carnage, realising with awe the destructive power of a gift that had been given with the intention of healing.  Maybe that was the beginning of the end.  She was shaken out of her thoughts by Riddle, literally, by the shoulders. "If you don't stop giving me that blank stare," he threatened, "I will slap you." "You wouldn't dare," she scoffed, shoving him off. "I nearly killed you just then— all I needed have done was grab your collar, and you would have incinerated alongside the bushes." "You're insane," Riddle said quietly. "You nearly killed the both of us, not just me. Do you understand what I am saying? I saved your life." Inkeri couldn't believe what he was trying to pin on her. "I'm insane?" She repeated with outrage. "You're the one that attacked me and then nearly drowned me!" "Because I just don't understand!" He roared, and for a moment she was stunned. Tom Riddle had never raised his voice in front of her before; or, although she didn't know it, anyone. "You don't fit into the picture," he added, bringing his voice down again. "You have been nothing but a nuisance to my plans and it is proving to be impossible to try to find out what your motives are." He took a step closer, breathing heavy and fast. "But if I find out that your intent is malicious— or even accidentally interferes with mine— then you will be reminded of why you should be afraid of me." The words should have made her scorn him; he sounded so egotistical, but something about it worked.  At least, enough that when he turned and headed back to the castle, Inkeri didn't move to go in the same direction until he was out of sight.  •• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••