Into The Serpent's Den
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Chapter 14 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡
Night had draped its velvety cloak over the castle grounds, leaving the landscape bathed in silvery moonlight. The cool breeze carried with it the scent of damp earth and pine, while the distant murmur from the Black Lake echoed softly through the stillness.
As I approached, the scene before me unfolded like a secretive tableau. The Slytherins had arranged their gathering with an air of sophistication that was almost intimidating.
I'd thought it would be a simple gathering—perhaps a few chairs surrounding a fireplace—but I was greatly mistaken. I should have known better; these were Slytherins, after all.
They had conjured elegant chairs and cushions, forming small, exclusive groups around a central flat rock that served as their makeshift table. Silver lanterns hovered just above the ground, casting an eerie glow over the area, their light reflecting off the lake's surface, creating a shimmering mirror of the night sky.
The attendees were dressed in luxurious robes—deep emeralds, midnight blues, and the ever-present obsidian black—each piece tailored to perfection. Their garments whispered of wealth and power, their movements graceful and deliberate.
The soft clinking of crystal glasses and the murmur of hushed conversations created a symphony of exclusivity, making me acutely aware of my presence as the only Gryffindor—indeed, the only non-Slytherin—in attendance.
My Gryffindor robes felt like a stark contrast against their polished elegance. I could feel their eyes on me—some curious, others hostile, but all aware of my intrusion into their world.
There was an unspoken tension in the air, a palpable divide between me and them, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I was walking into a den of serpents. But I knew the risks, and I still decided to come. Because I needed answers for all this chaos that had been happening in my life.
I'd planned everything with Minerva and had intended to act accordingly—gather information from the conversations within the Slytherins, more like eavesdropping, and leave the gathering without attracting much attention.
As soon as I got my answers, I planned to leave immediately. I wasn't foolish enough to let myself become an easy prey for all these serpents.
As I cautiously made my way closer to the group, my gaze fell upon Abraxas Malfoy. Even amidst the grandeur, he stood out—not just because of his height or the way his platinum hair caught the lantern light, but because of the commanding presence he exuded.
He was surrounded by a cluster of Slytherins, all engaged in conversation that was punctuated by quiet laughter and knowing glances.
Malfoy wore a robe of the finest emerald fabric, its sheen catching the flickering light as he moved. A silver serpent brooch, coiled and poised to strike, gleamed on his chest—a symbol of his status and the cunning that ran in his bloodline. He spoke with a natural authority, his voice smooth and dripping with the kind of confidence that came from knowing you held power.
I took a step back, trying to avoid crossing paths with him, hoping—praying, even—that he wouldn't notice me. But luck was not on my side as always.
His grey eyes flicked in my direction, and the moment they met mine, a smirk curved his lips. He excused himself from the group with a casual wave, his attention now fully on me.
"Well, well," Malfoy drawled as he approached, his voice a rich blend of amusement and something else I couldn't quite place. "If it isn't our little lion, wandering into the serpent's den. I was beginning to think you wouldn't dare show up."
My pulse quickened at the nickname, one he'd begun using with infuriating regularity. The way he said it—with that blend of mockery and a hint of something softer—made my skin prickle.
"I almost didn't," I replied, trying to keep my tone steady as I glanced around, feeling the weight of too many eyes. "But here I am."
"Yes, here you are," he murmured, his gaze sliding over me with an appraising look that made me want to shrink back. "Brave or foolish, I wonder?" He paused, letting the question hang in the air before he continued, "This is quite the exclusive event, little lion. Not many outside of Slytherin receive such an invitation. You should consider yourself… honored."
The words stung more than I wanted to admit. There was a challenge in his tone, as if he were testing me, waiting to see how I would respond to being singled out in such a way. "And if I don't feel honored?" I shot back, my voice carrying more defiance than I felt.
His smirk deepened, clearly amused by my defiance. "Oh, but you should," he purred, his voice dropping to a low, almost conspiratorial tone. "You're the only one from your house here. After all, I invited you; shouldn't you at least show me some gratitude, little lion?"
Before I could reply, he gestured towards a table where an array of crystal decanters shimmered invitingly. "Come, let me pour you something. It's a chilly night by the lake, and a little warmth might do you good."
He led me toward the table, his hand brushing against my lower back, which made me side-eye him. But he didn't seem to notice.
We weren't particularly close to be escorting one another, though I assumed he was being all so polite and nice because he wanted something in return. Perhaps he was trying to manipulate me into thinking he was someone to be trusted, to dig up information about Tom that he could use against him.
If he did think that, then he was more foolish and ignorant than I'd thought. Thanks to Tom Riddle, I was already well-versed in manipulations, and I could tell when someone was trying to do so. Tom's tricks had made me more observant over the years.
The array of drinks was impressive, each bottle filled with rich, amber-colored liquid that seemed to glow in the dim light. It was clear that the Slytherins had spared no expense in their indulgence.
Malfoy reached for a decanter of firewhisky, pouring a generous amount into a crystal glass. The liquid caught the light, its color deep and inviting. He offered the glass to me, his eyes glittering with that same unreadable expression. "A drink, little lion, to mark your courage."
I hesitated, my gaze shifting from the glass to his face. "How did you even get this here?" I asked, my voice laced with suspicion and curiosity. My voice firm as I retorted, "Last time I checked, we were still students." My eyes sharpened as I narrowed them at him.
His smirk widened, a gleam of mischief and amusement in his eyes. "Ah, little lion, where there's a will, there's always a way. But for me, connections and charms help to pave that way. Hogwarts' rules aren't as unbreakable as they seem."
The implication in his words was clear, and it left me with a sense of unease. When I didn't immediately take the glass, his expression shifted to one of mock disbelief. "What's this? A Gryffindor too afraid to indulge, too much of a goody two shoes, eh? I expected more from you."
His taunt hit its mark, and before I could think twice, I snatched the glass from his hand. "I'm not afraid," I retorted, tipping the glass back and letting the firewhisky burn its way down my throat. The heat spread through me, a welcome warmth against the cool night air. I poured myself another shot and downed it just as quickly, feeling a surge of reckless determination.
The bitter taste of alcohol made me want to wince and rinse out my mouth, but I did none of that, even when I was tempted to. I swallowed it back, letting a nonchalant expression settle on my face.
Turning my head, I cocked an eyebrow with a subtle smirk on my lips."See? Definitely not what you expected, rather I'm more than you'll ever expect." I said with a hint of dripping sarcasm.
Malfoy watched me with that same amused look, his smirk never faltering, rather it widened even more. "Impressive," he murmured, though there was a hint of something darker in his gaze. Before he could say more, another Slytherin called him over, and with a final smirk in my direction, he excused himself, leaving me alone to navigate the gathering.
As the firewhisky took hold, blurring the edges of my vision, regret slowly seized me. How could I have possibly let my pride take over rather than my sense of judgment? I had made a terrible mistake—drinking and getting drunk was not in the plan.
I began to wonder if Malfoy had intentionally done it so that I wouldn't be able to find out anything. Maybe he was actually working with Tom, and he was assigned by him to get me into trouble.
Suddenly, a cold realization washed over me, leaving me feeling utterly naive.
The firewhisky seemed to clear my judgment rather than clouding it.
Now, in the darkness and solitude of the trees, horrific possibilities began to swirl in my mind like a storm.
What if this invitation wasn't just a casual offer, but a setup? What if I were a pawn being used just to be thrown away?
Every detail of the night started to twist in my mind, turning from harmless to potentially dangerous. I could feel the panic rising, a knot of anxiety tightening in my chest, making it hard to breathe. My heart pounded as I realized just how foolish I had been, walking into a situation I barely understood.
It was as if I were at a crossroads. I could try to find answers here, or I could leave before things got too out of hand. The sensible part of me urged caution, but the firewhisky, combined with my frustration and the simmering anger at the way Tom and Malfoy seemed to toy with me, fueled a reckless defiance.
It wasn't the best moment to let fear take hold, but how could I not? Alone, with no one to trust, the shadows seemed to close in around me, and the voices from the party felt distant and ghostly—a world away from the mounting dread inside me.
Every possibility, each worse than the last, clouded my thoughts, threatening to pull me under. I wanted to scream at myself for being so reckless, so blind. But all I could do was stand there, overwhelmed by the darkness both within and around me.
Taking a deep breath, I tried to clear my head.
Maybe I was just overthinking as usual. Hopefully, I was just overthinking.
I squinted against my blurry vision, and my gaze fell on a figure—a familiar figure standing near the water's edge. Tom Riddle. He was impossible to miss, even in a crowd. His dark robe blended seamlessly with the shadows around him. The group that surrounded him was listening intently to whatever he was saying, their expressions a mix of admiration and fear.
Every fiber of my being screamed at me to turn and run—to leave before I got caught up in whatever was unfolding here. But my feet were rooted to the spot, as if drawn to the magnetic pull that Tom always seemed to exert.
Instead, I felt a giddy laughter daring to escape my lips, but somehow managed to hold it back. So Mr. Perfect was also at this gathering—never one to break rules, yet here he was, attending an event past curfew and amidst the presence of alcohol. He was always like this, constantly surprising me with each new revelation about him.
Someone offered him a drink, but he declined with a quiet, regal shake of his head. "No, thank you," he said, his voice calm and composed, every word dripping with authority. It was a refusal that left no room for argument, delivered with such effortless command that the other student quickly backed away.
The sight I had just witnessed could only mean one thing—either he doesn't drink, or he's too arrogant to accept a drink.
Before I could ponder it any longer, a sharp headache suddenly hit me.
I shook my head, hoping to ease the growing dizziness. Closing my eyes, I felt heat creeping up to my cheeks and neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I pinched the bridge of my nose with my hands, trying to soothe the ache.
It was then that I felt a piercing gaze on me. Even with my eyes closed, I could sense it.
Another type of heat crept up my neck and cheeks, and I knew immediately it wasn't from the alcohol. It was as if my body had become so accustomed to this sensation that it reacted to it even subconsciously.
There was only one person who could make me feel like this—Only one boy with the power to evoke such a response.
Tom Marvolo Riddle.