More Than A Game

Tom watched the flock of snowy owls circling the Great Hall. Everyone knew that they carried invitations for Madam McMillan’s annual Winter Solstice Ball. Every year, the students who were of age and came from old respected families were invited, as a means to introduce them to the rich and powerful of the wizarding world. This inevitably kept the old respected families rich and powerful. The Solstice Ball was considered far more prestigious than any of Professor Slughorn’s little get-togethers. Quite simply, anyone who wanted to be someone needed to attend that ball.

Unfortunately for Tom, however well connected he was within the walls of Hogwarts, Madam McMillan had likely never heard of him and he knew full well that there would be no invitation bearing the name ‘Riddle’. However, Slytherin’s heir wasn’t about to give up. Along with his father’s wretched name, Tom had inherited his good looks; he simply needed to charm a girl into having him escort her to the ball. This did, however leave the unfortunate problem of finding a suitable candidate, as the majority of the girls who had received an invitation were already engaged, and thus did not require an escort.

Walburga Black would have jumped at the chance, but her father had promised her to her idiot second cousin, Orion Black. It seemed that pure-blood fathers were overly fond of betrothing their daughters within a month of their seventeenth birthday. Normally, Tom wouldn’t have cared as he didn’t actually care for any of the heiresses’ company, but now he needed a date.

He scanned the Great Hall to see which girls were recipients of an invitation. Less than two dozen families had been worthy of Madam McMillan’s notice: Black, Lestrange, Avery, Nott, McMillan (she was obviously going to invite her own great-nephew), Crabbe, Longbottom, Yaxley, Smith, Selwyn, Malfoy, Weasley, Crouch, Prewett, Prince, Mulciber, Bones, Fawcett, and Rosier.

Tom gritted his teeth. If Demetrus Rosier went and Tom didn’t, he’d never let Tom forget it. The boy was insufferable. It seemed that Tom’s options were narrowed down to four choices: Selwyn, Crouch, Longbottom and Prince.

Diana Selwyn was a seventh year Slytherin and prone to gossip. She may have been pretty, but she had a horrifying fondness of anything that was a shocking pink and Tom estimated her intelligence at being roughly equivalent to that of his poached eggs. If he showed up to a ball with a girl who’s sickeningly pink dress blinded everyone and couldn’t even carry on a real conversation, Rosier would have more fun than if Tom didn’t go at all.

The Hufflepuff, Griselda Crouch, hadn’t yet shown any symptoms of colour blindness, however Tom didn’t consider her any more physically attractive than Slughorn.

Enid Longbottom would only go with him if he used the Imperius Curse on her. She’d been a close friend of that stupid Hagrid and had held a grudge against Tom ever since he’d framed the oaf.

The remaining option was a girl who he only knew as ‘Prince’. She was a Ravenclaw, so he assumed she must be somewhat capable of speaking intelligently. Tom squinted in her direction. The girl seemed fairly plain, but certainly wasn’t hideous; perhaps she’d look better in dress robes. Suddenly Tom remembered where he’d seen, or well, heard her before. Miss Prince had recently had a very loud and very public fight with her beau, a Mudblood Gryffindor Chaser. While Tom wasn’t impressed with the girl’s low taste, he supposed that her being vulnerable at suddenly finding herself single would play to his advantage. Of course, he didn’t expect to have any difficulty convincing any girl that she would be extremely fortunate to have him accompany her to the ball. After all, he was Head Boy, recipient of an award for special services to the school, top in all his classes and quite handsome. What more could a girl want?

Tom resolved to find out the given name of Miss Prince, and whatever other useful information the gossipy Selwyn would provide him with. Thus far, Prince seemed the most suitable candidate. Selwyn was always happy to tell him anything he wanted to know, although she did tend to giggle so much that communication was slowed.

By lunchtime, Tom knew that Miss Prince’s given name was Lydia, that she was in her sixth year and quite studious, among her subjects were Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, and she could usually be found in the library when she wasn’t in class or Ravenclaw Tower.

It was with his usual confident demeanour that Tom strolled into the Hogwarts library. He was dressed impeccably with his Head Boy badge polished and carried several textbooks dealing with advanced Arithmancy. He expected that it would take perhaps a quarter hour to charm Miss Prince into asking him to escort her, leaving the rest of his evening free to brag to Rosier over having found a way to attend the ball.

Miss Prince was studying alone at a table in a corner near the back of the library, chewing on her quill. Tom strode over and casually asked, “Would you mind if I sit here?”

The typical response Tom received upon making such a request of a girl was an excessive amount of blushing and giggling while eagerly clearing a space for him. Thus, Tom was somewhat taken aback when Miss Prince coolly raised an eyebrow and asked him in an equally composed tone of voice, “Aren’t there any vacant tables?”

Unprepared for her response, and feeling rather foolish as there were several vacant tables nearby, Tom improvised. “I noticed you were studying Arithmancy and since I was planning on taking some time to study it as well, I had thought perhaps it would be beneficial for us to share a table.”

“I rather doubt that.”

Tom was not accustomed to being doubted. “Why else would I want to sit with you?” he snapped.

“I really don’t know, but should you decide to tell me the truth, or at least a better lie, we can further discuss you sitting here. Otherwise, shove off,” she replied without looking up from her book.

Tom couldn’t recall anyone ever having told him to ‘shove off’ and was seriously considering cursing the insolent wench who was calmly ignoring him. However, he maintained a composed demeanour and did some quick revaluating of Miss Prince.

“Fine. You’re correct; I already know everything in these books and could take the NEWT in Arithmancy tonight and easily achieve an ‘O’, I really have no reason to study with a sixth year. However, I came over here looking for an opportunity to ask you out.”

Tom couldn’t help but feel some satisfaction upon seeing Miss Prince’s look of surprise. She seemed momentarily speechless and in an effort to continue in that vein, Tom did a quick non-verbal spell and presented her with an exquisite bouquet of crimson roses.

Miss Prince did some quick revaluating too. “Impressive,” she said calmly, accepting the proffered roses. Tom suddenly had the feeling that she wasn’t impressed by the flowers. He couldn’t imagine why, most of the girls he’d met adored red roses.

“You don’t like them?” he asked.

She wrinkled her nose. “To be honest, I’ve never much cared for roses or the colour red.”

This was the first thing she’d said that Tom could wholeheartedly agree with. Unfortunately, it left him at a bit of a loss as to what he ought to do to charm the annoying girl.

“How are you at chess?” she asked, changing the subject.

Tom was realizing that this was the most surprising conversation that he’d ever had in his life. Every word that came out of that girl’s mouth was completely unexpected.

“Excellent,” he boasted, still wondering how this was remotely relevant.

“Excellent,” she echoed, smiling. From her tone and the smug little smile, Tom suddenly had the distinct impression that his situation was anything but excellent.

Miss Prince continued, “I’m willing to play one game a day until the end of term with you. If you can beat me once, in a game of chess, you may have the honour of escorting me to the Winter Solstice Ball. That is what you wanted, correct?”

Tom was rarely at a loss for words. Miss Prince smirked. “Why else would popular, perfect, handsome, Head Boy Riddle suddenly have an interest in a rather plain sixth year Ravenclaw?”

Tom glared at her in cold fury. His fingers were itching for his wand but out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dumbledore browsing the bookshelves. “Perhaps I was mistaken in asking you at all,” he replied icily.

“Quite possibly, but should you decide that you really can’t stand your other options, meet me in the Charms classroom at eight. I’ll have the board set up. Oh, and don’t bother bringing more flowers. Instead, try to focus on the game.”

Tom very nearly lost his temper again. “You honestly think you can beat me?” he demanded.

“Yes, I do,” she replied quite simply and then returned to her book.

Tom stormed out of the library. Once he was well out of Dumbledore’s sight, he cursed a few first year Hufflepuffs. The nerve of that insufferable know-it-all Ravenclaw! He’d show her; he’d beat her at her own silly game and then he’d inform her that he would be attending the ball with someone else. That ought to put her in her place. He decided to ask Crouch, but couldn’t find her as she’d already gone back to the Hufflepuff common room. He resolved to ask her after Herbology the next day. It wouldn’t matter; Crouch would positively leap at the chance to have him escort her.

At eight o’clock Tom arrived at the Charms room to discover that as promised, Miss Prince already had the board set up. She had claimed the white side and had already made her opening move. Tom smirked as he sat down; he expected to be done in an hour.

“Checkmate,” Lydia chirped less than an hour later. “Same time tomorrow?”

Tom stalked to the Slytherin dormitories in disgust. He was so distracted over the fact that he’d lost that he completely forgot to ask Crouch to the ball the next day. Instead, he spent the day obsessing over how to show up the insufferable Miss Prince that night.

He arrived to find that she had once again set up the board, and had chosen white again. “You can go first if you like, but I insist on being white,” she explained.

“I hardly think my going first will affect the outcome of the game,” he replied coldly.

She smirked. “Agreed.”

Despite having put a great deal more effort into this game, after a half hour Tom found that he was losing pieces and constantly having to move out of check. He decided to try a new strategy.

He looked deep into Lydia’s eyes and was surprised to note that they were an exceptional shade of violet. He had never before noticed anyone with violet eyes and hers were like looking into twin amethysts. Silently cursing himself for thinking this, he tried to discern what her plan was.

“That won’t work,” she told him.

“What won’t work?” he asked.

“Legilimency. I believe that might even be considered cheating, not that it matters. You can try to pry all you want; I’m not a bad Occlumens.”

To Tom’s dismay, all he could see were what appeared to be lectures with Professor Binns. Miss Prince was grinning like a cat who’d swallowed a very large canary.

“How did you learn?” he asked.

“Why don’t you try to see?” she replied, meeting his dark black eyes with her amethyst ones.

“Legilimens!”

He saw a young girl in what looked like an elaborate but dusty library, sunlight streaming in through the windows. An old man was handing her what appeared to be a necklace as she won a game of chess.

“Who was the old man?” he asked her.

“My grandfather; he taught me Occlumency, as well as chess. Now I believe it’s your move.”

He had been expecting her to ask how he’d acquired his skill at Legilimency and had been prepared to snap that it was none of her business. Now, he was rather annoyed that she hadn’t and even more annoyed with himself for caring at all about what this silly girl thought. His annoyance cost him; on her next move she captured one of his knights.

Tom was having difficulty finding a means of escape, not wanting to admit he had no idea what move he could make to save himself from another defeat, he decided to ask her more about herself.

“What was the significance of the necklace?” he asked, trying to sound curious.

“My grandfather promised it to me as soon as I managed to beat him in a game, sort of an incentive to learn to be a better strategist.”

Tom looked at her sharply. Exactly what sort of game was he playing with this most unusual girl?

She smiled. “It’s not easy to find anyone at school who can present me with any sort of a challenge and you’re known for being quite brilliant. When I realized that you wanted something from me, that memory was my inspiration for having a few decent games of chess. I stand by what I said, if you can beat me, even if it’s just once, you gain access to that stupid ball. I promise I’ll even play the part and help you meet whoever it is you’re trying to impress.”

Tom hated to admit to himself that he was impressed, he had the feeling that Miss Prince would be true to her word and would be able to help him impress practically anyone. Then a thought occurred to him.

“What if I were to stop playing now? Surely you wouldn’t want to attend this ball alone?”

“Of course not. Truth be told, I don’t want to attend this ball at all. If you fail to win a game, I’ll simply write Hesper McMillan and tell her that I regret that I will not be able to attend.”

“And you expect me to waste my time playing a silly game with you in order for the honour of escorting you?”

“Yes,” she answered. She was smiling in that infuriating manner again. “If you had a better option, you wouldn’t have asked me at all. Quite frankly, Riddle, I have no intention of attending this ball unless there’s something in it for me. That is my offer; you can take it or leave it.”

“What makes you so certain I won’t simply demand you attend with me?” he asked in a menacing tone.

“Because threats won’t keep me behaved when surrounded by dozens of people at the ball,” she replied sweetly. “Of course, I suppose you could make my life rather difficult afterwards, but you still won’t have gotten what you wanted.”

Tom was beginning to see what made this girl so good at chess.

After having lost a second game of chess to Lydia Prince, Tom swallowed an enormous amount of pride and admitted to himself that if he wanted to make the best impression possible at the ball, Lydia Prince was his only option. Tom took to sneaking books on chess into classes with him; not only did he hate not being the best at something, but being able to beat Lydia was now immensely important. Legilimency had failed him for the first time; he suspected any other forms of cheating would be detected as well. Besides, he highly doubted Lydia would drink anything he offered her. After having lost five games in a row, Tom was beginning to feel desperate. It was neither a feeling he was accustomed to, nor wanted to grow accustomed to.

“Tom!” snapped Slughorn impatiently. “I just asked you the significance of the number of moonstones in this potion.”

It was with difficulty that Tom pulled himself out of his thoughts of chess to pay attention to what Slughorn had just asked him. How was he supposed to figure out chess while being pestered with stupid questions? He was suddenly struck with an idea. Slughorn seemed appeased when Tom gave a succinct explanation of how Arithmancy played a defining part in determining ingredient ratios for Potions, leaving Tom free to work out the steps to his new plan.

That evening Tom had a new bounce in his step when he arrived for his nightly battle with Lydia. Lydia was studying the board in concentration when Tom made his move.

“What was the row you had with that Gryffindor Chaser about?” he inquired.

Lydia looked up in surprise. Tom found it delightful that he had managed to say something that caught her off guard.

She chewed her lip in thought for a few moments. “Why do you ask?” she replied cautiously.

Tom had been prepared for this question and replied nonchalantly, “A girl in Slytherin was asking about it. She seemed to recall it was a very public argument.”

“Oh.” Lydia’s cheeks reddened slightly.

Tom was enjoying himself more than he had in days. Even if he lost another game of chess tonight, he still felt like he’d finally had a victory. Tom gave Lydia a piercing look; he had every intention of forcing her to tell him this story.

“It probably sounds silly…” she began.

Tom prepared himself for a boring story involving how some stupid boy didn’t like the colour of her stupid nail polish.

“John and I were arguing over who should be the next Minister for Magic. He wants Pinkstone to win.”

Tom couldn’t help but snort at this statement. What sort of lunatic would want Carlotta Pinkstone to attain office? The woman was insane. Before he knew it, he was involved in an animated discussion with Lydia concerning the Ministry of Magic. He was surprised to discover that unlike most of the pure-bloods he knew, Lydia was actually quite knowledgeable about politics, even if her views differed from his own. He found it oddly stimulating to actually be able to debate topics with someone who knew what they were talking about. Generally, the people he spoke with would simply adopt his view. He was fairly certain he was about to win the debate on the stand the current Minister for Magic should take on goblin freedoms when to his horror, Lydia told him, “Checkmate.”

He could have sworn those amethyst eyes were twinkling with mirth as she packed up the chessboard. She did at least concede to his view on the goblins. It suddenly felt a rather hollow victory.

Over the course of the next few nights, Tom began to grow accustomed to debating politics and playing chess with Lydia. What he found harder to grow accustomed to was losing at chess to Lydia. He was running out of ideas for how to beat her, although it was obvious to both of them that his game was improving: Lydia had to think longer before making her move. Still, Tom was running out of time; the end of term was only a few days away. Then, fate intervened in the form of Celeste Murray.

Tom sensed that something was amiss as soon as he walked into the Charms room. Lydia’s eyes, normally that stunning shade of violet were puffy and rimmed with red. She had obviously been crying. Tom hoped she wasn’t about to start crying again. He couldn’t stand overly emotional displays and wasn’t about to waste an evening listening to her blubber. What he disliked most about females was how they became so emotional and irrational over anything. A thought occurred to him then: what could have bothered this girl so much as to cause her to cry? He’d practically threatened to hex her before and she hadn’t batted an eyelash. She hadn’t turned into an emotional puddle of goo at the sight of his flowers either.

He waited until they’d been playing for about a half hour before asking, “Is something wrong?”

“I’m fine,” she replied coldly.

“Don’t lie to me,” he warned her with an edge to his voice.

Furious amethyst eyes bore into his. He took the opportunity and immediately saw a vision of a couple kissing. He recognized one as being the Mudblood Gryffindor and the other as being Celeste Murray, an extremely attractive sixth year Gryffindor. When he broke eye contact he realized that she looked ready to slap him. Pleased at finally having gotten past her Occlumency defences, he told her silkily, “Your move.”

She moved her queen, putting him in check, still glaring at him. Tom smiled, and captured her queen with one of his knights. From her wince, he was certain that she hadn’t realized her mistake until it was too late. Having finally stumbled upon a strategy that worked on her, Tom continued.

“So your Mudblood boyfriend has moved on?” Tom asked conversationally.

Lydia’s hand shook as she moved her bishop.

“Why do you care?”

Tom shrugged, trying to conceal his glee. “I thought I saw him with that pretty girl from Gryffindor… I can’t remember her name though.”

Lydia was obviously trying to ignore him, but he noticed her lower lip trembling. Tom captured her rook.

“You must know her name… beautiful long blonde hair, flawless skin…” he prompted.

She clicked her knight into place and told him in a frigid tone, “Celeste Murray.”

He smiled broadly. “Checkmate.”

He proudly strode towards the Slytherin common room, leaving Lydia to put away the pieces. Tom was wondering how he should boast of his triumph to Rosier when he suddenly realized something odd: he didn’t feel as happy as he’d thought he would. He tried to brush it off, but was left with the annoying feeling all evening. He eventually convinced himself that he was only disappointed that he’d had to resort to ‘cheating’ to beat Lydia, and would have preferred a greater victory. He resolved to beat her fairly later, just to prove that he really was of superior intellect. Still, he didn’t bother to tell Rosier that he had gained admission to the coveted ball.

The next day, Tom and Rosier were walking through the crowded courtyard on their way to Ancient Runes when Tom saw Lydia walking towards him. She looked even worse than the day before. A quick glance revealed that Murray and the Mudblood were snogging nearby. Tom wasn’t sure what possessed him to do it, but he boldly walked up to Lydia, got down on one knee and asked in a carrying voice, “Lydia Prince, may I have the honour of escorting you to the Winter Solstice Ball?”

The look of shock on Lydia’s face was only surpassed by that of Rosier, Murray and the Mudblood. Enjoying the admiring gasps from the crowd, Tom flourished his wand and a lilac bush sprung up and slowly bloomed, its petals a perfect lavender. Girls all over the courtyard were ‘oohing’ and ‘awwing’.

A shy smile slowly spread across Lydia’s face. “Thank you; it would be my pleasure.”

He lightly kissed her hand and stood up. Looking down into her smiling face, he felt a surge of pride. “Excellent! Let me know when to pick you up.”

With that, he continued on to Ancient Runes. Rosier was too shocked too say anything for quite a while. It was wonderfully refreshing. Tom’s mood had improved drastically since the night before, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so pleased. Then he briefly wondered why he had done it and felt rather like he’d been kicked in the stomach. Why had he done it? Surely he couldn’t possibly care about this silly girl’s feelings? For a horrifying moment he was afraid he might. Then he realized that he must have only been nice to her because he still needed her help at the ball. Now she was happy with him and everyone knew that she had agreed to go with him. Yes, that must have been why he’d done it. He supposed part of it was showing off for Rosier too. After he’d convinced himself of this, he felt much better.

*

The evening of the ball, Tom arrived at the Prince home. He wore a set of black dress robes, of a simple but elegant cut, embellished with silver fastenings and a royal purple trim. He had received them by owl from Lydia with a short note reading:

Wear these if you don’t want us to clash. Twilfitt and Tatting’s will make any adjustments should you find they don’t fit.
~ L

They had fit perfectly. Apparently, Lydia had accurately sized him up in more than intellect. He confidently strode to the doorway and rang the bell. In a few moments, the door was answered by a girl with heavy brows, lank dark hair and a rather sour expression.

“Lydia! Your date’s here,” she shouted.

“Thank you, Eileen, I believe the entire neighbourhood is now aware of that,” answered an old man, who Tom recognized from Lydia’s memory as being her grandfather. He turned to Tom and extended his hand. “Gavin Prince. Mr Riddle, I presume?”

Tom nodded and shook hands with the old man.

“I’m Lydia’s grandfather. She should be downstairs in a few moments. Please try to have her home at a decent hour.”

He looked searchingly into Tom’s eyes, and Tom realized with a start where Lydia had inherited her violet eyes.

“She’s a very special girl and quite dear to me,” Mr Prince explained, a bit awkwardly. Tom privately agreed that Lydia was special; she was the most unique girl he had ever met.

“I assure you, Sir, I won’t let anything happen to her and will have her home on time,” Tom answered, wondering why it wasn’t Lydia’s father engaging in this formality. Before he had a chance to ask, Lydia’s voice rang out from the top of the stairs.

“I’ll be right down!”

Tom looked up and was amazed. Lydia seemed to float down the staircase in dress robes of a light mauve material trimmed with the same royal purple as his own. Her hair, normally tied back in a limp ponytail, was curled and done up quite elegantly. Upon closer inspection he realized that sprigs of lilac were woven into her black curls. The amethyst necklace her grandfather had given hung on a silver chain about her neck; she wore no other jewellery. Tom thought it a simple yet effective look. He’d never seen her wear make-up before and she didn’t seem to be wearing much now, but once again it accentuated her eyes beautifully. Tom hadn’t realized he was staring until Mr Prince broke the silence.

“You look so much more a lady when you don’t slide down the banister, Lydia,” he told her, violet eyes twinkling.

Lydia kissed him on the cheek. “It’s your own fault, Grandfather. You only ever told me to act like a lady, not to actually be one.”

Gavin Prince chuckled good-naturedly at this. “Be off then, don’t keep your young man waiting.” As he left he called out, “Eileen, would you care for a game of Gobstones?”

Lydia turned to Tom as she fastened her plum cloak. “Do you mind Apparating there?”

He felt ashamed to have to admit he didn’t know where the McMillan residence was. Lydia seemed to sense this. “The house is Unplottable, but I’ve been there before, if you take my arm we could use Side-Along-Apparation.”

“That would be acceptable,” he agreed.

Lydia handed him a card. “They’ll want to announce us when we arrive. You need to write your name as you wish to be presented.”

He stared blankly at the card.

“Many people use it as an opportunity to boast of their lineage and show off their titles. So-and-so, son of someone no-one cares about, heir to the crumbling hut of something or other, and so on. I’d recommend keeping it simple; it will stand out and spark curiosity, rather than bore everyone to tears.”

She smiled at Tom’s look of surprise and continued, “I on the other hand, will add a few details so as to fade into the background more.”

Tom nodded and filled out his card and then firmly grasped Lydia’s arm. She covered his hand with hers and then he felt a familiar squeezing sensation. When he opened his eyes, they were at the front gates of an elaborate mansion. A pair of sphinx statues guarded the entrance. Lydia showed the one on the right her invitation and the gates opened. She continued to hold onto Tom’s arm as they walked up the snowy drive. Bushes on either side of them hosted fairies, lighting the way to the mansion. Upon arriving at the door, Lydia handed her cloak and card to a house elf and Tom followed suit. She turned to him, took a deep breath and asked, “Are you ready?”

He nodded. “Quite.”

Tom then offered Lydia his arm and they entered the ballroom. As they did so, a deep voice announced, “Presenting Lydia Moria Prince, daughter of the late elders of the Wizengamot, Stephan Gavin Prince and Helena Armenia Prince nee McMillan, escorted by Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

As they walked down the steps, Tom murmured, “You never told me your parents died.”

He felt Lydia stiffen. She answered in a firm tone, “You never asked. They died when I was nine. However, I hardly see how it’s any of your concern.”

Tom took the hint. “I meant no offense; both my parents are dead too.”

Lydia’s demeanour softened again. “I’m sorry.”

Tom looked into her eyes and was relieved to see she was no longer mad at him. He quickly reminded himself that this was only important because she was supposed to help him impress people.

Then the Minister for Magic, Marcus Warren, made his way towards them. “Lydia Prince?” he asked eagerly.

“Yes, Minister?” she asked politely.

Warren kissed her hand lightly. “I knew your parents, wonderful people. Terrible what happened to them.”

“Thank you. I was quite young at the time. Have you met my escort?”

Tom could hardly believe that Lydia had just passed up an opportunity to talk to the Minister for Magic or that he had so easily been thrown into a conversation with him.

Before long, Tom discovered that many important people had known Lydia’s late parents and were eager to discuss her thoughts on the tragic circumstances surrounding their deaths. Tom was beginning to feel a bit awkward not knowing what those tragic circumstances were, but Lydia didn’t seem to want to discuss them with him any more than with the heads of the Ministry, leaders of the financial district, or anyone else for that matter. Instead, she directed the conversation towards Tom, who was more than happy to meet them all.

“Presenting Miss Genvissa Lysandra Crabbe, daughter of Erinna Gerlinda Crabbe nee Lestrange, recipient of the Medal for Magical Merit, and her fiancé, Demetrus Leonard Rosier, son of Leonard Olivier Rosier, heir to the house of Rosier and recipient of the Order of Merlin, second class.”

Tom saw what Lydia had meant about standing out by keeping it simple. No one so much as glanced up at Rosier or his fiancée. Tom smiled as Rosier tried to introduce himself to the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Apparently, Rosier wasn’t nearly as well connected as Lydia; she and Tom had just been promised tickets to the World Cup.

After a half hour or so of socializing, Madam McMillan descended upon them. “Lydia, you look beautiful! I was so worried you’d decline to come at all!” she announced while hugging Lydia.

Lydia seemed to be in slight danger of suffocation but managed a muffled reply. “It’s good to see you too, Auntie Hesper.”

“And who is this handsome young man?” continued Madam McMillan eagerly.

“This is Tom Riddle. You could say he’s the reason I made it here tonight,” added Lydia, her amethyst eyes sparkling.

Tom was rather shocked to be the next to be engulfed in one of Madam McMillan’s hugs. “Oh, well thank you for that, Mr Riddle! It certainly isn’t often that anyone can convince Lydia to attend our little get-togethers. You know, I have a garden party coming up in June, if you’d be so kind as to convince her to come to it too…”

“I will do my best,” he replied earnestly.

“But I shouldn’t be keeping you two standing here, this is a ball after all! I do enjoy seeing young people dance!”

Tom wondered if all Madam McMillan’s hints were so blunt. He offered Lydia his hand. “Would you care to dance?”

She smiled. “Certainly.”

Once out on the dance floor, Tom murmured in Lydia’s ear, “You also neglected to tell me that Madam McMillan is your aunt.”

“Great-aunt,” Lydia corrected. “Once again, you didn’t ask and I don’t see how it’s any of your concern.”

“So why didn’t you want to attend this evening?” he asked.

Amethyst eyes met his. “Would you want to spend an evening answering questions about your parents’ untimely deaths?”

Tom was able to say in all honesty, that no, he would not. “Is that why you keep introducing me to everyone?”

“Partly; I also promised to help you meet people here if you beat me, which you did.”

Tom didn’t really know how to reply. Instead he said, “The lilacs in your hair look quite nice.” He hoped reminding her of the courtyard would keep her from being angry about his ‘cheating’ at chess.

“Thank you. Lilacs are my favourite flower, but I suppose you already knew that.”

“I didn’t,” he told her, surprising even himself with his honesty. “I just knew you didn’t like red roses and couldn’t think of anything else. Lilacs are the colour of your eyes.”

“May I cut in?” asked Rosier.

“Won’t your fiancée mind?” answered Tom, clearly annoyed.

“Actually, if both of you will excuse me, I think I’m done dancing for now. I’ll meet you by the refreshment table in a little while,” added Lydia as she walked away. Tom assumed she was looking for a powder room.

“So, the great Tom Riddle has finally fallen head over heels for a girl?” asked Rosier, leering.

“Don’t be stupid, Rosier,” Tom answered.

“Well, what am I supposed to think? You practically proposed marriage to the girl when you asked her to the ball and now you’re hanging onto her every word,” replied Rosier, still smirking.

“I’m only here with Lydia because I wanted to attend the ball. Besides, your sister was too young to receive an invitation,” answered Tom smoothly. The smirk vanished from Rosier’s face.

“As though my father would let you escort Druella,” he scoffed.

“Have you not seen evidence that the blood of the great Slytherin himself runs in my veins?” asked Tom threateningly.

“You may be pure on one side,” conceded Rosier. “But my father will require purity on both sides, Mr Riddle.”

“You’re going to regret that,” warned Tom. Rosier looked worried, until he glanced at the crowd.

“What are you going to do in front of all these people?” he sneered.

Before Tom could reply, Lydia rejoined them.

“Did you know that Tom here only asked you to the ball so that he could use you to meet more influential people?” Rosier asked her nastily.

“Yes, of course.” replied Lydia simply. “Did you know you were only invited because your father’s mistress is a friend of my great-aunt’s?”

Tom could have kissed her; the look on Rosier’s face was priceless. As Rosier stalked off, Tom turned to Lydia. “Is that true?”

She smiled slightly. “Perhaps.”

He had the feeling that Legilimency was not going to work any better now than during chess. Before he had a chance to ask her more, several elders of the Wizengamot made their way over.

The ball ended just after midnight. Tom had enjoyed himself more than he’d expected. He and Lydia got their cloaks from the house-elf and he offered her his arm, to escort her home.

“That’s alright,” Lydia replied. “I can just Apparate home.” With a faint pop, she was gone. Tom wasn’t sure why, but he felt oddly saddened at this.

*

The next term of school was Tom’s last. Many of the seventh years spent much of their free time feverishly studying for NEWTs. Tom, however, often found his thoughts wandering back to chess. He and Rosier were on good terms again. Tom had placed a few of his nastier curses on him upon returning to school and Rosier had quickly remembered that Tom was his superior, promising that he wouldn’t forget it again. Rosier, while humbly obedient, was still singularly ungifted at chess. Rosier wasn’t even losing on purpose; if he tried, Tom would know.

In early February, Tom found himself wandering into Lydia’s corner of the library. She was chewing on the end of her quill, apparently deep in thought. Her hair was once again pulled back in a ponytail and the school uniform made her look pale. She hardly looked like the same girl he had danced with at the ball but when she paused from reading her Transfiguration text, it was the same breathtakingly violet eyes that looked up.

“What do you want?” she asked.

Tom had rather expected a warmer greeting, though now that he thought about it, he hadn’t spoken to Lydia since the ball. Tom once again surprised himself by blurting out an honest answer. “I was wondering if you’d care for a game of chess.”

Lydia arched an eyebrow. “Is there another social function that you need to attend, Mr Riddle?”

“Don’t call me that,” he warned her. “And no, there isn’t.”

“What should I call you then?”

Tom wasn’t actually sure what he wanted Lydia to call him, he’d never really thought about it before. Most students did call him ‘Riddle”, but he found he didn’t like it when she did. His closer acquaintances knew him as Voldemort but he didn’t want to tell her that name either. Realizing how ridiculous he must look, he blurted, “Tom I suppose, but I don’t like it either; it’s a common name.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” challenged Lydia. “My favourite flower’s lilacs and they’re a ‘common’ flower. A rose by any other name may smell as sweet, but the common garden variety of lilac smells far sweeter. They’re prettier than roses too.”

Tom decided that he wouldn’t mind Lydia calling him by his given name after all. Rather than express this sentiment he asked, “So would you care for a game?”

“Why do you want to play, Tom?”

He shrugged. “I’ve tried playing with the Slytherins and they’re not nearly as good as you. I’d rather play with someone who has a chance of beating me.”

“A chance of beating you?” asked Lydia, rising to the bait. “How many games did you lose before you won just once?”

“Yes, but I won the last one. That would be the one that counts,” he answered smiling his most infuriating smile.

“Well don’t expect to hold your title for long. Eight o’clock?”

“Certainly. Charms room?”

“I’ll see you there.”

Tom didn’t even really care that he lost that night; it was the most engaging evening he’d had in over a month. He was surprised to realize how much he’d missed discussing politics with Lydia, as well as trying to beat her strategies. He was therefore disappointed when Lydia told him she couldn’t play the following evening.

“I still have to study,” she explained. “But if you want, we could play every Friday night. I mean, I understand if you have other plans, but it’s the only night I really have free.”

“I suppose that would work,” Tom answered. “Why not Saturdays though?” He’d wanted to ask why they couldn’t play on Saturday as well but didn’t want to seem too eager.

Lydia blushed. “Well, this Saturday I have a date. I don’t have plans for next Saturday though.”

“I see.” Tom was rather surprised at how disappointed he felt.

“Friday night then?”

“That would be acceptable,” he agreed, as he helped her put away the set.

Once back in the Slytherin common room, Tom casually asked Selwyn about who the Prince girl was seeing. He wasn’t about to allow someone else to monopolize Lydia’s Saturday nights.

Tom arrived at the Charms classroom Friday night and helped Lydia set up the board. She made her opening move and then asked, “Tom? Are you still available to play tomorrow night?”

“I did make plans to help Rosier study Ancient Runes. Why do you ask?”

“Oh.” Lydia’s cheeks reddened a bit. “Well… my date got sick and had to cancel, he’s in the Hospital Wing… so I was wondering if you were still free, but of course you’re not…”

Tom did his best to look thoughtful. “I might be able to finish helping Rosier by eight-thirty, would that be alright?”

A large smile spread across Lydia’s face. “That would be lovely.”

Rosier didn’t even bother to ask why Tom had suddenly offered to help him with Ancient Runes, or why he suddenly cut it short. Neither had he questioned why Tom had put a seventh year Hufflepuff in the Hospital Wing.

For the remainder of the school term, Lydia and Tom played chess and debated Wizard politics every Friday night as well as most Saturdays. They eventually agreed that the loser was required to bring refreshments for the next game. Tom was generally left with this task, but delegated it to the now subservient Rosier.

Tom rarely spoke to her outside of their chess games, but occasionally found himself watching her study in her little corner of the library. He could always tell when she was too deeply absorbed in her reading to notice him watching; she’d start chewing on the end of her quill.

One Saturday evening in February, Tom decided to ask something that he’d wondered about since the ball.

“How did your parents die?”

Lydia looked up in surprise. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Why not?”

“Do you want to talk about how your parents died?”

He was surprised at her frosty tone. What surprised him more was hearing himself say, “My mother died the night I was born.”

Lydia’s expression immediately softened. “I’m sorry.”

She took a deep breath. “My parents were elders of the Wizengamot. Their votes led to a wizard being convicted to life imprisonment in Azkaban. His brother found them after the trial and murdered them.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s why I hate going to those stupid social events; everyone always wants to talk about it.” She moved her knight. “How did your father die?”

“He was murdered.” Tom didn’t want to go into further detail.

“I’m sorry. Did the Aurors catch the person responsible?”

Tom smiled slightly at the irony. “A wizard who had previously attacked him confessed; he’s serving a life sentence in Azkaban. What happened to your parents’ killer?”

“Dementor’s Kiss.” Lydia shuddered involuntarily. “They asked us if we wanted to watch it. Grandfather wouldn’t hear of it. He’s the one who’s looked after Eileen and I since.”

Tom looked at her thoughtfully. “He’s done well.”

Over the next few months, Tom found himself confiding more of his personal life to Lydia than he ever had to anyone else. In return, she told him more about herself and her family. Their political debates became less frequent as they told each other more about their pasts. Tom remained careful to colour his slightly. He occasionally wondered if Lydia did the same.

At the end of their last game, Tom gave her a box of lavender quills. Lydia didn’t know it, but it was one of the only true gifts he had ever given anyone. Generally, he only gave something if he expected something better in return.

*

After graduating from Hogwarts, Tom applied for a position at Borgin and Burkes. The only time he heard from Lydia all summer was when she sent him tickets to the World Cup with a short note.

Tom,
I’ll be in America visiting a cousin all summer so I will be unable to attend. Feel free to use both tickets, or give them away if you can’t make it either.
~L

Not being much of a Quidditch fan, Tom gave the tickets to his employer and in turn received a promotion. He didn’t see Lydia again until the following Christmas. Hepzibah Smith was having a Christmas party and had naturally invited the handsome young man who had been so charming while coming to her home on business.

Tom hadn’t expected to see Lydia there and was even more surprised to see her on the arm of a young man. This time she wore robes of forest green, embroidered with lilacs. Her escort was wearing matching green robes and a large grin. Tom made his way over to see her.

She looked up as he approached, amethyst eyes meeting his dark ones and a delighted smile spread across her face. “Tom! It’s been ages! How are you?”

“I’ve been well, and yourself?”

She looked radiant. “I’ve been wonderful! But I must introduce you to someone!”

Tom first noticed the ring just as she pulled her escort into view. “Hadrian, this is Tom. Tom, I’d like you to meet my fiancé, Hadrian.”

Hadrian held out a hand and Tom mechanically shook it. He couldn’t help but think that Lydia’s engagement ring should have been an amethyst, like her treasured necklace, and her eyes. Instead it was a flawless diamond; it was expensive and traditional and yet it seemed colourless, so unlike the unique girl who wore it.

“When is the wedding?” he asked in as neutral a tone as he could manage.

“Mid-June; after I’ve graduated, and when the lilacs are in bloom,” gushed Lydia.

“Wouldn’t you rather roses, dear? Lilacs are so… common,” Hadrian pointed out.

“Lilacs are my favourite,” she replied simply. Tom couldn’t help but feel a bit smug about this.

“I would think roses would be more common at weddings than lilacs,” added Tom.

Lydia flashed him a smile. “You make an excellent point.”

“I believe Mother already ordered white roses,” added Hadrian stiffly. “Besides, lilacs are quite fragrant, anyone with allergies wouldn’t be able to attend.”

“Oh, I suppose we ought to go with the roses then,” replied Lydia, clearly disappointed.

“Perhaps we could mix them?” Hadrian suggested hopefully. “White roses and lilacs would look quite nice and the fragrance wouldn’t be so strong…”

“That would be lovely!” exclaimed Lydia, her smile restored. She turned to Tom. “I’m sorry. I haven’t seen you in ages and here we are boring you with wedding plans. I also know for a fact that Miss Hepzibah keeps a lovely chess set in the next room… do you have time for a game?”

Tom had meant to simply say hello and then return to flirting with his hostess, but upon looking into Lydia’s eyes, he found himself answering, “Always.”

*

A few weeks later Tom received his wedding invitation. He hadn’t really thought about attending the wedding, but decided if nothing else he could renew some business contacts. He only briefly hesitated before sending his reply that he would go.

Unfortunately, circumstances changed and it would be over a decade before Tom saw Lydia again. In May, Hepzibah Smith decided to show Tom some of her other treasures and Tom decided it would be prudent to leave England. He still kept an eye on how politics were affected in Wizarding Britain as he travelled, but he also made certain to maintain some knowledge of what the more powerful families were up to. They always made a point of listing marriages, deaths and births in the Daily Prophet and Tom carefully followed them. It was therefore not surprising that he read the announcement that Lydia had given birth to a daughter, or the news that her husband, Hadrian Jones, was rapidly rising in the Auror Department.

Upon deciding that it was time to return to Britain, Tom wrote to only one person.

Lydia,
I’ll be returning shortly. Might I call upon you?
~Tom

He was surprised at how nervous he felt upon reaching the Jones’ residence. Hadrian Jones was merely a half-blood, but his parents were well known for their fancy Hippogriff stables. Upon arriving at the door, Tom presented his calling card to the house-elf who carefully placed it upon a silver platter before leading him to the sitting room.

“Presenting Tom Marvolo Riddle, Mistress,” squeaked the elf.

“Tom?” she happily called out.

Lydia stepped out to greet him in robes of palest purple but her smile faltered as the colour drained from her face. She wouldn’t meet his eyes either but seemed to study the rest of his face carefully.

“Tom?” she whispered, sounding frightened. “What have you done to yourself?”

He coughed and answered carefully, “The years haven’t been kind to my features. You however, look as lovely as the last time I saw you.”

She seemed to accept his explanation, and the compliment, however, she still wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Would you care for a game?” he asked her, hoping it would cause her to relax.

She smiled mechanically. “Certainly. The board is set up in the next room.”

Several moves into the game, Tom cleared his throat. “I believe congratulations are in order.”

Lydia arched an eyebrow in reply.

“I read that you have been appointed to the Wizengamot.”

“Oh, yes. Thank you.”

“Your husband was appointed head of his department recently too, wasn’t he?” continued Tom.

“Yes, we’re all quite proud of him,” she replied, a genuine smile returning to her face.

Tom leaned over confidentially. “I am planning on improving the Ministry, I would value your support… and advice.”

“Oh, which department are you applying to?” Lydia asked, clearly interested.

“I wasn’t planning on applying to the Ministry,” Tom answered.

Lydia’s eyes widened as comprehension dawned on her face. “You… you couldn’t possibly mean to…”

“I do and I will, with or without your support. However, it would be prudent for you to help me.”

Her eyes became as hard as the amethysts they so resembled. She asked in a dangerous voice. “Are you threatening me, Tom?”

He was surprised; he hadn’t actually meant to threaten her. “Lydia, I wouldn’t harm you…”

“Get out,” she told him, her voice low.

“I only meant that I would value you as an advisor…”

“If you don’t mean to hurt me, then leave. Now.”

Tom decided to go, sure that she would see reason later. It had likely just been a shock. Tom’s next disappointment had been in Albus Dumbledore’s refusal to grant him the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. However, he had managed to renew ties with many pure-blood families.

He continued to try to reason with Lydia, however his letters went unanswered. He regretted the necessity of threatening Lydia’s only child but had promised that no harm would come to the girl so long as Lydia revealed nothing of his plans to anyone. He even went so far as to pay Eileen a visit and found her a great deal more receptive to his ideals, especially upon receiving a small sack of Galleons in exchange for agreeing to persuade her sister, along with the promise of a larger one should she be successful. After nearly a year, Tom decided that more persuasive methods were necessary.

*

“My Lord,” said Lestrange, bowing deeply, “I am pleased to report that the Head of the Auror Department, Hadrian Jones, is dead.”

Lord Voldemort smiled slightly, he had only ever promised the safety of Lydia’s daughter, Hestia. “And where is my prisoner?”

The servant bowed again. “I regret to inform you that she eluded capture.”

“What?” asked the Dark Lord, anger evident in his voice.

“However,” continued Lestrange eagerly, “she is not free; I did manage to kill her.”

“Avada Kedavra!”

Lord Voldemort stalked out of the room as his servant fell. None of the other Death Eaters dared to ask where he was going or why Lestrange was dead. Tom walked to his private rooms and stood gazing at the amethyst chess set he’d had made for Lydia. The board was set up, waiting for her. He swallowed as a lump rose in his throat.

This was a type of pain he had never before experienced. Never again would he play a game of chess with her, never again would he be able to have a conversation with her, never again would her amethyst eyes look into his.

If this was love, then Dumbledore was a greater fool than he had believed. Love wasn’t a power; it was a weakness. In that moment Lord Voldemort resolved to never love anyone again. The amethyst chess set was locked away, never to be used.