Her eyes connect with yours across the heads of other Slytherins and Ravenclaws as they eat. She smiles. It is a secret smile, a smile which belongs only to you. You know that. She never smiled before she met you. Yet even though she is smiling, you can see that forlorn look in her eyes; the loneliness, the feeling of rejection. It’s the thing that drew you to her, because when you looked in the mirror in the mornings, when you were entirely alone, able to be yourself, you saw that look reflected back at you.

Of course, no-one else has ever seen that look in your eyes. When others look into your eyes, they see confidence, intelligence, handsomeness. And they will never see anything more. Even she won’t. You often think you’re stupid for going after her, simply for curiosity. You shouldn’t have chosen her, not when you could have had anyone. You know you could have, except for perhaps a few arrogant and supposedly brave Gryffindors.

You should have chosen a Slytherin Pureblood. People in the wider Wizarding world were beginning to talk about you – perhaps Slughorn had benefits after all – and you know that no Pureblood father would object to you courting his daughter. You would be a catch.

But those girls are not interesting. They hitch their skirts up ‘accidentally’ with their bags when you walk past, batting their eyelids. You don’t need a girl to follow you and be devoted; you already have a group of easy manipulated and faithful followers. You know that some of the Knights have started looking at girls, and you don’t begrudge them this. After all, they will need a position in society after school. Your plans for the future don’t involve being presentable in society.

You know you couldn’t have picked one of those silly Slytherin girls anyway; you would have told them it was to be a secret and they would have batted their eyelids and agreed, but still told their best friend, who would have spread it around and then people would know. And people can’t know. It would be a sign of weakness.

So you chose her. The lonely Ravenclaw. The girl who slides into books to hide from being bullied, who won’t let the tears who until she is alone. The girl who has become haughty simply to protect herself. You knew that she could keep a secret; who would she have to share it with?

So you entered the library purposefully when it was full, and the only spot at her table. You sat down. She had lank, dark hair which was tied into a ponytail. She was only a fourth-year, barely fifteen, and her acne-covered and bespectacled face were testament that she hadn’t yet outgrown the awkwardness of puberty.

“You don’t mind, do you? All the other tables are full...�

“Yes – I mean, no, no I don’t mind. It’s fine,� she replied, evidently thrown. You smiled at her.

You watched her from behind the book you made a pretence at reading. You were curious. What would her response be?

You smiled to yourself as you saw her look up at you a few times, fighting between curiosity and self-loathing.

“What’s that book you’re reading?� she finally asked. “This? Oh, just something on ancient potions.�

“For Slughorn?�

“No, I’ve already done my homework. I just like to do... extra research.� You smiled to yourself. If only she knew what it was that you researched... “I’ve read most of the books in this library by now.�

“Really? I’ve finished my homework too, I just read this for enjoyment.� You could tell that she was trying to impress you and that she longed for you to care for her. You smiled at her. You had always been good at pretending.

You continued to study with her, ever curious. You always made it look like an accident that you sat together and you rarely spoke. She may have been ugly and lonely, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t smart. She had figured out that you didn’t want to be seen with her, perhaps she had always known. She was a Mudblood, after all. She also seemed to know that to you she was more than a brief acquaintance forged for the convenience of using the same desk in the library, though her eyes showed that she didn’t dare to hope it.

The warm spring sun glistened through the windows of the nearly deserted library; the rest of the students were out by the lake enjoying it, but she was at her usual table, studying, as always. She looked comfortable, yet so alone. Barely a whisper amongst the immortality of books.

You sat down opposite her. Her eyes lit up, almost hiding the ever present pain. It was a strange feeling, to be able to command someone’s feelings so easily.

She was writing an essay on Swelling Solutions – you could see the question from where you sat and could have done it in an instant, but she was obviously struggling. You felt compelled to help her. It was a feeling you were unfamiliar with, but you couldn’t see any harm in it.

“Do you need some help?�

She looked at you in surprise, her eyes finally alive.

“That – that would be nice, umm, if you don’t mind.�

You stood up and sat down next to her. You could feel the heat of her body beside you. Her breathing quickened as you began to explain where she had gone wrong.

An hour later you were chatting comfortably. It felt bizarre to you. You didn’t speak unless there was a purpose – persuading someone to do your wishes, conveying important information.

“Tom?� she looked at you shyly. “I was wondering, could we – I mean, would it be possible if we could meet more often?� You looked at her lit up eyes and felt powerful. With a single word, you could crush her.

But you hadn’t satisfied your curiosity yet.

“Okay. But we can’t meet in public. You know what my friends would say...�

She looked down uncomfortably, suddenly aware of this difference between you.

“You know I don’t mind it, don’t you?� you whispered. She smiled uncertainly. How silly humans can be, you thought. Was she so determined to hear that answer that she didn’t bother looking further, or were you really such a good actor?

You began to see her more often. Sneaking into unused classrooms at breaks or at night. Sometimes you met in the kitchens. You even dared to show her the Come and Go Room, your personal secret at Hogwarts.

Initially you only talked about commonplace things: school, classes, roommates. Eventually she began to confide in you.

“My parents hate me, you know. They think I’m a weird freak; they can’t stand magic. They never liked me much anyway. Being clever didn’t matter to them; I was ugly and unpopular. And now they know there’s something wrong with me. They refuse to pick me up at King’s Cross and they never come to Diagon Alley. I’ve had to do it by myself since I was eleven. Even when I was little, they were often out. I suppose I’ve always been lonely.�

You comforted her, sounded like you cared. And gradually you began to tell her things in return.

“I was brought up in a Muggle orphanage, I don’t even know who my parents are.� She gasped at that. You supposed that you had done a good job of making your life at Hogwarts look perfect. “It’s horrible there, the other children have always hated me because I’m different.� How you were going to show those filthy Muggle children one day...

So now you are sitting in the Great Hall, sharing covert glances with each other. No-one suspects what is happening. She has no friends, no-one watches where she looks, and you are popular enough at school that looking at the Ravenclaw table is not unusual.

She is smiling at you with those deep eyes. You will see here again tonight, and you can’t help but feel a little excitement.

It is nothing like what you felt last night, though, when you finally had your breakthrough. When you discovered the entrance. When the Chamber of Secrets was opened. Finally this school would be rid of those unworthy to attend it. At the time you didn’t think about the fact that she was a filthy Mudblood, too.

The darkness surrounds you. She is with you, in a deserted Transfiguration classroom. She is crying. You hate tears. They show weakness. But you pretend you understand. She says something about being bullied by a girl in her class, Olive Hornby, and you put an arm around her and say comforting words.

She is looking up at you and her eyes draw you in. Your head is moving closer to hers. You can feel her hot breath on your cheeks, taste the salt of her tears, feel your lips brush against hers.

When she leaves, she is smiling more than ever. Even you can’t keep a smile off your face. You keep seeing her, every night. You are almost addicted to her kisses, to seeing her face.

Your mind is always occupied by the Chamber, though, and she can tell that something is wrong. So you tell her the story you plan to feed to the Headmaster as well, that if the attacks continue, Hogwarts will close and you will no longer have a home. It is partially true. You have never known a home other than Hogwarts.

The end of May is nearing, and one day you see two Gryffindors walking out to the lake, arm in arm. They stare into each others’ eyes and hold their arms around each other. Are you that pathetic? Has some kind of lust taken you over? For it can’t be love, as those Gryffindors would say. Love doesn’t exist.

You find yourself longing to see her all the time. You can’t let her control you like this; she means nothing. She is a Mudblood, not even worthy to speak to you. You were only curious. She has satisfied your curiosity. She has no more use.

It is all too easy. You watch Olive Hornby tease her near that bathroom and you smile to yourself. No longer will she haunt you. And thus as you take the first step towards immortality, you destroy her life. She has stolen something from you, something you never knew you had, and she must pay for it.

Your heart.