Chapter Seven: Patronus.

The silence caressed her skin like a warm summer breeze, soothing her soul and smoothing out her worries, taking away the jagged edges and rough exterior. It hung over her like a protective spell, encasing the young brunette in an envelope of secure, serene silence that allowed the blue-eyed pureblood witch to drift off into her own world. An olive hand reached forward, its digits grazing over the ragged texture of a role of parchment as yet another hand fiddled with a quill.

Soft feathers brushed against the tranquil and benevolent brunette pureblood's cheek and chin as she reclined back in her seat, examining the conclusion of her essay. A hum cut through her bubble of silence, light enough to ensure her blissful silence wasn't tampered with, yet loud enough to be easily heard. Blue eyes scanned over the last sentence, the vivid language and narrative inebriating the young witch and bringing forth a satisfied smile.

"Expecto Patronum!"

The spell cut through the curtain of silence, a prominent hiss following after as the wand weaver failed to procreate his desired creation. Yew wood pounded against black robes, porcelain hands clenching and unclenching around the wand as a groan left its owner's body. The sound was followed by a sneer as he brought his other hand up to skim over his brown locks, pausing as his digits met his cool temple.

"You must be enjoying the once in a lifetime opportunity, Black."

"Don't be so egotistical-" Cordelia shifted in her seat, locking eyes with the male in question. "-you've failed at conjuring spells prior to this conversation. In fact, this just proves your inferiority and lack of conviction."

Tom sneered as he cast a Dipulso, making the seat beside Cordelia fly towards the wall. A wailing shatter pierced through the room, breaking the fragile bits of tranquillity Cordelia had been holding onto. The impetuous destruction wasn't surprising, for Riddle had been fruitlessly attempting to configure a Patronus for the past hour. It was about time his top blew off.

It didn't help that he had spent close to twenty minutes fixing the wounds afflicted onto him the previous day. Wounds that were a rebuttal for his Crucio. Riddle's ego had most definitely been wounded, thus he refused to engage in conversation with her. Frankly, Cordelia was surprised he hadn't hexed her the second she entered the classroom, his flimsy greeting leaving the pureblood witch baffled. Perhaps he chose to have a truce for their time in the abandoned classroom.

Or perhaps he was merely planning his next move. It was why Cordelia refused to assist him. Most people would've given in and helped their fellow snake halfway through the previous hour, but Lia revelled in his failure, amusedly gazing at his frustrated form as Tom jabbed his wand into the air, conjuring mild bursts of silver each time. It was quite queer how Cordelia had a change of heart as she gazed at her academic rival, almost pitying him as her eyes landed on his rumpled hair, haphazardly loosened tie and clenched palms.

'Winning the Tournament won't be any fun if Riddle isn't present for me to rub it in his face.'

The egoistical Black-McMillan heir had previously intended to ignore the malignant boy and revel in his failure. But a frown danced onto her face as she contemplated Slughorn's disappointment if and when he realized she had failed to assist the Riddle heir.

She once again sighed, unsure of how to aid the blithering idiot while catering to his ego. Cordelia wasn't naive enough to presume Riddle would allow her to correct him and let her watch as she was the key to his success in conjuring a Patronus. The young pureblood contemplated her options, settling for the most obvious one.

'He should better have one hell of a Patronus.'

Ivory digits danced over the parchment, signing off her Transfiguration essay with a swift mention of her name and the date. Lia stretched her limbs and gazed at Riddle sighing as she packed up her belongings. When everything was neatly placed into her satchel, Cordelia turned towards him, clearing her throat to access his undivided attention.

"You're forcing it too much. A Patronus is produced by a happy memory, but your frustration regarding your inability to produce one is overshadowing your memory."

Cordelia was surprised by the sneer sent her way, neither did she retaliate when he loomed over her. His five elven height and uncouth mannerism might've been intimidating to other people, but Cordelia wasn't one to be intimidated easily, thus she stood her ground.

"Trust me, Black, the last thing I require is your minimal expertise."

She scoffed, well aware that she was the only one their age in his propinquity who would even contemplate assisting him. Tom Riddle might be a charmer and a great student, but he failed miserably in the art of friendship, ensuring the only people who would come close to him were his followers, nothing more.

"Well, then I'll leave you to figure out which memory of yours bought you happiness."

Her heels clicked against the abandoned classroom's floor, the sharp sounds halting as she reached for the doorknob.

"Don't forget, when you focus on that memory and let it fill him up, that's when you'll be successful. Good day, Riddle."

The sarcastic goodbye was met by a sardonic response as Tom turned away, allowing her to leave and concealing the frown plastered onto his face.

As Cordelia retreated to the common room to spend some time lounging in languid leisure, Tom couldn't help but presume whether or not her advice was sincere, leaving him to ponder over her last sentence. Leaving him in gyrating through a sea of thoughts. Incertitude was evident in his demeanour as he pressed his back onto the wall, thinking of reasons why she would have bothered attempting to sincerely help him.

So that she could gloat about it.

When his curiosity had been clenched by a decision, Tom retired to thinking of moments that elicited a spark of positive emotions from him. As an Amortentia child, it wasn't easy for him to conjure up such memories, his position as a product of the infamous love potion blocking out any stem of happiness.

Yet something in the back of his mind disagreed, pressing that a memory lived wherein he was...idyllic.

The thought itself seemed improbable, declaring an Amortentia child could have emotions was unprecedented and daft. But Tom disagreed as he reminisced on the moment, he had first laid eyes on Hogwarts. The teenager would never acknowledge the memory and chose to ignore his child-like tendencies. But at that moment he couldn't help but remember how he genuinely thought that he had found a home.

It wasn't happiness he felt, he knew that, but it was something and that something was enough considering he had never felt any other positive or remotely assertive emotions. Brown eyes were shielded by their lids as Tom closed his eyes, remembering the moment to the best of his abilities.

Steam poured out of the train's engine, a shrilling chime following right after as the mechanical body surged forward, halting right at the station for the magical school. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. That name had been stuck in his head ever since Tom had thoroughly read the acceptance letter. The young tween sincerely hoped the school lived up to his expectations.

Dark brown booties hit the compartment's floor as the young boy straightened out his outfit, a pale hand reaching for the overhead shelf. When young Mr Riddle had finally retrieved his trunk, he set off to the front of the train, wanting to exit the stuffy mechanical tube as soon as possible.

A queue of sorts formed in the corridor as each student eagerly awaited their chance to get off the train, groups of people either lining up or standing in circles as they conversed or nervously shifted from left to right. One of these students seemed to catch Tom's eye. It was a blonde boy with aristocratic features and an egoistical air around him, his arms were free from any bags, a bulkier boy behind seemingly carrying the blonde's trunk.

When blue eyes met Tom's murky brown, the boy extended out his palm, choosing to introduce himself with a prideful tone.

"I'm Abarax Malfoy, pureblood and first year, what about you?"

Tom hesitantly took hold of Abarax's hand, choosing to mimic his introduction.

"Tom Riddle, first year as well."

He expected Abarax to continue their conversation, but instead, the boy squinted his eyes and released their handshake.

"And what of your blood status? You're not a filthy mudblood, are you?"

Tom's eyebrows furrowed, unaware of the cognomen's meaning.

"Pardon?"

At this Malfoy frowned, choosing to throw emphasis on his prior words.

"Mudblood. You know, those filthy things that have two muggle parents but still consider themselves witches and wizards."

A light bulb of sorts popped into Tom's head, allowing him to shake his head and reply negatively with finality.

"I'm not a mudblood. My father was a wizard."

Tom scoffed at the version of himself in the memory, frowning upon his younger self's naive ways but simultaneously delving deeper into the vision.

Abarax grinned, once again taking hold of Tom's hand.

"Well, Tom Riddle, do you know what house you want to be sorted into? I'll most definitely be sorted into Slytherin, after all, all purebloods with any sort of reputation are sorted in the noble house."

Tom grinned, assuring himself that he had found a place to belong.

"Then I shall certainly be sorted into Slytherin too."

Abarax laughed as he stepped down from the train, his lackey following right after.

"I'm sure you'll fit right in."

The young brunette boy hadn't noticed they were already in the front of the train and near a lake until his acquaintance decided to enlighten him to the sea creatures present under the dark waters.

They settled down into a boat, continuing their conversation and allowing the topic to stray from the school to Slytherin, Malfoy's family, and other such topics. As Tom's blonde companion proceeded to yap on regarding his new broomstick, and how it was unfair they couldn't bring the instrument as first years, a majestic sight met the Riddle heir's eyes.

There, at the top of a tall hill, was stationed a castle that resembled what Tom previously presumed a king's house would look like. Each turret and tower was lit up with orange lights, allowing the grand spectacle to be coated in a warm and welcoming hue.

Malfoy seemed to notice his acquaintance's lack of response, turning his head and joining Tom as they both revelled at the sight laid out before them.

It wasn't like anything Tom had ever seen and seemed almost too good to be true. The mere size of the building had Tom contemplating whether or not the past month had merely been a dream conjured up by his wildest imagination. After all, the castle itself made nobility and gentry seem like trash.

"Is this-" appalled by the mere size of the structure, Tom had to pause before forming his sentence.

"-Is this Hogwarts?"

"Of course! It's grand, isn't it? My father said it was nothing like I'd ever seen, I thought he was bluffing until now."

Tom chose to ignore the latter half of Abarax's sentence, turning back towards the castle as his thoughts drifted to his new home. For that was what this place, and the people, felt like.

The young Riddle had never quite experienced such a feeling around any other person, place or object. He had never considered anything in his life remotely close to the vivid descriptions he had read regarding one's home. But even though the void in his heart that caused him the inability to form any emotions was quite evident, Tom felt something.

It was brief, almost non-existent. But it was magical, and it was enough.

A sigh escaped his body as Tom let that feeling fill him up, allowing his shoulders to unwind and his fingers to flex around the yew wood and Pheonix feather wand clutched in his palm.

His eyes rolled back as he simply focused on that one memory, desperately grasping the slither of emotion. Whether it was merely content or hopefulness, he wasn't sure, but it seemed to be doing the job.

"Expecto Patronum."

The words were merely a whisper compared to the harsh hisses he had elicited for the past hour. His hand desperately clutched the wand as a bright light shined on the other side of his eyelids, one that was stronger than all of the whisps of silver light he had conjured.

Still, Tom refused to open his eyes, afraid to jinx it and ruin the prowess.

When brown eyes finally peeled open, they were met with a wispy, silver black mamba curling around Tom's feet as the snake poised its head back, almost as if it were ready to strike any evident danger.

"I guess she's not completely useless after all."

The words caused the snake to turn towards him, allowing Riddle to examine, extinguish and reconjure. He spent the greater part of the next half an hour in that room, expertly performing the spell to his satisfaction.

His feet halted as they prepared to leave, eyes landing on the slip of torn off parchment left behind on the only desk in the classroom.

"You're a peculiar thing, Cordelia Black."