14. Moglies and Mist

Luna followed Nigel into a shadowy corner of the dance floor.

"Dirigible plum?" she offered, reaching into her pockets to fish out a piece of bright fuchsia fruit when they stopped. He grinned at it, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"Dare I try one?"

"Well, they are rumored to be highly intoxicating. Hangover inducing, you understand."

"If there's alcohol, how can I refuse?" Sinking his teeth into the radish-like object, he promptly spat it out, sputtering. "…What's in this, Firewhiskey?"

"Only if you ferment it."

He snorted. "I'll keep that in mind. In all seriousness, though, I did have something to talk to you about."

"Chirp away," Luna invited brightly.

"Had your father ever mentioned his will to you?"

Faintly uneasy at the sudden intensity of his bright blue gaze, she slowly shook her head. "I don't think so. Father always believed he was invincible – I didn't even know he had a will, to be honest."

"That's probably because he stipulated a betrothal in case of his death."

"A betrothal?" she repeated blankly.

Nigel frowned, an uncertain furrow carved between thick brows. The angle of the dim lights cast half his face into sharp relief; in profile, he appeared far less boyish. Almost – but she was just being silly. This was Nigel, one of her only true friends in this time, who'd shown his compassion on more than one occasion. "He didn't believe that he was invincible at all, Luna. I think he knew."

Knew that he would be murdered.

All air escaped her lungs and refused to return.

"He wanted you to be safe," he continued, but he seemed very far away, not quite of this world. "After what happened with Gladys – "

Gladys.

A sunny day. Too sunny. Bright white rays reflected off a gleaming knife blade. Green-gray terror. Something touched her shoulder. The panic seized her too; her heart seemed to stop working, and her wand reflexively pinpointed the nearest throat, magic gathering for a curse –

And the gentle pressure grew heavier as strong hands burrowed into her skin, the tangible pain shocking her out of her fantastic absorption. Loud gasps rang out through the harsh stillness. As she reoriented herself, she realized with no small amount of shock that she was the culprit.

"Nigel, I didn't mean – "

"Actually, Tom would prefer it if you took your wand off his jugular."

Luna's tenuous control fled at that smooth baritone. Whirling around, she met a cool, dark gaze, stirring with the vaguest signs of hostility.

"You startled me!"

"Apparently." He stared past her to Nigel, brushing her off as if she were no more than a feebly fluttering Flibberfly. "What did you do to her?"

"That's none of your business."

Luna watched as if Stupefied – was Nigel stupid, to oppose the Dark Lord? And Riddle, defending her?

"My business? I was merely saving you from embarrassment, Greengrass. If Hogwarts's new savior was found to be so disturbed, especially by someone with such unsavory rumors swirling around him – " Riddle examined long, elegant nails in a parody of nonchalance. "Well."

Hatred blazed in Nigel's face. "I did nothing."

"You upset her to the extent that she was choking." Riddle's voice was lethally soft. "Perhaps a little reminder of how much that feels like 'nothing' is in order?"

Terror for Nigel overcame Luna's petrified state.

"Spells," she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Tom, I promised to teach you Cavernis, remember?"

He stiffened, slight wariness making its way into deep green pools. "What of it?"

"Let's go now."

And casting an apologetic look at Nigel, she turned sharply on her heel and walked away.

It was a long, silent trek to the far meadow, away from any and all other students and professors. Luna kept a wary eye on Riddle as he sprawled on one of the comfortable Samhain-themed constructs, an impossibly languid movement given his perfect posture. Just because the Wrackspurts were hiding didn't mean that they weren't there.

"Let's see it," he drawled.

"Pardon?"

"The spell. Unless it's a bad time – ?"

"I wouldn't have pulled you from the party if it was," Luna pointed out. His easy smile made her stomach turn, a not-entirely-unpleasant flock of unruly dragonflies flittering inside. What was he playing at?

He raised his eyebrows and waited.

Reluctantly, she drew her wand and pointed at a Moonberry bush. Swish, flick, swipe. "Cavernis!"

Nothing.

Luna stared at her hand in disbelief, then aimed a scathing glare at Riddle.

"You knew," she accused, irritation seeping out at how absurdly smug he could appear without any sort of facial expression. Perhaps his ego was so large that it required separate manifestation.

"Light witch, dark spell – remember that conversation we had about Samhain's polarizing properties?"

Stupid, berated Rationality. It took an inordinate amount of effort to keep the self-deprecating "duh" from making an entrance. Instead, her eyes widened in guileless bewilderment. "I can't possibly be a light witch. I'm a Slytherin, remember?"

"You liveto destroy societal norms," Riddle said dryly, giving Luna a slow perusal. Unlike most other teenage boys of her acquaintance, his eyes lingered not on her not-nonexistent chest but instead on the radish earrings and corkscrew necklace to emphasize his point. Then again, Riddle wasn't the average going-on-eighteen in any aspect. (And she didn'twant the Dark Lord ogling her. Really, she didn't.)

Luna beamed.

"Really, Tom, that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me! Freeing the sheeple from their horrendous oppressors of imagination has been Daddy and I's goal since I was five, you know."

His lips twitched. "Sheeple?"

"Sheep and people, although the difference is so indistinguishable that the two words are really somewhat redundant – "

"I understand, thank you," he said, gratitude dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh, good. I wasn't sure."

"You take such a low view of my intelligence."

"Or maybe you take an exceptionally high one."

For a fleeting moment, Luna thought he would curse her. But it was a low chuckle rather than an incantation that was voiced: a deep, smooth sound of genuine humor.

"Perhaps," Riddle allowed. Keen eyes assessed her, a panther's looking for blind spots in its prey. "But questions of intelligence aside, I am not so easily distracted. Who is Gladys?"

Her wand glowed green as her terror flooded into it, small knuckles white. She had to make them go away. Or at least away from –

Her temples throbbed.

"Can't remember." Her voice – Luna Faulkner's voice – was shaking. Gladys, the little girl in the first memory of Luna Faulkner's she'd ever seen, back in Professor Dumbledore's office more than a month ago. Whose very mention sent the Queen of Migraines hurtling at her mind like an attacking canine.

"Can't, or don't want to?"

She swallowed. "Both."

"But Greengrass knows." His expression was inscrutable.

"Yes, Nigel does."

"And you're not worried by that?"

She jerked. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"He seems to know a library's worth of information about you. More than you know about yourself, in fact, due to your amnesia. You were also very much estranged up until your accident."

"So?"

Riddle shrugged one shoulder, an elegantly nonchalant gesture that grated on Luna's nerves. "There's a distinct possibility he's taking advantage of you."

"Nigel would never!" she exclaimed furiously. "He's my friend – "

"Is he?" He leaned forward, velvety baritone suddenly low and intense. "You may have forgotten the reasons behind your mutual antipathy, Luna, but I assure you, he has not. And with your memory being a blank slate and his extensive knowledge of your history, it would be quite easy for him to enact whatever plans he sees fit."

"You're lying."

Crimson lips twisted into a sneer. "So sure of yourself."

"More so than I'm sure of you." The high, cutting laugh didn't sound like hers. "You crucioed me – "

"Not without extreme provocation," he parried coldly, "and I also saved your life. If I truly wished you harm, I would have left you to die."

Lord Voldemort is a master of deceit, warned Rationality.

But…Morgana, Riddle had a point. Nigel had carried a chip on his shoulder the first time they'd met. They had a history she knew nothing of; he had called her names. And then, suddenly, that day at the lake he turned a complete one-eighty. A spin that stemmed from his certainty that she was "different" – that she'd lost her memory? That she was open to manipulation? Nigel had both method and motive –

No!

"Nigel Greengrass is worth ten of you," she bit out.

Riddle's eyes flashed as he stood, cushions scattering on the floor. "I'm trying to ensure your wellbeing, and you're making it extremely difficult – "

"Why do you even care?"

She didn't realize she was shouting until she heard the frozen silence. Seconds passed, the clock ticking with disturbing regularity in the corner as he stared at her. A muscle jumped in his jaw. He's angry.

She should have been afraid. Really, she needed to be afraid. But all she could think was that the miniscule movement in the granite mask made him seem a tiny bit human.

"Does it matter? You've made it quite clear you don't trust me."

It would be so easy to agree. In fact, it was probably true: she expected him to lie, to steal, to murder. Then again, whispered traitorous Rationality, you also expected him to let you die.

"No, I don't," she murmured. Her gaze found shuttered viridian eyes, almost glowing green in the darkness. "But – Riddle – I – " Her tongue felt clumsy and twisted in her mouth, unable to form the right words. "I – I don't not – I respect you."

And, with a jolt, she realized it was true.

She might not trust him, but her respect – his unerring logic, his brilliant mind, his easy dealings with his teachers and peers, his inexplicable concern for her, his well-reasoned moderate stance on the Muggles (whether or not she agreed), and the fact that he had risked his life to save hers – she owed him that much, at least.

Lord Voldemort had never been a figure worthy of much. Horror, yes, but never admiration, never quiet contemplation, never anything but terror and hatred. Riddle inspired something altogether different. Something equally intense, if not more so; a healthy fear, edged with gratefulness and, more than that, an intoxicating sense of feeling so very alive, alive in a way she had not felt in a very long time, with each muscle and nerve burning within her, full of energy and zest.

"Oh?" His smooth baritone was quiet, dangerously so. And, now that she'd pinpointed it, recognized it, she was aware of the fire in her veins heating up and fizzling at that single word, that magnetic draw her Occlumency was so effective at blocking seeping back through her shields.

"I didn't think you would want a lie," Luna stated simply. At some point, she, too, had risen without even noticing. She wasn't sure which of them had moved towards the other first. They were close, now, close enough that she could almost hear the beating of a heart she hadn't known existed (and still doubted the existence of). "I don't trust you, Tom, because I know you well enough to know I shouldn't."

Something strange and almost uncertain, something that she'd never seen before, flashed in his emerald eyes so fleetingly that she wondered if she'd imagined it.

"I see."

She shook her head. Tangled blonde locks swung around pale, ethereal skin, a soft strand lightly brushing his collar with the movement. "Moglies and mist."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You think you see, but you don't."

How could he? Compassion muttered irritably. After all, you don't yourself.

He trapped her so quickly. A single concise movement, and his hands were digging like iron bands into her arms, that crimson haze spreading over glowing green. For a moment, she thought he would shake her until her teeth rattled. It took an impossible amount of effort to prevent herself from trembling.

His lip curled. "Stop speaking in riddles."

"I'm not," she protested sincerely.

"You are." He paused, dark eyes still glittering with fury. "You know, I have never let someone who irritated me this much survive this long."

She should be terrified. Not so long ago, before that fateful visit to Hogsmeade, she would have been. Instead, her lips twitched in ill-concealed humor born of either nerves or hysteria.

"Should I feel honored?"

The twist to his mouth – just full enough to be enticing, not so much so that it appeared to be forever pouting or effeminate – faded; although the red didn't fully recede, his grip loosened enough that she could feel some of the blood rushing back into her palms.

"Only you, Luna."

He sounded almost fond. Utter amazement at Tom Riddle sounding almost fond was probably what did it. Mixed with the adrenaline and the headiness that was starting to spill into her with the wild magic infusing the air due to the holiday, it was probably the equivalent of a narcotic.

She laughed.

Her head tipped back, hair swinging in knotted disarray. The heat radiating from his body was apparent on the frigid October night, magnified a thousand-fold in the strange, prickling adrenaline that was sweeping through her. An impish smile appeared on her face as she finally welcomed the headiness of Samhain night. She hadn't felt this light, this pure, in a very long time; her inhibitions vanished further with each passing second.

Alone, in a field, all the other students far enough they were almost out of sight, with the Samhain-induced rush frothing in her veins, it was as if a strange force drew her towards the man who'd saved her life not so long ago. If she wanted to satisfy her curiosity…to save everyone…

Golden opportunity, Rationality justified. You've unbalanced him. Who knows when you'll have such a chance again?

"If I'm so special, dance with me," she whispered, before she could lose her nerve. It wasn't quite a command, but neither was it a request. Genuine shock flittered through his expression; usually, he concealed any signs of human weakness at all cost. She had surprised him.

She surprised herself.

He recovered quickly, pointing out sardonically, "There's no music, Faulkner."

"Just because you can't hear it doesn't mean it isn't there."

"Your propensity for believing in things that don't exist – "

Marveling at her own audacity, she slipped a finger against his lips.

It crept closer, the soft hum of wind that gradually became the reedy notes of a flute, and then a full orchestra. This piece of enchantment had been the trickiest part – to make the music sing only for those listened. Something flickered briefly across the planes of his face before he shook himself, cold calculation returning to its customary place.

"I don't dance."

"Oh," she said softly, secretly relishing the stiffness he was for once failing to hide, "I didn't realize that you can't – "

He moved with sudden, lethal grace. Long fingers grazed the small of her back before settling there. Somehow, even though there was still that persistent little voice telling her to get away at all costs, she felt…secure. Balanced, in a way she hadn't been for a very long time.

It's only the Samhain magic.

"Goading me towards your nefarious goals," he murmured as he captured her right hand in an almost-painful grip. "Perhaps you're a proper Slytherin after all."

She grinned. "It worked."

And they moved.

It was not a perfect waltz, not at first. Luna both preferred to count in four and twirl at impulse, which resulted in some unfortunate collisions. And Riddle, for all his pretensions, was not an experienced dancer, and not at ease; he was stiff and unyielding, the antithesis of her free-flowing movements. If not for the magic, tangibly surrounding each and every step they took, they would have likely yielded to the awkwardness. But that thick something remained.

She began to spin every three cycles.

He relaxed enough to let her.

She stopped treading on his feet.

His count expanded to twelve.

She finally met his eyes – and held them.

He gave her the faintest of smiles.

And neither of them noticed that, as the song wore on, they gravitated closer and closer to each other.

A/N: I'm so sorry. Really. This chapter took almost a year to come out. I don't really have a good excuse, other than some form of really intense writers block. I'm incredibly grateful for all the support - to everyone who reviewed, you guys are amazing. Actually, it was the constant reviews that made me come back to this story - I regained my interest.

Hope you enjoyed this update. Please drop by with a review :)

-Alle