The castle of Hogwarts was eerily silent after curfew, corridors sprawling out like veins of a slumbering giant. Only the soft shuffle of my slippers against the stone broke the quiet, and perhaps the distant creak of the castle settling.
I hugged my arms around myself, scowling at the traitorous rumble in my stomach.
How utterly typical. I, Carina Malfoy, survivor of Beauxbatons scandals , was reduced to wandering the cold halls of Hogwarts like some common first year all because I had, in my infinite charm, fallen asleep and missed dinner.
"This is what I get for trusting my bed," I muttered under my breath.
Finding the kitchens, however, was another matter entirely.
I vaguely recalled someone probably Alexie between giggles mentioning it was hidden behind a portrait of a fruit bowl somewhere near the Hufflepuff common room.
I was rounding a corner, contemplating if I should simply seduce a painting into telling me directions, when fortune or something more cunning smiled on me.
There, striding with the languid confidence of someone far too important to be awake at this hour, was Tom Riddle. His prefect badge gleamed under the torchlight as he completed his patrol, all polished shoes and inky robes, looking every inch the prince of the shadows.
I smiled slowly to myself.
Perfect.
"Tom!" I called, my voice sweet as syrup.
He turned, sharply at first, hand reaching instinctively for his wand, before relaxing slightly as he recognized me. His dark brows furrowed in faint irritation, as if unsure whether to be suspicious or amused.
I sauntered closer, reaching out and placing a hand lightly on his shoulder.
He stiffened at the contact for a fraction of a second startled, I realized, and thrilled. Then, slowly, almost lazily, he circled his hand around my waist, pulling me infinitesimally closer. His touch was possessive without permission.
"And why, exactly," he drawled, voice low and silk-soft, "are you skulking about the castle after hours, Carina?"
I tilted my chin up at him, deliberately brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. "I just woke up," I said sweetly. "Missed dinner. And now, I'm famished."
I gave him a deliberate once-over, lips twitching into a smirk. "Luckily, you're a prefect. Which means you're honor-bound to help poor, helpless students find food, yes?"
He arched a brow, skeptical. "Why would I?"
I leaned closer, until my perfume jasmine and dark berries filled the small space between us. My voice dropped to a purr.
"Because you like me far too much to say no."
Before he could respond, I pressed a quick kiss to his mouth, bold and fleeting — the kind of kiss that said catch me if you can.
His mouth moved against mine in a brief moment of heated surprise before I pulled away, smirking.
"And," I added mischievously, tapping his chest lightly with one manicured finger, "I'm not going to be full eating your face. I want real food. Come on."
He stared at me for a long beat then sighed in a way that was more amused than annoyed.
"You're insufferable," Tom murmured.
"And you're adorable when you're exasperated," I shot back, tugging lightly on his sleeve. "Come now, darling. You wouldn't let a lady starve, would you?"
He rolled his eyes but began to walk, hand still resting lightly at the small of my back a gesture that was at once protective and possessive, whether he realized it or not.
We made our way through the castle, a pair of sleek predators in the night.
The kitchens, when we finally reached them, were hidden behind a portrait of a massive fruit bowl. Tom reached out without hesitation and tickled the pear. It giggled — actually giggled — and turned into a door handle.
The door swung open, revealing the Hogwarts kitchens: a vast room full of gleaming copper pots, floating wooden spoons, and dozens of house-elves bustling about under enchanted lanterns.
The smell was enough to make me nearly swoon freshly baked bread, roast meats, honeyed puddings, buttered potatoes, spiced pumpkin tarts...
A house-elf in a tea-towel toga scampered up immediately, bowing so low his nose touched the floor.
"What can tobby be getting for the young mistress and master?" he squeaked.
I leaned down slightly, beaming. "Is there any food left from dinner?"
"Of course, miss! Plenty! What would you be liking?"
Tom watched, bemused, as I was promptly ushered to a heavy oak table where plates began to appear like magic: a steaming roast chicken, a bowl of garlic mashed potatoes, rich gravy, buttered peas, hot rolls, and even a tray of assorted desserts — treacle tarts, pumpkin pasties, sticky toffee pudding.
I clapped my hands in delight. "You spoil me!"
Tom pulled out a chair for himself across from me, lounging with effortless grace, watching as I attacked the feast with unapologetic hunger.
He rested his chin on one hand, studying me with an intensity that made my skin tingle.
"What," he said finally, voice amused, "did Slughorn say to you earlier?"
I swallowed a bite of chicken, licking a bit of gravy from my finger in a manner I knew was utterly distracting. His eyes darkened almost imperceptibly.
"Oh," I said airily, "he invited me to his super supper club."
I winked at him.
Tom smirked, tapping a finger against the table. "Did he now?"
"Mmhmm," I hummed, savoring a bite of toffee pudding. "He said I was 'promising'."
I batted my lashes at Tom. "A future star, apparently."
He laughed quietly, a rare, genuine sound.
"You always did know how to charm fools."
"And you," I said sweetly, "are very nearly not a fool at all."
He chuckled again, dark and low.
I leaned forward, propping my chin on my hand. "Tom," I said coyly, "would you like to come with me to the supper this Friday?"
He raised a brow, intrigued. "Why?"
I pouted prettily. "Because I'll be so bored without you there to make snide comments in my ear?"
He considered this, then gave a single nod. "Alright."
I beamed. "Splendid."
We ate for a few more minutes in companionable silence, the occasional clatter of utensils and the low murmurs of the house-elves filling the air.
Then, between bites of pumpkin tart, I said lightly, "You know, Christmas break is coming."
Tom glanced at me, cautious. "Yes."
"And you're going to Gringotts, aren't you?" I asked, licking a bit of filling off my spoon.
He nodded slowly. "To arrange... certain matters."
I leaned back in my chair, stretching like a lazy cat. "Wonderful," I purred. "The sooner you sort out your inheritance and heirship, the better."
Then Tom said, carefully, "You could come with me."
I pretended to ponder this, twirling a strand of hair around my finger. "Gringotts with you? How romantic."
He gave me a dry look.
"I suppose," I sighed dramatically, "I could find the time. It would be terribly irresponsible to let you go alone, after all."
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