Voldemort's Origins Chapter 1

"There was something about him that was alluring. Individually, his features were alarming, precarious even, but placed together they created a perfect balance all the more pleasing to the eye. He was handsome, yet unsettling. She couldn't help but be reminded of a siren, a beautiful creature intent on luring sailors to their deaths with an enchanting lullaby. Such a similarity should have been warning enough. Then again, she'd never been one to exercise caution."

Foretaste

There were days when she would glimpse him in passing.

The halls of Hogwarts were always bustling with students, but it was during the lunch hour and between class periods when the corridors would erupt with a clatter of hurried footsteps and impatient elbows. Seats were the problem; not where she sat, never where she sat, but where others sat.

The teenagers of the grounds were social junkies high on interaction. Friends would group together or meet up after a day of separation; couples adrift in a sea of bodies would anchor until the ringing of a bell forced their parting. It all came down to seats, really. Seats and speed. You couldn't get to one without the other. Where a person sat made all the difference, and so it became important for students to reach their destinations regardless of whose face got squashed against a wall.

The best seats, whether in a classroom or connected to a lunch table, were guarded. The "best" depended solely on who sat where. The Hiley twins insisted upon sitting together by the closest window, something to do with their "cerebral nexus" flourishing best within sunlight. No one had confirmed whether or not their claim of telepathy was true, nor had anyone wanted to. The Hileys were bizarre, best left to their intuitions.

Gregory Polk was inseparable from Belda Swindle, determined to woo her even after several attempts to dissuade him. It had become obvious to everyone the boy was persistent; even Belda's rebuffing spell, which had seared Greg's eyebrows clean off, hadn't deterred his advances.

Then there was Sweeney.  His chronic halitosis had transformed him into walking repellant; the use of Wollum's Root had cured his acne, but had given him a revolting case of gingivitis.

Endless circumstances and predicaments had made seating arrangements paramount inside Hogwarts, and so, once again, she was being jostled down the hallway, too tired to become frustrated and too frail to protest. None of it mattered; she didn't need company, and at least she was being shoved in the right direction. Besides, the library could hardly be considered a place for conversation seeing how it spooked procrastinators, a whopping three-fourths of the school.

Would he be there? Probably. Whenever she sought a book, no matter the time, his messy hair could be spotted bobbing between shelves – always near, but never near enough. On one occasion, she was able to glimpse his tie. It had been a small disappointment to realize he belonged to Slytherin, though she knew it was unlikely they shared a house; she recognized most Ravenclaws. At that thought, she rounded a corner giving way to a narrow corridor.

The walls seemed to pulse with a dull hum of distant noise.

Not many students were aware of the back hallways, which was half the reason she used them. It was nice to escape the crowds, to focus on penning her schedule without the rude prods and sharp, "excuse me" of impatient students. There did seem to be one drawback of the unused, stone tunnels: they emitted the feeling of constant encroachment. Maybe it was a cruel illusion weaved into the structure by bored architects. She'd heard about the many peculiarities of the castle from other students. It wouldn't surprise her if this was one of them. Maybe it wasn't a joke at all; maybe it was the suppressed claustrophobia she refused to acknowledge whenever she was in a hurry and desperate to break from the suffocating crowd. Whatever it was, she always forgot how uncomfortable these corridors were until she was halfway to her destination, too close to stop and too far away to turn back.

This was about the time she broke into a trot. It was fast enough to ease anxiety, but slow enough to recover any dignity she had left if someone appeared. Who was she kidding? No one used this passage! She could break into a full run and not even a nosy ghost would see her.
Her pace quickened.

The book bag sagging from her shoulder was beginning to take its toll. She didn't remember it taking this long to reach the library. Had she taken a wrong turn?

She shifted her pack.

The stones were no longer their usual dark grey, but instead had taken on a strange, white hue. Moisture collected on the walls as the temperature dropped slightly. She was beginning to wonder if she was heading toward the dungeons when finally she caught sight of familiar, oak doors. She slowed to a brisk walk, calmed her disheveled hair, and entered the library.