chapter one, luxurious pain

t o m

     PURE-BLOODS LOVED having eccentric parties. Gossiping about each other's fortunes was a must, telling stories about their recent achievements in the Ministry of Magic was necessary. Should we also mention their constant need to overthrow someone, to destroy someone's reputation?

     It was the perfect opportunity for them to share their views, spread controversy and just cause simple disarray. Without those luxurious parties, the people were worthless. It was a known fact that most of them forgot most of their spells and they would be useless in a duel.

     The wizards during the parties were talkative, after a few drinks— they couldn't stop talking. That's why it made perfect sense for Abraxas Malfoy to throw a party at his family's mansion, sending invitations to pureblooded families all over the world.

      Behind this innocent plan of get-together, stood a tall man, his features sharper than a knife and eyes colder than ice, scanning through the crowd— seeking for a potential. Indeed, Tom Riddle was behind all of this, his need for power was forcing Abraxas to plan a party where he could attract some of the wealthiest families into his trap.

     Tom Riddle wanted to change the world. It was swarmed with muggles that shouldn't be able to use magic— they were a disgrace, some sort of mistake in the world. He ought to change that, a simple reformation at its best, then the terror would follow.

     "Did everyone arrive?" Tom asked, his hand lazily stuffed inside of his suit pocket, another hand holding a glass of champagne.

"Almost, it's more than enough," Abraxas replied, looking at the crowded hall room. The room was shining in bright light, the chandelier reflecting it around all the room, in the distance played a live little symphony as the guests were splattered around the hall, wearing extravagant outfits— most of them were just ridiculous.

"Any potentials?" Tom's voice was low and slightly raspy as he caught a few women staring at him, so he simply gave them a smirk before averting his stare.

Most of the people here knew about Tom Riddle— the man that was conquering some sort of club for changes and that's the reason why they were there— gossip and secret desires to change the wizarding world. Purebloods were just horrible people as some would say.

The women begged to come with their husbands, wanting to see the famous Tom Riddle whose name was spread around women. The handsome man in his twenties, the man who could make a woman feel as if she is the only one. And seeing him in real life— oh, how they desired him.

"Most of them seek audience with you," the blond male replied and Tom simply hummed as he kept scanning through the crowd. He needed numbers, he needed their endless support, he needed their logical thinking... He needed to make his followers into something he could throw to dogs when it would turn bad.

      "The Hawthrones?" Tom asked, turning his head briefly at Abraxas to see that he shook his head.

     The Hawthrone family was a family deeply hidden in Russia. No one really knew about the wizards there, their schools, their system— they just knew they existed and they were impossible to talk to. They simply just didn't care what westerns had to say. The wealthiest family was invited into the party and it was main the Tom's target.

     "They didn't reply to the invitation. I don't know," the blond male shrugged once again and he gave a brief nod, almost a bow to Tom and walked away, to the crowd of people.

      "Mister Riddle, are you?" A soft voice appeared behind and he turned around to see a middle-aged woman, wearing a very revealing dress as her lips were painted with deep red, her dazzling white teeth contrasting the redness of her lips.

      "You must be Miss Roe," Tom softly purred out the words, making the woman's cheeks flush in crimson as he knew the people. It was easy to find out how some of them looked and this was Marilyn Roe, coming straight from France. "Thank you for coming here, it must have been such a long journey." His voice was honey, making the woman's heart flutter as he softly took her clothed hand and placed a kiss on it.

     "Oh, no journey is too long for a great party," she chirped, while her eyes hungrily eyed the younger man. Tom Riddle could not comprehend completely why women were throwing themselves on him constantly, but he didn't care enough to spare his thoughts on this.

"My husband wants to talk with you privately if that's okay with you," the woman batted her eyelashes at him and Tom softly smiled at her, seeing through her facade. It wasn't the first time a married woman used this 'my husband is waiting for an audience with you' just to suck him off. Tom really thought that people within age give in less to their sexual desires, but he was wrong.

     "I have some business to attend to first, but I will make sure to talk with him privately," he placed on his charming smile that made the woman swoon and he gently kissed her hand again and he walked away from the woman. He won't go to her, no.

      He gave his champagne glass to a servant as he walked towards the bar, noticing how a woman, just sat down on the barstool and gave her request. She turned her head back, watching the crowd and the view made Tom Riddle halt in his steps.

      The woman was darling, her hair was burning red, the chandelier making it shine in the room, it was short, curled at the ends into tidy curls that framed her face. Her eyes were wide, but disinterested, the eyeliner of hers making her seem almost cold. Her body was squeezed into a plain black dress— long sleeves, almost reaching her knees, covering her neck too. Among all of these guests she looked modest, but the way she sat— she sat with elegance, with glory— she knew who she was and she didn't need to show that with her outfit.

     It was safe to say Tom Riddle lost his breath, his heart started to beat faster and he did not quite understand why. He didn't know who she was and before he realized it, he already walked towards her, sitting beside her on a bar stool, simply raising his hand to the servant to bring him something.

     "You are working fast— I just got here and you are already here, Tom Riddle," she spoke up, her accent British, but it was different on some consonants, meaning she was not from here.

     Something broke inside of him when he heard her voice— it was soft, like honey, but it was confident. He turned her head to face her and had to contain his cold expression as up-close, the woman looked divine.

     "It would be rude to not greet guests, wouldn't it?" Tom replied, noticing how she obviously eyed him up and down, perking her eyebrow up in the end and he had to release a chuckle. She was bold.

     "British courtesy, I believe," she replied and she soon received her drink, taking it to her hand and softly sipping, leaving some of the gloss from her lips on the glass.

     "And you are?"

      "Evelyn Hawthrone - Orlova," she simply answered, extending her hand for him to shake and he softly took it. His heart started to beat faster as soon as he felt her skin against his and he didn't understand what was going on with him. Maybe he had already too much to drink? Or someone was trying to get into his head.

     "I see Orlov Hawthrone couldn't make it," he pointed out as they both released their hands and she softly chuckled. Tom Riddle knew the guests and the invitations were sent to Orlov and Anna Hawthrone.

     "Oh, he could. He just likes me to deal with his messy business," she replied, almost carelessly as she gave him another look.

     "I can assure you there is nothing messy about my offer," Tom replied, charmingly, believing that it will be nothing hard and he will get one of the wealthiest family's in the world help.

    "I will be the judge of that, hmm?" She softly batted her eyelashes and took another sip from her glass. "So, what's your offer?"

     "Would you care to dance?" He asked, knowing how to charm a woman.

      Tom extended his hand and she softly took it, both of them standing up as he noticed the height difference of hers and he lead them both closer to the music, where some other people were dancing.

As soon as her hands ended up on his shoulders and his hands on her waist, they felt many stares fall on them— it wasn't every day you could see Tom Riddle dancing with a beauty.

"Judging from the stares, you are loved by many women," Evelyn started, both of them moving to the slow rhythm. Tom, for the first time, inhaled her perfume and he found ecstasy— the man was sensitive to scents, most of the perfumes women wore were overpowering and quite disgusting, but hers...

"It's quite enjoyable if I am being honest," Tom replied, looking down at the red-haired beauty and he started to feel weird in his stomach and he could still not understand why. Something was wrong.

"You do seem like the man who likes being in the spotlight... I have heard about you, about what you are trying to assemble," she started, her eyes catching his.

"I just have a little reformation in mind, that's all," he innocently began, looking at the brown eyes of hers that were contrasting with his.

"I don't really care about the fate of Ministry of Magic." She remarked.

"Then what do you care about?"

"Who runs it," she replied and Tom's eyes slightly raised as he liked how bold she was with her words. She didn't want to waste a second.

"I know that the minister is trying to force his ways into your country," Tom informed.

"You did your homework, perfect," she offered him a smile, "Then you also know that we don't need bureaucracy in my country, it's perfect the way it is already. It is quite lovely to be one of the most feared families amongst... How do you call them... muggles, right?"

"Then you have no choice, but to agree to join me," Tom pointed out.

"Oh, I have many choices, Mister Riddle. This choice is just the easiest. My family could simply wage a war against the Ministry of Magic and I am pretty sure we would win, but you see... I don't like to get my hands bloody," she exclaimed the words with a wicked smile and Tom couldn't help, but chuckle to himself. This woman...

"Do I sense a lie, Miss Hawthrone? I know for sure these hands have been covered in blood countless of times," he remarked in a low tone, his right hand intertwined with her left one as they both were twirling, his thumb softly stroking the soft skin of hers.

"They have been, they probably will be in the future. It's just so hard to wash dried blood off my hands since as you know, we do not use sticks to conjure spells," Evelyn exclaimed with a soft smile, her body slowly ending up closer to his, making his breath hitch, surrounding him whole by her perfume.

"Then what magic do you use?" Tom asked, truly curious as it was his wish was to learn as many spells, forbidden spells as possible.

"We use dark magic, but I myself, like to use the element of surprise," Evelyn answered and Tom gently let her twirl around and when they got back to their dancing position, Tom could feel a little knife pressed against the back of his neck and he let out a huge smile.

"Consider me surprised," he murmured, placing both of his hands on her waist, for some reason he couldn't get enough of her.

Evelyn wrapped her hands around his neck, the tiny knife in its place as she raised her head to look into his eyes: "I know about you, Mister Riddle, I know that you are a very skilled wizard for your Legillimency skills. However, I must warn you now, do not try to play games with me because I will always have the advantage," she softly declared as Tom Riddle didn't feel afraid, for the first time he felt amused, interested.

"I do admire your confidence, Miss Hawthrone, but I can get what I want in other ways," Tom remarked, pressing her body against his, feeling the little knife disappear from her hands. "You will learn not to use your knives against me."

"Nothing is better than a little bit of blood and the art of seduction, don't you think so?" She murmured the words, her hand softly dropping onto his cheek, her thumb softly parting his lips as she whispered: "Krasivyy, ochen' krasivyy."

Tom Riddle felt infatuated, he felt as if the perfume of hers made his brain stop working as if it was some sort of poison. Her touch, felt like burning fire, scarring him, but yet he wanted more. And the way she spoke Russian, oh, she knew what she was doing and he felt mesmerized.

"I will find you later, Mister Riddle, we have a lot to talk about," she exclaimed, a soft smile lingering on her lips as she pulled away, disappearing in the crowd of people who witnessed the whole thing, except the little knife against his neck.

Tom Riddle softly brushed his fingers against his lips and he looked back to see the woman gone and he smirked to himself, his head feeling light. Tom knew that she was playing with him, she was playing with fire and he was going to let her burn.

What he didn't know was that he will be the one to get burned, not her.

Author's Note:

-The translation for krasivyy ochen' krasivyy means handsome, very handsome in Russian!

-Thoughts? 👀

m.n