warning : mention of sexual assault and rape. If you are easily triggered by these topics, I suggest you skip the passage in italic (the memory).
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TOM RIDDLE HAD SLIPPED HER A NOTE.
Lucinda didn't notice until she cracked open her dusty old potions book to read the next potion they were going to learn in a vain attempt to prepare herself beforehand. As she coughed at the particulate matter that was released into their dormitory and Marilyn alternated between sneezing and cursing in a sleepy voice, Lucinda's baby blue eyes saw a piece of paper was sandwiched in between the pages of Perfecting Polyjuice Potion: A Quintessential Guide and Fostering Felix Felicis Elixir.
She hummed under her breath, snatching it out and spreading the paper. It was surprisingly crisp, as if newly folded. The letters stared back at her in familiar block letters. It was her own handwriting but messier — perhaps it was from her childhood.
Do you remember the cave?
Lucinda felt her blood run cold. It was an innocent enough question. Yet, the five words held secrets far deeper and darker than any ocean. She knew for certain that it was she herself who wrote it and charmed it to remain unscathed for six years.
Dropping to the floor and carefully opening her drawer in case Marilyn woke up, Lucinda rummaged through it with her fingers and only stopped once she felt paper as thin as the one in her other hand. Elegant cursive greeted her eyes: Tom's handwriting.
Do youremember the sea?
WhenLucindaleft Wool's orphanage, this was the slip of paper she had tucked away in the waist bands of her skirt. She took it with her and promptly forgot all about their little secret.
Not Tom, though.
By the lamplight, Lucinda shivered. Her heart beat faster on its own accord. Adrenaline rushed through her veins. She closed her eyes and willed the memories away. She couldn't relive them. Not today.
Thankfully, her mind listened but it showed her something equally sinister. It was the emotion-less gaze of the note-giver she knew all too well; his dark eyes turned pitch black at the intensity of their back and forth. The sordid mixture of fear, glee, and hypocrisy she witnessed that day at the beach and the cave. She felt the whisper of Tom Riddle's hand clamping down on her arm as he dragged her away from the bodies.
Troubling times. Dark times.
She could feel his eyes on her now, making her skin itch and crawl until she was compelled to scrub it clean. She shook her head and forced her hands to stop shaking. The thought of Tom Riddle watching her made her want to be strong. Or, at the very least, appear dignified.
