i am lord voldemort • Tom Riddle

II

"I can make bad things happen to the people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to."
—Tom Riddle

• — • — •

Ophelia hurtled into the third floor bathroom, hardly believing her own foolishness.

What the hell was wrong with her?

She'd slapped Tom Riddle!

Sure, he was a prat, a self centred prick, and an egocentric maniac, but that was all the more reason not to assault someone.

How could things go downhill so fast? There she was, trying to tell him thank you for helping her out when he didn't need to and she just had to attack him. Why couldn't she just control her temper where Grindelwald was involved?

Maybe he'd forget. All she had to do was avoid him. He hadn't noticed her all year in the prefect meetings, nor two years as a part of the Slug Club, or when attending their classes together. She just had to make sure she was as invisible as she'd ever been.

She looked up from splashing her face with water from the faucet and frowned at her reflection. Her hair was growing too fast. She'd need to dye the white roots that leached into her pale blonde strands with the usual beauty potion before they grew too noticeable. Too bad there was nothing she could do to hide her eyes...

Ophelia shook her head abruptly, banishing the thought. There was no point worrying about what she couldn't control.

"Transfiguration," she muttered to herself. "I need to go to Transfiguration."

Almost mechanically, she pushed away from the sink and strode off to her next class, trying not to think of the potential consequences her actions would rain down upon her.

• — • — •

"Friends will only disappoint you, Ophelia," her uncle often said. "Remember that. Eventually, they will fail you. That is why it is better to be feared than loved. Think not of them, but For the Greater Good."

Ophelia hated that his words still had so much control over her, even then.

Don't make friends. Don't draw attention to yourself in class. Don't raise your hand. Don't do too well. Don't do too poorly. Be invisible.

Her only real problems went by the names of Albus Dumbledore and Horace Slughorn. Professor Dumbledore, for one, knew exactly what he was doing. It was his fault she was a prefect and also he who refused to accept her adamant refusal of the post. How was she supposed to fly beneath the radar when she had to attend meetings with the same nine people, including the Head Boy and Girl, every other week and then have the responsibility of disciplining others? How could people not notice her when he specifically singled her out in class to answer questions?

Sometimes Ophelia wondered if Albus Dumbledore was actively trying to get her killed. He wanted her to make friends and be herself, so he placed her in situations that made it extremely difficult to about be as interesting and unassuming as a bookshelf full of History of Magic texts. It didn't bode well for her longevity.

Slughorn, on the other hand, was an unwitting thorn in her side. She found it exceedingly difficult to be average in potions, far more than one might think. To be average, one had to share equal parts success and failure, but to fail in Potions class often led to wild explosions or other embarrassing side effects. Such mistakes draw attention, so she refused to make them. The only problem with that, was that Slughorn soon became convinced she was some sort of Potions genius. He insisted she attend his "Slug Club," and made enough a fuss when she didn't that Ophelia was forced to accept that sometimes an empty seat was more conspicuous than a filled one. As with the Prefect meetings, such close knit gatherings made her edgy.