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The new room they were sitting in was dimly lit, with three empty beds by their side as they sat in each of their chairs, staring at each other in silence.
The things she had heard about him was horrible. He had attended the same school as she had, but, of course, that had been many years ago. How much older was he? There were at least thirty years between them. In those thirty years, he had practiced the Dark Arts, tormented and killed innocents, and made himself a reputation.
Her mother had once healed a person he had visited. What was his name again? Moody, it was. Alastor Moody. Her sister had told her he was a famous Auror. He had tried to battle Riddle, and arrived at St. Mungo's some hours later, blood covering him from head to toe. Nobody had thought he would survive. As a child, watching her mother work, heal wounds, make hearts beat stronger, Darya had learned that once a pool of blood has reached a certain size, there is no going back. Moody had been walking the line between life and death, chocking on his own crimson. He was out for a few minutes. But he fought. And it surely messed him up.
Darya looked at Riddle. He looked right back at her. His head was slightly tilted to the side, his long fingers gingerly caressing his lips while he rested his elbow on the chair's arm. Quickly, she looked down at her feet.
With many minutes of silence behind them, he cleared his throat. "I've been waiting for this moment for a long time," he said.
What could a murderer want from her? She bit her lip to keep herself from saying anything stupid. The papers had informed her about everything he had done, and she wasn't stupid. If she offended him, he would hurt her. And she had no idea how easy it was to offend a man like him. She would just keep quiet and let him speak.
He had locked the door to the room with his magic, and there were no windows in this room. If he tried to do anything to her, she wouldn't be able to escape. Maybe if she screamed, someone would hear her... It would just take one flick of his wand to silence her again, though.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he stated. It was as if he heard her thoughts. "I don't want to hurt someone like you."
His voice was almost gentle. Her eyes met his again. Trying to not show emotion - because it was obvious that he had smelled her fear - she rose a brow. Someone like her?
His fingers trailed from his lips, down his chin, to his neck. He curled them and used them to pull down the collar of his shirt. There, on his neck, was a deep gash. It was not a normal gash. His blood was not crimson, but black as coal, like him and his poor soul. This was the result of Dark Magic that had gone wrong. A normal wizard could not heal the gash no matter how many healing spells he remembered. This was a Siren's job.
"Could you fix it?" he asked, his tone suddenly sugar-sweet. "Heal it?" A single finger traced the skin around his wound. "I understand you are able to."
I would rather mend the bones of others you have broken, and dry your poor victims' blood, Darya thought, but did not say. 'No' would slip her so easily, drip off her lips like honey, fall on his own so he could taste it. But she still got up and walked to him in silence.
While he sat and she stood over him, he reached his head so far to the side that his veins popped out, and he looked at the wall, not her. She could have killed him right there. He was teasing her, no, daring her to slice his neck open while she stood there. It was a test.
"Ego tibi cura Oceanum," Darya muttered. She pressed the palm of her hand against his neck with just a little more pressure than needed. He didn't even wince. The black blood was soon like glue, binding them. "Peisinoe, in mare cura. Ligeia, dabo tibi fortitudinem."
Her hand slid down his neck and shoulder when she took a step back. She looked at what she had done. The gash was gone. There was no trace that it had ever been there, either. Not a single scar. His cold skin was flawless.
He turned his head and looked into her eyes while he touched his neck. "Interesting," he whispered.
Finally, she dared to speak. "Is that all?" She reached into her pocket and pulled out her handkerchief to dry his blood from her hands. "I have other patients to care for, Mr. Riddle. I'm sure you understand that I cannot stay here for long."
A nod. "You know my name."
"Of course, I do."
"I have a proposal for you, Miss Swan," he said calmly, leaning back and placing his hands in his lap. "If you have heard of me, you must have heard of my work, as well."
She forced herself to remain polite. "I have, Mr. Riddle; I read the paper."
The smile he displayed now made the lines on his face show better. He was handsome - charming even - but she somehow found his smile displeasing. "I'm not going to keep you long," he began. "So I'm going to cut right to it."
"Please do," she answered sweetly and tucked her handkerchief back into the pocket of her dress.
"I believe that you and I can do great things together," he put out. "I want you to work with me. I have many people who support me, Miss Swan, many people who would fight for me. Die for me, even. I am not asking you to become one of them. I am asking you to help them with your powers."
Darya's lower back and stomach created a scream, but it didn't reach her throat. He wanted her to be a piece in his game.
"You don't have to give me your answer right now. I'll give you time to think about everything."
He got up from his chair. She treated him as if he was a snake. One of those filled with venom. She didn't move or speak.
He gently touched her cheek. "I'll find you again soon." He paused before continuing, "And, just so we're clear, this stays between us. No one needs to know I was here today, Darya."
Then, he was gone.
Her cheek was still burning long after he had Apparated away. Standing there, she came to the realization that he was never going to give her a choice. Why had he acted like he had asked her a question? Either she joined him, or he killed her.
He could have asked any of the Swans to join his army, but he had asked her because she was young. Vulnerable. Helpless. Easy to fool.
The room still smelled like him - death, blood, and war - long after he was gone. Twisting the doorknob, she found herself rushing out of the room. His spell on the door did not work anymore.
"Darya?"
She glanced at the boy in front of her. He was gasping for air. "James, did you just escape Valerie?"
There was a short moment of silence before he answered, "maybe..."
Trying her best to forget what had happened in the room with the red door on the fourth floor, Darya continued her daily rounds and added fixing James' arm to her to-do list. It was moving and wobbling around like it had no bones.
