The Head Boy's Secretary

Chapter Eight: A Return to the Mirror


Alice had a splitting headache coming on. Thoughts, feelings and memories split and they shattered into fragments.

She put her quill down and stole a furtive glance at the Head Boy. He was paying her no mind. Her head throbbed.

Panic reigned. The voices had returned. Alice could not place whether the source was her own mind or were they coming from outside? She pondered whether she was going mad. Or was there a phantom, unseen, hiding inside the walls?

A sharp pain hit her in the navel. She prayed it was just a stomach ailment. She had no idea it was something much more sinister that controlled her. Her period ended a few days ago, the blood had ceased….

But Alice didn’t understand how Riddle possessed her blood now. He had encased an artificial clitoris that he created when he transfigured her blood. Perhaps someday he would use it, in the most gruesome ways. But first, he would use Alice as if she was nothing but an instrument.

Alice burst out in spite of herself; “I don’t feel well. I think I need to go to the loo, Mr. Riddle! May I?”

Riddle finally looked up at her and gave her one piercing glance. “Yes, you may,” he drawled boredly. But then his attention shifted back. There was an edge in his voice. “However, you shall ask permission whenever you desire to leave this room, for any reason at all. Whatever.”

“Yes, Sir,” she assented submissively.

Alice was gone in a hurry glad to be away from his stuffy demeanor. Riddle grimaced with some pleasure, at the same time as he was contemplating a very difficult question in his studies. Poor Alice, he thought sarcastically. She had no idea how this was slowly becoming a torture for her. Torture for her, but the highest pleasure for him.

Soon after Alice returned. She had managed to escape the voices it seemed. But Alice knew that tonight they would come. In her dreams they would return to haunt her.

That afternoon Alice asked about the meek and strange boy in her house, Anthony Edwards. Alice wasn’t sure what made her ask Riddle again. Yet she felt there was still some connection between the two boys. It was a mystery to unravel.

“The boy…. The boy is weak,” responded Voldemort to her, his voice quite cold.

And that was all there was exchanged concerning Anthony.

*


The ground was thawing outside, as it was late February. Alice’s birthday was just a few weeks away. She would be fifteen. Her friends had been hanging in the courtyard every afternoon. But of course Alice had to work with the Head Boy Monday through Friday. Her close acquaintance, Rachel even got a kiss from a cute Gryffindor in their year whilst under the pear trees in the Clock courtyard. Alice wished to be there. And what was more, longed for a kiss....


*


“Would you like to hear the good news or the bad news first?”

Alice had not anticipated this. There was bad news? Maybe she really wasn’t healthy. Was she actually going mad after all? She tittered, “er- er the good news.”

And Riddle gave her a fabricated tale of what happened from “testing” the blood. “The good news is you’re perfectly healthy…” Riddle stalled and Alice found it very strange to see a smile on the verge of divulging such bad news. But of course Alice didn’t know the real Tom Riddle. “The bad news…You must stay later tonight and perhaps many others. Nevertheless, the Head Boy is fair…I shall compensate you for the overtime.”

Alice’s face turned glum, despite the promise of higher pay. This Secretary position already was taxing. It wasn’t worth extra galleons.

Manipulatively Riddle peered down from above and with a slender hand, cupped Alice’s chin. Alice rediscovered just how cool and smooth those hands were. She longed for him to touch her again. Like tussling her hair while working or even when those professional, intelligent hands extracted the blood culture.

Riddle kept a hand there and raised her head up to eye level. He could see her gray eyes were filled with clouds. She could not hide her dismay.

“Now, now Miss Alice…. I am an upperclassman. And in addition to Head Boy, I am also your employer. Therefore this makes me your Master. You are obligated under the contract to do this, remember?”

Alice vaguely remembered. She wished she had it on hand now, but she did not. But Mr. Riddle couldn’t be wrong.

Alice faltered believing once again Riddle’s lies. “Thank-you for increasing my salary…You’re a kind master.”

Slowly, Riddle smiled hugely. He had succeeded in making her admit to at least one of his views. Perhaps those detentions and the caning had not been such meager punishment. Yet it was so not his style! He really enjoyed that he already, albeit subtly had found a means to make her call him "master."

Alice held her hand out. For Riddle would not send her away to accomplish the task without proper motivation. He didn’t want to detect any further lingering doubts about being his so-called “secretary.”

At least Alice wasn’t hungry. It was dinnertime in the Great Hall and apparently she would have to skimp on it. It was just an hour ago that she had eaten at her desk. Mother’s strawberry jam on bread had left her sated, and the fragrant tea Mr. Riddle provided warmed her blood considerably. Alice felt puzzled about the Head Boy once again. Wouldn’t he be hungry without his dinner too? It was odd.

She knew he would be keeping her well after dark. Once outside the secret room, all optimism disappeared. Even the warmth from teatime evaporated. She realized this was bound to be the most unpleasant evening yet, even worse than the detentions. The only thought that sustained her was getting mother gold earrings. It would be much easier now with overtime!


*

Alice carried her wand, lit by the Lumos spell. She felt like she was on duty with a secret, dangerous mission. Riddle asked that she go to the Restricted Section and return with a list of books.

The Restricted Section, in fact the library itself was completely deserted. Alice felt like a ghost. Before going out, Riddle placed an immensely powerful Disillusionment on her. Alice never felt so strange. It was like being a wallflower. She could almost blend in with the many mysterious books.

She started down a row near the corner next to illuminated arched windows. There was a thick layer of frost imprinted from the outside. Alice tightened her cloak around her neck.

‘Young Werewolves in captivity’ she read aloud. That was startling in itself. “Zealous Witches and Warlocks.” So this section was the end. He wanted only one book from that area, yet it took Alice awhile to find it. She wasn’t used to the Restricted Section. In fact, having never used it. She was only in Fourth year and the rules stated it was for Sixth years and above.

Some of Riddle’s requirements stretched way over and above Alice’s head. Like plucking apples in an orchard, she climbed ladders and plucked tomes of knowledge from the shelves.

The whisperings returned suddenly. Or so Alice believed. It sounded like a foreign tongue. Her gray eyes felt like they could pop out of the sockets. She scanned the library. Everybody was at dinner. But the whispering was near. She felt the hair on the back of her neck crinkle and a shiver crept down her spine. The voices followed….

Life and death. All of this was recorded philosophically, theoretically and magically within these books. The books sensed someone present who shouldn’t be.

Alice set them on a stool. Something cold, and vapory past through her flesh. Alice felt like she had been doused in a bucket of ice.
But it was just the ephemeral form of Ravenclaw’s Grey lady. Alice smiled with relief and almost laughed for joy.

Upon curiously perusing a book, there was the unmistakable creak of footsteps. It couldn’t be Mr. Riddle. The source came from beyond the Restricted Section.

A figure stepped into view. It peered through Alice’s body all the way down the aisles. Alice stood stock still, affirming silently that she could not be seen. It was the Caretaker, Apollyon Pringle. Fear kept her feet shackled to the floor. She recalled, the Head Boy’s words: “He whips miscreants in the dungeons.”

The Caretaker strode briskly, eager to get to the bottom of this disturbance. He was of course wondering where the whispers were coming from. He took out his wand, in hopes to silence the books.

As he did so, an unmistakable, bone-chilling rattle ensued. Alice was overcome now with terror. Her fertile imagination could only think of chains. But in reality it was the jingle of keys.

A vivid image of Alice bound in chains, and then she ran. The charm could not stop her from being heard. But her negligence was of small matter. Alice soon realized what a coward she’d been. Now she knew why she hadn't been placed in Gryffindor. Why had she lost her head?

She ran blindly, so she did not know where her feet took her. Down a corridor, a sharp turn and suddenly she was back in that classroom with the mirror.

It was like a deserted island. Wintry cold. Alice went back to the mirror, drawn to it without thinking. It was her heart that led her.

The swath of silvery mirror with the Stags made her nostalgic. But that time was over. Locked in the past, like a remnant from the Ice Age.

“Mummy? Daddy?”

*


The windows showed it was twilight. Alice retrieved the books from the sill. Coming to Riddle’s study, she went through the door, spotting the knocker of an upside-down cross. It was just like an inverted symbol in her new favourite novel, Dracula.

Alice had not bothered to consider what Riddle was studying. But had seen just enough grisly images before she stopped, slamming a book shut. Besides, most of his reading material was in arcane languages, and others in ancient runes. It would take Alice some time to decipher the runes if she had had the time. Maybe then she would of discovered the full extent of the horror Riddle was creating for himself…and worse what he might plan for her.

A great stack of books hid Miss Whitman’s face. Riddle took them one by one, methodically placing them on his varnished ebony desk.

Riddle at once saw the fresh face was stained with tears. He did not take the time to question it. But it wasn’t true that he wasn’t interested.

Finally Riddle turned from the books to face her. “How did it go?”

Alice decided to tell the truth. “I got scared, Sir. The voices – the phantoms are stalking me.”

Riddle smiled skeptically, his dark eyes gleaming intelligently. “You missed three books on my list,” he stated frankly.

Alice’s chin drooped, chin by her small chest. More tears rolled down her childish cheeks. But then, with ire not expected she stamped her foot. “Oh, bugger me! I’d be hard-pressed to do it! What with Pringle on my heels and the voices….”

Alice felt small again. Her voice faded into nothingness. Like a harsh, cold wind Riddle stepped instantly closer.

Alice glanced up at him, her expression still haughty. She was surprised to see how calm he was.

Riddle grabbed her mouth and looked straight into her eyes. With a dangerous quip, “Manners, Miss Alice….Or did your parents not teach you?

“Ah, did I strike a nerve?”

Alice’s blazing face crumpled to despair. The mention of mother and father was the demise of her defiance. Alice’s gray eyes stung with hurt. Riddle knew this would be a heart-wrenching blow. He’d just glimpsed into her mind, extraordinary Legilimens that he was.

“My parents…are irrevocably separated. We aren’t together. My dad-“

“What?” said Riddle. “What suffering is this?” Riddle thought he should be kind, he did not ask in a demeaning way.

Alice was hungry and desperate for sympathy. So she took whatever shred of it Riddle threw at her. Of course in actuality it was a deceptive ploy of Riddle’s. “My daddy is gone. He left me and my mum. I miss him.”

Alice’s gray eyes looked up at him imploringly. Somehow intuitively she sensed she could not lie, and so she confessed to her exploits in the Restricted Section. “Oh, Mr. Riddle! Please don’t be mad! Don’t be mad…I ran away when I saw him…I was so frightened.”

Riddle cut her off, catching on. “And you went to see the mirror?”

Alice gave herself away with a hicupping sob.

Riddle became very quiet and contemplative. It was impossible for Alice to tell whether he was pleased she gave into temptation or not. “What did the mirror show you this time?”

“It shows me my family. Always.” It was the one thing Alice desired more than any other, a whole family. Not the lonely separation she endured at home.

But it was not what Riddle had been hoping to hear. He had wanted to hear something different, a driving ambition as her heart’s desire. Not this load of bilge that obviously pertained to irrelevant, powerless love!

So her father had abandoned her. Riddle understood and the truth enraged him. How could this girl still “love” a man who would leave her? A blue vein flickered on his forehead, remembering his father. His insides were filled with hatred for him. Riddle remembered how he wiped him off the face of the earth by committing his first murder. He’d been so proud the night he’d done it….

“Tut – tut You poor, poor little girl.” Riddle even stretched out a hand and squeezed her palm.

Alice though nearly fifteen did not mind when Mr. Riddle called her a “little girl”. In her mind, she subconsciously wished this young man, could be her father figure. He could guide her, teach her and she could forgive his tendency to be a stern disciplinarian.

“But you will stop this pathetic crying at once.” Oh, he hated crying! It reminded him of his time at 'Wool’s Orphanage'. He was happy that at eighteen and on the verge of finishing school, he’d never darken their doorstep again…and the orphanage staff couldn't be happier he was gone.

His hand snaked up Alice’s wrist and suddenly he was dragging her. “Sir? What did I do?! Where are you taking me?”

"We shall put you in a chamber like that of an asylum!" And Riddle was reminded of his long-forgotten fear he had as a little boy. At the orphanage they threatened frequently to send him to live in the asylum down the street. He'd heard then that the asylum contained a room of isolation, of total darkness, something Riddle secretly feared. He'd let Alice experience his fears instead.

Alice hadn’t noticed the tiny broom cupboard in the corner before. He shoved Alice inside there. She landed with a painful thud to the floor, and scraped her knees. Droplets of blood oozed down the woolen knee-highs.

“No tears! Here you shall stay the night… I shall fetch you tomorrow afternoon…And you will be different. Of that we can be sure!”

It was indeed certainty. Keeping Alice isolated, in the dark, all alone would forever change her personality.

"I want out! I WANT OUT!" Alice howled with grief and anguish. She quickly realized it was much worse than when she was a child sent to her room. That was a punishment her father had usually preferred to spankings. But this, her mind fantasized was her "new" Daddy.

Riddle ignored her, not reacting at all to another's pain. He wasn’t even in the mood for the pleasure that torture gave him. Instead Alice was to be ignored, neglected, and ultimately banished. Just like what had happened to Riddle. Tom Riddle Senior, was a pathetic, selfish muggle that abandoned he and Merope. And Riddle most secretly observed a girl who still adored her father after abandonment. Riddle could not tolerate that.

He whipped out his wand and placed several spells, locking her in. And with that, snatched up his most important school things and was gone. Hopelessly, she banged her fists, pounding against the stones. Her knuckles bloody and broken, blood streaming down her fingers. And all that long, cold winter night nobody heard Alice’s frenzied screams....


NOTE: The next scenes will have much more sexual tension and erotic activity. And more!