The Head Boy's Secretary

This is one of those smutty, erotic chapters. Alice is still very much just a girl taken advantage of. But I promise by the next few chapters; she’ll be a sleuth, trying to unravel the truth!

Chapter Nine: Of Death and Lust


Alice wasn’t as frightened as she expected a situation like this could render her. She never imagined
this could happen. There was no room in her heart for fear anymore, only the cold edge of despair welled-up with knowing there was nothing she could do.

Once she was certain the Head Boy left, Alice stopped screaming and crying. That night suffering insomnia and anxiety.

Her eyes ached, straining in the pitch-black to see for a way out and her injured hands pressed into the walls and floor. It was to no avail. The prayer for peaceful slumber only wore on...

A face floated around in the darkness. Alice was mesmerized by it. She knew it wasn’t real: she must be suffering from hallucinations. It was her mind projecting falsities. Still the handsome face was captivating. It had a striking effect against the dark. It was Riddle – like a Cheshire Cat he was grinning within the glimmering solid black. All night that pale face, with skin almost as waxen as the moon glowed. It was like a nightlight that produces fear instead of creating security.

When sleep did come – at daybreak – Alice’s dreams were not the nightmares of the last three weeks. She awakened confused in the mid-afternoon. The dream was of a friend – a little boy – or a baby she may have known when she was small. However Alice had no recollection for this little boy, yet she felt drawn to him, as if they’d known each other forever.

Riddle was intent on returning to the Restricted Section and specifically to his secret lair. The Head Boy moved rapidly – for he was keen to see what happened to Alice. He did not wish to lose his secretary – he needed the girl. She wasn’t silly. No. She was sharp as a whip. Yet it was her heart he hated….

She was the prey he pursued and he had her caught in his webs of deceit. He'd do whatever he desired. Riddle would have her for a meal to devour! One of sheer ravishment!

Alice heard the great slab of stone lift. It was very much like she’d been in a sepulchral tomb all the while. She paused and waited, dreadfully excited.

By magic the stone pulled apart. On the other end he stood and stared. There was nothing but darkness for his eyes to fall upon. But Alice saw Riddle encapsulated in light –appearing to her like a vision. There - an immutable fixture bathed in white light. Alice burst out cries of relief. She felt like he was a holy man – a holy man that had come to reward salvation. He had not forsaken her like she feared – her spirit would be transcended and resurrected….She would submit to Riddle’s likeness. They must bond. The torture had brought them together somehow.

Very calmly Riddle walked inside and came forward, robes flapping slightly at his slender sides. He had entered the void.

Without a stir or a sound his wand lit up and he peered down. All was quiet for a moment and Alice was anxious with waiting. He'd become the black hole at the center of Alice's surrealistic galaxy. He was the focal point for all the horrors she had experienced. She needed him to give her the peace of solace.

A whisper arose presently. Alice was horribly reminded of the voices. For a second she thought it must be the phantoms – until she realized it was his mouth working. And this is precisely what he said:

“I can see inside your soul…
I can see into your deepest fears,
But only I can show you the world you want above all,
You need to let me help you
You need to be shown the way
You need to open my door…”

The tongue of Riddle stopped. He leaned in a bit closer – pressing near into her. Alice felt the familiar cool whoosh of that powerful presence he had. Somewhere above in the dark, he was hovering. And Alice huddled, vulnerable and pathetic on the ground, beseeching this strange and awful young man.

He emerged dramatically, clearly outlined now. And what Alice saw next was a face of near morbidity – but curiously brilliant.

“But only when you see my eyes…” He continued in a whisper.

Torrid, scorching jewels of malice. Alice cupped a hand to her mouth for the horror of it. The Head Boy’s eyes were no longer a boy’s– they weren’t brown. They were red. Positively – most wickedly gleaming violently the colour red.

And just as soon as those amber eyes burned – they flashed and went out like flames extinguishing. Once again, they were the blackest of brown.

Alice’s head shook, denying this exposure. Of all he had told her up to this point – was it truth? And what of what she’d seen? Could she really believe those handsome eyes were actually red ones just seconds ago? Alice had no way to know that there were so many lies and that the truth of these matters needed to be dissected from them.

“But only when you see my eyes….” He recanted. His eyes were now brown again and this did nothing to erase the confusion.

“Will you know…how far you can fall.”

Alice felt exposed suddenly – and she realized she was exposed to the full extent of something, something evil. She did not understand at all how this evil was a being, not a thing.

A beatific grin alighted that comely face. Alice felt naked as she watched him smile. What was he thinking? It was impossible to interpret that poker face, even when he was smiling. And it was futile to ponder that particular riddle he'd just spoken, or Mr. Riddle himself.

And naturally Alice returned to despair. She wept and quite vociferously at that.

Riddle would never, not ever stand for this. He gestured placating and gentleman-like. A hand outstretched to take. Taken and pulled to her feet, she was drawn into the light.

Emerging in an embrace she was still weeping. Yet it was tears of renewal, no longer despair. She was a contrite girl and would make herself amenable.

Alice cried into the nape of his neck, standing on tiptoe in flat shoes. Riddle did not hold her, but just stood and allowed this, with confidence. He could make her a believer in the Dark Arts now and eradicate whatever was in her heart before....

Alice hugged the bleeding tree that was Riddle, and it was as if he were the antithesis of life itself. It was like he was the Tree of Death. But Alice was seeking comfort from this illusion. With truth out the door, in came lies. She could cling to him within this radiant darkness; she no longer was alone.

More and more bloody tears accumulated on his powerful chest. Alice through her tears was blinded. Yet this mad man was all she could look at if she could.

Once the tears ceased flowing, she clashed painfully with a pristine white something. It was a brooch to close his cloak -- a skull. It was indeed Lord Voldemort's emblem. Not quite the notorious symbol of the Dark Mark, of which it would later become, but it was still starkly hideous. No serpent spewed forth from the mouth only a wild grin.

Alice's suffering was becoming much too real to bare, a corporeal agony. She clung to Riddle as her identity fragmented. Her very ideals and principles were crumbling.

She flashed a look to her savior or was he a tormentor really? Riddle, she saw was staring keenly at her.

Straightaway Alice's shirt was ripped in two. Riddle's wand, gone unnoticed before had slashed it, apparently with a non-verbal Diffindo spell, Alice ascertained. She tentatively eyed that long, thirteen-and-half-inch wand, and silently vowed to keep a close eye on it for the rest of this evening's bizarre encounter.

Riddle's tongue was long and slippery on her fresh skin. He sucked the tears from her cheeks. And with a hunger, he drunk of them, savoring the taste of pain. He was always oddly craving pain for reasons even he could not understand. The full saucy curves of his mouth swelled.

Alice's knees weakened. She quite fell head over heels before Riddle. But in the last instant, he scooped her up, holding the small of her back. And instinctively, Alice's legs wrapped around his waist, curling her feet comfortably at his backside.

Alice sighed at the feeling of security this created, even if it were illusion. It reminded her of how Daddy carried her off to bed when she was small. But she suddenly knew something she hadn't known before. This way was different than Daddy's. It could be judged a prurient position.

With shirt opened and bra pulled away, Riddle had full-view of the bounce-less breasts she possessed. They were small, but firm.

"Oh! Ah," Alice found herself saying. Riddle launched his palms onto them and squeezed, wholly. It was not hurtful. Not even for young, inexperienced Alice.

His head lowered and Alice could no longer see his face, just thickly curved brows, and eyes peeping out beneath dark lowered lashes. He looked strangely and terribly romantic.

It was blissful to feel him when he took his full lips to her nipples. She never knew such pleasure. Riddle was gone - consumed by his own desires, no mind for Miss Alice’s. Something deep inside him had urged to take her breasts then. He himself did not know what it was...merely a lesser, base instinct. One he would always keep secret from the world....

All too soon Riddle garnered complete control of himself again, somehow. It was unnatural how quickly he could master himself, and how swiftly he could move on.

Bodily he transported the girl towards his desk within the crook of his arms. She nestled against his heavy black robes. She was too scared to look at him.

However, her precocious gray eyes kept wary watch on that long wand, below. Riddle's wand was out again, and Alice watched it like a hawk. She knew, somehow even then, that that wand and even this wizard could be a great threat to livelihood.

She saw him transfigure a crude bowl, and with the wand etched out runes along with a vial of some gossamer blue strands he'd evidently procured. But how? Alice was unnerved by these slick maneuvers.

Unfortunately, Alice didn't see it coming….All she saw was the content of the bowl - blue ethereal strands of wind mixing with something like air....

Before she could have a look - she was dumped into the bowl. All Riddle heard was her fading refusal, echoing eerily on the surface. He chuckled at the absurdity. But even when having a laugh, he was always quick to dispel humor.

Inside the contents and past Alice, he knew what he was doing when he landed. He’d make sure poor Alice was left above, close to the surface.

All Alice saw was a shadowy figure slink in and descend the Underworld and thus, guessed correctly. It was undoubtedly he.

Alice was in a sort of limbo-state. Endlessly falling, falling, falling but there was no end. It was the proverbial rabbit hole, only worse. The recent nightmares came to mind. There was no end in sight to this deep, dark well, the place where Riddle would learn a deep, dark secret….

What he saw was quite a show. How he dredged up Alice's memories, Alice might never know. He might have done it one day as he peered over her work, head studiously bent. It would have been easy....Too easy for the exceptional Legilimens to extract just what they wanted. He’d weave it out of her, and she wouldn’t feel a thing.

Alice was crying all this time. How long must she suffer? She’d never heard of a Pensieve and so had no idea where this was. She was only a Fourth year. Would the Head Boy leave her for an entire night, like when he abandoned her to the broom cupboard? Alice cried so hard, she could hardly breathe. It felt just like drowning. Drowning in incessant, bloody tears. But then just as she wondered if he’d never come, he came.

Now he wanted Alice’s company. He was going to revisit the memories with her. She would have this “privilege” and was lucky really that he was so curious about her. She was really such a boring girl! He thought. But tonight she was going to answer some questions….


NOTE: This chapter, “Death and Lust” is to be continued….The memories of Alice’s past are better than I construed originally.