Disclaimer: I own nothing.

AN: My creative writing teacher from a few years ago told me that the worst thing you can do is to preface something you wrote. I feel compelled, however, to tell you that this is nowhere near finished and that it may seem kind of confusing now, but it will get better, I promise… Please review.

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PERFECTION

Prologue

Tom Riddle decided, after much deliberation, that Rosaline Bordenave was indeed different from all the other dithery girls who followed him around.

For starters, she didn't follow him around at all. She made the chase just as exciting as he was sure the kill was going to be. She was also unparalleled in the way of beauty. Tom mulled these thoughts over in his head as he approached the door to the Slytherin common room during his free period. He happened to know that Rosaline had a free period at the same time as he did, and he wagered that she would be in the common room right then.

He was prepared to say what he had to say to her, feeling quite confident as he strolled smoothly through the door. He was not prepared, however for what he saw as he entered the room. Rosaline was there, indeed, but she was not alone. She was sitting on the lap, the lap, of Ben Covington, the Slytherin Quidditch chaser. It seemed as if Covington and Rosaline were glued together at the lips.

Feeling a new, looming presence in the room, Rosaline broke away from Covington and turned around to find Tom Riddle glaring at her, obviously fuming. His eyes were so lit with fury that they had almost a red tinge to them. Rosaline's eyes widened at the sight of him. If she had known he was coming, she would never have bestowed herself upon someone like Covington. But what right did Tom have to just come storming in, expecting her to automatically be available to him? She was not that type of girl, and she held herself to a much higher standard than to becoming the lapdog of some boy who only paid her any mind when it was convenient for him. Her shocked and somewhat regretful expression slowly faded and she turned away from Tom, back to Covington. A few moments later, the common room door was slammed so forcefully that the floor seemed to reverberate from the crash.

Tom walked as far away from the common room as quickly as possible. He stormed around the school, looking for anyone or anything to cause pain. He found some sort of solace by exercising his prefect privileges in the taking of unreasonable amounts of points from students of other houses. He also took his aggression out upon a pair of unfortunate second-years, whom he hexed mightily for getting in the way of his angry storming.

Tom remained agitated for the rest of his free period. After that, he had lunch. By then, he had calmed down some and decided that eating something would be a good idea. He walked into the crowded Great Hall and sat down in between Antonin Dolohov and Brice Avery. They could sense that he was not in a mood to speak with them, so they thought it best to remain silent and out of harm's way. Tom then looked up the table to see none other than Rosaline and that idiot Covington sitting next to each other. They were mid-kiss when he looked, with Rosaline's back to him. The rage started to swell within him, but was better adjusted then and remained composed, externally at least.

Internally, however, Tom was absolutely indignant. What gall did she have to treat him as she did? Fawning all over some random boy when the most powerful, brilliant student the school had ever seen had shown interest in her. And she was making a bloody fool of herself along the way. Tom, who had well mastered the art of manipulation, knew, of course, that she wasn't really fawning over that ridiculous Covington boy. He saw it in the way she would plant a kiss on Covington's lips, then glance back over her shoulder in the slightest way to make sure that Tom was watching. And he always was, whether she knew it or not. He had also seen it in her expression when he saw her in the common room an hour before. He knew she was trying to make him jealous. Many a girl had tried before her, but to no avail. What irked Tom about Rosaline to his very core, however, was the fact that it was working. That had to be fixed. Tom couldn't very well go about his plans with a girl, not just a girl, the girl, the girl every boy in the school had salivated over at one point or another, that girl driving him insane every time he looked her way and she glanced at him, then turned her perfect face away to talk to Covington. No, that would not do. The more Tom thought about it, the more he enjoyed the idea of having Rosaline to call his own. She would be his most coveted possession. He decided then, as he glanced down the table in her direction, that Rosaline Bordenave would be his by the end of the school-year, sooner if he could manage it.

He stood abruptly to leave the Hall, and glanced once again at Rosaline while he gathered his books into his bag. A knowing smirk played upon her full lips as she watched Tom leave, clearly paying no mind to whatever Covington was rambling on about.

Tom reciprocated with a stony face and blazing black eyes. You wait, gorgeous, you just wait. Soon you'll learn why never to play games with Tom Riddle.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. It had begun to rain in the late afternoon, and once it was dark, a violent thunderstorm rocked the castle. Night found both Tom and Rosaline in the Slytherin common room studying and chatting idly with their respective so-called friends, something that both of them incidentally despised. Rosaline, pretending to be engaged in conversation with Covington, would periodically steal glances across the room at Tom, who always seemed to be occupied at the moment. What's the point of paying attention to this fool if Tom doesn't even notice me? she thought. That was the way it always was with Tom. He only showed interest when it was convenient for him. When she could stand it no longer, she stood up, leaned over to kiss Covington goodnight, glancing one last time at Tom, who was speaking with one of his "followers," and huffed off to her dormitory.

What Rosaline didn't know was that Tom had been watching her every move. Tom also knew that she had a habit of waking in the middle of the night and taking walks in the corridors to calm herself. He fostered this same habit himself, and had seen her on occasion, though he had never allowed her to see himself. Later that night, he would wait in the common room for her to come down, then he would follow her on her stroll.

So at around three o' clock in the morning, in the common room sat Tom, not at all as tired as he should have been, excitement surging through his veins. His ears perked up at the sound of footsteps coming down the girl's dormitory staircase. He quickly stood from the couch he had been sitting on and darted over to a shadowy corner of the large room. After a few moments, Rosaline opened the staircase door and began to walk across the common room towards the door. Her long, gleaming, chestnut hair was slightly tousled and she was wearing a white silk dressing gown that billowed after her as she strode out the door and closed it quietly behind her. Tom waited a few minutes after she left and swiftly and silently followed her out and down the corridors. After several minutes of stalking his prey, Tom caught up with her in a hallway that he made absolutely sure was completely deserted.

"Rosaline!" he whispered from a shadowy spot in the corridor.

She whipped around, terrified, ready to reach for her wand if the need be. "Who's there?" she whispered back.

Tom slowly stepped out of the shadows, revealing himself in the fiery orange glow of the candles on the walls. He was pleased to see a slight relief in the tension on her face as he came into view.

"What are you doing here?' She inquired sharply.

"I have something to discuss with you," he replied calmly.

"Now that you have me cornered in a dark corridor in the middle of the night?" She raised an eyebrow, seeing an opportunity. "I don't think Covington would be very happy to hear about this."

"Honestly, Rosaline, you can't expect me to believe that show you put on," he spat.

"I don't know wha-" She was cut off by Tom's angry voice.

"Do you think I don't know what you're doing? You forget just whom you're dealing with, Rosaline." Tom sneered coldly, his deep, black eyes bearing down upon her icy blue ones.

She trembled inwardly, but she dared not show him that fear. She knew that his temper could flare, as it sometimes, but seldom, did. She'd had some experience with flaring tempers in the form of her father, and she certainly didn't want to draw it out in Tom, someone who was intimidating enough to most people when he was not enraged. Outwardly, she drew herself up as best she could, which was not much since Tom towered over her slight five foot six frame, and feigned innocence by peering up at him from under her long, dark eyelashes, meeting his brazen stare.

She took another moment to gather herself and form her lips into the sultry pout that she knew he wanted, then spoke in her tantalizing, breathy voice.

"I find it peculiar that you don't even know I'm alive when you have the opportunity to be alone with me, but the moment you see me show attention to someone else, you go mad, Tom."

She put distinct emphasis on the last word. She had carefully observed that he had always cringed and glared whenever someone addressed him as Tom, and she had stored that away in her mind. She had then unleashed that harbored information upon him, using it against him, even though she didn't know why it bothered him so. This resourcefulness was something that Tom admired in Rosaline; he liked to entertain the notion that she had learned her tactics from him, some of them at least. Rosaline's charm, however, could not have been taught. She must have been born with it, or inherited it somehow.

Tom listened to her intently, his every sense heightened to its peak.

Rosaline soaked up the blaze from his eyes and continued to speak slowly and deliberately in the same smoky, seductive voice that she knew would always find its way under Tom's skin and stay there.

"Why is it that you're obsessed with things you can't have?"

Her last comment sent Tom flying over the edge. "Are we not alone together now?" he growled angrily, stepping closer, closer to her, her face, but not her beauty, partially concealed by darkness. He pushed her swiftly and smoothly against the opposite wall and leaned in towards her. He planted one of his hands on the wall on either side of her shoulders to ensure that she could not escape.

He wanted her more then than he had ever before; she could feel the heat of desire radiating from his skin. Their faces were mere inches apart. The only sound in the hallway for a moment was their ragged breathing and the rain pounding relentlessly against the windows and walls. Their eyes locked together in a gaze more intense than the thunderstorm raging outside the castle, all around them.

Tom suddenly snapped back into his former state of mind. If she could play games, so could he. He broke their gaze to look mockingly up and down the corridor before reclaiming her eyes with his. "I don't see anyone else. And I notice that you're very much alive right now," he whispered forcefully. He removed his left hand from the wall and slowly slid it down the right side of her body, letting it finally rest in the groove of her waist. "I must admit, Rosaline, that your very public display of affection for that insolent, foolish boy has driven me to a certain degree of madness. One that I'm sure the wrong side of which you don't want to be on. But with this madness comes other things," he breathed threateningly. He could feel Rosaline's body begin to tremble, but her face remained stoic.

His desire loomed larger with every word he spoke. "I've allowed you to play your little games for as long as I can stand, but I'm afraid I've reached my limit," he said with hunger and lust burning through his eyes as he tightened the grip of his hand on her waist.

Rosaline barely noticed when he slowly untied the ribbon around her thin waist that held her dressing gown together, she was so intent upon his eyes. She knew his intensity, but she had never seen him like this before. His eyes bore into hers, welcome or not, with the strength of a psychological battering ram. All efforts on her part to resist were accepted as futile. She allowed the very slightest sensation of vulnerability and fear to pass over her candlelit countenance, one that only someone studying her as closely as Tom would have noticed. And noticed he did. Her exposure of vulnerability to him was not completely expected, but it rendered him unable to control his maddening lust for her a second longer.

His mouth collided with hers in a way that she was sure would leave bruises on her lips. He slid his hands up her arms and roughly pushed the dressing gown down, exposing her smooth neck and shoulders. His hands aggressively roamed her body, grasping through her thin night-gown, all while his lips stayed attached to hers. She snaked her arms around his neck as he pressed her body up against his, his large hands clutching her back much too tightly. He bit her bottom lip and inhaled her blood. She gasped quietly, but did not make any indication that she wanted to be freed. He moved his mouth from her lips to her jaw-line, then slowly down the sensitive skin of her neck. It tasted salty and sweet. He nipped at the crook where her neck ended and her shoulder began, earning another small gasp from her, then moved to leave a trail of rough kisses along her accented collarbone. He then made his way back up to her lips, claiming them again with another searing kiss. When they broke apart to breathe, Tom resumed his deep glare and locked his eyes on hers, their noses almost touching.

"There is nothing that I can't have," he growled viciously.

For a moment, Rosaline was rendered speechless by his vulgar display of power. Then, it was she who said, "Come here," and pulled Tom's head down to hers, feeling his raven hair between her fingers, and kissed his lips one more time, not as roughly as he had her, but just as passionately.

Suddenly, she pulled away. "See you in the morning," she breathed, eyeing him seductively. "It's late, you know." She placed her hands on his, which were still gripping her waist, gently removed them and let them fall away from her. She turned to leave, but Tom, unwilling to let her have the last word, lashed out, swiftly grabbed her by the wrist, and pulled her back to him, again engulfing her in yet another blood-boiling kiss. After what seemed like much longer than a few seconds, they finally pulled apart. Tom wicked away a drop of blood from her pillowy, swollen bottom lip with his thumb.

"You should let me walk you back to the dormitories," he said in a low, sarcastic tone. "You don't know what kinds of people roam these corridors after dark."

Rosaline stared at his unbelievably handsome face and smirked in her irresistible way. Wanting to be close to him again, she entwined her arm with his. Although she would never admit it to anyone, she could never stand being alone in the dark at night. And she knew that nothing could happen to her with Tom near, so she leaned a little closer to him and continued the walk back to the Slytherin dormitories.