Or so the Daily Prophet made it seem. Far off in a different continent------an ocean away. The focus lay there, it appeared. Sure, Britain was in a state of alert, but the school was still open and the trips to Hogsmeade not cancelled.
Tom should have known better. He should have realised. A bunch of school kids would be an easy target, a definite way to terrorize the community. A way to shake the system. A brilliant plan, if you considered it. Take the children, keep them hostage-----hold them as leverage------inspire fear.
But he hadn’t. He hadn’t considered the option. As a matter of fact, he’d hardly considered the war at this morning.
So when, just an hour into the trip, dark figures appeared out of nowhere and begun firing spells, he only just managed to jump out of the way of a stunner.
Tom Riddle, top tier grade-a student, overused example of ‘how the spell was supposed to be casted, students, do show us, mr. Riddle’, had his wand in hand a moment later and an echo of the spell that he had barely escaped from just before flew from his wand. This time, the spell did hit a target. He didn’t allow himself time for smugness over that.
Safety-----he needed to get out of here. That was his first thought. Selfishness was in his nature, he needed to protect himself because no one else was going to do it for him. And then a flash of red, freckles above a toying little grin. Sod off, Riddle.
He’d consider the why later------he had to find her first.
He was disheveled ( wild raven hair, without a shawl, coat unbuttoned ) and slightly nauseous ( a combination of things that didn’t fit him at all, composed and careful as he always was ) by the time he spotted her-----angry shouts and fiery red hair, a vicious spell sailing and hitting someone right in the chest. He was impressed by the sheer number of people she was taking on, the skill with which she held them at a distance all by herself------but cold calculation told him she would not manage for too long. Exhaustion would cost her, she would get overwhelmed.
He wouldn’t allow that to happen.
A harsh flick of his wrist had a spell sailing from his wand, aiming and hitting one of the particularly aggresive figures right between the eyes. The man fell face first into the snow and Tom rushed to the girl’s side. “Bastards,” it was a snarl, spat at the surrounding mass. Another spell hit target------and a scream erupted from the figure as blood spilled between the fingers pressed to their face.
