Promised - Tom Riddle x reader

Part 11 - The Earth's Centre ★

A/n: This chapter is written partially from Tom's POV and the reader will be addressed in third person. The POV shift starts in the second half, after the divider, just so you know :)

Starting to brew the antidote for Mors Grano proved easier than anticipated. The potion's base was quite similar to any other healing draught, and so was its production. You had decided to begin the tedious process, even though the Banshee tears were missing. According to the recipe, they were the last ingredient to be added, so you had plenty of time to find them, even if you didn't know exactly how.

For the first few weeks, there was nothing to do but the Moondew cook, stirring it frequently. The cauldron stood in Tom's room, its content simmering steadily, ready to be examined at any moment by one of you. 

Professor Beery had denied you the bonus points for the N.E.W.T.s after you had told him that the Moly had unfortunately died. Those points were the least of your problems, however.

The plant had, in fact, bloomed beautifully, ready to be added to the potion.

And that was when the difficulties began.
As soon as you dropped the blossoms into the cauldron, the potion started to smell. Very strongly. The mixture reacted in a way that wasn't described in the book and started to produce yellow steam, as well as a sour, headache-inducing odour, which reached beyond the walls of Tom's room. The fume filled up every last inch of his dorm and even seemed to creep out into the Slytherin common room. Other students had begun to mention the weird smell and even Dippet, who had paid Tom a number of unfortunate surprise visits, was beginning to grow suspicious.

You had sent your parents an owl to inform them that you wouldn't come home during your semester break. They weren't exactly happy about it; you had never stayed at Hogwarts during the holidays after all. But you had insisted, telling them there was so much studying to do until they finally let go. That wasn't even a lie. There was a bunch of work to do. Granted, not all of it was related to school, but you still had a lot on your plate.

Tom stayed in Hogwarts for the week as well. You weren't sure but highly doubted that he had notified his own family about it. And to be fair, they wouldn't really care about that, would they?

Although the school was practically empty, with only a fraction of the students staying with you, those who remained complained of the pungent smell in all the Slytherin dormitories. On Sunday evening you heard that the housekeeper had been sent to find the source, and Tom was informed that Mr Carpe would begin his search the following morning.

So there you were, worrying about what to do, stirring the cauldron for the twentieth time within the last minutes, hoping it would steam less, the more you whisked through it. No matter how hard you concentrated, how many options you took into account, there was nowhere to take the cauldron where its smell would go unnoticed.

The Potions classroom was off-limits, even though it was much better equipped for the fumes. Slughorn would spend a lot of his time there, to prepare tasks for the upcoming semester.
You had even considered taking it home and telling your parents about it. But using the Floo-Network with an item this heavy wasn't possible, and taking the train with a simmering cauldron seemed ridiculous. Besides, the antidote still took months to finish, so you would have to take it back to Hogwarts a week later anyway.

Hell, you had even thought of taking that damned kettle out onto the Quidditch pitch or into the forest, so no one would smell it anymore. But you couldn't leave it out in the open, of course.

Just when you had given up hope and realised that you couldn't go on brewing the potion in Tom's room, or anywhere else, he had told you about another possibility. There was this room on the seventh floor that he had discovered in fifth year. He called it the Come and Go Room and was positive that no one but himself, not even the teachers, knew of its existence. The room must have been enchanted, according to Tom, and only appeared when one was in dire need.