RIDDLE. TOM RIDDLE

1

-1942-

1 | start of something

HER MELODIOUS VOICE rose slightly above her peer's, resonating through every corner of the Great Hall as they reached the final note. A courteous smile lingered at the corner of her pink lips and the Hogwarts Choir briefly bowed, a slight blush tinting her cheeks at the roaring cheers and standing applause. She could feel goosebumps forming under the thin fabric of her black robes, nearly tripping while she ambled back to the Ravenclaw table.

Before Merope had settled down on the wood bench, a few words of congratulations were already being excitedly thrown at her. A heavy contrast to her cheerful, sociable colleagues, she wasn't particularly acquainted with these people praising her. Not that she had ever been an outcast; though only one girl had her trust, and perhaps a limited sample of what you'd call friendship.

Lovegood was a very peculiar, eccentric girl with a warm heart fit of the kind Hufflepuffs sharing treacle tart on the table beside theirs. Her dreamy voice reached Merope's ears faintly, too soft for the rowdy students.

"You were beautiful up there." Her golden locks fell over her shoulders, smile bright and affectionate as she reached for something on her lap. Merope eyed her outstretched hand suspiciously, expecting anything glittery or alive to come out of it.

Mary's smile didn't fade as Merope took it into her hands. The golden triangular shapes that adorned the edges were cold against her skin. She turned the black leather notebook around, intrigued to find her name written in it.

"It's a Muggle diary," she explained, "I bought it with my mum in an antique store. I thought you'd like it."

Merope stared at her in awe, a sweet taste in her tongue as she thanked Mary. But thank you didn't seem enough. Instead, a gift in return was something she wished she had been considerate enough to bring.

She didn't have time to dwell in her self-deteriorating thoughts, for Professor Dippet, the school's Headmaster, had stood up. His cheerful demeanor seemed unfit of his stark posture and unwavering stare. A somewhat paternal smile was traceable under his large beard as he announced the end of the feast. Armando Dippet was a very old, feeble-looking man; even though he was a disciplinarian, his student's well being was very important for him.

Still, he was slightly oblivious - in his eyes, no student of Hogwarts had bad intentions.

Merope waved Mary farewell, subconsciously running her fingers through her brown hair as to keep it tidy. With a faint brush at her Prefect badge, she rushed to the front of the Ravenclaw table. Being from the smartest house gave her extra merit.

Side by side with the male Prefect - a green eyed boy she knew was named Rupert - they guided the first years into the Ravenclaw tower. She knew the homesickness was soon to kick in, but for now they were too occupied with the many stairs leading up to their common room. Merope found it quite amusing how the young lot seemed to backtrack when they reached the eagle-shaped bronze knocker.

"Do the other houses have to answer a riddle as well?" Inquired a small, blond girl, a curious smile etched on her lips.

"They don't, actually."

"But . . " chimed in Rupert, trying to ease the look of distaste in some of the bunch, "at least the other houses won't easily pull pranks on our Common Room."

His addition only served to cultivate some worry into their minds, a wave of murmur following suit. Merope smiled apologetically and answered the riddle.

***

Throughout the previous four years, they've been repeatedly warned of the importance and difficulty of O.W.L's. After their Transfiguration class, they had a taste of what was expecting them.

Professor Dumbledore had always been calm, fair and helpful for the slower students. Even though he clearly favored the Gryffindor house, he had never let it reflect point distribution. He wasn't the kind of man you'd see yelling orders, his piercing gaze through his half moon glasses was enough to silence crowds. Taking this into account, the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs had their reasons to be shocked.

Earlier that morning, the class had entered with the usual first-day excitement; a mixture of loud chatting about their Summer and slow steps. Merope had unwillingly woken up too early to even bother whispering. The chair beside her was pulled back and a brown bag dropped on the table as Mary sat down.

As it appeared the Professor hadn't begun the class yet, they didn't quiet down the tiniest bit. Merope looked up at their Transfiguration professor and cringed, discreetly patting Mary on the leg. If she was to describe him, it'd be a bomb a few seconds from blowing up.

Seriously, they should shut up.

Mary turned a shade paler when she followed her friend's gaze, in time to witness Professor Dumbledore adjusting his glasses and staring down at the class. No more than two or three students had stopped conversing.

"Silence!" He belted, and it was such an uncharacteristic occurrence that the room fell silent at once. "Is my class a joke? Are you ready for your exams? As long as I have to prepare you for your O.W.L's, I will not tolerate behaviour fit of first years."

The calming breeze blowing softly through the framed windows was momentarily the only audible sound. Professor took a deep breath and began presenting the first theme, his voice lowered back to its usual tone; but the students sat straight and mute.

After the class reached its end, the Ravenclaws were finally out of their rigid trance. Along with the Slytherins, the next thing on their schedules was a free study period. Scanning through it, Merope noticed they had been paired with the Slytherins for a ridiculous amount of classes. She figured that was because of the somewhat friendly agreement their house had with the green and silver one.

Except when they were competing about grades; in those occasions they were blood-thirsty enemies.

As she followed the Muggle Studies professor to the Great Hall, she wondered if these periods would be enough for all homework they would be given throughout the year. Merlin, we've already been assigned an essay on vanishing spells.

Merope made her way to the very end of the table, avoiding some annoying Slytherin girls. She took a piece of parchment and a quill from her bag, sliding down on the bench. Blowing a strand of hair from her face, she had barely finished writing Merope Bullock before she registered some shifting beside her. She assumed only Mary would take the trouble to go sit beside her and ignored the weight plopping down on the bench. Merope nearly choked on her own saliva at the enticing sound of a deep voice by her ear.

"Mind if I ask, have you by any chance had Transfiguration already?" He inquired, and she turned to look at him, an inviting smile growing on his lips.

His dark hair curled slightly at his forehead, his blue eyes intimidating as he waited for her reply. He smelled faintly of a cologne she would expect on the rich Slytherins, and for a moment, she forgot her opinion of Tom Riddle.

From afar, she had deduced that his politeness had to be faked. A man that was smart, handsome, polite and honest can't possibly exist. She couldn't deny that his sharp cheekbones, fit body and tall stature were attractive; she couldn't deny that he was known for his immense knowledge. But she also couldn't deny the mysteriously uncanny aura around him.

Finally, she replied in a whisper, careful of her tone in the quiet room. "Yes, just now."

"Is the homework complicated?" He pressed further, briefly looking down at the nearly blank paper on the table. She couldn't pinpoint why he was talking to her after so many years a stranger, and it was making her frustrated.

Merope picked up her quill and dipped it in the pitch black ink. "It is a matter of perspective. "

She began writing the first words of the essay, his piercing stare was nothing compared to the homework queue she would have after Charms and Defense Against The Dark Arts.

"You're Miss Bullock, right? Merope Bullock." He asked, a seemingly innocent question that stirred something within her. Her first name slipped out of his tongue with a touch of distaste, her hand that had been scribbling a second paragraph stilled.

"And you're Tom Riddle." She said slowly, looking up from the parchment. His gaze flickered towards the leather diary loosely tucked inside her bag, but as quickly as it had wavered, his blue eyes were trained back on hers.

Merope adverted her two hazel ones back to her homework, a faint red tinting her cheeks as she puffed them out to blow yet another strand of hair from her face. Beside her, Tom finally reached for his own bag.