RIDDLE. TOM RIDDLE

2

2 | a quill and ink

RIDDLE

Chapter Two

The sky is so tragically beautiful - a graveyard built on hundred of stars. Those thoughts wandered through Merope's busy mind as she dreamily gazed upon the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling. While accurately replicating the real one, it also possessed a few magically induced tweaks. Her empty plate had been slightly pushed to the side, and a small, knowing smile reached her lips as she looked back down at the table ahead of her.

Unreachable, mysterious, complex. As much as those words were precise in describing stars, they could surely stand a meaning regarding the boy sitting across the hall. Only earlier that day, she'd seen him offer a handwritten copy of his Arythmancy notes to a girl who had fallen ill at the infirmary. However, she couldn't help but take notice of the recurring snickers and crude observations from his tight-knit elitist group of friends.

Perhaps it only indicated she was too lonely, too immersed in insignificant details of the world that surrounded her, but she was awfully curious about who Tom Riddle was.

An idea ran over her mind of what she would be writing in that diary of hers.

Grasping the small black leather book between her thin hands, Merope rushed away from the rowdy hall towards the tiring staircase leading to the Ravenclaw tower. That was one of those few lucky nights in which she hadn't been assigned for patrolling.

Apart from a first year boy near the windows, the common room was deserted. Frantically, he waved his wand around in sloppy, untrained motions.

"Why -can't - I -get this - right!" she heard him mumble with each flick. Merope found herself momentarily conflicted between helping him and writing down her thoughts. In the end, realizing how absurdly childish her thought process was, she took a sit next to him, gently setting her book down.

"You're doing it wrong." She said, careful in her tone not to upset him any further. He showed no surprise at her words, his tired gaze held unwavering defeat.

"I know I'm doing it wrong." He exhaled heavily, pouting at the stiff feather. "But I don't understand what I'm doing wrong. I - I am a Ravenclaw, right? Aren't I supposed to know?"

Merope eyed him attentively at first, puzzled. When she understood what was upsetting him so deeply, a grin brightened her features.

"What do you think the Ravenclaw house consists of, Thomas?" she began, intentionally calculating her words.

"You know my name?" the boy seemed briefly suspicious, but Merope waved him off quickly.

"I'm a prefect, I know everyone's names." Was her explanation, which he seemed to comprehend, nodding. She pressed further, twirling the feather in her hands. "Now, reply to my question."

"Well, Ravenclaw is for smart people . . . people with knowledge." Thomas's reply sounded thoroughly unsure - he already doubted himself even without Merope uttering a single word.

"If that's what being in this house means, then maybe the sorting hat has made a mistake with most of us." Before he could interrupt, she continued with a swift raise of her free hand, determined. "But I don't really believe that to be the definition. You see; people of wit, creativity, imagination - those are the ones chosen. Not just a bunch of textbook-eaters. You, for an instance, are not dumb; you were only saying the word wrong. I'll help you, but go eat your dinner before there's no food left."

Thomas offered her a genuine, large smile that reached his eyes and warmed her chest. He seemed relieved, even, and she was glad to have come across him. Who knew for how long this notion could eat away his happiness.

Merope's original intentions flashed through her head as the boy walked away.

She picked up the black leather book and strolled all the way up to the girl's dorms, assembling a quill and black ink. Ravenclaw dormitories were particularly equipped with small desks for each student's use. Merope secured her intrusive her brown hair with a scarf, eyes skimming over the empty page. Mary had labelled the object as a diary - but she showed no interest in writing about herself. She wasn't interesting enough for journaling.

She wasn't one to settle for patriarchy, but for some The school's handsome mystery, Tom Riddle. She had thought about it just the day prior - when he had talked to her for the first time, also taking an interest in this very diary. Some part of her mind felt drawn to all the questions surrounding his middle name, his family background, his intelligence and even his constant visits to the library; sometimes in the restricted section. Merope didn't really knew if it was socially acceptable or even healthy to pay so much attention to one individual, but she couldn't help it.

Her long, black quill was finally dipped in ink and she scribbled the date on the corner of the paper, and then her hand stopped. Her brain had nearly shut off when she tried to think of a title, only one word coming to her mind - a simple word that she wrote in the middle of page. Riddle.

***

Friday was the day of the week nearly every student at Hogwarts hoped for - but that did not apply for the Ravenclaws, that including Merope and her friend Mary. They were both only finished pulling their skirts up when Aurora - who slept on the bed beside Merope - let out an exasperated sigh.

"Do you think we will have a repeat of what happened last week?" she asked, getting dressed as well.

"Well, most likely. If they did it in the first week of school when people are usually more controlled, then they will certainly do it every time until the end of the year." Mary's still-sleepy voice filled their ears. A hum of approval echoed throughout the room. Merope, who had finished with her blue colored tie, got on her school robes and exited as quickly as she could, eager to eat her breakfast before the mess started to unfold.

You see, the problem is that on Friday they have double Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. This class isn't taken by many people, and actually, there is not a single Hufflepuff attending them (they prefer Care of Magical Creatures and Muggle Studies). This leaves us with Gryffindors, Slytherins and Ravenclaws crammed up in a classroom. Ravenclaws only create chaos against other houses when they feel extremely betrayed or tampered with - it has to be something close to extreme. On the other hand, the red and the green houses seem to hold a deep grudge against each other, one that it's said to come from the time of Godric and Salazar themselves.

The problem stands on the fact that on Fridays, since the two houses are forced to have all the classes together after a tiring week, they decided it would be fun to not only play witty pranks on each other, but also cause confusion in the class itself. Meanwhile, the blue house was left in the middle of the confusion, not taking any side for their own sake.

"You left really quick." Noted Mary, plopping down near her on the breakfast table while she drew sharp, quick breaths as if she had been running. Merope had gathered some scrambled eggs, bacon and toast into her plate and had been eating gloomily.

"I guess so." She replied, stuffing the very last bit of bread into her mouth. Merope was not only tired from her week of classes, dreading the thought of today's ones, but was also carrying major lack of sleep. On top of her prefect duties (patrolling), she had been staying up late to write on her 'diary'. She started it last week on a Tuesday night, and hadn't gotten much into it until this Monday - when she noticed Tom Riddle reading some volumes she knew where about the Hogwarts' founders. Now, her book had a few pages of poems, some drawings of a raven-haired man, and everything she knew about him - which only then did she realize was little to nothing.

"Don't you think Lestrange is extremely . . . hot?" a voice sounded beside Merope, and, for a second, she thought it to be Luna and nearly spat her pumpkin juice. Thankfully, it was Aurora's voice instead, her eyes fiercely fixated in the Slytherin table. The man she talked about, though, was not looking at her at all, instead, Malfoy's eyes were staring in the direction of their table. Aurora didn't seem the slightest fazed. "I wouldn't prefer him over Riddle, though. Lestrange has obviously the good looks, but doesn't have nearly as much of a smart brain as him."

Even though Aurora's words would most likely interest Merope, she wasn't paying any attention to her. Instead, she had her gaze fixated on Malfoy's, trying to decipher where his own glare was headed. It became quick to notice because the person in question shared the same stiff expression with the blond Slytherin - Rupert.

That was surely something that would end up in her diary. After all, that boy didn't do anything without Lestrange, Nott and Riddle joined by the hip. Therefore, if there was a problem worth them having such an obvious staring contest, it had to be big.

***

Professor Ava Thompson, who taught them Arithmancy, was actually North American and very, very smart. Although not smart enough to decipher who had vandalized her classroom. Merope thought that was the most unintelligent prank they might have pulled on each other - someone had cursed the chairs on the back so that they would break whenever someone sat on them. This was really dense for one simple reason - now they would all have to disregard the chairs in the back, and pile up on the front.

This had turn out to be something not bad at all for Merope because she, out of all people, ended up squeezed next to Tom Riddle. That sure ought to be an interesting class.