RIDDLE. TOM RIDDLE

3

3 | arythmancy and tales

RIDDLE WAS NOT THE NORMAL kind of student, nor had he ever been considered one. Even though he was a teenage boy with a large group of friends, he had never done anything that could be a menace to his school records. Of course, at least he hadn't yet been caught. That was a subject that seemed to highly intrigue Merope . Even in completely unrelated situations, like the example of their Arythmancy class.

Merope had kept quiet for a long time - when the blue-eyed boy sat on the chair beside hers; when the teacher handed them exercises to do; and even when a chunk of paper flew from the hand of Abraxas Malfoy and hit her head.

Tom, though, was an entirely different story. He had greeted her politely upon sitting down, thanked the teacher with a charming smile, while eying the piece of paper, and had also warned his friend to be careful, scolding him for harming her.

"Thank you." She had croaked out, feeling uneasy. It was surprising how rigid Malfoy sat now, when only a minute ago he had been so cheerful.

"It was my pleasure." He said, as formal and polite as ever. Tom Riddle was an intriguing man, the only one of his kind. He was someone Merope definitely troves to decipher.

"Hmh." she mumbled as a reply, lowering her head at the finished exercise sheet. It was something usual of her, to end things quickly and not think much about them.

Only, for the first time, she wasn't going to opt staring into nothing. Instead, she grabbed the small leather book from her purse and picked up her quill.

She was not psychic to feel it, but Tom was clearly staring at her. Merope had no idea at the time, but he wondered how his journal could be so similarly looking to her diary -- and he wondered if she would ever write the same things as he.

A cold breeze of wind swept through the windows that Professor Ava had opened, causing a shudder to ran through Merope's spine. Riddle, though, seemed utterly unfazed, which caused her some distress.

Her long, black quill traced words along the paper, words of admiration and doubt. Once more, all about the mystery boy who sat by her side. She studied his behavior when he wasn't looking -- the way his hand supported his head, how his cheekbones were so prominent and how much authority he held.

Merope was starting to consider herself a stalker, and it had only been two weeks since the beginning of classes. Feeling slightly ashamed, she closed her diary and shoved it back unto her school bag. A question was lingering in the back of her head.

"How come Malfoy obeyed you so quickly?" she enquired upon gathering enough courage, turning to him. He let out a short laugh -- but she knew better than to acknowledge it as truthful.

"You'll find I can be very...persuasive." Tom responded while eying her carefully, almost as if he was studying her reaction. There was something different about his tone, something indicating there was a further purpose behind those simple words.

And she was dying to know what it meant.

***

Their Friday's afternoon was filled with nothing less than an empty schedule (despite the choir practice she would have after dinner). Merope sat in the Ravenclaw common room with Mary Lovegood, discussing well founded theories about whether the original four heads of each house may have had affairs between them.

"I think Salazar would be too proud and power-thirsty to even consider a relationship." Merope began, her wand twirling in her pale fingers.

Mary, whose blond hair was set tight in a ponytail, immediately disagreed. "No, no. Think about what we know of Slytherin's traits. He was cunning, I'm sure he would appreciate a cunning woman as well."

"Are you suggesting Rowena Ravenclaw?"

"Why, of course I'm suggesting her!" Mary continued her trail of thought. "Two brilliant minds together could conquer the world. I'm sure Salazar was enchanted by that idea."

"What makes you believe Rowena would agree with such a foul mentality?" chimed in Rupert, the male Ravenclaw prefect. He seemed to be as interested in that debate as they were.

"Oh, but that's the thing. She wouldn't agree. She would fall for his looks, for his charms and for his mind, but she would not agree with his idea of pure blood ethnocentrism. Salazar probably revealed the chamber to his love."

"Rowena would be heartbroken." Merope murmured, continuing to fiddle with her wand.

"And that's why Salazar fled. He couldn't pretend that being so close to her wouldn't bother him." Rupert finished, a puzzled expression set on his face.

Merope kept quiet, wondering if those two powerful founders could have been each other's weaknesses. Mary wore a winning smile, continuing to converse about those theories with Rupert, but the brown haired girl had her mind on somewhere else.

She had suddenly reminded herself of her brief talk with the first year boy, and how she spoke to him about what meant being in Ravenclaw. Merope reminded herself of those thoughtful words, and wondered if someone with those traits could ever share a bound with someone from the green house.

It wasn't impossible, obviously. Merope thought about herself and the attraction she felt about the star boy -- and she came to a realization. How could she even dare to write about someone who she knew nothing more than what he revealed in general?

"Hey, Bullock, mate?" Rupert called for her, dragging her away from those thoughts.

"Oh, yes?"

"Are you coming with us for dinner?" enquired Mary, grabbing her cloak from the dark blue sofa. Merope shook her head, a weird feeling telling her she needed to use the bathroom.

They left the common room together, but turned different directions. Upon reaching the nearest girl's loo, Merope suddenly stopped, gripping her wand tightly, just for reassurance.

Tom Riddle, what could you possibly be doing in such a place?

***