RIDDLE. TOM RIDDLE

4

4 | letters and confessions

IT WAS THE VERY FIRST time Tom Riddle had been caught doing something wrong. Better yet, he had been caught by someone who would be able to see through his lies -- his record was damned.

"May I ask what brings you to this bathroom? Have you not found yours?" Merope commanded, feeling her authority grow -- which was impressive considering who she was facing.

Before the boy could reply, there was the sound of a hiccup followed by an explosion of ugly crying, coming from one of the bathroom stalls.

Tom winced noticeably, causing the prefect to glare at him.

"Is that your fault?" she raised an eyebrow, and she could swear that there was at least the slightest hint of colour in his pale features.

"No."

"Should I go inside and ask her?"

"No."

At this, Merope felt as if she was talking to a child. A very manipulative child, but she was not one to let herself be fooled. A number of possibilities ran through her head -- maybe he hurt the girl because she annoyed him, or maybe he did something bad to a friend of hers. Would Riddle do that to someone? For the little Merope knew, he might as well be a killer.

"Who is the girl, Riddle?" she pressured, trying to sound demanding. "Don't make me deduct points from Slytherin."

At that, he seemed to re-gain awareness. He straightened his back and she knew he would admit whatever it was he had done.

"No need for drastic measures." he began, walking slowly towards her, gesturing to himself as he spoke the following words, "I'm not at fault. The girl approached me on my way to dinner and confessed her undying love, simple."

"That still doesn't explain why she's crying." Merope insisted, amusement splattered across her features. She had caught him, the perfect student, doing something bad. Maybe now she had something interesting about herself to add unto that diary.

Another row of ugly crying and sniffing erupted from the closed stall. Merope shuddered at the unpleasant noise. Poor girl.

"I'm not done yet." Tom groaned, seemingly losing his patience. There was something different about his attitude, and the Ravenclaw girl's instinct told her this was the first time he had to do this much explaining. "She enquired me about my feelings towards her and I replied honestly. Obviously she wasn't pleased with it and ran here. Before you ask any further, Bullock, I came here to check on her."

"That still doesn't justify the act of being inside the girl's bathroom." Merope hissed back at his flat tone, much to his distress. "Now, get out of here. You'll miss dinner."

"Alright then." he muttered, turning back on his heels and exiting the room rather quickly.

Merope let herself sit down unto the floor and drown into the sound of the girl's hiccups. Her bladder wasn't bothering her the slightest anymore, nor was she hungry. Something had taken over her only a few minutes before -- she had gotten way too demanding. A confidence that she didn't usually have overcoming her. Those might have been the side effects of talking to the heck of a mystery that was Tom Riddle.

She wasn't worried with her prefect job -- her true concern was the possibility of him, the one everyone had as a role model, actually doing something that could be seen as a menace. Merope wouldn't easily admit it, but she was rather relieved that it turned out to be nothing nearly as bad as she started to image. No wonder he was flustered -- someone confessing to you was not easy to brush off.

At that time, her focus had been so set in their dialogue, that she hadn't taken much notice in his physical appearance. Now, revising the episode in her mind, the only thing she could think of was how his dark hair was messy as if he had ran his hand through it countless times; how his blue eyes revealed how surprised he was to be caught; his pink, parted lips showing the indignation of having to answer so many questions.

***

The following morning was a Saturday, but the routine of waking up at oddly early hours kept her tossing and turning in her bed. Merope had this curse set upon her named over thinking -- which she was doing at that precise moment. The night before, after she had exited the bathroom and had her choir practice, a white owl had delivered her a letter.

Her mother, whose maiden name was Elise Potter, was the daughter of a simple family, mostly composed of Gryffindors. They weren't rich and stuck up like most of the pure-blooded wizarding families, and that was something Merope had always admired inthem.

But that letter, that letter wasn't typical of her mother at all. It read:

Dear Merope,

I know that it is too early to be sending this letter, but I wanted it done as soon as possible. Cutting to the point, I don't think it would be right for you to come home this Christmas. I know you love Hogwarts, and staying in school will do you better than coming by this year. I'm sure some of your friends will be staying too, right? Don't think too much into this.

With love,

Mother

Merope had tossed and turned too many times, and still her mind was blank -- no idea of what that could possibly mean. Not once in her stay at Hogwarts had she not gone back home -- how could her mother have the courage to tell her not to worry? She never had any kind of problems at home, and this was surely going to be an unpleasant experience.

Had her step-father done anything? That was impossible, he was the kindest man she has gotten the chance to meet.

An empty feeling crawled inside her stomach, and she grabbed the only thing she knew wouldn't surprise or damage her -- a book. Not any book, the one she had been writing regarding the infamous Tom Riddle.

She wondered if he would ever comprehend her complex thoughts, and mostly she wondered when would she ever to be able to see through his. Slowly, her mind drifted from the insanely uncharacteristic letter and back into a drowsy state. And that's how she was finally able to fall asleep again -- clutching the black leather book tightly against her chest, wide open in a page with only the drawing of those icy blue eyes of his.

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