Dark souls

1|Remember me?

♤Tom♤

Potions was alright, Tom could say it could be his favorite class. But sometimes he didn't like it, because Slughorn would be a bit too cheerful for his liking. 

It seemed as that day was today, and in fact- Slughorn was so happy that he told the students to pair off into partners! 

Tom didn't make a move too look at anyone, like all the students behind him looked happily at their best friend. He simply took out his textbook and turned to the written page number, walking to the potions shelf. 

The glass bottles shimmered in delight as he set them on the table, tapping his fingers against the bottles so they made a soft thumping sound. The potion consisted of seven ingredients. The page number was seven hundred and seventy seven. Maybe seven was Tom's lucky number, he thought as he gently popped open the cork of a bottle. 

"We're partners now." A dainty voice interrupted his thoughts. He looked up, only to see as Slytherin girl with weird hair- it was mostly a dirty brown but with pale highlights. And Tom couldn't help but get the feeling that he has seen her before. Maybe he has seen her in his dreams, Tom sees many things in his dreams. 

She stands about a foot away from Tom, staring into his eyes as students softly charter around them. As Tom turns back to his couldren, passing the girl off as a weird ghost, he feels a soft shiver as the girl brushes past him, and a nice, floral scent. 

The girl has taken it upon herself to settle next to Tom, standing much to close to him for his liking. Her slim fingers grasp a pink bottle from the next table over, the students too busy chatting to notice her. She then pops the cork off, sprinkling the mist into Tom's couldren. "What are you doing?" Tom fumes as the girl grabs another bottle, splashing the contents into the couldren. "Did you ever read the measurements?" 

"I didn't even look at the label." She says simply, a smile growing on her lips as Tom grabs the bottle from her hands to read it. Tom turns to the couldren, trying to fix the problem she has made. 

"Look, I don't know who you are but-" she sticks out her hand, smiling. 

"Lotus." She introduces, Her smile quickly dropping, "Missy Lotus." She finishes, and Tom's throat goes dry. He feels like he has swallowed a handful of cotton balls. When Tom stand there, clearly not showing any emotion, Missy turns to the couldren once again. 

She wraps her fingers around a potions bottle, pouring the powdered dust into the couldren, making it an awfully bright yellow. "Stop-" Tom tries. 

"Do you remember me, Tom?" Missy interrupts again. When Tom still doesn't respond, she turns her eyes to the brightly yellow potion, her sickly reflection staring back. Missy has never liked the color yellow. 

"I'm suprised you still remember me, didn't think a boy with an ego as large as yours would remember a filthy orphan like me." She spits, her fingers circling the rim of another bottle, this one sending off a lavender smell into the room as she pops it open. "I have wondered what you were doing after you left." Tom didn't like the way she said his name, he realized. He angrily took another bottle away from her hands before she could ruin the potion any more.

 "Tommy is now a teacher's pet, a charmingly kind, suck arse gentleman." Students from a few tables by them start to stare, Tom growing more angry by the second. He has never liked nosy people, unfortunately Hogwarts is crawling with them. Tom pushes Missy out of the way, making her stumble away. She pouts and crosses her arms, just as she did as a little girl. Tom remembered her, he didn't want to. Missy extended her arm to hover over a glittering bottle, only for Tom's hand to slap it away. 

"Is that any way to treat an old friend?" Missy pouts some more, making her lips look like a bumble bee stung them. 

"Your not my friend." Tom grits bitterly through his teeth, arching his eyebrows as the pot starts to steam and bubble. 

"No?" 

"Missy-" Tom angrily stares at the girl once more, but this time, when he stares at her eyes- he feels nostalgic. Memories are coming back- no flooding back. She's forcing them out. He doesn't like it.