The Burning of the White Wisteria

CHAPTER 16: HE WHO HATES TO LOSE

I chased after the trail of Tom's robe behind him, tripping over myself every now and then. My breath burned my throat as I struggled to match his pace. Tom Riddle walked extremely fast and always with purpose, the hallways thundering with his footsteps. Any student who got in his way noticeably jumped out of dodge, desperate to stay out of his path.

What does he want?

After our last conversation, I thought that Tom would get the hint. I wanted nothing to do with him. I didn't even want to see his bloody face in the hallways. You're an idiot, Alexa, I scolded myself, of course it wouldn't be that easy. He's Tom Riddle.

"Where are we going?" I finally asked, annoyance searing through my words.

He didn't respond, his dark eyes trained ahead of him as he only quickened his pace. I groaned as I jogged a bit to catch up to him. "Slow down for Salazar's sake!"

He ignored me, slowing to a stop abruptly. I crashed into his back, the weight of my body not even making him budge. I groaned as I recollected myself, stepping out to regain the distance between us. A bit intrigued, I peered from over his shoulder to see our final destination.

Is this a joke?

All that stood in front of us was a large stone wall. There was nothing special or unique about it. It was just... A wall.

"This is where you brought me?" I huffed. "Very funny Tom--"

The sounds of stones grinding together silenced my voice immediately. My eyes widened as I glanced back at the wall.

I watched as it slowly began to contort, morphing itself in order to make room for one large, hauntingly perfect black door.

"What...?"

"Come on then," Tom grumbled, opening the door and holding it for me.

I apprehensively walked through the door, crossing my arms.

The room before me was strange, bone-chillingly silent and yet somehow... familiar. It resembled the Slytherin common room. Some leather couches sat in front of a large green fireplace, the flames crackling and hissing as they turned the wood inside to nothing but ash. Notably, the fireplace was bright enough to light the area where the couches had been placed. The rest of the room was shrouded in deep darkness. The only other object I could see was a large black table, adorned with chairs. The one that sat at the head was the only one different from the rest, much larger in size and grander in presence.

My head ached as I looked at the room, a strong sense of deja vu lingering in my brain. It was as if I'd seen it all before-- had the same thoughts about it. I shook the thought out of my head.

That's impossible. I would remember something like this, wouldn't I?

Tom was obviously familiar with the room, discarding his robe onto the couch as he began to fiddle with the cuffs of his shirt. He wandered over to the fire as he did so, his face illuminated by the green flames.

"Tom," I shifted, feeling extremely uncomfortable by the mood he had set, "what am I doing here?"

Tom didn't say anything, focused intensely on pinning back his cuffs.

I furrowed my eyebrows, walking over to him. "Hello?" I asked again, frustration bubbling in my chest. "Tom?"

"Take a seat."

It was an ordinary sentence. In a different context, it could've sounded polite, hospitable. But it wasn't.

It was an order.