ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ ᴏɴᴇsʜᴏᴛs

A Night of No Stars

author: prettyoddmoon (on ao30 

summary: Not only a rival of her house, but an all-in-all hostile individual, Tom Riddle finds himself venturing into taking a half-blood witch along to a formal, lavish ball at Malfoy Manor, with the sole intention of rubbing it in their prejudiced, classist faces.

talking about the malfoys...we need like a reader x lucuis x narcisaa one shot because IT IS NEEDED 😀👈

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A feeble candle flame of tangerine trembled in the faint, faded light, far not enough to provide the sufficient amount of warmth for a lonesome Ravenclaw shriveled up in a corner as though a dead leaf on the side of the pavement. The library was quiet, as it usually was, and the young witch was once again glad that she had been able to seek evening shelter (if not the most tepid of kinds) in a place that didn't overly buzz with energy and life – the wizarding school she attended deigned to do just that, teeming with students. Thus, a crumb of peace every once in a while was almost too welcome, and she was able to get work done, too. A win-win.

Suddenly, the sound of a door swinging open filled the dusty air; it was that quiet. The feet against the wooden floor drummed a very unique, specific pattern – she recognised it. That could only be... yes, him, as she watched him round the corner and sweep into view, his onyx robes stirring ever so slightly. The malachite badge that was sitting above his heart shimmered in the dim candlelight, and Tom Riddle's glare was focused on [Y/N]. A Prefect, although a Slytherin, and she had seen plenty of him all around the school and at Prefect meetings, too. His signature slicked wavy hair and ironclad mien were all there, and, of course, how could she ever forget, the cologne. Hadn't his steps been telling enough, [Y/N] would've noticed Riddle's presence before he even showed himself – the rich scent alone would do the trick.

The young witch had been seated at her table alone, except for the company of her Astronomy homework, a pile of books, and a fresh set of quills. A certain sense of annoyance pooled in her chest at the sudden visitor; there had always been a certain unspoken rivalry between Slytherin and Ravenclaw – the two houses deemed most similar – and the tension was not only strung out between a handful of residents, but between simply... everyone. [Y/N] guessed that the hatred rooted in that one time her own house had debased Riddle's in Quidditch, or the time his house had won the House Cup by just three points, or merely the fact that all of their smug, condescending little faces were not the most pleasant sight to have. She assumed the feeling was mutual. "What do you want?"

Riddle didn't dare – care – to sit down nor let his face portray the slightest taint of reaction, choosing to speak instead, "Most people go for 'Hello'. Merry evening, [Y/N]."

Her reply was dry. "Riddle."

The Slytherin cocked his head at her just the slightest bit. He didn't appear distraught, he was rather calculating. "The library is bound to close soon, isn't it?"

"Indeed," the girl replied, twirling her quill between her fingers. What in the world was he playing at? "But it's still open, isn't it? Thus, I would really like to proceed with my coursework, most preferably alone. Thank you."

"You can proceed in a moment, as I won't be restraining you from it for long," he retorted, a note of indifference both perceivable in his voice and on his face. Seriously, the motherfucker could be an actor. Did he bear at least a single care in the world?

That's when [Y/N] realised: the boy was holding something in his hand. An envelope of some sort.

Riddle noticed that her eyes had flickered to his grasp, and stretched out his arm. It turned out to be a card of charcoal heavyweight paper, including florid, excessively curly writing of pearly silver printed upon it.