Non Omnis Moriar

17: The Slug Club

Hiii welcome back to another segment of my blithering onto here. I hope each and everyone of you is well and as usual my inbox is very open for all! You can also hit me up on tumblr or twitter, details for which are in my bio!

***

TOM'S POV

November was harsh with rain and steadily dropping temperatures. Despite this, the first week was wrought with Quidditch matches that brought forth mud splatters and chilled spines that had nothing to do with the cold.

Tom Riddle had never had much patience with getting dirty needlessly. For sure, he wasn't afraid of getting his hands messy when the occasion called for it - he could just never fathom why it would have to be upon a broomstick, chasing after balls.

He hadn't understood it in his childhood either, sitting to one side as he watched the rest of the orphans play football. He must have tried to join - as a silly child - but must have soon discovered the inanity of it.

It was the same case here. It made no sense to be playing high up, with rains lashing at you to try and score points that brought nothing but a very sheer illusion of glory to a house.

And no matter how ridiculous, the same sentiment ran in the Slytherins as well.

However, in spite of the cold, the meaninglessness of it, Tom found himself quietly leading his Knights down to the stands. They wished to see the match, they wished to see their friend Malfoy on his bought position and broom. Tom was a generous leader - he could accept that.

This wasn't the time when he needed to cinch the leash too tight, after all.

Up on the stands, barely able to sight anything that moved farther than half a mile in front of them - the din was excruciatingly maddening.

The students could hardly see in front of them, what were they screaming for? He wondered, mask on to hide the curl of his lip. He could've been in the library, researching more important topics that would help him with his goals.

Though he understood the value of his time and his access to the Hogwarts library, he would have to show up sometime - lest Dumbledore ask him why he was absent, or worse, if Rose Revel began to ask questions.

She was here, of course. Her friend Lila Macmillan was on the team - a chaser, though Tom could swear she was invisible to the passionately screaming girl. The other one, Fawley was a reserve and what purpose that served, he could never point out.

For all Tom's understanding of why it was necessary for him to keep up appearances, the one thing that he couldn't understand was why he had to endure the constant grinding on his nerves that accompanied Revel's voice. She was standing to the front of the stand, Alphard Black and Eileen Prince to the sides of her, and yet, even through the intangible noise that his peers made, her voice was most noticeable - the most infuriating. He found these days her voice even more unpleasant than Olive Hornby's and that was a feat he respected her for. He would have never thought that possible.

Tom sighed, thinking back to earlier in the week after Halloween. In the library again, making good use of his time during his breaks and then the calm concentration he had woven around him broke when he heard Revel and her friends.

He had cursed, wondering if he had time to cast a disillusionment charm on himself. He didn't, with Lila turning the corner, followed by Revel and Fawley and then Black.