𝔅𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔦𝔣𝔲𝔩 𝔓𝔞𝔦𝔫

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔗𝔴𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔶-𝔣𝔬𝔲𝔯

𝔎𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔞'𝔰 𝔭𝔬𝔳

"The pages," I order, walking up to Tom Riddle. The dark-haired prefect looks away from Abraxas, who sits next to him on the black, leather couch in the Slytherin common room, and meets my gaze. "I'm sorry?"

"The pages," I say again. It's been two days since he threatened me, and I have been avoiding him since. He warned me not to do that, but he hasn't tried to find me or asked for me, so technically, I didn't do anything wrong. But I can't avoid him anymore. It's already February, and I need to know who or what the fuck I am. And he is the only one with the answers to those questions.

He stops his conversation with Abraxas and turns his attention to me fully. "I told you the deal for the pages. You ran out."

"You don't have a choice," I tell him. "By not giving me those pages, you are interfering with my goal which is a direct violation of the vow you took. Hand over the pages."

"Help me with my goal," he counters, as emotionless as ever as if refusing to hand over the pages I need wouldn't cause his death. "Your goal is as stupid as your assumption of who your father is," I sneer. His jaw goes rigid at the mention of his father. He always keeps his mask up and stoic as ever, but I know just what buttons to push to watch that black mask crack and crumble.

If we choose to, we can live in a world of comforting illusions. We can allow ourselves to be deceived by false realities—ones created by others or even those created by ourselves. Or we can use them to hide our true intentions. Tom uses the illusions he creates with his mask of suaveness and charisma to hide the devil that lurks just beneath his icy skin. He does this with ease because nobody knows what buttons to push that will cause his black mask to crack.

Nobody except me.

He masks his rage quickly as we are not the only two people in the room, and his emotionless demeanor is back within a second, but that second doesn't come quick enough to stop me from seeing the crack I caused in his mask.