Of Monsters and Men- Tom Riddle x OC

36

"Dobby," Animo grimaced as she held up her rather poor attempt of a knitted sock. A few of the silver threads hung from her needle, having pulled out of the stitches with her clumsy mechanisms. "I'm terrible."

The house-elf beamed, not at all deterred by the hideous project. "Dobby believes the sock is beautiful, Miss Ani!" He reached over, running his nimble fingers over the yarn as if it were some sort of prized possession. "He will wear it always!"

Animo giggled, touched at the elf's enthusiastic display. "I'm afraid I'm not talented enough to make its match."

Shrugging, Dooby happily pulled the sock over his narrow toes, wriggling them in a manner that reminded Animo of a small child. "Dobby likes different colors anyways."

"I feel like this place has been turned into a home for the elderly."

Dobby and Animo spun around to see Abraxas observing them sourly from the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. As typical, his shirt was wrinkled and unbuttoned down to mid-chest and a thick silver chain hung over his collarbone.

Animo grimaced, exchanging a look with Dobby, who looked rather afraid of getting caught off-duty. "Is all the skin really necessary, Malfoy?" she waved a hand in the boy's general direction.

Much to her irritation, Abraxas's lips curled into a smug smirk as he prowled into the room, nearly tripping over the leg of the coffee table. The reek of whiskey was particularly strong in the air about him, stinging Animo's nostrils. "If you weren't pining after Riddle, you wouldn't be complaining, Wallis."

Flushing slightly, Animo returned her focus towards the knitting needles, despite having no recollection of how to loop the yarn as she fumbled it in her lap. "Tom can do as he pleases. I assume he's out recruiting today?" She didn't dare mention that it was the Slytherin's birthday, being fairly certain that Tom would be in no mood to celebrate.

"Actually, he's over at Borgin and Burke's," Abraxas collapsed into the sofa, the cotton fabric of his shirt folding to a series of wrinkles. "Seems like you left quite the impression on one of the owners."

Animo ignored the dig, choosing instead to scour Abraxas's haphazard appearance with a careful eye. The blonde's long locks were clumped and matted form sleep, despite it being the early hours of the afternoon. The circles under his eyes were bit more bruised than typical, his pale skin stained a deep wine beneath his bleary gaze. "Are you alright?"

Abraxas opened his mouth sharply, as if to give a scathing retort. Then his shoulders slumped. "My father is due back within the next few days. I assume he got tired of his conquests in Paris."

Whether he was referring to Mr. Malfoy's business deals or lustful affairs, Animo figured it wasn't her place to ask. Instead, she sat down beside Abraxas, sinking back into the leather upholstery with a discontented sigh. "We're all a bit of screw ups, aren't we?"

"You?" Abraxas snorted, pursing his chapped lips as he blew a strand of hair from his face. "You're like a poster girl for Hogwarts' model student. I would bet Rosier's panties that you've never even jinxed someone."

Frowning, Animo scrambled for some sort of response that would contradict his "perfect" view of her. The only image that came to mind was of Gellert's face, looming down in Perkin's memory. "I have many flaws."

"Welcome to the club." Abraxas reached over her waist, grabbing the top of the rum bottle situated on the silver platter beside them. He offered her a sip before bringing the lip to his mouth, swallowing thickly. "What's different about Slytherins is we're worse at hiding our problems than everyone else." The boy stuck up a few pale fingers. "Centuries of incest," he lowered his pointer finger, "torture," the thumb went down, hiding the ring he wore that bore the Malfoy crest, "and abuse, clear for all to see."