⋆𝐃𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠⋆ - 𝐓.𝐌.𝐑

𝟎𝟎𝟏 - 𝐁𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐳𝐤𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐠 𝐁𝐨𝐩

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𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝟏𝟒, 𝟏𝟗𝟒𝟒.

Elizabeth was coming back from ballet practice when the Air Raid sirens started sounding out. People all around her stopped what they were doing and started running towards the nearest bomb shelter – a repurposed tube station on Cicada Road – she ran too, of course, following others more so than the street signs in her haste. She refused to let a pilot take her out, she knew one, he was a little shite.

She could feel her twin braids escaping the bun she had meticulously trapped them in but she couldn't seem to care, her lungs were aching in protest and she didn't know if it was due to use or anxiety – probably both.

Dodge that kid.

Swerve- fucking SWERVE!

Can't breathe. Can't breathe.can'tbreathcan'tbreathcan'tbreathe.

Keep moving.

She could see the sign for the tube, she was nearly there.

Shite that old lady just fell down, should I – I'm not close enough, we could both die, bigger target and whatever the fuck else Jacques talked about-

Never mind, someone else already helped her up, keep running.

Can'tbreathecan'tbreathcan'tbreathe.

She was pushed inside by the rest of the throngs, disoriented for a few seconds as she tried to force her heart rate down and regain her bearings, the sound of sirens was now drowned out by the sound of airplane engines – they were here. She looked around frantically to check if she recognized anyone – did the other girls from her ballet class make it? They were horrid but they didn't deserve to die like this – her lungs still refused to supply oxygen to the rest of her body and the sound of engines was now overcome by the blood roaring in her ears. She needed to find a secluded corner to calm down, she needed-

What the fuck was Tom Riddle doing in muggle London?

He seemed just as surprised to see her though, if his flummoxed expression was anything to go by, she was mostly surprised that he even remembered her face. He did give her the curtesy of waiting while she ground out a "Myrtle Warren" to one of the volunteers making rounds to note down names, before stalking over and grabbing her by the wrist. Perhaps, he planned to drag her off to some unused bathroom and kill her so she wouldn't ruin his reputation.

That didn't seem like his style though.

Jacques did say to never let kidnappers take her to a second location but – sue her – she was curious. Riddle got them to a secluded corner – not a bathroom, then – and she almost immediately felt the cloying feeling of wards settling over her skin, she raised a brow at him but his face remained guarded – wandless and silent casting, impressive. Elizabeth slid down one of the walls until she was sat on the floor, her legs exhausted from 3 hours of ballet and then running 2 blocks, Riddle remained standing and looked at her as though she was a particularly slippery sopophorous bean.

"If you fall on your arse because of the shockwaves, I will laugh at you", she suppressed a flinch at how squeaky her voice sounded with practiced ease – there was a reason she didn't talk much, alright? – Riddle seemed terribly offended and for a second she wondered if he'd actually curse her for her sheer audacity, but he sat down beside her and she took it for the mercy it was.

"If I hear a word of this little meeting in school, they will never find your body", it was said with a sneer but it sounded wrong, different from his usual manner of speaking in class and meals – not that she took much time to listen, but it struck her oddly – was he scared? She wouldn't blame him if he was. "Is your reputation really all that matters to you right now?", perhaps it was a little mean of her but Merlin's balls, the planes sounded like they were right above them.

"Weigh your words carefully Warren, I-", "I won't tell anyone, and no one would believe me if I did, I'll swear on it if you'd like". She wouldn't be so helpful usually, and wizarding oaths were not something she spoke so casually of. But his voice was shaking and he seemed to haunch in on himself as though it would protect him from the blasts ringing out over their heads, as though any of them would even make it to Hogwarts if the Germans decided to aim well for once.

"Thank you, but that won't be necessary, you're right" – ah, thank fuck – don't judge her, okay? A. her wand was at St. Joan's because, once again, the other dancers were horrid, little cunts and had gone through her bag several times and B. she wasn't all that excited about being magically leashed to Riddle of all people-

*BANG*

Even through Riddle's wards she heard the gasps from the rest of the people hiding with them, and she heard the sharp intake of breath from right beside her – the bomb sounded like it fell just short of the shelter, if another hit any closer, they could be buried alive. She was genuinely worried about Riddle, he went completely still after the blast and for a second she wondered if he had up and died.

Was she also scared? Not as much as you'd expect, mostly, she was angry. Angry, because fucking Professor Dumbledore who was responsible for making sure students had somewhere to go in the summer, had ignored her pleas to house the Muggle-Raised in the castle over summer break – the man was a half blood, she had checked, and claimed to care a great deal about muggleborns, and yet here they were. Two Wix about to die in muggle London because "but surely, my dear girl, it can't be as bad as you make it out to seem. You've survived until now, haven't you?".

Another blast went off, this one even closer than the last, and Riddle let out a near-silent whimper – did he trust her enough? Now that he knew she held no power over him – well, she was about to find out.

Her hand was already reaching out, and before she could rethink the action and its possible consequences, it had touched his own. Her little attempt at comfort fell short for a second as she nearly fumbled his cold-arse hand, surprised he hadn't pushed her away yet. But then he was taking control, threading their fingers together until they were holding hands properly.

he has big hands.

She squeezed his hand, almost immediately regretting the decision.

Merlin please if I die now, I'd prefer the Nazis over embarrassment

He squeezed back, and that was that. 

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A/n. Is there a tube station on Cicada Road? I don't know, I just chose a street with a funny name.