Extra Ordinary (Riddle Era)

Chapter 36

"Disappointing you?" Tom asked, the words coming through clenched teeth, their sound tight, strangled through a smile that felt flimsy and dangerous on his face. He found his feet going still, his hands drifting towards the pocket of his robes that held his wand more out of instinct than any conscious thought.

Steele didn't seem to notice. Or perhaps she just didn't care. She simply stopped as well and turned to face him. "Yes Tom," she responded, shaking her head, "Disappointing me. Am I really asking for so much? All I want is the truth. Honestly," she added with a little laugh that didn't sound mirthful at all, "I'd even take silence."

She sounded like she meant it too, which was somehow more aggravating than if she hadn't. But Tom bit back the words that said so, the scoff that threatened at the back of his throat. He swallowed his scorn. His anger. His temper would only get in the way. He had a job to do, lies to tell. Anger would make him less believable.

"No," he agreed, teeth grinding together so hard in an effort to keep the annoyance from leaking through that he supposed it was a minor miracle he didn't crack one. "You're not asking for much. Which is why I'm already giving it to you. It's not my fault you don't believe me."

And it wasn't. Even if he had to keep reminding himself of it. It wasn't his fault. He was believable. He was convincing. She was just... well. Saying she was clever or special felt like giving her too much credit because it was none of those things. It couldn't be. Because it couldn't be that she actually saw through him. Which meant it was... something else. Luck maybe. He wasn't sure. But something else. Something silly.

Except that right now, she didn't look like someone who was just silly. Instead, Steele's eyes were narrowing, her gaze sharpening for a moment. And for that moment, Tom wasn't sure if she was going to snap or let up. He wasn't sure if he cared which happened either, because both would have been better than the sigh that escaped her instead.

"You're right," she agreed, the concession surprising Tom not only with its existence, but the matter of fact tone with which it was delivered. "It isn't your fault I don't believe you." She shrugged then added, "But I don't believe you."

Tom threw his hands up, looking away in frustration, the gesture as much an attempt and convincing annoyance as it was to give himself a moment to compose the sharp anger that snapped into place in his gut at the words.

"Well how the hell am I supposed to convince you?" he demanded after a moment, turning back around. "It's been months, Lucy. And I've told you nothing but the truth."

Which was a lie, of course. One of many he had told her. In fact, he had told her little of the truth in the ways that mattered, but she shouldn't have known it. No one else knew it. Petrov and Johnson certainly bought his fibs. Hell, even the most suspicious people he knew, from the Black cousins to Olive bleeding Hornby bought each and every one of his lies. But Steele...

"Do you remember what I told you, Tom?" she asked quietly, her arms coming around herself, fingers wrapping around her elbows in a posture that wasn't quite the same as crossed arms but was as close as he'd ever seen her get. "Right after Christmas break?" she clarified when Tom raised a brow that was perhaps more impudent than it should have been.

The impertinence faded, however, as he remembered. Because Tom did remember. Of course he remembered. But he'd rather been hoping she hadn't. None of which she needed to know, so...

"Remind me."

For a split second, Steele's eyes narrowed again, another flicker of a moment where her displeasure and suspicion were palpable. And then, like before, it vanished, wiped away, hidden beneath a pleasant expression Tom was certain was as much of a lie as his own patient smile.