Extra Ordinary (Riddle Era)

Chapter 42

It was not impatience. Tom should not have had to repeat that to himself, but he did anyway, just in case. It was not impatience. It was practicality.

First of all, he had nothing else to do tonight. He had read the textbooks for his classes over the summer, knew the general lesson plans and now, could only wait for the first day of classes to learn the nuances and specifics he would need to study further and the projects and assignments he would need to get done.

Second of all, he knew that tonight, Myrtle Warren would not be this particularly idiosyncratic bathroom. This, it seemed, would be something he would have to be careful of. If this bathroom really was an entrance to Slytherin's hidden chamber, and Warren really did always go here when she was upset - which to Tom's knowledge, was often - then he would have to be cautious. He would have to check for her, keep an eye out for her at dinner, for signs of sensitivity, for Hornby's bragging about her latest insults.

But tonight... well. Tonight, Steele had taken care of this particular problem for him. Or at least, she had made an attempt. Whether or not she had been successful remained to be seen. But at least tonight, he would also have a reason to play it off if the two girls really were still in the bathroom. All he had to say was he'd been worried and wanted to check in on them and, as a prefect, he would have at least some believable authority to do so.

Thankfully, however, they weren't in the bathroom. Less thankfully, Tom found this out before he made it there. He found it out, in fact, in the corridor on his way when he found Steele leaning against the wall beside the bathroom entrance, hands over her face, shoulders slumped, looking a particular brand of tired Tom wasn't sure he'd seen on anyone before. Much less on Lucy Steele.

If he was being honest, Tom knew he could have turned around. Should have turned around. She had her face covered, eyes obscured. She couldn't possibly have seen him and he could have turned around and walked right back the way he had come and she would never have noticed. Never have known.

So he could have turned around.

And yet, for reasons he couldn't quite explain, even to himself, even in the echoing memories on another night, he didn't. He kept walking. Past the point where she could surely hear his footsteps. Past the point where her fingers parted and she peeked a glance to see who was approaching. Past the point where she saw him. Where her hands dropped, her shoulders righted, her spine straightened and a smile that wasn't half as tired as she had looked a moment ago hitched up onto her face.

"Tom," she greeted. And the words were light. They sounded natural. The tone was clever, the smile more so. But Tom knew her too well. Knew her smiles too well. Knew that a light voice and a curve of her lips didn't mean something wasn't wrong.

And something was wrong.

And he shouldn't have cared.

"Lucy," he answered. "Are you okay?"

The smile hitched higher, a fraction too high. Her breath in was too deep, her answer too easy. "Of course," she said, "Why wouldn't I be?"

It was the second time she had told him that exact lie. The second time he had seen these tiniest tics: the slight strain she could hide, the exhaustion that didn't quite leave her eyes, the way the smile stopped on her lips and didn't quite deepen to the dimples he knew appeared when she was properly happy. Tom knew those tics. Knew her. Knew that this here was the one thing she swore she never did.

And Tom could have called her on it. Should have called her on it. Should have used the upper hand she had given, should have pressed, just the tiniest bit, put the tiniest hole in that strange confidence of hers, should have told he that he saw the lie. Should have.