FLORICIDE| tom riddle

dodici

"I'm going back to Hogwarts," she tells Riddle. He looks at her intently and then nods. Okay.

She's never coming back here.

Hogwarts is the same. Riddle is the same. Everything is so mundane, so ordinary, so plain to Agnes. She can't stand it.

Monday she touches and kisses a girl from the seventh year. She doesn't know her name but she knows that she smells like lavender.

Agnes dislikes lavender on Tuesday.

She fucks a quidditch player from gryffindor on Wednesday. Red- haired and has a lot of freckles. He smells like mint.

She hates mint the next day.

This goes on for about two weeks and she dislikes a new scent every other day.

And yet, she can't find it in her heart to hate bergamot and cinnamon.

She can't escape it. She's tried to, many times. But it follows her. It's always there.

She hates him. She hates her mother.

She hates that they're the two most significant people in her life right now.

At Slughorn's party, she sees him. He appears stoic as always but his collar buttons are undone, and he has a light stubble. She hates that she wonders what that would feel like grazing on her skin.

There is something unnerving him.

Agnes doesn't need to know, though. She hasn't talked to him in about two weeks. And she'd like to keep it that way.

When her mother had found out that he was accompanying her, her poisoned tongue was more than ready to hurl venom at her. That Agnes is a whore, a prostitute, scum of the earth. And many more.

She hates him for that.

And yet, when she sees him, her heart skips a beat. Which should be impossible. She's not one to feel such emotions. She can't feel such emotions.

Agnes is aware that he's staring at her.

Toxicity, toxicity, toxicity.

She closes her eyes.

Leave me alone, Riddle.

When she opens her eyes, he's gone.

She kisses a seventh year old boy. He smells boring.

After the party, she walks back to the common room and she sees Riddle kissing some girl. Something Nott- that's her name.

She hates Riddle. She hates him so much. She hates that she's not kissing him.

The thought enters so swiftly, so harshly, that Agnes stops breathing for a second.

She wants him.

She hates that she wants him.

She hates him.

Agnes hopes in her heart that he hates her too but she knows that he does not care enough about her to hate him.

With her back turned to Riddle and Nott, she starts crying. And she wants to puke. She wants the world to stop. She's so sick of everything.

"DeRosiers?" Nott's voice breaks into her head.

Nonononononononono.

She doesn't know what to do. She can't let them see her so vulnerable, so pathetic. Especially him.

"Oh Merlins, I forgot I have to see Dumbledore about something. Bloody hell!" Nott exclaims and runs past Agnes.

And now it's just him.

It's just them.

Agnes wills herself to stop crying but she can't. The tears keep flowing like her mother's words kept coming at her.

She abruptly turns around to run somewhere, just anywhere, but his fingers clasp her wrist tightly.

Bergamot and cinnamon.

"Why are you crying?" His voice is neutral.

She refuses to meet his eyes. "I'm not."

"You are."

"Leave me alone."

"Tell me why you're crying."

"Don't pretend you care."

Her heart feels heavy. Her heart feels like it's about to burst and red will spill out of her and taint her already tainted skin and burn her to ashes.

"Agnes." His voice is low.

"Stop it." She starts crying more. "Go on, make fun of me."

STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT.

She looks up and meets his eyes. She hates his eyes. She hates how beautiful they are. She hates how they're staring at her with such intensity.

"Talk to me," he says.

"Why do you care?"

"Jesus, Agnes. I need you to be okay."

Agnes shakes her head. "Drop the act. You care about no one. Let alone a mud blood like me."

"But I do," he says and runs his fingers through his hair in an exasperated gesture. "I don't know why but I do."

"Bullshit," Agnes seethes. "You are incapable of caring about anyone. Why would you care about me? And I certainly don't care about you. I see you and I want to puke. I see you and I find it disgusting how I can let someone like you touch me. I despise you, Tom Riddle. I loathe you."

You are nothing to me, Agnes. You are incapable of caring about anyone. Why would I care about you? The worst mistake of my life was birthing you. You disgust me. You think you're so pretty, you think you're something. You're not. You're ugly. And you're a whore. You refuse to make anything out of your life except to be a fucking whore. I pity the people who have to deal with you. Lord knows how much I suffered having a daughter like you.

Tom flinches. He fucking flinches as if she slapped him, as if she hurt him. The idea is so stupid that she nearly bursts out laughing.

Then he releases her. His eyes are cold. His demeanour is cold. And he says with the coldest tone ever, "Do not attempt to talk to me, or reach out to me in any way. You are dead to me."

And with that he leaves her, just like her father did.

Agnes cries herself to sleep that night.