Crimson || Tom Riddle [1]

𝖊𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓

Tom Riddle was never late to class. He was never late to anything. Tom Riddle was the epitome of grace, and punctuality was a virtue he held in high regard. To be late was to be careless, to be unreliable, and Tom Riddle was anything but. He was a model student, the perfect boy; parentless but remarkable, poor but exceptional. Tom Riddle had captured the entirety of Hogwarts in a trance of innocence and charm.

It wasn't manipulation, no. It was persuasion. And Tom Riddle could be very persuasive.

So, it was a surprise when he had missed classes the day before. Tom had never missed a single class in his six years at the school. He had never missed an assignment, a homework task. And he had never, ever, gotten a bad grade.

It was even more surprising when he walked in late the next day for his second class, missing lesson one. Tom Riddle had slept in. Slept in! He never slept in. Tom was an early riser. He began every day at 5 a.m. with a shower followed by breakfast by himself.

But today, Tom Riddle was both late and tired. His skin was deathly pale, eyes down and droopy. Dark circles marred his handsome complexion. His usually immaculate hair was tousled, as if he had run his hands through it in frustration. His steps, though measured, lacked their usual grace, and there was a weariness in his movements that spoke volumes. His shoulders were slumped and his posture lacked confidence.

The exhaustion etched into his features was not the result of a mere sleepless night. It was the aftermath of splitting his soul, a task that had left him weakened and drained. But not for long, he thought.

It was rather embarrassing being seen this way, but Tom knew he couldn't afford to show weakness by skipping another day. It took him way too much energy just to get out of bed that morning, let alone actually get ready. But, he couldn't let anyone suspect the true reason behind his absence the day before. No one other than his followers and, unfortunately, Arabella. He hadn't told his followers where he had been, nor Arabella. But unlike the boys, Arabella had probably figured it out.

The class watched as he stumbled into the History of Magic room. They watched as he dropped, rather ungracefully, into his seat in the front row beside Arabella. They watched as he reached into his bag to pull out his book and then curse himself for forgetting it.

Professor Binns, oblivious to the commotion, continued with the lesson as if nothing had happened, prompting the students to refocus.

Tom would have furrowed his eyebrows, or put on a confused expression of some sort if he had the energy to spare. The professor had just ignored him? Tom hadn't told any one of his unexpected absence, and he expected at least a raised eyebrow or a questioning glance from the typically apathetic Binns.

After all, it wasn't like him to miss classes. His perfect attendance record had been marred, but surely he wouldn't be left off the hook? Tom had planned a perfect excuse of falling ill — he already looked the part. Now, his performance would go to waste. Pity. But it was all rather weird, wasn't it?