EXILE | TOM RIDDLE

12. Two Can Keep a Secret...

"You sat with Tom at the feast," Abigail says as I step inside our dorm, eyebrows raised in a casual manner, though I can tell beneath them lingers concern. "Why?"

"I wanted to. He invited me," is the answer I give as I shut the door behind me, making my way to my wardrobe. Lifting my arms, I swiftly strip out of my robes and pull on my pajamas, before turning back to look at my friend. "I am sorry. I will sit with you tomorrow, yes?"

"It isn't about that, Beck," she crosses her legs in a weird shape from where she is seated atop her bed. "I'm just worried about you, is all. Tom...I mean, he's nice, I guess, but I think he's a bit odd. Alphard says the same — besides, you know he's a blood supremacist, right?"

I bite down on my tongue, considering this.

"I think I know him better than you."

It is the only answer I can come up with, and while I am not proud of it, I allow it to waft between us, like a wall beginning to build. Abigail says nothing in response, and when we go to sleep, I wonder if the wall will crumble before the formations of it are complete, or if will continue to rise.

*

"My apologies for being late," is the first thing that slips out of my mouth as I stumble into Slughorn's office, to find every seat but one taken. "I got caught up with homework, and lost track of time."

"On the first day?" A boy whose name I do not recall snorts, only for Tom to nudge him with his elbow, a glare shooting from his eyes.

"Nonsense, nothing to be sorry for!" Slughorn exclaims, patting the available seat next to him. "Come, come, sit. We were just discussing our summers. Did you get up to anything, my dear?"

I sit down next to him, tucking my legs under the table and crossing them at my ankles, my eyes flickering towards Tom for the briefest of moments. Our eyes meet, and his lips curve upwards.

My heart skips a beat, or two, or maybe ten, and I fear I may collapse of a heart attack at any given moment.

"Rebekah?" Slughorn prompts when I say nothing, too distracted by Tom and his dark brown eyes and how they observe me. "Did you hear me? I asked if you did anything interesting this summer."

"Oh," I blink, forcing my gaze away from Tom. "Not really, no. Just...church." I shrug.

"Church? Are you religious, then?"

I nod. "Yes, Sir."

"Huh," he huffs, brow furrowing together. "I wasn't aware there were many religious wizarding families left. Of course, Darla Bailey is pureblood, making it all the more shocking. I didn't know she raised her children and grandchildren under the faith."

Unsure what to say, I simply nod again.

"Fascinating," he tuts. "Truly fascinating."

Not understanding what it is he finds fascinating about my faith, I once again do not say a word, simply shifting my position on the uncomfortable chair, and allowing a conversation between Slughorn and Abrarax Malfoy to occur.

"You know," Abrarax begins after a long talk about his family history — of which he seems very proud of indeed, though I cannot imagine why. It seems as though the Malfoy family is built upon countless cases of incest to keep their line pure, a fact that has me gagging on my ice cream. "My grandfather used to tell me he knew exactly where the Chamber of Secrets is. He says it's real."

"Really?" Slughorn gasps, evidently shocked by this revelation. "And where does he think it is?"

"He says it's somewhere in the dungeons — like in the Slytherin common room. He says he's been inside and everything, though he won't tell me how to get in or where to find it. I know he's being truthful, though. He'd never lie to me."