EXILE | TOM RIDDLE

15. In Flight (II)

Abigail is upset, to say the least, that I never returned to our study session that Tom had dragged me away from. But she gets over it fairly quickly, after I explain to her that Tom needed to have a personal conversation with me, and he was simply using the homework thing as an excuse.

She doesn't push, asking what the nature of the conversation had been. I think she assumes though — assumes it is about our relationship. Whatever was potentially budding between us, with stolen kisses and weapons to throats.

Tom ignores me. I ignore him. Life goes on, as though nothing has occurred. As though I had not nearly died, as though Salazar is not still alive beneath our feet, as though Tom does not harbor a secret heavy enough to capsize the entire school.

Not for a moment do I consider telling anyone. Not after my sister rejected me, my cries for help. Helena had been my hope, she would have known what to do, how to fix things.

Without her, I am as lost as I was the moment I stumbled out of that forest one year ago.

It is nearing December when I am approached by Abigail and Alphard, insisting I attend the newest Quidditch match with them. Gryffindor vs Slytherin — a big deal, in which almost all the students of Hogwarts are crowded into the stands, eagerly awaiting the match to take place.

Everyone, including Tom, I notice. He is seated with the Slytherin's, Abrarax at his side, eagerly speaking to the dark haired boy with his hands flying about. Tom simply nods along, clearly uninterested.

As the match progresses, the atmosphere in the stadium crackles with excitement. The Gryffindor and Slytherin teams swoop and dive, their colored robes flashing against the gray sky. The cheers and jeers from the spectators blend into a cacophony of sound.

Abigail and Alphard are engrossed in the match, cheering on Gryffindor with fervor — of course, neither of them are in the house, but Finn is, flying about on his broom. Despite not being a fan of the sport, I must admit, the energy of the pitch has me enthralled.

Though as per usual, like a moth to a flame, my attention drifts to where Tom sits among the Slytherins. He seems detached, his gaze wandering away from the match unfolding before him and back towards the castle, as though expecting something to come stomping out of it. Abrarax's animated gestures and enthusiastic chatter seem to bounce off him, leaving him untouched.

"He's doing great, wouldn't you say?" Alphard nudges me with his elbow, causing me to tear my gaze away from Tom and towards my friend.

I blink. "Who?"

"Finn," he stares at me as though I am an idiot.

"Oh," I breathe, reverting my attention to the match, watching as Finn passes the Quaffle to one of his teammates. "Right. Yeah, yeah, he is doing great."

"You don't sound very enthused," Abigail sing-songs from my other side, though a question lingers in her tone. "What, do you not like Finn?"

"I think it is Finn that does not like me, actually."

"That's not true!" She exclaims, though I can sense the wobble in her tone, an indicator of her lie.

"Isn't it?" Alphard rolls his eyes. "I mean, I love you both, don't get me wrong, but Finn hates your guts."

"Why?" Is all I can ask, the question that has been sitting on my tongue for months finally taking flight. "I do not recall offending him. Did I do something to hurt him?"

Alphard simply shrugs. "I think it's him, not you. You don't have to worry, Rebekah."

I bite down on my lip, reverting my attention, not to the game, but back to Tom, watching him as he watches the castle.