Extra Ordinary (Riddle Era)

Chapter 56

The night was going spectacularly, if Tom felt like putting a word to it. They had breezed in, fashionably late, and immediately been the focus of all eyes in the room. They looked regal, Tom was certain of it. He was crisp in his pressed dress robes and the tie matching her dress was the cherry on top. They looked coordinated. They looked intentional. He looked prim and proper and she looked like she had brought proper spirit to the party with red lips that never fell out of a smile.

To make it all better, the moment they had stepped up to Slughorn, it seemed, the professor had started introducing Tom to anyone and everyone he could think of. He met Qudditch stars - which were boring; fame based on unearned talent was practically accidental - artists - who were slightly more interesting - influential members of the de facto aristocracy - properly interesting - and politicians - who were fascinating, if moderately disappointing.

The truth was, as much as Tom knew he could, by most standards, be considered a politician at heart, he also found the career path rather uninspired. They were so... stuck. Bottled into systems and shackled by hierarchies and at the end of the day, they didn't really do anything. People died and they sent condolences. Nations fell and they wrung their hands and said they'd wait and see. Things happened to them, not because of them. They reacted, they didn't cause. They were pawns. Tom was going to be a player. He would not confine himself to single steps forward, marching towards a foretold ending on the squares of a chessboard. He would make the moves. He would make change. And he would do it without rules and systems and structures to get in his way. He would be more than any politician could ever be.

But for tonight, he would simply play nice.

It seemed, really, that this was also the tactic Steele was going for, which, if he was honest, was almost disappointing. Almost. Because of course, polite at least didn't ruffle feathers. And she was polite. Very polite. More polite than Tom thought he had ever seen her be. Right up until the topic of the war came up.

Tom watched Steele's face go tighter, watched her smile stiffen into one he knew was forced across lips that wanted to say something she'd decided was unwise. And whatever the unwise thing was, she didn't say it. But she also didn't seem to be able to help herself when the man Slughorn had dragged over most recently said, "Of course, our dear Minister is rather hedging on the issue of the war. But I'm sure he has a plan. He's a great man."

Tom could have told anyone Steele would take issue with every single aspect of the sentence. In fact, he would have guessed that her response would have been more vehement than it was, but instead she just sniffed and hummed slightly.

The man, some ministry official who Slughorn had introduced only as , frowned at her. "You disagree?" he asked.

Steele looked up from contemplating her nearly empty champagne flute, looking politely surprised. Tom forced away a smile at the innocence in her gaze that he didn't trust for a moment.

"Not necessarily," she said after a beat. "But... well. He is a politician." She blinked, then seemed to remember who she was talking to. "No offense, sir," she added with a little wince.

"Now now," the man said, even as Slughorn gave a little "Oh ho," and finished what had to have been his sixth or seventh glass.

"I wouldn't call myself a politician, per se," Condon protested.

Steele smiled, an indulgent little smile Tom knew was sharp when you were on the receiving end. "No good politician ever would."

And again, Tom had to stop his own smile. Because moments like this were what he had hoped for from Steele. Moments when she showed that despite a pretty dress and pretty smile and passive nods throughout the evening, she was no fool, not silly girl hanging on his arm. She was a force. Because of course she was. Tom Riddle would never settle for less.