| Slowburn | Angst | Eventual Romance | Dark Romance | Alternative Universe | Magic Systems | Dark Magic | Machiavellian Tom Riddle | Secret Societies |
AU where magic has largely died out.
Previously unaware of his magical capabilities, and withou...
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"There comes a point in every adolescents life that they sit back and discover an overarching fact - nobody is coming to save me. As you can imagine, this newfound realization is taxing on a developing brain. Especially, when they are of a certain social class and accustomed to excessive coddling." - from: Mayfield, a history through psychology.
The rotary phone in the library of Templar house rarely allowed incoming calls.
A vast majority of the objects in the home did not obey their proper functions; the grandfather clock in the parlor chimed at two-twenty-three on the dot but never harkened in noon. It was nearly impossible to run the radiators in an even circumference. One could expect tepid air at best in the kitchen, but stepping near the fixtures in the second bedroom could cause third-degree burns. The upper stories' crank windows opened and closed according to a time pattern they could not track. Tom deduced that a German wizard must have inhabited the home at some point and left a curse to 'frisches luft' the place when the air went stagnant.
And, of course, the rotary phone in the library rarely allowed incoming calls.
Remial Nott made one call the previous September from a train station payphone, screaming through the line that there had been a crash and he was heading to the local hospital to have a stint placed on his arm. A few months later, Tom phoned it himself to ask Abraxas for a quick reference to suture a gaping head wound magically. All of these events constituted emergencies (except when a salesman for a roofing company had called in. By the time Tom had picked up the receiver, the lad on the other end was in hysterics over what horrors he had heard in place of a dial tone. Templar had subsequently been taken off of any call lists.) All of this is to say that when the rotary phone rang off its hinge, Tom did not pause in throwing Naoise Socrans alchemic notes aside to answer it.
"Riddle," Malfoy said quickly.
The timing of the call would have been absurd if it were anyone but one of the knights. Insomnia seemed to be an infectious disease that made its way through the house like mold spores; beds were rarely taken to before the wee hours. Tom checked the clock: midnight on the dot.
Tom leaned his head against the wall, straightening his shirt; the tails had come out of his trousers while restlessly pouring over notes on the library floor. "Who is dead?" He asked flatly.
"We'll get to that," Abraxas said, "Did you sleep with a girl named Jenna? Brown hair, about.. yay high?" There was a sound on the other end like he was in the middle of a high-speed police chase. Sirens cried in the distance, followed by the smack of metal. Knowing how Abraxas drove, it was plausible.
"No." Tom deadpanned, "Where are you calling from?"
"Mistral house payphone," Abraxas offered. That's what I said; there was no way. I mean, you wouldn't have told me, but you know, I've seen her around. She's certainly not what I would have expected out of you."
