Glimpses of Light

III

Now, that's a lousy grip, thought Riddle as Nika's hand met his. He hadn't expected anything different after noticing how uncomfortable she appeared during supper.

"So, I was right—you two know each other," Riddle stated flatly, his sharp gaze flicking between Dolohov and Nika. Antonin appeared slightly unsettled by Riddle's directness and the certainty in his tone.

Yes, I have been watching you, Tom thought smugly, his stare piercing through Dolohov.

Just as Nika opened her mouth to speak, Dolohov cut in abruptly, "We are cousins." He had a slight accent—perhaps Russian, though Tom wasn't familiar with accents, having never left the United Kingdom nor met any foreigners.

Nika's eyes widened, and Tom was certain she was about to contest those words.

"They would have all found out sooner or later, Veronika," Dolohov said coldly. "You see, we don't really get along—family discord and all that jazz," he confessed in annoyance, gazing distractedly at a painting of an old monk peacefully sleeping under a broad plane tree.

"Do not call me Veronika!" she snapped, irritation flashing in her eyes. Though she shared Antonin's accent, hers was much more subtle, almost melodic compared to his.

Dolohov clicked his tongue in disapproval, rolling his eyes. "Why do you always have to be so defensive?" he remarked, staring at Nika with a saddened grin. As she opened her mouth to speak, he once again beat her to it. "Now, would you mind? I need to talk about family business with my cousin here," he said, his gaze sweeping across Lucy, Milly, and Riddle with a sense of urgency as he grabbed Nika's arm to lead her away. She recoiled at his touch, clearly displeased.

"As a matter of fact, I do mind," Tom began, his voice measured but firm, his dark eyes boring into Dolohov's back. "As I was telling you before, I am the school's Head Boy, and you've breached the rules by diverting your route to come here."

"I know. You've been telling me nothing but that on our way here," Dolohov retorted, exasperation tainting his voice.

You little prick, I'm going to teach you how to talk to me, Riddle thought, fury coursing through his veins like a tsunami.

"You should all go back to your respective dormitories. You two can talk tomorrow. I'm sure that whatever you have to tell her isn't so critical that it can't wait..." Riddle tried to continue but was interrupted.

"We won't be long, I promise. It's just something Mother wanted her to know. I completely forgot about it," Dolohov said, stopping just far enough to prevent the others from overhearing.

The nerve! Tom's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening with restrained rage.

He kept his gaze fixed on Dolohov and Nika, noting Nika's apparent discomfort with the conversation. As he watched, a small voice pulled his attention away.

"Um, Tom," said a mousy blonde girl. Riddle's eyes shifted to her; she was looking up at him with a gaze that was all too familiar.

Oh, I've seen that look before, he thought. It was the same adoring, almost worshipful expression that many of the girls at Hogwarts gave him. Harnessing his charm, he mustered his most pleasing air.

"Yes?" he asked smoothly, though his eyes intermittently darted back to Dolohov and Nika.

"I—I'm Lucy Combe," she said, extending her hand hesitantly.

Tom Riddle observed her carefully. Combe... Combe... he mused internally, scanning his memory for the surname. Not a magical name. His sharp gaze locked onto the Hufflepuff before him. She must be a Mudblood, he concluded, though he kept his facial expression neutral, hiding his distaste. Yet, a part of him considered another possibility. Perhaps she's a half-blood—not ideal, but certainly better than a complete abomination.