The Boy Who Cried Wolf -- [Tom Riddle]

6 - Two Sides of the Same Coin

(TW - mentions of spiking.)

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Goldie pulled a face as soon as the door was closed. Why was it being assumed immediately that she could never be better than a common student? Prodigy or not, he was just a boy. With time and effort, surely anyone could perform better than him academically.

Adjusting the books in her arms, she returned to the centre of the Defence Against the Dark Arts tower, staring around her apprehensively. Her next timetabled class was Care for Magical Creatures, which she loved, but she had absolutely no idea how to find it. She assumed it was in the school grounds instead of inside the castle, but the location of the exit was lost to her.

After a few minutes of standing in the centre of the tower awkwardly, a boy approached her. Wild, ginger hair had been minimally tamed into a short cut, the ringlets acting however they wished. His skin was pale, yet warmed with excessive freckles, matching gentle brown eyes.

"Are you okay?" He asked, pocketing his wand. "You seem lost. New student, are you?"

Goldie stared at him for a moment before responding. "Yes, I am new. How do I get to Care for Magical Creatures?"

As he began listing directions, Goldie inspected his uniform. The black of his robes was discoloured from age, a red and yellow scarf thinned from use resting loosely on his shoulders. A Gryffindor, she concluded.

Noticing that she was too distracted to be listening, he chuckled and gestured for her to follow.

"I'm Septimus Weasley." He introduced as she matched her pace with his. "We have this class together, I think."

"Pleasure to meet you." She nodded in response, taking note of the bad scuffs on his shoes. "Goldie McCulain."

"Irish?" He prompted. "My family has a few Irish friends. Can't say I've ever heard that surname, though."

"There are more than just a few surnames in Ireland." She scoffed.

"You're not a Pureblood, are you?" He questioned, lowering his voice. His tone appeared more wary than judgemental. "Only, I am, but my family isn't very respected."

"I have not heard of the Weasley family." She mused, squinting from the sunlight as they emerged from the castle. "Then again, I have not heard of many English pureblood families."

"So, you aren't a Pureblood?" He chirped in pleasant surprise. "How are you surviving in Slytherin, then? Oh, the Sacred 28 don't like my family, because we like Muggles."

She grimaced at the mention of her house. "I feel disliked, anyway. But nothing has directly happened to me."

Septimus hummed in response, bringing her across a particularly muddy patch of grass. Seeing her distaste at the mud caking her shoes, he offered a sheepish, "Sorry. You might want to clean that off before we reach class."

With a sigh, Goldie wiped off the majority of the mud and vanished the rest with her wand. Her companion reddened in embarrassment before continuing, ensuring to choose the less muddied paths across the grounds. Eventually, the two reach a small hut on the outskirts of the school grounds, a tiled roofing over a set of desks. Smaller classes, she supposed, judging by the small amount of seating.

Septimus brought her to a table on the outside, taking a seat beside her. The two received a mixture of stares from other students – irritation from Slytherins, confusion from other houses – due to their contrasting houses.

Lowering her voice, Goldie asked, "Why is there so much dislike between houses?"

"Slytherins have superiority complexes." He responded instinctively, then quickly backtracked. "Er, not you, obviously..."