Hogwarts: a school of Witchcraft and Love (Tom Marvolo Riddle x F!reader)

Chapter 6-08

A wave of exhaustion crashed over you when you asked yourself; how could it have been only two months that you and Will planned to unlock the secret in the girl's bathroom? It felt like much longer had passed.

You had only meant to take a nap, but once your head hit the pillow, you sunk into black oblivion where a savage creature stalked you, hissing and roaring and glowing amber eyes chasing you through the shadows of your mind until you jerked awake in a tangle of sheets.

When you checked the time, you cursed yourself. Almost eleven in the morning, the following day. You had slept for... You had actually no idea of how long since you didn't know the time when you dove in.

So much for a nap.

Despite all the sleep, you still felt like you had been awake for a week. Perhaps you were simply still recovering from the cold you caught. But how did a cold make your face ache? And leave a bruise in the shade of sickly lavender?

You couldn't remember falling over or bumping into anything, but you brushed it off. Stranger things happened.

You were always against the idea that grades defined a person's value, but it was hard to rebel when someone brainwashed you to think otherwise.

Enter professor Binns. Later that same day, the professor wrote down what looked like gibberish on the chalk board, but no one dared to ask questions when they didn't understand—including you—because nobody wanted to be that kid who slowed everyone down. You had too many essays, too much homework, too many projects, and not enough time.

Oh and don't even start about the weekly tests you all had to do in an unrealistic amount of time. Your most recent was: 'The Goblin Rebellions: write a comparative Analysis of 17th and 18th-Century Uprisings and Their Long-Term Impact on Wizard-Goblin Relations. Within thirty minutes.'

How had he expected you to answer that when you weren't even given an hour?

"Everyone who didn't get an average grade, come to my office after class," said Binns as he handed out last week's test paper.

It didn't help your fragile ego that people oftentimes linked you to the smartest person in your grade. You had only seen Tom having to think hard once during all the quizzes you'd taken together. And yes he aced all of them.

The teacher floated around in a fast zigzagging pattern around the room, mumbling some 'good's, 'next time's and 'decent's. You tried to swipe off your clammy hands against your skirt, but the friction only made it worse.

The ghostly man before you steadily approached like a harbinger of bad news, bleak and white before sliding you your paper and narrowing his little once-eyes with dissatisfaction. "I'll see you after class, miss. (L/N)."

You flinched when you saw your grade.

D.

Dreadful.

It felt like a punch to the gut.

Not sooner did he snap toward the Prince Charming of the class, his once-a face brightening as much as it could when it looked so lifeless. "Ah, Mr. Riddle! Brilliant work, marvellous! Your delicate choice of words brought out the elonquence of your arguments. It was a pleasure reading your paper, indeed, indeed."

I mean, Binns was a ghost but this was the first time you'd actually seen him look alive. Crazy.

You craned your neck to take a peek at your neighbour's grade. Outstanding. Tom caught you glancing and lowered his gaze to see your grade in return.

For a second you felt yourself shrink under his shadow. Why did he have to be so tall? And why did he have to look good even from this angle? Double chin has left the chat?