Pick Your Poison | Tom Riddle |

Chapter Eight: A Trust As Far As I Can Throw

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"The trust of the innocent is the liar's most useful tool."
-Stephen King

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Thursday, October 1, 1943

Eleanor woke to the pale sunlight and a slightly cooler Ravenclaw Dormitory.

It was October and she knew that the sun would rise shortly after seven this time of the year.
Taking a deep breath, she felt the weight of Percy curled up on her stomach and instead of moving, she shut her tired eyes again.

This week was a drag with her healing wounds.

Spells could only do so much. But she was allowed to return to Quidditch next week. Until then, she had to deal with a sore feeling lingering through her healed injuries. The only problem now was her ankle.

Something so little had proved it hurt more than it looked no matter what she did during the day. The Head Boy and Girl even excused her from Prefect duties this week which she was actually grateful for. Patrolling grew weary when she had so much homework.

After dressing into a fresh uniform and her robe, she combed her wavy hair and let it down, not wanting to strain her wrist and put it into a braid. With the wave of a wand, she had her make up done and brought her books to the Great Hall while everyone peacefully slept away.

By the time she arrived, most students were sitting at their tables. The earlier year students were always here though. They were still in that mindset that they needed to be on time for everything.

But even as a Prefect, Eleanor was a balance in the strict rules and became lenient with her strict schedule over the years.

When she glanced over at the Slytherin table, she saw Evan sitting away from his group by a few seats. Ever since the accident, she hasn't dared look at him nor speak to him and she noticed that his own friends didn't either. Everything was deemed to be a simple accident, just roughhousing gone wrong, which happened all the time in Quidditch. She truthfully didn't blame him, especially considering this group already hated her enough.

With very little people from her table to witness this, Eleanor walked over, still carrying her slight limp.

"Evan." Eleanor said, causing him to turn around.

Her cheeks heated when she could feel the eyes of the rest of the Slytherins watching her. He didn't respond at first and the longer he took, the more nervous she became. "Can I speak with you? I'm not gonna hex you into your next generations. I just want to talk." she added.

With that, he glanced up at her with the tiny scars of scratches on his face just barely noticeable. Rosier nodded at her to sit and it was then that she finally got a good look at him. He was quiet and lost the arrogant spark to eyes. She noticed he even had a slump to his shoulders.

Whoever put him in the Infirmary last weekend must have took a toll on him and a pang of sympathy echoed deep within her chest.

"You know I don't blame you, right?" was all Eleanor could ask.

"You Ravenclaws really want to know everything." he sighed. But it surprised her to hear how much he didn't sound like himself.

"Well, you were the one who knocked me off my broom, accident or not." she replied. "You're telling me Adis didn't set you up to do that?"

Evan's eyes looked more aware of her presence than they had since he first looked at her and she wondered what had triggered it.

"Take a look in my head, Parkinson. Tell me if you find something that I couldn't find. I was chasing the snitch like always and then something took over me" Evan shrugged, seemingly exhausted of the topic already.