Mind Games | Tom Riddle | DISCONTINUED

Eight: Opening Up

Things were becoming less hostile between Tom Riddle and Azalea Verdine. They still bickered like siblings, and they still disagreed on everything, but no death threats were made in the weeks following their Arithmancy practice.

On a cold, mid-November evening, the Slytherin students were wearing more layers than usual. Although the older students were used to the chill of the sub-terrain common room, many of them were dressed as warmly as the first years. Any student who was unfortunate enough to not grab a spot near the fire had a jar of bluebell flames. Despite the bone-chilling air of the Slytherin common room, the students were as jolly as could be.

Azalea Verdine was sitting at a table, quill in hand. She had her own jar of cobalt flames next to the ink pot on the table. As she wrote, Azalea noticed the familiar splotches of black ink that colored the side of her left hand every time she wrote.

She sat her fluffy white quill down and fidgeted with a loose thread on her black jumper as she thought of what to write next. Azalea was composing a letter to Anders and Lillian Verdine, her shrewd parents. The girl knew that she had to carefully word her letter or her parents wouldn't let her stay at Hogwarts for the three week Christmas holiday.

"You've got ink on your hand," a silvery voice said from behind.

Azalea turned to face the smug, black-haired boy. "The cost of being left-handed," she responded.

"What are you writing?" Tom inquired as he leaned over Azalea's right shoulder.

"You're so nosy," Azalea chastised with a wave of her hand.

A low chuckle emitted from the boy's throat. "I make it my business to know things about everyone. Especially the people I'm traveling with. You could be making arrangements to kill me," Tom responded lightly.

Azalea snorted. "Don't flatter yourself. I wouldn't need anyone's help to kill you. I'm writing to mum and dad," she said.

"Dear Mum and Dad," Tom mimicked in a girlish voice. "I'm going to travel for the entire Christmas holiday with a boy you've never met. We're going to have a lot of s-"

"God!" Azalea interjected. "Clean that filthy mind of yours! I'm only asking if I can stay at Hogwarts. I'm definitely not doing that. And my voice isn't that high!"

Tom's low laugh reverberated through the tiny alcove where Azalea's table was. He ran a hand through his inky black locks, then twirled a piece of Azalea's hair around his long, pale fingers. He leaned to her ear and muttered, "Your face is scarlet. Do I get you that-"

"Annoyed? Yes," Azalea snapped, her nostrils flaring.

Tom clenched his jaw, but his eyes showed that he wasn't angry. He acted in the way he did only to taunt Azalea; he meant nothing by his somewhat flirtatious actions.

"Do I get you that angry?" Azalea jeered. Her taunt was met with a hard flick on her temple.

"I can't believe I decided to bring you along with me," Tom muttered.

"I can. I'm useful, remember?" she said. Azalea ruffled his hair and added, "Run along, Riddle. I've got a letter to finish."

Tom rolled his eyes and sauntered across the common room to his cronies, who were giving suggestive looks to their leader and chuckling amongst themselves. After brushing his fingers through his messy locks, Riddle sat down in his chair and looked at a snickering Abraxias Malfoy. "Something you'd like to say, Abraxias?" Tom inquired.

"Not at all," the blond boy responded, his pointed features contorted as he tried to stifle his laughter.

Antonin Dolohov shoved Malfoy to the side and said, "What Abraxias wanted to say was that he thinks you're going on holiday with Verdine to fu-"