MALADY. TOM RIDDLE

ii.

To her, the Great Hall was always the homeliest in the mornings. Its walls vibrated with the clatter of cutlery and the student's loud voices; the owls flew by with letters and sweets and gifts. She held it dear to her heart, memories of her own school days when waking up surrounded by friends made the harsh pull of the early hours that less demanding – she saw it mirror in them.

          The scenery felt routinely, warm even within the chilly November days, long wool scarves laid by their laps for the inevitable bite of the outside.

          That particular morning, the high table was drifting off, consumed by the drawling of Professor Kettleburn's voice as she monologued whichever subject her randomizer had laid on that day. Holly poked around her food, an attempt to bite back what she'd been dwelling upon, but still considering it with enough strength to mildly drown the explanation on  the value of Nifflers.

         Finally, and possibly because her thoughts were no longer enough to smother the increasing volume of the dissertation, she properly laid her attention on the man beside her.

          Amusement swirled in her tongue, yet it tasted bitter as she spoke.

          'It won't bite, Professor.'

          Holly wasn't a very confrontational person, but exception was due when the subject possibly sought to invalidate her magical prowess. She'd taken pity in the man and the ashiness of his skin, a week or so prior, yet not only had he blatantly refrained from drinking it (Riddle did look a bit weakened to a healer's eye), but she'd also spotted remnants of the concoction within one of Slughorn's copper cauldrons.

          Dark browns glazed over her before responding, a hint of confusion brewing in thick traces across his face. 'Pardon?'

         She shifted her weight over the table, breakfast platter left untouched just by her elbow. Staff sat by seniority, the freshly graduated pair far down, yet it was a rare occasion for their exchanges to go beyond basic courtesy; such was sure to evoke some unsolicited attention. Holly could practically render the image of Professor Beery's ears shooting up in alert.

          'A vial, purple...' She trailed off, studying him. He did seem genuinely confused, had he perhaps forgotten it somewhere and in turn gotten analyzed by the Potion's Master?

          For all the praise she'd heard, Riddle did not seem the type for clumsiness.

          His brows fell into place, back straightened. 'Oh, yes – that - I figured my older colleagues would need it more than me.'

          If that had been the case, there was not much she could do, though Slughorn's distrust itched at the tip of her tongue and he's perfectly capable of brewing something alike threatened to spill. It didn't matter – she couldn't forcibly heal him, as much as it bothered her.

          'That's...thoughtful of you.' A smile, but a hint of resignation in the drawl of her words. 'Still, if you ever reconsider, I have a decent supply.'

          He smiled back, polite and handsome. 'I'll keep that in mind, Miss Fortier.'

          'Holly, please – most already do.'

          Riddle didn't extend the invitation, but his head tipped in a mid-nod and he repeated her name between quirked up lips.

          She felt her stomach flutter. It'd been a long while since she'd gotten the undivided attention of a man, and it'd been – well, it was actually the first time that she'd talked in such proximity with an extremely good-looking man.