Seven Devils ★ T.M.R ★

Chapter Eleven

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BEFORE THE STORM
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MARINA MADE HER way through the bustling bar and nearly spilled chocolate milkshake down her front as a gaudily dressed witch toppled into her. The witch laughed loudly and nasally and swayed with a bottle of what must be firewhisky clenched in her hand. Swerving around her, Marina made her way to the back corner where the noise was at its quietest and where Riddle sat waiting for her.

"Good Lord," she exclaimed, sitting down with a huff and setting her meal upon the table. "It is hectic as shit in here."

"Is that all you're eating?" Riddle said distastefully, looking down at her scant meal.

"I'm not made of money, Riddle," she said, feeling embarrassed as she pushed the small pile of overcooked peas around her plate. "Anyway, what was that music box you mentioned to Moody?" she said, trying to shift the conversation.

"Oh," Riddle smirked. "Moody told me that he has a cursed music box in his collection that puts you in a living sleep. Anyone who hears the music will just stand there motionless, unable to think until the box is closed."

"How would Moody get away?" Marina asked with a scoff.

"He'd take precautions, wouldn't he," said Riddle disparagingly. "For someone writing a thesis you can be very stupid."

"That's so true," Marina said, pointing her fork at him.

Riddle just looked at her shaking his head slightly. "I don't understand how you've gotten this far."

"Genuinely me neither," she said, smothering the slice of roast chicken on her plate with gravy and tucking in. "Moody looks at me like I'm an errant pimple, Lupin takes me about as seriously as he would a garden gnome, McGonagall only started talking to me about a week ago, and Dumbledore looks like he wants to wring my neck every time I open my mouth."

Riddle laughed. Marina tried to hide her surprise by focusing intently on cutting her meat into exact strips.

"I did wonder why they listened to you at first," he said, looking out the window. "Everything they said about you was very... sceptical. And yet they kept going along with your plan."

"Oh?" she said vaguely, watching him out of the corner of her eye.

"It made more sense when I could see the interactions myself," he was saying. "You're very difficult to ignore."

"I'm not making the mistake of taking that as a compliment," Marina smirked.

"Nor should you," Riddle said dryly.

Marina put down her fork as a wave of nausea washed over her. She rested her head on her hand, trying to see straight. Riddle was saying something, but she couldn't hear it, only the gushing pulse in her ears and a loud, piercing ringing –

"Marina," Riddle said urgently, shaking her.

He was leaning over the table, hand on her shoulder. In the back of her mind she realised it was the first time he'd called her by name.

"What?"

He sat back down slowly, not taking his eyes off her. His question was silent but obvious.

"Sorry, just – I don't know – I feel weird," she said, pushing her plate away. The food which only moments ago had looked appetising now had a sickly, overly rich smell that was turning her stomach. She closed her eyes, trying to get her bearings.

"I think it's me," Riddle said quietly.

"What do you mean?" Marina asked, eyes still closed.

"You haven't been around me outside the diary for this long before," he continued. "It's draining you."