Professor Slughorn's owl seemed to reach them both at the same time, as they'd both arrived in his office white faced, clutching the letters, in unison.
"Riddle, Grey, a lovely surprise." Slughorn boomed, clearly oblivious to the expression of outrage on Hannah's face.
Tom had worn his usual mask of indifference. Horace had always been blind to his ways, inexplicably fond of him though he'd never given him any reason to be. He needed that. Another pawn.
"I'm not going to the ball with him," he heard her say, her voice pitchy, quaking. He liked hearing her like this.
Slughorn raised a quizzical eyebrow. "It's not up for discussion, I'm afraid," he sounded hurt. A fragile ego. "I paired you both together, assuming you'd enjoy it more with a familiar face at your side."
Hannah crumpled the letter in one hand, avoiding Tom's gaze.
"And it's only one dance," the Professor continued. "You are free to enjoy the remainder of the Yule Ball alone, if you wish. But I expect you both to share the opening dance, as a personal favour to me."
He turned his imploring eyes to Tom, who shot him a reassuring smile.
"I think it's a marvellous idea," he agreed, ignoring Hannah's derisive snort. "Grey and I dance together quite often, don't we?"
She was writing something in her notebook, the quill scratching furiously.
Bite me.
He snapped his jaw shut, startled by Slughorn's moony face peering between the two.
"Young love," he gasped, returning Riddle's tight expression with a grin so wide it seemed to split his face in two. "Using your journals, so good, so good."
*
Tom Riddle had never attended a Yule Ball.
He'd had no real reason to, before. The music and festivities were not something he'd ever found pleasant, so it felt odd to wear such garish robes, the silky material uncomfortable on his skin.
But still, he adjusted himself in the mirror, straightening down the overshirt he'd pulled on.
She'll hate this.
The thought gave him comfort. He was vaguely aware of Nott fumbling with his own robes behind him, swearing and cursing like a sailor as he did.
"- still think you're batshit crazy for taking that Grey girl," he muttered, tossing his shoes defeatedly at the door. "She's mental."
"Worry about yourself." Tom said mildly, breezing past him to finish the third glass of whiskey he'd set on the table. "And I'm not taking her, I can't stand her. It's just the opening dance."
"Whatever you say," Nott's eyebrows had disappeared into his hairline. "Wouldn't want to be you right now."
Tom smiled, feeling the alcohol creep through his system. "Who would?"
*
I'm waiting. Of course you're fucking late.
Tom shifted at the stairwell, tucking his quill back into his robes. A few older students had started to gather, forming a hum of white noise as they chattered, waiting for the doors to open. Even from outside, he could tell it had been utterly transformed- snow fell from the rafters, and he could see the flickering of thousands of candles through cracks in the wall.
YOU ARE READING
HUNGER.
Fanfiction"I'm not scared of you." "Is that a challenge?" ---- Tom Riddle was bored. Luckily for him, the last thing Hannah Grey could be called is boring. They find cat and mouse is just as entertaining for them both- though they aren't quite sure who is who...
