the seven virtues [tom riddle]

chapter three

CHAPTER THREE

"I do not see why I should discuss anything with you," her voice was just as he remembered, a saturation of obnoxiousness and appeal, and Tom found that he much fancied when she resisted him with such urgency, "And why now? So many months have passed since I have last seen you, and you certainly did ignore all of my attempts to contact you."

His lips pulled at that, and he knew that she was referencing the reoccurring letters the girl had sent his way. Of course, he had received all, had even read some whenever he so desired to press against the open wound her departure had left. Even so, not even a masochist as he would be capable of enduring such words of prejudice and concupiscence.

Riddle had not answered them, for fear of drawing her fondness and possibly diverting himself from his one faithful goal— devising a Horcrux that would knot the loose ends of his life, efficiently making him everlasting and undefeatable.

"Have you?" Tom queried with sham ambivalence in his voice, "I am afraid I have not received any of your messages, then."

"You lie so easily," Varya seethed, then made to move across the room and away for him, directly heading for one of the doors. Her hand clutched the bronze grip and made to spin it, yet it stood congealed against her skin— he had trapped her inside. She converted to him, outraged, "And have you learned no manners in the past year? Locking yourself with a young lady in an empty room. Well, that is quite indecent, is it not?"

The wizard smirked at her raucous speech, at the way her nostrils flared at his insouciance, and her jaw toughened with ferocity. Unquestionably, Petrov had undergone a radical transformation in her time away from the school of wizardry, and Tom found he relished her derangement and the way she ticked like a faulty clock. Then, there was her hair, which now dangled above her collarbones in notched layers. It suited her magic.

"And why am I being improper?" he continued probing, his eyes shimmering when a vein of vexation drummed against her temple.

"I do not want anyone to assume that something is— well, that we are doing anything."