When Thomas Riddle first introduced himself to me, I thought absolutely nothing of it. I mean, yes, he was the quiet, mysterious guy sitting alone at the huge lunch table and yes, the way he would stare at me from time to time could be described as creepy, but—I was the new girl. So I had no reason to give his behaviour second thoughts.
Naturally though, when he scared the bloody hell out of me by snatching me back by my wrist, I couldn't help but feel curious about his sudden decision to violate me—there were many ways he could approach me; the one he chose just didn't seem like the right one. The curiosity subsided when my eyes met his; instead, I was taken aback by his sharp gaze and the dead feeling it gave off. Like he wasn't really looking at you, but through you. Like he was searching for something. Like he hoped he would find it in me.
His eyes were obsidian. And I couldn't look at him for long. Never, it seemed.
"I didn't catch your name."
"Hermione," I answered; my throat dry.
"Tom Riddle."
He smiled; full but thin lips curling upwards from one side. His features were so incredibly sharp—dark eyebrows, crooked nose that looked like it had been broken once or twice, defined cheekbones. . . He was way too handsome for his own good. My good too, probably.
"Hermione," he tried the word; his voice gravelly. "Interesting name." He looked interested. (He wasn't.)
"My mum has—had a thing for old names."
"I bet," his tone was teasing, but still—no emotion in his eyes. "Had?"
"She's dead—obviously. Died a few years ago from breast cancer."
"My apologies, I didn't mean to joke—or pry." He looked sincere, but I couldn't shake off the feeling that he was just a brilliant liar. He looked brilliant—brilliant enough for everything.
His hair was jet black and soft looking. Dishevelled too; like he couldn't bother with it whatsoever. It didn't really suit him, but it made him more real considering the arrogant, aristocratic vibe he had going on.
"I'm over it," I said simply.
He nodded, his eyes never tearing away from me. He was studying me, it seemed; analyzing my every move like he weighted his options. I felt like I was part of a game of his, like I was exposed. But it was too early and I knew next to nothing about him.
It was nearly bed time, and most of the kids were already in their respective rooms. We still stood on the staircase where he stopped me.
"Anything else?" I was nervous—I didn't want to get on the bad side of Ms. Cole. There were rules and I understood them. I couldn't afford fucking up.
"No." He let go of my wrist—my hand fell limb on my side. He smiled again; the low light playing tricks on his pointed face. "Goodnight Hermione."
I smiled weakly. "Goodnight."
I ran to my room. My roommate was already sleeping.
[A/N] I'm so incredibly new to fanfiction. net but heyy, this is a tomione story since I'm such Tom trash. I hope you like it!
