He was nothing divine, but he looked like he could be.
She watched him often, although she tried not to. It was a real sadness, that try as she may, her eyes always followed him. Her obsession was often rewarded by cursory glances in her general direction, a polite word of apology when he ran into her, (that one time, near the library, she'd almost fainted,) and by curt nods during their prefect duties. She was sure that he did not know her name. Luckily for her, all that was soon about to change.
Almost magically.
/
He had seen her before, he thought as he spied her form dawdling by the Great Lake. She was a Slytherin, yes, but she seemed to be one of those quiet ones, the kind which associated with Hufflepuffs, and on finding themselves in the Slytherin common room, weren't entirely sure how they got there. She was in his year, wasn't she, and in all his classes, too? She was his fellow prefect, he remembered, surprised, albeit mildly, (He was a 'capital K' King, so not much could surprise or amuse him, as it wouldn't do for a King to be surprised.) His surprise had found basis in the fact that she looked quite unexceptional. She didn't look anything special, unlike him, who nursed a regal brow with equally regal hands. What was her name? Why could he not remember? Tabitha? No, Belinda, he decided. It wasn't her real name, he was sure, but he decided to name her that in his own World. If anything, he thought, she should be flattered, for Belinda meant 'Beautiful Snake' and she was more along the lines of 'Awkward Snake'. He closed his book and fixed his eyes on 'Belinda' who, he was sure, was unaware of his presence and his attention. And silently, he watched.
/
It was all she could do to not faint. There he was, a few hundred or so meters away, and he was looking at her. Fervently, she thanked her lucky stars that she'd bothered to comb her dull hair and coerced them into shining mildly. Her cheeks were red, thanks to the miniature storm she'd charmed up, (out of thin air, too! Charms was her best subject,) but she was sure that he couldn't see them from his perch. However, she decided, it wouldn't do to have Tom Riddle's attention and not impress him. She was quite talented, although shyness prevented her from showcasing her potential to the public. Surely, she thought, Riddle would appreciate wandless magic? She stopped pacing, (or awkwardly pacing,) as if she'd made up her mind- Tucking her wand into her hair (while she discreetly charmed it to look a shade darker,) she looked at her miniature snow storm.
And snapped her fingers.
The wind instantly died down and she saw her observer's posture change- he'd sat up a bit straighter.
She now had his full attention.
She didn't fancy him, she knew that. She was just a little obsessed. However, her miniscule obsession demanded that she make the most of her (rarer than bezoars) opportunity.
And so she did.
/
He was stunned into silence. The girl, Belinda, wasn't in fact as unexceptional as she looked. Wandless magic at 16? That too, of such an advanced nature? Even he hadn't gotten that far. She was probably Merlin-descended, he thought as he saw her flushed cheeks lose their redness, (now that she'd done away with her magnificent snow storm.)
She was thinking again and he wanted to know what- it was a pity that he couldn't use Legilimency as that would alert her to his presence. And Merlin knows, that's the last thing that he wanted. He watched as she loosened her stance, put a fist forward, (it was a small fist, as she had small hands,) and uncurled her fingers.
Her hand was afire. It shone inhumanely blue, and lit up her dark eyes. She smiled, and blew at her hand making the fire go out at once. He blinked and pondered.
What magic was this? What magic was she?
/
He'd let out an inaudible gasp, and she knew that she would never again be invisible to him. She wasn't surprised, for not many could master such magic (actually only a tiny fraction could,) and that too, at only sixteen, (she would be seventeen in two months' time, though.) She brushed her hair out of her face and set off towards the castle, making sure to walk by a certain tree, under which a certain Prefect sat, (now, she was certain, in awe of her.)
/
She was on her way to the castle, and he had full plans to talk to her. Hastily, he packed his book bag and pulled out a quill. Murmuring a quick spell, he watched it turn into a green scarf. He wrapped it around his neck, (he had full plans to offer it to her, so as to make a great impression,) and brushed the twigs out of his hair. She was very close now. Close enough for him to see her round face clearly. Her eyes sparkled, he noted, with happiness. He wasn't surprised, as anyone would be happy at having achieved such complex magic. However, it was her smirk which disturbed him. It was very Slytherin, and frankly, it made her Hufflepuff-ish appearance seem bestial. Somehow, looking as cunning and smug as she could did nothing to improve her looks. He didn't think much of it, though he'd heard the same being said about him. But no, her smirk, which belied a cunning mind, still disturbed him. How could anyone who looked so unexceptional be so, well, exceptional? He felt like a fool, and he hated that. He looked at her face again, He knew she'd look at him- he was hard to ignore, after all. And look she did.
With a smirk gracing her eyes more than her mouth. He knew, then, that he wasn't as inconspicuous as he'd thought. She'd known about his presence all along. The very thought colored his cheeks the softest shade of pink.
/
It was all her new-found confidence could do to keep her from wincing at the sound of his approaching footsteps.
"Hello." He said, pleasantly, as he fell into step with her.
She was sure that she'd seen anger line his brow when she'd glimpsed at him, so such pleasant behavior was slightly strange. But she wasn't going to complain.
Oh, Merlin's pants! Tom Riddle was talking to her!
"Hi." She said, half shyly, half confidently. She was braver now that she knew that she'd impressed him but not brave enough to mention it.
"We have prefect duty together, do we not? Yet we have never spoken like friends."
"Yes." She replied. What else was she to say?
"And what do they call you?"
What a strange way of asking her name.
" Rue Lane." She whispered. She'd been sure that he didn't know her name, but having him confirm that idea was another thing entirely.
"Rue. I like it. I'm Tom Riddle, by the way."
"I know." She blurted out, instantly regretting it. If he didn't know her, was she not creepy for knowing him?
Luckily, he saved her from the embarrassment.
"Yes, I'm horrible with names, so you must forgive me my lapse of memory. It is rather inconvenient, and I suppose, rude." He spoke, his eyes fixed on her.
"Yes." She answered. Wasn't honesty the best policy?
He laughed at that, though. She didn't have the heart to tell him that she wasn't joking.
"I noticed your little snow storm, you know, Where did you learn such advanced magic, that too, wandless?"
/
And he'd brought it up. A part of him almost applauded his courage, but the other part frowned upon his shrewd question. His motives were crystal clear. He regretted it almost immediately, which was something very rare, for Tom Riddle regretted very little. He was sure she'd never tell, now that his actual motive for talking to her was clear. Still, maybe the situation could be salvaged.
"I mean, it really was fascinating. I still have a little trouble with non-verbal spells, so I'm really in awe."
Please buy it, he thought.
"I don't know, I suppose it just comes naturally to me. I've never had any trouble with it." She answered, her wide-eyed gaze meeting his.
"Really? But you look so unexceptional." He said, without thinking.
Now he'd done it. He saw her eyes turn cold and narrow, and suddenly, it was as if a chill had descended upon them.
"Well then, maybe you're the subpar one, seeing that you pass incorrect judgement, can't do non-verbal magic well, and, I'm sure, are perfectly incapable of noticing that wandless magic isn't that hard, seeing as all of us manage to do it before we even get wands!" She sneered.
Did she just call him unexceptional? The heir of Salazar Slytherin?
"I'm sorry, but do you-" He started, but was cut off by the fact that she'd, (magically,) conjured snowballs to pelt at his face as she literally stormed towards the castle, with snowflakes and tempests rioting at her feet.
Perhaps, it truly did come naturally to her, almost too naturally. In a way, that explained the degree of offense taken.
Well done, Tom, he thought, well done indeed.
/
