A/N: Hey guys so I'm basically updating after a year and I'm reallyyy sorry for that. Like I don't even know how many of you are even reading this or were disappointed that I all but abandoned it. But I absolutely promise to update diligently now, and by that I mean, at least weekly. This is my first fanfic and the response to it really means a lot to me. Thanks and i hope you like it! XX-K

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"Interesting switch of patrols yesterday, yes?"

Tom watched as Potter practically jumped at the sound of his voice. Perhaps, he was just surprised, but for all his bravado, Gryffindor's Golden Boy seemed quite easy to startle.

"Good morning, Riddle. I didn't notice you there behind me." Charlus replied after gaining his composure.

"Of course, you didn't. But don't dwell on it, we all have our flaws, and that's what makes us precious little snowflakes." Tom smirked. "However, as great as the morning is, it would be better if I could know why the patrols were switched." He knew that it wasn't right for his reputation to mess with the Head Boy, but it wasn't as if the proud git would ever admit to being offended. Unlike Rue, he mused, who'd rather be dramatic than maintain a reputation.

"Look Riddle, it was just a move to encourage and promote inter-house fraternising. Nothing more, nothing less. The Slytherin-Gryffindor rivalry is qualitatively the greatest. So, I decided to start there."

As if.

"Is that so?" Tom mused, rubbing his chin, (he did so gently though, for he had sensitive skin, and discoloration didn't become him.)

Charlus nodded and smiled at him.

As fucking if.

It was time, Tom decided, to get the conversation over with. They'd walked up the staircases for a bit, but they were quickly approaching the fifth floor where he had class, and he'd be damned if Snowflake Potter would be the reason for his tardiness.

Moreover, and more importantly, he was bored.

"Well, then I hope that you wouldn't mind switching the routine back to the old one just for tonight. I've had a bit of a misunderstanding with Ms. Lane, and I'd like to sort it out. I don't mean to stand in the way of inter-house fraternising, but I'm sure you'll agree, that it is just as important for Ms. Lane and me to be on cordial terms."

Charlus Potter frowned at him.

Good, he thought, Mr. Potter must realise that not everything goes the way he, or for that matter, Lane wants it to. They are not Kings.

"I don't see why you can't make amends on your own time, Tom." The Head Boy replied.

Tom?

But that wasn't the least of his concerns. What bothered him was the statement about his personal time. His own time. That was the limit. Whose time was being devoted to the patrols he did, if not his? He could've been training the Knights, if he hadn't been put in the employ of the school, to do work that simple charms could do.

"Well, Potter, I think you'll find that my own time is devoted to patrols, and keeping up with my education. At the request of Professor Slughorn, I also have to tutor my peers and ensure that they too, excel. Over and above that, I'm trying to mend bridges while undertaking Prefect duty, but you will not allow me to do so. Instead, you want me to spend hours every night fending off Wilks' advances. Some Head Boy you are!"

Perhaps his seething rage had leaked into his words, but he didn't mind for its impact was evident. Potter was clearly stunned, and was about to start fumbling for words.

"Riddle, I-I need you to-" He started, but alas, they'd reached the fifth floor, and their time was done.

So cutting him off, Tom sneered, "Figure it out, Snowflake. I'll see you tonight."

And just for a dramatic flare, he Finite-d Rue's lion badge into nothingness, deciding that magic like that was wasted on Potter's cloak.

It was only when he sat down at his desk, did he consider that he'd perhaps been a bit too dramatic about the whole situation. Maybe, he really would have to persuade Lane directly.

He sighed, and directed his gaze towards her, the source of this bother.

If only she didn't look so mundane.

/

"Interesting switch of patrols yesterday, yes?"

Rue jumped in her seat, turning around to see Riddle next to her, in Yaxley's seat. She should've known that he wouldn't let it go, and that he would sound as cool and collected as he did, as if he didn't care.

As fucking if.

Had this been any other day, Rue would have jumped into the conversation. Talking to a man as talented and charming as Riddle was a true dream. However, being called unexceptional had put things into perspective. She sighed and returned her attention to her cauldron, hoping that Riddle would get the message.

He did not.

"Ignoring me won't make me, or my question, go away." He smirked.

Maybe so, but a girl could hope.

"Lane, Riddle is talking to you." Whispered Hestia Nott, from behind.

Rue turned around, astounded. Did Hestia Nott, the resident idiot, (she wasn't actually, but anger can make even the kindest people devastatingly unkind,) really think that she had no idea that Riddle was talking to her?

"Is that so?" She replied.

Hestia nodded and pointed at Riddle, "Yeah."

"Well then, be a dear and tell him that I don't want to talk to him, since he clearly isn't getting the message from me. Who knows, maybe he'll listen to you." Rue sneered, turning back around.

"Bitch." Hestia muttered, while Riddle laughed softly.

"You know, Lane, I did get the message. However, you didn't get my message, did you? I fully intend on having this conversation, regardless of how dramatic you choose to be."

Dramatic, did he say? It was rich, coming from him.

"Is that so, Riddle? I'm being dramatic, am I?" She whispered.

He smiled in response. Any other day, she'd have been charmed, but today, her sheer mundanity had no intention of playing nicely. She realised that she'd broken her promise to Eileen, to not talk to Riddle, but dire consequences called for dire action.

"Well then, if I'm dramatic now, what would you call me if I, hypothetically of course, thought so highly of myself that I gave my friend circle a most pretentious name? Maybe something like, I don't know, Knights of Walpurgis?"

"Bitch." He seethed, inconspicuously, (or so he thought,) stomping his foot.

/

How did she know?

And how dare she call him dramatic! He was the Heir of Slytherin, and if his followers wouldn't have a name, then who would?

"I don't expect you to understand the importance of a name in an organisation, and the value that it holds. However, I would advise you, as your superior, to not discuss things you know nothing about."

He noticed her roll her eyes at him, as if she was expecting that sort of a response.

"How are you my superior, Riddle?" She asked.

It was amazing, but not surprising, that of all that he said, she only cared about his comment about her relative aptitude. It seemed as if she'd taken his earlier comment to heart. He'd hoped that that was not the case, as it would have saved him an apology, and he did hate apologizing. He never meant any of them, but they meant a great deal to others, and so it was important for him to be generous with them.

"You'll get an answer to that, but only if you are willing to put yesterday behind us. I made a comment in poor taste. Ignore it for what is was- a waste of words,"

"Is that supposed to be an apology?" She whispered, slicing plant roots into delicate strips and passing them to him. He put them into the potion, one by one. He had practiced the potion beforehand and thus, didn't need to pay it much attention in class.

Grabbing the ladle, he stirred clockwise, "Do you consider it one?" He certainly didn't, but there was the smallest chance that she'd be satisfied, (deep down, he knew that the possibility of that was non-existent,) and so he wanted to give it a shot.

She just looked at him in bewilderment.

He sighed. Of course.

"Well, I'm sorry, Lane. I was rude. Move on now." He drawled.

"Unbelievable." She whispered.

Well, he was, yes. "Thanks." He replied with a small smile.

"What? No, Riddle, that was not a compliment!"

He shrugged. As far as he was concerned, she'd come around. She began shaking her head in disbelief, but he turned to her and held it in place. He didn't usually act this cordial with his fellow students, (and thus, understandably, most of his peers were keenly watching their exchange,) but he had a good feeling about Rue Lane.

She liked him- he could sense so, as her cheeks warmed at his touch.

And people who liked him never opposed him.

And if someone that powerful was keen to comply, he would make the most of it.

"Join me for lunch, and tell Potter to switch back the routines. I think they'll be far more interesting, then." He smirked, packing up his things as the bell rang.

He poured an ounce of the potion into a flask, and handed it to her (fuming) self.

He was almost out the door, when he heard he mutter under her breath,

"Un-fucking-believable."

/