I wrote this in a bit of a hurry; it may not be perfect.
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns all...
Did you know what a spectacular view you have of the night sky from the roof of Hogwarts? It's a shame we aren't allowed—the soft glow coming off of the moon was making me drowsy. As I was staring at the moon; mesmerized by it, even, like an idiot, I failed to hear the sudden movement from behind me.
"What are you doing?" An amused, cool voice made me jump and I almost fell off the roof. Turning around angrily, I saw Tom leaning against the wall of the clock tower.
"I do not know," I said angrily, embarrassed and annoyed. "I could have fallen off, Tom! Died!" Startled as I was—I couldn't help noticing how beautiful he was, and I almost slapped myself.
"You wouldn't have," He muttered, and I rolled my eyes. Sitting down again, he joined me on my left. I was staring at the moon again—he was staring at me. Watching him from the corner of my eye, I couldn't help but smile a little as I turned to face him.
"Why aren't you with your Slytherin buddies?" I asked, a small smile settling on my lips. He tilted my head as I had done; I was sure we would have looked quite peculiar in this position.
"It's two o'clock am in the morning, Minerva. Why are you not with your Gryffindor buddies? Were they not courageous enough to sneak onto the roof with you?" He said snidely, and I flinched visibly. His gaze did not soften at all.
"I do not have any Gryffindor friends. I do not have any friends, Tom, except you." I snapped, annoyed with his unsettling but honest outburst. "You know that." Tom was staring at me with a fascinated expression on his face.
"What?" I asked, irritated.
"You think of me as a friend?" Tom said softly, leaning towards me. I felt my heartbeat speed up, and I started stuttering.
"Uh—no, I mean, I do not want a boyfriend, Tom," I spluttered lamely, and he chuckled for a moment, and then leaned back again.
"I did not mean it like that, Minerva. Is this what it feels like to have a friend?" He asked, fluttering his bedroom eyes shut.
"I assume so," I said quietly, unsure.
"If I did ask you to go steady with me, would you say yes?" He asked me, smiling vaguely. Tom was the only one capable of asking the most awkward questions directly, and I felt a familiar blush spreading over my cheeks.
"Well—Tom! You cannot expect me to answer that like this." I said in a weak, faltering voice. He sneered, and I tried to ignore the fact that this boy was only a few inches away from me.
"Answer me, then." He breathed, and I felt a pleasant shudder ram through my shoulders.
"Yes," I replied, trying to sound exasperated but failing terribly. Tom leaned back, and I let out a sigh of relief. Observing me in his usual, holier-than-thou attitude, he smiled—a real smile, for the first time.
"What if I…" He paused for a moment, tracing my cheek with his slender fingers. I stared at him, mesmerized in his dark eyes. His thumb trailed down to my cheek, and propping it up, he leaned in and kissed me.
Just like that.
He had already kissed me without warning the day before—maybe out of frustration, maybe out of anger—but this time, it was so…so gentle. I don't know how long we stayed there—I lost track of time, curled against him. But it wasn't a meaningless, hooker type kiss that lasts for one night. It was a meaningful exchange of saliva and germs; if you must think of it like that—the type that lasts forever and ever. Tearing away from Tom, I stared at him, and he stared at me. There's something empty about that gaze—something wrong.
" Tom? Are you alright?" I asked, worried. He didn't reply, just slung his blazer over his shoulder in one swift movement and walked away. I watched him from the roof, and he must have known. Turning around, he raised his hand in unsmiling farewell. And that was it.
The next morning in the Great Hall, there was an extreme amount of commotion and panic spreading around the school. Professor Dumbledore had found the body of Myrtle, a third year Ravenclaw that I had not known of.
"Who did it?" The Ravenclaw students were angrily yelling to Headmaster Dippet; the Hufflepuff were looking very scared, and the Slytherins unbothered. But we, the Gryffindors had seemed to forget some of our Gryffindor courage and decided to act like a couple of Hufflepuffs. Frowning at them, I stooped to collect my books and walked out of the Great Hall. As shaken as I was, I would have never admitted that I was afraid. The first thing I saw—no, heard, once I had walked away from the Great Hall was Tom, speaking in a strange, raspy voice. Parseltongue. I had heard my mother and father discussing it previously. I nervously backed away slowly, and crept under the stairs. My foot hit the stone rather loudly—Tom whipped around, eyes searching, but then returned to the Great Hall, looking weary. With my heart pounding, I hurried away back to the Great Hall, wanting to speak to Professor Dumbledore, since most of the students had come pouring out already.
When I caught up with him, I was panting heavily.
"Yes, Miss McGonagall?" Dumbledore asked, looking anxious and determined. I let out a shaky breath—but then I had a thought: What if I told him about Tom speaking in Parseltongue, and then…Tom would never forgive me, ever again?
"I was—uh, wondering where Myrtle was killed." I said lamely, as I watched Professor Dumbledore's face fall.
"The bathroom on the second floor. I do not advise you to go wandering in by yourself—it is most definitely unsafe at the moment." He added strictly, and I nodded absently, already trying to maneuver my way through the crowd of students.
"And Miss McGonagall," He added, looking at me with his piercing, blue eyes, "What has our Mr. Riddle been doing all this time?" I frowned at him, knowing what this was leading to.
"I don't know, Professor. I haven't seen him in a while." I lied. And with this, I strolled away as quickly as I could. I made myself swear to never turn Tom in. After all, I had no proof of Tom being the culprit of Myrtle's death.
Sorraay if it sucks.
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