Author's Note: Alright, so this chapter has been incredibly difficult to write. I'm sorry if it's clumsy or has some mistakes, but I literally had to soldier through it. I've tried to dig a bit deeper with Maeve and was a little overwhelmed by how much there was that needed explanation. I strived to make this as smooth a read as I could. Unfortunately, I feel like I'm beating you over the head with a Disenchanted club, though, so forgive me. Balancing the college classes and the writing is driving me a bit crazy, so I apologize if this is substandard. I can tell you that it will get better(and more romantic)then this, but I have to come to terms with my two Tom personalities and make them mesh properly.
In any case, reviews are GREAT! Thank you to all of those who have and hopefully I haven't disappointed you too much with this:
"Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent beneath it." ~William Shakespeare
Maeve stirred the cold, gray porridge with her wand tip, unsuccessfully attempting a warming charm. Ah, it was pointless. Besides, she didn't even like porridge. Usually the food at Hogwarts was much more appetizing, but the house elves got lazy around the end of term. This was a classic example of what her father would have called 'an unacceptable breach in what was meant to be an unconditional and obligatory contract of eternal servitude to the wizarding race'. Needless to say, house elves were not respected or provided for in the Sinclaire household.
She dreaded going back there to spend another interminably miserable Christmas. That was really all she needed at this point, in addition to the Riddle situation. Ugh. Maeve shoved that thought from her consciousness and instead dwelled upon the misery that was her immediate family. Her mother would once again harass her for not having spent more time with eligible pureblood boys and her father harangue her about the lack of pride she took in being of the noble house of Sinclaire. This, of course, was not true. Maeve was exceedingly proud of being pureblood(she made it a point to try to have as little to do with muggle-borns or even half-bloods as possible), but she did not think it necessary to waste time strutting about the castle when she should be studying. The source of her parents perpetual vexation was not that she 'slunk around with her head in a book like a little mudblood cow' but that she could not be more like Arria. Clearly, her elder sister was the peak of parental pureblood achievement.
Maeve had always looked up to Arria for that and, consequently, she had always envied her. Arria had succeeded in all the areas Maeve had failed: Arria Sinclaire had continued the proud family tradition of ending up in Slytherin house, she had quickly made worthwhile alliances and friendships with all her respectable pureblood classmates and become insanely popular, not to mention that she'd always attracted the eye aforementioned male classmates. Even those of pure lineage unfortunate enough to end up in houses of a lesser merit than Slytherin had practically worshipped Arria. She'd have had Riddle wrapped around her finger in a heartbeat, Maeve thought ruefully, glancing over at Slytherin table almost against her will.
Her eyes quickly scanned the meager gathering and saw the usual: an empty space on the bench between Rafe and Yaxley. Ah, poor Lestrange. He'd apparently been deposed in favour of the more 'competent' Everett Yaxley. Maeve pitied Rafe Lestrange a little, she really did. He had always been, if not kind, then at least polite to her. Certainly, he had the cutthroat qualities of any other Slytherin, but he lacked the selfishness that was second nature her cousin, Abraxas and that Lupus Black. He was unswervingly loyal to Riddle in a way that was-she smiled a little and the absurdity of the comparison-a bit like a house elf, really. She'd half expected him to go shut his hands in a door somewhere in a lesser form of self-flagellation when she had caught him stalking her. She had to convince him that she wouldn't tell Riddle and that she never intended to blackmail him later with the knowledge. She had, however, considered it an absurd solution when he muttered something about the Unbreakable Vow and of course refused to perform it. She'd sworn on the purity of her blood that she would not reveal his lapse. After all, she thought rather bitterly, it isn't like I'm on speaking terms with Tom Riddle at the moment.
Agh, the Riddle failure was a particularly dark and nasty bloodstain on an already thoroughly ruined track record. At least her mother didn't know about her failure, like she had known with the Weasly's. Now that had truly been terrible, she grimaced just thinking about it. No food for a month except what Arria could sneak into her room(which wasn't much), and the entire family had been forbidden to speak to her for the entire holiday. All of her privileges were suspended throughout her fifth year…she'd never been that miserable in her entire life. Well, I'd never been that miserable until now, of course.
It was frustrating, being the middle child in a pureblood family. Especially since she was the lesser daughter who had not 'blossomed' as expected. At the age of sixteen, Maeve's chances of physically 'blossoming' into anything special were slim to none. Her mother was beautiful, her sister was exquisite…even her father and brother were at the very least handsome.
Maeve, the sorting hat had said, was a particularly difficult student to place. She was what Megaera Sinclaire liked to spitefully call 'a social Squib'. Maeve had made acquaintances though, embarrassingly low on the totem pole acquaintances but acquaintances none the less: Rubeus Hagrid had been one of them before being expelled, gargantuan and clumsy but a truly kind boy. I didn't really know him that well, Maeve amended ruefully in her head. We just shared a common interest in dragons. And there was always that pitiful Myrtle girl, too. I cried so hard when that thing got her, but she wasn't even pureblood and she was so annoying. Still, I don't think I really wanted her to die…Maeve grimaced, no wonder she had few friends, they had rather short life/happiness expectancies. Really, it wasn't her fault that she was shunned by Ravenclaws for being the 'Pure Plague Queen's younger sister, or that the Hufflepuff's were unbearably, insufferably nice. Griffyndors…well, that was like trying to have an intellectual conversation with a self-righteous brick wall by butting heads with it. Slytherin was where she could have made friends, had she just tried harder and not been terrified of being rejected from that final haven.
Maeve dropped her gaze before any of the Fortunate could catch her looking. Every few minutes, one of them would discreetly glance over to check and make sure she was still there. They'd grown lax in the weeks following Riddle's sudden disappearance from the great hall. She could not even catch sight of Riddle between classes these days. Even when she did see him during class, any attempt to speak to or otherwise approach him would have been futile. He always had his latest conquest tagging along after him(This was always coupled by a terminally bored and disgusted expression that only deepened every time the girl of the hour began to speak.), or he was surrounded by Slytherin boys(There was no real noticeable change in the accompanying facial expression.). Not that she'd ever be able to work up the nerve to speak to him after all the idiocy that had taken place; but she liked to think that maybe he was just sulking and hadn't decided that having a lackey follow her everywhere was the most amusing method of torture he could devise for girls who insulted him. The latter was probably the truth, but what good was the ridiculous feeling everyone called love if you couldn't dream up impossible but entertaining fantasies whilst under it's supposed influence?
No, Maeve did not believe there was a such thing as love. It had eluded her for so long, both at home and elsewhere, that it was now no more than mere myth. There was infatuation and lust, but the existence of love was questionable. But it was surely a good excuse for all the evil that seemed to befall the young men and women of her age. Yes, Arria had never 'fallen in love' and she'd done beautifully. In fact, her parents probably admired such fortitude, seeing as their relationship was wholly devoid of the scourge of love.
Infatuation was exactly the feeling she felt for Riddle, wasn't it? A painful but hopefully fleeting longing to be held and cherished by a boy who she knew was not only unattainable, but emotionally undesirable. Tom was as cool and detached as he was vindictive and cruel. She had never seen him do anything even remotely decent that was in not someway related to his own personal gain…
Except for the Quidditch incident, of course. Maeve winced and traced a large gouge in the dark wood, rune-engraved tabletop with her index finger, trying to stem the overwhelming feeling of guilt. Well, if that had been the one redeeming feat Tom Marvolo Riddle had ever performed in his life, she'd thoroughly ensured that he never make another one. He had truly saved her from imminent death and it had been obvious to her that he didn't enjoy being cosmically 'tricked' into doing something moral. But Maeve did not admire Riddle for his morals; she admired him for his independence. Where she had always been caged by her parent's expectations and paralyzed by timidity, Riddle was released from such bonds. He was powerful and free, he answered to no one. Ruthless and arrogant, but free…
"Hello, Maeve!" Hattie Lovegood startled Maeve from a brooding reverie with her blissfully ignorant greeting, perching on the bench across from her.
"Hello, Hattie. How are you?" Hattie was the only girl who still spoke to Maeve with anything like civility. The rest were either too jealous or too disgusted to have anything to do with her. Even Abigail, while she found the entire situation humorous, could not work up the courage to be seen with Maeve in the hallways. Lovegood, however, had nothing to lose. While as intelligent as any other Ravenclaw, she was odd and had a nasty habit of being what some might say too honest in her estimations of character, whether these be good or ill.
"Oh, I'm alright." Maeve was not convinced by this, but let the subject drop. Hattie's head shot up and she fixed her misty gaze on Maeve's, smiling slightly. "And you?"
"I'm alright, too. Just…not very hungry, I guess." She murmured, dipping her spoon into a mass of congealed porridge and bringing it up to her mouth in a mechanical movement.
"You know, Riddle's not eating, either." Hattie murmured in her singularly bemused way. Maeve froze with her second spoonful of oatmeal halfway to her mouth. This was the perfect example of why people rather disliked having Hattie join a conversation. She seemed to have a talent for knowing exactly what was bothering you and then dragging it kicking and screaming to your immediate attention. An extremely unappetizing glomp sound emanated from the bowl as the dreaded spoonful returned from whence it came.
"I…er, don't think that means anything, Hattie. Riddle never eats much, I really think it's more that he has other gir-things occupying his time." She watched Hattie spread a forkful of marmite over her apple and take a bite, cheerfully oblivious to the inner turmoil she had just wrought.
"Why don't you occupy his time?" She asked dreamily, brushing a few fluffy red locks from her eyes. Maeve choked on a mouthful of liquid defeat and suffered a brief but cataclysmic coughing fit. Hattie, as was her wont, looked on with a serene air. On the other side of the hall, Rafe was steeling himself to rush over and perform the annapeo charm.
"Sit the hell down, Lestrange. Your making Lupus look like a cautious, sensible young man. It's a wonder she hasn't caught you already." Abraxas grumbled, yanking on Rafe's elbow. Yaxley looked on in boredom, rolling his eyes.
"She's choking!" Rafe gesticulated wildly, astounded by the utter lack of action.
"I sincerely doubt either her breakfast or Mad Hattie Lovegood are going to do the girl any lasting damage." He grumbled, catapulting a spoonful of marmalade at the back of Evangeline's head where it stuck, camouflaged by her coppery curls. "This is truly the world's most pointless assignment Riddle's ever given us. It's like babysitting a flobberworm!"
"A good-looking flobberworm…"
"Don't let him hear you saying that, Lupus. Or you, Yaxley. He'll ring your necks like a pair of-" Abraxas scolded like a mother hen, looking a bit like Yaxley's shorter, better-looking brother.
"Shush!" Rafe looked anxiously over at the table and breathed a tiny sigh of relief. His charge seemed to have recovered from her choking fit, but was staring at Mad Hattie with a look of utter mortification…
"Excuse me?" Maeve gasped, shoving aside the bowl once and for all.
"I believe you, you know, when you say that nothing happened." Hattie informed her quietly, her vacant gaze unnerving as it settled upon Maeve's own.
"I…you do?" Some said that being pureblood made you prone to insanity, but it would have been a better saying that to be Lovegood made you a bloody lunatic.
"Oh yes, why else would he avoid you like he does?"
"Hattie," Maeve groaned and shook her head. How could she let herself hope based upon the ravings of Mad Hattie? "He avoids me because he hates me."
"No, I don't think so…Riddle hurts the people he hates. You might be the only person he doesn't hate, do you think that means he-"
"Shut it, Lovegood. Now." Maeve did not care if this snub left her friendless from now until the end of eternity. People always looked for the good in every situation, didn't they? Optimism was for idiots and lovers. Friendship, love, humour…it all came so easily to the rest of them, didn't it?
"I've made you cross." Hattie did not take offensive to the sudden, snappish mood-swing.
"No, I've made myself cross…I'm always making myself cross. Just ignore it." Maeve blurted, checking her watch and preparing to leave. On the other side of the hall, Yaxley was grudgingly doing the same. "Look, I'm sorry but I've got to get to Divination in five minutes and Professor Atlanata…"
"See you at supper, then?" Hattie asked, blinking her bulbous eyes.
"Er, I've been thinking I might skip it. But I'll see you in the common room tonight." Maeve turned and rushed out of the hall and into the corridor beyond.
The sheer size of the castle itself was stunning. It teemed with hidden passageways and secret rooms and today, Maeve planned to use them. She'd spent three hours last night in the common room devising a route that would hopefully throw off Yaxley once and for all. Lestrange, though obvious, was not quite as frightening as having Yaxley follow her. Where Rafe was about Riddle's height and build, Yaxley was massive and built like a troll…
Maeve dodged a few errant first years and dashed behind a tapestry of a knight vanquishing a dragon. She ran up a marble staircase and under a gothic arch, past a stone griffin preening itself. She was so busy listening for Yaxley's inevitable pursuit that she smacked into someone and sent them sprawling, knocking over an entire suit of armor in the process. Whoever it was landed a smart kick to Maeve's midsection and she rolled off onto the sharp edges of a breastplate, biting back a yelp and clutching her still healing ribs.
"You imbec-! Oh, it's you, Sinclaire." Zahara Zabini rose to her feet elegantly, her deep and mellifluous voice betraying just a hint of surprise. Maeve looked up at the other girl, marveling(as everyone did)at her utter beauty. Zahara was graced with a long, Amazonian princess body, skin the colour of chocolate and dark, liquid eyes. She moved like a panther, kicking aside the metal scraps and casting Maeve a disdainful glance. "I don't suppose you've seen Yaxley?"
"Somewhere behind me…" Maeve mumbled, grabbing her things and getting to her feet.
"Hmm, well, I've just been studying with Riddle-" Maeve made a face here and felt the tiniest sliver of hurt. "-and I wanted to know when he was going to drag his lazy arse back down to the common room." "Good luck." Maeve muttered as she took off at a run once more, dashing around a corner. She'd barely made it there in time as she heard Zahara accost her boyfriend before he could follow her any further.
Maeve dashed down a few more passageways that took such a strange route he'd be forever trying to determine which way she'd gone. Sighing in delight, she slowed to a walk, proud of herself. If Riddle wanted to keep an eye on her, he was going to have to do it himself. It took more than your run-of the-mill Slytherin thugs to outsmart a Ravenclaw…oh no.
Maeve slowed an looked around at the unfamiliar corridor she found herself in. The only light came from an elegant stained glass window to her left, spilling across a floor that was an inch thick in dust. A stone dragon wound it's way up a pillar on her right, it's maw open in a feral grin. A tapestry had fallen down from one of the walls and lay piled in the corner like a forgotten relic. The corridor beyond the window's meager halo of light was as dark as pitch. Maeve turned and looked for the corridor she'd just came from and cried out in dismay, three identical passageways lay behind her, suddenly just as dark as the one ahead. She must have taken a wrong turn over by the portrait of Walter Wimpleton…or maybe it was that tapestry, it had never sealed itself before…
Maeve turned back and tried to swallow her fear. She'd been terrified of the dark since birth and suffered horrible nightmares. An irrational fear of lethifolds and acromantuala had contributed to this phobia to no end. The corridor ahead of her seemed to ooze menace. Carefully, she walked to the edge of the light.
"Lumos." She breathed, her heart pounding like it was preparing to leap out of her chest. Darkness enfolded her in it's drafty embrace, the faint light emanating from her wand comparatively feeble to it's impressive span. Things scuttled and chattered in the darkness and disappeared every time she turned her light on them. Cobwebs stuck to her face and robes and she yelped as something many legged scrabbled across her arm. Her breathing was unnaturally loud in the now cavernous hallway. The air was bitter cold and stagnant with dust, the smell of mold, decay and the arctic scent of winter thick in her nose. Maeve broke into a stumbling run as her feeling of trepidation grew, she was definitely late for Divination and she couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching her.
Finally, after what must have been hours, she threw herself to the dusty stone in tears. She'd been traveling in circles the whole time and couldn't find her way back towards the original hallway, or any route that didn't lead through to an empty classroom or dark hall. It felt almost like she was in the dungeons…but that couldn't be right, she was past the dungeons? Maeve burst into hopeless tears. She was completely pathetic, how could…no, she would not judge herself according to what Riddle would think of her! Nor what her parents would think if they found out that Maeve got lost while still inside the school…Maeve panted and looked around. She could be lost down here forever, but she'd at least freeze before she starved. There, that was a comforting thought.
"Protego." She'd just sit down here and rest, just for a moment…
~*~
"Mmm, I'm so glad Yaxley was willing to share me with you, Riddle." Zahara Zabini stretched her out her long, lean body until the vertebrae popped under her chocolate skin. Tom resisted the acutest urge to throttle the hell out of her. It was probably the fiftieth time he'd heard about darling Yaxley and his generosity. You're a trophy, you silly cow, and lesser men share their spoils with their superiors. He wanted to spit, charming reputation be damned. But instead, Riddle remained unnaturally still and stared stoically up at the deep green, velvet canopy of his four-poster bed.
Nothing helped to cure him of this horrid affliction. Little gave him peace or eased the sharp longing that rose in his chest. At this rate, he'd be beside himself by the time they all returned from Christmas holiday. Another holiday alone(he didn't mind that part so much), another holiday with Dumbledore stalking him…oh, it was going to be horrible.
"…lasted less than a minute! It was the worst I've ever-" But at least he wouldn't have to listen to this the entire time.
Tom grunted in acknowledgement of something she was chittering about and worked to button his shirt, his mood gradually worsening. Maybe there was time to go see that little Hufflepuff brunette? Or that Gryffindor blood-traitor with the legs…All girls have legs, some sensible part of his brain replied to this errant desire. Hufflepuff was closer than marching up that bloody staircase-
"Don't you think, Riddle? That it was generous?" Zahara shot him a rather pointed look, lounging on his bed as though she owned it. It was a struggle to keep the disgusted expression of his face.
"Just put some clothing on and hurry up." He slammed the door behind him, feeling ravenous. He had to be at dinner tonight or Dumbledore would complain to Dippet and he'd end up in that bumbling fool's office being interrogated again. He strode up the steps to the common room with furiously short and rapid strides. The comforting green glow and the trickling refraction of lamplit water across the columns did nothing to comfort him as he strode by the serpent fountain in the centre of the black marble common. His shoes made sharp, satisfying noises as they struck the black stone. He was so focused he nearly plowed into Lupus as he swept out of the common room. As it was, he knocked the other boy backwards with his advance.
"Black, what on earth are you doing on the floor? And where is Mae-Sinclaire? Well, get up!" Tom snapped, his temper rawer than it had ever been in the history of his existence. Lupus leapt to his feet frantically, brushing off his robes and running a hand through his disheveled hair.
"I-uh! Nothing to report, she's…erm…Yes, Yaxley can tell you more than me, uh, going up to the Great Hall? Be up in a minute…just have to brush my teeth before dinner…" He attempted to dash past Riddle, only to find a cold hand at his throat.
"What is it, Lupus, that Yaxley can tell me that you cannot?" Black had come as the reluctant bearer of inevitably bad news, of this Tom was certain. It was taking a huge amount of restraint not to just kill the messenger out of pure and utter resignation at the ineptitude of his pathetic following. Just as Black was fumbling to answer, a high obnoxious voice began to sing.
"Oooh, nasty Riddle me this, naughty Riddle me that! Watch poor, bitty, botchy Black…squirmy like a rat!" Peeves sang out merrily, pausing to think of something that rhymed suitably with 'that'. The poltergeist's visits to the dungeons were mercifully infrequent, thanks in no small part to the presence of the Bloody Baron. His haunting in the place he loathed suggested that something worth Black's trepidation was occurring.
"Peeves? Do you know where Sinclaire is?" He asked calmly, holding Lupus by his tie.
"Nope, not me. Not the entire castlly wasally. All the head boysies and girlsies and ghosties out looking for ickle sinny-kins and she's nowhere to be found. What's ravishing Riddle want with sweet Sinclaire, anyway? Oooh, nothing naughty one hopes…" Peeves swooped down upon the two Slytherins, a delighted smile on his face.
"Why are you down here when you should be searching the castle with the rest of the ghosts?"
"Dumby wanted me to check on you, ickle widdle."
"Yes, I'm sure he did. Where was the last place anyone saw Sinclaire?" Tom murmured, dropping Lupus and turning to march down the hall. Peeves stuck his head through the wall to check the common room and then ducked back out, bobbing along beside Riddle and a severely chastised Black like an irritating hot-air balloon.
"Zabini saw her over in the south east wing earlier today," Black supplied, panting.
"How long ago?"
"An hour or so ago." Black replied, yelping as he sank up to his knee in the trick stair. Tom turned on him with a look of disgust, dodging Peeves as he zoomed past cackling.
"Widdle joins the chase!" The poltergeist shrieked obnoxiously to the heavens as he disappeared around a corner.
"Not how long has the school known, how long have you known? The collective you, Black, not the singular." Lupus trembled as he struggled to extricate himself from the stair, his fruitless efforts as pathetic as a fly trying to free itself from a spiders web.
"We've known for…a bit longer than that."
"And none of you had the presence of mind to tell me, then, did you? How typical. I want all of you in the common room tonight, Lestrange at the foot of the last staircase until I return. Am I clear?"
Tom did not even wait for an answer as he turned on his heel and whipped out his wand. The Slytherin Head boy was going to be searching for Sinclaire just like the rest of them, regardless as to whether Dumbledore wanted him to or not.
~*~
THUMP. Maeve awoke with a start and blinked several times, confused by the absolute inky blackness. Then, she remembered and her heart sank. She'd been having the most beautiful dream gasped in terror and jerked her wand towards the sound, smashing her hand on a marble column and dropping the thin stick of wood that was her only light. She cried out in pain and dismay and went to her knees, her wrist aching as she felt around blindly. THUMP, THUMP, CLANG! Maeve gasped and stopped moving, curling against the freezing masonry.
"Go away!" She croaked, her voice barely louder than a whisper. The fear was horrible, she felt physically sick and could do nothing more than cower in the corner. Whatever it was, it was coming down the hall towards her, knocking things over as it went. Maeve pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle her whimper as what was now clearly footsteps came closer and closer. Footsteps that were trying to be quiet, trying to be sneaky as they approached from her left. Whatever it is, oh please, Merlin, just let it kill me quickly. Anything could be living in this castle, it's bloody massive…they'd never find me. Not even Pringle, bloody useless janitor…A light blinded her and a hand fell on her right shoulder. Maeve let forth an earsplitting scream and turned to strike the monster that had been lurking just around the corner. It grabbed her wrists as she nearly knocked it backwards with the force of her assault.
"Sinclaire! Stop! It's me, Sinclaire!" Maeve opened her eyes and struggled to hold back her tears as she realized the identity of her unlikely saviour. Oh, not him. Please, please, please…anyone but him! She squinted into the light at the darkly handsome face. Something scuttled in the darkness behind her and Maeve abruptly amended her last thought by thanking Merlin and the stars above that he had come.
"R-Riddle?" She stammered, blinking in the harsh light of his wand. Tom looked down at her in shock, loosening his grip on her wrists. He had to quickly readjust his grasp and hold her around the waist when she collapsed, trembling fiercely. In all his sixteen years of striking fear into the heart of others, never had he seen any of them more severely frightened than Maeve at this moment. So afraid that she would cling to him in her terror. It took him aback to see little smiling Sinclaire in such a panic.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Just…there was something watching me, and then I lost my wand and…I was so scared-" She panted frantically, chest heaving with shallow and uneven gasps. Her heart beat like the wings of a snitch against his own, a frantic and alarming rhythm.
"Breathe, Sinclaire! Your hysterical…breathe slowly, Sinclaire. Slowly." The little fool. If she didn't stop hyperventilating she was going to faint. How on earth had she gotten lost down here? He half-dragged half-carried her over to a nearby bench, sitting her down gently and kneeling beside her. One of her wrists looked badly bruised and he held it lightly in his cool fingers, examining it. Her entire body trembled like a leaf as she dragged in huge, sucking gulps of air.
He'd been curious as to why his tracing spell had indicated she was off in what he had assumed was outside the castle walls and that she had become completely still. Where the hell was that great, useless oaf Yaxley? She would have frozen to death down here in the cold. It was amazing how much that thought truly bothered him.
"Here," he shouldered out of his robes and wrapped them around her shoulders. "Just sit for a moment."
"No!" She snatched a hold of his sleeve and he jumped in surprise. "Er…I don't want you to…"
Riddle raised an eyebrow at her and folded his arms, waiting. She squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze, feeling idiotic. Nothing would dare to attack Tom Riddle, especially not when he had a wand. Maeve clamped her mouth shut and stared at the floor. Only Riddle was capable of making her feel this ignorant.
"Don't be ridiculous, Sinclaire. Here-" He pointed his wand at the cavernous black hole from which they had just emerged. "Accio wand."
No wand whizzed magically out of the blackness. Tom curled his lip and tried again, this time with an expression of fierce concentration on his handsome face. "Accio!"
"Maybe it's trapped underneath something?" Maeve mumbled apologetically, wincing at Riddle strode into the dark room and pointed his wand at the nearest wall bracket.
"Inflamare!" Torches around the room crackled to life and Maeve rose shakily to her feet and followed Tom inside. Her willow wand was nowhere to be found.
"We haven't got time for this, I'm afraid. The entire schools looking for you and we make a rather-" Tom smiled crookedly down at her. "-suspicious pair."
"Oh. How long have I been gone?" She murmured quietly, walking along beside him as they turned from the room. With a swift movement of his wand, the torches extinguished themselves and plunged the ancient room once more into interminable darkness. Maeve let out a small squeak of fear and gripped Riddle's arm, forgetting. Tom did not pull away because the contact was genuine, she truly feared the deep blackness that they traveled through. Insincerity, to say nothing of his own habits, was almost as great a sin as outright lying.
Besides, Tom relished the fact that Maeve had to hold onto him because of her fear. She wouldn't normally have clung to him in such an 'indecent' manner, and it pleased him immeasurably that he hadn't had to convince her to. Things went so much better when people just did the things he wanted them to of their own accord without realizing it. And by far, less painful for all involved.
"Unless my information is false, a few hours…enough for everyone to think that the monster of the chamber had taken another victim." Tom rolled his eyes and sighed. It was the conclusion everyone jumped to the second a first year was noted as missing. The child always cropped up somewhere eventually, but that didn't allay what could only be described as full-blown panic among the professors. As if he'd be able to set the Basilisk lose on anyone with Dumbledore watching his every move.
"Tom…" There was careful hesitation in her voice as she spoke and he slowed his pace to listen. "I'm sorry I thought you planned that…whatever it was on the Quidditch pitch. I just…I'm just trying to understand why your bothering."
"Bothering to what?" Riddle murmured, listening for the sounds of anyone close by. It really would be a bad thing if someone less than friendly caught them.
"To…pursue me like this. It's not normal for you, Riddle." Maeve sped up her pace to keep even with him.
"Must I always have an ulterior motive? Must I always be as calculating and cruel as you believe me to be? Even when I rescue you from the darkest pits of the castle you doubt me" Tom murmured tiredly, looking down at the little determined Ravenclaw where she was struggling to match his stride and stay within the safety of his wand's guiding light.
"Fine." She glowered at her feet in frustration and he chuckled, wrapping an arm around her waist. She did not pull away and he was eager to do more than simply pull her close, but pushing Maeve in this fragile state was obviously not a wise choice. This small victory was enough for now, he conceded grudgingly.
"Oh, little viper, you have enough venom of your own without worrying about mine. So, how did you manage to lose that buffoon, Yaxley?" Surprising how his mood improved so drastically in her mere presence.
"I tried to get to Divination by using a more obscure route and got lost. Zabini slowed him down to ask him about something and I got away. Rafe's much better at stalking me, you know. Probably because I let him…Do you thin-Tom?" Maeve was forced to slow abruptly as he yanked her into a side passage. She had to stifle a yelp as he dragged her backwards into an alcove.
"Nox."
"Tom-" A hand clamped over her mouth as he pushed her further back into the niche, taking refuge behind a bulky suit of armor. Maeve trembled with fear, something could reach out and kill her and she'd never see it…
"Hush, Sinclaire. Someone's coming." His voice was surprisingly gentle(if a little patronizing)in the darkness, breaths soft against her forehead. Gradually, Maeve quieted as she felt the gentle lull of his heartbeat against her own. Nice to know that he has one, I suppose. This close, Riddle's skin was actually quite warm…and he smelled marvelous in a way that was difficult to describe. Like if their had been one smell for a human being geared perfectly to her own taste, it would be the scent of his skin…
A tiny sun was bobbing down the hall and a distracted humming could be heard. The circle of light lit up a few sleeping portraits who grumbled at the intrusion. Professor Binns ambled into view, looking spectacularly uninterested in life, per usual. Maeve knew it was trouble if Dumbledore caught them, but she couldn't understand why Boring Binns should cause them any problems. She briefly considered mentioning this to Riddle, but by that time, Binns was already shuffling around the corner and out of sight.
"Come on." Maeve, for once, was glad of the darkness that hid her disappointed expression from Riddle as he took her wrist and gently guided her out of the alcove.
How strange that even though he could not see her, it still gave him pleasure just to have her standing beside him, to have her slender little wrist in his hand. Possessing her was important to him, he'd come to realize. Besides, Riddle sniffed, it was not like she could do any better in this school full of idiots. It's growing tedious, too, all this bed-hopping…not to mention what a puerile pursuit it really is. His 'research' had been sorely delayed by all this almost pointless manipulation…much easier just to-
"Your plotting. I can't see you, but I can feel you plotting." Her tired little voice muttered.
"Just thinking, Sinclaire. Plotting has rather more negative implications, don't you agree? Lumos." He raised his wand and illuminated the corridor, smirking and glancing down at Maeve. But instead of frowning at him, she was staring in horror at something straight ahead. He turned but was not quick enough and his wand sailed out of his hand and into the darkness. A blinding light popped into existence in front of them and lit a smile malevolent enough to give even Riddle a run for his money.
"Grisham?"
"Gotcha, Riddle."
