Later, Tom would deny deliberately initiating small talk with Thiru after class to avoid going to his scheduled appointment with Dumbledore. Even if he were to admit to such a thing, it was all in vain, for he still ended up arriving, a mere 12 minutes late.
"Tom!" exclaimed the professor exuberantly upon Tom's entry. The office space was much the same the last time he had come in. A chaotic jungle of various instruments, books and knickknacks, no doubt acquired over the decades. A gold wall clock with jangling chains hanging from it tolled the fourth hour with a glass owl popping out from a double set of gold doors beneath the face. Obviously, more than just the professor was slow.
"Have a seat, Tom, "he said, gesturing to the paisley printed, overstuffed, high back armchair across the desk.
"Lemon drop?" He gestured to a small jewel encrusted jar after Tom had gingerly placed his reluctant self into the chair. Tom declined, just managing to do so politely of course, but only just.
"I'm afraid I have some reading to do for the Charms exam this Thursday, sir. Perhaps, if there was something in particular that you wanted to discuss…" Tom could do that exam in his sleep if he needed to.
"Oh, not at all Tom! I was merely wondering how you were faring. Finals are around the corner. How are your preparations coming along?"
'Small talk? How trite. Yu may as well ask how I'm finding the weather!'
"They are coming just fine I believe, sir. Has anything I've done given you cause to worry-"
"Not at all, my boy! I like to check in with the few children that I personally deliver acceptance letters too."
'I'm so sure you called me in for small talk, old man.'
"I see, sir. Well, my studies have been just fine, sir. I find the atmosphere much more conducive now." At this statement, Dumbledore's expression, which had been previously been merely inquisitive, adopted a sudden flash of something like recognition, or, more likely, arrival onto a topic he had actually wished to discuss. Tom cringed and inwardly steeled himself.
"Ahhh… yes. I have been meaning to discuss that with you Tom. I couldn't help but notice that your fellow housemates' animosity has appeared to lessen in its initial intensity from the beginning of term. While I am very glad for the apparent change in attitude, I don't see you spending much time with any of them. On the contrary, I would go so far as to say you spend the entirety of your time with Ms. Arjuna. Is there anything, any assistance that you need?" Dumbledore put forth to Tom, looking at him very intently, almost expectantly, his fingers steepled on top of the desk.
'So the old bat finally noticed. Took him long enough. Old cook. I must choose my words carefully.'
"Sir, I am pleased to say there has indeed been a very apparent change of attitude. I, like you, can only guess as to the improvement. My best estimate would be that my aptitude for magic has surprised them."
As Tom gave a toothy smirk that may have passed for a smile to others, he carefully observed every nuance of the professor. Dumbledore smiled and chuckled lightly. He nodded and voiced his agreement. Tom also noticed that his eyes didn't sparkle, they knew he was lying.
After a little more small talk, Dumbledore was told by a house elf that Headmaster Dippet needed him for a meeting or some other gathering. Eitherway, Tom released a sigh of relief. That man had a way of putting Tom on edge like none other. Tom had a grudging respect for him, he was incredibly powerful. Much more than his initial meeting at the orphanage would have ever suggested. It was tricky, Tom thought, to play at being so modest and lead so many people who didn't know better, didn't know just what you were capable of. Then again, it was not so dissimilar from what he was doing. Perhaps it was the similarities that set Tom on edge, he mused to himself.
At the entrance to his destination, the library, he looked for the well known table by the full length windows overlooking the grounds and lake, and found the person he was hoping for. Today, her hair was down from its usual plait and fell over the back of the chair. Soft and shiny curls that Tom wouldn't be averse to touching, much unlike that Parkinson woman with the birds nest she called hair.
He made a quiet greeting so as not to startle her, pulled the chair before setting his rucksack down upon it. Smiling softly back at her, he gestured at the bookshelves, indicating he would get his books before settling down. Tom slipped off between the rows and walls of books. Breathing in the light scent of dust, old pages, and feeling the weight of the knowledge surrounding him, he felt at peace for the first time since being told to meet the very suspicious professor. Coming to the rows with the books on Potions, he found Rosier. Now Evan Rosier was a year older, but he fell in line with the others easily enough after the rumors had made their way around the dungeons. It was too easy. The perfect stress reliever.
'This is going to be fun.'
"Rosier, what a pleasure to see you here in the library. What book is that you have there?"
Normally heavily lidded eyes widened ever so slightly. Tom would never understand how the girls in Hogwarts seemed to find his narcoleptic facies 'beautiful and mysterious' but then again, girls were always more trouble than they were worth.
"Uh…it's the… standard textbook," was the stuttered reply. It ended up sounding more like a question than a statement.
"For second year, I presume? Well, I was just here looking for that for my essay. So nice of you to find it for me," Tom replied smoothly, smirking self confidently.
"You were…but I was…why do you need it? You're in first year?" 'Ah! At last, full sentences!' Tom thought triumphantly. 'But he's still rather slow isn't he?'
"Yes, I am," Tom purposely dragged out. "Now hand the book over." He finished with a hand held out expectantly. "Or perhaps, you need help giving it to me?" Tom inquired sarcastically, simultaneously dipping his hand into his vest to retrieve the wand in its worn leather holster. At that, Rosier seemed to finally realize his options.
"Oh no! No, no! It's your book. I was actually looking for this one for myself…" he trailed off when he looked down at the title of the text he had pulled down at random. Something entitled Baldness Blends: Hair Therapy for the Modern Man. Rosier looked back up at Tom; Tom intentionally flicked his gaze up to Rosier's hairline.
"Ah, I see," Tom smirked one more time before strutting back to his table. "Good luck with that one!" He called over his shoulder to a rather puce Rosier. If Tom hadn't had the reputation he had, he would be a dead man right now.
Upon exiting the aisle, he almost ran headlong into Thiru, who looked emotionally conflicted.
"That wasn't nice, Tom," she told him after Rosier was out of earshot. Tom smirked and shrugged one shoulder in response before continuing down to the table. Tom wasn't too concerned about Thiru's opinion on the matter. Rosier deserved it. He was one of them. And Tom had sneaking suspicion that she found it funny deep down. Not that she would ever tell him and thereby encourage it. She followed him shortly thereafter, book in hand.
"Well, I hope you had your fun," she said primly into the silence as she sat down. Effectively ruffling his feathers with her greater-than-thou tone of voice, Tom didn't respond, though he wouldn't have minded saying something like "Yes, I did. Tormenting Neanderthals is greatly loved pastime of mine.'
'The beazor is the most effective antidote to many poisons…'
"He didn't even provoke you, Tom!"
'...It is a substance that wise witches and wizards would keep on their person in case of emergencies…'
Why was she holding on to this for so long? She usually just glared (or sometimes giggled when she thought he wasn't looking at the especially well deserved times), and didn't harp on the matter. What had he just read again?
"You're better than that, Tom." She said reproachfully.
'The beazor is the most effective antidote to many poisons…'
Tom began to fume, but still maintained his silence, pretending to be engrossed in his newly acquired book, hoping she would be smart enough to let it drop.
'The beazor is the most effective antidote to many poisons…'
"Really, Tom. One of these days, you'll realize you're being just like them. It doesn't suit you."
Tom snapped.
"How dare you assume you know what suits me? You don't know me!"
"Sometimes I think I know you better than you know yourself, Tom Riddle! You never give yourself credit for being a good person, and then you go and behave like-"
"You think you know everything there is to know about me in just a few months because I happen to spend time with you? Do not presume to know me- you know nothing!"
Thiru quieted down, if only to plan what she wanted to say, but Tom went on, not giving her the chance to respond further.
"If you knew me so well, wouldn't you have figured out that I spend time with you because no one else will?"
Tom didn't want to be saying this, he didn't why he couldn't get his mouth to stop.
"Everyone here finds you so despicable that they don't want to be seen with you. I started spending time with you because you were useful to me. You think I'm so good? What do you think now?" Tom hissed at her. Thiru was looking up at him with the melancholic doe eyes that had always worked him over in the past, and was no different in their effect on him now. But Tom had adrenaline rushing through him, telling him to get out, out, out. Now! So he snapped his gaze away from her face and slung his bag over his shoulder as he stormed out of the library. Maybe it was more like fled, he would think to himself later.
The halls were lit by torchlight along the walls, throwing Toms shadows onto the path in front of him while the shadows of his darkened features told people to move aside. Too close. Tom had gotten too close to the situation, to her. It was a folly on his part. He couldn't believe he had gotten that far in. She did know him, more than he was comfortable with. But he never thought she would use that against him. It was dangerous to get this close. It would lead to pain in the end. No one stays forever. It would be better to create some space.
Upon arriving to his dorm, he threw his bag onto the floor by the foot of the bed and closed the curtains around the bed. He lay down and closed his eyes, but sleep was the furthest thing away from him. Add to that that he had the vague sensation that something wasn't quite right, he hadn't finished something. He drew back the curtains once more and pulled the half finished essay and the now illegally obtained book that had most definitely not been checked out for use during his dramatic exit (Madam Dinkley would flay him tomorrow. Maybe he would stick it in Rosier's bag….) and began to finish the work.
A few hours later, when his hand was cramped up and his back needed to be thrown back to work out the kinks in his spine, but the roll of parchment was satisfactorily full, he went back into his bed after leaving the book on Rosier's nightstand with a sarcastic note of thanks. Tom was curiously unmoved at all by the thoughts of what would happen to osier upon his return of the book to the library's matron on the morrow. His mood was too dark to derive any amusement. It merely felt like revenge for this whole mess in the first place. Lying down, he realized the feeling of incompleteness, like there was something he had still forgotten to do, was still there. He got up and brushed his teeth, double checked his work was all done, but still felt something was off.
Tom idly wondered if Thiru made it back to her dorm alright, before shaking his head and carefully not thinking of her, or her big browns that had looked suspiciously wet earlier.
He didn't sleep well that night.