A/N: Us Slytherins are on a mission to write obscure characters. So, here is one of the most obscure characters I could think of! Also, please excuse the horrible title, they're impossible to write. Hope you enjoy!
Betas: CupCakeyyy, Aya Diefair, Fires of Eden Red Rose Aurora, VanillaAshes
Warnings: Canon character death
~~ tea time ~~
It's tea time when the doorbell rings. Mary frowns and places her cup onto her saucer. They aren't expecting anyone, they rarely do nowadays. She hopes it isn't one of those pesky people from the children evacuation services. She's already told them several times that she doesn't care about these children and she isn't simply going to take them in.
The war is already hard enough without having loud, annoying children running around the house in their muddy shoes all the time. Mary already has had to give up so much; those ridiculous rations have been making her teas rather dreary.
One of the maids opens the door—a maid! It really should be the butler, but all of the men have gone to war. Thankfully, they've managed to keep their Tommy at home. They've written him off as mad, which is probably what he is. That woman did something to his mind, he hasn't been the same since.
"Who should I announce, sir?" Mary hears the maid say.
The reply is more than shocking. "Tom Riddle." She almost drops her saucer.
Tom Riddle? The voice is young, and she doesn't recognise it. It can only mean one thing…
The maid hurries back into the drawing room. She looks pale, as if she's seen a ghost. Of course, he is a ghost to her. They kept the whole affair as hushed as possible, and since the girl is young, she probably hasn't heard of their great disgrace.
"Ma'am, it's—it's..." she stumbles over her words.
"I heard, Mindy," Mary says coolly. "Go fetch my husband and my son."
The maid bobs, and quickly hurries out. Tom and Tommy are both out, but she thinks it's best if they come back.
Her mysterious guest comes into the room and she stands up. Her eyes widen as she takes him in. The most surprising thing is how much he looks like her son. They have the same forehead, the same eyes, and the same nose—something that's distinctly Riddle. She can almost see her son, her husband, even herself in him. But there's something else; the chin, the face, the way he holds himself, that is distinctly not Riddle.
"Mary Riddle? I believe you are my grandmother," he states. His voice, too. There's something unnerving about his voice, and the way it's over-sweet, like honey, but also full of… hatred?
"It would appear so," she says. "Would you have a seat?"
They're both taking each other in. She doesn't like the way he's looking at everything in her house, with an almost disdainful look. It's like he thinks he's superior, which is ridiculous. Everything in her house is the best you can find, and he's only a bastard, born of a lunatic tramp mother.
"Would you like some tea?" she asks, politely.
"No, thank you."
Once again, she sees a fleeting look of disgust on his face, she doesn't take the time to comprehend it. There's something dark about this boy, who is her grandson. She isn't superstitious, but if she was, she'd say there was something burning in his eyes, like the fires of Hell. But that's absurd.
But, in the back of her mind, the folktales of the little people from the village come back to her. The rumours of witchcraft, of who this boy's mother was. Suddenly, she isn't sure she wants him in her house at all. An urge to throw him out right now, to remove him from the privacy and intimacy of her own home shoots through her very being. It's as if only his gaze and his presence are violating this place.
"I have to warn you," she starts once again, because this boy clearly hasn't been raised right, and he doesn't know how to keep a conversation going, not that she wants to talk with him. "You are not going to get the inheritance, if that's what you're here for."
"Oh, no." He shakes his head. "That's not what I'm here for at all."
"Then, what is it?" She has no patience for this boy. The sooner he leaves, the better.
He simply smiles.
Mary shudders involuntarily. That smile isn't natural. She doesn't trust him, not one bit. As a matter of fact, it would be better if he left right now, before her husband and her son came back. She doesn't think she wants him around them.
"When are your husband and son coming back?" he asks, casually.
That's when Mary knows he has to leave, right now. But, unfortunately, that's when Tom and Tommy step into the drawing room. It's too late now. Instead, she forces on a smile, and beckons them in.
"Darlings," she says, standing up and walking next to them. "This is Tom Riddle."
The boy stands up, too. His eyes cloud, and all pretence of complaisance and politeness leave. He brings something out from underneath his peculiar clothes—something she hadn't noticed yet, what is he wearing?—and points it at them before murmuring something under his breath.
Mary knows she shouldn't have even let him in, she shouldn't have even trusted him that far. But it's too late, now, she thinks as she looks into the bright green light.
It is far, far too late.
THC – Round 7 – Slytherin
Class: Potions
Category: Drabble
Prompt: [emotion] Mistrust
WC: 874