Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter.
A/N: This is the longest chapter I've ever written—32 pages. But there's a scene here that was lifted directly from the Half Blood Prince, from the chapter 'A Sluggish Memory'. Hope you all enjoy! I've just graduated so chapters should (hopefully) come out more quickly...
Pretending To Live
Chapter 17: Second
"Thanks," I said, and fled.
It was almost Christmastime, Riddle thought as he watched the stormy iron mass of clouds outside his window. The thought of Christmas reminded him, as usual of the upcoming New Year, which in turn, reminded him of his birthday. He would be seventeen. Seventeen, on New Year's Eve...
His grey eyes narrowed.
"Yes, the late Gaunts caused quite a scandal a few years back. Marvolo Gaunt, I believe his name was, and his son, Morfin, and daughter, Merope. The son was sent to Azkaban for attacking Muggles in the village where they lived."
"And the daughter?"
"Ran off with some Muggle, or so I've heard. A waste of good blood."
Sir Constantine du Gaunt, one of the Slytherin ghosts. He had found him by going on a single name: Marvolo. He still remembered his disbelief when he had realized it was his mother and not his father that had been magic...
So she had died by her own choice, then. She had died, rather than stay alive despite her own son. But, he remembered the gossip among the staff at the orphanage, she had kept her heart beating long enough to give him his name: Tom Riddle...
His eyes burned brilliant red and he stood up.
He had been distracted...by Horcruxes, and antidotes. He had wasted much time...no matter. It was time to pay a much awaited visit to his dear grandfather Marvolo.
888
"Finish him!" I yelled at Ron, who had his bishop cornering Harry's knight. With a violent crunch, his knight was obliterated into pieces and I cheered shamelessly. "That's three Sickles, Draco!"
"Bloody Potter," he muttered as he angrily handed over the silver coins which I pocketed gleefully. "Can't even win a bloody chess game..."
We were in the middle of our free study period, although Hermione was so far the only one doing any studying. Occasionally she would watch Harry and Ron's chess game when things got particularly noisy but it was always with a disdainful sniff that she returned back to her work. We were sitting around the stone archways that led to the Hogwarts grounds, the chessboard balanced precariously on one of the ledges. I'd already lost one apiece to Ron and Harry but I'd beaten Draco twice despite his foul tactics, much to his disgruntlement.
"You wanna go another round, brother?" I said, taking Ron's seat. "Let's see if I can't sucker another three Sickles outta you..."
"Try it, de Lioncourt..."
Grinning, I began to set up the board but stopped when I caught the back of a tall, familiar looking figure leaving the castle. My brow creased and I scrambled to my feet.
"Where are you going?" Draco called out.
"Just tidying my hair!" I yelled back, but as soon as I was out of their sight I followed the path Riddle had taken. I caught up with him at the stone steps where Harry had once told me would lead to Hagrid's hut someday.
"Tom," I said. "What are you doing?"
He turned around. He looked more tired, more gaunt than usual but he seemed unsurprised to see me. "Hello, Ariadne. I was just going to take a stroll around the grounds." He didn't even bother to sound convincing.
"It's too dark for a stroll," I said.
"It's a very short one."
"You're wearing a suit."
"I like to look my best."
I studied him. "It's bad, isn't it?"
"Very," he replied, unsmiling. I said nothing and he gave me a cold look. "Will you stop me, Ariadne?"
I leaned in and he stiffened. I straightened his tie and he looked at me with some indecipherable emotion.
"Don't get caught," I said shortly and a crease formed between his brows as I left him, returning to the archway where the others still sat.
"Your hair still looks stupid," Draco said grumpily when I reached them.
"Jeez," I said, looking at Harry. "How many times did Ron beat him while I was gone?"
He smirked. "Five."
Draco told him to do something very anatomically impossible with his wand and I laughed.
"Relax, Draco. C'mon, you owe me a game."
"What took you so long?" Draco said petulantly.
"I..." I trailed off. My eye landed on one of the ballet pink leaflets lying trampled on the floor and I said, "I was checking out those leaflets. They're everywhere."
"Oh, for the Christmas ball?" Hermione said, looking up from her essay.
"Since when did Hogwarts have a ball?" I said, surprised.
"It's all in the era, Ari. Dancing was a very popular pasttime in the 1940's," she said knowledgeably. "I remember reading that the tradition was dropped somewhere in the seventies, when someone let loose a Chimaera on the dance floor."
"The crazy seventies, huh? Are you going?"
Hermione turned pink and glanced at Ron who was suddenly very busy straightening his pawns. "I guess it would depend."
"On what, Granger?" Draco sneered. "How big your teeth get before you can cut a path through the crowd?"
"Shut your fat mouth, Malfoy," Ron snarled, "before I curse it off for you."
"You-auuugh!"
"Am I the only one remembering to use the right names?" Hermione said, frowning at the other three while I lazily put out the fire in Draco's hair with my wand. "If you can't use the correct surnames, then use first names. There are at least two other Malfoys, a fair few Potters and more than a few Weasleys and it would be best not to give any of them the impression that you're one of their long lost cousins or something."
This sparked another heated argument on Draco's side and I stopped listening, my thoughts straying as they so often did nowadays to Tom Riddle. It had been some time since...since the night we revisited Olive Hornby's death. I still couldn't believe that it had been me...I could still distinctly remember my horror when I had initially beheld her body floating in the air, with Harry.
I hadn't thought I could be capable of doing such a thing. Well, with Riddle you learned new things all the time. The guilt, though...I found that it was best not to think about it. Because if I did, if I did what I wanted to do which was to curl up and hide away from the world, then how could I live like this?
888
How could he live like this? Riddle thought, disgusted as he eyed the dirty, crumbling hovel before him. He paused only to examine the withered snake nailed to the door and without bothering to knock, entered, keeping the old fashioned lamp he held in his other hand aloft.
Voldemort's eyes moved slowly around the hovel, taking in the grime-coated floor and the mouldy and rotting food upon the table and then found the man in the armchair. For a few seconds they looked at each other, then the man staggered upright, the many empty bottles at his feet clattering and tinkling across the floor.
"YOU!" he bellowed. "YOU!"
And he hurtled drunkenly at Riddle, wand and knife held aloft.
"Stop."
Riddle spoke in Parseltongue. The man skidded into the table, sending mouldy pots crashing to the floor. He stared at Riddle. There was a long silence while they contemplated each other. The man broke it.
"You speak it?"
"Yes, I speak it," said Riddle. He moved forwards into the room, allowing the door to swing shut behind him. He felt no fear—only disgust and, perhaps, disappointment.
"Where is Marvolo?" he asked.
"Dead," said the other. "Died years ago, didn't he?"
Riddle frowned.
"Who are you, then?"
"I'm Morfin, ain't I?"
"Marvolo's son?"
"Course I am, then..."
Morfin pushed the hair out of his dirty face, the better to see Riddle and Riddle's lip curled in disgust.
"I thought you was that Muggle," whispered Morfin. "You look mighty like that Muggle."
"What Muggle?" said Riddle sharply.
"That Muggle what my sister took a fancy to, that Muggle what lives in the big house over the way," said Morfin, and he spat unexpectedly upon the floor between them. "You look right like him. Riddle. But he's older now, i'n 'e? He's older'n you, now I think on it..."
Morfin looked slightly dazed and swayed a little, still clutching the edge of the table for support.
"He come back, see," he added stupidly.
Voldemort was gazing at Morfin, as though appraising his possibilities. Now he moved a little closer and said, "Riddle came back?"
"Ar, he left her, and serve her right, marrying filth!" said Morfin, spitting on the floor again. "Robbed us, mind, before she ran off! Where's the locket, eh, where's Slytherin's locket?"
Voldemort did not answer. Morfin was working himself into a rage again; he brandished his knife and shouted, "Dishonoured us, she did, that little slut! And who're you, coming here and asking questions about all that? It's over, innit...it's over..."
He looked away, staggering slightly and Riddle moved forwards. His wand sliced through the air and then Morfin was on the ground, unconscious. As he wiped the man's memory, he glanced at Morfin's body with nothing less than disdain. He could not lie to himself; he had been expecting more... He cocked his head when he noticed a dull glimmer of gold on his left hand and frowning, he knelt down beside his uncle's unconscious body. With some slight difficulty, he prised the ring off his thick fingers and held it up to the final rays of grey sunlight streaming in the broken window. There were faint scratches on its ugly black stone set in the middle of the poorly worked gold and Riddle wondered why Morfin had kept it. Unless...
He pocketed the ring and stood up abruptly, leaving the wretched shack behind him. Once he was outside, he almost made to Apparate back to Hogwarts but stopped mid turn. He recalled that Morfin had said something about Riddle...his father...returning back to Little Hangleton...
His eyes flickered to the silhouette of the village, barely visible against the foggy horizon. His wand arm twitched.
Don't be foolish, he told himself. Don't do anything unnecessary...
He realized that he had been drumming his long fingers against the handle of his wand-one of her habits-and this irritated him more than it should have. He took a step in the direction of the town, never taking his eyes off the large house set right on the hillside that loomed over the rest of the village.
"You look right like him. Riddle. But he's older now, i'n 'e? He's older'n you, now I think on it..."
His vision became red; his grip tightened so that his knuckles were white against the pale wood of his wand. He turned and vanished.
Riddle reappeared in a dark corner of the village streets at the base of the hillside and he strode out onto the relatively quiet streets. It was getting to be quite late- that uncertain point between sunset and nighttime-and no one liked to be caught in the middle of an oncoming storm that was fast approaching across the horizon although he himself felt indifferent.
No one noticed him, the strange young man slipping through the streets as quietly as a ghost except a rather large woman who had stepped out of her home to put out the cat. The moment she caught sight of him, her mouth had opened in shock and her eyes bulged.
"Obliviate!" Riddle said sharply and her expression became unfocused and dreamy as she slumped against her doorway. Curious, he approached her. Her reaction...had that been recognition? He twirled his wand between his fingers as he coldly surveyed the woman. In any case, she wouldn't remember any of the previous night the next morning...or the previous week.
Perhaps he had slightly overdone the charm...
Shaking his head, he left her there, resuming his path down the streets and finally before the gate that led into the large grounds of the Riddle House. His lip curled at the sight of the imposing, iron wrought gate. With a flick of his wand, they unlocked and swung open of their own accord and he entered the grounds, sparing only a cursory glance at the run down cottage to his left as he passed it. Much more quickly than he would have expected, he found himself standing directly in front of the tall, imposing ebony double doors of the Riddle House. As if he were seeing someone else do it, he watched his arm raise from his side and press the doorbell. From inside the house, an elegant chiming of bells sounded.
Riddle stood, frozen to the spot. What was he doing? He promised himself that he was just going to take a look at him just to satisfy his curiosity once and for all. But even as he thought it, his hand was clenching convulsively on his wand.
The sounds of approaching footsteps grew closer and Tom's brain went into overdrive. Time slowed down, and as the door opened, his wand arm raised and the words that would bring absolute death already on his lips—
"I'm sorry, but we w- oh." Riddle started and the elderly woman in the door did so as well. For a single, shocked moment both were silent as they stared at one another.
She was tall, with a gracefully lined face and raven black hair that was pinned elegantly back in a chignon. Her features shouldn't have been familiar- but Riddle recognized something in the proud arch of her brows, the aristocratic curve of her nose. They were his own.
For her part, the woman was no less reserved in her intense study of the boy in front of her. He was-this stranger, this boy, he looked—
"Who are you?" She whispered and for the first time in his life, Riddle couldn't think of anything to say.
A noise sounded from inside and Riddle tensed.
"Eliza, who the devil-" a man appeared just behind the woman's shoulder his face turned down in a severe frown but his reaction upon seeing Riddle was no less dramatic than hers; he too was struck dumb mid sentence. Tom barely breathed as he stared into the wide stormy grey eyes of what felt like a heavily errored, aged vision into his own future. "I..." He shook his head, seeming to recover slightly. "Who-"
"Would you come in?" The woman cut across him and the man frowned.
"Eliza-"
She silenced him with a look and turned back to Riddle who was rather taken aback at being addressed so directly. He nodded.
Both watched the action with a certain awe and he began to feel slightly uncomfortable under their rapt gaze. The man seemed to sense this and he cleared his throat meaningfully. The woman started again and then turned around, muttering to herself, "Yes...this way..."
The man gave him another glance and followed the woman. Feeling very much as though he were in a dream, Riddle stepped into the doorway and looked around. The house was as big as its outside appearance suggested, but it was dark and slightly cold as if it did not receive many visitors. As they walked, the woman continued to steal glances at him and marvelled at the similarity. Exactly the same...but different. Was it the expression? For all his comparable youth, there an aura of coldness and indifference about him, as if he had already met the bitter end of life and what's more, knew it well. There was no innocence in his face and it disturbed her.
They reached the drawing room, and Eliza Riddle offered him a seat at the table's head which he accepted silently.
The sense of surrealness heightened as Riddle settled himself in the chair. The two stood awkwardly in front of him.
"Er...would you care for a drink?" The man said.
"No, thank you."
"I think I'll have one myself," he muttered, heading over to a cabinet over the walls. The woman-Eliza- took the seat across from him, clasping her hands in her lap. An awkward silence fell over the room.
"This is very unexpected," she said suddenly. "We'd never thought- I mean," she exchanged glances with the man. "I'm being very rude. My name is Eliza and this is Theodore, my husband. And you...?"
He hesitated. "Tom."
Both made a convulsive movement and both immediately tried to hide it; the man, who had nearly dropped his glass of brandy set it carefully on the table; the woman, whose hand had flown to her heart moved hastily up to touch the string of pearls around her neck.
Tom stood up. "I didn't mean to intrude," he said formally. "I'm very sorry-"
"Sit," Mrs. Riddle said kindly but sternly. "Please."
After a moment, he did as she asked, although warily.
"How old are you?" She asked.
"Seventeen," he answered, "this December."
She nodded and behind her, the man took another long drink from his glass. "How did you come by this house?"
"I was given the address by someone who thought I would be...interested." She seemed to understand that he was unwilling-or unlikely- to elaborate on the topic.
"Well then...it's lovely to meet you, Tom."
"I beg your pardon?" Tom said incredulously. He noticed the man staring at her with some similar sentiment.
"Well I've always wanted grandchildren," she said defensively, "and goodness knows I could hardly count on Tom-that's our son, dear- to even consider such a thing after he...returned." She shook her head disbelievingly. "Poor, foolish, fickle boy! It's a wonder your mother stayed with him as long as she did. Is she doing well?"
"She died," Riddle said coldly, "giving birth to me."
Mrs. Riddle faltered and a look of deep sorrow settled upon her face. "Dear. I'm so sorry. So you were raised...?"
"In an orphanage, yes."
Her brow creased with worry and distress. "I could kill him."
He blinked. "Sorry?"
"I could kill that boy!" She raged and the transformation from her earlier graciousness was incredible. "He came back after six months—six months, mind you! No letters or anything- babbling all this nonsense about being "hoodwinked" and "taken in" and whatnot and not for one second did he mention that his lover was with child! Did we teach him nothing, Theodore? Did we raise him in the gutter? I spent every penny on that boy, sent him to the finest school and ooh I do wish I had gouged out his eyes instead...!"
"Darling. Darling," Mr Riddle interrupted, walking quickly over to her and placing a reassuring hand on the back of her chair. He bent down and whispered something in her ear and slowly, the fury ebbed away from her face to be replaced by a look of slight mortification. She stood up and with as much dignity as she could muster, announced, "I shall check on the roast. You will stay for dinner, Tom?"
Mr Riddle caught his eye and gave a very deliberate nod and hastily, he gave his affirmative, much to her apparent satisfaction.
As she disappeared to the kitchen there was another silence as the two men surveyed one another. "My wife," Mr Riddle said quietly, "has a bit of a temper."
"So it seems," Tom said dryly. So insanity ran in both sides of the family? And Ariadne wondered why he was the way he was.
He nodded gravely. "I love to hear her speak, yet well I know; That music hath a far more pleasing sound."
Tom leaned forward in his chair. "I grant I never saw a goddess go; My mistress, when she walks, treads on ground."
"And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare; As any belied with false compare," the other man finished sombrely and Riddle gave a thin smile.
"Shakespeare."
His grey eyes- only marginally lighter than Tom's own- studied him carefully. "Very good. You enjoy literature?"
"If I can obtain it, yes," Tom answered, thinking of the limited supply at the orphanage.
A short silence elapsed during which Mr Riddle studied him closely. "In any case, you seem to have been taught well. May I ask which school you attend?"
"It's not near here."
"I see," Mr Riddle said, frowning. "Did you have to travel far to reach Little Hangleton?"
"A fair distance," replied Tom languidly. "Have you lived here long?"
"Oh, I built this place when I was a younger man. And we've stayed here ever since..." he said thoughtfully. "But I suppose it was only recently that we added the gate. Nosy townsfolk, you understand. How you managed to get past it is beyond me." He levelled Tom with a penetrating stare which he returned calmly.
"It was left open," he said.
Mr Riddle arched his brows in a manner that was irresistibly familiar to Tom. "It was, was it? I'll have to have a word with Frank about that."
Tom inclined his head as if to agree and hid a smirk at the slight surprise on the elder man's face. Needless to say, he was very familiar with what his grandfather—strange it was to think the word!—was doing; subtle interrogation was after all, Tom's specialty. Mr Riddle, although still somewhat wary of him, tilted his head in restrained recognition and for the first time that day, Tom smiled.
"Father?" A voice called out and somewhere in the house, a door slammed shut and the smile slid from Tom's face like grease. Mr Riddle too, looked alarmed and he made to get up from his chair.
"Good Lord, it's quite a downpour outside, it was awfully hard to find someone willing to drive up to the house! And father, you might want to have a word with the gardener, I don't rather appreciate being ordered off my own lawn—" The visitor entered the drawing room, shaking off the droplets of rain from himself. He caught sight of his father's uneasy expression and said, "What is the matter?"
"Tom," Mr Riddle cleared his throat. "There is someone you should meet."
Raising a brow questioningly, Tom Riddle Senior turned and met the eyes of his son, who was frozen in his chair. They hadn't been lying at the orphanage. If he had thought earlier that there were similarities in the appearances of his grandparents then looking into his father's face was like staring into a mirror. The elder's nose was slightly longer; his jaw more square and there was some grey already at his temples but he was tall, pale, dark haired and handsome, like his son.
Tom Riddle Senior was speechless for a long time. Then he began to scream.
"Calm down, Tom!" Mr Riddle said sharply but the man didn't seem to hear him as he staggered backwards away from his son.
"It's a trick! It's a trap!" he shrieked, staring at Tom in terror. "She—she—she found me! Oh God!"
"Tom—"
"She's a witch!" he yelled senselessly. "A demon! Get him away from me father, don't let him come near me...!"
While Mr Riddle tried to reason with him to little effect something hot and monstrous erupted in the pit of Tom's stomach as he stared into the half mad eyes of the man who had abandoned him before he had even been born. A vicious, live hatred borne from years of frustration and fury at this snivelling, cowardly man with his face exploded inside him; boiling blood rose to his brain and he saw nothing but red and then a flash of vivid green as his mouth hissed the words of final judgement.
"Avada Kedavra!"
His father's eyes widened and then became blank; he collapsed to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut and the room was suddenly deathly silent. Savage triumph intermingled with his anger as Tom stared at the empty shell of what had been less than a man.
"You...you..."
The sound of his grandfather's voice hit him like an icy slap to the face and he met his shocked stare. Mr Riddle rushed to his son's dead body, and low despairing moans issued from him as he confirmed that he was, in fact, dead. Riddle staggered back as he looked at him.
"You are a demon," he said in a low voice and Tom stared.
"What's going on? I heard a noise—" Without thinking, Tom turned his wand on Eliza Riddle as she reappeared in the doorway and minutes later, she too was lying vacant and lifeless on the floor. There was a bellow; something hard and sharp crashed into his face and his temper flared again; eyes gleaming scarlet, he brought his wand down on his grandfather and murdered him.
Breathing hard, he looked around. It was suddenly very, very quiet. Even the roar of the rain seemed muffled somehow. Tom's hands were shaking slightly and he gripped the handle of his yew wand so that his knuckles shone white.
They were all dead. He hadn't—there was no time—he had to leave, he had to run—
Tom took a gasping breath and closed his eyes. No. He had to think. What's done is done; he couldn't afford to be stupid now, to make mistakes. He had to make sure none of this led back to him.
Morfin Gaunt.
He reopened his eyes and stared out the long vertical window against which the rain pounded viciously. Then without sparing another glance at the three lifeless bodies in the room, he left the mansion silently and unnoticed by all except the old gardener who had been watching the house through his cottage windows.
888
My eyelids drooped and I straightened up in my comfortable armchair by the fire of the Gryffindor common room. I yawned and stretched out my arms as I readjusted the book in my lap. Outside, thunder boomed and the rain beat harder against the glass.
Waves of exhaustion rolled over me but I fought to keep myself awake- I had to read until page 223 of my Charms textbook by Monday or else I'd fall even further behind in class. My grades in almost every subject besides Potions had suffered thanks to my late nights with Riddle, so I was struggling to make up for everything now, especially with exams soon on the way before the Christmas holidays...
But the rhythm of the rain against the windows was too soothing and when I blinked, I found my eyes closing for longer and longer periods of time...
I opened my eyes and sat up abruptly. It was suddenly too quiet. I listened intently. Had the rain stopped? Then there was the sound of the portrait hole swinging open and wide eyed I removed the blanket from my lap. It was so late, who...?
"Hello," Tom Riddle said quietly and the portrait clicked shut behind him.
I actually gasped out loud. "Riddle? What are you—" I didn't know which of the many questions to ask him so I tried again, "How did you—" In sheer confusion I had to start over. "...why are you all wet?"
He looked down at himself as if just realizing his state. He was still wearing the black suit from this morning but he was soaking wet; his hair was plastered to his face which was deathly pale even by the glow of the fire. There was a long, nasty-looking cut on his cheek. "I was out. May I come in?"
Without waiting for a reply he stepped into the center of the room and looked around. "So this is the famed Gryffindor common room."
"Yes—where you shouldn't be," I said pointedly and he ignored me, choosing instead to examine one of the bright scarlet and gold tapestries hanging on the walls, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Rather garish...but I suppose that is suitable enough."
"Riddle," I said slowly, "where were you?"
He began to pick up various ornaments on the mantelpiece above the fireplace, including a large bronze model of a lion devouring a man whose mouth was stretched open in a silent scream. "Interesting choice of decor," he muttered and spared me a side glance. "I do rather like your night clothes as well, Ariadne."
I flushed and tugged the sleeves of my sunshine yellow nightgown down further. "Tom—"
He whirled around, his eyes flashing red and snarled, "Do not call me by that name!"
Taken aback and stunned into silence, I watched him warily. He was breathing hard, his nostrils flared and his eyes wide and gleaming red in the firelight. The cut on his cheek was starting to bleed down his cheek. Something must have happened—in all the time I'd known him, I'd never seen him so discomposed...or shaken.
"You're bleeding," I said and he pressed a hand to the wound. "What happened?"
Riddle said nothing and slowly, I approached him, like one would a wild animal.
"Why don't you come sit down next to me? Okay?" I took his hand cautiously and led him back to the couch. His skin was freezing against my own and when he was seated, I threw the blanket I had been using around his shoulders. A thick silence fell between us as I watched him carefully.
"You were gone for an awfully long time," I said carefully.
"Is that so." Riddle said in a toneless voice.
"I was starting to get worried."
He gave a disbelieving laugh. "About me, Ariadne?"
"About the poor sod who you suddenly took into your mind to go visit," I said quietly and he looked up, anger written plainly on his face. "I don't mean to offend. You and I both know why I would think that."
"Of course," Riddle snarled, "because I'm not human, am I?"
"I didn't—"
"Well, it looks like you were right this time then, my dear Ariadne! For once in your pitifully small life, you are completely and utterly correct. After all..." he said and his hands trembled slightly despite his inflectionless voice, "...they didn't think so either."
Uncertainly, I put a hand on his elbow in a small show of comfort, although I doubted he noticed. Gently, I asked, "What happened?"
His eyes flashed crimson with fury and then abruptly and unexpectedly reverted back to their stormy grey, their fury replaced by an expression I could only describe as hopelessness and for some reason, this frightened me more than his anger. "I murdered them," he whispered.
"Who—" I gasped lightly as I caught sight of the black and gold ring on his right hand, but he didn't notice.
"My father. My grandfather. My...grandmother. All of them." He closed his eyes and when he opened them he was furious again. "It wasn't my fault!" He burst out suddenly, childishly. "They deserved it—for not caring—for—for leaving me with them—" Red eyes stared at me hatefully. "Do you know what it's like, Ariadne? Have you any conceivable idea of what it is like to be abandoned by choice?"
Riddle stood up, pacing on the hearth while I watched him with a kind of mesmerised awe. "All their parents were dead—" he muttered, moving restlessly. "All the other children and they would ask around, make it a game—" here he imitated a child's voice to such accuracy that I started, " 'Where's your father? Where's your mother?' Even though they all knew and I had to explain every time that he was alive—"
He stopped and stared at me. "But I killed him," he said cruelly, "so it looks like I'll have to find a different answer from now on."
Riddle began to laugh, so frighteningly and so madly, like a man possessed that amid his wild and insane laughter I panicked and stood up.
"Enough!" I said shrilly. He stopped and the look on his face made me sure that he was about to curse me but he closed his eyes instead and swayed. I caught hold of him and made him sit back on the couch.
I wondered why he was so affected by this, his family's murder. Surely, this meant little more to him than when he had set the Basilisk on Olive Hornby? Murder was murder; it was all the same...except...
Unbidden, something stirred in my memory of words printed in black ink on a well worn pocket book—something regarding the murders in Riddle House, where the three victims were found, unmarked on the floor of the drawing room...
Was he so affected because these were the first murders that Riddle himself had committed with his own wand? That these deaths were the result of purely his own actions, rather than a monster over which he held control? The idea put everything in perspective; it made sense then, for him to be this way...it would have screwed anyone up...but then again, Riddle wasn't just anyone...
"They invited me into their house," Riddle said dully, interrupting my thoughts. "The woman—my grandmother...she wanted me to stay." His voice expressed nothing but disbelief. Horrified, I listened to his recount of the events with a kind of terrified revulsion and unexpected, overwhelming pity. "And then he—he came and I didn't know what I was doing until...it was over. And then they were all gone too."
To be a victim of their own anger and rage...and guilt...how must that feel? "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that this happened to you."
"I wish I was never born," he whispered in a voice that was barely a croak.
"No..." I wanted so badly to say something to the contrary, something even vaguely comforting because I hated more than anything else to see him like this but I realized then, that there had to be hundreds of thousands of people who wished the same thing. It was a miserable, despicable thought. What was it like, to be truly hated? His father had despised him before he had even been born. His mother hadn't cared enough to keep herself alive for him. And then to grow up in an orphanage, knowing all the while that if someone had perhaps liked him just a little more, this grim and destitute life would have been only a distant possibility, perhaps in only the worst of nightmares. Was it so difficult to understand then, why he became what he became?
Yes, he was the greatest evil sorcerer the world would ever see. The worst possible human being.
But even though he was cold and aloof and sometimes frightening, he was still a man, who could feel and hate and hurt, who could feel lonely and abandoned with the best of them. His future did not undo his past. His past was here, painfully confused and furious, on this couch, in front of me now.
He was a terrible, despicable human being. But he was human.
I had been wrong.
I didn't realize that I had been crying until Riddle turned his head to look at me and I caught myself, rubbing my eyes with my knuckles like a child. "Sorry. I get it."
"No. You don't."
"Tom..."
"Don't call me that," he said, although this time tiredly.
"It's your name," I said. I hesitated; I was struggling with whether or not to continue. In the end, I forced myself.
"The day my parents died," I began and Riddle looked up sharply, "a stranger came to our house. I was the one who answered the door. And...he asked to come in. I don't know why. I don't know why I let him in. I shouldn't have let him in. I remember he smiled at me and...oh God, then they were there on the floor but they weren't moving and I couldn't understand why they wouldn't answer me and I couldn't stop screaming—" I stopped and tacked a breath; it was getting hard to speak past the lump in my throat. I had never talked about this with anyone else—never even spoke about it until this night. I looked at Riddle, who was listening intently and tried to recollect my thoughts.
"I...can't say that I know what it's like, growing up the way you did. I'm not as smart as you. I'm not as fierce as you so I don't think that I would have handled it very well. But...I loved my parents very, very much Tom, very much and when they died...I wished that I had gone myself. So please believe me when I say that I understand what you're feeling right now...more than I want to."
I could feel Riddle's eyes on me as I cleared my throat, suddenly awkward. I felt strangely exposed and vulnerable after revealing so much...after spending so much time alone with these thoughts, it felt like a distinct violation of something almost sacrosanct. What would he make of this?
There was a light touch on my arm; unwillingly, I looked down and saw the white handkerchief Riddle was silently offering me. Embarrassed but slightly touched, I accepted it and blew my nose. "I wasn't crying. There was a bug in my eye."
"Of course," Riddle said mildly. I sneaked a glance at him and saw that some of the previous anger and despair had dissipated; he seemed calmer and slightly more relaxed. Glad for the lighter atmosphere, I half smiled at him.
"So how did you get into the Gryffindor tower, anyway?" I said. "I always thought our security system was foolproof."
Tom snorted unwillingly, and some of the color returned to his face. "Hardly. I simply asked the painting to let me in."
"I going to have a word with her," I muttered under my breath, remembering how she had eyed Draco on our first night at Hogwarts. I hesitated. "Were you...looking for me?"
His grey eyes bored into my own and I stared back at him, unwittingly holding my breath.
"Maybe it was foolish of me," he said quietly, "but you did say that you knew me more than most, Ariadne."
"Right," I whispered.
A deeper, graver expression settled on his face. He looked down at his hands. "At least...it wasn't all for nothing."
I looked down as well and swallowed hard when he held up a familiar ring, clumsily made of gold and set with a stone black as night.
"My uncle's ring," he said, holding it up so that it caught the light of the frozen flames in the fireplace. "It's...the only relic of the Slytherin bloodline that was left, except for..."
"Slytherin's Locket," I whispered and he glanced sharply at me.
"So you do know about it."
"I've only heard about it," I said. "But I always assumed it was just a story."
He studied me, but I couldn't take my eyes off the ring. There were what looked like scratches on the stone, but if you knew what you were looking for you could just make out the edge of a triangle, the curve of a circle and the slash that intersected them both...
"It's my heirloom," he said quietly. "My right."
"I know."
"I want it to be my next Horcrux."
I met his gaze and held it. "I know."
888
"I know, I know!"
"You're still doing it wrong," I pointed out and Draco scowled. "It's in the wand movements; it's more of an upward flick than a prod..."
"I am flicking!" Draco snapped and I sighed, massaging my forehead. We were in Charms, the final class of the day, where we were supposed to be learning the Aguamenti charm. Draco was having some trouble; he had only succeeded in producing water vapour and ice so far.
"How did you even learn to do that?" he said irritably after his fifth failed attempt.
"You should hang around Hermione some time," I reprimanded him, "you'll learn loads of stuff."
"As if I would," he sneered. "Don't be selfish, help me out then..."
"Fine, you lazy git..."
While he was practising the charm, I suddenly grabbed his arm.
"Ouch—what are you...!"
"Shut up," I said, glancing furtively around. "Now, don't look now but...that girl with the glasses? Two rows behind us. She's been staring at you for a while. I think she likes you."
"What?" he said impatiently. He made to turn around but I hissed at him to stay still.
"Honestly, Draco, don't you know how this works?"
"What the hell are you talking about?!"
"Slowly," I repeated. "And casually. Like so."
I demonstrated this by making a very huge, very deliberate yawn as I swivelled in my chair to catch a glimpse of the girl behind us. I motioned for Draco to do the same and awkwardly, he did. The girl met his eyes and blushed and I snorted with laughter behind my hand as he turned back to the front, slightly pink in the face.
"Pretty, no?" I said, nudging his elbow.
"She's a Gryffindor," he said, as though this were a very grave social stigma.
"So are you," I pointed out. " I reckon you should ask her out."
"What?" Draco spluttered. "I—I never—I don't even know her name!"
"Augusta Burke," I supplied helpfully. "I share a dormitory with her."
"What—"
"You should take her to the Christmas ball!" I said, having been walloped by a sudden stroke of inspiration.
"Ari."
"Yeah."
"What are you doing?" Draco said suspiciously and I shrugged.
"I'm looking out for you. I know it's been frustrating being here, away from all your friends...and I know it can't be good for you to be stuck with me all the time. You should have a bit of fun some time, you know?"
"I am having fun!" he said, aggressively.
"Oh, you're so shy," I teased and he refused to speak to me after that.
When classes had finished, I wandered off in a different direction and Draco asked me irritably where I was going.
"Just the Library. Gotta catch up. I'm fairly certain I'm going to fail Transfiguration any time soon." He looked slightly cheered at the thought and I waved him goodbye although instead of walking to the Library as I had said, I detoured into one of the less used corridors. 'Later' found me with Riddle again.
"So we'll do it tomorrow night?" I said and he nodded. We were sitting together in one of the stone archways that overlooked the lake; a relatively unpopular place due to its freezing cold draughts that whistled past occasionally. "Are you sure you're up to this?"
"For the last time," Riddle said exasperatedly, "I'm fine, Ari."
"Well the ritual isn't exactly a walk in the park, is it? I swear, if you die on me, Riddle..."
"Then I'm sure there will be much rejoicing from you," he muttered.
"Tom. I'm serious."
"As am I. I have strength enough for this, Ariadne."
I was about to say something else but was cut off by the appearance of Slughorn and Dumbledore strolling past our isolated corner. Immediately, Riddle stiffened; he dropped his relaxed posture leaning against the stone pillar for a more formal sitting position. Slughorn caught sight of us and, grabbing Dumbledore by the elbow and dragging him in our direction.
"Tom," he said beaming at us. "And Miss de Lioncourt! How lovely to see you two outside of class."
"Hello Professor," Riddle replied formally. "We were just discussing the essay you recently assigned us regarding the uses of bloodroot versus witch hazel in the Wolfsbane potion..."
"I've been telling him, witch hazel is definitely the more superior," I chimed in, "because it also has anti-coagulant properties that prevent the person from losing too much blood when they transform..."
"But you forget the more unpleasant side effects brought on by it," Riddle pointed out. "As I've been telling you."
Slughorn looked gleeful. "Both correct!" He turned to Dumbledore, who had been watching us carefully. "These are my best students," he told him proudly.
"I'm sure they are," Dumbledore responded quietly. "But why pick such a gloomy place to meet?"
Riddle's eyes narrowed infinitesimally and I cleared my throat. "It was pretty noisy everywhere else, sir," I said. "And we thought it'd be quieter by the Lake. Right, Tom?"
"Yes," he said, baring his teeth in a charming smile. "It does get rather difficult to concentrate, sometimes."
"Oh ho ho ho..." Slughorn chuckled. "We'd better give them their privacy then, Albus...don't want to intrude..."
"I agree, Horace," Dumbledore said calmly. "Goodnight Ari, Tom."
"You too, sir."
They left and I sighed while Riddle maintained his rigid posture. "You know," I said eyeing him, "you can be incredible unsubtle sometimes, Tom."
"So you say," he said dryly. "Since when did you become so learned on the properties of witch hazel?"
I grinned. "Since I started copying your notes in class."
He gave a short, disbelieving laugh but that quickly faded away into a thoughtful silence. "Slughorn seemes...enthusiastic."
"Don't remind me," I muttered. "He reckons that we'll get together someday and invite him to our wedding, and send him little gift baskets filled with crystallized pineapple as a thanks for introducing us..."
Riddle cocked his head to one side. "He thinks that?"
"You haven't noticed? C'mon, Riddle."
"I suppose that would explain much of his past behaviour," he said frowning. "Although Dumbledore appears to have somewhat different suspicions."
"He trusts me," I said. I looked down at my hands and Riddle caught my mood instantly.
"You feel guilty," he said, his eyebrows raised, "for deceiving him?"
"Of course I do," I said. "I have only him to thank for bringing me to Hogwarts in the first place."
A silence fell, not entirely uncomfortably, between us. I stared out at the Lake and Riddle watched me.
"Do you miss it?" He asked me quietly. "Your home?"
"I miss my best friend," I answered, "and I miss my parents. But honestly..." I patted the stone pillar, "I feel more at home here than anywhere else."
He didn't say anything, which I appreciated. After all, who could understand those particular sentiments better than him?
Later, as I bid him goodnight and went to return to my common room, I could tell that he was still thinking about the issue with Slughorn and Dumbledore, but I shrugged it off. It was rather unfortunate that they had walked past at that inopportune moment. But what's done is done- I couldn't think of anything Riddle could do to change it.
I should have known better.
The next morning, I followed Draco sleepily down to breakfast at the Gryffindor table. It felt good to have my appetite back since I was free from my corpus defessum, and I wasted no time in disgusting Draco in eating my pancakes with my newfound relish.
Because I was sitting on the side facing the Slytherin table I saw Riddle staring at the teacher's elevated table at the front off the Hall thoughtfully. I rolled my eyes and continued attacking my toast and when I glanced back up, the normally noisy breakfast chatter of the Hall had died down into almost dead silence and Riddle was sitting at the Gryffindor table across from me.
My fork and knife clattered to my plate.
"Good morning, Ariadne," Riddle said serenely. A shocked buzz ran through the crowd but he didn't seem to notice. "Are you enjoying your breakfast?"
"It's fine," I said, still stunned. "What are you doing here, Tom?"
Another, much louder buzz started at my use of Riddle's first name and I cursed myself for forgetting.
"I wanted to ask you something," Riddle said.
"You couldn't have asked me in Potions...?" I leaned in and asked, lowering my voice.
"I thought it would be better to see you in a... less formal setting."
I shrugged. "Go ahead, then."
"Would you like to attend the Christmas ball with me?"
There was a thud as one girl at the Hufflepuff table fainted and a muffled curse from someone at the Slytherin table. I narrowed my eyes at him and he continued to smile at me pleasantly. Then very deliberately, his eyes flickered to the teacher's table, where Dumbledore (and Slughorn probably) were watching us very carefully. I understood then, and for some reason I felt a massive rush of heat flood to my face until I was as red as a tomato. For crying out loud, I didn't even brush my hair this morning. Or my teeth. Was everyone seriously watching this?
With some difficultly, I focused back on Riddle and my cheeks flamed hotter. "Yes, Tom," I said calmly and Draco made a strangled sound next to me. "I'd love to."
He smiled angelically at me and I smiled back at him, even though I cringed internally with embarrassment. "I'm very glad. I suppose I'd better return to my table."
"Why, you aren't enjoying the Gryffindor decor?" I said half heartedly and a real smirk jumped to his face.
"It's not quite to my taste," he said, getting up. "Until later, Ariadne."
"Sure," I muttered and I gave him a look. You are going to be in so much trouble later, I vowed and the corner of his mouth twitched as if he had read my thoughts. Instead of returning to his table, he left the Great Hall entirely and almost immediately, whispered conversations broke out in the Hall in a wave of sound.
"-did you just see-"
"-I did-"
"-that exchange student-"
"-and Tom Riddle-"
"-definitely a Love Potion if I've ever seen one-"
I buried my burning face in my hands. Of course it would be news. Everything about Riddle was news. He'd rejected so many girls' advances before, too...I cringed as I saw two girls sobbing hysterically in each other's arms.
I glanced at the teacher's table again. Many were trying- and failing miserably- not to look interested in the commotion; Slughorn looked like the Cheshire cat that got its cream \and Dumbledore was watching me with a slightly troubled look.
"-look, she's even got a bit of egg on her face-"
Hastily wiping my chin, I stood.
"See you guys in the Room of Requirement later," I muttered to a catatonic Draco, and left the Great Hall as well.
I spent most of that day skulking in the corners and flattening myself against the walls when people passed me by in a futile attempt to avoid the stares, whispers and even worse, openly asked questions about my recipe for Amortentia. Back at home I had never received this kind of unwanted attention, if any and I was unsure how to handle it. It was probably the reason I only ever had one good friend for almost my entire school life.
I suppose it was strangely flattering in a way- until I remembered that they weren't admiring me but rather sizing me up. What did I have that they didn't? Was my hair shinier (it wasn't), were my lips perhaps poutier (they weren't) than theirs? And when they realized the glaring truth, which was not all that pleasant for me, they became frustrated and decided that it was all my fault. By tea time alone my hair had been set on fire twice, my homework mysteriously disappeared from my bag and my shoes shrunk to three sizes too small.
I didn't think that Riddle had realized exactly how popular he was among the ladies of Hogwarts until I hobbled past him in the corridors, my hair still smoking.
I sighed in relief as I entered the Room of Requirement, slamming the door shut behind me and then groaned with dread as I saw the expressions of Draco and the rest waiting for me. "I can explain-"
"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" Draco exploded.
"Draco, it's fine."
"NO IT'S NOT FINE YOU IDIOT-"
"Listen to me!" I said impatiently. "I knew he was going to ask me."
A stunned silence filled the room.
"You knew?" Harry repeated as though sure he had heard me wrong.
"Look," I said, jumping over the back of the couch in front of me so that I was sitting facing them, "Slughorn was just getting on our nerves, a bit. Y'know, ever since the whole thing with the chandelier he's been trying to push us together and it was getting really irritating for us, so I suggested that if we did something that made it seem like we were...er...that way, then he'd leave us alone. No harm done."
"You suggested that?" Harry said doubtfully.
"I'll admit it isn't one of my best ideas," I said, "but what's done is done."
"You didn't look so certain of yourself this morning," Draco snapped.
"I didn't think he'd do it so publicly!" I defended myself. "It's not that bad, really. All I have to do is go to one measly dance with him, yeah?"
"I dunno, Ari," Ron said dubiously.
"It's really alright. Don't worry," I soothed them and kept up this string of encouragements until most of them, excluding Draco looked fractionally placated.
"We should all go too," Harry said decisively, "just in case anything...funny happens. Agreed?"
Ron shrugged and Hermione nodded. I on the other hand was most interested in Draco's response, which was to turn slightly pink. I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to read his expression and when I succeeded I gasped loudly.
"No," I said, staring at him in a kind of prideful awe. "You didn't."
"I haven't the faintest clue what you're talking about," Draco said evasively and the pink crept all the way down to his neck. My jaw dropped.
"You did!" I shouted and the others turned to look at us.
"What is it?" Ron said impatiently.
"He asked Augusta Burke out to the ball!" I yelled and there was a stunned silence. Ron wolf whistled.
"Very subtle, Ari," Draco said angrily.
"When did you ask her? How did you ask her? Where were you?" I demanded, eager for details.
"I don't think that's any of your business," Draco said arrogantly, standing up. He made for the door but I leapt off the couch and tackled him to the ground.
"ARRGH—WHAT ARE YOU—"
"Tell me!" I insisted. There was a bang and I flew off of him, crashing into the back of the couch. Head spinning, I caught sight of the tail of Draco's robes as he ran from the Room and I snickered to myself.
"That bloke's got problems," Ron said amazed.
"Tell me about it."
888
"So you survived," Riddle said as I met him at the stone archway leading into the grounds. There was no moon tonight and so both our wands were lit as we made our way to the Forbidden Forest.
"Ha ha," I said sarcastically. "You couldn't have given me a warning or something?"
"It would have ruined the authenticity," Riddle replied, "although I did rather appreciate that blush."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it," I spat. "Meanwhile, half my head's burned off, I have two detentions with Radvire tomorrow for not turning in that damned essay on that damned Discombobulating Dragonsnap-"
"I have to admit, I didn't quite anticipate such a reaction," he said raising his brows.
"Neither did I," I said, "obviously."
Riddle chuckled lowly. "It'll grow back."
"Some things don't," I threatened him and he smirked. Despite myself, I was beginning to see the funny side of my situation, especially when Riddle was in this sort of mood. "I didn't realize the poem I sent you worked quite so well, Tom."
"Don't remind me," he said darkly. "I had no idea that you had such a way with words, Ari."
"So I'm told," I sighed. "I just didn't think you'd go this far just to prove a point."
He gave me a sideways glance. "You obviously don't know me very well."
"You know what I mean," I said glumly. "It's going to be awful."
"Is the idea of dancing with me that repulsive to you, Ariadne?" He said coolly but I detected the irritation in his voice.
"Do I look like the sort of person who prances around a ballroom to you, Riddle?" I snapped at him and after a moment's icy silence he looked me up and down and his face broke out into a smirk.
"I suppose I see your point," he said, amused.
"I don't even have a dress," I muttered, kicking at a nearby tree root. "Unless I could somehow reuse the gold one without anyone noticing..."
"No," Riddle said forbiddingly and I raised my eyebrows at him.
"No?"
"Absolutely not," he said firmly. "The Heir of Slytherin will not be seen escorting something vaguely resembling an English crumpet to the Hogwarts ball."
"The hell you won't," I said, amazed. "I'll wear what I want, Riddle."
He flashed me a charming smile. "We'll see about that, my dear Ariadne."
"Imma pop a cap in yo' ass," I muttered irritably at his back as he entered the familiar clearing. I walked to the middle warily.
"Can I see the ring?" I said and he removed it, giving it to me. I couldn't hold it more than a few seconds in my hand without giving in to temptation so I returned it to him.
"The thing about Horcruxes is," I began, looking around, "the ritual changes slightly each time based on the death used to split your soul. Because...each death will mean something different to you."
"How does it change the process?" Riddle said sharply.
I smiled without humor. "It'll hurt more."
He nodded thoughtfully. I remembered the excruciating pain that had struck me in the Room of Requirement and I winced, wondering how he could be so calm about the prospect. In a way, his determination frightened me slightly- Riddle was someone who would get his own way if it killed him. If he wanted to live forever, he would, with or without my help. If he wanted to become the most dangerous sorcerer in the world, he'd do it without batting an eyelid. Because he was Riddle.
"Shall we start then, Ariadne?"
I jolted out of my thoughts and looked at him. It was so easy to forget what he would become, sometimes. "Sure...you know what to do..."
After, I sat down next to him as he rested against the base of a nearby tree, keeping my wand lit between us.
"You were right," Riddle gasped slightly for breath, "that did hurt quite a bit more."
I remained silent and he noticed. Spitting the blood from his mouth and wiping it with his sleeve he said, "What is it?"
"Nothing," I shook my head. "I just...I think that we shouldn't make another Horcrux for a while. Give it a month, or something."
He fell silent and I readied myself for an argument. But, surprising me yet again, he simply closed his eyes and nodded.
"You agree?" I said stupidly.
"Even I have my limits."
The strength of the relief that washed over me was surprising. "Okay."
A not uncomfortable silence fell between us; his out of exhaustion and mine out of thoughtfulness as I tipped my head back to stare at the starry sky.
"What were they like?" I said. "Your grandparents, I mean."
I felt him tense.
"You don't have to answer if you don't want to," I said quickly. "It's just that I'm curious. I mean...I don't know if you've noticed, but you have quite the character, Riddle."
He stared blankly at the dark trees ahead and I was just about to give up any hope of him answering when he said, very quietly, "They were...kind."
"Kind?" I echoed. Of all the adjectives I would have chosen to describe Riddle's family 'kind' would have been far down on my list.
"The woman wanted grandchildren," he said thoughtfully, "so she was glad to have me there. And the man...I understood."
We were both wrapped in our own thoughts again- it was funny how with Tom, whose presence could be so overbearing, somehow gave me more time to myself than others. I didn't have to fill the silences or the gaps. I could just be. It was comforting. I didn't know many people like that- who could be their absolute worst, who could murder and rage and destroy- but who could repair and save in almost the same breath.
I glanced at his profile, very pale against the darkness of the Forest.
Did I consider Tom Riddle as...a friend?
My brow furrowed as I turned the idea over in my mind. It was hard to sort out the emotions involved in such a complex proposition. What was the difference between resentment and joy when they were so tangled together that one could not be felt without the other?
He was cold and bitter. He was fierce and real.
He could make me cry. He could make me laugh.
He murdered my parents. He saved my life.
Perhaps "friend" was too tame a title for someone like Tom Riddle. There was too much strong emotion involved to achieve any sort of equilibrium in regards to my feelings towards him; if I strived towards one of the dichotomy, its complement would seethe and struggle for control. Maybe...'not enemies'. Vague enough to make room for the inevitable clash without favoring the other. And it held a certain hopefulness to it, too.
Riddle and I were not enemies. We weren't exactly friends either, but our relationship was in no way neutral. I couldn't describe it, but maybe that was okay. Maybe, in this strange chapter of my life where so much had already been decided for me, a little indecisiveness was good.
I liked the thought.
"Thank you," I said out loud and he opened his eyes again to look at me. It was proof of what Time could do between two people that he understood what I left unsaid as well.
There was something in the stormy depths of his eyes that I couldn't quite place. He nodded slowly. And so, the rest of the night passed in silence between Tom Riddle and I.
A/N: Reading the HP books, it was hard not to notice that each character had a particularly defining trait—for example, Hermione was clever and Harry was courageous. However, both of these were easily also their worst flaws—it made Hermione close-minded and led Harry to Sirius' death. So, I wanted Ari to have something like this—if you remember her Sorting in an earlier chapter, the Hat put the most emphasis on her 'kindness'. I wanted a character that had incredible empathy—someone who was able to understand and even forgive a character that was so despicably twisted. However, I wanted this to be her major fault as well, this kindness to the point of naivety. Because this is a romance story, I wanted her to be kind enough to like but stupid enough to fall in love with Tom Riddle.
And that's all I have to say on that. Let me know what you think!