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"The nerve of that boy!" Eileen shrieked. Rue had just regaled her with the tale of her encounter with Riddle, and it was a testament to their friendship that Eileen felt outraged, too.
"I hate how good-looking people think they can get away with anything."
"And I have prefect duty with him tonight." Rue whined. She hated the boy and was now adamant on avoiding him. How could she ever have wanted to impress him? She never wanted to speak to him again, but that would be hard seeing that they both has patrols together.
"Switch with someone. Speak to Potter." Eileen suggested.
She supposed that she could speak to Charlus Potter, the Head Boy, about it. But the thing was, Slytherin and Gryffindors hated each other on principle- why would he listen to her? She voiced these concerns to Eileen, who, it turned out, begged to differ.
"He may hate you, but he's bound to help a girl in need. Their lame Gryffindor values include chivalry, remember? And they're so obsessed with being heroes- he won't pass up a chance like this."
Rue pondered Eileen's words. Gryffindors did have a strangely prevalent saviour complex- surely, she could exploit it just a bit?
"But Riddle-" She began.
"Will never find out. He and Potter don't exactly gossip in the same circles," (it was common knowledge that these two gossiped enough, just not together,) "so just be discreet about it." Eileen finished.
And that was how she found herself walking towards the Gryffindor table just moments before dinner began. Everyone was settling in and Riddle was nowhere to be seen, so the odds were in her favor. Spotting Potter's (messy, oh so messy,) shock of black hair, she scurried towards it.
"A word, Potter." She murmured, tapping his shoulder. She didn't get the customary dirty looks that Gryffindors had reserved for Slytherins- clearly, her camaraderie with the Hufflepuffs paid off.
Charlus Potter smiled wryly and followed her into the Great Hall.
Quickly, she explained her demand, or plea to be precise. And just as quickly, he agreed. Eileen had been right. Charlus Potter, being a Gryffindor, was so determined to save her from that 'good-for-nothing' Riddle that he himself would patrol with her, while Riddle would patrol with the Head Girl, Mary Wilks.
She had successfully managed to avoid Riddle.
And that was that.
/
Tom had mixed feelings about this switch that Potter had mentioned. He sure was glad that he didn't have to face Lane, for she'd be expecting a proper apology and he hadn't bothered to think one out yet. He certainly wasn't willing to awkwardly patrol with her, (although Kings were never awkward, and everybody knew that,)- it would only worsen the situation, yes.
On the other hand, his ego wasn't taking it well. Hating him was one thing, but surely, no one in his or her right mind would reject his company? Outrageous really, as walking with Him was a privilege, awarded to so few, and to have someone reject it, was, like he thought, outrageous.
Even if that someone seemed to be extraordinary- Merlin, especially if that someone was extraordinary, for talent flocked to talent, and she should've thus flocked to him.
He pondered upon such things while he walked with the (quite dull) Head Girl. she was like the others that way, it was as if they had no individual personality- all of them acted the same around him. They'd shyly tuck their hair behind their ears, barely make eye contact, blush, blush and blush- Heavens, even Rue had done this.
However, he grudgingly noted, she was also the only one who'd insulted him and walked away. He thought it impressive, but voiced these musings to no one, for the last thing he wanted was for his clique to start insulting him, in order to impress him. He decided to talk to her the next day, in potions. She sat next to Yaxley, but Yaxley was one of his knights, (of Walpurgis,) so he'd be done away with easily. Tom knew that Yaxley considered him, (Tom,) his first priority, as was appropriate- NEWTs, of course, came next. Sitting with Lane probably didn't even feature on the list.
"Slytherin is faring well this year- In Quidditch, I mean." Wilks said, shyly of course. Why were girls shy around him all the time? It wasn't like he was going to kill them, not on school premises.
"Yes, we may win again this year." He replied curtly.
Was Lane on the team? He wasn't sure. It was almost impressive how inconspicuous she'd been for six years.
"I don't think so. Charlus and I are confident that Gryffindor will win." Wilks smiled. Riddle knew that she'd intended for it to be a smirk, but we all know how well that works for Gryffindors.
"You would. As Gryffindors, it is your duty to be proud and pompous to the point of stupidity." He murmured in response.
She laughed at that. He wasn't in the mood to tell her that he hadn't been joking.
"You're a funny one, Riddle."
No, I'm not, he thought, I'm really not. "Yes." He replied, unsmiling. Luckily, she took the hint and finally dropped the conversation. He was sure that she thought that they'd been flirting, and that she'd run back to her dorms, tell her friends, and expect him to maintain the banter.
They always did that. And then, they'd all be disappointed when he wouldn't even look in their general direction.
Gryffindor girls sure made a poor example of the Gryffindor-Slytherin prejudice. They probably expected that they would be the ones to tame the 'wild and dark' creatures of the night. Idiotic romantics, the bunch of them.
However, by the end of patrolling, at the prefect meeting, he decided that Gryffindor boys weren't much better, if Charlus Potter's arm, slung around Rue Lane, was any indication.
/
For one, Charlus Potter did not think that Rue was unexceptional. She had been scared of how Riddle might react- he seemed to be the kind who didn't take any kind of rejection well. Not that she'd rejected him, only his company. It was a fine surprise when she saw his blank faced reaction to the swap. A non-responsive Riddle was better than a, well, angry, responsive one- that was for certain. A few minutes later, Potter had dismissed the meeting and set off down the corridor, with her following in a haste. She shot one last look towards Riddle, only to find him hastily look away. He couldn't have figured it out, surely? He wasn't that brilliant. (Was he?)
Rue was fretting over this when, a few minutes later, Charlus initiated conversation.
"So, what happened with Riddle? Even he looked slightly uncomfortable." He began, conversationally.
She looked around before speaking. Charlus had made sure that Riddle and Wilks weren't even patrolling on the same floor. Confiding in him seemed like an okay option, and she was already friends with Hufflepuffs, so it wasn't as if she could sink any lower.
"He's, well, he's a total git to people. I just called him out on it. I mean, I'm not scared of him or anything like that, but he has this aura that kind of makes you uneasy." She answered.
Charlus nodded darkly, "I know what you mean. Personally, I've never liked him much."
"That's surprising, isn't it? A Gryffindor not liking a Slytherin?" Rue laughed.
Charles nudged her playfully and smiled, "You know I'm not like that! I'm nice enough to you, aren't I?"
"Yes, you are. You've done me a kindness and I am not one to forget."
"You're an unusual Slytherin."
"No, I'm not. Not really. Some Slytherins actually just choose to not socialize outside of their inner circle as they can't stand it when they're judged, just because they're Slytherin- as if it's a bad thing. I mean, we love being Slytherin- we think it's amazing fun, but you lot do not agree."
"You have a point." Charles conceded, "I've noticed that, you know. That's why I make it a point to not be rude or unkind to your house. House rivalries apart, you're still people."
Rue smiled at that. It was nice talking to Charlus, even if his opinion of Slytherin seemed a little patronising. He put people at ease, unlike Riddle, who made for more uncomfortable company than a mandrake.
"What did you and Riddle fight about, though? I won't gossip, I swear." Charlus whispered, as they turned around a corner.
Rue laughed again. The anecdote would not even make for good gossip. Walking with him, she recited the tale once more. Charlus didn't comment at first. His eyes were wide, as though he was pondering very hard over something. It was after they'd rounded another corner that he finally spoke.
"Riddle is truly an arse. You look nothing unexceptional- no one does." He commented, smiling at her and ruffling her hair. She smiled and closed her empty fist. However, when she opened it, it was no longer empty. A fiery lion now sat in the middle of her palm, no bigger than a baby rat, roaring as the fire crackled.
"Just because you've been so kind." She murmured, as she saw Charlus' face light up (literally too, because of the fire in her hands.)
"Can I touch it?"
"Sure, the fire is cold and does not burn."
He slowly stroked the lion and laughed as it responded to his touch. It jumped playfully, trying to get a grip on his finger. It was a pleasant scene to watch.
"Rue Lane, you're freaking brilliant, no matter what that oaf thinks." Charlus laughed. Rue joined in and, closing her fist once more, transfigured the fire into a badge and gave it to him.
"To newfound friendship."
"Which will outlive eternity."
"And break down all prejudice." she laughed.
"That's much too hopeful. Be realistic, Ms. Lane." Charlus smiled. He'd meant it as a joke, but they both knew, deep down, that it was true. However, youth was so fleeting, and Rue would be damned if she wasted hers dwelling on reality.
They spent the next two hours talking about Charlus' life, while he sported his new golden badge on his cloak's lapel.
By the end of their rounds, at the prefect meeting, it could be safely said that they were good chums. He had his arm slung around her shoulder, and they laughed blithely as they chatted with the other prefects, (the meeting was yet to start, as some of the prefects hadn't turned up yet) and rue didn't even notice Tom Riddle brooding in a corner, flanked by a couple of his cronies, frowning slightly when he noticed the latest addition to Potter's attire, and more importantly, to his clique.
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