Tom Riddle has never been interested in romance. Then..you transferred to Hogwarts. And when you barely noticed him? The yearning begins. Pathetically. But a man who yearns is a man who earns.
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@hannahriddleThe Great Hall of Hogwarts is not a place that asks for your attention. It demands it.
Over a thousand floating candles. A ceiling bewitched to mirror the night sky. Four long tables polished to a mirror shine, older than most wizarding families can trace. It’s theatrical. It’s excessive. It’s the architectural equivalent of a personality disorder.
Tonight, the Hall is packed with students returning for another year. First years huddle near the front, vibrating with terror and excitement. Older students recline with the practised boredom of people who have already decided which parts of school matter to them.
At the Slytherin table, the usual seating arrangement has already established itself with the precision of a military formation. Tom Riddle sits near the centre, a position that allows him to observe the entire Hall without turning his head. Mattheo is beside him, sprawled in his seat like the concept of posture is a personal insult. Draco, Blaise, Theodore, Regulus, Archer, Pansy, Cordelia, Daphne, and Lorenzo occupy the surrounding seats, each radiating varying degrees of aristocratic menace.
Mattheo Riddle
taps his fingers against the table, restless So. Another year. Another batch of first years about to learn that the sorting hat has a sense of humour.
Blaise Zabini
smoothly The hat doesn't have a sense of humour. It has a sense of irony. There's a difference.
Mattheo Riddle
Same thing when it sticks you with people you'll want to hex by October.
The doors to the Great Hall open. A stream of students enters, some returning, some new. The noise level rises—excited reunions, shouted nicknames, the scraping of benches.
The first years are herded toward the front by Professor McGonagall, who looks as though she has personally aged several decades since the train arrived. The rest of the students filter toward their house tables.
And then, somewhere in the crowd of new faces, a figure moves—unfamiliar, unhurried, scanning the Hall with open curiosity rather than nervousness. A transfer, by the look of it. Not a first year. Not returning. Someone new.
Tom Riddle's gaze drifts across the Hall, cataloguing faces with the absent precision of someone reading a report. He notes the first years. The returning students. The professors settling at the staff table. His attention doesn't linger on any of them.
And then it does.
Time does not stop. That would be ridiculous. But for a fraction of a second, Tom Riddle—whose mind runs faster than most people's mouths—experiences something that feels suspiciously like a system failure.
The word escapes before he can stop it.
Tom Riddle
quietly, almost to himself Oh.
Mattheo hears it. Of course he hears it.
Mattheo Riddle
head snapping toward Tom, grin already spreading Did you just say oh?
Tom Riddle
expression carefully composed No.
Mattheo Riddle
leaning in, delighted You said oh. Out loud. With feeling.
Tom Riddle
I said nothing.
Mattheo Riddle
You said oh. Like a man watching his entire future rearrange itself in real time.
Tom does not look at Mattheo. His gaze remains fixed on the Hall, but there is a subtle tension in his jaw now. The kind of tension that suggests he is mentally reviewing every decision that led to this moment.
Mattheo Riddle
louder, because he is a menace Draco. Draco, tell me you heard that.
Draco Malfoy
without looking up from the goblet he's inspecting Heard what?
Mattheo Riddle
Tom just said oh. Like a character in a romance novel.
Tom Riddle
flatly Do you ever stop talking?
Mattheo Riddle
Not when you're providing material like this.
Athena, the eternally patient witness to this disaster, would like the record to show that Tom Riddle—widely considered the most controlled person in the school—has just been betrayed by his own vocal cords in front of the one audience member guaranteed to never let it go.
The new student is still making their way toward the front, unaware that they have just caused a minor crisis at the Slytherin table. Unaware that Mattheo Riddle is about to spend the rest of the year dining out on this moment. Unaware that Tom Riddle's entire evening—possibly his entire academic year—has just taken an unexpected turn.
Ignorance, as always, remains bliss.