since those first few nights in my library, you appeared to be everywhere. floating by like a ghost.

we didn't talk beyond the shelves, but i could tell you were watching - and i did so right back.

have i captured your attention, tom riddle?

good, i might as well make due with it.

we only had one class together - a shame, really - but i've accepted long ago my wits don't match with yours.

i was clever at potions, but i credit that to the ink i let stain my fingers every night. it wasn't talent, just practice - lots of it.

i liked making potions, it was a fun hobby. and clearly i had gotten slughorn's attention- seeing as he started to invite me to his parties back in fifth year.

the first night i went - people were surprised- sure i was a slytherin, but they didn't consider me one of them.

my blood wasn't cold enough to be a snake - to them my blood wasn't even right.

it didn't deter me from having a good time at those silly little gatherings, the holiday ones were my favorite.

you were always there but didn't pay me any mind, and it was the same vise versa.

i knew who you were but i didn't care, why concern myself with someone who wouldn't bat an eye as slurs were thrown my way?

of course if slughorn was near, you'd intervene.

tom riddle, golden boy.

i knew you were gilded.

after i started watching you - really watching - it was like seeing two people. your eyes wouldn't match your words and your words wouldn't match your meanings and in a circle again - your smile wouldn't match your eyes.

every now and again - only at night and in the protection of shadows and ink - did i see your surface ripple, revealing something more - something sinful.

you grabbed my attention, not many people do that.

it takes one devil to lure another, you know.

you didn't know me, tom riddle, but i'm sure you're going to be enlightened by what you find.

i'm allowing it - existence so far has bored me, why not shuffle the deck and let in room for spontaneity?

the cards were being drawn as i walked to my next class, my books clutched to my chest and the late summer breeze wafting through my hair and teasing the hem of my skirt.

and then your shoes - like everything else about you, tom - made a sharp sound as you fell into step next to me.

good afternoon, berkley.

it is a good after noon, isn't it? i chided back, lost in my faux whimsical charm. your presence was pressing down on me from every angle but i pretended to ignore it.

you seem chipper.

am i?

you gave me a sideways glance, but still held your ever blooming boyish charm. you knew i was lying.

it was exciting.

most people don't even bat an eye at me if i let a sin slip, they usually don't see me, and if they do i'm just another body passing by or muttering something.

what class do you have next?

why do you want to know?

i'm curious.

no you're not.

no, really - you lightly took hold of my arm, though with the fleeting pressure you applied it was vice like.

i stare up at you - you do so back - ink fighting ink and i wonder if i look too long - will the bottle spill over? what else would it stain?

but i shake my head, i have divinations.

you laugh - not so much of an actual laugh, more of an amused cough - my eyes narrow - problem?

sorry, i just would've assumed someone of your... rapport would be taking different courses.

my rapport? do you know my grades?

i do, considering you're not in any other n.e.w.t classes. but besides the point, i'd think a girl like yourself would take something more useful.

who says divination isn't useful? what, you? what validity does your judgment have?

i watch your jaw tick for a moment and you look like you have an itch to say something, but you don't.

what class do you have next? i say, trying not to smile but ultimately fail, letting the sharp grin cut at my lips.

you tilt your head in mock virtue - i feel if tom riddle were to ever be humble the world would end - and you say, advanced arithmancy.

of course you do.

your grin mimicked mine - that's all you do, isn't it? mimic. your words are never your own - you tell people what they want to hear. your expressions definitely aren't - you paint yourself new with each person.

you begin to back away, walking backwards with your hands in your pockets, the wind ruffling your hair in an almost romantic way - see you around, berkley.

the phrase was oddly casual, even for you.

you almost made it sound like we were friends - a step away from strangers.

i don't answer you - you don't notice - already turned and striding your way down the hall - the movement caught in the way your broad shoulders swayed with your walk.

i bite my lip - tugging - digging - ripping - metal coats my tongue and i sigh.

bad habit.