Faltering Facade - Tom Riddle

II - What About Myrtle?

She lied.

Marlowe apparently did have enough time to think about Tom Riddle.

It was only her first day of classes, and she was already watching him like a hawk-more than she ever had before, anyway.

She watched his smooth face in the classes they shared together as he focused on his spell work and listened intently to his professors. She glanced at him during lunch, and during their breaks. He would catch her eye as they passed each other in the corridors. And for the few classes they didn't have together, she even took mental note of possible classes he could be heading to. In conclusion, if he was there, her eyes and mind were intertwined with him.

Technically creepy? Maybe. But in truth, she was just trying to dissect him-because that was obviously so much better-would really put the man at ease if he knew.

Tom Riddle is an already interesting man. And apparently, for Marlowe at least, being a Head alongside him was all it took for him to become just that much more interesting.

Marlowe takes her head out of the Transfiguration book that rests on the wooden table in front of her, and she glances over at Tom.

Shocker.

He sits by himself at one of the tables situated in the front row, similarly to Marlowe, who's seated at the table directly to his left. His dark brows are furrowed slightly as he focuses intently on the book in front of him, his slender finger lightly tracing the pages.

Growing up alongside Tom Riddle, she too was at first enamored by his charm and his looks. She was captivated by the way he held himself-by the seemingly kind but reserved way he would act when amongst his professors and peers. His small smiles-his success that he made seem almost effortless. . .

. . . She was enamored until she started to see through him. Until she would watch his smirks as they turned into something much colder when no one was watching. When she would see him-lingering in the shadows-all alone. When she would see him sneaking out of the castle, even, late at night.

He became something of a book to Marlowe; a book with long and excruciatingly difficult words to read. He was a book with multiple complicated plots-a prequel and a sequel, even.

But that made him all the more interesting to the girl. And when she really thinks about, she is enamored with him in a way-just a way that was different from everyone else.

Merlin did Marlowe have so many questions. They had been collecting in her mind all day, and even now, in their last class. Why the front? Was it really a front, or was she just overthinking? Why was he so good at upholding his front? Why did no one else seemingly notice that there was something more to his charm? How did he feel about the fact that Marlowe is a Head with him? Was he embarrassed? Does he feel like she didn't deserve it? Does he even know she exists? The questions truly do go on.

Marlowe shakes her head lightly of her thoughts, and attempts to redirect her attention back to her reading.

"-I don't know, it's just kind of weird, don't you think?" A voice whispers from the desk behind her. The clearly secret talking prompts Marlowe to lift her head up, straining her neck slightly to try and hear the conversation better.

"How could she possibly have died from a spider? There definitely would have been like, wounds, or blood, I would think. . . no?" The voice continues almost apprehensively. Marlowe knows immediately that they are talking about Mrytle Warren-who is more commonly known now amongst students as Moaning Mrytle.

Marlowe remembers very clearly. Mrytle was unfortunately announced dead at the end of last year-apparently at the mercy of some giant spider that a third year named 'Hagrid' was keeping in the castle as a pet. What she found strange at the time of Mrytles funeral, though, was that there were no wounds or signs of distress on her body.