Mimicry ★ T.M.R/Reader ★

☾⭒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟑⭒☽

And then a memory so clear that it's ridiculous that it wasn't your very first thought, Riddle holding a little phial of vivid yellow liquid in Potions class hours before your potion had exploded, a phial of –

"Smoke Serpent Venom," you breathe, staring at Riddle.

"I beg your pardon?" Hickory asks lightly.

Smoke Serpent Venom combusts upon contact with Phoenix Orchids.

But who would believe it?

Who would suspect the attentive, concerned, sweet Riddle who hadn't left your side since your accident? Who would even bother to look further into a dangerous experimental potions assignment that was bound to have disastrous consequences? And even if they did, who would believe that it was Riddle who'd tampered with your cauldron when every pair in Potions class had been handed the same collection of ingredients?

You wrench your eyes off his face, too calm, too serene, too beautiful for the ugly realisations of what he'd done just to win, just to take something you wanted from you. By the time you're done with Hickory's checks and charms (and swallowed a series phials of increasingly disgusting medical philtres), you're finally ready to go.

"Would you like to talk to him?" Hickory asks with a poorly concealed sly smile as she helps you from your bed. "Shall I wake hi-?"

"No," you say immediately, eyes darting to her in panic.

Her brows raise and she blinks at you, bemused.

"No," you say more casually, trying to recover as you glance back at Riddle, still asleep in his chair. "We should leave him, he looks tired. I can thank him tomorrow."

"Alright, well," Hickory says slowly, eyeing you, "do come back if you feel anything out of the ordinary, won't you?"

"I will," you say firmly, turning away from the boy behind you and forcing yourself not to run for the door.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

"Didn't blow yourself to pieces then?" Thomas says cheerfully when you take a seat at breakfast the next day.

"Not this time," you deadpan, seizing a silver pot of coffee. "But I found out something about Riddle."

"Oh?" Darcey arches a brow, leaning forward on her elbows.

When you explain your theory to them, neither look remotely convinced.

"Do you hear yourself?" Thomas asks archly, "you sound completely paranoid."

"That's how he gets away with it," you say acidly, taking a moody sip of coffee. "His perfect little persona that you'd have to be crazy and paranoid to suspect. He's got the whole school under his thumb..."

"Don't you think it's more likely one of those horrible boys did something to your potion?" Darcey asks pensively, glancing over at Riddle's lackeys who were at that moment, loudly laughing at a second-year boy who had accidentally knocked over his drink and saturated his lap with pumpkin juice.

"Yeah, yeah, sure, it was probably one of his awful minions who everyone knows is a group of ghoulish bullies," you mumble, "who would ever suspect perfect little Riddle when he's standing next to a bunch of such obviously horrible –"

"Good morning."

You just about fling your coffee across the table. "Riddle," you say quickly, heart hammering.

Riddle arches a brow but deigns not to comment. He looks significantly more put together than when you'd seen him last, standing before you returned to his pristine self, all clean edges and quiet diligence. "How are you feeling?" he asks very politely, looking appropriately concerned.