Tom Riddle x OC | Professor Riddle | muggle x wizard politics | suffragette themes | feminism | cults | dark academia
"You would become the wretchedest of women."
"Then let it be."
- Euripides
They say that witches should steer clear of muggle aff...
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∘₊✧──────✧₊∘ September 1, 1950 Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Scotland ∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
It was on rare occasion that Tom Riddle felt himself anticipating the type of satisfaction that was about to be had. Around him, the Great Hall of Hogwarts buzzed with life, vibrant and pulsating with the energy of the countless who inhabited it. The flickering torches lining the walls cast dancing shadows across the expanse of the room, and long, wooden house tables stretched the length of the space. The chatter of the students — his students now — filled the air, a cacophony of voices blending in a symphony of youthful exuberance, and Tom's gaze swept over them shrewdly, noting every mannerism and idiosyncrasy there was to be observed by his keen eye. He was already mentally categorizing them, and such was his habit, although this was the first time he had the privilege of being at the staff table while he did it.
Despite the animated discussions around him, Tom's attention remained fixed Professor Dippet as he waited for the headmaster to make the announcement that would solidify his newfound position. It was much too soon for that, however, as the last of the stragglers were still trickling into the hall. He watched them too, with veiled disdain as they huddled together, their animated conversations punctuated by bursts of laughter, casually dragging their friends along as if they had all the time in the world. There were duos too, separating the moment they crossed the threshold, tugging at their ties and adjusting their robes, their fleeting companionship dissipating like smoke in the wind.
Dawdling fools.
A solitary figure slipped through the grand doors just moments before they closed, and Tom made his observations of what he hoped would be the last person to disrupt the proceedings. A brunette girl, older than the rest, a seventh year then perhaps, although not one with any respect or dignity for the establishment as she had chosen to forgo her uniform altogether. The students of Hogwarts were getting bolder, it would appear.
Beside him, Professor Slughorn prattled on with characteristic good humour, his round face flushed with the warmth of good spirits. Tom had tuned out the older man's ramblings, his mind preoccupied with more pressing matters, but he made a point of flashing him a charming smile and a polite nod whenever the man glanced his way. It wouldn't do to offend the Potions Master, especially not when he might prove useful in the future.
As he finally refocused his attention on the conversation at hand, he caught the tail end of Slughorn's words, the man's booming voice laced with genuine warmth.
"And it's truly wonderful to have you back, Tom," he was saying, his eyes twinkling. "We've missed your intellect and talent around these halls."
A ghost of a smile tugged at Tom's lips, his expression carefully neutral as he nodded in acknowledgment of the compliment. He had long since grown accustomed to such praise, but it still pleased him to hear it nonetheless. After all, flattery was a potent tool, one that could be wielded with deadly precision when used correctly.
