Parallel

8. Bread Crumbs

"Oh, my god," she muttered. "How could I have been so stupid?"

And why hadn't she reached for her wand as soon as she'd heard Riddle's voice? She'd been defenseless, her wand tucked safely in her pocket, and she'd had so long to reach for it between seeing Riddle and getting pushed into that alcove, and maybe she could have defended herself and stopped herself from getting pushed inside if she'd just been more vigilant.

CONSTANT VIGILANCE! came the bark of Alastor Moody's voice in her head, and she quickly pushed it away.

Eve knew she needed to get her mind off of it. She wasn't the type to hide from her problems, but in certain situations—like this—she just needed time to think and calm down, hence her staying in the dorm. She couldn't even imagine how she'd act if she came face-to-face with Riddle so soon at breakfast—probably melt right into the floor, or something.

I'll get out of bed first, she thought, and get ready. No use rotting in bed and thinking up worse-case scenarios. And then I think I'll read. Yeah, okay.

For the next hour or so, after she'd forced herself out of bed and mechanically gotten dressed and ready for the day, Eve busied herself with the spontaneous and mundane task of cleaning up the dorm. She knew house elves came in to do it regularly, but she needed something to occupy her mind and get it off all her swirling worries, and mindless cleaning usually did the trick.

So she made the beds, siphoned all the dust out of the rug on the floor, Scourgifyed every piece of furniture in the room, physically wiped at all the surfaces in the bathroom until they were nearly reflective, and meticulously scrubbed at the bathroom mirror until not one imperfection could be seen. Then, body and mind effectively exhausted, she retrieved The Great Gatsby from where she'd hidden it at the bottom of her trunk, collapsed onto her perfectly-made bed, cracked open the cover, and began to read.

It took her nearly three hours to finish the book from front to back. By the time she closed it, silently thanking F. Scott Fitzgerald for crafting such a masterpiece for the millionth time in her head, the clock by Sophie's nightstand displayed that the time was 11:42am, and the bright, reflective rays of the afternoon sunlight were slowly and steadily infiltrating the room through the window panes.

Eve groaned, reaching up to rub at her strained eyes.

Reading had done the trick—her worries were subdued in her head, now just distant whispers. It had been the right move to stay in the dorm, and although it had been slightly boring (she'd contemplated taking a small detour down to the common room for a change of environment, but she'd stepped through the dorm door, gotten scared of bumping into a stray Riddle in the common room, and stepped back in), the quiet time and lack of other people was just what she'd needed, and she felt much calmer and composed compared to when she'd first woken up.

But now lunch was about to start, and Eve knew she probably shouldn't skip that. She'd considered it, but she knew that that would only look more suspicious, and other people may start to wonder if something was wrong.

Plus, I can't avoid Riddle forever. She didn't doubt that he knew she was probably faking sickness to avoid him, and that irked her.

Maybe she'd been frazzled in the morning, but she was in a relatively calm headspace now. She'd internalized the two simple facts that she knew were true—Riddle had no proof of anything, and he couldn't do anything to her. As long as she stayed careful to make sure she didn't get cornered by him again and the alcove situation didn't get repeated, there was nothing truly dangerous she had to worry about.

Hopefully.

"He has no proof, and he can't do anything," she murmured to herself under her breath as she slung her book bag onto her shoulder and opened the door. She began trudging down the hallway towards the staircase. "He has no proof, and he can't do anything." She descended down the spiral stairs. "He has no proof, and he can't do anything." She crossed across the common room, gripping onto the strap of her book bag as she stepped through the common room door that she'd run through so fast last night. "He has no proof, and he can't do anything."