butterfly effect, tom riddle

39. | past

Life was...surprisingly great.

The sun was shining brightly over the castle, enveloping us all in a warm embrace. Our O.W.L.s were completed and everyone was in a relaxed, joyous mood—especially the fifth years. Some people had even went as far as to burn their spellbooks as a way to celebrate the conclusion of their exams—which I found to be rather stupid, but decided to keep my opinions to myself.

Tom and I had been getting much closer. We trusted each other; or he trusted me and I pretended to trust him. We spent most of our time together; switching from topic to topic, sharing opinions, studying (even though there was no need to), bickering. I had to admit—as much as I detested Tom, I enjoyed our intellectual conversations together. He was a rather interesting companion.

In fact, I enjoyed our conversations so much that there were times when I genuinely craved his presence. Not because I liked him, but because despite some of our disagreements, we shared a lot of opinions and I truly enjoyed our small debates. He was actually my favorite source of entertainment here.

One day—in the evening, after our classes had finished, I had been strolling through the castle grounds, hoping to find Tom. Despite the fact that we hadn't put a definite label to our relationship (or even discussed it), I had started to see him as my boyfriend in my mind. We had kissed a couple of times after my birthday, and I could tell Tom liked my presence, so it was safe to assume that we were—sort of—dating.

I trudged downstairs to the Slytherin common room (I couldn't find him anywhere else), thinking I was probably just going to invite him for a game of chess.

"Salazar," I uttered the password as I stood in front of the grey stone wall, waiting quite impatiently for it to split apart and let me in.

I entered the common room to see that it was abnormally crowded. The majority of Slytherin house seemed to be surrounding something—or someone—and I could hear a girl crying.

I approached the crowd, my brows knitted in perplexity. Pushing through a couple of second year girls, I finally saw what all the commotion was about: a fourth year girl was seated on one of the couches, sobbing her little blue eyes out.

"What's going on?" I asked an older girl who had her arm wrapped around the fourth year girl.

"Myrtle Warren was found dead in the girls' bathroom," the girl elaborated gravely. "Olive was the one who found her."

"I never expected to find her dead," Olive sobbed, blowing her nose out on a napkin. "I—I—"

"It's okay, Olive," the girl comforted. "Calm down."

I blinked, my brain trying to register this baffling new piece of information. Myrtle Warren—that name sounded strangely familiar. Myrtle Warren...

My eyes widened as it suddenly dawned on me: Myrtle Warren—in other words, Moaning Myrtle.

I looked around in panic for any sign of Tom, but he was nowhere to be seen. The common room was extremely crowded—I think the entirety of Slytherin house was in it—but Tom was absent.

Suddenly, my eyes locked onto a pair of dark cocoa ones, and I felt slightly relieved—maybe Maverick would know where he was.

"Maverick!" I called, rushing up to the sandy-haired boy as if my life depended on it.

"Hey, Vivid," Maverick greeted, his brows furrowed in concern. "What's wrong?"

"Have you seen Tom?" I asked worriedly, picking on my nail absent-mindedly. "I can't seem to find him anywhere."

"Oh, he's with the other Prefects," Maverick explained. "They're trying to get everyone back in their common room, after that girl died."

I calmed down, but only slightly. "The girl—was it...the Heir of Slytherin?"