RIDDLE. DISCONTINUED

➹ chapter forty six

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A DAY turned into a week, one that stretched infinitely, dragging every inch of doubt and worry along with it. Even though she did not utter it, his name seemed to be in every smudge of ink from her quill, every rushed whisper in the hallway, every gush of October wind. It was a kind of torture that crept under her skin and clouded her thoughts.

The aching hadn't reached her until the first day she saw him in class - his hooded eyes, his slower pace. He came prepared with an excuse, claiming that he was only sick, but she had seen him sick before; he was not one to show weakness. 

Hence, that week felt much like a deadlock. Her every step was calculated, gaze only briefly drifting to him, and not once did hers raise to meet his icy blue stare. There was much more than her pride in play.

It was not only the fact that she was bitter over the entire mess with Damien, or that she was slowly becoming more aware of the role her influence played in keeping the Wizarding World safe. Instead, the justification behind her persistence was simple- it was all an attempt to see just how much he needed her in his life, how long he could withstand without being with her. 

For everyone else, it might seem like a petty act of someone unconfident in their worth, but anyone that knew even a small fraction of their relationship would find it completely understandable. 

Of course, her lack of contact with the star boy stirred some suspicion in her colleagues. They were used to seeing Merope stride along the halls with Riddle, their secret conversations between pillars, the asserting nods and glances during classes. 

Even though she didn't hear a word from the sixth year Slytherins, who seemed to be avoiding her as much as their leader, there were two people that showed interest in her actions. Samaira and Aurora, who didn't leave her side.

While the Gryffindor remained silent and patient, Aurora, on the other hand, couldn't stop herself from questioning her house mate. Whether it was a 'have you talked to Tom lately?' or 'you seem distant', she was bombarded with questions daily, and her answer was consistent. 

"I'm just busy," she had repeated on the seventh day. Unlike usual, the library was empty apart from the three girls at a far end table, scribbling with long quills on large pieces of yellowish parchment. 

It was a calm afternoon. Inside the castle, most students seemed to have chosen the quietness of their common rooms, leaving only a few to wander the stairs and the halls. Outside - as Merope thoughtfully observed through the closed window - there was no wind, just plain cold. Some tall guys, shivering in scarlet flimsy sport's equipment took long strides towards the Quidditch stadium, igniting in her a sense of admiration towards the team. Trust the Gryffindors to keep practicing on such days. 

"Merope." Samaira's voice snapped her back to reality. 

She hummed in response, her eyes wavering from the window to the girl in front of her, who seemed slightly panicked. Furrowing her eyebrows, she edged her to continue. Instead of replying directly, her head tilted forward as she mouthed 'behind you'.

Slowly, Merope turned around in her chair. Her quill fell back on the table, leaving a small smudge of black ink that dripped from its tip. Tom had walked inside, completely by himself for the first time since they last spoke. He was making his way to her, every step emanating a confidence that he had lacked in the past few days. 

The dark circles were gone. He no longer appeared as if he was sick, instead, he seemed to have recovered to a degree that didn't even quite match to how he was before. Maybe it was just the fact that she had avoided his gaze for so long, but in her eyes, he seemed even more handsome.