Masquerade- Tom Riddle Fanfiction

Etching Frost

"Did you tell the Supreme Leader?" I asked.

"She doesn't want to hear it," he said flatly, "the last thing the rebels need is a morale downfall."

I scrunched my eyebrows in distaste. "We just have to be careful."

He raised one eyebrow. "There is a 'we' now?"

"I meant we as in the French' oui.' As in 'yes,' I don't care about your pathetic fantasies, Rogers," I replied coolly.

He cracked a wry smile, before looking towards the doorway. Tom Riddle had left, the door slamming somewhat forcefully. I instantly knew what he meant. He wanted me to follow him; just at a later time so that no one would suspect. I suppressed a shiver. He would undoubtedly use other means to get me to comply, and I couldn't risk him hurting anyone else.

"You should go," Rogers said, releasing me, "just think about what I said." I nodded, preparing to leave, but Rogers grabbed my hand, his eyes glittering mischievously. "And don't worry so much, Robins," he smirked, "if I am right, and that is a probably, Tommy boy can't hurt you as long as he lives."

I just rolled my eyes. "Okay, dream whatever romance you want in your mind, Davies. Go and tell it to someone who actually cares."

"Oh, I will, darling," he winked, "have a fun time."

Gathering my coat, I headed out the door, shutting it behind me with a glance.

Might as well die now.

*****

I thought about Rogers. Was everything just a plot with him? The vengeance was undeniable in his eyes, it couldn't be questioned. It reflected mine.

I knew where Tom Riddle was-- I knew how his mind worked. Walking up towards the Astronomy Tower, where we had talked last night, I saw the familiar silhouette, his hands folded primly behind him. His form was dark and imposing in the scattered stars of the night.

"Well," I crossed my arms, "what did you want to see me for?"

"Did you enjoy yourself at the party?" Tom asked, not even turning around, as his words lilted charmingly.

I stood my ground defiantly, ignoring the undercurrent of the threat. "What do you want?"

"You never answered the question," Tom turned around, his blue eyes glittering, "did you enjoy yourself?"

"Not particularly," I said boredly, picking at my nail, my sleeveless dress not providing much comfort.

"Of course you didn't," he murmured as he advanced towards me, one step at a time, leisurely, "but Rogers is a good dancer, isn't he?"

I looked up. Of course he knew. But he could never know the reason. I refuse to let him hear the truth, not when it would bring danger upon his head. "You sound like you speak from experience," I said smoothly, "I didn't know you and Rogers were such good pals."

"You two seemed quite companionable towards each other," Tom commented, stepping closer so that we were barely an inch away. The proximity was unnerving, begging me to close the distance between us, but I restrained myself.

"You are jealous, aren't you?" I asked mockingly, feeling the power I had over his emotions, "mighty and emotionless Tom Riddle feels jealous? Well, I suppose jealousy is a step closer to love."