the devil's redemption [tom r.]

22|| Grief.

"What do you want?" She sounded quite impatient, which she was. Tom didn't bother look up, flipping to the next page slowly.

He suddenly snapped his book shut, looking up straight into Rosalind's eyes. They sat there in silence for a few seconds, just studying each other's features carefully.

She could see his defined cheekbones, his slightly colored lips and the soft-looking curls that laid on his head. Looks could really be deceiving. His whole face just screamed cleverness and charm.

He wasn't –the devil– red and horns like she'd expected. He was much worse; he was cunning and handsome.

And as he watched her attentively, he noticed the soft look that always seemed to accompany her face; soft yet fierce at the same time. Her lips were red and soft-looking as usual, surprisingly tempting. Her green eyes held some sort of unexplainable intensity, so hard that even Tom could barely hold her gaze. They seemed to study and analyse everything about the person across from her, digging deep into his soul. Let alone her shiny mess of blondes, reaching all the way to her waist.

"Did you just call me here after all this time for a staring contest?" She decided to break the uncomfortable silence, cutting both of them out of their intense trance.

"I demand an explanation," Riddle drawled, tilting his head slightly to the left. His tone portrayed nothing but boredom and bluntness, as if he found that whole situation unamusing

"I have nothing to explain to you," Her loud voice caught the attention of a few students around them, including Willow. Her friend watched them carefully, skeptical of their notions.

"Don't cause a scene again, Bonaccord," The way Tom spat was too venomous and mean, making her purse her lips in anger.

"Alright, fine," Rosalind sighed, fiddling with her fingers above the table, while Tom just leaned back coolly in his seat.

"He really angered me, on purpose. I just lost my temper and paid him what he deserved," She explained uncomfortably, trying to busy herself with the loose thread of her jumper.

"I can't seem to understand you Rosalind," Tom murmured with a smirk, tucking his hands in his trousers' pockets. He tilted his head a little to the left, trying to analyse her actions – her posture.

"You never will." She slouched in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. Tom reopened his book, never really indicating if she should leave or just sit there and remain silent.

She glanced back to the table she was sat at with Willow, only to find it completely deserted. Her books and homework was tucked neatly in one corner for her to retrieve later. Willow must've gotten bored by herself and left to visit Oliver, most probably.

So she decided to get up, and walked towards her table. Rosalind carried her books all the way to Tom's table, placing them on the hard wood with a thud.

She ignored him, resuming her work on the Potions assignment. She had five more questions to go, and then she could move to writing the Charms essay.

They sat in silence, Tom reading his mysterious book and Rosalind finishing the assigned schoolwork.

Every few minutes, Tom's eyes would lift up from his book to watch her discreetly. She would be so concentrated that she wouldn't notice his firm gaze on her. What Tom wasn't aware of, however, was that every time he went back to reading his book, Rosalind would glance up just to make sure he's still sat there.

And well besides from their legs brushing slightly under the table, or their eyes crossing paths across the table numerous times, their evening went on dull and uneventful.

***

". .I am terribly sorry to inform you of the death of our dear student Myrtle Warren. Such an incredible student she was, her memory will be held dearly in our hearts." Dippet's voice was drowned out as Rosalind stared at her lap sadly.

Her vision was blurry as tears dripped onto her skirt. She tried to make herself less obvious, wiping her eyes and hiding behind the curtain of blonde hair. Willow rubbed her back comfortingly, although the redhead was teary-eyed as well.

Myrtle Warren, the thirteen year old Ravenclaw was found in the girl's lavatory that Sunday morning dead.

Rosalind couldn't stand how someone so innocent, so young, would be killed like that with the blink of an eye.

There was a hard lump in her throat and her lips quivered as she held back a sob. She sincerely hoped that she'd made a change in Myrtle's life, even if it was so small, just a little change. She hoped that the smile Myrtle'd flashed her last time outside Merrythought's office was genuine, she hoped that she actually made the third year Ravenclaw happy.

She hoped that her rambling in the lavatory that night actually made a difference, she hoped it sparked something in Myrtle's heart and made her feel worthy, worthy of living.

But what was the point now?

Her mind darted back to the words she'd said: 'Some day, someone will come along who would truly love you for who you are, regardless of your flaws and insecurities. Soon enough you'll look back to this memory and laugh at how you let those horrible people affect you.'

She pitifully laughed at this, through her tears. She laughed at how naïve she'd been, planting that hope in Myrtle's heart. The poor girl never lived to experience those things.

And meanwhile as Rosalind silently cried to herself in the Great Hall, Tom stared at her fixatedly. He watched her with furrowed eyebrows, confused as to why she cared so much about a petty third year. Confused as to why after he'd finally reached what he wanted, something was holding him back from fulfilling his goal.

And what he was unable to explain was that feeling that burned the pit of his stomach as he watched her cry.