Mine || Tom Riddle

Chapter Three

Over the weeks leaving fall behind, Tom found himself falling into a routine. In the mornings he spent time with the other Slytherin boys, who were now starting to follow him. It was slightly annoying at times, but at the same time he liked the power he held over them. In class, he would watch you with the other girls, and took note on how you mostly conversed with Zara.

The afternoons were his favorite part of his day. That was when you were his. Of course, you didn't really know that, but it was clear to him. After potions (which he noticed you were starting to try at more) you would join him at dinner, making conversation with his group, and Zara, of course. Then there was the hour spent in the library, everyday.

You had taken to sitting, not on the other side of the table, but right next to him. When you worked with him on potions you would reach across him and point to things in his book and on his parchment. Eventually, you started taking out not just potions, but transfiguration (which you were amazing at) and Defense Against the Dark Arts (which you were miserable at, but he loved when you asked for his help).

As he watched you work he noticed how you always signed your parchment, whether it was an essay or even just notes. In loopy penmanship you always wrote I.C. Alexandrov. The scrawled signature was everywhere, in margins, on his papers (which he scolded you for but secretly treasured), on library books.

On a particularly cold November day he finally decided to ask about the C. "Alex," he had started using that infernal nickname, for now, "What does the C stand for, in your signature."

You looked up from your charm's essay. "Cosette. It was my grandmother's name on my mother's side. She died exactly a year before I was born. My mother thought it was suiting."

His curiosity got the better of him once again. "How did she die?" You didn't seem annoyed or perturbed by the question. You twirled a piece of hair, with your quill tucked behind your ear. For the first time he noticed the stunning beauty you had, something he realized, that you tried to hide.

"She was killed in a raid by the Bulgarian Ministry." This befuddled him completely. He knew you were raised in Russia. Cosette was a French name. Before he could ask, you began to elaborate. "Her," you paused, searching for a word, "family was technically Bulgarian, in a way, but she was born in France, her parents wanted her to fit in. It sort of backfired, because they moved to Russia when she was still a child."

He wondered how the Bulgarian ministry could operate in Russia without consequences, but shook it off. The important part was you had given this information. You had volunteered the information, with little prodding from him. "What about you? Your middle name, I mean. Or is it just Tom Riddle?"

He thought your tone sounded a bit mocking. He wished he could grab you, hurt you, not a lot, but enough to show you that he was in charge. You never seemed to understand that. He resisted. One day he would be able to show you, once you were too invested to stay away. "Marvolo. Tom Marvolo Riddle. Funny enough, I was named for my father, Tom Riddle, and my grandfather, Marvolo. That's what my mother said, at least according to Mrs. Cole."

You looked up at him, noting this. He never really shared much, similar to you. He would say that you saw him as a friend at this point. "Gaunt." His eyes shot up to look at her.

"What did you say." But you were staring back at him, reflecting the same look of confusion he was sure he had on his own face.

"I don't know. It just popped into my head." As strange as it was, he found himself believing you, and watched as you turned back to your Charms, as if nothing had happened.

A few minutes later he excused himself to go look for a book. You nodded as he stood, not looking up as you wrote. He walked to the section filled with old newspapers. You were born on January 2nd 1927. He remembered loving that your birthday was so close to his. He looked at the international section, a year before. He grabbed both the Russian and Bulgarian papers, and shoved them in his bag.