Means To An End || Tom Riddle Story

Five

Surprisingly to Cosette, conversation between her and Tom flowed effortlessly. She tried to keep reminding herself not to get too close to him, even though in her heart, she wanted to believe him to be something he is not. Her mind and her heart were silently battling to determine what was right, versus what felt right.

She learned a lot about Tom Riddle. He did not open up easily, but Cosette found that her easy going personality helped pry bits and pieces of information from him, even if he didn't realize it himself.

Tom had valued his days at Hogwarts the most, that much was easy to gather. She studied him closely as he reminisced on his days as a student. He was brilliant. His mind worked differently than most people, which prompted her next question.

"So why did Hogwarts' most prized student obtain a job at a shop such a Borgin and Burkes?" she asked, before taking another sip of her third glass of champagne. "Surely you had many other reputable options."

"Many," he answered simply as he also nursed his third drink, "however, I much prefer the comfort and silence that the shop offers. I could not imagine sitting behind a desk five days a week fetching tea and making copies as a mere secretary. No, I knew my ambitions were much greater than that."

"The money would have been good though," she countered. "Surely that would be a good reason to pursue a particular career."

"Money is of no importance to me," he brooded.

She raised her eyebrows. "Really?" she asked. She would have assumed someone as arrogant as Tom Riddle would have been money hungry.

"What use is money without a respectable title?" asked Tom.

"And you have a respectable title at Borgin and Burkes?"

He smirked. "I can get away with anything I want to at Borgin and Burkes," he finally responded. "I don't have anyone looking over my shoulder or watching every move I make. I quite like my privacy, Miss Travers."

"Privacy is a luxury," she said, bringing her glass to her lips.

Tom quirked his eyebrows. "You believe so?"

"That's what my father always said at least," she replied, "growing up with three brothers, there was no such thing as privacy."

"Sounds awful," quipped Tom in disgust, "I'd sooner hang myself than constantly be in the presence of family."

She chuckled, thinking he was making a joke. "What about your family?"

He avoided her gaze, glancing down at the stone ring sitting on his pinky finger. His expression was suddenly stern, and Cosette realized she may have overstepped – something she had been carefully trying to avoid. She vaguely remembered how put out he looked after she had mentioned his surname being of Muggle descent. She sipped her champagne, trying to focus on something else other than the awkward silence.

"I have no family," he finally responded. "I was raised in a Muggle orphanage."

"Oh Tom," she said, "I'm so sorry. I had no idea."

He brushed her off. "It is nothing for you to apologize for. It is not your fault. Besides, it is in the past and I do not wish to discuss it further."

She watched as he sipped on his Firewhiskey. The atmosphere inside the pub was growing increasingly rambunctious. Young witches and wizards were piling in as the night grew on, and Cosette was beginning to feel slightly out of place. She glanced down at her wrist watch and was shocked to discover that she had been with Tom for nearly three hours.