the flower dancer // quirrellmort

5 • friendless friends

The floor was colder and the laughter was louder.  This time, it was sprinkled with murmurs and names.  Tom Riddle.  Quirrell was paired with Tom Riddle.  He picked himself up quickly and went on with his morning.  The last thing he needed was to draw any more attention to himself. 

"Quirrell!"

He huffed at the familiar voice.  "Good morning, Gilderoy."

Gilderoy Lockhart was quite literally pushing his way through the mess of people in the common room to reach Quirrell, who was almost out the door.  "What was Tom Riddle like? When he was your partner in potions!"

Quirrell had the strong urge to roll his eyes, but he didn't want to be rude.  "He was just... a dick.  Nothing special."  Nothing special.  Then why can't you get him off your mind?

"Just a dick?" Gilderoy asked, eyeing him.  "In what way? Did he verbally berate you or did he cause you physical harm?"

Quirrell sighed.  "He left class early, okay? Didn't you see him?"

"I wasn't paying attention," Gilderoy shrugged.  "Goodness.  He ditched you, then?"

"Yes," Quirrell replied impatiently.  He did not want to talk about Tom Riddle.  He didn't want to think about him either, but it seemed his brain had other ideas.

Gilderoy's voice cut through the now sea of students that made up the corridor.  "So is he like... really creepy? Because he sort of seems creepy.  Or maybe just grumpy.  I heard he's evil.  I don't really believe it because I don't think anyone here is very evil.  But... did he seem evil?"

Does this guy ever stop talking? Quirrell already knew from ample experience that the answer was no.  At least today's subject wasn't literally Gilderoy himself like usual, but Quirrell very much would have preferred even that if it meant Tom Riddle could leave his senses. 

Then again, he would probably still think about him anyway.

~~

Tom was already in class by the time Quirrell arrived this time, and it was no surprise that his nose was yet again stuck inside a large book. 

As students entered the room, Slughorn told them to immediately resume their potions.  Quirrell sighed and dragged himself over to the reading boy.  Tom wasn't wearing his hood up today, so his face and messy hair were entirely visible.  Quirrell gently sat down his things in the space next to him, but as expected, Tom didn't stir. 

As he moved to collect various potion ingredients and tools from the side of the room, Quirrell snuck peaks back at Tom, who was slowly turning over a page.  His eyebrows furrowed slightly for a moment, as though he was reading something confusing.  Quirrell wondered if he'd actually remain in the room for the entire class this time.

"Hello," Quirrell began once he returned.  He cleared his throat.  "Are you going to do any work today?"

Tom shrugged.  "If I feel like it."

Assuming that he would get no answer, Quirrell was a little taken aback.  "Well I recommend it," he said, staring at Tom.  He found it was strangely difficult to keep his eyes off him.

Tom glanced up at him.  "I don't like being told what to do."

"Clearly." Quirrell laid out his utensils.  "You're an immature child."

"I take offense to that."

"Oh, do you?" Quirrell asked, turning to him.  "So, you take offense at my insult, but when you do it to me, it's fine?"

Tom shrugged again and said nothing. 

Quirrell narrowed his eyes and returned to his cauldron.  I hate him.  I really hate him.  He began to stir the lacewing flies he had dropped in during the previous lesson, making sure they were still stewing correctly.  I hate him so much.  Then, he started unwrapping his bicorn horn.  What an asshole.