Extra Ordinary (Riddle Era)

Chapter 24

Tom focused on keeping his steps steady and certain as he followed Steele from the Great Hall. This was a feat that was far harder than it should have been. Because of course, he was not at all certain that he should be here at all. It had been foolish to say anything to her in the first place, to even hint at the rage he could feel boiling beneath the surface of his skin, beating insistently against the inside of his skull. And if those words had been foolish, his agreement to leave the hall had been downright stupid. It implied agreement to have a conversation Tom did not want to have. A conversation he didn't want to admit he was slightly terrified of. But he was. Any conversation with Steele was reason to pause, but a conversation she had explicitly demanded be in "plain terms?" Well. That sounded like a disaster waiting to happen.

And it was not a disaster Tom should have let come this close.

The only possible explanation he could come up with for why he had was that he was distracted. He had been all night and he knew it. From the moment she had implied his ordinariness, Tom's mind had been elsewhere, hung up on a disgusting combination of memories and plans and rage that made his stomach turn. One moment he was being forcibly and painfully reminded what ordinary really looked like, the next he was trying to find a way to convince Steele he was anything but and immediately after he was swamped with a sensation of anger and hatred that made his blood burn. Until of course, he was reminded why he was angry with her in the first place and then his veins froze and the whole unfortunate process started over again.

Once the Slytherins had left, looking at least a little less resentful of Steele's presence than before - except of course for Olive, whose distaste, Tom supposed, couldn't possible have been eased by this encounter - Tom had been left with nothing on his mind except that seething rage. And Merlin, he had been seething. He wanted to scream at Steele. He wanted to shout and yell and demand answers. He wanted to hurt her in every way he knew how for her cruelty in those words. Her audacity in saying them for others to hear.. It had been an exercise in extreme self control not to start laying into her right then and there, but he'd known how that would look. It would lend credit to her words. It would make him seem irrational and emotional. In short, it would do more harm than the small good of satisfying that vicious rage.

Still, even knowing that, he hadn't been able to resist at least a few backhanded comments and of course she'd picked up on their meaning. Of course she'd known what he was really saying. Of course..

And then she'd suggested a proper talk, somewhere far from listening ears and all Tom's rage-addled brain had registered was an opportunity to wound her without even the chance of making a fool of himself. Where there would be no one else to bear witness and if Steele decided to try to make him look bad for it, it would be her word against his and really, what good was the word of a half invisible Hufflepuff nobody when compared to the polite, honorably, perfect Tom Riddle? Which meant that really, this was a chance to lay into her as much as he damn well pleased. And that chance was simply far too enticing not to take.

Of course, with every step down the hall, Tom had more time to think it through. To screw his head on straight and actually consider what he'd just agreed to. Which was why, with every step, Tom was becoming increasingly convinced this was a mistake and one he needed to remedy as fast as he possibly could.

All of which, he discovered, was much easier said than done, especially when Steele led him into an empty classroom, turned around and leveled him with what he thought was best described as a patently unimpressed stare, complete with arms crossed over her chest in a gesture that was as close to imperious as he thought he'd ever seen from her.

"Well?" she prompted when Tom didn't respond even after he'd taken his sweet time closing the door to the hall and turning around, surveying the neat lines of desks and the meticulously cleaned chalkboard behind Steele.