Extra Ordinary (Riddle Era)

Chapter 31

It was late the next time Tom saw Steele and the occurrence was strange in several ways. Firstly because he had expected to see her earlier. She had said she would join him for dinner that evening, but she hadn't showed. Olive's self-satisfied smirk might have said all Tom needed to know about why except that this was Lucy Steele. And Tom had a hard time believing that anything anyone said could ever send her running. Really, Tom wasn't sure anything at all could send Steele running. She was, after all, and above all, steady, a trait he might have found admirable were it not quite so infuriating.

The second way her appearance there in the library was strange was simply the hour. Steele had found him more than once late at night, of course, but these instances weren't common. Steele, it seemed, went to bed at the mythical "reasonable hour" their professors kept telling them about. Tom did not. Any time past 10pm, Tom had learned, was time Steele was more likely to be in bed than anywhere else and he had never had cause to complain about it. It was, actually, rather nice to have hours of the day when he could be reasonably certain she wouldn't bother him. But reasonably certain was, as she was making very clear right now, not truly certain and Tom might have been more annoyed by this fact than he honestly was were it not for the third way that the moment was strange.

Because the third way the moment was strange was in the way Steele's steps faltered when she met his gaze, the way something strangely unsteady tripped across her expression. The way it settled into that last and strangest thing: the look on her face. And Tom didn't like that look, in part because he didn't immediately recognize it, which meant whatever mood she was in that had brought her to the library at this ungodly hour was not one he had seen before. And in part because it was late and he was tired and generally in no mood at all to deal with her or anything she had to say.

The tired part, at least, wasn't exactly specific to her expression, of course. In fact, it wasn't particularly abnormal at all, especially given the time. But the rest... well. The easy way to put it was that whatever relationship existed between Steele and Tom, was complicated. He couldn't, after all, have honestly said that he ever really wanted to listen to Steele's strange turns of phrase and jolting insights she had no right at all to have. And he certainly couldn't say that he was looking forward to learning what new annoyance and conniving this particular expression brought with it.

But he also couldn't have honestly said that he wanted to avoid those strange moments altogether. Or more accurately, he couldn't honestly say that he wanted to avoid her altogether. Because Steele was aggravating and dangerous and a whole host of other, unpleasant things, but she was also refreshing. Those moments were, in their own strange, terrifying way, refreshing.

Because when Steele looked at him, it felt like the layers had been stripped back, like all his masks and lies and careful deceptions disappeared beneath that steady brown stare. And it was uncomfortable. It was almost terrifying, that feeling of being bare that jolted into him whenever she gave him that particular, studying look. But that look was never followed by judgement. It was never followed by scorn. Or pity. It was usually just followed by a single, matter of fact sentence that was, above all else, true. And somehow, or at least, sometimes, that felt something like liberating.

Of course, he tried not to think about that too much. Because that was exactly what Steele wanted him to think, to feel. And he wasn't going to give her what she wanted. He refused. She was clever and cunning but he was more so. He was Tom Riddle. No one outmatched him.

He had to remind himself of that now, however. Because that look was filling him with a sort of shadowy dread that he didn't at all enjoy.

"Lucy," he greeted as lightly as he could, folding his hands over the papers of the table so as to obscure their contents without being overly obvious about his intentions. He even smiled at her, hoping to distract her, hoping to brighten whatever strange darkness lingered on her face if only so it wouldn't direct itself at him.