the flower dancer // quirrellmort

8 • fresh poison

The corridor was packed with students flying every which way, crashing into each other and throwing back muffled half-hearted apologies. This coupled with the common fatigue of a Monday morning made the chances of head-on collision even greater.  One could have felt bad for the younger students whenever the hallways looked like this just before a lesson began, but the thought never crossed Tom Riddle's distracted mind.  He simply shoved passed anyone and everyone, completely immersed in the thick book his nose was currently stuck in.

Tom was just shy of Potions beginning, but he strolled into the dungeon classroom as if the concept of time didn't exist.  Still glued to the words, he didn't look up as he sat down in his regular seat.  It was a wonder that he even showed up to the right room, for he hadn't removed his eyes from the pages since he left breakfast that morning.

"Good morning," a mildly annoyed voice said next to him, and Tom remembered where he was.  Potions.  Quirrell.

"Hi," he said without effort, deciding Quirrell should be lucky he responded at all.

"It's time to stop reading restricted section bile and start brewing a potion," Quirrell said icily, and Tom was surprised. 

"This one's not from the restricted section genius," he shot back, shutting the book.  "And don't waste your breath already.  I was going to help."

Quirrell rolled his eyes when Tom finally looked at him.  "Uh huh," he mumbled, staring to gather ingredients.  "You could get off your ass and help with this then, if you're being such an angel today."

"Did you fall out of bed this morning?" Tom asked, thoroughly amused that Quirrell was already angry with him. 

"No," Quirrell said defiantly.  "But I did fall down some dorm stairs.  Wonder how that seems to happen every single day... it's almost as if I'm pushed."

Tom snorted.  "I don't know the shit that happens in the Ravenclaw dorms, Quirnius.  Don't complain to me." He went to collect their cauldron.  "I have to wonder if it's deserved."

"If what's deserved?" Quirrell asked, sounding horrified.  "If you're talking about me getting pushed down the stairs..." He trailed off seemingly in a rage.

Tom shrugged.  "You are annoying."

Quirrell's eyes blazed.  "Someone should shove you down some stairs, Riddle." 

"You should see what would happen to them if they did," Tom said quietly.  "No one would harm me. Not unless they're phenomenally stupid.  And anyway, you need to calm the fuck down for a Monday morning."

Quirrell didn't say anything for a while.  Instead the two worked in a tense silence.  Tom was fine with this; he could almost forget who was next to him.  Almost.  Until Quirrell suddenly broke it.  "Fresh poison every day," he muttered.

"What?"

Quirrell turned to him.  "You," he said pointedly.

Tom furrowed his eyebrows.  "Okay?"

"That's all you put into the world," Quirrell said slowly.  "Poison."

Tom chuckled.  "Should I not?"

Quirrell continued to stare.  "I wouldn't."

"I'm not you, Quirinus.  I thought that much was clear."

"Okay fine," Quirrell said dejectedly, going back to his work.  "It's... don't you ever get exhausted?"

Now Tom was confused.  "Of what?"

"Of being horrible." 

"Don't you ever get tired of asking me questions?" he countered.

Quirrell looked at him again.  "Answering my question with a question... got it."

Tom stopped a smile on his lips.  "A question about asking questions nonetheless."

Quirrell's gaze was beginning to worry him slightly.  "That could have been a bit funny if you weren't such a dick," he said after a moment.  "You could be lighthearted if you try.  You're not so different."

"Really," Tom replied unenthusiastically.  "Good to know." He really didn't care if Quirrell wanted him to be nicer.  Everyone walked all over Quirrell all the time, so why should Tom treat him any differently?

"Have you ever seen a sunset?"

Tom thought this was an extremely odd and random question.  "I've come across them before, if that's what you mean."

Quirrell shook his head.  "No, I mean really watch them until the sky turns dark."

"Then no."

Tom didn't have to look at him to know there was a look of utter shock plastered across his face.  He wasn't pleased with this change in mood.  "Never?"

Tom shrugged.  "I watched sunrises on the beach when I was 13," he offered.

He was almost amused at the the clear horror in Quirrell's voice.  "That's it? In your whole life?"

"What's so great about sunsets?" Tom asked, bored.  "The sky's orange, so what?"

He knew Quirrell was gawking.  Tom had to suppress an amused smile. "It's so much more than just the sky being orange!" Quirrell exclaimed, practically throwing a leech across the room.  "There's so many colors.  A lot of the time, it's pink, and because the sky is blue, it looks like cotton candy! And when the pink and the blue collide, it turns purple!"

Tom hated to admit that he was mildly interested.  "Wow," he said in a sarcastic tone, looking to be uncooperative.

"I need to force you to watch a sunset," Quirrell mumbled bitterly. 

Tom laughed, turning to him.  "I seriously don't think you could make me do anything. Let alone something outside of this classroom." 

"Maybe," Quirrell said, crossing his arms.

"So is that your love language?" Tom asked annoyingly. "Sunsets?" 

Quirrell didn't answer.  Tom realized that he really hadn't properly looked at the other boy before.  He had only known things about Quirrell from afar: he was very thin and usually moved awkwardly.  His hair was a normal brown and was cut in a very normal way.  He pushed his bangs to the side a lot, but they weren't long enough to fit behind his ear and often fell immediately back into his eyes.  That was something new Tom noted. 

He also noted that Quirrell's eyes were brown like his hair, and they were exceptionally bright for someone who must have been ridiculed by everyone in sight.  Tom almost saw this as a challenge, but dropped the thought.  He didn't know why, but it seemed too cruel, even for someone like Quirrell.

"You're staring at me," Quirrell said suddenly, and the brown eyes narrowed. 

Tom's gaze automatically flickered away from him.  "No.  I was lost in thought."

Silence threatened to take over before Quirrell asked, "So you went to the beach when you were 13?"

Tom kept his eyes down.  "Yeah.  For 6 weeks."  He was going to leave out the detail that Dumbledore took him.

"Where?"

"In Florida.  Miramar Beach."  He didn't know why he kept entertaining Quirrell's rampant questioning.

"You must have cool parents," Quirrell said after a bit.

Tom's lip twitched.  "I guess." 

He could hear Quirrell dropping things into the potion as he continued.  "The longest trip I've been on was only like 2 weeks.  My parents really splurged on that one.  It was when we went to Disney World.  Have you been there?"

Tom nodded.  "A couple times.  But I like Disneyland better because it's smaller."

"Geez, you've had a way more exciting life than mine," Quirrell laughed. 

Tom didn't know what to make of this comment.  He hardly thought his orphaned life could be better than anyone else's.  "Guess it's 'cause I'm richer than you," he lied, putting on a smirk.

"My point stands," Quirrell sighed.  He went back to his work, saying nothing more until the class ended. 

Tom couldn't figure out why his stomach suddenly felt empty.