Her Dark Artifice [t.r]

Chapter 16: Wool's Orphanage

XVI
Wool's Orphanage

"WHY do you refuse to speak to the innkeeper?" Evadne asked.

It was uncustomary for Tom to be so uncouth, for he was usually amicable and well-mannered to everyone. He had a mask of perfect stoicism, a façade in which he was polite, an easy conversationalist — Tom Riddle was never rude to anyone, even those he did not like. After all, the monster was buried somewhere deep within. He was not brash nor was he sullen. He was not impulsive, rude — harsh sometimes, yes — but overall, he was charismatic and, most importantly, kind.

Tom didn't say anything. They were walking along the misty London street. It had rained all night and all morning until the pair departed the Leaky Cauldron at precisely 8:30am. There was a serenity in the air after rainfall. The rain brung a richness to each hue, and the scent of petrichor hung like cigar smoke in a downtown saloon.

Tom had his hands deep in the pockets of his long black coat. His black hair was disheveled, a single lock falling in front of his face. The lapels and collar of his coat were upturned to shield his pale skin from the brisk air.

"Is it because he has the same name as you?" Evadne pressed on.

Tom clenched his jaw. "I don't want to speak of it."

"That's fine." Evadne licked her lips. "You know, when I woke up this morning, I had no recollection of putting a blanket over myself." She quickly glanced up at Tom, who was looking straight ahead and bore an unreadable deadpan expression.

Evadne smiled sheepishly to herself.

*

At a corner shop in Piccadilly, Evadne purchased a box of cigarettes, much to Tom's shock and bemusement.

"You smoke?" he asked.

"Evidently," Evadne said, pulling a single cigarette out of the packet and placing the end between her teeth. "I haven't for a while, though."

He furrowed his brows. "So why now?"

"Most people smoke, Tom."

"I don't."

"I said most."

They took a turn down a backstreet and stopped in an empty alley blanketed in rain. Evadne fished around her pocket for a pocket-lighter, and then, begrudgingly, realised she had forgotten to purchase one. She pinched the tip of her upturned nose with exasperation.

Tom rolled his eyes at this and clandestinely retrieved his wand from his pocket. He gently tapped it against the end of Evadne's cigarette, instantly producing a thin ribbon of smoke. Evadne inhaled deeply, sending out a thick plume of smoke five seconds later which made Tom scrunch up his nose in sheer distaste.