Deal with the Devil

Chapter 8

"But that's what you said during break," whined Nott.

Tom would have rolled his eyes, but he was watching as a certain Ravenclaw's quill skittered over her parchment. It was the first time he'd seen her perform such an action since first taking notice of her. Apparently prophecies really were rare things.

"That's because it's true. I have plans," Tom repeated firmly, noting how she once again blindly moved from inkwell to parchment and back again every nine words. His gaze flicked toward the professor, who was annotating something absently and not really paying attention to his students. Class had to be almost over, which meant he'd be able to see what the little seer was writing soon. He resisted the urge to shake his leg beneath the desk in impatience. Such urges were beneath him. His fingers had started drumming on the desk and he stilled them. "I mean it, Nott. I have plans this summer. Now, quiet."

The other young man frowned. "I've already finished my exam, Riddle. He's not going to mind—"

At the red flashing dangerously in Tom's glare, Nott fell silent. He returned to his observations.

It was the last class before summer hols. True to her word, Elena Vablatsky had refused to study with Tom and his Knights once classes had resumed after the new year. They'd spent a quiet break seated near one another, and he'd seen firsthand how unlikely it was for her to conjure her sleeping visions. At one point he'd asked whether drugged sleep would do.

"Drugged sleep? No—why would you—Don't even think of drugging me to try and get a prophecy out of me." She had pointedly sat across from him instead of beside him, having entered the library later. She knew better than to sit elsewhere altogether, because he'd inevitably show up when she wasn't looking.

He allowed a hint of a smirk. "You wouldn't notice if I did, Elena."

She prickled at the use of her given name, but did not comment; the last time she'd growled for him not to call her that, he'd pointed out that he could always call her Mullens. She'd dropped the issue then. "I would," the girl insisted, growing red at his scoff. "I would. How could I not notice being drugged—"

"You didn't before."

The red had drained quite abruptly as she realized the implication.

"Yes," he informed her. "The night we ran into each other was orchestrated. I should think that much was obvious by now."

"You," she fumbled, "bastard."

"Sticks and stones, dear. Besides, you're hardly one to cast aspersions on my birth."

"—I'll see you all in September!"

Tom blinked as the girl he'd been watching slowly pulled her way up from slumber, rocking over her desk and rubbing at her eyes. Once cleared of sleep, she looked down at the parchment. He could see the moment she realized, shoulders stiffening as she fought the urge to look over her shoulder at him. He was already packed, slinging his satchel on his shoulder as he stood.

"Miss Vablatsky, shall I escort you to your dormitory?"

She crunched the parchment under her palm, favoring him with a less-than-friendly look under her pale brows, laying it on top of her books as she grabbed her bag. "Fine."

He smiled brightly and swept her stack of books, parchment on top, from under her reaching hand. "Allow me. Can't have a delicate young lady like yourself bearing all this weight alone."

Nott snickered behind him, Elena's jaw clenching at both of them, but she stood and made her way out the door. Tom followed close behind, his longer legs enabling him to catch up and even reach the door before she did, holding it open.