The Silly Mr. Riddle

The Silly Mr. Riddle

"Riddle, you are so silly," she sighed, pulling up a single blade of young grass with her fingers.

"Oh? Am I? How so?" he asked lightly, though he kept his green eyes trained on her very carefully.

She sighed again, her light, fluttery, utterly careless sigh that he hated so much. "You just are," she said, as though this were very obvious.

They sat silently in the shade of a large tree by the lake, watching a few third years prodding the Giant Squid with a long stick, their laughter bouncing shrilly over the hilly grounds of Hogwarts.

"What do you suppose you'll be when you grow up?" she asked lazily. Without waiting for him to answer, she plowed on. "I think I should like to be a Healer or perhaps an Auror. Yes, that would be nice, wouldn't it?" she hummed to herself, already too lost in thought to listen to him.

He spoke anyway. "An Auror? You can't be an Auror! You'd be too scared."

"Well, Mr. Riddlllle!" He hated it when she dragged his name out like that. She sounded like some bloody drunk.

"I want to be great," he said.

"What sort of an answer is that?" she said, an eyebrow raised loftily. He watched a tiny ant crawl on the back of her hand, its small antennae waving madly, hesitantly, curiously. She watched it as well with interest, turning her hand slowly so that the ant rested in her fleshy, pink palm. It scuttled this way and that, always returning to the center of her hand when it reached the end of its invisible bounds. Tom tore his eyes away from the ant.

"I want to be the greatest wizard there ever was. Or ever will be," he said.

She sighed. "Well, at the rate you're going, you probably will be. Say, what did you get on that Defense Against the Dark Arts test we had last week?"

He frowned. He could never understand her logic. She changed topics too quickly for his liking.

"I got an 'O.'" She snorted, still playing with the ant. It was testing the soft pad of her fingertip now, bowing its tiny head. It stood quite still suddenly, high on the tip of her finger, as though it were sitting on a throne of sorts, waving its antennae regally to the unfortunate earth-bound ants below.

"One more year, Riddle. Just one more year and we'll be adults! We'll be grown up and in the real world, won't we?" she mused, more to herself than him, really.

"I'm already grown up," he said seriously, but she didn't listen.

"Nonsense! You're only sixteen! How can you be grown up if you're only sixteen?" she laughed. He really couldn't stand her. He wished he had never agreed to sit with her under the tree. He wanted to be elsewhere - in the library, perhaps, or in his dormitory.

"I wish the War would be over, don't you? I want to go to France - did you know that we were supposed to go a few summers ago, but this bloody Muggle War won't stop," she said, dreaming bitterly of the kisses she had lost from handsome Parisian boys.

Tom nodded gravely. He did not dream of France. He had seen the Muggle War from the grimy windows of the orphanage - the poor, skinny boys marching proudly, stupidly to war; the flirty, faded girls weeping for their boys; the mothers and fathers placing blue stars on their windows, as though the death of a son were something to be proud of.

"Oh, stop it, Riddle. You're so melancholy. You're making me sad as well, and I think I do not want to talk with you anymore," she said, as though he had started the subject. But she did not move away - she was too enthralled by the great little ant standing on her fingertip.

Tom did not say anything, but sat with her, uncharacteristically patient. Besides, if he left her, she would only pull him back down or make him pay later by accidentally spilling everlasting ink on his Transfiguration homework. Sometimes, he wondered why she was not a Slytherin. He watched the ant - it still stood unmoving on her hand. Stupid, stupid, great little ant.

"Well! I think it is dinnertime. I'm starving, aren't you?" She lifted her finger to her eye, vertically, and watched as the great little ant clung to her. With one quick motion, and not one wasted thought, she brought her thumb and forefinger together. The ant didn't even have time to scurry away.

"A handkerchief, if you please, sir," she said, laughingly. She laughed too much for his liking. And talked too much as well. She handed him back his brilliant, white handkerchief, and Tom stared at it. A brown-black smear in the center; he could still see its antennae.

"Come on, Riddle. We don't have all day," she shouted, already running ahead of him towards the castle.

- Fin -