[TrTrTrTr]
It would be a lie to say Tom Riddle had never felt such malevolent satisfaction, but it wouldn’t be a lie to say this was the strongest he felt to victory in a long while. Months, if not years of toiling after the perfect mirage- only to have the rug pulled out from under him in the form of Rigel Black being some random halfblood from the continent, that not only fooled him but ran away to (seemingly) be never found again.
Seemingly.
But he had a lead, in the form of one, inconspicuous whelp: Harriet Potter. It had been long since he’d looked for leads that he was sure would be flowing from the true Arcturus Black, but his lips were shut and his story airtight.
Unlike the Potter Heiress.
Funnily enough, it was the Rigel Black Child himself that gave him the lead- in the form of his usage of the invisibility cloak.
He ignored the rage he still felt at being so utterly fooled. At being so unimaginably close to a victory that not even the ICW could pull him down from- he could have had it all. But Rigel Black, his perfect pure blooded, soon-to-be face of the S.O.W party, had ruined it!
He paid no heed to the recently smashed pottery vase, blown to smithereens at his whim, walking down the hallway of the luscious Malfoy Gala house.
No, he had business to do, a whelp to confront, and soon- his perfect effigy, a doll for him to break and destroy and-
He was getting ahead of himself. No need to be so angry, when he was so close to victory. He could smell it in the air, feel it in his bounding, striding footsteps, stalking toward the direction of the oh so mysterious Ms. Potter.
He pulled open the satin curtains to the unprotected balcony, and strode out.
[HpHpHpHp]
Harry’s first thought upon seeing Tom Riddle in the flesh was to panic.
Harry’s second thought (typically much more reliable than the first) was that surely, he had simply picked a balcony and walked in, not caring for the occupants. So, she offered to leave the balcony.
He said no. No need, you see, for he was just looking for her.
With a saccharine smile and a silky sweet voice (it would haunt her nightmares for years to come,) he said, “good evening Ms. Potter,” a pause, “I see the lack of polyjuice is treating you well.” His perfect mask of (civility) cracking at even the mention of it.
She took a few seconds to reply, running through all her escape options at lighting speed. “What could you possibly need from me, Mr. Riddle?” She tried to respond innocently. His smile only grew wider. She might’ve thought to compare it to a shark if not for the all-consuming panic now engulfing her.
The cold night air whistled past them. The echoes of the party could be heard from the balcony. Harry could faintly hear the rhythmic footsteps and drunken laughing. She couldn’t discern the tempo of the music from her own raging heartbeat.
“Why, you and I are both in this predicament, you see,” his polite façade bleeding away to reveal his (rather obvious) sinister intentions. “See, I heard from a little birdie-” oh how she didn’t shake at the irony- “that you’re missing something rather important to you.”
Harry froze at the implication. He couldn’t know, there was no possible fucking way that he knew. Did someone reveal it to him? She didn’t even consider for a second that Archie could betray her before but now it was a possibility- and she was dead she was dead she was dead-
Riddle’s hum of amusement broke her out of her spiral, if only for a moment. “What’s with the hysteria, Ms. Potter? Surely you couldn’t have anything to hide?” He said with a nauseating grin.
“Get to the point, will you?” She spat out, barely restraining the urge to hiss it at him.
He put up his hands in mock surrender, but it was nullified by the disgusted curling of his upper lip. “Why, Ms. Potter, that cloak of yours, the object you are missing, you gave to a boy I want to find.” He looked away, locked in wrathful thoughts for a moment- “so you know who he is.”
“Riddle,” forgetting she was supposed to be polite (sod that), “you can’t seriously expect me to know that-”
He cut her off impatiently, “you’re meaning to tell me that you would give the invisibility cloak to a boy who’s name and face you don’t know?” He rebutted, incredulously, “though I should’ve expected that from a miserable, halfblooded wench-”
Her glare cut him off. Externally, she was the very picture of an enraged, teenaged Lily Potter. Internally, she was laughing her ass off. Dom certainly was. She thought he knew- but of course he didn’t! Of course, she shouldn’t have trusted arrogant Tom Riddle to assume a halfblooded girl could be Rigel Black of all people (because of course, he forgot in his rage that Rigel also was a halfblood. The connection should’ve been a rather easy one to come to- what other halfblood had access to the invisibility cloak he had used? Her. He even knew as such. But he still hadn’t gotten out the habit of underestimating everyone around him. Idiot.)
She clenched her jaw as she (pretended) to come down from her (not real in the slightest) rage (she was trying her best not to laugh in his face. Her Very Best.)
“You really think that, Mr. Riddle?”
[TrTrTrTr]
The chit had the audacity to question him, and then mirror his sickly-sweet smile back at him! He could barely stop himself from a diffindo to the neck for her insolence.
He could practically feel her amusement at his expense, though he had no clue why. His patience was running thin, in any case, so he did as the Potter chit said and got to the point.
“You know his name and face,” he practically hissed in his anger, “you impudent brat-”
She cut him off. “Now, Riddle, name-calling won’t get us anywhere. Why don’t we have this conversation like adults?” She exclaimed, with a clearly faked childish expression of innocence on her face that did nothing to soften the blow of her gleeful words.
He almost felt for his wand, but stopped himself. He drew himself up to his tallest, most threatening height in hope of reminding her just who she was talking to. “I am running out of patience, Ms. Potter.” He growled. “It would do you some good to remind yourself of your place.”
She discarded her fake, innocent expression and replaced it with raised eyebrows, and a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it mischievous glint in her eyes. She tilted her head in a mocking question.
“You want to know Rigel’s identity.”
He sneered at her and raised an eyebrow as if to say ‘duh.’ (He was Lord Riddle, dignified and graceful leader of the S.O.W party. He would never stoop to such plebeian phrasing.)
“You think I know it.”
“You do know it-”
Her hum of- was that agreement? - interrupted him once again.
There was a pause as neither said anything.
“Even if I do know his identity,” (She could sense his cold fury). Lucius Malfoy shivered downstairs. “Why should I tell you?” She asked, indignantly.
Riddle was stunned into silence. Stunned. Into silence. He was certain that anyone who knew him, upon seeing him in that moment would’ve likely believed him to be an imposter of himself, a polyjuiced fake of a ‘pure-blood’ (the irony of that thought- ironically- escaped him.) Tom Marvolo Riddle, shocked into silence? Impossible.
Harry used this silence to continue on. “Do you really have that big of an ego? Why on earth should I tell you, Lord Riddle of the cow party, the identity of Rigel? Are you truly that delusional? I thought it obvious that I’d be on his side rather than yours,” she paused for a second so scrunch her nose in disdain at the thought, “though I now see you have your head too far up your arse to see what’s in front of you.”
He almost lunged for her, “you little-” he actually hissed, but she wagged her finger at him in gleefully.
She leaned closer to a catatonic Riddle, only to look him directly in the eyes- he couldn’t miss the malevolent satisfaction in them- and said:
“Good night, Riddle.”
Leaving no room for argument, she strode out through the balcony curtains.
And if her mother asked what she was laughing about, well, what’s one more lie?