The Assassination of Gracie White

Warnings: innuendo, Tom Riddle (two things that should never go together but alas… I did it), and bad language
Disclaimer: Just borrowing.

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Chapter 2 – Birds and Bees
September, 1944

Tom Riddle prided himself on his knowledge. He was a bright, eager young man with a desire to learn, and he already knew about many things: potions, astronomy, powerful Dark magic. There was one subject, however, that Tom Riddle was completely clueless about.
Girls.
This hadn’t been a problem until very recently. During his first few years of schooling, every one of his so-called friends had thought girls were “icky”, and that suited him just fine. Girls had been, and would always be, icky. Now, though, most of his peers were singularly focused on the opposite sex at all times. Tom couldn’t get a word in edgewise about the complicated Transfiguration notes being given out by that absolute dolt of a professor named Dumbledore, or the next time they were going to need his help with Potions (again), or even inquiring about the blasted time!
And the girls themselves were a bit of a hassle, too. Just like the boys, they had avoided contact with the opposite gender for the first few years. It seemed to Tom that they now sprang out of nowhere and were constantly hurling themselves at everything with legs. Or arms. Or anything, really. It was sickening.
Tom considered all this as he strolled down the hallway to his next class, Charms, with his group of rabid acolytes in tow. He came to the conclusion that he would never understand everyone else’s need for constant companionship. It was better to be alone, wasn’t it? It was easier to just rely on yourself instead of having to wait around for others to get off their asses and actually do what they were supposed to.
And he certainly had no time for the foolish pursuit of love. He despised the very word. Love was for the stupid and weak, and he did not consider himself to be either of those things.
Reaching his class, Tom selected at seat in the front of the room and began to rummage around in his schoolbag for parchment and quills. His followers filled in around him, watching him for clues about what to do. Some of the braver ones turned to talk to classmates who were not part of his inner circle, while the whimpier ones took out their books and then stared blankly at him, as though waiting for their next set of instructions.
He ignored them. He was far too busy reviewing last class’s notes, and making sure he had read the correct chapter for homework. Doing well in school was one of the few things he cared about, and he had forced himself to become an exemplary student because he knew he would gain the most knowledge that way.
He would take what he needed from these idiotic professors and then be gone, off to do all the things that they spoke of with hushed tones and ominous warnings. The kinds of things his classmates with weaker constitutions shuddered to hear, things that until he did them would be nothing more than whispers, half formed ideas too frightening to conceive.
His thoughts were interrupted then by a loud ruckus from the back of the room.
“And it flew probably fifty feet! I swear to Merlin it was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life!”
Angrily, Tom gripped his quill tighter and tried to ignore the shouts, which he knew were spewing from the mouth of the star Gryffindor Beater, Donavan Marks.
Donavan was the kid of person Tom hated the most, if such a thing could be said. Everyone in school knew who he was, and while he was not admired and slightly feared like Tom himself was, Donavan was genuinely well liked. He excelled at sports, but was no great shake when it came to academics. People would forgive him when he made mistakes; there was always one last chance for him, but never one for Tom. He had to calculate every move, every step had to be meticulously planned and flawlessly executed.
And, to top it all of, he was a Mudblood.
“Damn, I wish I would have gone, but I had bloody Potions,” said Donavan’s best friend Malcolm Carrs, who was inferior to Donavan in every imaginable way. “Slughorn gave me extra work because I was the one that caused the fire last week.”
Gritting his teeth, Tom scratched harder at his piece of parchment, leaving a big blot and completely obscuring the correction pronunciation of the Cheering Charm. Beside him, one of his acolytes, Avery, noticed his frustration and called over to the raucous Gryffindors,
“Some of us are trying to study, would you mind shutting your traps so we can concentrate?”
While Malcolm and others protested loudly, Donavan nodded guiltily and lowered his voice. Avery then looked triumphantly back at Tom, as though he expected to be given a cookie for his efforts.
Riddle ignored him, however. He had not asked for anyone to help him, and certainly did not feel that Avery had done anything worthy of recognition. If he was looking for a leader who was going to give out candy and rewards every time they parroted an answer back correctly, then he was barking up the wrong tree.
Professor Tofty came in then, striding to the front of the room and calling for silence. Everyone turned to the front and listened attentively. Professor Tofty, while he wasn’t strict by any means, did hold his students to a high standard and expected everyone to give their best effort while they were in his class. Tom couldn’t decide if he liked the man or not, but the rest of the class usually ranked him among their top three favorite teachers.
Today’s lesson was a review of Hovering Charms, and Tom had the misfortune of being paired with Malcolm Carrs. After successfully completing his part of the assignment (“Describe the effects of a properly applied Charm”), he was forced to be the recipient of said Charm. Malcolm was, simply put, a slow-learner, and it took two tries for him to remember the correct pronunciation, and another four for him to wave his wand correctly, and a final three for him to put the two together. Tom levitated over his seat for a few seconds, then came crashing down as Malcolm let out a cheer of excitement at finally having done the thing right.
“Sorry,” he muttered, fumbling with his book as he tried to find the page again.
“Don’t bother,” Tom said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.
“I’ve never done it right before,” Malcolm said, as though this would somehow excuse his actions.
“Perhaps you should practice more,” Tom replied, gathering up his things as the bell rang. “I find the library is a good place to study.”
With that, he swept out of the room. At the door, he nearly ran into Donavon, causing him to drop all his books.
“Terribly sorry,” Tom said, hoping his simpering tone would go unnoticed. He didn’t bend to down to help him pick up the dropped things, either.
“’S all right, I’m waiting for someone anyway,” Donavon said. Tom didn’t see how that was important, and was about to leave when he bumped into someone else.
“Watch where you’re going,” came the sharp voice, and Tom knew instantly who it was: Bethany Mueller, token tramp and resident dumb blonde of Hogwarts. She was also Malcolm’s girlfriend, and Tom had heard a rumor that they had gotten to third base.
Whatever that meant.
“I was, you should be more careful,” he insisted. Bethany glared and raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at him.
“Bethany, have you seen Gracie?” Donavon said behind him, having collected all his things. She glanced at him, still managing glaring at Tom, thought for a moment and said,
“Yes, she said she’ll be a bit late. She had to talk to Professor Dumbledore about something.”
“Damn it,” Donavon cursed.
“No need for language, I’m here,” a small voice called, and the little group turned to see a small brunette jogging to where they were standing. As she approached, she addressed Donavon. “I just had to check with him about practice tonight, that was all.”
By practice, Tom assumed she meant her classes and was ready to dismiss her as another of Bethany Mueller’s retarded hangers-on, but what she said next convinced him otherwise.
“He says I probably don’t need it, that the Beethoven’s coming along fine, but I just wanted to be sure.”
“Beethoven?” Tom said before he could stop himself, and regretted it instantly. Donavon, Bethany and Gracie all turned and looked strangely at him, as though he had suddenly appeared out of thin air and was sporting an extra limb. To cover the awkward silence that followed, he said, “I didn’t know you played Beethoven.”
It was such a moronic comment he felt he should have been hit for saying it, but Gracie’s face changed from bemused to amused and she replied happily,
“Yes, I’m playing it for my recital.”
“Which Beethoven?” Tom asked, feeling very stupid but helplessly unable to stem his curiosity.
“Sonata in D Major for violin,” she said, and his interest vanished. She wasn’t playing the ones he liked, or even the instrument. She didn’t seem to notice this though, and added shyly, “I didn’t know you liked classical music.”
“I don’t,” Tom said harshly, but continued when he saw the hurt look on her face, “I just know a few pieces by Beethoven, that’s all.”
“Which ones, I probably know them,” Gracie said, perking up again. “I play the piano, too.”
“Moonlight Sonata,” he said delicately.
“Everyone likes that one,” Gracie said with a laugh, and Tom smiled humorlessly.
“Grace, we have to leave now,” Bethany said suddenly, causing everyone to look her way. “You’re going to be late. Good day, Tom.”
The use of his first name was galling for some reason, and he found himself glaring after her as she, Donavon and Gracie swept down the hallway, the latter waving cheerfully to him and calling good-bye.
His small group caught up to him then, and he called Avery to his side as they made their way to the Great Hall for lunch.
“What do you know about that girl?” he demanded as he pointed at Gracie’s retreating form.
“Gracie White,” Avery replied, sounding bored. “Sixth year Ravenclaw. Why?”
“No reason,” Tom said dismissively, sitting down at the Slytherin table and helping himself to the steak-and-kidney pudding. Avery and the rest filled in around him, the former saying tauntingly,
“Do you like her?”
Tom slammed his fork down and said angrily,
“I said there wasn’t a reason. Now drop it.”
Avery had the good sense not to laugh or make another comment on the subject, and ate his meal in silence. Sufficed, Tom turned back to his food and tried to put Gracie out of his mind.
Of course he didn’t like her. He didn’t like anyone. But, she was interesting, in the way the Potions or Transfiguration was interesting. She was something to explore, to study, to test the boundaries of. She could be like a project, a little something to entertain him. She was interesting in that way, yes, but he had no feelings for her otherwise.
He was just going to use her the way he used everyone else: take what he needed and throw away the rest.

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A/N: Feel the awkwardness and seething angst that is Tom Riddle! Feel it, I command you!
And I just picked a random name for the Charms prof, since the only three we’re sure of while Tom was in school are Dumbles, Sluggy and Headmaster Dippet. I think one of the OWL examiners was called Tofty, but they aren’t the same. <.< shifty eyes
Reviews are love.