Cruelty and the Beast

Cosette x.: thank you for your review, but I think you have a misconception about race. Race doesn't really mean that people have to look distinct from others, rather it is more commonly associated with one's descent. My dictionary says: "the zoological division of the human population having common origins and other physical traits; a group of people having common characteristics or appearances". So Muggles, Muggle-borns, and Purebloods can be considered races, because they are united by certain physical characteristics; namely the amount of "magical" blood they have in their families. It's debatable of course, but just be aware that race isn't just about appearance.

Enjoy the next chapter, and please review.

Four: The Prince in Emerald Robes

“You!” she gasped.

Tom froze. “What are you doing in here? This is the girl’s bathroom!” she exclaimed.

“I, uh, was looking for you,” Tom fibbed quickly. “I heard you were crying, and I was just checking to make sure you were doing alright.”

The girl looked utterly thrilled at these words. She emerged from her toilet stall and walked to toward him. Tom looked at her with disgust; the Mudblood’s entire face was red, her eyes wet, and her clothes coated in tears and sticky globs of mucus. She looked much worse than she normally did, and she wasn’t exactly a delight to look at on her good days either.

“Oh Tom, it was dreadful!” she cried. “I’ve been crying the entire day! That Olive Hornby is just awful!”

Tom cringed. He had not meant to be caught sneaking around the bathroom, yet the Mudblood had found him and he was now doomed to listen to her tedious wailing. I should have been quicker, he scolded himself. It was highly unusual for him to be so foolish, but he had not counted on anyone being here. “Yes, it was quite horrid,” he responded without any show of genuine concern.

The girl seemed overjoyed to hear him agree, evidently ignoring his lack of sympathy. “She is an absolute wench! I never did anything to her, but she has made my life miserable.” Then, to Tom’s annoyance, she began to sob.

He glared at her in disgust as she blew her nose into her own sleeve. His mood darkened as she continued her wailing, pausing routinely to describe Hornby’s alleged nastiness in tiresome detail. Tom grew more and more irritated as precious minutes passed. He considered leaving her there and heading back to his common room, but didn’t dare take the risk. It was already suspicious for him to be wandering in girl’s bathrooms at this time of the night, and he definitely did not want anyone to connect his presence here to what was lying just down the corridor...

“...and, and, she called me a Mudblood too!” he heard her howl. “Fiona told me that it’s a horrible name to call a Muggle-born. I bet she’s the one behind those attacks!”

The corners of Tom’s mouth drew into an amused smirk. “Perhaps she is,” he agreed.

“I bet it is her!” she exclaimed. “Edward thought it was a Slytherin, because they’re all Purebloods. But I wasn’t sure. I mean, you don’t hate Muggle-borns, do you? And you’re Pureblood.”

“I’m a Half-blood,” he corrected her hastily. “Father was a Muggle.”

“So not all Slytherins are terrible,” the Mudblood continued.

Tom rolled his eyes impatiently. His boredom was increasing with each second. He cut her off as she began complaining once more about Hornby. “Listen, nobody cares what she says. Just forget about her.”

“Nobody cares?!” she shrieked. “Of course they care about what she says, everybody loves that atrocious wench! Everybody!”

“I don’t. I think that she’s nasty and untalented, in fact.”

The Mudblood sniffed. “Really?”

Tom nodded. “Yes, so don’t mind what she said. Come, I will walk you to your common room. It is beginning to get late, and I am finished my patrolling duties for the night.”

Fortunately she wouldn’t be able to find out that he wasn’t on patrol this night, and that he was supposed to be in his dormitory at the moment finishing Slughorn’s essay, as he had told the others...

The Mudblood wiped off her tears with her filthy snot-stained sleeves. “Alright. Thanks Tom.” She picked up her bag and walked out the door Tom held open for her. Tom followed her.

“No, wait,” he stopped her suddenly. “Let’s go this way instead.”

The Mudblood looked at him curiously. “Why? It’s faster to take this hallway.”

“Yes, but...a longer walk would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

She nodded, excited. “I really like you, Tom,” she gushed as she followed him.

It took Tom a considerable amount of effort to mask his disgust at those words. “Thank you,” he answered politely.

“You’re such a gentleman. And you’re much nicer than Edward Weasley.”

Tom snickered. “Yes, I hope so,” he replied as they turned to another corridor.

“Oh, wait till I tell Fiona that I talked to you!” she squealed. “She will absolutely die!”

This amused Tom. “Perhaps she is already dead,” he muttered under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing. Here we are, the Hufflepuff common room.”

The girl looked slightly disappointed. “Thanks for walking with me. You’re really great...”

She stared at him for a few moments, which made him uneasy. She gazed at him with an admiring expression on her face, as if she was waiting for him to do something. Tom shuddered. I hope she isn’t thinking of kissing [i]me[/i], he thought grimly. “Don’t mention it. Goodbye,” he said quickly before she had any atrocious ideas.

“Good night, Tom,” she said dreamily, still gazing at him.

He walked down to the dungeons triumphantly. This would teach Weasley to stick his nose into matters in which it didn’t belong. Tom smirked as he thought about that hideous Muggle-born girl Weasley was dating. He wasn’t particularly fond of her; she was an arrogant witch who was always examining her ugly face in her pocket-mirror. Hopefully the Basilisk had finished her off completely. Satisfied with his work, Tom Riddle entered his dormitory.

Myrtle was bouncing with exhilaration as she entered her common room. She had actually talked to Tom Riddle! Ravishing, brilliant, Tom Riddle; her Slytherin prince! She squealed with delight. Where was Fiona? Myrtle couldn’t wait to tell her what had happened.

She gazed around the common room but caught no glimpse of her friend. “Where’s Fiona?” she asked a group of girls in her year.

They shrugged. “I haven’t seen her all day,” one of them answered.

Myrtle giggled. “She must still be with Edward, then. I wonder what they’re doing!”

She skipped off to her dormitory, more cheerful than she had been in a long time.