“Strange place for a Beauxbatons student to be wandering,” came the voice.
Harry slowed, then stopped, re-wrapping his scarf around his neck, trying his best to school his anger before he turned around to face Riddle.
Riddle stepped out from the arch of a side corridor, his uniform perfect, his prefect badge gleaming, his expression as smooth as lake water. “The Forbidden Forest, wasn’t it?”
Harry offered a neutral smile, the kind he’d practiced in front of mirrors and ministry officials alike, already plotting to brush past Riddle and flee down the corridor. “Just getting familiar with the grounds. Hogwarts is bigger than I thought.”
Riddle’s gaze was steady, subtly shifting his frame so he blocked Harry’s path. “It is. Easy to get lost if one doesn’t know where not to tread. Especially with the dangers lurking beneath the castle walls. It would be beneficial for you to stay safe and avoid the petrifactions. I’ve heard rumors. Some say a creature's to blame.”
Harry met his eyes evenly. “And some say a person.” After a beat, he tilted his head to the side. “I like exploring. Good for thinking.”
Riddle’s lips quirked into a polite smile, looking far more elated that Harry was back to talking to him, than anyone should be. “And what does a Beauxbatons student need to think about in the Forbidden Forest, I wonder?”
Harry raised a brow, feigning mild surprise. “Funny, I didn’t realize the prefects here tracked students by the trees they pass,” he said, venom leaking into his tone.
“Oh, I don’t track,” Riddle said smoothly, stepping forward, his shoes brushing against the stone floor. “I notice. Do they teach you to lie so easily at Beauxbatons?”
Harry met his gaze and let the silence stretch between them, taut as a drawn bowstring. Then, calmly: “No. But they do teach us how to tell when someone else is lying.” He glared at Riddle extra hard. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have a class to get to.”
Riddle’s smile didn’t falter, but his foot shifted subtly, closing the last bit of space between them, his presence suddenly sharper. “Now, Harry,” he said, voice coaxing, almost chiding, “there’s no need to be unfriendly. Can’t we just talk?”
Harry’s jaw tensed, surrendering his facade. His smile dropped, and his brows furrowed as he scowled up at Riddle. “Move.”
He just stood there, serene and inescapable, like a dam in the middle of a surging river. His voice, when it came again, was almost amused. “You’re angry.”
Harry’s nostrils flared. “You think?”
https://archiveofourown.org/works/49419637/chapters/173433253#main
germansingergirl
amandla
jacobvanloon
kianamaiart