Chapter Text
“Thank you for meeting with me today, Housewarden. I’ll keep this brief.”
The Ramshackle Prefect, who had been clutching a platter of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies (a delicacy that they had grown up with as a child), spoke with the aplomb of someone sentenced to death row. Although they were an easygoing individual at the best of times, it seemed that the stress from the past two weeks was taking its toll on them. Riddle, for all of his stringent policies concerning hard work and academics, could somewhat understand. After all, the Prefect was magicless and had to work twice as hard to not only keep Grim in line and at least score an average in the finals, but also had to give the Headmage a reason not to kick them out onto the streets.
Riddle grew up with wealth—not to the extent like the various members of nobility who frequented the halls of Night Raven College—but even he knew that people like the Prefect could not afford to screw up their one chance to have a roof above their head.
Riddle grew up with pressure and expectations drilled into his head since he was a baby.
The Ramshackle Prefect had been thrust into it with basically no safeguards.
Riddle waved a hand in dismissal, careful not to gesture too quickly or broadly lest he frighten the Prefect. It had been months since his Overblot, but there were times when Riddle would observe the magicless underclassman. It was a habit ingrained into him when he had been first put in charge of his dorm—troublemakers were troublemakers and rarely did they ever change. However, it was a habit that taught him to read into the behaviors of said troublemakers and when he focused on the Prefect, he realized that he hurt them more than he thought.
Sometimes, if he yelled too loud or his face would heat in irritation, the Prefect would back away or quiet down. At first, Riddle felt gratified. Even if he learned his lesson from the Overblot, he still felt somewhat vindicated that he at least commanded respect from someone outside his dorm. In the aftermath of his destruction, most of Heartslabyul had decided to test his patience even after he formally apologized and informed them that he would endeavor to be less of a “Teapot Tyrant” as most would have called him.
He should have known better. Heartslabyul they might have been, but all Night Raven College students were vultures to their very core.
However, on the rare occasions that he interacted with the Prefect, he found that he didn’t want to rouse their fear. It was already rare that he got to speak with them one on one and as much as he would never admit it, he wanted to get to know the Ramshackle student better, even if it was under the disguise of academic help.
“You can dispense with the formalities, Prefect,” Riddle said. He fingered the rim of his teacup in idle thought, his gaze resting on the Prefect’s fidgeting hands. Still nervous, stressed too. “You did well on the exams. Congratulations.”
The Prefect smiled, a small but genuine affair. Riddle felt accomplished and all the more confident that he was on better terms.
“Thank you.” The Prefect cast their gaze towards the rest of the set up of their tea party, their fingers relaxing slightly on the handle of their own cup. “Congratulations as well. Rumor has it that all the teachers use your results as a test key.”
The tone was in jest, but Riddle could barely make out the curiosity underlining the compliment.
“I can’t say for certain, but I do endeavor to score as high as possible.” Riddle, indeed, had perfectly scored in all of his exams that emphasized theory. The practicals, however, including physical education, was another matter entirely… “Although I appreciate your presence at today’s tea party, I don’t think you came here to talk about the final exam results.”
The Prefect coughed a little at that, a dribble of tea falling past the corner of their lips before they hastily wiped it off with the sleeve of their threadbare uniform.
“Ummm… Yeah.” The Prefect looked away when they caught Riddle’s storm grey eyes gazing into their own. “I mean it, though, about your test results. Congratulations.”
Riddle nodded.
“But I have a question to ask you.” The Prefect grimaced a little before adding, “And possibly a favor.”
Riddle nodded again, but this time, he felt a flare of mischief when he asked, “Is that why you brought me cookies? As a bribe?”
“N-no!” The Prefect raised their hands in what Riddle was supposed to be in a placating manner before they took out a battered book of rules that were upheld in the Heartslabyul dorm. Had Ace Trappola and Deuce Spade given them a copy? If so, Riddle felt oddly flattered. At least the Prefect was trying to learn the culture here. “I read one of the rules and I think it was Rule #267 that states that if someone asks for a favor during a tea party, they must first have an offering fit for the queen.” The Prefect gestured to the platter of cookies in what looked like to be a close approximation of embarrassment. “So. Cookies.”
Riddle eyed them.
Compared to Trey’s culinary masterpieces, the cookies were amateur at best. And yet—
Riddle felt oddly touched.
“Rule #269,” Riddle automatically corrected. “Keep up the good work and I fear I’ll end up with another freshman.”
The Prefect snorted.
Finally, the Prefect was relaxing and Riddle didn’t feel the collar of guilt settle as tightly as before.
“You’re right, there’s a motive behind why I’m here—” The Prefect paused and Riddle felt the horrifying sensation of his life flashing before his eyes when the Prefect suppressed a sigh. Whatever they were going to say, it was not going to end well for either of them. “—and it has everything to do with the anemones sprouting on my friends’ heads.”
Riddle thought back to his wayward first years who had thought that cheating their way to the top fifty scorers would be their best bet.
And then he thought about the student who practically rigged the results from the very beginning.
He thought about the student whose magic was strong enough so that the anemones on the offending students’ heads would remain there unless their contracts were fulfilled.
Riddle thought about one Azul Ashengrotto and had the sinking feeling he knew where the Prefect was going with this.
Was it too late to back out now?
Even before the Prefect made it clear what they wanted?
Riddle’s eyes fell on the homemade batch of chocolate chip cookies. He saw the slightly burnt edges, the freshly melted chocolate. He sniffed and was gently assaulted by the scent of sweetness baked into the very air. Although amateurish, they were made in earnest.
The Prefect made sure to do their research before heading to Heartslabyul and attempted to bake something that was close to their childhood when store bought could have sufficed.
Riddle felt his resolve wither before hardening into steel.
“What are you proposing, Prefect?”