Drabble: Refuge (Tom, Slughorn, PG)
Nov. 15th, 2009 03:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kennahijjaAm ill like heck with stomach bug, monthly TMI, headache from hell and cough all rolled into one (not a good combo, believe me), and should be in bed really, only that I can't lie down any more. I did a handful of giftlets for ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ownficfest that were intended as drabbles, but well, it never quite works out...
Title: Refuge
Prompt: Tom, Slughorn: refuge
Rating: PG
Note: Written for the lovelylareinenoire
"Mr Riddle?" Slughorn's face is a study in surprise, with flustered displeasure crinkling the crow feet at the corner of his eyes. At 11 in the morning, his belly still bulges the front of his dressing gown.
"May I come in?" Tom asks.
Slughorn hesitates, hesitates another moment as if hoping Tom would offer to go away. Then he moves aside, allowing Tom to precede him into the drawing room. There is more plush and shades of purple against the French-polished mahogany furniture than Tom would like, but it'll do nicely.
"Well, Tom," says Slughorn as Tom sinks down on one of the Chintz armchairs, "I'm always pleased to receive a visit from one of my most gifted students, but... it's the second week of the holidays."
Tom nods – it's been a busy two weeks in many ways.
"You should be at home," Slughorn says, before his cheeks redden when he remembers. Tom has never mentioned to anybody where he's returning to over the holidays, and resents that the story has got out. Dumbledore, no doubt.
"I thought it might be possible for me to stay with you for the rest of the holidays," Tom says casually.
Slughorn stares at him. "Ah, Mr Riddle, I'm not certain whether that would be proper. I might be accused of favouritism, and I'm afraid the Headmaster would disapprove."
Tom looks up; the left corner of his mouth curls into a thin smile. "I don't think the Headmaster would need to know," he points out softly. "There is, after all, a lot that you have helped me with which he wouldn't approve of, isn't there?"
Slughorn's ample jowls pink, then he catches Tom's look and pales. He startles backwards when Tom reaches into his pocket, before awkwardly disguising his fright as smoothing the satin folds of his dressing gown.
Tom takes out the box of candied pineapple he's picked up on the way back from Little Hangleton and hands it to the potions master. Slughorn's plump fingers tremble when he takes the gift.
"Perhaps there's nothing really wrong with you staying," he concedes.
Tom smiles, power coiling like a viper around his spine.
"I'd hoped you would say that." He inclines his head. "Sir."
ownficfest that were intended as drabbles, but well, it never quite works out...Title: Refuge
Prompt: Tom, Slughorn: refuge
Rating: PG
Note: Written for the lovely
lareinenoire"Mr Riddle?" Slughorn's face is a study in surprise, with flustered displeasure crinkling the crow feet at the corner of his eyes. At 11 in the morning, his belly still bulges the front of his dressing gown.
"May I come in?" Tom asks.
Slughorn hesitates, hesitates another moment as if hoping Tom would offer to go away. Then he moves aside, allowing Tom to precede him into the drawing room. There is more plush and shades of purple against the French-polished mahogany furniture than Tom would like, but it'll do nicely.
"Well, Tom," says Slughorn as Tom sinks down on one of the Chintz armchairs, "I'm always pleased to receive a visit from one of my most gifted students, but... it's the second week of the holidays."
Tom nods – it's been a busy two weeks in many ways.
"You should be at home," Slughorn says, before his cheeks redden when he remembers. Tom has never mentioned to anybody where he's returning to over the holidays, and resents that the story has got out. Dumbledore, no doubt.
"I thought it might be possible for me to stay with you for the rest of the holidays," Tom says casually.
Slughorn stares at him. "Ah, Mr Riddle, I'm not certain whether that would be proper. I might be accused of favouritism, and I'm afraid the Headmaster would disapprove."
Tom looks up; the left corner of his mouth curls into a thin smile. "I don't think the Headmaster would need to know," he points out softly. "There is, after all, a lot that you have helped me with which he wouldn't approve of, isn't there?"
Slughorn's ample jowls pink, then he catches Tom's look and pales. He startles backwards when Tom reaches into his pocket, before awkwardly disguising his fright as smoothing the satin folds of his dressing gown.
Tom takes out the box of candied pineapple he's picked up on the way back from Little Hangleton and hands it to the potions master. Slughorn's plump fingers tremble when he takes the gift.
"Perhaps there's nothing really wrong with you staying," he concedes.
Tom smiles, power coiling like a viper around his spine.
"I'd hoped you would say that." He inclines his head. "Sir."
