Serpentine

The first thing Tom did when he returned to Wool's after his first visit to Diagon Alley was sit underneath his favorite tree in the yard and read Hogwarts: A History cover to cover. Well, almost completely in one sitting; he would have succeeded if it weren't for the call of dinner and his rumbling stomach. The rest of it was read underneath his covers with the help of a torch he nabbed from the groundskeeper. It enthralled him: this spectacular new world that was meant for him. His birthright.

When he finishes reading the records that Lucretia leant him, he is sitting in his favorite chair in the Slytherin common room, and...contemplative. Riddle is, expectantly, unfortunately, disappointedly, not written anywhere inside the book. Not definitive proof, but certainly not a reason to be distraught. What is in the book is his hated first name: Tom. This, of course, means nothing. Other than not all wizards bother with obnoxious names for their children.

Yet this strange disappointment means nothing when compared to his next pivotal read.

Over Yuletide, something happens. Outside the hallowed walls of Hogwarts and in the bustling world of magic. He skims it in passing one morning when reading The Daily Prophet, but the headline doesn't catch his attention for long; he had previously fielded letters from Katux, Abbas, and the rest, and he was quite tired of the subject of pureblood problems. What did it matter to him if he missed out on another issue that only affects them? His focus is solely on the news from Hedwig that Ximena had been allegedly invited to several highblood households for Modranicht--Including Slughorn, his ex-mentor's, and Fawley. How interesting that Nemesis neglected to mention that. That all of her sisters he's been talking to at the Hufflepuff table failed to mention that. That the personal written invitation from her father didn't mention that. It's like they're purposely hiding something from him. Which they have no reason to, but it's certainly a possibility.

Did she accept? On Platform 9¾, did she accompany Nemesis and the rest of the Fawley sisters to their private manor up in Merlin knows where? Is she relaxing in their grand, extravagant guest room with hand embroidered towels and engraved bed warmers? Did she only accept because she knew he would not be there?

It's possible that she's not there. It's not like the two are friends or anything...But she probably is. Maybe. Just might. She'd have accepted Nemesis' invite over all else, he's sure of it. Ximena likes the familiar. That which she has memory of.

So he focuses on this. For entirely too long.

He only acknowledges this mistake when he spots another student, staying at Hogwarts like him, hiding in a small crevice behind a tapestry. Much like last year, Tom has taken to exploring the castle when it's mostly to himself, and on his daily patrols (he'd pretend he was a king wandering the halls again) he sensed a disturbance: someone crying. Eugh. He'd usually avoid such situations easily by simply going another way, but the only way to the owlery was through the corridor in which the crying was coming from. Perhaps he could have sneaked by, but once he sees who's sobbing, he pauses. Approaches. Kneels down and thinks about what he's going to say...

The student is a Ravenclaw. Prefect, if he recalls correctly, and he does because being in prefect's good graces is always a good idea. The weeping falcon has often been seen trotting along with Yami on afternoon paroles, trading witticisms and taking her standoffish nature much too personally.

"What's wrong?" This is met with more sniffling.

"My blood is not hallowed." The student weeps, "My family's legacy: a lie! My betrothed will cast me off like a common squib!"

Ah, dramatics. One would think he was a banshee with how terribly he wails, "What on earth are you talking about?"

"The list!" He cries, over and over again, as if it meant anything to him, "The list, Riddle! The bloody list that'll tear me away from society--"

Tom knows better than to try and reason with hysteria (he has enough experience with that back at the orphanage), so he waits. Stares impassively at Satrapi to show that he doesn't tolerate this sort of behavior (the same look the matron tries on him), until finally, in the middle of a hiccup fit, he pushes forward his suede bookbag. Tom takes his permission easily, opening the snatch and looking inside. A textbook, some quills, a spare candy bar and…

He lifts the scroll of papyrus out, knowing that this is whatever is causing his senior grief. It's small, the sort of size he's seen be used as informational (read: political) brochures and occasionally invitations to white-tie parties, bound with a silver ribbon that glistens like diamonds in sunlight. It's bound, he realizes, as the magic used to seal it inspects his own: the feeling of ladybirds crawling on his hand. At last, after a few seconds, the magic deems him worthy, and he unrolls the scroll out.



A squint, because they don't teach Latin at Hogwarts (a stupid choice he's discussed at length with Evan and the other boys), and he has to (embarrassingly) wave his wand above the text for a translation. He raises his brow at the result.

The names listed underneath the title and preamble provide little context: it's a small collection of family names that he's seen repeated in Lucretia's little gray book--The text declares that the twenty eight houses shown are the sole families remaining in Britain that still hold "absolute purity". No muggle or muggle born marriages (and he snorts, because he knows that to be an absolute false), as well as an absence of squibs.

He looks back at the prefect who has ceased hyperventilating, but is still curled up tight. It's some of the most ridiculous behavior he's seen be exhibited by someone his senior, much less a prefect and a high blood. A fool could conclude that his outburst is due to his surname being absent from the list...But why?

"Satrapi," The tone in his voice is perfectly whetted, and he keeps himself from smiling at how satisfied he is with it, "your line goes back centuries, you know this--" and Satrapi certainly makes sure everyone else knows it too, "--How can a little list change that?"

And when the fifth year boy turns to look at him, it is with hollow eyes, "It doesn't matter." It repeats. Continuously falling from his mouth as if his heartbeat were connected to the phrase. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter.

Tom leaves him on the floor and does not see him for the rest of break.

His own surname isn't on the list, and he'll claim to himself that that doesn't deter nor upset him. And there would be evidence to back up that claim: many pureblooded, old, and noble families aren't on the list either. Maybe he's not as prime pickings as a Selwyn, but he can still be in the league of a Vanes. And that's just if the list is actually of any sort of merit. Where are the credible sources for this publication?

He comforts himself with the memory of the list inspecting his magic. Is there a radar for detecting pure blood? No one had mentioned it before, it seems like an easy enough spell to create...Or at least fake.

Lucretia thinks it's silly. As if a Black needed any validation from some anonymous bloke that their blood was pure. Judging from the other Blacks he's able to wrestle an opinion out of, the feeling is widespread, but that doesn't mean they don't like having their name mentioned on the list. Cygnus walks about with his chest more puffed up than usual, and his sister, Walburga, appears to hold the same sentiments.

Nemesis isn't as happy as Tom expected her to be. Fawley is printed pretty on the list, and by having it there, it seems to have opened her up to a strange and growing exclusive club. More children from the list appear to try and tug her away from their usual group, and it takes more than a firm no to tell them to piss off (luckily, Hedwig is good for that). He's not sure what exactly they do in said club, but so far it seems that the only activities are stand around and act pompous. Something Nemesis can't do, as she forces herself to downplay her achievements (as do her sisters, he notes). Hedwig would be much better at it, her pride is as shining and obnoxious as her ridiculous hair.

Speaking of, she is furious over the list. She rants up and down on why the hell isn't her family wasn't on the list because 'we're the oldest magical family in Ireland, you can trace my ancestry back to Tir na nÓg--' And normally her loud complaining would be ignored in favor of reading a book, but she's not the only one unhappy: the entire Slytherin common room is abuzz that week about well my family doesn't need the validation of some anonymous cretin and why are the Weasleys on there but us Bedælans aren't anywhere to be seen--Two skirmishes break out in the common room that Tom's witness to, ending in binded legs and divisions amongst their house. Slughorn is irate at the childishness, and has banned mention of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but it doesn't stop the bickering--Particularly because his own family name is on the list. Ancient but not noble, most of the Slughorns are elite academics akin to gentry. Several Slytherins are peeved that they managed to make it onto the list.

This is nothing compared to what's rippling through the rest of Hogwarts.

Suddenly, children from bloodtraitor families who are on the list begin to carry themselves a little higher. Speak down upon those some would call their lessers. Children from bloodlines not on the list scramble to explain themselves to their friends: their family is just from outside of England. From Scotland or Wales or France or Germany. The list is only for families with origins within the country. It says so in the publication itself!

But that's not at all what it says (Tom had made a copy for Satrapi and kept the original). It just said within Britain. Not 'established in Britain' not 'originated from Britain' not 'main branch in Britain'. Something noted by Druella immediately upon bringing up the subject.

"Shafiqs are from the East! Everyone knows that!" She huffs, looking scandalized, "They don't let you forget it for one second--They're worse than Boškovićs." (Evan leans in to whisper an explanation at that, 'They go to Durmstrang, but occasionally we get one or two stragglers here.') "And Shacklebolt house was established in Africa!"

And there's something about how suddenly Druella is just filled with information...He remembers her as someone blundering for an answer, unable to explain simple questions about history. It figures that her area of expertise be the bloodlines of her peers; he should have expected it, actually: all Ravenclaws have fixed obsessions like that.

"The author clearly has an inherent bias." Katux agrees, half-amused, half-annoyed with Druella's rant, "Why include known bloodtraitor families?"

"I disagree with you there, Lestrange." Abbas counters, "If anything, that's showing no bias. It'd be worse if they didn't include bloodtraitors just for the fact of being Muggle loving."

Katux doesn't like the suggestion, but he doesn't disagree with his senior, "Well then absolute purism is the wrong phrasing to use." Dion, sitting beside him, nods his agreement at first before noticing that Tom isn't. He stops.

"Didn't we talk about this?" Topaz reaches across the table for a jar of marmalade, "About how Weasleys and Abbots are all talk?" He looks to Tom for confirmation. Katux watches the exchange with interest, "Right, Tom?"

"Something like that." He plays with his fork a little, "I believe it was Abbas who brought it up: shouldn't there be more marriages to half-bloods and muggleborns if those families are so tolerant?" The word tolerant is used strategically, lest someone who doesn't believe in Purism is listening, "They don't keep their squibs around, either, correct?"

"Excellent memory, Tom! I can't even remember what happened a few days ago." Of course he can't, he's half an idiot these days, following around his fianceé, "And I still stand by it! Longbottoms were the ones who introduced the proposition to put Muggles in display enclosures, after all--For their own good! Like animals!" He laughs, and the other children at the table chuckle, but Tom can't bring himself to, "N' for education! Can you imagine? What on earth could we have to learn from Muggles?"

They're effective problem solvers.

He doesn't voice this. He just chuckles appropriately along to his group's laughter, pushing the food on his plate around. Where did his appetite go?

"So there really is such a thing as sensible Gryffindors."

"Wonder of all wonders! Someone should alert our lion cousins, maybe they can start getting it together."

The discussion carries on, despite Tom's understanding that their house as a unit was supposed to carry on the idea that friendships between houses is their goal. Short term memories, he supposes. When the group disperses, he remains at the table awaiting Nemesis (they walk to History of Magic together on Wednesdays), only mildly annoyed when she shows up fifteen seconds late, scurrying towards him.

She catches her breath, tucking back strands of her hair that stick out, looking remarkably similar to a frazzled Ximena, "Sorry I'm late, Tom."

"Decuria Pura still haggling for your attention?" The amusement slips into his tone despite his (admittedly) low effort.

"They just won't stop!" Nemesis huffs, arms crossed, "I almost yelled at one of them just to try and leave me in peace. Said that they had a better chance of scouting out Weasley than me."

Tom hums, beginning to walk out of the hall, "That's not why you're mad, though, is it?"

Her magic spikes in defense, "...They said some rather unsavory things about you and Hedwig...Couldn't let them get away with that, could I?" She scratches the side of her arms, still crossed, "They've started to use this new slang to differentiate themselves from other purebloods...Sordidum Pura is for the purebloods not on the list."

"How imaginative." Tom tsks, "Have any of your sisters joined up?"

Nemesis frowns, "Just one, she thinks it's a fun little club without consequences or ramifications...I tried to tell her, but...Another is close to joining too, just to keep an eye on her. They say a few families are split this way as well."

"I thought highblooded children did everything their parents said to think?"

"Yes well...There's only so much advice they can give, it's all new to them as well. And changing as we speak. So many think it'll pass, be forgotten in a month's time. Others think of it as a prelude to a manifesto." She pauses as they pass a group of laughing first years, carefree and happy, "...We're children playing war."

"Nothing like this has ever happened before?"

"I...Not in recent history." She struggles to remember, "...Probably not since Policratius, and that was before the statue." At his inquiring look, she explains, "Ahm...I think it was a book talking about how princes should act and what their duties were."

"So, it was for Muggles."

"Well, yes."

"So no, nothing like this has ever happened before."

Before she can open her mouth to answer, she's interrupted. Shouts, not from panic but from goading. From threats and hexes, Tom knows those sounds well. His skin prickles. Head turns. Eyes narrow. From beside him, Nemesis freezes, as if remembering that night in the dungeons like he. Beyond them, past an archway, there’s flashes of light. Bright blue and red and purple. The familiar jeers of a rowdy audience. Someone is dueling.

A boom. Glass breaking. The scuttle of feet running. Despite his survival instinct (despite his brain telling him to hide, the Germans are here, get in the shelters), he stalks towards the commotion, coming together with a handful of other busy body students who want to get a closer look. Nemesis, bless her poor heart, has no choice but to follow, fingers twiddling. When he finally sees the cause of the destruction, he almost feels underwhelmed: two six years rolling around on the floor like animals, wands barely able to find enough room to move and cast, looking positively pathetic. He recognises them, barely. One of them is Adam’s teammate.

Professor Alder appears. Separates them with a silent spell, looking furious. It appears the show is over.

"--Lane? Are you alright?" He turns immediately. Nemesis is speaking to Ximena a little off to the side of him. She stands besides her Charms partner (whose name Tom can almost remember and is either Mavis or Martha), and looks half disturbed. "Did you two see what happened?"

Naturally, he goes to where Nemesis is, because they were walking together, but also because Ximena's Charms partner starts spilling their recollection of the events like a canary sings its song. They had been walking each other to their Care of Magical Creatures class when two pureblooded students began arguing about the publication of the week. The one no one can seem to escape from. Ximena stays silent throughout the girl's explanation.

"...and then Vane and Rowle started throwing hexes at each other, demanding to see proof of the other's purity." The Muggleborn finishes up, not at all happy to be gossiping, "They broke that trophy case there and the glass almost hit us."

Nemesis holds her hand to her chest in a measured display of shock and sympathy, "Our Rowle, or yours?"

"Ours. In Rowle's defense: he was only using protegos...Mostly." Tom holds back a snort, "I've never seen either of them like that...Rowle's always so calm, so in control...And Vane's so easy-going!"

Nemesis nods her agreement, index finger curled at her chin, "Silly boys...I'm sure their emotions just got the better of them, the same as it does during Quidditch." Her hand then goes to rest on the other girl's shoulder, "Those two are good friends, Baker, just wait: they'll be trading jokes and playing fair together in no time."

Martha (he's 80% sure it's Martha) smiles uneasily, but absorbs Nemesis' words regardless. Ximena looks less than convinced.

"You didn't call a professor at the first sign of trouble?" Tom deigns to ask.

Nemesis looks alarmed at his daring, but Martha casts her eyes downward, "I...I didn't think it would get so serious so soon...I wanted to stay and watch them scuffle it out." A sideways glance at Ximena, "...I should have listened to you, Ximena."

It's then that he notices the small cut above Ximena's eyebrow, the sight of which irritates him greatly. Ah, so she's feeling guilty, then? Rightfully so. What if she had been shell shocked by the experience of a fierce duel? Furthermore, why didn't the bracelet protect her...

The taller girl clears her throat, "...We're late for class." A nod of acknowledgement towards Nemesis and...him by proxy, "Good to see you." The two of them scurry off. Nemesis watches, silent, before speaking.

"Ridiculous...Getting so...so heated up over such chicanery...Soon we'll have to carry around our proof of pedigree everywhere." Nemesis sighs, "And most of us worship different Gods, so it'll be an awful mess trying to verify everything[1]."

He hopes to every God listening that she's just exaggerating. Just the thought of him having to display his Muggle documents is abhorrent, "..And what of wizards like me?"

"...I don't know." Her honesty doesn't please him as it usually does. At least she's not lying. "You have the backing of Rosier, Hedwig, and I--And even some of the Blacks...That should be enough to keep you safe, should the worst happen."

He glances at the shattered trophy case, still unfixed, then lifts his head up to look across the corridor at the still gathering crowd of students. What is the worst that could happen? What does she mean by keep him safe? "Am I in need of protection, Nemesis?"

"N--No, Tom, not at all...I'm such a worrier, you know this, I get it from my grandmother, actually--"

He stops listening to her ramble, knowing she won't give anything else of use to him. What is she trying to shield him from? Fear? Anxiety? Nemesis should know better: he's not pathetic. Furthermore, he's not going to drop this subject.

The next time he's able to lure her into talking about it, she's already muttering about it in the common room with Yami. Perfect. His contact with the older witch has been limited, and any opportunity to try and insert himself into her circle is welcome.

"--has little interest in the affairs of the West." Yami finishes as Tom sits himself down beside Nemesis (at a respectable distance on the sofa so she doesn't get any ideas).

"That's fair." Her voice is soft, like she doesn't want anyone to hear their conversation, "It's rather messy as it is with just the families on the Isles--Oh hello Tom."

He nods in greeting, telling them not to stop on his account. Nemesis suspects nothing, but he knows Yami is perceptive enough to realize that he's up to something.

The prefect continues anyways, "...It shall stay within the Isles, I assure you. The rest of Europe has entirely different concepts of purity, and have more to worry about with Grindelwald and the Muggle war stirring shit."

A blink--It's the first time he's heard her curse. Nemesis isn't as affected, "I suppose they think us safe because of Dumbledore."

Dumbledore? Why would Dumbledore--

The conversation continues to move forward despite his confusion. He's lacking too much information on the transfiguration professor, and he's tired of being surprised. The moment he's able, he's going to find a biography on him.

But until then: Yami is speaking.

"--and it's much easier to believe that a hero will rise up and save them all rather than organize and do something about it themselves." She criticizes, definitely realizing that she was cutting deep when Nemesis flinches at her words. Yami does not comment on it nor apologise, "I suppose some families will view the author of this Pureblood Directory as a sort of hero of the Purism movement...It's easier when they don't know who did it."

He strikes, "Are there any suspects?"

The further the topic of conversation gets from an individual, and more towards something broad, the easier it is to loosen up Yami’s firm grip on her opinions. On her knowledge and insights. This he’s learned through trial and error through the short amount of time he’s been in her company. Hence why he asked if there were any suspects rather than 'who do you think did it?'

But it is Nemesis who answers, hesitating, voice still low so he has to lean in to hear her, "The Averys are speculated to have something to do with the list; their family is known for record keeping." Yes, Tom remembers, "But they're also very quiet in Purism matters; very show not tell...I don't think it was any of them."

"They do not have the spine to publish such a thing." Yami validates Nemesis' claim, yet corrects her all the same, "Anything they do that causes turmoil is meant to appear status quo, or benefit the status quo.”

Tom pauses, “Does the Pureblood Directory not uphold the status quo?”

His challenge doesn’t annoy Yami, but it does make her raise a brow at him, “To some, I’m sure. But up until now, the only thing you needed to be considered truly pure in the eyes of the Ministry is have the right surname...” How stupid. “Now, there’s talk of needing proof that your magical grandparent isn't a Muggleborn or that your mother isn't a half-blood. That your sibling who died under mysterious circumstances wasn't a squib that your family tried to hide. That your confirmed bachelor uncle isn't actually married to a Muggle."

“This wasn’t an issue at all before? Most purebloods are fine with...less-than-proper activities and unions so long as they're kept in the dark?"

“‘Fine’ is a very loose word in this context. As is ‘issue’.” Ah yes. "You're meant to bury your secrets. Shove them in closets away from the light. It's impolite to ask, even more impolite to tell." Her brown eyes look tired. Resigned. It is a look that does not belong in her fierce eyes.

"It's...Let's say, there's a pureblooded family, one with heirs and lands to pass down...Let's say that the father has a child out of wedlock. Before that list, he could take that child under his family's wing. Legitimize him. Keep his infidelity quiet. Even if he was a half-blood, everyone would see him as a pureblood. Legally and publically, anyways; some families are more extreme than others." Nemesis wrings her hands, "Private matters like that...They won't be private if this gets worse."

What a surprise: pureblood ideals are a sham in the wake of their own selfish pleasures.

"Is it so bad?" He plays Devil's Advocate, "That things like infidelity and wedlock be brought to the light?"

The wringing doesn't stop, "It's not about that...Not really." She avoids eye contact, "...If an heir's blood and title are called into question, they can be challenged. Taken."

Taken. By anyone? Even by him? "Just for not being pure?"

Yami chooses this time to begin speaking again, "The way Britain's laws are written: yes."

How interesting.

-

It's an exaggeration to say that he's permanently hungry...But also not a lie. His first year at Hogwarts, he gained a few healthy kilograms from the hearty meals (and unhealthy sweets), and quickly lost it all during the summer back at Wool's. He's well on his way to getting it back, but the process is rather miserable: eating so much food after coming from nothing is cause for stomach aches and upsetting bathroom visits, but it's absolutely nothing compared to the hunger pains he'd go through back home and so he deals with them. If he must suffer after a full English breakfast, then so be it. He's not going to sit around and let this food be wasted--Though he's half sure that most of the food not served by the end of the day are placed under statis charms (there's a rumor that the bowl of mixed nuts and dried fruit has been under constant statis since the founders' time). At Wool's he's lucky to get food that's above room-temperature (and sometimes that's not even enough to thaw said food).

It's these reasons why he finds the kitchens comforting: there's never an absence of food. He never has the creeping anxiety that comes with empty cabinets or gas stoves that refuse to turn on. The storages of wheat, grain, and produce never run out, and he can have as much as he wants. As he needs. The cooks in said kitchen are subservient to him. They'll never deny him. Never tell him he's had enough or judge him for eating too much in too small amount of time. Never whip him with the wooden spoon or threaten to spill hot oil on him.

It makes watching Ximena and Elle become close slightly more tolerable.

As he watches them share knowledge and recipes, it's easy to ease into a state where he's pretending that they're just playing. Not actually bonding. Playing house and breaking bread, and at the end of it all, they'll depart to two separate sides of the park, city, country, and never speak to each other. A thought that's silly as it is stupid, but it helps.

What also helps is that he gets to taste test their creations. After them, of course. A strange mix of dishes that more often than not made him feel nostalgic for something he's never experienced. Elle is always delighted at his compliments and Ximena is always indifferent.

The times he's been able to sit down in the kitchen and eat with them are quiet. A fact that's almost amusing, as throughout their prep and cooking time, they never seem to stop talking. But once the food is served and they sit down to eat, they fall silent. Eating together is, he supposes, sacred to them. A ritual. He'd take the opportunity to speak himself, but he doesn't.

He'd take the opportunities where he finds Elle alone to speak to her about his Ximena situation, but he hasn't. Having seen Ximena confide in Mali, he's not sure why it bothers him more that she's doing the same with his Puff...Is it because Elle is his and Mali is hers? Because he was hidden away during her heart spill with Mali, and out in the open during similar with Elle?

It's because they're both mine. He concludes. Both Elle and Ximena are his friends (his own special definition of friends), so it bothers him that they both spend so much time together without him (even if he's been quite good at dropping in on them unexpectedly). This would also explain why it weirds him out that Nemesis and Ximena are also apparently getting along swimmingly: both are his. Shouldn't their only connection be through him?

Luckily, in public, Elle and Ximena are only seen during lunches and (according to his Puff) occasionally in the library. As for himself and Elle, they are beginning to get well known outside Hufflepuff as Transfiguration aficionados--Thanks to Elle's natural skill and Tom's raw talent. Hedwig had, at first, criticized his choice in Puff, claiming that Elle was wishy-washy and a basketcase, but once their toe-to-toe grades began growing kilometers apart, she changed her tune fast. Tom knows how to pick his people. He hasn't made a mistake about that yet.

Unfortunately, growing better in Transfiguration is only more excuse for Dumbledore to breathe down his back. He compliments him on his advancements during class and in the halls when he manages to catch him (how does he do that?), and commends him on his choice of Puff one day when he manages to pin him down for a spot of tea. Tells him how good it is that he's branching out from his usual sort and that Miss Kowalska was a delightful, respectable young witch to have as a friend.

Thankfully, another spat breaks out just outside his classroom, and before the wizard can start truly interrogating him, he has to leave to discipline. Thank Salazar.

Tom slips out of the classroom, hurrying his way over to lunch, where all the good seats at the Slytherin table are already taken. Granted, he can easily get whatever spot he wants, but with Elle on his mind, he searches for her. Finds her sitting with...

Both seats beside Ximena (and Elle) are taken, so he sits across from them, next to Macmillan and one of Nemesis' sisters. Altogether, there are a good amount of influential students sitting around him, a variety of ages and genders, and houses (two other Slytherins besides himself and Ximena.) It's excellent publicity. Particularly because a good chunk of these students have families on that blasted list.

The conversation is revolving around an upcoming engagement party between a Parkinson and a Vane, and how that might change due to current events. Huh. Even people as mellow as badgers seem to care about it.

He eyes one of Nemesis' sisters, he still hasn't really bothered to remember names since he can address them all as Fawley, "It's such a shame, really, they were a lovely couple; we met them at the Parkinson Yule party, and they looked quite content."

"Isn't he twice her age?" Elle asks, concerned.

"Well, she'll be of age when they marry--Or at least, if they end of marrying." She goes on, dropping the age topic to move onto the engagements of other couples. To her credit (and the rest of the students at the table), she doesn't bring up his and Ximena's apparent courtship, and he chalks that up to the naturally private nature of both he and his senior. As Cygnus said: being lowkey about a potential engagement is proper. Thank God. He's not sure he could properly field questions about it while his supposed fianceé is right in front of him and hasn't spoken a word to him in weeks. That's not a conversation he's ready to dance around quite yet.

Tired of having to explain in detail what every little nuance means in highblooded society, Nemesis' sister changes the topic to something that allows the petite bourgeoisie at the table to relate and contribute to--And seeing as all the ones at the table are children and students, they begin to compare their grades on midterms and critique their test-taking strategies (or lack of). Now the table dynamic shifts. It's a cozy display of comraderie that he fits perfectly into (despite how different it is from how Slytherins interact). It only pauses when the witches raised in the magical world begin to grow curious about Ximena's life outside of Hogwarts.

"Didya go to Muggle school, then?" Macmillan asks.

"I was taught privately by the sisters; a few of them were schoolteachers before taking their vows."

"What do Muggles learn about?" Crouch cuts in, innocently enough, although the look on Ximena's face tells Tom she's not very amused. He relates, it's a common question given to him by his Pureblooded compatriots back in Slytherin house, and it's tiring to answer. Muggle culture isn't a monolith.

"Basics, I suppose...But a Catholic education is different than what other schools have. Not all Muggles learn the same thing."

Only a handful of the children at the table seem to absorb her words. The rest press her on the subjects she had to learn. Albeit reluctantly, she talks about grammar, history, maths (the purebloods at the table were especially impressed with this), and Christian mythos.

"I miss Sunday school, actually; Biblical stories are somewhat of a forte of mine." She speaks clearly, but looks down at her plate, shy.

Elle serves herself a second helping of mashed potatoes, "I highly recommend taking Mysticism, then; Professor Bhati is brilliant and doesn't mind when a debate breaks out in class." The idea of Ximena debating anyone is jarring, but he agrees that she would probably benefit from the class.

"It sounds wonderful, but there are already so many classes I want to take, I don't know where to start."

Goldstein hums, understanding, "You could always wait until your sixth year and test in one of the higher level classes--You seem sharp, Lane, I'm sure you could do it."

Ximena smiles sheepishly (Tom almost rolls his eyes at Goldstein's attempt at flattery), "You're very kind. I really don't know all that much about religions outside my own...And I'm not sure Headmaster Dippet would allow me to test upwards considering my current grades."

"Oh that's ridiculous, Lane," says Nemesis' sixth eldest sister, "you've got decent, solid grades in all our shared classes--Why do you think I snatch you up as a partner whenever I can? You're reliable."

Tom leans into the conversation, suddenly interested for no particular reason. How long had those two been partners for? How come he didn't know? Why didn't Nemesis tell him?

Ximena pauses over her next words, voice quiet, "Passable grades aren't enough to do anything in our education...You know that."

It's strange to hear such a cut and dry sentence coming out of Ximena's mouth. You know that. Like a frustrated mother scolding a child over why they cannot have all the cakes in the world. A husband reminding his wife that their children are no longer present. A witch of uncertain blood telling a pureblood that her grades don't matter.

The sullen looks on the faces of the others at the table are oddly satisfying. No one can dampen the mood quite like Ximena. Even after she leaves, the table is sullen with her heavy words.

-

For whatever reason, be it biding time, indifference, or another, Ximena has definitely decided to keep the bracelet incident for herself. Tom wants to believe that it's due to her not knowing the whole story regarding his acquisition of it, but really he just believes she's collecting evidence against him. For what, he doesn't know. But for now his squeaky clean reputation is safe. The only publicity he's receiving is helping him.

With Grindelwald, the Muggle war, the Pureblood Directory and more...It makes sense that no one be privy to the fall of their relationship, but still...The selective attentiveness of the student body is abhorrent. Even during the times when they're sitting at the same table, chatting with the same people, nobody notices that they don't speak. Or don't mention it. That Ximena doesn't even spare him a glance.

Typical...Someone does something big, life changing, for him, and straight afterwards, they walk out of his life. First his mother, then the kind caretaker, and now this. Why does it bother him more, though? Because he can't remember his mother? Because the caretaker had other obligations? Because those two are dead and Ximena is still alive and well? Yes. That's it. The other two had no choice, Death is too strong. Its will unyielding. Ximena chose to leave him. Temporarily. But still leave all the same. What kind of conditions were those, anyways...Grow up. As if she's the authority on maturity. Might have well have given him a formal quest to fulfill. Gather pearls, fill a basket with lentil seeds, collect teeth from men in debt, something more concrete than just grow up.

Really the only reason he's not completely bent on punishing her is because he figures that getting off mostly scot-free[2] is a fine way to begin paying back that supposed life debt he owes her. Unless he can figure out a way to save her life, he's certain that that'll be over his head for years to come.

He doesn't particularly like remembering the near-death experience, but he certainly enjoys the memory of her magic and words. The moment repeats in his head often. When he's bored or feeling particularly...needy. It's a good memory. It still chills his skin when he thinks over her words. Don't touch him. It's comforting. Something to quell him when he's restless over their current...separation. Severance. It's grounding, oddly enough. Brings him back down to earth when his mind wanders onto unpleasant what-ifs and hypotheticals. What if Ximena never speaks to him again. What if she forgets him. What if she's already forgotten him. What if she forgot him and never speaks to him again and finds someone else to occupy her time and share her secrets with--

Don't touch him. Don't touch him. Don't touch him.

He breathes.

How stupid that a sentence, a memory, can calm him. More than anything else that he's tried when his mind decides to wander. It was...the feeling of having someone be protective over him. Not pitying. Not scared. Not admiring. Protective. Not that he needs someone to defend him, he's not a helpless welp--But it's nice to have nice things, isn't it? To feel that someone is worried over your well being. To know that they would incur violence against another in your name...Nevermind that Ximena technically attacked Ian after he insulted her, she still interfered with their duel and got in between the two of them. It counts. Whatever it was, it counts. It was bigger than that slap she gave Druella in her second year on behalf of her Muggleborn partner (was it on her behalf? Or was it because of something else?).

What else, he wonders, could he have made Ximena do in the name of protecting him?

He spares a glimpse at Katux (sitting across from him, complaining over his Charms homework), and mulls over how quickly he could get him to try and revert back to his malicious ways. Would that lift their barrier? A quick little skirmish? Something to think about. On his darker days or when his daydreams grow bland.

...Don't touch him. Don't touch him. Don't touch him...