Serpentine

Tom has never, not once, imagined his reunion with his own father. He knows this, and he'll reinforce this truth forever.

Still there's something bitter on his tongue when it's clear that Ximena's father is a wizard. That he's overjoyed to see her. Desperate to keep her near and safe. Will his father care as much when he confronts him? More?

Is there, perhaps, some sort of memory charm instilled on him that prevents him from remembering he has a son?

Tom looks at his teacher and classmate, engaged in a talk so deep, neither of them have really acknowledged neither him nor Dumbledore since the latter offered his office for the two to talk. Their conversation is a tapestry of multiple languages, each distinct and with its own traits, effortlessly rolling off their tongues as Parsel does with his. He can only catch every other Spanish phrase, and that makes his fist tighten. What are they saying?

Dumbledore pours them tea, offers jam and scones and clotted cream. The treats are mostly untouched at first before the two reach out to prepare themselves a cup in the same fashion: no sugar, some cream. They don't even notice it. They continue speaking to each other without pause, not wanting to waste a single second. As if by taking their matching black eyes off each other, they might disappear again.

"¿Pero quién te enseñó estos idiomas? ¿O los recordaste tú sola?"

"Bueno, un poco de los dos… Señora Rivera, la monja quien me creyó, me ayudó mucho."

"¿Señora Rivera?" Balam squints at his daughter, trying to remember something, "De casualidad, me podrías decir su primer nombre?"

Ximena switches to another language after this, telling her father a name he doesn't recognize (soht-chilt?) and the conversation is mostly lost to him.

As for Dumbledore, the old man is looking at him like he's proud. Like he has any claim to be, as if he planted the seeds of goodness or some other nonsense within him. Disgusting. "You did a very wonderful thing."

He responds with a petty little smile, "I only did the right thing, sir."

"It takes terrible courage to do the right thing."

What in Merlin's name does that mean? What kind of courage could it have taken him to unite his classmate with an estranged relative? It was for himself, of course. He gains much from this. A debt. From the two of them. Probably. At least this way, Ximena will presumably cease this flip-flop of behavior towards him. The hot and cold. Stability is always preferred. Always wanted. Not the uncertainty of not knowing how she's going to act towards him.

Eventually, the two approach him and Dumbledore, thankfully saving him from further painful talk with the transfiguration professor (not that he's a stranger to such, he just hates them). He assumes they're here to ask about accommodations, permissions, or perhaps to thank him for—

The words are heard. He sees her lips moving. Her hopeful expression. The lingering tears in the corners of her eyes and the dried trails left upon her cheek.

He blinks.

"Sorry?"

"I'm going to leave Hogwarts." Ximena breathes again, as if this decision, this revelation, meant nothing to her. "My...My father is taking me back home. To México." The way father stumbles out of her mouth is clumsy and unfamiliar, but beloved. Warm and foreign. All of Ximena is strange to him, as a matter of fact. The melancholy veil that usually shrouds her form lifts, revealing a perky, almost tightly coiled posture that radiates excitement. It makes the previous times he's seen her happy pale in comparison. To know that he helped bring it about is satisfying. To know that he isn't the center of it is...annoying.

Moreso, what bothers him is that she wasn't saying this to him, she's saying it to Dumbledore, who nods, understanding, and mentions writing to Headmaster Dippet immediately to withdraw her.

Another witch withdrawn from Hogwarts, thought this one not because of the war.

-

He is fifteen when school starts up again. Spending his birthday in between Hogwarts and the houses of other Slytherins left something heavy like iron inside of his stomach.

His added advanced potions class is spent with Eris as his partner, who is a more mature, more tedious version of her younger sister. All of the brains in the family definitely went to Nemesis. Unfortunate. He'd assume that it was Ximena carrying their former partnership, but seeing that she pretends to be stupid, maybe not.

Eris tells him a lot about the social circles in fifth year, though. A different side than the one usually talked about by Cygnus and the rest, and it allows him to further close his fist around the stragling witches who have evaded his influence. All the better, Elle's last year is coming to a close, and he needs to be seen fraternizing with more docile students. Ones without a reputation.

The Slug Club meetings have been few and far in-between, focusing mostly on alumni and graduating students, as it has been for a short while since the canceled Hallowe'en party (The Grindelwald attack aside, Slughorn holding influence over small children was taken into suspect during the trial, and apparently he had debated setting back the Slug Club meeting age up to fifth year). Thus, Tom's quite excited to finally get an invitation, and then has his mood soured once he remembers that Ximena is no longer at Hogwarts.

It's a big subject, her withdrawal. Mainly because of her little stunt with his ex mentor during the holidays at his birthday party, and in part because of past fame with Ian and the trial. People, of course, don't know the whole story, and keep asking him for details, if not outright making nonsense up. There's rumours both savory and unsavory, and to the unsavory ones, he manages to get the people to shut up about them with enough force. It helps that he has far stretching hands with Abbas and Topaz in the year above him. Ridiculous that people should try and besmirch Ximena's 'honor' like that. Buffoons.

How lucky that she be away from all this attention. Helping the Avery family in such a preposterous political move would have brought enough fanfare by itself, she undoubtedly knew. A worthy sacrifice in the name of locating any sign of her family. It might have been fun watching her squirm under the gaze of the crowd again, even if she's gotten better at handling it. He would have been able to figure out how to burrow under her skin and...

But, yes, she is no longer here. No matter, Slughorn allows outside guests, right? He sees them all the time, mainly being alumni, important ministry members, and socialites (last year he had some Quidditch player, apparently). Surely he'd allow his star pupil some leniency for something like this. Particularly for a student (an ex-student now) who helps make him look tolerant and exciting. The only controversies Slughorn is interested in are the ones that don't affect him at all. It's quite artful how he teeters the line between pureblood and muggleborn supporter.

Tom also hasn't talked to Ximena since the reunion. She hasn't written to him either, much to his charging, but Balam has. Proper thanks, well wishes, and a reading list for the next time he sees him. Right. At least that didn't go to hell with the reunion. Tom was almost starting to regret it. He stayed away from his new teacher's home for the rest of the holiday while she went back, presumably for more catching up and perhaps to set up her education. He assumes Balam would want to homeschool his daughter, but assuming has never brought him anything. There's several schools in Latin America, some of which she'll be allowed to attend, certainly. But she would be a fool to throw away the opportunity.

He will not see her again until Eostre holiday. It doesn't make sense that he's antsy about it, because it's inevitable. He'll be in the same building as her and be attached to the same person as she is. It'll be impossible to ignore him. Not that she would want to (does she?), after all she has him to thank for reuniting her with her father again. Him. Not Avery. Fuck Avery. Sod Avery. Son of a bitch bugger wank--

He clears his throat, shaking his head of whatever negativity was building up. His ex mentor was nothing to be upset about. He was just...annoying. But otherwise nothing to be concerned about. Of course. If anything, now that he doesn't have to fulfill his search for Ximena's bloodline, she has a free ticket on him. Debt is like that to purebloods (lest he forget how everyone told him he owed Ximena a life debt.)

Then again, the parts of his company who don't know that his attempts to court Ximena was a misunderstanding have expressed their desire to gently put Avery in his place. A tempting but unnecessary idea. Especially when Tom would rather have a nice heart-to-heart chat with him. No need for third parties. It's not as if the wizarding world views two people dancing as something romantic or inappropriate beyond being Muggle-adjacent. He's not threatened. He's not even courting Ximena. Why would he be?

...He's going to spend parts of his holidays with her. Closer than the empty common room back when he was still obsessively searching for a magical Riddle. When he discovered the misfortune of his father and swiftly recovered, not at all being affected by it.

She told him he snored, does she snore? Is that a strange thing to wonder?

Will her room be accessible through the same methods as his? Both inhabiting the same pocket of space while residing in separate rooms? It's an interesting thought, but he'd prefer to be physically located next to her quarters. Sharing a wall feels right. Even if, ideally (traditionally), as students under the same teacher, they should be sleeping in the same room.

But he's getting ahead of himself.

His quill hovers over the surface of his letter, not wanting to come off as demanding, but definitely firm. A little affronted that she hasn't sent word to him at all yet. No matter how distracted she may be. He fixed her life! Brought her solid evidence of a family! A loving one! That he not be at the forefront of her priorities is insulting (what is he going to tell the rest of his classmates? The ones who believe them to be courting?)

Go to the Slug Club meeting with me. He states, his handwriting a flourish. Leaving no room for argument. He doesn't doubt she would have told him 'no' had it been in person, but this way he doesn't have to persuade her to change her mind. Why would she say no to the person who reunited her with her father? He doesn't relate to the sentiment of wanting to be with one's father, but he can understand it. Especially if you have nothing else, as they do. Only the skin on their backs and their name (and she had barely that).

He hopes Ximena knows how lucky she is to have a father like Balam. A wizard. And a capable one.

Gwendolyne Nott sits down across from him in the library, not seeking permission as she should—If she were in his circle, he'd punish her, but she keeps her cheerful distance from him most of the time. The only reason he knows who she is is because of her last name and because of her twin brother, who is currently seeking favor with him.

"Nott." He nods his head at her, "Can I help you?"

She starts up a lame attempt at asking whether he's planning on bringing anyone to the upcoming Slug Club meeting. As fun as it would be to have her roll out her entire proposal before shutting her down, it would be better for him if he used her to spread the word of his going with Ximena. As sophisticated as Slytherins like to pretend they are, they're not immune to the trivialities of grapevine conversations.

As he opens his mouth, someone slaps a hand on his back so hard he drops his letter, "I'm going with Riddle you desperate munter, does that sound like a problem to ya?"

What the fuck.

His brain tries to process the information, and when it comes back with no conclusions, he tries listening again. To what's happening around him.

Gwendolyne is looking at him with some bemusement. Some disappointment. She's telling Hedwig that she can't possibly be his date to Slughorn's gathering.

Hedwig doubles down, "And why the fuck not, you saggy sack of tits, the last time I checked, you weren't my father, but you have the same amount of facial hair as he."

No, this context doesn't help him in the slightest. He tries reading Hedwig instead: looking at her body posture and magic and oh she is very… Unsteady. The vibrating signature within the white-haired witch is trembling like an unsteady skater on already thin ice. Like she had only just gotten to him in time to save him from something.

This had better be good.

Tom plays along, which just means he doesn't deny Hedwig's claim and watches as Gwendolyne goes on away from his table, ready to spread the news to everyone. Unfortunate. That's going to be almost impossible to put out, but his credibility is above hers. Most of the boys his age and below (and a year above!) look to him before establishing an opinion on something.

Just as he's about to put the fear of himself into Hedwig, she turns to him and brings her hands up. Brings her voice down. "I need you to do this for me, Tom. You said you would help me if I needed it, you said it [1]." Hedwig breathes, and the desperation of it almost makes him ignore the rudeness of her tone. She shouldn't be demanding anything from him. She knows this. And yet… "They know." Who's they? What do they know? Hedwig knows better than to play this pronoun game with him, she must be very much riled up. "Or if they don't know, they're close. They will know. Fuck, I—" Her hands, her fingers, don't stop opening and closing. As if they're trying to figure out what their use is. What their purpose is. Like they're trying to find something to strangle or wring. "Tom, they know about my Puff and I'm fucked."

He blinks. Oddly aware of how vulnerable she's being right now and utterly confused. "Powell?" Tom had been pleasantly surprised at Hedwig's choice of Puff, having not previously known of her existence. Quieter than he suspected, but it helped to offshoot Hedwig's brash personality, just as Elle's gentleness helped soften his own intimidating image.

Hedwig nods, looking more nervous by the second. "I need to look like I'm interested in courting and following tradition, and hosting and fuck, whatever it is my mother does, I don't bloody know, just—" Hedwig might be crass and vulgar, but she's never not articulate. Never stuttering or stumbling over her words. The juxtaposition is jarring as it is interesting. What does her Puff have to do with courting and Pureblood tradition? Is Powell a halfblood? The name checks out...

Her eyes are pleading, wide hazel marshes. "My father found a suitor for me."

Spot your child befriending a halfblood and assign her a prospective suitor to put her in her place? Sounds about right. So then… Tom comes in as a pre-existing suitor. Ah. Yes. That is all he's good for, then. A stud for these people. He should be insulted at this.

And yet, the thought of Hedwig married to some idiot without a care as to her abilities or magic bothers him immensely. He'd known her since they were both young witches and has seen her absolutely pummel every rival in her way. Save for himself, of course. A husband would, legally and socially, have rights over her that surpass his own. He'd never allow for anyone in his court to be taken away from him like that.

Tom nods his head, "And if you already have a suitable person in mind, then--"

"Then Da will reconsider." She licks her lips, nervous and trembling and on edge. He's never seen her lose her shit like this and it's almost amusing, but mostly disturbing. "He liked you, Tom, your visit is all he would talk about for a week afterwards, fuck." Her hands run through her hair, he finds it impossible that her fingers do not tangle in her mane, "I can't rely on anyone else, they'll just fuck it up, they'll fuck it up and I'll have to pick up the pieces and make proper excuses and--"

Her ramblings titter on, speaking on being forced to marry. To carry child and spend her life with some oaf she loathes and isn't allowed to poison (he almost snorts at that). How she'll be separated from her Puff and she's very fixated on this. On possibly never seeing her again or losing her or accidentally bringing her unwanted attention. Being unable to protect her. As she talks about Sophie Powell, Hedwig clutches at her robes. At her chest. At her heart.

It slowly dawns on him what's happening. Her defensiveness about her Puff, the close relationship the two have, her disinterest in boys for the entire time he's known her...He had wanted to assume, wanted to hope, that it meant she had a better head on her shoulders than Nemesis, but alas. It means her reveries of romance were tinted (tainted, some might say) towards the fairer sex. Unfortunate, but...He can use this. He can help. She's in his retinue and has served him well. Given him advice, honesty, and overall influence. It's only fair that he returns the favor.

Tom Riddle takes care of what is his.

Her breathing hitches, she's this close to hysterics. He puts aside his discomfort with touch to rest his hands on her shoulders (she's so short, goodness), solidifying his magic to feel stable. Strong. "I got you, Hedwig."

She stops her muttering, looks up at him again, eyes frantic.

"You can trust me."

Hedwig takes a deep breath. Her sigh empties whatever spirit left in her. She is quiet.

He has her.