Deal with the Devil

Chapter 18

Tom studied himself in the mirror, running a comb through his immaculate curls once more, straightening the already-neat lapels of his dress robes. He cut a rather fine figure, he knew, but there was a reason his appearance was always beyond reproach; he checked and re-checked. His robes were mostly true black, from the crisp, button-down shirt and down to the laces on his polished boots. The vest was just on the black side of charcoal, a black silk tie, black outer-robe jacket. The only true exceptions were the silver snake tie clip (a la Slughorn, who said every gentleman needed one), the deep emerald lapels, and the emerald and silver cufflinks (an early Christmas present from Nott). He tapped his lips, eyes skimming himself, then flicked his wand.

"Accio silver handkerchief." He folded it deftly and tucked it in the little pocket meant for just that. There, now he was ready.

He stepped through to his bedroom, gaze sweeping across to make sure there was nothing out of place. His diary was tucked away and warded, everything in its place. Upon finishing, he went into the hall to await Theodorus. Surprisingly, the other young man came out immediately.

"I was just waiting for the sound of your door," he admitted. "Shall we go downstairs?"

Nott wore a dark blue shirt, black tie, black vest, black robe and slacks. The blue made his eyes stand out, Tom supposed.

"Shouldn't we wait for Elena?" he asked.

"Nah. My mother is with her, and they'll take forever to prepare. We're best waiting comfortably," Nott said. He then examined Tom, nodding. "You look like the quintessential Slytherin."

They began the walk to the parlor. "I am the quintessential Slytherin," he responded. After a beat, he said, "Abraxas Malfoy is now master of the manor, correct?"

"Yes," Nott nodded. "He's quite young for it; his father died a few years after he graduated from Hogwarts, and his mother returned to France shortly thereafter. He's about mother's age, I believe, maybe a few years younger. She was a Ravenclaw, and they were never particularly close, but they knew one another at Hogwarts."

Tom thought on that as he slipped into the chair in the little parlor reading nook. It was high-backed, with deep blue cushioning velvet. "Is there a Lady Malfoy?"

"No. Brax rather likes being Britain's most eligible wizarding bachelor. He will have to sire an heir at some point, but I've even heard rumors he would be willing to legitimize a bastard rather than marry." Theodorus studied him for a moment. "Are you going to induct him to the Knights? He holds our views, and has more political influence than most of us."

Tom steepled his hands, elbows resting on the scrolled wooden arms of the chair. "Perhaps. You've not told him much, have you?"

Nott started. "No, of course not. I'd never without your, erm, permission. No, I've merely mentioned you lead a group that discusses politics at the school, and many young men of good breeding admire and respect you."

"Good. Perhaps you should speak with him a little more about it tonight. I will allow him to initiate questions about my lineage, should he be... discrete."

Nott nodded and the two lapsed into silence. Tom was considering his recent political endeavors. Miss Carrow— Leticia— had been enlightening. She apparently associated with Gellert Grindewald, and was an adamant supporter of all things anti-muggle. That could be useful to him, considering Grindewald's current situation. Governments were doing well in the fight against him, and his hold even over his home country was weakening. He'd retreated within safe territory. Tom was sure it was a matter of time before someone took out the dark wizard. That would leave a power vacuum; the perfect place for Lord Voldemort to begin his rise.