Serpentine [T.M. Riddle]

I lost you (Part II)

"--You speak of things you know nothing about." The defensiveness was exquisite. "My...cousin's tastes are nothing but rumours."

Tom blinked. What on earth was Evan talking about? "I would have assumed you'd support those tastes." The Rosiers aren't public supporters of Grindelwald, but they certainly hadn't denounced him either.

That made Evan flinch. His undying loyalty to his family conflicting with whatever Tom had just implied. He tried to remember everything he's ever heard about Grindelwald's fearsome lieutenant. She has the right idea, but poor execution...Bowing down like that to another outside her family...Such desperation...And that's not mentioning the vicious little rumors regarding her...preferences. Lucretia told him that. Why the distinction again? Preferences and choices are so similar yet carry entirely different connotations.

Perhaps to Tom's surprise, Evan chuckled, "You hold so much over me...Must you hold more over my family?"

Yes.

Here, in the present, he understands now. Understands so much which he didn't before.

So then, homosexuality is like that with wizards as well? Different? Worse? Will Hedwig be taken to a doctor or asylum for her preferences? Or simply scolded? Allowed to live her debauchery in secret so long as she bears heirs?

Maybe it's just within a small circle that it's taboo. Something strange and meant to be cured.

He wonders who else knows. Or suspects of it. As Tom looks around the table at the others gathered for the Slug Club, he thinks he knows who. Those would be the ones he has to make the most convincing act at, because gossip is terribly powerful. An insurmountable amount of news and rumors leaves this castle through letters home every week. The news that his courting has moved to Hedwig from...

He's been told that it's been almost forgotten. The return of the bracelet. With so many new engagements and news stories breaking out every week, and with no parents or family formally circulating the news... It helps that no one has any stake in his or Ximena's engagement, as they come from no-name families (well, almost). His little wooing was charming back in second year, but now as a fifteen-year-old wizard, he's apparently meant to set his sights on bigger fish.

It doesn't keep people from speculating. Relating he and Hedwig walking out together to Ximena's withdrawal from Hogwarts. Some bloody idiot said he had her killed, which resulted in a delightful hex that landed the sod in the hospital wing. It's amazing what delusions people will come up with to entertain themselves. Couldn't be him.

Professor Slughorn immediately approves of the match, raving about two of his finest students being a perfect partnership. How his club and classroom have often been the scene of many a match between outstanding, remarkable wizards.

"If he asks to give a toast at our wedding, throw him out." He jests to Hedwig as she snorts in response, lightly smacking his arm. She's taking his jesting very well, he expected disgust or even worry, but Hedwig seems to trust him well.

He'll reward her loyalty.

If his retinue suspects of the arrangement, they do not comment on it. Evan and Nemesis continue their daily chatter with the two of them as if nothing has changed, and the rest don't bat an eye. Surely learning from past comments about the subject of courting and Tom. The ones present at the party merely extend their approval of the idea and wish them well, though he expects a handful of them to ask about it in the privacy of the boys' dorm.

The conversation moves to the subject of Tom, his favorite topic. Slughorn suggests that one day, he will be Minister of Magic. Tom would be lying if he said the idea doesn't appeal to him, but the thought of continuing his tirade of pretending, of smiles and docile policies, of having everyone believe he's a meek, benign wizard... He'd sooner rip his hair out. Yes, he has placed so much value into what others think of him because their opinions matter to the whole. But he doesn't want that. Not for the rest of his life. It sounds like hell. A personal purgatory custom made for him.