Serpentine [T.M. Riddle]

Rumor/Truth

The word pleases him. "Nemesis?"

"Partly. Slughorn had a talk too. About inter-house conflicts and the weight that dark spells have on you. The usual nonsense." Evan rolls his eyes again, "She, though, she really turned the story to favor the two of you." A clearing of his throat, he flexes his shoulders and enunciates in a hilariously accurate Nemesis voice: "He was a terrible brute! Pissy because of a lost duel in something that didn't even matter!" Tom almost chuckles at his heightened pitch, "Attacked Tom while his back was turned like a recreant! If it wasn't for Lane, I'm sure that Dumbledore would have found reason to investigate all of Slytherin house! Especially after Ian had the gall to try the cruciatus curse in Dueling Club!"

It's amusing but a little hard to follow, he blinks, "Investigate?"

"Ah, right, you're..." He muses for the right word, "New." His hands fold together, "It's no secret what our house's reputation is yes? A festering pit for dark wizards...ridiculous." He huffs, "We're devious, but far from evil. The problem is that some of us aren't very good at covering our tracks." Tsk tsk, "Parents and politicians from other houses have been demanding an investigation into the lives of students for decades. Dumbledore notwithstanding."

"Dumbledore has children?"

"Dumbledore is Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot." He stays silent. Evan continues without waiting for a response, "It's good that Lane's a Slytherin instead of a damn lion or badger. Maybe now those rumors will start having some truth to them."

It's a curious thought to have, but if Evan were older, Tom can imagine him smoking a cigarette during this conversation, looking annoyed and tired as he is. "Truth?"

"That the darkness in Slytherin isn't all encompassing. Just a few bad eggs." His hand taps on the cover of his book, "Dark spells are in most of our blood, but it means nothing--Do you know when you're being released?"

Too much information in such a short span of time hurts his still muffled head. He rubs his eyes, "Sunday, if all goes well?"

Evan nods to himself, satisfied, "Expect lots of visitors today then, Tom. You'll be sick of it." A gesture to the box of candies, "Enjoy these, by the way, they're from Acwellan. She'd be here yelling your ear off, but she had other obligations."

Ugh, thank God, he could not take Hedwig's yelling at this hour with how he's feeling, "Nothing from you? I'm hurt."

He tucks his book under his arm, "My family's get-well gift should be here later today." A curt nod, "But if you're really so wounded, I'll smuggle some cauldron cakes to you after dinner."

"--Wait." It slips out, Evan pauses, "Do you know where Ximena is?"

He raises his chin, "No. No one's seen her since yesterday."

When Evan leaves Tom to head to breakfast, he sinks into his bed a little more, wanting to bury himself under the covers.

.

If Tom didn't know any better, he would think he was beloved by all of Slytherin house--and a few more outside of it. Students he's never talked to (or at least, he doesn't remember talking to them) visit him with sympathies and flowers. Classmates come with candies and pastries. Teachers come to commend him for his actions (inactions?) and offer extensions to deadlines for assignments he's already completed days ago. He has a growing collection of little cards with colorful, animated pictures and words that he can't even look at for longer than a few seconds thanks to the medicine (the eyestrain is painful). The flowers by contrast are less annoying, but still irritating. He had to ask a mediwitch on duty to dull the contrasting and mixing smells, however mild they were (his wand is being kept from him for 'his own safety'). The candies and sweets are fine. He likes those best, but the mediwitches are storing most of them away from him. Hags.