Serpentine [T.M. Riddle]

Static

"Tom Marvolo Riddle. I do not know my blood status."

It's a terribly small world when he sits in that golden chair, and the heavens before him, the entire fifty-something Wizengamot, feel infinite. Every star in the sky is staring back at him. Waiting. He's sure a good handful of them are old enough to rival a few stars based on their wrinkles alone--They cut so deeply into their milk white skin, it makes Tom wonder about how they looked when they were young. There are some exceptions among them, namely Wzn. Shafiq and Wzn. Kingsley, who stand out as much as drops of ink would on fresh snow, and have a minimal, elegant amount of wrinkles: they look planned, somehow. The rest of the members are young enough to not exactly be elders, but old enough to command some type of authority.

"And why is that?"

Dumbledore knows why. It's degrading that he has to explain it to him (to everyone) as if it wasn't already common knowledge. It helps his--Ximena's case to paint him as a noble and perfect little orphan, but it also paints a huge target on his back: risk of Muggleborn in big bright letters. Like a theatre or moving picture show, with lights and painted pictures. Pleh. Don't look at him like that, Dumbledore, he's not guilty of anything. This time.

"I'm an orphan."

There's still pause over his name and status as an orphan. Does his saying it during these opening moments make it official? Do they recognise his name--Will they tell him where he comes from?

No. They ask if he's a wizard. If he's attending Hogwarts. Like his classmates. Dumbledore nods his head and gives the floor to the jade man, whom up close, smells like mint and lavender. It's half comforting, half off-putting.

"How is your injury fairing?"

"It's healing well, thanks to Madam Belfast and her cadre."

"Does it hurt?"

"Occasionally, but I've been given potions for it." Madly dizzying ones. What idiot hasn't figured out how to make a potion for pain without need of poppyseed? That should be first on his agenda once he gets his bearings back. He couldn't probably ask for Ximena's advice with that...Even if he wasn't in possible trouble with her, she'd take it as cheating on that challenge she issued him. And rest assured, he does deep down believe that there will be issues in attempting to converse with her again. He tried catching her gaze before he sat down, but it was to no avai--What is that? That pull? He blinks. Eyes darting. Is that--Yes. He feels it: his wand. It's close. Very close. Outside this room? In which direction? He's never felt the magic in it before, but he knows that's what he's feeling now. It's pulsing. A blaring alarm. So obviously similar to the way the bracelet calls out to Ximena...His hands itch. He'll get it soon, right? Right after this case? Where is it.

Shit, he's missed the jade man's words...They were to the court, but undoubtedly important. Useless, but important. They're all nodding in agreement with something that was said, looking prideful. Willfull. Should he imitate that or react to it? Where the fuck is his wand?

"If I could, I would like to bring out Mister Riddle's wand and demonstrate that he was not involved in the unfortunate duel between Miss Lane and Mister Rosier," Ah. His instincts are on, "The last spell used from his wand was not identified, if the records collected from Hogwarts are correct, and I expect they are." His yew wand comes the same way Ximena's was brought out, the stark white standing out against the black chamber. The jade man picks it up carelessly and adjusts his hand on it, stretching out his arms, "--I understand they've been keeping it away from you since your injury, Mister Riddle, I'm terribly sorry."

Then stop waving it around in front of him, you git, "I understand completely. It's for the best--The greater good, right?"

The jade man smiles his politician's smile, "You're a fine young man." Young man. "And your schoolmates seem to think highly of you--Second coming of Merlin? A high compliment from a Fawley."