Serpentine [T.M. Riddle]

Hinder

Ah, dramatics. One would think he was a banshee with how terribly he wails, "What on earth are you talking about?"

"The list!" He cries, over and over again, as if it meant anything to him, "The list, Riddle! The bloody list that'll tear me away from society-"

Tom knows better than to try and reason with hysteria (he has enough experience with that back at the orphanage), so he waits. Stares impassively at Satrapi to show that he doesn't tolerate this sort of behavior (the same look the matron tries on him), until finally, in the middle of a hiccup fit, he pushes forward his suede bookbag. Tom takes his permission easily, opening the snatch and looking inside. A textbook, some quills, a spare candy bar and...

He lifts the scroll of papyrus out, knowing that this is whatever is causing his senior grief. It's small, the sort of size he's seen be used as informational (read: political) brochures and occasionally invitations to white-tie parties, bound with a silver ribbon that glistens like diamonds in sunlight. It's bound, he realizes, as the magic used to seal it inspects his own: the feeling of ladybirds crawling on his hand. At last, after a few seconds, the magic deems him worthy, and he unrolls the scroll out.

Lexicon manuale: Sanguinis Pura

A squint, because they don't teach Latin at Hogwarts (a stupid choice he's discussed at length with Evan and the other boys), and he has to (embarrassingly) wave his wand above the text for a translation. He raises his brow at the result.

The names listed underneath the title and preamble provide little context: it's a small collection of family names that he's seen repeated in Lucretia's little gray book-The text declares that the twenty eight houses shown are the sole families remaining in Britain that still hold "absolute purity". No muggle or muggle born marriages (and he snorts, because he knows that to be an absolute false), as well as an absence of squibs.

He looks back at the prefect who has ceased hyperventilating, but is still curled up tight. It's some of the most ridiculous behavior he's seen be exhibited by someone his senior, much less a prefect and a high blood. A fool could conclude that his outburst is due to his surname being absent from the list...But why?

"Satrapi," The tone in his voice is perfectly whetted, and he keeps himself from smiling at how satisfied he is with it, "your line goes back centuries, you know this-" and Satrapi certainly makes sure everyone else knows it too, "-How can a little list change that?"

And when the fifth year boy turns to look at him, it is with hollow eyes, "It doesn't matter." It repeats. Continuously falling from his mouth as if his heartbeat were connected to the phrase. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter.

Tom leaves him on the floor and does not see him for the rest of break.

His own surname isn't on the list, and he'll claim to himself that that doesn't deter nor upset him. And there would be evidence to back up that claim: many pureblooded, old, and noble families aren't on the list either. Maybe he's not as prime pickings as a Selwyn, but he can still be in the league of a Vanes. And that's just if the list is actually of any sort of merit. Where are the credible sources for this publication?

He comforts himself with the memory of the list inspecting his magic. Is there a radar for detecting pure blood? No one had mentioned it before, it seems like an easy enough spell to create...Or at least fake.

Lucretia thinks it's silly. As if a Black needed any validation from some anonymous bloke that their blood was pure. Judging from the other Blacks he's able to wrestle an opinion out of, the feeling is widespread, but that doesn't mean they don't like having their name mentioned on the list. Cygnus walks about with his chest more puffed up than usual, and his sister, Walburga, appears to hold the same sentiments.