Serpentine [T.M. Riddle]

I lost you (Part II)

After the spectacle of having two respected witches dance like Muggles at a wholly pureblooded event, Ximena had dissolved into the crowd. Disappearing as usual, leaving people to murmur. To speculate.

Tom remembers Nemesis cooing over the dance. Over Ximena's dress. Asking him if he knew anything about this, if he knew how to dance like that too. It's truly one of her only downsides, being enamoured over such frivolity. Particularly in public. Back at the Acwellan residence, he found Nemesis much more subdued behind closed doors. Perhaps it was the comfort of knowing she was among friends (he still finds hers and Hedwig's bond strange, but he doesn't question it).

...Does Nemesis know? About Hedwig? Does it make her uncomfortable, or does her preposterous need to be kind to everyone extend to witches like Hedwig? (If he were a sap or a weaker person, he'd admire her need to be nice, but he's smarter than that, so he knows it's only getting in her way.)

...Was Nemesis like Hedwig? No no, she likes him. Or at least, he was told so by... By Hedwig. You couldn't possibly like both men and women. That's not allowed. Is it? Is that allowed?

No matter, it's not important at all. It probably won't ever come up again.

For the next few days, though, he carefully observes the two's interactions. Looking for anything queer or out of the ordinary. A sign of knowing or disgust. Of acceptance or collusion.

By now he knows that every pureblood, even the rich ones, are vastly different in their stances and views, even if they're equally blanch and stale. Like having porridge and a crust of bread for all one's meal, nonstop. What changes is how the meal is eaten. The rules, manners, requirements, expectations... And they all think that their way is the only way. The best way.

He had commented on it to Evan during the party, as a way to gauge how the dance would go over.

"Which opinion of the crowd will be the right one, I wonder?" He had sipped some of his drink, something apple-like and bubby, "There seems to be some mixed reviews."

Evan scoffed, "Listen to them all chattering... Like a flock of seagulls. Do you think such a vulgar display is going to be popular soon?"

He'd have to learn to dance. "Not at all." Tom bit out quick.

"Imagine if people started seeing it as a mechanism for courting...Ridiculous. Avery and Lane's age ranges are completely inappropriate." A glance at Tom, "Though not as scandalous as the gap between you and Lane."

Excuse him? "Well, not everyone has to have an age difference of ten years." Tom brooded, "Pureblood or not."

"Who told you that?" Evan scrunched his face, looking perturbed.

"Hedwig, of course."

His companion scoffed, "Archaic... She thinks everyone else should bend to the traditions of her family."

That sounded like every pureblood Tom knows. "Well you know how headstrong she is." To say the least. The witch is a raging fire. If she lived in biblical times, she would have been described as a plague or tyrant. Possibly both.

Evan continued, "A seventeen year age gap is...Muggle." Tom almost snorts[1],

"Then, what of the Malfoy heir and his rumoured young bride?"

Evan twisted his face again, displeased at either being countered or at the thought of marrying someone so young, "Malfoys...Their ancestor came over from France, you know. That might explain their vulgarity."

And Tom supposes that the French branch of the Rosiers were equally vulgar, "That explains Vinda Rosier's...choices."

The tense magic from Evan could not be missed. Tom waited.