The Diary (pottermort)

chapter thirty

If one were not muddled by sleep, then perhaps they would notice that the Slytherin table seemed a bit more crowded then usual. If one were completely there at breakfast that morning in early November, then maybe they would see that a fair portion of those sitting at the Slytherin table were not dressed in green. If anyone had been invasive enough to pry, then mayhaps they would hear that Fleamont Potter was bribing the Headmaster into letting a few certain someones sit where they please.

As is, Tom Riddle noticed and was not amused.

Fleamont sits at his side, smiling, and chatting mindlessly with Minerva McGonnagll, who sits opposite him. Septimus talks passionately in a hushed tone to Sage, who gives his input every few minutes or so, which makes Tom wonder what "accident" is to happen today. Myrtle sits to Tom's right, quiet and passive as usual.

The only one missing from their little huddle is Orion, and that is likely because he figures he is not welcome. Tom leans back and spots Orion sitting with his little Pureblood pack half a dozen seats down. Good, thinks Tom viciously.

Tom had not really expected for the DA to seek him out outside of their meetings. Looking at their placement of three Gryffindors, one Ravenclaw, and two Slytherins (an odd, disgusting, and ironically Hufflepuff display of House unity, now that he thought about it), Tom gets the impression the others did not carry the same expectations.

"So," Tom says. He is only slightly unnerved when the group's chatter stops immediately. Perhaps he spoke with more bite than intended. As-is, as-is, he thought. "Why are you all here, uninvited?"

"We are not precisely uninvited," says Minvera, "We asked Fleamont beforehand."

Fleamont blushes red and grins dopely at Tom. This is his idea of a present, thinks Tom. He wills himself to stay mad. "At least Orion had the decency to keep his distance."

"It is to the thanks of a well placed stinging hex," says Septimus with a seemingly large amount of pride.

Minerva gives a tight frown. "That type of misdemeanor is a reason why I wished to see you."

"Is that so?" He asked, taking a bite of toast.

"Indeed," said Minerva dryly. "He and Myrtle--" Myrtle gave weak finger guns, "--plan to seek revenge on some of Myrtle's peers. Bullies as they are, Septimus discusses rather violent and irrational methods that I find both distasteful and illegal--"

Sage, who was previously dissolving a pill into his goblet, takes a sips and says, "Let the dead stay dead. Glory to Arstotzka."

"Merlin, Lovegood, stop doing that," hissed Myrtle.

Sage raised an eyebrow.

"You all seem to have everything under control," lied Tom. "I have no further input."

Minerva scoffed, unimpressed. "I encourage you to take a stand--"

"I have an unrelated inquiry," said Septimus.

"I welcome the topic change, what's up?" said Tom. Fleamont laughed at his side.

"What does the relationship between you two," he said, pointing between Fleamont and Tom, "... pertain, exactly?"

Fleamont bit his lip and Tom placed a calming hand on his forearm. "We're boyfriends, of course. It's not a confusing concept."

Minerva, seemingly over the Septimus-is-a-felon conversation, adds, "There's rumors within Gryffindor. I do not wish to mention such, as they're  unnecessarily vulgar at times--"

"Are you Fleamont's sugarbaby?" interrupted Sage, not held back by the concept of boundaries. Minvera's face scrunches up in disgust.

"What's that?" asks Fleamont, ever the born and raised Pureblood. Tom is... not as unfamiliar to the term.

He intertwines his fingers with Fleamont's and says, "I ensure you, my intentions with Flea are pure." It is partly a lie, but who needs to know that but Harry?

Fleamont, still distantly confused, grins up at Tom.

Myrtle sighs. She reaches into her robes, pulls out a handful of change. She puts it in Sage's awaiting hand. To Tom's scrutinizing gaze, she shrugs. "There's rumors within Ravenclaw, too," she says simply.

Tom sighs.

"Do you and Fleamont have any plans this weekend?" asks Septimus.

"Not really," said Fleamont. Tom is wondering if he's about to be asked to consider polyamory.

"We are going out to Hogsmeade this weekend," said Septimus. "Orion wishes to question if you'd like to join us."

Tom, almost instinctively at the mention of Orion, jumps to say no but Fleamont brightens at the opportunity. Tom sighs. For whatever reason, he cannot bring himself to dim him so. "We'll be there," he says. Fleamont kisses his cheek in thanks, and Tom finds he does not regret his decision.

(A part of him, he knows, might be as whipped as Fleamont.)

Sage raises his almost empty goblet and says, "To 42."

Myrtle toasts him. She sips her juice. "He says it's the answer to life, the universe, and everything. The ultimate question and all that."

"Right," said Tom. What the fuck is with that guy, he thinks. The answer is apperant, of course, because it is as Orion said to him before; Sage Lovegood is both high and psychic. It's not a pretty mix.

Minerva, about to explain his vision further, is stopped when the owl delivery comes.

Fleamont grabs a letter from his bird, frowning at it. "Charlus returned my letter again," he explained. "He didn't even open it."

Tom squeezed his hand, using his free one to open the letter his own owl brought him. His glee must be evident on his face because Fleamont asks, "What is it?"

"Nicholas Flamel has responded," he said proudly. "He would be honored to have me as his apprentice. He's coming by Christmas break to discuss details further."

Fleamont beams. "That's wonderful, Tom!"

"That's stupendous and all," spat Septimus, swatting at Tom's owl, who kept nibbling at his food, "but take care of your owl, yes?"

Tom whistled and she reluctantly flew away, leaving Septimus to his ruined plate of food.

Septimus grumbled. "A swine," he said.

Tom chuckled. "That's Hedwig for you."