Serpentine [T.M. Riddle]

Don't Touch Him. (Part II)

CW for everything Merope did to Tom Senior, and for the way people have always reacted to victims of SA

-

There isn't disgust in the eyes of Tom Riddle Senior. Nor disappointment nor remorse. There is nothing that indicates he is angry to see him.

There is, however, fear.

Tom is used to fear. He's gotten plenty of it in the orphanage and tidbits of it from his retinue. He's never expected to receive it from his father, of all people. Looking at him like he's a ghost, like he'll snap at any second and bite him. Consume him like some great beast.

His father's eyes are brown.

It takes everything in Tom not to strike the man down where he stands. Demand explanations. Reparations. Closure. His magic bathes him in killing intent and he knows Ximena feels it. The bellicose cloud that surrounds him. That reminds him of his mother, so young and angry in the memory of his uncle.

It's only the man's raw anxiety that keeps him from attacking.

The smile Tom forces on his face is tense. More like a grimace. His father is sandwiched between Mary Riddle and an older man, who is looking at Tom in a much less enthused way than she.

Thomas Riddle shakes his hand, brisk. Detached from the situation. His introduction is brief, and he tells no stories about his family lineage or of all the things he expects out of Tom. He does, however, appear to be strong-arming his son into being here: his grip on Tom Riddle Senior's sleeve is tight.

When Tom's father speaks, it's without eye contact. It's with discomfort. Disbelief. Confusion. He's being held together by the thinnest of threads and is only barely managing to keep from scurrying off to hide in a dark crevice.

Rather than look concerned, the Riddle parents look disappointed.

"You're...Here..." His father swallows. "You...You're..."

"I am your son." Tom manages not to seethe. Not to tremble or stutter. His chin juts out. All it does is make his father deflate. Look defeated.

Mary Riddle whispers, "He looks just like you, doesn't he?" into her son's ear, but this doesn't seem to affect him. All he does in response is flinch.

Thomas Riddle scrutinizes his grandson. "Mary tells me you're at a private preparatory school, boy. You're a prefect?"

Tom doesn't give a shit about upholding his perfect, good boy persona right now, but he bites his lip and nods through the condescension. Firm and subdued. Thomas Riddle looks mildly impressed. Perhaps he thought Tom illiterate? Or mad?

They try talking like this. One big family, in the sitting room together. But it doesn't work. It's not even a parody of a happy family, it's a mockery. Thomas and Mary Riddle try to push their son to talk and engage, but nothing works. He looks completely detached from the moment. Somewhere else. Thinking.

Mary Riddle changes tactics, placing her hand on her husband's and clearing her throat, "Why don't we allow you two to get to know each other?" She looks at Ximena expectantly. Ximena doesn't move.

Tom speaks pointedly, "I'd like for her to stay."

He ignores the look of conflicted relief on his father's face.

"Ah...Very well." Mary Riddle smiles, though it doesn't reach her eyes as she and Thomas Riddle move towards the door.

Silence pilfers the room.

Tom Riddle Senior is trying desperately to appear normal. Like all is well and there's nothing to be upset about, but he is a failed actor. The man cannot stop shaking from nerves and Tom can't stop shaking from anger. His only respite is the cushion of serene magic emanating from his companion. He wonders what his rage feels like to her.