Serpentine [T.M. Riddle]

Her Silence

In the months leading up to his first day, he had been carefully observing other wizards: their mannerisms, customs, sayings, and the like. He wants to be absolutely sure that he does not fit out like he does back at the orphanage. He wants to make a name for himself his way. To be recognized for the best reasons. And so, Tom parrots them: their gaits and gazes and speech and stance, and so far his chameleon ability has worked like a charm. He is getting along finely with others for perhaps the first time in his life, and he has even started perfecting his smile to look...well, less like a grimace. Tom continues to make allies everywhere he steps in this fascinating and great new world.

Except...

His last name. Wizards, he has found, seem to have some top secret list kept in each of their houses that contain all the family names of all the witches and wizards that have ever been. Riddle, of course, is not one of them. Some on his journey have so far overlooked this, but others have straight up immediately stopped talking to him mid conversation and walked off. They have no time for him, for weakness. He understands. He hates it, but he understands.

Tom grips the edge of the table as another uproarious cheer is heard from the students at the sound of another first year being sorted. He'll show them. He'll prove himself to all of them--

The girl previously sitting to his left scoots upwards to make room for an older boy, perhaps about 14; he introduces himself with his name and a handshake. Tom does his best to shake firmly.

"Riddle, right?" The boy has a brilliant smile that reminds him of a politician, "Professor Dumbledore told me about you, asked if I could help show you around."

Tom tilts his chin upwards in soft bemusement.

"It's part of a program he wants to start: introducing muggleborns to Hogwarts safely and all that--"

He stiffens at the word, but the older boy does not seem to notice.

"Of course, no offense intended, I know you're not one of those," He nods his head over to the newly sorted Hufflepuff student sitting proudly among his housemates, "--Just being in Slytherin proves it." A comforting hand is rested on Tom's shoulder, "I'm here for any questions you might have." A wink and smile.

Interesting.

"What makes you think I'm not muggleborn?" Tom makes sure to use the same word as his new mentor did.

A chuckle, "Ah, Dumbledore didn't tell you?" The boy rests his arms on the table before them, lowering himself down as if their conversation were now secret, "Well, to put it bluntly, Salazar Slytherin would never allow a muggleborn into his house--Take comfort in that."

Tom does.

"But don't feel alone in your not knowing, there's another one like you," He turns and points across the table a few seats away to a young girl reading though a tome, "--She's also an orphan: doesn't know anything about her bloodline. A year ahead of you, I believe, but you should talk to her."

An interest is formed almost immediately: attention piqued and curiosity sharpened, the young boy drinks in the stranger down the table, whose self-possessiveness could be felt from even his seat. What was her orphanage like? Was she an outsider as well? Was her magic as powerful as his? Did she also know that she was destined for greater things beyond the walls of her prison? Tom sees the disconnect his fellow Slytherin has with the people around her (even if it wasn't already obvious by her own hand-me-down robes and appearance), and he knows that he has found kin within his house.