Serpentine [T.M. Riddle]

Interlude III: Hedwig

Cw: mild internalised homophobia & Hedwig's usual dirty language

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This week's sweets package has two more biscuits than Eric's, so if that's not proof that mum prefers her, then nothing is. They're even her favorite, complete with a jar of the special jam that Cook makes custom just for her.

Hedwig eats them contently, saving a few for her Puff.

Across the table, Lestrange is talking to Tom about politics. As much as he knows about it anyways, his family is a bunch of useless airheads. Only still relevant thanks to money and who their children marry. She'd say similar of the Blacks, but at least their kind haven't made it onto her personal shit list. Tom's still on it, despite their tentative friendship, because he's a bastard. But that's why Hedwig likes him. He's got balls. Even if he is hopeless in some ways. Like with Lane. She's debated before about disclosing some of their conversations with him (if one could call them conversations), but he deserves to suffer a little. Probably. Boys are usually guilty of something. That's something that Eric is actually right about. She says as much to the mousey witch during mornings in the Slytherin girls' bathroom. Lane usually brushes off comments made to her (particular if they involve her personal life), but somehow always seems to take Eric's advice with a grain of salt.

Hedwig wonders if perhaps Lane prefers Eric over her.

She steals rashers from Nemesis' plate and ignores her protests, "Girl Rosier and you were chatting about going on diets the other day, did ya change your mind?"

Nemesis gives her best disappointed expression, looking like a peeved kitten, "You know she doesn't like it when you call her that."

"She can get fucked." Girl Rosier loves their arguments, no one can tell her otherwise, "You don't need to lose weight, you're twelve."

A blush, "Thank you, Hedwig, stop stealing my breakfast."

She steals from Tom's plate. His glare is more convincing, but Hedwig's desire to bother is stronger.

"Hedwig."

"Tom."

"Fawley might not need a diet, Hedwig, but perhaps you'd might consider--"

"Good to fucking know your big ears aren't just for show, Lestrange, how about I stretch them out further so you can hear across Scotland?"

The table snickers, as they should. Lestrange, the little weasel that he is, is about to retaliate before Tom gives him a look. Pathetic. Like a cowering dog.

"Katux, don't escalate this." He's really mastered that disappointed father tone, Hedwig feels bad for his future children, poor bastards.

Lestrange harrumphs and goes back to his beans and toast. Nemesis stops tensing. She'll expire from nerves, that girl, she needs to learn how to stop giving care to lesser beings. And Lestrange, well, he just needs to stop pissing her off.

"Well," Nemesis baps at her mouth with a napkin, getting up, "I must be going, I have a meeting with my Herbology partner...Hedwig, I'll see you later today?"

She waves her off dismissively, mood ruined by Lestrange's ugly face, "Ya, fine."

Tom, the nosy brat, inquires as to what the two of them are up to.

"Mind your fucking business."

"Oh, just girl things, Tom."

Neither of the answers satisfies him, but they don't live to please him so he can kiss her ass. Nemesis makes her exit, and Hedwig occupies the rest of breakfast with finding someone new to steal rashers from--Ah! Mulcifer! He's a pushover, he'll probably let her steal his jam too.