Invictus [Tom Riddle / Tomione]

Shipwrecked

Several Death Eaters lounged around in the Malfoy Manor drawing room. Edward Rosier sat deep in his chair, legs stretched before the immense stone fireplace which was lit and blazing. The glass french doors which led out onto the balcony were open, allowing the crisp, fall air to filter in, along with the cold sunshine. Radolphus Lestrange and Daegan Rookwood stood outside with pipes of Veela leaves lit, talking in muted voices. Acacius Nott sat at a warlock-crafted grand piano, letting his nimble fingers drift over the keys, playing a lilting melody. Maximilian Dolohov, Charles Macnair, and Abraxas Malfoy sat in the velvet sofas and chairs in front of the fire.

The fireplace flared in a burst of green flames, allowing William Avery to arrive via floo. He stepped out of the fireplace and waved his wand, clearing his clothing of ash and dust.

"Glad you could make it," Malfoy sneered.

"Piss off," Avery huffed. "I got caught up at the ministry."

"There's nothing exciting happening anyway," Dolohov yawned.

"Aren't we supposed to be dueling today?" Macnair asked.

"Tom's in Albania."

"How the hell does the bloke get there and back so quickly? Do you imagine he's got an illegal portkey set up?" asked Avery.

"Fuck if I know," Dolohov said dismissively.

"What's got your wand in a knot?"

Dolohov reached into his robes and pulled out a copy of the Prophet and tossed it onto the coffee table. His hands still had tremors from Tom's cruciatus. Avery picked it up and began to read the front page article.

After a minute, Avery's eyebrow lifted sharply. "D'you reckon Tom knows about this?"

Dolohov nodded soberly.

Avery scowled, his eyes narrowing.

"The bitch is too bold," Dolohov muttered. "And getting bolder by the day. Something needs to be done."

"She's Dumbledore's daughter," Abraxas sighed.

"The more reason she needs to go," Dolohov spat.

"I thought you said she could be an ally, Brax," muttered Avery, tossing the paper to Malfoy. "Look at the state of things now."

Abraxas glared daggers at him.

"Perhaps you could seduce her, Abraxas, since you seem to have a soft spot for her," Macnair teased. "I'm sure some good cock could convince her to switch sides."

"I wouldn't even attempt it, if I were you," snickered Dolohov.

"Why?" They each said it all at once.

Dolohov jutted his jaw to the side. "Word on the street is, she and Tom are shagging."

Abraxas chuckled. "That's not the word on the street."

"No, but it's what I've heard."

"From who?" Malfoy asked tersely.

"That's my little secret."

"No," Malfoy shook his head. "That can't be true. She's not his type."

"We don't really know what his type is," muttered Avery. "Could be blokes."

"She's a Gryffindor," Malfoy scoffed. "Tom despises them."

"I saw her," interjected Dolohov.

"What?" Malfoy spat.

"Leaving his flat one morning, very early. I saw her."

The room was silent. Even Acacius ceased his gentle plunking of the piano keys. Lestrange and Rookwood had turned their attention to the conversation as well.