Invictus [Tom Riddle / Tomione]

Divergence

Edward Rosier was sound asleep, dreaming deeply behind heavily lidded eyes. There was a beautiful redheaded witch in his bed, naked, with long limbs wrapped around his body. There had been a stream of witches coming and going of late, a different one every week since his breakup with Winnie Haywood.

He'd been secretly courting Winifred for some months and had found himself becoming quite smitten with her. She was a year older than Edward, and during his time at Hogwarts, he'd always admired the Ravenclaw's pale flaxen hair, her eyes like sea glass, and the freckles that dotted her milky skin. He'd run into her again back in July at a potion shop, and they'd been seeing one another ever since.

However, when his father Edwin discovered their relationship, he subjected his son to a series of speeches regarding bloodlines, familial duties, and magical loyalties, and it brought him back to his senses.

He'd never marry a half-blood. He'd gone and let himself be swindled by her pretty face and sharp mind. She'd cried a river when he broke it off. His face had been cold and unemotional when gave her the news. "You can find yourself another pureblood cock to choke on."

She'd stared at him in utter shock, as if he'd suddenly transformed into an entirely different person. Well, he hadn't. He'd always been Edward Rosier, heir to the Rosier legacy. His pureblood ancestry dated back to medieval France. She should have known better than to attach herself to him, unless her purpose was to use him and his wealth. Whatever the case, his father assured him that she would only sully his immaculate bloodline and bring him sorrow.

"Yes, father, I ended it. Yes, she cried. Quite manipulative of her, if you ask me."

His father had assured him that the witch merely lusted after the power that ran in his magical blood, and the wealth his family could provide. "Witches only want one thing," said his father stoically. "Choose a pureblooded witch to marry. Sire your heirs..." He laid a hand on his son's shoulder and whispered conspiratorially, "Then you can have all the half-blood pussy you like."

Edward grew to hate Winifred, the poisonous witch.

He hated her because he wasn't allowed to love her.

He convinced himself of her flaws, shortcomings, and her artifice. It was the only way his mind could cope.

Since then, he'd been abusing firewhisky, dreamless sleep potion, and a chain of witches that came and went like a revolving door.

At precisely seven am, Tom Riddle entered the Rosier mansion and unlocked the door to Edward's bedroom.

"Get up, Rosier."

The redheaded witch lifted her head sleepily, only to find Tom standing there at the foot of the bed.

She screamed, which woke Edward violently from his sleep.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed as he looked up to see Tom. The witch scrambled up, gripping the sheets to her chest.

"W-what the hell," she murmured.

"My Lord," muttered Rosier as he reached over the side of the bed to locate his trousers.

"Get dressed," said Tom curtly. "We are meeting for dueling practice."

"Give me a minute," he mumbled.

Tom glanced at the witch with a smirk. "Brittania, is it? Hufflepuff, I believe?"

The witch gazed at him with wide eyes and swallowed, nodding.

"Charmed." He picked up an empty bottle that was sitting on the chest at the foot of the bed, then sniffed it. He raised his eyebrows at Rosier, who was jerking on his pants and boots.