Invictus [Tom Riddle / Tomione]

Knife Cuts

Edward Rosier stared into nothingness. The sounds of glasses clinking and cutlery scraping only reached him as distant echoes. The only thing he was aware of was the persistent ache, a wound somewhere deep in the pit of his person which throbbed, both numb and sharply painful all at once. It felt like someone had run him clean through with a butter knife, puncturing all of his organs with a dull blade.

Nausea rose up into his throat. He choked it back down.

Muffled voices padded the silence of the room. He reached his hand into his pocket and touched silk. A pink ribbon. He rubbed it between his fingers. The texture was mildly reminiscent of the long, pale strands of Winifred's hair.

"Isn't that right, son?"

Edward Rosier's eyes were glazed over, locked on a centerpiece composed of black dahlias, blood-tinged orchids, queen of the night tulips, and baccara roses.

"Edward?"

The younger Rosier finally roused, clearing his throat as he sat up in his chair. "Apologies, Father. What did you say?"

His father's eyes pierced him, observing him knowingly. "Your aunt and I were discussing your sister. She and Cygnus Black have apparently struck up a courtship."

"Oh," he mumbled. "I'm not surprised."

"What are your thoughts on young Cygnus, son?"

Edward suddenly felt the eyes of the room upon him. "I... I like Ciggy. Everyone does."

"Nice chap," said Rosier's uncle. "My boy is in Slytherin with him as well."

"I for one, am happy I won't have to play matchmaker," said his mother. "I do hope they get on well together. I suppose we shall have him over for dinner once Hogwarts lets out for the summer."

"Druella is such a beauty. A very accomplished witch, for one so young. You should be very proud of her," said his aunt. "Would that I had been given a girl, but only a boy, and then sadly, no more children... But not for lack of trying, mind you."

Edward's eyebrows furrowed at his aunt's remark. He'd been thinking quite a bit on some things Tom had said recently. They seemed to be almost unmentionable, the things Tom had said about infertility in pureblood families. But now that Tom had brought it to his attention, Rosier began to notice more and more.

He swallowed, feeling an unfamiliar fear overtaking his emotions.

Fear that everything he had grown up believing had been a lie.

"Of course, Cygnus is a Black. Good magical blood, but unfortunately the brother of Walburga Black. That one is garnering quite the reputation for being a trouble-making witch. Let's hope her new husband can get her under control," said his father with an air of distaste.

"Father," murmured Edward. "I just realized there's something I need to do. May I be excused?"

The older Rosier gazed at him for a moment, searching his countenance, as if attempting to read his son's motivations. Then, he looked away and gave a sharp nod. "You may."

Edward stood, unfolding his napkin from his lap and dabbing his lips, before laying it on the table with a muttered, "Excuse me," to his aunt and uncle.

He retreated to his bedroom, where he leaned back against the door and stared blankly at the ceiling. His hand was still resting in his pocket, and when he withdrew it, the pink silk ribbon was wound tightly around his finger. He looked down at it, rubbing its texture between his thumb and index finger.

Then, he pushed off from the door, turned on his heel, and apparated away.