Leaning against a wall not far away with his arms crossed, Abraxas let out a soft sigh. His little animal had actually cried—what a rare sight. Irritably pressing a hand to his restless chest, Abraxas quietly left.
Though he desperately wanted to step forward, gather him into his arms, and comfort him, he could not do that. Malfoy... needed only a qualified heir. He had no need for sincere feelings. He would not let himself sink into illusory happiness. If he had never possessed it, there could be no betrayal... He... was merely an investor.
Back in the common room, Abraxas took out a wineglass and flicked its rim with a finger. He stared absently at the crimson liquid swirling into view, then gave a soft laugh and tipped his head back, draining it in one gulp. The smooth warmth carried a trace of sweetness as it went down his throat, quickly turning sour and astringent before leaving nothing but endless bitterness in his mouth.
"Drinking like that... are you insane?" Leander stared blankly at the platinum-haired beauty's actions, inwardly regretting his decision. Was this guy really going to become his "brother-in-law"? Was it too late to return him now...? "Don't tell me you got dumped! Come on... tell me all about it..."
Mist clouded his gray eyes as Abraxas shot his ally a sidelong glance. Leaning against the armrest with his head propped on one hand, a mocking smile appeared on his face. "Are you joking with me...? How could a Malfoy possibly fall in love with anyone... What are you looking at?"
Following Leander's gaze and turning around, Abraxas shifted slightly before lazily looking away. He sank even more languidly into the sofa, closed his eyes, and gently swirled the wineglass in his hand. Damn it, was he drunk? Why had he seen a faint, nearly imperceptible flicker of anger on the brat's face?
Tom coldly watched the slightly drunk man, frowned, clutched his book, and returned to his dormitory. That idiot who only knew how to give off hormones! Didn't he know how dangerous he looked? How could he be so defenseless?! "Stupid aristocrat! Damn bastard!"
Taking a deep breath, Tom irritably raked a hand through his hair. He got up, went to the desk, and opened a drawer. His gaze lingered briefly on the gift box containing cufflinks. Gritting his teeth, he slammed the drawer shut, sat down, and began organizing the clues he had found.
His mother definitely could not have been a witch. Otherwise, how could she have died so easily? And his name... according to what the Old Headmaster had told him, it was exactly the same as his own: Tom Riddle. Then... could the father he had never met have been a wizard?
Holding a quill, Tom wrote and drew across the parchment. There was one more thing he could not understand. When they had first met, he had told Professor Dumbledore his secret—that he could speak Parseltongue—yet the other man had said nothing.
Only after arriving at Hogwarts had he learned that the ability to speak with snakes could be possessed only by those with Slytherin blood. Then... was his father a half-blood wizard? But weren't his ancestors absolute believers in pure-blood supremacy...?
Thinking of the pure-blood aristocrats' disgust toward half-bloods and Muggle-borns, Tom's eyes grew cold. His bloodline was clearly the noblest of all, yet those people looked at him as though he were vermin. Though furious, reason told him that now was not the time to expose himself...
"Absolutely no one can discover this secret... except..." Thinking again of the sight that had made his heart skip a beat earlier, Tom felt as though his blood were burning. Suppressing his rage, he burned the parchment on the desk to ashes. "Abou... tch... idiot!"
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