Not that there was anything showing outwardly, yet, but that aura should be obvious.
Just where was that husband of hers, anyhow?
("Lucius. Was that Molly Weasley I just saw wander past...")
("Yes" A slight groan. "She...she's...)
("Scary. How one woman could have 6--7!--children...And on Arthur's salary, of all things...)
("They breed like muggles. Worse then muggles.")
("Especially since most muggles don't run to such large families now-a-day, as a rule...")
Dual sighs trickled down the spider-silk connections, and Tom Riddle sighed. He didn't blame the Malfoys for not wanting to have more children then they could deal with, but that attitude...
Two or three children shouldn't be such a problem for a healthy witch and wizard to produce, frankly. Or even four or five.
Though seven did seem rather excessive, even for him...
About three should do for Lucius and Narcissa, Tom decided, standing there in line. Another boy as a spare, and a girl. Narcissa would like a daughter, perhaps. Especially since he knew what kind of problems to avoid, now..
Lucius was Inner Circle, after all, and should show an example, offspring-wise.
They had House-Elves, oodles of them, so there should be no problem with the scut-work, after all. Though he would have to make sure that they did the important parenting stuff themselves, he supposed.
Note to self : Make sure that your Loyal Servants at least try to bring up their children themselves. Leaving all the hands-on stuff to the House-Elves is Not A Good Idea, in just so many ways...
As in all the instinctive bonding that they lose out on, for just one instance. Gaah. Of all the simple ways to try and enhance familial loyalty...How could supposedly intelligent wizards and witchs miss that one, anyhow.
Tradition. Right.
Well fuck Tradition, if all it did was weaken his people!
Tom Riddle blinked, wondering were that outburst--even though it was just in his mind--had come from. He felt...strange, sometimes, these days...
Rosemary shifted over to him and smiled, gently.
"Penny for your thoughts, Tommy?"
"Not even for a Galleon, Rosemary."
And now, at long last, they were coming up to the head of the queue.
"Calm down, Alex, and just do what we practiced--"
Oy, yoy, yoy, somebody he used to know rather well would have said, the poor boy is green...
Ahh, well. That couldn't be helped either.
And that was the very moment that Tom Riddle caught sight of her. And froze.
What the..
He'd seen that face before. In pictures, in portraits, in Rosemary's darkest dreams...
The face of a 14 year-old Nadja Applefield Fleminger.
Except her eyes were blue...
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(Posted Tue, 31 May 2005 18:18)
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