Pureblood society had three rules:

Marry young and rich.

Marry pure or half if you must

Marry fertile to have heirs

Tom Riddle managed to avoid all three and accumulate a following. Lord Voldemort was a wizard they all wanted to get behind! All until his followers started getting married off and planning children to have and noticing how their lord didn't do any of this.

''Maybe he doesn't know?'' Thoros Nott had asked.

''Maybe he hasn't found the right girl yet?'' Orion Black had asked.

''Maybe he's queer?'' Redmond Lestrange had asked.

''Maybe he doesn't want to?' Abraxas Malfoy had asked, the only one sure in his speculation.

The Knights of Walpurgis had looked at the only one not marked and gasped in outrage at the mere idea that their lord did not want to marry and have pureblooded children!

It was Thoros that first approached their young, partially stressed out lord who muttered in his sleep about discounts and angry Mr. Burke.

Let sleeping dogs lie was a very good proverb, such a shame it was muggle and not know in the pureblood world.

Thoros shook awake their lord and yelped loudly, panicked, when a yew wood wand pointed straight between his eyes.

''Nott,'' crimson eyes narrowed. The wand remained raised.

''My lord, there is a question we, your most loyal, need answered.''

A subtle twitch of the corner of his mouth told Thoros that their lord knew what this question was perfectly well. He pulled the wand to his side and allowed Nott to ask.

''Are you perchance, just maybe, perhaps as they say ...''

''Out with it.''

''Are you queer, my lord?''

''Thoros, why is this so important to you people?'' Tom Riddle did not raise his voice because Lord Voldemort would not allow such a simple question to rattle him. Even though it did and he wished to inflict upon his meddling subjects ungracious pain.

''Because!'' Thoros shouted, bolder now that he realised that their lord was simply addled with queerness and not against their pureblood ways of marrying and siring proper scions and heirs. ''We can help you, my lord. Find you a beautiful, well mannered wife. She'll even be a pureblood and no one will look at your,'' the look Tom Riddle gave Thoros would have killed a Basilisk, ''blood status.''

''What makes you think I want this?''

''This is not a question of want, my lord, but of need!''

It was the continued insistence that broke Tom Riddle that day.

Because the crux of it was that his followers felt that if they did not believe in a pureblooded brit like them whose masculinity and virility were not in question – then there was no point to pureblood idealism spreading if done by such a backward force!

''Is this really necessary, Thoros?''

''Yes!''

For the good of the cause! Tom Riddle shouted in his head as he took out Iris Selwyn on a date.

Walburga Black was two steps behind them, ensuring that the pureblood chastity of these ladies would not be besmirched by one upstart halfblood.

Iris Selwyn was Thoros Nott's idea. Her parents were divorcing and no pureblood male wanted to touch her with a ten foot pole. Out of the halfbloods Tom Riddle was the best option.

Tom Riddle talked amiably with Iris about music and magic and political ideologies. She agreed mostly to everything he said and this bored him immensely. If he were to have a wife and fulfil this heterosexual fantasy of his followers' then he would wed the perfect woman!

Someone smart!

Not that Iris wasn't smart, she had almost been Head Girl – but she was a yes-woman! This was all consequence of her fear that if she disagreed with him he would not marry her.

No, his wife needed to have a backbone!

Orion Black then set him up with Primrose Parkinson. She was not an alcoholic, but merely had a fervent love for brandy. It was 10 in the morning and she was already on drink number three.

Tom Riddle endured the date.

He walked out when she began singing and asking Walburga to accompany her with Miss Black's pocket sized hurdy gurdy.

That was a little too much backbone for a wife of his to have.

Redmond Lestrange told Riddle that he should be looking for some ladies that have shamed themselves by having premarital sex.

"Why?"

"They'll be forever grateful to you for saving them from their fall from grace! Like they'll care for your queerness"

So Tom Riddle went on a date with Frieda Goyle. She was very pregnant and very single.

Walburga mostly left them to their chatter, reading letters from her cousin and giggling like a love-struck school girl. Honestly.

Frieda was kind and thoughtful. Tom Riddle put aside the fact that she was easy to talk into sex, but so were all of his peers. Only he hadn't felt any such need or want.

Mortal men were enticed by mortal women.

Thank you very much; Tom Riddle was above sexual gratification because he wanted Unicorns to respect him.

However, if he had to piiick.

''Miss Goyle, this has been a lovely date and I would like to see you agai-''

Septimus Weasley in all of his red headed, impulsive glory barged into the café where Tom Riddle was having these dates, and upon spotting Frieda exclaimed: ''FRIEDA, DOLL! I WAS A FOOL! PLEASE FORGIVE ME AND LET'S GET HITCHED!''

Frieda stood up, her stomach practically enveloping the entire universe (Tom Riddle did not know pregnant women could get so big, this was news to him what the actual-) and shouted: ''SEPTY, LOVE! I KNEW YOU WOULDN'T WANT OUR BABY TO BE A BASTARD!''

They hugged, had a mighty applause in their honour, and bolted.

Walburga wiped a tear from her eye and said: 'Now that's a real pure of blood gentleman, Riddle. Not like you.''

Without saying a single word, Tom Riddle left to go to work and turn himself off while angry customers demanded he buy their trinkets for more money.

''I can offer you store credit, if you like.'' Tom Riddle, young dark lord in the making, had the sentence memorized like muscle memory. His impeccable retail smile dazzled the masses.

No sooner had Tom Riddle's shift ended had Abraxas Malfoy barged in with a frizzy haired witch on his arm sending him murderous glares. The smile on the pureblood's face was stretched into abnormality.

''Tom! I found you a wife,'' against the witch's will, Abraxas tugged her towards him. ''This is my bastard cousin Hermione Granger. She's a pureblood of course. From Australia!''

''You never mentioned having a bastard cousin.'' Tom said, already sceptical of this entire charade.

''She's pretty sudden.'' Abraxas winked twice. ''She practically appeared out of thin air!''

''Your cousin looks like she's our age. That can't be sudden.''

''Well, she's-''

''-I can talk for myself!'' Hermione rebuked angrily, sparks of magic flying everywhere.

Tom Riddle looked at her arm and noticed it was glamoured.

''What's wrong with your arm?''

''Oh!'' Abraxas went over Hermione's sneer and answered for her, ''She's got a tattoo. Both of you like tattoos, go on, talk! Bond. Get married!''

''First of all what I am designing is not a simple tattoo and I would implore you-''

''-no what you're making is just a binding spell that's going to keep all of your followers on a tight leash because you're a paranoid mess.''

Hermione answered right on the bloody pureblood pretending nose.

''Did I mention she's not at all my cousin, but a time-traveller?'' Abraxas giddily jumped on the balls of his feet and nodded.

Well, Tom Riddle mused, if I had to pick.

He would pick the most fascinating option, of course!