I was going to write this chapter with the normal set up of both Tom & Rose's POV, but it would have been way too damn long. Sooo it will be all Rose next chapter.(: Enjoy!

Raoul Beaumont: The Eccentric

June 25, 1944

As it had been too far to Floo or Apparate from Scotland, and Jennings had more or less indicated his dislike of using Portkeys, they flew in. Tom had no issue with this – he didn't really mind flying – except for the fact that the brooms they were using were from Comet.

When they flew over muggle Paris, the partially crumbled buildings and the streets crawling with soldiers reminded him that the muggle war was still going on. He hadn't heard much about it, nor did he really care to, considering that it had affected the wizarding world very little. Even so, it was rather striking to see such destruction vanish completely as they stepped through the secret wall in the Catacombs and emerged on a busy street of wizarding Paris on the other side.

"This way," his trainer, Curtis Jennings, said gruffly. As Tom had learned over the weeks, Jennings was a man of few words, which suited him fine. It allowed him to focus on his training rather than social niceties.

They walked a few blocks and arrived at a building that seemed to be in a well-to-do area. Tom assumed that they were going to drop in to see Beaumont at his flat, but he wasn't sure as he had been too arrogant to ask where they were going. Four flights of stairs and a couple of corridors later, Jennings stopped outside of a door with gold numbering that read '407'.

"This is you." He pulled a key out of his pocket and handed it to Tom, followed by a slip of paper. "Here's the address to Beaumont's place. He wants everyone there by ten tonight. Think you can find your way?"

"I'm sure I can manage." He didn't roll his eyes, as Jennings was generally intolerant of sarcasm, but he had been doing things on his own for years. How hard could it possibly be to get there? If his trainer thought he was incapable of doing so, Tom would be rather offended.

The older wizard nodded and left without another word as Tom let himself into the flat. He put the key and the slip of paper containing Beaumont's address in his pocket, exchanging them for his trunk, which he had shrunk to make traveling a bit easier. He placed in on the ground and restored its size with the Engorgement Charm before he finally took a good look around.

There was a good-sized kitchen and bedroom, plus a living room with an attached balcony that was similar to the one off of Rose's room at the Horton manor. It was the sort of place he could envision her in and he made a mental note to look for something similar when he moved back to London for the remainder of the summer. Overall, the flat was impressively large and much nicer than he had perhaps expected, given the fact that Beaumont was paying for ten of them in total, in addition to his own flat.

It made him briefly wonder where his sponsor had gotten his apparently enormous fortune. There wasn't really a doubt in Tom's mind that Raoul was a pure-blood, but he also didn't think he was the type of pure-blood, like Rosemary, that had grown up with ridiculous amounts of money. There was a certain roguishness about him that made Tom think otherwise. Sure, his parents were probably somewhat wealthy, but not like this. So what was it then?

But, at the same time, what did it really matter as long as Tom's trip was paid for, Rosemary got to come along, and he could compete in the tournament? Though he had no complaints to speak of, his curiosity had yet to subside and only intensified as he arrived at Beaumont's extravagant flat in the heart of wizarding Paris. It had been a bit more difficult to find than he had anticipated, but he was at least able to arrive on time.

Tom knocked on the door and a few seconds later, a young woman, probably around his age or a couple of years older, opened it. He wasn't sure who she was; did Beaumont have a daughter? Tom couldn't remember; he was getting used to ignoring most of the trivial nonsense his sponsor brought up to him. The girl smiled at him and then stood to the side to let him in. She led him down the hallway at the entrance of the flat and the burble of conversation grew louder.

They turned the corner and were in a large, open room that was quite crowded with people. As expected, the only two he recognized were Jennings and Beaumont. Was he late? Why did everyone have a drink in their hand already? He glanced at the clock on the wall, which confirmed that he was, indeed, on time. Beaumont spotted him almost instantly. "Ah, bonsoir, Tom!" He staggered over and it was clear that he was already drunk. He rattled off a few sentences in French and when Tom gave him only a blank look in return, he let out a boisterous laugh. "Apologies; I forget that not everyone speaks French when I come home."

He threw his arm around Tom's shoulder and the smell of alcohol on his breath was apparent when he opened his mouth to say, "Excuse me, everyone! I'd like to introduce you to Tom Riddle. I'm sure you've all heard a lot about him, given that he's the youngest competitor the tournament has ever seen." The various conversations had come to a halt at the wake of Raoul's announcement, and nearly every pair of eyes in the room was on them. Most of the faces were either friendly or hard to read, but there were a few that were full of condescension. It bothered him only minimally as he had expected they wouldn't take him seriously because of his age. Of course, it would only make it that much more satisfying to defeat them.

Raoul launched into the introductions next; he pointed around the room at each contestant as he said their name. "The rest of our team this year consists of Dvorak, Wilson, Bankole, Ogurtsov, Zhou, Schultz, Rookwood, Esparza, and Mercier." Some of them gave a small wave, while the others simply stared at him. He recognized a few of the names and faces from following the tournament in the Prophet over the years, which was quite reassuring. He had begun to wonder whether or not Raoul was merely a rich fool that threw away his money for the fun of it all. Beaumont continued on: "I know that in reality, you are all competing against each other, but I trust that you'll be gentleman and answer any questions that Tom might have over the next three weeks or so. No talk of dueling tonight, though! Please, enjoy the party…but not too much – you each have a full day of training tomorrow."

If anyone was enjoying the party too much, it was clearly Raoul. No one else seemed to be anywhere near drunk. The chatter commenced once more. Tom got himself a drink and sat quietly in the corner, looking around room in an attempt to size up his soon-to-be competition. Most of them were conversing with women that he assumed to be their wives, and it made him wish that Rose was there already. She was always good in this is sort of situation; he knew that if she were here, she would have something interesting to talk about with everyone in the room. He admired her for it; he could be charming, of course, but the art of creating trifling conversation had eluded him for years.

The girl that had let him inside approached him and asked him if there was anything he needed. It quickly became apparent that she was merely a waitperson, not Beaumont's daughter. Still, it made Tom wonder; did he have kids? Or a wife? If so, his flat held no indication: the walls were absent of photographs. It was then that Tom realized he knew next to nothing about Beaumont's personal life at all, except for his inane stories from when he was a trouble-making youth. He shouldn't care, really, just as he shouldn't care where his fortune had come from. It was all rather inconsequential. But, it was a bit odd, given the extent that Beaumont loved to ramble on about things.

He shifted in his chair uncomfortably as he watched his fellow contestants, their wives, and their trainers speaking amicably. He tried to tell himself repeatedly that he belonged there, but it didn't quite seem to stick. Besides dueling (which Beaumont had rendered off-limits just minutes before), he had a feeling that he had nothing in common with these people. It didn't really matter anyway; in truth, he was completely fine with never speaking with any of them. It would just make these obligatory get-togethers feel a little longer. More than anything he just wanted the appearance of belonging rather than actual belonging.

He spotted Jennings standing in another corner of the room, looking sternly at his glass as though he was somehow disappointed in it. Briefly, he pondered the idea of attempting a conversation with him…but about what? This idea was thrown out the window anyway as he watched Jennings picked up his jacket and leave. Perhaps he had the right idea. Tom finished his drink and set it on a nearby table before standing as well.

Just when he was about to leave, a wizard with dark, greasy hair approached him.

"Augustus Rookwood. Nice to meet you," he introduced himself, sticking out his hand. Tom shook it and recognized Rookwood as one of the wizards that had made it to the quarter-finals the year prior. If he remembered correctly, he was from Wales. "You weren't about to leave, were you?"

He was, of course, but he certainly didn't want to admit that he didn't really fit in with the other contestants. "No," he said, his voice lightly laced with snarkiness.

Rookwood smirked. "I wouldn't blame you if you did. I would leave, too, but my wife would make a fuss." He gestured to a woman on the other side of the room that was speaking to one of the other contestants. A wave of relief washed over Tom, knowing that some of the women were wives and girlfriends and not…something else. "I think she enjoys catching up with everyone more than I do. Especially the other wives…they get quite close, you know. They spoil us…it's almost like every day at the tournament is our anniversary. We don't have to worry about kids or the bickering that comes about from being at home. Rather nice. It may be the best part about competing." He paused and smiled at her. Though Tom and Rose didn't really deal with these sorts of problems, hearing Rookwood talk made him ache for her. He wished she could have just come straight to Paris with him instead of returning home for a week first.

"Anyway," Rookwood changed the subject. "Sorry. I forget that you're only…what? Seventeen?"

Tom nodded and had a bad feeling that most of the tournament would be full of annoying reminders of the fact that he was younger than everyone else. In a way, he was proud of it, especially as he was breaking the record for being the youngest contestant ever. But another part of him knew that he was being underestimated every time someone remembered his age. It was irritating; he just had to keep telling himself that it would all pay off. He'd prove them wrong.

"Fucking hell. My kids are almost you're age."

It was definitely getting irritating.

"They go to Durmstrang. I'm guessing you go to Hogwarts, though?" Tom nodded and Rookwood prodded on: "What are your plans after graduation?"

Honestly, he didn't know. It was actually pretty difficult to think of something to spend his life doing that would make him genuinely happy. He had given some thought to teaching, but that would mean teaching mudbloods if he was employed at Hogwarts. Still, at least it was an answer, and he was too arrogant to admit he didn't have much of a plan: "I'd like to teach," he told the other wizard.

"Teaching." Rookwood looked thoughtful, pondering it for a moment. "It's certainly stable. Kind of boring though, don't you think? Anyway, if you're as good as they say, maybe you won't even need to worry about a career. Maybe you can just duel. I mean, that's the dream, right? I think it was for all of us, until a wife and kids happened."

Tom considered his words for a moment. He had never really given much thought about having children, nor did he know Rose's thoughts on the matter. Before his mind could wander any further, he stopped himself. Things were so uncertain between he and Rose at it were; he had enough to worry about with her parents. A child was not a subject he would do well to concern himself with at the present.

"I went to Hogwarts as well, until I got expelled in my fifth year."

Tom looked at him in surprise.

"Things got a little out of hand at Dueling Club one evening. I was Captain so the blame was on me. The kid was barely injured, but his parents were significant donors to the school and pushed to get me expelled. It was a load of bullshit. Though, judging from the fact that you're here, Dueling Club is still going strong. I'm surprised; I thought they would have shut it down."

So this was what Dippet had been referring to the many times he warned Tom to keep the Dueling Club from getting out of hand.

He shrugged and continued talking. "I guess it doesn't really matter. I turned out alright…I got a job at the Ministry, thanks to a family friend, and duel as a hobby."

As someone who was at least somewhat interested in politics, hearing that Rookwood worked at the Ministry piqued his interest. "What department?"

"I'm afraid I can't say," he told him with a mischievous smile.

Tom smirked. Obviously, he worked in the Department of Mysteries. He, like most people, knew next to nothing about the place, but it certainly didn't stop his fascination. In addition, it was a bit of a marvel that Rookwood had landed such a position after being expelled; the family friend he spoke of must have been a fairly prestigious Ministry employee.

Perhaps the parties and events over the next few weeks wouldn't be so uncomfortable after all. Admittedly, he was rather enjoying his conversation with Rookwood.

They watched as Beaumont, Zhou, and Dvorak, each took a shot.

"He's a bit of an eccentric…Very private. I've worked with him for five years and know next to nothing about him."

"I've gotten that impression of him," Tom nodded.

"Be that as it may, he is our ticket to the tournament and compared to other sponsors, he takes much less of a cut of our winnings." He gestured to the bar area where Raoul was filling up several shot glasses. "Plus, he knows how to have a good time."

"All the contestants, gather round!" he bellowed.

"Here we go," Augustus sighed as they stood to join the others.

The ten contestants approached and Beaumont handed each of them a shot. "May each of you advance as far as you deserve!"

They all drank and the firewhiskey burned on his stomach. "Inspiring," Tom muttered in amusement. In a way, he rather liked that Beaumont was not the type of person to sugar-coat things.

"Speeches get tricky when everyone is competing against each other," Rookwood smirked. His wife approached and put a hand on his arm. "Tom, this is Mara. Mara, Tom."

"A pleasure to meet you," he said politely.

"Likewise," she smiled kindly. "I still feel like I'm still getting the hang of all this at times, but I know enough to be impressed that you've made it here at your age."

"How do you mean?" her comment about 'still getting the hang of things' puzzled him.

"I didn't know anything about dueling for the longest time. Not until I met Augustus."

He was apparently giving them both a sufficiently confused look, as her husband continued to explain: "Mara's muggleborn."

What?

Tom held his breath.

"Her parents wouldn't allow her to attend Hogwarts, so she grew up just like a normal muggle. I was walking by her house one morning and saw her light her neighbor's mailbox on fire after catching their dog digging a hole in her flowerbed. She looked so sweet and shocked at herself that I knew it was accidental magic. After that, we hit it off and I began teaching her the basics."

Tom was so disgusted he thought he may vomit. How could someone like Augustus, who seemed perfectly normal and sensible, go so very wrong? Even more so, how could he sit here and discuss it as though there wasn't any sort of prejudice against mudbloods? Did he assume that Tom was the type of person that would be completely accepting of it? This thought alone was unsettling enough.

"I should be going. Quite tired…erm, broom lag and all…" He tried to keep his sentences short in an attempt to avoid saying anything offensive, not that he really cared about offending Rookwood at this point. But, the last thing he wanted to do was say anything that might jeopardize his entry in the tournament. For all he knew, if he was offended enough, Rookwood might be able to convince Beaumont to revoke his sponsorship.

If Augustus or his wife had noticed his sudden shift in attitude, neither of them acknowledged it. "I'll see you around, Riddle," he told him. Tom hesitantly shook his outstretched hand.

"It was wonderful meeting you, Tom," Mara told him, reaching out to delicately touch his arm.

Too much. It was all way too much. While he realized that it would be rude not to thank Beaumont for the party, his desire to leave immediately won over. At least he managed to maintain his composure long enough to duck around the corner into the hallway, step out the front door, and make the five minute walk back to his flat.

As soon as he arrived, he tore off his shirt, threw it in the fireplace in the living room, and muttered Incendio. Then he headed into the lavatory that was attached to his bedroom. He felt contaminated, even though the mudblood woman had only touched his shirt. Even so, until he was satisfied, he scrubbed his arms and hands like a mad person.

By the time he was finished he felt exhausted, so he went to lie down in his bed. But sleep did not come as easily as he had anticipated. He was still a bit disturbed and slightly baffled by the interaction with the Rookwood's. It seemed so entirely wrong for such a blatant blood traitor to work at the Ministry and compete in one of the most prestigious dueling competitions. What was the world coming to?

What would happen if these types of marriages were to continue? He knew the answer, it was simple enough: each generation would have less and less magical ability, as though it was being siphoned off. But what was really on his mind were all the potential consequences of such a thing. Wizarding society would crumble. Magical progress and discovery would be slowed to a halt. Knowledge would begin to move backwards.

He felt like he was lying there for ages and a quick glance at the clock informed him that this feeling was correct: 3 a.m. He told himself that he had to sleep, as he had training at nine that next morning, but he just couldn't shut off his mind. Now, even more than earlier that evening, he wished Rosemary was there. She would understand. He could get everything out of his mind and she would listen to every word; she was truly his best friend, which made it all the more terrifying to think he could lose her.

He heard a tap at the window and sat up to see an owl attempting to get in. There was a letter tied around its ankle with a bright green ribbon and he could recognize her handwriting immediately from the way she wrote Tom on the front. He scrambled out of bed and let the owl in, quickly untying the letter and ripping open the envelope.

Dear Tom,

I hope this letter finds you well and that you had a safe journey to France. I'm writing from Faye's house with splendid news. My parents, most notably my father, were surprisingly supportive of my spending the summer with her. As we planned, I attempted to give them the impression that you and I are finished, and they seemed to believe it. I got the impression that he feels guilty for everything they've put me (us, really) through in the past few months. As you'll be searching for a new flat after the tournament is over, I let them know I'd visit in St. Ives for a week in mid-July and played it off as an attempt to compromise with them. My mother made a bit of a fuss that I'm only spending a week with them, but both of them seemed to be fine when I left for the Donohue's three days ago. They're fools.

It was true; that had been their plan…their rather unsatisfying plan. He hadn't wanted to give her parents the impression that they were over because it felt as though he was admitting defeat, but Tom supposed he could live with it as long as it meant she could spend the summer with him. Plus, it would buy him some time to figure out a way that he could win their favor.

I hope training is going as well as it was while we were still in school. Perhaps it's good that I'm not there yet, as I was beginning to get the impression that Curtis was becoming annoyed with my constant presence at your sessions. I'll be better about keeping my distance so you both can focus – the last thing I want is to become a nuisance. I'm dying to know who else Beaumont has sponsored. But, as I will be there in three short days, I suppose I can wait until then to hear about it until then. I know it's been less than a week since I've last seen you, but even so, words can't even begin to express how excited I am to see you again. I love you.

Rose

He smiled when he read the part where she thought she was a nuisance. Of course she wasn't; he loved when she was around so he could show off for her. Jennings view of it might well be a different story, but was the cranky type of person that could be bothered with just about anything anyway.

As he finished the letter and shooed the owl out of the window without a reply, he ached for her more strongly than he had all night. His head was spinning anew, as thoughts of her crammed themselves in his mind along with the unpleasant ones regarding their less than ideal plan with her parents and his disturbing encounter with the Rookwood's. At this rate, he could forget sleeping; it was going to be a long three days.

"What I really hated, of course, was my mind. There must have been an off switch somewhere, but I was damned if I could find it." - David Sedaris

Thanks a TON to these wonderful reviewers: I thought I was the only one, RosiePosie15, and CharlotteBlackwood. Special thanks to CharlotteBlackwood, as she has reviewed every single chapter so far! She is working on some great fics (my favorite of which is Craving Comfort, a very ambitious Severus Snape/OC), so you should check 'em out!(:

I know that there wasn't a ton that happened in this chapter, but be patient. The drama will be ramping up soon enough! :D

Fun fact for those of you that watch The Walking Dead...They are making a TWD spin-off, called Fear the Walking Dead (worst title ever, I know), which is set to premiere this summer. I'm super excited for it because it's going to be set in Los Angeles and is going to explore how exactly the outbreak occurred (my favorite theory is by far the Breaking Bad theory...I will be freaking thrilled if that's what happens, but there's probably next to no chance that they'll write it that way). ANYWAY, let's get to what's relevant to this fic: Frank Dillane, the actor that played a school-aged Tom Riddle in HBP, will be starring in the show! :D He's apparently going to be playing a kid that's struggling a drug addiction. To be honest, I've kind of fallen out of love with TWD with the last two seasons, but this has thoroughly revived my interest.