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Riddle had never been afraid of his mother before.
He had respected her… and perhaps been occasionally cautious of her, because he was familiar with her tendency towards strong reactions. And maybe, sometimes, Riddle could admit that he was wary of her, especially when he suspected that she would not completely agree with his actions. And… Okay, perhaps Riddle has always been a little bit afraid of his mother, but nothing quite compared to the gauntlet he faced down now.
Riddle most assuredly had made this worse for himself, by merely… avoiding the issue for so long. After his overblot, the school had informed his parents, as was appropriate for such a medical incident, but since Riddle had received adequate care here on Sage’s Island… Riddle had been within his rights to choose to stay here and focus on his studies, instead of taking time out of his schedule to return home for a check-up, as his mother had very fiercely suggested. Fortunately, his mother had not been able to come to the school herself, due to her own schedule conflicts, aided by the fact that Night Raven was terribly hard to get to and from without a magic mirror, which, by the rules, could not be used for non-students or non-faculty. Much to his mother’s chagrin, since Riddle had refused to go on his own volition.
And he did refuse. He made excuses for himself at first, but Riddle had come to a realization within himself that he… simply had not wanted to see her. He did not want to explain himself, or be strong-armed to share more details about his overblot, because either he would have to lie, or he would be faced with the reality that she would disagree with him, regarding something Riddle knew to be true.
Riddle had been wrong. About many things. He had been wrong about how important some rules were, or what even should be a rule; he had been wrong to treat others according to the expectations set for himself; he had been wrong to be angry and hateful when people failed his standards of perfection; he had been wrong to believe that he was alright, that he was not hurting or about to fall apart at the seams at the slightest catastrophe, because if he was wrong and broken then that meant he had never been perfect at all.
As an equally uncomfortable realization, Riddle determined that if he was wrong, then Cordula Rosehearts was as well. And Riddle, still one to believe in orderliness and honesty, didn’t want to tell her that. A rare bout of cowardice was surely the source of this feeling, but no amount of ignoring it could change that he was just… scared.
Now that it was winter break, though, he could avoid this confrontation no longer. Taking Trey up on his kind offer would only be delaying the inevitable, but a small part of Riddle kept it in mind, especially if the confrontation went as poorly as he imagined. Already, the house itself felt suffocating. It was his home, and yet he could not relax at all, hyper-aware of what was expected of him here.
…It made guilt stab at him again, realizing that that was truly the environment he instilled at Heartslaybul. No wonder his dorm hated and feared him.
Riddle took a steadying breath and emerged from his room and to the table, the clock chiming with his movement. It was tea time, on the dot, which meant that Riddle’s break coincided with his mother’s. According to her plan, no doubt, because she was there, fingers folded tightly and regally together. “Riddle,” she greeted, clearly upset. Not angry, though, not at him; he had expected it, so to see the lack threw him off guard.
“Hello Mother,” he returned, automatically polite, waiting for the shoe to drop.
But she just sighed, touching her temple briefly as if she would develop a headache, as Riddle procured his tea.
“If it would not disrupt your studies so greatly, I would pull you from that school,” she lamented, an argument he had unfortunately heard over the phone the first time. “Their education is satisfactory but their administration is greatly lacking.” She frowned. “It is ridiculous that this is my first time seeing you, after that accident. At least you appear healthy now. I trust you have been extra diligent to follow the diet plan I sent you for your recovery?”
Riddle felt a chill settle in his gut. He had not. Yes, he had been careful to keep his immune system sharp, but he had not followed her meal plans since freshman year. They…conflicted with Heartslaybul’s rules, which was the reason he gave himself. Now, Riddle acknowledged that that had been his rebellion, or perhaps, his first freedom. Regarding his health, though, especially after the overblot, Riddle had finally admitted that Mother could not be all knowing, and received second opinions. Trey, the school chefs, the school nurse, and Professor Crewel all agreed the diet plan was too strict, altogether unnecessary, or even calorie deficit for post-overblot recovery. (He ate a lot of stew, instead, as something easy on his stomach but quick to replenish his horrible energy reserves.) Dr. Cordula Rosehearts might be a brilliant surgeon, but… that did not make her an expert in everything. Riddle learned that the hard way.
“I am well,” he said instead, answering the question she didn’t quite ask. For all his resolve, he grew weak in her steely, expectant gaze.
Because she had assumed better of him, she didn’t question that part.
Mother took a sip of her tea. Riddle did too, and found no enjoyment from it. It was a far more bitter brew than what he would have back at the dorm.
“Very good. Now, since we finally have a chance to talk face to face: Riddle, what on earth happened? I didn’t raise you to be reckless.”
Riddles barely contained a flinch. He had expected this. He should not be caught off-guard. Yet, the courage he had mustered was water slipping between his fingertips. Riddle did not consider himself non-confrontational, but this seemed to be an exception.
“I… My apologies,” he apologized first. He had already apologized, to her for causing worry and to his dorm, who he had impacted the most, to Ace, who he nearly killed, but it felt safer to do so again. “It was indeed reckless of me.”
“I do not want an apology,” she snapped, the anger finally bubbling to the surface. “I want an explanation. I have been diligent to not stress you out unduly during your recovery, but I expect more now.”
She might as well have slapped him, and he recoiled as if he did, though his own anger simmered to the surface as well. Not to stress him out?! She had called him relentlessly! The nurse had advised he turn off his phone, lest he relapse. She had been a massive source of stress, right next to the horror of what he had nearly done.
“I used too much magic,” he snapped. “While I was angry. You need no more context than that.”
It occurred to him, seeing the dawning, enraged shock on his mother’s face, that he had never been cross so outwardly at her before. Neither had he defied her to her face. Riddle would be proud of himself for finding his footing, if the terror did not still thrum loudly in his chest.
“Riddle,” she snapped back, establishing her dominance in the household with a palm slapping against the table. She was the queen here and they both knew it. “Do not use that tone with me! And you know very well that that does not answer my question.”
His heart hammered against his ribs. He couldn’t say it, he realized; the words got stuck in his throat. So he deflected instead. “The details of the event are being kept private, for the sake of everyone involved. Not just for myself. I cannot say much further.”
That was true, in fact. News of his overblot and Leona’s would not leave NRC, beyond private health matters and their families. Crowley had ensured them of this, and while Riddle found Crowley lacking in many official matters, he agreed with Cater in resting assured that this was the truth: there was no way the Headmage would risk the school’s reputation. As for his dormmates, Riddle could not precisely order that they remain silent, but so far, none of them seemed to say much, as if by agreement. Regardless, only those who contributed towards defeating his phantom knew the worst of it, and Riddle trusted them immensely.
Mother deflated with another sigh. For a moment, Riddle thought he won.
“That’s just for the public, and believe me, I agree that this should not go on your public and academic records. But I’m your mother. You can tell me in our own home. And… I understand if you are embarrassed. You are shaping up to be a capable mage, and while this was a terrible mistake, you evidently corrected it in time. If you’re worried I would think less of you, don’t. Consider the fact that it happened punishment and warning enough.”
It was his turn to be shocked. She…wasn’t mad? Except… No. Mother didn’t understand. Her pity and assurance failed, because they weren’t needed at all. Caught between wanting to scream or cry, Riddle shook his head.
“My survival was thanks to my classmates,” he corrected, standing up abruptly.
He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t say more, other than to give credit where it was due. He… simply couldn’t. Perhaps it was a cowardly decision on his part, but the vindictive part of Riddle also simply did not want to give her what she demanded. He used to tell her everything, even when it was against his best interests. She expected to know everything.
Riddle no longer wanted to meet expectations that were not reasonable, nor best for him.
“You are correct though. I have learned much from my overblot, and I will ensure I will put it into practice and do better for the future, so it will not happen again. Now, teatime seems to be over, so I must get going. Good afternoon, Mother.”