"I'm a Dark Lord."
The clock ticked on the wall, showing three minutes till three.
"Is that so, Tom?"
The pen scratched against the paper, making pink lips curl in disgust.
"Yes. I've killed people-mudbloods and muggles alike."
The pen stopped moving, and the clock ticked down another minute. Two to go.
"Really? And how did that make you feel, killing off the mudbloods and muggles?"
Boney hands sat the pen down, a small mercy, and one folded over the other on the table.
"It's not really me, so I couldn't say."
He flexed his fingers, digging them into the wooden arms of his chair and tugging half-heartedly at the restraints on his wrists. He knew they wouldn't budge, doctors don't make the same mistakes twice.
"Ah, yes. Your…mirror self. How does he fair?"
The clock ticked once more. One minute.
"Bald. Kinda looks like an egg. Still talks to snakes."
A frown came across those grandfatherly features.
"An egg?"
Thirty seconds.
"An egg."
Twenty seconds.
"And how do you think he felt, killing them?"
Ten seconds.
"Powerful. Dark. Aroused."
The buzzer sounded through the room, making Doctor Albus Dumbledore jump slightly. He smiled slightly, embarrassed at the action while his patient remained completely still, staring at a spot on the wall as though he had not heard the loud noise.
"Ah, looks like we are out of time, my dear boy." He said, standing as several guards entered the room. "I do hope we can finish this discussion tomorrow."
Silence greeted him as the two guards undid the straps, roughly pulling Tom Riddle to his feet and out the door. The boy –well, man, seeing as he was nearing his twenty-fifth birthday- had not had a psychotic episode in weeks, not since the fork incident. Bellatrix would forever be blind in that eye and he had a nasty scar on his hand from when he had pried the weapon out of Tom's hand.
He was gathering up Tom's folder when a piece of paper slid out and fluttered onto the floor. He bent down to retrieve it, glancing over it once more. It was shiny, green construction paper, with a single lightning bolt done in marker and various words scribbled on the side, 'Harry', 'lived', and 'Horcrux' being the most prominent. He smiled when he remembered the fit Tom had thrown when Draco had dared touch the paper, shaking his head slightly.
He quickly stuffed it into the folder, making his way out of the therapy room and into the main hallway. He walked swiftly down the hall, slowing as he passed a large window that covered half the wall. He could see their newest charge, one Harry James Potter, sitting under the shade of a tree and giggling at whatever Tom was showing him.
They had become fast friends, something that worried Dumbledore greatly, seeing as young Harry was only seventeen, and his parents were very close friends. Tom may be crazy, but he was manipulatively charming in the worst ways, using his beauty to lure anyone he saw of use in and snap the trap shut with a few pretty words and caresses. He would now, he had watched many of his staff lose their licenses to a soundtrack of sly smiles and crazed laughter.
He handed the folder to a nearby nurse, ordering her to put it in his office while he made his way to the canteen, pushing those unwanted thoughts out of his mind and instead focusing on what to put on his tuna sandwich.
The mirror was the only item in the room that mattered.
That, and the clock.
But the clock was unimportant right now, resting on the wall, tik-tok-tiking away.
He shifted closer, blanket around his shoulders like a cape and pillow in one hand. He wrapped his free arm around the mirror, hugging it close.
It had been his most prized possession for the past fifteen years, the one thing that he had come with that they let him keep. He could gaze into it for hours, if they would let him.
And gazing he was, but not at himself.
He was looking at a boy, constantly turning in his small bed, with small sobs escaping his mouth even in sleep.
His name was Harry and he often had nightmares. They got worse after his dog died earlier that year. Such a tragedy.
Poor thing.
He gently caressed the cold glass, right over Mirror-Harry's cheek, and flopped down in front of the mirror, head resting on the pillow.
He had thought about it –debated it. Letting Real-Harry come and see his mirror, see what he sees.
But, what if he was like everyone else and couldn't? Would he laugh like everyone had so long ago? Would he have to make him be quiet, like he did to all the other children?
He didn't want to do that, he liked Harry.
Harry didn't laugh at him when he said something strange, like the children did. Or look at him sadly, like Dumbledore did. Or try to put his hand down his pants, like everyone else did. He liked that best about him, no need to destroy him like the others.
He decided.
Harry would come and get to see Mirror-Harry and Mirror-Tom –or Voldemort, as he preferred- and together they would have a splendid time in front of his mirror.
They would, Tom decided as he began to fall asleep, or else.
So, like, what did you think? Was it good? Bad? Vague? Not vague enough? Should I turn this into a full blown story? I was thinking about making it into one, and this would be like the teaser. Of course, this scene won't be in it (maybe), it's just here to tease :3. And yeah, italics are Tom's POV, in case you couldn't tell.
