A dark haired man strode down the road, an angry scowl on his face. His neat hair fell slightly in front of his unnatural red eyes. He was tall and slender, dressed in black muggle clothes consisting of jeans, which tucked over combat boots, his t-shirt's neckline being a V shape. Tom had let the glamours drop, wanting to evade his blasted Death Eaters, their incompetence infuriating. Now he was just wandering the streets down a nice neighborhood, in an attempt not to kill them all, as he did need them.
Tom didn't really know, nor care where he was (apparation was extremely useful), but stopped dead at one of the houses, where shouting could be heard from the other side of the road. The exact words wasn't understood, but it was evident that the people of the house were mad as hell. Tom was about to continue down the road, when the door suddenly opened and a…whale of a man was throwing a teen out, dragging him through the door by his hair. Tom's eye twitched, the abutment of children wasn't something he approved of, no matter how the said 'child' was a teenager.
The said teen was thrown violently out of the house, and onto the sidewalk in front of the house. Tom's eyes were now narrowed, and he was debating on wether or not to go over there and help the boy, however…when the door opened back up, it stopped Tom from moving at once. But two more things were thrown out, first a chest, then a broom. And the recognition of the Hogwarts chest lit a fury like never before in Tom's chest, red rimming the edges of his vision.
Tom was halfway across the street when he realized who the boy was, as he'd finally gotten up and was now, as if in pain, was slowly moving his trunk and broom away from the house. His recognizable messy black hair gave it away. Harry Potter. Who didn't seem to see him, despite being a mere few feet away from each other. The boy's glasses were no where to be seen, however, partially explaining why he went unnoticed.
Tom froze again, seeing movements in the shadows in the bushes behind Harry. A magical signal rang off the person, who was watching their supposed savior being thrown out of his home, and that enraged him further. He wordlessly sent a curse to the witch or wizard, not caring which it was, and then cast a sleeping spell to Harry, who slumped against his trunk. Tom went to the boy, knowing that he probably shouldn't do this, his rage wouldn't let him just leave. He shrunk the broom and trunk, tucking them into his pocket, before lifting the frail boy and apparating away.
Tom landed into his own bedroom, laying the abused savior on the bed, his rage reaching a higher level upon seeing the blood covering the boy, having been missed in the darkness of night. Dark bruises covered around his eyes and on his cheekbones, a cut above one of his eyes, more bruises on his neck, and there was another cut leading along where his shoulder met his neck, and disappeared below the shirt. He ran a diagnosis spell, a parchment appearing a second later and listing all the damages the boy contained. He cast a healing charm on the recent wounds, sealing them before they scarred over.
Tom didn't righty know why he was helping the blasted boy, nor at the moment did he fully care. The abusement of children, magical children, made him want to go back to that house and murder all of them.
When Tom sat down at his desk in the room, leaning against one of his arms, watching the boy on the bed. He lifted his head when the boy began to stir, his eyes opening. He sat up jerkily, looking around, yet his eyes were glazed as if he couldn't see anything.
"Where am I?" He asked in a broken voice.
"Not with those…muggles." Tom found himself answering, evading the actual question.
"Who are you?"
This shocked Tom, surely he would recognize him, even without his glamours, the red eyes were a dead giveaway. "You don't know me?"
"I can't exactly see at the moment." Harry said softly, his eyes going down to his lap.
"Oh, your glasses." Tom mentally berated himself about forgetting about the boy's glasses, but then the boy shook his head.
"No…I mean, I can't see. I could always see somewhat without my glasses, but now it's all dark."
Tom was across the room, taking the boy's chin into his hand and forcing him to look up. His emerald eyes were wide, but not meeting his own eyes. "You need proper attention. I'll send an owl for Dumbledore …."
"NO!" Harry jerked his face away, hissing, "Don't send me to him!"
"And why?" Tom asked, bewildered by the boy's sudden reaction.
"He's a manipulative old coot, who knows about the Dursleys, who knows how the treat me, and let them! He even encouraged it! I would rather go to Voldemort, and trust him to heal me properly before going to him!"
"Does that mean you trust me more?" Tom couldn't help himself from saying, amused and even somewhat pleased.
Harry stopped, however there wasn't any explosion that Tom had originally believed there was going to be. He simply closed his eyes and whispered, "I knew you sounded familiar." He then gazed back up with sightless eyes. "Did you bring me here to kill me?"
He looked so hopeless, so…defeated and yet accepting. Like he knew his fate and was ready to face the green curse. Tom didn't think that now, now that he's seen the boy like this, unwilling to help the light, and his enemy, that he could ever kill the boy.
He didn't answer right away, taking the boy's face into his hands once more, gently tilting his head to get a better look at his eyes again, before answering. "No."
