Chapter Two: A Murderous Event
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A/N: A chapter until I get into the rhyme of things with publishing a new story.
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Tom sat in the overstuffed armchair facing Grenda Zygglewiff. In his opinion, she was the most conceited, pimply, ugly, creature to ever disgrace the halls of Hogwarts. A problem he dearly wished to eradicate. However, now was not the time. Tom, ever the cunning and quiet boy, knew when put his grand scheme into effect. And now, however much his emotions played out, was not the time. Tom was a boy who stuck to a schedule.
According to that schedule, his eyes wandered down to his golden watch, a wizardly present from that man known as Dumbledore. Tom was not sure what to make of the grizzled, wise, blue-eyed man who seemed to know every thought in his head. However, Tom DID know what to do about the unsettling time his watch had settled on: o o'clock. He was late for his appointment. Once again.
He rose with a dignified, poised air about him. Settling for a malicious glare at Grenda, he whipped out of the room. As he strode down the hall, nearby student's mixed reactions lend him pleasure. Some stood, eyes glazed and open, mouths agape. Others, however, turned away. Tom cared for neither of his reactions, for his ultimate goal was to be the same: respect, and power. Respect for power, he mused silently in his head.
Meanwhile, unannounced to him, his feet had swiftly carried him to the vacant classroom that had become his temporary meeting room. He peered at his watch again. His heart spiked in frosty fear, for he could swear blue eyes had leapt from the device. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was only a glare. He shook his head. Tom, you're losing it Tom, your losing it.
Ten minutes late, he strode into the room. The two boys waiting, both of a younger year, sat noiselessly in the darkest corner. Tom briefly let his smile shine, and at the sight of the pale whiteness the boys let out a sigh of relief.
"Ah, Davy... I assume you have...the stuff?" questioned Tom, his voice calm but eyes flashing in warning. They seemed to speak of what would happen if the boy did not have the stuff.
"My friend-" Davy silenced himself, remembering Tom's latest..orders. He found it unnerving to be ordered around by a student, even if he was three years older. But Tom gave him power, and people seemed to know who he was.
"Forgive me, my...master, re, I mean to say...Lord. Here it is, one finely crushed dungbeatle, expired fire powder from a female mandrake, and Grenda's wand," Davy finished.
Tom eyed him icily, only to turn his stare onto the other boy when he fidgeted. "Good. I had become...worried, you see. I had spoken to Grenda for quite some time, I had hoped you had adequate time to steal her wand." Tom finished the conversation by snatching the three items, which resided in a black satin bag, and briskly walked out of the room.
The bag in hand, Tom allowed himself a broad grin. A nearby Griffindor girl, of the same year, nearly fainted. It wasn't what he had intended. Grimly, he thought to himself, that if given the chance, he would've spit on the girl. She deserved it and all, mudblood scum contaminating the school. The purging, Tom thought, would begin tonight.
Late that night, with no assistance form his underlings, Tom had crept out of the Slytherin common room. He moved like an apparition through Hogwarts, only pausing to stifle a sneeze when he passed Flitch. Even Tom was human. Upon reaching his destination, he stopped fully. The fate lady stood in front of him, and he knew what lay behind it. A few minutes of torture of an unfortunate Griffindor had seen to that!
With a quick mutter, he cursed the fat lady. She was not to wake form her sleep that night. Tom had work to do. He delicately sprinkled the infusion of crushed beetle and fire powder along the frame of the painting, which he had mixed carefully earlier. Stepping back from his work, he set the dusted painting on fire.
It burned normally for a few second, then started to turn a bright white. On this cue, Tom sprinted away. A defining boom retouched off the narrow cobblestoned floor. He threw a glance back at the fat lady's painting. A ragged, jagged hole had zig-zagged in a neat circle over the entrance of the common room. The painting was disintegrated in a fine black powder, and the hole was large enough for even Professor Slughorn to easily fit through. Slughorn...mused Tom, was a man that needed serious work in the mental business.
His work done, Tom drifted back to the Slytherin common room, and from there to bed.
Upon awaking, Tom knew that there was something wrong in the castle. Not that the performance last night had gone noticed, it was, in fact, this that troubled him so. Things in the boys side of the Slytherin wing were perfectly normal. Dressing in clean black robes, Tom stepped outside of the common room. He jogged to the painting of the fat lady, and thus the common room, although he slowed and acted nonchalant, pretending he didn't know the significance of this corridor.
Nothing was wrong. Or rather, everything was wrong. It all depended on the perspective you were looking at. The wall was perfectly normal, with no hole gaping like a fish ready to be swallowed, and the painting of the fat lady was nailed to the wall, neatly as ever.
She woke, and said in her high voice, "Can I help you?" Upon his answer of no, he moved himself to of the vicinity. He shook his head, in a daze. Somehow, he ended up on the steps entering Dumbledore's office. Once again, he marveled at the knowledge his feet seemed to have. Muttering Th. Password, he was admitted into the room.
There, Dumbledore sat, blue eyes sparkling and shimmering like two omniscient stars. "Ah... Tom. Is there something troubling you?" His voice was acing and even.
Dumbledore knew what was wrong, and Tom hated him for it. But, matching Dumbledore's tone, he answered, "Well. Sir. I don't really. Well. Yes. I have a question."
"I find, Tom, that questions are better asked than not, don'y you agree?" There it was, the infatuating, knowing voice again!
"Sir...sometimes, well... Is it usual, for magic to be done, but then a few hours later... For it to be undone?" Tom asked, attempting to be casual.
"Tom. Tom. There is not a simple answer to that. Answers, I find, are like candy. They come in many flavors, and once you get a taste of them, you find that you really don't like them at all," replied the old man.
"Thank you sir," Tom said.
"Oh...and Tom. Please take a lemon drop on the way out. Candy may not have all the answers, but it tastes quite good!" With that farewell note, Tom conducted himself down the stairwell, through the winding halls, into the common room, and once again sat down on that green overstuffed armchair.
That bastard fixed it. Dumbledore...he's a force to reckon with, thought Tom. Contemplating this, he realized he would have to be much more careful acting on his next mission.
He let loose a full, radiant smile. Next time, Dumbledore, you'll see who needs to eat candy.
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A/N: I'm done for today. I would like at least three reviews by Wednesday. Is that so hard to ask? This is an honest fanfiction piece, not some piece of grammar garbled trash! It deserves reviews!