The diary was on the floor beside his head when he regained consciousness, the slash marks in the surface standing as undeniable proof the events of the night prior had not been a dream. He had been visited by Death. Had made a wager. Had had his soul repaired.
A punishment game.
The Reaper had alluded to vague terms about his parents but just what did it truly amount to? He knew that his mother had died giving birth to him, but what had his slug of a father possibly sacrificed aside from a sliver of his reputation and even that had been unwillingly.
Spurred on by the thought of the filthy Muggle Tom sprang to his feet only to instantly regret it. Agony flared through him and he fell again with a hiss, knees thudding on the floor. Unconsciously his arms wound around his middle, clutching at his newly tender stomach.
It felt like he'd been stepped on by a dragon.
Confused and concerned he uncoiled himself from his curled position and lifted his shirt to reveal pale skin. Nothing. Tom didn't know what would have been more distressing to him, the fact that nothing was there or what he might have done if something had been. There was no blood. No discoloration. He dropped the fabric again with a sigh and stood up, more carefully this time so as to keep the frissons of pain manageable, hobbling over towards the door of the room. He couldn't stand up straight-it hurt too much to try-so Tom remained in his half-bent position and proceeded down the hall towards the staircase.
It was still early in the morning, so much so that only the faintest line of grey was visible on the horizon, and only a few of the other residents of Wool were up yet-even had it been later none of the worthless Muggles would have dared mention anything about it-and exited the building. Quickly leaving the grounds through the heavy wrought iron gate.
He needed to just…walk. To walk and clear his head. To think. Every Slytherin knew the importance of foreplaning and understanding your enemy. He needed to work out precisely what the Reaper intended to do to him over the course of the next circa nine months, and then quickly determine the best way to counter those plans. He felt confident in his ability to weather any storm that his challenger would throw at him, but caution paid. Even for Lord Voldemort.
The portion of the city which he'd wandered into while distracted was shadowed and deserted. Dirty and almost entirely industrial. What time was it?
Tom was just about to cast a wandless Tempus Charm when he found himself grabbed from behind by a pair of burly hairy arms. A hand-massive, calloused and dirty-clamped itself over his mouth before he could even fill his lungs to protest as his attacker commenced dragging him towards the nearest alley.
"Pretty thing, aren't you? Look a bit hurt, though. You lost, little boy?" the man's breath was hot and smelled like sour milk. "Don't squirm so much; no need to worry. I'll take good care of you."
He was not about to allow himself to ever be made a victim of by a Muggle again. Not like the older children at the Orphanage had done back before he'd known the truth he was a Wizard, most certainly not in the manner this particular lowlife seemed to have in mind. He'd never cast an Unforgivable wandlessly before, but a Stinging Hex he had and was quite accomplished at after so many occasions of having had to discipline his Knights. He'd force the man to release him and would pull his wand, Trace be damned. With the face and (public) record of an angel not to mention the network of connections he'd spent so long building he'd get away with it. Easily. He reached for his magic, expecting it to jump like an eager dog at his command.
Malice was replaced with icy fear when nothing happened. His core withdrew, refusing to respond. This had never happened before.
Death! That bastard!
He'd have to resort to Muggle methods, then, never mind the fact the man had to be at least twice his size. How plebian. How disgusting. He'd have to wash his mouth out after this. Maybe even get a shot or twelve at the nearest hospital to prevent contracting anything, but there wasn't any other choice.
Tom's perfect white teeth sank so deeply into his captor's finger that he nearly bit it clean off.
The man cursed and yanked his hand away but before he could even think to call of help or formulate any other reaction a fist slammed into his jaw. His head spun on his shoulders and stars exploded in front of his eyes, body going limp with shock. His attacker used the provided chance to drag him the rest of the way into the alley and out of sight of the street where he threw him to the ground.
The temporary seal that the Reaper had put on his magic didn't extend to his Occlumancy, and he made use of that fact to retreat into his head until it was over. Saving himself from at least a portion of the trauma, but no longer putting up a fight as consequence. Just lying there until the animal was finished and left.
Killing and torture were methods of gaining control which he'd always put stock in but now that he'd been on the receiving end of an entirely different manner of assault he could no longer deny it was affective. Not that he would ever stoop to a level so despicable as that, and if he found out that one of his followers were ever to engage in such behavior…
He refused to allow what he'd endured to leave him terrorized, would not be made to cower inside because of it, especially not from the Muggles to which he was so superior. But he couldn't deny that he felt shaken up by what he'd gone through. And that he certainly felt violated.
Violated. Just like his father must have felt after he'd recovered from the influence of the Amortentia that his mother had had him under. He could almost sympathize with the dog in that regard. Almost. That fact alone was enough to wrench a bitter laugh out of him as he put his clothing back to rights and left the alley, the return of his magic's familiar course and smolder doing nothing at all to make him feel even the slightest bit better.
It was almost enough to make him slightly more forgiving of the man who had abandoned him, but not quite. He could understand the feelings of violation. Of hatred. But not the cowardice. The running. Had he been in his father's place he'd have made sure the little bastard that he'd sired under duress would have never drawn a breath.
Of course then that would have meant he wouldn't be alive at the current moment, wouldn't be in the position that he was now to make the world a better place for its rightful rulers, and Tom couldn't have that. In a very morbid way, he was grateful for his father's lack of spine. And for the fact that he hadn't inherited it along with his father's face and name.
At least he wouldn't have to worry about landing in a similar position, stuck with a…by Morgana, no. No. Surely not!
The nine month time frame. The new tenderness in his stomach as if he'd been wounded, or something foreign had been introduced which hadn't been there before. Like what Skelegro might have felt like if it regrew organs instead of bones.
Was it possible for a magical male to bear a child? He supposed it would make sense. Would explain why relationships, even marriages, of the same sex were so much more accepted in the magical world than in the muggle one. Tom cursed himself for not realizing…but no, he couldn't jump to conclusions yet. He needed to gather more information before he panicked; information on if it was possible and information on how to get rid of it in the event of the unthinkable becoming reality. He needed to go to Diagon Alley.
But first he needed to clean up. To wash away the filth. To get rid of the humiliation he'd been put through and begin the process of forgetting that it had ever happened as soon as possible. He wouldn't let this break him. Nothing would sway him from the path that he'd chosen. From his destiny. Not the Grim bloody Reaper. Not Albus Dumbledore. Not God himself, or Jesus Christ, or the Devil or an assault from a muggle and certainly not the potential that an unwanted parasite had taken root inside him.
Regardless of what was thrown at him he would not break. He. Would. Not. Lose. He would be immortal. He would best Death himself and have the entire world at his feet even if it meant burning it all to the ground.
Wools was awake now and under normal circumstances the matron would have gone after him for leaving the grounds without warning or permission, if only to keep up the illusion that she had any power over him, but his ruffled state was so unusual that it alone seemed to leave her struck speechless. He swept passed her and up towards his room.
It was passed midday by the time he got around to Diagon Alley, freshly dressed and still feeling filthy despite having rubbed his skin red raw. He wasn't there long, purchasing only a single book from Flourish and Blott's before returning and locking himself in his room. He didn't read it cover to cover, unlike every other book that he'd ever gotten his hands on, only the necessary parts. Once finished, he threw it into his trunk in disgust.
His worst fears had been confirmed. Yes, it was possible-if rare-for a Wizard to bear a child though usually only Purebloods could be born with the trait, and to make matters worse there was no way to kill the bastard before it was born without taking his own life too. He wasn't quite that spiteful. Abortion spells did exist but they were viewed almost as despicable as the Unforgivables-though not near as dark-due to the fact that the magical population was so low, and all books on them were in the custody of St. Mungo's for use in only the most dire circumstances.
He'd have to wait until the infernal thing was born to deal with it.
His most pressing concern now was concealing his unwanted pregnancy-and he had no doubt that he was, now, as the ensuing events could only be the damned Reaper's doing as a part of their wager-from his Knights, not to mention the rest of the Hogwarts staff and most especially his meddling Transfiguration Professor. No one could ever know that he was now with child, or questions would be raised when he could no longer produce one after he'd inevitably slaughtered the creature.
It was a blessing that he'd proven to be gifted in Glamours some time ago.