Tom listened to the sound of Harry's deep, slow breathing as they lay in bed together. His arms were wrapped around his lover, and their bodies were close. Harry was still asleep, while Tom had been awake for quite a while. He had no desire to move away from Harry, or to get out of bed soon this morning. His eyes were closed as he thought about the day ahead of him, and about the boy in his arms.
Harry had been acting a little different since the duel between Dumbledore and Grindelwald, yet Tom knew this was only to be expected. For Grindelwald to be defeated before his very eyes must have been both awe-inspiring and terrifying for Harry. Tom only wished that he understood what Harry might be feeling. No matter how long he thought about it, he couldn't decide. It was always as though the thoughts in his head vanished when he attempted to decipher another person's emotions, or even his own, so he normally gave up trying. It frustrated and annoyed him, and in the case of Harry, left him with an odd sensation he couldn't describe.
But he wanted to know very badly what Harry was feeling. Harry could always work out Tom 's emotions quickly, even before he himself could, at times, and Tom wanted to know how to do that too. He worried that Harry might admire Dumbledore for what he had done, for he didn't feel fully satisfied that Harry feared Dumbledore enough. Tom had brought the subject of Dumbledore's power up with Harry numerous times, and he wasn't blind to see that Harry couldn't quite grasp how important and dangerous it was that Dumbledore alone was more powerful than the wizard who had almost taken over all of Europe.
Grindelwald had wiped out countless people who were against him, almost counting Harry. Tom still wasn't quite sure how that was possible, since the witches and wizards who had lived with Harry must have been both intelligent and powerful. Harry seemed to occasionally know small pieces of magic that even Tom himself had never heard of. This was rare, of course, but a shock each time it happened. Harry was also better at the Dark Arts than any of Tom's other students had ever been. Tom had realised this even before he began treating Harry as more than a follower, and he had been cautious about it at first. Now he thought of it as a good thing – a useful thing.
Harry seemed to look at the Dark Arts with an eye predictable for a wizard who had grown up in the fuzzy grey line between light and dark magic. Tom wanted to lead Harry closer towards the Dark Arts, and he was succeeding in such a wish, but only very slowly. Harry hadn't given Horcruxes much thought yet, for example. Thus Tom had been reminding him about them every few months. Each time so far Harry had claimed that he was again unsure, before changing the subject.
Tom sensed that Harry was still indecisive about everything relating to the people he had lost, but he didn't know why. They were dead, and nothing could change that. Tom had repeated many times that Harry could see them with the ring, but somehow this didn't appear to be enough. Tom could not fathom this, and he contemplated whether Harry merely didn't want to live with him forever. This thought felt odd inside Tom, so he didn't think about it very much.
Harry had appeared changed when Tom asked if this was the reason, but Tom didn't know in what way. Harry didn't drop the subject lightly, what was more; he in fact persisted many times that this wasn't why he wouldn't make a Horcrux. Tom didn't see why repeating it was needed, but somehow that foreign emotion lessened within him. He had only asked Harry this question because of his unusual response to the thought, which had gotten stronger as weeks passed. He felt better when Harry denied it.
It was currently around November as Tom lay in bed with Harry, eleven months since the duel between Dumbledore and Grindelwald. Very little had happened in that time, except Tom had told Harry a little more about Horcruxes. Tom had even told Harry that the Diary was a Horcrux, and he had explained why he was taking such a long time to work on it. Tom needed careful years of perfecting this invention. It was rather important, after all. It would be put to great use.
When Tom told Harry that he was going to make more than one Horcrux, and when he explained what a revolutionary concept this was, Harry had been impressed, and this satisfied Tom. He found that the more he told Harry about Horcruxes, the better he felt about this secret being known. He trusted that Harry would never turn against him, even if he had the information on how to. It would be worth Tom's greatest secret being known when Harry ended up making a Horcrux, or Horcruxes.
Tom felt Harry stir, which broke his trail of thought. Harry turned over in his sleep, and Tom allowed him to, lessening the hold of his arms. One of Tom's hands ended up on Harry's waist, and Tom enjoyed the feeling of it there as he looked down into Harry's handsome face. Tom enjoyed the sight of Harry's eyes, which were beautiful even with the irises and pupils hidden beneath his eyelids. Tom enjoyed the sight of Harry's lips too, and his nose, and eyebrows, and scar…
It was only a minute later when Harry opened his eyes. Still very tired, he closed them again and stretched. When he looked at Tom properly, he smiled. Tom couldn't help but relish the sight of Harry's happiness, and he smiled back. In moments like this, it wasn't the same smiling with Harry as it was smiling with other people. Sometimes Tom couldn't stop himself, and he didn't have to force his lips to mimic the characteristic of a grin, or else didn't know he was grinning at all until the unusual gesture began to feel odd upon him. It wasn't mechanical with Harry, yet wasn't like smiling with, or at, his old school friends either.
"Good morning," Harry said, still appearing content.
"Good morning," Tom replied, examining Harry's alluring emerald eyes.
"How long have you been awake for?" Harry asked, before Tom could do much more than analyze him.
"Not long," Tom replied. "Perhaps three quarters of an hour."
"That's quite a long time," Harry stated. "What were you thinking about?"
"You," Tom answered. Harry smiled again, and Tom followed.
"What time is it?"
Tom didn't know the answer to this, having forgotten that it was relevant. "I'm as of yet unaware."
Harry turned towards his bedside table, and checked his watch. Tom examined his neck and jaw as his head turned, and his bare chest as some of their blanket fell off of him. "We should get up," Harry said, yet he didn't seem completely sincere in this suggestion.
Tom wasn't very keen upon the idea either, as he was unable to think about anything else besides seeing the rest of Harry's body. They were both unclothed, and were rather close again as Harry turned back. Tom kissed Harry, unable to resist any longer. The feeling of Harry beneath Tom's fingertips, or pressed close to him, was incomparable to anything else Tom had ever felt before. No people that Tom had been with prior to this had been a tenth as effective as Harry was, because Tom's need for Harry was somehow beyond meaningless lust, in a way that Tom couldn't fully understand.
Every inch of Tom's body yearned to be close to Harry, and with a kiss, this craving became yet stronger. Tom's hand slid across Harry's waist as Harry's lips pressed against his own. His breath was rough, and full of desire even before Harry's hands caressed his face, and slid lower to his neck. Tom's tongue slid across Harry's lips. He very much enjoyed taking his time before entering Harry's mouth fully, and Harry's lips were already slightly parted, waiting for him. Their tongues met, and their kiss deepened at a quick rate.
Tom's heart was beating quickly as he felt Harry pushing him back. This was another reason why Tom adored being with Harry so much. Not because Harry dominated him, but because he attempted to. No one else had ever been confident enough to do that to Tom, or brave enough, if they knew his power. Tom enjoyed the competition, no matter whether he won or lost – it was all the same. Tom pushed Harry back before he was lying on the bed fully, however. He didn't want to be dominated today.
Harry's hands had made their way up the back of Tom's neck, and were soon entwined in his hair, pulling it lightly. Their breath was irregular as Tom continued to kiss Harry, and Harry kissed him back just as passionately. Tom was moving to lie above Harry properly, his lips travelling from Harry's mouth to kiss his jaw, neck, and ear. Harry's hands moved from Tom's hair to his back by the time Tom's hips were closer to his.
Tom hissed words of Parseltongue in Harry's ear, sucking on his earlobe and feeling Harry's strong responses to it. His hands travelled Harry's body, and his tongue flicked across Harry's skin longingly. He wanted to kiss and caress Harry's entire body, and he was encouraged to do so as Harry struggled to stay composed. Tom felt as though they were made to be together while he felt the divine experience of Harry as a whole. His hands slid across Harry's chest, along his waist, and lower. When his lips found Harry's once more, Harry bit him in lust. Tom kissed him deeply after this, his desire close to overpowering…
Both Harry and Tom were in fine moods when they finally got out of bed a little later, and began getting ready for the day. It was a Friday morning, and there was still a lot of work to do at the Daily Prophet for Harry, and at Borgin and Burkes for Tom. "Who do you have to visit today?" Harry asked Tom as they made their way towards the door, grabbing their travelling cloaks on the way.
"Merely Quentin Bones at noon, and Hepzibah Smith at four," Tom replied, fastening the clasp of his cloak. "As well as working in the general store."
When Tom spoke, he watched Harry carefully. Harry had only recently fallen into the habit of asking Tom whom he would be visiting at work, and it was a curious thing. It was curious most of all whenever Tom mentioned Hepzibah Smith. This always triggered the same bizarre reaction within Harry, which Tom couldn't quite place.
Tom had thought, at first, that Harry was perhaps jealous or cautious of her. It was true that Tom visited her very often, but he had warned and confessed to Harry since the first day of meeting Smith that he would often convinced her to sell her antiques because of his looks and charms alone. Harry had claimed that he didn't care who Tom charmed, as long as it didn't become an issue, but despite this he was still blatantly edgy about something concerning Hepzibah Smith. Tom hadn't pressed the subject very much yet, even as it confused him.
"That seems like a reasonable day," Harry replied to Tom's words. He walked towards Tom once his cloak was on, and they kissed again. Tom was tempted to continue the kiss, before Harry pulled away. They were already close to being late.
"I'll see you after work," Tom said. With a tap of his wand, the door leading to the corridor beyond their flat opened. "I may be a bit late upon coming home, but not by much."
"That's fine," Harry replied calmly, following him into the corridor.
They spoke very little as they headed down a few flights of stairs, and onto the street outside. Harry headed for Diagon Alley after a few more words, and Tom watched him go, before walking towards Borgin and Burkes. The witches and wizards of Knockturn Alley were just as surly and distant as always when Tom passed them in the street, but he quite liked them this way. It saved him the bother of having to act falsely polite and interested in the boring lives of common people.
A few minutes of walking led Tom to arrive at Borgin and Burkes, Number 13B, Knockturn Alley. The store was vast, and darker in both appearance and impression than any other shop within the alley. Shelves towered towards the ceiling, displaying only part of the massive collection of items that the store had to offer. A large and notable fireplace could be seen a little within the shop, for clients to use if they wished to visit without attracting unwanted attention. With artefacts of powerful properties and fuzzy histories, Borgin and Burke's shop was a notorious success to dark witches and wizards from all over the country.
After a few years of joining the wizard world, Tom had been introduced to this shop. The friends Tom had at Hogwarts had talked about it often, but he had seen it himself even before that. Having hated his orphanage as much back then as he did now, he had taken daytrips, alone, into Diagon Alley and beyond frequently. He loved everything about this store, but favourite part of it had to be the collection of books it held. They were almost all dedicated to the Dark Arts, and free for Tom to read now, no matter how rare and costly they were.
When Tom entered the shop now, he found Burke sitting at the counter, examining an artefact of an unusual nature. Burke seemed intrigued by the item, but he stepped away from his work as soon as he saw who had entered his shop. He greeted Tom from where he stood; reminding him of all the things he would have to do today. The business had been going well this past year and a half, and Tom knew from reading Burk and Borgin's thoughts that they felt he was the best thing that had happened to this store in years – besides the fourth return of a cursed opal necklace Borgin and Burke seemed very fond of. They made a true fortune off of that necklace, having obtained it back without paying three of four times so far.
After a few minutes of being informed upon the exact work he would have to do in the shop today, Tom was left alone by Burke to begin his work. The day passed at a reasonable pace, and at noon Tom left the shop to visit Quentin Bones, returning a little over an hour later with a successful deal made. More work at the shop was done, and four O'clock was drawing near. Tom stopped arranging and reading a large stack of volumes to leave once more, heading for Hepzibah Smith's house without meeting Borgin or Burke again.
Hepzibah Smith lived in a small Wizarding Village in northwest England. The village had only a few hundred residents within it, and Hepzibah's home was by far the grandest of every house nearby. Tom visited her at least at least six times a month, for she continuously arranged new offers to be made upon some of the antiques she hoarded. Borgin and Burk challenged her offers eagerly, knowing she would only refuse Tom what he wanted a few times. Tom couldn't say that he enjoyed visiting her in any way, but he was at least entertained with charming her out of her money, and seeing what items she had in her house.
Tom was contemplating Harry's odd reaction to the idea of Hepzibah Smith as he stood upon her doorstep, and looked down at his watch. It had just turned four O'clock, so he rang the bell, and took a step back patiently. Tom contemplated how many more months it might be before Hepzibah gave up on him, or got bored of flirting. Tom wouldn't care if he stopped seeing her soon, for it would stop Harry from worrying…
There wasn't much of a pause before the door to the house opened, and Tom saw Hepzibah's House Elf looking up at him. The House Elf was very thin and elderly, with the highest of voices as it bowed for Tom, and said, "Good afternoon, sir! Please, come in."
Tom followed the elf into the house after a few words of greeting, the door closing behind him on its own. Hepzibah's house was crammed with thousands of trinkets, antiques, and pieces of jewellery that were stored within cupboards, packed upon tables, and placed anywhere else imaginable where they wouldn't fall down or break into pieces. With careful movements, and memories of visiting this house so often before, Tom succeeded in travelling behind the tiny elf, arriving smoothly in the room where Hepzibah stood.
Hepzibah's eyes were fixed upon him when he entered the room, and they were shining with the same craving and admiration that he had seen since the very moment of meeting her. She was a very materialistic woman, evident from her house, and Tom was another object in her eyes, one that she adored without any investigation what so ever into what characteristics he might be hiding inside.
Tom walked towards Hepzibah like he always did upon visiting her house, and took her hand within his. It was like holding air, despite the weight, when they touched, and when he gently brushed his lips against her plump little hand. In contradiction to Hepzibah's obviously wave of emotion at this simple gesture, Tom felt nothing at her touch.
"I brought you flowers," he said quietly, conjuring a bouquet of roses from nowhere.
"You naughty boy, you shouldn't have!" Hepzibah exclaimed. She took the roses joyfully and turned towards a conveniently empty vase upon the nearest table, which Tom had noticed upon entering the room. "You do spoil this old lady, Tom… sit down, sit down… where's Hokey… ah…"
Once they were seated, the House Elf darted back in the room, having left a minute before. Hokey was carrying a tray of small cakes, which she rested upon a table near her mistress.
"Help yourself, Tom," Hepzibah said, smiling. "I know how you love my cakes. Now, how are you? You look pale. They overwork you at that shop. I've said it a hundred times…"
Hepzibah smiled affectionately, enjoying the act of pampering Tom as he forced his lips to copy the features of a smile.
"Well, what's your excuse for visiting this time?" Hepzibah asked, her eyelashes fluttering.
"Mr Burke would like to make an improved offer for the goblin-made armour," Tom replied, pretending he hadn't noticed the true intent behind her words. "Five hundred Galleons, he feels it is a more than fair –"
"Now, now, not so fast, or I'll think you're only here for my trinkets!" Hepzibah said, a teasing petulance clearly upon her.
"I'm ordered here because of them," Tom stated quietly. He felt a light shade of annoyance, but he ignored it. She was nothing in levels of annoyance compared to Slughorn or Dumbledore. Tom decided to find the nearest path back to business, and now towards her weaknesses. "I am only a poor assistant, madam, who must do as he is told. Mr Burke wishes me to enquire –"
"Oh, Mr Burke, phooey!" Hepzibah exclaimed. "I've something to show you that I've never shown Mr Burke!"
Tom couldn't help but think what Avery or Dolohov might say in response to this claim. He withheld a small smirk; surprised his old friends had come to mind.
"Can you keep a secret, Tom?" Hepzibah asked, appearing more like an old lady than she had before. "Will you promise you won't tell Mr Burke I've got it? He'd never let me rest if he knew I'd shown it to you, and I'm not selling, not to Burke, not to anyone! But you, Tom, you'll appreciate it for its history, not how many Galleons you can get for it…"
At this, Tom was somewhat interested. As irksome as Hepzibah might be, she had a great many treasures in her house. There were already some objects around that caught Tom's attention, though not enough for him to do anything about them yet. "I'd be glad to see anything Miss Hepzibah shows me," Tom said softly.
Hepzibah giggled girlishly. "I had Hokey bring it out for me," she said. "Hokey, where are you? I want to show Mr Riddle our finest treasure… in fact, bring both, while you're at it…"
Tom watched the little elf leave the room, and return a minute later with two small leather boxes held high above her head. "Here, madam," the elf squeaked as Hepzibah reached out her hands to take the boxes carefully.
"Now," Hepzibah said happily, placing both boxes on her lap, and paying attention to the bigger one first. "I think you'll like this, Tom… oh, if my family knew I was showing you… they can't wait to get their hands on this!"
To add a dramatic effect, Hepzibah opened the box simultaneously to finishing her sentence. When Tom's eyes found the small, golden cup that rested within the case Hepzibah held, he wasn't surprised that she would take such pride in showing off this rarity. Two finely wrought handles rested on each side of the cup, and a very delicate carving could be seen upon it. It was very beautiful.
"I wonder whether you know what it is, Tom?" Hepzibah breathed. "Pick it up, have a good look!"
Tom did so, being very cautious as he held it by the handle. Where the cup was from was even more obvious at a closer view. "A badger," he murmured, referring to the design engraved upon it. "Then this was…?"
"Helga Hufflepuff's, as you very well know, you clever boy!" Hepzibah said, leaning forwards. A loud creaking noise sounded as her corsets stretched, and she reached out a hand to pinch Tom's cheek. None of this was registered in Tom's memory as he analyzed the cup. "Didn't I tell you I was distantly descended? This has been handed down in the family for years and years. Lovely, isn't it? And all sorts of powers it's supposed to possess, too, but I haven't tested them thoroughly, I just keep it nice and safe in here…"
There wasn't even any room in his mind for surprise as he gazed at the Hufflepuff Cup. This was precisely the sort of thing Tom been had waiting to find these last few years. As prised as the Chamber of Secrets, and a ring made by Grindelwald himself (for all the knowledge Tom had gathered), this historical cup would be a brilliant addition to his collection.
Before Tom knew it, Hepzibah was taking the cup off of his finger to place it back in its box. She then busied herself with it's wrapping, which gave Tom a moment to think. He knew that it would be very possible to convince Hepzibah to sell this to Borgin and Burke's, no matter if she said she wouldn't sell it. From there he would be able to steal it more easily. There would be less anti-theft enchantments around it, for a time. Though Tom could easily break any enchantments here too…
"Now then," Hepzibah continued, "where's Hokey? Oh yes, there you are – that that away now, Hokey –"
With the Hufflepuff Cup now zooming across the room in its box, Tom's attention was drawn to the second, flatter box in Hepzibah's hands. "I think you'll like this even more, Tom," she whispered. "Lean in a little, dear boy, so you can see… of course, Burke knows I've got this one, I bought it from him, and I daresay he'd love to get it back when I'm gone…"
She slid the hinged lid of the case away with her stubby fingers, to reveal a heavy golden locket resting upon handsome scarlet velvet.
Tom's hand moved involuntarily towards the object this time, but he couldn't find it in him to care as he gazed at the ornate, serpentine 'S' engraved onto the gold. He felt his heart leap. He could almost feel the power within this object as he held it up to the light, the chain entwined in his fingers. This was ever better than the Hufflepuff Cup, and Tom could barely believe it. This was the locket…
"Slytherin's mark," he breathed.
"That's right!" Hepzibah responded in a hushed voice, enthralled by Tom's interest. "I had to pay and arm and a leg for it, but I couldn't let it pass, not a real treasure like that, had to have it for my collection. Burke bought it, apparently, from a ragged-looking woman who seemed to have stolen it, but had no idea of its true value –"
Tom's hand suddenly clenched around the locket's chain, and he was unsure for a moment whether he had heard Hepzibah correctly. Tom had been searching for this object for years – the question of where it had gone having never left his head properly. "Where's the locket, eh, where's Slytherin's locket?" Morfin might have been shouting from behind Tom, in this very room, echoing the words that haunted him, that entranced him. Tom had wanted to find the locket very, very badly, and here it was.
He stared at the object in front of him almost blindly, trying to stifle the intense fury that overtook him. He didn't move, and couldn't think, as his hand clenched into a fist. This object had been the thing to decide his entire fate before birth…
"– I daresay Burke paid her a pittance, but there you are… pretty, isn't it? And again, all kinds of powers attributed to it, though I just keep it nice and safe…"
She reached out her hand to take the locket, and Tom hesitated. One swish of his wand and she would be dead, leaving him free to steal both the locket and the cup. Tom couldn't see how else he could break free of his anger. He couldn't see how else this would end… Except there were people who knew Tom was here. It would be unwise to kill her this very second…
Without really making the decision, Tom let the locket slide between his fingers. Hepzibah smiled when it was back in her hands. Once she put it away safely, she gazed up at Tom again. "So there you are, Tom, dear, and I hope you enjoyed that!"
Tom could think of nothing to reply to this. He remained sated where he was, battling with his anger. He looked at her just in time to see her idiotic smile faltering. "Are you all right, dear?"
"Oh yes," Tom lied very quietly. "Yes, I am very well…"
"I thought – but a trick of the light, I suppose –" Hepzibah said. She appeared different, and Tom couldn't describe how. He supposed after a moment that she was scared, and he found that he enjoyed this idea. "Here, Hokey, take these away and lock them up again… the usual enchantments…"
Their conversation towards the end of Tom's visit was blunt, with only half-hearted comments from Hepzibah, relating to her initial underlying intention upon inviting him to her home. The more time that passed, the less suspicious she seemed, but Tom knew she was still a little startled by something. He tried to be less obvious when he left her home. He walked along the street of the little wizarding village without looking back, thinking only lightly about how easy it would be to slice her short little throat in half.
The little wizarding village was deserted, despite the hour. Tom didn't want to Apparate back to work, or back to Harry. He was blind to everything around him as he walked. The time was only around five thirty, but that was late enough on this cold November day for the sun to be setting. There were clouds above England, and leaves on the ground. Tom felt as though he was abnormally calm. He supposed it was because he wanted the Hufflepuff cup and Slytherin locket, and didn't want to do anything irrational.
His footsteps echoed through the silent street, and through his silent mind. He had found Slytherin's locket. His breath was even. It had been in this plump old woman's house, of all the places in the world. Sold by the very shop where Tom worked. The heirlooms that he had been shown this evening were a brilliant find, and would be a fine addition to his collection. Still Tom's mind was ghostly empty.
He didn't see the village as we walked along it. His whole being was dedicated to focusing on his thoughts. Yet there were none. There was a crowd in a theatre, but no actors present to display emotion and reflections. Tom thought of what historical objects the cup and locket had been, historical to the entire wizarding world, as well as to him. Tom felt a light touch of annoyance, which faded away before he could appreciate it fully. Tom wondered how much his mother had received for the locket. Whatever it had been, he was sure it hadn't been enough. Otherwise his mother wouldn't have died, and he wouldn't have been born alone.
The annoyance returned, and changed swiftly into loathing. Tom tried to overcome this, but he was unsuccessful…
Burke was not the type to buy anything at its worthy price, if the seller was clueless about the objects they had. He also wasn't the type to pay a decent pittance, even to a pregnant and dying witch. Tom felt anger take over his quickly beating heart, spreading irritation through his entire body. He tried again to become calm, before more thoughts formed. His mother had died while giving birth to him, despite having the power of magic to help her. Tom didn't know how that was even possible, unless she had been both idiotic and pathetically weak. She had become a Muggle, perhaps. Which explained why Tom had to live amongst those filthy excuses for humans for so many years.
Tom's heart was beating even faster, and his mind was creating waves of fury-provoked thoughts within. His hands clenched in his pockets, his nails digging into his palms. That locket was rightfully his. He wasn't going to wait however long it would take to convince Hepzibah to sell it. He wasn't going to allow her to gain money back from it, and he certainly wasn't going to allow Burke the satisfaction of thinking that it was his again. What they had done to Tom before he was even born would come back to haunt them at last…
He was going to murder them both. At the thought, a sickeningly glorious sensation spread through Tom, guided by loathing and detest. Murdering them was the only solution. It was the only way Tom could get rid of his anger – the only way such a crime could be even slightly repaid. What of Borgin, Tom wondered? He felt a magnificently satisfying smile spread upon his lips. This was amongst the grandest of smiles that Tom had, truer than any for Hepzibah and Slughorn, and as strong as any created for Harry, despite it feeling far different.
Borgin would murder Burke, in fact. Borgin had done less wrong, perhaps, than Burke, thus he deserved nothing more than to suffer for the rest of his life with the anxiety of having killed his partner without reason. Unlike Tom, he will have had no cause to murder, and will have done it far less slyly. Tom would use the Imperius Curse upon him, and see how lucky he might be, how smoothly he might be able to talk the Ministry out of suspecting him for the slaughter.
Death would be in a similar form for Hepzibah Smith, but perhaps it would be slightly less violent than Tom was planning for Burke. Tom would use the House Elf to murder Hepzibah. Again with the Imperius Curse, he would allow the elf to slip poison into her food. Hepzibah would die sooner than Burke, much sooner, because Tom would be waiting at the house, ready to modify the House Elf's memory, and to steal the locket and cup. He would then go back to Borgin and Burke's shop one more time, and put his curse on Borgin, shortly after modifying his memory too. The effects of Tom's Imperius Curse would stay on Borgin for at least a month, until the Ministry –
A cough interrupted Tom's thoughts. His eyes began taking in what they were seeing again, and he heard that the cough had sounded from a little to his left. When he turned, he saw an old tramp bending forwards as he wheezed and gasped in the cold November chill, sitting upon some blankets and coats on the ground. Tom was standing still, staring. The tramp was a Muggle, evident by the Muggle-brand bottles of alcohol near him, by the way he dressed, and by the fact that he was homeless.
Other, Muggle, towns surrounded the little village where Hepzibah lived, and after a moment, Tom realized that he must have wandered into one of them. The Muggle tramp continued wheezing and coughing, while Tom stood where he was. The street they stood upon was empty. There was a long and tall brick wall behind the Muggle. They were in a sort of alley, overlooked by neither doors nor windows. Wind rustled along the pavement, blowing leaves and trash around. The Muggle stopped coughing, and still Tom stared.
The tramp looked up, blatantly surprised that Tom was still here. It appeared as if he wanted to ask Tom for money, but after a moment of eye contact, something put him off the idea. There was a pause, before Tom noticed that the tramp distrusted the way he looked at him. Tom enjoyed his distrust, his fear. The sun had set, and the sky was a blackening shade of navy blue. Here sat a Muggle, the lowest in terms of all Muggle positions. A tramp. These were the beings that Tom's mother was so fond to be united with, and look where she had ended up because of that… because of them.
The tramp averted his eyes from Tom now, appearing very uneasy about him standing in this dark alleyway, just staring. Anger continued to pulse though Tom. This Muggle caused him to remember his past, his days at the orphanage. It enraged him when he thought about the orphanage. All those years of suffering with inadequate and idiotic Muggles, who had never understood him, and who were inferior to him, as he had always known. He had hated everyone there, and he still did now. He hated all Muggles, in fact, for everything they had done wrong to wizardkind, and to him personally.
It was not the fact that wizards had to live in constant fear that annoyed Tom. No, his hate was far beyond that. It was the fact that they were simply less powerful than wizards, less able and less intelligent. They had ruined half of Tom's life, and evidently the life of his mother, as foolish as she may have been. Tom's hate went past resentment, past abhor, and past loathing. He never wanted to speak to another Muggle again, never wanted to hear about their bland lives, to remember his suffering, or to do anything but spread hate towards them amongst fellow Wizards. They had caused only the most terrible parts of Tom's life. They were worthless vermin.
Tom's hands seemed to move on their own as he withdrew his wand. Adrenalin was pumping through his veins, and he conjured a knife. The Muggle tramp couldn't see what he was doing at first, but one look into Tom's eyes told him it wasn't anything good. He appeared close to shouting something out, but it was too late. With a flash of silver, the knife within Tom's hand dug a sizable gash into the Muggle's flesh. With another slash of his knife, a second gash appeared, this time deeper. Tom raised his knife again, and again, and again, until the Muggle was positively screaming in agony. There was no one to hear him as Tom waved his wand, to stop his struggling without touching him. Tom raised his wand again, and put the knife aside as he preformed the Cruciatus Curse, wanting the Muggle to see and experience magic, and wanting the effects of the curse to dig into all of his injuries, for the fullest effect… It was the only way he could abandon his loathing.