Word Count: 351
Tom hates feeling. It is a weakness, and he wishes he could strip away the emotions and become completely numb.
But as he climbs onto the platform of the Astronomy Tower, he feels the weight on his shoulders. He is worried. After the Mudblood was killed (and it's her own fault, really. The stupid girl shouldn't have been so nosey.) they're talking about closing the school.
It can't happen. Tom cannot lose Hogwarts. It has become a place of refuge for him, a home that reminds him that he is special, that he means something in the grand scheme of things.
He sits, long legs dangling over the ledge of the tower, leaning against the railing, his forehead resting against the cold metal. With a groan, he leans back, staring up at the sky. He never really found much comfort in the stars before Hogwarts. Once here, he met the Blacks, and he learned about their connection to the stars. Now, an act as simple as stargazing makes him feel grounded and connected, like this is exactly where he's meant to be.
And it is. This is his home. They cannot take it from him.
They're trying, though. If Tom doesn't think of something fast, he will lose everything. He will be forced back into that orphanage, damned to forever be just plain Tom, weird Tom, Tom who cannot be trusted alone with others. No one looks at him like that here. No one sees him as a threat, except maybe Dumbledore, but his Transfiguration professor has no power.
He can't go back to that place. He is special. He matters.
He forces his attention on a twinkling star just north of the waxing crescent moon. His eyes follow the trail of stars, and he recalls the name of the constellation and the tale associated with it. It calms him and eases the worry that plagues his mind.
Tom swallows dryly. If they want a monster to blame for Myrtle's death, he will give them one.
He climbs to his feet, smiling triumphantly. He knows exactly what he needs to do.