Curfew Violations
-v-
17th Violation
-v-
Hospitals were hateful.
He should know. He practically lived there now.
In the first week following the accident—Tom had taken a leave of absence from Hogwarts. He wouldn't have been able to be productive there anyhow…not with the way he had been.
Not with the way he had felt.
The only thing in his mind had been Harry—his darling…his boy, his…always.
And would he survive…would either of them survive.
It had been up in the air for a harrowing few hours. Coming out of surgery, the first good news had been imparted by the lead surgeon.
Bone tired and decked out in bloodstained scrubs, he had smiled wearily at both Lily and Tom sat posted silent in the hallway for the past six hours…waiting…for anything, for everything…to be okay again.
They'd lurched to their feet synchronically when the man emerged, like an angel of death from the operating room behind those heavy metal doors.
"He's stable." Were the first words out the man's mouth, followed by, "The bleeding has been stopped for now…and his brain is no longer in critical danger of internal hemorrhaging around the swell."
Lily's hand had trembled, squeezed as it was in a death grip around Tom's own. They both took in the doctor's words with relief and building trepidation.
If Harry was in no critical danger now…if his brain was okay…why did the man look so very somber still—with that smile fading away like so much chaff in the wind as he released a deep sigh?
Before either Lily or Tom could question the doctor further, he spelled it out for them in grave detail, "There's nothing we can do to ensure when he will wake up. Right now, he's in a natural coma. This could be good because it means his brain is in the process of repairing itself. How long the process takes…is up to him. We've done all we can to facilitate the process."
Tom stood stock still, soaking in the doctor's words like droplets of water to a man on the verge of dying from thirst.
It wasn't enough. He needed to know…
"What are Harry's chances…of waking up intact?"
Tom hated the words as they left his raw throat. The doctor's eyes were distant…gently pitying.
"We cannot say to what degree he will be impacted by the damage when…if…he should wake. How much of himself will be there…how much will be altered is a roll of the dice."
Lily had covered her mouth, smothering a gut wrenching sob beneath the unsteady hand not crushing Tom's own, and she'd backed away and dropped back down onto the bench.
Tom remained standing, shoulders squared, and eyes hard as flint as his arm stretched with the pull of Lily's collapse.
After that…it had been a blur of days and nights in and out of the hospital, lingering at Harry's bedside as the boy remained nonresponsive but breathing…head bandaged and shaved entirely as his body atrophied hooked to cold monitors and screens and an IV dripping constantly at all hours, alongside a feeding tube.
Tom had known Harry was small…but never had his boy seemed so frail…so breakable—broken as he did lying against the white of that bed. Dead to the all the world, chest moving up and down as the only indicator of there being life in his body.
In those first days Tom had been at the hospital day and night, right alongside Lily.
James was notified almost directly after the surgery, and he flew back from wherever he had been stationed as soon as he was able the next day.
Between Harry being moved to a room and Tom moving into the hospital alongside Lily, neither of them leaving Harry's side for long, and both holding vigil in shifts when sleep deprivation became a collective danger—eventually Luna was notified.
Tom had the decency to get in contact with the girl once James showed up at the hospital and he was shuffled aside for the actual family members to talk with the doctors and be appraised in private.
That had rankled. But he'd kept his head about him.
Calling the Lovegood household had been a simple matter of searching the town directory for the surname. Xenophilius had brought his daughter to the hospital the evening of the same day Tom called, which had been right after school let out for the girl.
When Luna had showed up, she'd taken one look at Tom and clenched her teeth against a violent shudder wracking her limbs. On unsteady feet, she'd gone in to see Harry…Tom had followed behind the girl and sat down across from her staring at their mutual friend.
When Luna finally spoke, it was in a whisper, "This wasn't an accident. He was pushed."
That got Tom's attention like nothing else. Tom's eyes grew deadly sharp and his gaze locked with stifling gravity onto Luna's own…once so warm and airy, now steely grey with subzero fire burning in the depths.
Tom didn't ask how she knew. Luna didn't try and explain. What passed between them then was mutual…ominous accord.
The next word from Tom's mouth was simply, "Who."
Luna's eyes went distant and she murmured…mostdelicately, "I don't know…a vicious little rat…I'm sure."
Tom's eye sparked with the unholy light of recognition for the particular phrasing. He blinked slow…staring unseeingly down into Harry's unconscious…precious face…and then he looked straight at Luna and said, "I will handle it." In a voice decked to the nines with promise.
Luna relaxed in her chair and graced Tom with a smile reminiscent of all the happiness she'd radiated when she'd first met Harry.
"I know you will." She said, satisfied with her well-played part.
And that had been that.
Tom had remained at Harry's side the entirety of that first week, going home only to shower, pack clothes and edible (non-hospital) food…before turning right back around to be at the hospital.
There was no such thing as visiting hours for him. He was there always. The hospital staff didn't attempt to bar him at any point.
He put everything on hold. Trusted Barty to oversee his personal investments and keep him abreast of any complicated developments unfolding in his absentia from monitoring the markets.
Nothing drastic happened in the background as he dedicated his time to Harry.
The following Monday came and he got a call from his father, urging him (in no uncertain terms) to return to school…saying he was skating on thin ice not keeping up with his important coursework.
Tom had internally seethed for the presumptuous demands…but frigidly informed his father that he'd be at school that Tuesday, and to not attempt to call him again for anything less than the apocalypse.
It was with this assurance that his father left him well alone, and Tuesday morning of the second week came to find Tom back stalking the halls of Hogwarts.
Going with his gut, Tom attended homeroom. His eyes travelled through muted room at large, over the faces of each and every single one of his classmates—who stared back at him in blatant awe as he committed each of their young visages to his permanent memory bank.
By the time he found the corner and his true suspected target, Tom stood relaxed and smiling as if all was indeed right with the world.
His lips curled into a fine parody of polite humor as he stared straight into the shadows concealing the beady wide eyes, and unabashedly thrilled diminutive personage of Peter Pettigrew—the Rat in human form.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Tom was happy—truly exultant.
There would be a reckoning.
Allowing his attention to carry him wordlessly to his customary seat at the front of the room, Tom made unimportant small talk with his other less remarkable classmates—all the while being disgustingly aware of the eyes boring into the side of his neck from the most unsavory of sources.
How could he have been so blind?
His blindness had nearly cost him something too precious. Never again would that be allowed to happen—never again.
There would be blood in the water.
He could taste it…so much blood…he felt utterly parched.
-v-
xXOXx
-v-
On the day of the accident, waiting after school at the bus stop for Harry to arrive—Luna stood twisting her hair ribbons roundabout her finger as she peered through the milling students, all eager to get home at the end of a long first day back.
She strained her eyes trying to find Harry, but he was nowhere to be found.
Lingering as long as she had dared…Luna wound up climbing onto her own bus in the nick of time before it departed.
A slight frown marred her otherwise placid features and that niggling sense of unease grew to be irritating as a festering sore. She made it home and immediately snatched up the phone.
Dialing Harry's house number from memory in something like a hurry on the kitchen phone, Luna stared blankly ahead as it rang…and rang…and rang.
She called three more times to the same result. There was no answering machine set up, so she left no messages.
Luna knew then that something was horribly wrong. Something in the world had been dislodged.
The sun…was no longer in the sky.
She'd taken it upon herself to visit the Potter household that same evening. Hoping for the best and expecting nothing but the worst.
The worst was what she got.
Nobody was home when she rang the bell. No cars were in the driveway, no lights shone through the windows.
It was as though time had stopped in the area…like the house had been abandoned in a hurry.
The next morning came, and Luna forewent her yoga, asking her Dad to drop her off to school before the buses arrived because she had urgent business to take care of before classes.
The next person she sought out was Tom Riddle. Because if anyone knew where and what had happened to Harry…it would have to be him.
Unfortunately…he was nowhere to be found.
After going the whole day attempting to catch glimpses of the hard to miss older boy, Luna visited the office during study hall to ask after his whereabouts.
It was there she found out he'd taken a leave of absence.
The alarms were blaring in her mind now. Worry unlike anything she'd felt since the days leading up to her mother's passing entered into her body, and a low thrumming insidious tension threatened to evaporate her calm façade.
That Tuesday evening she had been prepared to do the unthinkable and contact Riddle Sr. for his son's precise whereabouts; that Tuesday evening—her father had received a call from Tom Riddle, and relayed that Harry was in critical condition at St. Mungo's.
Luna didn't even have to ask.
Her father had her on site that same evening.
It was during the car ride to St. Mungo's that she began actually thinking—putting the pieces together.
Whispers of the accident Monday had been drifting through the school all that day. People saying it had been a freshman, a boy…nobody knew who exactly, but apparently he'd been on the 7th floor for some reason and had taken a dive off the stairs.
Now…Hogwarts' stairs were long but not nearly treacherous. And being that there were strong banisters lining both sides of said stairs, there had been few reported accidents of students stumbling to their deaths traveling to and fro from classes.
It would have had to be a freak accident for anyone to stumble the whole way from the top to the bottom of the staircase without catching themselves once when faced with the normal momentum of a trip.
This led Luna to the obvious conclusion: Nobody had tripped. He'd been pushed.
The velocity of the push from the middle of the stairs, well away from the bannisters would be enough to send him tumbling all the way down the stairs if done right…with the proper amount of force.
Harry wasn't very big, it wouldn't have taken much to knock him off balance, and based on the applied force—leave him disoriented enough to not be able to right himself in time to catch hold of anything on the way down.
Luna was certain. It had been no accident.
This led to the obvious question of why anyone would want to push Harry.
He was a new student…not particularly well known, and he'd only been at Hogwarts for little more than a month already. The only notable thing about him at this point that anyone outside of his immediate small circle of acquaintances could cite would be his relationship…with Tom.
The pieces were falling together more quickly now.
Harry had been attacked because someone knew about him and Tom. Harry had been pushed because someone did not like him with Tom.
Somebody had been watching Harry…no…not Harry…someone had been watching Tom. Tom didn't know about it, or he knew and never paid attention to it.
Tom was popular, quite the figurehead. A lot of people would have their eyes on him in the background.
It wasn't a large leap to say he was practiced in ignoring the masses of his fans. But Luna was at a loss still…who would possibly be able to watch Tom, or have been watching Tom long enough to actually catch him and Harry together.
As far as she knew…they were a very recent development.
This someone would have to have been watching Tom long enough to really know Tom…or at least be practiced at watching him.
Practiced enough to notice when Tom's interests got piqued by Harry's presence—practiced enough to be pissed off when Tom got distracted from his normal behavior patterns.
Luna's wheels were turning…rotating…paging through the catalogue of every face she'd seen in the halls of Hogwarts throughout all her years.
For someone to effectively stalk Tom…it would have to be somebody very low on Tom's list of priorities. Someone easily overlooked…someone who faded into the background often enough to never draw attention.
Someone with some kind of strange history…
A face came to mind. An upperclassman Tom's year that she'd crossed paths with a scant few times before. Someone distinctly rat-like…who she remembered glimpsing taking pictures to submit for the Hogwarts alumni charter.
She vaguely remembered this person.
She remembered hearing the eighth grade year book advisor gushing over the many candid shots she'd gotten from the High School edition of the year book—of Tom Riddle to accompany the chapters dedicated to star students and their accolades in the cumulative edition of the Hogwarts year book which she'd been asked to add material to on behalf of the lower middle and elementary years for overall collective continuity.
They'd been taken by an amateur…not on roster for the year book committee, but who had volunteered to submit the coveted shots of Tom Riddle based on his proximity to the subject and general ability to be unobtrusive in candid moments.
They had called him (derisively) The Rat…but taken his talents and used them for the greater good.
No complaints had been filed during the process of The Rat gathering the coveted shots, and the book that year had sold quite a few copies all around. So everybody was happy in the end…and The Rat faded from memory after that.
Luna could recall nothing more spectacular about that person…but that made him a far more likely candidate than anyone else. Despite what people thought of Luna herself—that she was spacey and disconnected—Luna actually took note of a lot of people.
This didn't mean she kept track of everybody in a room, but it meant that she looked at everyone in singular and had profiles built up in her mind for individuals with even the most innocuous backgrounds, because she listened and had a good memory.
It also helped that her gut instinct was telling her she had lit upon the true culprit of all the recent madness which had occurred.
It didn't matter that she had no actual proof. Her mother had always told her to trust in her instincts. They only led you wrong when you doubted.
Luna didn't doubt.
Her mouth pressed into a thin line…and her eyes glinted with a simmering cold rage as she stewed upon the knowledge circulating through her head.
She would be sure to tell Tom of her suspicions…one way or another…in the least mistakable fashion.
She was very good at subtlety.
Tom had taken her words directly to heart.
Luna had been vindictively satisfied. For once not having to explain herself or entertain doubtful questions to which she had no actual lawful answers…just being taken wholly on her word.
It was enough to make her want to crush Tom in a hug tight enough to bruise his ribs. But she'd contained herself.
Instead, she had sat at Harry's bedside across from Tom stewing over her revelations with obvious desire to immediately follow up on the lead he now had…though he could not yet bring himself to leave Harry's vicinity.
Not so early on. Not when the wound was still tender and fresh.
They hadn't made any small talk. Harry lay breathing on the bed, utterly unaware of the two sets of worried eyes drinking him in and wishing to see his own again…shining…sparkling…alive with green more vibrant than all the shades found in nature.
Of course…their wishes were not granted that day.
And so—when Luna's father paid his respects to Harry, greeting Lily in the hall before whisking his daughter away again, she had gone without protest.
It went without saying that she would be visiting as often as she was able…though she didn't have nearly the freedom of movement which Tom possessed, evidenced by him not leaving his seat at Harry's side even after Luna was long gone and the sun had set.
That night…Lily had been taken home by James, and she'd left Tom keeping vigil with a whispered, "Thank you…" and "Call me (at this number) if anything changes while we're gone…"
James had stoically accompanied his weary wife out the hospital room, nodding to Tom with assessing frankness and no small amount of respect as the tall young man acquiesced to Lily's demands and ushered both parents out the room.
The only extra disturbance that night had been the hospital nurse coming in to check Harry's vitals before smiling softly for Tom's continued presence and murmuring softly on the way out, "He is very lucky to have a friend like you."
Tom didn't deign to reply. But the words echoed tauntingly through his ears after she was gone and Harry remained lying there.
Lucky…she'd said. His darling boy…lucky….
No one was around to hear Tom's breath hitch, nor to see him curl over, cradling his head in both hands…fingers tearing through his hair in a painful way.
It was no accident.
Tom hissed.
I don't know…a vicious little rat…I'm sure.
Tom's eyes glared unseeingly at the floor, watering ineffectually as he swallowed repeatedly around the lump in his esophagus.
He breathed in and out—steadying his heartrate which had turned erratic in something like a suppressed panic attack.
So much blood…there had been…so much blood…there would be.
"Harry…Harry…Harry…"
Tom muttered his boy's name like the most fervent of prayers. Willing him to wake, willing him to be alright…willing him every ounce of life he was nearly denied.
Straightening again in his seat, Tom pushed close enough to the bed that he could cradle Harry's limp hand within both his own. Tenderly…so tenderly…as though any sudden movements on his part would see those delicate bones shatter.
He would fix this. He would make sure this never happened again—no matter what it cost him.
Harry already had his soul.
Everything else was garbage.
-v-
xXOXx
-v-
Tom didn't immediately pounce on the Rat. He waited him out…some miniscule, still rational part of him needing to be more than certain of that creature's duplicity.
He went through his days at Hogwarts from that following Tuesday on mechanically, never visiting the 7th floor but pacing himself rapidly through all his scholastic business.
Catching up on the lessons he'd missed in short order, Tom also took it upon himself to visit each of Harry's own teachers at different points in order to keep abreast of his boy's own piling up assignments and assure the Professors that when Harry recovered, Tom would be on site to aid Harry in getting through the workload.
And no…he didn't mind the responsibility—he assured them each and all—he was already Harry's tutor.
Harry was his charge.
At the end of every school day, Tom drove back to the hospital and stayed until actual visiting hours ended before removing himself—after a few select stops here and there, back to his apartment and starting all over again.
He got to know Lily, and subsequently James—much better over the course of his many visits, and Luna was always on hand to help collect work and materials from teachers which she shared with Harry in order to pass directly to Tom—keeping the older teen from being stretched thin running from classroom to classroom throughout his busy days.
The only alteration Tom made to his visible dealings was keeping unerringly strict tabs on just who was dogging his steps peripherally.
Sure enough…he began to notice the Rat, who was rather more obvious when you knew to be looking for him.
Tom concealed his awareness very well beneath daily activity and didn't let on when he knew that creature was following behind him through otherwise deserted corridors of the school.
Tom had even spotted the Rat lingering in the background a scant few times after school as he made good on his word to Diggory for a few training sessions held directly after school let out, before leaving the premises to get to the hospital.
It was in this fashion that things continued for the following two weeks.
It was in this fashion that Tom lulled his prey into a sense of security in the overall success of his machinations.
It was in this fashion that Tom finally trapped the Rat on one heavily overcast, chilly Friday evening of the last week of October—the day right before Halloween, his boy's birthday.
-v-
xXOXx
-v-
He had been worried when the other had disappeared for the rest of the week following the accident he'd staged so well for that Potter boy.
He'd almost gotten it in his head that the other was well beyond reach of his help and it had all been for naught. Because with the issue fixed…the other should have naturally fallen back on old habits.
It had frayed his nerves to a state worrisome enough that he'd begun doubling up on his anxiety meds in the days leading up to the other's return to civilization.
When the second week came round and the other resurfaced that Tuesday in homeroom…he had been so relieved. It had been like watching the rebirth of a deity.
The other had shone…the other had flared…the other had nearly burned his retinas out from sheer unparalleled brilliance when the other looked into his shadows and seemed to peer for a moment straight into his soul…before gracing him with a smile unlike any other he'd ever seen the other wear.
He had been ecstatic…overjoyed—carried away completely by pride.
The other was back to normal. The other was a freak again. The other was as the other should be and have always been and would never change from…for anything—least of all some random boy he'd so punctually gotten rid of for the good of everything wonderful in his world.
He'd been floating on air—falling readily back into the familiar routine of watching…just watching…admiring the other in all things.
It was all good—so good.
He'd even started staying after school for extra special peeks of the other during tennis practice and tryouts. Now that was a picture worth his album. The other was simply radiant.
The only thing that would have made it better would be if he'd been able to get into the shower rooms unnoticed and take a fully candid shot of the other's perfection.
Aaah…one could only dream.
Life was as it should be. Life was as it should always have been.
After weeks of sheer bliss he had rightly forgotten all about what had caused the disruption to his universe in the first place, so utterly unimportant was the obstruction now.
When the last week of October rolled around, he had treated himself to another after school session watching the other who had incongruously decided to linger long after all the students were gone, even though there were no scheduled tennis meets and Halloween was the next day.
Not that he expected the other to be into Halloween of all things…the other was far too advanced for such plebian rituals.
He trailed behind the other at a safe distance, and he'd watched as the other finally exited the school building, walking to his fine car in the parking lot…the other froze, looking irritated at his vehicle.
He watched as the other stepped around the car, before glancing all around and actually locking eyes with himself.
Suddenly his world was upended, as the other waved at him, obviously beckoning him over.
What could he do but point to himself. What could he do but mosey over. What could he do but hang off the other's every embarrassingly apologetic word as he asked for help changing his tire…which indeed looked to be flat.
"I would normally be able to do it myself, but my shoulder has been killing me today and I would hate to tear something by working the crank. Would you mind?"
He had nodded, perhaps a bit too quickly and taken the crank from the other.
Although he didn't know much about cars, he could work a crank. And the other was ever so polite in his directives as he affixed the device and gestured for him to begin working the lever up and down.
It was rather difficult to do and he had to put his back into it. Kind of embarrassing really…but the other made no comment, only went to the popped open trunk and returned with the spare tire.
He helped the other position and put on the tire, handing off the old one to the other for safe keeping, before waiting as the other returned with a long metal wrench to tighten something on the wheel area before gesturing for himself to begin letting the crank back down.
Bent over he pumped. Up and down…up and down…up and down—until the car was at last level with the pavement again and he was winded but satisfied to have been so helpful to the other.
Ready to stand upright, he turned his head to look up at the other who must've been behind him since the other's shoes were no longer in view of his eyes.
Standing carefully so as not to overbalance, he started to turn around—quite eager to see the delight upon the other's face, when a sudden massive pain EXPLODED in his temple, and he hit the pavement hard—reeling, confused.
Another EXPLOSION came, this time in the back of his cranium…and his last coherent thought before everything faded to black was…where was the other?
-v-
xXOXx
-v-
Dead weight was no joke.
Tom realized this as he hefted the smaller, rotund boy's limp body into the trunk of his car, dumping it unceremoniously with a huff onto a prepared plastic tarp lining the entire significant space before slamming the lid, and putting his crank in the backseat area of the car.
He wrapped the bloodstained wrench in a large black towel to be disposed of later…at his leisure.
The Rat would be out cold from those blows which Tom didn't hold back on in the slightest, so he didn't bother tying the thing up when he'd packed him.
It would've been a waste of time and the rope he'd brought.
He drove in silence down the road, turning off the well beaten path and down into a thickly wooded area which was home to no few abandoned factories and warehouses which he'd scoped out during his nights travelling alone back from visiting his darling at the hospital.
There was one particularly dilapidated space Tom had taken a liking to.
It had a sublevel below ground which was perfect for all sorts of shady activities. He recalled fondly the old vault below and lack of breathable space hidden behind the rusted heavy metal door leading into what had once been a meat locker, but was abandoned in the past industrial revolution and to this day remained outfitted with iron hooks and empty shelves, once used for storing harvested organs and limbs of large beasts.
Tom was all too happy to appropriate the forgotten space for his own uses.
It was ever so convenient after all. And he had a lot of stress to kill.
When he pulled up next to the building, he nixed the engine, stepped out of the car and wandered into the ground level of the building.
There he retrieved a large black wheel barrow, which he'd purchased very recently for a specific purpose.
Rolling it out to the car, he lifted the trunk and was both pleased and displeased at what he found. The Rat was still unconscious, but he'd been bleeding out all over the tarp.
It was a good thing the damn thing was of heavy durable stock—else he'd have been working with a mess.
Speaking of mess…how could he have forgot?
Leaving off on moving the body, Tom opened the backseat of his car and unzipped a large black duffle bag. He extracted a long, see-through plastic over-suit, which would cover him from foot to neck, zipping all the way up to protect his body and clothes from any arterial spray which would doubtlessly get just everywhere.
He also pulled on a run of the mill hair cap—which shielded his locks nicely and tightened securely around his skull, and he slipped on a pair of black industrial rubber gloves which stretched up his arms to the elbows.
All alien looks aside—he was ready for work.
Shouldering the lightened, but still hefty duffle bag, Tom threw it on the ground beside the barrow before loading up the body wrapped securely in the heavy plastic—like a burrito.
He shut the vacant trunk and threw his bag atop the plastic covered mass, wheeling the whole thing swiftly into the building and down to the sublevel without further ado.
He was going to enjoy this.
-v-
xXOXx
-v-
**Obligatory Warning: Graphic Violence Lies Ahead. Take Caution. Take Heed. And proceed…or skip to the next official break. **
When he came to, it was to a massively uncomfortable drilling localized in his head. As though his brain had been thrown into the street, ran over with a car, then passed through a meat grinder…before being stuffed back into his fractured skull.
He grimaced and moaned loudly.
In an attempt to grab and hold his head, he realized…he had no use of his arms. They were stretched up above him, pulling with his body weight which he could now feel dangling…swaying slightly…as if on some kind of vertical swing.
He didn't have the upper body strength to move his arms in any way. He could feel a rope binding his forearms and wrists, leaving his hands dangling outward in opposing directions.
Testing his legs next as the pain in his head intensified, he realized that both of them were locked at the ankles.
He must've been strung up.
Blearily he opened his eyes with painstaking slowness—seeing nothing but shadows all around, and a low lamp flickering on a shelf beside a metal rolling cart…upon which many surgical implements…seemed to be laid out.
He opened his mouth and groaned aloud again. His lips were dry as the desert and his throat was no better.
He worked his mouth open and shut, brain struggling to work beneath the pain in his head and all the strangeness of the situation he found himself in.
"H'lo…" he slurred in a coarse tone, swallowing thickly and breathing heavily as his body swung. His shoulders ached.
Just how long had he been hanging?
"Hello Peter."
He blinked, and his heart skipped a beat in surprise. That voice…THE OTHER!
"Y-you're h-here…I…nghh…dintkno…mmm…you…were…there…" Peter breathed laboriously as a sudden breeze passed over him—and goosebumps pimpled his flesh.
Wait.
His flesh…?
Oh.
"M'nakeeed…" Peter slurred again in patent shock, blinking as he shivered, and realizing the only clothing he felt on him was his underpants. Absolutely nothing else—not even socks.
"How very astute you are."
That familiar voice was as smooth and cloying as he remembered. But it sounded…odd…also…why was he still hanging?
"C-could you heeelpuh…meh…down? Plea—hn..puh…lees…" His tongue was too heavy and dry for his mouth to work right. His mind hadn't caught up enough to even begin panicking.
It was just a very strange situation.
"Tell me…" The other spoke, voice bouncing around the area, as though the other were moving…slowly round and round. He couldn't really make him out.
"Itsss…too…haa…dark…"
The other seemed to sigh in languid exasperation, before murmuring placidly, "My apologies. You deserve to see."
Suddenly there was brightness. Too much brightness. It burned his eyes enough that he slammed them shut on a fractious wince and horribly garbled groan.
"Better?"
Peter unscrewed his face up as the light dimmed just enough for him to brave opening his eyes again, and he squinted into the suddenly well-lit area…eyes lighting on the tall figure of a very familiar visage…dressed very oddly…
"W-why…?"
He began…not processing at all what he was seeing. The question was loaded.
Why…am I here?
Why…are you wearing that?
Why…am I hanging?
Why…am I naked?
"You broke what was…what is mine." The other's voice sounded rather…angry. Cold as Peter had never truly heard it before. The other…was frightening him.
"I-I n-never…" Peter tried, licking his dry lips—wanting to pacify the other and explain that he didn't know what that meant. He would never do such a thing. The other was mistaken.
"Harry Potter." The words came simply. So simply that Peter was sure he'd misheard. His confusion must've shown on his face as he spoke in a stilted voice, "Whutabout…himmm?"
The other's voice came silky, almost sweetly…cloying.
"You pushed him down the stairs. Didn't you Peter?"
Peter blinked and groaned as his head throbbed—throbbed—THROBBED…but he didn't lie. He would never lie to the other about anything—especially not saving him.
"Ooof…coooursss…h-he was b-baaad…I f-fixed himmm…"
Peter continued, words stumbling through the air like a drunkard down a dark alley…clutching at walls, running headfirst into the ground…
The other was moving, walking silently over to the cart and all of its implements as Peter spoke.
"Waaass…baad fur yeeew…nooot wannnt…to seeee…nhhh…youuu ruuuinned…aaah…"
The other was suddenly right in front of him, close enough for Peter to stare straight into his perfect face…holding his breath in awe.
It was the closest he'd ever been.
If not for his splitting head…and being completely immobile…he would be very happy right now…
Peter smiled as winsomely as he was able at the other—and it was a gruesome thing…ruined not only by his pained grimacing, but also by his rat-like features.
The other's arm stretched upwards, and Peter could feel the other spreading his numb fingers apart and holding onto one…before he spoke softly.
"You didn't want to ruin me…but Peter…I very much want to ruin you…"
The gentle cadence of the other's words took away from their actual construction…and made Peter feel as though the other was crooning at him…all the way up until the end, when a VICIOUS pain unlike his head, unlike anything he could have imagined before bloomed at the base joint of his left pinky finger.
Crrrack…SNAP…
A spew of red was all Peter saw in his peripherals as he choked on a M…and what had to be…but what couldn't be…his pinky finger…dropped through the air and hit the plastic covered floor beneath them in a fleshy lump.
Peter's mouth hung open, his eyes bulged from their sockets…his heart pounded rapidly against his chest—a bird in a burning building, fluttering ineffectually to GET OUT NOW—as the first elongated SCREAM finally tore free from his throat.
"AAAARRRGGHH!"
The other whistled lightly to the backdrop of his wails. Peter stared blindly down at the floor where his finger had dropped, and he began to sweat and tremble everywhere.
It was quite disgusting.
"Shhhh…you'll want to save your strength. We have so many more to go."
That was the last thing Peter heard before his world became nothing but SCREAMS and AGONY.
~V~
SNIP…TEAR…SQUELCH…
RIP…SCREAM…SQUEAL…REPEAT~
Tom felt his eardrums were close to bleeding from the amount of screams every severed finger wrenched from The Rat's abused pipes.
He was bloody sick of it…and really…just bloody.
A feral grin stretched his lips as flecks of blood flew through the air, dotting his cheeks whilst red rivers poured down The Rat's naked quivering arms, gushing from the empty joints of both his utterly maimed hands…bleeding profusely just everywhere.
Tom flexed his hand around the pair of metal pliers he'd been using to clip through so much flesh and bone.
The Rat needed to stop screaming. It was giving him a headache.
Tom grabbed the lower half of Peter's face as The Rat's eyes rolled back so he could see nothing but white showing back at him.
Tom glared into the open gullet of Peter's noisy throat, and he brought the bloodied pliers up again without sparing another thought.
"Since you can't seem to be quiet…we'll just remove this…"
The pliers clamped down on the tip of Peter's lolling tongue, and Tom pulled…and pulled…and RIPPED.
The noise Peter made then could not be classified as human.
Nothing about him was human anymore.
Tom just stared in fascination as Peter gargled and choked on the blood filling his throat from the forceful extractionof his tongue.
The noise had diminished to pitiful drowning sounds and horrible gurbling…as Peter worked his throat and tried, but failed to swallow around the thick blood…so much blood…pouring from his mouth, down his chin…hitting the floor and splashing Tom's over-suit.
It didn't take long for Peter to stop breathing—Tom watched The Rat's body begin to seize…jerking like a demented fish on a hook as foam exited his mouth.
It was quite disgusting.
Tom swallowed and silently witnessed The Rat's death throes.
Finally…everything stopped.
Tom dropped the pliers still clamped down on the length of Peter's detached tongue, and he released a long breath.
The room stank of blood…piss…and shit—all courtesy of The Rat.
Tom just let it sink in for a few drawn out moments—staring at the dangling corpse with his chest heaving up and down, his pupils dilating in the white light cast from the battery operated lamp he'd left on the shelf.
He hadn't even gotten to use all the other toys he'd bought. But…it had been most satisfying.
Harry would be safe now.
Harry would be his…forever.
Nothing would change that—absolutely nothing.
It was with that last comforting thought that Tom set about cleaning up all the mess.
Huh.
Who knew so much blood could come from just ten fingers and a tongue?
He'd wait to cut the rest up once the body stopped leaking. If he hurried he could make it back to Harry well before the stroke of midnight.
It'd be after official hours, but he was sure Lily or James would be there for his boy's birthday to let him in.
He wanted nothing more than to put this whole evening away and never think on it again.
Now…he had only to be there for whenever Harry opened his eyes.
That was the moment he was living for.
-v-
xXOXx
-v-
After dark at the hospital, Lily, James, and Luna were sitting around Harry's bed.
Luna had her father drop her off earlier that evening after she made it home from school, and he'd greeted Lily before leaving with a promise that she'd make sure Luna made it back to the house safe.
Luna had wanted to stay the night, but Lily had smiled warmly and said they could have an actual party in Harry's honor Saturday afternoon at the hospital, and today was just for preemptive well-wishes.
James had smiled and promised he wouldn't let Lily cut the cake before Luna made it back on Saturday.
And with that, they'd all sat in companionable ease talking about Harry and everything in between the three of them.
Privately…Luna wondered after Tom, but she figured he'd be along before the day officially ended…because he wouldn't want to miss the midnight arrival of Harry's birthday.
It was a pity she likely wouldn't see him, as Lily and James were now packing up to leave…but Luna supposed she'd see him again on Saturday.
He never failed to turn up. He'd never missed an actual day.
"Harry…" Luna whispered into her sleeping friend's ear on her way out the door, "You need to wake up now…we miss you. He's missing you…"
She'd then kissed his bandaged forehead and followed the Potters out the room.
Ironically…no sooner had they left the room, did Tom exit the elevator—freshly washed and groomed, sporting a forest green, cashmere sweater and long black slacks with comfortable loafers, all beneath an open long black trench coat.
He stepped onto the floor and wandered down the hall to Harry's room, a tall shadow unhindered or met by anyone.
He didn't check in. He didn't pause.
He entered Harry's room and took off his coat, draping it on the back of a chair and taking up his usual spot right next to the bed where his boy remained prone…peacefully comatose in the lowlight of the hospital.
He reached out and took Harry's hand in his own, gingerly as ever.
He sighed and stared longingly down at his boy, running his thumb along the fine lines of Harry's veins winding beneath the skin of his limp hand.
Tom leaned down and kissed the back of Harry's hand, lips lingering for the longest while before he stretched out his arms and pillowed his head on Harry's stomach.
It rose and fell beneath his cheek, and Tom stared up unblinkingly at Harry's face.
The bandages around his head had been lessened and changed, a little hair had grown back along Harry's scalp…not nearly the full mop he'd once had, but enough for it not to be utterly cubed any longer.
Tom slid up the bed and repositioned his head until his cheek was pressed down with his ear directly above Harry's beating heart.
He never let go of that hand.
He let the sound of Harry's heart lull him into a relaxed state, feeling a tension he hadn't realized had been weighing down on him all day long…just fall away from his broad shoulders.
He just wanted him to wake up.
He just wanted to see those eyes again…hear that voice again…saying his name…
Tom's breathing deepened, and fairly soon he drifted off to the lullaby of Harry still breathing…always breathing…beneath him.
-v-
xXOXx
-v-
There was a strange weight on his chest.
It was solid…but not overmuch. More grounding than anything…
Every breath he took moved the weight…and his head throbbed dully with pain localized in his forehead and behind his eye lids. Groaning softly…he attempted to crack his eyes open.
They stung with the effort.
He felt weaker than a newborn.
What was happening…what had happened…to him?
He slowly lifted his free hand (…his other hand was being held…warm…secure…) and touched his forehead.
Bandages…he could tell…
"Wha—…." He croaked out, wincing at the gravelly sound of his voice—so familiar…but not.
His eyes finally slid open all the way and he blurrily stared at a shadowy, low-lit, white ceiling…he wasn't wearing contacts…somebody must have removed them.
Swallowing thickly he opened his mouth to try again. The words came much slower than he was used to.
"Hah…w-what…am I d-doing…here…?"
The weight on his chest shifted. He groaned and reached down to still the movement, his hand meeting something… (-furry..?)…no…that wasn't fur…it was hair…ebony hair which he sifted his fingers gently through.
The dark tendrils and curls felt like silk…were slightly damp…
Suddenly there was a deeper groan…and then the head beneath his hand rose up…slowly dislodging his weak fingers.
He stared up into wide…very wide…very lovely…hazel…eyes…
Fixed within a very pale…no…flushed…face…a very handsome…no…beautiful…slack jawed…face…being streaked with tears falling one by one, rolling off a quivering chin.
He knew…he just knew…that this face—should not…should never…be crying…not like this. Not at all.
"H-hey…" He tried for a soothing tone, reaching out with a shaky hand towards that face…and then it was buried in his neck, and he was being pressed down, gently crushed…(like rose petals) feeling shudders wracking the tall figure clinging to him with the beautiful…crying…face.
Why was he crying…?
"Harry…Harry…Harry!"
He blinked slowly, listening to his name falling repeatedly…wrenched from the sobbing throat of the man pressed all up against him. His arm came up, draping weakly along those shoulders as his hand travelled unbidden back into the man's hair, carding his fingers automatically through the strands…wishing he knew how to calm him down.
"I-I'm h-here…why…are you…c-crying…?"
The man rose up again, leveraging himself against the bed—reddened hazel eyes locked feverishly with hazy emerald green…and without another word, Harry found himself being kissed gently…breathless.
And he didn't know why…but his eyes drifted shut…and he pressed forward into soft lips, tasting warm…salty tears soaked between them…
He didn't know why…but this felt familiar…
This felt right.
Harry's heart hammered in his chest. His head began to hurt…and then he was sucking in much needed air as the handsome…beautiful man pulled away.
Hovering directly above him and saying reverently, "Darling…I've missed you…"
Harry blinked slowly, he could feel his own eyes beginning to sting with unbidden moisture…and he reached up with a shaky hand to touch the now smiling, soft lips he'd just been kissing with his own.
Throat tightening as his own breath hitched, Harry choked out around a pitiful sob—feeling pained in a visceral way as his head throbbed and his eyes grew blurrier and blurrier…distorting the features of the man smiling down at him with so much radiance…it hurt.
"D-d-do I…k-know…you?"
And just like that—the world came tumbling down.
-v-
End Violation.
-v-
A/N: I hope there aren't any glaring errors.
I felt like I could almost breathe until that ending…but before you all collectively #LoseIt…let me say we will NOT be losing out on the future TOMARRY DYNAMICS!
Because first off, Tom would not be content to leave Harry alone at any point after having been without him already for so long. So there's your #Hope.
Put that in your pipes and keep smoking it!😫
I look forward to hearing any and all of your thoughts on this Violation.
Also…I hope nobody got scared off by the #Violence mid-chapter. I think it fit the Halloween theme at least.
Talk to me! I can use so much love right now…I'm not even #Kidding.
~ Happy Holidays and Cheers ~
Obligatory Disclaimer: Do I what...? Have you been skipping your meds?
~ Ravenslith-FledglingMoon ~ 🌺🐍🌕