The brown whiskey slid down his throat, leaving behind a burning sensation as he let out a thundering groan alike to Hagri— no…half being he remembered blaming the whole Myrtle incident on. It was not his mistake, it was an accident. Besides, it was Hagrid—no! Half being's fault!
It had been hours since their first ever ' coupling' as Tom dubbed it, he refused to call it any other than that. Love making? He liked Hermione but he definitely did not love her. Moreover, Tom does not love. His head felt as if someone had managed to cast the cruciatus curse on him several times, a good one at that. Perhaps it was the several glasses or the empty bottles left lingering on the shabby table that he nested his aching arms on.
Slamming down the glass down, he let out another bellowing sigh while his fingers ran through his once perfectly styled hair that was dishevelled from his witch's nimble touches.
Hermione. Oh Hermione. What would he say? It was not his fault, afterall. It was a mistake, an accident. Grunting, Tom tugged on the roots of his dark locks. When his eyes closed, all he could see was the look on her face. The disappointment he had been. Well perhaps, it was her fault. How dare she bewitch him? How dare she make him less than a wizard, unable...to last not more than a minute! His bedroom skills were not that horrid, mind you the many witches who found their position on his bed could attest to that. And most of all, a mudblood who managed to do this to him!
Panting, he let out a breathy murmur. " What have I done to myself?"
Perhaps it was a mistake that he had let himself go and get entwined into the world of a mudblood. Would she even look at him in the eye, once he returned? Would she even want him anymore, the charismatic wizard that many have chased after? Tom could not afford to have such a humiliating experience anymore, either she was in it with him or Hermione Granger will be soon found crawling on the streets without a home.
Suddenly a thought from the back of his mind crawled back, he immediately stood up, hit himself with a good old sober spell and grabbed his trench coat. How could he have so easily forgotten?
The frigid wind of the lone Knockturn Alley hit him as he pushed open the worn door. Inhaling, Tom moved quickly on his feet. The apparition point was about a kilometre away and time was ticking. His earlier encounter with his mudblood witch had already added a slash to his list of sins, he did not need anymore unnecessary mistakes. Everything had to be perfect.
"Fucking Salzaar." He murmured absentmindedly under his breath, the sound of his boots reverberating throughout the dark street.
"That isn't a nice statement to say."
His movements paused, he could hear his heart rapidly beating against his chest.
"Don't you agree, young man?"
Well, he was the heir of the great wizard himself. Tom can call him however he damn well pleases.
His mouth barely moved, except to pull up into a smile. Was this his appetiser before the feast?
"Sir, are you alright there?" The raspy voice called out from behind. Tom's movements stopped as he said slowly under his breath." Yes, I am fine."
"Well, I don't think you are." The woman said as he slowly turned around, his fingers slipping into the opened slit on his coat. She continued. " Why don't you sit down with me and we'll have a talk?"
"There's no need for that," As his blurred gaze focused onto the hunched over figure of the crone. She gave him a smile that sent shivers down his spine. Rags that were tattered beyond a repairing spell, skin wrinkled to the bone and a face gaunt from both malnourishment and age. " Tarot card reading?"
She gestured towards the tiny table huddled over at the corner of the alley, putting on a toothy grin that was a disgusting sight Tom did not have to see. His rough fingertips brushed against the familiar yew material of his wand as he nodded.
"Now," The old witch waddled over behind the table as Tom stood firmly rooted to the ground, refusing to budge.
"Sit," Her skeletal fingers waved as he narrowed his eyes at her. Just about he was to find himself speaking his signature crucio spell, he found himself silenced and a chair wandlessly forced under his bum with a sticking charm. A frown appeared on his face as he attempted to break off the numerous spells placed onto him.
"There's no use fighting," She laughed as she took a seat in front of a fidgeting Tom. " Anyway, I mean no harm to you, Mister Tom Marvolo Riddle. There's no need to worry."
His lips parted as he raised an eyebrow. This old wretch knew him? If she did, she would know better to leave him alone. Such insolence, indeed! He had many creative ideas on what he could do with her, once he managed to break off these pesky spells.
"I wish to help you,Lord Voldemort. " The woman smiled, while Tom narrowed his eyes.
The sky had turned into a shade of blue with streaks of fluoride orange running across it. Birds chirping furiously in tune to their early mating calls. Tom groaned loudly as his vision attempted to focus. Sitting up, he shook his head as visions of the early morning visit with the old crone had returned. Where was he?
His question was quickly answered when he realised he was laying on a path that watched the manor on the hill. It had been two years since that. His eyes looked down onto his hands. The windows had been boarded up, the monthly tile maintenance now forgotten with his inheritance of the place. Tom hastily got up and took off from the place, never looking back.
How did she know? His mind was perfectly shielded up during the reading, he was sure. However, sending him to the remnants of his pathetic muggle family's home did not improve his irritable mood for that morning.
Coat whipping through the air, he pushed away the impending heavy memories of his family. Tom did not need them. Tom hated them. Tom killed them. And they? They deserved every bit of what he gave them. So why should he feel anything but resentment towards them? The apparition point was just beside the woods and the manor
His muddy boots brushed against the creaky wood planks of the shack. The distinct odour of metallic iron and bodily releases met his nostrils. He revelled in it. When Uncle Morfin had been sent away on a cart towards Azkaban, Tom had attempted to repair the place. Afterall, it was his ancestral home. It deserved some form of respect that his Uncle lacked. However, no matter how much effort he went into salvaging the site, it always ended up in the disarray his Uncle had left it in. Perhaps it could be attributed to the activities he was currently hosting there. Blood sports, that is.
It had been three cold months since Galton Scamander was last seen by his friends and family. One wonders where could he be? Could the Scamander wizard have simply packed up his bags and left for a Southern Belle? That was believable for many who were close to him, for he had a habit of fraternising with pretty witches who liked what laid heavy in his pockets. Or simply, the useless wizard had gotten his just desserts.
Similarly could be applied to the fellow named Marcus Warrington. A walking nepotistic neanderthal who played quidditch. How much of a pureblood brat could this creature hold? How could he have possibly disappeared without a fight, considering his grand height and absurd amount of...muscles? Well one, Tom was not a small wizard either and two, he had a functioning brain. Warrington needed to be taught a lesson. He had remembered Warrington sullying his Hermione in that inn. Insulting her. Hurting her. That meant Tom was not lenient on his punishments, of course.
However, it was not Tom that was hurting him, it was Galton himself. Oh, who could have seen this coming?
Time was ticking, Tom needed him to hurry up.
Fingers that were once rolling up sleeves of powdered cocaine were now stained with dark crimson. Those digits were shaking, wonders it was that Galton had still managed to hold onto the blade.
"Still working your way through?" Tom asked inquisdically, the shrill sounds coming from the squirming body that rested under Scamander's shaking limbs.
"It has been two days, Scamander." He hissed, watching over the pair while ignoring the muffled moans from the corner of the room. Crossing his arms, he said, " We agreed on-"
"I'm sorry my Lord, I-I...give me some time!" The man pleaded whilst attempting to dig deeper across the muscled navel, releasing inhumane gurgles from the blonde wizard. Once known as Marcus Warrington, was now a piece of breathing meat. Purple bruises and bloodied lacerations. With Tom's old medical textbooks, he had conducted several useful operations on the man. His blood replenishing spells had done well to keep him long alive for his amusement. The man was not so snippy now, was he?
What were wordy moans to be spared from such cruelty had turned into unrecognisable howls. Under Tom's instruction, Galton had become an apprentice in surgery. His meaty tongue and larynx cut out crudely, Tom could finally rest well that the neanderthal would not continue with his pretentious buff tattle and harass his Hermione. However, that did not mean there were no consequences for what the Scamander 'wizard' had participated in for the past few months.
Some may assume that the imperius curse is the only path to persuading someone, to which Tom may refute with his little experiment on Galton. Small pinches of his favourite cocaine may say otherwise.
" Do it now," Tom sneered, his face scrunching up in disgust." Or you won't get your fix anytime soon, Scamander."
The man quivered and nodded shakingly. "Y-yes...I'll get to it…"
His fingers tugged on the knife and slid it quickly across the naked skin, blood quickly trickling out from the horizontal edges. Across the ripples of abdominal muscle, the cut was perfect. When Scamander had started to pry apart the skin, Tom found himself walking away to the forgotten corner of the room. Scamander would do anything to get his fix, he would be able to do this one simple task.
The wizard's withdrawal syndromes overwhelmed his need to fight, instead of flight. Tom was glad that Galton had quickly recognised that fact and started accepting the life presented to him in this cottage.
Hidden away in the dark dampness was quite a sight, Tom smiled to himself. Head Auror by day, a perverted child predator by whenever time suited him. Joseph Prewett's distinct red hair had fallen by patches, his once icy blue eyes that had swelled into orbits of black with one eyelid limply shut. There was no face to be seen, Joseph himself managed to feed himself that, instead of the pig Tom had transfigurated from a rotten apple days ago. Truly a narcissist of his world, he shook his head.
The creature let out a moan," Let me out… I won't tell anyone, I promise…"
"Oh," Tom said curiously, raising an eyebrow." I don't seem to remember having you here. Who are you?"
Sometimes playing with one's food was needed to appreciate the meal.
" Do-don't you?" What came out were muffled words that were barely comprehendible. " Your little curse, my own fingernails, in this...caboose."
" Started with the chin to the forehead. Tossed my nose to the pink hog. Two sets, upper and down. Forty four molars pulled. Has this jogged your memory yet or have I not said enough?"
Tom let out an airy chuckle as he narrowed his eyes at it. Their earlier roleplay session had finally broken down most of its ego. Well, there was still a bit of a fighting spirit in it and he was sure going to break it down this very day. The creature was obsessed with asphyxiation, he had found out. Turns out that was what turns on this thing and was what it and these little girls no less than the age of thirteen, were participating in.
Neck broken, vitals still intact, paralysed from the neck down. It was a slow death for the ex Head Auror, with more to come for him.
However it was his civil duty, Tom would do it well to make sure Joseph Prewett lived in hell as long as he lived. The children would thank him. The potential victims that he saved from this sickening monster would thank him. Hermione would thank him.
"No, I don't." Tom breathed before looking the monster in the eye. " Where is your conscience? How do you like the girls? All youthful and innocent. Did you enjoy breaking them? Taking away their childhoods away-"
"They were willing-" The creature attempted to gasp out.
" That's what I hear from creatures like you, all the time. " A sinister smile creeps up onto his face as he approaches the immobilised creature with open arms. "But time's up, you crossed the line. My witch was the line. You shouldn't have even laid a single finger on her in that bar."
"She was willing-" It let out.
"She was not," Tom sneered, looking him at eye level. " What gets you off them, huh? The girls? Their developing tits? Prepubescent bodies? Let's be straightforward here, you are sick and you need help. "
Saying that, Tom stared into those expressionless eyes as its lipless mouth wavered. He grinned as the creature whimpered, " Now, what shall I do with you for today?"
It was barely half past ten when Tom had returned from his journey to his Uncle's Cabin. He had not expected much, except for the usual sulking Hermione who would push him away once more after his failed attempt in the bedroom. Letting out a sigh, Tom continued walking towards the aged block of flats.
A figure in freshly pressed robes of black with an aged cloche hat, catches his attention. She had seemed anxious from the constant turns of her head. It was obvious that Porpentina Goldstein did not want anyone knowing of her whereabouts.
You see, Hermione. It was then I realised why the Scamander brat's motherly figure had decided to embrace our doorstep. Tom nearly stabbed himself with his wand when the thought had surfaced. His long legs immediately strode across the gravel swiftly. And I needed to protect you.
Gazing up the spirals of staircases that awaited him, he let out a sigh before placing a silencing and invisibility charm on himself. If Goldstein wanted to play detective, he would play the same role as her too.
When he had reached the last few steps approaching his flat, he stayed and listened.
"Are you sure, Miss Granger?" The woman questioned.
His witch's familiar soothing voice replied in a sarcastic tone." I'm very sure that Galton has not approached me since the dinner on the seventeenth of September. Furthermore, I'm sure he has been honest with you and Mr Scamander about his little forever trip to Spain."
"Spain? To Spain?" Goldstein asked." Why would he immigrate to Spain-"
"Well, the truth's obvious, isn't it?" Hermione said, annoyed. She sneered, " He cheated on me with another witch and eloped with her. How romantic."
"Lies, my Galton would not never do to anyone, even to you!" The woman gasped before angrily replying. " Tell me the truth, where is my son?"
"I'm not lying." Hermione replied agitatedly." Listen Miss Goldstein, but I love Galton and I still do. Him cheating on me and being supposedly missing does not equal to me being his murderer. I love Galton and I would never want to hurt him."
Tom felt his heart tug at the few words. I love Galton.
"It's Mrs Scamander, to you. Miss Granger." Goldstein snapped. " I don't believe you. Where is my son?"
"I don't know, I'm telling you!" Hermione's volume had started to rise. "Look, I would tell you any information that would confirm Galton's safety, Mrs Scamander."
" Where's the letter then?"
Tom's heart started to thump faster. Hermione would not. She would have thrown it away.
"I burnt it." Was her reply. He let out a soft sigh of relief. That was a close one, he told himself. Tom listened on, intending to cut in later. If she needed him, he would be there.
" The things you blurt from your mouth, Miss Granger." Goldstein said, gesturing in the air. " They are lies. Come on, don't you think anybody here hasn't wondered why you don't have a proper job at the ministry?"
" I'll be honest with you," The woman laughed. " A gold digger, I see you've moved on quite quickly from my son. A liar. And now an illegal immigrant? Or are you even Hermione Granger? Do you exist? I've searched you up. No school records. Hogwarts, Durmstrang, Beauxbatons or even Ilvermony. Now don't fool me, how does a worm like you slip through the system? No birth records, muggle or not. Who are your parents? We all don't know. All I know is that you are nothing more than a fraud."
Tom raised an eyebrow. He wanted to know everything about Hermione, his witch. Now it was time for the truth. What would she attempt to say?
"I'm not a gold digger," Hermione hissed. " How dare you. I was born in New York to two loving muggle parents and that is all you need to know. I'm not a fraud."
It was a weak reply, a definite lie, he had suspected from the beginning. However he did not want to see Hermione and Goldstein's argument worsen, for it seemed the aged woman was ready to give his witch a good old slap.
"Don't lie to me," The woman curled her lip. " It's the law to never lie-"
Tom started to jog back up the flight of stairs, free of charms. The dark haired wizard pretended to be surprised. "Hello, good morning. Who's this, Hermione?"
The pair of heads stopped talking, their heads turning to face him. His witch slowly walked out, her arms crossed. She whispered, "Tom?"
Hearing his name on her lips was delicious, he had to admit. However what was distasteful was the situation his witch was stuck in right now.
"Oh, I see this is your new...landlord." The woman coughed uncomfortably before looking at Tom. " I'm Head auror Porpentina Goldstein. Your…tenant is being questioned for a case, do you mind?"
"He's my partner," Hermione cut in before Tom could reply. " We want to spend our morning for breakfast. Could you come back another time, Mrs Scamander?"
Partner? When were they ever in a proper relationship? Was she being serious? Tom wondered to himself before adding on." Yes, I'm so sorry to trouble you Mrs Scamander but we wish to have some privacy for ourselves today. Could you come back another day? "
The woman's frown immediately turned into a bright smile, looking him up and down." Oh sure!"
Point one to his father, having looks seemed to win in most sticky situations he found himself in.
"Mr Riddle," Tom took the wrinkled hand of the woman and placed a soft kiss onto it. He raised his eyes." Nice to meet you."
At the corner of his eye, he could see Hermione frowning. Chuckling internally to himself, Hermione need not worry of his attention being taken away from her. She would always be the centre of his universe, always.
"I suppose I'll visit Miss Granger another day," Goldstein sighed before facing Hermione, frowning." I'll be watching you."
Excuse her, Tom could very well watch Hermione well himself! Had Goldstein become alike to the meddlesome old fool Dumbledore. Perhaps this was where the brat had learnt his voyeuristic activities from.
"See you, Mr Riddle." Goldstein smiled at him, waving. " Have a nice day."
Have a nice day ahead of you too, Tom thought to himself agitatedly before bracing a smile. " Thank you, Mrs Scamander."
Once the woman's heavy footsteps had receded down the stairwell, Tom shut the door firmly.
His witch was taking off her robe as a million images flashed through his mind, that very moment. However, she still had on a simple white blouse that was oversized for her petite figure. His shirt.
Tom only realised he was staring when Hermione started talking, " I'm sorry, Tom. I could not find a clean shirt I could wear and well, I didn't want to be walking around your flat naked all day-"
While tuning out her mindless rambling about cleaning spells and boring laundry talk, Tom's thoughts ran wild. He would definitely prefer his witch in the nude, sauntering around his home. Should he tell her that?
Her cheeks held a tinge of pink." I promise I'll clean it and return it to you by tonight."
"No, it's fine." Tom replied casually. " You can keep it, if you want, Hermione."
The brunette paused before smiling. " Well, thank you for that!"
Tom's thoughts had returned to the tarot reading. Could the old crone be right? That this witch was not meant for him?
" The witch in your life," She whispered. " She isn't who you think she is."
"Leave her, she will destroy you."
He had spent months chasing after his witch, did he truly want to throw in the towel? Divination had been an obsession of his, ever since coming across the Book Of The Dead in Malfoy's library in fourth year. But one tarot reading from a particularly conspicuous old fool able to dissuade him from pursuing Hermione?
"Where have you been for the entire night, Tom?" She crossed her arms." I was so worried about you."
"I'm fine." Tom smiled." I've been thinking and well, whiskey helps that too."
She frowned.
Hermione started walking towards him, she said slowly. " Tom...about yesterday, it's alright."
Should he push her away?
"It was our first time after all." She said apologetically. " We all make mistakes."
He should tell her. Leave, Hermione, now.
"Even though it was quite a flop, in my opinion, it made me realise that I want more."
But kicking her was cruel, he cared for her- she would be worse off on the streets!
"So Tom, all I'm asking is." She was standing in front of him, her fingers had caught onto his shirt, wrinkling it. " For a repeat performance."
Could he truly trust this witch though? Her earlier reply to her background was truly the worst of lies he had ever seen.
" We will work on it." Hermione smiled." The sexual part of our relationship, I think now we're past that awkward stage of friendship, right Tom?"
Suddenly he brushed her hands off him, Tom said." I'm sorry, Hermione. I don't think we're ready yet. Maybe we are. But I wish to be sure when I'm in a relationship with you. Are you willing to wait for me, though?
He needed to know more about her. A voice at the back of his head called him out for being a fool and not utilising the potentials of a relationship. But after all, this was going to be his first proper relationship with a witch and it would be his last. Could he really trust her? The true ambitions and secret he held?
"Yes." Hermione smiled before reaching up and brushing her fingers against his jaw. " I am."
Suppose he could trust her, what would he tell her? How three men had found themselves in a better place because of her? How he had killed his family out of cold rage? How he and Amy were close, yet she- Time was what they needed and Tom was sure his horcruxes could provide plenty of that to Hermione and himself.
"Tom, do you want some chocolate cookies? I've baked some this morning." She called out from the kitchen,breaking him off his thoughts. The aroma of the sweet dessert wafting towards his position at the coach.
"I'm coming!" Tom shouted, wandering towards the throttle of giggles from his witch.
With the new year approaching soon, maybe just maybe Tom would start introducing his witch Hermione to his followers. Maybe she would even call him by his true name: Lord Voldemort.