"Black, Cygnus"
"Another one?" Someone from the Hufflepuff table says exasperated and a little too loud.
Walburga's youngest brother walks to the sorting hat, unconcerned. It's a quick sorting, compared to some of his relatives.
He joins their table, sitting beside Orion.
There are five Blacks in attendance. Lucretia, Walburga, Alphard, Orion and now Cygnus. It's one of the reasons the Blacks are so powerful, compared to the other Sacred Families. There's simply too many of them, intermarried to every other magical family; somewhere down almost everyone's family tree, there's a Black.
As if to prove this point, Bartemius Crouch, Charis' Black son is sorted into Ravenclaw after Cygnus.
And then, Algie Longbotton, Caliddora's Black son, is sorted into Gryffindor.
"You're taking over the world" Abraxas complains to Alphard, who laughs but looks pleased about it.
Not on Marvolo's watch, Tom thinks. The Blacks might outbreed the Gaunts, might be richer and more influential but there is a reason the Head of the Black house, Arctururs, listens very carefully to whatever Marvolo has to say.
"We need one in Hufflepuff." Alphard says. "To have all the houses."
"That'll never happen." Walburga rolls her eyes. "A Black, in Hufflepuff. The travesty."
Tom agrees with her. Black tempers do not mix with Hufflepuff qualities.
"Not off the main branch." Alphard agrees. "That would be embarrassing. A child of a Black woman would suffice. Just so we can have our blood everywhere."
"Your blood will be all over the table, if you don't shut it." Lestrange snaps. "I have the most horrible headache."
"Want it to get worse?" Alphard asks, playing with his wand.
"Enough." Tom says, voice level and he gets a thrill when they all shut up. Walburga stares at him, the only one not impressed, as always. She's challenging him, with that better than thou attitude that Tom can't stand.
He should teach her a lesson. A proper lesson, to put her in her place. She might be above others, but she's under him. That's where she belongs.
He's picturing her, hurt and defeated at his feet. Only the images keep blurring and he sees her under him in quite different circumstances.
Not this again. He tells himself, with something akin to panic.
He can't help it, however and it irritates him something awful.
Trying to change tactics, he looks more closely at Lucretia. Same age as Walburga, same blood, same face. They could be twins, really.
The fact that Tom feels nothing more than a hint of appreciation for Lucretia's looks is concerning, because it means he's attracted to Walburga's personality and Tom can't accept that because he hates that mouth on her, that challenge in her eyes.
Lucretia's pleasant demeanour, the proper, well mannered way she conducts herself do absolutely nothing for Tom. He is bored half to death after only engaging her in conversation for five minutes.
Waburga is anything but boring. As a new Prefect, Tom spends even more time besides her, though he makes a point in securing a schedule that pairs him with Lilian on patrol, from his own year. She's sharp and cautious, intelligent enough to suspect he's more than what he seems, so she keeps quiet at his side as they walk the corridors and doesn't bother him at all.
There's nothing more they can teach him, at the school. Tom takes all the subjects available and he excels in every single one of them, without the slightest bit of effort.
Quidditch training is far more tolerable, with Mulciber as the new captain, who knows better than to order Tom around. Lestrange joins the team as a Beater and Abraxas finally gets to play as Chaser.
The shadows follow him during the day now, lurking behind dark alcoves, waiting for him.
(-)
Marvolo Gaunt, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, hereditary member of the Wizengamot and famed author adds his voice to Albus Dumbledore's, fellow member of the Wizengamot and Transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts in an attempt to remove Minister Fawley from Office, due to his supposed inability to deal with Gellert Grindelwald.
While it is not the first time Professor Dumbledore had expressed concerns over the Minister's inaction, the Wizengamot, dominated by the Sacred Twenty Eight had so far blocked his request for a vote of no confidence.
"This time we might succeed" Elphias Doge, Ministry jurist and close friend of Dumbledore states for the Daily Prophet."Mr. Gaunt is highly influential among the Sacred Families. We have high hopes that some of them will back him up in the upcoming vote."
Minister Fawley has yet to make a statement.
The article comes only days after Gridelwald supporters are rumoured to be found active in Ireland. Dumbledore is often missing classes, trapped in Ministry meetings. When he's at Hogwarts, he's more distracted than ever, hardly touching his food at breakfast or dinner, immersed in the newspapers.
Many of the articles keep calling on him to do something. Tom can't decide why the wizarding society had collectively decided this is the man to end Grindelwald. He spends Transfiguration class watching Dumbledore as closely as Dumbledore watches him, when he finds the time to be at Hogwarts.
He's powerful, yes. Tom's long been aware, but as he grows it's even more evident. On top of it, he's the only person in the school that is on the same level with Tom, intellectually. And that is why he is the only one not to fall prey to Tom's manipulation and lies.
Even so, while dislike is evident on his face as he looks at Rodolphus and Abraxas, perhaps more that it is professional, Dumbledore still slips extracurricular Trafiguration publications in Tom's homework, when he hands it back.
And Tom reads them, glad for the mental stimulation and adds his own notes and opinions at the bottom, gives them back with his next homework.
(-)
There are looks exchanged, between him and Walburga, words with double meaning, slight touches here and there-accidental-, a tension in the air when they're in close proximity. There's the way Walburga screams and throws herself in his arms when a big spider runs by her feet, there's the way Tom pretends to be unable to heal the cut Abraxas gave him in their dulling sessions and asks her to bandage it for him and the way she too pretends she doesn't know the simple healing spell to solve it.
And while she doesn't fear spiders, she does fear wasps and Tom makes sure to conjure them and have them buzz around her, because she hides her head in his chest, trying to find shelter and he gets such a thrill in the knowledge that she looks to him for protection, even though she knows he's the one that caused her fear in the first place. He likes how scared she is, her pounding heart beating against him.
Tom stops denying wanting her. That causes a dilemma because what he wants, he gets, but Walburga is not Clara. Pureblood aristocracy doesn't do casual affairs. There's no such thing as dates. There's nothing and there's marriage. She's engaged to Orion and while a second year is no deterrent to Tom, he is no run of the mill twelve year old, but the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. It wouldn't do, to cause a scandal, for something so insignificant as satisfying such a trivial want.
It's a bit frustrating but he doesn't plan to do anything about it, aware he shouldn't cause a rift with such influential people.
To his misfortune, Walburga doesn't hold his convictions. She manages to shock him, once more.
She stalks to him, when they're alone in the Common Room, with sure but slow steps and a glint in her eyes.
He'd taken great care to never be alone with her, to avoid temptation but he's been so engrossed in a book Marvolo had just sent him, that he hadn't been aware when the Common Room had emptied.
She'd never. Tom thinks as she comes closer, never breaking eye contact. Surely, she wouldn't. She's bluffing.
She reaches him and just as slowly, straddles his lap. He has all the time in the world to push her away, but he's frozen on the spot. In fact, he's gripping the armrest so tightly, he might break it.
He can't push her away, because he thinks that if he lets go of the chair, he'll only pull her closer.
"Are you going to kiss me?" She enquires, in that challenging tone that just makes his blood boil, with different emotions. "Or am I to do everything around here?"
"I'm not interested." Tom says. He's not interested in the consequences.
"You seem interested." Walburga presses herself even closer to him, their faces almost touching, her chest resting on his own, and her bottom just above his-
"I'm sixteen." He says, trying to control his voice. He will be, in a few weeks. "Any girl can sit on my lap and have the same response. Don't take it personally."
"Hmm." She moves her hips, experimentally. Tom inhales more air than he needs. "Abraxas and Rodolphus are sixteen too. And they're out there chasing after skirts, while here you are. Staring at me. Always."
"You're engaged." He tries to reason with her. Mostly, he needs to say it out loud to remind himself. "You'll have to swear an unbreakable vow, for your purity, at the wedding. In front of hundreds of people."
"So what if I'm engaged. You and I, we're rational people" Tom gives a small, inelegant snort. He would never describe any Black as rational."I can't stand you half the time and you certainly despise me on occasion. We're smarter than to get attached, aren't we? As for the unbreakable vow I'll have to make to Orion" She trails off, twists her hips again. "- one hears there are other ways to have fun that will leave my purity intact."
Tom swallows, hard. "How do you even know these things?" He asks, stalling for time to make a decision.
He spent a good part of his childhood on the streets of London. He lives in a dorm with teenaged boys. It's natural he knows, but Walburga is surrounded by demure princess and bitter crones that yell at her to be good and proper.
"I don't know much." She admits. "I'm just using my imagination. I bet you could teach me, though."
Tom hates being manipulated and she's doing it right now, she's playing up to his need to have her see him as her better, to listen to him.
He stands, suddenly and she topples over, on the floor. She's shocked, her eyes widen, uncertain.
He hisses in Parseltongue and the trap door springs open. "Ladies first."
She smiles in triumph and lowers herself inside. Tom goes after her, closing the trap behind him, submerging the small room in complete darkness. He leaves it like that, for a second, waiting.
"Lumo-" Walburga whispers and he waves his hand, magic surges forward and knocks her wand out of her hand.
"Tom?" She asks, no trace of smugness left in her voice. Finally.
"You really shouldn't follow men into dark places you can't get out of, Waly."
Now she's the one who inhales deeply and it satisfies him. Good. It's how it should be. He's supposed to be always in control and for a second, upstairs, he hadn't been but now the world is back to normal.
He pulls out his own wand, conjures a candles and lights it, before performing a cleaning charm, banishing the layer of dust that had accumulated on the walls.
"I can do that better." She brags, braver with the light on. They're both covered in shadows but for once, they don't distract him.
"While here you don't get to do anything but obey. You did want me to teach you."
Her grey eyes darken in excitement. He waits, for explicit consent, even if he made it look like a statement.
Tom might not have many morals, he certainly lacks concern over anyone besides his own self and Marvolo, he's old enough to know his principles are very twisted compared to what people deem normal, but he'll never lower himself to the level of the priest. Even Tom has a line he will not cross.
"Alright." She agrees
(-)
"It's supposed to be the last sunny day, for the season." Dumbledore says, catching Tom in the yard.
Tom almost flinches. He hand't expected to be caught unawares. It's far too late to get rid of the adder, curled around his ankle.
"Yes, sir." He says, standing, misliking being at a height disadvantage. Even on his feet, Dumbledore's taller, but Tom has a feeling that will change, in a couple of years.
"What is it that you are reading?"
The cover clearly says "Charms, Year Five" but of course Dumbledore doesn't fall for it. Tom hands over the book.
Blue eyes crinkle at the corner in surprised amusement when he finds Walburga's household spells manual inside the fake cover. Tom feels smug about it. No doubt the Professor had expected to find something dark and prohibited.
"I find it unfair girls are offered an extra subject." He says and he means it. There is talk of ending the practice or allowing boys to attend, but nothing concrete. Tom finds the spells useful but the misogynistic attitudes, especially in Slytherin, make him want to read the book in secret.
"You are an exceptional young man." Dumbledore says and Tom fights the instinct to straighten his back with pride. He's often complimented, but Tom doesn't respect most anyone. He respects Dumbledore, as annoying and suspicious as he is.
Dumbledore is easy with his praise, he's a good pedagog, likes to encourage his students, with positive remarks. However it's been a couple of years since he praised Tom or Abraxas, who is a very talented wizard on his own, second only to Tom in their year.
"A mind like yours, it is natural to wonder, to be inquisitive." Dumbledore goes on, eyes piercing Tom's, quite serious. "But you are heading down a dangerous path."
"I don't know what you are talking about, sir." Tom says, but he doesn't bother to put on the fake smile he'd put on for other teachers.
Dumbledore regards him in silence for a few seconds, before handing the book back.
"You can have a bright future ahead of you; the things you can accomplish are endless, if only you wouldn't stray. Such a waste, it would be."
"I will acomplish great things." Tom assures him.
"Your wand." Dumbledore says and Tom panics a little, because a Priori Incantatem would show spells he defiantly shouldn't be casting, but Dumbledore needs a special permission to do that and surely, he doesn't have it."Phoenix feather."
"Yes." Tom says, uncertain.
"It comes from my own phoenix. Fawkes. A very rare core. Phoenix feathers have the greatest range of magic .Extremely picky when it comes to potential owners, because phoenix's are the most independent creatures in the world. Hardest wands to tame. And my Fawkes, he's unique, even for his species. Very head strong." Dumbledore smiles, softly. "It gave only two feathers and we could not persuade him to give more, no matter how we coaxed him. Years upon years, the wands rejected any potential owner. Until you. And your father, whom I am told was chosen by the other feather."
Is this why Marvolo burned the holly wand, because it had something to do with Dumbledore? Tom had completely forgotten about all that.
"Both Garrick and myself were very curious, whom the wands would choose. We agreed it would have to be extraordinary wizards or my surprise, when he wrote to inform me he sold both, in the same day."
"I am extraordinary. And so is my father." Tom says, coldness creeping into his voice. Dumbledore's suspicions and his witty remarks are one thing, when aimed at Tom, but he mislikes hearing the man talk about Marvolo.
Dumbledore sighs. "You weren't so arrogant, when I first met you." He says. "Or perhaps you hid it better. Though I lament to consider, an eleven year old learning such deceit as to fool me."
Tom's anger prickles. He almost asks Dumbledore if he doesn't have anything better to do than bother him, like hunting down Gridelwald. But he doesn't, because it's one thing for Dumbeldore to suspect Tom is not at all the nice boy he presents himself to be, and another for Tom to give him more ammunition to be be mistrusted.
"Enjoy your day, Tom." Dumbledore says, when Tom refuses to speak.
"You too, sir." Tom remains tense until the other man departs.
The day truly is beautiful. Tom imagines Marvolo takes advantage of it, if he is free, laying under the sun as he's prone to do.
Even in the bright sunlight, the shadow is with him. It spills behind him and Tom knows it's his own, but the more he watches it, the more it seems like it has some independent will. He's fascinated with it, with how long and slim it is, distorted against the grass or the stairs, as he heads back to the castle, spilling over tables and classrooms, a constant companion at his back.
(-)
Salazar's statue looks awfully smug. Tom stares up at him, for quite some time.
Why are you so pleased with yourself? Tom would like to know, irritated. You let a Hufflepuff, a Ravenclaw and a Gryffindor drive you out of the school you built.
If Tom had been in his place, he'd have burnt the building to the ground, he'd have destroyed everything rather than simply flee.
Quite a few heirs of Slytherin had been to Hogwarts. Tom had tracked them all down, in old books focused on blood lines at Malfoy Manor. And he knows at least some of them had found the chamber, leaving their initial scrawled into the tall marble pillars.
None had let the snake loose. None even woke it.
How could you expect us to? If anyone would set the Basilisk on mudbloods, they'd certainly end up in Azkaban, at the very least. The snake would die, as well. Is that your great revenge? A few dead mudbloods,a dead Basilisk and the life on an young Heir destroyed?
It's neither cunning, nor ambitious. It's petty and stupid. Illogical. All the other heirs saw it.
And yet-
Tom is not like the others. Or is he? Had they laid upon the stone floor and felt the call? Is it just him that wants to wake her?
He spends hours in the Chamber and becomes more irrational with each visit. He wonders if she has nightmares. He knows how hungry she is. Tom know how hunger feels.
He is the only one who could feed her. He'd read Basilisks kill their prey with their eyes. A painless death. And then it feasts.
What do people taste like? Tom wants to ask her. She wouldn't know. She never ate. Not once.
How cruel Salazar had been to her. And all his Heirs, for perpetuating this starvation.
There is no solution to this problem. Tom can't feed her people, even if they're just mudbloods.
(-)
"Wouldn't it be nice, if we could have something to distinguish us? A way to signal to each other that we belong in the same group?" Abraxas asks, in one of their sessions.
"There's nine of us, Malfoy. I think we can remember each other." Walburga hisses, pouring some murtlap essence on a burn to her hand.
"We'll have more members, as the time goes on." Abraxas says, convinced. "Won't we, Tom?"
"Perhaps." There are some people he has his eyes on.
"We'll still know each other, you idiot. We go to school together."
"After school, you horrid hag!" Abraxas snaps.
A hex hits him in the back. "Mind your tongue with my cousin, Malfoy." Orion pipes up and Tom has to intervene and stop Abraxas from cursing the boy to pieces.
That's how Blacks are. Even if they can't stand each other, Merlin forbid an outsider insults one of them.
To appease Abraxas, Tom agrees to his idea about a secret sign.
He gets into it, as he tries to come up with something. A snake, it goes without saying. And they're Death Eaters, so they need Death. That's a skull. Tom designs it himself, charms it so it moves the way he likes.
"Should we sew it in our robes?" Wally has gotten past her initial refusal, at the next meeting.
They're all gathered around the piece of paper Tom had placed on a desk.
"No. Somewhere hidden." Otherwise it would just scream at Dumbledore to pay even more attention to them.
"Under our robes." Lestrange suggests.
"On the skin, you mean? A tattoo?" Orion likes the idea. He likes all sorts of odd things, like muggle motorbikes and loud drums and leather pants.
"You're not getting a tattoo. You barely turned thirteen!" Walburga laughs at him and they start fighting.
Tom finds a way to charm it into their skins, bind them with a Protean Charm. He's rather proud of it.
"Why don't you get one?" Wally asks, catching her breath, when they're alone in the secret room, under the trap door. Tom had transfigured enough things around so they can stay comfortable and she is making the best out of her Household Spells class.
She looks wild, lips bitten and red, face flushed. Tom found out a way to help her too, without taking her virginity.
"I'm your leader." He says, unbuckling his pants. She rolls her eyes but she lets herself be manoeuvred on her knees, as Tom pulls her hair tightly.
"So put a crown on the skull or something"
(-)
MINISTER FOR MAGIC RESIGNS
Following a vote of no confidence, Griselda Marchbanks, Wizengamot elder and now ex-head of the Wizarding Examinations Authority replaces Hector Falwey as Minister for Magic
"Tough woman. Quite formidable . Sat my OWL's with her." Walburga comments, sipping from a glass of pumpkin juice.
"A woman, minister. Tragic." Abraxas shakes his head but then he reads further down the article and sees his father had been amongst the ones to vote for her so he quickly changes his opinion. "Though I suppose she might be quite something, yes."
Marchbanks looks quite surprised in a picture snapped just as the Wizengamot session had ended. There's a capable air around her though, in the stiff line of her tiny shoulders, in the set of her jaw.
Our new Minister signed an order drafted by Marvolo Gaunt, Head of International Cooperation, prohibiting entry by any magical or muggle means of any German wizard or witch into the Kingdom and heavily restricting international travel in general, only hours after she took the office.
We would not be the first country to do so- Spain, Italy and the United States had all cut ties with Germany on concerns the German Ministry had unofficially fallen to Grindelwald.
Just last week, Spain had cut ties with France, over the same grounds.
Rumour has it Minister Marchbanks will be signing several emergency decrees the following week, that might restrict free movement in any magical areas and instal Auror Patrols.
"Sounds like war." Alphard whispers, going quite pale.
"Fun" Lestrange shrugs.
(-)
Marvolo waits for him, as the train enters the station. Tom's very pleased with the surprise. Mr. or Mrs. Malfoy usually picks them up, and Tom goes home through their fireplace.
Walburga makes a noise, at his side, distracting Tom.
"What?" He turns to her to find her frowning.
They had the whole compartment to themselves, taking advantage of the privacy, with the train freer than in summers or autumns. She fixes her hair, combing it with her fingers as she looks at him with suspicion.
"I have never seen you smile so -" She makes a gesture with her hand, searching for a word that will not come to her. "It's a little creepy."
Tom tries to wipe the smile of his face, as they leave their compartment, to join the line in the corridor. But he glances out the window again and Marvolo is still there, so the smile comes back. He can feel his face hurting, the muscles so unaccustomed with the move.
"Aren't you cheery?" Abraxas comments, as soon as they step into the corridor, blonde eyebrows wiggling with innuendo.
"Shut it." Tom orders, but there is no bite in his tone. He's simply too happy to be bothered. He doesn't even notice the shadows around him.
Marvolo doesn't smile, when Tom finally steps down on the platform, but there's a little jerk to his lips that warms Tom, chasing away the cold he'd been feeling for a while.
Tom heads towards him, forgetting to say goodbye to his group.
"Your tie is crooked." Marvolo says, as a greeting and his eyes move past Tom's shoulder, to glare at someone. When Tom looks behind him, he sees the target is Walburga.
He arranges his tie, turning his head back to Marvolo. He must have had another growth spurt, because he's eye level with Marvolo's chin.
"I didn't expect to find you here." He says, ignoring Lestrange waving at him.
Marvolo waves his hand and Tom's truck vanishes. Before he can blink, strong fingers close around his arm and and the platform disappears around him.
They materialize on a quiet street, narrowingly avoiding a Muggle woman, by mere inches. No one seems to notice two people appearing amongst them out of thin air.
"Would be nice to give me a warning." Tom says, casually. "What if I fought it and we ended up splinched?"
Mavolo gives him a look."As if you could overcome my will."
Tom probably couldn't. "Where are we, anyway?" The surroundings are unfamiliar.
"Birmingham."
It's hard to miss the Cathedral that looms ahead in the distance. Part of it had clearly taken some damage, though it's being rebuilt. Tom's very familiarised with how bombed buildings look by now. He had read the city had been a target, at the beginning of the war.
Marvolo doesn't use his wand but Tom's robe shifts into a nice muggle winter clock.
They walk a few feet, before they enter a nice looking restaurant. Tom's smile, that never really left, gets wider. It's usually such a struggle to convince Marvolo to let him eat in Muggle places.
The waitress is young and she does a double take when she's faced with them, hand instinctively going to her hair, to make sure it's kept in place in a way she possibly considers attractive.
Tom would sneer at her, if he wasn't in such a good mood.
She asks them if they have a reservation and a wandless Confundus later, she remembers that they have one and leads them to a nice table, towards the corner. The Cathedral is in full view, from the window. He tries not to look at it.
"What's the occasion?" Tom asks, after he orders a fancy french meal.
"An early birthday gift."
Tom raises an eyebrow. "Really? That's all I am getting? A nice meal?" He asks, doing a great imitation of Abraxas.
It's not that he doesn't enjoy it, he'd enjoy anything with Marvolo around him, but his gifts are usually opulent.
"No." Marvolo answers, enigmatic. He's ordered a glass of wine instead of his tea and that is unusual as well.
"Why are you backing Dumbledore, on the Grindelwald front?" Tom asks, what he couldn't put in a letter.
"I'm not backing Dumbledore." Marvolo sneers. "Fawley should have been gone from office years ago but I intervened without fully realising what the consequences would be. He was perfect for my needs back then, clueless and weak as he is, but I didn't account for Gridelwalad gaining so much ground in Great Britain because of Fawley's prolonged term. I am simply correcting some mistakes I made, by interfering where I shouldn't have interfered."
Should I mark this day in the calendar? Tom almost asks Marvolo, because he'd never heard the other admitting to mistakes before.
"Marchbanks has a hard stance on dark arts." He says, instead.
"Which is necessary now. Once Grindelwald is dealt with, I'll make sure she goes away."
"And how exactly will Grindelwald be dealt with?" Tom asks, a little nervous. The german is, by all accounts, a very gifted wizard. It's not that Tom doubts Marvolo's power, but he is apprehensive imagining the two facing off.
"Dumbledore will deal with him."
"Why does everyone expect him to do it?" He's surprised Marvolo is in agreement with the rest of the community about this matter.
"Because he can."
"But-"
"I know." Marvolo cuts over him. "Once upon a time I had the same doubts you are having now. However, as much as it pains me to admit, Dumbledore is capable to defeat Grindelwald."
Tom bites his cheek. "What if he loses? What then?"
The waitress comes back with his food and Tom digs into it.
"He won't lose." He seems very convinced and Tom just has to accept it. Marvolo hadn't once been wrong, so far.
"He told me my wand's core is from his pet phoenix."
Marvolo doesn't like this at all. His jaw sets in a dangerous way. "You are talking to him?"
"He stalked me to the yard and started saying things at me."
"I do not want you talking to him"
"He's my professor.I can't really-"
Marvolo leans in, elbows on the table. "You do not talk to him." He repeats. "You say "yes, sir", "No, sir" and hand in your homework. That is all that is required of your interactions. Does he seek you out often, outside class?"
"No." Tom says, wary. Marvolo would probably have a stroke if he knew about the Transfiguration ideas Tom exchanges with Dumbledore, out of sheer boredom. "Not for years, since he started suspecting me and the boys. It was just this time. Trying to warn me off dark magic."
"Did he, now?" Marvolo's voice had gone very soft, always a bad sign.
Tom says nothing. He knows silence is the best strategy, when faced with Marvolo's anger. It had been his strategy as a child, waiting it out, lowering his gaze until the anger halted. As he grows, Tom finds it harder and harder to show such submissiveness.
Yet this is such a nice afternoon, it's a pity to throw it away, just to try and gain some ground in a battle of wills that Tom will lose, anyhow.
He focuses on his food, avoids meeting the glamoured brown eyes, choosing to look around. When enough time has passed and the ominous tension in the air has faded, Tom changes the subject.
"That's a handsome watch." He says, nodding at a Muggle sitting close beside, checking the time on an expensive pocket watch.
"Take it, if you like it."
Tom looks up. "What?."
"Take it." Marvolo's anger is back under control, but still simmering under the surface. He's eyeing Tom intently, eyes narrowed.
"The trace-"
"You were an excellent thief long before you learned about magic."
"I'm out of practice." It's been so long since he even needed to steal, let alone without the aid of his wand.
A derisive noise greets him. "You shouldn't forget these things. You are rich and spoiled and that is what you deserve but you should never forget, who you were. If I hadn't't come for you, no one would have given you a chance. Dumbledore wouldn't be reaching out to you."
The man looks frustrated, Merlin knows why. It can't be all about Dumbledore, can it? Whatever it is, Tom is still determined to avoid any disagreement. He eyes the muggle.
"I didn't forget." He says, slowly. "He wouldn't be my usual target. Look at him. He has sharp eyes, he's aware of his environment. His hands are calloused, even if his garb is rich. He worked for his money and he treasures his possessions. He makes a poor victim. Without magic, he is hard to fool. Especially since I am not a little child anymore, to be dismissed as a threat. He already noticed us as soon as he entered. "
"At least you still know how to read people." Marvolo says, after a few seconds and Tom grits his teeth but says nothing to that.
Slowly, as Tom goes though his meal, the atmosphere relaxes. Tom talks about the last book he read, deeming it a safe topic and sure enough it was a good choice.
"I'm done." He announces, ready to go. They never pay, when they eat in the Muggle world.
"Not yet." Marvolo says, though his wine is long finished. "I should teach you how to Apparate, before you return to Hogwarts."
Tom cheers up. "I'd like that."
"We'll go to Russia, in the summer. You'll like that too."
"What about the travel ban?" Tom asks, smirking.
"As if that would hinder me. In any case, I am going in an official capacity, to persuade the Russians to join us against Grindelwald."
The Russians are remarkably silent on the matter, the international press writes. They are rumoured to have many Grindelwald supporters over there. Tom says so.
"I will fail, of course." Marvolo doesn't look bothered about it.
"Why are we really going?"
"I have other business around there. I expect it to take a while. You can stay here, if you wish to be close to your friends or Walburga-"
He is tempted to tell him that if Marvolo continues to be so antagonistic, Tom might do just that but then Marvolo would remember it and is capable to actually leave Tom behind come summer, out of spite.
"We're leaving." He says, suddenly, getting to his feet. Tom frowns, gets his coat.
The muggle besides them is also standing, heading to the restroom. Really? Tom thinks, amused, watching Marvolo colliding with him, just a touch of shoulders. It lasts a second. He looks carefully, but sees nothing, even though he knows what must be happening.
"My apologies." Marvolo says, smoothly, continuing on his path.
"No harm done." The muggle agrees.
As soon as they are out of the restaurant, Marvolo pulls out the golden pocket watch. It dangles in the air, catching the sunset. "No magic involved."
Tom laughs, incredulous, taking it. "You set the worst examples."
"Everyone can be a victim. Remember that."
"I know. I just-I didn't realise you were being serious." Tom insists. "I can steal."
"Show me."
There is a challenge in his voice but Marvolo is relaxed now. They walk around, until Tom spots a pair of women. He heads towards them, all a smile. His heart is wild in his chest, not because he's nervous about the muggles or being caught, but because he's doing something with Marvolo, playing a game of sorts. It feels exhilarating.
Tom stops them, inquiring about a place to sleep at. They are instantly drawn in by his face. Women were always easy to prey on. Their hearts melted for small orphans and yearned for handsome men.
As one is focused on his face and the other points into a direction, speaking about a hotel, Tom easily extracts a wallet from the open handbag.
"Thank you, ladies." He says as he walks away.
He gives the wallet to Marvolo. "There."
"Too easy."
"That's the point. To make it easy. What do you want me to do, steal a rifle from a soldier?"
"You avoid muggle men." Marvolo says, planting an ice shard into Tom's stomach.
Men could beat Tom, back when he was a child, if he was caught. Men were faster. Stronger. Women never posed a threat. He says so.
Marvolo knows Tom is lying but doesn't say anything, starts walking again.
"I'm not afraid of them, if that is what you are implying." Tom follows and continues the lie. It's not really a lie. He doesn't fear muggles, of any sex. It's just that he doesn't like touching older men. Muggle or Magical. He can- he shakes plenty of hands, but it's just not comfortable. Unless the man is Marvolo. He'll never have a problem with that.
"You are old enough."
"For?"
Tom is already weary, from the ambiguous statement, when they turn a corner and he sees where they are heading. The Cathedral looks like a spectrum. He stops, abruptly.
Marvolo's hand is at his back, pushing him forward.
"I-" Tom's voice is rough, a knot in his throat.
"You are with me."
Their eyes meet. He doesn't want to go, doesn't want to have anything to do with what is coming, but he won't say it.
There had been times he'd been uncomfortable with certain things Marvolo expected of him, but Tom's been sure Marvolo had been unaware of his misgivings so Tom did what was asked, to not disappoint the other man, to try and meet the standards that are expected of him.
Yet now Marvolo is, for once, very aware of the apprehension Tom feels and he insists on this, leading Tom forward, the hand on his back a confines and a comfort at the same time. Tom feels betrayed to be led into danger this way, by Marvolo of all people.
There is no danger. He tells himself. You have a wand, you are all grown. No muggle can hurt you. There is no danger.
He does reach for his wand and that settles his wild pulse somewhat, feeling it's weight between his fingers, hidden in the pocket of his coat as they enter the Cathedral.
Tom shivers. Stops again. It's huge. Marvolo still pushes him forward and Tom's legs walk without his say so. He's getting dizzy.
The priest is holding a sermon, up on the altar. The words don't reach Tom through the loud ringing in his ears.
He's sitting in a pew, without remembering how he's gotten there. Marvolo's right besides him. Tom clutches the other's forearm with a deathly grip.
"Calm." Marvolo whispers and his voice drags Tom back to the present, makes the colours more vivid, the location more real. "I am with you." He says again and Tom takes a deep breath.
He doesn't let go of Marvolo's arm, nor of his wand, but he gains enough focus to look around. A small congregation for such a big place. They all listen to the priest, but Tom doesn't want to look at him.
The ringing in his ears subsides, and he can hear the words now. The bible passages are so familiar to him, even if the priest's sermon is different from the ones Tom heard, before each Christmas at Wool's.
"As the last days of the Nativity Fast comes to an end, let us take the time to reflect on the ways in which God has waited for us. Let us take the time to thank God for his patience and his wisdom. God is good to us, brothers and sisters. And may we gather together on Christmas day and receive once again the gift of his Son, our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. On that day, God-willing, we will stand together and say, finally the wait is over, finally "God is with us"! Amen."
"Amen" The congregation answers, loudly, covering Marvolo's snort.
People rise, in low murmurs and they head towards the doors. Tom would like to go with them but he knows that Marvolo hadn't brought him here just to listen to the sermon.
Some stay behind, gathering around the altar. Tom's mouth is dry. He wishes he'd have some water with him.
Marvolo isn't looking at the priest either, he's looking at Tom. The glamor fades, red eyes shining bright in the candle light.
And finally, the last people are heading for the exit.
Marvolo's wand is in his hand. Adrenaline rushes through Tom. Even the silence echoes in the Cathedral, as it always did in the Church besides the Orphanage.
Marvolo stands. His shadow spills across the hallway, a glorious, demonic sight. Tom stands as well, unwilling to be even an inch away from him. His own shadow is covered by Marvolo's. They blend together.
"How can I help you?" The priest talks and Tom looks, finally. He's a little shocked to see the black, neat beard, the brown eyes. A small part of his brain had expected to see auburn and blue, a face he knows so well-
The man freezes on the spot.
Here we go. Tom thinks, heat hammering against his ribs, but the fear diminishes. Magic. Magic works, even here.
He'd known it would, of course. Only in that small part of his mind, were he is still eight years old, where he is still Tom Riddle, he had believed magic will not work in a holly place. At least his hasn't. It hadn't protected him.
Marvolo is casting a circle, around the priest. Dark Magic is high in the air, it raises the hair on Tom's arms.
"I shouldn't have killed him."
Tom knows exactly who "him" is.
"I should have kept him alive, for you." Marvolo goes on, casting a different spell." I robed you of your vengeance."
Tom disagrees. He's extremely relived the priest, his priest, has been dead for so long. He doesn't know how he would have been able to live, knowing that man was still breathing, someplace on the earth.
"Step inside." The area is highly warded, it's edges shining in a dim red light. "The trace will not pick you up, in this circle."
The priest's eyes are full of terror. It's raw and pure and something inside Tom roars in approval.
Marvolo waves his wand again and the man's limbs and tongue aren't frozen anymore yet he stands very still, either way. He only raises his hand to clutch at the crucifix around his neck.
"Our Father in Heaven, hallowed be your name. Your Kingdom come, your will be done-" He mutters under his beard.
Tom's hate mounts. The anger cleanses him of all other feelings, as the priest prays.
"He will not help you." Tom tells him.
"You only need anger, for the Cruciatus." Marvolo speaks above the whispered call to God.
Tom has that in abundance. He raises his wand. His hand had stoped trembling.
"-but deliver us from evil." The priest finishes.
"Crucio!"
The screams bounce off the walls, in a dozen different tempos. They reach right inside Tom, filling up that hunger, satisfying it.
He had never screamed. Not once. Not when they tied him down and poured holly water on him. Not when he was alone with the priest. He had never begged.
He dreams of begging. He dreams of fighting back, of screaming himself raw. But he did none of those things. He had stood still and suffered it.
The screams intensify. The world narrows down, until the only things in it are the agony reverberating around him and the priest, twisting and curling on the floor.
There is freedom, in this space in time. Nothing bounds Tom down, there is no pressure under his ribs, no noise in his head.
Once, he had been prey. But now he is the predator. Predators feel no fear. He'd often told himself that, as a child, but it was never true. It is, as the priest bleeds out of his nose.
"Take a break."
For a second Tom is certain the voice is his, coming from his mind. But than Marvolo is besides him.
It's hard to stop. Very hard.
"Take a break." Marvolo repeats and Tom lowers his wand. As soon as he does, he sways on his feet. He breaths in, deeply.
The priest whimpers, on the floor, in his own urine and blood.
"You should never hold it that long, if you wish for their minds to stay whole enough to be able to give you information."
"I don't want anything from him." Tom breathes out. Only the priest's screams and pain. That's all he wants.
"I know. But in the future, you need to take it slow. Especially as you will practice with your group."
Tom's mind is sluggish. Satisfied, like after a big meal. Sleepy. He could never do this to his friends, it says.
Yes, you could. Another voice whispers back, from deep within.
"If you power it too much, if you give dark magic too much of yourself, it will tire you. You need to pace it. You will learn how to use your anger to aid you, instead of letting it rule you, like it did now."
Tom sways again. Marvolo steadies him, with a hand on his shoulder.
"You only let lose when your life is in danger."
The priest whimpers and Tom glances at him. Just a man, in too much pain. His eyes are glazed over.
"Again." Marvolo says.
Tom feels drunk, though he isn't sure how that is, haven't had a drink in his life. He just wants to sleep. But he raises his wand.
He does it nonverbally. The shift in power is noticeable. The priest moans rather than scream and while it could be because his mind already fractured, Tom knows there's less in the curse, than before, his anger satisfied already.
He ends it faster.
Marvolo aims his wand and Tom knows what for.
Because he feels like he's floating, his mind quiet and less guarded than usual, he lets the words slip.
"I don't like the green." He says, slowly.
Marvolo looks at him, head titled to the side, gaze inquisitive. Tom wouldn't know how to explain all of it, in detail. He's not sure himself.
"I dream someone kills you, with it." He confesses.
"I will not die, child. Neither will you."
"I just don't like it." Tom insists.
"Never use the killing curse, when you are uncertain." Tom thinks he's been told that before. "There are plenty other ways to kill."
And with a flick of his wand, the head of the priest departs from his body.
Tom feels nothing.
In the blink of an eye, both pieces of him are turned into pebbles. The floor is cleaned of fluids and Marvolo lifts the runic circle.
He takes Tom's arm and they Apparate to their house. He feels weightless, a tremendous suffocating burden that he had carried with him since he can remember is missing. He could cry, with joy, if he'd have the energy.
He can't remember the journey to his bedroom, but he's laying in his bed, Marvolo putting a blanket over him.
Tom falls asleep instantly and for the first time in his life, he dreams of nothing. There are no shadows.
Everything is silent.