Those people were staring at him like he was a mutated bug on display yet kept away from him as if he were a hungry lion about to devour. Despite the comparison, they seemed unwilling to move an inch away from him, throwing him imperious looks.
'A Slytherin does not kowtow to the wishes of lions, ravens, or badgers' a snide voice that sounded strangely like Abraxas Malfoy told him. It seems he was plagued with that aristocrat's rules of conduct even when being the subject of so much hatred. The disdainful looks promised retribution, for what, Tom did not know, maybe he had stolen their cookies and they still held a grudge.
He started laughing.
"Blimey. He's cracked." The ginger-headed boy hypothesized.
'Cracked? What a marvelous way to begin a conversation!'
"You think I'm crazy?" Tom asked, looking fierce while sitting on his keister in the hospital wing, in nothing else but a blue-green hospital gown which, fortunately went all the way up to his ankles.
Ron, along with the other Order Members drew in a breath of air, wide eyes on the weak as a kitten yet magically strong boy, who was glad to be given such a wide audience, because he enjoyed challenges. And what they didn't know was that they might have spied on his every move, sore eyes taking him in as if he were prey, a mere unicorn about to curse them with lackluster immortality, to the point they did not move their eyes from him, yet Tom, he had only shown them what he wanted them to see. A defenseless, angry child. And kept his eyes, subtly on the welcoming committee, studying their moves, their brains, what makes them tick. It was 101 survival mode.
His brain was always his best weapon, better even then the foot on crotch attack.
The girls kept throwing him pitying glances, mixed with wonder yet he could clearly see disgust in the youngest read-headed child. Disgust mixed with wonder, such a strange combination, yet one he could still exploit. One man with an odd eyeglass looked at him with caution as if he were a volatile ingredient, about to wipe out entire civilizations, yet at the same time, he looked mirthful as if he just caught himself a white shark. The man dressed all in black with the hooked nose was throwing him a no-nonsense look, the same one Dumbledore used to give him. He could hear shouting down the hall...
They all treated him as if he was dangerous, and while that stroke his ego, it didn't quite add up, his delusions of grandeur too easily shattered by the reality. Like the fact that he was a 70 pounds twelve-year-old brat with a penchant for hissing to snakes and smuggling cookies from the kitchen.
'And bunny killing' a treacherous voice whispered.
'That was war, it had to be done', he assured himself, even though for a small period he had liked Mr. Whiskers
'Well if they bring an army of rabbits to bring me down, then they're doomed'
They looked like rabbits and he was the fox.
"Y-Yes!" the boy finally responded, his hands clenching.
"Truthfully? Tell the truth!" Tom shouted, which unnerved them further.
"Oh, my Merlin! You are completely cracked, kid!" Ron yelled.
"Ron, he's just a child" the bushy-haired girl standing next to him reprimanded him.
"I don't think so" Tom answered with a smile.
"Believe it!" Ron said while fuming and invading Tom's personal space.
Tom could see the small, red veins in his eyes, every line and every zit and every freckle. He smirked then whispered, guessing that the boy might be insecure from his haughty, holier than thaw attitude, which could likely be a cover designed to protect his ego and sense of self-worth "You're too ugly to be believed."
"Arhhhh you little!"
"Who are you? And why am I here?"
"You needn't concern yourself with that boy, you need only behave! No, you better behave" The man with the eyeglass told him while smirking at him.
"And if I refuse?" Tom inquired, testing the waters.
"Look, we only want to help you, little terror. So how about you act nice instead of naughty, maybe Santa might not bring you coal this year." Ron said, hands on his hips.
Tom never trusted Santa Clause. He'd asked for a father to get him out of Wool's, it never happened. And he'd acted nice for an entire year! Lest assured, he would not make the same mistake twice.
The boy smiled then asked amused "…Are you trying to reason with a 'completely cracked' person?"
Ron gaped.
"That makes you either a saint or an idiot, and they often go hand in hand." the child continued, ravishing the look of confusion on the boy's face.
"Enough!" Moody shouted "Don't give us cheek, little dark wizard in nappies or I might just…"
"Alastor!" Minerva shouted before she sighed and approached Tom, even sitting on the same bed he laid in "Mr. Riddle you are in our care now. No one will hurt you"
'As long as you cooperate' Tom thought.
After her words something unexplainable happened, she took his hands and squeezed them. Her hands were warm and Tom felt odd.
'Is this kindness part of psychological warfare too?'
The door opened. In came an old man with a grandfatherly look in his stormy blue eyes, a look not unlike Dumbledore's when he was directing it at his precious Gryffindors. There was something familiar about the man.
Behind him was a slim boy, with emerald eyes and glasses with a distinctive scar on his head.
Green eyes met brown. The boy was unreadable.
'No problem, he'll slip up' Tom assured himself.
"Hello, Tom. I'm Harry" the boy said while throwing him a dazzling smile and giving a firm handshake, implying he's outgoing and confident.
Tom strengthened his shoulders, the boy mirrored him. Mirroring lead to greater compliance from requests, Tom had read that a long time ago. He will not be fooled.
"Tom, my boy. Surely you remember me?" the old wizard answered while touching his long, white beard.
"Professor!" Tom said, having recognized his voice and fixing his eyes in wonder for but a short moment before saying "Are you going to shed some light as to why I am here?"
"Think of it as a second chance, my boy. A rebirth from the ashes."
'Phoenix obsessed fool.' Tom thought before asking "Rebirth means I had died?!"
"In a way, my boy, you had."
"No one important is gonna miss you." the freckled girl responded, with a bit of venom.
"Am I supposed to be mad unimportant people won't be at my funeral sprouting vapid eulogies?" Tom asked her and then started cackling.
Dead? Yet he never felt more alive.