Title: Winter's Sorrow (1/1)
Author: DMitchell1985
Beta: Jetta
Genre/Rating: General/PG-13
Summary: The coldness of Winter has more effects on Tom than anyone realizes.
Disclaimer: I own no part of canon Harry Potter.
Archiving/Feedback/Email/Website: Both are appreciated and welcome. I must know where the story is headed, and feedback should be helpful./betagirl23 at yahoo dot com/See Profile
Author's Notes: Written for The Pimp Cane's (LiveJournal Community) "Winter" Challenge. Thanks to my beta, Jetta. -waves-
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Winter was always a melancholic season for Tom. It held none of the snowy enthusiasm for him as it did for his peers. Even the scant few Slytherins Tom felt secure enough to call "friend", enjoyed the barren season without him. While the frost on Hogwarts' grounds froze Tom's breath and stung his skin, a shard of loneliness that predated his Hogwarts days iced what was left of Tom's heart.
Tom had never truly developed a heartfelt appreciation for the celebration, or the coming break. The time off was well-earned, but it would not be the vacation it was supposed to. Many of the other orphans were routinely infected with some type of cold, or a resistant strain of the flu virus. Every year that Tom had to go back to the orphanage, he received the same diseases. It would be his only gift. Happy Christmas to Tom.
An arctic, searching wind charged along the corridor to pry underneath Tom's robes. He pulled the worn fabric closer to his body, never succeeding in being warm enough for his liking. His body reacted to weather changes in a reptilian manner.
Though his body wished to reject the cold, Tom felt emboldened to fight his natural reaction. Some day, somehow, Tom would make himself immune to such trivial obstacles as winter's wind or death. Yes, Tom would find his triumph over death, even if he had to kill people to get it. A little blood magic could never hurt him, and that was all that mattered.
Tom pushed away from the window that framed the distant Quidditch pitch. He picked his way from shadow to shallow corner until he reached the girls' bathroom that contained the secret entrance to Salazar Slytherin's holy chamber. There was work to be done, and plans to be laid if Tom were to cherish this Winter.
He stepped through the door quietly, hoping that no idiotic twits were emptying their bladders, or smoothing on facial gunk. He strode to the sinks when he saw that he was indeed alone. Tom let his eyes rest on his reflection in the mirror above the sink that would grant him access to his chamber. The reflection showed a pale boy of dark hair, hollow eyes, and substanial height. The very air around him appeared to constrict with anguish, as though it knew what he was, and what he was about to do.
Tom was always his warmest when in the chamber. He experienced a joy that not even screwing his best friend, Charlie's, girlfriend could bring.
He hissed a solemn question in Parseltongue to activate the opening. To any normal witch or wizard's ear, only a hoarse mumuring would be heard. To another Parselmouth, an on-going question could be discerned.
Tom slid down the large, twisting pipe, leaving the query lingering behind on the air. A faint whispering echo of bitter words and torn sentiment could be heard by those who knew how to listen.
"Why am I always alone?"
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The End