AN: Replies are at the end of the chapter) A little note: since the actual books don't mention Harry's grandparents directly, I made Charlus his grandfather and Fleamont his great-grandfather.
Chapter Three: Building Foundations. Part 1
King's Cross was crowded with Muggles. They were everywhere, sweaty, red-faced, and dirty, carrying equally dirty bags, and Tom hated, hated, hated them. They looked just like every caretaker from his orphanage, like the beggars he and Harry saw on Muggle streets with increasing frequency. No matter what Harry said, they were mindless animals. Lab rats. Muggles conducted their experiments on different creatures because they considered them less, so why shouldn't wizards do the same?
Naturally, Tom kept his opinions to himself, smiling politely when some passing representative of this human garbage threw an interested look at the large bird that sat on his shoulder proudly. One particularly dim Muggle boy gaped so much that he tripped and fell on his face, yelping in pain.
His skin crawled in disgusted anticipation but Tom still offered his hand, forcing a light smile onto his lips.
"Are you all right?" he asked, his tone perfectly concerned. With the corner of his eye, he could see Harry glow, no doubt delighted to see him being so courteous to Muggles.
Why Harry was so obsessed with the idea of playing nice with everyone was beyond him, but Tom didn't mind playing along if it got him what he wanted. Namely, Harry's pleased smiles, and his pride, and the undisguised affection and warmth in his eyes. It was embarrassing, really, how much Tom had come to depend on these seemingly irrelevant things, but he no longer tried to fight it. The consequences of resistance were unacceptable and he was never going to relive them.
The Muggle boy nodded, staring at him awe-struck, and when Harry turned away, Tom sent him a cold sneer.
Pathetic. Other than to please Harry occasionally, he had no need to sway Muggles to his side. Hogwarts was offering him access to numerous wizards and witches, and they were the ones who Tom was going to use all his charm and his status as a Slytherin's heir on.
He spent all these years with Harry learning about the wizarding world, its traditions and policies. There were things he didn't understand yet but in the future, he knew he would. It was just a matter of time. So he read and he planned, and he already had several clear end-goals in his mind.
He was going to conquer the world of wizards. Being a politician seemed like the most logical way to achieve that, but he was open to trying other ways as well. First, though, he needed to establish himself and grow a circle of trusted supporters. Pure-bloods were the best option but despite his ancestry, Tom was hesitant about how he was going to be accepted by them.
His chances had grown tremendously after the revelation about his blood status, but Harry had told him enough stories of bigotry that left Tom concerned.
Of course, he would destroy any resistance eventually, but he'd rather start gaining support early, not waste his time on proving his worthiness. His plans had already had to undergo several serious revisions after Gringotts because… because…
Hateful anxiety stirred inside, waking from its slumber, and Tom gripped Harry's hand hard, clenching it in his own.
He had a weakness. Somehow, Harry had managed to take roots in him, and he did it so slowly that Tom hadn't seen it until it was too late. Harry was just… there. All the time. Always talking to him, always fulfilling his wishes and engaging him in every aspect of his life. He had become such a reliable presence in his life that Tom stopped noticing him, took him for granted.
In Gringotts, he was blinded by the idea of wealth and connections that were about to open to him. He felt drunk on power and Harry faded into something tiny and insignificant. He was a mere stepping-stone, a useful object with an end-date which was needed just until Tom could move towards his next goal.
But then Harry wasn't there all of a sudden, and ironically, that was when he overtook the entire world in Tom's mind. The more he distanced himself, the brighter he shone, and Tom craved this light, craved the love and acceptance he'd grown used to.
Harry was his. It was incomprehensible that he could simply decide to give him away, to forget him, to build a new life for himself.
Rage and panic flooded him again at the mere memories, making his heart pound in dread, and Tom dug his nails into Harry's hand, trying to anchor himself.
It was in the past. He wouldn't make this mistake again. Harry would stay by his side for as long as he wished it, and Tom strongly suspected that this strange, unexplainable craving would never wane.
The red fog dissolved, calming him somewhat. Tom loosened his hold and frowned when he saw that in his fit of rage, he'd broken Harry's skin with his nails.
His eyes snapped to Harry, who was watching him attentively and who didn't seem affected in the slightest.
"Are you nervous?" he asked. Tom snorted, both at Harry's failure to understand what could set him off and at the assumption that he could ever be nervous because of some train ride.
"A little bit," he lied, and closed his eyes for a blissful second when Harry wrapped his bleeding hand around his shoulders, pulling him closer.
"That's all right," he murmured. "They will love you, Tom. And if they don't, they'll still want to suck up to you, so they'll treat you nicely either way."
A startled laugh escaped him before Tom could stop himself. Apophis, who was glued to his shoulder, let out a dissatisfied sound at the motion, and Harry squinted at him.
"Are you sure you don't want to rename him?" he asked. "I know it's been months, but maybe he hasn't learned this monstrosity of a name yet and can be retaught."
Tom glowered. Not this again.
"It's an appropriate name," he snapped. "Apophis was a deity of darkness and a—"
"Serpent, yes. An evil one," Harry sent him an unimpressed look. "You gave your bird a snake name."
"I'm a—"
"Don't repeat that again, I know it already. I still don't see why your being an heir of Slytherin would make such choice of a name appropriate... Then again, it's your bird."
"Exactly. And I highly doubt that you would be able to come up with something creative in the first place. You would probably give your pet a Muggle name."
"You and I have Muggle names," Harry pointed out, and Tom had to breathe out slowly to avoid saying more. Arguing with Harry was impossible sometimes. He was downright infuriating, and while it pleased Tom, it also drove him crazy.
"We're here." Harry stopped, nodding at the simple grey barrier. "Do you remember how to pass through?"
Tom replied with a scathing glance. Of course he remembered, he wasn't an idiot. Still, the idea of running into a wall seemed ludicrous. Who had devised such an entrance? Maybe he would change it at some point in the distant future. He would definitely set the platform away from Muggles. Why did wizards have to worry about being seen even when doing something this mundane? Muggles were everywhere and they were a constant threat.
Scowling, Tom jerked his head to the side, making sure no one was walking by, and then he rushed forward. The wall accepted him easily, letting him merge with it for a moment before pushing him to the other side.
Platform 9 ¾ was also overcrowded, but people here weren't Muggles. The magic reigning in this place was as thick as in Diagon Alley, making Tom's own magic flutter.
This was definitely his world. The only world worth living in.
Harry joined him a moment later, observing the platform with expression that Tom couldn't immediately identify.
"What are you thinking?" he asked, frowning. He'd made a study of Harry long ago. He knew every crease in his forehead, every variation of his smiles and every shade of green his eyes took on depending on his mood. This look on his face was something Tom couldn't decipher, though, and the greedy craving for closeness intensified, making him clench Harry's hand in his again, digging his fingers into fresh wounds, this time deliberately.
"Just remembering my first visit here. It's nothing," Harry gave him a tired but genuine smile, still ignoring the pain he had to undeniably feel in his arm. "Would you like to go in now? You might want a chance to choose a compartment before it's taken by someone else and you have to ask for a place."
Tom straightened immediately in concern and Harry laughed before wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close again. Tom flushed, embarrassed at being hugged in front of everyone but enjoying the embrace too much to jerk away. A flickering glow warmed his chest when he observed other adults being affectionate with children, each in their own way.
If he didn't have Harry, he would have come here alone, with no one to see him off and to explain how to get to the platform. He would also have been forced to wear second-hand clothes that would immediately reveal him as a Muggle-born — worse, Muggle-born that even Muggles didn't want.
Shuddering, Tom tightened his grip around Harry's waist, ignoring Apophis' protests.
Harry let him go all too soon, and while his eyes practically screamed of love, Tom found it wasn't enough.
He wanted words, too. He wanted words, and actions, and emotions — he wanted every possible claim on Harry he could obtain.
As if hearing his thoughts, Harry touched his cheek gently.
"I love you," he said. "I hope you will write to me."
"And you will reply," Tom's voice sounded strange. Almost hoarse. "To every letter."
Harry's smile widened.
"Of course," he promised softly. "Try not to get into too much trouble. And for Merlin's sake, don't annoy Dumbledore."
"Only if he doesn't annoy me first."
Harry snorted in amusement before quickly schooling his expression.
"Good luck," he said seriously. "I hope you'll love Hogwarts as much as I did."
Tom nodded, then hesitated. For some reason, looking away from Harry was a challenge. The thought that he wouldn't see him for months left a sour taste in his mouth, one he couldn't wash away no matter how many times he swallowed.
He wished he could freeze Harry in time, so he would be still standing here, on this platform, when Tom got back. He wished he could put him into his trunk and leave him there until the holidays because this way, Harry would be unable to go on with his life. He would stay exactly the same way Tom remembered him while not distracting him from his school plans.
Perhaps he'd look into more options soon.
Taking a deep breath, Tom forced himself to turn away.
Then he stepped into the train.
THTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTH
Without Harry to consume all his attention, Tom was finally able to focus on his surroundings. Carefully recalling everything that had transpired before he went inside, he realised he'd already attracted notice from several families. It seemed Apophis had performed his first task diligently — he got Tom the scrutiny he needed. He hoped it was enough to entice at least some students into seeking him out and asking for his name.
From what he gathered, pure-bloods, especially Slytherins, formed a tight circle. Most children knew each other before they came to Hogwarts and they were likely to be on the look-out for those they knew nothing about to either expand their group or select an amusing target for future attacks.
Tom hoped he would be the first one they'd visit.
Soon, the door to his compartment opened. Four boys about his age peered inside, and Tom studied them coolly, noting their clearly expensive clothes and expressionless faces.
Pure-bloods. They had to be.
Glee spread through him in a cold, pleased rush, but Tom made sure his voice was even when he commented, "One is supposed to knock before they enter. I would think someone of your upbringing would know that."
The four exchanged glances. Then the tallest of them closed the door and sent Tom a smile that was too openly suspicious for Tom's liking.
"Apologies," he said. "I hope you don't mind if we sit here. All other compartments are taken already."
A lie, but Tom would let it pass. He had to be patient and tread carefully if he wanted to get anywhere with this kind of wizards.
"At least there is none free enough for the four of us," a dark-haired boy grinned at Tom, baring his teeth. "I'm sure you can find a place for yourself there, though."
Tom raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
"Seeing that I've chosen this compartment first, I'll have to decline," he uttered. "However, you may sit if you'd like."
All four pure-bloods exchanged another glance. Must they be so obvious?
Two of them took a place opposite Tom and the tallest one sat beside him.
"I'm Julian Avery," he said. "These are Alphard Black, Lois Lestrange, and Calder Mulciber. Alphard and Lois are first-years, I and Calder are in our second year already. And you are?"
Tom had been waiting for it. He had imagined this moment many times, in every possible way. The only uniting element of his scenarios was the outcome.
"Tom Marvolo Slytherin," he drawled, and basked in the expressions of shock and disbelief on each face.
"Right," Black laughed hesitantly. "Do you actually expect us to—"
Apophis perked up, focusing his eyes on Black. The dark wings trembled in anticipation but Tom just patted them soothingly, satisfied with the deep silence that filled the compartment.
"My guardian is estranged from his family," he said after a pause. "He's not particularly outgoing, so we haven't been making many public appearances. I also see no reason to advertise the fact that Salazar Slytherin's line lives on. Eventually, everyone will find out as it is."
"But the Gaunts all died out, didn't they?" Mulciber asked, sounding as unsure as Black had been. "My parents told me that the last of them were—"
Insane. Inbred.
Yes, Tom knew about it. He'd spent the last seven months searching for every mention of the Gaunts in the books and harassing Harry to find out more. It was unfortunate that not all his background was stellar, but he'd had enough time to plan how to counter possible arguments against him and his bloodline.
"You are correct, of course," Tom shrugged, his mask of indifference firmly in place. "Slytherin's line was almost destroyed. That was when my mother decided to lower herself to someone who would be entirely unworthy of her in any other circumstances."
It took a moment before comprehension reflected on his potential supporters' faces.
"You are a half-blood?" Lestrange exclaimed, and he sounded so distressed that Tom wanted to snarl at him.
Harry was right. Blood superiority was nothing more than an ancient stereotype. These children couldn't be more powerful than he was despite the difference in their blood status. Tom wasn't sure about Muggle-borns yet, he'd have to test this theory himself, but he was almost confident that magical prowess didn't depend on one's status.
"I am," Tom narrowed his eyes, calling on his magic and letting it slither towards every person within the compartment. He could almost see it glittering, wrapping itself around the pure-bloods and tightening its hold on them.
Four gasps were music to his ears.
"And as you can see," he continued lowly, "my mother's decision helped us regain our power and preserve the Slytherin's line. I fully intend to restore it to its former glory — and more." Tom softened his voice, allowing his lips to curve in a mysterious smile. "Those who assist me will naturally find themselves in the position envied by the rest of the wizarding world. That's a promise, and I don't give them lightly."
Maybe he was overdoing it a bit. Harry always laughed at his speeches — or snorted, or rolled his eyes before inevitably calling him overdramatic. While it infuriated Tom, he couldn't help but wonder if Harry was immune to his persuasion or if he was really being pretentious.
Lestrange, Black, Avery, and Mulciber stared at him in awe, and the tension Tom didn't know was coiled somewhere in his chest suddenly thinned.
Just as he thought. Something was wrong with Harry, not with his speeches. And well, Harry was an exception in many things, so it wasn't all that surprising.
Frowning, Tom chased the thoughts about Harry away. Now wasn't the time to think of him.
He already had these four pure-bloods on his side.
It was a good start.
THTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTH
He should have known that avoiding the thoughts about Harry was impossible. One way or another, everything always led back to him.
"So who is your guardian?" Avery asked excitedly, leaning closer to him. They all were, and Tom bathed in their attention, feeling pleasure tingle in every part of his body.
He'd expected more restraint and resistance from pure-bloods but he couldn't complain. His plan was going flawlessly.
"Harry Potter," he replied, and was immediately wary of the affection that slipped into his voice. This wouldn't do. His weakness was his own and he had to keep it away from public attention. "He's rather reclusive but he provides me with everything I need."
"Potter?" Black blinked owlishly. "One of Potters is sheltering the heir of Slytherin? But they are the light family, are they not? They never favoured Salazar Slytherin's beliefs."
Tom froze, his thoughts coming to an abrupt halt.
Potters were a notable family? Harry was a half-blood but Tom assumed that he was born to ordinary wizards. Otherwise, how could he have ended up with Muggles? Muggles who called him a freak and most likely abused him, despite Harry's silence on this matter.
If Potters were pure-bloods… had they rejected Harry and given him away because he was a bastard child, a half-blood?
Fury flamed in his mind, setting in on fire and devouring every rational thought. For a moment, he saw only redness, but he still forced himself to take several deep breaths.
Later. He would think about it later.
He still had an audience to entertain.
"Harry is different," Tom said as calmly as he could. "He doesn't keep contact with his family."
"Fascinating," Lestrange breathed out, still staring at him with wide, enamoured eyes. "Do you know which House he was in?"
Tom paused, and an unpleasant sensation crawled into his stomach, poisoning him from inside.
He didn't know. He had never bothered to ask even something this simple, too focused on his own upcoming school year.
He still had only a vague idea about Harry's past. This was unacceptable. Now, he had to think quickly.
Harry didn't have a mind of a Ravenclaw — he was perfectly content with his limited knowledge. He also couldn't be a Hufflepuff, his loyalty was neither blind nor absolute and he played dirty at times. He sure was ready to give Tom up easily enough.
Tom clenched his fists under the table, then loosened them slowly as he caught Mulciber's curious gaze.
That left Slytherin and Gryffindor. Harry was manipulative enough when he wanted to be, and sometimes, when Tom looked at him, he noticed some cold, deadly grace about him, something he couldn't properly describe and which was gone as quickly as it appeared.
But that was it. Harry was neither ambitious nor cunning enough to qualify for a Slytherin. Gryffindor, on the other hand…
Stubborn, unafraid of revealing his weaknesses, and generous to a fault.
Yes, that fit perfectly.
Harry was a bloody Gryffindor.
"Gryffindor," Tim answered sourly. Avery barked out a laugh.
"Faithful to family traditions, I see," he drawled humorously. "A Gryffindor raising the heir of Slytherin, that's something."
"That will bring a bigger amount of supporters to our side when the time comes. Until then, I suggest you keep quiet about it," Tom remarked casually, and everyone fell silent again, their gazes alight with amazement.
Funny. Tom had only vague plans, the only clear one involved gathering as many people willing to stand by him as possible, and yet Mulciber, Black, Lestrange, and Avery already behaved like he held answers to all mysteries of the universe.
Who was Tom to argue with that?
THTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTH
Hogwarts was beautiful. It was tall, majestic, and it emanated power, but while Tom was impressed, he didn't feel the pull Harry had described.
It was just a school. A legendary school, probably even the centre of the magical world, but nothing that would make Tom fall in love with it instantly. Harry said it was his home, but Tom already had a home, and though he was sure he'd enjoy studying, eventually, he planned to go back.
The hall where they were led was bright with thousands of candles. The ceiling reflected the images of the darkening evening clouds, and finally, Tom felt the stirring of childish excitement.
Hogwarts might not be a home but it was stunning. It represented everything he loved about magic, about this world, and wherever he looked, he saw details he wanted to study, mysteries he wanted to uncover.
Muggle world was nothing in comparison to this. It should have never existed in the first place.
The way Lestrange and Black were glued to him was already attracting general attention. Some other first-years were looking at him curiously and Tom ignored them for now, steadily gazing ahead. Mulciber and Avery were gone, having retreated to their classmates, and Tom knew they were spreading the news about his arrival throughout the table.
Another heavy stare burned holes through him, and finally, Tom turned his head to inspect it.
Dumbledore. Dumbledore was watching him, standing near the stool and holding the scroll of paper in his hands. His face was grim. Tom knew it was immature and illogical but he still sneered at him, unable to help himself.
Something about this man made his hackles rise. Maybe it was his arrogance that he tried to hide behind his faulty grandfatherly façade, or the incredible power that accompanied him whenever he moved, but the truth was undeniable: Tom loathed him.
He could have appreciated meeting such a strong wizard if said wizard hadn't attempted to separate him from Harry. He spoke of opportunities and knowledge, but all Tom saw was an intruder that wanted to destroy the life he and Harry had already built.
He would never let that happen.
"Ashton, Kimberly," Dumbledore read.
The first girl approached the high stool timidly and Tom watched her get sorted into Hufflepuff. Lestrange let out a rude noise.
"Figures," he murmured.
"You dislike Hufflepuff?" Tom glanced at him and Lestrange laughed, as if unsure whether he was joking.
"Hufflepuff is for those who don't fit anywhere else," he explained. "It's worse than Gryffindor. All Hufflepuffs are naive idiots that will give their loyalty to the first person who smiles at them."
"It makes them useful, then, doesn't it? Apply some efforts, and they will die for you. That's an admirable trait."
Lestrange gaped while Black measured him with a thoughtful stare.
"Depends on who you mean," he said. "In your scenario, I still wouldn't want to be a Hufflepuff."
"Then don't," Tom smirked. "Everyone makes their own choices."
He doubted everything was as black-and-white as Lestrange and Black thought but he wasn't going to say it aloud. First, he would draw his own conclusions. Afterward, he'd begin to craft more specific plans of spreading them around.
Black got into Slytherin, though the Hat stayed on his head for quite a while before making its decision. From his place, Tom watched Black walk to his table stiffly, flushed with embarrassment.
Not as Slytherin as he wanted to appear? Interesting. It was a weakness Tom could exploit if things went badly.
Lestrange's name was called soon enough, and he sent Tom an excited look.
"See you in a minute," he whispered. Tom nodded, ignoring satisfaction that welled up inside him at these words. Several children who'd heard Lestrange stared at him but he still refused to do the same.
Managing to stir everyone's interest before being sorted was good. Harry would be both exasperated and pleased.
"Potter, Charlus!"
Time stopped for a moment as Tom's heart jumped in elation at the familiar surname. Then the first name reached him as well, and slowly, the air around him began to darken.
Charlus Potter was Harry's relative. No doubt about that.
Sure, Potter was a rather common name, but it was unlikely that there were many Potter pure-bloods, and Harry had told him that his father was one. And the boy himself…
Tom had made a map out of every Harry's feature and he could see distant but undeniable physical resemblance between him and Charlus Potter. Other people may consider Harry's last name a mere coincidence, not knowing the whole story, but Tom saw the truth. It was staring right into his face.
Apart from having vaguely familiar physical features, the boy was short and square-shouldered, with thick dark hair and superiority that only pure-bloods possessed.
Harry didn't carry himself this way. On the contrary, Harry always tried to pretend he wasn't there, as if he hated the very idea of attention. And if Tom was right, the Potters were to blame for this.
They had rejected him. Someone in their line had bedded a Muggle or a Muggle-born and then refused to take responsibility for the child. Abandoned him with magic-hating Muggles, stripping him of care and luxury he was supposed to get as a Potter, and continued with their line, breeding more pure-bloods.
He and Harry really were similar.
Tom wasn't sure whether his own relatives were alive, so for now, he'd put his thoughts of revenge into the darkest corners of his mind. But Harry… Harry's family was not simply alive, they dared to live like nothing happened. In fact, with wizards' lifespan, it was possible that Charlus was Harry's brother, a replacement for the unworthy half-blood the Potters had spawned.
Hatred, dark and bitter, spiralled up, burning his insides with its intensity.
"Gryffindor!" the Hat announced, and Tom stared unblinkingly as Charlus walked away, memorizing every arrogant feature of his face.
One day, there would be retribution, he promised himself silently.
Potters would regret ever casting Harry aside.
"Slytherin, Tom." Dumbledore's tone was subdued, like he was trying to avoid announcing his name loudly enough for everyone to hear. Yet still, the whole hall froze before erupting in whispers and shocked exclamations, hundreds of eyes suddenly tickling Tom's back with their scrutiny.
Twisting his lips in a smile, he approached Dumbledore and sat on the stool, finally looking at the mass of curious students.
From this position, he could easily imagine them coming here to listen to his speech, waiting for what he had to say eagerly. A surge of power tore through his body at the thought, almost making him tremble, but then darkness descended, with the Hat taking its place on his head.
Oh, it said, its voice dismayed, and before Tom could even blink, it yelled, "Slytherin!"
His table exploded in applause and cheers so deafening, it seemed like even the floor began to tremble.
Tom sent a darkly smug glance to Dumbledore and headed to the Slytherins, where Lestrange was waving at him excitedly. Black, Mulciber, and Avery were grinning, and Tom was sure that the rest of the table would join them soon.
It was time to start expanding his empire.
THTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTH
Excitement and endless questions died out only about two in the morning. Around three, Tom stood from his bed, listening to noises. Hearing nothing but snoring, he put on his clothes and quietly left the room.
The first spell he used officially helped mute his footsteps. The second one was supposed to lead him to his destination.
"Adducerlo Owlerly," Tom murmured. His wand came alive in his hand as magic ran through it before a ball of blue light emerged in the middle of the air, rolling forward unhurriedly.
Tom followed it, his ears straining to hear any potentially threatening sounds. If he was caught, he'd blame his night trip on curiosity, but that wouldn't be good for his reputation, so it was best to stay unnoticed.
Without people, Hogwarts looked even more regal. Tom bypassed the snoring portraits silently, observing the walls and the carved ceilings.
As the heir of Slytherin, a part of the castle belonged to him. Did it mean he could claim it at some point? That was a thought worthy of consideration.
The Owlerly was dark and spacious. Tom blinked, trying to adjust his vision now that the blue ball of energy had disappeared, and then he remembered he was a wizard.
"Lumos," he hissed, annoyed with himself. At least he had no witnesses to this pathetic display.
Apophis, finally sensing him, swooped down on his shoulder, biting his ear gently in greeting. Tom tolerated it with a sigh. Taming Apophis hadn't been all that difficult but forcing genuine attachment was a chore. It took months before the bird began to follow him, growing willingly obedient to his orders.
Tom had been preparing it for a very specific mission.
"Do you remember the four boys that travelled with us in the compartment?" he asked. "Mulciber, Avery, Lestrange, and Black."
Intelligent eyes studied him before Apophis tilted his head to the side, almost human-like.
"Good," Tom praised shortly. "I want you to stay here in the Owlerly until they come to send letters to their families. Remember which owls they use. After they leave, catch up with the owl and take the letter from it. Don't hurt the bird itself, I don't want to leave any traces, and make sure it returns to the Owlerly instead of flying off without anything. Bring each letter to me. Same goes for their return mail. Intercept it before it's delivered. I want you to focus on these four for now. Can you do that?"
Apophis bit him again, more strongly this time, as if irritated that his capabilities were questioned. Tom smiled.
"Then it's decided," he murmured.
He would learn what his new acquaintances were telling their families about him. With luck, it wouldn't be different from information other Slytherin pure-bloods were about to exchange. This way, Tom would be able to evaluate the impression he'd made, identify possible enemies, and find out private facts that he could use to his advantage. He would need to check the return letters in case they were charmed, but he doubted even pure-bloods bothered with such precautions, at least for now. No one expected the mail of the first-years to be intercepted.
He'd start small at first. The owls wouldn't be able to complain, and Tom would make sure to pass the letters back to them as soon as he was finished. Right now, though…
"Bring this to Harry," Tom pulled out a letter he'd composed as he was waiting for his housemates to fall asleep. "I want you back here in the morning, so be quick. Wake him up and pester him until he writes a reply."
Another affectionate bite and Apophis hopped off, melding with the darkness.
Satisfied, Tom returned to the castle and crawled into his bed.
Overall, he was pleased. The first day turned out to be productive.
THTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTH
Dear Tom,
First, thanks for setting your demon bird on me in the middle of the night. I nearly had a heart attack when it stormed inside. Honestly, couldn't you wait until the morning? Your letter had four sentences in it, and that's counting the greeting and your name in the end!
I'm happy you've been sorted into Slytherin. Not like it's a surprise or like I was expecting any other news, but still, congratulations. I hope with all my heart that you will make your House proud — properly proud, I mean, none of that blood supremacy bullshit. Does it make sense? Probably not. In my defence, it's late and I'm not in the best shape.
What I'm trying to say is, I believe in you. I know you must already have a plan of a sort, you always do, and I hope you'll be able to fulfil it. You can make a difference, Tom, I just hope it'll be for the right reasons. But if you want to simply enjoy your studies and make friends, that's absolutely fine, too! I will support you anyway. I'm babbling, aren't I? It's been ages since I had to write a proper letter, my skills need some refinement, as I'm sure you've noticed by now.
As for my family… I'm not sure what prompted you to ask about them now. My parents died when I was a child and I grew up with Muggles — but you know that already. It wasn't the best time of my life and I wish things could have been different. Technically, at this point, I do have some relatives left, but they aren't really my family.
Tell me how your first lessons pass. In all seriousness, even if it's the middle of the night, I would still like to know. I miss you already, the house feels empty without you.
Love,
Harry
Slowly, Tom re-read the letter. Then he re-read it again, his eyes lingering on the three last lines. At this early hour, only a few people were present in the Great Hall, with no one directly nearby, so Tom buried his face in the paper and inhaled deeply. He would like to lick the lines off the letter, to make them a part of him, but it was impossible, so reluctantly, he pulled away, carefully folding Harry's response and hiding it in his pocket.
Harry was so open with his emotions. It was pathetic, but somehow, it was also addictive. Tom wouldn't have it any other way.
Harry had masterfully avoided giving him an answer he needed, but even from that brief paragraph, Tom understood enough.
Harry didn't want to acknowledge his parents. Perhaps one of them had indeed died but the other one, the pure-blood, lived for sure. Tom would need to look into the Potters' line to get the whole picture. And he would watch Charlus.
"Tom!" Lestrange dropped into the seat near him, his eyes exited and enthusiastic, just like they had been yesterday. "You are an early riser."
Time to put on a mask.
Turning to him, Tom smiled.
THTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTH
The first lessons passed smoothly. Tom would even call them underwhelming because after his chaotic and explosive lessons with Harry, what Hogwarts had to offer was less than stimulating.
He did have some issues with Potions. When he was brewing various things at home, he loved to experiment. He changed the recipes all the time, perfecting them, sometimes altering their nature by accident, and occasionally, it ended up in explosions.
Now, he couldn't afford something like this. He had a reputation to uphold and he was already known as the most brilliant first-year among all Houses. So he was confined to boring recipes because for now, he wasn't sure he could experiment without blowing his cauldron up. He still knew little about properties of potion ingredients, no matter how frustrating he found it.
Teachers loved him. All but Dumbledore, who kept watching him impassively. The old man wasn't treating him unfairly but he was constantly suspicious, that much was obvious, and while it wasn't good, Tom still couldn't find the strength to care.
He hoped Dumbledore would get over it eventually.
He was also rapidly earning a reputation of someone who made friends among everyone, regardless of Houses and blood purity.
"But it isn't right!" Mulciber hissed one day, after Tom turned him down in favour of studying with a Muggle-born second-year. "Why do you associate with this scum?" Catching Tom's gaze, he flushed. "I can understand half-bloods," he hastened to add. "But Mudbloods? They are inferior."
"Why?" Tom asked, genuinely curious. He had watched Muggle-borns attentively and he had to admit that Harry was right. They weren't necessarily weaker or less intelligent than pure-bloods. In fact, some pure-bloods made Tom suspect they're actually half-Squibs, with how weak and deficient their magic was.
He also knew not everyone accepted his own status as a half-blood yet. There was confusion among many Slytherins who were torn between supporting him as Salazar's heir and rejecting him because of his parentage.
Based on Avery's, Mulciber's, Black's, and Lestrange's letters, though, most families were interested enough to remain neutral and watch him grow into someone they could potentially follow. Tom knew he would be able to sway them all sooner or later, but it was going to take years of work. And he genuinely didn't understand the obsession with blood purity.
In other circumstances, he could have gone along with pure-bloods' beliefs. It was easier to take Salazar Slytherin's known stand and accept the role of his perfect heir — he would definitely be able to move faster, then.
But Harry… Harry. Always, inevitably, Harry.
I will support you anyway. I miss you already. The house feels empty without you.
Tom cherished these words. He craved more. But the truth was, Harry would never support him if he generalised all Muggle-borns and began to promote the idea of their elimination. Tom knew that as more years went by, he would be able to push him more and more, but he also understood that Harry would never condone mass-destruction of wizards. And since Harry was going to stay with him forever, Tom supposed he could make some concessions.
"What do you mean, why?" Mulciber spluttered. "They are worse than us!"
"Why?" Tom asked again. "They aren't weaker magically. It varies on an individual basis. They might lag behind at first because they aren't used to magic, but most of them improve quickly. So what in particular makes them worse?"
"Are you sure you are the heir of Slytherin?" Abraxas Malfoy wondered unexpectedly. Tom tilted his head in his direction as tension and curiosity crashed inside him, warring for dominance.
Malfoys were a respected family. He would need to obtain their support, but until now, Abraxas, who was in his fourth year, hadn't initiated contact with him, observing from the shadows.
"And you're in doubt?" Tom asked politely. Malfoy's face was unreadable.
"Salazar Slytherin believed in blood purity. He wanted to close access to Hogwarts to all Muggle-borns. If you don't share his beliefs and don't intend to continue his politics, what right do you have to call yourself his heir?"
The Common Room quietened down, everyone's eyes suddenly on him. Slowly, Tom leaned into his armchair, surveying other members of his House before focusing on Malfoy.
This was an important moment. A lot of things depended on how he presented his position.
Excitement warmed his blood, sending electrical sparks to his brain, feeding it and making his thoughts spin faster.
It was time to play dirty.
"Do you know why Slytherin was against Muggle-borns, Malfoy?" he inquired. Malfoy narrowed his eyes.
"Because they are inferior," he repeated. "A disgrace to the wizarding world."
Tom twisted his lips in a mocking smile.
"Do you have anything other than vague generalisations?" he asked, noting how Malfoy bristled at his tone. "Inferior how? Why did it take Salazar Slytherin so long to form his beliefs? Why didn't he announce his selection criteria before building Hogwarts? Have you actually studied this topic or do you just parrot what your parents told you — who, in turn, parrot their own parents?"
Quick murmurs rolled through the room, the sensations of excitement and nervousness thickening, entwining, and Tom absorbed it all without taking his eyes off Malfoy, who went pale with anger.
"You—"
"Reply to my questions first. Unless you aren't interested in hearing my own answers? You were the one who questioned my status, after all."
"Everyone knows what Slytherin believed," Malfoy hissed, a faint blush hitting his pale skin. "Even the damned Hat remembers it. Details aren't important."
"On the contrary, details mean everything. Did you know that Slytherin wrote several books? They are in my possession. He wrote them in Parseltongue, and as his only descendent who speaks this language, I was able to read them."
More silence met his lie, but this time, it was awed. Even Malfoy stared at him with his mouth open.
"Books," he muttered finally. "But… can you show them to me? Are they here? What do they say?"
"I can't show them to you," Tom chuckled, though his heart began to beat faster. If they insisted, he would have to come up with something during the holidays, even if he had to write these non-existent books himself. "They are treasured too much for me to bring them to Hogwarts. They are in my guardian's vault, safe. I retrieve them only when I need them. But I can reveal some bits of what they say since we're talking about this."
Malfoy stepped closer to him, looking fascinated. All arrogance slipped from him and he seemed giddy as a child, excited at the chance to learn more about his idol.
Tom didn't understand it. He himself had some reverence for Salazar Slytherin, but that was mostly because he was proud to be related to such a known and powerful wizard. Why were others so obsessed with him when they clearly knew little and couldn't even call Tom out on his lie?
"Slytherin believed that Muggle-borns threaten the exposure of our world," he announced aloofly. "They have strong connections to their Muggle families, and the more people know about us, the more dangerous our situation becomes. Slytherin didn't believe they were inferior, he just viewed them as untrustworthy. He had a similar attitude towards half-bloods with a Muggle parent."
"So… he thought Muggles are the core problem? Not Muggle-borns?" Malfoy clarified, his eyes still wide, and Tom would have loved to snicker at how easily everything was falling into place, how eagerly they were buying into his words.
"Yes," he said instead, his voice grave. "And I can assure you that I'm going to take care of this problem in the future. Slytherin's beliefs won't be forgotten, but I also won't let them be misinterpreted by others. Muggle-borns are still wizards. They merely need to be convinced to severe their ties with their families, and there are plenty of ways in which that can be done."
"So are you saying that Muggle-borns are just the same as us?" Goyle demanded in disbelief, and Tom glanced at him, almost bored by now.
Then again, Goyle had just implied Tom was a part of their pureblood clique.
That was another step in the right direction.
"Not entirely," Tom allowed. "Naturally, they have fewer connections and thus fewer opportunities. The majority of us can easily outdo them because they feel like foreigners in our world. But that only means that they have to be improved, not expelled from our community."
More and more murmurs began to surround him. Malfoy nodded at him silently before retreating to the sofa, and Tom relaxed, vicious happiness blooming in him.
He did it. He had planted the seeds that were likely to birth the fruits he needed.
There might be complications, of course — maybe some would refuse to believe his words or even demand to see the books, but it would still end in his victory because no one but him could understand Parseltongue. Those who didn't fall to his feet at his status would crawl to him once he practiced and expanded his power.
He would make them all into his puppets. It was only a matter of time and patience. Harry was right, using charm was much more gratifying than overpowering others physically.
Maybe a little demonstration was needed to solidify his today's success, though.
"Pick a Muggle-born," Tom said lazily to no one in particular. All heads snapped to him again.
"What do you mean?" Black asked, an intrigued gleam in his eyes.
"Exactly what I said. Pick a first-year Muggle-born and I'll show you how easy it is to break their Muggle attachments and turn them into obedient followers."
"Walter Taylor," Malfoy offered. "That Mudblood keeps gushing about his family all the time. It's sickening."
Tom's smile widened.
"He will stop," he promised darkly. "And very soon."
THTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTH
Stealing Taylor's letters to his Muggle parents was nothing with Apophis at his service. Editing them, intercepting the replies and editing them as well was only slightly more complicated.
On the one hand, Tom despised Hogwarts' rule of no contact with families other than letters. Not having the option of seeing Harry was frustrating. On the other, it worked well for his plans to sic Taylor and his family on each other.
Soon, he no longer had to edit anything. The letters became full of real accusations and quarrels, and Taylor latched himself onto Tom as his source of comfort, to the amusement and approval of other Slytherins.
The trick with letters was too time-consuming and unreliable to use it on others, so in the future, Tom would have to come up with something else. For now, though, he was entirely satisfied.
When he wasn't studying and cultivating admiration, he was watching Charlus Potter and learning everything he could about his family.
It appeared that Potters, like the majority of pure-bloods, struggled with producing children. Charlus was the only officially recognised heir, and if the rumours were true, his parents were unable to sire another offspring.
Fleamont Potter and his wife were already pushing fifty. Since they had no other relatives, it was clear that one of them was Harry's parent, and the more Tom thought about them, the hotter his hatred flared.
Charlus Potter was spoilt and arrogant. He was openly boasting of his wealth and he constantly broke all rules, confident that his behaviour wouldn't have long-lasting consequences.
His Harry deserved Potters' wealth much more than this unworthy, disgusting little idiot.
Tom would have liked to push Harry to confess, but doing it through letters was inconvenient. He needed personal contact for his tactics of persuasion to work.
Not to mention that recently, Harry became strangely quiet. He tried to pretend everything was fine but Tom could sense that something was happening. He wasn't sure how, it was just a feeling he got whenever he read Harry's responses.
The jovial words lacked sincerity. Every line was written in a half-hearted way, as if Harry was too tired to press the quill strongly, and the longer this went on, the more furious Tom felt.
Harry had no right to hide things from him. Everything he did was Tom's concern, or didn't he know that?
If you don't tell me what's wrong with you, I'm going to come after you myself. Do you want me to escape from Hogwarts? Because I will.
It was a bluff, obviously, but Harry was naïve enough to believe it.
As Tom had expected, Harry's next letter arrived quickly, and it was more informative and less infuriatingly misleading.
Dear Tom,
Don't even think about running away, or I swear I'll contact Dumbledore and ask him to keep an eye on you. Nothing is wrong, I told you that already. I've just been busy recently.
I found a job. It's nothing much, I'm working as a bartender in one of Diagon Alley establishments. It's a part of the broom shop, and eventually, I think I'd like to apply for a position of a broom-maker. It's depressing, I'm not going to lie, but I've made a very expensive purchase recently and now we're running out of money. When I returned to Britain, I brought my savings with me, but they are basically drained already, so it's time for me to start working.
In the past, I used to have another job, one I enjoyed, but I lack the required documents to find a similar position, so my options are limited. Before you suggest I restore them: it's not possible, but it's a long and tedious story.
I'm sorry if I seemed different in these last letters and if I worried you. I was just too busy wallowing in self-pity. To be honest, I don't enjoy the company of most people, and after my previous position, I find the job of a bartender disheartening. But that's my problem. I'll get used to it soon enough.
Hope I don't sound too much like one of those stuck-up pure-bloods. Maybe I should start taking double-shifts to cure myself from this wounded pride.
Stay safe, be good, and please let me know if you are coming home for Christmas.
Love,
Harry
P.S. Don't ask me about that expensive purchase. It's a secret, one I know you'll like.
Snarling silently, Tom crumpled the letter in his hand, almost shaking with fury. Avery paused in the middle of one of his endless jokes, gaping at him. Mulciber, Black, and Lestrange also froze, and Tom knew his magic broke free, infecting the room and snaking around everyone who was inside it, wrapping them in a cold, suffocating blanket.
He couldn't stop it. Rage pulsated in his head, filling it with white-hot pain that threatened to tear his brain to pieces. His every thought lost its rational shape, gaining a furious liquid form and dissolving somewhere in his blood, heating it uncomfortably.
Harry. Working as a bartender in some filthy bar. The guardian of the heir of Slytherin doing something this degrading.
No. He wouldn't allow it. Harry was too good for a job like this, he was… he was…
"Tom?" Malfoy asked warily. Tom blinked, and the red fog lessened, giving him a semblance of control.
His hands were shaking with anger and adrenaline, so he hid the letter carefully, focusing on keeping himself steady and overcoming the incensed shivers.
He'd never considered the fact that Harry's money could come to an end. Harry was always ridiculously generous, buying him anything he wanted. And this expensive purchase must be for him as well, with how Harry had worded it.
This idiot had bought him a present that left him destitute. Left both of them destitute.
This wasn't right. Tom wouldn't let it happen.
But what could he do? Years had to pass before he had a chance to start raising the money for his campaigns. He was helpless. But he also couldn't let Harry work as some bartender.
…The Potters. A part of their wealth belonged to Harry.
But they would never help him, not when they had abandoned him so indifferently, never even visiting him to witness the abuse he was undergoing under the so-called care of those Muggles.
Tom clenched his hands into fists, feeling a new wave of burning fury.
There was nothing he could do right now. Nothing he could immediately think of.
But he would still come up with something. He had to. And one day, he would make sure that Harry wanted for nothing.
He would take revenge on his behalf as well.
THTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTH
If Tom hated Charlus Potter before, now, he couldn't stand even the sight of him. Every time he saw him, the seed of resentment burned, growing into a kernel of loathing stronger than anything he had ever felt before, surpassing even the feelings for his own Muggle caretakers, for the treacherous family that might still be out there.
Harry had given him a new start, a worthy start. Harry alleviated the hatred Tom felt for those who had wronged him to a degree, but those who had done the same to Harry? Whose actions were now affecting Tom as well?
He wanted to destroy them. He wanted them dead.
The Potters themselves might be untouchable for now but their heir was in Tom's domain. And if he were to disappear… to die…
At first, Tom shook off these thoughts. He hated to admit it but he was incapable of planning and executing a murder of a wizard successfully at this age. He couldn't use his wand without being detected, he didn't know everything about spontaneous magic that a dying wizard might possess, and he had no idea how to get close enough to kill Charlus. He was liked by the majority of students, that was true, but most Gryffindors kept their distance, including the youngest Potter. Tom could use his connections with darker pure-bloods but he didn't trust their loyalty yet.
He had to learn too much before trying. The only comforting thing was that he did figure out how to get money for him and Harry, but it paled in comparison to what Potters' fortune could bring.
And Charlus was growing more infuriating by the day, to the point where Tom couldn't look at him without fantasising about his death.
Without Charlus, the remaining Potters would be broken. If rumours about their health were true, they wouldn't live long out of grief, and Harry would become the only heir to their fortune.
The more Tom thought about it, the clearer his ideas became.
He didn't necessarily need a wand to kill someone. For one thing, there was Muggle weapon, which could probably work even more efficiently and detract suspicion from him.
Then there were poisons.
Out of curiosity, Tom immersed himself into studying books on Potions and poisonous ingredients, memorising the ones that seemed promising.
Two weeks before the holidays, he found it.
The dried and previously stewed fangs of a horned viper. Kill within three minutes of contact and result in acute pain, paralysis, and slow choking.
Perfect.
The newfound excitement breathed life into him, making the thoughts of Harry's current bartender work more bearable. Tom returned the book to the library and spent the next days charming Slughorn, secretly inspecting his shelves in occasional pauses. These fangs were used in potions brewed by sixth-years, so they had to be present somewhere.
They were.
Tom knew how to calculate the doses correctly. He took what he needed and buried it in his trunk, but every night, he took the dried powder out, examining it, unable to stop staring. The kernel of loathing continued to evolve, giving birth to dark, luscious fruits.
He was holding Charlus' death in his hands. He was holding the means of drastically changing others' life in three simple minutes.
The sense of power that came with this knowledge was intoxicating, making him breathless with excitement, filling his chest with warm tingles.
Soon. Very soon. He just had to be patient.
Charlus was enamoured with Amber Steins, a Ravenclaw half-blood, and the feelings were clearly mutual. Tom took careful notice of her owl before instructing Apophis to do the same.
The preparation part of his plan was completed. In a few days, he would move towards its execution.
"I bought you a present, Tom!" Lestrange announced, clutching his hand. Tom tolerated it, forcing the smile to stay on his face. They had just arrived at King's Cross and most parents were already waiting, no doubt assessing him with their stares.
"I'm sure I will be delighted with your choice," he said aloud, and Lestrange nodded enthusiastically.
"You will!"
"See you, Tom," Mulciber clapped him on his back. Malfoy nodded at him, and then Tom had to live through tens and tens of students coming closer to say good-bye as well. At some point, he looked up and saw Harry watching him, a soft, fond smile on his face.
Everyone else faded and Tom moved towards him, murmuring his own good-byes distractedly. Nothing else existed to him anymore, nothing but Harry.
He looked thinner and paler. There were bluish circles under his eyes but his smile was as warm and brilliant as ever.
Tom crashed into him without thinking, suddenly forgetting that he was still being watched. His hands snaked around Harry's back as he tried to destroy any distance between their bodies, hoping to merge with him.
Harry was holding him just as strongly.
"Well, that's certainly an enthusiastic greeting," he teased. "Did you miss me that much?"
"Yes," Tom said, his face still buried in Harry's midsection as he inhaled his scent greedily.
There was silence for a moment, as if Harry was taken aback by his admission. But Tom hadn't said he missed him, had he? He only confirmed it.
Harry's chest moved as he sighed.
"I missed you too," he said. "Much more than you can possibly imagine."
Tom didn't reply, too focused on absorbing every bit of warmth Harry emanated.
Truthfully, he had miscalculated as to how much he actually missed Harry. In Hogwarts, his longing was strong, but it was nothing in comparison to that rush of emotions that were currently devouring him alive, filling him with sensations he didn't understand and couldn't describe.
He wanted to crawl into Harry, to infect every part of him and leave his fingertips across his insides. In these months of separation, at times, a colder side of Tom wondered if maybe he had overestimated Harry's value. Surely no person could shine this brightly? But now, his half-conscious worries were shattered.
Harry was still blinding, and Tom still didn't want to look at anything but him.
"Mine," he murmured.
"What?" Harry leaned closer, and Tom finally forced himself to pull back a little.
"Let's go home," he said, offering his first genuine smile in forever. Harry caressed his cheek briefly.
"Let's," he agreed.
THTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTH
"I can see you've made a ton of friends," Harry remarked as soon as they apparated. Taking Tom's trunk, he began to carry it upstairs. "You never mentioned that in the letters, you just told me you've made connections."
"That's because they are connections," Tom pointed out, examining the house shrewdly. Everything seemed to be on its place, no new atrocities used for decoration. "I don't consider them friends."
Harry paused, sending him a strange look.
"None of them?" he asked. "Surely there must be someone you are truly attached to."
"Attached to them?" Tom repeated, horrified. "No, absolutely not."
Harry looked upset.
Damn it. He'd managed to forget how sensitive Harry was.
"I do respect some of them more than others," Tom amended, and the unsettled expression left Harry's face, replaced with amusement.
"That does sound like you," he noted, rolling his eyes. "I'm still sure our house will be flooded with presents for you on Christmas."
"And on my birthday," Tom added smugly. He was curious about what his associates could give him, but most of all, he wanted to know what Harry's expensive purchase was.
He wasted a few minutes on changing his clothes and unpacking his trunk. Then he went to find Harry again.
"Will you be helping me cook today?" Harry asked, turning to face him. His hands were already white from flour. "I will have to leave about seven, but we could have an early supper."
What?
"Leave?" Tom repeated slowly, his voice getting darker. He had just arrived today after months of absence, and Harry was going to leave him?
His magic lashed out, reaching for Harry instinctively to catch him into a strong, possessive loop, but Tom managed to stop it at the last moment.
He would save it for later, if all other options failed.
Harry wouldn't leave him, not today and not ever.
Tom was sure nothing betrayed his thoughts, but Harry suddenly appeared wary.
"I'm sorry," he said, and to his credit, he did sound remorseful. "I have to work today. I took days off for Christmas and New Year so we could celebrate together, but until then, I'm going to have to go to Diagon Alley."
Oh. So it was just work.
An easy obstacle to overcome.
"No need to go there," Tom announced airily. "I'll lend Apophis to you. Write to them and tell them that you are no longer interested in this job."
"And since when am I not interested in it?" Harry raised an unimpressed eyebrow. Why did he never react to Tom's announcements in a sufficiently awed way? Anyone else would be intrigued but Harry just looked mildly amused.
What would he say if he knew the steps Tom was going to take to start clearing the path to the Potters' fortune? Maybe then, he would finally look impressed.
Then again, Harry was Harry. He wouldn't approve of murder, no matter how justified, so that was something Tom would have to keep a secret.
"I found you a new job," he announced, hoping for a change in expression, but if anything, Harry looked even more unimpressed.
"Doing what?" he asked incredulously.
"Being a pre-school tutor for magical children. I made arrangements with some of the families. They will start contacting you once the holidays are over."
Finally, Harry's eyes widened, a stunned, disbelieving look entering them.
"Tell me you're joking!"
"Why would I do that if that's not true? I thought you disliked lying."
"I dislike— Tom! What the hell have you done? How can I be a— a pre-school tutor, of all things! What can I teach them?"
"The same things you taught me," Tom shrugged. "You are a good teacher. You lack some deep knowledge but fortunately, my reputation will smooth over it. Everyone is curious about the guardian of the heir of Slytherin. They will hire you even if they don't think much of your teaching methods."
A variety of emotions flickered across Harry's face, changing so rapidly that Tom stared at him in fascination, trying to catch them all. Finally, they stopped between amazement and exasperation. Not the worst combination but definitely not the best one. Tom was expecting gratitude, preferably expressed in one of Harry's usual hugs, not just a stare.
"Tom, that is… wonderful," Harry uttered hesitantly. "But you didn't have to do anything. You could have at least discussed it with me."
Tom narrowed his eyes.
"I'm taking care of you," he pointed out. "You told me that you hate your job. I found a solution."
"Yes, but…" Harry was studying him with uneasiness that he had really come to hate. "It's not your job to take care of me. I'm an adult, I can make my own decisions."
"Apparently, you can't, if you thought that being a bartender was your only option."
Harry took a deep breath before his shoulders relaxed slowly.
"It was a great idea," he admitted, and Tom relaxed as well, tension seeping out of his body. "I still wish you had discussed it with me first, but I understand. Thank you."
Harry didn't hug him but he did approach and placed a long, sloppy kiss in the middle of his forehead. A shock of electricity shot through him and Tom melted, barely stopping himself from clinging to Harry to keep him close for longer. His skin felt feverish, and when Harry stepped back, he stared at him, feeling dazed.
"Thank you," Harry repeated sheepishly. "It's a wonderful idea. Well, I still don't think I'd make a good teacher, at least for pre-schoolers, but it's definitely better than having to work at that bar." He wrinkled his nose. "And sorry if I seemed… ungrateful. It wasn't because of you, not really. I had issues with other people trying to control me before and whenever I feel controlled now, I have an instinct to lash out."
Tom tried to shake off the haze surrounding him and concentrate on what Harry was telling him.
Harry rarely discussed his past. Every bit of information was priceless.
"Sometimes," Harry continued distantly, "I feel like every move I made in my previous life had been manipulated into existence. Every decision, every choice turned out to be a part of someone's plan. And I don't regret my actions, at least not all of them, but still, knowing I was a part of manipulations… it makes me sick, and the more I think about it now, the angrier I become."
"You always separate your past and present life as if they are two tangibly different things," Tom noted curiously, and a wry smirk twisted Harry's lips.
"That's because it feels like it," he said.
"Which life do you love more, then?"
There was only one right answer to his question and Tom sincerely hoped Harry would choose it. He wasn't sure what he'd do otherwise.
Surprisingly, Harry sent him a mysterious glance.
"I'll tell you when you grow up," he promised. Tom frowned, not sure he was pleased with such reply, but in the end, he decided not to press.
At least Harry hadn't chosen the wrong answer. And he still had time for improvement and for learning to accept the idea of being controlled.
THTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTH
"Tell me about the Muggles that you grew up with," Tom uttered. They were cooking dinner, both of them busy with their own processes.
"You already know everything worth knowing about them," Harry replied, his jovial mood darkening palpably. "They were simple people. They wanted normalcy and I was anything but normal."
Freak. Devil's child. Monster.
Tom's own mood darkened in response as his memories surfaced, no doubt echoing those that Harry was currently recalling.
Yes, he knew the type. And he had very particular plans about what to do with these filthy, rotten creatures.
"Did they abuse you?" he asked. "Don't lie. You never confirmed anything but I'm not stupid."
"So are you asking or telling me what to say?" Despite the harshness of these words, Harry's voice was amused.
"I know the answer already," Tom dismissed. "What I'd like to know is, do you hate them? And do you hate your family who left you with them?"
"My family?" Harry paused, turning to glance at him. "They didn't exactly leave me. They died."
His lies were getting annoying. Why didn't he trust Tom enough to share the truth with him? Or did Harry hate the Potters so much that he'd convinced himself of their actual death?
"All of them?" Tom let scepticism touch his voice, and just like he'd expected, Harry sighed in defeat.
"I guess you could say that one of my relatives did leave me but it wasn't his fault. He was impulsive. He tried to do what's right and it ended badly."
Finally. Finally, the confession.
Harry was obviously talking about his father, Fleamont Potter, who had an impulsive affair with a Muggle or a Muggle-born and then tried to stick to his family values and stayed with his wife, rejecting his son.
Even if Harry was trying to justify his behaviour, Tom wasn't going to be this forgiving.
He would destroy the Potters. The very thought filled him with trembling excitement.
"And the Muggles?" he asked. Harry focused on extracting tiny bones from the fish again.
"It depends," he said vaguely. "I don't really feel angry with them for how they treated me. They let me stay with them despite their feelings on this matter and I think they changed a bit in the end. But when I try to imagine some other child, or even worse, you, in my place…" Harry stopped again, his eyes growing dark and his hands balling up into fists. "I want to kill them," he whispered, and silent fury emanating from him was so intoxicating that Tom shuddered, basking in it.
Yes, his Harry had darkness in him. Darkness that would be very useful once Tom moved towards the execution of his grimmer, Muggle-related plans.
Of course, Harry wasn't dark enough to actually participate in them, but Tom didn't need it. He just needed acceptance and support, and he was sure that Harry would provide them eventually. There was no other option.
Hiding his smile, he took the deboned fish and began to marinade it in spices.
It felt like he'd never left.
THTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTH
As per their annual tradition, they bought a bushy Christmas tree and then spent the entire day on crafting toys for decoration. Tom was using Harry's wand while Harry was working with his hands; after an hour, they switched, and Tom had to paint and carve manually while Harry experimented with his magic, coming up with more and more unique designs.
Sitting like this, in their home, doing such a mundane and homely task with Harry by his side, Tom felt a bubbling happiness lighting his chest. It was strange, how much he started to enjoy Christmas and his birthday from the moment Harry took him from the orphanage. Before, he had never thought that doing what millions other families were doing could feel so good.
Soon, the snow began to fall, and Harry returned the wand to him before retreating to the kitchen to prepare hot chocolate for them. They took a break, sipping it and observing the work they had managed to do so far.
"Four more toys, I think?" Harry asked, and Tom nodded.
"Maybe the fifth one, too, if the left side still looks empty," he added.
After hot chocolate, Harry turned on the music, and they continued with decorations.
Tom loved their routine. He loved the fact that he could anticipate every step of what was going to happen: decorations, hot chocolate or cocoa, music, dancing, supper, and reading. Predictable but immensely pleasing — a routine that didn't get boring no matter how often it was repeated.
Late into the evening, Tom fell asleep with his head on Harry's lap, listening to his even voice murmuring the lines from the book. The lights from their tree were shining brightly, changing shades and sending many-coloured patterns through his eyelids.
He couldn't wait for Christmas.
THTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTH
Tom never got Harry any presents. In the first years, he hadn't wanted to bother. Later, he simply didn't think there was anything worthy he could give him.
This year was an exception, though. He'd already gifted Harry an opportunity to quit his degrading job. Another possible present was Charlus' death, although now, in the comfort and warmth of their home, Tom wasn't as confident about his idea as before.
The problem with money wasn't urgent any longer. Their holiday was too short to waste it on other distractions, and while Potters had to go, it didn't have to be now. Maybe Tom should wait until he became older — he would have more options at his disposal and there would be more time to consider everything.
"Ready to open your present?" Harry asked in palpable excitement, pushing the beautifully decorated package to him.
Unlike him, Harry always got him gifts, starting with the first year they spent together. What surprised Tom most was how thoughtful and personal each of them was, so very quickly, he became obsessed with the idea of seeing what Harry'd gotten for him.
Today wasn't an exception.
Harry was emanating strong waves of excited energy and Tom felt them reach him, teasing him and fuelling his own curiosity.
He quickly unwrapped the package before peering inside. A heavy, golden locket lay on a silver pad, with a serpent-like 'S' engraved in its middle, made of glittering green gems. Even without touching it, Tom knew what it was and who it belonged to.
"It's my heirloom," he whispered, wild joy making his voice barely audible. Exhilaration burned through him and his fingers shook as he touched the cold surface reverently. "Where did you get it?"
"I wanted you to have something tangible from your family," Harry said quietly. "It belonged to your mother. She was forced to sell it to feed herself shortly before your birth. I managed to track it down."
"My mother?" Tom raised his head, his heart suddenly skipping a beat. "Did you learn what happened to her? How did she end up in the Muggle orphanage?"
For a moment, something hesitant flashed across Harry's face, but then determination took its place.
"I did," he said. "And I can tell you about the rest of your family, too, if you want to hear it."
Tom pressed the box with the locket to his chest possessively.
"I do," he said sharply. "Tell me."
THTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTH
When Harry stopped talking, Tom didn't look at him. He was fingering the locket greedily, refusing to voice his thoughts.
"Are you upset?" Harry asked, and Tom could feel him hover nearby, clearly trying to decide whether he wanted to be touched. "I know it's not the happiest story but I thought you're old enough to hear it. Everyone deserves to know what happened to their family."
"No." Tom finally looked up, his eyes narrowed.
"No what?"
"They are not my family. None of them are."
Pathetic, weak mother that had chased after a Muggle and chosen to die like one instead of taking care of Tom. A crazy uncle that was too brainless to restore the glory of the Gaunts, and a whole branch of parasites, such as his father and grandparents.
They were nothing. They were certainly not worthy of him and of his locket. Maybe one day, Tom would pay them a visit — the Riddles could become the first subjects in the series of Muggle-based experiments he was going to let his future supporters conduct, and his uncle was better off dead rather than tarnishing the Slytherin's line with his existence.
But if it happened, it would have to happen later. Tom had no time for these annoying and meaningless pests right now, and they had no power to interfere with his plans. From Harry's description, he really doubted that Morfin was staying in touch with the news, so he would be unable to embarrass Tom by announcing their connection to each other.
"Your father likely didn't know about you becoming an orphan," Harry said gently. "And I'm sure your mother must have loved you. If you'd like to—"
"I don't care!" Tom hissed, frustrated. He refused to acknowledge the woman that had given birth to him as his mother. Whatever she felt for him, it was lesser than what she felt for a Muggle, and that made her just as filthy and worthless. And his father… did Harry honestly suggest that he try to build any kind of relationship with him? With a Muggle?
"Tom—"
"You are my family. I have no interest in anyone else."
Harry's lips parted in clear surprise. Then his eyes went soft and he grabbed Tom by the shoulders before forcibly pulling him close, nearly suffocating him in his embrace.
"Okay," he murmured, and Tom readily wrapped his hands around Harry's neck in response, leaning his head against his chest. The locket was pleasantly heavy and he clenched it between his fingers, a feeling of peace settling over him, chasing the remains of unpleasant thoughts away.
Yes, this was all he needed. Harry, his magic, and his status, the first clear evidence of his glory. His so-called biological family was too pathetic to bother with them, so Tom would turn to them only when his empire was mostly built and he had nothing better to do.
"I want you to be happy," Harry said, the warmth of his lips tickling Tom's forehead. "If you ever want to meet them, just tell me. I can come with you. If you don't want to ever hear about them again, that's fine, too. I do have one question for you — you don't have to answer but—"
"What is it?" Tom pulled back curiously.
"Are you angry with them? Be honest."
Tom considered it, but just as he'd sensed previously, there was no anger left in him — only vague disgust and indifference.
"No," he said truthfully. "I'm not."
Harry beamed, looking so blindingly happy that Tom couldn't help but stare at him.
He had no idea what pleased Harry that much, but the sight of his glowing smile was positively breathtaking. He never wanted it to fade.
"I believe in you, Tom," Harry whispered, echoing his first letter, and Tom hummed thoughtfully. Hearing these words excited him even more than seeing them on paper. Pity that he and Harry had somewhat different ideas about what they were supposed to entail.
"Put the locket on me," Tom murmured. With a smile still dancing on his lips, Harry complied, carefully putting his gift around Tom's neck.
"It looks good on you," he noted.
"Of course it does. It's mine."
Harry reached forward to adjust a stray curl of his hair and Tom allowed it, watching him.
Harry had spent almost all his remaining money on this gift. He found out about Tom's family and gave him another heartfelt Christmas. Harry seemed content with letting his life revolve around Tom, just like it should be.
He deserved a reward.
"Harry?"
"Yes?"
"I also have a present for you. But you won't know what it is until later."
"A present? For me?" For a moment, Harry looked so childishly stunned that Tom laughed, delighted with this reaction.
He wasn't aware of how much Harry might want a present of his own. Then again, he grew up with Muggles that had never included him in their celebrations, so it wasn't surprising.
It made Tom's gift all the more appropriate.
THTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTH
Next day, he sent Apophis to find out where the Potters lived, with an order to wait for Amber Steins' owl and intercept the letter it carried. It was a risk — the girl might have forgotten about her school sweetheart once at home, but Tom doubted it, considering her simpering behaviour at Hogwarts.
To his joy, Apophis returned the next day, with a hand-made envelope in his beak. Tom read the saccharine nonsense attentively and then began to write his own letter, flawlessly copying the curly handwriting.
My dear Charlus,
I had to bribe my brother into sending this letter through Owl Post Service because our parents have locked up my owl. Apparently, they dislike me spending so much time on writing to you instead of studying!
I hope you had a wonderful Christmas. Thank you so much for your gift, how did you even know that I wanted these earrings? They are lovely!
I miss you tremendously. It hasn't been long but I really wish we could see each other. What do you think? My parents and I will be visiting Diagon Alley tomorrow at one p.m. Could you Floo there as well? We could meet at the second turn of the Knockturn Alley. I know, not the best place, but my parents will never think to look for me there once they realise I'm gone and I'd like for us to spend at least an hour together!
Don't reply to this letter or my parents will figure out I disobeyed and wrote to you anyway. I will be waiting for you from 13:10 until 13:30. If you can't make it, I understand, but I still hope to see you there.
Sending you my love,
Amber
Even if Charlus felt uneasy about going to Knockturn Alley, he would be too worried about his little girlfriend to leave her waiting there all alone. Like a true Gryffindor, he would come. Tom didn't doubt it.
Now, he had to get to the Owl Post Service himself and send his letter.
Harry would be pleased to swallow his lie about meeting friends, so he wouldn't ask any questions about his absence. His plan was truly going perfectly.
The poison sang from the depth of his trunk, ready to be used.
THTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTH
Harry had easily agreed to lend him his wand so he wouldn't be left unprotected, and even if he thought to check the used spells afterwards, he wouldn't see anything incriminating. Tom was taking it as a precaution, not because he would actually need it.
He had turned the poisonous powder into a liquid and carefully soaked Amber's envelope in it. One touch and Charlus would have only three minutes to live. Even the gloves wouldn't save him. To protect himself, Tom had prepared a thick bezoar-based concoction and covered his own gloves with it, checking them meticulously before allowing a small smile to lift the corners of his lips.
Everything was ready. In less than a day, the Potters would lose their heir.
His hands began to twitch in anticipation and anxiety from the early morning. Tom couldn't eat breakfast properly, his thoughts constantly slipping to what would occur in several hours. Only when Harry began to throw strange glances at him, he remembered himself and tried to act normally.
It didn't seem to make much difference.
"Are you all right?" Harry asked, pushing the cup of tea closer to him. "What friends are you meeting?"
Oh. Inconvenient.
Sometimes he forgot that Harry could be observant and suspicious.
"Just some of my housemates," Tom replied vaguely. "I regret having to waste my day on them but I have to maintain a friendly façade."
"How kind of you," Harry's comment was dry but his eyes went cautious. Tom hated when it happened. "Why are you communicating with someone you don't even like?"
"I need connections. Besides, you yourself told me that charming someone into doing what I want is more challenging than using blunt force. I'm following your advice."
Harry looked as if he was torn between feeling amused and horrified.
"You are still a child," he uttered finally. "You should make friends and have genuine fun, not think of connections and manipulations."
"You have no ambitions at all." Tom sighed heavily, propping his head on his hand. "Doesn't it get boring?"
Chuckling, Harry sent a sly grin in his direction.
"I'm extremely ambitious," he assured. "I have a very specific life goal and I'm still working on it."
"Really?" Tom perked up, all thoughts of Charlus dissipating as his attention snapped to Harry and Harry alone. "What could it be? You never do anything."
A short laugh escaped Harry's chest and he reached across the table, tracing his fingers along Tom's jaw, making him shiver.
"I'm raising you," he said tenderly. "You can see it as my long-term ambition."
Tom snorted in disbelief even as something warm stirred in his stomach, sending sparks of smugness through his body.
He was Harry's life goal.
It was more perfect than anything he could have come up with himself.
THTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTH
By the time he had to depart, he was completely collected. The envelope was lying in a small, poison-resistant folder, and the minutes kept slipping into one another, measuring the last moments of Charlus' life.
As Tom had expected, this part of Knockturn Alley was mostly empty. It had the least popular shops, so the customers were rarely seen here. Charlus Potter was already waiting, clenching a small wrapped package in his hand and glancing around anxiously.
Resentment and excitement merged into one burning emotion that he couldn't name, and Tom approached, putting on a friendly mask.
"Hello, Potter," he greeted, and dark eyes pierced him with suspicious stare.
"Slytherin," Charlus said stiffly. "Shopping?"
"Running an errand, actually. Amber Steins asked me to give you this." Tom pulled out the envelope and offered it to Charlus, his heart jumping anxiously, pounding harder and harder. His hand almost shook and he snarled silently, doing his best to keep it steady.
Charlus narrowed his eyes but as soon as they fell on the envelope, undoubtedly recognising his girlfriend's handwriting, he relaxed, and a stupid expression marred his face.
Without saying a word, he reached for the envelope and grabbed it, only to blink in confusion as he found nothing inside.
"What is this?" his gaze snapped back to Tom. "What did you do to the letter? Where is Amber?"
Tom grinned viciously, the dark triumph growing, expanding in his chest, stretching its claws.
"Answer me!" Charlus made a threatening step towards him but in the next second, he gasped, his hands flying to his heart. His stunned, pained expression was pure bliss, and Tom drank it in, trying to avoid blinking so he wouldn't miss anything.
"What is it?" Charlus whispered, his legs slowly buckling under him. "What did you do? What's happening?"
"You are dying," Tom replied, tilting his head curiously. "If my calculations are correct, you have approximately two minutes and thirty six seconds to live."
Horror and blind panic in Charlus' eyes were like a breath of fresh air. His legs finally gave way and he dropped to the ground, jerking weakly.
Muted voices reached them suddenly, breaking Tom's concentration. He dashed forward, grabbing Charlus by his hair and dragging him behind the building, ignoring his panicked struggles and groans. After brief consideration, he placed him between two parts of the broken fence in a way so his face would be visible.
"What are you feeling?" he asked. Reading about poison was fascinating but it was nothing in comparison to how it felt to watch its effects first-hand. Charlus blinked, tears blurring his face and making him even uglier.
He was a pathetic look-alike. The more he cried, the less he resembled Harry.
"Why?" Charlus rasped. "I never… I never did anything. To you. Why?"
"Your family wronged someone very dear to me," Tom replied. His heart calmed now that he knew he'd succeeded, but exhilaration was still mounting, heating his blood. He wanted to slow this moment down, to examine every minuscule change of expression on Charlus' face as his body was undoubtedly consumed by more and more pain.
He'd never thought that agony could have this many shades.
"Amber," Charlus' voice was so hoarse that Tom had to lean closer to hear him. His face was already turning pale-grey, his foolish hands trying to grasp the snow around him weakly. "Is she… is she…"
"I killed her," Tom lied, and a new wave of bliss surged through him as Charlus wailed, more tears falling from his eyes.
Had Tom thought he was ugly? No, he was wrong. Charlus was beautiful in his agony — almost as beautiful as Harry when he smiled.
Three minutes had to have passed by now and yet Charlus was still clinging to life. Interesting. Was it because Tom had turned the powder into a liquid?
The fallen package attracted his attention. He picked it up and unwrapped it, grimacing as he saw a small blue box.
"Is this a ring?" he drawled mockingly. "Or another pair of earrings? You sure were moving fast, Charlus." Charlus, not Potter. This surname belonged to Harry only.
"Mum…" The boy stared somewhere unseeingly, his chest still jerking harshly. "Mum. Where—"
"Don't bore me," Tom warned. He opened the box and peered inside. A golden ring was lying there, with a Gryffindor lion roaring from a small, equally golden pedestal.
It wasn't a family ring. Tom saw some of the pure-bloods wearing similar ones, each reflecting their own House, and while they must cost a fortune, they weren't all that rare. Nothing to link him to Charlus' death.
"Steins was a Ravenclaw, wasn't she?" Tom asked, glancing at Charlus again. "Why would you think that giving her a ring that symbolises your House is a good choice?"
Charlus didn't reply, although his eyes moved to Tom slowly. They were almost empty now, with only a flicker of awareness fighting for survival there.
"Luckily, I have a much better idea," smirking, Tom hid the ring in his pocket. "It will look good on my guardian. Harry is a Gryffindor, too, you know. He will appreciate it. A sort of a family gift, I suppose."
One final tear fell down Charlus' cheek and then the remains of light left his gaze, leaving it dull and glassy.
Well. That was mildly disappointing. Tom had certainly expected to feel more.
Sighing, he collected the envelope. He would dispose of it on one of Muggle streets.
With the last glance at Charlus, who looked boring even in death, he straightened his robes and headed towards Diagon Alley, the weight of the ring warming his pocket.
One mission accomplished. Maybe the future ones would be somewhat more entertaining.
THTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTH
The first thing Tom noticed as he entered their home was a strange, electrified silence. Frowning, he closed the door and then went to the kitchen, hoping he'd find Harry there.
"Harry?" he called out. There was no reply.
Had he left somewhere? But the feel of magic in the house… it was so strange and dark, Tom was immediately wary.
Clenching the wand in his hand, he walked upstairs, heading towards Harry's bedroom. At this point, it was as familiar to him as his own, and in some aspects, he began to prefer spending time within it.
Harry's scent was overwhelming here and Tom breathed it in deeply, holding it in his lungs for as long as he could manage. Then his gaze moved to the floor near the window and suddenly, all air was sucked out of the room.
Harry was lying there motionlessly, with several books scattered nearby, as if he had been carrying them to the shelf before suddenly dropping to the ground.
Tom stared, unable to believe what he was seeing. He didn't remember how he approached — one moment he was standing at the threshold, frozen, and the next one, he was already kneeling near Harry, his hands flying across his body uselessly, trying to do something.
Harry's chest wasn't moving. His eyes were open, still beautifully green but no longer alive.
Dull. Empty. Just like the eyes of Charlus Potter had been.
No.
Harry couldn't be dead. He couldn't be. It wasn't possible!
"Look at me," Tom hissed. Wave after wave of foreign emotions kept crashing into him, making him shake with magic that started gathering under his skin chaotically, threatening to burst through. "Stop pretending. Stop it!"
Harry didn't move, continuing to stare somewhere, somewhere Tom couldn't follow, couldn't see, and he suddenly looked so hateful that Tom grabbed his face, twisting it until green eyes gazed at him.
But it didn't change anything. They were still unseeing, and even now that they were directed at him, they looked right through him. As if he didn't exist.
Tom howled in rage, digging his fingers into Harry's temples, breaking his skin in an attempt to chase the life that was surely still pulsing in him somewhere, to make sure his blood was still warm.
"Get up!" he spat. "Get up, right now, get up, get up—"
He gasped, the words suddenly choking him, swelling in his throat until he couldn't breathe. His vision tunnelled, turning grey and then black, and he gripped Harry tighter, tried to breathe but failed.
Nothing worked. Nothing felt real because Harry couldn't be dead and yet he wasn't breathing, he could never leave Tom and yet he was ignoring him.
Something hot and dark exploded in his head, devouring the last bits of coherence and destroying his anchors to reality.
Tom screamed.
AN:
TokakuArika, thank you! Yes, Harry is going to be stuck in a bad place, particularly as he's loyal to Tom here and he'd oppose Dumbledore even if he agreed with him. At the same time, he won't be accepting of many of Tom's plans anyway, so difficult decisions will have to be made.
BoycottYourself, thanks! Hope you'll continue enjoying the story)
Isylador, Iamfandoms, and Vertbrale — thank you, guys, I'm happy you're enjoying the story!
l. . , yes, this chapter was indeed from Tom's POV, and the next one will be the same as well because I had to split this huge part into two sections :D
kannl, thank you! I adore dark Harry in fics, and while he won't be dark here since I don't believe his canon version is capable of it, his experience has definitely affected him.
Gery O Donut, thank you so much, I'm so happy you continue enjoying the story! The chapters will alternate between Tom's and Harry's POVs (unless they are divided into two parts, like this one). And this relationship will be very painful on certain stages since both Tom and Harry have serious issues and wrong expectations. Maybe we'll return to Ollivander at some point!
eria. dmg17041, thank you for your lovely words! This chapter got so long that it took me ages to write it, and even then I had to split it into two parts :D
gageelliott, thank you for commenting!)
Flower15, sorry for the delay! The chapter was too long to finish it quickly :D
AnimeLover229, won't give away spoilers about the ending but angst tag will definitely come into play at some point :D
