Hey again! :D So excited to share this new little story with you! :) I actually meant to post the first chap yesterday, but then real life happened...but here we are now lol.
This story is set somewhere in Harry's 4th year (Harry won't appear in this story, though, nor will his friends or Hogwarts). Tom and his Death Eaters lost the war against Dumbledore with the help of Godric and Salazar, and he has been deaged by Godric.
Sirius and my OC, Aurelius, will appear later in the story, too. Also, just a warning, there will be spanking/ cp, some violence, angst and humiliation in this fic- and tons of H/C and a very HEA ;) This fanfic will have five chapters.
Hope you enjoy the first chap! If this is your first time reading sth from me, I wrote some other HP stories already (all standalone stories, but with the same themes) would love it if you would check them out! :)
"Where are you going, Mylord?"
Tom rolled his eyes, stuffing another book in his already filled satchel, "I told you not to call me that anymore, didn't I? And where do you think I am going?"
Pettigrew blushed, "I…apologize, Master", he stammered, "I was not aware you are still…uhm…doing that."
"If by doing that you mean attending college, yes, I am", Tom rolled his eyes again, closing his satchel, "I'll have classes all day today, so don't wait up for me."
Peter bit his lips, "I just…don't understand, Master."
"I know you don't- we had this discussion a million times already", Tom remarked drily, shouldering his bag, "but I'll explain it again- because this is not enough for me. Never was, never will be."
Wormtail just blinked, "I know it's very shabby here, and the bathroom is…"
"I am not talking about this damn shithole of an apartment, Pettigrew!", Tom hissed, his brown eyes turning red for just the fraction of a second, "I am talking about everything- the bigger picture."
"The…bigger picture?"
Tom just sighed, that was the downside of living with the dumbest person on earth- he never understood his expressions, or jokes, or…well, technically, he did not understood anything.
"I have to go- I cannot be late for this class, we are taking an exam today", he turned to leave, "see you later, Peter."
"Wait, Master, I need to know what I should do! Do you want me to work, or go out and do research, or…"
"You can work for a few hours if you would like", Tom allowed him graciously, "and for the research- I already told you I am not moving out of here."
"But…Master, please, this place is falling apart!", Peter sounded almost hysterical now, "there are…roaches in the kitchen, the paint is peeling off, the…"
"The floors are creaking, the sink is leaking, and the curtains are reeking- I know", he sounded sarcastic, "but it is right by the bus stop that is taking me to college- and more importantly, they never ask questions here. No one gives a damn that I am not an adult and that I don't have a job."
"I…I am sure there are other places that…"
Tom shrugged and grabbed a moldy looking apple from the counter that he intended to eat for lunch, "maybe. Maybe not."
Peter clenched his teeth, trying very hard to stay in control, "we have plenty of money, not enough to afford something fancy, not like the orphana…"
"Do not dare to finish that sentence, Pettigrew!", all nonchalance was gone from him, and now he actually looked dangerous, "we do not say that word, and we do not talk about that word, are we clear?"
Pettigrew whimpered in fear, bowing his head, "yes…Mylord. I am sorry, I am so…"
"And do not call me Mylord!", he snarled, and then he was gone, slamming the cheap, wooden door behind him and seconds later, he was outside, cursing inwardly.
Damn Pettigrew, he always seemed to know how to say the wrong thing at the wrong time! He had just managed to forget about the fucking orphanage- even though orphanage really was the wrong term for that place. It had been a luxurious boarding school for rich boys, with tennis courts, an inside swimming pool, stables for horseback riding, a gourmet cafeteria with a Michelin star chef and the most breathtaking view over some Scottish cliffs that he never bothered to learn the name of. Shortly, it had been hell- he had stayed exactly three days and two nights, and then he had run off, and he had never looked back.
Sending him there had been Gryffindor's pathetic attempt to ease his conscience- or get rid of him without feeling guilty about it, since there were boys who would kill to get a chance to go to that damn school.
Not him, never him- he needed his freedom. He needed to be independent, and he needed a challenge. School had been too boring for words, but after he had been back in London and had moved into the apartment with Pettigrew, Wormtail's little get rich quick schemes had become dull very fast. They made good money, no question there- but it was easy. Too easy.
Therefore, he had decided to attend college, but not just any college- Seymour's College in London, one of the hardest universities for wizards and witches to get into.
It had taken him weeks to perfectionate his fake application, Pettigrew had been working like a slave to get the tuition money- and by working, he meant stealing- and he had changed his looks, using a simple body transformation spell, one of the few spells he was still allowed to cast after Gryffindor had taken most of his magical abilities away when he had arrested him a few months ago.
He had always been handsome, but now he had girls and boys both literally staring at him sometimes, giggling and blushing. He had changed his hair from the original auburn brown to a dark blonde, his eyes stayed brown, and he had added a few freckles to his nose, and made his cheekbones a little sharper. He was not very tall, but thanks to his eloquent way of talking that he used whenever he wanted something, they had believed him that he was eighteen years old, when really, he was barely fifteen.
Some fancy -stolen- clothes had completed his new life as a college student, and when he had passed the application test with flying colors, they had immediately offered him a full scholarship- meaning he was not paying a single Galleon, so they had used the money Peter had stolen to buy some booze and get drunk, and then buy some more booze.
Tom was still annoyed when he exited the bus that stopped near Seymour's College- the actual college was hidden behind extensive protection spells so Muggles were not aware it even existed- and soon later, he was one of hundreds of students walking to class, talking, and catching up.
Today, there seemed to be some kind of buzz about something- but Tom had never cared for the college gossip, he usually kept to himself. The other students irritated him- he was not here to make friends or have a good time, he only wanted answers, answers to the hundreds of questions that kept going around in his head.
His first class today was Advanced History of Magic, the class where he was going to take an exam. The class was popular, but since Seymour's College was expensive and had an acceptance rate of about ten percent, even a popular class like this one did not have more than thirty students.
The Professor, a witch as old as the university called Leonora Loewenstein, immediately started passing out the exam sheets, and Tom looked at it- and curled his lips in disgust.
That is what I rushed to get her for? Pathetic.
He started doing the exam, but after ten of the easiest questions he had ever seen in his life, he got bored and stopped. Getting bored was something that happened fairly often to him- and it was dangerous, because whenever he got bored, the questions came back, distracting him.
He tried to concentrate back on the exam, but his mind was already somewhere else, thinking about an arithmetic book he had read the night before, and that one formula that he was certain had a much faster way to use.
Before he could stop himself, he had taken a piece of paper out of his bag, scribbling down some numbers and arrows, the exam forgotten.
"You have fifteen minutes remaining!", Loewenstein eventually announced, and Tom glanced up.
Two hours have passed quickly.
He blinked, looking back at the exam- he had answered exactly ten out of forty questions, and doing thirty questions in fifteen minutes…
Two questions per minute- doable?
He grinned, reaching for his pen. The challenges he did against himself were the most fun anyways, and when the Professor informed them fifteen minutes later that the time was up, Tom had just finished writing down the answer for question forty.
He turned his paper in with a lazy smile, getting up.
Maybe I should just go home now- take a nap or something. My hand's all sore.
There it was, the only thing that prevented him from being at the top, aside from getting bored early- his lack of forcing himself to do things even when they were unpleasant. He only took the exams he cared about and did work that interested him, but as soon as he got the feeling something was not worth his time, he stopped caring.
He was humming to himself when he walked down the long hallway leading to another building, thinking about what to do now. His next class was a drag- which was entirely the professor's fault, who had no idea how to make the topic even halfway interesting and understandable. He was also old enough to be dead already, and he looked the part of a corpse all the way down to his skinny, pale fingers and his snow-white hair.
Tom secretly called him Doctor Decompose, even though his name was simply Doctor Harrington, Doctor Adalbert Harrington, his Professor for Ancient Magic.
After a short internal debate, Tom decided to at least take a look at what Harrington was going to talk about today, and if he sucked, he could always get up and leave. It was frowned upon, but Tom did not care- why waste a time in a boring lecture when he could use that time to read a good book or write an essay?
He entered the classroom, quite surprised by the noise that greeted him. Ancient Magic was one of the most difficult classes to take, and therefore, only eleven other students were in his class, and they were never this excited for Harrington to show up, no one ever was.
Maybe he finally dropped dead?
Tom grinned at the thought, sitting down at his usual spot- all the way in the back.
The others were still talking excitedly, but none of them bothered to address him- he had made no friends at college with his arrogant, don't-care attitude.
"This is the best day of my life!", one girl next to him squealed now, "the things we are going to learn from him! The…the secrets!"
The only secret Doctor Decompose will ever teach you is how to bore you to death.
"It will be fantastic! He is a legend!"
"He is the most talented wizard in the world!"
Tom had to roll his eyes, who the hell were they talking about? Certainly not about Doctor Decompose.
He was just about to swallow his pride and ask the squealing girl what the matter was, when the door suddenly opened, and in walked-
What. The. Fuck.
His biggest nightmare. The man who had arrested him, turned him into a teenager, had taken most of his magic away and then sent him off to that goddamn snob school.
Godric bloody Gryffindor.
Tom sat absolutely frozen in his seat, too shocked to even blink. What in the world was Gryffindor doing here? Here?
It was silent enough to hear a pin drop in the classroom now, and he watched with bathed breath how Gryffindor, dressed in expensive looking navy blue robes and some shoes that were certainly not fake leather, casually walked to the front of the room where the desk was located.
"Good morning, class", Gryffindor greeted them, his voice calm and even, "please let me introduce myself- my name is Godric Gryffindor, and I am your new Professor for Ancient Magic. As you might have heard, Doctor Harrington has been taken ill and is not returning to this university, and when Professor Hastings asked me if I were to do him the favor and teach this class for the remainder of the term, I was…intrigued by this opportunity."
What. The. Fuck?
Tom leaned back, his whole body tense. Gryffindor as his Professor- this had to be a joke. A cruel one, but a joke nonetheless.
"There are quite a few things that I am going to change here- please read through the updated curriculum and syllabus by tomorrow, and please feel free to come to my office during my office hours, which are Tuesdays and Thursdays from 3 pm to 5 pm", Gryffindor now said, "are there any questions so far?"
Why the fuck are you here?
No one raised their hand, and Gryffindor smiled, "very well then- let's do a quick introduction round. This is a small class, and I do want to get to know you better since we are going to work quite closely with each other for the next months", he gave the boy in the front row a quick nod, "you will begin- name, age, and the reason why you are taking this class should be sufficient for now."
"My…my name is Sean Underfelt, I am eighteen years old, and…it's such an honor to meet you, Sir! I am sorry. I…I meant, I chose this class because I am interested in learning more about the foundations of our magic, and how magic has evolved in the last centuries."
Tom inwardly rolled his eyes. Sean's answer had just been as bland and boring as the boy was himself- he could not stand him, but then, he basically disliked everyone in this class.
He tuned out until it was time for the squealing girl next to him to introduce herself, knowing that he was going to be the next and last one.
"Hello, I am Lisary Ylves, I am nineteen years old, and I am taking this class because I want to be a writer for historical fiction after I graduated and I think this class is a great way to learn lots of historical things."
Aaaand we have a winner for the dumbest answer ever- I can't believe Sean has been topped.
Gryffindor simply nodded at her though, a small smile on his lips, and then he looked at him- and their eyes met, and Tom could have sworn that for the fraction of a second, Gryffindor's eyes had hardened.
Don't be ridiculous, he doesn't know, stay the fuck calm!
Tom stood up, forcing himself to act casual, "name's Samoal. Samoal Movorth. I am eighteen. I am taking this class to find out where magic came from originally."
Gryffindor raised an eyebrow, "you are asking how magic was created in the first place?"
He shrugged, "basically, yes."
Gryffindor was still holding his gaze, "I see- and why is that so interesting to you, Samoal?"
Tom decided to go with the truth since there was no way Gryffindor knew who he really was, "to see if it can be recreated", he replied, "and to see…if it can be destroyed altogether."
He could feel the other students staring at him, clearly confused, but Gryffindor just smiled, "that certainly is an interesting aspect- and we are going to discuss the origins of magic in this class. For today, we are going to focus on something else, though- please open your books on page 78."
Everyone rushed to obey the new Professor, but Tom moved slowly- a hint of unease inside him. He was probably paranoid, but had Gryffindor really looked at him longer than he had at the other students? And why the fuck had he only asked him a question, but not the others?
Stay calm, stay calm, don't freak out now!
Tom opened his book and pretended to listen to what Gryffindor was saying about the spell that was discussed, but his mind kept wandering off. He did not believe in coincidences- which meant Gryffindor being here had some kind of purpose. Was he trying to find him to send him back to that goddamn school?
He did not believe for a second that Gryffindor was simply teaching here as an act of kindness towards the Dean, Professor Hastings- Gryffindor did not have an ounce of kindness in his body, he only did something for his own advantage, very similar to himself actually.
I'll find out what you really want here, Gryffindor.
The others students suddenly started to laugh, which he guessed meant Gryffindor had made some lame joke.
Sucking up to those idiots already? Pathetic.
The class went on, and now Gryffindor started to ask questions, just like every Professor did at some point. That was usually Tom's signal to tune out, he was not here to answer questions, he was here to ask them.
"Do you have an opinion on this, Samoal?", and had Gryffindor really paused for a second before he had said his name?
Fucking hell.
Gryffindor was looking at him now, clearly expecting an answer.
Pull yourself together, goddamnit!
"I do not", he replied curtly, truthfully, he did not even know what Gryffindor had been talking about, too engrossed in his thoughts.
"I do not- Professor", Gryffindor corrected him, his voice hardening, "I do have to ask you to comply with the courtesy rules here, Samoal."
Or what, asshole?
Tom was smart enough not to keep pushing, even though a little voice inside him wanted nothing more, "I do not, Professor", he repeated, forcing his voice to be calm, because before he would apologize to that bastard, hell would freeze over.
"That's a shame, Samoal", he sounded almost sarcastic now, and Tom wanted nothing more than to punch him, "does that mean you really have nothing to share with us?"
"No, Professor."
"I thought my question was quite simple, actually."
"Too simple for my liking, Professor."
"There should not be a reason why you cannot answer it then."
"I usually do not participate in class, Professor."
"You will in mine, Samoal."
They were staring at each other now, and this time, Tom did not imagine it- Gryffindor's eyes had gotten cold.
Shit.
He could only hope and pray it was due to the fact that he had been disrespectful- again, his fake identity was perfect, Pettigrew was the only one who knew about it, and he'd be the last one to rat him out to Gryffindor.
Rat him out- another wordplay Wormtail was too dense to understand.
Thankfully, another student raised his arm to ask a question now, and Gryffindor's attention switched to him, so Tom leaned back in his seat, trying to make sense of what just happened. A normal Ancient Magic class had never felt this long, not even when Doctor Decompose had been at his worst, and he had never been more grateful when ten minutes later, the bell finally rang, announcing the end of class.
Time to get the hell out of here.
The other students did not seem to be in a hurry, whispering and glancing over to Gryffindor who was casually packing his books together, but Tom certainly did not want to spend another second around the man who had effectively ruined his life. He pushed his books into the satchel so forcefully the satchel fell over, spilling his stuff all over the floor. Hissing a curse, he bent down and hastily grabbed his books, stuffing them into the satchel without caring if they got crushed or torn. All he wanted was to leave as fast as he could.
When he had finally packed up, most of the students were gone- but Gryffindor was still there, standing by his desk like he was waiting for something- or for someone.
Shit, shit, shit!
Tom decided to just ignore him, and shouldering his satchel, he turned for the door- but then he suddenly felt the straps of his satchel loosening, and seconds later, all of his books were spilled all over the floor yet again.
Worst. Fucking. Timing. Ever!
He cursed, bending down once more. He had no idea how the straps had gotten loose suddenly, the satchel was brand new, so this did not make any sense.
"Need some help there, Samoal?", Gryffindor's tone was mocking, and Tom bit his lips, "that's not necessary, Professor."
Not from you. Never from you.
Some more students called their goodbyes to Gryffindor, and Tom hurried to pack up his satchel again, so engrossed in his task that he did not realize how silent it had gotten in the classroom- not until he got back up and noticed, dread forming in his stomach, that he was the last student in the classroom now.
Fucking great.
Gryffindor was leaning on his desk, his arms crossed, and Tom had no idea why the hell he looked amused now, "sorry about that- it was the first spell that came to my mind."
Tom blinked, but then understanding dawned on him, "the straps…of fucking course", he curled his lips in disgust, "why did you do that, Professor?"
"Cut the crap- you know very well why. We need to talk, Samoal", and from the way he pronounced his name, it was clear the game was over.
Shit.
"I've got nothing to say to you", Tom shouldered his broken satchel again, "nothing at all."
"I have something to say to you though- what the hell are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing."
"I am doing Professor Hastings a favor, I already explained that."
Tom snorted, "you? Doing someone a favor? Sounds about right, since you are such a saint, right, Gryffindor?"
The Founder merely raised an eyebrow, "you still haven't answered my question, boy."
Boy. Whatthefuck?
"I am not a boy", he replied coldly, "I am eighteen years old and I am attending college here. That's all."
"Funny you mention your age- last time I saw you, you had just turned fifteen."
"Things have changed since then."
Gryffindor let out a small laugh, "I guess they have- but that still does not explain why you are not at school anymore. How long have you been here?"
"I left that place after three days", Tom told him stoically, "not that I ever wanted to be there."
"Did you get adopted then?"
Is this supposed to be a joke?
He had to snort again, "adopted? Me? I ran away, back to London. Are we done with the interrogation now? This is my lunch break."
"Where do you live now?", the Founder asked, ignoring his remark.
"None of your damn business, Gryffindor."
Gryffindor's expression instantly darkened, "you better watch your tone- I am assuming the Dean does not know you are not the one you pretend to be, Mr. Samoal Movorth- nice anagram by the way."
Tom stiffened, hating the fact that Gryffindor had noticed that, "so…that's how you figured it out?"
"No, even though your little anagram helped- I figured it out as soon as I walked into this room, Thomas. You looked like you were about to faint any second."
"I was simply surprised to see you here. I had expected Doctor De…Doctor Harrington."
"Sure you have. I do not believe in coincidences, Thomas."
"Me neither- and you just admitted I looked like I was going to faint, so now you are saying I was faking that?"
"You seem to be quite good at faking if you were able to get into this college. How in the world did you even pass the admission test?"
Tom balled his hands into fists, "I am leaving", he spat out, turning for the door, "I don't have time for any of this bullshit from you."
"Leaving this classroom or leaving this class, Thomas?", Gryffindor's voice was surprisingly calm, and Tom turned back around, glaring at him, "you think I am going to drop out? This is my favorite class, and I need it to graduate. I am not going to back down from you, Gryffindor."
"You are willing to keep this whole charade up just to spite me?"
Tom let out a mocking little laugh, "you think everything is about you, don't you? I love this class, and I am here to learn something- and besides, I doubt Professor Hastings will keep you on if he sees you suck as a Professor."
"Is that a threat, Thomas?"
He shrugged, "just a promise. Gotta go now. I see you tomorrow, Professor", he gave him a grin that did not reach his eyes, and then, he was gone, slamming the door shut behind him.
And Gryffindor was left alone in the empty classroom, sighing. He still did not understand what the boy was doing here- and why had the school not notified him when he had run away? If he had only stayed for a few days, it meant he had to be living in London since months now.
There's something you are not telling me, Thomas.
He left his classroom minutes later, still deep in thought. Usually, he would have taken some time now to get to know his fellow Professors a little better, but that had to wait. The whole issue with Thomas was more urgent, so he apparated right outside the entrance doors, arriving in Gryffindor Manor seconds later.
His boys were at Hogwarts, but he knew his partner, Salazar, was in his office upstairs, going through the mail like he always did around lunch time.
His partner smiled at him when he entered the room, "I did not expect you this early, love."
"Well, and I did not expect to see Thomas sitting in one of my classes", he replied drily, taking a seat in the chair in front of the desk, "apparently, the boy ran away from the school months ago."
Salazar was staring at him, "he…he ran away and is now attending college? That does not make any sense. The school would have notified us if he had left- and we sent him letters every week, and we received weekly reports about him!"
"I know- I actually got a report from the principal a couple of days ago, where I asked again if he was ready to see us now, and I was told he still wanted nothing to do with us, and now I am finding out he was not even there!"
The Slytherin shook his head, "and that means he did not read any of our letters…", he sighed, "what are you going to do?"
"I am going to send the principal an owl right now", Godric grabbed some paper from the desk, "and the strangest thing is, he created this whole new identity for himself- to attend college?"
"You think he is planning something?"
"I am certain he is- that boy is definitely not there to study or to learn, and I am not even sure yet if he was really as much surprised to see me there as I was to see him. I don't trust him."
"But I thought Professor Hastings…"
Godric sighed, "I know- but something is not adding up here. I do not believe this is a coincidence."
"So…you are thinking this a trap? Some kind of…revenge from him? Or the Death Eaters?"
"The Death Eaters are in Azkaban- well, except for that damn rat Pettigrew of course. I will still have to check on them, seeing if they had visitors or any communication with the outside lately", Gryffindor replied, hastily scribbling down a letter to the principal of St. Francis, the school he had sent the boy to, "there has to be a logical explanation for this- I told them to treat Thomas just like any other student, and I even paid his tuition for the whole year up front."
"Maybe that's why they did not inform us", Salazar suggested, "St. Francis is expensive, and maybe they were worried you would ask them to return your money."
Godric frowned, "if that is the case, that principal will have some explaining to do", it sounded like the threat that it was, and then he got up, went over to the small owl they used to deliver their mail, and handed him the letter, opening the window.
The owl hooted, instantly taking off.
"I am going to take a quick trip to Azkaban now", Godric informed his partner, "I need to know what is going on."
Salazar just smiled, knowing that Godric hated nothing more than not being in control of a situation, "you do that. Would you like me to try finding out where Tom is living now?"
"Yes, please- he calls himself Samoal Movorth now", Gryffindor rolled his eyes, and Salazar had to laugh, "an anagram? Samoal Movorth for Thomas Marvolo? That's hilarious."
"It's audacious", Gryffindor sounded irritated, "and I cannot believe Hastings was foolish enough to let the boy enter Seymour's College, especially with that name."
"Well, you know Hastings- he has a brilliant mind, but he would come to a meeting wearing his pajamas if his wife was not taking care of everything for him", Salazar tried to calm him, "we will find out what is going on, Godric- don't worry about it."
Godric sighed again, and then he leaned over and gave his partner a quick kiss, "alright- I will see you later", he kissed him again, and then he apparated- and Salazar got busy, too.
Later that day, they were sitting in one of the living rooms on a couch, both sipping on a whiskey- because boy, they needed a drink.
"I still cannot believe they did not tell us so they could keep the money- Tom could have been killed, or kidnapped, or…"
"I know- but I have been taking care of it. That joke of a principal got fired, and the secretary did as well", Godric took another sip out of his glass, "I am more concerned by the fact that my little visit in Azkaban was so…unproductive. No one had any visitors lately, nothing suspicious had happened, and the guards were still the same from a few months ago when I arrested everyone."
"I think it is more concerning that we were not able to find out where Tom is living- or basically anything about him with that name you have given me. It's like…he does not exist."
They sat in silence for a few more minutes, both of them deep in thought.
"I am still convinced this is some kind of trap, though", Godric finally said, "and if it is, two can play that game."
Salazar frowned, "what do you mean?"
"That means I am going to test how far he is going to take his little I am here to learn scheme- he is going to wish he never set foot in my classroom in a week."
"Don't be too hard on the boy, Godric", Salazar's voice was soft, "I know you are disappointed that he ran away…"
"I am not disappointed. I could care less about Thomas."
"If that was true, you would not have deaged him and sent him to the most expensive school in the Kingdom- instead of sending him to Azkaban."
Gryffindor grumbled something, taking another sip of his whiskey, and Salazar smiled. He knew his partner cared about the boy- they had even discussed to adopt Tom at some point, but the pure hatred the boy had showing them after he had gotten deaged had made that impossible. They had given Tom a second chance- but it did not look like he was willing to take it.
And while the Founders were talking about him in their living room, Tom was curled into a small ball in his bed in one of the two bedrooms of the apartment, with Pettigrew using the other one. His bedroom was small- there was the bed, a cardboard box that served as a nightstand, and a dresser where he kept his, mostly stolen, clothes in.
It had gotten late- but Tom could not sleep. Seeing Gryffindor had ripped open all the old wounds that he had been desperately trying to heal, but he was not going to have Gryffindor ruin everything again. He loved college, and he was not going to give that up. Not for Gryffindor, and not for anyone.
He kept tossing and turning in his bed, knowing what he needed to do to be able to fall asleep, but just like every time, he tried to drag it out as much as he could, telling himself he was being ridiculous, and childish, and pathetic- but eventually, he gave in. He always did.
I only took him a few seconds to get Quilliam, who was conveniently located under his mattress. Quilliam had been in the suitcase Gryffindor had handed him when he had dropped him off at that damn St. Francis school, and even though he had wanted to get rid of the stuffed hedgehog with the friendly face and the soft fur, he had never actually gone through with it- for reasons he was not willing to think about.
Quilliam, whose complete name was Quilliam Shakespeare, was the only thing he had taken from the school actually- he had left everything else behind, the fancy clothes Gryffindor had gotten him, the toys, the school supplies…but he had taken Quilliam Shakespeare.
"Can't sleep, Quilliam", he mumbled, keeping his voice low. Pettigrew had no clue about Quilliam, and Tom intended for it to stay that way, "everything's getting messed up again", he snuggled closer to the hedgehog, enjoying his softness, "at least…at least I have you."
Since Gryffindor had deaged him, he had what he secretly called these episodes where he felt much younger- and the only thing that seemed to help was snuggling with Quilliam Shakespeare.
Minutes later, Tom was fast asleep, his hands clutching onto the small hedgehog- the only source of comfort he had.
poor Tommy...things will get worse before they get better- there's gonna be tons of Godric/ Tom confro in the next chap :D
If you enjoyed it so far (or not) please leave me some feedback!
stay safe you all! :)
love, Antonie