A/N: Credit to Lewis Carroll for the chapter title. Warning for graphic violence.

Granger. The amount of time he had spent feeling victorious over knowing her last name seemed utterly ridiculous to him. He wasn't special; Merlin, she had told Malfoy. The thing he didn't understand was that Malfoy hated Mudbloods, and that hatred ran deep in the blond wizard. He knew because they had discussed it numerous times, too many of those times in relation to him. And he knew because he was careful, always knowing what motivated his followers so as to manipulate them effectively. But he had made a grave miscalculation. The only explanation was that Malfoy was using Hermione to get to him, and he was clearly attracted to the girl. The look on his face when he received his assignment was proof enough of that.

The information passed through his mind quickly as he tried to sort through it, but it didn't make any sense. And Tom wasn't even sure what he was most angry about; that his follower was trying to thwart him, that he was using Hermione, or that Hermione would kiss someone else. Well, perhaps he did know. (It was the latter).

Tom had absentmindedly started to head for the dungeons. He paced around for a while, trying to make sense of this situation. But he had to be right. Malfoy was trying to overthrow him. He had always had some hesitancy regarding Tom's upbringing, although he had come around faster than any of the other Slytherins. Perhaps it was the fact that he had been focusing his Cruciatus Curse on the wizard. Whatever it was, there was no excuse. He didn't care how powerful or influential Malfoy was; he would be punished.

There was no chance of sleeping tonight, and Tom needed some fresh air, so he started to walk toward the Forbidden Forest. Apparently more time had passed wandering the halls than Tom realized, because the subject of his thoughts was walking in from outside.

Tom could feel his heart beat faster with anticipation and adrenaline. "Malfoy."

The blond turned and looked at him with scared blue eyes. "Yes, my Lord?"

"Come." Tom did not look behind him to make sure that Malfoy was following him into the forest. He could hear Malfoy's erratic breathing behind him. Revenge is so sweet. Tom couldn't help but smile.

Once they were sufficiently far from the castle, Tom stopped, turning around and wordlessly casting the Incarcerous Spell. Malfoy's mouth formed a small "O" as he was pulled back by ropes mid-stride, quickly tied against an elder tree. Tom had never bothered tying his followers before, confident that they would not attempt to leave even when under the Torture Curse. But after what he just witnessed, he no longer felt sure of Malfoy's obedience. Tom also knew that this would be far worse than any punishment Malfoy had ever received.

"Abraxas," Tom used his first name intentionally; this was personal. His voice came out in a smooth whisper. He would keep his emotions restrained, at least at first. "Do you know why I have brought you here tonight?" Tom stroked his wand as he spoke, not looking at the bound blond.

"N-n-no, my Lord," Malfoy was clearly trying not to stutter, but failing miserably. Tom could almost taste his fear. It was mixed up with his own rage that Malfoy would lie to his face. But he had likely been doing it for a while now; how long? When he took Hermione to the Ball, were they together? After he told her about his father, did they laugh about it in the halls?

"Lies!" Tom shouted, followed by, "CRUCIO!" He shouted it louder than he ever had before, putting all his anger and frustration into those three syllables, willing Malfoy to take the pain that was building up inside him. Malfoy writhed under the curse. His limbs flailed against his ropes, while his head moved more freely, hitting the tree behind him repeatedly. Blood started to coat the dark wood and Malfoy's crisp white shirt. But Tom was just starting.

"How long?" Tom demanded quietly, looking straight into Malfoy's eyes, wishing not for the first time this year that he could learn Legilimency faster. Instead of answers, all Tom found was fear. Malfoy was slowly shaking his head, silently crying.

"I don't know what you mean, I swear, please," his voice was desperate. "I'll do anything you ask, but please stop." Malfoy wasn't one to beg, so his tone told Tom how much more excruciating the pain was tonight. Tom thought about that as he felt his mouth form a strange, ironic smile. It felt odd on his face, but right, as though it had been lurking there all along.

"My apologies; I need to be more clear. Perhaps there are so many things you're lying about that you're not sure what we're discussing. I'm happy to help. What were you doing with Hermione earlier tonight?" Tom asked, standing perfectly still. Malfoy turned away. "Look at me when you answer, Malfoy."

Malfoy wasn't facing him; he had his head turned limply against the bark, crying softly.

"I said look at me." The only response was a whimper. "Imperio!" Tom shouted, forcing Malfoy to look him in the eyes. "That's better. Let me ask you again; what were you doing with Hermione Granger?"

"Granger?" The mock innocence regarding her last name was too much.

"I know you know that her name is Hermione Granger, Malfoy. I saw you two tonight. I saw your hands all over her, and I heard you say her name." Fuck. Tom could taste a salty, silent tear that had made his way down his own face. He couldn't remember the last time he cried. It was probably as a first year.

Malfoy was shaking his head furiously again. "I haven't seen Hermione today. I haven't even spoken to her in ages, except in class."

"I. Saw. You. Are you calling me a liar, Malfoy?" Tom had his wand pressed against Malfoy's temple like a muggle gun, moving his too-perfect blond hair off his face in the process.

"No, my Lord. I don't—"

"You don't what?"

"I don't know what to say."

"Is your coup so important to you that you're willing to die for it, Malfoy?"

He was close enough to the wizard that he could hear him swallow. "Everyone will look for me; wonder where I am."

"No," Tom spoke softly. "You are influential, but you have no family. Just like me. There will be outrage from the pureblood community, but you're not like the rest. They'll forget you."

"You'll go to Azkaban."

"Malfoy, you know me. I'll be just fine."

Malfoy didn't respond to that, instead sobbing with his face still held up by the Imperius.

The conversation was over; Malfoy was too far gone in self-pity. Tom didn't restrain himself. He tortured Malfoy classically a bit more, and then took the opportunity to test out some of the more obscure material he had read about. Soon, Malfoy's head snapped down. The Imperius had broken; Malfoy was dead. And he hadn't even had to use the Avada.

Tom removed the ropes quietly, calmly. All his energy was used up now, finding a vessel in the now dead Abraxas Malfoy. He would have to leave him deeper in the forest, in hopes that creatures found him first. The odds were good on their own, but Tom knew he could count on the vampires if he left Malfoy in their pocket of the forest. Tom had made his peace with them long ago; he wouldn't be harmed. So, he levitated the body of his old friend and slowly made his way deeper into the darkness. The forest was eerily quiet tonight, almost as though it was mourning.

Tom tried not to look as he maneuvered Malfoy's body under branches, through thickets of trees, and over shallow ponds. Now that his rush had left him, he was starting to feel something unfamiliar. Loss? He would be missed as a follower, Tom supposed, but since he was obviously trying to overthrow him, it wasn't logical to think of how much Malfoy could have helped him.

Still, it all seemed so strange. Tom didn't pretend to understand people's emotions, but he usually understood motivation. And he never would have pegged Malfoy to be one to cross him. Malfoy had been the first Slytherin to bring him into the fold, practically brought his followers to him. What was more frustrating was that Tom's chance to find out what happened was likely gone forever.

When he reached the correct spot in the forest, Tom laid Malfoy down slowly, and hesitated. Tom had already planned for his next kill, and it seemed a shame to waste this one. He had a Cup in his room that Malfoy had procured for him; it seemed at once fitting and unnerving to use Malfoy's death to fill that Cup. But it would be illogical not to, and Tom was not illogical. He reached over to Malfoy's finger to slice off some skin and bone, but decided that would be too obvious if Malfoy was found. Instead, he gingerly lifted up Malfoy's shirt (which was really just ribbons at this point) and cut a piece of Malfoy's rib, with the attached skin and blood. This would do.

Numbly, Tom put the material in his pocket and started the two-hour trek back to the castle. It would be tight, but he needed to make it before anyone started stirring. Tom didn't think about much during the walk; finding Hermione and Malfoy kissing felt like a lifetime ago, or at the very least longer than several hours. His entire body was exhausted from the depleted magic, and instead of thoughts images just kept flashing through his head: Malfoy's body collapsed against the conjured ropes, Hermione's contented expression as she looked at someone else, their lips locked together.

Almost on autopilot, Tom stopped by Slughorn's stores. Slughorn had given him access long ago, so it was easy to get in, pick up the required ingredients for his potion, and leave. He went into the common room as quietly as possible, even though the portrait's incessant questioning about his whereabouts hampered that goal somewhat. Once he arrived in his bedroom, Tom began mincing and crushing the ingredients with his potions set.

The Horcrux potion had to be used within twelve hours of the death, so it would be close. Tom might have to skip breakfast, but would rather not just in case an inquiry was started regarding Malfoy. He forced himself to continue to prepare even though he wanted to curl up in his bed and drift off to sleep. Maybe in dreams he would stop seeing everything from the night replaying in his mind.

Luckily, he had the preparation memorized. After all, the third time was the charm, as the expression went. As the last step, he had to knot Malfoy's skin and slice his bone into neat, half-centimeter pieces. Tom had already put Malfoy's blood and his own into the bubbling liquid. Tom took a deep breath before touching the rest of Malfoy's remains, and forced himself to watch as he worked to make sure the technique was perfect.

Despite everyone's criticisms of the Dark Arts, they usually required a much higher precision than Light Magic. Sometimes Tom thought that's where the hatred came from. After all, any wizard can levitate a pen, but not all are strong or clever enough to create a Horcrux.

Feeling a bit smug, Tom finished his potion and went to his drawer, retrieving the Cup. He performed some spells to bind the Cup to his soul, although it was only temporary. The potion would seal it. He gently placed the Cup into the potion and waited. And waited. It usually didn't take this long; perhaps it had to do with the shape of the Cup. He had never used an object quite so large, although theoretically he could use a building if he wanted.

Nothing happened. An hour later, Tom finished frantically reading all his relevant reading material. He had done everything perfectly, but the Cup was just a Cup and he was nearly out of time.