Chapter 33 - The Nail

"I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to," Tom said to the older man. "Who are you?"

Even an imbecile could infer that the older man was rich, but aside from a tailored suit and a dark family ring he refrained from any overt signs of wealth, allowing his superiority to arise from the innate confidence permeating through his every word and action. This was a man who knew he was superior to you as surely as he knew that the sun would rise tomorrow. He was classically handsome, tall, and had dark hair. The older man gazed down at him, his cold brown eyes revealing not even a hint of weakness for Tom to exploit. But there was always something, if you searched hard enough. "I'd like to show you something boy." The man reached into his suit, and withdrew a 45 ACP.

Tom stared at the semi-automatic handgun. "Give it to me."

"Show some respect." The older man said, raising the gun in a practiced motion. Tom found himself staring down the barrel. "I've killed for less."

Killed for less? Please. A rabbit? A goose? The rich man just liked to pretend. He hadn't done the real thing. He'd only imagined. Again and again and again and again, probably. Tom licked his lips. You could kill animals but it just wasn't the same. It didn't mean anything, almost anyone could do that. Tom sneered at the rich man. "Do you think that gun makes you speci-"

"No," the rich man interrupted. Tom would have just spoken over the rich man, but he was silenced by the rich man's index finger, hovering a millimeter from the ACP's trigger. "Magic. A gun. Hurting people is easy. It's getting away with it that makes you special. I own the police. I own the courts. I own the press. If I were to pull the trigger, I could say that you stole it from me and shot yourself in an unfortunate accident. So tragic. But everyone knew that something about little Tom Riddle was a little..." The rich man's smile was almost eager. "Off."

Tom recognized that smile, and he knew the rich man wasn't bluffing. So Tom took a step back, and pretended to bow his head in acquiescence. The slight would not be forgotten, but the man had both power and the will to use it, which had to be respected.

"The mutt that runs this place told me you hung up a rabbit by its entrails," said the rich man, sounding almost amused. "How'd you manage that?"

Tom said nothing.

"Boy," the rich man said, wagging his gun back and forth. "This isn't a request."

"It wasn't hard," said Tom finally. To his surprise he felt a warmth in his chest. He was almost eager to be able to reveal his brilliance… Interesting… Logically he knew this was a weakness he'd have to correct… But perhaps later… There was something attractive about revealing his thoughts to a man who was worthy of them, who was capable of comprehending Tom's brilliance. Just this once, he'd indulge in honesty… "Like breaking an animal. If one of them steps out of line, I hurt them. When Amy Benson told old Miss Cole on me, I pretended I respected someone standing up to me. I invited her to a cave I'd found." Tom smiled fondly. "And after Amy didn't return, well… Humans are clever animals sir. So I conduct tests. The rabbit. To make sure they understand their place. To help remind them who I am."

The rich man nodded. "Indeed." He took apart his gun, and placed it on Tom's bed. "Put it back together."

Tom did so. Quickly. Efficiently. He was tempted, when the gun was whole, to turn it upon the rich man and show him who truly held power. Feel the heat of the man's blood on his skin, see his pupils expand, see the light leave his eyes and know it was because Tom willed it so… His hair stood on end…

…But no…

Everyone would know what he'd done. He'd go to jail. It wouldn't be worth it. But Tom could do it. If he wanted.

The rich man smiled thinly. "You're different from the rest of the… peasants. Do you know why?"

There could only be one answer.

"Because I have power," Tom said.

"Because you've taken it from them," the rich man agreed, taking Tom's gun from him. "Because they're weak. Inferior. Do you know who you are, Tom? You're a part of the greatest empire in the history of the world. We, a country which once didn't even span the entirety of a tiny island, have conquered a quarter of the world. We've defeated our competitors, first the French, then the Germans. We conquered India, Africa, Australia, and the Americas. Our only true rival is of our own creation. We destroyed the oldest civilization in the world merely because they threatened our margins. We mastered gravity and electricity. And we brought industry to the world. We, the English nobility, have gifted humanity with civilization."

"We?" Asked Tom.

"Yes we," said the man in the suit.

"And Mother," said Tom. "What was she?"

The man hesitated, and almost appeared to wince. He glanced away for a moment, then smirked- his momentary weakness well hidden. "A witch. An ugly lowborn thing, but she had powers I had to acquire. She seemed inbred, so I had hoped her genetics were stronger than they appeared. Perhaps if I took her- by force- my progeny would share her powers. After she had given me a child she was of no use to me, so I disposed of her."

Tom would have thought the man was lying, he didn't even have magic, but for one irrefutable fact. The man was here. The witch who was his mother was not. She was the powerless one. There was no other alternative which Tom could possibly conceive of.

Tom followed the rich man out of Tom's old orphanage to Tom's new limousine.

"You're the first bastard worth a damn," said the older Tom.

"Yes," said the younger Tom.

"Now I'm off to lead a rally on the Jewish menace. A true global conspiracy. And then we're registering you to our Synagogue."

"Yes," said Tom. He felt something warm swelling in his chest. Pride. This was a man worthy of being called, "Father."

Tom Riddle shared the blood of the men who conquered the world. A superior lineage compared to everyone around him. Like them, he was a genius. Like them, he was ruthless. And someday, when the witches and wizards who abandoned him returned, he would conquer their pitiful society as his ancestors before him.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of the final act. I really didn't like the synagogue line, because there is absolutely no way that Senior or Junior would be religious, as they would never submit to a higher power. But I felt that line is what really sells Junior on accepting Senior as someone worthy of being his father. I want to let the subtext stay subtext, but just in case… Tom Riddle Senior did not rape Merope Gaunt, but he knows enough about Junior to not reveal the truth. To men like them, power isn't the most important thing. Power is the only thing.

And now, onto the reviews.

Merendinoemiliano - You know, before you mentioned it I hadn't realized how heavily I relied on irony in this story. But I have been, and that ain't stopping anytime soon. Thanks for the review!

ViviTheFolle - Huh? I thought I made the Ravenclaws the most likable characters in the story! Spoiler coming! Ginny is going to win Harry's heart by the end of the story, but it'll cost her so much that she'll wish she hadn't. As to your observation about Ron, I think you're right about Ron (which is something that any child feels) and also about Molly. I think this is probably a balance any parent has to make. I think ideally you'd have one parent love you unconditionally, and one parent love you conditionally. Children should be pushed to make something of themselves, but also need to feel loved. And like I've said earlier, Ron's arc is 95% complete. He's got one last hurdle to overcome, and I think you know what it is…