Tom stared in disgust at the dark, red filth that covered his cloak.
It was this that stood in his way to power, this vile substance.
If someone else had come along they may of stared at him with fear or perhaps with a strange awe at disturbing,yet beautiful sight of this man.
But,not Tom. For Tom, no matter how many he invoked fear and terror on, no matter how much power he had, as long as he had this sickening weakness he was no more than a little orphan bastard, hoping that wishes were horses.
He had studied every ritual, looked into every creature and artifact. But in the end they all caused him a greater weakness than the one his was giving up.
So this was his last chance. His last desperate move. How sad that his final move of the chess piece was so reliant on someone as pitiful as Slughorn.
But Tom would never take the power that was so rightfully his so long as he held this shred of humanity in him.
He stared at the glinting knife, covered in the red liquid.
His own mortality would be the last flaw he'd eradicate.