Hospital Wing
Tom had been bored out of his mind during his first Defence Against the Dark Arts class of the year. It was a review day and a lecture about their upcoming OWLs at the end of the year. He had better things to do than to sit there and waste time, alas he had no other choice. Appearances had to be maintained for all his plans to come to fruition.
His inner musings were disturbed when a bloody mess of a human being seemingly appeared out of thin air and dropped down on his desk. He allowed himself a second to assess the situation before he ordered someone to fetch the school nurse. He could see the tremors that affected the other boy’s whole body. He had never seen someone showing severe signs of the Cruciatus Curse and was curious as to the mental state of the other teenager. He kept himself from sneering at the blood that was leaking all over him and his supplies. Whoever this was, he would replace everything he destroyed! Well, he would if he lived.
He was pulled from his inner musings when those green eyes opened. They were captivating, the same unique colour of the killing curse, but also the same colour as his own. From what he could tell, the specific colour was hereditary only to Salazar Slytherin’s line. His interest was further piqued when the boy showed enough hatred towards him, which was curious since Tom had never met this other teenager, much less done something to earn this malice from him. No sound escaped those bloody lips, but he could see them forming around his last name. That was odd and if having power and hatred towards himself was not enough to hook Tom on this mystery boy, then knowing Tom’s surname most definitely was.
That meant he was entirely unprepared for the newcomer’s magic to lash out at him. He flew back and toppled over the desk behind him before he landed on the floor. Power. He was powerful. More powerful than any other student in the school, aside from himself.
“Tom! Are you hurt?” The voice of one of his minions pierced through his musings as he stood up.
“No Abraxas, I’m fine. I’m more worried about our mysterious visitor here, he is showing signs of repeated and prolonged exposure to torture.” He saw that the other was unconscious. “I would levitate him to the Hospital Wing, but I don’t know if it is safe to.” He approached the prone body with a faux concerned frown on his face.
“Very good Mr. Riddle.” A stern-looking witch said as she hurried into the classroom. “You should never move someone that is injured unless you know the exact cause. Otherwise, you risk doing more harm than good.” She started waving her wand in complex patterns above the teenager. “I’m showing four prolonged stints of the Crutiatus, a wound from a cursed dagger, a bite of an Acromantula…” Her voice trailed off and her eyes widened in shock.
Tom saw the shock and gently pushed the nurse. “What is it, Madam Filch?” His voice was consumed with assumed worry.
The nurse looked up at Tom. “Well, if I’m reading this correctly Mr. Riddle,” she lowered her voice so that no one else could hear her, “he has basilisk venom and phoenix tears in his blood.”
Shock poured into his entire body. Basilisk venom? The only basilisk that he knew of was sleeping beneath the school in the Chamber of Secrets.
“How interesting.” He said as he kept his shock expertly concealed. “Is it safe to move him?” He asked the nurse.
“Hmm? Oh yes, he is stable enough for now. We should get him to a hospital bed so that he can get the potions needed.” She frowned and looked at the class. “Mr. Black, please inform your head of house that I am going to need a full regimen of nerve healing potions. Tell him to make them as strong as possible.” She looked at Tom and smiled tiredly. “I suppose you are going to insist upon helping?” She did not even wait for the confirmation before waving her hand at the unconscious teenager. “Full body bind then medical levitation, please.”
Tom smiled brightly at the nurse. “Thank you Madam Filch.” He performed the needed charms on the other teenager, his wand responding rather excitedly, another tidbit that would need to be filed away for later. Tom saw a shadow fall from the teenager’s hand and saw a wand fall to the floor. He leaned over and picked the piece of wood up and narrowed his eyes as he felt it respond to him almost as well as his yew wand. Tom placed the bit of wood in his wand holster before he turned to look at Lestrange. “Corvus, would you please take my stuff back to the dorms?” At the other boy’s nod, Tom walked out of the classroom behind the nurse with the unconscious form of the teenager floating between them.
The walk to the Hospital Wing was rather boring, no one intercepted them as it was in the middle of classes. A few short minutes later, Tom was floating the boy into a hospital bed.
The nurse frowned. “Most important first, acromantula. How in the world did he stumble upon one of those monsters?” She grumbled as she headed to her office. “Tom,” she was a little more relaxed in her own territory, “Switch his clothes for a hospital gown please.”
Tom did what was asked of him and frowned as he found the wound from a cursed blade on the teenager’s left arm. Normally cursed wounds were impossible to remove unless you knew the exact curse that was used.
“Here Tom, give him these.” She handed over several potions. “Antivenin first, then blood replenishing, pain relief, and wound knit.”
The teenager did as was asked of him and fed the four potions to the prone body between them. “I believe I can counter the cursed wound on his arm. Would you like for me to do that?” His eyes were still upon the deep, ragged wound. Blackness had started colouring the edges where the knife had directly touched. He knew that the wound could heal without it being countered, but the boy already had so many scars upon him that Tom felt he could at least take care of the cursed one.
The nurse looked at Tom in shock and there was no hint of suspicion in her. “You think so? That would be wonderful, otherwise, it would take weeks to get that to close up properly.”
Tom smiled and pointed his yew wand at the wound. He hesitated for a moment before looking at the nurse. The teenage Dark Lord strangely did not wish to see fear in the nurse’s eyes once he revealed his gift. “Please, don’t think too differently of me.” He then directed his magic to the curse that was clinging to the severed skin. Hisses started flowing from his lips in a strangely melodic way. Madam Filch watched in awe as the blackness rose from the wound and coalesced into a pulsing sphere at the tip of Tom’s wand. “You’re a Parselmouth.” She said with a proud look in her eyes. “The strongest healers have all been Parselmouths, the language is uniquely suited to healing.” She watched as Tom’s magic enveloped the blackness of the curse and smothered it. Then he healed the cut with a silent flick of his wand and pulse of magic.
“Yes, well, I don’t tend to show it to others with the,” The future Dark Lord hesitated for a moment as if he did not want to reveal why he did not freely display his gift, “stigma surrounding it.” Tom put on a show of being sad that most would consider him a dark wizard for just being able to talk to snakes. He had first experienced this world’s contemptuousness of parseltongue when Dumbledore visited Wool’s Orphanage. The disgust he had seen in the other wizard’s eyes when he had admitted to being able to talk to snakes. Dumbledore would pay for his hasty judgement. He would pay for that and for keeping the truth of his heritage from him. His first couple of years at Hogwarts could have been much easier if he had known he was not just another filthy mudblood. The other students would never have dared to ridicule and isolate him.
At least those in his dorm room knew now that he was to be feared, admired, and obeyed rather than bullied. His influence was still weak in the years above him, but the younger years all knew better than to mess with him.
“Yes, well,” the voice of the school nurse broke through his musings, “some people believe that just being related to someone or having an ability of a bloodline signifies some moral obligation towards society.” She flicked her wand at the broken nose of her patient and healed it with a silent spell.
Tom smiled thinly at the nurse. She was one of only two people in the school he was fond of. “Will you send for me when he wakes? I know it is highly unusual, but he seemed to have known me. He said my last name before passing out.” His vivid green eyes strayed back to the unconscious boy for a moment. There were already many mysteries surrounding him and Tom was looking forward to unravelling every single one. He wouldn't stop until this person was either under his command or utterly destroyed. Whichever came first.
Hopefully, it would take a while, at least a couple of months, so he would not have to feel the despair of boredom pulling at the edges of his sanity again until after his birthday.
“Yes, Tom, I will send for you when he wakes up, but that isn’t liable to be too soon, his magic levels are rather low. Go ahead and get yourself to your dorm and cleaned up before that blood sets too heavily into those clothes.”
Tom grimaced down at his robe and nodded sharply. “I will, Madam Filch, thank you.” With that, he strode out of the Hospital Wing. The halls were rather crowded as it was between classes, but he ignored everyone who was trying to get his attention. He was too impatient to answer the same questions repeatedly and simply desired to shower to cleanse himself of the boy's blood.
He hissed the password at the entrance of the common room and fought back a spike of irritation at the sight of his followers waiting for him by the fire. He held his hand up, “I will tell you later, right now I need a shower. Get to your next classes and let the professors know that I will not be in class today.” He spied his blood-soaked Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook along with his ruined quill and parchment. A dark look gathered in his killing curse eyes before he occluded the anger away. “Get rid of anything that cannot be saved.” With that, he walked to the dorm room and flicked his bloodstained yew wand at the door. Wards activated on the door that would keep everyone out until he dropped them again. His gaze settled on the bloodstained wand and he tilted his head in curiosity. His wand had never had blood on it before. It was interesting how the red glistened against the pale yew wood. It brought a sense of joy to the teenager that he rarely felt in the past. He admired it for a moment before he slipped into the bathroom and set the wand down on the sink counter. He saw his dishevelled appearance in the mirror and snarled. He looked like he had been torturing someone with blood smeared over his clothes and spatter on his face. He stripped out of the soiled clothes with a slightly panicked expression on his face. The blood had better come out of this uniform, he could not afford to replace it. That thought brought a wave of revulsion and self-hatred forth. He was Salazar Slytherin’s heir. He should not have to worry about being able to afford such basic things as clothes and school materials. He should be worshipped for his connection to the famous wizard and not have to worry about the trivial things.
“I just have to be patient. It will all come to me one day. I will not always have the misfortune of living amongst filth when I’m not here. I will be able to buy anything I could ever want. I will bring this world down to its knees and build it back as I imagine.” He stepped in the shower to scrub off all traces of blood. The first step to his plans was to never look anything less than perfect. When he was finally clean, he summoned his yew wand and a soft cloth to clean away all the blood. Tender fingers washed away the taint from his prized possession. He made sure that there was not even the slightest trace of ruby left before he flicked it at the shower, shutting the water off. Then he fluidly twisted it at himself and dried away all the water that was left upon himself.
His eyes finally strayed to the wand holster he had hurriedly removed from his right arm before his shower. He pulled the darker wand out of the holster and frowned down at it. Tom had not meant to abscond with the mysterious stranger’s wand. It horrified him slightly that he had forgotten he had it. After a moment of looking down at the wood that was slowly being stained by its owner’s blood, Tom gathered his soft cloth and gave it the same treatment he had just given his yew wand. He figured that if he was going to have possession of it, then he might as well make sure that it would be taken care of. He was in awe at just how similar the two wands felt, though the darker wand was a little more cold to his magic, it was not a perfect pairing like his yew wand. Once he was satisfied with the cleanliness of the instrument, he gathered his things and left the bathroom.
Tom was just getting to his trunk to fish out a clean uniform when a wave of exhaustion swept over him. For a moment he was confused, but then remembered the amount of effort and energy that parselmagic spell had taken. He quickly changed his mind and pulled on a set of pyjamas before collapsing into his bed. He would make an appearance after a quick nap. It should take a scant amount of time to replenish his reserves. His last thought before Morpheus carried him away was the look of pure hatred in those eyes that were coloured so closely to his own that it was like looking into a mirror. Tom did not notice that he was still clinging to both wands, one in each hand.