Love and Compassion

"I know we're meant to be house rivals and sworn enemies, but I hope you know that it changes nothing for me. I mean, we're family, right?" Fleamont said, his tone embarrassingly earnest.  

"Don't make me sick," Yaxley said, fake gagging. 

Tom shot him a sharp look that instantly shut him up, mumbling an apology to Fleamont. 

Yes, Fleamont could be annoying and too eager to please at times, but he was family. Or he was in Harry's eyes anyway. Besides, Fleamont was a brilliant cover for Tom. 

Harry's distaste for Tom's friends was glaringly obvious, as was his insistence on Tom spending more time with Flemont. He saw Fleamont as a good influence, someone who could sway Tom from 'wrong' thoughts and behaviours. As long as Tom kept his mouth shut, Harry would be less inclined to look too closely into what Tom was doing. 

~~~

"Is it true you can speak Parseltongue?" Asked Alfred Carrow, a third year with an unfortunately large nose. 

A few people had crowded around Tom, curious and intrigued by his last name and the fact that he could talk to snakes. 

'Yes, you mouth-breathing idiot,' Tom hissed in parlsetounge, a smug smile on his face. 

"What does that mean?" Asked Dorothy Gamp.

Dorthy was a fourth-year girl who looked incredibly similar to her Walburga but with long, curly blonde hair. Tom had seen her at important wizarding events, but they had never interacted with her, Walburga often complained she was a boy-crazy idiot. 

Dorothy was (just like almost all of pureblood Britain) related to the Blacks. Her grandmother was twin sisters with Hesper Black (formally Gamp), who was Orion and Lucretia's grandmother.  

"I said my name," Tom lied. 

As everyone watched Tom in awe and asked him questions, a warm feeling settled in his chest.

Yes, this was exactly the life he deserved. 

This was just the beginning. 

People should always be amazed to be in his presence. They should always look upon him in wonder, marvelling at his extraordinary abilities. They should acknowledge just how far he surpassed them. 

This should and would be their new normal. 

~~~~~~~~

"The beds are uncomfortable," Malfoy complained, turning in his bed.

"Shut up, would you? This is the third time you've said this," Lestrange grumbled.

"Just because you may be used to this substandard quality in your home, it doesn't mean the rest of us are. I can't believe they only gave us one pillow!"

"You're lucky it's not two; I would've smothered you if I had one to spare," Lestrange snapped, making Malfoy promptly shut up. 

Tom didn't mind Malfoy in small doses, but he severely underestimated how much he'd be able to cope with his irritating and whiny behaviour in consistent close proximity.

Yes, for the past three years, Tom had been living in somewhat of luxury, although not Malfoy-level luxury, but he could never forget or escape the effects Wools had had on him. 

Wools had shaped him; he was a product of the dreadful place. 

He would never forget what it felt like to have nothing.

To go to bed starving. 

To have no possessions. 

For the only thing he had in the world was himself.

Tom had despised the children in Wools, seeing their starved and anguished faces as it was a reminder that no matter how much he told himself he was different, he was just like them. 

That when strangers looked at them, he probably blended in with them. 

The same gaunt face, empty eyes, clothes too big.

The only thing that kept him going was spite. He had to survive to prove to everyone just how much better he was than them. 

The hatred and fury were what prevented his death; it was that which saved him. 

So hearing Malfoy complain about the bed made Tom suddenly enraged. 

He was a pompous, spoilt brat. 

He had no idea what it was like to have nothing. The beds here were a luxury, something he used to dream about. 

"If I hear you complain about this room again, you'll regret it," Tom said, his tone soft. 

Tom could almost feel the rest of the boys tense; he could sense their unease and nervousness.

They knew what he said applied to all of them. 

Good.

~~~~~~~~~

That night, after hours of trying and failing to fall asleep, Tom snuck to the owlery to send Harry a letter. 

To my Harry, 

I, of course, am in Slytherin. 

You were right about Hogwarts; it is special, and it does feel like home. However, it will never truly feel complete as you're not here. Although, do not get too big-headed, as I mostly miss you trailing after me, telling me how much you love me and how important I am.

Of course, with time, I'm sure everyone else will be doing the same. They're very impressed with who I am and my abilities, and as they should be. I am a reminder of how simple and mundane they are. 

I expect a reply before the end of the day. 

You will tell me what you're doing and who you're talking too, of course. And how much you love and miss me. 

Yours forever,

Tom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry's letter came promptly the next morning.

Tom, 

I rolled my eyes so hard when I received your letter, I'm surprised my eyes didn't get stuck in my head! 

Only you could write me a letter so self-important! 

How are you settling? 

Did all your friends get sorted into Slytherin too?

Tell me what you think of your professors and your classes; I'm excited to hear about your classes.

Be good and make lots of friends too, friends that are outside of Slytherin. Hang out with Fleamont; I know he was very excited to have you at Hogwarts with him.

In case you forgot, I'm the parental figure, so I don't have to tell you anything, you little demanding creature. 

I do miss you already, though; it's not the same without you here. 

Are you coming home during the winter break? 

I love you.

Harry.

Tom resisted the urge to lick the words on the paper, but when no one was looking, he did bring it to his nose and take a large, deep breath, convincing himself he could smell Harry in the ink. 

~~~

It was odd, almost jarring, to see how the half-bloods were treated, especially knowing that he was one.

They weren't all treated anywhere near as awful as the mudbloods, who were scorned and bullied near constantly, but the half-bloods also faced their own contempt. 

The half-bloods with muggle last names or poor magical last names were treated almost as badly as the mudbloods. Slytherins would sneer at them, refusing to be near them and their 'contaminated' blood. They were demoted to the furthest end of the common room, not allowed to shower when the pure-bloods would, and pushed around.  

The half-bloods with semi-important wizarding last names were treated slightly better, able to sit with some of the kinder purebloods or converse with them, but there was still a big difference.

It was interesting to see, but Tom didn't feel sorry for them or have any empathy.

Why should he? 

They were insects, unimportant. 

He was greater than them and the pure-bloods, so he couldn't relate to them. 

Moreover, they were spineless, just allowing themselves to be treated like that. 

Tom saw how they looked at him in envy. 

He wasn't just a half-blood respected by the pure-bloods; he was in the sacred twenty-eight, and it was obvious how much everyone wanted to befriend him. 

How much they all looked up to him and his magical potency. 

The only other half-blood that warranted their respect was Dumbledore. 

Within the first weeks of school, Tom had been compared to the transfiguration teacher, even called a 'young Dumbledore' in some lessons by teachers.

He had to plaster a smile on his face, fake grateful, and humble whilst he burnt with irritation. 

He was not young anyone. 

He wasn't comparable to anyone. 

He was better than those before him and those after him. 

He didn't want to be compared to the mudblood champion who wore ridiculous robes, no matter how powerful he was. 

Besides, Tom noted that, unlike all the other teachers who seemed to be in awe of him, Dumbledore was not. 

Begrudgingly, Tom had to admit that he was a good teacher, but he rewarded mediocrity, praising the Hufflepuffs in their transfiguration class for their half-arsed efforts. 

"You've got to be kidding me!" Malfoy exclaimed, incredulous as Dumbledore awarded a mudblood Hufflepuff five house points after taking almost forty minutes to do what half of the Slytherins had achieved in half the time.  

Even Frankie Bradford, the only mudblood first-year Slytherin boy, had managed to do it in around thirty minutes.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Malfoy?" Dumbledore asked, his eyebrow raised over his ridiculous half-moon glasses. 

"Yes. You gave none of us points for completing the spell, and might I add, much more perfectly than her," Malfoy complained. 

The spell was to turn a match into a needle. 

All of the pure-bloods had access to a wand at some point, far before their eleventh birthday, so they were much more competent at magic. It was why they had been able to complete the spell with ease.

A fact that Dumbledore was probably aware of him. 

"It's not about perfection, Mr. Malfoy; it is about effort," Dumbledore chastised. 

"Who cares about effort? You just favour the mudbloods and the weaklings," Lestrange added with a glare. 

He was promptly sent out of the class, losing the Slytherins thirty points for his language. 

~~~~~~~~~~

"Mr. Slytherin, may I speak to you?" Dumbledore asked as the bell rang, signalling the end of the lesson and break time. 

"Of course, Professor," Tom nodded before turning towards his friends. "I'll meet you outside."

Tom packed up his stuff before walking towards Dumbledore's desk, his expression perfectly blank. 

"How may I help Professor?"

"Please take a seat." Dumbledore fished around in his sweet jar. "Lemon drop?"

Tom said, "No, thank you."

Dumbledore sucked on the sweet, a polite smile on his face as he savoured the taste. 

"I didn't used to like these in my youth, but as I get older, I enjoy them more. I think it's a sign I'm getting on in age, my boy; soon I'll start taking my tea with no milk or sugar. Bitter!"

Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes but offered his own polite smile in return.

"You're very gifted Tom, in all areas, it seems. I often hear my colleagues bragging about you. Professor Binns says you wrote him one of the best essays he's ever read on the Gargoyle Strike of 1911. He said you wrote almost two thousand words more than what was expected"

"I'm interested in history; I enjoyed it," Tom replies, lowering his eyes in fake modesty. 

Dumbledore gave him a thoughtful look. 

"I'm sure you are. As I said, you're gifted, Tom, but I worry about some of your friends. You're all very young, and I'm sure they just repeat what they hear their parents say, but it is obvious they look up to you. Maybe you could have a word? Especially with Mr. Lestrange and Mr. Yaxley, who can be quite harsh with some of the muggleborns and half-bloods. Mr. Bradford always looks very lonely; maybe you could befriend him?" Dumbledore asked, seemingly almost lost in thought.

Frankie Bradford was more than lonely; he was isolated, the only mudblood boy in first year. Even the half-bloods abandoned him; the only thing worse than them was him. Only last week Malfoy had jinxed him with a tripping curse, and he had fallen down the stairs. 

"Of course, sir, I'd be happy to do what I can," Tom lied, earnestly.

"Thank you, my boy." Dumbledore smiled. "I'm sure you'll achieve great things, Tom, especially if you remember the importance of kindness and inclusion."

Tom nodded before gathering up his stuff and leaving, but he couldn't help but feel the weight of Dumbledore's eyes as he left the classroom. 
~~

The first few months at Hogwarts went incredibly fast, and before Tom knew it, it was the night before winter break. 

He and Harry had fallen into a routine of writing to each other three times a week, which was probably a little bit excessive, but Tom wasn't able to function unless he had some sort of contact with Harry. 

He needed to know what Harry was doing at all times. 

He needed to know what he had planned, who he spoke to, and all of his thoughts. 

Sometimes their letters were long, and sometimes they were short, but Tom wasn't bothered, as long as it was some form of communication. 

Despite it being less than twenty-four hours until he saw Harry, Tom felt impatient and restless; it felt like the day was dragging. 

Tom being annoyed and restless was never a good thing; it was when he was at his meanest. 

Unfortunately for Ethan Curtis, a first-year Gryffindor mudblood, that was just as he was walking past Tom, Alphard, Lestrange, and Malfoy. 

He was flanked with his friends Louis Weasley, who was also in first year, and Nile Longbottom, who was one of Fleamont’s friends. 

Tom was always very careful in maintaining his carefully cultivated persona of a nice, polite, inclusive boy. He couldn't be seen being nasty or cursing people, so as a compromise, he amused himself by getting one of the others to be mean to others instead. 

"I don't like him," Tom announced lowly. 

"Neither do I," Malfoy grumbled. 

Curtis had scored higher than Malfoy on the potions assignment, making him get the third highest grade (Tom, of course, had the highest grade). 

As Ethan walked past them, a weary look on his face, Malfoy viciously knocked into him.

"Watch it!" Malfoy snarled. 

"You knocked into me; you should be the one apologising!" Curtis exclaimed, incredulously.

Malfoy looked genuinely startled by his reply, clearly unable to fathom a world where he'd apologise to a mudblood.

"You need to know your place; I'm your superior in every way. Why would I apologise to you?" Malfoy sneered. 

"Oh shove off, Malfoy; we don't care about you or your silly blood-purist nonsense!" Longbottom exclaimed, a frown on his face. 

"We know, you disgusting little blood traitor," Lestrange chimed in, wand in his hand. 

It didn't take long until everyone had their wand out and began cursing each other. 

Tom stood there, amused, as Weasley teared up after being hit with a particularly nasty jinx from Malfoy as Lestrange and Longbottom duelled. 

A statue almost toppled down on top of Curtis as Tom stared at it intensely, willing it to. 

Alphard stood there, uncomfortable, anxiously looking behind him. 

"Okay, I think they get the message; let's go," he murmured uneasily as Lestrange wiped the floor with both Longbottom and Weasley, both of them howling in pain. 

Tom shrugged, turning around and heading back to the common room.

He had his fill of amusement anyway; why should he care about what happened next?

~~~~

"Oh, just write to him back, Waly; if you don't, then you're just going to create more drama for yourself," Alphard sighed, exasperated. 

Orion had written to Walburga, which had caused the girl to have a massive tantrum and burn the letter.

"It's embarrassing; he's a child!" She exclaimed, arms folded. 

"He's nine—"

"And I'm going to be thirteen!"

"Orion is going to be the Black; you should count yourself lucky and stop whining," Malfoy said, looking at her in distaste. 

Tom felt himself groan internally, knowing that would set her off. 

"Count myself lucky? Have you lost what little brains you had, you little weasel? Being forced to marry my baby cousin isn't luck," Walburga snarled. 

"He won't be a baby forever; don't be so dramatic!"

"Dramatic? I'll show you dramatic," she hissed, her eyes narrowed in contempt.

Malfoy spent his last night before winter break in the infirmary, his pinky finger having to be regrown. 

Walburga walked around, smug, but Tom knew Malfoy would have the last laugh. There was no way he wouldn't be writing to his father about this.

~~~~~~~~

Harry let out a polite smile, giving a signed autograph to one of the parents as the Hogwarts Express turned up.

He had arrived at the platform early, restless and excited to see Tom but had underestimated having to deal with the excited parents who were fans of his or had children who were his fans.

He had been signing autographs for almost twenty minutes! 

He wasn't surprised to see that all of Tom's friends' parents weren't there, and in their place were their house elves. Harry couldn't help but frown, finding it impersonal and detached. He couldn't imagine not being here to greet Tom after not seeing him for almost three months straight. 

Harry spotted Dobby further down the platform, and he had to resist the urge to stare at him or do something crazy like burst into tears whilst hugging him. It felt so surreal to see him after having such an extensive past history with him.

Dobby had saved his life; Harry had loved him. It had been devastating when he had died, something that kept Harry awake at night. Something that still featured in his nightmares. 

It was almost phantasmagorical to see this version of him who didn't know Harry. Who wasn't fiercely loyal to him.

Harry had seen in passing how bad the Malfoys treated him, and it always took everything in his power to not react.

As the children came spilling out of the train, Harry scanned them intensely before spotting Tom. 

Instead of being flanked by his usual friends, he was side by side with Fleamont, who was talking animatedly to him. Harry was pleasantly surprised to see that it wasn't just the Slytherins who were coming up to Tom and saying goodbye, but it was a good chunk of Ravenclaws too and even a decent chunk of Hufflepuffs.

As their eyes locked, Harry couldn't help the blossoming smile that made its way onto his face. He knew that he loved Tom, but he underestimated how attached he had become to him in the last few years; he had missed him so much.

The house just didn't feel the same without him, and Harry even missed his condescending commentary. He missed the look of absolute revulsion as he saw the clothes Harry was sporting, all the things that he used to dislike he was suddenly missing.

Harry saw Tom's face visibly light up, his eyes intense as he left Fleamont mid-sentence and rushed over to Harry. 

"Apparate us home so I can touch you," Tom demanded, gripping Harry's hand.

Harry looked down at his serious little face, fondness filling his eyes as he apparated them home.

~~~~~

"Are we just going to stay here like this forever?" Harry asked, amused. 

As soon as they apparated home, Tom had demanded Harry read one of his favourite books as he lay cuddled up with him on the sofa. Tom was practically wrapped around him like an octopus, refusing to let go of him as he buried his face in Harry's neck. 

Harry secretly liked it; it was rare Tom was so clingy unless he had a nightmare and climbed into his bed. Harry knew Tom loved him, even if he would never admit it, but he always acted so stoic, reserved, and aloof, more like a stuffy old man than a child. So it made Harry feel warm to see him acting so childlike for once. 

"Yes," was Tom’s muffled reply.

~~~~~~~~~

Tom watched the rise and fall of Harry's chest, his eyes fixated on his slumbering body. 

It must have been at least three in the morning, but Tom couldn't sleep; he barely blinked, intent on not missing a second of Harry. He knew he had missed him, but being with him made him miss him more, knowing when he went back to Hogwarts he would have to wait until the spring term before he could see him again. 

Tom wished there was a way to keep Harry with him, to trap him. Carry a bit of his soul with him at all times. 

Harry always looked peaceful when he slept, his perfect face slack and smooth. 

Tom wanted to devour him.

Laying down and snuggling closer, Tom burrowed his face in Harry's neck, his pulse beating steadily against Tom's lips. 

His pulse thudded, a reminder that he was alive and well, that he was here with Tom.

Harry had zero sense of danger; it showed with the ridiculous stunts he pulled when playing Quiditch, and sometimes it made Tom worry. 

What if Harry did a trick he couldn't come back from? That was why feeling his pulse was so reassuring. 

However, it didn't feel enough this time. 

He wanted,no, needed, to consume Harry. To have part of him with Tom.

Without thinking, Tom opened his mouth and clamped his teeth down on Harry's neck, not hard enough to seriously hurt him but enough to make him bleed.

Enough to taste him, have his blood inside his mouth. To have it pump around his body, mingle with his own.

Harry twitched in his sleep, moaning lowly, uncomfortable.

Tom quickly closed his eyes, feigning sleep. 

~~~~~

"I need to see what you've packed," Tom declared, walking into the kitchen. 

They decided to go to their muggle park and have a picnic as the day was very unusually warm. Tom wasn't particularly bothered or over the moon about going, but he knew Harry was looking forward to it, so he indulged him. 

"I know how to pack a picnic, Tom; I've been doing it since you were eight," Harry replied, rolling his eyes. 

"Well, I'm twelve now; I like different things," Tom insisted, opening up the basket. 

"You're not twelve until seven more days, actually, you tyrant," Harry grumbled, walking out of the room.

Tom smiled fondly; the title of tyrant had a nice ring to it. 

~~~~~~~~~

"Did you make these or did Pebbles?" Tom asked curiously, snacking on a scone filled with jam and clotted cream. 

"I did!" Harry exclaimed, offended. 

"Since when could you make scones?"

"I've had a lot of free time while you've been off school, so I've been trying my hand at baking. I'm not half bad." 

Tom frowned. "I don't like you learning new skills if I'm not there." 

He didn't like the idea of Harry having any sort of life without him, of Harry progressing. It was like Harry was advancing and developing in his life; it was like he didn't need Tom to better himself. 

"What do you like?" Harry rolled his eyes, taking a big bite out of his sandwich. "Are you excited for your birthday? Is there anything you want to do? Did you want a party?"

"Asking me if I want to party seven days before my birthday is ridiculous; how would you even plan it?"

"Seven days is more than enough time to plan a party. All you need to do is send out invitations and get a cake; what's the big deal?" Harry replied, brows furrowed. 

Tom gave him a condescending look. "Any party that can be planned in seven days isn't even worth going to; I hope you know that."

"You're such a snotty little brat," was Harry's reply, trying and failing to sound exasperated, but his amusement was very evident. 

"You shouldn't talk to you betters like that," Tom responded, a smirk on his face.

"Better? I'll show you better," Harry grinned before launching himself at Tom, tickling him.

Tom half-heartedly fought him off, unable to help the bubbling laughter making its way out of his mouth. He knew he was being silly and juvenile, but being around Harry always made him feel carefree. Granted, if this was in the wizarding world, he would've definitely not been acting like this, but he was around muggles, so he didn't care how he was perceived.

He was better than every single one of them, and he knew how to control his magic without a wand. Of course he was more powerful, and his magic more potent, when he was channeling through his wand, but since his wand had the trace, he was cautious to continue to practice dark magic.

Tom had noted that as wizards grew older and got a wand, they never tried or attempted wandless magic. They left that for the most powerful wizards, but Tom was determined that that wouldn't happen to him; he would be just as proficient in wandless magic as he was with magic using a wand.

"Harry?! Tom? Hi!"

Tom's face dropped, and fury made its way through his body as he saw Don bounding towards them. 

Tom remembered the way Don had been so familiar with Harry, how he had made him smile, how he had dared to touch him. Tom felt a burning sensation of wrath; he clenched his fist to quell the urge to do something unfathomable.

"We're busy; can't you see you're interrupting us?" Tom hissed, not even bothering to keep the agitation out of his voice.

Don paused in his tracks, shocked and startled at the venom in Tom's voice.

"Tom!" Harry snapped, glaring at him, removing his hands from where they were previously tickling Tom. 

Tom's heart gave a pang, upset and dejected. "Well, it's true, you always say it's rude to interrupt a conversation." 

"Don't be pedantic."Harry stood up, dusting off his jeans. "Don, it's so good to see you. How are you? How's Maisie?"

Don threw Tom one last startled look before walking towards Harry and shaking his hand. "She's doing much better! It was a... tough road to recovery, but my girl's made out of stronger stuff. She is unfortunately in a wheelchair; she damaged her spinal cord really badly."

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that," Harry squeezed his hand sympathetically. "If there's anything I can do—"

"-You're not a doctor, so you literally cannot do anything to help; your words are a silly attempt to comfort at best," Tom chimed in, snatching Harry's arm away from Don.

He was lucky Tom didn't kill the annoying girl; it would've been what he deserved for putting his hands on things that didn't belong to him.

"Tom! What is wrong with you?!"

"Nothing's wrong with me; what's wrong with you?" Tom snapped, still not taking his eyes off of Don. 

He glared at him, pure hatred coursing through him so potently that Don let out a painful yelp, covering his eyes in panic. 

Don let out a gurgled scream, clutching his eyes as he hunched over. 

However, his pain was short-lived as Harry knocked into Tom, rather aggressively, breaking his concentration.

"I'm really sorry, I, uh, we have to go; we have an appointment," Harry rushed out, grabbing Tom's hand and pulling him away, the picnic forgotten. 

~~~~~~~~~

Harry paced up and down, furious as he looked at the smug and unapologetic face of Tom. 

He was sitting on the armchair, uncaring, watching Harry with close eyes.

Harry felt out of his depth, unequipped to deal with the issue. 

What Tom had done wasn't only alarming and scary, but it was calculated too. 

Harry wasn't completely blind; he wasn't so self-involved and naive to believe Tom was a normal, well-rounded, adjusted child. He knew he had oddities, quirks, and still somewhat held beliefs that Harry wasn't completely comfortable with. 

He knew that Tom struggled to empathise with other people that weren't Harry. He knew that Tom struggled with friendships, but he didn't think Tom was like this. Omitting the incident in Germany, Tom had never shown any signs of being violent, and so casually, it made Harry feel sick to his stomach.

He didn't even know where to begin dealing with this. His first instinct was to lash out, scream, and shout at him, to tell him how awful and disgusting his actions were, but he had to tread carefully. 

Despite his facade, Tom was a very sensitive boy, and he was particularly sensitive to rejection.

Harry didn't want to say the wrong thing that would undo months or even years of progress between the two of them; he needed time to understand the gravity of the situation and to comprehend why it was wrong. But Harry was angry, and he didn't feel like he could have a constructive conversation with him while feeling like that.

"I want you to go to one of your friends' houses for the night; I need some space," Harry said after a few minutes of tense silence.

Tom's smug persona dropped, his brows furrowed, and his face suddenly upset.

"What do you mean you need space?" He demanded, getting up out of his chair. 

"Do not touch me," Harry said quickly, his voice cold and sharp.

Tom physically recoiled back, genuinely shocked, his face crumpled in hurt. 

"Harry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done it! I know I shouldn't, please—"

"You're not sorry."

"I am! Harry, please," Tom pleaded, wrapping his arms around himself, suddenly looking his age as he looked at Harry with fearful, wet eyes.

Harry couldn't bear to look at him, feeling like his heart was breaking, so he turned around. "I want you gone by the time I'm back," and with that, he apparated out of the house. 

~~~~~
Tom's hurt quickly transformed into blinding fury. 

How dare Harry walk out on him? 

How dare he reject Tom? 

Tell him not to touch him? 

Tell him to go somewhere else? 

Tom stood there, angry, wandlessly and wordlessly destroying the room. Letting his anger make the books fly off the shelf, letting the coffee table flip over, letting the chairs rip up. 

Pebbles had disappeared too, terrified.
~~~~

Tom decided to go to Lestranges's house, knowing he was least likely to ask questions. 

Mrs. Lestrange had their house elf set the spare bedroom up for Tom. 

Lestrange knocked on the door before walking in, a black box in his hand. 

"I've got the spare wand my father lets me use; you wanna blow off steam?" Lestrange asked, a grin on his face. 

"Yes," Tom grinned. 

The last time he had used a wand, he had still been eight years old, new to magic. He didn't know any dark or harmful spells then, but he did now.

"Let's go to your garden and see if we can test any spells on the bugs or animals. You've got rabbits, right?" 

"Yeah, squirrels too. Actually, we've had an infestation of gnomes that's been driving my mother mad; we could practice on them too." Lestrange added, thoughtful, as they made their way out of the mansion. 

The Lestrange Manor was very grand, with ten bedrooms, a guest house, and grounds that contained eighty acres of land. They even had their own Quidditch pitch, outdoor pool, and a stable that held Aethonans, which were winged horses.

It also contained the infamous Lestrange library that had books so dark and cursed that it made the Black family's library look tame in comparison.

The only people who lived there were obviously Claude, his parents, and his younger sister Delilah, who was four years old. 

Lestrange had lots of freedom; his father seemed to spend half of his time in France, whilst his mother left him to his own devices. They clearly didn't check what he was using the wand for; they probably didn't care. Tom knew for a fact that if Lestrange was particularly misbehaving, his father would use dark magic to punish him. 

After an hour of cursing and jinxing animals, Lestrange letting out a satisfied smirk as the eyes of the squirrel started to bleed, Tom finally felt like he was calming down. 

He did regret ruining the living room, though, knowing it would've made Harry angrier, but Harry was such a pushover, he'd probably collect Tom before the day was even over.

~~~~~

"Good morning, boys," Mrs. Lestrange smiled, walking into the room where they were having eggs, bacon, and toast for breakfast. 

"Morning," Lestrange grunted, his mouth full.

"Claude!"

Lestrange rolled his eyes, swallowing, "Sorry, good morning, mother."

"Good morning, Mrs. Lestrange," Tom said, plastering a fake smile on his face. 

"Morninggg," sang Delilah, dancing into the room, a toothy smile on her face.

"Tom, Harry floo'd in this morning. He says he's got some work to do and asked if we'd have you for a few more days. I told him, of course we would; it's no bother. Besides, Abraxas and Alphard are coming over later today, and Arthur Avery too. He's missed you all since you've been at Hogwarts." Mrs. Lestrange continued as a bowl of fruit and a tea appeared in front of her. 

Tom kept the smile on his face, plotting.

~~~~

"Do it," Tom demanded. 

"I don't think this is a good idea; something could go wrong," Alphard frowned, shifting uncomfortably. 

"I don't care!" Tom hissed, his patience running very thin, "You either do it to me, or I'll do it to all of you. Get on with it."

If Harry thought he could escape Tom, then he had another thing coming. Tom wouldn't allow it. 

So what if he had hurt the insufferable muggle? He was lucky Tom wasn't older; he would've done worse. Moreover, it was Harry's fault for allowing him to become too comfortable, to overstep his boundaries.

If Harry didn't want people hurt, then he needed to learn that no one other than Tom should be that familiar with him. The filthy muggle had no right. 

However, he knew he wouldn't be able to explain that to Harry because Harry wasn't rational, and he was overly emotional. If Tom didn't find a way to see him and talk to him, then he knew Harry would overthink it, and deep down he was scared that Harry would have had enough and send him back to the wools. 

He knew he was above all those insects that resided at Wools Orphanage, but he couldn't help but think about all the times that he was called a freak or that he was told that if he ever was adopted, then they would return him back because he was evil or that something was wrong with him. 

What if it was true? 

He worried that the more time Harry was left on his own and with his own devices, the more he would start thinking it; he had to remind Harry how much he loved Tom. But Harry was stubborn; the only way Harry would take him back home and see him was if he was hurt, which is why he was trying to get his so-called friends to injure him badly. 

Alphard had flat-out refused too, aghast at the idea, which left Lestrange and Malfoy. 

"Fine, I'll do it, but you can't retaliate back," Malfoy said after a beat of silence.

"Yes, yes, get on with it!" Tom assured him, rolling his eyes. 

Taking a deep breath, a curious look in his eyes, Malfoy took a step forward so he was close to Tom, his wand pointed at him.

"Expulso!"

At such close range, Tom went flying backwards, his head hitting the wall with a sickening crack. Tom could feel the cracks splintering at the back of his skull, unimaginable pain bursting through his body.

Smiling, Tom let the darkness engulf him.

~~~~~~~~