Chapter Two
Potters eyes glint with shrewdness behind those hideous glasses, one day Tom would take the liberty of introducing him to vision correcting potions (brewed by Tom himself, of course- he would never trust any other fool to touch such bright, Slytherin eyes)
Tom had always found it a damn shame that Potter had winded up in Gryffindor like his wretched parents. From the moment he had seen that scrawny, pubescent boy lifting the youngest Malfoy up and out of the window of the Hogwarts Express through sheer determination and raw power, he knew- only Potter could ever be seen as his equal.
Tom did end up antagonising Potter at any moment over the course of the next seven years, but that was neither here nor there, in Toms opinion.
Watching Potter through the years, Tom's fascination was ever growing. The boy was obviously immensely smart and powerful, which was expected seeing who his parents were, but yet he never really seemed to try. His life revolved around Quidditch. Tom had never seen anyone look so alive the way Potter did when he soared through the sky on his top the class broomstick, eyes bright, hair forming into a bird's nest but just so so alive. Ethereal.
One could describe Potter as a jock, Tom supposes. With his posse of Weasley, Granger and the rest of the gormless Gryffindor's. In later years, even Weasley's sister (or the Weaslette as Malfoy would say) due to her and Potter's little relationship.
It seemed that Potter's unwillingness to show his real capability and magical prowess would remain a mystery for the rest of time.
To no one's surprise, Potter was elected as Quidditch captain for the Gryffindor team after Johnson had graduated. He would have been chosen as Head Boy in seventh year if it wasn't for Tom being the clear choice. He knew if it was up to Dumbledore, Tom wouldn't even have been made a prefect in fifth year, but you can't argue against statistics and statistics clearly showed Tom was the best performing student despite insistent competition from Granger. For all Tom cared, Dumbledore could go fuck himself; as crude as it was.
Tom watched as Potter got into countless altercations with the Slytherins, someone always coming out beat up and bloody. He watched Potter reel his power in over and over again, never harming anyone to an extreme no matter the extent of his fury. Every day he woke in the ill-lit Slytherin dorms with hope pulsing in his chest that maybe today would be the day Potter would finally release the obstruction on his magic but it never came to be. He would settle behind his velvet green curtains with disappointment weighing him down.
After graduation, Tom's path never ceased to cross Potters, despite the latters obvious irritation. Tom, ever persistent, never let Potter go without some quip made about his position as a trainee Auror and then the assistant head. What a waste of dexterity. Risking your life for the mindless general public- not that Tom believed any fool other than him could pose a threat to Potter. If it was up to Tom, Potter would be working as an unspeakable. A far more respectable position than a bloody Auror of all things.
Alas, Tom wouldn't even be the last person Potter would heed advice from despite the idiocy of it all.
Regardless of Tom's insistence to involve himself in Potter's life, Potter kept him at arm's length. Despite Tom pulling Potter out of inconvenience numerous times the bastard would just not let him in. This all seemed very strange to Tom, did Potter really have to be such a stubborn bitch all the time? Tom pondered on whether it could be due to his mother being a mudblood or if Potter really was just a half-wit. But that couldn't be it. Tom had witnessed the power Potter possessed with his own two eyes. He could sense the strength in his bones.
One day Potter would let him in and it appeared that day was crawling closer and closer.
Becoming Minister for Magic was the last step in Tom’s scheme to draw Potter towards him. The last step in gaining control and understanding of Potter's mind.
Tom would not rest until Potter was his.