I Regret It

“I regret it.”

He had made his decision but it was one which cut deeply. Severus had chosen his side. He would not disgrace him as a traitor, no.

There was a precedent for how traitors were to be handled as a warning to the others and Tom couldn’t bring himself to raise his wand against the man. Nor could he afford to show the weakness he felt for him.

He could give him this at least.

A quick death.

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“Are you wearing notice me nots on your robes?”

The boy, for he was a boy then looked at him sceptically with an ironically raised eyebrow framing dark eyes looking directly at him, clear through the magic enveloping him in its embrace.

It was the first time they had met. The Malfoy’s Yule ball. The air smelt of pine and fresh snow, every detail of the opulently expanded ballroom meticulously planned. The flicker of candlelight reflected in the crystal like sunlight on ice and burned like fire in the darkly amused eyes of the young man in front of him.

“You appear to have commandeered the best corner. You won’t mind if I join you.” It wasn’t a question. Tom didn’t ask permission. And the boy registered the tone as his other eyebrow joined the first and a startled laugh escaped him. He was so expressive, his every reaction writ large in the sharp contours of his face.

He smirked and raised his glass to Tom who watched fascinated as a pink tongue darted out to lap at the last drop of mulled wine. He was willing to bet that the boy tasted of sweetness and spice and sin. Something exclusively him.

“You know if you used Coptic rather than Futhark you could disguise your magical presence too, if you’re predisposed to lurking at parties.”

The cheek. They lost themselves in conversation. The whirl and bustle passing them by, entirely lost in their own world. The boy was brilliant, his mind shone to Tom.

“MiLord.”

Abraxas had interrupted and the boys face had shuttered entirely a deep flush rising up his neck.

When he turned back the boy was gone.

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The next time they met the he knew the boy was gone for good. He had made way to a young man with harder eyes and harsher angles to his face. Tom could understand, the world was not a kind place for people like them.

He came as a supplicant under the sponsorship of Lucius Malfoy.

His posture had straightened and his accent smoothed as he bowed with grace and pled his case.

Tom looked into the mind offered to him with unwavering eye contact and what he saw…

The young man in front of him was burning, burning for justice, burning for vengence, burning with passion for knowledge, burning to prove himself.

So Lord Voldemort accepted. He marked the arm extended to him in offering, running his wand along smooth pale skin and blue veins and where others flinched or cried out in pain his Prince looked him straight in the eye, his own burning with satisfaction and pride.

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A force of creativity directed against those who had wronged him in the past, a duellist who could turn the tide of a battle. 

One night he took him to the cliffs of dover and taught him to fly. He pushed him off the edge so he could fall after him. It was exquisite.

He was magnificent. He rose through the ranks swiftly and decisively letting no-one doubt Lord Voldemort’s wisdom in such a young halfbloods ascendance to the inner circle.

Well apart from Bella, but Tom knew well how she looked at him and he looked at Severus and how she looked at him in turn.

Then came the prophesy.

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“Stand aside you silly girl!”