He will not swallow another vol-au-vent with creamy chicken and mushrooms, no matter how starved he may be! Why precisely? Because of his follower/friend's family shooting him dirty looks. As if Abraxas had brought in a mangy cat he took pity on, and now it was eating from the porcelain plate, dear God.
They kept on sniffing and rolling their eyes simply because he did not know which fork to use and because he had mistakenly dipped his actual finger in the finger food dips instead of the food. Anyone could have made that mistake!
Their not-so-subtle 'half-blood' hisses did not go unnoticed either. It was in these moments he wished he were as strong and infamous as Grindelwald so that he could silence the rich and irritating, yet, alas, he was only a thirteen-year-old boy.
His politeness had not impressed the Malfoys, if anything, it only amused them. They judged him, Mrs. Malfoy even asked if the orphanage was some sort of prison for the subhuman.
Tom was shaking with anger, having a nasty retort on the tip of his tongue about whether the Manor was a sort of gilded cage for trophy wives (having heard from Abraxas about his father's infidelity), but he refrained.
Despite hating him and anything that he represented, they were still openly bragging about their luxurious home, built hundreds of years ago by the best magical builders in the world, decorated with finesse by decorators with blue blood recommended by Merlin himself and whatnot. As if they were expecting pats on the back or something...
Tom yawned.
He had to admit, the manor was beautiful, yet what he liked the most were the gardens and the peacocks which seemed to like stealing Mr. Malfoy's monocle, and dirty some of his notes whenever they escaped from their coops.
He wanted to explore the house alone, away from prying mean eyes, and so with the pretext of having to use the closest toilet, which was upstairs, five doors to the right, Tom went upstairs five doors to the left, still surprised that nobody was tailing him or accusing him to be a budding burglar.
The first door was purple, inside resided a large variety of books, the boy was awed and felt like salivating. He debated hiding here for at least a month, cavorting with Abraxas in order to get food and a pillow. Yet he had heard of Mr. Malfoy's temper and he did not want to incite it, at least not while Abraxas might watch, the boy could have conflicted loyalties. Perhaps in another life, he will get his hands on one of those tomes.
The other door, a pure white was one of the kitchens. He was immensely glad no house-elves were there because the tiny creatures were often protective of their owners and would have instantly caused complications. On the other hand, if caught he could tell them he had gotten lost, but then he would have seemed dull, and he simply hated that thought.
The next two doors, green and silver, were mostly unimportant as they seemed to be a child's bedrooms. Either Abraxas had mysterious siblings or the scoundrel had two bedrooms, in fact, he probably had more. Tom felt irritated and slightly jealous.
The fifth door was completely onix. He opened it hastily, conscientious of the time that was flying fast. On the cherry wood desk, there were a couple of documents thrown the center of the mess stood a time-turner, Tom had studied them at school.
He just could not resist temptation, maybe if he activated it he could tell Abraxas that he will not be able to visit him at the Manor, because he had other previous engagements and in saying such things he could forego this entire meal disaster. It seemed perfect since time turners can only help you travel a bit in the past.
With wide eyes and shaking hands he began playing around with the unstable magical artifact until, in a flash of white, he was gone. Nothing remained of him, except his pair of shoes.
Tom felt like falling, falling, exactly like Alice from Wonderland, a single ironic thought was plaguing his mind 'Do cats eat bats or do bats eat cats?'
He stopped falling, landing quite painfully on his back. He seemed to have interrupted something important, eyes were suddenly drawn to him, and whispers were spreading everywhere.
There was a serpentine being sitting at the head of a table with weary, cocky, bloodthirsty acolytes, or so Tom understood.
He was looking at them, they looked entertained and hungry. For what, he could not say.
"My Lord, our, little guest seems to have misplaced himself. Let me ten minutes with the boy, I'll make him sing all of his little secrets." Rabastian Lestrange pleaded Voldemort.
Voldemort lifted an eyebrow, looking amused and unimpressed at the same time.
"I have a terrible singing voice. You'll do nothing but torture your eardrums." Tom answered bravely while shaking like a leaf.
His answer was met with raucous laughter.
"Is the itsy bitsy boy afraid of Rabastian? Aunt Bella will help you make beautiful music...with a few Crucious instead," she said and pointed her wand at Tom.
Just before Crucio-ing him, Voldemort ordered her to stop.
"Don't be so hasty, Bella." then he turned his head to the boy and asked, "Tell me, little one, when will the light disappear?"
When will the light disappear? That was a code he had made, a failsafe if he ever needed help from the future. That is back then when he thought traveling to the future was possible. Surely not, yet...
"When Dumbledore starts choking on his lemon drops," he answered shakily.
Voldemort smiled, looking downright sinister.