Chapter Text
It's an ordinary day when Wool’s acquires another lost soul, apparently. Her unruly, ebony tresses catch his attention for a moment when he saunters into the kitchen for dinner, but she uses her curtain of hair to hide her face from view quite expertly as she keeps her head down. Not any different from most of the new arrivals, then.
For a fleeting moment, he wonders how her hair isn’t getting into the thin potato soup they’re being served on this muggy, summer evening, but then it’s finally his turn to receive his share and he watches carefully to make sure Sarah doesn’t spit into it. The girl has been getting uppity recently and he might have to teach her another lesson soon if she thinks she can get away with spitting into his food while he’s there to see it.
The fool had run her mouth to her friends after she did it the first time and when he overheard them laughing…well, he won’t let it end with just a few nightmares this time.
Wisely, Sarah simply hands him his tray of food without looking him in the eye and sends him on his way with a tremble. Tom takes his usual seat at the end of the table and minds his business as he makes his way through his paltry meal: half a bowl of soup, a hard roll, and a cup of tea.
Tom tears off a piece of the roll and dips it into his soup as he does his best to tune out the whining children. He does, however, eavesdrop on the quiet murmuring between the older children. Though the new girl sits with them at the other end of the table, she neither engages nor do they engage her. Peculiar. He wonders what happened in the short time since she arrived and dinner.
Bringing the thoroughly soaked bread bite to his mouth, he does his best not to gag at the taste of the foul sludge they call soup once it makes contact with his tongue. Whoever’s chore it was to make soup today clearly had no idea what they were doing. That said, this is all he’s going to get until tomorrow morning, so he does his best to swallow it all and wash it down with the tea. At least, that’s passable.
Ah, how he misses the luxurious feasts of Hogwarts. It’s only been a couple months since he was last treated to the sumptuous cuisine, but he’s been counting down the days until his return for his fifth year. Just a few days more and he’ll be free of this dreadful place for another academic year.
With that thought in mind, he picks up his tray and places his dishes in the sink. On his way out of the kitchen, he feels eyes on him but he brushes off the feeling. It’s normal for the other orphans to watch him in fear of what he might do next, after all.
~xXx~
The next time Tom catches a glimpse of ebony flyaways is on Platform 9 ¾, unsurprisingly. Of all the students that frequent King’s Cross Station on a regular basis, there have to be at least some that have similar characteristics, so he thinks nothing of it when a head of disheveled ebony disappears onto the Hogwarts Express about a score of students ahead of him.
Once he boards, he surveys the compartments for an empty one or one occupied by his Knights. Most are filled by early birds and shaky, excitable first-years chatting away with their friends. Tom is nearing the end of the train by the time he passes by a compartment with only a single girl occupying it.
Though he keeps moving, he slows to note the solemn look on her pretty face, aging her several years ahead of her time as she stares out the opposite window. Her long, dark locks look as if they had been blowing in the wind for quite a while and she apparently didn’t notice or care. He can’t tell what color her eyes are from this distance, but he finds he’s actually curious. Tom tries to identify which House she hails from, but her school robes lack colored accents. How strange. She looks like she could be a third or fourth-year, but certainly old for a first-year.
For a wild moment, he considers joining her to sate his curiosity, even going so far as to reach toward the compartment door handle. Narrowly, he thinks better of it. Nearly shaking his head to clear it, he wonders what could have possibly brought that on.
Thankfully after that momentary bout of insanity, his Knights of Walpurgis are just a few compartments down. They welcome him with open arms, as they always ought to, and he settles in for their first meeting of the new year.
As always, Mulciber and Lestrange vie for his attention in between topics, while Nott, Rosier, and Malfoy report on any assignments he gave them over the summer or pureblood news he should be aware of. Apparently, Nott is looking to bring Orion Black into the fold, as well. All the better for Tom.
Truly, it feels great to be back where he belongs.
~xXx~
Sat towards the head of the Slytherin table, Tom settles into his normal spot to watch over the proceedings of dinner. As always, his Knights sit to his side and across from him. Soon after, the doors to the Great Hall swing open and Dumbledore leads in the newest crop of first-years. At the tail end of the group of wide-eyed, awed lambs looking this way and that, he sees the same girl that he almost approached on the train.
She’s not much taller than the average first-year, but she somehow stands out to Tom as she keeps her eyes trained on the path ahead of her, her posture tense. As Dumbledore runs through the sorting of the fresh, new faces, Tom plasters a friendly smile on his face and politely claps for each new addition to Slytherin House, but he keeps an eye on her. Finally, her turn comes.
Dumbledore calls out, “Harry Evans. Our new fifth-year transfer student.”
Without a word, she stiffly approaches the professor and sits upon the stool. Meanwhile, Tom is at a loss for what to think. He has passing thoughts about how strange it is for a girl to be named “Harry,” and how Muggle her surname is, but he’s preoccupied by the fact that someone so tiny is in his year.
The upper half of her face disappears beneath the Hat as Dumbledore places it on her head, but that isn’t to say that she isn’t perfectly expressive without her eyes. With just her body language, she broadcasts the plethora of emotions she’s experiencing as the Hat contemplates which House to Sort her into. Of the many signals she’s sending, the most prominent are anxiety and frustration.
The Sorting process drags on long enough that Tom starts to think that she’s arguing with the Hat’s choice. It certainly seems to be that way between her winces and the subtle shaking of her head. Finally, she slumps, all hope leaking out of her as the Hat declares in a tone that leaves no room for argument, “SLYTHERIN!”
A bit puzzled, Dumbledore lifts the Hat off Evans’ head and that’s when their eyes finally meet. Brilliant, emerald green eyes stare into the windows to Tom’s soul and don’t like what they find. Her eyes immediately widen in fear before she quickly averts her gaze. To the lackluster applause of a few awkward claps from the Slytherin table, Evans climbs off the stool and makes a beeline for the opposite end of the table from Tom.
With a cough, Dumbledore orders the start of the Welcome Feast.
For his part, Tom is a bit confused. This should be the first time they have ever seen each other, but Evans had looked at him with recognition. Stranger still, she had clearly been afraid when he had yet to give her a reason to be. If she had been a pureblood, he could see one of his Knights or classmates spreading news of him in their social circles and it reaching her ears, but she clearly doesn’t have such a background.
A glance down the table reveals that she’s doing her best not to get noticed as she stares at her plate and silently eats. It seems to be working since none of the other Slytherins have struck up a conversation with her. They’re probably insulted that she had been disappointed to be sorted into their House, and her clearly Muggle last name isn’t doing her any favors.
Not that Tom blames them, of course. He’s a bit offended, himself. Slytherin is the best of the Houses. A mudblood like her should feel honored to be a part of it.
Ah, well. She’ll be eaten alive by the others soon enough.
~xXx~
Well, he can say this about Harry Evans: she certainly knows how to be scarce. She skipped breakfast and despite being in the same classes as Tom, she manages to lay low during both Charms and Transfiguration. She wouldn’t even be on his radar if she hadn’t recognized him the day before. However, her quest to avoid him comes to an end in Defense Against the Dark Arts when Professor Merrythought sets them against each other in a mock-duel.
With a barely audible sigh of defeat, Evans wanders over from her desk in the corner of the classroom and stops a healthy distance away from him. The desks move out of their, and everyone else’s, way as the classroom rearranges itself to give everyone more room. Each pair stands across from each other as they wait for the professor to give the go-ahead.
Once again, Tom sees that momentary fear in Evans’ eyes when they make eye contact before her eyes harden. The rest of her looks about as ferocious as a wet kitten, but her eyes give him pause. Her beautiful eyes are as open as a book; open hostility, steely determination, and sheer exhaustion.
What an odd combination. But then, Tom supposes an odd combination of emotions suits an odd girl.
They bow to each other, though hers is begrudgingly shallow. With that out of the way, they get into dueling stances and wait. Circling the room like a shark on a trail of blood, the elderly Professor Merrythought finally calls out with the slightest hint of a cackle, “On the count of three, subdue your opponent without causing serious harm! That means you, Mr. Dolohov!”
Out of the corner of his eye, Tom sees Antonin Dolohov wince, but he immediately returns his full attention to the tiny witch in front of him that seems to be out for blood.
“1!”
Evans adjusts her stance with a miniscule nudge of her foot.
“2!”
Tom tries to send her a friendly smile to disarm her, but Evans’ eyes only narrow further.
“3!”
The classroom erupts in flashes of light as spells collide and deflect. Evans throws up a shield just in time to block his silent Confringo. Mildly impressed, he hurls several more hexes and jinxes, gradually chipping away at her shield. Once it finally breaks, Evans physically dodges his Bombarda by ducking out of the way.
Her focus intensifies and she retaliates with a flurry of hexes and curses of her own. Her spells get progressively harder to deflect as the duel escalates. The room and its occupants fall away as Evans genuinely seems to be fighting for her life. Honestly, the exhilaration Tom feels while dueling the witch is like nothing he has ever felt before. His lips curl into a confident smile, his gray eyes glittering with intrigue.
After the fifth time she casts Expelliramus, to no avail, he goads, “Is that the best you’ve got, Evans?”
Growling, determination flashes in Evans’ eyes as she gathers her strength. She conjures a shield just in time to block a particularly powerful curse from Tom. The force of the impact sends her stumbling back, but she maintains her stance, refusing to back down.
With renewed vigor, Evans launches a barrage of spells, her wand movements a blur of precision. Tom expertly deflects each spell, but Evans is relentless. In a moment of calculated risk, Evans seizes an opening. She casts a stunning spell that veers off course, colliding with a nearby light fixture. It crashes to the ground with a deafening clang, sending shards of glass flying. Tom's attention flickers, just for an instant, toward the noise.
However, rather than take advantage of his moment of distraction and unleashing a barrage of hexes on him, she hesitates. Though she is quick to fire off another spell at him soon after, her delay does not go unnoticed by Tom, who casts Protego just in time to block it.
Things only get worse from there. The duel loses momentum as one of its participants slowly loses their drive. Tom wonders where Evans’ determination has gone as she gets lazier and lazier about deflecting his spells and basically gives up on any offense. The most irritating part is that she’s still successful for the most part. She looks almost bored as he finally disarms her.
The rest of the classroom is silent. Everyone else had stopped once the light fixture fell, apparently. One student tries to start an applause but gives up when no one joins them. No one is quite sure how to react. Professor Merrythought considers the two of them with a thoughtful look on her face. Most of the students look to Tom for his reaction.
Tom's lips tighten into a thin line, his eyes locked onto Evans’. Evans shows no emotion whatsoever and that just feeds his anger. She’s the first one to break eye contact when class is dismissed. He barely keeps his composure as she hustles to retrieve her wand, and then back over to her desk to retrieve her belongings.
Normally, Tom would neatly arrange his quills and parchments in his bag before saying goodbye to the professor on his way out, but in his frustration, he clears his desk with an inelegant sweep of his hand and shovels his things into his bag and hurries after Evans. Professor Merrythought doesn’t seem to mind as her cackles follow him out the door.
Tom doesn’t even catch what she calls out to him in his haste to track down Evans. The rest of the students head towards the Great Hall for lunch, but Tom doesn’t see her untidy head of hair among the other students filtering out into the hallway. By chance, he catches a glimpse of robes disappearing down a branching hallway off to the side.
Dashing after them, Tom comes upon a mostly empty corridor; Evans already halfway down it. Doing little to hide the anger in his tone, Tom bellows, “Evans!”
Her head turns slightly toward him, so he knows she heard him, but rather than wait for him to catch up, she speeds up. Unfortunately for her, her short legs can’t compare to the long strides he’s capable of and he gains on her. The sound of his heavy footfalls prompts her to transition to full-on running from him and Tom transitions to chasing her.
They rush deeper and deeper into the castle as Evans tries to escape him, but before long, he catches her by the arm in a barely restrained grip. She tries to wrench her arm out of his hold, but he only grips her tighter and whirls her around to face him. He snarls, “What was that?”
“What was what?!” she heaves as she tries to wrestle out of his grip.
Getting more infuriated by the second, he hisses, “You let me win. Why? ”
“I didn’t—”
“Yes, you did!”
“Have you ever thought that maybe you’re just that good?!” she sasses him while trying to push him away with her free hand.
Grabbing her other hand, he gets in her face. “Don’t you dare patronize me! I want a rematch!”
“No!” she hisses, breathing his air.
He goads, “Why not? Afraid you’ll lose for real?”
“I could say the same to you! Now, let go!”
“Not until—”
He’s abruptly cut off by an unbearable pain in his groin. His knees knock together in a belated attempt to protect himself as he goes down to the floor, letting her go in the process. She starts running once again as he comes to terms with the fact that she kicked him in the groin. Filled with a burning fury he hasn’t ever felt before in his life, he whips out his wand and directs it at Evans’ back as she gets farther and farther away.
“Avada Kedavra!”
A beautiful green light shoots out of his wand and hits Evans square in the back. With no warning, she immediately crumples to the ground.
The sight pleases Tom until he realizes what he just did. His pain forgotten, he rises to his feet and tries to casually make his way toward the body. He’s never cast an Unforgivable before, and in his rage it had just…slipped out. If he’s honest, he hadn’t meant to do it. She had just made him so goddamn angry.
Luckily, there was apparently no one around to witness the…well, the murder. Not even a ghost. Tom was truly lucky there. He isn’t sure how he’s even going to cover this up and he’s never threatened a ghost into silence. His Knights, sure, but how could he possibly threaten a non-corporeal being? A thought for another time.
Approaching the body, he nudges his foot underneath the body’s shoulder and flips it over onto its back. In death, Evans looks peaceful, if a bit bruised. She had fallen on her face, after all. All emotion wiped out of her face, she stares blankly ahead. Her jaw forcibly relaxed, so her mouth is a tad agape. Of course, that could also be from the shock that she died so suddenly.
Just as he’s considering how he’s going to drag this body over to the Black Lake without being seen, the head snaps toward him and he sees emerald eyes focused on him once more.
Before he even registers what’s happening, her wand is in her hand and aimed at him. She cries, “Petrificus Totalus!”