Invictus [Tom Riddle / Tomione]

Dreams

Tom wanted nothing better than to strangle Hermione.

He departed his flat and strode down Knockturn Alley until he came to the brick wall which concealed the giant's quarter. He tapped the bricks in a familiar pattern and disappeared into the darkness.

The last time he'd stood before this doorway, he'd been with a blindfolded Hermione. Her hair had smelled like lavender and vanilla and salt and it seemed like only yesterday that he'd tasted her for the first time in Godric's Hollow.

In truth, it had been nearly six months.

In those six months, this witch had leaked into his bloodstream and infected his soul like the blackest, most noxious poison. Her lies had created an open wound which festered, suffused grotesquely with the gangrene of his affection.

Tom entered the pub and took his usual place, a booth in the darkest corner of the section reserved for humans.

"Tom," greeted Maigog as he approached the booth. "Haven't seen ye around lately."

"I've been busy," Tom muttered sourly.

"When are ye no' busy?"

Tom inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Not often enough."

Maigog chuckled, unphased by Tom's foul humour. "What can I get ye this evening?"

"Absinthe, if you have it."

"Ah, ye know we've al'ays got it on hand," bellowed the giant. "I'll be righ' back."

Tom nodded stoically.

He intended to get drunk. It had been a very long time since he'd blacked out drinking and he savored the prospect.

He owed it to himself for putting up with his witch's blatant disregard for decency. He thought of her words.

"What happened to you in life to make you so cruel?"

I don't know, little cunt, Tom thought viciously. What happened to you to make you so callous that you find it necessary to torture me endlessly?

He had felt that he was finally on the verge of a breakthrough with Hermione. He felt it in his soul that she had been so close to lowering her defenses.

Then, she'd showed up at Riddle House and it had all gone to shit. She'd seen him slit a muggle's throat. Now, she thought him a monster.

But in truth, the man he'd killed had been the truly evil one.

Tom was only partly a monster. It was true that he had a loose relationship with morality that most human beings hadn't accepted yet, and most wouldn't, until they realized the necessity of it too late in life. His morals served him, as everything else did in his life. He would never take the moral high road if it meant weakening himself, and that put him at an advantage. He'd learned this way of living as a lonely orphan with no earthly possessions and no loyalties. It was a tactic of survival. He'd learned the hard way that power was the most valuable commodity one could possess.

Since he had met Hermione, he desired power more than ever. It was the only way he could foresee himself being able to keep her. She was an incredibly bright witch, but unfortunately, too committed to her noble and high-minded ideals. That made her a liability; it made her reckless. He would be forced to ensure her safety, and that, by extension, meant he would likely have to resort to certain atrocious and dishonorable methods in order to do so.

Tom was okay with that. He possessed a certain code which he lived by, although anything outside of that code wouldn't be tolerated. Tom would never repay loyalty with disloyalty, although the moment someone betrayed him, they were better off dead.