Good Night, Darling

[ A Gormless Looking Boy ]

Summary: Tom is whipped and gets a nose bleed

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Tom let out a world weary sigh, slipping his hands into his pockets in an attempt to refrain from reaching out to strange Hadrian. Affectionately.

"Not yet," He replied, an amusing response he knew that Hadrian would like. The snort he received validated this.

The room was grand, adorned with green drapes and golden trim, as well as a large ornate table in the center. The mantleplace was covered in all sorts of items, ranging from small animal skulls enclosed in glass boxes to old books, withered and worn but still somehow held together by magic. A portrait hung above it, a regal man in green robes looking down at them with a haughty expression. He wasn't moving, though Tom imagined he had better to do with his evenings than talk to children.

The other boys stood in the corner, waiting for their instructions.

Hadrian walked towards the fireplace, staring up at the portrait.

"Slytherin looks less impressive than I would have thought," He pondered, and Tom let out a huff.

"You have no house pride," Tom replied, running his hand over the large throne-like seat at the head of the table. King, indeed.

"I suppose," Hadrian turned back to him. "Is that a real human skull?"

Tom followed his gaze, nose wrinkling in disgust as he saw the item. He'd have to revamp the room.

"I'd have assumed so," He said. "Slytherin was always rather...unorthodox."

"Unorthodox..." Hadrian repeated quietly, his lips tilting up in a smile.

Abraxas took a step forward, clearing his throat, "Are you going to address us this evening, my Lord?"

Tom's jaw ticked, his eyes narrowing as he turned to face the other students.

"Don't you have any patience, Abraxas? Appreciation for the... beautiful room you're faced with?"

"I do appreciate it, my Lord," He said, almost breathless in his hurry to respond, "But we aren't here to discuss the architecture."

Tom let out a slow, irritated breath, "Well then. Take your seats."

They scrambled, the sound of chairs being pulled against stone loud in Tom's ears. The small boy, William Mulciber, hovered at the end of the table before taking a tentative seat on the edge of the chair. Scared, already. It didn't bode well.

The room was silent, and Tom tapped his fingers against the back of his chair. He wouldn't sit yet, keeping them on edge. Now that he had a proper room, a proper throne, his ambitions were becoming even more real.

He opened his mouth to speak, to provide a relatable and yet inspiring speech to his Knights, but before the words could even spill from his mouth another spoke out of term.

"Thanks, Tom," Hadrian said, falling into the seat Tom stood behind.

He couldn't even bring himself to feel enraged.

Hadrian tilted his head up, green eyes sparkling up at Tom with a mischievious glint.

"It's no problem, Hadrian," He replied, straightening up and feeling the gazes of the others fall on them. Watching and likely waiting for retribution.

But he didn't mind sharing, contrary to the popular belief.

"Now," He turned his gaze back to his followers, watching their postures stiffen and their eyes widen, "What do we think of the room? A good meeting point?"