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Feb. 4th, 2006 08:07 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
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Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow...
It is a tale told by an idiot..
Something, something, poetic phrases.
Tom's fingers curled up around his robe, tightening against the cloth as though wanting to memorize every strand of fiber available to him. His senses were keener, drawing out the muffled laughter that escaped behind Slughorn's bedroom door and filtered through the hallways and corridors. Laughing, happy, annoying voices of a people who needed to die but for some reason, that path had been halted and Tom wasn't sure why.
Two voices were missing in that crowd.
When he had gotten through with Draco and Severus, he had opted to check up on Ryuuji, to see how the older boy was doing and also because he felt he needed to be cleansed himself. Such a strange notation that, for his cleansing had more to do with blood than actual feelings and that was probably where he found himself falling. Ryuuji had a strange way of making Tom feel wanted without being aware of Tom's other skills in destruction and death. Ryuuji did not need to be destroyed and that was a refreshing change of pace and yet..and yet Tom did not know why it helped.
He did not know why he felt better around Ryuuji, how the darker corners of his mind didn't seem to inescapable then. By all rights, he should have avoided Ryuuji like the plague for Ryuuji made him think and feel strange things that he knew did not belong to him.
But even that point was moot now because Ryuuji was gone and wherever he had gone to, he had taken Seto with and left Tom nothing. No word of when or if he'd be back and no one was more intimately familiar with Ryuuji's pleasure in dimension-hopping than Tom. At least no one from his own world. So now Ryuuji was gone, gone, gone, and he was left without an outlet to push away the growing frustration welling up within him.
It was almost funny, really. He had told Ryuuji not to interfere with Draco, to let him handle it. Had Ryuuji continued on that path with Draco, the idiot boy would have ended up following him to the ends of the world. Ryuuji, who spoke so much of free will, couldn't possibly see that even if he caught Draco's ear and mind, Draco wouldn't have free will. He'd do whatever the hell Ryuuji wanted, go wherever the hell Ryuuji wanted to go, and he'd give up one master for another. Even worse, he would be hunted through dimensions if necessary.
The brat would be killed and replaced. Such was the way of world.
Tom knew the way of the world very well. He knew that there was always ever one way to go. People would always leave. People could be replaced. No man could escape such a destiny. After the period of mourning, the world would go on. It always did.
So then why did he forget such an integral part of his teachings in thinking that perhaps, perhaps Ryuuji would not leave? Perhaps Ryuuji would choose him because no one else before had ever chosen him. No one else had bothered. He had chosen others, of course, but it didn't work both ways.
Now that he had a taste of what had now escaped his grasp, he knew something other than bitterly cold loneliness. He did not know what it was he had glimpsed, but he did know that because he had allowed himself to feel 'it', the loneliness hurt all the more. Now he understood why it was he kept people pushed away. Better to work alone than to be treated to such a thing as this revolting ache within him. He yearned to tear it out and destroy it but wasn't sure where it came from? His soul? His heart? His lungs? For certainly the latter two felt compressed painfully.
How far he had let himself go in so short a time! His original would be most displeased and it wasn't as though Tom could go to him to discuss the matter. This was a weakness. Should he dare go to one of the Death Eaters, he would be spat upon and they would look upon it as weakness as well. Ginny would not be sympathetic, for isn't this what she wanted to see? Him in pain? Oh, he'd put on a very good show for her if he had wanted to give her the satisfaction. Draco was nothing.
There was no one for him. No one but Slughorn and it was in his bedroom that Tom now sat, curled up in a corner. He'd make a sad sight indeed where it not for the glimmering red eyes that belied his true identity and the darkness that crept over him like a blanket. He did not want the darkness then so it came to him, curling up around his feet like a dog, ready to kill should it be commanded.
Killing would serve as an outlet. Hurting another would also serve as an outlet. Ginny, however, was untouchable due to the Headmistress incident and Tom did not need Dumbledore on his case. Draco could not be killed for Tom had other plans for him. So what was left? Nothing. He was left with nothing.
A few short sounds of laughter came from the darkened clump of clothes as Tom assessed his situation over and over, going through it carefully and picking out each and every instance within that he had fallen, that he had made a mistake. He had his own evidence against himself and knew there was enough to hang him. Perhaps it would be nice to stop now. Stop the endless internal pain of the mind.
Another short round of laughter followed, humourless in its sound and Tom clutched all the more tightly at his robe.
Slughorn looked up from his desk, hearing the odd sound coming from the corner of his bedroom. It wasn't the first time the boy had sought solace in a dark place, and as the previous head of Slytherin house, Slughorn's office had been the obvious choice. He'd not immediately realized Tom was there when he'd first walked in. Though now it had been more than half an hour, perhaps almost an hour, and it was the first sound Tom had made.
Taking this as his cue, Slughorn eased himself out of the chintz armchair and walked the short distance to Tom. With some effort he kneeled down and gently placed a hand on the pile of clothing.
"Tom, come here."
It wasn't exactly an order; the tone of Slughorn's voice made it clear that Tom had a choice, but the hand that coaxed the boy out of his huddle and into the warm embrace of his former teacher was firm and definite.
Tom moved, boneless and languid, he shifted himself into Slughorn's embrace, a strange choking sound in the back of his throat his only protest. It wasn't much of a protest, really, but the sound Tom had made long ago when one other offered him kindness without price when he was feeling his lowest. But that other was long since dead and Tom found himself blinking a bit more than necessary.
He could talk to Slughorn without the fear of reprisal, for Slughorn would say nothing to his original about this and thus, Slughorn would be kept safe as well as Tom. Slughorn was neutral. Not unlike Ryuuji. But unlike Ryuuji, Slughorn didn't foster silly ideas of trying to change someone from the inside out, no matter what the benefit may possible be to him. There were boundaries people should never cross if they wanted to remain safe and if they wanted the other to remain safe as well. There were always prices to be paid for everything, consequences for all actions.
Tom could not fully embrace Slughorn but he did come close, his arms reaching around Slughorn's bulk to try and hold the other man but he was too young, too short, and lacked the arm span of a baboon, thus making the task all the more impossible. Still, it was the thought that counted and Tom needed the warmth.
Slughorn knew. Slughorn understood. Slughorn would not condemn and therein lay Tom's own supposed salvation. Ryuuji had spoken before to Tom concerning hidden personalities, how a certain air had to be put on in order to blend in better or be accepted.
Tom had promised never to be humble to Ryuuji.
However, he knew that Ryuuji wouldn't be able to accept certain parts of him. Just like the rest of the world wouldn't be able to tolerate his true nature and desires. He could remain closed, of course, for doing so had been pounded into him at an early age. The taunts of his peers when he made a mistake with his wandless magic since he was too young to fully realize what he was doing, the lash of the riding crop against him whenever he spoke up in defiance or looked too long at Mrs. Cole with the eyes she hated so much, it all went into making him realize that he had to not only perfect himself, but he had to stay hidden amidst circumstantial evidence.
Dumbledore had aided him with that and were it not for the few blessed lights in his life, he wondered if he would have let the darkness devour his soul completely and become fully immersed within the dark arts so much so that he'd go mad and leave the pain behind. He certainly wouldn't be thinking of Ryuuji or anyone else at this point of time. Veneficus, Grindelwald, Slughorn, all of them knew to a certain extent what he'd be and what he'd do. Slughorn was the only one who hid Tom's nature from himself and, in doing so, allowed Tom to come to terms with what he was a bit easier than having it be drummed into him.
Slughorn was reasonable like that. Slughorn was helpful. Most importantly, Slughorn was there when Tom needed him. When the act had to come off at some point and Tom was so tired of his own games, Slughorn had been there to serve as a comfort, far away from the prying eyes of Dumbledore and loaded with sweets and knowledge to raise Tom's mood significantly.
Tom trusted Slughorn far more than he did anyone else. Even his own original in ways he did not dare express. All of that need was exposed now for Slughorn to see in the tenseness of Tom's muscles, in the way his fingers latched onto Slughorn's robes, in the way that he clung onto the older man, and in the way Tom bit down upon Slughorn's own sleeve and screamed, letting the sound be muffled in the robe as the frustration and anger and fury at himself finally let loose.
Slughorn remained quiet, allowing Tom his frustrations. He had a knack for knowing when Tom had too much, however, and was careful not to overindulge him when it came to these things. Holding him tightly still, Slughorn stood, guiding the boy to his feet and brought him into the bathroom. Knowing that the room had to be shared with others, he locked and warded both doors and placed upon them silencing charms. Tom needed his privacy and Slughorn would insure it.
A simple wand flick brought the taps in the tub to life and another flick ensured the temperature would be warm but not scalding. Slughorn pronounced a simple spell, whispering so as not to break the hum of the water filling the tub, and bubbles emerged from his wand. Once the water had reached a decent level, Slughorn finally spoke again.
"I'll help you."
Thick but surprisingly nimble fingers worked the buttons of Tom's robes. The shoes were taken off with a spell, and within seconds, Tom stood bare before his teacher.
"You're a beautiful boy, Tom," Slughorn whispered, and kissed the top of his head, smiling into the curls. "Into the tub now."
He was careful not to let go of Tom's hand as he guided him toward the water.
Tom needed the contact more than anything else. It was strange how he handled physical contact. As a whole, it made him ill. In his first years at Hogwarts, he had strayed from Slughorn's touch, fearing a grab or yank or anything resulting in pain. But Slughorn had been so meticulous in his methods, sometimes going out of his way to clap the boy on the shoulder or a quick embrace at an accomplishment that Tom had little choice but to allow the contact and become used to Slughorn's touch.
It helped that he honestly liked Slughorn.
For now, the contact kept him firmly in place, guiding him when no one else would dare and he moved accordingly, showing no shame at his nakedness, for he had no reason to be ashamed. Slughorn had seen him in worse straits before, had tended to him when a private ritual went haywire and the result should have left Tom looking less than human. Slughorn had shown him nothing but acceptance, of which Tom was grateful.
The water was close to scalding and Tom sat, amidst bubbles which he paid no heed to, and allowed Slughorn to show him some degree of comfort that never quite touched his soul.
Slughorn watched carefully as Tom sank beneath the water. A chair was conjured and he settled himself in it, picked up a washcloth, and slowly began running it over the pale skin.
"I remember these old marks," he said quietly, as if unwilling to break the calm of the room entirely. He traced a scar on Tom's shoulder with the pad of his fingertips. "Your first year, when you fell off the broom. You scared me quite a bit. I thought I had lost my star pupil before Christmas."
He chuckled softly and continued moving the washcloth.
"Your original did quite the good job with you. Then again, you always were such a talented young man. You're exactly the way I remember you at sixteen."
He helped lean Tom back, gently easing him further into the water. Rolling up his sleeves and breaking contact for only a few seconds, Slughorn sighed heavily.
"You need to realize that you don't carry the same burdens your original does. I say he did a good job in creating you - perhaps too good a one. I doubt you'll ever truly let yourself be a normal teenager. Circumstances, perhaps fate even, won't allow you that." He sighed again, the washcloth moving down Tom's chest. "The Dark Lord told me that the Japanese boy left. I know he was your... ally. Perhaps even a friend or more than that, who can say but you? You always had the strangest relationships. No matter, though. Life has its disappointments, and it always will. No one stays forever and you know that better than anyone. That's why you wouldn't let me as close as you would have. Smart of you. But also... upsetting."
With effort, Slughorn guided Tom into a sitting position again and tilted his face so that he could look his student in the eyes.
"If it was easy, Tom, it wouldn't be called life."
Even though Tom wasn't in very talkative mood, he was still grateful for Slughorn's chatter. It helped dispel his thoughts that were quickly turning morose.
Yes, he remembered that scar. Yes, it had hurt when he fell into the Forbidden Forest. While Slughorn was afraid he had lost his prized student, Tom had been more afraid that he had lost his head. Or arm. Or leg for that matter.
Each and every mark he had on him, his original had the very same at his age. Every bit of work that had gone into the horcrux had not gone unnoticed and all in all, Tom's very existence and mindset laid proof of that. Tom had been given half of everything his original had and lacked everything his original had lacked and it should have stayed that way. But for a horcrux to be given life, they had to gather the empty bits of their souls from others. To live and walk and breathe as any living being, Tom had to find something to fill in the void. A horcrux was supposed to do just that with its original after its original had died.
Tom, however, had been released before any such thing had occurred and it had been Ginny's own soul that had filled the void. Perhaps that was why he was feeling such twisted emotions now.
Perhaps that's why he felt sick when he thought of Ryuuji who had vanished with Seto and had left him without so much as a note. After he had told Tom that he wouldn't leave his side until Tom was gone. Perhaps that's why Tom had believed him, had trusted him. Had gone against his own nature to believe Ryuuji would actually stay and become the exception to the rule.
Or maybe, he just wanted to believe that an exception to the rule could exist. Hope springs eternal and all that nonsense.
"I have no closure," he finally stated and it was the Myrtle situation all over again. There was no closure with this 'thing' with Ryuuji. One day there he was, the next he was gone. Only Ryuuji wasn't floating face down in a stream of water from blocked pipes, his glassy eyes staring up at Tom both accusing and sad. There would be no funeral for Ryuuji. Instead, there was just nothing and no, nothing was in its rightful place. Tom could not 'bounce back'. These repulsive feelings were drowning him and he knew he was letting himself be pulled down, deeper and deeper.
Until he could not shake off the tide as easily as he used to. Until he was too tired and too drained to keep on going. His eyes strayed to the bathtub's pipe. He had become intimately aware of Hogwarts' plumbing system and how it had not been changed. Ever. The small carved H's on the taps looked back at him expectantly and he remembered tracing them while in the shower, tracing and tracing and not knowing why but knowing that it was important that he do so because somewhere, those H's disappeared and became snakes. Small, slithering snakes that bristled when human hands came near them.
His purpose sprang back into his mind and that aquarium upon his desk seemed like such a burden now when it shouldn't. He had to get back to his goal, he had to push away what had happened before.
Or he would simply become absorbed and right now, he didn't think that was such a bad idea. His original's soul would push out Ginny's own, wouldn't it? He could get back to what was rather than what it should be.
Slughorn considered Tom's words carefully and then allowed him his reflection. The seconds of silence stretched on as if they were hours, and the bubbles dissipated with only a few soap suds left.
"Closure is a myth."
It was true. When Slughorn had left Hogwarts there was no big party, no celebration. There was simply the next stage of life. And when missing Hogwarts had overwhelmed him, he'd returned to teach and then become a house head. He'd been pushed out of the job by Severus Snape; no, not Snape, but the Dark Lord ordering him to step down for one of his own. There was no closure as he packed his things once again and sunk into retirement. It was a retirement that afforded him many luxuries, however the pull of Hogwarts had always remained, even throughout the war.
"No one is afforded closure, Tom. It is a simple fact. You mourn. You grieve. You move on again. It's the bitter cycle of life. Either you avoid it or you become part of it." It had been awhile since Slughorn allowed himself to become this philosophical. Not since the last meeting of the last Slug Club.
"You will hurt. But you'll survive. Come. Out of the tub - it's getting cold."
But there had to be closure! There was always closure. If there was no closure, then what else was there? Just nothing? Tom couldn't abide by that. It just didn't work with him. He couldn't stand leaving things incomplete but he did know when things were necessary, when he had to leave it alone and let the unfinished business plague at him over and over.
He hated being left with nothing. Worse than nothing, he hated being left with an unresolved issue that he could do nothing about. Ah, but how could he when Ryuuji wasn't here? When he was gone? How could he do a damned thing about the situation?
He couldn't and that was all there was to it. So he was left with a shattered hope he hadn't even realized was there until it was broken. Slowly, he moved out of the bath and into a towel Slughorn had for him.
The towel was big and magically warmed and very, very soft against Tom's skin. Slughorn removed the wards from the door and brought Tom back into his room. Very slowly he dried him off, knowing Tom would appreciate the contact over a drying spell. Once the towel's job was done, Slughorn draped it over a chair.
"Arms up."
When Tom raised his arms he was rewarded with a large, silk nightshirt which fell off one shoulder.
"You need to eat more," Slughorn said, smiling. "To bed."
He undressed as he guided Tom into the magically enlarged four-poster bed and followed him.
"Come," he whispered and pulled Tom into his embrace, kissing his cheek. The touch was familiar and almost intimate, and Slughorn hoped it was enough to calm him down.
Tom held onto Slughorn's hand. It was the closest available appendage he could keep hold of, only letting go to let Slughorn undress. Slughorn, like him, had nothing to be ashamed about in either of their eyes and Tom hardly minded the intimacy between them. He climbed onto the bed and waited for his former Professor to join him.
"You've always said that." Tom knew that no matter how much he ate, he wouldn't ever be at an average weight. He hardly minded that, really. The experiments his older self had performed on himself were extreme enough to tamper with his body structure.
But none of that mattered now. Not now when he was being held so tenderly that he could actually pretend that the world ceased to exist. Slughorn meant acceptance and that was all Tom wanted now. Slughorn would not leave him, would not abandon him to the darkness. He wouldn't try to yank him out, of course, but nor would he throw his prized possession away.
Tom, at this point, felt that he'd rather be a prize to someone than anything else. At least Slughorn would want to keep him close and happy.
"Close your eyes and try to relax, my boy."
Slughorn tightened his grip around Tom and snuggled deep into the many blankets. He wasn't quite sure how to make Tom happy again, but he would do his best to make Tom forget the pain. Without thinking, he started humming quietly, pausing occasionally to press small kisses to Tom's forehead and cheek. With any luck, sleep would come quickly.
Was Slughorn humming to him? Tom didn't grasp the song but the tune was catchy enough. Normally, he'd have railed on being treated like a child by anyone, regardless of how he looked but Slughorn was, as always, different in that regard. Grindelwald had only been around for Tom for a year and in that year, he had become the father-figure Tom never knew he wanted. After him, Slughorn had taken up the reins when Tom realized that he had wanted something of a parental figure.
He trusted Slughorn and deep down, he had to wonder if, perhaps, he wasn't wrong about Slughorn as he had been wrong about Ryuuji. He finally shut his eyes, still holding onto Sluggy's hand even as he fell asleep.
Feeling Tom finally relax, Slughorn let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
Now I know why I never had children, he thought, amused. He hardly minded, though. Tom was... special. Precious. Satisfied that the boy would sleep for at least awhile, Slughorn closed his eyes and joined him.