Praise be to the Heirs of Slytherin

You surprise Tom with a cat

Tom’s eyes widened at the sight that awaited him. Four tiny paws. A ball of brown fur. Large two ears. The tiny creature stared up at him, and bared its teeth as it meowed. Tom couldn’t help but jerk his head backwards 

“There he is!”

The enthusiastic voice of Abraxas greeted him when the resident Dark Lord peeked his head in through the doors of the Room of Requirement. His cautious eyes flickered around the room, reminiscent of an uneasy salamander that dared to poke its head out from underneath a rock to survey his surroundings.

“Let’s get this over with,” Tom sighed as he walked towards them, completely ignoring the birthday decorations that you, Abraxas, and Canopus had spent hours putting up.

“Of course. We won’t dare take up your valuable time any more than necessary,” Canopus responded somewhat sarcastically, approaching Tom and reaching up to put the cone hat that read ‘Birthday Boy’ on top of the disgruntled man’s head, knowing full well that he detested it. You might as well say that, for Canopus, seeing Tom in this humiliating hat was the only redeeming aspect of hosting this birthday party. 

“You never fail to make my day, Canopus,” Tom murmured quietly, his eyes coldly narrowing on the black-haired Slytherin. You had to admit, despite the comically small ‘Birthday Boy’ hat perched atop the Dark Lord, his seething glare was still enough to send a shiver down your spine.

  “Well, it’s tradition,” Canopus shrugged with a smug smirk on his lips, a brave reaction worthy of praise from a Gryffindor. You had no idea what it was that Canopus had: courage, stupidity, or simply a warped sense of fear. But, whatever it was, you couldn’t help but pity and admire it at the same time.

“So... Presents,” Abraxas clapped his hands excitedly, contently watching as the group sat around the sofas.

“Here, Tom. Happy birthday,” Abraxas beamed at Tom as he passed the wrapped package that was clearly a book from its size and shape.

Tom did not respond and tore open the paper wrapping.

“Oh. Actually… this is quite helpful,” Tom showed the book cover to you and Canopus; the title read ‘Dictatorship 101: A Beginner's Guide to Regime Change by Khalilah D Smith’. “Thank you, Abraxas. For the thoughtful gift,” Tom even managed a slight curl of his lips.

The blond looked quite pleased with himself, turning his nose slightly up in the air with a proud smile.

“Pshhh, as if our great Tom needs any instructions on becoming a dictator,” Canopus rolled his eyes. 

“I, on the other hand, got the only thing Tom needs on his destined path to greatness: Time,” Canopus added an exaggerated flourish to his hands that gestured to the box on the coffee table, ignoring the clear annoyance that flashed across Abraxas’ elegant features.

“You should know, Canopus,” Tom raised a brow as he opened the box. “Your words bring nothing but anxiety to my already troubled mind.”

You peeked in over Tom’s shoulder to find what exactly he meant by ‘time’, as Canopus dramtically worded. To your surprise, it was packets of energy drink powder.

“Ohh… nooo, Canopus…” you murmured quietly, recalling the Dark Lord’s sensitivity to caffeine. The last time he tried one cup of coffee, he stayed up for four nights in a row. “What on earth made you think this was a good idea?”

“Shush shush,” Canopus silenced your words of terror, not even giving you a glance. “Tom, remember the coffee that you had? Imagine that, but double that.”

Tom’s eyes widened in amusement as he glanced at it. “By that logic, I could conquer the wizarding world twice as fast.”

“Exactly my point!” Canopus’ eyes glimmered wildly. “You don’t trust us with a thing. And you’re right to do so. Imagine how much you could get done if you could do everything yourself.”

Tom hummed, nodding along. “You know what, Canopus? For the first time in my life, you did not disappoint.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “You two are just enabling his unhealthy obsession with power!” You grabbed Tom’s shoulders, and he slightly wobbled from left to right as your seething eyes captured Abraxas and Canopus. “What Tom needs is stability. Emotional support.”

The wincing was visible on Tom’s face as you said the word ‘emotional support’, but before he had any opportunity to protest, you presented him with a medium-sized box. Tom was bewildered by the way the box seemed to shake on its own. But still, carefully, he opened the box.

“Oh,” Tom seemed lost for words. “Oh. This is… rather… unexpected.”

“Unexpected? What is it-” but Canopus did not need to finish his question, as a small tabby kitten poked his head out of the box and pressed his paws against Tom’s eyes. 

Tom grew silent.

“You thought giving Tom a cat was a good idea?” Canopus turned his disbelieving eyes to you. “And here you were, telling me gifting energy drinks was irresponsible.”

You scowled at your friend, not noticing the kitten that had begun climbing Tom’s uniform like it was his life mission. “Well, I, as his friend who actually know him, happen to think that an emotionally volatile person like Tom needs a support animal.”

“Emotionally volatile?” Tom repeated to himself quietly, doubting his ears over the words that came from this supposed friend of his. At that moment, Tom was trying to ignore the kitten on his shoulder, who was pressing his paws against his cheek.

You had to admit, Tom was showing a surprising level of patience towards the kitten, a bitter realisation following closely behind that, perhaps, Tom tolerated the kitten more than any of his human friends. The tabby cat began to incessantly meow by Tom’s right ear, demanding his attention.

Abraxas was watching all of this with intrigued amusement in his pale eyes. “Well… let’s just hope that the cat will survive to see adulthood.”

You found the meowing rather adorable, but it was clear that Tom’s patience was quickly wearing thin. Even for kittens, the Dark Lord had his limits, it seemed. “Look, I only speak snake,” Tom barked, turning his head to the right, speaking directly to the kitten with frustration evident in his voice. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

The kitten only responded by pressing his paws on Tom’s lips, perhaps for the first and the last time the Dark Lord was silenced. Either from rage or being overwhelmed by the kitten’s cuteness, Tom’s cheeks turned a bright red. For the sake of the kitten, you hoped it was the latter.

“Oh hey,” Canopus’ eyes widened at the kitten’s bold move. “What do you know? He might just live to see adulthood.”

Tom growled as the kitten began his climb up Mt. Tom again. “How wonderful,” he murmured darkly, his displeased eyes following the kitten’s tail that swung back and forth in front of his face as he made his way up his head. The kitten was now wrestling with the ‘Birthday Boy’ hat, fighting for his spot on top of his head.

“Not so intimidating anymore, are you Tom?” Canopus snickered as his eyes flickered

between the Dark Lord and the cat that had settled comfortably on top of his head.

Tom’s vehement glare from behind the swinging tail was quite the sight to behold. At that moment, for whatever came over its small brain, the kitten leapt off of Tom’s head and landed on Canopus’ face.

“Agh! What’s happening?!” Canopus tried to pull off the kitten while its claws dug into his face. “Get it off me!”

“Yes. Yes!” Tom’s dark chuckle echoed in the Room of Requirement, while Abraxas watched the scene in terror, his hands elegantly covering his gaping mouth. 

You could confidently say, that for the rest of your life, you would never forget the cheerful eyes of Tom when he turned to you and said, “You were right, dear. Emotional support was exactly what I needed.”

Recommended Music: I'm Sorry by Brenda Lee

This is the first time I’ve felt the need to confess.

It all started with Abraxas’ suggestion to visit my father.

I’ve asked him: why. His answer: closure.

He believed my mental health to be somewhat, “unstable” and “unhinged.” Apparently, childhood trauma does that to you.

So, closure was the answer.

I’ve pondered about it. Why not. Why not go up to the man in the mansion and stick it into his face? Why not tell the rich man in a big mansion, “fuck you,” “I hope you’ll die in a ditch,” and “You will not be invited to my inevitable coronation.”

If this will help me become a better leader, then gladly I would accept the opportunity to cuss in my father’s face.

Apparently, that was not what Abraxas meant by closure.

But, being the open-minded leader that I am, I said why not.

The plan was to visit Little Hangleton on New Year’s Eve anyway, to assess exactly what I will be inheriting. So, why not make the trip more interesting? Why not start off the marvellous year of 1944 with a clean slate?

Needless to say, the closure has gone slightly out of hand.

I stood on the second-floor foyer, overlooking the entrance hall. Perhaps unwisely, I thought I would give my father a surprise, apparating behind him.

Now, a man lay unmoving below me. His body mangled. His eyes, wide open in the shock that ultimately led to his untimely death. The blood, pooling beneath him.

So much for a clean slate.

Abraxas appeared on the first floor, returning from the kitchen, carrying a slice of cake that he had nicked from the New Year’s celebration. His feet, along with the long shadow cast on the marble tiles, came to a halt.

“Huh,” his brows furrowed, tilting his head, still sucking on his fork. “Is a human head supposed to look like that?”

He pointed his fork at the large dent on the inion of the head.

Tom Riddle Sr. lay still, face down on the floor. Even a corpse did not have the energy to answer such a dull question.

“Shit,” I gritted my teeth. “Fuck, Abraxas. Damn!”

Abraxas’ eyes widened, the realisation finally dawning on him. The slice of cake slowly slid down the plate and fell, the splatter marking its timestamp in the silence.

“Tom…!” Abraxas’ mouth gaped and closed like a helpless fish, “When I said closure, I did not mean this!” He waved the fork over the corpse, as if to say ‘Whatever this is.’

“It. Was. An accident!” I hissed in return at his unhelpful contribution, my fingernails digging into the mahogany handrail.

“Merlin’s beard,” Abraxas ran a hand through his hair, devolving rapidly into a panic. “We’re fine. We’re fine. We merely need to get rid of evidence.”

“Just clean up after ourselves. We weren’t here long. Nobody saw us,” Abraxas began pacing about the room. “Nobody can trace this back to us.”

“Ah, shit,” Abraxas paused as his feet stepped into the crumbled mush on the floor. “The cake! They can trace my DNA, oh god, oh god oh god.”

“The what?”

“It’s a new thing, Tom,” Abraxas wiped away the sweat with his shaky hand. “Heard all about it on that crime radio I listen to.”

I paused to close my eyes, willing myself to ignore Abraxas’ pathetic wailing, taking a deep breath. If my brilliance had served me thus far, it was going to serve me now.

“Calm down, Abraxas,” I opened my eyes again, and let out a shaky breath as I began to descend the stairs.

Abraxas turned his teary, desperate eyes to me, hoping that his leader had some incredible plan.

“Look at this,” stopping next to Abraxas, I languidly gestured to the crime scene. “It merely looks like he fell, does it not?”

For the first time in this dreadfully long night, a glimmer of hope and conviction appeared in Abraxas’ eyes.

“You’re right. He did fall,” he nodded fervently, as if attempting to convince himself. “An unfortunate accident.”

“That befell on an unbalanced man,” I reassuringly patted the back of Abraxas with a smirk, ending his sentence, “Now, let us calm down, and enjoy the serenity before we begin rifling through their possessions.”

I sauntered to the stairs, and sitting down on it, took out a flask for a swing. Still shaking, but now considerably less so, Abraxas followed.

Abraxas nodded his thanks as he took the flask that I offered, taking a swing as well. The alcohol seemed to do wonders, as it was always the case for Abraxas, as his breathing evened out and the confidence returned to his blue eyes.

“You know,” Abraxas began, returning the flask to me. “It is impeccable timing, if you think about it.”

I raised my brows at him, urging the blond to continue.

“It is your birthday. And the old man died, giving you everything in this room,” his gaze wandered around the room, to the antique armours guarding the front doors, the expensive Chinese vases, to the crystal chandelier above them. “Shit, you might be as rich as me, now.”

“Hm, true,” I pondered, my eyes also trailing the many valuables in the room. The word ‘closure’ came to my mind. Yes, I suppose, counting these as an apology gift and my birthday gift, I could find it in myself to forgive my father. Maybe.

My eyes landed on the man’s face, still slumped down on the floor a few feet from us. Tom Riddle Sr. was extremely handsome. Deadly handsome, even.

Too soon, perhaps.

I raised a flask towards the body that eerily resembled me. “Thank you, father, for the gifts!”

“And the cake!” Abraxas joined in with a smile.

I smiled against the flask as I took another swing, revelling in the immediate warmth that spread through my core. “You know,” I murmured, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically sentimental all of a sudden. “I’m glad you’re here, with me. On this memorable night.”

Abraxas turned to me with a genuine smile that came more easily to his lips than mine. “Always happy to help, Tom.”

Abraxas fell silent, however, when there was a groan from the corpse. My eyes widened, as my father groaned, and he raised his head, his eyes fluttering open. We froze as our eyes met. Nothing has terrified me more than that moment, when my father’s irises captured us, his son and a stranger, on his stairs, eating his cake, celebrating his death.

“Avada Kedavra!”

My wand had reacted sooner than I’d had the time to think.

The head dropped again with a heavy thud.

“TOM!”

Abraxas’ shriek pierced my right ear, and I winced.

“Why?! WHY did you do that?!” Abraxas was wailing again, “You have to stop casting a killing curse on your reflex!”

“Shit,” I grimaced. “I panicked.”

“Yes, I’ve gathered, Tom,” Abraxas ruffled his hair, leaping to his feet to begin pacing again, his hair now beyond recognition from the neat style he usually kept. “Merlin, now they’re really going to think it’s a crime scene.”

“He saw our faces,” I murmured darkly. A weak excuse, I knew, but Abraxas’ finger-pointing was unbearable.

“Fuck, Tom!” the blond was hyperventilating now. “I cannot go to Azkaban! They will eat me alive!”

I glared up at the rattled man, still pacing back and forth in front of me, his nerves getting to me. A terrible idea crossed my mind, for a moment, whether keeping Abraxas alive was a liability. He did not do well under pressure. He’d crumble under interrogation in mere seconds.

I growled, “Well, there’s nothing we can do at the moment, but to–”

Abraxas yelped when there was a low grumble from the corpse. He turned on his heels, the fork gripped tight in his hand. I widened my eyes at the savagery of the blond, watching him straddle my father and plunge the fork into him again and again. The muggle way.

He screamed at him. Then cursed. Then stabbed some more.

Watching Abraxas go absolutely feral on the poor corpse that resembled me, I had to consider the possibility that Abraxas perhaps harboured some pent-up vehemence towards me.

“Jesus,” I watched him stand up, the sweat-matted strands of hair falling into his eyes. “Could you not? That is my father.”

“Fuck,” he let out a shaky breath, the fork slipping from his hand and rattling on the floor. His pale skin, splattered with red. “I thought he was dead! How’s he still alive?!”

“It happens,” I sighed, scratching my brows at the situation that was rapidly growing out of hand. “Corpses release gas and liquid.”

“Oh god,” Abraxas fell to his knees, as if begging for forgiveness from my father. He began sobbing, the tears streaming down his cheeks. “Oh god, my life is ruined.”

To be frank, I found the situation somewhat amusing. How the tables have turned. I bit my tongue, wanting desperately to say ‘Who panicked this time?’ Instead, I stood up with a heavy sigh, and laid a supportive hand on his shoulder.

“Yes, it does look like ‘fuck you in particular’ now, doesn’t it?”

Despite my solace, Abraxas began to sob harder. Perhaps it was the way I said it.

“Come,” I helped him up to his feet. My father’s blood painted his blond hair and pale skin. His tears and spit have now mingled with it as they trailed down his chin. I sighed, producing a handkerchief from my pocket.

“You’ve always enjoyed crime radios,” I wiped his face clean, until reconsidering the futile attempt as more tears poured. “Now you get to be a part of it.”

Abraxas howled as more tears began to pour.

“There there,” I wrapped my arms around him in a comforting embrace.

“You won’t let me go to Azkaban, will you?” his frail voice came muffled against my wool uniform.

“Of course not,” I patted his shoulder. “I’ll always be here to fix your mistakes.”

-----

A few hours later, in the wee hours of the morning, we stood in front of a roaring fire. The sky was just beginning to brighten as Abraxas rubbed his hands over the fire, trying to warm his pale hands that had gone frigid.

“I’m glad we built this fire,” he said with a relieved smile. “Fire has a soothing effect, I think.”

I hummed in agreement, blankly staring at the flames that reached for the sky before me. There was a hint of nervousness in the voice that Abraxas was desperately trying to quell. I chose to ignore it.

“Say, do you know if they wanted cremation?” another nervous whimper from Abraxas.

I took one last drawl of the cigarette before tossing it into the fire. “Now, how the fuck would I know that, Abraxas.”

Abraxas merely hummed and nodded, numbly staring at the three bodies that had grown unrecognisable. The grandmother and the grandfather had to go as well. Loose ends and all that. They’ve lived a good long life anyway.

“You know, I don’t think I’ll ever be the same,” Abraxas’ voice was dead and despondent as he accepted a cigarette from me. “That image of you, underneath me, as I plunged the fork into it… It’s changed something within me.”

I knitted my brows at his wording. “You mean… my father,” I raised a suspicious brow at my oldest friend as I corrected him. “You felt the urge to kill my father.”

“Hm, what?” Abraxas had borrowed the light from the roaring fire in front of him, his gaunt features light ablaze with orange contemplation. “Yes, of course.”

I fell into an anxious silence, the image of Abraxas straddling someone that resembled me, too similar for my comfort. The animalistic sheer will that burned in his eyes – no thinking, no reasoning, all his focus on simply doing – as he poked holes into my father. The image shall haunt me for the rest of my days.

I cleared my throat, and took a step away from the blond. Suffice it to say that the night had changed something inside me as well.

“Well, father,” I tightened my tie as a respectful gesture that seemed appropriate for the sobering moment. “Grandmother, grandfather.”

Abraxas tossed the cigarette, crushing it underneath his black leather shoes, taking his hat off.

“Wish I got to talk with you a bit more,” I cleared my throat again, not having had much experience with eulogy, despite deaths that seemed to follow me wherever I went. “Maybe discuss my inheritance. Alas, it is what it is.”

I looked down at the bouquet of flowers, gripped tightly in my hands. “Abraxas and I gathered a little something for you. Don’t know what kind you liked, but – there are some dandelions in here.” 

I furrowed my brows, angling the plants in an attempt to name them. “Some… grass. Well, I hope you’ll like them.”

I tossed the bouquet on top of the fire, watching the flowers shrivel as the flames licked them hungrily.

“Closure,” Abraxas leaned over to me and whispered, giving me an encouraging wink.

I nodded and took a deep breath. My eyes surveyed the first hint of light behind the roaring hills at the approaching dawn. I bit my lips in deep contemplation, trying to put a label on what I was feeling.

“You were a shit father… father,” I continued, blinking away the tears that were beginning to pool in my eyes. “I wish I got to tell you that in person. I admit things could have gone better.”

“But,” I sniffed, looking up at the chalk-white sky to dry my eyes. “Rest assured, your assets will be put to good use. I’ll promise you that.”

My eyes landed on Abraxas, who had given me a thumbs-up. I nodded in appreciation of his support.

I sighed, growing restless at the idea that Abraxas and I still had to bleach the entire place. “Goodbye, father. And fuck you.”

I knew I did well by the congratulatory pat on my shoulder. I turned my eyes as the first ray of sunshine hit my cheekbones. The clouds. The birds chirping by. It was strangely serene, even idyllic, betraying the violent night that we just shared.

But, I found myself smiling as the strands of my hair in the breeze tickled my cheeks. I felt it. Abraxas was right. My mind was finally at peace. 

Reflecting the serenity of our environment. Save for the burning corpses.

I knew it in my heart. That was to be the last time I killed a man.

A single tear rolled down my cheek, as I clasped the blond’s hand on my shoulder. A fresh new start, I felt it in my core.