Tom's eyes burst open. He stared upward at the ceiling. The rest of Tom's body was completely still, too physically tired to move. His mind, on the other hand, was fully awake and so he was stuck in this sort of limbo state. As usual, the wind slightly blew through the window and brushed the lone lightbulb that swung slowly on its cable as it dangled precariously. Tom's eyes followed it as it swayed, as if hypnotized. There was no light shining through the window yet. Tom reckoned it must be very early in the morning. Somehow he managed to move his head to the side and read clearly the blaring red numbers on his digital alarm clock. 06:00.
'What a surprise,' Tom thought to himself sarcastically, 'Old habits die hard.'
The alarm had been turned off the day Tom returned to the orphanage but, even so, if a year at Hogwarts wasn't going to break him out of the cycle then he doubted a month and a half of being here would either.
Unable to move his body, Tom simply lay there until his body found the strength to move. He would have found it a peculiar phenomenon if he hadn't experienced it many times before. It was different to sleep paralysis and such because he felt no fear and he could move himself slightly but he compared it in his head more to just physical fatigue. Tom had just started eating at a regular pace and had also noticed, if not by much, he had started growing. He was still very small but he chalked up his fatigue mostly to that. It was a mixture of a lot of things, though: his lack of sleep throughout his life, his previous bad eating habits, his lack of stamina because of those aforementioned reasons, his change-up in his schedule and how he is now able to sleep and eat normally and, of course, the growing that he had begun to notice.
Tom watched as the ceiling gradually grew lighter as the sun, outside his window, ascended higher and higher. Around 8:45 Tom regained full control of his body. He pulled himself upright and walked over to the pile of clothes by his door. He bent down to inspect them and sorted through to see which ones were right for today. The matron had always been 'nice' enough to clean his clothes. She would probably hate him even more if he was smelly. The rate at which she cleaned them though was now much more frequent; he got clean clothes at least once every week now instead of once every month. Tom picked out the clothes he would wear and then carried them back to his bed. When he had sat himself down next to them, Tom reached under his bed and picked out the piece of glass he used as a mirror. He looked at himself in it, paying little attention to the familiar sight of his small, pale face. Instead, his gaze wandered to the messy ruffle of hair on top of it. He put a hand through it. There was little effect made to it. He sighed and tried tilting his head to find a better angle. It didn't matter. He put the 'mirror' down and turned back to the clothes he had put next to him: his Hogwarts robes. Tom lost his original hand-me-down robes from Dante but had been given these at the end of the last year. It was the only good thing to have come out of that 'situation'. Tom continued to look at them, for probably far longer than he should. Did he even want to go back? Tom, in all honesty, didn't know. He had deeply considered not returning but he knew that if he didn't he would regret it. Dante, immediately, sprung to mind. He really didn't want to end up like Dante.
"Wow," Dante said, walking down the pavement out of the orphanage, "I can't believe I'm finally going back."
Tom followed quietly behind him. He didn't have anything to say so he didn't speak at all. He knew that Dante hadn't been back to the Leaky Cauldron in a long time but he didn't truthfully know why. Had he been too ashamed? From the way Tom had seen him, it looked like he couldn't wait to go back there. Tom kept this all to himself and continued to walk behind Dante as they neared their destination.
Dante stopped outside the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron and thus, so did Tom. He seemed to be mentally preparing himself. Tom didn't know what to make of it. It was kind of weird seeing Dante act like this; usually, he was so bursting with confidence. Now he was acting more like Tom did: meek and shy. After he had made himself ready, Dante stepped forward, pushed the door to the pub open and strode in.
Tom shuffled out of the orphanage at 10 o'clock. Nobody waved him off or anything but he didn't mind. He much preferred being alone than having to be sent off by the matron. He knew that the Hogwarts Express left at 11 o'clock so he had around an hour to get there. Tom knew this was more than enough time as it took him less than 5 minutes to get to the bus stop and less than 20 to reach the station. The only thing that made Tom even slightly worry was waiting. When he arrived to wait for a bus, the skies had grown grey and the air much colder. As he stood at the desolate bus stop, a cold breeze brushed over him. He looked up to the ancient screen that showed the times for the incoming buses. He groaned when he noticed that it was broken and displaying the wrong times. Luckily, it arrived earlier than he expected and Tom climbed on.
The Leaky Cauldron was much quieter than Tom had remembered it. Then again, maybe it wasn't too loud before. Tom recalled it as a bustling pub, filled with people and laughter but this... this was nothing like that. There only seemed to be 8 or so people in the pub in total and they were all spread out.
'I guess that this is what it's like on its off days,' Tom rationalised mentally. Dante, obviously feigning confidence, walked directly up to the table at the head of the bar and sat on it. The bartender wasn't there at the moment so he waited for him. Unsurely, Tom followed him but did not sit down; he simply stood behind him, waiting for the bartender to arrive.
King's Cross was much more full than the streets surrounding it. As usual, hundreds of passers-bys swarmed it, filling up everything. Even though they were less than a couple of blocks away from Tom's desolate bus stop, it looked like the crowds didn't stop for miles. Surrounded by people going all different directions, Tom managed to get into the station. He wandered around until he reached the gateway between Platform 9 and 10. For some reason Tom himself couldn't explain, he found himself waiting there, unable (or unwilling) to enter and go to Platform 9 and ¾. His nature of being indecisive was shining as he was finally confronted face-to-face with the choice to, or to not, continue going to Hogwarts.
"What are yer doing here."
Tom almost jumped at the sound. It didn't even sound like a sentence. It was more like a growl. Dante's facade of confidence almost immediately shattered.
"Uh, hey," he said, plastering on a fake smile. The bartender certainly did not smile back. He wore a grimace so strong, Tom almost flinched. Even the matron didn't look like that most of the time.
"I said, what are yer doing here ya pathetic runt."
"I-I'm just c-coming here w-with-" Dante was cut off. The bartender gave a look to Tom.
"Freak," he murmured under his breath, recalling who the person was. He turned back to Dante, ignoring Tom, "We don't take failures here. Go home."
Dante got up out of his chair, his fake smile on its last thread, "P-please," he pleaded, "Please just let me be here."
"Why would I ever let someone like yer to be here," replied the bartender coldly, "I thought I told yer after you got expelled to never come here again. You lower our standards."
"What?" Dante was begging now, "Come on! Please! Don't you remember wh-when I came here before? I was here like every day!"
"I don't care," the bartender's voice was filled with quiet anger and hatred. He really didn't care, "I try to keep this place looking good. We get special help from the Ministry. Funding. And they say people like you- failures- aren't welcome here."
Tom watched the situation from afar. It hurt to look at but somehow he couldn't take his eyes off it. Dante was silent for a second after that. He shut his eyes and breathed in slowly. He breathed out equally slowly.
"Please..." he whispered simply. The bartender's eyes were hard as stone.
"Maybe you shouldn't have wasted yer chance. Yer not even a wizard anymore," he paused for a second, "And as yer said... people who aren't wizards shouldn't be welcome here."
Tom walked through the gateway. He stepped out onto the platform and looked up at the sign. 'Platform 9 and ¾' it read. He exhaled. Was this the right choice? He looked over and saw the scarlet steam train in all its glory, standing proudly on its rails. He walked over to it and looked down the platform. He could see what looked like an endless amount of parents saying goodbye to their children; children entering the carriages; children hugging their parents; parents talking to other parents; and at the very end of the platform, one particular child talking to one particular parent. He recognised him immediately. Aubyn Young, talking to who Tom guessed was his father. They certainly looked alike. Tom felt his fists clench unconsciously. It was at that moment he knew for a fact that his grudge against that boy certainly wasn't gone. He knew he wouldn't forget that. Tom turned away from the sight and walked closer to the Express. He gave one last look down to the complete other end of the train where Aubyn was saying goodbye to his family before he, himself, got onto the train.
'I guess it's decided then. No going back now,' Tom thought to himself, 'Another year of Hogwarts it is.'
Dante got up from his seat and reluctantly began walking to the exit of the pub. The bartender watched with a hateful frown still evident on his face. Tom was about to follow when the bartender called out to him.
"Not you, freak," he said. It was kind of crazy how he said the word 'freak' so casually. Like it was his actual name. He continued, "You can stay."
Tom heard Dante give one last tired sigh before leaving the pub. Tom looked back at the bartender, unsure what to do at that moment before shaking his head. He continued his way out of the pub to follow Dante.
When he left the Leaky Cauldron, Tom had to run to catch up with Dante who was speed-walking away from the pub.
"Stupid," he heard the older boy whisper under his breath, "This is why I don't want parents."
"Huh?" Dante jumped as Tom announced his presence.
"Wh-what are you doing? You could've stayed!" yelled Dante, quickly getting over his sudden shock. Tom shook his head.
"I wanted to be here."
"This whole trip was to get your supplies. You just invited me along," Dante turned back around and continued walking back to the orphanage.
"I don't really need supplies," Tom casually explained before changing the subject abruptly, "Why don't you want parents?"
Dante stopped. He turned back around to Tom, "Huh?"
"You said," Tom elaborated, "You said 'this' is why you don't want parents. What's 'this'?"
Dante breathed in and out through his nose. He paused for a second before deciding to explain, "My parents abandoned me," he explained quickly, trying his best to make Tom understand as fast as he could, "They left me and they didn't care. And so did 'that man'..." Dante spoke the words 'that man' like he was a devil, "As soon as he heard I got expelled... all the time we had spent together was forgotten. He dropped me faster than he could've dropped an apple," he paused for a second, "People abandon you. Parents abandon you. That man was like a dad to me..." Dante turned away from Tom and continued walking, "I'd much rather just stay at the orphanage."
Tom sat in his compartment, alone. The Hogwarts Express was now pulling out of the station and embarking on its long journey up through England and to the beautiful Hogwarts Castle. The clouds were much darker outside and it had begun to rain. Large raindrops splattered against the glass and Tom found himself clutching and rubbing his arms for warmth. Unlike the last time he had been on this train, Tom couldn't hear any sound whatsoever; apart from the pitter-pattering of rain outside. The carriage he was in must be empty or, at least, everyone must be being very quiet. A sudden wave of fatigue fell over Tom and he found himself curling up slightly and drifting away into sleep.
There was a loud slam directly outside the door to Tom's compartment. His eyes shot open as he jumped, startled. From just outside, he heard a quiet chorus of giggling. Tom looked at the door for a solid minute, waiting for it open. Eventually, he gave up and turned away. Outside it had grown late. The rain was still pelting down. It hadn't mellowed at all in the hours that Tom had been restings. Not caring enough to investigate, he decided to close his eyes. But then there was another sound; this one was different from the large slam before. It was a small clicking sound and a clink of a lock. Tom's eyes shot open again and he turned back to the door. It slid open. Behind it stood a trio of 3 boys, all larger than Tom and all wearing a certain red, lion emblem on their robes. Tom looked at them uncaringly. He really wasn't bothered.
"Mind if we come in?" said the leader of the group as he stepped into the compartment, The two behind him followed, wearing smiles on their faces that Tom knew all too well. Tom stayed quiet, a tired look in his eye with just a hint of anger and a frown on his face. These boys were familiar. He had seen them hanging out with Aubyn last year.
'They must be his lackeys,' Tom thought to himself as he regarded them. The leader of the group ('Charlie,' Tom identified him in his head) was shorter than the rest but only by a few inches. He had a shock of blonde hair and a smug grin plastered on his face. The boy to his left was much taller and Tom didn't know his name. His face was defined and too wore a grin. The boy to his right whom Tom also didn't know, had much darker hair that was slick back. He looked like he had spent hours and hours preparing himself.
"You're the freak, right?" Charlie asked rhetorically as he entered the compartment and sat opposite Tom. Tom's gaze followed him as he moved and when he sat down he regarded him with a cold stare. He narrowed his eyebrows. Charlie looked over to his 2 friends.
"Is he mute?"
The two chuckled and then also entered the compartment themselves. Carefully they shut the door behind them. And locked it. Tom observed them, his face still a frown; not clearly angry but not as blank as he usually looked.
"Aubyn's told us all about you," Charlie said, turning his attention back to Tom, "He told us to come and find you as well."
Tom remained silent. The rain pattered against the windows rhythmically.
"Freaks like you need to be taught a lesson."
Tom just kept staring. Slowly, he opened his mouth to speak.
"Why?" the question stayed in the air for a couple of seconds. Eventually one of the boys opened their mouths to respond.
"What do you mean 'why?'" Charlie shot the boy a look when he opened his mouth and the boy slightly backed away. Tom noted the hierarchy system of the Gryffindors. He opened his mouth again.
"Why is Aubyn Young in charge?" he spat the name with venom. Hatred was clear in it. It almost shocked the three Gryffindors. Charlie thought for a second before he leaned in slightly.
"Because he is," he replied.
"Why?" Tom repeated.
"He's Aubyn freaking Young. His family are kings. He's got power; he's even got a hand in the Ministry. He runs things," Charlie's grin had only grown smugger as he listed.
"So we're all little insects then? Compared to him?" Tom leaned in as well, "Is that how this world works?"
Charlie breathed out heavily through his nose as if what Tom said was funny but not enough to make him laugh, "Yes," he said simply, "The top own the bottom. We own you."
Tom's frown evolved into a grimace, "I don't think so."
Charlie got up, "You will know so," he said and snapped his fingers, "Do what you were told to boys."
The two Gryffindors smiled eagerly and advanced on Tom. Charlie stepped back to watch. Before Tom could even get up, a beefy fist was sent flying at him. He landed back down on his seat before he was picked up by the other boy and thrown onto the floor. The two bent down and unleashed an onslaught of punches as Tom held himself tightly to protect himself. The punches quickly turned into kicks and they didn't hold back. Blood stained their shoes and had begun to ooze out of Tom's face and onto the floor. His face was soon littered with cuts and bruises as he failed to protect himself fully from the two Gryffindor boys' wrath.
Eventually, the two were satisfied. They stopped their kicks and stepped back to look at their work. Tom lay, almost motionless, on the floor in a small but growing puddle of his own blood.
"That's what you get, freak!" yelled out one of the boys. While he was down on the ground, Tom coughed. A mixture of blood and vomit emitted from his mouth.
"Don't you understand?" he whispered, loud enough for them to hear, "You're all fodder to him. Irrelevant. Just tools. Grunts. I bet he doesn't even know your names," Tom managed to turn his body over to face the trio looking down on him. His face was still holding his resolute frown. His eyes bored into them, "The top do not own the bottom. The 'top' are not superior."
Charlie sneered at Tom as he coughed again; this time only blood coming out, "Delusional," he commented, "We're all superior to you."
"I won't forget this," Tom spluttered, holding back a coughing fit. The three boys laughed loudly, looking at the boy's pathetic form. Charlie turned and slid open the door to the compartment. He and his two friends exited to leave Tom by himself. Just as the door shut behind them, Charlie couldn't help but get the last laugh, "Whatever you say freak."
Another bout of laughter erupted but it quickly faded into the distance. Slowly and with expert care, Tom pulled himself up from the floor and leaned against the door to his compartment. He looked down at the dirtied and disgusting clothes he was wearing and sighed. At least he hadn't changed yet. He steadied his breathing as he did after his sessions with the matron and quickly got his body back fully under control. While he got his breathing right, Tom's mind began to wander to the conversation he had just had.
"'The top own the bottom,'" Tom repeated, the words feeling disgusting in his mouth, "'The top own the bottom.'"
He didn't understand it fully. Why that word? Why 'own'? Why that specific word? Tom kept thinking that as he got his change of clothes and pulled himself down the carriage to the bathroom on the train where he would change.
Tom cleaned himself up pretty well. By the time he was done patching himself up and he looked in the mirror. If he hadn't been specifically looking for anything different, he figured he wouldn't have noticed.
'Not that anyone's going to be looking at me,' Tom thought to himself.
Tom spent the rest of the journey in the bathroom. There wasn't much left time to go before he reached the station and he really didn't want to go back to his compartment. The main reason was simply the smell. He knew someone would have to clean it up sooner or later but he didn't even want a chance to be associated with it in any way. For the time being, it was someone else's problem, not his.
He sighed in relief when he heard the chugging slow down and felt the wheels that were carrying the scarlet steam train grind to a halt. All he wanted now after that 'incident' was to get to the castle as quickly as possible. In fact, Tom wanted to get through this year as quickly as possible but he would have to do things one at a time.
He exited the bathroom and went down the carriage to leave the train. He hopped off the train at a particularly empty exit and looked down the carriage to see the hundreds of fellow students also leave the train. In the distance he heard the familiar call from Hagrid the groundskeeper of Hogwarts; a call to the first years to come to him for their boat ride. Tom was hit by a sudden and unsuspecting sense of nostalgia. He missed that time. That time when he went across the lake. Things were better then. They had the promise of getting better then.
Tom found himself staring at the growing group of first years around Hagrid until he snapped himself out of it with the realisation that he didn't know where he was meant to be going.
Tom wandered for a good five minutes before he discovered the carriage that was waiting for him to go to the castle. What was strange was that they weren't being pulled by anything, or at least anything visible. Tom had taken so long that he had to get in the only carriage left and when he opened the door to see who was inside, he could tell that they weren't very pleased to see him enter. Inside the carriage was a group of much older, 7th year Slytherin boys. Upon seeing the small and skeletal looking second-year enter their carriage, mostly all of their faces turned to grimaces. Tom, himself, didn't much care. He entered the carriage casually and when he did so, it began to speed along en route to the castle. He sat in silence, as far away from the group of older boys.
"So," one of them said awkwardly, wanting to start a conversation, "Got any plans for where to go after NEWTs."
There was a silence. One of the other boys grunted. Not wanting the question to go unanswered, another spoke up, "No. All the Gringotts applications are full. Too full for them to even accept any more."
"Yeah," another one chimed in, "And who would want to even hire a Slytherin."
There was a sad and unanimous sigh of agreement. Tom ignored them completely, his face holding its signature blank frown.
"Yeah," said the questioner sadly, "We don't even have a chance anymore. We were fated from the moment we got given that stupid hat."
There was another unanimous sigh; this time even sadder than the one previous.
"Damn Gryffindors..."
The second year feast was much less eventful than the first. And that wasn't saying much in Tom's case. It was much more boring this time, having to wait for the first years to finish their trip and then for them to wait outside and then, of course, for the sorting ceremony itself. It was much less exciting when it wasn't you getting sorted. If Tom hadn't already slept that day he certainly would have here. He practically tuned everything out. The only thing that slightly interested him was a new face on the Teacher's Table: one near the end. In the previous year, that seat had been held by another professor; a Defense against the Dark Arts teacher. He had been much shorter and stubble whereas this man was much more defined. He was older but not that much older as if he could be mistaken for 20 when he was in fact 30. His hair was slick back and blonde and his face held an unmatched confidence. For some reason for which Tom could not quite pinpoint it looked extremely familiar. As if he had seen it somewhere before.
The Headmaster, Harry Potter, stepped up to his podium and gave his usual speech. Welcome, welcome and all that. Tom tuned it all out. All except one part.
"-And I would also like to introduce the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher: Professor Alistair Young," Professor Potter gestured towards the man near the end of the table and he stood up and bowed slightly. The school, as usual, clapped welcomingly and Alistair Young sat back down. Tom was certainly interested now. He stared at the man, unable to stop his fists clenching underneath the table. He knew he recognised him.
Completely unaware of the boy's gaze on him, Alistair Young surveyed the school's population from his seat. Whilst the Headmaster's speech continued in the background, Alistair was searching for one very specific person. Eventually, he found him and his smile broadened slightly as their eyes met. He looked just like how Aubyn had described him. As Tom Malumis and Alistair Young's eyes met, Tom could see how the man's smile changed. It twisted ever-so-slightly into something ever-so-familiar. Tom's glare hardened as he saw Alistair Young's grin; the same grin that Aubyn wore so many times. Tom could see something also strange in the way that Alistair looked at him. Something that he had noticed but repressed when Aubyn first saw him. There was this look of recognition as if he had seen him somewhere before when both Alistair and Aubyn had both set eyes upon him for the first time and Tom just couldn't explain it.
Eventually, Alistair broke eye contact and went back to surveying the rest of the students. Tom himself looked away when the Headmaster's speech concluded at the multitude of plates and goblets in front of him filled up to the brim with food and drink. As he got himself a helping for himself to eat, Tom couldn't help but think to himself that perhaps, this year would be a lot more interesting.