Chapter 6-The Dead Rabbit

Chapter 6: The Dead Rabbit

"Laura – I don't know her last name. She's the one in the pink dress; she keeps tugging on it...I imagine it's difficult to play tag with the boys in such an inconveniently fluffy dress...it's really a wonder no one's bragged about seeing her knickers yet. Her hair was braided when she got to school this morning, but now it's a mess – it's everywhere and covered with dirt, just like her dress. She's awfully loud...unfortunately her voice is squeakier than the boys', and way more annoying. The week she was recovering from tonsillitis was definitely a treat...she's not too bad when she loses her voice. I think she'd rather be wearing trousers and a jumper than that garishly pink dress...I think she wishes she weren't a girl, and I imagine her mother's not too happy about that.

"Tyson Green, the one in the soiled hoodie and ripped jeans. He's crass and makes a point of swearing whenever the teachers aren't around...I used to think he was retarded, because I only ever heard him say 'bloody hell' and 'shit' and 'fuck off'. I also used to think he was from one of the poorer neighbourhoods, but then I noticed his shoes. They change every few weeks, and they're always cleaner than his clothing. They're nice shoes, too. I think the only reasonable conclusion is that his parents are pretty well off, but he doesn't want people to know. Nobody ever notices the shoes.

"Anna Selvig. She's wearing that nice peacoat with the Sunday shoes. She wears the same thing every day, and makes it her primary mission in life not to soil it. You'd think her parents didn't own a washer...well, maybe they don't. I saw her coat up close the other day...it has a fancy-looking brand name on it, but the seams are crooked on the sides and the bottom's a bit frayed. I think it's a nice coat she bought second-hand. Her lunches tend to be comparable to mine, so I'm thinking either her parents don't like her much or her family's pretty poor.

"Tim Wellington – in the shorts and t-shirt. It's still March, what an idiot. I mean, honestly, I'm wearing two t-shirts under my coat and I'm still cold. Maybe he thinks he has something to prove, but I think his strange behaviour can probably be chalked up to he fact that he has a brain the size of his little finger...and he has small hands."

Harry paused, and that was when the bell rang, alerting all the children in the school yard that their hour of freedom was over. Invigorated by the crisp spring air and the over-abundance of calories they'd consumed, they were rather quick to sprint back into their respective classrooms, with Harry trailing slowly behind.

It had become an almost daily task, to narrate the events of the playground in a voice that only Tom could hear. At first, Tom had tasked him with learning all his classmates' names, and after finally managing that he'd been ordered to "search their faces, their steps, and their words for any sign of weakness."

"Remember, knowledge is power."

Thus had Harry become what Tom called 'observant'. Harry just thought he was being a creep. However, as far as Tom's requests went, Harry's daily creeping was a relatively minor inconvenience. And there were a lot of such requests, because Tom had expectations of him. No one had ever expected anything from Harry before. Sure, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia expected him to do his chores; that was actually the one thing Tom agreed with them on. To be clear, Tom didn't think Harry should have to do any manual labour, but Harry refused to actually do anything to follow through with the threats he made and was unwilling to physically hurt his Aunt and Uncle, so Tom said he'd have to live with the consequences.

"You can only use a threat so many times before it becomes idle."

So, since Harry refused to step up his game, so to speak, he had to leave his idle threats for when he really needed them.

Thankfully, after the bedroom incident, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had, on their own, become a little more lax in their demands concerning Harry's chore schedule. He didn't even have to make meals anymore. And this left Harry more time to deal with Tom's expectations.

Some of Tom's expectations were rather tedious, like the creeping. Harry understood, of course, that this was just one of Tom's many ways of looking out for him; Tom wanted to make sure that Harry took advantage of every skill at his disposal, and in order to do that, Harry had to actually know how to use these skills. Tom said he had a lot to learn, and Harry agreed. Tom had a lot to teach him, and Harry wanted to learn it all.

One of the first things Tom had requested of Harry was that he learned something called Occlumency. According to Tom, some witches and wizards had the uncanny ability to read minds (apparently this was a gross oversimplification, but Harry allowed himself the luxury of referring to it as such), which he would apparently be able to do as well. Harry was rather troubled by this fact - he definitely didn't want anyone looking around inside his head - even Tom couldn't tell what he was thinking, and Harry trusted Tom more than anyone.

As it turned out, occlumency was boring. Very, very boring. It involved a lot of closing his eyes, thinking about nothing, and visualizing things like walls and rivers and voids and stuff. If it didn't sound so useful, he'd...well, he'd do it anyway. Tom wanted him to do it, so he'd do it without question. Harry wanted to live up to all Tom's expectations, despite the arduousness of some of the tasks he assigned.

However, things weren't always so dull; some of Tom's expectations were absolutely brilliant. For instance, Tom expected Harry to let him teach him how to use magic. The first thing Harry learnt about magic is that one does not ask what magic can do; one asks what magic cannot do. Apparently Harry's magical core (the place deep inside him where all his magic came from) was enormous, and had the potential to become, for all intents and purposes, limitless. Harry's imagination was the limit. Well, not quite; Tom said that discipline and control were what separated good wizards from exemplary ones. The first step in learning control, according to Tom, was learning spells.

One of the first spells Tom taught him was one to open the latch Uncle Vernon had installed on the outside of his bedroom door.

"Alohomora."

The best part was, it worked on every door, every lock, every padlock. It was absolutely brilliant, and Harry felt so incredibly powerful, knowing that he had the ability to go wherever he wanted. Tom said that that was but a minuscule fraction of his power, but it was more than enough power for Harry. He said as much, and Tom mocked him for it, but had eventually conceded that such simple spells would have to suffice for now – he couldn't learn anything too complex because of something called the Trace.

Tom never explained the Trace – Harry had come to the conclusion that he couldn't, but didn't want to admit it; he was, however, was very clear on the fact that something called the Ministry of Magic would come knocking on his door if he performed any magic that couldn't be explained as accidental. So Tom had promised to teach him something called the 'levitating charm', 'summoning charm', the 'disarming charm', and perhaps the 'disillusionment charm', but that was it for the time being; while Tom had been clear that some of these charms - the summoning charm and the disillusionment charm in particular - weren't exactly easy, they mimicked the behaviour of some accidental magic, and would likely be written off as such is someone ever inquired into the matter. Harry was perfectly satisfied with that, and given the fact that it'd taken him almost 2 months just to umaster unlocking a bloody door, he thought he'd have plenty to do for some time to come. That didn't stop Tom from making scathing comments about the Ministry of Magic on a regular basis, though.

"...filled with backwards, crackpot wizards who are more muggle than magic..."

"...mudblood lovers and blood traitors..."

"...muggle loving whores whose tainted lips are not fit to kiss the ground we walk upon..."

Tom was rather disgruntled about the whole thing – he said it was criminal to place magical children in cities infested with muggles without any means to protect themselves, and Harry had to agree. Muggles – as Tom called them – were blind to the wonders of magic, and simultaneously cruel and weak, and it did not take Harry long to concede that they weren't fit to raise young witches and wizards, not at all.

Harry...disliked muggles. Back before the incident with Sam Stewart, Harry held the conviction that while some muggles could be very unsavoury indeed – like his relatives – most muggles were perfectly kind and considerate people. His relatives, his classmates, the children at Tom's orphanage – they were just bad apples. Lots of bad apples. But there had to be some good ones too, right? So strong was Harry's conviction, that he actually wanted to be a muggle; he just wanted to be normal. He didn't want to be a freak. But when Sam betrayed him, this changed. After Tom told him there was a whole world of witches and wizards and magic out there, Harry finally understood. He wasn't a freak – he was just different. And they hated him because of it. Yes, even 'good' muggles like Sam Stewart, who was kind and honest and brave, feared what they did not know and understand, and that fear made them foolish and cruel. If the best muggle he'd ever known could not escape this fact, how could any of the others? They were all the same – judgmental, angry, and fearful – and Harry wanted nothing to do with them; on that, he and Tom could agree.

However, what Harry couldn't agree with was Tom's conviction that muggles were little more than animals, and could be disposed of as such, if necessary. Tom had made it clear that muggles were worthless enough that their lives could be taken merely to prove a point – and Tom sometimes implied that he had done just that...but Harry didn't understand how that could be possible, because Tom was just a kid like him, right?

Maybe not. Tom had never explicitly confirmed or denied it – but Harry had come to believe that the boy he was sharing a body with was not a boy at all, but a man, and not a young one either. Tom knew far too much, and was far too set in his ways to be anything short of an old man. But Harry, of course, never said that to his face. Given Tom's liberal use pain as a teaching tool and/or communication device, Harry avoided saying things that could irritate his friend too much.

His friend. Because despite the age gap, Tom was his friend – his only friend, and a good one at that. He knew everything about Harry, but he never looked at Harry with disgust or fear, not even pity; instead, he told Harry to stay strong – he told him that one day, his time would come, and he would carve out his own place in the world with the power he apparently had so much of.

Harry wasn't stupid. He knew that a significant portion of Tom's concern with his well-being was tied to the fact that anything Harry felt, Tom felt as well. Tom was Harry's friend, but Harry knew he was selfish – it was obvious from the way he talked, even the way he looked at Harry. It was understandable; after all, before he met Harry, Tom was alone. He had no one, and had to become selfish in order to survive. But Harry didn't care, because Tom was kind to him.

Tom only smiled for the purpose of mocking, only spoke softly in an attempt to coax Harry into doing what he wanted, and every quality that Harry prided himself in was under Tom's constant scrutiny. Patience, kindness, longsuffering, empathy, honesty, and guilt all made Harry pathetic and weak, and Tom would often gleefully remind him of this fact. Harry didn't mind, in the end, though, because Tom was only looking out for him – this was Tom's kindness. Tom seemed to have a warped vision of goodness and greatness, but he was constantly pushing Harry to be better, to be stronger. And that meant something to Harry. Something profound. Never before had anyone believed in him, and acted on that belief. Yes, Tom was more than just a friend - though he'd never say it out loud (for Tom would surely deny it), Harry and Tom were family, and no one would convince him otherwise.

Not to mention, Harry would prefer Tom in the worst of his moods to any of his classmates or teachers – who only ever looked at him with fear or indifference – any day.

This is why every night, Harry would spend hours staring into the Tom's little hand-held mirror, listening to Tom's dark, velvety voice. It didn't matter what Tom said or did – Harry wanted to hear it and see it. Seeing Tom was the only thing he ever had to look forward to. Harry wished he could hear Tom's voice in his mind all the time – the silence he suffered through as he sat through boring classes and performed chore after chore was stifling, and incredibly lonely. It was a necessary evil, though; Tom only had access to the smallest fraction of his own magical core, and building up enough energy to do something as small as communicate mentally with Harry was exhausting to him.

Harry was determined to, at some point, rectify this.

Tom had seemed genuinely surprised by Harry's offer to donate some of his magic, but Harry had suggested it without a second thought. Harry didn't know why Tom was so surprised; he apparently had an over-abundance of the mysterious energy – why wouldn't he give some to his friend?

However, the offer came with one condition – Harry wanted to know more about Hogwarts. Tom had told him from time to time about the magical school tucked away in an unplottable region of Scotland – Tom's home. Tom usually declined to tell too many stories about Hogwarts, and had insisted that Harry would eventually start to dream about his Hogwart's days, but when Harry made his generous offer, Tom agreed to tell him more.

It became a currency of sorts; Tom would often try to convince Harry to do things he didn't want to do – like stealing money from Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, or slipping things like dish soap or dishwater into their coffee (for educational purposes, of course...apparently this was a skill he'd need later). However, with the promise of a story about Hogwarts, Harry would obey without question, because in his mind, it was more than worth it, and Tom understood this. To Harry, Hogwarts was hope – a reason to keep on living, to keep trying – and the promise of finally going home in a few years time was more than enough to make the miserable boy smile.

And it was all thanks to Tom.

Tom was quite proud of himself. In fact, he had never been happier, he mused, as he squeezed the dead rabbit in his hands. It was still warm.

The rabbit belonged to none other than Billy Stubbs, Tom's least favourite person in the whole universe. He hated everyone at the orphanage, for sure, but he hated Billy Stubbs the most. Why exactly that was, he couldn't tell you.

They'd argued the day before. Rather, Billy had run his mouth off while Tom glared and plotted silent revenge.

"You've got the Devil in you Tom Riddle. Everyone knows there's something wrong with you."

"Nobody wants you. Nobody will ever want you!"

"You'll be stuck here forever!"

"You're nothing but a freak!"

Tom agreed wholeheartedly, of course. But that didn't mean Billy was allowed to talk to him like that. No, if Stubbs thought he could talk down to Tom Riddle and get away with it, he was in for a nasty surprise.

He smiled at the little creature in his hands. It was rather funny looking – he certainly saw the appeal of watching it hop around clumsily in the grass. He wondered if the pathetic creature could still hop with a leg ripped off. What sort of sounds would it make? He giggled at the thought.

The smile did not leave his face as he wrapped the twine he'd stolen several times around the rabbit's neck. Once he'd finished, he closed his eyes. This was the part he'd been practicing for.

Slowly, the rabbit rose from his hands, the twine sneaking up ahead of it, steadily floating upward until it was high enough to wrap around the rafters. He was sweating by the time the knot had finished tying itself, but it was the effort expended that made the victory all the sweeter.

He grinned as he stared up at his masterpiece – a dead rabbit dangling from the rafters, little black eyes still and body gone limp.

Tom tilted his head to the side. Maybe he should have broken some bones? Or maybe cut something off to place under Billy's pillow? He shrugged. Maybe next time.

Harry was shaking when he woke, guilt washing over him in waves of nausea. Frantically, he wiped the sweat off his brow and struggled to calm his breathing, acutely aware of his wide eyes and wet cheeks. He allowed himself to cough out a few sobs, until, steeling himself, he reached over to the mirror he kept under his pillow.

"T-Tom?"

The boy in the mirror blinked lazily. "Yes Harry?"

"Why did you kill Billy Stubbs's rabbit?"

Something flashed in Tom's eyes – amusement, perhaps – and he smiled grimly. "Because I could."

Harry shook his head, feeling upset by the non-answer. "That's not an answer-"

"But it is. You were there, Harry. You were in my head. You know what I was thinking."

Harry grimaced. "But there's got to be more to it than that..."

"Except there isn't. I'm not a good person, Harry. In fact, I'm a very, very bad person."

"You're not a bad person," Harry whispered. "You're the best, Tom...you're the best person..."

Tom's grim smile stretched into a parody of a grin. "Someday, you'll agree with me Harry. Tom Riddle is always right."

Yes, Tom Riddle was always right - Harry knew this, even if sometimes he wished it wasn't true. If Tom Riddle said he was a bad person, Harry would be a fool to not believe him, no matter how much he didn't want to. But deep inside, he couldn't bring himself to accept it. Tom Riddle was not a bad person. He couldn't be.

But, even if he was, would Harry care?