Pride

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?

.....

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