Chapter Text
There was a prophecy. Apparently, a child was born whose power would grow to rival his own; had already been dubbed as a savior to oppose him. As if he needed to be stopped! Wasn’t he the one working to bring magic back to its former glory, the one who would make it the rightful center of the world at last, as it always should have been?
They should all be thanking him, worshiping him for being the one to take up such a difficult and bloody task. Instead they wanted some false messiah to stand before him as his equal, and cut him down.
Unfortunately for them, Tom was no martyr. Never had the temperament for it. Some may find it worthy to die for what they believed in, but he never thought standing silently as the flames devoured you got much done. It was more practical, he found, to kill for what you believed in. And he had. Found pleasure in it even. Found solace and peace of mind at last. No, he was not a martyr. Neither was he a lord or a king, and nor was he an emperor. Not even a saint.
Tom was a God. A divine being made flesh, put here to cleanse the world of filth and impurity. And so what if he enjoyed it? Loved the way flesh dimpled beneath his fingers before tearing? Loved the way hot blood felt as it dried against his skin? He was well within his right to find pleasure in the purpose bestowed upon him. Better Tom than someone hesitant. Someone too weak and squeamish to see such a heavy task through to the end. He was the only one with the strength to do it, after all.
As such Tom felt it impossible, inconceivable even, that one would ever even approach the magnitude of his power, his divinity. That useless phoenix order’s words were like well fed flies, looking for any warm ear to lay a maggot in. One could hardly believe any prophecy heard from them. He himself would have laughed such news away, lungs shuddering and heaving for air in a rare show of mirth, if the person who delivered it had not been his very own Severus. Sharp eared, paranoid, devoted Severus, wound into a tizzy over the possibility of Tom dying, as if that was even possible at this point. But his Severus, still young and very mortal, had no way of knowing that. A time would come, of course, for Tom to divulge his secrets. To find a way to tether Severus' life force to his own, that they may stand unending together. But in the meantime, how warm his heart had glowed, to hear his beloved so frightened at the idea of his loss
He had pressed a kiss against Severus’ mouth, licking gently over the dry welts left there by nervous lip biting. “You mustn't worry, my dear. This is a blessing in disguise. We’ll snuff out this problem early, draining the abscess of their last hope in the process. Their resistance will crumble, and we shall finally rise,” he soothed, broad hand cupping his beloved’s face, thumb stroking over the swell of his cheek. Fate, Tom believed, had connected them; had made Severus as a gift for only him. So in this case it would be best to heed the warning, especially when delivered from the sweet, wrathful mouth of his wife. The strange, spider-ish creature that had given him his greatest gift. His first and only child. Tom bent down to place a gentle kiss on the crown of their son’s fragile head, Tommy cradled ever so safely in Severus’ arms. There was just too much to lose now.
Tommy was growing so quickly. Long gone were the days where he was content to be cradled quietly in their arms, happy with soft chatting and gentle pets. He’d learned to walk at eleven months, and at two years he was now running about the house as if that were his sole purpose in life; a harried Severus usually at his heels. Between them, they carried Tom's heart. His wife and his son. Things he hadn’t realized could bring such joy. And with that joy always came the wonderful, horrible want that would settle in his chest, throbbing hotly like a fresh wound. A painful, needy yearning.
He’d been hesitant, perhaps, to feel love. It had been an unfamiliar concept to him, an abstract as opposed to an instance, no context to make it click. He, like his Severus, had been raised without it, trapped in the neglectful, frigid halls of the orphanage. He’d heard love made great men soft, made them weak. The things they cherished so easily stolen away to exploit and destroy. But Tom had been surprised to find love had only spurred him on. His call to action even louder now that he had someone to fight for. He wanted his son to be raised in a perfect world, to never have to suffer as his parents had. To bequeath his new little prince a worthy throne made of his father's conquests. And for that to happen, he must seize control as quickly as possible.
Until now, he’d been unrivaled. Ripping through the meager forces of the Ministry like tissue, sending them scattering like roaches as his influence grew. It was as if the world had been waiting for his rule, with such petty obstacles in his way; so easily swayed by promises of power, or, failing that, easily felled by his might. It had been less than a training ground and more a stage for him to demonstrate his strength. So upon hearing that, someday, there may well be a true opposition (from his dear, dear Severus no less), he had no choice but to act.
And it seemed fate was again on his side, aligning all the pieces in his favor. He’d done well to invest in Pettigrew. People had a tendency to trust those that seemed unassuming and cowardly, and their little Order had laid far too much faith in the rat. Who would look twice at soft spoken, cowardly Pettigrew and believe him capable of such a drastic deceit? Secret keeper indeed. Though his Severus held nothing but antipathy for him, and rightfully so.
If his beloved were to find out about his spy, Tom could imagine he would only be placated with the spilling of his blood. As amusing as that would be, he was still far too useful a tool to sacrifice for a grudge. When the time came, and he’d make certain that it would, he’d let Severus have him. Flay him alive. Turn him onto potions ingredients. Clever clever Severus. Cut them all up into bits. His darling did so love vengeance.
Unfortunately, there was something else his Severus loved: the mudblood mother of his prophesied rival. Fate truly did work in mysterious ways. When his beloved had been just another inductee kneeling before him, thin and sallow arm outstretched for the branding, he’d rooted around in his memories, cracked through the surprisingly strong barrier between their minds. He’d seen a girl there, the recollections of her as cherished as they were painful. Her small hand warm and soft against the bruises on his face. Her magic, yet undiscovered, healing him simply by wanting it enough.
Until that moment, Severus’ life had been lived in the dark. Not even knowing that there was a light at all. He’d never been shown kindness or comfort, and certainly not love. So upon discovering it, he’d gone mad with greed. All this time there had been good things flourishing around him, kept from his grasp purely out of spite. But now he knew there was more to the world than suffering; that people could live whole lives without pain, wrapped in warmth and love and happiness. That maybe he could have that too, if he only dared to try.
Lily had inadvertently taught him how to want. And Severus wanted the darkness to be burned away by her grace, to be risen and made whole by her love. But they were children. And his pain could not be her burden to bear. Fear and anger had brought out the worst in Severus, as it does to all people, and thoughtlessly he'd used the word he had heard bandied about the common room. Mudblood. That, for some odd reason, had been her final straw. Perhaps it was the excuse she had been looking for, or maybe she really was just that stubborn. But either way the loss of her light had sent Severus, vulnerable and alone, into a spiral that eventually ended at Tom's feet.
And for that, Tom was most thankful. But to hear his beloved plead for her life had irritated him; left a nagging prickle beneath his skin.
How could Severus ever love someone other than Tom, with all of his glory and power? What could little Ms. Mudblood do for Severus that Tom had not already done a thousand times better? What could she give him that Tom hadn’t already given him in spades? Love, for all he felt the stronger for it, had its irritating sides as well. He couldn't just ignore Severus’ pleading, couldn’t be content to let him whine and sulk, as he felt strangely compelled to keep him happy. The time spent with an upset Severus seemed hollow, unfulfilling; made him feel like he was doing something wrong. A truly loathsome state of being, he’d decided, and endeavored to spend as little time in it as possible. So if his Severus wanted the mudblood sow (sans Potters, of course), then so be it. Besides, his argument to keep her had been most compelling.
Thus a bargain was struck. Another baby in exchange for his pet mudblood. Tom very much liked the idea of more children.
A matched set. A daughter this time, to stand beside their Tommy.
He had his son, inadvertently ensuring the line of succession (for posterity’s sake if nothing else) so now he needed daughters. He loved Tommy, but in royalty there was only one male heir needed. And there were overlooked benefits to daughters. People, even magical folk, tended to overlook women. Tended to use them as trade. He could subvert that, use it to his advantage. Send a daughter to conquer silently. Marry into foreign royalty, then kill off those in power, leaving only her to rule; allegiance always to her father. His own little army of spider brides, black eyed and hungry like their mother, would carry power back to him. Perhaps they could have their own children, adding legitimacy to his now obscure bloodline.
Now he was looking forward to putting an end to this prophecy and laying claim to what was already rightfully his. So when the time was right, he kissed his own spider bride on the lips, and went to lay waste to the enemy camp.
It was disappointingly easy. Potter senior went down with a wet thunk, and Tom briefly regretted how mostly painless it had been. Truly he had deserved to suffer, to squirm and writhe in agony for all he had done to his Severus; hunting him like a man possessed for seven years without consequence. Though perhaps it was fitting, for his tormentor to be so overlooked, so easily thrown aside and forgotten. And Tom had promised him other gifts besides.
From there, he needed only follow the familiar sound of a baby’s cry. Up the stairs and around the corner, a flick of his wand and the door was thrown inward. And there was Ms. Mudblood, standing guard over her spawn, the thing whose power would one day rival his. A baby. Just a baby. Tiny face scrunched up as he wailed. Messy black hair adorning his helpless head. Just like his Tommy. Beloved. Cherished. Worth defending.
At that moment he could only think of his Severus, snarling and screaming with everything he had, for the life of their son. He could only imagine it would break him, to lose their baby. It pained him in a way he had never felt before to think of his beloved, listless and heartbroken, never to recover. It would, in all likelihood, be the same for Ms. Mudblood. And that would not do. To deliver a broken toy to his darling, devoid of any sort of spirit to play with, was simply not acceptable. Better to kill her now quickly than let Severus watch her waste away, pining for her lost son. If Severus did indeed love her, he would understand how merciful he was, to send her over with her doomed child.
It seemed that for some, love could in fact be ruinous, Tom thought as he raised his wand, avada on his lips.