Chapter Text
The town had been a slum. The kind of place where tragedy was expected. The homes were all uniform with one another, the same brick, the same colour, and the same amount of windows adorned each. The only thing setting one apart from another was the unique patterns of wear and tear.
Nothing was new, any piece of metal bore rust and anything painted was chipped. There was graffiti on almost every surface and a foul smell permeated the air. It was a mixture of alcohol and the dreadful stench coming from the sorry excuse for a river.
It was perfect.
Tom had chosen this place for no reason in particular, oftentimes he would look at a map and let his eyes fall on a name. He visited them before he did it, he fancied seeing what it looked like while it was still alive. He liked to see if towns could prove him wrong if they could go against the grain of muggle nastiness. They never did, every muggle was filled with impurities, greed, pride, and lust. It was a part of their nature, written into their being.
He made his way to the only building still open late at night, a pub called ‘The Blind Cat.’ The hanging sign that creaked with every slight breeze was the only sound one could hear outside, leaving a strange foreboding feeling in one’s stomach.
The sign itself had an illustration of a black feline with a missing eye.
The sound of boisterous laughter could be heard from the other side of the peeling red door. Tom entered with confidence only a few had. As he made his way to the bar he ignored how all the lively sounds from before had stopped and all eyes glued to him. This happened often, muggles were not fond of outsiders.
The floor of the pub was treacly, it made walking around the place slightly more difficult than he had liked. He would be scourgifying his shoes once he returned to his manor. For now, he bit back the displeased look that attempted to make its way to his face. Choosing instead to give the barkeeper a charming smile.
She glared in return.
Before he could get a word in she spoke, “All we have is beer, so save whatever fancy shite you were about to request to yourself.” she spoke, her voice was hoarse, as if she smoked a whole pack daily. She most likely did if the yellowing of her teeth was anything to go by.
He made sure to keep his charm, “That sounds lovely, one pint please.” He was lying, of course, he hated the bloody beverage but he needed to be holding something. He would be better able to blend in with the rest of them if he were drinking. As long as he didn’t stray from their norm he would soon pass their scrutiny.
The woman huffed before clanking around a couple of glasses, messily filling the pint with beer and shoving it into Tom’s hands. Once he paid he made his way to a dark corner of the bar, one that no one had been occupying.
While the other muggles had occasionally given him looks they never bothered with him. The pub, Tom noticed, was mostly filled with men still in their work clothes. They had all come straight here from their shite jobs rather than to their wives and children.
The muggles reflected their town, every one of them had looked alike, their hands were calloused, their clothes were faded and tattered, and they laughed similarly. It was all rather boring to Tom, he had made up his mind merely minutes after arriving. He will be attacking Cokeworth by tomorrow night.
Then he showed up.
Judging by the apron he was a worker. He stuck out to Tom though he wasn’t entirely sure why, maybe the fact that he was in all black which contrasted against his alabaster skin. Tom found his eyes following him wherever he went, analysing his every move. It was easy to spot him, a lithe figure in black weaving through a sea of dull grey and brown.
He was different from the rest of the blokes in the pub. The muggles were all stocky, with short-cropped hair and a perpetually vexed demeanour about them. He on the other hand was thin, with long black hair and an inscrutable countenance which seemed almost a breath of fresh air.
The customers would yell out “boy”, some particularly nasty ones yelling out “girl” instead to catch his attention. It hadn’t seemed to perturb the young man who would give them no reaction and simply take their order.
It was impossible for Tom to not look at him every time he entered the room. He carried himself differently than the rest of them, it was in an almost dignified way which was misplaced in such a run-down pub. He was unreadable to the wizard which irritated Tom.
Well he was unreadable until a bloke touched his arse, the worker suddenly snapped and grabbed the offending hand, “Don’t touch me you fucking cunt.” he spat out.
The bloke just laughed, “This one’s got quite the mouth!” he said to his mates as if the worker were some animal at the zoo.
One of them pipped up, “What else would you expect from the kin of Tobias?” he joked. The mention of his father’s name made the younger man flinch before glowering harder at them.
The original bloke from before looked the server up and down, “Doesn’t Tobias have a boy? This one doesn’t look like no boy.”
He suddenly grabbed the server’s wrist, holding it in a tight grip. The younger man tried yanking it away, “Let go of me.” he hissed out. The man didn’t listen, trying to pull him closer instead. Everyone just watched, no one attempted to step in and help the worker. Tom felt his hand clench as all he wanted to do at that moment was pull out his wand and hex the bastard. The wizard didn't know why but he was filled with the need to protect him for some strange reason. He felt himself reaching for it when all of a sudden the pint next to them exploded into hundreds of shards.
“Fuck!” the muggle cried before dropping the server to the ground. Tom’s eyes widened at that, he saw it for himself, the glass had just ruptured on its own. Was that a bout of accidental magic? But from whom? Wizards stopped performing magic like that as soon as they entered wizarding school.
The drink was all over both of them and judging by the blood the server had landed on the glass. His shoulders were slightly shaking, someone with less perception would believe he was crying but Tom knew better.
He knew that the trembling wasn’t from sadness but from rage. The wizard had gotten like that himself when he tried keeping it together for too long.
It was him, wasn’t it?
Before Tom could contemplate further the manager had come barging into the room, his face twisting in anger when he saw the mess. “Who did this?” he asked as he stalked over to the two of them.
The bastard from before pointed to the young man, “Your pouf of a server.” he spat out. The younger man had said nothing in reply. Instead, his head stayed bowed, as if he already knew it was a losing battle. Tom understood, when he worked at Borgin and Burkes he learned firsthand that owners would always believe the customer. They would rather please the person whose money lines their pockets than the people whom they had to pay.
The manager looked down at the younger man, a sneer on his face, “I’m docking this off your pay boy. Now clean this mess up.” he said before leaving the main room.
The man kept his head down as he picked up the shards of glass with his bare hands. The bastard gave him a self-satisfied smirk before grabbing a pint and pouring it on the floor right in front of the worker. “Clean this up too while you’re at it." He turned to his mates, "Let’s go.” The group of them got up and left with him, cackling the whole way out.
Tom found himself getting up and moving over to the worker. He grabbed a towel on the bar and started to mop up the mess. He didn’t know why he did it, perhaps he felt bad that this bloke’s last night alive was spent cleaning up the mess of a bastard who assaulted him.
The worker finally looked up and his eyes widened a bit, “Oh erm you don’t have to do that sir.” he said, his voice was the personification of honey.
“Please, I insist. Since that bastard can’t clean his own messes the least I can do is help you clean this. Besides, you're injured. I’m sure alcohol and open wounds don’t mix well together.” He said gesturing to the cuts littered all over his palms.
He looked slightly stunned at his hands for a moment as if he had just now noticed they were covered in blood. His eyes then met Tom’s. They were deep pools of onyx that reminded him of the night sky, “Thank you,” he said sincerely before ducking his head back down and picking up the rest of the glass.
The wizard watched for a moment as his thin fingers picked up the shards, his fingernails were covered in a layer of black nail polish. He forced himself to look away and continue the task at hand.
Nobody minded them as they cleaned, it was as if things like this were a daily occurrence. The rest of them lost interest once they realised that no one was going to throw a few punches. When they got up Tom handed the server the towel, feeling an almost electric shock when their skin touched.
“Thank you again. Is there anything I could get you?” he asked as he grabbed it from him.
Tom just gave him a smile, “No, I am-” then he saw it. A mark on the man’s arm similar to his own though slightly more faded. His soul mark, a crow with a snake wrapped tightly around it. He always found the mark interesting, how the crow never seemed scared of the snake instead standing calmly; and how the snake didn’t seem to be harming the bird but instead protecting it.
Tom was a late bloomer when it came to his soul mark, not getting it until he had turned twenty-three. He still remembered how shocked he was when it had appeared suddenly on a random weekend in early January. They only appeared on the forearms of those who possessed magic, which only meant one thing. He was a wizard.
The only detail Tom could not wrap his head around was why he was working in a muggle town.
“Your name..” he said.
The server’s brows furrowed, “What?”
“Your name, that’s what you could give me.” he smiled, attempting to hide the overwhelming mix of emotions he was feeling at that moment.
He blinked for a second before saying, “Severus, my name is Severus.”
His name was unique, one that if he were a pureblood would fit right in. Tom had hated his own name, it was just so muggle which made sense being named after his bastard of a father and all.
“Severus,” his name had rolled off his tongue, “I’m Marvolo.” He replied.
Severus had raised a brow at that, “Like the bloke from Twelfth Night?” he asked.
The question had caught him off guard and Tom found himself laughing momentarily before composing himself, “Our names are fairly similar though I’m afraid you wouldn’t catch me dead in yellow stockings.” he quipped back.
Severus smirked in reply to that. He looked like he was about to say something before he changed his mind, “Well, thank you again Marvolo.” he nodded before leaving to dispose of the mess. Tom had watched him retreat, a strange longing feeling somewhere in his chest.
Tom left soon after for his manor, he needed to clear his head. While he had a soulmark he hadn’t thought himself capable of having a soulmate. It was said that those born from Amortentia are unable to love and so far in his over forty years of living that had proven to be true. Perhaps soul marks could have platonic connotations?
He had spent the rest of the night and morning looking into wizarding families, attempting to find the name ‘Severus’ anywhere in the sacred twenty-eight family trees. He had found nothing, not even in the Weasleys. That had only meant one thing…
His soulmate was a muggle-born wizard…
Tom threw the tome he was reading at the wall, causing the paintings to fall off of it. How could fate be so cruel? Tom had finally had an in, finally had an opportunity to rid himself of his half-muggle nature; only for it to be squandered.
If his followers were to find out about this he would be a laughing stock. Him, a soul mate to a muggle!
He had to find a way to get rid of his other half.