Tom

Author's Note PLEASE READ:



This is a WORK IN PROGRESS.

Please check here for current update information.



11/26/09: STILL POSTING NEW CHAPTERS!

I took a break from fan fics to work on an original series. But I'm a little burnt out on that venture so I figured now would be a great time to revisit AFF and get back to finishing this story. For those of you who have kept up to date on this fic, you may notice where I left off in Chapter 14 has changed drastically. I snipped off part of the chapter BUT replaced it and gave you THREE NEW CHAPTERS! Woo! *throws streamers & confetti to celebrate* I've done some SERIOUS overhauling in this story which includes a new intro, a new addition to the last chapter, a few repaired plot holes, spelling errors fixed, and random things like that. Lots-o mysterious foreshadowing commeth!!! MWAHAHAHAHA. (please excuse my shenanigans, I've been working on this for days and have yet to leave the house / see sunshine / breath fresh air). As always, your comments and suggestions are VERY appreciated, just play nice is all I ask. I have posted a new 'Replies to your Reviews' at the end of the latest chapter.


On a rather important side note: Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle appear in this story. Now I know what you're thinking... but I'd like to point out, in my version at least, they aren't exactly the brutish, ugly bullies that the Harry Potter books portray them as. Think brutish, hot bullies.




Now on with the story....



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The Origins of a Name:



As stories go, there is always a villain. Yet one might wonder how someone became 'said villain in the first place. What makes such a young soul turn to evil? Was it a rough, lonely childhood, being left to fend for themselves, lost and confused, desperate to prove their worth without ever being truly rewarded for the amazing feats they've accomplished? There is an astonishingly thin line between depravity and integrity. Anyone who has walked this line can say just how easy it was to slip off the narrow edge, to just let go of it all. Was the teasing, the humiliation, the abandonment enough to cause a soul to dance that very line separating traditional good from the traditional bad? When isolated for decades, trapped by his own self's arrogant vanity and lust for eternal life, would a boy who loathed the company of others finally start wishing he wasn't so very alone, even in a world that wanted nothing to do with the boy? A world that couldn't even stand hearing his name spoken aloud?



Tom.



This name is a form of 'Thomas', which is of Aramaic origin and roughly translates to "twin". The name itself is Biblical, being one of the 12 apostles, a man most known for doubting the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ and demanding to touch Jesus' grievous wounds before being convinced. After seeing Jesus alive, the apostle professed his faith in him, exclaiming "My Lord and my God!". This man was known as "Doubting Thomas" due to his unusual mixture of pessimism and zealous faith.



Some say "Doubting Thomas' " full name was Judas Thomas. Judas Iscariot, also one of the twelve apostles, was most traditionally known for his role in betraying Jesus into the hands of Roman authorities. In a depraved and selfish moment, some say while under Satan's influence, Judas betrayed Jesus for a bribe of "thirty pieces of silver". The chief priests were looking for a "sly" way to arrest Jesus. Judas, in turn, chose to identify Jesus to the arresting soldiers with a kiss.



Au contraire, The name 'Thomas' has been in popular use since the 12th-century martyr Thomas à Becket (1118 – 29 December 1170) who was Archbishop of Canterbury from 1162 to his death. He is venerated as a saint and martyr by both the Roman Catholic Church and the Anglican Communion. Thomas engaged in conflict with Henry II of England over the rights and privileges of the Church and was eventually cornered by followers of the king in Canterbury Cathedral.



Several contemporary accounts of what happened next exist; of particular note is that of Edward Grim, a clerk visiting the cathedral from Cambridge and the only witness of the attack, who was himself wounded during the proceedings.



' ...The wicked knight leapt suddenly upon him, cutting off the top of the crown which the unction of sacred chrism had dedicated to God. Next he received a second blow on the head, but still he stood firm and immovable. At the third blow he fell on his knees and elbows, offering himself a living sacrifice, and saying in a low voice, 'For the name of Jesus and the protection of the Church, I am ready to embrace death.' But the third knight inflicted a terrible wound as he lay prostrate. By this stroke, the crown of his head was separated from the head in such a way that the blood white with the brain, and the brain no less red from the blood, dyed the floor of the cathedral. The same clerk who had entered with the knights placed his foot on the neck of the holy priest and precious martyr, and, horrible to relate, scattered the brains and blood about the pavements, crying to the others, 'Let us away, knights; this fellow will arise no more.'



It would seem the many stories behind this single name's origins, the name 'Tom', hold moral contradictions, selfish depravity, and a few double edged blades. What you see is not what you get and, at the end of the day, someone might end up very, very hurt.



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Chapter 1:




Pipe smoke twisted and curled through the narrow gap in the parlor doorway, like angry serpents escaping the grasp of predators. I watched it swirl into the dark hall and disappear amongst the shadows. How appropriate it was, these ghostly snakes, at a time like this. One especially bold bit of smoke caught my eye as it escaped the parlor. It slithered closer to me, ready to nip at the end of my nose. I hastily fanned it away. The smell of strong pipe smoke had a tendency to make me sneeze. The last thing I needed right now was a sneezing fit. A terrible round of laughter filled the air from the room. The sound caused the wall I was propped up against to tremble even as the parlor door opened an inch or so wider just to my right. I froze, caught off guard by the sudden explosion of sound. I wanted to back out of the hall towards the sanctity of my wing in the sprawling mansion. But curiosity... it held me tight in it's bewitching grasp. Mesmerized by the dim beam of light now piercing the dark haze of the hallway, I took a deep breath and moved slowly towards the gap in the doorway. I knew this would get me in so much trouble if father found out. I couldn't resist. I just had to get a look at our special guest.



"Come inside, boy,"



An unfamiliar, hoarse voice called from the opposite side of the door. My breath caught in my lungs. Have I been seen? I couldn't have! I was hidden, well hidden, in a veil of darkness behind the door. I hadn't even had a chance to peek through the crack yet. They must not be talking to me. Then the voice beckoned again.



"Come inside, if you are so curious to see me."



All sound from the room had stopped abruptly at the sound of the mysterious voice. With my heart viciously pounding its way into my throat, I obeyed the stern invitation and slowly pushed open the door. The inside of the room was a golden gray haze of smoke dimly lit by oil lamps and the faint outside moonlight through tobacco lined stained glass windows. A small cluster of men, some familiar and some not so much, crowded the room. They reclined in my fathers lush maroon velvet armchairs, mahogany pipes in hand and bitter frowns on their faces. I wasn't feeling the least bit welcome. My father, whom I spotted near the center of the room, was on his feet and glaring at me in disgust. At his side were the familiar faces of two men, the fathers of my friends Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Not to my surprise, the two shared my father's distaste for my intrusion and, well, my over all existence. But the figure to my father's immediate left caught my eye and held my rapt attention as well as everyone else's in the room. The dark figure was cloaked in a heavy black robe and seated in my fathers favorite armchair. Although slumped down in the seat and appearing rather insignificant at first glance, this lone figure had an aura of pure authority and power around them.

It couldn't be him....



"Come in and take a seat, boy," the cloaked man spoke, shattering the heavy silence which had enveloped the room so suddenly. One ghastly pale hand slithered out from the robe and patted an empty chair beside him. I shivered at the sight of it. With all eyes on me, I felt there was no choice but to obey the sullen figure. I silently made my way across the room. All eyes watched as I approached the figure, a few men puffing nervously on their pipes. My gut whirled with fear, worry, and a nagging curiosity.



"I apologize for this intrusion, Master," my father quickly hissed to the cloaked man while shooting me one of his famous 'you are so going to get it later' glares, "The boy doesn't know how to obey rules in this household." I sunk down in the empty chair beside the mysterious figure, trying hard to ignore the flush of embarrassment, indignation dancing across my face.



The hollow black hood of the cloak turned to me, "This boy, is he your son Lucius? Ah, yes I remember him." The bottom half of an aged and withered pale face peaked out from the blackness of the large hood, "Draco, is it?"



I nodded slowly, "Y-Yes sir." I knew who this person was and I couldn't believe my ears. He was speaking to me. Voldemort, I mean the Dark Lord, was actually speaking to me! I already couldn't wait to tell Goyle and Crabbe about this! Imagine the looks on their faces! Unknowingly, a grin of the 'shit-eating' variety spread across my face. I nearly heard my father roll his eyes in disgust.



"The last time I saw you Draco Malfoy, if I remember correctly, you were still an infant. How old are you now young man?" The Dark Lord asked, his hollow voice chilling me right to the bone as he addressed me again. I swore, somehow, he sounded more like an old friend than the demonic killer he actually was. Or perhaps I was just giddy with fear from being around such immense power, even in his current state.



"I'm fifteen, sir," I somehow managed not to stutter that time.



The pale, cracked lips peaking from the hood curled into a smile, "Fifteen, eh? Has it truly been that long?" The Dark Lord turned back to my father, "He's grown in to quite a handsome young man. You should be proud Lucius."



My father forced a smile and quickly thanked him. He knew the Dark Lord's comment was going to swell my ego. Big time. I felt my heart skitter around in my chest as I sat up a little straighter among these older, wiser men. Perhaps I would make it out of my father's smoking room alive after all.



For the rest of the night and well into the morning hours I sat beside the great and infamous Dark Lord, occasionally receiving a grim smile from his direction. The men chatted about past failures, current objectives, and secretive future plans to try and bring the Dark Lord into power once more. Never in a million years would I be allowed to hear the Death Eater's plans, yet somehow I was there, a happy accident. I grew more comfortable with the conversations as the night went on, even throwing in my own thoughts here and there. My father continued to shoot me nasty looks every time I spoke while the Dark Lord applauded my ideas. Once he even banished a man from the room for objecting an idea I had involving the use of muggle weaponry against the corrupt wizarding world. I was half-heartedly suggesting it, more as a joke actually. But The Dark Lord though it was a unique, if not brilliant idea. No one would expect him and his followers to take up muggle fire arms. The banished man had thoroughly objected, demanding to know why the Dark Lord would take advice from a 'stupid school boy'.



"I find the boy to be rather wise, " The cloaked figure beside me had spoken softly in response, power gliding off his every word like an invigorating breath of the crisp winter breeze just outside the mansion's large pane windows, "We need fresh ideas such as young Draco's if we wish to succeed. We need his youth."



Oh, the power....


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