Chapter Text
Even after obtaining all the knowledge there is in the world, Tom was sure he could not predict London weather. He never knew what it was about this city that drew him to it. Perhaps like himself, it refused to conform, obtaining a mind of its own, switching up on itself by the hour; it drove him insane. Hypocritically, he liked everything to be in order, it shouldn’t be cloudy when he was inside the door and sunny when he stepped out. Regardless, he was glad of magic, it made the switch up tolerable.
So, when dark clouds swept across the evening sky on an otherwise bright summer day, he only pressed his lips in a thin line and cast a wordless spell to repel the raindrops off himself. With his hands in his pockets, he seamlessly navigated the crowd of bustling tourists, scrambling for cover under ledges and shops, keepers who delightfully invited them inside hoping for an overpriced sale. It at least made the streets less crowded. It was easier to apparate to his destination of course, but he preferred the muggle transport sometimes. He liked to remind himself of their ways.
The bell tingled gently as he stepped inside the pub, The Serpent’s Head, and his eyes roamed over the inhabitants. It was fairy occupied, the usual crowd of white-haired and suited but rashly drunk so-called gentlemen smoking up cigars, a group of younger and perhaps newly married women who laughed over wine, even the very obvious teenagers who pretended to be adults as they looked smug over hard-to-swallow whiskey.
Abraxas’ distinguishing platinum blonde was an immediate standout, and of course he had chosen the biggest table meant for ten, when it was only supposed to be the three of them meeting today. But then again, what else could be expected from the two heirs of the most distinguished pureblood families of existence. His eyes flickered over to the black-haired beauty sitting opposite Abraxas, and Orion Black was truly that– a sight to behold. Tom knew how to value beautiful things.
He had grown his hair from the last time Tom had seen him, it was now tied at the nape of his neck, a loose posture as he took up the space of two, even three, people, the dim lights only accentuated his cheekbones as he spoke, his grey eyes widening and narrowing animatedly, long slender fingers gesticulating around as he told his undoubtedly fascinating tale. As Tom stepped closer to the pair of them, Orion’s words paused in his mouth, catching sight of him and at the interruption, Abraxas too turned over his shoulder to look at him.
If the allure of the Black family was to look like the epitome of human genetics, the Malfoy bloodline had the appeal of the otherworldly. The unnatural hair colour aside, Abraxas was extraordinarily pale, and with his athletic inclination, the network of arteries and veins under his skin seemed to be particularly visible. It was inhuman, yet it only added to his magnetism, the women and men their age and more certainly agreed. His eyes, that could only be described as Slytherin green, followed Tom as he nodded at the pair and took his own seat.
Tom took another moment to observe his two closest comrades together, their previous conversation long forgotten. Together, he had collected the best of the set. Physically and magically.
A soft smile laced Tom’s mouth, “Good evening, gentlemen.”
The first word spoken, Abraxas and Orion relaxed into their own grin, the latter looking particularly gleeful, taking the manner of the greeting as a sign of an informal meeting.
“Tom! So good to see you again, I was just detailing my summer, I visited the Caribbean islands, it was truly the most joyous time, do you not think Malfoy here could do with a bit of sun?”
Tom noted that Orion did not use his last name, Riddle, it was shamingly muggle. But he had long gotten used to this; one day, none of them would ever mutter his name without cowering.
His gaze instead wandered to Abraxas, who was giving Orion an unamused grimace, “Well, I was in Romania, dragon fire is more than enough heat for me, Black.”
Tom had heard this conversation countless times before, almost predicted Orion’s response word to word, “Never understood your obsession with them Malfoy, are us humans not fascinating enough for you?”
“If you could be even classified as human Black, you spend half your time as a canine, surprised you haven’t actually grown fur yet.”
Orion’s widening grin was response enough, “If that’s what it takes to finally interest you, I would be more than willing to oblig-”
“Why you insufferable little-”
Tom sighed; his companions turned into teenagers again in each other’s presence. It had been years since they left Hogwarts, but every time they met up again, he was transported right back to the Slytherin common room. Not that he minded it—being back in Hogwarts—he missed it dearly, not to fret though, he planned to visit it soon enough.
As for now, he supposed he needed a drink to make do with the evening; his camaraderie would never dare to indulge in muggle liquor, but he thought it stronger and with better taste anyway. Initially he had tried fitting in with them, hiding away his muggle knowledge and upbringing, but he had long learnt that the tactic would never work without a proper surname. So, he embraced it, but one day, he reiterated the promise to himself.
Silently, he slid away from his seat and crossed the room to the bar, his eyes scanned the bottles of liquor on display as he stood patiently for the bartender. Soon enough, a woman exited the staff area, pushing the wooden doors out hastily, her head lowered as she fastened the uniform apron behind her back, short dark pieces of hair fell over her eyes as she made her way to the counter, and Tom leaned closer with a polite smile to request his order.
Her gaze raised, her lips stretching in a polite practised smile, but it flickered the second she saw Tom’s face.
It was only for a moment. It was enough. Tom’s eyes hardened on her instantly.
He did not know this woman, his memory was impeccable, so he was sure he had never seen her before. But Tom knew the look of fear, it was undoubtedly that. What did a muggle woman have to fear from him, currently anyway?
His hand inched towards his pocket, gripping the edge of his wand, a move he was certain was not visible from across the counter, but the woman’s expression faltered anyway, this time much more clearly. Her eyes stared at his wand arm, backing away towards the back of the bar, her gaze flickering to the fire exit sign a metre away from her.
It was instinct for her, he realised. She did not know about him as a wizard, she was planning a muggle escape, and a common one for women working in a bar. He knew enough about muggles and their drunk behaviour to digress what warranted that reaction, but why him?
He released his wand and instead offered her a smile, a practised one of his own. He slowly moved his hand and kept it on top of the bar, holding a few notes of muggle cash which he slid across the counter with his fingers, his voice coming out low and enticing.
“Would you be so kind to open a tab for us, Miss...?”
Her eyes darted down to glance at the cash, relaxing a bit as she straightened up, her hands moved instinctively to push the hair out of her eyes— a nervous habit he mused— and nodded briefly. She glanced past him to see the table he was sitting at and then noted it down. She was quick to pick up the notes and spread them across with her thumb, another muggle method he noted, her eyes glancing across the numbers as she noted the total.
“What would you like to order first?”
She did not look at him in the eye, and she did not give her name. Clever, or cautious?
He smiled wider at her, channelling all he had observed from his classmates, and crossed his arms on top of the counter and leaned on it nonchalantly. His eyes roamed the labels of liquor again, and exhaled a dramatic sigh through his mouth, pulling his lips in a lopsided smile. “My friends back there are a bit up their noses, claim that English liquor doesn’t do well on their taste, any recommendations to change their air-headedness?”
His gaze wandered back to the woman; she was pedantic. Her fingers fiddled with a loose string in her apron as she turned her gaze over his shoulder to look at the people he was referring to. The tightening of her lips was only a sign of agreement to his words, her eyes dazed in thought before she turned slightly to look over the bottles lined up behind her.
It was only for a moment. It was enough. Tom’s eyes hardened on her instantly.
“Legilimens”