Property

He took Harry to the study. It was the best place for this. The younger wizard was clearly in pain, but only mildly so, at best. It was not enough to trouble Tom. Pain was his to inflict on Harry as he wished, and considering the boy's conduct he had so far been unduly kind. Though wizards had little use for slaves, he'd lived long enough among mortal filth to know how they treated their living property: cruelly, unkindly. Like animals.

The study was ancient and showed its age, but despite that it was neatly kept and the carpet sunk beneath their feet with luxurious softness. The candles glittered faintly. The door fell to a close behind them as they stepped inside, its own weight drawing it back to a close. Harry was staring at the lights, careful once again to avoid Tom's gaze now that Tom's attention had returned to him.

"Sit down, Harry," he said, releasing the boy's shoulder. Harry touched his fingers to his own skin instantly, and gave a small, almost unnoticeable wince as he pressed against the growing bruise. The chairs were high-backed and armless, and Harry settled into one uncomfortably, curving his hands into the dark wood of the seat. Tom watched him.

Eventually Harry shifted in his seat again. "If I said sorry it'd be a lie," said Harry. There was no defiance in his tone, just a sense of quiet resignation. "You'd know if I lied."

"You should learn that lying is necessary," Tom murmured, leaning back against a wall of shelves and crossing his arms. "But you're right boy, it's useless with me." A pause. "But enough of that. I have a gift for you."

Harry looked at him then, his green eyes wide and surprised. His thinness and the ragged quality of his clothes were even more obvious here in the grandeur of Tom's home. They were both aware of that, though Tom's face was devoid of any disgust or even amusement. There was a faint blush on Harry's cheeks.

"A gift?" he whispered. "I don't need anything..."

No one had given him a gift. Well, a proper gift. His aunt and uncle had tried occasionally, on birthdays or during festivals, but there attempts had always been so pitiful that Harry would always end up wishing they hadn't tried.

"Whatever belongs to you belongs to me, Harry. This is hardly a sacrifice on my part."

Harry bit his lip. Nodded. He stared down at his boots, not saying another word as he listened to the scuff of Tom's footsteps against the ground. There was a faint crack of wood, the sound of metal clinking against metal and then one of the strangest sounds he'd ever heard: a sleek hiss, soft and alive and -

"The World Serpent," said Tom. He stepped over to Harry and kneeled by his chair. For a moment all Harry could see were the faintly curling edges of Tom's dusky dark hair and the pale edge of his neck against his clothes, but then Tom rocked back onto his heels and Harry saw what lay in his palms. It was a snake, small and coloured silver - or at least it appeared to be at first. It was only when Harry looked closer that he realised that the snake was just made of metal, and not real at all. Its eyes flickered red in the light.

"Th-thank you," Harry said. He swallowed hard, and met Tom's eyes with a steady, even gaze. "It is a very kind gift, sir."

"But Harry," Tom drawled, leaning closer. "You don't even know what it can do." He was still kneeling but that made him no less intimidating. He reached up, encircling Harry's neck with cool, clinical hands. "Let me show you."

Harry saw Tom's lips move, but the sound he heard did not resemble any language he'd ever heard before. The older wizard's voice hissed, rolling strange and alien from his tongue. Harry found he couldn't hold back a gasp of surprise when the snake began to move writhing between Riddle's fingers, its thin metal tongue flickering against Harry's neck.

I won't show him I'm weak, thought Harry, biting down hard on his own tongue. He could feel the hot copper of his own blood seeping into his mouth. I won't.

The snake had curled around his neck now, nestling low at his neck with its head snug against the hollow of his throat. Mr Riddle's fingers traced its hard edges with a hiss of skin on metal, finally drawing the tail and head close together at the front of Harry's neck. His gaze flickered up to Harry's momentarily before his focus returned to his task, and that strange, sibilant language welled up from his mouth again. There was a click.

When Tom stood, Harry grasped at his own throat, feeling for the place where the snake had finally grown still. He traced its edges, fumbling until he felt the smoothness of the mouth and the tail, moulded together seamlessly. The snake was no longer moving. It seemed entirely inanimate, not a living thing at all, but an odd warmth still emanated from it, sinking into his skin.

"It swallows its own tail." Mr Riddle's tone was one of unrestrained pride. "Beautiful, don't you think?"

Harry tugged hard at the place the snake - the collar - joined. Then he tugged hard, wincing again as he jarred his own shoulder against the back of the chair.

"This isn't a gift. It's a punishment." He looked up at Tom, all the resignation drained out of him. His eyes were hard. "Isn't it, sir?"

Tom shrugged lazily, his lips quirking.

"All gifts are punishments, Harry. Didn't you know?"

There was a mirror in Harry's new room. He'd heard stories about monsters and their mirrors. A witch can steal your soul if you stare into her enchanted looking-glass, and,crack a mirror and your soul will seep through the cracks into the Other World. Consequently he had always had a healthy measure of respect for mirrors. He knew better to tempt fate. But here he was anyway, in a wizard's house, a wizard himself, wearing a collar that had once writhed like an animal. And he was sitting before a mirror, tracing the collar with a single finger. It looked beautiful, there was no doubt of that: very bright and smooth against his tanned skin, with fine dark eyes (rubies, red, very red). His own face was very thin from prolonged hunger, or maybe it was just thinning out as he grew older. He didn't know. But he could recognise his own exhaustion from the dark shadows under his eyes.

He looked away from the mirror. Then, still uneasy, he took one of the bedcovers and shrouded the mirror with it. He lay down on the bed, grimacing as the collar dug into his skin. He turned onto his side, shifting the pillow to prop himself up in a more comfortable position.

Tom had locked him in here, and left him without another word. He did not feel safe, sleeping in this house. Tom had asked him to trust, not so long ago. But he knew now, as he had always known, deep down inside, that Tom could not be trusted by anyone.

"Are you watching me?" he whispered, even though there was no one else there. He curled his hand into the sheets and thought of ghosts and monsters, and the snake at his throat. "What do you want from me?"

The snake was very warm, and everything was silent. Harry stayed awake for a long time; and then when he slept he dreamt of empty corridors, and Mr Riddle's laughter. And the snow.