Tom stared at the silent wraith before him, his patience wearing thin. "Are you deaf? I asked you a question."
He raised the Elder Wand threateningly.
The spirit, trapped and powerless, grimaced as the wand was leveled at his head. "Easy, mate… can't I just agree with whatever you say? Put that thing down, will you? It might go off accidentally."
He was at his absolute limit. How had he been caught like this?
And by the one person he least wanted to face!
Could his luck really be this appalling?
What kind of sick joke was fate playing on him now?
The last time he'd encountered such a cosmic farce was when he was at the height of his power, only to be undone by a bloody infant!
The spirit was beginning to think the universe had a personal vendetta against him.
It had started the moment Harry Potter was born… that brat was the root of all his problems! He deserved to die!
"…"
Tom, observing the spirit's abject terror, remained silent. His dark eyes, like a still, deep pool, were both beautiful and unsettlingly calm.
And in that silence, the spirit understood.
Having survived as long as he had, he couldn't be blind to the truth.
That was precisely why he was so afraid. He realised that this other self, who appeared almost normal, even leaning towards the "good" side, was far more deranged than he was.
At least the spirit understood his own motivations. He couldn't fathom what went on in the mind of the other Tom.
Under the spirit's fearful gaze, Tom wordlessly lowered the Elder Wand, pointing it towards the ground.
Before the spirit could decipher this change, the space around them twisted and warped.
...
When the world snapped back into focus, they stood on a deserted island.
The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, its final rays kissing the edge of the sea.
The rippling water resembled leaping silver fish, and the fiery crimson clouds resembled a celestial staircase.
It was a breathtaking vista, but the spirit, stranded on the beach, found no solace in its beauty.
He didn't even know if he would survive; how could he waste time admiring such trivial things?
Tom snatched the suitcase from his grasp but, contrary to the spirit's expectations, did not put it away. Instead, he carelessly tossed it to the ground and sat down.
"…"
The noseless, bald figure was utterly bewildered. He couldn't comprehend Tom's intentions. Why hadn't he just killed him? If he wasn't going to kill him, why wouldn't he let him leave? If he needed something done, why not simply say so? The man was clearly off his rocker.
"Why do you stare?" Tom asked, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
"You are unsightly. I do not enjoy gazing upon you, thus I would prefer to avoid it… though staring at me runs the risk of incurring violence."
Hearing these words, the spirit recoiled as if scalded.
"What… what do you need me to do?"
It was the only question the spirit could think to ask.
"You ought to know, ought you not?"
Tom's response was infuriatingly evasive. "I do not intend to kill you."
At least, not before next year.
"…"
The spirit remained silent. He knew Tom wasn't lying; otherwise, he never would have survived this long.
But that same question still haunted him: why hadn't Tom killed him or done anything else, for that matter?
If it was because he valued the spirit's abilities—after all, they were two sides of the same coin—the spirit assumed Tom wouldn't deny his potential. Yet Tom's actions suggested no interest in collaboration; otherwise, why wouldn't Tom have eagerly joined Harry Potter's side as second-in-command?
If he wasn't planning to recruit him, why keep him alive?
Frankly, if the spirit were in Tom's position, he would've killed his other self without a second thought. It was certainly what he would have done.
He suspected Tom harbored similar thoughts.
It was all so perplexing… What game was this lunatic playing?!
Seeing that the spirit failed to respond, Tom pressed on, "What outcome had you envisioned, had you achieved your goals?"
Tom spoke casually, as if engaged in idle banter, producing two bags of Chocolate Frogs and tossing one to the spirit.
"…"
The spirit eyed the Chocolate Frog in his hand, unsure if this was another ruse.
"Indulge your thoughts, speak freely and without restraint."
Tom ate his Chocolate Frog with an ease that seemed almost mocking. "My dear, bald acquaintance, we are one and the same. You have no cause for apprehension. Speak your mind."
Despite finding Tom's words unbelievable, he at least knew that Tom harbored no immediate desire to kill him.
Feeling temporarily safe, the spirit took a risk. He considered his words, and a burning desire replaced the primal fear in his crimson eyes.
He muttered, almost unconsciously, "I would… sit in your seat."
What in the bloody hell did I just say?!
Damn it all—!
The spirit didn't imagine Tom would take such blatant ambition in stride and was about to beg for forgiveness when—
"Hmm, fascinating. Hypothetically speaking, if you actually succeeded…"
There was no fury as the spirit expected. Tom seemed almost… relieved. He wasn't angry; in fact, he appeared to be in good spirits. Perhaps it was because what the spirit coveted was what he himself cared about the least?
Tom held no affection for his position. No matter how high he rose, it only offered a modicum of convenience.
Power and status were the most inconsequential things he possessed, the easiest to acquire.
Even if he became as universally despised as the spirit the next second, he could reclaim his former power in less than five minutes.
Tom continued to toy with the spirit. "So, do you genuinely believe that assuming my role would bring you satisfaction?"
"…"
Of course! I'd be laughing in my sleep if I were actually sitting in your seat!
This time, the spirit kept silent. He'd learned his lesson.
Those bizarre, beautiful, serpentine eyes couldn't hide their melancholy. "I assure you, it is exceptionally dull."
At Tom's words, the spirit's brow, or rather, where his brow should have been, twitched slightly in confusion.
"Everyone fawning over you, it is quite tedious."
"…"
"You can obtain whatever you desire, but without any hardship, it lacks all sense of accomplishment—still, it is dull."
"…"
"You are free to do as you please, but even that eventually grows tiresome."
"…"
Each of Tom's words struck the spirit's fragile heart like a dagger. Thinking of his own life spent "struggling to survive," like a rat in the sewers, he felt a pang of jealousy and pain.
The spirit's face twisted in anguish as he stammered, "Stop… please, stop…"
"Thus, the single thing in this world that may alleviate my boredom is perhaps… you."
Tom looked at the spirit with what seemed like genuine sincerity. "Dumbledore is insufficient. Grindelwald is also insufficient. They are far too old. Only you, another version of myself, possess the potential."
"…"
For some inexplicable reason, the spirit felt a secret thrill of satisfaction.
Seeing this, Tom knew the moment was ripe. He stood up and tossed the suitcase to the spirit. "Go. Grow stronger. Do everything within your power to humor me. Should you accomplish all of those things… you shall have everything you desire."
With those words, Tom vanished.
The spirit stood frozen, clutching the suitcase, dazed and uncomprehending, until a flicker of desire ignited in his eyes.
He failed to notice that Tom's promises were no different from the empty words he himself often used to manipulate his own subordinates. Although the wording was different, the underlying message was the very same.
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