Snippet from entwined, my tomarry ballad of songbirds and snakes au on ao3:
Mayor Aberforth drew a name from the bowl, which was rubbish since he already knew the capitol picked their players. They didn't want to leave anything up to chance, even something as simple as a slaughter (but, well, it wasn't so simple this year, was it?)
“Hermione Granger,” the mayor announced.
A girl with dark hair as big and frizzy as Tom had ever seen it squared her shoulders and marched up the stage, her “Sunday best” having clearly seen better days. The dress was worn and dirty in many places, the flowery pattern—either lavender or lilac—faded to look almost grey.
She stood like a soldier prepared for war, but there was nothing else remarkable about her.
“Lucretia Black, the girl is yours,” Slughorn announced.
Well, perhaps they could suffer together. The last tribute was his, after all.
“Harry Potter,” Aberforth called.
The camera was pointed at a young man, hair wild and dark like an untamed forest. His eyes were startlingly green beneath a pair of glasses that were both too big for him and had clearly seen better days. His skin was warm, dark and tan, freckles prominent enough to count through the screen.
There was a stubborn set to his jaw that Tom knew reflected in himself, a determined hardness to his eyes that gave him pause.
The boy didn't move towards the stage quite yet. The air felt charged around him, tense and waiting for his next move. He radiated confidence and an air of sophistication that didn't match his appearance; he looked even less presentable than the girl, shirt untucked and sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
Finally, Harry—was that really his full name? What kind of parents did he have?—shouldered his way through the crowd, people parting for him like he was some sort of celebrity.
A large, pudgy boy snorted as Harry approached, face full of smug satisfaction. He seemed to be saying something, but the broadcast didn’t pick it up. Tom watched Harry walk up to the boy, pause for a brief moment before continuing on. A flash of movement so fast Tom wasn’t entirely sure what happened.
Then pandemonium erupted.
The boy started flailing and screaming, his smug expression morphing into one of terror as he clawed at his clothes like he was itching like crazy. “GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF! MUM! MUM!”
“It’s not poisonous,” Harry called without even looking back as he strode up to the dais while Aurors swarmed the still-screaming boy and Tom finally realised what Harry had done when one of the Aurors pulled a snake from the back of the boy’s shirt.
He dumped a snake down his shirt, and continued walking as if he’d done nothing.
Gasps erupted throughout the room, students whispering to each other and shooting Tom a few glances, the looks ranging from pity to contempt.
Tom may have been slightly impressed, but he shoved that feeling down. He didn't care if the boy could walk on water, he wasn't going to ogle him like the rest of his district was doing. Like a handful of the other mentors were doing.
“He's all yours, Tom Riddle,” Slughorn smiled.
Jaw clenched so tight he was shocked he didn't crack a molar, Tom nodded. He didn't take his eyes off the screen as Harry stood proud on the stage, hands shoved in his pockets like this happened every day, as if the Reaping was beneath him. Then he turned his sharp gaze back to the still-shaking boy and two people fluttering around him that had to be his parents.
“Tom?” Alphard murmured under his breath.
He didn't reply, just sent him a scathing look before turning back towards the screen, his tribute—and oh how he liked the sound of that—now standing on the stage on the opposite side as the girl, her name inconsequential to Tom.
Unlike the upper districts, no one even attempted to look happy.
Harry tilted his chin up, eyes defiantly staring up at the screen, and for a moment, Tom felt those eyes pierce his very soul. He scanned the entire crowd, Aurors included and shouted, “You can kiss my ass!”
Then the Aurors grabbed the tributes and hauled them away as the camera started to turn away. The girl looked undignified and scattered, but the boy looked above it all, somehow regal even as he was dragged away by a uniformed man.
The cameras went dark before flashing the signal of the capitol, Grindelwald’s symbol of power; a triangle with a line through it and a small circle in the centre.
Slughorn clapped his hands together, turning towards the students. “I hope everyone was paying attention, because we will not be going over this again. The tributes are due to arrive tomorrow. Good luck students,” Slughorn said, and he sounded inanely sincere. “And may the odds be in your favour.”
