... like I know pretty much everyone’s headcanon for Abraxas Malfoy is that he was either one of Tom Riddle’s closest followers or like *involved* with him, but... wait for it... what if Tom seriously hated him?
Read from the beginning at FFN | AO3!
“Has no-one told you not to stand in front of the stairs, Lestrange?” snapped the newcomer; a boy of about fourteen or fifteen, with a narrow, aristocratic face, white-blond hair and grey eyes that glinted like steel in the dim, wavy light.
“Who are you?” asked Tom, before he could hold himself back. But he couldn’t help but be curious, especially when the other four boys were staring at the newcomer with such adoration and reverence.
“Abraxas Malfoy,” he said, drawing himself up to his full height — which Tom noted with a faint hint of pleasure was not much taller than him.
Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “And you are?”
“Tom Riddle.” Tom did not take his eyes off of Malfoy’s, instead lifting his chin and glaring.
“Tom Riddle,” repeated Malfoy. A mocking grin spread across his face. “And what might you be? Another half-blood? Mother ran off with a Mudblood, or worse, a Muggle, is that it?”
“No!” snapped Tom, acutely aware of the others gazing at him and Malfoy fixedly, awaiting an answer with bated breath. He could see his perfect façade unravelling already, all the work that he had done to earn his classmates’ respect wasted. “My father was a wizard! His name was Tom Riddle, too!”
Malfoy threw his head back, laughing, the sound echoing ominously against the stone walls of the corridor.
“Oh, you filthy little Mudblood. Bold as brass.”
...
"That's all Muggles and Mudbloods like you are good for. You must know your place," said Malfoy, smirking. All of a sudden, Tom felt himself being forced to his knees as if invisible hands were pushing him down. There was a black, shiny shoe in his face. Yaxley's wand was out. Magic. "Get polishing, Riddle. The Muggle way, as you're used to. And be careful. They're the finest dragonhide, more expensive than anything you'll ever own."
"But won't they—" Tom was not going to cry. He was not going to show an ounce of weakness in front of them.
"See you?" asked Malfoy. "That's the point, Riddle. So hurry up, and shine your master's boots, and you might finish before your little classmates see you on your knees like a proper Mudblood."
Tom felt the same fury burn as when Billy called him a monster, years ago, he wanted to tear, to break, to lash out at something… but there was no rabbit here. The three older boys had no weakness, and magic could not help him now. It was one against three, and he did not have any training.
But one day... he’d get each one of them. Alone. Scared. Crying.
