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Chapter 3. Theft of Sleep
The rest of the week passes without any issue. Tom comes down for food, usually escorted by Remus who is the only person who tolerates him, who he seems to tolerate and is able to hold his ground should Tom decide to be difficult. But he never is. The boy is quiet; though he talks idly while he eats his food, he rarely says anything of weight. They certainly haven't got any closer to finding out how or why he's here, always dancing around the topic. Sometimes it feels like he's getting more information out of them.
Tom has started to noticeably settle, too. He's begun using utensils, no longer shovelling the food down. The hunger is slowly leaving his body, replaced with a boy who eats with trained decorum. The starved appearance clings to him, even as he gains a little weight. He looks less like a boy on the brink of death and more like... how Harry looked the first time Remus properly met him. The ghost of Harry always lingers at the edge of Remus's mind, hidden in the angles of Tom's face, the wild state of his hair, the way his face shifts a certain way when he's listening.
The peace of breakfast is broken by Dumbledore's entrance, a change from his usual exile that hadn't been discussed prior. The second Tom notices his arrival, his attention is entirely fixated on the man. His pancakes — a breakfast Sirius had complained was too decadent for a prisoner, but Molly had insisted was necessary to reward a week of good behaviour — lay forgotten in favour of glowering at Dumbledore. The headmaster is fortunate the boy is holding a spoon and not a knife, as he looks to Remus as if he's just about ready to murder the man. Gone is his usual polite front, replaced with cold cruelty and a hatred that rests in his eyes. His lips contort into an angry grimace, unspoken poison resting on the top of his tongue.
Once it's clear Dumbledore isn't going to speak, Tom returns to his pancakes. He makes a very obvious, very pointed display of ignoring the older man. Each stab at his food is rougher than it needs to be, as if the pancake was the man sitting at the other end of the table. If it weren't for the situation, it would almost be amusing, like a child throwing a tantrum.
"You weren't at dinner last night." Tom comments, far too casual to be anything but forced. He plucks a blueberry off his plate, maple syrup dripping from it. He has ignored his utensils with this piece of fruit, perhaps forgotten them in his annoyance. As he looks to Remus, he bites into the blueberry, pulling skin from its flesh. Flecked of blue stain the tips of his fingers, crushing soft flesh between them. He seems more interested in destroying the blueberry, rather than actually eating it.
"I got caught up with something. Sorry." A full moon had kept Remus from his responsibilities, locking himself away where he can't hurt anyone. Despite this, guilt riddles him. There's only one other person who might have shown Tom even a shred of decency, and Remus isn't sure Molly would be able to shut Sirius down if he'd been in a particularly foul mood. He feels as if he's genuinely let the boy down. The feelings of guilt make him feel guilty about holding such concern for the self-proclaimed Dark Lord. But, over the course of the week, Remus hasn't seen that evil wizard. All he's seen is a boy far from home, alone and condemned.
