The Fear in The Child

5

Tom narrowed his eyes at his newcomers, as he leaned back, watching the three enter the compartment. The first to enter, he looked quite a lot like Abraxas...although, there were some features that were faint, and therefore a little bit harder to trace, he knew that they were of the Malfoy house. It had to be Abraxas' descendant. The other two, Tom could not recognize them but they were chubby and made him want to throw up at the mere sight of them. Who would allow their children to grow so...large? In his time, anyone that was that large was going to die, and while it was obvious that the remnance of the war was clearly gone given their rather...unhealthy sizing, it still left him anxious. Anyone that was not underweight was usually either rich, bullied the others out of their rations, and were typically the first to die. 

"Don't get excited," the blond Abraxas descendant said hastily. "We are only here because of a lack of other places to sit." Tom grit his teeth, bit remained silent, and looked out of the window, totally dismissing the boy. He knew it would raise his ire, and personally, Tom found himself somewhat board, and wanting to know what the Abraxas boy would do.

The boy scoffed angrily, and folded his arms, staring at him. Tom hummed under his breath, staring out of the window and for all the world pretending that there was nobody else with him in the compartment. In truth, he was contemplating how such as simple thing such as the size of a child could so easily showcase that the war was over, at least for now.

"You haven't been sorted yet have you?" Tom rolled his eyes. It was not as though it were not obvious the lack of colouring or Crest upon his robes. Still, he refused to give the other the satisfaction of luring him into speaking. "That magic surge a moment ago, that was you wasn't it." It was not a question, and yet still, it caught Tom's attention. He slowly turned to the boy, who had settled himself across on the other benches.

"You can feel magical surges?" Tom asked, his voice careful, level, and emotionless. The boy scoffed.

"Yes, I can. Why?" Tom shrugged one shoulder.

"It simply is not common, is all." Tom paused deliberately continuing right as the boy made to speak, it was rather true. Very few could be sensitive as Tom himself was to such thing. "Even among powerful wizards. It is a...gift, of a sort. So I was merely surprised, is all." Tom said softly, staring straight at the boy, who was beginning to feel slightly unnerved. 

"Malfoys are never common." He huffed, fingers twitching slightly. Tom gave a slight smile. He was correct then, this was a descendant of Abraxas. It was the eyes, and the hair that gave him away. As well as the notable french features in his face. 

"Oh no, no they certainly are not. Still, Abraxas had not managed to cultivated such a talent, at least not that I am aware of. If he had, likely not well. From what I know neither has Lucius Malfoy." Tom said simply, as though he were merely stating a fact, though he had no idea of that, truly, he and Abraxas had just barely begun to speak and the only way he knew about Lucius was through books.

He had learned much from the Black library during his stay there. He loved libraries, and always found it best to be as up to date on Wizarding information as possible, so he had read, he had studied, and he had certainly learned quite a bit. The Black Library had much to offer. Something that Black Gryffindor failed to realize in his hatred.

"How do you know that?" The boy demanded. Tom rolled his eyes, turning them back outside the window.

"It is obvious. Though I must say, your father is better at it than your grandfather was. Perhaps it is the marriages of other pure blood families that passed the sensitivity down more and more between the three generations." The boy paused. Tom knew better than to continue further. He was going based off guess work, after all.