A/N: So... I'm alive. For anyone who read my stories in the past they may have noticed I dropped off the place of the planet for the year, but I think I'm back to writing (I will add more updates to my profile). This is written for Challenge 78 of His Most Faithful Forum and had to revolve around a body part. I chose hand. I hope this turned out well. It will take a while to get in the swing of things and I'm not sure how I went at writing such a young child. Opinions on that would be great.
Enjoy.
)o(
The small dark haired head focused down at the book in front of him. He had just turned five, though he still stared down at the lines of words. It went on and on. It was too much for a young child to comprehend, but his midnight blue eyes remained focused on the task.
He was not alone. Other children of various ages from four to ten were positioned on mismatched poorly maintained wooden chairs and desks. The furniture had scratches down the sides and were badly warped. Some children had to keep moving in their seat or adjusting their writing pads to counteract the damage, though no one showed any signs that it was unusual. They just quietly struggled to complete their tasks.
They were watched by a skinny women positioned at a slightly newer desk at the front of the classroom. Her face was sharp like an eagle and her hair was greying and knotted tightly in a bun. She was strict and firm. Her gaze swept over every member of her charge inspecting everything to see what was amiss. Despite the age of the children, not a whisper was uttered to disrupt the unbreakable silence.
Everyone knew the consequences of doing wrong. No one wanted to anger her.
Intentionally.
Tom did not even glance at Mrs Cole. He had no reason to. She had finally stopped giving him the same work as Emma, George and the others his age. He kept finishing it so early and Tom never understood how the others took so long. It was easy. One explanation and it all made sense to him. He had breezed through it all, so the others must just be stupid.
Mrs Cole at least understood. Tom was frustrated it had taken so long, but at last he had a proper book. It wasn't just filled with pictures. There was text and depth. He supposed another story about a woman finally finding god was boring and predictable, though he kept working. There was a question sheet beside him and he was determined to finish it quickly so he could get something else to do. It was not like it was that difficult.
Tom's eyes kept roaming and soaking it all in. They only stopped as he paused over the answer to his first question. Triumphant, he quickly reached for his pen. His right arm pressed down on the paper and twitched as if it knew it should move, but it was his other side that stretched out.
The metal of the fountain pen was cool in his hand as he brushed the tip against the paper as he wrote the first answer. His writing was smooth and level. He tried to make it neat like Mrs Cole liked, though he couldn't write as fast as he wanted. He kept trying though. He would be the best at it. How could he not be compared to the others?
Distracted in his work, Tom did not even notice that he was not alone until a shadow fell over his book. Looking up, Tom felt dread in his stomach as Mrs Cole looked down at him, her teeth clenched. Tom did not look at that. His eyes went straight to the wooden cane held tightly in her fist.
"Tom," she snapped anger already present in her voice. "What are you doing?"
Tom did not cower. Other children might have, yet Tom knew he had done nothing wrong. He was working hard and he was achieving, unlike the others.
"Answering the questions you gave me."
She did not show any sign that she listened to his answer. Her eyes only flicked down to his left hand and the pen within.
"Stop using that hand you stupid boy! It's unnatural. How many times have I told you?" Mrs Cole growled, her volume increasing causing the other children to look. Tom did not turn to them. He just faced his adversary.
Tom had indeed been told to stop using his left hand many times. Everyone else used their right, but it didn't make sense. It didn't feel correct, so Tom used his left every chance he could. It did not matter that he was lectured to. He did not care that he was continually told it was the devil's hand or that he must not be paying attention in scripture. They were wrong and the ministers were stupid if they said it was wrong.
"But, Mrs Cole," Tom began determined to make his point clear. "I use my left hand be-"
"Enough!" she interrupted quickly. "Put your left hand flat against the desk."
Tom knew what was happening. The stick in her hand made it clear. Other children whimpered and begged, but Tom wouldn't. When the others cried it made them look weak and foolish and Tom did not want to look like that. Glaring up at her, he released the pen and placed his hand flat on the desk. He would not cry and he did not as the stick came down on his hand.
The pain was immediate. A flash went through him, but he only flinched and scrunched his face together. It repeated itself five times and in the end his hand was aching. He was barely able to lift his hand off the desk as Mrs Cole, satisfied, moved back to the front.
Angry and frustrated, Tom momentarily wanted to watch Mrs Cole burn. She must be the devil to hurt him! She should hurt like him. She should hurt more!
There was more fire in his eyes than was natural in a boy so young, but he shook his head and tried to calm down. He looked down at the book and tried to work.
He didn't want the cane again.
His pen was laying abandoned and hesitantly he lifted his right hand. It curled around the instrument, but instantly it felt wrong. It was too heavy. Too awkward. Despite the pain his left hand, it itched to be used, but he fought it down. Slowly he placed the pen on the paper.
With dismay, his writing instantly became sloppier, but he tried to write and answer. All the while Tom vowed they were wrong. His left was better, but, if he had to, he would at least make them think he used his right. He just wouldn't let them see the truth.
)o(
"So you are after a wand," the man in front of Tom remarked as he stepped out of the shows. "Your first."
There was something unnatural about the man's eyes. They were wider and more unsettling than someone who Tom guessed was only in his twenties or thirties. It made Tom uneasy that the man knew more than he should, but Tom forced all that away.
"Yes, Sir," Tom said carefully and politely as he tried to keep calm. He was not a child now. He was eleven and he would act mature and proper. "I start at Hogwarts in September."
"Good, good, good," the man muttered as he kept staring down at Tom. "Now, what is your wand arm?"
Tom was momentarily struck by the question. He did not know what his wand arm was, though he refused to show uncertainty. It had to be his writing hand. He had spent so long using his right hand that it had started to become natural. The answer of right was forming itself but, he stopped. Something about the man's eyes told him it was not the correct answer.
"Left," Tom forced himself to say. He waited for the inevitable burst of pain was a cane, but none came. Instead a roll of measuring tape materialised and drifted towards his left side.
His lips moved upwards only a little as his left arm was measured.
He always knew Mrs Cole was wrong.
)o(
A/N: The idea is based on one of my random head canons for Voldemort- that he is (partially) ambidextrous. Normally such a concept is normally unrealistic because it is not too common, but I had the idea half from the King's Speech (which I loved). In it, King George explains how he was left handed, but was forced to use his right hand. Many people from earlier times were forced to use their right because of negative associations with their left hand, but often they still have some functioning in their natural left hand. I imagine LV grew to use his right but when he entered the magical world he started to use both since he realised how useful it would be and that it impressed others. We all know he is a bit of a show off.