So I wrote this ages ago for one of the monthly prompts on HEX. I've edited it since then, though I don't think it's my best work. It's from the point of view of an OC in Wool's Orphanage. Hope you enjoy. :)
He intrigued me more than anything.
I was eight when I first came to Wool's Orphanage. He was ten. The first thing the other kids said to me when I arrived was to stay away from Tom Riddle. They said he was a freak, but no one told me exactly why that was.
I'd never been one for listening to what other people said, least of all other kids. In my experience other kids were liars and I didn't see anything to suggest that they were telling the truth when they said, "Riddle is a freak and does weird things."
I didn't listen to them and I began to watch him intently, searching for any sign of truth in the 'freak' comments. He didn't say much or interact with the other children, but neither did I and no one called me a freak for it.
It was five days before I noticed anything that could be classed as 'weird'. He was lying down on his stomach under a tree; at first I thought he was alone, but then I noticed the grass snake. Its head was eye level with Tom and it was hissing and Tom was hissing back. Like they were having a conversation. No, that couldn't be right, people don't have conversations with snakes. What if they did... I shook the thought from my head. No. My mind was playing tricks on me, or Tom was just messing about. Yes, that was the most plausible explanation. The seed was planted, though, that maybe the others were right.
It was seven days before I spoke to him. I sat down at his table one lunch time and introduced myself. He looked blankly at me; his eyes were soulless and it was as if he was looking right through me. It was the first time I had ever truly felt unsettled. He asked me why I'd been staring at him. I didn't know. I still don't. There was something that had drawn me to him, like a moth to a flame, but I never figured out what it was.
It was ten days before I noticed the locket my mother had given me was missing. It was the only thing I had left of her and it was the only picture of my parents that I had. Somehow, I knew straight away where it was, so one lunch time I snuck into his room. I was scrabbling about under his bed when he caught me and it was the first time I'd ever seen any sort of emotion in his eyes. He was angry; I was terrified. So terrified, in fact, that I couldn't get up. My fear had pinned me to the floor. It didn't occur to me until much later that it wasn't my fear holding me down, it was him. I don't know how, he was stood nowhere near me, but it was definitely him. I watched, helpless, as he retrieved the locket from his wardrobe, dangled it tauntingly in front of me, and then put it back. He let me go.
I told no one of what happened in that room. I started to listen to what the other kids said. I stopped staring at him, stayed away from him altogether, pretended he didn't exist even.
Three months later we had a new arrival at the orphanage. His name was Billy. He didn't listen either. It was only after he found his rabbit hung from the rafters after a fight that he started to believe what the other kids said.
Two months after that, another new arrival. Another kid who wouldn't listen. The cycle continued.
As always, comments and constructive criticism are much appreciated. :)