Disclaimer: I do not own the character or the setting of this story. Anything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling, and this is written for enjoyment and not for profit.
Hey everyone, this is a quick note to dedicate this story to all of the amazingly talented writers and artists that support this fandom- and the fans that keep us inspired to create more.
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It was one of those days that was supposed to be beautiful. The sun was shining with luminous green through the sparse leaves of the beech tree that stood in the corner of the high walled yard. The scrubby, tough grass poked up towards the bright light, as though the feet of 2 dozen children weren't about to tread it back into the soil from whence it came. A faint breeze kept off the worst of the heat, pushing the occasional cotton puff cloud through the cerulean blue sky.
But in the far corner of the little yard sat a young man that saw none of it. The sun lay in dappled beams across him, his impossibly dark hair reflecting the gold light with tones of blue. His eyes were closed, and a casual passerby might assume he was sleeping. Leaning against the trunk of the beaten old birch, facing down the yard instead of towards the brownstone building that the yard belonged to.
Tall and lanky, his clothing had apparently long since given up on the task of covering his wrists and ankles. Chalky pale skin peeked out from beneath frayed cuffs, and an amateurish patch sewn onto one knee attested to more then a few years of hard wearing.
The scene looked like something out of a painting, or an illustration from a Grimm's fairy tale. The handsome prince with his features carved of perfect marble, sitting fix'd beneath that tree until some brave heroine came and lifted the curse he had been placed under. Resting there, unaware of the passing of time, the seasons changing on endlessly in their cycle; leaving him lost to his sad dreams. And in fact, it would have been a wonderful likeness, if it wasn't for the little pea green garden snake that was curled up in a patch of sunlight on his right shoe.
Somedays they would talk. Quietly, in the hissing syblants of the language of snakes, out of sight of the other children living in the big brownstone building. They would speak of little things, of dreams that he wouldn't dare share with anyone else. Hopes and fears that slowly faded with every year, and the things they had seen. But for the moment they were quiet, content to simply enjoy the rare moment of peace and quiet. Their own thoughts occupying space in the early morning light.
But of course it couldn't last, the still broken by a bony woman in a grey serge dress. Her voice rattled unpleasantly on the ear, like jagged rocks scraping down a shallow slope. "You'll miss your bus if you don't hurry." She barked quietly at the resting young man, not wanting to wake the other children until after he was gone. If anyone had asked, she would have denied the little spark of joy that burned in her soul when she thought that he was leaving. That in a few moments he would leave, and she would never have to see him again.
The prince opened his eyes slowly, so dark in the shade they reminded one of twin wells. Empty, and devoid of any emotion. A chillingly cold, black grey canvas that didn't shine with any hint of anything.
Sliding the snake into his pocket with a free hand, he gracefully rose to his feet. A practiced step avoiding the small elbows of roots that stuck out above the soil. Dusting off the loose dirt the still clung tenaciously to his patched clothing, Tom Riddle made his way towards the house without a backwards look.
That casual observer would never know that he was leaving the place that had been both Hell and Home for 17 years, for the last time.
The orphanage was like his own little slice of personal Hell.
