Is It Ever Enough
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine. Anything you recognize is owned by J. K. Rowling! I receive absolutely no money from writing fanfiction.
(The authors note is at the bottom.)
Tom Riddle was annoyed.
He had just finished reading Frankenstein (for the fifth time) and now he had nothing to do. Sighing softly, Tom set the shabby book on the grey nightstand next to his grey bed. He then sat in the grey chair in the corner of the grey room, seeing the pale grey sunlight filter in through the grey and grimy window while staring at his reflection in the mirror. He locked eyes with himself.
They were grey too.
Feeling bored out of his mind, the nine-year-old boy pondered the meaning of his own existence. Was life just a weary, repetitive cycle that filled it's victims with boredom and a longing for something more? Was he, Tom Riddle, a special boy who could do impossible things, meant to be born and die and do nothing between those two points?
A slow feeling of dread twisted and spun throughout his veins before dissipating and leaving him as empty as before the thought of death. He couldn't- he wouldn't- die. Death was for other people. He'd find a way. Tom Riddle would never leave this world like his mother did. The thought of dying was not a possibility. It was incomprehensible.
It frightened Tom. Tom did not like to be frightened.
All of that was forcefully pushed into the back of the boy's mind and instantly forgotten. He stood up and walked over to the grey calendar that hung on the grey wall next to the grey door. His grey shadow covered the grey numbers written on the paper. Tom stood silent for a moment before picking up his pencil and stoically dragging a thin and sharp grey line through the number 31. He then walked through the grey halls of Wool's Orphanage, placed himself upon a grey and rock-like love seat in the library with a new book, hoping to find a bit of feeling, a bit of color, a bit of anything inside its grey pages to make his tenth birthday at least a teensy bit enjoyable.
It happened during dinner.
He was at a circle table in the corner of the mess hall, alone. Four other tables were squashed into the space, along with a tiny incompetent kitchen and a counter almost as long as the room itself to divide them. All of the other kids sat at the other four tables, many with two to a seat, yet no one dared to trade their discomfort for a seat at Riddle's table. Everyone knew that it was better to avoid that Riddle boy.
And Riddle himself preferred it that way. After all, he was the special one. He was the one with the power- the power to make things to move without touching them, to turn things into something else, to make people hurt when he wanted them to, to talk to the snakes whenever he wanted...
He was above them all. Compared to these horrid people, Tom was a god. And he never let them forget it.
So it was at dinner time, while Tom lounged on his circular throne and stonily glared at other kids, when it happened. Color flashed before his eyes. It interrupted the uniform grey that occupied the orphanage. The sudden brightness was such a change, it seemed to sting his eyes the way it would burn to walk into sunlight after living ten years in the dark. Sudden awareness bloomed in his veins. His eyes followed the color on their own accord, unable to resist the loudness of it. It was quite the unique color- flashy, vibrant, wild and unavoidable.
Quite unlike the girl it covered. The neon orange absolutely swamped the child. She had a small frame, skinny little limbs and quiet features. She wasn't stunning. She wasn't interesting. Tom may not have even noticed her if it wasn't for that shirt. The only unassuming feature she had was her ferocious hair.
It was only after closing his eyes for a moment in attempt to rid his eyes of the glare from that nonsensical shirt (what in the world was a Chudley Cannons?) did Tom begin to notice the details. The way the girl's eyes flickered from side to side, screaming anxiety with every blink. The way her posture trembled from sorrow and confusion. The way the exposed skin on her body seemed to be half covered in shiny burns.
Tom instantly came to the same conclusion that the annoying Mrs. Cole, who firmly prodded the girl past the door to the meal room and towards her personal office, had obviously come to. Those burn marks, red as the blood of a bunny, couldn't mean anything else.
And it meant she was just another weak, worthless annoyance in this sea of nobodies. She was not worth his time. But nothing had captured his interest the way her horribly indecent shirt/dress apparel had in a long time.
So Tom left the sea of grey to follow the color that was currently being escorted to Mrs. Cole's office.
"-your parents?" he heard the sharp voice of Mrs. Cole ask.
"Jean and Devon Granger," a young voice answered.
"Right," Mrs. Cole said disbelievingly on the other side of the door. "Are you absolutely sure, Hermione?"
"Yes. They're away for a trip right now, but I'm sure you'll love them when you meet them-"
"There are no Jean and Devon Granger in London, Hermione. We checked."
"I... don't understand. You must be mistaken. I've lived in London my whole life-"
"Please sit down Miss Granger."
A slight thud.
"Now, I have a few questions for you. I need you to answer them honestly, okay?"
"Okay."
"When did your parents leave for his trip?"
"I... don't know. Maybe two or three days ago? I hit my head in the woods and forgot the past few days."
"The woods? What were you doing in there?"
"Harry and Ron said we were exploring. They were the ones who told me about my parents' trip."
"Who are these boys?"
"I asked if they were my babysitters. They said yes."
"I see... and what, exactly, were you exploring for?"
"... I don't know."
"Right. Now, do you remember how you got those burns?"
"No. My head was hurting when I woke up, so I didn't even notice them until they told me to change into Ron's shirt. I forgot to ask them because of their magic tricks. They were so cool- Harry actually teleported us to-"
"Neither magic nor teleporting is real, Miss Granger. It is ungodly and sinful."
"... Er, okay."
"Now, I know this may be hard for you to answer, but have these parents of you ever hurt you before?"
"No!"
"Are you sure? Those burns didn't appear themselves."
"My parents would never hurt me!"
A sigh. "As much as I would like to believe you, the evidence leads to something else. Hermione, I checked with officials, and no Jean or Devon Granger exist. The address you gave us does not exist either. Your multiple injuries point to child abuse. These people, of they were your parents or not, probably have you fake names. The school said you you go to has no mention of you in their records. Now, I'm not sure how these two boys came to play in, but it sounds as if they may have attempted to save you and leave you here. You were found lost very near this establishment."
"No! That's not true; my parents love me! They never hurt me, and I think I'd remember if they had!"
"It's quite natural that you wouldn't. Many victims of abuse have subconsciously repressed their memories. Please, Miss Granger, do calm down, I promise you'll be treated kindly here at Wool's Orphanage-"
"NO! I don't want to be here- I want my mum!" Tom heard a loud sob and the scurrying of tiny feet before the door was thrown wide open. The new girl- Hermione Granger- ran out. Her big brown eyes were filled with water and her entire body trembled. She dashed past Tom to the girls' hallway and into the smaller girls' bedroom on the left of the hallway. Mrs. Cole must have previously shown it to her.
The woman was mumbling to herself. "So many things to do now... must contact authorities... get new uniform for the girl... should probably console the poor thing, I'll have Amy Benson befriend her..."
Tom frowned to himself and, not feeling the urge to join the other kids in the mess hall, slowly turned down the boys hall to the direction of his grey room.
A few hours later, Tom found himself leaning on the wall of the basement. The kids had all gathered around the telly to watch the countdown until the new year. So far, they had twenty nine minutes left until 1937. Excited chatter of thirty two orphans swelled in the open basement, Tom's own voice excluded. He closed his eyes and huffed, listening to the echo of their voices bounce around the wide open space. There was so much more noise than usual; because of the whispers for Germany and maybe even war, more and more children had shown up at Wool's Orphanage's doorstep. On Tom's birthday last year there had been twenty four orphans. Now there were thirty three, and his ears did not appreciate the extra noise.
Tom let his head lay against the wall of the basement storage room and glanced at the telly. Twenty six minutes until the New Year, which meant nineteen until he was officially ten years old.
"Let to, it's my turn to play with the doll-"
"I had her first, go play with something else-"
Tom huffed and sent a glare towards the two bickering girls. One of them, Katie Finkley, had been here for almost four years and was wise enough to scram when he laid eyes on her. But the other one, a girl Tom did not know with short blond hair and squinty blue eyes, was a new resident. She froze like a deer in headlights under Tom's hard gaze.
"Leave," barked Tom in his commanding voice. It had never failed to cause the recipients of that tone to do what he wanted or face the consequences. Apparently the new girl understood what that voice of his meant, because it sent her scrambling after Katie with a wail. The doll they had fought over lay next to the toy box, red hair fraying and black button eyes staring at the ceiling blankly. Tom turned his glare to the loud, boisterous kids around the couches in front of the television. Of course, his frightening eyes were not noticed by them, as their focus was on the new crying girl.
"Wailing Wendy!" Eric Whalley crowed, and the crowd of kids laughed. Martha Anderson, Mrs. Cole's hired help for the orphanage, harshly reprimanded Eric, but it didn't stop another boy from scurrying over to write the words in black marker across the girls' picture. The messy scrawl of letters covered the chin of the girl in her picture, which had ironically been crumpled as she cried during the photo. The sound of her sobbing increased as the two words were quickly written, causing Mrs. Cole to yell from her bedroom in the very back of the basement. Tom rolled his eyes and studies the Wall of Orphans.
Arnold Gowing was on the far left. He was smiling in his picture. Being fifteen years old, Arnold was the oldest orphan by two years, with Amy Benson, Billy Stubbs, Frankie Gratton and Penny Pullin coming in next in line as thirteen-year-olds. The words ARROGANT ARNOLD were written across his shaggy brown hair. Tom stoically glanced at the other nicknames. PEABRAIN was scribbled on Eric Whalley's cheek, DUMBO on Dennis Bishop's elephant-like ears, RABBIT BOY on Billy Stubbs' forehead (the words made Tom's mouth twitch upwards), RUDOLPH with an arrow pointing to Frankie's acne-covered nose and, Tom's favorite, a rather unsavory label scrawled across Amy's chest.
"Seven more minutes!" yelled one of the kids on the two shabby couches. Tom whipped his head around and stared at the telly.
11:53 PM. Tom was officially ten hats of age.
Yet, he didn't feel any different. Tom sighed and stared at the glowing television for a few seconds until his attention was diverted by no other than the newest orphan, Hermione Granger.
"Stop it!" She yelled, clearly furious. Her cheeks were flushed in anger and her shoulders- now covered by the familiar grey tunic rather than the bright orange T-shirt, Tom noticed disappointedly- were hunched forward.
"It does," Amy Benson agreed to whatever Billy said with a smirk.
"Worse than a rats nest, it is," said Frankie.
"Looks like it came straight from Hell," Billy joked. His two companions guffawed like they'd never heard anything funnier.
Hermione was so mad she was practically spitting. "There's nothing wrong with my hair," she hissed. It was obviously a sore subject for her. The three older kids just kept on laughing.
"Wait- I've got the best name," Amy said between snickers. She grabbed the black marker from a passing child and dramatically wrote something on Hermione's newly-hung picture. Her hair dominated all the space in the photo, bushy curls drawing all attention by wildly placing themselves around her face. She was staring desolately at the camera with big, chocolate-brown eyes, trying to smile but only producing a slight grimace. The world HELLCAT was now written at the bottom of the picture in Amy's neat handwriting.
"There," she said proudly, slipping her blond hair over her shoulder smugly, "now her name matches her hair AND her hideous burns. The two boys chuckled and verbally praised Amy's genius nickname. Hermione's brow puckered and she self-consciously tried to hide the worst of the burns on her arms with her hands.
"They're not that bad," she said sullenly, but they really were. The red shininess was a stark contrast to the rest of her pale skin, and most of the kids felt uncomfortable when they looked at her.
"Oh yes they are," said Billy. "They look like Satan personally lobbed fireballs at you before he let you out of Hell." The three of them were again cackling at the rather lame joke as if it were the most amusing of the century. Hermione stamped her foot in fury and opened her mount to yell, but the chorus of young voices frowned her out.
"Ten! Nine!" they counted down with the telly. Amy, Billy and Frankie scampered over to the couches, leaving Hermione alone under her vandalized picture.
"Eight! Seven! Six!"
Hermione looked at the word HELLCAT, then to her burns and frowned.
"Five! Four!"
Tom at watched interested my as the girl took a deep breath, clearly preparing herself for something.
"Three!"
She held her palms out in front of her and peeked at the crown by the television to make sure no one was looking at her. Looking across from herself to Tom in the corner never seemed to occur to Hermione.
"Two!"
She squeezed her eyes shut and furrowed her brow in concentration.
"One!"
Tom jumped to his feet in astonishment. Her burns...
"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"
... were suddenly gone.
It was incredible. It was impossible. It was magic.
That girl... Hermione Granger... she was special, just like him.
All the orphans were jumping up and down in front of the telly, going crazy with excitement that was so rarely offered in their normally bland lives. Usually, their world, along with Tom's, was grey and boring. The other children had found temporary excitement, temporary color for a moment. Tom in the other hand was singling in on a more permanent source of excitement, a more permanent color.
Hermione Granger.
His little hellcat.
"Hello," he said to her, smiling down at her smaller form. "I'm Tom Riddle. That was an impressive trick that you did just there." She looked up at him in horror.
"Oh no- please don't tell anyone! I'm not supposed to do that; please don't tell, I promise I'll never do it again!" She seemed panicked. Her parents probably hurt her whenever she used her wish magic, Tom assumed, glancing at her now-gone burns and the bandage wrapped around her left arm. He felt a flush of anger to through his body. Hermione was special, just like him; no one should be able to touch them.
"Using your wish magic isn't a bad thing," Tom said knowingly. "I can do it too, you know." He changed a paperclip on the floor into a white flower and presented it to her. Hermione blinked her big brown eyes at him.
"You do strange things too?" she whispered.
"Not strange," corrected Tom with a predatory smile, "incredible."
And so, as it grew late and Martha rushed the children up to bed under Mrs. Cole's demand, Tom stayed in the basement, talking to Hermione and playing with her hair all night long.
Author's Note: Yay, a new chapter- with Tom! I'm so excited that we're at this point; child!Tomione is my favorite :) Sorry for being two days late on the update. I was going to have it up yesterday, but then we made plans to see the Hobbit (which was as amazing as ever) and I didn't quite get to it. Sorry :(
Please review! It means the world to me, and I want to know what you guys think of Tom so far (because we're barely scratching the surface with him. This was just a little intro).
Remember, this has no beta, so let me know if you see any spelling or grammar mistakes!
Read & Review please!
