Mary watched the owls for days after.
Tom tried to pretend that it was going to be well. He smiled and spoke cheerfully, did his homework and chatted with the other male Slytherins. Sometimes, she could see him help Edith, Dorothy and Irma. She watched him closely and could see it, the web he wove, the charm and sweetness.
But his eyes scanned the ceiling too and every time an owl gets near him, Mary could see his spine stiffened in anticipation before dropping when it landed in front of another student or bypassed him altogether. For all her anger with his action, Mary could not help but soften as it became clear that the Gaunts would not reply.
She was extremely grateful but she finds it hard to be satisfied seeing how Tom's eyes would brighten then crushed again and again as each day bore no answer. She was emotionally numb but there was always that sisterly instinct and cried out.
A week after breakfast yielded yet another no reply Tom shot out from his seat and stormed out of the hall.
"What's he gone about?" she heard a student query but Mary gave him an apologetic look and chased after her twin.
Tom was practically running but Mary managed to keep up. Soon, they found themselves in an empty corridor, bereft of students and even portraits when Tom slowed down to a sudden halt. Mary barely had enough time to stop herself from crashing into him, when Tom whirled around and to her dismay his face was wet from tears.
"Well. Are you happy?" he spat viciously and Mary recoiled. He had spat at her before but never like this. (Except he did…once, long ago)
Mary had no reply, she knew that Tom's tantrum better than anyone and she knew that answering would just make it worse.
"Looks like you needn't worry they'd murder us – they don't even care!" he barked, wringing his hands.
Mary wanted to say, it's good they don't. They are horrible, horrible people and would have sneered at him and rejected him because of something neither of them had control off. Tom hissed sharply, his fingers clenching and unclenching as he paced.
"They fit." He snapped, glaring at his sister. "The dates, the names, the absence. They fit. I just – I just know they are!"
The boy paced again before slamming his fist against the wall.
"I wrote to them – told them about that woman – told them we would be good and great witch and wizard. I knew, I knew they aren't great but they are blood and I thought – I thought –"
He turned towards Mary, eyes turning red as he looked at her and the next words came out in whispers.
"I thought that would be enough."
And that's the crux of it. Mary could see it, the desperation; the desire for a tie that could not be so easily discarded. Tom does not see that ties of no blood could be of value. She does not understand why he believed this but she was older and knew of the ties of the covenant. Tom, for all his twelve years, was still stunted, the shadows of the orphanage and how fragile the bonds not bound by blood could be haunted him.
Mary could have done something about it. Shown him, guided him but in her own depression, she too was stunted in her way. And even if she wasn't, she was not well equipped to handle a child with such trauma. Frankly, at this day and age and even different universe, nobody could.
Tom would have benefited from proper therapy and medication but sadly that was still in infancy. Also, judging by how the wizarding world treated those with mental illness or behavioural issues, she doubted they would be of any help.
Mary recalled her past life, how her therapist and medication had helped her. It wasn't a full cure but she coped. That's what they did coped and moved on…
Then it hit her.
Mary didn't wait and closed the space between them. She heard Tom hiss and he flinched when she gingerly touched his arm. He even squirmed when she wrapped her arms around him but soon, he melted into her embrace. He grasped her so tightly she couldn't breathe but as he sobbed into her shoulder, gasping and hiccoughing, Mary refused herself to pull away.
Blind. Depression often blinded her – that was her weakness then and even now.
She could not help Tom, not in that way but her time? Her life? She could. Well, she could find people who could.
If she was a Master of Death, what was one more life? What was a companion?
Mary realized she didn't have to go alone. This boy could remain Tom Riddle and the world would be spared of Lord Voldemort.
Something, some sort of joy, sparked within her. Even as Tom tightened his grip, his body shaking as he wept harder, Mary could not help but smile. She hushed him and ignored how his body stiffened from the affection.
"It's alright, Tom," she whispered softly into his hair, "It's alright." And as Tom cried, Mary quietly smiled.
Author: Woo, lookit, trying to update regularly and failing. But anyway, here's a tiny morsel while I try to get the plot going.