The Orphanage
~28th March, 1938...
The orphanage was almost vibrating with the hum of uncontrollable whispers. Martha didn't actually have a problem with talking to an acceptable level, but the children were holding in so much excitement that they'd found themselves speaking in hushed tones all day.
Martha didn't mind, so long as no one spontaneously combusted, as poor little Angie had looked on the brink of doing. It wasn't much use telling them all to calm down. Even at breakfast appetites had gone haywire, with some children not eating at all, and others downing twice what they usually ate. As the day dragged on, it had only gotten worse, and by three o'clock Martha had been shooing them from the hallway at regular intervals, greying hair working it's way from her neat and practical bun, so that when the moment arrived and the doorbell rung, she looked nothing short of frazzled.
The visitor was the middle-aged son of the man who had founded Wool's Orphanage. He was the unlikely type to harbour a secret fortune, but Martha was beyond thankful for his constant funding- wherever it came from. She'd met him, but he'd only visited enough times to count on Martha's fingers. It had been a long gap since his last visit. A long, twelve year gap.
She often wondered what on earth had kept him away. They'd received no word until a month ago, when a letter arrived by an astoundingly intelligent owl, saying he would soon be dropping by.
Despite how long it had been, Martha remembered distinctly the way the man's demeanour had screamed at her that he was more than he seemed, but for all she pondered, she'd never quite been able to place him. She was older now, and far more tired, but his visit had instilled an odd kind of excitement in her. The orphanage head silently damned her tendency to want to stick her nose in everything she didn't understand.
Working at Wool's had never given her a dull day, but she'd always held the sense that there was more to be gained from the world. More excitement. More adventure. In her youth she'd chased it, and in another life she might have had it. And for some reason, she saw it in in the lanky, scruffy-haired man who owned Wool's Orphanage.
Martha sighed, looking around herself at the hallway. The defining feature of the interior at Wool's was its steady fading, and other than the wallpaper in the common room, very little had changed in the last twelve years. Several of the kids had moved on and left, and those that remembered the man wouldn't be children much longer. They had done a good job spreading the rumours of him to the younger children though. Fantastical tales of a man with twinkly eyes and an endless bag of sweets. She'd even heard whispers of his little parlour tricks, that Martha rather fondly and curiously remembered.
A thought hit her like a rock. Of course, the final change had been the arrival of the boy named Tom Riddle. Troubled and unnervingly different, Tom had spread an unease about the place that had grown into fear as his quiet dominance over the children at Wool's developed. Even the kitchen staff were petrified of him. He barely left his room nowadays though. His eleventh birthday has passed unnoticed last December and in February an incident meant that all his meals were brought separately to his room. Martha couldn't find a space in her heart between discomfort and pity for the silent devil of a child. Perhaps, she often thought to herself, it was better now he kept more to himself. She was unhealthily ashamed of pushing the problem aside, but she couldn't jeopardise the happiness of the rest of the children for one, doomed boy named Tom.
The doorbell chimed with a harsh tinkle, sending the children flooding from the common room where they gathered eagerly at the bottom of the stairs in the hall. Martha sighed.
"I don't want you trampling him." She said, resigning herself to open the door.
...
Merlin hoped the small wrinkles he had added to his face would be enough. Ageing himself was a tedious and tiring affair, and other than the suspicions of Martha, the children at Wool's had never really paid it any attention. It felt surreal to be back again. He knew that for the children, twelve years would have brought a great many changes. Even for Martha, who he had appointed eighteen years ago now, would feel as though an era had passed. He felt guilty that he hadn't visited in so long. He used to make an effort to every year at least... but "research" had lead him abroad. In truth, he'd been feeling particularly hopeless and needed a few years to remind himself the world was beautiful. To try to convince himself that it was a gift to see all the Earth's wonders, and not a curse to have to watch them crumble.
He'd realised all too late that the twelve year blink in his own history was a far bigger gap for the mortal man. He shoved down the guilt that had plagued him to the doorstep, hoping what he'd brought would be enough.
The picture of a 1930s Gentleman, he currently donned his long, grey duffel coat with some simple, black trousers and a white shirt, concealed by a navy scarf that he had around his neck. It kept out the lingering cold that came with the early spring days of drizzle along with a discreet peaked cap. Oh, how he had missed the wonders of British weather. He didn't mind though, it was good to be home.
The old sorcerer wrung the bell of the looming building and stood back, rocking on his heels and holding his carrier bag behind him.
Nervously, the door opened. An eye peeked out, and retreated quickly back inside after several squeals sounded. Merlin thought he heard the eye giving a firm order to keep quiet and civil, confirming his suspicions that it was Martha. Finally, the door opened again, fully this time, to reveal the stern faced head of the orphanage, corset as stiff as her upper lip and donning a black, practical dress. A few more lines in her face, a few more wispy grey hairs... but it was certainly her.
Behind her stood the orphans, clearly attempting to look presentable and orderly, but their barely contained excitement immediately warmed his heart, and he cursed himself for not visiting sooner.
From behind him, he revealed his carrier bag and a bunch of flowers.
"It's good to see you, Martha." Merlin smiled warmly, embracing the woman with his free arm and kissing her hand. She tried to keep a stern face whilst she thanked him, but Merlin knew the twinkle in her eye betrayed she was happy to see him. He liked Martha, and she had always been more curious about him than any of the children. Merlin couldn't help but wonder if she would become one of the few people to ever guess.
"And you, Mr Thomas." She replied, taking and admiring the humble flowers he had conjured on his journey here.
"I trust you can entertain everyone for a moment while I go and-"
But Merlin had stopped listening. Instinctively, his gaze had been torn to fix itself on the stop of the staircase, where a gaunt, pale faced boy with perfectly combed hair and a sharp jawline stood gripping the banister, his knuckles white and eyes narrowed at Merlin. The warlock let out a breath, drawing in the foreign magic that had electrified the air around him.
The boy on the stairs was a wizard. And a good one, at that. His magic stifled Merlin's senses for a moment, tense with suspicion. The other children warmed his heart, but this child had captured his attention in an entirely different way. He felt drawn to him. Connected, somehow. He'd met plenty of other wizards, though, and he couldn't remember anyone eliciting this kind of response.
"Mr Thomas?" Martha said quietly, oddly concerned.
"Who is that child? At the top of the stairs." Merlin said quietly, not breaking eye contact with the boy whose presence had silenced everything.
"That's Tom. He's grown up here but... he's not like the other children." Martha replied, verging on a whisper.
Merlin nodded slowly, understanding. That was a common response when a wizard showed up in the muggle world. He withdrew his gaze from the boy, realising where he was and blinking back into the moment. With the sprightliness of a young man he snapped back into action, handing Martha the carrier bag.
"It's so lovely to finally see you all," he said jovially, "I'm Mr Thomas, I think Martha is going to share out a little something I've brought for you." He called to the children with a trademark lopsided grin. His messy hair framed his angled face in a goofy way that caused a ripple of chuckles. His eyes twinkled, and Martha told the children to gather back in the common room.
The boy named Tom turned from his vantage point at the top of the stairs and began to walk back up them, an almost bored expression on his face.
"Do you mind if I take five minutes?" Merlin said, turning to Martha, who shook her head in a despairing motion, guessing that he wanted to follow the child.
"Mr Thomas, I don't think Tom really wants to spend time with the others, I-"
"He doesn't need to come down and join us. I just want to introduce myself." Merlin cut her off, surprised at how determined he was to know more about him.
Martha's gaze avoided him and she swallowed, leaving something unsaid. Merlin drew back, ears flushing red.
"I have never known you to be unnerved, Martha," he said, voicing his concerns.
"Tom is not a nice boy," she said reluctantly, "I can't promise you'll get much of a response."
"I'd like to talk to him all the same. Five minutes, I promise."
Martha sighed, and resigned herself to the chaos of the common room, casting him one last glance that seemed to say: good luck, before leaving Merlin alone in the corridor.
Merlin turned towards the large oak staircase. He tried to let calm wash over him as he began to saunter up the stairs. He let his magic seep into the creaky wooden floorboards, following the pull of the boy's magic along the panelled landing, stopping with a short breath outside a door at the end of the hall.
The door opened before Merlin could knock, revealing the slight and pasty boy, a cool glare on his features. Merlin had no idea why, but he found himself swallowing nervously. There was something cruel in Tom's gaze that shouldn't be present in one so young.
"Hello," He said warmly, taking the embarrassing hint of fear and shoving it firmly aside. He wasn't about to be off put by some pre-pubescent angst. And yet Tom gave off a dangerousness that set the hairs on the back of Merlin's neck firmly on end. He sighed inwardly at the irony. Of all people, it was he that might strike fear into the hearts of men, not a little child.
Tom blinked up at Merlin, upper lip stiff. "So you're the one they all whisper about." It wasn't a question.
"I am," Merlin answered levelly, realising that the 'warmth and friendliness' attitude wasn't going to soften Tom at any rate, "but I couldn't help wondering why you were so eager to disappear. I brought chocolate."
"I'm alright, thank you." Tom answered with a polite but painfully forced smile. He shut the door in Merlin's face and the warlock caught his smile dropping into a cold glare before the lock snapped shut.
Merlin sighed. Martha was right, Tom wasn't a nice boy, and it might be dangerous for him to remain here as his magic developed. A pressing little voice in Merlin's head wondered if he could help.
"Tom..." he persisted, pressing a hand to the door, his tone a little more stern, "If I wanted to be downstairs with the other children instead of talking to you I would be. Open the door, please." He tried to reason but there was no reply.
"It won't be long, I just want to ask you about something." Merlin balled his palm against the door into a fist when there was still no movement. He placed his forehead to the wood in despair. Perhaps he had to approach this from a different direction.
He was so unimaginably curious about this boy and the effect he'd had, that it would be impossible to just leave it there and walk away. After all these years of purposeless waiting, he'd forgotten what it felt like to feel driven and motivated.
Tom's magic was strong and turbulent, and he was worried about what such a potential could do to one so young. Thinking back to his childhood in Ealdor, he wondered what could have become of him if he'd not had his mother to tell him to keep his faith in goodness when he was constantly targeted and made to feel outcast. Hunnith had been the one to teach him right from wrong, to tell him time and time again that anger was not a way to use his gifts. He saw anger in Tom's eyes, and he saw a ghostly version of who he might have been without the right people in his life.
This boy had Martha, but Martha was not enough. Martha, though brilliant, was not a mother nor could she understand the uniqueness of Tom's situation. As a result, the boy was already sinking into the darkest parts of himself.
In that moment when their eyes had locked on the stairs, Merlin had been gripped by the desire to pull Tom out. He'd never thought himself a hero, but he wanted to save him. To teach him. To care for him. It had been many centuries since he'd wanted to attach himself to a task this strongly. His gut instinct was good, and he would try to listen to it.
He needed more information first. How much did Tom know about the gifts Merlin sensed within him? And what had caused this darkness he carried?
Merlin tried one last time to get Tom to open the door and again he failed. He stood back a moment, resigning himself to his unfortunate conclusion. The child was guarded, and Merlin needed to give the boy a reason to want to talk to him- this door would do reluctantly nicely.
He raised a slightly shaking hand towards the door, grimacing and hoping no one would venture upstairs before he repaired the damage he was about to do. He breathed deeply, banishing all trace of the tremor in his hand. He focused, he channeled his magic, he felt it simmer beneath his outstretched fingertips and in one fluid motion he clenched his fist and yanked it back, pulling the door firmly out of the frame with an invisible force. It hung limp in the air for a moment while Merlin strode into Tom's bedroom and then fitted itself, rather contemptuously back into place after a smooth flick of Merlin's hand. The warmth faded from behind the warlock's irises and he took in his new surroundings.
Contrasting to the wooden panelled, dusty carpeted landing hallway, Tom's room was a blank slate. Remnants of a blue printed teddy-bear wallpaper lay plastered to the back wall as if they were the last stand of some long lost vibrancy. To Merlin's left a bunk bed stood against one of the walls and at its foot sat a small chest of drawers. The single mattress on the bottom bunk looked like it had not been slept in for several days and there were no possessions strewn about on the aged wooden floor as you would expect in an ordinary boy's bedroom. A single candlestick was all that lay on the bedside table, though a drawer was set into the simple wooden box. There was a locked wardrobe and the back window was shut, the curtains drawn.
The only place in the bedroom that looked as if it was even used was a desk on Merlin's right. Tom stood in front of it, as if he had made a last desperate attempt to hide its contents.
Papers where strewn across it filled with a furious slanting scrawl, large books could be seen beneath all the scattered ink pots and broken quills. There were notes tacked to various sheets indicating someone desperately trying to piece something together. Merlin spotted a corner of a photo frame peeking out from the madness.
Finally, he turned to regard Tom. Naturally, he was shocked, but there was a hint of something else in his gaze, and as the pair stared each other down that something else grew across Tom's features, and it was Merlin's turn to be perplexed.
It was hunger. A longing for the power he had witnessed shone in Tom's eyes as he trained them beadily on Merlin and there was a hint of scrutiny in his brow that examined the old sorcerer as though he were an object in a shop window.
Merlin felt repulsed by the look. It suddenly and awfully hit him that Tom had sunk far further than he thought. No child's emotions would turn to greed over awe so quickly. Tom saw the world only through what he could gain, and even his surprise could barely suppress it. He was so painfully young, and twisted. Merlin dared not think what he sought the power for.
One thing was sure though: if Tom hadn't wanted to talk to him before, he certainly did now.
"How did you do that? Who are you?" Tom broke out violently, and then more quietly added, "Could I do that?"
"That's what I wanted to talk about." Merlin answered, his plan to keep Tom engaged. He stepped further into the room, kneading his forehead a couple of times considering his next move. Tom knew he was different. Perhaps he'd felt something of the connection between them, or maybe he'd experienced his magic in outbursts, as was common for emerging wizards.
"Have you ever noticed you can do things that the other children here can't?" He asked, phrasing the question carefully.
The gleam in Tom's eyes said it all, but he answered anyway.
"Oh yes. I know what I am. I'm like you, aren't I."
What did that mean? That he knew he was a wizard? Merlin began to pace about the strange room, thinking. Tom opened his mouth eagerly to speak again, eyes still darting to the door every so often as if he had to keep pinching himself. It was unnerving how interested and animated the boy had become, and a smile did not look like it often presented itself on his face. He looked as though he'd been waiting for a moment like this for a long time. Merlin cut off Tom's open mouth with a question of his own.
"Excuse me for asking, but what do you about your parents?" He was treading on thin ice asking a question like that in an orphanage, but it was worth knowing if Tom was a muggle-born or from a family of wizards.
"My mother had magic- that's what it is, right?" he said and Merlin nodded evenly, "But my father..." Tom scowled at the floor, losing interest in the question. Merlin pressed a little further.
"He didn't have it? That seems to upset you-"
"He was scum!" Tom hissed. "He abandoned my mother, he drove her to her death, he- he- muggles all deserve to-"
"Tom!" Merlin stopped him sternly, instinctively reaching out to lay a hand on the boy's shoulder, watching as he squirmed for a moment under another's touch before resorting to glaring at the floor uncomfortably. Merlin took his hand away, sighing. Tom was vile in nature, but he was so young. Merlin believed that people were only products of their circumstances, and whilst he was deeply unsettled by the boy in front of him, it did little to deter him from the possibility that he could be changed.
"People aren't all responsible for the sins of one. Whatever your father did, there's nothing you can do-"
"Nothing I can do?" Tom said quietly, a threat edged his voice. "Don't tell me there's nothing I can do, Mr Thomas. There's a lot more I can do than the rest of these ignorant children!"
Merlin took a step back, his brow furrowed in the deepest concern. "Tom, don't forget you are a child too. You may have magic but that doesn't mean you are any better than muggles. They have done a lot more for wizards than wizards have ever done for them."
"And that's how it should be." Tom stated in defiance of Merlin's words. "You reveal that you're like me, why, to try and manipulate me? And then you turn out to be a muggle-lover? I should find someone else to teach me magic. Someone who isn't a boot-licker to lesser people."
Something told Merlin that Tom had never actually met another wizard before. He didn't want to push him away, but to tug at the old warlock's guilt. Merlin and his guilt, however, were old friends, and he wouldn't be so easily swayed. His mind was virtually made up now: he was going to help Tom, but it would be on his own terms.
"I haven't agreed to teach you. Nor agreed to anything just yet." He replied. He had decided that Tom needed to leave this place. Nothing good could come of him here and just as Merlin had been at odds with the children in Ealdor, so was Tom here at Wool's. Only, Tom didn't have a mother to send him away where he could find a purpose for his talents. Merlin was the closest thing the boy had to what Gaius and Camelot had been to him in his youth. Tom's situation was more grave than Merlin's had ever been and this only made him surer of what needed to happen.
"How old are you, Tom?"
"Eleven." The boy replied proudly, and then his voice dropped to a pleading tone, "I need to learn to control it, the magic. It lashes out when I'm angry and I... can do things. The ordinary children here fear it and they hate me for it. They never even tried to welcome here-"
"Perhaps because you never welcomed them either." Merlin muttered to himself, stopping the cunning boy in his tracks. He understood the puppy-eyed game very well.
Tom opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before another violent burst of speech slipped through his facade. "Wh- why should I have welcomed them when they would just cast me out? I shouldn't have to listen to authority that's beneath me. They're awful people."
"Do you really fear rejection from them, Tom?" Merlin said, walking towards the door, thinking more of his talk with Martha than of filtering his tongue, "Or do you fear rejection from me?"
Merlin opened the door manually this time, shutting it quietly behind him and pacing quickly back down the hall. As soon as he left, the tension lifted; laughter filtered into his senses and simple happiness and excitement suffocated the air. He strolled back into the common room with a smile and was met with a little cheer that made his cheeks flush. He beamed as he took in the children of Wool's happily munching on the confectionery he had brought and Martha doing her rounds, picking up wrappers and telling everyone that they had to clean their teeth especially well tonight.
When she spotted Merlin, she made her way over, a curious crease in her brow. "That was more than five minutes, Mortimer." She said sternly and Merlin knew she wanted answers- she rarely used the first name he had chosen unless she was especially serious. Even less in front of the children.
"I've come to an important decision regarding Tom's welfare." Merlin replied, "if it's okay, I would like to discuss it as soon as possible."
"You can stay over this evening, we can talk after dinner," she replied, "if the children even want to eat after what you've brought." She phrased it like a telling-off but Merlin chuckled and she also adopted a small smile.
"I'll entertain them for a while, you go cancel dinner and put your feet up." Merlin said, smiling as Martha raised her eyebrows and took the pile of wrappers she was holding out to the kitchen, leaving him to it.
She had barely disappeared from sight and the children were already crowded around him, the older ones asking for him to do one of his tricks and the younger ones who had he had not met asking if he really was a magician. Merlin chuckled and obliged, picking up a plain wrapper from the side table and crumpling it in his palm, he threw it up in the air, there was a little flash of gold, and he caught the balled up wrapper firmly in his hand.
He crouched down, letting the children gather around him in anticipation as he opened his outstretched hand to reveal not only a perfectly intact wrapper, but a boiled sweet still inside.
It was a simple trick really, less down to magic and more down to slight of hand in swapping the old wrapper for a sweet of the same variety but the children couldn't get enough of it. He ended up doing the replenishing trick with just about every child in the room before Martha came back in, saying that they would be having a light dinner, and that each of them had to eat a vegetable before they could leave the table.
As the children filed out, Martha turned to Merlin with a furrowed brow.
"The staff said they'll handle this evening for me, come, let's take a seat in the office."
Merlin followed Martha back into the hall, into a small room adjacent to the front door. It was dimly lit, with dark-green coloured walls and a high skirting board. A single desk stood against one wall and a set of drawn curtains stood behind a small table and a pair of chairs. Filing cabinets, some overflowing, were stacked beside the door. Merlin quickly took a seat, eager to start.
"So, what did you make of him?" Martha asked, eyes indicating the floor above where Tom's bedroom was.
"I'm still not sure, I don't know enough about his background- but he can't stay here Martha. He just can't."
"So you're suggesting..."
"Yes. And as soon as possible."
"We've tried. No families will take him." Martha sighed, but Merlin sprung back with his answer.
"That's why I shall be taking him in."
Martha stilled in her seat. "Mortimer... I urge you to think a little more on this. It's not-"
"I have rarely been so sure of something in my life," Merlin said, reaching across the desk to lay his hand atop Martha's in earnest, "though I do have a few questions still."
"I don't know what you've seen in him." Martha said quietly, but nodded.
"What do you know of Tom's parents?"
Martha sucked in a breath, "His father, of the same name, was rumoured to have left his mother when she was with Tom. She died hours after he was born, some said from the birth itself... others say she just... gave up."
"She came here? To the Orphanage?" Merlin pressed thoughtfully.
"Yes, that's where she gave birth. A few months after your last visit. She had just enough time to name the boy before she died." Martha said solemnly.
"What was her name, his mother?" Merlin asked, hopeful.
"Merope, I believe." Martha answered, taking a moment to process her memory. Merlin imagined she didn't often bring such a subject to mind.
"Surname? Her maiden name?"
"I couldn't say, we just knew she needed help, that was all. There were few questions asked that night. If it is any use, he was also named after his grandfather- Marvolo."
Merlin sat back in his chair a moment, the silence filling the room. He wracked his brains. Merope and Marvolo... Marvolo and Merope... he tested the names on his tongue and they rolled off so easily he knew they should mean something to him. He cursed himself for travelling these past twelve years, his knowledge of the wizarding families of England had been pushed from his mind. He would have to go to the books.
"Does anything... unusual... happen around Tom? Perhaps when he is angry, or sad?" Merlin said, moving on from the question of family.
"It's funny you should ask that." Martha said, a small smile playing on her lips that held no mirth. "The things are a little more... sinister than your party tricks."
"I'm sure." Merlin said in a low voice. "Can you describe any?"
"He liked to scare the children, you know, in the earlier days. I'm sure he still has a whole collection of his "trophies" in that wardrobe. But in the last year... after the incident at the beach, he's been incredibly isolated."
"Trophies?"
"The children's toys. You barely see him any more now though. Meals are sent up to his room- after one of the staff got a nasty burn at dinner. Mentioned Tom's mother, tried to cheer him up. Scalding hot water went everywhere."
"So because he was a danger to the children... isolation will make him a danger to himself." Merlin said bitterly, thinking of how turbulent the boy's magic had felt. The threshold at which it began to react instinctively in defence was very low. "You just can't win sometimes."
"No," Martha said quietly, deadly serious. "but I cant jeopardise the safety of the others. Tom is a lost cause. A devilish boy. I often dread to think what he's doing up there, but no one dares to knock and find out." She said bitterly, and the fact that the orphanage head struggled to meet merlin's eyes as she spoke gave away her guilt. Merlin had to agree, Tom seemed capable of awful thins. He wondered again what it was that had attached him to such a vile boy so quickly.
"You mentioned another incident- at the beach."
Martha nodded, "Last year. We took the children on a harmless outing. Tom took two into a cave, no doubt charmed them into an adventure of sorts. They were never the same afterwards. Won't talk about what happened there to this day."
"And you say... Tom isolated himself from then on?"
"Yes, drawing into himself, very thoughtful all of a sudden. He was nonetheless cruel, but he came back from that trip and seemed to put himself above it all. It wasn't that he'd changed or anything, he just seemed to think that tormenting the other children was no longer worth his time. Something in that cave... made him think."
"He's certainly got a narrow view of the world." Merlin agreed, processing the new information. "Whatever it was, Tom has got far bigger plans on his mind now. He's got something going on in that room... looks like he doesn't sleep much either."
Martha raised her eyebrows, "He let you in?"
"You give him a reason to want to talk... and he will. You must know he plays games with people, Martha. You just have to play them back." Merlin explained. It was almost entirely truthful.
Martha smiled to herself.
"I've no idea why I let you try to talk to him in the first place. Perhaps you just have a way with these things."
"Experience, mainly." Merlin commented, "So, how are we going to go about this?" He reiterated, rolling his shoulders and taking off his thick grey duffel coat, hanging it on the back of his chair.
"You still want to adopt him? Surely with your lifestyle-"
"I will make sure I am here for the rest of his schooling. Twenty years or so is not so long to stick around." Merlin assured, noting the old curiosity return to Martha's expression when he mentioned the passing years. His experience of time was not the same as hers, and she seemed to have cottoned on that Merlin was older than he appeared.
"You will tutor Tom? He is incredibly apt, there is little the teacher here can do for him."
"I have something in mind." Merlin said.
"I still don't think this is wise, Mr Thomas. What with all the... incidents around Tom, not to mention his very nature. We have tried to get him assessed by a professional... but circumstances always arise... people suspect it may be Tom's doing keeping them away." Martha actually looked concerned, worried.
"Martha, you have to trust me. I know Tom has been written off. I can see it in your eyes now, and in the children's before. You think he is too far gone." Merlin said, leaning forward again over the table, a simmering of emotion in his voice as he brought to the surface the memory of a woman from long ago.
"I knew someone once. Too many people failed her too many times. Few noticed her descent into darkness and no one was there to pull her out. I was the only one who saw. I was the only one who could have helped her... but I didn't. I didn't dare try, because I was too scared of the consequences that would befall myself. So when she was overcome and began to hurt people, that was on me." Merlin blinked back the water from his eyes.
Guilt was an ever present ghost. It followed Merlin like a shadow, banished only partially by the days distractions and consuming his dreams. He could not, would not, let Tom fall. A challenge? Yes. Dangerous? Certainly. But it had to be done.
"Oh God above, Mortimer," Martha sighed, leaning back in her chair, "this is going to be a lot of paperwork."
Hey! Thanks for reading the first chapter :) I've written a multi-chaptered fic before, but let's just say... It's on Wattpad for a reason.
I'm hoping I can take what I've learnt from that fic and apply it to this story, which has been planned out better. It won't be perfect, but I hope you enjoy the ride anyway.
I've put quite a bit of research into dates in this fic, so hopefully it will follow a consistent timeline, that fits into HP cannon along the way. Tom was born on December 31st 1926, Merlin visited Wools in the summer of that year before going travelling. Tom would start Hogwarts on the 1st of September 1938, so I've set the opening in March of that year, before his letter arrives.
(Revised: May '20, January '21)
