Now, I've seen enough fanfiction self-inserts to know the clichés.

OC is another fellow orphan in Wool's, OC manages to get through to Tom with orphan bonding, they both get accepted to Hogwarts and they either go build an empire for Voldemort together, the OC being his queen or they both go to the light side purely because of how pure OC was.

I was severely limited in that I was a muggle and my supposed lack of knowledge of the wizarding world prevents me from discussing the whole light and dark debate with Voldemort. Plus it's not as if I could romance the murderer like in the fanfictions; I lacked the "powerful magic" that attracted Tom, nor the "kindness" that touched Tom's heart, and I wasn't exactly the most smartest tool in the shed that would challenge Tom's intellect and garner his interest.

I was certainly more smarter than him now though, when he's a sucker of a baby that could only babble and look at the pretty colors.

Take that for child genius.

Contrary to popular belief, Tom was, quite honestly, an adorable baby. He had those big wide eyes and those chubby cheeks that I couldn't stop myself from pinching them and just holding him in arms half the time, reveling in his adorableness. There wasn't much to do in a time period where the news, of all things, was a main medium of entertainment in this run-down orphanage, and playing with children was what took up most of my days.

So that was my daily routine, running around, chasing after my mother as I aided her in the most mundane of tasks.

When I hit six years old, I was the only one of the kids in the orphanage to go to a regular school because of not-being-an-orphan privileges. The other kids had to learn from the orphanage tutor who was more of a volunteer than an actual teacher, so my days were spent going back and forth to school and the orphanage, looking after Tom for any weird magic incidents, and just overall, tending to the younger children like some sort of pseudo-matron despite the fact that physically, I was only a few years older than them.

I mean, the years I've lived combined with the years I have now, I'm probably older than the assistant matron, Fray.

"Who's a good little Dark lord," I coo and stick out a finger to lightly touch his cheeks. Tom makes an instant grab for it and clutches it tightly, too tightly that I almost cry out. The good little Dark lord definitely was not Tom.

Pulling my finger back with great difficulty and almost not being able to feel my finger, I lean towards Tom until I was close enough and whispered as low as possible in an attempt to not let other people catch on to what I was doing.

"Muggles are great people, kind people, especially your good muggle friend, Emily."

Now, some people may find that extremely weird, but this was all for the sake of raising my chances of survivability and if brainwashing a little baby with subliminal messages was the way to go, then so be it. Besides, this little brat here deserves no pity, rubbing his accidental magic in my face when I had tried my whole childhood to conjure up something.

Each accidental magic accident was like rubbing salt in my wound.

There was something so demoralizing to have this little bean sprout be able to make a book float when the most I've done is use misdirection to clumsily replace the ace of spades with a four of diamonds card.

Though, perhaps that's for the best that it never happened to me, because Tom isn't old enough to even hold himself upright and he's already being called a demon child due to the fact that whenever he wails, some pretty bad stuff starts happening, like glass shattering- though, I'm willing to bet it's because of his shrill voice rather than magic, the very same voice that haunts me in my sleep from how loud it is- books fall from bookshelves in a flurry, and I'm quite amazed at little Tom for being able to do that stuff at such a young age.

As expected of the Dark Lord that only feared Dumbledore.

Credit where credit is due, as I'd say.

"What're you whispering to Tom there, Emily?" My mother says, chuckling softly as she stood in the doorway with a bunch of blankets for cleaning piled up in her arms, interrupting my subliminal message session. If Tom does turn out to be a horrible muggle-killer, I'll blame my mother for disrupting my ritualistic chants.

I pull away from Tom and give my mother a toddler-like response, putting a finger on my lips and clumsily saying, "It's a secret."

"That so? You're quite taken with Tom if you're willing to tell him and not me," My mother says, her lips curling in a small smile.

I rub his cheeks with my fingers and his face scrunches up in an adorable manner. "He's quite a good secretkeeper." Seeing as he can't talk at all.

My mother entertains me though, or thinks she does, as she sighs in a somewhat fond matter, the blankets shifting in her arms as she walks closer towards me and Tom. Her smile is still plastered on her face, but her demeaner is a bit less light-hearted than it previously was. "Has he done anything strange around you, Emily? Anything... unusual?"

A fuck ton of them. All the time.

"No," I answer with the shake of my head. "He's just a baby, he can't really do much, mother. He's loud though."

"Do be careful though, bad stuff always seems to happen whenever he's around, it's quite uncanny." Her smile falls slightly and she furrows her brows in vague worry.

"I don't want anything bad or dangerous to happen to you," She ends, as she gets slightly closer towards me, stopping to glance at Tom. "It's almost as if he's some sort of demon child."

Don't worry mother, I'm quite knowledgeable on how horrible it was to be around him as a muggle, moreso than you.

"You don't have to worry, mother. It's not like magic exists," I laugh it off to mother, with wide eyes and an ever wider smile, hoping to fool her with my innocent child look. It was better to root some ideas inside the orphanage's head to make them think Tom was some innocent saint who'd never hurt a fly. Well, he will be after I was done with him.

This is going to be some extreme Nanny rehabilitation and Tom was the problem child who threw tantrums and occasionally murdered people.

Well, it wasn't as if the other kids in this orphanage didn't need rehabilitation either. Jason was a serious offender when it came to stealing candies from the "Good-Job-You-Weren't-A-Piece-Of-Shit" candy jar despite being a piece of shit, Amy bit anyone who touches her hair (and admittedly, it looked very silky), and Billy cried so much that I could hear him from outside the orphanage. Personally, I'd chuck him as far as possible, but I'd still probably hear his screaming from miles away.

None of them were mass murderers though, so I'll give them a pass- though Billy's cries comes a close second to war crimes.

"You're right. I'm just worried, is all," My mother says and really, the way she keeps looking at him, it makes it seem more like a horror demon-child possession movie than a book about some kid going through such a fantastical adventure and some coming-of age story.

Which, to be fair, almost was in one of the muggle's perspective. Maybe this really was a Conjuring world instead of Harry Potter. Either route, I was both screwed.

"Don't worry mother, it'll be fine," I tell her, in the most reassuring voice I could muster, which wasn't that comforting since my tongue occasionally stumbled over itself in its still not quite developed form.

Yes, mother. Your daughter is going to raise him to be an angel.

When Tom first walked, I almost cried in joy.

I felt like a proud mother, watching her little bird spread his wings and fly away from the nest.

Only for the little birdie to promptly slip and fall and almost give me a mini-heart attack if it weren't for the fact that his little baby self levitated him into the air before he could crash and plummet to his death.

I had paid my way into Suzy's heart by giving her candy to keep her mouth hush about the whole ordeal, but the kids here are absolute back-stabbing shits. She gulped my candy whole with her wide, doe eyes and I had been fooled, for a second, that this whole thing will be kept underneath the rocks.

A day after, everyone was whispering about how Tom made himself fly.

I lamented the lost of my mint candy and stared hatefully at Suzy who acted like she wasn't the catalyst for everyone not wanting to feed little Tom like they used to. The kids always fought over who got to feed the infants, but none of them lined up for Tom.

Poor Tom, I thought as I fed him the baby mush. His dull eyes glanced at me and he slurred some baby talk, splaying me with drool. His eyes were void of any thoughts and he just stared blankly into space, but I felt a hidden sadness in them.

It's okay, I comfort him in my head. They'll come around.

And then he somehow grabbed the spoon away from me and hurled it at my forehead. Or maybe there was no hidden sadness in them.

The blossoming red mark on my forehead was a scar of my battle against the dark lord. Maybe I could start telling people that I survived a 1-on-1 battle with the Dark Lord. Of course, I'd forgo the mention of his age.

I'd be now dubbed as Emily-the-Girl-who-Lived.

Chuckling to myself, I fed him around spoonful of mush, before he spit it back out.

Fickle kid. See if I do anything for you anymore.

Tom was still very much a loner and feared by the kids in the orphanage. I had attempted to put good word about Tom in everyone about how "wonderful and sweet" he was, despite it very being untrue (he looked like an angel and spoke like Lucifer's spokesperson), and yet, it still didn't work out all that well. There was an extent to how I could influence them and mainly another problem.

It had been all because of the uncontrollable force of accidental magic.

There were many things that had gotten on Tom's nerves and the littlest of noises could cause his accidental magic to go wild. I was helpless in the face of magic and as much as I had sworn to give Tom a better life in an orphanage to dissuade his muggle hatred tendencies, I was unable to control most of the opinions of him. The most I could do was scold them and then send them off.

I had given up my time, effort, and even half of my candy stash that was given to me by my mother and I had saved up throughout the course of three years, for Tom to like me. Candy was my only comfort during these times and to have willingly give up half, even the future Dark Lord had to see my dedication.

He's growing up as a splendid insurance.

Yes. Insurance.

I had reached to the consensus that maybe, if I curry enough favor with Tom, he'll spill about the magical world and let me read his school textbooks in the future and possibly not screw me over when he gets really into his muggle massacre from some leftover attachment or pity because of the saint-like kindness I showed him.

Of course, there was also the trope where a kind saint did their saintly things and then died, promptly awakening some sort of hidden darkness in the villain, but I've been adopting some extra measures.

I've been hoarding mirrors.

I'm acting like a complete madman on an episode of "Hoarders" because of the one forum I once had read on a Harry Potter site; it had questioned the logic behind mirrors and magic and someone had boldly claimed that spells could be deflected with mirrors. While I had no idea or business knowing if that was the truth or not, I wouldn't take any chances.

If Grindelwald or Tom came knocking on my door for whatever reason, I had a buttload of these that could bounce off and maybe get a lucky shot, knocking them in the face and I could escape out the window, out of sight and out of mind.

Simultaneously, the claim could also just be bogus nonsense and Grindelwald or Tom could just kick my ass and send me to my second death with a bunch of mirrors surrounding me. That'd be a case for the detectives, mysterious death with no wounds on my body and instead, surrounded in mirrors. If I was going to die though, I wish I'd land myself in a young adult romance novel next time where everyone braided each others hairs and I didn't have to fear for my life. Preferably one with men without any murder tendencies, buff muscles, and a handsome face. Being a rich business CEO was a bonus too.

Or I could just die, like a normal person.

"Emily?" Tom called out and I almost had a heart attack underneath my bed covers. Sometimes, Tom just sneaked up on you and I didn't know if I was just blind or if this was part of the Dark Lord starter pack. Built-in stealth and a sense of eeriness whenever he's around! What a steal!

"Tom," I said, schooling a smile onto my face and pushing myself underneath my bed covers so I sat upright. "What do you need?"

Tom walks his way to my bed with a grace that is unusual compared to the other five year olds and sits down on my bed without a second thought, bringing his knees to his chest as his lips form a parody of a pout. It's there, faint, but I'd have to really stretch my imagination to think of it as one. "You left."

Oh, five year old Tom. Never change. Never go from this cute little kid into a muggle murdering machine.

"So I did," I merely say, as I come closer towards him until I'm sitting next to him on the bed. I ruffle his hair (with my life on the line) and he slightly frowns at the ruffling, but he doesn't say anything about it. "You were in such a deep sleep, I didn't want to bother you."

I had been reading him the Grimm brothers book I had gotten from Christmas when I was young and he had fell asleep on the couch so I had just covered him up with a blanket and went to my own room to catch some shut-eye. Tom is a ruthless little kid, I can't catch a break without Tom asking me things that drove me insane. I'm pretty sure I answered one of his science questions with a discovery that wasn't even made in this time period, but hey, it's not like Tom'll be getting a degree in science anytime soon and there won't be something like "Tom Riddle's theory" in the science books.

If he did though, I'd compromise with Emily and Riddle's Theory, with my name obviously being first. Sorry to the scientist who was supposed to discover it first.

"You shouldn't leave me," Tom says, as if ignoring what I had said. "You promised."

Maybe it's because of his orphan status, but kid's got major abandonment issues. I told him I wouldn't leave him once, when we had been outside the orphanage to go to the library because I had wanted to take Tom there, but he somehow processed that as me making a soul-bound contract with him as his slave.

Not that I would say "no" to him over most things anytime soon, not when I've got a dark lord to placate. If saying no to following him around was going to end in an Avada Kedava'd, then I'd follow him around like I was a duckling who imprinted on him.

"Like I said, Tom, I didn't want to bother you," I repeat. "A growing boy needs his sleep."

"Why is there a lot of mirrors?" He questions, ignoring my statement, as he started poking at one of the multitude of mirrors I was currently hoarding with a befuddled expression on his face. The face that would attract all the witches in Hogwarts was now still one of baby fat and big, doe eyes, and I couldn't help lightly pinching at one of his cheeks like I used to when he was a baby- to which he recoiled back in annoyance.

"Self-defense," I merely answer.

"What would you need to defend yourself from, Emily?" He questioned me, as he seemed to get bored of the mirrors and crawled onto my bed.

I let him in underneath the covers.

You.

"Burglars."

"Why would burglars rob an orphanage? We're barely managing as is, we have nothing worth stealing."

I contorted my face. J. K. Rowling. didn't have to make him that much of a super genius. He was only five years old and all the time I could spend gloating about being smarter than the current Tom was shrinking at a rapid rate. This wasn't good for my rep if a little snot-faced brat was smarter than me, someone whose lived for longer than this body and Tom's age combined.

I had already lost most of my reputation as a magician in front of him because of how easily he saw through my sleight of hand tricks. There really was no beating a genius, huh. Admittedly, it was quite embarrassing doing a low-budget magic rendition in front of an actual wizard.

"The possibility is low, but it's never zero," I told him a life lesson. The possibility of being reincarnated into the Harry Potter verse and with a murderous toddler was low, extremely low to the point I thought it to be zero, but lo and behold. Here I was.

"Hm. You're a bit stupid, Emily," Tom casually comment as his head laid on my pillow like it was his. Just take it, you little gremlin.

"You were cuter when you couldn't speak." Go back to being my cute little baby who only spoke in babbles.

"Hey-"

"Now quiet down, it's time to sleep," I told him as I used my arm to wrap the blanket closer to us.

"You've already slept for more than fou-"

I let out an exaggeratedly loud snore as I closed my eyes.

"Emil-"

Snore.

"Stop doing th-"

Snore.

Tom grumbled to himself before going silent.

Take that genius boy. No amount of IQ is going to save you from the infamous "Snore-So-Loud-You-Drown-Out-Everything" technique that I made up on the spot. Sometimes, my own genius scared me.

There was a loud crash and one of the kids starts wailing. This had happened after months of radio silence and most of the kids, while having not warmed up to Tom, were considerably a lot less adamant of not being in the same room as him.

There went months of progress, I thought to myself, before I quickly turn around, I see glass shards surrounding one of the newer girls that got dropped off, a small scrape on the side of her face, and Tom, standing besides her, looking with wide eyes.

"Tom, what have you done? Out, now. You shall go without dinner today," My mother says, her lips pursed together and sternly placing her hands on her hips. There's not convincing her of anything, when she looks as stern as she does.

My heart almost leaped out of my chest at the sight. Hold your horses, woman, do you know who you're talking to? This here is the future Dark Lord, the tyrant who's going to cause a wizarding war. He's killed muggles before, he'd definitely burn this orphanage to the ground and then none of us will be having dinner anymore.

Tom's face scrunches into one of disgust and anger as he says nothing else before walking off back into this room without a second look behind his back. As expected of the Dark Lord with his intimidation stats maxed out at the mere age of seven as his very presence cause some of the kids to tense up in fear. As soon as he leaves, the door slamming behind him despite the fact that he didn't turn back the kids collectively let out a sigh of relief.

"He's so... creepy," Alice, next to me, whispered.

Thank you Alice, for the very helpful crash course on Tom.

I'm pretty sure that Tom could probably hear their voices carry through these horribly thin walls, but now was not the time to get all philosophical about the psychological impact of being shunned because I had a Dark Lord to feed.

I got up from my seat and held my bowl of soup close to me, causing some of the kids surrounding me to glance at my sudden movements.

I offer a plain explanation of "I'm going to eat in my room" before scurrying over as fast as I could without tripping over myself and spilling the food.

When I finally do enter the room, Tom was huddled under the covers of his bed.

"Tom. Dinner." I winced at my choice of words. It sounded like I was calling over a dog, but I was really awkward with comforting sad kids. You'd think I'd have a lot of experience, being in an orphanage all the time.

"Mrs. Cole said I couldn't have any," Tom mumbled, his voice even further muffled by the covers.

I placed down the soup on one of the drawers and ripped the covers off of him. There weren't any tears on him, but he looked aggrieved.

"I didn't do anything. The dishes just dropped out of nowhere," Tom says, his face scrunching into one of absolute hate and resentment, but I could see some sorts of indignation in his face, so I decide to trust him despite his horrible track record. I chalked it up to some unfortunate case of accidental magic and decide to take pity on him.

It had to be rough, to be isolated in a place like an orphanage where you don't truly have someone to rely on.

Hell, if I didn't know any better, I would probably be freaked out as well. Tom probably didn't know what was happening either and needed some comfort.

I pulled him close and pat him on his shoulders, offering what I thought was a comforting look. "I believe you." I pushed the meal towards him and gave him a small smile.

"Eat," I tell him, gesturing at the tray full of food. "That's the only thing you can do right now."

Tom looks up towards me with bunched up brows and teeth digging into lips. "Do you really believe me that easily?"

How do I tell that it was because I'd already read it in a book, that I know that he's a wizard and soon going to be the Dark Lord so I had to believe him, if I treasured my life or not?

That's right.

You don't, less you want strange looks thrown at you and then an Avada Kedava for knowing his whole life story in the future when he comes back to the orphanage.

"Because you're not a liar, Tom. I believe you." I go with the safest choice. Plus, I'm sure my subliminal messages did something, along with my raising of him. He's another budding Mother Teresa, I tell you.

Tom says nothing for a few moments, seconds, until they stretch into minutes. He kept digging his face into his arms that were wrapped around his knees and I sat there, waiting for him to do something, anything.

"I am. I stole David's toy car. When Mrs. Cole asked if anyone had seen it, I said nothing."

Oh.

Well. Maybe not anything. I had thought I raised him like a saint, made him think that he should live his life like some kind nun, but in the end, I guess my words had no effect on him.

At this moment, I wondered how much power my presence truly had. I wasn't even apart of Tom's world, book or magic-wise, and it seemed as if my efforts were in vain. It was an almost helpless feeling, looking at this boy who I had thought was turning out differently than I had thought become exactly the person he was destined to be.

But, he did tell me this: that he had stole. In the original novels, he had not told a single soul before Dumbledore had pried it out of him with his magic. Perhaps he trusted me enough to tell him and maybe this trust can change him.

Taking in a deep breath and collecting my composure, my lips turned upwards. "That wasn't very nice of you, Tom. But, as long as you give it back and apologize, I'm sure that David'll forgive you. You're a nice kid, Tom, I'm sure you won't do it again."

"But David is horrible. I don't want to," Tom whispers. He shoves his face back into his legs and refuses to provide any further explanation, but I could guess. Probably along the lines of "demon child" or "freak."

My heart went out for Tom.

"You have to be kind to the other kids in the orphanage, Tom," I chastise him, though despite the fact that I didn't agree with my words.

"Even if they don't deserve it?"

"Yes, Tom. Even if they're annoying little buggers." Especially Billy. Billy was a little sucker who deserved to get socked at least once or twice. He put gum in my hair too many times and if Tom had accidentally beat up another kid with his magic, my first pick would be Billy.

But I had to be a saint. Think of puppies, think of rainbows and sunshine, think about being a kind and selfless side character that touched Tom's heart and washed him clean of any sin.

"Even if they're cruel to you, you shouldn't be cruel to them back. Whatever they do does not concern you, Tom." That was a load of shit that I didn't even believe.

"But they do concern me," Tom says, but he did accept the spoon that I shoved into his hands. The soup was getting cold.

"You'll see, Tom. When you grow up, you'll see just how insignificant they were." Hopefully insignificant enough to forget to kill. "Right now, the only thing that should concern you is finishing that soup."

"We'll see if David does anything to you again," I comforted him, as soon as he finally brought the spoon to his mouth.

"I thought you said we shouldn't be cruel back."

"Yes, well, it's going to be a gentle reminder." Well, after all, I really was bad at this whole saint-role so maybe a bit of a scuffle wouldn't hurt.

"Even if you do to David, everyone else is still going to be mean," Tom's face scrunched up. "I hate it here."

"Nobody likes it here."

Tom scoffed (who taught this little kid how to do that?). "I hate everyone here too."

"Even me?" Despite saying it so casually, my heart thumped wildly against my chest. This was the moment of truth, to see if all my hardwork paid off.

"Well," Tom paused slightly. "I guess not. You've never told me I was weird."

"That's because you're more a brat than you're weird," I laughed, ruffling his hair. I felt lighter, knowing that it seemed as if Tom didn't absolutely hate the world.

My little boy's not in his rebellious emo phase anymore, I wanted to shout to the world. Well, as emo as a mass genocide could get.

Finding out Tom's magic secret was going to be difficult, seeing as Tom didn't even know he was magic, himself. He probably thought he was some sort of special person, who was the only person in the world that could make things happen upon his will.

So seeing a garter snake in the garden behind the orphanage had been like hitting the jackpot.

I had been hoping that Tom would speak with the snake and I would question him about it, find out his secrets, and when the time comes for him to become a wizard, he tells me because I already had known his snake whisperer secret.

It was a fool-proof plan.

Looking at the garter snake, it was smaller than most snakes, the type that could fit into most hands with a few loops, the color of dark gray and a dusty yellow, and I could not understand what it was saying. I even hissed at it randomly, but it just kept on going on it's way.

Figures.

It was one of my last remaining hopes, that I was somehow actually a squib and Mr. Cole was some sort of mysterious Slytherin bloodline, but it was a stretch, after all.

Where was that man anyways? He wasn't mentioned in the books and he sure as hell didn't pop up anywhere. Well, I guess he just had shit-tier luck because of the lack of presence and fleshed out character in J.K. Rowling's writing. Then again- I didn't exist either in the original books, so maybe he really did just ditch us.

"Tom," I called for the other, who was squatting near the lackluster flowerbeds that my mom attempted to keep nice and pristine, but failed because of the terrible weather. The tulips had to be re-positioned twice just this week. "Come over here, let me show you something."

And Tom dutifully tore his head away from the flowerbeds and wandered towards where I was, taking his sweet time.

It'd be cool to see Parseltongue in action, was my thoughts, but of course, I said that with subtext and an excuse to Tom though.

"A snake, it's pretty amazing, isn't it?"

Come on Tom, speak to it. Do your thing.

I look at him with wide sparkling eyes, waiting for him to do something, anything. The snake did a light hiss and I gave myself nearly whiplash going back and forth from snake to Tom.

"I guess. Can we go inside now, Emily. I'm tired," Tom says as he grabbed my hands and clasped his own over mine.

Disappointed, I yield and agreed. Tom looking like a sad, pouting child when he had long surpassed most childish actions was suspicious, but I decided to give in to him. Let's try again later, I told myself.

I found him an hour later, squatting at the snake, hissing at it.

Alright. Keep your secrets, you little brat.