"O loveliness, thou scourge of souls — devote. Thine eyes of fire — luminous-like feasts. To burn these rags — rejected by the beasts!"

Causerie. The Flowers of Evil. Charles Baudelaire.

Chapter 1

A sharp cry resounded in the fog. "What have I done?" a frail voice whispered as a small figure stood over two lifeless bodies. It all began on an ordinary Monday's afternoon in one of London's many busy suburban streets. As usual, the sun was hidden behind thick gray clouds. In the dim light, people mingled on their way home. Yet not everybody was in a hurry to get back. At the tender age of seven, a skinny little kid sat alone in front of a once magnificent residence. Now, all left was ashes and memories, the scattered fragments of a story waiting to be written.

"Devil's spawn," said an old lady coming back from the church. "That was all her fault," neighbors argued. It had been but a few years since the doctor's family moved there and everybody thought their single daughter had weird habits. Other kids were still afraid to play with her, and she was on her own most of the time. As soon as the fire ran out, firefighters with the help of a group of volunteers dug up the carbonised bodies of the young coulple from the rubble. Unfortunately, with no close relatives and, at such an early age, Hermione Granger - the doctor's only child - did not have access to the money that her father and grandmother had left her. It was almost evening when a tall lady with a bitter face, the administrator of the government, arrived. She accompanied Hermione on a half an hour's drive through the town. Their last destination was Wool's Home for Foster Children. "There is no need to worry. Everything will be all right!". If only her empty words were true, then all that would be a fairy tale. Quite the opposite of what actually happened.

Run by the iron hands of the old matron, Madame Dolores Umbridge, the orphanage, a sign of rot and decay, had seen better days in the past. The building used to be a monastery and turned into a headquarters by the end of the last World War. Now, too many children of all ages shared from space and clothes to the scarce food. They also quickly learned that it was better to leave the "witch" alone. Otherwise bad things happened. Soon after, Hermione spent all her time in the little room that served as a library, the books as badly maintained as the place itself. She felt it was much better than being called a witch or a murderer, though. In the weeks that followed, no one ever tried to annoy her. If she had something to eat, it didn't bother anyone.

At the other end of the orphanage, another seven-year-old, Tom Riddle, tried to solve yet another puzzle. He wanted to figure out why two other orphans, Dennis Bishop and Amy Benson, were complaining so much about the new girl. A new child was very common these days, but a nicely dressed kid was definitely not so ordinary. The latter, Billy Stubbs, a boy with a ridiculous rabbit, had attempted to beat him and had learned his lesson, or at least his dead rabbit had. Last summer, during the annual beach trip, Bishop and Benson were next in line for a lesson. The two older kids thought it would be fun to mess with his belongings and try to kill his pet snake. The second day of the visit, he used his will to trap them in a cavern close to the sea. Let's just say both realized pretty fast that they couldn't swim. The two were trapped until late in the afternoon and could not leave until the tide had come down.

Much to his surprise, Tom had not seen any sign of the new girl over the last two weeks. His interest went up when other people called her a witch. Even at a young age, he was able to do things well beyond the capabilities of an average child. Supernatural skills such as moving things with his mind and levitating them wherever he wanted were commonplace. The issue was when he used his will to manipulate and injure animals and people. These actions frequently frightened other orphans, who preferred to leave him alone. Based on his experience, he was the only person capable of performing magic, at least prior to that moment.

Tom looked for the "witch" in the refectory, in the derelict garden, and even in the girls' dormitories, but no sign of her. The boy wondered if she was a ghost until he overheard someone slamming the door next to his bedroom in the attic. The barely lit place was not large. During the war, it was transformed into a warehouse of food, water and munitions. But, most of all, kept closed for over a decade. Around five years ago, his former roommates on the second floor were waking up regularly with a malaise. Madame Umbridge, the matron, blamed him and, from that day on, Tom was placed in the attic.

It was nearly dinner time when he went to investigate the incident. Whoever tried to cross his path and invade his space would pay. When he walked in, he found a little girl. The bedroom, similar to his, had a single bed, a small table, a desk and an old cupboard, except that its window overlooked the gardens. Only if you think about thorns and weeds as a garden. Just the same, it did not matter, because the windows did not open.

The "witch" sat down on the floor surrounded by small floating lanterns of bluish light and a book hanging in the air. Her tiny body and unruly brown hair wrapped in gleaming light gave her an ethereal look. This curious creature was less human, but closer to the fae of the forests or the nymphs from Andersen and the Brothers Grimm's stories. All to prove she was like him. "Who is that?" demanded the girl. His footsteps on the wooden floor echoed and slammed with an annoying sound. "Who are you?" he asked. "Hello. You should be Tom. I'm Hermione. The others warned me about you. That was before I was called a witch and found myself locked up here."

This is my first story here. Hope you enjoy!