Blood is Thicker Than Water

by Jennie

Harry Potter and Tom Riddle. Both have very similar origins. Both have the potential to be something great, good or evil. But when Harry and Tom, who are connected to each other as children, lean on another too much, what is possible?

Title: Blood is Thicker Than Water

Chapter: 01/??

Author name: Jennie/ Jenn

Author email: bassettlover15@aol.com

Category: Drama, Fantasy, Romance (a lot later on), Religion, Angst and much more…

Keywords: AU, Harry Potter, Tom Riddle (no, not Voldemort, I mean Tom Riddle), snakes, abuse, dreams

Rating: PG-13 now, will be R later.

Spoilers: All Harry Potter books

Disclaimer: This story is based on an idea by J.K. Rowling, the rightful owner of all characters, places and names under copyright. However, Medea (well, her name) and Alanna are mine, as well as Mrs Grimsby and Harrison. Any other unknown characters and objects are also mine. And the idea is also mine.

Summary: Harry Potter and Tom Riddle. Both have very similar origins. Both have the potential to be something great, good or evil. But when Harry and Tom, who are connected to each other as children, lean on another too much, what is possible? Anything. Combining Tom Riddle's school years with Harry Potter's, where does the line between good and evil really begin and end?

Author's note: I started this on a whim, really. I wanted to try writing in a different style, and with shorter chapters. To warn you, this will have Christian themes, many of them. This chapter won't, but be prepared. If you feel uncomfortable with them, then read at your own risk, or, you can ask me nicely to rewrite the chapter for you. So, I'll leave you to the chapter now.

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Chapter 1

"Boy! Get over here now! You need to clean up this filthy mess!" The raven-haired child turned around, his turquoise eyes red with holding back tears. It hadn't been his fault the snake had come into the kitchen, but it had and frightened the cook terribly. The cook had spilled molten broth over him, causing his skin to burn and had hit him on the head with the frying pan a few times for punishment. Nursing his wounds, he was in his small cell, for a cell was what it really was.

He stood up shakily. Gathering his composure, he took a deep breath, and then came out from the small shadowed corner. "Yes, Ma'am?" He pulled up his pants that were too large for him and adjusted his too small shirt. He was quite a sight. What should have been a handsome child was, instead, covered in filth, shivering from cold and dressed in rags.

His hand went to his neck, where a small locket hung. The last memento of his mother; a silver locket inlaid with emeralds, bearing a picture of a young woman and another woman about the same age of the first. He knew the left picture was of his mother, her long dark wavy hair sitting perfectly in place, her bright eyes open in a hesitant smile. She had been seventeen then, the back of the picture had said. "Medea Allia, the twentieth of June, 1924, age seventeen."

What the young boy knew about his past was almost nothing. His mother had died shortly after giving birth to him and was turned out of her home by her own husband. The reason of this Tom was unsure of, but he knew that his father had to be a hateful man. He also knew that he and his mother were special. The snake had told him.

Snakes were his friends. Actually, snakes were his only friends, with an exception to books. And a ghost. But books were inanimate objects, and well, as much as Alanna hated to admit it, being dead also wasn't a very good quality in a friend. Not to mention he was the only one who could see her. But snakes were tangible, alive, and though considered by most to be animals, he didn't care. Snakes were interesting. They could creep and crawl, slither and hiss, though he could do that as well. If he had a wish, it'd be to be a snake. Even being in the orphanage would be tolerable if he were a snake.

But to the present moment, there was no escape. Mrs Grimsby stood in front of the bars, a belt in her hands and tapping her foot impatiently. "I am tired of your insolence, boy. I do not have to stand for that. From now on, you are confined to your cell until further notice. Meals will be brought once a day. You already have a chamber pot, which you shall empty in your five minutes of time out of the cell. And-" She slapped the belt in the air menacingly, venom dripping from her voice, "You will receive a beating. Harrison will give it to you." She motioned to the heavy-set man standing at the end of the hall, whose main purpose was to keep an eye out on the cells and the 'juvenile delinquents' in them.

Harrison was large, and if he didn't know better, he'd say he was a giant. The snakes had told him that giants were much bigger, though he could be half-giant. Alanna agreed. Though he really didn't care who Harrison's parents were, all e cared about was that Harrison was huge, like a giant, strong as a steer, and mean as a hornet. Without realising it, he cringed, shrinking back away from the bars. "Oh no you don't!"

Mrs Grimsby reached out through the bars, trying to grab his small shirt. "Where do you-" With the intention of slapping the living daylights out of the boy, she made a face of surprise before she was flung back against the opposite cell, head hitting the bars hard, and losing consciousness.

The entire hall of cells was deathly silent, as Harrison rushed over and picked up Mrs Grimsby. "What the hell was that?" He roared, making the walls shake. The boy shied back even more in the cell. "Whoever did this, they're going to pay!" He rushed out of the hall, leaving the outer doors open. As many of the other children, who were also in their cells, all stared; the young boy came out of the shadows.

Did I- did I do that? The thoughts ran through his head. He was numb with shock. He- he had somehow flung Mrs Grimsby away, with out even touching her. With just his thoughts. The reality of the situation hit him. He was going to be lucky enough to be alive after this. Oh my god…what am I to do? And young Tom did the only thing that was possible to do. He disappeared.

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He woke up with his head spinning. He had had one of the oddest dreams, though what it was about, he couldn't remember. Sitting up, watching his head before it could bang on the slanted ceiling, he threw his legs over his cot. The closet where he spent most of his days, if not all of them, was tiny, 1 metre wide and 2 metres long. Of course, if one didn't know the outside world, it could be considered as cosy.

Unfortunately our young boy did not know the outside world. Though he enjoyed reading, books were hard to come by. They only came when he dreamed of them and unfortunately, after he finished reading them, the next night they were gone. Where to, he did not know, but it didn't really bother him. As long as the books appeared once a week, he was content, to some extent, with his life.

Life consisted of a closet, a cot, a box of assorted clothes and a chamber pot, which he emptied everyday during his out time. In other words, it was the time he cleaned and cooked for his family, which took up three hours of his day. And for not the first time in his existence, did the young boy wish for something else.

He wished of freedom. Freedom to run around under the sun, to even really stay in the sun's light for more than mere minutes. During his daily hours of chores, he sometimes was able to slip outside, and find snakes. Snakes were quite interesting, the boy soon learned, after he had talked to his first one. The ability to talk to snakes was an ability the boy knew he had to keep a secret.

Snakes were his only friends. In the rare time he could sneak one in the house to his cupboard, he would do so. But the 'Lady' of the house did not like snakes. In fact, she hated them, and the one time she had seen a snake, she had screamed. The 'Lord' came and beat the boy so hard, he didn't even remember it. And 'Little Master', who was not very little at all, had laughed. He had laughed long and hard.

Abuse wasn't uncommon for the boy. In truth, the boy had a name, but it was never used around the house. He was 'Boy' on a good day, 'Slave' on a not-so-good day and 'Vermin' or 'demon' on a bad day. But he didn't really mind. Names after all were just that, names and they didn't really mean anything. That is, they didn't really mean anything too important.

He knew his name, well, at least his first name. His last name never came up. He never went outside, didn't go to school. He was tutored once a week by an old woman named Fin. Though he was bright, he didn't or couldn't show it. And for his parents, well, he knew he once had parents, many years ago. But their names were lost to him and the only thing he had was a locket.

Silver, with emeralds, it held two pictures. One of a girl with dark hair and bright eyes, dressed old-fashioned. On the back of that photo was a date: "Medea Allia, twentieth of June, 1924, age seventeen years". The other photo was a young woman, with dark red hair, the darkest red one could imagine. Her eyes were a bright emerald green, the same green as the emeralds on the outside of the locket. She was wearing a gown that matched her eyes. That photo read: "Lily Marie, twentieth of June, 1979, age seventeen years".

The boy made up stories about these young women. All he knew was that he had a connection with both. What the connection was, he did not know and the snakes wouldn't tell him. The snakes were like that. They often knew things, but never told them.

The boy sighed and reached under his bed, which was in reality a hard cot, cut down to fit in the cupboard. That was where he stowed his things, his books, clothes, and trinkets he seemed to find around after certain dreams. That was where he kept his diary as well.

His diary he had taken out of the trash when 'Little Master' threw it away. 'Little Master' hated anything to do with writing, reading or school in general and it had been easy to sneak away. He had also found a pen, which should have, after the last two years, run out of ink. Same with the diary, it should have run out of pages. But it never did.

His diary was mostly his hopes of getting out of this cupboard and making up his stories. But he also kept notes about his books and his dreams. His dreams were special. They were always about a friend of his, who lived in an orphanage. His friend lived just like he did, in a small cell, with no room. He could also speak with snakes.

The boy concentrated on his dream from the night before. Something had happened to Tom. He had disappeared. The boy sighed, hoped Tom would be all right and started to write. Half way through, he switched hands, thanking his ability to be ambidextrous. It certainly came in handy when the 'Lord' broke one of his hands. And that's why he kept it a secret. He didn't even think it was unique until one of his special books said it was.

An ambidextrous wizard is more powerful than a left, or right-handed wizard. Being ambidextrous gives the ability to cast spells with both hands and, when one hand is injured, does not leave the wizard defenceless. Ambidextrous wizards are extremely rare. The ability is often kept secret.

He understood that very well. And the mentions of magic, well, all of his special books usually mentioned magic. He had once read Slytherin's Guide to Potions and had every detail of it memorised. Even though he was not entirely sure if magic really existed, it seemed to good to be true, he still read all his books. You never knew when one was going to be helpful and Harry needed all the help he could get.

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