It turned out that the prefects hadn't been joking when they said it was impossible to get back to the Great Hall. Tommy had woken up before any of his dorm mates, and had figured he would be able to retrace his steps from the night before. However, three dead ends and near-death experience on a trick staircase later, Tommy finally admitted defeat.
He looked around for somebody to ask for directions, but he was in a wing of the school that was completely empty of portraits. Just as he let out a cry of frustration, something hit him in the back of the head and he whirled around. Nobody was there, but a roll of toilet paper lay at his feet. With a deep breath, he crept forward.
"Who's there?" he asked, voice shaky. Another roll of toilet paper hit him in the face. This time, the culprit could not contain his laughter which in Tommy's opinion was more like an evil cackle.
A figure glided around the corner. It looked nothing like a ghost, but was floating in the air.
"Oh no! The poor firstie is lost!" he cackled, "I really should help. Does the ickle firstie want to get to breakfast?"
"Er-yeah, I would." Tommy didn't trust this strange little man; he had an impish look and Tommy got the impression he was being mocked. But he had no better option. So, he followed the ghost-like creature, who was banging a stick against the suits of armor, down the corridor.
"Now then. Make a right up here then go straight for a while, then take the down staircase and go through the first door on the left. Never you worry! Peeves wouldn't lead you wrong." And with that the poltergeist turned away and began doing cartwheels in the air, singing all the way.
With a small shrug, Tommy followed Peeves' directions. As he got on the staircase, he prepared himself for the worst. However, it did not move, trap him, or completely vanish like some of the others had, so he assumed that the advise had been good. Seeing a door at the bottom, he congratulated himself on having finally made it. But when he walked in, the first thing he heard was a high-pitched shriek.
He had walked straight into the girls' bathroom. Covering his eyes, he ran out of the room as if he had been electrocuted. Tommy cursed Peeves, and turned the nearest portrait on the wall that looked trustworthy.
"Pardon me, sir" he said to the man in the picture who was sitting with crossed legs and staring intently at a shoe on the grass in front of him. The man nodded fractionally, without blinking or making eye contact.
"I'm looking for the Great Hall…Could you point me in the right direction?" The man continued his meditation for a moment, before finally breaking his concentration.
"I've spent the last half hour trying to move this shoe with my mind, and you just broke my concentration! Another morning, gone to waste! Well, I guess I can help you." The man proceeded to give Tommy directions. When walking away, Tommy swore he heard the man in the portrait mutter "Bloody Shoe!"
Needless to say, by the time he got to the Great Hall, he was ravenously hungry. It seemed that all of the other Slytherin first years had decided to have a lie in, so Tommy sat down at the end of the table, near enough so that he would not look like an outcast, but far enough away so that they didn't think he was eavesdropping.
When the prefects started handing out schedules to everyone, Tommy felt the same panic he'd felt before the sorting hit him. Back at the orphanage, it had always been a given that he would pass his classes. His teachers all told him that he was naturally bright, and Ethan used to call him a genius, but magic was entirely new to him.
He unfolded the parchment which read 'Thomas Marvalo Riddle Jr.' and propped it up against the milk jug.
A fourth year on the other side of the table slid over to look over his shoulder.
"Ooh!" he said, making a face, "You have History of Magic first. Good luck with that. Professor Binns is a grumpy old man. He can't remember your name, but he can remember every single one of the 652 laws that made up the United Wizarding Pact. Expects you to be able to do it too."
History didn't sound too bad, in Tommy's opinion. He had always liked studying Muggle History, and he had a fantastic memory.
His next class was Transfiguration, with Professor Dumbledore, followed by Charms with Professor Tyrot. From noon to one he had lunch, then was off to Double Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Double Potions. It seemed like a busy day, but that was probably better than lying around the Common Room.
By the time the bell rang, Tommy had gotten detailed directions to his Professor Binns' classroom. He grabbed a front row seat and took out his notebook and quill. The teacher walked in and began to introduce the class, and Tommy marveled at the way everything about this man down to the way he walked was boring.
"I do not support the "hands-on" method of teaching that some of my colleagues use in their classrooms. The best way to learn is by listening, and I expect you all to take good notes. We have a lot to learn, so I'm not going to waste your time by playing get to know you games or treating you like six year olds. Today we will begin discussing the United Wizarding Pact of 1899."
And without further ado, he began listing all 652 laws, just like the fourth year had said. Tommy managed to write down numbers one to sixteen before the sheer monotony of the lesson overcame him, and his head dropped onto the desk, smearing his notes beyond recognition…
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
By the time Tommy and the other eight Slytherin first years sat down at the table, their minds felt like the mashed potatoes they were eating for lunch.
"I spent a bloody hour in the Transfiguration classroom, and all I have to show for it is a button with polka dots," said Hiram O'Malley, one of his dormates.
They had been trying to turn buttons into ladybugs. For nearly all the class, this had been their first attempt at magic, although very little magic was actually done. The lucky students were the ones who simply waved their wands and had nothing happen. At least they weren't stuck talking in limericks or trying to hide purple faces behind their hands.
To his immense relief, Tommy had been one of the most successful students. He ended up with a plump ladybug on his desk in five minutes, and completed the transformation three more times before he accidentally sat on it.
At their end of the table, the first years were all discussing their teachers, and the general consensus was that Dumbledore was the favorite. Indeed, he was by no means intimidating. He had started class by telling them one of his greatest fears as he got older was becoming boring; if he started rattling on about something, the class was to shut him up immediately.
"And," he said, "There is no such thing as a stupid question. Unless you, like I did just last week, ask somebody when their baby is due only to find out that it is a man." The class tittered, still uptight about their first practical lesson.
Like the rest of the class, Tommy found Dumbledore interesting and easygoing, but couldn't help feeling a tinge of disappointment. Being the first in the class to do magic, he had expected some sort of recognition or reward. However, he simply received a "keep up the good work" from Dumbledore who continued on down the row, correcting people's wand positions.
Tommy tried to shake thoughts like this out of his head; he was just a nobody from an orphanage. Who would pay special attention to him? It would more than some simple wand waving to make him great. But he would be great someday, no matter what it took.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Unlike the night before, where Tommy and the three other boys in his dorm had simply collapsed on their beds without uttering a word to each other, they got to talking about themselves.
"Well," said Hiram, "me family's pureblood. I'm the sixth generation to go to Hogwarts, and we've all been in Slytherin. I reckon me dad would've cast me out if the hat'd made put me in Gryffindor." Tommy stiffened at that statement, now even more embarrassed to tell the other boys about his own past.
A small boy with mousy brown hair and a face that was always sneering looked around at them all threateningly. "Everybody calls me Wolf," he said. Hiram snorted and asked what his real name was.
"That's none of your business," Wolf snapped, then stomped off into the bathroom. It took several weeks before the boys could say his name with a straight face.
The next boy explained to the others about how his parents were wizards who traveled the world for work, so he lived with his muggle grandparents for the majority of the year. He told them his name was Gregory Hart, and that he was desperate to play the position of Seeker on the Quidditch team next year.
Now that everyone else had been introduced, Hiram and Gregory looked at Tommy expectantly.
"Er- my name's Tom," he said, having just decided to use a more grown up name after Wolf had been laughed at. "I live in an orphanage because my parents were killed fighting dark wizards." The lie had come out easily, so he decided to elaborate.
"They were both magical, as was everybody else in my family. He played professional Quidditch before he quit to be an Auror." Tommy prayed he was using the words that he had learned throughout the day in the right context.
"Lucky!" said Gregory, who's ears had perked up at the mention of his favorite sport and had obviously missed the part about Tommy's parents dying.
Since the first day of classes had worn them out, they changed into their pajamas and turned out the lights.
"Goodnight Tommy! Goodnight Gregory! G'night Chihuahua!" Wolf growled, and within five minutes the room was filled with their snores.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Three days later, Tommy felt he had settled into a routine. The homework load increased significantly, but at least it gave him something to do, and he secretly found everything he was learning fascinating. Particularly thrilling was Defense Against the Dark Arts.
The teacher looked like she came straight out of 'The Wizard of Oz.' Tommy had heard several people refer to her as a hag, and had thought it was just because she was ugly until she introduced herself as one. Apparently, Tommy thought, Wizards couldn't keep everything from the Muggles.
Despite her alarming appearance, Professor Jetsam was extremely pleasant. She awarded more house points than any other teacher, and assigned the least amount of homework. Still, the students always left the class feeling like they had made real progress, which made up for the complete uselessness of History of Magic.
It wasn't until the end of his first week at Hogwarts that Tommy received his first owl post. A small owl swooped down and dropped a parcel on his plate before darting up to the owlery. Undoing the seal, Tommy eagerly tore open the letter.
Dear Tommy,
Thanks for the letter! I have to admit, I was so mad at you for leaving that I threw it in the rubbish bin. But then I wanted to know what it said, so I opened it like two minutes later. I still can't believe you're a witch! (Oops, I know! Wizard) You have to send me a picture of you in those dress things you wear, so I can make fun of you. Not much to report here. Everyone wants to know where you are; Hettlebum told the others that you went to a private school for geniuses, so naturally everybody believed it! I've been trying to make as much trouble as possible since I don't have anything else to do now that you're gone. Let's just say that we're not the only ones that know about Mr. Triston's wig now; the cat mysteriously wandered into the morning services wearing it on its head. Anyway, I want to know more details about this school of yours. Write back soon!
Ethan
P.S. Remember that girl that had a crush on you? Allison? Well, she cried for days when you left and now sleeps with a photograph of you underneath her pillow. Creepy, huh?
Tommy felt a sharp pang of sadness reading the letter. He had expected to miss his best friend, but a small part of him missed the orphanage too. It wasn't the majority of the kids, or the chaos, or the food. And especially not the feeling of being an outcast of the world, tucked away in a crowded building with the other kids who nobody wanted.
The only reason Tommy missed St. Mary's was the familiarity; for as long as he remembered he had been there. As much as he hated it, and anxiously awaited the day he would leave, it was his home. With a sigh, he folded the letter up and put it in his pocket so he could write a reply later.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
As the next couple of weeks passed, Tommy occasionally saw one of the Weasleys in the halls, and he had Herbology with Chester. At first, Tommy had considered sitting down next to the redhead at the beginning of class, but he had noticed that the houses didn't usually mix. Especially Slytherin and Gryffindor. Therefore, they had said awkward 'hellos' to each other, and left it at that.
However, Tommy found himself in a difficult situation when he was wandering the halls one evening. As he rounded a corner, he noticed a skirmish breaking out between a small boy with red and gold and two Slytherin sixth years. The two boys from his own house towered over their opponent, probably each weighing twice as much.
Tommy generally avoided fighting, since he wasn't very strong and they usually led to trouble. Since the kid was calling for help, he decided he'd run to the nearest teacher or prefect, and get them to stop the fight. However, just as he started running in the opposite direction, Frederic and Charles Weasley came into view. They immediately jumped into the fray, and thanks to a Stunner from Frederic, managed to overpower the Slytherins.
As they helped the small Gryffindor up, Tommy realized who it was. Chester Weasley stood there nursing a black eye and a bloody nose. He was just going to ask if he was alright when the boy spoke, voice muffled as he tilted his head back to stop the steady flow of blood streaming from his nose.
"Thanks a lot!" he murmured. Tommy was just about to respond that he hadn't gotten help in time, and no thanks were necessary when Chester continued. "Don't think I didn't see you, trying to run away. You didn't seem like the type to just let somebody get picked on, but I guess you can't expect much from a Slytherin."
In shock, Tommy opened his mouth to explain, but Charles cut him off.
"We're leaving now. Thirty points from Slytherin, and don't expect any help from us, if you're ever in trouble."
The three redheads marched off in the direction of the hospital wing, leaving Tommy standing in the now deserted hallway with his mouth hanging open. What had just happened? He couldn't believe they just assumed that he had chosen to ignore the fact that a helpless first year was getting pummeled.
Perhaps he was getting his first taste of those infamous house-rivalries. Despite feeling bad about the whole incident, Tommy now had no desire to reconcile with the Weasleys. After all, they were the ones who jumped to conclusions.
'I really should be used to this,' he thought with a sigh as he walked down the steps to the dungeons. 'After all, people always assume I'm a street rat that will never amount to anything the minute they learn I'm from St. Elizabeth's.'
But he would never get used to it. He went to sleep, feeling as though the entire world was against him.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
A/N: Please, please, please review! I'm really sick, and I need something to cheer me up. (Yeah, I'm desperate. Gets down on hands and knees Please review!) I hope you all are having a great Passover (to those that celebrate it, like me) I miss bread. Have a great day!