A/N: I will warn you ahead of time. This chapter is disturbing and there are a few not so nice occurences.
There's a certain side of Tom, other than the cruelty and nastiness. Despair...loneliness...the feeling that you have no one at all, who wouldn't change?
Dumbledore himself even said it still surprised him out Harry turned out, despite his upbringing.
Tom had a rough childhood, if that can even begin to describe it. And unfortunately, he took the darker path.
Let me know what you think!
Also, you'll see a wizarding person in this chapter, let's see if you catch it:D
Chosen to Rise; Destined to Fall
Part One: The Awakening
Chapter Seven
-The Dark Side of Nature -
"I wish I had been there. The look on Louise's face, brilliant."
"She deserved to go," came Michael's voice.
"Always grassing on us. Got us in trouble with your mum," said Billy.
"Did you hear, though? They got rid of the mouse. He found a family!" proclaimed Robbie.
"What? How come he gets a family?" asked another boy.
"Him and the other kid, Vinni or something," responded Billy.
Someone snickered. "That means little baby Riddle is all on his own," said Michael.
"You're leaving next week, aren't you Robbie?" said the other boy.
"Yeah, we're finally going back home. That means the rest of you lot have to have fun with Riddle for me," responded Robbie.
More snickers could be heard. "I think we'll manage. We have that trip in a fortnight," said Michael.
Tom remained where he sat, his back against a large stone, his body hidden in shadows from the trees. He had found this secluded area earlier that day and discovered that it was the perfect hiding spot. Mrs. Cole had taken the children out into the country and found a small park where there was a swing-set, two sandboxes, and a few picnic tables scattered across the grassy lawn. Framing the northern part of the park was a small forest, in which Tom preferred to spend his time.
He glanced down at his clothes, which were already beginning to grow short. It seemed that the past few weeks had given him a slight growth spurt, allowing him to gain a few inches on the other children. He was already tall for his age and would be nine years old come December. Over the course of the past few years, he had been told several times that he was far more mature than most soon-to-be nine year olds, and he agreed. He never wanted to be equal to anyone. He wanted to be far above them, in everything.
However, upon hearing what Robbie and his gang were saying, his fingers clenched into fists. So it was them, he thought. They're the ones that made Louise leave. He could act now, make them pay. It seemed that if he really wanted to hurt someone, they always ended up in pain. He would get Robbie. That much was for certain. As for the others, he would bide his time wisely and plan accordingly.
"If they poke me once more I'm going to bite them,"
Tom blinked, looking around upon hearing the voice. "Stop poking it!" protested a girl. Tom peered around the edge of the rock to see Amy standing a few feet away, staring at something on the ground. Rudolph, a twelve-year old boy, was crouching on the ground, poking at something with a stick.
Tom frowned, curious, and stood. He glanced over at Robbie and his gang, who had moved over to another part of the park, deciding that some of the younger orphans were more interesting. Moving swiftly, he walked over to where Amy and Rudolph were. "What are you doing?" he asked, shoving his hands inside his pockets.
"Found it." Rudolph grinned. Tom looked down to see a light gray snake with a black zigzagging pattern on its back. An adder…I remember reading about those.
"It's poisonous."
The grin faded from Rudolph's face and he stared down at the snake. "It is?"
"I read about it in a book."
"See!" said Amy. "I told you to stop! You're going to get bitten!"
"Quite right you are," came the voice again. Tom frowned. That wasn't Rudolph or Amy…who was it?
"Why don't you just leave it alone?" asked Tom.
"There's nothing to do around here," said Rudolph. "I was just having a bit of fun." He stood, smoothing his gray trousers and tossing the stick aside. "I'm going to go find Dennis." He pulled out a worn mouth organ from his pocket and walked away, playing on it.
Tom's gaze followed his retreat for a few moments before looking at Amy, who was still staring at the snake. "It's not going to hurt you unless you poke it."
"I – well –" The snake moved towards her feet and she shrieked, running away.
Tom just shook his head. "What's so scary?" He looked down at the snake, watching as it slid its way through the browning grass. "You're going to get stepped on if you stay out here." He reached down and picked up the snake gently. He half expected it to hiss and snap at him, but it only lifted its head slowly to peer at him. He felt no fear, only curiosity.
"Thanksss." There it was again!
Tom looked around, trying to find the source of the voice.
"I'm right here. In front of you."
Slowly, Tom's eyes moved to the snake and he could only stare. "You?"
"You are correct."
"Wait, how can you understand me? Or I understand you?"
"You are sspecial. I don't find many humansss that can ssspeak to me or hear me. What is your name?"
"Tom Riddle."
"Well Tom, itsss a pleasssure to meet you."
"Do you have a name?"
"No, but I don't need a name. Take me to that rock over there," the snake hissed, moving its head towards the rock where Tom had been sitting. Tom complied, walking over to spot and setting the snake down.
"Will I see you around?"
"Perhapsss." The snake slithered down through a crack, disappearing into the darkness.
For a few moments, Tom could only watch the space where the snake had gone. Then a rush of excitement filled his body and he actually smiled. However, this smile did nothing to aide his handsome features, as it had an almost wicked tinge to it. I knew there was something different about me…why else would all those strange things always happen around me? The clock breaking…the pictures shattering…the burns on Michael's arms…I still don't understand why, but I can talk to snakes! Wicked!
Tom sat in a chair, watching as the other children played in the swimming pool. The pool wasn't very large, but it was indoors and therefore warmer than outside. The room had an arched ceiling and several long, thin gothic windows on the far wall, allowing beams of sunlight to shine in, illuminating patches of the worn tile floor and the water. Several chairs had been set along one side, near the wall, to accommodate the children that didn't want to swim, as well as the adults.
He watched as a couple of the older orphans lined up at the base of the low diving board. One boy climbed up and did a somersault off the end, landing with a loud splash and accompanied by cheers from the nearby crowd. Tom settled back in his chair, draping his long legs over one of the arms. What's so interesting about splashing around anyways, he thought. Of course, part of the reason why he didn't want to enter the water was that he couldn't swim. He just had never learned how. It was a weakness, yes, and one he didn't plan on allowing anyone to discover.
His gaze wandered over to where Robbie stood with his gang, probably attempting to plot something. Tom was biding his time until he could get them back for making Louise leave. Robbie was due to leave within the week, to go back to his home country with his mother. He watched as Robbie turned, his beady eyes landing on Tom. He sneered, the sunlight glinting off his mop of red hair. He strode over, attempting to be intimidated. He was failing miserably.
Tom just looked at him coolly. "Yes?"
"Why ain't you swimming?" asked Robbie, his beefy arms crossed over his chest. Terrace, Michael and Billy stood around him, all smirking.
"None of your business." Tom gave him a bored look and turned his gaze onto the girl climbing up onto the diving board.
"Oi! You can't just ignore me!" protested Robbie.
Tom didn't answer, which seemed to infuriate the red-head even more. Meaty hands gripped his shirt and Tom was suddenly jerked out of his chair. He staggered back, freeing himself from Robbie's grasp. "Don't touch me," he snapped.
"Oooh, what're you going to do about it if I do?" taunted Robbie.
Tom brushed his shirt off and turned to walk back to his chair, but Michael was blocking his way. "Where do you think you're going?" sneered Michael.
"Yeah, I think you should go for a swim!" said Terrace, laughing nastily. He shoved Tom towards the pool.
Tom didn't reply, his gaze narrowing dangerously. I'll make them pay, he thought. As Michael and Robbie both lunged at him, Tom moved quickly, which resulted in the two bullies falling into the water with a loud splash.
Tom turned to watch as they sputtered to the surface, coughing. They both snarled, moving for the edge. "You prat," said Michael angrily.
Tom felt something stir inside him and he found himself whispering, "Hold him under." His eyes widened only slightly as he watched Michael suddenly turn, as if led by an invisible hand, and shove Robbie under the water. How…did I just make him do that? wondered Tom, but secretly he was very pleased. Perhaps they would learn not to harass him anymore.
"Michael! What are you doing!" came the frantic voice of Mrs. Cole.
"You let him up this instant!" came the sharp voice of Mrs. Everenst. Michael blinked and suddenly let go of Robbie, staggering back in the water. He stared, wide-eyed as Robbie surfaced, choking on water. "Robbie!" Mrs. Everenst cried, rushing to the aid of her son. She helped him out of the pool to the tiled floor, where he knelt, still coughing up water.
Mrs. Cole looked at Michael, who had a horrified expression on his face. "What were you thinking?" she demanded.
"I – Mrs. Cole – I, I didn't –" he stammered.
Tom merely smirked and when Mrs. Cole looked at him, he immediately put an innocent look on his face. "I saw it, Mrs. Cole. Michael tried to drown Robbie."
Mrs. Cole shook her head in disbelief, looking at Michael. "You, boy, are in serious trouble. Get out of that pool. You're coming with me."
Once Michael climbed out of the pool, he continued to protest as Mrs. Cole led him out of the room. Satisfied, Tom walked back over to his chair, taking a seat and leaning back, folding his arms behind his head. Part of him was very pleased at what had happened while the other was still very confused. How did I do that? First I can talk to snakes…now I can make people do things that I want them to? He felt a giddy rush of pleasure run through his body at the prospect of being able to have control over other people and make them do what he wanted. The best part of all was that he would learn how to do it so that no one could ever prove it was him.
New Years Eve came with a nasty blizzard and as a result, everyone was stuck inside. Several of the boys and girls had begun a game of tag, racing up and down the vast corridors. Tom had elected to sit in the drawing room, reading one of his favorite books, The Prince and the Pauper. He wouldn't mind switching places with someone like that, just to see what it would be like. Anything would be better than this, he thought, glancing around the gloomy room. The wind howled outside, sending sheets of snow spattering against the windows in a steady drum.
Joanna, a fourteen year old, sat nearby in a rocking chair, working on a needlepoint. She took a sip of her water, setting it back down on the end table next to her, and continued to work. Tom flipped another page in his book, finally getting to the interesting part, when the two boys had been discovered. Why are there so many Tom's? he thought with a frown. He hated the fact that his name made him just another Tom, a face in a sea of people. He wanted to be special, different from everyone else. In the orphanage, they all wore the same gray clothes. I'm far more special than any of them, he thought fiercely. I can do things that they wish they could do. Over the past few months, he had grown to discover that if he concentrated, he could force animals and people to do what he wanted. Margaret, a small, nine-year old, had been chasing him around one day and wouldn't leave him alone. So he told her tie her shoe-laces together and go downstairs. This resulted in her falling down a flight and a half and needing medical treatment. He had snuck into her room, while she was at the hospital, and stole a pair of her shoelaces, tucking them into a box that he kept in his wardrobe. His trophies were beginning to add up and he planned on adding more.
He suddenly felt something wet by his fingers and looked down to see water covering his book. He stared, stunned, not knowing how it had happened. The ink was beginning to blur and he felt a rush of anger jet through him. His head jerked up and he saw Joanna staring at him, horrified. "I'm sorry, Tom!" she said quickly. "I didn't mean to! The glass just fell!"
So it had been her who had ruined his favorite book. He suddenly wanted to see her precious needlework ruined, just like she had done to his book. At that moment, her needlework flew up into the air, beginning to unravel. Joanna stared, wide-eyed at it. Then it flew at her and she screamed, stumbling out of her chair and running for the door, the needlework following close behind. He heard her screams echo down the hall and eventually dissipate as she ran away. The needlework fell to the floor by the now open door and Tom could only stare. Had he done that?
He looked back down at his book and tried to dry the pages with the sleeve of his tunic. Thankfully, it looked like only a few of the pages had been blurred, saving the rest of the book. He'd finish it another time; he had more interesting matters at hand. He set the book to the side, standing and walking over to the needlework. He picked it up, turning it over in his hand. It looked normal enough. How did it move like that? he wondered. Walking back over to her chair, he set the needlework down on the seat. On the end table sat a pin cushion and two silver thimbles. He picked one of the thimbles up and stuck it in his pocket. Then he walked over to one of the bookshelves, selecting a book. Placing it on the floor, he sat down across from it and began to concentrate. Move, he thought.
It didn't move.
He frowned and trying to imagine the book moving, but it still stay stubbornly still.
After countless tries, his head hurt and he was frustrated. He kicked the book in retaliation, sending it skidding across the floor to come to a halt at the base of the bookshelf. Standing, he walked towards the door and was about to leave when he felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck.
He turned around to see that the book was hovering in the air. His eyes widened and then he quickly recovered, intent on seeing if he could control it. But as soon as he focused, the book fell. He muttered a curse, but his determination did not falter. He would be able to control the objects, it would just take practice. He heard the grandfather clock chime out in the hall. Midnight. I'm nine years old now, he thought. He looked out the window, where he knew the blizzard still blew hard and fierce. What a way to spend my birthday. He sighed and walked out of the room.
Spring came with heavy rains, fog, and cool temperatures. As they entered May, Tom busied himself by tending to a small plant that he had found by the edge of the woods. It had spiky, dark green leaves, and was still very tiny. It gave him something to focus on and he found that he liked taking care of it.
However, one afternoon, when he went to check on his plant, he found it half-eaten. The culprit was Billy Stubb's black rabbit, who sat happily munching a few feet away. He glared darkly and stomped out the remainder of the plant, crushing it into the dirt. Not like I needed it anyways, he thought angrily. Then he turned towards the rabbit, which was looking up at him with round eyes. Since Billy constantly held it, it wasn't afraid of people. Too bad for it, thought Tom menacingly.
"Come here," he commanded quietly, his gaze cold as he looked upon the small rabbit. It hopped obediently towards him and he felt that familiar twinge of power. This would be a test, to see if he could really control animals. The rabbit paused at his feet, its whiskers twitching. It was still munching on the remainder of his plant. "Stop breathing."
He watched in satisfaction as the rabbit almost seemed to freeze in place. Almost immediately it began to twitch, falling sideways to the ground.
"Salma!"
Tom looked up to see Billy walking in his general direction, looking around for his rabbit. His gaze landed on the rabbit and he ran over. "Salma!" Billy scooped up his twitching rabbit into his hands, looking frightened. Tom released his hold on the rabbit and Salma shuddered as it let out a breath. Billy glared at Tom. "What were you doing?"
"What are you talking about," said Tom coolly.
"You think that just because Robbie ain't here no more that you can walk all over everyone? You're always whispering to the animals and all your friends have left you," sneered Billy. "Why would anyone want to stay around you? I know that it's you behind all those accidents."
"Is that so? Prove it." Tom's voice grew colder.
"I don't need to. You'll get what's coming to you, just you wait."
"I wouldn't threaten me, if I were you."
"Or what? You try anything and they'll kick you out of the orphanage."
"Good," muttered Tom but then said, "They can't prove I did anything."
"One day, Riddle. You know, Joseph's right about you. You really are pathetic, not even your mother wanted to keep you," spat Billy.
Tom glared. "Who bloody cares?"
"I bet your father saw how freaky you were and helped your mum get rid of you," Billy continued to taunt. "Ooh, getting angry? I'm not scared, Riddle. You're nothing. Even Henry's moved to another room. No one wants to be around you."
Tom was simmering with anger but kept it controlled, glaring venomously at Billy. "At least I don't carry that toe rag around with me all the time."
"No, you just play with your imaginary friends," retorted Billy.
"Boys!" They both looked to see Maggie, the head housekeeper, rushing over to them. Her graying hair was coming out of her bun, leaving a few wisps to frame her wrinkled face. She wore a black, short-sleeved dress, and a white apron. She clucked her tongue, moving between them. "No more fighting. Billy, Mrs. Cole wants you and a few of the other boys to help clean out the attic. Give me Salma," she said, taking the rabbit from a protesting Billy. "Now shoo." Billy glared but turned, walking away. He went back inside the orphanage, but not before giving Tom one last sneer. Tom ignored him, his eyes on Maggie. Her gaze softened. "Tom, why don't you help Bridget in the kitchen? She'll be needing a strong pair of arms to help stock the pantry." She put a hand on Tom's shoulder, which he shrugged off. She sighed. "I don't know what happened, Tom, to make you change so much."
"I don't need sympathy," he said coldly and turned, walking towards the back door. He hated people feeling sorry for him. He didn't need anyone. He went inside, letting the door slam behind him.
That following night, Tom was heading back from the bathroom when he saw Salma hopping down the hall. His gaze narrowed and he smirked slightly. I'll teach Billy not to mess with me, he thought. "Salma, come here," he said quietly, crouching down and holding out his hands. The rabbit stopped, peering at him, as if remembering that it got hurt the last time it was near him. It turned to scamper off when Tom said, "Stop." His voice rung with his command and Salma stopped. His smirk deepened. Brilliant. "Now come here." The rabbit turned and hopped obediently into Tom's waiting hands. He stood up, his long fingers holding it lightly. He walked down the hall, hearing voices around the corner. He spotted Billy and Terrace walking towards the bathroom and Tom slipped silently into their room. Their room was just the same as all the others, with two iron bedsteads, gray blankets, and two wardrobes. A single window let in the moonlight, adding to the feeble light from a small lamp.
Salma squirmed in Tom's hands and he glanced down at it. "Be still." Salma stopped moving, its whispers still twitching, as if trying to figure out what was going on. Tom spotted the ball of yarn that Terrace was always playing with and set Salma down on the end of a bed. Then he glanced up at the ceiling, which comprised of low rafters. Smirking, he picked up the ball of yarn and unraveled some of it, tying it in a loop. Then he threw the ball over the rafters, an easy feat for him, as he was quite tall. He wrapped the loop around Salma's neck and then lifted the rabbit up onto the rafter. He tied the string to the rafter, whispering, "Don't move," to Salma, who did exactly what he said. He set the ball of string in a nook, so it wouldn't fall and then stepped back.
His gaze was cold and unfeeling as he commanded, "Jump."
Tom was already in his room when he suddenly heard a loud yell followed by several other yells and loud talking. He heard the thundering of footsteps come up the stairs and pass by his room. He just smirked and flipped a page in his book, A look into History, that he had taken from the study. He heard a scream and just chuckled. Guess they found the little black rabbit. He stood, setting the book down, and then walked out of his room, deciding to uphold appearances and seem concerned.
"What's going on?" he asked innocently, looking at the large group of people gathered outside Billy and Terrace's room.
Mrs. Cole's face was white as a sheet as she came out of the room. Maggie reached to comfort her, putting her arms around the older woman. Mrs. Cole's gaze landed on Tom. "Did you do that?" she asked.
"Do what?" All eyes were on him now but he remained as calm as always.
"Hang Billy's poor rabbit from the rafters!"
"No, why would I? I was in my room all this time, you can ask anyone."
"Is that true?" Mrs. Cole asked, looking at a boy named Richie. Richie glanced at Tom, whose gaze only narrowed slightly.
Richie looked quickly back to Mrs. Cole. "Yes, Mrs. Cole. I saw him in there."
Tom smirked inwardly, all the while looking completely innocent. "I swear, Mrs. Cole, I would never do that! You know I love animals," said Tom, in a sickening sweet voice.
Mrs. Cole seemed satisfied with it and just shook her head. "The poor thing. Terrible. Terrible. Maggie, take care of it and have Terrace and Billy sleep in Henry and Sam's room tonight."
"Of course, ma'am," said Maggie and she began ushering the other children back into their rooms. "Nothing to see. Off to bed with you."
Mrs. Cole passed by Tom, still looking pale and clammy. He watched as she disappeared down the stairs and then turned, returning to his own room. That's what people get when they make me angry.
The summer came and went in a flash. They visited a small, sea-side town for a few weeks, which was a pleasant change. Most of the children went swimming, but Tom stayed back, finding a few snakes that he could converse with. He continued to practice moving objects, getting better all the time, until he could make them move easily and at his command. He also found that, given practice, he could make bad things happen to people that hurt him. Before, it had just been something that happened when he was angry and his emotions went wild. But now, if he concentrated, he could cause the things to happen whenever he chose. This resulted in the majority of the orphans becoming quite scared of him, but never telling on him, as they were afraid that he would do something far worse. His trophies were accumulating and he soon found himself with quite a collection.
As his tenth birthday came and passed, he grew even taller, his clothes quickly becoming too small for his lanky frame.
He would often sit in his room, looking through his trophies, or reading a book. The adults seemed wary of him, as if they thought he was behind the nasty incidents that occurred frequently, but couldn't prove it. Well, adults weren't very bright anyways, was his reasoning. They underestimated him, which was a big mistake.
One late April afternoon, Tom was sitting outside on the chain swing, just moving back and forth, watching as his trainers dragged in the dirt. He wondered, vaguely, how Vincent and Shawn were doing, but quickly pushed the thought from his mind. They were out of his life and he never wanted to see them again. He had grown stronger over the past year and he could take care of himself.
He heard music and looked over to see Rudolph walking by, playing on his mouth organ. He wasn't very good and the sounds hurt Tom's ears. "Go play that somewhere else, will you?" asked Tom, wincing.
Rudolph paused, looking at him and then turned, walking quickly away. Tom saw him shove the mouth organ into his pocket. No one wanted to be near him now and they rarely spoke around him. Probably think I'll do something to them if they do, he thought. He couldn't deny the fact that he was lonely and he wouldn't mind having some companionship. Sure, he had his snakes, and they would often visit him, but it wasn't the same. Unfortunately, despite his best efforts, memories of the pranks he played with Vincent slithered their way into his consciousness. This made it even harder, knowing that he was very much alone.
"I hate it here," he muttered, shoving the toe of his trainer into the dirt with particular venom. Then he stood, shoving the swing away and stuck his hands in his pockets, taking a walk.
Later that day, Tom was heading to his room when he saw Rudolph playing on his mouth organ again. He was sitting on the floor by the banister, his legs hanging off over the landing. Tom had had just about enough of it and paused, concentrating. He watched as the mouth organ suddenly flew out of Rudolph's hands and smacked him over the forehead.
"Ow!" cried Rudolph, his hands flying up to protect his face. A nasty red welt was already beginning to rise on his forehead. The organ, however, was relentless and kept battering at his hands, since they were in the way of his face. He stumbled up, crying, and ran, nearly tripping down the stairs. "Mrs. Cole!"
Tom just smirked and continued to walk. After using the restroom, he headed back towards his room, spotting Rudolph's mouth organ just lying on the carpeted floor. He reached down, picking it up and pocketing it. Another trophy for my collection. He chuckled and went to his room.
About a week after they had returned from Vanderlin, the sea-side town that they always visited on their summer outings, Tom decided to go into London. A bus always passed by at the same time every day, taking its passengers into the city. He had been to London several times and always managed to slip away from the adults. He could take care of himself and he didn't need anyone watching over him.
After asking permission from Mrs. Cole, who gave him a few pounds to use for his fare, Tom accompanied Lissi into London. He knew that Mrs. Cole would never let him go off on his own, but Lissi seemed to think otherwise. She either thought he was very mature for a ten-year old, or she was scared of him and didn't want to be around him more than she had to.
Either way, Tom soon found himself wandering the streets of London. He was due back to the bus stop at four o'clock to head back to the orphanage. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he paused to look up at King's Cross Station. I could just get on a train and leave. They'd never notice. Besides, they probably would be glad to get rid of me, he thought. I wouldn't mind leaving either. The wind was slightly chilly that September morning and Tom's thin clothes did little to ease the bite.
However, his attention was drawn to a dark-haired, portly, middle-aged woman struggling with a little, brown-haired girl. "Come now, Minerva, we'll be late if we don't hurry! It's nearly eleven o'clock!"
"Mum, I don't have Ralphie! I can't go without him!" she protested, trying to tug her hand free of her mother's grasp.
The woman looked extremely exasperated. "Honestly, Minerva! It's your second year. Shoo! I'll bring Ralphie to the platform." She ushered her daughter up the stairs, who was struggling with a trolley packed with brown paper wrapped packages. The girl disappeared into the train station and Tom watched as the woman tugged a wire-cage out of the backseat of a black car. To Tom's surprise, it contained an eagle owl, which was flapping and hooting as the woman struggled to hurry up the stairs, carrying the cage.
An owl? Curious, he thought, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. He continued his walk down the street, glancing back only once at the station. He turned down a smaller street that wound between two stretches of buildings. Awnings hung over the street, making it seem even smaller. People went about their daily business, ignoring him for the most part. As Tom exited into the open air once again, he spotted a small park, which held an old, rusty swing-set. There were a couple of children playing in the grass, running around and trying to catch each other.
"Bernie! Michelle! Rollie! Lunch time!" Tom looked to see a tall, young woman standing at the edge of the park, her blue dress covered by a stained apron. She looked harried as she tried to usher the children back into a short, squat building. Then Tom noticed the sign next to the open door: St. Augustine Orphanage. Behind the building rose a tall church steeple. The door closed as the woman and children entered, leaving Tom alone in the streets.
The rest of the day went quickly, as he explored the streets and some of the smaller shops. There was nothing of particular interest and wouldn't be until he returned a fortnight later to London.
The weather was growing colder as September neared its end. Tom, bundled up as best he could be in a worn jacket, took the bus into London. He had nicked a ten pound note from Mrs. Cole's office and decided to do a bit of his own exploring, without any adults. Every day there was always a span of a few hours that he could spend in his room and no one bothered him. So that afternoon, he snuck onto the bus and headed partially into the city.
He was walking down Vauxhall Bridge Road when he spotted a small bookshop store on the corner. Crossing the street quickly, he entered, hearing a bell jingle. "I'll be right with you!" called a voice from behind the many bookshelves. The store, which appeared small on the outside, was actually much larger. The room stretched far into the back, with rows of bookshelves. Many of the books near the top had a layer of dust and looked ready to fall apart. Long tables had been set up against one of the walls beneath two square windows. Each table had a brightly lit lamp and there were two small chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, spreading a good amount of light across the room. Tom walked between two bookshelves, his eyes scanning the titles for something of interest.
"Can I help you?"
Tom looked to see an older man standing between the bookshelves, carrying a stack of books in his arms. His white hair stuck out in all directions and his glasses were smudged. He looked as though he had been cleaning. "Hello. No, I'm just looking," said Tom.
"Very good."
Tom turned to go down another aisle, feeling the man's eyes on him all the while. It was as if the owner didn't trust him. But then again, he looked to be just a ten-year old boy in worn clothing, someone that could try to steal one of his precious books.
Even at the end of an hour, he still hadn't found anything that captured his interest. Most of the books were falling apart and had a moldy odor to them. Once outside, he took a breath of the fresh, cold air and stuck his hands into his pockets, walking again.
He came upon a small variety store down the road and entered. There was a small café to the right, with two round tables and a counter. Above the counter listed several food and drink items that could be purchased. To the left of the café was a shop that held a variety of items anywhere from traveler maps to bottled soda. Tom walked through the store, finding a bookshelf in the back that contained books and magazines. A plain black cover book caught Tom's attention and he picked it up, flipping through the blank pages. It looked to be some sort of diary. Turning it over, he saw that on the bottom was printed 'Ned's Variety Store, Vauxhall Road, London'. Checking the price, he saw that it was in his range, and decided to buy it. Don't know when I'd ever have a use for a diary, but it could come in useful, he thought. There was just something about it, a feeling he had, that he might as well buy it. His gut feelings had never been wrong before, so he would go along with it. Walking up to the counter, he set down the diary and his ten pound note. "I'd like this."
The young girl who was ringing up orders turned to look at him. She reminded him of a fish, with large eyes and flat features. Her stringy blond hair was hung loosely around her face and her clothes seemed a bit too snug on her large frame. She was a few inches shorter than him and he just looked at her coolly. He watched as her gaze moved over his worn clothes and then to his money.
"Anything else?" she finally asked. Her voice was reedy and annoying.
"No."
She looked at him for a few more moments and then rung him up, giving him his change. He stuck the diary into his pocket as well as the rest of his money, and headed out.
The holidays came and went, along with Tom's eleventh birthday. He didn't get anything, as usual, but it had come to the point where he didn't even care anymore. Every day was monotonous and long and Tom wondered when he'd ever get out. He busied himself with improving his abilities: talking to snakes, controlling animals, and making things move through the air.
There were a few new arrivals to the orphanage, Martha Higgins and Eric Walley. They seemed to find it amusing to taunt Tom, until he made them pay. Eric broke out in a severe rash and Martha fell off the swing, breaking her wrist.
One spring afternoon, he heard Mrs. Cole talking to some of the other adults about him.
" – should send him there. It would stop the problems for sure!" said a woman.
"But how would that solve anything?" asked Mrs. Cole. "He couldn't possibly have done those things…" but she seemed unsure.
"No? Then why is it that every time someone is around Tom or when they make him mad, that something nasty happens to them?" asked another woman, whom Tom recognized as Maggie, the head housekeeper.
"The asylum would help," said a man.
Tom's gaze narrowed as he listened, his back against the wall in the corridor. How dare they…I'm not nutters and I don't need some stupid asylum. They don't know what they're talking about.
He heard someone sigh. "We can't just lock him away, Fredrick," said Mrs. Cole. "God only knows that some of the children might sleep better though."
"They're all terrified of him," said Maggie
"How many incidents have occurred?" asked Fredrick.
"In the past month?" asked Mrs. Cole.
"There's been that many?" asked the other woman in shock.
"You saw what happened to Taylor," answered Maggie. "He fell into that well and would never have been found if not for Lissi hearing him crying. And that's only happened in the past few days."
"We can't prove it was Tom, Maggie," said Mrs. Cole.
"Well we need to do something," said Fredrick. "If these nasty incidents keep occurring, who knows what could happen next?"
"But what if it doesn't solve anything?" asked the woman.
"It'll relieve stress, I know that," said Maggie.
Tom didn't stick around to hear anything else, simmering with rage. Who do they think they are? Talking about me, trying to lock me up. They'll wish they never even thought about it. He stormed back to his room, slamming the door shut.
However, weeks passed and there was no sign of the adults trying to send Tom away. May came with heavy rains but warmer temperatures. Tom hadn't done anything in the past month to anyone, keeping to himself and reading. His box of trophies, along with the diary he had bought sat in his wardrobe, along with a few articles of clothing and a pile of his favorite books.
He had made Maggie and Fredrick pay, of course, for trying to send him away. Maggie had been burned severely when the stove backfired and was taken to the hospital. Fredrick was driving back from London when a wild deer had rammed into his car just outside the orphanage. He had survived, but just barely.
Tom often sat by his window in a wooden chair, looking outside at nothing in particular. One afternoon, he was going through the things in his wardrobe when he stumbled across an old photograph. It was of him and Vincent. Something pulled inside of him, seeing the happy smiles on their faces.
Walking over to his window seat, he sat down, holding the photograph in his long fingers. Vincent. He hadn't thought about Vincent in over a year, but now found himself wondering where he was, what he was doing. Perhaps a small part of him missed his former best friend, but then he would remember that Vincent had a happy life now, and Tom was stuck in this miserable hell hole. He sneered slightly at the smiling boys, standing in front of the nunnery. Happy. Hah. What is that? The only time I feel good is when I use my abilities. I was naïve then. I've learned a lot since those days and learned it the hard way. The only thing you can ever count on is yourself. I wonder if my father is still alive. Tom Riddle Sr. I'd like to teach him a lesson for leaving my mother to die. He threw the photograph into the trash with disgust. Happiness is overrated.