Chosen to Rise; Destined to Fall
Part Two: The Beginning
Chapter Nine-
- Strange Arrival -
It had been a month since the incident at the sea-side town of Vanderlin, but Dennis and Amy were still terrified of Tom. He enjoyed having that control over people. It made him feel less alone. He didn't need friends. What was their purpose? They only hurt. After Vincent and Shawn had left, Tom didn't speak to Henry or Joseph. Even three years later, he still had minimal contact with them, preferring his books instead. Every few days he would go get a new book out of the library in London and finish it that night. People thought he was strange. He knew differently. He was special. Very special. However, even he wouldn't realize his true potential until a stranger came knocking one warm June day.
Tom was sitting on a large swing out in the yard, his lanky form sprawled out over the wooden frame. The swing was large enough for two people and hung from the back porch, nicely shaded. He was dressed in a white shirt that was too large for him. He had already torn off the sleeves, which had had holes in them, and wore his usual grey trousers and white trainers. Moby Dick was propped up against his thighs and his long, graceful fingers turned the pages deftly. His dark eyes glanced up, skimming the play yard. Amy and Dennis were no where to be seen, but that was common now. They hadn't spoken save for a few words, since the cave incident, believing that Tom would do something horrible to them if they did. Even Michael and his gang had finally conceded to leave Tom alone. Surprisingly enough, thought Tom.
His gaze landed on one of the windows nearby, in which he could see his reflection. He was handsome and he realized that. Too many girls giggled as he passed when he walked the streets of London. As one of his two presents this year, he had received a long, black coat that he only wore when he was in London. It helped to hide his shabby clothes and enabled him to get in places that he otherwise wasn't allowed. He looked older for his age and far more mature. With raven locks of wavy hair, piercing dark eyes, fair skin, and standing at nearly 5'5" already, he could have been one of those poster boys he always saw on advertisements. But he didn't care. It wasn't something that amused him or was even remotely interesting. Neither were girls for that matter. They giggled too much and were far too bloody annoying.
"What are you reading?" asked a voice.
Tom looked down to see one of his frequent visitors, a black and dark brown adder. It had slithered up onto the seat and was coiled next to him. He reached down, allowing the adder to slither onto his hand, winding its tail around his wrist. He lifted his hand, watching the snake with a slight smile.
"Moby Dick. An interesting book."
"I ssseee." The adder turned its head to look at the book and then snaked its way around Tom's upper arm. Its tongue flickered, tasting the air. It looked at Tom. "What isss ssso interesssting about booksss?"
"If you could read, you'd understand. It's something to do when I'm bored."
"Why don't you have sssome fun?" The snake knew, of course, what Tom's idea of fun was, and approved. It usually came up with rather good plans, giving Tom new ideas. However, Tom had been playing it low since the cave incident and overhearing the conversation between the adults about trying to lock him up. They couldn't prove anything, but he wasn't stupid enough to do something that would send him to the asylum. He wasn't crazy and being in there would be even worse than the orphanage, if that was possible. At least here he was free to roam London. If he was locked up, then he wouldn't be able to have any fun.
"Perhaps I will." He shut his book, tucking it under his arm and stood. The adder slid down his arm, dropping onto the swing and then the ground. He watched as it slithered off into the shadows, disappearing into the grass.
The heat was beginning to bother him and so he went inside, heading up to his room. He put his book inside his wardrobe and left his room. He was washing his face in the washroom when Henry entered. Tom lifted his head, drying his face with a towel. He saw Henry in the reflection of the mirror and turned to face him. Henry once towered over him, but now they were eye-level. Henry, however, was muscular and quite large, compared to Tom.
"Tom," said Henry, finally.
"Surprised you remembered my name," said Tom coldly, setting the washcloth down and walking towards the door. Henry reached out and stopped Tom, touching his arm. Tom glanced distastefully at the boy's hand and then looked to his eyes with distain. "What?"
Henry looked a bit taken back, removing his hand quickly. "Well, I, did you do something to Amy and Dennis?"
Tom's gaze narrowed. "Did they say something?"
Surprise appeared on Henry's face. "What? No. They just, well, they don't talk anymore. And you were the last person to be with them…before they stopped speaking, I mean."
"So what, you're accusing me now?" snapped Tom. "You should know me better than that."
Henry appeared unsure. "I, well, you've changed Tom."
"Well spotted." Tom shoved past Henry, walking out into the hall.
Henry looked after him. "Tom." Tom stopped but didn't turn around. "Why? You never smile anymore, you don't plan pranks…" his voice trailed off.
"People change," was all he said before walking back to his room and shutting the door.
Henry sighed, watching as Tom left. At the nunnery, Henry had always been the loud one, and the one that didn't care for the rules. He would often help Tom and Vincent in their pranks, enjoying the mischievousness. But there had always been the barrier of age, being four years older. Henry was fifteen now and planned on entering the services when he was old enough. It was something that interested him and would get him out of the orphanage. He understood change. He had changed, mellowing out. Tom, however, seemed to have grown bitter and cold. It was a drastic change from the fun-loving, easy-going, laughing boy that he had known so long ago. Anyone would go mad in this place, thought Henry, looking around.
He used the restroom and then went back to his room, flopping down on his bed. Joseph sat on the bed across the room, writing to his parents as usual. Henry had given up on tormenting him. It didn't get anywhere and it was pointless. At least Joseph still had hope, even though Henry knew that Joseph's parents were never coming to find him. It was the harsh truth but in this place, everyone needed a little hope, or they wouldn't last long.
"I'll send this out in the morning post," said Joseph, taking care to seal his letter. He set it on his dresser and looked at Henry. "What's gotten into you?"
Henry found his ratty ball that he liked to toss around and began throwing it up into the air, leaning against his pillows. "Talked to Tom."
Joseph arched an eyebrow. "That nutter? What'd you go and do that for?"
Henry glared slightly at Joseph. "He's not a nutter."
"Defending him now, are you?" asked Joseph with a slight sneer. "Still wanting to be friends with that git?"
"As a matter of fact, yes. I don't turn on my friends, unlike some people."
"What are you talking about?"
"You know exactly what I'm talking about." It was common knowledge that Joseph often joined Michael and his friends in torturing some of the other children, and sometimes even taunting Henry. Henry just ignored their childish behavior.
Joseph just rolled his eyes. "Whatever." He stood and walked out, leaving the door cracked open slightly.
"Here we are," Henry heard Mrs. Cole's voice waft out from the hallway. He heard knocking and, curious, Henry climbed out of his bed and stuck his head out into the hall. What he saw shocked him. Mrs. Cole stood in front of Tom's door with a tall, auburn-bearded man wearing a flamboyantly cut suit of plum velvet. Henry's eyebrows rose. Who's he? And what is he wearing?
Mrs. Cole opened Tom's door, entering. The man followed and the door shut. Henry tiptoed down the hall, curiosity getting the better of him.
Meanwhile, Tom was sitting on his bed, stretched out, reading Moby Dick again. He had opened the window, allowing some of the cool breeze to waft through, rustling his hair and the pages of his book. Even being on the second floor, it was almost unbearably hot.
Tom heard knocking and glanced at the door, watching as it opened. Mrs. Cole stepped through, followed by a tall man dressed in very strange clothes. Did he get dressed in the dark? he wondered, arching an eyebrow.
"Tom?" said Mrs. Cole. "You've got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumberton – sorry, Dunderbore. He's come to tell you – well, I'll let him do it." She stepped out, closing the door behind her.
Tom's gaze narrowed slightly as he continued to look at the man.
"How do you do, Tom?" said the man, walking forward and holding out his hand. Tom looked at it, hesitated, but finally shook it. He watched as the man pulled up a wooden chair, taking a seat. "I am Professor Dumbledore."
"Professor?" repeated Tom warily. "Is that like 'doctor'? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?" he asked, jabbing a finger towards the door.
"No, no," said Dumbledore, smiling.
"I don't believe you." He glared slightly. "She wants me looked at, doesn't she? Tell the truth!" he commanded. His voice rung with startling force, his glare deepening. However, annoyingly enough, Dumbledore kept smiling. Finally, Tom's glare faded away, replaced by wariness. "Who are you?"
"I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school – your new school, if you would like to come."
Tom immediately leapt off the bed, backing away from Dumbledore, furious. Who the bloody hell does he think he is? He thought with vengeance. Does he think I'm stupid! I know what those adults were talking about, trying to send me into that nut house. It's all because of that cave incident! "You can't kid me!" he spat. "The asylum, that's where you're from, isn't it? 'Professor,' yes, of course – well, I'm not going, see? That old cat's the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they'll tell you!"
"I am not from the asylum," said Dumbledore patiently, which only infuriated Tom more. How dare he just sit there and smile at me! Tom thought angrily. "I am a teacher and, if you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about Hogwarts. Of course, if you would rather not come to the school, nobody will force you –"
"I'd like to see them try," sneered Tom.
"Hogwarts," Dumbledore continued, "is a school for people with special abilities –"
"I'm not mad!"
"I know that you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school for magic."
Tom froze, staring at Dumbledore, as if not quite comprehending what he had just said. He face was expressionless, his gaze darting over Dumbledore's face, trying to see if he was just fooling around. It took a few long minutes before Tom finally whispered, "Magic?"
"That's right."
"It's….it's magic, what I can do?" He felt something rise inside of him, a sort of giddy pleasure. It was hot, searing through his body, making him almost shiver in excitement. I knew it! I knew it!
"What is it that you can do?"
"All sorts," he breathed. He could feel the heat rising through his body, excitement filling him. "I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to." He could feel his legs trembling and stumbled forward. Taking a seat on his bed, he stared at his hands, his head bowed slightly. I can't believe it…it's…magic…really magic! I've read about it, so much…but I didn't believe it was real! "I knew I was different," he whispered, watching his quivering fingers. "I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something."
"Well, you are quite right," said Dumbledore. "You are a wizard."
Tom lifted his head, wild happiness replacing his stunned look. "Are you a wizard too?" he asked eagerly.
"Yes, I am."
"Prove it," he commanded.
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts – "
"Of course I am!" Anything to get out of here! This is a dream come true!
"Then you will address me as 'Professor' or 'sir'."
Tom's gaze hardened upon the reprimand but then it was gone, replaced by his eagerness. "I'm sorry, sir," he said politely, using his charm that he had a knack for. "I meant – please, Professor, could you show me?"
Tom watched as Dumbledore drew out a long, thin stick from inside his suit jacket and pointed it at his wardrobe. Dumbledore gave the stick a casual flick and suddenly the wardrobe burst into flames.
Tom jumped to his feet, howling in shock and rage. My books! My things! How dare he! Tom rounded on Dumbledore, ready to make him pay, when the flames suddenly vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged. Tom stared at the wardrobe, unsure as to what had just transpired. Then he looked at Dumbledore's stick, eagerness once again filling his voice. "Where can I get one of them?"
"All in good time. I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe."
A faint rattling could be heard from inside the wardrobe and Tom spun to face it, frightened. What the…
"Open the door," said Dumbledore.
Tom hesitated, then crossed the room and threw open the wardrobe door. On the topmost shelf, above a rail of threadbare clothes, sat his small, cardboard box of trophies. It was shaking and rattling as though there were several frantic mice trapped inside it.
"Take it out," said Dumbledore. Tom took the quaking box, unnerved. How… "Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?"
Tom threw Dumbledore a long, clear, calculating look. How did he… he wondered. "Yes, I suppose so, sir," he said finally, his voice expressionless.
"Open it."
Tom took off the lid and tipped the contents onto his bed without looking at them. He knew what they were: all his trophies from his triumphs. Once free of the box, they stopped quivering and lay quite still upon the thin blankets. He stared coldly and appraisingly at Dumbledore, none too happy.
"You will return them to their owners with their apologies," said Dumbledore calmly. "I shall know whether it has been done. And be warned: Thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts."
Tom's expression didn't change, remaining cold. "Yes sir," he finally said, in a colorless voice.
"At Hogwarts, we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have – inadvertently, I am sure – been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic – yes, there is a Ministry – will punish lawbreakers still more severely. All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide by our laws."
"Yes, sir." His face remained blank as he reached down, putting his trophies back into the box. We'll just see about that, he thought. I have my ways. When he finished, he looked back at Dumbledore and said baldly, "I haven't got any money."
"That is easily remedied," said Dumbledore, drawing a leather money-pouch from his pocket. Tom took the pouch, opening it and reaching in, feeling cool metal coins beneath his fingers. "There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books and robes. You might have to buy some of your spellbooks and so on secondhand but –"
"Where do you buy spellbooks?" interrupted Tom, examining a fat gold coin.
"In Diagon Alley. I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything –"
"You're coming with me?" asked Tom, looking up.
"Certainty, if you –"
I don't need anyone! "I don't need you. I'm used to doing things for myself, I go round London on my own all the time. How do you get to this Diagon Alley – sir?" he added, catching Dumbledore's eye.
Dumbledore handed Tom the envelope containing his list of equipment, and after telling Tom exactly how to get to the Leaky Cauldron from the orphanage, he said, "You will be able to see it, although Muggles around you – non-magical people, that is – will not. Ask for Tom the barman – easy enough to remember, as he shares your name –"
Tom gave an irritable twitch, displeased. Why does everyone have my name? Even people in the stories I read.
"You dislike the name Tom?"
"There are a lot of Toms," muttered Tom. Then something came to him. "Was my father a wizard? He was called Tom Riddle too, they've told me."
"I'm afraid I don't know," said Dumbledore, his voice gentle.
"My mother can't have been magic, or she wouldn't have died," said Tom, more to himself than Dumbledore. "It must've been him." Question is…why did he leave my mother to die? "Sir – when I've got all my stuff – when do I come to this Hogwarts?"
"All the details are on the second piece of parchment in your envelope. You will leave from King's Cross Station on the first of September. There is a train ticket in there too."
Tom nodded, watching as Dumbledore got to his feet. I wonder… Dumbledore held out his hand and taking it, Tom said, "I can speak to snakes. I found out when we've been to the country on trips – they find me, they whisper to me. Is that normal for a wizard?"
"It is unusual," said Dumbledore, after a moment's hesitation. He's hiding something from me, thought Tom. "But not unheard of." Dumbledore's eyes moved curiously over Tom's face and they stood there for a few moments, staring at each other. Finally, Dumbledore broke the handshake, walking towards the door. "Good-bye, Tom. I shall see you at Hogwarts."
Tom could only stare at the place where Dumbledore once stood, as the door shut behind the older man. Shaking, Tom looked down at the envelope in his hands, ready to burst with excitement. I just knew it! I knew I was different! This proves it! Magic! I'm a wizard! He glanced out the window, seeing that there was still plenty of daylight left. I've got to see this Diagon Alley! Setting down the envelope, he pulled on his grey tunic and then picked up the envelope again. Without a backwards glance, he left the orphanage, heading into London.