"Tom..."
"Not now, Harry."
"Why'd they tell us to look at a brick wall?"
"I don't know Harry."
"I just don't get it."
"If they decided to play games with us, they'll regret it."
"I don't think that was it... they didn't laugh or anything when we left."
"They could have laughed as soon as the door was closed."
"But it's their job to direct us, right? So... maybe we're just looking at it from the wrong angle."
"What prattle are you spouting now?"
"It's not prattle. We're looking at it like a brick wall. Maybe it's a trick."
"You... may be onto something. But it's not an illusion." Tom paused, leaning closer to inspect the wall carefully. "Unless..." reaching out, he tapped a few bricks, creating a series of quiet clicks, "the bricks are some sort of pass code..."
Soon, Tom stood back as the wall's bricks flipped and turned methodically until they instead formed an archway to a bustling, noisy, busy, chaotic street full of businesses and vendors selling all kinds of odd things. Toys that spun, flew, danced, sang, and spewed out liquid, owls in cages, people in long flowing dress like clothing, and creatures that didn't look the least bit human. It was absolute pandemonium, and the two boys could only stare in awe. While Harry was openly wide-eyed and had his jaw dropped nearly to the floor, Tom, in all of his controlled glory, simply had his eyes widened and body stock still, the same expression on his face as when their wardrobe burst into flames.
"Well?" Harry whirled around at the new voice behind them, and Tom paused before looking over his shoulder. It was a boy their age with a thin angled face, watery blue eyes, and straight platinum blonde hair that was cut short just above the shoulders. He was a little taller than Tom, and wore the long clothing that most on the street had on. On closer inspection, they were more like robes than dresses. Behind the new boy was a man who looked to be his father, standing tall, looming, silent, and stone-faced. "Hurry it up," the boy ordered.
Tom's eyes narrowed, and Harry glanced back at him nervously. Slowly, Tom spoke, his tone loud and clear to Harry that this boy had better correct his grievous mistake of ordering Tom Marvelo Riddle to do anything, and fast.
"I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me," the boy snapped, and glanced at Harry, lip curling in disgust as he scrutinized him up and down. "Are you two mudbloods?" Harry shifted uncomfortably when Tom tensed from someone looking at his Harry, left confused at the word used as if it was a slur. Tom blinked, which was the only sign of his lack of understanding. "Oh, you are then..." With only that, as he walked past them in complete dismissal, avoiding even his robes touching them, his father following suit.
For a long while Tom simply stared after them, and Harry watched as Tom's face became flushed and livid. He could tell what was running through Tom's mind at lightning pace. Horrible, scary, angry things. This sort of mood from Tom was rare, for no one in the orphanage dared slight him, so it had never been in such an intensity. Frightened, Harry shied away, but the movement was caught by Tom, who snapped his eyes in the messy haired boy's direction, making Harry flinch and freeze.
"T-Tom..."
"What? Are you scared of me Harry?"
"No!" Harry rushed to say, shaking his head. "No, I'm not scared of you. Let's just... get the things we need, okay? Then we can go home and you can get as angry as you want..." Harry slowly, hesitatingly reached over and gripped Tom's sleeve, careful not to wrinkle or pull on it. "Please?"
At first it looked like Tom was going to swat Harry away and take the slight the stranger had caused out on Harry. But after a few moments of studying the bright eyed boy, and then looking down at the trembling hand holding onto his clothing, he closed his eyes and sighed. He gently put his hand over Harry's and spoke soothingly.
"Very well..." with Tom successfully pacified, Harry relaxed, letting Tom pull him closer, stroking his hair, "don't worry Harry." Tom rested his chin on top of Harry's head, staring off after where the boy and his father were long gone, dark eyes planning and calculating already. "There's nothing I can do right now anyway." Harry nodded, just happy that he managed to avoid an unseemly scene that would have only made Tom even more upset later, ashamed for being an open book even for a moment. Tom could be calm, in fact he preferred to be, but he had a terrible temper despite himself. Suddenly Tom drew away, stepping back and releasing Harry. "Let's get going," he told Harry, walking forward into the oblivious chaos.
The bespectacled boy hurried to follow, unfazed by Tom's hot-and-cold attitude. Or at least, Harry assumed that's what it would look like to an outsider. Tom often had fleeting moments of affection, but his hate of physical touch would always catch up with him. He was thankful that his "moments of affection" only applied to snakes and Harry. Or at least that was what Tom liked to say.
It was even more crowded than it had looked, so Tom snatched Harry's unspoken job to read the list and point out places they needed to go to. The first of which was a robe shop. However, one look at the price of the cheapest robe and the boys, as unfamiliar with the strange new currency as they were, understood they wouldn't be able to buy anything there. At least the nice lady at the desk gave them directions to a cheap used store, even if it soured Tom's mood again to be degraded a second time. Harry was beginning to dread the time at school. However, they still managed to find two pairs of worn out robes, the black of the fabric faded to a dark gray, that at least went down close to their ankles. Next was to get their books and writing supplies. Harry suggested that they'd probably be able to borrow quills, parchment, and ink from the school when he saw that the textbooks alone would near clean them out. He didn't let Tom know just how dismal their funding was. For all of Tom's penniless lifestyle, he had a great deal of pride, and his expectation of greater things had risen with the news of this hidden society. Harry was already fearing that the twisting feeling in his gut forebode that Tom's expectations would come crashing down, for that would not end well for anyone. Especially for Harry, because his entire life was devoted to keeping Tom happy, and most importantly, calm. So, Harry skirted around saving money, and they finally went into the cluttered wand shop.
When Harry would look back on this day, this would be how he would recall it. Tom walked in first, as was natural, and when Harry followed he looked around with wide green eyes. It was dead silent inside the shop that had every compartment ajar, much different from all the other stops and the street outside. This one had an old, timeless, and oddly homely feel to it. It was warm, and the soft candle light glowed just enough to illuminate everything. No one was anywhere in sight, but just as Harry was about to check for a closed sign, he heard a thump from the back, making him jump and look around with startled eyes. Tom stepped up to the desk, and if he had been surprised by the sudden sound, it didn't show on his face.
"Hello? Is anyone here?" Tom was answered with a muffled, wheezy laugh.
"Yes, yes... forgive me, sometimes it's hard to greet customers all the way back here..." And old man, hunched over with crazy, frizzled white hair standing up on all sides hobbled over to the desk with a kind, but no less disconcerting smile. Harry supposed that this was the man named Olivander from the sign outside. "Good evening young lads, here for your first wands?" The two boys nodded wordlessly, staring at the shopkeeper, and he chuckled. "Yes, yes I thought so. But no time like the present, let's find the perfect one for each of you." Harry gestured to Tom, taking a step back.
"Tom first please." The old man chuckled again, and went into the back. Silence swept through the two boys, and Tom turned to look at his companion.
"Harry..."
"Yes Tom?"
"Come here," Tom ordered, holding up his hand, arm stretched out lazily. Harry quickly complied, stepping closer, and closed his eyes as Tom's thin, ice cold hands petted his head. "Good boy." Harry was enjoying the praise so much that he didn't notice that Olivander had come back into the shop carrying several rectangular boxes of varying lengths. Tom glanced at the old wand maker out of the corner of his eyes, not even pausing in his ministrations, speaking in that deceptively quiet, sweet voice. "How do you know which one's right for you?" Roused from his content bliss by Tom's breaking the silence, Harry opened his eyes to gaze up at Tom before sliding it over to see Olivander staring at them with a dazed, spellbound expression on his face. Harry looked down at his feet, a light blush spreading through his cheeks as Tom continued stroking his hair like they weren't being gawked at like lions in a zoo. Harry didn't care about Mrs. Cole, or Martha, or any of the children in the orphanage staring when Tom praised Harry. He didn't even really care when they watched when Tom was "punishing" him. But somehow with a complete stranger, it was different. He thought he could hear the soundless words int the air. What you're doing is strange. But was it? To Harry, Tom acting in this way was natural. He couldn't remember what it was like to think Tom's affection was abnormal. But still, harry couldn't quite fight down the shame that spouted up.
"You will know when you try it," the wand maker finally said, apparently out of whatever trance the sight of the two boys had put him in, and opened up one of the boxes. "Nine inches, maple, with a unicorn hair core." Tom stopped petting Harry to accept the smooth wooden stick that was held out to him. After a moment of nothing happening, Tom's eyes raised, wordlessly demanding an explanation. "Well, give it a whirl," Olivander simply encouraged.
Tom did, swiping the wand to the side like he was sweeping away a crowd, and a vase promptly exploded. Harry near screamed in fright, jumping back. Tom's eyes widened, even taking a step backwards himself. His nearly black eyes looked at Olivander, eyebrow raised questioningly. The old man looked disappointed, and pondering before opening a second box, holding out the wand.
"Eleven inches, cedar, unicorn hair." Tom set the first wand carefully down, and took hold of the second one. He didn't need any prompting this time, swiping it down forcefully, as if he were ordering the wand to obey. A white hot flash of light burst from the tip, forcing everyone in the shop to shield their eyes. When they all slowly lowered their arms, they found a smoking hold in the floor. There was a moment of silence, and Tom was the one to break it with a frustrated huff. Just when the outwardly cherubic boy was about to demand why this was taking so long, Olivander had turned back into the storerooms of the shop, abandoning the last box on the counter.
Harry reached over and took hold of Tom's sleeve. When Tom looked over his shoulder at the bespectacled boy, Harry smiled peacefully.
"I think this is the normal process, so maybe we should be patient." The look on Tom's face turned irate, so Harry quickly continued when he saw Olivander shuffling back over, only carrying two new boxes, one a little longer than the other. "Besides, it looks like he made a breakthrough."
"I think... this might be the one," the wand maker said quietly, opening up the longer box and holding out a white wand to Tom. As the dark eyed boy took hold of the handle that looked like it was made of bone, Tom reached over subtly and gripped Harry's hand until it hurt. Harry, with great practice, held back the grimace of pain and the whimper filled with dread. The silent warning that Harry had done something wrong, crossed some line, and that the moment they were behind closed doors, he would be punished for it had been given. And all Harry could do was wait for it to be done and over with so they could go back to normal. "Thirteen and a half inches, yew, and a phoenix feather core. Give it a try," Olivander near whispered, sounding excited.
Tom immediately complied, and his eyes lit up with wonder as black tendrils spread out from his wand and waved around like an anemone underwater, glimmering like crystal sand before fading into dust slowly. Tom's eyes raised to Olivander yet again, but this time he dared the wand maker to try to take this one from him. Thankfully, the old man had no intention of doing such a thing. He clapped his hands, and exclaimed excitedly, "I thought that might be the one!"
Before Harry could celebrate, the second box was opened and the handle of a brown wand was thrust in his face. He blinked, looking at Olivander, unsure of what he was meant to do for a moment. After a nod from the old wand maker, and an encouraging squeeze of his now probably bruised hand from Tom, he grasped the handle. As soon as he did, what could only be described as a heavenly light shined from the wand, reaching all the dark corners of the shop, and a light breeze ruffled Harry's hair before this too slowly went away.
"That was different from mine," Tom stated, a small frown on his face as he stared down at Harry's wand.
"Wands react differently for their wizards. Neither of yours is any less right for you," Olivander lectured gently before turning to Harry with a smile. "Eleven inches, holly, and with phoenix feather core." Harry's eyes widened slightly in surprised at that.
"The same kind of core as Tom's?" Bright green eyes glanced to the side, and dark ones caught their gaze. At least Tom seemed a little more pleased at that detail. Olivander's smile grew, and his tone took on a mystical, storyteller lilt.
"There is a man I know that keeps a phoenix, and one day it allowed me to take two of its feathers and make two wands with them. These, my boys, are those two wands. Made of the same core, and made at the same time."
When the old wand maker was finished, the two boys looked at each other.
"Twin wands, huh...?" Harry intoned, the same thought running through Tom's head.
"It suits us," Tom commented, and Olivander smiled proudly, "how much do they cost?"
It was when they returned to the orphanage by way of a strange and rather nausea imbuing trolley called the "Knight Bus," -that the bartender at the secret gate to Diagon Alley was kind enough to call for them- that Tom took Harry's hand in the hallway and held it up. While it wasn't bruised, there were still red marks in the shape of fingerprints curled around it, and dark eyes stared into emerald colored ones levelly past the abused flesh.
"You know what this means, yes?" It was then that Harry felt a pang of fear, for he had hoped that Tom's mood had softened enough for him to forget the scarred boy's earlier transgression. Apparently, it had not, and so Harry was not as mentally prepared for the coming events as he should have been.
"Tom, I-" But Harry was pulled to the stairs, and near dragged up them. He couldn't help the shout that escaped him, and when they overcame the flight of stairs, he could see the heads of the children peeking out of their rooms to see what was going on. Recognition flashed in their eyes as the two boys passed their hiding places, quickly followed by boredom before the doors were closed firmly shut. While this was hardly a daily, or even weekly occurrence, it happened enough that the other orphans were not surprised of this happening. "Tom, please, I didn't mean-" Again, Harry was forced into silence by sudden movement, giving a cry as he was flung into the room and sent sprawling on the small set of stairs to their attic room. With a small whimper of pain, Harry pushed himself up into a sitting position, and he heard the door close.
Looking up at Tom as he stood before him, the cherubic boy seemed calm, staring down at his favorite human with indifference. It wasn't as if he was still angry with Harry, it was simply that he had promised this would happen. Harry's misjudgment could not go unnoticed, for how could he correct himself from now on if there were no consequences. Still, Harry wanted this punishment just as much as an infant wants a needle piercing their skin. However, he dared not move to stand, instead shrinking back and trying to quietly plead his case.
"Tom, I'm sorry for telling you what you should do, I was just-"
"Harry." Just with that one word, the bright eyed boy fell silent as Tom stepped closer, stopping right in front of him, staring down at him and causing him to curl even further inward. Nothing else needed to be said, after all, for nothing Harry could offer in protest would dissuade Tom, and he should know that by now. Indeed, he did, but he couldn't stop hoping each time to avoid it. He hated and feared Tom's coldness more than his anger, because his anger would only ever be directed at someone else. But when the need arose for harshness towards Harry, Tom would adopt a dispassionate attitude and air. Whether to make it easier on Harry or himself, the scarred boy never had been quite sure.
"I'm sorry, Tom," was all Harry was able to say now, muted and resigned, his panic subsided enough for him to act reasonably. Tom reached out, and cupped Harry's cheek, the messy haired boy closing his eyes with his eyebrows slightly furrowed, leaning into the touch.
"Why do you always manage to find new ways to anger me Harry? I dislike doing such things to you."
"I'm sorry, Tom... I'll try to be better, I promise..." Harry's voice nearly broke on that last word, but it came out more like a whine than anything.
"I know, Harry. And I forgive you."
The hand trailed up from the cheek to the temple, and Harry flinched, his heart beat quickening. His hands clenched when his hands when his dark bangs were brushed back with an airy touch, revealing the lightning shaped scar on his brow. He knew the pain was coming, he knew it would be burning, he knew it would be the worst pain imaginable, and it was. Ice cold fingers pressed against the scar, and he couldn't stop the scream that tore through his throat. Not that he really had to suppress it; the other inhabitants of the orphanage knew what was going on behind the closed attic door. Alas, they did not care. Leave the two monsters to their own business, they always said.
Unaware as Harry was with his eyes tightly shut and his mind occupied with the excruciating pain, he did not see the eager smile on his companion's face. He did not see the clouded dark eyes, shrouded in intense euphoria. Nor could he guess at the racing, pleasured thoughts running past those same abyssal eyes.
Ah, how did he enjoy this. How could he enjoy this? This was the one special human in all the world that was screaming in pain. This was his most precious person convulsing under him with tears sneaking past his squeezed shut eyes. And yet, no one else could ever give him this pleasure. It was because Harry was so special, so precious to Tom that he was addicted to inflicting agony to him in such a way. It was so easy too. So simple, and he went along with it willingly. Perhaps that was what made it especially sweet. Sweet child. Sweet, precious child. Tom's sweet, precious child. Ah, how he cared for him.
It was only when Harry fell unconscious, his throat hoarse and weary, that Tom drew his hand away. He stared down at him for a few minutes, watching as the pain slowly faded away to a dull ache in the other boy's expression, before he picked him up and carried him to the bed.
It was over and done with, and they could resume as normal tomorrow.
Two boys stood next to each other in front of a door. Worn out and feebly crafted trunks lay at their feet, one for each. The boy with bright emerald eyes hidding behind glasses looked down the silent abandoned hall of the dingy and bleak orphanage that had been his home for the past four years.
"No one's going to see us off then..." Harry trailed off, looking at Tom when he scoffed.
"Of course not. But how are we going to carry our trunks? They could at least get someone to do that." Harry hesitated before weakly giving his suggestion.
"I suppose we have to carry them ourselves." Tom's dark eyes snapped to Harry, scandalized that he would say such a thing.
"Carry our own trunks."
"Yes."
"You're telling me that I should carry my own trunk."
"Yes..." This time Harry drew out the word, shifting away from Tom slightly. Tom was silent, simply staring at Harry as if asking if he was serious with his eyes. After a few moments of silence, Tom straightened, his shoulders pushing back.
"Of course. Harry, how could I not think of it?"
"R-really?" Harry blinked, struck dumb.
"Yes. We'll just make our trunks fly."
"Wh-what?"
"It won't be too hard really."
"N-no, Tom, people will see-!" Tom suddenly grabbed Harry's chin, forcing his head to tilt up.
"I know they will. Flying our trunks through the streets is just as ridiculous as carrying them. Do you understand?"
"Y-yes, Tom..."
"Good boy," Tom soothed, releasing Harry's chin, gently patting his cheek. "I'll go inform Mrs. Cole that this is not the way we should be sent off."
"O-okay..." And with that, Tom's shoes clicked down the hallway, leaving Harry to wait patiently.
AN: I think I'm getting better at updating with my new system. At least, better than taking a whole freaking year to write one chapter. I'm a senior now, and I've been working on this since I was a freshman or sophomore. No kidding. I'm so sorry.
