Chapter 2: Home
"That witch cursed my family!"
A woman's body shielded the little one's as the house shook and rattled. The noise was amplified by the raging man from whom vile curses and accusations flew. A letter was clutched in his fingers.
"We are giving her away!"
The woman's eyes widened.
"Tom, no!" She cried.
"Irene, we either give her away, or I shall slay her!"
The house seemed to panic in response to the little girl. Objects shook and shattered, Tom's ear-piercing yells punctuating her unstable mind.
Her mother held her, as Constance covered her ears, eyes squeezed shut, as she screamed, and screamed.
Constance could almost call the year that passed, happy.
It was a compromising happiness, one filled with uncertainty, cold nights, and empty stomachs, she could not say she was utterly cheerful, but she was not sad. She wished she could say the same about Tom.
She was still awaiting her eighteenth birthday. That would mark the day she could finally remove him from the institution. The day their lives could really take a turn. But every time she would visit him, he would always ask her the same question.
When?
January, the ninth, Tom, she would reply every time.
The house that she had hunted up was tiny, it had the barest accommodations, but it was enough. Constance had spent the year working diligently, scraping together the money to sustain herself and Tom.
Her hard work paid off well as the day came when they stepped into the minuscule apartment. Constance placed a hand on the short boy, the look of satisfaction made her think that even the lengthy legal hassles were worth this.
"Home, Tom." She said.
The boy seemed to experience emotions in extremes. And she always seemed to pick up on his feelings by how strongly his aura would change. And right now, Tom was happy. She couldn't ask for anymore.
She indeed did not break her promise this time.
"What are you doing?!"
The moments when Constance would raise her voice at her brother were far and in-between. She always tried to control her explosive temper, but the boy nearly insisted on her screaming at times.
"Put that thing down!"
Tom lifted his dark eyes, his arm held out. A long, ropelike creature wound itself around his limb.
"They find me," He responded to her outburst, "They speak to me, Constance."
Constance wanted to roll her eyes at his theatrics. But the moment demanded her total fear. The snake rolled around, its head rising, beady eyes trained on her.
Her spine prickled. She strode across the room, preparing to wrench the thing off his arm, and fling it out the window. But Tom whipped himself out of reach, cradling the snake, she almost screamed at how close its mouth was to his hand.
"Tom! That is enough, hand it over!"
"Constance," Tom retorted, twisting away from her "I need to ask you something,"
She stopped in her tracks. His voice was desperate, his eyes large and pleading. She knew he was only manipulating her to listen to him, but the earnest in his eyes was real.
"…what?" She asked, trepidation clear.
Tom deliberated, framing his question, in his mind. Then he blurted out,
"Can you do things?"
This time, Constance really rolled her eyes.
"Put the snake down, Tom. Then we can talk about this."
He shook his head no. She sighed. There was no budging him, he always did what he wanted, got what he desired.
"What things?"
"Move things without touching them."
He eyes rounded.
"Make animals do things without training them."
She gasped her astonishment.
"Tom…what…?"
"Connie," he started, using the name he knew would melt her, he saw her eyes narrow, she was not falling for his tricks.
"Constance, can you…make people hurt?"
Constance rose from her seat abruptly. She was trying to hide her bewilderment, but she knew she was not succeeding. But she knew that Tom would know even if she did manage to hold her composure.
"You know what I am talking about, don't you?"
Constance shook her head.
"No. Tom, I do not."
She spun on her heel and exited.
That night, as Constance lay in her bed, distress filled her veins.
She knew. She knew exactly what he was talking about. The many instances of things setting off, shattering, the house shaking with her emotions, the pressure begging to be freed from her, she knew.
Low hissing ensued from Tom's bed. She faced the wall, she could not bear watching him interact with that snake. He had even named it! She shuddered, wondering how much was lies and how much the truth.
She tried to train her thoughts elsewhere, but they insisted on going towards the rustling and shushing from the bed across from hers. Derision rocked her, as she recognized Tom's voice, speaking fluently in a whispering, hissing tongue she had never heard before.
Constance slowly rolled over, abandoning the bland safety of the blank wall.
True to her suspicions, Tom was still sitting up in bed, the snake coiled in his lap. The hissing continued, Tom making sentences in the foreign tongue, directing them determinedly at the creature. The fear convulsed in her, as she observed in absolute amazement.
Did that snake just nod?
The days passed, and one day the siblings had a rather peculiar visitor.
Constance paced angrily, infuriated at having been left out of the conversation that was carried out in hushed whispers within the room.
Dumbledore.
She had never heard of a name as odd, and Constance had met people with a lot of curious names. Not only was his name eccentric, the man came dressed in a full garb of long, glittering robes. A pointed hat perched on his head, and strange branch he would wave about. He had asked her to stall outside while he talked to her brother.
Constant leaped as the sounds of a roaring fire sprang up from her room. This was the last straw; did the man just set fire to her house?
She disregarded his request to stay outside, Constance yanked the door open, and shrieked.
"You set fire to my wardrobe!"
Tom stood in a corner, his demeanor that of a chilly indifference that he adopted around strangers. The Dumbledore man stood smiling in the center of the room, his peculiar branch raised.
"Ah. Miss Riddle," his tone was calm, collected. She expected him to be angry, but Dumbledore had surprised her in more ways than one.
"Put it out!" She screeched, pointing frantically at the blazing cupboard.
The man flicked the stick in his hand, and the fire disappeared, not one scorch mark remained on her furniture.
"H-how, what-"
"Constance-" Tom started, his cold eyes directly contradicted the naked excitement in his voice.
"Miss Riddle," Dumbledore cut him off.
"Tom has been accepted to Hogwarts School of witchcraft and wizardry." He said, his eyes held a twinkle, but his voice was formal, businesslike.
"As his legal guardian, I will need you to complete some paperwork to allow his attendance."
"What?"
"Now, Miss riddle, this has come as a surprise, I am aware-"
"A surprise?" Constance groused, "You come in here, setting fire to my belongings, then you are telling me that some pretend school has accepted Tom, and you expect me to let him go?!"
Dumbledore looked as though he wanted to huff at her out-pour.
"Miss Riddle, a word, please." Dumbledore's eyes flashed to Tom for a split second, "Preferably only our company."
"Leave, Tom." Constance's voice was hard, she had pointedly asked him to only leave, she had allowed him to eavesdrop, she knew he would do it anyway.
Tom slunk out of the room.
"There are some things I wish for you to know, Miss Riddle."
Her eyes did not lose their edge. She folded her arms, green eyes narrowed.
"Tom, is a wizard…" Dumbledore said simply, Constance eyes rolled.
"…one that I must ask you to keep a close eye on."
"Why?" Constance derided, "This sounds exactly like make-belie-"
"This is not make-believe. Magic truly exists. So does Hogwarts." The bearded man insisted.
"Why must I believe you?"
"You saw me put out the fire, did you not?'
Constance was stumped. She chewed her lip nervously. She had run out of valid arguments.
"Is this mandatory?"
Dumbledore raised a brow, "No, but it is strongly recommended."
"You mean I can choose to not send him?" The prospect was certainly appealing.
"I would advise you not to, Miss Riddle. You, of all people must know how much losing the opportunity to be part of the world of magic, must hurt."
There had been many surprises today, many that made her want to laugh, but this statement was the one that really made Constance chuckle darkly.
"I do not know what you mean."
Dumbledore's calm composure was replaced by a look of surprise.
"Miss Riddle," his voice was critical, "Are you not aware you are a witch?"
Tom had insisted on having a separate bed. Constance had put up a small fight, but had relented. Tom had a fierce sense of independence, and his hate for how much clearly needed her seemed to disgust him, so she allowed him his own space, and victorious, he claimed the left side of the room as his own.
However, now the siblings lay curled in the same bed, Tom's smaller figure crouched, Constance's lay down, the silence engulfing them was stony, absolute.
"Do you want to go?"
She didn't want him to go. But the recent revelations had shook her mind and body thoroughly. A witch. Who would have thought?
Her inquires and outburst had gotten Dumbledore to tell her all that he knew. She was lucky he knew so much.
Of course Tom and Irene declined. Her letter must have arrived too. She distinctly remembered how grouchy her father had been the few months after she turned eleven. The letter must have been a confirmation of their deepest fears.
Constance sighed when Tom did not answer. Out of habit, she reached out, patting his curly head. He shuffled away.
"I do." He murmured.
She wouldn't hold him back then. It was a good thing that he knew; she never had any knowledge of any of this. She wanted Tom to make a choice, and he had.
"Okay."
She sat up, determined. She knew he would try to thrash out of her hold as usual, but she grabbed the smaller boy, crushing him to her. As expected he put up a fight, but it was uncharacteristically short and feeble.
He truly surprised Constance when he held her back. She stroked his hair, of course he struggled a bit when he wanted to be held, and he had to keep up his defiant and unfeeling front after all. What a peculiar child.
This was a rare moment come to pass. Tom hated her doting, while she tried to be the mother he never had. Tom would do everything on his own; he left little opportunities for Constance to croon over him.
"I shall miss you."
And she would. As infuriating as he could be, Tom was still only an eleven year old boy. One to whom life had dealt a brash hand. One who was alone in the phase of his life when he needed someone the most. He was just a small, broken child.
Constance's mind flashed back to the moment Dumbledore had departed. "Keep an eye on him," His voice was the firmest it had been since she had met him, traces of anxiety hidden in his words. She wondered just what a child of eleven, juvenile and innocuous, exuded that made the bearded man warn her so sternly.
Dumbledore would never know of their bond. He looked at her brother as though he expected him to burst into flames as well.
She would miss her fiery little brother.
And she knew that on some small level, he would remember her fondly too. He must think she never noticed the days when blankets seemed to materialize on her if she fell asleep on the couch, the days when she would skip meals in favor of her many dubious jobs and she would come home to find leftovers on the table accompanied by a threatening note.
Yes, he would miss her too. She hoped.
September the first came much too soon.
Constance had never seen Tom in such high spirits. The few belongings he had were stuffed hastily into a trunk that once belonged to her, his new wand and robes folded neatly on the bed.
Diagon Alley was almost an intimidating experience. Dumbledore had asked an older student to accompany the pair to the place, and then Constance exchanged a formidable amount of her savings for wizarding money. The necessities had been bought, as she watched Tom try his level best to keep his cold front upright.
This was the first taste that Constance had of the world she belonged to. Her aversion towards her parents rose a few notches as she took in the wonderful place they had kept her from.
She had handed Tom a meagre amount of money and told him to spend it on himself. He didn't surprise her when he came back with a thick book clutched in his arms.
She had used the time Tom was gone to buy herself a wand. She was not sure what she would do with it, considering her lack of magical education rendered the wand useless. Constance found a need for her wand when she found a dictionary of spells and wandwork, she would worry about the colossal amounts she spent later on.
The same student accompanied the pair through a strange wall that landed them in an equally as strange station. The place radiated magic. Constance's heart wept at the life she never had.
Her little brother seemed to have forgotten she existed. His eyes were wheeling about, drinking in the scene before him, this was where they both belonged, but Tom had an opportunity to integrate himself within it.
Constance let him take that opportunity, as she watched him climb into the scarlet engine. He was going to disappear into the train, when he stiffened, Tom looked over his shoulder, having remembered the half-sister he was leaving behind.
Their eyes made contact, he nodded once, and then went on.
They had lived for only one measly year in that tiny apartment. She should not have gotten so attached to this place as she did.
Constance was sullen, leaving this place felt like leaving an old friend behind.
She tugged the trunk behind her, the spell book in her hands, wand in her pocket. She spared one more sweeping glance, then turned and left the place.
The constant noise and hustle was going to take some getting used to.
Constance knew the other world was going to be colorful, but she had not expected it to be so lively. The sounds and whistling and hooting and chattering seemed to never cease. There was so much to see, she forgot about her previous life almost hurriedly.
The new place was even smaller than the previous one, but she found she didn't mind it one bit. The sounds from the world outside relentlessly penetrated the silence, it was a connection that reminded her of the new world behind her walls, and it seemed to expand the small apartment.
Constance threw herself down on her bed, breathing deeply.
She had come home.
A/N:
Wow. Who knew I would have enjoyed writing family genres so much?
I always thought it annoying that even at the tender age of eleven, people always treated Tom like he was already evil. I mean, no matter how much evil was ingrained into his DNA, he was still a child. A child who was alone and victimized, no less. I always wished he had a mother figure to worry over him. That was actually a basis of where Constance came from.
The first chapters will just be kicking the story off. Constance has only one person she cares dearly about right now, Tom. Severus will eventually enter, just be patient ;)
nexumie.
