Summary: Harry Potter 'just knows' things. Tom Riddle just assumes he's an idiot. The things they couldn't have known… An odd sort of time-travel fic. AU. HP/TMR. slash.
A/N: Sorry for ditching all of you pretty, pretty people for so long.
This is probably where I should feed you all some useless, pitiful excuse (e.g. "I've been totally swamped by school because I've been afflicted with SPD (Severe Procrastination Disorder)," I often like to whine, "Y'know, guys. Life just has it's moments. And I can't deal with both fanfiction and life at the same time because I don't know how to multitask or focus on two separate things at once," is the one that's more often used) but, alas, no. I'm not going to give you some excuse, because I really don't have one at all.
I forgot about this story, plain and simple. That, and I was lazy.
I know I said this was originally apart of the previous chapter and that I would update soon; sorry, I didn't update 'soon'... I'm a liar. And an ass.
Sorry.
However, I'm infinitely thankful for all the reviews, which I know I don't deserve for being such a neglectful author, but just the other day I was reading through them and thought, "Wow, I really suck. I haven't posted in so long, and I haven't even replied to most of these really nice, encouraging comments. I hate myself—wait, no, that's too melodramatic. I should probably update..."
So yeah, I don't know if people read through these—perhaps you should say 'purple-spotted hippos like dancing in shamefully pink tutus' in a review if you do, but I won't begrudge you if you don't because that sounds quite silly now that I've actually written it out.
P.S. I'll be replying to all the reviews people have left recently, but I don't remember when I'd stopped replying, so if you get a reply to a review I'd already replied too, then... well, yeah.
P.S.S. I'm sorry if this story is progressing too slow, I just can't fit all my ideas succintly into chapter with any sort of success. Sorry...
Read, enjoy, review? Or flame, because I rather quite find myself fond of how endearingly hateful some people can be.
...
What He Knew
—
Chapter IV
—
Harry Potter wondered why he was such a magnet for trouble.
And why Tom Riddle was such an ass.
(But no one was ever going to answer the latter, so he'd just settle for one to the former.)
...
"What is going on here?" screeched Mrs Cole. Her reproachful features glinted hard and heavy under the poor lighting.
Harry couldn't help his erratic sobs even as the stern woman began heading down the hallway with a heavy dose of foreboding sounding through her steps. In fact, his wailing reached an even higher pitch than before.
As Mrs Cole sort of hobbled and wobbled over in her worn penny loafers, her visage morphed from slight irritation to pure resentment as she noted Tom Riddle's presence.
She angrily jabbed a nail-bitten finger at the two boys, the hairs above her lip—her almost-moustache—quivering in a fit of pique. "What is God's good name are you boys doing out here?" Mrs Cole demanded. "Screeching and crying and disturbing the good dinner which God has prepared for us during these devastating times. You disrespectful little miscreants!" She furiously shook a nail-bitten finger in emphasis..
"Tom Riddle!" she barked, turning her attention towards the older boy. His mask dutifully fell into its natural state—completely impassive. "Tom Riddle, I expect a full explanation, young man!"
Tom Riddle remained silent. Mrs Cole fumed.
Harry couldn't help but sob harder as the tension blatantly escalated. His breaths shuddered loudly through the empty hall.
While a more mature part of him was trying to soothe his tears with logical protestation—Stop crying, Harry! You're just adding another factor of extreme irritation to the already horrid situation!—the child he actually was had no care for how annoying and tiresome he was presenting himself to be.
"Tom Riddle!" Mrs Cole exclaimed irately through the insistent sound of Harry's sobs. "You give me a goddamned explanation right now, you disrespectful little piece of shit!" she screeched thunderously before pausing with sudden horror, quickly slapping a hand over her open mouth in disbelief as she took in her own crude tone of speech.
However, her surprise did not remain as she took notice of the harsh red mark blossoming over Tom Riddle's pale cheek. Anger rushed to return once she glanced over to Harry; an angry mix of red and mauve twisted around the whole of the boy's thin forearm and matching fingermarks stained his frail throat.
Affronted, she gasped, before continuing to screech, "Tom Marvolo Riddle! Young man, I demand you to answer me! What is going on here? What's happened to you both? "
Silence.
Harry blubbered.
"Answer me!"
Tom Riddle remained quiet as Harry let out a wailing squall.
"I've had about enough, more than enough, of this unnatural silence from you," she declared, furiously waving her arms about. "I swear, God mustn't have had any part in your creation for only the Devil could have helped spawn such a horrible little child like you! A God damned freak of creation. Not even God can help you, you spawn of Satan. No one can save you, you wretched creature."
Harry had stifled his sobs and tears at those words, disbelief colouring his features; if he wasn't so furious himself, he would have no doubt protested at the unneeded cruelty towards his friend—
No, he reprimanded himself, we are not friends. I. Hate. Tom Riddle. We aren't friends. Not anymore. Not even before.
Tom Riddle looked surprisingly calm. The plethora of harsh words didn't seem to slight him in the least, though they littered and lingered in the air with a stale taste. Harry found that the word 'freak' echoed ominously, laced into every one of Mrs Cole's breaths.
Contrary to his earlier reaction with Harry, Tom Riddle simply blinked, adopting an aloof look of cold acceptance.
It cracked Harry's little heart just a bit to see how easily Tom Riddle was able to take in such cruel words. Harry knew that no one should ever be subjected to such words. Not even Tom Riddle.
However, Harry fought to ignore the ache, telling himself that the other boy had no place being in his heart in the first place.
"So what?" Tom Riddle finally spoke, his tone bland and distinctly taunting. Mrs Cole's eyes narrowed dangerously while Harry's widened with an awed sort of horror. "Have I ever asked for this so-called 'deliverance from evil'?" he enquired with a disdainful scoff. His clear green eyes did nothing to hide his blatant condescension while maintaining the cutting appeal of mockery. "What use have I for salvation?"
Harry blinked through moist tears. The other boy's gall was quite astounding; Harry, personally, thought it quite brilliant, though there's definitely a fine line between brilliant idiocy and simply put brilliance. Either way, Harry found such audacity admirable because, let's face it, who would Harry be to criticize acts of dubious brilliance when he himself was more susceptible than anyone else.
Hatred aside, Harry found Tom Riddle indeed quite brilliant. And from what he'd seen so far, the big words, daunting aura, and threatening magic fingers were only a fraction of why he should be considered so.
Now, if only he weren't also so brilliant at being such a total nincompooping git, Harry lamented.
Mrs Cole, on the other hand, didn't to seem to take the cheek well. At all.
She reeled back a hand and slapped him across the face, intentionally choosing the side that was already clearly smarting with a fierce red.
The contact made a resounding sound—CRACK!—hissing sharply through the air and making Harry wince on the other boy's behalf.
The older boy didn't flinch, nor did he blink as his head was thrown to the side. Dark hair fell messily across his face but he paid it no need as he calmly turned his face forward. The line of his jaw was taught, and his mouth was kept firmly shut even as small trickles of blood oozed from the creases of his cracked bottom lip and smeared red down his chin.
Ouch! Harry cringed with a reeling thought, noting the ragged set of nail scores beneath the stark pale handprint littering across Tom Riddle's bruised cheekbone. That must feel like a whole bucket load of ouchies and boo-boos.
In curious tandem, Tom Riddle and Mrs Cole both let out a single breath, cracking the lingering aftermath of tense silence. The former barely sounded while the latter let out a loud, shuddering gasp of exertion.
Tom Riddle remained still even as Mrs Cole stepped closer with shaky footsteps. Harry chewed anxiously at his bottom lip, apprehensive as to what the woman wished to do next.
Harry was stunned by how unaffected Tom Riddle appeared. Despite his current ire in said boy, he found the curious urge to step in and intervene, to protect the older boy.
Harry brushed the disturbing thought away, shaking his head in slight incredulity.
Stone-faced, Tom Riddle looked directly up into Mrs. Cole's muddled brown eyes. The woman faltered a bit at the intensity of the stare, nervously licking and biting at her lips.
"D-don't you look at me with those eyes," she attempted imperiously, voice cracking with a stutter. "Don't look at me with those devil-eyes, you beget of Satan! God will protect me from your malicious gaze." Her eyes darted about in agitation, jaw twitching sporadically, as she screamed, "Begone!"
Tom Riddle tilted a brow at her behaviour. "This god of yours…" he trailed off thoughtfully, lips pursing into a sneer. Voice laced with cool derision, he continued, "How pathetic he must be, to protect people like you."
Harry furiously wiped at his tears, noting the complete lack of respect within Tom Riddle's tone of voice. It felt wrong to continue bawling like a child when Tom Riddle could speak with such impenitent command and maturity whilst dealing with the exact same situation.
"Excuse me?" Mrs Cole demanded with a hiss. "What did you just say to me, you impertinent little freak?"
Tom Riddle scoffed, "I'm rather certain you heard me the first time around, ma'am." He frowned, before adding, "Apologies, but I'd also find it rather distasteful if I had to repeat myself to comply with your shortcomings. A waste of time and effort, I'd say."
Harry openly gaped.
That, that, that— Harry didn't know what to think as he took in Tom Riddle's cruel words and cutting tone. He let out a shuddering breath of disbelief. That can't even be considered under just having a backbone anymore. That isn't bold bravery or simple disrespect. That's pointed, purposeful callousness. He shook his head with a helpless afterthought, Tom Riddle, you big fat meanie. What's gonna happen to you now?
Harry had never seen anyone in the orphanage disregard a grown-up before, let alone the matron. It was a thing unspoken, but it was obvious that she, along with Mr. Cole, were at the top of the orphanage's proverbial pecking order.
No one ever disobeyed or disregarded the Coles in fear of the consequences that would surely follow.
Harry had only seen an exorcism happen once before.
Poor Benny Rogers… Harry shuddered at the memory; the Coles had forced all the 'denizens' of the orphanage to witness the unwilling purification procedure. Poor, poor, poor Benny.
In some ways what Harry had seen forced upon twelve-year-old Benny scared him more than Tom Riddle ever could.
While Harry knew that Tom Riddle was undoubtedly different from the rest of them, he had a distinct feeling that he himself was of a similar brand.
And that made all the difference between the Coles and Tom Riddle.
Even the staff members—adults, whom had no reservations when it came to ruthlessly intimidating the children—seemed wary to cross the Coles in fear of what could befall upon them.
Clearly used to the respect she was given on a daily-basis, Mrs Cole fell into an enraged state of shocked silence as she took in Tom Riddle's unabashed words and blatant gall.
She reeled back her hand once more.
Harry gasped in horror as the hand descended, breath catching in his throat when it suddenly halted in midair, inches away from ripping across tender flesh.
Little Harry observed in astonishment as the matron simply froze under Tom Riddle's cool glare. The glass green was sharp and daring, viciously cutting into her as he met her eyes straight on.
Mrs Cole faltered uncertainly, hand suspended awkwardly in motion. She visibly stiffened, a violent shudder jolting through her body. Harry could see the fright announcing itself prominently throughout her fixed profile.
She harshly bit down into her peeling bottom lip in agitation. "Bewitching me with your freakish ways will only get you so far," she muttered, clenching her hand into a tight fist before coughing anxiously into it.
Hastily turning away from Tom Riddle's fixed visage and icy green eyes, Mrs Cole directed her angry gaze at Harry.
...
As the woman's furious gaze fixed upon him, Harry couldn't help his immediate cringe of apprehension. Refusing to meet her eyes, he glanced around nervously before awkwardly fixating upon the sparse hairs that littered across the woman's upper lip.
They twitched wildly beneath his gaze.
...Wow, he thought absentmindedly, momentarily distracted. He was unsure whether or not he was supposed to be disgusted or amused as they seemed to wave frantically around like little hairy antennas. Catching Mrs Cole's glare intensify, Harry quickly hid his partially-amused, partially-disgusted grimace.
Five solid minutes slowly passed in silence, s wrinkle of discomfort slowly morphed across Harry's features under her critical scrutiny. He frowned at how tense the situation was beginning to read. Trying to will away his unease, he found himself uncomfortably focusing on the sporadic movements of her almost-moustache.
"Harry Potter?" He met her muddled eyes hesitantly, carefully taking in her expression. Her features were twisted grotesquely as she sneered down at him. "Will you tell me what is going on here?" she demanded, forcing a pleasant tone. "What exactly has you blubbering all over yourself like a fool?"
"Uh, well, um, y'know, well, uh…" was Harry's rather intelligent reply. Quickly wiping at the remaining trickles of tears staining his cherubic cheeks, he cleared his throat. "…Nothing, Mrs Cole, ma'am," he mumbled, sounding nasally because of his stuffy nose. "Nothing's going on here."
She fixed him with a hard glare. The almost-moustache above her lip set itself into a distinct frown that matched the severe downturn of her lips.
Harry gulped anxiously—wrinkling his nose in total disgust when he ended up swallowing a liquidy string of phlegm (he had to restrain the urge to just plain puke on Mrs Cole)—and shifted his eyes uncertainly towards Tom Riddle.
When the older boy met his gaze with cool impassivity and a mocking raise of a brow, Harry scowled darkly and shot him a quick vehement glare of defiance.
Mrs Cole cleared her throat harshly, frown etching itself into the lines upon her face. Bright green eyes shot back towards her as quickly as they'd strayed.
Harry was unsure of what he should say; "I hate Tom Riddle, and he's a really bad boy who tried to kill me just because I tried to take the mickey outta him," would be a good start, but he decidedly didn't want to be a tattle-tale ("Because that would also make me look like a total prat, and everybody knows that prats are just total party-poopers twenty-four-seven… and I don't want to poop on anyone's party—because that's beyond gross," Harry briskly reasoned to himself).
So, he decided to give Tom Riddle another wide-eyed glance.
As if the older boy could (or would, for that matter) help him.
Right. As if, Harry scoffed to himself, bottom lip jutting out into an angry pout.
Obviously he was bound to be disappointed if he harboured any sort of expectations in regards to Tom Riddle. The boy didn't have single altruistic bone in his small body; Harry would bet that illusive, yet highly sought-after, green crayon on it.
I should just tell on him, Harry decided with a sudden surge of rage. He ruthlessly pushed aside and ignored the twinge of something (betrayal?) that itched at his heart in response to such a thought.
He's a cruel, vindictive brat who wouldn't think twice about ratting me out if our positions were exchanged, he told himself, refreshing all of the older boy's other misdeeds in his mind. He literally tossed me aside just for sitting in his precious spot. He almost killed Maggie Marple by turning her into a pancake. He strangled me with so much freaking pizazz that I'm surprised his head didn't explode in out-of-character excitement. He tried to kill me.
Harry could feel his breath pick up and catch as he restrained the immediate urge to throw a massive tantrum with a good deal of unhelpful bawling and wailing.
Tom Riddle is a bad boy, he thought in conviction, and bad boys deserve to be punished. He lifted small fingers up, scratching across the painful ache at his throat. He could almost feel the burn of fingers digging into his flesh once more. I know he's a bad boy, so…
Harry let out a stuttered breath caught between a sob and a helpless exhale of exhaustion.
So, he should just die.
Harry blinked—once, twice—before wincing in complete horror as he registered the drastic downturn of his thoughts. He felt the shame rushing wildly through him, face reddening and ears heating as the prickling of tears came upon him.
Have I always been so hateful? he helplessly pondered to himself, biting at the tremble of his lips. Have I… He shook his head in contrition. Tom Riddle may be a bad boy, but when did I become one too?
While Harry happened to really, really dislike (detest) Tom Riddle, he'd wanted to think himself above something so cruel as wishing someone dead.
No, he suddenly affirmed with a renewed sense of clarity. No, I am not a bad boy—nothing like Tom Riddle—and no one ever deserves to die. Green eyes blazed with restrained tears and reaffirmed determination. No one 'deserves' anything. Not even somethings like punishment. Not even Tom Riddle.
Letting out shuddering breath, he looked back to the impatient Mrs Cole, but before he could speak, she decided to intervene with an agitated sweep of her hand.
"Do not tell me you've fallen under the spell of his satanic influence. Speak the truth," she scolded. "Let God save your soul before it reaches the eternal pits of flame. Don't let yourself be damned by this spawn, child," she preached, eyes glazed over with fanaticism. "Damn him before he drags you down in the flaming fires!" Her voice sharply escalated as she progressed, "Tell me what has he done to you!"
"H-he," Harry started, conflicted as to what exactly he wished to say as doubt suddenly welled up once more. His voice caught in his throat—
He's the one who hurt Maggie Marple.
He can do things, unexplainable things.
He wanted to kill me.
He shoved me into a wall. He tried to strangle me. He tried to murder me.
He enjoyed it. The pain. He enjoys it.
He wanted me to die.
—The thoughts flew at rapid pace through his head, growing darker and darker as they came and went.
But, he paused, pondering, why did he—before, I mean—why did he help me up? Why would he?
Harry bit his lip, worrying away as confusion began clouding his mind. He helped me. He helped me. He helped me, Harry repeated to himself, as if repetition would somehow bring explanation to the surreal thought.
He… He let me hold his hand, the recollection plagued him with a further dosage of confusion; Harry wasn't so foolish that he truly believed it was his puny strength that grasped onto the boy for so long. Why would he do that? Why would he ever? he wondered in apprehension.
He'd helped me, even if it was just a teensy weensy bit, he thought to himself again. No one has ever done anything for me… So, why? Harry pondered in complete befuddlement, a severe frown marring his cherubic features. Why would Tom Riddle, of all people, do such a thing? For me, no less.
"Well, young man?" Mrs Cole's harsh sneer interrupted his thoughts. Her foot tapped impatiently against the dusty wooden flooring. "Tell me what happened so I can punish the one who most deserves it. What terrible things has Tom Riddle done to you?" The matron's eyes gleamed grotesquely with anticipation, no doubt eager for accusations to start flying.
"He…" Harry trailed off slowly, urging his eyes to remain trained upon Mrs Cole, lest they try to stray towards the other boy and ruin his credibility. "He didn't do anything to me. Tom is innocent," he finally announced after a moment. The certainty in his tone felt unfamiliar and the words left a strange aftertaste in his mouth. "Tom's innocent," he stated once more with clear emphasis.
Through his peripheral vision, Harry caught Tom Riddle staring at him with wry amusement. Beneath the amusement also laid a small touch of apprehension.
Harry would've liked to think that he saw a sliver of appreciation or gratitude lost somewhere within that clear green gaze as well, but even if Tom Riddle were thankful, any nuances telling such would've probably been completely lost on Harry because he saw nothing of the sort.
"Tom wasn't the one who hurt me so much," he said, looking away from the other boy. The amusement in Tom Riddle's gaze was giving Harry uncomfortably warm fuzzies in his tummy. He knew that if he dwelled on the sentiment, he'd end forgiving and forgetting sooner than he'd like. "He's innocent," Harry recanted for the third time—despite his own personal feelings—and with the amount of clear conviction within each word, he almost managed to convince himself. "Tom is innocent, and he shouldn't be treated like this. Like he's automatically guilty. Like he's less than nothing." He gulped nervously as Mrs Cole's features visibly darkened, but boldly continued despite the initial trepidation, "That's just, you're just… mean. And nasty. Really mean and nasty."
"Innocent. Innocent?" Mrs Cole regurgitated harshly, hissing the word out with unparalleled distaste. "How can that be? How dare you lie to me?" she demanded with angry disbelief. "How dare you lie before God when the evidence presents itself so clearly?" She gestured heatedly at the discoloured bruises marking Harry's small frame. Harry shook his head in denial, unwilling to back down. "I treat him exactly how he deserves," she sneered, "I treat him as the incarnation of Abbadon deserves. I have no tolerance for foolish fibbing little boys! Speak the honest truth, liar… or it's to the basement with you." Mrs Cole's nostril's flared with warning as she mentioned the punishment.
"I haven't lied. I don't lie," Harry stated defiantly, seeming to gain further confidence in reaction to the matron's commanding tone. In truth, Harry was frightened silly from the threat of the basement, but he wasn't about to cower halfway through like a spineless little prat. "I'm not a liar."
"Harry Potter, young man," Mrs Cole beseeched, trying for a soothing tone as she attempted to regain composure, licking her lips anxiously. "I shall give you one last chance. One. Tell me the truth about what Tom Riddle has done to you." She tried for a cloying smile. Harry wrinkled his nose and grimaced at the failed attempt. "You are a sweet, sensible child that knows better than to give into the gaze of the Devil," she reprimanded, her tone false with understanding and leniency. "You shouldn't cover up the flagrant evidence—it's littering across your neck and hand, for God's sake—with evil, deceitful lies and unforgivable blasphemy,"she bit out through her gritted smile. "Now, my dear, tell the truth."
Harry felt the sudden wash of heated fury bubble up from within him; indignant tears threatening to spill down his cheeks once again due to his volatile state of his mind. It was emotionally grueling to try and manage all the fickle shades of sentiment—guilt, despair, loneliness, distaste, fear, sadness, hate, fury. They all threatened to overflow from Harry's tiny little body, and he didn't know how much longer he could hold it all together.
Any more, and he'll be sure to snap and simply blow up.
"I'm not lying," Harry hissed harshly, anger bleeding through his tone. "Stop accusing me of things I'm not!"
"Then, tell me!" she exclaimed, equally incensed; all previous pretensions dropped. "Tell me who did this to you!" Mrs. Cole reached forward, roughly yanking up Harry's swollen wrist, ignoring his yelp of pain as she jostled him about. She bared her teeth as she snarled, "Tell me what he did to you! TELL ME! Reveal the truth of the deceiver!"
"Mr Cole!" he quickly wailed out, a mixture of pain and anger littering his expression and tone. He sniffed indignantly. "It was Mr Cole! He threw me into the floor! He did it! Mr Cole was the one!" At that, Harry used all his force to pull away, freeing his arm roughly despite the thunderous protest of pain from his body. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, but he refused to let them spill. "He hit Tom, too! He hit him right across the face with a big punch! POW!—it went, and down Tom had gone!" Tom Riddle looked to be slightly irritated when Harry mentioned the way he got beaten across the face, but Harry didn't really care much for Tom Riddle at the moment. "Mrs Cole, it was Mr Cole who did this to us," he snarled furiously, cradling his arm against his chest. "I'm not a liar and as you said, these injuries are 'definitive evidence' or whatever," he declared indignantly.
Mrs. Cole didn't look very surprised or affronted, much to Harry's dismay; however, his accusations did make her all the more enraged.
"LIE!" she swiftly proclaimed. "You lying fiend! Harry Potter, you had better tell the truth about that spawned child of Lucifer, or I will make do my threats of punishment!"
"I am telling the truth," he snapped back defiantly, emerald eyes bright with ire, "and I know you know that!"
"Tom Riddle is a freak bastard born out of wedlock, damned by all that is Holy, given power of life only through all that is evil and unwell. He was spawned out of the fiery pit and given form by Mammon. He is the child of that who deceives!" she spat out savagely, wildly snarling as if she herself was possessed. The feral look in her eyes unnerved Harry, reminding him of a rabid animal barking with crazed madness. She continued, "Tell me the truth, Harry Potter, before I am to believe you have been taken by his forked tongue and slanderous words."
Harry was more than a little frightened by the threatening loss of control Mrs Cole seemed to speak with, but he was not desperate enough to step back to seek comfort in Tom Riddle's unsettling presence.
He had enough courage to deal with the both of them, Harry told himself as he steeled his nerves against Mrs Cole's depraved antics.
"Tom isn't a—" Harry began, trying to interrupt snarls coming from Mrs Cole's ranting form.
"—TOM RIDDLE IS A BAD BOY! HE DESERVES PUNISHMENT!" Mrs. Cole screeched before Harry could finish. He widened his eyes at the volume. She took a deep breath, calming herself before continuing with a much more subdued tone that managed to sound twice as loathing, "For his lies, and freakish ways! For being born! He deserves to be punished for it all. That is all that the spawn of Satan deserves!"
Harry narrowed his eyes in defiance as the woman stepped closer towards him. She stopped a foot away, her considerably larger frame looming over him.
However, instead of making the small boy cower in fear, her words and actions struck something fierce within him. Harry felt a twisted combination of hateful anger and despairing guilt, directed at both her and himself—for even he could see the similarities between her vehement words and the thoughts he had previously harboured of Tom Riddle.
Is that what I was like? he realized with abject horror. Was I just as cruel and crazed within my mind as this woman is out loud? What is wrong with me? How could I ever...
Harry quickly shook such thoughts from his head, stubbornly assuring himself that he is nothing like the mad woman before him.
She's despicable and cruel, he declared in anger. She's even worse than those barmy villains I'm always reading about, he added to himself, which really says something 'cause they all pretty much eat children for breakfast, lunch and dinner before deciding to kick cute, widdle puppies for fun.
Giving Mrs Cole's towering figure and slow once-over, trepidation can't help but insist. No, he decided, furiously shaking his head. It doesn't even matter if she's a grown-up or not when she's only using her power as an authority figure to abuse other people.
Harry wasn't a hero, but he wasn't going to let anyone be treated this way. Tom Riddle or not, Harry just knows that he's better than some helpless fool who will simply turn away at the first sign of trouble.
Gathering his wits, he takes a deep breath and begins before he had enough time or self-awareness to stop himself, "Stop with all your utter silliness, you stupid cow." Internally, Harry cringed at his use of language, but seeing an utterly dumbstruck look grow upon the grown woman's face satisfied him enough to continue, "I'm gonna tell you something real important, so, please, be quiet." His command was calm and collected as he somehow managed to glare imperiously down his pert little nose at the older woman's taller figure. Mrs Cole gaped at the small boy's words, yet obediently remained silent. "You shouldn't treat people the way you do, Mrs Cole. It's mean and cruel, and everyone knows that you should treat others the way you wish to be treated—there's even a freaking song about it," he exclaimed. "So, I wonder what that says about you, ma'am?" Harry sneered offhandedly.
"How dare… I, well, uh… But, Tom is—" she stammered, clearly not used to dealing with defiant little children who could link intelligible sentences with any sort of reasonings or logic—well, apart from Tom Riddle, that is.
Harry didn't let her continue, "I don't really care what you have to say, Mrs Cole." He frowned, hoping he was coming off as stern as he wished. ("Frowning does make people look stern, doesn't it?" he asked himself with a little uncertainty. "Grown-ups are always frowning, ain't they?") Harry furrowed his brows for further effect. "I don't care what you think of Tom, but he shouldn't be treated this way. He isn't a 'spawn of Satan' just because you think he's different from you and all the other kids, so you shouldn't be so mean and say that he is," Harry reprimanded. "Actually, I'm pretty chuffed that Tom's different from you. He could never do the things you do, and even if he happens to be some different kind of bad, I'm pretty sure that he could never be as completely horrid as you and Mr Cole." Harry gave her a pointed look while the knowing, mirthless smile upon his lips hinted at that which is unspoken.
Mrs Cole's eyes widened with uncertainty and nervous trepidation.
Harry continued, stating matter-of-factly, "You're the one who's in the wrong here." He pursed his lips severely in displeasure as his glare hardened; his anger was no longer calm and collected, but a heated mass of rage. "Not only that, you're also a horriblehorriblehorrible—I've said it thrice, so I really mean it—woman who only picks on Tom because you're selfish and greedy and ig–, um, ignorant!" His slip did nothing to impede the rush of his fury. "You're cruel and silly, and you should just… Shut. Up!" He let out a deep breath as his anger simmered down. He dared the older woman to speak in retaliation with blazing green eyes—she didn't.
Mrs Cole could do nothing but blink in stupefaction, attentively focused upon Harry's minuscule frame while encompassed by her shock.
The lighting fixtures flickered ominously, but Harry paid it no mind as he carried on once more, "I don't know if there is a god out there—I've only seen what it's like in here, and it's definitely no place for no god—but if there is a god, somewhere, somehow..." he paused, biting his lip and shaking his head. "He'd be disappointed in you."
Mrs Cole gasped in disbelief; still unable to comprehend the fact that a child was daring to scold her with such fervour. She tried to splutter out a protest, but her incredulity trapped the words within her throat.
Harry paid her no mind. "Anyone would be disappointed with you, not just as a person of faith, but also as a human being. No one who says what you have is worth a fraction of anything," Harry bit out through his teeth, feeling the quick heat of anger bubble up more and more as he spoke. "This god of yours is supposed to be just and right and everything good, isn't he?" he prompted rhetorically. "What is just, or right, or good, about hitting children? About calling them horrid things and yelling at them? About threatening to lock them into basements? About anything you've all done?" Harry no longer looked as if he were merely an immature child of four, the green of his eyes were old and disappointed as he said, "You know just as well as I that nothing you've done will ever amount to anything in the eyes of your god, or anyone else, because it's all sick and wrong and disgusting."
By the end of his tirade, little Harry felt but sad and tired. Green eyes had begun watering again somewhere between 'spawn of Satan' and the triple-horrible, but he was too tired to wipe away his tears, completely spent.
Spent of anger, of horror, of justice, of defiance.
He looked like a shadow of himself, a mere shade of the small bubbly child whose face he wore.
"Y-y-you!" Mrs Cole managed to stammer out moments after Harry fell silent. It was clear that she was uncertain as to how she should handle being harshly reprimanded by a four-year-old child. Her mouth wobbled uncertainly, as if she was unfamiliar with the ways of speech. She finally stuttered a sentence together, stumbling over the words gracelessly, "Y-you are both going to be, uh, p-punished, for m-missing dinner and prayers, and for all the l-lies you've both dared to speak."
She pinned them both with an expectant, but neither boy protested, and remained eerily silent. They stared at her blankly with their contrasting shades of green. Evidently, neither was interested in watching this tirade carry on any longer.
Mrs Cole continued, regaining a slight sense of composure by their lack of objection, "Silence from you both I see. W-Well, now, that's how you should do it." She cleared her throat with a peremptory nod. "As p-punishment," the word tripped over her lips uselessly despite her slight self-reaffirmation, "uh, right, well, no dinner for the both of you! Up to your rooms!" Once again she gave them both an expectant look, as if anticipating more disrespect.
Harry gave her a noncommittal nod, while Tom Riddle curtly inclined his head in acquiescence.
Huffing, she snapped tersely, "Off with you, then." Pinning them both with a trying glare, she added harshly, "Further punishment will be dealt tomorrow when I'm not so stressed. And do not be mistaken about the incident that has just taken place, because you will be punished. Both of you!" She gave them yet another look in expectancy.
While it was unsurprising that Tom was effortlessly unfazed, Harry should have felt dread wallowing into his being at such a statement; however, somewhere deep down, he just knew that the woman was merely desperate to establish her power over them once more.
And I'd rather be punished than show fear and allow Mrs Cole anymore power over me ever again, he decided, resolute.
Not waiting for any reply or nod, Mrs Cole huffed irately and spun away. She wobbled loudly back into the dining hall punctuating her exit with a familiar slam to the door.
...
Harry looked expectantly towards Tom Riddle—though unsure of what he was even expecting—but the older boy pointedly refused to meet his eyes, turning his nose up with a sneer. While it left Harry with a sense of disappointment and annoyance, he found himself too tired to pettily hate the other for it.
Harry sighed with a breath of exhaustion, completely sore and emotionally spent. The swell to his wrist had worsened, and his eyes were intensely inflamed from his excess of crying.
Sighing once more, he turned away.
Brushing past Tom Riddle's still figure, Harry headed for the flight of stairs on aching feet with a tired frown upon his face.
...
...
...
Harry Potter would like to think that he knows a lost cause when he sees one.
...