[trigger warning (tw): this chapter contains bullying and implied history of sexual abuse]
…
The place was chaotic and unfamiliar. People crowded the streets speaking a foreign tongue. It was the busiest day of the week in this part of town, where the common people were out in droves exchanging and selling goods at the market. Customers ruthlessly haggled over a few pence to no avail as the stall minders refused to budge. This morning, at her bath, she discovered she was out of milk and she not sure this was the kind of market she was looking for when she haltingly asked for directions.
She was in London, a place entirely new to her. She did not speak the language, but she had a feeling that this would be the place where her search would finally come to an end.
She was looking for her daughter.
...
The air was spiked orange and dusty with tumeric, hot and extremely still, its pungency mingling with the scent of frangipani from the garlands that hung from the shops. It was the fifth day of the seventh month and the air was heavy with the kind of humidity that signalled a rainstorm was about to break.
It was high noon and in the heat of day he could smell the milk going faintly sour as he neared the temple. Masses of devotees had made the trip down to ask for blessings before they went out into the harvest. The crowds were here because rumour had it that this temple harboured a special stone that fell from a cobra, a stone that could bestow great fortune and immunity on the beholder.
It was perhaps a nice thing to be able to make away with, the special stone, but it was not for this purpose he was here this day. He was not here for physical items, for they would inevitably decay with time. He was here for knowledge, everlasting and immortal. He had asked the serpents and they had led him to this place. There would be a man with the answers he had been seeking. They said that this man hadn't aged in over a hundred years and some said that on occasion he could be found sitting cross-legged on the ceiling, looking as natural as a person could dangling from the ceiling, because when he did so it was as if gravity itself followed him upside down, drawing his robes and grizzly beard and long hair towards the sky.
He found the man in an unremarkable manner, sitting by the temple's gate begging with a tin can that used to hold condensed milk. Casting a shadow over him, shading him from the sun, was a cobra with a large hood. Her scales were of a delicate light grey and the span of her hood was dotted with two large spots that resembled an extra pair of eyes.
He spoke, in the language of serpents: "Master, I am here to learn from you."
The man looked up at him and said, "Son, you do not appear ready."
"And yet I will learn." He fixed his gaze on the man. He would prove himself ready, by force if it came to that.
Over the course of several months he made to appear as a humble and worthy student, and the man began to impart some of his wisdom onto him. But in his heart he knew without a doubt that what he came to seek this man would never reveal to him, and when he felt that he was ready to move on he did, slipping away silently in the dead of the night. It was on that particular night he helped himself with a ready hand to some souvenirs, things he could remember this place by and things that could be of use to him, unlike that wizened old man who spent half his days drinking a mixture of onion and banana juice, shrouded in flatulence.
...
In the cold blue light of winter's morning, after a fresh bout of snow coated the earth once more, he strode the outside of the grounds as was his daily habit. On this day, there was some commotion by the edge of the island, which was itself in the middle of a lake.
There were two large students, old enough to be from the senior levels, and between them was a young boy held upside-down from the ankles, one by each side. The boy was naked, and crying, and his pale skin was blotched with blue from the cold. The two older students dipped him into a hole cracked in the ice on the lake, holding him under until they deemed it satisfactory to lift him up again.
He was fascinated by what was going on. This is not to say that he found the brutality shocking in any way, and he approached them in a bid to observe more closely their actions.
When he neared, the two older students dropped the young boy in fright and looked like they were about to run off.
"Stop," he ordered, and they did, because he was a teacher here.
The two older students cowered, and went back to the spot where they had abandoned the young boy, who was now huddled into a ball, shivering and feebly trying to shield himself from the biting cold with just his hands.
"What were you doing?" he asked.
"We—we were just trying to teach him a lesson here. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger and all…."
The young boy was whimpering pathetically, his clothes nowhere to be found. He was turning blue and purple all over.
The two older boys hung their heads in shame, unable to find a proper justification for their actions. One stood staring determinedly at his boots, and the other kept looking around nervously, at him and at his friend and at the young boy.
"Tom Tomovich," the shifty one began after some while, looking at the young boy. "Aren't you going to do anything? He looks like he's going to die."
"Why don't you do something about it? I didn't put him in that state."
The shifty one immediately took off his fur coat and threw it over the younger student, who pulled it tight around his body.
"Tom Tomovich, do we have permission to return to the school building?" The shifty one asked. Lacking his fur coat, he was now shuddering from the cold.
"Yes, you are dismissed. I will make no record of this."
The shifty one took off at great speed, crunching through the snow and ice. The other one stopped looking at his boots, snapped to attention, and thanked him before running off.
Tom Riddle turned on his heel and walked back to the castle. He was at the door of his room when he realised that the young student had followed him all the way back.
"Tom Tomovich, you saved my life," he said. "In return I will be glad to do anything you ask of me. I put myself at your service. I am in your debt."
Tom Riddle stopped himself from frowning. He really did not have the energy to put up with these pesky students always bothering him about some unimportant thing or the other. If this boy could be so weak as to allow himself to be bullied in this school then he jolly well deserved to be left in the cold to die. And yet...he could have a use for him.
"What's your name?"
"Dolohov, Antonin Stepanovich." The boy sniffled into the oversized fur coat.
Tom Riddle unlocked the door. "Come in," he said to the boy, stepping into his quarters. He had to himself a small bedroom with an adjacent study. True to the Durmstrang spirit, even the teachers' quarters were sparsely decorated. The furniture was purely functional, and he had bookshelves upon bookshelves that he kept well stocked. Perhaps the only luxury availed to the teachers in this spartan place was heating. He stoked the fireplace with a quick spell.
Out of sheer habit he put the kettle on, and then realised that the boy was looking at him like he thought he was making tea for him.
"Why were you out there?" he asked the boy, mostly in a bid to wipe that expectant look off his face. He had absolutely no interest in whatever answer he could supply.
"I bested them in the term tests," the boy said.
The water should be ready now. He moved to take his tin of tea from the shelves. The tin was of an aged gold, etched with ornate imperial motifs.
"Where did you get that from?" the boy asked in wide-eyed wonder.
"Japan. It's gyokuro. They also keep completely silent during a tea ceremony." He felt a measure of satisfaction on finding the perfect excuse to avoid hearing the boy's meaningless jabber.
He prepared the tea according to instruction, and when it was done he poured a single cup for himself. He lifted the cup to his nose, inhaling its delicate aroma with his eyes closed. He was about to take a sip when his eyelids flew open and he caught the unfortunate sight of the boy staring at him with the widest-eyed, most expectant expression anyone could muster.
Heaving a sigh, he poured a small cup for the boy and handed it to him. Adhering to social niceties was such a chore. The sooner he could be done with this place the better he would feel. All young people, no matter their seriousness in learning the true essence of magic, no matter their intensity or hard work or claim to knowledge, such as those that filled this school, irked him to no end.
"Thank you," the boy said with a wide grin, before realising that he was not supposed to talk and a guilty look crossed his face.
With both hands around the teacup he took a deep breath, sticking his nose over the rim, then looked up at him to smile again. He took his first sip, bare legs swinging wildly under the chair. The fur coat, which was previously wrapped tight around his small body, was now split open at the thigh, exposing a thin sliver of smooth pale flesh.
"How old are you?" Tom Riddle broke the silence to ask.
The boy grinned at him. "Just turned fourteen," he said chirpily.
"And you said you beat those boys at the term tests?"
"I'm in the senior classes. So are they."
"And you're fourteen?"
"That's why they beat me up."
"Do they beat you up every year?"
The boy laughed merrily. "Yes, in fact they do!"
Tom Riddle was immediately overcome with severe dislike for this young boy. Something about his light attitude towards getting beaten up bothered him.
The boy seemed to notice that he was staring very intently at him.
"Do you get lonely here, Tom Tomovich?"
Tom Riddle did not deign to answer such a stupid question.
"I can help with that," the boy continued. "If you ever feel lonely here. I know what to do."
Tom Riddle narrowed his eyes, frowning. "And what do you mean by that?"
"I think you know what I mean, Tom Tomovich."
"No," Tom Riddle replied, drawing out his words slowly. "I don't believe I know what you mean."
The boy sighed heavily, jumped off the chair, and let the oversized coat fall to the ground. "It's simple," he said. "It's what men like."
Tom Riddle drank his tea noisily, disregarding the denuded boy in front of him.
"Please don't make a fool of yourself, boy," he said dismissively.
The boy tried to look at him again, but Tom Riddle was bent on ignoring him until he came to his senses. After some while, the boy pulled on the fur coat and returned to his chair, sipping at his tea, cheeks flushed pink with shame.
When the moment had passed, Tom Riddle leaned back into his chair and began to speak.
"It was for another purpose I asked you into my room, boy. Are you any good at catching insects?"
"But professor, it's winter," the boy began.
"Never mind the weather. I need bugs."
"Why, professor?"
"It was for this reason that I was walking about the school grounds this morning." Tom Riddle reached into his coat pocket and drew out a toad, which had been hibernating in a hole under a log, but was now awake and confused by the heat of the room.
"What are you doing with that toad, professor?"
Tom Riddle clicked his tongue, annoyed by the relentless questioning. "Can't you see it's injured?" He indicated at the toad's broken legs.
The boy took the toad from his hands and looked closely at it.
"Enough with you, just bring me some insects for her to eat," Tom Riddle ordered impatiently. "