Author's Note: I actually didn't write this recently. I found this lying on my computer from sometime in July, and decided to make it somewhat presentable. I'm afraid that I'm going through an Avengers phase right now, so I haven't really written anything. Just reading stuff. :x so yeah. probably no updates anytime soon. maybe some edits in earlier chapters, but that's it.
Prompt: Stolen
Tom Marvolo Riddle opened his eyes, his head burning with pain. However, he paid it no mind and quickly sat up. He blinked slowly as his vision cleared, and a brunette woman came in to view. She was pressing a cool cloth to his forehead, a gentle smile on her face. He met her gaze coolly. She had obviously been taking care of him, but he did not feel an ounce of gratitude.
"Hello, dear," the woman gushed, patting his cheeks fondly. Feeling disgusted, Tom flinched and pulled away, a scowl on his face as he stared down the revolting hand. The woman looked slightly crestfallen and miffed by his behavior, but continued with the same kind expression. "I'm Jean Granger."
Tom ignored her and took in his surroundings. There were a few gadgets that he did not recognize, which annoyed him immensely. He liked knowing everything, and the unknown white box on the ceiling which was making strange noises, seemingly mocking him.
There were several bottles next to him. He regarded them coldly, and once he was sure that Mrs. Granger's eyes were on him, he purposely knocked them over. She frowned at him, but shrugged it off. After all, she reasoned with herself, he was a little boy. They often didn't know what they were doing.
"May I know your name?" Mrs. Granger tried. She might as well have been talking to a wall. Tom steadily ignored her, looking at the square box in the corner suspiciously. It was a weird shape for a cardboard box, and was not like anything he had ever seen before.
Mrs. Granger cleared her throat, but the young boy didn't even acknowledge her. Slightly worried, she said, "Honey?" and reached towards the boy, her fingers gently touching his arm.
Tom whipped around, his expression carefully blank, but his eyes as cold as ice. He slowly reached her fingers and threw them away from him. "Don't," he pronounced each word clearly for emphasis. "call me honey. And don't you dare touch me."
Mrs. Granger was shocked speechless, but before she could say anything, he stood up and began drifting towards the door, making sure to knock over in his path. Mrs. Granger looked absolutely shocked. Feeling quite bold, Tom flicked his finger at the beautiful clock on the wall and it came tumbling down, shattering in to millions of pieces. Mrs. Granger was bewildered; the clock generally was very stable. It had not fallen ever since she bought it five years ago. Her confusion delighted Tom, and he stalked out of the room without another word, leaving Mrs. Granger to stare helplessly at the broken glass shards on the floor.
The hallway was a dusty little thing, and Tom wrinkled his nose in disgust. It looked rather like the orphanage. Carpet covered the floor and small lights dotted the ceiling, illuminating the room. Several portraits were hung up on the wall. There were a couple of pictures of Mrs. Granger, and the man who appeared to be her husband. Tom snarled at their happy expressions, the foreign feeling irking him. However, before he could break it, he saw another little girl in the picture. She rather resembled a lion, with her hair messy and untamed. She was smiling cheerfully in all the photos she appeared in, her expression radiant and full of happiness. Tom made a face, taking in her wild hair and her buck teeth.
"Hermione," he read off the bottom of the frame. "What an ugly name. Just like her."
He spun around to leave, but was caught off guard by the appearance of the young girl who was blocking the hallway. She was the replica of the girl in the pictures, except her arms were now crossed and a scowl was on her face as she regarded him.
"I'm not ugly!" She exclaimed. Tom noted that there was a gap between her two front teeth, which further disproved her statement. "And my name isn't ugly either! And neither is Mummy, so don't you insult her!"
Tom smirked, deciding already that he quite liked the girl. She had a certain fire in him that was missing from a lot of the people he met. "Eavesdropping, are we?"
Hermione flushed slightly at being caught, but her voice was steady when she said, "Don't you dare talk to my mummy like that!" To Tom's surprise, she took a step closer. Either she underestimated him, or she was extremely confident in her skills. Both were absolutely unacceptable. He would have to change that.
Tom regarded her with an amused expression. He rather enjoyed her feistiness, a trait that he particularly loved destroying. However, to his surprise, before he could say anything, Hermione pointed something pink and shiny at him, her face shining triumphantly.
Tom blinked slowly. "What's that?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's a wand, dummy." She shook the wand for emphasis. "I have you cornered! Surrender, fiend!"
Tom's expression darkened, both at her nickname for him and her knowledge of magic. "That is not a real wand. A real wand is brown, and is far superior to that." He eyed the hideous pink stick with disgust. A sneer crossed his face. "Mudbloods like you aren't allowed to hold real wands."
"It is a real wand!" Hermione argued back. "I disguised my wand like this so no one would accuse me of doing underage magic." She grinned proudly at her accomplishment. She determinedly ignored his last statement, because she didn't understand what he meant by that. Did he mean that there was mud inside of her, flowing around like blood? Hermione wrinkled her nose at the mental image.
"How do you know what underage magic is?" Tom asked suspiciously. "You're a muggle."
Hermione looked offended. "I'm four!" She said hotly, wrongly assuming that muggle symbolized an age. "I real a lot of books about magic. I find them on the streets sometimes." Tom regarded her suspiciously, but she held her ground. There was no way she was going to admit that she stole them. Her mummy had told her stealing was bad, but the books were just so tempting. She had just grabbed one when she passed by and forgot to give it back.
A thought suddenly occurred to her. "How do you know? You're a muggle too, aren't you?"
Before she could even blink, Hermione was quickly pinned against the wall. Tom had a tight grip on her neck, and a murderous look covered his face. His eyes bore holes in to her head.
"Don't," he hissed at her. "Ever compare me to you. I am not a muggle. Mudbloods aren't fit to be wizards, while I," he gestured to himself. "Will be the greatest wizard who ever lived." He cocked his head to one side, the threatening expression still on his face. "Are we clear?"
Feeling as rebellious as she could given their position, she merely glared at him and shook her head, trying to pry his fingers away from her neck. He merely dropped her to the floor, and she gasped, trying to catch her breath. Tom paid her no mind and easily plucked the wand from her and smiled evilly at it, his fingers tracing patters over it.
Before he left, he turned back to look at Hermione, who was still panting. For a four year old, she was holding up rather well. He had dealt with adults before, and they had all broken after he tried to suffocate them. However, this little girl was still staring at him angrily, the fight not yet gone from her.
He had done that to Mrs. Cole before, when she refused to let him go outside for recess with the other kids. It was after Amy and Dennis had been found crazy after being in the cave with him. Dumbledore had immediately been come—Tom had a sneaking suspicion that the old man was keeping tabs on him, though he denied it—and warned Mrs. Cole about what a terrible boy he was.
And though Mrs. Cole already knew that fact, Dumbledore's visit only made her believe it even more. She locked him up whenever she could, kept him away from everyone else and isolated him whenever possible. It only took a couple of days for him to exhaust all of his books, and when he asked for more, she promptly ignored him. Something had to be done, and Tom decided to put Mrs. Cole in her place. She was not superior to him; he was superior to all.
Tom smirked down at Hermione, who had gotten to her feet shakily and stared defiantly at him. In the sweetest smile he could muster, he said innocently, "I read books too. Stolen books."
He turned around without another word and left, leaving her to stare at the spot he had just been in.
