Author's Note:
Typing this on the road, on my phone. Damned inconvenient. Luckily I had most of the chapter up from a PC already.
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School
A short talk over a broken radio.
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The Riddle twins were in the living-room-cum-sitting-room, sitting on an old and worn Persian rug that had a small coffee table in the middle. A plate of cookies lay between them, hid under the table to avoid the notice of other children. Anyone passing the room can see Thomas Riddle sprawled on one side of the table with several books and, while Anthony Riddle was on the other side with an open toolbox and the radio he was fixing. He was a sight to see, a boy fiddling with tools that were a little too large for his hands, the same way his twin was casually reading books that were the size of his whole lap with a vocabulary that could still give kids older than them a headache.
They might've been a sight anywhere else, but the denizens of Wool's Orphanage had long gotten used to the idea that that Riddle twins were anything but normal.
Genius was a word that was usually bandied about by the oldest kids and maybe some of the adults. Mrs. Cole was currently deep in deliberation about whether she needed to get them tested in order to enter them in educational institutions that were more prepared to handle unusual children. Yet not many knew about her dilemma right now as she had not voiced it to anyone else, thinking she'd have a long time before they needed to go anywhere. The guests who were lucky enough to be able to see the twins (and not prompt them to hide in case anyone was looking to adopt) used it too. The orphanage kids usually settle with using weirdoes, or less commonly and much more negatively, freaks.
Tom was amused at how much less impact that word had on him now than when he was younger—he couldn't help but wonder why exactly it had seemed so important to him then.
While Tom was reading and taking notes, after muttering something about finding parallel principles between arithmantic heuristics that he knew about and some algebra textbook he had found in the library, Anakin lost himself in the rhythm of his work. It was the third radio he had seen to this week as news of his technical abilities had spread after he fixed Mrs. Cole's radio the first time around. This wasn't even one that was in the orphanage—it belonged to Mr. Werther the milkman. It began with Mr. Werther's small talk with Mrs. Cole in the mornings, and then the Missus' complaints about the radio. Mrs. Cole found that to be the perfect opportunity to tell about her darling boys, like how Anthony fixed her radio a few days ago.
It ended with Mr. Werther enthusiastically handing Mrs. Cole his radio—the same radio that is currently in Anakin's hands. The blond didn't mind it at all; it was better than being bored.
The darker-haired twin made one more sweep of the room with the Force, to ensure that none of the older kids around had their attention on them. Satisfied with everyone else's occupation, he took a cookie from under the table and started to munch again. Then he froze. Anakin looked up from the radio he was fixing when he heard a sudden sound from his brother.
"I knew I forgot something important about the orphanage," Tom said with a huff.
"What is it?"
"School," he said the words with such distaste that Anakin couldn't help but furrow his brows.
"What's so bad about it? I thought we were going to Hogwarts?"
His twin sighed. "We're not going to go there until we're twelve, but we already need to go to school before that; the government requires it. Hence we'd be sent to muggle schools. That's a word for non-magicals, the mundanes."
"Can't we go to Hogwarts earlier?"
"'Fraid not. There are no classes available for younger kids."
"Forge an acceptance letter, then," he replied. Tom stared at the blond in surprise for a few moment, but the gears of his mind turned quickly.
"Forge… what? Alright, I can see how it would get us out of going into any muggle schools, but that means we'd have to go out of the orphanage for extended periods of time. That, in turn, meant we need to have a place ready, and I don't see any easy solutions presenting itself other than to procure a place. It would require the activation of Proof of Inheritance again, either to get the money for rent or access to any Slytherin grounds that may possibly still be around."
Tom shook his head. "This is a scheme that's too complicated just to solve the issue of getting out of muggle schools."
It was his brother's turn to sigh. "Alright. Just how boring are muggle schools, anyway?"
"Pretty boring, I guess."
"You guess?"
Tom threw his hands in defeat. "I can't even remember a lot of details about it. If my mind had decided to start erasing parts of those years in large blocks, it's safe to say that it's rather boring indeed."
Anakin scratched his head. They didn't have time to go to school. They still have to plan to save the world while getting their bodies up to par. Tom was tapping his pen against the textbook's edge, eyes narrowed in in concentration. The blond knew he was only going to think in circles when he was stuck like this, and decided to go back to the radio he was working on. The problem wasn't hard, but removing a particular melted part took some finesse to do.
"We could get adopted," Tom finally said. Anakin groaned.
"Not this again."
"No, not by mundanes, but by magicals. It would provide us with a lot of leeway to practice magic, meditate, practice the Force, practice everything. We'd probably get access to whatever magical books they have too. Any wizard or witch would also be fully aware of any upcoming conflict with Grindelwald and wouldn't exactly be sitting ducks when trouble came to Britain."
Anakin wanted to offer his opinion on it before he saw Tom's expression. It was still closed upon itself, bearing the weight of too many thoughts and his eyes darker and colder than Anakin would ever want to see in him. He felt along their bond and unsurprisingly found his brother's emotions swirling into a dreary vortex around the usual soothing cool core that was Tom.
"For someone who'd just set out a solution, you don't look happy at all."
"…I'm not," Tom admitted after a while. He could see it already took a lot for his brother to say that instead of just clamming up.
"And?" he prodded.
"I don't think it's really a solution."
Anakin sighed. Tom was not of the habit of sharing his plans, at all. He was getting better, really, but it didn't mean that Anakin didn't want to bash his head against a wall when he was getting close-mouthed again. It was also something his brother fell back on all too easily when he was under pressure.
"I don't know what you're krethin' talking about until you decide to actually tell me. I can't actually read you mind." He said, blunt. Well, he could, but it would've been a battle and a half and wasn't worth the hassle and pain.
You might also want to look at that storm that's brewing around you. The emotional mess is not doing you any favours. Anakin said.
Tom closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and Anakin could feel the spike in conflicting thoughts dumped into to the Force. It was unexpectedly large enough that he could feel the hairs at the back of his neck standing for a moment, and that slight tingle in the air that was familiar before a thunderstorm. He could see several other orphans in the room noticing it too, if some confused and wary glances were any indication. A boy closest to them rubbed his arms.
"You say that meditation solves everything, right?"
"That was Obi-Wan, not me," Anakin said quickly. He wasn't that much of a meditation enthusiast.
"Let me do that first, then. I want to make sure that my mind is clear when I talk to you about it." The creases on his brow were noticeable now as he went halfway into full brooding mode already.
Anakin nodded, trying to hold back the urge to batter at their mental connection until he spoke up. "Of course. I'll be here when you're up for it."
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