Venenum
By Koryander
Chapter 15. Hydrophis - A Mother's Love.
She pointed her wand, her breath coming out fast, her heart pounding like a horse's gallop. The moon served as a source of illumination for the serene night, the glow reflecting off the dark waters of the Great Lake at Hogwarts which always seemed to have a layer of fog around it, even in the Summer days.
"Expelliarmus!" Hermione cast the spell before The Hooded even had a chance to do anything against her. So serious and fierce, she glared at her enemy, her bravery overcoming her initial fear. She heard a sound of a wand falling e on gravel.
"Tell me who you are." The words came out of her mouth slowly and strongly. An explicit order. "Now." The tip of Hermione's wand flashed, eager to comply with any command from its caster.
She was met with silence, the darkness stared at her before she heard the whispers in Parseltongue.
The locket attached to Hermione's neck opened automatically, shocking her as she witnessed Salazar Slytherin's medallion reacting. The writing on the rings adorning the hourglass glowed green and the time turner began to spin.
This person had activated the Time-Turner!
"Stop this!" She ordered. "Shut up! Silencio!" She cast the spell, hitting The Hooded in the chest, but it was too late. The ground below her feet opened up a vacuum and as she fell, she felt as if she was apparating in the wrong way.
Her body hit the wet, icy cobblestone. She sucked air in when she felt the impact and then turned slowly on her back. Hermione blinked a few times watching the night sky; snow falling slowly and clumping on the ground.
This cannot be happening, she feared. Her eyes stung with hot tears that threatened to fall. Not again, she wanted to scream and cry at the same time.
Rising, she shivered with the wind. The snow clinging to her hair, the warm breath she exhaled contrasted with the cold air. Hermione looked around, trying to recognize the place where she was, and surprisedly noticed that it was close to what she remembered being the Wool Orphanage.
What…? She didn't understand what was going on. Was someone trying to show her something? She wasn't sure. She just knew that all these events always lead to Riddle.
Hermione hugged herself, cautiously examining the empty street she walked on towards the iron gate of the orphanage. She looked at the structure of the mansion that housed the orphans and noticed some lights on, and she was about to push the iron gate when she heard a noise coming from that infamous alley. There were low whimpers, a kind of cry that very much resembled a wounded animal.
She took a step back away from the iron gate, walking hesitantly to the alley - may as well be called the Alley of Wailing she thought- hesitating at the beginning of the passage.
Further into the alley it was pitch-black dark, the crying sounds did not stop and a scene from a horror movie seemed to play before her. Hermione was about to investigate when she heard footsteps coming towards her. Observantly, she noticed they were not steps that were walked steadily, it sounded like someone was dragging their feet. She held her wand tighter and then a figure was revealed by the moonlight.
It was a woman. A woman so pale that her skin looked translucent, her dark hair was dull, long and extremely straight, the dress she wore was dark brown with a high collar and long sleeves, her coat too thin to protect her from freezing temperatures and even then, Hermione noticed that she was thin, too thin to be considered healthy. However, her stomach was swollen and round.
She is pregnant.
The woman dragged on, shivering with cold or fear, tripping over her own feet and using the bars of the orphanage's gate to stabilize herself, she ignored Hermione's existence, her hand going under her round belly as if to keep the baby inside of it. Among her cries and murmurs, there were grunts of pain.
Hermione was frozen in place, watching the scene, recognizing where she was and at what time she was.
Destabilized and weak, the woman fell against the gate of the orphanage, accidentally opening the iron gate and falling into the snow. Dark hair contrasted with white. The noise must have attracted attention, as the main door of the orphanage opened and a young Mrs Cole appeared holding an old lantern.
That night of dark cloudless sky where snow fell and the moon illuminated the dark streets with bluish light, that night was December 31st. In some of the busiest places, far away, people were probably celebrating because after all, it was New Year's Eve. And less known to many it was the day of Tom Riddle Jr.'s birth.
And that wailing woman was Merope Gaunt.
The young Mrs Cole and a practically adolescent Martha rushed to the help of Merope, who squirmed while feeling the pains of childbirth. Hermione, who was on the other side of the sidewalk, cast a spell of disillusionment on herself, watching the scene with stupor.
The young Mrs Cole and Martha managed to lift Merope with effort, placing her in the middle of the two, while each held one of Merope's arms to help her walk.
"Miss Cole, look ..." Martha observed, drawing Cole's attention to the state Merope was in, and at that very moment, Merope grunted in pain.
"She is in labour. We have to get her inside now! " Cole ordered.
Martha and Cole walked into the orphanage.
Behind them, an invisible Hermione followed them, unknowingly leaving footprints in the snow along with the lantern that had been forgotten.
Inside the Orphanage, it had become chaos between the three women. Hermione was close to them, but not close enough to interrupt the scene, perhaps in a quieter moment all three could have awakened their innate sixth sense of being watched, but this was far from it.
Martha ran to warm up the water and fetch towels, while Cole took Merope downstairs, specifically to the basement. While Hermione found Martha's desperation gentle and innocent, her curiosity and attention were on Merope.
With the help of Miss Cole, Merope the stairs to the basement, almost slipping twice because of the contractions of childbirth. Her baby was looking forward to coming into the world. Hermione wanted to help out of instinct and empathy but with all her effort she stilled herself just as a spectator, following like a shadow. Sometimes doing nothing was the worst job of all. She deducted that the choice of taking the basement over the infirmary was largely based on the idea that all the commotion for childbirth could wake the children who were asleep on the second floor.
Upon reaching the basement, Miss Cole placed Merope on a single iron bed - something Hermione didn't remember being there when she was in the basement with Riddle - and quickly turned on a light, meanwhile Merope grunted in pain, writhing from side to side, sweat making her damp hair stick to her forehead.
Martha came down the stairs quickly bringing the towels, then immediately went up and went down again, this time bringing candles and matches to increase the brightness in the basement. Poor thing, she was so nervous that her hand was shaking as she tried to light the candles. It was only her first month working at the orphanage. As a country girl who came to town to seek a better life, it had not been easy for her, but here she had a roof over her head, a place to sleep without hunger. She just dealt with babies and children, she never delivered a baby, this would be her first and by God, she hoped to do nothing wrong.
Hearing the kettle whistle, she went up again and it was Hermione's chance to get a little closer so she could better see. She walked smoothly, skirting Mrs Cole and approaching the headboard where she could see Merope Gaunt's face. Mrs Cole was helping to remove Merope's coat, and as soon as she managed she made a little "Oh!" and Hermione opened her mouth in kind.
Merope was too thin, really thin. Looking at her face now that she was in the light, it was noticeable that her cheeks were 'sucked in', her lips were purple and dry. The eyeballs looked too big for the thin face. It wasn't normal. She had probably never been healthy from what she recalled of Harry's stories, but this was extreme. Now she could understand why Merope would not survive childbirth.
She opened her eyes and looked directly at where Hermione was, and even though Hermione knew that the spell she cast on herself was still present, - otherwise, Miss Cole would have already screamed in fright - she shivered. Even though Merope wasn't seeing her, she could have felt her magic. Hermione was devastated that so much talent had been wasted by her mediocre life and the family that she had had.
Her eyes looked in opposite directions simultaneously and this she noted was strabismus most likely caused by inbreeding. Another devastating fact which had affected this woman's unfortunate destiny.
The magical ability of Merope was probably great, but untapped. Suppressed by years of physical and mental abuse, there were no great opportunities for her to explore such magic that she could have had. And what made Hermione think that? The simple fact that when she was given the chance, she had made the Amortentia potion perfectly to the point of making Tom Riddle Sr. fall in synthetic love with her without ever arousing suspicion, bar the moment she had stopped giving him the potion.
In a way, the choices that Merope Gaunt had made could not be judged so coldly. One thing was certain, it was impossible to force someone's love, the feeling more likely to become hatred, yet Merope Gaunt had reached her rock bottom. The lowest level anyone could reach for crumbs of affection. This is what had happened to her, so desperate for love and attention, she resorted to the only method she thought was the one that would fulfil her deepest desires.
o0o
Watching Tom Riddle Sr. riding from the window of the Gaunt small and deteriorated house was her moment of peace. Sometimes Merope imagined herself to be Cecilia - the young muggle who was often with Tom - riding through the gardens and walking through the streets of Little Hangleton, arm in arm with Tom. Other times, she felt pure jealousy to the point that when observing the two together, Merope was scratching the wood of the window until her finger bleed.
Cecilia meant to Merope everything she wanted to be and what she should hate too. She wished so blindly to be Cecilia, to look like the young lady of Little Hangleton, to have expensive dresses and to ride a horse, to be courted by young men, to live in a good house that Cecilia lived in, to have the family that Cecilia had and especially to have the attention Tom Riddle.
But these thoughts were punished in the worst possible way: by magic.
Her brother and her father hated her for thinking that way. How could Princess Gaunt, whose ancestor was Salazar Slytherin, wish to be a muggle? Live like a muggle?
Squib! Squib! Squib! Squib! Squib!
Her memories were mixed up, mixed, for the countless times her father tortured her with her brother watching and laughing in the background. Even though she sometimes felt the urge to run away, she had not found enough strength to commit the act and she too had a love, an affection for her father, she just hoped that deep down her father might have had some similar feeling - however small it was. And despite everything, in the end her father had been right: Tom Riddle had not returned her love. She was a fool, a fool in love, who couldn't get angry enough to hate Tom. Even if it was through magic, the few times she had spent with Tom Riddle were s the happiest Merope had ever lived.
However, everything that is good has to end. Or so it was with The Gaunts. Although her family could be considered a kind of 'royalty' of wizards, due to their greatest ancestor, nothing that was happy and good survived in the hands of the people who belonged to her family. At that moment, she just hopes that the child she carries can be different. If it is a girl, she wants to name her Cecilia, but if it is a boy, there is no doubt: It will be Tom Riddle.
She doesn't want the child to be like her or her family, she wants it to be detached from magic and everything that connects to this magical and terrible world that she belongs to. She wants the child to be normal, have a normal life, and be happy. More than anything, she wants the child to be happy. And let the child know that she loves it even if no one else wants the child, just as no one ever wanted her, she does. She loves it very much and has survived until here for this little thing that grew inside her, the only reminder that at one point in her life she had been happy.
"Spread your legs, dear." Young Mrs Cole ordered.
Merope had no way of refusing and resisting, although at some point if she was more lucid she would have been ashamed, yet now she was too weak and the pain she was experiencing prevented her from fighting. Besides, there was an instinct in her already tired body that made her comply with the request and push.
Hermione watched the scene with distress while young Mrs Cole lifted Merope's dress and took off her underwear. At that moment, Merope threw herself against the pillows, her hair making a halo around her, her skin looked damp with beads of sweat, her breath fast. Her hands grabbed the sheet and she grunted in pain, her eyes closing in pain.
Martha cameomes down the stairs bringing hot water and placing it next to Cole, then ranruns to Merope, wiping the sweat from her forehead with a towel.
"The baby is coming, she has to push," Cole tells Martha.
"Come on miss, you have to push, the baby is already coming." Martha, in a soft voice, trieds to convince Merope. Merope trieds to move but quickly returned to the pillows, too weak to make the necessary force. "She's not making it."
"If she doesn't make it, both the baby and possibly her will die," Cole said. It was such a fatalist statement that even though Hermione already knew the outcome, her stomach clenched at the statement.
Martha took the initiative, even though she had never delivered a baby, she had only once delivered her father's cow. She hoped it would be similar, as she was just a young woman who had just become a nurse, barely had any experience.
Martha pushed Cole a little, holding Merope's legs, and said seriously,
"Come on, miss. Count with me and when I say, you must push. You have to do this for the love you surely have for your unborn baby! "
That must have done the job or else it was the pain that Merope felt because then she took her body forward and pushed, the blood flowed, staining the sheet and she threw herself against the pillows again, her breathing even faster.
"The head, I can see!" Martha exclaimed. "A little more, miss! Just a little more! "
At the very moment that Tom Riddle Jr was about to come into the world, while Merope was making the effort, all the lights including that of the candles went out simultaneously, leaving everyone in the dark, scaring Martha and Cole, including Hermione. And when Merope screamed, making the last effort to bring her baby into the world, the lights came back on, illuminating the basement, with the central lamp shattering. Cole crossed herself while looking at Merope and the baby.
The baby was there, in Martha's arms. It didn't cry or do anything. With bloody hands, Martha looked at the baby, a little surprised, distressed, afraid. The baby was not crying and announcing its arriving to the world as it was supposed to, nor was it moving.
Was it dead? Marthae wondered, her eyes already filled with tears. Martha looked at the baby's mother, whose breathing was slowing.
Coming out of her stupor, she took the towel and rolled the baby up, while trying to clear the nasal passages so it could breathe. It was then that the baby moved, moving its small legs and shrinking its arms, feeling for the first time on the sensitive skin the temperature change.
Martha looked down and noticed, a boy!
She let a smile grow on her face, happy that she didn't have someone's life on her conscience.
"It's a boy!" She announced it to both Merope and Cole.
She approached Merope with the baby in her arms, Hermione took a step back in shock as she saw it all happening.
"See your son, miss," Martha murmured to Merope, and with the lack of response, Martha got scared and shook one of the lady's arms a little. Merope opened her eyes and Martha put the baby next to Merope where she could see and grab her son, then she retracted, making room for mother and newborn.
When Merope saw the baby's face, she cried hot tears streaming down her face. She tried to hold her son with shaking arms and hands. Her son blinked a few times and opened his eyes and more tears came down her face. He was perfect, so different from her.
It was Tom. She knew from the start. She had felt it.
She traced her son's face, who had the shadow of dark hair, and smiled through her tears.
My dear, Tom.
You have your father's nose. Yes, that perfect little nose he has is nothing compared to her ugly nose.
You have your father's lips. Those perfectly bowed lips, so different from her thin, shapless lips.
You have your father's hair. That dark hair, which she could identify that would be silky like her father's.
You have your father's essence. Yes, that essence, that aura, she could feel it came only from the Riddle family.
You have your father's eyes. These eyes were unmistakable. So green, greener than the father's.
You are just like your father. He was just like his father.
Please, Tom, grow up like him. She asked, begged the baby to be like his father, in every way. That he did not have the features of her family, that he was not like her - that was what she asked for most - that he was nothing like her. That he was a muggle, an ordinary human being because nothing good came from magic.
But let him know that she loved him, loved him so strongly and that he was for her the only and precious one, Tom.
"You are different, Tom. You are special. You are my only and precious one, Tom. " She whispered in the baby's ear.
She closed her eyes, tired, and enjoyed the moment. Her baby was real and she loved him so much and for a moment, everything was peaceful, even though she felt the blood running down her legs. However, Merope's fears took over her mind.
She did love that baby, but what could she offer to little Tom? She had nothing; no house, no cosy home with food, clothes, or toys that she had seen other children have, not even his father was present. Her love would not be enough for him. And most of all, she didn't want to see the look of shame that he could grow up knowing that she was his mother; this horrendous woman she was, with the strange magic she had. She was the hindrance to the happy life he could have.
Oh, God. She cried harder. I can't even be good for my baby? She asked herself. In her mind, hearing the voice of her father, Marvolo, calling her useless and her brother agreeing. The voices were there.
Ever since she had been alone, the voices became constant. Sometimes it was memories, sometimes it was all the people around her talking at the same time in her mind. It hurt and she covered her ears to try to block it, but it didn't work.
But now, at that very moment, she heard her father, her brother, Tom and all the people who judged her when she walked the streets like a sewer rat.
She was useless even for her baby. Merope shivered. Martha intervened, taking the baby.
Cole approached when she saw that look on the young mother's face, she knew it well enough to know that the end was near.
"So, miss, what's his name?" Cole asked, taking Merope's hand in both hands. Feeling Merope's cold skin.
"Tom...!" She responded immediately and without hesitation. It seemed like she wanted to say more when she murmured, which brought Cole closer.
Suddenly Merope leaned forward and grabbed the strands of her hair, as if trying to pull it out, her eyes looking in opposite directions when she opened them. The shock caused Cole to still her for a moment.
Dad! Please, Dad! Please! Dad! Dad! Marvolo!
Merope covered her ears and shook her head from side to side repeatedly.
"Marvolo!" She shouted.
In Merope's mind, the voices of her brother and father were mocking her, harassing her, cursing her every time she begged for her father. They were punishing her.
You are a Gaunt ... Gaunt ... Gaunt ... Gaunt ...
A muggle? Are you in love with a muggle ?!
Squib! Squib! Squib!
She's in love with that man, Riddle ... Riddle ... Riddle ...
I'm Cecilia, I wanted to be Cecilia ... Cecilia ... Cecilia ...
Do you really think that muggle will look at you, little sister? The lady who is always with him is going to marry him. You are a Gaunt. You will never be a Riddle ... Riddle ...
I married Tom, I am a Riddle. I married Tom, I am a Riddle. I married Tom, I'm a ...
"Riddle!" She finished, shouting to make the voices stop. She held out her hand for a fleeting moment, as she remembered Tom Riddle abandoning her once again, and just as before, she let go and lay against the pillows. The voices continued whispering in her ears, she cried shrinking into herself, sadness overtaking her at last. Her heart was broken.
At the last moment of lucidity, she wished someone was good enough for her little Tom. That someone would give him a happy home and embrace him and, above all, that someone would have the capacity to love Tom. Please, that someone would love him.
She wanted love for him. The love she had never had.
Eyes open, with one last tear, Merope Gaunt took a last breath on a bloody bed where she gave birth to Tom Marvolo Riddle.
And everything went silent, be it for Martha, Cole or Hermione herself who could not believe that this was how Merope had died and that Tom had been born.
A little in shock, Hermione placed a hand to her mouth in a gesture to stifle the tension and sadness she was feeling.
Martha held the baby while looking in shock while Mrs Cole made the sign of the cross and approached Merope's body, and with a strange gentleness closed Merope's eyes and placed a white sheet over her. Cole was shaken but tried to hold on.
"Go take care of the baby, Martha." She ordered. "We will call the gravedigger in the morning."
"But, we don't even know who she is. How will we notify the family? " Martha asked in a tearful voice.
"We will put an ad in the newspaper, if she has a family, the baby will be lucky. Otherwise, he is already where he should be." She turned to Martha. "And may God have mercy on that woman's soul, because the things I saw today were not normal."
Cole went up the stairs as if she wanted to get out of the basement as fast as possible, leaving Martha and the baby behind.
Martha stood there, the nightdress she wore was bloody, just as the blood on her hands reached up to her forearm, she held Tom, who made the first noise, waking her from the shock. She looked at the baby and then at Merope's body and with youthful purity, she murmured.
"Sorry." And she went up the stairs quickly.
Hermione stayed there, walked a few steps and stopped in the centre of the room while looking at the body of Merope Gaunt. She would be buried tomorrow, without fanfare or glory, without someone to mourn and would be forgotten. Or maybe she would be cremated, her ashes scattered in the wind. In both cases, she would probably be freer than she ever was.
"Rest in peace." Hermione whispered, placing the rest of the sheet over Merope's face. How many more deaths would she have to see?
The candle wax burned, the light went out slowly until everything was in darkness.
o0o
When Hermione went up the basement stairs, everything was dark except for the light coming from the kitchen. Hermione walked slowly, as the wooden floor was making noise and overheard the conversation.
"Poor thing, she was not pretty." Cole watched while Martha heated the water for her bath, which will be shared between the two of them with her taking the first turn as the oldest..
"Mrs Cole!" Martha was startled by such sincerity from Cole.
"Nor was she healthy." Cole didn't stop criticizing. "What a strange name she wanted to put on the baby. Marvolo? Maybe she came from the circus."
"She was young, she shouldn't have been more than my age," Martha suggested.
"Young ladies today. Foolish and vile men can charm and steal their purity and then abandon them as if they were nothing and then, they end up like this, like her." Cole murmured, her voice charged with what could be considered bitterness, as her eyes looked at nothing, a memory taking place in her mind.
"These men don't want to take over their children and so we, women, have to take drastic measures." Cole looked back at Martha. "Watch out for wolves in sheep's clothing, Martha."
Martha looked down, specifically at hands. Her nails were still a little reddish with blood, even though she had washed her hands and forearms repeatedly. Not knowing what to say, she went into another matter.
"The baby, Tom, is okay. I gave him a bottle and he drank it. I put him in the nursery. He doesn't make a lot of noise, nor does he cry. He ... He just keeps looking at us."
Cole tilted her head to the side. "Well, be thankful. We don't want a cry at dawn. For this very reason, when the gravedigger arrives tomorrow make sure the children stay in their proper rooms. In the meantime, I'll talk to Mr Wool and I will explain what happened."
"I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight, Miss Cole."
"In fact, I can't even do it myself."
Stopping listening to the two ladies talking, Hermione went up the stairs. The steps were smooth and slow, the path she was taking was in the direction of the nursery. Hermione opened the door very sparingly, trying to avoid any noise that might wake the babies, however there weren't many, surprisingly just one. The one who had just been born.
There was an attraction, specifically a curiosity that made her approach the cradle and support both hands on the protective bars, her brown gaze falling on the little being that lay there.
The baby was clean, Martha had probably given him the first bath and put on the cloth diaper, but there was still the usual rest of the vernix caseosa. Baby Tom was very well wrapped in a blanket, not even the little ears were visible, only his little face was showing. The little mouth was making a sucking motion common among babies.
Hermione tilted her head to the side, trying to understand. Her mind was still unable to register the idea of seeing the Dark Lord in the most helpless state that a human being could be.
Her eyebrows tried to form an expression. It was at that time, then, that the greatest moral test was imposed on her. There, right in front of her, is the chance to end everything that will happen. She can make it painless for him and prevent future families from suffering the loss of their loved ones. She can do that. Maybe she should want to do this and a dark part of her logic says that it is cruel but necessary, but she cannot find the strength to do the act. The idea fills her with shame and she hides her face in her hands.
As if sensing danger or maybe just from her presence, Tom opens his eyes. He blinks a few times and looks around, looking for what was bothering him and Hermione freezes when she realizes this, afraid it will make him cry. As much as she knows that the spell is still present and that she is also aware that newborn babies can barely see, it scares Hermione the fact that Tom is looking at her as if he can see her.
It's as strange as the situation appears. Hermione looks back at him. He is a healthy and pink baby, the irises in his eyes are brightgreen - when he grows older, the colour will fade to a less obvious green.
In any case, Tom is a beautiful baby, but he interacts strangely. Martha is right, he doesn't cry or complain, he just looks and blinks solemnly. But even so, watching him brings up Hermione's kind instinct. Hermione strokes the small crease on his forehead with her thumb to soothe the expression he is making.
He's cute, she thinks.
Even though he doesn't see or understand what is going on, she knew Tom still feels the heat coming from their contact, it is something new and strange for him, but it seems he enjoys the feeling.
When the baby gives a half-smile, Hermione finds herself copying the expression. However, her smile soon disappears when she remembers the circumstances that made her come here and that Tom was born, especially the fact that his mother is deceased on the floor below.
She retracts. The voices coming from the corridor seem louder and she barely realizes that the sand from the Time-Turner is oozing, counting the time for the end of the trip, making 'click' sounds as the sand reaches the end of the hourglass.
Strangely, something created from nothing arises, increasing in size, like a passage. The image in front of her is a little blurry, like a mirage. The edges of this phenomenon are flickering green like the colour of sand in the hourglass of the Time-Turner and suddenly, this passage ias sucking her in, only her. Leaving no chance for her to escape.
Hermione found herself passing through that portal, being transported to another time. She breathed heavily and frightened, looked at her hands trying to understand what kind of magic was being triggered by the Time-Turner. She looked back, noting that in the image of the portal was the nursery where baby Tom was, the edges of the portal were closing like a seam. Hermione only hears Martha's voice trying to prevent someone from entering the nursery, before the portal disappears.
She swallowed and looked around, still scared, realizing then, that she was still at the Wool Orphanage. She was in the hallway of the dorms and could hear the children playing outside, there was conversation too, someone was walking up the stairs with other people. Hermione ran to get away, entering one of the bedrooms. She closed the door and waited, feeling her heart beat like a hammer.
When people passed by the room she froze in the position she was in, the Disillusionment charm that she cast was fading and she needed to concentrate to put the charm back in place, however, it was becoming difficult to maintain concentration.
She sighed in relief when she heard people walk away. Moving away from the wooden door, she looked at the room which she was in. The bed, the wooden wardrobe and a table with a chair, Hermione already knew the furniture in the bedrooms, only this time, on the wooden table, there was a rabbit in a cage. The cage scrawled under the name Billy Stubbs.
Oh! I'm in Billy's room.
She remembered very well the boy who called her and Tom weird.
The children's voices catch her eye She looked out the window watching the children play. There was snow and they were running from side to side, playing snowball war. But while most were playing, there was a boy who was sitting on a bench, reading a children's book and largely ignoring everyone around him.
Tom, she recognized. He must have been six or seven at the most. He was dressed in grey pants, which in Hermione's view did little to protect from the cold, a grey sweater with a coat over it, a brown scarf was wrapped around his neck, a pair of fingerless gloves on his hands that Hermione couldn't tell if they were black or brown, and he was also wearing a beret.
Not surprisingly to her, he seemed to feel that he was being watched and looked up from the book to scan the structure of the Orphanage. At that very moment, he was hit very close to his ear by a snowball, he quickly wiped his face, trying to remove the cold contact of snow from his skin.
He glanced at Billy, before turning his attention to the book, but he was hit again.
"Billy, stop!" He asked.
"What will you do? Gonna cry?" Billy teased Tom as he approached.
In the background, the remaining children laughed happily. Tom narrowed his eyes, anger started to rise, but he preferred to ignore it, trying to read his book again, but it stopped when Billy hit the book, causing it to fall in the snow. Tom got up to face Billy, who pushed him back onto the bench, Tom pushed Billy back and Billy pushed him again, this time making Tom fall on the snow. Hermione can imagine the cold wetness seeping through his threadbare clothes.
She watched as Billy kicked the snow towards Tom's face, then suddenly the two were grappling, fighting.
Billy Stubbs was very burly for his age, making him look relatively bigger than Tom. The two only stopped when Mrs Cole intervened, pushing them away from each other and threatening with more drastic punishment while hitting Tom's and Billy's hand with a stick. Hermione watched as Mrs Cole sent everyone back inside the Orphanage. The playtime was over.
She left Billy's room and entered Room 27, Tom's room. Anxious to understand what he was like in childhood, Hermione checks to see if the Disillusionment charm is still on her, focusing on keeping the magic in place. She heard footsteps approaching and stood in the corner of the room, watching as little Tom opened the door, entered and closed the door.
He walked over to the table and placed the book on top of it, then he took off his beret, scarf and finally his gloves, things that he deposited neatly and carefully on the bed. Tom stopped for a moment, looking at his hand, closing and opening his hand a few times for the blood to circulate. His hand was sore and the glove did nothing to prevent the burning of the blow from Mrs Cole's stick. He sighed, walked over to the table again and looked at the cover of the book. It was a used book, donated to the orphanage. The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.
Hermione tilted her head, trying to get a better look at him. Tom inherited no physical resemblance to his mother, except for his paleness. Even as a child, Tom was pale - perhaps something that was intensified by the creation of the Horcruxes - however, the cheeks and the tip of the nose were childishly pink. His black hair, long eyelashes and green eyes, along with the orphanage's clothing, made him look like a Gothic doll. The fact that he looked like a child with perfect physical structure did little for him to escape an eerie description.
Again, even within this time Hermione witnessed that he felt watched as he looked around. This strange intensified sixth sense that he had was denouncing Hermione's position. Tom looked directly at the corner of the room she was in. He frowned and narrowed his eyes, hesitantly walked towards her with one hand outstretched. Hermione, knowing that if he walked any further he would touch her, she had to do something to change his attention so she magically made the book cross the room and crash into the wall. It scared him, made him withdraw and he walked over to the book and picked it up off the floor.
"It's happening again." She heard him grumble.
Tom put the book back on the table, this time he stared very intently at it. She could see the determination in his gaze and the small crease between his eyebrows and then, it happened, the book was levitating.
Hermione, impossibly, smiled. It was magic. His magic.
He looked amazed, the book levitated for a few seconds before falling into both of his hands. Tom held the book within his tight grip and looked at his reflection in the window. Realization fs on him then, Hermione realized. It was the first time he had intentionally done magic, with all the other times probably having been accidental.
Still looking at his reflection, Tom smiled to himself. However, something caught his eye. Putting the book down, he moved closer to the window, placing both hands against the window. He looked at the street intently, specifically at a couple with a son walking the streets. The mother was holding the father's arm, while the son ran and played in the snow, a little ahead of the two.
He looked down for a moment, his finger moving against the glass, forming a pattern. When he was satisfied, he stopped, looked at the drawing and then laid down on the bed turning to face the wall. Hermione only moved when she heard him snoring, fast into a deep sleep.
She looked at the drawing he made on the window. With a pang she sees it was a birthday cake.
It's his birthday.
Hermione looked at him, her eyebrows coming together as she felt sorry for him. Because he was a child, because of what he was going through. She still couldn't digest that a few moments ago she saw him being born and saw his mother die. Leaving him in that condition...
Merope Gaunt had not wanted that for him, she had cried then when she had seen his face. She had loved Tom instantly.
Unable to ignore it, Hermione bent down and whispered the words that his mother had said at his birth. She was doing this as a way of comforting and reminding a child not to be afraid.
"You are different, Tom. You are special."
At that moment, the portal opened and Hermione was sucked in to where the starting point had initially begun. The Great Lake of Hogwarts at dawn. She fell to her knees hitting against the gravel, a little dizzy and breathing fast. Her gaze lifted from the ground, The Hooded was there looking at her. Hermione looked back, watching the passage close with the image of little Tom sleeping.
"W-what is that?" She whispered, teeth chattering without realising it was not from the cold.
She passed out on the shore of the Great Lake, the water partially licking her body.
The Hooded approached Hermione's unmoving body, crouched down and whispered to the locket, which opened revealing the Time-Turner. The hourglass locked, preventing Hermione from travelling any further.