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Root of Desire	By : MegiiOfMysteriOusStranger Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 42312 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not Harry Potter or anything else quoted within. I make no money from writing this. Zip. Zilch.

Chapter List
- 6
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- 8
Dear Mr. Riddle.

We have received intelligence that an Unlocking Charm was used at your place of residence this evening at seven minutes past one.

As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C). While the newly legalized Howell Policy (“Pendragon’s List.” April 1939, Paragraph B) enables underage wizards to use predetermined spells in the event of wartime to protect themselves, we would like to remind you that, as a muggleborn wizard, the clause does not apply to yourself.

We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlock’s Statute of Secrecy.

Enjoy your holidays!

Yours sincerely,

Lawrence Colton

Lawrence Colton

Improper Use of Magic Office

Ministry for Magic

-

It was a clear, cold morning. The animalistic rumble of the bus’ engine rattled the floor beneath Tom’s feet, accompanied by the noise of chattering, excited children scurrying down the aisle and climbing over deep green seats. Tom ached to take out one of his books and read, even a Muggle one would do, but reading while in a moving vehicle always made him nauseous, so he refrained, staring morosely out the shaking window.

It was the weekend, but Tom would not be going to have dinner at Hermione’s house this time, much to his rather vocal displeasure. It was the weekend of Wool’s annual countryside trip, and Mrs. Cole had been firm in making him go, no matter how much he raged and shouted about it. She didn’t like Hermione at all, and Tom was sure that Mrs. Cole was doing all she could to keep them apart. She had it out for him, just as she always had.

When he had gotten back from Hermione’s house that first time some weeks ago, Mrs. Cole had been waiting, as he knew she would be. And he had been beaten, as he knew he would be. However, it wasn’t the harsh, humiliating spanking he’d gotten earlier. Dennis—good, loyal, fearful Dennis, who still looked after Tom from the shadows even after all these years—had told Mrs. Cole the truth about what had happened that afternoon when Suzie Quigley had broken her jaw. So, Johnny was in deep punishment and had been made to apologize to Tom for lying about something that was no one’s fault. Mrs. Cole had apologized for punishing him unjustly too. Though he took great satisfaction from the stuttered, red-faced apology he got from Johnny, Tom could hardly be satisfied with a simple “I’m sorry,” and had plans to collect what he was owed—but that would come later.

Though Mrs. Cole may not have liked Tom, she had his best interests at heart as she did for all of the children under her care. She wanted to make sure that he was safe, and it was for that reason that she insisted on meeting Tom’s friend.

Things had seemed to go well at first. Hermione was punctual as she almost always was, her clothes immaculate if well-worn. Martha showed Hermione to the matron’s office, and the witch had snuck a smile and a small wave Tom’s way when she passed him.

Tom was unusually apprehensive about the whole ordeal. It was a surprise to realize how much Mrs. Cole’s opinion meant—she was the only thing like a mother he’d ever had. He’d go and see Hermione even if it was against her wishes, of course, but he hoped she approved. He wondered if his nervousness resembled that of a young man bringing his fiancé home to meet her future mother-in-law. If so, perhaps it was best that he didn’t have an actual mother to bring a girlfriend home to—he heard that sort of business was awfully messy.

But, per usual, things could never go quite right for Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Several little bodies were clustered around Mrs. Cole’s door, ears pressed up against the wood, hands cupping their mouths as if their mischievous giggles took the forms of fluttering moths. Two older orphans were eavesdropping too, Annabel Lee and Michael Whitesmith. Tom was sorely tempted to do the same, but tempting the belt again was not high on his list of things to do, and if he really wanted to know what was being said he could always weasel it out of someone else later. He leaned against the wall with forced patience, hands clenched behind his back to keep from wringing them dry.

A collective gasp at the door made him look up. Annabel was bright red, and had pushed two children away from the door her hands clamped over one ear each.

“Oy—!” they protested.

“Not for children’s ears…” she muttered hurriedly.

“HOW DARE YOU!” Came Hermione’s voice seeping out of the cracks of the door, loud and furious.

Tom’s shoulders jumped just as Annabel too leapt away from the door, pulling two squealing children with her by their ears. She released them, pale—she had always reacted badly to loud voices—and they zipped back to the door as she took slow steps backwards.

“What just happened?” Tom asked lowly.

Annabel looked by-and-large horrified. “Mrs. Cole just accused your lady friend of being a pedophile.”

Oh, dear. Oh, sweet Merlin. What a horrible thought. What a horrible, disgusting accusation for Mrs. Cole to make. It made Tom feel rather sick. He shoved himself off the wall and rushed to the door, slowing up just enough so that he could press the side of his head against the wood silently.

“—ple supposed to think!” That was Mrs. Cole.

“Think? Think what?” Hermione. His Hermione. “Why should they think anything? What is so-so utterly bizarre about having a casual dinner with someone that merits an accusation like that?”

“I am the matron of this orphanage and it is my duty to take care of these children and keep them away from dangerous people—”

“You have no good reason for accusing me of having-of having those-those kinds of relations with Tom! A twelve year-old boy! Mer-my God, madam! Can’t a person just be nice?”

Mrs. Cole scoffed. “No one’s ever ‘just nice’ to people like us, Miss Wilkins, never. You all want something! A shoeshine, a baby to throw your riches at—Tom doesn’t need your pity, nor do the rest of us! You can’t convince me that you’re a good Samaritan just because you wear that Volunteer Service armband!”

“Pity?” Hermione echoed, her voice searing with incredulity. “You think I pity Tom; that I pity any of you? Madam, of all the people I’ve met in my life, Tom is—Tom is the least deserving of pity! I couldn’t pity him if I tried!”

“Liar!”

“I AM NOT A LIAR!”

Tom flinched away from the door. Mrs. Cole had obviously touched a very tender nerve. He was glad he was only eavesdropping and not in the room with the two women. Mrs. Cole and Hermione both were scary when they were angry, though he had yet to be on the receiving end of Hermione’s wrath and he hoped to keep things that way. Being on the receiving end of her frustration was bad enough.

“I am many things, Missus Cole, but I am not a liar and I am not a pedophile!” Hermione screeched. “And I will not be told that I am so by the likes of anyone! If you’re that bloody concerned then, by all means, come to my house! See for yourself how things are! But do not—do not, madam, do not throw unfounded assumptions at me! You have no evidence or even rumor to back up your claim! I will not stand for it, not from you nor from anyone else in this world!”

The sound of wood scraping against wood followed the witch’s exclamation, and most of the other eavesdroppers scattered.

“My offer still stands,” Hermione said stiffly, “If you want to come and see things for yourself, you are plenty welcome to do so!”

He heels then began to thunk harshly on the floor, and they all leapt away from the door as if burned by it. It swung open, but Hermione held onto it so that it didn’t slam. Tom’s breath caught.

Hermione was intimidating when she was angry, but she was also beautiful. Her eyes were wide, glowing with some furious, passionate, lively inner light that was rarely displayed, and her eyebrows were drawn in a sharp line, her curly hair in more of a static bristle than usual, like the hackles of a hissing cat. A pair of the little ones squealed and fled at the sight of the witch.

She paused beside Tom, setting one lightly trembling hand on his shoulder. He allowed it. “I’m sorry, Tom. I hope I’ll see you Sunday, but Mrs. Cole…” She drew herself up short, physically biting back bitter words before they could gush out. She gave his shoulder a firm pat and strode away with her chin held high and her shoulders thrown back, heels sharply hitting the floor before the balls of her feet did.

Tom did not go to Hermione’s house that Sunday. Mrs. Cole, on the other hand, did. He was not able to charm the details of their second meeting from either woman, but Mrs. Cole returned that evening with pursed lips and reluctantly gave Tom permission to visit his friend every Sunday evening. It did not escape his notice, however, that every Sunday he was weighed down with an astonishing number of chores. Tom was smart enough to know to swallow his tongue on the matter. Mrs. Cole was doing it on purpose and he despised her for it, but he wouldn’t let her beat him, not ever. No matter what duties she made him attend to, Tom always finished in time to make it to Hermione’s house, even if he ran late a few times.

But no amount of charming, shouting, or slither-outing could help him escape from another stupid summer trip, it turned out. A trip that he felt would have been much better spent in Hermione’s spare room and unofficial library. At least there was one good thing that could come of the vacation, however: it was his big chance to get back at Johnny Jenkins.

The bus braked, shrieking with rust, and everybody tumbled forward at the abrupt stop, yanking Tom out of his musings. He lifted his hands to catch the back of the seat in front of him before his face was knocked into it. His scowl deepened. Laughter and groans filled the air around him. Someone was sprawled spread-eagle right on the floor by Tom’s seat.

They were all herded out into the open air, leaving their brown paper bag lunches in the automobile. The orphans scattered like a flock of caged birds suddenly released, squawking and crowing, their arms flung out to catch the air. A rocky, willowy grove was apparently their destination. No, wait—Tom looked closely at the stones jutting out of the grass—make that ruinous, not rocky. There had been a house or a small castle here once. Behind the chit-chattering voices of the children, he could hear the faint gurgle of a stream nearby.

“Budge over!” Someone exclaimed, shoving Tom aside a split moment later.

Tom staggered, but quickly righted himself, glaring fiercely at Johnny Jenkins’ retreating back.

‘Johnny, you are going to get yours!’

Tom reminded himself to think of some way to reward Dennis for his honesty—not that Dennis could lie anymore, but he could keep his mouth shut and it was a small fortune that he didn’t. Poor Suzie looked hideous, like some sort of human-mechanical monster with that metal contraption attached to her head, her teeth welded together until her jaw healed. She looked miserable, and was stuck on an all-liquids diet that wasn’t going well for her. She had always been skinny—most orphans were—but now she looked positively skeletal, her neck and shoulders stiff as if someone had shoved a rod down her throat. Tom held no affections or care for Suzie, but he felt some righteous anger on her behalf—it was Johnny’s fault she was like that. He had to pay.

‘Slowly, slowly,’ he thought. Good things came to those who waited. His fingers stroked his wand, stowed safely away in his pocket. He itched to test it on Johnny, to see if he could get away with using magic out in the middle of nowhere, but he wasn’t quite willing to risk it. There were other ways of making a person suffer.

“You’re going to hurt Johnny, aren’t you Tom?” Came a girl’s voice.

Tom turned, seeing a slightly younger girl standing nervously behind him. She had limp, sandy blonde hair and eyes of an unidentifiable color. A starry smattering of freckles fanned across her cheeks and surrounded her lips, making her mouth look dirty. She fiddled with her hands restlessly, her eyes lowered, and every so often they flickered up to him only to return to the ground a moment later.

Tom’s chest lurched painfully, but he swallowed it back, forcing the feeling behind a hard, unmovable crust. His mouth pinched and his eyebrows angled toward each other.

“If you already know the answer to things then why even bother asking, Amy?”

Amy Bennet flinched and swayed back a step. “I just… just…” There were tears in her eyes and he looked away at the sight of them. “He doesn’t know like we know, Tom. He’s little.”

“We were little too!”

“We were different! You—” She shouted back at first, but her voice quickly withered. “You know we were different.”

“I am different. Dennis and you just wanted to be.”

She made a soft, nasal keening noise followed by a sniffle. He listened to her fight and bury her feelings away until she could speak again. “I know I can’t talk you out of hurting Johnny… but I wanted to try.”

“Then you wasted your time.” Tom said, still not looking at her. His voice, however, held no venom. It was simply a fact. She made another whining sound, and he moved to walk away from her and the tears he knew were coming. Amy always cried when they talked now, few and far-between though their conversations had been these past few years. He hated her tears, they made his stomach knot on itself and his throat grow tight; her tears made him feel bad.

“Tommy,”

He paused and looked back at her. Her face was dry, but her eyes were wet and her cheeks were flushed.

She continued. “Missus Cole will be suspicious of you no matter what when Johnny comes back… different. So-so don’t let anyone see or hear. I-I’ll try to distract them if someone tries to go in that direction… so they don’t find out. Den-Denny will help too, if I ask him. So… so…”

“I know, Amy.” He said quietly.

She hiccupped a great sob, beads of water finally running free from her cloudy, colorless eyes and rolling down her apple-red cheeks. They each fled the presence of the other.

Tom fisted his hands in his pockets and resisted the urge to hunch his shoulders around his ears, glaring firmly ahead as he wandered into the wood. His stomach hurt. Dennis Bishop and Amy Bennet had been his first friends. Though the term was hardly appropriate anymore, the two were still inevitably linked to him. They were never together, but never completely apart. They were trapped between loving and fearing him, and Tom was trapped between resenting and missing them. Dennis and Amy alone knew that Tom was magical; it was what had drawn them to him in the first place, their heads stuck in the clouds, eyes full of stars, fairies whispering in their ears.

He paused momentarily, noticing some younger orphans—toddlers, really—chanting Mother Goose rhymes under a tree. Sunlight glowed golden on the skin of their arms and faces. The children bounced around in a circle, linked by their hands.

“Tom, Tom, the piper's son,

“Learned to play when he was young,

“But all the tunes that he could play

“Was O’er the hills and far a—wah!”

Spotting him, they scattered, hiding behind bush and boulder, shrieking and giggling half with glee and half with frightened hysteria. Would he get angry and punish them for reciting a rhyme with his name, they wondered? Tom scoffed and ignored them. They did this with every person who shared a name with a rhyme.

When they realized that he wasn’t going to do anything to them they remerged and began playing again.

“Peter, Peter, pumpkin-eater,

“Had a wife and couldn’t keep her…”

Dennis and Amy. Amy and Dennis. Like Humpty Dumpty, it had all come crashing down when Tom was nine.

A lie. That had been the catalyst. Dennis—the eldest of the three, the wise one, the protector, eleven at the time—had lied, though Tom could no longer remember just what Dennis had lied about. Whatever it had been, it had been very bad. Tom remembered Mrs. Cole forcing him to go pull branches off of a sapling until she was satisfied that he had plucked a proper switch and whipped him with it; Amy, eight then, had to do the same.

They had been angry with Dennis, so very angry and hurt. The older boy had ashamedly avoided them for days, guilt eating away his insides like maggots, but not enough to make him confess. That year Wool’s orphans were to go to the seaside for the annual summer trip, and that was where Amy and Tom planned to make Dennis sorry. They would all be friends again once they’d hurt him back, but not a moment sooner because that wouldn’t be fair. Amy giggled about smacking Dennis around with codfish until he was apologizing on his hands and knees like an Indian man they had seen once.

Tom was the only one who could do real magic, though Amy and Dennis tried and tried. They wanted it so desperately, and were always reading fairytales and struggling to reach a piece inside of them that just wasn’t there. No matter how Tom instructed them, magic was just impossible for his two friends.

The sun was warm on their shoulders, but it was incredibly windy. When they had gotten off of the bus, some of the children had been blown right over. At the place where the sand ended the trees had all grown sideways, the bark peeled away on the side where the trunk faced the sea. The horizon of the ocean blended in with the sky so that it was difficult to tell where the water crested and the sky began. The sand, peppered with broken shells, was the same color as Amy’s hair, which kept getting in her mouth and making her spit. She tried to tie it back herself, but the wild, whipping movements of her locks kept making her fingers tangle, so finally Tom did it for her. The faded green cotton did its work; the bow lopsided but firm, and it lied there like a piece of kelp.

Everyone had been warned against going swimming yet—the tide was going out and someone could be swept away—but that didn’t stop people from playing in the water regardless. The teen-aged orphans were sensible enough to keep the younger ones from wading in too deep.

Tom and Amy decided to go find a secret place before confronting Dennis. Her warm, slightly moist hand slipped into his and he realized he was trembling a little. He was excited. He was more upset with Dennis than Amy was, and found himself just as eager to make Dennis hurt as he was to have his friend back.

Their first time at a beach, Tom and Amy explored while they looked for somewhere away from prying eyes and ears. There wasn’t terribly much to see, though the cliffs were impressive and riddled with holes and small caves full of nesting birds. Amy thought she spotted a whale out in the distance, and when they found a fat, spidery crab in a tidepool, Tom made it dance. When the red crustacean nearly clipped Amy’s finger off, however, he blasted it away and it flew, whirling, into the ocean.

Amy laughed and clutched at Tom’s arm, shaking it in her grasp. A thankful kiss on the cheek put a smile on his face.

It was far down the beach, when everyone else had shrunk to the size of ants, that the two children stopped to look down the cliff-face. It was covered in jagged, black rocks, but with the tide out glittering beige sand shone up at them on a small beach. It led all the way back to where everyone else was, but it was thin, no wider than the shoulders of a grown man.

“What about down there, Amy?” Tom asked her. “I think there’s a cave.”

The blonde girl leaned over the edge, the toes of her shoes pushing a few pebbles down below. “I see it! But it’ll take all day to get back down to the beach and then back here. We can’t climb down.”

Tom clicked his tongue. “Don’t be silly. We’ll fly down, of course.”

Amy’s gasped, her eyes shining with pure delight. “Oh, Tommy, really?” She squealed, hugging him tightly.

He brushed his lips against her soft, warm, pink cheek. “Think happy thoughts, Amy.” He whispered.

Amy closed her eyes. She gripped his hand a little tighter and they rose into the air and flew down the cliff together like Peter Pan and Wendy Darling set off for Mermaid Cove. Amy was not the least bit concerned that Tom might suddenly drop her; he had her complete trust.

Wide and black, the opening they had spotted down at the bottom yawned before them like a monster’s gaping, toothy maw waiting to devour the two children. However, Tom had Amy and Amy had Tom, so they were not afraid.

It was dark inside, though, very dark and narrow. They set their feet on the slippery sand and slipped through the stone, Amy lagging slightly behind so that they could fit without getting stuck—the passage wasn’t quite wide enough for two people.

“It’s dark,” she whispered, her voice full of nervous laughter.

“I could make light, but I never made light all by itself before,” Tom mused.

“Oh! I stole Martha’s lighter! We can use it!” Amy exclaimed, fumbling around her pockets with one hand. A small, silver rectangle emerged from her pocket. Her tongue sticking out a little, she drew her thumb over it, and on the third try got a small orange flame to sprout up. Her eyes and smile were golden.

Tom grinned back and held his palm out. Like he held a magnet, the fire jumped into his hand, but it did not burn him, but sat there and grew like a flower. It was easier to use his powers when he thought up a rhyme that dictated what he wanted to do, but when Amy or Dennis was present, he always wanted to show off to them.

The fire made the walls glitter, a million droplets of water reflecting back at them; red and orange and yellow jewels set in tar-black. It smelled strongly of salt and fish, cold pricking at their skin.

“Whoa-whoa-whoa!” Amy howled, releasing Tom’s hand to run around the cavern, holding her arms out. “It’s big! It’s so big, Tommy! I’ll bet a sea dragon lives in here! Or selkies! Or mermaids! It’s bigger than the whole orphanage! I’ll bet it’s even bigger than Buckingham Palace! It’s kind of spooky, but it’s so swell!”

“It’s brilliant!” He agreed, his eyes darting around to every nook and crevice. There was a small tunnel to the side that he thought probably led to another cavern.

Amy launched herself onto his back, her arms coming around to wrap around his shoulders and neck. The firelight stuttered dangerously.

“Can we do it here? We have to do it here, Tommy; it’s the bee’s knees! Denny can be sorry here and then we can all play castle! Oh, please, Tommy?” She babbled excitedly.

His smile was not half as pleasant, though she could not see it. “Of course, Amy! This place is perfect. Let’s go get Denny right now!”

“Yippee!” she cheered, bouncing against him.

Having found what they were looking for and no longer distracted by small, interesting sights, the two returned to the shore much more quickly than they had left it. Martha looked especially harassed, her curly hair sprung out all over her head, and she sighed in relief when she spotted them before turning her attention to the toddlers.

Dennis was at the water’s edge, his feet bare and breaded with sand. His pockets were bulging with small stones and broken shells, and his hands too were full of them.

“Denny!” Amy cried, running from Tom to the older boy, “Denny, Denny, Denny!”

The brunette youth straightened, the surprise he felt obvious on his face. “Amy? Tommy?”

The young girl positively plowed into him, making him stumble and sending shells and stones spinning through the air. Amy tugged on Dennis’ arm with a big, toothy grin, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Come on, Denny, you have to come exploring with us! We found the swellest place ever!”

Dennis slowly smiled back, his brown eyes brightening with hope and joy—assuming that they had suddenly forgiven him, and perhaps Amy had, but Tom certainly had not.

“Amy, ‘swellest’ isn’t a word.”

She blew a raspberry at him. “We’re not at school, Denny, who cares! Come on! Come on! Shake a leg!”

She slipped her fingers into his hand and tugged him down the beach, her other hand reaching out and making wanting motions toward Tom. Her eagerness didn’t settle until she held the hands of both boys.

“What place did you find?” Dennis asked.

“A cave,” Tom said.

“A dragon cave!” Amy embellished.

If Dennis had been wary before, that completely washed his lingering doubts away. As far as Tom could remember, Dennis had never believed in things like Father Christmas or the Easter Bunny, but mythological beasts were something else entirely. Dennis was as enamored of the idea of magic as Amy was, and the two were always trying to do the miraculous things that Tom managed. They had not yet succeeded, but they also had not yet given up. Much to Mrs. Cole’s concern and irritation, Dennis had a habit of focusing so hard on things that he sometimes gave himself terrible headaches.

The young trio hurried up the beach, and crept up to the mouth of the cave by way of the thin strip of exposed sand—having Tom make all three of them fly was simply too much to ask for—and they all ended up soaked and salty from the knees down.

“Oh, you two were right, this is incredible!” Dennis said, awed when they were inside. He spoke in a low whisper, as if they were in church instead of just a cave by the sea.

Tom and Amy looked at each other and smiled secret smiles. Their plan had not been forgotten, and she squeezed his hand lightly before letting go and stepping back. The stage was Tom’s now.

“Dennis,”

“Hmm?” He revolved around to face his friends and was met with an invisible force. It hurt, badly, and he fell to the ground, shrieking and panting. It lasted only a moment, but he shook in the aftermath of the ache.

“Tom, what…?”

“Sorry, Denny,” Amy said, smiling softly, “We want you back as our friend, we really do!”

“But you have to be sorry first.” Tom said. He too was smiling, but the curl of his mouth was much darker, much more wicked. “Once you’re sorry we can forgive you and everything can go back to normal. Understand?”

Truth be told, Dennis did understand, but that didn’t make him anymore agreeable. The pain returned, a bone-deep ache all over, and he clutched at the sand and stone until the tips of his fingers grew pink and began to bleed. Just seeing Dennis and remembering what he had done made Tom angry, and as he grew angrier, Dennis’ agony became more and more painful. His whimpers grew into moans, his moans into pleading sobs, and his sobs rose to screams.

Tom had made accidents happen to people who had been mean to him or Dennis or Amy before, but this… this was different. Making Dennis suffer was not the same. There was a big difference between an accident and an intentional act. It rushed through Tom’s blood, made the hairs on his arms stand on end, made his toes tingle, and made his chest swell. It was intoxicating.

“Tom, please!” Dennis shrieked, thrashing in the sand. “Please, Tommy! Please! Help! Please! Help! Help! Tom, please, please, please-please-please—!”

“Tell us why you lied, Denny!”

“I don’t know! Please, Tom, please!”

“Don’t lie! Tell the truth!”

“I don’t know! I j-just did it! Tom, help, please, please—!”

“Tommy!” Amy’s terrified voice broke into his thoughts. “Tommy, stop it!”

“TELL THE TRUTH, DENNIS! TELL THE TRUTH!”

“I’m s-sorry!” Dennis wailed, stuttering with blinding red pain. “I didn’t mean t-to lie; I-I was scared—”

“Liar! Stop lying, Dennis! I don’t believe you! Stop lying!”

“I’m s-so sorry I didn’t tell Mrs. Cole th-the truth. I let you g-get hurt. I-I p-promised to always p-p-protect you guys and I f-failed; I was a coward…”

“Stop! Tommy, stop it!” Amy screamed.

“Please, I’m sorry. Please, please, help, please, stop, help…”

A small, girlish body crashed into Tom’s side, clinging desperately, tiny fists pounding against his arm and chest.

“Stop it! Stopitstopit!” Amy cried.

“What are you doing?” Tom roared, pushing her away. She stumbled back, nearly falling over; her hands fisted against her chest. Tears were pouring down her cheeks.

“Stop it, Tommy, please! You’re hurting him! You’re scary!”

“Of course I am!” he snarled disbelievingly. “You…this was your idea, Amy! I-I didn’t want to talk to Dennis ever again and you told me-you wanted-you convinced me to—!”

“I just wanted Denny to be sorry. I didn’t want to hurt him!” she said tearfully.

“Yes! You! Did!” Tom shouted furiously, stomping toward her. “You did too! Who-whose idea was it to make Denny have to neck a fish? You wanted to make Dennis sorry, just like me! You wanted him to hurt just like he hurt you and me! People who do something wrong have to be punished, Amy, you know that! Dennis LIED!”

She covered her face with her hands, eyes and nose peeking out from between fanned fingers. “I-I didn’t realize it’d be like this! I just—I wanted… I-I…”

Drunk on anger, Tom raised his hands and shoved her. Amy fell.

A scream tore from her mouth as a stalagmite crushed into her side, the sound of tearing fabric filling the still air.

“No, Tom!” Came Dennis’ voice, quickly followed by a pair of strong, wiry arms. “Don’t!”

“Get off me!”

He managed to throw the other boy off, and Dennis crawled pathetically over to Amy, who was crying softly, clutching her side. Then… then they were both screaming.

How could she? Taking Dennis’ side after he’d hurt her so terribly—hurt them both so terribly! The firelight grew brighter and brighter with each pulse of fury; the walls of the cave looked as though they were melting.

Amy’s side was bright red, shining wetly.

Everything came to a halt.

Tom stared at the red color mixing in with the water, his eyes wide, his heart feeling as if it had simply stopped as he realized just whom he was hurting. He was… what was he doing? To Dennis and to Amy? What had he done to them? He took a shaky step toward them, but his friends cowered away, looking up at him in terror.

It sent a… thrill through him. And that… that was scary.

“Denny… A-Amy, I-I…”

“Tom,” Dennis breathed, forcing himself into a sitting position. The two boys’ eyes were mirrors of each other. Dennis’ eyes were afraid and worried. Tom’s eyes were afraid and worried.

“Go away!” Amy wailed. “You have the devil in you! I hate you!” A split-second later she was screaming again, the piercing sound echoing off the slick cavern walls to be ten times louder.

“Tom, NO!” Dennis screeched. Amy’s pains ended as soon as they had begun, leaving her whimpering and sobbing, pleading for her long deceased mother. Tom didn’t know what to do; he couldn’t stop. He felt dizzy. He felt sick.

He stared like a frightened rabbit as Dennis forced himself to his feet, shaking uncontrollably, but his concern for the younger boy etched on his face all the same. He could read Tom like an open book and knew that, however strange it was, Tom was the most confused and scared person present.

“Tommy…” He began, extending one shivering hand. That couldn’t be. Dennis shouldn’t be like this. Dennis should hate Tom. If their roles were switched Tom would certainly hate Dennis! He did hate Dennis, or so he told himself. How could—how could he…?

No. No, no, no… “Don’t touch me!” Tom shrieked.

He ran, stumbling and near hysterical, leaving his only friends behind in that dark, watery cave to be found later by a frantic matron and a helpful fisherman.

Nothing would ever be the same again.

For a very long time after that, Tom had pretended that Amy and Dennis simply didn’t exist. He did not see them. He did not hear them. If they walked into the room he walked out. He did not talk about them except to answer, “We only went exploring.” They responded the same, though he did not know why.

Amy’s wound was, thankfully, only superficial, though he tried to tell himself that he didn’t care and that he wasn’t eavesdropping on the doctor.

He was forcefully reminded of their existence when Dennis stepped in to defend Tom from older, meaner boys. The youths left, and Tom and Dennis stared at each other wordlessly. Dennis had looked as if he wanted to say something, but couldn’t get the words out. They ended up saying nothing at all to each other, but there was no pretending his once-friends were invisible anymore, and he slowly began to notice that Dennis didn’t lie. Dennis tried to lie and couldn’t.

Tom knew it was his doing that Dennis couldn’t tell the tiniest fib anymore. Horror turned into guilt. Guilt turned into resentment. He almost came to hate Dennis for his honesty, but wasn’t quite able to develop that level of anger toward the older boy because… because he missed Dennis. He missed Amy. But Tom was too proud to admit that he had done anything wrong—in fact, it never occurred to him that he had done anything wrong. He had done something he oughtn’t have, but it hadn’t been wrong. Dennis and Amy had been wrong, not him. He was never wrong.

Or so Tom Riddle logic dictated, anyway.

There was wonder too, though, beside the resentment. When he’d been making Dennis hurt, he’d never been in such control of his powers before, and when he’d hurt Amy he’d never been so out of control. Whatever he’d done exactly to make it impossible for Dennis to tell anything but the absolute truth seemed permanent, though it had only been three years since then.

No one should ever lie to Tom Riddle. Dennis had done so, and paid a terrible price, and now it was Johnny’s turn. Magic may have been forbidden Tom now that he was school age, but there were other ways of making a person hurt. Herbology and Potions had taught him plenty about plants, friendly and deadly alike, and foxglove was easily recognized.

“Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie,

“Kissed the girls and made them cry…”

He hurried back to the bus before the whistle was blown for lunch, and slipped the bits of leaves in a place where they wouldn’t be noticed. Tom felt absurdly proud of himself, an expression of dark glee taking over his handsome features. Humming a merry tune, he retrieved the book he had brought and went and settled under the shade of a tree, which was as spotty as the back of a faun. Birds twittered, insects jumped, children laughed, running around in the sunshine.

When the whistle was blown and they were all called back for lunch, Tom watched out of the corner of his eye as Johnny devoured his sandwich. The younger boy tried to pick out the limp leaves of lettuce, but Martha made him eat them—orphans couldn’t afford to be picky. A smirk curled the corner of Tom’s mouth, and he turned his focus onto the book in his lap.

Johnny finished quickly, but Tom did not stalk after the younger boy right away. It would take some time for the toxins of the foxglove to take effect. He could afford to dawdle, so it wasn’t until his bland sandwich was gone and the latest chapter of his book finished that he stood and went in search of his prey.

“The little dog laughed to see such fun,

“And the dish ran away with the spoon!”

Tom’s venture led him to the bubbling stream he had heard before. The leaves rustled like a thousand pages of scattered paper, and the wind carried the green smell of algae to his nose. Tom hid behind a rather wide, gnarled yew tree and listened.

“…ug bites, d’you think?”

“Prolly,” Johnny. “Ugh, it itches!”

“So itch it then!” the other boy exclaimed, followed by a sigh. “Lets go back. My feet are cold and there’s no fish.”

Tom almost snorted out loud. They were fishing with their bare hands? And doing it in a stream as wide as a thumb, no less. Idiots. Savage idiots.

“You go first, I gotta tummy ache. Gotta use the loo, mate!” Johnny was saying.

Toilet jokes were exchanged before the other boy—whom Tom finally recognized as Adam Wakely—went away. A disgusting subject, but it brought a smirk to his mouth. Johnny was already getting sick, and when he’d buttoned his trousers back up, he only seemed sicker, rubbing his belly with a frown and a groan. The motion made him pause and look down at his arm, which had grown a several more red hives.

“I didn’t hear any more skeeters…” the little boy mumbled. He made a discomforted noise and scratched at his lips… and scratched… and scratched.

“Uuuugh, itchy!” he groaned, his breath growing uneven. When he heard Johnny start to move as if to leave, Tom stepped away from the tree.

“Hello, Jenkins.”

“R-Riddle?” Johnny said, blinking rapidly. Oh, he was already dizzy and confused, how delightful!

“You… what do you want? Go away, I don’t feel good.”

“I know, Jenkins,” Tom said smoothly. “But you see, I’m here to collect my dues.”

Johnny frowned deeply. “What’s a due?”

“It’s something that you owe me.”

“But I don’t have anything.”

Tom Riddle smiled, and watched as the younger boy’s eyes grew to the size of saucers and staggered back.

“Do you remember what happened a few weeks ago?”

“I…” The young boy began to cry, running his hands over his burning, itching lips and biting at his red, itching arms. “Yeah, but I-I said I was sorry, Riddle.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough!” Tom snarled.

“I’ll scream,” Johnny whispered, terrified. Comparatively, Johnny was a newer orphan and hadn’t been around Tom very long. The others had been telling tales for Johnny to be this scared this soon, Tom realized, maybe even Dennis had said something.

“It won’t help you,” the young wizard said.

Johnny shivered and opened his mouth with a great breath…

…and promptly vomited all over the grass, dropping to his knees.

Tom cringed at the sound and sour smell. Johnny gasped for breath like he’d been drowning, tears rolling down his cheeks and spit clinging to his chin.

“Wh-wha…” he stuttered, “Wha-wha-what did you do?”

“Secret!” Tom said gleefully. “Don’t worry, it’s not enough to kill you, just make you sicker than a dog. I know; my school is the best in the whole world.”

“I said sorry!”

Tom leaned down and whispered sweetly into Johnny’s ear. “You deserve it all, Johnny. You’re a disgusting, filthy, bad person. You’re a nasty, lying muggle. Didn’t everyone warn you? I’m different. I’m special. Didn’t Dennis tell you not to get on my bad side? Didn’t he? I know they did, Johnny. And you laughed them off. You ignored them. Poor orphan nobody. Poor Johnny.”

Johnny sobbed, wailing softly.

“You know, Johnny,” Tom said lightly, “If you ever tell on me, if you tattle, next time you really will die,” His next words were said as heavily and meaningfully as an ‘I love you.’ “I promise.”

Johnny made a strangled choking noise and his cries rose to great hiccupping sobs as he threw himself to the side onto his belly, moaning and scratching and positively green with nausea.

“Mummyyyy…” he breathed squeakily, long and drawn out and pained, fat tears rolling down his pink, dirty cheeks. His nose was crusted with mucus.

“Your mummy,” Tom spat, “Is dead. Just like mine. She’s gone. Forever. She won’t be saving you.”

“Noooo, mummy… I want my mummy!” The child moaned. He threw up again, and Tom stood and stepped away in disgust.

“Stop it! Stop crying! Stop your stupid, useless sniveling, it won’t help you!” Tom snarled. “I hate it! I hate it when people cry, so shut up!”

“I don’t feel good! Pleeeeease! Mummyyyyy!” he was scratching so hard that he was beginning to bleed.

“Shut up!” Scowling, the young wizard lashed out and kicked the other boy. Johnny wailed and rolled away, beating his soiled fingers against the grass.

Tom sighed in annoyance. This was just pathetic. It was more fun—and less gross—to pick the wings off of beetles. And he could not take it, he could not stomach Johnny’s awful crying! It made him sick!

Tom glared down at the little nine year-old swiping at things unseen for a moment longer before turning on his heel and leaving. There wasn’t much point in lingering and taunting the lad any longer; Johnny would be sick for days.

It would be several hours until frantic Adam Wakely and Martha found Johnny, moaning pitifully into a puddle of liquefied lunch and tears.

The little ones were still rhyming.

“…Silver bells and cockle shells,

“And pretty maids all in a row!”
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Root of Desire