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Chapter 3 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ (edited)
As I stepped out of the matron's office after Mr. Dumbledore left, I couldn't help but feel the sharp contrast between what I'd felt before and now.
Just hours ago, grief had swallowed me whole, a hollow ache clawing at my insides
But now? Gods, I wanted to laugh, dance, maybe even run down the hall, screaming in joy. A little dramatic, I know, but that's how it felt.
The ache in my chest wasn't entirely gone—it probably never would be. But for the first time, it felt... lighter. 'I' felt Hopeful, even.
I knew the ache would creep back when I least expected it. But for now, while it stayed quiet, I'd savor this feeling, free from drowning in my own pity parties.
"Seven o'clock sharp," the headmistress had told me when she passed me in the hall, her tone as sharp as ever. "Mr. Dumbledore will be here tomorrow to speak with you both."
The musty smell of her office—dust, old parchment, that odd hint of mildew—had clung to my clothes as I left, but I felt it slowly fade as I made my way down the corridor.
A part of me was grateful that nothing about her stayed too long.
A smirk tugged at my lips, thinking back to her curt tone and cold demeanor.
Little did she know tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow, I'd finally get my first taste of freedom. Of magic.
Mr. Dumbledore, —no, actually— Professor Dumbledore had explained the basics: magic, wizards, witches. And that tomorrow, he'd be taking us to Diagon Alley to get our term books, wands and other necessaries for a wizard and witch. Witch and wizards... That sounds bizarre but its the truth...
Would we be taught to ride brooms, like the witches in those books?
Probably.
The urge to laugh out loud at the thought bubbled up in my throat, but I swallowed it down quickly. Ms. Cole would find it suspicious, and around here, no one was happy enough to laugh—least of all by themselves.
Brooms.
Sure, I'd been shown enough to believe in magic by now, but somehow, the idea of riding a broom was still ridiculous. Between a magic carpet and broom, I'd believe the first if given the choice.
It all felt so surreal. A whole new world just waiting to be explored, and somehow, here I was, still questioning the small details, terms and over all my true Identity.
The silence in the hallway pressed around me, the kind that once felt like it might swallow me whole.
But not today. No, today, the silence only made my happiness stand out brighter, like a spark in the dark. For the first time in ages, I walked down that corridor with a smug grin on my face, my heart practically skipping beats.
I might just be the happiest girl alive in the world… even if just for today.
Then, as always, a thought popped in and ruined my little moment.
That bloody git, with those black eyes that seemed to reflect the darkness of his soul.
He'd left the headmistress's office before me, which meant he hadn't heard about Dumbledore's plans for tomorrow. That left the responsibility squarely on me to tell him.
But did I really have to? The matron hadn't explicitly told me it was my duty to inform him. It wasn't as though I was required to pass on every little detail, was it?
I grimaced. This wasn't a small detail. It was important.
If I didn't tell him, everything would unravel. There was no denying that.
And there was no way in hell I was going to let Dumbledore think of me as someone who'd sit on crucial information. I couldn't risk being seen as an irresponsible prat.
If I didn't speak up, chaos would ensue tomorrow. We'd be rushed, and the entire trip to Diagon Alley would be delayed—and I'd be the one blamed for it, wouldn't I?
Could I really risk that? I could already picture the mess. No, I couldn't. I had to tell him. Even if I'd rather endure another week in confinement than face that smug bastard right now, just when I'd finally come to terms with my worth.
I couldn't afford to be the one who caused trouble. Then there had be no distinction between him and me. It was his way, not mine.
With a sigh, I reluctantly turned on my heel and headed toward the boys' wing.
Ms. Cole was a staunch believer in keeping boys and girls apart, each of us tucked away on our respective sides of the hall as if we might combust from proximity.
Not that her rules ever stopped the older kids from sneaking off to meet in the darker corners of the orphanage, of course.
The halls were even eerier at night, the silence growing deafening as I made my way down the dimly lit corridor.
A thought crept in inmidst the others, slithering its way into my already over-thinking mind, and I couldn't help but physically cringe.
The thought of ending the day with an interaction with that self-righteous jerk was enough to make my stomach turn.
The universe certainly had a twisted sense of humor.
Dragging my feet toward his room, I couldn't help but feel a knot of nervousness settle in my chest.
I'd never admit it aloud, but anyone in my shoes would feel the same if they were about to face someone who'd been ignoring them for years, acting as if they were invisible—as if I didn't exist.
At least in this, I wasn't alone—anyone would feel the same.
Still, I wasn't about to let him think I was desperate for his attention. I might be broken, but I knew my worth. I wasn't that low.
I'd spent ages watching him, hoping he'd let his guard down, trying to make sense of his cryptic behavior. Waiting. And waiting. And waiting.
But no more.
I was done being the one left in the shadows. Done being nothing, a nobody.
Once, I might've been content with that. But not anymore.
Not since Dumbledore had seen something in me. Not since he'd told me I had potential—real potential. I was unique. I wielded magic.
It was time to stop being the pushover. Time to show everyone, including him, that I was more than just a hollow shell like everyone here. I could be so much more than this.
I didn't need his approval. I didn't need his friendship—or his rivalry, for that matter.
He had his chance. He wasted it.
Now? I wanted him to be nothing but a distant memory, a background figure in my story—just as I had been in his… once.
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Knock knock.
A distant, unwelcome thud reverberated through the pitiful excuse for a bed they'd given me here. I barely looked up, flipping through the book I'd read so many times that its words had woven themselves into the back of my mind.
Knock knock.
I ignored it. Whoever stood outside that door clearly had a death wish. By now, they should know what happens when they disrupt my peace. And yet, the bloody fools here still hadn't learned.
Perhaps they needed another lesson. Maybe I shouldn't be as merciful as I've been. Maybe it was time to show them what I did to Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop. Yes… that would serve as a proper reminder. But to teach them like that, I'd have to take them to the cave. And that cave is far too distant—more trouble than it's worth.
No, there are simpler ways to make their lives hell here. They are already scared enough to listen to every word I said. A few well-placed threats, a few orchestrated "accidents"—that would do the trick. Perhaps I'd enlist a few pawns to handle the dirtier details and bring the results to me.
As my thoughts churned, a long, thin black snake, scales glinting like polished onyx, coiled up my wrist and rested its head on my shoulder. The moonlight, murky through a layer of grime on the window, gleamed in its unblinking eyes, its gaze fixed on me attentively. I ran my fingers along its spine, faint flashes of silver shimmering on its scales, reflecting the dim light in eerie waves.
"What's wrong?" it hissed, voice smooth and calming as it nudged me.
"Nothing," I hissed back, shrugging slightly. "Just planning how to teach one of them a lesson."
The book in my hands was now a blur, its words fading as my mind drifted. I set it down on the chipped bedside table and leaned back against the headboard, crossing one ankle over my knee. The mattress springs groaned, sharp points digging into my back. Tsk. This godforsaken place, I thought. At least I wouldn't stuck here forever
The snake blinked, watching me with an intent that felt oddly comforting. Its understanding was simple, primal, yet somehow more genuine than the shallow words of those who pretended to understand me.
"Masster has plans?" it whispered.
I shook my head slightly, a faint, cold smile slipping onto my lips. "Quite observant of you, pet. But yes, I do… I've just discovered I'm a bloody wizard."
The revelation itself was neither shocking nor strange. It felt almost inevitable. I'd always known I was different, had sensed something powerful just beneath the surface. I could have been anything—a nightmare, a beast, even the devil himself. But this… this was the one label that hadn't crossed my mind.
A Wizard
I closed my eyes, letting the word sink in. I could feel it now, this… force, like a quiet river flowing deep and dark, waiting for me to break the dam and let it surge, unstoppable. Power. My magic. And it was only beginning to awaken.
It was laughable, really. I had been so close to believing I was the oddity here, after hearing it again and again from Ms. Cole, from the other children. Weird, Abnormal they'd called me. Strange, Freak. But that was back when I'd thought acceptance might be something worth winning. What a joke. Only now do I see that they're the problem. They're the ordinary ones.
I don't need anyone's acceptance. I don't need anyone, in fact. The darkness— my darkness—will be my only companion, and that is enough.
Even my so-called mother couldn't stay by my side. She left me with nothing but a name—a secondhand name, at that. The weakling couldn't even survive childbirth, yet thought herself so generous as to leave me this hand-me-down legacy.
I am Tom Riddle, named after a man who never once cared enough to seek out his own son.
Some legacy. Some joke.
Well. Better not to dwell on such meaningless things.
Truth be told, for the first time, it feels like I'm dreaming. Knowing I can wield magic doesn't surprise me—it feels natural, inevitable. What catches me off guard is the idea that somewhere out there, I might actually belong. Somewhere far from this rotting pit of shadows and suffocating rules.
A world waiting for me to step into it, to claim it as my own. A world where I can leave my marks, carve my path, and build my legacy—not inherit the scraps of some twat of a father's and continue their bloody joke of a legacy.
I'd known all along that I was something extraordinary. The signs had been there for as long as I could remember. The other children—they were just that. Children. I was something more, something far beyond what they could understand. And now, finally, I had the proof.
A wizard.
And her—that girl. Supposedly, she was like me. A witch.
The idea almost made me laugh. That girl. a witch? She was nothing more than an annoyance, a distant shadow of a former companion, if such a word could even apply here. I'd left her behind long ago, as I do with everything eventually. If she had stayed near me, it would have shattered her. She was too fragile, too accustomed to blending into the background. If she had any sense, she'd know better than to come near my orbit.
But here she was. Like me. Or close enough to be… worth a second look.
It was absurd. Like me. I am Tom Riddle, the boy even the staff here are wary of. She was just another orphan in this miserable place, wide-eyed, cautious, and small. Always as if waiting for someone to save her. Or pity her.
Yet now, something was different. She was becoming… something else. And though the thought grated on me, she might have enough potential to keep my interest, at least for a while.
I remembered that day in the matron's office, the scene scorched vividly in my memory.
Files of boys and girls were scrambling in the hallway, all jostling to get a glimpse of the chaotic wreckage that was the infamous matron's office. I didn't need to linger in the crowd of sweat and its bitter stench; they all instinctively stepped aside, clearing my path.
I had authority here, and they knew better than to get in my way.
Without so much as a glance to force my way through, I strode toward the scene. And holy shite—what a mess it was. A holy mess, if ever there was one.
Her precious, polished carpet reduced to blackened threads, a charred mess, and her precious porcelain collection strewn across the floor, shattered into sharp little fragments. Whatever had caused that chaos—it wasn't me this time, yet I took a quiet satisfaction in the sheer mess that girl had made. She had left her own mark of rebellion, one that Ms. Cole hadn't seen coming...
And later on, predictably, the matron had locked her up afterward. The confinement chamber, the same dingy cell to where I'd been thrown countless times, pacing until the wooden boards wore grooves beneath my steps. When I heard about her punishment, an unexpected flicker of anger simmered in me—unbidden but sharp.
Of course Ms. Cole had dragged her down to that miserable hole, like a rat scurrying back to a trap. She'd locked her up, beaten her down as she'd done to any child here who showed the slightest spark of defiance.
It was all so pathetically predictable. Ms. Cole operated on a simple, cowardly principle: if even one of us found the courage to stand up to her, the rest might follow. So she broke us down methodically, her methods cruel but undeniably effective. The weaker ones had been reduced to empty shells, so terrified that even the thought of defiance felt like a death sentence. She wielded fear like a weapon, ensuring that rebellion never even crossed our minds.
But I didn't count. She tried to break me, but she failed—miserably. Now, she's given up on taming my defiance. She's resigned herself to the chaos I bring, punishing me as if it were part of her daily routine. And honestly? It probably is.
By now, she's probably also used to the fact that I couldn't give less of a shite.
Last week, I'd overheard her speaking to her "associates" in her office, her voice a sickly-sweet whisper as she described "the heavy burdens" of running the orphanage, the supposed "sacrifices" she made for our sakes.
She played the part so perfectly, and the fools bought it. They believed her, their charitable donations flowing in to fill her purse.
She was the pious martyr to the outside world, the selfless woman 'saving' us unfortunate orphans.
But I'd seen the truth. I'd seen her rifling through Mrs. Green's pocketbook, a glint in her eye as she counted the bills and slipped them into her own drawer. That evening she wore an expensive perfume, one that filled the halls with a sickly sweetness.
No charity funds bought that fragrance.
By morning, she'd be back in her plain gray dress, hair pulled taut, as if she'd once again donned her mask, hiding her true face from us.
And the food—barely edible scraps, two pieces of stale bread and a splash of watery milk if we were lucky.
We were kept thin, hungry, just enough to dampen any defiance, while she indulged in dinners bought with the very money intended to feed us.
I once heard her mention "The Ivy," a posh restaurant where she'd dine, no doubt gorging herself while her guests admired her generosity. And back here, we lay under threadbare blankets, too starved to sleep, while she ordered fine wine and whispered her schemes to whatever bloke she had lured into her orbit.
She liked to keep us thinking we were helpless, that we owed her for every scrap of stale bread she gave us. And whenever any of us grew too bold, too certain we could fight back, she'd remind us just what could happen to a child with no family.
It was her weapon, her threat, and it worked, keeping us afraid and obedient. Excluding me that is. And if the others still showed any spark—well, she knew how to snuff it out completely.
With all the endless, infinite reasons stacked in my mind…
I hated her. Truly hate her.
The urge to finish what the girl had started, to tear that hag's world to ashes, surged like a dark thrill through my veins. But that would come later. She'd get exactly what she deserved soon enough..
That girl, though… she had changed. Before, she was always quiet, always blending into the background, barely speaking a word. Yet now, every so often, I'd feel her eyes on me, lingering, as though she were waiting. She was a puzzle, one I hadn't anticipated. Small, unremarkable—until now.
She rarely spoke, yet somehow she'd managed to bring the matron to her knees in a fury with nothing.
The snake shifted against my wrist, its sleek body pressing close, blinking up at me with that ageless understanding. It flicked its tongue, tasting the air around me, sensing my satisfaction.
"They're afraid of you?" it hissed, its voice sliding over the words like silk on stone.
"Yes," I replied, my tone low and steady. "And they should be."
"Others… not like you," it murmured, nuzzling against my wrist. "Not special."
A slow smile crept across my face. "No," I whispered. "No one else is."
The knock came again—three soft, intentional raps against the door, slicing through the quiet. My patience wore thin as I rose from the bed, the creak of the springs loud in the silence. Out of my daze now, I could hear the timid quality of the knocks, designed not to stir anyone else. It only confirmed my suspicion about who might be on the other side.
If I were right… perhaps I'd show a shred of mercy, just this once. Restraint might be more useful than cruelty, for the time being.
Hissing a command, I told my pet to slide into my sleeve. It obliged, curling up around my forearm beneath the ragged grey shirt, hidden but still poised, still watchful.
I opened the door, and there she stood.
Great… Never mind, not great at all.
I was right—the poor soul wasn't in trouble… not yet, at least. Tsk. It would've been far more interesting if it had been someone else in her place. I could've played cat and mouse, drawn out the game. I would've done so with her, too, but for the inconvenient fact of her being a witch, I can't...
Not that it made her safe. No. No one is safe from Tom Riddle. No one escapes his games. Everyone knows it here. She should have known better. Now, she would never escape me.
It was her fault, really....
She'd drawn me in, intrigued me…
From the start, I knew she was far too pure, too good to make sense as the companion of someone like me. My destiny lay in the dark, to be darkness, to wield it. Even I have some humanity, and so, for a while, I tried to ignore her. To keep her out of my orbit, just as I ignored anyone who expected me to help them, or imagined that I would care.
But she had that same irritating spark that refused to be smothered. The more I looked away, the brighter it flared, as if daring me to ignore it. She was becoming a distraction, and that was only making things worse...
Since I could remember, I'd known things others could only guess at. I saw further, understood more, sensed truths long before they became apparent. I had always been aware of the dark energy within me, of that twisted, inescapable feeling. And I could sense hers, too—a kind of purity that flickered against my shadows.
And now that she'd drawn my attention and I fully intended to play. Perhaps I'd grant her the honor of being a pawn on my chessboard.
Small, yes, but essential. The pawn holds no power, yet immense power. Given time, the board will reveal whether she's worthy of the schemes I'm crafting for her.
The question was, what would make this time different? My toys always end up broken eventually. Would she burn, too? Or survive? Would she try to burn me, instead? That would be entertaining to watch. I do so love to play with fire. I'd gladly be burned if she had the spark to make it worth my while. If she survived… though I doubted she would.
It's been so long since I had a toy to play with, to break and ruin.
This little mouse would be played with, eventually, after I'd fully shaped my plan for her. She was in my orbit now. And once that happens… well, they always end up ruined.
But alas, she—
"Well?" I said, cutting off my thoughts, my voice cold and smooth, leaning against the doorframe, brow arched.
She didn't shrink back, as she usually did. Instead, she stepped forward, leaning in close enough to speak in a hushed tone, her words slipping through the darkness. "Dumbledore will be here at seven. He'll take us… for supplies."
"Supplies," I repeated, dragging out the word as I studied her, my voice soft and faintly mocking. "How charmingly mundane." Yet even as I spoke, her gaze didn't waver. It was as if she dared me to be dismissive, challenged me to look away.
There was something… odd about the girl today. Something that flickered in her eyes, a spark, a defiance that made me pause—just for a second longer than necessary.
"Seven sharp," she added, unfazed, her tone calm and composed. That was rare here, poise in the face of all that was twisted and war
It was subtle, so easy to ignore, but not for me. Nothing ever truly escaped me
I leaned closer, letting the silence stretch between us. 'And here you are, at this hour, just to inform me? How... committed.'
She met my gaze without flinching. "Simply doing what I was told."
A low, dark chuckle escaped me. "Of course. Such a loyal messenger." Each word was slow, weighted, and dripping with mocking interest, as though I could see right through her.
For a moment, she held her breath, but her expression stayed composed. Impressive. "If that's all…"
"Such poise," I murmured, letting my gaze drift over her, cold and assessing. "But tell me—do you really believe all this… obedience will keep you safe?" My voice dropped to a near-whisper, edged with something darker, something that seemed to freeze her in place.
Now she would go back to squirming, surely—
"Good night, Tom," she replied, unshaken. Turning on her heel, she walked away, each step ringing with quiet defiance.
Oh. Oh. Interesting. She had changed indeed.
She wasn't intimidated by me... She wasn't afraid.
This game might prove far more enjoyable or irking than I thought…
I watched her disappear into the shadows, that familiar stir of intrigue rising once more. This strange surged interest can be a distraction...but surely a little distraction would do me good,right?
The snake shifted on my forearm, slipping out just enough to tilt its head up, black eyes gleaming.
"You're safe, Massster," it hissed softly, reverent. "You are one of us…"
A rare, secret smile played on my lips, feeling the weight of those words settle around me like a shield.
Yes, I was safe. I belonged to a world far beyond this wretched place, a world waiting for me to claim it. And no one—not her or anyone else—would stand in my way.
I was made for glory and I'll achieve it.
They had invited darkness into their world. They should have known better. Because even the brightest light can't escape the enchantment of the darkness.