The Way Tom Is

Year One: Only Part

[[A/N: I'm doing this in YEARS, and then in PARTS. So it's Year One, Part One, or in this case the only part to year one. Then it'll be Year Two, Part One, Year Two, Part Two, etc... ]]

Year One: Only Part

"May I sit here?" I questioned the boy who sat in the only carriage that still had empty spaces. The others were full, some type of invisible horses carrying them off up to the castle known as Hogwarts. This boy, however, was alone. I wondered why briefly, before shaking my head. There was nothing wrong with him, perhaps he just preferred being by himself.

"If you must," the boy muttered. He was really quite adorable with dark brown-black hair and beautiful icy blue eyes. His face still held baby fat, with slightly pudgy cheeks and pouting pink lips.

"Thank you." Grabbing the hem of my cloak so that I wouldn't step on it, I stepped up the stairs and took a seat across from the boy. "Ouch!" I cried, as I forgot to sweep my hair up and ended up sitting upon it. I stood back up quickly and tied my hair into a knot before plopping unceremoniously back into the seat. Good thing my Mother hadn't seen that, she'd give me an earful.

"I'm Chamille!" I held out my hand, like my father said I always should, but the boy just sneered, knocking my hand out of the way.

"Leave me alone, I said you could sit here; not make pointless small talk and try to be friends. I'm not interested."

My eyes filled with tears, which demanded to be released. I was always over-emotional, my father hated it but my mother said it was perfectly normal.

"Why are you crying?" The boy questioned, his voice filled with annoyance.

"I-I'm sorry. I was just trying to be nice..."

The carriage was completely quiet up until the point when we arrived at the school. As he got out, he waited for me, his hand up waiting to help me out of the carriage like a true gentleman. Maybe he didn't hate me as much as I thought he did...

"My name is Tom. Tom Riddle."

I grinned before repeating it. "Tom...Riddle." It rolled off of my tongue easily and I must have been smiling madly because Tom was looking at me with raised eyebrows.

As we walked up the steps to the door I realized that we were still holding hands from when Tom had helped me out of the carriage, but I smiled and carried on as if I had completely forgotten. His hand was so very soft, and it reminded me of the way my mother would hold my hand before... Before I turned eleven.

The rest of the first years crowded around us at a set of double doors, there were very few girls, only five, including myself but nearly twenty boys. The girls that were in the crowd looked very prim and proper, the kind of girl my mother wanted me to be. I could never be that pretty or that polite or proper.

"Don't squeeze so hard, Chamille." The boy, my new friend Tom, whispered and I realized that I had his fingers in a deadly grip between my own. Oh no! I hurt my first friend!

More tears filled my green eyes as I apologized several times and I wiped at them without much progress. For each tear I caught with my hand, two more fell.

"Stop crying. It makes you look stupid."

I blinked, surprised at how normal he sounded as he insulted me, as if he were simply commenting on the weather. But that wasn't how I saw it.

My over-emotional self simply cried harder as I released his hand and pushed my way unceremoniously through the crowd. I didn't like my new friend very much, he was much too mean and reminded me too much of my home.

"Chamille, wait! I'm sorry..." I heard, but I didn't look back.

"Ah, the new students! Just who I've been wanting to see," I looked up at the man who had come to our family's residence to explain to me about being a witch. I remembered his name being one Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. He was an older man, looking to be near his late sixties, with graying beard and hair, each of which went to his midsection. The man wore the funniest clothing I'd ever seen, but he was nice and I became rather attached to him from the moment he told me I'd be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Come along now, follow me," Professor Dumbledore led the way through the double doors, into a dining hall with four extra long tables filled with students and another table at the front filled with Professors.

"Line up along this wall here, and come up to the front when your name is called."

With a wink, Dumbledore was gone, long robes swishing behind him as he went and the other eleven year olds stood in a single-file line.

- * - * -

A boy named Henry Ainsley was sorted first, being put into Hufflepuff, and after him three boys in a row, last names Brady, Buck and Calvert were sorted into Slytherin, and on it went until there was just four others and I.

"Chamille Rhodes," Professor Dumbledore's voice called out. With shaking hands and knocking knees, I made my way through the aisle between the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables and sat on the stool.

My eyes wandered across the dining hall, catching the eye of one Tom Riddle. His cerulean gaze held mine, and I thought I saw the emotionally-detached boy smile, just ever-so-slightly.

Grinning, I listened on attentively as the talking Sorting Hat sat on my head. He spoke of loyalty, of being over-emotional and of being too caring for my own good. In the end, I was placed in Hufflepuff and as the table I was supposed to go to stood up and began to clap, I smiled. Walking as lady-like as possible, I sat down next to Henry Ainsley, the first one to have been sorted that day, and he smiled shyly as I smiled right back.

"Riddle, Tom."

Jerking my head towards him, I smiled as encouragingly as possible. He didn't look nervous, or shy, he strode up to the stool and sat down, back straight and eyes perfectly calm.

"Slytherin!" The hat yelled, and the furthest table away, decorated in green and silver, clapped. Eyes eagerly followed my friends every movement, like vultures ready to swoop down on a rotting carcass, and Tom was immediately excepted with open arms from all around.