Chapter 1 : You Stir My Heart Around in Your Pot
CHILDHOOD ARC (1-15)
The muggy London air was thick as soup. The sweat dampened Tom's brow as he made his rounds. Wool's didn't have the funds for installing air conditioning, so the matron had placed a handful of electric fans in the most unbearable rooms. The air was so sweltering and the quality of the fans so poor that the spinning blades just pushed the hot air around.
Walking through Wool's was like cleaving a sea of stiff faces. Outwardly, Tom kept his face as placid as possible, though internally he was pleased. It was only right that the other children understood their place.
Tom didn't need anyone to greet him or smile at him or start a conversation with him. He had given up on longing for those things long ago.
Once, he had thought there was something wrong with him—anyone he spent too long with inevitably started fearing him—but now he knew that simply meant there was no one worthy of him. It was like the stories of the angels or the gods. Sheep were not meant to perceive the true forms of those standing above them.
The new children from Burke's had caught on quickly to Tom's status as a social pariah, though they'd been here for all of two days. The other orphanage had closed with the hush of a snuffed cigarette. Tom had overheard, crossing Mrs. Cole's door with slow, intentional footsteps, that the problem had been fund mismanagement. The children at Burke's had gone hungry for weeks. One child had even ended up in the hospital with severe malnourishment.
Tom hadn't been asked to accommodate a roommate yet, though it would only be a matter of time. Whoever it was, he would scare them off as quickly as he'd scared off the last few. A private room was too much of a luxury to give up. Tom needed it to practice.
Billy Stubs turned the corner, and Tom scowled with distaste, stepping into the shadows to avoid a confrontation. He didn't seem to be Billy's target today, which was a blessing in this heat, not that Tom wouldn't have been able to handle himself.
Billy walked right up to a group of three kids playing with marbles.
The little ones had seamlessly accepted the additions from Burke's into their fold. The groups had reorganized a bit, which Tom had only noted from sheer boredom.
Tom wasn't like any of the other children here, and he didn't see much point in learning anything about them when he already knew they were going to lead very different lives. Tom would be rich and powerful and worshipped by thousands one day, while these dollops would be lucky to inch their way out of the dirt.
"Give me the marbles," Billy demanded.
"B-but it's not your turn yet," one of the babies said timidly.
"It's my turn when I say it is," Billy scoffed.
"That's not how turns work," one of the Burke's kids argued. It was a tiny girl with bright red hair.
"I'll show you how turns work," Billy menaced. He raised his hand, and the Burke's girl flinched, turning to the side. Billy let out a cruel laugh at the reaction.
For all his two brain cells, Billy was still a hefty ten-year-old. Tom had been on the other side of that hand too many times. That was, at least, until he discovered his power. Billy left him alone now for the most part. It was a volatile balance that Tom knew wouldn't last long.
"Please, Billy! Sally's from Burke's. She doesn't know the rules yet," Terry, Tom's second attempted roommate, pleaded.
"Are you volunteering then?" Billy jeered.
Terry looked down to the ground and, much to his credit, nodded.
"You have a little crush, Terry?" Billy mocked.
He shoved Terry to the ground, kicking the boy over and over again. Terry curled up into a little ball, taking the blows with a series of pathetic little whimpers. The two girls Terry had been playing with flinched with every blow like they were feeling it themselves. Even Tom thought it was an excessive show of force. Had the heat addled Billy's tiny brain?
Tom wondered if he should intervene, but it was a passing thought. He wasn't in the mood for his head to be shoved into a toilet.
Once Billy had gotten his fill of sadistic violence, he bent down sharply and snatched the marbles up. As he left, he spat once in Terry's general direction. He had a disgusting swagger in his step like he'd just won an Olympic medal rather than successfully bullied a bunch of babies.
"Cor, Terry!" the other girl cried, falling to her knees. "Are you okay?"
Terry looked up, face streaked with tears. Disgustingly snotty.
"It hurts," he moaned. "It hurts."
"I'll call Mrs. Cole!"
"D-don't," Terry murmured. "It'll only make it worse if Billy hears we tattled."
"Harry," the Burke's girl murmured.
"What?" the other girl asked. Tom remembered her name in a flash. Was it Emma?
"We have to take him to Harry."
"Who's Harry?" asked Emma.
Tom listened curiously.
"He's a boy from Burke's. He—he can help us."
"How old is he?" Emma asked suspiciously.
The Burke's girl counted on her fingers.
"I think he's six."
A year younger than Tom then.
"Six is fine," Emma said. "Do you trust him, Sally?"
"Yes," the Burke's girl answered immediately. "He protected us."
"Okay," Emma decided, helping Terry stand up. "Where's his room?"
"I don't think he has one yet. He's supposed to get back from the hospital today," Sally said, reaching to support Billy's other side.
What a fascinating contradiction. The child who one of Burke's youngest regarded as a trusted protector was objectively the weakest link.
"How do we know if he's back yet?" Emma asked.
"We could go ask Mrs. Cole?" Sally suggested.
"Let's take Terry to his room first. If Mrs. Cole sees him, she'll want to know what happened."
Losing interest, Tom completed the rest of his round of Wool's. He passed Mrs. Cole's office, hearing a snatch of "you'll be staying in 212." A new roommate then. Tom frowned with distaste before heading back to his room. He pulled out his diary from under his pillow, sketching a lovely little garter snake he'd seen earlier today in the park with a stub of a pencil he'd stolen from Mrs. Cole's office and sharpened with a kitchen knife.
He was just finishing the scales when he heard a knock at the door.
Tom shoved his diary under the pillow. The door swung open, and Mrs. Cole stepped in. She was followed by a boy. The new roommate.
"Tom, this is Harry Faye. Harry, this is Tom Riddle. You will be sharing this room for the foreseeable future."
Tom stared with interest, recognizing the name from the conversation he'd heard earlier.
The first thing he noticed was that Harry was small. Much too small to be six. He was gaunt, hunger written on the harsh lines of his form.
The second thing he noticed was that Harry was pretty: long spider-like eyelashes and a face that radiated angelic sweetness. He had a riot of thick, inky curls and a cute heart-shaped mouth. It was hard being pretty in their position. Tom knew that first-hand. You start attracting the wrong kind of attention. And the other kids start getting jealous when you get called out for interviews more often.
Harry looked away from Mrs. Cole and turned his gaze shyly on Tom. A tremor of shock went down Tom's spine. Harry's eyes were two flecks of seafoam, iridescent like stardust was used to make his irises. Goosebumps prickled Tom's skin.
He looked away from Harry's eyes, catching a glimpse of a lightning-shaped scar on Harry's forehead. How did he get that?
"Harry's just back from the hospital, so be kind, Tom," Mrs. Cole said.
Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"How do you do, Faye," Tom greeted, smiling wide so Mrs. Cole could see how nice and pleasant he was (and how unfounded her subtle accusations were).
"How do you do, Riddle," Harry replied, sitting on the opposite cot.
"I'll leave you boys to get acquainted," Mrs. Cole said.
She left. Finally.
Tom picked up a book, deciding to pretend to ignore the other boy. He watched Harry intently from the corner of his vision.
Harry unbuckled a black leather satchel, worn at the corners and obviously pre-owned. His belongings barely amounted to much, but Tom wasn't surprised. A few books. A threadbare wolf stuffed animal that looked homemade, maybe by a parent who was dead now. Harry carefully folded his knickers and shirts, placing them in the set of drawers at the foot of the bed. He was neat for his age, which was a relief because Tom couldn't stand a messy room.
Tom wondered if he should inform Harry that unpacking to this extent was unnecessary. Harry wouldn't be staying for long.
There was another knock at the door. Had Mrs. Cole forgotten to tell them something?
"Come in," Harry said after glancing at Tom.
It was the children from earlier.
"Harry!" Sally yelled, running and tackling the other boy. Tom winced at the noisiness.
"Oof," Harry grunted, knocked backward. Emma and Terry shot Tom frightened looks before inching into the room. Tom could only imagine the argument that had taken place for the children to brave coming in here.
Harry's face lit up with a brilliant smile. Tom wondered, briefly, what it would feel like to have the smile trained on him. He wrinkled his nose, disgusted with his own soppiness.
"Mrs. Cole told us you would be here," Sally said.
Harry turned to Tom.
"Would you like us to go somewhere else, Riddle? I don't want to disturb your reading."
Tom blinked at the consideration.
"No. That's alright."
He was curious enough to want to watch this play out.
"Harry, I am very cross with you," Sally said, tugging the other boy's shirt.
"Why?" Harry asked, looking absolutely bewildered.
"You lied to us." Much to Tom's disgust and Harry's apparent horror, Sally started to cry. "You promised you'd be okay, but you ended up at the hospital."
Harry blushed dark with embarrassment. He shot a self-conscious glance at the two other children and Tom.
"Come here in the hallway for a minute," Harry said, pulling Sally out the door. He shut it behind him. Terry and Emma froze like pinned butterflies. Tom ignored them, trying to hear the conversation.
"There, there, Sally. I'm okay now. See?"
"No, you're not," Sally sniffed. "I kept telling you that you didn't have to share. The younger ones were just being brats."
"No, they weren't. They needed it," Harry murmured. "I'm used to going a little hungry, Sally, but the others aren't. They were just babies. I could hear them crying at night."
Surprise slithered into Tom's consciousness. So that's how Harry had ended up in the hospital then. By being a blithering fool. Didn't he know martyrs were useless?
"Promise you'll never do it again," Sally said.
Harry didn't answer, opening the door instead.
"Please, Harry," Sally said, following Harry back inside.
Harry looked away.
"Who's this then?" he asked in an obvious ploy to change the topic.
"I'm Emma, and this is Terry," Emma introduced shyly.
"Nice to meet you," Harry said, giving a little wave.
"I know you just got back, Harry, but..." Sally stared at the ground in embarrassment.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked soothingly.
Sally gestured inarticulately towards Terry, who was leaning on the bedpost, a grimace of pain on his face.
"One of the older boys—"
"Billy," Emma supplied.
"Billy," Sally repeated—"started wailing on Terry. He was mental. He kept going and going, and we thought it was never gonna stop."
Emma hiccuped a sob.
"Please help us," she begged. "I'll do your chores for a month."
Tom would have bargained for three months.
"There's no need for that," Harry said firmly. Tom could almost taste his discomfort underneath. Not used to being thanked? "Let me see what I can do."
Suddenly, Harry stiffened, whirling around to face Tom. Had he just remembered that Tom was also in the room?
Tom bristled, not liking that one bit.
"Harry?" Sally asked.
"Riddle, is there any way you could step out—"
"No," Tom said, cutting Harry off. "This is my room, Faye, and I'm staying right here. Don't stop on my account."
Harry's mouth went flat.
"Can we go to your room, Terry?" he asked.
Terry shook his head.
"I'm in the boy's dorm, and there's always someone in there."
"Same with the girl's dorm," Emma said. "We don't get our own rooms until we get older here at Wool's."
Harry shot a despairing look at Tom. A little thrill of pleasure curled inside Tom. He had put that expression there.
"Maybe outside?" Sally suggested.
Terry and Emma didn't disagree.
"Outside it is," Harry said.
The four of them left, swinging the door shut behind. Tom debated following them in secret—he was so very curious—but decided against it. Whatever meager first-aid skills Harry Faye possessed would only bore him in the end.
-
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_
The week passed, and Tom hadn't decided yet how he would scare off Harry.
Truthfully, Harry's presence wasn't as terrible as Tom had expected. He didn't natter on about inane things, he was tidy, and he always knocked before entering, which was useful if Tom was practicing his magic. He sat with the other children for meals, completed his chores on time, and always read before bed, like Tom.
Tom had examined his books once when he was out of the room. Harry had a collection of fairy tales, a well-loved book titled Velveteen Rabbit, and two books about medicine of all things. One about first aid and germs, and the other about home remedies for common ailments. Maybe the children had approached Harry about Terry's injury because of his interest in the subject?
At night, Harry usually fell asleep in seconds, curled on his side and clutching his wolf plush. He wasn't a restless sleeper, which Tom appreciated, though sometimes he would shiver and make small whimpering sounds. Tom wondered if it was nightmares.
Regardless of how quiet and considerate Harry was, Tom didn't want to share his room. His practice time was already restricted by chores, and now he couldn't practice when Harry was around. Once school started, he would barely have any free time.
One evening, Tom compelled a few spiders to crawl onto Harry's sheets while the boy was washing up before bed. It was a little test run to see if Harry had an obvious fear Tom could exploit. When Harry returned, he didn't startle or scream like the other kids. He reached toward the spiders, scooping them up with one gentle swoop. Tom stared in shock.
"Hello, how did you guys get in here?" Harry murmured, sounding suspiciously fond. "Why don't we go outside? We'll find a nice bush to be your new home."
Spiders weren't going to work then. Harry seemed to think they were cute. What the fuck.
Tom would have to come up with something else.
_
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_
On Friday, the day Tom was planning on putting a garter snake in Harry's bed, he was assigned to work the garden with Terry.
The heat outside was unbearable, and the difficult work of yanking up the weeds only made it worse. The garden at Wool's was a pathetic clump of rhododendron bushes and a handful of tulips surrounded by meters of dull grey asphalt. Tom wondered why they had even bothered with a "garden." Might as well pave up the rest of it. Did they think flowers would be good for the orphans?
Tom rolled up his shirt, trying to get some relief.
Terry glanced at him and hesitated, obviously wanting to do the same. Based on the number of days that had passed since Billy's assault, his bruises should be green and yellowing soon. Tom pretended he hadn't noticed Terry's indecision, returning to tugging at a stubborn little weed that wasn't coming out no matter how much he pulled.
Terry finally decided to roll his shirt up, and Tom peeked with interest, curious to see the marks.
There were no marks.
Tom stilled.
Terry's skin was pale and undamaged. It actually looked healthier than before.
How had that happened?
Tom's mind drifted to the moment when the other children had approached Harry, asking for his help. Harry's secrecy. Sally's conviction.
Harry had to have done something.
A terrible supernova of suspicion and hope sparked inside Tom, consuming all his other thoughts.
An injury like that didn't heal so quickly... unless... unless...
Tom would have to test it out.
He had to know.
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_
Tom watched Harry closely over the next few days, but Harry wasn't giving anything up. It was frustrating and exciting at the same time.
Tom already knew he had to take more direct action if he wanted answers.
Luckily, it was easy enough to manipulate another incident into fruition.
He waited in the foyer, knowing how crowded the hallway outside the dining room got right after lunch. He had a good view but was far enough away that no one would be able to accuse him.
Billy Stubbs stepped out of the dining room, and Tom tracked his movement with gleeful hunting eyes. Sending his magic careening towards the other boy, Tom tripped Billy right as he was passing another kid in the hallway. Tom had chosen a young child since he knew Harry had a soft spot for them. Billy immediately accused the child, Lawrence, of pushing him, and in minutes, Lawrence was nursing a shoulder injury that would definitely bruise in a day.
Tom approached as soon as Billy left.
"Are you okay?" he asked kindly.
Lawrence looked at him suspiciously but shook his head.
"Billy is a brute," Tom said. "But I'll tell you a secret. If you ask my roommate, Harry, for help, he can make your shoulder stop hurting."
"Really?" Lawrence asked.
"You just have to promise you won't tell him I sent you."
"Why? Aren't you friends?"
Tom frowned.
"Why would you think that?"
"He scolded someone for you. Molly called you a freak, and Harry yelled at her."
"Harry yelled ?" Tom asked incredulously, his heart contracting strangely. He didn't need defending, but the thought of Harry standing up for him when Tom wasn't even around was not unpleasant. He couldn't imagine his demure little roommate raising his voice, though. Tom wished he'd heard it.
"So you aren't friends?" Lawrence asked.
"It's not for you to know," Tom replied curtly. "Now go ask him."
"Okay," Lawrence said with a shrug.
After supper the next day, Tom cornered Lawrence.
"Show me your shoulder," he demanded.
"Harry told me not to show anyone for a few days," Lawrence said.
"I already know about it," Tom lied. "It doesn't apply to me."
"Because you and Harry are friends?" Lawrence asked.
Tom glared.
"It's none of your business. Now show me," he ordered.
Lawrence complied, and Tom stared at his shoulder with satisfaction. Perfectly unblemished skin.
He knew it.
He had to see Harry's work more intimately next time.
He wanted to feel Harry's gift for himself.
_
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_
With Harry's weeping heart, the best chance Tom had of witnessing Harry's talent firsthand was if Tom was injured defending another child. He carefully noted Harry's favorites. Sally obviously. And some of the kids from Wool's had slithered their way up into Harry's goodwill as well.
He waited days for the perfect storm.
It came sooner than he anticipated. One of the adopters had given Lisa a bunny plush during an interview in the morning, and Billy had his grimy eyes all over it.
Things came to a head after lunch.
Billy demanded Lisa hand the new toy over. Lisa refused. The argument escalated.
Harry entered the room right as Billy raised his hand.
It was too perfect.
Emerald eyes flashed with anger, but before Harry could interfere, Tom stepped in.
"That's quite enough, Billy Stubbs. Keep your hands to yourself," Tom said coldly, moving Lisa behind him.
Lisa gave him an incredulous look, but Tom ignored her.
"Are you seriously getting in my way, Riddle?" Billy asked.
"Are you really so slow you need me to spell it out for you?" Tom said sweetly.
The look in Billy's eyes flipped to rage.
Tom crashed to the floor with the blow, but he relished in the pain because now he would finally know.
Billy got three kicks in before Mrs. Cole's voice echoed down the hallway. She didn't come in, but Billy immediately backed away from Tom, panic in his eyes.
Tom dragged himself to a sitting position, victorious.
A hand brushed his shoulder. Tom almost shoved it away until he realized it was Harry.
"Riddle! Are you okay?" Harry's big jade eyes stared worriedly at him. It was too easy.
"I think I'll survive," Tom said bravely. "Are you hurt, Lisa?"
Lisa shook her head, the suspicious glint still in her eyes. Tom had stolen her favorite hair ribbon the first time she had called him a freak. He still had it in his wardrobe.
"Come on, I'll help you back to our room," Harry said, wrapping an arm around him. Tom usually didn't like other people touching him, but it felt different with Harry. "You better leave Lisa alone, Billy, or I'll tell Mrs. Cole what you did," Harry threatened.
"Go ahead," Billy said, scoffing. "Like she'd believe you two freaks."
Harry flinched violently, which Tom only noticed because Harry was physically supporting him.
Tom wrapped an arm back around Harry with all the smug grace of a soldier relishing in his spoils from war.
"It's alright, Harry. Let's just leave," Tom said. "Billy doesn't know what he's talking about."
Harry helped him up the stairs, fussing over him until Tom was settled in his bed. It felt good being the center of Harry's attention.
Tom groaned dramatically, pretending the pain was a lot worse than it was.
"Where does it hurt?" Harry asked anxiously.
"My left side," Tom said.
Harry hesitated.
Just a little bit more.
"It's going to bruise something nasty," Tom murmured, running a hand down his face like he was upset.
Harry shut the door.
Tom barely hid his smirk in time. Victory at last.
"I can do something to help with the pain. But you have to promise me something," Harry said, kneeling next to Tom. "Well, two somethings."
"What?" Tom asked cautiously.
"You- you can't tell anyone about it. You can't show them either. And... and you have to promise you won't call me a f-freak afterward."
"Oh, Faye," Tom said earnestly. "I would never call you a freak."
Harry blushed.
"Do you promise?"
"I promise," Tom said easily. They twined pinkies and shook on it.
Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.
Tom lifted his shirt revealing a nasty mark. It was already a splotchy, swollen, angry red.
Harry made a sympathetic hiss noise. After casting one last glance at Tom, he closed his eyes, whispering something under his breath. Tom wondered if he was praying, though it didn't seem likely. Tom couldn't make out the words even with his superior hearing.
Harry went silent abruptly, and brightness burst from his hand like his fingers and palm were wrapped in ribbons of light.
Tom gasped in shock, his skin prickling.
The air was dripping in magic. It felt soft, heavy as damask, but tingly too, like anyone who touched Harry's skin would get an electric shock.
He had suspected Harry's secret, but this was beyond his wildest expectations.
Elation rioted through Tom's heart.
It was real. It was all real. Magic was real.
It wasn't just in his head. He did have powers.
And Harry had them too.
The thrill of being right buoyed his mood sky-high.
Tom wasn't alone anymore.
Harry hovered his hand over Tom's abdomen. The bruises disappeared almost instantly. It was elegant. Powerful. Tom would have almost been envious of Harry if he didn't feel so over the moon.
He had to play this cool.
"It tingles," he said curiously. "Like an itch."
"The other kids have said that too," Harry said.
A not-good feeling ate away at some of Tom's happiness. He should have been the first person to see Harry's powers. He was the only other person who shared them, after all. How many other unworthy eyes had gotten to see Harry's gift in action? To feel it?
Tom burned.
"There," Harry said, standing up. He looked drained. "How do you feel, Riddle?"
"You can call me Tom."
"Tom, then. You can call me Harry."
"Harry," Tom said, his mouth curling over the syllables possessively.
He smiled, the stretch of his lips feeling weird. He wasn't used to smiling.
"Well?" Harry asked.
"Your magic is so graceful," Tom said. "The pain is completely gone."
Harry's face went bright red.
"It... it didn't scare you?"
Tom shook his head.
"Has it scared the others?" he asked curiously. How could anyone be afraid of healing magic? Especially when it was for their benefit? There was no hope for Tom's powers if Harry's gift was feared.
Harry nodded.
"Lots of people," he said starkly. "That's why Billy called me a freak."
"You showed him?" Tom asked, anger seeping into his tone.
"No." Harry exhaled sharply. "He accidentally saw when I was healing Lawrence."
"It couldn't be helped," Tom said, calming himself. "Billy is a wanker."
Harry laughed.
"You said it," he agreed, returning to his own cot.
The mood shifted, and Tom could tell Harry wanted to ask him something in return. He had a feeling he knew what.
Harry fidgeted with his wolf plush anxiously. Finally, he seemed to build up the courage.
"Tom, can I ask you why Billy called you that word? Some of the other kids have used it too. Of course, they were absolute w-wankers for saying it, but I just wondered why."
Tom stayed silent for a long time, weighing the benefits of telling Harry versus keeping it quiet. Finally, he decided to show off a little. He needed to secure Harry's interest in himself as strongly as his interest had latched on to Harry. He needed to show Harry they were different. They were special.
"They call me that because I can do stuff too."
Tom lifted Harry's wolf stuffed animal from his arms, spinning it in the air like it was doing a pirouette. Harry's glimmering green eyes widened with awe, his defensiveness melting to wonder.
Tom preened at the expression.
He set the plush down on top of Harry's head.
Harry giggled, reaching for his wolf, and Tom's heart fluttered uncomfortably.
He wanted to bottle that laugh and keep it forever to play on loop whenever he felt like hearing it. Because Tom had done that. He had made someone laugh. And not just anybody but Harry. It was only the cherry on top that it was with his magic, the same thing that had caused so many of the other children to revile him.
"I've never met anyone like me before," Harry confessed. "I thought I was alone."
Tom felt like he was brushing his fingers down a mirror.
"You're not alone anymore," Tom said, meaning every word.
He wanted Harry. He had never coveted anyone this much.
Tom understood now that some part of him had never given up on having a... friend. Someone who understood him more than anyone else. Someone who would always take his side. Someone who could keep him company when he was bored.
In a flash, he knew he would do anything to have Harry Faye's loyalty.