July 31st, 1933
Mrs Cole huffed as she locked his door. Tom Riddle was punished in his room without dinner, again. And it was all Billy and his crew's fault!
On the outside, he was calm, collected, perfectly docile and obedient as Mrs Cole ordered him to 'march up' to his room the instant one of the children had accused him of some "evil-doing". Alone, in his room, he all but jumped on his well-made bed, the metal rings creaking under his weight, pounding the pillows with pent up fury, the feeling of being wronged, being outed, being unable to escape- all wrapped up in his little fist as he kept pounding mercilessly into the harden cloth and feathers. His hands almost feel the hard metal frame below. He didn't care, he'd steal another unbattered pillow later.
Tired, he huffed, keeping his fist closed, staring at the door of his locked room, bending his knees to sit on his bed.
Tom Riddle was seven years old for seven months now. There were three things he firmly knew.
Firstly, he hated Wool's Orphanage, the old black and murky building he grew up in all his life. The matrons were strict and yelled at him daily. It didn't matter if he was tardy or early, clean or with a smidge of dirt on his sleeve, he'd get an ear boxing or a spanking just by looking into their angry eyes. The worst he got was a hard pinch on the thighs by Mrs Cole, Head Matron, for 'lying' when he had insisted he told her the truth. He spent his mornings doing chores, being forced into uncomfortable clothes that were too cold for winter and too grey and thin to be proper for summer. The food was below human decency, scraps from leftover food rations such as tin cans, peaches and mouldy bread were a norm. The food was basically next to being wasted and the rare occasion of treats were used to manipulate the children to do more chores, which Tom hated more. Hated with a passion, the dark tile walls, the five stories of stairs that took forever to clean and his very hard bed. He hated the dull classes, with the same paper and pencil drills and the voices of the tutors, shrill and high, not allowing them to question or ask. "You're a dumb boy for asking Tom. ", "What a silly question, boy. " " Of course there are no such things as talking animals! ".
Because they were all wrong, he was brilliant, but they were too afraid to see it.
And the Sunday masses he was forced to recite and sing to. He didn't believe in God, how could he? God hated him and had let his mother die and leave him in this black hell hole. He sang anyway.
Loathing it, hating it. With every fibre of his being.
Secondly, he knew that he was odd. Different. He loved it. Loved being different from the dreary people in the Orphanage. Loved it so much that it made his eyebrows knot and his hands curl in frustration because he was special and no one could see it, appreciate it. He knew this because on more than one occasion Tom had successfully moved items with his mind, making them float. The other thing he found out he could do was that he understood animals a bit differently... especially snakes. He understood them completely, he felt he could even control them. Mrs Cole had caught him doing what she calls 'disturbing things" and would punish him severely for it, but it didn't deter him. Because knowing he was different was enough of a relief, to know he didn't share any similarities with the draggity of the Orphanage. Mrs Cole had sometimes muttered that his mother was a circus worker and Tom had wondered if that was why he was different. If all circus people were special and different. Maybe he was a circus boy, and he didn't feel ashamed at all by the idea. He was different from the people at Wool's orphanage and that was what was important.
Third and last, Tom knew he was always going to be alone. None of the children wanted to play with him. He wasn't interesting enough and his 'speciality' only made him more separated from the rest. He was fine with it. Well, sometimes he cried, but only because it was too dark and the loud sounds were making him jump. Sometimes he did feel a bit cold and wanted something warm to hold him, maybe something other than a smack or spit on his face? Maybe he didn't really like it when Billy and his group would push him away from playing their stupid games.
Maybe a small part of him wondered why other children were dressed nicely every Monday for "visitors" and able to leave with a mummy and daddy but he was left alone, to sulk in his room. Disturbed, he had once heard Mrs Cole say. No family would want that.
No family would want him.
But it was what it was and Tom was strong. He could accept it. Being alone. He had a room to himself. He didn't have to share and he could spend time on his specialness. He didn't need to play or receive treats. He would get them on his own. Affection? Approval? They were means to an end, weren't they? To get what he wanted. Oh he would learn how to win over people and make them give him things. He would ignore the way their eyes widened, the ways their bodies shifted slightly away from him. He didn't mind being locked in his room, unable to play outside. Nor did he need to hear what Billy Stubbs had to say about his hair, or his clothes or his face. All he needed to do was protect himself. Sooner or later he would leave the Orphanage and none of these people, this loneliness will matter. It was a fact.
It was what he knew, with all his heart.
Until today, the 31st of July, the clock struck midnight and a flash of bright light woke Tom up from his cold bed, and he saw a small black-haired boy lying on the floor of his room.
The boy woke up and the greenest eyes stared at him, wearing peculiar large mustard-coloured clothing and thin pyjama pants, covered by thick black fringes that would have made Mrs Cole scream until sunset tomorrow.
Tom could feel it in his soul. Call it fate. Maybe destiny. Or a feeling. This boy was different. Alone. Just like him.
"Who are you?" He demanded. Partially out of fear, and out of curiosity at what he had just witnessed. The boy had arrived so suddenly into his bleary dull room. Almost like... magic .
It was as if everything he knew was about to be changed by the next sentence. This boy would open his lips and say his name.
"I'm Harry."
***
Harry either didn't have a last name or refused to give it making it very hard for a very flustered and upset Mrs Cole to gather information on him. She had notified the police, and they had interrogated him. All he had said was one time he was in his cupboard and then he woke up on Tom's bedroom floor. Tom had stared and stared at the boy the whole night until morning, knowing instinctively it would do him no favours to tell Mrs Cole what he witnessed last night. He felt sure, deep in his bones, that this Harry person was different, special and he wanted him.
Needed him to stay.
"We don't have space here, not enough mouths to feed!" She would complain loudly when the police would suggest Harry stay in the Orphanage until they gathered more information.
Harry had been quiet and subdued, waiting on a bench outside her office, wearing what Tom could see as rags with garish designs no decent boy would go out to wear. Tom had finished his chores quickly, and was eager to spy on the new boy, he frowned upon hearing Mrs Cole complaints. Harry was the smallest boy Tom had ever seen, and he was quiet and obedient, just like Mrs Cole liked them. Why couldn't she take him in and allow Harry to stay?
Frustrated, and a bit eager to be close to Harry. Tom opened the door to the visitor's lounge where Harry was sitting and quickly sat beside him. He was never allowed here, but he had to see Harry!
He stood before the boy, black fringes were just as messy as last night, green eyes just as bright.
Standing as tall as he could, Tom stared down at Harry. "I didn't tell Mrs Cole what happened last night." He spoke in a hushed whisper. "Tell me how you travelled with the bright light. You owe me for covering you." His young voice, tight with command.
The innocent face changed to scorn, Harry's eyes clearly unimpressed by Tom's tone. "I didn't say anything to Mrs Cole, why would I say anything to you?"
Tom flashed an annoyed frown back. "If I opened my mouth, Mrs Cole would get you in trouble and she'd call you disturbed and no one would want to take you then!" He threatened.
Harry didn't relent, in fact, his eyes were now something Tom wasn't used to seeing- defiant, but also slightly... amused.
"What makes you think I want to be taken?"
That didn't make sense. All children wanted to be adopted and taken in. To have a family and house of their own. "You don't want a family?" Tom blurted, confused.
Harry's small legs were dangling from the bench, his tacky shoes making scraping sounds across the old tiles. His eyes dropped. "A house and family mean nothing if all you'll stay is in a dusty cupboard."
"Why a cupboard?"
Harry shrugged. "Place for...fr-different people." His eyes flashed a challenge. "Trust me, I don't need to go back to any family or any house." His voice was muffled. "Anywhere is better than there."
Tom felt like he understood exactly what Harry was trying to say. This boy was different like him, and wherever he came from, they were keeping him locked up, punishing him. Somehow Harry had escaped with the bright light. If Tom wanted Harry before he knew with absolute certainty he couldn't allow Harry to part from him now. If Harry thought being locked in a cupboard was bad, how would he survive under the hard grip of Mrs Cole and her smacks and locked doors without dinner?
Prim heels stepped in, Mrs Cole scowled heavily at the sight of the two boys. "Tom, don't you have chores to do." Her words were a thinly veiled threat. But Tom knew by the way her face was red and the few strands of hair out of place and her tightly clasped hands, she was clearly upset. The police had no leads on Harry, and she was very reluctant to take another strange boy in. Tom would have to tread carefully to make sure things worked in his favour for both of their sakes.
He gave his most winning smile, shoulders dropped in a subdued manner, eyes wide and innocent. "I've done everything you asked me to Mrs Cole, even took time to scrub the windows without you asking." He lied smoothly, he remembered Hoody Larson doing it earlier. He hoped buttering her up with the extra chore would soften her a bit. "I did everything really well because I knew you would be busy helping Harry."
Then for something he had never done in his life, Tom held Harry's shoulder in what he hoped was conveying concern. "I was so worried about him, if no family had come to take him yet, I was going to volunteer to share my room with him. I could put up the beds and everything."
Mrs Cole's eyes rounded at the sudden change in his charge. "That is... very kind of you Tom, but the Orphanage can't possibly take in Harry, maybe just for the night. But we'll have to send him to another home where his needs could be better met."
No! Tom held Harry's shoulder firmer, Harry didn't resist, looking at Mrs Cole impassively.
"I understand Mrs Cole." Tom licking his lips, pretending to be deep in thought. "I should help you sell the books tomorrow, for the Church of course... but I thought the extra pennies would help Harry... he seems like a small boy, I don't think he even eats much...but if there's no need...."
Mrs Cole's eyebrows raised, surprised that Tom would volunteer to sell the copy of gospels. Part of the donation went to the Orphanage as well, it was a big scam that Tom knew well and he hated having to stand on the streets, begging people to have pity on him and buy the useless piece of paper. But he knew how much Mrs Cole needed help to sell them.
Tom let her think things through, his hand steady on Harry's shoulder. Wondering what was going to the small boy's head.
"Maybe we can think of something for Harry, we might need all the extra help we need." Her lips were thin, not letting a smile through. But that was enough.
Tom nodded in a fake submissive manner, knowing full well Mrs Cole would be waiting to see if he proved himself. It was a give and take, to survive in this place.
"What was that?" Harry murmured in Tom's room, now their room- Tom mentally corrected himself- as his room is the only room with an empty bed- being the resident odd one, no one was willing to share with him.
Until now.
Harry and Tom had to use the old sheets Mrs Cole found in the cellar. They were clean at least, smelling a bit musty, but still good. Tom was diligent in ensuring it was at its place. Feeling a bit possessive to have someone in what was naturally his space.
"Hmmm?"
Tom didn't have many pyjamas, but he was willing to part with the one with holes in its armpits, he would try to find another set from the other boys.
"Back there, with Mrs Cole, why didn't you let her send me to another home?"
Tom bit his lip, Harry was observant. He had to be very careful what he said to him. To win him over.
"I wanted to know about the bright light." He admitted, handing the pyjamas for Harry to change. It was partially true, he wanted to know all the special things Harry could do.
Harry changed his pyjamas with a frustrated sigh. He sat on his bed, his head lowered. "I don't even know how I did it." He confessed. "I mean, I've always been able to go places I need to, but I've never gone this far before."
He was admitting it. Tom didn't have to do anything to get it out of him, Harry was surprisingly easy, the first sign of help and he had told Tom his biggest secret as if he wasn't used to such gestures.
"You can do things," Tom stated in a reverent whisper, like a prayer, his heart blooming, like him like him like him, almost afraid Mrs Cole would overhear.
Harry's shoulders straightened, his green eyes were hard staring at Tom, again that defiance. "You calling me a freak?"
The sudden tone snapped Tom out of his happy thoughts. Realising, Harry was afraid. Afraid of what Tom would do with the truth. But he was the one who had confessed. Why was Harry ready to confess everything, when he knew there was a possibility Tom would turn on him? Judge him? Push him away?
Harry wasn't merely a survivor, he was a fighter. Something happened, from wherever he came from, with the cupboard... that made Harry snap, decide to fight. If Tom was eager to have Harry in his control, he was determined now. Tom forced his body language to be in a concession, hands held up slightly, meaning no harm.
He took a bold step forward. "Harry, you misunderstand me." He had to give Harry something to believe him, to trust him as well. It was a calculated risk he was willing to take. "I can do stuff too."
He had never admitted it out loud, always finding excuses and lies to deny when other children had seen him doing 'peculiar' and 'devilish' things. But the words melted Harry's hard face, his shoulders hunched, eyes still narrow, afraid to accept the words as truth. He tilted his head slightly to the side, his black hair shiny and beautiful under the faint moonlight.
In the dark dreary black tiles, how can something be so beautiful?
Wordlessly, intent on proving himself giving him a strong sense of confidence, Tom raised a palm to his wardrobe and concentrated as hard as he could, willing it to work.
It did - a pair of old night slippers from one of the matrons came flying into his hands. He had stolen them as revenge for locking him up during playtime.
Harry's eyes widened, staring at the slippers in Tom's hand before staring back at Tom. His green eyes mirroring Tom's inner thoughts.
Wonder.
***
Tom's initial elation at having Harry at the Orphanage, had dampened a bit after a few days.
Harry, Tom found, was not an easy person to control. Tom had no experience making friends, usually the outcast, but he knew if he was firm like the matrons and thought of the best threats any child would quake and fold to do his bidding.
Harry, however, questioned everything he said and would scoff at the face of Tom's threat.
"Hmm." Was Harry's response once, when Tom had threatened to lock him in his- their- room if he didn't sit beside his right during meal times. Harry wanted to sit in front of him, Lord knows why, Tom hated people staring at him eating. Tom didn't really want to hurt Harry, his gut reaction telling him that was not how to win the small boy over. Harry ignored his command until finally, Tom had to relent and say...please.
The small boy had no qualms sitting beside Tom during meals after that. Tom's teeth grated, upset.
Tom had to be very firm when it came to keeping their abilities a secret, especially from the matrons, the adults with power to send them away and locked up for good. Something Harry had eventually agreed (only after arguing every turn possible- why does it matter if we get sent to an asylum?). Harry was incredibly naïve, not knowing how the world worked. He had never heard of asylums or how the police could send boys who were disobedient to jail. Tom had to try very hard to convince Harry that the streets were the worst place to be telling Harry in detail how children without homes were treated like men, but with no rights. Made to fight wars or work at mine camps as child labourers.
"What difference is it with what we're doing now?" Harry grumbled. "We're doing chores now aren't we?"
Tom exasperatedly explained how the Orphanage was a safer bet, smaller scope, much more predictable patterns, even going as far as to explain how easy it was to manipulate some circumstances into their favour.
"See Billy Stubbs there? He and his crew hate me because they think I'm odd." Tom hissed. Years of pent up anger boiling to the surface. "Little does he know I'm the one who doesn't want to play with him ."
Harry gave Tom a knowing smile. Tom flushed red, wondering just what Harry felt he knew. Because the more Tom talked to Harry, the more apparent it was that Harry knew nothing.
Harry would insist he knew science (talking about giant lizards called dinosaurs), and a box called television and things like... smooth driveways, and pop music.
"Where ever you were before sounds very confusing," Tom commented condescendingly. The radios in Mrs Cole's office only ever played jazz music, there was nothing pop about it.
"It's so different here." Harry agreed, running a hand through his black hair. Tom hated it, it made his hair look trodden, like a wild child. "Even the clothes are different." It had been a daily comment. Harry was a bit odd when it came to his clothes, Unable to tie his shoelace properly or know how to wear his hat and forgetting his belt. Judging from the clothes he came in, Tom was not surprised.
"That's why you need to follow what I say, Harry." Tom chided him. Harry naturally scoffed at that. But he reluctantly and quickly learnt he had to follow Tom's lead if he wanted to blend in.
Harry was always paired with Tom to do chores together. Tom had overheard Mrs Cole say she was pleased Harry seemed to reduce Tom's devilish ways and didn't bother to separate them. Tom had made sure they did all their chores extra well, not to give any excuse for Mrs Cole to take Harry away. Since Harry was almost always with him, the other boys had kept their distance. Just like he wanted. A lot of alone time spent with Harry, Tom was eager to talk about the things they were able to do. Wanting to push and explore the boundaries of his own ability.
Tom had many theories when it came to their abilities. He was half convinced Harry was someone like him, he just didn't know what that was. Were they gifted? Was it sheer willpower or intent focus or strength in desire? Was it in-built in their blood? Something learnable?
He had never seen Harry shine a bright light and go anywhere else. Deep down he feared Harry would be gone, returning to wherever he came from, but every morning he had awakened to see Harry sleeping in his bed, in their room and his heart had settled a bit more each day.
Tom liked the idea of Harry knowing what Tom could do. He had been dying to show someone. Anxious to prove to himself he wasn't crazy. He hadn't made up the things he could do in his head. He wasn't lying, not about this. Having Harry with him made everything tangible, more real.
Harry had tried to do what Tom did, summon things with his mind, but nothing was happening. Tom would ask Harry to try on everything, items in their room, objects outside, but nothing moved. Tom was beginning to wonder if these abilities were just unique to him. It was both an interesting thought, for it made him unique, but saddening too- because that meant he couldn't travel with the bright light, like Harry.
One day, after hours of dull lessons and tedious chores, they were finally allowed outside. Tom had stolen a domino set from one of the boys. He had seen the boys play with it, loving the idea of putting things into such fine order and being able to knock it all down with a simple push. Harry had dutifully joined, placing the little black and white tiles in successive order according to Tom's command. Harry was much more recipient to Tom's demands if he used a much more suggestive and softer tone and words like, "please".
Harry placed the dominos in the circle shape Tom had envisioned, waiting for Tom to push the first domino piece. Harry's hair was wild and free out in the open. Mrs Cole had forced him to comb it parted sideways, the uniformed obedient orphaned look. But at the end of the day, the dark curls would just revert to their messiness. Unlike Tom who had natural large brown curls, his hair was impeccably well kept. Harry's hair hung like a bird's nest above vivid green eyes.
"Are you going to push?" Harry asked, breaking Tom's thoughts, his cheeks warmed, afraid to be caught staring he lifted his chin haughtily, faked a cough to hide his embarrassment and slowly pushed the first piece with his finger.
The domino piece fell and landed on the other in a satisfactory predictable manner, each piece pushed to fall in an orderly well-planned manner to reveal a beautiful circle design. The idea of a well-made plan falling into place, a single piece causing a beautiful precise reaction, deeply resonated with the young orphan. It made planning the next design much more exciting for Tom.
Something caught Harry's eye, his crouched body shifting to the bushes. "Oh look, a grass snake!"
Tom smiled, wanting to impress Harry. "I can call him to come closer."
Harry stared at him, giving Tom his full attention. Nothing was impossible between them, Harry shrugged playfully, his demeanour open. "Go on and show me."
" Come out sssnnnakkkee. " Tom called in a low whisper. The snake slithered closer, its head raised, curious. Tom had always been especially happy with his gift to talk to snakes. He could sense and make other smaller animals do things, like jump or crawl in a direction he wanted. But he could only communicate with the long slithery reptile. They let him hold their long cold scales and told him stories about their captures. They were also particularly useful for scaring other boys.
" Ssssppeaakker, what are thesssseeee rocksss you ussssee for? "
" It's a game ." Tom hissed, happy to have managed his gift. He turned to Harry ready to explain what the snake said, Harry was focused on the snake. His brows creased.
'Say something else." Harry ordered. Tom's shoulders straightened... his eyes round. It couldn't be...
" Where are the othersss ?" he hissed at the snake. The green reptile replied with, " Out there." Tom quickly turned to see Harry's face, his expression mildly surprised- eyebrows raised, lips pursed. "Did you understand that?" Tom demanded, almost forgetting to use his 'soft' voice'.
Harry scratched a hand absentmindedly behind his head, his expression amused. He nodded. Clearly just as pleased. "It sounds just like normal English though."
Tom smiled wide, elated. His eyes gleamed, mind whirring with the possibilities. He insisted (or commanded) Harry to try and speak to the snake, very pleased to hear he could understand everything. The snake took orders well from Tom, but it was clearly besotted with Harry.
His small mind held unto the sight of Harry giggling, whispering to their new friend, his small fingers petting the cold scales, knowing he was right. Like him.
Harry was special too.
***
Unfortunately, like Tom, Harry was now at risk of being bullied by Billy Stubbs and his wayward crew. Billy was a year younger than Tom, but he was taller with auburn hair. Billy and Tom had both been in the Orphanage for nearly all their lives, and it was an instant clash between them. They were nearly always at odds with one another. Placed, whether by design or indirectly because of their history, on opposing ends, a constant conflict. Tom didn't remember ever being accepted by the crew, an outcast from day one. The older children had thought him odd and kept their distance, the younger children slightly feared him, but Billy... he went out of his way to get Tom in trouble. Tattling on him, accusing him, making him look bad, getting him smacked and locked up.
Once, Billy had ratted out Tom for saying something unspeakable against the Church. Feeling cornered, Tom had lunged at Billy's face, his nails trying to scratch and draw blood. He was five, and it was his first experience in the Cellar. Billy had remained steadfast, on a vendetta to call him out for his odd behaviour, provoking him at every turn, but Tom had kept his control, accepting any punishment doled out to him. Careful not to lose control again. Dreading of another visit to the Cellar.
Billy had ignored Harry at first, unimpressed with how he seemed glued to the hip with Tom. Harry didn't ignore others, he was polite when spoken to. Kinder to the younger ones, and did not complain if the older boys needed an extra hand, but Harry just preferred to spend his time with Tom. As he should be.
This did not sit well with Billy. After a month, Billy began to taunt and provoke Harry. At first, Harry wanted to retaliate, but Tom quickly talked him out of it. It was two to five, they were outnumbered and the boys were physically bigger. With Mrs Cole in their pocket, they couldn't do anything. Tom dug his nails in Harry's arm so deep, to stop Harry from swinging the first fist.
"He's a giant git." Harry grumbled for the tenth time. Billy had made a snarky comment about Harry's unruly hair in class, the teacher had been made aware and had forced Harry to wash his hair before the next lesson to tame it. "Can't believe I can hate someone as much as I hate Dudley."
"Dudley?" It was so rare that Harry talked about where he came from.
Harry ignored his question. Still grumbling under his breath. They had afternoon reading and Harry was squinting his eyes too small, his arms extended to help him better read. Tom had a hunch Harry was nearsighted and needed glasses.
"Don't worry Harry. We'll get them back." Tom promised.
Harry did not look pleased. "I don't want you to get in trouble."
Tom smiled, bemused at Harry's naivete. "I won't get in trouble because I won't get caught."
Harry had pestered him all day, asking him what he had planned to do. Tom had tried to divert and dodge the question, but Harry was stubborn. Finally, in the privacy of his-their rooms, Tom relented.
"I'm going to use my ability, Harry. I promise you, no one will know." Tom said exasperated. Harry kept his stare so he continued. "Maybe.. I'll ask our friends to pay them a visit."
Harry gasped, worried. "You can't!"
Tom frowned. Harry was supposed to be impressed. "Why ever not?"
"Tom, someone could get seriously hurt, what if the snakes are poisonous... or worse Billy or any of the crew step on the snakes and accidentally kill one of them? Don't do it, Tom, it's a bad idea." Harry was talking nonsense, of course, it was a brilliant idea.
"It's the least he deserves." Tom hissed. He hated when Harry argued with him. Why couldn't he obey him and admire him for his plans, didn't he know Tom and carefully thought of the perfect revenge? Didn't Harry trust his ability? Trust him? He planned to 'make' the snakes fly through the window, as it was approaching fall, they would worm into the boy's body heat, the screams of terror in the night. "Weren't you ready to clock his face when he called you a bird's nest during lunch? Why is this any different?"
Harry gripped his arm, pulling in Tom's full attention. He hated when the smaller boy did this, he felt imbalanced, by the sheer focus and intensity of the vivid green eyes. Demanding him to listen.
"It's not fair Tom. Clocking him in the face, when he could hit me back. Using our gift for this... it's not fair, Tom. It's not right."
"How is it fair that Billy Stubbs gets to bully and demean us, hmm? How is it fair that they get to get away with lies and cheats and have us locked during playtime or without dinner? How is that RIGHT, hmm?" his anger bled through his control. It was their fault for pushing him like this, they were asking to seek judgement and judgement is what he will give. The world isn't fair or right, it was about being better and stronger.
And he was. Better and stronger than idiot jalopy, Billy Stubbs.
Tom held both of Harry's arms, shaking some sense in him. "Don't you understand Harry, we're the special ones, you said it yourself- the gifted! They have no right to treat us like this! Do you know what they're saying behind our backs? That we're different, odd, devils. Blasphemy, all of it. We don't have to let them get away with it!"
Harry's eyes faltered, hearing Tom's reason. Harry understood what it felt to be mistreated for being... different. He seemed to contemplate, staring at the floor. Making Tom feel frustrated. This was the moment for them to finally act, to warn the others to leave them alone! Tom had fantasized about revenge for years, but he didn't have the guts when it was just him. Now with Harry by his side, they could protect each other.
Harry's arms crossed, lips in a thin line. Still stubborn. "You won't hurt Billy and his crew too bad." He demanded. "Just scare them. And don't get caught."
Tom nearly rolled his eyes. "Fine." He said unamused. "I'll just make them jump ."
***
Tom cackled in glee as he heard the shouts and screams of the others at the end of the hall. Even Harry gave a wry sleepy grin and Tom knew he had done well.
The next day, Mrs Cole had called them into her office. Harry was fidgeting, uncomfortable. Tom was calm and collected, unperturbed.
"Did you boys have anything to do with what happened last night?" Her strategy was to get straight to it, with a long thin wooden rod, scaring them to confess. Thankfully, Harry kept his fidgeting to a minimum. Tom took the lead.
"We were in our beds, asleep, awoken by the screams like everyone else." His voice didn't sound guilty at all. "Why would we have anything to do with what happened last night?"
Mrs Cole swiped the rod menacingly in her palm, a clear warning. "The boys have told me they've seen you, two boys, talking to snakes. Now confess before I lose my temper, did you or did you not put four snakes in the boys' room last night?" Her face was calm, almost anticipating it was them, and already ready to dole out the punishment.
Tom did not waver, he eyed Harry in mock concern. Harry could only stare at his act. "Why Mrs Cole, how can we be talking to snakes? Snakes are animals... they don't talk." He said innocently.
Harry had to bite his bottom lip to stop himself from laughing out loud. Tom's act was so hilarious in front of the incredulous Mrs Cole. She looked flustered but insisted to pin the blame on them. Mrs Cole questioned them longer, Tom answered everything perfectly without missing a beat. She was getting redder in the face, unable to prove it was them. In the end, she had to dismiss them, looking forlornly at her wooden cane. "A load of hokums and horse feathers," she mumbled under her breath.
In their rooms, alone, having missed lunch, an unofficial punishment in a sense, Tom's eyes lit up with manic glee. "I told you she couldn't prove it was me." Harry admitted a smile, boosting Tom's ego even more.
He was feeling taller, with Harry by his side for dinner. Billy and his crew watched them with both fear and apprehension, undecided if they would remain easy prey or were now predators. Billy made his decision when he passed by their table and slapped his hand on the thick wood. His eyes burning.
"I know it was you, you snake. And you'll be sorry." His stubby fingers pointing at Tom and Harry in a threatening manner.
Tom was calmly finishing his soup. "Careful Billy, don't want another... nightmare do we?" He said sweetly. Harry sniggered into his food. Satisfied how wide Billy's eyes went at the thought. They wouldn't be sleeping tonight. Too scared for another attack of snakes.
Their success only lasted a week, with Billy strung so tight, eye bags under his eyes, unable to sleep a wink. Too much pride to admit he was scared of another attack. His eyes remained glued to both Tom and Harry. Tom insisted they go about their day normally. From this day on, they wouldn't walk around afraid anymore, if Billy knew what was good for him, it was he who would be afraid.
As he should.
But there was a flaw in Tom's plan, for even if Billy was too nervous to act on Tom, Harry, being the smaller, easier target, was open season.
They were ready to go for dinner. Tom had gone first, always hated being tardy and impatient and Harry's incompetence to keep up, he didn't understand why Tom needed to eat at a certain table and had to rush every mealtime to secure it. No one dared to take Tom's spot anyway.
He was at the bottom of the stairs when he heard the scuffle and then a shout, and before he had time to register what was happening, he heard a loud thump. He turned to see at the top of the first set of stairs, laid limply, angles all wrong, black messy hair.
"Harry!" Tom had never shouted so loud in his life, panicked at the sight of Harry pale, eyes closed, nose bleeding. "Harry, Harry, Harry!"
That moment, with a limp Harry in his arms, gave Tom perfect clarity. In the short period since he 'conjured' himself in his room, Harry was now a part of his life.
And he needed Harry to continue to be.
The matrons had filed in and rushed Harry to the Infirmary. One of the matrons was a trained nurse and had patched up Harry to the best of her ability. The doctor had been called and was on his way. All the while Tom stood still, fist clenched on his side, his eyes never leaving his Harry.
Mrs Cole held him by the shoulders, trying to make him move, he wouldn't budge. "Now come Tom, the doctor will need to examine Harry and it isn't decent nor necessary for you to witness that."
Tom snapped at the head matron coldly. "It was Billy. I know it was. He did this to Harry."
"That's a very serious accusation and you will stop it this instant. The children have all recounted and confirmed that it was a horrible accident, the poor boy tripped."
Tripped? His Harry? TRIPPED?
"It's a LIE!" He snarled. Shaking off Mrs Cole's hands.
"Now really!" She had her hand on her hips, properly angry now. "Tom if you insist on this tantrum I will box your ears and best drag you out of here, all the five flight of stairs if I have to, or would you prefer... the Cellar?"
That threat was a douse of cold water on Tom's thought of revenge. He shook and stared at her with all the rage he could show in his brown eyes, he felt they were bleeding red by now. He wanted to claw her face inside out, wanted to take Harry away from this horrid place that hurt him, that would let his perpetrator get away. Wanted to scour the whole building, find Billy and skin him alive, with his nails. Strip by strip like an orange peel.
But he couldn't. They had no other place to go. The survival instinct in him knew it was better to go quietly and accept it. He couldn't survive the Cellar. Not again. He hated this feeling. The sense of being weak, overpowered, unable to do anything. Only to have to take what is given, only to be quiet in the face of pain, only left to fume on the inside but forced to be in control on the outside.
He hated it.
Another matron held Tom's shoulder firmly, and he numbly went to his -their room with her insistent shoving. He sat on his bed, head spinning, heart pounding, feeling like he was torn in two directions- both wanting to scream and burn his room, and the other to carefully plan how he could see Harry, he needed to be sure Harry would be.
Mrs Cole didn't have the 'funds' to call a proper doctor, Tom knew Harry's treatment would be subpar- Tom had only received a measly bandaid for a hurt wrist before, it made his heart clench with a fury that Harry wouldn't get the best. He deserved nothing less. He pressed his ears to the door, listening, waiting for everyone to leave to their rooms so he could see Harry, his Harry, hating the idea he was in pain.
To keep himself from losing his mind, Tom formulated a foolproof revenge plan, without Harry to argue his conscience, Tom could go through every possibility. And it would all be very painful. Billy would be very sorry!
Finally, it was quiet enough that Tom dared to creep to the infirmary where Harry lay. Tom was dismayed to see Harry was drugged, knocked out with pain killers, his left arm in thick white bandages, a cotton square on his forehead, but he isn't bleeding anymore, that was a plus.
Tom reached out and held Harry's cold unbandaged hand, hating how limp it was. Harry was always moving, in his sleep, mumbling and tossing and turning, it used to make Tom mad. Now, he wanted Harry to open his eyes, or say something, anything.
Tom bent down to Harry's ear, still gripping the small boy's hand. "Don't worry Harry, I'll make sure they stay away from us." He vowed. Harry was his. It was clear today, how true the words wrung in his core. And like all his possessions, Tom would protect them with everything he had.