This chapter is dedicated to my wonderful readers from Antigua. You are awesome.
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"Another one," a voice hushed. The struggle to pronounce those two words had been as clear as a sunny day.
"A-are you s-serious? This can't hap-happen," a second voice responded. It was frail and weak. Two things that the boy-next-door did not like. Not at all.
"This is the third time in a month," coaked the first voice.
"I don't know what to do anymore." Though the second person didn't pathetically stutter this time, it sounded defeated. Another thing that the eavesdropper didn't like. "I don't have a single idea about how to take care of these kids anymore."
"It is not your fault, Mrs Cole," the nurse hushed.
"How it isn't?" Mrs Cole snapped. "The kids are dying under my care."
The six-year-old boy cringed. It can't be again. He didn't give a damn about those stupid kids. Why should he when all they did was either isolate or bully him? All because he was different. Better. Special even. But he didn't like anyone dying. Not because he was sympathetic or whatnot, but it made his young mind question his life. Doubt about how long it was before he was the next target of death. A shiver ran through his spine. It was of terror. Tom Riddle, the boy who was living in that damn place since the day he was born, was afraid of death. And it appeared that it was the only thing which was consistent all his life. 31st December 1926, the day he came to that formidable world, his mother died. But before that, she dropped him at Wool's orphanage. Why? He questioned himself. Of all places in this world, she had to give birth to him at that poor, old and ill-maintained place. The place which had no funds to look after those kids properly. What about his father? Tom wondered why he hadn't come to take him out of this place yet.
Tom pushed himself away from the wooden door. His feet dragged him absently to the window in his 4×8 room. His chocolate eyes dropped on the houses in their neighbourhood. His hands fisted when his young mind remembered that he hadn't heard anyone dying in those houses. Apparently, according to Mrs Cole that is, they were rich families. Powerful enough to afford medication for any disease that was discovered. Powerful enough to not give a damn about the weak kids living in that old building. Power. It was the thing that made a difference. In his opinion that is. After all, he knew what it felt to live like a powerless freak. Only he knew, how much he wanted the power. Desired it. Craved it. If he had a choice, he would choose power. Always. Because living without it felt helpless. The thing he didn't like the most.
The scene dissolved and in place of a six-year-old kid stood a sixteen-year-old teen. He stood there in muggle clothes that looked ironed. His face was expressionless. His slightly-chapped, sensual lips were pressed in a thin line, showing a little irritation. His chocolate eyes were narrowed on a body that laid on the floor in front of him. His right hand still held the phoenix feather cored wand. He stood there with no hint of motion. He knew he should leave before anyone could come, but it appeared impossible. Like someone petrified him.
He looked at the face before him. It was his, but older. It was of his sperm-doner. The man who abandoned him before he was even born. And instead of making him happy, it terrified him. In his fury, the star student of Hogwarts didn't notice that his father and he shared the same face when the former was alive. Now that senior Tom was dead, however, junior Tom realized how vulnerable his life was. He had faced the corpse in the form of boggart twice before, but this was different. So much different. It was a completely new level.
He had used magic that day to avenge and save himself. That somehow made him powerful. But when he saw the unmoving face of his father, he realized the magic wasn't going to save him from death. At least, the level of magic that he knew by that time. There had to be some way, he wondered. A new determination shone in his chocolate orbs. He was going to search means to be immortal. It didn't matter what was the cost. He was going to find out what the solution was. And he was going to live forever.
Tom awoke drenched. He still was in his emerald four-posture. The silver lanterns on the side of his bed allowed him to see that his bed was covered in his sweat. The memory still haunted him. Many would think the future of wizardry had no trouble in the killing, but he was still a boy. A boy who was struggling to find his place in this big world. A boy who attempted murder for the first time in his life. That too, in a fit of rage.
Tom looked at the watch placed on his wooden table. It was 2 in the morning. Long before his day even started. But he knew that he wasn't going to get any more sleep that night.
He took out his wand he had hidden below his pillow.
"Exaresco," he muttered, getting rid of wetness in his bed. Slytherins were used to living in a cold dungeon. The coldness never bothered him, but he wasn't a fan of getting a cold himself.
A sigh escaped his lips, as he sat upon his bed. He arranged his pillow in front of the headboard of his bed and leaned on it. His back straightened as his other hand ran patterns through his then messy hairs. The action reminded him of his girl. He chuckled. When her delicate hand ran through his black curls caressing his scalp that day, it had aroused him. He didn't like the effect she had on his body. It felt like she was in charge. But Salazar! Did he enjoy it? Hell, no! He loved it. Only he knew how hard it was to control himself from taking things further. He had spoken that they would continue in the Room of Requirements, and some part of him wished that she failed in compiling his wishes so that he could do whatever he wished with her body. Not like he needed any excuse in doing the deeds, but in his opinion, they spiced up the things. For the past two weeks, he had kept her by his side, tutored her but he didn't take the things farther than kissing here and there. He was nervous. Anxious even. Growing up so focused on his goal, he hadn't given any attention to any girl. When almost every student acted upon their hormones, wishing to find a companion whom they could cherish and with whom they could create a family of their own post-Hogwarts, he snorted on their foolishness. Not like he needed an heir in the future. He wanted to be immortal and that meant ruling forever. What was the point of creating an heir when he wasn't going to need it ever?
His eyes landed on his dorm-mate. He groaned in annoyance. In the darkness of their dorm, he could still make out that the latter's back was facing him. Anthony hadn't said anything, but Tom knew that the boy blamed the star Slytherin for his spoiled friendship with Alexa. Alexa, after that night in the hall, had kept her distance from Avery. It had been two weeks, but still, she hadn't talked to him properly. It was always awkward whenever those two were in the same room. He could see his pal was sad for this. And that, somehow, bothered Tom. He knew that this was what he intended to do, but he wasn't happy.
He didn't even know why.
Was that because Anthony Avery was the only boy who had his back from the start?
Or was it because he never judged him?
He wasn't sure whether he wanted to corrupt Avery. After all, Tom did honour loyalty, though he wasn't loyal to anyone else but himself.
He sighed again. His mind contemplating his plan of actions in the nearest future.
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I hope you liked the update. I know it is a filler, but I kind of wanted to add something about Tom's obsession with power. His memory at the age of six and his thought process when he killed Riddles are completely out of my imagination. I am not sure whether real Tom Riddle (duh!) actually thought the same or not.
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