Chapter 11 - Away From Hogwarts and Back Again
Written by Nemesis
Tom sat in the Great Hall, watching Professor Dippet. It was the thirtieth of June and the last day of school, and Tom was thoroughly depressed. He had grown so used to Hogwarts that leaving it seemed to be an impossibility, and whenever someone mentioned summer break, it made a lump rise in his throat. Tom had written home and had asked the new housekeeper, Miss Olga Dench, to meet him at King's Cross on the first of July, so getting back to the orphanage should be no difficulty. Being there would be the problem.
He compulsively smoothed his robes and straightened his hat as Dippet droned on with the end-of-year speech. The Slytherins had won the Inter-House Championship as well as the Quidditch Cup, which made the Gryffindors in particular extremely sulky. Tom pinched himself hard on the arm to keep from nodding off, but the others were not making the effort. The air in the Great Hall was humid and fuggy, a very soporific combination that was enhanced by the boring nature of the speech.
The last few months had been rather uneventful on the outside, but all the while, Tom had been haunted by those awful thoughts. They would go dormant for a while, then pop up again, ambushing him on his way to class, or while he was eating. The dreams involving the specter were growing more and more frequent, until Tom rarely went three days without having at least one. Whenever he took out the Invisibility Cloak to go explore the school, he felt a nagging, tugging temptation to dash up to the library and read everything about how to practice Dark magic. For a few awful weeks, he thought he was going mad.
"And now," recited Headmaster Dippet, clearing his throat, "may I present to you the top exam scorers for each year, starting at year one. From Gryffindor, I give you Philip Cedric and Ambika Dawes!" The Gryffindor table cheered and clapped raucously. Tom tensed up slightly and forced a few terse claps.
"From Hufflepuff, Robert Aberson and Abigail Forrey!" Tom watched Robert and Abby hurry up to the staff table to stand behind the teachers. Abby looked ecstatic, and she beamed around at everyone. Her face drooped slightly when she glanced over at the Slytherin table. Both of the Hufflepuffs were Muggle-born, and almost none of the Slytherins were even politely applauding.
"From Ravenclaw, Ralph Hiarro and Lili Po." Tom clapped for his friend, and she grinned at him as she accepted her certificate.
"And finally, from Slytherin, Tom Riddle and Serena Birch!" Tom met Serena's eye and smiled slightly as they rose from the table and crossed over to stand with the other Honor Roll students. Serena had wispy shoulder-length hair the same color as Ambika's, but her eyes were warm brown, which contrasted sharply with her moon-pale features. Tom did not know her as well as some of the other Slytherins, but she was always friendly--that is, except with Richard Zabini, who she seemed to detest.
"Congratulations," Dumbledore said to them, handing them their certificates.
"The very highest scorer for the first year was Tom Riddle," Dippet said, "passing each exam with an average of two hundred percent, the highest on the record."
There was uproarious cheering at the Slytherin table with a little polite clapping from the Hufflepuffs, though the Ravenclaws showed slightly more enthusiasm. The Gryffindors only glared, clearly furious that a Slytherin could make top grades. Tom shot them a sarcastic smile, which they ignored. After being given their papers, the Honor Roll students trudged back to their seats. Tom sighed with relief. His part was over.
As Dippet read off the Honor Rolls for the second- to seventh-years, Tom allowed his mind to wander. He imagined the welcome he would receive back at the orphanage when he returned from what they thought was Smeltings. He hoped that Gregory was still afraid of him, and that he could avoid Mr. Carney for two months. Tom wondered what Miss Dench looked like. Somehow, she called to mind a hook-nosed old bat with spectacles, a jowly face, and steel-grey hair drawn back in a tight bun, the sort of woman who would scold twelve-year-old boys for not joining the Army to fight the Nazis.
When the end-of-year ceremony and feast were over, Tom and his friends headed back to the common room. "I'll send you an owl every day," Larkin promised. "You had better write me back, or I'll send you an envelope of bubotuber pus."
"Quincunx," Zuhayr said to the wood nymph, and the cluster of Slytherins filed into the common room. Tom looked around at it all, thinking how horribly he would miss it during his absence.
The same fourth-year students who always borrowed food burst in, carrying cakes, cookies, pies, and bottles of butterbeer. This time, Tom wanted to be involved with the party. He wanted to spend time with his friends, for right now he felt like if he did not capture the moment, he would never see them again. Every four seconds, someone shoved a yearbook and quill under his nose, asking him to sign it. He had no idea where his own was; it was travelling around the room, most likely. At midnight, everyone sent up sparks and bubbles from their wands, located their yearbooks, and meandered up to bed. Tom felt very strange, like there was something stuck in his throat. He collapsed into his four-poster, staring up into the canopy and thinking how little he wanted to leave.
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Miss Olga Dench wrinkled her nose. Children, all over the place, laughing, playing. Miss Dench absolutely abhorred children of all shapes and sizes, and she wondered how she had got stuck picking two of them up at the train station.
Suddenly, she spotted them. Mr. Carney had given her very accurate descriptions; at least, they were very accurate in her opinion. He had said the girl was fat, with ratty red hair and too many freckles, and that the boy was skeletal and dark-haired with a mean look about him. As she saw them, she thought that Mr. Carney had been quite right.
At the same time, Tom looked over the heads of all of the other people and saw a severe-looking woman standing near the entrance. Seeing her, he thought that his idea of her appearance was more than correct. "That'll be Miss Dench," he said to Abby, who had been purposefully avoiding his eyes. The two of them were wearing their orphanage uniforms. Abby wore a pleated grey skirt, a white blouse, and a grey jacket, while Tom wore a grey jacket, white shirt, and grey slacks. Tom could tell Abby was unused to her clothes now that she had spent several months in black robes.
Abby looked at Miss Dench, and her rosy face saddened. "Oh… I liked Hannah so much better." Tom said nothing, not trusting himself to avoid the tears that were tickling the insides of his eyelids.
They slowed down their trolleys as they reached her, and the towering old woman leered down at them. "Good afternoon," Miss Dench snarled. "My name is Olga Dench, though you shall address me as 'ma'am' when you speak to me. Are you Thomas and Abigail?"
Abby started to agree, but Tom cut her off. "My name isn't Thomas," he said. "It's just Tom."
Miss Dench looked most displeased. "I prefer to call people by their Baptized names, Thomas," she barked.
"But my proper name is Tom," Tom cried, exasperated. "My father was Thomas. Mum named me Tom to distinguish between us."
Without warning, Miss Dench slapped him hard across the face, so hard that his head jerked to the side. "You will address me as 'ma'am,'" she snapped. "And I have had enough of your insolence, Thomas."
"That's TOM!" Tom barked. Miss Dench slapped him again, her cold, bony hand landing on the exact same spot. "Ma'am," Tom added spitefully. There was a large red patch on his cheek. Abby shot him a horrified look and seemed about to ask him if he was all right, but she stopped, not wanting the same treatment.
"Get your luggage together," Miss Dench growled. "Ready? Now, both of you follow me."
After a carriage-ride to the orphanage, Tom and Abby tugged their trunks up the stairs. Miss Dench did not aid them, though Abby's trunk fell down the steps several times. Mr. Carney was not in sight. Apparently, he was off at the pub as usual. Once sure Abby had got her things up all right, Tom seized his baggage and stormed up the stairs to his bedroom. He hid his trunk under the bunk bed, along with Nepenthe's cage. Catching his reflection in the mirror, Tom felt incredibly dejected. He looked like the Tom the Muggle world knew; unkempt, bruised, and slightly manic-depressive.
Within a few minutes, Gregory Hamill burst in, chatting with Bartholomew Werner. A grin spread across his face. "So, Tommy Salami, you finally got back from Smeltings."
"Yes," he replied coldly.
"I hear they stuff people's heads down the toilet at Smeltings," Gregory smirked. "Is it true? Betcha they did it to you, didn't they?"
Tom shrugged, determined not to provoke an attack.
"Still haven't learned to talk, though, have you?" Gregory got that cruel glint in his eye. "I'd've thought Smeltings would knock some brains into you. Of course, you are a rather hopeless case in that department."
Tom's left hand automatically moved toward his belt, but his wand was locked in his trunk. "Watch out, Gregory," he murmured. "You never know, I might set a snake on you again." His eyes flamed, and a smile played at the corners of his mouth as he saw Gregory's face fall. "For all you know," he continued, the smile growing wider, "I could call one up here, and then where would you be?"
Gregory went pale. "C'mon, Bart," he said, ushering his friend out of the room. Tom collapsed onto the bed, staring at the familiar blue canvas of the mattress above. At least he had Gregory out of the way for the moment, but as things were going, this was going to be a long, horrible summer.
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Unfortunately, Tom's divination skills were dead center. Mr. Carney was getting worse and worse, drinking more often and in larger quantities than ever before. One day he beat Tom for no reason except that he was bored. Gregory usually kept out of his way, but if he had enough of his friends around him, he sometimes got brave enough to try something. In addition, Miss Dench seemed to truly detest him, and he had to stay out of her way as well. For all these reasons, Tom started to spend all of his time locked up in his room, pacing, chatting with Nepenthe, and rereading his school textbooks for the thousandth time. He was not allowed to use magic at home because he lived among Muggles, so even that was out of the question. By mid-July, Tom was bored out of his mind.
On the twenty-second, his Hogwarts supply list came, which offered some sanctuary. He pocketed his wand and the list and sneaked away directly after lunch, eager to consort with wizards again. It was a long walk to the Leaky Cauldron, but Tom did not care. When he finally did arrive, he was greeted warmly by George, the bartender.
"Tom! Nice to see you again," he said. "Would you like a soda or something?"
Seeing as Tom was glad to be back and was not looking forward to going back to the orphanage, he agreed, taking a seat near a little old witch with bright purple robes. He sipped his soda and listened to the gossip, feeling at home for the first time in weeks. After a few minutes, he heard something that made his heart skip a beat or two.
"They say Grindelwald's getting more powerful in the U.S.S.R. Gaining all sorts of supporters," a wise-looking witch was saying. "If he really is one of those Dark Circle folks, I'd say we're in for trouble."
"Ar," agreed her companion. "Bloody 'Ell, 'e's already killed 'round a thousand of our kind, an' God knows 'ow many Muggles. Dunno 'ow anyone's goin' ter stop 'im."
"You know what I've heard," the witch said grimly, "he's been working with that awful Hitler man, teaching him a few… tricks of the trade…" Her friend gasped. "Grindelwald gave him a few--er, devices that'll make his job a lot easier. All he wants in return is immunity for himself and his followers."
"Barking mad," the warlock replied. "The both of 'em, two-timin' backstabbers. I thought old Grindey didn't want ter associate 'imself wit' Muggles."
"He doesn't seem to care anymore. Grindelwald's up to something, I can tell. He's been all over the Daily Prophet lately, and not just for that, no. Killings are getting more frequent, more gruesome. Seems to me he's plotting something huge." Tom listened intently, waiting for her to elaborate, but she never did. Realizing he was done with his soda, he paid for the drink and strode out the back door.
Tom returned to the Leaky Cauldron an hour later, laden with books (including his usual twenty for extra credit), the newly required dress robes, and new potion ingredients. The witch and warlock who had been discussing Grindelwald had gone, so he saw no reason in remaining there. As he walked home, he went over the conversation in his head. The witch was right; if Grindelwald was a member of the Circle of Darkness, someone had to stop him before he got too powerful. "Me," Tom thought miserably. "If I am what I think I am, the person to stop him will have to be me." He shuddered, thinking that anybody who had killed thousands of people would be nearly impossible to defeat.
As he reached the orphanage, Tom was suddenly hit by a horrible feeling. Something--he was not sure what--was telling him that there was something amiss. He climbed the stairs, feeling increasingly uneasy. Where was everybody? Usually, at this time of day, the children would be scampering around on the front lawn, playing and chatting. The front garden was completely deserted.
Tom placed his hand on the chilly brass doorknob and twisted it slowly, still looking over his shoulder and wondering where everyone had gone. When the door opened, Tom found himself face-to-face with Miss Dench, and she was in a rage. "Where the hell have you been?" she demanded, breathing very hard through her overlarge nostrils.
"I had to buy some textbooks for Smeltings," Tom half-lied, indicating his bags.
"Why didn't you tell us you were leaving?" she snarled. "You had us all thinking you were lost or kidnapped. You have been wasting the time of all the other orphans, keeping them cooped up inside for repetitive head counts and other such things. Abigail Forrey, God knows why, is in tears."
"Sorry. Well, I had better go," Tom said hurriedly, pushing past and making for the staircase. Miss Dench seized him by the shirt collar and grabbed the parcels from his hands.
"Let's just see what you really bought," she snapped. "Follow me into the sitting room, Thomas."
"My name's Tom," Tom said, but for once Miss Dench did not care. She dragged him into the sitting room, slamming the door behind them.
There was a horrible look on her face. "I know you would tell us if you went to get Smeltings supplies," she said, baring her pointy teeth. "Let's see… you've probably been wasting your allowance on frivolous little trinkets…" She reached into one of the bags and pulled out a spellbook. Tom bit his lip and tried to look innocent. "Witchcraft?" she asked incredulously. "Is this some sort of joke?" As she flipped through the book, Miss Dench came across a moving photograph, and her face drained of color. She forced an awful smile that made Tom flinch. "I suppose you also have a magic wand and a broomstick?" she growled.
Tom forced himself to stay calm. "No broomstick," he said in a would-be casual voice. "They're really expensive, I can't afford one."
Miss Dench ran her tongue over her vampire-like teeth. "So… you're a witch?"
"A witch has to be a girl," Tom responded coolly. "I'm a wizard."
"Whatever you want to call yourself, Thomas, the truth remains that you are a--a user of magic." The grimace on Miss Dench's face made Tom want to turn on his heel and run, but he stood his ground. "Do you realize that this fact alone could get you thrown out of this orphanage?"
Tom thought fast. Whipping his wand out of his pocket, he pointed it at Miss Dench, smiling sarcastically. "And do you realize, Miss Dench, that if you try to tell Mr. Carney, I could turn you into a salamander? Do you realize that if you ever tell anybody, I can--and will--use a powerful and painful curse on you?" The old woman saw what Tom could not: that his eyes had once more shifted hues. She took a few steps back, the bundles falling from her hands.
"Thomas, your--your eyes--" For the first time in her formidable existence, Miss Dench felt truly afraid.
"And for the last time, Miss Dench, my proper name is Tom. Tom Marvolo Riddle. Remember that. Not Thomas. Tom."
The old Muggle nodded slightly, her eyes still on his. The red in his eyes faded, and he put his wand away, still eyeing Miss Dench with utmost hatred. "If you ever tell Mr. Carney, you'll know the full extent of my anger. Good day to you." Tom gathered up his packages and stalked out of the room, leaving Miss Dench staring at the spot where he had been standing.
Tom's summer grew slightly better after this. He had new reading material, and Miss Dench was being somewhat civil. However, Tom found a new problem with Abby Forrey. Abby, for some strange reason, had changed her mind about him. She seemed to have decided that not all Slytherins were evil, after all, and she had taken to following him around and chatting. Tom was not particularly fond of Abby. Miss Dench had made him feel even more strongly that Muggles were all horrible, and Tom thought that Abby, being a Muggle-born, had to be the same. For their entire first year, she had been just as prejudiced and snarly as any Muggle. Her change of heart had done nothing to change Tom's opinion of her.
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On the first of September, it was not Miss Dench to wake him, but Abby. She had her ginger-colored hair in a bun on the back of her head and was already dressed. It took Tom a few seconds to recognize her. "Abby--what are you doing in here?! You're not allowed… what time is it?"
"Five-fifteen," Abby replied casually. "Ready to go?"
"Five-fifteen?" Tom echoed. "Abby, honestly! Don't you sleep?"
"I don't see how I could," Abby squealed. "I was up all night, packing. Are you all packed?"
"Yes, but Abby, it's five-fifteen in the morning."
"Five-sixteen," Abby corrected, checking her watch. "I'll leave, and you can get dressed. I already sent a letter to the Ministry, and they're sending a car again." Tom thought this was surprisingly logical of her, for that idea had never occurred to him. "Is that okay with you?"
"Can't I get a few more hour's sleep, Abby? We don't have to be there until eleven o'clock."
"I thought we'd get out of here before the Muggles wake up," Abby replied. "Now, get up and get dressed, and I'll get my own stuff downstairs and get some breakfast. All right?"
Seeing as Tom was too tired to disagree, he nodded slowly and sat up. Abby smiled broadly and dashed off, leaving Tom to get ready on his own. He looked up at Gregory, who was fast asleep in one of the bunks. What a pity that he could not give him even a tiny curse. He took his wand out of his trunk and put it in his coat pocket, just in case. Nepenthe slithered out of his basket and looked up at Tom. "Is it the firssssssst of Ssssseptember?" he asked groggily.
"Mmm hmm," the boy replied absently, snapping his trunk closed. "Just a little more time in the basket, Nepenthe, and then I'll let you out on the train."
"All right," Nepenthe agreed reluctantly. He had been trapped in his basket for nearly the whole summer, and he needed to stretch his coils. Tom picked up his trunk and his pet's basket and crept out of the room with catlike silence and agility.
Abby was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, practically jumping with anticipation. Her toad, Bogus, actually was jumping, all around his tank. As he reached the bottom, Abby handed Tom a plateful of eggs, toast, and bacon. "Here you go. Hurry up, I've already eaten mine and the car will turn up as soon as they know we're ready."
"You really hate this place, don't you?"
"Of course," Abby responded, shuddering. "Don't you?"
Tom took a long time to answer. "I think it's beyond hate with me," he sighed, swallowing a mouthful of bacon. "Well, I'm done," he added, not feeling very hungry. "Let's go out and wait for the car." It was not as rainy as it had been last year, but it was drizzly and, as usual, foggy. The Ministry car turned up after only a few seconds, and before Tom knew it, they had arrived at King's Cross Station. Tom let Abby pass through the barrier first, then followed her, trolley in tow.
As he stepped over the threshold, the wind was knocked out of him by something that collided with him. Whatever it was, its head had hit him in the lower chest, and it had pulled him into such a tight hug that he wondered if any blood was getting to his legs. The top of the head was covered with dark hair, which fell in silky pigtails down the person's back.
"Lili? What the--geroff, will you?" Lili hugged him still tighter, beaming up at him.
"Oh, Tom, I missed you so much!" she cried, her face rosy.
"Yeah--me too--you're cutting off my circulation." Lili finally broke away, and Tom sighed with relief.
"Oh dear… you've grown a lot taller! You must be at least five-six by now."
"Probably," Tom replied awkwardly. He saw Abby and Lucy several yards away. Both of them were glaring at Lili mutinously. "How've you been?"
"Wretched," Lili replied. "None of my school friends could visit." She hesitated, still grinning. "Come on, I already got us a compartment."
"Um… okay…" Tom followed his friend up to the train, still rubbing his chest where she had rammed into it. Nepenthe could tell that he could be let out soon, for he was chattering enthusiastically.
When they reached the compartment, Tom promptly let his pet out of the basket. Lili flinched, for she was not fond of snakes, but Nepenthe behaved very well, so she did not object. About ten minutes later, Adrian, Zuhayr, and Larkin turned up and took the remaining seats in the compartment. None of them seemed to mind the Ravenclaw in their midst, and the two girls had become good friends by the time the train started.
The lady with the lunch cart turned up at noon, and the party had a brilliant time with their Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. As usual, Tom was unlucky with the bean flavors. He always had been. By the end of his bag, he had tasted rusty nails, glass, rubber, bee entrails, cricket antennae, opium poppies, cyanide, blood, bubotuber pus, pelican feathers, alligator sweat, and cow tongue, among other things. Tired of his rotten luck, he turned to Lili and asked for one of her beans, for she had had wonderful flavors all through her bag. The bean she gave him turned out to be the only bad bean in her bag, one flavored to taste like burnt spinach.
At six o'clock, the train halted, and the friends left the train, taking horseless carriages up to the school. Tom watched the Sorting with interest and greeted all of the new Slytherins warmly. One of them turned out to be Serena Birch's little sister, Mandy, who looked just like her sister except her eyes were green instead of brown.
After the feast, the Slytherins made their way up to their tower, and Tom listened idly as a prefect announced the password ("antediluvian"). As he looked around the cozy common room, his mind filled with joyful thoughts and memories. The same troublemaking students, now fifth-years, produced several bags of marshmallows and passed them around for everyone to toast over the fire. Richard Zabini tried to sneak a few extras, but the bag, being enchanted, bit him very hard, and he shrieked like a girl, trying to shake it off. The Slytherins roared with laughter at the sight of him, hopping around the room with an angry marshmallow bag clamped around his wrist.
As Tom looked around at all the faces, most of which belonged to his friends, he felt like he was finally home.