Chapter 2 - The Snake and the Owl

Written by Nemesis

At dinner on Saturday, Tom emerged, heavily bandaged, from the Wailing Room, a look of intense agony chiseled into his face. He seemed to have grown even more saturnine during his stay, and even Gregory Hamill was tactful enough to leave him be for the moment. Tom seated himself at the head of one of the tables and ate his meager rations rapidly, wincing once in a while if he moved his arm too quickly.

Tom glared mutinously up at Rupert Carney's private table, where he was eating hearty helpings of fillet mignon and mashed potatoes. "Who the hell does he think he is?" Tom murmured to himself. He had spent the better part of his time in the Wailing Room in anguish, every second cursing the moment that Rupert Carney was born. Tom was suddenly hit by a morbid but eerily satisfying vision of Mr. Carney lying at his feet, writhing in pain, while Tom stood over him with a wand.

At this moment, all four legs of Mr. Carney's chair snapped, and he toppled onto the floor. Tom, his face slightly red, turned back to his stew, keeping his eyes down so that Mr. Carney would not suspect him. A burst of laughter rang through the dining hall, but it was quickly stifled as Mr. Carney, livid with anger, scrambled to his feet, his pale comb-over falling into his monochromatic eyes. He lifted his hand and pointed a stubby finger in Tom's direction. "Riddle!" he shrieked. Mashed potato was stuck to his jaw, and his face had gone from sallow to a deep crimson.

Tom stared silently back, his blood boiling, but his face scarcely showing it. "Yes, sir?" Tom replied innocently. Hannah, standing in the kitchen doorway, had her face buried in her hands.

Mr. Carney looked about ready to defenestrate somebody. "Out with it, Riddle, what did you do?" He was breathing hard through his clenched, crooked teeth, and his nostrils were flared.

"I'm on the other side of the room, sir. How could I possibly have done something to you from over here?" Tom forced himself to keep eye contact.
Mr. Carney had to accept this, but he kept on giving Tom funny looks as the boy carried his dishes into the kitchen.

********************

Tom may have been imagining it, but Mr. Carney seemed to be in a horrible temper with him over the next four months. Tom did his best to stay out of the way, but harder to avoid were Gregory and his friends. They kept pulling him aside and whispering that they were still working on their plan, never stating what their plan was. Tom was strongly suspicious that this plan of theirs involved some new way to make him miserable.

Meanwhile, Hannah's illness seemed to be getting worse. After a while, she began to use magic with almost every chore, and had trouble standing up for more than five minutes on end. One afternoon in early June, Tom found that she had actually fallen asleep while washing dishes. When Tom tapped her shoulder, she woke up sharply and began scrubbing frantically. It took her a full minute to notice Tom standing there, looking very worried indeed. "See a doctor, Hannah," he commanded.

"I'm not ill, why should I go to the doctor?" Hannah yawned.

"You are ill, Hannah, stop tergiversating!" Tom snapped, folding his arms and glaring at her. "Why won't you admit it?"

Hannah hesitated, staring at Tom intently. "I just made some zucchini bread," she announced loudly. "Do you want a piece? It's lovely warm."
Tom opened his mouth to answer, but Hannah stuffed a piece of the spicy bread into his mouth and went back to work. Tom gave up on Hannah and stormed out of the kitchen and up to his dormitory, exasperated. Rather irritably, he seized a book from his dresser and dashed down the stairs. As he burst through the orphanage doors, he thought he had walked into the wrong place. Instead of laughing and playing, three-quarters of the orphans were standing in a semicircle, whispering excitedly. Gregory and his closest friends were standing in the very middle.

"What is this?" Tom demanded, his quiet voice icy with suspicion.

"A surprise, Riddle," Gregory sneered, stepping forward. "We've been planning this for months, all for the one event."

Tom made to sneak back up the steps, but the semicircle tightened into a circle, blocking his path. He turned to face Gregory again. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm sick of attacking when you're down, Riddle," Gregory snarled, his face forming a demented smile. "Shoving you down the steps… throwing rocks at you… dumping water on you from stair landings… It's all fun, of course, but frankly, if there's no resistance, it gets a little boring." Tom bit his lip and got ready to run. He was not sure what was going to happen, but he knew he was not going to enjoy it. Gregory took another step forward, his round grey eyes twinkling with anticipation.

"What, you've finally decided to leave me alone?" Tom retorted. He tucked the book into the inside pocket of his jacket and folded his arms protectively over his chest.

The maniacal smile had still not left Gregory's mouth. "No, Riddle," he spat. "I'm going to fight you when you have your guard up. I'm going to prove to the world that I'm the bigger man--" (here Tom rolled his eyes, for Gregory was at least a head shorter) "--by fighting you properly. I am going to fight you, and you are going to fight back, and I am going to prove that I can beat Tom Riddle, even when he knows I'm about to do it."

"It took you only four months to come up with that idea?" Tom scoffed. "Quite the brain you are, Gregory."

"That's not it," Gregory insisted defensively. "If I win, these kids get a free-for-all. Same thing happens if I lose, for that matter. Either way, you're going down, Riddle." He was now circling Tom with a look of smug satisfaction on his face.

Once more, Tom hissed a series of quick, furious words in some language other than English, and Gregory stared at him. "What was that you just said, Riddle?" he barked.

Tom broke into a run, but was promptly shoved back into the circle by a burly older boy. "I asked you a question," Gregory roared. "Answer it!"

Tom shook his head and prepared for the first blow, but it never came. Gregory's fist had come within a foot of Tom's stomach before it skidded to a halt. Gregory was staring at the ground. Tom looked down too. A snake about a quarter of the size of a garden hose had slithered from the nearby brush, its back arched, glaring up at Gregory. "You called, Masssster?" the snake greeted Tom, speaking in the same, swift language.

Tom stared at the snake in surprise. "What do you--you can talk to me?"

"What do you think that language is?" the snake replied.

"I don't know. I just thought it was something of my own, even though it always sounded like English in my head. Hannah thinks it's gibberish."

"It'sss Parssssseltongue," the snake informed him, "and you are a Parsssssselmouth. But right now, I have to help you."

Gregory Hamill was backing away from the snake, shaking uncontrollably. "Afraid of snakes, are you?" Tom asked. He turned to the snake. "Go for him, friend."

"Yesss, Masssster," the snake agreed, nodding. With that, he dove for Gregory, snapping at his ankles. Gregory screamed for help, and Tom just stood there, giving the snake instructions. The orphans were in a panic, and the circle had dispersed. Gregory's best friend Bartholomew Werner was making a beeline up the steps, but Tom did not notice.

"His arm's near the ground, go up his sleeve!" he shouted at the snake. "That's it, now bite his ear! Are you poisonous? No? Damn. Oh well, bite him anyway!" Gregory shrieked with terror and pain, trying to shake the snake off. Tom kept staring at Gregory, seething. This was his chance to get back at Gregory for everything. The snake came out of his collar and twirled around his arm several times, nipping his fingers playfully. "That will do, my friend," Tom cried in Parseltongue. "Return to me. He has learned his lesson." The snake fell to the grass and crossed over to Tom, who picked it up and put it on his shoulder. It looped itself around his neck and continued to look daggers at Gregory.

Bartholomew reappeared at Gregory's side, staring at Tom and the snake. "I had better go," the snake whispered. "That new boy has notified your guardian. If you ever need assssisssstance, little Masssster, be sure to call for it. Any of ussss sssnakesss would be willing to help you." The snake slid down Tom's arm and disappeared into the bushes.

"Thank you!" Tom called after it.

At that instant, Mr. Carney emerged from the orphanage and hurried down the steps to where Gregory was standing. "What happened?" Mr. Carney asked, looking as though he already did not believe the story.

"Mr. Carney," Gregory gasped, his breath coming in short, deep bursts. "I was talking to Tom Riddle, and he said something funny."

"Riddle has a sense of humor?" Mr. Carney looked even more disbelieving. Tom glared at him.

"No, he said something weird, in an odd language, and all of a sudden this huge snake came out of the bushes!" Gregory spluttered, pointing at the myrtle bush. "Riddle talked to the snake with his funny language, and the snake attacked me! Riddle kept on yelling at it, and every time he said something, the snake would do something else!"

Mr. Carney looked up at Tom, his face contorted. Tom could see that Mr. Carney's shrunken mind had drawn a blank. He clearly thought the story was complete rot, but here he had the chance to punish Tom Riddle, the boy he detested above all others. Eventually, to Tom's dismay, sadism won over logic. "Riddle," he muttered, "explain yourself."

"Are you suggesting, sir, that I have the ability to communicate with snakes?" Tom asked in a faux-scrupulous voice. "If you are, sir, perhaps you should take into account the absurdity--"

"I am suggesting nothing, Riddle," Mr. Carney growled. "Follow me." He closed his hand around Tom's left wrist and twisted it sharply. Tom flinched. He was left-handed, and this would mean that writing would be painful for at least a week.

Mr. Carney tried to lead Tom away, but Tom rooted his feet to the ground. There was no way he was taking another beating, not when he had been in the right. "I said follow me, boy," Carney said, his voice dangerously tense. "You will do as I say." Mr. Carney marched around to the back door, half pulling, half dragging Tom along with him.

He hurled Tom into the Wailing Room and hovered in the doorway. "That's ten days you've earned yourself, Riddle, and be grateful it isn't more than that. One meal every two days; it's far more than you deserve."

"You aren't going to beat me?" Tom cried in disbelief.

"Not today. I haven't the time today. The Chubbs are finalizing their adoption of Derek Pritchard." Tom struggled to remember who Derek Pritchard was. Was he that scrawny, runny-nosed little blond boy who was always asking Tom to play kick-the-can? Yes, that was it. Tom wondered vaguely why the Chubb family had picked Derek. "If you're lucky, I'll forget about beating you at all, but I wouldn't bank on that."

"I'll get dirty," Tom scorned, looking at Mr. Carney's slimy hair. Tom was one of only about four children in the orphanage who held any store by personal hygiene.

"Don't push your luck, Riddle," Mr. Carney snarled. He turned on his heel and left Tom to his very relieved thoughts.

********************

On the fifth day, Tom woke up early. It appeared that Mr. Carney had forgotten about Tom's beating. Indeed, he seemed to have put it out of his mind that Tom even existed. As Hannah had pointed out as she had brought him his last meal, Mr. Carney had even found a new scapegoat. To Tom's delight, it was Gregory Hamill. Apparently, Mr. Carney thought Gregory was a bit off-balance because he kept insisting Tom could talk to snakes. Tom had neglected to tell Hannah that he was a Parselmouth, thinking it might upset her.

Tom walked into the adjacent half-bathroom and stood before the mirror. As far as grime was concerned, Tom was starting to look Carneyish. Disgusted, Tom filled the basin with water and washed up, bumping his elbow badly when he tried to remove the dirt from his hair. Tom had always taken an unusual interest in staying clean, probably because he was constantly surrounded by dirty people.

Tom's stomach rumbled loudly. He still had twenty-four hours to go before his next meal, unless Hannah managed to sneak him something before then. Tom collapsed onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the hunger pangs in his stomach. To pass the time, he sat up, pulled a small bundle out of his inside jacket pocket, and separated the items. The bundle was comprised of two articles. One was the four-page letter his mother had written to him before he was born, all about his heritage, his talents, and his father. Tom was the only one who had ever read the letter. In fact, he had taught himself how to read with that very letter when he was thirteen months old.

The second item was a wizard photograph of his mother and her best friend in their late teens. As was characteristic with magical photographs, the subjects were moving. Maria Salamair kept on hugging her friend, Charlie Digby, tightly around the neck, while Charlie laughed and tried to shove her away. Tom's mother looked remarkably like him; tall, spindly, and attractive. Charlie was also tall, but he was athletically built and fair-haired. Tom did not know anything about him except what his mother had written on the back of the photograph: "Me (Maria Salamair, Slyth.) in my 6th year, w/ best friend Charlie Digby, Gryff., 7th year."

Tom looked from the photograph to the letter. Apart from Hannah's stories, these were all he had to tell him about his mother. Tom watched the photograph with interest as Maria and Charlie seized sticks from the ground and began to feign a Muggle duel, laughing uncontrollably. He could even hear the sticks clapping together. However, the duel stopped, and the tapping noise continued. Tom's eyes shot up from the photograph, and he looked wildly around for the source of the sound. The only thing moving was something outside the window, and it was tapping on the bars fiercely. Upon closer observation, Tom recognized it as a barn owl.

Tom immediately thought back to the calendar on his wall. He quickly deduced that it was June twelfth. Cursing himself for forgetting, Tom rushed to the window and jammed it open. The owl landed softly on the grass, gazing at Tom with large, dark eyes. "Are you a Hogwarts owl?" Tom asked eagerly. The owl responded by holding out a talon, which held a rolled-up envelope. "Yes! All right, hang on." Tom slipped one of his slender hands through the bars. "Can you put that in my hand, owl?" The owl placed its foot in Tom's hand and released the letter. The owl's foot was very warm compared to Tom's hand, which was freezing.

"Thank you," Tom said appreciatively. "I'll go get something for you. Back in a flash!" The owl hooted and stayed where it was. Tom searched frantically for a scrap of food, finally finding a bit of stale sandwich crust. "Hope you like tuna fish and pickles," Tom sighed apologetically. The owl, however, seemed grateful, and it nibbled his thumb before taking off.

With the owl gone, Tom eagerly sat on his bed. The envelope was made of yellow parchment, and was held together by a large, purple wax seal. The seal was imprinted with a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake, all around a capital H. On the other side, Tom found the address.

Mr. T. M. Riddle
The Wailing Room, Whitechapel Home for Orphans
Whitechapel, London, England

Tom promptly broke the seal and opened the envelope. Two sheets of parchment fell into his lap. He seized the letter and read it, his heart beating a mile a minute.

Dear Mr. Riddle,

It is my great pleasure to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Term begins on September 1st, 1943. You will need to catch the 11:00 Hogwarts Express on Platform 9 ¾ at King's Cross Station on that day. A list of school items has been enclosed.

Give my regards to Hannah Hiddy. Tell her, from me, that I still wear those socks she knitted for me in her fourth year, and they are still the most comfortable socks I have.

Yours Truly,

Professor Albus Dumbledore
Deputy Headmaster

As though on cue, Hannah entered the room at that moment. She saw Tom sitting on the bed with his back turned, and immediately anticipated the worst: that Mr. Carney had not forgotten about the beating after all. "Tom?" she said gently. "Are you all right?"

Tom turned to face her, and Hannah nearly fainted. Tom Riddle, the boy who was well known for being perpetually gloomy, was beaming. His eyes were alive with happiness. Hannah found the effect slightly alarming, and she staggered backward a few steps. "I made it in!" he whispered. "I did it." Before Hannah could ask what he meant, he brandished the papers at her, smiling still wider. "Professor Dumbledore wants me to tell you he still wears those socks you gave him," Tom added as an afterthought. "But Hannah, Hannah, Hannah, I did it! I DID IT!" Tom grabbed Hannah's forearms and danced around the room. He seemed to be possessed by a new energy Hannah had never seen before.

"Tom--calm down--" Hannah sank onto the bed, exhausted, her face whiter than snow. Tom did not mind. He continued to spin around the room like a top, singing impromptu. Hannah noticed that he sang as well as his mother, if not better. "Tom, stop!" she commanded, though reluctant to stop listening to his voice. "If you keep on at that level, Mr. Carney will wake up and he'll come down here." Tom stopped singing immediately at mention of Mr. Carney, and he halted in mid-spin.

"Can we go shopping for my school things?" Tom asked eagerly after the awkward silence.

"We'll go in a couple of hours," Hannah replied. "I'll have to sneak you out, though. I brought you some breakfast," she added, indicating the bowl of porridge in her hands, which had slopped around an awful lot while Hannah had been spinning around the room.

"Thank you, Hannah," Tom said, the grin lingering on his face.

After Tom had finished his breakfast, Hannah took out her wand and tidied Tom up a bit (he still had soap suds in his hair, and his uniform was caked with dirt). Hannah disappeared briefly, and when she re-entered, she had good news. "Mr. Carney is still asleep, Tom," she informed him. "Hurry, now, we can get out through the back door."

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