Childhood Beginnings

"Death was a living creature. Death was a man tormented by his past. Death was once a human."

― S.K.N. Hammerstone

I.

Hermione was ushered into the orphanage, a firm hand on her shoulder as she fought hard to stop sniffling. The lady looking down at her held a disapproving gaze, but it soon relented as she heaved a heavy sigh.

"Alright, alright. Bring her in." Mrs. Cole rustled back into Wool's Orphanage, sending the kids who hung around the staircase a disparaging look. "There have just been so many kids lately. Parents can't afford to feed them so they just dump them on our doorstep," she remarked, pensively, stoking the fire to life in the cold, abysmal room. "So what's the story with this one?"

"Ah," the officer said. His thumb brushed up against his knobby nose before falling to leaf through some papers. "Some men went into their homes and-" He broke off, glancing at the young girl, nine years old. She trembled as she stared into the flames that reached up and licked the blackened chimney. "So they robbed them - took everything. The parents were dentists, see? Their business was running to the ground but they still had just enough for..." He sighed. "People do horrible things." He finally let go of the little girl, and softer now, continued speaking, "They didn't even notice her. We barely did ourselves. She was hiding under the kitchen table."

"Poor thing," Mrs. Cole cooed, peering at the young child whose watery dark brown eyes were still fixed upon the flames. "Well, we can put her in a room with Amy. It'll be small, but Amy's a good girl, she'll look after her." She drew her head to the direction of the open door. "AMY!"

After a while, a little blonde girl more or less the same age as Hermione scuffled in. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Bring, er…" she hesitated, looking at the papers the officer had handed her, "Hermione to your room and get her set up."

The girl nodded, stepping forward and leading Hermione out by her small, sweaty hand. Hermione let Amy pull her through the house, listening as best she could in her state of extreme unhappiness.

"Here's our room." She pushed open the scuffed up wood door. "I sleep here," Amy indicated, plopping down on the bed to the right. Hermione looked over to the bed opposite. There were no sheets or pillows, just a mattress and some empty shelves. It was clear that it had been picked clean for some poor and unfortunate soul and Hermione realized that cruelly, as if by some twist of fate, this was home now.

II.

Hermione missed her mum and her dad. She fed another leaf of lettuce to Fluffy, the rabbit, who chewed it up unperturbed by the distressed admissions of the young human beside him. She told him her secrets, her trivial nothings, her longing for her books and old friends. She told him of Mr. Jepeppe, their old neighbor, who had let her borrow any book she liked and how after begging her parents for some of her own, she had received a stack of beautifully bound stories which she had cherished and formed a great pride in. Now they were gone.

One Saturday morning she wandered into Mrs. Cole's sitting room. Mrs. Cole set down her glass, fixing her glasses before smiling kindly at Hermione.

"Yes, dear?"

"Do you maybe," Hermione blurted out, "maybe have some books?"

Mrs. Cole stared at the anxious child, an odd expression settling over her sharply featured face. The child stared back determinedly.

"Well, you can ask some of the other children, can't you?" Mrs. Cole inquired, leaning forward with her fingers weaved together.

"Well, yeah," Hermione shifted uncomfortably, staring at the ground. She had indeed asked Amy if she had any, but was offered only reading magazines which Amy kept under her pillow. The only other person Hermione had befriended was Billy, who bashfully admitted that he disliked reading and didn't have a book to his name.

"Hmm," Mrs. Cole said, biting her lip. It did not come across to her that Hermione would enjoy even the dusty romance novels she kept on her nightstand, and besides, it didn't seem appropriate to be filling the head of a nine-year-old with such silly fantasies anyways. "Did you receive schooling before you arrived here?"

Hermione nodded a little overeagerly - the way children do.

"Alright," Mrs. Cole declared, getting up from her chair, "Well I think it's about time you get re-enrolled. I was meaning to call at the school soon anyways."

Hermione beamed and bounced up from her seat. Mrs. Cole tucked a wild curl behind the girl's ear, remembering fondly of her own childhood years when she'd come visit her uncle, who'd run the orphanage at the time. Every weekend, she and the other kids would play and it had been from that that she'd decided she wanted to run her own orphanage some day. It had been twenty years since then and the orphanage wasn't as happy a place as she'd remembered. Maybe it was the Depression, or perhaps just the putrefaction of her childhood wonder.

"Amy and the others will be back soon, I've got to alert the cook so she can start preparing supper!" Mrs. Cole said, swinging back into motion. She ushered Hermione out, following after her and hurrying down to the kitchens.

Hermione stumbled through the hallway when she caught sight of something through an open door. Light and spritely, she picked across the hallways to make sure she had seen it right. A little black book lay innocently on the tidy bedspread, calling out to her.

"You see these books?" Mr. Jepeppe had said, "Poised on these shelves? All of them just desire to be read - for their papers to be ruffled! All written to captivate, to trap you so you can't put them down for your life. Now, what do you say to that?"

Hermione had replied, eyes twinkling, "I'd say…" She thought for a moment, head cocked to one side. She then responded with a complete sincerity that made Mr. Jepeppe chuckle, "I'm going to read all of them."

Here, under the presence of the book came her desire to oblige them again. She wanted to belong, feel wanted and loved. A child, that's all she was. Lonely, lost and suddenly invisible to the world. The book called to her.

'Mine,' she thought without really thinking and stepped forward to touch it. She stepped back. She tried a second time, and again, she drew back as if scalded. It was as if the room was shutting her out, sending a sharp pain through her body each time she tried to cross the threshold.

Frustrated, she glared at the frame of the door. She would try one more time. She closed her eyes and ran at the room, determined to reach the book. A new pain came and Hermione gasped as her leg struck the wood of the bed frame. She snatched the book up and held it to her chest. She let it fall open, marveling at the neat writing inside.

Dec. 31, 1935

Tonight's my birthday. Everyone tries to forget, but I know they know. During breakfast, Mrs. Cole announced it at the table before handing me this book. There'll all scared of me, even her.

Hermione's sympathy for her blossomed in her chest (she thought it must have been a girl, at least judging by their handwriting). Perhaps they could be friends. The idea excited her. She was just about to close the diary when it was ripped out of her grasp.

"What are you doing here?" a black haired boy demanded angrily. "How did you get in?"

Something about the boy annoyed Hermione - perhaps it was his tone of voice - sounding so used to being given an answer. She stared up at the horrible, bratty, black haired boy, an angry frown forming at her lips. "The door was open."

Unsatisfied, the boy shoved her backwards and Hermione fell onto the pristinely made bed. From there, she glared daggers at her attacker, as she now so willfully chose to think of him. He shut the door hastily and fixed his dark, cold gaze back at her. Momentarily, Hermione felt the fire in hers slip as a chill was sent down her spine.

"What are you doing going through my things?" he commanded, eyes flickering to a wardrobe opposite to his bed. "Did Billy put you up to this? You can tell him he can't have them back."

"Have what back?"

His gaze darkened. "What were you doing here, then?"

"I just wanted something to read," she said, crossing her arms.

"Did you find anything interesting?" he spat, maliciously.

Hermione hopped off the bed, walking past him. "Hardly. I'm leaving."

His hand grabbed her arm, spinning her around, but Hermione was expecting that and she kicked him in the shin to make him let go. She had reached the door with one hand ghosted over the knob when she was wracked with a sudden pain. She sunk to the ground and would've cried out had her whimpers not been shushed by a hand, which pressed against her mouth as the other wrestled to hold her still.

The pain that had been cast over her ceased. Hermione felt his breath against her ear. "You're scared of me too." He let go of her and, disturbed, she ran from the room.

III.

Hermione sat by Amy and Billy. She had looked to the very end of the table a couple of times, where the boy with black hair sat. He ate his dinner with a quiet restraint, as he had the night before.

"Who're you looking at, Hermione?" Amy asked. She looked over Hermione's bushy head then sank back down again. "That's Tom Riddle. Strange, isn't he?"

A sour expression washed over Billy's face. "He's not strange, he's foul. Don't let his looks fool you, Hermione."

Hermione looked up from her plate of food to find Billy staring at her. "I won't," Hermione said, laughing, "Gosh." Billy smiled. He had come to be something of a big brother to Hermione in the couple of days they had known each other.

"So I heard you're coming to school with us tomorrow."

"Mmhm," Hermione hummed, beaming. She stood up from the table, taking with her her bowl and glass. "Mrs. Cole said we'll all walk down to the school tomorrow morning and she'll fill out my papers."

She excused herself, walking into the kitchen and to the sink. Reaching up, she turned the faucet and started scrubbing at her plate. She lost herself in the dirty suds that collected there, watched the bubbles glisten, then pop.

Tom watched her, standing some feet away waiting for her to be done. He had pondered briefly the question of how she had managed to enter his room, but now, watching her before the sink, he came to the conclusion that there was nothing special about her. She was normal. He regarded the word with disdain.

Hermione put her dish away and turned around. Fear registered on her face, then suspicion, and finally dislike all in an instant. However, Tom appeared to be oblivious to her reaction of him and blank-faced, he went over to wash his own plate.

She left quickly with nothing to say. It had almost been as if he hadn't recognized her - had simply forgotten their encounter the day before. In fact, several months went by without him taking any notice of her at all and slowly, she followed suit. Then, one week into April, as the weather was transformed from its dreary mood by the warm breath of spring, everything changed.

"GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME," Billy shouted, his shrill panicked voice echoing across the courtyard. Hermione's head rose from her book. She ran to the window and peeking outside, she saw Billy with his finger pointed shakily at Riddle. Hermione concentrated hard, trying to make out Billy's far-away words. "YOU WERE SPEAKING TO IT! I SAW YOU!" He looked thoroughly freaked and sputtered once more, "YOU WERE… SPEAKING TO IT!"

Billy wiped the beads of sweat that had run down his face. "I see what you really are!" His look of horror turned into a charged look, and with a bout of courage, he fixed his eye upon something somewhere on the ground. Hermione squinted and saw a small green serpent rear its head up at all the commotion.

"Stop!" Tom yelled and Hermione couldn't stand there anymore. She leapt down the stairs and ran outside, looking up just in time to see Billy lift his foot from the snake. Riddle pushed him back, hard, causing Billy to fall on his butt, but it was too late. The serpent was dead. "You killed it," Tom said coldly. He glared at Billy then looked up and locked eyes with Hermione. She was breathing heavily, a little winded from the run down there, her eyebrows knitted together as she tried to catch her breath. She stared back at him.

"It was going to attack me!" Billy announced, defensively. "You were making it do things - talking to it!" Billy turned his head, noticing Hermione as he followed Riddle's line of sight. "It was going to attack me. You saw it, didn't you?"

"I-" Hermione stopped. She hadn't had a good look of things and her recollection of what she had seen came in bits and pieces. "Maybe.. I'm not-"

"It was going to attack me," he stated again, standing up, "I wasn't just going to let it attack me, so I defended myself." He looked at the lifeless green creature on the ground. "For all I know, it could've been poisonous."

"Yes, how very brave," Riddle sneered.

"Come on, Hermione, let's go," Billy said, scowling darkly.

Tom watched them go, an idea twisting in his head, bloody and writhing like Clementine had been as Billy had brought his foot down one time after another. He would have his revenge - perhaps tomorrow, perhaps the day after. He grinned wickedly. Perhaps...

IV.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" Billy fidgeted, frustrated at Hermione's silence. "I didn't want to kill it. I was just… scared. Believe me, Hermione."

Hermione sat on the bed, hugging her pillow guiltily. "I do, I just think you should apologize - even if it was an accident." She stared up at him with her troubled brown eyes.

Billy's lips thinned into a grimace. "I suppose. I'll do it first thing tomorrow morning. There now, happy?"

In response she broke out into a toothy grin, beaming at him devilishly. Billy stared down at her fondly, glad she had finally gotten out of her mood. He had really no intention of apologizing to that… freak, but he knew Hermione was upset and he couldn't think of any other way to get back to her annoying, curious self again. But he liked her that way.

He wished her goodnight, heading down the hall to his own room as the lights were being switched off. It was her curiosity that put him in awe. The way her eyes would shine as she turned another page of the bloody textbook! Billy had never liked reading, but he liked when she'd read to him. He had tried reading more after that, fumbling through words that hammered painfully in his head. After a few minutes of it, however, he would fling it aside, feeling stupid. What did she see in those books of hers anyways? What made them so special?

Slowly, he fell asleep thinking these things.

Hermione skipped down to breakfast the next day to find the room in a state of confusion. Amy was sniffling, deep sobs wracking her body as she cried into Mrs. Cole's shoulder. Billy hung around her awkwardly, asking her question after question. No one seemed to know why she was in tears.

Finally, she settled down a bit and Mrs. Cole murmured softly, "What is it, Amy? Why don't you tell me what it is and we can go fix it?"

"Can't," Amy choked, her face wet with tears.

"Mrs. Cole!" one of the younger boys interrupted urgently, "You have to come outside, now."

Peeling Amy off of her, Mrs. Cole rushed outside with everyone following closely behind her. Everyone was confused first, not knowing what the young boy called them out there for. Then, he pointed up and Mrs. Cole shrieked. There, up on the rafters, hung Fluffy, upside-down and limp, waving slightly against the wind. Hermione's thoughts reeled in her head. Who could have done such a thing? As the question gripped her, an answer rolled off her tongue. "Riddle," she muttered, tasting bile - as if his very name were poison.

She ran back into the house, ignoring the wails of the other children. She pushed open the door, bursting into the room with a loud exclamation of, "You!"

Riddle stood up, tucking his book into his pocket, looking pleasantly surprised. "Me," the boy stated, amused, taking a step toward her.

SLAP! A bright red mark appeared on his cheek. Hermione balled her hand into a fist, but Riddle caught it this time, smiling. "Now, Hermione, there's no need for violence." He stared down at her innocently.

"How dare you!" Hermione felt anger bubble through her. She struggled wildly and nearly got the better of him, but his grip on her arm tightened as he braced her like a vice.

He adopted a face of genuine concern. "How dare I what, Hermione? You may want to be more particular with your words." This earned him another slap as Hermione managed to break his hold on her arm momentarily. "Would you stop hitting me?" Riddle laughed.

The sound made Hermione coil back and Tom let go of her. "Why do you do that? What's wrong with you?"

"Do what?"

"Laugh like that. Smile like that," she said, gritting her teeth, "How can you? It was just a rabbit and you..." Hermione looked frantically away, the words stuck in her throat.

Riddle tutted. "Hermione, are you feeling unwell? Would you like to sit down?"

Hermione exhaled sharply, not believing the silly charade Tom was putting on. He knew she knew! And he knew she knew he knew! Yet he kept the charade going. Tom was grinning widely, looking like a child who had received a new toy and marveling at her frustrated pout.

He stepped towards her until they were toe to toe. He brought his angelic face close to hers, wonder etched on a soft smile. "You know, if the excitement from today's events has made you unwell, I'd be happy to accompany you to the infirmary. In fact, why don't we go pay our condolences to Billy while we're down there, together?"

She pushed him away and stared daggers at him before disappearing out the door. Riddle smiled fondly at the game. Little did she know, his revenge was far from over. He decided he had not finished taking from little Billy Stubbs. He smiled at how naive of her it was to think so.

V.

Billy scrubbed angrily at his vocabulary worksheet. "Billy, it's not my fault." He continued to ignore her. Hermione stayed quiet for a few moments before saying delicately, "There's no 'j' in religious." He blushed ruby red, rubbing out the word hastily before continuing with his writing exercises. "I, o, u, s, Billy."

"Oh right, for a second there I forgot. You're better than the rest of us."

"Billy-" Amy started, reproachfully.

"But I'm right, aren't I?" Billy sneered.

"Hermione, come on," Amy said, tugging at Hermione, "He doesn't mean it." She successfully led her out of the room, but not before Hermione caught Billy scoff at Amy's reassurance.

Hermione felt herself becoming teary eyed. "He hates me."

"No, Hermione," Amy pleaded, "He's just angry you've been moved out of our class. He'll come around. He's Billy."

"You kids ready for school?" Mrs. Cole hummed, walking across to them carrying a bundle of clean sheets.

"Yes, Mrs. Cole," Hermione muttered into the back of her hand, miserable.

The children walked to school together, book bags slung over their shoulders Billy stormed on, ahead of everyone else, bitter over the school's decision to switch Hermione to a higher level class.

"Well look at him," a voice muttered in her ear, "Strutting ahead like an over-grown peacock."

"Shut up, Riddle."

He edged in front of her, walking backwards to face her. "Come on, Hermione. I'm sorry about last week." Hermione glared at him, at the seriousness of his countenance. "Really, Hermione, you must forgive me."

"Must I?" Hermione puffed, trying to dodge past him.

He stopped before her, forcing her to an exasperated halt, her book bag bumping painfully against the crook of her knees. "Please, Hermione. What I said was tasteless. I'm really sorry."

Hermione tried to walk past him again, but he countered her movement. She stared up at him, nose crinkled as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Really?" she bit out, voice dripping in disbelief. Tom nodded earnestly, but Hermione continued to eye him with suspicion. "I don't believe you," she snapped, walking past him. Tom blinked, surprised, before a dark look passed over his face. He watched her go, eyeing her through slitted eyes as she caught up to Amy and some of the other girls from the orphanage. For the game to work, she had to trust him. It wasn't as simple as Tom hoped. She had refused to be melted by smiles or angel-faced lies.

The black haired boy watched as she said goodbye to Amy, splitting away to disappear into a classroom. Tom walked in behind her, setting his things down on the desk next to hers. He pretended to listen as the teacher droned on, watching amusedly as Hermione gazed in bright-eyed admiration, hooked on the teacher's every word.

He smiled as he listened to her eagerly answering one of the problems on the board. He had been wrong, he regretfully had to admit, she was special, like him - in some way or another. At the very least she was intelligent. He knew she'd be useful some day, that is, if he ever got her to let her guard down around him.

Class was over with the scraping of chairs as students hastened to leave the dreary building. Riddle gathered his things and waited outside the door for Hermione, who was still talking animatedly to the teacher. Finally, she exited through the frame that held up the derelict and decay surrounding them. The happy look in her eyes dropped away at the sight of him and she began walking again.

"Hermione," Tom greeted, falling in alongside her. "Here, let me carry that for you." Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Tom already had her book bag in tow. "How'd you like class?"

Hermione's mouth twisted, as if unsure of whether to answer. Finally, after several moments' hesitation, she replied, "So much." Flustered, she blundered forward, unable to hold back her enthusiasm, "Mr. Carr is such a good teacher and science is so interesting. He let me borrow some of his books too!" She lifted the flap of her book bag to show him, a small smile playing at her lips.

They walked together the rest of the way, discussing their favorite subjects, books, and school. Hermione rambled on about a book her parents had gotten her for her birthday and Tom told Hermione about the different teachers that taught at Vintry Ward Charity School.

She tucked a strand of hair back, behind her ears as she chatted happily, unaware of much outside the conversation. She didn't notice the way he sized her up or how he smirked as he noticed Billy's sour face.

When she said goodbye to the boy with black hair she was in a considerably better mood than she had been this morning. She went to sit down at the table next to Amy and Billy, who were sitting there whispering to each other.

"Would you look at that. It's her."

"Billy!" Amy pleaded.

"What, finally done talking with your precious Riddle?"

"What are you talking about, Billy?"

"I warned you about him," Billy said, shaking.

"Billy, come on, stop it," Amy murmured.

"You know what he did! He murdered Fluffy and you don't even care! He's a freak." Billy stood up from the table. "I thought you had some sense, Hermione. Maybe I was wrong."

Hermione bit her tongue. Billy had been cross with her, and she was sick and tired for being blamed for doing nothing. She willed the tears that had welled in her eyes from falling and retreated into her room, pretending to be asleep when Amy came in to announce that supper was ready.

VI.

"She's out to get me," Hermione insisted, pushing Riddle playfully as he chuckled, "Stop laughing! I'm serious! She's been doing it on purpose."

"What, Harding?" Riddle mused, "I think you're exaggerating things a bit, don't you?"

"No! She's horrible! The only reason you don't see it is because she thinks you're an angel." Hermione stood up from under the oak tree where they had been sitting. It was nice outside, spring had turned into summer, and term had ended.

"You're just bitter that a teacher likes me better than you."

Hermione ignored this, rolling her eyes. "I'm just glad I don't have to spend any more of my Thursdays learning how to sew and cook and all proper things like that."

Riddle got up too and they went inside together. Walking through the kitchen, Hermione saw Billy and Amy. She smiled to them and waved, before going up the stairs with Riddle.

When they were finally upstairs, Riddle spoke. "You're still friends with them."

"I know you don't like them, but they're my friends, Riddle, and you've got to be nice to them."

"They don't like me."

"Yeah, well I didn't like you either at first," Hermione responded, stubbornly. Flipping through one of Tom's books.

"And now you do?" Tom grinned. He snickered inwardly. It had taken a while, but it had been easy. She fell under his spell, regardless of Billy's warning. Trying to hide his excitement, he went on with an air of cautiousness, "He's jealous you know. Have you ever seen the way he looks at you?"

"Jealous?" Hermione giggled, unconcerned, "No, Billy is just trying to look out for me."

"Oh really? Is that why he glares at me every time I'm with you?" Riddle challenged. "He likes you."

Hermione shook her head. "You're being ridiculous, Riddle. Billy's like an older brother. Besides, what's there to be jealous of anyways? We're only friends."

Tom's lips tightened. It didn't bother him, so why he even reacted at all was slightly disconcerting. He watched her turn the page, no longer interested in the subject. Leaning back on the headboard, he stared at the pages of the book as she turned them periodically.

"Hermione."

"Hmm?" she hummed, absentmindedly, before tearing her eyes from the page to look at him.

The boy with the black hair smirked. "Nothing," he settled on saying, resting his head against hers. She went back to reading and Riddle watched drowsily as she continued to turned the pages.

Hermione marked her place in the book. Darkness had snuck up on them and making out the words on the paper had become increasingly difficult. Riddle murmured something in his sleep and Hermione turned her head, looking at him fuss in his sleep. She tried to make out meaning from his soft hissing. There was something she liked about Riddle - something special about him that she didn't understand. Quite on accident, she let her groggy eyes slide closed and her mind wandered away from logic and reason. And in that blank space of darkness, the summer went by, happy and unaware of its slow, inevitable end.