Disclaimer: I only own the plot and the concept, along with any original characters and places you don't recognize.

Warning! Some aspects of this story will be a bit adult (nothing too big, but Tom doesn't exactly live the good life. Not only is there abuse, but there is some cursing, coarse language, and sexual allusions). Just warning you ahead of time.
Elemental Malice

Chapter Three
Poisonous Eyes

You have to fight to survive. You have to fight to get what you want.

I think that's the most important truth I've learned in this poor excuse for a life. Higgins never said it, nor did the older kids. You didn't learn it from the drunks in the gutters or from the businessmen who come here to get their heroin and cocaine. You didn't learn it from the sluts selling themselves on the corner or from the pimps. Who was there to learn from? If intelligence was water, then the entire population of Endsville probably couldn't even fill a pint collectively.

You learn nearly everything on your own because that's all you have.

There is no one to guide you through life here. I don't think that there is anyone here that knows anything about anything worthwhile here. There are only drugs, sex, and violence here. Any thing else seems destined to be beaten down and trampled by the cruelty of those heartless lowlifes. Nothing grows here – even the plants are puny and pale, the trees are more like bare sticks that protrude from the polluted earth. The water is murky and filthy. The breeze stinks of smoke and chemicals from the factories not too far away. There is only concrete and dirt here.

You only have yourself. Relying on anyone else is dangerous. Trust is nonexistent here – loyalty unknown except to those who have power over you in some fashion. You only have you. If that's what it takes to survive and fight through this hell then that was it.

When I was little, I used to think that someone would come for me. Maybe some long-lost relative or a friend of my mother's would remember me. My desperation had one time reached a point when I wanted my father to come and whisk me away. It didn't take long for me to realize that it would never happen. There was no savior for me – I was forsaken from all sympathy and moral obligation from others.

But there are places were there is green. Majestic trees with branches laden and thick with leaves, birds singing, and a breeze that is fresh and clean. There are places where you can see the water that is clear. There are places were there are flowers of all kinds.

Paradise existed somewhere. And I would love to leave all this behind and be there.

But I was alone. And no one was going to save me from damnation.

- Tom M. Riddle

For once, the night of Endsville was still. Why? Because it was far too hot to do anything. The heat just sapped your strength right out of you. This was the sole reason as to why it was for quiet for once. But due to the very cause of this peace, Tom could not rest.

Simple convenience, that's all it was, Tom thought sardonically. This wasn't because there was some form of divine providence or anything like that. Such ideas were idiotic and foolish – the mere notion of religion was that it was a waste of time to put faith in some high and mighty deity that probably didn't even exist anyway and if this God did exist, he served to only make life miserable. The only church near by was the old and decrepit one three blocks away. No one remembered its name – it was a ghost with its broken windows, crumbling stones, and dusty pews – it had disappeared along with its spirit in the fire, the ash still scarring the old walls. They say that the priest who used to have a congregation of ten people (which was pretty successful considering the history of that church) tried to reform Endsville and had gotten on the wrong side of the wrong people.

But he was killed in the fire.

It was an accident, according to witnesses. Witnesses that happened to be the very people the priest had a problem with.

The edifice was never rebuilt or cleaned up. No funds were taken up to help restore it. It remained there, a shell, empty and forbidding, little by little slowly being eaten up by time. There was never another priest again and the congregation split up – moving out, losing hope, or getting killed in more accidents.

It wasn't anything new in Endsville. It was best to make sure to make enemies with those you knew you could handle. If not, then you more or less likely ended up disappearing from reality and memory

No one remembered the name of the church. It was a perfect physical representation of religion. In Endsville, there was only Hell. And the great flames of that Inferno managed to even take down the house of God and kill its messenger with ease. Faith, in nearly all forms, was obsolete.

But Tom knew about that church.

Though one would think that the fire was back again, Tom thought as he wiped the sweat from his forehead futilely, lying on his bed looking up at the ceiling with tired blue eyes. There really wasn't any point – it was far too hot and his hair and skin were soaked. Even in the relentless heat, Tom wore long clothing. Billy did the same. But it was cooler, slightly, now than during the day. There was no relief inside or out – Higgins refused to leave the building and had kids serving to his every need, even fanning him. That's what Tom had heard anyway from a few of the other Untouchables.

Again, he had spent the night and this time, the day, in the Basement. For extra measure, Higgins brought the dogs in too cool off and let them 'keep the Freak company'. He was let out after dinner, sweaty and covered in bruises and bites. A piece of bread was thrown at him and he was told that it was curfew time.

The usual curfew time was at eleven at night, though Tom made sure to never be outside the orphanage at night. Higgins was saying it was seven. It was easy to figure out which one you were supposed to follow. Curfew time was when everyone was to go to his or her rooms and go to sleep. It was hard to do that at seven this night, the summer sun's rays managing to permeate through all the pieces of newspapers that Tom had managed to paste on the windows in an attempt to keep the room dark.

For another two hours, the sun illuminated the articles of the newspapers. The only one that was complete was the nearest to Tom. It was about a thirteen year-old boy named Jacob Templeton, his dead body was found raped and beaten on the side of a highway. In the black and white ink, the picture of the boy's lifeless and broken seeming less human and more like a limp doll lying forgotten in the long grass. The photo was taken in such a way that the dead eyes were looking straight at you, the tearstains only barely visible, the face still caught in an expression of horror and anguish. An utter and unthinkable tragedy, the newspaper gushed in the thrilled tones of a macabre gossip as it recounted the grisly details again and again. We won't rest until this young man is brought to justice, the police commented.

Tom looked at this picture for two hours impassively, remembering how only the week before how a thirteen-year-old boy named Jacob Templeton had attempted to steal some money and some pornographic pamphlets from Higgins' office but was caught. That night, while he was making a necessary trip to their poor excuse of a lavatory, he saw an expensive looking car pulled up in front of the orphanage. Tom had watched as the struggling boy was thrown into the car struggling and crying, a gag muffling his screams as he was shoved into the car. Templeton never came back.

Justice was something that none of them were deserving of, according to the rules of Fate. Death was their only freedom.

"Billy?" he asked softly in the thick humid darkness. Billy's shape was only a deeper darkness in the shadowed night. Tom had always had better night vision than most. "You okay?" Billy's large and huddled form only shuddered and sniffled – Billy was used to using his gestures as answers rather than speaking. Mildly annoyed by this and the heat, he spoke again. "It's nighttime, Billy. You can't see in the night. You need to answer."

There was a pause, and then Billy started talking rapidly, his voice breaking and cracking in places. "Yes…no…they always pick on me…call me Turtle…I don't wanna be here…everything is bad…everything is evil, they want to get me…I want to be in the sky…friends and stars…I don't want to be here, don't want to be here…" As he continued on and on in his segmented rant, Billy's voice grew softer and softer, as well as sleepier and more tired. The other younger boy knew that Billy was finally falling asleep instead of torturing himself in his afflicted mind. It was the one of the few kindnesses he could offer.

Was that magic? What I did to make Billy fall asleep? It can't be that simple. I've been doing that all my life. But then I am a freak.

Billy continued to mutter in his sleep, a strange mantra that was inherently eerie. The last person who shared Billy's room ran screaming when Billy started speaking like this, shivering in fear. Tom felt the power of the words, the strange truth to them, but he wasn't frightened of it. He knew their realness. Somehow. "…Only venom, only venom…war is on the winds of the stars…Heaven, Universe, Hell all clash…poisonous eyes in the darkness, eyes of those born of the darkness…Earth…Earth spells the End…only cruelty, only death, only venom…"

"Only venom," Tom repeated softly to himself, his blue eyes glowing slightly as if from an inner energy, and gold and silver flecks just barely visible in their infinite and contemplative depths.

The reason why Tom Riddle knew about the church was because it was his haven. Within that ruin, he could find shade. He could find shelter. He could find solitude. Even though the wreck looked more haunted than cathartic, it was one of the few places where he could achieve his peace. Tom stayed out of sight from the main road and buildings surrounding it, retreating to the small courtyard full of yew trees. It probably was the refuge of the priests before him, since the only way to access it was through the charred remains of the rectory.

Managing to dodge through the debris and avoid the holes in the floor that opened up into dark chasms, he pushed open the heavy wooden door. Tom was a small boy, even for his age, and it took a lot to just open that door. Though he always pushed a little of his will into it so that it was easier. There was no point in making things harder for him than it already was.

The yew trees always reminded him of death – they stood bare most of the year, gnarled and battle scarred from the fire. Only now did they have leaves, but they were small in number and pathetic. But considering Endsville in general, they seemed like redwoods. A collapsed part of the roof managed to provide some more shadow. There was nothing peaceful about it. Rather, it stank of ghostly dreams and phantasms. No birds sang here and the grass was as brown and dry as the grass growing in the cemetery.

Tom did not love this place. He hated it much like the rest of Endsville. But compared to the rest of the shoddy town, it was despised less. Unlike anywhere else, bullies weren't hiding in the corners ready to jump you nor were the sluts calling out or the drunks hobbling along the streets in their self-induced stupor. It was its loneliness that appealed to him – a loneliness that he shared, and it was better than the Carthage Orphanage building on many levels. Though they were both barely livable.

He had hidden something in the grove that he could keep it away from Higgins. While he was more or less the most defiant child to Higgins that probably ever walked the dirty halls of Carthage Orphanage, another night in the Basement was unbearable. Especially with those insufferable dogs.

Magic…he couldn't stop thinking about it. What it was, how to do it? What could magic do – could it heal, could it hurt? What was its nature. And how was he, Tom Riddle, a wizard? What was a wizard exactly? Were they like the ones in those fairy tales or were they different? What was the point of this 'Hogwarts School'? What would he learn there? Where was it? How could he get there? How could he get his supplies? Did he need money?

The last two were the questions that needed immediate solving first. The rest he would find out later. He was sure that it wasn't a joke – the thought hadn't even occurred to him until hours later, and even then it was dismissed.

No, Hogwarts existed. And he, for some inexplicable reason, belonged there. That was where he was supposed to be, not in Endsville.

The door opened completely, illuminating the darkness of the rectory ruins, and two sets of hands immediately grabbed him and pulled him out. Before he knew it, he was thrown into the ground of the courtyard, his ears filled with the heckling laughter of about five or six boys. As the dust settled and his eyes did not sting, he chanced a look up to see Frankie Boone and Bobby Peters standing above him. They were standing in their usual way – shoulders thrown far back, bent legs so that they bounced slightly when they walked, their arms crossed across their chests while smiling in malice.

Tom hated them, especially when they acted just like Silas Higgins. And they seemed, in Tom's opinion, to get more like that dirty bastard each and every day. He glared up at them, blue eyes shining with anger and hate, his hands fisting in the dry dust and parched grass. His brown-black hair was sticking up at all angles, a smudge of dirt smearing his left cheek.

Behind them stood Emily LeGrant, smiling coquettishly as she leaned against the crumbling stone wall, waving slightly. He scowled viciously at her, a feral hiss escaping his throat, before those same two sets of hands pulled him to his knees. His two main torturers grinned down at him nastily; their rotting and missing teeth combined with their dirty and ugly faces did not make a pretty picture. Tom's defiant stare increased in intensity when Frankie spit at him, the wet saliva sliding down his cheek and dropping down to the dry earth, which surprisingly did not absorb it.

"Well," Bobby laughed in amusement, "look'ee here. So this is where the Viper slithers off to all the time." There was a shared look among them. "Here, and that cemetery. Do you actually like being around death! What, find our company that bad!" There was a round of laughter, mocking, loud in the fire-haunted courtyard, echoing slightly. It was as if the ghosts of the dead that still presided over this dead place and Tom could hear their whispery laughter joined with the others – just as derisive as their mortal counterparts. This is a child of Melania, pathetic…the Dark Sovereign on his knees before these pathetic mortals…the line of darkness has truly fallen…look at this child, descendant of a great one…wasn't he the one who used to lead…Harbingers…a joke! If anything, it did disturb him, but the bubbling anger he could feel within himself was starting to distract him.

Everything was in a cycle. There was a dull roar in his ears, beginning to drown out the noise and the taunts. The cruel brats did not take any notice in his inattention, they only continued in their hurtful games. It was all they knew – any notion of empathy or morality never even entered their pitiful excuses for minds or hearts. Frankie pulled back his fist and struck the first blow, catching Tom hard on the side of the head. The younger boy stumbled from the punch, a trickle of blood now trailing from his temple, but he was prevented from falling by the two arms.

The rest closed on him, cracking their knuckles menacingly, looking more like animals than humans with their eager and gleeful smiles, their eyes only containing the desire to harm. Tom was reminded of the shining eyes of Higgins' dogs, how they had that similar looks, when he was kicked hard in the stomach. There's a difference…the dogs…they aren't mindless, he noted as the hits rained down on him.

If there were three or less, he could defend himself. It was what made 'the Viper' an Untouchable – he fought back. He would punch, kick, bite – anything to defy. It was why they only attacked him in groups. And even when he was held down like he was, he wouldn't beg for mercy nor would he cry. He would take it. Untouchable. And that was what made him a favorite target.

"What's at the cemetery? Only dead bodies rotting and worms!"

"Yeah, maybe Viper has a death wish!"

"His mum's there, she's probably being eaten up by the maggots as we speak. Good riddance, I say. After all, look what she pushed out into the world!"

"A bloody worthless freak!"

"Pah! He's not even an orphan! What about your daddy, Riddle? He's actually alive and can take you in! You have to be a freak if your own father wouldn't take you in!"

In between the crook of Frankie's arm, he could see Emily still standing against the stone wall. She was looking at the scene calmly, a small smug smile gracing her pretty face as she watched. He knew why she was smiling. But she was wrong. It would take a lot more than just a simple beating to make him accept this world.

A chill wind started to blow, swirling around them, driving out the oppressive blanket of heat. The few leaves on the yew trees rustled, like dry paper crackling, like tiny fireworks. It roused some small dust devils. The boys shifted on their feet, shivering from the new cold in their thin clothing, alarmed at the change. Unbeknownst to him, his eyes were glowing slightly – a poisonous looking blue, the only feelings within them being rage and loathing. Above them, the sky began to darken with black clouds, when before had been only clear blue. There was a palpable tension in the air.

Tom couldn't feel it at all…there was only his anger…only his hate…

"My skin! My skin! It's BURNING!"

"My eyes! I can't see!"

"This place is haunted! Really haunted!"

"Let's get out of here!"

"Yeah! Just go! Get out of my way!"

A hysterical female voice. "What about Riddle? We can't just leave him here!"

"Shut up and let's go! He's a freak anyway, who's going to care!"

"But we can't-"

"Shut it or we'll leave you here too!"

There was a crack of lightning, blinding him in its wrathful light, the thunder breaking the air like a bomb. The heavens seemed to open up and water came pouring down. It was a deluge just falling from the sky, no droplets, and no shower. It tore the leaves from the yew branches and pummeled the earth into mud. It slid off the stones of the church

Alone, still kneeling on the ground, now thick mud, Tom Riddle turned his eyes to the stormy sky above him. His hair was plastered to his scalp and his poor clothes were soaked, sticking to his skin. His arms were clutched around his stomach, hugging himself and feeling the purple bruises marring his skin, noting how his right eye was swelling. Motionless, his eyes were shining that poisonous electric blue, unseeing everything except the chaos happening above.

He then turned his eyes away at the flicker of movement.

There was a ghost standing a few feet away, pale and hazy, as if Tom were looking through a smoky window. It was a boy, older at probably fifteen or sixteen. He was thin and wiry, a kind of tempestuous and wind-like aura to him. They both had dark messy hair and there was an incredible resemblance between them. Tom would say that it could have been himself, but he would be wrong.

Tom didn't wear glasses. Tom didn't have a scar on his forehead. Tom didn't have those bright and deep green eyes that seemed just as sad as his own were.

There was a connection between them and Tom knew not to be afraid of this specter. It was different from the other ones who wanted to hurt him, different from the voice in his head. This ghost…wouldn't hurt him.

"Only venom," he whispered softly, a poignant determination in his young voice. "Only venom."

The other looked on, watching him with those unfathomable green eyes, as the storm raged around them. And Tom knew that whoever the other was, he understood. He was definitely unlike the others, even if he did not speak. It was from them, both him and the other, that the storm came. They were the storm.

The other…understood the pain.

We'll get to Hogwarts soon enough. He's got his letter and he's beginning to think about his magic and what it could be used for. Before, he only knew that it could heal and do a few minor things. Now, he knows that it could hurt others.

Guess who's the 'ghost' at the end?

Next chapter, someone finally tries to contact Tom.

-Raven Dragonclaw