Chapter Two: Awakening

Tom sat down on his bed and took several deep breaths. For five years he had been trapped in this place, and he was becoming steadily more annoyed with it. He couldn't wait until he was older, at least then he would have his own room; at least then he would have some peace.

He closed his eyes for a moment trying to block out the sound of the other children who shared his room. It was late and they had been forced to leave the other parts of the orphanage and get ready for bed. During the day Tom could usually find somewhere to be alone, but today several would-be parents had arrived to meet the children.

Those days were the worst. They would make everyone put on their cleanest clothes, and then cram them all into the same small room to interact with the prospective adopters. Having to spend the entire day in close proximity to the obnoxious children he lived with always put him in a bad mood, and now Tom wanted nothing more than to relax and read his book.

He leaned over the edge of his bed and groped underneath it. It took only seconds for him to know that someone had once again been touching things. The book wasn't strictly his, but he was the one who had borrowed it from the orphanage library, he was the only one who had rights to touch it at the moment.

"Looking for something, Tom?"

He didn't have to look up to know that it was Andrew Whitehead. At ten years old he was the bully of their dorm, as far as he was concerned, everything in the room belonged to him. Tom knew this routine, Andrew did it with all the kids, especially the younger ones.

"Give me my book, Andrew." His voice was calm but he knew that his anger was bubbling just beneath the surface.

"Why should I? It's not yours anyways, maybe I want to read it."

Tom didn't rise to the bait. He would have dearly loved to point out Andrew couldn't read, but he knew the older boy was only vying for control of what few excuses for possessions anyone had in this place.

Andrew flipped the book open to a random page, holding it in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Just another part of his game.

"Give me my book." Again, his voice was calm, but it was somehow different now, it wasn't a simple statement, it wasn't the plea most children used with Andrew. Tom could almost feel a kind of power behind his words, and suddenly the dorm was silent.

Andrew stood there dumbfounded. Tom knew the commanding tone was one he had never heard before, and it scared the older boy. This can work to my advantage, he thought.

Slowly, Tom lowered himself off the side of his bed, careful to keep each movement very deliberate. Since Andrew was five years older, he certainly didn't have size on his side, but he had fear, and he would use it.

He tried to embrace the feeling of power that he had felt when he last spoke, forcing himself to be certain it would be there again, rather than hoping. At last Tom looked the other boy in the eye. He kept his distance, not wanting to have to incline his head to do this, that would make Andrew feel superior.

"Now."

It was a simple word, but the reaction it invoked was more dramatic than Tom would have ever anticipated. Andrew dropped the book and bolted out the door, yelling for Mrs. Cole as he did.

Tom stepped forward and picked the book up off the ground, and he could feel every eye in the room on him as he did.

Good, he thought. Let them fear me, that's just fewer battles I'll have to fight in the end.

He returned to his bed, propped up his pillow and turned back to the page he had left off on. For once the room was blissfully quiet, and for the first time in his life, Tom Riddle felt comfortable.

He had expected Mrs. Cole to talk to him about the incident with Andrew, but she never did. Nor did she ask any of the other kids about it. They didn't seem to talk to each other about it though either.

Something had changed that night, and he knew it. The other kids from his dorm were quiet when he entered a room, they gave him a wide berth in the hallways, they never met his eye if they had to speak to him. It wasn't much, but at last Tom had some peace.

Over the next few weeks the novelty of it wore off, and reality came back to him. It was only the boys from his dorm that treated him with any respect now. There were still boys from the other dorm, the girls, and the older children.

The older girls weren't much of a problem. They would huddle and giggle, and tell each other how he was a cute little boy. He was polite to them in turn. He would help pick up their school books if they dropped them in the hall, he would let them use the water fountain first if they arrived at the same time.

Overall the girls were fond of him, but this created problems with the older boys. They wanted the attention, and instead they were giving it to little Tom. It wasn't long before their jealousy became apparent. It would have been nice, he reflected, if some of the boys from his dorm would have given them warning, but his incident with Andrew was still considered something of a taboo even nearly two months later.

The fact no one spoke of the incident didn't stop Andrew from trying to retaliate. He had been working his way into a group of the older boys, the ones who frequently skipped school, who would sneak out at every chance they got to cause trouble. Tom was too young for them to do anything dramatic, but they still found ways to torment him. Suddenly it seemed like every time he walked down the hall he tripped, or every time he got his tray at dinner it would be dumped into the floor.

Tom restrained himself. He closed his eyes to take a deep breath whenever this happened, determined to contain his anger, but after a week of this, he was in one of the worsts moods of his life. The orphanage was hardly a well funded organization, and with so many kids to take care of, spilled food meant getting very little to eat. Between Andrew's latest attempts to bully him and the nightmares of the children in the dorm, he also hadn't been getting much sleep.

That day Tom found his anger impossible to control, and when one of Andrew's older friends, Jack, "accidentally" nudged him at lunch, it came flowing out.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Jack muttered, dripping each word with insincerity.

Tom could feel his body shaking with rage, he hated showing he was upset, it seemed weak. He took his usual deep breath trying to steady himself, but instead heard Jack yell in surprise. He opened his eyes, confused, and looked around for what had caused Jack to start.

The metal tray on which the boy's lunch sat had shattered into several pieces, leaving Jack holding only a small sliver in each hand. He gaped at Tom in surprise before dropping the pieces and sprinting off.

Tom dumped his tray and left for the library. It was the place most likely to be quiet, and he needed to think.

What just happened? Did I do that?

The idea that perhaps he had caused the tray to shatter was intoxicating. Jack was too surprised for it to have been his own doing, and the trays were too strong to do more than bend anyways. So just maybe...

Tom slipped into the library and grabbed a small vase on his way to a back table. The table was sectioned off, meant to give each person some amount of privacy, and the corner he chose, meant his was almost complete.

He steadied the vase on the table and sat down, staring intently at it. Tom wasn't really sure how to go about testing this, but it seemed as good a place to start as any. Hours went by, but nothing miraculous happened to the vase, and finally he was forced to make his way up to bed.

He returned to the library several times after that, but each time the vase would just sit there. His frustration was beginning to grow. It couldn't have been a coincidence with Andrew in the dorm. He felt the power of the words wrap around his tongue, it had been almost palpable in the air around him. Then Jack and the tray, that happened somehow...

"Aww look it, wittle Tom is amazed by a vase."

It seemed some of the older boys had found him, but Jack wasn't with the group. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and focusing on remaining calm. One of them flicked him in the back of the head.Breath he told himself.

Another flick, then another.

"Stop."

Again Tom felt power warping his mouth as he spoke, a sweet metallic tang lingering on his lips. He turned to see the boy with his hand outstretched, but unable to move it, as if it had just frozen in mid air.

"Don't let Tommy tell you what to do."

The group instantly began to poke, prod, and hit him. Rage boiled on the inside and as it reached it's zenith the vase on the table shattered into such fine pieces nothing was left but dust.

They gaped in surprise, some still gripping his shirt or arms raised to hit him. Tom closed his eyes once more, and this time he could feel it. Power. Raw. Power. It was swirling around him, through him, and breathing it was intoxicating.

"Leave," he said. His words were soft and clear, but immediately obeyed.

He felt his lips curl into a smile, relaxing as he felt energy still thick in the air. Tom focused his anger on another vase in the room and drew power from his surroundings, and was pleased to find it crumble to dust as well. Now he knew it was there, just waiting to be called upon, and anger was his key.

Sorry this took so long to get up. I've been preparing for wrockstock and an upcoming dance performance of mine. I had originally intended to make this a longer chapter, but I decided to go ahead and get it up rather than making you wait any longer. So the next chapter will feature young Tom's first trip to the ocean, and we'll get to see what he does now that he knows he has power. Don't forget to leave me reviews, sometimes I forget about a story, then a new review pops up and I go "oh, shit, I gotta go work on that!"