Listening and Hearing

1942

The sky was grey. Hell, the whole damned world was grey.

The world was pretending to mourn, but I knew the truth. No one had ever cared about Alia Frost. Ever. Except for me. I knew it was true, and so did they. All of them out there...damn them. If it hadn't been for them she wouldn't be dead now. And now they dared to pretend they had ever given Alia a second thought?

Alia was the one person I'd ever met who was who she was and didn't try to change any of that.

Ever.

And now she was dead.

I knew it was my fault partially. I was the one who killed her. But I'd had to.

Do you understand that, Ali? I did it for you. I tried to save you. It was all for you. I warned you long ago - knowing too much can be suicide. You always listened to me before, Ali. Why not then? Why? It was the biggest mistake of you life, Ali. You know it was.

I sigh. She's dead. She doesn't hear me calling out to her. dammit, Alia! I warned you! You never were the fool, Ali. You weren't stupid. I told you years ago to keep out of things that didn't concern you so that you wouldn't get hurt. Why didn't you listen? The one time you chose to ignore my advice... and it was fatal.

I still remember the day I met you, Ali. Do you remember? Of course you can't... you're dead. But I remember every detail, Alia. I remember everything about that it. Now that I look back, it was one of the happiest of my life...even if I didn't know it then...

1935

I chose my moment carefully. It was raining out. Perfect. I didn't want anyone to see the escape attempt I was planning.

The door to the orphanage was ajar. Miss Hepburn, the old fraud that owned the place was outside flirting with the postman. Those two would make a perfect couple. Both loved to talk, both thought they were younger than they really were, and both were about as attractive as a cat that had been hit by a car and had been lying on the side of the road for a few weeks in the rain.

I turned my attention to my escape rout - the only window that was within sufficient reach of a short nine-year-old - the orphanage office window.

My only hope was that the post man would keep Miss Hepburn occupied long enough for me to get out of this goddamned excuse for a children's home with a few minutes to get far enough that Hepburn wouldn't bother sending someone to look for me.

I bit my lip. Ever since I had been old enough to do this type of plotting, I'd been planning the day I'd get out of this hellhole. Years of canvassing the area and strategic planning came down to this moment.

Checking to make sure the other orphans were still eating the food-like substance known as breakfast, and that Miss Hepburn was still insanely giggling at the front door, I silently slipped into the orphanage office.

I'd been in here before many times. Mostly getting in trouble for things that hadn't been my fault. Actually, in a way, they had been...

The whole orphanage knew what was in that file of mine behind Miss Hepburn's desk. They had ever since the time I was seven and my best friend at the time - Billy Wardloe and I had snuck into the office looking for Miss Hepburn's not-so-secret stash of sweets that the whole orphanage knew existed.

Instead, Billy found my file open on Miss Hepburn's desk.

The file that was open to a page of family history.

The page that clearly stated that my mother was a witch.

The page that said that my goddamned father had left as soon as he found out that his wife was a witch...

...as soon as he found out his son was a wizard.

By the time we all sat down for "dinner", the whole orphanage knew I was "different".

And since then, I was avoided like the black plague. Not that I minded not having the immature brats hanging around me anymore, quite the contrary.

I glanced around the office now, and smirked. Ironic, it was. The place that seemed to have held the darkest secrets about my past now seemed to hold my escape - my route to the outside, away from this world of shit.

A distant giggle assured me that Hepburn was still making a fool of herself and that that sorry-assed bloke was still taking in every word. This was my change. I slipped behind the desk and carefully opened the window - slowly, to avoid squeaking.

So far, so good. Cautiously, I raised myself onto the narrow window ledge. The ground was a good twenty or so feet below me, but this wasn't a problem. That's what they made fire-escape ladders for. The rain had made the ledge and cold metal ladder with the peeling white paint slippery, but I made it down okay.

My feet hit the ground with a gentle splash!

As I turned to glance not-so-fondly back at the orphanage for what I thought at the time was the last time I'd have to lie eyes on the godforsaken structure, I noticed with a jolt that I couldn't hear Miss Hepburn's giggles anymore.

A moment later, the pudgy little post man rounder the corner.

Barely a split second later, Miss Hepburn must have noticed the open office window.

She peered outside, and her beady eyes squinted bitterly at me. There was a pause, enough for Hepburn to open her mouth to should, and enough for the postal worker to realize I wasn't just a neighborhood kid taking a walk in the middle of a rainstorm.

"Damn," I muttered under my breath.

Miss Hepburn called out. "Herb! Stop him! Riddle! Stop!"

"Not on your life," I retorted, turned, and ran.

I was fast. Faster than most of the orphanage kids, and definitely faster than the fat old post man.

By the time I rounded the corner and darted into an alley off the main street, Herb was out of breath and unable to run anymore. I slowed my pace, and turned another corner through the labyrinth of buildings.

Free.

I savored the feeling for a moment, and then headed down the street.

Everything would have worked out find if there hadn't been a body lying on the side of the road.

*

I thought about leaving her there, to be quite honest. At first I thought she was dead, but then I noticed she was breathing. But barely.

She was near dead.

And if my damned conscience hadn't gotten in the way, I wouldn't still be living at the orphanage.

That was the first time I ever laid eyes on Alia Frost.

I damn near left her there.

1942

dammit, Alia! I had the chance then to escape, and you came along.

You know I don't mean that, Ali. You know I love you. But you know I wasted my chance to escape on you. Why, I don't know. Maybe I felt something then. Maybe I had some vision about us in the future.

Or maybe it was that feeling of déjà vu. The one that made me feel like I'd known you before - that was absurd, of course, but maybe it was what you really were that intrigued me. Even if I didn't know it back then. Do you remember that day Ali? You couldn't stand me back then. Maybe you don't, but I remember...

1935

At first it seemed as though Alia Frost and I could never get along. She really did try and keep to herself from the start. Funny thing is, even though she was so cold to being with, I didn't return the feeling.

That's right. For once in my life, I tried to be the nice guy. I have to admit I was in a very cooperative mood that day, and that only happens once every five years or so.

Alia was so different back then. She had the attitude of someone who could take care of herself, even if she was only nine years old. Alia was the type of person that wouldn't trust someone easily.

I guess it's my fault. Once we got to be friends, somehow, that manner about her disappeared. It would have been the type of mind-set that would have saved her life. But then again, with it, the Alia Frost I had known never would have existed.

*

A week after I'd brought her back to the orphanage to get a chance to live (she surely would have died with another few days out on the streets), Alia was still as cold as ice towards me and everyone else. I didn't care about everyone else, but something about her was strange. Not strange, exactly, but definitely different.

And I aimed to find out what that was.

I prepared another expedition into the office on a crisp, sunny Monday morning in the middle of the month of October. This time, it wasn't to escape. It was to get information.

I checked to make sure that Hepburn was nowhere in sight. She hadn't been too fond of me since that day when I tried to escape. I'll still have the marks on my back when I'm into my twenties, and maybe even after that. I slipped into the office silently, and with a hairpin I nicked from Ellen Richards, one of the girls at the orphanage, I picked the lock on the file cabinet.

The one that read: Orphan Files, A - G.

I skimmed quickly through the files - Elson, Andy; Fletcher, Sara; Gardner, Winnie;

Whoa, hold on, back up, Tom. I skipped back several files, and there it was - Frost, Alia.

I quickly grabbed the file, and heard the front door to the orphanage closing as Miss Hepburn finished her daily flirting session with the postman.

Damn.

I weighed my chances. If I hid in the closet, I might not get a chance to get out of here for hours. If I tried to escape before Hepburn got down the hall, I took the risk of getting caught coming out of her office.

Double damn.

Oh, what the hell.

I grabbed the file, slid the file cabinet door shut, and quickly slipped out of the office, and bolted towards the stairs at the end of the hall. If I managed to get up to the second floor unnoticed...

"Riddle."

I cursed silently, and hid the folder behind my back. "Yes, Miss Hepburn?" I said with an innocent smile.

Normally, I would have been able to get out of any situation. Though my childhood here, I'd been able to charm any member of the female population from Alice Woods to Martha Hepburn. But, of course, that had been before my escape attempt a while back.

"Were you in my office?" Miss Hepburn asked coldly, unimpressed by my cheerful manner and fake innocence.

"Of course not, Miss Hepburn," I replied calmly, trying my best to look politely confused.

Hepburn studied my face for a long time. I didn't care. I was used to this type of thing. I stared right back at her (still looking politely confused).

"Humph." Miss Hepburn huffed, and turned to go into the office.

When the door closed, I exhaled for the first time in five minutes. Then, I turned and ran up the stairs.

Back in the "sleeping quarters", I sat on my bed, and opened Alia's file.

That's when I received the biggest shock of my life, ever since I found out what I was.

Name: Frost, Alia
Mother's Maiden Name: Elliot, Ann
Father's Name: Frost, Russell

Date of Birth: November 2, 1926

Personal Details: Mother died on August 13, 1935 in factory fire. Father left family on 04/03/26.

Mother's Background: Pureblood witch.
Father's Background: Muggle

So that was it. That was why I'd felt that connection with Alia Frost. We were the same in so many ways. The same type of unfortunate history.

As I looked through the rest of the file, I discovered other things. She'd been living on the streets for the past several weeks. That explained why she'd been so weak.

I closed the file slowly, and hid it under my mattress. If I tried to take it back to Hepburn's office now I'd be signing my own death warrant.

Now I had one thing left to do.

*

I found Alia sitting on the roof of the orphanage. It struck me as odd. I'd done it myself so many times before, dreaming about a life outside this place.

When she heard movement behind her, she whirled around. "What do you want?" she snapped.

I could have laughed. The protective manner really didn't suit her at all.

"I want to talk to you about something," I said calmly, sitting down beside her.

"What?" She asked suspiciously.

"Well, for starters..." I took I deep breath. "Did you by any chance know what kind of background your mother came from?"

"What are you playing at?" Alia asked, not impressed.

I grinned. If she wanted to play tough, too bad. I was going to do this my way - fast. "Did you by any chance ever know that your mother was a witch?"

Alia froze. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she said, too quickly to be truthful.

"I think you do,"

"No, I don't. What do you want from me?" Alia's manner was still cold, but I could see it in her eyes that she wasn't feeling very confident. She was scared.

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about, and what I want, Alia. The truth. Your mother was a witch, your father left your family before you were even born, and your past is only too similar to mine," I said all this calmly, as though it was nothing more than reminding her that the sky is blue.

Alia didn't say anything for nearly a minute. I waited.

"How did you know?" she asked finally, gentle for the first time since I'd met her.

"Hepburn has everything you could possibly want to know about yourself on file in her office," I scowled. "You just have to know how to get in and out without getting caught,"

Alia swallowed hard. "So, now what?" she demanded.

"What?"

"Now that you know all this. What are you planning to do with it? Tell everyone? Blackmail?"

"Why would I do that?" I asked, slightly puzzled.

She shrugged. "You might,"

"I'm not going to. Look, Alia," I said. "All I'm trying to do is be friendly,"

She laughed for the first time since I'd first met her. She had a nice laugh. "Friendly? And the best way you can think of to extend the hand of friendship is by asking if I knew my mum was a witch?"

I grinned. Truth be told, it did sound a bit ridiculous when she put it that way. "Okay, so it wasn't the best idea. I admit it. But," I paused for a moment, thinking how best to phrase this. "What do you say? Want to start over? Try being friends? See what happens?"

Alia smiled. "All right then," She extended a hand. "Hi, I'm Alia Frost,"

I took it. "Tom Riddle," I said, shaking it.

1942

So that was how it happened. In reality, we started being 'Tom and Alia' before school. At the orphanage, we had each other. The other kids avoided Alia, simply because she was my friend. Well, at least until that brat Billy Wardloe decided to ruin Alia's life too.

1935

He said he found the file on my bed. Rubbish. Utter rubbish. Wardloe snuck around all over the place (especially around my stuff) trying to find out how to make someone's life more miserable.

He just so happened to find Alia's file under my mattress that day. I knocked his front teeth out later. I also got walloped good for having nicked the file, but I didn't particularly care. Alia was having bigger problems then me.

It seemed as though history was repeating itself. By dinnertime everyone knew that "Tom and Alia are weirdoes".

I remembered only too well the way the entire orphanage had quieted as I entered the mess hall for dinner late that day when Wardloe had told everyone what I was. Alia got a dose of it later the same day we decided to be friends.

At first, she didn't know why everyone suddenly got silent when she came into the room. She went over and sat down with her "friends", but they all shrank away from her as though she were carrying some sort of disease.

She was hurt that day. Deeply. I guess that's what took away that protective manner of hers. She was stripped of that that day, and it was replaced by the vulnerability of hers. Well, not vulnerability exactly, but a type of unfaithfulness in the world.

I was the only one to help her through being rejected by everyone at the orphanage, so we grew together. Years later, at Hogwarts, she found friends, but never trusted them as much as she'd trusted me.

1940

"I hate summer holidays," Alia sighed.

"Who doesn't?" I asked, not thinking about my words.

Alia grinned. "I hear that most people actually enjoy them," she said.

"They obviously never met Martha Hepburn," I retorted.

We could see in all directions from our perch on the roof. The city didn't have the best view, of course, but it was better then sitting in a broom closet to talk so we couldn't be over heard.

"Obviously," Alia said cheerfully.

I grinned. "If they had ever met Hepburn, then they would want curse all humanity and wish they could damn the world to the tenth level of hell. Mind you, from what I've seen it's probably somewhere near level seven or eight right now, so it shouldn't be much longer,"

Alia laughed. "And yet you don't sound too depressed,"

I shrugged. "I don't know why," I admitted, smile fading. "But I guess... I've gotten used to it. And things are better now... with friends and all..." I smiled weakly at her.

Alia nodded. "I guess we'll always have each other, eh?"

"Absolutely,"

I glanced at her, and her eyes locked on mine. There was a short pause in which both of us looked uneasy, then Alia tipped her head up and brought her lips to mine.

1942

That was two years ago. Do you remember that kiss, Ali? Our first.

I remember.

I've said that too many times already, but it's true, Ali, because I remember every detail about you.

I remember the day you died, Ali.

Do you?

1942, Days Before

Alia looked up and saw me staring at her, then looked away quickly, pretending she hadn't seen me. She was still angry.

She looked back at her homework. I got to my feet and walked over to where she was sitting and she didn't notice me until I was standing over her.

"What?" she asked icily when she noticed my shadow falling across her Ancient Runes essay. She glared at me.

I thought about saying something, I really did, but I couldn't. Not now. I'd explain later... at the end.

I unfolded my hand, and dropped a scrap of parchment onto her books, and walked back to my friends.

I didn't look back at her, but I knew she would read it.

And I knew she'd be there.

Part of me wished I were wrong.

*

"You wouldn't," Alia whispered in my ear. She pulled back slightly, eyes begging me for an answer. Well, I'd already given her that.

I reached out, and with my free hand - the one not holding my wand - brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes.

"Please," she begged me again. "Don't do this,"

I watched her for a minute. She was genuinely frightened.

Of me.

But I had to do it.

I stepped forward, and let my lips brush against hers.

From her expression, she must have felt relieved. She must have thought I wouldn't do it.

I had to.

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice barely more then a whisper. "Goodbye, Ali,"

Her scream rang in my ears, one long unbroken note, even after it had been silenced.

She hit the ground near noiselessly.

1942, The Funeral

So that was it, Ali. I said goodbye. I did what I had to do.

And I warned you. I warned you... Knowing too much is suicide. But the trick, Ali, is not only to listen to the words. You have to hear them. Listening and hearing at two different things.

I love you, Ali.

Did you hear that?