The Shadows of the Room

Tom stared into the shadows of the room, wishing desperately that he could fall into them. He would rather that.

Finally he just shut his eyes and waited silently. He didn't belong here, and by God when he got out....

The resounding crack of a whip meeting skin hit him just before the pain did, he gasped sharply as it met his back once then twice, too fast it seemed for him to even breathe. He bit his lips furiously to stifle the noise. The fourth one made him almost dizzy with pain. Oh God. He couldn't take anymore, he couldn't handle this, he'd never felt anything like it, he wanted it to stop. Now. No more, no more, no more--.

The whip didn't land.

Slowly Tom opened his eyes. Slowly a soft strangling noise came from behind him. He waited a second longer. Then, finally remembering to breathe, he tilted his head back and looked behind him.

He stumbled to an upright position, backing away until he hit the wall and cried out in sudden pain.

Squeezing his eyes shut he tore through the door, down the hall and into the lavatory where he collapsed in a heaving mass before the toilet. He couldn't stay here anymore, he had to leave today. He wanted to be in his warm bed at school, as far away from here as he could get. No more half made meals, no more ratty beds, no more broken windows, no more shouting, he deserved better --.

"Tom."

He looked behind himself, but no one was there.

Slowly he stood up, trying to see if anyone was hidden in the stalls. A shadow suddenly passed the door.

"Hello?" he asked.

Nothing.

The hallway was dark. Tom went to the door, looking out into the blackness. Someone had shut off the hall light.

"Tom Riddle," the voice said quietly. Tom didn't recognize it.

He tried to speak but his voice came out as a whisper. He cleared his throat.

"Who's there?"

"Only you," it whispered. He took a step back.

The voice laughed, it was high and cold, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Who are you?" His voice was shaking, and there was another laugh.

"I saw what you did back there," it answered.

"I didn't do anything," he whispered.

He could hear the amusement dripping from the voice.

"You hung that man with his own whip."

Tom felt the nausea washing over him again.

"No," he said.

"I saw it all."

"I didn't mean to, I was angry."

"Anger like that, cannot be held back.... You're full of anger."

"I--, I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Don't be." The voice was coming closer. "He deserved it."

"Who are you?" Tom asked.

This time the voice answered.

"You," it said. "I'm the part of you that you have never let out."

He could sense the person coming closer.

"Who are you?" he repeated.

Finally the shape came into the light; Tom clapped a hand over his mouth.

"You," it repeated, and smiled.

Tom stopped as he realized he was backed against the wall. This time, he didn't feel the pain.

"What do you want with me?" he finally stammered.

The smile grew.

"Your life."

It lunged forward like a shadow, Tom gasped, and instantly he was engulfed in black.

*

An intense pain washed over him. Tom moaned and tried to roll over, but it hurt too much.

"Are you all right?"

He opened his eyes and snapped them shut immediately at the blinding sunlight.

"I can't move," he said, resting his cheek against the cement under him.

Awkwardly the man helped him into a sitting position, putting a hand behind his head to keep him steady.

Finally Tom opened his eyes and looked at the man. He couldn't see much detail, but could tell that he was concerned.

"Who are you?" Tom finally asked.

The man paused a moment before answering.

"Remus Lupin," he said at last.

That didn't answer anything.

Tom looked around wincing at the pain shooting through his neck. He didn't recognize anything.

"Where are we?" he asked.

Remus looked at Tom, and then he turned to the house standing before them, looking tired.

"We're in Godric's Hollow," he answered.

Nothing. The name didn't even ring a bell.

"Where are your parents?" Remus asked.

"They're dead," Tom answered immediately.

"Are you--, where are you staying?"

"The orphanage."

Remus paused.

"There are no orphanages around here."

Tom shut his eyes tightly. What happened?

"Do you need to go to the hospital?"

An image of the scene in the washroom suddenly shot into Tom's head.

"God no," he said. "They couldn't do anything."

"Here, come with me. I can get you cleaned up at least."

Tom let out a sharp cry as Remus' fingers grasped his back and he was hoisted to his feet. He stifled it as quickly as he could, and breathing heavily, he let Remus hold him steady until he caught his balance.

He was walked about a block away until they reached what looked like a hotel. Remus pulled out a little golden key and let them both into the room.

As the door closed, he turned to him.

"Let me see your back," he said abruptly.

"It's fine."

Remus impatiently turned him around and lifted his shirt. There was a sharp intake of breath.

"Who did this to you?" he demanded.

Tom grimaced.

"It doesn't matter," he said, trying to draw away.

"Wait here."

Tom sat down on the bed as Remus entered what must have been a washroom. Normally he wouldn't take any of this. Not the helplessness, not the fear, not the whipping... although he hadn't just taken that, had he?

He hated summers.

Slowly Tom lay down on the bed on his stomach, hugging a pillow to his chest.

After what seemed like only a moment he felt something cold and wet pressed gently against his skin.

"Does that hurt?"

"A little." He shut his eyes. It was warm here; he hadn't felt a warm bed in so long.

"Who did this?"

"I'm not supposed to say," he answered.

"I see."

Tom sighed. "It's Father Algen...."

"...from the orphanage?"

Tom nodded. "He always does this when I come back from school.... I always forget how much it hurts."

The darkness of his shut eyes suddenly reminded him forcibly of looking into the black corridor at the orphanage. The thing stepped out of the shadows, its eyes red, its nose like a snakes with slits for nostrils, and he gasped.

Tom opened his eyes and found his fists clutching the blanket. Remus was sitting at the desk writing what looked to be a letter. He looked at him.

"Are you alright?"

Tom nodded and shakily raised himself into a sitting position, awkwardly trying to hide his naked chest.

"Have you ever heard of... of maybe demons or something..." he didn't want to say it out right, the man seemed too much like a muggle.

Remus considered.

"Yes, I've heard of them."

"...with red eyes, and snake like noses?"

Tom looked away when Remus began to stare. He shouldn't have asked.

Finally he answered, "Yes, I've heard of him."

Tom looked up, startled.

"It's a he?"

"Yes." Remus stood up and leaned slowly against the desk. "You saw him?"

"He came to the orphanage. He knew my name and he said he... that he wanted me." Remus came forward, with what seemed to be a forced calm.

"Did he say anything else?" he asked gently.

"Yes." Tom shook his head. "But it didn't make any sense."

"What did he say?" he asked.

"That--," Tom twisted his fists in the sheets nervously. "That he was me, or I was him."

Remus' eyes clouded over.

"See? It doesn't make any sense."

"Not to us." He agreed, "But I think we should go see a friend of mine. We'll leave tomorrow morning, it's too late now. You just get some rest."

He walked to the desk again and pulled out a new sheet of paper. He wrote a few lines before turning back to Tom.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I never asked your name."

"Tom Riddle."

Remus stopped dead and looked at him.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle?"

Tom looked at him in confusion.

"Do you know me?" he asked.

Remus put down his quille slowly.

"I've changed my mind," he said. "We're leaving now."