The Broken Victory

Chapter 03: Racing Soldiers of Fortune

The next few weeks carried a lost sort of feeling to me. I stared out the window, wondering why all the snow here seemed determined to turn to slush, and then the slush to mud. Even now, in the summer, the weather was still horrid. I was surprised this wasn't blamed on me as well. Sighing, I turned away, feeling depressed enough already. It was several months after the Christmas party, or maybe mere days. It was hard to tell at times, though the calendar in the dining hall supported the former time frame. Everything around me seemed blurred, unreal, although not much had changed. Mrs. Blunt still made me eat at a separate table in another room because I was not able to partake in the worshipping part of the meal. She'd done this on occasion in the past, but now it was routine. Often, she just neglected to give me food altogether. Trevor still beat me up, though perhaps a bit more now, since Mr. Blunt did not seem too keen on protecting me at all. In fact, whenever I breathed it seemed Mrs. Blunt would sharply reprimand me, saying my behavior was unfit and I should be turned out. Nothing new on her part, of course... only, now, Mr. Blunt was looking thoughtful as she said it, instead of slightly upset or embarrassed.

In truth, Trevor and Sean took turns with thrashings, and they were often encouraged or helped by others. Sean at least had the minimal reasoning of protecting his younger students, though I dismissed it as a thin excuse concocted by a feeble mind. I did little to fight back, feeling I almost deserved the pain. It at least gave me some feeling other than guilt at my actions, or confusion. Evil should be punished, be beaten, shouldn't it? What I had done to Jiminy was definitely not good. And if someone like Jiminy thought that I was a demon, even if it was solely because that foolishness had been pumped into him by a passel of ignorant others, it said something, didn't it? If I really was good, it would show - or else everyone around me was just as bad. Or blind. The uncertainty of which answer was the truth, if either, plagued my thoughts constantly, and it frustrated me that no answer materialized. I began to almost welcome the few moments of relief which came with the blackouts Sean and Trevor ever so kindly gave to me.

I grew quite fond of the snake, which I found out was a male (a strapping male, he informed me proudly). To me, he just looked like a garter snake, but since he was the only one who would talk to me, I didn't say so. He couldn't tell me his name, because apparently snakes kept their true names concealed with select family members, and we were not close enough yet, or something like that. He offered me the nickname Snicks, which I accepted. I stayed inside often. Locked away in the dorm room, safely out of reach of the others, I curled up with Snicks or a book. It was warmer that way, especially since I was underfed, nursing bruises and sprains, and had no warm clothing. And I wouldn't have to interact with anyone, which I had no reason to.

It was on one of these miserable afternoons that I was sitting cross-legged on a chair, shivering slightly as the drapes shifted in the breeze, rereading The Wasteland with Snicks hanging around my neck, that everything changed.

The windows were open because the glass had been broken and left unfixed years ago, and often odd things flew in; insects, some birds, once a bat. Still, I was unprepared for the soft, cooing hoot behind my head. Snicks was first to shift, as I was absorbed in the poem and had no desire to move. Then I heard the fluttering of wings, and suddenly a small brown owl perched itself on the arm of the chair. It eyed me curiously, extending a stumpy leg with an envelope attached to it. It leaned forward, hooting and watching me expectantly.

My first reaction was to swivel my head to the door, searching for some sign that this was a prank. Not seeing anyone, I hesitantly but curiously reached out and took the letter. It was done on some thick type of parchment, and the handwritten address had an odd, loopy slant to it. It was addressed to: Mr. Thomas Marvolo Riddle, Orphanage Dormitory Without Windows.

I had never received mail before in my life. Why would I? Why was I now, for that matter? I carefully placed the book aside and hurriedly ripped open the envelope and shook out a letter written on the same parchment, my hands trembling from excitement and wonder. Inside the letter it stated:

Dear Mr. Riddle,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore,
Deputy Headmaster

Psychosis seems a reasonable assumption, doesn't it? I thought to myself as I turn to the next page, which read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Uniform
First-year students will require:
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)
Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name-tags

Course Books
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
Standard Spells (Grade 1) by Martin Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
Beginning Transfigurations by Mordicus Wibclick
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phylllida Spore
Potions and Drafts: A Beginners Guide by Clamitus Hisserling
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
Dark Arts Defense Techniques by Trip Arfittle

Other
1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS
ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

I realized that I hadn't been breathing in awhile and sucked in great gasps. My mind was floundering as I read the pages over and over again, completely lost. What were they talking about? What was Hogwarts - what was a magic school at all, anyway? My mind raced, stimulated but wary. Did it have something to do with those two people who had crashed the Christmas party?

I was still stupefied when Snicks slithered up onto my arm and read over my shoulder. "Ahh," he said knowingly. "You are accsssepted into Hogwartsss. Congratulationsss, it isss a very well known sssschool."

Immediately I turned and pounced on him (figuratively, of course.) "You understand what this means?"

Snicks looked at me as if my stupidity was beyond comprehension. "You don't?"

I shook my head. "I've never heard of any of this before-what is it?"

Snicks looked curious. "I just assssumed, "he began thoughtfully, "that you would know. It ssseemed obviousss. Well, Hogwartsss isss a ssschool for people, children really, who have great magical talent. It isss a place where they are trained."

It didn't seem real.

It couldn't be real, my mind decided. But then, neither could my speaking with snakes, or floating and hurting Mrs. Blunt be real. They decidedly weren't normal events. I'd always been told, though, that those acts were demonic behavior... "It's incredible," I said softly. "I don't know anything about magic!"

Snicks snorted. "What are you talking about? You possesss great capabilitiesss, even I can senssse that. I cannot think of anyone else who can ssspeak with ssssnakes."

"But that's just an abnormality, a-a deformity." Snicks began to look very indignant, so I quickly rephrased. "I mean, I always thought that, - well, I'd always been told that such things were because I was part demon. N-Not that I was-that I was-magical." I fingered my chain. "That things like that were wrong." I'd never wanted to believe that I was demonic, but a part of my stubborn refusal had belied a wondering of whether that label wasn't true.

Snicks looked very upset, his pale tongue flickering. "Who told you thisss? The people who live here? Do not lisssten to them, they do not understand. Ssssome people use sssuch powers for evil, but there are some wizsssards who do nothing but good."

A chill came over me at the sound of my new designation, and a smile spread. Wizard, I thought. The word brought exciting images that I'd read about to my mind; pictures of great, powerful figures who could control time and matter, who were wise and gave guidance, people who were - respected. Not evil, but valuable. People whose oddities had meaning and a purpose, not to be shunned but cultivated. Of course, the Blunts' wouldn't agree with such things; I'd had to sneak to the library to teach myself anything of use or find things of interest. And now, fantastical whimsy was made real.

"So you really think I belong here, Snicks?"

"Of courssse. Yesssterday, when the mop attacked Mrs. Blunt, you thought that was coincidencssse?"

The memory made me laugh. "I really didn't mean it," I confessed. "I thought everything I did was so wrong, even if I also thought it felt right. I never did such things on purpose. It felt good, of course, but - now -" I looked as Snicks, feeling my eyes flash. "You mean I can learn to really do these things on purpose? I can control them, use them when I want?"

Snicks looked a bit uncomfortable. "When it isss right," he counseled. "Not on a whim -magic is carefully regulated by the Ministry of Magic, and there are laws -"

"I didn't mean illegally!" I said hotly, feeling my face flame. Why did everyone assume the worst about me? Certainly, the thought of leaving Mrs. Blunt, Trevor, Sean and his goons somewhere in the Arctic Ocean to freeze, or zapping them into baboons, had crossed my mind. But what was wrong with dreaming?

Snicks looked apologetic. "Of courssse not," he hissed, and then slithered away. I didn't give him any attention, focusing my eyes on the Hogwarts crest. A huge relief welled up inside me, a feeling of freedom and lightness I had never experienced before. "I'm not evil," I whispered. Tears came; it was as if all the tension and adrenaline in my body was giving way, allowing emotions to come. For once I didn't force them away, and they didn't hurt.

I heard voices then, and quickly stuffed the papers under the cushion, trying to look inconspicuous. My hands were still shaking, so I clenched them in my lap. Sean and several others crowded into the room, including Trevor. I groaned inwardly. Even though Trevor had always made it a point to not associate with the orphan riffraff, he and Sean seemed to have bonded over their intense dislike of me. Sweet, wasn't it? I hurriedly brushed away the few trickles of tears, fighting back the humiliation of crying even though they didn't seem to have noticed.

Instead, they looked over my head and began talking loudly. Trevor said, "What is that stink in the air? It smells like something rotting - like some wimpy soulless skeleton has been sitting here rotting the air for real people."

"Shove it, Trevor." Subtlety, thy name was Tom.

Sean and the others formed a circle around my body, with Trevor standing right in front of me. His red face flared in haughty amazement. I hadn't fought back in so long, and never this boldly. He wheezed out his next words, trying futilely to sound enforcing. In fact, nothing about him seemed commanding, especially now. And I never gave credit for simple effort.

He roughly said, "What did you say, half-life?"

I stood calmly and looked him in the eyes. Although he was much more filled out than I, and my elder, we were the same height. I didn't raise my voice, simply saying, "I-said-shove-off. While it is such a clever bit, to pretend I am not here while insulting me, the subtlety wore off-oh--when I was two. I would say try to think of a new act, but I hate to smell the frying scent which taxing your brain tends to cause."

Was I asking for it? Absolutely. Trevor's eyes narrowed and he pulled his hand back, ready to strike. However, rather than taking the swing a dim light went off in his eyes. He backed off, smirking, leaving the others and myself gawking in anticipation. His entire face defined smugness. Folding his arms, he said, "Oh, that's very clever, half-life. You are very clever."

That was unexpected. I knew I was walking into a trap, but I was more curious than afraid. "Thank you."

Trevor looked like the cat that ate the canary - except he resembled a deformed hippo more than a feline, but I digress. He said loudly, "Of course, we can't give you all the credit for your cleverness, can we?"

I admit I was still intrigued, and I played along. "Well, I suppose I owe some of it to you all, for being such incredibly easy targets. I don't thank you nearly enough."

"No, that's not what I meant. What I meant is, you are possessed. A sick little half-demon. You wouldn't be anywhere near as clever or smart if you weren't controlled by that dark stuff."

The direction this was heading was no longer entertaining for me. Trevor and the others, on the other hand, appeared as if a second Christmas had come. I stayed silent, though hearing the fears in me being voiced was making me fidget.

Trevor did not let up. "Yes, demons can be clever, can't they? At least for tricky sayings and trying to hurt innocent, good humans. But you can't even be good at being evil, can you?"

"Stop it, Trevor, I mean it!" I threatened, feeling defensive rage boil up inside me, taking the place of the fear that he was right. I fought to maintain the commanding coolness I'd felt when first speaking to him after discovering my magic powers.

Trevor was remorseless and unrelenting. "Oh no, since you're only a half-blood, I bet whatever created that side of you is just as disappointed. Compared to others like you, you wouldn't measure up, even with your cleverness!"

"That's it." My voice was hardly quiet, sounding high but chilled. Without thinking, I held out my hand, willing with all my might that now one of those strange occurrences would happen. Turning Trevor into a toad, floating him out the window, floating myself--anything. Anything to prove that he was wrong. I shook my hand furiously, pleading for words to fly from my lips as they had so flawlessly before without a thought.

A moment went by, where nothing happened. Then, after everyone realized that I had failed to materialize anything, they all broke into uproarious laughter. It was mocking and harsh, and as the blood flowed to my face I stared at my hand. Words like failure, half-life, worthless, hopeless, thing ran wild inside my mind, turning my fear and humiliation into a frenzy.

"Riddle." Trevor's voice was slow and taunting, silkily low. I had to face him. As much as I wanted to bolt and never come back, I had to face him. I turned my sweaty, broken countenance towards his.

Trevor had never looked bigger as he clicked his tongue in triumph. "See? You're a pathetic excuse for a human, and obviously not a very good demon, either. You really don't serve any purpose for living, now do you? It doesn't matter where you live, anywhere would have given you up, being the plaguing burden to every society that you are." He approached slowly; relishing the way this slow torture twisted my face. He had me broken and defeated, and there was no way he would let this opportunity go by. "But we can fix that, can't we, boys? Fix it so you'll never be a bother to life again. No one would care, who even thinks you're alive now anyway? Do you?"

This last question he punctuated with an uppercut to my jaw. Still, I doubt I would have answered anyway; words had failed me, everything about myself had failed me. I lay there limply as they proceeded to kick in my ribs, grinning with each crack, slapping each other's backs with glee as more blood came out of me. The pain was overwhelming. Trevor lifted me so Sean could angle at my stomach and face easier, while others had taken wooden planks to my shins and knees. Instinctively I howled out, but it sounded base and unnatural even to me. As if the sound was raw and empty, inhuman. After a while, I didn't feel any of it anymore. I collapsed into the pulsing sensation I felt as my heart tried to continue beating. I didn't remember willing it to do anything. Time ceased to exist, and everywhere I was numb. Consciousness was fleeting, and I found myself welcoming the blackness, wanting to escape into my own mind rather than face the beating.

After a while it all stopped. I didn't even realize right away that it had ended, so hazy was my consciousness by that point. Eventually, though, I was pulled back to reality to find Trevor leaning over me. His eyes were passionately alive with the zeal that only seems to come from deep hatred. In a voice breathing malice he said, "You'd better find someplace else to be, half-life. Once I tell mum and dad what you tried to do, even if you failed miserably, they'll throw you out. You know it's true, you might as well leave before they call the police." He stood up, sniggering at his and the others' handiwork. In a voice dripping with sarcasm he said, "If you can, that is."

With that, he and the others left me there on the floor. Snicks drew up close to me, stained with my blood. He'd had to crawl through it to get to me after the fight was done. During it, he must have been hiding. All I could say was, "It's true." My voice was soft and cracked, and as I coughed, I tasted metallic fluid. I could not move yet, but soon I would have no choice. Where was I to go? I didn't seem to possess any magical talent after all. The letter was a fraud, a joke - a mistake.

And yet, I couldn't just lie there. I couldn't give up and do nothing but wait to be carted off. The humiliation and self-loathing remained, but it was partially tempered by the beating and an instinctive defensiveness that never fully left me.

Snicks waited with me, leaving only to fetch me the acceptance letter. I had no doubt that they would retract their admission once I got there, but I had no choice. Trying to see though the blood crusting near my eyes, I read the letter again, trying to reclaim some semblance of the joy it gave me. I listened to Snicks say that he couldn't guide me, that all he knew was that the train I needed to catch was at a 'platform nine and three-quarters', which he had heard from another snake.

Talking was painful. "Well, we don't have a choice, now do we? Why should anything be easy? We'll head for there."

A coughing fit overtook me, sending waves of agony though my broken body. I felt a chill sweep over me, and my voice shook as I whispered, "There's nothing here."