The Broken Victory

Chapter 04: On My Own, With Some (Dumb) Luck

I lay there, time being of the essence and yet simultaneously having no meaning. Reason told me to move and I did so slowly, wincing from the questions shrieking in my mind. I couldn't understand what had gone wrong -other times I had sent Trevor flying down the stairs or had him begin to pummel himself. There had even been one time when he had collapsed on the floor in a fit of agony before me, while I muttered some strange sounding words. The details of that occurrence were blurry, and I didn't think Trevor remembered it at all. It wasn't a very settling memory for me, either, since I hadn't really been in control. My intellect hadn't been guiding me; no, something deep within me had burst out with an energy so primal and essential it had taken over. The only familiar thought during it had been one of self-preservation and anger. Part of my demon half, I had supposed. Yet it hadn't been done consciously, though I had wanted something bad to happen to him. And back then, before having any knowledge of it being magic, it had worked. Now, when I had wanted nothing more than to actively punish Trevor and them all, nothing had happened. I couldn't figure it out, and that troubled me to no end.

Snicks began softly hissing, "We have to leave here. They'll be back sssoon."

I moved, but barely faster. A part of me didn't care. I was too deeply frustrated and confused. "I don't want to go to this school anymore. They'll only toss me right out again, like every place would. I can't do magic correctly, just look what happened!" The anguish in my tone overrode my petulant stubbornness.

Snicks looked curious. "Yesss," he agreed. "That wasss sssome powerful ssstuff that almossst happened."

Snicks was obviously blind. I glared at him, annoyed by his innocent look, and snarled. "What fight were you watching?"

"Yoursss. I am amazed that sssomething could ssstop you from putting a curssse on him. You ssseemed ssso determined, and I could almost sssense the energy leave you."

No, not blind. Snicks was obviously insane. "What curse? I didn't do anything!"

Snicks looked annoyed. "Why would I lie? Sssnakes sssense thessse thingsss."

A funny feeling came over me; I wanted to believe Snicks with every thread of my heartstrings. And, despite my natural skepticism, I did. It was a desperate bid for anything to latch onto. "I couldn't sense anything. Why would someone or thing stop me?" Then, a bit wounded, "How would they?"

Snicks shrugged, and then said in a flippant ...flippant tone, "Maybe it wasss a guardian angel."

At that, I snorted. "Right, yes, a guardian angel. I know about those things. Aren't they supposed to keep you from getting the stuffing kicked out of you?"

Snicks looked wary. "Tom," he said slowly, "you looked ready to kill him, if you could. I don't know what curssse you were trying, but it might have been something seriousss."

"Well, it didn't work, and I haven't a clue what I said, so -"

"There'sss many reasonsss why it might not have worked. But the energy you gave off...ssssuch magic mussst be a very deep part of who you are." Snicks looked serious, and respectful. "You must learn to control thessse powersss, ssso it does not happen again unwillingly."

I thought about it. I truly, desperately, wanted to believe Snicks. Perhaps he was merely fooling me, but some stubborn bit of my ego latched onto what he was saying. I could recall feeling something odd when the strange things about me occurred. It was hard not to think I was the cause of all the insanity. Even when I'd been called a demon, it was for being able to do things others around me couldn't. That must have meant something, and maybe it truly was magic. The thought didn't really lift my spirits from the dismay, horror, and confusion over what had gone wrong. Even if I'd never been able to control it in the past, the thought that something had prevented me, or that I was maybe unable to act on command, still haunted my mind. In an effort to cover it up I said, "I don't really see what would be so terrible not having Trevor around."

Snicks looked at me warily, as if he couldn't tell if I were joking or not. "Think of what would have happened, if you had taken a life, even one like Trevor'sss."

I thought about that, too, as I mincingly got to my feet. "You're right," I finally conceded. "His parents love him, poor things. There's no way I could have sneaked out of this house and gotten away if I had killed him. And now, I have no choice but to go to school."

Snicks rolled his little black eyes and sighed. "Exactly. That is precisely what I meant." He shook his head. "You children, Tom, I don't know about you all."

I froze, and said to him very slowly and distinctly. "I am being serious. And I was never a child."

Snicks looked at me, cautiously and a little chastised. "I am sssorry, Tom."

I looked away, cautiously walking to my bed. In a snarky tone that belied ...belie my unsteady nerves, I replied, "And don't call me Tom. You obviously don't know me well enough to call me by my real name."

Snicks answered, "I'm not."

I stared at him, my head whirling enough, but I had to ask, "All right, then what is my real name?"

Snicks got a faraway look in his eyes, and answered seriously, "Just a sussspicion...you're not jussst the Tom Riddle of here."

"Right. Of course." Something in what he was saying made me want to scream out in agreement. Inside I felt a connection to his declaration, and a need to prove it true. There was little of the Tom Riddle here that I enjoyed of late. I staggered about the room, trying to control the swaying emotions inside. Cautiously I tested my body - it was painful, but everything seemed to ...work. I was amazed I wasn't hurt worse, but after all that Snick had told me I wouldn't be surprised if I flew.

Snicks didn't seem to share in my churning emotions. He merely said, "We must get going."

"Right," I answered. It was relieving, to have his solidness. I fought to adopt it as I grasped my pillowcase. Quietly, I crept to the hallway and made sure everyone was downstairs eating. Then I raced to the back of the manor and made my way down the old servants staircase. This part of the orphanage had been sealed off years ago to the children, having been converted to the Blunts' private living space. Snicks was curled on my shoulder, and made no sound until I turned toward the Blunts' study instead of the door to the outside.

"What are you doing?!" he hissed at me, but I ignored him. I slowly turned the door and stepped inside, not bothering to light a candle. I went straight for the phony looking books, pulled one cover aside and revealed an ancient safe. I had been down here often enough to know the exact combination. I was excellent at sneaking around. When one was constantly regarded with suspicion, it became a way of life. "We need money, don't we?" was my only comment, and Snicks stopped at the steel in my voice. I reached out to it, placing my hand against its worn knob.

And I immediately screamed out it pain as the flesh on my hand was seared. I tried to pull it away, but it seemed suctioned to it, drawing some mystical pattern on my palm in a ferocious zeal. I felt as though my entire essence was being dragged through my palm into the vault I had been about to plunder. Coherent thought again left me as I bit my lip to silence myself. Finally I was flung on my back. Wrenching my hand in close, I dizzily examining it. A bleeding imprint of a wiggling white serpent grinning at me atop a skull with a beard stood out in a burnt puff. Blood was oozing down my arm, leaving its dark mark on me. As I stared in silence, the blood seemed to drain further and further out of me. Which side of me the blood carried, I wasn't sure. Slowly the symbol disappeared, wearing itself out until no sign of it or the blood was left.

Panting, I once again became aware of my surroundings. Snicks was frantic, hurriedly urging me on as he heard footsteps coming. Apparently my screams had been real enough. Jumping up, I raced to the vault, praying nothing would interfere. I cringed as I touched it, but this time the metal only felt smooth and cool, with nothing to deter me. I spun the lock around and hastily grabbed all the contents inside, shoved them into my pillowcase that I had brought along, and raced out.

I ran like I never had before. The freedom I felt was trapped by the distancing howls I heard at the orphanage. Every sound pushing me further, echoing inside. I could never go back; indeed, never would they let me now. But if I was caught I would certainly be punished, jailed even. They would find it an appropriate sentence for something like me. But the fear of that didn't override me. I stared at the bag in my hand, my breath pulsing through me as my heart beat violently against its cage. And I saw nothing but justice.

Several days went by as I trudged through England. My eyes soaked in everything about me with a sense of wonder and uncertainty. Buildings rose high, and streets were crowded. At Newcastle, the most I'd seen had been the inside of the orphanage, the short walk to the nearby church, or the library I occasionally sneaked into. The amount of all the people I had seen in my lifetime so far was surpassed in two days on the streets. Men in suits and women in dresses walked with purpose, and I blended in as much as I could. Everyone diverted their eyes from the recent ruins caused by the war waging in Europe, their faces flinching at any whistling sound I came to understand as bombers. I fought my instinct to stare at the destruction and follow along with the socially acceptable attitude of indifference or ignorance. For the first few days I failed and gaped at everything before jading myself enough. The wearing prospect of not making it to London on time was enough to make me forget everything external to my needs.

Snicks said he thought the station was in London... or Australia. I chose to believe London, to keep some measure of sanity and hope alive. I knew full well where the orphanage was. It was in Newcastle upon Tyne, far north of London. I was also good with directions, having years ago memorized the entire map of England and many other places for the sole purpose of knowing. Since I was also used to dealing with situations on my own, I was confident enough never to turn back. At first I was cautious of trying to get rides, because I was afraid someone would suspect that I had escaped from the orphanage and try to take me back. Finally though, I was too tired from walking with nothing to eat and drinking only muddy water that I could not manage. Sleeping outdoors even in the summer was harsh, as it rained a great deal, and I only had the one pair of clothes on my back to wear. I could have stopped somewhere to rest or shop, but I was too afraid to miss the chance to go to Hogwarts. September first was fast approaching.

The first evening I had counted the money I had taken from the Blunts. It was a small amount; I would have to be sparse with it. I worriedly asked Snicks if Hogwarts required a tuition fee. If there was, there would be no way I could afford it. He didn't know. There was also a strange envelope in the case, marked with ink that had the initials S.S. on it. I had torn it open, only to find copies of the files the Blunts had on me that I had read years ago. Curiously, there were now other letters. They must have been added to the safe after the Christmas party, though they looked just as old as the others. Perhaps Blunt had just moved them to the safe recently. One was from a woman to someone she called Salazar. The man seemed to be dead, but nonetheless she was pleading to him to watch over her and her son, even though she made it apparent that he had turned her down for help many times before. She was bitter in the note, a tad selfish at times it seemed, but her entreaties were heartfelt. It took me a second to realize that she must have been my mother, and I sucked my breath in. Her words. Her handwriting - the loopy scrawl was determined and passionate, in my mind. I went over and over it, drawing from it whatever I could. I pictured a woman with dark hair and light eyes. I had to imagine her that way, for I was the only reference I had to the way she might look.

Snicks started to hiss at me. The morning light was dawning, and I had to move quickly from behind the inn where I'd slept, or I'd probably get into trouble. But I couldn't just yet...I was locked in a moment, trying to create a memory. A possessive anger flared at whatever might have caused her to be bitter. It melted away into uncertainty, and I stared down at my scruffy self. I had been told I'd killed her in childbirth. The midwives apparently saw me draw her life out to sustain my own. Intellectually, I knew this was ludicrous. And yet I couldn't help but wonder what she really had thought of me...if she had she even seen me or cared. I swallowed painfully, my throat constricted. I wouldn't be weak or emotional. I decided she wouldn't have wanted me to, anyway. It was easier to think of her as above most emotions than to wonder whether she hadn't had them for me. I focused on what I had come to know as important. She seemed strong from the letter, and smart. And she was magical...she had to be. Often enough I'd heard that she, herself, had been demonic. I felt my ego lift at realizing she had been misunderstood the same way. Even more so now, I had to go to Hogwarts.

Other questions buzzed in my head. Why would the Blunts have this? Who was this Salazar?

I had anxiously reached for the second letter, which I could tell was from my father. This one was typed, so I had no idea what the writing looked like. It was addressed to Mrs. Blunt, asking her to take me in. It said that he could not save me himself. My heart dropped. Even though I had never seen him, a raw, smarting pain stabbed at me, for my own father had thought I was evil. It wasn't the first time that possibility had arisen. I had been told he thought me a demon. I had even told myself I believed it, for why else would he have left me? And yet, to see it finalized in writing - not even personalized but typed...my fingers curled, crushing the parchment. Anger welled up in me--I had never truly known the reason why I had been abandoned. The only thing I had known was that my mother was dead. Because of that, a part of me always assumed that my dad had been sick as well, or deceased, or financially unable to take me in. Regardless of what Mrs. Blunt said or what I intellectually knew, I had to admit a small part of me had hoped it wasn't so. I should have known - I had known. Flights of fancy and longing were for children, and I chastised myself for falling for it.

But in the letter I found that he funded a great deal of money to the Blunts. He had to have known they wouldn't use it for the orphanage. He had to have had an inkling about what kind of people the Blunts were. And if he han't, then he had abandoned me with perfect strangers. All because he feared me. He called my mother a demon, and said that he would pray that I be saved, but he couldn't risk taking me in. Apparently, it would devastate the others in his life. He seemed to try and reason this out with such intellectual detachment I felt ill. 'It was better if the child grew up with people who would be neutral to the situation, not having been betrayed by a demon woman who had born him.' A spiteful laugh came to my throat. Wrong there, father dear. I don't consider the abuse and torture I was put through for eleven years because you abandoned me to be a nice, neutral haven for me. No, not much of a good childhood for the demon you spawned. A bitter hate flowed, filling the old hallow spaces that before had held my impressions towards the man. The coward.

I folded the papers in satisfaction, more prepared than ever to immerse myself in this new culture of magic so abhorred by those I detested.

I rose to my feet and continued on. And on, for several days. Finally I managed to get a few rides, but it always cost me some of the precious money. Although I knew I looked pathetic, I didn't count on anyone taking pity on me. I never expected that. One of the drivers couldn't even understand me, although I didn't find my accent to be so different than his. He said mine was a bit Scottish. That might have been true, because the orphanage was so close to the border. My mouth twisted downwards at any memory of that place, but I agreed just to be civil. He said he liked my accent, and that he would cut my charges if I sang songs to pass the time.

Well, I couldn't afford not to. Snicks sniggered the whole time as I willed a death curse on either him or the driver. But I must have sang fairly well, for he even dropped me off at the Kings Cross station. I paid him, and my voice was too hoarse to tell Snicks off, so I merely glared at him as I searched for the ridiculous platform number. Nine and three-quarters. Snick's told me it was somewhere between platform nine and ten, and I said that was a brilliant observation and trudged over there. I stood before the platforms, looking everywhere, but seeing no sign. I felt tears come that I hastily choked back. I was so exhausted at this point, my body aching from walking and little food or sleep. My feet hurt and I was chilled from my seemingly endless journey, and I still hadn't arrived at my destination. Nor had I a clue what to do next. I bet none of the other kids had to go through this, I thought bitterly. They all had someone to show them the way, but all I had was myself. And once again, that wasn't good enough.

Just as I was peaking in my bout of self-pity I saw a truly amazing sight that made me stop sniffling. A tall man dressed in outrageous clothing with piercing blue eyes and a calm expression actually stepped out of the wall between platforms 9 ¾ as if nothing unusual were happening! I blinked, looking around to see if anyone else found this odd, but it seemed no one else had noticed. Hoping I wasn't hallucinating, I ran frantically over to the man, placing myself right in his path and exclaimed, "How did you do that?"

The man's brow furrowed slightly. "Do what?" he said.

"Walk through that wall like that?!" I pointed behind him for emphasis.

The man's eyes widened a bit before snapping back to certainty, and he tried to walk past me. "You must be dreaming, son," he said.

I held my ground. "No," I said stubbornly. "I saw you." The man paused at that, and realizing I only had one chance I rambled on rapidly. "Please sir, could you tell me if you are from Hogwarts? I am supposed to go there, but I have no clue how to get to it - and I need all of these supplies, and I have no idea how to get them either! And no one can help me, or will help me -"

"No one was sent for you?" the man interrupted, somehow not intrusively. His brow furrowed again ever so faintly as I rambled on breathlessly.

"No, sir, and I just want to go there, I can't go back, please, if you can tell me anything, I-"

"Hold on," the man said, smiling a little. His blue eyes, lighter than mine, twinkled a bit as he lowered himself to my eye level and grasped me by the shoulders. I paused, panting heavily, trying to fight back the well of tears that threatened to erupt again. I was not usually that emotional, but then I was on the verge of hysterics.

The man said, "You are to go to Hogwarts, you say?"

I nodded, forcing a calming not into my voice. I handed him my letter as proof. "Yes, sir. Here."

"Well, now, let me see." The man examined it. He read my name out loud. "Thomas Marvolo Riddle," and then looked away, as if trying to remember something. Suddenly his eyes brightened. "Ah, yes!" he said, turning back to me. "I recognize your name."

I was flabbergasted. "H - how could you?"

The man stood tall, a slight smile that held some pride evident on his face. "It is by some very good luck you ran into me. I am the deputy headmaster at Hogwarts, Mr. Riddle. I remember your name being on the new roster."

My eyes widened. "You remember all the names?"

A small snort escaped, sounding odd coming from him. "Of course I do! I remember everything important like that - except which flavor bean the pale pink color is. I always assume it is cotton candy, forgetting vomit is also that color."

I stared at the man, questioning his sanity. "Vomit beans?"

The man looked startled, then laughed. "Oh, that's right, Mr. Riddle! You are from the Muggle world - non magic people, that is. Well, never mind, you'll catch on quickly enough, you seem like a bright lad." He punctuated that with a gentle pat on my head.

I jostled out of it quickly, infuriated by his condescending tone. I was not like those other people - the Muggles. People like my father or the Blunts. And I hated to be treated like a child. I told him as much, my voice cold. "I prefer not to be talked down to or touched. And I have no intention of trying your vomit beans."

The man looked slightly startled and embarrassed, and a moment of silence ensued while we just stared at each other. Then he shrugged, his smile returning to easy, and said, "Very well. You do not know what you're missing with Bertie's Beans, though. I am Professor Dumbledore. I teach Transfiguration at Hogwarts, in addition to being the Deputy Headmaster." While I was now questioning the intelligence of my outburst, my worst fear was confirmed when he added casually, "And I will most definitely be one of your teachers this semester."

Of course, I thought. "Great," I gritted out loud. I turned to Snicks, who was beginning to slide down my back. "Get back up, your scales are cold," I commanded, and Snicks, grumbling from missing the little heat he could get from being inside my shirt, slithered out. I turned back then to see Dumbledore staring at me with a look of barely concealed amazement and caution. I stared back, wondering what I had done now.

"Did you just communicate with that snake?" Dumbledore asked me a bit sharply. His long finger pointed at Snicks, who stared back offended. I glanced at both of them, than answered, "Erm, yes - he's not a pest though. Well, not most of the time. And he said to tell you he prefers to be called Snicks."

"You spoke to him?" Dumbledore seemed stuck on that.

I shrugged, not getting the big deal. "Yes. Is there something wrong with that?"

Dumbledore finally stopped staring. Straightening up he declared, "No, Mr. Riddle, there is nothing wrong with it. It is simply..." he paused there a moment before saying, "An unusual ability, shall we say. Not many people can do it."

"Really?" I said, thinking back to the man at the Christmas party. He had said something similar to that, like he couldn't have caused me to talk to Snicks.

Dumbledore didn't seem to share in my curious enthusiasm. He merely said, "No one that I know can. Well, follow me."

His look was odd enough that I did not push him further, feeling I had ruined my reputation with one of my teachers well enough. Good one, Tom, lets see how many people of the magical world I can alienate myself from! My stomach sunk even while my mind was joking. The last thing I needed was to be a weird outcast with unseen strange abilities in a magic school.

Dumbledore led me across town, his pace swift. I tried my best to keep up, and I had long legs, but I was still practically running. When we drew up to a bar called the Leaky Cauldron I swore thanks, leaning over to catch my breath before being escorted inside. The inside was crammed with strange looking people, all wearing clothing similar to the long, loose swirls of bright color that Dumbledore was. I felt very out of place in my faded blue trousers and filthy gray shirt. It was extremely loud, and smoke from somewhere burned my eyes. I wanted to leave as quickly as possible, but Dumbledore became sidetracked and stepped away from me for a moment to talk to some redheaded man in a brown cloak and turban.

I tried to focus, but the lighting made me dizzier, and all colors seemed to spring forth. All of a sudden, one of the men at the bar turned, and I felt fright lock my body into place. I didn't see a face, but rather a serpentine mask encasing his countenance. Through a parting in his long black cloak I saw scars of the same symbol that had appeared on my palm encase his body, oozing and bloody. Only, the blood on him was green and silver. Suddenly all the men at the bar turned, bearing identical scars. Drones was the only word for them, their faces shadowed by hoods. They were chanting loudly in a screeching, rhythmic choral voice, bowing down to the man in the mask, who floated over to me. All he passed by screamed in pain, and the walls were covered in blood. He reached me and took my hand, shooting freezing waves of ice throughout my veins. All I saw was red liquid everywhere; it covered my body. He released me, and my hands then clenched the chain I wore. The silver was smooth and I thought I was caressing it, but it suddenly broke and began squirting blood over my face. Dark shadows floated above, forcing feelings of guilt, shame, remorse and fear inside me. I turned for help, only to see a child standing over me. A child smaller than me, with eyes that held nothing but pity and fear. Pity and fear for me. Or anger? I tried to walk to him, but the second I reached out to touch him -

"Tom!" Dumbledore was shaking me. I shook my head, trembling all over. I felt completely disoriented. "what -" I stared to say, but then my voice failed.

Dumbledore, when he finally came into focus, looked concerned. "You screamed, and then seemed to freeze. I've been trying to get through to you for almost a minute now." His voice, while trying to be soothing, shook slightly and seemed loud to my still tender ears. He gripped me, not tightly but to hold me up, but I still winced. His tone faintly commanding, he asked, "What did you see?"

I looked around. Everyone was staring at me, whispering. Some were smirking, while others looked terrified. A nervous and embarrassed feeling overtook me, as Dumbledore shook me again. "Forget about them! Just talk to me, Tom. What did you see?"

I turned back, feeling the disapproving gaze of all there looking at me. I had been part of the magic community for less than an hour now, and I was already being seen as a freak. No way was I going to make things worse for myself. I cleared my throat and said in my best lying mode, "I didn't see anything. I just haven't eaten in a few days."

Dumbledore looked suspicious. "Not eating made you scream?"

I nodded, trying to look innocent. "I've been living outside for days now. I just had a pain in my stomach. Maybe I'm coming down with something."

Whether he bought it or not, he seemed to accept it for the moment. Part of me, the still terrified part, wanted him to drag it out of me, but I knew I wouldn't tell. Dumbledore must have known as well, for he merely bought me something to eat, then took me out back. Without saying a word, he tapped the bricks in the wall in a special sequence, and miraculously they parted, leaving me gaping at the wonder that was my first encounter with Diagon Alley. All the while I felt Dumbledore's sharp eyes watching me

...