Killing Me Softly

Mai

Story Summary:
What if Harry was too late in saving Ginny from the Chamber of Secrets? How will this affect the course of history and the relationship between the Boy Who Lived and the young future Dark Lord?

Chapter 05

Posted:
08/31/2006
Hits:
4,737
Author's Note:
Many thanks to my wonderful beta Mortalus. I could not have done it without you. :)

Chapter Five
The Birth of Tom

"He was a funny baby too. He hardly ever cried."
-Mrs. Cole, Half-Blood Prince

*****


Tom was not having a pleasant morning although it had started off nicely. He woke up to find Harry sleeping very close to the edge of the bed in a fetal position. From what Tom could see, the boy was naked. Tom snickered and he magically cast the covers away from Harry, exposing him to the morning cold. Harry grunted in his sleep, but did not wake up.

Tom was surprised to see the snake from yesterday laying on the front porch of the manor.

"Have you heard any news this soon?" Tom asked.

"No, I'm sorry," the snake said. "None of the snakes have heard anything from a man that speaks their tongue. Sorry I could not find him. I searched everywhere."

Tom's eyes narrowed. "How far did you search?"

"All around this forest" the snake said proudly as though that was a great accomplishment.

Tom sighed exasperatedly and brought one hand over his eyes. "If I wanted to find someone in this forest, I could have easily done it myself," he said. He steadied himself so he wouldn't lash out at the dim-witted snake. "I want you to search other lands, lands beyond this forest and Muggle town."

"There are other lands?"

"Yes!" Tom nearly screamed. "How old are you? You never traveled outside this forest? Never mind. Just search the entire country! Have other snakes join in with you! You must find Lord Voldemort!"

"Yesss, sir," the snake said, and it continued to sit in its place. It kept staring at Tom.

"I don't have any mice with me," he said coldly. "Just go. Find him."

"Yes, sir," the snake said. "I will do that now."

He watched the snake slither away into the forest. He hoped the idiot wouldn't mess up again, and if it did, it would suffer greatly.

Tom spent enough time in the Muggle town to get breakfast. When he returned, he found an owl waiting for him in the living room. He set the cartons of breakfast down and went to retrieve the letter from the owl. However, instead of a letter, the owl carried a flat rectangular package. Tom gave the owl a pat after taking the parcel, and the owl left right away. Tom settled down on a nearby sofa chair and unwrapped the package.

It was a mirror. Before Tom could do anything, it vibrated in his hands and an image began to form on the mirror. It was not Tom's reflection looking back at him, but instead an old bespectacled wizard. Tom brought his legs up on the sofa chair and crossed them. He propped the mirror on his legs and rested back on the chair.

"Hello, Professor," he greeted casually, as though it were just yesterday that he had last seen his former teacher.

"Nice to see you, Tom," Professor Dumbledore said. "You are looking quite healthy for your age."

"I found a terrific way to preserve my youth," Tom said.

"I noticed. I have your diary with me."

"So you returned to Hogwarts? You never leave that place for long, do you?" Tom smiled. "I brought a friend into the school. Have you met him?"

"I killed the basilisk," Professor Dumbledore said a little pleasantly. "I am relieved to report that it did not take away any more lives." Tom bit his lower lip, a bit disappointed. But it did not matter. He would rid the world of Muggle-borns soon enough. "Where is Harry?"

"Upstairs, naked, and unconscious," Tom replied.

Professor Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. "What have you done to him?" he demanded.

"Nothing life-threatening," Tom assured him. He couldn't stop his mouth from twisting into a sinister smile. He was sure his eyes were flashing red at that moment. He thought he caught a glint of tiredness on Professor Dumbledore's face. "There is nothing I can do to endanger his life, Professor. Harry Potter will live on forever, as will I."

"What do you mean? Where are you right now?"

"Does it look like I will tell you, dear Professor?" Tom laughed.

"Are you in your father's house?"

"Getting colder."

"Don't play games with me. You murdered a young girl, and you took a boy -"

"And did things to the boy that would make your hair rise on end," Tom quickly added. He received a frown from Professor Dumbledore. Tom briefly wondered how far he had to go in order to push the old wizard into a heart attack.

Professor Dumbledore continued to survey him for a while before speaking. "I get the sense that you have done something you will later regret."

"I fail to see how that is possible," Tom said in a mockingly sweet voice. "Care to enlighten me?"

Professor Dumbledore ignored him. "I also sense that you are hunting for your older self."

"Maybe, maybe not."

"It is wise not to go after him, if you wish to follow an old man's advice."

"Why is that?" Tom raised an eyebrow.

"You haven't seen what your older self is like, Tom. He will not care about you. He will hurt you - kill you - if it means great gain to him."

Had Dumbledore lost a few brain cells? Tom wondered. He shrieked with laughter. "I must disagree, Professor. My older self will welcome me with open arms. Together we will cure the cancer that is spreading in the wizarding community."

"No, Tom, listen -"

"My breakfast is getting cold, and I am growing hungry," Tom interrupted. "I must go now. Do get some rest, dear Professor. It seems like the lack of a good night's sleep has made you delirious."

"Tom -" Dumbledore tried again angrily.

"Please do not bother sending another one of these mirrors to me," Tom interrupted again. "Goodbye, good sir." With his wand, Tom magically banished the mirror from his lap. It disintegrated in midair.

"Tom?"

Tom turned around to the source of the voice. Harry was standing outside the living room, looking in.

"Who were you talking to?" Harry questioned. He sounded a little sleepy.

"Nobody," Tom replied coldly.

"Was that Professor Dumbledore?" Harry continued. "I thought I recognized his voice."

"You're hearing things in your head," Tom said.

"No I'm not," Harry said firmly. "There was something about a basilisk."

"None of your precious friends were hurt," Tom snapped. A wave of relief passed over Harry, and Tom felt angry at himself for giving away this fact. He got up and pushed Harry aside. "Follow me if you want to eat something this morning."

Harry was silent until he was halfway done with his pancakes.

"I know it was Professor Dumbledore," he said, more to himself than to Tom. "He sounded very tired."

"You think too much about Dumbledore," Tom grumbled.

"I think I do," Harry said. He stared at his own plate, and a tiny smile broke on his tried face.

"Why are you smiling?" Tom asked.

"Nothing," Harry said. "Just remembered a dream I had last night."

"Was it about pretty pink unicorns that saved you from an evil castle full of desolation and anguish?" Tom guessed sarcastically.

"No," Harry said firmly. "It was about Dumbledore when he was younger. He wore a purple suit, and I thought it was funny."

Tom quickly tried to hide his look of shock, but Harry caught a flicker of it. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Tom ignored Harry's question and tried to appear nonchalant about Harry's dream. However, his mind was alive with thoughts and questions. Harry had dreamed the same dream Tom had last night...except it wasn't exactly a dream. It had really happened.

Was Harry glimpsing into my past? Tom wondered. He kept his eyes on Harry until the smaller boy started to feel uncomfortable.

***

That night, Tom dreamt that he was being chased. A playground came into view, and he climbed up the steps of the tallest slide. There was a roof that shielded part of the playground from rainy weather and sun. He was not supposed to be up there, but he continued climbing towards it. He wanted to be on the highest point.

When Tom reached the top, he tripped over his own shoelaces. He fell off the playground set face forward, but he did not hit the ground. Instead he hovered a couple of inches above the ground. He heard shouts, and he turned his head to see four boys ganging up on him. The leader of the gang was blonde and fat. He stared at Tom, surprised at seeing the position he was in.

***

"Had any more dreams about Dumbledore?" Tom asked the next day at breakfast.

Harry shook his head. "Did you?"

Tom snorted. "My dream was stupid. I was chased by this obese blonde kid that I could have easily hexed, yet I didn't."

Harry gasped. "You dreamt about Dudley too?"

Tom's eyes bore into Harry's face. "Dudley?"

"That's my cousin," Harry said before he could stop himself.

"So you had the same dream last night?" Tom said.

"Well..." Harry hesitated.

"This actually happened in your life," Tom guessed.

"Yeah," Harry said, surprised. "How did you know?" Tom just sat there staring at Harry. This wasn't a good sign...He got up abruptly and left the dining room. He ran to the library, picked up Grindelwald's notebook, and heatedly scanned through the notes of the immortality spell.

Grindelwald had said nothing about the two partners getting visions of each others' pasts. Perhaps he didn't know what would happen, having never performed the spell himself. Tom almost ripped the notebook to shreds, but instead he threw it at the walls.

His mind and Harry's were linked...Harry was going to look into his past during the nights...Tom didn't want to share his past with anyone, especially not that little nuisance!

He tried to calm himself. At least he could also look into Harry's past...It couldn't be that bad...

***

If it weren't for the dreams, Harry's time in the manor would have been uneventful. Tom paid little attention to him during the days. Tom was out of the house for most of the morning and afternoon, and when he was in the house, he was usually locked up in the library. Harry was mostly sealed in the bedroom except for bathroom breaks and meals. He found that keeping the curtains closed preserved his sanity; he didn't have to look outside at the beautiful world around him, but the downside was that he soon lost track of time.

The only times Harry and Tom spoke to each other were during meals and right before Tom went to bed. As long as Tom's agenda did not include taking Harry into the laboratory and cutting him up, Harry felt he was in no immediate danger.

Eventually Harry got another book from Grindelwald's library. He didn't dare to return The Enchantress and the Unicorn in case Tom took a look at the cover, so he lied that he had lost the book. Tom didn't believe him, but he gave Harry another book just because he didn't want to be distracted from his work any longer.

The new book was just as bad as the first, but this time it was not because it was raunchy. It was written long ago when sentence structures were different than what Harry was used to, and many of the words were archaic. Harry found himself dozing off after the first page or two, which he did not like. The only thing Harry was uncomfortable with was falling asleep during the day. There was always a chance Tom would attack and hurt him if he napped. Whenever he felt drowsy from the ancient book, Harry would slide out from bed and do something else.

Harry passed the time by cleaning, and when things got too clean, he would purposely mess up a section just so he could have something to do. The bedroom became the most spotless room in the manor.

Sometimes Harry attempted simple exercises and imitated what he remembered seeing in kung fu movies. He wished he had learned any form of martial arts.

Lord Voldemort, the Darkest wizard of modern times, gets defeated by a karate kick to the head, Harry imagined. He laughed.

The dreams became more and more vivid as the days went by. Harry could not just see the past but also could hear, smell, and sense everything. Sometimes he was in Tom's body, and other times he was in someone else's body or completely invisible to everyone in the world. He had the most freedom to look around and feel the textures of Tom's world when he was just a phantom.

The dreams came in no particular order. He dreamt of Tom in the orphanage, at Hogwarts, and in other places Harry did not know. He could not predict what he was going to dream of next. The same was true whenever they revisited Harry's past. There were even visions of Harry's life that he did not remember.

Tom was vicious whenever they revisited his past. One night Harry was jolted awake to Tom screaming at him to get off the bed and sleep on the sofa chair. Harry complied, but when he went to take the covers with him, Tom fought to keep the entire blanket to himself. In the end, Harry slept on the sofa chair with the blankets only covering his stomach and privates while Tom slept close to the foot of the bed, grumbling under his breath the entire remainder of the night. They both held tight to the blanket.

He didn't have to blow up like that, Harry thought angrily as he stared at the lump on the bed that was Tom. All I saw was a four-year old version of him being spanked by one of his caretakers.

Harry decided to pester Tom with what he had seen in the dream. "Is your butt still red like a tomato, Tommy?" Harry asked innocently during next breakfast. "You were such a cute yet naughty little brat." He dodged as Tom sent a cup flying into his face.

The following night, Harry dreamt of a time when he was three. He wanted to get his Aunt Petunia's attention, but she was busy tending to Dudley. Harry kept tugging at her skirt and calling out her name. He then tugged too hard, and the skirt fell to the floor. Aunt Petunia shrieked, and Harry received a big slap across his face.

It was Harry's turn to get pestered during breakfast the next day.

A few nights later, Harry dreamt that he was flying on a broomstick for the first time, and he was holding on for dear life. He was terrified of flying, but he tried his best to cover it up with a calm expression.

A classmate ahead of him looked back and smiled. Harry was surprised at her haircut. It was very short and curly. He didn't remember any of his classmates with this hairstyle...then it occurred to him

I'm in Tom's memories again. Harry looked around him at 1930s Hogwarts. He was surrounded by Slytherin students, most of who looked more proper and clean than the Slytherin students of Harry's time. It felt odd to see the Slytherins look at him and giving him a big smile and wave. Tom must have been popular at school.

Down below, he heard an unfamiliar voice call the students down. Some of the students flew down and landed without trouble. Others took time but still landed safely. Harry, on the other hand, didn't know what to do. He couldn't maneuver the broomstick anymore. He tried going down, and suddenly he was plummeting to the ground at lightening speed.

No! No! No! Harry thought fearfully. He let out a high-pitched scream.

Harry woke up, and he quickly covered his mouth with his hands. He couldn't stop himself; the giggles erupted. Two hands grasped him around the neck.

"Let me go!" Harry choked and fought back. Tom's eyes were flashing red from the rage, and he was blushing. Tom dragged Harry out of the bedroom and threw him into the bathroom. Harry's back collided with the bathtub, and a bolt of pain struck his shoulder. Harry moaned and massaged the wound.

"It's not my fault you're a horrible flyer!" he screamed at Tom. "You would laugh too if it was me!"

"Because you deserve to be laughed at!" Tom yelled. "But not me! You never laugh at me!" He looked like he was about to throttle Harry, but fortunately he didn't. He slammed the door instead and put a ward around it, leaving Harry behind in the dark.

Harry made himself comfortable in the bathtub. He shivered because of the cold surface although he was wearing an undershirt that belonged to Grindelwald. Having a blanket would have been nice...and some underwear. He rested his head on his arms, but he couldn't fall asleep.

An idea was developing in his mind. Although Harry was caged in the manor with nothing to defend himself, he still had a great weapon: an insight into Tom's past. Tom obviously was not pleased by this. Harry was not pleased by the link either, but maybe there was something that could explain things to Harry about Tom...maybe it could show Harry why Tom became the way he was...

The next day Harry waited until Tom left the manor after breakfast. He retrieved The Enchantress and the Unicorn from where it lay under the bed. On the cover, the maiden and her unicorn were lazing about on the grass. Harry tugged hard on the front cover in order to rip it out from the book.

He accidentally ripped the cover art right along the unicorn's neck. Although he couldn't hear her, the enchantress seemed to be screaming and grieving over her torn unicorn. Harry felt bad, so he quickly ripped out the artwork and crumpled it to end the misery. He threw it aside and returned to the hardcover. He shredded it down into sturdy strips and set them aside when he was done.

Turning his attention to the drawer, Harry picked out a small glass sculpture of a bluebird. Hopefully Tom would not notice it was missing. Harry took the glass model and cracked it against the bed frame.

Carefully he brought a sharp edge to the tip of his left index finger. Red droplets seeped from his finger as he made an incision. He squeezed some blood onto one of the strips. He took the strip and began writing on the free space inside the book.

Harry recorded all the visions he had of Tom's past. It took him several days to learn to write neater, slower, and smaller. He had to steady his hand and pretend that he was painting because the strips were not as sturdy as a pencil or quill.

Harry would consider his words carefully; he would write down the shortest possible sentences in order to save space. Afterwards he would look over his notes. He tried to arrange the notes to see Tom's life in chronological order. The earliest memory written down was when Tom was about two, and the latest was when Tom was fifteen.

Most of the dreams showed a Tom who was cruel to humans and animals. There was even a dream where a toddler Tom ripped open a teddy bear. Harry shivered at the memory. Tom had had a look of great bliss on his face as he carefully cut the toy down the middle and pulled the stuffing out. He was clearly enjoying hurting the toy. When one of the caretakers caught him, his face flushed and he quickly hid the evidence of the torture. Was Tom always this way?

From Harry's notes, it seemed like Tom was a rotten boy from the very beginning. However, there were some dreams that were puzzling. In one a child Tom was looking out the window of the orphanage and watching a man approach the building. Excitement was mounting in his little chest, and when the man passed the orphanage, the excitement deflated. Tom slinked away from the window, feeling disappointed.

Another time Tom was looking out the window to the rainy sky. An odd feeling was inside of him. He was cold and shivering slightly, but it was not because the room was cold. The chills were coming from somewhere deep inside him. Harry was in Tom's body in this vision, and he had found the feeling odd and extremely uncomfortable. He woke up feeling as though he was close to tears, but he couldn't explain why. All he knew was that it was the most terrible feeling in the world, and he never wanted to feel it again.

In both cases, Tom had avoided Harry's eyes the next day.

Harry wondered what those memories meant. Many times he wanted to ask Tom but decided against it. What was the likelihood that Tom would answer anyway? He was more likely to rip Harry's innards out, and Harry wanted to avoid those situations as much as he could.

Then one night he had a dream that changed the way he saw Tom Riddle.

***

Harry was standing in the corner of a small office. The air was a little chilly, yet there was a festive feeling in the air. The window gave a view of a snowy night. Outside the room he could hear voices of women telling children to go to bed. At that moment, two women walked in. They made no indication that they saw Harry was there. He looked down at himself and saw his own body. He was just a ghost in this dream.

"There is nothing to it," one of the women said. She was twice as old as the second woman. She walked with her head held high and spoke confidently. "Feed them, clothe them, make sure they don't get into disagreements..."

"Yes ma'am," the other woman said. She was skinny and smaller than the older woman. While her eyes were sharp and intelligent, she looked nervous. Harry recognized this woman from previous dreams. She was one of Tom's caretakers, Mrs. Cole.

"You will do fine, honey," the older woman said when she noticed Mrs. Cole's nervousness. "You did well for your first day. Here, let's have a drink."

"Oh, is that all right?" Mrs. Cole asked. She eyed the wine bottle in the woman's hands a little greedily. Somewhere far from the room, Harry heard knocking.

The older woman laughed. "It's New Year's Eve! We can have a little fun while the dumplings are asleep."

Mrs. Cole smiled and accepted her drink. She suddenly didn't seem as nervous as before as she gobbled down the wine.

"Mrs. Armstrong!" a woman cried as she ran into the room. "Come quick!" The older woman, Mrs. Armstrong, swiftly left the room. Mrs. Cole slipped another glass of wine for herself, drained it, and then left. Harry followed her.

He was led to the front of the orphanage. There a homeless woman lay on the floor. Harry couldn't stop from gasping loudly. If it wasn't for the bulge on the woman's belly, she might have easily been mistaken for a skeleton. Her body was emaciated, and her face was just a skull with pale skin stretched over it. Her tired and weak eyes pointed in opposite directions, and her hair was nothing more than thin wispy strands. All she wore was a plain grey dress that was torn in places and not appropriate for the weather outside. She looked up at the women, her eyes begging. A clear liquid surrounded her legs.

"Oh, dear," Mrs. Armstrong said. "Her water's broke!" She picked the woman up with her strong arms and ran to the nearest room with a bed. Harry and the caretakers followed close behind.

The woman was settled on the bed, and some of the caretakers began fusing over making her comfortable while others prepared her for the labor.

"Poor little ducky," Mrs. Armstrong said as she folded a small towel. "What is your name, dear?"

The woman had difficulty speaking "M-Merope."

"Merope?" Mrs. Armstrong repeated, and Merope nodded.

"What kind of a name is that?" one of the caretakers whispered to another.

"Maybe she belongs to the circus," Mrs. Cole suggested in a quiet voice so no one else could hear. She gestured to Merope's eyes, and the women giggled.

"Surname?" Mrs. Armstrong asked.

"R-Riddle."

"Where is your husband?"

It took Merope a while to answer. "Gone." She sounded miserable.

"He's dead?"

"No. Gone."

The caretakers exchanged looks, understanding what had happened.

Merope groaned in pain. The baby was coming. Harry saw one of the caretakers spread Merope's legs wider, and he turned around so he wouldn't look. Mrs. Armstrong placed the towel in Merope's mouth, and she began dictating to Merope what to do.

While the caretakers focused on the area below Merope's waist, Harry focused on her face. It was taking every remaining ounce of energy for Merope to push. A few times she looked like she was about to pass out. It was painful to watch. He remembered what Tom told him weeks ago: My father was nothing more than a filthy Muggle who left my mother before I was born, all because he found out she was a witch!

Harry looked back down at Lord Voldemort's mother. He wished he could comfort her. She shouldn't have suffered so much just because she was a witch. For one moment her eyes rolled and landed on Harry as though she could see him. Harry would never forget the look on Tom's mother's face.

"It's going to be all right," Harry found himself whispering to her.

Merope gave a final scream, and there was a little cheer behind Harry.

"It's a boy! A son!" one of the caretakers announced. The baby was born. Harry spun around to see a small infant in one of the caretaker's hands. It was not screaming or moving.

"Now that won't do," said the caretaker who held the infant. She turned him around and gave a little slap on his bottom. Tiny soft cries followed, but it didn't last long. The caretakers laughed.

"He's quite the proper gentleman," Mrs. Cole teased Merope. "Likes to keep to himself, I see. Most of the babies I've seen would notify the entire land that they were born."

"I hope he looks like his papa," Merope said. Harry didn't like the way her face was turning paler.

"Was he handsome?" Mrs. Cole asked. Merope nodded, and Mrs. Cole's eyebrow rose in surprise. She looked like she wanted to ask how a handsome man ended up marrying someone with her looks, but decided against it.

"Please," Merope said to Mrs. Cole a little urgently. She was having difficulty breathing. "Tom."

"Tom," Mrs. Cole repeated. "Is that what you want to name him?"

"Yes. His papa's name. Marvolo."

"Marvolo?"

"Second...name. My...papa's name."

"Ah, his middle name," Mrs. Cole said. She turned to the caretaker that was cutting his umbilical cord. "Betty, the boy's name is Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"Tom Marvolo Riddle it is!" Betty said happily. When she was done with the necessary work on Tom, she wrapped him up in a blanket and handed him to Mrs. Cole. Smiling, she held him toward Merope. Merope extended out a hand to touch her son for the first time, but when she was just an inch from the boy's face, her hand suddenly fell. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head. Her body shook and her breathing came out harsh and heavy.

"Take him away!" Mrs. Armstrong ordered immediately.

Mrs. Cole nodded and left with Tom. Harry wasn't sure where to go next, but he decided on following Mrs. Cole. He didn't want to witness Merope's death. He had seen her suffer too much to want to see any more.

Mrs. Cole took baby Tom to a small room that had a counter, a sink, and various objects that were needed for raising an infant. She was swaying a little from the wine, but it didn't affect her duties. She filled a basin with water and pulled out a couple towels, a cloth with a pin to be used as a diaper, and an extra blanket. She gently washed Tom in the basin, humming merrily to herself.

Tom momentarily opened his eyes at one point during his first bath. Harry looked into them. They hinted at an intelligent and quick mind and a strong will. There was something else in there that Harry could not describe. Whatever it was, it was not unpleasant. Harry couldn't stop himself from smiling at him. Tom was an adorable baby.

While Mrs. Cole bundled up baby Tom in the new blanket, a caretaker came in to inform Mrs. Cole that Merope was dead.

"The poor thing died?" Mrs. Cole said a little sadly, although there was something else in her voice. "Well, I really couldn't see how someone in her condition was going to survive."

She set Tom on the counter far from the basin. "Wait here," she said to the infant. "I need to get you something to eat." Harry, however, thought he saw a hungry look in her eyes. Something else was in her mind; she was still thinking about the wine bottle. The two caretakers left, and Harry was alone in the room with tiny Tom.

She better be back with milk, he thought, although a part of him felt that she was going to get drunk. She had eyed the wine bottle and slipped herself an extra glass. She seemed to have a fondness for alcoholic drinks, and something told Harry that she wasn't going to have a woman's death affect her New Year's Eve celebration. After all, she was giggling earlier at how Merope looked.

Sure enough, Harry could hear some of the women tittering outside. He couldn't believe it. They were actually celebrating. Harry sighed.

After a while, Tom began crying softly. Harry turned to him. Did Tom want to be fed? Did he want a diaper change? Harry waited. None of the caretakers came to help Tom. Then again, Harry suspected that they couldn't hear Tom's soft voice from far away. It was quieter than the babies Harry was used to hearing screaming in public places.

Slowly, the cries grew louder and more urgent, and still none of the women came. Have they forgotten him? Harry wondered. Time passed, perhaps an hour, and no one passed the room. Couldn't Tom have died from not being fed?

Harry inched his way closer to Tom, and Harry felt a chill run down his spine. There was an uncomfortable feeling in the room. Harry felt cold, but the feeling did not come from the weather. It came from somewhere deep within Harry.

I felt this before, Harry realized. He hated this feeling.

The baby opened his eyes once more. For one moment, something inside Tom's eyes dimmed. Tom stretched out his arms as though he wanted someone to hold him. For some reason, Harry found himself stretching out his hand and touching Tom even though he knew that the child would not sense him.

"No," Harry said, although he didn't know why. "No." Tom's eyes momentarily resembled the familiar dead stare Harry knew so well. The crying ceased, the arms slowly fell back next to his tiny body, and Tom stopped moving.

Finally, Mrs. Cole came back. She had a milk bottle in her hand, and from the content look on her face and the way she walked it seemed like she had drank to her heart's consent.

"Hey, I didn't hear you crying at all," she said as she approached Tom. Her speech was a little slurred. "You really are a gentleman."

She picked Tom up and found a comfortable chair in the corner. Harry watched closely. Tom didn't respond to Mrs. Cole's actions as she held him in one arm and placed the milk bottle next to his mouth.

"Why aren't you drinking?" Mrs. Cole said. "You're supposed to drink it." When time passed and Tom still refused to take it, Mrs. Cole thrust the bottle into Tom's mouth. He refused to drink. Suddenly looking a little worried, Mrs. Cole squeezed on the bottle, forcing the milk into the baby. Tom wiggled and cried out crankily. Some milk leaked out from the side of his mouth. He was refusing to drink, but Mrs. Cole held on to him tightly, determined not to let him have his way.

He wasn't sure what to think of Mrs. Cole. The same woman who had neglected Tom so she could drink was now saving his life from an early death.

"There," she said as the milk gushed down his throat. "There, you're drinking. Never refuse this again, got that? You could die from starvation. Your mother wouldn't want that." She smiled down at Tom, but he did not even look at her. He was stiff in her arms and unresponsive to any little signs of affection.

Harry's eyes couldn't leave tiny Tom. This is where it all started. His chest constricted painfully. Poor Tom...

***

Harry woke up with a jolt. He quickly sat up and faced the wall. His eyes burned. The vision he had just witnessed was the most painful thing he had ever seen. He couldn't stop stretching out his arm, wanting to touch that little baby and comfort him...

Harry felt aggressive movement behind him. He turned around to see Tom pointing his wand right at Harry's face. Tom was breathing heavily, his eyes were lit ablaze with rage, and his face was twisted into the most dangerous look Harry had ever seen on any living being.