Chosen to Rise; Destined to Fall

Chosen to Rise; Destined to Fall

Part One: The Awakening

Chapter One

- The Very Best of Friends -

"Just you wait until I get out of here, Vincent!" an eight-year old Tom Riddle yelled from his buried position in a pile of snow. He was trying to be angry, but was laughing too hard to accomplish it. "You'll be a snowman!"

Vincent McErith, an eight-year old boy that Tom had known since he was three and his very best friend, was standing a bit away, laughing. "Well, you can't very well make me a snowman when you can't use your arms."

Tom struggled against the snow that was pinning him to the ground but Vincent had got him good this time. Of course, that's what he got for standing behind his snow fort when Vincent had charged him.

Vincent's gray eyes sparkled and there was a huge grin on his face. "I think I won this battle," he said with a laugh.

Tom laughed. "Looks like it to me. Now help me up, would you?"

Vincent walked over and grabbed Tom beneath his arms, hauling him out of the snow.

"Thanks," Tom said and then, in a flash, grabbing a ball of snow and threw it at Vincent. "Snowball fight!"

"Oohh . . . you're going to get it!" Vincent cried, laughing as he picked up snow and threw the balls at Tom. This continued for several minutes until both of them were soaked through and shivering in the chilly breeze. Clouds had begun to form overhead and although it was the beginning of April, it looked like more snow was on the way.

"Let's go in," Tom said, his teeth chattering.

Vincent nodded, shivering. "I could go for some hot chocolate right about now."

"Definitely."

"Boys!" a voice called and they turned to see Sister Mary standing beneath an archway, smiling at them. She held up two steaming mugs. "Hot chocolate!"

They grinned and ran over to her. "Thanks, Sister Mary! You're the best!" Tom cried as he took the steaming mug of hot chocolate between his gloved hands, wrapping his long, spindly fingers around it.

"You always know exactly what we need," Vincent said with a smile, taking his mug.

Tom took a sip and let out a small cry of pain. "Ow! That's hot!"

"Well, it is hot chocolate," Vincent said, laughing.

Tom glared at him. "I figured that much."

Sister Mary chuckled. "Why don't you two come inside? There's a nasty storm on the way and we don't want to be caught up in it."

They nodded and followed Sister Mary deeper into the convent, passing corridor after corridor. As they walked, Tom took hesitant sips of his hot chocolate, determined not to get burned again, and, looking at Sister Mary's back, he fell into deep thought.

Sister Mary had always been there for him, before he could even remember. Abbess Catherine, his mother, had raised him well in the ways of the Lord. Every night before he went to bed, Tom would say his prayers and always kept a cross around his neck on a thin chain. A few years ago, he had found out that he had been adopted by Abbess Catherine, for his real father had dropped him off at the convent right after he was born. His real mother had died while giving birth to him but Tom wished every night that he could see her, always wondering what she had looked like.

However, his Aunt Martha and Uncle William had come to see him after he was a few years old and had continually been coming a few times a year. They had not been able to take Tom to raise him; for their jobs were very high risk-involved and they didn't want to endanger him. They worked for the Ministry, but they had never told him exactly what it was they did. Whenever he would ask, they would say he wasn't old enough to find out and that it was very secret.

Tom, being younger then, hadn't pursued it and let it be. Now, however, he wanted very much to find out what they did. He always had dreams of them being secret agents of the sort, and always wondered what this "Ministry" was. He supposed that his aunt and uncle would tell him eventually, but he had never been known for his patience. They were going to be coming to visit in June, since that was when his birthday was and he hoped that they would tell him then.

Tom glanced over to his right where Vincent was walking, taking sips of his hot chocolate and looking straight ahead. The light of the torches that they passed flickered, making Vincent's white-blond hair shimmer in the light, a stark contrast to Tom's jet-black hair. Of course, Vincent never seemed to have a problem keeping his short hair in line when Tom, no matter what he did, could not make his hair behave if his life depended on it.

Tom smiled. He didn't know what he'd do without Vincent, even though the Sisters were very kind and were like a huge family to him. Vincent had always been there for him, and Tom planned on always being there for Vincent. They were the very best of friends and closer than brothers. Sister Mary and several of the other Sisters would always tease them that they were joined at the hip and nothing could or would ever separate them.

Vincent caught his gaze and grinned. "What are you smiling at?" he asked.

Tom grinned. "What are you?"

"I asked you first."

"True. . . . I was just thinking about how we've been best friends so long and that we'll always remain the best of friends."

Vincent nodded. "You got that right. Friends to the end."

"Whenever that may be."

Sister Mary stopped, turning to face them. They looked at her. "Dinner will be served shortly, so wash up and come downstairs."

They nodded. "Yes, Sister Mary," they said in unison and she smiled.

"You two can look so innocent at times, but I know what pranks you can pull," she said with a chuckle.

They laughed. "I don't know what you're talking about," Tom said, an innocent look on his face.

Vincent just grinned and Sister Mary nodded knowingly.

"I'll see you at dinner." She left them standing in front of the room that they shared and they walked in, setting their mugs down on the table and taking turns washing their faces. There was little heat in their room, but they were bundled up enough not to take notice too much. Anything was better than standing out side in the blistering cold a moment longer.

* * *

"Give me that back!" Vincent yelled, turning red in the face.

Tom just laughed at him, and shook his head. "Not until you admit it."

The two boys had changed out of their sopping clothes, and had come to the large playroom where two other boys who lived in the convent were. Henry Stevens, a burly boy of nine with coarse brown hair and hard eyes, was fiddling with a small radio he had been trying to repair for over a year. Shawn Beldon, a blond-haired, slight, eight-year old boy with the disposition of a mouse, was reading in the corner.

"I'm not admitting anything," Vincent shot back, reaching for the piece of paper Tom was holding behind his back, "because it's not true!"

"What's not true?" Henry said from across the room. He was sprawled across an armchair, one foot knocking against the wall. He always sat in the same position, and a black mark on the wall attested to that. Sister Rosemary, one of the crankier nuns at the convent, often yelled at Henry for his 'lack of respect.' Henry, to date, had not allowed the admonishments to stop him in the least.

"Vincent loves Sister Mary," Tom replied with a grin, his unusually bright blue eyes sparkling with laughter.

"Of course he loves her," Shawn said, looking up from his book. "We all love her."

Henry snorted. "Not like that, you git. Vincent wants to marry her."

"No, I don't!" Vincent exclaimed, his face still red. "I just think she's really nice, that's all!"

"Sure," Tom and Henry both said, looked at each other, and then burst into laughter.

"Just . . . give me my paper back!" Vincent snapped, leaping towards Tom.

Tom evaded Vincent's attack, and took off as the slightly smaller boy began to chase him around the room. On the third trip around the room, Tom threw the paper at Henry. "Catch!"

Henry snatched the paper while it was still floating through the air, and looked at it, a grin flashing across his features. "You sure you don't love Sister Mary?"

Vincent blushed to the tips of his ears, and meekly protested. "I don't."

"Then would you care if I," Henry held the paper in front of him, taunt between both hands, and began to make a tiny rip in it, "ripped your picture of her in two."

"No!" Vincent yelped, and ran at Henry. He knocked the slightly older boy's chair over and began to wrestle him for the picture. The play-fighting, though, quickly turned into a real fight as Henry refused to relinquish the treasured drawing of Vincent's.

Shawn watched the fight with growing uneasiness. He just knew that they were going to get into big trouble. He hated disobeying any rules, and didn't like to be around when rules were being broken. And wrestling over a picture Vincent had drawn of Sister Mary was definitely against the rules. "Maybe you shouldn't fight," he ventured cautiously.

Neither of the fighting boys heard him. Vincent managed to get a punch in, but Henry was otherwise wiping the floor with the blond boy.

Shawn tried to think of some way to stop them from fighting. One of them, probably Vincent, was going to get hurt. He gave Tom, who was watching the fight with rapt attention, a desperate look. Tom just shrugged, looking as helpless as Shawn. He might have been the tallest boy at the convent, but Henry outweighed him considerably and was much stronger.

Just then, Sister Mary swept into the room, her long black habit swishing around her. "Boys, time for din-" She took in the scene before her. "Boys!"

She rushed over to where Vincent and Henry were still in a scuffle. "Boys! Cease and desist this behavior at once!" She tapped the shoulder of the boy on top, who happened to be Vincent.

He turned, and saw Sister Mary. A tiny frightened sound escaped his throat, and he began to pull away from Henry, who had stopped throwing punches once he realized Sister Mary was standing there.

"What is the meaning of this?" Sister Mary demanded, glaring at both boys.

"Umm..." Vincent said, staring down at his scuffed shoes.

"I didn't give Vincent his picture back," Henry explained, shoving the now crinkled paper at the other boy. "I apologize."

After shoving the drawing into his pocket, Vincent, glancing up from his shoes, muttered something that could be roughly translated as, "I'm also sorry."

Sister Mary sighed, and took a good look at both the boys; taking in Vincent's bleeding lip and Henry's black eye. "Let's get you two fixed up and then I suggest we get to dinner before the stew gets cold."

After having their cuts and bruises treated, Vincent and Henry came back and the four boys followed the nun to the dining hall of the convent.

The dining hall was a large room, with a long table lined with chairs dominating it, though four small tables adorned with vases sat in the corners for decoration. There, they saw Joseph Emerson sitting at the table already. Joseph was the final boy who lived at the convent. He was also snootier than an abandoned boy had any right to be. Tom and Shawn took their customary seats beside him, and watched as Sister Mary led Henry and Vincent to the head of the table, where Abbess Catherine sat.

"What happened to them?" Joseph asked, staring at the disheveled boys disdainfully. Tom shushed him, and motioned for him to pay attention to what the sister was saying.

"Henry and Vincent got into a tussle," Sister Mary told Abbess Catherine.

"I see," Abbess Catherine said, turning to the two boys in question. "After our meal, you both should go to the chapel and pray forgiveness for this sin. And every time you look in the mirror, you will be reminded of this incident. I expect this not to happen again, understood?"

"Yes, Abbess," Henry and Vincent chorused. She nodded for them to go and they then scrambled over to their part of the table, taking their seats across from Tom, Shawn, and Joseph.

"Where were you all afternoon?" Vincent asked Joseph.

"I was writing my parents a letter," replied the other boy snobbishly. "I'm just positive that they're going to pick me up before summer."

"Of course they are," Henry said sarcastically. "They really did just go on a safari in Africa for the past two years. And I'm sure they've just been a little too busy killing elephants to write you a letter."

Joseph glared at him. "They've written me."

"Then where are all these letters at?"

"They just got lost in the mail. You know how unreliable international shipping is."

"Uh-huh," Henry said. "Every one of your letters somehow ended up at the bottom of the Atlantic."

"Shush!" Shawn said, looking at the nuns nervously. "They're going to hear you!"

"So?" Henry said, glaring at Joseph.

"At least my parents aren't dead," Joseph hissed at the larger boy. Henry didn't even acknowledge the jab and reached for a piece of bread to go with his stew.

Tom, however, had to say something. "It seems to me that it's worse getting abandoned by uncaring parents than being orphaned by loving parents."

Vincent, who had been silently dipping his bread into his soup and eating the sopping mess that resulted, finally spoke. "Joseph, be quiet. You're going to get us all in trouble."

Shawn glanced at the nuns in apprehension. He didn't want to get into trouble. He always figured that if he was really, really good, his parents might come back for him. He missed them terribly. His mother had always smelled like fudge and soap, and she had smiled often. His father had dirt permanently stuck under his fingernails, which his mother had often chastised him over. Shawn glanced down at his fingers. They were perfectly clean. His mother would have been proud.

Joseph ignored Vincent's warning. "Well, Tom, you would know, wouldn't you? After all, your mother's dead, and your father abandoned you. Which parent do you prefer? Of course, I don't see how you could choose, since your father wanted to get rid you. You must have been pretty worthless for him not to care."

Tom didn't answer. He just jabbed his spoon at his stew angrily. Suddenly, the vases fell off all four of the small tables around the room with a shattering crash. Small pieces of broken pottery scattered all over the floor.

The five boys jumped, looking at the broken vases, their eyes wide.

"Oh, my!" cried Sister Mary. The other nuns echoed her sentiments, and they stood from the table quickly, rushing to find dustbins and to clean up the mess. They muttered amongst themselves as they picked up the shards of pottery.

"How did this happen?"

"It was a sign from the Lord!"

"I told the Abbess the floor in here was unsteady!"

The five young boys, who had been commanded to remain at the table, watched the action with rapt attention. The nuns got the mess cleaned up, and Sister Mary came over to the boys.

"I think it's about time for you boys to get to bed," she said in a no-nonsense way. She got five reluctant nods in return, and they left the dining hall, headed for the large room upstairs that served as their dormitory. They all got into their nightclothes, and avoided cleaning up like the plague. After saying their prayers, they climbed into their beds. A few moments later, Sister Mary swept into the room.

"What was that?" Vincent asked her.

"Just a little accident," Sister Mary said with a smile. "So you need not worry about Judgment Day coming for any of you."

"Oh."

Sensing that Sister Mary did not want to speak any more of the subject, they were quiet.

"Goodnight, boys," she said. "Sweet dreams."

"Goodnight, Sister Mary," came the sleepy mumble of the boys. Sister Mary left, shutting the heavy wooden door behind her, and the room was enveloped in darkness.

Tom lay in his bed, eyes still open and roaming the darkened room fruitlessly. He could never just fall asleep at night, no matter how tired he was, or how exciting a day was to follow. He listened to the sounds of the other boys in the room. To his left, Joseph's breathing was already slow and steady. That boy was so very confident that his beloved parents were returning for him, while anyone with eyes could see that they weren't. Joseph refused to listen to anyone who tried to tell him reason, though.

His best friend, Vincent, slept on his other side. Vincent was mumbling to himself a little, just as he always did right before succumbing to sleep. Tom strained to hear what he said, and grinned as he heard the words, "That's my picture!"

Across the room, Shawn was sobbing quietly into his pillow. Tom supposed he should be used to hearing this by now, as Shawn had cried himself to sleep almost every night since he had been brought here two and a half years ago. He had adored his parents, but they had died of cholera. Shawn had also caught the infectious disease, but had survived. Tom sometimes thought it might have been more merciful of God to have taken Shawn with his parents, but God apparently had another plan for the mousy boy.

"Don't cry, they're not coming back," Henry mumbled to Shawn.

This only made Shawn cry harder, but Tom knew that Henry wasn't trying to be cruel. Henry had grown up in a rough, poverty stricken neighborhood, and had a much different perspective on life than melancholy Shawn. Henry, who had only been at the convent for a year, probably had loved his parents deeply, but he refused to show his grief over their passing. He claimed that showing grief was weak, and would only bring you more troubles. Tom thought that idea might have its advantages, though he really didn't see anything wrong with missing the parents he had lost. He missed his mother, after all, and he'd never really even known her.

As Shawn's sobs died off, Tom likewise found himself drifting to sleep.

One last thought snaked its way through his young brain before he slipped out of consciousness.

I wonder what caused those vases to fall...