Serpent Within: Magic Rising

Magic Rising

"Where yeh' headin' off to, runt?"

Tommy Riddle, a very handsome boy glared at the speaker, who was a stout boy near to fourteen years of age. His arms were folded in front of his chest, giving off an air of intimidation. Tommy could see the expression in the older boy's eyes didn't bode well for him. He was quite used to older boys picking on him, though he hated it with a passion and refused to show the slightest sign of weakness. It gave dear "Tommy Rommy the reputation of being very poor showing to bullies who expected the younger boys to be groveling at their feet and crying their eyes out. That reputation wasn't much to save him from the injuries inflicted to him though.

Ian McTully was one of the slowest and some had said the dimmest person out of all the children in the orphanage. He liked to show off his power of intimidation over the younger children and it seemed to Tommy, who had an uncanny intuition (remarkable for a child of seven years), that it was all he was capable of.

Staring straight at Ian who was blocking his path, he shot off a terse reply, "Nose out of my business, McTully!"

Trying to slip around the larger boy, Tom was thwarted in this endeavor by the other's hand catching the front of his grey tunic. Ian's face loomed in front of him, with a feral and angry expression on his face.

"Wrong answer Riddle! Yeh not gettin' outta 'ere till I find out something," snarled Ian.

Feeling quite a great deal of fear, Tommy's expression showed nothing of his current emotional state. Showing fear in front of the other kids here was like displaying a carcass to a vulture. It could get you ripped to pieces.

Mustering a bravado he certainly didn't feel, he replied, glaring at his oppressor, "Eh? Well, what do ya want?"

A slow and practically savage grin came on McTully's face. Tommy fought the urge to whimper when he saw it, feeling an alarming surge of fear and anger at both himself and McTully. He hated McTlly for daring to attack him. He hated himself for being weak for not being able to protect himself and from a fool like McTully!

"Yeh see, Riddle, I 'ad a lot of pounds in me room. Now 'eemed like someone nicked the 'ole lot. D' yeh know bout it?"

Tom's face whitened considerably (it was quite a feat since his face was quite pale to begin with). Of course he knew what happened to money in McTully's room, he had taken it himself just a few minutes ago. McTully liked to brag in front of the other kids about the secret (or not so secret) stash of money in his room. He didn't even realize that McTully's thick head would catch up so far to find out that his stash was missing. He didn't like being caught. It was one of his rules not to get caught. Not only would he face the fury of McTully's fists but if he snitched to the matron, then he would be stuck on the punishment detail for two whole weeks. It was quite unfair.

'Why should he get his money back? I bet that he stole it himself. He doesn't deserve it. I do. McTully is just a bully so he shouldn't get anything. Besides, I took it from him, so its mine. All mine! MINE!'

Slowly shaking his head, Tom spoke up, "No. I don't know anything. Besides I not the only one here who knows bout it..."

McTully's features were drawn in anger and, shaking the smaller boy by the collar and drowning him in his spittle, shouted at him, "I KNOW YEH DID IT, YEH RUNT! I SAW YEH COMIN' OUTTA MY ROOM!!"

In a split second, McTully's arm had drawn back with his hand curled into a fist and angrily commanded Tom, "Give it back or else, Riddle."

Whether in sheer fear or anger at McTully's order, Tom never knew what compelled him to do something rooted in a sheer desperation.

His mask expression had completely disappeared and was replaced with a gamut of emotions from outrage to panic. His body trembled in apprehension at the approaching blows from McTully's fists. His eyes were shut. In panic, he shouted, with all his might at the bully, "STOP! STOP! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

The blows from those big fists never came. After a few seconds, Tom opened his eyes. What he saw before him left him dumbstruck with awe. McTully was frozen in place with a dull and empty expression in his eyes. He looked as if he was in a trance.

In a bid of self-preservation, Tom shrugged quickly out of his foe's grip with little trouble. McTully's grip on his tunic had become limp and had slackened considerably. Backing away slightly, as if expecting McTully to suddenly 'come alive', Tom studied the scene in front of him. Nothing remotely resembling this scene had happened before. It was almost ...like magic. Tom shook his head. Magic didn't exist, it was impossible and yet for the life of him he couldn't explain these powers of his.

'I'll try to make him back off and if that doesn't work then I'll know what happened was just my imagination.'

With a careful yet determined eye, Tom spoke to McTully in a soft yet decisive voice (which was quite unusual for him), "Leave me alone. I didn't steal your money"

It was in great surprise that he witnessed McTully's monotone muttering, "Leave yeh alone. Yeh didn't steal my money." And away stomped McTully as if he was in a daze.

It took quite a while for Tom, who was in a state of shocked bewilderment, to fully regain control over himself- which included his ability to speak and move- and walk to his room. He needed time to think more clearly and in his own space, over what had taken place in that hallway. He moved rather quickly too, as if expecting McTully to 'wake up' and come after him and take his money away.

Walking up to the door of his room, he turned and looked up and down the hallway, his eyes alert, watching for any slight movement and his ears peaked to up the slightest sound. Satisfied that there was no other living being near, he opened his door and silently closed the door.

It wasn't the first time, as he gazed on his room, that a feeling of disgust rose within him at the sight of it. The four white-washed walls of the room weren't a pristine white but rather a dirty shade of it with numerous scratches and graffiti on it. There were just a few pieces of furniture for his comfort; a brown, well-worn cupboard, a small wooden chair that at first glance looked like it had been pieced together haphazardly and an iron bedstead whose white paint was peeling off in various places revealing rust underneath it. He wished he could have a better room something that would suit him much better than this dingy hole.

Abruptly changing the direction of his thoughts, he went and opened his wardrobe and took out his ratty and worn cardboard box and examined its contents, which included two rolls of bread taken from the kitchen and a sugar mouse. Without hesitation he added his small amount of pounds and taking out the sugar mouse, placed it back in his wardrobe.

Sitting on his rickety bed and nibbling on his sugar mouse, he was now comfortably established and ready to ponder more closely over the "scene" that had happened outside with McTully. It was just like some kind of magic power. That was the closest thing he could ascribe it to but that was just absurd! Yet that didn't explain what had happened to McTully.

He cast his mind back to what had happened. He remembered feeling immensely scared...feeling a great deal of anger and frustration... taking all his emotions out by yelling at McTully...McTully stopping immediately after he screamed.

Tom froze at that point. Could it be? Could he really have stopped McTully? Now after recalling what had happened, it seemed entirely possible that he did possess some kind of power. The most important question was whether he could do it again? If he could then he would be safe from all those annoying and backstabbing people who dared to trouble him.

An unholy glee lit up his face, the half-eaten sugar mouse dropped from his hand onto the bed, he paid no attention to it. His mind was now wild with excitement, it was running into tangents about his powers. He would be the most special boy in the orphanage...no, maybe in England or even the World. And now, he would be one that others would fawn over and be in awe of him and maybe, worship him. Yes, he would be a Lord among ordinary men.

With his eyes, wild and hungry, he rubbed his hands together in anticipation and his gaze fell upon his partially consumed sugar mouse. He had no need of it, now. He stretched his hand out towards it and tried to feel the same emotions that came across when McTully confronted him. He didn't expect to get it right the first time, but as the saying went, "Practice makes perfect."

And he would be perfect, he was sure of it.

FIN