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The clattering of cutlery against plates was always a constant within the dining hall of Wool’s Orphanage. The sound was occasionally interspersed with muted chatter although it was never quite enough to drown out the noise of hunger.
The routine surrounding breakfast was as monotonous as it was predictable.
Tom was most assuredly alone, having secured an entire table to himself two years ago. He preferred it this way, as did the other children he assumed; having watched the others skirt away from his table day after day, most with their gazes lowered.
The memory was almost enough to bring sweetness to the taste of flavourless oat which lingered upon his tongue.
Once he had demonstrated his talents it became practically effortless for Tom to make himself untouchable within Wool’s.
It was not long after when whispers started to follow him.
Some had called him the devil’s child whilst others preferred to call him a freak of nature, but Tom paid it little mind. This was simply proof that they were inferior and Tom was not.
It was the moment when the noise fell into an unexpected hush that drew Tom from his musings, looking up to find the hall collectively watching as the matron entered, ushering in an unfamiliar figure.
Tom found himself studying the new arrival before he made the conscious decision to do so.
The boy was short, and was almost entirely swamped in the oversized shirt he was wearing. Tom spotted a dark mop of hair which hung low over the boy’s brow. From the way he was standing, head slightly lowered, it was near impossible to discern much of the boy’s face.
It was there that Tom’s curiosity should have come to its natural end, contained to the detached, mundane kind of interest an ordinary orphan like this boy should have garnered.
Yet Tom’s attention lingered for a moment, like there was something else beyond the wild raven hair and ragged clothes that he had yet to notice.
The boy kept his head down, remaining quiet as the matron walked him over to the other children.
As quickly as the curiosity arose, it diminished, leaving Tom to return his gaze to the porridge before him.
He should have known better than to expect anything of interest from a place like Wool’s.
Tom watched from the shadows as the boy-Harry Potter he found out-settled in over the following weeks.
The boy was generally easy-going, making it easy for him to fit in amongst the children. His smiles were plentiful, as were his compliments, Tom having witnessed both of these events. He privately thought the boy’s kindness was wasted on these recipients.
Tom had also garnered something of greater interest.
The boy had a penchant for trouble.
Alongside the boy's kindness was a resolve of steel, having stood against multiple of the older, more brutish teenagers that were twice his size.
It became apparent that Harry Potter had an inability to keep his head down.
The news had made Tom raise a brow.
Tom had concluded the boy must have been agile to have stayed out of their grasp for so long.
Although seemingly not quite agile enough if the current sight of the boy being pinned to the brick wall of the courtyard was anything to go by. The boy had been cornered by the Smith twins no less, two boys notorious for their egos being larger than their brains.
It was the taller of the two who had Harry in his clutches.
“What,” the words being enunciated slowly as they were spat at the younger boy, ”have we warned you about attitude?”
“We told you we expected compliance,” the other boy added, voice dripping with insincere disappointment.
Yet Harry wasn’t cowering–not in the slightest.
Instead he looked furious.
“And I don’t care about your stupid hierarchy!” The younger boy said fiercely, roiling against their hold.
What a wondrously vicious creature.
Such anger, it was a true shame it had taken Tom until now to witness it.
A shuffle of shoes sounded as the twins stepped closer to Harry and Tom chose that moment to step away from his spot by the vegetable patch, intending to put an end to the incoming brawl. But it seemed he needn’t have as the twins quickly reared back from the younger boy as if burned. There was a gasp of horror as the pair all but sprinted from the courtyard.
And Tom could have sworn he’d caught the tail end of “another freak” against the pounding of footsteps.
“That was impressive,” Tom called out, making his way closer to Harry.
Harry didn’t look at him, yet it seemed he hadn’t needed to.
“You were about to step in, weren’t you?”
You saw me? Tom thought, caught in a rare moment of surprise.
“Don’t know why they ran off though,” Harry continued, breathing steadier now. It was at that moment the boy chose to look up, eyes catching Tom’s, and as all the air left his lungs Tom realised just why the boys had fled.
It was Harry’s eyes. A sharp, vivid green which glowed in the dim lighting of the courtyard.
They were luminous, unnatural, and what most people would call eerie.
Tom thought he’d never seen anything more beautiful before.
It was in the next instant that realisation struck him. It was magic that Harry had, magic which was like Tom’s.
“You’re Tom, right?”
The question brought Tom momentarily off guard.
Tom Riddle.
It was the name of his father, the name that tied him to everything he was born without, a permanent reminder that fate had not looked at him kindly.
It was the only gift his mother had given him, the gift of his father’s name.
He had disliked it on principle.
Yet it was not said with the usual revulsion or hostility Tom had come to expect from the other children. Harry had spoken his name softly, casually, like he had yet to learn it could be said differently.
And whilst the name itself had never changed, remaining as ordinary and cumbersome as ever, on Harry’s tongue–vivid green eyes set on him–it was as if the word had detached from the man who first carried it.
Coming from Harry, Tom could almost say he didn’t mind the way his name sounded.
“Yes, I’m Tom,” he said, a slow genuine smile overtaking his face.
When Harry walked in for dinner that evening the atmosphere immediately shifted, the chattering growing quieter as wide cautious eyes watched him.
It seemed the twins had quickly spread the events of that day.
And so it was only natural for Tom to invite Harry over to his corner, a selection of empty seats to choose from.
It was a matter of simplicity.
Harry was special, and Tom wouldn’t have him thinking otherwise.
The opinions of others were not needed, not when they had each other.
Harry’s eyes caught Tom’s from across the hall, immediately smiling when Tom nodded to the space around him. His lips curved into a private smile of his own when Harry chose the seat directly next to him.
Tom had expected this outcome however, and had prepared for it as such. Before him, set innocently on the table was a small pot. Within it contained a syrupy ruby-like confection which Tom had swindled from one of the older year’s dormitories.
“What’s this?” Harry asked, curiosity alight in his eyes.
Tom idly noted that the hue was softer now, no longer holding its luminous quality from earlier. A shame.
“Jam.” Tom nudged the pot towards him. “For you.”
Tom had tried some already, finding the sticky treat quite tasteful.
“Oh,” Harry murmured softly, “thank you.”
Sharing was not a concept familiar to Tom, but watching Harry’s eyes blow wide as he enjoyed the confectionery, Tom couldn’t bring himself to regret it.
Not when he and Harry had a whole future of magic to share ahead of them.