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Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
He was going to go insane. There was no hope for it, insanity was his destiny. Tom threw his pillow over his head and attempted to get comfortable on the lumpy mattress the orphanage had provided for him all those years ago. It stank, he noted with a curl of his lip. He had known that before, but now that his head was in direct contact with it instead of the pillow he had stolen from Hogwarts, the smell was more pronounced. Mildew, bodily fluids, sour milk… and those were just the smells he could identify.
He vowed to murder the last person who had been given his bed while he had been away at school. It certainly hadn’t reeked this badly when it had been his and only his.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Tom snarled low in his throat and tossed his pillow across the room, where it smacked the wall with a dull thud. The satisfaction from throwing something quickly left him though as the dripping continued on. It was times like this he wished he could use his wand without detection… or any kind of magic at all really. Dumbledore had him monitored, he was sure of that, and any kind of spell would trigger the old man’s attention. He had felt the faint tickle of detection wards wash over him when he had come back for the summer.
Even if it was only a simple repair charm, he was sure the teacher would bust down his door not a second later to try and take his wand from him. Nothing was worth that. He might have tried to do it wandlessly, but he didn’t dare give away his ability if the old man had more, less easily discovered detections on him. Tom had checked all of his things on the train back to London and had found nothing, but one could never be too careful with Albus Dumbledore. Tom stood with a sigh and retrieved his pillow, throwing it roughly again down onto the mattress. He would not sleep tonight, not until the maddening dripping stopped, and it wouldn’t happen any time soon.
Tom peered out the window. It was raining hard, it had been for days. It was as if someone had gutted the sky and left the weapons of choice lodged in there, letting the heavens slowly bleed to death. His fingers twitched at the thought of violence, and the restlessness caused him to pace back and forth in his tiny room. He could barely walk three paces from the front of the room to the back and he soon grew tired of the tiny space.
He shouldered open his door and prowled through the hallways.
The orphans were being noisy. A couple were having sex, if the rhythmic thumping was anything to go by, a few of the younger girls were talking and squealing in a room, their late night chatter masked by the rain. Another boy, much younger than Tom, was walking the hallways himself, pacing back and forth and back and forth, his fingers lightly scraping the wall as he walked. The boy’s eyes had dark circles under them, and his gaze was locked onto his toes. He didn’t pay Tom any mind, which suited the wizard just fine. Many of the orphans had that some look. They either wished they were dead, wished everyone else in the world was dead, or wished they had never been born at all. War was a terrible thing for a child’s psyche. Not that Tom cared, he was beyond caring. Besides that they were only muggles, they hardly warranted a passing thought.
To have contemplated about them as much as he had was almost appalling. He was more tired than he had first thought.
I need to get out.
So out he went. The rain had slowed but not stopped, but Tom didn’t mind getting wet. It was better than listening to that incessant dripping in his room. Around him the city was so quiet it was like walking through a graveyard. Hollow buildings rose up around him like ghosts, their cracked edges and sharp points reaching up. They looked like broken fingers… crooked and wrong.
He nimbly stepped over a pile of rubble and walked around an old scorch mark in the ground. It wouldn’t do to dirty his shoes after all. But the carnage was old, and most of the organic material collected or washed away by the rain. There hadn’t been an air raid for weeks, but people were too afraid to hope it was finally over, so nothing got picked up or cleaned, just pushed to the side so people could walk through the carnage.
That was all some people would do, wander around the streets, glassy eyed. Tom couldn’t help but sneer at their weakness. He tried to keep his face neutral though as a woman passed him, keening for a son she had lost in the war, or to a bomb. He did care to stop and listen to her rambling. Instead he pressed on. The further he got away from his orphanage the more people he saw walking about. The rain was most like driving them insane as well, or was it the war? Did it matter? They were muggles and beneath his notice. He came across more broken buildings as he went deeper into the city, some of the blast marks looking fresher. This was the most recent bombing site. Small groups of people were swarming around rubbish piles, digging through them with dirty fingers.
Scavengers, he thought with a sneer as he walked past them, picking off the bones of the dead street like overgrown vultures. He continued on, ignoring the wary eyes of the scavengers as they followed him. Tom wasn’t afraid of being attacked. His clothes were too poor and his walk too aggressive, he was trouble for nothing. Tom thought very much the same way, why put oneself in danger for insignificant gains? It did not make sense to the wizard. At this point he was well and truly wet, his ebony hair was plastered to his skull and water dripped down his nose with the slow-
Drip
Drip
Drip
-that had been driving him crazy. He growled in frustration and found a spot under an old awning of a store long closed down and reached into his pocket, groping around until he found what he was looking for. He pulled out the pack of cigarettes, wiping his hand on his slightly dryer undershirt to keep from getting his precious nicotine damp. He peered around for a moment before he lifted it up to his lips and tapped the tip. It lit without trouble and he leaned back as he took a deep drag. When he exhaled it felt like all of his troubles were melting away. It had been too long since he had tasted tobacco on his tongue, and let the roar of hot smoke scorch his lungs. Hogwarts had no real rules about cigarettes, but that was mostly because students had no way of getting them. Tom had almost run out before the end of the year.
He would need to pack more next time, he thought idly as he took another puff. Around him the rain continued to fall. But the maddening noise was, at the very least, gone and for the first time all night he relaxed. He was on his third cigarette when he saw the flash of red.
The style of London had slowly turned as dark and grey as the feelings the war stirred up grew darker and more hopeless. People were trying to hide in their grey wool and cotton, as if that would save them from the notice of a German bomb. Tom always scoffed at the foolishness of the idea. More than once he was tempted to go out dressed as flamboyantly as Dumbledore so he wouldn’t look like one of the grey frightened things. But the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. So when he saw the flash of red, something distinct enough in this dark and grey world to stand out, naturally Tom's eyes found it... and her.
She was very wet. Her hair, which he assumed was already frizzy and unmanageable, looked worse after it had been dampened. She looked like a half drowned poodle or a gutter rat... he was more inclined to think rat though. She was moving with great purpose and urgency, but her eyes, from what he could see from his corner of the street, looked unsure. She hesitated at street corners, pausing and turning back around before pausing and retracing her steps again. It was as if she thought she knew where she was going but couldn’t be sure. Tom had seen a few people like that, men and women who had retreated from the war zone to return to the broken buildings and rubble. All familiar landmarks erased by constant bombings, erased until someone dared to rebuild.
She must have been from out of town to wear such a garish scarf. Red, scarlet to be exact, he was rather fond of the color. The girl twisted around again, looking in that moment very much like a lost little lamb, separated from her flock. She was young, about his age he would guess, and might have been pretty if she were dry and her hair done. Really what sane woman would keep long hair if it was always that messy? No one magical, he thought with a sniff. He reached for another cigarette. The girl wasn’t worth his time or his attention. But the red scarf kept him glancing over to look. It was as if it were a lure and he a shark, tempted by the bright red stain in the monotonous blue water. But he would not let himself be baited. Nevertheless he continued to watch poor little lost girl who had wandered too far into the ocean. It would only be a matter of time before the undertow dragged her down.
The bright red caught others attention as well, the scavengers were eyeing her like she was a fine cut of meat, and they were starving. They MIGHT have been starving, lots of people were. Tom had starved for a while until he picked up the habit of hording food in his room, all of it stolen from well to do families that hid while the sirens wailed. She was going to be attacked, Tom reached for another cigarette as he watched one of the healthier looking scavengers’ approach her from the side, as another one circled around to the opposite side. Coordinated, they had done this before. Animals, he thought with a sniff, but didn’t turn away from what would soon be a rather violent scene.
The girl didn’t even seem to notice she was being surrounded. She seemed obsessed with something in her hand, a little scrap of... parchment? He leaned forward and squinted through the rain to catch a better glimpse of the thing in her hands. Yes... it was parchment all right. The girl... was she a witch? He watched intently as yet another scavenger approached from another angle, if she wasn’t careful she would soon be trapped in their circle. But if she was a witch…and he suspected she was, he was in for a show. He smirked and leaned back into the shadows. The muggles would be in for a nasty surprise, and if she was not? Well he would enjoy watching as the girl was attacked and mugged, the scarf torn from her pale neck to be replaced by crimson blood as her throat was slit. A shudder worked its way through his body at the thought.
One of the muggles peered over in his direction as they readied their attack, cautious. He looked at Tom as a superior predator, he would leave if Tom made a claim on her, they all would. Even their tiny muggle brains could sense his power. He merely smirked and leaned back into his corner. She is all yours. The man sighed in relief before his hyper focus returned to the girl with the red scarf. The leader of the band of three gave the other two a quick nod and they attacked en mass. One grabbed her arm, another one wrapped his arm around her neck, and the last went for her pockets. She only seemed surprised for a second before her eyes narrowed dangerously. To her credit she didn’t panic, quite the opposite… she planned. He could almost see the wheels turning in her mind. He wished he was close enough to probe her thoughts. He wanted to be in her mind, experiencing her and her rage as she fought, because she WOULD fight, he could see it in her eyes. A shower of purple sparks erupted from her hair. The man holding her neck instantly let go with a howl, screaming as what looked like thousands of purple fireflies attacked his face and hands. The man holding her arm was next. He fell back with a roar of pain, thrashing and shouting as smoke rose up from his hands despite the rain soaking them.
The third man was lucky. The girl merely glared down at him and he removed his hand from her pocket as if he had been as badly burned as his ally, backing up and talking quickly. "Sorry miss, didn’t mean to bother ya. I meant nothing by it; I have a family who hasn’t eaten in days." Tom sneered as the man tried to talk his way out of a punishment. She should simply curse him and be done with the whole affair. But she was not him. Instead of a curse she growled something low in her throat and the man on the ground bobbed his head eagerly. Finally she reached into her pocket to pull out a beaded purse.
She reached in and pulled out a rather large loaf of bread and handed it to the man who took it gratefully. Tom was disgusted by the display. He turned away from her to stare back at the two men writhing on the ground, looking pointedly away from her as she went to each man and cast a careful memory charm, and reached for another cigarette.
Empty.
Tom sighed and tossed the empty carton to the side. He would need to steal more. Tomorrow hethought and strolled out from under the awning. The rain had lessened to a light drizzle, and if he was correct it would stop soon. As will that incessant dripping. He could go back to the orphanage. Joy of all joys.
He had hardly made it ten steps when quick footsteps sounded behind him.
“Hey!”
He didn’t stop.
“Hey I am talking to you!”
Tom glanced over his shoulder. It was the girl with the red scarf. She looked dryer than she had before. Magic. He thought enviously. Her hair fluffed out around her face like a lion’s mane, it looked so ridiculous he almost laughed. Tom let her come a few inches closer before spinning around to face her, making the girl flinch back in surprise.
“Yes?”
The girl recovered from her shock quickly. Her hands went to her hips and she glared intently at him. Her muddy brown eyes lit up in her fury.
“Why didn’t you help me?”
His eyebrows rose. “Why would I?”
“Because it is the decent thing to do. You are obviously a wizard- oh don’t give me that look I saw you lighting your cigarettes with your finger.”
She was observant. “I didn’t see the point in helping.”
Her face was turning an interesting shade of red and purple sparks leapt from curl to curl in her wild hair, like she was electrically charged.
“You didn’t see-”
“It was obvious you could take care of yourself.”
He had to hold back a laugh as she visibly deflated. “It was?”
“It was. That was impressive magic… I didn’t even see your wand.”
“I didn’t use it,” she replied quickly. She clamped her lips tightly after she realized what she had said.
“You know most people cannot cast without their wands.”
She shrugged awkwardly. “I didn’t expect to find a wizard around here.” She said after a moment of silence.
“Most don’t choose to wander around muggle London in these troubled times, it’s true. But I could not sleep and thought I would take a stroll.”
“Here?” She asked incredulously.
“It seemed the thing to do. You were obviously of the same mind.”
“I am looking for something… somewhere actually.” She was fiddling with the parchment she still carried. It was crumpled in her fist, Tom could see a few scattered letters on the crinkled surface. An address perhaps?
“Perhaps I could help.” The offer left his lips before he could stop it. Why was he bothering with this little witch? She is interesting. He grudgingly admitted to himself. Advanced wandless magic, ability with memory charms, and such a temper… she would be good with the dark arts.
“You wouldn’t happen to know where Wool’s Orphanage is would you?”
His entire body stiffened, “In the market for an orphan?” He asked as casually as he could.
“Something like that… can you help me?”
“I do believe I can.” He held out his arm, and she blinked in surprise at the gesture. People had not done this for her in the past. Not a pureblood then. Even the ugliest have an arm offered to them at least once or twice a week.
She carefully took his offered arm and held it with great stiffness.
“It’s this way.”
She nodded.
To his surprise they walked in silence. Most witches- most people- could not resist filling the silence with chatter. They couldn’t seem to help themselves. He was glad he did not have to listen to the inane questions one usually went through with a stranger. He glanced down at her. She was frowning and looking straight ahead, as if she were thinking very deeply about something.
He wanted to know what she was thinking so intently about. Most women couldn’t resist trying to get his attention, especially when he was touching them. This was a rather different phenomenon, to be ignored… almost novel in its way. Tom didn’t like it.
Much too soon for him they reached the orphanage. At the sight of the building the girl’s face darkened and she dropped his arm.
“Wool’s, just as I promised.”
She blinked as if startled and turned to look at him. “Yes, you have been a big help. Thank you.” She started to walk away.
“Wait.”
She paused.
“I didn’t get your name.”
“….Hermione Granger.”
“Hermione,” he repeated. He liked the taste of it on his tongue. Tom was a great believer in destiny, and somehow saying her name felt like the beginning of a prophecy. Something riddled with destiny. “It has been nice meeting you.”
She bobbed her head. “I am sorry for the trouble I put you through.”
“Don’t worry about it, I live close by.” She didn’t need to know he was an orphan himself. He would walk around the back of the building and enter through the tiny kitchen, out of her sight. “I do hope to see you again.”
Her smile turned wistful. “I doubt it, but who knows. Life is funny.”
“It is.”
She glanced toward the building. “Goodbye then…”
“Goodbye Hermione Granger… we will meet again.” He said darkly as she walked up to the front door and knocked. “I will make sure of it.”