SIX-AND-A-HALF YEARS LATER
Thursday, May 11, 1933
Tom, only six years old, sat on his bed in his room. The walls were claustrophobic and devoid of any decorations – save for a single window. He had a rickety bed, a battered wooden desk, and a closet. They were just there and would stay there after he was gone.
The only things he owned were the clothes on his body, an extra two pairs, and a small, battered wooden horse. He had stolen it from Bill yesterday, and he wasn’t giving it back. It was his now, and it would always stay that way.
The wooden horse was poorly carved, but he didn’t care. No one at the orphanage cared. It was a toy. As such, it was as good as gold. Somehow, despite being able to upkeep an entire building and a hundred orphans therein, they couldn’t afford toys for the children inside.
But Tom wasn’t like the other kids. Not at all. He didn’t care about playing with the toys. All he cared about was that the toys were his.
Toys were valuable here. Those who had more toys had more power. Tom planned to have more toys than anyone could imagine. Not ten, not twenty. But all the toys.
Just think how powerful I’ll be when that happens. Everyone will want to play with me. Everyone will want to borrow my toys.
And if there was one person who could do it, it was him. No other boy was nearly as intelligent as he was. He was quite amazing. All the other six-year-olds seemed like infants compared to his intelligence. He had taken the caregiver’s tests and beaten even some of the twelve-year-olds.
I guess I was just born better than them.
A knock came on the door. And Tom broke from his thoughts.
The door opened and Ms. Roberts stepped in. “Tom, what are you doing here? Everyone else is out playing.” She looked at him, mildly concerned. “Also, you know better than to have the door closed, it’s against the rules.”
Tom looked down at his feet. He had found that the caregivers usually gave him more of what he wanted if he acted sad. “Sorry, Ms. Roberts. I just wanted some privacy, that’s all.” He made sure to make his voice sound dejected.
Ms. Roberts sighed, and then came and sat next to him on his bed. His head barely reached her shoulders.
She was a young woman, at least compared to the other caregivers, who all seemed ancient. She was probably thirty, or something. Her hair was tied up in a tight bun, making her look more strict than she was. What was special about her was that she was the head caregiver, which meant she ran the entire orphanage, despite being younger than most of the other caregivers.
“Tom, why don’t you go play? Everyone’s having fun.”
“I’m fine in here,” Tom said.
“What are you doing?”
“Just thinking.”
“About what?”
Tom pondered whether he should be truthful or not. And he decided to tell the truth. He always found that he could tell the truth in front of Ms. Robinson. She was nice. She was the only caregiver he liked. She was the only one whom he felt bad about manipulating. And besides, there’s nothing wrong with what he was thinking about.
“Toys.”
Ms. Robinson’s gaze softened even more. “I saw you got that horse. Where is it?”
She remembered that? Huh, I might have to be more careful. She could figure out I stole it from Bill. Tom reached under his pillow and withdrew it. He had hidden it there when he heard the knock on the door. It was a habit by now. If one of the boys had been at the door, then Tom couldn’t risk leaving it around and having them steal it.
“Can I see it?”
Tom looked at her hesitantly. He didn’t want to give it to her. What if she doesn’t give it back?
No, she wouldn’t do that. She’s not like that.
He hesitantly set it in her hands. She smiled at him warmly.
Why does that smile make my heart feel all warm? Is this how it feels to have parents? No, no. I can’t think about that. I have to focus on what matters. Not parents I’ll never have. Stop being so weak.
“It’s beautiful, Tom. Do you play with it often?”
Tom pondered whether he should tell the truth again. And then he chose to just do it. It felt nice to talk with Ms. Robinson.
“Not really,” he said. Ms. Robinson’s expression changed to slight surprise. “I mostly like having it just because it’s a toy. It means that the other boys will think of me as more powerful.”
As soon as Tom said it, he cursed internally. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m giving too much away.
Ms. Robinson laughed lightly. “I have a feeling that you’re going to be very smart when you grow up, Tom. You think differently.”
Tom’s eyes widened and he stared up at her. She thinks that?
But then he thought about it. No, she doesn’t. She’s just saying that. She doesn’t mean that. Tom’s expression fell and he looked at his feet.“You don’t mean that,” he said.
Why do I get all sappy whenever I’m around Ms. Robinson? It’s like I can’t control myself. Get a grip.
“Yes, I do. Tom, you’re special. Always remember that. You’re going to do great things when you’re older.”
Tom lifted his gaze to look at her, his lips forming a smile on their own. Maybe she does mean that. Tom stayed silent for a few moments, feeling oddly light.
Ms. Robinson stood up from the bed. “I’ve got to go, Tom. I’m supposed to be helping watch over everyone.”
She started walking, but before she could leave the room, Tom called to her, “Ms. Robinson?”
She turned back around. “Yes?”
“Do you know what my parents were like? Were they smart like I am?”
She smiled sadly at him. “No, I don’t. But I know a bit about them.”
“Can you tell me?”
She smiled more warmly and then moved to sit next to Tom again. “Sure.”
Tom waited expectantly as she gathered her thoughts. “Well, I don’t know much about your father. Except that you were named after him. And I know you got your middle name from your grandfather.” She smiled. “‘Marvolo’, it’s a very interesting name.”
“Do you know about my grandfather, then?” Tom interrupted.
“No, I’m afraid I don’t. Your mother’s name was Merope. She was quite young when she had you. She ... She ...”
“What?” Tom asked, his eyes expectant.
“Well, you already know. But she died after she gave birth to you. You were born here, too — in Wool’s Orphanage. The last thing she said was what to name you. She was very brave.”
“Do you know who she was? Was she famous? Was she powerful? Do you know?” Tom asked quickly. I doubt my mother is, she ended up dying on the doorsteps of an orphanage. How smart could she be? But he knew that one of his parents had to be either powerful or a genius. He knew it, deep in his bones.
“Well ... No, I don’t think she was.”
“Do you know anything about her?”
Ms. Robinson looked slightly uncomfortable. “Well. I’m told that she was a circus worker.”
Tom felt a bit of him die as he heard those words. It was as if someone had punched him straight in the gut. He was winded. But ... But, no. No. That can’t be true.
“No. She ... She couldn’t be a ... circus worker.“ He spat the last words out like they were poison.
“Well, that’s what I’m told. Mrs. Cole would know better, she helped deliver you. But I do think it’s true, Tom.”
Tom shut his eyes. God, was my mother a useless idiot? How did my father even fall for her?
A circus worker? My father was probably someone powerful, at least. I know that he wasn’t a circus worker.
“Tom, don’t look so dejected. She was probably a wonderful lady. And regardless, you aren’t your parents. You’re your own person, Tom.”
He ran his hands through his neatly parted hair. “Who were your parents? Was your mother a degenerate too?”
“Tom, don’t talk like that.“ She shot a warning look at him. “... But as for my parents … Well, I’m sure you know that I was an orphan too – like you. That’s why I came to work here, actually. But they were just your average, run-of-the-mill people. My father was a factory worker, and my mother stayed at the house.” She cleared her throat. “They both died in a fire.”
They both stayed silent for a moment until Tom spoke up. “It doesn’t make sense. My mother can’t be a circus worker. That just ... doesn’t make sense. I bet my father was powerful. He has to be. My mother on the other hand ...”
“Tom, don’t feel ashamed of your parents. They brought you into this world. And regardless of who they were, you’re you, not them. And you’re special.”
She smiled down at him. And he smiled up, feeling that warm feeling in his chest again. It was overwhelming. And so … pleasant. It so shockingly contrasted with his usual, dull life that it seemed to consume him.
And then, suddenly, he did something he’d never done before: he hugged her.
His arms wrapped tightly around her midsection. The warm feeling in his heart was too much to ignore. He ... He ... At this moment, he didn’t think he had ever liked someone as much as he liked Ms. Robinson right now.
Just as quickly as he had hugged her, he pulled away. His pale cheeks tinted with an embarrassed blush. “Sorry,” he muttered.
She smiled warmly down at him. “Don’t worry, Tom. It was a nice hug.”
She patted him on the back and then stood up. “I’m sorry, but I have to go watch everyone else. If I’m not there soon, I’m sure Mrs. Matthews will start yelling at me.”
She left the room, and Tom sat on the bed, feeling happier than ever. Is this what it feels like to have a mother? She may not be powerful, but it’s at least nice.
He laid back in his bed, a smile on his face. She made him feel special. It doesn’t make me weak to think that, right?
He wanted to be the best in the entire world. He wanted to be the most powerful, the most intelligent, the most cunning. Liking Ms. Robinson won’t hurt that dream, will it?
He grabbed the toy again and fiddled with it. What is this warm feeling in my heart? Why do I feel so happy right now?
He smiled to himself as the day passed by. It was the first truly happy day he’d had in a while. He stared at the door through which she had left. She wasn’t his mother, but it still felt good to talk to her.
That was the last time Tom would ever see Ms. Robinson. The next day she died in a car crash.
How’d you like that ending!
This was actually a really important chapter, because it shows Tom Riddle being human, and not just as evil incarnate. And if people don’t like the main character, then they usually don’t like the book.
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