A/N: All the chapters that show Tom’s life before Hogwarts (like this one) are really important to setting up why he is the way he is. So I’ve been spending a lot of time planning these chapters.
For example, I wrote about 800 words of JUST PLANNING for this chapter.
I’ve tried very hard to balance Tom being naturally sadistic (because of the inbreeding on the Gaunt's side) and also being a normal, good child. I think I’m doing it pretty well, but you’ll have to judge it for yourself.
Enjoy!
Monday, May 15, 1933
Tom sat in the large dining room, secluded at the end of one of the tables, lost in his thoughts.
The dining room was furnished with 10 long, wooden tables, each draped in white tablecloths and adorned with shiny silverware.
He ate mindlessly as he thought, ignoring the chaos the other boys were making as they talked and messed around. Tom sneered at the other boys. They were idiotic, dull, and careless – animals. The only thoughts in their heads were about food and play. They were slaves to their desires. They never stopped and actually thought. If I ever end up like them, I'll end it right then and there.
Tom isolated himself from the other boys whenever he needed to think. I can only take so much idiocy before I explode. But they still came up to him and asked if he wanted to play. As if the best use of his time was to roll around and play with idiots.
Tom thought about Ms. Robinson. And specifically, how she made him feel. He was starting to believe it was weak to have liked the way she treated him. Strong, powerful men did everything themselves, right? They didn't need others telling them they were special. And neither did Tom.
She had spoken kind words and made him feel special; and he'd practically bowed down at her feet — worshiping the mere thought of praise coming his way.
Another part of him protested those thoughts. She made him feel happy – something he hadn't felt in so long. It felt like he was loved. There's nothing wrong with wanting to be happy, is there?
But Tom knew Ms. Robinson didn't care for him any more than the other boys here. He was just another kid — just another part of the job. And Tom had completely fallen for any semblance of love he could get.
So weak.
But he had felt so good. Is it that bad that I feel happy? It won't hurt my plans much if I let people into my life, will it? Is it that bad to rely on others?
Ms. Robinson had been the head caregiver, which meant she ran everything and had control over what happened at Wool's Orphanage. It was a stupid thing to aspire to, quite frankly. And Tom had no idea why people would set their goals to such a low bar.
Because Ms. Robinson had just died, there needed to be another head caregiver. Usually, it would automatically be given to the assistant head caregiver. But it seemed to be taking a little longer this time. Good, Mrs. Matthews is the assistant head caregiver. If she —
Tom was broken from his thoughts as the two glossy, dark-brown doors opened, and the caregivers who weren't already supervising stepped in.
Tom's eyes narrowed as he saw Mrs. Matthews expression: smug, distinctly smug. Her usual scowl was still there, but the corners of her lips were curled upward. The other caregivers were looking apprehensive, compared to Mrs. Matthews supreme smugness. Tom immediately caught on to what was happening. His eyes widened and his hands started nervously combing his hair again.
Mrs. Matthews was an old lady, one of the oldest caregivers, actually. She'd been tall when she was younger, but now her back had a distinct curve to it — making her look perpetually hunched over. She was the last lady who ever should be working at an orphanage. She was stricter than anyone could imagine, and seemed disgusted with the boys who lived here.
No. No! Why is she the new head caregiver? What idiots would agree to that? Tom squeezed his hand tightly around his fork. I guess these next months are going to be horrible for everyone, then.
Two staff members — Mrs. Berry and Mrs. Hudson — were whispering to each other in the corner of the room. That bad, huh?
"Attention, everyone," Mrs. Matthews said. Immediately, all the boys' heads snapped up to look at her. They knew better than to cross her. "Starting now, I am your new head caregiver —"
One of the boys, Michael, groaned loudly, interrupting Mrs. Matthews's speech. Her sharp gaze found him, and immediately, anyone who had thought of voicing their dissent shut up.
"Michael." Her voice was sharp. "For your disrespect, you'll be doing chores during playtime for the next week."
Michael's eyes widened, absolutely appalled. "But — But —"
"Do not talk back."
Micahel lowered his gaze at his plate. His eyes filled with tears, and he started sobbing quietly into his plate of food.
Tom's furious gaze flicked over to the other caregivers. They were watching the scene unfold with weary eyes. This is a joke! Do none of them have any spine? Why didn't they tell her she can't be head caregiver! What is wrong with them! How useless are they? How could she possibly convince them?
Tom furrowed his brow in thought as Mrs. Matthews continued with her brief speech. He wasn't listening. How can I get her out of that position? There's no way I'm going to let her control my life. What can —
He was broken from his thoughts by the screeching of chairs against the floor. Lunch was over. Now it was playtime. Tom sneered at the thought of playing games with the other boys. He had far better things to do. And until he got his hands on some more toys, he wasn't planning on playing with the other boys. That way, he could show how much power he had. The only problem would be getting them to listen to a six-year-old.
Tom stood up quietly and walked with the group heading to the orphanage's backyard. He excused himself by saying he had to use the restroom. And when he was far enough away, he walked to his room and shut the door.
Now, it's time to think.
He started pacing around his tiny room, and he spoke aloud to himself, "This is bad. I'm not going to let her boss me around. How can I get Mrs. Matthews fired from head caregiver —"
"What did you just say!" A voice screeched from behind him.
Tom whirled around, his eyes wide as ever. He quickly backed up to the far wall as he saw Mrs. Matthews standing there, her teeth bared in a snarl. The door was open.
She followed me here! He hid his trembling hands behind his back. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest. Don't be so weak. Act confident.
"What. Did. You. Say?" she repeated, her tone viscous and her wrinkled, sagging eyes narrowed.
"I … I …" He paused to collect his thoughts. Stop, you look like a fool right now. And how could I be so careless! He looked her in the eyes, a perfectly carved mask of regret in place. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Matthews I was —"
"I don't care what you were doing! Never in my life have I come across such disrespect!" She stepped closer to Tom. "And what's more, you're supposed to be with the rest of the children. Not to mention, your door is closed. Explain yourself."
His facade of respect and regret still in place, he said, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Matthews. I just needed some alone time. And for what I said, I didn't really mean it. I just …" He forced his voice to break on purpose. "I just miss Ms. Robinson …"
The fact that the last part was true disgusted him.
Mrs. Matthews stayed silent for a moment, studying Tom's face. He met her gaze, not looking away at all. If only I could make my voice deeper, I sound like a baby trying to talk to her.
Suddenly she spoke, her voice harsh and dangerous. "For the next week, you'll be doing chores during playtime. And if I ever see you trying to escape again. It will be a month." She stepped even closer, presumably trying to intimidate him. "And if I ever hear anything disrespectful like that again … You'll be doing chores for the rest of your life."
Tom's eyes widened even further. But he didn't argue. Despite the fire-hot rage burning deep in his heart, turning his insides a charcoaled black.
He nodded. It was like his words hadn't affected her at all. She doesn't have a soul. That would have worked on anyone else.
Her eyes narrowed. "What are you, mute? Tell me, do you understand?"
God, I hate her so much. So much. His hands tightened into fists behind his back. In his most respectful voice, he said, "Yes, ma'am."
She turned on the spot and started marching away. "Follow me. You are going to get started on those chores right now."
Tom's fists shook from anger. Both at himself and at her. I'm so stupid! And now I have to do chores for the next week.
He wasn't bothered by having to do chores. That didn't matter, he could think while doing that. He was more bothered by that fact that he had absolutely no say in it. His power in the decision was completely non-existent. Mrs. Matthews had made sure of that.
He followed her into the kitchen and she pointed at the dishes. "Start cleaning those."
She walked away, and Tom glared hatefully at her hunched back covered in a simple dress. God, she's so ugly. I want to hit her face.
Michael was mopping the cracked, wooden floor. The mop was chipped and splintered in places. And he was exceptionally bad at mopping. The floor was already puddled with water.
Michael was looking at Tom with a bitter look. "You got in trouble too, Tom?" He huffed. "I hate Mrs. Matthews."
Tom raised his eyebrows. Clearly, he hadn't learned his lesson. Michael spoke to Tom again, setting the mop aside as Tom angrily got started on the dishes. "What'd you do to get in trouble?"
Tom definitely did not want to talk to him, he just wanted to think. But Michael wasn't going to go away, so he said, "I was in my room when it was playtime." He shot an angry look at Michael. "Now stop talking, I need to do this."
Michael ignored the rude comment and stared at Tom with a confused look. "Why were you in your room during playtime? That's the best time of the day! I would never miss that." He looked to the mop leaning against the wall with an angry glare and huffed again.
Tom clenched his fists even harder around the dishes. God, can Michael please shut up. I'm not in the mood to deal with your idiocy.
Michael was still talking. Apparently oblivious to Tom's growing anger. " — She looks like a vulture. I mean, I should make her mop, not me! Then she can —"
"Shut up." Tom glared at Michael. "Be quiet for five minutes, I don't want to talk to you. I want to clean the dishes and think. And maybe if you stay quiet for long enough, I can actually think of a plan that can help us both."
Michael looked put off — which made Tom feel rather bad. But he was too angry to apologize right now. Then Michael spoke again. "What plan?"
Tom gripped his hands even tighter to stop them from shaking with anger. I'm going to crack this plate if I grip it any tighter. He took several deep breaths and then said, "I'm trying to get Mrs. Matthews fired."
Michael burst into laughter. "Yes! You have to, Tom." Michael laughed even more, suddenly overtaken by excitement. "I bet you can do it, you're really smart."
Tom glanced over at him. Oddly happy at being told he was smart.
"How are you going to do it?" Michael asked excitedly.
"Well maybe if you shut up, I can figure it out."
Michael huffed again, a light smile on his face, and walked out the other side of the kitchen. His feet splashed in the puddles of water he had left. Hasn't he mopped like a hundred times already? How can he be so bad at it? Idiot.
Tom continued washing the dishes meticulously. I'll do my best with these dishes. It won't be good to have Mrs. Matthews mad at me. But I'll get my revenge. That's a promise.
Tom was patient, always. And this was not the time for petty anger. Now was the time for plotting.
Wow, I’ve been having so much fun writing these chapters. Also, I never realized how much of the process is editing what you wrote. I used to NEVER edit. And that was one of the reasons my writing used to sound uninspired. Editing my writing makes it like 50% better, it’s kinda crazy how good it is. And it’s FUN.
Moral of the story: Make sure to edit :)
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