Enchanting
The first time Tom had laid eyes on the boy, he had thought he was coming down with something. His chest felt unusually tight, almost as if each lung had been submerged in water—drowned by the weight of condensation and steam building in his chest.
The boy was small, smaller than most of the boys in his year. Tom had thought it odd that someone their age could be so frail, the delicate width of his wrists something Riddle could easily wrap around with one of his own hands. It was perhaps that alone that made Tom approach the boy—to go out of his way in this hellhole of a school after spending years building a reputation.
No one would ever question his decisions, not after he crushed the boy that stood above the food chain several weeks into the semester. Tom had wormed his way in—played the docile and charming boy until he had acquired quite the position of trust in the inner circle of the popular group.
It was easy to fool them—Tom did not spend years dancing circles around the matron at the orphanage only be thwarted from some snot-nosed brat. Tom, despite living with a new family would not lose his touch now—it was a usual skill he had sharpened into a point over time, it would be remiss of him to forget the life beaten into his skin. This new arrangement worked well for him—the new parents would get a new son to boast about to their pathetic friends, and Tom acquired a place where he had a warm bed to sleep in and a decent meal at the table.
It was a convenient arrangement and Tom played his role remarkably well.
So it was easy to approach the new boy, enraptured by the disarray in the boy’s attire. It looked much too big for him—nearly three times the boy’s size. It billowed around his frame like a dress almost, and it said a lot about the life the boy must be living at home.
Tom remembered the gray uniforms the matron would force them to wear—patching at the holes until the material could no longer sustain the abuse and the wear of time. It was similar to the gaudy material the boy was wearing now even if it was not an eyesore gray, and Tom could not help the curiosity burning in his brain.
Just who was this boy? Tom could not recall ever seeing someone like him at the Orphanage. Tom would assuredly remember had he seen the boy before. He made it his business to leave no stone unturned, no face unknown. To have knowledge was to survive in the orphanage, and that was no different here at school. Though, what Tom really could not understand was his fascination with the child. The boy only a few years his minor was unremarkable from what he could see at a distance. But there was just something about him that made it difficult for Tom to ignore—there was a glow to his skin despite how unusually gaunt he looked; how brittle his bones appeared and how weak at first glance.
The boy looked like a broken doll, but there was fire him. It was unmistakable to see that energy percolating in the boy with the purpose he moved. Sure, he was admittedly a bit skittish, but he did not run from others. He walked amongst them as if he had all the right to be standing in the halls with his much taller, and healthier peers.
And it became even more readily apparent the closer Tom approached, nothing the ease in his shoulders where he was standing by the porch beam. But when Tom finally was mere feet from the boy and the boy turned to face Tom, Tom was struck once more.
Tom felt the breath leave his lungs, the same twisting sensation now dropping to the pit of his stomach as he tried to make sense of just what this foreign feeling was. It did not abate no matter how much Tom tried to quell it, and he felt a growing sense of irritation itching at his skin at his inability to control himself.
Of course, Tom’s carefully crafted mask was kept perfectly in place.
“Hello there, have never seen you before?” Tom murmured the words easily, curling his lips into a small smile at the boy despite the boy’s growing look of confusion. It was the most fascinating thing Tom had ever seen—he was used to anger and fear, but not to this strange flurry of emotion on the boy’s expression.
The boy looked a cross between confused and surprised.
Tom noted the way the boy’s mouth opened and closed rapidly, as if he were trying to say something but caught himself each time he was preparing to answer the simple question. Tom could not help the mounting amusement in his chest, soothing the irritation he had felt earlier at the utter helplessness in his discrete reactions.
“My name is Harry Potter. I just transferred over, that might be why you’ve never seen me before.” The boy’s voice was clear, all traces of his confusion gone and replaced with a confidence that seemed to only amuse Tom further.
Interesting.
“My name is Tom Riddle. It is a pleasure to meet you, Harry.” Tom was surprised that he actually meant it, not quite understanding just how a perfect stranger could have gotten such a reaction out of him.
Tom had only ever felt close to the snakes he found while playing outside at the orphanage—he never felt this comfortable with humans before. It should have concerned him to feel this at all, but he ignored it entirely when the boy’s eyes brightened at the pleasant answer, the wariness Tom had noted in Harry’s shoulders melting away.
The boy’s eyes seemed to burn Tom’s insides—the emerald in the iris like that of the garden snakes he had played with numerous times while waiting for the day to crest into evening. There were specks of gold in there, mingling with the green so perfectly that Tom could not find words to speak.
He was dumbstruck by how expressive the boy was—how alive this boy Harry was despite how weak the boy clearly looked. Harry looked like someone that could readily break if pushed too hard, like his bones might snap if bumped into too hard in a game of hide and seek.
Tom could not help but want to smother the child into his arms, wanting him all for himself. No one had ever looked so happy to see Tom before—everyone was either afraid or hateful. There was never an in-between with the children even if he was perfectly polite and charming. They either saw Tom as the threat he was, which they most definitely should, or as a stuck up know-it-all that had no place in the little world they had created.
But with Harry, Tom could start over. The boy did not know him.
It was an opportunity to start a fresh beginning—not needing to employ more…aggressive tactics to get the boy to interact with him. The prospect of this, admittedly, was exciting for Tom.
“It’s nice to meet you too, Tom. You’re the first person to talk to me since I started here.” Harry blushed up at Tom, the color making the green of the boy’s eyes glitter more brightly underneath the glow of the morning sun.
Tom could not help himself at all when he took the boy’s hand in his, reveling at the way Harry’s smile seemed to widen into a pleased grin. Harry did not detract as Tom first assumed—it was definitely pleasing.
Yes, Tom thought to himself, as he maneuvered the boy into the school, his hand still tightly wrapped around Harry’s. Things would definitely be much more interesting now.
After all, Tom had found quite the enchanting friend.