the flower dancer // quirrellmort

1 • the magic orphan

"You're not evil, Tom. You're magic!"

Sun seeped through the forest green drapes that hung over all of the oddly-shaped windows in the room. A row of similarly green beds groaned as a morning alarm suddenly sprang to life. One by one, ruffled heads popped up from green duvets while tired hands sloppily tore back green four-poster curtains. A new day. Tom Riddle's favorite.

As the other boys left their beds, Tom remained staring at the stone ceiling above him. He was quickly remembering his dream, as he did every morning after he dreamed something specific and memorable. Today, it seemed he had awoken in the middle of a memory, rather than a fictional tale. He could see the dingy, depressing surroundings of Wool's Orphanage. He could see Albus Dumbledore telling him all about magic and Hogwarts and the new life he was about to be given at eleven years old. Annoyance flared within present-day Tom for a moment, for he had indeed woken up before his favorite part: when Dumbledore taught him about dancing.

Sighing, Tom finally rose from his creaky bed and joined the other boys in dressing for the day. A new school year had just begun a couple days ago at Hogwarts, and Tom was readily prepared. Learning was always something he valued because success comes from knowledge. Also, there were finally some more people in Hogwarts Castle other than himself and Dumbledore.

Tom Riddle had virtually no family, so during holidays, he stayed in the castle. That meant that over the summer, he was the only student on the entire grounds. The only human interaction Tom ever had during those months was when Dumbledore came to "hang out". If Tom was being honest, he was very tired of his "hang out" sessions with the headmaster. Although he hated being around other people more than he hated most other things in life, it was a breath of fresh air to see the castle fill up again and Dumbledore's check-ups morph into just... weekly.

At first, Tom was pretty fond of Albus Dumbledore, because the man not only brought him to Hogwarts in the first place, but he also introduced Tom to his greatest passion. The day Dumbledore told him to try dancing was frankly the best day of Tom's life. But as time went on, Tom's fondness for the headmaster steadily began to wane. Truth be told, the adolescent angst of a fifteen-year-old Tom Riddle didn't exactly appreciate an old man constantly asking him about his life and his feelings.

~~

Breakfast in the Great Hall was always the same: a loud, crowded mess of conversing students while a quiet Tom Riddle sat far removed at the very end of the Slytherin table. There was at least 2 yards separating him from anyone else until his friends sat down with him.

Tom didn't really call them his "friends". In fact, he usually thought of them more as henchmen that followed him around. They were Lucius Malfoy and Trixie Black, two fellow Slytherins that Tom had immediately made acquaintances with upon his arrival at Hogwarts four years prior. Since then they had formed a sort of club that Tom was all too happy to lead.

"You're looking tired, Tom," was the first thing out of Lucius' mouth. He eyed the other boy from across the table, making Tom's stomach bubble anxiously. He didn't like when people tried to read him.

He snorted. "Yes, seeing as I just woke up." He also was still slightly hanging on to his dream, something he wouldn't admit out loud. It seemed... silly and childish.

Lucius' face was bright, and his long, platinum blond hair was combed to perfection. "I'm quite ready for the day, I would say. But you don't seem nearly as prepared as you normally do."

Tom rolled his eyes. "Of course I'm ready. It's Slughorn. The guy adores me." It was true: Horace Slughorn, the potions master, very much adored him. Tom was a star member of the SlugClub, an exclusive group the professor had started for only his best students. There were even pictures of Tom in Slughorn's office.

"Ooh, Slughorn," Trixie said mockingly. "Honestly Tom, that guy is a bore. His dinner parties are lackluster at best. I don't know why you're so taken with him.

"It's because he's the favorite," Lucius cut in. "Tom likes holding all the power in the room."

Tom couldn't disagree with that, so he simply nodded and went back to his morning sausage. Power. That word alone could attract him like a moth to a flame.