The Dark Dyad (Tom Riddle & ofc)

Chapter 5. Affect

June 21, 1938

Tuesday

The green locket swayed smoothly in front of my hands, and I desperately reached for it but could not grasp the chain or the large emerald stone. "My boy. My Tom Marvolo!" A woman's warm voice sounded in the distance, echoing through the half-empty room.

Realizing that it was just a dream that was rapidly melting away in the prevailing consciousness, I reluctantly opened my eyes. The room was bright. I turned on the other side and glanced out the window, where the dull brick wall was staring back at me with the same crushing, eleven-year-old greeting. At least one ray of sunshine in all that time... But the rain beat merrily and cheerfully on the eaves year after year, reminding me that it can be even more hopeless and sad than just a gray wall on a sunny day. If only I had a book! I'd start reading right away. Breakfast isn't until eight-thirty... It was now six o'clock, which meant a whole two prison hours ahead without books, games, or her.

I sat quietly on the edge of the bed with my feet down, barely touching the tiled surface with my tiptoes, when I felt the coolness of the floor. I got used to the unpleasant sensation, and in a few moments, I was out of bed and strode to the door to look out into the hallway. I rubbed my eyes, yawned sleepily, and tried to look at the numbers on the old clock. It was ten to six. A disappointed sigh. Maybe I could sleep for at least another hour.

After an irritated hour and a half, I finally heard Martha walking in the corridor and waking the boys up. I have never been so happy about this moment before that I even got dressed and cleaned myself up, having completed all the morning routine, the very first of all the guys.

In the boys' bathroom, I met Chris and his buddies, who were annoying as usual with their wheezing laughter and stupid jokes that could be heard even in the hallway. And those idiots had just woken up... Where did they get all that energy? I preferred to pretend that Chris didn't exist; otherwise, I would have grabbed his chubby face and skinned him with my bare hands to beat the crap out of him.

The line in front of the little sink, where I had to wash my hands before breakfast, didn't seem to move at all. I stared into the crowd of guys, trying desperately to catch sight of the tar-colored crown of her head. In vain. Irene wasn't here. If we didn't eat breakfast on time, Mrs. Cole wouldn't be happy. You can't skip meals. Besides, I've been going crazy for two hours this morning, which must have taken forever, no less. Then Mrs. Cole would surely have a chance to put me in a housing for the mentally ill if she had a reason.

Stepping over two rungs of the stairs at once, I hurried into the third-floor hallway, where the girls' rooms were. If this were a competition, I would definitely be the winner. No one had ever got to the top floor of Wool's orphanage with such record speed. The concrete walls echoed with my fidgeting footsteps. Irene was nowhere to be found. Maybe the second floor? I hurried downstairs. A little out of breath, I slowed my pace. Where had she gone? Damn it. Why wasn't there a button you could push, and a person would immediately appear in front of you? I glanced down the dull corridor, at the very end of which hung an antique, worn clock. From the first floor, the echoes of children's pandemonium could be heard. Abruptly, I turned toward the stairs. I can't be late. Ready to take a step to get down to the first floor, I froze. My ears caught on to an incomprehensible rustling noise coming from the small storage room where the mops and other household utensils were kept.

Ghosts and boggarts are fantasies. I boldly pushed the door open.

I could see two figures: a gloomy, fragile one with dark, tightly braided braids, and a second, larger one. Irene, with an absolutely indifferent look, stroked the hanging objects in the air, occasionally glancing at the boy opposite.