The Dark Dyad (Tom Riddle & ofc)

Chapter 11. The Rabbit and the Python

August 18, 1938

Friday

A succession of rains inexorably sang its monotonous song to London and tapped with an insistent rhythm on the window cornice of my room. I carefully placed the stones I'd confiscated from Irene on the windowsill. Everything must be in perfect order.

When Irene said she was going to collect unnecessary pebbles, I thought at least they would be different. But everything turned out to be simple: snow-white, different shapes. To the question whether this collection will be replenished, the answer was categorical — no. When I asked why, I heard that 'even Buddha was sitting under the fig tree with seven fruit swaying on it.' I had to look up who Buddha was in the encyclopedia. How did Irene know so many myths and funny stories about fantastic beasts? She once assured me that the boggarts were not fiction at all, but purely true. The only boggart in my surroundings was her. However, I refrained from uttering the thought aloud. There was, of course, no evidence that she was right.

She's really special. Just like me. However, her fairy tales sometimes sounded so that if Mrs. Cole had heard them with half an ear, there would have already been two potential clients for the house of the mentally ill in Wool's orphanage.

A black-and-white photograph of a rocky shore, surrounded by endless choppy waters, moved behind the iron pipe that carried the heating in winter. I brought this picture from the beach where we vacationed with the kids, although I hadn't seen the place that was pictured. Probably, somewhere in the middle of the sea it really was.

"Tom," Irene said at the same time as the door creaked open.

"Don't they teach you to knock?" I didn't have time to turn around, because the picture wouldn't stay where it was supposed to be.

"I'm sorry," Irene said mechanically, feeling no remorse for what she'd done. "I want to show you something!" She tried to sound calm, but her excitement was palpable.

"Finally," I muttered.

The picture was securely wedged between the wall and the pipe. After a loving glance at my little composition, I decided to turn around after all.

"You certainly haven't seen this yet," the last phrase was stifled by the lack of air, which Irene had successfully exhaled on the first two words.

I gave her the most skeptical look I could muster. With a shake of her head toward the exit, she disappeared down the hallway, leaving the door open, inviting me to follow her. Looking at the window sill and the pipe once more, I smiled involuntarily. The picture made me feel warm at heart. Raindrops pounded monotonically on the ledge, and the gray brick wall was still depressing with its mute existence. I don't care. I would watch those black and white waves crashing against the impregnable cliffs. One day I would be there for sure. Loud clanking and rumbling. Irene cursed like a trucker. My eye! And I was beginning to think that she would never trip over that dislodged square of tile. Out into the corridor, I noticed that Irene had already turned the corner and was hurrying down the stairs, which could be heard on the second floor. Slowly following, I pushed the tiles into place with my foot. Irene definitely needed to be re-educated. One minute her dress was stained, the next minute her sandals were in the dust, the next minute she was breaking the floor and wouldn't fix it. She acted as if... She was allowed to do anything? When did she become so bold?

Thinking that being near me gave her a sense of confidence, I slowly made my way down to the first floor. Two dark braids flashed through the front door of the orphanage. 'Not outside. It's raining out there!' I thought and confidently pushed the door open. Irene stood under the roof canopy and patiently waited for my appearance.