The Fear in The Child

1

Tom gasped, his breath exiting itself roughly from his lungs, forcing him to jerk forwards from where he was lying. A sense of deep, uncontrollable fear meandering its way through his veins, festering and lying thick atop him, leaving him breathless and unable to inhale quite enough air, causing him to cough harshly. He lay alone, in the ruins of an old building. Glancing around he noticed the abandoned state of the small place. It would seem that none had been here for quite some time, and he knew from just once glance that it was familiar. He just...did not quite know how it was so familiar to him, yet he could not help that feeling that he knew this place intimately. 

Gravel...it was quite painful, and quite a bit of it dug into the still marred skin of his back, making him wince, and whine out, but his strength fled from him, he was too weak to do anything but lay there. The last memories that of him being beaten by one of the orphans flew through the mind as he remembered the pain and agony of that, which was sort of worse now considering the small rocks and pebbles digging through the raggedy clothes he wore. The Orphan was a big guy, not suffering through the underweight malnourished state most of them had been through lately, mostly because he stole, bribed, or threatened most other kids' rations, something which Tom hated. He had refused to give his up, he always had, something which had not gone over well with the boy. Not that Tom wasn't unused to being beaten. He was 15, a prodigy in the Wizarding World, and a quantifiable genius in the muggle one, but not being able to do magic during summers left him just as helpless as he always had been. Something that constantly left him annoyed and upset. He just did not understand why it was that they seemed to think Orphaned Magical kids should just...return. Why? 

Though, it was only because of this genius that Tom knew what he currently did.
1. He was laying in the ruins of his orphanage home. He could recognize the old grey walls, and the stone was slightly decayed where it lay. 2. He was still injured from the beating which he had been served unjustly. He could feel that in the sting of his back and the ache which flew through his body currently. 3. This was certainly not 1944. It was later. This obvious in the amount of decay which the building's ruins had gone through. If the Orphanage had been bombed it would not be such drastic decay. 4. He didn't use time magick, therefore Magic must have decided to bring him here. Which meant... 5. He had succeeded, and failed, simultaneously. 

He supposed that there was a positive in the situation that he found himself in at the moment. The good thing was that at least his actions now had no bearing on the past. Which was nice, he supposed. He could not worry about screwing things up in the past while he was stuck here, definitely an improvement then other situations he could have been thrust into. Yet, at the same moment, it also meant he knew nobody in this time, and unless that blasted man was still somehow alive, nobody would truly recognize him either. Though, Tom would definitely not put it past the old coote. It also meant that he was still underage, meaning he would once more need to continue his education at Hogwarts. As much as he definitely loved Hogwarts, there was also the pressing issue of him have no other place to be.

Tom, however, had to focus on the present at the moment, which was him still in pain. Quite a bit of it in fact. It dulled his sense, and caused his head to pound unpleasantly. This was why he did not draw his wand the moment Dumbledore, several decades older, appeared before him, nor why he did not notice the man fully in the first place. Rather than rise, which was too painstaking at the moment, he just...laid his head back, closed his eyes, and growled in frustrated anger. 

"Tom Riddle. It has been quite a while. Magic has decided to play her hand in your fate. Given you another life and awoken your spirit." Dumbledore spoke, that stupid soft comforting tone as though he did not realize Tom knew how fake it was. Tom glared at him hatefully. He supposed he should have suspected that man would come to see him should magic decide to drag him forwards like this.

"I am well aware thank you." Tom hissed, anger in his tone, hate in his eyes, and the general discomfort in his body palpable. Of all people. Of all people. Why him? Tom hated Dumbledore, and that would not end soon. Tom cast his look at Dumbledore from what he could see on the floor, dark eyes scanning him intensely. "You got old." Tom said, trying to hide the pain from his voice, and managing, for the most part. "What do you want, Professor?" He asked, voice slightly resigned, glaring at the whitened old man. He would prefer to be left alone within the ruins of his old... place of inhabitance. He did not want to deal with this...whatever this was. He would much prefer it if Dumbledore just left him to bask in the mind altering pain he was currently dealing with. One step at a time.

"Magic has brought you here. For what reasons, I am not entirely certain. Still, she has awoken your spirit, and I am sure you are aware that this is not 1946 anymore. It is 2004, which means you will need some sort of shelter until the summer ends, and you return, or rather, begin, your time at Hogwarts." Tom laughed, just as dark and chilling as Dumbledore remembered, despite the pain and pulled himself up into a sitting position ignoring the dragging pain in his back. His dark hair wafted in front of his eyes ever so delicately as he did so, and he leaned against one of the larger bits of ruined orphanage to support himself.

"And I suppose you are just so...eager to aid me is that right?" Tom asked, voice filled with his utter disdain. His eyes were narrowed in distrust.

"Tom, you have nowhere to go." Dumbledore attempted to reason, lifting his hands outwards, trying to come across more kind. He knew he could not force the boy to accept his desire to aid him, so he had to appeal to the more slytherin side of him. "Wools Orphanage has not been around for quite some time. Not to mention you have no guardians, hence why you entered Wools in the first place. No family, no friends-not in this time. You are not a time traveler and so you cannot simply go back. Magic brought you back, so unless you murder yourself, or find someone to do it for you, you are stuck here. You need help. I know it, and you know it as well. You need shelter, and I can provide." Tom scoffed at the old man.

"I would rather starve." He snarled, his eyes glinting with the sheer amount of hatred he had for the man. It may be a different time, but for Tom, it was still Dumbledore, and he did not trust the man. Never would. Shelter? Give him a break. More like a fancy prison if Tom was lucky enough for that. Dumbledore's infamous hatred of him was never unknown to Tom. Why would he want to help him now, when it was the perfect opportunity to let him wither away?

"Tom," Dumbledore spoke sternly. "I have the means. Just until summer ends. When you return to Hogwarts. It is only a few weeks." Tom glared, gritting his teeth angrily. He did not want the help of the old fool. "Tom, Use me. I am offering you aid. Who else would do so? Just this once, I ask you to use me until Hogwarts begins."

Tom inhaled deeply. Still, he knew better than to continue to refuse. As much as Tom hated it, Dumbledore was right. Furthermore, when he was at Hogwarts he would have to reestablish himself. He would have to deal with all the superiority and everything all over again. Right now? Now he just wanted to rest, and heal. His back was killing him, and his chest ached every time he inhaled so much a breath. He knew if he rolled up the sleeves of his thin night shirt he would find a ton of bruises and marks. His chest was still littered in the burns from his latest punishment from Matron. He was no moron. Even if he hated Dumbledore, he needed to use the man right now. Especially since he was willing to be used. What use would it be to Tom to refuse? Nothing. He was a Slytherin, and his position right now was not the best. It would not be wise to allow pride into the equation. He was not a gryffindor. He would take what he was offered. Use him, leave him. It was only for a few weeks. Tom needed to heal before Hogwarts. It was the only real option he truly had.

"Very well, Old Man, but do not expect me to get along with whomever it is you are bringing me to. And I will not allow you to disarm me either." Dumbledore nodded.

"I never expected that you would. Just be polite. That is all I ask." Tom's upper lip curled angrily, but he knew he was lucky right now. He needed the man to get onto some sort of stable footing.

"As you wish." Tom said, voice curling into that mocking tone he held so well. Dumbledore sighed, but was just happy he managed to get the boy to agree.