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So, my other
Chatterbox: Inkwell
So, my other
So, my other HPFF was being... annoying... (blame Harry), so I switched POV, jumped back to 1938, and started rewriting it. It's going much better this time, I'm at 13k thus far.
The usuals apply, critique is good. Critique is niiiiiiiiiice. *creepy smile*
Yeah. (mocking of my bizarre obsession with the villains of HP, on the other hand, is less appreciated)
***
On the whole, the orphanage was not a bad place. Certainly the rooms were a bit drafty and there were mice in the walls and occasionally Mrs. Cole forgot to feed them and they had to make do with cold leftovers, but she at least tried to be motherly when she wasn’t so drunk she couldn’t sit up straight. Tom appreciated the effort, at least.
Things had gotten a lot better after his seventh birthday. That was when he had learnt he could talk to snakes.
Of course, snakes weren’t exactly the best replacement for parents either, but they did know a lot of very interesting stories. Tom always loved stories, if only because they were useful for calming down the younger ones when they were upset.
Tom did wonder about it sometimes. He knew the others couldn’t do what he could, talking with snakes or simply making things happen, like that time Billy Stubbs had fallen down the stairs and Tom had simply thought about slowing the fall and Billy had actually stopped after only a few steps. Or when Dennis had been teasing him, and Tom had made him trip and break his arm only a half hour later.
It frightened him, just a little.
Amy thought it was probably coincidence, and that he was letting his wild imagination get the better of him, but even she couldn’t explain the snakes. She had advised him not to tell anyone else though, so he hadn’t, because Amy generally gave good advice.
At present Tom was sprawled on his bed, reading one of the three books in the orphanage for probably the hundredth time. He turned a page, and paused, listening. Someone dashed up the stairs-- Billy, by the noise of it. No one else could thunder quite like Billy could.
A few seconds later Billy burst into the room, panting, face blotchy from exertion. Tom raised an eyebrow. Scarcely anything disturbed the large, freckly boy; Tom had never seen him so out of sorts before.
“Tomthere’samanherewantst’talkyou‘boutschool?”
“Indeed,” said Tom, because a snake had told him once that this was the proper response to anything out of the ordinary.
Billy got his wind back, and continued at a regular pace, “He looked very strict. And he had to get Mrs. Cole drunk before starting in about you. He’s coming up here now.”
Tom nodded. “Thank you, Billy,” he said. “Go and find Amy for me, will you? Tell her I’ll probably want to talk to her in a half hour or so.” He smiled faintly as Billy hastened to obey.
A few minutes later Mrs. Cole knocked on the door and swayed in before he could answer. Billy hadn’t been exaggerating when he said she was drunk; her face had turned red and her eyes were slightly unfocused.
“Tom?” she said. “You’ve got got got a visitor. Thissssisisisis Prof- prof- Mr. Penrossse. ‘s here ‘bout a-- ‘bout a-- ‘bout something.”
The visitor was a very tall, very thin man with auburn hair and a severe expression. He didn’t look amused in the slightest by Mrs. Cole’s introduction.
“Indeed,” he said rather coldly. Tom felt a little thrill of vindication and made a note to thank the snake if he ever saw him again.
Mrs. Cole seemed to pick up on the visitor’s distaste, and left, mumbling incoherently about needing another bottle of gin. Tom watched her go. As the door shut behind her, he said, “Interesting. Normally she doesn’t slur quite so badly.”
“Hm,” said the visitor. His nostrils flared. “Tom.”
“Yes?”
“I am Professor Penrose.”
“It’s very nice to meet you,” Tom said, closing his book and swinging off the bed. “Er, I’m sorry about Mrs. Cole. When she isn’t drunk, she can be quite charming.”
“Quite,” Professor Penrose said. Then, “Undoubtedly you are wondering why I am here.” He raised an eyebrow slightly.
“A little,” Tom admitted.
Professor Penrose sighed. “Well, Tom, I am here on behalf of a very special school called Hogwarts.”
Tom took a moment to digest this. Professor had the ring of an institution, and from what the snakes had told him and everything he had ever read in books, “special” in description of a school generally meant that the school in question had a mysterious secret, or else that it was really a place where they kept young, unstable people locked up where they couldn’t do any damage. That being said, “Hogwarts” was hardly the sort of name one would think to associate with schools for crazy people, and Tom was pretty sure he wasn’t mad.
At last he said, “What sort of school?”
A faint little smile touched the professor’s face, and he said, “I’m afraid you’ll find this a bit hard to believe at first, Tom, but you aren’t entirely like the other children. You’re... well, you’re a wizard.”
Well.
That was certainly unexpected.
...but now that he thought about it it made a certain amount of sense. It explained the snakes, and the mysterious ability to control gravity to an extent.
“I... see...” Tom said, mulling it over. “And you’re trying to tell me that this... Hogwarts... is a school for wizards?”
“The most respected magical school in Britain,” Professor Penrose said with a note of pride. Then, dryly, he added, “The only magical school in Britain.”
“So you’re a wizard?” Tom said.
He nodded.
“Prove it.” Certainly magic explained his odd little talents, but he wasn’t about to get tricked into admitting to them and being carted off to a sanitarium by the first conniving doctor to stop by. Then, because Mrs. Cole always said that manners were next to godliness, he added, “Please.”
Professor Penrose didn’t seem in the least bit perturbed by his demand, and merely said, “Certainly.” He raised a hand.
The shabby little wardrobe he shared with Billy and Eric and Jeffery burst into flames. Tom let out a yell-- he couldn’t help it, everything important was in there-- and the flames vanished instantly.
He turned to look at Professor Penrose, who was smiling faintly again.
“Will that be sufficient, Tom?” she asked quietly.
“Er. Yes. I think so.”
So much for the sanitarium theory, then.
Professor Penrose smiled. “Good. I do apologize for giving you such a fright.”
“That’s all right. Er. When does this school start? Er. Uh... I haven’t got any money. And Mrs. Cole can hardly afford the bills anyway. I mean, what with nineteen of us and all. Um.”
To his surprise, the professor actually laughed. “Tuition at Hogwarts is fairly expensive, but there is a very large fund for students such as yourself who are, for whatever reason, unable to pay it. Your education is more important than money.” He patted Tom on the shoulder, smiling. “Term starts on September the first. You’ll have to buy your supplies-- again with the scholarship funding-- before then. We can set up an appointment for someone to take you to Diagon Alley, where you’ll be able to buy everything you need.” He eyed him critically. “You’re taking this very well.”
“Oh. Well. I’ve always been able to do... things. Move things around without touching them. Not heavy things, I mean just papers and... things, but one time I did stop Billy from breaking his neck on the stairs. But that was an emergency, and I couldn’t figure out how to move things that big again. There’s a snake that lives in the attic of the house next door, he said it’s, er, an adrenaline rush or something-- I can talk to snakes, too, is that normal?”
Professor Penrose actually looked surprised now. “Ah. No, Tom, not particularly. It is... a rare gift.”
“Oh. So when can I get to this Diagon Alley? How do I get there? And these supplies-- I don’t need an escort, I go around London all the time on my own, it’s fine, really, and the snake in the attic can come with me, he’d appreciate the fresh air--” Tom felt as though he might burst from excitement. September was barely a month away, and then-- magic. Presumably more impressive than just moving paper without touching it, of course.
“All in good time, Tom,” Professor Penrose said. “And I don’t think it’s the best idea for you to go alone. No,” he added, as Tom opened his mouth to protest, “I’m sure you’re extremely capable and so on. But... there is a war, at present. It would be very dangerous for anyone to walk the streets of wizarding London alone. I must insist on going with you. As to the when, we can go tomorrow afternoon, if you like.”
Tomorrow.
Tom grinned. He couldn’t help it.
Professor Penrose gave him an envelope, saying it contained a list of supplies, and his letter of acceptance and the train ticket for him to get on the Hogwarts Express, and then left, with the promise of meeting him tomorrow at three in front of the orphanage.
I’m a wizard, he thought. It explained so much. He opened the envelope reverentially, scrutinized the supply list, and felt little bubbles of excitement in the pit of his stomach when he read the names of the textbooks, and he nearly shrieked with joy when he saw the last item on the list.
One wand.
He was going to get a wand. A real, functional, magical wand.
He couldn’t stop grinning.
*
Yeah. Same AU idea as the last one, much different execution and SO MUCH MORE FUN because I don't hate the protagonist.
Note that the differences in characterization for young Voldy are based mostly on the fact that I think JKR's explanation for his psychopathy is stupid, so I'm not using it and that leads to a multitude of things like him being able to feel human emotion. Also possibly my Mrs. Cole is nicer than canon Mrs. Cole. Shh, it makes sense in my head. ;)
submitted by TNÖ, age 17, Deep Space
(February 20, 2011 - 8:23 pm)
(February 20, 2011 - 8:23 pm)
Oh. My. Llama.
This... this just... despite your statement that you dislike "flagrant unhelpful praise" (and, for that matter, so do I)... this is HIGH QUALITY FANFICTION. I love it. I mean... TOM RIDDLE! As a non-evil non-psychopathic extremely sympathetic protagonist!
Moremoremoremoremore?
(February 21, 2011 - 5:53 pm)
TOP!
(February 21, 2011 - 9:35 pm)
@ZNZ: Um. Thanks? Mind you, he may turn evil over the course of his Hogwarts, but for different, logical reasons. Love potions =/= a good reason for evilness.
More! MOAR!
*
His heart sank.
She loved fairy tales and fantastic stories even more than he did; she even made up her own and told them to the other children. And she was good at it. Even Mrs. Cole liked hearing them, when she was sober and not too worried about finances.
Tom was also pretty sure she wasn’t a witch.
She would be devastated.
He wondered what the chances were of getting her accepted into Hogwarts anyway. Slim to none, probably, but he made a note to ask Professor Penrose tomorrow anyway.
“You’re a what?!”
It was nearly an hour before Tom had worked up the nerve to tell Amy about his meeting with the professor.
She was taking it about as well as he had expected so far.
“A wizard. According to this Penrose person, who claims he’s taking me shopping for books and uniforms and a magic wand tomorrow.”
“But you can’t be--”
“What about Billy?” Tom said. “Or Dennis? Or how I can move papers and things around without touching them? And the snakes?”
Amy frowned at him, chewing her lip and narrowing her dark grey eyes. “It seems very strange.”
“Yeah.”
He saw it happen. The realization hit her that he would be learning magic while she was stuck in the dingy little orphanage. It crashed over her, made her shoulders slump and her stubby fingers reach up to yank a dirty blonde pigtail.
“I’m sorry,” Tom said, lamely. “I can ask Penrose about--”
“No. Don’t bother.” To his horror, he saw the tears begin to well up in her eyes. “I’m not magic. I can’t do things like you can. I--” She broke off, and squeezed her eyes shut. Tom bit his lip, at a loss.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
Amy made a brave attempt at a smile. “Just write, okay? And come back with exciting stories.”
“Sure.”
They sat in silence for a while, Amy sniffling occasionally.
“No matter what... we’ll still be friends, right?” she said, abruptly.
“Of course.”
“You won’t go off and meet a bunch of magical people and forget all about me?”
Tom frowned at her. “Forget about someone who comes up with stories like you do? Not bloody likely. Probably wizarding children grow up without needing imaginations on account of being able to do magic. They’re probably all boring.”
Amy smiled. “Thanks, Tom. And I am happy for you.”
The Leaky Cauldron was a dark, smoky place. Professor Penrose kept his hand firmly on Tom’s shoulder as he steered him past the bar and into an alley in the back.
On the way here from the orphanage he had explained about the enchantments surrounding the little pub which would prevent “muggles” from noticing it, thus effectively protecting the wizarding world from their prying eyes.
Tom wondered a little about that, but had the presence of mind not to ask if all wizards were suspicious and/or paranoid about non-magic folk. He did ask whether muggle was a derogatory term, and the professor had immediately changed the subject. He resolved to use “non-magical people” instead whenever referring to normal people.
Professor Penrose took out her wand (and Tom couldn’t suppress a shiver of excitement when he saw it) and tapped one of the bricks on the wall in front of them.
An archway opened upon the most wonderful sight Tom had ever seen.
Shops everywhere, with brightly coloured windows and flashing displays and signs with pictures that moved and barrels full of wonderfully mysterious substances. And the people!
They wore long, brightly coloured robes and some carried staffs made of twisted wood, set with crystals or pieces of stone. A plump little witch had an enormous black owl perched on either shoulder and what appeared to be a two-headed cat tucked under one arm, and she was yelling at a poor, wizened looking man with no eyebrows and a smear of ink on one cheek--
And then there was a very tall man covered in iridescent greenish scales examining a stack of copper-coloured cauldrons of every size imaginable.
Another man wearing not robes but a greasy leather trench coat pushed a cart through the crowd, shouting, “Sausage! Onna stick! Get it while it’s hot! Guaranteed fresh! Doxy eggs-- a knut for a scoop! Spicy hot doxy eggs!”
Slightly behind him a young witch had turned purple and was doubled over, heaving into a convenient barrel while her companion held her hair out of the way--
Professor Penrose tapped him on the shoulder. “Are you ready?” he asked, and Tom realized he had been gawking for quite some time now.
“Yes!” he said.
It was slow going, mostly because Tom kept rotating around on his heels in an attempt to see everything. There seemed to be a shop for everything; he counted three apothecaries, one of which stood right next to a dimly-lit shop with a dozen sleeping, caged owls on display in the windows. They passed a shop with broomsticks in the windows, and Tom heard someone say excitedly, “Yes, it’s the new Silver Arrow! Fastest broom in the world! Only just--” before he and the professor were swept back into the crowd.
“We’re here,” Professor Penrose said suddenly, and Tom nearly shouted with excitement when he saw the shop she was pointing at. The faded sign over the door read, “Ollivander’s: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C.”
A bell tinkled softly as they went in. Tom gaped around at the darkened interior, the shelves lined with countless long, thin boxes, the single yellow candle that illuminated the shop.
“Good afternoon,” said a soft voice. Tom started. A tall, pale man stepped out of the shadows, staring intently at him.
“Hello?” Tom said, uncertainly. “Er.” He took a deep breath. “My name is Tom Riddle.”
“Hm. I am Mr. Ollivander. You’ll be wanting a wand, I expect.” The man peered at him with unsettlingly pale eyes.
“Yes. Ah. Please.”
A smile slid over Mr. Ollivander’s face. “Yes, well, Mr. Riddle. Let’s get to work.” He put his hands together and rubbed them. It made him look vaguely mad.
“...work?”
“Of course! The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Riddle! I do hope you will prove a challenging fit. I do love the difficult ones. Muggleborn?”
“I don’t know, sir. I grew up in an orphanage.”
“All the better, all the better. Hmm... let’s see...” Ollivander moved to the shelves and began pulling out boxes, seemingly at random.
“Right handed?” he asked.
“Left.”
“Excellent, excellent. Now, Mr. Riddle. Every wand has a core of a powerful magical substance. I use unicorn hair, phoenix feathers, and dragon heartstring. We’ll start you out with the dragon cores, hm?”
“Er. Alright?”
“Yes.” Ollivander turned back towards Tom, his arms full of boxes. He dumped them on the desk, selected one, and opened it. “Try this one,” he said, handing it to Tom with a flourish. “Maple and dragon heartstring, eleven inches, rigid. Give it a wave.”
Tom did so, only to have it snatched back immediately.
“Oh no, quite wrong-- here! Try this one, oak and dragon heartstring, seven and a half inches, quite springy... Go on, another wave...”
Tom tried. And then he tried ten more. And then another dozen.
Ollivander moved on to the phoenix cores, becoming almost manic with excitement with each wand that was added to the reject pile.
“Hmm, yes, tricky customer, I knew it when I saw you. Something about the eyes. Not to worry, Mr. Riddle, I’ve never failed yet! Try this one-- Yew, phoenix feather, thirteen and a half inches--”
This time, something happened when Tom took the wand; a sudden, cold breeze swept once round the shop, and silvery sparks flew from the end of the wand.
Ollivander clapped his hands together, clearly delighted. “That’s the one, Mr. Riddle, that’s the one! Excellent! Yes. That will be seven galleons, eight sickles, Mr. Riddle.”
Professor Penrose produced several large gold coins, and then several slightly smaller silver coins, and Tom left the shop the proud owner of an actual magic wand. He kept grinning every time he thought about it.
After dinner, he and Amy started reading the textbooks. She took A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot, and Tom started with The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble.
“What was it like?” Amy asked after a while.
Tom thought about that. “Loud. Colourful. Brilliant. I’ll take you there sometime. I asked Penrose, he said it’s okay for normal people to visit if they’re with family. And you’re the closest thing to a sister I have, so...”
Amy beamed at him. “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too,” he said. “But I’ll write you every week. Wizards use owls, mostly, but apparently if you take your letter to the post office next to that corner, you know, where we never could figure out what kind of building was there? And tell them you have a friend at Hogwarts, they’ll make sure I get the letter.”
“Okay.”
They were silent for a while. Tom examined a picture of a hag, one which had apparently terrorized Scotland for years before being destroyed by a member of the Ministry of Magic’s special anti-Dark squad, the Aurors (established 1436 in response to the growing threat of a murderous, megalomaniacal Dark wizard).
“You’re going to have loads of fun.”
“I just wish you could come too.”
“Thanks, Tom.”
They read all night, and fell asleep on the pages.
(February 22, 2011 - 9:29 pm)
This fan fiction is great!! You write really well. By the way what's a protagonist?
(February 23, 2011 - 1:18 pm)
Thank you, and a protagonist is pretty much the main character of a piece. I'd say the "hero" except that sometimes, this one included, and happily with increasing frequency protagonists are the "villainous" characters (see: Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog for a brilliant Villain Protagonist).
(February 23, 2011 - 9:21 pm)
Oh, thanks. I've seen that word around a lot... Finally I know what it means!! :)
(February 24, 2011 - 9:21 am)
I think this will be one for the fan fiction hall of fame, right up there with HPMOR :) I don't have much critique for this. since the writing is fabulous and there hasn't been enough plot for plot holes, except that I always thought Penrose was male and I noticed that you wrote "Professor Penrose took out her wand". Was this intentional?
(March 16, 2011 - 3:42 pm)
No, it couldn't have been intentional. You called him a man before. I should read more careully :)
(March 16, 2011 - 3:46 pm)