Tom Riddle hated flying.

He hated being tossed about like a leaf on a broomstick, he hated jerking the handle in one direction while the broom wobbled and sent him in the opposite. Every turn and swoop was sickening to the pit of his stomach, and each time he would look down it seemed like he had climbed another fifty feet, no doubt where the broomstick would buck him off and the fall would shatter all of his bones.

His classmates had varying success. Some soared through the air like born fliers, while others, like him, took cautionary steps, ignoring the teacher’s whistle that goaded them to move faster.

As with everything else, their flying lessons at Hogwarts had started off small. On the first week, they learned basic mounting and landing skills, which were easily mastered by proper technique, and thus hadn’t been a problem for him. When his feet actually left the ground, however, it became a whole different story.

Up in the air, there was no support. Gravity, in all her mischief, stepped aside, fooling one into thinking that he was invincible, that he could achieve anything. By the end of their second week of lessons, the first-years were allowed to stay in the air longer to get a feel for flying. His classmates enjoyed this to no end. They cavorted along, trying to outdo each other with sheer demonstrations of height and speed, but the fun and games would stop short when they fell off and were shown who really was in charge.

They were supposed to be practicing turns today. While the people around him zoomed past and bumped into each other, laughing, Tom’s broom decided on an agenda of its own. When he kicked off from the ground, a gust of wind swept him aside like a tattered cloth, carrying him off towards one of the castle’s walls. Tom tried to break, pulling the handle up as hard as he could, but the broom did a backflip in the air, cartwheeling him in the opposite direction. It might have been impressive, if it weren’t for the fact that his broomstick was picking up speed without his command, the bar slowly slipping from his grip.

He could hear laughter all around him - or were they screams? - as he tried to slow his momentum. Tom gave the broom another jerk, and it made such a sharp turn that he felt his legs slip off from the thin bar, his body thrown sideways into the air -

“Mr. Riddle! MR. RIDDLE!�

- but he would not let go; he hung on with both hands as tightly as he could, screaming as the broom threw him up and down, not caring anymore that everybody could see him in his shame, his terror.

The world was spinning to such an extent that he did not know where he was anymore. Dancing lights blurred his vision, his mind numbed to everything but the motion sickness that churned in his stomach. His jaw had locked; his lungs refused to accept air. He could hear a chorus of shouts from somewhere below, people calling his name, crowding around perhaps in an attempt to catch him.

He was about to die.

The realization rushed in like cold water, flooding him with a fear like he never felt before. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

With a titanic effort, Tom forced himself to breathe. The cold air flipped a switch in his brain, clearing his vision, returning him to awareness. Gathering his strength, he pulled himself up to the bar of the broom and swung himself over. His heart was hammering in his throat, the rapid throbs nearly bursting in his head. The broomstick was still spinning like the hands of a crazed clock, and after a single, lucid moment when the shock of adrenaline faded away, his dizziness caught up with him.

Tom felt his head droop, his grip on the bar slacken, both strength and will ebbing from him like the ocean tides.

The other kids were shouting something now, but the sound was lost in the scream of the wind. He did not feel it as his broom tipped forward like a seesaw, finally succumbing to the pull of gravity.

With a whizzing shriek, the broom crashed into the ground.

“Stop! Stop!’

“This way, come on!�

“No, I want to go back!�

The girl’s voice was lost in a loud roar of water, and she jumped back as another cloud of ocean spray rained on their heads.

Tom stopped walking and looked at the children behind him, boy and girl, the sea breeze whipping their hair and clothes, sharpening their expressions of exhaustion.

“We’re going to get in trouble!� said the girl. “I’m going back.�

“No you’re not!� he shouted.

The girl made a face, and began to back away. It was pointless, since there was no way she could have gone back on her own even if she tried. The ledge they stood on was a part of a much larger cliff, and if he hadn’t supported them with the pull when they had climbed down, they would have both fallen to their deaths into the sea below.

But this did not stop Amy Benson from trying. She clawed and kicked at the rock, trying in vain to find a handhold.

“Baby!� Tom called after her. “Baby Amy!�

The second taunt clearly hit a nerve, for the girl whipped her head around, her face pink like a tulip. “Don’t call me that!�

“I’m going to keep calling you that unless you get over here.�

Amy puffed out her cheeks. After a moment, she came back. Beside her, Dennis broke his silence. “Just tell us why we’re here, Tom!�

“I told you, I’m going to show it to you!�

“But why does that involve us being on a cliff?�

Tom scowled. “Look, do you want to see how I did it or not?�

Even in all their confusion and frustration, the children’s eyes widened with longing as they nodded.

“Then stop asking questions and follow me.�

“But I can’t swim!� the boy blurted, just as Tom stepped over to a second outcropping of rock atop the one they now stood on. Dennis’s eyes were on the sea below them, which hurled fat, foaming green waves from suicidal heights. Each crash of water against rock was like the roar of a waking beast.

“It’s okay,� Tom said. “You won’t have to. Watch.� He pressed his hand against the rock. Instantly, though too subtle for the two children to see, a knob grew out from beneath his hand, allowing him to grab hold without slipping. He followed with his foot, and the same thing happened.

Amy and Dennis watched in awe as Tom climbed, not up but to the side, where there was a ledge wide enough for one foot to stand running across the face of the cliff. Tom landed on the ledge with perfect balance, and beckoned. “Well, come on!�

The children went up to the rock, fumbling as they tried to replicate the feat Tom had performed. The handholds had gone; they had existed only for the brief moment he needed them, so their progress was slow. Dennis came around first, his sneakers sagging, his shirt almost soaked through. Tom, on the other hand, was completely dry.

He waited for them to gain their footing. As Amy stepped onto the ledge, her hand slipped by the tiniest degree, and her body leaned away.

“Whoa!�

Dennis pulled her up to the ledge just in time, with an arm hooked tightly around her waist. Amy looked down at the sea and began to sob.

Tom began to walk, placing one foot carefully in front of the other like a trained funambulist. Dennis and Amy inched along, their legs shaking.

“Are you ready?� he said. They regarded him with a mix of shock and wonder. “I present to you... the cave.�

He held out his hands, pointing them to a large opening that was like a mouth in the face of the rock.

The faces of his companions paled. “Do we have to go up there?� said Dennis.

“Yes.�

“Why?�

“Because,� he said. “I don’t want anybody else to see.� Tom scaled the rest of the ledge and heaved himself over onto a wider, more stable rock. Amy and Dennis followed suit. Once they were in position, Tom backed away from them. He did not actually enter the cave - that would have taken too long anyway - and he could tell by their faces that Amy and Dennis weren’t going to take much more.

All according to plan.

Dennis and Amy were observant kids, he’d give them that, and had caught on to Tom’s shenanigans over the years. They, like many, immediately signaled him out as someone different from the crowd. And they were right; Tom was different. It was the reason he could have brought them here in the first place, and the reason he hadn’t gone insane after all his years in the stuffy orphanage. His abilities fascinated him, and he explored them to the fullest extent, but his experiments did not always end in his favor.

That previous week, Tom had gotten into an argument with one of the younger kids and, as gleeful punishment, had hung the boy’s pet rabbit from the rafters until the boy had reduced himself to tears. He did not know exactly how he had done it. It had been the pull again, the mysterious force that enabled him to see in his mind what he wanted, and somehow make it happen with his hands.

Events like these repelled the other children from him. Even when on his way to breakfast, Tom could feel the fear lurking within the kids around him, stiffening them when he passed by. At times, he found he could pull their minds closer, though it caused him great mental strain, and feel the brush of their thoughts. He never held out long, but the feelings he gathered were all the same: weird, creepy, not like us, stay away.

Tom did not remember where or when he had acquired the pull, the enigmatic force that allowed him to literally shift the world around him. During his early childhood, the force remained dormant, and he barely noticed it except for the rare occasion when he’d sit alone and concentrate. It would take hours, but eventually he would tap into a faint something, almost like a delicate, budding energy centered deep within him. However, he could hang on to the feeling for no more than three seconds before it slipped away.

The first time he remembered using the pull was when he was six years old and had gotten into an accident.

Or at least, he thought it had been an accident. He didn’t remember much about that evening, only that he had wanted nothing more than to escape the orphanage and be alone. So in the middle of the night, Tom stole a bike from the yard and rode it down the street, pedaling away as fast as he could. The streets were nearly deserted, the only light being the sparse orange puddles from the streetlamps. At some point, Tom had made a bad turn, and found himself spinning down a rough, unpaved road. In total darkness, the only thing that attached him to the physical world was the bike, which was shaking and groaning as if he were riding down a pile of rocks. He lost control, and fell.

Tom remembered lots of banging and crashing, of hitting his head on the bike frame at least twice, and then he was lying at the bottom of a steep, rocky hill, his body limp under the moonlight. Strangely, he did not remember much pain. He had braced himself against the fall, but the fall felt more like plunging into a ball pit than tumbling through rocks. It was as if he had pulled himself away from the hill’s surface, softening his impacts against the ground.

Had it been luck that had saved him that night? Fate? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that from that moment on, he was never the same. Whenever he got angry, or felt strongly enough about something, he could change it. The older children who would laugh at his apparent shyness, his preference of books over play, would suddenly end up with their shoelaces tied together, or their pants five sizes too small. When his coat had been lost (or more likely stolen) in the middle of the winter, Tom was surprised to find that his cotton shirt did a perfectly good job of trapping his warmth, which none of his caretakers could understand.

Over the months, Tom discovered more powers blooming from that original seed. He nurtured them, disciplined them, and finally bent them all to his will.

And now that he was almost eleven, Tom Riddle was a master.

Another column of water crashed against the cliffside. “Okay,� Tom began, clapping his hands. “What I’m about to teach you is something I like to call the swing. Watch closely.�

He held up his hand. At once, a chunk of rock broke off from the side of the cliff and began to hover in the air. The children gaped.

“Whoa!� said Dennis. “That’s amazing!�

“That’s how you hung Elmer’s rabbit!� said Amy, bouncing on her heels. “Isn’t it?�

Tom nodded. “Yep. I can do more, you know.� He let go, and the rock fell to the ground. “People, for example.�

He held up his hand again. This was a greater exertion, and he felt the significant press of weight against his mind as he lifted Amy by the shoulders. She began to laugh, but that laugh quickly dissolved into a panicked whimper as he moved her off the rocks and over the open sea. She hung there, rocking on her back like an infant, eyes like saucers.

Tom smiled again, his teeth flashing white. “And this is something I like to call the drop!�

“No - NO!�

Tom was cut off as Dennis ran into him with full force, smashing him against the wall of the cliff. His concentration broke like a snapping twig. There a scream as the force holding Amy aloft was extinguished, and the boys tumbled to the ground, rolling, kicking.

“You idiot!� Tom shouted. “I was keeping her in the air!�

Dennis rolled off him at once, jumping to his feet. “AMY!�

But Amy was gone. Or so Tom thought until he heard a faint whimper coming from somewhere beneath them.

“Amy?�

Tom stepped over to the ledge, and there she was, clinging to the edge for dear life. The sea was churning some hundred feet below, angry at being deprived of a new victim. Amy’s skin was paper white. Dennis pulled her up instantly, heaving her over onto solid ground. They both collapsed in a heap, shaking, leaving Tom standing over them.

“Are you okay?� he asked, more out of fear than concern.

For a minute, the orphans looked at him in mute horror. Then, Amy’s shaking lips formed two words, soft against the stormy sea.

“...I’m telling.�

Tom stepped back, when he remembered that he was standing on a ledge, and teetered.

“No!�

“Yes!� Amy said. “I’m telling! I’m telling Mrs. Cole! She was right about you... she said all along that you were a strange boy! And we’re gonna tell her exactly what you did!� She tried to curl her lips into a sneer, but she was shaking so badly that all she could manage was a pained smile. “She’ll take you right where you belong!�

The mental hospital.

Tom remained still. A gust of wind blew his hair into his face, for a minute, bringing out a flash of anger in his eyes

“That wasn’t a smart thing to say,� Tom said through his teeth. “Considering where you are.�

Amy’s lips parted. She tried to form words, by then it was too late. Tom lifted his hand, and the children were thrown into the air as if by a catapult. They came to a halt in midair, dangling above the sea like marionettes.

“NO!� cried Dennis, but he was cut off mid-scream.

Tom dropped the strings, hearing their voices fall and fade, then with a heave, brought them back up as if they had bounced on a bungee cord. Up and down they went, till their voices grew hoarse and the muscle in Tom’s brain felt like it would snap.

But he kept going, lifting and dropping till the children flopped about like ragdolls. He brought them back down on the rock, and for a terrifying moment, thought he had killed them. But no - they were stirring. Their eyes opened, finding his.

Tom leaned close, speaking soft and clear over the wind.

“You will never tell.�

They didn’t.

Yooooouuuuuhhhooooooo

Voices.

Like little lights dancing in the haze.

Each sound was lost, disjointed, as if only half his mind were there to hear it. The other half was dangling in the darkness, still not having crossed the brink of awareness.

He was wrapped in the clouds.

Fuuuuuuhhhhhhhrrrrrrrrr - gawwwwwwww

He wasn’t even sure if there was pain. A warmth was rushing over his chest and arms, like the waters of the sea, but he was too far away to tell what it was. Distant voices and pictures were scrambling through his mind like the broken fragments of a glass, trying to piece themselves together.

If this was death, then why was he still thinking?

Fuuuuuuuhhhrrrr gawwwwwwwww... braaaayyyyyk...

His vision began to clear. Several faceless entities shifted in front of him, silhouetted against hexagons of light. At that moment, the warmth inside of him began to throb, and he became aware of the muted hum of pain, a heat in his left arm and collarbone.

People.

The voices.

He felt a moment’s pressure on his shoulder.

Yoooouu -

Not dead, not dead, not if he could hear...

- ohhhhkaaaayyyyy...?

Warm hands brought him to. Tom’s head snapped up, and sensation returned to him like a blast of light. He felt the creak of a mattress beneath him, the pressure of a pillow against his back, and a new shock of pain run down his arm. It was so sudden that he let out a groan.

And then a pair of large brown eyes appeared from the oblivion.

“Blimey! You scared us half to death out there!�

Tom blinked. He was staring at the face of a boy, one of his classmates, who was grinning like a kid in a candy shop.

There was a small group of people behind him, some still with their broomsticks in hand. Tom did not register all of their faces, but they were looking down at the bed in evident pity.

“What... happened to me?�

“You fell!� said the boy. “It was awesome! Well, not the falling - you know what I mean. You were doing all these tricks and flips and we thought you were just playing, but then you sort of slipped and... Well, I was the one who picked you up. Madam Hooch was furious. The broom you were on was an old one, kind of messed up, and she was mad like crazy when she found out that it was being used. It’s gone now, though, so you don’t have to worry.�

“You forgot to brake,� added another kid. “Didn’t you hear us? We were all shouting, but then you sort of flew off.�

Tom shifted his weight to his uninjured arm. Another sting was settling over him, the sting that had nothing to do with pain but was ten times worse - shame. He had come inches away from dying, of being wiped off the face of the earth.

And they were smiling, for God’s sake.

“So do you want water?� said the boy. “The nurse reckons it’s okay for you to have some, now that your bones have been mended and everything.�

“No,� said Tom automatically.

The boy looked surprised. “Well okay. You’re pretty banged-up, though.�

“Here,� said a girl. She dropped a small bag of candies on the table. “They’ll help you feel better. Not everyone gets flying the first time, and honestly, you were really brave for staying on that broom.�

“No... I don’t -� but for some reason, his mouth refused to form words. Tom was stuck with a frozen expression of negation as his silent pleas fueled their fire.

“He’s being stupid,� someone else said.

“He fell like what, thirty feet?�

“Poor kid...�

“Does anyone know if he likes Bertie Bott’s beans?�

The crowd contracted, their chatter rising in volume. It was too much. Tom clamped his hands over his ears.

“I don’t need your help!� he bellowed. “Just leave me alone!�

The kids fell silent. One by one they left his bedside, throwing back looks of confusion, awe, but mostly more pity. The boy, however, remained.

“That means you too,� Tom said.

To his surprise, the boy nodded. “All right. I get it.� He did not seem at all upset as he stood up. “I’m Ashton, just so you know. I’m in Slytherin too. See you around, I guess.� With that, he left.

For the rest of the day, while the other first years went about their classes, Tom Riddle stayed in bed. His day consisted of exciting investigations into the hospital wing’s ceiling, and of several vain attempts to fall asleep while the sun burned behind his eyelids. His solitude reminded him strongly of Wool’s orphanage, and that made him feel, if possible, even worse. That was the place he had been seeking to escape his whole life. But what was the point of going anywhere if that memory would only chase him around forever?

For once, he wished he had someone to talk to.

The day ripened and decayed without event. When the last bands of afternoon red had faded from the sky, flamed torches were lit across the walls, bathing everything in half-shadow. Tom had drifted off into another daydream - this time his broom was doing corkscrews as well as flips - when he heard a knock on the door.

The nurse hurried to answer it. “Coming!�

She opened the door. Light spilled in from the hallway outside, though he could not see who had entered. He heard the nurse’s voice.

“What is it? No, I’m sorry. No. I can’t allow any visitors this late. You’ll have to go.�

He heard a frantic protest, and the nurse sighed. “Fine then. But five minutes only!�

She opened the door wider, and Tom sat up, squinting at his visitor in the firelight. It was the girl who sat next to him in Potions. He recognized her face immediately, though at that moment, her name escaped him. Nella something… was it Pryce? Preighton? She carried two books in her arms, which she placed on the table beside his bed.

“Hi,� she said. She took out a roll of parchment from her pocket and handed it to him. “Here.�

Tom’s face went pink. The last thing he needed was a get-well card. “No,� he said, pushing it back at her. “I don’t want it.�

Nella blinked, looking slightly affronted. “Suit yourself. I’m just saying, you’ll need it for tomorrow.� She crossed her arms, but did not leave.

Confused, Tom opened the paper. It wasn’t a get-well card at all, he realized, but a list of some sort. He read it over. They were notes from Potions.

“Slughorn’s having a pop quiz tomorrow,� Nella said. “He only told me. He might have wanted me to tell you too, but I could’ve easily forgotten about it. I didn’t have to come all this way, you know.�

“So why did you?�

Nella shrugged. “I thought it would be helpful. And you’re the reason I have such a high grade in that class anyway. I sort of owe you. But if you’d rather luck it out tomorrow, you know, I can take the books back.�

Tom continued to look at her. He could feel the pull working inside him, opening her mind like a multilayered shell. He expected to see fear, pity, maybe even spite, but it was none of those things. It was -

... a hidden care?

Tom searched further, but could find nothing apart from that nameless presence. Under the intensity of his gaze, Nella shifted. She scooped the books into her arms to take them away, but Tom shook his head. “No. Leave them.�

She stopped.

“Well... okay. Good luck.� Nella smiled, brushing her eyebrow in a funny sort of salute, and left. She was quick, and the door closed before he could thank her.

That, at least, he could handle.