And so it was that after months of anticipation and excitement that the day of the annual outing had finally arrived. Although her own feelings on the matter greatly differed from the children, Mrs Cole would never have dared to utter anything of the sort. In fact, she could be found in the weeks leading up to the big day actively encouraging their excitement; after all, they had to have something to look forward to, the poor dears. But if truth be told, she had had a bad feeling about this outing from the beginning and Mrs Cole was above all else a woman who trusted her instincts, but it was too late for all that now, anyway.
The high-pitched chatter of exited children down in the courtyard could be heard all the way up in the kitchens. Mrs Cole and her staff were gathering the lunches for all 27 orphans they were taking to the seaside for the day to escape the blistering heat London had been baking in for the last month. Their heels clicked as they marched over the dark, grimy cobbles towards the waiting bus. Mrs Cole climbed on last and greeted the driver with a cheery, encouraging smile, more for her own benefit than his. The smile was not reciprocated, the driver already turning his attention to rolling a last cigarette for the road; Mrs Cole was left with her name register.
Mrs Cole took a quick glance down the list and then started from the top. –Amy Benson?â€
–Present, Mrs Cole!†pipped a meek voice in one of the front rows. The slight blonde girl beamed from behind her large, circular glasses, slightly crooked after being passed down from three others.
The same routine followed with the other names. Much like everything else at Wool’s Orphanage, discipline was the order of the day when one had so many children under one roof. The children were ready with their Present Mrs Cole’s. That was until the last name.
–… And Tom Riddle?â€
Here Mrs Cole would as always make an exception, choosing to forego the normal procedure and accept defeat in that particular pointless battle. She glanced up from her list to see 26 smiling faces looking back at her and another staring absent-mindedly out the back window and giving no sign he had even heard his own name. A pale, thin boy sat alone at the back of the bus, where children would normally scramble for places first, if Mrs Cole’s experience told her anything. But no, this was not the case, for not only was his row empty, but the two in front of him as well. Like the wrong end of a magnet, Tom Riddle had repelled the other children further forwards to the point where three were crammed together choosing to uncomfortably share a bench, rather than sit any closer to him.
–OK, then. All present and well,†said Mrs Cole, doubting the latter part. She took her seat and then a deep breath, unsurprised by the lack of relief it brought her. It had been a difficult morning. Her reservations about the trip had already come to fruition over breakfast when a disagreement between Tom and Billy Moore had rapidly escalated, only to promptly end on the floor of the dining room with an upturned and wasted urn of porridge. Had she not already been run off her feet, she might have had more than a second to consider how Tom, slight and half the size of Billy, if even that, had managed to overpower him in the first place. Never mind all that, she thought, maybe that will be the end of it, wishing she could believe it.
The engine roared to life and the children cheered as the bus pulled away from the grey, drab building in front of them and through the cast iron gate. The very same gate Mrs Cole had first passed through one bitterly cold evening almost a decade before. Even now in the melting heat she could still remember how the wind had seemed to pass through her, chilling her to the bone.
It had only been a week later that a pale and feeble young woman had battled her way through the gate and up the steps to the towering black door of the orphanage, cradling her stomach all the while. No sooner had she pulled the bell she lost consciousness and toppled halfway down the steps. It had been there that Mrs Cole had found her and called for help.
By the time it had come Mrs Cole had realised what she was dealing with: the girl was not only heavily pregnant, she was in advanced labour. A baby boy let out his first scream as the bells chimed in the New Year. Whether it was before or after the clock struck midnight, no one could really say; It had all seemed irrelevant at the time. As Mrs Cole had brought her the baby, she had smiled weakly and said, –I hope he looks like his papa.†By then it was becoming clear that her life was slowly ebbing away with her voice failing and the colour draining from an already deathly pale face. She had done what she had to. Her final act had been to name the child. This had been Tom Riddle’s grand entrance to the world.
It had been more than few times since that Mrs Cole had wondered to herself whether the bitter cold of that night had in some way managed to penetrate the womb and leave its indelible mark upon the child inside. She had never in all her days known a child, or for that matter another person at all, so lacking in any warmth of character.
The various tragedies and unpleasantries that had consigned the many children of Wool's to the orphanage often drove them to seek out whatever kindness or sense of belonging they could find, no matter how small or petty it could seem. To most of them friendships achieved a new level of importance, yet Tom had repeatedly failed to show even the slightest interest in forming any real or meaningful bonds with anyone at the orphanage, much more preferring functional relationships above all others. As soon as this friend had served their purpose, more often than not as part of some vindictive revenge on another child who had in some, often seemly insignificant way slighted Tom, then they were quickly and unceremoniously discarded, perhaps in favour of another, but more often than not merely for his own vastly superior company.
Yet that was not to say that Tom had never displayed any charm whatsoever: he had initially proven to be oddly gifted at charming others into carrying out his dirty work or wriggling his way out of trouble with the no-nonsense staff at Wool's. Yet as soon as this charm had achieved the desired effect, the feigned kindness vanished to be replaced with his usual cold exterior. As time passed the other children became understandably wary of anything Tom attempted to involve them in and avoided him where humanly possible as shown today by the seating arrangements on the bus, currently motionless and stuck in traffic.
Mrs Cole silently took a slow drag of her cigarette all the while lost in thought and gazing blankly out of the window. She took in nothing whatsoever of her surroundings, neither from outside nor inside the bus, until the noise behind her became impossible to ignore any longer. Her eyes darted to the commotion and failing to make any sense of what she saw, she stood up and walked down the aisle towards a mass of children, all clambering to look out of a window. She shooed most of them back into their seats until she could get to the root of the problem.
There wasn't a window, just an empty gap where the glass would have been and through which a child had apparently just fallen. Looking out of the window and several feet below she saw Billy Moore lying face down on the ground half-on and half-off the pavement with passers-by already stopping in their tracks and coming to his aid. Without a single word Mrs Cole rushed to the front of the bus and down the steps.
The damage was surprisingly minimal besides a nasty scrape to his forehead and the inevitable shock of falling headfirst through a bus window. Despite their best efforts, none of the children who had been seated next to him could explain convincingly how Billy had broken the window. They simply hadn't seen him do it. With the help of her staff she had Billy back on the bus and seated next to her at the front in no time and the panic, even if it had not entirely subsided, had significantly calmed down.
A small bottle of iodine was retrieved from inside her bag and she slowly set about tending the wound, a task made all the more difficult by his sobs, shaking like a leaf. The driver did nothing to help matters by loudly complaining about damage to his property. Handing over Billy to another carer with a dark and purposeful look, she asked the driver to accompany her outside the bus to discuss the matter further.
–Mrs Cole, I can't be having this... Not ten minutes out the gate and your kids are destroying my bus!†spat the driver, an agitated man with little hair left on his head only compensated by the disproportionately large amounts emerging from his ears.
–I'm sorry, Mr Willis, but I am afraid accidents do happen and -†Mrs Cole glanced back at the window, where many anxious faces were following their conversations while trying their utmost not to seem to be doing so. As her eyes went from the window to the ground, she stopped speaking and raised her eyebrows. In the panic and hysteria of the incident, she had failed to notice anything untoward, even when it had been staring her in the face.
–It is just not good enough, Mrs Cole, not good enough at all. We can't be having your wee ones going wild and breaking my good windows,†said Mr Willis, taking her silence as an opportunity to continue in his rant.
Then Mrs Cole turned back to face him. She forced a polite smile on her lips and held her finger up, signalling her wish to speak.
–Your good windows, Mr Willis? Your good windows, indeed! Which window would that be? I can't see any broken glass whatsoever. You must be mistaken.â€
–Don't be ridiculous, woman. Your lad thumped on the window and fell through when he broke it,†said Mr Willis incredulously pointing to the spot where Billy had landed. After a moment of pointing his hand slowly dropped to his side and then crept up to his brow to scratch it in bewilderment. Sure enough, there was no sign of any broken shards on the road.
Mrs Cole had seen her opportunity to avoid a large bill and a cancelled outing for which the children would never quite forgive her and grabbed it ruthlessly with both hands.
–I am afraid that I am going to have to write a letter to the coach company, Mr Willis, to express my outrage that you would endanger our children in such a way...â€
A few minutes later Mrs Cole was back in her seat having clarified the situation with the driver and reached into her purse for a cigarette to steady her nerves. After a quick reshuffle of the seating arrangements to ensure the accident was not repeated, the engine fired up again. However this time there were no cheers, but mere silence. Mrs Cole glanced back and her gaze was met by 26 troubled faces and a single cold smile.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As soon as he was sure no one would notice, Tom made a break for it and calmly walked in the other direction without so much as backward glance. If he wanted to see the cliffs, then he would. Such stupid rules did not apply to him; he was perfectly capable of looking after himself.
Careful of his step, he approached the edge of the cliff treading down the unkempt, overgrown grass and listening to the waves softly beating the rocks somewhere below him. The brown, parched grass scratched uncomfortably at his bare legs as he marched through it in the horrible shorts they made the orphan boys wear on outings.
He quickly found a large, flat rock offering itself as an ideal place to sit and take in his surroundings. He would be happy here away from the others and their incessant chatter and whining, but he knew he would have to go back sooner or later. Any attempts he had made to run away had all ended in failure and doubtful glances in his direction, glances that got more doubtful still with every new failed attempt or strange incident at Wool’s. In view of a complete lack of evidence Mrs Cole did not accuse Tom of anything directly, but her eyes betrayed her suspicions. He could see it, sense it. It was only a matter of time before she summoned a doctor to examine him. The incident before would not help his case, but he just couldn't help himself. Billy really had brought it on himself.
A light breeze rustled the tall grass around him clearing the view across the cliff. Tom could just about see the dark entrance to a cave in the cliff face opposite him and stood up and took a step forward to see it more clearly. The entrance was hardly welcoming with ragged rock resembling sharp fangs all around the sides. Turning around to return to his seat Tom found a small brown mouse in his place staring up at at the pale boy curiously. Tom returned his gaze, crouched down to his knees and held out a hand coaxing the creature to him. No sooner had he lowered the hand the mouse took the bait with no sign of hesitancy and immediately clambered on. Tom slowly brought it up to his eyeline and in a fast motion with his free hand snatched the creature up by the tail. The mouse struggled as it dangled from Tom’s long fingers. Tom closed his eyes in concentration and waited for the squeaks of pain to start. He did not have to wait long and felt the creature violently swing from side to side in an feeble attempt to escape the pain it was suffering. Tom opened his eyes again and felt his lips curve into a humourless, cruel smile, a smile that slipped from his face when he suddenly became aware of movement out of the corner of his eye.
A snake had followed the mouse up the side of the rock . The shiny black scales caught the light as it steadily raised its head off the top of the rock and stopped when their eyelines met. Had the mouse remained still then he would have probably been momentarily forgotten, accidentally dropped and escaped his fate, but the unfortunate creature fought harder than ever and made its presence known. Tom was distracted from the new arrival for a moment. His eyes lowered to the mouse and then back to the snake, whose attention also seemed to have returned to its prey. In a moment of realisation Tom casually extended his hand and offered the mouse to the snake with a smile and a nod. It was only then, and seemingly with Tom’s permission, that the serpent made its attack. In one smooth motion it sprung forward and bit into the mouse halfway down. Tom released the tail and watched intently as the snake waited until the mouse stopped moving before effortlessly swallowing it whole.
Now that he had given it the mouse Tom expected the snake to lose interest and makes its departure as suddenly as it had arrived, but it gave no sign of leaving, in fact it didn’t move from the spot.
More to himself than anything, Tom whispered, –You’re not still hungry, are you?†and let out a mirthless, unusually high-pitched laugh. The snake then shook its head keenly causing both the smile and laugh to disappear at once, to be covered by a gasp. He raised his hand again, this time to cover his mouth.
–Did you just … Do you understand me?†he asked from behind his fingers, his voice but a whisper.
The snake nodded and there was no doubting it this time. And if that was not enough of a confirmation, it spoke…
–Yesss, I do.â€
Tom’s mind was suddenly racing with questions each more outrageous than the next. He finally settled on: –Where did you learn English?â€
–I don’t ssspeak Englisssh,†said the snake after a moment of hesitation.
–You mean, we aren’t speaking English now?!†asked Tom.
–No, I don’t think ssso.†And even as the snake replied Tom could hear a difference. Now that he listened carefully he could hear a distinct hissing sound coming from the snake.
–Have you ...†and Tom stopped himself and heard the hissing sounds he was making himself before continuing, all the while listening to the hissing as if it were another person making it. –Have you ever spoken to a human before?â€
–You are the firssst,†replied the snake.
–I wonder, can I speak to others like you, or are you the only one?â€
–I don’t know. There are othersss.â€
–Where? Where are there others?â€
The snake took a moment to think of the answer. –In the cave acrosss the water.â€
–Can you take me th---–
–Here he is! Tom, everyone is looking for you,†called Amy Benson bossily, panting behind her circular glasses. On sight of the snake her face darkened with fear and she let out a small scream. There was a rustling noise and a red-haired, slightly older boy wearing a tie appeared at her side, Dennis Bishop.
There was a moment of silence when only the sound of the waves could be heard. Tom rose to his feet slowly,
–Tom… You w-were t-t-talking with that s-snake! Dennis, he w-was talking with that sn-snake a m-moment ago,†she said, her eyes moving from the black serpent to Tom and back again, while taking a small step backwards. –You were hissing to it!â€
Dennis’ face contorted in disgust and the colour rose in his face.–You really are a freak, just like they say!†he spat. –They should lock you up and throw away the key. You FRE-â€
Dennis did not finish his insult, his hands rushing to his throat trying to loosen his tie, which was rapidly tightening around his neck. He seemed to be having trouble breathing and frantically indicated to Amy to help him. She did not have the chance to come to his aid, because no sooner had she taken a step in his direction, she was on the ground writhing in agony as what felt like a thousand hot knives sliced her repeatedly from head to toe. Dennis sank to his knees, his face becoming darker by the second.
Tom stood between them and the snake with his hand stretched in front on his and rage etched upon his face. Then he let his hand fall and the screaming stopped immediately to be replaced with the spluttering of desperate gasps for air with heavy, wet sobs. He excitedly looked from one frightened face to another, adrenaline still coursing through him unlike anything he had ever experienced, and considered the options open to him.
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The noise of the waves crashing below drowned out the sobs as they staggered slowly along the cliff face across the bay. The petrified children followed the black snake not knowing where they were being taken. As much as they feared the snake, they kept close to it, preferring it as the lesser evil to the alternative behind them. On the one occasion that Dennis dared to steal a glance around he was merely blinded by the sun with a featureless dark figure marching in front of it towards him.
He could have let them go and been free to unravel this mystery alone, but it was only a matter of time before others came looking for them and probably even less if Amy and Dennis were able to point them in the right direction. No, they had to be silenced.
The snake came to a sudden halt on top of the cliff, prompting the already terrified children to fall to their knees in panic. Its head reared and hissed in confirmation. Tom then urged her to continue and lead the way. Approaching the edge he saw the snake glide down the cliff face like a dirty raindrop down a window. Slowly he turned to face the two other children, his eyes darting from side to side. With his arms outstretched and his face strained with concentration, the dozen or so stray rocks scattered around them and half-buried in the ground uprooted themselves and started to roll towards the edge and then promptly disappeared over it forming a staircase along the side of the cliff.
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–Sarge, I don't know how many times I have to say this... Yes, I am absolutely sure we checked here before. I led the search party along the cliffs just as we were losing the light hours ago. It was one of the first places we looked and we found nothing. Nothing whatsoeverâ€
Pete nodded, wordlessly dismissing his colleague, and turned away. It wouldn't do him any favours to keep going about it, particularly now that the little ones had been found. He raised his hand to his mouth to stifle a yawn and walked back to his police car. Loosening the strap below his chin he removed his helmet, held it tightly under his arm and ran a hand through his hair. The sun would soon start peeking over the sea on the horizon bringing an end to what had seemed like an endless night destined to end in tragedy.
He leaned back on his car and watched in the distance as the last few gawkers finally dispersed, remaining from the search parties they had been able to assemble from neighbouring villages only an hour or two after receiving the telephone call from their police box miles down the road. He had driven there only to be faced with several frantic women and a rickety bus full with crying children. Apparently three had gone missing. Last seen near the cliffs.
He opened the door and lay his helmet on the passenger seat vacated by his constable who he had dispatched on bicycle with the good news as soon as they arrived on the scene. He must have reached the school by now where they were keeping the rest of them while the search was ongoing. Despite the doubts nagging and clouding his mind, the thought brought a small smile to his face. For once not to be the bearer of bad news, now there was a welcome novelty. He started the ignition and the car slowly rolled forward, its headlights briefly shining on the spot where they had been found an hour before by a single volunteer, drenched to the skin on the parched ground and barely conscious.
It had only been after the initial frenzy of activity had died down and the swift arrival and departure of the doctor that the usually observant man had found a moment to key in on what exactly it had been that had disturbed him so profoundly the moment he had laid eyes on it. Every couple of meters there were disturbances to the earth with gaps where rocks, normally sticking out every few meters along the side of the cliff, had been removed leaving pits.
He drove on repeatedly honking the horn and waving as a sign of appreciation when encountering the straggling search volunteers on the roadside returning home after a sleepless night. Barely a home on his route had its lights out. The whole village had turned out to search for the children. He reached the doctor's home and walked up the immaculate garden path with the sun coming up behind him. He positioned his helmet under his arm. Before he could even knock, the door swung open and a kindly, but tired face greeted him quietly.
–Sergeant Webb, please come in. He'll be a moment. Can I get you some tea?â€
–Please, Betty. Milk and two sugars.â€
He wiped his boots rigorously on the mat and followed her through the house silently. The small elderly woman pointed upstairs with a nervous smile. He left her to take care of the tea while he slowly climbed the creaky wooden staircase. A door farthest away was ajar and spilling a faint light into the dark landing. He came to a halt at the door and peeked in. The doctor was dimming a simple nightlight, like everything else in the room obviously a relic of children long since grown up. He then straightened up, picked up his things and left the room with two small figures sharing a bed and hidden under blankets as quietly as he could manage while nodding to the sergeant, acknowledging his arrival. He closed the door, locked it and took the key with him, exchanging a dark, meaningful glance with Pete.
Down the landing next to the stairs, the doctor slowly opened the door to check in. With the exception of the nightlight it was almost identical to the other room. The good doctor took a few steps around the bed. Pete saw the slight figure stiffen and could hear the sound of rapid, shallow breathing. If the child was trying to pretend to sleep, he wasn't doing a very convincing job.
When he had locked the door and pocketed the key, the doctor signalled for Pete to follow him downstairs. His wife was still making the tea when they arrived in the kitchen. When she had placed a steaming mug in front of each man she excused herself wishing them both a goodnight.
–I sent word to their guardian Mrs Cole and will go over in the afternoon before they head back to London,†Pete said after taking a polite sip of his tea. –After I speak to the kids, of course,†he added, pointing to the ceiling with his mug.
The doctor didn't break his gaze for a moment, not even when reaching for the drink in front of him. He nodded somewhat reluctantly and seemed to bite his lip.
–I don't know how much they are going to be able to tell you, Pete.â€
–Have you been able to get anything out of them so far, Henry?†asked Pete.
The doctor snorted and shook his head, almost laughing in spite of himself. –No... They are in shock, well... Two of them are, anyway. I'm not sure the dark-haired lad really is...â€
Pete cocked his head, struck by how strange that sounded, but chose to keep his reservations to himself and not to interrupt. That way you got more out of folk, not by bombarding them with questions.
–... Not a word from either of them, but they didn't have to say anything for me to know what they were scared of. It was only when I separated them into different rooms that they stopped shaking like a leaf.†He closed his eyes and shook his head with a deep sigh. –I have given them something to calm them down and put them to sleep for a few hours.â€
–Good… Any idea where they were hiding?†Pete asked, raising his eyebrows.
–In a cave, I reckon, Pete. Whether they were hiding is another matter altogether.†The doctor cupped the warm mug in his hands.
Despite having exactly the same suspicions, Pete's own ingrained logic simply wouldn't allow for it. –Impossible, Henry. The cliffs are fifty meters up and there are grown men who can't even climb down there with ruddy equipment!â€
–I know... I know. Don't ask me how they did it without getting so much as a scratch to their hands. Their hands at least got off lightly. I think they were in a cave and in the dark for a fair while... You should have seen what happened when I tried to turn out the light upstairs.†The doctor starred blankly at his mug suddenly struck by the horror of the situation.
–Well, they were wet and the beach is about two miles from where we found them...†Pete conceded before stopping abruptly and raising his hand slightly. –What do you mean that their hands … 'got off lightly'?â€
–The redheaded lad and the lass had quite few cuts down their legs and scattered elsewhere...†the doctor started, his voice reduced to a whisper. –Well, not cuts as such, rather... but rather bites.â€
–Bites?†asked Pete. –Bitten by what?â€
–Common snake bites. I see them all the time, just not this many.â€
Pete shot the doctor a sharp look. –... And what about the small lad, the dark-haired one? Were there any bites on him?â€
–No bites from what I can see, but a fair few nasty scratches down his arms and legs, yes. Much fresher than the bites, I think …†The doctor stopped as if second-guessing himself.
–Go on...†Pete said encouragingly.
The doctor hesitated as if weighing every word in his mind. –The skin and blood I saw under his fingernails makes me think that he deliberately scratched himself,†he confessed finally.
There was a long, awkward silence between the men, now both united in the possible knowledge of an unexpected horror hidden behind the happy retrieval of the missing children, one they would have preferred and been happier not knowing at all. The tea remained forgotten on the table, rapidly getting cold.
The Summer Outing by BehindTheVeil
Story Notes:
I made every effort and truly strove to keep within the given parameters and not to contradict HP canon. My main goal was to write a plausible story to an event already hinted at in the novels.
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