"You know Tom, I'm not here to punish you."

A ripple, hidden from view but burning through Tom with ferocious energy, was Tom's only reaction to the obvious effort at placating him. He had initially been bored by this 'interview', but as it dragged on, moment by interminable moment, his boredom had begun to give out in favour of anger. Still, he had not yet spoken a word and had given, as far as he could tell, no real indication he was even listening at all. This did not seem to deter the determined, balding little man in the chair before him however.

"Tom."

A creaking of wood told Tom the squat little man had leaned forward again, and he kept himself focused on nothing at all beyond the shape of his hands clasped firmly in his lap, and the hard, cold feeling of the edge of the bedframe he was perched on.

"Tom? You really should just come clean about this, it will make things a lot easier for you."

There, that ripple again, and again the intensity lasted just that little bit longer this time.

"You know, the scars you've given your friends here will never fully heal. You'll have to live with that for a long, long time, Tom."

Tom reacted openly for the first time, his head lurching up and his eyes fixing into those of the man before him, boring through spectacles and brown pupils with such intense fury that, were in he in such a mood, he would have smirked at how hastily the little man moved back in his seat again.

"They are not my 'friends'."

He spoke with a clear tone, but he couldn't quite keep the edge out of his voice. He let out more emotion than he meant to, and the little man gave a flash of a triumphant smile, evidently pleased he'd finally gotten at least some kind of reaction from Tom. He scratched at the clipboard he held in his lap, but kept his eyes fixed on Tom as he wrote.

"So," the little man said, his pen scratching furiously across his papers, "you attacked them because they aren't your friends? You don't like them? Why is that, Tom?"

Tom's hands clasped slightly harder in his lap though he kept his appearance calm this time, knowing the man was trying to goad another reaction out of him. He clearly didn't intend Tom to actually answer any of the questions with how quickly he was firing them out. Instead of responding Tom simply looked back down, focusing again on his hands, and the little man sighed, realising his opportunity had come and gone.

"You will have to answer for this, Tom. I have the power to take you away, you know. Far away, to somewhere much worse than this. That's what we do to young offenders."

Offender? Is that what I am to you?

Tom's hands tightened further, but despite his anger at the latter comment he couldn't stop a smirk emerging at the former, and as he looked up the little man stopped speaking, clearly confused, as Tom chose to correct at least one of this man's many delusional ideas.

"If that's your idea of a punishment, I would have attacked those two a long time ago."

He spoke softly, coldly, and the little man's eyebrows drew together, clearly surprised by the response. Or, perhaps, surprised that there was no hint of a lie about any of it. Still, he readjusted his spectacles, frowning deeply at Tom who was still meeting his gaze defiantly, and shrugged his shoulders after a few moments of staring.

"Ah, perhaps it will not be as cosy as you think, lad. You admit you attacked them, then?"

Tom smiled slightly, but his eyes remained untouched by it, and fixed on the brown ones before him.

"Certainly not, I said that I would have, not that I did."

The little man sighed again and Tom saw real frustration in his face as he considered the boy before him. After a moment the man shook his head, standing from the hardbacked wooden chair in front of Tom's bed and staring down at Tom with what was clearly meant to be his most intimidating manner. It didn't concern Tom at all though, he'd faced worse from the Matron.

"Fine, we're clearly getting nowhere here. I will speak to your Matron and rest assured Tom, we will find out exactly what happened in that cave. Between you and I, I think I know exactly what happened. You're just fortunate that neither Amy nor Dennis seem willing to talk about any of it. If I had things my way," the little man leant down, his stale breath rushing across Tom's face, and bringing up in Tom a very real urge to hit the man as he finished, "you'd spend a long time in a cell. Kid or not, what you did was sick, and it's clear enough to me you don't feel the slightest regret. I'll bet you even enjoyed it."

Tom didn't reply, feeling he really had nothing more to say to this stupid man's blustering efforts at intimidation and with a final scowl the little man stood up, brushed his tweed suit down and swept out of the room, briefcase and clipboard in hand, leaving Tom, at last, on his own, in the only place Tom could really call 'his own'.

- An orphan's deliverance -

"The boy has issues, that much was always obvious, sir."

Mrs Cole, the Matron, the queen of her very own, very ragged kingdom of urchins, spoke with an unusual tone of deference. At least, it was unusual in the walls of the orphanage to hear such deference as she ushered Mr Tibbit into a chair across from her desk, before circling around the desk to her own. She felt a hint of embarrassment that her office was so meagre; neither well furnished or well decorated, and with her own chair behind the desk being the only thing in the room that was not careworn or termite-damaged. She pulled a bottle of Port from under her desk, her very own secret weakness, and two glasses, one of which she passed to Mr Tibbit who accepted it gratefully as he settled into his seat and adjusted his spectacles, smoothing his patchy remnants of hair across his head with the other hand.

"Well, I can imagine that's so. I've met a good number of hardened boys in my time Mrs Cole, but I must admit, something about the boy just doesn't quite settle well with me. Would I be right in guessing he's a well-known liar?"

Mrs Cole, filling the glasses on the desk up to the rim, chewed slightly on the inside of her cheeks as she sat back, mulling over the question.

"Well..." her fingers steepled automatically in an effort to seem business-like and professional as she mused the question, "I suppose I would, sir. He certainly never tells the truth, at least not most of the time, but, well, it's hard to say."

Mr Tibbit raised an eyebrow, taking a healthy drink and a small sigh of satisfaction escaped him as he drained half his glass in one go, followed by a stifled burp as he considered Mrs Cole's response.

"I'm afraid I don't follow. Do you mean to say he is a liar or that he's not?"

Mrs Cole sighed, taking her own drink in hand and downing it in one which brought, as it did with every visitor, a look of surprise into the features of her guest. She had always held her drink well, something that guaranteed many blackjack wins to herself whenever she and the staff had the night to themselves.

"Well that's the thing, it's just so hard to actually catch him in a lie. I know he lies, all the children know it too, or most of them anyway, but he's got a bit of a talent for keeping his lies plausible. We've had problems in the past, but we've never pinned anything on him exactly."

Mr Tibbit nodded, pulling Tom's file from his briefcase and frowning slightly as he idly glanced over some of his notes.

"Yes, I can see that from his history. I must admit it makes for disturbing reading, assuming he really is guilty of all these things. I've heard many tales of bullying and violence, but..."

He stopped speaking, simply pulling out and staring at a grainy photograph of a rabbit, hung from the rafters of the dining hall of the orphanage as though it were some grotesque decoration. He shook his head, trying to clear the slightly unpleasant feeling the pictures brought up in him as he reviewed them.

"Right? It's like I said, if we could catch him, you can be sure we'd have him out of here and on his way to another institution before the day was ended. But how can you prove these things? What ten year old can get into the rafters without ladders, or anywhere to climb up? That's at least twenty feet, maybe more. But even so..."

"You know it was him?"

"Suspect, but in all probability..."

Mrs Cole sighed, fingering the edge of her glass in thought before reaching to the bottle for a refill, being sure to top off Mr Tibbit's glass too on the way. As she drank again she sat back with a sigh, her thoughts still racing through what had happened at the beach. They were both silent a while longer until Mr Tibbit spoke again.

"Well, unfortunately, there's little I can do I'm afraid. Short of a confession from him, you must understand my arguments against him won't hold in the courts. I can't move him."

Mrs Cole sighed again; a great, shuddering sound that carried the hints of a long weariness born of a battle she had never managed to win between a Matron and an ill-tempered urchin. She nodded her head after a moment, raising her eyes back to meet Mr Tibbit's.

"I know. We'll just have to keep an eye on him. Goodness knows we'll need to, poor little Amy and Dennis are just beyond inconsolable, I can't get a damned word from them that makes a lick of sense."

Mr Tibbit frowned, nodding to himself as she finished speaking, and replacing his now empty glass on the desk.

"Yes, I suppose you will. I will, of course, be back in a few days for a follow up visit with the two he attacked, but if anything comes up you have our address, and telegrams will reach us too."

Mrs Cole nodded and rose from her chair, sensing the meeting was coming to an end, and grasping the small and wrinkled hand Mr Tibbit proffered in her own, equally careworn palms.

"I will be sure to do so, would you care for me to see you out?"

"Ah, that will be fine, I know my way. Besides, it seems you have another visitor waiting."

Mr Tibbit gave a slight nod of farewell and turned, leaving the office, and barely giving Mrs Cole time to react to what he'd just said.

"Another visitor? But I don't have any appointments..."

Then, as she looked up and gasped, she very nearly fainted as the oddest man she'd ever seen, and she had seen many oddities in her time, strode through the door as though it were the most natural thing in the world to be dressed like someone who'd had twelve buckets of bright paint dropped on his clothes.

"Ah. Mrs Cole, I presume?"

- An orphan's deliverance -

Tom had finally relaxed, settling back onto his bed and staring up at the ceiling as he thought to himself. Idle thoughts mostly, but lingering on how to deal with the new cloud of suspicion that had descended over him. Of course, he wasn't really interested in what the others thought of him as such, but he was smart enough to know the social worker's threats, or at least, the man who claimed to be a social worker, probably held some weight. He didn't think there was a realistic chance of anything being pinned on him, but even so...

Tom rolled onto his side, thinking hard.

No, there was nothing that could be pinned on him, he was sure of that, and he was always very careful whenever he made any attempt at experiments.

Tom smiled to himself as he thought about that, and the success he had so recently experienced. He didn't know what exactly his power was, but he knew it was power, and power was something he had always been desperate to have. Now, at last, it seemed he did. But it left so many questions. What was this power? Did it have a limit? What else could he do with it? Would it fade away?

He closed his eyes, not allowing the last option to even be a serious consideration. He simply could not accept that this wonderful new ability could suddenly leave him, and yet...

Tom sat up, determined now to try again. Something to prove he still had...whatever he had. He glanced around his room and his eyes settled on the chair the little man had left in the middle of his room. Tom had no intention of sitting on it again, he never shared anything anyway, but certainly not a chair some fat little moron from the government had sullied with his stinking backside.

Tom fixed his gaze on the chair, trying to decide what he wanted it to do. He knew he could make things fly, his experience with the rabbit had proven that clearly, and he could make people obey, sometimes, but obviously a chair was not going to respond to that sort of command. Frowning, he settled on simply making it go back to where it was against the wall and focused on it, trying to summon those same tendrils of something he could always feel around him. If he could just imagine it being picked up...

The chair wobbled ever so slightly after only a few seconds. A thrill of excitement shot through Tom but he kept calm, knowing better than to claim victory before he'd actually won. He instead doubled his efforts, focusing all his energy into getting that creaking old chair back into the corner of his room. He imagined it simply floating away and sure enough it began to rise from the floor and slowly, very slowly, move away. Tom could hardly contain the thrills he was feeling. Whatever this power was, it hadn't gone anywhere yet.

Danger.

The chair fell back to the floor with a clatter and Tom jumped, feeling a flash of panic surge through him, though he couldn't explain why.

Someone's coming.

He knew it, instinctively. Someone was coming. Someone dangerous. He didn't know how he knew it, he just felt it, overpowering his senses. Without thinking he threw himself back into his pillow, hastily pulling up a book and bringing it up so it covered his face as his heart raced faster and fasrer. Then he felt something new. It was something hot, like the feeling of a coal fire too close to his face. It was faint, but it was getting stronger, and Tom really began to worry now.

Almost here.

He shut his eyes slightly, frightened for the first time in a long time at the sheer sense of something approaching his room. Something strong, something like him, and he was beyond terrified. The feeling grew, building into a crescendo of foreboding and as it began to peak he heard footsteps approaching, two sets of them, and then they came to a stop just outside his room. Tom strained to hear as the mumble of voices sounded on the other side. Maybe the little man had come back to take him away after all? Then, the door swung open.

- An orphan's deliverance -

"It's magic, what I can do?"

"What is it that you can do?"

"All sorts..."

Tom was more excited than he'd ever been in his life, so excited he could scarcely contain it as he fidgeted on the edge of his bed, his eyes boring into the bright blue pupils of the middle aged man sat before him, dressed more like something from a book than the real world.

He didn't doubt it, not for a moment. The moment this man, this 'Professor Dumbledore' stepped into his room, he knew he was like him. He had what Tom had, whatever it was. Magic or whatever. It was something they shared. He could feel it radiating from this man so strongly he wondered how the Matron, who had excused herself with unusual reserve and not so much as a second glance at Tom when she'd let him in originally, had failed to realise something was odd about this man. Well, something besides his dress sense.

"Tom? What is it that you can do?"

The professor spoke calmly and smiled at Tom, but it did little to calm him. He was so excited he could barely keep his breathing steady.

"I can make things...move, without touching them. I can make animals do what I want without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who are mean to me. I can make them hurt, if I want..."

Tom stopped speaking, realising too late he'd already said too much, far more than he ever should have and certainly not to a complete stranger. What if this old man worked with the fat one? What if he was here to take him away?

"Who are you, really?"

The professor seemed entirely undisturbed by the sudden change in Tom from feverish excitement to a calm but suspicious voice, but Tom noticed how his eyes didn't leave his own and silently vowed not to speak so freely to this man again. He got the feeling he might well regret it.

"Well, I work at a school for children, like yourself. Very special children."

Tom narrowed his eyes as the man spoke, trying to read a hidden meaning in the words and not liking being referred to as a child at all. Not one bit.

"I'm not a child, and I'm not mad either!"

The professor simply smiled at Tom in an utterly infuriating way and Tom said nothing, his eyes boring into the professor's and demanding answers. This 'Dumbledore' only chuckled though, still completely unperturbed, and Tom got the sense this was a man he wouldn't be able to trick as easily as the others he'd known. This man was like him, and probably in more ways than just this 'magic' they shared.

"Ah, I apologise Tom, I ought to have been clearer. The school I work for is called Hogwarts, and as I said earlier, it is a school for magic. That is what we teach, what I teach, in point of fact. There, you will learn everything there is to know about your talents, as well as the customs and ways of our world."

Tom frowned a little, still not completely reassured, and eyed the professor warily. He could feel this man's power, like his own, but he wasn't going to spill anything more until he saw some proof first.

"You're a wizard too, then?"

"I am."

"Prove it."

Tom stared into the professor's eyes, watching for any hint of deception, and noted the frown that crossed his features briefly at his own abrupt request. Clearly, he didn't appreciate being told what to do, a sentiment Tom could appreciate. Still, this was his room, and his opportunity to find out if he was as mad as everyone else thought. So he waited and watched to see what the professor would do.

With a slight flourish, the older man pulled a long, thin stick from his sleeve, and Tom eyed it carefully, curiously, as the professor simply pointed it at Tom's wardrobe and then, to Tom's horror, the wardrobe burst into flames.

"What?!"

Tom jumped up, feeling real terror for the second time that day as he watched all his most prized, and in fact, only possessions burn to a crisp. Even despite his excitement at seeing real magic, actual proof, it was still with fury etched across his face that he turned back to the professor, opening his mouth in fury. Then the wardrobe suddenly stopped burning, and as Tom whipped his head to look at it again, it looked for all the world as though it had not just been on fire a moment before. Eyes widening he turned back to the professor, and glanced at the stick in his hand, realising he had to have one too.

"Where do I get one of those?"

Tom spoke brusquely, but didn't care at all as the older man frowned more deeply still at his tone, before nodding his head towards the wardrobe again.

"All in good time, I think something is trying to escape from your wardrobe."

Tom cocked his head, wondering what on earth the older man was talking about, until he heard the rattling and realised, with a jolt, what it was. After all, he only had one box in that wardrobe that rattled, and a surge of fear and suspicion swept through him.

"Open the door."

Tom walked numbly over to the wardrobe, his mind racing.

How does he know? What -else- does he know? Does he know what I did?

Shaking Tom opened the wardrobe, and his fears were confirmed as he saw his stash shaking violently in the midst of his ragged clothing.

"Take it out and empty it onto the bed, Tom."

Tom felt as though he had no option but to obey, but he eyed Dumbledore with furious suspicion and fear as he moved to the bed and tipped onto it all the trophies he'd gathered for all his acts of revenge. None of it was valuable in itself, but to Tom each represented moments where he'd triumphed, where he'd come out on top. Where he was in charge, for a change. And now, with careless disregard and slight hints of chastisement, this stranger had not only found it all, but was now forcing him to reveal it all in front of him. Tom would have been furious, but he was feeling too sick with fear to do anything other than comply and he stood next to his bed, eyes still meeting the professor's, as he awaited the verdict.

"You will return these items with your apologies. Be warned, thievery is not tolerated at Hogwarts."

Tom felt a surge of fury rush through him at that.

Thievery? Stupid man, I did not slink away like a petty criminal with these, I -won- them, I fought for them, they're -mine- now.

Yet, even as the fury boiled in him, it was with his usual, practiced calm that he responded.

"Yes, sir."

The professor nodded, putting the stick away in his sleeve again and Tom sat, not really sure what to make of what had been said so far, but even despite this humiliation it didn't change the fact he was special after all. Like this man, he could do things no others could. Then, with a jolt of irritation, he realised this man could do them too, and better than he could.

Well, that had better change and quickly, hadn't it?

Still, it was an opportunity for a new life, and Tom couldn't stop the thrill of excitement that still pulsed through him each time he thought of the word 'magic'. He could only dream of the power he might one day wield. The power he would wield.

Finally, after a few more minutes discussing school supplies, money and other things beneath Tom's notice, the old man stood again, grasping his hand, and meeting Tom's gaze with his own, sharp and clear. Tom felt almost as though he was being surveyed by something that could see right into his most private thoughts. He didn't like it, but nor did he relinquish his grip as the older man surveyed him carefully.

"I look forward to seeing you at Hogwarts, Tom."

Tom nodded, but as the professor turned to leave he was seized by a final compulsion, a desire to prove his worth to this man who would soon be teaching him, and to distract him also from the memory of the items Tom had stolen.

"I can talk to snakes too."

The old man stopped in the doorway, turning to look at Tom with an eyebrow raised, but he said nothing.

"They find me...whisper things...is that normal? For someone like me?"

The words, Tom thought with a sense of pride, had the desired effect as the professor, whose poker face had until now been remarkably firm, showed the first sign of any kind of surprise. Yet, to Tom's disappointment, the man quickly rallied and with a small smile replied quite simply.

"It is unusual, but not unheard of. Good day, Tom."

With that the professor turned and left, and as the door closed behind him Tom simply frowned after him, surprised and irritated his revelation hadn't had much of the effect he wanted. Still, as he sat back down on his bed, fumbling with his prizes which he had no intention of returning, he thought with a slight smile that it really didn't matter anyway. Surely, there would be other professors to impress, and besides...

Tom stood, staring out the window into the courtyard of the orphanage, and the smoky skyline he had always hated so much, and smiled again with relish as he thought that, after all, there was one thing now for certain. He had a chance for a new start and whatever it took Tom was going to succeed. He would meet this new world head on, and he would use his now proven powers to ensure that he would succeed. Or better yet, he would be the best. This old man was powerful, that much was clear, and Tom didn't know if that was normal for wizards. Even if it was, it wouldn't matter. Tom would surpass them all. And then...well, that was a thought for another day. For now he would take the chance to recover from his shock and make new plans. Starting with the thing he was the most excited to get his hands on.

"My very own wand."

Oh yes, tomorrow was going to be the best day of his life.