Chapter 2: A Visitor at the Orphanage
No one really questioned it, since "that really nice Tom kid" was known to never eat sweets himself but be completely willing to share them with others. They all assumed that every time he got something he just sort of put it away, and then took it out if someone asked.
In reality, Tom (and Jerry) were just using magic to duplicate the same pieces of candy that had been passed out that one Christmas from years ago.
That it hadn't gone bad yet showed just how much artificial sugar was in that thing. Tom knew he wasn't going to touch it anytime soon.
Tom mulled over this bit of information. His thoughts, however, were interrupted by a knock on his door. It was probably Mrs. Cole.
Even though he hated her, he tried to kiss up to her the most, because she was a predictable constant in his life, and the trouble of having to get used to dealing with a new matron was more than the satisfaction he would receive from offing her.
The same with the teachers at school, and pretty much any adult he ran into. Anyway, keeping his room clean and giving an air of false politeness was not that much trouble compared to the benefits he reaped from being so far above reproach that he'd never be considered a suspect in anything, even if he was the only one who could have possibly done it.
Because "sweet little Tom" would never do anything wrong.
Ever.
"Tom?" Mrs. Cole said, her words slurring slightly. Lovely. She was drunk again.
Thank goodness she wasn't the type of person who became violent and abusive when drunk (she usually just locked herself in her office when she decided to bring out the gin), but she tended to behave exceptionally stupidly, like all drunk people, if she ever did decide to reveal herself to the public. "Tom. I. Er. You've got a visitor. This is Mister Dumberton – sorry, Dunderbore. He's come to tell you – well, I'll let him do it."
Just play nice and don't make direct eye contact.
Tom had had plenty of experience in playing nice. But…Why not direct eye contact? Isn't that generally considered rude in Western culture?
Yeah, well, this guy reads minds, and I'm not sure what he'd do if he realized you had some alter ego trying to help you conquer the world. Anyway, pretend you're shy with strangers. That's how all the "nice" kids behave.
What are you talking about? Is he from an asylum? He eyed the man, whose long hair and beard would have given him a rather Merlin-esque look had they been white and not reddish-brown in color.
The rest, though, like the long, plum-colored robes (who even wore that anymore?) and weird hat, was more than enough to convince Tom that this was not really a normal situation.
They usually send the orderlies, not the patients, Jerry snarked. You haven't done anything to make Mrs. Cole suspicious of you, have you?
I've been good, I swear! Tom replied as innocently as possible.
Jerry snickered.
"How do you do, Tom?" said the man, holding out a hand.
Are you SURE he's not from the asylum? Tom asked.
It wasn't in Tom's nature to be vulnerable or unsure of himself, but he was a good actor, if anything.
He hated being polite, sure, but that didn't mean he didn't know how. His manners, when called for, could outstrip those of all the other orphan scum stuck in this place.
"Um, I guess I'm okay," Tom said, looking down and fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Then he looked up, pretending to realize that the odd man was holding out a hand, and hastily whispered, "Sorry," before shaking it.
He's a wizard, just like you, Tom.
What…
He can make things float and explode, too.
You're kidding me. He's a wizard? A wizard?
For someone who can use his mind to defy the laws of physics you seem rather close-minded to the fact that there might be other people out there who can do the same thing…
Oh, shut up.
Tsk, tsk. And I thought you were the sweetest little boy ever -
Spare me that bullshit, will you?
Where'd you learn that language?
From YOU.
Oh.
"No need," the man said. "I am Professor Dumbledore."
"Professor?" Tom asked. "Of what?"
"I am a Professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he said, drawing a stamped envelope from his robe pocket. "I have come to offer you a place at this school – if you would like to come, that is."
Tom took the letter and read it over. Hogwarts? Witchcraft and Wizardry? Who does he think he is? Tom ranted. It's the asylum; I knew it!
Calm down, Jerry drawled. Just play dumb. It's not the goddamned asylum, okay? Whatever you do, don't lose your temper in front of him.
It's a bit hard not to; he's an absolute moron.
A moron who can read minds and happens to be the most powerful wizard on the continent of Europe, so please, for the love of Pete, if there's one person in the world you shouldn't reveal your true nature to, it's this guy.
How do you even know all this stuff?
Like I told you, I'm from 2025.
Are you sure this won't create some weird paradox?
…Meh.
Seriously, though. How do you know you're right?
Have I ever been wrong?
"…Witchcraft…and Wizardry?" Tom asked, feigning incredulity. "Isn't witchcraft a bad thing, though? I'm not sure about this."
"Witchcraft is just a term for magic users. It is the choices you make that define good or evil," Professor Dumbledore said kindly. "But never mind that. You and I are different, Tom. Have odd things ever happened to you when you were feeling strong emotions? Things that couldn't be explained normally?"
Tom continued fiddling with his shirt, shooting a look at Professor Dumbledore out of the corner of his eye, making sure to avoid the other man's face. "I…are you saying that's supposed to be magic?"
"That is correct."
"Um…sir, can you show me?"
Okay, pray he doesn't set your wardrobe on fire…
Why?
Because that would mean he saw through us. Tom, you haven't stolen anything lately, have you?
How could I, with you breathing down my neck, literally, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week?
Hey, step number one to being an Evil Overlord is not letting anyone know that you're an Evil Overlord.
But Professor Dumbledore did little more than draw a long, pointed stick (That would be a magic wand, Tom) (I'm inexperienced, not a moron, you moron) and levitate a few books around in the air.
Tom tried his best to look amazed, which was harder than it sounded, because after practicing levitating things for so long the novelty effect had worn off. Not so much, however, when Mr. Merlin changed the flying books into cuckoo clocks and back again.
"These are some of the things you'll learn at Hogwarts, along others, which I promise you are much more practical than floating books around and making cuckoo clocks. But never mind that," and Professor Dumbledore's eyes twinkled – "What can you do?"
You are the epitome of angelic innocence. Repeat: You are the epitome of angelic innocence.
"Umm…well…sometimes, I only have a few pieces of candy, and a lot of people see me, and I don't want to just give a few people things because that might make the others feel left out," Tom tried, "except when I look down again, there were a lot more than there were before. And at first I thought I was just counting wrong, but then it happened again and again, like in those fairy tales with the pot of gold that never runs out."
-------
Want to jump 30+ chapters ahead right now?
You can read the advanced chapters and support me directly on p 4 treon.
Link in the synopsis & profile: p 4 treon > ForgottenDaoist