As Tom sat in the musty waiting room, staring at nothing, kicking his legs against his chair, Madam Chani frowned over her novel as she appraised her surroundings.

"Out of all the children over all the years, only three have forced my hand thus far! The good Lord knows I've no truck with psycho-analysis, but there is no other option if you are to continue living with us, after all that's happened."

Tom kicked harder. "If you don't like it, we needn't be here."

The old woman shook her head. "How many times must I explain? The magistrate would whip you if you hadn't promised to come to the clinic! Not to mention breaking your probation! And you a lad of only eight!"

Tom sniffed. He was almost nine, and not an idiot. He was well aware that his behaviour was illegal, but he didn't actually understand why. It wasn't as if anyone actually was hurt, and when he asked the magistrate, the man stammered that he didn't see why he should have to explain himself to a boy. In other words, thought Tom, he didn't know why either. But it wasn't surprising: Tom Riddle had long noticed that he was smarter than every single other person he met.

To his guardian he simply replied, "Oh, I see."

"Hmph! I doubt that severely! Indeed! I've had bad children, I've had strange children, and I've had frightening children, but to encounter all three wrapped into one package! I'd sooner have you out of my home, but alas, am obligated to give you this chance." She then shot Tom a quick look of contempt before getting back to her novel.

Tom gritted his teeth. You'll get that wish one day, never fear, old hag.

"Tom Riddle?" A voice called from behind a desk. Tom rose, asked "Yes?" and was pointed toward an office.

He walked in and was greeted by an old man with a hunchback and no hair. "Hello Tom! How are you today?" The doctor said with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

"I'm good sir, how are you?" Tom asked as he took a seat on the sofa.

"Quite well, Tom, quite well!" Dr. Ormskirk made a note of something on his pad. "Well, my boy, have you thought about what we talked about last time?" The man was leaning forward and looking at Tom strangely.

Is he trying to appear interested in me or something?

"Yes sir, and I realize you were right. No matter what the reason, you have to allow a person to privacy." The practiced speech rolled smoothly off his tongue.

"Not only did you violate their privacy, Tom, you went much further…" The doctor was scribbling notes again.

Tom had to bite his lip so he wouldn't scream about just deserts, which inspired him on the next thing he should say. "Yes sir I know, I acted very wrongly. I was angry, sir, so angry I couldn't think, but now that I know, I'll be able to take a step back to calm down, so anger won't control me again." Tom peeped at the Doctor to see if he found that believable, but he was confiding his thoughts to his notepad rather than Tom.

"Interesting idea, you may be right," The doctor said. "But anger issues, along with, other deeper problems. You seem to be ignoring that." Once again he was punishing his notepad. After another long moment of scribbling he added, "I also feel as though I am being manipulated in some way here, Tom…" The man's pen was cocked and ready to unload in rapid fire again, but he was staring at Tom, deep into his eyes.

Tom made his eyes go wide and bewildered. "Muh-nip-you-late-ed? I'm sure I don't know what that means, sir… Anyways I know that I tend to get angry, and I know why I get angry, and how to prevent it getting to where I do something foolish. I think that especially now that I've thought about it so much, it will be less of a problem."

The man went on as if he hadn't heard him. "Everybody gets angry Tom, everybody makes foolish mistakes. Some of those people end up suffering consequences for those choices they made in the moment, whether that is striking somebody out of anger, or throwing a stone through a window after a few drinks. You, my boy, didn't act in the moment, what you did required premeditation, calm collected planning and execution."

Tom had to bite his lip again, this time to prevent a smile. Only half an hour of planning. Suppose an hour, and I wouldn't've been caught at it this time.

"Honestly sir, my mind's a bit of a muddle. Maybe all that anger was building up for so long that it just took a spark to kind of ignite and burn hot and long before withering out…" Tom tried.

"And you are convinced it has 'withered out,' as you put it?" the doctor asked carefully.

Never. "It seems so, sir."

"What if there is an ember left yet, and somebody starts to blow on it again? Will it become a flame once more?" Tom could almost hear the pad of paper sighing in relief at the momentary break.

"Maybe…" Tom allowed, before continuing, "I think I know how to smother it before anything like this happens again."

I'll take my time and plan when I am calm so I don't make stupid mistakes…

The doctor didn't seem convinced, or perhaps he really wanted to use up all the ink in that pen, the scraping of ink on paper almost sounded like screams of pain from the defenseless pages. After he wrote for a minute or two, he turned to Tom, staring at him.

Tom sat there, looking curiously into the doctor's eyes for several minutes as the doctor matched his gaze.

Odd flashes of imagery crossed Tom's mind so briefly that he couldn't comprehend them. The man broke his gaze and Tom noticed that he seemed slightly uncomfortable for some reason.

Once again, I win a staring contest.

Dr. Ormskirk rubbed his head, sighed, made a few more notes and then spoke again. "I think we are going to require a few more sessions yet, Tom. You aren't being truthful with me, and there is a lot more we need to get to the bottom of."

O God! Will this nonsense ever end?

Tom had hoped that "needing counseling" would give him a more feared reputation at home; it had only done the opposite and given the stronger kids another reason to pick on him...

/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

November 5th:

"Guy, Guy, Guy! Poke him in the eye!"

The orphaned boys made quite merry over being allowed to make their own bonfire, and sang and danced - all but one, who crouched far from the circle of children, quite close to the fire.

The yellow and orange tendrils of fire licked upwards into the darkness, spewing bright white sparks which danced in the wind and faded away. Tom continued to stare into the blaze; the sound of the song being sung around him by a few of the children was washed out by the cracks, pops and sizzling of the burning wood.

The fire obscured all of his perceptions and engulfed him. The longer Tom watched the flames, the more he felt like they were part of him. There was something other than heat that reached out from the fire and washed over Tom.

Tom noticed a moth buzzing around - the wind changed momentarily, the flames reached too close, and it burned up with a quick hiss. Tom smiled in amusement.

Foolish creature, venture too close to the flames and you will be consumed.

A quick flash of pain across the back of his head brought Tom back into reality: the fat boy Jameson was now more powerful than even the fire…

"Why aren't you singing along with the other arses, Riddle?" The boy was always asking stupid questions.

"I don't like this song." Tom replied simply, as he rubbed the sting out of the back of his head where he had been slapped.

Jameson nudged Tom with his flabby side. "Why not? Are you a Catholic? Then we can burn you too, you seem to like it so much. I'll help you in if you like." The fat boy kept bumping him further and further as he spoke.

Tom had been painfully taught to hold his tongue, but he wanted badly to inform Jameson of his own fiery fate. But Jameson would once again use his weight to overcome Tom if he spoke up. Tom would probably find himself on the ground begging for mercy while vowing silent vengeance as the other children laughed.

Jameson leaned back a little further and pushed toward Tom extra hard this time to completely knock him down. Tom held steady, and stood up just as Jameson was about to impact him, leaving him to fall into the dirt as he simply walked to the other side of the fire, where Matthew Merrick was quietly sitting alone.

"Yeah, run away Tom! I'll see you later." Jameson's voice sounded less angry than it ought, almost as though the warmth of the flames this close washed away a little of the power the boy had over Tom. Jameson kept speaking as Tom was making his way to Merrick, but the quiet roar of the camp fire prevented noise like an invisible wall.

Tom sat down beside Matthew and looked at the boy; he nodded at Tom. Tom returned the nod, knowing that was all the interaction the boy would expect, or want from him. That was precisely why he preferred Matthew's company to any of the other children's.

Tom glanced back over towards Jameson, taking some effort to ignore the flames, and he noticed the fat boy had forgotten that Tom existed and was now tormenting some other smaller child.

Always picking on those smaller and weaker... coward!

Tom didn't let the fat boy occupy his thoughts too long: the fire was calling to him.

He stared into the white orange glow. While there were children standing close to the flame and warming their hands, Tom didn't notice them, they were outside the fire.

The flames had texture to them, they weren't quite a substance, but they were... something. They felt like that something that Tom could just feel in the air sometimes, and he could feel it now.

The base of the fire was orange coals, spewing sparks and giving life to snakes of flame. As Tom watched the coals, they seemed to glow stronger, orange slowly became white, as though a wind was fanning them and raising the temperature.

Tom let his eyes creep upwards a little and look at the bottom of the flames, wide and inconsistent.

Fire should not waver or flicker…

(The children standing near the inferno stepped back a couple of paces suddenly, but Tom failed to notice that.)

Tom watched the tongues of fire reach upwards, moving back and forth, as though they were waving to him. He could almost see shapes forming - the long thin streaks of flames started to look more like snakes. Tom's head turned to the side and his mouth opened a little as he watched... the snakes had form, he could see their heads, and their tongues lashing out. He could see their scales and eyes, their colors even…

Tom blinked twice; the blues, greens, purples and other colors that fire shouldn't have started to fade away, and Tom was sure he had imagined it, though when he looked around a few of the other children had confused looks on their faces as well.

Madam Chani had returned from wherever she had gone an hour ago to leave the group to their own devices, and she was walking a little unsteadily. Her voice however was as loud and clear as ever.

"All together now children, back home we go."

She didn't actually look at any of the children when she said it, but they all heard, and they obeyed. Slowly they gathered their things and made their way back to the orphanage.

Nearly everybody was walking home, but Tom lingered walking slowing and watching the fire.

Somebody should have put that out, there are leaves everywhere…

Nobody else seemed to care that there was an unattended bonfire blazing in the middle of London; Tom didn't understand why he was the only one who saw the potential in the strange, indescribable power which coursed through a fire.

It'll be 1666 all over again.

Tom caught up to the line of orphans, but he couldn't help staring at the sky as he walked. He made out Orion, and Cygnus, and -

"Eyes front, Riddle," said his roommate, Alexander, who'd he'd just bumped into.

Tom slowed his pace just enough that he wouldn't stumble, and let the majesty of the Milky Way absorb him on the walk home.