Chapter Text
Tom thought of himself rather lucky when he'd first heard of the job, a rich couple near him was in need for a 'babysitter'. Tom despised babies, don't get him wrong, but something in the paper caught his attention. The money, first of all, and secondly the fact that what he had to babysit wasn't a person, but a doll. At first, he assumed it to be a joke. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and he decided to meet with said couple. They were nice, he supposed. Already in their seventies and rich. Very fucking rich.
When they had showed him around the house, he knew he had made the right choice. Even if he had to babysit a real baby, atleast he would do it in a large home with lots of food and space. But when the couple had taken him to a special room for their child, there really was a doll. A very expensive looking one. It made him feel a little creeped out, but no matter. It was much easier to look after a doll, not to mention the two hundred galleons a day he'd be paid. Truly he had hit a gold mine, literally.
The couple and he had spoken about the rules surrounding the doll, they had given him a tour of the mostly empty house and then quickly left. It was strange, really, the way they had seemed on edge and when the woman had pulled him into a hug and whispered in his ear that she was sorry. Maybe he had accidentally accepted a job from a mad couple. Well, he wouldn't turn back. He had closed the large wooden door and walked back to the 'nursery' of the doll.
It was very pretty, all things considered. Its hair seemed to be real, shiny silver and delicate. The skin was alabaster white, one eye a soft blue and the other dark green. Its eyelashes, too, were white. He knew the name of the doll, however. Its name was Abraxas, not a strange name considered for wizards, but these people that had the doll were muggles. Maybe they simply liked to be special? Tom stepped closer to the doll, looking carefully at it.
Abraxas, for his part, sat still on a chair. His white hands were politely in his lap, wearing a long white dress that looked like it was straight from the eightteen hundreds. His strange eyes were bulging, never moving but still felt like they were staring into his soul.
Tom regarded the porcelain doll, Abraxas, with a mix of unease and fascination. The doll was eerily lifelike, down to the fine details of the silvery hair cascading down its back and the unsettlingly realistic eyes that seemed to bore into his very soul.
He had been sitting in the dimly lit nursery for over an hour, watching the doll as much as it was watching him. Abraxas remained perfectly still, its porcelain hands folded primly in its lap, the white dress it wore as pristine as the day he'd arrived.
Tom shook his head, trying to dispel the growing unease. It was just a doll, he told himself firmly. An expensive, well-crafted piece of art, but nothing more. And yet, the way those mismatched eyes followed him, the uncanny stillness of its pose... it was enough to make even his nerves fray.
He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. He needed to get ahold of himself. This job was too lucrative to let childish fears and superstitions ruin. He was Tom bloody Riddle, a future dark lord, not some weak-willed fool spooked by a bit of porcelain.
Abraxas sat in silence, a silent sentinel. Its eyes, one blue and one green, never blinking, never moving. Just watching. Always watching. When the doll didn't move even after so long, Tom had given up. He did think for quite some time of what he should do, either eat or finish homework.
Ultimately, Tom had decided to finish some of the summer homework Hogwarts always wanted to give him and the other students. So, he left the nursery, though not without bidding the doll goodbye. One of the rules was to always be polite to the doll, however strange that was.
Tom enterd his own room, and it was very nice. And rich. The floor was of dark oak, there was a large table and nice chair that he could use to study, and a queen sized bed. The window was framed by gold and had white curtains. He wasn't a snob, but he could get used to this. He pulled out his wand, one that was previously black but had chipped with the years and was now three quarters white, and began placing all his needed items on said table and sat down.
He looked at the clock hanging on the wall, seven o'clock. With a sigh, he dipped his quill in the ink. He started with potions, and ended with transfiguration. Dumbledore always loved giving him the most homework, the bloody old goat.
When he had finished, it was already nine, he felt too tired to make anything to eat, he could do so in the morning, or maybe even the night if he wanted to. So, he put his things nicely away, books stacked on one another and his closing his inkwell, cleaning the quill and laying it next to the inkwell.
He went back to the room where Abraxas sat. Another rool was that Abraxas must be in bed at nine thirty. "Alright," he spoke, as if expecting the doll to answer. When it didn't, he continued. "We'll both go to bed, yeah?" Again, Abraxas did not answer.
Tom hesitated for a moment before carefully picking up the doll, his fingers brushing against the smooth, cool porcelain. It was surprisingly heavy for its size, the weight of the fine china and the doll's stuffing making it a substantial object in his arms.
He carried Abraxas over to the small bed in the corner of the nursery, the doll's long silver hair brushing against his forearm as he walked. He could feel the weight of its gaze, those uncanny mismatched eyes seeming to bore into the back of his skull.
With a sense of relief, he gently placed the doll down onto the bed, arranging it so that it sat upright, its porcelain hands still folded neatly in its lap. He smoothed out the white dress, making sure it was pristine and in order.
As he stepped back to admire his handiwork, Tom couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of his stomach. The doll's eyes, one blue and one green, seemed to follow him even as he moved away, the intensity of its gaze unnerving him.
He shook his head, trying to dispel the ridiculous notion. It was just a doll, he told himself firmly. A beautiful, expensive piece of art, but nothing more. And yet, as he turned to leave the nursery and head to his own room for the night, Tom couldn't help but feel a shiver run down his spine.
The clock struck nine thirty, the sound echoing through the quiet house. With a final glance at the doll sitting motionless on the bed, Tom flicked off the light and stepped out of the room, closing the door firmly behind him. The darkness seemed to swallow up the light, and the only sound was the distant ticking of a clock, counting down the seconds until the next day.
After what felt like hours, Tom had finally been able to fall asleep. Time passed quickly as he slept, the feeling of unease clinging to his skin. He knew he was dreaming of something, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Just as he thought he could see something white in the cloud of uncertainty that was his dream, he awoke.
Tom rubbed the sleep from his eyes, squinting in the early morning light that filtered through the window. He had slept fitfully, plagued by strange dreams that he couldn't quite remember, only leaving him with a lingering sense of unease.
As he sat up in bed, his gaze fell upon the table where he had left his quill and ink the previous evening. He had been meticulous in cleaning and storing them away, as was his habit. But now, he saw that the quill lay haphazardly in the middle of the table, ink dripping from the tip and pooling onto the wooden surface.
A flicker of unease ran through him as he approached the table, his brow furrowed in confusion. He was certain he had placed the quill and ink away properly last night. There was no way he could have forgotten, not with his fastidious attention to detail.
Or could he have forgotten? Prehaps he was tired, tired of both the amount of school work and the research he put into finding a way to become immortal. Yes, that must be it. Tom shook his head, trying to clear the lingering fog of sleep and distraction from his mind. He was Tom Riddle, not some superstitious child spooked by a mere doll. Of course he had simply forgotten about the quill and ink in his exhaustion. The long hours spent on homework and his relentless pursuit of the elixir of life had taken their toll on his usually sharp mind. With a sigh, he stood up and dressed again. It was eight-thirty in the morning, he'd 'wake' Abraxas at nine and have dinner with the doll.
With a sigh, he finished dressing and made his way to the nursery, pausing at the doorway. It was nearly nine o'clock, time to 'wake' Abraxas as per the routine left for him. He hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty passing through him. Why was he so accommodating to a doll, treating it as if it were a living being? It was a strange notion, one that he had never considered before. But then again, Abraxas was no ordinary doll. Its craftsmanship was exquisite, almost uncannily lifelike. Perhaps that was why he felt such a strong pull towards it, such an unnatural need to care for it as he would a real person.
Shaking off the thought, Tom stepped into the nursery, his eyes immediately drawn to the bed where Abraxas lay. The doll sat upright, its porcelain hands still folded neatly in its lap, its long silver hair cascading down its back. Those unsettling, mismatched eyes were fixed straight ahead, staring into nothingness.
"Good morning, Abraxas," Tom said, his voice unnaturally cheerful as he approached the bed. He reached out to take the doll, his fingers brushing against the smooth, cool porcelain. As he lifted it up, he couldn't help but feel that familiar shiver run down his spine, the doll's presence heavy and almost tangible in his arms.
He carried Abraxas over to the table, setting it down gently in a chair. He had been instructed to have dinner with the doll, to keep it company as if it were a real child. It was a strange request, but one that Tom felt compelled to follow, despite his growing unease.
As he set about preparing a simple meal for them both, Tom couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. The doll's eyes seemed to follow him, its gaze heavy and unsettling. He tried to tell himself that it was just a trick of the light, a figment of his overactive imagination.
The doll itself wasn't exactly helping him either. Its eyes kept staring forward. Just now, however, Tom noticed that the doll had a soft smile on his lips, or maybe it wasn't a smile at all? His gaze then drifted down to the doll's dress, and it was there that he spotted the small, dark splotch marring the pristine white fabric. It was barely noticeable at first, but as he leaned in closer, Tom could see that it was indeed a stain, as black as ink and stark against the brightness of the dress.
He couldn't recall seeing that stain yesterday or the day before. He had been meticulous in his care of the doll, making sure to keep its appearance impeccable. The thought that something could have happened to the dress without his knowledge sent a flicker of irritation through him.
Tom reached out, his fingers hovering over the stain as he tried to determine its nature. He couldn't smell anything, of course, and the texture of the fabric felt the same as before. With a frown, he decided that he would have to investigate further, to determine the source of the mysterious blemish on the doll's clothing.
He glanced back up at Abraxas's face, noting the way its eyes seemed to bore into him with an intensity that made his skin prickle. A sense of unease settled in the pit of his stomach, and he had to remind himself that this was just a doll, a beautiful and expensive piece of art, but nothing more.
Despite his misgivings, Tom couldn't shake the feeling that something was changing, shifting in the dynamics of his strange arrangement with Abraxas. He would have to keep a closer eye on the doll, he decided, to ensure that it remained in the pristine condition for which he was being paid handsomely.
He pulled out his wand, keeping one of his hands on the backside of the doll to make sure it wouldn't break. He murmered the Wiping Spell 'Tergeo' and the splotch disappeared. Tom smiled slightly, removing his hand from Abraxas' back and putting his wand away.
When he turned to begin making their breakfast, or his, he felt something wash over him, something akin to relief. He turned back to the doll, and prehaps it was a trick of the light, but he thought that the smile on the doll's face had to be wider now.
A chill ran down Tom's spine, and he shook his head, trying to dismiss the notion as ridiculous. Dolls couldn't smile, couldn't react in any way. They were inanimate objects, nothing more than carefully crafted porcelain and cloth. And yet, the more he looked at Abraxas, the more he couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed, that the doll was somehow... different.
He turned away, his mind awhirl with confusion and a growing sense of unease. He had come here for an easy job, a way to make some quick gold while he focused on his true pursuits. But now, he found himself questioning everything, from the doll's unsettling presence to the strange occurrences that seemed to plague his time in the nursery.
Shaking off the thought, Tom set about preparing their breakfast, his movements mechanical and distracted. As he worked, he couldn't help but feel the weight of Abraxas's gaze on his back, the doll's eyes boring into him with an intensity that made his skin crawl.
He tried to tell himself that it was all in his head, that the long hours of work and the stress of his search for immortality were taking their toll on his sanity. But as he turned back to face the doll, a plate of food in each hand, he couldn't ignore the way Abraxas seemed to watch him, its porcelain face an unreadable mask of enigmatic contemplation.
Tom set the plates down on the table, his eyes flicking to the doll's face once more. The smile, if it had indeed widened, remained fixed in place, and he found himself wondering not for the first time what lay behind those uncanny, mismatched eyes.
He sat down across from Abraxas, his appetite suddenly gone, and stared at the doll as he tried to reconcile his thoughts. He was Tom Riddle, the brilliant and ambitious young wizard who had once been the star pupil of Hogwarts. He had never been afraid of anything, least of all a mere doll.
Tom shook his head as if in denial, and went back to making food. He'd ignore this, he was simply tired. After they'd eat, he would take the doll outside and read for a few hours, go back inside and study, and then go to bed. Yes, that would be good.
Tom went about his day as planned, trying to ignore the lingering unease that clung to him like a second skin. He and Abraxas had a quiet meal together, the doll sitting motionless and silent across from him, its eyes seeming to follow his every move.
After they had finished eating, Tom decided to take Abraxas outside for a few hours, hoping the fresh air and sunlight would clear his head and dispel the strange thoughts that had been plaguing him. He carried the doll carefully, mindful of its delicate nature, and found a spot in the garden where they could sit together in a small patch of shade.
As the day wore on, Tom lost himself in his books, the words and theories he read slowly pushing the memory of Abraxas and its unsettling presence to the back of his mind. The hours passed uneventfully, and he found himself feeling more like his old self, confident and in control.
As the sun began to set, Tom packed up his belongings and carried Abraxas back inside, ready to settle in for a night of studying and research. The nursery felt different in the fading light, the shadows seeming to lengthen and twist in unnatural ways. But Tom was determined not to let his imagination get the better of him. All he would do was put Abraxas on the chair to enjoy the moonlight whilst he studied in his own room.
He set Abraxas down on a chair by the window, the last of the daylight casting an eerie glow across the doll's porcelain features. As he turned to gather his books, he couldn't shake the feeling that the doll's eyes were watching him, boring into his back with an intensity that made his skin prickle.
Determinedly, Tom pushed the notion aside and settled down to work, his quill scratching across the parchment as he lost himself in his studies once more. The night wore on, the only sound the distant hooting of an owl outside and the occasional crackle of the fireplace.
As the clock struck midnight, Tom finally put down his quill, his eyes gritty and tired from the long hours of work. He glanced over at Abraxas, sitting motionless in the moonlight, and felt a flicker of unease. The doll's face seemed to be in shadow, its features obscured by the darkness. But as he watched, he could have sworn he saw the doll's head turn slightly, as if it were looking directly at him.
Tom shook his head, telling himself that it was just a trick of the moonlight, he just needed to put the doll to sleep. "I know," he murmered sleepily. "I should've put you to bed sooner." He carefully picked the doll up and placed it on the bed and covered it with the blankets. "Sleep well, Abraxas." And with that, he left the nursery and went to bed.
Sleep caught him easily, but the dream was anything but.
Tom tossed and turned in his bed, his sleep fitful and unsettled. The dream had started off normally enough, but as the night deepened, his subconscious mind began to conjure images and sounds that filled him with a growing sense of unease.
He found himself standing in a dark, dank room, the air heavy with a musty, unpleasant odor. The space was dimly lit, with only a thin sliver of light filtering in from somewhere out of sight. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Tom realized with a start that he was likely in a basement, the stone walls and earthen floor unmistakable.
Suddenly, a sound reached his ears, a soft, muffled crying that seemed to echo through the cavernous space. The sound was strange, not quite like the wailing of a child, but more like the distant mewling of a lost soul trapped in a nightmare of its own making.
Tom tried to turn around, to locate the source of the eerie noise, but as he moved, he found that his body would not obey. An unseen force held him in place, rooting him to the spot as the crying grew louder, more insistent. He strained against the invisible bonds, his heart pounding in his chest as panic began to set in.
Just as he thought he might scream out in frustration, the crying stopped abruptly. The sudden silence was deafening, and Tom felt a chill run down his spine as a new sensation washed over him - the unmistakable feeling of being watched.
He stood frozen, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he tried to discern a shape in the darkness. And then, he saw it, a figure, barely discernible in the gloom, standing at the far end of the room. It was small, with long, flowing hair that seemed to merge with the shadows. As he watched, the figure began to move closer, its footsteps slow and measured.
Tom's heart raced as the figure drew near, and as it stepped into the thin band of moonlight that illuminated the room, he found himself staring into a face that he recognized all too well. The face of Abraxas, the porcelain doll, its eyes glinting with an otherworldly light as it regarded him with an expression that was at once haunting and enigmatic. Said face was wet with tears however, and dark bruises were on that pale neck. His lips moved, but the sound was unheard.
In that moment, Tom knew with a bone-deep certainty that he was not alone in the dream.