THE LOST PIECE

Third POV:

Behind the orphanage, hidden away from the prying eyes of the caretakers and the other children, three-year-old Tom sat in the snow, his tiny fingers clutching an assortment of stolen toys. A doll with a chipped face, a wooden truck with a broken wheel, and a collection of marbles-each one carefully hoarded in the small patch of snow he had claimed as his own. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he arranged his treasures around him, his small hands moving with the careful precision of someone who had learned how to hide things well.

But just as he was about to pick up a shiny red ball, he heard footsteps. Little ones. Tom's head snapped up, his wide brown eyes narrowing. His breath puffed out in visible clouds as he tensed, his muscles ready to spring into action if anyone found him.

"Tom Riddle," a voice called, high-pitched and defiant. It made his stomach twist in irritation, and he turned to find her standing there, hands on her hips, a pout on her freckled face.

It was the red-haired girl-the one who always seemed to be around. The one who had no respect for his space. Her name was Helen, he remembered. She was always smiling, always running around with the others, always annoying him. And now, here she was, interrupting his perfectly quiet moment, staring at him with those big, innocent eyes like she was some sort of hero.

"Give it back," she demanded, her small voice firm, though it trembled slightly with the cold.

Tom's gaze flicked to the small doll in his hands. The one he had taken from her earlier in the day when she wasn't looking. It had a pink dress and a tiny bonnet, and it looked so much better in his collection than it had in her grasp. He felt a wicked little thrill as her eyes locked onto the doll, her tiny hands reaching for it.

"Why?" Tom asked, his voice soft but sharp, a taunting lilt to it. "It's mine now. You weren't using it."

Helen puffed her cheeks out, her brows furrowing in that cute, stubborn way she always did when she didn't get her way. "It's my toy, and you took it!" she said, stepping closer, her small boots crunching in the snow with every determined step. She looked like she was ready for a fight.

Tom watched her approach but didn't move, content to sit back and let her come to him. His vocabulary was already perfect, compared to hers who still mispronounces words and he was taller than she was, even at three, but she was spunky-something he didn't quite know how to deal with.

"Well," he drawled slowly, still fiddling with the marbles, "you didn't stop me, did you?" His voice was so smug, the little monster. He could tell she was getting frustrated, which only amused him more.

Helen's eyes sparkled with a mix of anger and determination. She reached out again, her tiny fingers brushing against his, but he pulled the doll back just out of her reach.

"Give it back, Tom!" she exclaimed, her voice cracking with the effort. "You take everything!"

Tom tilted his head, observing her for a moment. She was cute, in a way. Annoying, but cute. And she wasn't giving up, was she? Tom's lips curled into a tiny, mischievous smirk. She was persistence wrapped in freckles and red hair.

"How about this?" he said, his voice far too calm for a boy so small. "You can have it back... if you give me your shiny marbles."

Helen froze, her hands halting mid-air. She stared at him, wide-eyed and confused. "My marbles?" she repeated, unsure of what she had just heard.

"Yeah," he said, leaning back on his elbows in the snow, his small form so relaxed that it looked as though he had all the time in the world. "Your marbles. They're nice ... better than this dumb doll."

Helen hesitated. Her little fists clenched, and her eyes flicked between the marbles and the doll in his hands. It was a hard choice for a three-year-old. But after a moment, her pout deepened, and she nodded resolutely. "Fine!" she said, "But you have to promise you won't take anything else from me again!"

Tom spoke slyly, the deal already sealed in his mind. "I'll think about it," the words barely leaving his mouth before Helen shoved the marbles into his hands, with the air of a child who had just learned that life wasn't always fair.

And so, with a final, resigned huff, Helen handed over her marbles, and Tom handed her the doll. As he watched her stomp off, the boy's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of something darker passing through them. Maybe she wasn't as annoying as he'd thought. Or maybe she was, but she was a useful kind of annoying. He had no problem making her give in.

Helen, her face a mix of frustration and triumph, cradled the doll tightly as she walked away, looking back just once at the boy with the messy dark hair and dark brown eyes that seemed far too knowing for his age.

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