Veni. Vidi. Vici.
The rain fell in steady thuds, piercing his back with icy stabs, the lightening lit the night sky and his path as he darted through the empty streets, and the thunder boomed through the whirling air, occasionally muffling the harsh sounds that followed him through the night, the cruel laughs and rude insults. Relying on his only true friend, instinct, he ducked, narrowly missing the rusty metal crowbar that flew through where his head had been only moments ago. He increased his speed, dashing around the corner, swerving to avoid the parked car. Speeding down the street, he made a sharp right turn into the deteriorating building he called home, The Orphanage.
He clambered into his room, sinking to the floor and hugging his knees to his chest once in the safety of his dwelling. He sat there silently crying and rocking back and forth for a long time, too long, for soon the call to line up for dinner was made, and he had yet to change. Jerking upright, he changed and was out his room in record time. The other children walked past, already in line, casting cruel smirks in his direction, sticking their legs out in hopes that he'd trip as he made his way to the back, studiously ignoring the cruel whispers of "freak," and evil looks that were tossed his way. He took his place, head down and eyes closed tightly, silently fuming.
Freak, they say, well, freak I may be, but I am ten times a better person than they are. Afraid of me they are, and as they should be. One day, I'll be able to control this… this gift of mine, and then, then they will all pay for the tears they've cost me. They say "Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering. Suffering leads to death."… These children, my friends, they have much to fear.
Yes, freak or not, Tom Riddle was most definitely not a pushover, and once his parents came for him, he'd show them. He'd make those who hurt him hurt, and then no one would ever taunt him again.