Riddle

Chapter One

The bitter wind of New Year's Eve on that day in 1926 whipped whatever soul that was desperate enough to venture out into the streets. The gray and ominous sky watched as the woman pressed on, only stopping to catch her breath or when the pains came. With some effort, she made it to the front steps of an orphanage. Drawing shaking breaths, she pounded on the door with what little energy she had left. She needed someplace warm for the baby… for Tom's baby. Her heart ached at the thought of him but the memory was short-lived when another contraction came. She fell to her knees and cried out.

The door opened and a woman stepped out.

"Oh my!" she gasped covering her mouth.

The woman looked at her in desperation. "Please… h-help."

Seeing her pregnant stomach, she knew right away what was happening and quickly helped the woman inside. Screams filled the main room as a dark head of hair made its appearance. Not too long after, the woman was able to relax.

"It's a boy!" the older woman said smiling, placing the infant in his mother's arms.

She smiled, looking down at him. "He's beautiful…like his father…" she breathed.

She turned to the older woman. "Please take care of him…"

The older woman looked at her sadly and nodded. "I will."

"One last thing…"

"Anything dear,"

"I want him to be named… Tom...Tom Marvolo Riddle."

June 1937.

Tom sat on his stale mattress, his back against his worn feather pillow and his shoeless feet nestled in crisp white sheets. A small hardback book rested in his lap and for the past two hours and seventeen minutes, it had held his interest. He furrowed his brows at the ray of sunlight that rested on the page he had been reading; it hit at just the right angle so that the ink glared and blended with the yellowing page. He shut the book and placed it on his nightstand. Looking around for something else to entertain him, he heard a muffled laughter from outside.

He went to the window and pushed back the dark curtains to get a better view. Below him, the other children at the orphanage ran around chasing each other in a playful game of cat and mouse, a group of girls played jump rope and giggled when one of them tripped on the rope; the older kids sat in the shade and talked. The young boy's eyes narrowed. Tom never saw the need to play with the others; they were not as smart as him nor were they worthy of his company. They all acted like a lot of uncivilized beasts.

His door was flung open suddenly but wasn't enough to gain Tom's attention.

"I told you to stay away from my sister!" shouted one of the older boys at the orphanage, Henry Weaver. "She told me you looked at her funny at breakfast."

Tom remembered. Although he always sat at the end of the table by himself, that morning all the food had been pushed to the middle which forced him to interact with the others. He had waited for Bobby Kensington to put down the large bowl of oatmeal and reached for it himself. Quickly a hand snatched it away from him and Anne's high voice squeaked, 'Who said you could have some? Don't you have manners?'

She and her friends giggled to each other as she held the bowl possessively and put her chin in the air. He stared her down and her smile dropped. She gulped.

"Don't look at me like that!" she cried, squirming. "Stop it! Stop it!"

Anne practically threw the bowl on the table and leapt from her seat. Her two friends quickly chased after her. Tom took the bowl back to his seat without any objection. The hall remained silent after that aside from the clinking of silverware.

"I'm talking to you!" Henry shouted, coming further into the room.

He roughly gripped Tom by the shoulder and spun him around. Tom's nostrils flared and he gritted his teeth. He hated being touched. Tom jerked out of his grip.

"I want you to apologize." He said angrily. "You hear me?!"

Henry lashed out and struck Tom across the face causing him to fall onto the hard wooden floor. The coppery taste of blood was on his lips. Tom slowly raised his head to glare at him. Henry took a step back, alarmed at the intensity in his eyes. He swallowed a lump in his throat.

"You- You just keep away from us. You hear?" he stuttered and quickly backed out of the room.

Tom got up and the door closed suddenly. There wasn't any wind. He wiped the blood from his mouth and drew the curtains, making the room dark. He went over to his wardrobe and opened the doors. They weren't given many clothes, merely what they needed to get by; two casual outfits, one summer, one winter, a few nightshirts that the older kids left when they grew too old, a nice outfit for 'important events' which turned out to be Sunday mass, a pair of penny loafers to match and lastly, a pair of worn walking shoes. Kneeling, he shifted the folded winter clothes at the bottom and finally came upon a small box; in it were his dearest possessions.

He glanced around the room and upon seeing that no one had sneaked in, he brought the box out and sat on his bed. He tenderly opened it as if fearing that its contents would jump out and run away from him. He pulled out a small half melted Christmas candle and a loose match. He struck it against his nightstand and put the flame to the burnt wick. It took the flame and steadied itself to a nice glow. Tom put out the match and held the candle delicately in his left hand. He watched the flame with fascination and moved his right hand over it, testing the heat and pulling back only when he caused him discomfort. He cupped his hand around the top of the candle and brought his face close to it. Very lightly, he let out a long hot breath onto the flame which twisted got smaller. He had learned that fire needed air just like people did and when people exhaled; the air let out had none of the oxygen needed to sustain the flame. The flame grew back to its original height and again Tom exhaled causing it to shrink, this time to the point where it was merely a pin's head of light.

He smiled, allowing it to breath and return to its larger form. He controlled it entirely, whether or not is thrived or went out. He liked having the power over it, having something completely at his mercy. He repeated the process a few times over until he grew tired of the cinnamon aroma the candle was letting off. He pinched the wick and the flame died with a small puff of smoke. He smirked, placing it back in the box. Now all it had to look forward to was the next time he wanted to use it.

A cow bell sounded downstairs. It was time for lunch. Tom returned the box and set off downstairs in no hurry. The rush of children from outside pushed past him like a bunch of hogs to their slop which wasn't that far off from they looked like eating. Tom took his usual seat in the back. Mrs. Cole stood at the front of the hall and waited for everyone to sit and bow their heads before she began one of the needless prayers she made them all memorize. They started in unison,

"Bless us, oh Lord for these thy gifts…"

Tom didn't know why they bothered. He wouldn't thank anybody that gave him a burnt grilled cheese sandwich from two days ago. These people were so easily submissive. He had never once thanked this person and he was never struck down like he was warned would happen. They should fear and praise him. He was real and here and would surely deliver punishment when owed. Movement caught his eye. It was a spider across from him on the table. He put his hand down to let it crawl on him but it turned away. He frowned and narrowed his eyes at it, wishing it to come closer to him. It stopped and began to scuttle towards him. Once it was close enough it picked it up by its bulbous body and watched its legs flail. He plucked one of its legs off and it squirmed more. Tom wondered why it couldn't scream as he pulled another off. He had taken off two more when it found a way to bite him. He flinched slightly and pursed his lips. He squeezed its body until it popped. With a look of disgust, he smeared it on the table.

He didn't bother attempting to stomach what he was given but sat there for the first ten minutes of lunch. He got up before everyone else and headed to the kitchen to get something more appealing to eat. He was about halfway down the table when a laced foot stuck out and tripped him. He stumbled but didn't fall. Tom turned to glare at Anne who shrugged her shoulders.

"Oops." She smiled.

Tom shot her a look and stalked off. Some people weren't capable of learning their lesson without cruel methods; pain and fear seemed to work the best. He looked around the kitchen once then headed for a pantry where fruit was kept. He stopped suddenly, passing a few carrots on the counter. His lips curled into a slight smile and his thoughts turned back to Anne. She thought she was so clever; sneaking carrots and other food out of the orphanage. She didn't know that Tom had noticed her going into the shed for the past two weeks. The thought of eating abandoned, Tom went out the backdoor and made his way to the shed.

The door creaked as he opened it. The shed was small and filled with dust covered tools and pieces of wood. Tom moved carefully through the dark until he came upon a small cardboard box somewhat hidden in the back. There was a blanket in the box; he recognized it as the same type that was on his bed only instead of grey, it was a purple color, it came from the girl's dorms. Suddenly something moved within the blanket. He lifted the blanket to find a small baby rabbit nestled in it. He smirked.

Animals were not allowed at the orphanage, of course, Mrs. Cole had made the exception of the other children. He poked its soft stomach and it wriggled, not used to anything other than being lovingly petted. Tom picked it up; it just fit in both of his hands. It tentatively sniffed his palm and looked for a way back to its warm box. He flipped it so that its stomach was facing up; its back legs kicked furiously, disliking the odd position. He dropped it back in its box and stood, looking around the shed for something. Then he found something suitable, a pair of wire cutters.

He brought it back to the rabbit which was completely unaware of what was about to happen. Tom held the cutters in his right hand and with his left, he grabbed the rabbit by the scruff of its neck. He took his time snipping off its paws and watching as it frantically kicked and squeaked. He didn't want to get blood on his clothes and the rabbit's hysterical movements were increasing the chances of just that happening. He frowned, he didn't want to kill it just yet but the stupid animal left him no other choice. He brought the cutters to the rabbit's throat and squeezed hard. It kicked its back legs a few last times then stopped. Tom dropped it back into the box and noted, curiously that he nearly severed its head. A neat pool of blood stained the blanket and the rabbit's fur. He dipped a finger into it and on the inside of the box wrote the word 'oops'. He smirked and wiped his hands off on the blanket and covered the dead rabbit.

He noted that later at dinner, Anne was crying and her brother and one of her friends sat on either side of her comforting her and shooting him looks. She couldn't do anything without getting herself in trouble. She'd have to admit to keeping a pet, stealing food and sneaking into the shed plus it'd be her word against his and there was nothing tying him to the act. He smiled at her as she looked over at him with red puffy eyes and took a big bite of chopped carrots despite the rule of not eating before prayer. She looked away quickly bursting into tears again. Maybe, Tom thought, she learned her lesson. He smirked to himself.

"Bless us oh Lord…"

Tom's smirk grew into a grin and almost laughing, he whispered quietly to himself, "No, I don't think I will…"