** I do not own the rights to Harry Potter, the names and original ideas belongs to J.K Rowling.**

Chapter 1

Westchesterton, 1864

The deserted streets were covered in water and dull singing came from a distant pub. A dark, male figure emerged from one of the dark street corners making its way towards the orphanage with resolute, determined steps. He was covered in a big, green, hooded velvet-cloak, leather-boots and in his left hand was a silvery walking-stick. The face of the man was completely covered by dark shadows.

A couple were walking on the other side of the street, talking and laughing heartily, oblivious to the figure on the other side, not knowing it was looking right at them, watching them as they passed by. For a short second they both stopped, as if they had seen or heard something that startled them, but started walking again. They kept on walking and as the couple disappeared around the corner the figure fixed his eyes on the orphanage again and started walking towards it.
It was an old building, a former asylum, used in the old days for lunatics and murderers. It was now only appropriate that they would have the town-lunatic, Mrs Mond, running the orphanage. The figure, walked slowly up the steps of the orphanage, the heavy rain made everything slippery and wet, despite that he seemed to be completely dry. The man raised the walking-stick to the big wooden-door, and tapped it two times before a small hatch in the door opened and two hazel eyes stared back at him. They tried to look past him, as if to see if he had brought company, but soon fixated her vision back on the man.

"Oh, it's you, well come on in sir, better not be standin' out in the rain gettin' all wet", the eyes said.

The door swung open and the cloaked figure stepped inside, took off the cloak, and put it on a chair near the door. A man in his sixties was revealed. He had short, gray hair and gray, stale eyes that was gazing through the room, trying to fix his eyes on something. The door slammed shut behind him and a short, plump woman with auburn hair about to turn all gray, looking unattended stood in front of the him. Even though she was only half his length, there was something about her appearance that made him feel very uneasy.

"Would ya like a cup o' tea sir, or some gin perhaps?" she asked smilingly, with a voice most enthusiastic.
The man turned around and started walking towards the open fire in the lobby, and then began to walk about the room. It was the most peculiar room, for not a single piece of wallpaper could be seen because of all the portraits of people. So the man assumed they must be related to Mrs Mond or the estate, but he was looking for something else.

"No", he said without looking at her, "no I think I better not".

Her smile turned into a frown and she now knew he meant business, the reason for which he had come. So she slowly walked over to him, stopped when she could smell the vague scent of cologne, and then she too began to look at the pictures. The fire was making angry noises as water dripped from the man's damp leather-gloves – it made her eye twitch.

"Aye sir these are all former lunes I'm afraid, I found 'em in the attic when I was lookin' for me cat", she laughed uncertainly, "you sure you don' want anythin' to drink sir?"

He continued to stare at one portrait in particular, a portrait of a man with a long white beard, a crooked nose and kind blue eyes. It was as if he tried to lure the portrait into moving, forcing the man to let out a breath, a sigh. But the portrait stayed still during this entire trial, and only after the stranger had moved away from the painting, did he speak again.

"Could you tell me who's in that portrait?", he asked while staring at the carpet. Mrs Mond kept looking at the painting and she tried to remember if this was one of her relatives, without any luck. She was feeling comfortless and before she could prevent herself from doing so, she had started biting her nails. She took a few steps forward, and was now standing so close to the man that she could practically feel the wetness, radiating from his clothes.

"I'm afraid not sir, I don' know any of these but I always introduce him as my uncle Charlie when I have families over". She spoke directly do his ear as if she was trying to tell him a secret.

The man raised his head and took a long, last look at the portrait before moving on to the chair in the corner where he sat down. He was worried about a possible follower, and that was the last thing he needed tonight. He glanced out of the window, down to the streets he had crossed only minutes ago, without seeing anything out of the ordinary. The thought of maybe being followed reminded him of his reason for coming to the oprhanage at all.

"The boy will be delivered tomorrow night, this time. You will make sure that he speaks to no one and that no one speaks to him, is that understand?" he requested this without any hesitation and without waiting for her to reply, he spoke again; "You will put him in a room alone, place him far away from the others".

At these last words Mrs Mond shrugged and stared at the old man, she was getting a nasty feeling and wanted the man out of the house as soon as possible. She might not be completely sane herself but she could tell when something was wrong with other people, and something was clearly and utterly wrong with this man. But the last remark about the boy made her curious, and her curiosity was stronger than her feelings about this man.

"I will do as you ask sir, what good will it do the boy might I ask?"

The man looked straight at her, his cold, gray eyes fixed on hers and he slowly rose from the chair, walked over to the spot where she was standing, kneeled in front of her, and said;

"You will do as I ask, for the greater good".

With these words the man stood up, revealing his full length, took a few long steps to the door, without putting the cloak back on, he went out the door, slamming it shut as he did, leaving Mrs Mond speechless. Not before the rain drowned out the last steps of the stranger, did she let out her breath. She went to her room, pulled out some papers from a drawer and looked at a picture of a seven year old boy with the same cold facial expression as the man had had. The boy was scrawny and his clothes moth-eaten, and this vexed the lady as she distinctly remembered the man wearing nice clothes.

She didn't pay the uniform closer attention but rather looked at the birthcertificate under the photo, nothing out of the ordinary; healthy, strong, smart... This confused her more than anything, and while closing the files she looked up to the painting again.

"Tom Riddle, what can possibly be wrong about you?"