LoTR and HP crossover. This story follows the life of Tom Riddle in Middle Earth. Sry for the short length of the chapter. Onto the story!

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Prologue

It was raining outside. A thunderstorm was raging in London, one of the worst ones in a long time. Flashes of lightning illuminated Wool's orphanage, a dreary place set in the middle of London. One little boy, no more than a year old was sitting wide eyed in his cot, the drizzling raindrops on his window making shadows in his pale face. As the storm raged on, the orphanage groaned and creaked, so no one heard the scraping of the door as it was opened slowly.

A man, dressed all in black, a hood drawn over his face stepped into view. Thunder rumbled ominously above, announcing his entrance.

He was dripping with water. None of the inhabitants of the orphanage, save the boy, were aware of him as he moved silently across the floor, his dripping cloak leaving a trail of water behind him. He clutched a black stick in his hand, his pale knuckles tightening around it unconsciously. As he neared the cot of this baby, the man stopped.

Lightning flashed off the man's face for a second, briefly illuminating a pale youthful visage, and round-rimmed glasses which hid haunted green eyes. The man stood there for a moment, tilting his head as if he were discerning something incredibly important about the child. He slowly lifted his hand holding the stick and pointed at the child. The baby boy stared back at this apparition curiously.

The man's hand wavered as he continued to point the stick at the child who watched him with big innocent, azure eyes. The man clutched the stick tighter, his arm trembling as a raging inner battle took place within his emerald eyes. He seemed to lose the battle because he slowly lowered the stick.

"I cannot kill a baby," he whispered to himself into the shadow of his hood. "I am not like that monster!"

He stood there, taking shallow breaths as if he had just run a marathon. He bent his head down in shame, raindrops dripping off his forehead onto the orphanage floor. All this work; he had given up his whole life for this, and he was too weak to fulfill the task at the end.

He took a deep breath and resolve shone clearly in his eyes. He carefully lifted off something from around his neck, which glinted gold in the pale moonlight. If one looked carefully, they could see an hourglass, etched with strange markings along its sides and little knobs around its edges. He cautiously put it around the boy's neck. The child still did not make a sound; he just continued watching this man with intelligent knowing eyes.

"Hope you become a better man than you once did, Riddle," he whispered to the boy. He then twisted the hourglass around the necklace and sent it spinning out of control, not counting the number of times it spun. The little boy clutched the golden necklace tightly in his tiny fists, as he seemed to disappearinto the shadows of the night. The man stood there, watching.

Thus, Tom Marvalo Riddle vanished from the Wizarding World forever.

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