Well, it's still my first official fanfic, but it's being posted again due to some rather embarrassing spelling errors… I really need to start reading canon again…

Disclaimer: one day I'd love to see an author come on and say, "ha, this is mine". Obviously authors don't have my wonderful sense of humour. Nope, tisn't mine. I'm sure even the plot's been rehashed a couple of times.

Chapter one: Tom

The mood in London was not a happy one. Houses lay in rubble, families had been torn apart – everywhere you looked there was another reminder. We're at war, the posters said, don't let yourself forget. As if they could with air raids sweeping over every night.

Yet despite it all, most people found reasons to smile. They laughed and sang and looked after each other. They found a silver lining and clung to it like a mother to her child. Because letting it go meant admitting how much trouble they were really in.

Of course not everyone was happy. Not everyone had reason to laugh or sing, and not everyone had people to look after them. Then there were some people who could find the tarnished spots on the silver lining without even trying. Tom Riddle was one of those people. And it just so happened he was rather proud of it – so it was hardly surprising that while the rest of the children in the orphanage were flitting around like drab little butterflies packing suitcases for evacuation, he was lying lethargically on his bed, flicking through a huge cloth bound book without reading a word.

There was no doubt in anyone's mind that he was extremely handsome, with fine, even features, raven-haired and hazel eyed. But if you caught him out of the corner of your eyes – as the old matron frequently reiterated after a few drinks – he always looked so different. His skin was too pale, his expression cold. Sometimes his hazel eyes looked crimson.

None of this bothered Tom. He knew he was good looking and he knew that sometimes he scared people. He also knew he could use both to his advantage. When he was younger the other orphans had been openly terrified of him; now, still afraid, they treated him almost with reverence. Unfortunately the new matron was another story.

'TOM! If you're not ready and down here in the next five minutes we're leaving you behind!' There was a moment's silence during which Tom did nothing but flip over another page and write a few notes. 'And I'm confiscating your books, and you'll be looking after the little ones!'

Tom scowled, recognising the threat and clambered quickly out of bed. A few months ago this would never have happened – but then a few months ago they'd still had Mary Knight as a matron. Thick as mud and about as interesting, Knight had been the bane of every orphan's life until she'd had a strange accident involving a broom, a flight of stairs and a length of rope. Exactly how she'd come to be hanging upside-down at the top of the stairs like a witch on a broomstick no one would say, but most of them had a pretty good idea. Everyone knew why. She'd hit Tom, and told him he was insane. That was grounds for execution in Tom's orphanage. Still, she'd been ever so docile after that.

School trunk bursting with minimal clothing and as many books as he could carry, Tom cast one last look around the room – and scooped up the volume he'd been reading, along with his notebook. Despite appearances he wasn't usually an avid reader – he far preferred action to instruction – but this wasn't reading, it was research. He felt like he'd read every book written on Hogwarts and come no closer to his goal. Now he was working on translations. Somewhere, amongst the yellowed pages there had to be some clues about Slytherin and his chamber. There had to be some clues about his past.

'TOM!'

The new matron, Miss Hardy, stood framed in the doorway. Tom had no idea why he couldn't control her like the others – his first thought had been that she needed a good scare, but nothing seemed to faze her. Perhaps because she was barely eighteen, and well brought up, she thought all the orphans should be fawning at her feet. He'd have to correct her, when he had time.

'Are you packed?'

'Yes, ma'am,' said Tom calmly, staring the woman straight in the eyes. To his immense satisfaction she looked down quickly, as if suddenly intensely interested in the floorboards.

'Well you'd better hurry up – Bob Johnson's getting his sister to drive your cases to the – that's your case?'

'Yes ma'am. Is there a problem?'

Hardy frowned, apparently lost for words. 'It's a bit…large – but no, I shouldn't think so. Come along, or you'll be stuck with the younger children.' She smiled kindly, looking back up at Tom. 'I know you don't like them very much. In fact you don't seem to like anyone very much.'

Tom smiled sweetly, though it was obvious to anyone present it was fake. 'It's hard to make friends when you're gone half the year ma'am.'

'Yes, well mind you present yourself properly for your new family. You're such a handsome boy; you can have anyone you like. Maybe they'll even want to adopt you.'

Tom smiled again, genuinely, and this time there was nothing sweet about it. 'Don't worry ma'am,' he said, lifting up his trunk with some difficulty. 'I'm sure I'll be coming back.'

'Is everybody packed?' Hardy barked, looking disturbingly like a sergeant inspecting his troops as she walked down the line of children.

'Yes ma'am,' came the dull reply.

'This is your last chance to go back and collect anything you might need, do you understand?'

'Yes ma'am.'

'And there's nothing you need now that can't be sent by post later?'

'No ma'am.'

'Come on then.'

Tom rolled his eyes as the orphans were sent up one by one, giving up their meagre possessions to the butcher's son, Johnson. Exactly why he'd consented to help the orphans free of charge was a mystery to him – ah, that was it. Young Master Johnson was currently eyeing Hardy like a prime piece of meat. A year ago, maybe two, he probably would have been in with a chance, but Hardy didn't like war heroes. She preferred people whole, with both arms and legs still intact. She wasn't the only one either.

Muggles were fascinating creatures, Tom had found, even more so when they were at war. They were fantastic at ignoring the problems staring them right in the face – in fact, they ridiculed the people smart enough to point them out. Anyone with the guts to stand up and say: "actually, I think we might be losing this", or any boys who didn't fancy going out to get killed were dubbed traitors, spies or cowards. And then there were people like Bob Johnson who'd actually managed to survive – what did they get? A brief smile from their loves and a visit every Sunday from the vicar's wife.

'Damn,' said Tom suddenly, feeling around in his pocket. His wand wasn't there.'

'Tom!'

'Yes ma'am?'

'What have I told you about swearing?'

'Not a lot ma'am, to be perfectly honest. I was wondering if I could just pop back up to my room –'

'What do you want?' asked Hardy, coming to rest in front of him. Tall for his age, Tom managed to stand a head above her, but Hardy had an inexplicable way of making a person feel six inches high.

'My –' Tom began, then hesitated. 'A book, ma'am.'

'Don't you think you've got enough books? Come on, Johnson's waiting.'

The other children, who a second ago had been chattering excitedly at the prospect of new homes fell suddenly silent. This new matron obviously didn't know the rules – no one dared deny Tom anything.

'It's rather important,' said Tom between clenched teeth, his voice positively glacial.

'I don't care,' said Hardy simply. 'Catch up with the others, now.'

'Excuse me –' Tom pushed past her but Hardy grabbed his arm. A second later she let go with a stifled shriek and the orphans began talking again, in loud, forced voices. Tom strode off, his face scarlet.

What kind of self-respecting fourteen-year-old wizard still didn't have full control over his magic? True, incidents like that were not unheard of amongst young wizards, but they happened to Tom far too often. Windows and mirrors would crack, glasses smash – all because he'd let himself become too agitated. It happened when he slept as well. Hardy though he walked in his sleep, but the cook and the other orphans knew better. They knew when to leave him alone.

Tom burst into his room and lifted up the mattress, snatching the wand from its hiding place underneath. It may have been nothing more than a thin strip of wood, but it was his most valuable possession. Fortunately the orphans also knew better than to steal his things.

Wait for it, he thought grimly, and sure enough the voice came rocketing up the stairs.

'TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE!'

Tom winced at the use of his full name, pocketed his wand and went flying down the stairs once more. At least Hardy had sounded scared. Maybe today wasn't going to be so bad after all.

A/N: ta da and all that jazz. Not much to say here, except leave a review. Looking back now after a few edits I think I mightmake some changes to this chapter – I think tom's character has developed quite a lot, as has his situation in the orphanage. I'll do it after the exams though lol.