His Right

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

A/N: Enjoy!

Tom hated the summers in which he was forced to stay in a grey, aging two-story house where all the inhabitants, besides him, were mundane, pathetic animated flesh. No talent or uniqueness seemed to possess the other orphans or the workers - for there was no way you could possibly call them caretakers. Their cross, weasel-like appearances blended in with each other. Tom didn't bother to remember individual faces or names of the abominations anymore.

He didn't have to be with them for long and anyway, they were scum. Mud. They simply needed to die.

They had lied out of jealousy of him and swore with the name of their God that his mother had been ordinary, plain, and a circus worker. He knew better. She gave him the ancient, ethereal power flowing through his veins. She died and tragically left him in this hellhole known as Wool's Orphanage. He wasn't like those conforming, ordinary, useless people. He was unique. He was powerful. He was magic.

Tom had the right, the destiny, to be the heir of Slytherin and to be leader of the purebloods. He could command magic that required herculean strength and the finest possible features of a wizard. Tom was cunning, sharp tongued, and manipulative. He was the finest wizard. And yet Tom was stuck in a confining prison of wood, tears, and filth.

Tom hated the cursed place he was in. His mood could always be shifted to a gloomy and miserable state by the very name of the decrepit home. No, it wasn't a home and it couldn't have been called that even by the furthest stretches of anyone's imagination.

Tom lit a candle, setting it to burn for it was night and he wasn't allowed to use magic in Wool's (another thing that made his mood considerably darken). Why couldn't he if he was gifted? He should be able to use what he was born with to help him. He shouldn't have to be ordinary because he was in a Muggle place. Tom was superior and he should be allowed to display that.

Tom stared out the dirty and cracked window and watched the town sleep with the occasion drunkard and shady character walk through the streets. He couldn't understand the reason why this vile species had the right to live. Tom couldn't stand them all – just like he couldn't stand his father's family. He had found it so easy to kill them and alter his uncle's memory. Even as a child, traumatising Dennis Bishop and Amy Bishop had been no hardship.

He hated those damn cockroaches and he was going to be the hero of the Wizarding World and eradicate them once and for all. After all, wasn't it true that only the strongest can survive? And besides, Tom loved to hear their screams and watch the blood spatter paintings in his vicinity.

Tom Riddle would admit it – he had a violent obsession with Muggles and their spawn – the Muggleborns. He just felt this overwhelming wrath and bloodlust spill through him just at the mere thought or mention of those creatures. Tom was going to build an army and with those witches and wizards behind him, he would forever leave an impact on generations to come.

The teenage boy was incapable of love, but he felt to close to that joy when plotting his rise to power and his own "greater good." Tom knew that he would be the only appropriate heir to the power he wished to obtain due to the fact that he held within his veins the power of Salazar Slytherin, and who could say that they were rightful – in both blood and talent – descendants to an iconic and legendary historical person besides Tom?

No one.

The new Lord Voldemort was going to out scheme Grindelwald in his cruelty and actions. Violence and blood was the only way to purify the Earth. The pureblooded would be honored just as they should be. And the first person to receive that honor would be the wizard - Lord Voldemort - staring out at his prey from the window of a broken down orphanage, who had truly suffered.