A.N. I've finally found inspiration to turn the idea bumping around at the back of my mind into reality. I give no promises of regular updates, long chapters, or ownership of Rowling's universe. This story is still lacking a title, any suggestions are welcomed along with suggestions on how to create Riddle as a Ravenclaw. If you have read my other story, you will notice that this has a very different writing style, with which I am still experimenting, and may be tweaking as the story continues.
Tom Marvolo Riddle was a queer child to be certain. From the moment of his birth—a sobbing, desperate mother arriving on the door step on a stormy new year's eve—he had always been… different. Perhaps the early exposure to death—his only relative fading from this world not minutes after his first breath—had a subconscious affect on his psyche. Perhaps it was the later months, neglected by a busy orphanage matron who had no time for an unusually quiet child who didn't cry for attention like the rest. A child who grew up too fast finding solace in books as the years passed, who shied away from human contact with those his age could eventually be returned to the normal path of life as directed by social standards, given that the behavior was noticed and discouraged early on. But the rather unobservant, if well-meaning lady in charge of caring for some thirty odd children had no time in the already overflowing schedule to guide a young child back on to the path of normalcy which he had strayed off of. As months grew to years, a once precocious and slightly antisocial figure became one who seldom spoke to humans; instead preferring to spend hours reading books far too large for a child like him or pass the moments exchanging knowledge and secrets whispered hisses to the serpents.
The other orphanage children reacted to the abnormal as human beings are wont to do; fear of the unknown is a powerful motivator. The avoidance, taunting, and neglect were easily ignored, at least on the surface, or countered with eerily mature retorts. Accusations of blame—he was alleged to be the one responsible for all crimes occurring in the orphanage, from stealing toys to mutilating pets—were combated with cool reasoning and lack of evidence, and though the reputation gained could not be entirely nullified, the affect of such claims was not easily visible. The bullying and on occasion outright violence—the woman running the orphanage was little to no help and an expert at ignoring the obvious—escalated instead, hostility converting from verbal to physical as attempts at emotional abuse were proven outwardly unfruitful.
Separated from his peers, the child turned to those things in life which could show him no derision and do him no harm: books. The secrets of the universe lay hidden scrawled among the tomes found inside a forgotten library, once a common sanctuary for bibliophiles, now lost behind a derelict door which the normal curiosity of children seemed to have ignored. The dusty room became the one place of peace inside his hellish existence. Tutored by ancient authors, guided by famous writers, the lonesome child bloomed inside while outwardly remaining an unchanged, downtrodden, orphaned waif, biding time until a kindly stranger could be found to take in such a child.
The combined scapegoat and scholar—a perfect recipe for social disaster—discovered new sources of interaction while shunned by surrounding children. What was originally an accidental encounter with a seemingly magical talking garden snake became a series of educating and encouraging conversations, both with his first serpentine acquaintance and later with other reptiles who came as rumors of a snake speaker spread. The legless creatures became his friends, confidents, mentors, and eventually the family he had never thought was wanted. A cracking mind and fragile self-esteem was slowly patched by congenial interactions with intelligent beings that saw him as more than just a freak of nature.
The human residents of the orphanage greeted this change with suspicion and fear. An undersized, intelligent boy became a much less attractive outlet for aggression when surrounded by poisonous protectors. Innocent habits of hissing under one's breath became suddenly more sinister when directed toward those which could reply in the same language. And so the other orphans turned to other targets, ones less likely to result in a frantic ride in an ambulance. Likewise as he was guarded from harm at the hands of bullies, he in turn hid his new friends and protectors from animal control, his efforts for their concealment aided in the development what he now knew to be magic, previously thought to have been simply a series of odd coincidences occurring throughout his life.
This magic was a gift, the only one ever received throughout his childhood. This power, so unimaginably strange yet uncannily familiar, gave freedom to a part of him which had never before been noticed as sealed off. One of the many snakes told marvelous tales of wisdom and friendship and light, of invitations sent from a magical castle inviting children to abandon the mundane reality and join a world where the extraordinary became commonplace. With stars in his eyes, such tales became inspiration for the hopes and dreams of a young child, now fascinated with any mention of the supernatural in an effort to understand that which is inexplicable by normal folk, those who he learned were called muggles. Days were wasted staring into the sky, waiting with breathless anticipation for a letter which would not come for several years yet.
Reality set in then, after nearly a week of fervent prayer. The child had yet to reach his eighth birthday, and no matter how mature a child such as him may be, there would be no owl until much later. The spark was kindled, however, and from it would grow a raging inferno to set alight the wizarding world.