Chapter One

The Boy Who Lived

Beatrice Cole was proud to finally be out working. It was New Year's Eve and bitterly cold. Snow was falling lightly on her simple black cap, but she knew that the dark clouds overhead would soon turn into a blizzard. The bleak sun that had shone throughout the day had given way to a deep gray veil that fell over the street. The gas lamps that stood along the street were now being lit. Ms. Cole stood in front of a building that would be the last place you would expect anything happy or cheerful to happen, because it was such a grim building.

Ms. Cole was the newest helper at Grundlers, which cared for orphans. She was a skinny woman, with sharp features. Her mother assured her that some day she would grown into it. Currently her face was contorted into an anxious expression as she cupped her hands together and blew warm over them.

She did not notice the girl, who appeared to be no older than Ms. Cole, aimlessly wandering at the opposite end of the street.

Ms. Cole finally gathered up enough nerve, and she pushed the gates open. They creaked ominously from the cold and clanged shut behind her. Now she was standing inside a bleak bare courtyard covered with gray snow that led to an equally gray, square building surrounded by high railings.

At half past eight, she mounted the few steps that lead to the front door and knocked. It took a few moments before a young woman wearing an apron opened the door.

"I have an appointment with the matron."

"Just a mo'," she said then hollered, "MRS. GRUNDLER!"

Ms. Cole heard a voice bellow back, "WHAT?"

"THERE'S A LASS 'ERE. I THINK SHE'S THE NEW GIRL."

There came a sound of approval, and the girl turned to face Ms. Cole, "Come on in, she'll be here in a mo'." Beatrice Cole stepped into the hallway. The floor was a black and white tiled pattern. The hem of Ms. Cole's overcoat dripped onto the worn, but spotless tiles. A stout, stern-looking woman came scurrying toward them. She rushed down the stairs hardly looking at the girl who stood, covered in snowflakes, at the threshold.

"Ello," Beatrice Cole curtsied slightly, unsure whether this was the correct action to take.

"Good, we need all the 'elp we can get. Martha," she turned to the girl who had shown Beatrice in, "Take her to the spare room and get her settled. Then get her to help with the children. Go, now!"

Martha nodded and led Beatrice into a small room that had a bed with a wooden frame, a desk and chair, and a simple wooden wardrobe.

"'T aint much, but this'll be your new room." Martha held open the door to the room.

"MARTHA! COME HERE NOW! BRING THAT GIRL WITH YOU TOO!" Came Mrs. Grundler's voice from the hallway they had just departed.

Martha rushed at the beck of the matron, and Beatrice hurried after her as well. A flurry of snow had swept into the entryway, and had brought with it a girl, slightly older than Beatrice herself. The girl was bedraggled, wearing rags that covered her pregnant stomach.

"Take her," Mrs. Grundler ordered as she helped the young woman up. "I'll call a doctor." She disappeared from the foyer, presumably to call the doctor.

Martha helped the woman up and the two made their way down the hall. Beatrice was just about to follow them when she heard a knock at the door.

"GET THA' WOULD YA?" Martha shouted back at her. Beatrice spun on the spot and opened the door. Another girl who seemed to be about Beatrice's own age, stumbled through the door.

She too was pregnant.

Beatrice panicked, but then grabbed the girl's arm resolutely and brought her to her feet. The girl was no beauty, and her tangled black hair hung in her face and fluttered as she took a gasping breath. Beatrice walked with her after Martha,

"We've got another 'un." She said upon entering the room where Martha and the first girl were in.

"Well now we've just got 'er." Martha gestured to the first woman, she was as white as a ghost, and she wasn't breathing. "Both of 'em dead." She sighed as she cleaned her hands on her apron. Then Martha became all business.

"We'll take 'er to the next room." And she ushered the two out.

Within an hour the baby was born. Beatrice cleaned the baby boy up and handed him to his mother.

"I hope he looks like his papa," she said as she held the baby, "He's to be named Tom, for his father." She looked up at me; her words were beginning to falter, "And Marvolo, for my father. Surname is Riddle. Tom Marvolo Riddle." She smiled listlessly and handed the boy back to me, she died soon after that without another word. Martha sighed and led Beatrice from the room. The doctor had just arrived with Mrs. Grundler,

"Nasty weather, it's freezing outside. Is that the child?" He walked up to Beatrice and peered at the boy in her arms. "Looks healthy enough. Did he cry at all yet?"

"No, but he's well enough," Martha answered, "E's breathin' well."

"Good, good, and the mother?"

"She jus' passed." Martha fell silence out of respect for the dead.

"Terrible, just terrible." The doctor muttered as he brushed some snow off of his hat. "Did she live long enough to name the boy?"

"Yes," Beatrice piped up, "Tom Marvolo Riddle, she insisted upon it."

"I see, I see," the doctor pulled out a stethoscope to check the baby's heartbeat. "Strange name, but if that was her wish, we must honor it." He seemed to find nothing wrong as he opened his bag again and deposited the stethoscope back inside.

"I was informed there was a second expecting mother?"

"Dead, as well as her child," Mrs. Grundler reported.

"Truly dreadful, but at least this child lives. I shall inform the record keepers tomorrow morning to have a birth certificate issued for one, Tom Marvolo Riddle." The doctor turned to Mrs. Grundler, "Do you have a tonic? I dare say I'm getting too old for this kind of weather." Just as he said that a gust of wind rattled the windows causing a racket.

"Yes, this way please. You two may join us, but go put him to bed first, Beatrice." Mrs. Grundler instructed Beatrice as she gestured up the stairs. "There's a room at the top of the stairs on the second floor that's empty. There should be a crib there too."

Beatrice nodded and set up the stone stairs, she turned off the second landing and saw the first door in the long corridor was open. She entered the room; it was small and bare with nothing in it except an old wardrobe and a small wooden crib with gray blankets.

"Marvolo," Beatrice Cole muttered to herself as she wrapped the boy in a blanket and set him down in the crib. "Meaning no disrespect to your late mother," she inclined her head to the sleeping baby in her arms, "But it sounds like a name from the circus." She patted his dark hair, which contrasted with his surprisingly pale skin.

A flurry of snow flew past the window of Grundler's Orphanage, which lay silent, the very last place you would expect anything astonishing to happen. Tom Riddle opened his eyes and rolled over in the blankets he had been wrapped in. He glanced through the bars of his crib to the door. A small sliver of light came through, and he couldn't know that downstairs the four adults had flopped down in chairs poured themselves some gin, were holding up their glasses and saying "To Tom Riddle- the boy who lived."