Wear the grudge like a crown

Desperate to control

Unable to forgive

And you're sinking deeper
- Tool, "The Grudge"

A young man crouched in the bushes, the rain dripping off the ends of his hair. He stared intently at the great, white house nearby on a hill. He could see the lights on in the rooms, see blurry shapes of people moving about inside, sitting down at a table. The boy crept forward out of the bushes carefully, then straightened to his full height. He was a tall, thin young man in his teens, with a pale, lean face, and eerily clear blue eyes set beneath two dark, intelligent brows; wet, raven hair fell across his forehead. He stood for a moment, at the edge of the yard, throwing an uneasy glance behind him, then looked up at the ominous trees towering above him, groaning in the wind. This is it, Tom.

For the past five years, he had imagined what this night would be like, though perhaps he had never actually thought it would happen, thought that he would actually do it. And yet, here he was. He had come to the turning point in his life. He was no longer a child; he was leaving the orphanage behind and he would never go back there again. He had made his new home Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy, and they welcomed him with open arms. Tom had just graduated from his fourth year there; he had had more O.W.L's than any other student in the school, indeed, than any other student in the school had had for many years. Next year he would surely be made a prefect, and after that Head Boy. Everyone loved him there; even some of the Gryffindor students were friendly with him. The teachers had beamed at him, as he smiled humbly at the 100 points awarded to Slytherin House for his work in school. He had proved them all wrong. He knew what they had thought - oh, the poor, helpless little orphan. Oh, the worthless, half-blood trash. Never going to amount to anything. Well they were wrong.

Tom forced a smile, trying as ever to be happy with what he had accomplished, but it barely lasted a second before another thought rose, a niggling, annoying thought in the back of his mind, hovering like a mosquito. That Transfiguration teacher... That Dumbledore. He still doubted him. Why? Why could he not gain that man's trust like everyone else? Tom clenched his teeth. It didn't matter. Who cared about some stupid muggle-lover? Tom knew how things would wind up in the end - he couldn't wait to see who how Dumbledore would feel once the tables had turned. It would just take time. And Tom had plenty of patience...

Tom took a deep breath, stood up and walked forward, wild determination glinting in his crystal eyes. At the doorstep, he hesitated once more, eyeing the sign on the door that read, Riddle House. Tom narrowed his eyes. He stopped there on the steps, closed his eyes, and let the memories wash over him, slowly blowing to life the embers of his rage which he carried with him always.

He remembered the tiny little boy, seven years old, sitting on his poor excuse for a bed, dressed in rags, hugging his knees to his chest and staring out the windows, trying not to cry, wondering who and where his parents were. He remembered the other children, some of them somehow making friends and seemingly happy, others like him, wandering about the facility, alone and miserable. And then there were the bigger ones who would tease them and yell at them and hit them. And the adults who did nothing to stop them, and said nothing to comfort anyone. The adults who would punish them and beat them and never once say a kind word. Reprimands came at random it seemed, and they were cruel, and left lasting scars on all the young residents, mental and physical.

One might think that such abuse would force the children together, but it only made them cold, and detached. For Tom, the only solace to be found growing up was in talking to garden snakes - which of course, established him as a certified freak. Friends? He hadn't known the meaning of the word before Hogwarts. Filthy, miserable, damned place. Bloody muggles. They'd pay... The eleven horrible years he had spent there as a child filled his mind.

And why was it I was sent to live in that shit-hole? Because I am a wizard, he reminded himself bitterly. Because my mother was a witch and my father left her because of it. Too good for her, too good for a witch. Just abandoned her... In Tom's mind, it was a reflection of the entire muggle race. His experience showed only that they feared and hated wizards, forced them to live their lives in secret, told ridiculous horror stories about them, beat their inferiors, bullied their equals, and abandoned their families.

On his eleventh birthday, when he had first found out that he was a wizard, and told the whole story of his heritage and the baggage that came with it, it had been awful. He had felt sadness at the bittersweet naivete of his mother, anger at his father for hurting her, and pain at the fact that he simply hadn't been wanted. Immense shame overwhelmed him, though he hid it well, for his father had been a muggle, and therefore, he was practically a mudblood--a mudblood living in the Slytherin house.

Yet there was a noble side to his heritage as well. Through his mother's side, he was the direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin. Desperate to discover something that could give him pride and ease his insecurites, and hungry for a worthy role model, he read up as much as he could about the ancient House Founder. Slytherin was an anchor, something he could relate to and hold onto. Slytherin too had suffered at the hands of muggles; and he had done something about it. He hadn't acted with ruthless, thoughtless violence; nor had he settled for a position of luxury and acted against muggles as some sort of game that he could weasle out of at any moment. He had studied and became great, earned strong friendships and followings, and prepared to revolutionize the world, starting with Hogwarts. Of course, it was all in vain, for Slytherin's first and closest friend, Godric Gryffindor, had disagreed with Slytherin's view's and exiled him.

This part of the story frightened Tom; what would he have done if his best friend had done that to him? He decided this was Salazar's flaw--his trust in his friend. And yet, despite this bitter betrayal and dissapointment, Slytherin still had something up his sleeve... He had built the Chamber of Secrets so that his Heir could someday finish his work. This was Tom's destiny. Despite his mother's mistake of marrying his father, and his father's mistake of... of existing, Tom would be the heir Salazar had dreamed of -- the messiah for the world of wizards.

This thought had driven him onward. He fell deeper and deeper into the Dark Arts, growing more and more powerful, even at his young age. Sometimes it scared him, just how much he was capable of. But it also thrilled him. He worked extremely hard in school, to prove himself, to accomplish something. There was so much to learn, so much to do. Work was a distraction; it got rid of this troublesome emotions and weaknesses. But tonight, for this moment, it was a time for reflection, for indulgence, and for just a moment he didn't care about being strong.

He abandoned her and then she died... As I entered the world, she left it forever... And he didn't care! His jaw clenched. He didn't care that his wife died. Didn't care that he had a son. Just dumped me in that hell like I was nothing... Tom bit his lip, frustrated with himself for the tears that had formed in his eyes. Anger -- that was what he needed. He clenched his teeth. And he dared to give me his name. From this night on, I end my association with this bastard muggle. No more will I be Tom Riddle. I am Lord Voldemort!

Shoving his fear and hurt down deep inside him, and pulling forth rage and lust for revenge, brandished his wand and waved it over the handle of the door, whispering, "Alohamora." The door swung open and he stepped silently into the house.