A chorus of little boys laughing interrupted Tom Marvolo Riddle's silence. He turned his head to stare at them as they ran wild in the field just around the corner. Stupid children, he wished they would just lose their voices so they would stop bothering him. Once the noise stopped, he turned his head back, looking at the small cracks of sky that were visible through the oak leaves. The grass surrounding him as he laid on the ground itched his skin, covered in the most decent clothes he could find in the meager orphanage closet.

Even at just four years old, Tom Riddle was stunning: a vision of childhood perfection with his alabaster skin, white teeth, shining hair, and blue eyes. At first, the other children at the orphanage had been jealous because they had been certain that he would get adopted right away. They'd soon discovered the reason why, despite all the families that came to see him, he never received the thing all of them dreamed about: a new home. Tom Riddle rarely spoke, but a foul cloud hung around him, warning every that came close to him that he was not a nice, normal child. Tom Riddle did not want to have friends. He did not want to play games with the other children at the orphanage. He did not want to eat meals at their allotted time. He simply did not want to follow rules or be normal. At four years old, Tom Riddle already despised humanity.

His silence was interrupted once again, this time by soft footsteps. He turned, this time seeing a small girl crouching in the grass. She reached for a blade of grass, lifting a caterpillar onto her finger. Tom watched her take a few more steps before she set the caterpillar down, this time in the shade on the opposite side of the tree he was laying under.

"I didn't want to kill it," she whispered quietly. He averted his eyes, realizing she had noticed that he'd been staring. She still just stood there, holding her hands together nervously. Her dress swayed in the wind, a pink frock with white lace. It looked expensive and well cared for, something that was surely out of place here. Her hair was softly tousled back, the light brown looked recently cut and carefully cleaned. Her nails were clean, polished, and trimmed. She looked just like a little porcelain doll, standing there in the dim sunlight, so fragile, so tiny, so alone.

The boys started yelling again.

One said, "Where did that little brat go? We still have her hat."

Another replied, "Guess she doesn't want it. Let's go. It'll be a nice present for Cindy."

Tom winced at the annoying noises, while the little girl kept staring down at the caterpillar. She spoke up again when the noises of the boys retreating had ended, saying, "I'm Eleanor."

Tom didn't reply. He didn't see any reason why he should. He didn't know this girl, and he didn't feel any special connection towards her. Sure, she was pretty, but many girls were pretty at this age and he didn't particularly care much for them anyone. Besides, she was probably just a rich girl whose parents had dropped her off for a day just so she could see how fortunate she was.

A few days later, Tom was walking down the hallway when someone yelled, "Hello!" He looked around and saw no one else in the hallway. It was dinnertime, so most of the children were in the dinning room. Tom had finished eating quickly and skipped out, but he hadn't seen anyone else leave. Curiously, he back tracked. He saw a partially open door, with a little head he recognized peaking out. It was that girl again, Eleanor.

"Do you want to play with me? My babysitter just brought my toy's to me," she said, shyly looking down. Normally, he wouldn't, but something about her large, helpless eyes drew him in. Besides, she still reminded him of dolls, and maybe he could play with her instead. He was entertained so easily by manipulating people and forcing feelings out of them.

She opened the door a little wider to let him in, then shut the door behind him. They sat on the floor, playing with her stuffed animals and trains and all the rest of her toys - there were more in her room alone then he'd seen in the entire orphanage.

"Would you mind me asking...what's your name?" she suddenly pipped up, her squeaking voice the first to not grate on his ears.

"Tom," he said, his voice quiet from not speaking often.

She nodded and continued playing.