Argh...looking back on all my other posted fanfics, I had to scream. Very loudly. To put it frankly, they suck. I haven't written fanfiction in a while, so I'm probably very rusty. Please forgive me. Anyhow, this is a Tom Riddle fic, written because I felt like it. Whether I write more depends on people's reactions. Hope you like it. Reviews and (polite) criticisms are welcome.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Harry Potter series, which is rightfully credited to J.K Rowling and her publishers, and so on and so forth.
A perfect world...was it possible? Could there ever be a world in which everything had its place, where everything was beautiful, where nothing was wrong? Would there ever be such a place?
Tom Riddle knew the answers to all of these questions.
Yes, a perfect world was possible. He was so sure of it, so confident of its rationality, that his green eyes lit up with a feverish fire. The place he so desired lay just over the horizon in his mind, and would soon be physically closer. Tom leaned against a tree, and stared out across Hogwarts Lake.
It was so beautiful here. At this edge of the lake, where the castle grounds faded into the Forbidden Forest, the magic was strongest. He could feel it coursing through his veins, churning inside him along with his blood.
That horrible, tainted blood...
His half-bloodedness was something Tom never dared speak about in public. He never even let himself think about it. To be half-blooded was something evil, something wrong, and Tom hated admitting he was flawed. Someday, he would learn how to rid himself of that blood, and wash himself of its filth. That day would be the day he ruled the world.
Tom Marvolo Riddle hadn't originally intended to become so power hungry. All he had wanted was a world in which there were no mudbloods, muggles, or blood-traitors to taint the names of the superior pure-blooded wizarding folk. A world where he could stay, and be wanted, welcomed, with open arms. Unlike the world of his past.
"Look, look, at that freak Riddle, sitting in his corner reading a book, like a hermit!"
"Yeah, a nasty, pale, creepy old hermit!"
Tom had learned to ignore them. He thought of empty stretches of open sea, deep, dark, soothing blue sea...
"Hey, Riddle, aren't you going to listen to us? Stop ignoring us, you freak!" The sound of a sharp slap resonated across the room.
He bit his lip hard to keep from crying out, and felt a trickle of blood slowly drip down his chin. Tom was only six, and rather fragile looking for his age. It took almost all his strength to keep his tiny frame from shaking.
"Oh look, Riddle's bleeding! Did that hurt, Riddy-kins? Did it? I'll show you what pain is!"
Before Tom knew what was happening, two of the older, more muscular boys had picked him up and were hauling him off to the edge of the staircase. The stairs were steep, and rusty nails stuck out at jaunty angles from the old boards. Tom's eyes widened in fear. Quickly, before anyone could notice, he shut them. He felt himself being heaved, and thought of only pleasant things.
He did not feel his body hit the staircase, or the nails rip his clothes and skin to shreds. All he felt was hatred, pure, undying hatred, towards the orphans standing at the head of the staircase, whose high-pitched laughter now rang in his ears. Laughter that was mocking him, teasing him, when it was no better than him. In fact, it was lower than him, much lower. And it deserved to die.
"AaaaaGGHH!" A frenzied scream broke through the laughter, which quickly subsided. Tom hit the last step with a loud "Bang!", and then stopped. Fully ignoring the blood that was now seeping from cuts all across his body, he turned his bright green eyes to the screaming child.
If Tom had thought his wounds were bad, the screaming young orphan's were ten times worse. Blood was gushing from a slash on the back of their head, and their arms were covered in bright red blisters that had opened, blisters that Tom was certain hadn't been there until they'd pitched him down the stairs. The other orphans were staring at Tom with a look of fear on their pasty faces.
Fear...he had frightened them. They thought that he had caused the orphan to bleed so. And, deep down inside, Tom knew he had. He had wished them all dead, and now one of them was bleeding in a way that didn't look as if it were easily fixed. Tom felt something surge inside him, something that felt wonderfully warm and welcoming.
Power. For the first time in his life, Tom Riddle could control his destiny.
After that, Tom recalled, the others never came near him again. They never bothered him, never poked fun at him, never even looked at him. And Tom was content with it that way. Until he realized that his powers could be used for something much greater than keeping a bunch of ten-year old parentless delinquents away from him. They could be used to further achieve his vision.
Tom did not believe he was evil. He believed he was a genius. He believed that his vision would save the wizarding world from the destruction that was inevitable if they kept consorting and breeding with Muggles. He believed so deeply in his vision that it was all he needed to sustain himself. Food and water were trifle things, hindrances to his cause. As was love.
Over the past year at Hogwarts, Tom's vision had dramatically changed. It went from being a childish daydream of a welcoming home to a desire of epic proportions for a place that was ruled over only by him, a place where his law remained the only law, and where he would never be challenged. Surrounded by all the magic at Hogwarts, Tom knew he could achieve his goal. But up until now, he had been too pansy to try.
Now he was faced with a choice. Staring out along the waters of Hogwarts Lake, he had to choose whether to stop believing in his vision, or to go towards it with ruthless determination. Tom didn't want to make any choice at all. But he knew he had to.
The Tom Marvolo Riddle who returned to Hogwarts later on was not the same Tom who had left it a few hours before. He was determined, unmerciful, and unforgiving. He would not get attached to anyone, or let anyone get attached to him.
He was Lord Voldemort.
Two hours isn't a long time to be writing a fanfic for some people...but for me it is. So, again, hope you like it, and tell me if you want me to continue.