Disclaimer: I don't own Tom Riddle, he is JKR's creation.
BTW This is just an introduction to an idea I had and I'm not sure if it is good enough to continue with. If you disagree and want to see more, please review and comment otherwise I'll bin it. Cheers DC
The fire crackled and burned consuming the small plastic toy, crumpling it like an old newspaper. Inside its' cruel flames, the doll burned. Its' small blue eye dropped out of its' socket and rolled across the floor as the plastic around it melted and dripped. Its' hair sizzled and turned to ash as the tongues of fire licked it. The toy's arms and legs were scorched and broken after being stamped and trampled on before the match had eventually been lit. The smell the fire gave off was unpleasant and vile. Black smoke arose from the crumpled heap and drifted towards the ceiling where it remained, trapped, until it found small crack in the roof and escaped into the night air.
The little girl whimpered to see her baby so broken and dead. Its' favourite pink bow had burned to a crisp and the toy's one remaining eye watched her, pleading with her to help. The boy ended its' misery with a final stamp of his foot. The dolls' head cracked in two and the flames engulfed it. The small girl made no sound as she watched her toy burn at her feet.
When the fire had gone out, the child looked up at her dolls' murderer. The boy a few feet away from her stared back unemotionally. He did not smile but a gleam in his eye glinted dangerously. His expression remained impassive and he did not move. The small girl blinked several times before looking back at her friend's ashes. The dark stain on the floor was all that remained as the last of the embers died away. Evelyn allowed a solitary tear to escape her eye and drop off her chin. She collected her baby's ashes in a small dustpan and swept them all up with an old brush till there was nothing left. Evelyn poured the mess into a bin in the corner of the small, damp dormitory before returning to stand in front of the boy. She cowered as he moved closer to her.
"Good girl," he whispered. His words of praise came across as a threat, "No tears, good girl."
Evelyn refused to look into his frightening eyes, mad with the power he held over her. She kept her gaze firmly on the floor as he moved away. She counted to ten before risking a glance upwards. The rusty coiled springs beneath the damp and dirty mattress groaned under his weight as the boy sat heavily on his bed, the last one on the right, facing away from her.
"You can go play now Evelyn," he said, bowing his head so that his shoulders were hunched and his small frame made him look even more vulnerable. His spine was visible through the tatty vest he wore, the only protection he had against the cold draft in the loft.
"Thank you Tom," whispered the girl. She hurried from the room, her bare feet made no noise as they hit the floorboards. She did not want to risk waking the resting monster again.
From far below the orphanage chapels' bell tolled several times, making sure its' inhabitants knew it was time for their regular service. The large bell chimed to the beat of the ministers' heart as he pulled on the rope which summoned the children from their slumber. Tom Riddle waited till the last possible moment before climbing out from underneath the sheet and joining the rest of the children in the hall. They sidled away from him as he approached. All except one. Evelyn stayed where she was at the back of the queue. She had been picking the dirt out from underneath her finger nails and hadn't noticed his arrival. As his shadow, caused from the halls' one dusky lamp fell across her, she looked up and bit her lip. The boy however did not lower his gaze; he kept his eyes firmly on the door at the other end of the hall. Any minute now Mrs Muntz would open the creaky door and beckon the orphans through into the chapel where they would be told to sit for one hour and listen to the Bible.
Sure enough, the children were eventually called. The temperature dropped by several degrees as they stepped over the threshold into the stone chapel which was attached to the side of the orphanage. Unlike the rest of the building which was made of old and rotting wood, the ancient chapel was a tall, stone building and was open to the public. However its' doors were closed to the outside world early Sunday mornings so the orphans could worship.
The minister began his liturgy by welcoming the children. Twenty of them filled the first two rows in front of the altar, their faces full of respect, their eyes full of sleep. Tom stood with the others and sat when asked. There was an obvious gap either side of him where the children had shuffled away. Tom ignored them. The cracks in the walls and roof allowed a draft to pass through, gently stroking every child and leaving them with goosebumps. Several of them were eyeing the ornate decorations around the chapel, taking in the gold and silver embellishments and the detailed statues. Tom let his mind wander as the minister droned on. He imagined holding those gold candelabras and silver plates. They would be heavy of course, real precious metals were, but they'd been smooth and pleasant to touch. He imagined having a whole room of precious things, not just metals but jewels too. Rubies, emeralds, sapphires, diamonds... If he had money he could buy these things, he could buy lots of nice things and live a better life away from the mundane orphanage. Tom imagined himself a richer man but a harsh line delivered by the enthusiastic minister brought him back to reality.
"But those who desire to be rich fall into temptation, into a snare, into many senseless and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction."
Tom contemplated the man's words, the Bibles' words. For a man to be wealthy in life meant he could have all he wanted. Tom had seen the richer gentlemen from his window taking taxis past the orphanage. They had not looked in as they flew past, always in a great hurry to be somewhere better, their coat tails flying and their shiny shoes squeaking. Tom considered that weaker men who strived to be rich could somehow fall to temptation through their own faults. He knew that as he grew older, he would not allow himself to be tempted by something as trivial as money.
"For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows."
Money was not what Tom desired. He desired power over others, something he already practised. The ministers words somehow confirmed his thoughts. Monetary greed was the root of evil, not the greed for power. Tom was not interested in having a large sum to his name, he wanted control. He wanted power.
Over recent weeks he had put his 'powers' to the test. Only yesterday he had set fire to one of the children's dolls without aid of a match. He had simply stared at the doll, wanting to get rid of it. Fire had appeared as he had instructed it to. Tom found he could control it, he held power over it. He had known for a while he was special and that he was better than the other filthy orphans that surrounded him. He could make people do as he wanted, he could control their actions, he could control fire! Yet, Tom still found his desires persuaded by shiny objects. He often picked up a few of the others' possessions if they left them lying around. Necklaces and yoyos were easily lost if disregarded under pillows and in wardrobes. He had once found an old silver coin forgotton inside a rolled up sock under one of his neighbours' mattresses. The same coin was now carefully placed on a string which hung around his neck under his shirt.
A sharp slap on the back of his head brought his thoughts back to the present. Mrs Muntz, an old yet wiley lady, had noticed Toms' lack of attention and had seen it as her duty to remind him he was in the presense of Their Lord. Her quick thinking earned her an approving nod from the minister who had not paused in his recital of the commandments. Mrs Muntz smirked and hobbled off to stand behind another naughty orphan who looked in danger of falling asleep. She rolled her sleeves up in anticipation. Toms' neck still stung from her touch. He rubbed it with his hand and glared at a dirty mark on the lecturn. No, he should not bring fire into The Lords' place. That would be a sin. Tom had been taught sins were bad but he remembered the punishments for them even more clearly than the sins themselves. He was pretty certain that setting fire to the minister's stand was a sin though. Mrs Muntz had taught the children that one should show respect in the chapel. Tom liked that word. Respect. One day he would be shown respect and people would stand before him and bow and kneel and... pray? For forgiveness? He imagined a whole congregation kneeling in front of him asking for his forgiveness as the minister instructed them to bow their heads. On his knees, head bowed before the man in the white dress, Tom wondered what he should pray for. The children had been told to kneel momentairily and pray for forgiveness and Tom wondered what it was they had done. Mrs Muntz was easy of course, she was a wicked woman who hated the children and beat them. Some of the orphans were bad, Tom supposed, but nothing awful. Those he regarded as evil wern't even here to pray. Mr Grey, the landlord, Mrs Downey and Mrs Smith, the staff, and Oliver Black, the tall meaty child who often picked on him was out today. Tom unknotted his fingers and placed his hands in his pockets. His actions went unnoticed by the others. He would not ask for forgiveness because he had done nothing wrong.
At last they were allowed to stand and the minister gave them a final blessing before the children were sent into the dining hall for breakfast. Gruel awaited them in a large grey tin when they arrived. Tom reckoned whoever invented gruel should instead pray for forgiveness.