"Tom! Hurry up and get down here, the little kids want cake!" Shouted Mrs. Cole from the foot of the rundown staircase.
"One minute!" Answered young Tom Riddle. He was alone in his bedroom gazing at his own reflection in a tiny, cracked mirror. After fixing a stray hair that had fallen across his forehead, he tossed the mirror back onto his bed and started down the hallway. He straightened his dark green sweater with a big grin plastered across his face as he reached the last step and was greeted by a large explosion of "Happy birthday!" from Mrs. Cole and the rest of the children in the orphanage.
It was his favorite day of the year – his birthday. The day he was the special one. The day he got all the attention. Tom had never really cared much about the presents and cake, although those were a nice added bonus. No, all he cared about was that people spent the day talking about him. Congratulating him on his achievements. Admiring him.
He strode confidently over to the tiny table where they were all gathered. On it was a tiny heap of presents and a crumbling chocolate cake with a large number 7 written in white icing.
"Okay kids, let's sing to Tom so you can all have some cake," said Mrs. Cole. Tom soaked up every second of the loud chorus of "Happy Birthday," brimming with happiness as they all applauded when he blew out the candles.
"I want to be special," Tom Riddle thought for his birthday wish.
While Mrs. Cole served the cake to everyone, Tom started to unwrap his tiny pile or presents. They mostly comprised of drawings and cards from the other children, but there was also a chocolate bar and a new book from Mrs. Cole. He loved reading and learning, but Tom didn't have access to that many books. This new one looked bigger – a chapter book.
"Finally a book without pictures," thought Tom, bitterly. "About time she realized I can read well. I taught myself how to read at age three!"
Later that night found Tom lying in bed, reading his new book. There was a soft knock in the door and Mrs. Cole entered. She sat down on the end of his bed and smiled at him.
"I didn't want to tell you in front of everyone, but there is one more gift for you," she said.
"What is it?" Tom asked excitedly.
"A letter," she replied, simply. "From your grandfather."
"W-what?" stammered Tom. "Y-you know my grandfather?"
"No. We have no record of your family, Tom." His heart sank. She continued, "Just before your mother died, she gave me five letters and strict instructions to give one to you on each of your birthdays, starting with the seventh. She said her father had given them to her, and told her to give them to her first-born son. You."
Tom was speechless as he took the yellowing envelope Mrs. Cole handed to him. It said "Happy 7th Birthday" on it in messy, smudged writing. He could only stare, his mouth slightly ajar. Mrs. Cole stood up.
"Happy Birthday, Tom," she said, and then left the small bedroom.
He waited until her footsteps faded away before taking a deep, shuddering breath and flipping the envelope over. With trembling hands, he began to open it. Tom removed a stained, yellowing piece of parchment and read:
"To my grandson –
It may be a surprise for you to discover that you have been born into a very important family, despite what a disgrace your mother is. She did not appreciate the noble duty of our family, and did not realize how special it made her to be a part of it. Do not follow in her footsteps; you will never amount to anything if you do.
I cannot explain everything to you yet – you will not understand. But this much I can tell you now. We are descended from a very powerful and important man. And this means that you alone are the Heir of Slytherin. Along with that comes a great responsibility. However, you will not be able to fulfill that responsibility for several years to come.
I know it must be discouraging, and you undoubtedly have many more questions. Just know that you are very special indeed. Do not suppress your talents.
Marvolo Gaunt"
He blinked. His mind had gone into a state of shock – he was special. He had gotten his birthday wish after all. The harsh words about his mother stung a little bit, but they must have been true. He trusted this man, Marvolo Gaunt, his grandfather, more than he had trusted anyone.
This was the only person ever to tell him that he was special.
Nothing could beat that.