A/N: Finally, I have decided to write my first story. It's about time! This first part of the story is broken up a bit because I'm using different moments from Tom's life to introduce him into the story. Bear with me, people. Comments and critiques would be lovely; I've had this story idea for two years and would really like to know what you think!
Disclaimer: the story of Harry Potter and all characters mentioned are the creations of the brilliant Jo Rowling, except for my OC.
Flurries of snow drifted past the kitchen window of Wool's Orphanage, the tinkling laughter of three women wafting into the hallways. A single lamp was lit at the center of the wooden table they were gathered round as they each poured themselves another glass of cheap wine. A young woman who looked to be in her late twenties and had curlers in her hair gestured with her glass toward the large clock on the wall.
"Half hour to midnight, girls!"
A blonde woman about the same age as her hopped out of her chair. "And you know what that means, Beth." She unlocked one of the cupboards with a key. "Time for me to get out that champagne the old bat's gotten for Christmas!" She paid no mind to the shocked faces of the other two women, nor the chastising "Dorothy Cole!" as she pushed aside bottles in her search. Finally, her hand emerged from the cupboard, fingers wrapped around a bottle of champagne that was covered in shiny red paper. "'To my dearest Agatha,''" she read the accompanying card while the others snickered, "'Congratulations on your retirement. Happy Christmas! Love, Sugar Lips.' Sugar Lips?" She doubled over in laughter, Beth slapping a hand over her mouth and their friend choking on her wine.
In the midst of their merriment came an insistent knocking at the front door. All three women abruptly ceased their chortling and glanced curiously at each other. When the knocking came louder, they quickly pulled themselves together and rushed to the foyer. Dorothy reached out and swung the door open, the late December wind whirling in along with some snow. She gasped at the scene before her, and Beth, who stood with the other woman on the other side of the door, whispered, "Dotty?"
A young woman wrapped in a cloak stumbled over the threshold and into Dorothy's arms. "Please!" she rasped. "Please...my baby...my baby...it's coming..." And it was then that Dorothy noticed the woman's hands wrapped around her large pregnant belly.
"Beth! Emmy! Quick– boil some water and grab me some towels. Hurry! We'll be in this bedroom here." The other two scurried off to do as they were told while the newly appointed matron of the orphanage guided the pregnant girl into a vacant room near the foot of the stairs.
The girl collapsed onto a bed as Dorothy turned on the bedside lamp. "He's coming! He's coming!" Her eyes were squeezed shut in pain, but when she opened them Dorothy stepped back, revolted; each eye gazed in opposite directions. It took the older female a moment to find her voice, but when she did, she asked, "What is your name, dear?"
"M-Merope..." She cried out as she had another contraction. Beth and Emmy rushed into the small bedroom with supplies. Dorothy grabbed her hand.
"Come on now, Merope. Can you push for me?" Merope nodded weakly and cried out again. "Almost there...good girl...that's it!" A few more moments passed and then the faint cries of a little baby boy filled the room. Beth and Emmy cleaned him off before handing him to his mother.
"My son...my son..." Merope's peculiar eyes filled with tears. "I hope he looks like his papa."
Dorothy hoped so too, for his sake; his mother certainly wasn't the prettiest girl around. She tucked the girl's ratty hair behind her ear. "What would you like to name him, dear?"
"Tom, like his father. Marvolo for my father."
The other three women traded glances. "And...his surname?"
"Riddle," she said, gazing down at the child in her arms. "Tom Marvolo Riddle."
Merope held him in her arms long enough to greet the New Year before she died early in the first hour of January 1927.
Rain pelted against the window panes, blurring the outside world to young Tom Riddle's eyes. The loud, raucous laughter and chattering of the other orphans filled the room, yet he kept his back to everyone, not wishing to be there. A scowl tugged at the edges of his mouth, his brow furrowed in annoyance. Why must they be so rowdy and juvenile? he thought to himself sourly.
After staring blankly at the window for what seemed to be forever in an attempt to stay calm, Tom angrily rose from where he sat and turned to glare at the others. Ruth was bossing around three year old Addy, and Charles was fighting over some toy with Robert. All the others were running around carelessly, screeching and shouting excitedly.
"That's my dress, Addy. Give it here!" With one hand impatiently placed on her hip and the other held out expectantly, chubby Ruth waited for the other smaller girl to give back her belonging.
Wordlessly, Addy hugged the old cotton dress to her chest as if it were some secret treasure she'd found. When Ruth huffed exasperatedly and tried to wrench it from her grip, she quietly pleaded. "No!"
"I...said–!" Ruth tried to say, teeth gritted and tugging on the dress. However, her eyes grew wide and she let out a loud yelp. Clutching her dirty blonde hair with a pudgy hand, she looked wildly about the room as if she was looking for someone. "Who did that?"
"Did what?" asked Robert, who had completely forgotten about the toy Charles wanted.
"Tugged my hair!" Ruth whined, as if it were completely obvious.
The two boys shrugged and went about their business, and Ruth glared down at Addy. "You." The toddler shook her head frantically, fearful of being hit. She winced, and when a slap never came, she tentatively opened one eye. "Ouch! Who did that?" Ruth wailed, rubbing the now sore spot on her head.
As usual, no one even glanced at Tom, who stood silently in the corner of the room watching the whole scene. His dark eyes glinted mischievously and the ghost of a smirk played on his lips. He exited the room, silently laughing at what he had done.
The water surrounding the tiny boat was still and black. However, Tom knew that lurking beneath the calm and serene surface there were horrors that threatened to haunt him. Swallowing thickly, he withdrew from the edge of the boat and instead huddled in the middle, as if nothing could harm him there.
It was eerily quiet. The young boy tried to ignore it, squeezing his eyes shut and imagining himself miles away. This did nothing to soothe him, though. He sat, stranded, in the center of a murky black lake deep within a cave by the rocky shore. The darkness was pressing down on him– suffocating him, blinding him. His eyes darted around in vain, his hands searching for something to paddle himself onto land. There was nothing. He was completely and utterly helpless. His breath came in shallow pants, his clammy fingers gripping the wooden sides of the small rowboat. He did not like this feeling very much at all. He felt like a– a child! And although, technically, he was, Tom would never say it. No, for children were weak, stupid, and powerless. That was not him, not Tom. He was better than the whole lot of those mangy brats back at the orphanage!
He glowered at the dark abysmal water, annoyed with himself for feeling such a childish emotion: fear. I am not afraid of anything. It is I who shall inspire fear in others! And with that thought, he reached out and dipped his hand beneath the icy surface.
It was at the very same moment his fingertips touched the water that something cold as ice suddenly grabbed hold of his hand. Young Riddle's face was frozen with silent shock as he stared at the slimy blue hand latched onto his own. The boat lurched forward with the weight of another hand gripping the edge as a body pulled itself up. His lips parted in a silent scream as he came face to face with none other than his very own corpse. His once dark and brooding eyes were now clouded and lifeless, his lips a deep blue. The flesh of his corpse was pallid and sickly, dark bruises covering its arms like camouflage and his veins disturbingly visible. Black liquid bubbled out of the rotting mouth and nose, causing the dead Tom Riddle to gurgle and draw in great rattling breaths. The decaying hand of his dead self reached out to grab his throat and drag him forward, and he had no time to react before his face plunged beneath the water. Tom Marvolo Riddle closed his eyes, embracing the darkness.
It felt as though the young boy had fallen from a great height when he finally regained consciousness. His dark eyes snapped open and he gasped for air. Sitting up quickly and clutching at the drenched sheets, he looked wildly about the room. Dim early morning light filtered in through the window by his bed, and he noticed that Billy, his roommate, was still fast asleep. His ragged breathing calmed down a bit before he ripped back his bedcovers and let his feet touch the cold floor. Not a single floorboard creaked as he crept past the rooms of slumbering children, for he was quite accustomed to slithering about the halls of Wool's Orphanage.
This moment would forever be ingrained in his memory. Against a starless sky, Hogwarts castle stood as a beacon in the night, welcoming all the young witches and wizards who floated across the dark water toward it. Many windows were lit with a warm glow, and impressive towers and spires jutted up into the sky.
All of the first years looked on in awe, shrieking and whispering excitedly amongst themselves; however, no one felt quite the way Tom did in that moment. As the boats drew nearer, so did his future. Soon his fate would be set in motion.
As the first years huddled nervously together, waiting to be sorted into their houses, Tom surveyed the Great Hall with sharp interest. All of the older students were already seated at four long tables, with the teachers sitting at a table of their own at the front of the hall. A pair of twinkling eyes met his for a moment– Dumbledore. Tom stared back at the professor with reserve, and when the auburn-haired wizard seemed to be finished studying the young boy, he turned his gaze to the sorting hat.
"Riddle, Tom."
It was a few fateful steps that led him to a stool that sat in front of all of Hogwarts, where a hat was placed upon his head, and a voice whispered in his ear.
"Mmm...indeed, there is conflict within you...Yes, but also a thirst for knowledge and the chance to prove yourself...There is blood that runs through your veins– powerful– the likes of which I have seen before...There is no doubt where you shall be placed, but heed these words: ambition and power can lead us to our goals, but they may also lead us to our undoing...SLYTHERIN!"
Everyone applauded politely for the new Slytherin, and a few of his new housemates hurried to make room for this attractive, mysterious boy. Tom Riddle ignored all of it, focused solely on the secret feeling of joy that swelled within him at knowing he finally belonged somewhere in this world.
It did not take long for Tom to get integrated into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He listened intently to every lecture and read through each text book until the spines were worn. His hunger to attain more knowledge of the magical world could not be sated, and so he frequented shadowy corners of the library to study the many dusty tomes in solitude. His favorite times, however, were when he wandered through the castle during the night, when the light of the silvery moon streamed through stained glass windows and bathed the ghostly corridors in an eery light.
Despite his initial reluctance to speak to any of the other children, he soon realized that he did not necessarily have to be friends with anyone; he learned how to use his natural charm to make them do exactly as he wanted. It was rather amusing to watch people hopelessly try to meet his approval, to carry out his bidding, and to bow respectfully out of his way. The many females that fawned over him were quite an annoyance, but Tom decided there might be some use of them now and then.
His reputation was stellar: he was at the top of his class, Head Boy, awarded for services to the school, as well as charming and handsome. All of the professors were in the palm of his hand– all, that is, except for Albus Dumbledore. How was it that he could fool everyone except for this old man? It aggravated Tom to no end to have the transfiguration professor always glance knowingly at him over those half-moon spectacles, asking him what he was up to, catching him out of bed as he mused in the moonlight. After the summer when he had murdered his father and framed his uncle for the crime, Professor Dumbledore had stared suspiciously at the ring he then always wore. Tom had met his gaze with barely veiled contempt and slid his hand off of his desk. This man was trying to ruin all of his plans; he was an obstacle, questioning Tom's integrity, and Tom did not like to be questioned.
He had big plans– plans to be the greatest wizard of all time. It perplexed, and even infuriated, him that no one ever strived to be greater than ordinary, that everyone went by the books and never even ventured to the restricted section of the library– to explore everything magic had to offer. In his mind, magic was a great gift– no, a divine right – bestowed upon all wizardkind. He never mentioned the fact that he was half-blood; he had spent a terrible childhood in the muggle world, was sired by that filthy muggle of the same name, and he wanted no part of that world. He was above it all.
During his last year at Hogwarts, he split his soul into three pieces and kept them safe in his ring, his diary, and Salazar Slytherin's locket. These were the first few steps to ensuring his immortality, and they brought about the birth of his new persona: Lord Voldemort.
He had unlocked the Chamber of Secrets during his fifth year, but he felt as though there was still more secrets to be unveiled, more knowledge to gain. Hogwarts had become his home, as well as his domain. If Professor Slughorn could create a following within the student body, there was no doubt that Tom could do the same, if he was granted the position as a teacher.
Yes, he decided. This shall be my next course of action.