This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
School: Durmstrang
Year: 4
Theme: Cruciatus Curse
Prompt: [Character] - Lord Voldemort
Word Count: 1797
Warnings: Bullying, abuse, pyromaniac, death [murder] & torture
AU Canon
The Origin of Evil
The small dark-haired boy was drying himself off in the bathroom. The bullies had left after dunking his head down the toilet. The physical pain was better; he could heal from bruises, but the teasing... now that—that left scars that the eyes can't see. He was often called a freak, a weirdo, by the other children. This boy was called Tom Marvolo Riddle.
The orphanage matron was a young widow named Mrs Pierce. She often regretted accepting the crying bundle from a desperate man. She had no idea how strange this child would be. Unexplained things seemed to happen around him and yet there was never any proof of Tom being responsible.
She assumed the man carrying the crying child was his father; and all that the boy had was a name; and a tattered green blanket he was wrapped in. Tom was a curious child; he never interacted with the other boys, he just kept to himself.
Tom started getting his own payback; each boy that teased him or threw a punch would mysteriously lose something of sentimental value to them. The older children were often worse; as they knew their parents before they ended up in the system. He collected lockets, pictures, and even teddy bears, anything that would hurt them back, making him feel vindicated in some way.
"One day, they will beg for mercy; and I won't give them any. I will make them all pay for what they did to me." Tom said to himself, his fingers wrapped around a small perfume bottle he had recently taken from his head tormentor, George, who kept it to remind him of his late mother.
He smirked as he added the little bottle to his cupboard of treasures. As much pain as each item caused; the pleasure of knowing he had a part of them now they couldn't get back, memories of loved ones, made him feel powerful.
….TIME LAPSE….
When Mrs Pierce told him some relation was here to see him, he laughed at her. She was shocked at the utter disrespect he treated her with. Nobody wanted to see him, he was a freak, and why now? Tom didn't know his exact birthday but he figured it wouldn't be long before he turned eleven. He went to his room, knowing Mrs Pierce would probably tell the stranger where his room was; but he felt safer among his trinkets and treasures.
A tall man with long grey hair and half-moon spectacles walked confidently into the strange child's room. The man was wearing an odd assortment of clothes; which made Tom curious.
"Who are you?" He demanded of the man.
"Oh yes, hello Tom, I'm Albus Dumbledore."
Tom's eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"What do you want? I know I have no family; I have nothing of value to you." Tom responded.
"Happy Birthday, Tom." Dumbledore said, avoiding the question.
"How do you know how old I am?" He asked accusingly.
"I knew your mother, she passed slightly after your birth; she was a great woman." He paused; as if thinking about her. Tom had noticed this with the other children, the look of longing; of pain and loss. Having never known any connection other than to his objects, the concept of loss was foreign to him. He only knew he never wanted to die, he wanted to live forever.
"I am here because I'm a teacher at a special school for gifted youths." Dumbledore continued calmly; finally answering one of Tom's questions.
"I'm not crazy, you know?" He responded automatically in a matter-of-fact tone.
Dumbledore nodded; he knew the boy was special; he was a wizard, but crazy, he definitely wasn't crazy. He knew Tom needed to be handled with care; Headmaster Dippit had personally insisted Dumbledore was the best teacher to approach the boy.
"Headmaster Dippit told me that I was to come here and invite you to join Hogwarts Boarding School." Dumbledore said as way of explanation.
"Boarding school? That means I don't have to come back here?" Tom said, his eyes holding a spark of excitement. Dumbledore realised he found the right avenue.
"Of course, we are even willing to give you a full scholarship." The Muggle terminology struggled on his tongue, but he needed to work carefully. This boy was so skittish; and Dumbledore felt an uncontrolled power within him. Tom's mother had really been a powerful witch during her time, and it was clear he took after his mother.
This is too elaborate for a prank; none of the kids have the money to pay this old man to come talk to me.
"I'm intrigued, old man." Tom responded, motioning for him to continue. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at the disrespectful child.
"Tom, let me ask you this; have you ever made anything strange happen when you were angry or scared?" Dumbledore asked; seeing the thoughts turning in Tom's head…
Can he be trusted, or is this all a trick?
Realising this could cause a stalemate; he changed tactics. "I am like you Tom, we are wizards."
"Prove it." Tom said desperately. His powers never worked as they should, he wondered if the old man could control it.
Spontaneously his cupboard of treasures caught a light, the flames dancing in blues and oranges. Tom rushed towards his keepsakes, expecting a burn from the flames; but nothing happened.
"It's just an illusion; we don't want to go burning down the place, do we?" The old man laughed and missed the contemplative look on Tom's face.
Actually, not such a bad idea Dumbly-bore.
Tom put on a stern expression and shook his head. "That was impressive," he relented, "but how do you make it listen?" He spoke of Magic as if it had a mind of its own.
"That's what we teach you at Hogwarts." He said cryptically.
Sold.
….TIME LAPSE….
Tom loved Hogwarts; but his prejudice against Muggles continued to grow. Tom finding out he was the Heir of The Great Salazar Slytherin himself just proved to him that Muggles are inferior, and he formed an odd relationship with the basilisk.
His pain had become a constant companion, and this manifested in rage towards the entire Muggle world. He would wipe them of the Earth like the pests they were; exterminate them like vermin.
When the Basilisk took the silly Mudblood's life, Tom found the power addictive. He wanted more. Myrtle's body was found and he realized he needed to do something. Tom couldn't let Hogwarts close down. His cunning mind came up with the perfect scapegoat- Rubeus Hagrid; the Half-Blood oaf was always busy with some dangerous yet "misunderstood" creature. Aragog would be the perfect "dangerous" creature to get rid of in the process.
He staged a confrontation with Hagrid; using his chance to try to kill the spider as well. It survived, but Hagrid was expelled, wand snapped in half. Tom knew he had no choice but to lock the snake back up again.
….TIME LAPSE….
He knew Professor Slughorn favoured him; he could be quite charming if he wanted to be. He let himself be collected to the Slug Club, being picked for an elite group made his complex grow even larger. This furthered his belief that he was special, that Muggles were inferior to him, and and the world would be better off without them.
"Professor?" Tom Riddle said, trying to get the old man's attention.
"Oh, Tom, you're still here? How did you enjoy the party then?" Professor Slughorn asked curiously.
"Great as always, sir." Tom started.
"Something on your mind, my boy?" Professor Slughorn asked.
Tom internally cringed at the term "my boy." he chose his next words carefully.
"I have been doing some extra reading sir, and I wanted to ask you about it." Professor Slughorn nodded curiously.
"I've been reading about Horcruxes; and the details of how to create one seems unclear." He projected an air of mild curiosity.
"They say it is the most evil of magic, it can only be done when taking the life of another; it is said a part of one's soul connects to an object of significance…" Professor Slughorn paused before adding: "this is all hypothetical right, Tom?"
"Of course sir, purely out of curiosity," Tom said, and turned to leave Professor Slughorn's office. He knew what he needed, and he knew just where to get it.
….TIME LAPSE….
Pain and rage had become one, and Tom became immune to threats and numb to pain; yet every Muggle reminded him of his hatred towards them all.
Happy Birthday, Tom. He thought ironically as the now of-age wizard was walking to his personal version of hell- the Muggle orphanage were he had once lived. He could never call it a home; a home was a place like Hogwarts, a place where exceptional people were recognized. This day marked him leaving this place seven years ago. His promise to return and make them all suffer wasn't forgotten, and it only encouraged him to learn more than ever during his years at Hogwarts. He knew just where he was going to start his payback.
Mrs Pierce. The older lady immediately recognized Tom Riddle; even wearing a floor-length black robe, his eyes no longer held any life in them.
"Mrs Pierce. I am sure you have wondered why I have returned." He said formally.
She nodded slowly. "An honour to see you again, Tom." He laughed a hollow echo of a laugh.
"I need the names of the students who were here during my time." He spoke with menace; the implication sinking in.
"But Tom, they were only children." She said in desperation. The look on his face bore no arguments. She gave him a list with names, with the bare minimum information, insisting she didn't have more details.
"I know you're lying." He spoke right inside her head; without moving his lips. He often found Occlumency was a helpful tool; he then lifted the information straight from her mind.
"Crucio!" He cried out, making the old lady crumple to the floor in agony. She was screaming hysterically at the currents of pain running through her body.
"Avada Kedavra," He said; a steak of green light ending the sobbing woman's pain. This started Tom's transition into becoming Lord Voldemort, turning his magical diary into his first horcrux.
He left the orphanage with a list of names; he turned and took a last look at the dreary building before raising his wand and setting the building on fire. He watched the flames dance across the ceiling; as it seemed to grow and consume the entire building. As soon as the flames had progressed through the whole building, he left. He was satisfied that his revenge was served –hot.