Authors Note: This is my first fanfic, but I've been reading them and looking at this site for quite a few years now. I'm pretty excited to finally be writing and publishing one, but up until now I haven't written for years. Advice/constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated :)

A little background: I set this story in 1948, Tom would be 21 (almost 22) and I imagine that by now he has a few followers, though not his ideal group. He is already beginning his search for horcruxes, particularly one from each of the Hogwarts founders. I always wondered why he never had one from Gryffindor, so this is roughly the story of why. I don't want to give away too much of the plot, so just read on and you'll find out :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

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CHAPTER 1: October 30, 1948

Tom Marvolo Riddle stood at the top of a hill overlooking the quaint Muggle village of Lower Thornbrook. As his piercing gaze swept over the buildings and houses, he thought to himself that everything about this town was exceptionally ordinary.

There was nothing different about this Muggle village than all of the others that he'd seen. A small main street with typical Muggle shops was visible near its entrance. Tom could see the vague outline of a church on the outskirts of the village. There were small houses scattered about the town and a few farms and fields surrounding it. It was all very ordinary. In his mind this was the perfect place to attack. If the whole village were wiped out, no one else in the world would think twice about it. It would be just one more insignificant, filthy Muggle settlement gone from the world. Tom smiled cruelly at the thought.

He looked up at the night sky. The moon was full but clouds would float across it every few minutes, making the night even darker. Everything about this night seemed ominous. The village was covered in darkness and the hills surrounding it seemed to stretch for miles with no sign of light, settlement, or hope. He began to twirl his wand idly, staring at the village below, waiting for the others to come.

The first Death Eater appeared by his side, dressed in billowing black robes. The hood was lowered and Tom smirked. Of course it was Desdemona, for she was his most loyal and committed follower. Her black eyes flashed and her mouth twisted itself into a deranged smile as she gazed at him longingly.

"My Lord…" she said, bowing low to him, and then she held out her robe-clad arm.

His long, pale fingers traced lightly over her skin as he pulled up her sleeve until the Dark Mark was exposed. Desdemona shivered slightly, relishing in his simple touch. She knew she would do anything for the Dark Lord, even die for him. She had given him everything; her soul, her memories, her entire future, even her body…

He touched his wand to the mark; it was only a matter of minutes before the rest of his seven followers joined him. A few were old friends from Hogwarts, and the others he had picked up as tramps on the streets of Knockturn Alley. They were the first Death Eaters.

Tom looked around at them; they stood in a circle, murmuring with excitement. This wasn't the first time that Tom thought to himself that this group was a bunch of undeserving, babbling lunatics. Yes, they knew how to torture, kill, and willingly obey his every command, but they lacked the cruel intellect, the thoughtfulness, and the finesse that Tom admired so much in other dark wizards. It was a start.

Tom and his followers spent most of their time terrorizing Muggles and practicing dark magic. Even so, they were all virtually unknown in the wizarding world, which was something Tom wished to change with the destruction of this village. But Lower Thornbrook would also serve another purpose to him.

Tom did not know from who or what it came from, but he sensed a strong magical force emanating from this seemingly ordinary village. It was very curious. It was as if something, or someone, had led him here tonight. Out of all of the other insignificant Muggle settlements he could have wiped from existence, he had chosen Lower Thornbrook. As Tom looked down once more at the town, he thought about how privileged they should feel; after all, they were about to be annihilated by Lord Voldemort.

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Anya Blackburn stretched out her neck uncomfortably, trying to get a better view out of the now broken windows of her room. She was crouched in a corner, her knees hugged to her chest, her body shivering uncontrollably with fear. She heard indescribable, horrific noises of chaos and anarchy on the street outside. There were violent flashes of red and green light every few moments. The whole town seemed to be screaming. It was like a nightmare that was real, that was inescapable. She knew that she was going to die.

In a moment of reflection, she began to think of her life. In her 19 years of living, she had never had a true friend. There was just something strange about her that people didn't like. At school, the other students had avoided her, and in her spare time she toiled in her Aunt Hilda's dress shop. As a result, she saw little of the other town residents and her classmates. Whenever she did have to go out to run errands for her Aunt, she was always told to keep to herself, never speak unless spoken to, and never give anyone a reason to notice her.

Anya didn't know why she had to live this way, but she thought it had to do with the incident that her Aunt Hilda told her about a long time ago: when she was seven years old they were visiting a fabric store and Aunt Hilda wouldn't let her have the pink ribbon she had promised to get her. Anya screamed and cried and as if by magic every ream of fabric in the store caught fire. As Anya realized what was happening, the fire strangely extinguished itself. No one was hurt but Aunt Hilda lost a fabric provider when the store shut down because of the damage. When Aunt Hilda's store suffered, Anya suffered. She was beaten and didn't have any meals for two days. Talk of the strange incident and the strange little girl that caused it spread throughout the town like wildfire. Since then, everyone in Lower Thornbrook had shunned her.

Anya had also never known her parents. Aunt Hilda was her father's sister and made it clear nearly every day to Anya that she thought her mother was the worst thing that ever happened to him. The only thing Anya owned that reminded her of parents was a beautiful, solid gold compass. She was told that it belonged to her mother. Anya had not yet figured out how it worked, for it was not a typical compass. Sometimes the arrow would spin around in circles for hours, or point in a new direction every few minutes, while once it pointed steadily in one direction for a week.

Anya held the compass in her hand. If she somehow survived this nightmare, she would want this compass with her. As she stared at it, she felt as if she had to get it out of Little Thornbrook, as if it needed protection from what was happening around her, as if it would show her which direction to go.

The sounds of death and destruction continued around her, but she still felt a strong impulse to get herself out. At any moment her home could be destroyed; it was not any safer inside than outside. Bravery that she had never felt before spurred her into action and she ran to the side door, flung it open, and stumbled into the alley, her mother's compass clutched in her hand.

Anya didn't run more than twenty feet before a robed figure appeared directly in front of her. It had come out of nowhere! Shocked, Anya fell backwards and before she could move at all, she felt the figure climb on top of her, their strong arms and hands pinning her down. She screamed as rough, callused hands ripped and tore at her dress. She felt her skirt being pushed above her knees. Anya knew what was about to happen and she yelled and fought as hard as she could. In the struggle, her attacker pulled something out from their robes and she heard them mutter something. A flash of red light blinded her and then she was gone…

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Cyril Helborne stood up and looked at the girl he had just knocked out. He reached down and grabbed the mysterious, golden object from her hand. His dull, beady eyes studied it. It was some sort of Muggle contraption, he knew, but even he could sense the magical force emanating from it. This was something the Dark Lord would be very interested in.

A few blocks away from this incident, Tom Riddle cried out his last "Avada Kedavra" of the night on an older woman. She had been running around frantically, crying out a name.

"Anya! Anya! Where are you?" were her last, tortured words before Tom mercilessly took her life. He stood over her crumpled corpse. Pathetic woman, he thought to himself, I'm sure your Anya is long dead, and he turned on his heel in the opposite direction.

Lower Thornbrook was completely silent now. Tom surveyed the night's work with pride. Every Muggle man, woman, and child was dead, their bodies scattered randomly throughout the town. Every shop on the main street was destroyed. The church was still on fire and houses lay in ashes, burnt to the ground. He smiled smugly as he looked at his watch. 33 minutes…not bad, he thought.

"My Lord! My Lord!" croaked a black robed figure that ran toward him. Tom's smile disappeared and he folded his arms in front of his chest.

"What is it, Helborne?" Tom said, exasperated. Cyril Helborne was not his most intelligent of Death Eaters, but he was definitely the most deranged. He probably wanted him to see the disgusting body of a Muggle he had exterminated. Helborne was known for adding some special "twists" to his executions.

"I've found something, my Lord. Down there a few blocks…I think you'll find it very curious indeed," said Helborne, slightly out of breath. He gave Tom a sly look, winked, and began running back towards the alley. This better be worth it, Tom thought as he followed Helborne at a brisk walk down the ruined street.

As he rounded the corner into the dark alley, he saw the figure of a woman sprawled out on the dirty pavement. Tom wasn't particularly interested in seeing another mutilated Muggle body, and he gave Helborne a skeptical look.

"Come closer, my Lord! Take a look at this" Helborne whispered as he motioned him to come nearer. Tom walked forward slowly, not taking his eyes off the woman. When he got closer he saw the evidence of Helborne's real intentions, her dress was torn and her skirt was gathered above her knees.

"She's quite a pretty one," Helborne sneered at Tom. He spoke his next words in the most vile, perverted tone, "I thought I'd have a bit of fun with her, if you know what I mean. But then I found something. She's only been knocked out. Look at what I found in her hand, my Lord."

Helborne handed the compass to him. Tom's eyes took on a hungry look. He felt a strong magical force from within it; now he knew that this compass was what he had sensed earlier, what had called him here to attack. He turned the compass over in his hands and he and Helborne gasped at what they saw engraved on the back:

Godric Gryffindor

Tom's long fingers traced the ornate letters slowly, his mouth open in shock. He couldn't believe that he had found something so valuable, so essential to his future in a place like this, let alone in the hands of a Muggle. He turned the compass over again and saw that it's arrow was pointing at the girl.

"Good work, Helborne. We'll take her back to Riddle Manor for questioning about this compass. Go join the others and I'll meet all of you very soon. I have to take care of something first," he pocketed the compass. Helborne gave him a twisted smile, nodded, and apparated out of sight. Tom kneeled down to get a better look at her.

Even in the darkness, he could see that she was beautiful. His gaze traveled down her body, which was shamefully open. All sorts of questions crossed his mind as he stared at her. How did this Muggle become the owner of something so magical? Was she trying to escape with it? Who is she? Tom could sense that this woman was not an ordinary Muggle. She knew something, maybe too much.

He took out his wand and waved it over her. At once, the rips in her dress were magically sewn up and her skirt fell down to the proper place. He pocketed his wand and then picked her up, one hand below her back and the other underneath her knees. Together they apparated to Riddle Manor, her body limp in his arms.

As he carried her up the sloping walkway to the majestic mansion, he looked down at her. The darkness of the night would have made it impossible for anyone to see his expression, but it was a look of triumph, of a sick and twisted optimism, of hunger.

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Well, that's the end of chapter one! I'm already working on the second chapter, hopefully it will be up soon. I hope you enjoyed it, and please review :)