Tom Riddle awoke with a start. He had just had his old, reoccurring nightmare- a flash of green light to the sound of people shrieking in horror in the distance. There was also a man, laughing a dark, deep laugh. This dream had always scared Tom, for reasons unbeknownst to him; the man looked oddly familiar- tall, pale, thin, but Tom just couldn't put his finger on who it was. He put his slightly trembling hands and pressed them across his forehead, hoping to dull the sharp, aching pain. He should have known better though, for the pain always passed on its own accord, not his.

Tom gazed across his small, cramped room and gazed at himself in the mirror above his desk. He had scruffy, dark brown hair, which fell into his gray eyes nicely. He also had a casual elegance and a charismatic smile, though he had hardly anything to smile about at the orphanage where he lived. He was tall for his age of eleven, and almost sickly thin. This was a source of great annoyment for Tom, as most of the other miserable kids at the orphanage would direct their frustration towards him, teasing and calling him names such as "Too Tall Tommy" and "Riddle me this". However, far worse was Mr. Welcksworth, the owner of the orphanage, who seemed to have come from hell itself. He always went out to bars and got drunk. Also, he had taken to giving Tom weekly beatings with his belt; buckle included, just because strange things happened around Tom. Just last week Welcksworth had made Tom especially angry, and then a small fire started burning atop his head. He now had a bald spot on his head, and he had beaten Tom so badly that Tom was sure there would be deep scars.

"It's all my idiot father's fault," muttered Tom out loud, which was true in many ways. From what Tom had been told, his father had left his mother when she was pregnant with him. She was so depressed that she became sickly, and died after giving birth to Tom. Supposedly, she had only lived long enough to name him. Then, the hospital had contacted his father, Tom Sr., who wanted nothing to do with him; which resulted in him getting sent to this dump. Tom sighed. He knew it was no use to blame anyone; it was just that he was so tired of being miserable all of the time. He secretly vowed, then and there, to seek revenge on Welcksworth as soon as he was old enough. He would make him pay for all of the torment he had caused Tom. Of course, he tried to be nice to everyone, but they all regarded him as a gray-eyed freak. He had one close friend: Emma, the lunch lady. She seemed to be the only one who understood and appreciated Tom. She was certainly the only one who cared for him.

Tom looked at a leather bound diary on his desk- one of his few possessions. His name was written on the front in peeling, gold letter, and an address with the street Vauxhill Road was written on the back of it. It was the only thing his mother had left for him. He grabbed the book, and began to flip aimlessly through the blank pages, thinking how much better his life would be if his mother were still alive.

Tom suddenly glanced up. He could have sworn that he had heard a faint hissing noise. As he tried to locate the source of the noise, he heard a distinct growl at his door. To his horror, he turned around and came face-to-face with Mr. Welcksworth, who was looking more furious than Tom had ever seen him. His face was beet-red and he was baring his teeth, as a lion trying to scare away unwanted visitors might do.

"Riddle," he sneered, "What in the blazes are you doing up? In case it didn't cross your pathetic mind, the commissioner of London orphanages is coming tomorrow. If he sees so much as one thing out of the ordinary, he'll shut us down and cut off my paycheck, and we wouldn't want that to happen, now would we?" His face was now so close to Tom's that Tom could feel his heavy breath.

"N-No sir," stuttered Tom, fearful for his life.

"Good," Welcksworth grimaced and hurled Tom to his bed. "Now if I see you yawn once tomorrow, or if you put one toe out of line, I will double your amount of beatings from one month to two months. Get to sleep, Riddle. You sicken me." And with that, he strode out of Tom's room and slammed the door behind him. Tom sighed, upon being hurled onto his bed, his arm had snagged one of the metal springs poking out of the mattress, and was now bleeding. "Damn, I guess that's just my luck!" thought Tom to himself. He pressed his shirt to the cut to stop the bleeding, turned off his light, and sank into his pillow. It was no more than a pillowcase stuffed with hay, but he was used to it. He pulled his raggedy blanket over himself, and sank into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, he was awoken early by something pecking at his hand. He sleepily opened his eyes and then sat bolt right up. "What's a bloody owl doing in my bedroom?" he quickly saw a letter, with his name on it, attached to the owl's leg.

Mr. T.M.Riddle

Poor boy's Orphanage

Queen's Street

London, England

He was just about to rip off the strange seal on the back of the envelope when he heard a soft creak outside his door. He quickly shoved the letter under his pillow and began to feign sleep.

"Riddle," snarled Welcksworth. "Time to wake up- your beatings start right before the commissioner arrives, so as to REMIND you that you should behave well." He emphasized the word remind. Tom grunted and got out of bed. He put on the shabbiest shirt he had, which was saying something, and headed to the supreme one's office.

"You know what to do." Tom sat on a splintering, wooden stool in the middle of the room and stared defiantly at the wall. Welcksworth took off his belt, which was black leather with lightning bolt bits of metal on it, and began beating Tom's back with it. As it continued, Tom forced himself not to cry- he would never give Welcksworth the satisfaction of knowing he had gotten to him. After about twenty minutes, he delivered the final blow on the back of Tom's neck, however he had miscalculated, and the front of the belt whipped around his head, leaving a lightning bolt shaped cut on Tom's forehead. Tom winced, eyes beginning to water, but he forced the tears back down.

"Clean yourself, Riddle, and if you make one ounce of trouble when the commissioner comes, oh, you'll wish you hadn't boy..." Tom sauntered back to his room, grimacing in pain with every step. He collapsed onto his bed, and suddenly remembered his letter and its' strange arrival. He ripped it open, and read in amazement.

Dear Mr. Riddle,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The school train departs from platform 9&3/4 at King's Cross Station on September 1st. A list of necessary school items has been enclosed, and you may refer to Ms. Emma Fitzgerald with any concerns. I look forward to meeting you on September 1st.

Felicity Falbez, Deputy Headmistress

"This has got to be a joke...I better see what Emma has to say," said Tom, stuffing the letter in his back pocket and heading for the cafeteria. "Emma, what is this?" demanded Tom, shoving the letter under the lunch lady's nose while she was in the middle of cooking a better than usual lunch, no doubt due to the commissioner's visit today.

"Tom, how have you be- TOM! This is brilliant Tom, I knew they would accept you- oh Tom, this is marvelous!" She looked up at Tom, her eyes gleaming, and then recoiled with a look of concern on her face. "Tom, that cut on your forehead...what happened? Was it Mr. Welcksworth?"

"What? Oh, yes, but Emma, you knew that I'm a...a wizard?"

"Of course I did- how could you not be with all your mother's talent?"

"Hang on, you knew my mum?"

"Yes, yes but I haven't time to explain it to you right now. But- say Tom, how would you like to get out of here for the rest of the summer and the following school year?"

"Emma, that's like asking a four year old if they want a cookie, of course I want to go!"

"Ok, then you meet me at 5 o'clock in here and we'll head off. Bring that letter and list with you, and anything else you want to keep. And please try to heal that cut, it might scar. Now you run off and brush up, you want to look spiffy for the commissioner." She smiled and shoed Tom off. When he arrived in his despised room, he put his mother's blank diary, a change of clothes, and his letter in the pillowcase. He would take them with him when he left. Then, he tried to wet down his scruffy hair to make it look nice, but it remained stubbornly unmoving, and he gave up. The commissioner soon arrived, who turned out to be a short, bald man who listened and obeyed everything Welcksworth said, and as a result of his obedience he practically steered clear of Tom the whole day.

At 5 o'clock, Tom rushed up to his room, stuffed his pillowcase under his shirt, and ran to the cafeteria. Emma was all ready there.

"Hi Tom, ready to go?"

"Yes, but how are we getting out without the you-know-who frying us alive?"

"Well, put this on, and we'll see how it turns out, shall we?" she handed Tom a shimmery cloak. He put it on.

"Wicked, I can't see me. There is such a thing as magic- wild, it's like an invisibility device."

"Well, your mother gave that to me and it's time you had it. I daresay you'll have some fun with it at Hogwarts, but enough about that, we best be off." She directed him towards the door, and they set off: down the street, around the corner, and then Emma flung out her right arm, which had a wooden stick in it, and a purple triple-decker bus came rolling down the street, out of nowhere.

"Emma, is that a magic wan-"Tom was cut off.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. All aboard!" Emma and Tom hurried on, and sat down on one of the strange, brass beds inside.

"Where to?" asked the purple-uniformed conductor.

"The Leaky Cauldron, and Ernie," Emma called up to the driver, "do try and be careful. This boy has never ridden before."

"That'll be one gall-,"

"Thank you, Stan." Said Emma, shoving a gold coin into his hand.

"Alright, let's go Ern." The driver stepped on the accelerator and there was a loud BANG! Tom was thrown to the floor of the bus, looking around in bewilderment. A small, gray-haired woman exited the bus as Tom was standing up, and there was another loud BANG! This time, however, Tom was better prepared, and grabbed the edge of a bedpost to prevent himself from being hurled back onto the ground.

"Next stop, Leaky Cauldron," the conductor, Stan, informed them. "It's not that crowded in the early evening." With one more BANG! Tom found the bus rattling along a cobblestone alley, and it pulled up to a shabby, black building with a rotting, wooden sign which hosted a picture of a black cauldron, with steam coming out of it, and a couple of drips with a puddle of water underneath of it.

"Tom, come on. Let's go!" said Emma, breaking Tom's trance and scurrying him forward. "Very good, now do you have all of your belongings?" Tom showed her the pillowcase, speechless. "Excellent, thank you Ernie. Come on Tom, let's get inside before we get wet." It had started to drizzle, and rain was accumulating in between the cobblestones, and sliding down the alleyway. Tom followed Emma into the shabby building, his eyes wide-open and staring. He had so many questions bustling around inside his head, but his mind could not seem to settle on one. Emma looked at Tom, and seemed to know what he was thinking, because at that moment she suggested they take a seat at one of the rickety, old, wooden tables. As they sat down, Emma said,

"Now Tom, I know you must be confused, but if you'd like to ask me any questions, I'll be happy to answer them to the best of my abilities." Tom stared at her for a moment, and then seemed to realize what he was doing. Emma was sitting and waiting patiently.

"So, I'm a wizard or something?" asked Tom, trying to find the proper wording.

"Yes," replied Emma, "You are magical and can perform spells with a wand, and things of that sort. Muggles, on the other hand, are non-magic people."

"So my dad was a muggle, and upon finding out that my mum was a witch, he disowned the both of us?"

"Sadly, yes. I never did like him."

"You knew my mother?"

"We met during school- she was a brilliant witch with a sparkle in her eye, and was always nice to me, a Hufflepuff, even though she was in Slytherin. But your father- he was an arrogant jerk if I ever saw one. He was a muggle, as you already guessed, and belonged to a rich family out in the country somewhere. We were also distant friends as adults; we didn't see each other often, but we were always there for each other when we needed it."

"Right, well...thanks Emma, I guess that's all I really wanted to know." remarked Tom, who was not the least bit surprised to hear that his father was a jerk. Also, he was still absorbing the fact that his only true friend in the world had failed to inform him earlier that she was a friend of his deceased mother.

"All right, we'll get you set up here then, and I'll come back in a week to drop you off at King's Cross. I don't want Mr. Welcksworth hurting you anymore- I'll just tell him that you have gone to Stonewall for the year." Tom smiled.

"Thanks Emma!"

"Oh Tommy, it's the least I could do after you helped me make all of those suppers for the orphanage." Emma smiled back, and then looked for the bartender. "Rob," she said to a rustic looking man who was taking someone's order. "Is there a room open for Tom?" Rob nodded,

"Room eleven should be open, Emma." Emma led Tom up a flight of stairs and opened a door marked with a gold number eleven. She beckoned Tom to sit down on the bed, and he did so.

"Listen, Tom," she said as she handed him a small, golden key. "This is the key to your Gringott's vault. Your mother sent it to me when she lay on her deathbed. Tomorrow morning, go downstairs and ask Rob to show you how to get into Diagon Alley. When you enter the Alley, go to Gringotts Bank and withdraw thirty galleons, using that key, to buy your school supplies with. Galleons are the gold coins, sickles are silver, and knuts are bronze. Use that list so you know what to buy. Sorry I have to leave so soon Tom, but Mr. Welcksworth will suspect something if I'm gone for too long. If you have any troubles, just call me; you know the number."

"Emma..." Tom was at a loss for words. "Thanks." Emma smiled, quietly leaving the room while Tom collected his thoughts. Soon after her departure, he collapsed onto the comfortable bed of Room Eleven, and without changing his clothes, plunged into a dreamless sleep.