Fanfic 4
Introduction
Tom Riddle. An innocent name; a name that could easily have belonged to any local barber or mailman. Perhaps it was a name once worn by a shoeshine or street merchant. The Tom Riddle who is the topic of this story is far from a shoeshine or a merchant. Some may say he grew up to become the most powerful wizard of all time; others the most evil, but there is no denying one thing, he was the most feared. How could a boy like Tom, a model student at the top of his class, go so far astray, you ask? To answer that question, we will have to go back 69 years: to a time when the name Tom Marvolo Riddle belonged to a simple, prosperous muggle man. ------------ Tom Marvolo Riddle the 1st cared about nothing and no one. He loved only two things: himself and his money. He was highly disliked around the town. People said he would do anything for more money. Tom Riddle also had a wife, beautiful and charming as she was, Tom did not love his wife. In fact, if it weren't for the thought of what people would say if he divorced his wife, as well as the thought of all the hassle of a divorce, he would have divorced her before you could say 'money'. The thought of what his wife could tell people scared him out of his mind, though, and he paid her quite a great deal of money to keep mention of her abnormality quiet. Soon, though, his wife gave birth to a child; a child bearing his name. His wife died while giving birth to the boy. Tom knew his son would turn out exactly like her. He immediately put the child inside an orphanage and managed to forget completely about his past for the next few years. That is, until one day, seventeen years later ------------ Tom was in the living room, having tea with his parents when it happened. They were discussing the current local events, such as the man at the bank who held up the entire line as he argued with the cashier that day. As he reached the part of the story in which he heroically makes the man leave the bank, he heard footsteps from outside. He explained to his parents that it was probably the caretaker, Frank. Still, he walked out into the hall to see. "Who's there?" He said hoarsely. There was no response. He stepped forward, cautiously. "Show yourself." He said in a raised voice, trying to keep any nervousness about burglars out of his tone. A young boy, no older than 17, stepped forward. "We do not welcome guests at this time. Please leave." He told the boy calmly. It was probably just some teenager trying to get away with some of the valuables; nothing to worry about. A cold, hard laugh emitted from the boy. It was a laugh that Tom did not expect from a boy of such age; a laugh of hatred, evil even. "Leave?" The boy chuckled. "I left before. I will not leave now until I've done what I set out to do. What I've wanted to do since I was a child." Tom glared at him. "I said, we do not welcome guests here. Leave." His tone had become stronger. "No. I don't believe I will. You can not tell me what to do." The boy pulled a wooden stick from his pocket. This boy was obviously mad. He would simply call the police to rid him from the house. Before he managed to make a move toward the telephone, though, the boy uttered two simple words. "Avada Kedavra." A green light flashed before Tom's eyes. He did not have time to process the words, or the light, though, for that second, his body ceased to function; no heartbeat, no thoughts, no breath. The boy looked straight into his eyes, so similar to his own, and grinned wickedly. "Thomas, I hear voices. Who are you speaking to?" An old man came out into the hall, followed by an old woman. The boy didn't waste an instant. The thrill of killing was rushing through his veins. He couldn't wait to try it out again on these people. "Avada Kedavra!" He yelled. The same blinding green light flashed, and the boy walked out of the house.
Tom Riddle. An innocent name; a name that could easily have belonged to any local barber or mailman. Perhaps it was a name once worn by a shoeshine or street merchant. The Tom Riddle who is the topic of this story is far from a shoeshine or a merchant. Some may say he grew up to become the most powerful wizard of all time; others the most evil, but there is no denying one thing, he was the most feared. How could a boy like Tom, a model student at the top of his class, go so far astray, you ask? To answer that question, we will have to go back 69 years: to a time when the name Tom Marvolo Riddle belonged to a simple, prosperous muggle man. ------------ Tom Marvolo Riddle the 1st cared about nothing and no one. He loved only two things: himself and his money. He was highly disliked around the town. People said he would do anything for more money. Tom Riddle also had a wife, beautiful and charming as she was, Tom did not love his wife. In fact, if it weren't for the thought of what people would say if he divorced his wife, as well as the thought of all the hassle of a divorce, he would have divorced her before you could say 'money'. The thought of what his wife could tell people scared him out of his mind, though, and he paid her quite a great deal of money to keep mention of her abnormality quiet. Soon, though, his wife gave birth to a child; a child bearing his name. His wife died while giving birth to the boy. Tom knew his son would turn out exactly like her. He immediately put the child inside an orphanage and managed to forget completely about his past for the next few years. That is, until one day, seventeen years later ------------ Tom was in the living room, having tea with his parents when it happened. They were discussing the current local events, such as the man at the bank who held up the entire line as he argued with the cashier that day. As he reached the part of the story in which he heroically makes the man leave the bank, he heard footsteps from outside. He explained to his parents that it was probably the caretaker, Frank. Still, he walked out into the hall to see. "Who's there?" He said hoarsely. There was no response. He stepped forward, cautiously. "Show yourself." He said in a raised voice, trying to keep any nervousness about burglars out of his tone. A young boy, no older than 17, stepped forward. "We do not welcome guests at this time. Please leave." He told the boy calmly. It was probably just some teenager trying to get away with some of the valuables; nothing to worry about. A cold, hard laugh emitted from the boy. It was a laugh that Tom did not expect from a boy of such age; a laugh of hatred, evil even. "Leave?" The boy chuckled. "I left before. I will not leave now until I've done what I set out to do. What I've wanted to do since I was a child." Tom glared at him. "I said, we do not welcome guests here. Leave." His tone had become stronger. "No. I don't believe I will. You can not tell me what to do." The boy pulled a wooden stick from his pocket. This boy was obviously mad. He would simply call the police to rid him from the house. Before he managed to make a move toward the telephone, though, the boy uttered two simple words. "Avada Kedavra." A green light flashed before Tom's eyes. He did not have time to process the words, or the light, though, for that second, his body ceased to function; no heartbeat, no thoughts, no breath. The boy looked straight into his eyes, so similar to his own, and grinned wickedly. "Thomas, I hear voices. Who are you speaking to?" An old man came out into the hall, followed by an old woman. The boy didn't waste an instant. The thrill of killing was rushing through his veins. He couldn't wait to try it out again on these people. "Avada Kedavra!" He yelled. The same blinding green light flashed, and the boy walked out of the house.