General Disclaimer of Everything: I own nothing.

Warning: Violence and Death.

Two burly men hauled the limp boy from The Cage. He was maybe eight, with a thin frame, dark hair, and pale flaky skin. He had no clothing, but a scrap of cloth covered his eyes. The forked tip of his tongue flicked idly from between his lips. He was the first experiment to last longer than five years. They strapped him to a cold metal table. The table was clean but the restraints were stained black with blood and bile. He was too frightened to struggle. Instead he lay there, exposed under the fluorescent light, panting slightly.

It was a good hour before three scientists entered the room. They wore white lab coats and neutral expressions.

"Experiment VoL 00666," the tall one read from his clip board in a cold and impassive voice, "Dissection of the thoracic cavity in hopes of locating the source of the anomaly," His fellows leaned forward eagerly. Not in a blood thirsty way, but in scientific curiosity. Somehow they seemed even less humane than the terrified experiment, despite the fact that his genetics were at least three percent blizzard corn snake.

The blond picked up a scalpel from the tray and made an inch long incision in the experiment's chest, without giving him a sedative or even a mild pain killer. The boy clenched his fists and bit back a cry of pain. The lights began to flicker and the tray of knives rattled. This seemed to excite the scientists even further. He started to make a second incision. The boy arched his back and he let out a scream. The lights shattered, raining glass on the whitecoats but somehow leaving the boy untouched. The blond let out a shout of surprise. The tall man backed away slowly. The third lay prostrate on the floor, unmoving. A shard of glass lodged in the back of his head. The tray tipped and surgical knives launched themselves into the air. They buried themselves in the blonde's chest. He stared at them, wide eyed and unbelieving even in death.

The boy strained against the restraints and they snapped. He slid to the floor and took off the blindfold. Then, for the first time in a month, Experiment VoL 00666 opened his slitted, blood red eyes. He stalked towards the cowering scientist. Dark ragged hair falling to his waist, blood red eyes fixed unblinkingly on his target, pure hate displayed on his nose less face, menace in every step. He looked like a denizen from the depths of the pit.

"Stay back," the tall man warned. He was trembling. "Security is already on the way. You don't want to make this worse for yourself."

The boy let out a high, cold laugh. "I don't think it can get any worse than this," he said, sounding much too old for his tender years, "because this …. This is Hell!" He lunged for the man's throat, ripping it out with his own pointed teeth; turning the scream into a bloody gargle. He held on grimly until the man stopped shuddering. Then Experiment VoL 00666 pried the blood spattered file from the corpse's stiffening fingers and flipped to the first page.

Experiment: Variation of L-strand.

Number: 00666

Species: Pantherophis guttatus

Name: Tom Marvolo Riddle

Maternal Biological Factor: Merope Gaunt, diseased.

Paternal Biological Factor: Tom Riddle Sr.

Acquired: Donation by Tom Riddle Sr.

A lone shadow slunk through the back streets of London that night, while a raging fire consumed the warehouse district.

A demon, they called him. Downright unnatural. Tom wore a scarf, even in the summer, but nothing could conceal those inhumane eyes. Still, he was a child and Mrs. Cole had taken him in to her orphanage. It wasn't the nicest place, but they fed him and it was warm and dry.

The smallest children were all terrified of him; the older ones had bullied him, at first. After two weeks he got them to leave him alone. Amy and Dennis got lost in a cave. Billy's rabbit hung from the rafters. It was shortly after Tom's arrival that Mrs. Cole started drinking. Tom no longer had enemies, but he didn't have any friends either. Tom wasn't sure he would know what to do with them if he did. There were no friends in The Cage either. There were only the whimpers of the dying.

Tom was fitfully dozing, half lost in memories of that time when there was a soft knock on his door. Tom awoke with a start.

"Tom?" Mrs. Cole called, "You've got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumberton, sorry, Dumbledore. He's come to tell you, well, I'll let him do it." Tom was instantly on guard. He didn't get visitors. Ever.

"How do you do, Tom?" The man wasn't overtly hostile, but then none of the scientists ever had been. Dumbledore drew up the wooden chair beside the bed and sat down. "It's awfully warm in here. Don't you want to take that scarf off?"

"No," Tom replied shortly, pulling it up even higher on his face.

"I'm Professor Dumbledore," the visitor said.

"Professor?" he repeated dumbly. A thought crossed his mind and Tom felt alarmed. "Is that like doctor?"

"No, no," Dumbledore said, holding his hands in a gesture of peace.

"I don't believe you. Don't lie to me!" The red slitted eyes narrowed in suspicion, "Who are you, really?"

"I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school for people with special abilities. I have come to offer you a place at the school—"

Tom jumped off the bed and backed into the wall, shaking his head. Panic blossomed into terror. His wide eyes took in the room, looking for an escape, even though he already knew that there wasn't one. The professor sat between him and the only way out. The room didn't even have a window for goodness sake! He was trapped. Tom let out an angry hiss.

"You're from the School? 'Professor' yes of course. I should have realized that you would catch up to me one day. Did the Institute send you? I won't go. I won't let you take me back to that Hell!" Tom prepared himself to strike. The instant that Dumbledore moved, before he even had a chance to stand, Tom would have him.

Professor Dumbledore blinked. And continued to sit in his chair. And took another breath. And didn't make a single move towards Tom. He raised one eyebrow, and peered at him through those half-moon glasses.

"I'm not sure of which institute you are referring to. I am a teacher at Hogwarts. If you come sit down, I will tell you about it. Of course, if you do not want to go, no one will force you."

Nothing happened for a long moment. The panic was slowly replaced by a wary edge. Then Tom took a hesitant step forward. He wasn't sitting, but Dumbledore knew a compromise when he saw one.

"Hogwarts is a school of magic."

"Magic?" Tom asked breathlessly. He had seen the inconceivable before. Perhaps this new impossibility was true as well.

"Its…its magic, what I can do?"

"What can you do?"

"I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who hurt me. I can make them hurt if I want to."

He stumbled forward and collapsed onto the bed. He clasped his hands in an effort to still their trembling.

"They searched for months." He whispered, "They searched for months but they couldn't find the bloody source. They said that science had to explain it somehow. But they were wrong in the end, weren't they?"

"Science can't explain it." Dumbledore replied simply, "You are a Wizard."

"Are you a wizard too?"

"Yes I am,"

"Prove it." And there was a hungry look in his eyes. A need, for this to not be a lie.

"If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts, you will call me Professor, or sir."

"Please, Professor, could you show me?"

The professor reached into his pocket and drew out a wand. He pointed it at the shabby wardrobe and gave it a casual flick. The wardrobe burst into flame. Riddle stared at it in shock. Then with another wave the fire was put out; the wardrobe was completely unharmed.

"Will I be able to do that too?"

"All in good time."

"Can wizards- that is- is it normal to talk to snakes?"

"It is unusual," Dumbledore said after a moment's hesitation, "but not unheard of." His tone was casual, but his eyes moved curiously over Riddle's face, resting on the scarf. "Can you talk to snakes, Tom?"

"It's a little bit more than that." Tom's fingers played with the edge of his scarf. "It's something that happened to me when I was little." He hesitated. Then, almost impulsively, he pulled the scarf off to reveal his flat face and impossible tongue.

Very few things could shock Albus Dumbledore into silence. This was one of them.

"My father gave me to some scientists when I was a baby. It was a horrible place called 'the school'. They changed my DNA, the very thing that makes us human. I'm three percent snake now."

Riddle watched Dumbledore carefully. That impossible tongue flicked out, trying to gauge his reaction. He wanted this new world, more than anything. To be accepted by people that were as special as he was. But would they accept him?

"My poor boy." Dumbledore shook his head, "My poor, poor boy. We had no idea."

"My, but don't we have a tragic past?" The hat spoke directly into his mind, making Tom jump. There had been a little boy at the Institute that could read minds. Tom wasn't sure what he had been crossed with, to do that, but it left a slimy feeling in his head. He had died when they were four. Sometimes Tom still woke up in the middle of the night, remembering that slimy feeling, and those big, pale eyes. The eyes of an adult, trapped within a child's body. Eyes full of unspeakable pain. Eyes that knew everything.

"What of it?" Tom challenged.

"It makes it difficult to sort through your head," The hat replied. "Hmmm. You do not belong among the house of Lions. You are too afraid. Do not deny it. You fear those muggle scientists, as you fear death. You know you needn't worry. You know that they can never touch you again. But you are so afraid. For that same reason, you would never be comfortable among seekers of knowledge. No. And you are afraid of rejection. It's why you wear a glamorie, is it not? Why else would you disguise yourself?"

"Maybe I just don't want them to stare!" Tom said defensively. The hat chuckled.

"You have ambitions. You don't just want to be accepted here, you want power."

"I never want to be helpless again."

"There is snake in you. That's oddly appropriate. Yes, you will do well in SLYTHERIN," the last word was shouted to the room. Young, handsome Tom Riddle stumbled off the stool and went to join his new house. He was determined; to do well in class, to keep the truth hidden, to become powerful, and most of all, to make the muggles pay.