Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the affiliated.
A.N: Fanfiction number three… Oh joy. I remember reading another fanfiction with a similar premise but I don't remember the title or author, so it's not completely original but hopefully where I plan to take it is. I'm going attempt to update this at least once a month. Given my track record though, don't hold your breath. I have no beta for this; however you may apply for that if you want to (I'd be very thankful!)
Warnings (for the entire fic): potential but not plot-centric slash/femslash and really fucked up narcissism, power jumps that make sense (hopefully), canon minor (as in only mentioned once or twice) characters becoming central characters, Tom being a bastard
Chapter One: Rewrite History
On December 31st, 1926 Merope Gaunt gave birth to a child she had named Tom (after his father) Marvolo (after her father) Riddle. An hour later, she died. For the first few years of the child's life everything seemed normal, for the most part. Occasionally, the staff forgot about the boy as they were used to infants crying and screaming for attention. Years went by, and slowly, strange things began to happen. Locked doors opened without prompting when the child wanted through them; the other children whispered of strange hissing coming from the boy's room at night. Another boy's pet rabbit hung from the rafters of the mess hall.
Eventually, an old man arrived at the orphanage. He spoke of a school expecting the child. He spoke to the boy of magic. Finally having a name for what made him special, the boy went to the school. There he became a member of the House of cunning and ambition. There he decided it wasn't enough to simply be among others like him. He wanted to be better than them all. This boy, who wanted to be the greatest and the grandest, became the most feared.
He became the Dark Lord Voldemort.
On July 31st, 1980 Lily and James Potter became parents. They named their child Harry and they very much loved him. Three months later, they died for him. After their deaths, and the apparent death of their murderer, an old man left the child at the doorstep of his aunt. The elder sister of his mother, the aunt in question, hated magic for it had taken her sister from her. Looking so much like his father, the boy became subject to her hate. Days went by and the child was ignored beyond what it took to keep him alive. Little by little, just as she knew it would, odd things began to happen. Accidental injuries gained form chores healed faster than they should; her own son being unable to find the child when he was bored with his toys.
She knew what was happening but she wouldn't lose the child like her parents had lost Lily. The boy would not go to that abnormal school and her family would become perfect again. But despite her efforts, the letters still came. Eventually, the boy went to that school. He learned of magic, his parents, and what made him special. The child became one of the brave and just but all was not well in the world he had become a part of. Even as he smiled with his friends, war was brewing and it was not a war he could escape from. The boy was special, but he knew that not all that are wish to be. However, the world did not care, and so, pushed him to his duty.
He was the Boy-Who-Lived.
On August 15th, 1985 a very strange abnormal event occurred… Harry Potter went to sleep and Tom Marvolo Riddle woke up.
Tom woke up with an odd ache permeating his body. It was dull, more that a little annoying and felt similar to the feeling he got the morning after his punishment for not finishing his set of chores. There were different punishments for different offenses at the orphanage. Disobeying a staff member or hurting another orphan resulted in being struck over your rear with the birch rod, and not finishing your chores meant missing dinner. Tom had never been hit (mainly because he had never been caught) and had only been forced to miss dinner a few times. This though, this was much worse.
Rolling onto his side to better clutch at his stomach after a random jolt of pain, he waited for the matron to demand he get up and ready for breakfast. A sudden series of sharp knocks, much closer than he had expected, startled him. Tom surged into a sitting position. At least, he had attempted to.
An overhanging he knew had not been there when he had gone to bed collided with the back of his skull. Gasping in pain, he fell back to the flimsy, near none-existent pillow. Unexpected tears gathered in his eyes as he blinked. The door rattled a bit, than opened to reveal an ugly horse-like woman he'd never seen before. She glared at his suspiciously before glancing at something above him.
He face drained of color, becoming even uglier to his unfocused eyes. A breath of silence and then she shrieked,
"Vernon!" Tom groaned in protest at the loud noise, "Vernon!"
Heavy stumbling footsteps, like a stamped of elephants, echoed overhead in response. They quieted briefly before a repulsive looking man came into view. It seemed that the man couldn't decide if he should meet the worried gaze of the woman or stare hatefully at Tom.
"The boy, we have to take him to the hospital!"
"Wha– why? The freak –"
"Is bleeding," Was he? Now that he thought about it, Tom could feel a strange wetness moving along the back of his head and neck, "if we don't get it checked, those – people will know! They'll come here and ruin our perfectly normal lives!" Vernon turned a purplish red and glared at the injured boy, his fists clenching and unclenching as like he wanted to his something. Like Tom.
"Alright. We'll take the boy to a hospital. Those freaks will never bother us Pet."
Tom was moved to the backseat of the car, with a wad of old rags under his head to try and stop the blood flow. The world was still fuzzier than he was used to, so he kept his eyes closed. He missed the hateful looks of his new uncle and the indecisive looked of his new aunt. The child was confused and would be for a while. However, soon he would know.
Soon things would change.
In a grand, portrait lined office with bookcases filled with trinkets of all sorts, sat an old man of great power. This man was Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Before him was a seemingly random trinket that, for a few seconds, no longer seemed to be working. It soon began again…