Author's Note: Thanks for the reads and reviews! Here's chapter two, with a little bit of TR insight. All previous disclaimers apply.
1938-1939
Tom Riddle's was a life doomed from the beginning, even as it received near-divine intervention early on from a magical man with auburn hair and a school for such people named after blemishes found on a hog.
Albus Dumbledore had plucked him from the dire straits of his orphanage home and delivered him to the ornate doorstep of the castle that promised to make his old life a very distant thing of the past. The sky-eyed professor saw potential in him, despite the dark lingerings of the boy's troubling early years and misdirected social behavior. Dumbledore's intentions for young Tom were nothing short of good, and although the fledgling wizard had his own ideas, he could not help but want to follow this man and the power he so obviously held.
His first year was something of a wash, blurry at best, though he would never deny having enjoyed it all the same. Tom was enamored with the school from the start. He fell for not only its architectural wonders, but also the flow of special energy he could feel emanating from the place. Instantly he was swept into its stream and carried along by the comforting embrace of what could only be described as pure, real magic. It took him to Slytherin House, where he fit in easily and made allies with even the oldest serpent students. He was the top of his class that first year, a shining example to others, a rising star in the eyes of his professors.
He spent his first Christmas at the castle joyfully, complacent among the ghosts, an empty library wing, and House Elves that kept him well fed. In fact, Tom relished every minute of it: dining alone and in silence in the Great Hall, watching the snow fall uninterrupted, quietly celebrating his birthday on New Years Eve, catching up on all sorts of unassigned reading and studying with no obligation to share his findings with anyone else. Although he received no parcels that year, he considered Hogwarts to be a gift in and of itself. Finally, there was a place he could truly call home.
Then summer came and sent him back to the orphanage he hated, which fully ignited an underlying disdain for Dumbledore that he'd cultivated throughout the year. He could not trust a man who insulted him by taking him from rags to riches and back again. He could not follow a man who underestimated him after a term's worth of dedicated work and due diligence in harnessing his growing abilities. And he would not listen to a man who was, in Tom's eyes, clearly prejudiced against him and the rest of Slytherin House.
Dumbledore may have lead him to Hogwarts, but Tom gave the old wizard no further credit. It would seem that they were simply destined to be opponents, forever on opposite sides of the same coin.
However, he would endure those long and dingy summers only for the sight of his magical refuge that teased him from just beyond a shimmering horizon. Forced to keep his powers under tight control, Tom languished in his prison until September, when he all but disappeared in a flurry of dying leaves and chillier weather so as to catch the train back to the world in which he rightfully belonged.
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Fresh off the Express and waiting to be escorted inside to watch the Sorting, he saw her for the very first time, and all thought of Hogwarts and Dumbledore and certain darkness left him as he took her in.
She was pale and raven-haired, with hands that appeared to be deft yet deliberate, and eyes as intense as they were green. She wore her robes particularly, carried her belongings almost lovingly, and walked with a definite sense of purpose. The extremely lit hallways dimmed in comparison to her. Portraits seemed to follow her not only in their gazes but in their painted steps. Tom was sure that doors would open for her even if they weren't bewitched to do so.
In the Great Hall, after supper was well underway, he found himself searching for her almost desperately among the throng of students, just to glimpse her a last time before bed, but was disappointed when he spotted her at the Gryffindor table.
He was too proud to approach, and she was surrounded by her friends, but suddenly she was meeting his eyes, and triumphantly he stared back. She smiled toward him briefly, though it was genuinely friendly in nature. Tom didn't return the gesture but instead studied her as quickly as he could before she moved to turn around and get back to her chattering housemates. They were obnoxious, loud, and quite rude from what he'd observed (and been supplied with by his fellow Slytherins), but she sat quietly and politely among them, tame and sure of herself, requiring no extra attention although it was heaped upon her.
It was a shame for her that she hadn't been sorted into his House, he thought, and an even bigger shame for him. If she was anything like her fellow Gryffindors, he couldn't immediately tell from her demeanor, which confounded him a little since he hardly had trouble reading others. Already he knew she was different, and already he was determined to find out why.
Tom sighed, ignoring the food that had grown cold in the wake of his watchings. He'd said barely a word to his mates most of the night and found no reason to pay them any mind now. The darkness began to return to him as she, whoever she was, disappeared from view in the flood of students heading to bed. A dreadful shame, indeed.