Chapter ONE: Belated Bliss

There are several mysteries within the walls of Wool's Orphanage. No one can exactly fathom how a poor rabbit hung itself from the hip jack rafters; neither could anyone link together the pieces of three nearly fatal injuries to young Gary Moore, Billy Stubbs, and Molly Jones.

"Kids were probably having too much fun," explained a bushy-bearded maintenance man Mrs. Cole was interrogating as he continued to mop the floor with lemon scented detergent.

Mrs. Cole later brought the matters to the manager of Houston's Orchestra himself, but elucidated nothing when he said, "The mechanics of our elevators are not within my control. Scandalous, this occurrence may have been, I'm afraid that is as far as my authority can stretch over what has happened. I wish Bary, Gilly, and er, what's her name, a full recovery soon."

Earlier in the day, the children of Wool's Orphanage were jovially skipping through the London streets wrapped in their grey coats. After a months' worth of anticipation, they were finally off to see "The Nutcracker" on Christmas Eve- - - it was not that they had any appreciation for theatrical art, but that they were awaiting their free goodie bags at their arrival.

Before the show, a young woman toured them around the building; it could have been her defective bladder to blame, for when she went off to use the lou, a few children thought it would be a smart idea to ride an elevator bearing a sign that read: "Currently Under Construction Do Not Use".

Two mechanics had been working its functions in the upper floors that very day the children came to the theater. With just a few more screws to screw, the elevator sustained itself until the penultimate landing when it went crashing down to the first floor. The floor of the elevator crumbled and the iron bars bent from the impact of the fall. Gary's foot was impaled by concrete, and both Billy and Molly suffered damages to their skull when the two bumped their heads hard against the iron bars.

It was affirmed to be nobody's faults and rather their own. Although the two mechanics said, "Strange, the elevator worked fine, we took it ourselves twice and a few screws wouldn't have made a difference."

Peter, an orphan whose parents perished in a fire, spoke from his half disfigured lips, "I think know how it happened." he offered up.

Mrs. Cole eyed him eagerly. "I saw Tom run up to the top floor when they were in the elevator and he must have done something, he always does!" he said proudly, pointing a finger at a pale, dark-haired boy.

"That's only because they wouldn't let me go in it too! I went up so I could catch up with them when they got there." said Tom, furiously.

"Well, we did leave the access to the pulleys open," one mechanic whispered to the other.

"Absurd," said Mrs. Cole, only half believing what she was saying. But the impeachments stopped there, and they all went back to the orphanage without having seen the play with sullen faces and returned goodie-bag-less.

There were also previous misfortunes such as the small fire in the cafeteria, and when Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop returned, unlike themselves, from the field trip by the seaside.

No one wanted to say it; no one didn't want to say what- - -or who- - -could have been possible for these incidences. Because it was a common circumstance that if they did, then something horrific would happen to them.

It was a popular rumor that a boy with a very strange name, Tom Marvolo Riddle, was the culprit behind everything from missing mouth pieces and nearly fatal injuries.

Eric Whaley, a boy with chicken pox who wasn't at all brave, spoke up to the matter one morning at breakfast.

"Tom," he said interrupting the pale boy from his porridge.

"What do you want?" Tom demanded, looking very irritated.

Eric took a step backwards. Perhaps he was silly enough to think that Tom wouldn't dare lay a finger on him, simply for the fact that he had chicken pox.

"It's-it's. . .nothing." he stammered. "It's just; I don't think you've been very nice to some of my friends. And-and. . ." he gulped, beginning to regret his decision when Tom stood up from his chair, fists clenched. "And. . .I-I just think you should stop, because . . . they never did anything to you."

And to no one's surprise, Eric Whaley was left with a bruise on his stomach.

Then one day, good news-that the orphanage rarely received finally came when an old man with an auburn beard and a name to which no one was really quite sure of (it was either Dumberton or Dunderbore) visited. Tom was heading to a boarding school very far away. He would still be returning during summers, and possibly Christmas breaks, but it still it gave his victims a much needed break from the scary boy.

Everyone who had ever been targeted by Tom was hiding their excitement of his departure. Even the caretakers, who thought Tom was too much trouble for what he was worth, were quite glad to see him go.

But no one was as elated as Tom himself. No one knew. None of them had any idea. He wasn't just going to some plain old boarding school. He was going to Hogwarts, a school of magic. The man, who Tom knew was Dumbledore, mentioned something about spell books and Muggles, non-magic folk. Dumbledore also possessed some sort of 'magic stick' called a wand which made Tom very eager to get one of his own.

Ever since the strange old man wearing a flamboyant suit informed him of his magical heritage, Tom had kept to himself even more so than normal.

If anything could have prepared him for such an epiphany, it was the fact that many strange things have happened to him.

Tom wasn't exactly the fittest person to climb a towering ten foot fence considering the diet the Orphanage offered, but he managed it one day when he decided he would have liked to wander the London streets at night. And in uneventful days when he was obliged to sit dully in his room containing only a bed, a chair, a desk, and a wardrobe, he discovered unusual things about himself. If he had concentrated hard enough, he could move objects without touching them. He could also converse with snakes, a trait he discovered during field trips to the country sides; and one which he took more pride in.

As promised to Dumbledore, Tom returned the objects he stole, a list that contained a yo-yo, a silver thimble, and a tarnished mouth piece to their proper owners with apologies as sincere as he could put them. Despite how much the excessively kind words made him choke.

In just two long days, Tom would be heading to Hogwarts. He decided time was ripe to ask Mrs. Cole for permission to go and buy his supplies which she eagerly showed him off.

It was early in the morning when Tom awoke. He knelt beside his bed to retrieve an old pocket watch that he stole from Martha, a caretaker. It was about seven-thirty ante meridian. In about a half hour, Martha would be banging pots together throughout the hallway, asking kindly for the children to make their way into the dining hall for breakfast.

To pass time, Tom laid down in bed with a book in one hand, and a handful of hair in the other. He was almost pulling out his hair from impatience as he read the increasingly dull words of The Provincial Letters.

Finally, the sound of clanging pans filled the halls, followed by the rebarbative cries of infants. Tom pocketed the envelope, thick with parchment that Dumbledore gave him, and the small sack-full of fat gold coins. He dashed quickly out of his room and down the cold stone stairs, almost tripping on the first landing.

Tom waited beside the cafeteria entrance as the children were beginning to pile into the room. And within the gathering crowd, Tom spotted a harassed looking woman with her hair tied up in a bun.

Tom walked swiftly towards her. "Mrs. Cole!" he called out.

"Tom," said Mrs. Cole who was just leaving her office, looked concerned. "What could it possibly be at this time?"

"I wanted to ask you something."

"Well, carry on then." said Mrs. Cole, waving her hands as though attempting to swat an invisible fly.

"I'll be leaving in about two days-"

"John, that banister is not a playground! And Frank, there's no time to be acting a fool in the hallways!" Mrs. Cole bellowed to two hyper children, cutting off what Tom was about to say, which made his anger rise. The boy by the name of John got his head stuck in the banisters and Frank was kicking John on his rear, both laughing a maniacal laugh. Obviously, this was their idea of fun.

She began to call out orders, "Esme, will you be an angel and apply Eric's ointment for me today?" she said to the youngest caretaker who had sweet doe-like eyes.

"My pleasure, Miss." Esme said in an angelic voice. Then, unlike her sweet voice, she grabbed an unfortunate boy with chicken pox by the ears and dragged him upstairs.

Eric looked at Tom with much loathing as he passed, Tom returned it.

"Anyways, back to the matter, Tom, what did you say?" said Mrs. Cole, turning back to Tom.

"I was saying that I haven't got any of my supplies." Tom said as composed as possible. "So, I was wondering if I could go now and buy my things, on my own, of course?" he finished.

Mrs. Cole looked at him uncertainly. "Do you know where to go?"

"Yes ma'am," responded Tom.

"Very well," she said, feeling very awkward from just being called 'ma'am'. Tom had never been this polite to her before. "Just don't go associating yourself with strangers." she warned.

Tom bowed his head, masking his excitement. "Thank you," he added simply.

Tom walked quickly to the entrance of Wool's Orphanage, a door greenish-grey door that had seen better days.

"And be back by nine!" Mrs. Cole called out after him, "And that's A.M. not P.M., don't you go screwing up my words!"

He walked through the orphanage's withering gates and into the hustle and bustle of a London morning. The sidewalks were still glimmering from last night's rain and it was chilly enough for goose bumps to erupt. People were minding their own, as usual. Avoiding each other's glares that read to one another, 'My clothes are more expensive clothes than you.'

Tom passed by an elder man with a beaten up cane. "Young man, what do you think you're doing wandering out here alone?" the man said, much like a provoked bumble bee, who recognized Tom by his grey tunic that he was a resident at Wool's Orphanage.

Tom continued to walk away, pacing himself much faster now. He turned back and shouted, "Mind your own business you filthy old-!" but Tom caught himself mid-sentence. He thought that if he were to parade around as a sickly 'polite and charming' boy under the piercing eyes of Dumbledore, that he should start now. So he ignored the man as hard as he could, until he had disappeared within a crowd.

Following Professor Dumbledore's directions, Tom found himself in front of Charing Cross Road.

Dumbledore said that 'Muggles' would only see a broken down shop, when the likes of him, would see the Leaky Cauldron.

Sure enough, between a Muggle book shop and record store, sat The Leaky Cauldron.

Feeling apprehensive, he twisted the knob of its entrance door, and entered.

Tom had expected something quite grand. But he was only welcomed to a dark and deteriorating pub. In one corner, a man was reading a newspaper. The newspaper was half folded so he could not make out what it fully said. He could only read the end of a word, "-elwald." There was a picture of an elder man with blue eyes. He had a very tall nose and wrinkled face, with the slightest trace of his handsome youth. It took a moment for Tom to realize when the man blinked at him that the picture was moving.

Tom surveyed the pub more and found the most peculiar menu on a plaque on the wall that read:

This establishment of Diagon Alley the Leaky Cauldron is noted for its most excellent and delicious luncheon.

-Leaky House Soup III Sickles

-Soup House Leaky III Sickles

-House Soup Leaky III Sickles

-Leaky Soup House IV Sickles

-Soup Leaky House IV Sickles

-House Leaky Soup IV Sickles

-Leaky, Leaky Soup V Sickles

-House, House Soup V Sickles

-Soup Soup Soup V Sickles

-Soup Soup Leaky V Sickles

. . . And so on.

While Tom was busy looking around, a bald and hunch backed man disrupted his view.

"How may I help you? I'm Tom, I work here." the bald man introduced himself, holding out a hand. Young Tom didn't very much like his smile, or the fact that they shared first names.

Bald-headed Tom was still smiling at him eagerly, and finally Tom shook the other Tom's hand.

"Diagon Alley," the boy said plainly.

The older man understood this at once. "Right this way," said the man, gesturing two arms towards a doorway, as though introducing a celebrity. The worker led him on.

"Business has been pitiful now-a-days." said the older man, but Tom really couldn't care less. "Those foreign scums he continued to mutter to himself. "Well boy, going to Hogwarts I reckon?" he asked.

"Yes," said Tom, suddenly feeling a rush of curiosity and began to ask many questions, "Have you been there? What is it like?"

"Muggleborn, are you?" Tom had no idea what he meant by that, but he did catch the word 'muggle', which he knew meant the filthy people back home, and wondered if the elderly man had just insulted him.

"Well," the older man continued. "I was in Hufflepuff but I left in my sixth year to take care of this dump my mother left me."

Tom felt dazed. What the hell was a Hufflepuff?

He followed the older man through a door, and was introduced to a small brick walled courtyard. There was nothing but a trash can and a few dandelion plants escaping from the crevices of concrete.

The older man took out a stick from his pocket and started to tap on the brick wall.

Tom, who couldn't see completely what the older man was doing, thought it was very absurd, and wondered to himself how in the world this would. . .

Tom's eyes widened as a hole appeared in its center before his very eyes, a busy cobbled street appeared. He then realized that Dumbledore's wild attire was actually within the norm. Witches and Wizards were wearing robes of all colors. A popular choice, it seemed, was green and violet, along with matching pointy hats.

The older man held out two wide arms again and smiled down at the boy.

Without thinking, his legs carried themselves into the busy street, he looked back behind him and saw that the older man had gone; there was just a plain brick wall. But the building of the Leaky Cauldron still stood.

He didn't know where to begin to look. Tom's eyes darted hither and tither.

After eleven years of residing in a grim orphanage, living off tasteless muck, waking up to the strong smell of bleach every 'cleaning day', having to hear the cries of infants he had never grown immune to, being bothered by Billy Stubbs and his stupid gang, no presents for Holidays, false accusations, un-fully cooked meals, an over stock of bland grey tunics, very rare bliss, and being bossed around by an old bat. . .

Tom broke out the first wide smile to ever grace his face after a very, very long time.