Ch 2-
He sat on his bed in the dorm, pulling off his socks and shoes. Lying down on the bed, he drifted to sleep. Her face haunted him in his dreams, spiralling through the darkness towards him, her blood red muggle lips whispering the word "Riddle" over and over again. He tried to reach out to her, but she moved further and further away, cackling menacingly at him as he ran, full pelt towards her, arms outstretched. They were in a long corridor, white washed walls glistening on either side of him, the portraits on the walls staring at him with red eyes. He ran and ran, never ceasing, until the corridor began to narrow and come towards him. He felt like he was growing larger and larger, the walls became tight around him until he could move no longer. She danced away from him, twirling and spinning as she went. He screamed out, but his throat was dry and parched, and no sound would come. She was gone, leaving only warm air and the faint smell of roses behind...
Riddle woke up, drenched in a cold sweat. His roommates were looking over him, concern and curiosity burning in their eyes. "Tom?" One of them said. "Tom? V-voldemort? Are you..." He didn't finish the sentence. Riddle sat up and looked around at them all, silently willing them to leave him alone.
"I'm... I'm fine. Just fine, lads." He stood, steadying himself on the bedpost. ""I'll be in the bathroom if anyone needs me,"
He stumbled along the corridor to the bathroom, still sweating profusely. The bathroom floor was cold on his bare feet and he shivered, his dark hair standing on end. The tap screeched as he turned it on and the water he splashed on his face was icy and bitter. He looked at himself in the mirror and almost screamed. On top of his neck was a pale, gaunt skull-like orb. His eyes were scarlet and glowing. His nostrils became slits and his thick dark hair fell away, revealing a smooth bald head. He blinked once and the vision was gone, and in its place he saw only his usual good looks, his sharp features and high cheekbones. The vision scared him witless, but he didn't dare show it, as if thinking about it would only confirm it more.
The next morning, Tom awoke to the sun streaming through a gap in his curtains, and he blinked several times, rubbing the last of the sleep out his eyes. He shuddered as he remembered the dream from last night, and lay back on the bed to try and calm himself down. After several quiet minutes, he finally felt strong enough to stand and he quickly dressed himself, taking extra care to button his shirt in all the right buttons, something he had always found difficult and was always teased mercilessly for by the vicious muggle children at his orphanage. He was not one to forgive lightly, even when revenge had been achieved and for every pain those awful children caused him, they suffered the same back threefold. He remembered one of the first times and frowned...
"Riddle me this, Tom..." a sharp voice said from behind him. The eight year old Tom Riddle winced at the mockery of his name.
"What do you want John?"He asked, involuntarily stepping back a few paces. Tom wiped his face on a dirty grey sleeve and sniffed, trying not to show how afraid he really was. The other boy was much larger than he was, and a lot stronger too. Furthermore, he had a gruesome reputation for giving younger kids "the beating" mostly consisting of heads flushed down toilets, or "trips" down stairs.
"There's something on your shirt, Riddle" John spat, placing a stubby finger on Tom's chest and pressing hard. "Look at that! Look, its right there! Don't you see it, Riddle?" Tom resisted the urge to look down, fully aware of the consequences if he did. But the urge to look burned inside him and eventually, he couldn't resist. He looked, and immediately regretted it. The minute his eyes turned south, he got a fist in the face. His nose exploded and blood flooded everywhere, staining his filthy, unwashed shirt dark red. White hot pain seared in his nose and tiny sparks of light burst behind his eyes. "Oh, look at that, your beautiful new shirt is all dirty. Wait a minute... What's this I see? Are those buttons done up wrong?" Tom looked and true enough, the buttons were all in the wrong holes, the tails of the shirt hanging at different heights. He fingered the buttons, utterly humiliated. "What do you say to that, Riddle?" John said, "Well say something? What, are you stupid? You can't even button up your own shirt properly!" John threw back his head and laughed, deep and booming, and soon the other children in the orphanage joined in. Their laughter followed him wherever he went, along with the constant chant of "Buttons, buttons, buttons..."
That was when he knew... Those filthy muggles were worthless, nothing. They were beneath him. The way they picked on him, though he was neither the smallest nor the youngest, simply because he didn't fit in. He had always been abnormal. He didn't ever make any friends, he just stayed his room playing with rocks, or walking in the fields poking at snakes with a stick. He still remembered getting his own back later that week...
It was a Sunday in May and the sun was shining in that special way it does on a Sunday. Eight year old Tom Riddle paced up and down the floorboards of his bedroom, muttering to himself quietly. He had something "special" planned for John. It would take a miracle for it to work, but Tom knew he had to try. He wanted John to hurt the way he had made Tom hurt. Not just physically, with the broken nose and all, but emotionally. He wanted to scar him for life; at the very least make him wet his pants a little. Tom rubbed his bruised nose and willed it to fix itself. He whispered nonsense words under his breath. He visualised the broken bone fusing back together in his mind. Instantly, it felt a lot better. He was pleasantly surprised and twisted it about a bit, then walked over and looked in the mirror. You couldn't even tell it had been broken. He frowned at himself. It was utterly inconceivable... yet here he was, with a nose as unbroken as the beam of light streaming through the window. That was the first of the miracles.
Nose fixed, confidence soaring, Tom Riddle Jr. walked along the hallway to the front door of the orphanage. He stood on tip-toes to look out of the peephole and see the weather outside. The sun beamed down at him, and a light breeze seemed to whistle in his ear even through the thick front door. Perfect, he thought, I like to have good weather when I get revenge. Of course, he had no idea what he was talking about. Tom had never revenged upon anyone before, but he thought that the statement made him seem more grown up. For that moment, he didn't feel like a scrawny eight year old. He felt strong. He felt tough. He felt like a nine year old.
Tom made the decision to get everything ready few hours in advance; in case Nurse called dinner early and he had to push his revenge forward. It wouldn't hurt to be prepared. Well, he chuckled to himself, it wouldn't hurt him. Getting everything together was proving to be very difficult, however and he almost gave up hope. But as he was about to trudge back to his room, defeated, he heard the laughter of the other children ringing in his head. With new hope instilled in him, he gathered his tools more quickly and efficiently than before. Even acquiring the scissors on the top shelf of the cupboard proved reasonably easy. He grouped all his implements of torture in a small pile in the back garden and covered them with a blanket. It simply wouldn't do for another child, or worse, Nurse to find them. There was a rock garden beside the fence full of mossy grey pebbles, in assorted shapes and sizes. Thinking of his nose earlier, Tom wondered aloud. "I wonder if I can move those rocks..." Saying it aloud seemed like a challenge and Tom wasn't one to walk away without winning. He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, desperately hoping for the rocks to move. They didn't. Tom blew the air out of his mouth in one go, his lips flapping like a horse. Of course it wouldn't move, what was he thinking? That he suddenly possessed magical powers? Ridiculous. He couldn't help being a tiny bit disappointed though and when e turned away, his shoulders drooped a little. He started back towards the house, silently reprimanding himself for believing in sorcery when something hit him hard in the back of the head. He turned, but no one was there. Not a person, nor a bird. Not even an insect. Tom looked at the ground to find what had hit him. There, lying in the grass was a tiny grey pebble. That was the second of the miracles.
The time had come for the revenge to take place, but Tom realised he had forgotten something. How would he lure his unwitting victim to his dea- no, his doom, Tom corrected himself. He only meant to humiliate, degrade and punish. Not kill. Never kill...
John strutted into the garden and straight into Tom's trap. Tom had simply yelled for him to come out of the house, and his simple plan had worked like a charm. He had fashioned a small tent in the garden from the blanket and some poles. The blue folds of the cover were partially obscuring Tom's vision inside the den. John walked in slowly and was immediately met by a fist in the face. It didn't faze him though; Tom was only eight years old, and not very strong. But Tom had more planned for him. A pair of scissors was whipped out his pocket waved around threateningly. He flinched slightly but otherwise, no reaction. Seeing that they had no effect, he threw them aside and threw gravel in his face, kicked and bit and yelled. He was losing his mind trying to scare John until he saw his saving grace. He picked it up by the head and stroked it, then threw it straight at John's face. It hit him hard but fell, slumped on the ground. Tom frowned and his face grew red. He was about to throw a monster tantrum as he fell to the ground next to the animal. He prodded it with his finger and yelled at it. But out his mouth came not words, but a throaty gargling hiss. The snake reared up and struck John's leg, sinking it's fangs into his ankle and piercing the vein. Blood poured onto the grass and he yelled and screamed, collapsing in a shivering heap. Tom looked on in pure shock at the carnage he had created. The snake had attacked on his command. Tom was fascinated. That was the day he got his revenge. And that was the third of the miracles.