Makings of a Monster: Year One
By: dracos mistress
Story Summary: Monster: a person who excites horror by wickedness, cruelty, etc. Lord Voldemort is already evil, but what about his younger self? What can be said about the young, to make them turn to the darkness? What caused Tom Marvolo Riddle to turn evil? To kill?
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot -sniff-
-3-
August 27, 1949
The streets of London were bustling and loud, filled with much ongoing traffic as was expected on a Saturday afternoon. The many automobiles honked their horns as they drove past, some stopping to pay the paper boy that stood waiting at the corner. Fisherman and other sellers of goods stood around calling out their wares and prices. The smells from the many shops wafted out through the open doors. It seemed as if summer was trying to cling to London, England in the hopes it would continue to make everyone miserable. It was always hot then, but it would usually cool down.
Tom was beginning to feel the heat getting to him as he made his way down the many streets. Dumbledore had not given him many instructions, only to find a pub called 'The Leaky Cauldron'. It was an odd name for a pub, really, but Tom just assumed that the proprietor was an odd man.
"Ah, the Leaky Cauldron. Hurry up McDougal, I'm thirsty." A wheezy voice came from behind him. Tom started and turned to look at two old men, both wearing equally odd attire. One of the old men was turned, looking at the other, who was hobbling along on a long cane.
"Coming as fast as I can Morag. Hold your Hippogriffs." The other man spluttered. Both men were dressed in tattered frock coats and spats over stripped bathing costumes. Tom would have laughed, if he hadn't seen a stick – no a wand sticking from the hobbling mans pocket. His eye's widened and he suddenly felt the need to follow the men into the pub.
"I'd watch your language around the muggles, McDougal. They have no idea what Hippogriffs are. Might question us." The man named Morag scolded the man named McDougal.
'What on Earth are Hippogriffs?' thought Tom.
The two wizards finally started to cross the street, with Tom following closely behind them. Neither noticed the young boy and continued to argue over the muggles and Hippogriffs. They only stopped when they reached the door to 'The Leaky Cauldron'. Morag pushed the door open and silently held it open for McDougal. Tom just barely caught the door before it closed, his small arms protesting against the heavy door. Soon enough, he managed to stumble through and into the dark tavern.
His eyes, ears and nostrils were instantly barraged with smoke, loud talking and the strong smell of alcohol. The bar room was filled with many people, some seated at the bar, others sitting at tables or booths. They all sat there, drinking and regaling stories of, from what Tom could hear, someone named Grindlewald.
A wheezy voiced called out to him, "Looking for Diagon Alley, young man?" He turned around to find a bald headed, toothless man standing behind the bar. He was wearing shabby robes of some sort, and was filling up several glasses with and amber colored liquid. Tom nodded slightly. The man nodded and smiled his toothless grin back at him. "You'll be wantin' to go that way," he pointed towards the door opposite the entrance. "I'll be 'round in a mo' to let you through." He turned his other customer's, leaving Tom to look at him in bewilderment. Let him in? To Diagon Alley? Wouldn't it be just beyond the door? The barman noticed his hesitation, and smiled again at him. "Go ahead Sonny. Nothin' t' fear."
Tom glared at the man when he turned his back, but walked to the door nonetheless. He pushed roughly upon the door and smirked at how easily it opened. Although he wouldn't admit himself to be weak, he concluded that the door had been made for easy access for children of his age and body structure. An enclosed area of brick wall greeted him as the door swung fully open. A beat up trash can was all that he could find in the small space. The door swung close behind him, creaking slightly on its hinges. He stood, alone in the cramped space.
"This is ridiculous." He hissed to himself. He was just about to go back into the pub, when the toothless barman stepped through. He pulled out a wand and placed it on the brick wall, tapping it three times on three of the bricks. A low rumbling could be heard and soon, the wall melted away, revealing a bustling alley.
"You'll be able to do that once you have your wand." The barman looked down at him, smiling. Tom just looked back at him, before nodding and walking away. He heard the wall rumble back into place, but didn't look back.
Pulling out his school list, he looked at what he needed:
Uniform
First-year students will require:
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
3. One winter cloak (black or silver fastenings)
Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags
COURSE BOOKS
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble
OTHER EQUIPMENT
1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set brass scales
Students may also bring an owl, a cat, or a toad
Parents are reminded that First-years are not allowed their own broomsticks
'Should get the wand first.' He told himself, folding the list and placing it back in his pocket. He looked around, not seeing anything that looked remotely like a wand shop. He spotted what appeared to be the robe shop he would need. A sign hung in the front it read, 'Madame Malkin's Robes For All Occasions.' He decided that, no matter how desperately he wanted his wand, he should gather his other things before getting it. Releasing a heavy sigh, he walked towards the robe store and pushed open the door. The shop was bustling with activity, many children and teenagers stood about, their parents by their sides. A rather short woman was bustling about, taking measurements, when she spotted him.
"I'll be with you in a moment dearie." She called, brandishing the tape measurer towards a dark haired girl. He stood and watched her, fascinated as the tape measurer took a mind of it's own as it began to measure the girls arms, without anyone holding it. The woman bustled towards him, "Hogwarts, dearie? You'll be First-year I expect." He nodded and she smiled kindly at him. "Step right up here then." She said, indicating a stool. He stepped onto it, "Now hold your arms up. There we go." He held his arms out straight as she pulled another tape measurer from her pocket. It made a loud zipping noise as she pulled it across his arms and torso.
With a flick of the woman's wrist, a set of robes appeared in her arms. "There you are dear," She said as she handed them to him. "That'll be 20 Galleons dear." She added.
"Galleons?" Tom asked, pulling out the money bag Dumbledore gave him. He pulled out a handful of the odd coins and looked up at the woman.
"Why, yes dear." She plucked a fat gold coin from his hand, "These are Galleons." She then picked up another of the strange coins, this one being slightly smaller and made of silver. "This one is a Sickle. And then this –" She held up the last one. A small, flat, bronze coin was held in her palm, "Is a Knut." She held out her hand for the money bag, and watched as he hesitated, before handing it over. She pulled out 20 Galleons, slowly, as if to reassure him that she wasn't going to be taking any more of his money than necessary. When she had pulled out the needed amount, she handed the money bag over to him. "Thank you for coming, dearie."
He left the shop, his new robes in a small bag. The next store on his list was the Apothecary two doors down. The dingy shop was filled horrible smells. Containers filled with all sorts of rare items lined the shelves, some of them horribly disgusting. He selected the items needed and walked up to the front desk, handing over the items. The large and muscular man gave him the amount needed, and he handed over the money.
He collected all the items needed and then glanced down at his list. 'Wand' was all that was left. He glanced around and saw a sign, 'Ollivanders, Fine Wandmaker' below was written, 'Since 832 B.C.' Tom stepped over to the shop and pushed open the door. A small bell went off, but he ignored it. The room was dimly lit, small particles of dust floated through the air. The door closed with a –Whoosh– leaving him alone. Shelves lined the walls, all of them laden down with rectangular boxes. A large black desk sat in the middle of the store, stacks of paper and more of the boxes laying on its worn surface.
"Ah, I've been expecting you, Mr. Riddle." A soft voice said from somewhere in the shadows. Tom whipped around to face the speaker and was greeted with the site of an old man. His hair was white and was so wild that Tom could have mistaken him for Albert Einstein. His eyes were pale and shining, like moons, through the gloom of the shop. As he stepped from the shadows, Tom noticed that he was wearing black robes; like the shop they were dusty and faded. "A very long time." He finished, staring down at the startled and confused boy.
"Sorry?" Tom asked stiffly.
Ollivander, for that's who Tom was guessed he was, smiled. "11 years to be exact, I believe. I have been waiting 11 years for you to show up in my shop." His voice was soft and mysterious. Tom got the sense that this man would not be someone to get a lot of answers from. Tom could only stare at the man, as if he were mad. Indeed, Tom thought he was mad. How could he know about him already? Dumbledore had said nothing about other people knowing him. A thought struck him, if this man knew who he was, just by looking at him, then maybe he would know his father!
"Let's get your measurements, shall we?" Ollivander asked, pulling out a tape measurer. Tom eyed it warily, anxious to ask the old man for information, but nodded. "Hold out your wand arm, please." The old man waved his wand, and the tape measurer began to make measurements. All Tom could do was watch the man, a cool and bored expression on his face. Ollivander was no longer standing beside him, but instead searching through the boxes. The measurer was working like crazy, even taking measurements of his head, neck and nose.
"That's enough." Ollivander told the tape measurer sharply, giving it a tap with his wand and looking at the length. "13 ½ inches," he pocketed the tape measurer and turned towards the many boxes. He looked over at some of the piles before grabbing several of them and placing them in front of Tom. He opened one of the boxes and pulled out a dark colored wand. "13 ½ inches, Rosewood, Dragon Heartstring core. Go ahead, try it out!" Tom looked at the man for a moment, wondering what in the world he was talking about. Hesitantly, he took the wand from the mans hand. "Wave it around a bit." He gave the wand a little wave, and a crash was heard from in front of him. A vase that had been standing on the desk lay shattered in many little pieces. Tom stared at the vase and then back at the wand in his hand.
"Nope. That won't do." Mr. Ollivander said, tugging the wand from Tom's relaxed grip. He was about to lash out at the man, but was handed another wand. "Oak, Unicorn hair core. Go ahead, give it a try!" Ollivander said again, staring at him with his silvery gaze. Tom waved the wand, but wasn't startled when several of the boxes crashed from their shelves, onto the floor. Ollivander tugged the wand from his hand again and handed him another wand. This time, Tom felt a tingle go up his arm. A strange, warmth flooded the wood beneath his fingers. "Mahogany, Phoenix feather core. Give it a wave."
Tom, confident in himself, waved the wand. Instead of something breaking, or falling from the shelf, a shot of green sparks came from the end of the wand. The tingle that was in his arm started to filter throughout his whole body, the strange warmth never leaving.
"It seems we've found our match." Ollivander murmured. He was looking at Tom with veiled eyes and a perplexed expression. He held out his hand, and Tom reluctantly handed him the wand. The man placed it back into the box it came in, and placed the box in a bag. "20 Galleons, young man." Tom handed over the money and then turned to go, but was called back by Ollivanders soft voice.
"I would be careful, Mr. Riddle. People can do great things. Terrible, but great. Be sure not to let power overcome you." And with those words, the man disappeared into the shadows once more, leaving Tom to stare after him, utterly confused.
It was almost eight-o-clock when Tom returned to the orphanage, laden down with bags from his shopping. Everything that he had needed had been bought. The books, he had had to buy second hand – but they weren't too far damaged. It had been extremely difficult to master his excitement as he had left Ollivanders. The prospect of a new wand – his wand, had almost caused him to bring the desired object out and experiment.
There was no sound coming from the dining hall, or from the Recreation room, so he assumed everyone had already gone to bed. As he passed by Mrs. Cole's office, her voice called out to him, "Is that you, Tom?"
"Yes, Mrs. Cole." He replied, rolling his eyes as he stepped up the stairs. He heard a murmur of, "good, very good" before he disappeared up the landing and down the hall. His room was dark, but he didn't care. As soon as his feet hit the doorway, exhaustion hit him. He discarded his packages, save for his wand, which he had pulled out of the box and was now fiddling with, and laid down on his bed. The warmth had not disappeared from the wood, and it felt comforting to know that he now had a wand of his own. Placing the wand on his small nightstand, he turned over, a small smile on his face, and fell asleep.
A/N: Please review.