A/N: I conducted some research on conditions of orphanages in the 1930s, 40s, and 50s. They were horrible by many accounts. It was practically normal for orphans to be subjected to abuse. I strongly suspect that the environment in which Riddle grew up primarily influenced his behaviour and, to some degree, his personality. It would be unrealistic to expect someone who had spent most of his or her childhood under horrific conditions to end up "normal" or good. Based on actual accounts I read from adults who grew up in orphanages in the 1940s and 50s, they either ended up in mental institutions or spent time in prison. The one thing I learned was that they desired (consciously or subconsciously) to be wanted and to be loved. However, they had no concept of what love was or how to demonstrate it because love was never given or shown to them. Those stories broke my heart.
Warning: Graphic child abuse and animal cruelty ahead.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter ideas, characters, and places do not belong to me. They belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers.
~~~~~~
Immortalis Dominus Dominatus
Part I: Alpha
by Auror5
"We know the truth, not only by the reason, but by the heart." ~Blaise Pascal
~~~~~~
Chapter I: Tiger
... 1937 ...
If Nigel did not become silent, he would be responsible for the severe beating of every boy in the wing.
"Shh, Nigel," exclaimed David in a loud whisper.
"I want me mummy," the six year old wailed in the dark.
"She's dead," responded ten-year-old Tom, and then thought, Like mine.
Nigel cried harder.
Several of the boys whispered for him to shut up.
"You're going to have us all whipped if you don't shut up," said Tom anxiously while sitting up in bed.
Nigel continued to sob.
"Please, someone do something before Krupp shows up," said eight-year-old Chester fearfully. "I don't want the strap again."
Tom rose from his cot, one of many aligned in neat rows.
Distantly, the boys heard a door slam.
"Oh shite. Krupp's coming," exclaimed Alfred. "Shut up, Nigel."
Tom leapt off his cot as he heard the ominous sound of Krupp's booted feet approaching. He hurriedly fashioned his pillow and blankets to give the appearance of someone in bed. That accomplished, he ran over to Nigel's cot and threw his body on top of the sobbing boy as the menacing footsteps crept closer. Then, heart racing with fear, he placed a pillow over the small boy's head. Nigel began to struggle beneath him as Tom quickly flung the thin blanket over them both.
The door to the orphans' room swung open, heralding the arrival of a tall, very muscular man. Krupp stood in the doorway for a moment surveying the room. Then he left.
"That was close," ten-year-old Henry whispered with an audible exhalation. "Thanks for shutting him up, Tom."
Tom slid off Nigel, removed the pillow, and slapped him. Nigel whimpered.
"Don't make any more noise, Nigel," said Tom in a stern voice that shook with relief as he returned to his cot.
A few hours later, Tom awoke to Nigel sobbing again.
Tom spent a few minutes staring at the ceiling vividly recalling his most recent flogging for accidentally breaking a soapy saucer. He knew that it was a matter of time before Nigel's crying would result in another beating. Sighing with dismay and apprehension, Tom rose from his cot and tiptoed to Nigel's bed. He then climbed in with him.
"Nigel, you must stop crying. You're going to get us all the strap," he whispered in the six-year-old's ear.
"I want me mummy."
"She's dead. Forget about her. She isn't coming back."
Nigel wailed louder.
Tom clamped his hand over Nigel's mouth. "Shh! Do you want us all to be punished? I don't want the strap again."
Nigel tried to remove Tom's hand from his mouth. His muffled cries grew louder. Tom became alarmed.
"Look, Nigel, you've been here for only a few days. You don't know what the strap is like. If you don't shut up, you're going to be beaten. D'you want to know what it's like?"
Nigel managed to pry Tom's hand from his mouth.
"Yes," he sniffed.
"They take you into this room, have you strip, and then whip you until you bleed."
"I want to go home," he wailed. "I want Mummy."
Then Nigel began to bawl harder.
Tom cruelly placed both of his hands over the boy's mouth. Nigel's muffled cries became louder and more frantic as he struggled to escape Tom's grip.
In desperation, Tom removed his hands from Nigel's mouth and whisked the pillow from beneath the boy's head. He placed it over Nigel's face where he firmly pressed it. Nigel struggled desperately to remove the pillow that was suffocating him. To prevent him from succeeding, Tom threw all of his weight on Nigel to gain a tighter hold. Nigel's efforts to escape grew weaker. Tom soon felt Nigel's body go limp. He removed the pillow from the six-year-old's head.
"Nigel," Tom whispered.
"Nigel," he repeated, fearfully
"Nigel?"
Frightened of what Nigel's still and silent form portended, Tom swiftly left for his cot. A minute later, the door swung open and Krupp peered into the gloomy, silent wing.
******
He woke to whispers.
"I think he's dead."
"How do you know?"
"Look at him. He looks like Toby did when he died."
"Is he cold?"
"I don't know. Touch him."
"No."
"I'll do it."
"Is he cold?"
"Yes."
"That means he's dead."
"Tom's awake."
"Tom, Nigel's dead."
A stab of terror penetrated Tom's heart. Pretending that he had no knowledge of the circumstances surrounding Nigel's death, Tom swung his feet from his cot with hands clasped into fists to hide their shaking.
"Let me see."
They stepped aside to allow Tom to view the body.
Tom gazed down at Nigel's chalk-white face and blue tinged lips.
Every boy's head turned when Krupp entered the room.
"Get your clothes on," he barked. "What's this?" Krupp gazed down at Nigel.
"Shite." Krupp turned to the boys. "Go on. Put on your clothes, I said! NOW!"
******
"I saw you last night," whispered Phillip, aged nine, to Tom as they washed dishes after supper.
Several other boys, all teenagers, were also assisting with cleaning the numerous bowls, plates, glasses, and silverware. At that moment, they were ignoring Tom and Phillip.
Nervous, Tom turned to face Phillip with a soapy glass in his hands. "What are you getting on at?"
"Nigel. I saw you smother him."
Scared, Tom dropped the glass into a tub full of nearly scalding, dirty water and then grabbed the collar of Phillip's uniform.
"I didn't mean to!" he whispered a bit too loudly. "It was an accident. I didn't mean to."
Undaunted, Phillip replied, "You'll hang when they find out about it."
Inches from Phillip's face, Tom said, "You better not say anything, Phillip. It was an accident."
"But still...."
Starting to drown in panic, a thought popped into Tom's head and he seized it. "If you tell, I'll tell them that you watched me while I did it. You'll hang for not stopping me. You helped kill him, too, Phillip."
Speechless, Phillip's eyes widened in terror.
Tom let go of Phillip's collar.
"We're in this together, Phillip. If they find out about me, they'll find out about you. Let's promise we'll forget this."
"All right," Phillip said in a tremulous voice.
"Let's shake hands to seal our promise."
They gravely shook hands over the memory of a dead child.
******
The boys, aged ten years and up, filed into the orphanage after a hard day's labour at Holwark Textile Factory. Tom Marvolo Riddle carried bruises on his face that were administered by the factory foreman for not moving fast enough to suit his purposes.
On their way into the meal hall, two large men roughly snatched Tom from the queue and marched him swiftly down the corridor. Completely caught off guard, Tom wondered why he was about to be disciplined. He was brusquely shoved into what the boys referred to as the Whipping Room.
"What did I do?" Tom wailed, loudly. "What did I do?"
"Shut up," snarled Krupp, and backhanded him.
Tom fell to the floor.
"Get up, boy," Cracken said, gripping a long, loosely coiled whip.
Blood trickling from his nose, he staggered to his feet.
"You know the routine," said Krupp.
Tom summarily began to remove his clothes. Once he was naked, he turned to grip the metal bar anchored to the wall. The whip bit into his flesh, and Tom shrieked. Again, Cracken lashed the whip forcefully across his back, tearing into his skin. Tom shrieked until his throat became raw and his screams hoarse.
At some point, during the abuse, Tom hazily thought, as he fought to maintain a grip on the bar, Cracken had beaten him longer than normal. His entire backside in excruciating agony, Tom passed out.
When he came to, he found himself lying naked on a cold, stone floor in a tiny dark room. Tom was in Solitary. His back, bum, and legs felt as though they were on fire. Fury welled up inside him at the thought that Phillip had perhaps betrayed him. If he told, I'll make him pay, Tom thought before losing consciousness again.
Tom was in Solitary, in the dark, for a week without food and clothing. All he was given was water. The raw, bloody stripes on his body slowly healed.
******
Tom sat with the other boys in the hall silently partaking of a skimpy meal of broth and mouldy bread. The boys knew better not to speak while eating.
"Riddle, come up here," demanded Lewiston.
Tom placed his spoon on the table, and slowly walked toward the front of the hall. He was still hungry. Once he reached the table where the master sat relishing a healthy and hearty meal, he said, "Sir?"
"Turn around and face the hall," Lewiston barked while unfolding a letter.
He complied with weariness in his heart.
"'Dear Mister Riddle,'" Lewiston read. "'We are immensely pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'"(1)
Whispering filled the hall like the sound of hundreds of fluttering wings.
"SILENCE!"
Lewiston resumed reading the letter.
"'You will find enclosed a list of the necessary books and equipment. Your term begins on the twenty-sixth of August. We await your reply by no later than the twenty-fourth of June.
"'Sincerely, Albus Dumbledore, Deputy Headmaster.'"(2)
Lewiston refolded the letter and placed it on the table. "Boys, we have Satan in our midst."
Tom stared at his worn, ill-fitting shoes while two hundred and twenty-one pairs of eyes gazed upon him with fear.
"Strip, boy," ordered Krupp. "We want to see if you have a tail."
"Sir?"
Stewart leaned across the table and boxed him on the ear. "You heard him," he growled.
Tom staggered from the blow, but recovered before he could fall. He reached up to cradle his rapidly swelling ear.
"Strip!"
Reluctantly, Tom removed his clothes in front of the entire orphanage. The youngest boys giggled behind their hands as Tom stood in front of the assembly nude. He blinked back tears and tried to cover his privates.
"Turn around, boy. Let them see if ye've got a forked tail," said Bingham leering.
Tom turned so that the boys could see his bum. Tears of humiliation leaked down his face.
"Truly amazing!" Lewiston exclaimed. "This imp doesn't have a tail."
"Perhaps he has horns," drawled Krupp. "Why don't we find out, eh?"
Bingham rose and walked around the table towards Tom. "Turn around, boy, and face the hall," he snarled.
Tears flowing and nose running unchecked, Tom did as he was told.
Bingham grabbed Tom by the hair and yanked his head back. Then he began to cruelly shave Tom's head. Tom yelped as the sharp blade cut his scalp several times. A trickle of blood dripped into his left eye. He stood there, bald and naked, as a number of boys laughed.
"No horns or a tail, boys. As we are taught in our Holy Bible, Satan is the Master of Deception," bellowed Lewiston. "This one chose to walk amongst us in human form."
"He is infested with a demon," Cracken said. "It must be beaten out of him."
"Tweed," yelled Krupp. "Come up here!"
Visibly shaking, a boy of about seven timidly approached the front of the hall.
"Sir?"
"Beat the vile wickedness from Satan's spawn. Go on then."
Tweed half-heartedly slapped Tom.
"Boy," Lewiston shouted. "You ought to do better than that or you will get the same as this devil here."
Tweed, with as much strength as he could muster, rammed his fist into Tom's stomach.
Tom doubled up with pain.
"Stay on your feet!" barked Cracken.
"Carrisford!"
A tall sixteen-year-old eagerly approached Tom, and with pleasure in his eyes, swung his fist at Tom's face. Tom fell heavily onto the floor from the impact. He began to sob plaintively.
"Get up, demon!" Bingham said.
Blood pouring from his broken nose and a spectacular bruise blossoming on his stomach, Tom climbed slowly to his feet.
"Devon!"
One by one, each boy was called to beat the devil from Tom. He was slapped, bit, scratched, kicked, and pummelled with fists. One boy removed his shoe with excitement and whacked Tom across the forehead with it. Michelson, aged six, was the one who started the kicking by delivering a well-placed and effective kick to Tom's privates. Tom fell to his knees gasping from the agonising pain. For a fortnight afterwards, he urinated blood.
The orphanage master continued to call a boy to the front until each one had a turn long after Tom had lost consciousness.
******
Tom entered Lewiston's cramped office. He was very thin and pale from spending nearly a month in Solitary. His jet-black hair had started to re-grow and the numerous bruises administered to him by his fellow orphans were fading. He still wore a heavy bandage around his midsection while his broken ribs healed.
"Sir? You wanted to see me?"
"Yes," Lewiston snapped. "Are you daft? Why else would I call your wretched mug into me office? For tea and biscuits?"
Tom looked down at his feet.
"Satan's apprentice came to our sanctified and God-fearing orphanage on your behalf. I would have had the demon thrown out if he hadn't presented me with ten pounds. These times are difficult for a family man, very difficult.
"It would seem that this devil is of some relation to you, not surprising. Your grandfather, he said he was. Interesting he had no desire to remove you from our blessed home. We're stuck with you, imp.
"This grandfather of yours will see to it that you attend this heathen school full of devilry and will handle all affairs pertaining to it.
"I shall tell you, boy, each time Satan's apprentice shows up in our God-fearing home, you will spend a fortnight in Solitary.
"You will return to your cell for another fortnight. Go on. Get out of my sight. Your mug makes me ill."
Tom left Lewiston's office, his mind a whirlwind of emotion. He had a grandfather! As he was escorted back to the dark and cold chamber by one of the older boys, he wondered bitterly why his grandfather did not rescue him from this hell.
******
A tall man with shoulder-length, raven hair and a hawk-like countenance was waiting in Lewiston's office when Tom was brought in. Lewiston appeared nervous in the stranger's company, and kept giving the man sidelong glances.
"Er, this is Mr. Slytherin, your grandfather, boy."
"Pleased to meet you, sir."
"Come, let's get on with this," Slytherin said, gruffly. "I don't have all day."
Tom followed the man outside the orphanage. He tried to keep up with the wizard's long strides.
"Sir? Sir, where are we going?"
"Diagon Alley," he replied, coldly.
"Oh."
Slytherin glanced neither left nor right as he walked briskly to their destination.
"Sir? Are you really my grandfather?"
Without warning, Slytherin swung around and grabbed Tom by the collar. Several passersby glanced oddly at Slytherin, but did not interfere, as it was none of their business. Slytherin roughly dragged Tom into a very narrow courtyard.
"Listen, boy," he snarled. "If you had been born a witch, I wouldn't have wasted my valuable time and money on you. I am only doing this out of sense of duty, no more. I want our bloodline to continue despite the filth that has polluted it, no thanks to my wretched daughter. Don't ask more of me, boy, because you aren't going to get it."
With that, he shoved the perplexed Tom back out onto the street.
Eventually, they reached a pub called the Leaky Cauldron and walked inside. Tom observed a few of the patrons eying Slytherin nervously. Exiting the pub, they entered a small courtyard. Slytherin tapped on the brick wall with his wand. The wall dissolved into an archway leading into an entirely different alley. Tom's jaw dropped.
"Stop gawking like an idiot, boy, and follow me."
Slytherin rushed the bewildered and awed Tom from shop to shop to purchase his school supplies. He ignored all of Tom's questions and refused to slow down to allow Tom a decent time to really look. After purchasing most of the items on the list, Slytherin escorted Tom into a pub in Doubleback Alley for lunch.
Displaying no concern or compassion, Slytherin watched Tom devour his meal ravenously as though he were starving, which indeed was the case. The boys at St. Cuthbert's Orphanage received the same, without deviation, unappetizing fare day after day. For breakfast, they had a small bowl of watered down porridge and a slice of dry, stale, or mouldy bread. For lunch, they were given dry, stale, or mouldy bread with often rancid butter and an orange or an apple. For supper, the meal consisted of broth; more dry, stale, or mouldy bread, and milk, often spoiled.
This was the first wholesome and tasty meal he had ever had. He wished he could ask for more. Tom cleaned his plate of every morsel and crumb. When there was nothing left, he licked each of his fingers.
"Are you done, boy?"
Tom nodded his head.
"Good. Need to get your wand."
A few minutes later, they entered Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Slytherin. What can I do for you, today?" greeted a middle-aged appearing man with wide, pale eyes.
"This boy needs a wand."
"Is this Winona's child?" Ollivander gazed curiously at Tom.
"Yes."
"What a pity she died so young. I recall vividly the day you and Iris brought Winona in to purchase her wand. Emerald and dragon heartstring, twelve and three-quarters inches, it was."
"Never mind the past," Slytherin said, dismissively. "Get on with it, Ollivander. My time is too precious to be wasted on your idle chatter."
"Very well then," Ollivander said, eyeing Slytherin askance. "Which is your wand arm, Mister...?"
"Riddle," Tom supplied, quietly.
"Yes. Which is your wand arm?"
Tom looked over at Slytherin for assistance.
"Are you right or left handed, boy?"
Feeling stupid, Tom replied, "Left."
"Hold out your left arm, Mr. Riddle."
Tom complied.
Mr. Ollivander proceeded to take his measurements while explaining the craft of his wands to Tom.
"Here, Mr. Riddle. Try this one. Oak and unicorn hair, ten and a half inches, flexible. Go on. Give it a wave."
"No. That will not do," Ollivander said while snatching the wand from Tom's hand.
"Give this one a try. Opal and dragon heartstring, sixteen inches, and springy."
Before he could give it a wave, Ollivander grabbed the wand from him.
After waving around a number of wands, Tom began to feel bored and foolish.
"Erm, let's see...Why don't we give this one a go? Yew and phoenix feather, thirteen and a half inches, very powerful."
Tom took the proffered wand. Suddenly, he felt an odd, tingling warmth race up the entire length of his arm. He raised the wand high above his head and brought it down in a grand arc. A stream of green and silver sparks shot out from its end. Feeling pleased, Tom smiled.
"Yes!" Ollivander clapped his hands. "It looks like you are destined for greatness, Mr. Riddle. We shall all hear from you someday."
Slytherin paid for the wand, and they left the shop.
"Have to make one more stop before we go, boy."
He then led Tom into Knockturn Alley where they entered Serpensortia.
Once inside, Tom glanced around and noticed a number of containers holding a vast assortment of snakes.
"How do you do, Drakonis?" said the shop's proprietor.
"Fine. I need another runespoor. Do you have one?"
"Yes. A shipment arrived yesterday." He turned and disappeared behind a curtained doorway.
Tom moved closer to a large glass case, which housed a King Cobra. Its forked tongue flickering in and out of its mouth, the cobra slowly lifted its head and stared at Tom.
"Hello, boy," someone whispered.
Tom glanced around sharply to see who had spoken to him. He noted that the shop owner had returned, and was talking to Slytherin. Both were ignoring him. He began to question his sanity.
"It isss I who ssspeakesss to you, boy."
His heart leapt into his throat. The voice was coming from the cobra! He stared dumbfounded at the serpent.
Moving closer to the container, with furtive glances toward Slytherin and the shop owner, Tom said, "You can talk."
"Yesss, of courssse. All ssserpentsss can talk."
"Indeed? I didn't know that. Then why do snakes allow themselves to be captured?"
"Foolishhh, boy!" the cobra, hissed. "Think! We do not ssspeak Englishhh."
"What? You must be! I understand you perfectly."
"You underssstand me becaussse you ssspeak sssnake language."
"I do not!" Tom said, indignantly.
Thoroughly engrossed in their private conversation, Slytherin and the proprietor missed Tom's outburst.
"Yesss, you do, boy. You're ssspeaking it now, or at leassst you were a moment ago."
Sceptical, Tom replied, "It doesn't sound like I'm speaking snake language. It sounds like I'm speaking English!"
"No, boy, you aren't. I don't know any Englishhh. I underssstand you becaussse you're ssspeaking my language. By the way, what'sss your name?"
"Tom. Tom Riddle. What's yours?"
"Alphonssso."
"Oh. Er, nice to meet you, Mr. Alphonso."
"Sssame here, Mr. Riddle."
At that moment, Slytherin clapped a heavy, long-fingered hand on Tom's shoulder. He was carrying a small box punctured with air holes.
"Come along, boy."
"Goodbye, Mr. Riddle. Hope we meet again sssomeday."
Tom grinned at the cobra.
On the return trip to St. Cuthbert's Orphanage, Tom listened to what sounded like three snakes arguing inside the small parcel Slytherin was carrying.
"I want to go home," said one, sadly. "I misss the sssavannah, the golden sssunsssets, impalasss, and wildebeessst."
"Shhhut up, you!" another one hissed. "We're trapped in thisss dreadful cold and damp world, don't you sssee?"
"I think we shhhould plan an essscape," said yet another one.
"How?" one replied, irritably.
The conversation went on and on in that vein.
Tom pretended that he did not hear anything. He was afraid Slytherin would ridicule him if he knew he could speak to snakes.
Approaching St. Cuthbert's, Slytherin spoke. "Your school supplies shall remain with me. It was the agreement I made with that foul Muggle. I will retrieve you when it is time for you to leave for Hogwarts."
"Yes, sir."
Then Tom asked the questions that had been burning inside him since he learned he had a grandfather.
"Er, sir, what was my mother's full name? Where did my parents live? Where is my father?"
"Your wretched mother's name was Winona Astrid Slytherin. She died bringing you into this world, boy." Then he icily added, "Don't ask any more questions."
Tom thought, as he reached the steps of the orphanage, that Slytherin did not tell him what he did not already know, except his mother's full name.
******
On the platform, standing in front of a scarlet steam engine, Slytherin gave the grandson he refused to accept a few parting words of advice and instruction.
"Don't make a fool of me, boy."
"I won't, sir."
Slytherin turned to leave.
"Sir? Please, sir, can you tell me where my father is?"
Coldly gazing down at him, Slytherin beckoned Tom to follow him to an area devoid of people.
"I am going to say this only once, boy.
"Your foolish mother betrayed her family's honour and reputation by marrying and having a child by a lowly commoner. Your father is a filthy, vile animal, a Muggle. By marrying such filth, your foolish mother ruined Slytherin's honour. She allowed our pure bloodline to be polluted with Muggle slime by consorting to have a child with a subhuman.
"Your father has your namesake, Tom Riddle. You're contaminated, boy. You can never be a true Slytherin. Your blood is tainted. For centuries, us Slytherins prided ourselves on our pure bloodline. Then that bitch who was my daughter destroyed everything by marrying an animal with zero magical blood in his foul veins.
"We lived in Little Hangleton when she fell in love with that animal. Then she married Riddle against our wishes. We warned her! She left us with no alternative but to disown her. She went with that beast to London, where they lived for a short while. The vile vermin returned to Little Hangleton without my daughter.
"Then we received a letter from Winona begging us to take her back into the family. She was pregnant with you, and alone. Riddle abandoned her when he discovered that she was a witch. She wanted to come home, needed money, and a place to stay. We burned her letters.
"One day, we received a telegram from a Muggle orphanage stating that Winona had died giving birth, and asking if we would take the child from their hands. I refused to bring the impure, little bastard into my home. The telegram was destroyed.
"A few years later, my wife committed suicide. She was still grieving over her lost daughter.
"Your mother brought ruin to the Slytherin family. Salazar would turn over in his grave if he knew one of his descendants had sunk so low and allowed a filthy Muggle to pollute his bloodline.
"Just by being, boy, you bring shame to the family. Looking at you galls my blood. All I can see is the bloody vermin my daughter married. You favour him too much.
"Now, get out of my sight and onto that damn train, boy, before I take a mind to curse the very life from you."
Tears stinging his eyes, Tom lugged his heavy trunk to the train without a backwards glance. With much difficulty and no assistance, he managed to heave the trunk into an empty compartment.
Tom sat in a corner, by the window, so that he could watch the students climb onto the train. He wiped the sweat from his face and brushed the damp hair off his forehead. Tom did not remember ever seeing young girls up so close before. He only recalled seeing them from a distance. Also, he had never dreamed there were so many wizards and witches in existence. As he gazed upon parents sending off their children, he wondered what it would feel like to be embraced or kissed. No one had ever done that to him. I wonder what it is like to have a mother, he thought.
His train of thought was broken by a girl of about thirteen years entering the compartment.
"Do you mind?" she said, haughtily.
Tom shook his head.
A blonde boy about his age followed the girl into the compartment. On their heels, followed two girls and a boy.
The girl who had spoken to Tom sat directly across from him. He stared at her in wonder. A girl, she was! So close, he could reach out and touch her if he wanted. She had sleek, whitish-blonde, shoulder-length hair; light grey eyes, and a pointy face. The boy who entered with the girl favoured her in looks, but his hair was slightly darker and his eyes were a denim shade of blue. He continued to avidly watch the girl, even as the train began to move and pick up speed.
About five minutes into the trip, the girl finally noticed Tom's unwavering attention.
"Weren't you ever taught that it is considered poor manners to stare?" she said, scornfully.
Tom blushed and looked away.
A girl with dark brown hair snickered. "He acts as though he has never seen a girl before."
The red colouring in his face deepened as Tom began to feel angry.
"I think he fancies you, Rhiannon," said the girl with long, honey-blonde hair.
"Oh, please, Winsome," Rhiannon retorted while rolling her eyes.
The two boys glanced over at Tom and smirked. Tom attempted to ignore them, with fists clenched in anger.
At some point during the ride, Tom fell asleep. Someone tugging on his arm woke him. His eyes flew open.
"What?" he said, groggily.
The blonde boy with denim blue eyes sitting beside him said, "Do you want anything?"
He observed the dark haired girl selecting various items from a trolley. The girl gave several coins to the old witch pushing the food-laden cart.
"Erm, I'm..." He was about to say that he was not hungry when his stomach betrayed him by growling audibly.
"I'm not feeling very well. My stomach is a bit ill."
"Oh," replied the blonde boy.
Fighting back tears that threatened to spill, Tom turned to stare out the window. Hot, bitter resentment burned in his heart. Slytherin, uncaring, did not bother to give him a few measly coins to stave off his hunger pangs. The last meal he had consisted of watery porridge and a stale crust of bread. That was hours ago. Now he was being deprived of lunch. He forced himself to return to sleep so that he would not have to feel the hunger pains tearing at his stomach.
It was dark when he awoke, and the train was slowing down.
The blonde boy, the only one who seemed willing to speak to him civilly, told him that he ought to put on his robe.
******
He and the other first years stood at the front of the Great Hall waiting to be sorted. Tom was still unclear about what this sorting ceremony was all about. Everything around him was strange and overwhelming. However, he much preferred this odd, wondrous place to the orphanage. Starving, he half-listened to the sorting.
After some time, Tom finally heard his name called. He approached the stool and slowly picked up the patched and frayed hat. Tom sat down and then pulled it over his head.
At first, there was nothing. Then he heard a sharp intake of breath. The Sorting Hat shrieked,
"SLYTHERIN."
Tom slowly walked toward the table where a number of students were hooting and clapping loudly.
"Hullo," said Uthman Malfoy, the blonde boy who had sat next to him on the train.
"Hello."
The sorting ceremony tarried on a while longer, and then was followed by a short, inspiring speech by Headmaster Armando Dippet. By the end of Dippet's announcement, Tom was weak with hunger.
He turned to face the table and witnessed the most food he had ever seen in his life in one place. He did not know where to start! There were meat dishes; roasted, baked, fried, and creamed potatoes; a variety of vegetables: steamed, baked, boiled, or fried; salads; different types of breads; soups, and stews. Uncaring what anyone thought of him, Tom voraciously sampled everything. The only items he bypassed were the soups. He was sick of soup.
"I thought your stomach was ill," drawled Malfoy.
Tom swallowed a piece of pork chop. "It's better now."
"Oh."
Then the puddings were served. Tom had ice cream; a treacle tart; a slice of apple and raspberry pie; a jelly-filled donut, and a chocolate éclair before he felt he would explode if he ate another morsel.
******
By mid-October, Tom still had not made any friends, even with the boys with whom he shared a room. His roommates maintained their distance. Lonely, he spent most of his time in the library or on his bed reading. Tom had already read Hogwarts, A History three times. Now he was studying Hogwarts' founding fathers. Tom was particularly interested in his ancestor. His teachers were fond of the handsome, quiet, polite boy who was eager to learn beyond what was assigned.
******
Malfoy, McKinley, Dougal, LaSalle, Baird, and Rudyard entered the first year boys' room as Tom was reading about the first of many disagreements between Slytherin and Gryffindor. LaSalle closed the door.
"Tell us, Riddle, are you a Mudblood?" said Maximillian LaSalle.
"A what?"
"Are you a Mudblood?" repeated Cole Rudyard.
"I don't know what that is."
"Did you hear? He doesn't know what a Mudblood is," exclaimed Miles Dougal, incredulously.
"A Mudblood is someone who is Muggle-born," answered Uthman Malfoy. "A witch or wizard born to Muggle parents."
"We want to know if you're a filthy Mudblood," said Zephyrus Baird.
"No."
"I told you he wasn't," said Alvar McKinley, emphatically.
"You aren't?" Uthman responded.
"No. My mother was a witch."
"What about your father?"
Tom was quiet.
"He was a filthy Muggle, wasn't he?" said Maximillian LaSalle.
"Yes," he replied, ashamed.
"Urgh!" exclaimed Cole Rudyard, an expression of distaste on his face. "I would kill myself if I had Muggle slime in my blood."
"How could you be here, in Slytherin, with an animal for a father?" said Zephyrus Baird.
"Salazar Slytherin is my ancestor," boasted Tom.
"Liar," shouted Maximillian.
"I'M NOT!" Tom leapt from his bed with an irrational burst of fury.
"Slytherin wouldn't let Muggle swine into his family!"
"I AM A SLYTHERIN!"
"How?" Alvar McKinley said, quietly.
"My grandfather is Drakonis Slytherin!"
Stunned, the boys stared at Tom.
"But, but," Miles Dougal faltered, "everyone knows Slytherins hate Muggles. So, how could your father be a filthy Muggle?"
"My mother married one."
"Urgh!" replied Zephyrus Baird, shaking his head at this travesty.
"How could she? Didn't she have proper wizarding pride?" said Uthman, his lip curled up with disgust.
"Did you ask your mum why she married an animal?" Alvar McKinley said.
"No. She died before I could ask."
"Oh."
"She deserved it for marrying a filthy, vile Muggle," commented Cole Rudyard.
Tom leapt onto Cole, knocking him flat onto the floor. Straddling Cole, he punched him in the face.
"Don't you ever say anything like that about my mother again!" Tom snarled.
"Sorry," Cole said, contrite. He saw something in Tom's eyes that he did not care for.
Tom stood up.
"What about your father?" said Miles.
"What about him?" he snapped.
"Where is he?" said Uthman impatiently.
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"No. I don't care either. I hate him."
"He's your father, though," responded Alvar.
"So? He's a filthy Muggle, isn't he? He abandoned my mother and me because she was a witch. It's his fault that she's dead." Tom omitted that he blamed his father for being raised in a Muggle orphanage. He did not want them to know he lived in St. Cuthbert's.
Alvar shrugged his shoulders.
"Let's vote," said Maximillian. "Should we let him in as part of our group?"
"I don't know," replied Zephyrus. "How do we know he isn't pretending not to like Muggles?"
"I'm not!"
"Then swear allegiance to Lord Grindelwald!"
"Who?" Tom frowned.
"Crickey! He doesn't even know who Lord Grindelwald is! Where have you been? Living with Muggles?" said Uthman.
His face reddened. "Why don't you just tell me who he is?"
"Lord Grindelwald is going to rid the magical world of those who aren't pure and of those who don't have proper wizarding pride," answered Cole.
"Oh."
"So, do you swear eternal allegiance to Lord Grindelwald?" said Alvar.
Tom shrugged. "Yes."
Miles turned to Zephyrus. "I say we should let him in."
"Me, too," said Alvar.
"Count me in," Uthman said.
Cole and Maximillian reluctantly agreed.
"What about you?" Uthman said to Zephyrus.
He shrugged. "All right."
By the end of November, Tom's close friends were Uthman, Alvar, and Miles.
******
During the Christmas holidays, Tom was the only Slytherin who remained at Hogwarts. He used the time alone to explore the castle and to find out more about Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets. Tom desperately wanted to be a proper Slytherin. He wished that his mother had never set eyes on his Muggle father. Sometimes he hated her. It was her fault he was not pureblood. Tom hated the very idea of being part Muggle, and felt inferior around his pureblood friends. He despised the Muggle in him. Maybe I can reopen the Chamber of Secrets to continue Salazar's work, he thought, to rid Hogwarts of Mudbloods.
He also utilized the time to make a foray into the girls' dormitory to steal coins that happened to be lying about in the rooms. His search netted three Galleons, ten Sickles, and thirty-two Knuts. He did not want to return on the Hogwarts Express without money to purchase food.
******
Tom awoke in the empty room feeling angry and depressed. He hated his life. Uthman, Alvar, Miles, and the rest of the boys were enjoying Christmas with their families. He wished that he had a mother and father to go home to, parents who would want him. It hurt him grievously that his grandfather rejected him. Tom wished bitterly that he were pureblood, that he did not have to grow up in a Muggle orphanage.
He rose from his bed and walked over to the cage that housed Cole's pet rat, Pip. For a half hour, Tom watched, as one transfixed, Pip scuttle around shredding parchment. With a glazed, remote look in his eyes, Tom reached into the cage and removed the rat. Pip squeaked a few times and sniffed at Tom's unusually long fingers.
Tom wrapped his fingers around the rat's body for a better grip. Then he began to squeeze. Pip squealed and struggled in his hand. Frantic, the rat bit at Tom's fingers as he compressed the life from it. Tom, detached, used both hands to strangle Pip. He ignored the pain as the rat shredded his skin. Pip's eyes bulged grotesquely from its head. Suddenly, blood squirted from the rodent's mouth, nose, ears, and rear end. Tom's fingers dug into the rat's flesh. Then he dropped the rodent onto the floor and methodically stamped on it until it was a gory pulp.
Cole returned from the Christmas holidays to discover that his cherished Pip had escaped from its cage never to be found.
******
Tom, Uthman, Alvar, and Miles were grouped around a table in the Slytherin common room working on their Dark Arts assignment. Dark Arts was Tom's favourite lesson after Transfiguration and Potions. He did not particularly care for Dumbledore, the Transfiguration professor. Unlike his other teachers, Dumbledore seemed a little cool towards him. Tom did not understand Dumbledore's behaviour. He made it a special point to be polite to all of his professors. Always, Tom made an effort to smile and compliment his teachers; even though, he secretly distrusted all authority figures and held them in contempt.
At this moment, the Hogwarts professors were not on his mind. Tom, a few weeks ago, learned that his ancestor, the great Salazar Slytherin, was able to communicate with snakes. He discovered that the term for those who had this rare and amazing gift was Parselmouth. I am a Parselmouth and the heir of Salazar Slytherin, Tom said to himself. Tom was debating whether or not he should share this information with his chums. It would prove to them that he was a true Slytherin, despite the contamination in his blood.
"I have a secret," he said in a low voice.
"What is it?" replied Alvar.
"You must promise you will not tell anyone."
"All right," the three boys chorused.
He stared at them for a brief moment. "If you break your promise, I'll hurt you."
Tom then took a deep breath and blurted out, "I'm a Parselmouth."
"You're joking!" exclaimed Miles.
"I'm not. I found out last summer while visiting Serpensortia."
They stared at him with their mouths agape.
"If we found a snake, you would be able to speak to it?" said Uthman, amazed.
"Yes."
"Excuse me," Rhiannon Malfoy said, haughtily. Nanna and Winsome, her best friends, flanked her.
"I apologise for interrupting you little boys." She glanced at Tom with utter disdain. "I'm sure you four think that your little conversation is important, but it isn't. Mine is.
"Mahnnie," she said, turning to her brother, "Mother wants to know why you are asking for more money."
Uthman's eyes darted fleetingly over to Tom. "Erm, I lost mine somehow. I don't know what happened to it."
She rolled her eyes and said, "Really. If you're going to be so careless about your money, Uthman, then perhaps Mother and Father shouldn't send you any."
"Rhian, just tell Mother I lost mine and need more. Please?"
Rhiannon sighed. "All right."
Then she turned and left with her friends.
Tom watched her go with his hands clenched so tightly into fists that his fingernails pierced the skin of his palms. He had an overwhelming desire to destroy Rhiannon's pretty, aloof face.
"Tom," Alvar said, "if we found a snake, would you show us?"
He returned his attention to his chums.
"You don't have to find one."
"What do you mean?" said Miles. "You need a snake to speak to."
"Yes, but you don't have to find one, stupid. I can conjure one up."
"How?" said Uthman.
"Come to our room and I'll show you. Hurry before Max, Cole, and Zephyrus return."
Once in the room, Tom closed and locked the door.
"I learned this from a book in the Dark Arts section. Watch."
He pulled out his wand, pointed it to the opposite side of the room, and said, "Serpensortia."
A large, green snake with red eyes appeared.
Uthman, Alvar, and Miles screamed, grabbed one another, and prepared to escape.
Tom rounded on them with his wand pointed at the three boys. "Shut up! Don't any of you leave this room."
The snake was rapidly uncoiling itself and slithering toward the boys.
"Stop," Tom calmly ordered the snake.
Hissing and spitting, the snake halted its movement. "Why?" it said.
"Because I command you."
"No one commandsss me!"
"I conjured you up, and I can just as easily send you back."
"What would you sssay, boy, if I desssided to sssink my fangsss into your neck?"
"You wouldn't dare."
"Indeed I would!"
The snake then made a swift movement towards Tom. Before it could reach him, he waved his wand and the serpent disappeared in a puff of green smoke.
Uthman, Alvar, and Miles huddled against the door with identical expressions of terror on their faces.
"See? I told you. I'm the heir of Slytherin."
******
He dreaded returning to the orphanage. The mere thought was enough to cause him to lose his appetite. Tom knew he had to eat something on the train because it would be his last decent meal for a while.
"Tom, are you all right?" said Alvar.
"Yes."
"Then why don't you want to play with us?" Uthman said.
"I'm tired."
"Oh."
He returned to staring out the window, with black despair filling his heart.
******
"You'll have to leave your school things with me, boy. You'll get them back when I see you next."
"But...but, sir, a few of the professors gave me assignments for the summer," Tom told Drakonis Slytherin in alarm.
"That should teach you a lesson, boy. Next time, complete your assignments on the train."
Hurt and anger welled up in his chest. God, he hated himself for being part Muggle. He wished that he had been born a proper, pureblood wizard like his grandfather and Hogwarts chums.
When Tom arrived at the orphanage, he was told that he was being moved to the older boys' ward. Before he joined his new companions, Tom would spend a fortnight in Solitary. He spent the first two weeks of the summer holidays in a cold, dark cell in which he received only a cup of water and a stale crust of bread each day. He wished he were back at Hogwarts.
~~~~~~
(1)J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and The Sorcerer's Stone, (Scholastic Press, 1998), p51.
(2)J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and The Sorcerer's Stone, (Scholastic Press, 1998), p51.