The Absence of Faith

by FaintAisling

How did Lord Voldemort come to be? Take a look into the dark mind of a young genius named Tom Riddle and find out.

Disclaimer:  I don't anything that pertains to The Harry Potter Universe.  I only wish to live in it.  I would've made a great Gryffindor…It all belongs to J.K. Rowling.

AN:  In the style of Nemesis, I decided to try my hand at the mysterious story of Tom Riddle.  I hope she doesn't mind.  I know that I could never be as good as her, but, please, bear with me.  I can try.  This is my version of his story, so, don't say in a review that that was wrong or this was wrong…Just give it a chance.  ^_^

                        Chapter One

                                    So It Begins

            The lonely boy stood leaning on a frail-looking wire fence.  The other children were playing kick-the-can and ignoring him.  He watched them for a time with a bored look on his face before turning to look on the other side of the fence.  This time the look on his face was one of jealousy as he saw two adults with a child.  They walked by him without looking at the dirty, scruffy boy.  The child, however, offered a quiet smile as if in condolences that she had a family and he didn't.  He scowled at her and turned back to the other children, still playing their worthless game.

            The boy's name was Tom Riddle and his residence was a poor, rundown orphanage.  The Joan D'Arc House of Orphans to be exact.  This was where you ended up if there was no hope of adoption.  All the other children were Tom's age (Eleven) or older, and none of them found Tom to be pleasant company.  It wasn't Tom's fault.  It was the other children.  Children at that age can be cruel to what they don't understand, and Tom definitely fell into that category. 

            His hair was a pitch black that stuck everywhere no matter how many times he tried to tame it.  Whenever Mr. Hood, the orphanage owner, took the time to notice Tom, he'd take him to the barbershop to get his hair trimmed.  It was never any use as it grew back the next morning.  Tom was a tall and awkward sort of boy who was always clumsy, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.  His eyes were what stood out, though.  They were a deep blue with flecks of bright green.  When he looked at the other kids, they could swear he was reading their greatest fears and desires.  That was what started the taunting.

            "Hey, Riddle.  Why'd the chicken cross the road?"  One boy yelled across the playground.  Tom rolled his eyes.

            "That got old when we were seven, Vogel," he answered his voice soft and his gaze locked on an interesting spot in the bushes.  "Besides, I wouldn't know, I haven't found out since the last time you asked me, which was this morning."

            "You don't have to get smart with me," Vogel said, stalking across the yard.  "You always think you're better then us.  You and your stupid books.  They're gonna get you nowhere, and you know it.  How's Shakeistotle or something going to help you when you get dumped in the real world?"

            "Shakespeare and Aristotle," Tom muttered. 

            "What?"

            "Nothing," he sighed.  "I'm going in.  It's too cold out here."

            "You're not leaving just yet.  Why don't you come play a game with us?  I just made it up today.  Haven't even played it yet."

            All the other orphans were gathered in a circle, hoping to catch a glimpse of yet another Vogel-Riddle fight.  Vogel's friend, Stilson, stepped to the front by Vogel and smiled sadistically at Tom.  He groaned inwardly.  This wasn't going to be pretty.

            "I really don't want to play, guys.  I'm tired."

            "See, Stilson, I told you he was too good for us.  He doesn't want to play," Vogel said, tauntingly.  

            "Well, we're just going to have to make him."

            "Yep."

            Before Tom could blink or react, he was pinned on the ground by two other boys.  Vogel walked up to Tom and knelt down to look at his face.  He tried to strain his head and look up but he was on his stomach, and it hurt too much.  Vogel grabbed a handful of Tom's hair and pulled it sharply up.  

            "Look at me!" he screamed.  "Look at me."

            "I'm looking," Tom said quietly, causing Vogel to loosen his grip.  "I'm looking at a piece of trash."  And with a sudden burst of energy, he thrust both of the boys off of him and jumped to his feet.  Vogel growled and launched himself at Tom, knocking him down.  He jumped up and kicked Tom repeatedly in his stomach.  Tom tried to hold in the screams of pain, not wanting to give him satisfaction, but they were hard to ignore.  Finally, he opened his mouth and screamed in agony, surprising Vogel so much he stopped. 

            Tears ran down his face, smudging the dirt.  Blood flecked his lips.  He moaned and rolled over, trying to hide his tears and hurt. 

            "Go away," he whispered savagely to Vogel.  "All right?  You've proven a stupid point.  I'm just like you.  My blood is red.  I cry.  Go away."

            Vogel backed away slowly and turned to the other kids.  One by one they began to cheer.  Somebody had proven Tom Riddle was the same as them.  The children ran inside to celebrate and get warm, leaving Tom by himself on the ground.  He stared at their retreating backs with hatred. 

            "You are wrong.  I am not the same.  I am better and I will prove it.  You will beg for mercy at my feet," he whispered furiously. 

                                                            ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            That night, at the mess hall, nobody bothered Tom.  They didn't look at him or speak to him.  It was just as before.  They acted as if he wasn't there.  Even as Tom got ready for bed in the loo, nobody barged in, which was highly unusual.  He sat on the floor, enjoying the peace and quiet for once.  He leaned his head back on the cool wall and dreamed.

            He was walking down a hallway.  It was dark and long, but there was a door at the end and someone was calling his name.

            "Tom, Tom," a feminine voice called.  "Tom, are you ready?"

            "I'm coming!  Don't leave yet!" his young eager voice called.  "Don't leave."

            "Honey, I could never leave you.  As long as I live," it answered back.

            He finally reached the door and opened it.  A young woman with a bulging belly sat in a rocking chair, rocking back and forth.   A distant tapping noise could be heard.  She looked up at him and smiled.

            "I've been waiting for you," she said.  She was beautiful.  Her hair was pitch black and pulled into a loose ponytail.  Her eyes were the same as his. 

            "Mum?" he whispered, hopefully.

            She laughed a musical laugh.  "Of course, silly.  Come and give me a hug."

            He ran into her arms eagerly.  She smelled wonderful, like a mother should.  
            "Listen to me," she whispered in his hair.  He nodded eagerly.  Anything for her.  Just as long as it didn't end. "You're going to make a great choice one of these days.  Make the right one.  Do you hear me?"  She pulled him back and looked him in the eyes.  "Make the right choice.  Remember, blood is not everything.  Remember what I said."  

            He nodded and moved to embrace her again. 

            "No, Tom, dear.  It's time to go.  I need you to open the window to your future."

            She pushed him out the door, deaf to his cries and left him in the hallway. 

            "Mum," he cried, banging on the door.  "Mum!"

            The tapping noise that he heard earlier grew louder and louder and louder and louder…

            Tom jerked awake and looked for the source of the tapping.  He noticed a large barn owl at the window.  Puzzled, he went to open it.  It flew in without anymore invitation and landed of the sink.  Tom stared at with wonder.  What was an owl doing in the loo?  It chirped and stuck its leg out in annoyance.  Attached was an envelope with bright green ink.  It said:

            Tom Riddle

           

            Small Bathroom

            The Joan D'Arc House of Orphans

           

            London, England

            He jerked in surprise and opened it with trembling fingers.  He stood, dumbfounded, at what he read.  He read it once, then twice, and a third time, but it didn't sink in until the fourth.

                                    HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

                                Headmaster: GERALD DIPPIT

(Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)

        Dear Mr. Riddle,

        We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

            Term begins on September 1.  We await your owl by no later that July 31.

            Yours sincerely,

                Albus Dumbledore

            Albus Dumbledore

            Deputy Headmaster

            Tom looked stupidly at the letter.  Witchcraft?  Wizardry?  Was this fake?  Vogel…It had to be Vogel.  But, then, how could he have gotten an owl.  He looked at the letter and noticed a postscript that he overlooked.

            P.S.  Since you live with muggles, we will send a Ministry official to help you adjust.

            Tom jumped for joy.  He could leave this place. 

            "Of course," he told the owl.  "Of course, I'll apply right now."

            The owl hooted in agreement and settled down.  Tom grabbed a pen from the bathroom shelf and turned the letter over, telling this Dumbledore of course he'd come, just send an official.  He tied the reply to the leg of the owl and watched it take off into the night.  His heart was racing a hundred miles an hour.  He was excited at the thought of leaving this dump.  He looked at the other slip of paper and grinned. 

            'This is to good to be true', he thought.  'A wand!  I knew I was different than the others.'

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            AN:  So…How do you like it?  This is only the beginning.  Be warned…*grins*  I have it in for the unrecognized stories…I mean go take a look at my other story The Price of Glory.  It's about Peter…Go read it, now!  And, on your way out…Wanna do me a favor?  Review?  Please?  Thanks!