Sweet Dreams are made of these,
Who am I to disagree?
I travel the world and the seven seas
Everybody's looking for something
Many stories begin in the dead of winter, or on a dark and stormy night. Perhaps this story would best begin under those circumstances-however, this is not the case. It all begins on a warm summer evening, when the sun was setting in a fiery blaze of glory, seeming to burn holes of violet and crimson in the soft summer sky.
Tom sat on his bed, his wiry frame curled in a ball, arms clutched about him. Screams emanated from the floor below-his father and mother's voices were the source. What they were arguing about, Tom had long ago ceased to care. All there was between his parents now were their fights, and he hated them both for it. Neither of them had even noticed that he was home from school-that he had just finished his final year at Hogwarts. Weren't they supposed to care about him? Wasn't he supposed to be important? He curled himself up tighter, his dark hair slightly tousled. He came home for the summer to THIS? He sobbed internally, but let no tears show. Growing up in this household, with his father, he knew better than to show weakness. He gritted his teeth as his parent's voices became even louder. HE shook his head, trying to block out the sound of their screams, but couldn't. They were loud, incessant, and very real. His father began to swear, and the familiar sound of a hand against flesh rang out through the home. Tom shook his head, and uncurled himself. That was it. He was NOT going to stay here- no one, and nothing could change his mind. He quickly threw all of his possessions in his trunk. He would go into the wizarding world, and disappear. No one would know his name, and he would finally have the peace that he longed for. No more screams. No more tears.
Some of them want to use you
Some of them want to get used by you
Some of them want to abuse you
Some of them want to be abused
He finished packing his trunk, his parents still screaming. Dragging the trunk down the stairs, wand in hand, he slipped towards the front door. If they didn't notice him return from Hogwarts, they sure wouldn't notice if he left now. He cracked the door open slightly, and dragged his trunk out onto the front step. He took a look back, and heard his mother scream yet again-something was different about this scream, though. It was not of anger-this was a scream of fear. Tom ran back inside the house, brandishing his wand. Running into the living room, where his parents stood fighting, he came across a most macabre scene. His father had a gun drawn, and pointed right at his mother's head. He cocked the hammer back, and let out one shot. Before Tom could say or do anything, his mother lay dead on the floor. He knelt down quickly beside her, and reached for her wrist. He felt for a pulse, but found none. Looking up at his father, Tom's face bore an expression of pure rage.
Sweet dreams are made of these,
Who am I to disagree?
Travel the world and the seven seas,
Everybody's looking for something.
He stood up, unable to take much more. Raising his wand, he called out into the emptiness of the house:
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
A bright green light flashed through the room, enveloping everything. When the light receded, Mr. Riddle lay dead on the floor, the gun still in hand. Tom lowered his wand to his side, no emotions betrayed by his face. All that was readable in Tom's expression was a cold, unfeeling presence-so different from the Tom of a few moments ago. With a sharp inhalation, he walked back to the door.
HHold your head up
Keep your head up
Moving on.
Once outside again, he grabbed his trunk. He would never return to this place-NEVER. There was no love there, no one to forgive him, or tell him what he had done was right. It was too late now. Dragging his trunk to the curb, he grinned wryly. One day, his name would be feared above all else. He would release his wrath on the wizarding world that had made his father shun him and his mother. It would only be a matter of time. First, though, he needed further training in the Dark Arts. And followers. Yes, lots of followers. He smiled sinisterly as he dragged his trunk down the street, away from his former home.
"I'm not Tom Marvolo Riddle." He said quietly to himself "I am Lord Voldemort."
Who am I to disagree?
I travel the world and the seven seas
Everybody's looking for something
Many stories begin in the dead of winter, or on a dark and stormy night. Perhaps this story would best begin under those circumstances-however, this is not the case. It all begins on a warm summer evening, when the sun was setting in a fiery blaze of glory, seeming to burn holes of violet and crimson in the soft summer sky.
Tom sat on his bed, his wiry frame curled in a ball, arms clutched about him. Screams emanated from the floor below-his father and mother's voices were the source. What they were arguing about, Tom had long ago ceased to care. All there was between his parents now were their fights, and he hated them both for it. Neither of them had even noticed that he was home from school-that he had just finished his final year at Hogwarts. Weren't they supposed to care about him? Wasn't he supposed to be important? He curled himself up tighter, his dark hair slightly tousled. He came home for the summer to THIS? He sobbed internally, but let no tears show. Growing up in this household, with his father, he knew better than to show weakness. He gritted his teeth as his parent's voices became even louder. HE shook his head, trying to block out the sound of their screams, but couldn't. They were loud, incessant, and very real. His father began to swear, and the familiar sound of a hand against flesh rang out through the home. Tom shook his head, and uncurled himself. That was it. He was NOT going to stay here- no one, and nothing could change his mind. He quickly threw all of his possessions in his trunk. He would go into the wizarding world, and disappear. No one would know his name, and he would finally have the peace that he longed for. No more screams. No more tears.
Some of them want to use you
Some of them want to get used by you
Some of them want to abuse you
Some of them want to be abused
He finished packing his trunk, his parents still screaming. Dragging the trunk down the stairs, wand in hand, he slipped towards the front door. If they didn't notice him return from Hogwarts, they sure wouldn't notice if he left now. He cracked the door open slightly, and dragged his trunk out onto the front step. He took a look back, and heard his mother scream yet again-something was different about this scream, though. It was not of anger-this was a scream of fear. Tom ran back inside the house, brandishing his wand. Running into the living room, where his parents stood fighting, he came across a most macabre scene. His father had a gun drawn, and pointed right at his mother's head. He cocked the hammer back, and let out one shot. Before Tom could say or do anything, his mother lay dead on the floor. He knelt down quickly beside her, and reached for her wrist. He felt for a pulse, but found none. Looking up at his father, Tom's face bore an expression of pure rage.
Sweet dreams are made of these,
Who am I to disagree?
Travel the world and the seven seas,
Everybody's looking for something.
He stood up, unable to take much more. Raising his wand, he called out into the emptiness of the house:
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
A bright green light flashed through the room, enveloping everything. When the light receded, Mr. Riddle lay dead on the floor, the gun still in hand. Tom lowered his wand to his side, no emotions betrayed by his face. All that was readable in Tom's expression was a cold, unfeeling presence-so different from the Tom of a few moments ago. With a sharp inhalation, he walked back to the door.
HHold your head up
Keep your head up
Moving on.
Once outside again, he grabbed his trunk. He would never return to this place-NEVER. There was no love there, no one to forgive him, or tell him what he had done was right. It was too late now. Dragging his trunk to the curb, he grinned wryly. One day, his name would be feared above all else. He would release his wrath on the wizarding world that had made his father shun him and his mother. It would only be a matter of time. First, though, he needed further training in the Dark Arts. And followers. Yes, lots of followers. He smiled sinisterly as he dragged his trunk down the street, away from his former home.
"I'm not Tom Marvolo Riddle." He said quietly to himself "I am Lord Voldemort."