Author's Notes: Hello. That's all I have to say on the matter.

Thanks to Diiniami for reviewing! I never knew two words could be so encouraging!

Warnings: well . . . umm . . . angst, definitely angst.  And . . . err . . . my overwhelming urge to make it as realistic as possible, resulting in large amounts of research that isn't as detailed as I'd like it to be. No, this is not a History lesson; it just isn't the year 2003 either.

Disclaimer: Yes, I own Tom Riddle.  He's manacled to the wall of my basement and I'm extracting the story of his life out of him with fluffy bunny rabbits, rainbows, pink ponies, yellow daffodils and magic markers.  * shudders * beware the magic markers, they're evil I tell you.

(No, actually that's just for my mom who complains that there aren't enough fluffy bunny rabbits, rainbows and flowers in my stories.  And my need to put a shot of humor out there. As far as I know, Tom Riddle is out wrecking havoc in the wizarding world and doesn't belong to anybody with the possible exception of the nice lady he met in the coffee shop who decided she didn't like him and wanted to write about his arch-nemesis instead. (aka J.K. Rowling and all other parties she chooses to share with.) I do, however, own this version of his past, so if something comes up in the next few books that looks like this in any way shape or form, it's not my fault.  I thought of it on my own so no touching.)

Looks like I couldn't stop from rambling after all.

Chapter 2: Orphan

The lady who had come to get me was a quiet woman with curling brown locks and shining chestnut eyes.  She hadn't spoken to me for the entire train ride into London, hadn't explained a word of what I could expect when we arrived.  She gave off a thoughtful, troubled air that discouraged talk.  So I followed her through the twisting streets and back ways until we reached the orphanage on the edge of the city.

It turned out to be a flat, a flat that looked just like all the others on the street, with the possible exception of a sense of wildness about it.  As if anything could happen there.  It was also rather forbidding, discouraging all strangers.

I hesitated before following her up the short gravel walk, instinctively cringing as I stepped onto the creaking gray porch.  I was sure they would send me back to my father.  It seemed unnaturally quiet, as if the place was holding its breath, waiting for me to be judged.  And then the silence was broken and a red comet crashed through the rattling screen door and leaped into the lady's arms, shrieking in gibberish.  Once it was still I was able to recognize a red headed boy about a year or so older than me wearing red overalls over his bare, suntanned chest.  He was chattering so fast I was amazed he could breath.

"Miss Jessica! You're back, where'd ya go Miss Jessica? I missed you! Where'd you go, did ya go to auntie's? Is that where you was? Gretchen caught a toad in the garden and we was playing with it, but then Davy saw the snake again. It's still there Miss Jessica and now we can't go back out there 'cause Ms. Sara barred th' door and th' girls are scared they'll get bit an' who's that?"  He was looking at me.  I just stared back silently, not sure how to react. The lady, Miss Jessica apparently, patted the boy on his back and lowered him to the wooden planks of the porch.

"Lets go inside George, and I'll introduce him to everyone, all right?" the red head, George, nodded sullenly before grabbing Miss Jessica's hand and all but dragging her into the house, screaming, "Miss Jessica's back everybody! Miss Jessica's back, and she brought a new kid!" I stood just inside the doorway, trying to push away all my nervousness and the fear that they'd send me back.  Kaya would. . . but no, Kaya would never comfort me again. I struggled against the tears, forcing myself to remember the one meaningful thing my father had ever said to me.  Tears showed weakness.  And I was not going to let these strange people see my weakness. A new voice drew back to the present as the other children crowded around Miss Jessica, clamoring for attention.

"Now now, children, show some manners, we have a new housemate here and you're ignoring him dreadfully."  This came from a large, motherly looking woman standing in a doorway on the other side of the room.  Delicious smells drifted out from behind her.  The children stopped to stare at me and I could only study my feet as I felt the heat rise on my face, the new leather of my shoes bright against the dull gray carpet.

"Don't be frightened dear, come all the way in." The large woman was motioning me in further with one meaty paw.  I hesitantly stepped forward and looked up at the children and Miss Jessica before quickly turning my gaze back to the unknown woman.  She seemed the least threatening at the moment.  She came to stand behind me, putting a hand on my shoulder.

"Here child, what's your name?"

"Tom."

"Surname?"

"Riddle."

"Riddle? Well that is curious, the Riddles are a proud family, when did you lose your parents lad?"

"Mother died last week, after Kaya."

"Was Kaya your little sister?"

"Kaya was, is, my twin." Her eyes filled with pity.

"You poor boy. What about your father Tom? What happened to him?"

"Mother didn't want me to stay with him." She nodded in sympathy.

"Poor child, your wounds are too fresh for you to have felt them yet hm?" I nodded quietly, struggling to hold back my tears in the face of this new kindness.

"Well, we'll do our best to make you feel at home.  I believe you've already met Jassica and George?"  I nodded again, lifting my chin to study the children who were watching intently. She pointed to each of them in turn.

A girl with distrustful hazel eyes and dark brown hair short enough to pass as a boy was Gretchen, the blond boy behind her, pulling is Irish walking hat over green eyes, was Davy.  Jack had a black eye that his wild brown hair courageously tried to cover, but the uninjured eye shone darkly with laughter.  Becca was studying me intently through fig green eyes as she chewed on one straggled strand of dirty blonde hair, and Rosie's red hair was a rival for George's, her blue eyes curious but timid. 

"Children, this is Tom.  I expect you to treat him fairly as a member of our family, do you understand?" They nodded.

"Good, now, Jessica will you help him get settled in? I need to finish supper before the older ones get back." Miss Jessica nodded and picked up the small trunk that held all my worldly belongings; the few clothes they had let me bring, my old baby blanket, the cheerful designs of flying dragons faded from use, there weren't any toys, I wasn't allowed to bring any, but I did have my favorite book (Peter Pan, by J. M. Barrie), and in the bottom, where no one would find it, I had a letter from my Mother that I was supposed to open when I got accepted at school (it was very useful later, but then it just confused me). I followed her up the rickety stairs to a small room with six small beds in it.  Five of the beds had small trunks at the foot, and Miss Jessica put mine at the end of the sixth.

"This will be your bed while you are here Tom.  George, Davy and Jack will be sharing a room with you along with the to older boys, Fritz and Jem.  The older children work during most days, they'll be home in a bit.  The girls are across  the hall and the restroom is downstairs off the kitchen.  You are expected to bathe once weekly, no exceptions, and you must be in bed by eight every night.  Classes will be held in the main room downstairs from seven to noon, and breakfast is served at six. If you are not up in time you won't be fed 'til lunch. Do you have any questions?"  The bed was old and creaked when I sat down on it, the blankets worn thin and ragged. I glanced up at her from my study of this new domain and shook my head.  I couldn't think straight enough to know what to ask. 

"If you think of anything later, it's safer to ask Sara.  She's more likely to have the answer you need."  Sara was the lady in the kitchen.  I nodded again waiting for some clue as to what I was supposed to do next. 

 "Why don't you change into something more comfortable and come downstairs.  Supper should be served soon." She left.

I perched on the edge of the bed for a few minutes, taking in my surroundings.  The flat was old, of medium size, and in an unstable state of repair. I wasn't quite sure what I had been expecting but it certainly hadn't been the level of poverty I could see in the peeling blue wallpaper and threadbare blankets; the beds were nothing more than glorified cots.  But it was better than spending another minute with my father. Eventually I decided to make the best of things and use what little chance I might have to get to know some of the kids better before supper and took off the black blazer and knickers from the funeral in favor of my more comfortable blue-jean overalls and a red plaid shirt, kicked off my shoes and packed the discarded clothes into my trunk before starting down the stairs, rough and creaking under my bare feet. I heard voices below me and stopped to listen, a habit that Mother had almost encouraged and Father had never been able to cure me of.  The things you learned were just too interesting.

"Did you see him?"

"Those were new shoes I tell you, and that blazer looked fitted!"

"Ms. Sara said he was a Riddle."

"So? What's that got to do with anything?"

"The Riddles are a rich family, they haven't never needed money. "

"I'll bet he's got enough money in that trunk of his to feed us on beef for a solid week!"

"He probably thinks he's better 'n us."

It was the kids I had met before, all huddled in a corner near the stairs; I was surprised at their resentment. I had come with very little, but apparently it was more than they had or were used to; I could see worn quality of their clothes, as if they'd been made over several times, and I could hear the hunger in their voices as they talked about me, though whether for what I had or my blood I couldn't be sure.  I didn't move, determined to get as much as I could out of their conversation. 

An older boy approached them, frowning a little. 

"What are you kids talking about?"

"The new kid, have you seen him?" The youth's frown grew puzzled.

"No, why?"

"He says his name's Tom Riddle.  He came in like he owned the place, with his shiny shoes and expensive clothes." That was George.  It was Rosie who spoke in my defense, curiously enough; she had seemed more the kind to just listen and follow, not hold her own opinion.

"That's not fair George, he did not act like he owned the place, he acted like a shy kid who had just lost his family, same as you did a few years ago.  You can't judge him by his clothes, he probably didn't get much more of a choice than we did when we came." The older boy, I hadn't met him when I came, grinned at her.

"Always the voice of reason and justice Rosie. Is this going to be another chick under your wing?" Rosie straightened to get every inch out of her six-year-old frame.

"He doesn't need my help, he looks to be the kind who takes care of himself. Besides, all I'm doing is giving him a fair chance Fritz." I decided it was time to announce my presence and leaned over the stair rail.

"I'll thank you for that, fire hair." They all stared up at me for a moment, unsure of what to say, before Gretchen put her hands on her hips and glared at me.

"It's not polite to listen to other people's conversations."  I offered a timid smile in response.

"You learn such interesting things though. Besides, it's only impolite if you get caught."  The older boy, Fritz,  laughed, brushing black fringe out of his eyes to regard me with a measuring, if still laughing, gaze.

"He speaks truth Gretch! This one's not going to timidly lower his eyes to you, oh no." He leaned over to look me in the eye, lifting my chin in his hand.  His gaze became more serious.

"I'm betting there's a lot more to you than a high vaulted name and pretty words kid.  You should just tell us, most of us don't like to have secrets kept from us."  He was whispering and my own blue-gray eyes met his winking black steadily; my past, heritage and talents were my own, and no one else's.

"Are you one of those who doesn't like kept secrets?" I asked calmly, as if he did not have the power to beat me into a pulp before anyone could stop him. He gave a wry grin.

"Not really, I'm curious, but I won't try to force anything out of you.  You should be careful though, Jack and George can be very persuasive, don't let them get a hold on you." And then he was gone, into the kitchen, leaving me to face my new 'family'.  They just regarded me stonily in silence.

"Er… hallo." Apparently a friendly greeting didn't have any affect on stony silences.

"Okay then, I'll just go." I turned to follow Fritz's path to the kitchen, and no one stopped me.  In fact, no one said a word to me until the next morning and then it was 'pass the milk'. 

The silent treatment kept up for quite a while; with none of the kids I actually spent time with (Everyone over eleven worked most of the day, especially since it was summer) ever speaking directly to me, and tending to ignore me.  I got the feeling that they would have been much happier if I had never showed up and interrupted their lives.  The only good thing about it was that they weren't really going out of the way to make my life miserable or beat me up.  That changed one day when we were weeding the garden, or rather, Rosie, Becca, Davy and I were weeding the garden while Jack, George and Gretchen planned a game that would be suitably embarrassing to us to make it fun for them. I had quickly realized in the two weeks of my time there that those three, as the eldest, held the other three in awe and fear.  They didn't particularly care about me yet.

It was then, on a humid summer afternoon, that I saw the snake for the first time.  It was a small garden snake, the kind that eats nothing bigger than a grasshopper and wouldn't bite a human unless it's life depended on it. Becca saw it first.

"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!! It's the snake!!"  she was backing away from her patch of vegetables fearfully, and Rosie and Davy weren't far behind her.  The older three had frozen for a second before they started to call encouragement. 

"That's it Becca, just back away slowly, it won't bite if you don't make any sudden movements." Gretchen called over, and soon George and Jack joined her.

"Come on Davy, just a little further, it'll be fine just keep walking."

"Rosie, don't look it in the eye, it'll think you're attacking it, just watch your feet."

I watched in amusement, this was ridiculous. All this fuss over one little snake.  Didn't they know anything? I moved over to where Becca had been weeding.  Jack noticed me first.

"Hey, what are you doing1 get away from there, that snake's dangerous!" I smiled as I studied the creature in front of me.  It followed me with its eyes cautiously, deciding whether I was a threat.  I could hear it mumbling under its breath.

Screechy creature scream scream, scare prey, call shadow with big stick hit hit hurt. Who this, what want, stupid creature, no respect. I grinned at this monologue, wondering how many times it had come in contact with my house-mates before this. Then I called over my shoulder to Jack, casually.

"It's only a garden snake.  It won't hurt anyone."  He sneered at me.

"It's a snake, snakes bite people, they're dangerous animals."

"Not all snakes, and only when you make them mad or scared."

"It tried to bite miss Jessica."

"She probably threatened it with a stick or something."  George's eyes widened.

"How did you know that?" I hesitated over whether to tell them, then decided to get it over with. It might make it easier for them to accept the few occasions when my emotions got out of hand…

"It told me." They just stared at me, then Davy spoke with all the eloquence of a four-going-on five child.

"Huh?" I sighed.

"I can talk to snakes, here I'll prove it to you." I crouched down and looked the snake in the eye, letting my mind fall into the sort of concentration it needed to call up the Parseltongue I'd inherited.

May Jormungand smile on you. The greeting was an old one, referring to the great serpent that lived in the sea, encircling the Earth and biting it's own tail.  It was the most formal greeting in the language. The little garden snake stopped swaying and muttering about the 'stupid creatures'.

You understand? I guess it had never met a human who spoke the language before, not surprising really.

Yes.

You are human.

Yes.

It has been a long time since I have someone to talk to. Not many brothers here, too much noise and too little hunting.

I'll talk to you.

Thank you, I will look forward to it, but now I must hunt.

I smiled again and turned to Jack, fighting the urge to pick my new friend up.  I had a feeling it wouldn't appreciate the action.

"It's just hunting grasshoppers, and it's lonely." They just stared at me in disbelief. Jack's expression slowly becoming more murderous as I spoke, and George and Gretchen weren't looking much better.  The younger three were looking scared. 

"If I just talk to him once in a while I'm sure he'll leave you alone." Jack managed to spit something out, "Witchcraft." I cocked my head at him.

"Well, not really, it's a perfectly sound language."

"You're a witch."

"Wizard, I suppose, really."  Jack looked ready to explode and George was quickly nearing that level.  Gretchen was shaking with suppressed fury and Davy, Rosie, and Becca were shrinking away, towards the house.

"It's not that surprising you know, Mother was a witch." Jack lost it.

"You… bloody… DEMON!"  And he charged at me, with George not far behind.  They probably would have killed me then if it hadn't been for the snake.  As soon as they'd knocked me down it slithered over my shoulder and warned them off with bared fangs.  George ran for Miss Jessica, screaming.  When he came back out of the flat he was still babbling, and Jack was white with fright as the snake continued to eye him.

"He's a demon Miss Jessica, he said he was a wizard and he was talking to the snake and then he set it on us Miss Jessica! It almost bit me!"  

*

Over the next few months I was to learn, quite forcefully, that the views of everyone in my new home on magic differed greatly from my father's.  It wasn't a weakness to them, it was something to be feared and despised and beaten down in any way possible.  Which was why, when I limped into the main room or up the stairs to bed or down to the kitchen in the morning, no one said anything except to offer the occasional snide comment. Miss Jessica was indifferent at best, and Miss Sara, for all her motherly ways, only dared to make sure I got at least one meal a day and to give me linen wrapping for my deeper cuts. Being a wizard as I was, as they never let me forget, meant that those cuts didn't stay for long.  But they still hurt almost as much as the comments meant to tear me down.  The older kids never did anything except for the one time that Fritz whispered to me that I had to get out of this myself, or I'd never have any respect and they'd just take more care in picking their times. The younger kids didn't hurt me, but they didn't help me either.  They just stood to one side and watched fearfully as Jack split my lip and George bloodied my nose; as Gretchen used her long fingernails to leave deep gouges in my skin. 

They seemed to believe that could wash out my magic with blood, or beat it out with bruises.

After I had been there for almost a year and a half, when I turned eight, they grew bored with it a little, and the beatings came less frequently, perhaps once a week, though they still found way to make me uncomfortable; snitching my food, pouring water over my bed, slamming doors in my face and pinching me in church and at meals when we weren't supposed to make any sound. 

Life became more bearable for a time, with my being ignored for the most part and free to talk to the garden snake as long as I kept my voice down, out of earshot from my three personal bullies. Then they managed to break into my trunk. 

I had been out in the garden, planting this time and talking with the one real friend I had. When I entered the room we all shared I was too stunned to speak.  My clothes, few as they were, were spread all over the room, some had been torn or rubbed in dust and grime, the rest were tied in knots and scattered.  My baby blanket, the one true thing I had form my mother, had been torn to shreds and hung limply from bedposts like faded ribbon.  And in the middle of it all, sitting on a bed, were George and Jack.  They were reading my copy of Peter Pan.  It was a wonder they hadn't ripped it to pieces.  Something in me snapped, and I could feel the heat rising in my face, the tension in my hands as I struggled to keep some measure of composure. The curtains started twitching as if touched by an unfelt wind, and I knew it was perfectly calm outside.  That got me to clamp down in a hurry, no need to give them even more reason to pick on me.

"What did you do?" I managed to get it out between grit teeth.

George looked up, a malicious smile on his face.  

"We were tired of you having secrets from us, so we decided to get even."

"Get even.  For what?"

"For your living with us, for having to put up with you, for allowing you all this privacy."  Jack said it with the air of one who was pointing out the obvious, a wronged innocent. It made me furious, but I had had too much early training for control over my emotions to let them get out of hand now.  I clenched my fists tighter and was saved from blowing my top and physically attacking them (something my father would have thought even more barbaric than magic) by Fritz's entrance into the room. He stared around at the mess, taking in the gloating smiles of the two boys on the bed and my obvious anger. He frowned at them, and it actually seemed to have an effect.  The smiles faltered for a second.

"Now you go too far.  If you're going to beat him up there's nothing I can do about it, he needs to learn to defend himself anyway, but when you break into his private things and destroy what little he has, you cross the line and I can't ignore it anymore."  Fritz, now fifteen and considered almost old enough to go off on his own,  grabbed them by their ears and dragged them down to the kitchen to be yelled at by Misses Jessica and Sara. I started cleaning up the mess, wondering as I collected the strips, if I could somehow weave the blanket back together. Fritz came back up.

"Don't worry about it, Miss Sara has gotten into a state and is going to make them clean it all up."  I looked up at him quickly, fearfully even.

'That will only make them hate me more."

"That's probably true, but you do need to learn to defend yourself."  I looked at my feet.

"I've gotten rather good at falling down, and taking hits. And pretending injury."   He raised one black eyebrow, clearly incredulous at my stubbornness.

"What is it that you have against fighting? Would it kill you to through a punch for once" I stared at the scraps in my hands for a moment, considering how much I wanted to tell him. Over the months I had told him bits and pieces of my life before.

"My father… he didn't like magic, said it was barbaric, a weakness.  Cheating kind of.  And fistfights were worse, he always said that lowering myself to the level of a common street brawler was the worst thing I could do. He may not have been the best father, or the most loving, but he was the only father I had, and he taught me about pride.  Nothing else matters." Fritz looked thoughtful.

"I thought you hated your father."

"I do."

"Then why are you still following his ideals?"

"Because they're all I have now. And they make sense to me."

"You'd have a lot less trouble if you swallowed that pride of yours every once in a while." It was my turn to be incredulous. Forget my heritage and pride? And not in being a Riddle but being a Slytherin.  I didn't give two bits about being a Riddle, but I knew that my magical blood conveyed just as much, if not more, pride as the Muggle family. I managed to look properly insulted and contemptuous when I replied.

"You don't know anything about it."

"I know plenty about swallowing pride."

"You don't know about living by pride."

"Is that what you're doing then? Just living on your pride and nothing else?"

"I don't have anything else anymore." That seemed to shut him up. 

I was right of course, to say that Jack and George would hate me even more once they were forced to clean up the mess they'd made, but I dealt with it, and I got really good at dodging.

My pride was something I'd never give up, and I continued to stand up to them, to talk back and stand straight under the insults thrown my way.  They would get their justice one day; I wouldn't have pride alone forever.  Someday, someday I would have power. Enough power to make them all regret ever touching me. Enough power to prevent anyone from hurting me ever again.  

I wouldn't let anyone step on me and get away with it forever.

Notes: Poor Tom! And I haven't even really gotten into his mind yet, only starting to get there.  And yes I know he really shouldn't pay so much attention to what his father said, but pride became a big issue for him with all the bullying and he really doesn't have a whole lot else right.  A seven year old is in no shape to fight a gang on nine and ten year olds. As for telling them about his magic, they'd find out eventually anyway, and it'd be better (I think) for him to tell them than for him to just shatter something out of the blue one day. He didn't expect that sort of retaliation because he's never had to tell anyone before; his grandparents never knew and his father just discouraged it. Tom Riddle sr. knew enough to realize it couldn't be changed. Next chapter brings Destiny into the picture.  I hope you liked it, please leave a review! I love them!