Disclaimer: Most of the people and places (Tom Riddle, Albus Dumbledore, Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, etc.) as well as the text of the Hogwarts letter, are actually the property of JK Rowling (who is not me.) The quotation from the bard is, of course, William ShakespeareÕs. Anything that is peculiarly mine, I will let you know about.

Thanks much to DescendingAngel for my first ever review!

20 July

I have to write. If for no other reason than to prove that it really happened, that it wasnÕt just a dream. Where even to begin? Well, to start off, my name is Thomas Marvolo Riddle, Tom for my father, Marvolo for my grandfather, neither of whom I ever knew. In fact, I never knew anything much about my family before today. But IÕm getting ahead of myself.

I am eleven years old, as of last November, and I have spent nearly that entire time in the St. ClaireÕs School for Orphaned Boys and Girls here in London. It has not been an easy life, though I suppose that of an orphan never is. Mine, however, always seemed much worse than even the average orphan. I could never relate to my fellows, never talk to them. I just felt like I didnÕt belong among them, like I was somehowÉmore, or better. I suppose some might say that makes me a terrible person, but I must dissent. I have known truly terrible people, and loneliness pales in comparison to their sins.

In any case, I feel as if I have been vindicated. Unless this has all been a dream, which remains to be seen, I am very different from everyone IÕve ever known. Yesterday night, an owl flew through my window. This would have been a strange enough occurrence, without throwing in the letter it carried tied to its leg. I suppose I should let it speak for itself. I am copying its complete contents below, just to make sure itÕs really there.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Armando Dippet, Order of Merlin Second Class, High Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Vice-Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards.

Dear Mr. Riddle,

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

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

Yours Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

Deputy Headmaster

PS: Since our records indicate that you have been raised by non magical folk (muggles) and as such may not have access to a post owl of your own, the owl who delivered your letter has been instructed to carry back your reply.

I donÕt know how many times I read and reread the letter before the delivering owl hooted its irritation. Regardless, it wasnÕt enough to dispel the surreal feeling of the whole thing. I was almost sad to see the post owl leave. It was, after all, living proof of what the letter said. With it gone, how could I be sure it was really happening. IÕm still not sure itÕs really happening! But, I sent it off with my reply, such as it was. Having never corresponded with a wizarding school, or anyone else for that matter, I wasnÕt quite sure what to say.

When the owl had gone, I went through the other materials enclosed in the letter, supply lists including things like cauldrons, robes, magic wands! I started to lose hope when I realized that, to my knowledge, there was nowhere to buy a magic wand anywhere in the world, much less in London.

My depression was interrupted by the return of the post owl. Around its leg this time was a short note, acknowledging my reply and directing me to an establishment called the Leaky Cauldron on the following day or Òat my earliest possible convenience.Ó It promised that, providing I came between now and August 1, a school representative would be there to assist me. I resolved to go on the very next day. Although I doubted that the mistress of the orphanage would never let me go if I asked, I was pretty sure she would hardly care if I just disappeared, so I planned to beg forgiveness rather than ask permission.

I didnÕt sleep at all that night. I wasnÕt going to risk waking up and forgetting, or finding out I had imagined to whole thing. Besides, I was just too excited. I set out early, so as not to be caught, and made my way to the address given for the Leaky Cauldron. I was rather disappointed when I first found it. It was nothing more than a common dive! But the people inside were far from common. Though they were hardly as I had imagined them, these people were unmistakably magical. I felt rather in over my head. A tall man with a long beard came to my rescue. He asked if I was a new Hogwarts student. I told him I was, and gave him my name. He checked it off a list before identifying himself as Albus Dumbledore, transfigurations professor (I didnÕt understand that at the time) and the author of the letter I had received. He told me that I was in quite early, and so was the first new student of the day, and so would have to wait while the other students arrived before I could begin.

We made small talk as we waited. At first he did the talking, being as overwhelmed by my new surroundings as I was. He told me a bit about the school, the tavern, and the magical world in general. I hung on his every word, eager to absorb as much knowledge as I could. When I became more comfortable with where I was, I started to talk in return. I told him about my life in the orphanage and what little I knew of my family (he seemed to smile at this, as if he knew more than he was letting on.) On the whole, I suppose he was nice enough, if a bit on the sentimental (by which I mean, shallow) side. Something about him put me off, though. The feeling that he knew more than he was letting on, and that what he knew was important. Combined with the feeling that he was examining me under a microscope every time I met his eyes, I just didnÕt feel good about the man.

The other new students filed in one by one of the course of the next half hour. All of them were as overawed as I had been, but it gladdened me to see that none of them recovered from their awe as quickly as I had. But probably none of them had lived as I had, alone in the midst of many. All of them came with living parents, at least one.

At about 8, when an appreciable group had gathered, Dumbledore herded us out into what seemed to be a back alley. A tap of his wand, however, changed a simple brick wall into a gateway into my new world. Beyond was a place called Diagon Alley, filled with shops filled with all things I would need for school, and infinitely more. What did the bard say? ÒOh brave new world, that has such people in it!Ó

Our first stop was Gringotts bank, a place run by goblins of all things, so that they could all change their money (it turns out we use different currency than the muggles.) This had me worried, having no money as I did. Dumbledore must have seen my concern, however, because he informed me that he had already taken the liberty of withdrawing a tidy sum from the account my mother had left in my name. I was shocked, to be sure, to discover not only that my mother was a witch, but that she had left me at least enough money to get through school. When I had recovered, I asked Dumbledore if he had known my mother. He replied, sadly I noticed, that he had, though not well, and that she was a good woman, by far the finest to come from her family. I was tempted to ask why he hadnÕt come out and said so in the first place, but I thought it best not to leave a bad first impression with one of my future teachers.

With the money changing complete, the Professor gave the group a brief description of the lay out of the alley and where they could find the shops they would need. After that, all the other students left with their respective parents to do their own shopping. This left me (rather uncomfortably) with Dumbledore, though I suppose his presence was really an advantage, seeing as the various parents were at least as awed as their children by their surroundings. We stopped in various shops to buy robes, a cauldron, potions ingredients, books, and finally, a magic wand. This was quite an experience. The shop owner, one Mr. Ollivander, was kind enough to explain some basics about wands: each is unique, made of a different wood of a different length, and containing some core magical ingredient, and each wand is specially suited to one and only one wizard. In his words, Òthe wand chooses the wizard,Ó though I didnÕt really understand that. What was clear was that finding the right wand could be time consuming. We must have gone through fifty different wands before we found the right one (yew, 13 and a half inches, containing a single phoenix feather.) There must have been something unusual about this wand, because Ollivander shared a peculiar look with Dumbledore before mentioning how odd of a wand it for one of my family to have a phoenix feather wand. Dumbledore hustled me out of the store before I could ask what he meant, and wouldnÕt give me a straight answer anyway.

What he did give me was my ticked for the school train, as well as a time when I could meet yet another school official if I needed an escort to the platform. I thanked him, and took my leave. Before I left, though, I dropped by Gringotts to change some of my money to muggle currency.

This I used to buy this diary at a simple variety store on Vauxhall Rd. on the way home. I had seen any number of diaries in the bookstore on Diagon Alley, but still being so new to magic, I thought it best to be cautious. Besides, IÕm not asking for it to be anything fancy. Just written proof of what IÕve experienced today. LetÕs hope itÕs still here in the morning.

T. M. Riddle