Disclaimer: I only own the plot and the concept, along with any original characters and places you don't recognize.
BEFORE YOU CONTINUE ON, IT IS ADVISED THAT YOU READ THE FIC ELEMENTAL GENESIS. IT WILL CLARIFY A FEW THINGS.
I say this to those who aren't really familiar with my Elemental universe. In my Elemental series, we find out that Voldemort isa demon sent by a malicious goddess and was possessing Tom's body. Tom's soul, in the meantime, was saved by another goddess.For years, he has been an ethereal plain in between the lands of the dead and the living. During the war with Voldemort, many of the victims pass by him on their way to be judged in the land of the dead. In Genesis, he manages to find a way to communicate with an amnesiac-Harry.
This is the story of Tom's youth - his ambition being his greatest strength and greatest weakness. This is before Voldemort took over and how Voldemort took over at that. This chapter is an introduction, he will go to Hogwarts in a few chapters.
I am not British, so if there's any discrepancies or anything like that, don't flame me about it. Pointing them out to me would be appreciated.
I still advise any unfamiliar readers to read Elemental Genesis first. I hope you enjoy the story.
---Raven Dragonclaw
Warning! Some aspects of this story will be a bit adult (nothing too big, but Tom doesn't exactly live the good life. Not only is there abuse, but there is some cursing and coarse language). Just warning you ahead of time.
Elemental Malice
Chapter One
Eternally Forsaken
I never had much. Higgins says I never will – that I'm some dirty trash born to a madwoman and a sorry son-of-a-bitch. I know what he's saying about my mother is untrue. I can feel it. But as for the wonderful epithet given to my father? I'm not strongly inclined to disagree.
It's a dog-eat-dog world. And I'm not going to turn out to be some disgusting ruffian on the streets of Endsville. I deserve better than that. I know I do. And I'd like to see anyone question that.
- Tom M. Riddle
A photograph. That was all he had of her. Just an outdated photograph. He didn't know why he kept it with him, why he treasured it as if it were some kind of beautiful and invaluable jewel. Maybe it was because it was all he had of her, the only thing that he could retain of her before she left him alone in this cruel world, minutes after she pushed him into it.
In a way, he hated her for that.
Calandra Riddle. That was all he knew of her. Other than the fact that her father's name was Marvolo. She had enough time to name him before she was gone. And when she did, it was an utterly despicable name. Tom Marvolo Riddle. She had named him after the very man who left her to her death, who abandoned him before he was even born, who would under no circumstances take in that "bastard freak" of his. The miserable irony of the world - to be named after the father who hated you before you even met him.
It was no big deal to Tom. Perhaps it was because he felt a deeper hatred towards the father than vice-versa. That void was deep and dark, empty excepting for the coiling energy that was his repressed rage. This was not brought about whatever conceit or instigation of fear that his father possessed, that prejudice that allowed him to give up his only child without a backwards glance. No, this was stronger and much more dangerous. This was hatred, pure and simple. And for an eleven year old child, it was a sad sight to see.
...You will get back at him...you'll see...he'll pay for what he has done...they all will...you'll see...the blood of the enemy will make us stronger...
The small boy shivered, despite the warm temperature of the sunny day. The drab grayness of the cemetery compelled him to leave. And, like always, never return. There was a reason why the graves, pitiful as they were, were so neglected. Several of the names had completely eroded away from the stone, others were crumpling. Even his own mother's was no better, already showing signs of inevitable decay.
Was nothing sacred?
As the small black-haired boy walked out of the land of the dead, the brown grass and withered weeds crackled beneath the flapping soles of old boots. He was dressed in what used to be salvageable clothing, but now passed as shadow-colored rags that hung off his thin body. The uniform of the orphanage - all gray. Gray shirt, gray jacket, gray pants - it depended on you to make sure that they stayed in good shape. Or else.
He hated gray. He wanted color. But in this world, color and difference were bad and subject to punishment.
He disliked that voice in his head, that silibant and diabolical voice that had always been whispering in his ear, for as long as he remembered. Tom knew it was bad to hear voices, but things were bad enough at the orphanage. It was enough that he was poorly clothed and barely had enough to eat, he didn't need to be beaten more than he already was.
No, it was better not to say nothing at all. Higgins was bad and Tom did not want to see the sadistic bastard that ran the Carthage Orphanage than he had to. It didn't help that Tom - for apparent reason than for existing and possessing some semblance of intelligence - was already targeted for the most miniscule of crimes. The others soon realized how things were run. Excepting a few others that were as unlucky as he was, the other kids rarely ever got in trouble. Sure, they were beaten and abused as well. But not with the same frequency as "The Untouchables" were.
And Tom? He was the head of "The Untouchables" by default. Around the neighborhood, as awful as it was, he was called Viper. They said he acted and moved like a snake. In every word there was either threat or venom.
This was not necessarily true. But it kept several of the others away. Others that would have interfered in his life, however pathetic and disgusting as it was, and make it even worse. In this rotten part of the city, so repulsive and flatulent that it was just known as Endsville, morality was something of a rarity. The buildings were in disrepair, the sidewalks broken, and the streets were more like one giant pothole than anything else. A drunk lay passed out in the gutter, a bottle of cheap wine clasped tightly in his hand, the purple liquid running out down into the drainpipe. Some homeless men slumped in doorways and in the alleyways. As he looked, a suspicious man was handing another man (one who plainly didn't belong in Endsville) a needle and a few vials, the money being exchanged both crisp and green. Prostitutes hung around the corners in revealing clothing, waiting for customers, jeering at him with voices like harpies as he continued on to the place he had to call home. Their pimp, a man known around here as Abraham, gave him a toothless grin from which he recoiled, then recovered with a fierce blue stare. One that made Abraham and his garish clothing immediately back down.
In tough times, there was always a way to make money. And for Abraham, it was the selling of others' bodies for others' pleasure. In tough times, things were even worse in tough places like Endsville. In tough times, anyone would do. Including young boys that had no real guardians who could press charges. Who no one would believe. Who no one would care about.
He was one of the few to remain untouched - another connotation of that title. In the orphanage, being an "Untouchable" was just not normal. No, it just wasn't. Not in Endsville. It was that kind of attitude that disgusted him. He was better than this - deserved better than this. Tom knew it instinctively - he didn't need that voice in his head to tell him so.
The sun was beginning to set. With deep dark blue eyes squinting into the hazy gray sky, he figured it was. You couldn't miss curfew. Or else you would have to go to The Basement. And The Basement was the worst. To be locked up with no food, water, or toilet...without a bed or blanket...with no windows...you were stuck among the shadows, unable to escape because of the chains. It was hell given form on Earth. Despite having been there many tmes, he still feared it.
Also the worst of the lot came out after the sun left the sky. Worse than were even out now. If Endsville was bad enough during the day, at night...there was a reason why Higgins kept the gates of the orphanage locked securely after eight o'clock, triple padlocked and barricaded. Who knew what could happen? Though Tom had the feeling that if anyone did get into Carthage Orphanage at night and surpassed Higgins' security precautions, that son of a bitch would just abandon them to their apparent fate.
As he walked through the side gate, taking care to lock it behind him, looked up at the forbidding dilapated building. How he hated this place. The doberman guard dog gave him a cautious, but careful, glance. Blitzer knew better than to cross with Tom, as did Heimmler and Zureig (Higgins was an avid supporter of the Nazi regime in Germany, to Tom's immense disgust). He was an Untouchable, which made him dangerous enough, but one that was stranger than the rest. One they knew they shouldn't aggravate or else suffer the consequences.
What had happened to the fourth of the vicious canines, the most aggressive and ferocious of them all (and, of course, their leader), affectionately named 'Adolf', was still up to speculation. All that was clear was that Adolf had attempted to cross Tom. After that, no one knew. And Tom wasn't talking. He was forced to take a week in The Basement.
Now...the worse part...the rest of the orphans that were left in this God-forsaken place...
"Oy, Viper! Gon' to yah mummy's grave didn' ya?!"
"Yeah, I bet he cried like a baby over 'dear mummy's' grave!"
"Cor, I bet he was a-havin' a bloody tantrum! Poor little Riddle, his mummy's gone away!"
"Blimey, I bet you're right, Frankie! Tough luck, he's just a weakling! He's got to get over hisself!"
A photograph. All he had of his mother was a photograph of a young girl playing a violin. In the darkness of that picture, he thought he could see the shape of black wings. And, his eyes may have tricked him, but the color was off. Instead of black and white like pictures were, this was black and red. It looked as if it wanted to move. That was all. The only thing that could somehow show him a future that he could have had, but could never get.
The glass marbles that the group of dirty boys and girls were playing with suddenly exploded, each sending out shards of glass and flame. Each of the orphans ran away shrieking like banshees, running inside to the supposed safety of the main building, leaving Tom alone in the playground. Alone - the other Untouchables were probably inside already...or in the Basement. From the far end of the paved open space, the doberman dogs watched him with rapt attention - something akin to both fear and admiration in their carnivorously bent feral minds.
The children of Carthage Orphanage would be like all the others who would come before them - they would become the next generation of lowlifes and rabble to infest the country, most likely staying around in Endsville. It was their fate and was invariably carried out. One of Abraham the pimp's most popular girls was a sixteen year old waif that had left just last week, with more experience than any girl her age should have. The older boys were already taking swigs of the whiskey and rum. They were the future of the lower rung of society, that filthy rabble, who were merely just boils on the body of the world. Stupid and only knowing the basest emotions and instincts, they would be let out of the world by Higgins and other men like him to self-destruction. And if they had children along the way, they would leave them to that same destiny.
But Tom "Viper" Riddle was different. Viper was Untouchable.
