Disclaimer: I only own the plot and the concept, along with any original characters and places you don't recognize.


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, coarse language, and sexual allusions). Just warning you ahead of time.
Elemental Malice

Chapter Two
Ray of Hope

Higgins once told us that we should never, under any circumstances, have any hope for our future. He claimed he was sparing us, claiming that all of us had no future in the end. We'll all end up like he was and like all others who lived in Endsville. Worthless and overlooked, a people who never climbed that metaphorical ladder to a better life. According to him, we were destined to stay in this shithole.

Nearly everyone agreed with him, essentially damning his or herself to this Godforsaken town. Frankie and Bobby, being the dumbest (therefore, the obvious leaders) of the lot of us, proclaimed loudly that Higgins (or 'Uncle Silas', as the prats called him) was right and that we should all follow their example. They, of course, got a larger portion of food than the rest of us.

I don't give a damn what Higgins said. He's a idiot bastard who should rot in Hell, or better yet on Endsville's very own streets. I'm getting out of here. There has to be something better out there for me.

There just has to be.

- Tom M. Riddle


The room was undeniably depressing. But most of the house was, so it was considered no big deal that they were living in a condemned building. It should have been knocked down over twelve years ago, but the war had distracted the bureaucracy. Who cares if they missed a few buildings? There was a war to fight and people to kill. Never mind that some disgusting piece of shit of society took down the sign, slapped on some plaster and paint, and pretended to run an orphanage for unfortunate orphans.

Unfortunate. The children were unfortunate to be under the care of Silas Higgins. But most being of the type who had always known this life or who weren't the kind to question anything, they were under the impression that they were doing well. Tom Marvolo Riddle was not one of them.

You had to always wear your shoes because the wooden floors were in such bad repair that you could get splinters. You befell an worse fate if you managed to be the unlucky one to step on a nail. Either way, you were on your own. He had known a few who had left the orphanage with an infected foot from a splinter or suffering from tetanus. They never came back. It was from his experience that Tom doubted that they received medical care and, upon seeing their sorry states of health, were handed over to Social Services so they could find loving homes. Or at least a better orphanage. No, Higgins was far too careful for that. They were probably abandoned somewhere, their lives given up to Fate. Or, even more likely, to Death.

As he lay on his thin mattress, arms pillowing his head, Tom felt rather jealous of them.

The walls were bare and empty, the plaster sometimes flaking off, sometimes coming off in chunks. They were horrendously thin. Winters were hard because of the lack of insulation, most having to wear most of their clothing just to keep warm under the tattered blankets they were given. In the summer, like now, it was no better. Nearly all of the orphans did the exact opposite of what they did in the winter – wear hardly anything at all. Tom didn't conform to this, despite the practicality of it. Even now, when he was supposed to be sleeping, he wore long pants and a t-shirt. Considering where they lived, walking around in thin skimpy clothing wasn't exactly the smart thing to do when it came to one's well being. Abraham, the local pimp, had his biggest profit during this time.

It didn't take a genius to figure out exactly what he was alluding to. One of the girls, two years older than him (he was ten), had come back tonight wearing only her bra and an old baggy pair of men's shorts. Her face was flushed and she was greeted with several catcalls. He knew what had happened, what she had been doing, and that she was proud of it. As she passed by him to sit with Frankie and Bobby, she gave him a secret grin. Choosing to ignore her and instead eat what little he had before some attempted to steal it, Tom had settled for giving her cold glare. It only made her smile even more.

He crinkled his nose in abhorrence. He could hear exactly what was going on in the next room. It wasn't uncommon for that to be going on around this end of the building. It was far away from where Higgins stayed, so you weren't caught often. The creaking mattress and the guttural moans made it nearly impossible for him to sleep. Perhaps that was why Tom was put there. Only the older kids slept in the north and east halls on the third floor. On the first and second floor, where Higgins' dormitories were, the younger kids had their rooms. Tom Riddle was the only person under fifteen that had his room in the notorious 'Recreation Wing'.

Yeah. Sex was recreation here. A repulsive thought. Tom sometimes wondered if all he was going through would scar him later in life. Closing his eyes and covering his ears to try and get some forty winks, he reflected on it. It probably would.

Being what he was – a "freak" – he shared his room with only one other person. That one person, an older boy by the name of Billy Sanders, wasn't here at the time. Most likely, Higgins was yelling at him down in the dining room or his 'office' for being slow-witted again. Billy was about fifteen, maybe sixteen, but had the mentality of a eight or nine year old. His mother was a prostitute and an alcoholic. The Lord only knew who his father was. There was a name for the condition, but Tom didn't know the name of it. An Untouchable by default, Billy usually was found sitting on the roof, looking for rainbows and spouting out some nonsense about being a star in the sky a long time ago. Tom was really the only one to go near 'Turtle' willingly. His nickname came from his large figure that was usually hunched over in bashfulness or fear, the pasty and irregular features of his face, and the fact that he was 'just as slow and dumb as a turtle'.

Higgins himself gave Billy that title. Two older boys and the real leaders of the whole orphanage, Donald Carlson and Kurt Nichols, pressed its usage and the persecution of the poor boy. Frankie Boone and Bobby Peters, the resident leaders of the younger set and two years older than he was, encouraged it.

The door creaked open slowly…too slowly. It couldn't be Billy. The older boy would come running in bawling after one of Higgins' tirades, not try to sneak in. Not moving, he kept his dark blue eyes trained on the entrance. However, the lack of lighting made it extremely difficult to see and the window faced the blank visage of another building. There was hardly any way to tell. From the slight shadow and light footfalls, it was a girl. Tom relaxed slightly, it was probably one of the younger girls who couldn't sleep. He hated having the reputation for making strange things happen and further his image as a freak (it made Higgins even more brutal if anything 'freakish' he had done caused trouble), but at times they were useful.

But he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the soft familiar whisper of, "Hey, Tom. I know you're up." He sat up quickly, only to be pushed down by a strong hand. Then he felt something heavy move on top of him. On the rickety nightstand to his right, a candle was lit up, the dim glow illuminating a pitiful circle of the room.

Tom started in shock, but quickly recovered to send an impressive scowl at the intruder. It was Emily, the girl who had come in at dinner not even hiding what she had done. One of the few people he had trusted in, who had betrayed him by accepting all of what Endsville was, leaving him behind and preferring to be complimented and petted by Frankie and Bobby. And here she was, lying on top of him and pinning him in such a way that he couldn't move, and from what he could see, wearing the same thing she had when she walked in.

He really should have expected it from her, but he had hoped. She had apparently hit puberty and was now eager to see what was out there and what she could do now that she was a 'woman'. Emily LeGrant had been one of those pretty girls who developed early. Even now on her fairylike face, her brown eyes glinting in the candlelight and her thick brown hair loose, Tom could tell that those plans that she had admitted to him before – about moving out of Endsville, getting an education, and being a doctor – were thoroughly abandoned for the allure and danger that were Endsville's only glamour.

"What do you want, Emily?" he hissed out angrily. "Get off of me, say what you want, and get lost. I don't want you anywhere here or better yet, anywhere near me ever again." This normally would send anyone who was messing with him off on his or her way. Normally. Emily LeGrant, who was once someone he actually dared to call a friend, merely chuckled mildly in his face.

The pretty girl merely laughed and it made him even more annoyed. Finally, she stopped and leaned in until they were nose to nose. "Typical Viper, but it's okay. C'mon, cutie. Loosen up! You aren't…I don't know…jealous that I paid some attention to Frankie and Bobby today, are you?" she murmured softly. Tom could barely hear her over the now screaming springs of the mattress in the next room, which gave his own an almost fearful ambiance. She giggled again and he could feel the vibrations go through her body. "There's no need to be," she said smiling, almost innocently.

Tom wasn't deceived and refrained from spitting in her face at the insinuation. "Don't delude yourself, Emily." She kept laughing at him, the only way he could tell was from the movements her body made. His 'neighbors' next door were apparently getting more into what they were doing. "Those things you said to me, those dreams of getting out of here and being a doctor, those were just a pack of filthy lies, weren't they?" he accused, his chest tight with anger. Within the sparks of indignation and rage running loose through his mind, he could sense the voice trying to speak to him but he tried to ignore it.

Emily merely smirked. "Yeah. I hope you aren't mad, but I was curious about you. There's a whole world out there, full of wild fun and pleasure. But you're different, you know that? And different is interesting. Different is fun." He wanted to get away from that smile. She sighed and continued, overlooking his tension and smiling benignly down at him again. "It's too bad that you don't see the beauty of it."

"It would help," he shot back, "if you tell me what beauty you're talking about. I certainly don't see any in this dump."

The façade dropped a bit now and she bit her lip in annoyance. "Why are you fighting it, Tom?!" The wall separating his room from the next cracked a bit, a cloud of plaster showering down all over Billy's meager trunk of belongings in the corner. "There's only this place for us. Instead of torturing yourself and making yourself unhappy, why don't you accept it? None of us ever leave Endsville. Endsville is the world." She leaned in even closer and he turned his head obstinately to the side.

His eyes widened at the wet feel of what were undeniable her lips on his neck. "Stop it, Em," he demanded, starting to struggle, but the girl didn't listen. It seemed to encourage her. She was sucking and kissing, and Tom winced as her teeth sank into his skin. That was going to leave a mark. "Emily, quit it!"

This time she did stop. "What's wrong, Viper?" she said in his ear, her hot breath teasing him, and he moved before she had the chance to bite that as well. "I said there wasn't any need to worry. And I mean it." Emily gave him that smile again, that smile that Frankie and Bobby were competing for, that smile that Tom once thought was friendly and nice. He didn't like it now. "I know what I'm doing, cutie, it's alright. Certainly you've noticed by now."

"Noticed what?" he asked. He was dreading the answer.

Emily laughed again. "That I like you, of course. Like you. You're different. You're dangerous. It helps a lot that you're undeniably cute. And I like that." The fact that he had gasped when she kissed straight on the lips made it all the more easier for her to take advantage of the situation. He couldn't move, he was so much in shock.

"GET IN THERE, YOU MANGY PIECE OF CRAP!" roared Higgins as he smashed through the door. The caretaker, short and grizzly, his ugly face contorted revoltingly with rage, through the large body of a teenager into the room. Silas Higgins, an older man in his late forties, pulled at the short beard that he hadn't the time to shave yet as he watched with ill-concealed glee at Billy's huddled form shaking pathetically on the floor. "That's what you get for smashing the dishes. Worthless!" It was then that Higgins turned a nasty look towards Tom, or rather Tom and Emily. Tom barely had the time to notice that Emily had stopped kissing him before Higgins rounded on him.

The beady eyes widened when they took in the sight and Tom knew, instinctively, that this was not going to turn out well at all for him.

"Well…," he drawled out, "what do we have here…" Watching the malicious grin form, showing disgusting teeth yellowed from years of smoking cigarettes and rotten from booze, Tom knew that Emily would be let off the hook. Instead, he would be the one to take the fall. "Think you're a big man now, Riddle?" Higgins cackled. "Think you could handle women? A little runt like you?" Higgins spat, a nasty habit that the caretaker had which particularly annoyed him. "I don't think so!"

As he was being dragged off, Higgins holding him fast by the collar of his too-large shirt, he now could hear the voice clearly in his head…

Patience…patience…we will have our time…patience…he'll pay…he'll pay


In terms of quality, the kitchen was by far the best room in the house. This excluding Higgins' rooms, but since you were only allowed there when you were really in trouble, then it didn't matter. Beneath his scuffed old boots, the rough blue tile was crumbling into dust. The stoves were a constant fire hazard if you didn't know how to work them properly, which a majority of the children did not. Copper and the occasional steel pans and spoons hung from the ceiling by strings tied on to cheap wire hangers. There wasn't any surprise felt if they all came crashing down at some point during the day or night. The wooden countertops had been covered with cheap canvas by some of the more innovative older teenagers. No one wanted wooden splinters in their food to go along with any that may have stuck in their feet. The drawers that held the utensils usually stuck and the glasses were generally piled up in a sink crusted in brown-red rust. They along with their dirty chipped dishes were washed every night, every single one of them.

Higgins always let Tom out of the Basement sooner than the others. Everyone knew that. But no one was jealous of him for this 'privilege'. The only reason why Tom Riddle was allowed to leave the Basement early was for the simple reason that he was the favorite person to taunt. Also, he was one of the few in the orphanage that could make a decent meal. That was his primary chore and responsibility. Sure, he wasn't allowed much of what of what he made, but it was still a fact. All of the kids had a job, though the trick was to get someone else to do it. The toughest work was in the kitchen. Of course, the kids who Higgins hated always got stuck there.

There was always someone right next to him, watching him as he cooked, making sure that he didn't add anything 'extra' to the food. The idea had amused him for years – their son-of-a-bitch caretaker already knew that he would be in danger. Though, Tom reflected as he diced a small and meager onion into small squares, if Higgins did have some latent ability for prophecy, it was probably due to those drugs that he injected into himself. Tom had heard somewhere that they messed with the mind.

…He'll pay…pay with his life…blood for our pain…he'll pay…they'll all play…

"Tom?" a timid voice called out. The dark-haired boy was taken away from his thoughts looking over to the far side of the kitchen by the rubbish bin. Sitting cross-legged on the grimy floor, hunched over as if he were trying to hide from sight, Billy Sanders was looking up at him with pitiful brown eyes. Like all others he had seen with Billy's condition, there was a childlike innocence in the older teen. His cropped light brown hair, cut close to his skull, was the only solution to Higgins' tendency to drag him by his hair. Like Tom, he also wore more clothing than was practical – though Tom had the feeling it was because Billy was either copying him or just didn't know better.

Tom blinked mildly before returning to onion chopping. He had bribed his watcher into leaving him alone with some cheap candy he had stolen from Bobby. The eight-year-old kid had already been induced into the job anyway by another boy Tom's own age. "Something wrong, Billy?" he asked gently. Tom knew that there were probably those a bit smarter than Billy that had…whatever he had…but he doubted any of those had grown up in Carthage Orphanage, much less grew up in Endsville.

"Make the voice go away," Billy pleaded, looking about to cry right there and then. It made a sorry picture, the curled potato peelings piled around him, a potato and a dull knife in his hands. "I don't like the voice."

The voice…he could hear…impossible. "Wha-What are you talking about, Billy?" he replied, nervously, flinching slightly. "There's no one else here. Just you and me. I wasn't talking at all."

Billy shook his head adamantly, his wild movements knocking over the bin and scattering refuse onto the floor. "No, no! Bad voice, Tom! Make it go away! Bad voice wants to do awful things," he wailed. "No good! No good! Go away, bad voice!" Genuinely worried now, Tom rushed over and pried the knife out of Billy's hands before he could hurt himself. The older boy then started flailing and convulsing, as if in pain. Struggling to help him, he winced as Billy inadvertently hit a few of his still tender bruises from the night before. Higgins didn't exactly let up on him.

Suddenly, Billy grabbed Tom by the collar and looked at him with clear, intelligent eyes. "I remember that voice, Tom," he said perfectly, no slurred words or muttered phrases. Now Tom was definitely worried and just a trifle scared. "I told you that I was a star, right? In the sky? I know that voice and the others like it. They're terrible, Tom, terrible." The hand holding him began to shake in fright. "I remember them. They were the ones that helped kill my companions, they were the ones that caused the Great War that ended the Golden Age, they were the ones…we were defenseless after the Verdict. We were no match without the Dark-Winged Ones. They were the ones…they were the ones that killed…me…"

As quickly as it had come, that spark of awareness and lucidity vanished. Muttering something unintelligible between his tears, Billy ran out of the kitchen crying. From where he stood frozen, looking after him, he could hear some rather loud oaths and curses following after the afflicted teen. Not too long later, Higgins hollered that he wanted breakfast sometime soon in the next five years.

Sighing, Tom caught a glance at his reflection on the surface of a steel pan. He saw a small, painfully thin boy looking back at him with large, haunted dark blue eyes. His hair, dark brown and black, was in need of a good wash and cut. Stuck up and out here and there, fell around his face and over his forehead, sometimes getting into his eyes. A purple bruise was blossoming on his left cheek, more noticeable on his pale skin. The high gray collar of his drab uniform hid the mark that Emily left on his neck.

He tore his eyes away from the image in disgust, glancing down at his boots and the garbage strewn around the floor. He could never admit that he was a weak little thing that couldn't do anything. The thought that he had to live through all this…with this trash…and couldn't do anything about it made him want to scream. There were those who tried to run away before. Higgins always got them back. He had a lot of friends to help him search for his little moneymakers. One child less meant one check less from the government.

It was then, as he was grimacing at his circumstances, he noticed a letter lying on the floor half-hidden beneath the potato peels and the broken glass shards of a vinegar bottle. Curious, he carefully picked it up from amidst the glass and rinds. Higgins didn't usually leave letters lying in the trash. Looking at the envelope, he was surprised to find in sparkling green ink, written in a round and friendly cursive hand…

Mr. T.M. Riddle
Third Floor Corner Bedroom
178 Carthage Boulevard
Readmouth, Winchester

With slightly hesitating hands, he broke the purple seal and slipped the letter out. His fingers noted the strange feel of the paper, not like the usual kind that he was used to. Eager eyes read the letter, reread the text again and again, nearly unable to believe it to be true.

It was a letter.

A letter for him.

A letter that claimed that he was accepted to a school. One that seemed to actually teach something.

A letter that said that magic – something he had stopped believing in when he was four years old – was real

…And that he had magic…