~`1`~

Tom didn't want to be there. He didn't want to relive his life as a mudblood, didn't want to be called something as ridiculous as Lestat, didn't want any of this. One of his victims, a particularly annoying muggle had once said with his last words, gurgled through the blood he was choking on, that Karma was going to come back to bite him in the arse.

Consider his arse bitten.

He had to get out of there.

And he would do it with that ever reliable companion of his.

Magic.

Tom sat there in the colourful bouncy chair while his 'parents' cooed at him, babbling nonsense and wiggled his fingers. To his chagrin it was more a uncoordinated grasping move that had his 'mother' melt and say things like, "Look at his little hand and his little fingers and his itty bitty toes!" but it worked. The stuffed caterpillar flew up from the shelf it was on and landed in his hand.

There was silence and Tom smiled. It would come soon, the screaming, the yelling, the blaming of one another for their child's freakishness.

"—What was that?" Came the hushed little tremulous question from his 'father' and the two stared at one another in shock.

"Telekinesis?"

"I can see that, but how?"

What? No, that wasn't what was supposed to happen! Where was the yelling, the screaming, the outrage? Where was the priest being called in for exorcism of the 'devil child'? And then came the part when the Dark Lord Voldemort realised that despite being a literal old soul, the body was very very young. So young, in fact, that he couldn't control the physical manifestation of his shock and dismay.

And began sobbing.

"Oh no, baby, we're so sorry, we didn't mean to ignore you!" His mother picked him up and rocked him back and forth and his sobs became louder. They both held him between one another murmuring a million adorations and the Dark Lord Voldemort was surprised to find that he...believed them.

Living through childhood was strange. Not only because he was Voldemort in mind, older even than his 'parents' and possibly even his 'grandparents', but also because...well the 20's and 30's in an orphanage made for a very different childhood than the 80's in a loving childhood.

The strangest of it all was the TV. Apparently there were TVs in every household now. There were even channels dedicated to children's shows. Luckily the Grangers didn't consider it educational enough, especially for their 'genius little darling'.

It had been exhilarating to be set apart from the rest for his intellect in his first childhood. To be noticed, have that praise heaped upon him was confirmation that he was meant for greater things.

It didn't have the same effect on him now. Especially because he got the feeling that the Grangers were just such a loving couple that they would call him a genius little darling even if he hadn't spelt out his name with the letter blocks at the tender age of 8 months.

Of course, they assumed that it was because Tom was the name of a character in one of the children's book they read him, so he remained named Lestat.

Tom Marvolo Riddle had been an attractive child for all his strangeness. He was polite and charming, glib but not noticeably so and always knew the right words to say to convince people of whatever he wanted them to believe. There were those who saw through the disguise, of course, but it usually happened due to a moment of indiscretion or excitement or of course if Tom didn't think them worthy of the show.

Lestat Quintillian Granger was a cold, unfeeling, smart child. He did not suffer fools gladly or at all and parents rarely set up a second playdate with him although that was mostly because he tended to show up their children quite badly. By the age of five he was acknowledged as an antisocial genius and homeschooling had been recommended by multiple child psychiatrists.

And the Grangers ignored that advice and put him in a school instead to learn how to socialise.

It did not go well.

"Let me get this straight," Daniel Granger said in a voice that surprised Tom. It was low and dangerous and entirely unexpected form the man who had once spent an entire afternoon dancing out nursery rhymes in a failed attempt to make his son laugh. "Lestat is a bad fit for the class because he corrected you fifteen times in one hour?"

The man sniffed, "We cannot have such petulanc-"

"You are apparently so unknowledgable that my five year old could correct you fifteen times in an hour, and somehow that means that my son isn't a good fit in your class." Daniel Granger continued in that discreetly belligerent way, "I do believe I'd like to speak to the principal."

The next week there was a new teacher in the class. She was brightly attired with big red curly hair that made him think of Lily Potter and came equipped with books better suited for his 'advanced' reading level and who taught them science the likes of which he hadn't seen before.

It took a few years but he finally admitted that perhaps muggles weren't the uncouth, savage things he thought they were. In those few years he eventually progressed to a higher level of learning and by the age of ten Lestat had provisional admission to many universities in Britain whose names Tom had only ever heard of spoken in wistful tones, even by the normal muggle folk who lived in the better parts of town. The Grangers were very excited about it, especially since it made for better environments in which their son's 'telekinesis' could be tested.

So Minerva knocking on the door on his eleventh birthday came as a considerable relief

It comes as little surprise that Minerva is much better at the 'Welcome to the Wizarding World' spiel than Dumbledore. A little transfiguration of the desk into a lion, showing off her magical prowess and her subject as well and that was the magic bit done. No setting poor little orphans' only belongings on fire, no Legilimency. Just plain old facts and helpful advice. A muggleborn introductory pamphlet that was actually helpful.

He could guess whose handiwork this was. Dumbledore liked to posture a muggleborn sympathetic but he knew nothing about the muggle world. He was a pureblood through and through, no different from Lucius in many ways. No, this was Minerva's doing. His once classmate who had been raised in the muggle world. The deputy headmistress of a school whose headmaster held two other important positions, one in government the other in international politics, the true headmistress of the school in all but name.

He went over all the material she'd left him carefully, the only magical thing he'd have for the next few months until Minerva took them all to Diagon Alley with other muggleborns. It was just as well, he'd have time to plan how he'd get to know his 'peers' better, make the right sort of friends that he'd need to take over the Wizarding world properly this time.

Beginning, of course, with his once nemesis, Harry fucking Potter.