The Orphan Boy.

Tom walked towards the tram stop, rain running down his face and his hair plastered to his forehead. A man beneath a large black umbrella came towards him, and Tom had to dodge at the last moment to avoid the water pouring off the umbrella. His foot sloshed into a large puddle, soaking his foot and making him grimace.

That morning it had been dry, with no sign of rain when he'd set off from the orphanage. As time went on the sky clouded over, and by lunch, it had started to drizzle. Busy inside the Diagon Alley shops, Tom had hardly noticed the weather, but when he'd crossed the yard behind the Leaky Cauldron he'd seen the rain and decided to delay leaving. He bought a butterbeer and spotting Marcus Lestrange by the window went over to speak to him until Lestrange's father appeared. With the Lestrange's leaving by floo, Tom had taken another look out of the window and decided that he couldn't put it off any longer. He'd set off for the orphanage in a heavy downpour.

Muggle London was quiet, those that were able keeping out of the rain. Tom headed for the tram stop, water dripping from his hair, running into his eyes and dripping off his nose. Two Muggle girls sharing an umbrella smiled sympathetically in his direction. Tom raised his chin, glaring back at them. He didn't need Muggle sympathy. Once he was seventeen and old enough to apparate, he'd never be drenched by rain again.

He caught the tram to Stockwell, alighted at the end of the street and walked back to Wools. Inside the dark hallway, Tom breathed in the building's familiar smell of tile polish, boiled cabbage, and disinfect as he put the bag down and began unbuttoning his coat. Water dripped from him onto the pristine tiles.

From the rear of the orphanage there came the soft murmur of voices and clatter of pots as Martha and tonight's kitchen helper put away dishes. Childish laughter came from the playroom and he heard a dice being rattled as board games were played. He wondered where Buffy was. Apart from helping Martha feed the babies at breakfast, she hadn't been assigned any chores today. Tom thought that she'd most likely be in her room, reading one of her books.

As he hung the coat onto one of the pegs, he heard Mrs Cole's office door open and then her unsteady footsteps in the hall behind him. Tom inhaled slowly, smelling sweet sherry and cigarette smoke. Mrs Cole must have spent her day off drinking with friends. That wasn't good. He turned to face her.

The woman's cheeks were flushed with alcohol, her small eyes on the puddles of water that he'd tracked into the hall. Her small mouth grew tighter and smaller with displeasure. Tom waited, knowing from past experience that a drunk Mrs Cole was difficult to deal with and could turn violent to those in her care.

"You brought this mess in with you, Riddle. Clean it up!" she snapped.

"Yes, of course, Mrs Cole." Tom placed his bag onto the hard wooden bench that ran along the wall and headed for the cleaning supply cupboard. He could sense the woman's eyes following his every move. His hand was on the door's handle when she called out to him again.

"Tom! I've something important to tell you."

He turned, making sure to keep his face emotionless. Anything might set the woman off, appearing too friendly, not friendly enough. The slightest thing would send her into an alcohol-fuelled rage and he wasn't in the mood to deal with it. "Mrs Cole?"

A malicious smile came to her lips and her eyes burning bright and eager. Tom knew the signs. She hoped to hurt him in some way and it only took two words to do it.

"Buffy's left."

Tom flinched, then quickly covered his shock. It wasn't unexpected and it should not have hurt. Children came to Wools, they also left. Some moved to other orphanages, some to employment, and others, usually the luckier ones, were reunited with family. Long ago, before he'd even started at Muggle school, Tom had decided never to become emotionally involved with other orphans. He'd broken his own rule and began to enjoy Buffy's company. And now she had gone.

The sense of loss turned in on itself and became anger. As if it were a separate beast to him, it roiled inside his gut. His magic responded, rising up to shimmer around him. Magic sparked, tingling as it ran down his arms to his fingertips. The wand that he kept hidden up his sleeve thrummed at the gathering magic – itching to find release.

Tom drew in a deep breath before releasing it slowly. He needed to be careful, if he lost control now there was no telling what he'd do. He couldn't hurt Mrs Cole or cause something to happen, else the woman would write to Dumbledore and complain of him. Dippet would expel him from Hogwarts, and the Ministry would snap his wand for misusing his magic in front of a Muggle. Tom closed his eyes, forcing all the accidentally gathered magic back inside him. He swallowed, tasting sourness.

"How nice for Buffy," he managed to reply. He'd kept his voice bland as if he felt nothing. As if her leaving didn't matter to him.

He reached into the cupboard and grabbed the floor mop. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Mrs Cole's face was twisted with annoyance and frustration.

"She had family who wanted her," she drawled, a sneer on her face.

Tom knew that she was trying to provoke him. As a child, she'd laughed when he'd asked her about his family. She'd told him they hadn't come for him because they didn't want a boy like him. Tom bit his tongue, using every bit of will-power not to shout and rail against her as he'd done as a child. Instead, he crouched and began wiping the rainwater from the floor.

He could still feel her eyes burning into the back of his neck as she said, "Her uncle came for her. She stayed long enough to say goodbye to her friends and then left."

Tom nodded, not daring to speak. Anger constricted his throat and would choke his voice. An image of Buffy saying goodbye to the orphanage children came into his head. And then another of her chattering happily to a faceless uncle as she left the building. He should have known better than to trust her. She had betrayed him. Why had he engaged in conversation with her?

Mrs Cole stepped in front of him. He stared at the woman's sensible navy shoes, imagining whipping out his wand and casting a sticking hex so her feet became stuck to the floor. That way she'd be doomed to spend the rest of her life in this place - rooted to the spot.

"I know how much you liked her so I asked Martha if she'd left a message for you," Mrs Cole continued, her voice sickly sweet with fake concern. "She said there wasn't any. I suppose Buffy forgot all about you."

Tom stayed where he was on the floor, not trusting himself to look up. He could feel his magic trying to gather and rise up again. Two more summers left, he told himself. Two more summers and then I never have to see this woman again.

"It makes you wonder why no one likes you, doesn't it Tom? Do you think they know? Do they know deep down what you are?" She leaned down, her face so close that the smell of sherry on her breath almost made him gag. "You're a killer. You killed your father and then you killed your mother. That's why no one wanted you, because they knew there was something wrong with you. Vile boy. Get out of my sight."

Without showing the slightest sign of his anger, Tom put the mop back, picked up his bag, and moved quickly up the stairs. After dropping his bag in his room, he went straight across the hall to check Buffy's room. There was a slim chance that Mrs Cole had lied. He wouldn't put it past her.

Yet even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't a lie. He could sense a change in the building's atmosphere. The place felt emptier than it had earlier. Buffy had brought a positive influence to the place, now that she'd gone it felt darker and dingier than ever.

Tom pushed open the door to her room. Next to him the wardrobe door hung ajar revealing a few wire hangers still hanging on the rail. He closed it, remembering the night that he'd placed the boggart in there, in the hope that it would scare her away. The plan had failed. Buffy hadn't noticed her new roommate and the boggart had migrated on. At the time he'd been annoyed, after all, he'd gone to a lot of trouble to get it for her.

He looked over to the desk, remembering when she'd leaned over it to peer through the window on her first evening. Despite her being an irritating bint to him, he'd found himself staring at the curve of her tanned calves and the way her skirt had ridden up, revealing a tantalising glimpse of inner thigh.

Now there was no sign Buffy had ever been in here. Someone had even taken away the mattress and left only a metal bed frame behind.

That's when his self-control broke. Tom Riddle saw red and struck out. Bare knuckles slammed into the wooden door of the wardrobe. Wood cracked and splintered beneath his fist and a line of blood appeared on his knuckles. Despite the pain, despite drawing blood, he lashed out again and again. Anger fuelled by Mrs Cole's jibes, the grimness of his surroundings, the pain of losing his mother, and Buffy's abandonment. The wooden door panel buckled, finally shattering under his attack. Long wooden shards broke off, some falling to the floor whilst others became embedded into his hands. Only when the front of the wardrobe collapsed did Tom stop.

Breathing hard, he pushed back his hair to stare at his handiwork. The holes smashed into door, the warped surround, and the broken sections lying all around. His hands throbbed in pain. His knuckles already swelling, blood from the cuts and splinters staining them. Tom didn't care about the pain and damage to his hands. He hadn't used his magic, he hadn't hexed anyone, and the bitter rage had left him. As for the room and the broken wardrobe...

With any luck, it would be a long time before anyone came in here. Hopefully, it would happen he was back at school. Mrs Cole might suspect him, but she couldn't prove that he'd done it.

Making his way to the bathroom, he ran hot water into the sink, washing away blood and pulling out splinters. The cuts didn't overly concern him. He had a vial of dittany at hand that would heal the cuts and reduce bruising. If that didn't work, he could always visit St Mungo's. It wasn't as if they were magical injuries, no one would question him on how he'd got them.

When he'd finished drying himself off, he used the towel to wipe the steam from the mirror and stared at his reflection. His even features looked back at him, dark hair still damp, his face pale except for a spot of colour on either cheek. Tom knew that he was considered handsome, he'd seen the way witches and some wizards looked at him, but he'd never spent any amount of time contemplating his face. For him, his looks only served to gain attention and make people more amenable to persuasion.

The corners of his mouth turned down. He didn't want a Muggle friend. He was Tom Riddle. He could visit places where a Muggle like Buffy would never be able to tread. He could see and do things that she had no inkling of. He raised his chin, tilting his head as he examined his face from different angles. Looks did not make one special, magic did. He'd learned a lesson. Never be distracted from his destiny by a girl, whether she was a Witch or a Muggle. He would not forget.

Back in his room, he spent the next hour or so browsing his new school books. Then he lay back on his bed, one hand behind his head as he twirled the shiny prefect badge between his fingers.

"Tom Riddle, Prefect of Slytherin House." Pride at the accomplishment made him smile. Four years he'd strove to appear as the perfect student. It had taken a lot of time and energy fawning over teachers and making sure that he was seen helping other students. The role of Prefect meant more work and responsibility, but the position came with special privileges.

Although having the power to order students around, deduct house points, and the use of a special bathroom had its merits, Tom wanted to be a Prefect for different reasons. Along with responsibility came trust. As a Prefect, he'd have more access to the books in the Restricted Section of Hogwarts library, and he'd be allowed in the corridors after curfew.

Tom intended to put his nightly wandering to good use. The founder of his house, Salazar Slytherin, had created a secret room somewhere in the castle. It was called the Chamber of Secrets and over the years many had searched and failed to find it. This year, Tom intended to find that room and discover the marvels that had been hidden away.

Tom shuffled on the mattress, his mind and body relaxing as he fantasized what he'd do when he found and opened the room. It was bound to be full of magic artefacts and books of spells full of long lost knowledge. All that power and wisdom would be his. He would surpass the great wizard Grindelwald in ability, he'd seek out immortality, he'd build himself an army of followers and subjugate all Muggles, he'd -.

Something crackled under his pillow.

Puzzled, he sat up and lifted the pillow. There, lying on top of the mattress, was a single sheet of folded paper that looked as if it had been ripped from a notebook.

The words 'To Tom-Tom,' were written on the sheet in round handwriting. Tom knew of only one person who called him that.

He snatched it up and read,

"Hi Tom,

I'm hoping to catch you before I leave, but if you're reading this, I guess it means I missed you. Boo-hoo. :-( ← that's my frowny face!"

Tom winced. Who in their right minds wrote boo-hoo and then drew a frowny face?

"My Mom's brother (that's an uncle!)"

Really? He would never have guessed.

"... has found me! He's had Mom transferred to another hospital specialising in her type of injury and coming to collect me shortly. No more Wool's! Yay!"

Yay for some thought Tom, sourly.

"He's invited me to live with him and his son (his wife died a while ago) until Mom gets better. So... new relatives. (I hope that is another yay and they aren't all too weird!)"

'Weird?' That seemed an odd thing to say. Then again, since Buffy wasn't normal, they probably weren't weird at all.

"I don't know what my new address is. I know it's in Devon. Is that far from London? Maybe I can get the bus?"

Tom snorted, despairing at her geography.

"Anyway, this isn't goodbye, I intend to turn up when you least expect it (a bit like the Spanish Inquisition)."

Spanish Inquisition? Didn't they seek out and burn witches and other heretics?

":-) ← here's my cheerful face."

Well, at least one of them was happy. Pity it wasn't him

"Until then, be good and don't do anything that I wouldn't."

Tom snorted again. If only she knew his plans.

"Your friend,

Buffy.

PS, I am pretending to be a Tooth Fairy and putting this under your pillow as I don't trust Cole Scuttle to give it to you. Don't worry, I didn't sneak a peek at your schoolbooks,

haa haa. ;-) - winky face"

Letter in hand, Tom jumped off the bed and crouched beside his school trunk, checking each of the locks and wards. It hadn't been opened. He immediately felt foolish. There was no way Buffy could have got into it. Not only protected with an anti-Muggle charm, but it also had several of the more unusual charms placed on it to keep out nosy Slytherin housemates.

Tom went back to his bed and reread the letter once more - analysing each word and phrase for a deeper, hidden meaning.

...this isn't goodbye, I intend to turn up when you least expect it.

Tom wasn't sure what to make of that line or how he felt about it. On the one hand, she was a Muggle, on the other Buffy hadn't walked out of his life without a backward glance. She'd considered him long enough to write a letter and made sure to place it where he would find it. She considered herself his friend...

She was still a filthy Muggle.

Tom crushed the paper into a ball and lashed it into the waste paper basket in the opposite corner of the room. Lying back on the bed, he twirled the prefect badge around between his fingers. His thoughts once more on the Chamber of Secrets and all the secrets it would contain.

'...I intend to turn up when you least expect it...'

Tom went over to the wastepaper basket, dug the screwed up letter out, smoothing out the creases before placing it inside his Arithmancy textbook. He held the book, pondering adding Buffy's details into one of the charts to see what the numbers made of her. It would be interesting to forecast her future.

Inwardly, he shook his head. Merlin! What was he thinking? She was just a stupid Muggle, there was no way she had any kind of place in the future he was planning.

And yet... he didn't throw her letter away.

…...

A/N;

This was supposed to be part of chapter 20, but it was so very different that I reworked it and made it a full chapter from Tom's pov.

We don't have much information on Mrs Cole in the books (except a liking for sherry). We also only know about the rabbit and the cave incident from her say-so. We do know that she threatened to have Tom taken away to a mental asylum at a young age as Tom was scared that was where Dumbledore was taking him.

I've researched British orphanages in the 30's and 40's (my mother used to talk of one that was still up and running when she was growing up.) They weren't nice places. Those staffing them were often very cruel, abuse was common.

It could be one reason why Tom Riddle hated Muggles so much.

Next chapter, Buffy meets Lovell and has her first taste of the Wizarding World at the Leaky Cauldron.

And on to a late night adventure...