10th August 1942

Tom Riddle was not happy. Not only was he forced to stay in this godforsaken orphanage for the whole summer, but he had also been given responsibility. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have minded this. At Hogwarts, he was hoping to be made Prefect, and was expecting his letter any day now ready for the start of his fifth year in September. However, although being a Prefect meant doing nightly patrols and being allowed into the out-of-bounds areas, not to mention having the authority over others and being able to give detention, he only found that appealing at Hogwarts – where he could do magic to enforce his will. Here, stuck in this grey orphanage that was overflowing with children, he couldn't care less about doing nightly patrols, or ensuring all the younger children actually ate their dinner. He had no way of formally punishing them without his wand, except for the fact that they were all already absolutely petrified. He supposed that was why Mrs Cole had given him the task of patrolling the corridors on a night; no one would try and sneak out of bed if they thought they would be caught by Tom Riddle. Yet, he still found this task tedious; unlike Hogwarts, there was nowhere interesting to go in Wools Orphanage. Nothing interesting ever happened. That was why, in the early hours of 10th August, he was very surprised to hear a banging on the front door.

It was well after 1am, and he had finished his last patrol at midnight, but had stayed up to read his book. The loud knocker on the front door banged twice, and then a third time. Tom heard scuffles downstairs as Mrs Cole was awoken and hurried to answer the door. He found this odd, because no one ever came to the orphanage this late unless it was a woman in need of help – and then the knocking was usually accompanied by shouts or screams. This time it wasn't. Tom got up from his desk and pulled on his worn grey jacket, which had become part of his uniform when he had refused to wear the ugly grey tunics the other residents wore. He slipped his feet back into his shoes and slowly walked down the hall and then down the creaky staircase. He arrived on the landing opposite the entrance area and stood there, in the shadows, certain that Mrs Cole was too preoccupied to notice him.

In the entranceway stood a police officer, and his hand was clasped firmly on the shoulder of a young girl.

"Found her out by Charing Cross, didn't know where else to bring her. She has nowhere to go, apparently," the officer informed Mr Cole in a matter-of-fact voice, but it was clear that his eyes were conveying an unspoken message to the matron. Tom saw Mrs Cole slowly look the girl up and down then, with a 'humph' sound, she gestured for the officer to move into her office with her.

"Stay here," she told the girl sharply, and for added measure she relocked the front door and tucked the key into her dressing gown pocket. She shuffled after the officer into her office, and Tom grimaced; he hated that woman, someone like her should not be put in charge of children.

Now that Mrs Cole was not blocking her from view, Tom could see the girl quite clearly. He was surprised. Very surprised, and a slight bit disgusted; he knew at once why Mrs Cole wanted to speak to the officer alone. This girl was not the type of girl who would usually be taken in at the orphanage as a resident; it was the kind of girl Tom would expect to hammer down the door in the middle of the night heavy with child and in need of help, despite her only looking fifteen or sixteen (he had seen it all before, living in this place).

Tom stared at her exceptionally revealing clothes. She looked absolutely disgraceful, not composed and correct like a girl her age should be: his eyes raked over the practically transparent shirt, exposed midriff, and very short skirt, which barely touched mid-thigh. Her legs bore no stockings and her feet were in the most ridiculous pair of shoes Tom had ever seen a woman wear. Her face was a mess of heavy make-up, which he guessed had once been done to perfection, but was now smeared down her face with a mixture of rain and blood. What in Merlin's name had she been doing? Well, he thought with a sneer, he could guess.

Blood. That was when he noticed the wound on her forehead, matting some of her dark hair together, and the bloody and bruised scrapes on her knees. It didn't take a genius – and Tom was a genius – to know what had happened to her. Tom knew immediately why Mrs Cole had wanted to speak to the officer; she did not normally allow girls like this to enter her establishment. Tom thought it was far from respectable, the orphanage; it was a house for the unwanted, the tainted, the abandoned. He didn't belong there; he was destined to do great things – this girl was just some more riff-raff to add to Mrs Cole's collection.

The girl shifted at that moment, shivering, and wrapped her arms around herself, letting out a small sigh. She turned on her heel slightly, and gasped. Her blue eyes were staring directly at him, and he held her gaze. She narrowed her eyes, and opened her mouth, about to say something by the look of it, but then the door to Mrs Cole's office opened, and voices filled the entryway.

"Thank you, I shall send someone by in the morning with the necessary paperwork and to speak to the girl," the policeman was saying, putting his hat back on his balding head. Mrs Cole was nodding briskly, her face obviously showing her disapproval at letting the girl stay.

"Make sure you do."

They shook hands and then she let the officer out the door before securely locking it once more. Then she turned to the girl, her night cap slightly askew on her greying hair and her off-white dressing gown coming loose at the waist. She tied it again abruptly, and then addressed the girl.

"Look at the state of you," she tutted. Tom had to admire the girl; she raised her head and just stared at Mrs Cole, before retorting.

"Well you try being knocked unconscious in the cold and rain and see how you look afterwards," she sniped back. Tom smirked. Then there was a loud SMACK, and the next second the girls head was whipped to the side, and Mrs Cole had a triumphant look on her face. The girl glared at her, hands balling into fists. Spirit, Tom thought. He liked spirit - as long as it was contained.

"One more word out of you and you'll be back out on the streets where you belong," Mrs Cole warned, and Tom saw the girl relax her stance, obviously not wishing to sacrifice her bed for the night. He decided now might be a good time to move from his hiding spot, as they were slowly moving towards the foot of the stairs.

"What is your name, girl?"

"Jessica," the girl sighed, running a hand through her messy hair. Her voice sounded weak, Tom thought with distaste, no hint of the fighting spirit he had just seen. Pathetic. He began to move back up the stairs and along the hall to his room, but not before he heard Mrs Cole order the girl, Jessica, upstairs.

A/N – well, another chapter done. I wanted to put Tom's view on things. Next chapter will be back to Jess's point of view. Once they have become acquianted and she realises what is going on, all will be explained about her situation.

Pease review! Let me know what you think!