A/N: Hello, people.

I don't own Harry Potter.

I have no beta.

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Tom Marvolo Riddle was a unique boy. With unique abilities.

Ever since he was young, he was able to envision himself as something greater. And he truly felt that that 'something greater' had overtaken him at times.

Moments like those were soon renamed. He wasn't Tom anymore. He was someone else. Someone better. Stronger.

So he fashioned a new name for himself. A name that was a great as his new self was.

Voldemort.

The first incident of Voldemort appearing, was when he was three. Long before he actually had a name for him.

Tom had always been aware. Aware of the things around him. Even if he couldn't articulate like everyone else could, he understood perfectly.

People were idiots.

He was a child, not mentally challenged.

It was as if the matron of the orphanage forgot that she once was a child as well.

Mrs. Cole, the horrible woman she was, always cooing and mumbling instead of speaking like a normal person.

Tom had hated life there. Hated everything.

One of the older boys took Tom's book. He'd been trying to learn his letters, when the eight year old came over and ripped the book from his hands and laughed. In a fit of rage, something just clicked.

It was as if something came over Tom at that time and his anger suddenly dissipated into a low simmer. What came next was shocking. It was like he was in the background, watching his body and mouth move and do and say things that three year olds couldn't do.

Within seconds, the bully was on the cold, wooden floor, staring up at him in horror. Tom didn't know exactly what happened, but when he retrieved the book, he deliberately ripped the page and threw it away. Then flung himself to the floor in a mangled looking heap, crying for all he was worth.

The cook has been a kindly woman who favored Tom above the others because he didn't get into trouble. She was the one to come and see what was wrong.

When she saw Tom on the floor, crying with the torn book off to the side and the bully sitting there staring, she grabbed that boy by the ear and dragged him to the matron's office. She returned a moment later and brought Tom to the kitchen, where he was allowed to sample the dough for the sweets she was making.

Whatever had happened to him, it had all turned out in his favor.

Incidents like that began occurring more often. The next was when he was four.

He finally managed to articulate his thoughts and carried a dictionary everywhere he went. It was important to know things. All kinds of things.

It was when he was six, that he came.

His father found him, though it wasn't deliberate.

The man had been informed that he would be unable to have any more children, so he needed to adopt. There was only one type of child that he wanted though. Intelligent, similar in appearance to him, and not greedy.

So the man traveled to several orphanages before finally coming to Wools.

Tom had been sitting outside, under the shade of a tree, watching for the other children. Some of the older ones still liked to mess with him and weren't smart enough to learn their lessons.

He saw the tall man walk up the walkway and into the building. The cook found Tom a moment later, telling him that Mrs. Cole wanted to see him.

And so Tom carried his dictionary with him as he reluctantly went to see the old woman. The tall man was in her office and the look on his face when Tom walked into the room, was of shock and slight horror.

"This is Tom Marvolo Riddle," Mrs. Cole introduced him. "He's an advanced student in the primary and has already reached his fourth year, despite being only six years of age."

The man, Tom had realized, looked very much like him.

"Tom, this is Mr. Tom Riddle."

Tom's head snapped from the elderly woman to the tall man - Mr. Riddle.

He took in the angular face and the grey eyes much like his own. How his hair was brushed to the side, with the slight curl that Tom's own hair possessed.

This man had to be his father, besides their names being the same, they looked too much alike to not be related.

"Tell me, Tom," the man began. "If I were to had you one hundred quid, what would you do?"

"It would depend on what I need. I have clothing and a functional blanket. I have enough books at the moment. For now I'd save it for more books or maybe a good coat in the winter."

Mr. Riddle nodded and said, "And if I were to take your book?"

Tom's eyes narrowed, "You could very well try, sir."

"And if I took someone's else's book and gave it to you?"

"I hope you don't get caught."

"And if someone did you wrong?"

"They'd get caught, because I don't start problems and I don't get into trouble."

"And if you lost something you value?"

"I would find it."

Tom didn't understand the point of the questioning and felt that the answers were obvious. And that the questions were stupid.

"And if a friend of yours had died?"

"I have no friends, so the point is moot."

"And what do you think of death?"

"Nothing but the next great adventure."

Mr. Riddle stood straight and nodded. "The paperwork, Mrs. Cole?"

Tom watched for several moments, realizing that this man was taking him away. Away from the ridiculous orphanage in the middle of London.

A few weeks later, Tom officially left Wool's Orphanage after getting to know his birth father at several meetings spread out over the short time.

He only bade a farewell to the cook - Ms. Amy - since she was the only person who had truly cared about him while there.

The house he moved into was located in a small village called Little Hangleton. The Riddle House sat atop the largest hill, overlooking the entire village. It was large, with four floors and fanciful decorations.

He was immediately told that his grandparents had been murdered by his mother's father, Marvolo.

Tom Riddle Sr. did not hesitate to explain his family to young Tom.

His father awoke one day, not remembering marrying his mother, Merope Gaunt. He did not love her and didn't know anything about her. And he demanded a divorce and she refused, running from the village, leaving him unable to file the papers.

Marvolo felt that it was Tom's fault that his daughter had run off and sought revenge by killing Tom's elderly mother and father. Tom barely managed to get away, suffering an injury that removed his ability to sire more children.

The villagers took care of Marvolo and he was sent off to prison, leaving his son Morfin behind. Morfin joined his father soon after, killing the caretaker of the Riddle House in anger. Frank Bryce was given a small burial in the Riddle Cemetery, in the plot section that the Riddle Family had purchased. He'd taken care of the land for sixty-four years before he was murdered and Tom Sr. felt he deserved the memorial.

And Tom Riddle Sr. needed an heir to pass his home on to and it was by luck that he came across Tom. At least Tom was his blood child and was 'legitimate'.

And while Tom's life had indeed gotten better, his father wasn't one who inspired comfort and love.

Tom still didn't know what it was like to truly care about someone or have someone care about him. There were servants or course, and he had a governess. Actually, he had three. The first wouldn't teach him anything, too busy trying to earn his father's favor. The second was too old and was revealed to have Dementia. The final one had her head on straight.

Tom had classes. Tom attended service on Sundays, though he didn't really believe what he was hearing. Tom did not get into trouble. Tom was the 'perfect child'.

Except for Voldemort.

Voldemort was more than just another side of him. More than another person in control of his body.

Voldemort was his own person. His own being. His wants and desires differed from what Tom's did. He was terrified of death, whereas Tom didn't really care. He hated silk while Tom loved it. He wanted solitude while Tom longed for someone - anyone - to just be there. And all of this was shoved into one body, making Tom come across as a bit cocksure and closed off.

Little Hangleton was a boring place. The only interest Tom ever had was when he visited his mother's former abode on the outskirts of the village.

The Gaunts were a truly depraved family.

A Ouija Board in the corner, candles and salts on the floor. A cauldron and various blades. Those people believed in magic.

Tom was the the last 'Gaunt' left. He was given ownership of the shack - that's what it was, a shack - since no one else wanted it. Also, no one dared go near it for fear of being cursed. The Gaunts were thought to be bewitched and in a small village, of course they'd be easily swayed by popular opinion.

The item of interest that Tom took from the shack, was a ring. An old ring passed down in the family. Golden and with a strange black stone fixed in the center. On the sides of the ring, were symbols. Runes. On the face of the stone, was a triangle and inside was a circle that was bisected by a perpendicular line. An odd design, but far too nice for a family such as the Gaunts.

Other than the ring, he took the scroll that documented the line of the Gaunts, which led all the way up to a man named Cadmus Peverell, who moved to England from Wales and renamed himself to get away from his bad family reputation.

Apparently, his oldest brother Antioch, professed to be a sorcerer and became a braggart. Magic was frowned upon at that time and he was burned at the stake. His two younger brothers fled in shame, before the mobs could attack them for sorcery.

So Tom's 'family' on the one side were all crazy and his 'family' on the other side were all stuck up snobs with no idea who to truly care for a child.

Great.

New family!

Little Hangleton became the new home to a new family of three and Tom was intrigued enough to go and take a look.

The house, which admittedly was the second largest in the village, wasn't too far and he found the youngest new resident, sitting in the back yard, glaring at the village.

A teen around Tom's age at least.

Black, messy hair. Pale skin. Bright green eyes behind a pair of black, rectangular frames. The teen was physically interesting.

Voldemort snorted in the back of his mind. More than that, he purred.

Tom ignored him and focused on the other teen once more.

He started off their introduction with light teasing, enjoying how the boy gaped for a moment, before controlling himself.

Hadrian Potter.

Cute.

Tom was looking forward to this acquaintanceship.

In the back of his mind, Voldemort cackled.

A/N: Another is done.

-So, Tom has Dissociative Identity Disorder. Since there are no legitimate ways of getting into someone's mind, scientists cannot truly describe what it is like to have DID/MPD. So my take on it, is there is another person sharing Tom's body. Like two souls in one form. And when Voldemort truly takes over, Tom is forced into the background, able to see and hear and feel and all that, but not be the one controlling it all.

How was it? Let me know.

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