Tom Riddle's Bedroom, Wool's Orphanage:

Two knocks shook his door. A yellowed and crumbly piece of peeling paint fell to the floor as the door rattled on its hinges. From the sharp clicks of her heels, Tom could tell it was Mrs. Cole outside his door. But two unknown heavy footsteps had followed her up the staircase. A larger man, definitely. But who?

The door opened, with a jolt, becoming unstuck. Tom hated that there was no lock.

The old matron twisted her neck around the doorframe, sticking her head in to look at him.

"Tom? You've got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumberton –- sorry, Dunderbore. He's come to tell you –- well, I'll let him do it," she said, with a slurred expression and a quick eye roll, then left.

Entering behind her was a tall man who wore quite a queer suit of a plump plum velvet. But that wasn't the oddest thing about him. He had allowed his hair to grow down to his waist, and his beard stretched even longer, both fiery red. Tom had never seen anyone who looked like this before. Tom had never seen anyone dress like this, nor anyone with such extreme grooming.

"How do you do, Tom?" said the extremely strange man, and without even introducing himself, outstretched his large hand and intruded deeper into Tom's small room. Tom felt cornered. He looked at the large veined hand in front of him, and then realizing he was expected to shake it, stretched out his own hand. He shook the man's with trepidation. Why was this odd grown man standing over his bed, Tom's only place of refuge inside of Wool's orphanage?

"I am Professor Dumbledore."

Tom was perplexed. Was that supposed to explain something? That was not either of the names Mrs. Cole had said, either. Mrs. Cole must have been drinking again if she couldn't even get the man's name right after two tries. Why had he been sent in here? Tom's hands closed his book slowly, setting it down beside him.

"'Professor'?" he repeated curiously, almost stuttering on the word as his mind raced to find conclusions. He was very worried now. It had only been last week she'd threatened him— in a drunken stumble Mrs. Cole cried she'd have him "locked up," right after she told Eric Whalley that Eric would be "better off dying already" rather than being sick for "months on end every year" and a "constant nuisance for everyone to tend to." But she'd apologized the next day to both him and Eric, saying she hadn't felt quite herself, using those words, those same triggering words as she had said to Tom too many times to count, usually as an admonishment to describe him him–- "something not quite right." Tom didn't think anything was wrong with himself.

Why was this weird man here, in his room? Did Mrs. Cole really want him to be taken away?

Nervously, he looked into the man's eyes and began to speak. "Is that like 'doctor'? What are you here for?"

Tom pointed a trembling finger towards his door from which Mrs. Cole had just left. "Did she get you in to have a look at me?"

"No, no," said the Professor, smiling broadly with teeth–- despite Tom's obvious fright. Something wasn't right about this man if he was still smiling. Any normal person would have tried harder to deny that they were a threat to a concerned and unsettled child. Which Tom could admit. He was a child, or at least, that's how the world was determined to consider him for the foreseeable future. This man probably wouldn't tell him anything but lies.

"I don't believe you," said Riddle. His fight or flight was bubbling up. But there was no way out, the large man was between him and the door, still smiling in a kind of way that would be unnerving to anyone, making Tom sick to his stomach. Did the man not realize how scary it was to not stop smiling when the person you're talking to is obviously uncomfortably afraid?

"She wants me looked at, doesn't she? Tell the truth!" commanded Tom, feeling the last three words escape him with that kind of explosive force that boils over when he feels helpless and cornered. Tom's eyes narrowed as the very strange man, a frightening man, this Dumbledore— who only continued to smile with abandon, like some terrible penny-begging street act. The man did nothing. No response.

Tom realized he didn't understand this situation at all. He had raced to conclusions, but that was because he felt so afraid. It's not that Tom didn't want to leave Wool's, but a fuzzy white room with only gruel and torture seemed like an even worse fate to be damned to.

"Who are you?" Tom asked, needing to gather more information to understand how to get out of this, whatever this intrusion was.

"I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school –- your new school, if you would like to come."

It was grossly unbelievable. Tom surely hadn't applied to any school, and there would be no other way a school would know about him, a boy with nothing but his name and a creaky bed with slats that fell out. This unexplainably eccentric man, Dumbledore, was trying to fool him! Smiling at him. Treating him like a baby, trying to coax him without objection into submitting to the terrorization of another "institution" where Tom would likely be kept no better than a caged bird, when at least at Wool's he suffered no worse than clipped wings. Tom backed away, now more angry than frightened.

"You can't kid me! The asylum, that's where you're from, isn't it?" He couldn't control the outburst. "'Professor,'" Tom said, realizing that was probably what the stranger made his locked-up patients call him, "Yes, of course."

It was just a ruse.

"Well, I'm not going, see? That old cat's the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they'll tell you."

That day last summer still haunted him. A great day— but terrible. He'd learned more about himself that day than he had ever known before. Honestly, Tom hadn't meant to do anything to them.

It was a rare treat for the orphans to get to go to the country. So rare, it only happened once a year, and the previous year's trip had been canceled due to rain and thunderstorms, never to be rescheduled. The orphans were more than excited to stretch their wings for once in two years.

Dennis and Amy were probably his closest friends in the orphanage, because they both also liked to read and therefore kept more to themselves than the rumbling-tumbling crowd of boys or the squealing girls who were always laughing, laughing for reasons Tom never knew why. Dennis and Amy joined in with those groups sometimes, but they sometimes preferred Tom's presence. He knew how to be witty. Dryly funny. He knew how to dare to be adventurous. So when he'd discovered a hidden cave on the trip, all three of them were excited to see just how deep inside they'd be willing to go— or how deep they could push the others, squealing and laughing as they each took a few more footsteps in.

Tom heard the whispers first, echoing in the dark recesses of the cave. "Hungy." "Big." "What's this?" "Those three." Tom thought it must have been more of the orphanage kids stumbling upon the cave they'd found. Tom was worried about getting caught from breaking off from the group.

"Do you think they're going to find us this deep?" he asked, turning towards Amy.

"Who?" asked Amy.

"We should probably head back before they notice we're gone," said Dennis.

Maybe they were deaf.

"They already have? Can't you hear them?" said Tom.

The wind howled through the cave.

"I can't hear anything but wind, Tom," said Dennis, with a wry look.

Tom just looked seriously at them, but he was baffled as the whispering multiplied.

"Tom, stop playing with us. You're scaring me again. You KNOW I don't like when you do that," said Amy, stamping down her foot.

"Amy, I'm not messing with you, can't you hear them now, they're getting louder?"

But obviously, she couldn't. She wasn't like Tom. Neither was Dennis. Nobody was. That's why they felt like the only answer was labeling him crazy and scary.

But he wasn't crazy. He didn't mean to be scary. But when the snakes revealed themselves from the dark, all speaking to him, and he replied– Amy and Dennis only shouted louder at him to knock it off. They were screaming now. He hissed at the snakes to come away from them, hoping they would obey.

The snakes did obey, immediately. All the snakes slithered towards him, but he was between Amy and Dennis and the exit, so the snakes blocked their way out. The two kids stumbled away from the snakes, steps deeper into the cave, cutting themselves on the jagged rocks as they fell to the ground in the shadows.

The snakes sang in a haunting chorus about being drawn towards the smell of blood. Tom was scared shitless by this. Strange things had happened around him before, but he didn't know he was capable of… something like this. He was different. Maybe this was just a nightmare, though. But it was all too real when he could hiss back–- and the snakes obeyed. Amy and Dennis heard his continued hissing, and horror-struck, saw the snakes all fixed on him in the dark, swaying their heads, all raised up off the ground. Tom looked like some kind of snake charmer, some fiend, some kind of devil. Amy screamed at the highest pitch her voice could wrestle from her fear. Tom asked her to calm down, first in hisses accidentally, and then corrected himself, speaking in English— but nothing made Amy and Dennis stop crying or screaming. Walking towards them, they shivered, just as frightened of him as they were frightened of the snakes. Maybe more, even.

"They were all right about you, Tom," Amy shouted! "You're insane! You're freakish! Crazy as hellfire— dark and black, twisted! Devilish! Please, please— just stop. Let us out of here!"

It hurt like piercing daggers to hear such venom spat from the only girl from the orphanage who he thought was on his side. He begged the snakes to return to the shadows, which they did with hissed salutations.

"You happy now, Amy? They're gone." He was trying his best to calm her, even though he just spat horrible insults at him.

"I'm not a bad person. I'm just Tom. This has never happened before. I didn't mean for you to get scared. I barely know what happened," he said to her, but Tom wasn't sure she could hear him through her wails and gasps and sniffling.

The other two kids cried out as he came near them again. There was no convincing, no management of feelings or manipulation Tom could think of to change what he knew they were going to say. Amy and Dennis were traumatized, even though they'd mostly done it to themselves, and they were sure to reveal what happened to everyone. They'd burn him alive, send him to the crazyhouse, the asylum, they'd throw away the key. Tom got scared, realizing this. He started pleading with Amy and Dennis not to tell Mrs. Cole or Martha or anyone, but he could see deep in their eyes, down to their souls, that they'd betray him as soon as they were out of Tom's sight. Convincing them wouldn't work.

He hated to think this, to resort to this, but he knew he could scare them into doing what he wanted. He'd certainly done it before when the older boys had "bumped into" him one too many times or "accidentally" hit him in the face for a quick laugh. He'd reserved invoking fear to tamper his enemies, but if he had to, Tom knew he could use it to silence his friends.

Tom thought commanding the snakes to slither back up to Amy and Dennis with some violent hissing would work to convince them to keep silent, but then Amy and Dennis only cried harder, and in a split second decision, Dennis tried to charge past Tom to escape.

Afraid beyond belief, of what he was capable of, of what Dennis and Amy might say, of what Mrs. Cole might do if she found out, scared of all the pain he'd endure if Dennis stole his future away from him with one screamed admission of Tom's freakishness, Tom exploded with overwhelmed abandon. Dennis fell to the ground in a magical shock of pain, and Tom seethed.

"Don't either of you ever DARE to utter a word of this. A word against me. IF YOU DO, I will not only end your life, I will make you watch as I feed bits of you to snakes. You should be afraid of me," with the last words he cried, he could feel a rush of the biological urge to protect oneself–- it radiated out from him, like an invisible force striking everything around him, not only the snakes, stunned and spit back yards and feet as they spinelessly squirmed from the uncontrollable unleashed power that Tom unbound, but Amy and Dennis too, shuttering as every bone creaked and their skin felt like it was scalded by whipping fire, their nerves seeming to twist as they felt nothing but total pain and fear, and they became more scared of Tom than death itself.

Tom hadn't wanted that all to happen. He wished they'd stayed friends. But at least he learned he was different— and what that meant. He could never have friends, could he? Because of the weird things he couldn't control. Because he was different. Because they would hate him for it. Because it was only natural to hate him. Everybody did. He wished everybody would love him, or at least someone would— but so far, he could only discover how to make them fear him.

Tom snapped back from the memory of last summer. Dumbledore was here, and Dumbledore had further explanations to give.

"I am not from the asylum," said Dumbledore.

Tom still didn't believe him. Where else could he be from?

"I am a teacher and, if you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about Hogwarts. Of course, if you would rather not come to the school, nobody will force you–-"

"I'd like to see them try," sneered Tom. He would run away. He'd be okay on his own. It already felt like he was on his own here, even if he had Billy and two hot meals a day.

"Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on, as though he had not heard Riddle's last words, "is a school for people with special abilities."

"I'm not mad!"

"I know that you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic."

"Magic?" repeated Tom in a whisper. Could that be the explanation? For all his troubles, for all his abilities, for all the strangeness he's witnessed in the world?

"That's right," said Dumbledore.

"It's… it's magic, what I can do?"

"What is it that you can do?"

"All sorts," breathed Tom, feeling like he could finally be honest, in a way he couldn't even with Billy, without scaring Billy— which he would never want to do again. Tom wanted to impress Dumbeldore, though, now, if it was all magic which he could do.

"I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them." Really, only snakes, and a dog once, but he wasn't trying to get specific, not until he got more answers from Dumbledore.

"I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to." He didn't want to admit that people could hurt him, because Tom liked to maintain an image of strength. If he let it falter around others, maybe he wouldn't believe it himself. Tom wanted to be respected by Dumbledore, and Tom knew he'd look weak if he said he couldn't control a lot of what weirdness he'd done, or at least he'd look weak if the most powerful things he'd done had all been unintentional. Might as well proclaim it purposeful. But he thought all of this in a rush, jumping from one word and thought to the next.

Tom got down to his knees. This was breaking his entire worldview. Confirming things he thought he'd never understand, revealing things he'd never thought rational.

"I knew I was different," he whispered to his own shaking hands. "I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something."

"Well, you were quite right," said Dumbledore, who had finally stopped smiling.

"You are a wizard," Dumbledore said plainly.

"Are you a wizard too?" Tom asked, his face twisting into the most genuine smile a child can have— raw, healing.

"Yes, I am," replied Dumbledore. Tom… wasn't alone? Did this revelation change everything? But Tom didn't want to get ahead of himself.

"Prove it," Tom said quickly, realizing he'd been the one to reveal all his secrets with none in return. Tom needed to know he wasn't just being lied to. What if this was all part of a greater ruse? Meant to trick him?

"Tell the truth," said Tom, with serious pointed eyes.

"If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts–-" said Dumbeldore with raised eyebrows, as if it wasn't obvious what Tom was feeling— overwashed and drowned in feelings of confirmation and happiness. Was there any path to fulfillment he'd ever been presented other than going to Hogwarts?

"Of course I am!" exclaimed Tom.

"Then you will address me as 'Professor' or 'sir,'" said Dumbledore.

Tom then realized Dumbledore was a man who prioritized demonstrating his own authority and his own perceived greatness over the comfort of children. Tom understood how to give respect, but he also thought he should be forgiven for forgetting niceties when Tom's world had been rocked by the revelation he was a wizard. But Tom wouldn't forget, now. Tom knew how to talk to people. How they wanted to be spoken to. How some of them needed to be played. Tom could placate Dumbledore. He could already tell Dumbledore probably looked down on him. Tom knew he had been nothing but demanding and frightened in the interaction, and therefore likely frightening to Dumbledore. Tom hoped he might be able to raise Dumbledore's opinion of him. He'd be on his best behavior, now.

"I'm sorry, sir. I meant–- please, Professor, could you show me?"

Dumbledore drew his wand from an inside pocket of his suit jacket, pointed it at the only other piece of furniture in the room, the shabby wardrobe in the corner, and gave the wand a casual flick.

Tom's wardrobe burst into flames. WHAT WAS DUMBLEDORE THINKING?

He jumped to his feet, howling in shock and anger— for everything Tom had ever called his own was inside. Everything that was him that wasn't his body was being submitted to the fate of being ash because of a crazy magical man sent to destroy his world! He wanted to hit Dumbledore— nothing made sense!

But then, the flames vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged.

Tom stared, moving his eyes from the wardrobe to Dumbledore. Tom then realized the power a wizard could command, the control… with the right tools. Tom pointed towards Dumbledore's wand.

"Where can I get one of them?"

"All in good time," said Dumbledore. "I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe."

A faint rattling could be heard from inside it. Oh, no. Tom couldn't believe it. Right after having tarnished Dumbledore's view of him, right after Tom had decided to try and make a good impression! What if Dumbledore discovered the things he had taken? Tom's face dropped.

"Open the door," demanded Dumbledore.

Tom hesitated. Could he resist? Could he get out of this? Claim a big mistake? No, better to own up to it, Dumbledore clearly had the upper hand. Tom crossed the room, threw open the wardrobe, and grabbed the small cardboard box on the topmost shelf, above a rail of his few threadbare clothes. The box was shaking and rattling as if several frantic mice were trapped inside it.

"Take it out," said Dumbledore.

"Is there anything in that box you ought not to have?" asked Dumbledore.

The guilt, the shame being imposed on him–- was overwhelming, but he had to remain stone cold rather than reveal weakness to this man who was challenging him left and right, again and again. Dumbledore would never think highly of him now, Tom knew it.

"Yes, I suppose so, sir," Tom replied, his voice shivering in the realization he was being forced to admit to his past misdeeds.

"Open it."

Tom took off the lid and tipped the contents onto his bed without looking at them. If he looked at them, he knew he'd cave into begging for forgiveness and his guilt would fill him— half truly and half falsely, for most of these things had been long forgotten— he didn't take from those who didn't deserve it. For a kid who has nothing, taking is the only way to feel some claim to the world. When he was little, he'd had his christmas toys stolen by other bigger kids at Wool's. One thing a year, that's all Tom was entitled to. A spinning top, a picture book, a ball. Why wasn't Dumbledore making those other thieving kids feel guilty? Orphan see, orphan do. Tom lived by the laws of the land here at Wool's. He just had the advantage that the other kids were too scared to steal their things back from him.

"You will return them to their owners with your apologies," said Dumbledore, with a sense of righteousness that Tom felt exuded a feeling of superiority. Tom figured Dumbledore had never had to fight to have anything in his life, much less fight for everything. He'd likely never known hunger, either, or justifiable envy.

"I shall know whether it has been done. And be warned: Thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts."

"Yes, sir." Tom would have to continue on, having nothing. That's okay, though. Tom was strong. He looked back at Dumbledore, stone-faced.

"At Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on, "we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have–- inadvertently, I am sure, been using your powers in a way that is nether taught nor tolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic –- yes, there is a Ministry –- will punish lawbreakers still more severely. All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide by our laws."

"Yes, sir," said Tom again, the words rotting in his mouth, stowing the items back into the box. Dumbledore was openly threatening him, accusing him, telling him he was awful for who he had been made to be, and that he must remake himself. Fine. He would.

But how would he get the things he needed for school? Stealing was the only way to get fed decently around here, at Wool's. Tom didn't know another way to get what he needed.

But, Tom was intelligent beyond measure, and they were gonna pay for him to go to school. So, how did they expect him to get what they required? They must have a way.

"I haven't got any money," said Tom, bluntly. He hoped they didn't expect him to work in the Hogwarts kitchens and sell matches in the street to earn enough to outfit himself for school.

"That is easily remedied," said Dumbledore, drawing a leather money-pouch from his pocket. "There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books and robes. You might have to buy some of your spellbooks and so on secondhand, but –-"

Spellbooks! He could learn set things on fire, like Dumbledore? What else could be done with magic?

"Where do you buy spellbooks?" asked Tom, reaching into the pouch to take out a large gold galleon, examining the way it glimmered. It was probably worth more than his whole life to most people on the street who looked down on orphan street urchins. Tom wanted to count the coins right here, right now, but he thought Dumbledore would judge him for it. Tom had never had money before. Not a shilling, ever.

"In Diagon Alley," explained Dumbledore. "I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything–-"

"You're coming with me?" asked Riddle, looking up. Dumbledore was already determined to despise him. Tom would rather go alone than be escorted by someone who would judge his every action and scold him every other moment.

"Certainly, if you–-"

"I don't need you," said Tom. "I'm used to doing things for myself, I go round London on my own all the time. How do you get to this Diagon Alley–- sir?" he added, catching Dumbledore's eye. It was a lie he'd been around London on his own. The last time he'd tried it he'd been punished severely by Mrs. Cole, but once Tom got a wand and learnt a few spells, Mrs. Cole wouldn't be able to stop him.

Dumbledore handed over the envelope containing his list of equipment, and after telling Tom exactly how to get to the Leaky Cauldron from the orphanage, he said, "You will be able to see it, although Muggles around you –- non-magical people, that is–- will not. Ask for Tom the barman –- easy enough to remember, as he shares your name–-"

Tom twitched.

"You dislike the name 'Tom'?"

"There are a lot of Toms," he replied, now curious if Dumbledore knew any more about his parentage than Mrs. Cole.

"Was my father a wizard? He was called Tom Riddle too, they've told me."

"I'm afraid I don't know," Dumbledore replied, but Tom wasn't sure whether or not to believe him. Dumbldore didn't trust him. Maybe his father was alive and a criminal. Maybe he'd died a gruesome death. Maybe he didn't want Tom to find him.

"My mother can't have been magic, or she wouldn't have died," said Tom, reasoning to himself. "It must have been him. So–- when I've got all my stuff–- when do I come to this Hogwarts?"
"All the details are on the second piece of parchment in your envelope," said Dumbledore. "You will leave from King's Cross Station on the first of September. There is a train ticket in there, too."

Tom nodded. Dumbledore got to his feet and held out his hand again. Taking it, Tom realized this was the last moment to discover anything else— until he could steal away to Diagon Alley. Tom wondered if it would impress Dumbledore to reveal his greatest power he'd discovered. He wondered if he was normal, even for magical kids. Tom liked to be exceptional.

"I can speak to snakes. I found out when we've been to the country on trips–- they find me, they whisper to me. Is that normal for a wizard?"

"It is unusual," said Dumbledore, after a moment's hesitation, "but not unheard of."

Dumbeldore's tone was casual but his eyes moved curiously over Tom's face. They stood for a moment, man and boy, staring at each other. Then the handshake was broken; Dumbledore was at the door.

"Goodbye, Tom. I shall see you at Hogwarts."

Tom was excited to see Hogwarts, but he knew that seeing Dumbledore again would mean more suspicion, more judgment— and Tom felt he would never gain Dumbledore's approval. Not that he needed it. He'd always been fine being the only one with a positive opinion of himself, besides Billy.

Tom was excited to tell Billy he finally knew what all his abilities were, what they meant, and that Billy didn't have to be afraid anymore. From the way Dumbledore talked, magic was hidden from non-magical people. But Tom wondered if that was really true. The Leaky Cauldron, Dumbledore said, was supposed to be invisible to muggles. If Tom brought Billy, he could see if Dumbledore was really telling the truth. If muggles hadn't discovered magic by now, it probably was true, but how did you hide a whole building, a whole street? His mind ran away with ideas. He was bubbling over with excitement of what lies ahead of him.

But– what would Billy think about magic? About Tom going off to school? Billy would be the only thing Tom would hate leaving behind.

**Looking for other child/Hogwarts years Tom Riddle fanfics, & would love recommendations for inspiration. Please review my writing abilities and characterization of Tom! Thanks so much for reading! Sorry if you're here for an update to my past stories, that isn't happening!**