Revelations

Tom gazed out of his window, sunlight cascaded over his perfectly sculpted face. He frowned slightly, reflecting on the size of the revelation he had just received from the oddly dressed Professor Albus Dumbledore. Tom was not as surprised as he should have been, he already knew he was special, after all.

It was magic.

The memory of when he discovered something was special about him (magic, he now knew) is one of his earliest and most treasured. It was the day chubby Eric Whalley had the clever idea of hitting him with a toy train. Tom had no time to react due to the unexpected nature of the attack. However, he need not have worried, since the train promptly... exploded...

It was unexpected. The way Eric stared at him with teary red eyes, clutching his injured right hand with his left, his face contorted with pain. While Tom watched an inexpressible feeling shot through him, a feeling he struggled to put into words when he was younger. Now he knew what it was.

It was power.

It took Tom a while to understand exactly what happened that fateful day, but he did know the other children would never harm him again, and if they did, he would make them hurt much, much more.

Over the years, Tom began to grasp his magic instinctually. He could, as he had foolishly admitted to Professor Dumbledore, make things float if they were not too heavy, hurt people just by touching them and talk to snakes. He had a few other abilities but none so vicious as hurting people. He could not deny the rapture when he used his power over the other children and felt little remorse. They deserved it.

Tom sighed as he eyed a pigeon land gracefully on the rusted front gates of the orphanage.

He was still frustrated with himself for how he had acted in front of Professor Dumbledore. He had been so excited and off guard that he lost his composure and told his new professor information he would have liked to have kept to himself. Tom knew most adults would be concerned with what he let out and was genuinely shocked that Dumbledore had not simply left, his chances of going to magic school evaporating before his very eyes.

He frowned again as he pondered his new professor. Tom could admit to himself being wary of him. The wizard had set his wardrobe ablaze without even looking at it. Tom had been furious, stunned that Dumbledore would destroy all his possessions, merely to teach a lesson.

Admittedly, the fire did not damage anything, but he still tricked Tom into believing it would. He would have to hand his trophies back, ones he took from the other children who tried to harm him. He did not understand magic yet but suspected the man would have a way to know when he could somehow be aware of them in the first place.

Tom wondered if Professor Dumbledore could tell if others were lying as he could. It was a thought as intriguing as it was worrying.

His pondering was interrupted by a firm knock on his door. He knew that knock and spun swiftly, plastering on a charming smile. He did not understand why he bothered; it was not like it fooled her.

Mrs. Cole entered his room with that same stern and mistrustful look in her eyes that she always gave him.

"Did the Professor offer you a scholarship?"

"Yes, Mrs. Cole."

"Congratulations, this is a wonderful opportunity for you Tom and I would see that you didn't squander it." Her face softened not so much that it could be considered warm, but certainly less stern.

"I won't Mrs. Cole," Tom replied with a confident smirk.

"Very well, I will see you in the dinner hall at six. Do not be late.

She turned and closed the door, leaving Tom to his thoughts once more.

He did not like Mrs. Cole. Ever since the incident with Eric, she had been wary of him, only more so as more inexplicable incidents occurred. He was never caught, of course, but she always had her suspicions after the first time.

She treated him and the other children well enough. However, you never wanted to get on her bad side. He had seen first-hand the discipline she would give out. Strikes against the hand with a wooden ruler, and smacks on the bottom with that wooden spoon – that frightened the children the moment she got it out. It was as good a deterrent to naughty behaviour as any. Thankfully, he had never been disciplined – not that she could do much to him anyway with his abilities, but he wouldn't use them on an adult.

Tom walked over to his wardrobe and brought his diary from its place in his drawer. The orphanage had been gifted to them by a charity last year. He caressed the dark leather cover, the sensation calming his mind. He needed to start planning what he would do for the rest of the summer. What was this secret world like? Was the culture different? He would discover everything he could about magic and this new world he was about to enter – after all, knowledge is power, and he would need the power to survive where everyone had his abilities.

It was the fourth of September 1938. The date Tom had been anticipating for months now. It was finally here. He was going to Hogwarts.

So much preparation. So much studying.

He felt as ready as he could be.

Tom strolled along platforms nine and three-quarters, the familiar smell of smoke filling his lungs. The train was hugely impressive. Its red sheen glows vibrantly in the late morning sun. Tom stepped onto the frontmost carriage, glancing up and down the length, quickly entering the nearest vacant compartment.

As he entered, he took in his surroundings. There were rows of scarlet seats on either side, with luggage racks above them. It was simple yet efficient and looked comfortable.

He levitated his luggage onto the rack, then locked the door of his compartment. He knew it could be unlocked with magic but decided if someone would go through the trouble of unlocking it there might be an important reason.

Tom walked over to the seat on the right side closest to the window and sat down. He watched families arrive on the platform with their children, giving them teary goodbyes and waving them onto the carriage. Friends greeted friends with hugs, parents chatting to other parents and younger siblings watching their older siblings board the train with a mixture of sadness and envy.

It all made him feel slightly nauseous.

A couple of hours later, Tom was reading a book he bought from Flourish and Blotts. It was a text on curses and counter curses. Most spells were too advanced for him, but soon enough that would not be the case. He had not practised spells with his wand yet but felt he could cast a few if he tried.

The exhilaration he felt when he first laid hands on his wand in Ollivander's dusty shop was a rush like none other he had felt. The wand had thrummed triumphantly as he grabbed hold of it, the smooth elk burning in his hand.

Tom had thought he knew what power was but never had he felt such strength flow through him as it did then.

He was currently reading a spell called the Stunning Spell. The name implied a spell which would render your opponent unconscious. However, it has its drawbacks. It is an easily recognisable spell due to its popularity and a distinct red hue. This means that an opponent can easily identify and counter such a spell. In addition, if you are fighting two or more opponents at once, the opponent can restore consciousness, using the countercharm Rennervate.

As he searched for the chapter for the Rennervate spell the door to his compartment blasted open.

Tom was so engrossed in the book that he had not been aware of his surroundings, as such he bolted out of his seat and tensed as a boy strolled in as if he had not almost knocked the door off its hinges.

Tom took a moment to compose himself as he schooled his features and took in those of the boy in front of him. He carried himself with an air of arrogance. Pure-blood, he assumed. He had a superior look about him as if he owned the whole train. His dark eyes roamed up and down Tom's body and he shot him a contemptuous smile, less than impressed by what he saw.

"Sorry about that." the boy, Tom guessed was around his age, spoke casually with a lazy wave of his hand towards the door "I was ever so curious what a firstie like myself was doing in a compartment all by himself."

Tom knew he was trying to bait him; he had played these games before at the orphanage.

"Oh, that's quite all right, no harm done," Tom replied, equally as casually, with a lazy hand wave of his own towards the door that was somehow still standing.

The boy narrowed his eyes for a second, before raising an eyebrow inquisitively "What's your name?"

"Tom Riddle."

"Hmm, I've never heard of your name before?"

"Of course you haven't, it's mine."

The boy did not appreciate that if the look of frustration was anything to go by.

"I'm Lestrange," Lestrange stated as if he should recognise it, which he did, thanks to a book he had read on the British pure-blood families.

"A pleasure to meet you, Lestrange"

Lestrange nodded before taking leave of the compartment, not shutting the door on the way out. Tom thought that was impolite, but he did not mind much. They would learn to respect him soon enough, he had no doubt.

Tom could not help but be impressed as he gazed upon the magical ceiling of the great hall. Whatever magic that brought the night sky to life must be most impressive, he could not begin to imagine how it worked, so he made a mental note to research it as soon as possible. In front of him sat the teacher's table, an extravagant throne in the middle, where Headmaster Dippet sat, a fond smile on his face.

In front of the teacher's table stood Professor Dumbledore, giving off the feel of a man who did not have anywhere better to be. Next to him sat an old, weathered stool and on top of that an even older-looking hat, if that was possible.

When Tom's name was called, he stood tall and strode confidently towards the stool. He glanced at Dumbledore and he gave him the same encouraging look he gave all the students before him, which did nothing to ease the slight worry he felt around the man.

He sat on the stool, back straight and eyes in front of him as he waited for the sorting hat to be placed on him.

Oh my, it has been a long time since a Parselmouth has graced the halls of Hogwarts…

Tom tensed, wondering how the sorting hat could talk in his head and if he could read his mind.

It is more complicated than reading minds, but that description will suffice for now.

What is a Parselmouth? Tom thought.

It is one of the gifts you inherited.

Inherited? Did you know my father?

I am afraid not, I believe the last Gaunt attended around half a century ago.

Gaunt?

Oops, I think I've said too much. Well it's clear where to put you, despite you being very suitable to Ravenclaw, there is only one house you truly belong in.

" SLYTHERIN! "

Tom stood up and strode towards the table clad in green and silver, his mind a whirlwind as he tried to piece together what the hat revealed, and more importantly, what it didn't.

He reached the table and sat on the sturdy wooden bench, still in a bit of a daze, so much so that he hardly noticed the two students to his right shifting away from him. He would think over all the implications and what he needed to do moving forward once he was in bed, for now, he would need to collect himself before he arrived at the Slytherin dormitories.

When he arrived in the first-year dormitories, he went straight to his bed to unpack his belongings. His dorm mates chatted, laughing and exchanging stories.

He was too tired for casual chatting, and he needed to ponder the revelations of the evening.

Before he could do all that, however, he was unexpectedly interrupted for the second time that day by a familiar voice.

"Hey Riddle! What is a Mudblood doing in our house?"

Tom was not in the mood for games.

He stood from his bed and strolled casually towards where the other students were seated – around a small table in the middle of the room.

Lestrange also stood up and walked confidently to meet him.

"Is there something you wished to say to me?" Tom asked softly, staring unblinkingly into Lestrange's dark, midnight-blue eyes.

Lestrange sneered "I asked you, Riddle" prodding Tom in the chest "What are you doing in our house?"

Tom replied, but not with words. Quick as a flash, he gripped Lestrange around the neck. He felt a familiar elation rush through him as he made Lestrange cry out in pure agony and drop to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

Tom smiled as the frustration of the day faded away.

He did not want to alienate himself from the dorm mates on the very first night, but he had no other options. He knew from experience if he appeared docile, they would just continue with their taunting and snide remarks and escalate in violence against him. If he had tried to ingratiate himself with them, they would have laughed in his face. No, this was the only option he had.

It was ironic that a boy so full of himself, so confident in his superiority, was whimpering on the floor, whilst his pure-blooded dorm mates looked on, some in horror and shock, some simply looking on impassively.

If they did not respect him before, they certainly do now.

A/N Thought I'd give creative writing a go. I quite like this chapter, I think It sets up the story well. I hope you enjoyed it. Feel free to let me know how you think I did or didn't do well and your general thoughts. I'm always looking to improve. Also, feel free to pm me if you have specific questions. Any ideas you have for the story I will consider too. The second chapter should be out soon!