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From when he was very young, Tom has known that he is special. After all, he can do things no-one else can. He can talk to snakes. He is clever and smart and wise and intelligent. He is a charming little boy. He is remarkable.
Only, he is not to everyone. He also is a demon that needs to be exercised. He also is the strange child in the background that needs to be bullied. He also is the teacher’s pet that needs to be shown its place. He also is the reason behind all bad things happening all around.
But that’s alright.
He is special.
Special people always suffer.
Wasn’t Jesus hung on the Cross? Didn’t all Martyrs die gruesomely? Didn’t all Greek and Roman heroes and gods only burn so bright because of their pain?
He will be no different.
He is Tom Riddle, and he is special.
He is no mere orphan, son of a lowly whore.
He is special.
It doesn’t take long for Mrs. Cole, the woman with greed in her eyes and disdain in the curve of her mouth, to call on priests and exorcists and demon tamers and whatever else Father Brightly can recommend to her. They all arrive, one after the other, one with more expensive clothing than the last, everyone of them armed with wild devotion in their faith and power.
They take Tom up in the attic and force him to pray.
“Please, Lord, please forgive me my existence for I was born in sin. Do deliver me from my life so that my sinful existence may not harm others. Destroy the demons inside of me who strive to harm others. I am sorry for being born.”
They force him to swallow Holy Water mixed with Blessed Salt, glass after glass until he chokes and vomits the liquid. They call him a devil and order him to confess. They read long passages from the Bible and whatever scripts they believe in – one even quotes Dante. They strip him of his clothes, leave him naked in the cold and demand that he repent. They whip his back and bind his hands and push his face under water.
They laugh when he cries. They snicker when he begs. They rejoice when he falls unconscious.
Next Sunday, sitting in Church, being forced to pray and kneel in supplication to a God that has forsaken him, Tom comes to a decision.
If the world thinks he is a devil, why shouldn’t he prove them right?
And he begins hitting back.
Where before, he levitated leaves to entertain himself while all other children played with each other, he now practices more harmful ways of his powers. Where before he offered the other cheek after being hit, he now punches back. Where before he tried to fit in, he now doesn’t care about standing out like a sore thumb.
Where before, he let those men leave without a word, he now punishes his torturers.
He curses them with nightmares, chronic pains and bad luck.
While he doesn’t know if his powers work like that, the men never come back, and that is good enough for him.
Sometimes, he feels slightly guilty for what he has to do. But Billy always is mean to him, telling on him for things Billy himself did, taking every chance to get Tom into trouble and laughing at him.
He also enjoys killing snakes, especially those he sees Tom talk to.
It’s only justice that Tom takes his rabbit from him, isn’t it? Even if the poor thing doesn’t deserve it.
But then Tom sees the animal, swinging from the rope on the ceiling, legs kicking desperately, and he has to swallow harshly and dab at his wet eyes.
Why is he so weak?
It is better for the whole orphanage if the rabbit is dead, he tries to convince himself. There is another food shortage, or Mrs. Cole drank away the allowance for the cook again. Either way, not a single child gets a sizable portion during meals, while the fat rabbit is generously fed. It belongs… belonged to Billy, after all, and Billy is Mrs. Cole’s favourite because he always tells on Tom, even if Tom didn’t do anything. With the rabbit’s death, they’ll have stew this dinner, or next lunch, and each portion will have a salad leaf more.
And hopefully, the rabbit’s death will frighten Billy off. Maybe even Mrs. Cole! How amazing would that be!
Still, it is the first and last time Tom Riddle kills an animal.
Humans deserve it more, anyway.
Like Dennis and Amy. The two are… were always following him around, throwing stones at him and snickering whenever he started bleeding.
So he took care of them.
In that hidden cave, with hundreds of snakes, thousands of friends…
No, they will not bother Tom again.
But that day changes him.
That day, he was more than just the talented orphan who is possessed by the devil.
He was powerful.
And he wants more.
So he takes more.
The snot-nosed children who tease him soon regret it.
He takes their prized possessions and hides them, not having a use for them.
It soon grows boring to steal them with his power, so he takes to sneaking around. Those trinkets, he keeps closer, stores them in his room. He got them fair and square, and they show how much better he is.
No, he is not like them, not like the bullies and greedy matrons and drunk caretakers and fanatic exorcists.
No, he is special.
He is nothing like them.
Shortly after turning eleven, a weird man shows up, introducing himself as “Professor Dumbledore” and pretending to be kind.
But Tom knows better by now.
Everyone who comes to him either wants to hurt him or “help” him by changing who he is and what he can do by harming him. These evil men also seem so nice at the beginning until they turn cold and bad and hurtful.
Their eyes also twinkle like that, with false kindness and fake friendliness and fanatical devotion.
So no, Tom doesn’t believe that he is a professor from a school for magic, of all things. How old does he think Tom is? If he wants to trick him, he ought to do better. “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live” has already been preached. He has not confessed then, with his back on fire and his feet in pain and his fingers in agony. He will not now.
Then, his wardrobe burns, and his two shirts and one pair of trousers, his spare pair of shoes, his hat gifted to him for being the best in school, his two pounds thirteen pence that he picked up on the streets, his five pounds he earned polishing shoes, his warm sweater, his two pairs of warm socks, his winter coat, his precious proofs of his ability, his talent, his potential – all gone.
And so Tom Riddle stands there with nothing.
All he fought for, all he gained – all gone.
He was right. That “professor” is no good man, at all.
The Wizarding World is not the paradise Tom hoped for, either.
The people look down on him when he tells them his name. They mock him when they see his second-hand robes. They spit on him when they see his best shirt.
“Mudblood,” they call him.
And Tom feels a rage burn inside him like he never has felt before, not since Amy sweetly asked for his trust and betrayed him into Mrs. Cole’s ear, not since Dumbledore seemingly burned his most precious belongings, not since the last shopkeeper denied him entry for being “orphan scum” or “Mudblood dirt.”
He will make them all pay, he decides. Pay like Amy, like Dennis, like Billy.
They will regret the day they denied him all their lives.
Not only is Tom a Mudblood, he also doesn’t have a soulmate.
Or so the others believe.
But not having a soul mark only means that he is not the one who bears the words, doesn’t it? Are all wizards this stupid, or is it only the kids?
Not that it matters, either way.
Tom is special. He knows it.
And he will prove it.
Time flies by when you’re having fun – or trying to find a way to get back on everyone, and before Tom can blink, it is summer again, and he has to return to the orphanage.
It is worse than ever.
The war is here, and it brings with it pain, destruction and fear.
Endless fear.
Tom is more obsessed than ever.
He needs to find his soulmate or his father. One of the two will be in the Wizarding World, and they will take him in, and he will not need to worry about being hit by a bomb, ripped to little pieces, scattered into dust, ever again.
But he doesn’t find them.
So he asks, he begs, to stay here, in safety. Far away from hunger and fear, poverty and bombs.
Dumbledore looks at him with suspicious eyes and denies him.
Tom feels hatred bubble up in him like never before.
But no matter.
He will find his soulmate, and everything will be fine.
Except that he doesn’t, and it doesn’t.
It gets worse and worse.
With Grindelwald’s rise in power, the Slytherins get more daring, more fervent to get rid of the Mudblood. The teachers go blind or are too busy worrying about the Dark forces drawing ever closer.
Tom doesn’t care for it all. They can all burn for all it matters.
He will show them all.
They will regret it.
He is special, and he will show them.
Tom searches near and far, above and beyond.
He doesn’t find anything but ridicule.
No soulmate.
But a father.
And an uncle.
Tom stands in the middle of the ruins of what was supposed to be his salvation, his connection, his last hope.
Around him destruction.
Death.
Family.
Family that wanted him as much as the orphanage, as Slytherin, as the Wizarding World wanted him.
As much as his soulmate wanted him.
No searching, no hoping, no praying could bring his soulmate to him.
No matter, Tom thinks, wiping blood off slowly steadying hands.
He doesn’t need a soulmate.
He doesn’t need anyone.
He has his mother’s legacy, his ancestor’s gift, his family’s agenda.
He can make them regret all alone.
And he will enjoy every last second of their screams.
Many years later, Lord Voldemort will say the fated, “Avada Kedavra.”
And years later still, he will stare blankly and think, “Oh. It’s you I’ve been waiting for.”