People lie when they talk about childhood.
They say it's a time of innocence. Of joy and simplicity. They paint it in pastels-- laughter and lullabies and bedtime stories told by someone who cares.
That wasn't his childhood.
He grew up surrounded by rusting beds and mildew-stained walls, in a building that was colder inside than the wind that battered its bricks. Wool's Orphanage was where children were stored, not raised. It was where names faded into numbers and faces into smudges of grey.
But he remembered everything.
Especially the ones who hurt him.
Especially the ones who feared him.
Tom learned quickly that kindness was a performance, that pity was a currency people spent only when they felt guilty. And he never felt guilt. Not once. He felt curiosity. Power. And a slow, simmering sense that he was meant for something greater.
He could make things happen. He could make people hurt. Make objects move. Make animals listen.
He spoke to snakes.
And no one else could.
Not until the man came.
He called himself Albus Dumbledore-- a professor at a school for witches and wizards. He wore strange robes and carried a quiet air of superiority, like someone who knew too much and expected others to bow to it.
Tom didn't bow.
He told Tom he was magical. That he would be taught spells and incantations. That Tom was "gifted." Special.
Tom knew that already.
Dumbledore tried to frighten him. Asked about the incidents at the orphanage. The missing possessions. The rabbit carcasses. Billy Stubbs, who cried for two days straight and never explained why.
Tom didn't deny it.
He just smiled.
Dumbledore looked... disappointed.
Good.
He said Tom would be going to Hogwarts in September. That it would be different from anything he'd known.
He was right.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The train was crowded, noisy. Full of children eager to prove themselves, loud with stupid laighter and wide-eyed wonder.
Tom sat alone. Not by accident. He wanted it that way. He wanted time to think.
This school-- Hogwarts-- was old. Powerful. That much he could tell. A place where secrets were locked in stone walls and power was passed down like heirlooms.
Tom would unlock them.
And he would take that power for himself.
He allowed his mind to drift back to the day before-- and Layla Gridelwald-- who he met by accident... or was it fate? She walked like someone who expected the world to move around her. And oddly... it did.
She caught him speaking to the snake. She didn't mock it. Didn't flinch. She understood.
More than that... she matched it.
She told him she could speak to them too. A rare gift, Dumbledore had said. Very rare.
Tom didn't know what to make of her.
She was beautiful, yes, but more than that-- dangerous. Not in the clumsy way boys fought with fists and kicked with feet. She weilded her presence like a blade. Everyone in the pet shop had looked at her. But she looked at him.
And then the snake.
He never told her thank you, even after he found it in his bag. He knew it was her, of course. The Disillusionment Charm was clever, but not clever enough to fool him for long after his weeks of magical research before the commencement of the school year.
But the gesture...
It wasn't affection. It was calculated.
She wanted something.
Good. So did he.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
On the train, Tom was cornered by three larger boys. They thought him soft. Alone. That Layla was too vain to resist their lazy flirtations, and he was too weak stop their prodding questions.
They didn't expect the snake.
They didn't expect him.
When they left-- faces pale, pride fractured-- he felt that familiar something solidify in my chest. Not pride. Not relief.
Control.
He had turned the threat back on them. With a creature, with a word. Power without a wand.
They feared him now.
So did most of the train.
Except her.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They arrived at the castle by boat, the black lake smooth like glass. The castle loomed over them-- ancient and immense. He didn't gawk. But he felt something in his bones.
This place was his. Even if no one else knew it yet.
Inside the Great Hall, the light was golden, the ceiling enchanted, the food smelled rich and strange-- but he barely noticed. He scanned the tables. Watched the way students sat. Which ones laughed too loud. Which ones leaned forward when they whispered.
And waited for his name.
"Riddle, Tom."
He walked to the stool.
The hat was old and worn and smelled of must.
It spoke the moment it touched his hair.
"Oh, interesting... very interesting indeed."
Just sort me and be done with it.
"My, you are eager. And ambitious. So very clever... and something darker still. You could rise high in Slytherin-- oh yes. But you'do well in Ravenclaw. Even Gryffindor, with that iron will of yours."
I don't care where you put me, so long as I'm not with fools.
"You care more than you admit. And you'll do more than just rise... You want to rule don't you?"
I will.
"Well then... best be careful who you call ally, Mr Riddle. You might not always be the cleverest in the room."
The hat chuckled, almost fondly.
"Better be... SLYTHERIN!"
The table clapped, some more politely than others.
He was shortly joined at the table by Layla, who sat with her hands neatly folded, eyes gleaming.
She didn't say anything.
She didn't need to.
He gave her a look. Not of thanks. Not of friendship.
But of recognition.
She wasn't just a peer.
She was a challenge.
And he would either destroy her...
Or become something even she couldn't outmatch.
YOU ARE READING
My Dark Lord
FanfictionWhen Layla Grindelwald, daughter of the infamous dark wizard, arrives at Hogwarts, she intends to carve her name into history with ambition, power, and no apologies. But her plans are disrupted by the arrival of Tom Riddle-- an orphan with a danger...
