What Really Happened- by Tom Riddle's ghost

Year 4

The next summer, I was volunteering as a caretaker at the orphanage where I grew up. I wanted to make sure none of those kids got bullied like I did when I lived there. I also wanted to make sure the matron of the orphanage did not mistreat the orphans. I will never forget the time Mrs. Cole took us on a "field trip" to the sea and abandoned us in a cave. I was terrified out of my wits. Luckily, I managed to pull myself together and lead the rest of the kids safely out of the cave.

Anyway, I was sitting on a bench outside the orphanage one day, turning cashews into peanuts with magic, and tossing them to squirrels, when a rat scampered out of the bushes and ran up to me. I took one look at his paw, which was missing a finger (Sirius Black bit it off in a duel), and was immediately filled with joy. Peter Pettigrew, a brave wizard and a dear friend! He turned into a human, and we embraced. Then he made some rodentlike twitching movements, wiggling his fingers in front of his face.

I asked him if he wanted to eat lunch with me (as a human), and he assented, so we apparated into Golden Corral (it was his idea).

After we had loaded our plates with macaroni and said our prayers, Peter told me that the Quidditch World Cup was that summer. I became as excited as a Blast-Ended Skrewt in a field of bacon plants, but I told Peter that I probably wouldn't be able to go, since the tickets were so expensive. I was also somehow still a wanted man, even though I was widely believed to be dead. However, I assured him that I would watch it on TV.

I got up to get some mashed potatoes and some more macaroni. When I got back to the table, Peter Pettigrew told me that he had seen Dumbledore go into a stall in the bathroom, and heard him fart hyper loudly. After we laughed heartily, Peter got up to get some ice cream and make a mixture of food according to a recipe he had gotten from Cho Chang (whoever that is).

And now I must recount the details of an event that makes me burn with shame. I hate recalling it, but I can't just skip over it. Here it goes.

I knew that my father had owned a large manor, but I had never visited it. I didn't want anything to do with him, for he had disclaimed me as a baby—nay, as a fetus in my mother's womb! Whenever I heard the name "Tom Riddle", I felt as if a cold fist were squeezing my heart. That's why I'd changed my name to Voldemort.

Then, one day, Wormtail and I were sitting in rocking chairs on my apartment patio, playing licks on the acoustic guitar, and sipping steaming mugs of centaur urine. Wormtail regaled me with tales of childhood trips he took with his parents—the seaside cliffs, a dragon rodeo, and a Cockroach Cluster factory. Then he asked me about my parents. Since it's a sensitive subject for me, in retrospect I can say it's a good thing I had been calmed by the centaur urine. Anyway, I told him I didn't know much about either parent. Wormtail suggested that we go visit the Riddle Manor, so that I might glean more knowledge about my father. I agreed.

When we got to the village of Little Hangleton, I asked Peter what this visit could possibly teach me. My father was long since dead. He explained that old manors often retained their historic artwork, even when the property changed hands. Portraits of my father and my grandparents likely hung in those venerable halls. I might realize, upon seeing my father's visage, that he was as human as the rest of us, and that I should forgive him after all these years.

The house was decrepit. Roof tiles were missing, shingles hung loose, and cigarette butts filled every square inch of ground around the gardener's quarters. Disgusting! We knocked on the front door of the house and waited, but it was obvious that no one lived there. I used Alohomora to unlock the door. We strolled through the halls with our wands lit, watching out for loose floorboards. Rats scurried in the dark corners, and I pointed at one and told him, "You should ask her out!" Wormtail scoffed in distaste. A minute later, some mice ran by, and I used Legilimency to read his mind. He was thinking, "Ooh, check out the tail on that one! I want some of that!"