Chapter one

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Here little Harry sat, tears staining his cheeks. He was only five, but his uncle had giving him a beating a grown man would complain about. But Harry knew if he started complaining from the safe, dark confides of his small cupboard under the stairs his uncle would come and grab him by his hair for round two. So he stayed quiet, silent sobs that shook his entire being barely escaping him.

At approximately 2 am, after the boy awoke from nightmares and the sheer pain of his injuries, he found an old tattered book on his bed, centimetres from his head. He picked it up as cautiously as a five year old could and opened it, but it was blank. 

The boy was deflated, he rather enjoyed reading when he got the chance. The book had a name on the back he noticed; Tom Marvolo Riddle. However what he hadn't noticed was that he'd pulled on the small cupboard light, that seemed to get brighter the more intrigued he got by the book, it was almost like a normal lightbulb now.

Harry read the first three letters with ease, and eventually the last six too. Although he was severely struggling with the middle name. "Mar.. Ma'vo...Ma'volo!" He managed eventually his mouth stretching into a small smile, as his eyes glistened. 

The light suddenly went off and Harry jumped, hearing many electrical bangs, and he dropped the book in his lap. That's when he heard it, the thump, thump, thump, of his uncles feet. He instinctively shoved the book under his cot and pretended to be sleeping.


His cupboard door was open and his uncle reached in and grabbed him, dragging him by his aching arm, banging his head on the door frame on his way out, "Owwie!" The small boy whimpered, his eyes shooting open. He could hardly see his uncles face in the pitch blackness of the hallway, but Harry knew he was angry, very, very angry.  And of course it was Harry's fault, it always was. 

So Harry was used to it. He went limp as his uncle dropped him to the ground, whisper yelling at him, not that Harry was listening. His uncle had obviously asked a question or something, as now he was angrily stripping the boy, grumbling about insolent brats, and as Harry was shaking himself back to reality, a sharp crack was left on his already scarred behind, making him audibly squeak and jump, which again caused his uncle grab his hair and yank his head back.

Harry didn't dare make a noise and did his best to not wriggle too much as whip after whip landed on his back painfully, mercilessly. He could feel the blood, but the pain was almost numb to him. He looked down as he blinked back tears and traced the words that were curved into his lower stomach. He'd screamed until his throat was raw when those were being put in place. Just a simple five letters, F R E A K, they held memories, the word and the carving. They were put in place about four months ago and his uncle was continuously reminding him of them.

Harry was too close to tears, his eyes 'leaked' as he was jolted forward, his uncle obviously had enough, "Now you, boy, will stay in here until I unlock the door. You wont be leaving. No meals tomorrow, and extra chores on Monday." The whale of a man grumbled, practically throwing Harrys small frame into the confides of his cupboard.

Harry pulled out the strange book, standing on his knees as it was less painful.  He opened the front cover and was tracing the date in the corner he hadn't noticed, "Mus' be a diary then," he guessed quietly, his voice shaking unevenly. Slowly, one by one, his tears cascaded down his already tear stained cheeks and onto the old paper.

Then, as if by magic almost, words appeared on the page, and the child rushed to put on his too big glasses. 

Would you mind not crying onto my parchment?

It was in pretty cursive writing, and harry struggled with the last word, but figured it must mean book or something alike. He tried to find one of Dudley's old pens he didn't use that Harry had stolen, or rescued as he put it, to write a reply, Aunt Petunia used to make Harry write apology letters every day when he was four, and still did now if he had nothing to do, so he was a decent writer for a five year old. 


Was the short reply he gave, wiping his eyes. The light was on again now too. 

What is your name?

The diary asked, and Harry was intrigued.


He said, forgetting the capital 'H'

who are you?

He added as an after thought.

Well met Harry, for I am Tom Riddle, Although I would of assumed you would have realized.

Harry was stunned, 

You're a real person?

It was a stupid question really.

Why of course, I've just transfigured myself into a book! No you silly child. I am but a diary, once a person. But a person no longer. Tell me, boy, are you a wizard? I am assuming you are.

Harry was stunned, and it took him quite awhile to read the entire thing, and even longer to process it.

No Sir, 

he replied simply before adding,

My family say magic isn't real, well my parents are dead, but my aunt and uncle say so.

Harry didn't feel that much remorse for his parents, after all, he was five and thought they were worse than his aunt and uncle. 

Poor child, my mother passed giving birth to me. My father was terrible and I grew up in an orphanage. Are your family kind people? The boys at the Orphanage with me weren't, and made my life hell. However you must be a wizard, it only makes sense, I can practically feel your magic vibrating through my very pages.

Again it took Harry awhile to read, perhaps half an hour. 

No, and the boys sound like the people at my school. Did the people who were meant to look after you mean as well, like they never believed you? And I don't understand what you mean, sorry. 

The diary was like it was almost thinking, and Harry wondered if he spelt it right.

Yes child. And have you never heard of Hogwarts, how old are you?

Harry was grateful Tom didn't ask about his family. But still confused.

No, whats that? I'm five now.

Tom was astounded, even if he was just his diary.

Its a school of magic, and you're only five? You're writing  skills are amazing, although it does explain the less than adequate handwriting. I shall simplify my writing as much as possible.

Harry was extremely grateful for this.

Thank you, can you tell me more about magic?

He knew he sounded needy, but he wanted to learn. 

Why of course dearest Harry, What do you wish to learn? 




Whatcha think my doods? This chapter is probably the longest they will get. Okay the bold letters and italics are glitching, but use your imagination for whos talking, it isn't hard to tell.

Real lies - Tom Riddle as Harrys fatherWhere stories live. Discover now