The orphanage was a barren and desolate place. At least it was in my opinion. It was always eerily quiet and everything was gray. The only thing that gave me any comfort or peace was books.
The orphanage library wasn't large and I, in a matter of days, read every single book. I got bored easily and never had any friends so I had to raise money to by the novels.
"Excuse me," I would say to other neighbors. "My school is trying to raise money for a class field trip and we'd really appreciate a humble donation."
Of course I was lying. It was one thing I found I excelled at. It was a cliche, but brilliant method. The peoples eyes would soften, they'd check their wallets, and the next thing I knew; I had thirty pounds in my hand.
Nobody else would notice. Nobody else cared. Unlike the other children, when I was young I didn't inquire about my parents. I didn't really care. These were the cards I was dealt. Now I had to play with it.
I was in my bedroom when someone knocked on my door. Irritated and confused, I opened the door to find a very old man. I thought I might have to use radiocarbon dating to find the age of his slightly dusted purple robes. He looked like a wizard from one of my books.
A sudden realization dawned on me. The old man must be a doctor. There was no other reason for someone to notice me, let alone see me. My face showed none of this.
I didn't think there was something wrong with myself. I knew there was something wrong. At infancy, one of my earliest yet most vivid memory, I managed to levitate a scalpel. The scalpel embedded itself in a doctor who shrieked in pain.
There were other times of course. Telekinesis wasn't my only ability. I had a rather peculiar way with animals. I could tell them what to do without saying anything or training them. I could hear thoughts of people from time to time. But most of all, I could communicate with snakes.
"Who are you?" I asked. My tone didn't give away anything but inside I was weary. The old man had a mischievous glint in his eyes behind his half-moon spectacles.
"Professor Albus Dumbledore," he responded in an almost amused tone. This confirmed my suspicious thoughts.
"Professor?" I said as my eyes narrowed. "You're a doctor. That explains it. You've come to see what's wrong with me." Dumbledore almost flinched. When I attempted to concentrate on his thoughts and hear them, I was immediately thrown out of the old man's head.
Dumbledore frowned. "I'm not a doctor, Y/N," he said, "I'm a professor at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry."
I had the audacity to snort at his ridiculous claims but inside I knew it was true. "You're different," Dumbledore said. "You can do things you cannot explain. Am I incorrect?"
My amused, non-believing demeanor changed as I eyed Dumbledore suspiciously. "You're correct," I said cautiously. My intuition told me that this guy was always correct.
"Well," Dumbledore said, "I'm different as well." I scoffed.
"Prove it," I said.
The old man seemed to flinch again but nodded. He took a stick out of his robe and flicked it, causing the book I was holding to close and fly to him. My eyes widened for a split second before I returned my unimpressed gaze.
"You put a thin fishing line on the end of it," I hypothesized. "You put a hook on the fishing line and threw it to take my book away."
Dumbledore sighed and pointed the stick at one of the legs of my bed. Muttering something in a different language, the leg turned into a long boa constrictor.
I immediately smiled as I pet the snake. "How are you?" I asked it. Dumbledore flinched again as the snake slithered up to me and rested its head on my leg.
"Tired," hissed the snake. I smiled. Dumbledore flicked his stick—or wand I should call it—and the snake erupted into flames. I frowned.
"What did you do that for?" I asked the old man. Dumbledore ignored my question and handed me a letter. I tore the letter open to reveal a yellowish parchment.
Dear Mr. Riddle,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall Deputy Headmistress
I turned the page.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
UNIFORM First-year students will require: 1.Three sets of plain work robes (black) 2.One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear 3.One pair of protective gloves ( hide or similar) 4.One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings) Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.
COURSE BOOKS All students should have a copy of each of the following:
Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Gashawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginners Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble
OTHER EQUIPMENT
1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set brass scales
Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad.
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS
I must have read at least one hundred times before Dumbledore put a hand on my shoulder. "I hope to see you this term," he said in a cheery tone. He walked out of my room and shut the door. Just like that, he was gone.
Where the hell am I supposed to go to get this stuff? I thought. When I looked out my bedroom window, I saw the moon high in the sky. I didn't realize it had gotten this late.
I slumped onto the incredibly uncomfortable bed. I guessed it was around midnight when I went to sleep. I melted into the peaceful void of a dreamless night.
When I woke up the next morning, I was still pondering over Dumbledore's visit. I was hardly able to concentrate in school, although I still excelled. I was sitting on a bench at recess simply thinking about Hogwarts when a group of kids came up to .
"Look at the little freak," one kid said. I glared at them fiercely, my fists clenched in the pockets of my light sweater.
"At least he's not reading a stupid book," another said. I felt my nails dig into the skin of my palms.
"Shut up," I said through my teeth. I stood up, fury pouring off of me like smoke. The bullies demeanor shifted for a split second before one kid scoffed.
"He talks!" he said, mocking me. He turned back to his friends. "The kid talks!" Before anyone blinked, the boy was on the ground, his neck bent at an unnatural angle. His lifeless eyes gazed back at me like I was a piece of furniture. The only clue that I was the one who killed him was a trickle of blood that ran across my pale knuckles.
The kids jaws dropped as I pushed past them. He deserved it, he deserved it, I kept telling myself. I didn't sugarcoat the fact that I just murdered a kid.
I sprinted into the school building, dodging students and lockers while simultaneously tripping over my shoe laces.
I barged into the restroom as the knot in my stomach tightened. I couldn't breathe. I ran water on my hands and splashed water on my face. I calmed for a split second before pain erupted in my hand. Tears burned in the corners of my eyes as I peered at my hand.
An invisible knife had carved out the words: Diagon Alley. Go to the Leaky Cauldron. I sprinted out of the bathroom clutching my bleeding hand. My surroundings became a blur as my legs took me faster than I've ever run before.
I found myself in my room at the orphanage packing all my things into a suitcase. Wait, suitcase? I never had a suitcase! I glanced at the trunk. It had green inscriptions with two serpents running up the sides. I didn't stick around to figure out where it came from as I stuffed all my clothes and belongings in it.
I grabbed the suitcase, sprinted down the hall. I was about to run out the front door when I felt more pain on my wrist. I rolled up my sleeve to find more writing. It read: Use Floo powder. Concentrate very hard.
What the hell is that supposed to mean? I internally screamed as my arm went numb from the pain. I closed my eyes and concentrated very hard on the word, Floo. I eventually felt a strange substance in my left hand as I opened my eyes in awe to find a sort of gray powder.
I tried not to scream as I saw new writing appear on my right hand. It read: Get into the fireplace. Yell "Diagon Alley!" Throw powder on the ground.
I shook my head in amazement as crawled into the fireplace. What the hell am I doing? I asked myself before hollering, "Diagon Alley!" and throwing the powder on the floor. Green flames engulfed me as I felt my body being transported into another fireplace.
I was thrown out of another cramped space into a crowded shop. As I tried to get up, I felt people start pushing me back down. When I managed to get up, I exited the shop and took in the view.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?