AN:/ Welcome to another series of drabbles, this time concerning Tom Riddle. For those of you waiting on more Slytherin Harry, never fear, more will be out momentarily. For those of you just stepping into my little worlds, I hope you enjoy your stay. This story will be something quite different, a massive 'what if' concerning one of my favourite characters. Tom Marvolo Riddle was raised by his paternal family in Little Hangleton, which naturally, has changed the wizarding world forever. For better or worse, is up to you to decide. The 'M' rating is for later chapters concerning disturbing themes, violence and sexuality.

Little Hangleton


The angry, red-faced man was most perplexing to Tom. He had ordered the matron to fill Tom's bags with his meager things much to her chagrin; which seemed quite frightful to him, since one didn't order the matron to do anything, ever. She had complied, albeit reluctantly and seemed motivated by the fact that this strange man would be removing Tom from her sight forever.

"One less mouth to feed is worth the trouble," the matron had muttered, giving him a scathing look.

Tom sat calmly on the bed, dangling his feet. If he squinted, the angry man almost looked like his own face in the mirror; it was a very nice illusion. Of course, like all the children in the stone walled orphanage, he didn't have any parents and the notions that a long lost relative would come to take him away were simply childish foolishness.

"Well come on, you," The man said irritably, "Straighten yourself up. I'm not having you walking into father's estate looking like a ragamuffin."

The dark haired five year old got down off the stiff, wooden bed and straightened out his wrinkled uniform. It didn't seem to do any good, nor did it lessen the very reddish hue to the angry man's face.

"Lord almighty, what they put on children these days. Bring the bags, mam," the man said dismissively, grabbing a hold of Tom's hand and yanking him behind.

The matron huffed her irritation but took Tom's lone tattered sack alongside them.

The man scowled at Tom, "At least you don't look like her, small favors indeed. Walk quickly! Our driver is an impatient man."

Tom frowned. He was starting to really dislike this strange man and wasn't entirely sure all the time what he was talking about. Perhaps he was mad, like the unfortunates who sometimes delivered food to the orphanage. He certainly seemed just as foul tempered.

"Get in the car, boy!" He snarled, when they had arrived in front a very nice vehicle.

The five year old Tom had never ridden in a car before. He might have expressed some of this excitement if he hadn't sensed immediate chastisement in his future from the angry man if he did. Instead, he calmly entered the car, said a polite goodbye to the matron, who didn't seem to care one way or the other and sat on the leather seats with his sack on his lap. The angry man sat beside him, ignoring Tom completely, staring instead out the window at the slowly moving scenery.