Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JK Rowling.
His name is Tom.
It's a soft whisper, more thought than word.
You don't want to go messing with him, my boy, he's an odd sort.
At seven years old, Tom Riddle knows the way adults think.
Go meet with Mathew and the others, you'll like them.
He knows how easy it is for them pretend they aren't afraid.
He's just not normal Rupert, always watching me with those devils eyes.
He thinks it's funny at first, that they fear him. He's so much smaller than they are.
I don't want to stay in a room with him anymore ma'am, he says things that frighten me.
He doesn't want to admit he's a bit upset when Ms. Macy doesn't come to talk to him anymore.
She had always been kind to him.
But he supposes it had to happen sooner or later.
Don't look at him too closely children.
He wonders what makes him different.
I heard he was dropped off by gypsies!
Why he doesn't clamor for affection and attention like the other children.
There's only so much food, don't be selfish.
Maybe he is a freak like everyone says.
You'll sit in this room until you learn to control your temper you foolish child!
He doesn't care though; he doesn't want to be like the rest of the kids.
Forget about asking him to play, all the nerd wants to do is read.
Weak pathetic babies, the lot of them!
Now Tom, did you threaten Annabelle?
No one cares what he does, or if he really is as bad as they say. Why should he try to be good?
Tom? Are you listening to me?
Why should he follow their rules?
Tom? Tom Riddle, look at me when I am talking to you!
Why shouldn't he do what he wants?
"My Lord? My Lord, are you alright?"
He is jerked back to the present by the voice of one of his most faithful.
"Yes Bella, I was thinking, do not interrupt me next time… or I will be most displeased." He says it coldly, precisely, and mercilessly, just as he taught himself to.
"Forgive me my Lord, forgive me." She grovels, and he takes pleasure in it.
"Just this once, my Bella, because you've been such a good pet and have done as I asked."
He looks toward the muggles, worthless creatures at his feet, and each of their terrified faces begin to loose their shape, their features. He imagines them new ones.
And he is comforted, because it's like watching them die all over again.
Voices play in his mind as each body drops like a stone in a pond, their lives rippling away from them, too fast for them to hold on.
And he smiles, and his whisper is more a thought than a word, "Why should I try to be good?"
And then, Lord Voldemort laughs.
A/N I wrote this after I saw the new teaser trailer, but just got a chance to put it up today. Hope you'll liked it! Reviews are mucho appreciated.