The Turning Point

Disclaimer: Yep, you guessed it. I'm not Rowling. The Riddles are not mine. I'm ust a fan and am not making money from this. There, now you can't sue me.

The Turning Point

A young man crouched in the bushes, the rain dripping off the ends of his jet- black hair. He stared intently at the great, white house nearby on a hill. He could see the lights on in the rooms, see blurry shapes of people moving about inside, sitting down at a table. The boy crept forward out of the bushes carefully, then straightened to his full height. He was a tall, thin young man of almost 18, with a pale, lean face, and eerily clear blue eyes set beneath two dark, intelligent brows; wet, raven hair fell across his forehead. He stood for a moment, at the edge of the yard, throwing an uneasy glance behind him, then looking up to the ominous trees towering above him and creaking in the wind. 'This is it, Tom.'

For the past seven years he had imagined what this night would be like, though perhaps he had never actually thought it would happen, thought that he would actually do it. And yet, here he was. He had come to the turning point in his life. He was no longer a child, he was leaving the orphanage forever and he would never go back there again. Tom had just graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy; he had had more O.W.L's than any other student in the school, indeed, than any other student in the school had had for many years. He remembered that last night when he made his speech, obligatory as Head-Boy, and his fellow classmates slapped him on the back proudly. Everyone loved him there; even some of the Gryffindor students were friendly with him. The teachers had beamed as he strode past them, taking his diploma with a grin. He had proved them all wrong. 'They thought I was just some little orphan-kid, didn't they? Just some filthy mud-blood trash, never going to amount to anything useful in the wizarding world. I showed them.' He forced a smile, trying as ever to be happy with what he had accomplished. 'And yet... There was that Transfiguration teacher... That Dumbledore. He still doubts me. Why? Why shouldn't he like me after all I've done?' Tom clenched his teeth. 'It doesn't matter. Who cares about some stupid old man? I'll show him someday... Someday I'll be the greatest wizard ever! They'll all be sorry then. I'll be the one laughing when this is all over!'

Tom took a deep breath, stood up and walked forward, wild determination glinting in his crystal eyes. At the doorstep, he hesitated once more, eyeing the sign on the door that read, "Riddle House". Tom narrowed his eyes. He stopped there on the steps, closed his eyes, and let the memories wash over him.

He remembered the tiny little boy, seven years old, sitting on his poor excuse for a bed in rags, hugging his knees to his chest and staring out the windows, trying not to cry, wondering who and where his parents were. He remembered the other children, some of them somehow making friends and seemingly happy, others like him, wandering about the facility, alone and miserable. And then there were the bigger ones who would tease them and yell at them and hit them. And the adults who did nothing to stop them, and said nothing to comfort anyone. The adults who would punish them and beat them and never once say a kind word. Nobody cared at all there. 'Filthy, miserable, damned place. Fucking muggles. They'll pay...' The eleven horrible years he had spent there as a child filled his mind.

'And why was it I was sent to live in that shit-hole? Because I am a wizard,' he reminded himself bitterly. 'Because my mother was a witch and my father left her because of it. He thought he was too good for her, didn't he? Just abandoned her.'

Tom felt the rage build up in him as he cursed the man he never knew. When he had first found out he was a wizard, when he had first been told the whole story of his heritage and the baggage that came with it, it had been awful. He had felt shame and anger and sadness. But then he had forced it down, forced it away. Besides, there was a noble side to his heritage as well. He was the direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin. He read up as much as he could about the ancient House Founder and soaked up Slytherin's views like a sponge. Slytherin was an anchor, something he could relate to. He too had suffered at the hands of muggles; and he had done something about it. Tom worked extremely hard in school, to prove himself, to accomplish something. There was so much to learn, so much to do. Work was a distraction; it got rid of this troublesome emotions and weaknesses. But now.. For once, he finally let the memories and feelings come back.

'And she died! ..She died giving birth to me... And he didn't care, he didn't even care that his wife died! Didn't care that he had a son still. Just left me to stay in that bloody muggle orphanage!' Tom bit his lip, frustrated with himself for the tears forming in his eyes. Anger, that was what he needed. No crying. 'And he dared to give me his name. From this night on, I end my association with this bastard muggle. No more will I be Tom Riddle. I am Lord Voldemort!'

Shoving his fear and hurt down deep inside him, and pulling forth rage and lust for revenge, he wrenched at the handle. Finding it locked, he quickly whispered, "Alohamora." The door swung open and he stepped silently into the house. Laughter could be heard in a room nearby, and the clink of silverware against dishes. Tom tried to steady his breathing and be as quiet as he could as he walked through the living room. He walked slowly across the Oriental rug, stopping only for a moment when it creaked in the middle, then continuing. There was a fire burning in the fireplace, and a couch beside a coffee table. Some newspapers lay on a large, comfy chair positioned in the corner, next to a radio. Portraits littered the mantelpiece. Tom stopped for just a moment, to stare briefly into a family photo. There were three people, all of them dressed formally. A broad-shouldered, balding man stood proudly with an arm around his wife's back, and in front of them stood a small boy with thin, sandy hair and greyish eyes grinning innocently. 'So that's my father. and his family. How quaint.. Rotten muggle pigs.' Yet he continued to stare for another very long moment, until finally he forced himself to look away, turning his gaze to the fire crackling in the corner. The dancing flames were reflected on his glassy eyes, and they seemed to burn.

Finally, Tom reached the kitchen. The three people sitting there looked up suddenly from their food and stared at the wet, bedraggled young man standing framed in their doorway. The white-haired woman at the table shrieked and, to Tom's amazement and suppressed delight, fainted, falling to the side, leaving her shocked husband to catch her. The youngest of the three rose from his seat and yelled, "What the hell are you doing in my house?!"

Tom made no answer except to toss his head back, flinging his wet hair out of his eyes. Sweat and rain mingled on his resolute face as he took a slow, threatening step forward, rolling back the sleeves of his cloak. "Get out or I'll call the police!" cried the man.

"No you won't," said Tom calmly.

"To hell I won't," muttered the man, rushing to the phone.

"Imperius!" shouted Tom, holding out his wand. The man stopped in his tracks, unable to move under his own will. "That's better," Tom smirked. The older couple made a sudden sound, as if they were trying to get to their feet. "Sit!" yelled Tom, and they obeyed.

"Who are you?" hissed the man, fists clenched, after a moment of taught silence. He really looked nothing like his son. His hair was much lighter --almost blonde--his eyes not nearly so vibrant, his skin darker, rougher; his build was sturdy and broad in comparison to Tom's long, bony body and sharp features. Clearly, the boy took after his mother.

"What, don't recognize me.... Father?" asked Tom silkily. "Surprised to see me?" he continued, seeing the bafflement and horror spreading over his father's face. "Bet you never thought you'd see me again. Bet you thought you had gotten good and rid of me." Tom walked in closer, his voice falling to a whisper. "But I guess it's like they say... What goes around, comes around."

Tom Riddle Sr. looked shocked, as his dull mind placed the pieces together. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying desperately to think of something to say. "What's that?" taunted the young man. "What were you going to say? You'd best speak up Father!" He turned his piercing gaze upon his father's dark eyes and whispered eerily, "You're not... afraid, are you?"

He was afraid, and alarmed and confused a well. There was something in the way this dripping wet boy looked at him that made him shiver. Yet, if he truly was his son, he shouldn't have anything to fear... Should he? "Well.. Why are you here, boy?" he managed at last, attempting to maintain some authority in the situation.

"Why are you here, Father?" shot back Tom. "Didn't you have a wife to look after? And, oh yes--didn't she have a son? Why was it you left her again?" The man made no reply. "Hmm? Could you explain that to me, Father?"

Thomas Sr. made several attempts to get words out before finally stammering, "I- I was afraid! She... What was I supposed to do? She was a witch! She had no right to deceive me like that! I-"

"So you abandoned her because she was a witch?" asked Tom simply, his voice emotionless.

"Maybe the only reason I married her at all was because she was a witch!" he shrieked. "She surely must have had me under a spell or something! I mean... The things she was involved in! Worshipping the devil and the like! She was probably plotting to kill me!"

"Liar!" shouted Tom, dropping his expressionless mask in an instant. "Fool! Don't talk about things you don't understand, you ignorant bastard!" He paused for a moment, the expressionless mask falling back into place, as the man fell silent and compliant before ordering coolly, "You will sit, Father."

"I wish you'd stop calling me that," the tired man muttered under his breath.

"What--father?" asked Tom with a hint of disgust. "Why shouldn't I call you it; it's what you are. Or are you just afraid of that too. Afraid to be called father? Ashamed?" He snorted, and smirked at the man before him, before continuing, his voice barely above a whisper. "Be afraid, muggle. Be ashamed." Tom inhaled deeply, then spoke again, his voice louder. "You will sit." The man stumbled nervously to his chair.

A tense silence followed as he sat nervously at the dining room table and watched the pale, slender boy standing before him. He had never expected to ever hear from this boy again, this reminder of another life long past. It was like seeing a ghost. "You... You look just like her," he said.

"How dare you talk about her so casually!" the young man bellowed. "As if none of it ever happened! As if you hadn't killed her!!" Tom was screaming now, and he paused, swallowing as he bit back the tears. "And don't try and tell me you didn't kill her; she would have lived if you had stayed with her, I know it! You weakened her! And then she died... Because of you I have no mother. And now it's your turn."

He held out his wand and whirled to the left, pointing it at his grandmother. "Avada Kedavra!"

Thomas closed his eyes to block out the sudden flash of blinding green light filling the room. Slowly, he opened his eyes to stare at his mother's limp form being weakly supported by her husband. What had just happened? What was that? The tall, blue-eyed boy--his son--was talking to him again.

"I didn't have a father either, you know. You might as well have been dead."

"No!" cried Thomas and his father at once, comprehending now what was happening, but the boy would not be stopped. A second green flash followed and Marvolo Riddle froze, dropped his wife onto his lap and fell forward, smashing his head onto the fine table.

"What did you do to them?!" cried Thomas Sr.

"Nothing that should concern you too much," said Tom nonchalantly, though inside he was trembling. He had just murdered his grandparents. It had been so fast, so impulsive, he had barely even felt it. The job's not done yet! So he continued, not even a hint of his inner turmoil apparent to his father. "I didn't think you were the kind of person who cared much about people dieing. It didn't much matter when my mother died, now did it? Wouldn't have mattered if I had died. In fact, I'm sure you hoped I did die," said Tom, speaking rapidly, encouraged by his own words, moving closer as the man backed nervously away. "I was after all, just a pebble in your shoe, a taint to your memory, a smudge on your name. Oh the humiliation- a WIZARD for a son, good God! What to do?" he mocked. "Well," he continued, resuming his own tone. "I'm afraid that doesn't go one-way. You're the smudge on my name, you filthy muggle!" he spat.

The man just stared fearfully at his long-forgotten son, not knowing what to do or say. The fullness of his situation was finally sinking in, as he leaned his back against the wall, beaten, cornered, flustered. He glanced at the lifeless bodies of his parents nearby, then back to the strange, wild-eyed boy advancing, and terror ran through him.

"I'm... I'm sorry," he whispered desperately, trembling, and tears began to run down his face.

"So am I," said Tom softly, then his voice hardened. "But regret doesn't change a thing I'm afraid, and it's far too late to change anything now. It's gone too far now, there is no turning back. Do you understand that?" Tom bit his lip, and he was trembling also. This was it. He was really going to do it. He had to. "Goodbye Father. Say hello to Mother for me." The man's eyes widened but before he could say or do a thing, Tom had lifted his wand loftily and uttered in barely above a whisper, "Avada kedavra."

Thomas Riddle's face froze and his entire body went stiff, and crumpled to the floor in a heap at his son's feet. Time seemed to stand still. Tom stood now, in the kitchen filled with stillness and silence, except for the continuous ticking of a clock on the wall. He lowered his arm slowly, and breathed in, feeling slightly numb. Then he simply turned and walked wordlessly out the kitchen, through the living room, down the steps of the front door, and back to the bushes. He hadn't noticed the burning in his skin until he felt the cold rain fall comfortingly onto him, soaking into his cloak and running down his hair.

'I've done it... I got the wretched bastard... He's gone.' Tom nodded silent affirmation to himself in the darkness. The man who had abandoned him and his mother seventeen years ago had finally paid for his sins. 'Nobody will ever dare call me a mudblood again. No, not after this. He's gone now. Out of my life and history forever. I wipe myself clean of Tom Riddle. He is not my father. I'm not Tom Riddle.' He trudged along in the wet grass, the hem of his robes dripping mud. "I am the heir of Salazar Slytherin," he continued aloud. "Come to continue his legacy and fulfill his glorious plan and cleanse this Earth of these filthy, evil, muggle rodents. I'm not Tom Riddle. I am Lord Voldemort!" he cried into the night.

Tom forced himself to smile. He never let himself feel the sadness, not for long, and he never allowed himself to cry. It was weakness, and he hated it. But he was always able to use it to his advantage. He always used his pain to fuel his anger. The anger helped him reach his goals. The goals were all that mattered. Only achieving the goals would bring him satisfaction, bring him justice--happiness.

And yet... It somehow always seemed hollow victory. It was as if he could never be truly satisfied. It was never enough. Even now, with this long-awaited vengeance finally fulfilled, it seemed odd now that it was finally done. He had got what he wanted, and now that he had it... It seemed he still wasn't happy. It wasn't what he needed. Perhaps his goals were going in completely the wrong direction, and they only made him more unhappy. There always something missing... Always something off in his eyes... Always something twisted in his smile.

Tom shook his head, clearing his thoughts, drawing a hand over his pale, wet face. 'I'll be happy in the end. Just wait Tom. Just wait till you've got the whole world at your feet, and they'll all worship you. I will have it all. I'll be the most powerful wizard in history. No, not only in history. I won't just be remembered. I will endure. I will live forever, and my rule will never end.'

And then he laughed. He forced himself to push the laugh out, he searched his entire being for some speck of joy but there was none, and his laughter was twisted and mocking even of himself. But it didn't matter. Nothing really did now... Nothing seemed real. There were no rules any more, no limitations. And this would only be the first step. He had committed his first murder in cold blood. He had crossed the line, and there was no turning back now.

Wear the grudge like a crown of negativity.

Calculate what we will or will not tolerate.

Desperate to control all and everything.

Unable to forgive your scarlet lettermen.

Clutch it like a cornerstone.

Otherwise it all comes down.

Justify denials and grip 'em to the lonesome end.

Clutch it like a cornerstone.

Otherwise it all comes down.

Terrified of being wrong.

Ultimatum prison cell.

Saturn ascends, choose one or ten.

Hang on or be humbled again.

Clutch it like a cornerstone.

Otherwise it all comes down.

Justify denials and grip 'em to the lonesome end.

Saturn ascends, comes round again.

Saturn ascends, the one, the ten.

Ignorant to the damage done.

Wear the grudge like a crown of negativity.

Calculate what we will or will not tolerate.

Desperate to control all and everything.

Unable to forgive your scarlet lettermen.

Wear your grudge like a crown.

Desperate to control.

Unable to forgive.

And we're sinking deeper.

Defining, confining, controlling, and we're sinking deeper.

Saturn comes back around to show you everything

Let's you choose what you will not see and then

Drags you down like a stone or lifts you up again

Spits you out like a child, light and innocent.

Saturn comes back around.

Lifts you up like a child or

Drags you down like a stone

To consume you till you choose to let this go.

Give away the stone.

Let the oceans take and

Transmutate this cold and fated anchor.

Give away the stone.

Let the waters kiss and

Transmutate these leaden grudges into gold.

Let go.