Motivation ? Tom Riddle ?

2

The boys long arm stretched out towards me, and I ran a little faster, knowing what his gestures wanted me to do. A heat of adrenaline washed me over as I saw the train pick up it's speed. I stretched one of my arms out as well. If I moved just an inch closer my fingers would lock with his. And I did. The boy had a tight grip on my hand, and he hauled me up from the platform and into the train, meaning I had dropped my suitcase.

The boy held me firmly by the shoulders in front of him. I stood there, memorising every beautiful feature this boy produced. His slick, black curls brushed over his forehead like a wave, and his poisonous green eyes narrowed down at me. His pale skin was one to mistake a ghost for and his lips were pale along with it, but nonetheless, beautifully shaped.

A whirlwind of all sorts burst inside me, and the boys eyes turned into a brighter green, almost neon. I knew what was happening, it normally did.

My vision widened and before I knew it, I could see everything within his pained pupils. Everything turned glossy, but I could still make things out. An orphanage rushed past my vision, twisting and turning before disappearing. A boy no more than ten years of age sat glum in what looked like a giant food hall with plenty of other children. They were all orphans, including him. There was a major difference between them all. The boy my vision had been focused on was sad and glum, and his green eyes showed nothing but betrayal and anger. He was lonely and friendless, but nonetheless, was capable of many great things other children were not. He hurt other children and he watched them suffer, glory passing through those green ovals of his. The vision faded as snakes and an awful sort of language appeared, but faded along with it.

Before I knew it, the pale boy in front of me was shaking me by the shoulders. I snapped out of my past trance and blinked, hard. The boy in my vision was the one standing right in front of me. Surely he had matured over the years.

He glared down at me, anger slipping off his skin as he dug his long fingers firmly into my shoulders, before pushing me off him in disgust. He wiped his hands on his robes.

"And what do they call you, lemon? Do tell," he said solemnly.

"Abigail," I responded confidently. A wave of remembrance rushed over me and in an instant I was peering outside of the train, searching for my belongings. "My suitcase!" I shouted in defeat, watching my suitcase on the platform grow smaller and smaller.

I snuck a glance at the boy and he rolled his eyes. With a small wave of his wand, my suitcase was right at my feet in between the boy and I.

The boy chuckled at my awe and the glares he was sending my way loosened a bit. His features were still very hard, though.

"Magic, sweetheart," he responded in a dark manner.

I brushed it off with a shudder, and asked, a little less confidently, "What's your name?"

The tall, pale boy snapped his head over to me once again. His lips were in a thin line and his eyes were narrowed. He was quiet for a moment. Realising this boy wanted nothing to do with small talk, I grabbed my suitcase and cautiously moved past him.

"It's Tom Riddle."

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When we finally reached Hogwarts, I snapped out of my lonesome daydream. I was a little unhappy that I couldn't sit with anybody else, or hadn't even bothered, but at least I'd be able to talk to some people once I got up to the school.