This is a fairly short one-shot that I felt compelled to write one evening. Basically it is a simple reflection on immortality and power from the view of Tom Riddle in his days at Hogwarts. In my opinion, he is one of the most interesting characters in the Harry Potter series and so I have attempted to delve into the thoughts he would be likely to have before his ascension to power.
The writing style is experiemental for me and it may seem a bit too drifting. I would really like to have some feedback, so please review!
Devil's Ambrosia
A young man, dressed in flowing black robes stands alone in a poorly-lit room before a roaring fire. The lavish furnishings of the spacious common room are all of bright green and silver and winding serpents form a repetitive motif for the intricate decoration adorning the walls and alcoves.
It is late and the others are asleep in their communal dormitories, but he does not rest. Instead, he stares unblinkingly at the flickering flames as if entranced by their beautiful iridescence. The golden light is reflected onto his icy pale skin and an image of the fire dances in his dark, empty eyes. His long, elegant fingers are curled around his wand in a possessive grip and he contorts his thin lips into a sneer of inward contempt. It is a rare spectacle that he chooses not to reveal to any others except those in his confidence who displease him. Everyone else daily witness a skilful façade, developed and refined over many years to hide what he truly thinks. The expression is truly horrible to behold, alien to his naturally handsome features, and in the future, the very same sneer of contempt will be a signal to those wretched people who anger Tom that they will not live to see a new day.
Tom Marvolo Riddle is, on the surface a faultless student of immense magical prowess: top of his classes, Head Boy and a prestigious award for services to his school. However, delve deeper into his being, if any were able and you would find a seething mass of dark ambitions and secrets so terrible they are scarcely believable. For those unreadable eyes are the gateway to the mind of a murderer, a deceiver and a cruel, twisted genius.
There a select few who are aware of his dangerous ambitions, but even they do not yet understand the very extent of his work that he has even now started. The rest are utterly ignorant and awed by him, as if he had cast some spell upon them, but he requires no enchantments for this purpose as he has worked a very different kind of magic over the pupils and staff of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
He slowly raises the hand that holds his wand so possessively and stares down at his thin wrist with the faint hint of a smirk. His pulse is racing now, quickened by his thoughts and, as he looks, he considers the crimson blood that courses through his veins. It is a reminder of the greatness that will surely come to him – for it is the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself that sustains him. It is this knowledge combined with the bitter facts of his past and his native talent for sorcery that drives him at achieve all ends with such unprecedented determination. He would restore glory to the wizarding world once more - revert it to how it was in the days of his venerable ancestor. It is his wish that every man, woman and child should revere him as the master and saviour of magic and fear to call him by his true title: Lord Voldemort.
Those who dare opposed him faced only the inevitable and grim fate of death, for once he had finished his initial plans, he would be more powerful than any before or after him could ever dream to be. He would free the wizarding world from those audacious usurpers who dared enter a domain they did not belong in. He would rid the world of them as soon as he had achieved the dream he had held dearest since he first became aware of the affliction as a child. It was a dream that was now tantalizingly close to becoming a reality. He would be the first to conquer death and gain the most precious gift of eternal life which would free him from the ravenous clutches of mortality. Life would no longer be fleeting to him as it was to others, who let it pass them by without a second though, only regrets. He would tame it and rise above life itself - the epitome of greatness.
There would be many in the world who would laugh at such a scheme. Many would find the very concept of Tom's plans and means unthinkable and atrocious. Little did they know, his work had already begun.