Summery: He said he was just a memory. A friend. Someone to talk to. She had believed him, and his stories of a magical land just beyond her world. But what happens when Tom Riddle becomes more than just a forgotten memory?
An: Welcome to Memory, my newest story (at least for now) I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I will enjoy writing it.
Prologue
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Tom sat on his bed, his hair falling into his face; he gave an annoyed sniff and reached up to brush the offending raven locks out of his eyes. He would have to cut it again, he idly thought as it fell into his eyes, but it would be one more hour before he would be able to do it with magic.
He reached into his pocket and gripped the well-polished wood of his wand, power at his fingertips, power that he could finally (legally) use. Just one more hour, one more hour in this muggle orphanage, one more hour before he would finally be free. The wardrobe next to his bed shuddered.
Tom took a deep breath he needed to relax. He needed something to do other than strain his ears for the old grandfather clock's chime. He walked over to his trunk, not even glancing over at the other boy who shared his room, and went through his robes, mentally wincing at how frayed and battered they looked and pulled out his greatest accomplishment. His diary. His fingers traced somewhat fondly over the leather cover.
He sat back down on his bed and flipped through the blank pages, it looked so innocent, like any other blank diary in the world. New parchment ready for an eager quill. He gave a dark chuckle.
"Hey quiet down over there!" the other boy snapped, Tom looked up from the diary and glared at him. He was a new arrival, Tom would guess he was around fourteen, and apparently, he hadn't yet heard all of the nasty (true) rumors about what Tom could do to him if he made Tom angry.
"I will be as loud or as silent as I wish." The boys face darkened, a glimmer of what he recognized as violence sparkled in his eyes as he looked Tom over. Tom could see his thoughts as clearly as if he were using legilimency, this weak insignificant muggle wanted to hurt him. He wanted to laugh, as if this muggle could hurt Lord Voldemort.
"I don't like your tone." the boy growled, flexing his muscles. Tom wasn't intimidated. "In fact, I don't like you at all." he stood up and walked with slow, measured, steps until he was towering over the sitting Tom. His eyes drifted to the open diary in Tom's lap. His hand shot out and grabbed the diary.
He looked it over, "What in the hell is this?" he said with a stupid smile on his face.
"My diary." Tom said, keeping a tight control over his emotions, he was angry. How dare this muggle filth touch what was his, especially something that was so important. A piece of his soul, of Toms soul, of Lord Voldemort's soul.
The stupid smile was still on the boys face.
"A diary," he said with a loud laugh, "Only girls use diaries," he looked back at Tom scanning him over. "You some kind of fairy?"
"Give me back my diary." He said trying to keep his teeth from clenching, he had to be patient. Just one more hour before he could take care of this muggle, not even that anymore. How much time had passed? Five minutes? Ten? How much longer did that leave him before he could use his wand? His left hand twitched. He could use wandless magic, but that took energy he didn't want to waste. Besides he could do so much more damage with a wand.
"Hey fairy boy, I'm talking to you." Tom turned his attention back to the boy in front of him, he had opened the diary.
"Why haven't you written anything in here fairy? Your little boyfriends not want you writing things about them in here?" Tom's eyes narrowed.
"This is your only warning, put down my diary or suffer the consequences." he hissed. The boy laughed.
"What are you going to do fairy? Cry?" the violent look returned to his eyes, "What if I suddenly decided to destroy your precious blank diary?" he reached out a hand and traced it over the parchment before taking a corner. He looked into Toms eyes, smirking. He pulled the parchment, an almost silent rip was heard, and Tom snapped.
A loud crack echoed through the room and the boy went flying backward into the wall. Tom stood and prowled toward the stunned teenager. Tom reached down and grabbed the diary out of his hands checking it over, eyes darkening in fury at the tiny rip in the last page. He gently set the diary on top of his trunk and turned back to the boy on the ground.
"You have just made the greatest mistake of your life." he held out a hand and the boy levitated, he let out a startled shriek and thrashed around in the air as Tom effortlessly levitated him over to his bed.
"Incarcerous." ropes appeared at his fingertips and flew over to the boy binding his wrists and legs to the bed posts. The boys eyes were wide with terror.
"A witch, damn it all a witch." Tom ignored him went back to his diary, he gently pressed his finger to the rip, the parchment grew back together. He looked it over the diary again, grimacing in distaste at the greasy fingerprints that covered the leather.
He turned his attention back to the boy on his bed. What was he to do with him now? He certainly couldn't let him live, no he knew Tom's secret now, he knew about his diary, he had touched his diary. He had damaged his diary. He looked down at the diary, now that he thought about it, it was vulnerable. It could be ripped and torn, burned, stabbed. It made Tom flinch to think of all the things that could happen to it. All of things that could happen to his soul.
He looked over at the writhing boy, then looked at his diary. A plan formed and the more he thought about it the more he liked it.
It will be like killing two birds with one stone. He turned back to his trunk and gently moved his robes aside to get to his cauldron, all of his potion supplies were there, his dragon hide gloves, his extra potion ingredients, and-
Here were are. Tom smiled and pulled out a large silver knife, a gift from one of his Knights. He looked over to the bed, its occupant had stopped thrashing and was now looking at the knife in Tom's hands, wide eyed.
"Hey now what are you going to do with that!" he wailed as Tom moved closer to him, a predators grace in every step.
"I swear to god I'll scream!" Tom tilted his head to the side and gave a chilling little half smile, his deep blue eyes boring into the boys.
"No one would hear you." The attack on his mind was quick and disgustingly easy. Tom looked around the memories with a practiced ease, glancing briefly over the black and white memories of Jason's (how could he not pick up his name in his mind?) childhood before one memory in particular caught his attention, he backed out of his mind enough so that he was aware of what he was doing as he played out the memory with a few….Modifications.
"Do you remember that night in the kitchen when you were five?" he whispered, drawing the memory sharply to the front of Jason's mind, the boy just trembled, "I expect an answer Jason, do you remember?" He nodded still shaking terribly.
"Do you remember taking out your fathers hunting knife Jason?" He gulped and nodded again, his eyes slightly unfocused as he mentally watched the reenactment of his memory. A small boy of five, wide eyed and excited at the new toy he had found. Tom smiled and pressed his silver blade to a faded scar on Jason's hand.
"You cut yourself Jason." He swiftly dragged the magically sharp blade down the palm in time with the boy in the memory, Jason let out a sharp cry of pain as the skin split and warm blood poured out of the fresh wound on his hand. Jason's fingers flexed and automatically closed around the injury.
"But that's not all that happened is it Jason." Jason's hazy eyes flashed in confusion.
"What are you talking-" the boy in the memory raised the hand with the knife in it again as Tom raised his own blade. He traced the dull edge of the blade across his forearm. The cool metal making him shiver.
"You liked the first cut, then you couldn't help but to try it again," Tom quickly twisted his wrist and made another gash down the length of his forearm. Jason screamed, at least he thought he did, Tom had convinced his memory that he had but he uttered no sound. "And again," another gash across the Jason's other palm, "And again." another down the other forearm.
Tom listened intently for the clock down stairs, timing was going to become important soon. With a few more jerks of his knife Jason's shirt was gone. "But you didn't stop there Jason, did you?" Jason s eyes were still foggy and lost in memory, fully believing that this was his true memory as he shook his head.
"You carved something on your chest." Tom whispered as he dragged the knife over Jason's chest as Jason screamed in his head in pain as his memory copied Tom's movements, "You carved Servo Animus Ex Malum." The boy nodded "You wanted to protect your soul didn't you Jason." He said with a smile as he carefully carved the words into the flesh. The grandfather clock started to chime. Toms smile widened. Perfect timing. He reached into his pocket for his wand and for his diary that he had slipped in with it.
He gently lay his diary above Jason's chest and moved his wand over the bloody letters. The clock chiming in the background. Two chimes. Three.
"Answer me Jason, you wanted to protect the soul didn't you?" the boy sobbed and nodded.
"Protect- Soul- My soul-" he stammered out. With a final flick of his wand the bloody letters started to glow and the wounds gushed and poured, the blood moving in a thick stream to the diary dragging over the pages, sinking into the heavy parchment.
"And you will protect your soul, with your life's blood."
"Yes-" Jason murmured as his life slipped away. Four chimes
"Yes- soul- blood safe….protect….soul." he gasped out. He went quietly, his skin turning ghostly white, his lips turning blue his scarlet blood staining the already dirty sheets, and the final thought of protecting his soul filling his thoughts. At least he would think it was his soul. He would guard Tom's soul for all of eternity, not knowing it wasn't his. Five chimes.
Tom wasn't interested in Jason though, he was more intrigued with his diary making sure that not a singe drop of blood was left out of its pages. Six chimes. As soon as there was no blood left Tom took the diary and moved over to his old wardrobe, with a flick of his wand it moved to the side, he pulled out a loose brick and placed the diary inside the hollow space created. He put the brick back and sealed it in place, no one would be able to get to Tom now.
'Yes, Tom is in that diary,' he looked back at Jason's body, 'and I am not Tom, I am Lord Voldemort! Leave Tom and his memory in this accursed place!' The seventh chime echoed through the silent orphanage as Lord Voldemort disappeared.