A/N: Tom contemplates his life. Just a bit of character exploration of one of my favourite characters. Riddle Era.
Submission for:
Ultimate Battle Competition! - [Regulus] has a riddle he's stuck on! Answer it and he'll give you a reward - 300 words or more, Riddle era.
Open Category 4: Riddle Era
Tom walked among the flickering torchlight of the Sixth Floor corridor, his shoes echoing on the stone floor with every step. Hogwarts was a much scarier place during the night, when the students were all in their common rooms, the wind whispering through the open windows and the shadows clung to every crevice. But Tom was not afraid. He was one with the darkness, the orphanage had a lot of it, and he was used to the quiet, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
He had been thinking a lot lately, about his past, his present and his future. He had come from humble beginnings, raised in an orphanage among children who never truly appreciated his power. They avoided him, they feared him, and he fed on that fear. But he was alone. His mother had died, the matrons had told him, and his father was unknown, though he must have gotten his powers from him. There's no way a witch would have died from something like childbirth.
In his present, he was attending a magical school to hone his powers, giving him access to a vast library of knowledge and competent professors. He had been sorted into the most prestigious and influential house, the house of the cunning and ambitious, which was comprised of the children of all the wealthy families. At first, they had looked down on him, his name nothing more than mud in their circles, but he soon proved himself worthy of their attention. He was intelligent, handsome and an excellent speaker, able to get anyone to do his bidding, which drew them all to him like flies to honey. While he didn't care much for them, he knew the values of relationships and acquaintances in any society.
In his future, he saw himself lording over them all, Pureblood and Muggle alike. He sat on a throne of his victims' skulls, his eyes gleaming as he meted out discipline and punishment. No one could stand in his way as his army razed their homes to the ground and tore apart their families. Their blood would paint the way to a new world, a better world, and he couldn't wait. His past and present would no longer matter, and people would fear his name, Lord Voldemort.
He let out a maniacal laugh, the barking noises bouncing around the empty corridor around him before he caught himself. No, he wasn't Lord Voldemort, supreme ruler of the world just yet. He was still Tom Marvolo Riddle, Slytherin Sixth Year Prefect and dignified, intelligent student, who had an image to maintain.
He cleared his throat as he continued on his rounds about the castle. Just one more floor before he could return to the dungeons and retire for the night.