Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, Round Ten
Team: Montrose Magpies
Position: Chaser 3
Challenge: Write about an important familial relationship in your mascot's life.
Mascot: Tom Marvolo Riddle
Prompts: Infectious, Apologise, "Every fairy-tale needs a good old fashion villain." ― James Moriarty, Sherlock
Words: 1, 301
"Hello. Miss me?"
Tom Riddle started, turning towards the voice. He didn't know how long the boy had been lounging against the doorframe of the drawing room, but his greeting, spoken in such a casual tone, seemed entirely out of place given that Tom had never seen the teenager before.
The boy stepped out of the shadows, and Tom paled rapidly at the sight of his face. Sharp, aristocratic features, dark hair, a perfectly proportioned body. A boy who was almost painfully handsome and terribly familiar. He was frozen in place by the unexpected sight of himself at age sixteen.
"Oh dear, you look as though you've seen a ghost." The boy smiled. It was not a nice smile.
"W-who-" was all Tom could stutter, his well-bred upbringing deserting him, but it was enough.
The boy's expression hardened, sharpened, like brittle glass. "Fancy that, a father not recognizing his own son. I'm a little disappointed."
"Son - You're Merope's bastard!" Tom burst out, his mind finally connecting the handsome boy before him with the worst time of his life, the mad woman who had stolen his mind.
"Yes, if you want to put it that way," the boy's nose wrinkled delicately as he moved further into the room. The very way he walked screamed danger, predator. And Tom was prey.
His eyes flickered nervously towards the open door. The boy flicked his hand, the thin stick of wood he clutched, and the door slammed closed.
"Unnatural- you-you're like her," Tom managed to snarl, despite the fear weighing down his bones, flinching away from the boy as though he were infectious.
His son smirked. "In some ways, I suppose. We are both magical, both parselmouths. But in other ways, I am far superior …" He tilted his head, grotesquely childlike. "She died, actually. And I somehow don't see myself following her example. You, however …."
He moved even closer, and held out his wand delicately.
"You really were an awful father, you know that? After you abandoned us and mother died, I got stuck in a dirty Muggle orphanage. But it's okay," the younger Tom turned towards him with a feral smile, "After today, it – won't – matter!" With every word he slashed the wand, causing indescribable pain to wrack Tom's body.
"Did you know that while you were lounging in luxury, I was left to rot in that orphanage? Did you ever try to find me? DID YOU EVER EVEN CARE?" His voice had risen to a shriek, pure fury, but the most terrifying part was that his face remained in that blank, inhuman smile.
As though he were enjoying this.
That was the thought that frightened Tom above all.
"Do you know what it was like for me, growing up in that hell-hole?" The boy asked, his tone suddenly dropping to conversational. "No, I don't suppose you do; after all, you were probably spoilt to death by those filthy muggle parents of yours…"
Tom was unsettled by the way his son's voice had twisted maliciously on the word death. His dark eyes gleamed oddly in the fire light, almost giving them an unsettling red glow. His features suddenly seemed strangely rough, not quite as attractive as a moment ago.
"But don't worry, I won't ask you to apologize. After all, I don't want pity from a Muggle," he spat. "I ask only one thing from you, Muggle, one little repayment to settle the debt between us."
Tom's palms were inexplicably sweaty, his breath catching in his throat.
"I want your life. Or, more accurately, your death."
The tone of his voice made it clear - Tom Riddle Jr. would kill his father. And he would enjoy it.
"Why- how- " Tom forgot how to create a sentence for a few seconds, gazing at the teen before him in horror, revulsion. "How did you turn out so wrong?"
"Wrong? WRONG? I'm the one who's wrong? When was the last time you took a look in the mirror, father? YOU ABANDONED MY MOTHER, JUST BECAUSE SHE WAS A WITCH! YOU LEFT US, LEFT HER TO FEND FOR HERSELF! You weren't worthy of her, a pathetic creature like you should have been honoured that a witch of Slytherin's line had her eye on you. You disgust me." The blast of magic slammed Tom against the wall, left him crumpled on the floor.
"Why-" Tom barely managed to rasp, feeling the world go faint, blood trickling down his neck, staining the collar of his pristine white shirt.
"Why?" The high cold laugh chilled him. Tom walked slowly to him, bent to kneel in front of him. "You want to know why? Because, father, every fairy-tale needs a good old fashioned villain." He lent forward to whisper directly into Tom's ear. "And also, because ….
"I hate you."
Those three tiny syllables, barely audible, like breath against his trembling skin, were the moment Tom Riddle Sr. knew he would never see the sunrise.
"Now, stand and face me like a man. Imperio!"
The magic coated his mind, a voice in his head forcing him to stand upright, to face that twisted reflection of himself.
"Goodnight, father," Tom tilted his head slightly, as if to make sure he captured this scene perfectly, to lovingly preserve the memory in his mind for forever more.
"Avada Kedavra."
Green light swallowed Tom's vision, and the last thing he ever saw was a pair of red eyes dancing with fire light.
A few seconds of silence coated the room, before Tom let out a large sigh, of satisfaction or relief he didn't know.
He had done it. Finally.
With a sweep of his wand, he healed the wound on the corpse's head, cleaned the blood. It wouldn't do to leave a tell, after all.
As he dismissed the silencing wards he had erected around the room, he felt the elation finally bubble up through his stoic exterior.
He had finally done it. He had killed his father. His filthy Muggle father whom he had once lain awake longing for at night, the man he had been so sure was a wizard, combing the Hogwarts library for a glimpse of his name. The person he had longed to meet, to save him from the thrice-damned orphanage he had been forced to endure.
He was dead, at Tom's own hand.
An ecstatic, slightly crazed giggle escaped him, and the surprise only made him laugh harder until he was roaring with glee at the sight of the shocked, terrified expression on the corpse's face.
He laughed so hard he failed to hear the footsteps hurrying towards him, until a voice at the doorway spoke. "Tom?"
He turned, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.
"Tom, what …" The man trailed off in shock at the sight of his son, de-aged so dramatically.
"Tommy? What's happening?" The woman rushed towards him.
A new grin spread across his face at the sight of his grandparents. This was unexpected, but he was never one to waste an opportunity. After all, why stop at one, when he could eradicate the whole filthy bloodline?
The elderly couple shuddered at the feral smile on the face of the boy in front of them. "Tom…." Mary Riddle's voice faded as she moved closer.
That's when she saw the body.
They never even had time to scream.
A twin flash of green light, and it was over. The raven-haired teen walked down the stairs with nary a glance back. As he exited, the door closing itself behind him and locks clicking from the inside, he flung his head back to grin at the sky, one hand rubbing possessively at the heavy-stoned ring he wore.
Tom Riddle had entered the mansion, but the man who was destined to become Lord Voldemort walked out.
Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! … And I also hope that Tom isn't too OOC and that I didn't deviate too far from the challenge :P
Reviews make me happy and feedback is always appreciated *hint hint* ;D