A/N: This was written for the challenge: Hogwarts Games - Triathlon. The prompts given were evolution, "I will grow old or die trying," and the genre of mystery.
Many thanks to my beta, MissingMommy.
The diary lay open on his bed, words scrawled in a deep shade of black ink upon the pages.
That diary was the only thing he could trust with telling his secrets to. No human would ever gain that trust from him.
Never.
October 27, 1942
I was made fun of today. AdamJohnston said my last name was silly. Said I was the one supposed to be making the jokes. Professor Merrythought left to use the loo. He wouldn't stop. I was being attacked. They were attacking me. One day I'll get them back. They won't see it coming, but I'll get them. I reckon they won't even realize it was me that's done it. I won't forget their names. Not ever.
October 30, 1942
I want a sharp suit like the ones the older Slytherin boys were wearing tonight at dinner I don't want these damned shirts and trousers. They have so many of them, I bet they wouldn't even notice if a set went missing.
"Hey Riddle!" Tom turned to see a Slytherin 6th year behind him. "Got any ehm, extra cash you'd like to lend me?" Tom knew what the boy wanted. He walked quicker, ignoring him and attempting to get farther away from him. "I mean, seeing how close you are to Professor Dumbledore, I'd assumed he might've lent you a galleon or two!"
Tom ignored him, yet again, and continued pushing his legs against the ground in order to get to the Great Hall.
He only wanted dinner.
November 7, 1942
I began thinking of death recently. What if I get hit by the killing curse in my sleep? What if everything I've ever lived for goes to waste and I don't get to reach my full potential as a wizard? There must be small print when it comes to death. There must be a way out of it. I want to live forever. Wizards shouldn't have to die the same way Muggles do. There should be a way out for us.
He walked to the library that night. He strolled right into the restricted section. He read about things that quenched his thirst for answers.
November 10, 1942
What if those dark magic spells are possible? What if those spells I read about could still be conjured? If not, I'll make my own spells. If I'm not successful in splitting my soul with the spells somebody else created, I'll create my own. I'll grow old or die trying.
Riddle wore a stolen suit to the Slug Club that night. That was the night when he got it all out of Slughorn.
June 20, 1944
I hate him. I want him dead. He's no father of mine. A Muggle is no father of mine.
That daft excuse of a professor told me everything. Of course, he never thought I'd act upon it, did he?
Tom's breathing rate increased. He held the stolen ring between his fingers, examining the beautiful detail along its edges. In his other hand he held a burning candle. He made sure he had his wand, and walked to his muggle father's chambers.
He pointed his wand at the sleeping figure, and recited the incantation.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Tom Riddle Sr. attempted to sit up at the shock of a voice in his room, but he was hit before he could. A bolt of green light emerged from his wand and turned the body lifeless.
The boy smirked, inhaled deeply, and pointed his wand to the piece of jewelry in his hand.
He spoke the words he'd only read about, and gasped as he felt a pulling sensation in his chest. He shut his eyes and smirked as he realized the darkness of what he was performing.
When he finished, he felt his face burn, his cheeks especially. He touched his face, which only caused him to feel hotter. He dropped his wand and ran to a sink. He turned on the rusted faucet and drowned his face in cold water. As soon as he felt relief, he dried himself, and slowly walked to a mirror to see if making this Horcrux had any effect on his appearance.
He noticed his face being skinnier and much bonier, but he thought nothing of it. He walked back to his father's chambers, levitated the man, and set him on the living room floor.
He slipped the ring onto his finger and climbed into the bed his father was previously sleeping on. He blew out his candle, and sighed in satisfaction.
July 30, 1944
It seems that even the greatest Wizard of all time is just as gullible as Muggles. He doesn't think I have anything to do with it, hah! That old hag...
Tom skipped dinner that day. He sat in his room, his diary shut in front of him. He picked it up, and held it close to his chest.
It was then that he realized that this inanimate object was his best friend; his only friend.
He walked to the second floor lavatory, checking behind him for anyone who might be following. He carried his diary in his left hand, his wand in his right.
He knew he was the heir. He would die before he would let Salazar Slytherin down.
The sinks opened as the foreign language left his lips. He shut his eyes and fell into the chamber, checking behind him one last time.
Making his diary into a Horcrux was not difficult. He knew exactly what to expect, the tugging sensation in his chest. This time though, he felt lonelier than ever after he was finished. It was more than just a part of his soul dividing. It was like a part of his humanity did too.
Tom graduated from Hogwarts. He wanted nothing to do with anyone he'd known at the school, nor with the Professors who'd taught him all he knew.
He landed a job at Borgin and Burks. He would raise money for himself. He had no expenses to pay for, nothing to worry about.
He was given his father's house to live in.
After his shift ended in the shop, he left, and went to meet someone who had something he wanted.
He made sure to put on a coat of darker powder on his face before he met with her though. Ever since the creation of the second Horcrux, his face has been paler than ever. It wasn't a pleasant sight. The look of him revolted some people, while others simply laughed at it.
He knew that first impressions were lasting impressions and wouldn't dare mess this one up.
"Ms. Smith?" He walked into a small shop where a woman in pink robes sat.
"Yes?" she answered. She lifted her eyes from the collectables she was examining, and onto Tom.
"I'd like to buy something from you, please?" He smiled a small one. He knew how to win people over. When Tom acted charming, the Imperio curse was never necessary.
"What is it?" she asked. Her large red wig upon her head seemed to slide a bit forward with every word she said. She stuck a tulip in her wig as decor. Tom kept that in mind.
"I'm looking for some armor please?" he asked. "Goblin made, preferably."
She stood from her elegant chair which Tom noticed resembled a throne, and walked to the back. She levitated a suit of armor toward Tom.
He didn't really want this, though. Of course he didn't.
He wanted to become her favorite customer.
"Listen, Hepzibah," he said, leaning on the back wall. "I'll be back tomorrow to purchase this beautiful suit. Keep it safe, alright? Be sure that nobody buys it."
He flashed her a smile. In return, she giggled at him, and watched him disappear with a pop.
The next day, after his shift at Borgin and Burks, he bought a bouquet of tulips for the lady at the shop. He was cunning and his hidden smirk showed it.
After her murder, he held both the cup and the locket in his hands. He stayed on the inside of the shop with her. He locked the doors, and blew out all the lights safe for the one candle sitting on the cabinet.
He pointed his wand to the cup, repeating the incantation he'd said twice already. He felt the tugging closer to his head this time. For the first time, however, he felt pain with the making of this Horcrux. His hands began to ache. His legs gave in, causing Riddle to fall to the ground. He watched as his fingers grew in length, from two inches to three and a half. He gasped at the sight, and felt his stomach go sick at the change in appearance. His legs began to become longer as well, nearly seven inches each. When the pain and discomfort subsided, he stood up.
He regained his composure and picked up his wand. He blew out the last candle, and left the women on the floor, poison leaking from the corners of her mouth.
August 19, 1948
I will become the world's most powerful sorcerer. If it takes abnormally large hands or a great change in height, so be it. I don't care if my pallor is more obvious than before.
I'd rather be hideous and be a great sorcerer than be attractive and as worthless as a Hufflepuff.
"Please come again," he handed a customer their items while twiddling Salazar Slytherin's locket between his beefy fingers. He was thinking of somebody else to kill. He wanted part of himself inside this locket.
Leaving Borgin and Burkes, he walked to Muggle found a whore on the street, bidding prices with men to spend a night with her. Tom smirked and walked to her.
"Darling," he started. He felt disdain arise from within him for these Muggles. He did all he could to not show it in his low voice. "Come home with me."
"230."
"Oh, I'd give you 250." He held her by the waist, and walked her to a back alley. He checked both sides to make sure there were no other Muggles lurking around.
"You don't have a car?" she asked. He smirked.
"Something like that." He held her wrist tighter than he might have needed to and disapparated with her to the Riddle house.
"What the fuck are you doing to me!?" She attempted to pull her arm from his grasp, but failed miserably. He dragged her into the house, her complaints echoing through the building.
"Oh shut up," he demanded. He thought of sleeping with her before he did away with her, until he nearly gagged at the thought of breeding with a muggle.
"Is this your house-"
"Avada Kedavra." He pointed his wand to her chest, watching as her body fell to the floor. He smirked and carried her body outside to the backyard. He placed her lifeless body on a boulder. "Incendio."
He walked back into the house, the smell of burning flesh already seeping in through the door.
The words danced off his tongue and out of his mouth for the fourth time. He fell to the ground in agony, and cried out at the horrible burning sensation that rippled throughout his body. He opened his eyes and watched his body change form, yet again.
The muscles in his limbs began to diminish, leaving him with what resembled sticks for arms and legs. He groaned at the weak sensation. He attempted to stand, but fell to the floor just as quickly. His legs failed to carry the weight of his body.
After the third attempt of standing, he wobbled his weight between his two excuses of legs, and walked to his father's old bed. He blew out his candle, and fell asleep.
January 13, 1949
...I want another Horcrux. I want one for each house of Hogwarts...
Tom was in the woods deep in the heart of Albania. He was standing before a corpse of a peasant.
Many years ago, when he was still a student at Hogwarts, Tom charmed Helena Ravenclaw into tellinghim where the diadem was.
He never thought he'd find it, until today. He stared at the beauty he was holding in his hands, the sparkling gems of the crown. His long fingers ran over the silver accessory. He pulled out his wand and, for the fifth time, recited the incantation. It was beginning to become simply a habit.
Making a Horcrux this time around was nowhere near as exciting and scandalous for Tom as it was the first time.
There was no heart-wrenching agony this time. It was subtle. There was still a tugging feeling that came from his chest, but it felt like less soul was put into this Horcrux. There was no pain this time. He chuckled, and inhaled as it ended.
March 30, 1953
...I want to return to Hogwarts. I wish to become a professor. That school was my only home...
Tom, not satisfied with his mundane job at Borgin and Burks, sent his old Headmaster a letter, requesting to schedule an appointment with him. He had a very set plan for the rest of his career.
Those children need to be taught that Muggles are dirty; that they're good for nothing filth. If nobody else would lead the children in the right direction, then Tom Riddle would take it upon himself.
Regardless though, Hogwarts was the only place Tom genuinely wanted to be. It was where he kept his childhood.
Within a few hours, a reply was sent back to Riddle.
Tom,
Come to Hogwarts anytime today. I'll let them know to let you in.
Headmaster Dumbledore.
Tom wore a shirt and pants that covered the disgusting sight of his limbs. He put on a bit of powder again, attempting to look as human as he possibly could. Ever since the creation of the last Horcrux, Riddle began losing hair. At this point, he was completely bald. He slipped on a charming top hat, and left the Riddle house with a pop.
After their meeting, where Dumbledore politely informed him that they were not looking for staff, Tom curtly stepped out of the office.
Tom pointed his wand to the castle, and set a curse on the teaching position of Defense Against the Dark Arts, the one he requested a job for.
Before leaving the castle, however, Riddle took a stroll to the Room of Requirement. He smirked as the memories of the room during his education flooded back to him. He thought of what he wanted, and watched as a door presented itself to him. He walked inside.
He paced between hundreds of piles of items before he reached a solid wall, signifying the end of the room. He took out the diadem from his jacket pocket, and set it amidst one of the stacks of unidentified miscellaneous objects.
He left the room and left Hogwarts, angrier and more upset than ever before.
January 29, 1957
...From this day forth, I will be known as Lord Voldemort.
By the time Tom Riddle made Nagini into a Horcrux, his appearance completely fell apart. He'd evolved into a monster.
He had red slits for eyes, an excuse of a nose, his lips shrunk down to hardly anything, and he lost hair everywhere. His legs were longer than they should've been, while his arms kept their original length.
He didn't care though. He was immortal. Nothing could defeat him. He had eternal power, eternal glory. He would reign the Wizarding world forever. All who would try to destroy him would fall and never be found again. He was everything he ever wanted to be.
He was power.