A/N: Okay, so Voldemort is fascinating and I just realized that. I was happily rereading the second book, at the part where Harry is down in the Chamber with Riddle...and I'm just like, dude, this guy rocks. In a twisted, tormented, disturbed way. So I wanted to write a kind of romance-y-but-not-really fic about him. How is it?
A/N2: I don't own any of this. Except Dahlia. Crazy old lady is totally mine.
Harry watched the frail woman carefully, trying to decide what to make of her. What little hair she had was light and gray, frayed at the edges and stringy at the top. She had the brightest sapphire eyes he had ever seen, though this might have been a trick; her sunken skin made the eyes seem quite a bit larger than they actually were.
"I have memories," she spoke softly, her voice sounded weathered. "Memories that I should have shared years and years ago, years and years."
"Memories of what?" Harry asked, though he had a feeling he already knew.
"I went to school with Tom -- excuse me, Lord Voldemort." She said the name with a hint of irritation, not the usual fear that most people had whenever it was uttered. "What I wish to tell you is useless now, I'm afraid," she said sadly, a small sigh following her words. "But I thought you, Harry Potter, you of all people would be interested in hearing."
"I'm always interested in hearing things about Voldemort," Harry replied, nodding slightly. He cringed at the memory of the Last Battle with the Dark Lord. He shook his head fervently, as if able to force the memories to leave his mind.
"I should have told these things to Dumbledore, bless his soul," the woman said, tilting her head as if she could see Dumbledore. "Back, all those years ago, when he was fighting to unravel the Tom Riddle puzzle. Back when you were just a child, I'm sure you remember." She stopped momentarily, eyeing Harry. "Though I suppose you were never quite as young as you should have been."
"I got by," Harry remarked, a thin smile appearing on his lips. He thought about Ginny Weasley -- his wife. Thoughts of their children clouded his mind, along with time spent with his best friends. "I got by, and recent times have nearly made up for the days I spent in anguish."
"My name is Dahlia McCorthkey," the woman said, stretching a frail arm out toward Harry. "I wish to share my story now." Harry nodded, and Dahlia inhaled a large breath. "I was a muggle born witch, born into a family where my "abnormality" was not wanted. I was put in an orphanage. When I got my Hogwarts letter, I was terrified. I wouldn't know magic. I wouldn't know anyone. I would be so far behind, so lost, so alone. Much like you must have felt," Dahlia added as an afterthought, almost smiling.
"Very much so," Harry replied, a brief reminiscence creeping over him.
"On the train to Hogwarts, I sat alone. I watched the countryside, for I had never traveled anywhere and found it exquisite. I tried not to worry. The other girls in my compartment kept discussing which house they wanted to be in. It was the first I had heard of Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. None of the girls wanted Slytherin. They said it was evil, they did. Said that Slytherin were mainly pureblood fanatics and crazies. I secretly hoped to be a Ravenclaw, though I doubted I had the brains. Do you remember your sorting, Harry Potter?"
"I was nearly put in Slytherin," Harry mused, a soft laugh escaping him. "I begged the hat to put me somewhere else."
Dahlia gave a faint smile, sighing. "Well, I was put into Slytherin. Imagine my surprise! Me, a lowly muggle child! I walked over to my table, watching as the Slytherins all cheered, wondering what would happen when they realized how much I didn't want to be with them."
"I'm sure you weren't the only muggle born," Harry said in an amused tone.
Dahlia laughed lightly, nodding. "I'm sure I wasn't, but in my eleven-year-old mind . . . I was. Next thing I knew, however, another first year was sorted into Slytherin. A scrawny boy, with a mop of black hair, and piercingly dark eyes. He sat next to me. I found out that his name was Tom Riddle, and that he, too, had come from muggle linage. His father, he said, wasn't thrilled to have had a child with a witch. He left them, and his mother died, leaving him in an orphanage.
Oh, me and Tom bonded very quickly after that. I admitted to him my fears, and he told me not to worry. I told him I had no friends and was too shy to make any, and he said he would be my friend. He, however, was excited to be a Slytherin. He told me that Salazar Slytherin was one of the most noble wizards of his time. Tom was quite the convincing boy, Harry."
"He was kind to you?" Harry asked, not bothering to hide his shock.
"Oh yes, Tom was very kind to me," Dahlia replied, a far-off glint in her eyes. "Our first year of Hogwarts consisted of us being loners together. He was a very disturbed boy, mind, and he often snapped at me for no reason. He had the darkest ideas, and he always had to be the best. All of our teachers loved him from the start, loved his brilliance and bravery. Tom would have been very popular with the students if he hadn't been so withdrawn."
"How long were the two of you friends?" Harry questioned, amazed at the thought of a friendly Voldemort.
"Up until our fifth year," Dahlia said quietly, looking distant. "I knew Tom wasn't right, you know. He had problems that were beyond both of us. He was so controlling, I never felt able to go anywhere without him. He made me so reliant on him, but I didn't even care -- I loved Tom Riddle. I imagined us graduating Hogwarts, marrying him getting a job as a teacher, me being a mother . . . it was such a pretty thought. Mindless, of course, as we were only fifteen. But I had never loved anyone before Tom, and I'll never forget the way I felt when I realized that I did love him."
Harry was remembering how Dumbledore had told him various times that Voldemort didn't know how to love. "And he loved you too, then?" Harry asked bluntly.
Dahlia blushed, though her wrinkled skin barely showed it. "I never really knew what was going on in Tom's head," she answered, a distinct look of hurt trailing across her face. "I told him I loved him, and he said that that was interesting. "Tom didn't know how to love, I guess, though he told me he cared more for me than anyone else."
"Wow," Harry breathed, analyzing Dahlia methodically. Though she wasn't much to look at now, he could imagine her -- shy and alone -- mesmerizing a young Tom Riddle. Harry supposed Riddle had seen a bit of himself in the girl, hoping maybe that he could find the kind of validation that he needed.
"Yes, I don't talk about it very much -- never, actually," Dahlia said, her soft voice filled with all kinds of emotion. "Nobody would believe me, either way. It's extraordinary to think that the Dark Lord was nearly in love at some point, isn't it?"
"Why . . .what happened, though?" Harry asked, unsure of how to word his question. "What made you stop being his friend?"
"I believe you were involved in the Chamber of Secrets at one point, weren't you?" Dahlia asked, sitting up a bit straighter. As Harry nodded, she said, "As was I. You know that Tom was the Heir of Slytherin and that he set the beast loose in the school. Tom never outright admitted to me that it was him, but I knew. Oh, I knew. I caught him going into the Chamber once--"
"Why didn't you tell anyone?" Harry interrupted.
"Harry, I loved him," Dahlia replied after a moment. "I loved him beyond belief. I couldn't turn on him! I was his only friend! Well, besides the Slytherin gits who practically worshiped him. He had them call him Voldemort. Lord Voldemort. He demanded that I do the same, and I told him that that was a ridiculous name. He told me that one day the magical world would fear to even speak that name. It was the first time he had ever sounded truly evil. I knew he was disturbed, but in that moment I realized just how deep it went. I told him he was being a fool, and that was the first time he had ever turned on me. He pulled out his wand and muttered some words that I couldn't understand. I blacked out, so I have no idea what his spell did. Next thing I knew, Tom was holding me, telling me he didn't mean to.
That scared me more than I could say. Tom, my protector, my love, my very best and only friend . . . hurt me. I asked him then, flat out, what he planned to do with his life. I remember the look of surprise on his face, though he recovered quickly. Tom rarely showed emotion. He told me he planned to be the greatest wizard to ever live, and that he'd stop at nothing until he reached there." Dahlia stopped to take a deep breath, looking completely worn out. "A few days later, the spell incident had been forgotten. I knew my Tom had a temper, and I knew he hadn't meant it. We were talking about death one day, and I remember him telling me that he planned to live forever. I considered it a joke. By that time, I now know, he was already well-educated about Horcruxes."
"Did he ever mention them to you?" Harry asked, nearly holding his breath. "Did he ever mention any of his plans to you?"
"I thought I knew everything about Tom Riddle," Dahlia replied sadly. "He mentioned Horcruxes to me once, but stopped as soon as I told him how horrible they sounded. A few weeks after that, Hagrid was expelled from school. You know that story, I assume?" Harry nodded. "I was furious. I hadn't known Hagrid well, but I knew that it was not him who had opened the Chamber. I confronted Tom, screamed at him, asked him why he'd hurt innocent people. He said that fear was the greatest power of all, and only by death could he cause fear. Because to Tom, nothing was more terrifying than death. I can still recall how darkly his eyes glowed when he told me that, how deranged his face appeared. I couldn't believe that this was my best friend. My love. I asked him if he'd come clean and admit to his crimes for me, and he said that when it came to choosing between me and power, power would always win."
Dahlia wiped a tear from the corner of her bright eye, turning away from Harry. "I'm so sorry," she murmured, pulling a tissue out from her cloak pocket. "I guess that's what happens when you fall in love with the destined Dark Lord, right?" she said, a very fake chuckle on her words.
"It's okay," Harry said as gently as he could, resting a hand on her weak arm. "Is that where the story ends? You just gave up on him?"
"Oh, Harry," Dahlia whispered into her handkerchief, "I never gave up on him. I just stopped trying to keep little eleven-year-old Tom alive. And he died, slowly, throughout those years at Hogwarts. And eventually, Lord Voldemort is all that was left. I know I should have told people what I knew. About the Chamber, the Horcruxes . . . what Tom wanted to do. But would you betray your best friend's trust, Harry? Or would you try to find a way to fix them?"
Harry closed his eyes, an image of Ron and Hermione coming to his mind.
He looked at little old Dahlia McCorthkey and knew he would have done the exact same thing.