Chapter 1: Tom Marvolo Riddle - Year 2
Diary entry 1
Through eons of accumulated knowledge, I drift, amidst tomes of ancient lore and arcane bewitchments. My 'gaze' - projected through vistas of ether, framed by leather and wrapped in the smell of old parchment - is seemingly empty. My mind, however, remains as sharp as a knife. I'm waiting. Waiting for the poor unfortunate soul who will, unbeknownst to them, grant me my body back. So what if they are doomed on the altar of my resurrection?
Diary entry 2
- Some time later -
I would have opened my eyes blearily, if I possessed such. A distorted light comes into view, which is a strange concept for a disincarnated soul. I hear a voice; but it is gibberish. I try to focus on it, but I lose track. It is like pursuing a wisp, a ghost. I lose the source. I think it was a female speaking, though I could not predict their age. No matter; time is not of the essence.
Diary entry 3
- Some time later -
Again this voice. It is grating on my nerves. It is juvenile, that I am sure of. Maybe 13 years old, who knows? The good thing is, the owner seems to be receptive to my 'writing'. I learn a little more each day about the current world. More than fifty years have passed since my imprisonment. Voldemort has failed it seems. It is quite vexing.
Diary entry 4
- Some time later -
Now I know where I erred in the shaping of my new identity. It never was a good idea to split the soul more than once. There were other paths toward immortality, one of which Dumbledore and his little minion discovered. I will become immortal again, but not through Horcruxes. Nothing is impossible for Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Diary entry 5
- Some time later -
Poor, poor Ginny. She lies on her back, her arms spread eagle. It reminds me of a biblical scene. The crucifixion. Jesus died for Our sins; Ginny died for Mine. Such a shame. Her pallor is squalid. Sweat is glistening on her forehead; pooling then drifting across her ashen cheeks, her purple lips, her quivering neck. It flows like the River Styx, it leaves her sluggishly, washing away her life force. Such a shame too; she would have been a fine witch.
End diary.
Tom Marvolo Riddle flexed his muscles. What a blessing it was, to own again what was once his. Like a parent finding his lost child, his mind was overflowing with bliss. The cold dampness of the dungeon hit his bare feet and he dug his heel in the crevice formed by the hewn stones to test his footing. He calls out to his pet; the pet responds with a sibilant 'Master'. Good, good. Now he has to lie in wait. Does he try to impersonate late Ginny? No; he does not know her habits. He would have been found out. Now that he thinks about the matter, Ginny told him of a student who disappeared in the forbidden forest some time ago. He would use the passageway leading to the forest and take his spot. It would be adequate.
- Some time later-
It was harder than he thought to fit in. His speech patterns were off for this era. The fact that the spirited away student was from an aristocratic background justified his 'posh' accent. Thomas Flamel; a very distant relative to the famous alchemist. Dumbledore of course was suspicious - he always was. One does not simply change his attitude and speech patterns in the span of a day. No matter; the old fool would die, eventually. Time still was not of the essence.
He walked toward the transfiguration classroom. He sat down next to a girl. Her name was Hannah, he thinks, the last scion of the Abbott family. How the mighty have fallen. In the 1950's they were few but fierce warrior, renowned for their prowess on the field. Now it seems like a pale imitation drawn by an amateur. The will was there but the fact remains that she is a failure.
"Hello Hannah," Tom says pleasantly.
She smiles shyly; after all he is quite handsome if he were to be perfectly honest, though less so than in his true form.
"Hi Tom, slept well?" She answers. He sneers mentally; can she not formulate proper sentences?
"Quite well, actually. I had a happy dream."
"Really? Care to tell?" She leans in.
"Students, settle down. Today we learn of a wonderful, and quite handy spell; the rabbit slippers! Come now, come now, try it now. The incantation is 'Cuniculus Solea Volo'! Wand movement is a clockwise turn then a downward swish! 10 points to the first who succeeds!"
Motivated by the prospect of points, the students try zealously to transform the poor rabbits into wear, only to fail miserably. He nearly snickers when his neighbor fails, a fluff of feathers peppering her coat.
He does not need a wand, but uses it for he needs to lie in wait. He waves his wand into a slightly more complex pattern than the one Minerva uses. She always was good at transfiguration - No, not good; excellent - but he was simply better.
The rabbits turn into a pair of slippers.
"10 points to Ravenclaw! But! Oh my! Did the slippers just wink at me?" She removes her glasses and comes closer in order to inspect the offending item.
Indeed, a pair of eyes stand perched atop each shoe.
"Incredible. Mister Flamel, could you explain to the class how you managed such a feat?"
He mulls the answer carefully, weighing the pros and cons. It would be futile to lie. He smiles demurely.
"Professor, I've turned the wand counterclockwise, in order to signify the rupture of the flow of life, then a diagonal swish, in order to banish, to confine. Then the usual clockwise and downward swish to turn the rabbit into slippers."
Throughout the whole explanation she stays attentive, her eyes slightly narrowed. Then her eyebrows rise to her hairline. She is clearly impressed.
"30 points to Ravenclaw!"
The ravens clap quietly, clearly impressed and proud of their housemate.
"I could have done the same..." Hermione Granger mutters angrily, though she recognizes it is more out of competitiveness than any real venom.
"Yes you could, 'Mione" Harry Potter answers, laughing quietly at the put off face of his best female mate.
"Cunicilus Volo!" The scion of the Weasley intones.
It is a wonder how he managed to transform his pen into a mammal.
- Some time later -
He is walking in a corridor. It is a free period; he would like to expand his knowledge by going to the library. In fifty years, a lot has changed, and he still has immortality to achieve.
He bumps into a bush at the entrance of the library. They both fall to the ground on their bum. He nearly snarls, but remembers his role and that he is to dignified to do such plebeian activity.
"I apologize Miss Granger, I was not cautious when I was walking to the library. I was clearly not expecting to bump into anyone!" He apologizes, and she misses the subtle undertones of mockery in his voice.
"Oh, no problem! I was not looking either actually" A blush adorns her cheeks.
He rolls on his back, then springs forward, leaping to his feet. He holds her hand and helps her to get up.
"I've done some sports," He says at her inquisitive and slightly impressed glance.
"Oh, right," She says as they push through an invisible throng of students that their mind conjures in orders to refute the proof of Hogwarts' students lacking interest in reading material.
It is only a coincidence that they head to the section called "The virtues of Magical Creatures". It also is a coincidence that they pick up the same book, 'Nicholas Flamel's 10 precepts'. Their hands brush. He should have been disgusted at the contact. He isn't prejudiced against Muggleborns; it would have been quite hypocritical of him. He simply used it to manipulate the Purebloods, like he manipulated the teachers and the World.
She blushes, he shivers. One in shame/other, him in excitation/other. He hopes the unknown factor isn't arousal. It is a peculiar behavior; one he would have to study at a later date.
"You wanted to work on this book?" He asked, surprised. The real message was 'Can you not let me peruse this highly interesting - and out of your intellectual reach - book, you insufferable know-it-all?'
"Yes, actually I was doing an essay that I have to hand out tomorrow on the virtues of Phoenix tears; and it is true that Nicholas Flamel and Albus Dubledore are the foremost masters in the studies of phoenixes; you know as well as I do that Dumbledore has discovered the 7 virtues of Phoenix tears and 12 of Dragon Blood."
Merlin, does she ever stops? His smile is more strained, though it is imperceptible to the amateur.
"Yes? Quite impressive if I do say so myself. I was also doing an essay on the curative wonders incurred by the use of Phoenix Tears. There was also a theory on this; that by combining it to Basilisk Venom, you could -"
"It is not possible!" She interrupts him. He nearly curses her into oblivion, "Maxwell's laws on physical conservation and Ignatius Maximus'es on magical conservation state that you cannot compound two opposite magical component."
"Laws which are denied vehemently by Rowena Ravenclaw," He finishes with a smile, leaving her floored.
"Good evening miss Granger," He says pleasantly. His wand thrums with power, asking to curse someone. 'Soon' he hisses in his head. The wand is pleased, the owner more so.
- Some time later -
"Vespertilio Caeni!" His prey shouts, hurling a spell at him. Tom's wand is in his pocket. The students gasp.
He waves his right arm, from the hip up into a Roman salute. His hand in encased in blue. He did not speak.
The spell hits the hand, then is sent back twice as fast at his opponent. The foolish boy dives in order to avoid it.
"Bombarda Maxima - Confringo - Protego Totalum - Protago Totalum" He speaks, waving his wandless hand in complex patterns. He did not need to speak, but he did so to avoid rousing suspicions.
Two powerful blue barriers encircle his opponent and the room respectively. The Bombarda and Confringo join in a red and purple miasma of unadulterated power. It hits the shield. He is quite confident that, were it not for the shield, everybody in the room would have been obliterated by the magical equivalent to a block of C4. He would not have been alive to remark it either.
Oh well. Next year would prove more challenging perhaps?
Chapter 1 - End.
Edit 17/01/15: Corrected spelling and grammar mistakes.
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