New Blood: The Return of Tom Riddle

Chapter Two

The Nightmare

Author's Note: Tom-centric. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or this new Tom either *sniff*, but I own the storyline!


Tom Riddle opened his eyes, and he realized he was in the Great Hall. Was this all a dream? There was a difference, however, in the Hall. Many students were standing all around him, eyes looking terrified, some disgusted – and yet, some of them seemed to be directed to another person in front of him. Tom shifted his eyes warily to the boy in front of him. At first he thought it was Albus, but as he looked closer, he realized it was Harry Potter, glaring at him from his bright green eyes, holding his wand. Tom looked down at himself and noticed that he was holding a wand of his own, but it was not his wand. It felt different, and it was definitely not his wand at all. He looked up again and heard Harry say, "You're right, but before you try to kill me, I'd advise you to think about what you've done… think, and try for some remorse, Riddle." What was going on? What had he done wrong? Tom stared blankly at Harry as he opened his mouth to speak – at first he had no intention of saying anything, but the rage in him was inexplicable. "What is this?" he hissed in a horrifyingly high voice, curious.

Tom didn't know where his feelings were coming from, but he knew they were powerful, and dark. "It's your one last chance," said Harry, raising his hawthorn wand, "it's all you've got left … I've seen what you'll be otherwise … be a man … try … try for some remorse…" Again, the anger in him burned his insides as he hissed in a high voice, "You dare—" but was cut off. "Yes, I dare," Harry had said, his eyes piercing Tom's, "because Dumbledore's last plan hasn't backfired on me at all. It's backfired on you Riddle." Now he was confused. Why was everyone looking at him in terror, as if he were something evil, dark, and why was he facing Albus Potter's father in a duel?

"Where am I," he had wanted to say, as his hand was trembling on the foreign wand, but nothing came out; he wasn't in control of his body here. It was a terrifying nightmare, and Tom knew it wasn't just any dream. It was only after a while when Harry finally finished, "Because if it does… I am the true master of the Elder Wand." A red-gold glow burst suddenly across the sky above, and Tom looked up in shock. What is the Elder Wand? What kind of nightmare is this?

Tom watched as his hand raised itself, and shrieked in the same, terrible voice, "Avada Kedavra!" He heard Harry yell, "Expelliarmus!" as he yelled his own spell at the same time, and green light burst from his wand. Golden flames erupted between him and Harry, marking the point where the killing curse and Harry's spell had collided, and immediately, the wand flew from Tom's hand and Harry had caught it. Within a split second, Tom fell flat on the floor, seemingly alive, but his body was dead, and the scene switched.

Scene from scene, Tom had witnessed himself killing many innocent victims to his own horror, and had tried to shut his eyes, but nothing worked. He couldn't control anything – it was like sitting strapped to a chair in front of a horror scene. At one point, he had caught a glimpse of Harry's parents – he knew this because the man he faced yelled to his wife, "Lily, take Harry and go!" Again, he killed the man mercilessly with the killing curse and proceeded to kill Lily, then Harry. Tom was horrified.

And then, it all went black.

Tom couldn't see anything but the darkness, and when he tried looking down, he couldn't even see his own body. All he heard was a distant voice, screaming, yelling for him. "Tom! Tom… wake up, Tom!" He instantly recognized the voice as Albus'. He tried to scream back, to call Albus here, but nothing escaped from his lips but silence. Again, Albus yelled, "Tom, come on, we're going to be late! Wake up!"

Almost immediately, his eyes flew open. He sat upright in bed, sweating. The sunlight that streamed into the room nearly blinded him, and he shielded his eyes. "Tom, get dressed, it's fifteen minutes to Defense Against the Dark Arts!" Albus said frantically, throwing Tom his robes. He rubbed his eyes and quickly changed in a lazy manner and got ready. He and Albus raced down to the classroom, and were relieved to see that the teacher hadn't arrived yet. Albus spotted Delilah and sat down next to her, followed by Tom. "What took you two?" she asked irritably. "You're lucky Professor Rick isn't here yet."

Albus glanced at Tom worriedly – he was still sweating. Tom noticed their nervous stares, and murmured absently, "Nightmare." The doors suddenly burst open as a blonde man strode into the room, dressed in dark blue robes. He had a handsome face, but one that had the word 'arrogant' written all over it. He was disgusted at the thought of teaching first years, but he knew he couldn't defy McGonagall's orders. I bloody well rather teach seventh years than these little children, he thought shrewdly.

"Good morning class, I am Professor Rick, although my last name is Johnson, I prefer my first name, so… if you will… please, take a seat."

Everyone sat down, and Rick began the introduction of Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Throughout the lesson, Tom was silently taking notes. He tried to take his mind off the nightmare he had by keeping himself as busy as possible, but images flashed in his head. The strangest thing was, everything felt familiar, even the part where he dueled Albus' father. He shrugged the thought off, and resumed taking notes diligently. At the end of the lesson, Albus and Delilah were both gaping at his notes – or rather, he had been recording everything Rick had said, only missing out several points which he thought unnecessary.

"Seriously, how do you do that?" asked Albus curiously. Tom grimaced. "Well, anyone can do it if they weren't falling asleep in class," he replied shrewdly. Albus seemed taken aback. "Oh come on, I woke up earlier than you!" he retorted.

"Yeah, well, you slept late last night, remember?"

Delilah sighed. "Guys, this isn't the time for fighting over each other's sleeping habits! You're lucky you weren't late, or else it's detention!" she exclaimed. Tom folded his arms and shrugged. "Whatever," he said, as he walked away. Albus narrowed his eyes. "You know, he got all cranky after having that nightmare. I wonder what it was?" he murmured to Delilah. She merely shook her head. "Whatever it is, it must have been horrible."

"Obviously," muttered Albus under his breath.


Soon enough, owl posts arrived in Hogwarts, each owl belonging to a student. Tom's was a black hawk-like owl, with an extremely sharp beak. In between the beak was a roll of parchment, but as it neared Tom, he realized that it was the Daily Prophet. Tom didn't remember ordering the Prophet; there was no use for it being a first year here. As the owl landed in front of Tom, it screeched approvingly as it stuck out its left leg. Tom took the Prophet and rolled it open. It wasn't brand new; it was from over twenty years ago. Puzzled, he started reading the front headlines and noticed that it was about Harry Potter's victory against Voldemort. It spoke so greatly of Harry, and the way Voldemort died, and even a few lines of what they said… but of course, Tom already knew… he had dreamt of it…

Suddenly, the unexplainable rage swelled in him again as he crushed the corners of the newspaper. He didn't understand who would have sent him this; he had no other kin, at all. And the rage was far too great to be his – Tom felt like he was being possessed.

"Hey Tom," said Albus, while chewing on a piece of toast, "why d'you look so angry?" He eyed Tom's Prophet and his eyes widened. "Why are you reading this old thing?" Tom let go of the newspaper and sighed. "I dunno. I dunno who would send this to me," he replied bitterly, the rage still seething inside him. Albus started reading it, and quickly grabbed the whole paper. "Blimey, it's my dad! But… this date was twenty years back… why did you get this?" Albus asked.

Tom shrugged. "It wasn't me. I dunno. Just came by itself on my owl."

Delilah looked troubled. "Why is it about Voldemort? Does it have something to do with you?"

"No!" Tom said too loudly, causing many heads to turn in their direction. His voice dropped. "I don't know. I can't explain the feeling when I read it… I really dunno." Delilah sighed. "It's alright, Tom. Probably because the story's been retold over and over again… maybe you feel a familiar with it because you know it already." Tom scratched his chin with one finger. "Maybe," he began, but then suddenly turned cold. He didn't need people guessing him all the time. It was annoying. "But you don't know how I feel when I read it. Leave me alone, okay?" Icily, he glared at Albus who began to speak, silencing the boy.

Grabbing his books, Tom decided to head early for Potions. The further he got away from Delilah and Albus, the better. He wouldn't have to unleash his strange anger on them by hexing them or yelling angrily at them as if they had just offended him badly. He entered the dungeons swiftly and silently, and began to unpack his books and ingredients for today. Horace Slughorn, however, did not hear Tom walking in, and continued to sort out his own materials for the day's lesson.

Tom looked up, surprised. He looked at Slughorn with a curious look – as if he had seen him somewhere before, deep in memory… or perhaps it was just déjà vu. He shrugged to himself and put his books down a little too hard, causing Slughorn to jump in his seat and look up at Tom with that same face of terror as Hagrid had on first sight. "Professor," said Tom, his tone expressionless as usual, concealing the lingering rage, "I wanted to come in early, if that's alright with you."

"No… no… I mean yes – well, y-you know what I mean. Not to worry, Tom," said Slughorn a little too nervously; who had broke out with cold sweat, and was wiping his face furiously, as if trying to get rid of a terrible stain on his face. Tom narrowed his eyes at the professor, evidently irritated and confused. Why was every teacher staring at him in the same, foolish manner? He wasn't a monster! He was only Tom Riddle!

Bursting with impatience and curiosity, Tom asked, "Professor, I was wondering why you and Hagrid looked at me that way."

Slughorn looked up at Tom; his terrified look had changed into a look of confusion, and asked, "What way?"

"That way," repeated Tom, as if Slughorn hadn't heard him, "the way you look at evil people. You fear me?" His dark black eyes pierced into Slughorn's, intimidating the Potions Master a little. If Slughorn didn't know any better, it could have been an egoistical assumption. That's an understatement! Slughorn thought.

He realized Tom was still staring at him, with that same, impatient look, filled with… impending fury? "I don't fear you Tom. You're only eleven, after all. Must've seen a ghost of sorts behind you," he lied casually, although he was still sweating. It was partially true, for Tom Riddle was supposed to be dead twenty years ago…

"Well… okay," said Tom, his suspicions decreasing just by a little.

He returned to his seat and stared absently at his Potions textbook, as if trying to open the cover using non-verbal magic, but he was really just thinking about the teachers' expressions every time he walked past them with a grimace – it was his only way of hiding his feelings from others – and they would simply look at him with that same terrified face. It was stupid, and it always made him moody.

Soon, the students filed in, some surprised to see him so early – but the Slytherins were sneering at him for being such a 'good boy' in class, something which Tom hated about the ignorant Slytherins. He could hex them when he wanted, but he preferred not to get into trouble at his first year at Hogwarts. Maybe, when he was a little older, he would make them fear him…

Tom frowned. Why was he thinking that way? Suddenly, Albus and Delilah sat on either side of him, interrupting his train of thought. "Are you alright, Tom?" asked Albus, slightly worried. Tom glared at him, and Albus winced slightly. His expression gradually softened and they were on good terms again. "I was feeling a little moody. Preferred to be alone," he said simply, opening his textbook to the page Slughorn had indicated on the board.

Potions had gone by swiftly, with Slughorn teaching them about bezoars, and their uses to the wizarding world. Tom, as usual, had taken down exemplary notes again as other lessons, and Albus was beginning to think that Tom would be the top scorer when their OWLs came.

Once the lesson had ended, Tom quickly gathered his things and made for the next class, with Delilah and Albus following him with much effort. Along the way, Albus accidentally crashed into another first year, which was a Slytherin, and was followed by his group of friends. The blonde Slytherin crashed into a taller boy, who had seen Albus banging into his friend. The blonde didn't glare, but he treated Albus fairly enough. He helped Albus pick up his books and Albus smiled gratefully at him. One of the boy's friends, however, stepped forth and bellowed, "Watch where you're going, scum!"

The blonde boy had begun to speak, but Tom Riddle was too fast for them. He quickly turned around upon hearing the insult directed towards Albus, drew his wand and pointed it at the tall boy's cheek, glaring angrily. "Watch your mouth, Goyle," he hissed. Goyle glared back at the shorter boy and pushed him. "What are you gonna do about it, Riddle? Hex me? Go on!" threatened Goyle, smirking deviously while pushing Tom backwards against the wall. "Don't think I won't," Tom snarled.

"Oh yeah, come on then! Do it! Do it—" Before Goyle knew what had hit him, he was sent flying backwards, crashing against the wall. The blonde boy, who was named Scorpius, quickly rushed to his side. "Goyle!" he breathed, while his friend slipped off into unconsciousness. Scorpius stood up and turned to Tom, who merely kept his wand silently.

"He deserved it, Malfoy," Tom said almost unfeelingly. "Take him to the hospital wing." Scorpius didn't retort, but he merely sighed at his friend's foolishness and pigheadedness. He grabbed Goyle by the arm and Crabbe, his other friend, supported Goyle on the other arm and they walked away, with the group of Slytherins glaring at Tom. Albus looked at Tom, filled with awe. "That was brilliant! You hexed him straight in the chest!" Albus exclaimed, grinning. Delilah gasped, and pointed at an oncoming Professor McGonagall and Professor Slughorn, who had seen everything.

"Do you have a career in becoming an Auror, Mr Riddle?" said Slughorn, smiling nervously, before looking down at the ground in shame when McGonagall glared at him. "Tom, do you realize you have just hurt a fellow schoolmate?" she asked, her voice controlled, hiding the fear that she had inside her. Tom looked up at her, with the same, innocent look as he had always did, and said, "He pushed Albus." McGonagall looked at him, lost for words. "It was only a push Tom! He didn't hurt Mr Potter, did he?"

"He was going to. I could feel it," Tom said, clutching his books a little tighter. That seemed to have frightened McGonagall, the way he said it, and she hastily regained her composure and said, "Ten points from Gryffindor. There will be no detention, but if I see you hurting people again—" Tom merely smiled at her with the same, familiar smile Lord Voldemort owned when he was sixteen. "It won't happen again, I assure you that, Professor." As he walked away, with Albus and Delilah following him, McGonagall looked at Slughorn, apparently worried. Who was to say that this boy wasn't the Dark Lord himself? And who was to say that he hasn't returned yet another time?

"We had better inform Dumbledore," said Slughorn, remembering the portrait of Dumbledore in his old office. "He won't be able to do anything about it, Horace," said McGonagall, walking in the same direction Tom had. "I have a lesson with Riddle; we'll talk about this later."

Throughout Transfiguration, Tom sat in silence as he took down his notes as usual. It clearly didn't bother him whether Goyle was seriously injured or not – Albus, on the other hand, kept repeating in whispers that it didn't really look like a hex after all, and that Tom merely blasted him backwards. Delilah silenced him and the three returned to their notes.

Inside Tom Riddle, the same anger had risen again. He closed his eyes for a minute to calm himself down, thinking that there was something wrong with him. Somebody was speaking to him, and only he could hear it.

Tom Riddle…

come to me…

Tom… Thomas… Marvolo… Riddle…

The whispers sent chills down his spine, and they sounded exactly like Voldemort had in his nightmare.


Chapter two, complete! Enjoy!