Tom smiled at the bushy-haired Gryffindor as she disappeared behind the portrait to her Common Room, waiting until she was completely out of sight before his features dropped into a passive, emotionless expression. Without further hesitation, the boy turned on his heel and made his way back toward the moving staircases. Hastily, Tom navigated the many corridors and arrived at the seventh floor. He made his way through the Hall of Hexes, flicking his wand to extinguish the torches on the walls as he passed them, eventually reaching his destination - the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. Tom closed his eyes and walked down the middle of the darkened corridor three times and then turned his back on the tapestry and watched as two ornate doors began to materialize in the blank space before him. After a pause, he clasped the golden handle in his hand and walked into the room that had been his home for the past few weeks. He had discovered the Come-And-Go Room during his time at school, and it had certainly come in handy in his current situation.
After he had crawled from that diary onto Amy Benson's lifeless form, he had barely been able to walk. Tom Riddle had never been helpless in his entire life, yet there he had been, naked, panting for breath and barely able to move. He'd felt drained, as if a Dementor had been sucking at his guts for a week. The horcrux wasn't meant to operate like that, it was meant to restore a person to their original state by drawing in the pieces of soul that existed in the world which hadn't already been split into other items. In short, the Voldemort wandering the earth would drop dead and the piece of soul inside him would be spirited to restore power and memory to the diary horcrux. Tom knew that an older piece of his soul must have been roaming the earth, but when he had been restored and the two pieces of soul had aligned once more - damn! Memories flooded into Tom's mind, glimpses of his followers taking down the Order of the Phoenix, of battles and destruction, then finally - a woman shrieking for her son. A baby looking up at him with wide, green eyes. Voldemort had raised his wand and then...darkness. Agony beyond belief. Tom realised, as the two pieces of soul reconnected, that Voldemort had been weakened, he was incorporeal, he was dying. And now the blasted piece of soul was draining him of energy!
He'd looked down at Amy Benson, who was glassy eyed and breathless. He realised that he would need to feast again soon, in order to find a solution to his problem. Mustering the tiny amount of strength he had left, Tom had raised himself from the bed and stumbled out of the Ravenclaw Common Room, grabbing a robe to hide himself before he left. Luckily for him, the students appeared to be dining, so he had clumsily dragged himself to the Room of Requirement, deeming it the only safe place to remain concealed. He hadn't seen what the place had created for him at first, he'd simply fallen through the door straight onto a comfortable bed. Tiredness took him quickly and he drifted out of consciousness. After a couple of days in a dreamless sleep, Tom had woken, somewhat revitalized and taken in his surroundings. The Room had taken the form of the old Slytherin Common Room, though it now also held a huge queen sized-bed in one corner of the room. The place was complete with a Potions cabinet, gargantuan fire-place, numerous book-shelves, green and silver decor and the cobbled stone floors with which he had grown so familiar. A smile had almost flitted onto his face - this place had been the closest Tom ever had to a home. On his first conscious evening within his new lodgings, Tom had conjured himself a meal, sat in front of the fireplace and read a book. The casual behaviour seemed very odd to him, but there was really nothing else he could do until he formulated a working plan.
The Common Room held many surprising treats for him, things his subconscious must have requested when he fell through the door. A large walk-in cupboard was situated near to the Potions Cabinet, and was filled with trinkets of all sorts, most importantly - a selection of clothes. After donning underclothes, he had pulled on a pair of black trousers with matching, shiny black shoes, a white shirt and green sweater-vest. He felt a strange lump form in the pocket of his trousers, and reached down to discover what was going on. A happy smile formed around his lips as his hand clenched around the handle of his yew wand. Everything was as it should be.
On the back of the door sat a large mirror, which he took time examining his reflection in. The seventeen Tom Riddle looked back at him, handsome as ever, with a smug expression plastered on his face. The memories he had obtained from the elder Voldemort were troubling to his vanity, he remembered the sunken cheeks and bloodshot eyes and they caused a shudder to run down his spine. He vowed not to let that happen again - things were far easier when he was good looking, it was easier to charm and persuade with a pretty, trusting face. Yes, his personality and authority was charismatic enough, but any features that assisted him in his rise to glory were assets not to be lost so easily. No, he could not let himself fail like before, this was a new chance to rise, to shine, to be the best.
Then, his heart skipped a beat. Tom raised a hand to his chest and began to panic as the fluttering heart returned to normal. The dying piece of soul was still draining him, making him weak. He shut his eyes and began to formulate a plan in his mind - he needed to separate the two pieces of soul that were stuck together inside him. The dying piece could rot, for all he cared, that piece was foolish, reckless with his power. But of course, the thing could not die. Well, he would have to make it into a horcrux then, albeit a fairly useless one. He would have to store the elder Voldemort's memories in a container to be re-digested after the process had been done, for he would lose every bit of knowledge the other piece of soul had as soon as they became separate entities. Then he would be purely Tom.
That would have to be it - there was no other way. It only seemed fair to re-use his diary as a horcrux...but - Tom looked back at the bed he had fallen asleep on. There was only the robe he had grabbed from the Ravenclaw door, and nothing else. He had left the blasted diary in the girl's room! The boy let out an angry yell and slammed his fists into the door of the cupboard, one fist accidentally colliding with the attached mirror. He withdrew his hand quickly, hissing in pain as blood rolled down his pain skin. The shatter in the mirror was tinged red, cracks streaming down the surface, skewering his reflection in half. The weakness had hit him so hard, he would never usually be so careless.
The next week had been spent perusing the Hogwarts corridors under a disillusionment charm, trying to avoid everyone he came into contact with. Hunting down the book was difficult, so hard in fact, he had to make himself visible to students every now and then to ask for more information. Slowly but surely, Tom integrated himself into the school, helped by the fact that the teachers who had known him were all out of the school. The diary had apparently been mistaken as one of the girl's textbooks and, along with her other study materials, had been placed back into the library. One night, he had left his quarters and headed for the library, only to have a hand placed on his shoulder.
"Excuse me, you aren't supposed to be out this late," a high-pitched Scottish tone said behind him. Tom paled slightly, recognizing the authoritative tone at once. Minerva. He had heard the rumours of her senility throughout his mingling with other students and his devious mind quickly formulated a plan as he turned to face her. The woman's mouth dropped open in shock as she caught a first glimpse of him. Tom swept his hair away from his forehead and smiled widely at the woman.
"What's the matter Minerva? You look like you've seen a ghost," he asked, feigning innocence.
The woman started to tremble slightly, as she gasped for air and struggled for words. Tom took a step closer to her and let out a chuckle as she backed away from him and began fumbling in her nightgown for her wand.
"You know, Minerva, the years haven't been as kind to you as they have to me," he said, jovially mocking her.
"How?" she managed to blurt out, voice thick with fear.
"How what? I'm sorry, dear, but you'll have to be a little more specific."
"How are you here, Tom Riddle?" she gasped, as if the name which hadn't left her lips for years was cursed. "You're dead - you're old!"
"Evidently not. Now..." he replied, voice now turning cold. This woman thought Voldemort was weak - he'd show her otherwise. A toothy grin spread across his face, pupils dilating to give him a somewhat shark-like quality. "Run."
McGonagall let out a yelp as he raised his yew wand towards her. The older woman didn't obey his order, but tried to fight instead, though her slow reactions were hardly a match for his. He obliviated any memory of their meeting from her head, and sent a stunner to knock her into unconsciousness. Unfortunately, the ruckus had caused the night to be too dangerous to continue, and he returned to the Room of Requirement to begin his expedition again tomorrow.
His days were spent sleeping, reading and practicing magic in all forms. He re-read many dark textbooks, tried to formulate ways to break the other Laws of Transfiguration, brewed potion after potion, just incase he would need them. Tom was always most comfortable in his own company, it gave him space to think, to breathe. He prided himself on his solitude and his ability to keep his baser emotions at bay, though sometimes he allowed his mind to drift. Tom sometimes lamented his inability to have true friends, but he had convinced himself that they were pointless in the long run. Followers were easier to handle. He didn't need to speak to anyone, he didn't need sex, or other physical pleasures to keep him happy.
The following evening, Tom had entered the library and waited until everyone departed before venturing off between the shelves to find his diary. After a while of hunting high and low within the standard areas, he made his way to the Restricted Section, only to find some strange girl writing in his notebook. His weak heart had started to flutter again, and he had called out to her. There was no need to attack at every given moment, as she was a girl, Tom decided simply asking for the book would work best, after all, it was only a book at the moment. She was odd, Hermione. Flustered, she had returned the book to him almost immediately, even stopping to apologize to him. And she was reading about dark magic. In the Restricted Section. After hours. Intriguing.
A thought had entered Tom's head at that moment - what exactly was his plan after he became stable in body? He could hardly run off and find his imprisoned followers at the drop of a hat. No, he needed new, durable, excited followers who would bow to him, who would be more powerful and less mentally unstable than the previous. He was revitalized, and so would be his cause. Hermione seemed intelligent enough, she held a conversation with him for more than two sentences, which was incredible, and she seemed eager to learn from him, especially after that Elemental Transfiguration trick. Perhaps his plan should be to reintegrate himself into the student body, yes, that might work. He had hundreds of tricks up his sleeve - what teacher would notice a transfer student with exceptional grades, especially if he implanted the memory into their minds before they started asking any questions. Meanwhile he had access to the library, all the students of Hogwarts and his dear Chamber of Secrets. He would be more than happy to reopen that if the outcome were as exciting as last time.
His heart started to tremble again and sleep threatened to take him as their conversation came to an end. She was interesting, indeed. Potentially useful. She complimented his magic, but wasn't fawning over him like Bellatrix did.
In the morning, he left the library as soon as possible and fled from the castle with his diary in hand. His long legs carried him quickly to Hogsmeade, where he immediately found a street-dweller and hauled him into an alleyway. No one would miss this lowlife, no one cared about the homeless, he thought, sending the killing curse straight into the man's forehead. As the light faded from his eyes, Tom felt the gut-wrenching pain of his soul splitting once more. The boy dropped to his knees and shakily pointed his wand towards the diary, muttering curses under his breath. The other hand moved inside his jacket, and he plucked the vial of withdrawn memories from his pocket. Uncorking the bottle with his thumb, Tom raised it to his lips as the piece of dying soul left him and transferred to the book, letting Voldemort's thoughts re-enter his head. Panting and nauseous, Tom left the scene of the crime as soon as possible, no trace of his presence left behind. His walk back reassured him of his renewed strength; reflections of him in windows revealed a more coloured pallor, his eyes were brighter and his heart was beating strongly against his chest. No more weakness, Voldemort, he told himself, this is your second chance.
In his plan to integrate himself as a student, his altercation with Slughorn had been the first step to overcome. With Minerva gone and Dumbledore present for only one day a year, the only person left who would recall his youthful exterior was his old Potions master. He needed to be taken care of immediately if this plan were ever going to work. The old codger had frozen solid, his pig like eyes widening in surprise. Sweat had broken out over his skin and for a moment Tom considered killing him, until his acquaintance from the previous evening interrupted them. Keeping his calm, it only took a moment to wash Slughorn's mind and reinsert a false memory - Voldemort had been a gifted psychological wizard, Tom was thankful for his memories of the processes involved. With a smug smile, Tom had turned to his potential follower and, for the first time, immersed himself completely as a student of Hogwarts.
Her friends were irritating. Firstly, the arrogant red-head who desperately needed a hair cut was so obviously jealous that it made Tom groan inwardly. There was no romantic intention with Hermione, he merely wanted her to be of use to him. When he had taken Abraxas Malfoy as his first follower, there was a sense of reciprocality between them: Tom had Malfoy's devotion, resources, wealth, and Malfoy had access to Tom's knowledge, to new realms of magic he barely dared to dream and power beyond belief. To his other followers, Tom was always in charge, but with Malfoy - Malfoy was the closest thing he had to a friend, until his death in 1996. He had almost felt remorse for infecting the man with something as demeaning as Dragon Pox, but he had been getting slow, tired...old. Hermione may end up in a similar position - she seemed eager to learn, powerful, intelligent, and normal enough to go unsuspected. However, he wasn't sure if she had anything to offer him in terms of wealth or influence and the fact she was a Mudblood disgusted him somewhat, but it only added to the picture of innocence he was creating - who would suspect Voldemort to associate with a muggle-born? She would be a stepping stone, someone to help cultivate an image, a mask...then he would kill her as soon as he had his new army built up. Just as it had been with Abraxas - he would get rid of his most faithful follower to teach the others the true meaning of obedience. He wasn't quite sure why he had settled on Hermione, there had been others he'd met who had caught his eye, an obvious Malfoy heir, a number of other cunning looking Slytherins...but something in his gut told him to take the girl as his first. Of course, he was getting ahead of himself and his thoughts halted abruptly when he heard the name 'Harry Potter'. It took nearly every ounce of self-control Tom possessed to shake the boy's hand.
Rage built in his stomach as he surveyed the scar on Harry's forehead. How? How had he survived whilst the other piece of his soul was left weakened and pitiful? The boy would be too suspicious to kill straight away. Tom scowled inwardly - this plan was lengthy, it required months, years of hard-work. But it was the only solution he had. Essentially, he was back to playing Tom, Head Boy, star pupil, polite, lovely, handsome Tom. As much as he hated the mask, it was fun to know the truth whilst everyone around him pandered to his whim. The moment he shook Harry's hand his plan was set in stone: he would wait. He would contact his old followers, he would find new ones here at the school, he would act, he would hang around with Mudbloods, he would reopen the Chamber of Secrets at the very last moment to tell the world that Lord Voldemort had risen once more...and when the time was right - he would reveal himself and his armies to the world, he would close off the Wizarding World to those worthy to hold magic. His eyes lingered on Hermione - and so, to begin.
His position clear and a firm connection made to the little Gryffindor, Tom locked the door to the Room of Requirement behind him and immediately flopped face down onto his bed. The effort of the past week had been tiring, and it was starting to catch up with him. He waved his hand toward the fireplace and smiled as flames sprung up in the grate - he deserved a rest. Tomorrow he would go to Slughorn and have the man insert him into the records of the school and have him draw up a timetable, he was Head of House after all. As Dumbledore was away and the Deputy Headmistress was somewhat indisposed, the action shouldn't be hard. No fuss would be made over the new student, no introductions or Sorting Ceremonies, he would merely slink in as if he'd been here all along. Tom sighed and summoned a roll of parchment and a quill from one of the desks in the corner of the room. He settled underneath the thick duvet of his bed, preparing for this to be his final stay in the Come-And-Go Room, and began to write out a list of names. If his most trusted followers were alive and out of prison, he would find a way of contacting them. He would also search the school for their relations and persuade them to join his side, his new Knights of Walpurgis. And if that didn't force their Fathers and Grandfathers back to him, then they would have to be destroyed.
Dolohov
Avery
Nott
Malfoy
Crouch
Carrow
Crabbe
Black
Goyle
Lestrange
Yaxley
Pettigrew
McNair
