New Blood: Return of Tom Riddle

Chapter Four

Secrets Kept

Author's Note: Hello, here's chapter four. Do remember to leave a review behind!

A week passed since the incident of Tom's encounter with Voldemort, and he still could not forget the experience. He sat in silence in the common room on a gloomy Saturday afternoon, staring blankly at the fireplace. The rest of the Gryffindors were in Hogsmeade, and the first and second years were at lunch, so he had the whole place to himself to think. He attempted to drop the matter altogether, and tried to tell himself that it was all his imagination, but he knew that he could not deceive himself. The voice was real, and Tom knew that it would go on forever, haunting him for life. Why was Voldemort following him? Why was Voldemort calling him, instead of anyone else? Tom always knew that he wanted to be special, but he never would have expected that he would be this 'special' in front of a dead Dark wizard.

He turned his wand over and over again in his hands, frowning darkly. A week ago, that very night, Slughorn and McGonagall were whispering to each other, and both had troubled expressions on their faces. Slughorn had glanced at Tom twice, and the second time, when Tom caught him looking, Slughorn turned back with a face filled with sheer terror. What was wrong with him? Tom scowled softly to himself; were they judging him on the inside, just because of Voldemort? He shouldn't be treated this way just because of a dead wizard, and he certainly wouldn't let them. Slughorn had told him that night that he would explain everything to Tom if he had the chance, but a week has passed since, and Slughorn had always avoided Tom after every Potions lesson.

Tom gritted his teeth, greatly annoyed by the behavior of the Potions Master. A promise was a promise, and Slughorn seemed bent on keeping secrets from Tom, even if it was about him. There was something familiar about Voldemort, something deep inside which Tom couldn't figure out quite clearly. He seemed to know Voldemort, even if he was being haunted by the wizard, and there seemed to be some sort of connection between the two. Slughorn and McGonagall both tried to put his problem on hold, as if his problem was just another one of those student whims that they had to handle. Tom knew that his problem wasn't the same, and he had tried to emphasize that to Albus and Delilah, but the two were looking as if he had just gone mad.

He knew he wasn't mad. He was completely sane, and everything that's happening to him was happening for a reason. Voldemort wants him for something, and the two just didn't seem to care! His problem wasn't like anybody else's; his problem was far more dangerous than anyone would want him to think! This time, the anger that swelled inside him was definitely his. Tom gripped his wand tightly and clenched his other fist. He stared deeply into the fire, as if hoping that a solution would present itself soon enough.

Crack.

Tom jumped up from his seat and turned around, pointing his wand directly at the hooded figure in front of him. His fears were reawakened as the hooded figure glided towards him, and he backed away slowly, his wand still pointing at the figure's chest. "Do not fear, Tom," said the figure, with a surprisingly charming and young voice. It wasn't the high, chilling voice that Tom had expected. Instead, it belonged to that of a teenager's. "I will not hurt you. I cannot touch you," he said again.

"Who are you?" Tom asked, his hand trembling on his wand. "What do you want from me?" The figure raised his hand and silenced Tom, as he lowered his hood, revealing a handsome face to Tom. "I am you, Tom Riddle," he said easily, smiling at the little boy in front of him. Tom looked at his older version in horror, and yelled, "You're Voldemort! Get away from me!" Voldemort raised his hands in surrender and walked towards Tom, moving swiftly through the couch. "I cannot hurt you, Tom. And I can never go away, for I am within you," he said. "We are one being altogether."

"Leave me alone. I… I'm not evil!" Tom whispered, feeling slightly hopeless at his conversation with a ghost.

"If I, Lord Voldemort, am evil, and I am you… what do you think that makes you?" said Voldemort, narrowing his eyes. "You cannot escape the truth, Tom. You are me. And I am you."

Tom lowered his wand slowly, knowing that he couldn't possibly hurt a ghost with a wand. A ghost was dead, and it couldn't hurt him at all. "What is it you want?" he asked, gaining courage to speak up. Voldemort smiled. "Sit down, Tom, and I shall explain everything to you," he said, sitting himself down on another couch on the left side of the larger chair. Tom eyed Voldemort warily and sat down reluctantly. "Firstly," Voldemort started, "I would like everything I've said in this room to be kept a secret. What I tell you is not for anyone else's ears, and it is only between us. Understand?"

Tom almost scowled. "Okay," he said, suppressing his annoyance. He wasn't a kid, and he hated people using those tones on him. Hold up, doesn't that mean he hates himself? He clenched his fists and looked back up at Voldemort, who still held a frozen smile on his face. "Let me ask you… who are you?" Voldemort asked. Tom raised an eyebrow. "I'm Tom Riddle," he answered, feeling slightly underestimated.

"Yes… and I am Tom Riddle as well," Voldemort replied, smiling. "Would you like to know your family? What really happened to them?"

Tom sat up straighter now, paying closer attention than ever. "Your father was a Muggle, named Thomas Riddle as well. Actually, he's our father, but you know what I mean don't you? Our mother was from the Gaunt family, a very powerful pure-blood family who were descended from Salazar Slytherin. So, in simpler words, you are the last heir of Slytherin," said Voldemort, watching Tom's expression turn into a face of shock. "I'm sure Professors McGonagall and Slughorn know that very well, and they haven't told you. I don't think they plan on doing that any time soon."

"Why not?" asked Tom, feeling angry at the thought of Slughorn and McGonagall.

"They don't want you to become like me," said Voldemort, watching Tom's every movement.

"I'm not going to become a Dark wizard," he said, with a hint of defiance in his voice, as if trying to disobey his older self. "You can't change it, Tom," Voldemort said, his eyes narrowing. "You are who you are, and you are the heir of Slytherin. You should not belong with the foolish Gryffindors; the Sorting Hat knew of you as well and probably feared for your future. That was why he put you in Gryffindor instead of your rightful house."

Tom didn't say anything, he just pondered over Voldemort's words slowly. "I don't want to kill anyone," he said.

"Didn't you feel the delight in injuring Goyle?"

Tom looked up again. "Didn't you feel good, in hurting someone as incompetent as Goyle?"

"You were following me." It wasn't a question.

"I was always inside of you, Tom."

Tom pursed his lips. "It felt normal."

"Exactly!" Voldemort hissed. "It would have felt otherwise for a normal wizard, he would have felt guilty, but you do not!" Tom was about to say something, but at that exact moment, Albus and Delilah walked into the room and spotted him. "Hey Tom!" called Albus. "Why weren't you at lunch?" Tom furrowed his brow; couldn't they see his other self? As if Voldemort had read his mind, he said, "They cannot see me. I am part of your soul. Only you can see me, feel me, and speak to me. I will return another time, but remember… I will appear when you want me to."

Tom watched Voldemort fade, and Albus stared at Tom with a strange look. "Tom, why are you staring at that empty couch?"

He turned back to Albus and shook his head. "Nothing," he said. "I wasn't hungry." Albus sat down on the couch where Voldemort had previously occupied and sighed. "Are you feeling better?" asked Albus, referring to the other night's incident. Tom nodded. "I'm fine," he replied.

"Um… I kinda told Delilah about it too," Albus said, smiling sheepishly at Tom. With his surprise and shock still lingering inside of him, Tom found it hard to get angry at Albus or Delilah. "It's okay," he said. "I don't mind. So long as no one else knows, I'm fine with it. It's a secret, okay?"

"Okay," Albus replied. He and Delilah both sighed with relief. "Oh yeah," said Albus, "Hagrid's invited me to tea later on, even though I went yesterday. Do you two wanna come?" Tom looked up; he could use something to get his mind off the conversation with Voldemort – he was certain he wasn't going to become a Dark wizard. "Okay," he said. Delilah nodded too. "Oh alright, Hagrid'll be delighted!"

I doubt it, Tom thought.

That evening, Albus, Delilah and Tom made their way down to the grounds, where Hagrid's hut was located. As soon as they arrived at Hagrid's doorstep, Albus knocked loudly on the door, and the trio could hear Fang's muffled growling from the inside. "Move it yer dumb mutt," said Hagrid, "don't you remember me tellin' yeh that Al was comin' over?" The door creaked open and there stood the large half-giant, Hagrid, staring down at the three first years. "I invited Delilah and Tom. I hope you don't mind," Albus said happily, while Delilah and Tom waved at him. Hagrid couldn't help but to stare at Tom longer, before clearing his throat and saying, "All righ', come on in then…"

The three followed Hagrid into his hut and sat down around the table while Hagrid fetched the kettle from the fireplace. "Have yeh ever bin in the Forest?" he asked. Tom thought that Hagrid's attempt at a conversation was rather lame. "Not really, we're not allowed, remember?" Albus answered, as Hagrid settled down across the three. "Oh yeah, righ'," he mumbled absent-mindedly. "I forgot." He took out four cups and poured hot tea into each of them, his hand beginning to tremble. "What's wrong?" asked Albus, spotting Hagrid's trembling hand.

"Nothin', nothin'," Hagrid said, while accidentally spilling tea on the table. He quickly took a rag and wiped the puddle of tea and sipped his tea a little too hurriedly and scalded his own tongue. Delilah raised an eyebrow and glanced at Albus with a look that said, 'What's wrong with him?' Albus shrugged and sipped his tea slowly, while Tom's cup remained untouched.

"So, how was the firs' week for yeh?" asked Hagrid.

"It was okay," Albus said. "The teachers are nice, especially Professor Neville." Hagrid chuckled nervously, feeling Tom's eyes on him at all times. "Neville's bin a good teacher all righ'… his Herbology was excellent back in your father's days…" he said, sipping some of his tea again, this time a little slower.

"So… uh… which subject do yeh like? All three of yeh?" asked Hagrid again. Albus was the first to speak. "I think Defense Against the Dark Arts is my favorite. Dad said it was his best, too," he said. Hagrid looked at Delilah next, and she said, "I think I like Charms. It's quite interesting, really. Professor Flitwick is nice as well!"

Hagrid grinned. "Once yeh reach yeh third year, you'll be taking Care of Magical Creatures, an' I'm teachin' it!" he said, still grinning. He looked at Tom almost too reluctantly and stuttered, "H-How bout yeh, Tom?"

"I like Transfiguration. I like practical lessons, you see," he replied, staring at Hagrid intensely, as if trying to intimidate the Gamekeeper. "Oh." Hagrid looked back down at his teacup immediately and started to blow at it gently, trying to occupy himself with something to do. The rest of the session was quite silent, as Tom tried drinking the tea. To his horror, it tasted quite much like water, and glanced at Albus, who merely shot him a sheepish expression.

"It's gettin' late, Al. Yeh and yer friends better get back up to the castle," said Hagrid, collecting back the cups slowly. "Okay," said Albus. "We'll visit you some other time." Hagrid turned his back to them after nodding, hoping with all his heart that Tom would not follow him the next time. "See you, Hagrid." As soon as the door slammed shut, Hagrid fell back onto his couch and sighed.

Fang whimpered slightly as Hagrid glanced at his dog. "What, yeh feel it too?" he mumbled, before closing his eyes to rest.

"I don't see why he has to look at me like that," growled Tom, kicking the wall of the Gryffindor common room. "Are you sure you weren't imagining things?" Delilah asked. Tom turned from the wall and glared at her. "He looked as if he had seen a ghost!" Tom said, although deep down inside, he knew the reason why – even though he couldn't accept it at all.

Even if this Voldemort was a Dark wizard, it didn't mean that Tom would turn into Voldemort all over again. Maybe he could change things, and be just like he is right now and perhaps he wouldn't have to care about his other self, this Lord Voldemort. It was insane to think that one day, he would start killing innocent people for no apparent reason, like he had seen in the dreams, and probably ruin thousands of lives.

But what if he did become Voldemort? Would someone have to kill him then, like Harry Potter had killed his previous self? He feared for his life, and he wasn't about to die just because some spirit of a Dark wizard was haunting him, pressing him to become what he really was. Tom wouldn't believe it. He wasn't a Slytherin, he was a Gryffindor! Gryffindors don't kill people for the fun of it; Tom was good.

Yes, he was a good person, and he would never turn to the darker side of a wizard.

"TOM!"

Albus' voice had, once again, interrupted Tom's train of thought. "What is it?" he asked, annoyed. "We were calling your name for the past minute, and you were staring blankly into space, as if you were deaf!" said Albus.

"Fine, I'm sorry!" Tom retorted. Why did they always have to interrupt him when he was thinking?

Delilah rolled her eyes. "We wanted to ask you if you were interested in going to the library tomorrow. We have homework to do, and we'd jolly well finish it by tomorrow!" she said. Tom bit his lower lip. "Fine, I'll go, but I already finished it, so I'll only be watching you two."

"Blimey," Albus said, "d'you mind helping me out in my Potions homework?"

That night, Tom Riddle found difficulty in sleeping. He tossed and turned in bed, his eyes tightly shut. Suddenly, a voice called for him from the corner of his ear. "Tom," whispered the familiar, young and charming voice. "Wake up, Tom."

Tom forced open his eyes, only to face the same face of Voldemort, his older self. "It's time I showed you your life," Voldemort said. "I sensed your doubt. I will have none of it, Tom." Tom felt Voldemort's cold hand grabbing his and the two were sucked into an unfamiliar dreamscape. They landed on the pathway to an old house, with a horrifying sight greeting Tom at the doorstep.

A snake was nailed to the door, hanging loosely. Tom felt revolted at the sight of the dead snake. "Come," said Voldemort, gliding easily through the door. "I will show you your mother. Don't you want to see her?" Tom felt obliged to follow, and easily walked through the door as Voldemort had. Inside, an old, emaciated man sat in front of the fireplace, with another man beside him on another chair.

When the words first escaped the old man's mouth, Tom thought that it was normal English. "Merope, fetch me my dinner!" he said, pointing at the skinny girl, who stood in front of the stove, cooking something that looked even worse than the snake outside. The younger man, Tom observed, was playing with a medium-sized snake in his lap. "Obey me, and you will not suffer the same fate as your brother," the man said. Tom realized that it was Parseltongue, something that he could understand ever since he first spoke to a snake!

The snake hissed, "Yes master," and nodded in obedience. Tom looked up at his older self, who looked back down at Tom with a faint smile on his lips. "This is your family, Tom. The old man is Marvolo Gaunt, your grandfather. The man beside him is your uncle, Morfin. The girl… as you would guess, was your mother. Our family," said Voldemort.

"But… but they…"

"They are of course living off the result of their ancestors – greed. They have nothing left for themselves."

"How come you've seen this? We… we weren't even born yet!" Tom said, thinking that it was an illusion that the Dark wizard had created. "I've only recently discovered it, from the Headmistress' office in Hogwarts, while you were there. It was there that I discovered our family, Tom."

Tom turned back to the scene as Merope, his mother, edged towards the window, with a smile on her face. He approached her and looked out the window, and realized that she was looking at a man riding on a horse, with an extremely handsome face that resembled Voldemort's. This must be his father. "T-Tom…" At first, when the whisper left Merope's lips, Tom thought that she could see him. But he realized that his father was also named Tom Riddle, and that she was merely in love with his father.

"The man ruined your blood, Tom. The Muggle wasn't fit to become our father. The result of their misplaced love was us, half-blooded wizards." Tom could sense the seething rage in Voldemort's voice, and felt his cold hand touch his wrist. They were sucked into Hogwarts again.

This time, they were looking upon the familiar face of Harry James Potter. "Here, we follow the life of the very boy that killed me," whispered Voldemort, with obvious contempt in his voice.

Chapter four, done!

Next chapter: Harry James Potter

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