I don't own Harry Potter.

AN: For the person who put their review name as '2 sisters readin', you can tell your sister that her impassioned arguments eventually convinced me that Tom should be a good guy. There's no need for threats...

Review. Do it now.

Harry Potter and the Mirror, Darkly

Chapter Six: The Descent

Candles burned dimly in the dark library, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Light barely shone from Tom's dark eyes as he read furiously from the ancient leather book. His eyes flew at a maniac pace, flipping pages at record speed.

Suddenly, all movement ceased.

A slow smile crept onto the twisted face of Tom Riddle. "I've found it," he whispered gleefully. He closed his eyes and leaned back onto a bookshelf. Paying no mind to the dust motes disturbed by his movements, he breathed in deeply. His eyes opened, glinting red. "Long live the empire."

One Day Earlier

Lord Voldemort was not enjoying his classes at all. He was forced to endure the idiotic stuttering of his host, Professor Quirrell, all day long while standing mere meters away from the one responsible for his current condition. He was even considering exposing himself and destroying the little brat right then. But that was before... The Incident.

Voldemort felt his eyes widen in shock when he saw... himself... walk into the room. His doppelganger was younger, about how he looked as a fifth-year, but there was no question about it. It was him.

How? It was the only thought that ran through his head. Faintly, he felt Quirrell continue with his lesson, as if he hadn't just been interrupted by a fifth-year walking into a first-year class. Finally, inspiration struck him.

"Horcrux," Voldemort whispered. Luckily, Quirrell had (completely by fluke) sneezed at that exact moment, so nobody noticed. Well, almost nobody. Tom's head whipped towards Quirrell's, staring with a curious intensity.

Something was different about my younger self, Voldemort thought. What could it be? Voldemort looked (through Quirrell's eyes) intently, studying him.

His eyes. His eyes weren't the same. Voldemort wondered what had caused the change. So engrossed in his theories he was that he didn't even notice that Tom was standing right next to Quirrell.

"We need to talk, Voldemort," Tom said authoritatively. Voldemort felt shocked that anyone would dare address him so brazenly, but then he remembered what an impudent, egotistical brat he was in his fifth year.

He separated from Quirrell carefully, taking extra care to not damage any of his admittedly dark soul. "Very well, Tom," Voldemort said, trying to antagonize his Horcrux. The apparition was surprised to see that Tom did not react with disgust.

The apparition and his (semi-)solid companion moved to a silent section of the corridor.

"Which Horcrux are you?" Voldemort asked.

"Not one you knew you made," Tom said smugly.

"What do you- Potter," Voldemort broke off with a snarl. "I had already performed the spell before I went into the house, and..."

"And Harry stopped you, and I was born." Tom finished, smiling softly.

Voldemort looked pensive. "Perhaps, if I absorbed your soul fragment, I would strengthen."

Tom's smile slid off his face. "I'm not joining you, Voldemort." Tom spat Voldemort's chosen name venomously. "Why would you think I would want to join a failure such as yourself? You can't even control a government as corrupt as the British Ministry of Magic!"

"I had almost won!" Voldemort snarled angrily. "Besides, you are a part of me. You should want me to succeed!"

Tom shook his head sadly. "No, Voldemort. I may have had a microscopic fragment of your soul, but I existed next to the soul of Harry Potter, one of the purest human beings on the planet. He affected me, and I affected him."

"But you are my Horcrux!" Voldemort protested furiously.

"I AM NO LONGER!" Tom screamed. "If I joined you, I would be nothing more than a means to an end! Here, alongside Harry, I am respected!" Tom's voice rose an octave on the last word, shaking with emotion. "I am valued!" He took a deep, calming breath, and continued quietly. "Most of all, I am loved. Which is something you could never understand."

At this, Voldemort had heard enough. He flew at Tom, willing the soul back into himself. He felt a piece of himself returning to him, like his hand had just been reattached.

Pain. Powerful, arcing pain. Fire flared through his spectral body, scorching his mind and forcing him to his imagined knees. Frantically, he pushed away the fragment that was Tom Riddle, but it wasn't enough. All his strength wasn't enough.

Tom held himself inside the specter's soul, the barest hint of love causing unknowable pain to Voldemort. Finally, when he realized that he had almost fused to Voldemort's soul, he fled, leaving Voldemort panting on the floor.


Voldemort floated aimlessly through Hogwarts, trying to think what he should do. He knew that if his Unintended Horcrux was really in league with Potter that he would be exposed instantly.

"Think, think, THINK!" Voldemort roared, before a solution came to him. He smiled cruelly, before concentrating again. "I just need a compatible body..."

Voldemort reached out with Quirrell's magic (who collapsed for no apparent reason four floors down) and began searching for willing souls. He flicked through the Slytherins quickly, sighing when nothing turned up. Of course, he thought, I should have seen that coming. No Slytherin would truly give up their soul for a bodiless Dark Lord. They have neither the bravery, nor the stupidity.

He realized what he just thought, and began searching with new criteria. Gryffindors would be stupid enough to fall for my charms, and brave enough to let me past their defenses.

He searched through every classroom, every dormitory, and every bathroom in the school for a match. None appeared. He almost gave up right then before he realized he had missed one vitally important place.

The Infirmary.

Voldemort gathered himself, and traveled to his last hope.

With disappointment, he scanned Madam Pomfrey and three Hufflepuffs in for a minor hex. No luck.

There, lying on a hospital bed, was the only unscanned student in Hogwarts. Robert Potter. With great trepidation, Voldemort reached out a tendril of stolen magic. The vine of power barely caressed the boy's skin before Voldemort felt a pull. A pull like the pull of a Horcrux.

Voldemort stared in wonder at his eighth, even more unknown Horcrux, and slowly let himself drift into Robert's mind.


Candles burned dimly in the dark library, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Darkness draped itself like a cloak from the dark face of Tom Riddle. This was not the face of the Tom Riddle that helped an innocent child out of an abusive situation. This face was twisted, crueler. His eyes, that was the difference. His dark eyes were tunnels, tunnels wreathed in red, flickering flames.

The Darker Tom flipped through a dusty, ancient book. His eyes raced through the pages as if the hounds of hell were upon his heels and the spell which could kill them was contained in it's depths.

Suddenly, motion ended.

A dark smile slithered onto the face of the Darker Tom. "I've found it," he whispered gleefully. He closed his eyes and leaned back onto a bookshelf. Paying no mind to the dust motes disturbed by his movements, he breathed in deeply. His dark red orbs opened, the eyes of Lord Voldemort. With a dark laugh, he mockingly recited the most feared motto in the world. "Long live the empire."


AN: Red Phoenix Dragon: The only reason it was so short is cause I couldn't figure out how to lengthen it. And no, it was supposed to be a warning, either sent by some higher power, or just his subconscious, that he had a mission. He wasn't supposed to have fun, he was supposed to kill Voldemort.