Riddle Snr. looked up from The Sunday Times, placing his cup of coffee down on the table. Tom walked into the breakfast room, pausing as he caught sight of his Father.
"Good morning, Tom," Riddle Snr said, with a smile. His grin faltered as he took sight of his son's bedraggled appearance. His usually pristine attire was creased, untucked and seemed to hang from his slim frame, whilst his hair was mussed and skewed across his forehead. Tom's pallor was verging on grey and the morning light emphasized the gaunt hollows of his cheeks. His eyes were wild, near bulging out of his skull.
"Good morning," he replied, tone three pitches higher than his usual baritone.
Tom moved forward and collapsed into the seat to the right of his Father. Riddle Snr. eyed him worriedly, throwing the paper down next to his cup.
"Are you quite alright, Tom?" he asked, tilting his head to catch his son's eye. Tom looked at him, with such vacancy that Riddle Snr. felt as if he were looking staring straight through him.
"I'm fine," Tom replied, reaching onto the table to grab a teacup and the teapot.
"Be careful, that's hot. Use the towel," his Father warned. Too late - Tom hissed loudly as he gripped the burning hot handle and dropped the pot over the table. It splattered across the wood, causing Tom to jump up from his chair, crying out as the hot tea burnt the skin of his hands, chest and arms.
"Jesus - Tom," Riddle Snr. exclaimed, rising from his chair. "Get to the shower, we need to get cold water on that immediately."
Tom winced in pain but refused to move from the spot, reaching into his pocket to grasp his wand. Quickly, he muttered an incantation that evaporated the liquid from his clothes. He shed his shirt, throwing it onto the table. Hurriedly, he held his hands over the raw skin, uttering words unknown to Riddle Snr. quietly under his breath. The red marks slowly began to fade, returning his skin to its usual pallor.
"That's brilliant, Tom," his Father said, admiring the way his son worked.
"It's just magic," he replied, blankly.
His Father smiled, still watching intently as Tom healed himself. As he began to cast over his left arm, Riddle Snr's eyes widened, catching glance of something strange on the skin of his forearm. A dark red scar marred his pale skin - it was jagged, seemingly still fresh and covered the majority of the area. It was a bizarre shape, one Riddle Snr. couldn't quite make out in the brief glimpse he got. Tom seemed to notice his Father's gaze and quickly pulled his shirt back onto his body, covering the mark.
"Tom, what was th-" Riddle Snr. began, taking a step toward him.
"Nothing," Tom snapped, blank expression finally cracking into one of anger.
Riddle Snr. clenched his jaw. "It was not nothing."
He reached forward and grabbed ahold of Tom's wrist, pulling him closer. He was still far stronger than his son and, despite his struggles, managed to wrench up the sleeve of his shirt to expose the scar. Now he had a better look, he could see it was a crude outline of a skull, with a grotesque serpent wriggling out of its mouth. Though he was not of magical stock, Merope had told him everything she could about her family, her hatred for them - he had seen this symbol before. It was the mark of Slytherin, a man Merope did everything she could to distance herself from. Horrified, he froze, allowing Tom to yank his arm from his Father's grip.
"Don't touch me like that," he snarled, furiously. "Don't you ever-"
"You are a Riddle, Tom," Riddle Snr. replied, feeling heat flushing his cheeks. "You are not-"
"I am the Heir of Slytherin!" Tom screamed back at him, hysterically. "I will not be associated with a pathetic Muggle heritage."
His Father took a step back, shocked at his son's violent reaction. "You are my son."
"Not, I am not. I tolerate you, I bear you - you are not my Father and you never will be." Tom sneered at him, flicking his wand up toward his Riddle Snr. His intention was to fling his Father's body across the room, slamming him into the wall but - he didn't move. Again, he cast the spell, but still nothing happened.
"What?" he stammered, confused, looking down at his hand.
Riddle Snr. stepped toward him, grabbing Tom's collar in his hand and roughly wrenching him close. He leaned in, identical eyes boring into his son's. "Your Mother doesn't trust you, not nearly as much as I do. She thinks I am a fool for doing so and she made sure your magic will never be able to harm me."
"What?" Tom hissed, baring his teeth in a snarl.
"Your Mother has made sure you are as dangerous to me as a 'Muggle'," Riddle Snr. replied, coolly.
He released Tom's collar and watched him stumble backward into the table, hands bracing against the edge to stop himself from falling. Riddle Snr. picked up the newspaper on the table and tucked it under his arm, before giving his son a final glance. The young man was looking up at him with such hatred that he thought he could sense the magic crackling in the air.
The older man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "You are my son, Tom and I love you with all my heart," he said, softly, looking back at Tom with sadness. "But I do not understand you. You hold power so much higher than family, or love. I may be a 'Muggle', but at least I know what is most important in life. I hope you learn that too one day."
Tom watched his Father leave, clenching the edge of the table tighter in his hands. The china laid out behind him burst to pieces as a wave of wrathful magic rolled off his body. How dare his Mother render him useless, how dare she cast wards around the grounds in order to keep him locked inside the Manor, how fucking dare she refuse to acknowledge their history?! If the woman had her way, he would be as useless and pathetic as his Father. This could not continue, he would not let her get away with any of this - but what could he possibly do with no magic?
As he turned to leave the room, a sharp glint caught his eye. He peered down at the table, reaching forward to take hold of the large serving knife that sat next to his Father's plate. Tom lifted it up, twisting it backward and forward in the light. Slowly, as an idea began to form, a smile crept onto his face. He didn't need magic, not for the deed he intended to commit.
i
"Where were you last night?" Tom asked, with a sigh, throwing his book back onto the stack at his side. "I didn't see you at dinner."
Hermione frowned, placing her bag down on the desk by the door. "I was seeing a friend. Were you alright here on your own?"
"Quite," he replied, irritably. "Do you really think I cannot manage one evening alone?"
"Of course not," she said, sarcastically, with a smile. "You can manage anything."
Tom scowled back at her and stood from the sofa, crossing the room to grab his wand from atop another stack of books. "Well, shall we get this over and done with?"
She tutted at him and shot him a distasteful look. "Have you been practicing the Patronus charm?"
"No," he replied, bluntly.
Hermione held back another tut, but rolled her eyes as he turned away from her. "I see. We should probably work on that first then."
"First?"
"Yes, after that I was thinking we could practice duelling technique."
Tom raised his eyebrows and turned back to her, smirking. "You want to duel me?"
"Oh, was I not clear enough?" she said, sarcastically. "Yes, I wish to duel with you."
The smirk widened, forcing a dimple into his right cheek. "Fine by me."
She nodded, slightly unnerved by his unwavering smile, but leaned back against the table and brandished her wand. "Expecto Patronum."
A bright surge of light exploded from the tip of her wand, shooting toward Tom. The spell passed straight through him and headed upward, finally starting to take shape. She had always debated why her Patronus had taken the form of an otter - Lupin always teased her, saying it should have been a lion. A sense of comfort washed over her as she observed the ghostly animal glide smoothly through the air. Perhaps it represented the sense of freedom she desired.
"An otter?" Tom chuckled, raising one eyebrow at her.
Hermione's gaze followed the animal, a faint smile on her face. "I think she's beautiful."
He folded his arms across his chest and tilted his head, watching her intently. She looked at ease, just as she had at breakfast the previous day. An uncomfortable feeling rose in his chest - he didn't like her happiness, her content. The otter bounded past his shoulder and Hermione let out a quiet chuckle. Dare she mock his inability to produce such a pathetic charm? It was clearly a useless spell, but that did not stop the anger he felt toward her. As she continued to watch her Patronus leap around the room, he raised his wand, pointing it at her.
A blue spark shot from the tip of his wand, hitting her square in the chest. The woman let out a yelp and fell backward into a stack of books, sending them toppling to the floor. Tom smirked as she tried to compose herself, whilst shooting him a deathly glare.
"What the hell was that for?" she cried, clambering to her feet.
"You said you wanted to duel," he replied, coldly. "It's not my fault your first spell was pointless."
"We aren't duelling yet, Tom! I said-"
"Then we're done with this lesson," he snapped, gracefully lowering himself back down on the leather sofa.
Hermione's mouth opened and closed a number of times, as if she were lost for words. For a moment she looked on the verge of boiling over, but instead she relaxed, shrugged her shoulders and turned away from him.
"Fine."
"Fine?" Tom asked, surprised. He was slightly disappointed that she had given up so quickly - he was looking forward to having an excuse to hurt her. She looked back at him, face set in a blank mask.
"Yes," Hermione said, exasperation obvious in her tone. "There is no arguing with you. Plus, I have better things to do than stand here, shouting at a brick wall who cannot even produce a Patronus."
Tom frowned, clenching his jaw in irritation. She walked to the door, picking up her satchel on the way. As her hand touched the doorknob, she suddenly span around, flicking her wand toward him. A powerful curse raced toward Tom, violently slamming into his side and sending him flying back into the wall, the force blowing the air out of his lungs. He crashed to the ground, cracking one hip against the hard floorboards. For a moment, he just lay there, trying to catch his breath and wincing as pain began to spread across his back. He looked up from the floor, searching for Hermione, only to find that she had already left his room.
With a pained grunt, he pushed himself up onto one elbow. A breathy laugh left his lips as he surveyed the doorway where she had stood. He was somewhat impressed that she managed to take him by surprise, though furious that she dared to curse him.
Insolent cunt.
ii
"Eeeny, meeny, miney mo!" Tom shrieked, gleefully emphasizing the final sound. He lurched forward and stabbed down with the knife in his hand, ignoring the screams of the girl beneath him. She was around the same age as him, the daughter of some Muggle who lived in the village near their estate- beautiful, though this beauty had been severely marred by the slick sheen of sweat and blood that covered her skin and the grotesque contortions of her face as she howled. The blade sliced through the girl's middle finger and blood began to spurt from the fresh wound. He tilted his head, smile widening as he watched fresh tears roll down her cheeks. Carelessly, he pulled the finger away from the rest of her hand, wrenching it back and forth to tear the last shreds of skin apart.
"Oops, looks like I didn't make a clean cut that time," he taunted, holding the appendage up to his eyes. "My sincerest apologies."
"P-please stop," the girl wept, shaking.
Tom chuckled and tossed her finger to the side, joining the other three he had already seen to. "Now why would I do that?"
"Please, my parents are rich, you can have whatever you want," she stammered. "Just let me go!"
"I don't need money. Offer me something else," he asked, sitting back on his heels. He was straddling the girl, making it impossible for her to escape him - a position of power he had never tried before, but was thoroughly enjoying.
"Power," she cried. "My Father works in a senior position in the Governm-"
"No," Tom replied, in a bored tone. He leaned closer to her, placing hands either side of her head, knife almost touching her ear. She stiffened beneath him at his proximity, turning her head as his lips brushed her cheek.
She shuddered, nearly gagging at her own thoughts. Slowly, she looked back at him, eyes filled with terror. "You can have whatever you want. Just stop, please. Please don't kill me."
He gently brushed her cheek with his thumb, sighing softly. His cold lips pressed against hers, so warm and red with blood, and moved one hand to her hair, pulling on the pale blonde locks. She had been a perfect match - blonde, clear blue eyes, pale. She carried herself with the same grace and poise as 'she' always did. For a moment, as he kissed her, he pictured who he truly desired, he tasted her blood on his lips and his heart felt as if it began to beat again. He hated her guts, but he couldn't stop himself, he couldn't lie and pretend that she didn't affect him. She was perfect. The girl beneath him whimpered, screwed up her face and the illusion was lost. He released the kiss, pulling back to look at her.
She was not perfect. He hated her. He hated the way she affected him. He hated that she married a Muggle, that she hid their history, that she convinced him the voices he heard in his head were nothing more than his own thoughts and had driven him insane. Rage filled his chest as he looked down at the impostor and he raised his fist, slamming it down on the girl's nose.
"No deal," he spat, grasping the knife firmly between his fingers.
The girl begged in her final moments, before he plunged the blade into her throat. He pressed down as hard as he could, forcing it down to the hilt. Blood sprayed from the wound, almost comically, covering his face and chest. He leaned down as the girl drew in her final breath and kissed her again, hard. As he wrenched back, he gripped her bottom lip between his teeth, tearing the soft flesh from her face. He stared down at the wretched creature below him and spat the piece of meat onto the floor next to her face.
'You always lose control, don't you?' a sibilant voice hissed. The voice rang inside his head, from within the walls, beneath the floor.
"Shut up," Tom replied, closing his eyes.
'Always. You always lose-"
"Shut up!" he roared, blood-stained hands rising to clench fistfuls of his hair. He bent over, laying his head against the girl's collarbone. "Be quiet, please."
'-control. Don't you, Tom? Don't you?'
"Go away," he whispered, ears ringing as the hissing intensified. Slowly, the sound died away, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
After a moment, simply enjoying the silence, Tom pushed himself to his feet. He barely gave the girl's body another glance, flicking his wand toward her. Flames sprang up around the corpse, eating into the flesh as Tom exited the room, pulling himself into apparition.
The next morning, police would search the building for the missing girl. They would be greeted only with a dusty, empty room filled with a acrid stench and no trace of ash on the floor.
i
"Damn it!"
Hermione threw another book to the side, falling back into the armchair behind her with an irritated sigh. She had been searching Merope's study for 'Secrets of the Darkest Art' for two hours now and still - nothing. Furthermore, even after brief glances at darker texts, the term 'horcrux' had never been mentioned. She ran a hand through her hair. Why would Merope ask her to locate this book if she didn't have a copy of it in the house? Perhaps she would have to go to Hogwarts after all.
The sun was beginning to set over the hill, sending low shadows across the floor. She was glad that night was near, the entire day had frustrated her. Tom was unbearable, absolutely unbearable, during their 'tutorial'. She had never met someone so foul in her life. After his attitude today and the frankly bizarre behaviour of his Mother, she was on the verge on leaving Riddle Manor. Hermione had already written a letter to Merope, a letter which now sat on the desk in her quarters, stating that she would be departing the next morning. Though she desired to send it, Merope's frantic plea for her to stay still weighed heavy on her.
A strange feeling of obligation permeated her, though she tried to ignore it. That, and the persistent mystery surrounding the Riddle family, kept her within the walls of the Manor. There was something much greater going on here than a stuck-up Son and his doting Mother, though what it was eluded her. She was certain that 'something' was contained within the pages of O, Bullock's book.
As she sat in thought, rising noise caught her attention. She stood and strode toward the door, carefully prying it from the frame without making a sound and peeking through the crack. Three male youths, all around Tom's age were making their way down the hallway toward the Dining Hall, chattering loudly. Of course, Tom had informed her that his friends would be arriving that evening - she distinctly remembered him asking her to stay away from them. To her surprise, Hermione recognized one of them from her time at Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy, a wretched boy who made her life a misery for years - all due to the status of her blood. Her lip curled in disgust as she watched the group turn a corner out of sight. What on Earth would Malfoy be doing in the Riddle household?
The chatter slowly drifted into silence and she was alone again. She stepped into the hallway and quietly made her way to the door that opened into the Dining Hall, pressing her ear gently against the panel. Through the thick wood, she could hear Tom's deep tone mixed in with that of his peers, along with the clink of glasses and the scraping of chair legs against floorboard.
Hermione pulled back and raised her wand, wordlessly casting a warding spell around the door. On completion, she turned and began heading down the corridor, in the direction of the staircase. There was still one room she had not searched for 'Secrets of the Darkest Art' and now was the perfect time to look.
