"Why did you allow this, Tom?" Dumbledore gently touched the shoulder of his ex-pupil who was staring coolly out the window. Voldemort shook the hand off sharply, back to the present for now. He gave Dumbledore a look of distaste, having forgotten their differences whilst absorbed in his story.
"I've always believed in fate." Voldemort's long fingered fists were clenched by his sides. "She was a fascinating personality. Fate, I felt had something in store for us. She had a use, not that I admit to foreseeing it at that point… I merely had my suspicions. Also, you forget, I was young. She was the talk of the house. She was a trophy. I enjoy… I enjoy having trophies." Voldemort sounded less sure than was usual. Dumbledore glanced at him with that piercing gaze he knew and detested only too well.
After a moment of silence, Dumbledore spoke again, quietly evaluative, understanding the unspoken. "Tell me Tom… what was the real reason?"
Voldemort span around, his eyes flashing. "Why ask what you already know?" He hissed. "Yes, I am loathe to admit it, but you know as well as I do, she had me under her spell. I could no more forget her than forget my own name. That sickening charm of femininity I've come to detest with a passion… this was the first and last time it gripped me."
"Why the past tense, Tom?"
"It is over now."
"But," Dumbledore said softly, "is it really?"
Voldemort considered this for a short moment. The answer was hissed, layered with determination to finish what he had begun.
"Never."
My lovely, darling readers…if I have any. I apologise so deeply for my lack in updates, I've been disgustingly busy and I had a complete mental block with these chapters I'm putting up now. But they're here - short, but here! So try and forgive me ;)
