Chapter 10
Year 2: Tom Riddle and The Legend of Slytherin (Part 3)
Nothing. Not a single thing. Tom Riddle threw the last of the stack of papers onto his bed. He had long left the hospital wing, and was now rereading the census that Nisin's father had sent from the Ministry of Magic. There was absolutely no record what so ever of his family. There was no Tom Riddle. Or a Marvolo Riddle for that matter.
Tom Riddle collapsed onto his bed, running his fingers through his hair in anger. What could he have missed? There would be no possible way for him to have overlooked something? What was it? What?
"Tom? You coming?"
Tom looked up to see Lestrange peering at him from the doorway, trying to be as subtle as possible.
"Yes, I'll be there momentarily." Tom rose from his bed and straightened his robes.
"Shall I wait for you?" Lestrange asked tentatively.
"No," Tom stared at the papers that were scattered over his bed, "No, you may take your leave."
Lestrange nodded and exited. Tom looked at the census on his bed for a moment longer. There was one page that had struck his interest. He had separated it from the jumbled mess on his bed. A single page selected from the thousands was placed on his nightstand next to the ornate silver lamp fashioned like a snake. Tom picked up the page and looked at the name that had caught his attention for what was probably the thousandth time.
Gaunt, Marvolo
This family, the Gaunt family, had a man named Marvolo. There had been no other instance of the name Marvolo. It was certainly not a common name. Tom gazed at the name as if it would divulge an answer to the question that kept running through his mind.
Was it possible?
Tom folded the paper and pocketed it.
Perhaps, he had been wrong. Perhaps, his mother had not been a Muggle at all. No, it could not be. She had died. A witch would never die. Not with the power of magic at her disposal. Was there something that had prevented her from using her magic?
He could not think of any reason a witch would not be able to use magic. Death was for the weak. He would never submit to such a human weakness. No. No, he would not. There should be a way. There had to be a way that one could triumph over death. He absolutely refused to acknowledge the sheer magnitude of the task he set before himself. Tom knew he was brilliant. All of the teachers and his fellow students were always praising his magical abilities, and rightfully so. So it stood to reason that his mother was a powerful witch. Yes, there had to have been something, anything that had prevented her from using her magic.
Pathetic. He had wasted so much time on a Muggle. It was disgusting. Tom chuckled to himself in the empty dormitory. His quiet laughter slowly grew louder till he was laughing manically. The furniture in the dormitory did not completely stop his laughter from echoing off of the stone walls. Gradually Tom desisted. It was ironic, almost funny. He the best student to every cross the threshold of this school was a half-blood. Tom had resigned himself to this fact when he believed his mother to be a Muggle. But the realization and absolute proof that his father was definitely not of magical blood, was revolting. Muggles did not have the powers of wizards. They could not even begin to fathom the supremacy of the secret magical race that existed amongst them. They were lesser beings, subject to such a human weakness as death.
Muggles should die.
Tom glanced back to the nightstand by his bed.
A second sheet of paper sat on the little nightstand. The only thing written was one line.
Tom Marvolo Riddle
Tom riddle picked up this piece of paper, and pulled out his wand. A jet of flames erupted from the wand tip, igniting the paper. Tom let the parchment fall to the wood floor where it slowly burned. There was no trace on the floor of a fire. No burn marks to even signify that something had been set alight. There was not even a pile of ash where the paper had slowly been eaten by the flames.
He did not need the name Tom Marvolo Riddle any longer. He would fashion for himself a new name. A name that suited him. A name that did not belong to some filthy Muggle, or some failure of a witch that could not even escape death. A name that everyone would come to fear to even utter.
It only took him a moment to rearrange the letters in his head. Such a simple task. And within a second that name began to take form.
A full-length mirror across the room caught Tom's reflection. In the dim light of the Slytherin dormitory, Tom Riddle looked rather pale.
Tom Riddle looked at his reflection and smiled. The mirror-Tom returned his malicious grin.
"Are you alright?" Lestrange was back, apparently he had not left for the Great Hall. Black, Nisin, and a few other Slytherins were crowded outside of the door.
"We're all waiting for you Tom." One piped up.
"No, not Tom." He spun around quickly.
"What?" Nisin asked. The expression of the group mimicked the question.
"Not Tom." He drew himself up and a slow leer crossed his handsome face.
"I am Lord Voldemort."
A/N: I am really sorry to those of you loyal readers, and to those who have been waiting for the next chapter. It's really short, of that I am aware. But with everything that's been going on it has been insane. This also would be my excuse as to why I have not updated in what seems like eternity. I'll be on break in a week or so. I hope that I will be able to continue writing this fanfic. Please tell me what you think, the more comments the sooner I will update, ha ha ha.