Music wafted out of the open door of my parents' Parisian flat, accompanied by laughter and the faint sound of clinking glasses. I stood on the cobbled street, wand in hand. My mother's bright laughter sounded above the din of the party, floating on champagne bubbles and beckoning me forward. I went up the steps and into the flat, unnoticed by the fashionable guests enjoying themselves in the salon. Muggles, all of them. I hated them.
I followed my mother's laughter into the kitchen, where she and my father had stolen a few secret moments under the guise of fetching more wine and cheese. My mother giggled as my father kissed her behind the ear. Suddenly, they both looked up at me, startled by my entrance. Mother blushed.
"Amelie! You're home darling!" she trilled. Father grinned at me beneath his dark moustache. I raised my wand at them.
"I am not your darling," I sneered, leveling my wand at my mother's heart. "I am not Muggle filth, like you. I belong to Lord Voldemort, the greatest wizard who ever lived!"
My parents' smiles fell. They looked at one another, confused, and then laughed nervously. "Amelie," my father smiled, "what is this nonsense? Come, join the party! Our guests will be so happy to meet you, we've told them so-"
Before he could finish, my wand slashed through the air in a wide arc, flashing brilliant, deadly green light as I shrieked "Avada kedavra!" The lifeless bodies of my parents crumpled to the floor in silence. Behind me, the music and laughter of the party continued. I made my way back through the party, careful not to come into contact with any of the disgusting Muggles, not making eye contact with anyone.
As I exited through the open front door, I casually flicked my wand over my shoulder, muttered "Incendio," and stepped out onto the street, ignoring the horrific screams of the Muggles as they burned alive behind me. As I started down the street, my chest began to tighten, my throat to constrict as though something was trying to burst forth from the depths of my heart. I looked down at my hand, still clutching my wand, to find it covered in blood. The pressure in my chest increased, and I realized it was a scream, building and growing and erupting from my throat unbidden.
I screamed and I screamed and I screamed.
And then I woke up. I was still screaming, tangled in the silken sheets of that unfamiliar bed in Tom's house, drenched in sweat, tears streaming down my face. I gasped for breath, clapping a hand over my mouth to silence my sobbing scream, my body shaking from head to toe. It was a dream, I told myself over and over. Slowly, I managed to calm myself enough to remove my hand from my mouth and wipe my tears with the hem of my nightgown. I breathed deeply, steadying myself, and listened. The house was silent and dark around me, with only the faintest hint of dawn edging the curtains at my window.
"I have to get out of here," I whispered, scrambling from the bed. I crept across the thick carpet and opened the ornate wardrobe, to find that all of my clothes were there, hung neatly as though I had lived here for years. I threw on a plain shift dress and pulled a light travelling cloak over it, slipped into a pair of comfortable pumps, and combed my hair back with my fingers. All I needed was my wand. Where is my wand? I scanned the room, but saw no trace of it. I dug through the contents of the wardrobe, emptied the drawers from the bureau, threw the blankets off the bed, but my wand was nowhere to be found. "Merde," I muttered, putting my hands on my hips and thinking. By now, the sunlight edging the curtains was brighter, and my stomach churned nervously. I had to leave before Tom awoke, but I couldn't go without my wand.
Steeling my courage, I crept out of the bedroom and into the hallway. All was silent and still, the paintings snoozing in their frames. I padded down the hall and onto the landing, pausing to peer over the bannister I'd fallen from the day before. Still no one in sight. I stole down the stairs and hesitated in front of the mahogany doors, behind which I had heard poor Icarus being tortured. Was that Tom's study? Was my wand in there? Taking a deep breath, I slowly opened one of the doors and peered inside. It was indeed a study, dark and empty save for a large desk and a wall lined with books.
I went to the desk and pulled open drawer after drawer, but saw no trace of my wand. A slight rattling sound from the last drawer startled me, and I drew it open slowly, carefully. Inside was a solitary gold locket, seeming to glow faintly in the gloom. Grasping it by the chain, I drew it out and examined it, running a finger along the ornately carved "S" on its face. It seemed to purr in my hands, and I felt a sudden urge to keep it. I tried to open it, but the face wouldn't budge.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Tom's voice from the doorway nearly startled me out of my skin. I let out a gasp and quickly tossed the locket back into the drawer, slamming it shut. Tom leaned on the doorway, arms crossed, watching me with interest.
"It is," I answered, panting slightly from the fright of being caught.
"It belonged to my ancestors," he said calmly. "I'll be moving it to a safer location soon. What were you looking for?"
I swallowed and straightened up, trying to appear braver than I felt. "I want my wand," I said.
"Certainly," Tom said. He reached into his morning cloak and drew it out, holding it out to me handle-first. I crossed the room and took it from him, clutching it protectively to my chest. We stood in silence for a moment, his dark eyes burning into mine. I willed myself not to look away.
Finally, Tom broke the silence. "I confiscate every wand that enters my home. Most people don't get theirs back until they leave."
"How fitting, then," I said. "I'm leaving."
Tom took a step toward me, then stopped, seeming to struggle to calm himself. "You're what?" he whispered.
"Leaving. I cannot bear to be here another second. I thought all those things you said at school, even the death of that girl, were all part of some grandiose boyhood delusion. I convinced myself that it wasn't serious, that you were not a monster. I was wrong."
"You think I'm a monster?" he said, a hint of sadness in his voice.
"Yes. You are a murderer and a monster. I cannot stay here. I won't!" With that, I turned sharply on my heel to Disapparate. Nothing happened. I glanced up at Tom, shocked, and tried again. He stood motionless, expressionless, watching me spin around like a fool until finally I gave up, breathing hard.
"You can't Disapparate from my house," he murmured. "Just one of many enchantments I've set as precaution." I shook my head in disgust and pushed past him, storming out into the foyer and heading for the large front doors.
CRACK! Tom appeared before me, blocking my exit. "These enchantments don't affect me, of course," he said, half a smile on his face. My anger flared, and I shot him a withering glare. I turned to walk away from him.
CRACK! He stood, arms folded, glaring down at me. I swerved toward the salon.
CRACK!
With a frustrated cry I spun again toward the doors.
CRACK!
I whipped my wand up at him and screamed in anger, "Tom Riddle, you get out of my way or I'll -"
"What?" he said quietly. "You'll what?"
I leveled my wand at his chest. "I'll hurt you," I breathed.
Tom suddenly reached up with both hands and ripped open the front of his robes, exposing his bare chest. He came toward me with a deranged, pained expression, holding his robes open and pressing his chest against the tip of my wand, right against his heart. I backed away but he came with me, keeping his skin in contact with my wand, until finally my back hit the wall.
"Do it then," he said, his voice shaking with something like rage and sadness in one. "Kill me! Strike my heart, you've already broken it!" He pressed harder against my wand, so that the tip dug into his chest.
"Tom!" I yelled. "Tom, stop!"
"Do you have any idea how much I love you?" he shrieked, his eyes glistening with angry tears. "I love you so much that I hate you!" He grabbed my wrist and pulled it toward him, causing my wand to stab him harder.
"Let go!" I screamed. My wand reacted to my emotion with a burst of red sparks against his flesh, searing him so that he yelled in pain. Still clutching my wrist, he wrenched my arm up over my head, pinning it to the wall against which I was pressed, stepping closer to me. I stared at his chest, where an angry red burn was shining over his heart.
"You thought it was all boyhood delusions, did you?" he growled. "Well, so did I. Our little romance at Hogwarts, my attraction to you, even my Unbreakable Vow, surely, I thought, must have been adolescent nonsense. But no. No!" He slammed his other fist into the wall next to my head. "When I retrieved you from Paris, when I thought the Vow had killed you, it – it killed me!" He shook me, still pinning my arm to the wall. My wand rained sparks again.
"And now," he whispered, lowering his face so that we were eye to eye, "now you have become my greatest strength and my deadliest weakness. I hate it. I hate loving you!"
I hit him in the chest with my free hand, tried to push him away, but he didn't budge. "How do you think I feel?" I yelled, still trying to push him back. "I don't want to love you, either! You're insane! You killed that man last night, you're a murderer! And the Muggles, you've caused so much destruction! My parents, Tom, what about my parents?" Tears were streaming down my face by now. They were streaming down Tom's face, too.
"That's different," he breathed.
"How? How is it different? You heard that Bellatrix girl last night, how can you love a Muggleborn like me when you've made it your duty to exterminate Muggles?"
"Bellatrix," he sneered, shaking me again, "is a child, she understands nothing! I love you, I don't care who your parents are!" Finally, he let go of my arm and stepped away, his arms hanging by his sides. For the first time, Lord Voldemort looked vulnerable.
We stared at each other for a long moment, both weary, both scared, both shaken. The burn on Tom's chest was smoking slightly. I lifted my wand, intending to heal it, but he pushed it aside.
"No, leave it," he said. "I want to remember this."
"Remember what?"
"My first defeat," he said quietly. "May it be the last." He backed away a few paces, then turned and began to walk up the stairs.
"Wait!" I said. "What now?"
He paused without turning, keeping his back to me. "Do as you wish," he said. "But if you choose to leave, you must not ever return. Lord Voldemort does not forgive." With that, he retreated up the stairs and disappeared, leaving me alone and shivering in the entryway.