A/N: Speshil fangz 2 KrimsUn 4 ha;lpin me wif da sorty n speeling if dis story. If u giv me bak my vlodemrt t shrit i wil incl;ud u in dis story!~! if not then u will just hav 2 deal w only bein in authorsnotyes! U don't want 2 mak me upset. U just do nOT. i wil END U. But ya., anyweyz, LUV YA BICH!111! XDDD

Chapter 14: Riddle Me This, Riddle Me Those: Just Who Is This Prep With No Nose?

Tom startled awake with a strangled gasp, gorgeous green eyes flying open as a blood-curdling howl sounded from someplace nearby. He reached into his pocket in a frenzy to find the familiar and comforting weight of his wand, only to find it empty.

"Harambe damn it," Tom swore. So it wasn't just a terrible dream: he really had been kidnapped. His captors must have confiscated his wand. Last he remembered, he was dancing to Evanescence with Delores at the Winter Ball, when a man with black robes and no nose attacked and knocked him out.

Tom took the time to thoroughly inspect his prison – if one could truly describe it as such. It was unlike any prison Tom could ever imagine, for it wasn't a prison at all. Rather, it was a spacious sitting room, complete with fully-stocked dark wooden bookcases, an ornate fireplace, and very comfortable sofas. Tom knew that these sofas were comfortable because he was lying on one – a glaringly green, though exceedingly comfy, piece of furniture embroidered with hundreds of tiny snakes. Each embroidered snek was inset with a tiny googly eye that jiggled as Tom shifted into an upright position and left the couch to take a look at the fireplace.

The fluffy green carpet's fronds parted like the Green Sea under Tom's exquisitely-shod feet as he approached the fireplace. Bending down to glance up the chimney shaft, Tom's shoulders fell in disappointment as he noted the small dimensions: climbing up the chimney was out of the question, then. He'd surely get stuck and die, because of his exquisite, manly shoulders. They were as broad as, if not broader than, a mighty gorilla's – it was an attribute of his that Tom regarded with great pride.

"Harambe damn it," he repeated, rising and slamming his fist down on the mantle, causing several snake-shaped artifacts to shake from the strength of his blow.

"What is it with kids these days and the incessant swearing?" said a voice like rock-salt and sandpaper, causing Tom to whip his head around in surprise.

The speaker – the man with no nose – sat draped over a large green armchair, and Tom wondered how he didn't notice the man before. His tattered black cloak was gone, replaced by a fuzzy black robe with silver snake embroidery around the collar and cuffs. His skinny white ankles were nearly obscured by his huge snake slippers. As the man rose and began walking towards Tom, the slippers hissed, and their eyes lit up bright yellow. He moved fluidly, like liquid shadow on a polished marble floor. The man's smile was straight out of an anti-smoking ad.

Tom held back a shiver. "You," he growled aggressively, wishing he had his wand, so he could blow this prep to oblivion and get back to school – and Delores. He squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest like he'd once seen an adult gorilla do, in hopes to intimidate his captor.

Deep down, despite his brave facade, Tom had never felt so afraid in his life. What would his Slytherin squad think of him if they knew he could barely keep his succulent baritone voice from trembling? What would they say when he told them he allowed his kidnappers to disarm him, and that he didn't immediately tackle his captor and engage him in a boxing match? Tom cared a lot about what other people thought of him. What would they think of him now, if they knew he was a coward and a loser?

More importantly, what would Delores think?

Tom tensed his jaw.

"Me," the man with no nose drawled. "How was your sleep, Tom?"

"How do you know my name?" Tom demanded.

"I already told you." The white man sounded miffed. "I'm you, Tom. I'm Tom Marvalo Riddle."

"No, I'm Tom Marvalo Riddle."

"Yes, you're Tom Marvalo Riddle. I am also Tom Marvalo Riddle. You needn't be so afraid of me – if what I say is true, I cannot hurt you, because I'd only be hurting myself."

Tom thought about what the man had said earlier. "At the Ball, you said that you were me," he said slowly, "how is that possible?"

"I'm you from the future, Tom - obviously. Can't you see the resemblance?"

Tom could not. "That's impossible! You're ugly, and I am a gorgeous specimen. You have no hair, and I have hair. You have no nose, and I have a nose. You can't possibly be me. And besides, Time Travel is illegal."

No-nosed Tom massaged his chalky temples and sighed deeply. "Was I always this rude?" he muttered as if to himself.

Tom grew annoyed. "Hey," he sassed, "I can hear you, you know. Now, tell me where I am, and let me go, you prep, or I will make you wish you'd never been born!"

"That would be unfortunate," the man pointed out, "because if I am telling the truth, and I am truly you from the future, if I had never been born, neither would you."

"You aren't me, get over yourself," Tom replied hotly. "Identity theft isn't cool, you know, and you can drop the emo act."

"Listen, I didn't come back in time to argue with you about identity theft and emoness. I came back here to warn you of impending doom that you have the power to stop. You can save lives, if only you would listen to me! Now, sit down."

Tom made a show of crossing his arms, harrumphing loudly for extra effect. "Go on," he said, sitting back down on the green googly eye sofa.

The man with no nose walked back over to his armchair and plopped himself down onto it. A glass of white wine sat on a nearby table. "Join me for a glass of wine," he said.

Tom started in surprise as there was suddenly a wineglass in his hands. "Sorry, but I'm waiting until marriage to drink."

"Oh, right. I forgot." The man said before taking a long draft of his wine. He smacked his dry lips together disgustingly. "Ah... delicious. Now, as I was saying, my name is Tom Marvalo Riddle, but you can call me Voldemort. Everyone else does. I traveled back in time to speak with you because I have an important message to share with you and you alone. Any questions so far?"

"Yes," Tom replied, "what happened to your hair?"

"Oh, that. You can blame a little brat named Harry Potter for my baldness. Do you have any other questions that don't pertain to my unfortunate – though still devilishly handsome - appearance?"

Tom, who was about to ask about Voldemort's lack of nose, shut his mouth.

"If all you are going to do is insult me, I'll get on with my Voldemessage," Voldemort said testily. "Tom, I brought you here to my pocket dimension lair because I have an extremely important message to deliver to you: you need to break up with Delores Jane Umbridge, and forget all about her."

"What?!" Tom was aghast. "Not a chance in Hell! Do you know how hard it is to find a girl who doesn't just like you for your handsome face? Delores is my Soulmate!"

"Hey, she was my Soulmate too!" Voldemort replied hotly. "Honestly, you've only just begun to date, if my Time Turner calculations were correct – you don't even know her yet! You must listen to me – there is much at stake if you two remain together!"

Tom's heart pounded in his ears as he grew more and more angry. "Like what? My domestic bliss? You aren't my dad, you can't tell me who I can and cannot date."

"I already told you who I am, you insolent child!" Voldemort bellowed, squeezing his wineglass so hard that it shattered, raining glass shards down onto the carpet. A werewolf dressed in a dapper purple suit and tie materialized as if from nowhere to replace it. "You will listen to me, Tom! I may not be your father, but I know more about you and your future than you do! Silencio!"

Tom tried to speak, to argue, but found that his vocal chords had simply ceased to function. Dismayed, he looked at Voldemort, who held a wand – Tom's wand – with a pleased smile on his chalky face.

He Silencioed me! Tom thought, enraged. He communicated his feelings in the only way he knew how: the Gothic Way. He stuck his middle fingers up at him.

Tom recoiled in utter shock as Voldemort simply returned the gesture. Nobody had ever stuck their middle fingers up at him before.

"Finally, some gosh darn peace and quiet!" Voldemort cried out, tucking Tom's wand into his robe pocket. "Be grateful that I didn't Crucio you, you arrogant whelp. Because I am kind, I will continue to explain why you must break up with your girlfriend, but I must remain cryptic: if I tell you outright, I'll ruin the plot of this piece, so let's just say that the future holds dark, depressing things for you two if you maintain your intimate relationship with Delores Umbridge."

Tom's exquisitely-shaped, Instagram-worthy eyebrows furrowed. Why would Voldemort – who he had begrudgingly begun to accept was in fact him from the future – how else was he able to use Tom's wand so easily? - want him to break up with Delores? It all made very little sense to him, unless Voldemort was indeed telling the truth. Perhaps he knew something that Tom didn't – that something terrible would happen to them if they remained a couple.

Doubts continued to race around Tom's mind as Voldemort started speaking again. "I know it'll break your little black heart, but you'll see. One day, you'll be grateful that I stepped back in time and prevented you from ever marrying that wretch."

Tom tightened his hands into fists. He had never met a young woman quite like Delores before, and he could safely say that he loved her truly, and with all his heart. She was the only one who understood him on a deeply personal level: she shared his Harambian values, and looked past his painfully attractive, exquisite, manly exterior to glimpse the man behind the mask that no one else took the time to get to know. He wasn't just going to dump her because his future self demanded it from him.

Voldemort seemed to catch on to Tom's train of thought. "Young man, you listen to me! You need to break up with Delores! This is important not only for you, but for her – especially for her. You can't imagine the pain we've been through by just simply loving one another. You must end this – end our pain, end our suffering."

Tom was taken aback by Voldemort's sudden display of emotion. I don't understand, he mouthed pathetically.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand: you're young. When I was your age, I thought I was unstoppable, too." Voldemort laughed – a grating, barking sound that held no life, nor joy; it was a cold sort of laughter that sent a shiver up Tom's spine. "As you can clearly see, I am extremely dark, gothic, and depressed. I obviously have a terrible and foreboding back-story that troubles me to this very day, else I wouldn't be the antagonist of this fan-fiction. I can't flat-out tell you why you need to do this, because that would ruin the story – I mean, the timeline. Yes, the timeline. I must be mysterious, you see – it has nothing to do with my aesthetic, or anything."

Tom waited in silence, afraid to even think until Voldemort had finished his extremely emotional, exquisitely extra, and incredibly dramatic Villain Monologue. Despite his better judgement and morals, he took a swig of his wine; the gravity of his current dilemma certainly called for it.

Voldemort continued. "Delores and I were lovers once – the perfect lovers. You are only just beginning to experience that perfect love. We thought we were invincible." His snakelike eyes misted over. "However, our love could not protect us from everything."

"What do you mean?" Tom asked, finally finding his voice. "What do we need protection from?"

Voldemort did not reply. In fact, it did not appear as though he were even listening anymore to the proceedings of their conversation. He appeared lost – in his own mind, in his own memories.

Waves of anxiety lapped at Tom's mind, and his heart pounded to the beat of an unseen drum, an unfamiliar rhythm that filled him with dread. He felt a sort of morbid, perverted curiosity arise in his throat, begging the question: what would happen to him and Delores if they stayed together?

One look into Voldemort's distant, empty eyes told Tom that he may not be ready for the answer. Nonetheless, he hungered for the answer like a sinner hungers for salvation. He began to feel a deep sense of pity for this broken husk of a man, replacing his bitter contempt for his captor. What happened to him that made him this way? He thought.

What is going to happen to me?