Disclaimer: Getting sick of these!

No, this story is not finished. Yes, there is still one more story arc to go. My writing style has improved enormously since the first chapter with all your helpful reviews, so thank you! Enjoy!

He didn't believe Cygnus.

Not even for a second. Tom knew perfectly well that the Lestrange heir hated Morgana with a passion. He'd never thought that the fool would be as audacious as to lie to his face, though. When the mere thought of someone deceiving him touched his mind, rage surged through his veins. But there wasn't a person in Hogwarts who could say that Tom Riddle had no self control.

You want to play, Lestrange? Tom thought darkly. Then let's play.

So he went along with Cygnus' (transparent) plan, giving the heir a generous amount of time to prove his ridiculous statement. Morgana Greene, run away from Hogwarts? Please. As if that would ever happen.

Still, his traitorous minion's confident smile was a tad disconcerting.

The next morning, when there was no sign of his closest companion, Tom turned to a smirking Cygnus at the table and led him to a secluded alcove. "Yes, my lord?" the Lestrange heir asked sweetly.

"You will tell me where Morgana is," Tom stated coldly. His features stayed calm and focused, but his eyes betrayed the fury he felt inside.

Cygnus felt the smile melt from his lips. "I have already told you, my lord," he began. Silently, he thanked his pureblood training as he barely managed to contain his stutter. "Greene is no longer at Hogwarts."

"Do you really think so?" Tom's voice was cold, concise and utterly emotionless. It meant that he was in an especially foul mood. Indeed, his voice could have frozen a waterfall. Any sane person would have run away by now.

But who ever said that Cygnus Lestrange was sane?

"I don't think I understand what you mean," said Cygnus, feigning ignorance. He furrowed his eyebrows together and tilted his head in a show of innocence.

Tom, needless to say, was not amused.

"I think you do, Lestrange," he hissed. "You should know better than to start this foolish game of war with me." Cygnus panted as he felt his back collide with the stone wall behind him. Pale fingers wrapped around his pristine white collar.

Lestrange kept his back straight and his voice even smoother. "I don't know what you mean," he said coolly.

Furious green eyes met terrified brown ones, and he couldn't keep the shiver from running down his spine.

"I see," said Tom slowly, after a long while. He loosened his grip from around Lestrange's collar (he hadn't even noticed his hands moving until Cygnus was backed against the stone wall) and casually stepped back. The Lestrange heir visibly relaxed and his tensed shoulders dropped when his master stepped away.

"Well, Cygnus, it was a pleasant chat but I'm afraid we both have classes now." Tom brushed some imaginary dust from his shoulder and turned away from the shaking Lestrange. Before he left, however, Tom smiled at him. "I hope your new engagement plans are going well, by the way."

The boy recoiled as Tom's smile revealed a little more teeth than necessary.

But as he sat through another dull lesson of Charms, Tom couldn't help thinking about the whole fiasco. He hadn't seen or heard from Morgana since late last night, and Lestrange had seemed unusually confident in his blatant lie.

Morgana wouldn't just up and elope with some random boy, he knew that much. She wasn't that type of girl who'd go for a nobody. However, what else could explain her sudden disappearance?

A funny feeling arose in his chest and gripped him tightly. It was not a feeling that Tom Riddle had ever experienced before – it squeezed its ugly claws around his heart and made him feel hollow and empty inside. Was it sadness? Jealousy?

He couldn't – wouldn't – tell.

White knuckles clutched the quill in his hand tighter. He wouldn't fall for Lestrange's cheap tricks. No doubt he had hidden Morgana away somewhere in the enormous castle. She couldn't be gone. Not again. The traitorous voice in the back of head whispered to him.

She doesn't care about you, it taunted. Lestrange was right. You're simply refusing to see the truth here.

"Shut up," muttered Tom under his breath.

You're deluded. Your emotions have clouded your vision. Morgana has run away. After all, she disappeared before. What's to stop her this time?

The quill between his fingers snapped. Black ink oozed over his hand and dripped onto his parchment. The professor, who was busily chalking incantations on the board, didn't notice the loud crack - but the rest of the class certainly did. Abraxas turned from his seat in the front and gave him a concerned look. So did the rest of the Slytherins.

(Of course, it was all for show. No real Slytherin would show such obvious concern towards someone else.)

Tom calmly wiped the ink off his palm. He slid the sheaf of papers back into his bag and swung it over his shoulder. "Excuse me, professor," he said coolly, and stalked out of the surprised room of students. Lestrange stared after him with an especially puzzled gaze. Tom Riddle had never walked out of a class before, especially not for something as trivial as a dirty hand.

He swept down the corridor, cleaning the ink from his clenched fist with a simple Scourgify. What had gotten into him? A week ago, he would've laughed at the mere idea of soiling his own perfect record. The fact that he, Tom Riddle, model student and prefect, had walked out of a class, meant that something was deeply, disturbing wrong.

Four weeks had passed since that day, and no one had yet to see hide nor hair of Morgana Greene. Cygnus Lestrange had been questioned relentlessly by Tom almost every week, and each time he had left with a smug yet relieved smirk on his scowling features. This time, however, he was not to be so lucky.

"Where is Morgana?"

The Lestrange heir shrugged. "I've told you again and again, my lord. She has run away –"

"Don't give me that useless excuse again!" roared Tom. Electricity seemed to crackle in the air around them and Cygnus could've sworn the temperature dropped several degrees. His lord's face was a mask of rage and impatience and the need to hurt someone. The first trickles of fear ran down Lestrange's spine.

"You are trying my patience," hissed Tom, after a few calming breaths. "We both know that you've done something to her, and I want to know what."

"I don't know anything!" insisted Cygnus.

Tom paused, and for a split second Cygnus thought that he would let him go. Instead, the Heir of Slytherin leaned in closer and bestowed upon him a superficial smile. "I'm sure, Cygnus," purred Tom.

He instinctively leaned away from his lord's overwhelming presence, and the wicked smile on Tom's face widened.

"You know," he spoke conversationally. "In the month that Morgana's been gone, I've been in the library a lot more, especially in the Restricted Section. And in that time- " Green eyes narrowed in anticipation. "-I have read over twenty volumes concerning the Dark Arts."

"Now," continued Tom in obvious glee, "Would you care to take a guess in which branch of the Dark Arts I have been dabbling in?"

Cygnus wriggled in a futile effort to escape, but he felt invisible magical bonds pressing in his sides. When had Tom had time to cast a barrier ward?

"Well?" Tom's voice repeated, and Cygnus realized that he had been waiting for an answer.

"Um." He tried to speak, but all that came out was a croak. "I don't know, my lord."

"You don't know?" whispered Tom, anticipation barely concealed. "I shall inform you then. This area of the Arts has particularly captured my interest, as it concerns Torture curses."

Cygnus stifled the sudden urge to scream for help.

"For example," his lord continued, seemingly oblivious to his struggle. "Did you know that there are seven different ways of parting a man from his skin?"

He let out an audible gulp.

"H-how interesting, my lord," he stuttered. Tom gave him a sinister smirk while eyeing him, making him feel like a piece of meat. His lord pressed right up to him with an inhuman grace, exceeding like a predator about to pounce on his prey.

"Interesting, indeed. Tell me, Lestrange, how high can you scream?"

That moment was probably the point where Tom Riddle ceased to exist, to be replaced by the terrifying Lord Voldemort. On his search for immortality, forest green eyes turned a deep crimson red. The Horcruxes split his mind and soul, turning him insane. The Wizarding World came to know his name, just as he had always wanted.

Just not the way he had envisioned.

However, in his twisted path of torture and evil, a small part of him never forgot Morgana Greene.

Fifty years later

Lord Voldemort sat on his throne in Riddle Manor, twirling his yew wand between pale, spindly fingers. Long hours hiding in the shadows had bleached the color from his skin, and coupled with insane scarlet eyes he made a very scary image indeed.

In front of him, kneeling at his feet, was a trembling Lucius Malfoy. Voldemort considered the blond with a detached, clinical eye, comparing him mentally to his deceased follower. He scowled at the weak quivering mass on the floor. Abraxas would never have showed such weakness. And this was one of his best Death Eaters?

Pathetic.

"So, Lucius," he spoke is a high, whittled tone, so different from his original baritone voice. "Any news from your son?"

Lucius Malfoy bowed his head lower. "Dumbledore's death has lowered morale in Hogwarts dramatically. Harry Potter and his friends seem to have disappeared from the school. Presumably, they are not coming back next year. As you planned, my lord, Severus has become the Headmaster of Hogwarts, although the students are uneasy and unsatisfied with this arrangement…"

He waved a dismissive hand, and Lucius fell silent immediately. "This is not news to me, Lucius," hissed Voldemort. "I have heard all of this from Severus. I would not ask you if I already knew. Now, I asked you a question and I expect you to answer it."

Lucius gulped. What did his lord want from him?

"I'm sorry, my lord. I do not quite understand –"

"Crucio! I meant about Morgana Greene, you fool!" The blond man writhed in pain on the dirty stone floor, gasping for lungs of air as the curse raced through his system.

"I'm sorry, my lord," he panted out, at his hands and knees on the ground as he tried to recover. "There is no news about this person, Morgana Greene."

Privately, Lucius wondered who this person was. When he had been a teenager, eager for stories about the Dark Lord his father was serving, he had been told about the Dark Lord's younger years.

"He was brilliant, even as a teenager," Abraxas Malfoy had told the young Lucius. "He was top in all his classes, perfect in everything he did…"

"Like me?" asked a naïve Lucius. His father had glared at him, making the small blond boy cringe. "Never compare yourself to the Dark Lord," hissed Malfoy Senior. "He is far better than all of us, even that girl…"

"That girl?" questioned the young Lucius cautiously. He did not want to be scolded again. Fortunately for him, his father was lost in thought, too preoccupied to tell off his son again. "Morgana Greene," muttered Abraxas Malfoy. "Yes, I had almost forgotten about her… She was a Mudblood, the only one that the Dark Lord ever met without slaughtering."

"A Mudblood?" said Lucius, making a disgusted face, as expected of him. "Why would the Dark Lord ever associate with a worthless Mudblood?"

"I must confess, he never told us the reason," the elderly Malfoy said, his gray-streaked hair moving as he shook his head. "No doubt she had a secret talent she had to conceal from everyone. But I suspect – and do not ever tell anyone about this – that the two may have been lovers."

"Lovers?" Lucius had choked. "The Dark Lord had a –"

"Not so loud, boy!" Abraxas Malfoy sighed at his young, clueless son. Perhaps he had been too soft on the boy riding a high horse. "I only suspect though, but it is very likely. Remember, although our Lord now is… less than reasonable when facing failure, back then he was at the peak of youth. He was sane and handsome and incredibly Slytherin. Many admired him back then."

Lucius had tried to imagine the Dark Lord, with his scary red eyes and fearsome temper, as a handsome and charismatic Hogwarts student, but the image seemed wrong. How could someone who used to be appealing and adored, turn into such a tyrannical monster?

"I agreed to serve him because of this very reason. Now he has changed, however, and I fear that the Death Eaters' original goal may become twisted by his insanity. Back then, he occasionally had fits of temper or sadism. No one could stop him but this Mudblood, Morgana Greene."

"What happened to this Greene girl then?" Lucius puzzled. "Surely, if she had stayed then the Dark Lord would be even greater than now?"

Abraxas reluctantly nodded his head. "Yes. Morgana Greene disappeared near the end of my seventh year. The Dark Lord, who had been teetering on the brink of insanity, snapped when she left. It was said that she had run away with another boy, one Sam Davies, but the Dark Lord refused to believe it."

As Lucius thought back to that scene twenty years ago while laying on the stone floor in wretched pain, he wished that the mysterious Mudblood would come back again, and save his Lord from destroying himself.

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