Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter character's or anything related to the works of J.K Rowling. I only own the plot and any original characters you might notice. I also do not have a beta-reader so if there are errors here, please let me know so I can try and fix it. If I used any music or poems or any other medium you may have noticed from pop culture or music/books I do not own that source.
I worked hard on this chapter; I got a serious case of writer's block trying to get this out and up here. I hope you all like it and if not then hey, I have the next chapter to make up for it.
I want to take the time to say I appreciate those who read and enjoy this series. My day brightens a little bit more when I see someone's reviewed my story, put it on their alerts list, or add it to their favorites list. (I really like reviews the best though, putting that out there.) Enjoy the chapter!
November 10, 1948
"Are you done sulking?"
"No."
"Please open the door."
"I will not."
Peter Elwood knocked on door that lead to the bathroom from the master bedroom. When Margo said they were both in a position and mature enough to start a family (by the 1940's standards, Margo had to point that out). Peter didn't think he'd be locked out of his own bathroom in his own house. Which by all accounts, didn't seem 'mature'.
You're having a child with this woman. Peter reminded himself. Be the better person.
Margo locked herself in the bathroom roughly about six in the morning; her feet were terribly swollen. She took to filling the tub with hot water and only took to soaking her feet while sitting on the edges of the tub. The blonde beauty was upset and no one dare try to contribute it to the pregnancy hormones.
Maybe she was being paranoid, maybe she was being slight bit controlling (again), and maybe it could honestly been the pregnancy hormones driving her batshit emotional.
"Love…" Peter knocked on the door, his mind was carefully looking for the words that would cause the least amount of anger out of his wife . "I respect your feelings and I know you're...in a mood." There was a pause as he scrambled to find the next part of his sentence. "With that being said, you can either open the open for me or I can unlock it myself."
"If you were smart, you'd just apparate over to the other side of the door!" Margo sassed back at her husband, she kicked the hot water. "Why are you even still here? Go to work!"
"You have a rule!" Peter screamed. "You don't like me apparating into the bathroom ever!" He drew out his wand and pointed it at the door. Peter had to remind himself that he loved his wife over and over in his head as entered the bathroom. "You need to stop this attitude of yours! It might be bad for the baby."
Margo didn't say anything.
Peter rolled the bottoms of his slacks up and sat next to his wife on the edges of the tub; he carefully rubbed her lower back (according to the muggle book Margo had him read, messaging her lower back would help relieve some pain.)
"You want to talk about it?"
Margo crossed her arms. "Yes."
"Alright, then talk."
"I feel like something is wrong, Peter." Margo started off. "Pipa's been gone since the sixth and I haven't gotten a letter from her yet. Nothing."
"She's only been gone four days, love. Give her time?" Peter replied back evenly; he couldn't let his voice show that he might have also been a slight bit worried.
"When she was in Fiji we got a letter from her by the second day she was there. She is also still in Europe so a letter from her should have reached us by now." Margo knew Ophelia, she would always find time to write a letter to let everyone know everything was fine. Sure the muggle postal system had its flaws- but two days at the most was how long it took (or at least with Peter and Margo's limited knowledge of the muggle postal system they thought so).
The brunette witch also had a system: she'd write the letter to her parent's address in West Berkshire, then Mister and Missus Darwin would have an owl deliver it to Margo and Peter's residence when they saw it was marked 'Elwood.'
One more thing, Margo desperately wanted to throw out was how in Tom's letters he'd ask her to use an owl when they'd correspond. Her being with him should have meant that Riddle would insist on using an owl-which meant maybe a couple hours wait to get a letter from the half-blooded witch instead of a day. Yet there was nothing and Margo was certain Tom Riddle would never get in the way of Ophelia Darwin corresponding to her friends and family in England.
Peter didn't really have a counter statement for everything Margo said; the points were valid since they made enough sense. He wasn't going to feed into Margo's worries though, if no one was notified about Ophelia's whereabouts the least everyone could do was hope for the best. "When I see William at work, I'll ask if he's heard from her. Let's not worry or fuss just yet. It's bad for the baby, love."
Comprise, Margo. Pete's probably right, he usually is. Margo nodded her head in agreement. "Zyra will be over later so I'll ask her as well." There was pause before she forced the next statement out of her mouth. "Ask Edmund too if you see him at all?"
Peter nodded his head at his wife's request. "Are you going to ask Sel-."
"Fuck that bitch!" The pregnant woman huffed at the mention of her sister-in-law.
"Alright then."
They left it at that and merely hoped for the best in regards to Ophelia's well being.
Tom Riddle did not get a good night's rest. How could he? He spent the better part of the night trying to find a stupid half-blood witch only to come up with nothing to show for his effort.
What he did manage to do, stupidly enough, was finish the muggle book Hamlet. Before that, Tom tried to calm and satisfy his anger by blasting Ophelia's gramophone, record, and suitcase to bits. He originally meant to throw the book in the fireplace as soon as he was done ruining everything else, but he couldn't seem to release the book from his hold.
Her name is in here-it's in this book. Tom even read about how death came about to Ophelia of Denmark: drowning. In a way he found an attachment to the book, despite being angry. Didn't he have an attachment to his journal? Granted, it was made into a horcrux but there was an attachment nonetheless.
When the day finally broke, he saw the errors of how he handled the situation. The issue wasn't so much his behavior or the sudden burst of irrationality. He never did care about his Ophelia's opinions towards him-he never bothered to impress her because she never had anything he desperately wanted.
He was trying to figure out what insulted him more. The fact that Ophelia knew something and lied to his face about it, or worse, the fact that she thought Tom wasn't smart enough to ever know when she was lying.
She definitely knows where Ravenclaw's diadem is. It was obvious now to him now but how did she get to it before him? Never mind, it doesn't matter.
Tom Riddle cleaned himself up and dressed sharply for the day. He ventured with a stronger confidence as he threw himself into researching a proper spell to locate Ophelia. She was the key to what he wanted.
He didn't care if took an hour, half the day, or even if his search bleed into the night.
Today was the day, he'd get Ravenclaw's diadem. He was sure of it.
It took Ophelia nearly two hours that day to come to the conclusion that Tom was really going to hurt her. It shook her to the core and even with the fear in her quiet now, Tom quite possibly scarred her mentally and emotionally.
The former Hufflepuff knew Tom was mean: she remembers the bruises, the burn mark from the door knob, and him dragging her around as he pleased...then there was that unexplained blank (or was it blanks) in her head when she tried to think of any other things he'd done.
But what if he was going to use the Cruciatus curse on me? Or worse?...You've seen him do it before too...
Ophelia's chocolate brown hair felt heavy on her head while wet, she thought she wrung out most of the water from her hair but droplets that covered the back of the dress she borrowed proven otherwise.
The half-blooded witch was working on her fourth cigarette of the day by the time noon had rolled around. All she had done so far since she'd been up was look out the window from the comfort of the living room couch, smoke, drink water, and over think.
Admittedly if she could have kept her shit together maybe she'd be able to skirt around Tom's lies or whatever twisted plan he had on the agenda. She probably could have sneaked around him and returned Ravenclaw's lost tiara if she wanted.
With how poorly Ophelia handled everything, now she had no choice. She needed to return Ravenclaw's diadem. Tom's reaction to her simply knowing he lied was enough to tip her off.
Ophelia didn't know what Tom would do, she didn't want to find out, and she knew she couldn't wait around for the perfect time to go and get the diadem.
"I wrote the letter like you asked, Ophelia. Now we wait for a reply." Hermia called out as she walked from the kitchen to the living, she had two bowls of chicken and vegetable stew. She placed one down in front of younger witch. "Eat."
"Thank you, Hermia." Ophelia put her cigarette out and took a sip of water before she started on the soup. She wasn't hungry but she was going to try and get something to eat while she had the chance to.
"For lunch or for writing the letter?" The older woman asked.
"The letter." Ophelia didn't hesitate to answer the question but she was hesitant to write the letter to Dumbledore. First, a part of her was scared that Dumbledore would tell her there was nothing in his power he could do to stop Tom. Secondly another portion of her directed some tiny, tiny amount of anger towards her old professor. Albus Dumbledore was the one who` inform Tom about Hogwarts and even sought him out from the St. Wool's orphanage.
The final point as to why Ophelia didn't find it in her ability to write to Dumbledore was because in the event things went wrong, the half-blooded witch didn't want a letter regarding such serious matter to be the last thing she ever wrote. Even if she wrote to William and Zyra, Margo and Peter, or her parents and her Poppa-it would be phrased with a dire connotation... she didn't want it to be the last thing she wrote.
Hermia pulled the brunette out of her feelings by asking a question. "How soon did you want to get this over with?"
"Honestly, now." Ophelia put the bowl of soup down, she hardly touched it.
"I haven't even arranged for you to leave Albania yet." Hermia then looked around her living to see if there was a clock anywhere in the room. There wasn't one. "We also have yet to hear from the man-."
"Hermia, please…"Ophelia's voice broke as she realized for perhaps the second or third time in her life-Tom Riddle didn't give any ounce of a damn about her. "I want to go home and you want the diadem off your hands."
The Albanian woman couldn't help but pity the child in front of her: women recognize heart break in other women-particularly younger women. The child has a point though.
"Give me at least two and half hours, that's all I need to make sure I can secure you train ticket and a ferry ride. I only need to go into town and set it up." Hermia scratched at her hair, "It'd be safer for you to travel by muggle means, I bet."
Ophelia nodded and said nothing else for the moment. She was too afraid to go alone. A painfully tight and invisible force tightened around the half-blooded witch's heart right before it felt like it going shrink and disappear.
The handsome Tom Marvolo Riddle had Ophelia Mae Darwin's heart at his constant disposal and he's hurt it, toyed with it, and broke it multiples time...Why the fuck does he keep doing this shit to me! Why the fuck do I keep letting him!?
The answer to those questions were in her heart and her mind agreed-but her soul was too scared to acknowledge the answer.
As promised, though the older woman came through early on the timeline that was set up. Hermia took an old and cracked leather messenger bag out of her closet, threw another set of her daughter's old clothing into the bag, some toast, and fresh pack of cigarettes in. She handed it over to Ophelia as they ventured into the woods. It was the least Hermia could do for Ophelia taking the burden of Ravenclaw's diadem off her hands.
"Take us on the quickest path to Ravenclaw's diadem," Hermia whispered into the trunk of a tree. "Keep us hidden as well please."
Rocks rolled, the ground shifted ever so slightly, twigs breaking echoed out in the air, and there was a soft rustle of leaves. A path revealed itself to the two witches.
Ophelia was expecting her heart rate and her blood pressure to rocket beyond normal throughout the hike to retrieve the diadem. At first, yes, every time she heard a bird sing Ophelia would tense up, look over her shoulder, and reach for her wand. After awhile from following Hermia's calm (and almost happy) demeanor-Ophelia found herself slightly more relaxed to a point where her hand wasn't constantly reaching for her wand.
In total it roughly forty-five minutes until the tree that hosted the diadem came into view.
"All yours now." Hermia reached into the center of the tree, pulled out the diadem and hurriedly went over to the younger witch. She stuffed it into the old messenger bag Ophelia carried. "I am trusting you with a burden that's been mine for close to forty years."
Thanks so much for reminding me. Ophelia never let herself say anything along those lines as she tried to conceal Ravenclaw's tiara by throwing the clothes in the bag over it. Before closing the bag, Ophelia took out a cigarette for a already knew transfiguring the enchanted headpiece wasn't in her ability-considering it belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw and all.
Hermia quickly took to asking the forest to lead them as close to the train station as possible. Ophelia lit up her cigarette and walked right besides Hermia.
The half-blooded witch would look over her shoulder every now and then just to be sure they were safe and there was always a pinch of relief when Ophelia never saw anything suspicious….Although, it did make her wonder why.
"Looking for your lover boy?" Hermia croaked out during the walk. "He won't find us out in these woods."
Ophelia's face twisted with a small frown. "He's not-."
Hermia took the cigarette away from the British witch and began to smoke it until it was all used up herself. "Pft. Please, lie to whoever you want but know you cannot fool me."
"I was only expecting him to try and take this," Ophelia gestured to the messenger bag she wore on her shoulder. "Guess he didn't want it so bad."
With a quick flick, Hermia disposed of the cigarette bud. "Count your blessings, Ophelia."
A bitterness prickled inside of Ophelia's conscience: she was born in this world neither blessed or lucky or anything else in between the two. It's only a matter of time until something pops up for me. The half-blooded witch continued to go deeper into her thoughts, she didn't really feel the need to talk. I know the universe has it out for me, but if today happens to be a blessed day for me, then I'll become a nun...No delayed train ride, no seasickness on the ferry, no Tom anywhere in between all of that and I swear on my life, I'll become a damn nun.
05-10-1948
To Whom It May Concern-preferably-Albus Dumbledore:
My name is Hermia.
I am writing this letter on behalf of a witch by the name of Ophelia. Brown hair, green eyes, twiggy looking body but a cute face more or less. I am also writing this letter from Albania. I won't get deep into the specifics due to, let's say safety reasons. She has something important, something that MUST be returned to Hogwarts. Ophelia has taken a responsibility off my hands and it is now all on her to do the rest.
Should anything unusual happen to her-death, injury, unexplained markings on her body-she mentioned a young man by the name of Tom.
With all due respect, do not write back to me for I will have no answers to any questions that might arise.
Albus Dumbledore tapped his fingers quietly on his desk as he re-read the letter in his possession over and over again. Miss Darwin. Oh, Miss Darwin what have you gotten into and with Tom Riddle involved no less! It didn't take long for the auburn haired wizard to figure out what Ophelia had in her possession, the mention of Albania and the stressed emphasis on returning the item was enough.
What the letter failed to mention was when Dumbledore's former student would be back in England or where to find Ophelia. The letter seemed more like a dark explanation to an unlucky event that hadn't happened yet.
Then there was the issue of Tom. Albus was not able to prove the former prefect's involvement with the death of Hepzibah Smith. Many witches and wizards were talking though, particularly about how she loved to show off two priceless antiques. Those same witches and wizards were also quick to point out how now, those two antiques were missing.
While others who didn't get the chance to see it at all stated up and down that everyone who claimed to see any of the antiques were all liars and Hepzibah Smith would never have anything of extreme value in her home.
"This has dark magic all over it." Albus Dumbledore whispered to himself as he finally found it in his power to stop reading the letter another too many times. The sad truth sink into the professor's bones as he realized that Tom was beyond saving and that maybe Tom didn't want to be saved to begin with.
Then something even more gut wrenching dawned on the professor-he might not even be able to save Ophelia.
Albus prepared himself for the worst case scenario:finding a dead body.
By the time the older witch and the younger witch arrived to the train station, both were tired, out of breath, and ready to be done with the day. The only reason why they weren't hungry was because they'd eaten the toast Hermia packed.
Judging from the sky, it was probably four or maybe five in the evening.
"Tickets," Hermia dug into the pocket of her dress and handed two rectangular sheets of paper to Ophelia. "One is for the train, the other for the ferry."
"Thank you." Ophelia held onto the tickets with the strong grip of anxiety. She'd made this far and all without any problems-so something was just around the corner from fucking everything up. Or maybe you're paranoid.
Hermia gave the brunette a kind smile and she gently patted the younger witch's face. "No, thank you. You have a safe journey if you can help it."
"I will try." Ophelia replied. She had gotten used to saying 'goodbye' to many of her mentors when it came to her experiences traveling. Most of the time it was filled with a bittersweet energy and there was always the insistence that Ophelia come back, goodbye with Hermia didn't have that impact.
It was quick, to the point, and importantly: the goodbye was done. Also without coming off as too rude: Hermia mentioned not wanting see Ophelia again and Ophelia was happy to hear that.
Albania was nice, but not really what the brunette wanted in the first place. Hermia however did get the Albania she wanted-one without Ravenclaw's diadem.
Ophelia Darwin was able to find to board onto the train and settle into a compartment. She waited for the train to start moving before she closed the little sliding door of the compartment she was in; her fingers picked at the scab over her thumb. She needed some blood to do the protection spell again and much like before: a thin red line was drawn on the floor with a bloody thumbprint in the middle of it.
It might not have been a home she was currently in, but Ophelia was assuming it would still be a little bit effective. At the very least, no one could get into the compartment without her inviting them in.
"Fuck me," Ophelia whispered as she kicked her heeled oxfords off and saw how red and blistered her feet were. Her eyes were heavy and she found herself trying to fight off sleep but it felt so good to sit down and be still. Sleep claimed her in no less than five minutes.
Tom was extremely resourceful when he needed to be. He could admit he'd gotten lazy but he'd make sure to never do that again. Albania wasn't his getaway destination, he wasn't taking a holiday-he came to Albania for a reason.
Currently, that 'reason' was on the train.
It took Tom roughly two hours but he was able to pull out a location spell that dated back to Medieval times...Well, it was more of a hunting spell than a location spell but what really was the difference?
The point of the spell was to show the user how recently or how long ago their target was in an area. If the target was there recently your wand would emit a bright yellow light, and if the target was there a while ago a dark purple color would show. Then if the user of the spell was extremely close and their target was within their grasp-the user would feel a force tugging at their wand to continue in a particular direction.
The heir of Slytherin kept getting lost in the woods hunting down Ophelia, but as he stood outside the train compartment he knew he was going to get what he wanted. Tom easily spotted her sleeping form through the window on the compartment she was in. He reached a hand out to pull the door open. A jolt of pain surged through his body when only a finger was placed on the compartment handle.
"Shit," Tom hissed as he then reached for his wand. "Alohomora." The compartment door wiggled slightly but nothing else happened. He reached for the handle and again another jolt of pain went through his body, this time it was stronger than the first. Fuck! His brown eyes focused on the sleeping witch, she was oblivious to what was going on in the hallway of the train. He eyed the messenger bag right next to her, he was sure the diadem had to be in there.
"Fuckin' bloody Christ, Ophelia." Tom Riddle pinched the bridge of his nose before pinching his chin with a thoughtful expression on his face. I can wait her out. She'll have to get out of that compartment sooner or later. Tom walked over to the compartment that was next to Ophelia's-he was extremely lucky that not many people were on this particular train ride.
He was equally tired as Ophelia, if not more since he sure got less sleep than her. He dozed off for no more than twenty-five minutes; the sound of familiar footsteps and a well known voice cussing reached Tom's ear and his snapped open instantly.
"My feet," Ophelia stated in a small whisper. "Shite, I'm going to need some blister cream for these."
Now. Tom thought as he stood up and inched carefully out towards the halls of the train. When he was sure Ophelia was right outside his compartment, he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her in. One hand went straight over her mouth so in case Ophelia screamed, other passengers wouldn't hear her.
Ophelia Darwin was pushed into a seat; her hand reached for the wand in her pocket but Tom was quicker. He always was faster than her unfortunately. With one wave of his hand, her wand flew directly to him. Then with another wave of his hand, the compartment door shut with a quiet click.
All I wanted was a drink of water. Ophelia clutched the messenger bag in her possession close to her chest.
The way Tom Riddle looked at her...She couldn't find a word for it. Yes, Ophelia could describe how his gaze made her understand how a trapped animal felt when in a corner. The look in Tom's eyes though? There was no word to capture how dark and malicious focus that turned Tom's eyes from brown to a solid red.
"You ran away from me." Tom sat down across from the half-blooded witch; there was a scowl on his face but it wasn't too prominent to where it made him look too unappealing.
Ophelia tightened her grip on the bag and looked out the window. She didn't want to meet his eyes. Don't let him take it...God, or whoever is listening, please don't let Tom take it...
Tom narrowed his eyes at her; contorting his handsome face into a menacing expression. "You ran away from me!" He balled his fists up, he wanted to hurt her but he found enough self-control not to. "It's fine though, Ophelia. I can forgive you for turning your back on me." Tom knew how to phrase his words to manipulate the conversation, "Darling, how could I not forgive you? You went out and got Ravenclaw's diadem for me."
"I did no such thing." Ophelia replied softly, her eyes still avoiding his. " Tom, Ravenclaw's diadem is going back to Hogwarts. Where it belongs."
"Such noble words from a runner and a failed Hogwarts student." Tom spat out as his hand moved through the air and latched onto the messenger bag. He pulled on it with all the physical strength he could muster in hopes to separate the messenger bag from the brunette. Tom underestimated how desperately she didn't want him to get the diadem. The pretty witch had been dragged to the floor, on her knees, and in between his legs as a result of this.
He felt the heat of Ophelia's body against his groin, there was the ever so slight scent of cinnamon, and there was a hint of frustration in her pale green eyes that threatened to pour out.
Tom could help but think how delicious the half-blooded witch looked.
A free hand of Tom's hand found its way to his wand. He aimed the wand on Ophelia's cheek and for a second something in her mind told her that she'd been in a situation like this before with him. No memories surfaced through her thoughts-blanks, shades of white, no picture of words could explain why Ophelia felt like she'd been in this situation with Tom before!
You've never been in this situation with him before, Ophelia...You haven't! It's all in your head...Unless...No...No! No! No! Tears fell from Ophelia's eyes and she pulled her face as far as she could from the former prefect's wand. "Tom! Don't! Please!"
Too late my dear. The words of the spells Tom used on Ophelia came out as soon as he chose to ignore her little plea. A deep and heavy sleeping spell was put on Ophelia and her memories of what Tom had done this time was pulled out of her pretty little head.
Carefully, the heir of Slytherin picked Ophelia off from her knees and placed her body in a sitting position next to him. He then removed the messenger bag out of her grip and quickly stuffed his hand into the bag. Tom ignored the clothes, the pack of cigarettes, and just like a toddler: he grabbed at the pretty and shiny thing in the bag.
A genuine smile was on Tom's face as he held Ravenclaw's diadem in his hand. He got what he wanted and he got it in almost less than a week-which was possibly a first on how soon Tom could get his hand on a horcrux.
Potential horcrux at the moment. Tom stood up slowly as to not disturb the sleeping witch next to him. He needed a soul for his soul to attach to Ravenclaw's diadem. Tom studied Ophelia's face; her face was still a little wet from the tears that escaped from those pale green eyes of hers.
He wiped the tears off her face before he put the silver headpiece into the messenger bag and hunted down an unsuspecting muggle.
"Excuse me! Excuse me!"
"Is something wrong?"
Tom Riddle forced an expression of concern on his face as he lied to what looked like a middle aged Albania man. "My wife!" Tom forced out with a fake panic in his voice. "She and I were out on the bay window caboose of this train and she fainted!"
"I'll inform the train staff, maybe they have a medic on hand." The man shot up from his chair, ready to announce the tragic news.
"No." Tom quickly snapped back. "I need help now! My wife needs the help now!"
That was all it took for the middle aged stranger to start following Tom towards the end of the train and outside framed edged of the caboose. He was going to turn around to ask the young man a question, but he was never able to.
Tom pointed his wand at the back of the muggle's head as soon as they were outside. "Avada Kedavra." A green light shot out from the heir of Slytherin's wand, the sound of a body falling to the ground soon followed. Tom pulled Ravenclaw's diadem out of the messenger bag and began to chant a spell. He felt something hook into his skin and bury deeper and deeper into his body: going past muscles, bones, into his veins until that hook found what little was left of his soul.
He stifled a shout of pain as Tom felt a piece of his soul being sliced out of his essence of being. Instead a low groan escaped as Tom despite how hard he tried to silence the unpleasant energy that tore his soul apart. The experience only last about a couple of minutes but to Tom Riddle, it felt like it was longer than that.
It was over only when Tom saw a black light exited out from the center of his chest and go straight into Ravenclaw's diadem. Now for the body, Tom looked over the body of the middle aged man he killed as he sorted the diadem back into messenger bag.
This man probably had a family, maybe a dog-he more than likely had a good childhood and had a nice home with a grand tree in the backyard. None of that mattered in the grand scheme of things but Tom didn't see the harm in guessing how mediocre the muggle man's life was, it was amusing to Tom sometimes.
You all die alone anyways, no matter how much love or family you had when you were alive. You born into this world and you will die alone.
Before he completely disposed of the body, Tom saw that in the man's pocket was a rather square looking bulge. "Accio." A pink letter cardboard box flew at the handsome young man; he easily caught and opened it with one hand.
There was note: 'Sorry I couldn't afford anything better when we were first married. Happy 10 years of marriage and more to come.'
Hope they were a good ten years. A cruel chuckle escaped Tom's lips as he threw the note to be carried off by the wind that whipped around the train. What soon caught Tom's attention next was the bright light emitted from a silver ring. His eyes widened slightly at the gem in center of the silver band-one look at it and reminded Tom so much of a certain pair of eyes he was so familiar with. Tom pulled the ring out of its box and inspected it closely.
The band was simple, made out of silver with no access gems embedded onto it. There were three perfectly rounded gems on the silver band; the two gems that sat on either side of the main jewel were diamonds; while the main jewel itself was a simple green amethyst.
Tom placed the ring into the messenger bag as well without a moment to even spare before he flicked his wand ever so slightly through the air: the body of the muggle began to chip away into ashes. He didn't care too much if the dead muggle wanted to be cremated or not, the body just needed to be gone. With a calm and quiet attitude overtaking his body, he soon turned around and headed back to the compartment he left Ophelia in.
There was relief that hit Tom when he saw that the half-blooded witch was still unconscious. He took the messenger bag off his body and reached into it for the ring. A sense of shame crept up on the heir of Slytherin, completing erasing the relief out of his system. The shame wasn't from Tom dragging Ophelia against her own to Albania, subjecting her to the Imperious curse, and then having her forget it all.
It had nothing at all to do with any forms of abuse or manipulation he put Ophelia Mae Darwin through.
No.
The shame that pumped through his body was because Tom Marvolo Riddle, heir of Slytherin, soon to be the most powerful wizard to in history allowed himself to put a ring on a witch whose blood would never be his equal.