Disclaimer: The characters and idea of this fan fiction come from the mind of J.K. Rowling
Summary: This is my version of Tom Riddle's life, and his journey to evil.
The Tale of Tom Riddle
Chapter 4
Late winter, 1938
Tom stared, in shock, at the name of his mother written on the crumbling piece of paper. After shaking his head slightly to clear his thoughts, Tom continued to read the words printed neatly on the parchment, which formed the following riddle:
Beneath the floor the secrets are kept
Quietly curled the creature lies
'Till the moment it need arise
Far below the world, your destiny waits
As you are the chosen
Renounce the good
Embrace the diablerie
Within yourself you must find a will to live
To succeed you need only remember these hints thrice
You know your prowess; kindle it wisely
An unlikely friendship will prove vital
Finally, to accomplish your goal,
Make note of the failures of your common man
But be ever watchful of the symbol of evil.
Perplexed, Tom refolded the parchment he had found, and placed it beneath his mattress, taking care to leave his worries and assumptions with the small square neatly folded parchment. Upon realizing the lateness of the hour, Tom rushed out of the emerald-decked room with a swish of a robe to join his classmates for dinner.
"What happened to you, Tom?" Letifer asked, looking intently at Tom. "You look as though you've seen a ghost…" Letifer squinted his eyes at Tom skeptically.
Tom sat awkwardly on the wooden bench next to his friend. "You have no idea, Letifer," Tom answered; a note of finality in his voice prevented either Letifer or Max questioning his claim further.
*~*~*
With a small 'poof,' Tom was nonchalantly changing his beetle into a petunia and back again.
"Now, class, it is imperative for you to pronounce the spell correctly," Professor Dumbledore began, clearly referring to a Hufflepuff named Scott Dricken. "You must also concentrate on the shape of your arc when wave your wand. Now, try it again, Scott," the professor said kindly to the blundering boy.
Scott then began to mutter the incantation, and wove his wand sporadically through the air. When he reached the last syllable of the spell, a brilliantly purple light shot from the tip of his wand and across the room. Students fell to the floor in whimpers of fear as the wild spell reverberated off the walls. As he fumbled to reach the relative safety offered by the stone floor, however, Tom felt the shock of something crush his abdomen. Before he could even glimpse his stomach (which felt as though it were caving in on itself), Tom was propelled across the room, and landed with dull thud just shy of the jaggedly hewn walls.
It was a moment before anyone noticed the spell had finally stopped its tour of the classroom. The first voice heard above the babble of the students was that of Albus Dumbledore. Urgently, he demanded, "Everyone stay calm. Is anyone hurt?" His face fell as he caught sight of Tom, who lay in an unconscious heap on the floor. In a swift movement, he had reached the ashen-faced Tom. Soon, the class had gathered in a silent ring around their fallen companion. With a snap, Professor Dumbledore uttered a spell that caused Tom to levitate a few feet from the floor.
"It is imperative that I get Tom to the hospital wing immediately. Class, you are dismissed for the day," Professor Dumbledore said absently as he looked meaningfully at Tom, whose unconscious body looked out of place as it floated at varying heights. The professor strode determinedly through the corridors, his face set as he held his wand at arms length as he carefully guided Tom through the musty passageways.
"Poppy," Professor Dumbledore said warily as he peeked through the door that opened into the spotless hospital wing.
"Yes, Albus?" A pretty young witch said as she walked coyly between the bed-lined walls, batting her eyelashes. Her flirtatious manner was dropped instantly, however, upon seeing the boy Dumbledore steered into the room. At once, she dutifully took control of her patient, and used her own wand to gently lay Tom on a bed. Tom's hair contrasted sharply with the starkness of the bedcovers, but his skin seemed to fuse with the whiteness, and he seemed to almost fade away.
Frightened, the nurse asked, "What hit him, Albus? What spell did this?"
Gravely, Albus Dumbledore gazed into Poppy Pomfrey's upturned face, and answered, "I don't know – I've never seen the likes of it before. Young Scott Dricken was trying to transfigure a beetle, and something went horribly, horribly wrong."
Poppy swallowed hard. Never in her career at Hogwarts – which wasn't yet exceptionally long – had she known this professor to doubt himself. During a crisis, it was the auburn-haired teacher who had the answers. It was Dumbledore who was able to keep a level head. Seeing him at such a loss frightened her.
Dumbledore stood quickly. "Tom's ribs have been crushed. Do what you can, Poppy – I'll be back soon."
"But where are you going?" she asked. Her words, however, were wasted. All that remained of Albus' presence was the quickly fading sound of shoes on stone as he strode purposefully away.
*~*~*
Hours passed, and Tom was showing no signs of recovering. In fact, if anything, his ailments were becoming progressively worse. After she had mended his bones, Madam Pomfrey sat watching in horror as the young man lying helpless on the bed tossed uneasily. With his every movement, the pigments in Tom's skin dulled, until he was but a shadow, or the shell of a human, whose head was wreathed in raven hair.
Suddenly, Tom's movements ceased. Frantically, Poppy once more searched through drawers and boxes. She looked through cabinets and bags. Not knowing precisely what she was so desperately seeking, Poppy fretted as she examined every elixir and powder. Near hysterics, she tried to gather her thoughts. Hogwarts had enlisted Poppy as the school nurse but three years prior to this incident. With dismay, she realized that this would be, possibly, her first patient to die. Instantly, her knees weakened, and she nearly collapsed into a heap. Indeed, she would lie crumpled on the floor had Albus Dumbledore not entered the hospital wing at exactly that moment. He grasped her firmly around the waist, and helped carry her to a bed. After wringing a water-soaked rag, Albus carefully applied it to the woman's forehead. Weakly, but gratefully, Poppy smiled at her savior.
"Thank you, Albus. I was just thinking about…" she began.
"Shh," Professor Dumbledore cut in, his curt words contradicting his caring demeanor. "I must save Tom," he said with conviction.
He pulled from his pocket an assortment of plants a varying shades of purple (ranging from the palest lavender, to the same violet color of the light that emitted from Scott's wand, and overtook Dumbledore's Transfiguration class).
Cursing what she mistook to be her weakness, Poppy Pomfrey arose from the bed on which she had been recovering. "Let me help you, Professor," she said with such irrevocability that Dumbledore could not refuse her.
"Hold these, m' dear," he said respectfully handing the plants to Poppy.
Dumbledore took from his pocked a paper that had been folded four times. He nodded resolutely as he read the paper, and handed it to the woman waiting anxiously by his side.
Without thinking, Poppy exclaimed, "Professor! This is taken from a book in the Restricted Section in the library!" Her finger prodded the stamp dignifying this book from a regular library book.
Smiling weakly, Dumbledore answered, "Poppy, I'd have to say a young man's life is more important than a book from the Restricted Section."
"Yes, of course, Professor," Poppy answered as she blushed furiously. "Shall I read the instructions to you?"
Dumbledore nodded silently as he carefully separated the different violet plants.
"First, take púrpura and add it to a mixture of aconite and wolfsbane – " she paused immediately. "Professor, it says wolfsbane! You can't give that to a student!"
His eyes slid closed, and Poppy noticed that Albus was visibly trying to control his impatience, however, when he spoke, he was completely calm. "Poppy, you must give me the instructions or leave me in peace to do so on my own – this is the only hope we have to save Mister Riddle."
She bit her lip, and then watched as the professor added the most vividly violet plant to a small cauldron he had conjured when Poppy was reading. Next, he added what was obviously wolfsbane, and the concoction began to hiss and bubble violently. Mystified, Poppy watched Dumbledore expertly add various ingredients to the cauldron, and nearly missed her cue to read the next step.
"Oh! Finally, add a bezor, and let the potion stew for three-quarters of an hour," she read aloud.
"Well, that's all we can do for now," Dumbledore said as he looked sadly at Tom, whose near-lifeless body caused him to sigh. He sat heavily next to Poppy, who was perched tentatively on the edge of a hospital bed.
After observing a moment of silence, the nurse asked, "Now that we've bit of time to wait for the potion, could you tell me what happened to Tom?"
"He was hit with a spell – young Scott Dricken's spell to transfigure a beetle to a petunia somehow went awry. Instead of the creation of a weak spell, Scott somehow generated one of the most powerful spells I've seen. From a first year! And Scott, at that - he's not the most skilled with a wand. Except in Defense Against the Dark Arts," the professor allowed.
Poppy concurred with a nod. "I've treated poor Scott more times…"
"Scott somehow managed to perform, Dio Committo; Vesper Dolose. It is a spell so complex I am among the few who know the whole of it."
"What is Dio Committo; Vesper Dolose?" Poppy asked innocently.
"I dare not speak of it. It's nothing the boy could have learned from regular class – I know this is not the sort of thing being taught in Defense Against the Dark Arts…" he trailed off.
"Pardon, did you say Defense Against the Dark Arts?"
Dumbledore smiled sadly, "Yes. Tom seems to have intercepted one of the most useful spells in the Defense Against the Dark Arts. Dio Vesper, as you have seen, can have disastrous results if it is used correctly. And Scott most assuredly used it correctly," Dumbledore marveled.
"Correctly? Surely you can't mean Tom was supposed – "
"Speak no more of it, Poppy," Albus interjected. "That spell was meant to hit Tom – even if Scott didn't mean to use it. Whether it was borne of Scott's wand, or the wand of another, that spell was meant for Tom. However, perhaps there is still time to alter the future," he finished so softly Poppy felt herself straining to catch the final phrase.
The duo sat in uncomfortable silence for the remaining time; Poppy spent the half-hour staring uneasily at Tom, and Dumbledore sat, apparently, contemplating a matter weighing heavily on his mind.
At long last, the potion changed from a vibrant purple hue to a murky yellow. Poppy wrinkled her nose in disgust when she caught a whiff of the brew. Without needing to be told, she cradled Tom's head in her arms in preparation of coaxing him to down the solution. Dumbledore held the ladle filled with the potion, and raised it to Tom's lips. As if by instinct, Tom opened his mouth, and drank the liquid. When he had drunk the spoonful, Poppy gently lowered him to lie flat once again. Almost immediately, Tom began to lose the transparency he'd been plagued with, and stirred restlessly.
Dumbledore smiled. "Good. It's working. He's in your care now, Poppy."
"Yes, Albus," she answered in a state of shock – never in her wildest dreams had she expected to see such quick results.
After a few hours, Tom was coherent enough to ask a simple question: "What happened?"
His sudden question caught Madam Pomfrey off-guard, and she started. "Erm… You were hit with Dio Committo; Vesper Dolose." However, beyond that, Madam Pomfrey refused to disclose any information. Tom, still exhausted from his brush with death, fell into a dreamless sleep induced by a powder Madam Pomfrey forced upon Tom. "Take this, Tom. You mustn't dream – not yet. This will help you slumber peacefully."
Despite the fact that his recovery began soon after receiving his antidote, Tom didn't return to the hustle and bustle of the school for several weeks, and rumors fabricating his horrific death began to circulate throughout the school.
"I heard that Scott hit Tom with an Unforgivable curse, and he just died – right there!"
"No way. That curse was nothing. Dumbledore just took him to the nurse as a precaution. He really got eaten by a dragon."
"That's ridiculous," came the voice of reason from Letifer. "How did he meet a dragon, pray tell?"
A skeletal shadow suddenly appeared on the floor of the Slytherin common room, and the occupants of the room turned to see Tom leaning, bemused, against the wall of the secret passage that led to the Slytherins' dungeon. "So, I died, did I?" He asked as he sauntered into the room.
Immediately, havoc ensued. In an uproar, questions resounded throughout the circular room. Tom, however, was selective in answering. The only question he dignified with an answer was the very same that he had asked Madam Pomfrey.
"Evidently, I caught a bit of Scott Dricken's Dio Committo; Vesper Dolose spell."
"Scott did this to you?" Letifer asked, agog.
"I guess so… It must've been the spell that was going crazy in Transfiguration."
"That filthy Mudblood!" A Slytherin whom Tom didn't know exclaimed.
Tom, who had actually been thinking something along the same lines as the other Slytherin, remained silent. Already, he had resolved to go to the library as soon as possible to research the spell with which Scott had hit him. Inwardly, Tom laughed. Had Madam Pomfrey meant to keep anything from him, she'd made a severe mistake in daring to tell him the reason for his hospitalization.
*~*~*
Having awoken with a start, Tom rubbed his heavily ringed eyes and took in his surroundings.
"Of course," he said quietly to himself. "Where else would I be but the library?" Towers of books perched treacherously on the wooden table at which Tom was currently slumped over. He then turned his attention to what had caused a disruption in his slumber.
"Letifer! What are you doing here?"
Letifer, whom Tom had always known to be among the most confident of people he knew, was now shifting uneasily from foot to foot. Tom leapt to his feet, fearing the worst.
"Headmaster Dippet wants a word with you, Tom," Letifer said, unable to meet Tom's unwavering gaze. Visibly, Tom relaxed.
"Oh, that's all?" He said jauntily. "I've got Dippet wrapped around my finger." With that, Tom began to gather books to take to the dungeons.
"Erm, Tom? He said it was urgent."
For the slightest moment, Tom's face blanched. Quickly, however, he regained his composure. "Alright. Will you wait for me in the Great Hall to eat lunch?"
"Sure," Letifer answered. "Then we can head to the Quidditch pitch for the match – Slytherin versus Gryffindor!" He called jovially as their distance between one another increased.
Tom trod the familiar passages but anxiety wrung and knotted his stomach, as the paintings whose cheery scenes typically lined the roughly hewn walls grew increasingly dreary and dark. One witch even had the audacity to point to Tom and whisper behind her hand to a woman in her company. After much ado, he reached the goblin statue he knew concealed the entrance to the headmaster's office, and waited rather impatiently for the headmaster Dippet to greet him.
"Ah, Mister Riddle," came the voice of the wizened wizard as the goblin leapt from Tom's path. "Please step inside."
Tom stepped onto the moving staircase and allowed him to be carried to the headmaster's office. Slowly, Tom began to catch glimpses of the office – portraits of sleeping witches and wizards came into view.
Still carrying his books, Tom approached Armando Dippet who sat dejectedly at his desk. "You may want to sit down, Tom."
He swallowed hard, but Tom declined the offer with a shake of his head.
Headmaster Dippet sighed, and his shoulders slumped slightly before he continued, "Very well. I've received a bit of bad news from the Muggle world… A woman with whom you're acquainted with has fallen gravely ill. She wishes to see you – "
"One last time," Tom finished as his books tumbled from his hands to scatter across the floor. Forcing his knees to buckle, Tom asked, "Is Gwendolyn ill?"
"I'm afraid so, Tom. Your head of house, Professor Bane, and I conferred and decided it was for the best that you visit her. You're to be excused from classes for one week. The Hogwarts Express will leave Hogsmeade at precisely 11:30 tomorrow morning and, if you wish, you may take the opportunity to go to London." The headmaster paused thoughtfully before continuing, "Will you be all right, Tom?"
Having suppressed a laugh, Tom marveled at Dippet's naivety. Nevertheless, Tom feigned the sanity he knew the headmaster expected of him, "Sure… sure, I'll be fine."
In a shocked daze, Tom gathered his books and trudged toward the Great Hall, trying to assure himself that he was dreaming. He tried to convince his mind that when he awoke, he'd be in the library surrounded by his research.
"Ouch!" Tom roared upon having his toes nearly crushed by a burly fourth year that had crossed Tom's path.
"You prat!" The boy exclaimed as he stumbled to keep his balance. "Watch where you're going!"
A sensation of lightheadedness overwhelmed Tom, and he scurried to the Great Hall where Letifer was waiting for him. Upon reaching the Slytherin table, Tom collapsed onto the hard wooden bench, and allowed his books to fall heavily beside him.
Letifer, not cognizing Tom's state of languish, asked, "Ready to go to the Quidditch match?"
Incredulously, Tom stared, unblinking, with raised eyebrows at Letifer. "No. I think I'm going to sit this one out."
Shrugging, Letifer said, "Suit yourself," and joined Max to walk through the ornate doors leading to the vast lawn stretching before the castle.
After sitting, broken, in the rapidly emptying Great Hall for ten minutes, Tom finally heaved himself from where he sat and began the walk to the Slytherin dungeons so he could pack for his journey to visit the woman around whom his very life revolved. Gwendolyn was the pillar around which Tom built his life. Tom was nobody – an orphan with not a penny to his name – yet she cared for him. Gwendolyn was the only person who remained constant and steadfast in his life; she was the only person who felt compassion for and bestowed love on Tom. And now she, too, would be snatched from his life. The delicate bond encompassing Tom's heart was quickly cracking and dissipating, and Tom feared he would be left with naught by an empty hole where his heart should be.
Having been nearly moved to tears of self-pity, Tom suddenly realized he was standing in his common room, despite the fact he had no recollection of uttering the password or descending the narrow staircase that led to the dungeons.
Finally beginning to recover from his shock, Tom started packing for his journey to London. After an hour, he believed himself to be finished, and was beginning to slip into a reverie, when he remembered his mother's riddle. Tom contemplated the paper's worth for a long while before he pocketed it, and resolved to ask Gwendolyn about it.
Suddenly, Tom felt himself succumb to exhaustion, and fell, listlessly, onto his bed, where he slept until ten o'clock the next morning.
"Wake up, there, Tom!" Came Letifer's drawling voice. "Dippet says you're leaving in an hour and a half."
"An hour and a half?" Tom called groggily. Did I really sleep that long? He asked himself. Comprehension suddenly dawned on him, and Tom began scrambling about as he prepared for his voyage.
With only moments to spare before its departure, Tom sat inside a compartment on the scarlet Hogwarts Express.
The angry clouds swirling in the sky hinted at the potential for a sudden thunderstorm, and wisps of fog clung to small valleys in the ground. Not a glimmer of the sky could be seen through the dense clouds, and, consequently, the world was engulfed in a dreary gray color.
Tom tried to concentrate on the library book he had been allowed to take with him to London, but to no avail. Absently, he traced the picture of a serpent on the reddened cover. Shamefully, Tom remembered that, over the course of the past few weeks, he had severely neglected Nagini. Nagini had had free reign over the school during Tom's absence, but, when he returned to the tumultuousness of the school, Tom had kept Nagini under close surveillance, and the snake had refused to acknowledge his existence by ignoring him and sneaking away from his dormitory whenever she saw the chance.
Sadly, Tom remembered the day Gwendolyn had given him Nagini. Having decided that he would, somehow, apologize to Nagini, Tom walked out of his compartment and sought to find the witch who usually brought a trolley of foodstuffs through the train. He returned a few minutes later thoughtfully devouring a Pumpkin Pasty.
In an explosion of orange flakes, the Pumpkin Pasty splintered across the floor.
"Nagini!" Tom heard himself hiss. "What are you doing here?"
Nagini's small face twisted as she smiled. "Just wanted to ssee where my favorite human wass going without me," she spat sarcastically.
Tom's shoulders slumped. "Nagini, you know I didn't mean to ignore you so – a lot has been happening in my life." Even as he uttered the apology, Tom sensed the ineffectuality of his words.
"That'ss no excusse."
"Gwendolyn's dying," Tom offered as his excuse.
Nagini paused. "She'ss dying?"
Unable to control it, Tom's eyes welled with tears, and he nodded.
"But… but what happened?"
Tom shrugged, and placed his head in his hands. For the first time since hearing the news, Tom felt the magnitude of the situation.
At this moment, Tom and Nagini became united through their sorrow. Through a silent agreement, they decided that no further apologies were needed.
After a few moments of wallowing in their sorrows, it was Nagini who broke the silence. "What'ss that you're reading?" she asked as she jabbed her tail in the direction of the book that lay forgotten on the seat next to Tom.
"It's a book about the Chamber of Secrets," Tom answered simply.
"Chamber of Ssecretss?" Nagini asked quizzically.
"Yeah. Supposedly, Salazar Slytherin – who was one of the founders of Hogwarts – created a covert chamber of which none of the other founders knew," Tom answered. He was surprised that talking with Nagini was proving beneficial – he no longer felt himself dwelling on Gwendolyn. "Somewhere in the school there is a chamber that holds a monster that could be controlled by Slytherin… and his heir."
Nagini, who had been swaying as the train jostled along the tracks, froze – every muscle in her body was taut. "Did you ssay… monster?"
"Well, that's what I read in different books… Do you know anything about it, Nagini?"
"I won't sspeak of it!" she whispered urgently. "There is only one beast Slytherin would imprison!"
"How do you know about Slytherin?"
"Are you daft? My caretaker before you was none other than Gwendolyn Merriwyther! I owe more than my life to that woman – she taught me more than you could ever imagine."
Tom pressed a bit more, "But what do you know about Slytherin?"
"I – as you should – know that Ssalazar Sslytherin is the most famouss Parsseltongue in the history of wizardry. How many creaturesss do you think he would keep in his chamber? There is but one – the king of sserpentss; nothing is feared by magical and mundane beastss alike. All things fear and flee its wrath."
"King of serpents…" Tom whispered to himself as his brow furrowed. With clarity, Tom remembered the dream he had had of what he was sure was the Chamber of Secrets. Curled on the floor, there had been an enormous snake…
Soon after his conversation with Nagini, a wizard Tom assumed to be the conductor on the train entered his compartment. Hastily, Tom ushered Nagini into the bag in which she had originally been a stowaway. He then smiled winningly at the man standing in the doorway.
"Hello, sir," Tom said respectively.
"Good afternoon, young master. I'm going from compartment to compartment to tell all passengers that we're experiencing a bit of technical difficulty – " he broke off as, at that very moment the train lunged ahead, and violently threw Tom's belongings to the floor. The conductor's calm demeanor instantly shattered, and Tom saw him grasp the doorframe for support. "We'll be stopping as soon as possible," he finished hastily. Tom rushed to the open door in time to see the man hurtling towards the engine at the front of the train. Not a minute following his run-in with the conductor, the train began to slow, and Tom quickly collected his things.
"Are you okay?" he softly asked Nagini.
Contemptuously, she looked up into his face from where she laid, bruised, in the bag. However, she refused to say anything.
Tom insolently snapped the bag closed and said, more to himself than Nagini, "That wasn't my fault!"
When the train finally stopped, Tom emerged from his compartment with his luggage, and looked at the scant number of other passengers on the train. He then absorbed his surroundings – a pathetically small train station sat in the midst of a grassy glen. Its clapboard walls were leaning to one side, and Tom was sure the entire establishment would collapse at any moment.
A worker on the train clad in pinstriped overalls soon made his appearance. Abashedly, he admitted, "Due ter a bit of a problem, the Hogwarts Express, we'll be needin' to find you all an alternate means of transportation."
As a whole, the small throng of former passengers glanced skeptically at the shanty of a train station.
Chuckling a bit, the conductor answered their unvoiced question, "Naw, you won't be takin' a train from that station. A wizard in this town is going ter be providin' us with a few portkeys to get you all ter yer destinations."
While many in the group nodded their heads gratefully, Tom felt a fear creep into his stomach. Not for the first time, Tom cursed his ignorance of the wizarding world.
"Pardon me," he began when he turned to an older woman with bushy white hair, "Could you tell me what a portkey is?"
She cackled a bit before answering, "You don't know what a portkey is? Are you a bit slow?"
Tom could feel his face warming when he shook his head.
"No? Hm. Well, a portkey is just a way to get from one destination to another. You know what a 'destination' is?"
"Yes, I know what a 'destination' is," Tom answered, glowering. Purposefully, he excused himself, and strode away from the woman he concluded to be a hag.
"Young master!" Tom heard. Instinctively, he turned, and saw the wizard that had spoken to him on the train walk towards him. "If you head towards the front of the train, you can be one of the first people to get a portkey to London."
"Thanks, sir," Tom replied. Having taken the man's advice, Tom began the long walk to the head of the train. After five minutes, he finally arrived where the sorry-looking train began, and approached a man who was standing by a small mound of junk.
"Excuse me, is this where I can take a portkey?"
"Aye," The wrinkled man answered. "You take this one – " he handed tom a cracked milk bottle " – it's to get goin' in about… oh, thirty seconds."
Tom's pulse quickened when he thought about what might happen. Suddenly, Tom felt himself be pulled violently away from the train yard. Unable to let go of the bottle, Tom could only concentrate on the sensation of his body wanting to separate from the world.
In the blink of an eye, however, everything stopped. Tom opened one eye, and could see that he sat sprawled on the floor in the midst of bustling Muggles. So, I've arrived in London, he thought to himself.
Tom grabbed his trunk (which had somehow managed to survive the trip via portkey) and began the long walk to The Benevolent Heart Orphanage. He trudged through the dirty, slushy snow that lined the cobbled streets for twelve blocks before the stone building came into view. He walked one final block, and finally reached the stoop that led to the large front doors. Not bothering to knock, Tom let himself into the cramped orphanage entry hall, and called, "Hello? Gwendolyn?"
Instead of being received by the merry woman, the coarse voice of Mr. McFarland echoed through the hallway, "Gwendolyn's not here. I let that pig of a woman go days ago. You'd better beat it before I call the authorities. Until summer, anytime you step foot on this property you will be trespassing!"
Almost in a state of shock, Tom quickly carried his belongings outside and stood, bewildered, on the icy steps. Just as snow began to fall, the door squeaked open once more. Tom, expecting another verbal assault, squeezed his eyes shut.
"Tom?" came the timid voice of a young girl.
He whirled around to see a girl named Rebecca peaking through the crack in the door. Her curly brown hair blew softly in the wind. Tom smiled at her.
"Are you looking for Gwendolyn?" she asked timidly.
Despairingly, he answered, "Yes, but now I have no idea where to look!"
"She – she had to go live in the streets," Rebecca whimpered. Like Tom, Rebecca had always been especially close to Gwendolyn.
"She was living in the streets!" Tom exclaimed. "But, it's freezing out here she – " he stopped suddenly. He ran to the door, gave Rebecca a quick hug, and sprinted down the street abandoning his trunk on the sidewalk.
Ignoring his gasping breath and the painful stitch in his side, Tom ran until he came to a large, crumbling building – the only hospital in London that would accept destitute patients. He burst through its doors, and ran to a woman he presumed to be a receptionist.
"I need to find my friend!" he said.
Calmly, the woman flipped open a book in which numerous names had been written. "What's your friend's name?"
"Eth – er – Gwendolyn Merriwyther."
Compassion filled the woman's eyes. "Gwendolyn? Come with me…"
Tom followed the woman who was walking briskly down the darkened hallways. She came to a room, and nodded sadly at Tom to go inside. What Tom saw when he pushed open the door nearly made him cry out in anguish.
The woman – his idol and the only mother he had known – lay on a bed in a hospital room crowded with at least twenty other occupants.
"Gwendolyn?" Tom breathed, unable to believe his eyes. Gwendolyn, who had always been a plump woman, had, evidently, lost quite a bit of weight quickly. Her skin hung about her frame giving her the look of an old, wrinkled woman. Also, her usually rosy completion had turned the pallid color of one who has spent years of her life as an invalid.
Languidly, Gwendolyn tried to greet Tom, "Hello… dear…" She said, gasping for breath. A nurse bustled into the room and pressed a button. Instantly, Gwendolyn's breathing became easier. She smiled weakly at Tom and said, "I'm glad you could come, Tom."
"What happened to you?" was all that Tom could think to ask.
"Oh, well… Mr. McFarland – somehow – found out what I am. After disparaging and degrading me for an hour, he decided he could bear to work with the likes of me," she smiled sadly at the though. The effort of speaking caused her to begin coughing. The coughs wracked her frame, and Tom had to turn his head to hide the pain on his face. "I'd been living below a bridge for about a fortnight before I became ill," she finished weakly.
"You were living on the street for two weeks, in this weather?" Tom asked incredulously. "Why didn't you owl me? I would have helped you, Gwendolyn!"
"Don't you fret over me, Tom. You couldn't have done anything, and you know it," she replied, her voice raspy.
Tom knew Gwendolyn was in no way blaming him, but he couldn't help feel guilty.
Gwendolyn grasped his hand.
"You're freezing, Gwen!" Tom said. "Let me get you some more blankets – "
"Tom, you have to listen to me – " she paused to allow a fit of coughs pass. "I haven't much time left on this Earth. I know what you're doing – your mother pursued the dream as well – but you mustn't let it rule your life, Tom! The Chamber is dangerous, more so than you could ever know. You must promise me that you will forget about the Chamber. In my youth I was… well, I was a friend of your mother. But in maturity, I know what we did was foolish. If you continue with your work, you're going to undo what witches and wizards have worked so hard to establish… Promise me, Tom!" She ended her speech shrilly. However, having used her energy, she collapsed on the bed, and her breathing became shallow and labored.
Tom escaped her grip, and backed into a wall. He edged along the wall, and dashed through the door to get a doctor, "Help!" He screamed. "Help! My friend needs help – she's dying!" When this proclamation didn't create the frenzy of help he had anticipated, he forcibly grabbed the arm of a man in a white lab coat who was reading a file as he walked down the hall. Tom dragged the man into Gwendolyn's room, and he instantly became focused. He took Gwendolyn's pulse and checked various machines. Gwendolyn stirred a bit then sagged against the wall her bed was pushed against. For the first time during his reunion with Gwendolyn, her countenance assumed a tranquil look, and she no longer struggled to breath. However, the doctor instantly slipped as he took his shaking hand away from the machine he was studying.
The doctor hung his head, and his voice broke as he announced, "She's gone."
Tom's first instinct was to deny the doctor's accusation. Tom opened his mouth to unleash a string of insults to the doctor for lying to him. "What happened to her?" Tom demanded of him instead.
The doctor, not accustomed to Tom's imprudence, answered reluctantly, "I'm not her doctor. I'll inform Doctor O'Connell of his patient's… demise. He will hold counsel with you shortly.
Tom waited in the large room, unable to tear his eyes away from Gwendolyn, yet painfully aware of the other patients that watched him expectantly. The minutes passed until Tom had been waiting for half an hour. Finally, a young-looking doctor with red hair approached Tom.
"What happened to her?" Tom asked, not for the first time.
"The old woman's been living on the street, and it's the middle of February – what did you expect? It's no picnic out there," the doctor answered harshly.
"But she can't be dead," Tom retorted as the tried to force the doctor to use common sense. "Check again!"
"Listen, kid, this woman came to this hospital with hypothermia and pneumonia. It's even a miracle she survived this long."
Fighting the urge to go on a rampage and destroy every pathetic thing owned by the hospital, Tom ran through the corridors, through the lobby, and outside where the snow was falling heavily, obscuring the world. Tom ran and ran until he stood before the orphanage. The orphanage had never looked more like a prison than it did now. Storming up the stairs and into the warmth of the orphanage, Tom confronted Mr. McFarland.
"You killed her!" He screamed.
"What are you talking about, you filthy urchin?" He replied.
"Gwendolyn is dead because you sent her to die on the streets!"
"It's nothing more than she deserved, lying to me all these years."
Following McFarland's last statement, Tom was no longer able to control himself. The anger bubbling inside him was so intense that Tom was literally seeing read. Without warning, Mr. McFarland doubled over, and howled with pain.
Fearing what was to come, Tom spotted his trunk, and dragged it through the crowd of orphans that had gathered – and was now parting in trepidation of Tom.
"Somebody – call – the police!" Mr. McFarland bellowed in between whimpers of pain.
Whether someone did call the police, Tom didn't know. He bewitched his trunk, and ran as fast as he could through London streets – paying no heed to the suspicious looks he received.
To be continued…
A/N: I hope my little attempt to make a riddle in the form of poetry wasn't too atrocious. But I felt this would be a better way to guide Tom along than to merely have had his mother make a list of clues to entering the Chamber… Also, I hope this story kept your attention – when I first started writing this chapter I had quasi-writer's block. It sort of went away, towards the second half of the story (I wonder if it's obvious…). Anywho, I hope you enjoyed this chapter (and aren't to mad at me for killing Gwendolyn – it was heart wrenching for me to do – my own OC – but, unfortunately, it serves a purpose).
'Thank You' To:
WhetherRose: What would a 'thank you' be without you at the top of the list? You (and T.H and Hollie, of course!) make writing worthwhile. Reading your encouraging, helpful reviews has helped me tremendously! Without you, I probably wouldn't have started editing my stories *before* I post them, and I wouldn't have smiled nearly so often! I can't wait to see that you've updated A Life Passed By – I'm checking your page daily *sigh* but, as of yet, to no avail. Oh well, I know it will be worth the wait! Thanks again!
Hollie: Welcome to The Tale of Tom Riddle! I'm glad you like it – I'm quite proud of this story. I loved reading your review – it was so amusing. I liked that you referred to Voldemort as a "homicidal maniac." To answer you question (as I don't think it will particularly detract from the overall story), Letifer is Draco's grandfather and Lucius' father. Did you ever wonder *how* Lucius knew about the Chamber of Secrets being opened? Anywho, whenever you get to this chapter, thanks bunches!
T.H: Thank you so much for your reviews (on *both* stories)! I love having you as a consistent reviewer – I know lots of people aren't nearly as fortunate as me to have such wonderful reviewers frequent my stories! Thanks again! Oh, one more thing, I hope you noticed I *finally* reviewed all the chapters to the Master's Mirror… And now I'm waiting anxiously for the newest chapter… And it's not fun! I hope you can post it soon – I'm not pleasant when I get impatient (just kidding *sigh* I will wait quietly just like everyone else…)
Serina: Ah, my fellow Tom-fic writer! I want to tell you that I *haven't* abandoned your story – I was reading T.H's story (because *I* was holding up the newest chapter! Eek!), and I plan to finish reading yours very, very soon. Anyway, thanks for the reviews!
Bonita Knows All: *Moves guiltily*. Erm, did I ever leave a reply for your second chapter? I don't think I did… But I *did* read it, and it was much better than your first chapter. I'm glad you didn't abandon your story! Thanks for the reply, Erin – erm – Bonita!
Babyphatcat13 and Mard: Thanks again for the replies. And (to babyphatcat13) thanks for the replies on the TF site!
Also, thanks to: Kitty Nicoe, HarryPotterMagic32, S. Nicolai, my dad, Melissa, Sara Minks, and Azalias Malfoy for leaving reviews!