The Girl Who Loved Tom Riddle

by Heroine of the Valley

CONCLUDED!! And I fixed the lil problem with 10 and 11.

9. Fear and Anger

The Girl Who Loved Tom Riddle 9

Anger and Fear

{AN: Yes, I know, I decided to put Marcus in as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.  I was so used to using him in my other fanfics.}

Tom waited until he got his next letter for Hogwarts telling him what he'd need for his third year at Hogwarts.  Because he was taking extra classes, he was going to have to buy extra books and equipment.  But he was saddened when Sarah got no letter.

"Why can't I go to Hogwarts, Tom?" she asked.  "I want to go too."

"Perhaps you will next year," he said.  "You've got to be eleven."

"I turn eleven in November," she mumbled.  "Can't I still come?"

"You'd have to be a freak like Tom, Sarah," Patrick muttered.  "You sure you want to go to that school?"

"Yeah, what's so great about some wizard school anyway?" Ned demanded as they went to the stairs. 

"You take that back about my school!" Tom jumped up.  "At least I'm smart enough to learn things, you blockheads!"

"Oh, what are you going to do to us, poke us with your little stick?" Ned demanded, laughing.

If Tom had his wand on him now except for locked up in his trunk, he would've hexed Ned immediately.  But he didn't' have to.  Just as Ned lifted his foot to step onto the landing, next step, it disappeared.  Ned lost his balance and fell down the stairs. 

"Ned!" screamed Patrick from the top of the stairs, hurrying down to him.  Tom gasped and stared.

"Tom, you killed him! You killed him!"

"It was an accident," Tom said, walking to Ned's prone body.  "I didn't mean to…"

"You killed him!"

"You know what happens when you make Tom mad, Ned!" Sarah snapped. "He can't help it. He only meant to scare Ned, not kill him…but I don't' think he's dead."

"Not dead? Look at his neck! It's broken!"

Indeed, his neck did look broken and he was lying in a very uncomfortable position. 

"It was an accident," tom mumbled, shaking as he leaned against the wall.  "I didn't mean for it to happen.  Ned, I'm sorry…Patrick—you guys were my friends. I'd never mean to kill you. "

 Everyone walked down to see what had happened.  Miss Smith screamed and some of the girls turned away.

"What—what happened here?" Miss Smith demanded. "Explain yourselves!"

"It was Tom." Patrick said.  "He—he used his magic on Ned.  Killed him!"

"I didn't mean to. I swear I didn't mean to!" Tom shouted.  "It was an accident…an accident."

"Sarah, did you see what happened?" Miss Smith asked.

"Ned said something about Tom's school," she replied. "It made Tom mad.  That's when Tom does things…he can't help it."

"Look at Ned's neck…" said a girl, squatting over him.

"Hey, look, he's breathing!" exclaimed Lisa. "He's not dead, see?"

"No way," said Patrick, "he broke his neck…I heard it snap."

Ned opened his eyes.  "W-what, what happened?"

"Ned, you fell down the stairs," said Sarah.  "When you said something about Tom's school."

"I swear, I didn't mean to hurt you, Ned," Tom said, who was shaking.  "I can get expelled for this…please…don't let the ministry know.  It was an accident."

Ned sat up and got to his feet. "I did what?  I don't even remember."

"We thought you were dead," said Sarah.  "It's a miracle."

Tom had no idea his anger caused one of the children to die, but his fear caused him to come back to life. Tom knew his anger would cause something else like that to happen so he did his best not to show his anger or fear, so inside him, he let it fester and stir.  Whenever Ned and Patrick said something rude about him or his ability, Tom forced himself not to get angry and just ignored it.  But in his dreams, he could not hide from it.  Tom did not know there was a dark side to him.  He had two personalities.  On the surface he was a smart thirteen year old but deep inside him, there was a monster feeding on his anger and fear, wanting to do bad things to people.  When Tom slept, this monster was awake, haunting his dreams. 

Tom was dreaming that he was running through a dark forest, trying to get away from something that was chasing him. He was too afraid to look behind him.  The voice was high and cold, hissing like a snake.  It kept laughing and calling him by name.

"Tom…Tom Riddle…where are you going?  You know you can't hide."

"Go away!" Tom shouted, jumping over a log.  "Leave me alone!"

"Why don't you turn and fight me then?" it demanded, laughing.  "You afraid? You are, aren't you? Afraid of what you can become?"

Tom tripped over something.  Snakes slithered on the ground, waving their tongues at him and hissing, speaking.

"Heir of Slytherin…"

"Just leave me alone!" Tom pleaded.  "Please!"

The cold laughing continued. It was all around him now. 

"Stop! Stop!"

"Why do you keep your anger inside, Tom?" it demanded.  "You have great potential, you know."

"I almost killed someone!" he gasped.

"The fool deserved it."

"I don't' want to be a killer!  I didn't want to kill Ned.  I just want him to leave me alone!"

"Oh, you took pleasure when he fell down those steps and heard his neck crack. Don't deny it."

"I didn't take any pleasure!" Tom shouted.  "I thought I seriously killed him!  But it was an accident!"

"Tom, Tom, Tom.  You wanted him to be dead.  You were mad that he got up and his neck was healed.  You wanted him dead."

"No. That's not true!"

"Really?" the voice laughed again.  "You will some day…the pleasure you take when killing muggles and mudbloods.  You shall see, Tom, the sort of power you can have.  You can be great; you know…you're already in Slytherin. You're the heir of Slytherin.  You are a Parselmouth. You are a brilliant student. You will be taking extra classes this year.  You are half way there, Tom. But you must do more.  Find the chamber of secrets, let the beast out and kill all the mudbloods infesting Hogwarts!"

"No! That would be wrong.  I just want to go to Hogwarts and become head boy and get a job at the ministry—that's all!"

"That is not enough for the Heir of Slytherin!" the voice shouted, now taking a dark shape in front of him.  "You will become the greatest wizard in the world! You shall rule the world!  The world will be in your hands. You have the potential, the power!"

"Rule the world, are you crazy?" Tom cried.  "That's wrong!"

"Tom, you cannot deny your true identity," the voice said.  "Why bear the name of the muggle father who left you?"

"My mother named me."

"She was dying.  She didn't know what she was doing."

"I don't want to kill anyone. I don't.  I can't find the chamber of Secrets.  I even looked…"

"Yes, you wanted to let out the creature, didn't' you?" it asked excitedly.  "You wanted to purge Hogwarts of those unworthy to study magic."

"I was just curious," he said, "I wanted to know if it was real or not…but it's probably just a legend."

"Legend! It is true! Deep in the school there is a creature waiting for you to set it free!  You can control it. What are you waiting for? An invitation? You already have one!"

"Who are you? Why are you telling me this?" Tom demanded.  "Why don't you leave me alone?"

"I'm you."  The figure was wearing a black cloak.  There were deep read eyes shining in the hood.

"No…I don't believe it!"

"I'm what you can become."

"I don't want to become you—you're a monster!"

"You have the potential…why don't you go for it.  Are you scared?"

"Yes…I guess I am!" Tom shouted.

"You will become the best wizard of the world," the figure circled around him.  "All you have to do is allow me to use your body…so you are weak and scared…not to worry…I'll be there to give you the strength you need."

"I'm not going to do it!"

"You have no choice," the figure growled. 'You cannot change who you are.  You are the Heir of Slytherin.  You are destined to kill all the mudbloods and muggles in the world.  Then you will be the greatest man."

"I see nothing great about that!"

"You will, Tom.  Soon you will see how great it feels when you kill someone. The power…oh the power Tom…"

"Leave me!" he sat down on the ground and put his hands on his ears, closing his eyes. "Leave me!"

"I will stay in your subconscious mind forever, Tom," the monster stepped behind him and grasped his shoulders and leaned close to him, his cold voice making him shiver.  "You cannot get rid of me.  Because I exist in you…I am you."

"NO!"

Tom sat up and threw the covers off him.  He was in a cold sweat.  He never had a dream like that before.  He suffered from nightmares but not like this.  This was worse about dreaming the time his mother died.  Tom got up.  He felt sick.  He ran to the bathroom to throw up.  He flushed the toilet, leaned back, covered his ears and squatted down on the floor.  His leg was shaking.  Tom could still hear the voice laughing in his head. 

Tom pulled himself up and looked in the mirror. He looked horrible and pale. He rinsed his mouth out and splashed cold water on his face.

"Just a dream, Tom," he said to himself. "Just a dream…just a dream."

"Tom, what's the matter?" Sarah asked, stepping to the door. 

Tom flinched in surprise. "Sarah—did I wake you?"

"I had to use the bathroom as all," she said. "Drank too much water last night."

"I'm done now," Tom said.  "You can use it."

"You don't look so good, Tom," Sarah said, walking closer.  "Are you all right? Are you sick? Do you want me to get the nurse?"

"I'm fine," Tom said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."  He lied. 

Sarah stood, looking unconvinced.  She noticed Tom's leg shaking.  He was running his hands through his hair nervously. 

"Tom…you're shaking.  You look awful.  Was it a nightmare?"

"I told you I'm fine!" he barked, his handsome yet sickly face twisting in rage.  "Let it alone!"

Sarah gasped and stepped back in surprise. "Tom—I—I'm sorry…"

Tom frowned.  He never, ever yelled at Sarah before. "Sarah, I didn't mean that. I'm sorry. I know you meant well.  I will go back to bed now."

"All right then, good night, Tom."

Tom shuffled down the hall to the boy's quarters; Sarah looked back at him and went to use the bathroom. She smelt the faint smell of vomit in the air.  Tom was lying.  He wasn't all right at all.

--

Tom's nightmares did not seem to stop. Every night it was the same. He was running from the laughing monster, insisting he should give into his anger and telling him to live up to his Slytherin potential.  Sarah noticed Tom was not doing well but she kept her mouth shut and did not ask him how he was.

He bought all of his new books but he was running out of money.  While fishing for more galleons, Alaric dropped the money Tom needed on the shelf in Flourish and Blotts.

"Alaric…thanks."   Tom muttered.  "But you didn't…"

"Here," Alaric took a nervous glance behind him and stuffed a bunch of coins in his hand.  "You should get new robes too.  Those are getting small. Grown a bit, haven't you?"

"Yeah," Tom mumbled.

"I'm going to join the Quidditch team this year," Alaric whispered. "I ought to go look at the Quidditch supply store before my father comes looking for me.  I'll see you on the train, he can't bother us there."

"Yeah, see you and thanks, Alaric."

Alaric smiled and stepped out of the bookstore.  Tom sold his old robes to the second hand robe store then went to get a new set of longer robes to go with his height.  Tom was now 5'9" and he was still growing.  When he started at Hogwarts, he was 5'6".  When he stepped out in his new, better-fitted robes, he waked by the Quidditch Supply store. Alaric and his parents were not there, so it was safe for him to enter.  He wasn't a real Quidditch fan, and not the best flier, but what would it hurt in looking at the supplies?

Tom walked in, skimmed through the titles of books, tried on Quidditch gloves and looked at the latest racing brooms.  Alaric was going to be in the Quidditch team next year.  Tom thought he should give it a try. So what if he was going to be taking four new classes?  He wanted to spend more time with Alaric.  Tom could be the new Seeker. All he needed was a safe broom.

"Can I help you son?" said the manager.

"I, uh, yes…I'm thinking of starting Quidditch next year and I need a broom," Tom said.  "What is your safest broom?"

"That would be the Oakshaft 79," the manager responded, leading Tom to the brooms and picking up a broom with a thick handle. "Best for endurance flying and withstanding high winds.  Not the greatest for Quidditch, however."

"That's all right," Tom said. "I just don't want to fall off."

"What position are you trying out for anyway?" the manager asked.

"Seeker," Tom answered.

"Seeker?" he gasped.  "And you want to use an Oakshaft?  No, no, boy, you should try a swifter broom. Why not the Comet 140? Or a Cleansweep?"

"Oh, I've tried those," Tom said.  "I'm terrible on them."

"Well, you don't have the build for a Seeker," said the manager, looking over Tom's thin and tall frame.  "I'd say…you'd make a good Keeper, or a Chaser."

"But our team Seeker graduated last year," Tom replied.  "I want to fill the position."

"You sure you don't want to look at anything else?"

Tom glanced at the price of the other brooms and at the Oakshaft 79.  He had just enough money for it.

"I'm sure."

"Very well…good luck, I suppose."

--

Tom told Alaric his intention to play Seeker for the Slytherin team when he got on the train.

"Seeker?" Alaric asked. "But you're horrible at flying! You've got to be very fast to play that poison!"

"Yes, but I got a good broom," Tom said.

"Really? What is it?"

"An Oakshaft 79," Tom replied. 

"An Oakshaft 79?  Are you crazy, Tom?" Alaric demanded. "You can't play Seeker on a broom like that.  You need a fast broom.  Oaksthaft 79's are good if you're flying across countries but not for Quidditch!"

"Well, I'll try it out," Tom said.

"You sure you want to be Seeker?" he asked.  "Because, I wanted the Seeker position. I've been practicing at our private Quidditch field all summer.  I got a new broom and everything."

"I just want to be on the team," Tom said.

"Well, good luck then," said Alaric, "but aren't you going to be taking extra classes this term?"

"Yeah, so? All the third years are."

--

They arrived for the sorting and instead of watching it; Tom was reading his Divination book.

"Tom, you're missing it," Alaric said, nudging him.  "Hey, divination, I'm taking that one too!"

"Rubeus, Hagrid," said Dumbledore and the biggest boy, built like Crabbe and Goyle, only bigger, walked to the stool and sat down.  He had beetle black eyes, black hair and a big grin on his face.

"He's going to break it," said Alaric. 

Dumbledore put the hat on his head and instead of falling over his eyes like it did to all the other first years; it fit just fine on his large head.

"Ah, interesting," said the Sorting Hat, "you are a very strong person.  Very caring and kind."

"Oh, shucks," Rubeus' large cheeks went pink.

"Slytherin is definitely not the place for you, though you may look quite threatening. I'm sorry to say you're not smart enough for Ravenclaw.  I see that you are very loyal and Hufflepuff may soot you well.  But you are very brave.  Plenty of courage.  You're not afraid of dangerous animals. You think of them as pets.  Now…where to put you, let's see now…Ah, perfect, I know…"

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat.

Rubeus gasped in surprise and the front stool leg broke.  He scrambled back to his feet.

"Sorry 'bout that," he muttered, "I'm…big fer me age."

"Not to worry," Dumbledore said with a wink. "I can fix it."  He pointed his wand to the broken leg and mended it and called the next student to be sorted.  Rubeus went to the Gryffindor table and got a warm welcome. 

"Anyone of yeh see a dragon?" Rubeus asked the person sitting next to him.

Tom got his schedule the day of lessons and Alaric looked at it.  "Whoa, wait a second, Tom.  You have two classes at the same time!  How are you supposed to do that?"

"Don't worry, Alaric," Tom insisted.  "I have it worked out with Professor LeStrange."

"What did he do?" Alaric inquired, "Clone you?"

"I guess you can say that."

"Tell me."

"I can't, Alaric.  I'm not supposed to tell anyone.  Well, it's time for me to get to divination."

"But how—you have Arithmancy at the same time!"

"I'll talk to you later, Alaric," Tom said.  "See you in potions."

"But—Tom—hey—wait a second!"  Alaric did not know that Tom was using a Time Turner so he could take these extra classes.  Tom really liked using the Time Turner too.  His homework was tripled but he didn't care.  He wanted to be the best he could be.  By time Quidditch practices started, Tom almost forgot about meeting with the captain so he could try out for the new seeker.

"Oh, Quidditch practice, I forgot!" he exclaimed, slamming his book.

"Shh! Be quiet, Mr. Riddle!"  The librarian hissed.

"Sorry," he mumbled, grabbing his stuff and putting in his bag.  He rushed out of the library, tossed his bag into his trunk and took out his Oakshaft 79. He made it just in time to the Quidditch field where the Slytherins were starting practice.

"There you are, Tom," said Alaric.  "Where've you been?"

"The—library," he gasped, leaning forward to catch his breath.

"You really shouldn't be taking all those new classes," Alaric insisted. "You just needed to take two, not four."

"All right, Riddle," said the Captain, "Malfoy here says you're going to try out to be the Seeker. Is that true?"

"Yeah," Tom replied.

"Well, let's see what kind of broom you've got then."

Tom held out his Oakshaft 79.  The Captain snorted.  "An Oakshaft 79!  Riddle, how do you expect to catch the Snitch with this stupid broom?"

"The Oakshaft is not a bad broom, Hudson," Alaric piped up.  "Jocunda Sykes flew over the Atlantic Ocean on an Oakshaft 79.  You can't do that with most brooms."

"Well, Malfoy, Riddle's not going to fly over water, is he?" Hudson demanded. "Are you even good on a broom, Riddle?"

"He fell off a broom at the first flying lesson" snickered Flint.

"Shut up!" Alaric exclaimed.  "Why don't' you just see how he flies before you judge him?"

"Fine, let's see what you can do, Riddle," said Hudson.

Tom mounted his broom, kicked off the ground and took air.  Unlike the brooms he tried at Alaric's mansion, this one seemed to suit him.  He could control it better.  Of course, it wasn't fast broom and he wouldn't be able to catch the Snitch on this, but he wouldn't fall and break his neck.

"Riddle, I think a flying snail just passed you!" Hudson cried.

"Hudson, listen," said Alaric.  "Let him play at the first game.  If he doesn't' catch the Snitch, I'll take his place as Seeker."

"Why don't you just become the new Seeker now, Malfoy?"

"Give him a chance, all right?" Alaric inquired. "I'll pay you ten Galleons."

"Ten?  How about fifty?"

"Thirty."

"Done.  All right, Malfoy.  He'll be our new Seeker—but he had better catch that Snitch or he's off the team, understand?"

"I get it, Hudson."

"Okay, Riddle, you're on the team!" Hudson exclaimed. 

"I am?" Tom landed on the ground.

"Yes.  But if you don't catch the Snitch at our first game, you're out!"

"All right," Tom nodded. "Who are we playing anyway?  Hufflepuff?"

"I wish," he muttered. "We're playing Gryffindor."

Tom hunched as if he was kicked in the stomach. "Gryffindor? What?"

"Yeah.  They're a good team too," he said.  "You've seen them."

"But—their Seeker—is Jacob Potter!" he exclaimed.  "He's so fast!"

"You can back out now if you don't' think you can do it," Hudson shrugged.  "I seriously don't think you can."

"No—no I'll do it.  Anything Potter can do, I can do better!"

"Let's see you prove that at the game, Riddle," Hudson challenged. "You're a good student with the books, Riddle, but flying is not the same."

--

Hudson was right about the difference between the books and flying.  It was hard, nearly difficult for Tom to balance them out.  He was juggling ten different subjects and if he had decided to do Muggle Studies it would be eleven.  On top of that, he had Quidditch Practice and he was in the Dueling Club.  It tired him out and everyone could tell.  But Tom didn't give up. He still pushed himself so he could get the grades, no matter how hard he had to study, no matter how long he had to be in the library. But he wanted to be a Dueling Champion too.  He was pretty good at dueling.  He knew a lot of charms and hexes.  He was a horrible flier however.  Why wasn't he good there?  It wasn't fair. He wanted to be the best in everything, no matter what it took.

He was a nervous wreck by the time the first Quidditch match.  He knew he wasn't going to catch the snitch.  It was so fast and small.  He didn't have very good eye and hand coordination. 

The day of the match came too fast and he was too nervous to eat.

"Eat, Tom, come on," Alaric urged. "Have a bit of toast. You'll need your strength.  How about some waffles? They're good."

"I can't eat," Tom mumbled, playing with his food.  "I'm too nervous."

"Don't worry, Tom," Olive said. "I know you'll do well."

"We have to suit up in a couple of minutes," Alaric noted, looking at his watch. "You ought to have something."

Tom shook his head.  "I'm afraid I won't be able to keep it down."

"Eww," mumbled Olive, pulling his plate away from him.  "Well, let me get that away."

"Thanks," said Tom.  He watched Jacob at the Gryffindor table, happily eating and joking with his buddies.

"You're going to win, Jacob," said his good friend Billius Weasley, "I know you are!"

"Remember how you caught the Snitch last year?" inquired the Gryffindor Team Captain.  "That was brilliant."

"I guess I'm a natural flier," Jacob shrugged with a grin.

"Riddle won't stand a chance!" exclaimed one of the Beaters.  "Not with that Oakshaft 79. It's nothing compared to your Cleansweep One!"

"Yeah, thank the Ollerton Brothers," Jacob nodded.  "Greatest broom makers of the centaury, wouldn't you say?"

"Oh, don't mind them," Olive muttered, noticing Tom looking at Jacob.  "So what if he's got a better broom?"

"He's a better flier than I am, Olive," Tom groaned.

"Riddle, Malfoy," said Hudson, "let's get to the locker rooms."

"This will be the day that I die," Tom mumbled, getting up.

"Hold on a minute, Tom," said Olive, taking hold of his collar.  "I want to wish you good luck."

"Why, thanks, Olive," Tom smiled. "I'm really going to need it."

Olive planted her hands on Tom's cheeks and gave him a kiss square on the mouth.  The Slytherin table howled and whistled.

"Good luck," she sighed.

"T-th-thanks," Tom stuttered, breathless.

"Hey—I think I need one too," Alaric said, stepping to Olive, puckering his lips.
"In your dreams, Malfoy," she muttered.

"Oh, fine, be that way," he said, pulling a still dazed and breathless Tom out of the Great Hall and down to the locker rooms.   Alaric was going to play Chaser.  It was the second position he wanted if he couldn't' be Seeker and he wanted to be on the field with Tom incase something happened. 

Hudson gave the Slytherins his speech and Tom got nervous again.

"You won't catch the Snitch if you're nervous," said Alaric as he put on his Quidditch robes and picked up his broom. It the latest and fastest model, a brand new and polished Tinderblast.  It was a very fast broom, but he should have kept his Comet 140 for a Tinderblast could not out fly a Comet 140.  His father only bought it because it was the latest model, they had the money and his father wanted him to win.  They may have been a very wealthy family, but they didn't have a lot of sense.

"Aren't you nervous?" Tom inquired.

"Just a bit," he answered.  "My father will be watching the game."

"What?" Tom gasped.  "He's here? Your father—Alaric—he wanted you to be the Seeker!"  Now Tom was even more nervous than before.

"Let's go," said Hudson and he led his team out onto the field.  The Slytherin crowd cheered as they walked on and Olive Hornby was shouting and waving for Tom.

Tom grinned and waved back.  "Well, at least I got a kiss before I die."

"You're not going to die, Tom," said Alaric.

The Quidditch referee walked onto the field, holding the Quaffle in his arm.  "All right everyone, on your brooms.  Now," he looked at the Slytherins, "remember this is a game, not a bloodbath."

He tossed the Quaffle in the air and Alaric flew for it.  Tom took air and looked for the Snitch. 

"Good luck, Riddle," said Jacob, nodding pleasantly. "May the best Seeker catch the Snitch."

"Shut up, Potter," Tom sneered.

"What's your problem?" Jacob demanded.  "I was only being a good sportsman. Just because I might be a better Seeker than you does not mean I don't know how to play fair."

"I'm not going to let you beat me, Potter," Tom muttered.  "Anything you can do, I can do better."

"You think you can catch the Snitch with your flying ability?" He questioned, "On that broom?  Riddle, I know you're taking four new classes this year. You only need to take two.  You're in the Dueling Club and now you're playing Seeker for your team.  You'll die before you graduate if you keep this up, you know.  You can't be perfect in everything."

"Potter," Tom said sternly, "Shut up and mind your own business."

"Fine," Jacob narrowed his eyes, "get your head smashed in with a Bludger.  See if I care." 

"I'm not going to get hit by a Bludger," Tom said.  "I'm riding a safety broom…"

"Sure," said Jacob.  "All right, Riddle, I'll make a deal with you.  I'll give you a head start to try and catch the Snitch and we'll see how much a Seeker you are."

"I don't need you to do that, Potter."

"Hey, it's just fair."

"So, are you a Hufflepuff now?" Tom demanded.  "You feel sorry for me because my broom is not as fast as yours…or I'm a bad flier?"

"No, it jus won't seem like a real victory to me if you play at your greatest potential," Jacob looked away.  "I'm not going to let you win out of sympathy, Riddle.  Quidditch is more fun when you're playing against a team that's as good as you are.  I know you're not a good flier, so I'm willing to even the odds a bit.  I'll let you chase the Snitch for five seconds. Skill against skill."

"You're bluffing."

"I'm serious, Riddle," Jacob said. "And if you don't believe me, there's the Snitch right now by the goal post.  I'm giving you five minutes to fly toward it."

Tom looked at the direction Jacob was pointing too and there was the Snitch. "The Snitch!" he cried out and flew toward it.  Jacob waited five seconds for him to fly toward it and Jacob took off behind him.

Tom flew to the Snitch but it went around him and changed direction. Tom had to slow down before he could chase it.  Jacob turned easily and kept his arm out as he closed in on the Snitch.

"Oh no don't, Potter!" Tom cried, careening in the air.  "I wont' let you beat me!"

Nevertheless, as he got so close, a Bludger came flying at hit Tom in the head just as Jacob caught the Snitch.

"Jacob Potter caught the Snitch!" exclaimed the Gryffindor announcer. "Tom Riddle has had it…took a Bludger to the head.  Oh that's got to hurt."

Jacob turned, holding the Snitch tightly in his hand and flew down to Tom.  "Hey, Riddle, are you all right?"

"You cheated," muttered Alaric.

"Cheated?" Jacob demanded. "I gave him a head start catch the Snitch!  He's just not a good Seeker. You know he'd get hurt if you let him play. Why the heck did you let him play?"

"Great work, Potter," said the Gryffindor Captain.  "Wonderful catch."

"Thanks," said Jacob.  "Is Tom going to be all right?"

"What do you think?" Alaric inquired. "The Bludger hit him in the head!"

"He's just knocked out," said Hudson.  "He'll live."

"You shouldn't talk so carelessly about your players, Hudson," said Jacob.  "He could've gotten killed."

"Oh please, it's not that brutal, Potter."

"Tom! Tom!" Olive shrieked, running over to him. "Oh, he's bleeding!"

Professor Dippet conjured a stretcher and the referee lifted him onto it. "We'd better get him to the hospital wing.  It'd be best he doesn't have any visitors for a couple of days."

Alaric watched Tom be carried back to the school. Hudson tapped his shoulder. "Well, Malfoy, it's just like I told you.  He wouldn't' catch the Snitch, so that makes you our new Seeker."

"Alaric, what happened?" Darien Malfoy demanded.  "Why aren't you the Seeker?"

"He paid me thirty Galleons for Riddle to be the new Seeker, Mr. Malfoy," Hudson explained.  "I told him if he didn't get the Snitch, he's off the team."

"You did what, boy?" Darien reared on his only son.  "You spent more of you allowance on that half-blood friend of yours?"

"I was only trying to help him out," said Alaric.

"He is a horrible flier," he muttered. "I saw how he was controlling that broom."

"It was an Oakshaft 79," Alaric explained. "You cant' steer it when you're going so fast."

"Ah, an Oakshaft!" Darien gasped. "Well, that explains it.  Boy doesn't' know a descent broom when he sees one.  I gave you that new Tinderstaff so you could be the Seeker and you damn well use it! I'll give the whole team Tinderstaffs!"

"You will, Mr. Malfoy?" Hudson grinned, his eyes glinting.

"Yes, if that will get Alaric to be the new Seeker," he replied. 

"We were going to make him the new Seeker anyway," Hudson scratched his chin, "but I could use a new broom."

"It's done then," said Darien.  "I'll purchase six more polished Tinderstaffs tomorrow morning."

"Great—we got a new Seeker, now we just need a new Chaser," said Hudson.

"Just make sure you get a good one," Darien muttered.  He looked at Alaric.  "Do not embarrass me like that again, you understand?"

"Yes, Father," Alaric mumbled. 

"Now go to the showers."

Alaric, still holding his Tinderblast in hand, bent down to pick up Tom's Oakshaft 79 and went to the showers, hoping that his best friend was going to be all right.

--

 Tom was having the same nightmare, instead, of running away, however, he was flying on the Oakshaft 79.  Bats were flying around him and he was flying into skeleton trees.

"Think you could be a Quidditch player, did you?" said the voice.  "You are wasting your time, Tom. Stick with priorities.  You'll never find the Chamber of Secrets if you're playing Quidditch!"

A Bludger—only except it looked like a skull—came soaring to Tom and bit his shoulder. Tom whelp and kept flying away.

"You could fly faster if you were on a Cleansweep One, half-blood!"

"Leave me alone!" Tom shouted. "Just leave me alone!"

"You can't do Quidditch, half-blood.  Concentrate on the Dueling Club alone so you can practice torturing your enemies."

"I started the Dueling Club so I could protect myself," Tom said, dodging another skull shaped Bludger.  "I didn't get in it so I could hurt anybody."

"Oh, don't you lie.  Admit it.  You wanted to watch your enemies suffer in pain."

"No! That's not true!" Tom urged his broomstick on. "Go away! I don't' want to be a monster!"

"Monster?  What makes you think you're a monster?"

"You are a monster! You want me to become you. I'll never become you. Never!"

"But you will, Tom. You see, you need me. Why do you hide your anger? Why don't you use it?"

"I almost killed someone," Tom said. "I don't' want to kill anyone else."

"You wanted to kill Potter today, didn't you?" the voice demanded excitedly.  "He was making you angry.  He made you look like a fool, offering you a head start to get the Snitch."

"He was being fair," Tom explained. "And he was right. Quidditch is no fun when you're playing against someone that's worse than you.  It's more exciting when you're playing against someone with the same skill."

"Oh, you wanted to get back at him for it."

"I'm just not a good flier, I admit that now."  Tom said.  "I can't play Quidditch anymore. I let my team down. I just wanted to give it a go."

"Why don't you give me a go, half-blood?  Live up to your potential."

"No. No!" Tom shouted.  "I don't want to become a monster. I just want to be a very good wizard. The best I can be."

"But you can if you become me, half-blood.  People will fear you. They'll be too afraid to speak your name.  Don't think you can do it, half-blood?"

"Stop calling me half-blood!" Tom yelled, tears stinging his eyes. "My name is Tom. Got that?  It's Tom Marvolo Riddle!"

"Yes…you carry your father's name. Your muggle father's name, the father who left you."

"So what if he did?"

"Why don't you pay him back?"

"I don't know who he is," Tom said.  "And he was only scared. Maybe he'll come back for me after he gets over it."

"Kill him, Tom. He deserves it after leaving your mother."

"No! That would be wrong. Two wrongs do not make a right!"

"Who said anything about what's right?" the voice demanded evilly. "This is about what's good for you.  After all, half-blood, there is no good or evil.  Only power and those too weak to seek it."

"You're wrong!" Tom shouted.  "You are evil. Evil!  I don't' want to be evil!  I just want to be a great wizard but I don't have to be evil to get there!"

"You will succumb to me, half-blood!" shouted the evil voice.  "One way or another, you will become me. I will take you over and you will see the power you can have.  You cannot fight me forever!"

"Yes I can!" he kept flying. "I'm not going to become you. I don't' care how great you are."

"I'll wait as long as it takes, half-blood."

A giant skull appeared in front of Tom and it opened its mouth.  Tom tried to stop the broom before he collided. He tried to steer but he couldn't.

"You cannot run from it.  You cannot fly from it."

A snake slithered out of the skull's mouth like a tongue and hissed at Tom. The skull laughed and closed its mouth over Tom. Tom screamed and rolled around as the snake started to encircle him, squeezing him. Tom couldn't' breathe.

--

"Tom!"

"I can't breathe!"

"Wake up, Tom!"

"It's going to get me!"

"I can't breathe.  Cant' breathe. It's choking me."

"That's because your blanket's tangled around you, Tom, wake up!"

It was Alaric's voice and he was slapping him at the face.  Tom woke up finally, looking around the room.

"Big, big skull!" Tom said, pulling, his covers away that were tangled all around him.  "Had a snake for a tongue. It tried to eat me!"

"It was a dream," Alaric insisted.  "A very scary dream though."

"A monster was chasing me," Tom mumbled. Rubbing his head.  He was sweaty and the bandages around his head were wet.  "It seemed so real.  The same dream I had every night after I lost my temper at the orphanage and nearly killed one of the boys."

"You did what?" Alaric demanded, astounded. "Was it one who picked up you?"

"Yeah, Ned," he replied.  "He said something rude about Hogwarts and, well, you know what happens when something you get angry or scared and, your magic kind of takes over?"

"I know," Alaric nodded.  "Before I went to Hogwarts, I got so mad at one of the houseless that I made him fall out of the window he was cleaning." 

"What I did was worse," said Tom.  "I…almost killed him. The step disappeared. He fell down the stairs and he broke his neck. We thought for sure he was dead, but he just sat up like nothing happened.  I think I got so scared that I fixed his broken neck without knowing."

"Wait a second, you break the boy's neck and then you fix it?" Alaric asked. "Why? After everything he's put you through?"

"Ned is a big bully and I hate bullies," Tom replied.  "I hate what they did to me but I would never kill them for it.  I just wanted to scare him a bit so he would leave me alone.  I mean, the ministry could've sent me to Azkaban. I could've been expelled. This is the only place where I can be happy. So, what happened at the game? Did we win?"

"No, Potter caught the Snitch the same time the Bludger hit you in the head," Alaric replied.  "My father was not very pleased.  He's buying the team new Tinderblasts so I can be the new Team Seeker."

"I guess that's for the best," Tom said. "I don't want to play again anyway or I'll just get smacked in the head with another Bludger.  Where's my broom?"

"I put it in your trunk for you," he answered.

"I want you to burn it."

"Burn it?" Alaric questioned.  "Oakshafts might not be great for Quidditch but they're still useful—I mean, antiques!  Hold on to it for a while and you can sell it for about a hundred Galleons!"

"You do too much, Riddle," Alaric leaned back.  "Taking all these new classes, you're trying to be a Dueling Champion and you signed up for Team Seeker. Not to mention you're the Heir of Slytherin.  That's too much for one person to do. I'm surprised you held up this long. You're good Tom, really good.  But you can't everything.  You're a good wizard Tom, just not a good Quidditch player."

"I guess you're right," Tom mumbled. "I just wanted to give it a go.  I know I wasn't a match for Potter. He's a natural flier.  I wish I knew where he got it.  He's a halfblood too and his father couldn't have been on a broom.  Must've been his mother I guess."

"You can ask him that later," Alaric explained.  "I decided to bring you your homework for you."

"Homework?"

"Yeah. You've been out for a week, Tom." 

"A week?" He gasped. "Why didn't you wake me up before? I'm so behind!"  He attempted to get up but Alaric sat him back down.

"Tom, you'll strain yourself," Alaric said.  "Professor LeStrange didn't give you any homework, so you can catch up."

"No Potion homework?" Tom inquired. "How am I supposed to be a good position master if the teacher doesn't give enough homework?"

"You actually like putting smelly animal body parts in a cauldron?" Alaric demanded, looking sick.

"Potion making is a real art, Alaric."

"Oh, Tom!" Olive ran in holding a few get-well gifts.  She threw her arms around Tom and sobbed. "I was afraid that when you fell…you died…I was so worried!"

"Hey—I almost got hit by a Bludger too," Alaric said hopefully.

"Oh, get lost, Alaric!" Olive said, sniffing and combing back Tom's hair with her fingers.  "Tom, are you going to be all right? How do you feel? You want me to help feed you?"

"Who do you think you are?" Alaric demanded. "Florence Nightingale?"

Olive raised her eyes at him and kissed Tom on the forehead. "I was so worried about you. Does it still hurt?"

"Just a little," he winced.  "Can you straighten my pillow for me?"

"Of course, Tom," Olive said.  Alaric groaned and shook his head.  "I'm leaving your homework right here, Tom. Looks like you want some time alone with your girlfriend here."

"Okay, thanks," said Tom vaguely as Olive sat next to him and massaged his shoulders.  Having his neck and shoulders massaged by the prettiest girl in school was the only good thing about getting smacked in the head with a Bludger.

--

Tom continued to take his ten classes and the Dueling Club throughout the year and so did his nightmare of running from the dark cloaked figure. He never saw its face, just the red piercing eyes.  It never told Tom what is name was. Tom was kind of afraid to even ask.  He knew it would send chills down his spine.  The monster would never leave him alone during his sleep.  When Tom was studying, he was just fine. That was when the monster was sleeping, but when it was Tom's turn to sleep, the monster was awake and pestering Tom.  Tom didn't tell many people about this nightmare, just his closest friends. 

For a Defense Against Dark Arts lesson, Professor Dale, the teacher had the class banish a boggart.

"Can anyone tell me what a boggart is?" asked the professor.

"It's a shape shifter, Professor," he replied. "It takes the shape of someone's worse fear."

"Correct, ten points for Slytherin," said Professor Dale. "Now, I have here in the wardrobe behind me a boggart.

"You—you have it behind you, Professor?" he asked nervously.

"Yes, now I know you are all scared," Professor Dale explained, "but there is a way to banish it.  When I open the doors, hold out your wands.  The boggart will change into your worse fear and you will have a chance to stop it.  Mr. Riddle, will you come to the wardrobe so we can start?"

"Me? You want me to start?"

"Yes. Don't' be frightened.  Laughter will kill a boggart.  Now tell me, what is your worse fear?"

Tom thought hard. Why, everything from his nightmares of course. He was afraid of becoming a monster.  That creature that is chasing him, that cloaked figure.

"Well, Professor, I am having this reoccurring dream where this black cloaked figure is chasing me."

"A Lethifold?" Professor Dale inquired.

"No," he answered. "It has eyes.  Glowing red eyes. It can talk.  But I never see its face."

"Scary dream."

"But that's not it…I also dream of a giant skull eating me.  It has a snake for a tongue." He answered.  "I don't know which things from my dream is my real fear."

"Well, try to imagine something funny happening to either of them."

Something funny. That was difficult.  Tom looked around and pondered.  Perhaps if the monster took off his cloak and it ended up being a tap dancer that would be all right.  And the skull with the snake tongue.  Perhaps if the skull's bottom jaw fell open while it was trying to tell a joke.  Yes, that might work, but would Tom be brave enough to look at it?

"What's the incantation, Professor?" Tom inquired.

"Riddikulus," Dale replied. "Now, ready?"

"Yes, yes I'm ready, Professor."

Professor Dale opened the door and the black-cloaked figure stepped out, his red eyes glowing. Laughter was coming from underneath its hood. Tom tried to gather up all his courage to shout the incantation.

"R-R-R-R-Rid—Rid—"

The figure laughed and changed into the skull.  Its laughter became louder.  Tom closed his eyes.

"R-R—Rid—Ridik—Ridik—Riddikulus! Riddikulus!"

There was a crack and what Tom intended to do, didn't quite happen.  However, he did do something and the skull's two front teeth fell out. Tom sighed in relief and leaned against a desk, feeling light headed.  He felt as if he were about to pass out.

"Good, now Mr. Malfoy?" 

Alaric screamed and ducked behind Tom. "My father told me I'm not his real son!"
--

The divination professor seemed to know about Tom's dreams and so she presented the crystal ball to the class as the final.

"Your mother was an excellent seer, Tom Riddle," Professor Augury said, her hands moving around the crystal ball. "Let's see if you have the potential."

Tom sat down across from her and nearly fell asleep. "Professor, I can't concentrate with these fumes."

"They are there to help you use your inner eye, dear boy," she said. "Now look into the crystal boy and tell me what you see."

Tom leaned forward.  He didn't see something right away, but then…

"Myself," said Tom.  "I see me."

"Yes, very true. Don't you look handsome?"

"I'm beginning to change," Tom mumbled.  "My face…oh no…my face…"

"What do you see?"

"My face is changing.  My eyes…they're turning red."

He heard the laughter.  Don't you see, half-blood, it will happen.  You cannot deny it.  You cannot stop it.

Tom stood up. "No! No!  It's the monster from my dream!"

"You dream of this, Tom?" Professor Augury inquired excitedly. "You dream of what you become?"

"I'm not going to become that, that thing!" Tom pointed at the crystal boy.

"How interesting that you see this, Tom," Augury said, "because it is what your mother saw on her Divination final. She saw you, becoming a great wizard.  Very great indeed, people will fear you.  They will be too afraid to speak your new name. The name you will design yourself with the letters of your given name."

"There must be a way I can stop it," Tom said, "Professor, I don't want to become a monster. I just want to be a great wizard.  I want to become a dueling champion. Be Head Boy and get a good job at the ministry—I can be Minister of Magic.  I want people to understand me, not fear and hate me."

"There is nothing you can do about it," said Professor Augury.  "It is your destiny."

"I'm not going to become a monster!" Tom shouted. "No way. I'll fight it, you hear?  I don't want people to hate and fear me.  People already hate and fear me!  This divination nonsense is insane. It might have been for my mother, but it's not for me. I'm quitting this class."

"You fear your future, Tom, but it is what you will become if you still try to be great."  Augury insisted.  "You see, Tom, you don't want to become this monster, but you also want to be great.  You care more about being great than not becoming this monster you're afraid of.  You should stop trying to be so great now, for your own sake if you wish to be safe."

"I don't need this class," Tom muttered.  "I already know I'm going to be great.  You'll see.  I'll become prefect, I'll be Head Boy and I'll graduate at the top of my class!  I'll make more O.W.L's than anyone here.  I'll become the Minister of Magic but I won't, I WON'T become the most evil sorcerer in the world!  I'm going to be great someday, but I wont' be a killer."

"But Tom, don't' you see?" Augury said, "One thing will move to another.  When you first came to Hogwarts, you wanted to be prefect. But it wasn't enough.  You wanted to be Head Boy. Then you wanted to become a Quidditch player.  You say you want to become the Minister of Magic, but will that be enough to fill your hunger for greatness, Tom?  You will seek, and seek, and seek, but whatever you do, will not be enough.  You will be hungry for power forever."

"No," he mumbled. "You're mad.  I'll be happy with being the minister of magic. I don't need to be a killer to be great.  Once I'm Minister of Magic I won't need anything else.  I'm not taking this divination class anymore.  I'm allergic to these fumes! I already know I'm going to be great. I don't' need a stupid crystal ball or tealeaves to tell me that!  You see, I'll be content once I become Minister of Magic. You're wrong Professor.  I thought I needed to take all these classes so I could become great, but I don't really need them all. I just wanted to see where my strengths are.  I don't' need this class.  I can quit, see?  I wanted to be a great Seeker, but I don't have the school. It's all right.  Potter's a better flier than me but I have him beat at other things.  I'm not so power hunger as you think I am, or the monster from my dream.  I'll fill my thirst after I graduate.  Once I become Minster of Magic, I don't need anything else! I believe in myself and that's all I need!" Tom turned to the door and climbed down the ladder.   

"It's wrong," Tom muttered to himself as he stepped down to the dungeons, making a note of selling his divination book. "I want to be the Minister of Magic, not a monster.  And that's how it's going to happen.  I won't keep seeking power. I don't want power. I just want to be a good wizard.  That's all. That's all I need."

To Be Continued