The Dark Fortress
2:45 AM
Tom Riddle stared impassively at his own reflection. Even he hated his appearance, just like all of those miserable people who had become his victims while screaming their horror. His eyes were scarlet with slit-pupils, the lids often narrowed with suspicion. His skin was so white as to be the hue of paper, coarse and dry. His lips were barely visible and curling under his flat nose and high cheek bones. He was taller than most men, a few inches over six feet. His hair was gray and wispy, falling down his shoulder blades like dark clouds. His fingers were long and spider-like, clutching a black satin robe around his thin frame in the dead of night.
He'd had a nightmare. An actual nightmare. He, that Dark Lord, ruler of terror and darkness, was being plagued by a nightmare. It was hard to believe, even now, and Voldemort was still contemplating whether he was dreaming even now. But the Dark Lord felt the coldness around him, his element, and shivered. He knew that he was awake and all too conscious for this to be a dream.
Death was of course his worst fear. Death before knowing the secret of immortality. Death before becoming what he had vowed to become. The supreme ruler. A king of his country of light slaves and dark servants. A King ruling over all that came within his grasp.
Death, to tell truth, was his only true fear other than the horror within and of himself.
Death was what he had dreamed of.
But Death had not been herself.
In the dream, Death had replaced her own bitter features with the face of the Boy Who Lived. Harry Potter.
Thinking of the boy, the Dark Lord felt his insides squirm with hatred (which he knew the boy would feel) and another emotion that he had not expected: fear.
Tom Riddle had not ever felt fear of Harry Potter before. Never. To him, Harry Potter was a threat, yes, but surely a threat that he could eventually and fully cope with. Surely.
Yet...
Something about the boy had always reminded the Dark Lord of himself. Always. He did not know why. He did not know what was in that prophecy foretelling why this was so. He wasn't even sure that he wanted to know.
Frustrated with his own weaknesses, the Dark Lord sighed--an unveiling of emotion that he had not done for years--and walked slowly over to sit at his elaborately designed desk in his study which was connected to his sleeping chamber.
He pulled a small leather-bound book out of a drawer, the latest volume of his documentaries, and wrote:
It is early morning. I have woken from the first nightmare that I have had since my childhood.
In this nightmare Death was speaking to me, as she often does in my dreams - telling me that immortality is impossible to achieve and that the fates are moving against me, and that she will have me sooner or later - but she was not as she always is. Otherwise, she was not even a she.
Harry Potter stood before me. That child whom has thwarted me so many times that it is hard for me to begin counting without loosing my temper and torturing one of my Death Eaters to near insanity. He stood before me and spoke with a cold voice that reminded me of my own.
Harry Potter said, "Someday, Voldemort" - for he, of all people, calls me by the name that few dare to utter aloud - "I will destroy you. I don't care how long it takes me, but someday I will. I've finally decided. One of us has to die, in the end. I'm going to make sure that it's you."
His words sounded true. And hearing them inside of my head now, they sound true.
Will Harry Potter defeat me, in the end? Will I be destroyed by a mere speck in the millions of specks that make up humanity? Dumbledore, warned me not to become so arrogant to believe the boy weak. So what should I be thinking?
The boy is obviously powerful. He proved that when he was only fourteen and with enough will power he could overcome me. Yet I was not even trying to overwhelm him until his efforts proved to be effective. I cannot, therefore, determine how much power the boy actually has.
I know that there is something unique about him. He has escaped me too many times for me to be fool enough to think differently. But I do not yet know what I should be thinking of his power. He has as much power as I have, so I imagine that my mind must be what will become the better of him.
I decided that I would kill him when he escaped me for the second time. How long will the great Harry Potter last before I get the better of him, not even I know. But I will overcome him. He is nothing but an obstacle.