One True Desire

Moonlight dripped freely into the deserted corridor. It held no paintings, no suits of armor, nor any of the foolish garnishes that graced the walls and floors of so many other Hogwarts passages. It kept many doors, all faceless, all leading to ancient, lonely classrooms that begged to share their knowledge at any chance encounter. But no one could here their cries… except one.

It was very late, but his eyes would not grow tired. He sat alone, in the center of the largest couch their common room possessed. Hands folded neatly in his lap, back stiff, and his eyes, though wide awake, hidden under pale, ashen eyelids. A pretense of tranquility hung about his upright form, as he rose from his seat with almost inhuman grace. The exit was hidden behind thick, velvet, silver and green curtains, which he pushed aside with considerable ease. He placed two beautifully elongated hands on the wall behind them, until the stone rapidly began to melt away.

Stepping through the thawed-out doorway, he set out at a slightly quicker pace; bringing his slow, calculated steps up to brisk strides. Contrary to how directed, to how focused he appeared, he knew not where he was going; only that to sit in his dormitory for another moment would have been a useless squander of his time.

His feet determined his first destination; they took him to the library. But the library was locked and barred, and he had no desire to break the charms set upon the door at this hour. Although he feared no Professor, (save one) his mind advised him to keep underfoot tonight, and he obeyed.

For close to an hour, he drifted though the hallways, never pausing, resolutely walking forward, like a horse with blinders on.
Until he came to a door.

He had come to many a door, but none so far had succeeded in making him nervous. Yet, he could feel the uneasiness grow from the pit of his stomach, and it unnerved him further. For it was unnatural… he was unnatural. As alien to this world as these feelings were to him, he decided.

The door reeked of strong magic, which called deeply into his power, reaching even the primal, raw core that was the base of all his magic. It was not holding him there, though he fancied it could if it cared to. But still, he was drawn to it.

After a moment's hesitation, he wrapped a carefully steadied hand around the cool brass knob protruding from the rather unobtrusive wooden door. Though apprehension pulsated in his veins, he kept his heart at a steady, slow beat, as he turned the handle slowly to the right. The lock clicked and the door opened with a creak that echoed through the passage way stretched out before him. His shadow created a dark and menacing territory against the star-soaked stone floor, moving with him, as he stepped forward. He drew himself up to full height, and brought his entire body into the corridor.

So many doors.

On instinct, he walked with considerable vigilance to the door at the far end of the corridor. It was much the same as the rest of the passage; subtle and without frills. It comforted him somehow; they held no pretense, no charade. Unlike the rest of the School, whose walls were adorned with elaborate portraits and suits of armor, which stood as helpless guardians to the frightening scenes that those walls had undoubtedly witnessed.

The door, which had been slightly ajar, swung open lazily in the cool night air. Taking this in his stride, he stepped into the room and found it to be completely empty, save for a great gold-framed mirror, which stood with a kind of demanding presence at the far end of the room. He approached it, and was greeted with his own reflection, his sleek black hair falling defensively over one cobalt eye, and his posture composed, even in just his own company.

Taking a step closer, his image shifted and swirled like paints on a canvas until a new one formed. It depicted a terrible scene.

His body was curled up in a ball, and he lay on a patch of grass somewhere in the summertime. His face was contorted in some emotion he could not recognize, and he wept. He wept until the earth around his body was nourished with his tears and the sky above him rained down upon him in thanks.

He watched this scene from the barren room in Hogwarts until he made himself look away. He turned his back on the mirror, only to find that he was not alone.

His heart quickened in shock, trying to readjust to the additional presence at his side. Iridescent blue eyes met his own gaze, as he stared into the face of his professor; his silvery white beard plaited complicatedly, eyes bearing those indispensable half-moon spectacles.

"The desire for desire is an undeniably a powerful thing, perhaps even the ambition that drives the aimless." he hesitated, "If I didn't know better, Mr. Riddle, I should think you were scared." He said quietly, face grave.

Tom backed slowly to the doorway, eyes never leaving the lined features of his professor, who was now blessedly silent. Suddenly, he turned on his heal, saying nothing, and walked briskly until he thought he was out of sight.

Then he ran.

But his footsteps echoed through the empty corridor once again, and again he heard a voice call out behind him.

"Tom!" cried the voice; and so he paused for just a moment. He heard a second call;
"You are only human." It said.