This chapter is R
Somehow I just don't see Tom Marvolo Riddle or Lord Voldemort contributing information of any kind to Albus Dumbledore so as much as possible I tried to come up with other methods to show Tom's memories.
In this chapter, the word 'he' always refers to the narrator.
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Oh to be flesh! He had some senses, he could see and he could hear. But to truly smell! Be it the crackling fire beneath him or the scent of the rain wafting in from the open window. What he would not give to truly know their scent. And to taste! Just once to actually be able to savor the flavor of the fruit sketched and colored onto the table beside him. But most of all, the sense of touch. To feel the chair he sat upon, to know the apple within his grasp. To gently caress another being. To touch, to feel. To know genuine human emotions. To feel joy and happiness. To know love.
For five hundred years he had hung on the wall of this room, coveting the simple idea of being of the flesh that the room's various occupants through the years took for granted. For all his existence, he had wanted something more than what he was, nothing less than what whoever happened to share the room with him in a particular year was given as birthright.
At least until this year. It wasn't long after this year's Head Boy took up residence that he had decided being flesh wasn't so wonderful after all. Not if it might make him anything like that young man.
The young man was again trying the spell with the teacups when the knock came at the door. When the young man again failed at the spell, it had nothing to do with the knocking on the door. That, however, did not stop the young man from taking his anger, frustration, and humiliation out on the young girl doing the knocking.
When the young man invited her in and closed the door behind her, he wanted to shout a warning to her. But he couldn't. Oh, he could speak, he could offer warnings and raise alarms. But only against interlopers, outsiders. Not against Hogwarts' own.
No one had yet realized that sometimes it was Hogwarts' very own who could do the most damage, cause the most destruction and misery. So the castle's protective enchantments and wards only worked against attacks from those not belonging to the school. Not ever against the students. It was an oversight begun in the time of the founders. It was an oversight that the auburn haired professor would rectify many years later as the silver haired Headmaster. But even then, it would only be in reaction, too late to prevent a most devastating attack upon the school. Too late to help those left unguarded in the attack and certainly too late for this young girl.
He wanted to leave. He wanted to wander off into one of the other frames in another room. Instead, he stayed. He stayed so he could stand witness if the girl brought a complaint to the Headmaster or to the young man's Head of House or her own Head of House. Privacy wards meant he was not allowed to volunteer what went on in rooms, but if one of the people in authority asked, he would be allowed to tell what happened.
He knew his testimony wouldn't be called for though. When the young girl left, she wouldn't tell any of the people in charge what was done to her. None of the young girls or boys ever did. And so, none of the people he could answer would ever think to ask. The Headmaster never concerned himself with the present, he was too focused on things yet to pass. The Head of Slytherin only bothered with things that had happened at least a hundred years ago. The girl's Head of House might think to ask him things, but the auburn haired professor never yet had reason to come into the Slytherin Head Boy's room.
But still, he stayed. Even if the girl didn't realize she wasn't really alone through it all, maybe it would still help. He knew leaving would do nothing for his own despair.
Seeing the teacups, the girl smiled sadly.
"Tom, you aren't still trying that spell are you?"
When she got no answer but a stare, she went on.
"You have been locking yourself in her for the past two weeks doing that spell. Come to the Great Hall for dinner with me. I want to cheer you up."
The beautiful dark haired boy's eyes traveled up and down her body appraisingly.
How he wished the young man was not so beautiful, maybe then they would not follow after him so.
The young man's voice was almost as cold as his eyes when he responded.
"How does a silly little Gryffindor like you plan to accomplish that?"
The girl blinked, startled by his words and tone. Suddenly very uncomfortable, when the young man stepped closer, she stepped back towards the door.
Her voice was trembling.
"I don't know."
The young man's face looked angelic with his response. Like one of the lesser angels, the fallen ones.
"I do."
With one hand in her hair, the young man forced her head down. His other hand removed the clasps of his robe and opened his trousers. A harsh yank on her ponytail made her cry out in pain. The young man took the opportunity to force his member into her mouth. She tried to pull away, but the door which she had backed up to, seeking refuge, gave her no escape. She gagged when the foreign liquid filled her mouth, but the young man didn't pull out until she finally swallowed.
Tears staining her face, she rose. Turning her back to him, she fumbled with the door handle.
She whimpered when the hands came around her middle, dragged her to the bed and pinned her there.
Pushing her face down into a pillow, the young man pulled her robe and the skirt underneath it up to her waist. Her undergarments were soon down to her knees. Her struggles against him and the sounds only partially muffled by the pillow had excited him again. After climbing on top of her, the young man began thrusting inside of her. When the girl's cries sounded more painful than humiliated, the young man pulled out.
After seeing the blood on his member, the young man gave a satisfied nod. When the young man returned to his thrusting, even though he was unable to properly see from his angle above the fireplace, he knew it was in a different, more painful orifice. The young man liked to break things, to mark them. Once that was managed, if the girl was not a pureblood, the young man would not leave his seed in a place where it might grow.
Finally satiated, the young man rolled off of her. Facing the young girl, torn and broken, a breathtaking smile appeared. The girl just kept crying into the pillow with his words.
"I guess filthy little mudbloods do have their uses."
After the girl left, the young man went over to his desk. Turning to the back of his black diary, the young man paused, concentrating. Finally, the young man shrugged. Having not noticed her name in class and never having bothered to ask, the young man simply added another slash to the column.
No, no longer did he wish to be made of flesh. Except…except maybe to weep.
************************************
A/N Maria, thank you again for betaing.
Thank you Mavidian, Minerva Lea, Static-Filled Star, and RainQueen1 for reviewing.
I probably shouldn't be pointing this out, but everyone seems to have forgotten when Luna made her claims Snape openly refuted…wait, no I definitely shouldn't be pointing that out.
RainQueen1 So happy you are enjoying the story. I'm afraid my Dumbledore and Moody are a bit younger and not yet as all knowing as the ones Harry gets to meet some 50+ years later. The second part of the house elf's statement, "That's not Master's cat, sir. That's Master's daught-" was never completed and the most logical conclusion to that statement, I think, would be, "That's Master's daughter's cat."
Having said that, Moody did check to see if the cat was enchanted. He mentioned casting 'Finite Incantatem' on the cat several times. Two different possible explanations will be given in a later chapter as to why that didn't have any effect. One simply being that a different spell is needed to forcibly end an animagus transformation and really who would expect a seven year old to be an animagus? I could be entirely wrong about that whole a different spell being needed, but in POA when Lupin and Black forced Pettigrew to transform back, the fact that they never said 'Finite Incantatem' led me to believe it might be a different spell. Just to cover my bases incase I am wrong there will be a different explanation given in a later chapter.
Anyway I hope you find that to be a reasonable enough explanation.
Next chapter you will find out exactly where Minerva has been the past few months and what kind of trouble she has been getting into.
Somehow I just don't see Tom Marvolo Riddle or Lord Voldemort contributing information of any kind to Albus Dumbledore so as much as possible I tried to come up with other methods to show Tom's memories.
In this chapter, the word 'he' always refers to the narrator.
*************************************
Oh to be flesh! He had some senses, he could see and he could hear. But to truly smell! Be it the crackling fire beneath him or the scent of the rain wafting in from the open window. What he would not give to truly know their scent. And to taste! Just once to actually be able to savor the flavor of the fruit sketched and colored onto the table beside him. But most of all, the sense of touch. To feel the chair he sat upon, to know the apple within his grasp. To gently caress another being. To touch, to feel. To know genuine human emotions. To feel joy and happiness. To know love.
For five hundred years he had hung on the wall of this room, coveting the simple idea of being of the flesh that the room's various occupants through the years took for granted. For all his existence, he had wanted something more than what he was, nothing less than what whoever happened to share the room with him in a particular year was given as birthright.
At least until this year. It wasn't long after this year's Head Boy took up residence that he had decided being flesh wasn't so wonderful after all. Not if it might make him anything like that young man.
The young man was again trying the spell with the teacups when the knock came at the door. When the young man again failed at the spell, it had nothing to do with the knocking on the door. That, however, did not stop the young man from taking his anger, frustration, and humiliation out on the young girl doing the knocking.
When the young man invited her in and closed the door behind her, he wanted to shout a warning to her. But he couldn't. Oh, he could speak, he could offer warnings and raise alarms. But only against interlopers, outsiders. Not against Hogwarts' own.
No one had yet realized that sometimes it was Hogwarts' very own who could do the most damage, cause the most destruction and misery. So the castle's protective enchantments and wards only worked against attacks from those not belonging to the school. Not ever against the students. It was an oversight begun in the time of the founders. It was an oversight that the auburn haired professor would rectify many years later as the silver haired Headmaster. But even then, it would only be in reaction, too late to prevent a most devastating attack upon the school. Too late to help those left unguarded in the attack and certainly too late for this young girl.
He wanted to leave. He wanted to wander off into one of the other frames in another room. Instead, he stayed. He stayed so he could stand witness if the girl brought a complaint to the Headmaster or to the young man's Head of House or her own Head of House. Privacy wards meant he was not allowed to volunteer what went on in rooms, but if one of the people in authority asked, he would be allowed to tell what happened.
He knew his testimony wouldn't be called for though. When the young girl left, she wouldn't tell any of the people in charge what was done to her. None of the young girls or boys ever did. And so, none of the people he could answer would ever think to ask. The Headmaster never concerned himself with the present, he was too focused on things yet to pass. The Head of Slytherin only bothered with things that had happened at least a hundred years ago. The girl's Head of House might think to ask him things, but the auburn haired professor never yet had reason to come into the Slytherin Head Boy's room.
But still, he stayed. Even if the girl didn't realize she wasn't really alone through it all, maybe it would still help. He knew leaving would do nothing for his own despair.
Seeing the teacups, the girl smiled sadly.
"Tom, you aren't still trying that spell are you?"
When she got no answer but a stare, she went on.
"You have been locking yourself in her for the past two weeks doing that spell. Come to the Great Hall for dinner with me. I want to cheer you up."
The beautiful dark haired boy's eyes traveled up and down her body appraisingly.
How he wished the young man was not so beautiful, maybe then they would not follow after him so.
The young man's voice was almost as cold as his eyes when he responded.
"How does a silly little Gryffindor like you plan to accomplish that?"
The girl blinked, startled by his words and tone. Suddenly very uncomfortable, when the young man stepped closer, she stepped back towards the door.
Her voice was trembling.
"I don't know."
The young man's face looked angelic with his response. Like one of the lesser angels, the fallen ones.
"I do."
With one hand in her hair, the young man forced her head down. His other hand removed the clasps of his robe and opened his trousers. A harsh yank on her ponytail made her cry out in pain. The young man took the opportunity to force his member into her mouth. She tried to pull away, but the door which she had backed up to, seeking refuge, gave her no escape. She gagged when the foreign liquid filled her mouth, but the young man didn't pull out until she finally swallowed.
Tears staining her face, she rose. Turning her back to him, she fumbled with the door handle.
She whimpered when the hands came around her middle, dragged her to the bed and pinned her there.
Pushing her face down into a pillow, the young man pulled her robe and the skirt underneath it up to her waist. Her undergarments were soon down to her knees. Her struggles against him and the sounds only partially muffled by the pillow had excited him again. After climbing on top of her, the young man began thrusting inside of her. When the girl's cries sounded more painful than humiliated, the young man pulled out.
After seeing the blood on his member, the young man gave a satisfied nod. When the young man returned to his thrusting, even though he was unable to properly see from his angle above the fireplace, he knew it was in a different, more painful orifice. The young man liked to break things, to mark them. Once that was managed, if the girl was not a pureblood, the young man would not leave his seed in a place where it might grow.
Finally satiated, the young man rolled off of her. Facing the young girl, torn and broken, a breathtaking smile appeared. The girl just kept crying into the pillow with his words.
"I guess filthy little mudbloods do have their uses."
After the girl left, the young man went over to his desk. Turning to the back of his black diary, the young man paused, concentrating. Finally, the young man shrugged. Having not noticed her name in class and never having bothered to ask, the young man simply added another slash to the column.
No, no longer did he wish to be made of flesh. Except…except maybe to weep.
************************************
A/N Maria, thank you again for betaing.
Thank you Mavidian, Minerva Lea, Static-Filled Star, and RainQueen1 for reviewing.
I probably shouldn't be pointing this out, but everyone seems to have forgotten when Luna made her claims Snape openly refuted…wait, no I definitely shouldn't be pointing that out.
RainQueen1 So happy you are enjoying the story. I'm afraid my Dumbledore and Moody are a bit younger and not yet as all knowing as the ones Harry gets to meet some 50+ years later. The second part of the house elf's statement, "That's not Master's cat, sir. That's Master's daught-" was never completed and the most logical conclusion to that statement, I think, would be, "That's Master's daughter's cat."
Having said that, Moody did check to see if the cat was enchanted. He mentioned casting 'Finite Incantatem' on the cat several times. Two different possible explanations will be given in a later chapter as to why that didn't have any effect. One simply being that a different spell is needed to forcibly end an animagus transformation and really who would expect a seven year old to be an animagus? I could be entirely wrong about that whole a different spell being needed, but in POA when Lupin and Black forced Pettigrew to transform back, the fact that they never said 'Finite Incantatem' led me to believe it might be a different spell. Just to cover my bases incase I am wrong there will be a different explanation given in a later chapter.
Anyway I hope you find that to be a reasonable enough explanation.
Next chapter you will find out exactly where Minerva has been the past few months and what kind of trouble she has been getting into.