Not Worth It
Chapter 12
Trapped in a Nightmare
In Merope's next dream of her son, he grew to age sixteen and became a prefect. He was the reason that Slytherin won the house cup each year. In each class, he gained at least ten points. He impressed the teachers more than anyone in his year. The girls fawned over him and the boys wanted to be him. Though there were things that bothered her about him. He studied a lot about the dark arts. She hoped it was so he could better defend himself from them, but it was as if he was trying to figure out how to control them.
Merope followed sixteen year old Tom Marvolo Riddle into Defense Against the Dark Arts. Tom impressed his teacher with his knowledge of the dark arts and able to cast most spells. Once everyone was settled and class started. Professor Merrythought addressed the class. She was a short and old witch and always cheerful. Merope liked the way she taught. Her lessons were practical. Sometimes she used object lessons and gave the children visuals. She didn't drone on and on like Professor Binns did about facts. Merope noticed that she had the picture projecter up and got excited. What sort of pictures would she show today?
"Class, as you know, we're studying curses this term," Professor Merry thought. "We will cover the unforgivable curses. Has anyone heard of them? Yes, Mr. Riddle?"
Tom lowered his hand and straightened up in his seat. "The Imperius Curse, which causes the victim to do the caster's bidding. The Cruciatius curse causes the victim pain and the Killing Curse, of course, kills the victim."
"Correct," Professor Merrythought said. "Fifteen points to Slytherin. The ministry has had its hands full dealing with people doing strange acts, and their excuse is being under the Imperius curse. Well sometimes they're right and sometimes they're not. Is there a way to tell—ah—yes, Mr. Riddle?"
"You can tell by their eyes, of if you're a legilimens, you can tell if they are lying."
"Impressive, Mr. Riddle," said Merrythought as some people wondered out loud what a legilimens. "A Legilimens is one who practices legilimancy which is the art of extracting memories and thoughts from someone. It's an advanced piece of magic, one they do not teach at hog warts. You will need to get personal lessons if you wish to learn."
The class groaned and Professor Merrythought dimmed the lights and turned on her projector, showing a picture of a man whose eyes looked like a fog was floating in them. "This man was found impersonating a witch in the ladies' room," the professor said, to most of the classroom's amusement. "You see his eyes? They are not his usual color, and they are all glassy. This is how you can tell someone is under the imperious curse."
A girl raised her hand. "Professor, is there a way you can tell if you yourself is under the curse?"
"Vaguely," said Professor Merrythought answered. "When you are placed under the curse, you feel unusually calm and feel like you can do anything. Once the curse is removed, you can't remember what you did under the curse, so you may feel that you have forgotten something. If you feel that is the case, you should visit the Ministry of Magic so they can examine you. It is also possible to fight off the imperious curse, if you have a strong enough will." She cleared her throat. "All right, we will move onto the next curse. Ever been angry with someone before?"
Nearly half the room raised their hands.
"Did you duel that person to settle a score?"
Only a few hands went down.
"And in that duel, did you want to cause that person terrible pain?"
All hands went down, some faster than others.
"I want to tell you the case of two wizards," said Professor Merrythought, showing a picture of a mean-looking wizard dark eyes. "Colby Sullivan and Paul Crofton." She set the picture of Paul next to Colby. Paul was a short wizard compared to Colby, with humble looks. "Colby and Paul never really got a long. Colby always bullied him while at Hogwarts. Then they had a duel. At first, Paul was winning, until Colby used the the Cruciatius Curse. For two hours straight."
People gasped.
"When someone is tortured over a long period of time, it destroys the mind and body. This is Paul now," Professor Merry thought showed a picture of Paul. He was laying on a hospital bed looking catatonic.
"Oh Merlin," said a boy and a girl almost broke into tears.
"As for Colby, he was sent to Azkaban for life," Professor Merrythought said. "Anyone remember who the guards in Azkaban are?"
"Dementors," a few people replied, including Tom.
"That's right," acknowledged Merrythought. "You may recall that they feed on happy thoughts and memories. Well, when one is drained of every happy memory and thought, this is what happens to them."
She placed a picture of Colby next to Paul's. Colby's hair was thinning and he was sitting slumped against a stonewall, his bony fingers to his face and eyes bloodshot. His appearance was quite similar to that of Paul's.
"Though he is receiving the best of care in St. Mungos," Merrythought told the shocked class. "Paul will never be released. His mind is too damaged. The same goes for Colby. Even if they were to let him go, he would still be imprisoned in his own mind. Now, can anyone tell me, who won the duel? Paul or Colby?"
Except for a sobbing girl or two, the class was quiet.
"You see class," said Professor Merrythought, gesturing to the pictures of the two damaged men, "when an unforgivable curse is used, no one wins. The dark arts can ruin the caster, just as it does the victim."
The class seemed to understand what she said, but Merope was a little unnerved by the smile on her son's face. He was smiling as if he couldn't wait to try the Cruciatius Curse on someone.
Following the class, Tom approached the wizened Defense Against the Dark Arts professes. "That was a good lesson, professor."
"Why thank you, Tom," said Professor Merrythought.
"You know a lot about the Dark Arts," he pointed out.
"Yes, years of experience," she sighed.
"You've been teaching Hogwarts for almost fifty years, isn't that right?"
She blinked. "Gracious, has it been that long? How'd you know?"
"Intuition," Tom said simply. "Some professors have retired after fifty years of teaching. You plan on retiring then too?"
Professor Merrythought laughed. "Oh, I don't know."
"It's just that...you've been looking tired lately."
She laughed again. "Oh I still have a year or two in me," she said. "And then I might retire."
"Professor, I have a question," said Tom. "I was reading a book in the library called Magick Most Evile and it mentioned a term called 'horcrux' but it didn't explain what it was. Will we studying that this year?"
Professor Merrythought flinched. "Horcrux?"
"Yes, I believe that's why it was called," said Tom. "I was wondering if we'll learn about them."
"The study of such things is forbbiden at Hogwarts," said Merrythought. "I doubt even something as dark as that is studied at Durmstrang, and they teach some rather dark material."
"I see," said Tom. "I was hoping you would know what it was. I mean, I remember you told us in our very first lesson that the more we know and understand the dark arts, the more we can protect ourselves from it."
Professor Merrythought smiled and placed her hand on Tom's shoulder. "Yes, I did say that. I'm glad you can remember."
"I remember all your lessons, Professor."
"You're a good lad, Tom," she said. "But knowledge is a double edged sword, dear. It can corrupt and damage just as much as it can protect and defend. I try to teach what is helpful, and the sort of dark arts you are likely to cross. You are more likely to find a boggart under your bed than a horcrux. Speaking of which, have you been able to defeat a boggart yet?"
"I—I'm working on it," said Tom.
"Would you like some extra lessons on it?"
Merope hoped that Tom would accept her help but he declined. Tom's boggart was his own dead body and it bothered him to no end.
"No thanks. Do you know anything about a horcrux?" Tom said hopefully. "I mean, what if Grindelwald has one? How would we protect ourselves from them if we don't understand what they are?"
Professors Merrythought laughed. "Oh I doubt he would have one."
"How can we know for sure, Professor?" Tom asked.
"I've seen pictures of Grindelwald, and Professors Dumbledore knows him well. If he has made a horcrux it would affect his body."
"How so, professor?"
"He'd look like part of his soul is missing," Professor Merrythought answered. "He'd look inhuman. That's what the dark arts do to someone, dear. They destroy the human soul."
"I'm afraid I don't understand, professor," Tom groaned.
"Oh when you see as much of life as I have," Professor Merrythought told him. "I suspect that you will. You're a bright boy, very bright. Now I would suggest that you get to your next class before you are late. You are a prefect and an example to the years below you. Don't you forget that."
Merope followed her son out of the classroom and instead of finding themselves in the hallway, it was at a large door with metal snakes on it. She looked behind her and saw that it appeared they were underground.
"What happened?" Merope said.
Sometimes Merope's dreams of Tom shifted and it confused Merope each time. Her dreams were showing her specific moments in her son's future. Her son was changing.
Tom said the Parseltongue word for open and a snake slithered around the door as other snakes moved inward. The door swung outward and the pair walked in. There were large statues of snake along the wall and they were in a cavern with water. At the end of the chamber was a giant statue of a man with a long white beard.
"I found it," Tom said, his voice near laughter and his walk became a jog. "I found it! The Chamber of Secrets!"
He approached the statue said, "Speak Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four."
The statue's mouth opened and a gigantic snake hit the ground. Though Merope was a Parselmouth herself, she was frightened. It's teeth was full of long sharp teeth and eyes glowing yellow eyes scared her to the bone.
"You have slept long enough," Tom said to the basilisk. "Now is the time to do Slytherin's noble work. Time to go mudblood hunting."
"Tom, no!" Merope shouted and the dream shifted again. She saw student after student fall down motionless after seeing the snake's gaze in a reflection or through something. Then finally she witnessed a third year girl named Myrtle meet the basilisk yellow eyes. Merope remembered her from a time when he helped her from bullies in the library. Unlike the other muggleborns, she wasn't petrified but dead. Merope covered her face with her hands and cried. Her son Tom came to her body and crouched down.
He smirked. "Rest in peace, mudblood."
"How could you Tom?" Merope mumbled. "She looked up to you!"
He walked out of the girls' bathroom and into another room. A boy was talking to something into a box.
"Monsters don't make good pets, Rubeus," he said. "The girl's parents will be here tomorrow. We can at least see that the thing that killed her be destroyed."
"It wasn't Aragog!" Rubeus insisted. "Argog wouldn't kill anyone!"
A spider the size of a house cat came out of the box and scuttled out of the door. Merope shrieked and jumped out of the way.
"They'll take your wand for this, Rubeus," said Tom. "You'll be expelled."
The large boy Rubeus sobbed and begged not to have his wand be taken away. He insistited over and over that his pet didn't do it. Though having a pet acromantula in a castle full of young people wasn't a good idea, Merope felt very sorry for him. He was orphaned and did not deserve to expelled. She looked at Tom. He was orphaned too. How could he have turned so different? Even compared to the other orphans he lived with?
Tom received a trophy for turning in Rubeus but he didn't seem to care about it. He was more concerned about killing more muggleborns. He did not set the basilisk loose again but he did go into the chamber to do one more thing. He set his diary on the floor, the same diary that Mrs. Cole had given him as a gift before his first year of Hogwarts and pointed his wand at it.
"You're not going to destroy it, are you, Tom?" Merope whispered. "That was a present. She might be a Muggle but the closest you ever had to a mother."
of course, Tom could not hear Merope's pleas. She was but a phantom.
Tom began to give an incantation. Merope raised an eyebrow. She did not recognize the words. What kind of spell was he performing?
Then she saw it, Tom's soul or rather a piece of it, floating into the book. Tom flinched as if he felt pain and then he shook it off quickly. He bent down and picked up his diary, a smirk on his lips and a dark look in his eyes.
The dream faded and they were walking at night time up to a small house. Merope gasped. It was her home! What was Tom doing here? Tom wrinkled his face in disgust as he lifted his lantern up.
"My mother grew up here?" he muttered and knocked on the door.
No one answered and he pushed it open. It looked worse than Merope remembered. Sitting in the old and tattered armchair was her brother Morfin with his face covered by beard and hair. He charged Tom with knife and wand. "YOU! YOU!"
"No Morfin!" Merope gasped.
"Stop," said Tom and Morfin almost fell in surprise.
"You speak it?" he said.
"Yes, I speak it," Tom confirmed, walking farther in. "Where is Marvolo?"
"Dead," Morfin answered. "Dies years ago, didn't he?"
Merope noticed the disappointed frown on her son's face.
"Who are you, then?"
"I"m Morfin, ain't I?"
"Marvolo's son?"
"'Course I am, then..."
Morfin pushed his hair at his eyes so he can get a better look at Tom, completely oblivious that the boy was his own nephew. "I thought you was that Muggle," whispered Morfin. "You look mighty like that Muggle."
"What Muggle?" said Tom sharply.
"That Muggle what my sister took a fancy to, that Muggle what lives in the big house over the way," said Morfin, and he spat on the ground. Merope jumped back. "You look right like him, Riddle. But hes older now, in 'e? He's older 'n you, now I think on it..."
Morfin swayed and feeling sorry for him, Merope reached out to steady him. Her hands went right through him. "Oh Morfin."
"He come back, see," Morfin added stupidly. Tom walked closer to his uncle.
"Riddle came back?"
"Ar, he left her, and serve her right, marrying filth!" said Morfin, spitting on the floor again. "Robbed us, mind, before she ran off! Where's the locket, eh, where's Slytherins' locket?"
Merope groped where her locket used to hang and felt nothing. Then she remmeberd that she had sold it. She had no idea where it could be now. "I had to Morfin, I'm sorry."
"Dishonest us, she did, that slittle slut! And who're you, coming here and aksing questions about all that? It's over, innit...it's over..."
Tom approached Morfin and took his wand out.
"Tom, what are you doing?" Merope demanded.
"Stupify!" Tom shouted and Morfin fell to the floor, losing his wand and knife. Merope screamed. Tom bent over him and set his lantern down. He took his uncle's wand. "No, uncle. You're wrong. It's not over."
Tom Marvolo Riddle ran with haste to the Riddle household, using his uncle's wand as a light. He was panting by the time he got to the door. He took a deep breath and pointed Morfin's wand at the lock. "Alahomora!" the door unlocked and he went inside, trying to be quiet. Merope could hear his heart still pounding. He walked quietly into the house. Merope could hear the voice of the Riddles coming from the drawring room and her son stopped short, sneering.
"Tom, dear, I think you've had enough," said an old woman.
"One more isn't going to kill me," came the voice of Merope's husband. Merope gasped. So long since he heard his voice. It sounded raspy and tired compared to how she remembered it. He spoke with such eloquence. What happened to him?
"Getting yourself drunk is not going to help any," said an irritated old man. "Perhaps we should send you off to school in the States and you'll find a wife, or maybe the military even."
"Thomas!" shouted Mrs. Riddle. "Don't say such things."
"Oh he's right," Tom said. "I can't show my face in the village anymore...all my friends have ostracized me. Maybe military life won't be so bad."
Tom took a long sip of the gin he poured and his mother took it from him. "I said that's enough. If you do go to the army, you won't do well with a bad liver! Maybe we'll visit London tomorrow and..."
"No," Tom said firmly. "I'm tired of visiting London! Ever since that year of hell I've been through, I don't want to go back!"
"The year you spent with Gaunt's daughter, you mean?" said Mr. Riddle.
"Must you remind me?" Tom demanded. "I told you what happened, that I was tricked. I don't know what she did to me."
"Tom, put that behind you," said Mrs. Riddle. "It's over now. You can move on."
"I can't...not without Cecelia," said Tom.
"It's her fault for not waiting," chided Mrs. Riddle. "It was so bold of you to try to stop her wedding to...what was it...a musician?" Mrs. Riddle chuckled. "It's been sixteen years. Get a hold of yourself."
"Sixteen years," Tom echoed in a long, drawn out sigh. "Sixteen years. It was sixteen years ago I that Gaunt girl. As much as I hated what she did to me, I can't help but wonder what became of her, and my child."
"Child?" his parents echoed and they rounded on their son asking a hundred questions a second.
The young Tom Riddle used his wand to open the door and walked in. "Wouldn't you like to know?" The older Tom gasped when he saw a complete replica of his sixteen year old self. He dropped his glass of gin to the floor.
"How'd you find us?" demanded Thomas Riddle. "Your filthy mother sent you?"
"Silence," hissed Tom, giving his wand a casual flick at his grandfather, rendering him unable to speak. "I'll be the one asking the questions here, Muggle. So, you wish to know what happened to my mother, the wife you abandoned?" he pointed his wand at his father. "You left her to die!"
"I don't understand," said Tom Riddle.
Tom Marvolo Riddle sneered. "Fool, after she gave birth to me, she died!"
"She got what she deserved," Mrs. Riddle hissed, causing glares from both Tom's.
"Oh and you'll be getting what you deserve too, Muggle," said Tom. "But not yet. I need to know why you left her, Father. Tell me, was it because she was a witch? You a magic hater? After you told her the truth about her, you couldn't stand to be married to a witch anymore, isn't that it?"
"What in blazes are you talking about?" The middle aged Tom Riddle stared at his son. "She never told me she was a witch. I don't believe in such things."
"Don't lie to me!" the halfblood shrieked. "Crucio!"
Merorpe cried when her first love fell to t he floor and began shrieking in pain. "Stop it, Tom! Stop it! He's telling the truth, I never told him!"
Mrs. Riddle flinched in shock. Neither of Tom's parents were brave enough to pull their grandson away. Mrs. Riddle begged in vain for him to stop. After about thirty seconds, Tom bent down and pushed his wand into his father's face.
"Now tell me the truth...why did you leave her?"
"I...I was already in love with someone else. Your mother tricked me—augh!" a jolt of lightning went through Tom Sr.'s body. "We were two different people. We didn't belong together."
"Liar."
"He's telling you the truth, Tom!" Merope insisted.
"Your mother was a pauper!" Mrs. Riddle said desperately. "She lived in the shack down the road with her tramp father and lunatic brother. She had no chance with my Tom. No chance at all."
Tom flicked his wand once more and his grandmother was bound up in ropes.
"Look, I know you're angry with me," said Tom Sr. "I didn't like your mother in the least but-,"
"I don't want to hear your excuses!" Tom Marvolo Riddle pointed his wand at his father and tortured him a second time.
"Stop it! Leave him alone! Our staff will be here any moment to stop you."
"No one can hear us out of this room, stupid Muggle!" Tom Marvolo snarled, not letting up in his torture.
"I...came...back...for...you!" Tom Riddle shouted between screams. Surprised, Tom let off the cruciatius curse.
"What was that, Father?" Tom Marvolo Riddle demanded.
Tom gasped for air and looked at his son. "I went back to London...about five years ago. I went to the flat I lived in with your mother...but she wasn't there."
Merope stared at her first love in disbelief. Tom came back for her! It was after she was dead, and when their son was a youth, but still he came. Why didn't he come for them sooner?
"Of course she wasn't. She was long dead!"
"I didn't know she died," said Tom Riddle. "I was curious about what happened to the two of you. What school you were going to, if you were anything like me, or—or your mother's family."
Tom snorted.
"The landlord had no answers for me," Tom Riddle admitted. "I reached a dead end."
"You didn't think to check the orphanages for me? My mother died giving birth to me there, and I was left to rot around people who hated me! You're a fool! You didn't really want to find me, did you?"
"I...I don't know," said Tom Riddle. "I'm sorry."
Tom laughed manically. "Sorry? Sorry is not going to fix sixteen years of hell."
"You're right," said Tom. "Let me make it up to you. I'll give you money."
"I don't want your money!"
"Then...then you can stay here with us," Tom Riddle suggested.
"Tom, no!" said Mrs. Riddle.
"I don't want to stay with you either," the halflbood spat. "I've lived around muggles long enough."
"Then, want do you want? Why bother coming here?"
"Revenge," Tom Marvolo Riddle said with a sick smile. "Avada Kedavra!"
"Don't do it! No please!" Merope begged in vain as she watched her son kill off his father and grandparents. Merope threw herself at her dead estranged husband. "Tom, I'm sorry. I never meant for this happened. Please, forgive me."
Tom Marvolo laughed like maniac and left the drawing room to return to the Gaunt shack. He put Morfin's wand back in his hand and pressed his own to his uncle's head. "You killed the Riddles...You killed the Riddles.." he said some words Merope did not understand and then he took the silver ring from his uncle's finger. "Now it's over, Uncle."
Laughing again, he turned to the door and the dream closed. Merope sat up in bed, screaming. "No, no! Please, no!"
she threw the covers off her and jumped out of the bed. She tore out of her her house, not even seeming to care that she was barefoot and the ground was cold. The sun wasn't even up yet. Merope ran to the Riddle Manor and banged on the door.
"Please, open up! There's a killer! Are the Riddles alive. Please, let me in!"
Within several moments, the door opened and the Riddle's butler, Roger opened. Most people would have seemed displesed to be awoken at such an hour, but Roger was as polite as ever.
"Ah, good morning, madam. How can I help you?"
"The Riddles...someone killed them! Let me see them, please."
Roger raised his eyebrows and chuckled softly. "I think you might have a nightmare. The Riddles are just fine. There were no murders."
"But I saw someone break in...they're dead, in the drawing room!"
"There is no one in the drawing room, I assure you," Roger told her. "I think the excitement of the young master's party got you worked up. I can't imagine why you would dream that someone killed them."
"D-dream?" Merope mumbled.
"Yes, dear. Are you all right? Would you like to come in for some tea?
"Er... no, so everyone is all right?"
"Yes, though the young master did just go to bed about an hour ago. That was some tonic you gave him. Danced far into the night, he did."
"Oh, oh yes," Merope murmured. "He took too much and he's likely to over sleep and feel groggy once he wakes up. Be sure he gets plenty of water."
"I will do that," said Roger. "Shall I arrange a carriage ride home for you?"
"No, that's all right," Merope said.
"You certain? You have no shoes."
Merope began stepping down the porch. "I'll be all right. So sorry to disturb you."
"Not at all, madam. Not at all. Good day to you." Roger closed the door and Merope breathed a sigh of relief. Tom and his parents were still alive. It was all just a dream. A horrible dream of what could come. It sent shivers down her spine. Would her son really go so far to kill his father out of revenge? When Merope returned home, she was still to riled to go back so sleep so she went to the cellar to begin working on sleeping potions. She had a feeling she would need them.
TO BE CONTINUED