"Shortly we will plunge within the frigid gloom. Farewell swift summer brightness; all too short — I hear already sounding with a death-like boom. The wood that falls upon the pavement of the court."
Autumn song. Les Fleurs du mal. Charles Baudelaire.
IV
As the sun sank below the horizon, the streets were shrouded in darkness, and I felt a sudden urge to go home. The cold wind whipped through the air, making me shudder and hug myself. I said goodbye to my friends with a warm smile, and started walking through the faintly lit streets, feeling my footsteps echo in the silence of the night.
My thoughts drifted to the mysterious man I had met earlier as I wandered deeper into the night. He had left me with a sense of unease, a nagging feeling that something was wrong. In my dreams, I tried to escape from him, but he always found me, popping up when I least expected it, like a ghost that haunted my mind.
When I finally reached the safety of my home, I got ready for bed, not knowing the disturbing dream that was waiting for me. It was unlike any dream I had ever had, a vivid array of details and sensations that felt eerily real. In this surreal world, I found myself in a rundown room, its walls covered with broken pieces of old things, and windows shut tight by the merciless hand of time. It was an attic, neglected and forgotten.
In this dream, I saw Tom, but he looked different now. Younger and more innocent, his dark hair and sharp gray eyes were the same. He faced an old woman, their conversation full of tension.
"Well, well, well, look who it is, the old crone," Tom mocked.
"You're an evil boy, Mr. Riddle. The devil himself would be pleased with you," the woman snapped back.
"Spare me your words, old woman. I'm leaving this place soon, and good riddance," Tom said coldly.
I could feel the intense anger and bitterness that filled the room, casting a dark cloud over their lives.
Suddenly, the dream changed, taking me to another memory, this time in the sacred halls of Hogwarts. I followed the young man as we left what seemed to be the Slytherin common room. His footsteps rang through the hallways until we reached the seventh floor, where Tom walked back and forth before a plain-looking wall. In a stroke of luck, the wall changed, revealing a hidden door that appeared out of nowhere.
Driven by an unstoppable curiosity, I went after him into the room behind. It was an amazing sight, a messy collection of objects stacked on top of each other, creating a maze of disorder. But among the mess, there was a strange attraction. As I explored further, I noticed that Tom was not alone. Four other Slytherin students were with him, their faces bright with excitement, hiding a darkness that matched Tom's own.
To my horror, I witnessed a scene of terrible cruelty. A young Ravenclaw girl lay on the floor, trapped by an invisible force. Tom and the others surrounded her, their wands pointed at her with evil intent.
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Tom's eyes sparkled with malice as he asked his followers, "So, boys, are you ready for some fun?"
"Of course, my Lord. Let's make Warren scream for mercy," one of them answered eagerly.
"Myrtle should pay for every insult she threw at us," another said with a twisted grin.
"That's right, boys. Let's teach her a lesson she'll never forget," Tom said, his voice oozing with cruelty.
They raised their wands and cast the Cruciatus curse on the helpless girl. She writhed in agony, her screams filling the room, as she begged for mercy.
"Please, please stop! I'm sorry, please have mercy!" she sobbed, her voice cracking with fear.
But Tom and the others only laughed and mocked her pain, enjoying her torment.
"Look at her twitch! How pathetic!" one of them taunted.
"Keep crying, girl. It makes it more fun," another sneered.
Myrtle's pleas were ignored as the torture went on, each second a source of delight for Tom and his cronies. I couldn't stand to watch such brutality, my heart aching for the girl's suffering.
As the torture reached its peak, the dream changed again, fading into the darkness of my own room. I gasped for air, lying there, the vivid images and raw emotions from the dream still burning in my mind. A disturbing feeling lingered in my soul, refusing to let go.
Questions raged in my mind like a storm as I struggled with the aftermath of my nightmare. Who was this Tom Riddle, and what had he become? The darkness that surrounded him was unmistakable, a shadow that hinted at a terrible truth I had accidentally discovered.
I realized that I needed to seek the help of someone with more knowledge. There was only one person who could give me the answers I desperately needed – Dumbledore.
As I reached his office within the splendid walls of Hogwarts, I felt a mix of awe and curiosity. The room was filled with an air of ancient wisdom, decorated with rows upon rows of old books and strange objects. The sight was both impressive and fascinating. The Headmaster, with his blue eyes and long silver beard, greeted me with a kind smile, radiating an aura of wisdom and authority.
"Ah, Miss Granger, would you like a lemon drop?" Dumbledore offered, holding out a bowl full of the candies to me.
I politely refused the candy and sat down, my eyes fixed on him, waiting eagerly for him to tell me his story. He had a sparkle in his eye as he started to narrate the history of one of his former students – Tom Marvolo Riddle.
"Hermione, my dear, have you ever heard of Tom Riddle?" Dumbledore asked, his voice filled with intrigue.
"Yes, Professor, but I only know very little. The information I have comes from my dreams, and it's not always clear," I replied.
Dumbledore nodded, a solemn expression crossing his face. "Indeed, but there is much more to his story than meets the eye. Let me tell you about our first encounter at Wool's orphanage."
I leaned forward, my curiosity piqued. "What did you see in him, Professor?"
Dumbledore sighed, memories flooding his mind. "I saw a young boy with immense potential, but also a darkness that chilled me to the bone. His cold, calculating eyes were a glimpse into the troubled path he would choose."
With each passing moment, he unraveled the story of Tom's life, from his years as a brilliant student at Hogwarts to the ever-growing darkness that consumed him. He described Tom's insatiable thirst for power and his recent knowledge of his relentless pursuit of immortality through the creation of Horcruxes.
"But why would someone want to split their soul?" I asked, a mixture of fascination and horror in my voice.
Dumbledore's eyes met mine, filled with sorrow. "Creating Horcruxes requires a deeply disturbed soul, Hermione. Tom Riddle's obsession with immortality drove him to commit unspeakable acts."
The more he spoke, the more my sense of unease deepened, as I realized the true extent of Riddle's malevolence.
"The last known traces of Tom led to Albania," Dumbledore continued, his voice tinged with concern. "I also suspected his involvement in the death of a fellow student, Myrtle Warren, but could never gather enough evidence to prove it."
My brows furrowed. "Why would he do such a thing?"
The Headmaster's gaze became distant. "Mr. Riddle had a darkness in him that craved power and control. The death of Myrtle Warren was just another step in his twisted journey."
As he concluded his tale, I felt a mixture of awe and unease wash over me. I had already known that creating Horcruxes required a deeply disturbed soul, but I could never have fathomed that this man, Tom Riddle, had once been a brilliant student, not so different from myself. Countless questions swirled in my mind, fueling an insatiable thirst for knowledge and understanding.
Intrigued yet disturbed, Dumbledore offered to show me the memory of Myrtle Warren's death in his pensive. The pensive, a shallow stone basin filled with a silvery substance, shimmered invitingly on a nearby table. I hesitated for a moment, my heart pounding with apprehension, before mustering the courage to peer into the depths.
Dumbledore's voice was soft but firm as he asked me, "Hermione, are you ready to see the truth?"
I nodded, inhaling deeply. "Yes, Professor. I want to know."
I plunged into the memory, and found myself in one of Hogwarts many bathrooms, where a dark atmosphere hung in the air. Myrtle Warren's body lay on the floor, her eyes lifeless and hollow.
I looked at Dumbledore, my voice shaky. "Is that… Tom Riddle?"
He nodded solemnly. "Yes, Hermione. That is the young Tom Riddle."
I felt a cold shiver as I saw Tom nearby, his face innocent and calm. A younger Dumbledore's voice rang in my ears, questioning Riddle about the girl's attacker.
"No, Professor," he said casually, his eyes showing a cold emptiness.
The memory faded, and I pulled out of the pensive, my mind spinning with the images I had seen. Myrtle's dead body and Tom Riddle's blank stare lingered in my thoughts, making me uneasy and troubled. I wondered how someone could be so dark, and what it meant for the wizarding world's future.
Weeks passed, and every night I had vivid and terrifying nightmares. The shadows in my mind grew darker and more threatening, pushing me to act. I made a risky decision – to dive into the perilous depths of Tom Riddle's past. The next day, I felt nervous and excited as I met James and Lily Potter, who had been students at Hogwarts with Riddle.
I entered their warm home, and felt their kindness. James and Lily, their eyes compassionate, shared their memories of Riddle with me.
"Thank you for meeting with me. I need to learn more about Tom Riddle and his time at Hogwarts," I said gratefully.
"Of course, Hermione. We're happy to help. Riddle was a mystery, always alone. But he had something about him, a weird kind of charm," James said.
Lily agreed. "Yes, he was different from the other Slytherins. I remember one day when I was in the library and heard Riddle laughing with his friends, Abraxas and Lucius Malfoy, Evan Rosier, and Vladimir Lestrange. It gave me goosebumps. Their laughter was dark and creepy, like they were planning something evil. It made me doubt Riddle's true character and his connection with them."
The sun was setting, bathing the room in a warm glow, but I felt a twinge of sadness. The dimming light reminded me that time was running out, and my quest to unravel Tom Riddle's past was reaching a crucial stage. James and Lily had told me their stories, but they had only met Riddle when they were third years. Their insights were helpful, but they only knew him from a distance.
I was driven by my thirst for the truth, and my search took me to the dark and twisted streets of Knockturn Alley. The air was heavy with a sinister vibe, and the place smelled of hidden secrets. I entered Borgin and Burkes carefully, the shop where Riddle had worked. The sight was disgusting, the smell of rot everywhere.
I gathered my courage and approached Mr. Everard Borgin, the owner, hoping to get some clue about Riddle's location.
"Excuse me, Mr. Borgin. I'm researching Tom Riddle. Do you have any information that could help me?" I asked, my voice firm.
"What do you want, girl? We don't share information for free here. You'll have to pay if you want anything," Mr. Borgin said rudely, his tone cold and hostile.
"I get that, but I'm really desperate for any leads. Riddle disappeared, right? Do you know where he went?" I pressed, trying to stay calm.
"I don't know anything about that. He left years ago, went to Albania. Now go away," he snapped back, his fear and nervousness clear.
"Please, Mr. Borgin, I just need some answers," I begged, hoping to touch his empathy.
"Look, girl, I don't care about your curiosity. Riddle is long gone, and I have nothing to say about him. Now, if you're not here to buy anything, I suggest you leave," the man said sharply, his tone ending the conversation.
All I learned was that Riddle had vanished, leaving for Albania almost ten years ago, leaving no trace or answers behind. The meeting with Everard Borgin made me more determined than ever to discover the secrets of Tom Riddle's past, no matter what stood in my way.
Riddle's old friends from Hogwarts refused to talk to me. I accepted this harsh truth, knowing their pureblood views had corrupted them. But I didn't let their bias kill my spirit.
One day, I walked down the busy streets of Diagon Alley, feeling stressed. I was drawn to the apothecary, where the smell of potions and herbs comforted me.
I had used Calming Draughts and Dreamless Sleep potions for weeks, but I was running low on peppermint oil and sopophorous beans. I went into the apothecary, the small space filled with vials.
I looked for the ingredients I needed, browsing the shelves full of colorful bottles with magical mixtures. I touched the glass, feeling the cold as I checked each vial carefully.
As I searched for the best ingredients, I bumped into Draco Malfoy, my old rival from school. I was caught off guard, losing my breath for a moment.
Draco, his silver-blond hair still neat, looked at me with surprise and curiosity. Our eyes met, our past memories swirling around us. But I noticed a change in Draco, a softness that replaced his arrogance.
We had done a master's in Alchemy together, and had a short but intense romance. He had gone to Wallachia to learn more, while I had joined the Department of Mysteries. Our bond had faded over time, buried by our different paths.
But now, in the crowded apothecary, Draco winked at me. His hair glowed under the light, and his lips smirked with mischief that brought back memories.
"Well, well, Hermione Granger. You always find trouble, don't you?" he said, teasing me like before.
I blushed, feeling nostalgic and curious. "Draco Malfoy, what a surprise to see you here. It's been so long!" I said, my voice full of shock and joy.
Draco and I talked, reliving memories and old feelings. He told me about his adventures in Eastern Europe. His voice was excited.
"I've seen incredible things. Ancient castles, secret alchemy—it was like a different world," he said, his eyes shining with wonder.
I wanted to tell him my stories too. I shared the challenges I faced during my internship. The magic of exploring the unknown sparkled in my eyes.
"That's impressive? You should hear about the Death Room and the Veil. It changed my life," I said, thrilled and awed.
But as we talked more, I opened up about my nightmares of Tom Riddle. He stopped joking, and became serious. He looked afraid when he heard Riddle's name.
"Riddle… that name makes me shiver. He's a dangerous man, Hermione. Be careful," he said, worried.
Draco paused, then decided to tell me a dark secret. "I have to tell you something," he said, sorry. "My father and uncle worshipped Riddle. They thought he was the pureblood hero."
I was shocked and disgusted. "They supported his evil beliefs? The ones that killed and hurt muggles and muggleborns?" I asked, angry.
He nodded, looking down. "Yes, they did. They called him Lord Voldemort, and his followers were the Knights of Walpurgis. They did terrible things."
I felt sorry for him, and touched his arm gently. "Draco, I'm sorry you grew up with that. It must have been hard for you."
He looked up, regretful. "It was, Hermione. As a child, I believed it was right, the only way to save our purebloods. My father trained me to be one of Riddle's Knights, a pureblood zealot."
I spoke with compassion. "Draco, your family influenced you. But you've chosen a different path now. You've seen your father's wrongs, and I forgive you."
Draco relaxed a bit, hope in his eyes. "Thank you. Your words mean a lot. I want to fix my past mistakes and make a better future."
I smiled warmly, showing my faith in him. "You can do it. You have the power to change."
But then, panic hit me hard, making me shake uncontrollably. I couldn't breathe, and tears flowed down my face. The nightmares, the unknown, the danger—they weighed on me, breaking me.
"I… I need the truth about Riddle. I have to go to Albania," I said, scared and determined. The task ahead was heavy, crushing me.
Draco, who had left his family's beliefs behind, looked worried. Fear filled his eyes, reflecting mine.
"Albania? You're crazy! It's too dangerous," he said, scared for me. He hated the idea of me looking for a madman in a perilous place.
He tried to stop me, to suggest another way that was safer. "There has to be another way. We can find answers here, in Britain," he begged, desperate.
He saw my pain, and hugged me tight. He comforted me, offering peace. His touch was gentle and strong, making me feel safe in the chaos.
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He whispered, "Don't worry, Hermione. We're in this together." His voice was warm and reassuring. His words calmed my shaking body. I breathed deeply, feeling his support. Tears still fell, but not from fear. They were from relief and gratitude for having him with me. He understood my terror.
Rain hit the window, and Draco said we should meet tomorrow. We arranged to getter at my apartment in the morning, to start our plans. It would challenge our bravery and beliefs.
I said goodbye for the night, feeling nervous and excited. Tears ran down my face, I barely said, "See you tomorrow, Draco. Thank you," my voice breaking.
I got home, feeling unsure. The path ahead was dark and mysterious. But I hoped that Draco and I could face it together, not giving up to the shadows that wanted to destroy us.