The Serpent in the Shadows
Tom Riddle stood before the mirror in his office, meticulously adjusting his dark curls and fastening the final button on his shirt. The reflection staring back at him was the epitome of composure, charm, and control—exactly as he intended. His cold, calculating eyes scanned his reflection with precision, ensuring that not a single thread was out of place. First impressions mattered, and tonight, his plan demanded perfection. The feast, the Sorting Ceremony, the attention of hundreds of eager, naive students—all of it was a stage, and he the star performer. But underneath the polished exterior lay something far darker, a roiling abyss of malice that he concealed with practiced ease.
He paced the length of his office, the walls lined with carefully chosen artifacts—books on the Dark Arts, rare magical relics, and a single, shadowy tapestry depicting a coiled serpent. He allowed himself one final glance around the room before stepping out. Tonight would set the tone for the year, for his conquest, for his domination.
The Great Hall was alive with the hum of students returning to Hogwarts, their voices echoing in the vaulted ceilings, their laughter tinged with excitement and nerves. Tom's gaze swept over the hall as he made his way to the staff table, his movements graceful and deliberate. He greeted familiar faces with polite nods, pausing only when he reached his old mentor, Professor Slughorn.
"Ah, Tom, my favorite student! You've grown up so well," Slughorn beamed, his voice warm and jovial. "Bit nervous about tomorrow? First day as a professor, eh?"
Tom's lips curved into a practiced smile. "A little excited, perhaps. I hope the students will find me agreeable."
Slughorn chuckled, his round face flushed from the wine he was already indulging in. "Agreeable? Nonsense, boy. They'll adore you, especially the young ladies. Tell me, is there someone special? A young lady who—"
Tom cut him off smoothly, his tone polite but firm. "Not yet. My focus remains on my work."
"Well, you're still young, lad. What is it now, thirty?"
"Turning thirty-one this year," Tom replied, his patience wearing thin as he took a sip of his goblet. He masked his irritation with a slight incline of his head. "And I'll always consider you my mentor, sir."
Slughorn's laugh boomed again, and Tom's smile tightened imperceptibly as the Sorting Ceremony began.
Professor McGonagall's voice rang out clearly as she welcomed the new first-years. Tom leaned back in his seat, his eyes scanning the nervous children filing into the Great Hall. Their wide-eyed wonder brought a faint smirk to his lips. The Sorting Hat, the traditions, the naive excitement—all of it was a quaint prelude to his ultimate goal. His hand rested lightly on the table, but beneath it, his fingers tapped a slow, deliberate rhythm. The ghosts floated through the hall, drawing gasps and giggles from the first-years. Tom's gaze lingered on the Fat Friar, a specter he had eluded countless times in his youth.
As the Sorting began, Tom feigned polite interest, his expression neutral but attentive. Inside, he evaluated the faces, the names, the bloodlines. He noted the whispers from the Slytherin table as they eyed him with curiosity, the girls already nudging each other and giggling. It amused him how easily they fell into his trap, how predictable their reactions were. They saw only the charm, the grace—never the snake that lay coiled beneath.
When Dumbledore introduced him, Tom rose with a graceful bow, his dark eyes sweeping over the sea of students. The applause was polite but curious, and Tom felt their attention, their trust, sinking into him like roots into fertile soil. It was intoxicating.
At the Slytherin table, Violet Alas sat with her friends, her dark eyes flitting toward the staff table. She caught glimpses of the new professor—his calm demeanor, the way his presence commanded the room without effort. She wasn't alone; the other girls whispered about him incessantly. Even her usually apathetic friend Eve seemed intrigued.
"He's indeed handsome, isn't he?" Eve said with a sly grin. "Bet he's got a dark past. Mysterious types always do."
Violet rolled her eyes but couldn't deny the magnetism. "He's a professor, Eve. Not some Quidditch player."
The conversation shifted as Dumbledore gave a grim warning. "Be careful whom you trust and love. The one closest to us can betray us in ways we cannot imagine."
A chill settled over the hall, the jovial atmosphere dimming momentarily. Tom's smirk returned as he sipped his pumpkin juice. "Wise words, old man," he thought, his gaze sweeping over the students. They would never suspect the truth. Not yet.
At the Slytherin table, the atmosphere was charged with a mix of chatter and barely-contained tension. Theo Nott's voice rang out above the noise, his smirk wide and smug as he made a comment about the food. "I swear, every year the roast beef gets more like chewing on a brick."
Violet couldn't help but roll her eyes as she shoved him playfully. "Shut up, Theo," she muttered, though there was a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "You're the one who eats it like you're starving."
Theo, ever the dramatist, clutched his chest and winced. "How rude," he mocked, giving her a wounded look. "I thought we were friends. You wound me, Violet."
The others at the table chuckled, but the sound of their laughter felt distant, as if Violet was only half present. She stood abruptly, excusing herself from the table without another word. Her stomach churned with unease, the weight of her thoughts too much to bear in the crowded, noisy hall.
As she made her way through the dark corridors of Hogwarts, her mind wandered. Her brother Julius, the meeting she'd overheard, and the chilling words spoken about Nobby Leach—it was all too much. But it was the figure of Tom Riddle that lingered in her mind, unsettling her like a shadow she couldn't quite shake. She hadn't wanted to admit it to herself, but there was something dangerous about him. Something too magnetic.
She barely noticed when Eve fell into step beside her, but the soft voice calling her name brought her back to the present.
"Violet?" Eve asked gently, her concern clear. "You're not yourself tonight."
Violet gave a tight smile, but her eyes remained distant. "Just... a lot on my mind."
Eve raised an eyebrow but didn't push. They continued walking in silence, eventually finding themselves in the library, where the usual buzz of student chatter had quieted into hushed whispers. The dim light from the torches flickered off the stone walls, casting long, stretching shadows across the room. Eve spotted a cold stone ledge by the window and led Violet to it, sitting down with an easy grace before patting the spot beside her.
"Come on," Eve said softly, unwrapping a small dessert from her bag. "Have some chocolate, or I swear I'll personally hex that frown off your face."
Violet's lips quirked slightly as she sat down beside her, though her shoulders remained tense. Eve's smile was infectious, and the familiar comfort of her presence was enough to make Violet's guard slip, if only slightly. Eve handed her the chocolate, and Violet took it, feeling the warm sweetness melt against her tongue.
"Don't let Theo get to you," Eve said, her usual energy tempered with the gentleness of her concern. "You know how he gets. A complete prat, especially when he's trying to impress Rodolphus."
Violet let out a soft laugh, the weight on her chest not entirely lifted, but lessened. "Thanks, Eve. Violet without sugar is pretty insufferable." She shifted uncomfortably, the smile on her face flickering as she lowered her gaze to the floor. "I'm just... distracted."
Eve gave her a sideways glance, her expression turning serious. "Distracted by what?"
Violet's fingers twitched at the edge of the stone as she tried to push the unease out of her thoughts. "It's... it's not Theo. Or the banquet, even though Dumbledore's 'warning' was a bit much, wasn't it?" Her laugh was hollow, echoing against the stone walls.
Eve nodded, her brow furrowing in concern. "Yeah, that speech about betrayal and murder? Not the ideal dessert conversation." She let out a soft huff before nudging Violet gently with her elbow. "Come on, what's really bothering you?"
Violet's gaze drifted to the window, her voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe he's right, though. Maybe everything's about to go wrong."
Eve's expression softened, her teasing smirk fading into genuine concern. "Vi, what's going on? You've been off since we got back." Her voice dropped an octave, urging Violet to open up. "Is it about the murders? I know it's been... a lot. But—"
"No," Violet interrupted, her voice sharp but quickly softening. She shook her head, her fingers gripping the edge of the stone ledge as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded. "It's not that. It's... something else." She hesitated, glancing around the library as if expecting someone to overhear. Then she took a breath, lowering her voice to a whisper. "A month ago, I overheard something... something that's been eating away at me ever since."
Eve's eyes narrowed, her concern growing. "What happened?"
Violet paused, eyes flashing with a mixture of fear and uncertainty. "I heard Julius meeting with some of his friends in the hall. It seemed like nothing at first—he was just being Julius, charming and commanding, but then..." She trailed off, her voice faltering as she felt the weight of her own words. "This man appeared."
Eve shifted slightly, her heart beginning to race. "What man?"
Violet swallowed hard. "A masked man. I heard them talking. About killing Nobby Leach. They said if he didn't resign, they'd make him. They'd already targeted his family, his friends. Eve, it was..." She blinked back tears, the weight of the revelation crashing over her. "It was so cold, so deliberate."
Eve stared at her, the realization sinking in slowly. "Wait, Leach... he resigned last week."
Violet nodded, her voice cracking. "I know. And now, I can't stop wondering. How far did they go? What part did Julius play in it?" She covered her face with her hands, fighting the tears that had started to form. "He's my brother, Eve. I love him. But... what if he's a part of something worse? What if he's already crossed a line he can't come back from?"
Eve's heart broke for her. She reached out, pulling Violet into a hug, her arms wrapping around her tightly. "Vi, don't—don't think like that. We'll figure this out, okay? We'll get to the bottom of it together. You're not alone in this, I promise."
For a moment, Violet just held onto her, letting the comfort of Eve's words wash over her. The weight of her emotions was overwhelming, but Eve's presence was a small balm against the storm inside her. After a while, Violet pulled back, wiping her eyes quickly.
"But," Eve said, her voice lightening as she raised an eyebrow, "let's talk about something a little less heavy, okay? Like, oh, I don't know—Professor Riddle and his coat? Because if you think I didn't notice, you're delusional."
Violet felt the heat rush to her face as she flushed crimson. "Oh, shut up, Eve. It's not what you think."
Eve leaned back with a smirk, crossing her arms. "Not what I think? Vi, the man is a literal god, and he gave you his coat. That's basically a proposal in wizarding terms."
Violet couldn't help the small laugh that escaped her. "No, absolutely not." She turned away, but her blush only deepened. "He's a professor. A professor, Eve."
Eve tilted her head, her teasing look turning into one of genuine curiosity. "A professor with a mysterious charm and a gorgeous face. What's so wrong with that?"
Violet sighed, but her smile faded as she thought of Tom Riddle. "I don't know. There's something about him... He's charming, yes, but... I don't know. I can't shake this feeling like there's something... dark about him."
Eve raised an eyebrow, now less amused. "Dark? Like what?"
Violet shook her head, trying to dismiss the thought. "It's probably nothing. Just my nerves, with everything going on. It's nothing."
Eve stared at her for a moment, then nodded. "Well, dark or not, if he ever gives you trouble, I'll hex him. Professor or not."
The two girls laughed, the sound warm and easy. It wasn't much, but for now, it was enough.
Violet gazed out the window, letting the moonlight bathe her in its pale glow. Her reflection stared back at her, but for a split second, she thought she saw a shadow move in the corner of the glass. When she whipped around, no one was there.
Her heart skipped. The feeling of being watched crept up her spine.
"Did you see that?" Violet whispered, looking around the library.
Eve glanced at her, a bemused expression on her face. "See what?"
Violet shook her head, but the unease lingered. No matter how many times she tried to push the feeling away, she couldn't escape it. Not tonight. Not with everything unraveling around her.
***
Back in his office, Tom Riddle closed the door with a calculated click. The quiet click of the lock echoed in the room as if sealing away any last remnants of civility he had left to pretend. He stood in the middle of his darkened office, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him like a suffocating fog.
His eyes, sharp and calculating, turned toward the mirror on the far wall, the only source of light in the room reflecting the pale glow of the moon from the small window. The reflection that stared back at him was an unsettling blend of calm authority and cold, ruthless ambition.
With a slow, deliberate motion, he approached the mirror, his gaze unwavering. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply look. The face that stared back was one of striking beauty, yes, but it was also the face of a man who had learned the art of control. The art of manipulation. He didn't just want power—he craved it.
Tonight had gone exactly as he had planned. The students, the whispers, the subtle play of charm and authority—it was all part of the game. The pieces were already moving, and soon, they would all fall into place. The students, the faculty, even the headmaster—none of them would suspect what he was truly after.
"Let them trust me," he whispered to himself, his voice a soft, dangerous murmur that barely made it past his lips. His eyes narrowed as a cruel smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Let them adore me. It will make their fall all the sweeter."
He ran his hand over his jaw, feeling the sharpness of it beneath his fingers. There was something so intoxicating about the idea of being worshipped, adored... but more than that, it was the control he would hold over them that stirred him. The power of bending others to his will, of knowing their every move before they made it. The thought sent a thrill through him, as though the darkness within him grew more powerful with every breath he took.
