A secret for more of Them
Tom Riddle left the imposing gates of Malfoy Manor, his long cloak trailing behind him as the crisp night air bit at his skin. His footsteps were deliberate, his mind a storm of calculations. Hogwarts was a fortress of secrets, and even as a professor, he treaded carefully. Dumbledore's suspicion lingered like a thorn in his side—a persistent reminder that his every move was under scrutiny.
He Apparated to the edge of the Forbidden Forest and made his way toward the castle. The stone corridors stretched before him, dimly lit by flickering candles affixed to the walls. Shadows danced like specters, and his soft whistling echoed hauntingly through the empty halls. The sound reverberated back to him, mocking, as though the castle itself whispered his name.
Tom's sharp instincts prickled. Someone was watching.
He stopped mid-step, his hand brushing against his wand tucked in his robes. Slowly, he turned, scanning the corridor behind him. Darkness met his gaze. Nothing moved, yet he felt the presence linger like a breath on the back of his neck. He continued forward, more cautious now, his senses attuned to the faintest disturbance.
The path led him to the Astronomy Wing, where the Room of Requirement awaited him. Its ever-shifting walls held treasures, memories, and the weight of his darkest deeds. He approached the blank stretch of stone, his mind focused on the door he needed to appear.
But just as he was about to open it, a faint scream pierced the silence.
A girl's voice. Brief, restrained, but unmistakable.
He didn't need to see her to know. Violet Alas.
A flicker of irritation crossed his face, quickly replaced by curiosity. His dark gaze searched the corridor until he spotted her faint silhouette near a tapestry. She looked startled, her hand clutching the fabric as if to steady herself.
"Miss Alas," he called, his voice soft yet commanding.
She froze as he stepped into the light, his expression unreadable. After a brief exchange, where he issued her detention with cold precision, he turned back to the wall. With a single thought, a dusty wooden door materialized before him. Without another glance at her, he opened it and slipped inside, the door vanishing seamlessly into the wall behind him.
The Room of Requirement stretched out before him, vast and filled with relics of the past. Towers of broken furniture, forgotten books, and tarnished treasures loomed in the dimness. The air was heavy with the scent of dust and decay, and the absence of windows made the space feel claustrophobic.
"Lumos," he murmured, his wand-tip igniting to cast a ghostly glow across the room.
He wandered through the labyrinth of discarded items, his steps slow, deliberate. In the corner, he found a worn couch near an old fireplace. The sight brought a flicker of memory—himself as a student, hunched over forbidden texts, plotting the steps that would carve his path to immortality.
With a flick of his wand, the fireplace roared to life, its warmth licking at his cold cheeks. He sank onto the couch, brushing the dust from the cushions, and watched the flames dance. The fire consumed the wood with an unrelenting hunger, reducing it to ash with brutal efficiency. In its glow, the reflection of the flames flickered in his dark eyes, a mirror to his own nature—destructive, consuming, merciless.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the white box Julius had given him. He opened it carefully, revealing the diadem. Its beauty was haunting, the artifact now holding a piece of his very soul. He ran his fingers over its delicate edges, marveling at the power it represented.
But something gnawed at him, a thought he couldn't suppress. Violet. Her face, her voice, her presence.
She was a child, barely seventeen, yet she plagued his thoughts with a ferocity that unnerved him. He despised the weakness she evoked in him, the primal need to touch her, to possess her. It was a vulnerability he couldn't afford, a crack in the armor he'd spent years perfecting.
She's just a girl, he reminded himself, though the words felt hollow. Innocent. Pure.
The very qualities that drew him to her repelled him as well. He wanted to break her, to shatter that purity—but the idea of her splintering beneath his hands filled him with dread. She was like glass, fragile and irreplaceable.
Tom shook his head, disgusted with his own thoughts. He had no time for such distractions. Carefully, he buried the diadem beneath a pile of books and peculiar objects, ensuring it would remain hidden.
The next morning, Tom made his way to class, his movements brisk and calculated. He'd fallen asleep in the Room of Requirement, a lapse he didn't intend to repeat. His first class was with Violet's year.
The students filed in, and he felt her gaze on him immediately. He turned just enough to catch her eyes, smirking slightly before winking at her—a subtle act no one else noticed. He began the lesson, his deep voice commanding the room.
"Today, we'll have a verbal quiz," he announced. "You will come to the front and demonstrate a spell of my choosing."
The class stiffened. His quizzes were infamous for their unpredictability.
He called names, each student coming forward to perform their assigned spell. His favoritism toward Slytherins and disdain for Muggle-borns became evident quickly.
"Oliver Fray," he called, gesturing to the Gryffindor boy. "A Stunning Spell, if you please."
Oliver hesitated, his hands shaking as he stammered, "I—I don't know it, Professor."
Tom's lips curled into a predatory smile. "Then learn faster, Mr. Fray. You're wasting everyone's time."
From the back, Violet whispered to her friend, Eve. "He's doing it on purpose," she hissed. "He's targeting Muggle-borns."
Tom continued to call on students, his questions growing more difficult for those of "weaker" bloodlines. When it was Violet's turn, he leaned against his desk, his expression sharp.
"Miss Alas. A simple question for you. The spell to make an object unbreakable."
She rolled her eyes, answering with a flick of her wand. "Duro."
He raised an eyebrow. "Finding this amusing, are we?"
She smirked. "Only the simplicity of your question, sir."
His smile darkened. "Very well. A Patronus Charm, then."
Her heart sank. Happiness wasn't something she could summon so easily. She stood there, wand poised, until the bell rang.
"Seems you can't do it," Tom said, his voice a mix of triumph and something softer.
Violet hesitated. "Give me a moment, Professor." She tried again, but the spell faltered.
Her disappointment was palpable, and for a fleeting moment, Tom's expression softened. He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
"Detention at eight," he said, his tone cold once more. "Don't be late."
As he returned to his desk, Violet left, her thoughts tangled in confusion and fury.