Little Bird

From within the Basilisk’s former cave-like abode, the ghost of Tom Riddle heard the faint sound of Mary Janes clacking in even tempo against the wet stone of the outer chamber. Time passed like a blur in his current, despicable state. He likened the experience to dementia. Tom couldn’t remember how long it had been since he last saw Starling Blackthorn. She was running from him…but when? Moments ago? Days ago? Where had his thoughts suddenly up and flown to? This existence was almost as bad as being stuck in the diary, where time did not exist at all.

Tom floated out of Slytherin’s statue. He hated the relief he felt at seeing her again. She provided a marker of reality, something he realized he was in sore need of. But, Tom Marvolo Riddle does not need anyone—the mere idea disgusts him…

Terrifies him…

“You came back,” said Tom.

Starling stopped some distance from his ghost. Her wand was in her hand, at the ready. “So did you. The question is…how?” Her voice was even, measured. Tom still could tell she was terrified, he was always good at knowing just how she felt, even when she couldn’t place her own emotions. “Is this one of your tricks?” She asked him sharply.

“It is not,” Tom answered flatly.

“Liar,” she growled.

Tom sighed, aware the habit served no purpose. “Why are you here? Just to annoy me?”

“I am here to find out just what your scheme is.”

Ah, that intrigued him. “Alone?” He grinned, and quite wolfishly at that. Starling Blackthorn really was something else.

“I handled you well enough last time,” she said confidently.

Tom ignored the pang of irritation. He wouldn’t let it show, he wouldn’t scare her away. Not yet, anyway. “Fiendfyre. Quite the impressive curse for a fourth year to know,” he probed.

“You had your heritage,” she said, nodding toward the statue of Salazar. “I have mine.”

“Magic of the Old Fey, then,” Tom assumed. “I was wondering what could have restored your lifeforce so quickly after I had taken it. But, that still does not explain how you know the spell…”

“I don’t owe you an explanation.”

Tom rolled his eyes. She’s so much more difficult than he remembered—well, she was hardly possess-able, then. “No, you don’t. But, I would appreciate one, for my own curiosity’s sake.”

Starling pursed her lips, remaining silent for a few moments. “My mum,” she eventually answered. “We have an affinity for elemental spells, my whole family does. It’s in our blood.”

“Fascinating creatures, the Old Fey,” Tom said contemplatively, staring at her intensely. He wanted to see how far he could push her. “I read somewhere their magic is on par with that of a unicorn’s. I imagine their blood has equally as impressive properties.”

“Are you threatening me?” She snapped, pointing her wand at his spectral form.

“Has the obvious escaped your great Ravenclaw intellect, Starling?” He shot back, irate once again. But, this time, he couldn’t hide it. “I am a ghost. The worst I could do to you is make you cold.”

“Why are you here?”

“Because you destroyed me.”

“No, I mean…Why? How? You were a memory encased in a book, not a person. And, I don’t understand how you look like…?” She struggled to find the words for this outrageous situation. “You grew up! Ghosts take the form of their bodies.”

“If you are expecting me to give you all of the answers, you’ll be disappointed to know that I don’t have any. Leave me be,” Tom bitterly demanded, but there was a weakness to his voice, a weariness. That was a mistake, because she didn’t leave.

“Why would I do anything you want?” She challenged.

Now, Tom was fuming. Even if he couldn’t harm her, couldn’t touch her at all, he could still get to her. Mentally, emotionally. “Why did you come back, Starling?” He asked, uncharacteristically calm. It unsettled the girl more than his anger ever could. “Curiosity? To kill me a second time, if necessary? Or, is it a reason you can’t admit to yourself yet?” He walked on untouched ground, closer and closer to her. He noticed her tense up—fight or flight. He smiled. “Do you miss our little moments, those naughty dreams—”

“—Fuck you,” she snarled.

“You did,” he replied, giving her the arrogant smirk he knew would drive her insane.

Starling waved her wand, a vicious look on her face.

Her magic assaulted Tom, flowing through him and chilling his non-body completely in such an odd way, it made him want to take flight and leave the chamber as quickly as possible, but that wasn’t an option. He was stuck. Oddly, any trace of ectoplasm also vanished.

He looked back to her, confusion breaking way to rage. “Did you just—? Don’t you dare use a Skurge charm on me—!”

“—Get out of this fucking castle!”

“I can’t!” He bellowed out before he could stop himself. Oh, how far Tom had fallen. He couldn’t even keep control of his emotions. But, why? He barely felt anything before she came.

Starling paused. He could see the gears in her brain turning. “What?”

“You killed me, Starling. And now I am trapped in the Chamber. Forever,” he admitted, the words tasting bitter enough for even a ghost to sense. He wanted nothing more than to get her back for it all.

He walked closer, light as air, floating in his odd sort of ghastly stride, and making no sound. “Something tells me you're trapped here, too,” Tom observed, for if he couldn’t physically harm her, he could do his best to mentally toy with her. “You seemed like such a perfect choice at the time. Young, but not too young. An insatiable curiosity—and that famous Blackthorn pull to the dark—which made you come back to me, time and time, again.”

He could see the memories which haunted her in the reflection of her eyes, could feel them as she must have felt them. “You weren’t like Ginny—no, she feared me, she fought the darkness. But, you? You were such an eager pupil.” Tom smirked, stopping right in front of her. If things were different, he could have reached out and touched her. “Ready, willing, perfectly malleable, you bent to my will like a flower to a gale of wind. Our minds melded together in a way that made possession so incredibly easy.”

He waited, and he waited. She said nothing. Her face was made of stone. But, Tom knew she was a swirl of emotions inside. She had to be.

“What? Am I not telling you what you want to hear? My mistake,” he insincerely apologized. “I didn’t choose you. It could have happened to anyone. You aren’t special. It isn’t your fault. Is that better?”

But, still, Starling did not move a muscle, or give much indication she cared for what he was saying at all. It ticked him off. That wasn’t the response he had hoped for.

“Say something,” Tom demanded.

“I remember you always loved hearing yourself talk,” she retorted in a bored voice.

Tom huffed, frustrated beyond belief that he couldn’t just wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze. “Why are you here?!”

“Why are you?”

Neither of them had any idea.

“You chose to come back,” Starling reasoned. “You had to. Every spirit who becomes a ghost elects to turn away from the Beyond.”

“I did choose. Though, I admit, the exact mechanics of how it became an option elude me.”

Starling was not satisfied with that.

“Answer for an answer,” he pressed.

“I made no such deal.”

“Must you be so difficult?” Tom asked, teasing her. “You know, I half expected you to send an army after me. I was so surprised to see only you show up here.”

The Ravenclaw candor finally broke through. “I needed to make sure you were…you,” she admitted.

“Think of me often?”

“Only in my nightmares.”

Tom smirked again. She made this too easy. “Every night, then?”

“I despise you.”

He faked confusion. “You used to love me.”

“You made me love you,” she spat.

Tom clicked his teeth and shook his head, like he was scolding a child. “With the sole exception of stealing your life, I never did anything to you that you didn’t beg me for. Take responsibility for your desires, little bird.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Darling Starling?”

“I am very close to resigning myself to a life of Skurging you, purely out of spite, because I know you will never have a moment of peace,” she threatened him.

“It would be a waste of time. Nothing about this infernal existence could ever be peaceful,” Tom sourly replied.

“Then, why did you choose it?” Starling pressed. “Did you have some hope that you could make a comeback?”

Tom flexed his jaw, eyes flashing dangerously. “You know the limits of a ghost, don’t resort to playing dumb just to get under my skin. You can do better than that.”

“You’re right, I can!” Starling shouted with much fervor. “Let’s start with the fact that this is hilariously ironic. You tried to kill me, tried to trap me for all eternity in this damn place. But, instead, I killed you, trapped you! And the man you would become was bested not by a fifteen-year-old girl, but by a baby!” Now it was her turn to give the self-satisfied smirk.

“Just what do you hope to accomplish with this drivel?!” Tom snapped.

“I said it! I want you to pay for what you did to me—!”

“—I am! I have! I AM DEAD!” Tom roared, his voice echoing through dimensions and the tunnels, stunning Starling into silence. “You were my greatest mistake,” he said with the full force of his total resentment. “I suppose it’s only fair that I was yours.”

“No…you weren’t,” Starling said slowly. “Coming back here was.”

“And you’re going to keep making that mistake, aren’t you?” He asked her knowingly. Starling turned from him and strode toward the chamber exit.

“When will I see you again, Starling?” His voice echoed behind her, taunting her.

“When we enter Hell!” She snarled, not bothering to look back.

“It’s already here!” He shouted after her. When her imaged disappeared completely, in a much quieter voice, he mumbled, “A hell for us both.”

Because they knew they were both trapped. By death or by one’s own mind, the difference doesn’t really matter. There was a string tying them together, tying them to this place. It’s got them all knotted up without a hope of escaping.

Starling would be back, that Tom knew for sure. He just didn’t know exactly how he knew, nor did he know if this certainty upset him. Time began slipping away again, after her departure. The world bled away, emotions bled away. Numb and cold. Just like the stone. Just like death. And it will be that way, until she is back. And she will be back.