Chapter 1
I don't know when it stopped, and I found myself here. It was dark, too dark to be natural; to be normal. I couldn't smell, I couldn't hear, I could barely even think. The silence was oppressive in every sense - it clogged my throat and choked me, it was overwhelmingly loud, sounding like wordless screaming.
I could feel nothing other than myself, and even then I would slowly forget how my body was meant to feel. Soft, firm, flat, jagged. I forgot which was normal, and which was odd.
I spent this time doing nothing.
There was nothing.
Later, I would wake up in an odd house, in an odd room, with odd people.
Before I had even opened my eyes, a black-haired boy shoved a stick against my neck, with enough force to bruise. I let out an embarrassing squeak at the action, arms lagging behind as I pushed at his hand weakly.
He seemed to flinch slightly at my touch, before pushing forward harder, making me fall back, into a wall. The room seemed to blur at the edges, fading into darkness as my breathing picked up. There was a slight buzzing sound that I couldn't quite place.
I could barely feel my hand as I tried to push against the boy's. Everything was so bright.
I didn't notice when I fell, sliding down the wall until I hit the ground. The boy seemed confused, or maybe angry? It was hard to tell, with how his features swam in and out of view with every breath I took.
The wallpaper behind me was quite sharp, with small bumps that dug into my hand. It didn't hurt, but I could taste iron. I'm not sure I liked this room's decor all that much.
Black-hair seemed to make up his mind, leaning down towards me, again with the stick pointing at me. It took me a second to recognise an odd murmuring sound as the boy speaking - it sounded strange and muffled, I couldn't make out a word.
The oppressive force pushing down on my head seemed to let up slightly, and I could lift my arms again, from where they had fallen by my sides. I half blindly reached out for the boy, but fell short.
I still couldn't hear him over the pounding of my heart and the feeling of my blood rushing to my head. My breaths came in short gasps as I realised that I had stopped breathing, forcing myself to take in the air.
An arm stretched across my vision and turned me to the side, pulling my face to face with a man with light brown hair. I couldn't make out any other features. He placed one of my hands against his chest, and seemed to speak to me. Unwittingly, I fell into place, copying his breathing, matching it to the swelling of his chest.
As we sat there, the room seemed to come back into focus, details sharpening until I could see properly again. The walls were covered in a drab black layer of wallpaper, with intricate swirls of floral decoration that had muted with time.
On the ceiling hung a medieval style chandelier, with pointed prongs, and thick candles in every arm. It was wrought out of a dark steel, and seemed almost too sharp for a household item. It would fit better in a castle.
The room was bright, despite this, due to large, ornate windows covering one side of the room. The glass of the windows was frosted, obscuring anything that could have been outside. It let in plenty of light anyways.
As my breathing calmed, I noticed that the wall I was leaning against had stained my clothes, leaving a large black smudge against my jumper and hand. I tried to rub it off on my trousers and failed, only managing to spread the dirt, though it would be hard to notice given the sorry state of the garment.
The boy seemed to notice that I had calmed down, and placed his stick back against my neck. I had to uncomfortably tilt my head backwards to look at him as I tried to inch away from the wall. I didn't want that grime in my hair, even if I suspected I was already covered in it.
He had oddly bright green eyes, and his black hair was frizzy and uneven. His glasses were thick, with rounded lenses that reminded me of a telescope.
He was glaring at me. It was quite unsettling, to be honest, with how his eyes seemed to glow with some inner light - it seemed unnatural.
"Riddle." He spoke, harshly jabbing the stick into my neck alongside the word. His voice wobbled in the middle, sounding like he was trying his best to be intimidating, but failing.
Riddle?
I blinked in confusion, and tried to croak out a response.
"What?" My voice was brittle, more of a wheeze than a word, and my throat stung from the effort. I could taste iron in my mouth again.
My response seemed to only infuriate the boy further, and he leaned towards me, before being stopped by a gnarled hand on his shoulder. With a start, I noticed that my other hand was still on the brown haired man's chest, and he gently pried it off of himself, placing another scarred hand over mine as he returned my hand to my lap.
A strong sense of embarrassment washed over me, and I pulled my hand towards myself once he let go. I could feel my face twist into a light grimace as the wave of emotion rushed through me.
A sharp jab quickly brought me out of my head, and my eyes shot back up to the boy. The man pulled him back slightly again, seeming to rebuke his temper against me, probably taking pity on whatever ailment I was having a moment ago.
"Not now." The man's tone was gentle, but strong, accepting no arguments against his words. Black-hair's face tightened, but he conceeded, pulling his stick back slightly. The man then turned back to me, giving me an unreadable look. "Hey there. You're not supposed to be here."
There was a light-hearted lilt to his tone, and he gave an easy smile along with his words. I noticed a small scar on his lower lip, that stretched differently than the rest of the skin. He had a lot of scars, dotted across his face - some big, some small.
My eyes flicked up to his, and I opened my mouth to reply, before giving up at a sharp sting from my throat at the attempt. I simply shrugged instead.
The boy seemed willing to push for a response, brows even further furrowed than before, but was again cowed by the brown haired man, as his grip tightened on his shoulder.
The man blinked in confusion at me, before coming to a realisation, and shifted, pulling another stick out of his sleeve. "Okay, let me try something. I'm just going to help you with your throat, okay?" I found myself nodding along with his words, before I even realised what he was saying.
He held the stick up to my throat, waving the boy back, and spoke an odd, foreign word. A soft glow grew at the tip of the stick, before sinking into the skin of my neck, leaving a pleasant warmth. I let my eyes close at the feeling, relaxing slightly as I basked in it.
When I opened my eyes, the man seemed to smile at me in amusement, before speaking again. "So, why are you here?"
"I don't... know." There was no more hurt from the action, but I didn't recognise my voice. My words came out clipped and short, unable to bring myself to elaborate. It took a lot more effort than I thought it should.
I sounded... young? I had a boyish voice, that seemed unusual to me, but I couldn't say that it was unfamiliar. It felt right, but still wrong. The feelings were hard to unravel, and not something I could examine too deeply, considering my current predicament.
"Do you know where you are?" The man spoke up again, trying to puzzle out my origins. I guess they didn't know either.
That thought made me pause, realising that I didn't know how I got here. I couldn't recall any knowledge of who 'I' was, either. My body felt right, as if it had always been like that, and it moved with a smoothness that didn't strike me as wrong. My fingers clenched into a fist if I wanted them to, and my arms moved at my will.
A hand waving in my view brought me out of my thoughts with a jolt, and I realised that I had been quiet for too long. My gaze darted up to the man, who didn't seem upset at my distraction, and I quickly turned my head to stare at the wall. He had some stubble on his face.
"No." I replied, unintentionally coldly. I couldn't help but be utterly confused. Black-hair might know me, but 'riddle' didn't give me any clues.
"Do you... Know who we are?" He seemed to mull over his words as he presented them, which seemed odd to me. He obviously thought I would recognise them, either because they're well-known, or they know me, or what, I didn't know.
I still didn't know who I was.
I shook my head slightly, catching green-eye's gaze again. He had been staring at me since the beginning, hostile, but his severe stance had waned a little, in the face of my episode, and then subsequent lacking actions.
For a moment, I could almost fool myself into thinking he had let his guard down some, but this was quickly shot down as his resolve hardened. He obviously didn't believe me.
The man seemed to hesitate, before bringing his stick up, and shooting out a soft mist as he brought it down in one big wave. It took the shape of a shaggy dog, jumping back and fro in front of its maker in excitement. Brown-hair spoke up, talking to the apparition with an overly clear voice. "Tell Severus Snape that we have an unexpected guest in the first room to the right, ground floor."
'Severus Snape', huh? Odd name, I thought. Though, mine could be worse.
The boy's face scrunched up in what I could only assume was distaste for 'Severus', but he didn't voice anything. Hadn't said anything at all, actually, since the first.
The man raised his hand again, and patted the other's shoulder in comfort, seeming to understand his feelings towards whoever he had called.
My legs were numb under me. I stared at my hands as we waited in silence, marvelling at the sight. I couldn't remember anything, other than darkness. A deep, dark void.
I wasn't sure if God was listening to me at that, when the man who entered could be perfectly described as void-like. His face was stern, twisting into a disgusted expression when he saw the brown-haired man. Severus had long black robes that flared outwards, creating an imposing figure, and straight black hair down to his chin.
When he turned his gaze to me, I could only shrink back as the void I remembered seemed to be reflected in his eyes. Like the boy's, his eyes were unnatural - impossibly dark.
All I could think about was the darkness. Every thought circled back around to it as I stared into his eyes. The way it clouded my sight, the heavy silence as I was blanketed in pure shadow. Who was I? I wouldn't know. There was no room for thoughts as the void sunk deep into my head.
I felt like, if I bled then, my blood would run black.
"He knows nothing. There are no repressed memories, or facades, or spells that are concealing his true nature." His voice sounded from beside my ears, silky and empty of emotion despite the condescending tone.
A cold hand had covered my eyes, and I had to wonder when Severus had gotten so close. The brown haired man had been warm, almost unbearably so in comparison.
"But-!" Black-hair exclaimed, before quickly being silenced by Severus. He sounded like the admission of innocence had personally hurt him.
"No buts, Potter. He knows. Nothing." The man snarled, some emotion finally colouring his voice. The hand resting against my face stayed still, however, neither pushing harder, nor pulling away.
"Remus-"
"It's alright, Harry, if Severus says he doesn't know anything, then he doesn't." The other man's voice stayed warm as he shut down the boy's plea, and with a rustle of clothing, I felt him pull the offending limb away from my sight.
At the touch, Severus ripped his arm away entirely, as if burnt, with a grim scowl on his face. As he moved backwards, standing up, I realised that he had gone down onto one knee to reach me on the floor.
On the other side from where he had stood, sat what I could assume was Remus. From up close, I could once again see the deep scars lining his face.
Inhuman eye colours seemed to be a pattern among this group, I thought, as his eyes lit up with flakes of brown in a ring of yellow.
Harry? Harry was still standing where he was before, stick clutched tightly in one hand. He glowered at me from behind his glasses. The bright green sent a shiver down my back, and I thought that they would probably glow in the dark.
After that, Remus had ushered me onto a couch, with a few muttered incantations to clean my clothes, and left me with Harry, saying he had someone to talk to. I didn't quite catch the name as Harry gave me a deathstare.
I stared at my hands folded in my lap, rubbing at the joints of my fingers. I felt jittery, lurching at every small thump or bang coming from around the house. At one point, I gave up with sitting politely on the edge of the seating and pulled my legs up, arms wrapped around my knees. Harry gave me an odd look at that, but I assumed it was fine as I had toed off my shoes beforehand.
I hid my face, pushing my forehead against my knees. On the bright side, I could admit that I wasn't cold, but hunger had set in and subsided a while ago.
I wondered when someone else was coming back - it had been a couple hours, from my estimates. One of my hands fiddled with a small hole near the hem of a trouserleg.
Even Harry had grown tired of glaring at me at this point, and had laid down across the length of the other couch, back against the cushions. Sometimes, he flicked his stick a bit, creating small green sparks, that fizzled out long before hitting the carpet.
Before I could stop myself, I let my curiosity get the better of me. "What is that?" My voice was still somewhat strained, but firm, if quiet. I still got caught on certain syllables with an odd sharpness to my tone that I couldn't ascertain the meaning of.
Harry's eyes snapped to mine, alert, and his brows furrowed in confusion. "The stick." I elaborated, the 's' coming out in a very minute hiss. Interesting, I didn't think I had a lisp, I was speaking just fine.
The other gave me a baffled look, and I continued waiting for an answer, unimpressed; Severus had already given the green light for my ignorance. When he did speak, it came out lighter, caught off guard.
"Oh, um, it's a wand?" He replied, with a questioning lilt. I blinked, a wand? I guess that did make sense. I'm not sure what else they could have been.
Having gotten my answer, I settled back again, before speaking up once more - the flood gates had opened, and I was curious. "Why are all your eyes weird?"
"What? What do you mean weird?" He took on an almost insulted tone, as if I had insulted him.
"They're bright green." I stated, unimpressed, continuing to fiddle with my hands as we spoke.
"Yeah, well yours are red!" At that, I was caught off guard, giving a short noise in surprise, one hand reaching up to feel below my eye, trying to find anything wrong with it. I wasn't entirely sure what to do with this information, but I filed it away. I wasn't sure why I thought it was odd, actually. I couldn't remember anyone else's eyes.
My voice was hesitant as I replied. "So it's normal."
Harry seemed to take a moment as he actually thought about it, slowly shaking his head before pausing again. "I mean, it isn't normal." He put stress on the word 'normal', with some personal meaning that I didn't know the context to. "But all the wix that I know do have weird eye colours."
"Wix?" I couldn't help but ask.
"Yeah, wixen - witches and wizards." He responded without hesitation, as if he'd been asked before.
Like magic? I guessed that made sense, also. The information seemed to slot into place cleanly, as if it were always there, and I could no longer imagine a time in which it was not. Like a puzzle piece snapped into the frame, I knew it with a familiarity that could only be from personal experience.
It fit.
I could suddenly imagine a wand of my own - a smooth, long, bleached white looking thing, with knots in the wood that imitated finger bones. It would fit in my hand perfectly, and spray a shower of silver specks, and I would be unable to do anything but smile because magic is real, and I was magic, and I wasn't the only one-
And then it was over, and that was that.
Harry was looking at me warily, hands once more tensed around the handle of his wand, and I took a quick glance at his face. Such a bright green.
He opened his mouth once or twice, leaning forward with each attempt, rearing himself up to talk, before he finally found it in him. "You... You're doing that on purpose." Despite his accusing tone, his voice wavered in a lack of faith, and I could only sit there bemused, until he continued. "The- The visions."
"You saw that?" He also saw that? It wasn't just a memory?
"Yes!" Harry cried out, on the edge of his seat. "You're doing it again, sending me these damn visions - you have to be doing it on purpose!"
He roughly stood up, and began pacing in between the couches. "I keep getting visions of that- That void, and now it was a younger you in Ollivander's, and you have to be lying about not knowing anything because you're Tom Riddle and there's no way you don't know!"
The name was obviously mine, or at least what Harry thought was mine. It should have hit me like a freight train, caused any sort of discomfort or shock, but it didn't. It just placed itself neatly into my brain, and from then on, my name was Tom Riddle.
A funny name for an amnesiac, I thought. Riddle.
I was beginning to hate riddles.