Tom Riddle (1817 words)
Tom Marvolo Riddle had only just acquired his new body when he had come across one Helena LeFay.
She had been so bright, so all-consuming, so passionate and fiery, that Tom Riddle could not help but stop, his eyes glued to the young duelist as she advanced forwards, eyes blazing in triumph as her opponent went down.
He had left, but even still, he couldn't get her out of his head, her Avada green eyes and victorious smirk plaguing his thoughts. He couldn't, wouldn't forget how her magic had been so powerful, so deliciously dark, as it took down her competitor, the teenager wielding her magic effortlessly.
It was a level of control impressive for one so young, a feat perhaps only performed by one other: himself.
So his intrigue grew, and he watched, amazed, as she continued paving her way in their world, as ruthless and calculative as the day he had first seen her striking down her opponent mercilessly, only victory on her mind.
She was a Queen, that he knew without a doubt, the belief strengthened as he continued to observe her from afar. She was above all the mindless sheep, in her splendid features and sharp mind.
A Queen among women.
His fascination rose day by day, finally reaching its crescendo as news of her entering the French Wizengamot reached his ears. He had chuckled upon hearing the news, it seemed his little Queen had been busy, hadn't she?
A mere two days later, the ring of one deceased Marvolo Gaunt found its way into the hands of Helena LeFay, and if Lucius Malfoy was spotted slipping it into her bag as she wandered contentedly through the cobblestone alleys of Paris, well, no one was the wiser.
------
Helena LeFay was thirteen the first time she met the boy once known as Tom Marvolo Riddle.
She shouldn't have put it on, she knew she shouldn't have.
But she couldn't help it.
The ring had called to her, the magic cold and biting, the opposite of her burning aura. There was something so tempting about it, something so interesting that she couldn't stay away. It enthralled her; there was something so dark about the stone, so potent, yet layered above it was that magic, the one that drew her normally controlled aura out.
Her magic had flared when it came into close proximity with the ring, never once feeling so contented. Her magic sang with delight, its intensity swelled, dancing joyfully around her.
The stone intrigued her, but that icy magic, oh that magic captivated her.
So that ring found its way onto a slender finger, opposing magics humming in joy.
For basking in that frosty magic, her magic slotting in perfectly next to it, she had never felt happier, never before had she felt such a feeling of rightness.
And as her magic sighed in peace, her muscles relaxing, her eyes slid close, falling into a deep slumber.
------
Tom was afraid.
And it was odd.
It was fear that had driven him to create himself all those years ago - even if he wasn't sure how long ago all those years were. He had gotten through the war, he knew that much, he was safe from those bombs.
And so, you may ask, why was Tom afraid?
The last time Voldemort had spoken to him was when he had placed the ring in the Gaunt Shack, informing him that a prophecy had predicted his downfall.
It was terrifying for Tom, being stuck in limbo while wondering what on earth had happened.
Did he die?
Had he perished on that fateful night?
Or had he conquered that child, overcome that obstacle like he had so many times before?
The questions, destined to go without answers, rattled around in his head, tormenting his thoughts.
Sometimes, the sheer irony of it would hit him.
He had delved into the darkest of magics to keep his fear of death at bay, and yet, fear of the same kind still haunted him.
Perhaps one day he would be free of this fear.
Of this weight that threatened to drag him into a never-ending abyss of sorrow and despair.
Whether or not that day would come Tom would never know.
------
Hello, my name is Tom Riddle. May I have the pleasure of knowing yours?
You may call me Lyra.
------
Now this, this was different.
A girl had appeared, wand whipping out immediately, reflexes a lot faster than Tom had expected.
She moved with a predatory gaze, striking emerald eyes watching his every motion.
There was something so appealing, so undeniably fascinating about the girl that stood before him; something in her narrowed eyes, something in her gait, something that made him stand there in shock, barely able to form a coherent thought.
------
I've given you my real name, surely you could do the same in return?
Ah, but what is a name? My name is a term you can refer to me by. Surely Lyra is an adequate word for that purpose?
Very well.
------
Smart girl too, she was an excellent liar and would no doubt be an outstanding politician.
He would have believed her had it not been his mindscape, he could sense lies as easily as he could sense secrets, and this girl had a plethora of both.
------
Sorry Riddle, but you ain't getting in my head.
------
Now wasn't that interesting?
Her Occulumency barriers held a creativity he had never seen before, her mind looked defenceless, barren of any protections, a swirl of misty memories clear for any intruder to see.
And yet the second he came close enough to view a memory, he was blasted backwards by some unseen force, a wave of emotions rippling through him.
Hunger, desperation, fear, anger.......
Emotions that were, unfortunately, all too familiar to him.
------
How was your day?
Fine.
(she was promptly tugged on the couch, inky locks splayed on his shoulder as she let out a contented sigh)
Fine?
Fine now that I'm with you.
------
Will you ever tell me your name?
(she laughed brightly, settling into his lap, hands making their way around his neck)
Now, where's the fun in that?
------
It was easy, Tom decided, far too easy to talk to his little Queen.
He would have laughed at her naivety had he not known otherwise. She was cautious, suspicious behind that chirpy facade and rightfully so.
She was intriguing, that Tom would admit. She had a delightfully complex mind, and her silver tongue was truly something to be admired.
She traded barbs with him without hesitation, and more than once had she shown her capacity to be as cruel as him, and yet she was so- so nice.
------
(a smile was painted on her face as she appeared once more, fitted in a flowing emerald dress as she walked into his embrace)
You look stunning, love.
(she beamed radiantly at the praise, head snuggling into the crook of his neck as he pulled her tighter against him)
I do so love dressing up.
Well, you certainly won't be hearing any complaints from me. Would you care for a dance?
There's no music.
Does it matter when you're in my arms?
(a giggle)
You're such a sap, Riddle.
But I'm your sap, aren't I?
------
Tom hated touching others.
That was a fact of the universe, it always had been.
And yet, when it came to his little Queen, he couldn't help but want to be near her.
For some inane reason, he would find himself carding an absent hand through her hair, or pressing a kiss to her hand.
It was odd.
But he liked it.
And so did she.
But still, that wariness remained, and Tom couldn't help but wish it was never there in the first place.
------
You're sending me away, aren't you?
(she stiffened from she was lying in his lap, mouth about to open in protest)
Cruel of you, to not allow me a chance to say my goodbyes.
You're a horcrux Riddle. Voldemort's horcrux. I can't keep you.
But if you could?
(a beat of silence)
If you could, why not keep me? Why not keep me at your side, why not allow me the privilege of having someone as wonderful as yourself next to me, why not allow me to whisper sweet nothings into your ear? Why not?
(she sat up, a sad smile etched on her face, voice a bare whisper)
If I kept you, Tom, I would never let go.
Then don't.
But I have to.
------
Three days later, a package was owled to Lord Marvolo Slytherin.
Attached to it was a note, written in beautiful looping calligraphy.
Thank you. I'll miss him always, but one should always go back to their keeper, no?
- Helena
PS. You've finally got my name now Tom
------
Tom's head tilted backwards, eyes shut as memories poured in.
Images of a girl flashed in his head, of a body laying flush against him, of nights spent finding comfort in another flashed in his head, each vision disappearing as fast as it came.
Memories of dancing and laughter, of delight and happiness, of rolled eyes and sighs, filled his mind, each thought bringing nothing but joy.
Helena had only grown more splendid in the months since he'd seen her, her jet black hair cascading down her back in waves. Her features had grown sharper, more refined, her bright green eyes sparkling as she laughed.
She fascinated him, every part of her.
From the way she laughed to the way she sat, to the way she talked, Tom Riddle was addicted.
------
Obsession can be unhealthy, it can be psychotic, it can be desperate.
But it can also be passionate, it can be consuming, it can be adoring.
Obsession can be in the way you kiss someone, in the way you lie with someone, in the way you comfort someone.
Obsession can be fiery, burning, fleeting.
It can be beautiful, it can be loving, it can be the most wonderful thing you'll see on this earth.
Obsession is human nature, it comes to us as naturally as breathing.
It's as simple as happiness, as sadness, as anger, and at the same time as complex as something like pride.
It's lust, it's want, and it's also love.
And all that applies to Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Perhaps it started as something innocent - if Tom Riddle could ever be something remotely compared to innocent.
Perhaps it started as an interest in a rising star, in a prodigy.
But then it grew to a fascination.
Then an addiction.
And addiction is, unquestionably, the gateway to obsession.
There was no doubt about it.
Tom Riddle has found his newest obsession.
Helena LeFay.
A young lady once known as Harriet Lily Potter, sister of the Boy-Who-Lived.