The book he was reading was titled Most Ancient And Higher Beings, which was full of details concerning creatures such as angels, devils, and others of that ilk. Normally, Riddle would have scoffed at such creatures, insistent that there was no higher good or evil that all there was, was power and that was it. However, he had been drawn to the nature of such beings: immortal, powerful, and living throughout legends everywhere. Idly, he turned the pages, skipping over several entries, until he spied on that caught his intrest.
The Creators are a race of entities that don’t normally feature in Muggle or Wizard religions. Said to be beings that travel various dimensions, creating entire worlds and then leaving them. There is nothing to describe what they look like, although most religions have something like them, notably often with similar appearances.
Only one ledged is specific to Creators, and that is of a war that took place in the Heavens, one led a rebellion, with an army that intended to take over and rule our world. They lost, and where cast out, left to wander our world until The Creators returned.
For the complete ledged, see page 478, titled Lost, and page 461, titled Locust.
“Interesting,” Riddle said to himself, and then turned to page 461 to read the story titled “Locust”.
Locust (or The Locust) is an entity said to have been one of The Creators (pg 235) and the very one who led the war against their leaders. The ledged states that, having laid the foundations of our universe, they left to create more, planning to return one day and see what had become of their efforts.
Once they returned, they found humans, Muggle and Wizard alike, thriving with a myriad of their own beliefs and religions. Locust (although he was not called this at the time, we do not know his name) wanted to rule over the new humans, control them, and make them worship the creators. The Leaders disagreed, and Locust formed an army of Angels and Creators to take on The Leaders and over throw them. Despite their army, even defeating the angel Metatron, they lost, and where cast out into the physical universe.
The Creators souls where two powerful for mortal bodies, and they where ripped apart, and their spirits trapped in things large enough to hold them, mountains, stars, or simply jumping from atom to atom, constantly being ripped apart. The Locust, found a way around that. He split his being into trillions of insects, and ravaged the world. It fractured soul was sliced so thinly that each piece could live in the mortal world.
He plagued the humans for millennia, his most famous strike being on Egypt, this became a ledged, one of the Plagues of Egypt. He rained unchecked until a warrior, known as Glooskap, from Native America, pinned him under a mountain, where he is said to lie trapped there to this day.
Riddle raised an eyebrow. There was a reason he had debated this book, and very nearly thrown it away. Without marking his page, he put it on his nightstand and lay down properly. A smirk twisted his lips at the thought of a fractured entity, pushed from heaven and now pinned under a mountain. It was stupid, he knew, to let his mind dwell on it. Still, it intrigued him slightly, just as The Elder Wand would intrigue him in so many years. He rolled over, making a note to ask the Transfiguration teacher, Professor Dumbledore if he knew where exactly, this “Locust” lay hidden.
“…and so, if you move your hand, in the same way you would if it was your wand,” Dumbledore was saying to the class, “you can imagine that it is actually there, and thereby performing wandless magic.” He then motioned for them to begin and walked around watching them and occasiounally giving hints. When he looked at Riddle, he came over and watched his student levitate, not only the feather, but his inkwell and papers into the air with a snap of his fingers.
“Impressive, Tom,” he said nodding. “You had your hand up, did you have something to ask me?”
“Yes sir,” Riddle said, “have you ever heard ledged pertaining to a creature called Locust?” Dumbledore stroked his auburn beard.
“Locust, you say, I remember something about him, a fallen angel no?”
“Yes sir, I was reading in a book, and it mentioned that he was trapped somewhere under a mountain, do you know where that is?”
“Yes, Tom, I do, and I tell you this only because I am relieved that this interests you now rather than…other things. I have heard tell that he is under the Grand Tetons, a mountain range in America. Does this help?”
“Yes sir, very much sir, thank you sir.” Dumbledore strode away, leaving Riddle very much concerned that Professor Slughorn had not kept his mouth shut about Riddles interrogation concerning horcruxes.
Albus Dumbledore watched valedictorian Tom Riddle speak from a podium before the crowd of graduating students and tearful parents. His speech had the usual fluffy stuff, how grateful he was to have had his time at Hogwarts, how he hoped that every one of his peers would go on to make the Wizarding World a better place and so on. Dumbledore almost cringed, hearing these words coming out of Riddle’s mouth was a little perverse, and anyone who knew him well would know that nothing he was saying was true.
“…and so, I would like to give a final thank you and good bye to Hogwarts school, my first real home,” he concluded, and Dumbledore clapped and cheered with the rest of them. Riddle stepped down and Dippet, the current headmaster began his speech. Dumbledore continued to listen, although his mind was now firmly planted in the subject of Tom Riddles future.
Dumbledore sat in the Staff Lounge, perusing a copy of Witch Weekly, waiting for the latest Minister of Magic to show up, to discuss with him his promotion to headmaster. He turned the page, and his eyes found several strange articles. The first was a debate as to who was going to inherit the estate of the late Hepzibah Smith, a wealthy descendant of Helga Hufflepuff who had been found dead, apparently poisoned by his house-elf.
The other was a small piece, detailing the odd disappearance of Tom Marvolo Riddle.
“I expect great things from Riddle, I would be shocked if I saw anything less.”
So much for great things, if anyone sees hide or hair of him, Witch Weekly would be most interested in what he’s doing now.
Dumbledore stared at the article, a nameless forbidding growing inside of him. He sat that way, for a until Horace Slughorn entered, and informed him that a rather irritable Fudge was waiting outside for Dumbledore to invite him in. Dumbledore looked back at the article before he murmured
“Oh God,” under his breath, and then got up to greet the Minister.