The Dark Lord looked out over the Hogwarts grounds. He smiled and turned to face his new desk in the Headmaster’s office: everything had gone according to plan. Every last remaining member of the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore’s Army were dead. All of the Mudbloods were dead too. Most importantly, however, Harry Potter was dead. He would never again get in the way of the Dark Lord’s plot.
In addition, the dreams were gone. Those horrible, aggravating dreams that had haunted the Dark Lord’s fragmented soul. Seeing through the Potter boy’s eyes; watching him gain everything that the Dark Lord would never have. Those dreams were like the Cruciatus curse, only far, far worse.
The Weasley girl…
Through Harry’s eyes, the Dark Lord had kissed her so passionately, so freely. She kissed him back, falling into the warm embrace. He would wake up with his heart beating wildly; only to realise that no woman would ever love him as Ginny loved Harry. Bellatrix’s infatuation was an obsession, not a love. The Dark Lord would never have what they had. No matter, though; they were both dead.
His loyal friends…
That pureblood traitor “ what was his name? He was always loyal to Potter, but did not fear him. The Dark Lord’s followers were loyal, oh yes, but only under the threat of torture and murder. Would his fervent Death Eaters be faithful to him of their own accord? He doubted it. Even that Mudblood, Granger never faltered to be a steadfast friend. What did Harry Potter have that the Dark Lord did not?
Glory…
The Dark Lord was dreaded and respected, but it was Potter who had been glorified. Through the boy’s eyes, he had caught the golden Snitch. He was glorified as The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, and the youngest and most talented Seeker to ever enter the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch. The people exalted him. Why was the Dark Lord not exalted?
Yes, the agonizing dreams were gone, along with any thread of rebellion against the Dark Lord and his followers. However, one problem remained.
“Hey there, Tommy.” An arrogant voice ripped through the peaceful silence of the headmaster’s office. The Dark Lord wheeled around and stared at Harry Potter in disgust. He was wearing Hogwarts robes embroidered with the Gryffindor crest, his hair was unkempt as was the usual, and he was completely transparent. His transparency only made his presence the more annoying.
“Go away, Potter, and never call me that again or you’ll be sorry.”
“I can’t go away, Riddle. My soul is bound to Hogwarts by bonds tighter than the ones that used to hold your soul together. As for the name, I can call you by your middle name if you want.”
“You shall call me by nothing. Get out of my office.”
“Then again, Marvolo sounds like some sort of disease; most likely one carried by flea-bitten rats. How about I just call you Marv? Or maybe you would prefer Ollie?”
The Dark Lord was fed up with this ghost play.
“Crucio!” Nothing happened.
“No Unforgivable Curses from you, Ollie. I am the ghost of Gryffindor house, and there is nothing you can do to get rid of me.” Ex-Harry smiled. “Of course, if saying ‘crucio’ eases your fragile nerves, then be my guest.”
“You fancy yourself the ghost of Gryffindor house. How do you explain that, as there is no house in this school but that of Salazar Slytherin?”
“How do you even call it a house anymore if there aren’t any others?”
“Damn you, Potter!”
“Too late,” the boy smirked and floated out of the office.
The Dark Lord frowned. There was nothing that could be done about this insolent pest. He sighed and sat down in the green and silver armchair, with no company but his own thoughts. Trying to cheer himself up, he recalled the moment when he finally killed the boy, the supposed “Chosen One”. Ah, he relished the memory. Two simple words were all that it had taken “ Avada Kedavra was simply too easy to say. The boy died in a flash of green light, and along with him died all of his love and friendship. The glory lasted a little longer, with his cheeky teenage disciples standing up to fight in his name. They had been quickly extinguished, though.
Something strange caught the Dark Lord’s eye. Inside the old fool Dumbledore’s Pensieve, there was a silky white memory floating in the clear liquid. Somebody had left it there without replacing it back in its bottle. Curiosity suddenly struck the Dark Lord, and he was inclined to see this memory that had been left behind. He had, after all, originally intended to go through Dumbledore’s collection to obtain information. After one look into the Pensieve, the Dark Lord wished that he had chosen a different memory.
Dumbledore was sitting in his office, writing at his desk where he kept piles of papers and books. It was the same desk that had just been replaced by the Dark Lord’s. There was a feeble knock on the door, just barely audible.
“Come in,” the old wizard said without looking up from his work. A smaller, much more human version of the Dark Lord stepped through the doorway. He couldn’t have been older than eleven. His green and silver tie was hanging over the back his shoulder, his robe was in rags, and the area around his right eye was the colour of the sky at dusk.
The headmaster peered at him through his half-moon spectacles, but showed no emotion whatsoever. “Who did it this time?”
“It was that Crabbe kid, the big third year. He thinks that he’s so much better than me, just because he’s a few feet taller.”
“Do you think that he’s better than you?” Dumbledore asked conversationally.
“Well… yes, but… aren’t you going to punish him?”
“You are only as great as you think you are, Tom. If you believe that you are great, others most likely will, too. That is the beauty of confidence.” Dumbledore paused and softly smacked his lips, as if he was tasting a lemon drop that wasn’t there. “Too much confidence, however, can lead to vanity.”
Memory-Tom scowled. “But what do I do about Crabbe, then?”
Dumbledore leaned forward and the Dark Lord saw a twinkle in his eye that he had not noticed before. “Tell him that one day, bullies like him will be working for great wizards like you.”
Tom’s face lit up and he briskly walked out of the office, forgetting all about his black eye. Someday, and someday very soon, all of the bullies at Hogwarts would be working for him, the greatest wizard of all time. He would make sure of that.
The Dark Lord pulled out of the memory and backed away from the Pensieve without saying a word. Someone had meant for him to see this. He looked up to the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, the painting that would not come off the wall even when he hexed it with the Elder Wand. The old man looked down at him and winked.
“You’ve done well, Tom.”
The Dark Lord staggered back into his armchair in shock. Had the ancient wizard been on his side the whole entire time? He glanced back up at the portrait, but Dumbledore was already snoring loudly in his frame. Yet another mystery waiting to be solved, but Tom Marvolo Riddle was up for the challenge.
Riddle by iamlordvoldemort
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Beta-ed by Courtneyyy!
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