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Chapter Three: Red Death, White Torture

Perhaps, Tom should have felt comforted, as the nurse patted his arm and smiled sympathetically; but all that he could focus on was the fluttering curtain. Now he could see Death, as the sounds of crying and sniffling dulled around him, as the room seemed to darken with the Reaper's presence (if he hadn't been so scared, Tom would have noticed that the sun had only gone behind the clouds).

Comfort wasn't something Tom needed. He'd never been afraid of monsters before; never shirked from dark corners or shadows dancing across the walls or shapes cowering under the bed. He liked spiders. Sometimes, he would let them crawl on him, and if he concentrated hard enough, he could make the spiders play dead or roll over on their backs.

Billy Stubbs had called him a monster once, when they'd argued. The next morning, Tom had gotten up before anyone else, while it was still dark outside, taken the rabbit that Billy was so fond of, a silly, white fluffy thing, up to the attic, and hung it.

He hadn't been intending to. Tom hadn't sat there and planned it. He just had to do it. In fact, he hardly knew what he was doing as he climbed up the rafters, the warm, fuzzy rabbit struggling in his hand, its heartbeat quick and frenzied against his palm. Nor did he know how to make a noose. No one taught him.

All he could think was punish Billy, he was mean to me, how dare he, I'm special. Tug. Loop. Knot. He had gripped the rafter between his knees, hard enough to leave welts, but it was worth it as he felt the rabbit stop struggling in the noose. Billy deserved it.

But as the fury burned out, he was sitting cross-legged and looking up at Billy Stubb's rabbit, its stupid ears drooping as it spun slowly, the grey twine knotted around its neck, as the room filled with morning light.

There was a black curtain in the attic too, fluttering against the window. The dead rabbit had been fascinating, and Tom had wanted to keep it in the box in his wardrobe, where he kept all of his secret toys. But it wouldn't fit, and it would stink. Dead things smelled. So, he left the rabbit, shutting the door and creeping back into bed, unable to sleep as he waited with glee for Billy's reaction.

"Well, it didn't hang itself from the rafters, did it?"

Tom remembered staring unrepentantly back up at Mrs. Cole, his face a mask of feigned confusion, but internally singing, he got what he deserved, stupid Billy, stupid rabbit. And Billy's crying; that had been music to his ears.

"No, ma'am. I don't see how I could have gotten up there, ma'am."

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Name: Tom Riddle

House: Slytherin

Birthday: December 31, 1926

Signature spell/skills: Parseltongue, Legilimency and Occlumency, Dark magic, intimidation and charisma 

Familiar: The Serpent of Slytherin (basilisk)

Patronus: None

Wand: Yew & phoenix feather, thirteen-and-a-half inches, slightly yielding

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Name: Ruby Potter

House: Slytherin

Birthday: July 31, 1980

Signature spell/skills: Potions, Dark magic, Occlumency, fire

Familiar: Hephaestus (black cat)

Patronus: Incorporeal, would be a salamander if she could cast the corporeal version

Wand: Blackthorn & dragon heartstring, eleven inches, stiff

Read from the beginning at FFN | AO3!

Chapter Five: Down the Rabbit Hole

Mrs. Cole, Tom had decided over the past few months, was entirely too sharp. Amy and Dennis had been unable to recount the events in the cave — and she'd tried to get it out of them many times, Tom had crept downstairs at night and put his ear to the office door to hear her discuss her visits to the Williams' household with Martha.

He had gone too far, that time. He had to lie low for a while; ignore the screaming and taunts and everything else that irked him about the other children (inmates).

"Still not quite the same, the both of them," said Mrs. Cole. "He's done something to them. I don't know what, but it must have been horrid. The only thing Mrs. Williams has been able to get out of them is that they went into a cave with Tom Riddle."

One of those nights, curled up against Mrs. Cole's door, Tom heard something that he could not easily forget.

"An asylum," said Mrs. Cole. "One more incident, and no questions, he's going straight to an asylum. Whether he's a lunatic or possessed by some ungodly evil — I'll wash my hands of him, and good riddance. Terrorizing the other children — it's not right, Martha. I almost wish he would give us the excuse."

Every night since then, the black curtain was not the only figure in his nightmares.

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Chapter Six: Bad Magic

"What happened?" he asked.

"You went really pale and fainted," Anthony supplied. "And Malfoy left. Are you okay, Harry?"

"Yeah," he said reflexively, pulling himself into a sitting position and trying to ignore his pounding headache.

"I checked your pulse," said Hermione in a helpful tone. "And I know how to do cardiopulmonary resuscitation. You know, it's really irresponsible to have a train full of kids with no adults. What if there's an emergency?"

"He was only out for a few minutes," Ron griped, glaring at her.

"Don't freak out," whispered Ruby. "Please, please don't freak out, but when you fainted, a little bit of dark smoke came out of your mouth. It was just a little. I don't think anyone else noticed, because the lights in the train went out for a second, too."

"Okay," Harry said shakily. Hephaestus head-butted his leg, and Harry let the kitten climb into his lap and curl up.

He tried to focus on the kitten's purring, and the countryside going by outside of the window, but he could not shake the sense of trepidation.

Read from the beginning at FFN | AO3!

Chapter Seven: Alice in Wonderland

"Are you coming, Riddle?" asked Icarus, turning imperiously as he put one foot on the stairs.

Suddenly, someone came rushing down in a flurry of dark robes, shoving Icarus away. He stumbled back, looking crestfallen, and the others drew away, too.

"Has no-one told you not to stand in front of the stairs, Lestrange?" snapped the newcomer; a boy of about fourteen or fifteen, with a narrow, aristocratic face, white-blond hair and grey eyes that glinted like steel in the dim, wavy light.

"Who are you?" asked Tom, before he could hold himself back. But he couldn't help but be curious, especially when the other four boys were staring at the newcomer with such adoration and reverence.

"Abraxas Malfoy," he said, drawing himself up to his full height — which Tom noted with a faint hint of pleasure was not much taller than him.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "And you are?"

"Tom Riddle." Tom did not take his eyes off of Malfoy's, instead lifting his chin and glaring.

"Tom Riddle," repeated Malfoy. A mocking grin spread across his face. "And what might you be? Another half-blood? Mother ran off with a Mudblood, or worse, a Muggle, is that it?"

"No!" snapped Tom, acutely aware of the others gazing at him and Malfoy fixedly, awaiting an answer with bated breath. He could see his perfect façade unravelling already, all the work that he had done to earn his classmates' respect wasted. "My father was a wizard! His name was Tom Riddle, too!"

Malfoy threw his head back, laughing, the sound echoing ominously against the stone walls of the corridor.

"Oh, you filthy little Mudblood. Bold as brass."

Tom finds that Slytherin House isn’t all sunshine and rainbows. If he wants respect, he’s going to have to earn it.

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Tom Riddle attempts to (mis)educate purebloods about WWII

Mulciber: "But why don’t you want to go back, Tom? Other than the fact that they’re, you know, Muggles."

Tom *aggressively shoves books in trunk*: "There’s a war going on. Didn’t you know that?"

Mulciber: "Yeah, I know about Grindelwald — what do you take us for, Tom — idiots?"

Tom (near the end of his tether): "Not Grindelwald. A Muggle war."

Rosier (confused): "But, er, who are they fighting?"

Tom: "Other Muggles. Germans, mostly."

Mulciber: "For Merlin’s sake, why? Don’t Muggles all like the same things? Like filth and what’s it called again — electrics?"

Tom: Looks very hard at Mulciber, and debates the use of teaching wizards about the evils of fascism.

Tom: Decides against it.

Tom: "Muggle stuff."

finished!

monochrome version.

(that blazer though, I love the 40s’ Hogwarts uniform so much)

tag yourself, i’m mcgonagall.

"A Forgetfulness Potion — can't be that hard, can it?" asked Eustace Mulciber. It was the last ten minutes of class, and as always, the idiot was far behind everyone else. "I'm always forgetting things in this class."

Thaddeus Nott snorted.

"Can't you be quiet?" asked Minerva irritably. "I'm trying to concentrate."

Though Tom was loath to admit it, he had to agree with her. Mulciber and Nott erupted into a fit of laughter — Tom heard a whispered "What if we put this in?" — and then, the cauldron exploded with a deafening boom, sending sharp bits of pewter flying in every direction. Tom ducked quickly under the table, but Minerva hadn't been so lucky, and one of the shards had hit her cheek.

There was a lot of blood — Tom hated the look of so much blood, it made his head spin — and all of a sudden, Slughorn was rushing over.

"What happened here?" he asked, looking between the four of them.

Minerva began to cry, and Tom winced. Must she be so shrill?

"They were mucking around with the potion, Professor!" Minerva shrieked, cupping her cheek with the handkerchief Slughorn had given her. "You're wicked, Mulciber! You evil, slimy little—"

"We didn't!" said Nott. "Honest, Professor Slughorn!"

How can I possibly benefit from this?

How can I show Slughorn that I'm better than Mulciber and Nott?

"Mulciber and Nott deliberately wrecked their potion, sir," Tom explained, pointing to the pewter shards and black puddles of ruined potion strewn on the floor. "It made the cauldron explode and Minerva got hit with one of the shards."

"I'll take Minerva to the Hospital Wing, sir," he offered gallantly in response to Slughorn's concerned expression. "My potion's finished."

Slughorn seemed pleasantly surprised. "And so it is, m'boy. Good of you to offer — come now, Minerva, Tom will take you to see Madam Gale."

Excerpt from Chapter 9, which will be up on either Saturday or Sunday. Read from the beginning at FFN | AO3!

“no, sir. nothing.”

"Fawkes, like all phoenixes, is immortal," Dumbledore explained. "Every so often, he burns, and is reborn from the ashes."

Immortal? So there really is such a thing?

As if Dumbledore had sensed Tom's curiosity, he held a hand up to dissuade further questions.

"But that is not why I have asked you to come see me, Tom," he said. "You wish, I believe, to know about your father?"

"Yes," breathed Tom, leaning forward excitedly. Has he found something?

"I began teaching at Hogwarts in 1912," said Dumbledore, staring intently at Tom. "I cannot recall ever teaching another Tom Riddle, and I believe I would have had such a thing occurred."

"I take after my father, sir," said Tom, in a desperate attempt to jog his memory. "Mrs. Cole said so."

"Yes, I remember," said Dumbledore seriously. "I say this not to discourage you, Tom. It is quite possible that your father was older when he had you, or that he simply never attended Hogwarts. However, it is also possible that your father was not a wizard at all, and if so, I do not want you to feel disappointed. There is no shame in being Muggle-born — my mother was, in fact."

"I understand, sir," said Tom, though he thought privately that either Dumbledore didn't know what people really said about Muggle-borns, or he didn't care.

“I will ask you this once, Tom. Is there anything transpiring with your housemates that I should know about? Think carefully, before you answer."

Tom shifted under the intensity of Dumbledore's gaze, his hand going instinctively to cover his wrist, lest the scars peeked out from under his sleeve.

"No, nothing, sir," said Tom. The other boys wouldn't appreciate him being a grass, and if Dumbledore cared enough to do anything about it, they'd punish him again — perhaps carve 'Mudblood' on his forehead so that everyone could see.

Besides, he wasn't going to cower for much longer, once he found who they were. He'd push back. Fight.

In his mind's eye, Tom saw Billy's rabbit, dangling from a rope and slowly spinning in the morning light.

Yes, their time would come; slowly, but surely.

"I think it would be best if we continued these conversations, Tom," said Dumbledore. "If that is all, I will let you go now... Unless you have anything to tell me?"

"No, sir," said Tom, getting up from his chair. "Goodnight, Professor Dumbledore."

Why did Dumbledore call Tom into his office? What scars is he so concerned about hiding?

Chapter 9 up on Saturday? Sunday? @  FFN | AO3!

that one kid who shows up late to lecture.

Seeing the other first-year Slytherins several paces ahead of her, Ruby sprinted to catch up with them, almost tripping over her robes. But they did not notice her. Daphne made a sympathetic face, but quickly scurried after the blonde girl from earlier, and when Ruby entered the classroom (which looked surprisingly ordinary for a magic school), she found herself the only person sitting alone.

Professor McGonagall — the stern professor from the Sorting ceremony — cleared her throat, and the faint sounds of students whispering stopped instantly. The entire class seemed to sit up straight.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall, turning to stare at Crabbe, who had just whispered something that made all of the Slytherin boys titter. Only Theodore had the grace to look slightly embarrassed, though all of them shrank back slightly. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned—"

"—I'm so sorry I'm late, Professor!" someone yelped, as the door was flung open with surprising force and a robed figure barreled into the classroom.

"Mr. Goldstein!" Professor McGonagall scolded. "Are you at all aware what time it is, or do you require me to Transfigure you into a pocket watch?"

How does she know everyone's names already?

Malfoy snorted rather loudly. "I think Longbottom's got a contender for most pathetic."

"Enough, Mr. Malfoy," said Professor McGonagall. "Come here, Mr. Goldstein. Distribute these matches amongst your classmates, then you may sit with Miss Potter. Further tardiness will not be tolerated in my class; I expect a ten-inch essay on the virtues of punctuality on my desk before class begins on Friday."

This time, Pansy's sniggering was the loudest, though a sharp look from Professor McGonagall quickly silenced her.

"Bad luck, mate," someone whispered as Anthony began to pass out the matches.

From Chapter 8 of Running From My Destiny,  @ FFN | AO3!

Chapter Nine: Words Shall Never Hurt Me

“They think I’m a Mudblood,” Tom spat, glaring at his shoes as if they had personally offended him. 

“Tom!” Dumbledore exclaimed, looking scandalized. “That word—“

“That’s what they call me, sir.”

“Ah.” Dumbledore pushed his half-moon spectacles further up his nose, his expression pensive. “Hence, the frantic searching for evidence in the library. Have you perhaps thought of spending time with students outside your House? Those that might be more… open-minded?”

Tom searches for his father’s legacy as he attempts to prove himself worthy in Slytherin House. Blood is spilt. Dumbledore is watching him.

Warning: This contains the (I think?) most disturbing scene I’ve posted yet. Like, I know the first two chapters are murder scenes and TMR’s head is generally not a nice place, but prepare thyself, this is (slightly?) more disturbing.

Read from the beginning at FFN | AO3!

questions for slughorn...

AKA: How many times can I hint at the name of the original book in a canon divergence AU?

"The philosopher's stone, sir?" asked Tom. This hadn't been quite what he was looking for, but Slughorn had quite the treasure trove of knowledge and was willing to share it — an opportunity that Tom certainly wouldn't turn his nose up at. "Surely, you don't mean..."

His eyes must have been straining out of his skull, because Slughorn laughed heartily before he answered Tom's question.

"If you wish to take alchemy in your third year, I suspect you will learn all about it from Mr. Flamel himself when he comes to visit once a year."

Tom actually felt his jaw drop at this suggestion. Surely, Slughorn must be pulling his leg.

"I do not jest, Tom," said Slughorn, settling back in his chair. "Though it is a curious thing to ponder. One might wonder if an endless supply of money and eternal life are blessings, after all. You've met Dumbledore's Fawkes, m'boy?"

And in response to Tom's nod, he added in a conspiratorial tone: "What do you say we ask him, eh?"

Excerpt from Chapter 11 (up on Saturday) @  FFN | AO3!

Tom gets up to... a lot at Slughorn's Christmas party.

table manners

"You'd better keep your voice down."

Tom stiffened. He knew that voice.

"Try not to piss yourself, Mudblood."

The boy with the birthmark was nearby. Tom thought of lifting the tablecloth to get a closer look, but he feared revealing himself.

The ground under him shuddered slightly with approaching footsteps, and Tom inched towards the wall.

"Do you see him?"

Loud chewing.

"Who? Slughorn?"

"No."

Whoever it was needed to learn how to chew and swallow before they spoke.

"Riddle."

"Haven't seen him for a while." That was Abraxas. "Slippery little bugger."

Another excerpt from Chapter 11 (out Saturday!) @ FFN | AO3!

I don’t know why, but I find Tom Riddle hiding out under a table of hors d’oeuvres kind of funny.

Chapter Eleven: The Ouroboros

"I do hope you're enjoying yourselves," said Slughorn, smiling evenly. If he noticed their obvious discomfort, he gave no indication. "I see Tom has finally found you. By the way, Tom — excellent work on your essay, I've just graded it — truly impressive, the attention to detail."

"Thank you, Professor Slughorn," said Tom with a small smile.

"Kiss-arse," muttered Minerva.

Tom glared at her. "Know-it-all."

"I haven't gotten to yours, yet," said Slughorn, nodding at Minerva. "But I believe I will also be impressed." He sighed. "Sadly, I cannot say the same for... certain others..."

"Nott and Mulciber?" asked Minerva, without missing a beat. "I'd be surprised if they had the attention span to write three inches' worth of anything."

Tom Riddle turns to revenge (ahem, shameless thrill-seeking) as he searches for the identity of his three attackers. All that he has to go on is a golden unicorn, a birthmark, and a ring in the shape of an ouroboros.

Fortunately for Tom, the Hogwarts library is open... but what else might he discover? With the (unwitting) help of Horace Slughorn, along with some pickpocketing and general scheming, it seems that revenge may be in sight...

Warnings: Without giving too much away, I’m going to borrow the AO3 tag. Tom Riddle is his own warning. Featuring a very pissed-off kid!Riddle at his pettiest and most vindictive. You’ve been warned.

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Chapter Fourteen: The Witches They Could Not Burn

"She tells us... she tells me I'm going to end up like my mother..."

She could see the salmon-colored nails, clear as day. The light tumbling neatly through the windows and making the well-varnished table shine.

"End up like your mother?" repeated Dumbledore, though he sounded a million miles away.

The clear liquid swirling in the glass. The smell of Aunt Petunia's breath... I never liked sneaky children.

"Aunt Petunia says she got pregnant..." If she'd had enough to drink. "...That she was a loose woman, and she got herself blown up. That she was a freak like me and she deserved what she got."

Dumbledore orders extra security overnight. Suddenly, there are scarlet-robed Aurors in every corridor, and prefects are taking headcounts at curfew.

But why? Nothing and no one can hurt you at Hogwarts... right?

And finally, a long-awaited conversation is had.

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Chapter Fifteen: London Bridge is Falling Down

"Get out the way," he snapped at the kids playing in the soot. "And don't fall. I'm not in the mood to bandage anyone's scraped knees later."

(Though he knew with full certainty that within an hour's time, he would be kneeling in front of some bawling seven-year old and trying to swab their scabby knee with surgical spirit while they kicked and thrashed.)

He, Tom Marvolo Riddle, top of his class, so powerful that the older students and the professors whispered about him, sweeping soot and debris in front of an orphanage.

Abraxas would laugh. He would enjoy it, that arrogant twat.

In which Tom Riddle experiences the timeless throes of teenage angst, is tired of the Blitz, invents a shitty supervillain name, and learns how to smoke and cheat at cards.

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~note historical inaccuracy on the timing of the London Blitz, which actually ended in May, not September 1941.

~disturbing note on the famous nursery rhyme: it has been suggested in the late 1800s that a child sacrifice was buried in the foundations, possibly alive, so that the ghost would watch over the bridge and prevent it from falling. theory hasn't been confirmed.

Chapter Nineteen: (Double, Double) Toil and Trouble

Slughorn seemed a little reluctant. He took a sip of whatever was in his glass before he spoke.

"An unsavoury legend surrounding the founder of our House — now, don't mind it, Tom, times were different then. The story goes that Salazar Slytherin, who, as you know, disagreed with the other Founders on a great many things, had secretly built a hidden chamber in the castle not long before he left. Legend has it that he sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it but one of his descendants."

So... he could open it? This could prove that he was a half-blood all along!

Slughorn must have seen the questioning look on his face but misinterpreted it completely.

"I doubt it will ever be opened, Tom — here's a bit of a quandary with the semantics, but nevertheless — the legend says that his true heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic."

Tom Riddle first hears about a strange legend during a Slug Club meeting and begins tutoring Mulciber.

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Chapter Twenty-One: The Winter of Our Discontent

"Ten points from Slytherin," he said. "I thought you would know better, Tom; but it is always the quiet ones, isn't it?"

He nearly died on the spot of mortification.

"Sorry, sir," he said. "It won't happen again."

Dumbledore merely chuckled. "Certainly. I see you have not gotten into the holiday spirit this year."

This year?

He whistled the first few bars of Santa Claus is Coming to Town. Tom was on the verge of a mental breakdown. If Dumbledore ever wanted a career as a Dark Lord, the sheer sadism was not lacking.

During the Christmas holidays, Tom remains at Hogwarts, begins his search for the Chamber of Secrets, and plots against Abraxas. Dumbledore remains unusually distracted. Tom's teenage existential crisis continues.

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