Part Two (1937-1944/1991-1998)
"...If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, do we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that..."
― William Shakespeare
They were so similar, Lilith Dorea Potter and Tom Marvolo Riddle, named for their parents/grandparents they had thick dark hair, dark eyes and thin, aristocratic features. They walked into Hogwarts as orphans —unwanted— ignored by their fellows —disregarded— though Lilith was supposed to be beloved by all —famous— and Tom no different from the rest —unremarkable— life has a habit of making fools of us all, and so Tom and Lilith entered the Great Hall no more, no less than their fellows, the only difference was their heritage, their determination, and their ambition that would change lives and shape the world around them.
Tom was the second tallest in his year but so thin and shivering in the autumn air as he sat —his navy blue eyes haughty in their self assurance— upon that old and worn stool, his back straight, picture perfect before his peers. Different.
Lilith was the shortest, thin in such a way as to hint at a troubled family life, she sat, —her feet hanging above the floor, those green eyes shone— straight backed and beautiful upon the old and worn stool. Remarkable.
The hat fell over their eyes, obscuring their cunning gazes and in the same hall with a distance of fifty years, the self-same shout echoed through that golden Hall. Slytherin.
Tom was greeted with cold eyes and thin lips from his new house and wary suspicion from the rest of the school; a mudblood had found his way into Slytherin. Disgusting filth.
Lilith ignored the shock and horror emanating from everyone, making her way to the green snake house, her new fellows watching her with suspicion and anger. False hero.
Behind both child, Albus Dumbledore stood/sat, fifty years changed a man's position.
For Tom he was the wary and suspicious deputy Headmaster, light blue eyes ever watchful and judging; never interfering in the young boys troubled early years.
For Lilith he was the benevolent and wise Headmaster, uncertain about the girls sorting; he stepped back and watched her carefully, waiting for the slightest slip or fall that might lead Lilith to the 'Dark side'.
"I will hurt you for this. I don't know how yet, but give me time. A day will come when you think yourself safe and happy, and suddenly your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth, and you'll know the debt is paid."
― George R.R. Martin, A Clash of Kings
First year was coloured by anger, rage and hate, cold eyes and harsh words, biting fear and the desperate need to survive the backbiting snake pit. The Head of Slytherin, Horace Slughorn/Severus Snape struggled to protect his sworn charge and beloved favourite. The muggleborn prodigy. Lily's daughter.
Tom was brilliant at transfiguration and potions, his dedication to details showing in his flair for both subjects, —prodigy— his Professors watched him in awe and amazement. He made seventy points in the first week alone —beloved teacher's pet— and received detention from Dumbledore after hexing Malfoy in self-defence. After the first weeks, Tom found that the bullying only increased as the year passed —mudblood, filth, freak— the accusations follow him thought the halls, no different from the Orphanage, only the surroundings are strange now. Tom soon has no one to turn to, —blue eyes judging, wrinkled mouth excusing— Malfoy hounds him inside and outside the dorm; and Tom learns to dodge the Dark curses from necessity. Tom's always been a survivor, he has no morals, no scruples; he can't afford to. Tom steals money from his dorm mates —they're so rich and stupid they never notice— pureblood inbreeding has its uses after all. Tom exits the Hogwarts Express fifty galleons heavier, a cool and knowing smirk on his lips. It had been too easy.
Lilith excels in defence and charms —unchallenged—her prowess astonishing her teachers as she swans her way through the course work with ridiculous ease. Lilith earned sixty-three points in one day —talented, special— and receives detention from —bitch— McGonagall for protecting herself against the —prejudiced— youngest Weasley. Lilith learns to duck behind alcoves —it's not hiding— and spends time in the library learning a fifth year shield charms and curses after ending up in the Hospital Wing for the sixth consecutive night. Lilith bares her teeth and endures; Lilith is a survivor. Sometime after Christmas Lilith discovers the existence of a rare magical —immortality, riches beyond compare— artefact under the third floor corridor. Two weeks later the stone is in her trunk and an exact replica is hidden in the chamber —too easy, they're all fools— Dumbledore never notices and Quirrel —idiotic sycophant— dies in a pathetic attempt to liberate the artefact at the end of the school year. Lilith tosses the stone from hand to hand while reclining on her bed at Privet Drive —hell on Earth—, a smirk on her lips as she plots and plans for next year. It had been too easy.
"By proof we feel our power sufficient to disturb his Heav'n, and with perpetual inrodes to alarm, though inaccessible, his fatal Throne: Which if not Victory is yet Revenge."
― John Milton, Paradise Lost.
By second year it is well known that the library is their sanctuary, no one knows what they research, but they learn more, grow stronger, harder and faster every day. Blue eyes watch and wonder, but do not disturb, give them a chance, watch and see.
Lilith makes 'friends' with Hermione Granger, the second year mudblood is confused and suspicious of the other girls attentions, but is so pleased by Lilith's attentions that she falls into the research of the Dark arts —temptation and corruption— like she belonged there all along. When Lilith discovers Genevra Weasley's little dark secret —horcrux, possession— she smiles coldly and traps the first year —blood traitor— into doing her bidding. It was far too easy. Lilith controls the basilisk now, the memory and diary of Tom Riddle —baby Dark Lord— is packed away and forgotten. Lockheart —idiot, fake, abusive— introduces a duelling club and by the end of the night Lilith is trapped between disgust and hatred, —future Dark Lady— her 'shameful' —idiots all of them— secret is revealed to her peers. And between the whispers and sideways glances, Lilith holds her head up high and doesn't refute it, proud of her ability. Lilith is a parseltongue and the Slytherin's watch her with a mixture of envy, awe and hate; the bullying increases from the other House's while her own housemates watch and wait, curious about their silent 'golden' girl. They can smell the Dark on her, and it excites them in such a way that Voldemort's never had. Voldemort came from nowhere, but Lilith, Lilith was a Potter, an ancient house, a noble house. Eager eyes now follow Lilith, watching and waiting, and she hates them for it.
Tom blackmails Abraxas Malfoy into doing his bidding, the third year is terrified of his thin smile and razor sharp teeth. In return, Abraxas gifts Tom with a book on magical heritage, —never knowing that he's just ensured his own downfall— thinking that the book will humiliate the 'mudblood' with his lack of knowledge. Tom laughs as he corners Alphard and Walburga Black playing kissing games behind the greenhouses; Walburga is betrothed to her cousin Orion, she hates him. Alphard is her beloved brother, Tom hates him. Alphard and Walburga quickly fall into Tom's plans, —aiding the other boy with fearful eyes and hoping to escape Tom's cruel possessive grip— while Abraxas watches from the shadows and regrets ever helping the blue eyed Slytherin. Tom researches feverishly, tearing through book after book, —looking, always looking— his heritage is unknown to him, —but he can speak to snakes— only Salazar Slytherin's heirs can manage that. Tom knows who he is, —he just needs proof— he ignores the dark looks of the other houses, the fearful eyes of his blackmailed companions and the speculative gaze of the deputy Headmaster. He hates them all, they are all insignificant compared to him.
"Beware the fury of a patient man."
― John Dryden
Genevra and Hermione are 'Dark' —they were always Dark— by Lilith's third year —eyes shadowed with cruelty— their souls are tainted black by the atrocious acts they have been 'forced' —they enjoyed it— to commit. Hermione weeps at night in memory of the girl she once had been but now pretends —she loves it really, but what would her parents think?— to revel in the future promised to her by Lilith, her devil with green yes. Ginevra trembles in her mothers arms, hoping that the stench of black magic won't be found upon her —weak and pathetic fools even if they are family— and silently waits for the new school year —yearning for Lilith's approval— with its Dark magic, cold cruelty and cherished acceptance. Lilith watches her protégées with sly smiles and dark eyes —useful if hated— watches them tear their souls and hearts for her approval —approve? of you? why should I?— and laughs. She hates everyone, why should the mudblood and the blood traitor be any different? Lilith has learned from Voldemort however, —outward smiles and gracious actions, inward scathing commentary: you're all so innocent, you think you know what I plan, what I want, you know nothing— and is silent in her disgust.
Tom is ready, —research neatly laid out, easily read, easily understood even by these dunces— he leaves his research out one night where Orion Black —imbecile— can find it. Three weeks later the fifth year confronts him about his findings in front of the house —far, far too easily manipulated, no challenge whatsoever— Tom leaves the common room rife with speculation as he seeks the secret chamber; his mind filled with the propaganda of his ancestor —a monster would do his bidding— and Tom would be triumphant. While in Europe war breaks out and London is threatened —muggles never learn— fire and smoke fills the air and shrapnel rains down on the unsuspecting citizens. Tom watches and learns, hating muggles and their wars —danger, entrapment, death— desiring to shed their blood in a vindictive rage. Tom is loud in his hate and disgust; for a Slytherin, Tom isn't very subtle.
"I don't like it, but my hands are tied. I just want you to know this: if I ever get the chance to betray you, I will. If the opportunity arises to pay you back, I'll take it. You'll never be able to trust me."
― Darren Shan, A Living Nightmare
Lilith is trapped by the concerned faces of the deputy Headmistress and her Head of House, her thin frail body curled in on itself as she sits hunched, on the cold hard wood of Professor Snape's chair. Professor McGonagall looms over her, stern faces and concerned eyes, trembling with the need, the desire, to protect the youth —Lily and James' girl, so clever, so fragile— who sits with wide eyes and open mouthed —disbelieving, she has family, why has no one told her?— before her. Professor Snape burns with a desire he hasn't felt since Lily, —Lily's daughter doesn't avoid him, Lily's daughter doesn't care about his mistakes (Severus, Lily's daughter doesn't know), she's so beautiful— and hates himself for it, those green eyes —Lily's eyes— were just like his lost loves; and for a moment, Severus trips over the girl's name, —Lily-no Lilith— mistaking her for her mother as memories cloud his tongue and mind. Lilith sits and hates, hates Professor McGonagall for shredding what little chance for freedom she once owned —insane mass-murderer, we have to keep you safe!— the chance for a happy childhood —you have a godfather, he would have kept you from them— and the love of a family —he hates you now, he wants you dead— she hates Professor Snape, the man who treated her with decency —Malfoy, leave Potter alone!— and kindness —Lilith, are you settling in well? Can I help you?— only to trip and whisper in a breathy moan —he loves her, not you, you're worthless— the name of her mother. But most of all, Lilith hates her parents —hero's, Gryffindor's both of them; why aren't you more like them?— for dying, for loving her —they died so you might live— and for protecting her —screams, begging, high pitched laughter, green light— from the big bad Dark Lord —there was a prophecy— and so leaving her to her hated Muggle —magic fearing, cruel, abusive— family.
Tom sits in Professor Dumbledore's office, his navy eyes frightened as he desperately argues his case, —please, please don't send me back, I cant go back!— he can't go back to the Orphanage —it's for the best Tom, don't you miss your friends?— his life is in danger there. Tom knows that all the lucky boys and girls have been sent away to the country, only those who refused —unwanted— or were unloved —worthless— were left behind. Tom wasn't unaware of the muggle war —Nazi supremacist Germany against the allied forces of Great Britain, France and Russia— like most wizards were, he knew that London —London bridge is burning down, burning down— was under fire from the German Luftwaffe. Professor Dumbledore —hateful, bigoted, prejudiced; doesn't understand— is all wise blue eyes and understanding smiles even as he refuses Tom's pleading request. Mistaking the boys terror for hate —thinks he's better than the other orphans— and disgust, hoping to ensure the boy learns acceptance and admiration for the muggle's of London and the world. Professor Dumbledore, despite his protestations for good muggle relations doesn't know of London's bombings; Diagon Alley was closed months ago by the Ministry and that was only because Grindlewald —Gellert, why? this isn't what I -we wanted— had threatened it in a letter to the Minister. Tom has nowhere to hide; the young Slytherin leaves the deputy's office —he doesn't care, not about Slytherin's— his shoulders bowed and weighted with the knowledge that he'd be lucky to return alive next year. He grips his pale wand and in an abandoned classroom sends curses and hexes —why? why? why?— flying into a conjured dummy. Death awaits him in London, and Tom bares his teeth with hate for his mother for dying —weak, worthless, has to be a muggle— and being so weak, he hates his father for leaving him —what did I do? Father? Save me!— to a life of terror and strangeness and he hates Albus Dumbledore —I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!—, the man above all others, —he doesn't care about the war, he doesn't care about Freaks like me!— who could have saved him from the London Bombs.
"I will see you bereft of all that you have, of home and happiness and beautiful things. I will see your nation cast down and your allies drawn away. I will see you as alone and friendless and wretched as am I; and then you may live as long as you like, in some dark and lonely corner of the earth, and I shall call myself content."
― Naomi Novik, Black Powder War
Lilith stares into the grey eyes of her 'murdering' godfather —laughing grey eyes, grinning mouth, hansdsome face— and shakes her head in refusal —you left me, when I needed you most—; Sirius Black stares in silent dismay —I'm sorry, Lilith, I didn't mean too— at his beautiful broken goddaughter, —her eyes are flat and lifeless— and can see the shattered soul —what have they done to you? What have we done to you?— within. Lilith walks away silently, the man behind her had betrayed her in an unforgivable way —I can't trust you to be there when I need you— he was free and had been for months now. When she was a baby —helpless, defenceless; it wasn't supposed to be this way!— he had left her to fend for herself while he hunted Pettigrew —sneaky rat thief, betraying murderer— and thirteen years later —ex-murderer, escaped convict— he turns up, —well dressed, well fed and laughing in delight at seeing her— having just returned from wizarding Vegas with a wife —I'm sorry, I got caught up— a newly aquired fortune —I forgot— and no house —forgive me— to live in. Lilith had no need for irresponsible adults —I'll never forget, I'll never forgive; I'm not my parents— in her life, she was fourteen now, the rat was dead —good riddance— her parents were simply ideas to be cherished on cold lonely nights —I never knew them, I don't need them— and she was unhappily living —read: abused, and its your fault!— with the Dursley's. Lilith had no need for Sirius Black —playboy, arrogant, idiot— she had out grown him. Sirius had no need for Lilith Potter —James' daughter, has her mother's eyes— he simply wanted to hold onto the last living link to his best friends, James and Lily. Lilith found herself hating Sirius Black —I'm not my parents— as she hated Severus Snape.
Tom stands cold and thin on the platform, —I survived, I'm stronger, I survived Death and spat in his eye— his navy eyes gleaming with bitter hatred, behind him the plump and well fed forms of Abraxas and Alphard natter away, their voices grating on his ears. Tom flicks his wand, sending water flying from him violently and warming —I love magic— his thin frame, around him his fellow Slytherin's watch him warily. Tom has changed in the three months since he had left Hogwarts —stronger— he's watched London burn —better— he seen Death walk the broken streets —harder— stepped over the dead —faster— and the dying —smarter— the stench of mud, blood, piss and terror —I survived— is still thick in his nose —I've smelt Death— and the sounds of the sirens rings in his ears —heard Death— a banshees wail —seen Death— of danger on the horizon. His hands are strong —I'm not the victim now— his muscles wiry —I can take care of myself— and his spine straight —I am your better— he's confronted the worst of humanity and he stands strong and tall —I have survived, what can you claim in return?— , his blue eyes blazing with darkness. Tom left with nothing and returned with everything. The Slytherin's follow him, —I am your leader— simply knowing that he was strong enough —dangerous— cruel enough —insane— angry enough —vengeful— and hated —awe-inspiring— enough to lead them without question; self preservation is not only a Slytherin trait, but it certainly was strongest in the snake house; Slytherin's aren't fools enough to goad the devil.
"Vengeance and retribution require a long time; it is the rule."
― Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
Fourth year is predictably dull, nothing exciting expected, until... Everything changes. Blue eyes watch them move through the political circles, confused at their preoccupation. They're at school, what could they possibly acheive at school?
Lilith finds herself laughing about the tournament —are they serious?— and she's the only one —is she insane?— her cold green eyes sweep the length of her school, her House, her Slytherin table. Her fellow snakes watching her with the same fear as their predecessors watched Tom Riddle —insane and dangerous— fear and fascination —awe-inspiring and vengeful— warring in their eyes as they clamoured for her attention. Lilith smiles when the Durmstrang students —Dark, cold, pure— move to sit with their Dark brethren in Slytherin —Darker, purer, colder— her slight smile —cunning and danger hidden behind beauty's mask— drawing the northerner's to her like moths to a flame. Lilith —famous and gorgeous— and Viktor Krum —famous and handsome— spend the night talking, her clear green eyes clashing with his own dark brown —I am the Leader— as they foster 'international relations' between their two schools and teach black and Dark magic to their fellows, gathering a loyal following —they call themselves the Dark Allegiance— not unlike another boys —Death Eaters— fifty years previously. By Halloween the Slytherin's and the Durmstrang students are close knit and friendly; a unification against the rest of the judgemental —Light and prejudiced— schools. Lilith doesn't pretend to be surprised when her name is called out —fourth champion? cheater, liar— she simply accept the events and moves to Viktor's side and the Bulgarian fiercely defends her from the angry teachers and furiously confused Ministry Officials.
Tom sneers in disgust as the Slytherin's rush about him in terror —he's crueler, meaner, nastier than before— Tom's not subtle in his anger, —it burns in his eyes and twists his mouth— his expression has the Black's terrified. They're still under his blackmail —incestuous relations, Black, with your sister?— material, and will be for years yet. Tom uses his new aura of fear to bludgeon —too scared to run, no where to hide; the common room is a cesspool of fear and danger— his peers into following him; Tom is ever a believer of Machiavelli's principals: it is better to be feared than loved. Grindlewald and his muggle accomplice Hitler have only proved this principal, Tom has seen the terror stricken muggles —fearful bugs waiting to be squashed and ruled by their betters— scurrying in the dead of night, putting out fires and chanting fear tainted avowals of their 'bravery'. We can take it. The motto of the London blitz, a —pathetic, useless— affirmation that England will survive the war. Tom ignores the annoying Slytherin political jockeying —as if I would favour any of you— about him, Lestrange and Malfoy taking turns each week to be his 'right hand man'. What does politics matter —nothing at all— in the face of such devastating warfare and death?
"...And you, you better run because i'm going to destroy you for what you've taken from me."
― Samantha Young, Blood Will Tell
The first task is easy; the dragon —overgrown be-winged serpent, lesser than Salazar's basilisk— is assuaged with the liberal use of parseltongue —Dumbledore twitches with each sibilant hiss— and a strong —Dark— confundus charm. Lilith's method is barely legal and Dumbledore clearly suspects and is wary of her; and the dragon did not escape her wrath —uninjured; if barely— unharmed, it would not be able to breath fire easily again. Lilith is unsure if the keepers —annoying blood traitor's screams are so like his mother's— are pleased —less dangerous— or angry —valuable specimen— at her for this. The second task is harder —underwater, Lilith can't swim— but still not the challenge Lilith was expecting; wasn't this tournament meant to be life threatening? The lake is cold and slimy but the bubble head charm —learnt from necessity in first year, the blood traitor twins love their dung-bombs— and the propelling charm are easily mastered and executed; Fleur Delacour, the Beauxbaton's champion falls foul of the grindylow's; their wiry and strong —easily breakable— fingers drag the French girl to the bottom of the lake, obscuring her with seaweed. Lilith ignores the begging eyes and gaping mouth that ask for aid focussing on her task instead; she's a Slytherin not a Gryffindor. Lilith exits the lake first —I win; naturally— dragging the prone body of Draco Malfoy after her; putting up with the breathless thanks from the idiots babbling mouth is annoying, but Lilith is more than ready to use the boys gratitude —you will be returning the favour— in furtherance of her goals. Particularly when he instigates a life debt —you're never escaping now; I own you— in thanks.
Tom realises that yes, politics have a lot to do with warfare, as he navigates the increasingly murky waters of the Slytherin house hierarchy. He's challenged repeatedly and must enforce his decisions with punishment —I will curse you— even as he sways the less explosive members with his forced charms. It takes less than two months for his most devoted followers —Lestrange, Prince, Rosier, Nott, Malfoy— to notice that Tom Riddle is at his most dangerous when he smiles sweetly —baring perfectly straight white teeth— a precursor to severe pain and humiliation. Abraxas Malfoy —tall, blond, sophisticated— and Antonin Dolohov —short, dark, sadistic— are Tom's biggest supporters; Rigel Lestrange —thick set, dull witted, whinging— is sycophantic and is not shy in his adoration of Tom but is too poor and politically inferior to offer Tom much beyond ego stroking. The Black cousins, Orion —pale eyes, weak chin, frightened— and Walburga —shrewish, ugly, whining harpy— watch the increase of Tom's fame still tightly coiled around the other Slytherin's fingers and both are increasingly grateful that they graduate next year; while Alphard Black —thin, dark, pale— who's in the same year as Tom, is increasingly sure that he'll never escape the Heir of Slytherin's cunning and dangerous games. Tom watches his inner circle —Black, Rosier, Nott, Flint, Zabini, Prince, Malfoy, Lestrange and Dolohov— with gloating and proud eyes; Tom owns them all even if they don't know it yet they're only fourteen after all.
"Revenge is sweet and not fattening."
― Alfred Hitchcock
Lilith attends the Yule Ball on the arm of Theodore Nott, her most avid supporter; her lips are like fresh blood and her eyes the green of the killing curse, and she wears a long black dress reminiscent of a dementor's cloak. She's dressed to kill —green eyes glow maliciously, touch me and you will die— and draws the appreciative eyes of every male in the room; at the head table, Severus Snape watches the Slytherin teen —so beautiful, radiantly pleased with all the attention— and feels his age increase in leaps and bounds, his black eyes are moist and he breaths out a single word; one, that had Lilith heard, he would have died saying. Lily. Draco, Blaise and Theodore jockey for her hand all night —so like her mother—, ignoring Blaise and Draco's dates and the dozen other girls who wait to be asked by the three most influential Slytherin's as they steal Lilith away from the fevered eyes of the other men in the ballroom. Viktor Krum manages to secure one dance —twirls her around with ease— before Blaise —dark eyes burning with jealousy— cuts in, his aristocratic face a haughty possessive mask. It's the first time any of the boys call her 'my Lady', but it won't be the last.
The Head boy and girl work on Headmaster Dippet all year and finally manage to organise a ball for the fourth years and up; Hogwarts is taken by 'ball fever' and dates are being secured everywhere even though the ball's not for months. Tom takes Victoria Greengrass, —beautiful and wealthy— a pureblood Lady with blue eyes and blond hair. They contrast well —the most handsome and sort after pair at the ball, the envy of all— and Tom looks like a tall, dark Prince from a fairy tale in his midnight robes and silver stitching while Victoria dressed in silver and periwinkle looks like a beautiful Princess as she's spun about the room in Tom's strong arms. Victoria is the first to call him 'my Lord' as a joke, but the idea takes root within the minds of the purebloods. Tom laughs to himself and quietly encourages it.
"A need for revenge can burn long and hot. Especially if every glance in a mirror reinforces it."
― Suzanne Collins, Mockingjay
The third task is a maze, and it takes Lilith less than an hour to make her way through it, evading skrewts, spiders and sphinxes —boring, all of it— as she does so. In no time at all, Lilith snatches up the Tri-Wizard cup, and feels the tell-tale hook-like sensation of a portkey, sending her slamming into an ancient looking graveyard. A high voice commanding her capture is her only warning, and Lilith finds herself dodging curses, stunners and disarming spells —come on, doesnt he know anything... scarier?— that the rat sends her way; her movements take her closer to the cup again which she snatches up, deciding not to stick around and find out what the Dork Lord —pathetic man, pathetic minions; all in all, disappointing really— wants with her this time. Voldemort's rage and fury echoes behind her shrilly, and Lilith leaves behind a golem and his pathetic servant crouched among the dead —classy, no really— somewhere in England. Three days later, Lilith stands on a dais, her Slytherin followers cheering her name in ecstasy as she holds the cup above her head triumphantly a sack of heavy galleons in her hand. Her picture is plastered all over the prophet and in a manor house somewhere south of Hogwarts, a yew wand burns the paper to a crisp, the man's rage knowing no bounds.
Tom is officially 'going out' with Victoria, and watches in bored amusement as the other girls backbite and bitch about Victoria's luck, never guessing that Tom was about as loving to the girl as a vampire to his prey. Victoria wilts beneath the force of Tom's glares and possessive touch —he owns her— she learns that green, yellow, blue, purple and black do not go well with her complexion, and knows that escaping her 'Lord' will be about as easy as walking on hot coals and equally dangerous. Tom observes Victoria's fear and revels in it, he is a cruel man, a man unwilling to change his ways while taking what he wants. Its not abusive, —Victoria loves him and Tom's not abusive—, Victoria excuses her 'boyfriends' cruelty to her friends when they spot the bruising, he's simply jealous. The girls stop fighting for him after that, and no Slytherin can pretend to be surprised when Victoria throws herself —Tom sneers at her, she's a coward— from the Astronomy tower before exams. Tom doesn't pretend to be sad or to feel regret, Victoria has served her purpose. Tom has delightful fun cursing Victoria's younger brother when he's challenged, and Anthony learns his lesson; as his sister had. Tom was Lord and King, even if it wasn't verbally acknowledged yet.
"If anger were mileage, I'd be a very frequent flyer, right up there in First Class."
― Gina Barreca
Summer is the worst, trapped in a world they no longer fit, and really, they never have, each time expecting to die and each autumn relishing in their survival. They are strong, they are clever, they are survivors.
Tom crouches in the crypt of the local church, the shrill wail of the nightly 'all clear' siren filtering through the brickwork, and he tries to ignore the stench of fear, sweat and piss that coils in his nostrils like unwelcome snakes. The oil lamps flicker as the Matron of the Orphanage staggers upright to check on the silently crying children who are under her strict, no-nonsense care. Tom knows he's supposed to be asleep, but the fifteen year old is aching to be free of this existence and burns to feel the wind on his face; it's so stuffy down here and Tom wishes dearly that Grindlewald had never started this fight, that Hitler had never supported the Dark wizards war and that he was back at Hogwarts safe and sound in his dorm. Tomorrow is a Monday, and Tom is on duty with the fire department to help clean up the nightly wreckage, he earns a penny a day or an extra ration of sweets. Tom hates muggles, Tom hates war time, and most of all, Tom hates Albus Dumbledore for leaving him to this miserable existence.
Lilith crouches in her cupboard, her back curved and trying to stretch the ache out of her shoulders; she's in trouble again, Dudley keeps making passes at her and Vernon blames her 'freakiness' on his sons desperate attempts to get into her pants. Petunia, thankfully, arrived before Dudley could do anything, but Lilith knows that it's only a matter of time, and fears for her life and soul in this place. Lilith almost regrets not leaving with Sirius, her godfather, only to remind herself that the man would never have cared for her, only for her parents. Lilith bares her teeth angrily, desiring more than anything to feel the wind on her face and the sun on her skin; Lilith hates muggles, Lilith hates Sirius Black for loving her parents more than her, Lilith hates her parents for dying, but most of all, Lilith hates Albus Dumbledore for leaving her with her 'beloved' relatives.
"Once bitten twice shy? Sure, but... why not get a bigger dog and bite them back?"
― A.A. Bell, Hindsight
Fifth year is boring for them, the momentum of the political dances picks up, but nothing is certain. They are Lord and Lady now, but even that is unacknowledged in many of their peers minds, and yet, the bait has been laid and already the fish lies beneath waiting to be hooked...
Fifth year is all political, everyone dances around Tom who is now a prefect —deserving— and Abraxas Malfoy who is the newly instated Lord of the Malfoy fortune —hereditary— his father having died over the summer holidays. Tom courts Malfoy to his side with cunning patience, and Malfoy falls into Tom's hands with surprising ease, his adoring grey eyes always following the older boy as he suavely directs the house around him like a general. Lestrange, angered by Malfoy's supposed preference, is the first to call Tom 'Lord'. The word catches on with surprising —but understandable— quickness, and soon Tom is elevated to the title of Lord Voldemort and King of Slytherin. Tom spends his nights laughing with delight at the turn around; no one remembers him as the 'mudblood of Slytherin' any longer. He is their Lord, he is their King; he is Tom Marvolo Riddle, the Dark Lord Voldemort.
Lilith, angered by the Ministry's interference, is the first to act against Delores Umbridge, getting the fat, pink woman fired from her post with ease and viciousness. Lilith's statement is clear: Hogwarts is hers. Albus Dumbledore, unaware of Lilith's hatred of him, tries to sway the budding Dark Lady to his side; curious about the Order of the Phoenix, Lilith allows Dumbledore —unwary fool— to pull her into his fold. Her followers, the Dark Alliance, smirk in amusement as Lilith recounts the Order's information, and Draco Malfoy is the first to confirm that the Dark wizard —he is no Lord of theirs— Voldemort has returned. Lilith smiles at the term, the message is clear, only she is the Dark Lady; Voldemort's time is up. Lilith laughs, joined swiftly by her Dark Alliance, their youthful arrogance assumes that their political take over —viva la revolution— will be swift and easy.
"Revenge may be wicked, but it's natural."
― William Makepeace Thackeray
Sixth year is a continuation of their fifth, it's falling into place like a jigsaw puzzle, and it's too late for old blue-eyes to halt them now. The avalanche has started and nothing will stop the devastation it wreaks.
Tom releases the basilisk from the Chamber of Secrets in his sixth year, his blue eyes burn with fevered fervour as mudblood's drop like flies to Salazar Slytherin's monster. Malfoy and Lestrange are the loudest supporters of Tom's underhanded work, although even the notoriously aloof Alphard Black gets excited when the mudblood bitch —annoying, ill-bred— Myrtle Cain dies. Tom regretfully closes the Chamber when Headmaster Dippet threatens to close the school, setting up the half-breed —half-giant oaf— Rebeus Hagrid as the perpetrator of the incident. Tom howls with incredulous laughter as the Headmaster laps the story up and gifts Tom with a 'Services to the School' award. Lestrange and Dolohov are admiring of Tom's abilities, and both are swift to swear themselves to his service, claiming that he is clearly a far stronger —naturally— Dark Lord than Grindlewald could ever hope to be. Malfoy wavers, as does Black, but neither pledge; Tom watches the shifting currents in curiosity, cradling his diary with caressing fingers. He knows exactly what he's going to do with this book; it's time to pay his dear Father a visit.
Lilith watches with curious abandon as 'Lord' Voldemort appears in Hogsmeade challenging her to a duel. Lilith is tempted to accept —he dares? He dares challenge her?— but Blaise and Draco drag her away before she can. They hide in the library and act horrified —poorly, they were too excited in retrospect— when the news breaks that Hogsmeade was raised to the ground and Voldemort's return was announced on the front page of the Daily Prophet. Sirius turns up begging for Lilith to change her mind and come to his house for the summer —over her dead body— apparently it's far safer than the Dursley's. Lilith only accepts because the Order of the Phoenix's headquarters —actually... that's rather... interesting— is in the same place. Theodore and Draco are excited at the opportunity this presents their Dark Lady, while Blaise fears for her safety. Lilith ignores their objections and fears, certain that she wouldn't be caught.
"I have found that there are two ways of dealing with men. Either you treat them with respect, or you kill them. Anything in between merely breeds resentment and the desire for revenge."
― Paul Kearney
Seventh year they are Head Boy and Head Girl, the fifty year split is the only thing separating their mirror similarities in the mind of Albus Dumbledore, as he prefers to give them the benefit of the doubt, one more chance to change...
Tom stares at the shiny badge decorating his chest, the words Head Boy inscribed with gold on its surface; Tom knows that the badge hardly matters outside of school, but it will afford him far more freedom inside. Tom ignores the suspicious stares of Albus Dumbledore and increases his base of Slytherin supporters to those in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff; the surprisingly talented second year Slytherin Alastor Moody is the only student to remain free of Tom's manipulations by the end of January. Tom watches the boy carefully, noting the high minded ideals —weakness! are we not the stronger race?— that come with Gryffindor and Hufflepuff parentage, and soon disregards the boy. Moody watches Tom with disconcerting suspicion, and Tom realises that Moody is Dumbledore's pet Slytherin, making him angry that even in his Common Room —his safe haven in a school of eyes and ears— he can't avoid Dumbledore's eyes. This knowledge sets Tom on the path to realising that being a teacher is the best way to gather support and recruit like minded people. Tom smiles viciously at the thought and puts his latest plan in action: he is refused for being too young and inexperienced.
Lilith is inducted into the Order on her seventeenth birthday, the taint of her —very— Dark magic unnerving most of the Light magic supporters; Dumbledore ignores their objections, pointing out that Lilith is the prophesied defeated of Voldemort whom he calls Tom. Intrigued, Lilith questions Dumbledore on the boy Voldemort had once been, and is disgusted to note that this is hardly the first time Dumbledore has failed a student of his —how unfair and cruel the leader of the Light is— all on the account of their being a Slytherin. After the meeting Sirius argues against Lilith's muttered insults —truths— and Snape silently agrees with Lily's daughter while Dumbledore bows his head in 'regret and sorrow'. Lilith doesn't buy it for a second and leaves the house in a fit of pique, her eyes burning with the fire of the killing curse. The Order watches her go and doubts while Dumbledore prays for a forgiveness he doubts will ever be awarded to him.
"...it is by our actions that we are destroyed or saved. The choice is ours."
― Sherrilyn Kenyon, The Dream Hunter
Their post Hogwarts years are dull, acclimatising themselves to being adults and the furthering of their goals; it's a time of magical growth and their followers grow ever more in the wake of their consolidating power...
Tom works in a shop as an assistant, picking up Dark artefacts and cursed items, planning and plotting the hostile take over of the world. Grindlewald was defeated a month ago by Albus Dumbledore, —newly entitled— the Defender of the Light and Tom knows that his success depended on Dumbledore's death and humiliation. Its so easy to organise his revolution while working days, his followers are no less eager for leaving school; and they ensure that Tom's legend still lives at Hogwarts, sending letters to absent and various family members around Europe in secret. After finding his mothers necklace, Tom leaves England with the —unsuspecting and foolish— Auror's on his tail —murder charges are for the weak and lesser— Malfoy and Dolohov smuggling him from the country to Albania with shocking ease. Tom doesn't think much of the Ministry.
The Order continues to argue against Lilith's conclusion, not hiding their disapproval of her as she sits at the table a Dark arts book before her —research only— and a cheerfully innocent smile on her face. Dumbledore, remembering Lilith's accusations, gives the young Potter the benefit of the doubt, because he trusts her as he trusts Severus. Lilith barely bits back hysterical laughter each time Dumbledore professes his trust and certainty that Lilith is a good person, never knowing that the muggle burnings —reminiscent of the witch trials in Salem— are her and the Dark Alliance's work. Snape watches those unholy green eyes and wonders just how true Dumbledore's words are while Sirius ignores the Dark magic emanating from Lilith and turns a blind eyes to her blatant Dark allegiance. Of the two men who truly could stop Lilith, one would support her, and the other was far too blind to notice something was wrong.
"I'm a fighter. I believe in the eye-for-an-eye business. I'm no cheek turner. I got no respect for a man who won't hit back. You kill my dog, you better hide your cat."
― Muhammad Ali, The Greatest My Own Story
Tom returns to England ten years later, barely recognisable as the boy he had once been; his soul torn into five pieces and scattered around his homeland. Dumbledore, now Headmaster, refuses Tom's application for the position of defence Professor at Hogwarts —prejudiced and unfair— and sends the furious young man away; never knowing that he might have stopped the war before it began. Tom's rage knows no bounds and before long England is soon embroiled in a Civil War, the first Magical war to touch its soil in nearly two hundred years. Dark creatures flock to Tom's banner, excited to gain some measure of benefit from the war, whether it be new territory —freedom— or new respect —acceptance— from wizards and witches, Tom doesn't care, he simply uses them with vicious effectiveness. The death toll mounts while Lord Voldemort doesn't hesitate to burn, destroy and taint everything he touches; the Magical world screams for a saviour —there isn't one— and Dumbledore is pressured to defeat Voldemort as he had once defeated Grindlewald. Except that Tom is not Gellert, and Tom owes nothing to Dumbledore —Dumbledore owes him, after all— and so never accepts the terms of a formal duel, preferring his methods of terror and guerrilla warfare. Tom has learnt from his predecessor, —foolish old man, love is a weakness— and isn't willing to gamble his rule on a duel. Tom knows he will win, eventually, he is immortal, he has time. Dumbledore scrambles to counteract Tom's efforts and fails in every aspect until, in nineteen-eighty-one, a year old baby girl rebounds the killing curse —how?!— and rips Tom's soul from his body and causing the war to falter in its tracks.
Lilith is nineteen, her Dark Alliance is nearly a thousand strong with the graduates of Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang swelling her ranks as she surrounds Malfoy manor, Draco —third in command after Hermione— at her side. In less than half an hour, Lilith owns the Death Eaters and Voldemort bows at her feet; the scaly snake-man —disgusting— submits to Lilith's rule, knowing the true fire of a Dark Lady —outnumbered, outclassed— and his most loyal and most faithful followers watch in shock as the young girl —woman, Dark Lady, Queen— immediately takes charge. Lilith sends out a challenge to Dumbledore, inviting him to a duel between him and the Dark; Dumbledore accepts with suspicious —does he suspect? Surely not...— swiftness. Lilith smirks as she hides her followers under the cloak of mist and rain, ordering Voldemort to meet Dumbledore at the suggested site. Lilith arrives with the Order, her sweet smile turning vicious as the rain and mist parts to reveal an army of thousands before them. Sirius can't even pretend to be surprised —he knew, he'd always know, and he accepted this as his greatest failure— when Voldemort declines responsibility —young and handsome once more, claiming loyalty to one a third his age— of the Dark Alliance, as the Dark army is now known as, and Snape bows his head in acceptance —one too many times, Snivillus, I'm not my mother, I owe you nothing— as the sickly green light of the killing curse takes his life, revealing Lilith to be the Betrayer of the Light.
"For some offences, there is only retribution."
― Dennis R. Miller
Dumbledore staggers backwards, his pointy-toed boots sliding in the wet grass, churning the mud with the blood of the dying Light wizards, watching in horror as Lilith, finally, kisses Tom in victory, and knows the bitter taste of treachery and that he had failed twice in keeping his students safe, that he had failed in keeping his students to the Light, that he had failed Tom, that he had failed Lilith and there was no one to blame but himself.