Meeting Tom Riddle

i. His Rise

Lucius was an idiot. Sure, she'd always known that, but today his stupidly had been simply outstanding.

Bellatrix smirked to herself and sat down on a black, high-backed chair. She crossed her legs and placed the book on her lap. It was a rotten, flimsy thing, but very important nonetheless.

Not long before, Lucius Malfoy—the fifth year that her dear Narcissa fancied—had happened to drop a book without noticing. So she had picked it up—and didn't bother to return it. Why should she? Instead she intended to do something far more . . . interesting.

From the size of the book, added with the way she'd seen him hold it suspiciously close to him, she was willing to bet hundreds of Galleons that it was a journal of sorts. And if it was a journal, she could only imagine what exactly had been written inside. It could make for very effective blackmail.

She scanned the common room. Not a soul in sight. Satisfied, she turned her attention back to Lucius's book and moved to open it. She hesitated, but only for a moment; it was Lucius's own fault that he was careless enough to drop it.

With that thought in mind, she eagerly flipped through the book, investigating each page—

Not a word was written.

She furrowed her eyebrows. What was Lucius doing, carrying around an empty book? Perhaps it was written in invisible ink? Somehow she doubted it.

Well, if Lucius wasn't going to write in it, then she would.

She reached for the quill at her feet and dipped it in ink a single time before setting it on a blank, yellowed page. She wrote the first thing she could think of. "I am Bellatrix Black."

She looked down on her writing, strangely satisfied, and then the words began to disappear, almost as though the paper was soaking it up. New words, in fine penmanship, materialized on the page.

I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Bellatrix Black. My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. It appears you've found my diary.

For what seemed like an eternity, Bellatrix could only stare at the page. She remained unmoving even as the ink began to fade away. How did. . . what spell could make the book. . . Tom Riddle. . . his diary. . . Lucius. . . no, this was all a trick. It had to be!

Bellatrix jabbed her quill in the ink and scrawled rapidly, "This is a set-up, isn't it? Some sort of defense mechanism? What spell are you using? I bet Tom Riddle doesn't even exist. Stop trying to play with me, Lucius!"

The answer was immediate.

You're very quick to make assumptions. First, this is not a set-up, nor a defense mechanism. Second, I am not currently practicing any spell. Third, my name is, in fact, Tom Riddle. If you demand proof, then all you have to do is look at the first page of this diary.

No, I'm not going to look there, she thought. That would be playing his game, and she played no one's game but her own.

Yet even as she thought this, she found herself doing exactly as asked and looking at the front of the book. Sure enough, there was a name written down, one that she had missed before. T. M. Riddle. Tom Marvolo Riddle, just as he had said.

Whoever Tom Riddle was, he was telling the truth. This was his diary. The name was written in the same style as the messages, and it looked nothing like Lucius's handwriting.

When she looked back, a new message had already replaced the old one.

Do you believe me now?

Bellatrix tightened her lips, then sighed. "Yes, a little."

Thank you.

"But if you actually are whom you claim to be," she wrote, "then can you tell me a bit about yourself?"

Are you sure you want to know?

"Of course I do. I'm asking, aren't I?"

Very well. I don't see why not.

Then came a second message. I am a fifth-year at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sorted into Slytherin and a Prefect. I am of very respectable wizarding heritage and excel at Defense Against the Dark Arts.

She tilted her head in interest. "Is that so? You sound like someone I'd like to meet in person."

That can be arranged.

"But you seem to be in a diary. How is that possible?"

Believe me, Bellatrix Black, I am just as eager to see you as you are to see me. Fortunately, with magic, the possibilities are limitless.

"If you're able to make it happen, then I don't see why not."

This time, she did not receive an answer. The pages blew very fast before stopping. An image appeared on the page, and suddenly said image was expanding.

Placing her trust in Tom, she closed her eyes and was subsequently catapulted off of the armchair and into the image. Before she knew it, her feet hit solid ground.

Her hand gravitated to her head as if it was starting to hurt. She began taking in her surroundings. No longer was she in the Slytherin Common Room, but instead in a large, grand corridor—the one just outside of the Great Hall.

Bellatrix looked around. It appeared that she was alone—

Wait a minute. She wasn't.

There was a boy walking down to the Great Hall, his piercing dark eyes focused only on what was ahead. He was tall, had an elegant face and lush black hair that reminded her of a majestic raven.

The sight of him took her breath away. Could this be Tom Riddle? She hoped that he was.

Her question was answered very shortly. A young girl in Ravenclaw robes came out of the Great Hall and stopped when she saw the boy. "Hey, Tom? You're a Prefect, right?"

Tom nodded. "That's correct. Is there anything I can help with, Myrtle?"

"Well. . ." the girl called Myrtle began fiddling with her fingers, "there is, actually. One of the Slytherin kids was bullying me again, to say the least, and since, well, you're in Slytherin. . . I was hoping that you would be able to talk to them or something. Do you think you can do that?"

"Certainly. A girl as magnificent as you should never have to endure such harsh words. Who do I need to reprimand?"

"Oh, it's Avery," said Myrtle, her face as red as a tomato.

"I see. Rest assured, I will talk to him."

"Thank you so much, Tom!"

With that, she skipped out of the corridor. She did not look back, and thus did not see Tom's face, so gentle and caring, shift into a snarl. His eyes were dripping with a menacing iciness.

"Yes, I'll be sure to talk to him," he said quietly and poisonously, "and tell him that you deserved it, you filthy Mudblood."

He began recomposing himself as soon as he had finished saying those words. The carnal look gradually receded and erected his spine even more. In a matter of moments, his calm and collected mask had been donned. He turned around and headed down to the Great Hall once more. Soon he was out of sight.

Bellatrix could not bring herself to follow him. She was too dazed to do so. That was . . . that was Tom Riddle. He was alluring, respectable and hated Mudbloods just as much as she did. He was the one she could talk to in the diary, at any moment.

He was amazing.

Her lips began to pull into a smile. She did not intend on giving Lucius his book back anytime soon.

ii. Her Descent

The diary became everything to her.

One week. Every bit of her spare time was spent talking to Tom. Two weeks. Her homework was not always turned in in time, and she started to sound distracted when around her friends. Three weeks. Her homework was never turned in, and every waking moment when she wasn't with Tom was spent thinking about him to the point where she was writing BB x TR on spare parchment during a written examination.

She loved Tom. Or, at least, she liked him a lot. She needed him, craved him, and thirsted for him and the exhilarating rush he gave her. She never resisted the sweet addiction of Tom Riddle. She didn't want to.

However, there was one thing that bothered her. At first it was a little spark of an idea, one she quickly dismissed as a paranoid notion. But as her love for Tom grew powerful, so did the idea. When the fourth week came, she had no choice but to address it.

"Tom?" she wrote one night in the vacant Common Room. "May I ask you something?"

I believe you just did.

Bellatrix laughed a little more than she usually would have. "That's true. Well then, may I ask you a rather personal question?"

Yes. I'll answer to the best of my ability.

She dipped the quill in ink and placed it on the page. She held still, leaving nothing but a smudge.

She gulped, drew in a deep breath, and then began writing before she could stop herself. "Do I mean anything to you?"

Bellatrix held her breath.

I beg your pardon?

Now that she had started, there was no way she could stop; she was just going to have to go for it. The speed of her writing picked up as the words came flying out. "Ever since I first saw you in your memory, I noticed the way you were kind to that girl externally but loathed her internally. I mean, you had perfectly good reasoning, seeing as she was a Mudblood, but do you truly care about me? Or do you secretly hate me or find me annoying? Be honest. I can handle the truth."

She knew she was lying.

The response took a little longer than usual. Then, finally, You are a pureblood, correct?

"Correct."

Good. That means that I have no reason to have you. I have no reason to lie to you. I have absolutely no reason to do anything of the sort.

"So you care about me?"

Of course. And in what way, might I ask, do you care for me?

Bellatrix didn't right back straightaway, concerned as to how she should answer.

It would be useless trying to hide it. The subtext could not be clearer.

Dang it, Tom knew; she might as well just spit it out.

"You see, I like you a lot, or maybe I love you, I'm not sure, but it's clear that I've never felt this way about anyone else before. It's actually quite ridiculous, how much I have my head in the clouds, but I do, and when I do I'm always thinking about you and my heart is racing and I feel more excited than I have at any other point in my life. I suppose that what I'm trying to say is, you've become one of the most important, if not the most important, person in my life, Tom Riddle."

Bellatrix sighed and dropped her quill. The ink faded. She felt like a load of bricks had been unloaded from her shoulders.

That is nice to hear, Bellatrix. The feeling is entirely mutual.

Her heart nearly stopped, hardly daring to believe that she had read that right. She blinked several times—the words didn't disappear. Something warm shot up her throat, allowing her to smile widely as she read what followed.

There are others aside from you whom have picked up this diary. Many of them were exceptionally insipid. But you're special. You and I share many of the same view, value similar traits. We are very alike, and thus you are one of the first that I can actually relate to. You are very much one of a kind.

Part of her couldn't believe that she was actually about to use this term, but she could find no other words to describe it.

"So that's it, then. We're absolutely made for each other."

Indeed. Together, nothing can stand against us.

And she believed that.

She closed her eyes, leaving the Common Room and imagining herself back in the corridor where she had first laid eyes on Tom. Except this time he was near her, close enough for her to make out every ebony strand.

"Together nothing can stand against us," he said to her again, only this time it was in person, and his rich, smooth voice shaped the words into a beautiful melody.

Bellatrix then locked her eyes with his, absentmindedly tucking her black hair behind her ear. As though in a trance, she inched her face toward him, slowly, slowly—

"So you're the one who stole my book."

Her eyes snapped open, her head whirling around to face the intruder immediately. It happened to be none other than Lucius Malfoy, whose eyes were flaring.

Great, he'd completely broken her image. She had no choice but to get him to leave, quickly.

"It's not your book," Bellatrix said hotly. "According to the first page, it's the property of T. M. Riddle."

Lucius's face suddenly lost its indignant look and suddenly became distant. He stared at the diary, looking fascinated. She frowned—she didn't often see him like this.

He surprised her when he at last did talk. "So . . . you've been talking to him, have you?"

"Why? What's so wrong about that? Tom Riddle is a very decent student, mind you—"

"And also happens to be none other than the Dark Lord himself."

She froze. Dead silence filled the Common Room.

"That's not true," she said quietly. Her gut twisted as she thought of the wizard who was beginning to rise to power, and her voice became stronger. "That is a very absurd accusation, Tom Riddle isn't Lord Voldemort—"

"Keep your voice down! You must keep this a secret, mustn't tell anyone, not even the Dark Lord."

"—But much as I respect Lord Voldemort, there's no proof that he's—"

"Isn't there?" said Lucius, raising his eyebrows.

In two quick strides, he made his way over to Bellatrix and snatched the diary before she could protest. He pointed at the faded year engraved on the front cover.

"1943," he read. "To my knowledge, that would be about the time he attended Hogwarts. And if you ask the staff about him, they'll tell you that Tom hasn't been seen in years."

"They're just coincidences," she said a little too quickly.

"Really? Bellatrix, you've had this in your possession for four weeks. What was Tom's first reaction when you asked him to share anything about himself?"

"He was more than—" Suddenly she remembered very first met Tom, and his initial reluctance.

Lucius took her silence as the answer he was looking for. "And did you ever bother to ask him where he was in the present time?"

"I did. He said that wasn't something he wasn't willing to discuss."

Lucius's lips curled into a grin. "That's what I thought. Face it—all the pieces fit perfectly."

As much as she didn't want to admit it, he had a point. There were many things that added up. Could Lord Voldemort. . . could he actually be Tom Riddle?

He didn't stop there. "And just why settle for the diary when you can have the real thing?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean. You're a Seventh Year, correct? You'll be graduating from Hogwarts. You can join his ranks as soon as you do and become—what do they call them these days? Oh yes—a Death Eater. Perhaps you can become close to the real one."

"Save your breath," Bellatrix snapped. "I highly suggest you go back to your business."

Lucius bowed his head. "As you wish." He did exactly as he was told and soon disappeared behind the door to the boys' dormitory.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, trying to dismiss the conversation. She looked down at her lap again, more than ready to get back to writing to Tom only to see that it wasn't there. Lucius had taken it with him. She dug her long nails into the armrest as hard as she could. She itched to storm right into the dormitory and demand that he give it back to her—

But at the same time, she didn't.

She hadn't shown it to him, but what he had said had stuck with her. Tom Riddle wasn't just in a diary. He was a human being made of flesh and blood, minding his business somewhere outside of Hogwarts. He probably didn't even have an idea that someone he hadn't even met was now willing to do anything for him.

And waiting until she graduated could be counted as 'anything'.

Bellatrix grinned. She rose up from her chair as the chill of the Common Room snaked down her back.

Her eyes did not harden at her resolution. Instead they shone almost hazardously.

She would find him. She would dedicate herself to him. They would come together.

And just as he had said, nothing would be able to stand against them.

"It has been done, my Lord. My son has carried out your plan. The girl will be joining your ranks as soon as she graduates Hogwarts."

"Are you sure, Abraxas? I do not believe that she is one who can be swayed easily."

"Oh, she wasn't. It took four weeks, but by the end, Ms. Black was blinded enough to believe his claim. She is already one of your most loyal servants."

"Excellent. I do not trust students often, but Lucius Malfoy has performed well. Inform him that he shall have a place in my ranks as soon as he is of age."

"I will, my Lord."

"In the meantime, I'll prepare myself for the day Bellatrix Black officially pledges herself to me. You are right—I believe she will be my best lieutenant."