- initium -

I know, she had said. I know about you, Tom Riddle.

The words still burned in his ears.

I've seen you before, Tommy, in London. I've seen where you live.

He could have strangled her where she stood if he had a good enough place to hide the body.

I asked about you there when I was away during the holidays. The matron had so many things to say. I was ever so sorry to learn that your mother died.

Sorry? She didn't know the meaning of the word. Not yet. But she would, oh yes, she would.

I think it's strange that a witch would die in childbirth, don't you? Maybe she wasn't a witch at all. That could explain everything, couldn't it?

No, it would ruin everything. If his followers knew, if they suspected, his fledgling empire would die before it started.

I know what you are, so let's be friends and no one will hear a peep.

Tom Riddle didn't keep friends. He was, however, very, very good at pretending to be one. His fists uncurled as he strode towards the witch walking alone on the grounds. The smile he wore was broad enough to hurt his face.

Not a peep.

'Miss Warren,' he said. 'Since you're so good at keeping your word, I think you should know something before everyone else hears about it.' He leaned close to her, revolted by the sickly sweet perfume and the wide smile she wore. 'I've heard a terrible rumour about you from Olive Hornsby, one that she's claimed to have written on the wall of the first-floor girls' lavatory. You'd better use a Scouring Charm on the thing before anyone can see those nasty words.'

On my life, Tom, I swear it. No one will ever know who you really are. Not from me. I promise.

'Wh-what did she write?' the girl said.

Horror filled her face as he spun lies, each worse than the last. She fled to the castle and he was close behind.

Your life? he had said. Yes, I suppose that will do quite well, Myrtle.

And it would. Oh, how it would.

- finite -