Refuge

If there's one thing the Dursleys taught me, it's never to trust anyone. When Hagrid revealed my heritage to me, I didn't trust him. When that red-headed fool sat with me on the train, I didn't trust him. When Granger attempted to befriend me, I idn't trust her. Most certainly, I do not trust the Headmaster. None of them look past my forehead. They are friends with the Boy-Who-Lived, not me.

Weasley is, I must admit, pathetic. Whining on about how it's not fair, how his brothers have everything, how he never has any money.

Fool.

He's useful for one thing, I'll give him that. His temper and excessive jealousy keep away all the annoying fans who want to know more about the Boy-Who-Lived. All I had to do was laugh at his feeble jokes and lose at chess.

Granger is slightly more complicated.

Annoying bookworm.

She actually believes she's smart. I don't know what obsessively memorizing textbooks is, but it's not intelligence.

But, again, she is sometimes useful.

If it hadn't been for me, the Polyjuice Potion would have exploded within the first week. She thinks that she was the first to discover the identity of Slytherin's monster. I knew since Christmas of that year. I wasn't about to risk my life for a school filled to the brim with gullible sheep. I was so very annoyed when Weasley dragged me down there to save his precious sister.

Black, frankly, annoys me.

He, like all the others, sees only James' son. He believes that Dumbledore can do nothing to get him a trial, honestly! He tries to coerce me into believing that all Slytherins are evil. He refuses to let go of schoolboy grudges. He taunted Lestrange in the middle of a duel. Insane, psychopathic , Lestrange.

He paid a heavy price for his moment of folly.

I put on a show at his death, sobbing and screaming. Dumbledore fell for it completely.

Lupin needs to grow a backbone.

It wouldn't have been hard to gain custody of me after that disastrous All Hallow's Eve.

But, of course, Dumbledore knows best.

Dumbledore believes he is molding his Golden Boy.

Instead, I am molding him.

He shows me his memories of a young Tom Riddle, and inwardly I smile.

Riddle and I are not so very different.

Oh, Dumbledore, you fool. You could have saved both him and me from the path we now walk together. We were starved for affection, beaten into submission by the ignorant Muggles that governed our lives. Instead, you wrote him off. You drove him to the Dark Arts. You set him on this path, as you did for me.

You could have stopped us.

Dumbledore, you fool.

The people of magical Britain are so very gullible, so easy to sway. One minute I am the second coming of Merlin, the next, Riddle's most devoted servant.

Let them burn.

Albania… so fitting, no?

Helena Ravenclaw fled here in shame, with her mother's stolen diadem. Riddle found his refuge here not once, but twice within these thick forests.

And it is here that I, too, find my refuge.

I hide here for years, until Riddle seeks me out.

I kill him in an instant.

Many years pass, and I near Death.

Sweet darkness clouds my vision.

I let them burn.

You failed us both, old man.

Death welcomes me, and, equals, we depart this life.