Metanoia~ Tom Riddle

Chapter 28

Something was... off. 

He had never been more sure of it, something was terribly wrong. He could feel it in his bones. His memories were leaving him, flashing in and out of his mind as if someone were flipping a switch. That was only part of the problem though; sure, someone was pulling strings but, who?

Voldemort could feel it in the magic within him; someone was making a mess of things.

Staring at the full moon the tired wizard felt out of control, gripping onto his sanity as if his life depended on it because it did. One wrong move and everything he had been fighting towards, his whole life's work, would be shattered into meaningless pieces.

Voldemort was not used to feeling so clueless, so unsure, the feeling angered him.

His memories were being tampered with, and he didn't even know why. Dumbledore he would've sensed, one of his followers, he would have sensed- but this was a stranger. Some things started to change, he felt differently about random objects, why else did the moon feel like an old friend? Gazing at the silvery surface, his eyes narrowed as he struggled to remember the details.

His school years seemed so far away now, the memories slipping through his fingers as he grasped for them desperately. The corridors, the portraits, the ignorant students, he could remember every detail of the castle itself, just not his time spent there. He barely remembered the first knights- the ones who had either gone to Azkaban or died.

He remembered killing that Ravenclaw girl in his fifth year but, he had no idea why he killed her. He remembered less of his sixth year, though he would say that was the most important year of his life. That was the summer he had killed his father, he would never forget that. Especially, since he had felt so angry while doing so. He had never felt an anger like that since then, it was like a special feeling he had got to keep to himself forever, to remember.

When he tried to remember more of his sixth year, previous to the murdering, he came up mostly blank, mostly. Upon trying to remember why he spent far too much time in the library that year, he had a faint vision. The murky, gentle image of a lean, silky, black cat popped into his mind, and a single word accompanied the image, Veruca.

Why did that seem like a name he recognized? It didn't seem familiar through memory, more like his magic jumped and stirred at it, it felt like an itch on the inside of his hand. He knew these things were significant, it wasn't just his aging mind. The memory loss, the familiarity of random objects and names, it all meant something.

He couldn't figure out what feelings these things, these problems, brought on. It was a small flutter in his chest, a quiet ringing in his ears, an ache in his head, why did he feel... so sad? His pale face contorted in confusion and anger. He knew, he just knew, something big was on the tip of discovery.

Voldemort's black eyes focused on his reflection, glaring at it. He noticed his eyes flash red, then his reflection changed. Suddenly, his seventeen-year-old self was staring back at him, his lips moving. Voldemort felt pressure in his head as if he were deep underwater and then his ears popped and he could hear his younger self speaking to him.

"-wick."

Voldemort's eyes widened, "What?"

"Veruca Penderwick."

Voldemort looked skeptically at his younger self, this seemed like a trick. His sleepless mind was finally collapsing in on its tired self.

"Veruca Penderwick?" He asked.

His younger self nodded and Voldemort's mind whirled, who was Veruca Penderwick? Was she from his past? A blurry image flashed behind his eyes, a young girl with a pale complexion and dark hair. A voice whispered in his mind, "I came here to pull you away from whatever darkness was clouding you-"

Voldemort struggled to remember the girl, she had to mean something. Maybe she was the one pulling strings, maybe she was the problem.

"My Lord?"

His younger reflection vanished, and with it went the voice and image of Veruca Penderwick. Refocusing on reality, Voldemort sighed upon realizing it was Snape... again. Voldemort didn't quite understand why he kept coming around without being called, nobody else came, nobody else hovered.

"Severus?" Voldemort reluctantly turned from the window, with a perfect view of the moon, to meet the dark, misty eyes of Severus Snape.

"The Malfoys are ready."

It took Voldemort a moment to remember why he had requested the Malfoys, then he nodded, "Send them in."

Severus hesitated a moment, then left the room with a bow.

Voldemort turned back toward the window and glared at the moon, wishing away everything that was all too much to understand. He had to remain focused, he had to remember the reward. His hard work was going somewhere and now was not the time to be distracted.