Metanoia~ Tom Riddle

Chapter 32

Voldemort paced, the carpet thinned, and the visions in his head flashed uncontrollably. There was a girl, named Veruca, messing with his past and he had yet to figure out why. The sorcerer usually had a plan for everything and one or two backup plans as well, but when it came to this girl... when it came to Veruca, he was taken by surprise.

He decided first, to figure out what the girl was after.

Voldemort knew there was only one way to figure out the girl's plan, and while normally he was too vigilant to sleep he knew he didn't have much time left to find the girl. His plans for the wizarding world were advancing, after all.

So, he asked his most trusted spy and potioneer, for an elixir to clear his mind.

Something most older wizards understand is that it takes exceptional skill to review your past memories without using a pensieve. Voldemort, believing his thoughts and memories too valuable to trust to a pensieve, had found a trick. He cleared his mind, usually with a potion, and envisioned that he was using legilimens on his younger self.

It worked every time.

*

Tom was whisked deep into his memories and pulled into his younger self. He could see from his eyes, hear from his ears, but it was as if he was a little tiny creature inside his younger self's brain, there was so much more to look at than his younger self was seeing, so much more to hear.

Once situated, inside his younger self's mind, Voldemort took a look around. There was snow, he was walking, and beside him was a lovely dark-haired girl.

And you... you must be Veruca, he thought.

The two Slytherin's went to a little tea shop close to the edge of the village and ordered their refreshments. After sitting down, young Tom said, "Well, how are you enjoying Hogwarts?"

Veruca quirked a brow, "It's fine, I guess."

Voldemort wanted to cringe at how socially inept his younger self was, how socially inept he still was.

"Different from France, I'm sure?" Young Tom pressed. Veruca nodded.

"Very, I will admit, the more mischievous side of me comes out when we have essays and I 'accidentally' write them in French." Young Tom chuckled at her.

I haven't laughed like that in a while.

"So, you're fluent in English and French?"

Veruca nodded again, "Actually, English, French, Russian, and Greek." At Young Tom's surprised look the girl laughs, "I like languages, and because I excelled in what Father could teach me, I had a lot of free time to study them."

Young Tom nodded, and Voldemort realized his younger self was actually enjoying the conversation. He too had loved languages once. There was a moment of comfortable silence, then their drinks arrived. About an hour later, Young Tom paid, despite Veruca's protests, and then they were walking again.

Voldemort noticed that Veruca seemed comfortable with Young Tom, and the silence that came with him. He also noticed that they were walking through the forest now, and suddenly Voldemort remembered what was about to happen.

When they came to the desired clearing, Young Tom stopped, and Voldemort watched with eager eyes as his younger self immediately became a different person, a person even Voldemort didn't like.

"So, I have a slightly trickier question for you." Young Tom said, turning towards an upset-looking Veruca.

"Dammit." She cursed under her breath. Voldemort heard her, and for a moment he wished he could go back in time and change his own mind.

"I was sitting in the common room late last night, presumably alone, when this shimmer of a body, your body, walks away towards the girl's dormitories. So, my question to you, Veruca, is what on earth were you doing in the common room, snooping about, at 3 in the morning?"

Veruca felt for her wand, and Voldemort could see the fear in her eyes. He could feel the anger in his chest as if this incident were happening all over again.

"I asked a question, Fouix. I expect it to be answered, and truthfully at that." Tom spit at her.

"I couldn't sleep." She tried.

"And?" Young Tom asked, stepping forward. Voldemort saw something within Veruca snap and suddenly, she was no longer scared but very, very angry.

"And! It's none of your damn business!" she snarked, taking a step towards him. Voldemort felt his younger self, spark white-hot with anger. Voldemort couldn't remember ever feeling an anger quite like this one. It was hot and hateful, but also tasted very bitterly like betrayal and mistrust.

"What... were... you... doing? What are you doing? What is it with you? You're not normal! There is something about you that I can't understand! Why?" Young Tom raged, while Veruca only glared at him. "You come to Hogwarts out of nowhere and the world moves on as if new students get accepted every other day! They don't! So, why, tell me why you are the exception?"

"I have nothing to say to you. I don't need to explain myself to the likes of you, damn half-blood." Veruca cursed. Voldemort grew more and more curious about this Veruca character. She knew too much, the question now was how did she learn this information.

"How? How do you know that?" Young Tom screamed at her. Stepping forward and whipping out his wand. He backed her into a tree and forced his wand against her throat. "How?!" The world felt very dark, like Tom's anger was forcing the sun out of the sky.

"No!" the girl screeched, pushing him back and pulling out her own wand. The wind picked up, carrying her voice to him. "You do not get to treat me this way! You do not get to be difficult! I gave up everything! Everything! To come here and help you!? An absolute monster!" The wind whipped at her hair and coat, as tears came to her eyes, even Voldemort felt something stir within him.

Veruca was the kind of pretty girl that broke anyone's heart when she cried. Even Voldemort, who was sure that his heart was locked up tight, felt a bit of sadness for her.

Voldemort watched carefully, his mind racing. Veruca stepped away from Young Tom, and the wind stopped. Abruptly, it was deathly quiet, you could've heard a pin drop in the grass. Putting her wand away, Veruca tucked her hair behind her ear, "I came here," her voice was calm but cold and emotionless, "-to pull you away from whatever darkness was clouding you. And instead, I let it infect me."

There was a moment of silence. Voldemort could feel his grip on the memory slipping slowly, but steadily. He knew he only had mere moments left.

"I will not allow this anymore. I no longer care about the future I was trying to protect." She whispered, more to herself than him, "I give up."

With that, she apparated. Merlin knows where.

She just left.

And that was it.

Voldemort could feel the strange twinge of sadness coming from his past self. He couldn't believe that, even back then, he had felt regret. But he did.

*

Voldemort sat up, gasping for breath.

He thought long and hard about the little that he had learned. Really, new questions were the only thing his mind seemed to have gained from the experience. His anger sparked and he realized he needed to do it again, at a later date.

He would need to wait, at the very least, two days before going under the trance again. That gave him plenty of time to figure out when exactly would give him the information he wanted.

"Severus!"

The potioneer hurried into the room, "My Lord?"

Voldemort stood from his seat at the edge of the bed, "I need a new potion."

"Of course."