The Dark Dyad (Tom Riddle & ofc)

Prologue

Myrtle pushed the door open with confidence, prepared to make fun of the unintelligible, gibberish-like language and scare off the boys who had broken into the girls' bathroom.

Two huge yellow eyes with vertical pupils were the last thing fourteen-year-old Myrtle Warren saw in her life. Her breathless body collapsed on the cold tiled floor of the bathroom next to the black diary.

A tall young man of about sixteen turned around slowly. He was incredibly handsome, yet he had a gloomy appearance. He inhaled deeply after casting a contemptuous glance at the lifeless body that was lying on the ground.

"Fucking mudblood..."

Then he faced the area of the room where the enormous white sinks had been. In that precise place, right out of the floor, protruded the scaly, as if armored, body of a large snake. Anyone who saw it would have been horrified. However, the young man was calm and, obviously, upset about one thing only: the corpse of the witness.

"Basilisk, go back to the Chamber of Secrets. We must close it before someone comes here," he hissed in an unusual language, and the serpent immediately obediently disappeared into the darkness of the pipe leading deep underground.

As the serpent king crawled away into the bowels of Hogwarts, the young student hissed in Parseltongue again, setting the mechanism in motion to conceal the monster's grim hideout. Then he leaned over the girl's body and touched her still-warm forehead with his fingertips.

"Silly girl," the whisper of a human language still sounded as frightening as ever. "Everyone knows that the basilisk's gaze is deadly."

There was an ominous silence and the same tension in the air. The smell of death had never been so close before. That horrible stench suddenly hit his body and his mind. It passed through like black matter, causing panic. Could it really be like that? So suddenly, so sneakily, death jumps around the corner and stabs you right in the heart! You were alive, then you are dead... All of those thoughts gave goosebumps. "You just have to make a human sacrifice... Well, or several!" a painfully familiar voice, turning into a playful laughter, arose by its own in the echoes of memories.

The defining moment.

The young man picked up the dark diary, with the letters "Tom Marvolo Riddle" gleaming on the back, and squeezed it tightly in his left hand. Listening to the silence, he made sure no one was around. Furthermore, it was unlikely that anyone would show up here—this was almost an abandoned bathroom, after all. From his robe's inside pocket, a white magic wand appeared in his right hand.

A light, graceful wave of a magic wand.

A quiet whisper of an ancient dark spell.

The hellish pain suddenly distorted the flawless face. Breaking bones, tearing into pieces, living flesh—it was nothing compared to the shredding of the most precious thing of all—the soul. Tom Riddle groaned hoarsely, falling to his knees in front of the dead girl. It seemed as if all the air in the abandoned room of the magical castle had simply disappeared. Disappeared, as once, when he lost something insanely precious that seemed to make him go crazy. The feeling now was sickeningly familiar. He let go of the diary and held onto his stomach. The agony filled him completely. With a mute, anguished cry, the soul split in two, bursting out in a gray cloud of smoke from his chest and disappeared into a dark diary.

Heavy breathing filled the space in the girls' bathroom. Tom Riddle slowly took the diary into his hands. He stood up cautiously. His legs became weak; they did not want to obey the owner. He left the bathroom on the second floor and strolled to the library. Away. He had never been here.

A fellow student was walking toward Tom Riddle in the fourth-floor hallway.

"My Lord," a young, tall student said and bowed his head, causing platinum hair to fall on his forehead.

"Later, Abraxas," Riddle replied coldly. He got a calm, barely noticeable bow.

There was a small table at the farthest corner of the library window, but no one ever sat down there, knowing that it belonged to a Slytherin student, the prefect of Hogwarts. Though it wasn't stated explicitly, all students followed the rule. Tom sank feebly into a chair and stole a quick look around the library; there were almost no students. He confidently opened his diary and levitated a jar of ink and a quill on the table.

The long, pale fingers trembled a little, but the handwriting was still elegant.

June 1, 1938, Wednesday

This feeling started growing deep inside...

___________
Note:
you can join my chat https://t.me/thedarkdyad