The Dawn of Darkness || T. Riddle

Chapter 3: The Memory

But she pushed her pain aside and stepped towards him, no fear holding her back, their eyes locking in a challenging clash as the rain crashed against the window.

"Or maybe it's you who's stuck in the past, Tom. Is that why I'm here? To remind you of who you once were and all you could have achieved? Am I here to remind you of the parts of yourself that grew darker with each day we were apart?"

The question struck a chord, his facade momentarily crumbling under the weight of her words, revealing a glimpse of the man who might still exist beneath the layers of power and cold ambition. But he remained silent, his expression a mask of indifference. The question seemed to have struck a chord, igniting a flicker of something Estela couldn't quite read.

She took him in. He was the same Tom she'd always known. He was just as dark, just as ambitious and just as powerful. But it was then, when she saw the traces of a chilling detachment across his face, that she realised how deep that infection of power and ambition had spread inside him. She should have noticed it the moment she saw him sitting on his obsidian chair, or as soon as he entered the Death Eaters meeting. But it didn't strike her until now. It was as though she was avoiding the obvious signs before her.

She saw how it consumed him - his thoughts, his actions, and the things he chose to believe and to ignore. And, like a disease, one day she knew it would be the death of him.

But if there was one thing she'd learned from knowing Tom in the past, knowing him for who he really was and all that surrounded him, she'd learned that even the coldest, most power hungry people could shift into something different in time. If only they were given something worth shifting for.

But he'd changed more than she'd realised. Everything about him. But what struck her most was the way he was looking at her, right then, in that very moment. The way he looked down at her with burning eyes that didn't seem to have even a trace of the same spark that they used to. They didn't look at her differently to how they saw everyone else. She wasn't anything more than another one of his pawns now. And when she realised that, it shattered her more than she'd anticipated.

"Why am I here?" She demanded, suddenly snapping out of her thoughts before they began to overwhelm her.

He straightened, and she saw his jaw tightening before he spoke slowly. "Because you've got something that I need."

The way he spoke now wasn't masked with that alluring charm. He'd given up on that now.

"And what's that?"

A small smile spread across his lips again, but it held no happiness nor wit, just a compellingly sinister enjoyment that made Estela's breath catch in her throat.

"A memory," he said simply, his voice a low whisper as the words met her ears like a melody of delightful silver tones.

"What memory?" She asked him, searching her mind for something that may be of use to him.

He let out a soft breath of amusement as his eyes shone with powerful serenity. "You'll find out soon enough."

She glowered up at him as she frantically thought of a memory. He was looking down at her with a cool enjoyment, and she knew that he loved every moment of her anxious thoughts. She felt as if he were peeling back the layers of her defences, enjoying the turmoil his cryptic words stirred within her. And he did not elaborate. Instead, he ran a hand through his dark hair and raised an arm to lean against the four poster bed as though he was just waiting for her to lash out at him.

Refusing to give in to the annoyance that gnawed at her edges, Estela took a deliberate breath and turned to leave, her movements measured, a silent protest against his provocation.He didn't move, but she caught the slight change in his voice. "Where are you going?"

"To continue plotting your downfall." She snapped as she bent down to retrieve her book and ducked beneath his arm and made her way past him.

"You're still intent on that idea?" he called after her, and she spun to face him.

"Very much so. I can't wait to see the look on your face when I perch myself on your pretty little throne and declare myself the Dark Lady." She said with intent. "Or perhaps the Dark Queen, that sounds much more powerful."

And after flashing him an utterly fake, but utterly alluring smile, she left him standing there without saying another word.

It wasn't the most dignified exit, but it worked. And as Tom turned his head to watch her leave, he was glad that she missed the small smile that inevitably crept its way onto his lips.

***

She was a mistake. She was trouble. She was an antidote to the poisonous hatred running through his veins. She was a distraction, a curiosity. And he knew that he shouldn't have brought her here. But he needed her. For she was also a key, a bearer of knowledge he didn't possess. And he needed her for that knowledge. But some may argue that he needed her for more reasons than that. Some may say he liked the poison that drove him nowadays, others may say he wanted to be cured from it. But the fact remained that she was a mistake. The proof was in the fact that he was lying awake that very moment, the thought of her haunting his thoughts.