Loyal | Tom Riddle

9: Pitch Black

Arabella shrunk back into the shadows, her head pounding from all that had occurred. She was furious with herself, with her brother, with everyone involved. If only she had noticed the fire sooner -- or if she had been sorted into Slytherin like the rest of her family, she could have kept an eye on Nikolai and prevented this mess entirely. But then he was stupid enough to fall in with the Dark crowd anyways, even though she knew his heart was in the right place, despite everything. She wished she could have heard that enchantingly smooth voice one more time, since its owner's name was playing across the tip of her tongue -- within reach but far away enough for his safety.

She strode out of the forest silently, leading herself to the shallows of Black Lake. Stripping off her socks, she waded in until she was ankle-deep, letting the cold current wash over her feet and jog her memory.

"Merlin's pants, I'm an idiot," she whispered as realisation dawned on her. "It's Tom Riddle."

Pulling the hem of her nightdress even higher so that she could grab her boots and run back towards the castle, Arabella grinned. There was still hope for Nikolai; all she had to do was convince his new "master" that her brother wasn't worthwhile.

✧ ✧ ✧

Nikolai closed his eyes, not wanting to stare at the ceiling of his dormitory for another second.

He hated nights like these, where his sleep was infested with horribly realistic nightmares yet he wanted nothing more than to rest. Perhaps he had developed insomnia, he always reassured himself, and was unable to sleep like his roommates could.

But whenever he closed his eyes, he saw his father's pained face. He saw his mother, hunched over and crying for hours. He saw his sister, shouting at him that he was no better than a murderer, that he was worthless and weak.

And then he'd open his eyes and see nothing but pitch black.

Nikolai had learned to appreciate darkness for what it was worth. If he tried hard enough, he could sometimes manage to convince himself that he wasn't actually attempting to fall asleep in a dungeon, but that all the stars had fallen out of the night sky like leaves from a tree in winter. Then, he could fall into a fitful sleep with only mild nightmares.

But now, whenever he opened his eyes, all he could see was her face. There would be a tingling sensation in his fingertips, as if her hand was still hovering next to his, tempting him to hold it in his own. Then his stomach was knot itself even further, and his breathing would quicken.

He didn't know why she had that sort of effect on him, but he hated it. He despised how weak his knees felt around her, and how he could hardly even say his own name properly.

Yet Nikolai hated himself even more than he hated her, because out of all the witches studying at Hogwarts, he just had to develop feelings for the one that shouldn't have even been there in the first place.

Halia Crestwell was a Muggle-born, after all, and Nikolai would never forgive his heart for tripling speed in her vicinity.

He rolled over in bed, pulling the blankets up to his chin. Think of something awful, he ordered himself.

The rain fell in ropes, lashing against the stone walls of the stately manor house. Through the storm flew a barn owl, its tawny feathers standing out against the background of dark grey. Within its talons, a roll of parchment was clasped tightly.

Landing on a windowsill, the large bird cooed and drew the attention of a bearded man dressed in deep blue robes. His grey eyes twinkled merrily, and his straight nose was nearly identical to Nikolai's. Alaric Travers coaxed the owl closer, letting it nip his finger affectionately before taking the scroll it had delivered.

Unrolling the piece of rain-soaked parchment, he read under his breath:

Dear Father,

Could we vacation in Hungary this Christmas? It's close to Mum's family in Belgrade but also near all the action of Grindelwald's army -- front row tickets, practically. Maybe we can even join up, like you always joke about.

--Nikolai

The bearded man sat at his desk, his mind acting as a battleground for a debate between staying and leaving. That subtle hint had been more than enough for him to wrap his mind around. Joining Grindelwald would be infinitely more entertaining than his current life -- he'd even said so many times during the summer, and this letter just seemed to be an act of fate -- as well as providing time to spend with his son.

Alaric rested his head in his hands, weighing out his options. He'd never considered himself a Dark wizard, but perhaps it was time for a new label, a clean slate. He could become anyone he wanted away from England, which satisfied him more than anything could.

A pair of yellow eyes blinked at him. The owl still sat perched on the windowsill expectantly.

"What?" Alaric laughed.

The owl cocked its head to the side, sticking a scaly leg out, where a vial of a cherry red potion was strapped.

Alaric tossed his son's letter into the fire that burned in the hearth, watching the corners blacken and shrivel while he played with the vial idly. He knew the potion, yet leaving it unconsumed prevented anyone from getting hurt.

Hours passed by, with the allure of the potion getting stronger and stronger until he couldn't bear it anymore; Alaric drank all its contents in one gulp. When he opened his eyes, they were no longer steel grey, but bright silver.

"He really needs to spruce this place up," Alaric's voice commented, glancing around the room as if for the first time. "It's downright dreary in here."

Heading for the door awkwardly, Alaric's body looked as if he had just figured out how to walk. "Hope he doesn't mind that I'm taking him for a joyride."

The scene changed, replaced with several bodies lying on a white tiled floor, their lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling. Images of their begging for mercy flashed through his mind, each picture accompanied by a burst of brilliant green light and a last, fatal, pathetic shriek that left him panting hard and holding back tears. Several documents, stained with blood, were clutched in his hand as he stumbled towards the last available fireplace, half-wanting to turn himself in for his actions. He never meant to kill anyone. Grabbing a handful of floo powder, Alaric's voice yelled, "Grindelwald's headquarters!"

Just before he was transported away to Eastern Europe, a final shrill scream -- that of a man's -- rang in his ears, wrenching the already crippled knot of guilt in his stomach.

Nikolai woke up with beads of sweat coursing down his face. He raised his hand in front of himself, making sure that it was his own before closing his eyes and collapsing onto his pillow once more.

\\

I really hope that you enjoyed this one, as it's a bit longer than the others! Thank you for all the lovely votes and comments! I never thought this story would reach 1K reads and 100 votes, I'm really just so thankful for each and every one of you.

Today's Question: What do you think happened to Alaric?

Have a fantastic week!

-o