To Revive a Soul || Tom Riddle

15. Four Parts of a Whole

Midterms had passed successfully, and Eleanor was grateful to have gotten top marks on all of her exams. So now, she was left to an empty common room for the next couple of weeks as every other Slytherin went home to their large Pureblood families.

Except this time, she was truly alone: the only other person in her house who stayed over winter break had gone off to do... well, Eleanor didn't exactly know what he had set off to do, but she had a feeling that butting into his ordeals was a great way to get him to not listen to her.

So she just had to take matters into her own hands, it seemed.

Winter break—or holiday, as they liked to call it here—was always the most relaxing part of the year. No classes, hardly any students, and an entire Restricted Section whose books were hardly even guarded due to Pringle taking a little vacation of his own.

Her nights were spent prying through every book in the Hogwarts collection looking for anything she could find on Horcruxes. It seemed, though, that only a few books even mentioned them in passing, and only one detailed how to create one. She gazed at the book, aware that Tom's fingers had probably flitted through these very pages just a year prior, that his eyes had read the same words she was reading now.

She wondered what he had done when he learned of the book's secrets. Had his heart fluttered in anticipation? Had he felt the same sense of fear and dread that she had felt all those years ago? Was he prepared to do it? What was going through his head as he was dragging her down into the Chamber to mark his notebook with a piece of his soul?

Eleanor knew all too well what the answers to those questions should have been, but something told her that she and Tom were incredibly different. Something told her that Tom had wanted it, had been preparing for months, was even excited about it.

Yet why did he take her with him? She was aware that Horcrux-making needed no witnesses; why did he claim that she had to watch? The thought pricked at Eleanor's head that he was afraid to do it on his own, had wanted a way out if it came down to it.

But Tom Riddle had shown no fear that day, save for the screams of terror that had erupted from the deepest resonances of his soul as he forced his way through the process.

Eleanor had the urge to ask Dumbledore about the situation immediately but decided against it. After all, she had given her word to Tom that she'd keep his secrets. If she was going to tell Dumbledore, she was going to tell him when the time was right, when Tom was there to defend himself. As lethal as she knew Tom was, she knew he'd only react more outrageously if she had thrown him under the bus without warrant or proof.

A week into the break, Eleanor went to bed with a sinking feeling in her stomach, and for good reason.

It was always the same these days: Tom writhing on the floor of the Chamber, harrowing cries echoing through the endless sewers beneath the girls' bathroom. Eleanor had quickly learned to tune him out over the past few months, instead focusing on the basilisk that towered over them. His eyes were closed, but she truly believed that, in this dream, it would be easier if she had simply looked him in the eyes.

The scene shifted, as it had done since July, into a twirling ring on Tom's finger. She could make out his face now that she knew it was him, his icy eyes boring into hers as if he were in her dream himself. The ring seemed to emit the cries of a woman, stricken with grief and fear. But the screams were distant, and Eleanor no longer paid any mind to them.

Tonight, however, was different. As the scene darkened on Tom's ring, another scene arose. It was a deep clang, someone tapping on hollow metal in the darkness. And then... light. The scene flashed into color, and Eleanor saw red fingers, dripping with blood as they wrapped themselves around the handle of a shimmering, golden goblet.