i am lord voldemort • Tom Riddle

XXIV

Ophelia, in Tom's not-so humble opinion, looked like she might pass out. Admittedly, it was an odd thing to do, but then again perhaps she just liked to not breathe every once and awhile. Who was he to judge?

She crushed the ring within her fist, so tight the lightness of bone peaked through her knuckles, like a canvass pulled near breaking point, and stared straight forward with unnerving focus. Despite knowing nothing was there, Tom found himself checking over his shoulder.

"It's— a pretty neat ring," she said finally, a little breathless. "Where did you find it?"

"Call it a family heirloom," Tom decided wryly after a moments thought.

Ophelia cocked her head and asked, "What's so funny?"

He arched a brow. "I never said anything was funny."

"You didn't need to. " She jabbed a finger accusingly at him. "I know that look, Tom Riddle. You're far too smug. What's so funny?'

"Well, Ophelia Ashwood," he began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "if that is your real name," as he suspected, her vision cleared and he felt a sharp, but half-hearted kick aimed his way under the table, "do you truly want to know?"

It was an empty question. Tom had absolutely no intention of telling Ophelia the truth, not about this. She would never understand what happened, let alone why it happened.

He'd only originally gone to Little Hangleton to get answers about the past. He needed to know why he'd been discarded as he had been, but the second Morfin opened his mouth all of a sudden Tom could only see red. Perhaps, if he'd only been a muggle, nothing would have come of it. Tom wasn't a muggle, however. He had the power most people could only dream of at his fingertips. While most would have to physically travel ten, fifteen, thirty minutes to satisfy rash, anger-fueled decisions, a wizard could Apparate and be there in an instant. No chance to cool down into rational thinking. It was all over nd done with in less than five minutes.

That being said, Tom didn't regret killing his muggle-trash father and the grandparents complicit in his abandonment. They deserved it.

They deserved it, not that the authorities would agree with that assessment.

Morfin was nearly as vile, so it was no great shame to frame him for their deaths. He'd brought the great line of Slytherin into the dirt and quite nearly to extinction. He'd rot in Azkaban before long, just as Tom was forced to rot in Wool's Orphanage for over a decade before Dumbledore came knocking on their door, as out of place as an octopus in the middle of the London Underground.

Tom wondered if he'd feel different about murdering three people before splitting his soul. He could still remember how it felt to realize he'd accidentally killed Myrtle, but it didn't feel real anymore. The emotions were someone else's, as were the memories.

"If I wasn't very mistaken, I'd say you didn't want to tell me where you got it," Ophelia countered, far too shrewd for her own good.

Tom leaned back on his bench, calculating his answer. Finally, he settled on the one response that would irritate her the most, short of the truth. "When have I ever been less than forthcoming with you?"

She snorted and rolled the ring, a little too forcefully, across the table back at him. "When indeed."

With some obvious reservations, she let it drop, though he knew that wouldn't be the end of it in the long term.  It didn't matter. Dodging questions came as easily to him as breathing most days. Easier, even.

III

"The first day of class hasn't even ended and the librarian's already in the hospital wing," Avery shared from Tom's left as they made their way from the first Potion's class of the new school year. "Or at least that's what I heard Professor Luvega tell Slughorn just now."

His wasn't the only interest piqued evidently. To Tom's amusement, Ophelia leaned in closer to listen, despite her countless past claims to have "absolutely no interest" in such gossip.

"Oh?" Tom prompted. "What for?"

Avery shot him a grin that wasn't altogether kind as he said, "Word is that a student cast a spell on the floor leading to the library that made it slippery. She slid halfway down the corridor before falling and banging her hip. Wish I could find the bloke who did it and shake their hand."

"And you're sure this wasn't one of our band of misfits?" Tom asked, skeptical.

Avery shook his head, visibly saddened by the admission. "You think a Slytherin would have done that and not taken credit, at least within the House? No way. Must be a Gryffindor."

Tom was midway through nodding when he noticed the most spectacular expression of what could only be horror flicker across Ophelia's face out of his periphery. By the time he focused on her,  however, she schooled her expression into one of vague interest. Either she was unusually attached to the librarian or he'd severely underestimated her willingness to maim.

"Who do you think did it?" he asked her slyly.

"You know Peeves, always up to no good." The faint pink creeping up past her collar didn't escape Tom's notice.

Avery immediately shot that theory down. "They already thought of that. This was definitely magic, not some poltergeist trickery."

She gritted her teeth, replying curtly, "I'm sure it was an accident then, and whoever did it must feel very remorseful."

"Oh? How can you be so sure?" Tom prodded.

"Call it intuition," she said quickly, before deliberately dropping back to walk with Ephiriam and Augusta.

"What's up with her?" Avery pointed a thumb back in Ophelia's direction, at a loss.

Tom found he couldn't quite formulate an honest answer.

III

Ophelia just knew she'd forgotten something. She'd have to send the librarian flowers later, or would that scream, "Guilty conscience"?  Perhaps that would be a tad too much like returning to the scene of the crime... Well, technically she still had to sneak the book that Peeves had so rudely stolen from her back into the restricted section, so maybe it was a blessing in disguise that the librarian would be gone for a little while.

As Tom walked only feet ahead of her, she found her eyes being drawn again and again back to the ring decorating his finger. How come, if her theory was correct and that was a Hallow, Tom didn't seem to notice anything amiss? He certainly didn't act like he was being stalked by the ghosts of the dead. His poker-face notwithstanding, Tom was behaving far too casual. Which begged the question: why did Ophelia see anything at all if he did not?

Maybe she was going a little more crazy than she initially thought.

Unless you actually had to want to see the person for it to work. Tom mentioned his mother was dead, but Ophelia got the impression he didn't care much for her either way. Unfortunately, that also meant Ophelia had to be a glutton for punishment, since that also meant for some reason she couldn't fathom she actually wanted to see Julius.

Well, she didn't.

Now if only she could convince herself of that

A/N

So... uh... disclaimer:

The views in this chapter don't necessarily represent my own. Don't go murdering yah family members. Don't recommend it.