Trigger warnings: torture, sexual assault (implied).
Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter", "Fantastic Beasts" and "Kuroshitsuji". I only own my OC's.
He unclasped the crucifix from the dead Mudblood's neck and dangled it on his fingers. Pocketing his trophy, he exited the bathroom, quickly reanimating his accomplice's body.
Everything had gone smoothly. His scapegoat would be expelled for the attacks on the Mudbloods – too bad he had promised to not harm the Half-Breed, but he had given his word – Ashlane was no longer a threat and he had created a Horcrux.
Ashlane.
"Legilimency is not to play with, Riddle. Tread carefully; that path led astray too many people who became Dark Wizards...for good intentions."
"That spell doesn't work with me, genius. It never will."
"The real reason why the Unforgivables are called 'dark' is that when they are cast with full malicious intent, the desire to kill, they harm the Soul of the caster. You slowly become a wraith, a parasitic life form, something that leeches off another person's magical power."
"Trying to be something more than human is pure hubris. It is against the Law!"
"I am a Blood-traitor, so what? We are all humans, Riddle. We will all die one day. Having magic doesn't change that."
"Before you do it, you will be expelled, Riddle! I will tell everyone about your 'great plan'!"
"He is a better man than you or those Knights of yours could ever aspire to be. I admire him and I respect him. In his and Aunt Gwen's memory, I swear, right now, that I will not join your 'Dark Order', you megalomaniac twit. That's my final word."
"Killing innocent people is wrong and one day you will regret it."
He had thought of killing that defiant woman first and use her death to create the Horcrux, but he preferred this way; the Mudblood's death had destroyed her from the inside. Look at her now; Obliviated of her so-called "love" she had felt towards a Mudblood. That rage and the hatred in her eyes before they turned into pure fear because she indeed had helped him, the Heir of Slytherin, in his path of true greatness, had been so satisfying...
His diary – that he would make into a weapon very soon – had only been the first step to this path. Herpo had stopped at one but Tom wanted more. However, the book from Ashlane's memory he had found in the Restricted Session only gave information on creating one Horcrux.
There must be a way of creating multiple Horcruxes.
Immediately, a familiar image of a half-bald man with a moustache and a large belly appeared, making him smirk. During one of his parties, there would be no harm in having a friendly talk with the newly-appointed Head of Slytherin House...
That professor adored him. A bit of flattery, politeness, crystallized pineapples and the renowned Potions Master would gladly indulge one of his "privileged" students' curiosity...such an oblivious fool.
"Fake mourning. What a doddle," Avery's voice remarked, his body unseen due to an Invisibility Cloak he had nicked from Charlus Potter. It served him well for constantly bragging about it and leave it in the Quidditch lockers.
What kind of wizard does not ward his locker? Stupid, overly trusting Gryffindor. Potter should have gone to Hufflepuff.
But he also knew that Chaser was too attached to the Cloak; better return it to him as discreetly as possible.
"Now that our opponent is neutralized, what are the Knights of Walpurgis' next move?"
"We will reunite during this summer at Malfoy Manor. There will be a soirée soon and the Russian Pure-blood family Dolohov has been invited. Their Heir is transferring to Hogwarts next year. We could use him," Tom replied with the barest hint of a smile, his fingers caressing the small object in his pocket.
No matter how many years passed, he still felt the need of having something personal that belonged to his victims, Hogwarts' rules or not.
"And be warned: thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts..." the old coot's words from that day started echoing in his head, making him wish Dumbledore was dead.
No one tells Lord Voldemort what to do or not to do.
"What is our great leader planning to do now?" Avery asked, not addressing him by his favoured title. His classmate was also the only one who he allowed to call by his first name privately – when he was in the mood for it anyway.
"I will need to do a little family reunion around August." His dark brown eyes had an eagerness to them that was not of the good kind. "Alone."
"Oh?" Tom could imagine his Knight's smirk under the cloak. "Where to?"
Avery was the first wizard he had met in Diagon Alley. A bit of wandless magic was all it took to impress the young Heir. The blond had explained everything he needed to know about this new world, namely the Alliances and the political factions. Bloodlines mattered and Tom happened to have the strongest and most powerful of them once he revealed his middle name. He would rise as their leader.
But he was not the sharing type. He trusted no one except himself.
"A little place called Little Hangleton ," he answered as he removed the diary from his robes. "Many years ago, it was a nexus of money and magic. Old families resided there."
It is time to meet that waste of space that is my father. Tom Riddle Senior, he thought, smiling as he felt the dark magic in the object. This was true power. A Horcrux. The first, but not the last; was not seven the most magical number?
Seven pieces. The ultimate perfection.
He had been making plans since Dumbledore showed up. With time, he had gained some resources. One day, the world would bow to him. He would become much more powerful than that meddling old fool, that Tranquilflow witch and Grindelwald. They would be a thing of the past; Lord Voldemort, the Heir of Salazar Slytherin, would go further.
"Yew and phoenix feather...a most powerful combination. A thousand years ago, there was a great wizard nicknamed Serpent-tongue who used a yew wand. I guess we can expect great things from you, Mr Riddle."
That wandmaker was right; Tom Riddle was destined to great things. He would become the greatest sorcerer in the world.
This...is just the beginning.
"Little Hangleton...the Gaunts' abode," Avery mused. "Well, since great-great-uncle Corvinus Gaunt graduated, no one in that family is right in the head. Inbreeding has its downsides, I guess."
Tom frowned at the name. Gaunt, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families that Nott's uncle had recorded in his book. The oldest living member was Marvolo Gaunt.
Marvolo. His grandfather's name, according to Mrs Cole...perhaps he should visit him first.
"They fell in disgrace after Marvolo's wife got herself killed with her spell, from what I've heard from Nott's father," Avery continued before chortling. "And on the top of that, the daughter eloped with some Muggle."
"Is that so?" He said softly and tightened his grip on the diary as he kept his face blank. Inwardly, he was enraged at that woman's selfishness, that poor excuse of a witch who had mucked up her noble, pure bloodline, and abandoned her son on that filthy Muggle place.
I refuse to call her my mother. She is only the pitiful and weak woman who gave birth to me, nothing else.
"Women are inferior creatures...that's why we have the right to play with them."
Tom silently agreed with his Knight as he pictured the frightened face of the Muggle girl when they had "explored" the cave with Dennis Bishop. The orphans had feared him more after that particular event, keeping their distance and not babbling to the matron about the "unnatural" things he was capable of.
A year later, Bishop had been taken to a madhouse due to constant paranoia and hallucinations.
How ironic; Bishop had commented many times that Tom should go there. Instead, the doctors would diagnose the boy as a "deeply disturbed child". So disturbed he would hang himself on the rafters like Stubbs' pet rabbit...exactly as he had said to that girl in the cave.
She had feared him the most and he found himself attracted to it. Sometimes, he would hear her play her mouth-organ– he had been forced to give his "prize" back when the old coot came to the orphanage – to soothe the much younger orphans.
He had never liked them crying; he had wished several times to wring their necks, but he had to lay low or the bloody Ministry would become suspicious. So, he would stay away from those rooms and read his books like the child he was perceived to be.
Crying was for the weak and he was no weakling.
It unnerved him that blasted Trace Charm in his wand would only disappear when he was of age. He had to discover a way to fool it. In other words, he needed to deceive the good law-abiding Ministry workers if he wanted for his plans to succeed. However, there were two things he could do without risk of receiving a warning due to breaking magic law: Legilimency and wandless magic.
But he favoured Legilimency; it not only harmed the mind but also the victim's body and that girl would always freeze in his presence, becoming a pretty doll for him to break...slowly and painfully.
In his fantasies, he didn't need to worry about the silly Statute of Secrecy or over-cautious Ministry officers; he was free to imagine whatever he wanted to, like killing the red-haired Muggle the girl fancied and the Muggle filth that was his father, not in that necessary order, or implanting another nightmarish scene in the girl's mind to make her more pliable.
"Little Amy Benson" was not a little girl anymore. Since this Christmas Holidays, she had become a pretty thing, albeit a far cry from Abraxas' sister Veronica or Avery's fiancée Monfay...still.
Come to think of that, the Muggle would soon be...fourteen?
And their first meeting had been when she was seven...seven. How appropriate...
I want that date to be very memorable to her, Tom's smirk became but one that could only be described as predatory, so memorable she will never think of another man again, especially that Muggle she calls 'Jake'.
His hands shook with fervour as he imagined his wand transfigured into a knife and slowly slicing that Muggle's throat or the latter suffering under the Cruciatus and that girl completely frozen, her eyes begging for him to stop.
Breaking her mind always aroused him, more than Ashlane's; Amy had hurt him first so it was only fair he did the same. And that look of vivid fear in her eyes...
She may be a Muggle but she is mine, he licked his lips delectably. All mine.
"Some of them take their time to break," Avery's voice muttered before letting out a low chuckle. "Might as well make it worth, huh, Tom?"
"Yes...until they have outlived their usefulness," the Heir of Slytherin added with a malicious grin, his thumb caressing the small silver cross that could be used as protection against evil, a word that meant nothing to him, like "good"; in this world, what you need is power...power over everyone and everything.
Including Death.
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