Tom Riddle and the Pureblood Prince

Chapter Four: Awful Aspirations


“I won’t say a word, sir,” said the boy, quite nearly a man and he turned to leave.

There came a wild exultation engulfed upon his face. Full of the disturbing pleasure of the boy’s true smile.

Tom Riddle’s brilliant mind whirled over the contents of Slughorn’s spilling the beans on horcruxes to him just seconds ago.

His footsteps echoing down the charms corridor on the second floor, having just left the Slug Club meeting. Riddle recalled the Potions Master’s obvious cluelessness towards his powers, “’you don’t want to be caught out of bed after hours,….and you a prefect!’…well there was no chance of that happening!”

He glanced about the surrounding area, then made himself invisible, his fingers quivering while grasping that thirteen-and-a-half-inch yew wand.

Moments later, going down the stairs two at a time, Riddle breezed past the Dark Order members, Lestrange and Avery undetected by them. Both had just been at the Slug-Club meeting as well.

He got to the arched entrance into Slytherin muttering, “Tiger Lily” as the newly changed password done by Eileen. A glimmer of a silver outline like a mirage appeared. Riddle went through the momentarily clear wall.

The common room still held stragglers burning the midnight oil. Riddle crossed the threshold, past all the students unseen, consumed by an unknown passion, that seared his awful heart with virulent desire.

Going left towards the boy’s tunnel beads of sweat slipped off his hollow cheeks from the excitement. He traversed down the sloping path of the tunnel, in heavy darkness, with only the light of his wand.

Swinging the door shut, with the post of “sixth years” on it Tom went into the bedroom he still shared with three other boys. He was looking forward to next year, in which he would surely be made Head Boy and have the honor of his very own dormitory.

But at least for now the others weren’t present. Riddle knew they were probably sitting in the common room finishing their essays for Professor Slughorn, who had told them they’d be getting detention if they weren’t handed in by tomorrow.

Undoing invisibility he was suddenly seeably present again. Riddle proceeded to open the box- shaped chest under his bed, where was stored valuable keepsakes.

He took out that little black book that was a diary on top of black-and-white flashy dressrobes recently purchased at Madam Malkin’s at Diagon Alley. There was also a time-turner wrapped around a piece of parchment in there. The time-turner had been brought back from Augustus Rookwood, who stole it for his Lord, whilst visiting the Department of Mysteries. Rookwood was training to eventually become an Unspeakable when he got older. Tom Riddle had turned down his personal invitation, much to the dismay of the department. The Unspeakables had been disappointed on how a prodigal wizard like that, did not wish to study the great mysteries of life and magic.

With dawning comprehension and nearly insane look of glee, Riddle decided that the piece of proof of being Heir of Slytherin would be a horcrux. Just one piece of his goal of seven horcruxes, and of seven important murders! Gazing at the black-stoned ring, Tom felt a rush of nostalgia for his first murders. The Peverell Coat of Arms ring, now worn constantly on his right middle-finger would become Horcrux number two. As for the further horcruxes, Riddle only thought for now of the hope to obtain something. Some type of object of each founder of Hogwarts.

Riddle whiled away an hour, his brain working furiously, studying the complex problem of how to make a horcrux, for Professor Slughorn had said he didn’t know the spell. Riddle knew it was true that the Potion Master’s knowledge was limited as far as that. He briefly debated if the Transfiguration teacher, Dumbledore who was exceptionally powerful would know. He may, but the man was so full of ideas on “goodness” it was doubtful he knew how to actually make them either, was his thoughts on the subject. Besides that reason, young Voldemort was well aware Dumbledore was the only teacher who couldn’t be charmed.

Around midnight he left his dorm, quite tired of this mega intellectual quandary. He knew it would take years of experimentation to discover for himself the knowledge of the Dark Arts that would lead to the answer on horcruxes. Even if he did know the spell, he wouldn't have tried it tonight, for he might accidentally kill himself!

Riddle left his room, and went out through the rough-walled tunnels to the nebulous lamp-light of the Slytherin common room. His eyes darted into the distance where the only two students still present after midnight were, their heads bent reading feverishly, while simultaneously managing to write.

Riddle came over quietly, and stood like a shadow over their shoulders. “Well…it looks like you boys managed to finish your essay on time for Slughorn,” he noted satisfactorily.

Lestrange rushed to finish his essay with a floruish, remembering at the last second to dot his “I”s and cross all his “t”s. Meanwhile, Avery was writing his essay, with very scrawly penmanship.

Lestrange looked up implorgingly at his gang leader, “Take a look at it…My Lord. I can always do with your scholarship, which you always remind us can't be copied for as you say it is much too seminal.”

Riddle nodded dutifully, narrowing his eyes occassionally as he read through and his curved, but thick brows raising, yet he looked wary of the activity of reading over an essay.

“This…should get Exceeds Expectations. Except for the erroneous conclusion, Lestrange. You fail to mention the actual effects of the strengthening solution. Of course, that is the main purpose of potions. Is it not the purpose of learning potions to understand their effects?”

Riddle took the paper and started crossing out sentences in the conclusion and adding a couple of new ones, but he did not help Lestrange any further for him to get “Outstanding”.

Finished Tom said sounding weary, “Not too bad for your standards, Lestrange. And let's see Avery’s essay on the very same subject…”

Riddle’s eyes glazed over to Avery unconcernedly. Avery’s left hand was still flying across the brown parchment. Riddle scanned it, surmising it was about as good as Lestrange’s and Riddle recalled how Avery used the spelling charm on his quill that he had reminded him to do last week as Avery was a poor speller, though reasonably intelligent, as even Riddle believed. Afterall, Tom Riddle wasn’t going to permit idiots into his Dark Order.

Riddle sighed exasperatedly, “Now, we’ve got that menial work finished…I’m calling it a night.”

And the three boys departed the vicinity without another word to each other.

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The next morning, Eileen Prince was getting down to her breakfast as soon as the meal appeared. As if on cue, dozens of owls soared into the Great Hall right as everyone was starting to eat, just as they do everyday. Eileen thought she recognized one little gray owl that was most distinctly familiar.

She saw it was her father’s owl, Emory. In its talons was a flat package that it dropped onto Eileen’s place in the long table, almost knocking over the milk jug. She picked at the attached card, taped on top of the flat package, to read it first:

Dearest Eileen:

Here is the book you requested from our family’s library on Stonewall Estate. I apologize for taking a couple of weeks to send it to you, but you know how your mother can be mad sometimes with hiding things. The family does wish you well, and we look forward to having our daughter home for the holidays. Meanwhile, your brother, Francis is growing like a weed and asking so many questions as children do at that age!

Your Loving Father

Eileen sighed after finishing the sentimental note and looked up, and became startled at once. Several were watching with mixtures of eagerness and greed. Eileen unwrapped the extravagant metallic green paper, and a thick, embossed copy of Encyclopedia of Magical Remedies was revealed. The half dozen or so students, who had been watching her, all shrugged, going back to whatever it was they were doing before. Getting a book from home was not interesting to them like getting sweets they could bum off from the other package-getters.

But to Eileen it was the answer to all she had been pondering for the last few weeks, ever since the first Potions lesson of the year. For now, she slid the book to rest in her lap as she ate, too afraid to open up to the pages of information on the subject she was after, while in the openness of the Great Hall. So, Eileen decided she would have to wait until later that day.

After the last class, which was Potions, Eileen was free to do what she liked, with dinnertime a few hours away. She hurried off to the library, almost running. But then, becoming conscious of it, she forced her feet to let go of the impulse.

Meanwhile, Mulciber’s bulky figure was prominent, leaning against the first bookshelf of the roped-off Restricted Section, his thick forearms crossed.

Moments later, Tom Riddle was striding through the hazy late-afternoon sunshine in an unusual buoyant fashion. Evidently, this meeting with the gang leader had been made by appointment, as Mulciber had been waiting there for his arrival.

Rabastan Lestrange was also present in the flank, making rounds about the small groups glaring at them. They picked up on the activities of him, and Riddle’s presence as a hint to go off somewhere else in the library. Most students in the school would depart as soon as they saw the group that harbored such a dark glamour in the castle wanted to be alone, almost nobody dared to cross them.

Tom puts his arm around Mulciber’s shoulder and led him off to talk by the windows, at the end of the row of shelves.

Eileen had just arrived, and in passing saw Riddle, and decided she couldn’t help but seat herself nearby. Lestrange, still lurking in the corners to guard off potential eavesdroppers, nodded in agreement when he saw the girl. Eileen was permitted to be present, as she was a member of the Dark Order after all. She opened her book, Encyclopedia of Magical Remedies, and her bony fingers turned to ”Amortentia.”

Riddle whispered “It seems I’ve had a brain-wave during my potions class…it was on the Draught of the Living Dead.”

“That’s nice, My Lord. But what about the Imperius curse?,” Mulciber countered churlishly.

“That’s just the point I was getting to Mulciber,” Riddle patiently replied, ignoring the rude tone. “I’m almost sure that if the Imperius and the sixth stage of “Draught of the Living Dead” combine, it produces over…our subjects a most curious reaction. A reaction that we shall make happen on Halloween.”

Mulciber smiled delightedly, and almost clapped his hands form excitement, but restrained himself to squeezing them.

Riddle was looking out the window, out at the grounds where the First Years could be seen having their last Flying lesson. They zoomed past the library windows in three formations, now confident on a broomstick after nearly a month’s practice.

“Is it possible you could teach me, My Lord? I mean, I thought you wanted me to become specialized in the Imperius curse?"

“Yes, of course I do Mulciber,” Riddle calmly whispered, as he turned on his heel suddenly. He had felt someone’s eyes on him.

Straight ahead, down the row he spotted Eileen. She was innocently reading, but as Riddle glanced at her, she looked up again to stare in Riddle’s direction. The color was rapidly draining from her face, turning marble-white. Eileen then forced herself to look down again and continue with her reading, inwardly praying he wouldn’t discover her interest in the most-powerful love potion.

His eyes narrowed, and peered back at Mulciber. “Let’s see…Start with the quintessential understanding of the curse, before we begin what is an experiment on Halloween. You’ll have to read up on how one throws off the curse, and also the distillation of the living dead potion. I’ll grant you as a partner of mine in the event, Mulciber.”

“Sounds good…I’ll be sure to be prepared to do the job,” Mulciber answered, mollified that he would have a large role in this operation.

Ridde’s dark eyes streamed over to Eileen again. There she was, alone in the library, gulping down the ounce of the Elixir of Youth, with pious devotion. Riddle found it highly suspicious, that the girl wasn’t approaching him, as Riddle thought, “she has never lost an opportunity to spill that garrulous speech in adoration of me.”

The three boys left the vicinity, Riddle’s awful Halloween plot beginning to fester.