Tom Riddle and the Pureblood Prince

Please review or at least rate! I am also trying to improve my writing of this story, as I think I put too much explanation and too much he/she phrases, which annoy me.


Continuation of....


Chapter Thirty-seven: New Year's Eve Ball


“We won’t go far…”

Eileen listened to the coaxing words, Riddle’s reassurance. She’d never noticed how melodious he was, especially for a boy’s voice.

The last moments of the year were dying, but a new one was about to be born. Fireworks went off over Hogwarts, temporarily lighting the castle’s exterior, flashing like lightning bolts.

Eileen was comfortable in the borrowed fur coat that was her mother’s. The coat matched the silken ivory dressrobes perfectly. Inside a magically magnified purse was a matching hat and a muff. Unlike last Christmas, she need not seek refuge under Riddle’s cloak.

He strode with cold purpose and led the way heading straight towards the edifice, arranged by Professor Slughorn for the party. The sounds from the Great Hall were barely discernable from here, just an echo on the breeze.

Eileen didn’t like it, but so far she was relieved this was all. She long learned to expect the worst from Tom Riddle, and the worst had not come to pass. He was not taking the most torturous punitive measure there was: the Cruciatus…Not yet at least.

It was deserted. Lingering younger students peeping in on the ball had been caught just a little while ago. All the others crowded into the warm hall, to revel together for the impending countdown to twelve, midnight.

Riddle stopped and turned to Eileen. They stopped in their tracks almost at the same second. Through the dark, she saw fathomless eyes. He was so tall and impressive in a heavy traveling cloak.

“Take my hand…”

“Thank-you, My Lord.”

Eileen noted the politeness and emoted approval for acting the part of gentleman. But Riddle had another reason for holding her.

They stood sentient, side by side inside the gazebo on a raised plinth in the center. The radiant effulgence from the fairies that nested in the surrounding bushes was a comfort. The place was well lit. Alone they may be, but there wasn’t anything strange or dangerous about it.

Eileen breathed hard, heart pounding with anticipation. The great clock chimed twelve times. It was the dawn of the New Year: 1944. This was the year, which would make Tom Riddle the Head Boy and both of them Seventh Years in September.

It quieted again, the commotion barely discernable. Somebody closed the giant oaken doors with a resounding thud.

Eileen took to gazing ahead, beyond the gazebo. As the gazebo was on the summit of a hill, the pastoral countryside was visible. The mountains, beyond even the Dark Forest were jet-black.

Surreptitiously, Riddle slid his hand down to his hips. There he found the pocket holding his wand. Eileen turned just then and frowned at it. “I knew it! Why take me out here? It wasn’t to ring in the New Year.”

Riddle did not answer. There was no need.

“Tonight when we danced I watched us and the others through the mirrors along the side….”

Eileen nodded knowledgeably, understanding. There had been a series of mirrors surrounding the dance floor.

“And as I observed…I was reminded of a celebration,” Riddle’s affect was disturbing.

“Celebrations are traditionally for the living. A celebration of death would have been quite appropriate. It is after all the night the Wizard who conquered death came of age.”

Eileen did not believe what she was hearing. Nobody could ever conquer death. It was impossible. His long fingers curled over his wand, almost stroking it. He was thinking of horcruxes. He'd already succeeded in making two, a feat nobody had ever done, and certainly not whilst underage. One was the ring with his muggle father and the diary with the death of his grandfather. And as always worn these days, the black stone ring was prominent on his middle finger.

In a second Riddle decided what he would do. “Detritus,” he muttered under his breath.

“Keep your wits about you. You have nothing to fear.”

Eileen tried to get a grip on herself. She squeezed Riddle’s hand.

And his other hand held the wand that was bursting forth stream after stream of varying, shimmering lights. Soon Eileen surmised that they were spells he must have performed in the past.

They stood grounded to the planked floor in the gazebo. Lights burst forth, an oddity in the surrounding velvety darkness.

The extended Detritus was suspended at one particular set of spells. Sparkling green spewed out. Three human-like bodies emerged out of the thin wand. They glided, floating. They were huge and white, like ethereal, wispy ghosts. They screeched violently, screams like they were dying. It was of pain, the screams piteous. The fairies and their lights departed, repulsed by the hideous display.

Eileen violently attempted wrenching her hand free of Riddle’s. A wild urge to run away was all she wanted to do. But he wouldn’t let go.

In desperation she implored, “Oh, what is it? What is it? Your Inferi?”

Riddle laughed gleefully. “Oh, no. These are pale imitations of the ones I had the pleasure to kill. You cannot trace the evidence of my murders.”

Eileen screamed at this revelation, joining the figures. The figures grew more frightened, studying Riddle. Did they have the awareness to know this was their killer? Meanwhile, Riddle was enjoying the stimulation, like entertainment.

It was almost a carousel out of a horror show. The conjured hosts circled, swirling faster and faster, a macabre dance with death. It was playing on Eileen's darkest fears. Who didn't fear death at least just a little? Like a lullaby the beings whispered words she could not make out. They seemed to be conversing with Riddle, yet he did not care.

“Can you feel the bodies around you? Can you?!”

Eileen in her terror didn’t even register what he’d said. And Riddle continued to enjoy it hugely.

Eyes widened, Eileen got a closer look at the three figures. One was a profile of a handsome man, just like Riddle only an older, aged version of him. Another was a very old gentleman with wiry, gray hair and papery skin. The final was an old lady wearing a necklace.

All of them were made of pure, silvery light, no details to their appearance other than a crude outline, mere shadows of what they’d been in life. Eileen would never know the woman wore the same opal necklace she received last summer. Riddle had of course, removed it from the corpse and proceeded to Stonewall Estate to bestow it to Eileen as a so-called gift.

The “ghosts” that so terrified Eileen addressed her next. And Eileen never felt closer to the world of the dead and further from the living than she did in these moments.

“Be careful girly,” spoke the woman first, her voice echoed as though at a great distance. She was Riddle’s paternal grandmother.

“He’ll get you, just like he got me!” ranted the handsome one. It was Tom Riddle Senior, Voldemort’s father. Yet Eileen did not know. His essence seemed familiar in the sense of being egotistical. It wasn’t far off the mark from Voldemort’s persona.

Voldemort’s eyes widened maliciously, until they burned red and like amber beams they fixated onto the father he hated. In truth he was shocked and almost frightened that they could speak!

“He killed us,” said the eldest man authoritatively, speaking at once for himself along with both his wife and son. “ But the police found our bodies and we’re buried in our rightful place. You keep away from him, girl, ya’ hear? He’s a monster.”

Riddle had had enough. At once the images faded away and he ended the spell that regurgitated the prior ones.

Eileen dropped feebly to the ground. She shook uncontrollably with fear. The whispers of the dead still haunted her mind. Meanwhile, Riddle cleared the air of the powerful magic. Nobody would detect that this place had known hundreds of spells over such a brief period.

Riddle was unsympathetic to her plight. Eileen was forced on her feet, legs wobbling. It took a moment to become composed again.

Livid at what Riddle had done, and of all he showed of it, she had the nerve to strike his shoulder. “Why did you show me that? What was the point, I mean?”

Riddle was not going to tell her and he barely reacted to the minor blow. There really was no reason than curiosity in seeing what the Detritus spell would do with his murders, mixed with false joy at watching another’s fear. Especially as he most secretly feared the dead.

“No harm done. The phantoms could never hurt you.”

Eileen calmed at hearing an explanation, and expelling some confusion. “Is that what they were?”

Riddle had no answer. There was no name for what had occurred other than Dark magic. It was one of those esoteric unknown mysteries of the Dark Arts.

“Well…I won’t want to ever go out alone with you if you scare me like that again! Why the hell did you show me it for?”

In an instant Riddle turned physical, practically pouncing Eileen’s skinny frame. He grabbed her shoulders, and inside rage boiled, he wanted to shake her. He had control, and she was going to stop this challenging attitude at once.

“Listen! I let you in the Dark Order. You made an Unbreakable vow to serve and obey! This “contract” shall not be abated unless I decide to kill you OR if you die by other means. Therefore…You do as I command for the rest of your life.”

Eileen looked at him, so twisted with fury as he held her body close. He was wearing the hood of the cloak now. It framed his handsome face so he looked as serpentine as a hooded snake, rearing itself to assail her.

She could feel the heat of his anger radiating. So she took to mollify it. “Yes, My Lord. I understand. I owe unswerving obedience to you…forever.”


NOTE: Please review or rate. I am aware that Riddle killed them with Morfin Gaunt's wand. However, I still think it's possible somehow that he could do deteritus, even if performed on another's wand that he has not with him? In this story he cursed the Riddle's property and doing that he might have used the AK curses to create the curse. I found this to be better written than the average passage of this story. I hope you enjoyed that.