Power and Control

The group of boys coming up from the Slytherin dungeons was loud and boisterous, save for a pale, handsome, dark-haired boy with a Head Boy badge pinned to his robes. To everyone not part of the group, the blond boy in the center, called Malfoy by everyone but his mother and his girlfriend, would seem to be the leader, but the members of the group knew better.

A large, bumbling boy entered the castle through the oak doors of the entrance hall, trying to look inconspicuous despite the fact that he was two feet taller than everyone else and wearing the ragged clothes of a gamekeeper. "Well, well, well," said Malfoy. "If it isn't the oafish monster-raiser Hagrid. Tell me, what brings you in here for once instead of trying to domesticate manticores outside like you usually do?"

Hagrid looked defeated, barely after the confrontation had started. "I jus' want dinner, Malfoy," he pleaded.

"Dinner? Don't you have, I don't know, rats to eat out there or something?" Malfoy turned his head to look askance at the Head Boy, who inclined his head in a barely noticeable fashion, the shadow of a smirk playing around his lips. No one but the two Slytherins noticed the silent conversation that had taken place within a blink of an eye. Malfoy sneered and pulled out his wand. "You know, Hagrid, murderers like you don't deserve dinner with civilized people like us."

Hagrid turned his beetle-black eyes toward the Head Boy, who was standing off to the side, purposely pretending to be separated from the group. "Tom! Yeh gotta help me... Look, I promise, it wasn' me, I swear. We're friends, righ'? Please tell them teh stop, please, tell yer other friends to stop! I jus' want dinner in the Great Hall for once..."

Tom sighed theatrically. "I'm sorry, Hagrid," he said softly. "I can't. You see, Malfoy's very powerful, and I'm already starting to get on his bad terms just by being friends with you. I can't stop him; he won't listen to unimportant me."

"But yer Head Boy!" Hagrid said. "Now that yer around--"

"Hagrid, Hagrid, how selfish you are," Malfoy said, sending a look of amusement in Tom's direction while Hagrid wasn't looking. "Don't you see? If Tommy resists, he'll be jinxed just like you will be, for having the gall to defend someone who shouldn't be in here anyway. Do you really want to lose him as a friend? I think it's over-kind of Tom to be your friend at all, you being a murderer; do you really think he can go as far as to take your beatings too?"

"I'm not a murderer," Hagrid said staunchly. "There's no proof."

"No proof?" Malfoy said incredulously as all the Slytherins besides Tom burst out laughing. "Merlin, Hagrid, did your tiny brain already forget? You were taking care of a monster! That's all the proof that's needed... unless if you're calling Tom stupid and unable to recognize a giant acromantula?"

"No, never!" Hagrid said quickly, sneaking a glance at Tom. "Tom's the cleverest wizard I know!"

"What in the world is going on here?" Malfoy rolled his eyes as a black-haired Gryffindor sixth year prefect appeared. Minerva McGonagall took in the scene and scowled straight at Tom. "You stop this now, Riddle, or I'll tell Dumbledore that you're bullying poor Hagrid."

"Minerva, what are you talking about?" Malfoy said smoothly, feigning confusion. "Tom's not doing anything?"

"Minnie, it's Tom! Why are yeh mad at him?" Hagrid said. "He's our friend!"

"He's not our friend, Hagrid," Minerva said grimly. "He's the leader of that group. It's all his ideas; Malfoy's just his little puppet." Malfoy scowled at being referred to as a puppet. "You're incorrigible, Tom Riddle," Minerva spat.

"I'm wounded, Minerva," Tom said, injecting sadness and false sincerity into his words.

Minerva rounded on Hagrid. "How can you still be his friend, after he turned you in?"

"It wasn' his fault!" Hagrid argued. "I don' know what's wrong with yeh, Minnie. He's our friend, and yer accusing him of being the leader! How could yeh? I don' want dinner any more," he added miserably. "See yeh, Tom." He sent a cold glare in Minerva's direction.

There was a stiff silence after the oak doors had shut behind him. All the other students were already in the Great Hall, eating. "You foul little bastard!" Minerva hissed, moving toward Tom, whose smirk had come out of hiding now that he had no need to act.

"Language, my darling," Tom said, grinning at her disgusted expression at the way he addressed her. He grabbed a hold of her wrist and pulled her to him, locking his arms around her thin form, taking her into the shadows. Her breathing became ragged with fury as she fought against his embrace. "One moment, Minerva, that's all I ask." She stopped squirming, but her breathing remained heavy and angry.

Tom moved his face to her ear, allowing his lips to brush her cheek briefly, smiling as her breath hitched and her eyes shut in revulsion at the contact. "Hmm... you used to like that," Tom said in a mock playful voice. "Well, to the point, then." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "You go ahead and tell your precious Dumbledore whatever you want. Anything. Tell him my secrets, tell him about me, you can even do with him what you did with me." She stiffened. "Disgusting thought, I agree," Tom continued. "But I'm not afraid of him. I don't care, because he can't do a thing," he lied.

"I won't," Minerva replied venomously. "You want to know why?"

"Why, Minnie?" Tom answered, catching Malfoy's gaze as he moved his mouth to her neck, kissing it slowly, feeling her shudder despite herself. Malfoy smirked as he winked at him. Power... this was what Tom liked. "Tell me."

Minerva seemed to have problems breathing. "Because," she replied, gasping as Tom bit her neck gently, "because it will never matter. You will be an insignificant speck your entire life."

"Are you sure?" Tom said, amused, noting the mark he had made on her pale skin with satisfaction. Power and control... to mark people as his own... He moved back and stared straight into her eyes. "Remember, Minnie... Lord Voldemort always wins." He brushed his lips against hers, his smirk growing wider as he felt her collapse.

He let go of her, watching as she leaned against the wall for support, gasping for breath and shaking. Then he strode toward the Great Hall as if nothing had happened, his group following him without a sound.

***

They were pathetic. All of them. "My Lord, I am sorry; he managed to get away using the Portkey," Lucius said, scrambling at Voldemort's feet and grabbing the hem of his robes. "He was too quick for all of us. It must have been the Quidditch--"

"Shut up," Voldemort hissed, bringing an end to Lucius's babbling. "Crucio."

He smiled a thin-lipped smile as Lucius screamed and writhed, all under his control. With a flick of his wand, he brought the curse to an end, allowing Lucius to pant as he was lowered to crawling on his hands and knees. "There will be no more excuses, you pathetic excuse for a wizard," Voldemort snarled. "Don't try to justify allowing a fourteen-year-old student get away from twenty fully-trained Death Eaters!"

"Yes, Master," Lucius gasped. "What will you have us do for you?"

"Go home for now. But come quickly when my mark begins to burn."

Lucius bowed once more and exited. Voldemort felt satisfied. Power and control... that's what he had over his Death Eaters.

***

It was Christmas of Tom's sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was one of the few people staying over the holidays, as usual, and there had been a large pile of nothing lying beside his bed when he had awoken that morning. After all, Malfoy and the others didn't even bother sending presents; no one really knew what Tom wanted, not even Malfoy, who was the closest thing Tom had to a best friend.

He sat alone in his dormitory, smiling as he flipped serenely through the pages of the seemingly unused diary in front of him. He had succeeded, after months of reading and researching. There was a knock on his door, and Tom quickly stuffed the diary under his pillow. People would ask questions if they saw him reading a blank diary.

The door opened, and a girl Tom recognized as Minerva McGonagall, a fifth year Gryffindor, came in, bearing a wrapped box. "Hello," she said shyly, turning red. Tom just stared, for once feeling as if he were a normal boy gawking at a girl who had randomly walked into his room. "I'm Minerva. Minerva McGonagall. You can call me Minnie. I'm friends with Hagrid, you know him, right?" she babbled.

Tom, who had always felt that Minerva was a smart girl since he always saw her in the library, wondered if perhaps she was ill or lacking sleep. Or that he himself was dreaming. "Good evening?" he said, puzzled. Nothing had ever prepared him for this, and Tom had to admit he was nervous.

"Hagrid, er, Hagrid said you, um, didn't have any female friends," Minerva said, turning even redder. "I just thought... you know, since I'm at Hogwarts right now... oh, dear, that was really obvious..." She seemed to be unable to continue and just thrust the box at Tom.

Tom took it and opened it warily. It was a cloak. "Er... thanks," he said, feeling lost.

"You're welcome. I noticed you didn't have a good cloak, so I went to Hogsmeade and bought you one." She looked uncomfortable. "I... I really fancy you," she admitted. "You're always in the library, and you're always very nice to me when you're there..."

Tom felt as if he had been underwater and was now getting to the surface. This was something he could work with. So she fancied him... There was never something easier to control than someone madly in love. He smiled. "Really? Well... I think you're really pretty."

Minerva giggled. "Thank you."

When Malfoy and the others came back, Tom had already established himself in a relationship with Minerva. She loved him, he loved the control he had over her. And he made sure it seemed like it was she he fancied, not the control.

***

There was a flash of green light, and Tom smirked as he met his father's unseeing eyes. Power and control, that's what he had, what his father had never had. The stupid Muggle.

***

He was eighteen years old when he met the Dark Lord Grindelwald in Germany. Grindelwald was impressed by his ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, and Tom was invited to take a walk with the short, squat wizard.

Appearances were deceiving, Tom mused as he strolled with the other man. Grindelwald did not resemble a dark lord in any shape or form: he looked wrong for the job, he liked to take long walks, he even had a wife and daughter. Yet he was ruthless, with a thirst for blood and purity, and especially the same power and control Tom desired.

"Herr Riddle," Grindelwald said in his slightly-accented English, "what do you hate in this world?"

Tom did not have to think. "My father," he said immediately. "The filth who lent me his name. And Albus Dumbledore, the meddling fool, with his visions of good and evil, yet his manipulative side outstrips the rest. And David Pear, the master of the orphanage I lived in during my childhood."

"It is interesting," Grindelwald said, "that all you hate are the ones who are supposed to be authority figures in your life, the ones you ought to look up to. Your father, your teacher, and the master of your home. I know already, Herr Riddle, that it is power and control you seek, without even asking."

Tom stopped. "Yes. That was a correct statement, sir."

"You are not surprised, I hope, by my statement?"

"No, sir," Tom said derisively. "I do not deceive myself."

"Is that so?" Grindelwald paused to touch a flower petal, frowning. "True, you do not hide the fact that it is power you want, but why must you also be intimidating? Why must you be a dictator?"

"You are a dictator and feared for it," Tom blurted out.

"Yes," Grindelwald said pensively. "Yes, I am." He turned back to the younger man. "If you must follow my path, I shall help you. But power can make you blind, and absolute power will do so, without a doubt." A snake slithered out from behind the flower bush. "This is Nagini. She is my gift to you. Take her and go, and don't look back. You can become Minister of Magic of Great Britain in ten years or so. I will spare you."

"I will be vigilant," Tom said. "Please teach me."

Grindelwald sighed. "That was what I was afraid of." At Tom's inquisitive look, he added, "That's what they all say."

***

The battlefield was filled with smoke from the spells being fired. Voldemort stood, surrounded by his closest Death Eaters. "Potter's coming," Bellatrix said. Voldemort knew she was sneering underneath her hood.

"Hello, Potter," Voldemort said.

"Voldemort," Potter said, his green eyes glinting. Voldemort smiled. Oh, how he recognized that determination in his eyes. Determination was a thirst for power, he knew, yet Potter's would never be quenched.

And the last duel began.

***

Tom Riddle looked at himself in the mirror one last time. He gazed almost fondly at the photograph of Augustus Grindelwald, his mentor of a year before he was defeated by Dumbledore. He turned back to his reflection, noting his hair, a little longer than it had been at Hogwarts, his handsome features, his eyes, blue and innocent-looking. When he underwent this transformation, he would no longer be Tom Riddle, nor would he look like him.

A letter from Hagrid had managed to reach him, and Tom burned it slowly, watching the ashes drift from the candle flame. Hagrid was stupid; it was obvious. Even Tom was hoping he would realize one day that Tom had never been his friend; it was starting to become pathetic.

He admired the milky white of the potion in front of him. So normal-looking, yet with mind-altering consequences. It would cleanse him of his weakness, his humanness, which kept him from achieving all the power he could. And then he would get to work, experimenting with potions for immortality. For that was the ultimate power, the ability to control forever.

"To the death of you, Tom Riddle," he murmured, raising his glass to the reflection. He closed his eyes and downed the potion.

When he opened them again, Lord Voldemort's red eyes stared back at him, glinting with satisfaction.

***

The young boy cried out in pain as the belt hit him full force for the fifth time. He whimpered as Pear sniffed and put the belt away, breathing heavily from exertion. "That should teach you," he said. "Well, Riddle, what will you never do again?"

"Call you evil."

"Call me evil, what?"

"Call you evil, Master Pear."

"That's right," Pear said, sneering down at Tom. He bent down to the boy's level. "There is no such thing as good and evil, Riddle. Am I right?"

Tom hiccupped.

"AM I RIGHT?"

"Y-yes, sir."

Pear grinned. "Good boy. There's only this, power, which I have over you, you sniveling little brat. There's only power and control, Riddle, remember that. Those with power and control rule, those without power and control are squashed like little cockroaches. Do you understand, Riddle?"

"Yes, Master Pear."

"Good. I want you to know that, because one day, you will realize that you are the cockroach, and that you will never have power and control." Pear walked away.

Tom Riddle watched him leave, his glare hardening. He would have power. He would have control.

One day.

~ fin ~