Rowena's Quill

Tom spent the next few weeks testing out what he could do with the basilisk. First he had it carry him down to its chamber where he had a look around. The cellar leading to it was cold, damp and littered with remnants of the basilisk's shedded skin, but the Chamber itself was exquisite, a sort of serpentine temple. Stone-carved, bejeweled snakes came to life when they saw him. They were far more lifelike than that stone guard bird at Starkle's home in London. But most magnificent of all was a gigantic stone likeness of Slytherin himself. Tom would have recognized him anywhere; his portrait hung in Slytherin House. The statue was the basilisk's own dwelling place.

Tom knew that his first use of the basilisk would be to rid Hogwarts of mudbloods. All of Slytherin's writings pointed in that direction. Since he had built the Chamber to defend the castle against enemies, then surely he must fight the enemies within. But because the monster's gaze would kill indiscriminately, Tom knew he had to employ guards to round up the targets and keep away the purebloods. For this, he called a meeting in his room. He removed several of Slytherin's writings out of their hiding place in the Room of Requirement to furnish whatever proof might be necessary.

All the Slytherin boys who usually followed him attended. There were Lestrange and Avery, of course, who shared his room. Abraxus Malfoy came with his crowd of older boys, playing up his own role as "second in command." And there was a whole host of younger boys, most of them with more brawn than brains, always a useful sort.

"It is time for me to reveal my true identity to you all," Tom began importantly. "Alohamora!" With a second, wordless spell, he undid his own additional locking charms and his trunk sprung open.

"Accio heritage!" he called. The scrolls floated gently to his hands. He spread them out for the others to read, but continued speaking. "These are the writings of Salazar Slytherin, founder of our house, and champion of the pureblooded wizard. Slytherin fought to rid Hogwarts of mudbloods, but in the end was forced to compromise with the other founders. But he had the foresight to create a remedy, a means of correction to be employed by his descendant."

"Accio lineage!" Tom cried again, bringing the thick Genealogy of the Hogwarts Four to the table. "Lumos!" he said, mainly for dramatic effect. Tom pointed the lit wand to his name at the bottom of the family tree, then magically turned the pages back to the name Salazar Slytherin.

"You all do know my full name, don't you? Tom for my father, Marvolo for my grandfather."

With a flick of his wand, the name "Tom Marvolo Riddle" appeared and hovered in the air. It was a spell well beyond the ability of anyone else in the room. With only a slight wave of his wand, he made the letters rearrange themselves so that they spelled, "I am Lord Voldemort" just as they had on the Rack 'n Rune tiles.

The room was hushed in awe. "Idiots, all of them," thought Tom. "They are more impressed at flashy tricks than history. But that, of course, is why they're so malleable."

Tom continued his speech. "Beneath Hogwarts Castle lives a deadly monster which answers only to me, the Heir of Slytherin. If any of you requires proof, I can allow you to hear the monster right now. Hear, but not see. To look at it would kill any of you."

Nobody asked for proof.

"My ancestor gave me a mission, and as members of his house, it behooves each of you to participate. In the next few months, I will set the monster after the mudbloods. Your job," he let his eyes pass over each of them slowly, "is to get them alone. I do not want to strike any purebloods, and I certainly do not want the deed known, at least not now." He pulled the diary from his pocket. "This will record our accomplishments, to be made known whenever I say."

"Whatever you wish, Lord Volde-," said Malfoy.

"Do not say my name!" interrupted Tom, inventing on the spot. A name that could not be said seemed rather like a monster that could not be seen. "The monster addresses me as 'my lord.' That will suit. And as all of you must realize, whatever we accomplish here is only the beginning. We will avenge Slytherin at Hogwarts and then throughout the entire wizarding world! Of course I will reward the most loyal to our cause. Who is ready?"

"I am!" shouted a bunch of voices.

Then, when that first wave of enthusiasm subsided, Malfoy asked silkily, "Is there anything else you need, my lord?"

Tom smiled, savoring the thought of Malfoy's gold. "As a matter of fact, there is. The Hogwarts library is inadequate for my needs. I require older, rarer books for the spells I want to master. Borgin & Burke might carry what I'm looking for."

"I'll spare no expense, my lord," said Malfoy.

"We will do whatever you say, my lord," said Lestrange.

Then Malfoy did something even Tom didn't expect. He stood up from his chair, dropped to his knees, and bowed to him, saying, "My lord."

The others all copied him and Tom thrilled in the power.

But as winter warmed into spring, fewer students remained indoors, and isolating mudbloods proved harder than Tom initially thought. In the meantime, his guards entertained themselves in other ways, bullying Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws and fist fighting with Griffyndors. There was a spate of Slytherin detentions as a result. Malfoy got it just for using of the word "mudblood."

Tom evaded all this trouble, however, which was the way he liked things. He used his time to peruse the steady stream of books Malfoy was supplying. Whatever it took, he had to find the secret to creating a Horcrux.

He did not neglect his other resources, either. After weeks of careful planning and flattery, he finally got Slughorn talking. The thing was simpler than Tom had thought. All he would have to do was to commit a murder. Slughorn grew squeamish at the mere mention of it, begging Tom to assure him that his interest in Horcruxes was simply academic. And it didn't matter how much or how little Slughorn allowed himself to believe the lie. He wouldn't dare admit the contents of their conversation for as long as he lived, even if he too somehow became immortal.

The one missing piece after Tom's conversation with Slughorn was the incantation itself. Tom finally found it in one of Malfoy's purchases, a rare tome by the dark wizard Grindelwald. The book was considered so dangerous the Ministry had destroyed almost every existing copy in the last war, but somehow, Borgin & Burke had hung onto one. It must have cost Malfoy a pretty penny. Grindelwald, with absolute subtlety, simply hinted to the Horcrux, and in a tiny footnote written in Teutonic Runes, Tom discovered the incantation.

In the final days of school when the weather was warm and the castle was almost empty, Tom was able to allow the monster to strike. But contrary to his plan, it was not his guards who helped him complete the task, but a girl, Olive Hornby.

"Hi, Tom," she said, sidling up to him the way girls often did. "Want to take me for a walk by the lake?"

"Too many mudbloods," said Tom, shortly.

"You're so right. The castle's a much better place to be alone." Batting her eyelashes, she leaned toward him expectantly. If she actually believed he would kiss her, she was even stupider than he'd realized. He jumped back in disgust, causing her to swerve, lose her balance, and fall awkwardly to the floor. She looked up at him pathetically as a high-pitched twitter came from behind them. Tom turned around to find its source, the ugliest girl he'd ever seen, laughing herself silly.

"Get out of here, you four-eyed frog face!" screamed Olive. "You're just jealous because no boy will ever so much as look at you!"

The girl ran away sobbing.

"Is she a mudblood?" Tom asked.

"Umm . . . yes," said Olive, holding out her hand so that Tom would help her up.

"Well done, then," said Tom, and he turned and ran after the girl.

She hid herself in girls' bathroom, the one right next to the boys' where he had first contacted the basilisk. No doubt they shared the same piping.

"Perfect," thought Tom. He entered, wordlessly broke a hole in a wall, and summoned the monster. At the sound of his voice, the girl poked her head out of the stall. One look at the monster's eyes and she was dead.

Tom knew he had to depart the scene immediately, but he allowed himself one backward glance at her lifeless body. He had caused pain before, but never death.

"She's so ugly, I've almost done her a favor," thought Tom as he ran up the staircase to the Room of Requirement. Alone at last, he could concentrate on creating the Horcrux.

He performed the spell as swiftly as he would the simplest magic. The diary shook a little, but when it settled down, it appeared exactly as before. Nor did he feel any different now that his soul was split. All of Slughorn's revulsion, all Slytherin's warnings were for nothing. Tom laughed long and loud. He had done it! He had defied death! He was invincible - the most powerful wizard alive - and it all felt perfectly natural!

The girl's death caused a terrible uproar. Olive was especially panicked. She followed Tom right into the boys' dormitory whining about it.

"She turned herself into a ghost, Tom! She told Dippet everything! He knows all about what I said to her! She says she'll haunt me forever!" Olive covered her face and sobbed loudly.

Tom was filled with contempt. This sort of weakness was precisely why he never allowed girls into his inner circle.

"Keep your voice down!" he whispered. "Did she tell them anything else? Did she say how she died?"

"Merlin, I don't know! She went to the bathroom and said there was a boy in there, too, and . . ." Olive stopped short and stared at him. Stupid as she was, she was piecing things together.

"Obliviate," said Tom smoothly. Olive's eyes went out of focus, but when she seemed to return to herself, he said, "Don't worry. They'll find the culprit soon."

After that, Tom became desperate to find a scapegoat. Rubeus Hagrid, an overgrown third year with a known penchant for monsters, seemed his best bet. Within hours, Tom had him turned in and expelled, and won himself a service award in the bargain.

But through it all, Tom had one nagging regret. He still had not nabbed Starkle's quill. He'd tried repeatedly throughout the year and had managed to use it to write the diary, but it would never remain with him for long. After all the things he'd mastered, it didn't make sense that this one thing should elude him so many times. Everything was pointing in one direction: the only way around the quill's honor code was to kill its owner. It would become his next Horcrux, of course. It was poetic justice: a Ravenclaw object created with the death of a Ravenclaw descendant.

When all the students had gone home, and only teachers remained behind, Tom was ready. It was not safe to use the basilisk again, now that the "culprit" had been banished from the castle, but there were other ways. He stood outside Starkle's office, listening to her pace up and down frantically as she packed away her things. She was also talking to herself. Every few minutes, she'd find some misplaced possession of hers and cry out, "I haven't seen this in ages!"

"I'll topple a bookshelf on her," thought Tom. "She'll be crushed to death with her own Runes texts, and everyone will think it was an accident. But first, the quill," and as he was about to raise his wand and say, "Accio!" an unwelcome voice made him jump.

"What are you doing here in the hallway, Tom?" called Dumbledore from the opposite end of the hallway. A split second later, his tall figure was towering over Tom, so that he was sure that Dumbledore had either lifted the school's anti-apparition charms or that his boots could somehow sidestep space and time.

"I was . . . going to say goodbye to Professor Starkle," Tom faltered.

"What a coincidence! So was I!"

And before Tom could say another word, Starkle had stuck her head outside her doorway and was welcoming both of them inside.

"Well, well, Sophie. Packing away and heading toward a bright new future."

"Thank you. I am so very happy, though to tell the truth, I feel a bit guilty about it with all this tragedy around us."

"Behind us, I hope," said Dumbledore, gravely. "Poor Myrtle. So young, so innocent. But you, Sophie, ought not feel guilty. We must all enjoy whatever happiness life has to offer. There is too much of the opposite."

"Yes, thank you, sir," she said, and for a moment, they all stood in somber silence until Starkle noticed another of her stray possessions and let out another cry of, "Oh!"

"The scoring pad from our last game of Rack 'n Rune," said Dumbledore. "You left it in the teachers' lounge I believe. I hope you and Rowan will have me over to play some time. I understand that it can't be right away . . ."

"Oh, no, Professor Dumbledore, you're welcome to visit us at any time. You too, Tom. Whenever you're in London, just send me an owl."

"I will, ma'am, and thank you for all your help this year."

"My pleasure, Tom, my pleasure."

He watched as she laid the quill down carefully at the top of her trunk and closed it. Dumbledore swiftly waved his wand, locked the trunk, and levitated it away.

"Let me see you out, Sophie," said Dumbledore.

"Thank you," she said happily. Then, extending her hand to Tom, she said, "Goodbye for now. I hope to see you in London."

Tom took her hand and shook it. Inside, he was raging at Dumbledore, but he could conquer his anger. After all, he had a Horcrux now. Time was on his side. He could afford to change his tactics as need be. Flashing Starkle his most charming smile, he said, "Till we meet again."