Destroying Myself

Chapter Six

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Throughout my time at Hogwarts, I have always dreamed of doing great things; believed that I would make something of myself, would ensure that everyone knew my name - but never in my wildest dreams had I imagined something like this.

The greatest wizard ever feared, Lord Voldemort. I am Lord Voldemort, Tom Marvolo Riddle, that's me. The cruelest wizard to ever come to be - me. Thousands of people murdered, by me. Hundreds of loyal supporters, all following me.

They've left me alone with volumes of books all devoted to me - to me and The-Boy-Who-Lived; that's Harry. The boy I couldn't kill. I cannot shake the feeling that this isn't really happening. And I'm still not sure what to think.

Albus Dumbledore... my thoughts drift to him and how he has been right about me all along. Of course, I know that I'm not completely innocent - I'm vindictive, I've destroyed, and I've murdered... But it was the sort of thing I thought I'd get over - just a phase.

Guess the truth is hitting me pretty hard right now.

Guilt, guilt, guilt. Am I supposed to feel guilty? I don't think I should, but I do. I bloody do! I'm Tom Riddle, I don't feel guilt; I've never felt guilty! Whatever I'm feeling right now isn't the real me; it's just because of the way they keep looking at me, the way she looked at me. I nearly killed her. I killed Harry's parents, I've destroyed hundreds of families... again, all me.

I feel sick. Sick for caring and sick of still being here. I'm nothing but a murderer - that's not something to be proud of, is it? Then again, I've been proud of it before. And that was on a much less impressive scale, too!

I'm contradicting myself... Seriously, something is wrong with me! I mean, look at what I've accomplished, all this success! I should be overwhelmingly happy - but I'm not.

I don't really care... No, scratch that; I care that it's wrong. But that's not like me, I'm not a moral person.

There's a knock on the door, wrenching me away from my thoughts. I'm in a guest room. The door is locked, the windows barred, and every magical item has been removed.

"Tom?" Harry calls.

"Go away," I hiss at the door and surprisingly, he does.

Nobody knocks on the door again all night. I'm left alone with troublesome questions and thoughts that haunt my brain. I imagine things that I'm supposed to have done as vividly as if I'm living them. If the word 'revolting' comes to mind, I ignore it.

I've always known what to do... but what am I doing now? I have a few options... and I know exactly which I have to pick, but I have to proceed very carefully, for if I mess up, everything will be lost.

I slowly drift off to sleep, my back against a wall and my head in a book.

I awaken to silence, the book still in my hands and my head on my shoulder. I yawn, glancing at my watch, which reads 11:31 AM.

How could I sleep so late? And why did no one wake me?

The day passes in a mammoth amount of words and much confusion. Still no one stops in to speak with me - I had thought that they might, to make sure I hadn't escaped, but maybe they have decided that I need time to think.

I don't want to think anymore, but I end up doing just that for the rest of the evening and late into the next morning. I fall asleep again, in the same book-reading position, and when I awaken at nine, I'm still alone.

I look at the piles of books spread out around me. All sorts of different titles, but all of them are indicating the same thing. All telling me the same thing... That I'm evil.

This thought must have occurred to me sometime between falling asleep and now. But it's so completely clear that I can't get any other thoughts into my head.

I hammer on my door, desperate for company other then myself.

"Harry? Malfoy? Ginny?" I shout. At least I'm not desperate enough to call for the Mudblood.

No answer, nothing at all. The house is completely empty. I've had enough of thinking, had enough of confusing myself about how I'm supposed to feel.

I've never felt this much emotion about anything, and there has to be a reason why I am now. Just as there has to be a reason why I'm here.

It's the spell, it has to be. No, I'm not in denial. I'm not anything because emotions and me don't mix. Just like love and me don't mix... Love...? Oh, bloody fucking hell!

I chuck a book across the room, and it smashes into the wall. I stand angrily and kick a stack of books. Aggression, aggression, suppression.

Three hours of blind fury and shutting out any thought that creeps into my mind follow. I'm not going to succumb to this insanity.

A thought clicks in my brain... Albus Dumbledore...

Knock, Knock.

"Riddle?" It's that redhead, Ron.

"Tom?" That's Hermione.

The door opens slowly, revealing the two of them holding hands - it makes me sick.

"How are you doing?" Hermione asks.

Distaste fills my face, and I give her the dirtiest look I can muster.

"I'd appreciate if you didn't speak to me, Mudblood," I sneer.

The more anger I express, the more I feel like myself.

Hermione's expression falters, and Ron turns bright red, yanking out his wand in anger.

"How dare you!" Ron shouts at me.

Hermione stops him with a hand on his arm.

"Don't worry about it, Ron," she insists.

I roll my eyes; no doubt she's used to being called a Mudblood.

I have a sudden flash of inspiration.

"Well, how do you think I'm doing?" I ask. "Voldemort... is I." I maintain eye contact with Ron, though I avoid Hermione's gaze.

Ron flinches as I say my name.

"I've done awful things..." I say - and now, I make eye contact with Hermione. "Honestly, Mudblood, how do you think I'm doing?"

Hermione calms Ron again, and turns to me.

"You actually care about what you've done?" she asks, her eyes hopeful but unbelieving.

"Yeah, I care." Whether I'm lying or not doesn't matter, I decide. I have to get out of this place. They're clearly not going to help me out of here; they just want to use me to destroy myself.

Well, I'm not going to put up with that - I'm going to go home, and then I'm going to forget that this ever happened... Okay, so it's a stupid plan, but it's the best I have.

I bend down to scoop up a book, as casually as possible. I continue to pick up books, gathering them in my arms, making my way discretely to the door.

Hermione watches me for a while. "Do you want me to take those?" she asks.

"Sure," I say, moving behind her to pick up a book lying by the door. I have to do this slowly; after all, they have wands and I don't.

Hermione turns around to face me and takes a few books from my stack; I give the rest to Ron.

"Wait," I say. "Is there that Dark History book somewhere in there?"

Hermione and Ron glance down at the titles, and I slip out through the open door, shutting it swiftly behind me. I decide that staying calm would be pointless at this stage, especially because, behind me, I can hear Hermione frantically struggling with the door.

I lunge for the front door, and come face-to-face with Harry and Ginny talking in the doorway.

I slow as Harry quickly pulls out his wand and Hermione and Ron rush up behind me.

I'm screwed.

"Locomotor Mortis!" Hermione shouts.

My legs freeze and I fall to the floor face first - smack, my face hits the tile.

"What do you think you're doing?" Harry asks.

It's not a real question, but that doesn't stop me from answering it. "I'm going home - to my own time."

"And how do you expect you're going to manage that?" Hermione asks, flustered.

I shut my mouth.

"Harry, can we talk about this later?" Ginny returns to the conversation they were having before I interrupted.

"Sure," Harry says distractedly, staring down at the back of my head.

I would have pummeled him for using that tone with her if I had been able.

Hermione removes the spell at Harry's command, and I stand. Ginny is already leaving the room; I watch her go.

"Leave her alone," Harry hisses in warning.

Or what?

Harry keeps both his wand and an eye trained on me as he turns to Ron.

"Have you seen Malfoy?"

"Yeah, he's in your kitchen stuffing his face," Ron mutters, sounding annoyed.

"Come on," Harry says to me.

I follow him into the kitchen; after all, I don't have much choice.

Malfoy looks up from the ham sandwich he's eating as we enter - he notices Harry first.

"Malfoy, what are you doing?" Harry asks.

He gives him a look - and, dare I say, it is a very risqué look... I turn to see Harry's reaction and he's glaring at him.

"Riddle tried to run out of here," Harry says, and Malfoy's eyes flutter towards me. The look quickly fades.

Have I missed something between these two over the past few days?

"I have to talk to Ginny," Harry says. "Watch him or stick him back in his room, but don't let him escape, okay, Malfoy?"

"Right, Potter," Malfoy says with a sneer, looking at me closely. "Go make up with your little girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend anymore," Harry mutters and then disappears from the room.

I freeze, and anger washes over me: Harry Potter could not have dated Ginny! She was so much better then him!

"Jealous?" Malfoy growls at me.

I snap my head up, and realize that my expression must have given it away.

"Same to you," I counter.

Malfoy does a double take and blinks a few times. "Me, jealous of Potter? I don't want that disgusting-"

"Watch it." I narrow my eyes - how dare he insult Ginny? I continue, "But I wasn't talking about Harry."

Malfoy raises an eyebrow and looks at me as if I'm mad.

He starts to retort, "I do not-"

"-I'm sure," I say. "So, why does he hate you?"

Malfoy pauses. "We've been rivals since the day we met. Plus, my father supports you."

"And you don't?" I ask.

"I never really have, no," Malfoy says. "Not that it's any of your business."

I nod; I guess it might not be.

I look at Malfoy and see all that he's been through - I search through his mind. My gift; I'm a master at Legilimency.

I can see the terror his father has put him through, the pain and torture he's had to endure... all in order to impress me.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy asks.

As I leave his mind, I know I should feel bad. This boy has suffered because of me.

"Nothing," I say.

"So, are you regretting everything you've done, yet?" Malfoy hisses at me. "I can see it in your face. You feel bad for me."

"So?" I say.

"So, what are you going to do about it?" Malfoy asks, crossing his arms; there's a slightly mocking tone to his voice. "Ginny's on Voldemorts list - the other you knows that Harry cares about her. Are you really going to let yourself harm the one you love?"

And there's that word again. But this is still a very good question. What am I going to do? Could I really do what they wanted me to? Could I really help them stop my reign of terror?