Chapter Twenty-Two: The Chamber of Secrets

Tom Riddle's POV

Tom Riddle was different.

Tom had known that since the day he could walk and talk, since his first lesson at the orphanage and earliest memories.

The fact was one he had come to acquaint himself with just as one would their name, but as time went on, he began to realise just how different he truly was.

He was a wizard amongst men and a monster amongst wizards.

The fact hadn't quite hit him until his fifth year, but by then it was late enough for him to throw himself into plans for the future, plans that would shape the Wizarding World, a world that was meant to be his by birthright, into the image of perfection and power.

Tom wasn't just a boy with magic strumming through his veins, no, Tom was different. He was stronger, smarter, and, above all, apathetic.

But Tom wasn't just a child of Amortentia, he was also Salazar Slytherin's direct descendant.

The mere feat of being either of those was enough to singular a wizard out in a crowd of purebloods, but the fact that he had been gifted with both gave Tom a platform others couldn't dare to reach.

Sometimes, during the pathetic days when even he couldn't his mind from wandering, the malevolent brunette would stay up wondering whether his heritage truly was a blessing. Whether being different was a gift that made him stand out from the crowd or a curse that damned him to solitude.

But then his mind would clear and the glass-half-empty glass-half-full argument would drop off from his train of thoughts almost as quickly as it had arrived: allowing him to focus on other matters.

Matters that brought him to where he was today.

After years of searching and scourging Hogwarts from the ground up and back down again, after days of restless nights patrolling the corridors in search of the mark of his heritage that would help instil his plans for the future, Tom Riddle had finally done it.

He had found the Chamber of Secrets.

In a way, part of his victory was thanks to Cordelia Black and her performance at the Travers Manor, but Tom was too spiteful to admit such a thing out loud, much less to himself.

Especially not when he had finally completed the first stage of his plan.

"Come forth. I am your master."

The Parsletongue slipped from his mouth just as easily as English did, like a language he had been taught from the very start, however, it was the reaction to his words that really enthralled Tom.

A loud noise suddenly echoed through the chamber concealed behind the open sink, and then, silence. The sound would have almost been disappointing if Tom couldn't feel the presence of the Basilisk entering the pipe before him and slithering his way.

It took its time, but eventually, the large green snake navigated its way towards its new master.

A loud hiss left its form as the Basilisk bowed its head before Tom, the Slytherin heir didn't know whether it was out of respect or fear of accidentally petrifying him, but he appreciated the action nonetheless. Nagini, however, seemed keen on hiding within his sleeve the moment the larger snake appeared.

"Hello? Oh-"

Tom had known what he would do with the Basilisk the second he had heard rumours of Slytherin's monster, however, what he hadn't expected was for his plan to be in motion so quickly.

"This is the girls' lavatory! How dare you-"

"She is a mudblood. Finish her."

He didn't have to look up to know what would happen next, after all, Tom had dreamt of this moment since he was fifteen, of the day his plan finally fell into place and he killed his first mudblood, condemning the filthy frauds to the fate they deserved.

However, what he hadn't expected was for it to be so perfect.

It wasn't the screams and surprised pleas that fell from the Ravenclaw girl's lips that satisfied him, no, it was her identity. For Olivia Abbott might have been a lot of things, but discriminative wasn't one of them. Which, of course, entailed she was friends with wizards and witches from every house.

Olivia should have known better to mess with the Blacks, even if she was falsely accused of it. However, that didn't explain why Olivia's friend Myrtle had to pay the price.

The situation could only be explained with one thing; which was Cordelia Black.

There thought of casting his sins upon Cordelia, of ruining the little semblance of power she thought she held and yet again turning her snakes against her was enough to elicit a smirk as Tom stared at the bespectacled Ravenclaw crumpled on the floor before him.

Come morning, Cordelia Black wouldn't know what hit her or how to deal with the consequences, but one thing was for certain.

This time, it would be Tom who watched in amusement as she scrambled to collect the pieces of her failure.

A small scoff escaped him as Tom walked towards the snivelling Ravenclaw's corpse.

Of course, only Myrtle could be stupid enough to hear a strange sound and run to investigate it. Perhaps if she had just been a little quieter and uninterested, the bespectacled crybaby could have escaped her unfortunate fate. However, in a way, Tom couldn't help but feel it befitting that his first victim was pathetic.

After all, if she couldn't be useful in life at least Myrtle would be valuable in death.

Myrtle would finally have achieved something with her death. The bespectacled, pathetic, sniffling crybaby would be given the honour of what many would beg for in the years to come.

Moaning Myrtle would become Tom Riddle's first Horcrux.

And how befitting was it that the very object that would hold a part of his soul for years to come just happened to be Cordelia Black's diary?

His smirk impossibly widened as Tom fell to his knees, choosing a position that wouldn't have him crashing to the ground due to the immeasurable pain that was bound to come.

He allowed himself one breath, then another, before quickly lifting his wand and jabbing its tip in the place his heart lay. Tom couldn't help but feel himself hesitate for a second as he contemplated everything that was to come. After all, the splitting of his soul was what would seal his fate, leaving no room to turn back or change his destiny.

However, as Tom thought back on everything he had ever considered important, he couldn't help but realise that he didn't really have a choice.

Not unless he was looking to become a Minister of Magic worthy of a Black witch's hand in marriage.

But Tom Riddle was different.

He didn't want to just elevate or improve this world, no, Tom wanted to destroy it and then relish in the dawn of the new age that would come after. An age of freedom and fright, one that was run with an iron fist. His iron fist.

Tom Riddle would become the Dark Lord others could only dream to be, for that was the only future that would truly satisfy him.

But for a moment, Tom allowed himself to be hypothetical.

To wonder what would happen if he really did become a golden boy and the perfect pureblood worthy of the affection of the only witch he had ever allowed himself to feel anything but annoyance for. And suddenly, things made sense. Their relationship, his future, the ministry, the reason behind his choice to steal and use Cordelia's diary for his Horcrux rather than his own.

Suddenly, as Tom felt a searing pain spread through his form and consume him, Tom understood why he was different. Even as he clenched his fists, grit his teeth and gasped in short puffs of air, Tom could see the image of a future he should have had, one that would be as perfect as him and Cordelia.

But then the pain ended, leaving room for the raw emptiness that a five-year-old Tom Riddle had cried himself to sleep thinking about.

And suddenly, as much as he despised himself for it, Tom stopped thinking about the future he should have wanted and started contemplating the one he would really have.

Because Tom Riddle was different.

He was a wizard amongst men and a monster amongst wizards.

Tom Riddle was a child of Amortentia and the heir to Salzar Slytherin's lineage, and just as he had two years ago, as the brunette rose from the floor with shaking hands that clutched a suddenly pristine diary, he couldn't help but let out a sigh as he felt the dawn of his new age rise.

For Tom Riddle was different, and he didn't plan to change that for anything or one.