Chapter Text
Tom Riddle marched down the second-floor corridor like the unquestioned king he was. Tonight was going to be a great night, a turning point and landmark in a life that would inevitably be chronicled in history books. In just a few short minutes, he would open the Chamber of Secrets from within its unassuming hiding place in a dingy girls’ bathroom, free Slytherin’s monster from its centuries-long sleep, and take the first steps toward claiming his rightful legacy. With indisputable proof of his heritage on his side, the remaining recalcitrant purebloods would easily fall in line, and from there his trajectory could only go up: wealth, power, influence, immortality secured by a magically-auspicious number of Horcruxes…
An earsplitting yowl interrupted his glorious musings, followed by rapid padding footsteps and, finally, a streak of orange darting around the corner and barreling toward him like a furry lightning bolt. He only just had time to recognize the creature as a cat (if it could be called that; it was one of the mixed-breed abominations so favored by the Gryffindors, with a tail resembling a toilet brush and a face even a mother cat would rightfully shun) before another one, this one unfortunately very familiar with its dun-gray coat and lamplike eyes, followed close on its heels, mewling more plaintively. The ginger furball tried to escape by leaping onto a tapestry, its claws shredding the priceless historic thread, only to lose purchase, tumble to the ground, and be immediately pounced upon by the pursuing Mrs. Norris.
(Ridiculous name for a cat, or any animal for that matter. Argus Filch was clearly as lacking in creative imagination as magical talent.)
Tom ignored the sounds of feline conflict now issuing from down the hall and made a break for the bathroom door, but it was too late; Mrs. Norris’s hateful master appeared at the opposite end of the corridor as if telepathically summoned, letting out a cry of distress as he rushed toward the whirling ball of flying claws and fur.
”Oh no, no, no, my sweet, is that awful tomcat bothering you again?” he crooned, carefully extracting his own familiar from the fray and cradling her in his arms. “Never fear, I’m here to protect you from all the nasty uncouth animals those horrid children bring into our castle—there, there now…”
He then proceeded to nuzzle the mangy thing against his cheek, completely oblivious to the fact that Mrs. Norris had undoubtedly been the instigator of the situation, and was now glaring balefully over his shoulder as the other cat made a hasty escape.
Slowly, carefully, Tom reached for the door handle and pressed it down without making a single creak, but Filch’s head snapped up as if at a disturbance in some force only he could sense, and trained his eyes on him.
”You!” he said, pointing a bony finger in Tom’s direction. “What are you doing here so late past curfew, hmm? Just standing here gawking while my sweetling was assaulted, the whole lot of you are absolutely useless, you might as well use those wands to pick your snotty noses for all the good they are—“
”With all due respect, sir,” Tom cleared his throat and slipped effortlessly into his practiced polite mask, “I was only performing a final patrol of the corridors before heading off to an early night myself, as is my duty as a prefect.” He fingered the prominent silver badge pinned to his chest with just the right amount of subtlety. “I was about to intervene in the…altercation with your cat, but it all happened so fast, you see.”
Filch visibly deflated at the legitimate excuse to be out of the dorms past nine in the evening, but he looked distinctly unhappy about it.
”A likely story,” he grumbled, lowering his accusing finger back to his side. “‘Patrolling’ indeed, in a deserted corridor outside a girls’ bathroom…prefect or no, you hormone-addled teenage boys are all absolutely disgusting, thank Merlin I never was one. Get back to your common room post hast, before I give you a detention scrubbing the toilets you seem so fond of—without magic. Go on, get moving!”
Tom swallowed down the impulse to say that he preferred those of his own gender just to watch the old man sputter, and fixed the smile on his face all the more securely. “As you say, sir. Have a wonderful night—and may I just say that I and my fellow Slytherins are grateful as always for all of the work you do to keep the castle immaculate.” He inclined his head, then turned on his heel and started back the way he came, ignoring Filch’s loud scoff behind him.
”I’ll have no funny business of any sort going on under my nose, you hear?” the horrible Squib called after him, the cat in his arms meowing in agreement. “I’m watching you, Riddle, always watching…” He proved this statement by standing in place until Tom rounded the corner, precluding any chance he might’ve had of circling back and still getting into the bathroom tonight.
The minute he was out of sight and earshot, Tom let out a snarl of frustration and shot a mild blasting charm at the wall, creating a scorch mark that would hopefully take Filch a good long time to scrub off when he discovered it tomorrow. He wasn’t on night patrol again until next Thursday and by then the professors would really be laying on the OWL preparation homework, this was a highly inconvenient disruption to his plans—
The ginger cat from before slunk out from behind a nearby suit of armor, head and tail held haughtily in the air as if offended by the noise Tom was making, and began winding itself around his legs in a figure-eight pattern.
”Oh, don’t you even dare try to get affection from me, you hateful creature,” he snapped, firmly pushing the animal away with the sole of his shoe. “You just had to drag your little lovers’ spat with the Squib’s pet here of all places, didn’t you? It’s a pity your kind are even allowed at Hogwarts, the most useless of the approved pets by far—owls can be trained, and even toads stay where they’re put!” Perhaps he was taking out his anger on the wrong target, but he couldn’t help but feel as if the cat had come between him and Salazar’s greatest achievement on purpose, out of sheer spite.
The cat arched its back and hissed as if it actually understood what he was saying—good, he hoped it did!—and padded away in the direction of, naturally, Gryffindor Tower. Tom, meanwhile, started the long trek back to the dungeons empty-handed.
*
In his agitated state, it took him an unusually long time to fall asleep that night, driven to near-distraction by the snores that Draco Malfoy always stridently denied during his waking hours. But when he did eventually drift off, he was greeted by a strange dream very unlike what he had come to expect from his well-ordered subconscious.
A towering figure, clad in long black robes and with a face blurred into indistinction, stood before him. Clustered around its feet—as well as cradled comfortably in its arms, perched on its shoulders, and curled up asleep in its voluminous hood—was a motley collection of cats in every size, color, and volume level, from gentle purring to loud yowling for attention.
“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” it intoned before Tom could even get a word out. “I have brought you here tonight because you have finally insulted me and my Laws to the point where I can no longer look the other way.”
”And who the bleedin’ hell are you to say so?” Tom retorted without thinking, then immediately flushed at the slip. Luckily a figment of his own mind couldn’t tell anyone about his native Cockney accent, he reassured himself.
”I go by many names,” the figure answered in a voice that was neither male nor female and seemed to echo and reverberate, not just in the empty space the two of them were standing in, but around the inside of Tom’s mind as well. “Thanatos, Mors, the Stranger, the rider on the pale horse—none of which capture the depths of my powers or the extent of my reach. The closest thing I have found to express my nature, in fact, is the capriciousness, indifference, and silent footsteps of my favorite of the mortal creatures.”
Here they paused, and affectionately rubbed behind the ears of a small white kitten tucked into the front of their robes.
”This is bollocks,” Tom spat, his faltering accent betraying the nervousness he refused to acknowledge. “You aren’t Death or whatever you call yourself, you’re just some nonsense my mind cooked up because that imbecile Filch stopped me from making a Horcrux tonight.”
The figure stilled, and the temperature in the room/space/void seemed to drop several degrees.
”Ah yes, the Horcrux that you are so intent upon making,” they said. “I could forgive your attempts to cheat my laws as a mere youthful folly, born from fear of my admittedly imposing spectre, and leave you to either grow out of such pretensions or learn the hard way, as Herpo the Foul did. But tonight, Tom Riddle, you went too far. You not only plotted to commit murder and split your soul—you insulted those who are most sacred and dear to me.”
Like some sort of demented hivemind, the cats crowding around the person’s feet turned as one toward Tom, flattening their ears against their heads and regarding him with narrowed, unblinking eyes. The thrumming purrs from within the dark robes ceased, and yet more eyes in shades of green and yellow peered out from the folds.
”Wait, so this is a dream about me being punished by Death themself because I, what, yelled at a cat?” he laughed incredulously. “I thought I had grown out of this sort of fanciful nonsense before I even left for Hogwarts. I must need to tune up my Occlumency walls again if I’m wasting my sleeping time on this.”
”Denial will not keep me out, nor will the petty cantrips of Mind Magic,” they continued stonily. “But since you are so eager to end our conversation, I will cut to the chase. Your transgressions against me will not go unpunished. When you wake from the arms of my gentler younger sibling Sleep, you will find yourself faced with the consequences of cursing my Chosen Children as”—here their voice abruptly changed, losing its inhuman echo and becoming a perfect imitation of Tom’s own—“useless and hateful creatures.” They practically hissed the last line, in unison with all two dozen-odd of their feline companions.
Tom was not unnerved. He was not. “Wonderful,” he said drily, clearing his throat to dislodge the odd lump that had formed there. “Very impressive. I can go now, yes? You’re finished sorting this experience into my memory banks, or whatever it is the ridiculous Muggles say that dreams are for?”
Though the figure’s features remained shadowed behind their hood, he caught a very clear flash of a smile, curved like a scythe and formed of teeth that were too sharp, too white—and too many for anything human.
“Goodbye for now, Tom Riddle,” was their only answer. “I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you again soon—and with a newfound appreciation for me and those within my favor, if you know what’s good for you.”
And with that, they spun around, robes billowing dramatically in a way even Professor Snape would envy. The fabric seemed to expand, filling up the space they occupied, sweeping up the figure, the cats, and Tom himself, until his vision was full of nothing but the blackness of a starless night on the new moon, and he remembered no more after that.