Chapter Text
When Riddle began to wake up, his head felt like it weighed a ton. He groaned and buried his face deeper into the pillow, trying to will the pounding headache to go away. When it became clear that wasn’t working, Riddle attempted to sit up, the room thankfully being dark enough to open his eyes without his headache worsening. On top of the headache, his mouth felt dry…a bitter taste on his tongue. He swallowed thickly, trying to moisten his mouth, but paused when he was met with a resistance he hadn’t expected. It felt like he couldn’t swallow properly, but not as if he had a sore throat. It felt like something was wrapped around his neck.
Quickly, he moved his hands to his throat, freezing when he felt cold metal rather than skin. The redhead tried to find some kind of latch or clasp to remove whatever it was, but found nothing he could grasp. As he ran his fingers along it, he was eerily reminded of the collar he’d worn during his time at STYX.
“How…?”
Riddle’s eyes adjusted and he attempted to get a good look around the room he was in. Last he’d remembered, he’d gone to bed after not feeling well…and even in the dark he was able to see this definitely wasn’t his room.
The bed he was sitting on was much smaller than his bed at home, resembling a twin bed more than his full sized one. The nightstand by it was small, but had a pitcher and a glass of water sitting on it, which Riddle hesitated to grab and drink. He didn’t know where he was, and he didn’t know if he could trust it.
Bringing the glass to his nose, he sniffed cautiously, and only took a sip when he couldn’t find anything off. It was, indeed, normal water, and it immediately made his throat feel better; washing that bitter taste away. Swallowing still felt awkward.
Putting the glass down, Riddle continued to try and decipher his surroundings. Getting up, he paused when he felt warm carpet under his feet, which were bare. Still dark, Riddle found the wall and ran his hands along it until he found something resembling a light switch, flipping it up as soon as he found it. Bright light made him squeeze his eyes shut again tightly, waiting a handful of seconds before opening them again.
Like he thought, this room wasn’t his bedroom at all. It was around the same size, but that was it. On the walls were shelves lined with books, and Riddle could see upon further inspection that the shelves were bolted to the wall. There was a dresser at the foot of the bed, and in one corner was a desk with a chair. A lamp, along with a stack of paper and some writing utensils, were on the desk; as if ready for someone to sit and work. Riddle couldn’t help but note that there were no windows in this room, but there were two doors. Hurrying to the first door by the dresser, he opened it to find a small bathroom that only held the essentials; a toilet, a sink, and a shower. Under the sink was a basket Riddle could only guess was for laundry, while a towel rack was above the toilet.
The bathroom, like the other, had no windows; but Riddle also noticed that it had no mirror. His gaze narrowed at that. Looking back into the other room, he noted that there was no mirror in there, as well.
Crossing the room, he headed for the other door, grabbing the handle and attempting to open it. This one opened…to a space no bigger than a closet, but had another door across from this one. That door, however, appeared to be made of metal. There was a slot towards the upper half of the door that was closed, while a small hatch resembling a doggy door was on the bottom; also closed. There was also no handle or knob.
Slowly, Riddle approached it, the cold concrete of the floor in this room sending a chill up his spine. Pressing his hands against the metal, he pushed as hard as he could but was met with nothing but resistance. Even when he pushed his whole upper body against it, the door refused to budge; clearly created with the sole purpose of keeping whoever was on this side stuck in place.
Panic starting to well in him at the situation, the redhead banged on the door, hard enough that his fists throbbed with pain afterward.
“Hey! Whoever’s out there, open this door! Immediately!”
He was met with silence that seemed to settle into his very soul, his gut tightening with fear. Had someone taken him while he was asleep? No…mother wouldn’t have let anyone get past her to get to him…
Unless something happened to mother?
Riddle quickly patted himself down, searching his pajama pockets for his magic pen; if force wouldn’t work, maybe magic would. But he couldn’t find his pen on his person. Trying to remain calm, Riddle hurried to the other room, looking around for any place the pen may have been placed. A quick search proved the effort fruitless, and it made Riddle feel foolish for even trying in the first place. Of course whoever took him would deny him access to the pen. Without it he risked overblot.
But even if he did have his pen, he doubted he’d be able to use his magic anyway. His fingers traced the metal choker around his neck, the second year student now sure that this really was just like the one he’d worn at STYX. Looking towards the door, he decided to try it. He’d risk overblot if he didn’t have his pen, but given the circumstances, it was a risk he’d have to be willing to take.
All his focus, though, amounted to nothing; proving that he was right. His magic was sealed.
Walking back towards the door, feeling as though a heavy weight was crushing his chest, Riddle brought his hand back up. This time he started by knocking gently…but as the reality of the situation began to hit him, those knocks started getting more violent; until the redhead was full on pounding on the door with both of his fists again. Hot tears pricked at his eyes, spilling down his cheeks.
He had been abducted, cut off from his magic, locked in a room, and given no way to communicate. No electronics and no mirrors, either. He also had no idea what happened to mother. Was she taken, too? Or worse in order to get to him?
For once, Riddle didn’t know what to do…
The redhead’s body slid down the metal door, his skin squeaking against the cold material until he was curled up in a ball on the floor; his back pressed against the door. He wrapped his arms around his legs, his face buried in his knees as he cried.
Whoever took him, what did they even want? Would the authorities be able to find him? His family? His friends?
What was going to happen to him?