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Tom Riddle has never been a normal boy. Perhaps that is why as the blade slices his arm to bring back the woman who almost killed him as an infant he accepts it in morbid fascination and curiosity. What will the Dark Lady look like when she raises from the couldron? Will her eyes be as Avada Kedavra green as has always been said? Will her skin have a slight tan to it like it used to or will the spell cause the newborn body to be pale? Will her hair be as dark a black as the arts Tom studies in his free time?
He has seen Harriet Potter in the form of a wraith and has come face to face with her beautiful teenage self. The diary had impressed Tom, drawn him in with haughty smiles and glinting green eyes. She had serenaded him with the sweet sounds of parseltongue.
“You truly are a sweet thing,” she croons, her sweet breath wafting over his face. He kicks up from his position on the ground near the insufferable Ginny Weasley and brings his lips to hers in a ferocious kiss. The young Dark Lady throws him back with a growl as Fawkes drops the Sorting Hat near his feet, Gryffindor’s Sword materializing in front of their eyes. Tom grins maniacally.
“How on earth…?” Harriet wonders aloud looking between the sword and the boy with the crazed look in his eyes. Tom carresses her cheek before hissing out in parseltongue, the language of love only the two of them share.
“Haven’t you heard, Sweetest? I’m a Gryffindor,” he Accios the sword into his hand as he approaches her, “and I promise I’ll restore your full self. I just am not quite finished playing the savior.” Harriet’s eyes are wide with curiosity and lust for power. Her lips tick up into an impressed grin.
He stabs her semi-formed body with Gryffindor’s sword, enjoying the hiss she lets out and follows her partway down as she collapses.
“You see, they have to believe I’ve saved Weaslette of my own volition. You understand don’t you?” Harriet smiles as he casts the incantation and places her back into her diary. A pang of loss rings in his heart.
So what will greet him now? He wonders since he’s affectively ruined the result by willingly giving his blood to the rat man. His blood still starts to boil at the thought of Peter Pettigrew and he hopes Harriet will gift the man to him as a sign of good will. It’s only fair since she killed his last plaything in the form of Cedric Diggory.
A body takes shape in front of him and long hair seems to sprout from the head as the shape becomes lithe and feminine in form, breasts and thighs taking shape before Tom Riddle’s very pubescent eyes. She quickly is covered by Pettigrew with a black robe that hides all of what fifteen year old Tom will obsess over for years to come.
Her beautiful stunning face opens those absurdly green eyes to apraise Tom before her. She seemingly glides along the snowy landscape, coming forward to stroke Tom’s cheek as he struggles against the statue holding him still.
He wants to kiss her again. To hold her and know that is with the only person worthy of him and his power. Dumbledore is a fool to think Tom will ever serve his cause when the Dark Lady is everything he could ever want. The taste of power permeates the air and he’s panting, completely aroused by the situation and the woman in front of him.
She clicks her tongue, healing the still heavily bleeding wound on Tom’s forearm, stroking the skin there afterwards as her gaze meets Tom’s. The heady impressed look the diary had given himbefore he trapped her again fills his vision once more. Stil ethereal.
“Oh,” she laughs delightedly, the sound gorgeous, “you’re like me, aren’t you?” A single dainty finger reaches out to touch Tom’s scar and instead of the intense pain he’s been faking for Dumbledore all these years, Tom’s body goes lax in immense pleasure. Harriet closes her eyes, feeling the joy and pleasure as well.
“I have seen your heart, Tom Riddle… And it is mine,” she places a kiss upon his scar before releasing him from the statue with a flair of her beautiful fingers. Tom drops to the ground ungracefully, licking his lips as he looks up to find her staring down at him.
In reality, he knows the Dark Lady should be around fifty years old, taking the mantle of the leader of dark wizards when the Dark Lord James Potter fell in her early years. The woman looks to be about twenty now, clearly the age she made the horcrux that stopped the aging process. Tom pauses after thinking of Harriet’s father. Does that make her a Princess? Tom thinks to himself that Princess is too precious, too cute.
Harriet Potter was always a Queen.
“You will take that cup and return to Hogwarts once my followers arrive and we briefly duel, but first… I should gift you with something, pet. Something to thank you for bringing back my entire body. I admit, the snake look I would have achieved otherwise would have been interesting, but I prefer my eyes this color, don’t you Tom?” She presses her wand into his hand, a sign of great trust that makes something dark curl in his gut and reveals Wormtail to his harsh gaze by stepping aside.
“Avada Kedavra,” he hisses between clenched teeth and the rat animagus falls down dead. Harriet lets out a delighted laugh and kisses his forehead.
“What a dark wizard you are, Tommy,” she croons and the woman walks over to the dead rat to press the wand she had deftly taken back into the flesh.
“I will duel you to keep up appearances and you will return to the meddling old fool. But soon Tom, soon you will be all mine.”
People in black robes surround them swiftly and Harriet greets her followers with flair and a threat of punishment. Tom listens and reacts when she finally turns her attention to him.
When Tom finally appears back at Hogwarts with the Triwizard Cup, he does so with his belly pressed into the cold earth. He lets a shiver and a smile wrack through him before he summons the ability to cry, falling apart at the death of Cedric and the return of his greatest enemy.
In the back of his mind though, he remains focused on the hissed parseltongue sentences that has his heartrate increased and a blush on his cheeks.
“Soon you will be all mine.”