BIG A/n: This is AU. WARNGING; AU!!! Meaning? Things will NOT follow the book. In fact, ignore everything you know about Harry Potter. Alright? It will make it easier. There will be some characters from Canon in Riddle’s time… like Harry (Altair) for example. In this story, he’s born a few decades earlier. Perhaps Hermione as well. Things WILL NOT FOLLOW THE BOOK. On that note, if people complain about the odd ins and outs not adding up to Potter universe, I will ignore it entirely or direct you to this note.

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Summary: He wore dirty glasses. He tripped on his own shoes, yet no one seemed to notice him. He was my own personal enigma and my prey. Beneath that façade shines brilliance and power, something I need to discover and reveal on my own.

Thanks to Aariya07 who helped edit this chapter.

Goddess of Imaginary Light

Chapter One: Field of Paper Flowers

It was the end of the school year. Hogwarts was abuzz and the students were rushing to cram in as much studies as they could before the exams. Fifth and seventh years had it the worst, with N.E.W.T.s and O.W.L.s. The other age groups refused to let the exams ruin their last week at school. Instead, they chose to slack off and get the last chance of visiting among their friends before they left for the summer.

It was the last Sunday before exam week and the students were gathered in the Great Hall, enjoying supper.

Tom Riddle, in particular, was having a more than satisfying dinner. He never had anything less than the best. Eyeing the Slytherins, his lip quirked upward slightly. He had them all in his fist. All of them would be worthy allies in the near future; he made sure as such. Only the smartest, only the most powerful and influential wizards were meant to follow him. And they all were.

Blake Rosier sat to his right, proud and stiff. Rosier was perhaps his most powerful and trusted follower, one that knew when to shut his mouth and when to advise Tom on issues. Issac Malfoy was the next most influential wizard, coming from a powerful line of pureblood wizards. He only expected the best to follow him. No one less.

He would have one year left after this year. It would be his seventh and final year at Hogwarts. It was that year in which he had to make more of an effort at courting. Granted, he had many Ravenclaws and a few Hufflepuffs, but there were some Gryffindor’s that he wanted to set his sights on. He already had a good fist full of lions, but he wanted more.

Calmly eating his plate of dinner, he allowed his eyes to assess the Gryffindor table. The four Weasleys wouldn’t do. They were far too bred in their morals and would see his regime as a threat. But there were other Gryffindors that may not be as influenced. Longbottom was too worried about not tripping over his own feet to care about what his family motto was. And there was Brendan Cohr. Cohr was a sixth year Gryffindor who seemed lost in the clouds. Yet, he was brilliant at Charms, one of the only ones who excelled more significantly than the other students.

But then…

His eyes narrowed in on a small shape huddled between two larger bodies. Throughout his years at Hogwarts, he had always focused on the older students that stood out. Most of those that had graduated already knew of him and his talents; and that’s how he wanted it to be. But he had to direct his sights on the younger students now, for he would be leaving after next year. And that…boy… he had never seen him, never noticed him.

“Who is that?” He drawled nonchalantly toward Issac Malfoy. The blond knew everyone in the wizarding world, a very useful talent.

Issac looked up and toward the Gryffindor table. “Which one?” His silver eyes raked over the students, studying their postures.

“The small boy between Longbottom and Cohr.” Looking closer at the boy, Tom took interest in studying his appearance. The Gryffindor had his head bowed, showing off his unruly black hair. His stature was petite, if not smaller, and his features were rather pale and sharp—covered by thick and large glasses. The glasses themselves were rather foggy and dirty, hiding the color of his eyes.

He looked like a weak and pathetic thing. Almost as if anything could push him over, whether it be a spell or the wind. His plate of dinner was pushed aside and he favored a thick book on potions.

Turning away from the pathetic sight, Tom surveyed Issac as his aristocratic face frowned in consideration. The Malfoy heir knew everyone, yet it appeared as if he were struggling to remember who the small boy was.

“Altair Afton,” a voice spoke up before Issac. Tom raised his eyebrows in displeasure at Malfoy. What use was having Malfoy around if he couldn’t do his job? He turned toward the speaker, studying Blake Rosier. The brown-haired wizard continued eating in a bored fashion. “The boy is a sixth year, like us.” Here, Blake’s lips thinned and dark eyes turned to stare lightly at Tom. “He’s the definition of our enemy. A Mudblood, weak, pathetic, unintelligent… He is a boy you shouldn’t even waste your glance on, My Lord.” Blake whispered softly, going back to his meal.

Tom remained silent, sneering lightly at the Gryffindor. Blake was correct in assuming Afton didn’t deserve another glance. Mudbloods like that went against everything Salazar Slytherin wanted in the wizarding world.

Yet, he couldn’t help himself as he watched Afton close his potions book and stand up ungracefully. The boy’s robes were secondhand, dull and ratty, if not a few inches too long. Because of that, the Gryffindor tripped on the hem of his robes. The boy, Altair, was so invisible to his classmates that the girls didn’t giggle and the boys hardly noticed a light breeze. It was odd how someone could dwell so deep in the shadows, even among his House.

Hogwarts was supposed to be a place to shine, a place to show your status among your peers, to make everything out of your schooling. But Afton, the pathetic wizard, was doing the exact opposite.

Flashing the retreating boy a look, Tom went back to his dinner, putting the Gryffindor out of his mind.

--GIL--

He said he would put the Gryffindor out of his mind again, but he found himself just as intrigued later that night.

He had exams to study for. Because of that, he escaped his followers and entered the library. It was supposed to close in a few minutes, but Tom was confident enough that Madam Yolla would excuse him in order to look for a few books. After all, he was a Prefect and Madam Yolla seemed to be rather taken with him. It was a pity she was a Mudblood, she could have been halfway decent within his ranks.

Breathing deeply and eyes flashing, he stared at the empty slot in which his book was supposed to be. MadamYolla confirmed that the book was here, present, and ready to be checked out. He needed that book to study for Transfiguration.

Fists clenching at his sides, he tried to control his breathing and temper.

Just as he was about to approach Madam Yolla and demand the whereabouts of the text, he heard a soft humming echo eerily across the library. Slowly moving deeper into the library, he curled his long fingers around the bookcase, leaned forward, and caught the sight of a wizard pacing slowly back and forth, humming.

Tom licked his lips, his eyes hungry as he assessed the small wizard. It was that boy, that Gryffindor Mudblood. Only, it wasn’t.

The Mudblood from dinner was gone and in his place was a gorgeous wizard, full of confidence and power. He wasn’t moving ungracefully or awkwardly; instead, his movements were fluid and graceful as he swept back and forth. The small shoulders were thrust back, not forward. A text, looking suspiciously like the one Tom desired, was held loosely in the tapered fingers. The humming coming from the boy seemed to croon to the book, his divine lips just barely moving.

But the aspect Tom dwelled on the most was the lack of glasses. Afton was reading, yet his eyes weren’t scrunched up as though he lost his glasses but instead he looked just fine reading without them. The repulsive glasses were in his pocket, just peeking out of the top. Odd.

Tom eyed the now spectacleless face, wondering why the wizard chose to wear such hideous things.

The Gryffindor ceased his humming and his shoulders tensed. Almost as quick as a serpent, the boy snapped his head around, locking eyes on Tom.

And for the first time in his life, Tom was breathless and taken aback. Eyes, so green, seemed to pierce straight through him, discovering all his secrets. But he was quick to look away. Rather awkwardly, he turned his back to the bookshelf, running his fingers across the spine of the books at the opposite shelf.

His body was here, yet his mind was elsewhere. Those eyes… they were…breathtaking and so vivid. He had never seen anything like it before. But why was Afton hiding such beauty? Such confidence? Why was he posing as a pathetic Mudblood that fought tooth and nail just to be one of the average wizards?

Behind him, he heard the unmistakable sound of shoes scuffing the wooden floor. If it had been anytime sooner, before he’d seen Altair Afton humming, such lumbering movements would have disgusted him. But now-…now he was irritated and confused. And he despised it when he was clueless. He had to know everything, everyone; he had to hold power over the living.

A throat cleared next to him and Tom took his time glancing down his nose at the short wizard. The foggy and dirty glasses were back on Afton’s face, hiding the brilliant green behind them. He was nibbling his bottom lip, looking shy and awkward. “Need help finding something?” His voice was soft and hesitant. The fingers were shaking on the book, fidgeting.

Clenching his jaw, Tom turned to face forward once again, dismissing the fool. An abrupt tactic wouldn’t work on Altair Afton, he was sure of it. If he demanded to know why the boy was hiding his ability, his true self, the Gryffindor would deny everything. Perhaps stay far away from Tom as possible. He couldn’t have that. No, subtle approaches would be best around this Gryffindor. Rather ironic, considering it was the way to approach a Slytherin.

He didn’t know what to think of Afton.

It upset him.

For a moment, he considered forgetting the mystery that was Altair Afton and continuing forward on making better and obvious allies. But giving up was never his method. He would always solve enigmas that mystified him.

“Yes, actually,” Tom spoke crisply, arrogantly. “I was looking for the book you are holding in your hands.”

Turning toward the petite wizard, Tom assessed him coldly. Mudblood. Should he even waste his time on such dirt? Such filth? The boy was obviously not afraid of what his image said to the rest of the wizarding world; what with those robes, those glasses, and that pathetic walk he had. Should Tom even bother?

“Ah,” Afton whispered again, grinding on Tom’s nerves. “You can have it if you’d like.” Small hands raised the heavy book toward Tom’s face, successfully blocking his own expression.

Tom grinned slightly, pushing the book down gently, staring into the dirty glasses. “We both need it, perhaps we can study together.” He lowered his voice and gave a crooked grin. He was used to using his charm to get what he wanted and everyone always became putty in his hands.

He wasn’t a sexual person. In fact, the thought of allowing someone leeway into his bed made him shiver with disgust. No one was good enough to share his bed, no matter how quick it was. Sleeping with or fucking someone meant an emotional tie. It didn’t matter if one partner or both thought of it as nothing but a release, because there was always that small tie. He didn’t want anyone to think he held them equal to him by bedding them.

He didn’t have lovers. He didn’t have friends. He never would. He didn’t need any of those attachments because all he needed were servants and followers. Granted, he gave off sexual vibes to court a few wizards and witches, but he always left them craving for more. It was the way it should be done.

Afton sniffed, hunching in on himself again like a self-conscious Gryffindor. “I think you need the book more than I do.” He was unfazed by Tom’s charm.

Before he knew it, the Transfiguration book was in his hands and the small wizard was stumbling away. “Afton,” Tom called toward the retreating back. “That’s your name, correct?”

The boy turned his head slightly, a light grin on his face. “Perhaps, Riddle, you don’t know as much as you think you do.” There was that confidence again, but it all disappeared as he turned back around, exiting the library in an ungraceful fashion.

Staring, Tom controlled himself and his anger.

“I hope you weren’t doing what I think you were doing, My Lord.” Blake Rosier stepped toward Tom, his voice low. “You are wasting your time on him.”

“How do you know so much about him, Rosier?” Tom drawled, caressing the book in his hands with the pads of his thumbs.

Rosier shrugged, giving a small smirk. “I tried to befriend him a few years back after I saw his true self, as you just did. But it was all for naught. He’s a closed wall, completely blocked. I started to realize that maybe that wasn’t his true self that day; maybe he was trying to act confident when no one was around. I think he’s a closed off wall because he’s thick and stupid. He has nothing to hide and he has no secrets you would be interested in.” Rosier grinned. “Trust me when I say, you would have more luck with the Weasleys than you would with Altair Afton.”

Narrowing his eyes at his right hand man, Tom took a step closer. “You’re hiding something, Rosier.” He whispered dangerously. Rosier paled, his handsome features twisting in denial. “But I’m not going to force it out of you because I want to know for myself. Just know…” he reached across the unoccupied space and stroked Rosier’s cheek, “just know this will be a mark against you.”

“My Lord,” Rosier stiffened slightly, his boyish eyes widening slightly. “I-I am not hiding anything.”

The fingers on Rosier’s cheek tightened until they pinched the skin. The shorter wizard winced lightly. “Do not dig your grave deeper by lying to me, Rosier. It’s disrespectful to my intelligence.” He breathed lowly in the shorter boy’s face as he felt the unmistakable urge of his magic. He wanted to curse, he wanted to harm, but he would let his right hand man off with a mere warning.

“My Lord, I apologize.”

Vision turning red, Tom threw Rosier against the bookshelf, enjoying the heavy bump he heard from the collision. “Don’t think I believe your apology.” He crouched down, eyes intent on the mockingly innocent face looking up at him. “You’re playing a dangerous game with me, Rosier. Let’s hope you do not fall from your honored position.” He eyed the crimson blood on the boy’s cheek and smirked. “You will see that I can have anyone on my side.”

“Such a wizard as Afton will be a stain on your reputation, My Lord.” Rosier rasped. “Your followers will not approve of such dirty blood.”

“And my followers will learn loyalty. No matter what I decide to do, they should be backing me, should they not?”

Rosier threw his head back, the small stream of blood falling into his mouth. “He stands for everything you don’t believe in!” Within seconds, the rising Dark Lord’s wand was pressed into Rosier’s throat, prodding the larynx. It cut off the air to the wounded wizard’s throat.

“Soon, you will learn your rightful place. Be very happy Hogwarts senses the Crucio, because that is what’s saving you from being cursed into insanity.” With a rather harsh poke with his wand, Tom stood up, brushing his robes. “Pick up this mess,” Tom indicated toward the fallen books. “And pick up your lack of dignity.”

With a sneer toward his right hand man, Tom exited the long aisle of books and made his way toward the librarian.

Rosier’s actions were a good example of why Tom claimed him as his right hand. No one else had the decency to argue or talk back, no one but Blake Rosier. Tom just hoped the boy wouldn’t overstep his boundaries. Because when he did, Tom would find it tiring to give out so many warnings. He would just strike to kill.

What the boy said about allying Afton in his ranks was true, however Altair Afton stood for everything he hated, everything his followers hated. No matter how much sense Rosier made, Tom refused to drop his fascination with the small Gryffindor.

There was just something there that itched at Tom. And, usually, his conscience was always in the right.

But the bigger challenge was how he was going to sink his fangs into his prey.

--GIL--

Altair Afton.

He hated that name. With a passion, he hated the boy—everything about the boy.

It had been two days since the library incident and Tom was reduced to stalking the petite wizard. He could have had his followers do the job, but, quite frankly, he didn’t believe they would see the slips he saw in Afton or the clues that pointed toward a façade.

Almost as though the boy knew Tom was looking, he made a show of being more awkward and boring than usual. The Gryffindor seemed to take a liking to pushing up his glasses with his pinky and biting his bottom lip, but never piercing the skin. He would always trip twice in the corridors, never more, never less. He never raised his head in class, keeping it down at his notes for the majority of the time and digging through his bag the remainder of the time. Ink always stained his fingers and the teachers never called on him. His face, by the end of the day, would be reduced to ink smudges around his dirty glasses.

His left shoe was always untied.

His face always seemed to screw up in concentration as he was reading; almost as if he were having difficulty seeing through the glasses.

He never ate. Hardly anything, almost as if he were cutting down each day it got closer to the summer.

It was impossible to get anything on the boy when he was so boring. There were never any friends Afton would talk with, not even his own Housemates. His Gryffindor tie was always askew and loosely knotted, as if he had trouble tying a tie. Never once did Tom see the boy smile or grin.

Always a frown or a grimace.

It was boring and rather routine. He understood now, why Rosier grew bored with watching Afton and claimed the boy was just naturally like this. It was far too habitual to be normal. No, Afton was acting and he was acting brilliantly.

Tom was sitting at dinner once again, looking over at Afton with a nonchalant air about him. He didn’t want anyone to know of his fascination, or his interest, but he caught something that was out of routine.

Afton was staring at the ceiling, his glasses veiling the green brilliance of his eyes. Rather suddenly, he bowed his head, looking toward the Ravenclaw table. Tom slyly looked to where the Gryffindor was staring at, only to see a young girl with long blonde hair. She was just as small as Afton was, not looking a day over thirteen. A dreamy smile crossed her face as she turned away from Altair and further down the table.

Another Ravenclaw female met her eyes, a rather pretty and well-known Mudblood, Hermione Granger. She flashed the blonde Ravenclaw a grin, turning to look at the Slytherin table. Tom tensed as Granger looked close towards him, but passed his form quickly and landed on a fifth year male by the name of Zachariah Phenner. The Slytherin wasn’t very notable in his House and tended to blend in with the rest of his classmates. There were rumors that he was a Mudblood, but he claimed he was a well-known halfblood.

Zachariah gave a nod, turning to look over his shoulder back at the Gryffindor table. Who else to catch the Slytherin’s eye than Brendan Cohr? The Charms prodigy grinned stupidly, his head always in the clouds, and winked down back at Afton.

Tom inhaled deeply, burying his head closer to his plate. What the bloody hell was that? It appeared as if they were signaling to each other. How could five students, who had never been seen talking, have a secret gesture?

Tom chuckled, eyes glittering as he eyed Zachariah Phenner. The boy was in his House. His follower. And he was also Tom’s way to Afton.

Things just looked up.

--GIL--

“Where are you going?” He whispered softly, startling the fifteen-year-old Slytherin. The boy turned around, eyeing Tom with bright blue eyes.

“To study with my friends,” he bowed his head, uncertain. Tom had enough of this act. He didn’t know if Zachariah was like Afton, covering his true self under a nervous boy, or if he was really this pathetic. No matter.

“I’d like to meet Altair,” Tom said bluntly. “I want to see him.”

Zachariah’s eyes widened a fraction and the redheaded boy blinked up at Tom. “He…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Feeling the familiar rage boil, Tom hissed through his teeth, startling the Slytherin. “I know about your meetings with Cohr, Lovegood, Granger, and Afton. I’ve allowed your secret group to meet, but now I want a part in the group.”

“You knew?” Zachariah exclaimed, looking around at the empty corridor. “But…how?”

He didn’t really know about the meetings, but Tom went along with his suppositions. According to Phenner’s reaction, his assumptions were correct. They were meeting for reasons unknown to him. Why would they form a group and attempt to avoid each other during the school day? Never once did he see Afton accompany any of the four wizards and witches in-between classes or even in classes.

Tom gave a thin smile, causing Zachariah to take a cautious step back. “I just know these things, Zachariah,” he purred, eyes alight. “Now are you going to take me with you, or do you want me to tell Headmaster Dippet that you are dabbling in secret societies?” The boy’s face paled, yet the tips of his ears were flushed.

“All right…I mean, it’s just odd that you want to join us.” The fifth year Slytherin turned his back hesitantly on Tom and led him through the darkened corridors. “A couple of us have always expressed we want you in our group, but Altair was always against it.”

“Really now?” Tom slurred, looking bored. But he was intrigued. “And why did you want me to join your little group?” The redhead turned darker in the face, as if he were insulted by Tom’s petty words describing his ‘group’.

“Well,” he shrugged, “you’re one of the most popular wizards in Hogwarts, and the smartest...and probably the most known powerful.” Dark eyes narrowed on the fifth year. Known powerful wizard? Tom was the most powerful wizard in Hogwarts. “I just think you would make a brilliant addition to our group.”

“And why does Afton think it’s not a good idea?”

Zachariah looked uncomfortable. “Well, he just…I’ll let him explain to you.”

He took a sharp turn, going down an unused part of the third floor. They stopped at the door on the end. His clear blue eyes looked back at Tom with uncertainty, but then he turned back around, giving three sharp knocks to the door.

Tom leaned back on his heels, repressing a smirk. This was far too easy.

The door opened, revealing the real Altair Afton. No dirty glasses, no hunched form. Green eyes widened a fraction before narrowing into slits as he caught sight of a smirking Tom.

“No.” He said sharply, his fingers curling on the door. “Absolutely not.”

“Har-Altair, please, I-,”

“No.”

And then the door slammed shut on both the Slytherins. Tom crossed his arms over his chest, feeling his anger rise. Who did that small, scrawny-looking Gryffindor think he was to treat him like filth? Tom’s lips thinned as Phenner peered up at him with pity. “I told you he wouldn’t allow you inside.”

Before Tom could throw the foolish Slytherin aside, the door opened once again, revealing Hermione Granger. She assessed Tom coldly but held open the door for the both of them. “Behave and we won’t fight back.” She warned, sparking amusement from Tom. There would never be a fair fight. He could easily disarm and slaughter all of them.

Foolish Mudblood.

Far too trusting.

Nonetheless, Tom gracefully stepped into the room, eyeing his small prey from across the room.

A/n: Yes. Before you ask- I’m going to finish every one of my stories. I’m kind of on a writers block with SSC, but nonetheless, I still have about two chapters left of that. And I will be doing CBtS as well- and FS. But I just had this… really big bunny that wouldn’t leave me.

There won’t be much Harry’s/Altair’s point of view. He’s a mystery and he has a lot of things Tom (and you guys) needs to find out for himself/yourself. Hmm. There will be some dark aspects in this fic, so if you’re ill at the idea of a semi-dark story, then I suggest you’d not continue.