Author's Note – Alright, so this is the last 'interview' I'm going to do. To be frank, my enthusiasm has worn off and I probably need to spend more time on my other fics, but I couldn't finish without doing Voldemort. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! And yeah, he's OOC.
Chapter 5 – Tom Riddle
"Tom, darling!" was the first thing he was greeted with. And that was really not the first thing he wanted to hear. For a start, he'd got rid of that pathetic Muggle name, Tom, years ago. And who the fuck would have the temerity to call him darling? Certainly not anyone who wanted to live, he thought darkly. In fact, when he got free, he was personally going to hurt this girl. Wait. 'Got free?' He growled. Oh, she was definitely going to be hurt; he'd found a lovely little curse the other day that apparently felt as if one's flesh was being stripped from their bones and he hadn't had the chance to use it yet. She would be a perfect test subject, he thought with a smirk.
"Really, Tom, you would be useless at poker. Your face is like an open book, and I can quite clearly see your glee as you think of ways to torture me," the girl said with some amusement. "Now, I think it's time for introductions. After all, I'm sure it gets rather repetitive having to repeat 'that girl' in your plans for me. I am Alhena. And, of course, you are Tom Riddle. Any questions?"
Tom simply stared at her. His red eyes usually, well, always alarmed people. With their crimson intensity and the obvious malevolent intentions behind them, they were an effective way of forcing confessions from prisoners and Death Eaters alike. But it wasn't working on this girl: that was...interesting, to say the least. What kind of power did she have, that could fight him; the most powerful Dark Lord in centuries!
"What are you?" he asked suddenly. "Pureblood, halfblood, or Mudblood?"
"None of them, actually," the girl replied. "I'm a Muggle, I suppose." Her eyes glinted with some sort of hidden amusement and that irritated him for no apparent reason. How dare she laugh at him? He could kill her within seconds, and she dared to mock him? And she had no magical power so how could she even consider mocking him, unless she had some sort of death wish. He made a small movement of frustration, but felt something around his upper body. So that was how she could mock him yet be safe. He was tied to a chair. The Dark Lord was tied to a fucking chair.
"Ok," the girl said decisively, "could you tell me what the date was when you were last awake? I wasn't quite sure when I took you from. Obviously," she said, her eyes narrowing as she studied him, "it was before 1981."
"What would 1981 have to do with anything?" Tom questioned. "What happens in 1981? Some sort of ritual, perhaps, that changes me, judging by your take-in of my appearance," he finished, with a little smirk.
"Wait, are you implying that I just checked you out?" Alhena asked in disbelief. "Oh, no! You're like sixty years older than me."
"And remarkably well-preserved, I think you'll find," Tom added smoothly. The girl simply stared at him in incredulity.
"You're trying to flirt with me now? That's just way too bipolar for you!" she croaked out. "Actually, can we please just get our minds of this disturbing turn that this conversation appears to have taken? So, a date please?"
"This Friday?" he asked, with charm and extra sprinkles of more charm for good effect. If he had copied that Blond(?) fellow correctly, then it should be right about now that she succumbed to his charms and released him so he was able to make good his escape. Now? Apparently not, judging by the glare she was sending him.
"The date that you last remember," she said, through gritted teeth.
"Oh, why didn't you say so?" Tom chuckled falsely. "I believe it was the 7th November of 1978."
"Oh, right," the girl commented, scribbling something down on a pad of paper lying on the desk in front of her. Tom took the chance to look round the room. It was sparsely decorated, with only a few paintings lining the walls, and even those were the mundane paintings that one might find in an office. The walls themselves were a nondescript cream colour, although they did complement the royal blue carpet. The only pieces of furniture were Alhena's desk, chair and Tom's chair. Again, they were commonplace furnishings, and revealed absolutely nothing about the girl in front of him. There had to be something. There had to be something that he could use as a weakness, to try and escape from here. And then, to have his vengeance on the Muggle that had dared to tie him to a chair. Muahahahaha! Now she was giving him an odd look. Oh damn, Tom thought miserably. He should remember not to do his evil laughter out loud; it did garner him a few fearful and pitying looks when he was out in public. Fear was acceptable. Pity was most certainly not.
"So," he started casually. "Nice place. It's very...groovy?"
The girl simply shot him a look of amusement, and was that pity? "Completely disregarding that fact that you've just called the office groovy, let's start a little conversation, shall we. After all, I know nothing about you."
"Wait," Tom asked, slightly confused. "I don't get to question you? That's not fair!"
The girl grinned predatorily. "Of course not. That would take all the fun out of it, wouldn't it? So. First question: favourite colour?" she asked, looking across at him expectantly. "Blue, silver, green, lilac...? Any particular preference?"
"Stop. Please, just stop. You are asking me nonsensical questions, because it's...fun?" He was so damn confused, it was unbelievable. He hadn't been this confused since he'd tried to give himself a name in order to strike fear and horror into the minds of the people of the wizarding world. And he had succeeded with 'Lord Voldemort.'
It was probably just as well that Tom could not speak French. Had he had some knowledge of the language, he might have had to change it; after all, 'Voldemort' can also mean 'flight from death' as well as 'flight of death.'
"Fine," she pouted. "Take all the fun out of it then. Ok. Second question: how do you see yourself in ten years time? And this isn't nonsensical, by the way. And that's because I say so," Alhena stated, raising an eyebrow as if daring him to make a comment.
Tom perked up. Now this was a question that he could answer. "Well," he started thoughtfully, "it would be November 1988, and I suppose I would be well on my way to conquering Muggle England. After all, I had a schedule drawn up; wizarding England would be taken over by 1985 at the latest. You see, Hogwarts would probably take some time to fall, due to the Headmaster being that aggravating pest, Dumbledore. Well, obviously, with myself as the Minister of Magic, I would use those resources to have Hogwarts crumble. And then, all the propaganda goes out, and naturally it would have the children believing that I deserve to be there, and so the next generation would be my supporters. And then, I would start putting my supporters into the Muggle parliament, so I could eventually have one of my minions become Prime Minister, and so we would effectively rule Britain. And that's the plan, really."
The girl simply stared at him, gobsmacked. "That's rather...scary," she eventually said, her eyes wide open in slight fear. Tom smirked. He was so awesome.
Five minutes later, another word had not yet been exchanged between them. Tom was humming off-tune and the girl across from him was still scribbling stuff down, before flicking back a couple of a pages. She smirked. He paled.
"Do you know," she started casually, "a Bellatrix Black, or is it Lestrange now?"
"Why?" he immediately asked. If it had something to do with her smirking and Bellatrix Lestrange, then nothing from that combination could ever be good. Even if they started a partnership to create the cutest and cuddliest pets ever. Tom just knew that animals from that unholy union would go insane and rule the world, after the obligatory revolution, naturally.
"Ah, so you do know her!" Alhena exclaimed.
"How did you decide that? I never said whether I knew her or not," Tom replied quickly.
"It was your expression." Alhena stated. "Yeah, that kind of said it all really...the recognition, the fear, slight respect, and a hint of 'she's crazy!' Ergo, you know her."
When she put it like that, Tom reflected, she was quite...right. All of those emotions he associated with Mrs Lestrange.
"She thinks you're hot," appeared to be the only explanation for the subject of Bellatrix Lestrange being brought into conversation.
"I beg your pardon!" Tom spluttered. "She thinks 'I'm hot?' I most certainly am not! I have a perfect body temperature for my species."
Alhena was staring at him in alarm. "Body temperature? What are you on about?"
They both stared at each other in companionable confusion for a while before Tom finally broke the silence. "I think this might be a generational thing, where colloquialism has evolved to taking the weather as part of it," Tom explained.
"Oh. Well, 'hot' in my time means 'handsome.'"
"She thinks I'm good-looking?" Tom preened. "Oh, how lovely."
The two sat together in a companionable silence, although it was slightly uncomfortable after the oddness of Tom's last remark, before a noise that appeared to be coming from nowhere started blaring, startling the pair of them.
"Oh, there's the alarm," the girl said, almost disappointedly.
He cocked an eyebrow in question. She seemed to be almost...unhappy to have him go? Odd, really. Most people screamed in misery and wished they were anywhere else when he was around. Even the Death Eaters. Pity, he thought mournfully. You couldn't find good minions anywhere these days.
"Oh, it means I must return you now to your world," Alhena explained. "Otherwise, I guess bad things happen? Or you die, but I suppose it wouldn't kill you; I mean, your Horcruxes and all. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, I guess."
He would have bolted up out of his chair, had he not been tied to it. "How do you know about them?"
"You're telling me," she started slowly, "that you haven't picked up on any of the clues that I've given to you?" His face was a picture to behold; there was fury mixed with dawning curiosity.
"Well, too late for any explanations now," the girl exclaimed cheerfully, taking out a wand, and that flickered in the back of Tom's mind – wait, Muggle, wand? – but he shoved it to one side.
"Wait!" Tom shouted desperately. "How do you know?"
He was answered with an 'Obliviate!'
Tom Riddle bolted upright in his bed. Wait, bed? What about the chair? Wait again; why should he be thinking of a chair? Drowsiness started to overtake him, and as it concentrated its power over him, he suddenly felt an urge to start learning Occlumency - your face is like an open book - "No," he mumbled, trying to fight the desire to sleep, but it slowly crept over him and enveloped him within its arms, drawing him back down into sleep's embrace.
There was a clucking noise, and Tom awoke, annoyed. He still felt tired, and that bloody noise had ruined his sleep.
"Hello again." Tom stiffened. He knew that voice, but where from? It was hauntingly familiar, and then it hit him like a bolt of lightning: Alhena.
"Sorry, what?" he grimaced and cleared his throat. Mentally frowning, he wondered why his throat was still so hoarse, as if he hadn't used it for many years. He supposed he hadn't really; not since that little...incident in '81. But he'd been reborn since then...and it dawned on him that he'd had a completely different body, so hence with different vocal cords, and since he was now back in his usual body, he had his vocal cords back. And he had hair! He silently cheered as he reached and fondled the glorious locks that lay upon his magnificent head. Although you might not believe it, Tom Riddle had hair that could rival Lucius Malfoy's head of hair. It was bouncy, silky, and ever so slightly wavy, and when he swung his head, his hair swung too, a la Herbal Essences, smiling as he did so, so when he caught Alhena's eyes, it was understandably a bit of a shock. For both parties involved; Tom was smiling so Alhena was staring wide-eyed, and Alhena had been watching him fondle and then swing his hair about, so Tom was a bit embarrassed.
He cleared his throat again. "So how did that brat do it in the end? And I still want to know how you knew about my Horcruxes."
"Well," Alhena started, "Harry finished you off when he defeated you with the Elder wand, because you thought Snape had disarmed Dumbledore, but Malfoy had, and then later Harry disarmed Malfoy so he had the Elder wand, and he threw an Expelliarmus but you tried to kill him and in the end, the Elder wand killed you, I guess. As for your second question, it all started with a little thing called fan-fiction..."
So, hoped you liked, and please review!