Masquerade- Tom Riddle Fanfiction

To Be Or Not To Be

Tom Riddle's POV (Cuz that's clearly what y'all want now)XD

*Takes deep breath* I usually do third person with Tommy because he is so freaking hard to write emotions about *glares at Tommy boi* but I decided to try and do first person. If I survive, let me know. 

And yes, I did steal that line from Hamlet. William Shakespeare should probably sue me. 

*****

   The most dangerous thing in the world of manipulation was as simple as a smile. Charm, elegance, intelligence-- I portrayed each element neatly into a portrait of changing faces. It was easy; too easy in the end, even when I was eleven years old in the orphanage. I relished the hold I had on minds; the way that I could instill fear into them with little more than my amusement. I was powerful. They were weak. And in the end, that was all they would be. 

    Lord Voldemort. I AM TOM RIDDLE. A clever little puzzle for those who were smart enough to solve it. I had not chosen French out of coincidence-- it was the language of love, and so, spite it, I must. Love wasn't real, it wasn't powerful. The sooner people know it, the better off we would all be. Yet, even power bored me-- insipid minds were taken with a mere heated glance from my eyes and people would shake in fear or either whisper in admiration. Fear. Admiration. Both were interchangeable. 

      I furrowed my brows in thought as I looked down at the red-headed prankster in the bed. I was pleasantly surprised that she hadn't snored. I lowered my head to her level, examining her features more closely. She was an enigma; a challenge; and nothing interested me more than someone who had decent wits and the daring to try to topple me without being a Gryffindor. Challenge: I both savored and abhorred that very word. 

      She slept in a peculiar way-- her back almost flattened to the mattress; not even rolling or turning on her side. It was as if she needed her back to be rooted on the mattress to live. I furrowed my eyebrows. She was afraid of getting stabbed through her back; that indicated a lifestyle too precarious to maintain. I continued to study her-- one of the only few moments I had when she wasn't masterfully disguising her emotions. I could feel the irritation bubble inside of me. Even I couldn't read her completely without her reading me. I looked at the rise and fall of her chest-- normal. 

   I glanced at her face. I could never truly feel anything from beauty; not when I used my face to its full extent. Perhaps she was not abhorrent to look at when she wasn't biting savage remarks at everyone like the uptight honey badger that she was. I turned to look at that red hair that fascinated me so many times-- it was a bright and blazing color, almost too painful to look at. Just like her-- unconquered and dominating, yet a hint of elegance underneath it all. 

   I concentrated on my own mental barriers. I needed to cut through them, undefended, if I wanted to glean her secrets. People had written that eye-contact was often essential for Legilimency. They just hadn't explored the possibilities further-- when the mind itself abandons its Occlumency walls, and if the victim was weakened enough; thus by her intoxication, it was mere child's play. Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself to enter her mind. 

   Broken images. Her mind was swirling with them as if broken mirrors; each reflective, masked by their own secret. Excitement. I had gone further into her mind-- I had achieved it at last. The familiar pull made me narrow my eyes as the rush of memories began to fly past me. 

   A young red-haired girl laughing as she began singing in French, dancing with a beautiful woman that was undoubtedly her mother. Moments later, cowering in a dark cell, her green eyes wide and filled with fear as she screamed. Constant rounds of torture; the flashing symbols of the Deathly Hallows; taught magic and manipulation. I felt exhilaration as I gripped upon the new information; finally nearing something that seemed to be blocking my way.