i am lord voldemort • Tom Riddle

XI:

"You make it sound so much less complicated than it actually is," Ophelia said, brushing a lock of hair out of her face.

"Then why don't you tell me?" Tom suggested reasonably. "I have time."

"I don't know. I don't- I don't talk about my problems. My tried and true method so far has been to pretend they don't exist and hope they go away without my intervention."

"How's that been working out?"

"Perfectly well, thank you very much," she replied stubbornly. Her defiance crumbled, however, the longer he stared silently, waiting. "Fine. You really want to know? Let me start from the beginning so you can understand. Make yourself comfortable, because this is a insufferably long story and I'm not allowing you to escape until I'm done. Remember, you asked for it."

Obediently, he fell out of his crouch and onto his rear in front of her, twirling his hand with a flourish, indicating she should proceed. The action somehow seemed so beneath him, yet captured his pretentiousness so completely that she couldn't help the smile the pulled at the corner of her lips.

"I already told you how my mother abandoned me because of my magic. I mentioned that a few months ago. My father, my muggle father, died before then, from complications due to the Great War." Ophelia's eyes took on a far off quality. "I don't really know why for sure, but mum hated magic, or maybe it was just my magic. I don't think she ever loved me, from the second the midwife put me in her arms and she saw my discoloured eyes and shock of white hair. It was obvious I had magic, even then. How could I not, looking like that? She hated looking at me day after day and having to be reminded of the brother she despised. As if I had any control over my appearance." Ophelia shook her head, smiling bitterly. "I don't know why she hated to see him so much. I was too young to ask... maybe for the same reasons I hate to be reminded of him when I look in the mirror, too."

"On the contrary, You have nothing to be ashamed of," Tom interrupted, tilting her face so that she had no choice but to meet his gaze. "I admire your eyes. Something about them speaks of power, like they are made from the very essence of magic itself."

That was possibly the opposite of what Ophelia wanted to hear, but she didn't say as much. He was trying, in his own way.

Pulling herself from his grip and crossing her arms, she continued. "Not long after that, my uncle took me in. He must have had one of his peons keeping tabs on us for quite some time in order for him to show up so soon after she left. Not even a week later. Maybe a few days at most. At first, I refused to go with him, so sure my mum was coming back for me. She never did, and my uncle put aside everything, even his hunting and his quest to gain dominion of wizards over other creatures, to stay with me until I was ready to go with him. When he appeared, looking so much like me and offering love and family... he was like a classic hero from myth. I idolised him. For a kid who'd been treated with such indifference by my mother my whole life, I adored him more than words can say. Maybe he is a monster to the world, but he's always been like a father to me. If he thought I was cold, he would have set the world on fire to warm me up again. It's hard to distinguish the man I know from the person I know him to be. He even taught me how to control my magic that my mother has tried so hard to suppress."

"And how to protect your thoughts."

Ophelia nodded absently. "It wouldn't have been safe for me or any of us around my uncle if his enemies could sneak into my mind. I made us vulnerable. Some even went so far as to say that my existence was my uncle's only weakness, although they'd be wrong about that."