my riddle to solve (tom riddle)

thirty-six

cw// torture and death

"And only those of sharpest mind were taught by Ravenclaw." The House of intellect, knowledge, and creativity. Ravenclaws were always the first to raise their hand in class, found the most unique solutions, and relied on wit during times of crisis.

As I stormed across corridors and descended down flights of stairs, I felt more like a Gryffindor. Not because I was brave; I was being rash and reckless. I needed time to process, research, and brainstorm. But when it came to Tom Riddle, nothing could go the way it was supposed to.

For years now, I had distanced myself from the pure-blood elitist identity that my parents wished for me. House before Blood was a common saying. But recently I seemed to lack the brains that had placed me in Ravenclaw. I would be damned if Riddle managed to strip away another part of myself, which had surely been part of his ploy.

The cold and gloomy dungeons were a sight that I welcomed. A leaky faucet somewhere caused drips to be echoed and cast across the entire passage. I suddenly felt myself collide with another figure, one that hadn't existed to me moments before.

"Ophelia? What in Salazar's name are you doing here at this hour?" Alcott Lestrange extended his hand to help me off the ground, but I shoved it away. A stretch of stone wall had been carved out behind him, revealing the green light of the Slytherin common room. I entered cautiously and he trailed after me. I wondered why he had been leaving in the first place.

"Is Riddle in his dormitory?" The boy raised his eyebrow hesitantly before smirking.

"The Room of Requirement. I was told he had some business to attend to." Unable to control my frustration, I let out a rather loud groan.

"Oh. That's what this is about. I should have known, seeing as your slip is so short that it might as well be non-existent." Lestrange barely had time to finish that final sentence before I shoved him against the wall with my arm and drew my wand with the other. My reflection was visible in the glass case, showcasing my demented gaze. The wet slippers, frizzy hair, and dark under eyes truly made me look crazed. Perhaps, it wasn't an illusion.

"You have no idea what my intentions for tonight are. Hell, even I am still deciding. Tell me, are you sure Riddle is in the Vanishing Room?"

"Yes, I am sure! Lower your wand, will you?" I did as he asked, slowly turning away with the intention to leave him be. But as one of Riddle's most loyal consorts, Lestrange was guilty as well. I spun around once more, this time reaching for a glass vase from the nearby shelf. Before I had the chance to doubt myself, I smashed it over his head. As the boy crumpled to the ground, consciousness slipping away, I couldn't stop the smile from creeping across my face.

I had been wanting to do that for a very long time.

My legs had already begun to ache from the extreme amount of walking I had done today, and having to retreat up seven floors of stairs was tedious. If it hadn't been for the sheer rage pulsing through me, I might have debated delaying this confrontation.

Riddle was a killer; that I had already known. I had seen him take multiple lives in Versailles and figured that a few others had perished at his hand. Opening the Chamber was something entirely different. He had done so fully aware and with the intent that people would die. Whatever the beast was, it had targeted Muggleborns at the command of its master.

His ramblings about power, dark magic, and government had always just seemed to be the misshapen ideas of a confused boy. He was rude, secretive, and narcissistic-but I could deal with that. It seemed that Riddle had a darker soul that I had imagined.