Tempus | Tom Riddle

PROLOGUE

Tom bristled under the stoic gaze of Albus Dumbledore.

The older man had offered no explanation to his request for this meeting. He simply sat behind his desk, staring at Tom over those half-moon spectacles that the boy had grown to loathe.

One minute passed, then two. Tom tapped his fingers impatiently on his leg. "Ar-"

"I have called for you because I find myself in a difficult position as you prepare to leave Hogwarts." Albus cut him off. Tom's jaw tensed angrily, but he said nothing. "I am no fool. I know you are the one who opened The Chamber of Secrets."

After many years of practice, Tom kept his face void of any emotion. His stomach, however, nearly collapsed in on itself.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Professor."

"You gave yourself away, you know. You should have never asked if Hogwarts was going to close."

Tom's eyes narrowed to slits.

"The Heir of Slytherin." His words dripped with malice. "I bet you are very proud of yourself, Tom. Rising above the circumstances your mother had left you in ... if we were in a different time you could have been just as prominent as the families you so desperately aim to please." He paused, folding his hands on top of his desk. "But alas, we are in the 1940s. The Gaunts are gone." Albus waited for a beat, just to see if his student would scrounge up any sort of rebuttal, but the boy simply sat across from him with murder in his eyes.

"You are probably wondering why I didn't say anything when I found out," Albus pressed forward. "I even let Rubeus take the fall for you while the Headmaster rewarded you for your crimes, none the wiser."

Tom still remained silent, weighing his options, which were far and few between. The gears in his mind turned, but to no avail. He was cornered.

"Yes, perhaps in a different time you could have been a different man altogether." Albus stood suddenly, walking back toward a shelf that held dozens of small vials, each one filled with ethereal, gossamer-like, pulsing tendrils of matter. "Time is a funny thing, is it not? It lets us live, yet it lets us die. If you are strong enough you may harness its power, but even that comes with dire consequences if not properly executed. Time is greater than us all; an inertial force that will never be stopped."

"I suppose," Tom spoke cautiously. The professor often spoke in riddles, but this time his words made less sense than usual.

"Six years ago, a woman of great prominence died. Time was not kind to her."

Tom blinked. This conversation was giving him whiplash.

"She had the shortest lifespan of her family by an entire century. She was only thirty-two." Albus squinted at the vials, his eyes scanning the rows rapidly, looking for a specific one. "I paid her a visit before her untimely passing."

"How sad." Tom deadpanned, voice void of any emotion. Albus dared to smile.

"Have you heard of the Moltenore family?"

Tom shook his head.

"This does not surprise me. She made sure that few people remembered her family's great legacy."

"What happened?" Tom's interest had been piqued, and he figured that if he were going to be hauled off to Azkaban for petrifications and murder, he might as well be locked up with fresh information to ponder.

"What indeed." Albus's long fingers plucked up the object he had been searching for. He made strides back toward his desk and placed it before him as he returned to his seated position. Tom glanced down at the vial, which had the name 'M. Moltenore' glowing on its side.