Trapped

Who is Tom Riddle?

The Great Hall had barely settled when a sudden chill swept through the air. Torches flickered and dimmed as a figure cloaked in shadows stepped forward, commanding the room's attention with an almost otherworldly presence. Death itself had arrived, his voice cold and unwavering as it cut through the rising murmurs.

"Listen well," Death intoned, his tone heavy with portent. "I have summoned from the current threads of time the man known as Tom Riddle. He is here, though unseen by most, lurking at the edges of your reality."

The room stiffened, eyes searching the dimness as a second figure emerged beside him. A young man with sharply defined features and eyes gleaming with unsettling intelligence appeared briefly in the flicker of torchlight. His presence was hauntingly beautiful angular cheekbones, skin like polished marble, and a cold, calculated elegance that made the shadows seem to cling to him rather than fall across him. Yet only Orion and Abraxas recoiled, their faces pale and tight with recognition. To the rest, he was no more than a blur at the corner of perception, a shadow that chilled but could not be fully seen.

Before whispers could form into questions, the screen shifted, revealing another figure stepping into view. Harry Potter. His stride was calm but deliberate, carrying himself with quiet command. His unruly black hair was unmistakably James's, and his vivid green eyes, alive with clarity and purpose, could only have belonged to Lily.

"Oh Merlin," Lily breathed, clutching at the bench for support. "He carries both our legacy in his gaze."

James stared, unable to speak at first. His expression cracked into a faint smile touched with something reverent. "Lilyflower, we'll see if he inherited your brilliance or my luck."

Sirius exhaled slowly, for once subdued. "He looks just like you, Prongs."

Even the Marauders were quiet, their laughter softened, replaced by something deeper as they watched the boy who was somehow all of them and yet none of them at once.

Harry's eyes found Isadora. Across the crowded hall, she met his gaze with stillness. There was no embrace, no spoken reunion, only a brief exchange of understanding. A nod. A flicker of shared history. The kind of quiet that spoke of too much already endured.

Then Harry turned to the sink and hissed a single word. "Open."

Isadora followed in perfect cadence, unflinching.

The sink groaned open, stone grinding on stone, revealing a spiral descent into the unknown.

Gasps rippled through the hall.

James looked over sharply. "Our family doesn't speak Parseltongue. How does he—"

Euphemia's lips tightened as she glanced at Fleamont. Something was wrong.

And then came Isadora's voice, cold and elegant, shaped in the same serpentine tongue. Flawless.

The room stilled.

Bellatrix leaned forward, her expression unreadable. "She speaks it too. Since when do Rosiers speak the language of serpents?"

Lucius narrowed his eyes. "That's no common gift."

Evan, breaking his silence, said only, "So the entrance is in the girls' bathroom?"

Fabian quirked an eyebrow. "Salazar had a twisted sense of humour."

Around the hall, unease bloomed like frost.

Tom Riddle watched from his summoned perch outside of time. He had seen many things. He had not seen this.

The boy's face was familiar, his bloodline unmistakable. But it was not the face that held him. It was the voice. Two voices.

Two Parseltongue voices.

His lips parted slightly, though no sound came. Surprise flickered behind his eyes. Not rage. Not jealousy. Not yet.

For the first time in memory, Tom Riddle was not the only monster in the room. His gaze lingered on the pair as they disappeared into the sink's mouth. They moved as one, neither deferring to the other, as if bound by something deeper than affection or fear.

And then they were gone. No tantrum. No cryptic warning. Just an absence, like air sucked from a room.

In the silence, Sirius glanced toward Remus. "That wasn't rehearsed. They knew exactly what to say."

Remus nodded slowly. "That wasn't learned. It was inherited."

The tension stretched until finally breaking with the cold echo of Isadora's voice once more, this time echoing from the Chamber far below.

"Harry, from here, you must choose. You stand with Dumbledore. Or with me."

Harry turned to her, eyes narrowing. "What are you talking about?"

She didn't blink. "Because I know what is coming. Tom Riddle is out to get us. I remember last time he threatened to kill you and trap me in Slytherin Castle."

Harry stiffened.

She turned to face him again. "We can fight him. Together. But only if your loyalty is your own. Choose, Harry."

Above, in the Great Hall, the words filtered through the enchanted ceiling like smoke.

"Trap her in Slytherin Castle?" someone whispered. "But why?"

Another voice rose, urgent. "Who is this Tom Riddle?"

All eyes turned toward the shadowy figure still lingering near the edge of the Slytherin table. The Marauders stepped forward, voices tight with restrained panic.

"Who are you?!"

Tom lifted his chin but said nothing. His eyes slid sideways toward Abraxas with mild annoyance.

Abraxas rose stiffly, adjusting his cuffs. "Tom is a Slytherin. A student from the House of Gaunt. He is the heir of Salazar Slytherin."

The silence that followed was broken only by James stepping forward, voice shaking. "Then why would he want to kill my son and trap Isadora?"

Tom looked over, lips curling in vague irritation. "That's the future. I do not know..."

Suspicion spread like wildfire through the hall. The name Riddle was no longer just a puzzle. It was a threat.

Voices rose again, pressing on Abraxas and Orion to answer. "If he doesn't know, why is he here? Why does Death show him to us now?"

Tom's expression remained untouched, but something in his eyes had changed. Not arrogance. Not victory. Only calculation. As if even he was uncertain whether this future belonged to him at all.