The Fearsome Name of Riddle

The Possibility Of Innocence

Minerva Mcgonagall scowled down at the indestructible photograph in her hand. The smile on Victoria's face wasn't one she remembered. They had never been friends or even friendly. The only smile she ever saw of Victoria Malfoy's face was malicious. 

Slughorn had handed her the photograph with great glee, asking if she remembered them. Minerva hadn't known Victoria well at school, in fact she actively avoided her most of the time. But in the early years of the first wizarding war, Victoria Malfoy had been believed to be an elusive member of Voldemort's inner circle. Often referred to as the Dark Lady, she spent most of her time at Malfoy manor as Minerva understood it from her time at the Ministry of Magic. Victoria, like the rest of the pureblood families, denied all involvement with Lord Voldemort until victory seemed assured. Then she disappeared before the war ended and Minerva never heard her name again. She had always assumed that Victoria saw the end coming and ran. That she was living in sickening luxury having weaselled out of her consequences the way she always had. 

"I knew of them but not well and not kindly," Mcgonagall sighed, handing the image back to Horace, "I made a point not to be around them casually, and I never got my hands on her during the first war. No one did." 

She gave a pointed glare towards Horace who seemed to retreat back to the photograph of a time long gone. He clung to it, like as long as he held it he might be able to right his wrongs. Fix his mistakes and stop all of the horrible things they did from happening. 

"Ah, I see," Horace nodded, looking down at his two former students, "suppose you would have had very little in common. It's strange to look at this, knowing what he did. What they both did— I guess."

His eyes flickered up, a guilty look in them as Minerva's pursed glare weighted down on him. 

"Yes, very odd," Minerva agreed, folding her hands together, "but monsters must come from somewhere, no one is born that cruel."

She seemed to relax and Horace looked back to the photograph. Tom Riddle laughed and smiled in the charming way that he used to and Horace couldn't help but smile back at him. He had thought so much of that young man back then. Horace, like many others, had ignored the uneasy feeling that Tom gave people because the way he behaved counteracted it in waves. 

"They used to be so young," Horris sighed, not able to tear his eyes away from the photograph, an ache in his chest from the guilt of not being able to change them, "they had to have been innocent at one point in their lives." 

"Perhaps," Mcgonagall said curtly, brushing dust from her robes as they stood in the remains of the Great Hall, "but I never knew them as such. And they certainly weren't then. Maybe in their first or second years, but not then." 

#####

Second Year 

The Great Hall was filled with every food Tom Riddle could think of. The warm feeling of being back at Hogwarts filled him up as he sat next to Victoria Malfoy and a boy she had finally introduced him to after a year of refusing to go near him because he was, as she described him, ridiculously annoying and stuck up. Though, Tom couldn't see that in Obsidian Lestrange from the couple of hours they had spent in each other's company so far. 

Obsidian was popular amongst the other boys. Tom had learned that the year before. He had short black curls, more tightly coiled than Tom's and Obsidian's seemed determined not to be combed neatly into place. His eyes were dark brown and often found their way to Victoria which had made Tom irrationally angry before they had been acquainted. No one had been hexed by Victoria more than Obsidian Lestrange. He had a way of getting under her skin. A talent he had likely acquired from their families being long time friends.