The Fearsome Name of Riddle

Stolen Stones

Seamus Finnigan couldn't stop thinking about the photograph he and Dean had found, and that meant he couldn't stop talking about it either. To anyone that would listen, he relayed the stories old Slughorn had babbled on about. Memories of children and innocent friendship, a look in a little boy's eyes that Horace clung to. A look of longing, something human in the devil's eyes. 

The young Irish man sat on a dust covered table, cup of weak tea in his hands as he elaborately told the story of two children, joined at the hip, steadily turning into monsters. 

"But that means Draco's related to her, if she's a Malfoy. Never heard him boasting about an aunt or anything, though I suppose he wouldn't." Seamus told Cho and Luna as they hugged their own metal cups. "You don't think he's related to him as well, do you? Imagine. Related to Voldemort, I wouldn't be able to stand it." 

He stretched out his arm to get rid of an ache in his elbow and lounged out on the top of the table. 

"It doesn't matter much now, does it," Dean sighed as Cho and Luna sat listening to the seventh rendition of Seamus's story. "You heard the way Slughorn talked about her, like she was long dead. That bald fuck is sure as shit gone too. Good riddance." 

"I think it's awful," Luna said, the cuts beneath her eyes making her look exhausted, "Draco looked so out of sorts. To learn about his family being so close to Voldemort, it would be terrible for him." 

After the first year of Draco and his thugs harassing her and hiding all her things, Luna noticed that the Malfoy boy came back to school the next year with a little less enthusiasm in his antics towards her. He would hang back, let his friends do all the work. Something changed in him but she didn't know what it had been. 

"He's a death eater Luna," Cho frowned, not sure why Luna would be so sympathetic towards someone that caused her so much pain, "why would it matter if he's having a hard time of it?" 

"I don't think he was, not really." Luna said, turning back to Seamus, waiting for more of a tale. It was nice to hear about Voldemort in the past tense, like he didn't really matter anymore. "What did Slughorn say about her? Was she nice?" 

"Not really," Seamus shrugged, "smart though." 

#####

Third Year

Gobstones was a rather turbulent game, and for someone that hated getting any kind of dirt on her outside of Quidditch, it baffled Tom Riddle why Victoria chose to play. She was yet to lose though, so he supposed she trusted that she never would be sprayed with the foul liquid the loser was always doused in. Occasionally, Tom, who had no interest in risking getting sprayed, would look up from his homework to watch his friends playing. It was Ivan Rosier's turn to face her and her accuracy was beating him easily as she tossed the small red balls towards the white one in the centre of the circle. 

Victoria was bent down, her hand low to the ground as she stood at the edge of the chalk circle. Her stone floated from her fingertips with ease and Tom watched as the little red ball hovered just a little longer than natural over the dirt. He always did find wand less magic to be intriguing. 

"Um, excuse me." A first year Hufflepuff hovered behind Rosier's shoulder, hugging her bag to her chest. "I really have to get to charms class, could I have my stones back please?" 

Tom chuckled, as he watched the young girl flinch at Rosier standing up from his crouched position over the game circle. She shuffled back as the tall boy towered over her short and stout stature. Ivan was broad shouldered for a thirteen year old, his white shirt was filled out more than the other boys. It made him a good beater for the quidditch team and an excellent lad to keep around should Tom need to intimidate an enemy.