Glimpses of Light

I

Tom Riddle barely touched his dinner that evening, his thoughts preoccupied with the recent owl from Borgin & Burkes. The words from the letter played on repeat in his mind: Dear Tom, unfortunately, Mr Borgin wants to be sure that having an apprentice starting this summer is really a necessity for his business.

With a smirk, Riddle muttered under his breath, "tight-fisted tosser," as he speared angrily a piece of beef with his fork.

The gesture did not escape the watchful eyes of Abraxas Malfoy. "Is everything all right?" Malfoy whispered, cautious not to draw the attention of the other Slytherins.

"It's just that Borgin is being difficult. He's not accepting my apprenticeship request. Keeps coming up with excuses every month," Riddle replied, rolling his eyes in frustration.

Malfoy grinned, leaning in closer. "He simply wants to pay you less."

Riddle nodded in agreement.

"Can't you just tell him you don't care about the money?" Malfoy asked, his grey eyes briefly scanning Riddle's new uniform, pausing on the white gold cufflinks adorning his shirt cuffs.

Tom smiled knowingly. He didn't need the money—not anymore. Before killing his father, he had used the Imperius Curse to ensure that every penny and property would be left to Tom Riddle Sr.'s 'legitimate' son.

"I know, but I didn't want to draw too much attention," he said coldly. "Even these," he gestured to his lavish new purchases, "I should have resisted the temptation of buying so many fancy things," his eyes darting around his belongings before resting momentarily on Albus Dumbledore, who was jovially conversing with Slughorn—his least and most favourite teacher getting along splendidly. What an irony.

"What's life without spending money?" Brax commented nonchalantly, sipping on his pumpkin juice as though it were fine wine, adopting the air of an aged sage who had seen and understood the true essences of life.

Riddle might have smiled at that, but he couldn't bring himself to. The truth was, for the past six years, he had been consumed by the desire to be as wealthy as his peers—the Malfoys, Mulcibers, Averys, and the Blacks. But now, even with wealth comparable to some of them, he knew deep down it wasn't fulfilling. There had always been a void in his chest, and gold did not fill it.

And maybe even power won't do it. Tom Riddle's gaze drifted to the Gaunt's ring on his finger, a constant reminder of his immortality. Initially, the excitement of being invincible had surged through him like an endless adrenaline spike, making him feel powerful and untouchable. But months later, that euphoria had faded, leaving him craving another hit of that potent feeling.

This sounds like addiction, he mused. And addiction is for losers. Yet, the allure was irresistible. Perhaps, if I try just once more, the effect will last forever. Then, even if power doesn't fill the void, I'll have eternity to find what truly completes me.

Interrupting his dark reverie, Wotan Avery slung an arm around Malfoy's shoulders, eliciting a grunt of discomfort from him. Trapped, Malfoy made a feeble attempt to wriggle free.

"So, Lestrange and I were discussing how in this bloody castle, there isn't a single witch who's both attractive and pleasing," Avery began, his voice loud enough for their group but hushed from others. "Like, take Walburga, right? Mad hot, but her demeanour just screams psycho," he chuckled overly loud at his observation while the others offered only tepid smiles. "And then there's that Harmonia girl," he continued, nodding toward a pretty brunette mingling with a boisterous group of boys, "beautiful, but sadly, a Gryffindor. You agree, right? Do I have a point?"

Malfoy, clearly disinterested, responded with a noncommittal, "I suppose so."

Avery leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "Beauty-wise, we could count some Mudbloods," he whispered the derogatory term, ensuring only their circle could hear, "but who would touch those?" He shook his head, his face beaming as if he'd made a particularly clever point.