Stolen Time A Tom Marvolo Riddle Fanfiction completed

Chapter Twelve

Upon returning to his lair, Tom went straight to his desk and sat down, determined to figure out how to make the ritual work at last. Since the moment when he had first read the paragraph in Astella's notes concerning the curse that was supposed to stop the process of aging, rendering the body immune to any kind of internal decay, illness or malady, he had been dead set on fixing the ritual, intending to use it on Cassiopeia once it was safe. 

He still regretted deeply that he had failed to convince her of creating a Horcrux all those years ago but the successful performance of the ritual would at least prevent her from dying any kind of natural death. It was not quite what he had wanted but it was surely better than nothing.

Waving his wand, Tom summoned a quill and a parchment and quickly sketched out the ritual, trying to determine what he had missed up to now. He sat there for hours, looking at the parchment, occasionally scratching out one word or the other and adding something here and there until he was finally satisfied.

Tom stifled a yawn and glanced out of the window. It was already early morning. He slowly got up and eyed the parchment he had spent the whole night working on for another moment before he apparated to Malfoy Manor and quietly descended the stairs to the basement. It was finally time to see if he had actually been able to eliminate the last flaws.

He opened the door of the first cell with a flick of his wand and stepped inside. The witch who was cowering in the far corner threw him a frightened glance. Tom looked back at her, his eyes impassive. With a wave of his wand he conjured a camp bed in the middle of the room.

"Get up and lay down there," he ordered curtly, motioning towards the makeshift bed.

The witch shot a wary gaze at it and scrambled to her feet. Stowing his wand, Tom followed her to the bed and pulled a small vial from his pocket. When she had sat down, he thrust the bottle in her hand. "Drink that," he commanded.

The witch eyed the bottle with a panicked expression and slowly tried to open it, her fingers trembling.

Tom watched her fumbling with the lid for another moment before he exhaled exasperatedly, pulling his wand from his robes again. "I don't want to spend the whole day here," he stated, impatience clearly ringing in his tone. With a quick movement he pointed his wand at the witch and hissed, "Imperio."

Then he flicked his wand again and a sneer appeared on his face as he watched the witch downing the potion. He had to admit he liked the Imperius Curse a lot. It made interacting with others so much easier. 

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It was almost noon when Tom left the basement. He was satisfied with this morning's results. The ritual had finally turned out the way it was supposed to. Now he only needed to make sure there were no unwanted sideeffects and try it a few more times before he would be ready at last. A genuine smile graced his features. Magic was great.

When he reached the hall he heard muffled voices coming from the living room. He was momentarily surprised before he remembered that he had scheduled a meeting at noon. He pursed his lips. He had nearly forgotten about the meeting. He strode towards the doors and was about to enter when his ears caught a name that immediately sparked his interest.

"Isn't Cassiopeia going to attend?" Bellatrix' high pitched voice held a hint of surprise. Tom stopped just outside the living room and casually leaned against the wall, listening in on the conversation.

"She rarely does," Lestrange drawled condescendingly.

"But how's she participating if she's not at the meetings?" Bellatrix asked back.

"She's never been on any mission with us," Rosier stated matter-of-factly.

"But why is she even bearing the mark, if she doesn't fight to support the Dark Lord? How does she deserve it then?" Bellatrix was obviously agitated.

"Probably she's just not good enough at fighting," Dolohov said in a bored tone.

Tom heard a few others chuckle. He narrowed his eyes. Sometimes it was truly enlightening to arrive late. Who did these fools believe themselves to be, haughtily discussing his actions and decisions? His wand twitched in his hand and his magic swirled expectantly around him, itching to teach his followers a little more respect.

He was about to blast the doors open and make the bunch of idiots learn a painful lesson and maybe reconsider their little chat once again when he heard Avery's calm voice interject, "I don't think it's up to us to judge the Dark Lord's motives. But I bet Houlton's just as good at fighting as the rest of us."

Tom lowered his wand again and decided to wait for another moment.

"And you would know that exactly why, Avery?" Lestrange asked mockingly.

Avery didn't reply. Instead Rosier snickered, "Why ask, Lestrange? I should think you know it yourself."

Tom heard Lestrange huff and some soft chuckling from those who had been present that evening so long ago in the heads' common room when Cassiopeia and Lestrange had had their little quarrel. Tom couldn't quite suppress a smirk himself. That evening had surely been entertaining. It had been one of the few times when Cassiopeia had actually snapped.

Finally Tom threw the doors open with a wave of his wand and stepped inside the living room. Instantly the room fell silent and about a dozen pairs of eyes stared back at him. Tom slightly raised his eyebrows, a condescending sneer on his lips, and his followers immediately lowered their eyes, uncomfortably looking at their feet.

"I see you're already discussing our proceedings," Tom stated lightly. "I really appreciate you being so proactive." He paused, the dark gleam in his eyes contrasting sharply with the fake smile on his face. "Seeing that you're obviously all keen on fighting again I thought we should have a practice session today, don't you agree? So pair up for duels. Whoever loses their duel may then have a little extra practice, duelling me." The fake smile on his lips grew wider. He gazed at his followers and noticed with satisfaction that all of them flinched at the prospect of having to duel him. Yet none of them dared to complain, and they obediently paired up.

Tom sat down at the table and watched them duelling. It was fascinating how much power his little threat contained. They battled as if their lives depended on winning, giving each other truly hard times. Tom smirked. They were good, all of them, but none would stand a chance against him.

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