Tom Riddle | Short Stories

Immortalised in Print

Tom Marvolo Riddle. A host onto himself. As long as he could hold a pen, he was a threat.

Andy sighed, crossing out the fruit of her labour's, her tenth beginning to her book about the man who was Tom Riddle, before he had become Voldemort.

Look at her, alone in an apartment at three am, writing for seven hours straight when the only real thing she could come up with were Hamilton lyrics.

Cassandra Sage was a writer, she wanted to be a writer. The quickest way to get there nowadays was to write about a serial killer. A cold blooded serial killer, who possessed good looks in their youth.

She had chosen Tom Riddle for her topic. The cold hearted brute that had taken her mother and father from her.

Totally unbiased opinion, huh?

She scribbled our her own writing and rested her head in her hands. She had intensively filled the worn journal with research, on him, his state of mind, how he came to be,

He didn't even know that she existed. He was dead now anyways and very difficult to research. Given that everyone was terrified to write about him.

Maybe she could humanize the monster with the advent of a new character, one never before seen in print. A new spin on it all.

Tom Riddle worked at Borgin and Burke's. this is a well known fact. What is less known is who worked with him. A young girl by the name of, Julianna Mavor. A halfblood, or at least that is what she told him.

It started in small ways, a coffee in the morning, a meal at a muggle dinner they frequented. Typically working in silence. Not even acknowledging the other at the restaurant. But then he came in with bags under his eyes, and she handed him a mirror and concealer,

Cassandra sighed once more and lent back in her chair. No, what's wrong? No, what happened to you? Honestly no wonder he went bad if this is the kind of person he would surround himself with.

But maybe she would surprise Cassandra.

Tom glared down at her dark hair, given that he was about half a foot taller than her. Juliana was short and of middling weight. She was completely average in almost every way. That's how she had ended up sorting through old stuff at Borgin and Burke's. What confused her is what someone as brilliant as Tom Riddle was doing there.

Julianna would see him explain histories of objects, so in depth that he should be working in some muggle museum. She had told him this once and he had said nothing, merely turning back to the inventory sheet, writing a one for vanishing cabinet.

Julianna? What kind of name was that? This was Britain not Quebec. Cassandra poured herself another cup of coffee. She had found the book she was writing in forever ago, it was leather bound and beautiful with a faded name on the back.

Cassandra sighed and crossed out her paragraphs of caffeine induced writing, when she noticed another person's hand writing,

Don't stop now, it was just getting interesting,

Cassandras heart felt like it may beat out of her chest, she set her quill to paper,

Who are you?

Tom Marvolo Riddle, and you are trying to rewrite my story. Your approach is interesting.

She froze and dropped the notebook and paced the confines of her room.

how the fuck are you talking to me?

Perhaps your story is bringing me back to life,