𝙻'𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝙳𝙴 𝚅𝙸𝚅𝚁𝙴 | 𝚃𝙾𝙼 𝚁𝙸𝙳𝙳𝙻𝙴

𝚄𝙽

People often buried their secrets, Tom Riddle knew that well.

Whether they were planted six feet below ground or between the desolate crevices of psyches - secrets were there, waiting to be uprooted by his blood stained hands and stored away for later exploitation.

He knew Elvira Alarie buried her secrets in the French soil outside her childhood home with a steak knife in their chests. He was well acquainted with the darkness that resided in her mind long before he got close enough to delve into it's depths.

Tom knew her, perhaps better than she knew herself. In fact the only information out of his murderous reach was the identity of a killer, an unsparing threat to plans he had put in motion years prior.

It had been a week since Riddle had returned to Hogwarts for his seventh year. Seven days since the first kill and to his great indignation, he was no closer to answering that question.

Upon his arrival the castle had been jovial as ever. The feast was long and routinely draining, the first years short and irritating. Everything seemed customary.

On their first night back, Elliot Rosier had visited Tom's dorm, informing him that a friend of his would be joining the seventh years in a weeks time. He explained that Elvira would be apparating from her home in France to his family's manor as soon as she had taken care of 'personal affairs.'

Rosier added that he presumed she would be sorted and placed in slytherin alongside riddle and his knights. This piqued Tom's interest and within moments he was scouring the heir's subconscious, plucking what Elliot knew of the transfer from his mind like a rose with rotting roots.

To his surprise, Rosier was attempting to resist the legilemency. The boy was not gifted in occulemency and he must have known the effort was futile yet he had defended the knowledge fiercely.

The notion was perplexing to Tom, and as if to punish the heir he pushed himself further into Rosier's psyche - splitting his memories masochistically until he found what he was looking for.

Riddle watched through Elliot's eyes as the boy lingered in his parents doorway, listening to Maurice Rosier's hushed account of a man's murder.

From the conversation, Tom deduced that the Alarie girl had killed her father and with no surviving family and few options, had turned to a friend of her late mother - Marie Rosier, and her husband Maurice. Tom recognised them as Elliot's parents.

Retreating from Rosier's recollection of events, Tom gestured to the door and watched as Elliot left, stumbling slightly and cradling his pounding head. He would deal with his restraint later, for now his mind was fixed on more malevolent matters.

The beginnings of a scheme was carving itself into the forefront of his mind when a sea of intense incandescent light flooded the room, disturbing his trail of thought.

A patronus. Theadora Black's shrill voice filled Tom's dorm room as she stumbled over her words. Between panicked breaths she told him that someone was after her. He cursed under his breath as he realised that the patronus had been cut short before she could tell him where she was.

With a sigh, Tom stood, organising his thoughts and marking his place with a mental bookmark. He knocked back the dregs of his fire whisky and made his way out of the head boy's chambers and into the dungeons with his wand held tenaciously at his side.

When he found Theadora moments later it was clear that he had been too late. A suicide note was scrawled on a scrap of parchment beside her warm corpse. Fresh blood stained the milky, tiled flooring and there was no sign of the culprit.