i am lord voldemort • Tom Riddle

Alternative Timeline: XXX

A scream.

Why, Tom wondered from a far off point of his mind, was he dreaming of screams? They grated his eardrums like shredding chalkboard. They robbed him of breath, only to jealously guard it against him. As far gone as he was, he didn't recognise the voice at first. As impossible as that was, because he was sure he could recognise any part of her anywhere. He could find her from just glance in a crowded street, he could locate her from just her steady gait weaving between a dozen others, or her lopsided smile she only revealed when particularly satisfied with herself.

Yet, the scream took a moment to place. Her scream. Unfathomable. Unthinkable.

All at once, flashes of the previous evening erupted through Tom's memory. The Ministry. Kneazles. A chase. Her own words, "Even if I had enough time to escape, I would never take you."

"I won't ruin your life."

Too late for that, Ophelia. Far too late.

He woke with a start, heart mutinously pounding up against his ribs. In the same instant, he was pushing to his feet, her name racing through his head in tandem with the racing of his heart, propelling him forward. Ophelia. Ophelia. Ophelia.

"Settle down, boy," a low voice growled, "Lie still."

A hand reached out to shove Tom back into his pillow, one he averted on instinct by slipping out of the bed from the other side. He stumbled, still not entirely recovered from what Ophelia had done to him hours previously.

She attacked me, he remembered, with the same amount of disbelief and anger as when he realised the first time.

"That wasn't a suggestion. Lie down, before I give you a reason to lie down, boy," the same man said, apprehending Tom by the arm and forcing him back into the gurney with a not inconsiderable amount of strength.

"Peace, Alastor," a graying witch in robes indicating herself as a member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement intervened. "He's the victim, you might recall."

If Tom was at full strength, he'd severely educate that young Auror for handling him so, not to mention calling him a boy when the Auror himself couldn't be more than a handful of years older. If only he had his wand—

"Where's my wand?" he demanded.

His eyes darted around the room — the hospital wing, he discovered — until they landed on his loyal phoenix feather wand on the low standing table by his bedside. He snatched it before any of the surrounding visitors could find the breath to protest, slipping it up his sleeve.

There were four others in his direct vicinity, who'd evidently been standing around trying different counter charms to awaken him before too much time could pass. Of the four, he recognized only Professor Slughorn and the school nurse. By the double doors heading to the corridor, Professor Dippet argued heatedly with Minister of Magic Spencer-Moon. On Tom's other side, another vehement conversation was taking place between Eustace Fawley and a second member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It didn't require great imagination to guess why. Cuffed to the bed beside Mr. Fawley laid Fenella, looking supremely put out, her hair still a light shade of silver. Notably, the Gryffindor robes she traded for with Ophelia were absent

On the gurney separating Tom and Fenella, Rabastan, also cuffed, gave Tom a cheery wave with his free hand, seemingly unperturbed by his circumstances.

"My patients requires rest," the nurse stressed, taking to time to shoot sour looks at every last one of the Ministry officials infesting her precious hospital wing. "You can interrogate him after he's recovered."