Harry Potter 1. The Pivotal Moment

**MY GOAL with this story is to make it as frightening as possible. A psychological terror. I hope you become scared about what Alice goes through. Contrary to the title, it is not really about Alice being his secretary at all!**

The Head Boy's Secretary

"Lies"

Bound at every limb by my shackles of fear  
Sealed with lies through so many tears  
Lost from within, pursuing the end  
I fight for the chance to be lied to again

You will never be strong enough  
You will never be good enough  
You were never conceived in love  
You will not rise above

They'll never see  
I'll never be  
I'll struggle on and on to feed this hunger  
Burning deep inside of me

But through my tears breaks a blinding light  
Birthing a dawn to this endless night  
Arms outstretched, awaiting me  
An open embrace upon a bleeding tree

Rest in me and I'll comfort you  
I have lived and I died for you  
Abide in me and I vow to you  
I will never forsake you

"_Lies" by Evanescence. Album, 'Origin.'_

"Tell the truth!"

_- 11 yr. Old Voldemort. Half-blood Prince, chapter, "The Secret Riddle."_

"Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawn lies..."

_- 30 yr. old Voldemort. Half-blood Prince, chapter, "Lord Voldemort's Request."_

**Chapter One: The Pivotal Moment**

He was very busy, occupied even at the start of a new day. He strode down the halls of Hogwarts with the usual entourage following. More people acknowledged the student from the sidelines.

"Riddle – did you see the report on supplies for the Arithmancy classrooms?"

The Head Boy nodded and coolly answered, "Yes, the headmaster agrees we need it refurbished. A wizard warehouse in Switzerland will send it to be ready by next month."

Striding quickly through the halls, it was surprising how fast he could become unnerved by the slightest event. On a typical day he would not have noticed what he referred to as yet another silly girl. It was all the female students in the castle ever were to Riddle, save maybe a few of the prefects and the ones who attained the status of Head Girl. But today he'd noticed this one.

Giggling like a typical schoolgirl, a nervous defensive reaction. It was obvious to Riddle. She blushed as she picked up the papers she clumsily let fall. Riddle had no desire to help. Not now, when there were plenty of others around to aid the damstrel in distress.

But with a minute flicker of his dark eyes, Riddle saw the smallest piece of parchment flitting as it landed on the floor. For some reason he could not explain he paused in his trek. Apparently it was a calling card with a message to meet someone at a specific time. His finely carved features curved downward, jaw tilted, eyes observing. In a split second like a photo snapshot, an idea came to him, with a sharp and cunning glance at the card. And then he looked at her. The girl couldn't see him. She was too preoccupied fumbling around for her books, as some passerby's helped her.

And Riddle went onward, footsteps resounding into space. He would think about it.

And later that day at dinner he noticed her again. She hurried up and down her house table, helping others insert messages onto their owls, as she handed students blank calling cards. Riddle watched her return to her seat where she wrote notes on a piece of parchment feverishly. It was a relatively normal activity surely, but Riddle now knew what he wanted for sure.

He nodded to himself, giving her one final thought for the duration of dinner. Later he'd find a way to contact her, and hopefully approach her alone. He was sure it wouldn't be difficult. Nobody knew it, not even Riddle, but it was indeed the pivotal moment that would change this girl's life forever.

Alice Whitman could hardly care who the Head boy was. She was too caught up in her own personal dramas.

She fumbled through her schoolbag searching for her favorite novel. A Muggle novel. Alice wasn't muggleborn, but she did savor going to Muggle Studies class. In fact, she found anything concerning Muggle culture to be fascinating. She had loved going to the cinema with mum and dad on holiday. One of her best memories was seeing her first moving picture at nine years old, The Wizard of Oz. That was before she had started at Hogwarts.

But things weren't as wonderful as they'd once been. It wasn't soon after seeing the Wizard of Oz that things in her home life had made a turn for the worst. And now it had only been a year since her father left her mother. Alice didn't know why. But one day on Christmas break she watched him pack his satchels and leave them. But for a reason, it was a mystery. Her young mind burned to understand. Why did her father hate mother so? And Alice could not bear to think that daddy didn't love her. He did. She had faith he really did.

And now she resented her mother. For mum didn't believe father would come back. She was bitter over his absence, especially for what little money Sam had left for them in their vault. In the meantime, mother and daughter watched as daddy got promoted at the Ministry of Magic.

"He's left me forever, Alice, and wishing he's going to come back just for you is a load of bullocks!" Alice thought her mother's words over and over again, like a broken record. She bit her lip, trying to fend off doubts. Fears.

She frowned, as she glanced down at a pile of calling cards, her long dark lashes hiding her tears. The calling cards were held between the pages of her novel, like bookmarks. A shadow past over her gray eyes. But unexpectedly she made herself smile, eyes turning to their usual mistiness and mirth. She shouldn't worry. Just live for today! Alice could hardly wait to make a good fifty or sixty galleons off her calling cards! She was selling them to students, and she knew it didn't breach school rules, just as long as the items weren't magical. She hoped to bring the money home to mum and cheer her up. Maybe even get her a beautiful pair of gold earrings that could take her mind off daddy.

Alice wrote the last few lines of her homework with a dash and a flourish with the quill. She was almost done with a Transfiguration essay for Professor Dumbledore! And then more time to enjoy her novel!

She rose to return to Ravenclaw tower, messy curls at the ends of her brunette hair bouncing as she walked. She was just over five feet in stature as a skinny fourteen-year-old, and in her Fourth year. Yet Alice really didn't feel very comfortable at all in her body. Her chest was still much too small, and only just starting to stretch under her clothing. She wore glasses for reading. And she didn't like how her face kept getting a few pimples every now and again. She hoped nobody was noticing them. Alice had always felt funny. But lately it seemed her whimsical charm was more a hindrance than a help at making friends. It was probably something to do with getting her period about a month ago and making her moody. She secretly hoped boys would start liking her in that "special" way her mother told her about. Last year she did manage a couple of innocent kisses with a boy in her year. But that was all. She was only just beginning to hunger for more….She didn't know it, but it might have been an unconscious desire to rid her mind of the struggles with her parents.

The evening dragged onward, until Alice felt it was too cold and went to read in bed. After a while, she blew her candle out and closed the hangings around her bed, listening to her roommates breathing.

After tossing and turning for an hour, she jumped out of bed with a start.

Her feet soon found her yellow and blue carpet slippers. She'd just remembered she'd promised a student at the last minute during dinner to send them their messages on her calling cards tonight with a charge of three galleons for the service she'd do. She'd better get to the Owlery, as the contents of the message seemed to be of urgent importance to the student. The student expected a reply tomorrow to whomever he was mailing his message to.

It didn't matter if it was the middle of the night. Alice didn't care about getting in trouble, not when she felt it was for a good reason.

**Note: Please review. The fact that Alice's father left her mother and in doing so, abandoned her holds significance to the story. Riddle's father abandoned his mother, and Alice has a similar experience to relate to him over. And no, what Riddle wants, is not sexual at all. It won't be right away in the story.**


	2. The Illusion

**It is an adorable story so far, but I'm afraid it won't be so sweet for long.**

Chapter Two: The Illusion

Tom Riddle was growing impatient with waiting for the girl to leave her dormitory. He'd been waiting an hour after his head boy patrol was over. It was midnight and he was supposed to be in the Slytherin Common room. He'd much rather be studying than waiting for a girl to show up.

With detachment and a reserved stare, Riddle leaned against the wall.

Alice came out of the common room and shut the door softly behind her. She looked around astutely. Nobody seemed to be present so she kept going as quietly as her carpet slippers would allow her.

By luck she managed to cross the school without anybody finding her. She got to the west end of the castle. She stepped outside into crisp January weather. The wind was echoing mournfully over the Scottish hills, yet it wasn't loud.

She climbed a steep and sandy slope. Luckily there wasn't snow or ice upon the ground tonight. She found the exertion to be almost effortless. Within the calling of the wind, she thought she heard the distinct sound of the sand crunching behind her. It was happening between her own footsteps. So She knew it could not be herself.

But it wasn't quite a footstep. It was more akin to a soft rustle. She didn't know what it was. Alice became frightened and whipped around, her cloak whirling. She grasped the cloak's collar at her neck, and shivered.

She had the distinct impression somebody was following her. Yet nobody was in sight. There was nothing but her and the night air. Nothing. What had she to fear?

Alice felt a wave of blessed relief when she made it to the summit. The owlerly was a little warmer than outside. Her hands worked quickly to tie the message to the little owl. She watched the owl swoop into the darkness as a tiny blotted dot, and it flew over the trees and disappeared.

Stepping over the dropping strewn floor, Alice returned to the outdoors again. She inhaled deeply and watched the wintry nighttime. The midnight blackness of the terrain was tranquil. Her gray eyes followed the shadows of the forbidden forest, a mass of black deadened wood. Alice absorbed the beauty of the scenery, feeling herself become one with it.

She kept walking, but felt like something was watching her.

Alice jumped in terror. It was the primordial call of a werewolf. It suddenly felt like the walk back inside the castle would take a very long time even if it was only a minute or two.

She paused and started to gather her courage. But before she could make a decision, she saw a black figure across from her, standing down below at the foot of the steps.

Alice swallowed. She could tell by the size of the shadow that it certainly wasn't a monster. "Who are you?" she called clearly.

"Come down here…," the voice called in a low tone, but somehow it carried clearly up to her. Alice felt the urge to obey without question for some inexplicable reason. The voice sounded like it had potential to be as authoritative as a parent. It was this that attracted Alice to it.

She was soon standing beside the person. She could barely make out his face in the pitch black, but his eyes shone through. The eyes were of a darkness that seemed to match the night's.

"Er- I know I shouldn't be out here," offered Alice immediately. She didn't really want to explain. She breathed heavily, puffs of cold air coming out, visible in the freezing weather.

The man or boy, whatever he was seemed not to hear the lame explanation. Riddle answered very quickly, sounding anxious, "I was worried when I saw a student leaving the castle. I ran to catch up to you but lost track. Then it took a moment to realize you'd made a trip to the owlery."

It was all a lie. In fact Riddle had followed her right from the beginning and what was more, he'd known exactly where she was intending to go all along. But Alice could never have guessed. She was at a loss to explain herself now. Where was she to begin? "I-I was just coming out- to do something important. It couldn't wait 'till morning."

"Have no fear Ms. Alice….We can make an exception."

Alice didn't feel that her fears were allayed. On the contrary. She stammered, "H-how do you know my name?"

"I know almost everyone around here at Hogwarts," he explained confidently.

"You do?"

"I'm the Head boy, am I not? Weren't you aware of that?"

"No….I-"

"No harm done. Since you haven't heard it before, I'll make my introduction now. I'm Tom Riddle, the Head boy. And to be fair, I shall give you allowance to use my first name."

"Alright."

Alice felt strange. Why was this boy being so warm to her? But maybe she could accept the treatment. She could tell right off the bat that he was certainly one to trust.

Tom Riddle started towards the school. Alice gladly walked beside him. What a relief to have someone accompany her back. She'd completely forgotten about the werewolf.

"So tell me, Alice….What are you looking forward to?"

"Er- I dunno….But I can tell you something I'm not looking forward to."

Tom Riddle asked plaintively, voice cold, "And what is that?"

"My O.W.L.s next year!"

Riddle laughed, but Alice hadn't meant it to be funny. Yet she found herself laughing along with him.

Abruptly Tom Riddle stopped laughing and became more serious again. Alice looked up at him. He gave her a long, clear look straight into her gray eyes. She felt like his eyes could see right through her own, as if she was transparent as a ghost.

"Such a bright witch you are and…Not interested in her O.W.L.s….Why is this Alice? You are in Ravenclaw…." He sounded almost disappointed.

Alice didn't know what to say. But Riddle pressed, "I can see within you….You do possess an inquiring mind." Indeed it had been the reason why he'd chosen her for the job he would soon ask of her.

Alice didn't smile. "I know I'm smart, Tom. I guess I just don't like school."

Riddle felt a wave of anger drive through the pit of his stomach as he pushed it down. It wasn't as easy as he'd hoped it would be to get Alice Whitman to do what he wanted. Yet she was the perfect one for it, and he was not one to give up easily. He'd have her for it. No matter what.

"Well then, might I persuade you to change your mind?"

"Huh? What do you mean? Tom?"

As they stepped inside the warm castle, Riddle felt the urge to press his advantage now. "I need someone to fulfill a job for me, Alice. A minor responsibility, but very helpful nevertheless. Would you be interested?"

"Maybe….What is it?," she asked tentatively. "I don't like big responsibilities."

"Oh, no. Nothing so arduous that a Fourth year couldn't handle. I simply need someone to organize the prefect's schedules and a few other minor details. You'd catch on quickly dear."

Alice stopped and her voice wavered with indecision. She sounded so innocent and fourteen. "After school?"

"Exactly. Yes," answered Tom.

"Before I say anything, can I ask you something Tom?

"Why would you even ask me to do these duties for you? Aren't they your affairs as Head Boy?"

Tom Riddle wasn't offended by the obvious question. He could care less what she thought. And he was quick to come up with a reason. "It's tradition of Hogwarts for the Head Boy to have a secretary of sorts. Of course, this is authorized by Professor Dippet, Alice. Or I wouldn't be asking you. It's an informal custom, as it goes without saying. Don't you see?" But this was a lie. It wasn't a tradition of Hogwarts at all.

He sounded so casual. Alice smiled at him. He was certainly an easy person to get along with and might even be a fun person to spend time with. "I can do it," she consented.

"Excellent. We'll start today, after classes. After dinner this evening. I'll get you oriented and you'll be doing the little tasks for me in no time…."

Alice nodded.

"But first….I want to show you something. Come with me."

**NOTE: Please review!**


	3. The Illusion 2

**Please review! **

**Continuation of…. **

**Chapter Two: The Illusion**

Lightly Riddle took a hold of Alice's wrist and led her up the main staircase. They went in silence, passing snoozing picture frames and such. Eventually they got well past the library doors.

They took so many detours and bends through wending corridors that Alice lost track of where they were.

After a few more minutes, an exasperated Alice demanded of Riddle, "Where are we? What is it your gonna' show me?"

"Hush. We're almost there."

Riddle had his wand out and Alice watched expectantly. The Head boy pointed his wand towards a door she hadn't noticed was there a moment ago. A jet stream of green light and it swung on its hinges.

He beckoned quietly; "Come on…"

Alice followed him inside. The room was almost empty. Alice's gray eyes adjusted to an ethereal blue light, coming from the midnight sky. The blue light mixed with silver moonlight pouring through the window in the back.

They past several Roman arches and came to a gigantic looking glass. There was something surreal about it. Alice couldn't quite place her finger on it, but something about that mirror was alluring, strangely enticing.

Alice was too cautious to approach the mirror first. Riddle, his eyes only for the mirror went straight over to it. Alice observed him, thinking wrongly that he was looking at his reflection. Alice still felt full of surprise and wonder regarding why he'd taken her to this place. But she did not wish to question it until she had had a look.

Riddle just stood there, behind Alice, straight-backed and proud. Alice couldn't see Riddle's eyes burn with a red gleam. She wondered what was so special, but for some reason she wouldn't ask. Not until she got her turn at the mirror. Intuition told her she needed to see what it was like for herself.

She finally asked tensely, "May I have a go?"

Quickly Riddle stepped out of the way and Alice went to the mirror. Tears stung her eyes. It wasn't her true reflection staring back. There was her mother – young and free – a content mother tucking Alice into bed. Alice was a much younger girl. But all of this didn't matter. All that mattered was Alice. Alice feeling love. Alice being safe.

As if from far away she heard the Head Boy whisper curiously, "What do you see?"

"I see myself….I see….A life well lived." That was all Alice would say on it. For some reason she didn't wish to pour her heart out to this boy. Or anyone for that matter. This wasn't the way things were for her. Yet she yearned for it. For the comfort and security portrayed in the reflection. She felt her heart fill with sorrow. It was awareness that she didn't have the love she hungered for. This was not reality.

As if from a far away echo, she heard Riddle speak firmly, "Real life is meant to last indefinitely. Forever. At least for us magical ones. The pleasures of the body must be sustained. Indulged in. Now step away from the mirror."

Alice found herself once again, obeying Riddle.

She watched him, as he glanced at the mirror. Alice also looked at it from a distance, neither stood before the glass now. She suddenly noticed words inscribed on the top frame.

"That's interesting….What does 'erised stra ehru oyt ube caf'-?"

Riddle's face screwed up but not with confusion, rather incredulous as he interrupted. "Well isn't it obvious? 'I show not your face but your heart's desire'."

"Oh," murmured Alice, suddenly feeling stupid. Clearly Riddle had no difficulty whatsoever in figuring out the riddle. "Maybe we should look in the mirror together?"

And suddenly something around Riddle's presence shifted and he became very strange. His handsome face contorted into a pronounced blankness. "No," he whispered very quietly. Inside himself, Riddle garnered the absolute conviction he was meant to be very much alone.

He took another step back, withdrawing, yet his eyes never once wavered at his gaze on the mirror. "The mirror's power is ironically its greatest weakness. If one continues to penetrate its depths too long, they forfeit their intellect. Even if the powers of the heart could be shown, they are an irrelevance. They are of no matter. Even if there was proof in the world, the heart's desire remains secondary to the mind."

"Yes," answered Alice faintly, lost in her own private thoughts, not Riddle's. Yet she didn't agree. But for now she really didn't feel like getting into an argument at the moment.

Inwardly Riddle felt the mirror was bad for himself. He secretly feared losing strength. It was seldom that he returned here ever since finding it in his First year. He only came back tonight for a reason, not a longing. Feelings were trivial, even if it was true that his dearest desire was to be all-powerful for eternity.

"Ambition is a virtue, dear Alice. Never forget this…advice I infer upon you tonight."

She nodded but couldn't speak. She could feel herself being drawn back to the mirror.

Alice had not a clue nor care in the world right now. All she wanted was that mirror, to be alone with only the mirror for company. Nothing else mattered. She did not realize why Riddle had taken her to it.

Riddle believed he'd given her motivation to hunger for more. She would want power like his own, yet she could never attain such power as he would. Yearning to excel, perhaps inadvertently it would help her schoolwork. But Alice's personal goals meant nothing to him. He wanted her to serve him well. Nothing more.

Alice stared at the illusion that the mirror showed, enveloped in feelings of the warmth and maternal love she secretly hungered for. And Riddle never realized that what Alice saw was the very antithesis of power. It was nothing but perhaps the truth itself, the only reality there could ever be. The one he was so oblivious to.

Alice stood, entranced for minutes that felt like hours. She became aware how the mirror held a mystical hold on her consciousness, as indeed it did.

She jumped around abruptly.

"Tom?"

Alice scrutinized the room, squinting through the ethereal blue light. Nobody was here. He was gone.

It took forever for Alice to find her way back. She had no idea where Riddle had taken her in the castle. Was it a secret passage? With all the twists and turns it felt like Alice was in a funhouse with mirrors popping up everywhere.

That night high up in Ravenclaw tower, Alice fell into a deep sleep in which she had a wonderful dream. But out of nowhere, the dream turned terrible.

Pirouetting like a ballet dancer, an Alice who was much more graceful than in real life was dancing in a garden. It was vibrant and full of life. Beauty was everywhere, in the flowers and the grasses. The sky smiled down upon her with a sun at the heart in the center, beaming good fortune down upon Alice.

She found an unusual object hidden in the grass. Alice ran to pick it up off the ground. Before she could stop herself, Dream Alice was lifting the lid. And that was when it turned ugly.

There was a most overwhelming sensation, like she'd been injected with a Hallucinogen. The universe was pouring out of the box and showing itself to Alice. And it was terrifying. Terrifying because it was so wild, so unknowable.

The feeling from the empty box attacked and devoured Alice's insides.

She awakened, sweating and shaking. She was going to die. All there was, was fear, fear itself and she was confined in it. Alice tried to calm down, once she collected her thoughts enough that she could reflect on the dream. The dream had been nothing, nothing really. But why had it disturbed her so badly? If it was nothing?…

She snuggled under the covers with her kitten; the both of them cocooned together in the bed's haven. And Alice fell back into sleep, a dreamless one. A void of blackness. She felt numb, but at least she was whole.

**Note: Please review. There will be some really hot sex scenes with Riddle soon. I promise.**


	4. A Secret in the Restricted Section

**Chapter Three: A Secret in the Restricted Section**

Alice didn't know where in the library to go. Eventually she opted out on waiting cross-legged in a chair, sitting up straight and alert. She clutched her schoolbag and continuously searched the room for the Head Boy.

"Is there anything I can help with you dear?" said the librarian.

"No, ma'am. I'm just waiting for somebody…"

The Librarian hardly registered this inane piece of news. It sounded like any other student on any other day. She went along and left Alice to herself, lost and alone.

Alice continued to wait. She had scarped her dinner down all for this. It was possible, even likely that Tom Riddle along with the rest of Hogwarts was still eating.

But then it came to a time that Alice was sure dinner must have ended. A nagging thought surfaced in her mind that he had lied to her. Maybe he wasn't going to show. But that was hard to believe of such a boy.

At the sight of her, Riddle's face abruptly turned to a smile. Alice felt at ease, she wasn't going to lose her bearings.

"Good evening…I thought you wanted us to meet earlier?" she managed pleasantly. She was very confident with him.

"I regret that I hadn't come sooner, Alice. Please except my apology. I had other affairs. But of course normally, you'll find me to be….quite punctual." Riddle felt a bit strange, being so open with her. Yet there was no way she'd be learning what he had been up to.

"Okay," said Alice, her trust in him fully restored.

Alice walked with Riddle all the way around until they came to foreboding heavy doors.

"I don't think I'm allowed in there," she wavered.

Riddle answered immediately, in a stout, strong voice, "You are when you're with the Head Boy." He felt a tenacious desire to have her start today.

So Alice followed him inside. The Restricted Section was a lot bigger than she'd ever expected. Alice found herself turning her head everywhere, trying to read titles off the spines.

"The Headmaster has allowed me a special, private office. It would be very kind and considerate of you not to tell anyone this."

"Of course not. I wouldn't disobey Professor Dippet," said Alice. And she meant it. She wouldn't be telling.

At this moment, Riddle had had his back turned to Alice. His lips were curling, gloating to himself about how easy it was to lie to this naïve little girl. Meanwhile, Alice was marveling over how odd it was to find the Restricted Section deserted.

"Come on…"

Riddle took her to a corner in the back. There was a padlock that resembled a crude cross. The cross was upside down, muggles would call this a Satanic symbol. But Alice didn't know that. A single doornail was driven into the cross, set against the plain stone wall. "Where does this lead to?"

"No worries, Miss Alice. You see these are the cloisters. In the medieval era, students were allotted them to study in….Mind you there was substantially less students back then."

That made sense. And Tom Riddle was actually telling the truth. But what was most vicious of all was the fact that Riddle was mixing so many truths with his lies.

Riddle touched the padlock smoothly with the back of his hand. Suddenly a doorknocker appeared above the lock. Alice found herself in shocking surprise at the apparent ease Tom Riddle could use magic. Well, on second thought she had heard he was talented. But Alice had no idea that this was a secret passage, that it was one of Hogwart's many secrets, and neither did she know that he had access to all of them.

Riddle tapped the knocker against the wall and before Alice could register what had happened, she saw Riddle had disappeared. Alice's gray eyes grew round, and she went forward to do the same.

Riddle waited for her to follow and all too soon she arrived in a tiny, narrow corridor. Several labyrinthine chambers jutted off in several directions. An entire section of Hogwarts that nobody had ever seen! Riddle took her to the end of the corridor to the largest dwelling of all the convent-like rooms. It had a solid black granite door.

There was a flash of green light and the door opened. Alice followed inside.

"What a cozy place to study," she remarked.

Riddle nodded absently. But then seemed to suddenly change his attitude. "Feel at liberty to put yourself at ease. I want you to be comfortable here, Alice."

Alice did not know what to do with herself. She just stood there on the threshold taking it all in. It was an austere environment despite the amount of things the room held. Alice wasn't sure she could get comfortable. Straight ahead of her was piles of books, a whole stack of large volumes on Riddle's desk. Then she saw an old-fashioned lantern and many other surprising things. There were so many peculiar objects and she didn't quite know what to make of them.

Riddle rose from his desk, and hurried over to her, quick to get her acclimated. He was also doing an excellent job of acting unusually kind. Lightly he put his hand on her back; Alice could feel his warmth.

He led her with his arm around her shoulders to another desk. This one was much smaller than his, and was slanted, a kind of lectern. There was already a book with a feathered quill and inkwell attached to it. "I'll show you the ropes…"

So Tom Riddle told Alice all about the jobs he wanted her to do. Alice found him to be very engaging and caring.

Soon enough Tom Riddle was able to go back to his work at his desk. Occasionally he would glance at her and she never once saw him looking. He pondered her in these brief moments, appraising what made her tick. He wanted to know just in case it was useful in future. And he was glad to observe her working diligently. He suddenly noticed that she looked a little older than her fourteen years. Her hair was wrapped tight in a bun and she wore wiry spectacles framing her face. She looked very industrious and it was exactly what he wanted her to be. He felt the first day had gone well. There was no need to do anything else with the girl. She was doing exactly what he said.

The next day Tom Riddle was very surprised by Alice's behaviour. She had came to the Restricted Section just as he'd told her, but she'd completely changed her appearance. Instead of the bun in her hair, she was wearing her hair in two braids. And yet Tom at first didn't even notice this. It wasn't until later that he picked up on the strange incongruence in her behavior.

Knowing the way through the Restricted Section, she almost boldly entered in at four o'clock, right after classes, and a couple of hours before dinner. "Good afternoon," she said.

Riddle barely looked up, too intent upon his studies. Besides he'd already showed her what to do, and suspected that was all there was going to be to this. "Good afternoon," he added stiffly. "Your work is laid out for you on the desk." He expected her to retreat to the corner where the prefect duties were outlined for her to make the necessary revisions he'd taught her.

"Thanks for setting it up for me, Tom. And look, I brought you strawberry jam!"

And now Riddle looked up, and stared at her fully. She was holding a little jar of red liquid. He was surprised, but his face immediately relaxed into a cheery smile for her. Alice's innocent face blushed, not with lust but simple liking for the boy, a kind of friendship she hoped to kindle.

"Why thank-you, Alice," he finally said.

Alice went on, "You know where I got the jam from? We have preserves at home. I live in the country when I'm not at Hogwarts…Do you like to go outside in the summer? I love summer; especially looking at clouds while I'm lying in the grass. How about you?"

Quickly he answered; inwardly praying she'd end the mindless prattle. "I'm a city boy actually. I'm afraid I only prefer the fog and dreariness of London." He did not want to make a conversation with her. Why couldn't the stupid girl get on with it and shut-up?

"Oh…" Alice sounded slightly disappointed.

Tom decided suddenly to switch tactics. He'd be the charmer. At least for a while he would play this part. So he told her, "But I do find jam a tasty substitute for butter. Later when I have my spot of tea, I'll enjoy it."

The girl smiled at him and practically skipped over to her seat. Tom was more than happy to see she went to work. And later he made sure to tell her that the jam was delicious, which made Alice very happy.

"Hey, Kiddo," said Riddle in the most casual voice.

"Tom…" she said coyly. In the last three days Alice had been Secretary for the Head Boy she'd never heard him call her that. But she liked it. "Hey, if you can call me Kiddo…can I call you Daddy-o?"

Riddle leaned closer and peered intently into Alice's gray eyes. He was a bit intrigued. Why did the girl want to call him this? Sure, it was a popular nickname these days. But even so. "Yeah. Why not?"

Tom Riddle didn't know but it may have been Alice's subconscious yearning to have a father in her life.

"Hey, Daddy-o! I finished everything for the prefects. Can I call it a day early? I have a lot of homework tonight, please?"

Riddle put down his quill and let some of his usual authority come back, the authentic personality and not the false image he projected, the one he knew Alice wanted. "Let me see, Kiddo…Bring it to me."

Alice rose from where she'd been scribbling away at the Arithmancy figures, and brought the papers with her, handing them proudly to Riddle.

With one glance at it, he instantly put it down with a sudden air of impatience. "Already I see three errors."

Alice pouted, but did not whine or protest. Riddle was feeling particularly generous today, so decided he'd let it slide. Alice was lucky she hadn't caught him on a bad day. "I can fix this myself. You run along now. And make sure you do all your homework, Alice. I'd like to see that tomorrow as well."

"Sure, Tom," she answered sweetly. Alice felt wonderful inside that somebody was paying so much attention to her that they were interested in her grades!

Alice bounded forward to grab her schoolbooks waiting on the floor beside her lectern. She picked up her schoolbag and swung it over her shoulder, and realized there was almost nothing inside them. It felt as light as a feather.

Alarmed, Alice's eyes glazed over the floor. Her books were nowhere in sight. Finally, she noticed Riddle smiling slyly at her. "Tom did you take my books?"

He chuckled good-naturedly. "Why Alice I'm only playing an innocent prank. Isn't it funny? Let's see if you can't find them."

Alice went over to Riddle at his desk and opened the drawers. But they weren't there either. Alice looked around the room again, and suddenly saw them. She bolted across the room, and then out of nowhere they disappeared from sight.

Alice whipped around, turning towards Riddle, trying her best to be furious. "Come on! What are you playing at! What? I don't believe it!" She exclaimed this once she finally spied Riddle's wand poking out of the folds of his robes. He'd been making the books vanish and reappear in different spots all along!

Finally, Riddle let her put her books in her bag. "You think you're clever don't you Tom?" she scolded half-heartedly. But overwhelmed by the silliness of the situation, Alice burst into fits of laughter. Riddle was quick to overcome the humour; he slid back in his seat and watched the back of her go, his hands folded over his desk. Once she left at his early dismissal he picked up his quill and hastily went on with scribbling his works, glad to be alone for a change. It was what he preferred after all.

"Do you ever stop sulking and moping about Edwards?"

Alice turned her head eagerly to look a little further down her house table. It was breakfast in the Great Hall. Alice saw Anthony Edwards sitting alone, sipping at his porridge languidly. There were tears in his eyes, tears that refused to fall.

Alice continued to eavesdrop on the conversation even though she knew it was supposed to be none of her business. "You used to be the best at our Transfiguration homework….And now-Why I don't understand what's happened to your mind!" complained another boy.

Anthony Edwards, the morose Ravenclaw shrugged. "I don't feel well. I don't know what happened to me. You're right…I used to be a genius. But now-"

But the other Ravenclaw boy left him to stew alone in his unhappiness. Alice watched curiously, wandering what unfortunate circumstance had befallen the boy. It was obvious Anthony's schoolwork was suffering greatly.

But Alice soon forgot about Anthony as the day wore on. Even though she made a note to herself that she would try and speak with him later.

She continued to help Head Boy Tom Riddle every afternoon and sometimes even after dinner. She found the passage of time with him pleasant and she enjoyed the secretarial duties he gave her. At first she had made a lot of mistakes, but Tom had been patient with her.

But by the next meeting and the next Alice noticed less and less laughter. They weren't even calling each other by those cute nicknames anymore. And Alice was catching herself losing her train of thought. She couldn't help but gaze upon Tom Riddle's handsome face, with dreamy, far away eyes. He always seemed to catch her at it, and soon enough Alice would go back to her work. Tom would smile encouragingly at her.

This went on for a good few days, until one day everything went differently. Alice gazed longingly at Riddle once again, wanting to be more than just his secretary. She wanted to know him better. But Alice thought she just wanted a friend, she was not aware of her unconscious desire for him. After a couple of hours of doing this, Alice became quite disturbed. Riddle's handsomely carved features were glowering at her now. She'd never seen him look so vexed and stranger than ever. He was stern….

**NOTE: Tom may be acting really fun and silly but I assure you he will be getting grave and seriously evil like he always is in my stories! Please review. And thanks again for the reviews last time. If you want me to keep at it, review.**


	5. Strange Happenings

**Please review! **

**Chapter Four: Strange Happenings**

The next day Alice stumbled upon something she knew she wasn't supposed to have seen, and she also knew she had no idea what it meant.

Inside the Restricted Section, she went through the secret entrance to the cloisters, and breezed through the narrow passage that led to Riddle's study at the end of the hall. As usual, she swung the door open, as Riddle had been keeping it unlocked.

Alice gasped. Tom Riddle was ensconced on the same chair like always, but below his knees three bulky figures huddled. Alice's gray eyes grew round to see them reach up to actually kiss his hand! In the other hand Riddle was holding a silver chalice. And then Alice saw one by one they kissed a black-stoned ring, salient on Riddle's left middle finger, where his hand curved over the armrest.

The figures rose from their prostate position and soon enough they were going to see that Alice was standing there and had watched as their backs were turned. She felt a desire to discover who they were. But without a word, they turned to leave. Alice was a bit disappointed because she could see their faces were obstructed by hoods, their heads bowed like in prayer.

Riddle, still sitting watched her gape at his three followers. His eyes were shining, but not because Alice had seen something. It was for the service his followers had done for him. Alice jumped at the door swinging shut with a resounding thud.

Alice now looked to the Head Boy, and saw a strange, pleased expression there on his face. But his eyes gleamed. Was he angered? The unnatural eyes watched her more. At once, as if preventing a beast from being provoked, Alice averted her gaze to the ancient, cracked flagstones.

She wished this awkward moment would end. Her throat was tight with fear and Riddle wasn't speaking. She regretted coming through the door and promised herself she never would do so again.

The fear was squelching in the pit of her stomach to unbearable proportions. All the while, Riddle looked at her calculating what to say. How extreme should he be? Or should he be kind? It was highly amusing to continue this deception. Alice had never met his real self. Should she have a taste of it? No he would allow her to play a bit longer.

So he swallowed hard, and forced himself not to show irritation at interrupting one of his most vital rituals. It was vital not just for his cult, but also for his soul's very sustenance. But she could not possibly know this….

He was gentle; he did not blame her, his voice carefully controlled. "Those were friends…We are quite intimate. Just now you witnessed something of immense import. You would do well to understand such things are over your head. I must advise you to forget it, Alice. Do I speak plainly?"

"Yes," she croaked. She understood him. She'd take this secret to the grave with her.

The awful moment somehow passed like it does on fair-weather days when the clouds shroud the sun for a moment, and then it becomes sunny again. Tom Riddle smiled kindly at her and sounding eager asked, "May I see your homework now Alice?" Riddle had promised he'd do her a little favour, and check her homework for her. Alice was a tad upset when he didn't mention the idea of checking her homework in the future. Well, it was only fair for his sake.

Soon enough Alice was doing the ministrations for him, the most mundane tasks. She had finally mastered them, and the lack of novelty was boring her. She'd much rather be doing something else, like re-reading her favorite muggle novel, "Dracula."

Alice decided to watch Tom Riddle work for a bit. A sudden realization hit her. The Head Boy wasn't all she thought him to be. It was like she was in the room, alone with a stranger. He was not simply a funny, charming boy like she'd thought of him since last week. No. And what she'd saw just now when the wizards kissed his ring. It seemed like routine, or even like a ritual. She wondered what the ring on his finger meant. But she knew she couldn't ask such a personal question. The Head Boy was enigmatic, and this newly revised opinion on the Head Boy was quite intriguing to Alice.

It got close to half past six, nearly dinner. Together, Alice and Tom were leaving this secret lair, and off to the Great Hall. She knew within moments that they'd be in the outside world of Hogwarts, and they would both go their separate ways until tomorrow. It would never do for a Fourth year Ravenclaw to sit at the Slytherin table, and with of all students, the Head Boy! That was simply not going to happen.

The seconds were slipping by and Alice was burning to know more.

"I wanted to ask you a question about a boy, Tom."

Riddle barely resisted a sudden movement. He was very surprised by this talk. She may be a good Secretary, but other than that Alice Whitman was nothing but a silly, little girl. And Riddle did not like to converse with girls about the boys they liked, unless he needed that knowledge to charm them for his needs.

He looked away from her. Riddle pretended to busy himself with a rusty astrolabe on his desk. And what he heard her say next was not what he thought she would say. "A boy in my house…Anthony. Well, he has a problem and he's terribly depressed. I heard he used to be really good at Transfiguration. You, obviously know a lot about magic, Tom. Some say you know more than anyone at Hogwarts. Well, could you tell me why Anthony doesn't get good marks in the subject anymore?"

"Maybe he needs a tutor," said Riddle sordidly. "There's nothing you or I can do, Alice. Why don't you go to dinner? There's one more thing I need finishing up on. No need for you to stay."

"Alright. See you tomorrow, Tom," said Alice. She was very hungry and was glad she didn't have to wait for him.

Riddle just stood there, stewing in disbelief when she was gone. A vein flickered on his forehead. This girl had an uncanny ability to find out more than she needed to know. But still, she couldn't possibly suspect Anthony's plight had anything to do with him. Riddle had seen in her mind that she still wondered about his ring and his followers. He was confident she would never unravel these mysteries.

**NOTE: The next update will be when the obvious sexual things start. You will find out more about the strange rituals Riddle does with his followers and what they mean. Also, there will be more about what happened to Anthony.**


	6. Falling Out

**And finally the conflict between Alice and Tom begins!**

Chapter Five: Falling Out 

On a Friday afternoon Alice burst out of her last class to get to her job in the library before the weekend started. Recalling what had had happened yesterday, she knocked on the door and heard the Head Boy's low voice tell her to enter. He didn't have as many classes as he was in N.E.W.T. level.

"Good afternoon" she bubbled happily. Riddle did not look up from his parchment and books but proceeded to gloss over them, as he prepared for a quiet afternoon.

Alice took several steps closer to his desk and stood in front of it, trying to get his attention. "er – I have something important to show you. Tom?"

Finally Riddle looked up and took the scroll from Alice's shaking hands. He unrolled it listening to Alice exclaiming, "Professor Flitwick says mine was the best essay he'd seen on the topic in years!" Alice clasped her hands at her waist, gushing with pride.

Stamped on top of the essay was the top mark, "100". Alice had received a perfect Outstanding.

"This is wonderful news. Keeping up on academics certainly helps one to becoming Prefect." He sounded very pleased even content with his Secretary's success.

"Oh, I don't care about that," muttered Alice. Riddle's thick, curved eyebrows rose.

"Tom. Please read it. I think it was your help from yesterday that improved my Charms essay."

In less than a couple of minutes Riddle finished the entire scroll, his dark eyes getting narrower and narrower.

"So do you like the argument I crafted? I thought it was a brilliant idea, don't you?"

He stared at her looking shocked. Alice did not know what to make of him. "Well?…Aren't you happy that you helped me learn more?"

Riddle leaned back in his chair and looked up at Alice calmly. "I would have given this pathetic drivel a much lower mark. Acceptable at the most."

Alice could hardly believe her ears. "What?"

"You heard me…." and Riddle yelled brusquely, "Acceptable! But you deserve far worse."

"What's the matter with – with it?" Alice caught herself, she almost nearly asked, "What's the matter with you?"

Inside Riddle's mind was a maelstrom of thoughts and feelings pertaining to the essay. He needed a moment to collect himself.

Alice waited, expecting for him to shout at her more, and yet the sudden anger that had lashed out a moment ago seemed to disappear. His voice was calm again. "Well, to start….You did not have permission to use my words in your essay, Miss Alice. Perhaps I should go to Professor Flitwick and ask him to fail you?"

"NO!" said Alice horrified. She gathered herself and said, "You wouldn't dare."

"Don't put me to the test, girl. You don't really know me. I could very well decide to."

"Tom – Don't!"

He ignored her deploring gray eyes. "The framework is limited. Your reasoning is circuitous. You inserted my thoughts and used them to form opinions. And what utter nonsense."

"It is not nonsense!" said Alice indignantly. "My argument makes sense. Maybe you just disagree with it and that doesn't make me wrong! Professor Flitwick gave me Outstanding."

"Professor Flitwick," went on Riddle, annoyingly unperturbed "Merely gave you the mark for succinctly stating facts. Rote demonstration applied with my understanding. However, your argument…"

But Alice boldly interceded for she thought she knew precisely what Riddle disagreed with. "Emotions are vital in magic. They can produce a spell or charm!" Without realizing, she had actually gotten to the point, and this was what really riled Riddle. Not the fact she used his corrections from yesterday, but it was the argument about love and other emotions mattering to magical powers. That was what really angered him.

Riddle did not chastise her for interrupting him; he was too intent on striking her arguments down. "There is no evidence for that. Neither is there a single intelligible theory to explain your preposterous beliefs! Not one Witch or Wizard throughout the ages could ever prove emotions matter in magic."

"You are a biased fool! All you have to do is perceive it, observe it and you'd see the truth!"

"Lies! You're writing is lies!" His tenor was a disturbing hiss, and powerful. Riddle rose, tired of arguing and wanting to take action. "Alice, follow me…."

Alice nervously went over to where Riddle was standing. He took down a heavy tome from a high shelf and rapidly opened it to a random page. He lowered the book and held it out to her.

With his index finger he pointed to a paragraph. "Read this for me in translation to proper English."

Alice furrowed her brow in deep concentration. She'd only just started Ancient Runes last year, but many of these symbols looked very unfamiliar to her. "The prima materia for the ancient's magick was from the natural elements…er – a diss-solution -dissolution – no a diffusion of s-something substance for a certain period of time…. I don't know!"

Alice gave up and looked up to Riddle who continued to belittle her. "Exactly. You don't know because you don't have experience such as I nor could you ever. I spend my time translating passages and I can speak dozens of languages. For all I've seen in the world, emotions are scant and almost meaningless. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes," said Alice, rolling her eyes like a typical fourteen-year-old.

Riddle returned the book to its place and said somewhat mollified, "You see…You cannot match my wits. You cannot win against me!"

Alice glared at him. "I still think my argument wasn't as stupid as your making it out, Tom! It sounds like you have too much pride to consider another's view!"

Riddle's nostrils flared dangerously. "How dare you make such insinuations against me. Ten points from Ravenclaw. You are quite wrong, Alice. I am more than capable of understanding another's argument….Now-"

He paused suddenly, looking at her closely. Alice shivered at the way he was regarding her. The tides had turned and she no longer got along with him. If she wasn't careful she'd be hit by a tidal wave and she'd be in over her head, drowning.

"Tomorrow evening….Detention. Detention. Where I shall mend the ways of your thinking. You cannot have any future altercations with me, especially as my Secretary. Those words were mine and you twisted them. Furthermore, you were impertinent and took advantage of my help….Now sit down….Not a word with me until after six. You have wasted enough of my time!"

Alice didn't say anything. She could feel her throat burning, and she thought she might cry. Silently she went to her desk and got started.

Furiously, Riddle went back to his own occupations, thinking what he should do with her later.

After awhile he found himself gazing at Alice from time to time, feeling a distinct aggression building up.

Alice almost jumped from her seat, extremely startled. Something had invaded her mind, faint whisperings and shadows. A presence that was quiet, and also seemed very cunning underneath.

The image of the shadow slinked through her mind, whispering words she could not discern. She felt a palpitating fear well up; the messages of the whispers were frightening her, yet she had no idea what they said.

She did not know it was Riddle, as she had never heard of this being possible, having not learned that archaic subject, Legilimency. The shadows began to contort into odd shapes. Alice didn't like it or understand it.

She wanted to go back to the Ravenclaw common room, but knew Tom wouldn't allow her. After a few minutes the images faded into black and Alice's mind was clear again.

Coldly she stared at Riddle, and within seconds he looked back at her. Looking very stern, he nodded gravely, telling her to continue and she went back to adding the figures.

Hours later, Riddle finally announced that it was time to go. "Come here…" he said.

Alice listened to him, first gathering her schoolbag and she went over to his desk. "Remember….Seven o'clock Saturday evening. Detention with me."

"Where?"

"Right here, Alice. After all you are my Secretary. This is the perfect place isn't it?"

"I suppose it is," and Alice faltered, "It's j-just I've never had a detention before."

"There is a first time for everything," and his demeanour became rigid, "I shall NOT be persuaded, Alice. You violated my principles. You are an insufferable, ungrateful, brat, and you need that corrected."

Alice bowed her head to the floor, her expression glum. She was too scared to argue with the Head Boy, though she would have liked to.

"I am the Head Boy and it is well within my powers to hand out and supervise detentions," and this was actually true. "But if you prefer, I can arrange the Caretaker, Mr. Pringle to take you to the dungeons. I believe they whip miscreants in there."

"No! I can take my detention with you, of course."

Alice hesitated and finally asked an awkward, strange question. For Alice really had no idea what was normal in detention. "Are you going to whip me yourself then?"

Riddle smiled, almost like the nice way he used to tease Alice. She frowned, missing all the fun they had had together last week, and now it was going so badly. "Half the battle is the anticipation. You shall find out what it is tomorrow…."

Riddle got up from his chair and turned to get his cloak, as they were leaving. Alice nervously waited, as she was going to leave with him.

They walked silently through the narrow passage and out of the Restricted Section. Once they were out of the library, Riddle spoke departing words to her in the hall. "Seven O'clock tomorrow evening, Alice."

"Yes, Tom," Alice said coldly.

*

That night Alice couldn't sleep, she was dreading her imminent detention with Head Boy, Tom Riddle. What would he make her do? Finally, she fell asleep but to only be immersed in a nightmare.

Falling, falling, falling through a black void of empty space. Everything was so cold and empty.

**NOTE: As you can see, Riddle is acting almost Snape-like isn't he? I can't believe nobody has written the idea of being in detention with Tom. It's a fun idea, isn't it? That will continue as Riddle has a similar authority over Alice as he would if were the teacher. And the real reason Riddle was angry with her Alice doesn't know. He wasn't mad because she copied his work, but because she believes emotions, including love matter in magic.**


	7. Detention from the Head Boy

**Please review!**

**Chapter Six: Detention from the Head Boy**

Alice had a sinking sensation all day Saturday, the closer she got to seven o'clock, and the worse it got to endure. She would not go near the Restricted Section until the last possible moment, for she did not want to drag this out any further than she had to.

The atmosphere only confirmed Alice's trepidation. Somehow, Tom Riddle's study seemed much more cramped than before. It was drafty too, and the only light was from candles, casting gloomy shadows to accompany them.

Riddle was standing, his black robes opened, with a silver pocket watch hanging off his waistcoat. His hand went to consult it. "Miss Alice, you are very nearly late….Be it known that I do not allow tardiness."

He hesitated to continue with whatever else he had to say, and Alice felt her courage mount. "I'm sorry, Tom. About everything, I guess."

He ignored this, and went on as if he hadn't heard her. "As this is detention…you will call me 'Sir' or 'Mr. Riddle' at all times."

Alice didn't like this command at all. She resisted the urge to protest. She wanted to scream at him, "You are not my teacher!" But she knew that younger students almost always addressed the upper echelon formally, and she had already gotten away with calling him 'Tom' for awhile.

Riddle lingered, waiting for her response. Alice had been staring hard at the floor, mulling this over. She looked straight at his face and said what he wanted to hear, "Yes, Sir."

"As I said yesterday, this detention shall change the ways of your thinking. Emotion does not have true power to producing magic, Alice. I intend to make this quite clear to you this evening. Emotions are for weak people."

Alice confidently interpreted what he meant. "Well of course they are for weaker people. Sometimes. Who wouldn't call jealously and say… hatred a weakness?"

"Firstly, when I am speaking, you shall not interrupt me."

"Yes, Sir," she whispered.

"As I was saying….Emotions are obsolete. Always were and always will remain so. That includes all emotions, whether they are to your benefit or against them…."

He paused for a reaction. "Mr. Riddle – I have a question…." He nodded, bored but letting her continue. "What about happiness – what about love?"

"Love…" he said faintly, as if he hadn't uttered the word. "Love is an irrelevance. It is merely those who are deluded that think they are acting on it. And certainly, 'love' if it existed at all, would have no power in the kinds of magic I engage in."

"W-what kind of magic is that?"

"The most advanced forms of magic, Miss Alice. And let me assure you, of all my experimenting, love has no consequence to its effects. Love cannot produce magic…."

"I still think it might," said Alice in a tiny voice.

She shouldn't have said this. She did not know it, but this intellectual dispute was really setting him off.

"And because of that, we will get straight to what you shall endure this evening." Now Riddle's voice conveyed an absolute temerity, determined to squash her beliefs. The beliefs he couldn't bear to even tolerate when it happened to be somebody he needed to associate with.

Alice watched Riddle move to his desk, where he retrieved a long feathered quill.

"Come…We shall set you to your punishment. Line-writing."

Alice breathed a sigh of relief. That wasn't so bad, and it was a normal duty to be assigned for a detention. She felt relief that she wasn't going to be whipped or chained up like she had feared.

Alice sat down at her usual seat, with Riddle standing, close over her shoulders.

"Love has no power. Write it seven-hundred times."

Alice huffed sarcastically, stunned by this dictation. "What? Are you kidding, Tom? Sorry – I meant Sir!"

"This is no joke. Unless you wish for a much harsher, more painful time here tonight, do it!"

For the first one, Riddle watched Alice write in the most legible penmanship, from above Riddle's sharp glare. Once he saw it was done well, he went back to studies. Alice wondered if he ever did anything else besides attend class, and study. "He's a stiff, horrible boy," she thought. "He can't get his perfect nose off the grindstone. I don't even really like him anymore!"

**NOTE: The detention scene is not over. ****I hope you like it so far. Please, please review. I have not gotten reviews in awhile.**


	8. Detention from the Head Boy 2

**Alice will stick up for herself, just give her a chance. I am surprised somebody said she doesn't stand up for herself. It took a lot of guts for Alice to disagree with the essay. She has already shown nerve. Furthermore, I am sorry it's been a while.**

Continuation of….

Chapter Seven: Detention from the Head Boy

It took Alice hours to write the lines as she was told. She was certain she had wrote, "Love has no power" the amount of times instructed.

So she put the quill down, and eased back in the chair. She looked up at Riddle but could see he was busy. Alice knew him well enough by now to know that he would come when he wanted to and at no time otherwise.

She took to staring at a cobweb in a corner of the ceiling. Later she heard him get up and move forward.

Alice looked down at her parchment, which stretched all the way across her desk to the floor. She smoothed her hand confidently over the dried ink. "Mr. Riddle – I was finished a few minutes ago."

Riddle prodded his wand gently against the parchment. The words glowed transiently. "702" appeared clearly on the top of the parchment in the right margin.

Riddle's voice was positively kind again. "Good…. I take it you've thought about things. We've come to an understanding haven't we Miss Alice?"

"Er-" Alice looked at him and felt a sudden surge of fear seep through her bones. She did not dare disagree, for something was telling her she had better not. "Yes, Sir."

"Then you'll prescribe to the principle that love certainly cannot produce magic. Superior beings –meaning exclusively our species - witches and wizards it would be almost blasphemous."

"W-why?" Alice spluttered.

"It goes against doctrine. All doctrine. And most especially - My doctrine."

"I – I don't understand."

"Alice I never would expect it of you. Only that you will uphold my knowledge, my beliefs and obey them. If you simply agree to adhere to this ideology, we shall continue to get along famously!"

"Right…"

"Now. Let us forget this talk of love or anything on the subject at all. Emotions play no part in one's powers?"

"No!" Alice screamed. "S-sorry. I couldn't help it. It slipped out."

But Riddle was infuriated once more. He slapped his hand against the parchment. "Do not trifle with me girl! I thought I had this sorted."

Alice shook in her seat. She suddenly realized she was frightened of the Head Boy. There was an air about him she couldn't explain, and it was downright scary.

She couldn't see the expression on his face he'd turned away from her. She wondered what he looked like now. "Keep writing," he ordered tersely, his teeth bared.

Alice bent her head low over the parchment and went back to the line-writing punishment. She heard Riddle go back to his desk.

Riddle could not occupy himself with his many studies. Neither could he do his private experiments, or his N.E.W.T. work, nor ponder plans for the Dark Order. Nothing could keep his mind off of Ms. Whitman's brazen defiance.

It angered him like almost nothing had. He froze, unable to pore over his work, consumed in a mixture of his vile emotions.

His dark eyes clouded with a far-away look. It was the one he wore whenever in his fantasies about hurting people. But this one was different….

He could see a version of Alice's mother and father in his mind's eye.

"We love you so much, Alice," said the father.

The mother turned to a glowing, exuberant Alice. "Alice, you hungry sweetums? How about some more jam!"

"Strawberry jam mummy! That's my favourite!"

Riddle seethed. If the jar of jam Alice had given him was still here, and he hadn't used it all up, he would have thrown it the floor right now. Nothing would have made him happier than to smash it into tiny pieces.

Riddle's head snapped up, glaring at Alice, boiling in contained anger. She was still writing, oblivious.

Riddle couldn't help but see more. Alice's mother brings a jar of the preserves over and spreads it on a slice of bread. Alice is shining with glee because she knows her parents get her everything she can ever desire. Riddle is thinking that is the only reason a child could ever want their parents is to get them things and they mistake this for love.

"I love you so much mum and dad!"

Alice's father adds to the conversation, "We love you too, hunny."

And Riddle thinks how stupid they are as Alice says, "Daddy I love you more!"

Riddle felt he could vomit. The only thing that sustained him was recalling his belief that these emotions were false. Illusions. Love wasn't real, so he should not let silly Alice get the best of him. But if only he'd known that this was far from the truth of Alice's home-life. That her father, had abandoned her like Riddle's had done.

His hands closed in fists, the knuckles white and they cracked. His face was taut and eyes set grim with grit. Her fanciful ideas would have to go.

With enormous control, Riddle restrained himself. Slowly, he reverted back to his usual cool reserve.

Alice meanwhile, was staring at her hands in shock and confusion. Her palms were covered in black splotches. The quill had exploded. To Alice it was seemingly an unexplainable phenomenon. But Riddle knew it must have been his own doing – his strong emotions had done it. It was rare for Riddle to feel anything with intensity, but this time he'd lost control. Yes, emotions like that could have power but Riddle would not let them master him! He was even more incensed discovering his loss of control.

Alice felt stupid sitting there with her uniform dotted with ink at the collar, and her hands covered in it. "Mr. Riddle? I think I'll just go. My lines?"

"Silence!…Line-writing is not enough. Apparently for you that is!"

Alice frowned, and tried not to glare at the Head Boy. She wasn't stupid, she knew he was very angry.

She watched him get up to rummage through a cupboard. Alice realized suddenly that if she had tacitly complied with his beliefs before, she would probably be getting dismissed now.

With a slam, a copy of "Rules, Regulations, and Conditions of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry" landed on his desk. He rifled through it. Alice leaned forward in her seat, her expression curious.

"For continued insubordination, the Hogwarts disciplinary record indicates the use of a more…drastic approach."

Alice waited with bated breath for his words. He answered seemingly to himself, sounding decisive. "Ah, well…It is severe enough, that I might as well set you an appointment for the dungeons. You, Miss Alice are out of my hands and into the waiting arms of Mr. Apollyon Pringle. He shall give you a whipping with the prefects as witness!"

Dramatically, Riddle pretended to write up a note. He made it seem he was drawing up a slip to send to the Caretaker.

Alice's gray eyes were deploring and ranted desperately, "Please, Sir! No! I-I can't let you that do that to me! You may dole it out yourself! If you must-"

Riddle became quiet. He barely hid a small smile on his lips. This is what he really wanted after all. To make Alice beg. How he loved begging! It was even better that way. He had never intended to send her to Pringle.

"Just do it now, Mr. Riddle. You are the Head Boy, after all…."

Riddle rose poker-straight. He turned away from her where she could not see the smug smile.

"Excuse me for a brief moment. Once I return, I will have made my decision."

Riddle left the study but not without first putting away his copy of the punishment book. Alice sat on the top of her desk; her two Mary Jane clad feet dangling above the floor. She hugged herself, noticing the minor draft. She felt like a child waiting to be punished, knowing that punishment had escalated to something worse than time-out or in her case, lines.

Alice was the first to react at the return of his presence, for it was the thing he held that frightened her. Pure fear tingled in her skin at the sight of a thin, long wooden strip. No it was a thin, springy Willow cane. And his handsome face was set like stone. He looked stern and irascible.

Alice did not doubt for a second that what he was doing was right. She knew it was permissible even encouraged under certain circumstances that a Head Boy or even a mere Prefect could use appropriate corporal punishment.

"Remove your robes. And step forward. Before me directly."

Riddle kept his face stern. With clumsy hands Alice removed her robes to reveal a long-sleeve blue linen shirt, showing no cleavage. Her legs were wrapped with a gray pleated skirt and thick, woolen knee-high socks. His eyes never left her body. Alice could feel them following her, and it was unnerving. His face remained smoothly impassive.

She stood before him, and tilted up her face to meet the eyes she'd felt on her. With a soft swish of his robes he moved forward and Alice realized how very tall he was.

He gestured at her and spoke quietly, "Turn around. Place your body across my table. Do it at once."

Alice was sickened by it. It was worse how quietly he ordered her, worse than if he had yelled. But she did not doubt he was still livid with her.

She equivocated, buying for time. "Mr. Riddle – this is too much! I don't want that thing to h-hurt me!"

"If you have any doubts you may still back out. Mr. Pringle will instead thrash you to a pulp, whilst you hang from chains! Do you REALLY wish that upon yourself?"

At once Alice cried out a whimper, conveying all the objections and protestations she could muster at the moment.

Riddle's voice was chilling and hard. "No? Then get in the position I told of you a moment ago. I shall not repeat this request again."

He shifted his weight and waited. Hiccupping back a sob, Alice felt herself comply. She was soon bent across his desk. Her hands had a death-grip on the edge.

Riddle was looking very pleased at the sight of her finally evincing obedience. But he wanted to be sure of it. "A little dose of pain is quite a practical measure, especially under the circumstances. Don't you think so?"

Alice defiantly refused to answer. She felt very sick inside.

"I asked you a question. I expect an answer….Well?"

"No! I d-disagree, Sir."

"Then clearly I need to teach you. From me you shall learn the full extent of respect. It is clear to me now. Yes. You do deserve this!"

Alice bit her lip, biting back another sob. How had this happened? Just last week everything had been wonderful. She had been on excellent terms with the Head Boy positively enjoying his company. They had even shared jokes together. He seemed to have enjoyed the gratuity. He had loved the strawberry jam. She felt shame to be put in this ignominious position where she'd be caned like some recalcitrant, naughty girl. She no longer felt pride and beyond her years at being his "Secretary." She was really just a schoolgirl. She had been silly to think more of herself, here in the Restricted Section.

She heard him take a step back. Riddle did not start at once and Alice prayed silently that he was going to change his mind.

If only she'd known there was fat chance for that. Riddle was standing there marveling at the sight. It was all very erotic suddenly to him. Riddle's face convulsed slightly, he began to perspire under his heavy clothing.

He imagined what her two globes might look like fully exposed. And then he wondered what colour her pubic hair would be, assuming she had any on that untouched sex. He felt his needs rise from their quiescent, carefully hidden veneer of control. His elongated penis filled with his blood, until it thickened and lengthened. He'd had an erection. He wanted a piece of that little ass-hole. He licked his lips delectably.

He reached out a hand to touch what he thought should become rightfully his. But he stopped himself. Now was not the time to go tearing through her knickers. These desires would have to be postponed for another evening. He didn't want innocent Alice suspecting the erotic undertone to her punishment. It would be his secret for now.

Alice was still hoping he wouldn't. But then there was a sound as the cane ricocheted through the air. The pain stung her so badly, and it surprised her so that her small hands went for her bottom. She jumped.

Cold, white hands instantly held her arms back in a half nelson. Riddle's cold breath breathed down her neck. Alice thought it was anger but it was also arousal. He was enjoying her pained reaction, yet he did not show it. "Stay down…Or else I shall dole out more than I intend for you!"

Alice whimpered and squirmed, as Riddle's hands tightened over her shoulder blades. He released her. "Unless you wish me to prolong this? I can go indefinitely if need be."

"No! Mr. Riddle – please don't!"

He chuckled cruelly under his breath, so that Alice could not discern whether it was laughter or a sneer.

Whack! Another cut of the cane impacted her flesh. But at least she had her skirt and white cotton panties for protection. Her hands gripped the desk and she soundlessly cried, tears rolling down her cheeks.

He struck her again and again and again. The end of the cane swished and ravaged her buttocks. But luckily it was a smaller cane, and she was clothed so that the many, many strokes did not do serious harm.

Her tears soon dried. She became acutely aware of her surroundings. Yet Alice felt herself to be outside them, like an onlooker to this abuse. She could smell the books – the wood of the desk and the ink still splattered on her. She breathed it in with a strong sensuality, as if it would calm her nerves.

His voice came back with mocking cruelty, that shook Alice out of it, and back inside herself again. "Does it hurt Miss Alice?"

"Yes, Sir," she imbibed tremulously. Inwardly she felt a surge of hatred for the Head Boy. She hated how cruel he was being.

"Do you wish for me to continue?"

"Please stop. Please….stop."

Even Riddle was surprised with himself as he complied with her. He laid the cane down on his desk next to Alice. He looked her over, drinking in the sight.

His hands shook with excitement and desire. Dead silence.

His palm was raised high to smote her skirt-clad behind. It wasn't without rhyme or reason. The beating had a purpose and he struck with force.

Alice's pelvic muscles clenched inside her body. They contracted over and over. She found something unknown in her being stirred up.

Riddle looked on growing more satisfied with each blow. This was what he wanted. He could see Alice was turned on the by this light dose of pain. Her breath was panting, and he could smell her budding arousal.

Savoring the moment, his nostrils breathed in the smell of her cunt. It was funny to him how she didn't even know she lusted for him, yet he knew she did. He would use this fact for his benefit.

Alice meanwhile was confused why the spanking hurt, and yet felt so very good. Smack! Smack! Smack! At each one, Alice swayed in time to it. Her pelvis was grinding against the edge of the desk.

She couldn't see it, but Riddle's mouth was contorted into a grin. His upper lip curled maliciously. The dark eyes alight from sadistic thrill. Although he thought this a cheap thrill for Lord Voldemort. There was so much more he could do!

The truth was that he was simply thrilled she was enjoying the sensual pleasure of it all. He found it hilarious that Alice wasn't conscious of her obvious desire for him. Her body could not lie, though she may try to!

He rested a hand calmly on her backside. Alice felt the hands on her and shivered. But she couldn't find the strength to say no. It was like her mouth went numb. She was being possessed. She had never felt like she was an object somebody could own. But she suddenly realized that in a way she – at least her body was his.

Alice finally became cognizant of her arousal. Something gooey was sticking to her inner thighs. She supposed it was masturbation.

Riddle could feel his own arousal aching between his legs, like a monster itching to get out. For his own sake he had to stop this. But certainly, they would have to do this again sometime.

A firm hand sneaked its way into her, and she was raised up. She felt remarkably stable despite all she had endured with him.

She found herself turning around yet could not bear to look at him. She looked through her downcast lashes and saw he was wordlessly holding out her robes. Alice took them and wrapped them around her shoulders. She felt a warmth return to her, one the drafty room could not penetrate.

Riddle was somewhat content with her not looking at him. He was still feeling the erection. Even though it was completely concealed by his robes he'd rather have a private look at the chastised girl before him, without them seeing eye to eye.

She shook when he spoke again, her legs wobbling. He spoke to her as she stared at the floor. It was still the old authority. "Detention is over Ms. Whitman. You may go. See to it that you are present this Monday at four. I do not take kindly to tardiness…" Alice sensed his demeanor switch to amusement. "Unless you want me to punish you?"

She stuttered, evidently appalled. "N-no, sir," and whimpered, "I won't be."

When Alice had gone and Riddle was alone in his study, he cast several spells, locking the door with powerful enchantments. He returned to his work. A loud groan escaped the cruel mouth. He wanted her. And yet for the rest of the day it was like nothing had happened.

Later that night he briefly pondered something. Would she say something? He'd never taken such a risk . And yet this time he knew her word meant nothing. Nobody would believe her. He was certainly permitted to use detention and even to cane a student because he was Head Boy. What had he to fear from Alice Whitman? He rather liked the suspense.

**NOTE: I will respond to any questions or comments you may have. So please, review. Even if you're disappointed. If you have a suggestion go ahead and tell me. Or if you simply want to say, "I liked it." That's fine too!**


	9. The Awakening

**Chapter Seven: The Awakening**

The next time they met in the Restricted Section hardly a word beyond a stiff, curt greeting was exchanged. At first.

Alice remained in her usual place, and concentrated hard on the tasks. Luckily this time it wasn't so hard as last time. The voices hadn't returned…

But the silence was pressing and amid the perpetual dullness of the solitary hours alone with Riddle, she longed to return to the animated, even lively conversations. Where was the charming Head Boy she'd first met? Alice could not begin to comprehend what his true nature was.

Riddle just sat there at his desk reading almost leisurely from a heavy tome on the theory of Charms. In one hand was the book, and at his left a goblet. He had poured a goblet of wine earlier to drink. That day Alice discovered he kept a little cabinet of liquor in the room. She watched him take a sip just now, tiny and measured, with an air of absolute control.

Soon Alice lost herself in long, complex Arithmancy problems, and then went on to balancing the Hogwarts accounts (a job that was in actuality only to be done by the Head Boy). Yet young Voldemort did not want to waste time at menial chores when he could be learning and doing more significant things. Once done with this she went over the log of last week's detentions. Her own was conspicuously absent. It made Alice wonder…But it wasn't a serious concern. She knew it had been a legitimate punishment for copying his essay even if he hadn't bothered to report it. At least it wouldn't be in the record books then. That was nice of him, she believed.

Feeling a strong, unusual bravery Alice decided to bring up the detention of last weekend.

"Sir – I need to tell you something."

Riddle stopped and looked up. "What is it?," said he in a nasal voice.

"I wanted to ask you if I may rescind being your Secretary. Mr. Riddle, please….I disgraced myself last week. I cannot do an honest job anymore. Let me go. Can't you?"

Before he had even answered, Alice felt a sinking sensation deep in her gut. She knew all along he would never let her leave. Shortly he answered, "No…." and then again, "No. The answer is still no. And no again. You agreed and you are doing satisfactory work. End of story."

Alice's eyes flashed angrily and she complained, "But Sir – I don't want to do it anymore!"

He continued in an annoyingly patient tone, as if explaining a concept to a small child. "It cannot happen. Or else I am forced to explain to Professor Dippet why I needed another Secretary. And – Once I tell him the story of how you defied me and plagiarized my work….I daresay Dippet will be displeased with you. I am sure you don't want that to happen, Alice. Do you?"

"No. I guess I can't back out."

Alice went back to transcribing the detentions into the official Hogwarts school record book. But even after this was accomplished, it was not over. She still had to file the original letters. The original notes were mostly smudged, written hastily by teachers in annoyance or anger, and some badly stained. Besides that, the index-sized cards were confusing enough in that they had to be sorted both alphabetically and by house.

She was focusing most attentively on this, when a cold whoosh crept down her spine. Riddle had brushed up against the backside of her chair very quickly like that of a snake. Alice shivered, but did not grow frightened.

Out of nowhere she felt two hands clamp onto her skull. His fingers rubbed her scalp, and caressed down strands of golden-brown like the colour of wheat. Alice remained calm inside. He was just checking her work. She could feel his eyes gaze down below towards the top of her desk and the parchment where she'd written the new records and figures.

And that was precisely what Riddle was doing. And yet he was holding her most possessively. She was his new Secretary now, and Riddle was content to keep her. And soon she'd be his in another matter….One Alice had no reason to suspect. However, in this moment Alice was reminded of his authority over her as his "Secretary." It filled Alice with a delightful tremor of joy – it was almost like he was a father figure, one she most secretly longed for as he'd abandoned her recently. Yet she felt guilt, like it was naughty to have this wish. Meanwhile, Riddle couldn't be more joyed she was so apparently and totally in the dark. In the dark concerning his much mature regard for her body. Much more mature than she could possibly imagine.

Riddle spoke suddenly. "Has anybody distracted you of late?"

Alice shook in surprise at the sudden question and timidly answered, "No, sir."

"What I mean to say….Well, Miss Alice what has happened to the strange whispers you've been experiencing?"

"Oh…That. Today is better. It went away I think."

"Perhaps…" said Riddle. He was quiet for a moment, pretending to muse over this. But Riddle knew perfectly well why the voices went away. They went away because he chose not to invade her subconscious today.

Riddle walked around the desk to face Alice. "What was it? Two times I think that you've heard this…"

"Actually there has been other occasions, Mr. Riddle. Sometimes I hear them before I fall asleep. Mr. Riddle - do you know what they are saying? What it all means?"

"The words are of no consequence, dear Alice. It is total nonsense. This is something that I'm afraid needs to be cured…." And most wisely at this moment Riddle smiled sympathetically. She could feel kindness radiate from him, yet his eyes remained fixed with that usual cold glimmer. Alice did not see the look in his dark eyes. All she could notice was the kindness and sympathy for her plight.

"Thanks. I guess I shall have to see the nurse then. Straight away." She strode up from her desk to get her cloak, hoping to leave.

"But you wouldn't have to bother. Let me do you a favour in return for all the help you've given me. I'll examine you right now."

"Y-you can tell what's wrong with me?"

"Absolutely. Of course I can. I trained once, not long ago as a Healer. This was with older students when I was in my Third and Fourth year. In fact, I am fully qualified to work at St. Mungo's after Hogwarts…" and Riddle added, more to himself, "If I wanted."

This was actually true. Young Voldemort had become learned in the healing arts as a protégé in the labs. And yet he had no ambition to work at the ward.

Riddle waved his wand at his desk, rapidly all the books went on the shelf. Next Riddle placed a Cushioning charm on the surface.

"Please," he proffered his arm politely, to help Alice get on his desk. "It is my pleasure to help. So sit up here, so I may check for the malady."

Alice perched on top of his desk and waited expectantly. For a second she was unpleasantly reminded of how she had sat in the very same place last week before he had beaten her. When she had waited for him and he returned with a cane. She tried to drive the thought from her mind as Riddle took his wand out.

His hands lightly grasped her shoulders, "Lie back. Relax."

Alice resisted. But then she shot a quick glance behind Riddle to what led to the back wall. She could see the cane hanging there. She knew what disobedience would cost her….

So she was compelled to abide. It wasn't so bad anyway; Riddle was just staring at her from head to toe, with his wand in the air, concentrating. The young girl had no idea what it meant when a boy stared at a girl like that. And that certainly it was a far cry from standard medical procedure.

Her naiveté was her biggest vulnerability, and Riddle would certainly exploit it. Alice remained calm. She knew he was the authority figure and could advise on her condition. It was like a doctor in that way.

Alice merely stared at his Head Boy's badge. Another symbol of his authority – like that of a constable's. He had a badge too.

Within moments Riddle's wand was tracing every inch of her skin. His eyes raked her body – Alice thought it was in desperate search for the disease. If only she'd known it was done out of monstrous desire.

Like a knife the long yew wand traced the skin, and Riddle briefly imagined what it would be like to slit somebody's throat. It went down her abdomen for the fourth time and he rested it at her navel.

Alice finally looked at him and asked, "Is it in my stomach? Maybe there is a potion you can get me?"

"No," whispered Riddle impatiently. "Not that…"

Alice glanced fully into the handsome face. Finally she saw something strange there. There was a hungry look in his eyes.

"Lift up your skirt."

Alice's heart skipped a beat, and she felt her stomach sink. "What?"

Riddle spoke quiet and eerily calm. It was all logical, rational. "Lift up your skirt, and pull your knickers down so I can look closely. Do it."

Alice felt scared. It sounded like a command. In fact, it was a command. One Riddle had issued her, in that soft, comforting voice. The tone conveyed quite clearly what he wanted.

Alice was too innocent to read anything sexual into abiding by the simple request. Her innocent mind still believed that since he had not done anything wrong yet, he must intend nothing than that of examination. Yet nevertheless she felt ashamed to expose herself to the handsome, intelligent Head Boy.

He tapped and prodded his wand against her navel, waiting. So she did it, feeling much better once it was done.

Suddenly his hands were on her stomach. Alice studied them. They were cold as steel on her skin, and yet when she looked at them they were beautiful perfection. And it was annoying how despite his constant scribbling of the quill, not a drop of ink stained them. Alice's hands were grimy with the Merino ink, and so it was slightly agitating to see his contrasting alabaster ones, completely unscathed.

His hands grasped her pelvis. "My stomach hurt a lot today. Maybe it's from the voices, sir? It's been just awful!"

"Is it?" he replied, his voice not the least bit emphatic. It lacked affect. He went on. "Well, yes, you probably do have an affliction."

"Wh-what is it?" she asked tentatively.

Riddle peered down, eyes narrowing at the sight of her tight opening with white-blonde pubic hair. He couldn't help but lick his lips. Alice wouldn't interpret the repercussions of the gesture anyway.

"I am not sure what it is," he answered carefully. "I shall need to take a culture of the infected area and run a test. Then I will know."

Alice nodded.

It was already embarrassing enough to have herself on display in this position but then Riddle's hands pried her thighs apart. Her legs were now straddled across the two corners of the desk, her opening entirely visible. Alice's face reddened, mortified. But she justified this. It must have something to do with the illness and the test he was going to do.

Riddle now had a full look at her untouched sex with the pubic hair much lighter than the brown hairs on her head.

All Alice saw was a flash of something opaque and onyx coloured. Next thing she knew Riddle was delving into the folds of her vagina. His fingers were rough and hard. Alice interpreted it as Riddle trying to finish the task as quickly as possible. Alice concentrated on her breathing and stared at the cobwebbed ceiling.

He coaxed her, thinking she was like a scared farm animal. "Remember this is for the test. I am versed in the healing arts. I even practiced as a Junior Healer."

Riddle slid two long fingers in, and Alice suddenly tensed from the slight burst of pain.

At Riddle's supposed ministrations, Alice's body sunk into the Cushion charmed tabletop. She sighed with release, abandoning her reservations about the procedure. She was now completely at ease, and she decided he must be a good Healer.

Until he pinched her clit and Riddle could see it was hard and intact. Definitely a virgin. He had already been sure of this. "Have you ever touched yourself here?"

"No. Not really," she answered.

Riddle scoffed, smirking slightly with incredulity. "You may be a liar, Miss Whitman. But your body is not. You're enjoying my little examination aren't you?"

"I am not! Maybe a little bit," she decided to admit.

Riddle smiled and Alice looked at him, wondering if the charming boy really had returned. She couldn't tell if he was play-acting or seriously annoyed with her sinful pleasure. "Naughty girl." And he was amused. At the innocence of her youthful mind. "You naughty, little girl!" he said again, slapping her thigh. He'd long since penetrated her mind. Doing so, he had seen her mind was as transparent as looking through a shallow lake, clear and uncorrupted.

But Riddle had discovered something interesting. Yet he decided not to tell. It would be too strange to relay such feminine news. Instead he'd tell a lie.

He jabbed the Peverell ring against the hard nub, with a purpose behind it, yet to Alice it appeared accidental.

"I'm so sorry. My ring caught on your skin. There is a cut."

Alice narrowed her blue-gray eyes suspiciously and studied him hard. She had a strong intuition that he was deceiving her, yet there was no way to tell for sure. It was impossible to tell if he had cut her on purpose. But Alice suspected he had. But in reality he had not cut her at all, the blood was from another origin, one the nascent girl had not considered. However, even if she suspected he was fooling her, she interpreted nothing sexual from the ploy.

"But no matter. I'll mend it."

Riddle muttered an incantation under his breath, and Alice could tell it was one to heal abrasions. Yet there really was no need for it, for Riddle had not really cut her clit at all.

"Thanks, T- I mean Mr. Riddle."

At her utterance of gratitude Riddle thought it ironic. It had not really been an examination, but a way to see how she reacted to pleasure, and so that was really what she was thanking him for!

However, Alice tensed as Riddle abruptly tore off her white cotton panties.

Alice watched as Riddle pocketed them with a pat inside his waistcoat.

"Why are you taking my underwear for?"

"It is for the test I told you about. In order to conduct the test, I need your knickers to see if there is a magical pathogen alive there. I need to see if they are in the affected area."

"Okay," she said in a quavering voice. "I hope you can figure it out. I'm having these terrifying shadows come inside my head at night. Bad dreams. I forgot to tell about this before."

Riddle listened to her elaborate but did not say anything. He knew that there was no malady afflicting her, and that he was the cause of the disturbance.

His cool hands attached to her wrists. Alice felt an onslaught of inexplicable fear rise up inside her like a dormant snake as soon as he touched her. She recoiled from it, and felt a hollow echo reverberate in her head. But then just as suddenly his hands let go of her wrists, albeit reluctantly. Riddle had thought of taking her just then. It would have been easy to modify her memory afterwards. But no, it would be much more pleasurable for him if he waited. There was so much more he wanted to show Alice Whitman.

"You are dismissed. Feel better Alice. I shall tell you the results of the tests by next week."

Alice rose from the desk and left, once again conveying her thanks towards the Head Boy for being caring enough to examine her.

Riddle was now alone in his study. He paced around, his mind teeming with plans of things he would subject her to.

After a moment Riddle sat back and returned to his studies. But first he took the panties from his pocket. As it emerged from the folds of his robes, it looked like that of a crisp handkerchief. He spread it out on the desk.

There was a flowery blood-stain in the center. Riddle dabbed at it with the tip of his wand. A clitoris suddenly appeared in midair, throbbing. Another wave of his wand and Riddle had transfigured some screws he had in his desk drawer into shiny, metallic pins.

One by one, he proceeded to stick the clitoris that looked exactly like Alice's. It was like he was making an effigy to curse her with. For surely, young Voldemort was going to make things hurt…more than Alice could ever understand. Soon….

Alice was confused about the events for the rest of the day. Later that evening before bed she discovered she had gotten her menstrual period for the very first time. So that was why her stomach had ached today, and not because of the voices. She still believed his black-stoned ring had cut her, and she pondered if Riddle had done it intentionally. And Riddle had the record of the first time she ever bled from her period. He had her blood, and blood was a powerful magical agent.

Alice was left; meanwhile in more confusion about her sexuality than if he had decided to modify her memory and Confund her.

**Note: Please review. Alice will get a heads up on the Head Boy. Eventually. This chapter was called "the awakening" because it is the point where Alice's sexual desire becomes apparent, even if she is not wholly aware of it yet.**


	10. A Return to the Mirror

**Chapter Eight: A Return to the Mirror**

Alice had a splitting headache coming on. Thoughts, feelings and memories split and they shattered into fragments.

She put her quill down and stole a furtive glance at the Head Boy. He was paying her no mind. Her head throbbed.

Panic reigned. The voices had returned. Alice could not place whether the source was her own mind or were they coming from outside? She pondered whether she was going mad. Or was there a phantom, unseen, hiding inside the walls?

A sharp pain hit her in the navel. She prayed it was just a stomach ailment. She had no idea it was something much more sinister that controlled her. Her period ended a few days ago, the blood had ceased….

But Alice didn't understand how Riddle possessed her blood now. He had encased an artificial clitoris that he created when he transfigured her blood. Perhaps someday he would use it, in the most gruesome ways. But first, he would use Alice as if she was nothing but an instrument.

Alice burst out in spite of herself; "I don't feel well. I think I need to go to the loo, Mr. Riddle! May I?"

Riddle finally looked up at her and gave her one piercing glance. "Yes, you may," he drawled boredly. But then his attention shifted back. There was an edge in his voice. "However, you shall ask permission whenever you desire to leave this room, for any reason at all. Whatever."

"Yes, Sir," she assented submissively.

Alice was gone in a hurry glad to be away from his stuffy demeanor. Riddle grimaced with some pleasure, at the same time as he was contemplating a very difficult question in his studies. Poor Alice, he thought sarcastically. She had no idea how this was slowly becoming a torture for her. Torture for her, but the highest pleasure for him.

Soon after Alice returned. She had managed to escape the voices it seemed. But Alice knew that tonight they would come. In her dreams they would return to haunt her.

That afternoon Alice asked about the meek and strange boy in her house, Anthony Edwards. Alice wasn't sure what made her ask Riddle again. Yet she felt there was still some connection between the two boys. It was a mystery to unravel.

"The boy…. The boy is weak," responded Voldemort to her, his voice quite cold.

And that was all there was exchanged concerning Anthony.

*

The ground was thawing outside, as it was late February. Alice's birthday was just a few weeks away. She would be fifteen. Her friends had been hanging in the courtyard every afternoon. But of course Alice had to work with the Head Boy Monday through Friday. Her close acquaintance, Rachel even got a kiss from a cute Gryffindor in their year whilst under the pear trees in the Clock courtyard. Alice wished to be there. And what was more, longed for a kiss...

"Would you like to hear the good news or the bad news first?"

Alice had not anticipated this. There was bad news? Maybe she really wasn't healthy. Was she actually going mad after all? She tittered, "er- er the good news."

And Riddle gave her a fabricated tale of what happened from "testing" the blood. "The good news is you're perfectly healthy…" Riddle stalled and Alice found it very strange to see a smile on the verge of divulging such bad news. But of course Alice didn't know the real Tom Riddle. "The bad news…You must stay later tonight and perhaps many others. Nevertheless, the Head Boy is fair…I shall compensate you for the overtime."

Alice's face turned glum, despite the promise of higher pay. This Secretary position already was taxing. It wasn't worth extra galleons.

Manipulatively Riddle peered down from above and with a slender hand, cupped Alice's chin. Alice rediscovered just how cool and smooth those hands were. She longed for him to touch her again. Like tussling her hair while working or even when those professional, intelligent hands extracted the blood culture.

Riddle kept a hand there and raised her head up to eye level. He could see her gray eyes were filled with clouds. She could not hide her dismay.

"Now, now Miss Alice…. I am an upperclassman. And in addition to Head Boy, I am also your employer. Therefore this makes me your Master. You are obligated under the contract to do this, remember?"

Alice vaguely remembered. She wished she had it on hand now, but she did not. But Mr. Riddle couldn't be wrong.

Alice faltered believing once again Riddle's lies. "Thank-you for increasing my salary…You're a kind master."

Slowly, Riddle smiled hugely. He had succeeded in making her admit to at least one of his views. Perhaps those detentions and the caning had not been such meager punishment. Yet it was so not his style! He really enjoyed that he already, albeit subtly had found a means to make her call him "master."

Alice held her hand out. For Riddle would not send her away to accomplish the task without proper motivation. He didn't want to detect any further lingering doubts about being his so-called "secretary."

At least Alice wasn't hungry. It was dinnertime in the Great Hall and apparently she would have to skimp on it. It was just an hour ago that she had eaten at her desk. Mother's strawberry jam on bread had left her sated, and the fragrant tea Mr. Riddle provided warmed her blood considerably. Alice felt puzzled about the Head Boy once again. Wouldn't he be hungry without his dinner too? It was odd.

She knew he would be keeping her well after dark. Once outside the secret room, all optimism disappeared. Even the warmth from teatime evaporated. She realized this was bound to be the most unpleasant evening yet, even worse than the detentions. The only thought that sustained her was getting mother gold earrings. It would be much easier now with overtime!

Alice carried her wand, lit by the Lumos spell. She felt like she was on duty with a secret, dangerous mission. Riddle asked that she go to the Restricted Section and return with a list of books.

The Restricted Section, in fact the library itself was completely deserted. Alice felt like a ghost. Before going out, Riddle placed an immensely powerful Disillusionment on her. Alice never felt so strange. It was like being a wallflower. She could almost blend in with the many mysterious books.

She started down a row near the corner next to illuminated arched windows. There was a thick layer of frost imprinted from the outside. Alice tightened her cloak around her neck.

'Young Werewolves in captivity' she read aloud. That was startling in itself. "Zealous Witches and Warlocks." So this section was the end. He wanted only one book from that area, yet it took Alice awhile to find it. She wasn't used to the Restricted Section. In fact, having never used it. She was only in Fourth year and the rules stated it was for Sixth years and above.

Some of Riddle's requirements stretched way over and above Alice's head. Like plucking apples in an orchard, she climbed ladders and plucked tomes of knowledge from the shelves.

The whisperings returned suddenly. Or so Alice believed. It sounded like a foreign tongue. Her gray eyes felt like they could pop out of the sockets. She scanned the library. Everybody was at dinner. But the whispering was near. She felt the hair on the back of her neck crinkle and a shiver crept down her spine. The voices followed….

Life and death. All of this was recorded philosophically, theoretically and magically within these books. The books sensed someone present who shouldn't be.

Alice set them on a stool. Something cold, and vapory past through her flesh. Alice felt like she had been doused in a bucket of ice.  
But it was just the ephemeral form of Ravenclaw's Grey lady. Alice smiled with relief and almost laughed for joy.

Upon curiously perusing a book, there was the unmistakable creak of footsteps. It couldn't be Mr. Riddle. The source came from beyond the Restricted Section.

A figure stepped into view. It peered through Alice's body all the way down the aisles. Alice stood stock still, affirming silently that she could not be seen. It was the Caretaker, Apollyon Pringle. Fear kept her feet shackled to the floor. She recalled, the Head Boy's words: "He whips miscreants in the dungeons."

The Caretaker strode briskly, eager to get to the bottom of this disturbance. He was of course wondering where the whispers were coming from. He took out his wand, in hopes to silence the books.

As he did so, an unmistakable, bone-chilling rattle ensued. Alice was overcome now with terror. Her fertile imagination could only think of chains. But in reality it was the jingle of keys.

A vivid image of Alice bound in chains, and then she ran. The charm could not stop her from being heard. But her negligence was of small matter. Alice soon realized what a coward she'd been. Now she knew why she hadn't been placed in Gryffindor. Why had she lost her head?

She ran blindly, so she did not know where her feet took her. Down a corridor, a sharp turn and suddenly she was back in that classroom with the mirror.

It was like a deserted island. Wintry cold. Alice went back to the mirror, drawn to it without thinking. It was her heart that led her.

The swath of silvery mirror with the Stags made her nostalgic. But that time was over. Locked in the past, like a remnant from the Ice Age.

"Mummy? Daddy?"

*

The windows showed it was twilight. Alice retrieved the books from the sill. Coming to Riddle's study, she went through the door, spotting the knocker of an upside-down cross. It was just like an inverted symbol in her new favourite novel, Dracula.

Alice had not bothered to consider what Riddle was studying. But had seen just enough grisly images before she stopped, slamming a book shut. Besides, most of his reading material was in arcane languages, and others in ancient runes. It would take Alice some time to decipher the runes if she had had the time. Maybe then she would of discovered the full extent of the horror Riddle was creating for himself…and worse what he might plan for her.

A great stack of books hid Miss Whitman's face. Riddle took them one by one, methodically placing them on his varnished ebony desk.

Riddle at once saw the fresh face was stained with tears. He did not take the time to question it. But it wasn't true that he wasn't interested.

Finally Riddle turned from the books to face her. "How did it go?"

Alice decided to tell the truth. "I got scared, Sir. The voices – the phantoms are stalking me."

Riddle smiled skeptically, his dark eyes gleaming intelligently. "You missed three books on my list," he stated frankly.

Alice's chin drooped, chin by her small chest. More tears rolled down her childish cheeks. But then, with ire not expected she stamped her foot. "Oh, bugger me! I'd be hard-pressed to do it! What with Pringle on my heels and the voices…."

Alice felt small again. Her voice faded into nothingness. Like a harsh, cold wind Riddle stepped instantly closer.

Alice glanced up at him, her expression still haughty. She was surprised to see how calm he was.

Riddle grabbed her mouth and looked straight into her eyes. With a dangerous quip, "Manners, Miss Alice….Or did your parents not teach you?

"Ah, did I strike a nerve?"

Alice's blazing face crumpled to despair. The mention of mother and father was the demise of her defiance. Alice's gray eyes stung with hurt. Riddle knew this would be a heart-wrenching blow. He'd just glimpsed into her mind, extraordinary Legilimens that he was.

"My parents…are irrevocably separated. We aren't together. My dad-"

"What?" said Riddle. "What suffering is this?" Riddle thought he should be kind, he did not ask in a demeaning way.

Alice was hungry and desperate for sympathy. So she took whatever shred of it Riddle threw at her. Of course in actuality it was a deceptive ploy of Riddle's. "My daddy is gone. He left me and my mum. I miss him."

Alice's gray eyes looked up at him imploringly. Somehow intuitively she sensed she could not lie, and so she confessed to her exploits in the Restricted Section. "Oh, Mr. Riddle! Please don't be mad! Don't be mad…I ran away when I saw him…I was so frightened."

Riddle cut her off, catching on. "And you went to see the mirror?"

Alice gave herself away with a hiccupping sob.

Riddle became very quiet and contemplative. It was impossible for Alice to tell whether he was pleased she gave into temptation or not. "What did the mirror show you this time?"

"It shows me my family. Always." It was the one thing Alice desired more than any other, a whole family. Not the lonely separation she endured at home.

But it was not what Riddle had been hoping to hear. He had wanted to hear something different, a driving ambition as her heart's desire. Not this load of bilge that obviously pertained to irrelevant, powerless love!

So her father had abandoned her. Riddle understood and the truth enraged him. How could this girl still "love" a man who would leave her? A blue vein flickered on his forehead, remembering his father. His insides were filled with hatred for him. Riddle remembered how he wiped him off the face of the earth by committing his first murder. He'd been so proud the night he'd done it….

"Tut – tut You poor, poor little girl." Riddle even stretched out a hand and squeezed her palm.

Alice though nearly fifteen did not mind when Mr. Riddle called her a "little girl". In her mind, she subconsciously wished this young man, could be her father figure. He could guide her, teach her and she could forgive his tendency to be a stern disciplinarian.

"But you will stop this pathetic crying at once." Oh, he hated crying! It reminded him of his time at 'Wool's Orphanage'. He was happy that at eighteen and on the verge of finishing school, he'd never darken their doorstep again…and the orphanage staff couldn't be happier he was gone.

His hand snaked up Alice's wrist and suddenly he was dragging her. "Sir? What did I do? Where are you taking me?"

"We shall put you in a chamber like that of an asylum!" And Riddle was reminded of his long-forgotten fear he had as a little boy. At the orphanage they threatened frequently to send him to live in the asylum down the street. He'd heard then that the asylum contained a room of isolation, of total darkness, something Riddle secretly feared. He'd let Alice experience his fears instead.

Alice hadn't noticed the tiny broom cupboard in the corner before. He shoved Alice inside there. She landed with a painful thud to the floor, and scraped her knees. Droplets of blood oozed down the woolen knee-highs.

"No tears! Here you shall stay the night… I shall fetch you tomorrow afternoon…And you will be different. Of that we can be sure!"

It was indeed certainty. Keeping Alice isolated, in the dark, all alone would forever change her personality.

"I want out! I WANT OUT!" Alice howled with grief and anguish. She quickly realized it was much worse than when she was a child sent to her room. That was a punishment her father had usually preferred to spankings. But this, her mind fantasized was her "new" Daddy.

Riddle ignored her, not reacting at all to another's pain. He wasn't even in the mood for the pleasure that torture gave him. Instead Alice was to be ignored, neglected, and ultimately banished. Just like what had happened to Riddle. Tom Riddle Senior, was a pathetic, selfish muggle that abandoned he and Merope. And Riddle most secretly observed a girl who still adored her father after abandonment. Riddle could not tolerate that.

He whipped out his wand and placed several spells, locking her in. And with that, snatched up his most important school things and was gone. Hopelessly, she banged her fists, pounding against the stones. Her knuckles bloody and broken, blood streaming down her fingers. And all that long, cold winter night nobody heard Alice's frenzied screams...

**NOTE: Please review! The next scenes will have much more sexual tension and erotic activity. And more!**


	11. Of Death and Lust

**This is one of those smutty, erotic chapters. ****Alice is still very much just a girl taken advantage of. But I promise by the next few chapters; she'll be a sleuth, trying to unravel the truth! I recently changed the category from "Suspense/Horror" to a "Mystery/Horror."******

**Chapter Nine: Of Death and Lust  
**

Alice wasn't as frightened as she expected a situation like this could render her. She never imagined  
this could happen. There was no room in her heart for fear anymore, only the cold edge of despair welled-up with knowing there was nothing she could do.

Once she was certain the Head Boy left, Alice stopped screaming and crying. That night suffering insomnia and anxiety.

Her eyes ached, straining in the pitch-black to see for a way out and her injured hands pressed into the walls and floor. It was to no avail. The prayer for peaceful slumber only wore on...

A face floated around in the darkness. Alice was mesmerized by it. She knew it wasn't real: she must be suffering from hallucinations. It was her mind projecting falsities. Still the handsome face was captivating. It had a striking effect against the dark. It was Riddle – like a Cheshire Cat he was grinning within the glimmering solid black. All night that pale face, with skin almost as waxen as the moon glowed. It was like a nightlight that produces fear instead of creating security.

When sleep did come – at daybreak – Alice's dreams were not the nightmares of the last three weeks. She awakened confused in the mid-afternoon. The dream was of a friend – a little boy – or a baby she may have known when she was small. However Alice had no recollection for this little boy, yet she felt drawn to him, as if they'd known each other forever.

Riddle was intent on returning to the Restricted Section and specifically to his secret lair. The Head Boy moved rapidly – for he was keen to see what happened to Alice. He did not wish to lose his secretary – he needed the girl. She wasn't silly. No. She was sharp as a whip. Yet it was her heart he hated….

She was the prey he pursued and he had her caught in his webs of deceit. He'd do whatever he desired. Riddle would have her for a meal to devour! One of sheer ravishment!

Alice heard the great slab of stone lift. It was very much like she'd been in a sepulchral tomb all the while. She paused and waited, dreadfully excited.

By magic the stone pulled apart. On the other end he stood and stared. There was nothing but darkness for his eyes to fall upon. But Alice saw Riddle encapsulated in light –appearing to her like a vision. There - an immutable fixture bathed in white light. Alice burst out cries of relief. She felt like he was a holy man – a holy man that had come to reward salvation. He had not forsaken her like she feared – her spirit would be transcended and resurrected….She would submit to Riddle's likeness. They must bond. The torture had brought them together somehow.

Very calmly Riddle walked inside and came forward, robes flapping slightly at his slender sides. He had entered the void.

Without a stir or a sound his wand lit up and he peered down. All was quiet for a moment and Alice was anxious with waiting. He'd become the black hole at the center of Alice's surrealistic galaxy. He was the focal point for all the horrors she had experienced. She needed him to give her the peace of solace.

A whisper arose presently. Alice was horribly reminded of the voices. For a second she thought it must be the phantoms – until she realized it was his mouth working. And this is precisely what he said:

"I can see inside your soul…  
I can see into your deepest fears,  
But only I can show you the world you want above all,  
You need to let me help you  
You need to be shown the way  
You need to open my door…"

The tongue of Riddle stopped. He leaned in a bit closer – pressing near into her. Alice felt the familiar cool whoosh of that powerful presence he had. Somewhere above in the dark, he was hovering. And Alice huddled, vulnerable and pathetic on the ground, beseeching this strange and awful young man.

He emerged dramatically, clearly outlined now. And what Alice saw next was a face of near morbidity – but curiously brilliant.

"But only when you see my eyes…" He continued in a whisper.

Torrid, scorching jewels of malice. Alice cupped a hand to her mouth for the horror of it. The Head Boy's eyes were no longer a boy's– they weren't brown. They were red. Positively – most wickedly gleaming violently the colour red.

And just as soon as those amber eyes burned – they flashed and went out like flames extinguishing. Once again, they were the blackest of brown.

Alice's head shook, denying this exposure. Of all he had told her up to this point – was it truth? And what of what she'd seen? Could she really believe those handsome eyes were actually red ones just seconds ago? Alice had no way to know that there were so many lies and that the truth of these matters needed to be dissected from them.

"But only when you see my eyes…." He recanted. His eyes were now brown again and this did nothing to erase the confusion.

"Will you know…how far you can fall."

Alice felt exposed suddenly – and she realized she was exposed to the full extent of something, something evil. She did not understand at all how this evil was a being, not a thing.

A beatific grin alighted that comely face. Alice felt naked as she watched him smile. What was he thinking? It was impossible to interpret that poker face, even when he was smiling. And it was futile to ponder that particular riddle he'd just spoken, or Mr. Riddle himself.

And naturally Alice returned to despair. She wept and quite vociferously at that.

Riddle would never, not ever stand for this. He gestured placating and gentleman-like. A hand outstretched to take. Taken and pulled to her feet, she was drawn into the light.

Emerging in an embrace she was still weeping. Yet it was tears of renewal, no longer despair. She was a contrite girl and would make herself amenable.

Alice cried into the nape of his neck, standing on tiptoe in flat shoes. Riddle did not hold her, but just stood and allowed this, with confidence. He could make her a believer in the Dark Arts now and eradicate whatever was in her heart before...

Alice hugged the bleeding tree that was Riddle, and it was as if he were the antithesis of life itself. It was like he was the Tree of Death. But Alice was seeking comfort from this illusion. With truth out the door, in came lies. She could cling to him within this radiant darkness; she no longer was alone.

More and more bloody tears accumulated on his powerful chest. Alice through her tears was blinded. Yet this mad man was all she could look at if she could.

Once the tears ceased flowing, she clashed painfully with a pristine white something. It was a brooch to close his cloak - a skull. It was indeed Lord Voldemort's emblem. Not quite the notorious symbol of the Dark Mark, of which it would later become, but it was still starkly hideous. No serpent spewed forth from the mouth only a wild grin.

Alice's suffering was becoming much too real to bare, a corporeal agony. She clung to Riddle as her identity fragmented. Her very ideals and principles were crumbling.

She flashed a look to her savior or was he a tormentor really? Riddle, she saw was staring keenly at her.

Straightaway Alice's shirt was ripped in two. Riddle's wand, gone unnoticed before had slashed it, apparently with a non-verbal Diffindo spell, Alice ascertained. She tentatively eyed that long, thirteen-and-half-inch wand, and silently vowed to keep a close eye on it for the rest of this evening's bizarre encounter.

Riddle's tongue was long and slippery on her fresh skin. He sucked the tears from her cheeks. And with a hunger, he drunk of them, savoring the taste of pain. He was always oddly craving pain for reasons even he could not understand. The full saucy curves of his mouth swelled.

Alice's knees weakened. She quite fell head over heels before Riddle. But in the last instant, he scooped her up, holding the small of her back. And instinctively, Alice's legs wrapped around his waist, curling her feet comfortably at his backside.

Alice sighed at the feeling of security this created, even if it were illusion. It reminded her of how Daddy carried her off to bed when she was small. But she suddenly knew something she hadn't known before. This way was different than Daddy's. It could be judged a prurient position.

With shirt opened and bra pulled away, Riddle had full-view of the bounce-less breasts she possessed. They were small, but firm.

"Oh! Ah," Alice found herself saying. Riddle launched his palms onto them and squeezed, wholly. It was not hurtful. Not even for young, inexperienced Alice.

His head lowered and Alice could no longer see his face, just thickly curved brows, and eyes peeping out beneath dark lowered lashes. He looked strangely and terribly romantic.

It was blissful to feel him when he took his full lips to her nipples. She never knew such pleasure. Riddle was gone - consumed by his own desires, no mind for Miss Alice's. Something deep inside him had urged to take her breasts then. He himself did not know what it was...merely a lesser, base instinct. One he would always keep secret from the world...

All too soon Riddle garnered complete control of himself again, somehow. It was unnatural how quickly he could master himself, and how swiftly he could move on.

Bodily he transported the girl towards his desk within the crook of his arms. She nestled against his heavy black robes. She was too scared to look at him.

However, her precocious gray eyes kept wary watch on that long wand, below. Riddle's wand was out again, and Alice watched it like a hawk. She knew, somehow even then, that that wand and even this wizard could be a great threat to livelihood.

She saw him transfigure a crude bowl, and with the wand etched out runes along with a vial of some gossamer blue strands he'd evidently procured. But how? Alice was unnerved by these slick maneuvers.

Unfortunately, Alice didn't see it coming….All she saw was the content of the bowl - blue ethereal strands of wind mixing with something like air...

Before she could have a look - she was dumped into the bowl. All Riddle heard was her fading refusal, echoing eerily on the surface. He chuckled at the absurdity. But even when having a laugh, he was always quick to dispel humor.

Inside the contents and past Alice, he knew what he was doing when he landed. He'd make sure poor Alice was left above, close to the surface.

All Alice saw was a shadowy figure slink in and descend the Underworld and thus, guessed correctly. It was undoubtedly he.

Alice was in a sort of limbo-state. Endlessly falling, falling, falling but there was no end. It was the proverbial rabbit hole, only worse. The recent nightmares came to mind. There was no end in sight to this deep, dark well, the place where Riddle would learn a deep, dark secret….

What he saw was quite a show. How he dredged up Alice's memories, Alice might never know. He might have done it one day as he peered over her work, head studiously bent. It would have been easy...Too easy for the exceptional Legilimens to extract just what they wanted. He'd weave it out of her, and she wouldn't feel a thing.

Alice was crying all this time. How long must she suffer? She'd never heard of a Pensieve and so had no idea where this was. She was only a Fourth year. Would the Head Boy leave her for an entire night, like when he abandoned her to the broom cupboard? Alice cried so hard, she could hardly breathe. It felt just like drowning. Drowning in incessant, bloody tears. But then just as she wondered if he'd never come, he came.

Now he wanted Alice's company. He was going to revisit the memories with her. She would have this "privilege" and was lucky really that he was so curious about her. She was really such a boring girl! He thought. But tonight she was going to answer some questions….

**NOTE: Please review! This chapter, "Death and Lust" is to be continued….The memories of Alice's past are better than I construed originally.**


	12. Of Death and Lust 2

**Continuation of...**

Chapter Nine: Of Death and Lust  


The divorce subsequently uprooted the family's life.

The setting was nearly four years ago, on Alice's eleventh birthday. Together, Riddle and Alice watched a woman gesticulate on the phone. She was in great distress, actually pulling short hairs from her scalp. The pain did not bother her, for another's pain she knew would be greater. It may have even relieved the woman.

"That's Evelyn," said Alice baldly proclaiming her mother, as if on a first-name basis. "My mother I mean."

Riddle knew this. He was watching again, but this time to view Alice's reaction.

Eleven-year-old Alice swept across the floorboards to her nightstand where photo frames stood propped up besides a jug of Holy Water.

"How can you be in Rome to see the Vatican? What about your daughter's birthday?"

Evelyn paused, and listened to an explanation.

The younger Alice leaned against the doorframe, listening. Her face was long and sad. Tears dripped down her vernal complexion. She had a yellow bow in her hair and was wearing a polka-dot party-dress with white socks. Her feet were clad in similar Mary Janes like the ones she wore in the present.

Evelyn was screaming again and the small child listened fervently. "You forgot? You forgot your only child's birthday? You bastard! Nothing is more important, not even your devotion to the most high! But clearly you don't believe this, do you?"

The mother listened, all aghast. The father told her that indeed his faith did mean more than his daughter did.

"You're a horrible, despicable man. The lord will make you burn in hell for this!"

She slammed the receiver down. Young Alice softly shut the door, so that it looked like she heard nothing.

And Alice never saw or even heard from her father since. Evelyn told her that apparently he went on missionaries far away from Europe. The last time she'd ever saw him was their day in papal court, where the divorce was finalized.

The man was a vicar named Reginald Whitman. He had been Dean of Holy Trinity church in Cambridge. When he reared Alice he had been in his fifties and sixties, and bald. He believed the divorce from his wife must be accepted by a church, preferably the highest one he could find and it was.

And young Alice gazed at the photos of daddy on the nightstand. For years she'd gaze at them every morning, hoping he'd return. Until she turned thirteen, when like a big girl who puts away dolls, she put away the photos.

Present day Alice became forlorn, too. "That memory still hurts me!"

Riddle thought he understood. This was neglect and he'd gotten his share in the orphanage. Nobody ever paid his birthday mind in the orphanage.

Time went on and the witch, Evelyn became ashamed of marrying a muggle. Privately, Tom Riddle agreed with this shame. Evelyn was the one who most intrigued him. The Head Boy pondered if his mother, Merope Gaunt ever felt a tinge of shame for marrying the bombastic muggle, Tom Riddle Senior.

Riddle saw that the divorce caused an inner struggle in Alice, one she struggled with to this very day. It was between order and disorder. She had tried to make sense from the chaos and confusion, yet it was nonsensical to this day. Alice almost went crazy trying to understand why her mother and father didn't love her enough to stay together. Like most children of separations, she believed she was to blame.

Riddle from all these memories made plans. From Alice's disorderly past, he'd create order for her. It would be an order revolving around death and lust. Its roots would be the emotion of fear.

Years past. One day a letter arrived in the mail. Her father died of typhus fever as a missionary Tibet.

Evelyn threw up her hands with mixtures of loss, relief and anger. She sobbed loudly. The younger Alice squeezed her shoulders tightly.

"I'm here mum. You'll always have me."

Evelyn gathered herself and told her daughter things she'd never known. It was special, womanly advice and she wanted Alice to learn from her mistakes. To never marry the wrong man...and to make sure he was a wizard.

"I was trapped when he lived with us, Alice. Your father was strict with the both of us. He was far too righteous...A god-fearing man. But mostly he wanted us to fear him."

The Alice of the past, was almost the age she was now. This was last summer and Alice had been fourteen like now. Alice's stricken face became horrified with comprehension.

"Mum! How could you? You're glad he's gone. You wished death upon my daddy!"

Alice howled out the grief and shock. She felt reduced to a lonely little girl with no father . The Alice of the past felt resentment towards her mother.

Secretly Riddle gloried in mother and daughter's shared despair. It was like their punishment, their comeuppance. For it was really Evelyn's doing that caused the divorce, she had not been a good wife. Behind Riddle's full lips, a smile was hidden, the teeth bared by a grin.

"Don't marry a man like him, darling. When you're older you'll understand..."

The younger Alice stamped her foot and cried, "I hate you!" The girl ran away to her bedroom.

Riddle chuckled, a low jarring mirth. Present-time Alice turned sharply.

"You think it's funny?"

"Evelyn is the only one who makes sense. However, she erred abominably. Marrying a muggle! She did not believe in the lies of faith that her husband espoused...morals should be loosely regarded - shaped to suit one's agenda."

"Shut-up," said Alice daringly.

Riddle's eyes widened maliciously. He glowered with dangerous fervor. Quietly he spoke, looking down, eyes narrowed. "What did you say to me?"

"I said...Shut-up about my mother and father. You know nothing! Nothing."

Alice was reduced to crying all the pent-up hurt came out again, a wound reopened, bleeding fresh blood. The ties that bound her family were loosely stitched together and they were broke open, releasing pain and confusion.

"Poor Miss Alice," said Riddle sympathetically. And he laid a hand on her shoulder. Surprisingly he didn't chastise his young secretary for talking back. Like when he took her out of the room he held her again.

They were transported out of the past, Alice clutching Riddle's robes.

Back in the present-day office, Riddle leaned against his desk to get eye-level with the girl.

Alice's gray eyes swam with tears and lazily she watched the stone basin, there was the Pensieve swirling her memories. Alice sniffled, and took a step closer to the Head Boy, standing between his parted legs.

"Your mother," spoke Riddle slowly. "Reminds me of my mother. Like Evelyn, she made the mistake of fornicating with a muggle. Do you understand, Alice? She was a powerful witch and married filth with no powers whatsoever."

"Yes," said Alice in a small voice. "I understand, Sir. But Daddy taught me things. He knew the power of faith."

"Lies!" spat Riddle. He collected himself. "I can understand why you hated your mother. It was Evelyn's fault for the divorce. Am I right?"

"I'm glad you understand, Mr. Riddle. You see, for years I've resented my mother for wanting to be freed from my father, her husband. I resented the choices she made!"

Riddle held back his own anger. Instantly he was reminded of his mother's fate. Merope hadn't had a choice. The only way to escape was through drugging a wealthy muggle and seducing him, if only to escape being brought up in an unwanted, derelict home. At least Evelyn had a choice to stay, and yet selfishly chose not to. This was of course the real reason, why young Voldemort was interested in Alice's story.

"Your mother was a bad wife, Alice. Perhaps she was an infidel and slept with another man. Like..." but Riddle wouldn't divulge that his mother was a whore for wooing Tom Riddle Senior.

"No. No," said Alice, quietly in denial.

Riddle became quiet and spoke again in almost a whisper. "Obedience is the chief virtue of a wife. A wife must learn submission to her husband. If she fails, perhaps the husband should use discipline on the wife, his property. I kind of like the old ways."

"I don't care! That's not what I want for myself." Alice could hardly believe her defiance. But perhaps part of her secretly admired Evelyn?

Riddle became inflamed, almost passionate. "'For the husband is the head of the wife; therefore let the wives submit themselves unto their husbands in everything!'" Quoth the Ephesians 5:23."

Alice gaped at him. "That was one of father's favourite passages in the Holy Book. He read it aloud to me and mum, I suppose to keep her at duties. He was always ordering to be served at beck and call. To cater to his every whim or- or else they'd fight when she wouldn't listen. Personally, I found everything about their m-marriage awful. I don't know if I could honor a man like daddy if I was grown and he was my husband…but I loved him and was mostly a good girl when I knew him."

Indeed Tom Riddle had studied the Bible, purely out of intellectual curiosity, not a belief in god or the afterlife or anything. This was when he was about eight to nine years old and had known a priest. The Catholic priest had been helpful in teaching the orphan Latin. But that is a whole other story and we really must get back to this one.

Riddle's eyes bored into Alice. Her knees shook. "Reginald Whitman knew what he was doing, obviously. His woman clearly needed to learn her place in life. She seemed of a very rebellious sort. She did not like authority. Am I right?"

"I suppose so, Sir," said Alice blithely.

"Obedience is a virtue for all, but especially for women," Riddle spoke contemplatively, rolling his wand between his fingers. Alice was becoming nervous, she sensed he was moving onto something…

"I shall teach you obedience, Alice where your father left off…"

Alice felt a stab of malice, pure hatred. Her chin jutted out defiantly, "I don't need to be taught. Sir."

He was secretly overjoyed that she was starting to hate him. It made things so much easier…Her hatred he knew would just give him more power.

"Right now you remind me of myself, Alice. Strangely enough, I see you in me. I hated my father…and you hate your mother. Don't you hate Evelyn for leaving your daddy?"

"I don't hate mother," said Alice coldly. "You're wrong."

"But you do. How could you not? She lost desire for the man you adored with all your heart. You worshipped him, Alice. The only man who ever showed you the ways of the world and your true place as a subservient female…Wasn't your father, Mr. Whitman a moral, pious old vicar? He was the man who made you study the psalms on Sunday after he gave the sermon to his congregation."

"Yes, Sir. Sometimes I didn't want to sit in my room, reading scripture all day. So after Sunday service, I'd carry on pouting and crying… My naughtiness earned a spanking. Daddy would lay me over his lap. He had a firm hand, I recall. I suppose it was necessary, for the spankings did me much good surprisingly! Discipline kept me an honest, obedient girl.

"Afterwards he'd sit me on his knee. We'd read together. It was strange…but spankings were kind of a way of father and daughter bonding. I know it sounds twisted…But after my tears…Daddy would hold me. I'd know everything was okay. I was safe. I'm sure he'd still be disciplining me with spanking, if he could today. Even though I'm a great girl of fourteen!"

Riddle stared keenly into Alice's eyes. He had already extracted all this through the many Legilmency opportunities. Truth be told he knew a lot about Alice Whitman even before the Pensieve.

"I shall teach you the art of submission. For a woman, whether witch or not she must succumb to it. It won't be the same as father and daughter…It will be much more intense!"

Riddle sniggered nastily.

"Yes," said Riddle his mind made up, and rapidly his imagination whirred with awful, sadistic fantasies that had nothing to do with even the harshest spanking. "You will submit to me. Body and soul…I shall own you, sweet, little pet!"

Alice felt a maelstrom of hatred, anger and rage. She didn't want to obey Mr. Riddle any further than she must with secretarial duties. Her innocent mind recalled when she obeyed her father. She had loved him and loyally followed him, especially for religious zeal, which she shared. But this young man she didn't love…. Part of her realized he wanted something mature. Alice knew she wasn't ready for it yet.

Looking back, she felt sadness and loneliness for she wished she could have her father to comfort her. But he died and went to heaven. She stared at the floor, thinking and Riddle was still watching, waiting for the weakest moment to take action. Alice knew she was alone - she only had the Head Boy to be like a father figure.

Alice briefly noticed the bulge between Riddle's pants. His robes pushed aside and his legs spread between. But a second later she looked up into his face.

"Sir – I – I know you're my master as you are my employer…and b-being Head Boy and all, you are very powerful…" Alice paused just then and sideways glanced nervously. There he was wearing a broad, pretentious smile - like Tom Riddle knew something she didn't.

"But why must I take on my emerging womanhood so quickly?..." Alice went on with musing, intellectual banter like a typical Ravenclaw. "I'm hardly ready for submission, other than to my father. But he is dead. Why must I –not quite out of childhood submit? Is it because you're a man? That's what I want to know…Why must women be inferior? In the Bible they are socially second-class. Since that is true, are all men, therefore my masters in a sense? If so, I suppose you're right I must submit to you, because you are the first man who wanted me and I must heed your commands as the Holy Book dictates. But w-why must it be this way?"

Riddle wanted to roll his eyes but he laughed, a laugh of poisoned perfidy. The things Miss Alice believed! Riddle didn't believe women were necessarily inferior, but had found in most cases that women were less powerful and as his victims, easier to control.

But he would use her perspective to play with her mind. "Yes, Miss Alice. Consider this: When Eve took the apple she did so because the serpent told her to. It seems only natural, that since the beginning of time women do what they're told to do…Well, most women."

"Except when women fail to obey…Like my mother. I hope Lucifer doesn't take her soul. I'm so frightened…" Alice shook with fear, a fear of death and loss. "Especially of going to hell. When daddy spanked me he sometimes said it would cleanse my soul of the sin of my misdeed, the reason I was being punished. That the fire I felt on my bum would prevent me going to the fires of hell in Eternity. I hope so…."

Riddle was faithless. He didn't believe. But the innermost part of him knew the deepest, darkest fears like death, the great unknown.

"And Sir – what about when God expelled Adam and his woman, from the garden?"

Riddle scoffed, finally impatient with all this talk, of things he secretly didn't believe, but had only read. "God is an idea. God is nothing but a series of judgments to keep people in their place. Most people need to be guided…told what to do. Even most men. And judgment creates duality…good or evil. But in reality there is no duality between good and evil…there is nothing. Nothing. Only power."

Alice felt her chest freeze up at these words. What was god, what was faith then? According to Mr. Riddle it would be a lie fed to the masses. Alice was too scared to ask more questions. The truth of her Christian heritage was being exposed and ran out the door, and in walked doubt. Alice was losing faith and succumbing to the lies of a sorcerer.

"Now…I will show you what real power is. As beings with magic we are superior to muggles. As a wizard I am…god-like. Remember that. It is the first rule to the rest of our interactions henceforth."

God-like? That was creepy but Alice assented right away. "Yes, Mr. Riddle."

Riddle straightened himself, smoothing his robes and walked over to the walls. On them was a mass of gnarled vines that Alice hadn't noticed. In fact, there were a number of peculiar magical objects in his study.

Alice watched the vines multiply. It was easy to admire the skill with which this young man could wave a wand. And what was more, in the heavy black vestments he resembled daddy in his vicar robes. It made Alice go back to liking the Head Boy again. For Tom Riddle was charming sometimes, and righteous like her father. She was very impressed that unlike any Hogwarts student she'd met, he knew the Bible. For Alice he was becoming something like a holy man of wizards. Tom Riddle may have appeared holy, but in reality he was anything but.

Riddle stood before the knot of gnarled vines and surveyed Alice. Inquisitively, she cocked her head like a young wren, "What type of plants are they, Sir? I've not seen them in the greenhouses."

"Give me your hands."

Alice held out her hands. At once he raised his wand.

"Ouch! Oh, that hurts!"

The Episkey spell repaired the bones of Alice's cracked knuckles. While under isolation, she had of course smashed her hands against the wall in an insane effort to escape.

Alice examined them and smiled. "Oh, oh they're better. Thank-you, Sir!"

But coils whipped out like vicious snakes and wrapped themselves around Alice's arms at once.

"Stop! Mr. Riddle what are you doing?"

"Devil's Snare. You must relax…. If you don't, you will die…unless I choose to show you the light," Riddle laughed at his expression. For of course the plant didn't like light. But he would never show Alice Whitman the light of truth. The truth was that he was going to possess and manipulate his Secretary when she wasn't working. Like Devil's Snare, the Head Boy didn't like the light of truth. He lived in darkness, darkness and lies.

Alice squirmed. She suddenly recalled father preaching to the congregation about the way the devil ensnares wayward Sinners. "Oh why do they call it that? Is it for Satan? Devil's Snare, I get it and boy does it frighten me."

The Devil's snare felt her fear and so did Riddle. Pleased, he sat back and observed the vines put her in bondage, tighter and tighter cords that would strangle her. Her feet were the next to be restrained.

Alice saw a strand go for her throat and she found the courage to be still. Once relaxed Alice was held in the plant, unable to break free. Riddle looked slightly crestfallen, smooth forehead wrinkling.

All her limbs were so tightly bound that she could no longer squirm at all. Riddle took a look at his idea of human bondage with the girl he hated for her love of her parents, especially for loving a father that abandoned her. He patted her like she was animal flesh, like a magical creature brought in to cage for experiments. And that was sort of what he was planning.

"Good girl. Get ready because we're going to have a good time tonight."

Alice started struggling again, she felt the plant awaken.

"Please, Sir! Just let me down."

"No. I don't think so."

It was pain beyond anything Alice could believe and impossible to relax when subjected to this mind-blowing torture. She didn't hear the spell, and wondered what it was. For the Head Boy had cast it non-verbally.

The Devil's snare lay quiescent, and came alive. It wrapped over her throat. Alice was choking, slowly dying. She was on the precipice of death, feeling thousands of knives prick her skin and suddenly feared death more than ever. What would happen when her heart stopped? What if Tom Riddle was right and God was nothing but an idea…If it would all end.

But there was salvation. Riddle showed mercy. She felt herself, as if detached from body, fall to her knees. It must have hurt cause blood oozed on the flagstones. She had a scrape.

"Relax, little girl….Now listen: I am going to take you. From behind. I want you to relax into it, if you can. I prefer to see girls…and boys relaxed. I want you begging. You shall become a whore like Evelyn or- Because that's what you'll be for me tonight…My little girl all grown-up to be a slut. Ha!"

Riddle laughed uproariously and his dark eyes glittered. Alice felt him go on top of her; once again breathing down her neck like when she was studiously bent over work the other days. Something about his presence was electrifying. Was it sex? Alice had no idea, having never done anything sexual. Mum and dad had forbidden it before marriage. Oh what would they think now? She mustn't dwell on that. She felt the shiver run up her spine, a tingle of radiating power. She almost wanted this….

She waited for him to start, allowing the moment to flow freely. This was interesting and nothing could be more painful than that spell.

Riddle unclasped the skull from his cape and rapidly unzipped his pants. His huge member slithered out like a serpent hopefully sniffing the air.

Riddle slicked it with his masturbation, to make it perhaps a little less painful. But he liked that the girl was still bound by all four limbs. She was totally his property, and it was nice to know she'd been raised to believe she'd become somebody's property someday. Well, someday came soon...Because that would have to be himself, right now. Never mind marriage!

Slowly he began to hump against the girl. For a long time, Alice was in a state of bliss. She felt the hands of the Head Boy massaging the dimples of her back, and cupping her butt cheeks. It was pleasure, and Alice did realize for a second that it was probably sinful to be fondled…especially for not being married. But she no longer cared about anything but this feeling….

And oh, there was something grazing and sliding over the crevice of her ass. It was his member working and, Riddle was building himself in full preparation for he'd take her rapidly and cum inside that tight little hole.

Finally he began the real work. One strong thrust and he entered. Riddle could feel the flesh tearing; he did not care if it injured.

Alice felt his dick grind inside. She ground her teeth, but could not relax. The plant woke again to attack, but Riddle raised his wand and somehow stopped its interference.

Alice was brave not to scream, but ground her teeth, gnashing them violently. Tears pressed into her shut eyes.

And then it got unbearable, with a mighty push Riddle reached deep within her. To Alice it felt like she needed the toilet. He pushed more and more.

After a moment, the pain subsided and Alice grew accustomed to it. Slowly little tickles of pleasure, of a cock scraping her rectum, made her blush with shame. She felt so very naughty, she knew this was wrong. But she too was evil, she believed, as she liked it.

Alice was raised into the proverbial leapfrog position. She was on the floor, the scabbed knees aching. She was a child, young enough to have scabs from playing on the castle grounds. She thought that her bottom should never be on display, except to be bared for daddy when he'd spanked her all those years ago...

"Do you know how wet you are, trollop? Your thighs are dripping with the juices of your cunt."

She felt Riddle's finger check her pussy.

Alice's face smushed against the floor turned redder still. "Well, Sir….I feel quite naughty for a little girl….I never knew the buttocks could have a man's cock in there."

Riddle chuckled humorously at the girl admitting her innocence. There would come a day, he knew that she would have none. He'd be sure to rob her of all innocence, whether of the body, mind, or perhaps even soul.

Alice raised her bum higher, giving the Head Boy encouragement to fuck her harder. Her body felt as low as that of a snake's, with her belly hanging. Riddle was like a snake, enjoying the exchange of fear.

Alice's stomach gurgled in protest. Riddle writhed some more, hips swaying in tandem to his cock pulsing in and out, in and out. He could feel the ultimate release building. It would take him to a new high.

The seed spilled into her hole and Alice felt the liquid washing her. She could no longer hold it in. Her muscles recoiled and a large piece of excrement defecated from the hole. It was a typical piece of stool – thick and a healthy brown.

Riddle's mouth watered at the sight. Sometimes he did have appetite for strange things. It seemed like his horcrux work had made the cravings for all things foul stronger. Of course, nobody knew….

Riddle's mouth went to her ass, and the shit lying on top. He chewed and munched and devoured it whole.

He finished his meal by wiping the hole clean with his tongue, sliding in. Alice felt it inside again, sore and the tongue was warm, and slippery. Not as rough as his penis. He was a monster with strange tastes and she was glad he enjoyed licking it clean. She never felt so dirty!

Riddle collapsed, heaving on the backside, prone in front of him. His climax made him tired and soon he'd call it a day.

Very quickly he cleaned up.

But Alice wasn't giving him an easy time. She felt a stirring of grit. A determination to speak her mind. She still knew this was all to be wrong.

"I'm going to threaten, you Mr. Riddle….I'll go and tell Dippet you misuse your secretary. I'll spare our headmaster the details. Don't worry he won't retch!"

"Headmaster Dippet wouldn't hear a word of it, you silly, stupid girl!" Riddle was not the least frightened and boredly wiped away the last of spittle and stool. Dippet would never believe that Tom Riddle, the apple of his eye could be capable of this.

"There is pluck in you yet, Missy, isn't there? I thought I saw it stir in you before. Perhaps I misjudged you! I can't say I like this side of you though. Continue, and I'll make you as docile as your dear little kitty."

"My Snarglepuff!" She whined incredulously. "H-how did you know about him? What do you mean you'll make me docile?"

"With a curse to control your every movement…and all your thoughts. But agree to keep reticent and I shan't Imperiuse you!"

And Alice realized he probably knew plenty of powerful magic and detrimental curses.

He shut the door on her face. The last words she heard was, "Sleep well, Miss Alice."

But Alice would not. She was once again in the throes of fitful sleep, with the phantoms haunting her. Upon waking, she wondered if Tom Riddle really did know her dreams. He claimed to, when he released her from the room and spoke in that strange riddle.

He said there was things he could do to her. Things normal magic could not perform. Was he telling the truth?

And he had made sure Alice didn't reach orgasm. And so her first sexual encounter left nothing but horror, depression and confusion.

**NOTE: Please review! I'm sorry it has been like three months or more.**


	13. The Dark Art of Submission

**Please review! I really appreciate all the reviews I got last time. I found this chapter below was better written than my average entry.**

**Chapter Ten: The Dark Art of Submission  
**

The next week Alice returned to the cloisters, Riddle's secret lair of the Restricted Section. He went back to being charming. Alice was relieved that she needn't be as frightened as last time. For upon entering the library, she seriously considered fleeing to the Ravenclaw common room to hide it out. But eventually, the Head Boy would get her and demand why she hadn't resumed attendance to the job. So she dared not.

Alice knocked and was told to enter. She waited as he checked something he was working on and then brought his undivided attention upon her. He clapped his hands almost jubilantly, evidently pleased by her return. In some respect he was aware he had nearly frightened Alice off.

"And so…We continue today. The agenda in order is to teach you submission. Specifically, submission to me…which is different than to any other man you may encounter."

Alice looked away from him, remembering. He told her he wanted to be revered like a god last time! This must be what he was alluding to.

Riddle came closer to Alice, invading her personal space. She felt his presence, overpowering and taking her. She felt belittled and small already. It was rather insulting, but what she could do? He was the authority.

"'Sir' is much too common a formality. You will now call me 'Master' and only master at all times."

Alice felt more like a servant girl than ever. "Yes, Master."

"I will set you to a number of tasks, different from your secretarial duties. This will help you, missy. For when you're a married lady, running your husband's menage… You will be ready. There is much to learn from servitude and giving a man his due pleasure. From the process, you will become my trained submissive!"

Alice sneered at him coldly, "I learned it all at the knee of my father, thanks." Or rather sometimes, when she blundered quite literally over the knee of her father. Alice had witnessed plenty at the hands of her father who imposed his will and demand for obedience as the head of the household.

Riddle bent down and got eye-level with Alice. "Here is my list for this afternoon's duties. Be done with them by six….Or suffer my…displeasure." Alice did not like the way he said, "displeasure" almost as if he would enjoy it if she failed!

"Yes, I will. Yes," she said breathlessly, again frightened. "Yes."

"Yes, what?" He snapped irritably.

"Yes, Sir. I mean, Yes, Master."

"That's better. Now take off your robes…."

Alice slid her heavy school robes off and was reduced to just standing in her shoes before him, clad in pleated skirt, knee-highs and a crisp, white shirt.

He handed over a funny white linen rag and nodded curtly. She understood she was to wear it to keep her face and hair clean. "Good girl. Now off you go."

Alice wore the rag over her head like the tea-cozy was a bandana. He'd retrieved it from a House-elf in the kitchens, surreptitiously snatching the tea-cozy from a laundry basket. Alice deduced that he must of pilfered it off an elf that worked at Hogwarts. Furiously she wondered how much the Head Boy was getting away with...She'd never imagined he was capable of theft. All knew him as a model of good behavior, but Alice was learning the truth.

She was taken to trimming candlesticks, organizing his small apothecary and then dusting shelves. She even got on her knees to scrub the flagstones until they gleamed with such effulgence, that one could see a reflection in them.

She was polishing a giant net of skulls, whilst clearing spiders and their webs off it when she looked up, forehead crinkled in deep thought. Upon reflection, she was prepared to reveal something she had gleaned today. The evidence mounted that her inferences were indeed accurate.

"You used Anthony before, didn't you? You used Anthony Edwards. And you're using me for Secretary now."

There was silence in the study, perfect golden silence. Riddle's quill stopped. He stared. "Yes, I did," he flatly confessed.

He tried to hide the fact that he was genuinely piqued, shocked by her perspicacity.

"But how did you know, Miss Alice?" He'd asked casually. But the cogs in his brain were whirring like mad. Riddle was burning to know what was motivating her to seek the truth.

"I- I see what you've done to him, M-master! You've hurt him and you'll p-probably hurt me the same! Don't! Don't you dare!"

Riddle could barely conceal a grin. He wanted to smile, but he wanted to gain the girl's full trust back. He understood at least in principle that true submission, required surrender and absolute trust. Voldemort believed he could earn trust, but in truth never did with anyone, not even his all-male followers.

The quill came down with a direct, intentional thud. And as usual he acted completely unruffled despite the lack of trust.

"Never, Miss Alice. I will never hurt you. You are being a good, and albeit right now a silly servant girl. There is no harm that can come by pleasing your Master. You are doing fine. Come here…"

He held out his arms to her, as if not a threat. Like Christ welcoming his flock. Or like a congenial father.

Alice dragged her feet, dreading approaching him. But she went to the work desk. Riddle hugged her paternally, gathering her in his arms, and sat Alice on his knee.

"Dear Alice….I beseech you to understand, how very much I like you! And you're so good at what you do."

"I suppose so…" said Alice faintly. She no longer felt like herself. "M-master…I thank you for allaying my fears."

Riddle let her go then, glad to have that "thing" off his lap. He didn't want to do it, but he understood that this girl saw parallels between himself and that of the iconoclastic pastor, her father, Reginald Whitman. He must show her affection, however untrue his feelings were.

The hourglass kept time, in cadence to the work. Alice listlessly looked up from scrubbing, dusting and cleaning, seemingly forever watching the sands fall. Here time was slipping by, when she should be out with friends in her year. Instead she was with the older; much more mature Head Boy. She'd rather be playing games with fellow schoolmates in the courtyards! Skipping around the castle after class, with time to kill before dinner. To have not a care in the world like a little girl should be!

She was told to sit and work the Hogwarts accounts (a Head Boy duty) and in the meantime compose mysterious messages to an unknown group of people. Alice felt like an adult here like a big girl. In a way she thought it was like she was his wife, being a good helpmeet. She was beginning to feel proud, prouder than she'd felt of her achievements in awhile.

Alice was bright. She realized the enigmatic memos were a code. And that they probably had something to do with those hooded figures she saw kissing his ring! She burned to know the truth and vowed she would find out the names of those people who had knelt before him that day.

She stared at the back of Mr. Riddle who was facing the blackboard, his voluminous black robes sweeping behind him. The cane happened to be hanging nearby. Alice was fortunate that he hadn't used it again.

Riddle was standing back, appraising a long litany of voluminous, archaic writing. His hands were clasped behind his back, turned away from her, where he faced the blackboard. Hundreds of numbers and symbols were etched on it. Whatever it was, Alice knew only a brilliant mind like his could decipher it. But perhaps she was quick enough to crack the code of his messages….

"Master...Who were the people in the masks?"

Riddle's face drained of colour when he heard this, and lost his concentration. He didn't like the level of inquisitiveness this young girl, near woman was evincing. He must squash it and soon!

He stepped back and faced her. His dark eyes were ablaze. Alice was sure she had angered him again. Without thinking, her eyes looked at the cane and she prayed he wasn't going to flay her again.

She watched him gazing at her, and waited for an answer. She studied his eyes and saw that his lashes were long like a girl's. But it just made his eyes more beautiful, and yet masculine still.

"Concerning you - that is neither here nor there. Meddlesome, irritating child…Get up and re-fill my wine flask."

Alice hesitated. He could see she would object.

"Do it," he rasped irritably. "At once!"

Something about his commands frightened her to action. She obeyed and went to get a fresh bottle, uncorking it and pouring one. Riddle turned angrily from his blackboard, no longer wishing to focus on it, as Alice's thought had distracted him.

She slid the goblet onto his desk, next to his notes. Stiffly, Alice said, "I am not yet your Maid. Nor shall I ever be your maid. And nor am I as low as a House-elf!"

Riddle grabbed her wrist, tempted to punish her for such insolence. "You will do as you're told," he said quietly. "Without question or complaint. No need to get your knickers in such a twist girl!"

The last of the diatribe was more lighthearted. Riddle wanted to forget how she was looking for information. He knew she was using her own investigation methods for an answer to what he was. And that should be none of his Secretary's business!

He still held her wrist, threateningly and Alice quailed. She shook her hand, in an effort to wriggle free.

"Now let us see what you've done."

Six o'clock. The time had flown by.

Riddle inspected everything with keen eyes; the darkness in them seemed to radiate a glow. The study was cleaned from top to bottom. It was a new abode, simply immaculate. It looked like a different room altogether.

Alice kept her head bowed modestly and clasped her hands by her navel. This was behavior she had learned for whenever daddy reviewed her work. Alice dared not move until Mr. Riddle made his judgment….

"Not half as bad as I expected it would be without magic. I am surprised a witch could handle herself so well. I must commend you for industriousness."

Alice kept her head bowed modestly; trying not to look too pleased with herself. "Thank-you, Master."

A burst of bright light, a spell was produced out of nowhere. He'd moved the chair across the room. Riddle went to sit leisurely.

He took his time. He seemed to be getting comfortable for something. He parted his school robes, and loosened his tie and the cuffs of his shirt rolled up. Next he unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his broad, handsome chest. Alice wanted to go now. She wondered if she could just quietly leave….

She tiptoed, starting towards the door. But immediately he spoke, "You…. Come and kneel at my feet."

She turned back disappointed she couldn't be let off. She saw him sitting there like a prince on a throne. The long wand pointed to where she should kneel. Like a doleful saddened animal, being put to humiliation she prostrated.

Humbly the girl looked up at him. She was the picturesque version of beauty in all its simplicity. In this moment, Alice Whitman shone with truth. But Tom Riddle did not appreciate true beauty or truth in any form.

"Aren't you aware of the effect you have on me?"

Alice just looked dumbfounded.

He twitched, his head turning downward, with impatience. "Don't you understand that I….desire you?"

In a sense, Tom Riddle was aware of the innocence. The Secretary was only fourteen years old. He felt like it was best to address this now, get it out in the open. The Head Boy who always held things back, keeping his thoughts in mystery, hidden under the surface, could hold back no longer...

Alice said, "You have an effect on me. Er – I think. I dunno but…I didn't think you noticed what you d-do."

"Certainly, Alice. I certainly did notice your progress. It is going along well! The questions remains though….Are you aware of mine?"

"Your what exactly?"

"My desires," he hissed powerfully.

She shook her head.

"As promised, I shall teach you. Train you in the art of submission."

His teeth gnashed with a rage Alice would never understand. "Worship me…Worship my manhood….No. I am more than that. Worship this…."

Rapidly Riddle took his pants down. The flesh of his dick was visible to Alice for the first time. In fact, the first time she'd ever seen a man's penis up close.

Her gray eyes fluttered with bright-eyed interest and wonder.

Riddle smirked at her expression.

It was a clean foreskin. In all its audacious glory, spanning nearly ten inches. It had never been circumcised, as was the practice for European-born babies of that era.

Alice was brought to tears by it. That was the thing that had entered her the other night. He had entered her, his presence, his being had been in that! And all of it had been inserted inside her. It had hurt her. He had hurt her.

She started to weep. She was just a child, a little girl being touched by a man who shouldn't be.

Alice boldly came out with it. "Mr. Riddle…I feel like this were a-a…. Like an Arithmancy problem I can't get right! I can't do this….It doesn't feel right. Please, don't make me."

Riddle was growing increasingly infuriated. And this Ravenclaw was silly to refer to an Arithmancy problem, when he just wanted her to shut-it, so he could fuck that mouth!

"Oh, how I hate crying!" he seethed. His rage was boiling inside. If she didn't stop, he would torture her to within an inch of her life! "Crying children. Crying babes! I hate them all! I could not bear it in the orphanage."

"Where you grew up? Oh, do have pity on me, Master!"

Instinctively, Alice was desperately grabbing at the possibility that this young man, this handsome monster she dealt with could show just a shred of mercy. So she grabbed his robes, still knelt in the position on the floor. She clutched at them desperately and pulled.

Alice looked at him, and pondered if he ever felt pain, like the pain he subjected her to last night, when she was locked in the coils of the Devil's Snare and he used the Cruciatus curse.

In a flash, Riddle saw this going through her mind.

"You must experience pain. It is a part of your submission to me, my slave." His voice was tender, sickeningly soothing.

Alice gulped. She watched him pry her fingers free of his robes, so patient. Alice realized he knew she would obey for sure and he took his time. A single tear squeezed out of her eyes. Riddle frowned at it with disapproval.

The wand ignited by another spell. She clutched her throat like she was choking to death.

The spell had been engorgio. It had elongated her neck, by several inches. It was done so that her mouth could be put to service easier. It worked perfectly for deep-throat penetration.

He shoved her head forward and Alice had her mouth to his member. It was cold, and very slippery.

She did not look like a sweet little girl anymore. Rather like an obscene, brazen harlot, sucking off her master because if she refused, he would punish her severely.

All ten inches was inside her mouth now. Riddle brought the shaft, up and down, up and down. He guided her along, riding his shaft in her mouth.

Smack! Smack! And now he slapped his cock against those childish, puffy cheeks.

His dark eyes became maniacal. With almost child-like delight he said, "Sucking my cock to the root you are! To the root! Ah!"

He was getting release from it. Young Voldemort sighed and screamed, and screamed and sighed again.

Alice was frightened by the emotional display. That was more emotion than she'd ever seen from him. His body was shaking erratically, especially the hand that held his wand...

"Eat of my seed, sow." Something warm and frothy went down her throat. Alice was ashamed to be reminded of butterbeer, but knew it was ejaculation.

"You have a good tongue for fellatio. I shall have to use it again."

Alice felt grave and reflective from the abuse. She mumbled tearfully, "Yes, Master."

Riddle looked on at this person he used, and felt like she was lifeless. Young Voldemort looked at everything as if it was all outside himself. All his life, every living thing seemed as lifeless as a corpse from his vantage point. Except for him. He was the exception, the one thing that was special.

And right now he felt exceptionally alive. Alive and satisfied from the relief Alice brought him.

Alice couldn't help but take hold of his cock and cradle it in her hands. In anger, she squeezed his balls. She was mad that this didn't hurt him in the slightest.

The spell was lifted and her throat was reduced to perfectly normal size.

Riddle was brought back to his senses, the usual modicum of calm restored.

He brought his hand down on top of Alice's head. She was reminded of when she got a blessing at mass. Daddy had often done this for his family and his whole congregation.

And now Riddle was doing the same. He seemed to be ordaining her, as he stared and kept a heavy hand on her head, looking at her face. "You performed fellatio well…Very well…"

Alice was made to finish him off by sucking his fingers as he steadily stroked his wand. Clearly, like a wizard of some bearing, he held his wand in greater regard than an instrument that could potentially create children.

Alice was forced to suckle his long fingers clean of Merino ink stains. The taste of ink was sweet. His fingers shook with suppressed power in his blood-filled veins.

**NOTE: Please review! More will be coming someday…maybe soon. If I get reviews, I am much more likely to continue at a faster pace. Please review or rate...I respond to all.**


	14. The Blood of True Believers

**I think this is a spectacular, spooky chapter! This story has actually begun to frighten me!**

**Chapter Eleven: The Blood of True Believers  
**

It was the ugliest feminine trinket ever devised by wizard-kind. This thing was Riddle's possession, and proof positive of gained dominion over the body of the girl.

With delicate affection he fondled the artificial clitoris. It was his treasure, a crude representation of his hatred for her. It was safe in a box for now.

His fingertips dug into the tiny nub of flesh. A cocoon of blood surrounded it. The blood of her menses. This had been the first bloodshed of her very first period.

Riddle took it out and examined it closely, holding it to the light of his gas lamp on the desk. His nostrils flared and he grinned impishly. It was ripe he saw. Time to plant the seed of destruction!

His eyes drifted back to secret studies. A book with the cover set in gothic curlicues, 'A Sorcerer's Dismemberment'. One would think that concerned Miss Alice too, but no, it did not.

"My Lord and Master! I must speak with you!"

The young man put away his vulgar perversity, tucked away safe, nestled in a box. Then he shut the desk drawer, entombing the box in his desk.

The person outside the study rapped urgently on the door.

Hastily Riddle wiped his hands with his napkin. He brushed his hands together, removing the last trace of blood. It was for purity. He always tried to appear pure and cleansed even to his followers. As if nothing, not a stain or "sin" for want of a better word could taint their master.

But they all knew differently from actual experience. It was a tacit understanding that existed between the minions: he fucked them, and used them but they knew to act like he was above cravings for release. Somehow Lord Voldemort always was above, but also so below. For as above, so below. As cult leader, he was everywhere, the image and idea of omniscience.

The young man rose.

He put on a different face for the interaction that lay beyond the door. Quickly, he forgot the gruesome plans concerning the Secretary.

"They won't listen!" the boy named Avery prattled, speaking to Riddle. "They're fighting for credit. It's a fight over territory, I think. They don't realize that this could ruin our plans!"

"It had better not happen."

Riddle walked arm-in-arm with his follower.

Down the cloisters they strode. Since it had been uninhabited for centuries it's disarray had built up to feeling lifeless. Unlike the official Hogwarts cloister outside near the courtyards, this one had no plants, and no windows to let the sun in.

Two scholarly looking students had a bone to pick with each other. They had both looked formidable adversaries in their own right, locked in argument and both twitching towards their wands. But at the sight of their master they blanched.

One hailed him, "My Lord!"

The both of them gave a practiced bow his way.

Riddle stopped in front of them. The other boy who relayed news of the fight shrank away instinctively, as if to say he had played no part in the row.

Coolly Riddle asked, "What seems to be the problem, my boys?"

"I don't want to talk about it!" said one of them. He stamped his foot.

"I do," said the other. "Of course I do!" And this one looked towards his gang leader, his one and only master. For he knew secrecy was never permitted.

"Problem is my Lord…," he said chewing thoughtfully on his tongue, searching for a way to explain it best, without incriminating himself. "Young Black doesn't think he can handle the stuff we get up to 'round Hogwarts. I guess he's not up to it!"

The boy seethed, "I didn't say I couldn't handle it. I said – I said…" Young Black suddenly seemed to lose his nerve. His anger dissipated. He looked like he might cry. He was really just a little boy - twelve years going on thirteen - a little boy who had been swept up in his older brother's and cousin's beliefs. In January, last month he was initiated into the Dark Order. He was still trying to prove himself - and the only way to do that was to mold himself into a new identity...

Riddle invaded his space, and intervened, walking closer. He smiled at Black, "What did you say?"

Young Alphard Black looked up at the Head Boy. He saw a smile there, a smile that said, "trust me."

"My ancestors came to this place at the time of the founders. They made the noble house of Black rich. It was because of them…," Alphard became pretentious and expounded on his polemic opinion. "I'm sure neither my ancestors nor the founders would approve of vandalizing the school."

Two of the other boys gasped. The boy named Avery in the shadows stepped further away. He looked towards Riddle, his facial expression a rigid frown. His body as still as a statue. Avery was full of a strange solemn, watchfulness. He was terrified of being accused for picking a fight, paranoid. But Riddle was paying Avery no attention.

"We do not vandalize. I have great respect for Hogwarts. For its teachings and its traditions," and he insinuated, ""Why Alphard, who are you to know what the founders would think of us? Who is anybody to know what may or may not be. Think what the founders and your descendants might say if they could see you now! They would be proud that you have joined me! Proud!"

Alphard stared into Riddle's dark eyes almost mindlessly. "Yes, My Lord. I didn't realize…." And Alphard Black looked ashamed and unsure now.

"Most of the Dark Order is made up of the Purebloods. I have told you," said Riddle. He elaborated, "You will comply…Or I can arrange us to punish you…It would be for your own good."

Riddle looked towards the other boy called Lestrange slyly. Alphard saw the look and could not bear the thought of this fellow member getting to punish him!

Just then Alice arrived down a parallel passage, in which each were separated by gates and chasms. She had come early today. She stopped in her tracks and listened with bated breath. She dare not move. She stood there, casting a long unseen shadow.

She had not heard anything of the conversation yet, except for low mumbles as she came closer. It had echoed all the way throughout the maze of corridors in the ancient cloisters of the Restricted Section.

Alphard was trembling under Riddle's gaze. "That won't be necessary, Master. Forever indebted as your obedient servant, am I. It will never happen again."

Riddle nodded slowly approvingly. All of that was unsaid stuff. It was things they learned to espouse without hesitation. Alice remained eavesdropping, leaning up against a pillar and pressing her hot cheek against the cool wall. And on the other side of the wall was her master, the Head Boy talking…But to whom?

"Next time we meet I shall reward the both of you then. You will each receive the same lot…."

Alice could sense the dialogue was closing. There was a wrought-iron gate nearby. Her heart pounded at the thought of Riddle going through it. He would see her and she'd be in so much trouble!

The other boy glared at Alphard looking greedy, mad he would receive something of paramount value to Black.

Riddle paused, considering what reward he would use to entice his followers. There were many pleasures used to keep them. Some followers enjoyed certain victims to torment, others sex with him, in which it was made clear how worthy they were….Still others got gifts usually revolving around the Dark Arts or galleons or a trivial favour like help in their classes.

The other still looked greedy and resentful. "You should make him fall on his knees and confess the treacherous thoughts I know he harbors! Let him beg for your punishment, My Lord!…Or I can punish him for you, right here."

"No. Today Alphard has already learned his lesson. There will only be reward!"

Alice chanced a look, curious for this youth named Alphard, someone that Riddle could decide to punish. She couldn't see the face though, as his hood was in the way.

"If you must – Oh bloody hell!" groused the follower called Lestrange.

Alphard looked timidly at the Head Boy. "Since I got off…Thank-you…May I go?"

Riddle nodded.

Alice watched with a swift bow as the three departed, Alphard and Avery followed in Lestrange's wake.

Riddle who had prodigious, alarmingly good instincts sensed someone was lurking about. His hand pressed to the gate.

Alice's knees weakened at the thought of being punished for spying on him. But she wanted to know who the messages were addressed to. It must be a group of boys, for the voices had sounded so young. Hogwarts students of course!

And the Head Boy heard nothing. His suspicions were lowered.

So Riddle chose not to pass through the gate. Instead, he swept off down the hall that led to his study. He was glad to have held council and settled that dispute. He always manipulated them and managed to prevent too much in-fighting and un-called for duels.

And Alice realized they had not talked in code but plain English. For of course they had believed they were alone in a very private space. However, she had an inkling of an idea of what those messages were about….Tom Riddle was clearly the leader of a gang.

Alice waited until it was safe; listening to the Head Boy's slow, stolid footsteps echo. And then the thud of the door to his study swung closed with a loud creak of old hinges.

**NOTE: Please review. This chapter is not yet finished. I am disappointed I didn't get reviews for the last chapter.**


	15. The Blood of True Believers 2

**Continuation of….**

**Chapter Eleven: The Blood of True Believers**

Alice crept by with the tact to keep her head down. She sensed intuitively that there was a way of just looking at her, that just one dark, scorching look at her and he'd know. Of course that would be Legilimency. He must not discover that she'd seen what transpired earlier this afternoon.

Riddle did not look up. He said flatly, "Your work is laid on the desk."

Alice occupied herself with it for awhile. It was the usual balancing of accounts. The trustees and school governors made the accounts. Yet it had always been tradition for the Head Boy to check the figures on expenses. And of course, this duty had been relegated to Alice because Tom Riddle had much too many important things to do than check menial figures.

There was another knock on the door.

Riddle spoke to her right away, clearly knowing what the call was for. "Miss Alice, Do go to the library please…I have a list of books here. I must have them in my study for tomorrow." It was a chance to get Alice away from him. Alice sensed that she wasn't wanted.

But it was true that he really wanted the books on the list of reading material. She stood in front of him so he could cast the invisibility spell. But Alice knew she was being sent out so that the Head Boy could be alone with a boy, a member of the gang.

She could feel Riddle's presence behind her as she departed. In awe Alice looked at the cloaked and hooded figure. She longed to know the students that were in his gang. If only she could see his face. Of course the boy could not see her either.

But she caught a glimpse of a strange insignia. It complemented Riddle's skull clasp. It was the very skull clasp that in her imagination still taunted her long after the Head Boy's punishments. Instead of a skull the follower had a snake lapel pinned to his robe. Alice pondered this. And this would turn out to be a key clue later….

If most of them were Pureblood, she reasoned, than the bulk of them must be Slytherins. So that eliminated three quarters of the student body.

Off to the library she gathered the books. At least she didn't have to lug them around. She levitated the pile with a simple Wingardium leviosa.

The whispering followed her down the corridors like last time. Alice felt chased. The books knew that somebody that shouldn't be there was perusing them.

She was the haunt of the Restricted Section. Alice thought she was like the Gray Lady, the demure and secretive ghost of her House.

Alice opened some of the books; to be sure she was getting Mr. Riddle the correct version of the manuscripts, books and other texts.

To her horror, she found silver stains that turned out to be something wicked. At first she thought it was a new fangled ink, a silver colour she hadn't heard of.

She touched the silver blotches and felt a chill creep through the bones of her hand. It was exactly like when a ghost passes through you. It trickled through the veins and up her arm. It felt like murder….

She saw that what she had believed to be ink were actually bloodstains. The knowledge washed over her: this must be from the Slytherin ghost, the Bloody Baron. Apparently he must have had an interest in the Dark Arts in life and had kept up this interest even in death….

And what was more Alice had the distinct impression that the Bloody Baron's proclivity for the Dark Arts had a link to killing. Clearly, a branch of the Dark Arts was about killing people…Murder.

It was curious. Curious that young Mr. Riddle had an interest in the very same subjects …. Alice filed and stored it away in her memory. It was something she would use later to piece together the mystery of what he was….

As expected the boy who followed Riddle's gang was long gone.

When she stacked the books in neat little rows upon his desk, she spotted another book. It was a very famous, rather infamous tome.

"You're reading, Mein Kampf?" and Alice instantly regretted adding, "Isn't that a book for muggles?"

For the first time Tom Riddle looked genuinely embarrassed in front of her. Colour rose in his hollow cheeks and he stared at the cover. It was a subtle white-covered copy – no picture of Adolf Hitler there.

Tom Riddle stewed in shame, looking oddly vulnerable for once. He'd not taken it out of the Restricted Section but had rather stolen it from a muggle bookseller, whilst at his orphanage in London.

Alice had the nerve to flip through the muggle's memoir. She saw it was in German and so could not comprehend more than the title. She only knew of the title to be in English, 'My Struggle.'

Riddle got over himself, and elucidated. "I have discovered this man has similar ambitions to that of my own…"

Alice interrupted, "Master, don't even think it! How can you say that? You're not twisted! Daddy said he is a bad man! Now Hitler's taken over Germany and half of muggle Europe. He's hurting muggles. Those books should be burned!" It was after all, 1945 at the height of Hitler's reign of terror.

Alice had worked herself up in her ranting against the current German chancellor, who happened to also be an evil dictator. She clutched her chest, close to her heart.

Riddle was deep in thought, rubbing that peculiar ring on his left middle finger. Alice really started to wonder about that. The ring must revolve around an obsession. With something. It seemed almost monstrous. Alice would never know it, but the way he rubbed that ring was sometimes in remembrance to being the Heir of Slytherin. It was proof of his Pureblood heritage and it made him practically a king.

He went to a dog-eared passage.

As he spoke he rubbed the ring again, and took on the air of a lecturing professor. "Blood mixture and the result drop in the racial level is the sole cause of the dying out of old cultures; for men do not perish as a result of lost wars, but by the loss of that force of resistance which is continued only in pure blood. All who are not of good race in this world are chaff…."

Alice shivered. The way Riddle read the passage with his calm, harmonious voice and the way he explained it rung so…true. It was scary how pertinent those words could be for the magical world.

Riddle cocked his head strangely, and his eyes glinted meanly. Alice didn't like the way he looked at her at all. "Purebloods, Alice…Only Purebloods matter. It's the same way in our world, isn't it? Can you guess what this means?"

"Yes, Master. You're going to take over the Wizarding world!"

"Perhaps. I do hope it goes as well…Someday." Riddle chuckled. "I must do it before the Purebloods die out – I must be the one to preserve the greatness, the might of magic and our kind. Our race."

Alice dared not disagree. But she had a feeling that like Adolf Hitler, Tom Riddle would go about it by destroying muggles too. It was frightening the kind of truths 'Mein Kampf' had, and that they were even relevant to witches and wizards. And here was a noted similarity with Hitler and our villain, Voldemort.

But after that the Head Boy grew tired of his intellectual banter with Alice, who was really just a Half-blooded, powerless girl who happened to be his "secretary."

Writing messages again, Alice's mind worked with a fury at understanding the gang he'd created. It must be related to wanting to read Mein Kampf!

Alice finished writing them later. She took out her hair ribbon – a pink polka-dot and tied the bundle of memos.

She was glad it pleased her master. She would do anything to act sweet to him if only to prevent unleashing those desires he had. Alice thought whatever desires they were, they always required her to be in pain. She wondered if the desire and the pain must be forged together all the time….Was this what it meant to lie with a man?

Always the pretender, Riddle beamed at the ribbons. "Oh, Alice you're a dear!"

Alice laughed girlishly, feeling almost flirtatious.

And Riddle only coddled her further. He tussled her hair and patted the smooth skin of her hand.

Alice even shocked herself with how she responded. She stooped down from where she was standing over him at his chair, and pecked him on the cheek. It was something she always did for father.

But the sweet moment passed all too soon. Alice was set to the hard labor of cleaning the fireplace. Alice did not enjoy this in the slightest. It made her cough and sneeze, and it made her dirty, and smelling like swine.

Surrounding the hearth was beautiful ornate paneling, which she tried to look at to feel better. She wondered if the Floo network operated through here – but alas it did not. It was unused for centuries, and Riddle did not want people to discover his hiding place.

Beside the fireplace was the net of interlocked skulls that Alice had polished and cleaned of cobwebs last time. They seemed to be watching her as she worked. They kept her paranoid and on alert, as if sensing danger…

Finally, Riddle dismissed her earlier than usual. Alice was secretly relieved. The fireplace had been an exhausting job. She was so tired. There was no energy left to contemplate who the boys were.

"You will come here tonight….Be here at midnight, Miss Alice….," he surveyed her sternly, looking straight into her gray eyes.

"Do not be late. Midnight."

"Yes, Master," she assented. She was surprised he wanted her here then. It was most unusual. But something told her that another rule of associating with the Head Boy was that she may not be curious. No questions, and therefore perhaps…no lies.

"And be sure to be clean tonight."

"I will," said Alice assuredly. She stared at her callused hands. The hands were red and wrinkly from scrubbing and sweeping the fireplace. She was ashamed to be dirty. Inside she felt dirty too and bad.

Riddle conducted her to the door, hand pressed firmly at the small of the back, to guide her out.

"I can't go! I'll be caught and punished for sure! I've heard stories of students out at those late hours – caught by Apollyon Pringle and taken to the bowels of the castle, the dungeons. They still have the marks!"

Alice's knees knocked together. She wasn't so devoted as the Head Boy's Secretary to be brave enough to take a whipping because of him!

"You won't be caught," said Riddle confidently. "I know all about the prefect's and teacher's schedules. I've already changed the patrol. On this night, the patrol is different…."

Alice suddenly realized with a sickening realization that whatever was planned for midnight it was planned out meticulously. It did not make her feel safe.

"You will leave a quarter to midnight. The path from Ravenclaw tower to the library will be unoccupied."

"You summoned me, My Lord?"

"Yes," said Riddle in his coldest, highest voice. He sounded all-powerful and absolute. He felt and seemed older than his eighteen years.

Alice had left two hours ago. He decided that tonight he would wait. Wait here until he had her at midnight.

A follower stumbled into the room, in abject terror.

"Well, Alphard...Are they nearly ready? Will we have enough prey by Sunday?"

"My Lord I don't know!" He squeaked.

"Then send them these messages, of warning…."

Riddle indicated the pile of parchment tied with a pink polka-dot ribbon. Alphard grabbed it in haste, eager to leave his master's study. Once again they were written in the cult's secret code, and so Alice had no idea what was going on when she wrote them, even after reviewing Riddle's garbled note of instruction.

"Oh, yes My Lord…I am glad to be the courier. I will get them to them all by morning."

The ribbon reminded Alphard of girls. As he was twelve, at the onset of puberty he'd recently discovered to his innocent delight how much fun they were to be with. The bow had a slight scent of cheap perfume…It was a girl's!

"Whose r-ribbon is this, Master?"

"Just give my messages to the recipients, Black!" screamed young Voldemort. "Don't ask questions! That is the first rule to being in my Dark Order."

Alphard apologized profusely and was lucky to escape retribution that night…But Alice wouldn't be so lucky.

The twelve-year-old Second Year stole away, traipsing sinuously down the corridors and out the library. Like a hunting dog, he wanted to sniff out the owner of the hair-ribbon. He was hot on Alice's trail….

And soon he would know. For once long ago, when the others sacrificed their blood for the Master… a girl came in to do paperwork.

**NOTE: Please review!**


	16. Black Sacrament at Midnight

**Please review! I wish I got more reviews. I am sorry, it has been awhile, but I have been busy**.

**Chapter Twelve: Black Sacrament at Midnight**

He could hear a muffled stirring beyond the secret entrance just as midnight came. In the shadows it was he of course who waited.

Alice was at the concealed secret entrance in the Restricted Section. She made the door materialize through magic.

She was a mixture of excitement and anxiety. Her mind fell back to fantasy as comfort. Donning a white muslin nightgown, she felt like a bride on honeymoon. She enjoyed toying with the idea that this was an excursion to consummate marriage. Alice always had a tendency for the winsome and fantastic, but she didn't know how unrealistic it was with the Head Boy.

He's already taken me from behind, Alice thought introspectively. She was disheartened that he hadn't thought to master her front. She wanted him to, for without that she was worthless. Already ruined by an improper gesture. Her mum Evelyn would scold her. Wryly mum would shake her head and say "Damaged goods!"

In her hands she took the upside down cross as knocker. It got through one knock, when she knew who appeared.

Bathed in the dappled moonlight, which was patchy from the mullioned windows he stood. Tom Riddle looked just the same as this afternoon dapper in his same-old finely tailored clothes.

He was reproachful, arms crossed over his chest.

"Master," Alice curtsied in her long nightgown. She must show off as a well-mannered, worthy girl. So he'd finish it tonight. She knew whatever he wanted her here for at such a late hour must be sexual. But what was in store would only disappoint young Alice. He had no plans to take her virginity. It would be a sacrament much darker than giving oneself to a man.

Taken by the elbow, Alice descended a narrow corkscrew stairs. She enjoyed being steered along to whatever destination, which was clearly not going to be the Study. She did enjoy his domineering attitude, and admired that he was such a confident man.

Again she thought of the fantasy of playing husband and wife. Tonight he'd consummate it. She would learn to "love, honor and obey." Well, Alice thought, she certainly didn't love him. But it was sort of required already that she honor and obey him.

It became darker. They lit their wands together. The Restricted Section's cloisters and chambers had been holed-up probably since the seventeenth century.

On hanging tapestries were hideous demonic faces. She felt like they were closing in on her.

They finished going down the winding corkscrews.

But Alice believed in Riddle's protection. She innocently believed this boy could never kill. It wasn't a possibility, despite her learning just earlier of the Dark Art's notorious reputation for murder. And yet she was perceptive, just as she was naïve. A startling combination.

They came to a small room that was domed. It had a raised platform. On the platform was a liturgical table.

Riddle found some candelabras away from the altar. Alice watched, taking in the atmosphere. She enjoyed it immensely. For it looked like a room in a church. Alice hadn't stepped inside a church for over a year, and she missed it.

There was a presence, around them. She thought of it as the Holy Ghost, and she could feel this power even stronger in a place of worship. If only she'd known that she was probably feeling the horrific duplicity of the presence of….Lord Voldemort.

Candles emitted substantial light to the room. Her face made a pearly glow in the candlelight.

In the lacy frills of the long white nightgown, she looked angelic and pure. It was the thing Riddle was attracted to. He wanted this girl's purity and her innocence because it would amuse him to no end to steal it.

Alice looking around thought it like a special mass for candlelight vigil.

Riddle kept turned away from the light. He paused in thought, his face remaining inscrutable as ever.

"Undress…I am going to examine your body beforehand. There is something I will need to do."

"Is this once again - that illness you checked for the other week?"

Riddle's eyelashes fluttered and he jerked his head slightly. This was because he was lying, but Alice didn't realize. "Yes, it is a healing procedure. Undress, Miss Alice."

Riddle turned his back on her. He wanted to look on voyeuristically, but must act the gentleman instead.

Alice's nimble fingers quickly undid the buttons. She slid off her white stockings and slippers.

Riddle knew when she was done. Calmly he urged, "Lie down."

Alice climbed onto the altar, and lied flat on her back, feeling the coolness of the surface against bare skin.

Her vulnerability on display made her blush with shame. She cupped her vagina.

Riddle let Alice keep her hands there, he said nothing but took out his wand, and with it traced the curve lines of her neck, then down her chest and to the pelvis he stopped. Alice believed he might be performing a non-verbal spell, but he wasn't this time. This was not a Healing procedure, but sexually charged. Her fourteen-year-old self had no realization of it.

And Riddle took to seducement. And now Alice knew this couldn't be for the "illness." And yet she knew he was attracted to her and was still hoping he'd master her tonight.

With relish Voldemort ravaged kisses onto the body of the girl. With practiced hands he primed her for sex massaging all the most erogenous zones. With Alice's hands still clasping her vagina she felt the clear, liquid oozing forth.

Something inside Alice snapped. She was awash with guilt. It's origin was fear, a repressed sexuality like in her favourite novel, Dracula.

She squeezed her eyes shut as if in terrible pain.

She heard above, "What is it, Miss Alice?"

"I am sinning before your eyes, Master! I can't stop masturbating. What is wrong with me?"

"Nothing," said Riddle calmly.

Riddle demonstrated, making a point by placing his hands with intention on her forearms, and went to her lips. He delivered a good kiss – so firm it made her lips swell.

Moaning, her legs were spread, willing him a chance to get inside. Alice of course longed for it - wishing he would take her. She abhorred getting it from behind.

A trickle of clear liquid escaped her hands and she shook.

"Nothing is wrong with you. You are a girl – a young woman. It is natural."

But Alice was almost as much a religious zealot as her father, Reginald Whitman had been. "But it is sinful – against God the father! I should be punished for this!"

"No! It is not!" he snapped irritably.

"Dig your fingers in….Feel the pleasure. It is yours!"  
Alice looked at him closely, wondering if she should abide. There was a small smile etched on his face - like he knew something he wouldn't share. And there was something...

But still she dared not disobey and because she was being ordered to by a man, she believed it justified the activity and absolved her from the sinfulness of the act.

There was a volley of kisses and Alice drove her fingers inside. All the while, feeling the Head Boy cool lip's. And then his alabaster hands - with a touch just like possession. She was his belonging – he owned her but it was an attractive and propitious thing to be owned by such a man as he!

Riddle took great pleasure in watching for he knew what he really wanted.

Finally he took her hands away from her pelvis and spoke with a sensuality. His voice like melodious music that made Alice not fear God and the sin of wantonness. "Come little trollop…It is time we went further. Back to your – illness. I have not yet finished…."

Alice tilted imploringly upwards, "Master – what will you do?"

Riddle did not answer but made a near robotic hairpin turn. His robes cascaded softly down his side. Alice hadn't noticed a black chest there before and he extracted something out of it.

"Once there was a girl...," he began. His voice held that melodious charm again and it soothed Alice of her fears. "She attended mass every Sunday most assiduously...she memorized the psalms. It seemed to all the world that everyone should be pleased with her...and they were. But this girl held a deep, dark secret...Miss Alice can you guess where such a secret would lie?"

"Inside the girl I guess," dithered Alice nervously.

"Perfectly correct. Inside was a terrible secret..."

Riddle had already turned back to face her, and Alice remained staring in the opposite direction. She missed it when a dollop of wax fell just beneath her neck, searing her collar bone.

Alice screamed, and her body writhed up towards Riddle. He was holding a candlestick.

"What was that for?"

"I am marking you for the procedure! It will hurt but I assure you...you won't die! Now back to the story.

"Now the girl held a secret, as I told you a moment ago."

Alice forced herself to pay attention to his words and not his actions. "Yes, Master. And the girl went to worship and knew all she could about faith."

"Right...Now one day as she was growing up...She noticed changes in her person. She was no longer a little girl...she met a young man and did horrible things with him. She degraded herself, Miss Alice. And it was because she wanted to, it was her choice... The duality of her nature had been revealed.

"This girl - now woman was a trollop like you, or worse a minx and then she made herself into a harlot and a whore!"

"I am no whore! How dare you!"

"Quiet. The possibility exists within you, dear Alice. You are woman - Daughter of Eve and a sinner."

Alice's gray eyes had flashed but now she lowered her gaze humbly. Under his cold, dark gaze Alice realized he couldn't see her as she was. She was just a collective thing of womanhood - with the inborn evil inside. Under his gaze she mustn't think or be who she was - just to be right in the knowledge of her sinfulness - as Daughter of Eve.

"This little girl...Could of been anyone female, she represents them all," Riddle was whispering with tender affection, as he peered over Alice. Underneath the surface was a misogynistic hatred. "My mother - Merope who whored with an aristocratic muggle to gain wealth and position! Or Evelyn - your mother who refused to submit to her husband and forced the man to divorce her! And you Alice - You who are masturbating still as we speak."

Alice began to cry. This sounded too true.

"I don't want to be bad! I don't want to masturbate and I don't want to be a bad woman - a whore or like my mum, a bad wife. Please help me, Master Riddle!

"Look at how wet I am. I should be punished for this excess of pleasure!"

Alice looked down at her spread opening in desperation.

Riddle was smiling broadly now. "You will be punished, Miss Alice. I can assure you - it comes to all women in the end. It will not be my doing though. You will not know when it comes to you, I suppose! But be assured - women like you always suffer!" Riddle had become inflamed again, with a sinister tone.

And Riddle spoke directly of Merope Gaunt. "Again like my mother...The whore who bled to death upon birthing me! She got her just desert in the end...Despite being magic she died an untimely death. She would not save herself even for my sake...," and Riddle invented to scare Alice, "Perhaps because she believed she was already lost."

Alice felt a wave of true sadness overcome her. She almost felt sorry for the Head Boy suddenly.

"Why listen to me confiding in you...a silly girl is all you are. As if you were one of my most intimate friends!"

Alice snapped back into reality, and almost stopped crying. "Your friends? But then, who really are those men in the masks?"

"I have told you before - it is not your concern."

"Yes, Master," she said guiltily. She was sorry to be so inquisitive. Her father had often rebuked her when asking too many questions - saying it was uncalled for in women.

"Now the old ways - your Christian religion has got it right. And I know such great magic that will cut off your pleasure forever- irrevocably."

Alice sobbed and cried, "Yes, please! What is it?"

Riddle was still smilingly smugly. He knew this had been the perfect way to persuade her to go along with the procedure he would subject her to next. Riddle was familiar with the beliefs Reginald Whitman inculcated into his daughter and he had used this knowledge to sway her.

"First turn over and so I may continue your sacrament."

Alice was more than willing and she laid prone on the altar. Tom Riddle hovered above, and she was comforted.

"Oh, Master! You have not forsaken me! You are here to save me tonight."

Riddle paid her words no mind - in reality this talk of faith and God or what have you met nothing. It meant nothing to him. Nothing.

But he played along a bit anyway. "Your soul. I am here to save your soul. The flesh of the body is of no consequence to that precious thing we call a soul..." His voice held a sarcasm, but it was difficult for Alice to sense it.

Alice screamed again twice as Riddle sprinkled fat dollops of wax on the back of her neck and the small of her back, just above her pert behind. Riddle had finished with the candle wax. This ritual was going to bear marks: one on the navel above her bush, one behind her vulnerable neck and one on the small of the back, three altogether. It was at once like a triangle and also was like the trinity: Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Riddle rolled the girl's body back again she would rest on the table on her back. He put genital weights atop her breasts that pressed like stones. They made it impossible to rise in protest and knew this would hold her for the painful magical rite about to be performed.

"Obscuro!" Alice was blindfolded.

"You won't want to look at the sight," he assured her. Acting the merciful one, he patted her hand.

Riddle raised a cunning little dagger. He looked ugly - he had nearly transformed his appearance but now she couldn't see. Gone from being sexy and fluid in his motions as the proverbial seducer. He was ugly and almost beastly. But Alice could not see the true person or being that was Tom Riddle - he was always hiding.

With hands he cleaved Alice's limbs apart, so her opening was spread. Next he took the dagger. It disappeared in the hollow of the tight opening. The knife poked and prodded until he found what he was looking for.

He peeled and sliced away with the blade. Alice could have screamed the school down if they weren't so deep under the castle in a warded off location.

Tom Riddle paid her cries no care. He continued to work, a mass of blood oozing from the pockets of now loosened flesh. This would serve the girl right. Young Voldemort felt righteous in depriving this creature - woman - of pleasure.

She would no longer be tight even though he hadn't taken her maiden head. Furthermore her clitoris would be his!

Proudly Riddle held this beautiful confection of femininity in his hand. He marveled in that he had it. It was a soft loam and vibrant and throbbed with life. He was glad that this life force of her sexuality was no longer apart of her.

Alice blindfolded and unable to move under the magic of genital stones sobbed and made primitive noises to attract attention. She was in so much pain words couldn't come out.

Tom Riddle of course didn't care. He busied himself by retrieving a bottle from his pockets, which were full of all sorts of odd things. A bottle was full to the brim with blood. It was the blood that he'd grown after her menarche. He bottled her clitoris, and for now it was stowed safely in his pocket.

He went back to Alice. He took the ripened artificial clitoris from the box where he'd been keeping it for weeks. It was now a cursed object that would fester inside. Soon the curse would spread all throughout the body.

And Riddle knew the magic to attach a new clitoris to the body of the girl.

Like an animal having a meal - he devoured her pussy and enjoyed the scent and taste of blood. His horcrux work had given him an unusual appetite for it - because it was sustenance that would sustain him. The blood was even better when it came from the pure and innocent.

The tongue inside her felt good and Alice slowly grew comforted. The dislodgement of the apparatus connected to pleasure produced an aching, dull pain. But it started to recede.

All too soon Riddle was biting on her, yanking at the remaining flesh. The next day there would be scabs all over down there, and Alice would refrain from crossing her legs for weeks, lest she disturb the wounds.

He hated her and therefore enjoyed hacking at the body with his strong, youthful teeth. And blood dribbled down his chin and he smiled bestially. He hated her. Hated her magic, her beliefs against the Dark Arts, her love of inadequate parents like a father that abandoned her. Yet he would never admit it.

And he was full of lust for strange perversities none would ever understand.

The blindfold was removed and the stones taken off. The first thing Alice saw was that unwavering dark gaze on the handsome face looming above. Shadows framing it in the candlelight.

"You have been cleansed...I have eradicated your sinful tendency for pleasure."

Alice smiled, relief spreading into peace of mind. She was reminded of mass again, especially as she watched her beloved Master's face, admiring the shadows dancing from the candlelight.

"This is the cup of my blood," piped up Alice.

Riddle intervened at once familiar with it, "The blood of the new and everlasting covenant." Ironic that he would chant this with her after a ritual, he thought. Considering that he was undergoing a process for everlasting life himself.

And Alice finished, "It will be shed for you and for all so that sins may be forgiven..." And Alice believed that through his prodigious magic he had done a favour . Alice was entirely convinced. She was cleansed of the sin of pleasure.

Riddle turned rigidly away again and looked to the box again. Etched on it were scorpions and serpents that Alice had not seen before. She admired it even for its dark quality. Yet it was true she much preferred kittens and fluffy bunny rabbits to snakes and bugs. But he was a boy and a Slytherin boy at that she silently countered...

Riddle didn't turn around which only increased Alice's anxiety when he spoke. "Turn over and prepare to serve your Master again."

Alice with quick witted intelligence, objected vehemently."That dirty thing again!"

"It is not dirty. Most creatures like yourself do it. Now lie back the other way."

Alice dared not disagree and she believed she was his property. If she was his wife she knew she would be allowing him to have sex however and almost whenever he desired.

Alice pressed her face against the altar of the table, filled with regret that he hadn't shown her the respect of taking her virginity. Why couldn't it go proper since he had her?

Tom Riddle returned. Alice could not see but his fingertips were wearing blades.

The bladed fingers scraped her back and clung to her as he fucked inside her rump again. It was inhuman - and demonic looking. Riddle was a gargoyle- like demon perched atop the altar pressing on this creature. For he looked at Alice Whitman sometimes as nothing but a creature or a thing. He was unable to emphasize that this little girl might have real feelings even for himself.

"I did so enjoy keeping you bound like last time..." And so once again his wand sprung forth cords that tied her at ankles, breasts and thighs.

He licked the hole, but only because he knew it bothered Alice. He hoped she would have the urge to empty her bowels again - but alas no dank piece of stool came out. He would have enjoyed smearing it on the her skin to make her suffer.

Tears did not stop flowing and Alice shivered within the coils of the rope as he sodomized and she could just make out the presence of Master Riddle in the periphery. There was an icy breath of death breathing down her neck - it was cold in here and he was cold too.

At the end of it all he scooped her in his arms and took her up to the Ravenclaw common room. The both of them invisible of course.

Alice listened to the lonely thud of his footsteps making progress. She clung to his neck feeling infantile. It was just like when daddy would carry her off to bed sometimes and Alice couldn't help but share this.

The next day after a sordid fit of repeating nightmares Alice awakened for classes. Her pelvis itched and burned. What was more, she saw strange black markings on navel, back of the neck and her back.

And Tom Riddle had taken her real clitoris for himself. He bottled it and considered using it for a dark potion. He put it on the shelf of one of his secret laboratories hidden in a secret passage in Hogwarts.

And all day whenever Alice thought of last night's sacrament to save her from sin (as so believed) she near fainted at the grisly vulgarity.

**NOTE : Please review! Thanks. I hope this doesn't lose anyone. **

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	17. Shadows of Death

**Chapter Thirteen: Shadows of Death**

From here on out Alice wore a crucifix. The strange black markings with odd symbols scared her. She did not trust Mr. Riddle's ritual. Something seemed wrong. Alice believed the cross would protect like in the beloved novel Dracula, of which she had a predilection to re-read. Of course she knew Tom Riddle wasn't a Vampire – but Alice truly believed in the Holy Ghost's salvation.

To her the Crucifix wrung round the neck was an amulet because she believed it could protect her as if it held magic. But it was truly ineffective against what was happening, a mere product of a fraudulent lie that was first espoused by her faith. Religion would not save anybody lost in darkness. Alice could not be saved from the terrible inevitability of death. It was a shadow that forever stalked the living, except perhaps Tom Riddle who tried so desperately to cast off that shameful burden he wore and shared with all whom have borne it since time began.

Gruesome and ugly objects were placed around Riddle's lair and the silence pressed into her as she waited alone.

Alice tried to work the Hogwarts account books and not think of this. They stared at her in suffering, struggling and screaming. They burnt a hole into her mind and at the root of her very consciousness. In imagination she saw a sea of different faces on the skulls: some livid, others sorrowful and all looked to be in un-ending agony that would not be assuaged for the eternal sleep of death.

Alice shook in her seat and scratched her pelvis now that she was finally alone today. The marks had itched and burned all day and of course she couldn't cross her legs. The Head Boy had mangled her body when he tore at her flesh. Alice wondered why he hated her. For she had finally drawn her own astute conclusion that her master was infinitely cunning and dangerous and what was worse held something against her.

Alice ruminated, 'Why can't he simply pity me for my bleak family history, and leave me be as I remain the ever dutiful Secretary? And he can go bully those boys!'

Speaking of the boys, Alice had seen them in the corridors outside today. And now she was waiting for him to arrive, and she wondered what went on in that group precisely. She had been unable to break the code in the messages.

Intensely she stared at the net of interlocked skulls that was like a jigsaw puzzle beside the inhospitable, freezing hearth. He'd never lit a fire! Alice wondered what would happen if she did….

Heat would be counter-productive to some of the experiments that went on in this abode. This evening she was finally going to witness something.

For now food was a comfort. The cherry tarts were delicious. Over the desk she folded her hands daintily and smoothed the wrinkles in her ruffled skirt. She sat up straight and tried to look proper and think of good manners and cleanliness.

She'd been thinking of cleanliness more and more since the incident with the Head Boy practically raping her in that dirty, degrading way. As a girl Alice had loved dirt and would come home after making mud pies with her little frock in ruins. Mother would draw a bath but before that happened daddy would take swift action with a bare-bottomed spanking and then he'd lecture Alice on the way girls should behave. Mum and dad had grown up in the Victorian era and believed that even little girls should be presentable and clean at all times. Playing in the mud was not allowed!

Alice sat prim and proper and tried to imagine how proud father would be if alive. She'd become a young lady who routinely cleaned a man's turf in exchange for a small income. She was almost grown, and in a few days was her fifteenth birthday.

The room was clean thanks to Alice, but had become starker and scarier. Those skulls would not go away. Even though alone, there was a presence in the study. One day she would learn just what this presence was…..

That evening Alice was forced to work in near total darkness. All she had was a single candle and her wand to light a path through the study. She felt like it was spiritual retreat.

First Alice finished the paperwork duties by candlelight and then was ordered about. She was told to get on her knees and scrub the floor once again.

With a pail of water and a rag Alice came loping along around Riddle's desk. At once her knuckles started scrubbing the floor down hard.

She looked up, and saw him deep in thought, bent over his work. At his side was a peculiar black hand with a tiny, lit flame. It was a Hand of Glory and would only give light to its holder.

Whilst Alice was immersed in black velvety dark, Tom Riddle could see everything as the Hand magically amplified it's light single flame, filling the entire room for him, giving him the vision to see everything. It was spooky how Voldemort could see her, but Alice could not see him.

He targeted his Secretary and unbeknownst to her pointed his wand at her. Alice walked by with a fresh bucket when he accosted her. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death..."

Alice's heart pounded and she froze with bucket in hand, nearly dropping it. But she finished the verse for him, "I will fear no evil:...for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me."

Alice sunk to the ground again and thought of this quote and how synonymous it was with her relation to the Head Boy. He seemed always with her. Perhaps the wand could fit the quote as the 'staff' and even the 'rod' was like the cane used for correction. Maybe his authority was a comfort, just as the Bible was a comfort. Could he not be a kinder master? She hoped so, but wasn't so sure she could believe it anymore.

"One would never know you had ecclesiastical leanings, Master Riddle."

It was true that few mortals would ever learn of what Tom Riddle did, but Alice came close to realizing the full extent of it.

Riddle stopped using his Hand of Glory and the usual lighting returned to the room.

Alice observed with a newfound morbid fascination as something was set up at the desk. She was astounded to see him take off that black-stoned ring. She silently recalled when the boys had kissed it as he drank from a silver chalice.

The ring was put into a vice set against the desk. Riddle whipped his wand out and tapped against the ring, whispering spells in a language, a violent hiss of chanting. The hiss droned with an un-earthly buzz.

Alice was growing frightened of this unknown procedure. A vapory smell was with them, and it pressed unpleasantly against her nostrils. Alice wondered if this mad experiment might blow them up, and thus kill the both of them!

The ring looked like it might break free of the vice at any second and cause a combustion or explosion. Just in the nick of time, he excised it and put it on once again. At once there came a change to the Head Boy's physical appearance.

Alice could not see, his back was turned. "I'm sorry...But isn't this dangerous? Won't you die if something goes wrong?"

And then his presence came over all at once, it was like the wind. The hairs on the back of Alice's neck prickled at the sight. He stood tall as ever, with flaring livid nostrils, a waxen complexion and a momentary red gleam in his eyes.

"Do I look DEAD to you?"

He did not smile, he was as grim as could be.

"N-o-o-o-o," said a very shaken Alice.

And just as it came, his features returned to normal. He had just let Alice see his true self for the first time. Unlike the other times such as during the sacrament when she was blindfolded and could not see his bestial expression when he raised the dagger to excise her clitoris.

At the end of the night Alice worked up her courage to ask the Head Boy to a social gala Hogwarts was holding.

"So why not take me? I mean, as colleagues and friends only of course, Master."

But Tom Riddle was not as good as his word when it came to dances or any other entertainments. As it turned out he wouldn't be there, but Alice would finally have the opportunity to meet Alphard Black..

**NOTE: Please review!**


	18. Shadows of Death 2

**Please review!**

**Continuation of...  
**

**Chapter Thirteen: Shadows of Death  
**

The dance turned out to be awful for our Alice. She could not enjoy herself and was too ashamed to find her friends in the crowd. They all had dates to take them on the dance floor.

Alice stayed conveniently near the exits and waited for the Head Boy to escort her in. On tiptoe she searched the throng for the tall profile of Tom Riddle. He wasn't present.

Alice felt like a fool for believing him. He was a liar, she realized. The hope he'd show up was dashed in her heart. He probably never planned on coming at all!

And this was the night when she first espied the follower whom she knew to be Alphard Black lurking nearby, apparently alone. He had not a date either and so Alice saw it as the perfect chance to make an introduction.

Because he was alone Alice felt confident enough. Alphard disappeared behind a tapestry towards a scenic window. Alice followed the shadow.

Alice and Alphard stood alone together, moonlight beaming in through the garret window.

He was ignoring her, gazing in rumination out of the window, looking at the gibbous moon. Something was obviously troubling the boy. Alice was not much shorter than him as she reached his forehead. It gave her a clear look at the troubled expression in his eyes.

She looked in Alphard's eyes. "You're Alphard right? I'm Alice - Mr. Riddle's Secretary. Alice Whitman of Ravenclaw."

"You're...the Head Boy's Secretary? The girl who-," Alphard was very nervous. He rummaged in his pockets. He looked unsure with what to do with a girl. He did not know how to talk to one, especially when she knew his Lord and Master. That caused a lot of problems in communication already.

"I have this," said Alphard. He took out a hair ribbon with polka dots.

"Oh that's mine! Thanks," said Alice, beaming.

Alphard smiled triumphantly. "Say...Why don't we have a go at the dance floor?"

Awkwardly the twelve-year-old Slytherin took Alice's hand and held it gently. He led her out and they danced for awhile together. Something was going to blossom between them. Not love, but at least a boy-girl romance.

Towards the end of the night, Alice was feeling like a different girl altogether. Alphard had brought something out in her she didn't know she had.

After a bit too many glasses of mead, they lounged together on a cushion. It was surprising that Alphard's head lay in Alice's lap!

Alice stroked his hair and chattered away about everything from classes, to Quidditch, the weather and everything in between.

It was towards the end of the night now. Alice saw dark, shadowy looks from a few of the older boys. She knew they were checking her out.

Alice stroked Alphard's raven locks some more, and asked out of sheer curiosity, "Who are those boys that have been watching us all night?" Of course Alice was sure that they must be part of Riddle's gang. And Alice was eager to know all she could.

"My cousins….There's Rabastan Lestrange. And I'm distantly related to Wilkes over there…We're all interrelated aren't we?"

Alphard looked up towards Alice, inclining his head. Alice looked startled and surprised.

At once Alphard correctly interpreted the gesture. He bolted straight up.

"Alice! You are a Ravenclaw Pureblood, are you not? Most of the muggle-borns shits are in Hufflepuff. But you're in Ravenclaw and most have good blood there….You're too pretty not to be."

Nervously, Alphard blushed to admit it. He sat up and cupped those Florentine breasts under Alice's gown.

"I'm not a muggle-born, Alphard. But don't worry I'm still Half-blood."

Alphard jumped up from where he'd reposed in her lap. He looked panicked, and his hand went off Alice's chest at once.

The cousins were still watching. At the sight of them, Alphard's face darkened, falling into terror and anger at the same time. "You're not even Pure! I wasted my time….You liar! Don't you know that to talk to a Black boy – as we're all members of the Dark Order– you must be a Pureblood witch attending this school!…Not-not-"

"No, I didn't know that," snapped Alice, equally angered.

"Everybody at Hogwarts knows we don't associate with-with the lesser kinds! Least of all becoming your boyfriend. You're a liar, Alice!"

"I am not! I never said I was Pureblood!" she whined.

Alice felt tears sting her eyes. She really liked this boy. She saw more of Riddle's followers, watching and looking at her threateningly.

Alphard had his wand out so fast, looking as vicious as a dog.

With a spell Alice's jaw locked and she felt her tongue twist painfully into a knot.

"Girls who lie deserve to have their mouths, jinxed!"

And Alphard stole away in anger, giving one last longing look to Alice. He did want her, but he wanted more the acceptance and approval of his followers. Alphard knew he needed to do a lot to prove to be a worthy member of the Dark Order. Having a Half-blooded girlfriend was not one of them, despite that he really liked the girl.

Alice wandered away from the party, and thought at least the night was over. It was well into the eleventh hour.

More and more tears accumulated down her face. Alice was glad she couldn't open her mouth to taste them.

She dabbed with a handkerchief. Tears continued to spill.

Alice decided she would go to Riddle. She had a funny hunch that he must be holed up in his study. For the Secretary knew his mannerisms and habits by now, and she could see that he liked to hit the books hard. He probably studied magic more than any student in the whole castle.

Alice was at her lowest and most down trodden as she plodded to the library at a languid pace.

There was a way Riddle had taught to sneak into the Restricted Section and get to the secret door before anybody saw, which was through her own Disillusionment Charm. The front of the library had been full of boys and girls Alphard's age in Second Year or younger. They were doing homework, and hurrying to finish their assignments. But Alphard's case was different, he had more responsibility than they did, Alice knew. For as a member of Riddle's gang he was constantly tested.

She knocked on the door timidly. From a distance the occupier of the study made the door unlock with a spell.

Alice slipped in, hanging her head in defeat. She didn't want Master Riddle to see the tears. Alice no longer thought of him as 'mister' but rather as he said to be called, 'Master' or 'Master Riddle.'

He was completely absorbed at a bookshelf when she saw him. He was checking some facts and figures for himself.

His back turned, Alice was glad he couldn't see the crying.

"Yes?"

He still did not turn to look at her, but somehow could detect who was in the room.

Riddle smirked and decided to act aloof. As if he had not the tact to know why she was here! But he knew exactly why she must be disappointed with him, yet he did not yet know what went on with Alphard.

"What do you want with me girl? I have only an hour left for experiments…" He was lying, for there'd been ample time. But Tom Riddle did not care for conversation now.

"You know why I'm here! You said you'd be in the Great Hall for the party…Why didn't you at least show up?"

Riddle glanced at her a second and as expected saw those tears. He tried not to look too amused, his mouth twisted awfully though, and he arched an eyebrow with rude doubtfulness.

"It is incidental that I agreed to take you to the dance….I meant no such promise by it."

Riddle ruthlessly plundered the tomes on his desk, careless to the pain, hurt and suffering he'd inflicted on this girl. It was simply fact that he chose to let her down. He was cool, and detached, almost neglectful with communication right now.

"But Master!"

"Good night! And don't forget – my Secretary - four o'clock sharp tomorrow afternoon."

He did not even look at her, but bowed his head over the studies.

The hand flew across the parchment, as he scribbled away and dipped the quill in his inkwell.

Alice fought back a sob. Then she forced herself to turn away from the remorseless sight.

**NOTE: Please review! And thanks again Wandamarie.**


	19. Blind Obedience

**Chapter Fourteen: Blind Obedience  
**

Alice humbly returned to duties as Secretary for the Head Boy. She had gotten over getting stood up at the dance. She realized she should have known her master's ways by now.

And Alice returned to thoughts of other boys that she and her girlfriends liked. Girlfriends that she hardly saw anymore. Alice secretly decided to take a vacation one of these days soon. And she wouldn't ask Master Riddle. For the answer would certainly be no.

Alice was transposing definitions in Greek and Hebrew to vernacular English. There was supplied a dictionary for translations. Of course she had no idea what would make Tom Riddle assign this particular task especially as he was fluent in Greek and knew some Hebrew. His intention was to use Alice's copies for the followers in the Dark Order to read, so they would better understand the magic written in English.

After a few hours, Alice rose with a completed copy of the text. She slid it onto Riddle's desk.

His hand stopped writing abruptly and he put down the quill.

Usually he would just go on, and ignore Alice when she turned in completed work. Tom could see she was a fairly good translator amongst many other tasks.

Alice looked into his eyes and tried not to tremble. But something just wasn't right. She could see it in the gleam in Riddle's eyes. They were darker, and more shadowy than usual.

Innocently she asked, "Yes, Master?"

Riddle flexed his hands, tired of writing so quickly in cribbed, rapid penmanship. He was in a rush today and it wasn't his usual writing, which was as elegant as a calligrapher.

The knuckles cracked. Alice sucked in breath and waited with bated anticipation. Her hand clutched the Crucifix instinctively, where it hung round her neck.

And then he issued an ultimatum. "You will never repeat or recount tales or be informant to anyone of what went on or goes on behind these walls. Nor will you speak to my - disciples...unless you are spoken to."

Alice hesitated and then looked into the Head Boy's face, into his eyes. She acquiesced, "Yes, Master."

He withdrew, backing off with suppressed anger. He was trying to appear detached. Riddle believed that Alice should blindly obey. There was no reason to explain what happened. For he was much angrier than what he was currently letting on. But why tell his Secretary anything? It was none of her business in the first place.

"I-I At the dance...I became friends with Alphard Black, Master. I should like permission to talk to him. Just him and no one else! Please! We had a fight and I need to be amenable. Alphard thought I was Pure but-"

"Yes, I'm aware what transpired between you two. Alphard was none too pleased to discover his Master employs a Half-blood!"

Alice shook; realizing the full story had gotten back to him and felt a twinge of horror. "You had to explain the matter to Alphard then? I suppose he came complaining about my position as Secretary, didn't he?"

Alice felt angry, insulted and permanently betrayed. She no longer really wanted to talk to Alphard as there was clearly no reforming him. He had his beliefs and one of them is that Purebloods were entitled to everything first.

Tom Riddle continued to stare, and Alice stared back transfixed at the handsome lineaments of his face, creased so intelligently, with perfect comprehension of what Alice experienced at the dance.

He looked on appraisingly. Wondering what to do to her, and wondering how to get better use of her. His Secretary was his instrument. And Tom Riddle believed his control, and temperance was great. He had hidden his rage thus far. Alice Whitman had no idea how this infuriated him. Therefore, there was much he could do.

"Master Riddle - please listen to me! Alphard is a troubled boy! I feel sorry for him...I just want to be a friend...I could be his friend to lean on for consolation. I could lend an ear and give him advice. Alphard wouldn't tell me his troubles yet..But I can tell his family expects a lot from him...and being in your cult..."

Riddle interrupted what he viewed as endless maundering. He nearly shouted and his voice was powerful, inhuman almost, "They are too terrified and will divulge nothing! You irritating, meddlesome girl. Keep away, if you know what's good for you. My followers are no such fools to divulge the great secrets of my powers - the designs of my plans to a mere little girl who acts as Secretary."

Riddle was finally evincing how nettlesome the whole situation had been for him. For Alice had inadvertently undermined Riddle's power in Alphard's eyes. He revealed his wand now and pointed it straight for her.

With his powerful mind he silently created an Imperius. It was solely to make the Secretary not speak to his cohorts and neither could she speak of the encounters with Riddle, other than a lie. If anybody even asked, she would come up with a story and basically say it was "pleasant business."

The subject became removed from full awareness, and a glazed look and Alice's gray eye's slanted crosswise. Other than the command Riddle had issued the rest of her mind would still be functionary. The look disappeared and one could not see she was under the Imperius Curse.

At once Tom Riddle regretted Imperiusing. He could have punished with a Cruciatus curse first. But now if he used it, the torture wouldn't be as terrible or painful as otherwise could have been.

So he opted on the only other measure available.

The Head Boy played his part well: "Daughter of Eve, you will learn to fear my scourge!"

Alice under the Curse was still cognizant of herself. The Curse only restricted her knowledge of the followers and ordered her not to speak the truth to a single soul.

It was the cane that Riddle grabbed. Alice felt more guilt than ever at being a woman. Tom Riddle – the Head Boy was a god-like man. Just like the God of Alice's Christian culture he was wrathful, jealous, and watchful and an angry God. He was condemning Alice for transgressions, she believed. Under the Imperius it was natural and easy to resolve never to do them again.

Alice had no problem or qualms with consenting to being flagellated with the implement. She knew he could do much worse, having recently experienced the Cruciatus Curse twice.

Riddle was in a rage that almost lost control. He lifted the robes, skirt, and ripped down the panties covering the girl's buttocks.

To the behind as well as her back he dealt Alice a multitude of blows. Inside the private recesses of thought Tom Riddle was reminded of when he first amassed followers a few years ago. He had to use correction such as whippings or self-whippings like wayward monks because the Cruciatus did not usually leave marks.

Alice was much more docile, and could feel the pain throbbing her skin long afterwards. But she felt far removed from the abuses. Apart of her just floated away, and it made it so she didn't even cry.

Like a naughty schoolgirl, the punishment continued with instructions to stand at the blackboard.

Alice wrote lines over and over again. 'I shall not speak to my Master's disciples. I will not tell what goes on in this room.'

The Imperius Curse was made stronger this way, and would last long after Alice went to Ravenclaw tower for bed.

The Curse compelled Alice to write. Riddle's powers had created compulsion for obedience so that she was like a puppet on marionette strings.

**NOTE: Please review! Not the greatest chapter, but they can't all be.**


	20. Magic Most Evil

**Below are some scenes I've been wanting to write for a very long time. But I am really only just getting started! I still don't know the full trajectory of the story line.**

Chapter Fifteen: Magic Most Evil  


It was drafty and freezing like a mausoleum. Alice was inside the secret chambers of the Restricted Section at an unusual hour. She was completely confident Tom Riddle would never show during normal class hours, and proved to be right….

She wandered around at perfect liberty to study everything, stuffing her eyes with wonder as if at a museum.

Shivering, she drew her school robes tighter and flipped through some of his favourite books that he often perused.

It was gruesome, ugly and shocking what Alice found there. It scared the daylights out of Alice's innocent mind. She had never imagined that a human being could invent such activities. Activities that were degrading, cruel, dehumanizing. It did not matter what they were yet, only that they were one thing. There was only one eponymous word for such deeds, 'evil'

And then by chance she happened across a book of which Tom Riddle had produced extensive private dialogues, an exegesis of analysis.

"Magic. Moste. Evil." Alice whispered it to herself. The words sent a chill down her spine. So this is what the secretive, morbid genius was after! Something was hidden, she knew it! It was buried beneath the leaves of these books. The answer was inside them, she knew it.

Alice could only understand a few things. It was creating something and destroying another. Worse, it was about killing people and getting from it the utmost pleasure. It was the only way to create some type of "thing" that destroyed something else.

Alice wandered around some more, looking over the objects, some more and reflected on the character of Head Boy Tom Riddle. He clearly had a monstrous obsession and Alice believed it to be with death. She was right in a way. She saw he feared death...and perhaps he feared his very soul? Alice contemplated the question of Tom Riddle's soul for a moment.

The obsession leaked into his other studies. Curious that the room was this slovenly right now. It was so unlike him to make a mess unless something was totally preoccupying. Curious that his secrets turned out to be so terribly wrong. Curious that a plain black notebook was always by his side on the desk. But when Alice opened it, she found it devoid of content. Every page of that notebook was blank, but there was a stirring of magic. Alice could sense it.

Alice lost herself in trying to decipher what it all meant. She paced up and down, hands clasped behind her back, deep in thought. How could she convince Master Riddle to no longer use her as Secretary? Alice wanted to be free of the boy who was like a monster, that had her shackled to this job that wasn't even real.

Doing this, Alice had to cut class, but it was worth it, if only to find out what he was.

The teachers gave Alice detention and conveniently Alice asked for a time that did not conflict with Riddle's schedule. They were not harrowing detentions just the usual tedious tasks such as lines or extra essays on conduct. Her teachers never put students in the dungeons. It was only Apollyon Pringle who enforced that to students that got in his way and were the greatest cause of mischief at Hogwarts. Not our sweet, dear Alice.

Alice continued to burn with desire in the need to know what Tom Riddle, Alphard Black and all those boys did when alone. It was only just the beginning of Alice comprehending the gravity of danger involved with for want of a better word, this 'person' named Tom Riddle. And luckily Alice possessed the foresight to re-arrange everything to exactly as it'd been left.

One day she went skiving off classes for a second time in order to sneak to the Restricted Section.

She rifled through a cabinet and found a familiar object, besides bottles of gangrenous looking potions. Unlike the green mud-like potions, this one was blood red.

Alice held the red bottle in her clammy hands. "The Clitordectomy Curse," was written in finely curved script on the label.

Alice dared to uncork it and took in a whiff. It smelled of rotting flesh, a putrid dank smell that made her think of death and decay.

As if sensing the former appendage it began to itch down there again. Tears came to Alice's eyes, as she realized the horror of what he'd done.

He'd stolen her clitoris, the source of female pleasure. With it, he'd made a curse and replaced it with the artificial one. Furthermore, the bottle was full to the brim with Alice's blood.

Alice mourned this loss, more tears sprang to her eyes, and she noticed that stimulating her vagina made her twinge with the most painful, erotic desire.

It wasn't normal masturbation. But Alice wasn't sure of this as she didn't masturbate.

Taking down her knickers, Alice sat and examined herself. The markings were still there, etched into the pelvis. It was the markings of an ancient, evil curse. 'Oh, why did he do this to me!'

She decided to try something desperate. It was dangerous, but maybe if the blood was drunk the curse would dissolve? The curse was certainly already there inside the body of the girl. The markings proved it, and so did the painful itching and burning coupled with unusual sexual desires.

She felt compelled to drink her blood, for she knew it was her own. It couldn't be that bad. But it tasted horrible and dead. She downed the entire concoction however. No such luck. The curse stubbornly persisted.

Alice magically restored the bottle to a full measurement of the blood and hesitantly placed the bottle back on the shelf. Alice was tempted to destroy it. She wanted to smash it, smash it into a thousand pieces so that Tom Riddle couldn't keep that piece of her body forever. But Alice knew he might kill her! And she wasn't even joking. She knew he had an instinct for murder, and what was worse a lust for all things deathly.

Alice helplessly clung to herself, hugging her bosom. There was a chance he would re-attach the lost appendage wasn't there?

There was a soft thud and the door opened. The time had been forgotten! Somehow despite being in a decrepit, cramped space all morning, Alice had lost herself.

Alice dared not face him. But exclaimed boldly, "Why Master Riddle! You have the presence of a ghost! I didn't hear you coming down the hall…"

"Right on time. Four o'clock on the nose. Is it not?"

Alice turned and looked up at him, nodding.

He was consulting a handsome, gilt fob watch that swung off his waistcoat. He spoke, charmingly. "My movements are timed as that of the planets." Every movement he made, every tiny movement somehow always moved him closer towards one selfish goal or another.

Alice tittered nervously, and pretended to laugh.

Tom Riddle didn't miss a beat. He looked on with a superficial smile. Something was out of order, but he knew not what exactly.

"What were you doing? Well, Miss Alice?"

"I-I….If only I could understand! Riddle. You're a riddle! A secret I must unlock. I wish to understand my Master."

She had just admitted she was curious about him, which was a very dangerous thing to do. But Alice wasn't exactly lying and so the great Legilimens that he was, the Head Boy wasn't compelled to investigate further. Besides he did not believe she could come close to guessing about horcruxes. He knew she must have been snooping, but unwisely he chose to ignore it. To him, it was like just meaningless antics and she could never be taken too seriously.

But Alice must be very careful now because her master was a meticulous, organised personality. He noticed when the slightest thing was out of place. And so it was inevitable that soon he would know the knowledge seeked. Soon he would learn that Alice Whitman knew the knowledge, the objects he was after, and the things he seeked!

But on that prosaically dull, and quiet afternoon Alice kept her head smartly bowed. She intuitively knew that with a single glance from his eyes, he might see that she knew his horrific secret.

The day of Alice's fifteenth birthday came. Today she decided it would be the hiatus. She'd been longing for a vacation from Secretary duties for two months now. Foolishly, she chose that whatever punishment her master doled out, it was worth skipping an afternoon to be with friends.

Alice and a group of friends mingled together in the courtyard. Alice was happy to be part of the crowd, and her friends had all remembered she was fifteen today.

Alice was a quiet girl, and didn't speak much for she was more of the listener.

She watched them playing a good game of Exploding Snap, lazily. And she listened to the willow trees rustle in the Clock Tower Courtyard.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and Master Riddle had told Alice to be there for cleaning, and some important account work. But Alice had disobeyed.

But for now Alice would sit back and relax. She'd worry about getting punished later. Together in the blustery March weather, they wiled away the time.

Alice and the group of friendly Ravenclaws started back going up the clock tower steps.

A boy ran to the ledge and shouted, "Slytherin Perfects are crossing below! Come here, guys!"

They all rushed forward.

Standing by the railing, Alice saw five figures marching across the courtyard. They were cowled over in heavily hooded robes.

The Prefects were more likely to don full uniform. Their backs were turned and so it was impossible to see the badges by the time Alice had a look.

Impulsively, Alice's male friend spat at them. He didn't miss, but succeeded at pelting one with a plum seed. It spattered onto the perfectly, pressed and starched school robes. A purple stain appeared along with the yellow muck of saliva.

The children on the ledge laughed, Alice amongst them giggling the loudest.

Feeling spunky Alice shouted, "I'm next."

She found the seed in the plum she was eating and spat it down below. It hit the hooded one in the center. Dead center.

There was a ripple of joyful laughter and they congratulated Alice and regaled how several upperclassmen had been teasing Ravenclaws lately. This was revenge.

A bell chimed in the clock tower, echoing. Time seemed to slow down.

From below, Alice saw the figure in dead center turn. The hood was raised, and a visage revealed. The lineaments of that handsome yet hideous face was actually grinning. The beauty of it was alarming.

In his robes, the Head Boy was at once like schoolmaster and vicar to Alice. The authority figure. And he had looked straight at her.

As if from afar Alice heard another girl squeal, "Oh my goodness. It's the Head Boy with those thugs always following him like puppy dogs!"

The other's laughed but not Alice. In fact, her heart pounded.

One friend saw Alice's terrified expression. "Cheer up! It's not like it was the Headmaster. It's only the Head Boy."

Alice did not waver gazing down below. She watched her master depart silently with his entourage, and longed to tell her peers what was the matter. To her he was not, "only the Head Boy." But the Imperius Curse forced reticence as if this was a monastery demanding to keep a Vow of Silence.

"Oh, please! Of course it wasn't Dippet," another intervened. Alice was barely listening now.

"But Robbie Skylar missed him remember? Dippet marched him up to the Seventh floor to his office, reprimanded him. Threatened to use the cane. The doddering old tosser!"

Some kids laughed. Alice didn't. She berated herself for being so foolishly sure that the Head Boy would stay holed up in the library. Alice wondered why he'd be out. Had he been looking for her? Perhaps...

"The cane," she whispered aloud. Nobody heard. What if Riddle caned her for the third time? But no he wouldn't. He'd do something much worse. Alice could be sure of that.

Alice feared what he'd do. But it was more than that. She feared simply being alone with that evil presence.

**NOTE: 'Magic Most Evil' is indeed the Horcrux book. Will Alice discover everything? No, of course not but she is coming close.**


	21. Human Transformations

**Chapter Sixteen: Human Transformations**

It was one of those stormy afternoons. Depending on how you looked at it the sky was either half-dark or half-light.

Alice was in a somber mood. The darkness enveloped all around like a shroud.

Hogwarts castle loomed over the Scottish hills. Running pell-mell through the grounds, the path drew back to the clock tower courtyard where plum seeds were spat at the Head Boy. It was quite a ways to the library and it was not good to be running late.

The air seemed parched with power, for a storm was brewing. It charged the air with electricity and there was a low grumble of thunder.

Before the cross over the covered bridge, gargoyle statues must be passed. They looked hideous and disgusting in this atmosphere, water sloshing out of their spouts. It only increased her fears of seeing Master Riddle.

It had been easy to relax the Secretary routine on her birthday the other day, especially when getting punished was in the future. But today was a cold and dreary Monday, and it was expected that she'd be prompt as always at four.

She raised her hood to huddle under against the rain. Just as she was coming to the shelter of the inside of the clock tower, a chain that hung loosely round her neck fell.

Momentously, a crucifix landed on the hard stones. Rain splattered it.

Alice lamented the broken clasp. There was not a moment to lose by fixing it!

In loss and desperation, feeling darkness everywhere Alice collapsed and wept. She knew she was in trouble and she prayed that her lord, her god would help.

On her knees, the witch beseeched a divine power. The childish white socks and skirt grew sodden. The wind picked up with a biting draft.

And so continued on her way. There was an annoying squeaking sound as her Mary Janes rubbed against the floors, and she dragged herself closer and closer to the Head Boy's lair.

At least Alice had finished her favorite book, Dracula. That had been the third time and it was her favourite novel.

"How terribly naughty of you, Alice! You're late."

It seemed as if he'd known she'd be late from the start. The clock had a mechanism to track certain selected people's movements.

She watched the Head Boy, with that pocket-watch still emanating from his waistcoat. He'd drawled those words, making them sound almost absurd.

" I –I know. I am so sorry. It shall not happen again, Master Riddle." The voice was that of a meek servant-girl.

Alice just stood unsure with what to do. She kept her head bowed in her hood and tried to look innocent. But it didn't help that she was dripping like mad. She shivered involuntarily, freezing in wet school things.

And Alice saw Master Riddle didn't care if she was cold, perhaps so cold he couldn't notice? Neither was he infuriated.

And the plum seeds! Now that had been very naughty, but Riddle didn't speak of it. In a flash Alice saw he was not one to bare a mortal grudge over a minor slight. He was stronger. It wasn't even an issue. Voldemort realized she had not known it was him until after he had turned and revealed himself.

"Incorrigible! Your work is lackadaisical."

Alice finally looked up with indignation. But before retorting, he seized her sodden arm.

"You are mine!" he seethed, almost hissing like a snake.

"Your Secretary. I understand, Master. Bound to serve you 'till the year ends."

Alice tried to employ reason; she foresaw a rage building. Why was he calling her 'his'? She was not!

Apparently he was struggling in anger, between swift brutal action and explaining what bothered him first.

"How dare you defy me!" he thundered imperiously. His eyes cast down through a long, perfect nose. His dark eyes, the dark hair resembled a thundercloud. "You defied me by your refusal to come last Saturday. It shall not happen. I do not tolerate defiance easily."

"It was disobedient of me. I was wrong. I know it is my duty to obey as your humble servant. I hope you will be fair-"

Riddle had not liked the flirtation that took place that afternoon either yet he didn't say anything directly. How he knew of it was because he knew Alice Whitman better than he was letting on. It sounded like this witch was a potential slut. Sure, maybe she was just starting out innocently with boys. But as a woman with men, she could ruin lives. It was after all; part of what ruined Riddle's.

"Before we commence proper duties…You will perform a certain service for me," he said with passionate relish. Alice knew it'd be violently sexual.

Somehow the girl's body was hurled to the floor, laid prone. It happened so quickly with a spell. Next, Alice felt warm all over, and thought it must be Riddle's body on top.

But no it was just her clothing, steaming warm and clean, which was small relief. It could not assuage the pain to come within moments.

Her backside was exposed again, and Alice felt this young man's breath. Sex, wine, and cologne was smelled.

Riddle looked on at that tight little hole, spreading gradually upon entering. This was sweet revenge, against her impudence. His Secretary deserved pain.

Alice screamed at the force of it exploding into her once again. She could not relax the muscles, held in a coil of fear there was no way to.

Alice felt used and consumed for pleasure, she was his instrument. The mere conduit to get the work done, and give the Head Boy more time for private study.

Property, Alice was thinking. Her body, maybe her soul was on a leash.

Riddle paused in the exertions. There was a peculiar change in breathing, the limbs suggestive. She was sweating, and the stench of female masturbation wafted up off that cursed clitoris!

Was it possible Miss Alice was enjoying the rape and usage of her?

Thrust. Release. Thrust. Release. It wore on this way for minutes.

Alice was in chains. Chained like a book on the shelves of the Restricted Section.

Yanked back and forth with each thrust, the dick was the chain, and she was the chattel. Alice enjoyed the sensation, when she thought of it that way. She'd always desired to be a man's property as a main goal in life to be married. She believed with all her heart that wives and children were property of the husband. Alice loved the feeling of being owned even if by a being she was quickly growing to detest.

More sweat gleamed on her shoulders. Her nerve endings felt a wonderful tickle, a vibration. Breathing changed, and Alice was almost writhing in building ecstasy.

More thrusts pulled her closer to him. Closer and closer. Closer and closer to a cosmic oneness, a god-like feeling. But it was so confusing! Who was the god? Was this the entity Tom Riddle who had powers like a god or was it something else more religious? Was Riddle a dark Holy Mystic? The thoughts made Alice tremble.

Something huge moved inside. Was this normal? Alice didn't know, but there was a stranger inside. It wasn't his male member, she was sure of it. This was indeed that divine, dark feeling.

He'd penetrated so far that Alice felt he knew all her secrets. Tight pain, cold and freezing again but of course no longer rain-soaked it made no sense.

She shivered as if laid on a sheet of ice. Was she shaking from a building climax or was it this lonely coldness?

Something evil was rising like a snake, and it was intriguing. Alice did not know that this entity, Tom Riddle was using possession.

He relinquished hold over the girl's languishing body. And saw what it caused in the girl.

Riddle had denied orgasm. Orgasm could have made the ordeal so much better.

"Ah, pain aroused you? Didn't it?"

Alice refused answer, but realized it must be true. No longer dripping with raindrops, she was dripping with the wet of her juices.

Slowly the two gathered themselves together, and Riddle went to sit at Alice's desk. He reviewed the Hogwarts Arithmancy books.

"Skiving off on duties, I see. Several mistakes, Alice. Tut. Tut."

"Master – I shall work harder. Please don't punish me, Master!"

"I shall decide what to do in a moment, Alice," said Riddle dangerously.

He studied the accounts more. "Let me tell you….Headmaster Dippet, mistakenly believes it is I who draws the school accounts. He complained of the mistakes. I was dismissed as he thinks this was due to my Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests. They were actually your blunders! I should have reviewed your work. But I have grown careless and neglectful….And you have grown ever the more lazy!

"I have decided you shall spend the weekend in an extended detention. Yes, the Head Boy will once again issue a detention! It is a surprise just how you will pass the time, Alice dear. Firstly-"

But before going on, Alice capriciously interrupted these edicts. "NO! I won't!"

And Alice stamped her foot.

And Riddle raised his wand, casting a malignant charm.

Alice's thighs wobbled, knees knocked together and legs felt turned to jelly. It was the Leg-locker Curse, or a euphemism for Jelly-legs Jinx. She tried to stand up to him, and now would be punished even more than detention for it.

Riddle imperiously regarded his Secretary with an awful smirk.

He patted his thigh.

"Come here….Over my knee. So I may give you a good hard spanking!"

Riddle laughed coldly, as this was hardly worth it. But Alice Whitman responded well to spankings. She'd been brought up with them.

Alice hopped over to him, humiliated at the indecency. Alice stood before his lap, and saw he was waiting for her to submit.

And so slid into place, it felt like his lap was a deep, dark abyss as she sank onto it. His robes, a sea of black.

Spanking was not much of a pleasure to Voldemort in reality. But being aware it influenced Alice, it must be done. A spanking would remind her he was authority, and daddy was no longer here. The girl needed a reminder to be kept in line. The deliberate disobedience of the last few days had been too much.

Alice felt better once she consented to it, alarmingly content as a kitty in her owner's lap. It was a familiar punishment that made her feel safe. Even though it would surely hurt.

A volley of smacks rained down and he said mean and sarcastically, "Whose your daddy now?"

Alice winced in pain and tried not to whimper. Daddy was much kinder than this man! She wished daddy could be here, and daddy didn't always discipline. He'd loved her. This man it seemed didn't love anything.

Riddle struck her bottom and the tops of her thighs as hard as he could, seething with hatred for her. "I asked, whose your DADDY now?"

"You are..."

And he rained smacks down again and again with barely a second between. It was the most excruciating spanking Alice had ever got.

Master Riddle did not care about one's tolerance for pain. And he wanted to end the spanking.

Alice's small, pert lobes grew as red and taut as cherries, mottled and nearly bruised. Making it worse, Alice could not kick under the curse; her legs were firmly clamped together.

But the tears came and she sobbed. She remembered how he said he hated crying so. Maybe it would make Master Riddle stop sooner.

But it lasted more than quarter of an hour.

There was no rest after he ended the spanking, and no warning. It came rapidly.

All at once, her frame was slinged over his shoulder, upside down. Alice kicked and screamed, for the Leg-locker Curse had worn off just then.

Riddle paid the protestations no heed. Soon there would be calm by the next punishment. It was a very creative one, and Riddle inwardly congratulated himself for thinking it.

He hauled his Secretary to his work station, where he sat again, and threw Alice down. She landed as a heap, her limbs tangled awkwardly.

Before protestations could continue, he placed a powerful silencing charm on her throat. It would last for hours and hours.

Riddle tapped his wand, a calculating look on his face. And the wand whirled and within seconds a transfiguration.

He had done the deed and placed her in the position she would be in all weekend as so-called detention.

She was in a strange form, and Alice didn't know what he'd done to her. Her feet and hands were the ends of it, and her face was facing the floor. She could not see Master Riddle's awful glee.

Her body felt disproportionate and misplaced. Indeed it was. Her hands and feet were reduced in size. She was less than two feet tall!

"Whenever there isn't work, I shall make you my personal footstool."

So that was the form she'd taken. It was complex, dangerous magic. If the Transfiguration hadn't been smooth, she could have been hurt!

Riddle smiled with pleasure and ran a hand over the human skin that formed a cushion. It was two plumped lobes, buttocks expanded in size, as if stuffed, to be extra comfortable for the Head Boy.

Riddle chuckled with sickening mirth residing in his stomach. He stroked and petted the human furniture, thinking he'd have to dust.

"You do make one excellent footstool. But you might need dusting yet!"

He wasn't really serious about dusting, just jesting.

And Alice knew in that moment she hated this mockery, and hated him. True, he was full of charisma but it was deceptive and in reality a cruel illusion.

Alice cringed with what little movements she could make, for what he said she could have trembled at, if she could.

A gentle hand brushed over her buttocks, petting the tender skin. "For dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return."

'There he goes spewing forth the old Good Book again!' She thought angrily. Right now, Alice felt as humbled as a body turned to dust in the grave.

Riddle sat at his chair, and spread his legs, placing his large feet on the footstool that was Alice.

The propped up buttocks and fleshy tops of the thighs served as cushions. Feet and hands were at the ends of stalwart limbs as the stool's legs. Her face was curled underneath, where there was nothing to see but the plain floor. The rest of the flesh was compacted. The chest, back and stomach area was stacked one on top of the other.

But at least the little girl's cheeks were rosy from his spanking, thought Riddle happily. Those rosy cheeks were like velvet upholstery with a flowered pattern of roses. It was sort of aesthetically pleasing to Voldemort, especially for all its cruelty.

Riddle spent the night with the transfigured Secretary and studied the upcoming NEWTs. His prodigious feet remained ensconced on the Ottoman.

The rest of the weekend, he studied his own type of human transformation. Or rather transforming from human to inhuman by means of Horcruxes.

Alice remained nearly the whole time in footstool form, at least fully in possession of faculties. It gave time to think about this hideous monster. She really hated him now, and would no longer be polite. He didn't deserve respect, even if he was a man.

But was he a man really? He seemed more a supernatural being, like a monster.

He kicked Alice around and let her eat and go to the bathroom during lunch break once a day, and then it was back to being a footstool.

Alice remained beneath him, in the base position, treated so inhumanely. There was nothing to do but contemplate things, staring morose and listless at the floor.

**NOTE: Please review! I got the idea from Half-blood Prince when Slughorn transformed himself into an armchair. Well why not a footstool! What a grisly sight!**


	22. The Death Chart

**Chapter Seventeen: The Death Chart  
**

The footstool incident was over. That punishment certainly was motivation to keep working hard. She dare not skive off again. Alice knew her place as subservient and resented Riddle now, truly.

There was a new chore of refilling the goblet. Riddle had become too lazy to do it.

When drunk dry he indicated for another. Lately he'd been having two drinks, instead of just the one. Alice could see Master Riddle was highly stressed.

The girl shuffled over in the flickering near-darkness, and took the decanter. It was a gloomy atmosphere, only a couple of candelabras shone meager light. Beside an inkpot, the Hand of Glory perched like a domesticated spider. It was trained to do his will. Alice felt like that hand was alive. It would stop at nothing to do the Head Boy's bidding.

After re-filling, Alice lowered her head. Quietly a dribble of spittle fell into the cup.

Placing the goblet back, she said with evident pleasure, "Your wine, Master."

But the Head Boy paid this ebullient mood no heed. He thought it natural that lowly creatures like Alice enjoy waiting on him. Irritably, Riddle flung his hand as if swatting a fly. Alice turned back and smiled triumphantly. Every day it gave Alice the utmost satisfaction to spit in her master's wine.

April arrived. Alice felt a lot older than fifteen years. Being with a morbid genius forced the experience of ten lifetimes at once.

Riddle ran a hand over stark white skulls as if live flesh. Alice felt goose bumps upon approaching him. It was the end of the day. Alice was itching to escape before he decided to hurt her again.

"I finished the accounts, Master. Cleaned the fireplace again and deciphered the runes. May I go?"

"No," said Riddle. He did not look at her. He paid Alice no heed, still examining the net of interlocked skulls. He pressed his thumbs into their sockets. What on earth was he doing?

"The accounts go on my desk. I shall review them later," he said aloofly. He was still watching the skulls.

Alice slid the portfolio of Hogwart's Accounts there and waited for dismissal.

Riddle began to talk to himself in whispers. Or more bizarrely, he was consorting with the skulls as if they were alive. Alice watched and remembered how the suffering, screaming pain seemed to press into her. "How queer it all is…What's this all about? Will I ever understand?"

Riddle did not hear her voice. He was either answering his own questions or it was the skulls that were asking them. The skulls were like a cleverly construed jigsaw puzzle, arranged like a ceramic art of hallowed glory, and yet hollow like normal skulls.

"Ah yes, than it is affirmative…. It must be the rightful truth."

Riddle turned.

All at once she was hoisted in the air and whipping from the sidelines came thick strands of black vines. Devil's Snare.

Once again, the Head Boy had his Secretary bound. Alice was again tied, feeling fear shackling her to the plant. The plant knew fear, and the more frightened one was the better. She was sealed with lies, the plant pressing into her flesh. Tears welled up in Alice's eyes, but she dare not fight else the plant would attack.

The wand waved like he was a conductor waving a baton. It made the plant bind round from front to back. Alice was the juicy fly caught in a spider's web, his web.

Alice gnashed her teeth in a rage and dared to ask questions. Perhaps they would distract from whatever sick agenda was planned?

"What are you d-doing? Oh! What have you done to me now?"

Riddle came closer, and looked at Alice who was eye-level with him, suspended in the air. He swept a stray strand of light brown hair from Alice's cheek. "My dear girl, I have done nothing to you. You have brought this all upon yourself."

Alice grappled with this pronouncement in disbelief, quite confounded and in total denial.

Riddle tapped the conglomerate of hideous skulls. "This….is called a Skull Astrolabe. It is a Divination discipline devised long ago by Dark Arts practitioners."

Alice tried to make sense of this. She had the perspicacity to see he was making a connection between the skulls and her own life, but did not ask this yet.

"Where did these skulls in particular come from?"

"From an ancient burial ground beneath the school. The legend of the Chamber of Secrets is true. Slytherin built a chamber and inside it there is a burial ground for his victims. Salazar Slytherin fed his pet snake called a basilisk a supply of Mudbloods. Hundreds of them! Probably students denied attendance back then when only the Purebloods could go! When I discovered the Mudblood's skulls remained, I took them back for study and used them to create an Astrolabe."

Alice was not at all shocked to hear he had disturbed the dead. What was more, the Fourth year Ravenclaw was familiar with the legend. So Tom Riddle was the Heir of Slytherin? It seemed possible if not likely. It was all coming together now.

Riddle admired his skill, "You see, I ascertained they were Mudbloods by the physiognomy of them. They are distinctly inferior…."

Alice rolled her eyes. She did not want to hear the Head Boy spout anymore of his magical Eugenics theories. It was full of hatred and bigotry.

Something snapped. Perhaps it was snide comments against Muggleborns and his glorifying Salazar Slytherin. "All that thinking that goes on in your head doesn't make you that smart. I-I am wiser than you! And-and you're a cynical bastard for hating Muggleborns. What have they done to you?"

"Nothing! You're a naïve, insignificant, little girl. Despite that, I know your fate. It was told to me right here by the skull's magic. I hold the answer to all your sordid sufferings, and inane struggling…I can tell you why your 'God' created you…."

He paused, watching Alice closely. He knew this would be too hard to pass up. He folded his hands slowly, and watched. Riddle was looking as arrogant and puffed up as a popinjay.

"The answer to your future lies here. I am holding it in my hands. The answer lies within mere remnants of other men's ignominious deaths….Here lies the answer to the secrets of life…"

Alice felt like she was being lied to. Tom Riddle knew this wasn't wholly accurate. It was an exaggeration.

"So, shall I tell you the end? Or at least, how it all ends for you, my dear?"

"Yes! Please do!" she gasped. Alice tried to keep calm, still bound by the Devil's Snare. Yet it was aching and tiring on the limbs to be suspended. Curioser than ever, Alice believed curiosity a sin, but she couldn't resist. It was too tempting to possess knowledge of the future.

"You will lead a meager, mitigated life. Not much pleasure or enjoyments, I'm afraid. There will be few of the animalistic pleasures, that the lesser witches and wizards like you view as necessity. You will die young and your magic will deteriorate greatly."

Alice cried, full of self-pity and grief. She wished she could bury her face in her hands, but given that her wrists were clamped it was not a choice.

Alice hiccupped and gathered her thoughts and forced to view these revelations objectively. "H-how does it work?"

"The Astrolabe creates a Death Chart. I have just read yours. The skulls function as Astrolabes. Therefore the magical science of Astronomy fixated at the time of your birth is combined with the skulls physiology to create a Death Chart."

Alice looked revolted. She stared at the skull emblem pinned on his robes. It was there every day and she saw that Riddle was obsessed with death. Was death the very thing he feared most?

"The Death Chart," Alice whispered mysteriously. "It sounds like an un-life chart." And Alice thought it was like 'Alice in Wonderland' when they celebrate 'un-birthdays' at the mad tea party.

Alice cried out in despair again, "Oh! What - in your madness have you done to me?"

Because of course, Alice knew more than she had confessed to Riddle thus far.

"I have done nothing to you and certainly I am NOT mad. This is your own doing, as you are subject to fate. You were dealt a bad hand."

Alice cried more. She hated the way he said those hurtful words, he didn't care that her future looked bleak. If she'd not been bound she would have kicked and screamed.

Riddle returned to the skulls consorting with them again. It reminded Alice of those that conversed with the likes of evil spirits. It was low work of the very dynamics of death itself, given it could pinpoint her own death. But Alice wasn't sure she could believe it.

And finally she revealed it. "I was cursed! You cursed me. I know it."

Riddle turned round abruptly, startled. But the discomfort returned to calm and then a mixture of amusement with derision. "Now we get to it! I did indeed curse your mind, your body and perhaps infiltrated your soul."

"WHY?"

"Daughter of Eve, this was to absolve you of your mother's sins. Evelyn was an immoral woman."

"You lied, Master! It is the curse that will shorten my life. It wasn't my fate. You intervened. I was meant to live longer."

"The purpose of the Clitordectomy Curse is to deny the female pleasure. The Witch is denied pleasure, and it saps her magical powers. And yes, it will curtail your longevity."

Alice was reminded of Glinda from the Wizard of Oz who told the villain, 'Begone! You have no power here!' And so she said, "You have no power over life and death! Certainly not that of my own."

"Power is thine very essence. And if I seek to control yours, so be it. One day, on mere whim, if so be it...I will have the power over who lives and dies! Do you understand? It shall be I that chooses who will die! Do you understand me now?"

Alice could not answer. All that could be seen was that he looked particularly proud now.

"The skulls hold a power over your bodily vessel. Because you are subject to fate, long since predetermined in the stars…. Has not your Astronomy lessons shown this to you?"

Alice considered for a moment.

"You may never know the universe's secrets," and Riddle's dark eyes gleamed with ferocious intelligence. "Just try and contemplate infinity! It is impossible."

The workings of his mind provided Alice no comfort. In the throes of passion, Alice writhed to break free. "LIES!" she screeched viciously and yet Alice deep down knew this man was evil, and was telling the truth, but twisting it so that it would be more painful.

The formerly sentient cords instantly awakened. Like a noose they tightened over her throat.

Riddle did not hesitate at rescuing. He released the Devil's Snare and there was a look of sympathy. But Alice did not believe it. It was an act.

Too soon he saw the awareness that this person knew his sympathy wasn't genuine. So he laughed, chuckling mirthlessly. "LIES! Truth, Miss Alice. I am telling you the truth."

Alice huddled on the ground, frowning up, crinkling her brow with deep thought. She massaged her arms where Devil's Snare had gripped like a vice. She went to the desk and gathered her school stuff.

"How I pity fools who prescribe to religion. Finally you have reached the doubting of your faith. The point of no return...You will soon see MY way of doing things as the truth. Magic is something we can control. Magic is authentic power. Religion was imposed on you, dear Alice! It is merely an outside source, and a lie. But my magic is an endless supply of inner power that none may surpass!"

"I have come to doubt things," admitted Alice. "You've grown on me!" She screamed bitterly. "We really know no more than before you used the skulls," said Alice sulkily. "And you are a liar, Master Riddle!"

"Death Charts do not breed lies, girl! Nebulous ambiguities. That is how magic and in particular Astronomy operates. No I cannot prove it right. Nor can I prove it wrong. Witches and Wizards must choose what they believe. That is all there is, and I am not saying I believe the Astrolabe practice."

"But if it is neither right nor wrong - On such a premise you can think anything possible!"

"I see you are opening your mind a wee bit! Yes, that is the nature of Divination. Even in the Dark Arts. I do not testify Divination a viable subject, but neither shall I say it is false. There is nothing to believe, and ironically this choice has always vested me with the most power! The fate of the world…The world is at my feet!

"And so, Alice you are left with more questions than answers regarding your fate. One can never understand the unknown, that is why it is feared and rightly so."

Another day not far in the future turned out unusually creepy.

Alice worked by candlelight as usual, but Riddle had full reign over light with the Hand of Glory.

It started with a cold draft in the room, picking up like wind. The pages of Alice's books turned of their own volition. It was freezing as if dementors were nigh.

"ARRGH! ARRGH!"

Screams. Riddle was actually screaming like in agony. Alice near jumped out of her skin, but at the sight of him she dare not offer aid.

He was standing between dark and light, great hunks of light falling away off his robes. It was like a serpent shedding its skin.

The wind whipped some more. In lurid, scorching light that near blinded the eyes, Alice thought it like the sun. In the light she saw a grotesque grin. He was happy in suffering.

What was it doing for him? She did not know it was a step to immortality, involving horcruxes.

Eclipsed by two suns, Riddle stood like a shadow between them. The asymmetrical pieces of light broke off and split. It was a part of his soul.

From Alice's perspective this was evidence of demonic activity. His soul was doomed, she thought. She did not know how close she was to getting it right.

It was a supernatural scene. The screams reverberating off the walls, and they echoed for a long moment, yet Riddle was no longer screaming. But stood oddly motionless, suspended in time like a moon eclipsing two suns.

**NOTE: Please review! In the next chapter, I show the canon event of Tom Riddle getting the info off the Grey Lady. Then we will be back to smut, I promise.**


	23. The Silent Ghost

**Chapter Eighteen: The Silent Ghost  
**

Lord Voldemort was alone in the baneful quiet of the Slytherin Common Room. It was three o'clock in the morning.

Covered in blood a figure hunched lugubriously in the dark. The figure was evanesced into near nothingness. It wallowed in self-pity. He did not reveal this part of himself during the day. The Bloody Baron put on the guise he was crafty, mean, even frightening. It was not exactly true.

Riddle knew it was a charade. He'd use this to get something out of the Baron.

It was the perfect time.

The Baron had not noticed the Head Boy's approach from across the room. In grief the ghost clanked his chains loudly. Slytherins heard it near every night.

"Baron! I am the Head Boy of Hogwarts. Will you not speak with me?"

This was not going to get the Bloody Baron to open up. If alive, he'd buy this bloke a drink.

"I know of the woman that you smote with your sword. Will you not speak with me on her behalf?"

The Bloody Baron raised his head. Riddle recently read up on the Founders in his battered copy of 'Hogwarts: A History.'

"So you know the whole sorry tale. What do you want with my Helena?"

Riddle pretended to return interest, his face becoming animated. "When Helena ventured out of England," said he, acting enthused. "There was something she took with her. Whatever it was, it was stolen from her mother. Rowena Ravenclaw."

The Bloody Baron's face did not change. It was obvious he had not known this tidbit whilst living. Internally, Riddle was disappointed not to get the information off the Baron.

"I knew nothing of the sort. I found Helena – in a forest, hundreds of miles from England. I don't remember where I was… "

The Bloody Baron shook tremulously with the horrible memory of killing his lover in an uncontrollable rage and afterwards murdering himself. Riddle leaned in closer and silently took in the newest shred of information. A forest. He must find where that forest was to get to Ravenclaw's heirloom!

"But how will she admit where the thing's hidden?"

"What thing?" said the Baron dully.

"The antique the girl stole from her mother," snarled Riddle.

"Oh…"said the Baron carelessly. The bloodstains shone silvery in the darkness. "I don't know…" he bleated. "She favours kind hearted men of noble stock. If you have the daring and the nerve to speak to her - You must be a gentleman."

"I certainly will."

"We have not spoken for over a thousand years…"

Riddle was hardly listening. He'd already heard that they hadn't conversed in a thousand years, according to Nearly Headless Nick. There wasn't much more the Baron could do to help. Other than provide tips to charm the Grey Lady.

"I've worn these chains as penitence for my crime. I killed her, …and yet I loved her. In a blind rage I could not stop myself. She spurned me. I pursued that woman but failed to get her in the end!"

"Love," spat Voldemort cynically. His young eyes glittered. "Not love! Lust. You desired her and she refused. It's natural, you would kill after rejection!"

"Ohh…Hell-en-a! I loved you!" the Baron whimpered. "HELL–EN– A!"

Riddle did not answer. He hardly understood why the Baron loved such a faithless, untrustworthy woman. The Baron rattled his chains in remorse and screamed his former lover's name in shrills of agonizing guilt. The Baron felt remorse for his crimes. It was ironically the opposite with Riddle. There would never be a shred of remorse for his own wrongdoings, which far outweighed the Baron's mere foibles.

But the Head Boy was onto a goal. Seek out Helena known now as the Grey Lady, the frequent haunt of Ravenclaw tower.

On another day not long after, it was broad daylight when the Head Boy found the Grey Lady in solitude at a sparsely populated corridor by the library.

"I thought I might have a word with you," said Riddle softly.

In the sunlight pouring from the window the ghost shone, luminescent. Despite this the face had not lit up with interest. She gazed out the window with a haughty expression. Yet Helena's expression was framed by a hood, concealing wisps of hair, and the effect of the hood made her appear less reproachful.

"There is no reason to talk," reproved the Grey Lady stiffly. "I don't speak with Slytherins. Hardly do I speak with my own Ravenclaws. So why would I bother with you?"

"Power," said Riddle automatically. He regained his bearings, and explained. He didn't show it, but the confidence in charming this one wavered . "I have achieved greatness."

The Grey Lady glanced intuitively towards the chest and wasn't surprised to find a badge there. She glided closer and murmured, "Head Boy...Hmmm..."

"Greatness has vested me with power. I am afterall the Head Boy. Tom Riddle. My greatness has made others jealous. My powers, my greatness has made me enemies."

It was a hard case even with the best persuasion. But he stepped up to the plate anyway, taking deliberate steps.

Out of nowhere, Riddle changed the subject. It caught the Grey Lady off guard. "Just the other night, I spoke with the Bloody Baron."

The Grey Lady instantly became hysterical. "The Baron! What did you want with him Mr. Riddle? I will never speak to that man again. Not for all eternity!"

Riddle laughed lightheartedly. He invaded the ghost's space, standing right in front. It was an impressive stance, feet rooted firmly to the ground, unlike the ghost's. Helena died young. Even in death she was still a breath-taking beauty. Her radiance was nearly mystical. Riddle felt himself strangely attracted. This was a worthy witch of noble, Pureblood lineage.

The air was ice-cold being so close and yet the young man was unperturbed. Riddle did not even shiver.

The Grey Lady restored composure, quite embarrassed at the outburst.

Riddle saw his opportunity. The Grey Lady was so much better than modern girls. Tenth century women knew when to talk and when to be silent and let men take the initiative.

"Daughter of Ravenclaw...I am a student here at Hogwarts. I was promoted from Prefect to Head Boy. An entire list of accomplishments goes to my name. The highest marks in my class, special awards for services to the school, and more. However, all my childhood I faced hardship and loss. I grew up an orphan, you see. I never knew my family..."

The Grey Lady had been watching the handsome young man with a testy expression before. But suddenly changed to a pitying glance. Pity was exactly what Riddle needed.

"I didn't know I was special until I was eleven years old. As I said, I was raised by muggles! I grew up with everyone loathing me. Nobody understood me and nobody valued my gifts..."

Riddle was merely saying this. It was not that he cared what those muggles thought.

He painted himself as a victim. In truth, his end involved victims for the act that would encase his soul in the diadem, of which he sought.

The Grey Lady showed a rare smile. "I know what it's like not to be appreciated for your talents. As Daughter of Ravenclaw, I was overshadowed by my mother! You are a good fellow, Mr. Riddle and a very polite boy. Perhaps I shall explain."

"Go on, please," said Riddle nicely.

"I was always a very intellectual young woman, you see..." The Grey Lady twisted a lock of hair with a thin finger. "But in my time, women were hardly allowed to be literate. We were told we shouldn't be reading at all. Hogwarts was virtually the only refuge. Men and only men ruled the world."

Riddle nodded understandingly. His face became emotional, a mask of concern.

"I disagreed. I had a desperate desire to be the wisest, the cleverest smartest witch there ever was! I was jealous of mother who had all the respect as a Founder..."

The Grey Lady was blind to seeing it by now. This young man had gained her confidence.

Hatred towards women stirred in him again. Riddle narrowed his eyes and frowned. The envious Helena who coveted knowledge reminded him of the myth of Adam and Eve, something recently discussed with the Secretary. Oh, how he hated women like this! Most of all he'd never forgive his mother for dying in refusal to live.

Riddle grew thoughtful and quiet and of course did not discuss the sudden feeling of hatred for this clever, untrustworthy woman.

"The Founders," reflected he. In an instant Riddle realized what a loss it was not to have reached out to the ghosts until now. Why did he wait so long, over seven years to speak to the Grey Lady? She must have known his ancestor.

"What about Salazar Slytherin?" Riddle blurted out greedily, almost impulsive. He was willing to hear anything at all on his ancestor. A pang of jealousy. This woman had known the great Wizard, Slytherin and he had not. Who was she to have been graced with his presence?

At the mention of the ambitious, cunning Founder who had worked alongside her mother, Rowena, Helena grew strangely quiet.

The Daughter of Ravenclaw tittered nervously, like a mouse caught in a trap. She was caught in Riddle's trap really. She felt compelled to confess.

"I-I...I do need to tell someone. I have kept it a secret much too long!"

The Grey Lady wrung her hands in distress.

Riddle leaned in closer, trying to conceal overwhelming eagerness. He gazed straight into her eyes, "What secret?"

"Slytherin told me to do it! He was the one that suggested I steal it. He probably wanted to eventually gain the diadem himself. He used me as a tool to get to my mother like so many had before!"

The Grey Lady looked exhausted at getting this off her chest. Riddle pressed again repeating, "Slytherin told you to do it, and you abided by his word?"

And nastily Riddle was reminded again of the muggle Bible and Adam and Eve. 'Eve took the apple because in her wisdom she was smarter than Adam', he thought sarcastically. No! Eve took from the tree because the Serpent told her to! It was just the same with these Ravenclaw witches. All women strived towards obedience, there only virtue, all else was their vice. Whether diadem or apple the deed was done because a man told them to. All women were the same.

"Yes," the Daughter of Ravenclaw answered Riddle's query. She tried to justify her actions. "It was an attempt to even the playing field. I wanted to be better than her! So I stole the Diadem. Today it is known exclusively as the Diadem of Ravenclaw. Supposedly it imparts wisdom onto the one who wears it...Do you think that's true?"

"I don't know," said Riddle quietly. He was being honest. He didn't know what magical powers the object possessed. Not until he'd found it and tested it himself.

Riddle evaded the question and equivocated from offering opinion. "Well...What do you think, My Lady?"

Helena would have blushed if alive. The bloodless cheekbones swelled. It was flattering that he'd asked for her opinion. "I believe it's a myth. My mother lied! She made the people believe she had special wisdom or powers that other Witches and Wizards couldn't grasp. It was all just a hoax. The crown wasn't really magical!"

Riddle paused in thought and hoped the idea that the crown was nothing special wasn't true. Helena was still stewing with jealous fury. Riddle did not believe it wasn't magic. It was a revered, significant historical object, the ideal thing to become a Horcrux.

The Grey Lady gazed at him, feeling most flattered that he'd ask her opinion. Experience showed her that men weren't like that. Most men when she'd been living had not cared to have any intellectual discussions with a woman, nor hear any of her thoughts no matter how intelligent the Daughter of Ravenclaw was.

Riddle sympathetically put a hand on her shoulder. It was like plunging into a vat of ice-cold water. But they had come to the crucial moment. Riddle waited. She was about to give it up. She was about to tell him all about where the diadem was.

He need not do anything. The work had been done. He had a power over her, he'd beguiled her successfully.

"I traveled far and wide to a distant forest in Albania. I hid the tiara in a hollow tree where none would ever find it. But then - my suiter found me. My mother was deathly ill and it was her dying wish I return. He was sent to hunt me down. The Baron was as good a tracker as a bloodhound. Soon enough I was discovered. The Baron intended I be married to him...He killed me when I refused to return to England!"

The Grey Lady shook convulsively, at the remembrance of the traumatic death. The tall witch held her chest and sobbed. A dress covered the wound where the Baron delivered the fatal blow to her bosom.

Riddle traced her cheeks with his long fingers and whispered, "You didn't deserve to die like that, Helena. I can tell you that much."

The Grey Lady sniffled, and her eyes shone. Tear production was impossible as a ghost. "I can see now you're not like the others, Tom. Over the centuries many badgered me to tell them all I knew about the diadem! But you did not! You're not like the others!"

She bawled piteously.

Riddle answered mysteriously, "No, I'm not. I'm unlike anybody else," and he truly believed that.

The others had asked for the diadem's location. But he'd just wheedled it out without even asking directly!

"And now, I suppose you're going to leave me. And soon enough, I shall not see you ever again. And then like all the others you will die, and I will remain stuck here forever."

"No," simpered Riddle. "I shall never leave this place forever," he whispered mysteriously because he knew that thanks to Dark Magic he would never die. Ironic, she would say that, given his horcruxes bestowed immortality.

The Grey Lady looked confused at this strange, nonsensical pronouncement but said nothing.

"I shall return to Hogwarts one day." That wouldn't be until the whole world knew him as Lord Voldemort, and by then Miss Ravenclaw would despise him.

"Good day young man...Thank-you for listening."

"You are most welcome," said Riddle affectionately.

The Grey Lady inclined her face upwards, eyes wide with need and longing. Riddle saw that longing desire and knew she was just like all the other women. Attracted to his good looks, taken in by the charm! She'd been easy and weak.

For good measure, he leaned in and pressed his lips to the cold, lifeless ones.

Helena's cheeks bulged more than ever, but no rouge colored them.  
Tom Riddle, the living Head Boy had actually kissed her!

"Come to me when you need a living person's input. It would be my pleasure!"

And in some sense Voldemort did feel indebted to her for indirect assistance.

"Oh! You are sweet!" she complimented.

Gently, Riddle extricated his hands that clasped her etheric bosom.

Hiccupping back a sob, Helena relented. With a final, entreating glance she floated reluctantly down the corridor.

Alice Whitman had always liked the Grey Lady for the golden silence she emanated. That was the way women should be. Mostly silent, except when a man bade them speak. But the Grey Lady had proven with that story not to be as demure as appeared to be, but rather headstrong. And yet the Head Boy still managed to charm the story out of her.

The ghost disappeared through the walls. Alone now, he was positively panting with greed, mouth parted.

The Head Boy already knew for some time he was the Heir of Slytherin. Therefore he was the only inheritor of Hogwarts left, as last remaining descendant to Slytherin. Helena Ravenclaw had much more in common with him than she knew.

Soon he would possess all of this property, the entire grounds of the castle would be his. He'd retrieve the diadem from Albania after graduating and bring it back when it was made into a horcrux.

**NOTE: Please review! I am weaving this into the plot. Alice will meddle with this in a later chapter. Alice is a Ravenclaw and is not too happy when she realizes what Riddle is doing with the diadem!**


	24. Dark Adventures Underground

**This should be a long chapter and this chapter has a lot of sex and some very disturbing activity. Unfortunately, it was very difficult to write.**

****

Chapter Nineteen: Dark Adventures Underground

The Head Boy stood at the forefront of the quay, holding a lantern aloft with a flickering candle. In the other wiry, but youthful hand was a ring of keys. A couple of years ago somehow Ogg, the Gamekeeper was persuaded to give them away. Riddle made duplicates and subsequently, the old man's memories were modified.

Alice was there, and twelve-year-old Alphard Black too. From the dock Hogwarts castle loomed in the background. Silvery light of a full moon created a ghostly transparency.

Riddle was evidently bemused. "Do you want to be buggered tonight, Miss Alice?"

The cheeks flushed red with shame. Daddy ripped her panties down for a particularly lengthy punishment for saying that word at eight years old. It imparted on Alice the strong desire to never use that word again. The memory of that spanking was still strong.

The phrase 'buggered' was a sexual innuendo, a dirty word for intercourse. Daddy had been right to correct his daughter. Good, chaste girls did not say that word, and neither was there ever a decent female who should be buggered!

How could the Head Boy, a model of perfect social behavior be so impolite? If there was one thing good about her employer, it was that her boss was a paragon of appropriate moral behavior.

So it was an outrage. "Master Riddle! I'd slap your face but reason tells me I'd be punished."

Alphard sniggering away, suppressed outright laughter. Alice was to be buggered! He certainly knew what that entailed! He could not wait to see the Half-blood witch get what was coming to her.

Several figures stepped out of the boats and onto the dock. They were like black shadows of death, donning heavy robes. From afar, they looked like ancient sages.

In an impressive show of fealty, they bowed deep and impressionably. Alice strained on tiptoe to get a better look. But the moon clouded over just then, and only feeble starlight remained. They looked like Egyptian Demi-gods donning elaborate masks. One a head like a bird, it was a hook-billed raven. Alphard hurriedly put on his dog mask. Someone wore a rat-faced one, and there was even an owl.

"Gentlemen…Tonight we will be entertained. I have a grand spectacle planned for us." These men had graduated Hogwarts within the last few years.

A hand grasped Alice possessively. Obliquely Riddle's dark eyes scanned downward. "This is Alice Whitman. Miss Alice has shown strength of mind and so I made her my Secretary. However, as Secretary she merely performs the most menial of mental tasks, which are of course beneath me. Tonight she serves as just another whore!"

Alice was conducted by Riddle through the boathouse. She was furious at all this. She couldn't even remember awakening tonight. She just found herself there at the dock, with Tom Riddle and that awful boy, Alphard Black.

Here she was lead to another secret chamber. The memory of first viewing that secret passage in the Restricted Section came to mind.

The back end of the boathouse had a hidden door that led off to a tunnel. The keys from Ogg the gamekeeper were utilized. The group went deep into the dark passage, Riddle's lantern and their wands lit the path.

Alice's breathing quickened. Distant, like the wailing of ghosts there was screams. She shook at the cold comprehension dawned on her. They were underneath the deepest bowels of the castle. This was rock bottom, the very foundation of Hogwarts. And above it, the dungeons. Several students were getting whipped in detention tonight.

They came to a large room finally and stopped. Alice realized she'd been foolish to think she'd be the only witch! There was at least three more females to meet them here, but all much older. These witches donned sparkling, silvery cloaks and were exceptional beauties.

Alice felt a surge of unworthiness. She bit her lip, and looked up at Master Riddle for instruction. The Secretary got paid no mind.

These witches were confident that their wiles, their coquettishness could seduce a wizard. Alice knew nothing of that. She was a teenager. And right now, she also had a pimple that only made Alice feel more inadequate. How would she measure up?

But one of those women sauntered up to Alice and took her under her wing. Alice had not yet discovered that they were high-end prostitutes, secretly handled by the wealthiest customers of Gringotts. "Hello. I thought the men would bring someone else. Come, we must get you ready in the anti-chamber."

Alice was led off. Over her shoulder, she got one last glimpse of Master Riddle. Surrounded by henchmen, a dozen of them. Riddle stood before the men chatting gravely, sitting in seats like pews from church.

Not all of the Dark Order had been summoned to report. In the fold there was Abraxas Malfoy, looking more pretentious than ever. Augustus Rookwood, pleased to be present and regal-looking. Cygnus Black, still a student observed with a cold and calculating air. Then there was the recently graduated Rodolphus Lestrange with his brother, Rabastan. Orion Black had even come and Wilkes. Alphard was the youngest, twelve years and keen to show off.

In front, the gang leader waited for the noise to die down. For the voices to drop like they always did. How suddenly, all of them would look at him in fascination. For he was Lord Voldemort, and naturally his presence commanded this.

Several magical fires had been lit. It gave the air of a more sociable environment. It had been a stark austere room, but somehow these wealthy men made it seem like it was sculpted by galleons itself. The floor was tiled.

Alice heard some of the chatter from the anti-chamber. The men shouted for, "restoring the blood of our ancestors" and finishing whatever was started. Riddle gave a rousing speech replete with historical anecdotes of famous Goblin rebellions, muggle violence and how this would all be eradicated soon. In fact, a particular emphasis was placed on the former.

It was the voice of the leader who spoke with a deep timbre, "We will exterminate that vermin. Goblins have lived off of our greater powers for centuries. It has been too long, my friends. One day we will take back Gringotts. And all the while they have been breeding like cockroaches under a rock!"

The ladies trembled, as they too listened to the young man's effusions.

"The Goblins," murmured one woman. "I hope this man – doesn't want to hurt us! I mean most of the hookers in the Wizarding World are Squibs."

The woman who had changed out of robes and was strolling around in knickers and bra shook fearfully. Alice felt surprised that they weren't witches after all, just squibs that came from Pureblood families."They'll want nothing to do with us soon," pouted the other forlornly.

"Nonsense," spoke the bravest. "We are here to serve. And look at how nicely we did up our little one. Are you new? What Wizarding family raised you? Was your family kind despite that you're a Squib, Alice?"

"I'm not," said Alice dryly, feeling funny. They laughed and said there is no need to lie.

To prove herself, Alice slid her wand out, and they gasped. Before there could be any more questions though, something else happened.

Riddle was in the other room, standing over a tiny figure on the floor. It was the body of a long dead Goblin. Riddle was at the defining moment of his monologue. Tonight, he basked in catering to an audience. Oh, how he enjoyed this!

The voice echoed high and cold with calm deliberation. "We will exterminate this vermin!" And theatrically Riddle used his wand and threw the corpse across the room. Alice was reminded of the fear mongering that was so notorious of the fire and brimstone preachers.

Cheers faded but not for a long moment. After the noise faded into a low discussion of the ideas being propagated. He spoke of glory of the races and progeny that the Pureblood were. Alice heard some and sensed it wasn't entirely true. Another lie. She heard Riddle mention a "master race" and once again Alice was reminded that he'd been reading, "Mein Kempf."

These Pureblood wizards would not forget their Lord's promise. When Lord Voldemort rose to power, the Goblins would be subjugated again.

Alice was powdered and pressed and given a new, much sexier outfit. A couple of the Wizard's House-elves had arrived on the scene and were used to dress the ladies. A house-elf painted Alice up in a lavender paint that lacquered every inch of skin but the face.

They were called in. Absurdly the elves used magic to contort Alice onto all fours. The four women strutted out of the anti-chamber sparkling in the lacquered paint. Alice didn't even know what compelled them to move, it might have been Elf magic. For somehow, the whole lot of them trotted out with the elves holding them with a leash. Each lady was bridled, and had a collar. Alice hated looking like a dog to be walked, rump high in the air. She even had a tail. Multi-coloured ribbons protruded absurdly from the anus.

In the flickering firelight, surrounded by a group was Tom Riddle. Alice counted exactly twelve. Oddly, that was the number for Jesus' disciples, but these were Master Riddle's disciples. Beneath black robes they wore fancy gold brocaded waistcoats. It had been Malfoy's idea. For Abraxas Malfoy was the world's richest Pureblood and naturally held the most influence at Gringott's.

Seated like on a throne, with his skull clasp gleaming reposed the master. And what was more ominous, he beheld a cane with a skull. A pimp cane, just for the occasion. Once again, to Alice's perspective the Head Boy was set apart. Like a holy figure. His teeth were bone-white as he grinned in lurid, scorching blinding light.

And the rest of them were so dark that Alice thought they must resemble dementors (having never seen a real one).

The others were gripping sacs of gold, silver bank notes and fat purses. Riddle sat back, expansively. The grin remained on his handsome face like a skull's. Mostly his visage was concealed in a hood that shrouded him and gave the air of mystique. Wearing a hood was effective as an unknown quality that did well in spawning fear.

Riddle was almost acting as the pimp putting on a show. Alice was going to be auctioned off like an animal for labor.

"That one," Riddle indicated Alice. "Is indeed my personal Secretary. Included was her promise to abide by whatever I tell her to. No part of Miss Alice is off limits tonight. Her tits, her pussy, her arse may be used exactly as whoever buys her so pleases."

The men shifted excitedly, and gave a sidelong curious look at the youngest female, the only girl. They were curious and ravenous.

It was all a blur. Within moments the women were each auctioned off to their highest bidders. Alice was ashamed to be picked last at the lowest price.

The men had greedily clutched bank notes, waving fistfuls of money. Once done the winners gave their money to the master. Now it was time for Alice to be handed over.

It was to a tall man on the side who bore a pockmarked face, and very intelligent eyes.

"Come hither…" he said. Alice obeyed, but in her heart, did not want to.

Augustus Rookwood was being trained in the Department of Mysteries. A gifted Wizard who had recently graduated Hogwarts, he was one of Riddle's most prized followers. In his hand he had something like Riddle's pimp cane, as it was a stick but only a plain, wooden staff. And pinned on his robe's was a snake insignia. In fact, one was worn by all of the followers.

"Sit." Gladly, Alice sat on Rookwood's knee.

The Dark Order member regarded her, looking into Alice's gray eyes. He exhaled a whiff of blue smoke from a pipe. Evidently, some of the drugs the Dark Order provided tonight. "Who are you?"

There was something that made Alice silent. A dark secret, a curse inside. She coughed and sputtered on the smoke that billowed and descended into her chest. Even after they waited for the coughs to subside, Alice still couldn't answer.

"Why won't she talk?" said Rookwood insouciantly. It was like he was curious to know, but didn't care anyway.

Riddle came over and pondered this. There was the sensation that something huge had been lifted off. Like a heavy veil that made it hard to discern things. It had been an Imperius Curse, of which Riddle had created weeks ago to prevent dialogue with the disciples. Temporarily, it was lifted just for tonight.

"Thank-you, My Lord," said Rookwood. Riddle departed to somewhere else. "Who are you?"

Alice still sitting on his lap, felt frightened. She still couldn't answer the question. But wasn't it obvious? She was a student from Hogwarts, a Ravenclaw Fourth Year girl who'd been employed by Head Boy, Tom Riddle. "Er...who am I? I am the Head Boy's Secretary, Sir." Others overheard this, and laughed at the naivety, for the girl spoke as if she someone who should be regarded of in esteem.

"You know what I mean," snapped Rookwood irritably. The Unspeakable grew emboldened, and frank. "Besides your gainful employment in my Lord's office duties. Clearly, you have experience at whoring?"

Alice's eyes fluttered. "None! I-I have none, Sir."

Rookwood frowned and realized the girl's naivety. "Then you must be taught. And quickly. Get your hands on your pussy. Stroke those lips till I say you be done. Well? Get on it with it."

Meanwhile, Rookwood fondled the pert, Florentine breasts. He squeezed and pinched hard. But for some reason, Alice did not find it a bad pain. On the contrary, under the knickers, the clit expanded from its hood. The Cliterdectomy curse made it itch like mad. There was Alice's masturbation on Rookwood's robes. Alice was raving with wicked desire. She felt the wizard's member grow strong and hard underneath.

Head bowed, she laid against his chest and gave a long, submissive sigh. Alice gave herself up to pleasure, yielding to it. But because of the curse, nothing could fully satisfy the lust and longing.

But soon enough the cult leader made the prostitutes plus Alice line up for inspection. "Come little ponies," said Riddle, brandishing the skull pimp cane. Alice had a nasty feeling that there was more to that cane than met the eye.

Her body was near bursting with rabid desire. The curse's power grew worse and worse whilst under the gaze of wanton wizards. Alice was breathing excessively, and she continued stroking her pussy. This made Alice stand out, as all the other prostitutes were trained to obey, and they waited, standing still in position.

Bu Alice stroked and stroked her pelvis that ached with an unnatural throb. She watched the greedy eyes, the tongues emerge and the licking of lips. They were enjoying it, and so was she.

But like a dream, Riddle swooped down, and whispered, "I'm not paying you to touch yourself, am I?"

Alice jumped and went back into the position of all fours.

It was much worse watching something and waiting for your turn. Riddle made sure Alice got to watch first. He brandished an implement that came out of the cane. A whip.

Each of the Squibs were subdued in turn. Their bums were whipped until they burned bright red. Then each 'pony' was taken back to her master. Alice watched the men's eager unbuttoning of shirts and pants before the lady was taken.

Now it was Alice's turn. The whipping was held off. Riddle made sure to take his time. The ass cheeks were spread, and Riddle massaged them, and then slid long fingers inside her pussy.

The Curse burned worse than it had ever before.

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Ahhh...," Alice squealed.

"I'll take that as a yes!"

"Poor little pony, just look at that gaping hole. But what will make it feel better?"

Something was different inside Alice. The Curse made the good, clean part of her character nonexistent. "COCK! Oh, fill me with your cocks! Please good Sirs! I need cock! Now!"

The men laughed along with Riddle. They continued to tease, but not one man stepped forward to take her.

Riddle spoke slowly, "You want to come in front of all these people - my followers, my honored servants. They have watched you being used, fingered, tortured and whipped. You don't have much shame do you, Alice?"

"Master - I-I." In this moment, Alice knew the truth. She was a sinner. Like her mother Evelyn, the disobedient wife and she was a descendant of Eve. "Yes. Men are my Masters. I need cock to fulfill me."

Insanely, Alice heard Riddle laugh. Alice could feeling Riddle standing behind her. He tilted his head back and laughed manically. "SLUT! This witch whom I chose to employ was a whore all along, I tell you!"

All around the sounds of male cajoling and jeering joined with their gang leader's mirth.

There was more swats with the whip. The Head Boy winked at Alice when she stole a glance upwards. He patted her sore behind with the handle of the whip.

It was exactly what Riddle was getting to. It was a means to get back at Alice. To do so, he'd just proved what a slut she could be. A slut just like all women, just Alice's mother and just like Voldemort's mother, Merope Gaunt.

And now Alice was ashamed. The circus slut underneath the surface was set free. Was this the way it was naturally for all women? Alice pondered. But fiercely, defiantly recalled. No! It was that curse that made me into a whore. I am not a dirty-minded, sinful woman.

Rookwood took the girl back. He was a good deal kinder than the Head Boy. He had no reason to hate Miss Alice.

Another wizard joined in and crooned, "Here, little pony..."

Alice was told to wriggle her hips. She gyrated, eager for someone to fill her with their seed. The new man named Lestrange ran a hand up and down Alice's thigh.

"Bend over more...That's it. Now wiggle that cute little arse, pony!"

Alice assented, she was in desperate need of more pleasure. The physical contact might finally soothe the searing itch of the curse.

Something slid into Alice's hole, but it wasn't cock. Inside the bright red bum, Lestrange inserted a dildo into that tight little ring.

At the tip was a butt plug, and at the other end horsehair. Once it protruded from the cheeks, Alice was like a pony again. Seated on all fours with a tail popping out the rear .

It was invasive agony, and yet the explosion of pain was wonderful in alleviating the curse. For the dildo accommodated well, since Riddle had used her from behind several times beforehand. The rump contracted madly and Alice enthusiastically grinded with the tide. She was teetering on the edge of madness.

Amid the cackling flames of agony, came more. Lestrange had started the Cruciatus Curse. Alice screamed so, and for awhile lost all sense of where she was. She twisted in agony and heard voices of men, she could not place.

Alice's hole grew distended. The chill smoothness of the dildo could not quench a man's avid lust. Soon Alice was getting used in two holes at once.

The horrid boy came along! Alphard boyishly smiled, his face the youngest. She found herself pinned down, hands arrested behind the back as he proceeded to kiss her to death. His breath was rank with alcohol and drugs.

Then he put his member inside, and at the same time as she serviced oral sex for the Black boy, Rookwood took advantage of Lestrange's absence. Lestrange had went onto other pleasures with the Squibs.

Alice's gray eyes screwed up. Impossibly full, wasted on cock it was difficult to stay in touch with reality.

**NOTE: This chapter is not yet finished. I am sorry that I haven't updated recently.**


	25. Dark Adventures Underground 2

**Continuation of...**

Chapter Nineteen: Dark Adventures Underground

***

The Squibs plus the young witch were made to serve the Dark Order. The men mingled around with their master, getting their thirst slaked.

Alice and the others were allowed to some finally. Alice was the last to get a flagon, when she noticed the shortest of Master Riddle's men. Alphard Black, more boy than man actually, was watching stealthily.

And the beer tasted bitter and horrible. Well, it was a hearty blend, and it was the first time she'd tasted beer.

She looked into her glass, and examined it. Could it be tainted with poison?

The ice-cubes had some peculiar little blobs. Alice plunged her hand in the cup. Out came cubes coated with yellow grime. Alice held it up to the light, staring. The ice-cubes were encased with bugs!

How childish! Alice whispered to Alphard haughtily, "You're nothing but a wicked, wicked little boy! And you shan't get the best of me. I'm not frightened."

Alphard grew disappointed with the gumption in Miss Alice's demeanor. Privately, Alice pondered if the bugs would make her sick and prayed this was an inaccurate assumption.

After servicing the men, the women were permitted to stand about and loiter, mingling with the men. But none of them would talk. They went off in their own groups, conversing in enigmatic whispers.

Alice saw the Black boy standing around a group who happened to be his older cousins.

There was an outburst suddenly. Alphard emerged from the fold raving. Mercurially, the lithe boy alighted on a seat, standing on it like a stage. "I want blood. I want to hurt, I want power, and all things bad!"

Everyone saw Alphard now and gawked. For the youngest follower had shouted this proclamation. Alphard's young eyes were emblazoned with belief. Alice saw that he was swept up in a cult, and no longer knew himself.

Riddle's eyes in contrast were calm, cold. "You're Master knows your heart."

Riddle stepped back and set his own flask down with a thud. He strode to the Squibs and suddenly each of them were bound.

Alice was levitated off the ground through a hovering charm, and the chains bound her breasts, they bound her torso and legs and shoulders.

For the next several minutes they were forced to observe the organization perform the most base, and disgusting of rites. It was some kind of ritual, none of which could be understood by an outsider. Except one thing. The Dark Order hated Goblins and considered them an inferior race.

This was stuff not even the worst nightmares can concoct. Treasures boxes, which turned out to also be coffins were emptied. Somehow, they'd exhumed the bodies of goblins. They had been entombed under the castle grounds for centuries, not a single living goblin knew their ancestors were buried under Hogwarts after the Goblin wars. So this place was a grave, a grave for goblins. And what happened next was the highest degradation a consecrated ground can suffer.

Their bodies of course were small, and shrunken more from being lain in tombs than from being Goblin. The swarthy faces had haunting, staring eyes. Alice cried, but none of them paid it mind. The empty husks were subject to the greatest of humiliations.

"Underneath, Dolohov," said Master Riddle cruelly. And he coerced the follower to animate the corpse, to let it lie on him, caressing Dolohov. Master Riddle smiled, looking most oddly tender and pleasured at the voyeuristic interlude.

Within moments all of them were partaking in spilling their seeds or putting their mouths to corpses. Riddle took a goblin by its ears, and twisted the nose. He threw the body like it was nothing, like it had never been alive. Alice couldn't believe what evil she was witnessing. This was hell, this was demonic.

Alice shut her eyes again and murmured, "I want to go to bed. Let me out, let me just go home. Lord, please!"

At the height of horrific passion, Riddle was screaming with pleasure. He looked so wicked and powerful, and Alice could not believe a mortal could be this bad. What of Satan, if that entity even existed?

The Squibs along with the girl were thrown from where they hovered in chains. Out of the ground, there was an ear-splitting crack! The ground broke open. Alice looked down below, and feeling such despair couldn't wait for that ground to swallow up and take her. Anything to get away from these monsters! At once the chains were released, and they descended into it.

Each lady fell, tossed into the pit. One of the ladies would die that night, sacrificed like a lamb. But Voldemort made sure that it was not Alice. For even he, did not wish to waste magical blood. But as for the wenches, those dirty slatterns to be fair were nothing but Squibs!

Alice strained to see above. She was standing in a dark pit. The men above closed in, forming a tight ring. They were cloaked and hooded, donning their hideous masks again. Alice's imagination spun with tales of demons.

When the master stopped and came, Alice knew it wouldn't be good. They were suddenly immersed in a nest of vipers, biting and clawing at her legs. The snakes multiplied, thicker and thicker. She felt them crawling on her legs, snapping and hissing violently. But somehow they couldn't actually bite.

Shouts of crucio wrung everywhere. And Alice no longer knew what she was doing. She was going to die. Dragged down, under a nest of hideous creatures.

The creatures grew fiercer and cleverer and cleverer in ambushing the women, so that they didn't even know who'd be attacked next.

From above, faintly she heard a whispering. Master Riddle was using his tongue, amplifying his voice and hissing in a strange, arcane language. Alice did not know it was Parseltongue.

Riddle stopped. The men answered, chanting in Latin. Their voices rung like the gongs of bells, deep and serious. It was like an order of monks at prayer.

At the last possible moment, Alice and the others were taken out. Again, nobody seemed to care that one of their number wasn't moving. The innocent were always the first. The rejected Squib who was forced to be employed with the most lowly of jobs was gone. The woman had suffocated, buried under the snakes, smothered to death.

The dark figures were everywhere at once. Alice had discovered horror-land, as opposed to the usual magic, which had always seemed a wonderland. Tonight, having this dark adventure underground, Alice Whitman discovered just how deep the rabbit hole went. She'd seen magic that few would believe possible.

And there was little more she could take. She was the youngest, the Squibs were more hardened.

Some of the men now inched closer to Alice, looking eager. She knew these men probably wanted another wank tonight, or worse. But the mutilated clit was itching and burning and throbbing from the torture of the Cruciatus. The Curse was alive.

Alice twisted and writhed. She was chafed from the previous exertions and could not bear anymore penises, or dildos of any sort inserted up her.

"Don't hurt me!" Alice shook and pointed a finger in accusation. "HE IS THE DEVIL!"

Some of them laughed mercilessly. Not a shred of compassion for this girl's agonizing terror.

Alice stopped writhing and stared ahead. It was peculiar to see her staring straight ahead at a blank wall. The mind was filled with imaginings, and remembrance for what had been seen. She recalled vividly what they'd done to the bodies! And there was the boxes, the coffins and treasures. Some of the remaining Goblins were put in hilarious position, spindly hands outstretched holding their treasure. But the chests were empty, pillaged for gold. The followers would use it to increase their Pureblood families wealth. Taking the spoils with them to Gringotts.

But the empty boxes reminded Alice of that nightmare. Empty of contents like in her dream. A Pandora's box was opened, the universe, whether magical or supernatural could not be understood. And death was the ultimate unknown, and what if it brought total obliteration? Like an empty box. Nothing. Nothing at all!

"The devil!" Alice grew frightened again. Master Riddle was approaching, quite calmly, the long, yew wand readied. There was purpose, deliberate cold purpose as he reached the young Secretary.

None of the men cared. But some licked their lips and clutched at their crotches growing aroused once again. They may have liked that she called him the Devil.

"Oh! Do have pity on me, you men! My masters!….Don't let him. Don't let him."

Their eyes grew greedy, tongues emerged licking their lips. Some went to their collars, or unbuckled their belts, eager to have this girl who called their Master a Devil!

But Riddle remained hunched over Alice on the floor. The Head Boy was looking calm, but also amused. There was no pain that came next. Only bliss, at last let out of misery.

"Imperio!" Riddle screamed. Back under the Imperius Curse. No longer may she utter a word to the followers. She was ignorant of the truth again, wool pulled over her eyes. "Obliviate."

No longer would she remember this night. Everything went black. Dark. Alice could have died that night.

But next morning somehow she awakened in bed inside the great bastion of safety that was Ravenclaw tower. It was as if none of it had ever happened.

**NOTE: Please review!**


	26. Magic and Religion

**This is one of my favorite stories and I will never abandon it. I am determined to get through the plot. However, I had real life to attend to, but am getting a break until February. Below is the prelude to the climax! It is going to be really exciting!  
**

**Chapter Twenty: Magic and Religion**

It was like the mind was stuck at the bottom of a well. The final and most vital information just couldn't be drawn.

Alice Whitman sat near the others. These were normal students with no connection to the Head Boy. Alice was different, and something just wasn't right about that Tom Riddle.

Inside was a compulsion to do something. Alice had nearly gotten to the heart, the very bottom of the mystery. Now the mystery of Master Riddle and who he was could be comprehended. 'He isn't quite human' she thought. Alice's mind had already worked out that he wanted to kill, but Alice thought it was a desire he hadn't met yet. But upon a crucial discovery, she would find out that boy was that wrong! He was indeed a murderer already.

Alice abandoned the library books on Fourth year Pre-owl standard spells. She was due to Riddle's cold and secluded study in an hour.

The Standard Book of Fourth Year Magic slammed shut. Months of sneaking through his papers, always careful to put everything back, it was all becoming clear. Intuition said that now was the time to act.

Master Riddle had taught the Disillusionment Charm to his Secretary well. This granted access into the Restricted Section, as the librarian wouldn't be able to see anyone under the spell.

Alice hated approaching the study. Flashes of unpleasant memories sifted through her brain. A deep cavern, and empty treasure boxes, with wizened green bodies that looked like deformed dolls.

Furiously the Ravenclaw shook her head and quickened her step. She must be out of her mind.

Reaching the upside down cross, it was an uneventful trespass. The gloomy passage was as always illuminated with candles.

"How odd," she said aloud. There was a peculiar whiff of incense. Alice's feet kept down the path and then there was something there that would make her stop dead.

Blood on the stone floor, gleaming in the luminescent lights. Almost black was this puddle of blood. It shone dismally in the shadowed corridor.

Alice turned in the opposite direction. The Head Boy's lair was right nearby, but Alice felt she must plunder down the next passage.

A rising surge of dread rose up in the girl's throat. More and more puddles of blood. But as ever there was an insatiable, near morbid curiosity.

It must be Tom Riddle's concierge that donned the masks. And there was a strange connection she felt for them.

From afar was unearthly, enigmatic song. It was like men of a certain high rank of a church, demonstrating their worship to the Savior.

Alice thought of the men or boys in the masks some more. She could not remember the night she was taken to the boathouse and met the prostitutes. That night had been wiped away, but not completely eradicated. For it could never be quite taken from the unconscious.

The blood grew thicker, the puddles deepened. The music ebbed and then flowed again.

At last, there was a glorious and grisly sight to behold!

The singing men were in a large, spacious room the size of a small cathedral. They were raised off the floor, gliding. Their bare feet hovering well above the ground. Cowled over in black robes, they looked subdued and detached from reality, all but for their melodious voices. On their heads they wore cone-shaped hoods.

But upon reflection, Alice quickly surmised it was a scene akin to one from another of her favourite books called 'Dante's Inferno'! Yes, it was like Hell.

There was another group below the drifting singers.

Dozens of naked bodies cloyed at each other on the ground. They were the source of the blood. They hacked and cloyed with knives, not wands. More blood spilt, but they laughed like it was the utmost carnal pleasure. Flesh to flesh was torn, appendages of feet, legs, fingers, ears and arms amassed in piles. Even with missing limbs the strange people hobbled. They wiggled and fought each other energetically. The enchantments supplied a strange, unnatural, most unholy vigor. This was advanced Dark magic for sure.

Alice could not believe how wrong and immoral this was. She put a shocked hand to thin lips. If there was any noise, even a peep they would see the newcomer.

Finally, Alice spotted her employer. The Head Boy, Master Riddle had his backed turned. Thank goodness! He was leading the procession, which was luckily not heading toward the columns.

The visceral scene of cloying monstrous naked bodies played out. Heart pounding Alice darted behind an edifice, a rotund Roman column. All that she dared, was to sneak only a peek with one eyeball.

She studied the forms, spilling more and more blood with their sharp knives. But they never died. To her horror, she surmised they were students, probably abducted from their beds, and enchanted to attack each other and somehow forced to enjoy it! Alice prayed they would return in one piece. She did not know they were chosen. Each and every one of them, for the sole reason for being Mudbloods.

The brotherhood went up and down in lines, chanting in Latin over and over again, oblivious it seemed to the depravity below their feet. The Dark Order was a hegemony of power, a most secretive fraternity. Alice thought she was probably the only outsider to ever witness these rituals.

And at the front of the queue, was the Master, Tom Riddle. The powerful timbre of his voice rung out, magnified several times. He was controlling them like puppets on a string. The long yew wand poised in the air like a musician conducting an orchestra. The other hand swayed a pot with smoke coming out. So that of course was the source of incense in the corridors.

He was the Alpha, totally in charge. And they were obligated to accede. He the head, and they the synchronized body. The line went down in perfect formation and in the ceremonial robes flowed. They were all such sickly goons! Alice could not dare look at those masked faces, for it stirred an odd passion and made her pelvis burn again, like flames that would never die.

Below the gliding followers, Mudbood sparred against Mudblood. Each with a dagger, for their wands had been temporarily taken from them as humiliation. They slew their flesh off with excitement. There was no agitation at wounding each other; and smiting their flesh. In fact, they seemed excited by the possibility of dying by mortal wounds. And blood was everywhere with excitement in the air. It was a bloodbath; a violent entertainment and they seemed to enjoy it immensely.

Yes, this was like the languishing bodies of sinners in 'Dante's Inferno', forever holding company with the demons and beasts of Hell. Those poor victims! Alice couldn't help but be sorry for them. Yet there was something extraordinarily mystical about Riddle's following. It was a fusion of magic and religion.

The bodies ceased their frenzied play and lay like empty husks. The life force, the power and magic had been sucked away from them.

Finally, Alice tore her gray eyes away. For she had a mission tonight, and the time was ripe to get the key to uncover what exactly Tom Riddle was. This wasn't evil. This was beyond any pre-conceived notions of what people knew as 'usual evil'.

**NOTE: Please review! I am going to get busy planning the climax.**


	27. Secret of the Darkest Art

**Happy New Year! I will definitely finish this story in 2011. Below is the really exciting part, so glad I made it here. This is the start of an extraordinary climax and then there will be a few denouement chapters, and an epilogue.**

**Chapter Twenty-One: Secret of the Darkest Art**

It was now just moments after witnessing the bizarre ritual. Hundreds of orbs of golden lights floated around the study. So this was another one of those experiments. If she had been a good Secretary, Alice would have ignored it and set to the workload. But of course, this Fourth year Hogwarts student was no common Secretary. She was a powerful witch and eager to make light of the truth.

Alice's eyes swiveled slowly around, watching the lights curiously, but cautiously. They didn't appear to be dangerous.

Her gray eyes glimmered, reflecting off the golden, sparks of light. In her bosom, snuggled her pet kitty.

"Snarglepuff….I don't think we're in Kansas anymore." She couldn't help but mutter that. This magic of which Riddle was the source was bewildering. In all her years studying at Hogwart's School, the professors never mentioned fragments of light.

Riddle wasn't coming for at least half an hour. Always, the Head Boy was punctual, but rarely arrived early. So protectively, Alice placed Snarglepuff inside her pocket. The innocent creature's tail bobbed up and down, hanging out of the folds of the deep pocket.

Today there was no need to plunder the many books, and the hundreds of scrolls and papers. Because everything was made clear. Alice was certain that she'd figured out what was of such enormous value to her master.

She tiptoed over to the counter. The black-stoned ring rested innocently on the varnished wood, as sterile as it's experimentation table.

It would be foolish to touch it. But something, tugged at her heart. A vision of mum and dad together came to mind. Could the ring possibly hold a magic to bring people back, and make the union whole once more? Alice had an accurate hunch that the ring could.

There was a time, when the men kissed the ring, as Riddle drank from a silver chalice of blood. So Alice tried kissing it.

Jealously she snatched at it and put the ring on her own middle finger. The ring called to her heart again.

And it warmed to her touch. Ghostly, pearly-white figures came out, and somehow Alice expected they would be in the form of Reginald and Evelyn.

Two large, featureless shapes hovered on the scene. But they were not her parents. They were phantoms, completely lifeless and formless. Voldemort had abused the stone, when creating the horcrux. The Peverell stone could not harness it's resurrection powers when under Voldemort's dominion. But Alice had not un-earthed, a single scrap of the ancient history of the stone.

The phantoms completely disappeared.

Like a wounded animal, Alice let out a cry of grief, pain, and despair. Just like in reality, Evelyn and Reginald were never going to get together again. And daddy was dead. No magic could raise the dead, right? Daddy could not rise, even in phantom form from his grave.

Reluctantly, Alice slipped the ring off. Returning it to the counter, it moved of its own accord. The ugly ring made a pirouette through the air, and a low whistling sound. It landed on the floor, and spun like a dreidel. Alice lost sight of Riddle's ring.

Alice felt angry with herself. She shouldn't have taken the ring off. She should have known the ring would of course defend itself and so she should have tried magic to diffuse its defences.

At once musing and ruminating the loss of the ring's gifts, Alice wandered to the pantry. Riddle had the ingenuity to think of transforming it into his own miniature apothecary.

Alice pushed aside several bottles, careful to memorize their locations, so she could put the stuff back later. And then at last, hidden in the back of potions and poisons, she uncovered bottles of people's blood.

There was so very many bottles of blood hidden back there, it was difficult to find the very one you were interested in. Some were marked 'Pureblood', others 'Mudblood' or 'Half-blood'. So Tom Riddle was conducting experiments to compare the differences in blood?

It was apparent that he only wanted the Purebloods to procreate. Any witch or wizard less than pure deserved to die. Riddle didn't think muggle-borns had the right to start a family.

Family was so important. But Alice believed she'd already lost hers with daddy gone, and only Evelyn left, a mother she wasn't fond of. If you have nothing, there is nothing to lose. These thoughts gave her a reckless desire.

Next to the bottles of blood was that of her own. Marked on it was, 'Clitordectomy Curse.' And Alice saw the effigy. That was the false version of her actual clitoris. Inside the real clitoris throbbed viciously, horribly altered by a Dark curse, that seeped through her veins and would eventually destroy her.

She clasped the jar in cold, clammy hands thinking of the curse coursing through her blood even now. She had tried drinking the flask full of blood, once, but to no success. The burning deep inside the veins hadn't gone. She was stuck to live a cursed life, forced to die inexorably slow and suffer with little room for pleasure.

'No! I am not going to have an unfulfilled life. I will drink deeply of the cup of life, and if not, I don't care if he kills me'. She wanted everything suddenly, and hated that he might have ruined the future. And why did he want to take her female pleasure away? It was sick!

The bottle shook and with force, let it go. The jaw smashed and the glass shattered. The blood squirted out making a trajectory above towards the cabinets.

Instantly, she was awash with regret. Alice was thinking of sins, and the hot fires of hell, and hoping she'd be forgiven for sins on Judgment Day. But the Curse remained alive.

Smashing the jar and wrecking the effigy had not undone the curse. Agonizing stabs of pain coursed down there. The Dark Magic knew someone had destroyed its connection. Alice screamed in blinding pain and fell to the floor.

It seemed Alice would be found there, hunched over in pain. But then the burning ceased.

Alice found the strength to rise and looked around, reflecting on what had happened. What a mess it was in here! And the ring was missing. He'd surely accuse her. Alice knew he didn't really trust anybody. She'd be the first suspect regarding the ring.

The flask was smashed to pieces. All of this would result in cruel punishment for sure. The Head Boy would do his worst, concocting the greatest suffering he could devise.

So Alice didn't have the heart to do a Scourgify. The evidence that incriminated her was already there in blood-red stains. She was already sentenced to punishment, as the ring was gone! Worse yet, there was little time for more discoveries! Master Riddle would be in at four o'clock sharp.

But Alice still burned with a desire that there was still some element of the mystery to destroy. Revenge was sweet, wasn't it? She smiled maliciously.

Alice went to the center and peered over Riddle's desk. In the corner lay the little black book. Originally, she had mistaken that book for the Good Book. 'Nothing good. Nothing holy can come from that…man.' He hardly qualified as a man anymore. There was something in-human about him. Alice had seen him transform while conducting those experiments into something that just wasn't human.

There was more of Riddle's plans on the desk. Alice leafed through a detailed map, full of Riddle's beautiful handwriting. Several trails led straight to a great forest in Albania. Albania of all places!

She turned to another parchment. Alice read aloud, "Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure." Indeed it was, thought the Ravenclaw. However, what would Tom Riddle, as a Slytherin want with Ravenclaw's motto?

Alice thought over this and wondered what connection this had to an Albanian forest. And then the answer lied on another paper. It was a detailed extract of 'Hogwarts a History' on the legend of the great diadem that had been Helena Ravenclaw's.

Alice's eyes stung with tears, crestfallen. He was out to steal the Diadem. He must want it to gain more knowledge. The legend after all, was that many witches and wizards over the centuries wanted it to gain unsurpassable wisdom. She did not know he desired it for a very different reason. Alice's head was spinning with the disturbing revelation that Tom Riddle was the only person who discovered where the diadem was hidden.

So he was planning a journey to Albania after graduating in June, in which he would steal the diadem this summer. But how did Master Riddle learn of its location? Alice thought back to a conversation with the talking gargoyles. Desperate for information on Tom Riddle's activities, she had subtly asked the gargoyles for advice.

"We Gargoyles have ears to hear, but no eyes to spy!" The Gargoyles recanted that they had heard a young man discussing old Ravenclaw's diadem with the beautiful deceased witch who was daughter to Helena Ravenclaw. So it must have been Tom Riddle who asked the Grey Lady, also known as the silent ghost. The Grey Lady must have told him it lied in a forest in Albania.

Alice turned back from the desk, deep in thought. But plastered on the wall, she was bombarded by several faded postcards of a cave. Surrounding the postcards was images of lifeless corpses and the steps towards re-animating them. Sort of like zombies, or an army of the dead. They were the early stages of Inferi, before any had actually been made. He was in the early stages of planning it. These were all the plans of a killer. A vicious, sadistic murderer.

But Alice understood what it meant, having heard of Grindelwald who had just been defeated a few months back. Dark Wizards could become addicted to making more and more Inferi. Her heart pounded at fully realizing that the Head Boy was a cold-blooded murderer. In fact, he craved killing because killing made him feel powerful and alive.

It was his fantasy to maim and kill thousands of people he considered beneath him. He was planning to conduct a murder spree. And he would never, ever stop.

In terror and disgust, Alice spun backwards. Right behind was the skull astrolabe. All those faces grinned back, laughing at death and murder with blank, soulless, evil eyes. The Curse prickled in her nether regions again and trepidation burned deep inside her. Alice's adrenaline pumped, and it seized her with a terrible strength.

The astrolabe rumbled loudly, as it met its demise, crumbling into a heap of rubble. Riddle had spent countless hours engineering it's construction. Alice kicked and beat at it. It was now another mess.

Frantically, she glanced over her shoulder back at the black notebook. She grabbed it and considered throwing it to the fire. But she understood enough about Dark Magic by now to know that could not destroy it. She knew her master had a great attachment to this book. What could be so special about a plain, black book with empty, unused pages? Riddle was practical, he wouldn't keep something unless it served a purpose.

Whatever dark purpose the book did serve, Alice was overcome with the urge to steal Riddle's seemingly empty diary.

She couldn't do it. Stealing was wrong, and a sin against her true master in Heaven. It would be a shame after months as an honest, working-girl.

But Alice was also angry and her blood boiled and then ran cold. She was associating with a dangerous killer, who was a much, much greater sinner.

There was only one other book propped open, obviously the last book he'd been reading. "Secret of the Darkest Art." It took only a minute to realize that this book contained detailed instructions on becoming the complete opposite of a human being. The method was by means of a horcrux. What on earth was a horcrux? This was obviously the greatest work of the wicked warlock called Tom Riddle. This was his most nefarious deed. Was he already a killer? Had the Head Boy actually succeeded in creating this thing called a horcrux?

Alice raised her head pensively and saw the golden lights floating eerily in the room. She could only guess if these fragments of light had a connection to making a horcrux.

Scientifically, muggles might call them subatomic particles. They were also infused with magic and they made a wind in the room. Strained screams and whimpers, and whisperings started. The hairs on the back of Alice's neck stood straight up.

There was a feeling of being watched. It must be the particles watching. They knew they'd been disturbed, from their quiescent slumber. But something had awakened them.

The whispering of nothings continued and Alice thought maybe she'd better leave. But she was too scared to move. The golden lights had a consciousness and an awareness. They sensed that somebody had disturbed their Master's lair. This somebody was present and shouldn't be, and they sensed that this somebody would like to destroy themselves. Their Master was the one who had created them into these pathetic, fragmented bits. They were a destroyed piece of Tom Riddle's soul floating around the room. He had taken it out of one of a horcrux today for an experiment. It was a piece of soul that was evil, impure and tainted by the stain of murder.

They might have been golden, but Alice sensed the particles had a black, dark aspect. Alice knew it was Dark magic and she smartly made the connection to them with the horcrux. They were something that could not be quantified or measured exactly.

Alice thought again of taking the diary. But how was she going to destroy it? She knew she hadn't the resources, or the knowledge or the tools to confront his advanced magic.

The particles that resembled dust dancing in the wind started whispering louder. They were picking up Alice's thoughts like an outside signal. Someone was there that shouldn't be. Someone was tampering with their master's stuff with a goal that threatened their existence.

The wind picked up to an icy breeze. Alice knew something worse was ominous. But the power of curiosity compelled her to stay. Her breath came out like a fog. A dark spectre of a being might swoop down and attack. Perhaps Master Riddle kept those horrible ministry beasts called Dementors?

Tom Riddle glided into his study, silently. The particles had called to him a warning and he'd come at once.

The candlelight flickered once and then went out. Alice turned around and to her horror saw the tall profile of Head Boy, Tom Riddle standing as impressive as ever.

Everything went dark. But not for Riddle. He was using the Hand of Glory now, which only gives light to the holder.

Instinctively, the Secretary reeled backwards, hands up, and darted away from his desk.

Alice challenged her employer, staring coldly into the dark void of his office. Her face was etched with revulsion. In retaliation, he stared back. Young Voldemort's nostrils flared, eyes gleaming with rising hatred like a snake coiling to strike. He did not look the least bit handsome right now, only monstrous and ugly.

His gaze was ferocious and even from several feet away, Riddle could use Legilmency to see that somehow she learned of horcruxes.

The forehead throbbed, a blue vein visible. His throat constricted with suppressed pain and agitation. There was a rage there that was terrible to behold.

"YOU!" He seethed with genuine surprise. Inwardly he was pondering how it could be that this mere girl could come this far. It had been incipient that someone was going through his things, but he hadn't believed it to be the Secretary, Alice Whitman. He thought it perhaps to be a male, probably one of the followers.

'A number of people it could have been that discovered my secret,' he ruminated privately. It dawned upon his mind, still numbed and tapered by the shock that it was the person he thought least likely to unearth his most cherished, most buried secret. It had been foolish to underestimate her, he ascertained in a flash. Horcruxes. 'But how much could she comprehend?'

Lord Voldemort was too angry to think it through just yet. He advanced on Alice Whitman like a shadow coming to take her to the valley of death.

His wand came out, and he moved forward. Alice was caught between taking her own wand out, or using another means of protection. Religion remained the guide, and she believed that only something else could stop a monstrous demon such as he.

The Head Boy was walking sedately, closer and closer to Alice. One hand gripping the wand, the other outstretched to grab Alice.

In an instant Alice took out jug of Holy Water. With good aim, the water splashed his eyes.

"May you burn in hell, Riddle!"

She thought that it could burn him and make those eyes gleam red again, but the Holy Water had none such effect. Immediately after she made the split-second decision to make a run for it. Her life was at stake.

Running across the jumbled study, she almost fell over the skulls. Riddle didn't laugh, but strode lazily after, silently enjoying the fear. He was perfectly confident that he'd catch her. But let her try to escape, and fail!

There was another burst of inspiration. The memory of being confined to the chamber gave her an idea. She opened the door and went inside the dark, sparse room.

Alice wouldn't let the darkness take over. The witch lit her wand, and screamed, "Defodo!"

The wall crumbled and caved in. It slowed down Master Riddle, approaching from behind.

Alice jumped down an embankment to another room below. There was little time. Riddle could be heard above, rapidly moving rubble from the collapsed wall with his magic.

The room contained dozens of panels, with sliding doors, covered by tapestries. It would be difficult for Riddle to find her in here. Frantically, she looked about to choose the least visible one.

Triumphantly from above was his cold, high voice. "I can live forever, but you can't hide forever!"

There was only enough space to kneel, it was a tiny compartment, the size of a large coffin.

She fumbled desperately in her pockets. Snarglepuff must have escaped in the confusion. Alice felt relieved that at least her pet reached safety. Snarglepuff was free of Master Riddle's wrath. Alice would surely suffer torture, maybe even death.

She huddled against the soft, velvet tapestry, trying to muffle ragged breathing. Riddle was in the room, examining everything patiently. He listened silently, and Alice struggled not to breath, not to move.

Inwardly, she prayed to the Blessed Mother, with the Hail Mary prayer.

Cabinets were opening and closing.

He pretended to be kind, like he could sometimes do to those he needed. "Come out, come out Miss Alice!...I won't punish you. I promise not to hurt you. Come out, silly little girl!"

Was he play-acting or could he really not find her?

It didn't take too long though. Riddle sneaked up to slit his wand through the cracks. It looked like a knife. And then, the panel popped open.

With strong arms he tossed her out. "HOW?" He hissed demonically. He shook Alice violently.

The girl sobbed pitifully, expecting imminent torture. "I stumbled across it, s-Sir! It was an accident!"

"ACCIDENTS?" Riddle screamed enormously loud, bursting with sarcasm, so loud it echoed.

"I didn't find out what you were doing on purpose!"

"YOU LIE!"

Hands enclosed her throat.

He was going to throttle her to death. Alice couldn't breathe, she was dying. Her face turned as red as an apple and the gray eyes bulged. But nothing could stop this terrible anger.

Finally, the hands released from her neck. It ached there, and she knew it would cause bruising. Alice coughed, sputtered and gasped for air. Riddle waited.

Then taking her by the robes, he dragged her bodily through the corridors and back to his study. Alice Whitman had come much too far, much too close to knowing it all. It was time for some serious questions and answers.

**NOTE: I hope you liked the first half of the climax. Riddle is not going to torture or rape Alice in the next scene. Well maybe a little, I'm not sure. But he is going to tell her quite a lot, you'll see.**


	28. Secret of the Darkest Art 2

**Thanks for your continued interest to whomever does read this story.**

Continuation of:  


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Chapter Twenty-One: Secret of the Darkest Art

Our heroine made it alive, still dragged at the neck of her robes. She kicked and sobbed all the way, a mounting terror building inside. Could he be prolonging this all, and just waiting to kill her?

As soon as the two were in, the Head Boy moved, and with great presence of mind his acute eyesight swept the scene. Blood was spattered on the walls and floor, and the astrolabe was destroyed. Books, papers, scrolls, quills and files were scattered.

Alice watched and quailed to still see that livid expression there.

So the diary was safe. Riddle could almost breathe a sigh of relief. Then instantly he saw that the other precious object was amiss. The ring!

Like lightening, his frame darted to the experimentation counter. Riddle turned back, glaring, towards the girl. She still lay huddled on the ground.

He raised a hellish uproar, in a hoarse tone that did not sound like the charming voice that belonged to that of Tom Riddle. "Where is the ring? Where the devil did you put my ring?"

"I didn't t-take it!"

Riddle raised his wand, and in reply boomed, "I TOLD you not to lie, girl!"

"PLEASE! I swear I didn't take it," Alice shrilled. She wasn't brave enough to admit to actually losing it though.

His wand poised, but Riddle was not quite ready to use the torture curse. "ACCIO RING!"

The ring came forth, zooming through the air and landed swiftly to encircle Riddle's left middle finger. He smiled with smug satisfaction. In a dark tone, low, and dangerous, he said "The ring has returned to me in the same condition of which I had left it. Consider yourself lucky…on that score."

He strode closer. No longer quite so enraged, but still mad. "Rise. Get yourself together! Tell me everything."

Alice refused to do this, and looked up at him, imploringly as if to say she was harmless. But it was too late, it was obvious she was a danger to his secrets.

On wobbling feet, Alice complied. Riddle grabbed her wrist and made her stand before his desk. He took an hourglass out, full of black sand. Alice stared at this morbid little contraption, and thought the hourglass to be counting down her moments left to live. Suddenly it seemed every heartbeat was so precious.

In a voice not quite steady, she heard him say, "You know too much. I give you one minute to confess of what you know. One minute. Give me your full account of events. But if you choose to hold anything back, I shall kill you!"

Alice did not doubt this. But was glad that for once it was her turn to talk.

But he knew he didn't wish to kill Ms. Whitman tonight. It was just that he was so furious and unsettled by this news that this arbitrary warning burst out.

His dark eyes gleamed with ferocity, not once wavering their gaze from Miss Alice. Alice spoke as if on the stand, keeping her voice level. Like a snake Voldemort could smell the fear on her perspiring body, and it infuriated him more. What knowledge was she hiding?

The hourglass was flipped over to its inverted end, and the sands started falling. "I've been curious about you since the beginning. It started when I saw those b-boys - men kissing your ring. I wanted to know what you were doing with them, and then you gave me messages to copy. I knew they were encrypted. At the dance, I met Alphard Black-"

"Did he tell you anything?"

"No, m-master. He did not!"

"Continue then…"

"Well, I. Oh, please don't punish me more! I had to sort it out. So I've been going through your stuff. And you know, that I know that you've cursed me! You said so yourself to my face. So I wanted to break the curse, and I failed. I also suspect you to be a killer. In fact, know it to be true! You're a murderer. I went looking again this afternoon and found a book on…oh, dear! What was the word? That's right! Horcruxes!"

Riddle's face quaked to see another person boldly proclaim this. He couldn't believe this was happening. Still, he would stifle that knowledge soon.

He watched with astonishment as Alice pointed a finger accusatorily, as if this was the medieval era and he was an errant sorcerer on trial for witchcraft. "You made that horcrux with the ring! And another one with your diary!"

"I don't deny it!"

"Also….I came across queer drawings. Of a cave. And shriveled, ugly bodies. I see that you are following Grindelwald's path and intend to make Inferi!"

"True. But I shall go above and beyond Grindelwald's numbers!...What else have you to confess?"

"I know you seek to destroy something. What is it? I saw the golden lights in this room today." Alice dropped to a whisper, and admitted what the unthinkable, unspeakable terrible truth. These things called horcruxes resulted in the most heinous crime there was: homicide. "Creation always results in the destruction, or changing the form of something else. Could it be that you seek to destroy your soul?"

Riddle did not answer. He wasn't ready, and would rather hold back.

"You. Will. Never. Die," she whispered slowly.

It wasn't quite accurate, it was still possible to die but even Voldemort felt the truth was too painful. The horcruxes could be destroyed, and subsequently he could be killed someday. But that reality was too painful for Voldemort to think about.

"The horcruxes will keep me safe and yes, protect me until the end of time. I shall never have to endure the dangers of the world again."

Time seemed to have slowed. The hourglass had run out several moments ago. The black sands receding peaceably to the bottom.

The Head Boy's mood was improving, he seemed more collected, his usual unfeeling self. His passionate anger was dissolved. He looked about and spoke his decision. "I am going to allow you to live. Until the day I board the Hogwarts express, you remain my Secretary."

Alice tried hard not to beam a smile up at her master. And instead hung her head with humble humility.

"You will clean this place of the blood. Do your best to repair my equipment and put my books in order."

"Yes, sir..." Alice said automatically.

"Yes, Master!," he snapped back. "Make short work of it, girl!"

Alice jumped to her feet. She daren't refuse to clean again like she'd once snapped at him that she wasn't a House-elf. He could kill, or torture and abuse if pushed to it. Again, there was no need to be forced by the Imperius Curse into sexual acts.

On hands and knees, she got to washing the blood clean of the study. She scourgified every drop, which proved to be hard work, because blood had seeped into so many spaces. She swallowed hard, thinking again that he was a killer and felt nauseated. Figuratively, the stain of murder most certainly stained his sleeves. And this was most ominously her blood. It was her blood inside the jar that was smashed. The fact to be washing her own blood of the place seemed to foretell that he would kill her in the future.

He breathed down her neck, his presence always like a drafty wind. There was something so unstable about him. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

After a moment, Riddle tired of observing her.

Peripherally, she got a glimpse of him taking out several bottles of blood. Alice ascertained they must be from the mudbloods who had been enchanted to attack each other earlier. Riddle did not yet know she had seen this. Or did he? He might have delved that far into her head already.

Alice shivered. One never knew just how much Master Riddle knew. But everybody knew his knowledge was expansive and extensive, more than sufficient for a Seventh year. His knowledge could not be beat, by none except one professor. Professor Dumbledore, of course.

Riddle stalked up and down the counter, lined with dozens of potions, poisons and blood samples. So he'd taken the Muggle-borns blood for study. It was Magical Eugenics all over again.

With fascinated, predatory eyes Riddle compared the blood samples. He looked fascinated at discovering what was inside a mudblood as opposed to a pureblood. There was a thrill there, a longing to know how it worked that a pureblood could pass on their magical powers much easier than a Muggle-born.

It took awhile, but both of them finished their duties.

"Master...Perhaps you are as far along advanced as old Nicolas Flamel? Are you after a sorcerer's stone?"

"No," he answered without hesitation. And explicated imperiously, "I do not need to procure the stone to be immortal."

"But you're obsessed with living forever! If not the sorcerer's stone, what is it?"

"I have told you. horcruxes."

"I still don't understand..."

Riddle just stood there, contemplating. He had some newfound respect for Alice Whitman. She had after all, come close to the truth. Closer than anybody else.

He spoke his thoughts aloud, "So you have discovered that I am immortal by means of horcruxes. But I have not shown you how it is so."

Alice felt eager to learn and to know. She was still curious about him. Riddle stepped over to what appeared to be an empty stone basin.

He tapped his wand, and a Pensieve appeared there. Alice remembered falling deep inside and she had shown him some of her most personal childhood memories. Could it be possible that now he was going to show his private life to her?

**NOTE: This is getting close to the end.**


	29. Secret of the Darkest Art 3

**Please review!**

**Continuation of:  
**

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Chapter Twenty-one: Secret of the Darkest Art  


Alice and Tom awaited the secrets held inside the stone basin. Riddle turned his back on her. Slowly and reluctantly, the wand went to his temple. Out wove gossamer, glittering strands, curling over the wand.

Riddle delicately released them to the part gas and part liquid concoction, which was the pensieve. The way he handled the memories, Alice could tell they meant a great deal to him.

She pressed forward and saw the memory swirling and simmering on the surface.

Slowly Riddle turned. Out of the corner of his eye, he peered down.

"You shall know the truth. Are you ready to be shown?" Riddle looked oddly uncomfortable, not the confident self he usually was. Alice felt he could see right through her. It was like her innermost thoughts were as transparent as a ghost, and it was terribly exposing.

"After all this time? I very much hope so!"

He stiffened at this prim sarcasm, this attitude coming from his Secretary. But he did have a newfound respect for Alice Whitman and decided to allow it. Her brains, her intellect, and all she'd uncovered about him, earned the right to be a bit smart with him.

She took Riddle's hand and together Master and employee dived into the well of mystery. A mystery, that for so many months had frightened and confused Alice.

But Voldemort did not care to explain everything. So that first she saw a young Riddle inside an impressive, Victorian drawing room. There were three flashes of green light.

Alice had never witnessed the killing curse and at first could not recognize it.

Not until she saw the younger Riddle rise triumphantly from the floor, at his feet lay three bodies. Now she understood that this was death.

"My younger self. I was sixteen and a half or so at the time," said eighteen-year-old, present-day Riddle. It chilled Alice to the bone that he felt no emotion at all for the victims.

For a moment, the younger Riddle just stood there, with a shorter, stubbier wand held out. Alice wondered who owned that wand, but forgot to ask. There was a look of triumph that stole over his younger face.

The memory ended in a cloud of haziness. They returned to the present. As soon as they were transported, Riddle spoke. "I have not shown you what I really wish you to see. I want to see how much you can comprehend." He had just revealed the evidence that he was a killer to Alice, but had not explained how his horcruxes worked.

Alice nodded. "But Master, who were those people you murdered? They seemed to have no connection to you."

It was strange. Had he not originated in an orphanage?

"I tracked down my relations, Alice," said Riddle irritably. So he did not want to admit the identities of these people because he was ashamed they were family.

"My father was a muggle, as I told you once before. Don't you go repeating it or I promise I will liquidate you next!"

"I won't!"

Of course she wouldn't, remembered Riddle a second later. That threat had burst out in a temper. But now he remembered he would modify her mind of this knowledge later. But for now, it satisfied Voldemort greatly to tell his story.

"Those were the bodies of my father…Tom Riddle Senior. And his father, my grandfather….and the woman - my grandmother, Mary Riddle. All of them muggles! How I hated their existence. It was easy to see them die…"

"But not so easy to kill them?"

Riddle didn't answer, but pondered this distinction. Alice's usual tendency for perception had struck a chord once again. "To make a kill is an extraordinary decision. Killing takes much effort and planning. The innocent wrongly think it is a quick, and easy deed…." Riddle stalled and then sounded old and tired, "It is not always so easy. However, afterwards….I experience such profound relief. Yet it is enjoyable, almost leisurely to indulge in killings!"

"Have you k-k-killed anybody else?"

"No…" He rubbed his ring. A dreaming look fell over Riddle's handsome face. He seemed to be drifting off into space. It was plain to see that killing was something craved, an addiction to him.

Alice was too frightened to know why he hadn't done it again. He was waiting until he got out of Hogwarts, plus there had been no time for these pleasures for they did involve a lot of thought. Once he could get away from Dumbledore, whom he feared….He would kill more than ever.

Another memory coiled round the wand, coming out of his temple. Riddle did not explain anything but took Alice's hand.

The pensieve transported them to one of the beautiful outdoor corridors on the grounds. Sixth Year Tom Riddle was striding down the dark corridor with a definite purpose.

Fallen leaves skittered on the ground, and the wind was howling.  
It was midnight and the dark was stormy and powerful. A gale of November wind blew across the hills and beat the stone walls of the castle.

Alice scurried to keep up with present-day Riddle. The past Riddle slowly ascended the narrow steps that led to the top of the Astronomy tower. He looked ominous and anxious. There was something of great import about to be done.

The walls of the past seemed to press into Alice. The climb to the summit took several minutes.

"What is going to happen to you, Master Riddle?" Alice whispered, yet she knew it was impossible for them to be seen and heard.

Riddle would rather show this memory than tell. He told Alice she would see it in good time.

The past Riddle finally reached the top and paused looking at the view. His head tilted up to the stars and he watched with reverence and wonder. Alice thought he looked nice there, and not like a secretive, vicious killer.

The boy of the past slid his wand out and raised it to the heavens. He started muttering a string of spells in Latin, whispering so soft and fast, Alice could not make out the words.

"The spell for making a horcrux," the Head Boy whispered.

Alice dared to go closer to the Sixth Year Riddle. He still possessed the ring and was wearing it even then. Alice glanced back to her master in the present, who strangely enough still wore that black-stoned ring.

The spell finally had an enormous effect. Like a snake coiled in pain, the boy screamed ululations. Around the edges of him, a thin veil of golden light surrounded him. It was indeed the soul and Riddle was splitting it and transferring it to the ring. The pain was unbearable, and brought a lightness to his being as a piece of his soul broke away from his body.

It all happened so fast, just a second or two. In a flash it was over and Alice saw it wasn't a lie. Nobody could tell a lie or a hoax this big. This was the truth of what he had become – soulless, an insane, evil genius.

As soon as it ended the Head Boy took her out of it at once.

For a moment neither of them compared notes. Riddle let her take a moment for herself. He was still interested to answer her questions. Perhaps it comforted him to tell another human being this harrowing story? For that memory of being on the Astronomy tower, was certainly a painful experience.

"The strange whisperings, the whimpers and the screams. Those were the echoes of your soul, of when you actually made a horcrux?"

"Yes….and no. According to 'Secret of the Darkest Art' the soul moves through time and space, and yet is always separate from space-time. The soul goes beyond physicality. Therefore, I cannot be sure if you heard the actual memory of my screams, Alice. If so, it would be an imprinted time of when I performed the spell to make that particular horcrux."

Alice felt haunted by this knowledge, she looked to have just seen a ghost. "I believe it was an echo of your soul." A deep sadness overcame her. A sadness that not even the terrifying Tom Riddle could replace with fear. This was the truth of what he'd become. She finally understood. It was there, written on his face.

"So I have shown you the night I performed the spell to split my soul. That night, I felt as if the light merely flashed and went out. And then the darkness came to my spirit. With the darkness came such a profound power and terror in my heart," he confided delicately. It was a rare thing indeed for Lord Voldemort to confide in anybody. "I was revitalized and restored with renewed life. Eternal life!"

Alice knew from religious experience that the aim of Christians is to get their reward in heaven after they die. But this idea of being eternally tethered to the earth felt so wrong. So unnatural and immoral.

As the Head Boy spoke of the horcruxes his dark eyes shone luminously for once, with the light of truth. His truth. It was plain that he'd seen death, for it was there written on his face. The eyes seemed to stare into a void, whenever he spoke of the horcruxes. This was inspired living to him.

He continued with his monologue, "It was a greatness that was always meant to be mine. It may inspire envy in others, but not you, sweet Alice! That's why I tell you all this…You lack ambition, and do not have a speck of spite inside you." She was so unlike the many students who were already envious of his greatness. For Alice had made it plain beside that mirror that her heart held no ambitions dear to her.

"You will not spawn lies about your master after I leave Hogwarts. Would you?"

"No, I wouldn't dare to," said Alice gritting her teeth.

"After my time in the tower, my body ached with a torture. But it was my soul, I knew that would be maimed. Shattered. At first, I worried I had done great harm to myself. I now see I have not! The soul is but an earthly conduit, deleterious to the body. The soul has no need to inhabit the body." It was plain from Riddle's brutal insights into the soul, that the soul did not matter at all to him.

Alice looked up, and straight into Riddle's dark eyes and spoke candidly. "Your soul is dark….I should have known! I should have known you'd choose the path of evil!"

"Evil!" mocked Voldemort scornfully. "There is no such thing as good and evil. How can one know the light without having the dark for a contrast? It is two sides of the same existence. I have seen that the boring witches and wizards fear the Dark Arts. But I shall forewarn you, Miss Alice. Your idea of evil….often looks good." The game was up so he might as well admit he was a manipulator.

Riddle looked around the room and reminded Alice of what she'd seen earlier. "You saw the golden light. That was my soul," he whispered quietly, mysteriously.

Alice chose not to respond. But she wondered what he thought of his soul. Did he care for it? It was likely he did not.

Alice burst out shakily, "What is to become of my house's diadem? I know you plan on stealing it from an Albanian forest!"

"Yes. I nearly forgot that you saw the plans on my desk today." He laughed dryly.

"But Master, how did you find out where the diadem was?"

Riddle laughed again, low and throatily. Then spoke playfully. "Dear Alice, I told you evil often looks good. It would be a sin not to use my charm!" He'd used the word 'sin' on purpose just to shock her more. "I hoodwinked the Grey Lady or in other words, the woman known as the Silent Ghost. I pressed and used her to gain the knowledge and answers I needed."

"What do you plan to do with that diadem?"

"Of course, I will make another horcrux with it!" said Riddle bluntly.

"But who on earth told you of these horcruxes?…Or did you learn by the book?"

The question was evaded. It was tiring telling everything. "You'd be hard-pressed to find a student with more knowledge of the Dark Arts. For there isn't one! I plundered every book in the library. I've been sneaking into the Restricted Section since First Year. Finally, I found what I knew must have been there all along."

Alice wasn't going to fall for this evasion. She saw he was holding something back. Tom Riddle was just as self-contained as his horcruxes, with so much under the surface hidden from view. "But still, somebody must have given you a heads up and told you?"

"The professor who adores and spoils me was the one. It was he who showed me the way."

"You mean the Potions Master?"

Riddle nodded and said yes.

"I can't believe he'd tell you that!"

"Slughorn told me seven was possible," and now Riddle was smiling broadly. The memory of wheedling the knowledge from Slughorn still made him smile. "That was all I really needed to know. And once you know something is theoretically possible, it becomes much easier to make it a reality. I knew that theoretically seven horcruxes are possible, thus experimentally…. there must be a way." Seven horcruxes had not been created yet. But yes, he made up his mind. He must take his time and make seven, by choosing things that were special, and murders that were especially significant.

"One more thing….Why ever make me your Secretary? A brilliant mind like yours, and a whole host of men following you?"

Riddle grew impatient and spat out, "I wanted you for the menial tasks. I also thought you…an innocent," he confessed scathingly. "Presumably I believed you an innocent. My followers are not innocents. But with you, I wrongly presumed you could not unearth my secrets. But, as can happen even with the most brilliant minds…I was wrong. Perhaps I made a mistake, choosing you for Secretary!"

"No!" said Alice. "No. I need the money for me and mum. It's not a mistake!" Alice tried her best to argue at keeping her on as a servant. She feared if he severed the tie, she would no longer be useful, and he would kill her.

Instinctively Alice chose to divert him by changing the subject back to him. "Are you – a freak of nature?"

He grinned back like the sly character called the Cheshire Cat. Just like that terrifying grin she'd seen in her nightmares, and she'd seen his ugly grin in the dark. "I do believe, I no longer have to eat, drink or sleep. The horcruxes are all the sustenance I need."

Alice's eyes grew round with curiosity and recalled her favorite novel again. "You mean…like a vampire?"

Shortly and tersely he answered no and decided there was no such way to explain the feeling to a person who'd never undergone the transformations themselves. However, he still indulged in eating, drinking and sleeping and of course having sex. He feared not to.

"And what will become of your diary? Have you written your personal narrative about what you've told me in there? May I read some?"

Riddle laughed, "I am not so sentimental to journal my thoughts!"

Riddle took his wand out and looked at the diary, thinking. "But the diary has its purpose. Proof that I am the Heir of Slytherin. It doesn't tell all my secrets. My secrets lie elsewhere. The diary's purpose is to serve me as a horcrux. It is endowed with additional enchantments. Let me show you what it can do…"

He demonstrated what it meant, explaining as simply as if to a small child. Alice saw he had a lucid, intuitive grasp of horcruxes.

A horrific being emerged from the diary, smoky and so bright Alice shielded her eyes at first as if it were like the sun. The being reminded her of the phantoms that came out of the ring, but this one began to take shape. It came out of the pages like a genie from a bottle, taking the form of a faded version of Tom Riddle.

Each moment it grew clearer, evincing a pale glow around the edges. It was a twisted, anthropomorphous being that did not belong here in the present time.

"A memory. It is not alive, but if it stayed out too long there would be two of me!"

He laughed, but Alice did not find the striking weirdness funny. The idea of two Tom Riddles was horrifying, not comical.

The other Tom Riddle was not able to speak, but observed. It seemed to be in a bubble, protected and safely molded to the horcrux. The memory Tom Riddle was near as handsome as the one today, only a couple years younger. It was a copy of Voldemort as a boy, not a day older than sixteen.

The memory Riddle was put back in the diary and it was just as if it had never come out. Alice wondered how he could have conjured it.

Her head was swimming with all the data she'd learned concerning horcruxes. "You are the complete opposite of a human being…You forfeited your soul to never die!"

Privately Alice wondered philosophically if a wizard was really alive if he can't be killed?

At once Riddle began to expostulate, but Alice would interrupt it. "Death is the end. There is nothing worse than death! Nothing to-"

Alice felt her principles and beliefs were being attacked. "Death is NOT the end. Death is a beginning, in an unknown, undiscovered country!"

And privately, Alice realized this man was terrified, terrified of his own death.

He looked terrifically terrible now, his wand was shaking. Alice could sense the enormous power radiating off that wand.

"I need someone to kill. Have not done it - in such a long time..."

Alice's heart started to pound again with building terror and she shrunk against the wall. She was trapped.

Riddle did not make his move. There was agonizing stagnation. He was gripped with an inner conflict stopping him.

Alice did not lose her head somehow. "Please don't kill me, Master Riddle. Have I not been a useful servant, almost as useful as those boys, those followers?"

A bead of sweat slipped down Riddle's high forehead. But he lowered his wand. "I feel the urge to kill...But I don't like conspicuous murders. The reason I can't kill you, is it would be strange to find a Hogwarts student missing..."

Alice saw a swift, shrewd look on his face. In an instant she knew that he was calculating that after Hogwarts he may just hunt her down.

"I must for now, at least keep a low profile like my followers..."

He blinked languorously, finally becoming relaxed, despite being denied his drug. He rubbed the ring, filled with the wish to kill. Kill Alice. But he could not. Not now. But someday.

Alice would never remember what happened next, and her mind would forget everything. Riddle calmly interjected into her thoughts with legilimency as he erased every memory of today, "Obliviate."

A flash of blue light, and every thought about horcruxes was gone. Her memory was modified of everything, including any horcrux knowledge she'd amassed.

Alice had seen the pain and agony of splitting the soul into millions of fragments. Even if her mind would not retain it, her heart would be effected forever. Things would never be the same again between her and Master Riddle.

**NOTE: There are only two chapters left, plus the epilogue. The epilogue will be narrated in First person by Alice!**


	30. The Being in the Mirror

**Please review! I love this story so much and I certainly love all my reviewers. This chapter is where things start to slow down. The story is almost over! However, even after I finish it, I will be going back to edit. It is possible I will add more scenes. **

Chapter Twenty-two: The Being in the Mirror

Armando Dippet busied himself with getting ready. It was time to lighten up the place before going on summer holiday.

There was a loud knock on the door. He'd lost track of time and nearly forgotten. A glance to the desk clock showed that the visitor was punctual as always.

Voldemort entered the room. But to Armando, he was only known as the handsome young man Tom Riddle. He'd carefully done up his appearance. Riddle was not usually privy to fashion, however, today he donned an embellished outfit. The finest black and white dress robes, which looked like a vicar's. They were not Hogwarts school robes. Today there was a purpose to coming and it was vital that a certain impression be made.

Without being asked, Riddle ensconced on the comfy, chintz armchair. Dippet settled back at once and breathed a sigh of relaxation. His guest looked ready to speak, but nevertheless waited for his professor.

Unlike every time that Tom Riddle had been here since Second year, the curtains were open. Whenever he'd been here before it had been in the midst of a crisis. Some disturbance going on, or as in Fifth year the chamber being opened. Now the room took on a lighter vibe.

Sweet scents of lilacs wafted through the windows.

"Lovely weather! Isn't it my dear boy?"

The Head Boy snapped back sharply, because the scent of the lilacs was irritating to him. The smell was just like that ridiculous illusion: love!

"Oh, yes," conceded Voldemort firmly, hiding the disapproval. But he still appeared dissatisfied. He'd not come to exchange pleasantries.

Armando finally noticed Riddle's impatience, but took it instead for bright eagerness. He smiled serenely. "Tom...Firstly, I must congratulate you upon receiving your Newt scores. The Highest in hundreds and hundreds of years...Your name in print for what is surely only the start of a brilliant magical career. It will not be the _first_ time they feature you in the Prophet I say! The whole school is simply raving over your marks!"

"Yes, that is true." The boy did not flush with pleasure, and yet those marks had been important to him. The test had had thousands of questions, the exam given over the span of a week. His score had been the highest in a thousand years, some said. But high marks were none to pleasing next to the thing he came for. There was something else much more exciting.

"So young Mr. Riddle...I had my Elf bring up some food for a celebration!"

At once the old man poised his wand and the teacups poured themselves. Out spewed steaming hot English tea. With the knife cutting magically on the blue platter, each got a square of sponge cake.

"Thank-you," said Voldemort, and at once took a hasty bite of cake and gulped down the tea. It wasn't like him to have a hearty appetite, but this meeting needed to hurry along. He must hear the news from his headmaster.

"And also congratulations on receiving the award for Magical Merit. The Magical Merit award has not been granted for nearly a century. You certainly earned it!"

The Head Boy did not answer, but reflected privately on winning the accolade a week back. Riddle watched Dippet smacking his lips with relish, gobbling another slice of sponge cake.

Tensely, Voldemort leaned forward and waited. Surely now would be the most important bit of news?

Dippet cleared his throat and began affectionately, "Tom you have been of great service to me this year and throughout your seven years at Hogwarts..."

Riddle leaned forward closer, chalky white hands clammy, gripping the armrests tentatively.

"You are the best, the brightest and most productive Head Boy I've had in all my sixty-nine years as a teacher."

Riddle smiled widely, full of anticipation. Surely now, this must be the moment he would get the job offer? He was confident.

"All of this is certainly true... But-" Dippet's face fell and looked about to be relaying a bad turn of events.

At once on alert, young Voldemort straightened up even more in the chair, and flashed his dark eyes deep into Armando's.

"I decided not to offer you the Defence Against the Dark Arts appointment this year. Eighteen is far too young, but perhaps in a few years..."

Riddle's breath came out in an angry hiss and he positively bristled. His dark eyes still shone, fixating a determined penetrating gaze onto Armando's beady ones.

It had been his destiny, said the sorting hat lying on the top shelf, ancient and unmoving. Slytherin had been his destiny and he was the heir. It was also his destiny to be the teacher for the Dark Arts. But it wouldn't really be about defence. And now the beginnings of his plans were crashing on his ears!

"Too young-" he said through gritted teeth. Voldemort did not believe that for a second. It was a lame excuse and he of all people could certainly see through that. What's more, when his eyes bored into Dippet's he saw it was Dumbledore! Albus Dumbledore had advised Dippet against giving him the job!

"I'm afraid so, Mr. Riddle," said Dippet very kindly. "I'm sorry, but you will have other chances! Why not get started at the ministry? You could become the next minister!"

"No. No," said Voldemort with a wave of his hand.

"I know plenty of people. I have lots of contacts that can get you in any department. Why not the Department of Mysteries? You did after all, complete their accelerated program."

Riddle shook his head, vehemently opposed.

"How about I get you to meet the Healers at St. Mungo's?"

"No!"

Armando's voice squeaked once last desperate suggestion. "Gringotts bank?"

"No, professor."

With a final wave of his hand, Voldemort refused all contacts.

"Very well, but I can assure you, that there will be a place for you after Hogwarts. However, it cannot actually be teaching until you are older."

The fight in Riddle left him, he looked for once defeated. He knew there was no point persuading Dippet because Dumbledore was involved. Dumbledore was the real reason he would not get the job.

Riddle took one last look around the headmaster's office. This would probably be the last time he'd be in here for years.

He thought then of how he'd envisioned himself here at Hogwarts. But not for a heartbeat did he think forever. It would have only been a few years that he would have masqueraded as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Then he would have amassed an army of youths and moved on.

Dippet watched the boy anxiously, searching his face. But it was as ever, smooth, impassive and inscrutable. Despite this, the air in the room had grown heavier and stagnant. The warm May breezes couldn't penetrate the somber mood.

"My dear boy you seem….so deeply offended. I must say I never-"

"You don't know the half of it old man," he coldly remarked.

Dippet's mouth dropped agape. Any other student would have been rebuked for the impudence. But Armando Dippet was shocked to hear this come from his favourite student ever; who'd always been so polite with him.

So Riddle stepped away, turned and did not glance at the other man again. He went to the door, but then stopped.

"Tom…" Dippet offered placatingly. Riddle heard the sympathy emanating off that man. Armando Dippet had never stopped feeling sorry for him since coming to Hogwarts as a poor, lonely orphan boy! Well, he'd had enough of it starting today.

Riddle's hand burnt for his wand. He could Imperiuse his headmaster to make the job offer. But then Dumbledore would discover it somehow. Voldemort thought Dumbledore could do even more damage at foiling his graduation plans. So there would have to be another way.

"Good day, headmaster!" barked Voldemort curtly. And compelled with the passion to curse this moron of a headmaster out, Riddle used all his self-control to storm out the door. Down the spiral steps he plodded swiftly, hands jammed in his pockets.

Nobody said anything to the Head Boy as he practically flew through the corridors. Bitter disappointment, rage and recklessness blinded Riddle. Losing out on the teaching job gave the urge to do something. But he was too (was it possible) too sorrowful? His dismay made it unlikely he would do anything at the moment.

There was nowhere to disappear to. At least he was to live forever. There would be second chances! With his secret, the horcruxes would sustain him indefinitely.

Somehow he made it to that secret room containing the mirror. It was his wounded heart that moved him. He had not visited the Mirror of Erised in months, not since that brief time with Alice Whitman.

For once Riddle had followed his heart and it led him to the answer. The answer was here!

Entranced and guided by desperation for a new path, Riddle was drawn to it like a magnet. And when his dark eyes beheld the reflection, he knelt.

It was the oddest thing. This man who happened to think himself the next Dark Lord and was truly a lowly, evil thing was kneeling before the image, as if he was meeting the creator. He felt humbled, even humility.

It showed a hooded, older-looking version of himself as the next Dark Lord. The being's face was ugly, but this was what Voldemort wanted. It wore a cloak like the wings of a demon's. It carried a nebulous, swirling prophecy. The sky in the background was infinite and red. The being held a wand straight up; shooting forth green sparks in an endless casting of the Killing curse.

The Head Boy could not take his eyes from this masterpiece. These were the designs of his very future. It was how the die would cast! The being in the mirror was fixed and eternal. It showed a torrent of rushing darkness passing through the sky, and at the being's feet: stormy vermilion waters.

Fleetingly Riddle was reminded of an excerpt from Hitler's book. 'Mankind has grown strong in eternal struggle, and only in eternal peace does it perish.' Hitler was mistaken on but one aspect. Lord Voldemort was no longer a member of 'mankind' he was set apart. However, the excerpt was right about living forever. It was worth it even though it would prove a never-ending struggle, Riddle believed.

The Tom Riddle looking in the glass became dazed, eyes burned red. He remained knelt before his destiny, submissively and feeling humbled. This was the future for himself, eternal life as an all-powerful being. He would sacrifice it all, even destroy his soul to ensure it.

The time here was filled with passion and yet even Riddle had the prudence to see he'd had his fill. There was enough control there to know it was wrong to give into temptation and allow the mirror to entrance any further. He might go mad.

One last look, the future Dark Lord looked on at the perfect being in that mirror. It was humbling, saddening. His face screwed up, tortured by the being's tantalizing promise.

He turned away from that sketchy image. Silently he vowed to kill everything, until at last nothing is left but all things run by him. Death itself would stand still and be, as it should remain, an infinite ocean of eternity.

The being in the mirror, and the man looking into it would never change, whether or not he reached absolute power someday. This was a static image. Tom Riddle felt inadequate, like the being had somehow bested him already, before getting the chance to live up to it. That moment, alone by the Mirror of Erised was his weakest yet.

**NOTE: Please review! Alice will be in the next chapter. There is only one more chapter left, plus the Epilogue. I started working on this story nearly two years ago!**


	31. Lies

**Please review! This is the final chapter before the epilogue where Alice Whitman herself explains how she moved on. It is with mixtures of sadness and freedom that I leave this story. But it is nice to know that it is complete, even though I feel the writing is only haphazard. But stick around, cause there is still the Epilogue, don't forget! **

Chapter Twenty-three: Lies

Something was very different about today. Alice could feel it in her bones. It made all the difference to the heart. In the last few weeks her employer had acted befuddling. It was like something had been robbed of her, and Riddle was the thief.

It took some time before it was all worked out. She must have discovered the truth about him. But the memory was modified!

With horror Alice realized that the truth must have been so terrible, that she no longer yearned to understand Head Boy, Tom Riddle.

Even stranger it was when glancing upon some muggle-born students in the halls there was a pang of pity for them. But Alice could never remember the afternoon she'd seen them enchanted to attack each other, as a group of monk-like boys sang praises to their master below.

They were unscathed today, no sign of the abuses left on their bodies, and neither could they remember what happened.

Alice Whitman and Tom Riddle were supposed to pass another dull, prosaic afternoon in the secret chambers of the Restricted Section.

Now that Alice had worked out what happened, she was ready to give her 'master' a piece of her mind.

Alice put down some books and on pretense, looked to be reviewing work. She nervously clasped her hands at her navel and spoke up.

"Do you want to know what I think of you?"

The quill in his fine hand kept scribbling and scribbling, Riddle did not answer too intent upon concentrating.

When finished, he looked up with a jaunty grin, and with jarring sarcasm responded. It was as if she'd just asked it a second ago, and not minutes. "Humor me, Miss Alice!"

Alice wasn't sure this was wise and hesitated.

"Well, girl? Out with it."

The young secretary inhaled, a deep fortifying breath, girdling for any attack that may come. "Let me see…Firstly, let me tell you…It is ironic, that you won an award for magical merit!"

For a second, Riddle looked surprised. Considering how special, how gifted a wizard he was, how could anyone in their right mind imply it an accident of fate that he received an award for his obvious magical prowess?

"You are the least magical person I know. You have no wonder. 'Tis a shame and a pity they bestow you a magical merit trophy!"

Riddle's face went red, and yet part of him was fighting not to react. She shouldn't see this rankled him. Alice couldn't know that just days ago the headmaster denied him the Defence Against the Dark Arts job.

"Well, well, well! What a feisty, silly child. Need I explain that I am the best-qualified student that will ever graduate from this school? That I have done things at eighteen that most wizards will never accomplish. But I can! Salazar Slytherin is probably turning over in his grave right now, thanks to my breakthroughs in the Dark Arts. _You!_ - You a little nobody, a nothing, a simpleton dares imply that I - Tom Riddle am unworthy of hard-earned recognition. If I hear another word of the rubbish, I shall have you at my feet, begging for mercy!"

Alice tried hard not to lose nerve. "Yes, and I see you're a hard-core cynic!"

The Head Boy guffawed, and was aware that this was true on some level. "Miss Alice, let me turn the tables over to you. You're naïve! An innocent," he admonished reprovingly.

"But-" Alice countered back, "It surprised you, didn't it when I discovered your secret?"

Riddle bolted from the leather armchair. The strong personality fully manifest now, readied to protect itself. Alice realized she shouldn't be trying to taunt this monster, who thought himself master of magic, and nearly insane enough to think himself master of the universe.

He grabbed her shoulders and rattled Alice in desperation. As if he could shake the truth out, that the answers might roll out the bones.

Riddle stopped, gathering reserve again. It was futile to attack physically. He must attack the mind.

So the luminous black embers locked onto the gray, misty ones.

"But you can't recall a thing," was the conclusion made after an intense round of Legilimency. "Just as I intended it when I modified your memory! So what use can that be, to know you know something, but you can't say what it's about? Ha!"

He grabbed Alice's necklace; it was a solid, black crucifix hung round the neck. "You know I have a secret, but you'll never uncover it. Furthermore, you should know…" He traced the cross with tapered fingers, and the voice dropped to a dangerously low octave. "The ones who know me, and ask the least questions live longest!"

Alice trembled. This was obviously an evasive death threat. Oh, she wouldn't have a thing to do with Master Riddle after he graduated! Thank goodness! But still there would be a chance he'd go looking for her.

The cold hands released from her neck and the crucifix rested back by the heart. Alice grabbed at it, trying to draw strength from it.

Scornfully, he surveyed the cross again, as his voice rasped like a crow, "I've made a present just for you…."

Riddle hurried back to his desk.

"Oh, really!" she exclaimed doubtfully.

From a drawer was presented a burlap sack.

"You m-m-m-made me something?"

"YES. Take it. It's a gift." And indeed, it proved to be the gift of death.

Alice held the canvas bag, which was freezing, and smelly. It stank of death. A lumpy ball was stuffed in the bag.

Instead of Alice herself doing it (for she couldn't bear to) Riddle unwound the string. Out tumbled a creature.

"No-o-o-o. It can't be!"

Alice's eyes stung. The creature was dead, it's eyes left opened (it was by means of the Avada Kedavra curse). All it's parts were dissected and then re-sewn shut. The once beautiful form of pet kitty was gruesome. It was plain that it was meant as a symbolic warning to her.

"You see! May death be a reality for you now…"

Riddle squeezed her hand in mock sympathy. Alice moaned in anguished grief.

"Oh! Let me go. Master Riddle!"

His vise-like grip had her hand, exacerbating someone's pain gave him pleasure.

"I found the creature as it was. Dead on the floor. Stupid thing couldn't fend for itself, I suppose…Pity!"

But Riddle was lying, for he'd not found it dead. He'd murdered it of course. Alice couldn't even remember when she'd seen her kitty last. Yet it had been in the confusion after Master Riddle found her tampering with his secret horcruxes, and Snarglepuff leapt out her pocket. Evidently, Master Riddle killed the animal after he'd found it.

"_LIAR!_ You're a liar. You killed him. I know you would!" The kitten corpse told the truth.

"I found him that way. But you – you cannot lie to me. Don't you ever try..." He put his hand to his high temple. "For I know what you are thinking." It wasn't always true, but still Voldemort could _almost_ read minds in entirety. Alice was totally chilled, spine tingling like this was a scary picture in the cinema. "Always, tell your master the truth, and I shall not…want to hurt you." It was creepy the way it was said, like this was gentleness. It seemed he wasn't sure whether or not to kill Alice. It was understood instinctively that it was a serious consideration.

Alice moved the burlap sac, containing Snarglepuff to her schoolbag and silently vowed there'd be a proper burial. Snarglepuff would rest somewhere on Hogwarts grounds, wherever there was flowers and beauty.

For a moment, Alice was filled with nostalgic reflection. Remembering how she'd named him after a Hufflepuff boy who'd been teased for believing in the Crumple-horned Snorckack. Alice had invented a name with a combination of "snargle", which was sort of derivative of Snorckack, and "puff", for that Hufflepuff kid. But perhaps the magical legend of the species was real. After all the magic, Alice had seen, she could believe anything possible, even the elusive Crumple-Horned Snorckack.

Riddle watched the girl, reflecting on her loss, mourning for such a pathetic creature. The kitty's soul had been culled from its body, leaving an empty husk behind. This being that believed he could kill other creatures to ensure it's own survival did it. Alice was fervently sure that the little soul was taken to heaven.

"And what would you know about love?"

Riddle didn't answer, so Alice elaborated. "It is something, I believe you will never feel. Not with anyone!"

Tom Riddle sighed, giving up on the cause. Just a few months ago he'd chastised her in detention and tried to instill that love had no power, especially Voldemort believed in regards to magical power. "Miss Alice…You were always such an emotional creature."

"It's Miss Whitman to you!" she retorted tartly.

"I shall call you whatever I like," he said in a slow, demanding tone.

Voldemort became driven by some new impetus. Alice watched him hastily take out another box with some ugly looking needles.

"I feel that near everything you've told me was a lie, Riddle!

"I'd like to know the truth of what you are and the kind of Dark Magic you've dabbled in."

Yes, it was a surety that this young man had gone so far with experiments, that he subverted magical truths. He'd twisted and shaped the boundaries of usual magic, going beyond all usual laws. But that was the way all the truly great sorcerers worked.

"Dabbled in?" he said incredulously. He laughed. This was a laugh that told Alice that the thought of telling the truth concerning him was a laugh. It was also funny, that he'd told this all, and then wiped it from her brain.

Alice gasped with the insight that lying was so much a part of the way he functions that the thought of telling the truth made him laugh. Tom Riddle was deceit personified.

His followers were pathetic for believing in his so-called instruction and teachings and leadership. "And what of your followers?" was blurted out then. "You've lied to them about yourself. I bet you make up these vainglorious tales that make you better off than where you actually came!"

She was right.

Riddle rationalized his answer by quoting Hitler's book, 'My Struggle.' "The great masses of the people will more easily fall victim to a big lie than to a small one... Make the _lie big_, make it simple, keep saying it, and eventually they will believe it.' And yes, it is a difficult task to tell them the truth, and so I must lie!"

Riddle stopped, because really this was none of her business. He didn't care what Alice thought, as long as she didn't know too much. All Alice knew was that those words were from the mouth of the Fuhrer. It was the only thing she knew that the muggle Hitler said.

She watched him bustle around preparing whatever project it was. The very marrow of his bones was a lie, the gleam of those eyes told a lie. The fluidity of his gait, a lie even though, it is true that he was graceful as a dancer. And ultimately, the sensuality of his actions and deeds a lie. 'Riddle only knows lies…so much so he can't stop,' she thought privately.

The next words were bold as brass. "What you fear, you hide." The sadism that he seemed to enjoy, pain was very much apart of his psyche. "You are a coil of pain."

"You do not understand, Miss Whitman!" Alice was surprised to hear him call her what she preferred, but it was to get her full attention. "It may seem, perhaps to one like yourself that _I_ am afflicted. However, it is the others who suffer because they refuse to submit to my authority.

"Alice, I cursed you, remember? With the blood of your first monthly. It is also a virgin's blood, which amplified its potency. I have your blood, girl! And look an effigy of your sweet, little cunny!"

Alice peered over his desk in horror. There was that artificial copy of her very own clitoris.

"This is powerful Dark magic! It's called, the Cliterdectomy Curse." and he jabbed at the cunt with a needle. He was getting revenge on his own feelings. The jealously he secretly harbored for the fact that she could still love a father that abandoned her. Or the fact that Evelyn had a choice unlike his worthless mother, Merope. And there was much more he'd hated about Alice, like her belief that love played a part in magic.

He threaded the clit, sewing his revenge, even now as they convened together for the last time. He was strengthening the curse, binding it tight like a woman confined in a corset. Alice felt a burning down in the pelvis again, and fought back a sob. She mustn't give him that satisfaction.

The needle stuck the appendage like it was a pincushion.

"I've played you like a violin. And all just to keep you on as Secretary."

"I know it! But you were so, so kind and friendly in the beginning. I'll admit your character was quite charming at first. I hope you don't take me for a fool."

Riddle sewed onward with a passion. "Not as much as some. Some foolish girls that have gotten used by me, actually believed I could _love_ them. Did you hear that, Alice? These silly girls thought it was love that made me ram my cock in them,' till they screamed! It wasn't love, it was my insatiable lust!"

"I never thought of this as a romance," said Alice dryly. She crossed her arms guardedly, and looked up at the ceiling, trying to stop the tears from falling.

"But as a reader of the Bible, I wonder…What is your demonic name? I believe you may be a demon."

"Demons! By demons do you include Lucifer or in other words, your fallen angel Satan? And what of God! God! If either existed, I'd trump the both of them! I'd bring the lot of them down, all Satan's minions, and all god's angels."

"God is present. God is with me, I know it."

Riddle argued, "God cannot be proved, and never, _ever_ could this elusive, high power exist. I have told you before! You can never prove anything is real, especially beliefs. Your ridiculous ideas are merely happening in your head."

Defiantly Alice clutched at her crucifix and a holy light seemed to envelop her head like a halo, she felt it. Riddle could not shake her faith.

"If there was a god, it would be me!" Riddle was full of hubris. "Am I not so close to perfect that I am god-like?"

Alice cried, "You're nothing! Nothing."

In a frenzy she spun, hand to forehead as if burning up with fever. Her pelvis still prickled from the activated curse, caused by its direct line to the artificial clitoris.

"Oh, what is it? Your demonic name?" She thought that Riddle was evil, truly. He was the darkness, the confusion, and all forms of trickery. Alice did not want to be lost in darkness. She would find the light and the truth.

He could see that the idea of possessing a demon's name would not leave her head. He should play with it then. "Beelzebub!"

"I'll believe it!"

"I jest with you, Alice! It is not a name you may know today. But someday…I will be known by a special name, one whom all will fear. It will be Taboo to speak it."

Silently he thought of how he'd long since dropped the name 'Tom Marvolo Riddle' and taken on discreetly his chosen name of 'Lord Voldemort.' However the two names interchanged perfectly as an anagram.

"Yes. All will fear my _true_ name. You'll not find it in the Bible."

Alice groaned in disgust. "Call yourself what you want. But it doesn't change the fact that you are nothing! NOTHING!"

Something inside Riddle changed. Alice Whitman had had an effect on him. He felt small and vulnerable suddenly, when Voldemort always before felt larger than life, and certainly greater than death. Before always feeling as vast as a sea, and powerful as one.

He could not stand this newfound weakness, nobody could be in his presence now.

"GO AWAY! And never come here again. You are released from secretarial duties."

"I won't return then!"

"Leave me," he said heavily.

The Fourth-year Ravenclaw grabbed her schoolbag and hurried out the door. Not once did Alice look back over her shoulder towards the Head Boy.

It was a relief when the girl had departed and he was alone in his cold, quiet study.

The fight inside left his veins for a moment and his grip on the needle slackened. He had not the energy to continue the curse right now.

There was a broken truth deep inside Voldemort's soul. The soul was maimed, harmed and shattered and it whispered lies, it seemed.

For a moment there was an acute pain, existing outside him. It was almost remorse, but he never quite got to that point. Close, but not close enough. Ah, the pain. Perhaps he was nothing, nothing! If only the pain of living would end. A small part of him wanted it to end.

That Alice Whitman must have told the truth, he thought. Could he even comprehend the pain, the pain inside himself at the least? No. He could not understand, despite understanding the most complex magic and muggle sciences and so many other disciplines, he could not understand himself.

And for the pain he caused others, he did not think of it once, let alone reach understanding of the enormous suffering he had inflicted and would duly inflict in the future.

Voldemort fought the pain accumulating, until it subsided. Certain things must be destroyed and the soul was a sacrifice worth making for gaining eternity. And so young Voldemort went back to his Horcrux experiments with renewed fervor.

Alice Whitman had hungered for truth. Thirsted for it too and this desire, her _true_ desire had not been sated. Tom Riddle had fed a decent serving of lies, telling it was truth, when it was the complete opposite. That dark, magical mystic had nearly changed her view on life, nearly corrupted this pure, untainted soul. But Alice Whitman hungered for the truth, and was determined to meet another adventure.

It was true she was dismissed in the end of May. The end of June came, and the Head Boy never called her back. Then he was gone. Alice had free rein of her time at Hogwarts. She figured she was safest at Hogwarts. But always she wondered what would happen when Seventh year was over. Would she be hunted down and killed? Alice had tried to stay in his good books. But in the end on that final day alone together, she had offended, even hurt him deeply. She strongly suspected he would naturally seek to kill. But only time would tell…

**NOTE : Please review! I hope you like it. **

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	32. Epilogue: Truth

**Please review! This is the final official update. However, I am currently going back and forth making minor revisions. I will be adding more to some of the scenes, but not many substantial changes. **

**EPILOGUE: TRUTH**

_**"The truth is a beautiful and terrible thing, and must therefore be dealt with great caution."**_

_** - Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Mirror of Erised scene. **_

_**July 30, 1998**_

Tom Riddle once said that because of the sins of my mother, I would suffer an early death. Reader, I proved him wrong. I have lived to a ripe old age of sixty-eight and it is only now that my health fails from that horrid curse.

I was born in 1930, and knew Head Boy Tom Riddle in the tumultuous year of 1945 when the Dark Lord, Grindelwald was defeated by Albus Dumbledore. It is now 1998 and another Dark wizard that goes by the name _Lord Voldemort_ just died a few months ago. This was all due to a boy or rather a young man named Harry Potter. Many believe Potter was chosen by the fates to destroy him.

Before discussing the Dark Lord, I must first comment on my life. It has been a beautiful one, and I graciously receive every moment, especially now I am older. My time is running short. My health starts to fail me and is in all likelihood due to the marks Riddle's magic left on my body. But he could _never_ destroy my soul and that's what matters most.

My story after Hogwarts led me on a closer path to God. I became a nun, residing in a Welsh convent for the last several decades. I am relatively happy isolated from the magical world. As I shall explain, it had to be done for a very important reason.

As a young woman, I was forced to make a tough decision. Ultimately, I would give up my dream, but at least it resulted in even closer relationship with God.

I was in my twenties when I met and fell in love with a wizard named Geoffrey. Geoffrey had attended Hogwarts, but several years before me, ten years my senior.

Seven golden years flew by as Geoffrey courted me. It was the most indulgent and pleasurable time of my life! Even mum approved of my beau. When he asked for my hand, she happily consented. But just when I had gotten engaged, and we started to plan our wedding, something awful happened in the outside world that would destroy my own little world.

It was 1958 and the Daily Prophet was reporting near every day about a great wizard rising to power. There had been a marked disappearance of this wizard for years, some said, but suddenly he was back. He called himself Lord Voldemort. The Pureblood crowd was very taken with this Lord, and for awhile Voldemort proved a popular leader, not yet inspiring the terrors of later. I was more worried than Geoffrey who couldn't understand what it meant. Lord Voldemort was surely the evil young man that kept me on as his Secretary. It was dangerous that this man (man for want of a better word) had known me.

I was unable to explain to Geoffrey why the news of a rising Dark Lord impacted me so personally. I chose to keep my own counsel. I was torn between staying with my love, or leaving him forever.

The later choice was made.

During those months before I made my move, I prayed for a miracle. None came. I _did_ deserve to suffer, as those on this earth are designed for it. But _not_ because of that evil Lord Voldemort. He would come and find me if I stayed out in the open with my Geoffrey. So I retreated, as I must, isolating myself from the Wizarding world forevermore.

I still shed tears when I think about the life I left behind. Would I be a grandmother? Would Geoffrey and I remain together, faithfully entwined? Or would something had happened to cause a rift like it did between my parents? But no. It would have been a good marriage.

So sadly, I gave it all up. I was just twenty-nine. It was the hardest decision I ever made. Without telling the reason, a brief note was left. It said I would be alright, but I couldn't say where I was going. Into the night, I disappeared, taking a train and a boat, voyaging far from England. I made sure to keep my surname as private as possible, only telling the high priests my full, true name.

It was easy for me to enter the nunnery. The Catholic Church could see that father had been active in an Anglican church as a very high-ranking Dean at Trinity Church in Cambridge. They knew I, as Sister Alice would make a good servant of the Lord Jesus Christ, the Father and the Holy Ghost.

I gave myself up to God. It was a sacrifice worth making, because it wasn't selfish. I did not do it for me, even though I've loved being a nun. I could not risk Geoffrey's life and the children we would have together. At the time we were planning to marry, we were hoping to immediately conceive a child on our honeymoon. I was excited to be deflowered by the man I loved. But I could not bear the thought of creating a new life. It would mean that my child would always be in mortal danger, and so would the life of his mother, and her husband's!

Geoffrey was a truly kind man who appreciated me and we were friends as well as lovers. I would have made a wonderful wife to him. Obedient, trusting, and dutiful. Geoffrey was not stern or strict like Reginald had been to Evelyn.

I owe all my obedience to God now, my master in heaven. God knows I sacrificed so much of the happiness that could have been mine. It was prudent of me to deny myself . I am one of the few who knows that the Dark wizard who calls himself Voldemort, is really Tom Riddle, even though Riddle never told me directly. If I hadn't gone into a self-imposed exile from the magical community, he might have wanted to find me, and most certainly would have succeeded at killing me, along with my whole family.

But why would Voldemort bother to hunt me of all people? I knew too much as a girl. I discovered the workings of his secret, even if that knowledge was wiped from memory. The grievances he'd hold against me would be long. He had absolutely loathed me! I had argued intelligently against his beliefs, which must have irked him. I remembered insulting the Head Boy on a number of occasions too.

Almost upon arrival, I took my place. The vows were made at once, unlike other nuns who go into serious contemplation before choosing this kind of life. I had just turned twenty-nine years old, my whole life ahead of me and I would spend it working as a nun. There was always that passion for religion, and over the years many friends were made here.

I am thankful that my time with Head Boy, Tom Riddle left me with faith and virginity intact. For he never did take me by the front. I consider it a miracle. Back then, the young Voldemort had shaken my faith. But questioning my faith, actually left me a stronger person.

Even in that dark period of my life as a fourteen, fifteen-year-old girl the truth was always there. We chase after the truth like chasing shadows until finally we catch up with it, and find that it was actually, like our shadow, always there.

As I write this at my desk, I look out to a beautiful summer day. The convent lies betwixt rolling meadows and mountains. It is a lovely spot. I see the endless, expanse of blue, speckled with white, fluffy clouds.

And I consider what real truth and beauty is. The truth is not something that can be captured like an experiment and quantified. It is not fixed and nor is it universal. Truth has as many shades and stories as lies do. Truth comes from within. To go within, you will never go without.

Instead of being an immortal parasite, feeding on everything, we die and get our reprieve on Judgment Day.

To this day, I cannot say what made me desire him or feel that way about him. For I must admit my girlish self did feel a twinge of desire. Yes, I lusted for him. Tempting. Radiant darkness. He was a good-looking boy. I was almost seduced by the devil with want for closeness to Voldemort. I was nearly taken in by evil.

Many of the questions I have about Riddle have been left unanswered. I will never remember what happened the day I discovered his secret, whatever it was.

Lord Voldemort is dead. I am certain he did not reach everlasting life or peace of any sort.

Truth is stranger than fiction, and the facetious lies of his powers were spurious in the end, no matter how compelling those powers could appear to be.

And so I end my journal entry with a wondrous quandary. How does one know what goes on in one's head is real? It is all but a dream..Life. Life is...but a dream.

**NOTE: Alice Whitman dies in the fall of 1998 from a violent fever, caused by the Clitordectomy Curse. Her death happens a few months after writing the words written above. But at least she survived Voldemort! Isn't it nice to know that the protagonist had a bittersweet life, and a happy ending after Voldemort?**

**I noticed that my writing flows a lot better in First Person. Perhaps I should write one of my new story ideas in this narration! **


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Harry Potter, Horror, Mystery