Chapter 4.3- Doom Days

Even as a child, Tom Riddle has had some amount of talent for the mind arts. The meeting with Dumbledore gained a different level of clarity when I experienced the memory with the understanding that a Tom Riddle who had been used to reading people like open books could not get a single glimpse into what Dumbledore had been thinking. During their trip to the alley, it was Dumbledore who advised Tom Riddle to be more careful with his legilimency probes. That action alone had probably saved the boy’s life. Of course, the words Dumbledore used had too him to stop them altogether, but just like with Doom and Potter, Tom Riddle cared little for authority that was not his own and took the words to mean, “don’t get caught”.

Now, I’d inherited much of that talent. I just had to actually use it. An unorganised mind could scarcely be hidden. Sure, talent was enough for cursory probes like what one would expect from the Headmaster in a crowded room, but I had to take it to the next level if I had any intention of surviving in this world for any longer. The first decision was to avoid treating my mind like 3. That was where insanity lay. There was naught but foolishness in that direction so I brought them all together. Riddle, Potter, and Doom. All three lives would have to coexist in the same set of memories. The basis would be Doom. He had lived longest and had the most dominant personality of the three regardless.

On top of Doom came Riddle, and then after that came Potter. No longer Doom, Riddle, and Potter, they were now one. Me. I considered my options after that, choosing to organise the memories this way also meant that Potter’s memories would be the first that anyone who managed to breach my Occlumency would be subjected to, and with the knowledge that those were my least valuable memories, I left things that way and moved on.

I straightened up, and just as I’d expected, the hours had passed quickly. The body of the Basilisk was reflected in the smooth marble floors of the chamber, giving the entire place a brilliant green glow that remained regardless of what hour it was. But still, the watch at his wrist told him that curfew had long passed, so he could get to work on the mission of the night.

A wave of his wand sent the pillows he’d been meditating on flying right back into the mouth of his ancestor’s statue, and summoned his box to him in the same movement. Death’s invisibility cloak did not answer to human magic, so it was not possible to summon it across distances. Instead, he’d taken to having it on him at all times outside the chamber. For one, it made it ridiculously easy for him to do so. For another, if there was ever a time he needed to make a quick getaway, he knew the cloak would not fail him. Folding it on itself, it only took a few folds until it was about the size of a handkerchief and magical effects he could not understand meant that it took on that same level of thickness when he went to slip it into his pocket.

That done, he waved his wand over himself- executing a few quick transfigurations. In low light, with his now blond hair, higher cheekbones, and thinner features, he would be mistaken for a Malfoy. That done, he then tapped his wand over his head, resisting the urge to wiggle as the sensation of an egg breaking above him travelled over his body.

A/N; A thing