The Lunar Forest | Tom Riddle

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ •• She watched as he went to stand by the Basilisk. He caressed its head in a manner that may fool one into believing he was fond of it— but his onyx eyes gleaned only the control which he had over it. Just a mere glimpse of dominance had been enough to entice him, and now he would stop at nothing in search for complete power. "You look confused," Riddle mused, his lips curving upward with mirth. "Would you like me to explain things more slowly for you?" Inkeri scowled. "I understand perfectly," she hissed, "you can control this massive snake because you are the heir of some man, and you used this rare, special ability to murder a child in the girls' bathroom." Riddle ground his teeth. "That is a terrible way of putting it—" "What I cannot fathom," Inkeri continued, as though he had never spoken, "is why you would kill her. It does not benefit you in any way, as far as I can see." The basilisk shifted suddenly, and she flinched back, fingers closing around the wood of the wand in her pocket. "I want to kill her," it seethed, and she watched it with wide eyes. "Master, she is not from here. Rip...tear...kill her..." "Shut up," Riddle snarled back in the strange language, before returning his attention to her. He assumed that she did not understand the snake, for he resumed the conversation as though the interruption had not happened. "That is your problem, Koskinen. You are too near-sighted to see past the obvious, just like the rest of them." "Then enlighten me with your wisdom," Inkeri said, rolling her eyes. He was too intelligent not to notice her sarcasm, but chose to ignore it. "Salazar Slytherin was the one of the four founders of Hogwarts," Riddle explained, a newfound gleam in his eye. "A greater man than even the erudite Rowena Ravenclaw, he sought to purge the school of all those unworthy of studying at his beloved establishment, which he had raised from the ashes to create a new line of powerful sorcerers. One that was unsullied by the increasing blemishes placed by muggles upon once pure bloodlines." "Muggle-borns," Inkeri whispered with realisation, and he nodded, smiling almost manically. "Yet the other founders were too weak to see the truth in his words," Tom spat. "Where Salazar had once been treated with the utmost respect, they began to scorn him, tearing away at his integrity and ridiculing his ideas. So he created a Chamber, and concealed a monster within it, with the hope that one day, his heir would complete his legacy and rid Hogwarts of the filthy blood which tainted its corridors." Slowly, she pieced the story together. "Myrtle was a muggle-born," she realised. "That is why you killed her." Riddle looked at her with irritation. "Why must you be so adamant to repeatedly bring up the Ravenclaw?" He demanded. "Her death was insignificant. You must move past it, everyone else has." "Because they do not know that the psychopath who murdered her is still loose with his monstrous pet," Inkeri said angrily. She raked her hand through her hair as a strange panic began to rise; she felt her hands trembling, and her heartbeat beginning to race. Slowly, Tom reached out and clasped both of her hands into his own. Inkeri traced the dark veins which ran across the back of his hands with her eyes, contrasting starkly with the whiteness of his skin. "Do not panic," he urged, leaning down slightly to look levelly into her eyes. "I will not deny that I meant to frighten you. Lies do not fool you, so I had hoped the raw truth would work to my benefit- or perhaps even intrigue you towards my noble cause." "Noble?" She repeated. "You are a murderer, Riddle, and you cannot even acknowledge it." Riddle was crushing her hands now, but not cruelly; he seemed to have forgotten that he was holding them. "Myrtle is not dead, Inkeri. She cannot transcend past this eternal purgatory*, so how could she be defined as gone when her conscience, the essence of her being, continues to exist in this realm?" "She is defined as gone because she's little more than a ghost who haunts a bathroom!" Inkeri cried, "you took away her future, her physical, breathing body. That is how I define her as gone." A sigh escaped his lips. "Then I overestimated you," Tom said, dropping her hands suddenly as though they had burned him. She felt the stinging disapproval emanating from his every action, as he stepped away. The psychotic dimension to his eyes had faded once again, hiding behind the feigned nonchalance to which she had grown used. There was nothing left to be said. Inkeri placed his wand slowly on one of the sinks, then turned to leave, but she was stopped by the sound of his voice. "Koskinen?" Riddle called out. She turned around to face him. "I would recommend that you keep this to yourself. Your Ravenclaw friend... Asha Lohiya, isn't that right? It would be quite a shame if something were to happen to her." Inkeri curled her fingers into a fist. Her emotions always overwhelmed her, and she was overcome with such an intense rage that she almost could not speak. "If anything happens to her, Tom, you will pay with your life." He simply smiled. ｡･:*˚:✧｡ On Halloween morning, they woke to the delicious scent of baked pumpkin wafting through the corridors. The warmth of it starkly contrasted the torrents of rain which beat relentlessly against the windows. Inkeri was one of the first in the Great Hall, having given up on the possibility of getting any sleep last night. The usual early-risers were present at the Slytherin table; Rosier, Riddle, and a few Seventh Years. Most of them were concentrated at the Ravenclaw table, but there was not a single one at Gryffindor. Surprisingly, Asha was there too, scratching sketches of constellations into a small handbook. Inkeri approached her, and the Ravenclaws glared at her— the House which valued their privacy the most rarely welcomed visitors. "You're up early," Inkeri commented, settling down opposite Asha, who sighed and rubbed her forehead tiredly. Asha tended to spend late nights peering through the telescope in the Astronomy tower, and there wasn't a single constellation that she hadn't mapped out by now. She said that in London, the light pollution and smog were too thick to see the stars, and her passion for them had been sparked when she had seen them clearly for the first time in Madikeri, a rural area of India. They make me feel insignificant, and small, as though in the expanse of the Universe I'm merely a speck of stardust, Asha had said. To Inkeri, this daunting revelation almost gave her an existential crisis, but to the Ravenclaw, it offered great comfort. "Adrielle got transferred to St. Mungo's," Asha sighed, pushing dishevelled hair out of her face. "My brother refused to accompany me to visit her, saying that he was too busy—" "You have a brother?" Inkeri asked, surprised. Asha scowled at her. "Yes, a twin brother. It's nice to know that you listen to me, though." Inkeri winced and looked down, so Asha continued. "The school would not let an underage girl leave alone either, so... I just tossed and turned and fretted in bed and ended up here." The Slytherin rubbed her arm absent-mindedly. She didn't quite care about Adrielle's condition. Better her than me, was what she told herself. She watched as Triton Nott and Orpheus Lestrange entered the Great Hall together. Nott didn't seem quite as tired these days as he had during the first half term, and Inkeri assumed that he had completed whatever he was working on for Riddle. Lestrange caught sight of her, and purposefully took a seat facing the opposite way. "Well, don't worry about it too much," Inkeri said carefully, pouring Asha a cup of tea and pushing it towards her. "I am sure that she will be fine." A sudden flurry of owls, accompanied by screeching and falling feathers interrupted the resonating peace, as the morning mail arrived. Inkeri never got letters; but today, a large black owl swooped down and dropped a slender white envelope on the table in front of her. Inkeri opened it, while Asha eyed her suspiciously. It was only one sentence, written in Ora's hand. The forest, after dark. Brilliant. More slinking around at night. If she came across Riddle on one of his nightly strolls of lunacy again, she decided then that she would kill him and be done with it. Asha choked suddenly on her tea. "Oh, hello Abraxas," she said hastily, ears turning a shade of red. Inkeri turned to see that Malfoy was right behind her, hiding behind his usual sinuous smile. "Hello, Lohiya," he greeted stiffly. "How are you this morning? Not too upset by the news of Selwyn, I hope." From the formality of his tone, Inkeri never would have guessed that the two had once been friends. "Quite upset, actually," Asha said quickly, beginning to gather her things and stuffing the handbook into her bag. "That reminds me, I must be off to speak to Madame Pomfrey now. Goodbye!" With that, she fled, leaving Inkeri and Abraxas to stare at the empty space left. "Strange," Malfoy mused, shaking his head. "Accompany me, Koskinen? We have Defence Against the Dark Arts together." Inkeri watched him tentatively. Of all Riddle's acolytes, Malfoy was perhaps the one she detested the least. Although that wasn't saying much; she would still gladly watch him be set on fire. "Sure," she said, grabbing her bag and falling into step beside him. She didn't miss the glance which he threw at Nott. "So does Riddle wish for something, or are you here of your own accord for once?" Abraxas smiled, not phased by the taunt. "That wounds me," he said, grey eyes gleaming with mirth. "I thought we were friends, Koskinen. We've even drank together. A fun night, that was." He looked at her from the side of his eye, and she realised that he was testing to see if she remembered what they had tried to erase. "Yes, really fun," she said casually, stuffing her hands into her pockets. "I'm still surprised you found your way back to the castle, in that state." "It was not my first time," Malfoy laughed. She smiled at him, and his own chuckles faded, though the ghost of a smirk was still etched on his face. Riddle and Lestrange entered the classroom shortly after. Both were intent on ignoring her presence, not so much as casting a lingering gaze, and Malfoy swiftly joined them. The lesson was painfully boring. Professor Merrythought was still considerably shaken by Adrielle and Inkeri's duel, so had them simply copying notes from a textbook, during which most of the Hufflepuffs dozed off. The rest of the day crawled by, every moment consumed with anticipation from the students. The Halloween feast at Hogwarts was said to be a glorious event, with life-like decorations and eerie ornaments, as well as an assortment of sweet treats. It was shame that while the Great Hall roared ablaze with delight and puerile excitement that night, Inkeri trudged across the Grounds. The sky featured a new moon, and she felt the magic in her veins subdued— leaving her uncomfortably vulnerable. The skeletal trees of the Forbidden Forest reached out gnarled claws, attempting to snag at her hair or scratch at her face. A sudden distant howl almost made her trip over a twisted root, and she pulled the hood of her cloak further down. A sudden movement, like a shrouded figure in front of her made Inkeri freeze. The figure came closer, and she was reaching for her wand, when they pulled off their hood. Ora looked just as grotesque as she remembered. Runes carved into translucent flesh, organs and veins visible beneath, and those vivid, purple eyes. "Hi," she breathed, placing a hand on her heart to stop it from hammering out of her chest. He raised an eyebrow. "Hi," he responded dryly. His eyes darted around fleetingly, and he gestured for her to follow him. Ora guided her through the tress, hood down to reveal a mess of inky black hair, while his robes flared behind him in the wind. They came to a small clearing, where the trees encircled a small patch of dying, yellow grass. Something was engraved into the bark of one of the trees in appalling handwriting; Inkeri made it out to be Aradod and Hadrid, but it just seemed like gibberish. "How is everyone?" Inkeri asked before she could stop herself. "Mathias, and my mother and... Inari as well I suppose." "Your mother is distraught, but that is to be expected," Ora said earnestly. "I do not know about the others. Who are they?" Inkeri stared at him, then shook her head. She had forgotten that he never went out into the forest. "Never mind," she sighed. He tilted his head, but didn't push the topic any further. "How have things been going?" Ora asked carefully, "I hope that nobody has been giving you too much grief." "There is this boy," she blurted out. He smirked slightly. "Oh?" Inkeri blushed. "Not like that," she added quickly. "He goes by the name of Tom Riddle. His soul has no light, and he wallows in the depths of this profound darkness that I cannot seem to understand." "Strange," Ora said thoughtfully. "You think that he is the one?" She nodded. "Taking a life is not an atrocity that should be committed lightly. Do you have more tangible evidence, an example of his transgressions, which makes you think that he is capable of slaughtering an entire village?" "He stabbed me, and then murdered a little girl because he deemed her blood as filthy." Ora paused. "Ah," he said. They waited in silence for a few moments, while he contemplated her words. "I think that you should observe for a small while longer," he concluded finally. She felt a surge of irritation. "Observe what?" Inkeri demanded. "As he murders more innocent people? Or watch as he sets my Forest on fire?" He surveyed her with a tranquil expression. "I was not aware that you were so eager to kill," Ora remarked, and she looked down at the harsh words. "You must not act in haste, Inkeri, with matters as delicate as this. Return home for Christmas, and we will see what to do after that." The thought of returning home flooded her with asinine glee. "Until then, be wary and vigilant. You are in grave danger as you continually expose yourself to the darkness. Do not let it reach you—" Crack. The sound of a twig snapping in the distance silenced the Seer suddenly, and he held out his hand for her to remain silent, both frozen where they stood. "I must go. The longer I stay here, the more risk I put you at." "Alright," Inkeri said, but she didn't want him to leave. The comfort of speaking in her own language, to a familiar face that did not seek to damage, felt like a novelty which she was sacrificing. "Go, now," he ordered. "Remember, do not be naïve and do not let your morals falter." She turned and left the clearing, not looking back to see if he had disappeared. Inkeri had completely lost her bearings; every tree was the same height, far gone in decrepitude with invasive ivy creeping up them. An unnatural stillness had descended upon the dark forest as she stumbled through it blindly. It felt like an eternity of going in circles, when Inkeri could swear that she heard footsteps behind her. Human footsteps. In the depths of the forest, who would bear witness to Riddle strangling her with a tourniquet? Inkeri quickened her pace, pushing through branches and ignoring the way that they cut at her hands and face, until she was running. The feeling of exhilaration was almost soothing, a familiar sensation which seeped through her veins like secondary instinct. There was a small candle, glowing in the distance. Inkeri hesitated, then made her way towards it with the hope that it was the caretaker, and he could guide her back to the castle. She forced herself to push aside the feeling of dread at the thought of getting detention for the rest of the year. Only as she neared, she discovered that it was a not a member of staff that she had come face to face with. Adrielle Selwyn stood before her, in a white hospital gown, arms and legs bare, and lips going blue from the cold, holding out the glowing lamp in front of her. When she caught sight of Inkeri, her eyes lit up and she smirked crookedly. "Koskinen," she mused, "what an unlikely turn of events." "Adrielle?" Inkeri questioned in shock. "How are you— what are you wearing? Did you come straight to the middle of the forest after being discharged?" Adrielle's smirk faded, and her lips curved downwards. "After escaping is more fitting," she said disgustedly. "I was perfectly fine, they were keeping me there for nothing. And I could not miss my opportunity tonight." "Opportunity?" Inkeri asked. "To do what? Try and kill me again?" "Do not be stupid, it has nothing to do with you," Adrielle spat, placing the lamp on the ground and folding her arms. "I don't want you dead." She eyed the scar which ran across Inkeri's face. The Scandinavian witch had been too worried to heal it, scared of raising suspicions. "Although I see I successfully caused some damage." Inkeri narrowed her eyes. "If you didn't want me dead, why would you try to kill me? Lestrange told me all about those sadistic spells which you invented." She shrugged. "I got carried away," she said disinterestedly. "If you're looking for an apology, you won't get one. I am not remorseful, and besides, you look quite healthy to me." "Wow, thank you," Inkeri scoffed. "Why did you come to the forest? I would imagine a change of clothes could have been suitable." "You cannot Apparate onto the grounds of Hogwarts," she recited. Asha had read every passage of Hogwarts: A History to the black-haired witch numerous times. Adrielle walked past Inkeri, and picked up long, fallen twig. Inkeri watched as she carefully dragged it through the mud, drawing a circle, and then a star within the circle. "What are you doing?" She asked sharply, and Adrielle whipped round, pointing the stick at her. "Quiet," she snarled. "You can watch, I do not care, but you will stay silent. Or else leave if you cannot handle it." "That is a pentagram of necromancy," Inkeri stated with outrage. "Have you any idea of what Dark Magic can do to a person? Of the toll it takes on the soul?" "I said, quiet," Adrielle uttered, turning her back on Inkeri as she knelt in the centre of the circle. She lit the tip of her wand, and the closeness of the flame reflected in her maddened green eyes. Black candles began appearing along the traced lines, igniting themselves one by one, while Adrielle stared at the fire produced by her wand, hypnotized by an arsonist's destructive power, the light portraying her face in such a way that spiders of fear crawled up Inkeri's spine. "I will be quiet," Inkeri promised in a faint whisper. "But please, at least tell me what you are doing." Adrielle looked up from the glowing tip of her wand, and smiled. "Is it not clear? I am summoning the dead." From within her gown— Inkeri had no clue how she had possession of it— Adrielle pulled out the thick book which she had been reading since the first time Inkeri saw her, except now it had a title. The Dark Art of Necromancy. "Spirits are most restless on Hallows Eve," Adrielle explained. "I have been trying to reach her for months but perhaps it will finally work now." Inkeri did not even want to imagine who her was. "You should leave, if you value your safety. If something demonic catches sight of the opening between realms... well, I have watched amateur conjurers dragged to the depths of Hell." Inkeri watched silently for a moment before speaking. "Then you will need someone here as an anchor," she said finally. "In case a devil does overhear you." Something akin to a smile stretched across Adrielle's gaunt face, but faltered as she stepped into the pentagram. Her raucous voice spewed sinister words that twisted into a chant, which quickened in pace as her eyes rolled upwards in their sockets, so that only the whites were visible. Chills ran down Inkeri's spine as she understood parts of the blasphemous sorcery. The temperature of the cold night had fallen to below freezing around them, yet despite the harsh breeze which whipped their hair into their faces, the candle flames steadily began to burn brighter. Adrielle pointed her wand at her hand and it sliced open, letting drops of crimson splatter onto the ground as she stretched out her arms, palms turned upward and flat, as her lips slowly turned from a bluish hue to blood red. Then, she fell quiet, and a resounding silence fell upon them. Until a soft wail drew Inkeri from her shock, and she looked to see a young woman peeking out from behind the tree. She was illuminated in a ghostly way, and although she looked human, the eeriness which she emanated made it clear that she did not belong to this realm. Melancholy caressed her delicate features crafted from porcelain, and the hollows of her cheeks gave her face a harsh angularity. "Mother," Adrielle said softly. The woman's mouth stretched uncannily, as she tried understand the logistics of the mortal realm. "Adrielle," she whispered finally, her voice laced with torment. "How nice it is to see your beautiful face." "You did not make it easy," Adrielle growled. Inkeri stood frozen, concealed thankfully by the shadows. "Every time I called out to you, you ran, further and further. Did you want me to beg, or cry for you? I knew you always were a sadist." The woman was not hurt by the sharp words. "I knew that you would reach me eventually. But I could not face you," she admitted, "and I am weak for it, but I needed time. To heal." "You are weak," Adrielle sneered angrily. "You need to heal? You are the one that fucking died, and left me in that— that place." Her voice cracked with raw emotion, and Inkeri watched with astonishment. Adrielle had never even displayed subtle feelings before. A sharp intake of breath. "That place is your only hope," the woman said calmly. "You must face the truth, my darling. Only They can help you. Those willing to fight for their right to live must sometimes make irredeemable decisions—" "I met father," Adrielle interrupted, her voice ragged. "He heard me while I tried to summon you in September." The woman paused. "I can imagine that was not an easy conversation," she said slowly. "No," Adrielle whispered. "it was not. Ever since I murdered him, he has not been very pleased with me." Inkeri drew out a slow breath of air, icicles of dread freezing on the surface of her heart. Tears fell from the woman's eyes, but Adrielle only looked back at her with resolute anger. "I must go," her mother said mournfully. "Do not try to bring me back again, Adrielle, please." "Stop!" Adrielle cried desperately, but the ghost had vanished, and the candles extinguished, reduced to puddles of melted wax and fallen wicks. Adrielle roared in frustration. A tree exploded behind them, and Inkeri lurched forward in fright, catching the exhausted witch as she fell to her knees in wretched despair. Inkeri watched as the last sliver of light in Adrielle's soul shrivelled and was swallowed by darkness, slain by the absence of a parent's love and draining her of empathy, leaving the witch an apathetic creature, devoid of vivacity. When she inevitably went down the sacrilegious path, the stars could curse all those around her, but never Adrielle Selwyn. One thought spiralled in Inkeri's mind. That girl had killed her own father. Tom Riddle was not the only one in the castle capable of murder. •• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ •• *when someone is killed for a Horcrux, their soul cannot pass on to heaven due to the Dark Magic which taints it; they are either stuck in eternal purgatory, or trapped on Earth as a ghost.