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It was 2:30 am on Tuesday, June 26th, and all of the boys in the second 7th years’ Slytherin dormitory were sound asleep, except for one. Tom Riddle stared at the book resting on his pillow unseeingly, livid.
He was furious.
Enraged.
Positively seething.
Why was he in such a foul mood?
Well.
The book before him was no other than the 1945 Hogwarts Yearbook, a book printed every year to celebrate that year’s graduates. The page he was so maddened by was one of the many pages containing the students voted Most or Least Likely to achieve various things after leaving Hogwarts.
Tom, though he’d never show it outwardly, had been quite excited to see what he in particular would be voted to be.
Perhaps Most Likely To Become Minister Of Magic, since a lot of people (cough cough Professor Slughorn cough cough) thought he would do quite well in politics.
Or maybe Most Likely To Move Out Of The Country? He had never kept his ambitions to travel the world a secret, after all.
It could possibly even be Most Likely To Become A Millionaire, for all he knew! He did hope to be quite affluent in the future, and having heaps of money could only help with that.
However, the reality did not match his expectations whatsoever.
His photo and name were placed right below the title of Least Likely To Become A Dark Lord.
And even worse, the person voted Most Likely To Become A Dark Lord was none other than Betty Joy, a Hufflepuff girl with honey blonde hair and a soft, kind face. She was smiling ear to ear in the photo, giggling at something off-camera. This was supposed to be the next great dark lord!?
This had to be some sort of mistake, right? There was absolutely no way that people thought Hufflepuffs had an ounce of dark lord potential in their bodies! Hufflepuff was the redundant house where all the dumb weaklings went. Children not great and powerful enough for Slytherin, not intelligent and haughty enough for Ravenclaw, not even foolish and brash enough for Gryffindor. They were kind and loyal, and liked flowers and sunshine and rainbows. They were followers at best, could not even dream of being in the same league as bloody dark lords! And, though he’d never talked to her, he knew Betty Joy was the worst of the worst. Even her name reflected that!
Now Tom, though, he was the perfect candidate. He had it all!
Tragic backstory? Check.
Unnatural control over his powers at a very young age? Check.
Slytherin sorting? Check.
Mysterious, ancient, and powerful lineage his dormmates could only dream of? Check!
So why in the world would Betty Joy be picked instead of him? What did she have that he didn’t?
No, this was a mistake, it had to be. Tom was going to the… uhh… whoever organized this damned book right this moment to straighten some things out! He stood up from his bed abruptly, and almost fell down in exhaustion.
Perhaps this can wait till morning, he thought, as he laid back down, blinking the dark spots in his vision away. Only a few hours, and my rightful place shall be restored.
°*°*°
It wasn’t hard to find out who was behind the egregious error. The cover of the yearbook itself listed one Emmett Wood as the organizer of the yearbook’s ballots. Well, at least he was a Ravenclaw; Merlin forbid he have to talk to a Hufflepuff, or worse still, a Gryffindor. With this thought in mind, Tom started his search for the man who made the mistake that almost ruined his career.
Luck continued to be on his side that day, as it seemed that Wood too had a free period in the mornings on Tuesday. He found him sitting alone at a table in the library, of course. Tom wasn’t even surprised at this point; it was pretty much the only place where any Ravenclaw worth their salt would spend their free time, and they usually studied by themselves. What was unusual was that Wood wasn’t immersed in a huge pile of books, referencing and cross-referencing and cross-cross-referencing to his heart’s content. No, the only thing at Wood’s table was a cup of coffee, which was definitely not allowed in the library. Tom walked over to him, unnoticed.
“Wood.”
Emmett Wood looked up at the sound of his name. “Yes, Riddle?” he asked tiredly.
“What—” Tom slammed his copy of the yearbook onto the table, open on that Merlin-forsaken page— “would you call this?”
“...A yearbook?” Wood replied.
“No. This is a mistake,” Tom said, pointing to his photo in the yearbook.
Wood took a swig of his contraband coffee. “ What are you on about, Riddle?”
“What I am on about is the fact that you have made a mistake with the yearbook superlatives!” Tom shouted, unable to control his anger. He quieted down, though, after receiving a pointed glare from Madam Pince. Tom did not want to get kicked out of the Hogwarts Library forever, even if he would realistically only have access to it for a few more days anyway.
“I did not make any mistake,” Wood said wearily.
“Well, if that’s true, then why have Betty Joy and I been switched?”
Wood squinted at the page. “You haven’t been.”
“What do you mean we haven’t been switched? Do you mean to tell me that the Hogwarts population seriously thought that a— a Hufflepuff is in any way likely to become the next great dark lord!?” Tom whisper-yelled furiously.
“Yes.”
“But that can’t be possible. Hufflepuffs are kind and loyal and weak, they don’t make for good dark lords!”
“Do you even know what the Hufflepuff traits are? Kindness is not one of them. They are hard-working to reach their goals, and loyalty can be to an idea. They’re just as good a dark lord candidate as anyone else.”
“ Sure. Still, it has to be a mistake. Could you check, at least?” Tom asked, everything Wood had said going in one ear and out the other.
Wood sighed. “Sure, I can do that.” He summoned a folder containing all of the various polls’ results, and flipped through it. “See, there it is: Least Likely To Become A Dark Lord, Tom Riddle of Slytherin – 49, Eloise Edgecombe of Hufflepuff – 28, Magnus MacDonald of Gryffindor – 15, Sara Taylor of Ravenclaw – 7, and the 20 remaining votes were cast to various other students, none of whom gained more than 3 votes. All of those add up to 119 votes, precisely the number of students in our year.”
“Well… what about Most Likely?”
“Most Likely To Become A Dark Lord? Betty Joy of Hufflepuff – 53, Vernados Lestrange of Slytherin – 21, Donna Jordan of Gryffindor – 11, and the remaining 34 votes were, again, spread across various other students, with them gaining 4 votes at most. You were one of these people, getting 2 votes.”
“Who voted for me?”
“How am I to know? The polls were completely anonymous.” Wood took a long sip of his coffee, trying to relieve his growing headache. Dealing with an irate Tom was, hm, not fun.
Not for long, thought Tom. Out loud, though, he said something quite different.
“How do you know this is real, and not some kind of inane prank?” Tom spat the word out.
“Trust me, it’s not. Professor Dippet is very strict with this sort of thing, he’d never allow anyone to try to turn the yearbook into a joke. He always gets a Charm Master to enchant everything related to the yearbook against pranks, like Professor Pennifold. So, it’s definitely genuine. The charms would’ve detected people going against their actual opinions.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really,” Wood sighed.
“Am I anywhere else here, then?” Tom asked. He didn’t wait for a response, though, opting to instead take the folder out of Wood’s hands.
“Hey!” Wood protested, but Tom was already looking through the pages.
“What, seriously? 6 votes for Most Likely To Come Back To Teach, and that’s it!?” Tom threw the folder back onto the table.
“Yeah, I guess? Why do you even care? It’s just a yearbook,” Wood said, but Tom was already stalking away, fuming, yearbook in hand.
“Huh. Weird,” Emmett Wood concluded, shrugging. He gulped down the rest of his now cold coffee, banished the folder back to the Records Room, and stood up. He had work to do, unrelated to the yearbook and any petty drama surrounding it.
°*°*°
The last week of term was generally filled with relaxed non-lessons during which students could do as they pleased, as long as no one got hurt and the teacher didn’t get a headache from the noise. Unfortunately, some of the professors didn’t seem to get the memo, and fully expected students to participate in lessons as normal, even with the summer holidays coming in just a few days’ time. One of those teachers was Professor Merrythought, an extremely strict Defense teacher who was rumored to be leaving her post that very year, to the delight of the younger years. She was a firm believer in the importance of not allowing students to slack off ever, which Tom generally agreed with.
However, right at that moment, he found himself cursing her authoritarian attitude. He had dearly wanted to discuss some things with his dormmates, but had to instead resort to glaring at them intently whenever Merrythought was looking the other way. Wouldn’t want to tarnish his perfect image a mere five short days before the end of his Hogwarts career, that might ruin his chances of gaining Merrythought’s own post after her retirement. The polls did get one thing right, after all. He was planning to return to Hogwarts as a teacher someday, and hopefully soon.
And so he kept up his model student persona all throughout Merrythought’s lesson on different types of blood maledictions and how to slow their effects down, nodding his head in the right places and answering a few questions when called upon.
Finally the lesson ended, right in time for lunch. Tom sat down on his seat at the Slytherin table, Ermes Rosier and Abraxas Malfoy on his left, Vernados Lestrange on his right, Antonin Dolohov, Caius Avery, Walter Nott, and Leonis Mulciber across from him. He glared menacingly at each of them in turn for a few minutes, until one of them finally cracked.
“Um… Tom?” Caius timidly spoke up.
“Yes?” Tom asked curtly.
“Why are you, uh, y’know…” Caius took an evasive sip of his pumpkin juice.
“Yes?”
“…Staring at us?” Ermes finished.
“Allow me to answer that question with another question. Who did you—” he looked around the small group— “vote Most and Least Likely To Become A Dark Lord in the Hogwarts Yearbook?”
Evidently, this was not what they expected to hear.
“What?” Walter asked.
“Do I need to repeat myself?” Tom asked, staring directly into Walter’s soul.
“No! Um, no.”
“Well then, who did you vote for?”
“I obviously voted for mhmph—” Leonis tried to say. “I meant I voted mphmhm— Ugh, why can’t I get this out! My vote for Most Likely was mhmmphmhphh—!”
“I think there might be a Fidelius on that information,” Abraxas suggested, holding his spoon elegantly.
“Yes, that does seem to be the case,” Tom said. “Well, it doesn’t really matter anyway. You can still attempt to explain to me why everyone seems to think that Betty Joy would make a better dark lord than me!” he continued, voice rising in volume.
The group looked around each other uneasily.
“Well?” Tom pressed.
“With all due respect—”
“It’s not like you’d make a bad dark lord, just not a great one—”
“What Ant meant to say is that you have many amazing qualities, just not dark lord-y ones—”
“Let’s face it, your obsession with snakes is a bit on the nose—”
“It’s not personal, you’re just—”
“To be completely honest, I’d say you’d be the kind of dark lord who’d end up defeated by a teenager—”
“You’d just be better as a teacher, that’s all—”
“What do you mean ‘defeated by a teenager’?” Tom asked, distraught.
“Don’t get mad but—”
“You sometimes make rash decisions in the heat of the moment—”
“Opening the Chamber was kinda stupid in hindsight—”
“You’re the kind of guy who’d hear a prophecy and kill the baby first, think later—”
“You just love some good drama, there’s nothing wrong with that—”
“I mean, I loved the theater when I was younger, so I totally get where you’re coming from—”
“Yeah, but it sometimes gets in the way of making an actually good plan, see—”
“You mean to tell me my plans are bad!?”
“Yeah.”
Tom sputtered. “W—Well, why’s Joy better, then?”
“You haven’t talked to her at all, have you?” Vernados sighed, setting his forkful of fish-and-chips down to look at Tom.
“No, why would I? She’s a Hufflepuff.”
“Yeah, but she’s a scary Hufflepuff,” Ermes said.
“How can she be scary? Doesn’t she do horribly in Defense?”
“She does, sure, but she’s crazy good at potions.”
“She’s always at the top of her class in it.”
“And she’s invented some potions, too.”
“She’s achieved some truly magnificent feats.”
“I’ve heard that in 4th year, Slughorn told her that there existed only twelve different uses of dragon blood, so she came up with a thirteenth one just to prove him wrong,” Vernados explained.
“I’ve heard that she created the first ever completely plant-based Cat Vision Potion,” Abraxas added.
“And I’ve heard that she once deduced that Vivian Brown was brewing Amortentia—” Tom suddenly found his plate’s pattern extremely interesting— “just from seeing her with rose thorn cuts and smelling peppermint on her on the new moon,” Walter stated.
“And Joy got Brown expelled for that, so, you know,” Leonis added, biting into his sandwich.
Tom moved onto examining the silverware. That knife was looking real nice…
“Oh, sorry, Tom… I didn’t… I for— I wasn’t thinking,” Walter said, looking apologetic. Tom didn’t acknowledge him.
“Um, yeah… So, basically, even though Joy can’t fight that well, she’d be amazing as the kind of dark lord who works from the shadows, poisoning people who stand in her way.”
“And she could even do it in a way that wouldn’t arouse any suspicion in an apothecary; she’s a master at tweaking potion recipes.”
“She’s got that kind of element of surprise quality. Like, you’d meet her and let your guard down, ’cause she’s pretty and kind and a Hufflepuff and her name is literally Joy, and then she stabs you in the back with poisoned tea! You’d never see it coming!” Caius gestured wildly with his fork, causing his chicken to fall into Abraxas’ cereal. Abraxas picked it out with two fingers, looking quite disgusted, and threw it back onto Caius’ plate.
“You, however… You’re not really that great at planning ahead. And sure, you’re great at most subjects, but when you duel in Defense, you pretty much always lose, since you’re so focused on using the most impressive and powerful spells. Like, I like your flair for the dramatic, but sometimes it gets in your way! If you want to become a good dark lord—”
“Which we’re not advocating for, but just theoretically—”
“Yes, theoretically, you’d have to become more, well, pragmatic.”
“Well, if Joy is as amazing and smart and pragmatic as you claim, then how come I’ve never heard of her magnificent feats before?” Tom said, crossing his arms.
“She’s a Hufflepuff. You don’t really pay attention to them, to be honest.”
“Seriously, a Hufflepuff could walk into our dorm and take your diary while you were there and you wouldn’t even notice.”
“I told you, it’s a journal, not a diary!” Tom insisted, blushing furiously.
“Same difference,” Antonin shrugged, shoving a spoonful of mashed potatoes in his mouth. “Seriously though, Joy would make such a good dark lord. She’s literally–”
“You know what? I can’t take this anymore. Goodbye,” Tom cut him off abruptly, standing up.
“Where are you going?” Walter asked, confused.
“Somewhere where I won’t be bothered by all of you waxing lyrical about some— some brain-dead Hufflepuff!” Tom shouted.
“You were the one who asked though…” Walter said, but Tom had already stormed off.
°*°*°
After leaving the Great Hall — calmly and full of grace, befitting of someone likely to become a dark lord, fuck you — Tom decided to head to the Room of Hidden Things to cool off. Not that he needed it, of course, as the epitome of collectedness he was, but he thought it would be a relaxing change of pace. He never got there, however, because who did he come across but Betty Joy herself.
She was talking with some of her many empty-headed friends, the five girls laughing as they walked down the bright corridor. Joy was in the center of their little entourage, her wide brown eyes crinkling when she smiled.
“—wish there was more on the importance of topology in Transfiguration,” she said, her eyes skipping over Tom. He saw red.
“YOU!” Tom yelled, pointing his index finger straight at her.
Joy and her friends exchanged confused glances amongst themselves.
“Who? Me?” asked a short, brunette Hufflepuff.
“Not you, Joy!”
“Oh, me,” Joy stepped forward. “How can I help you?” she asked, flashing him a sunny smile almost as bright as her hair, just as infuriating as the one in the photo. Even with her short stature, even with her stunning smile, even with her nothing if not polite words, there was still a vague air of superiority there. Maybe it was in the way she stood, feet angled in a way that communicated effortless grace, or the fact that she was positioned at the center of her group, all her friends surrounding her like a royal guard, but for a moment Tom could see what Caius was talking about. Maybe she was an amazing potioneer, maybe she could be a dark lord, maybe—
And the moment passed and all Tom saw was a stupid Hufflepuff girl, who saw the world through rose-tinted glasses, who didn’t know any struggles or pains, who couldn’t dream to compare herself to him. She was nothing, and she stole his place. And so he told her.
“You,” Tom marched up to her, “stole my place!”
Her expression turned puzzled. “Terribly sorry, but what was your name again?”
“Wh—I—Hu— What?!” Tom could only stare in shock. How could she not know who he was?!
“You seem familiar for some reason, have we met before?” She tilted her head, changing the foot she was leaning on in a smooth motion.
“We have Potions together three times per week!” he responded incredulously, never mind the fact he himself didn’t know this the day prior.
“Oh. Do you sit in the back?”
“No, I always sit at the front.”
“Ah. Well, what did you want?”
“I want to know why you stole my rightful place in the yearbook!”
“The yearbook?”
“Yes, the yearbook!”
“Oh, I haven’t seen it yet.” Joy turned to her friends. “Anything interesting?”
“You won Best Smile,” a red-headed Ravenclaw told her.
“And Most Likely to Become a Potions Master,” a Hufflepuff (a different one, with dark skin and hair) said.
“Aw, sweet. Were you looking to win that?” she asked Tom.
“No,” he scowled, and after a short pause, elaborated, “You took the title of Most Likely to Become a Dark Lord from me!”
“Ooh, interesting, I didn’t know such a category existed.”
“Yeah, I think it’s a new one, my sister showed me her yearbook and there wasn’t anything like it,” the taller Hufflepuff said.
“I think it’s in bad taste, seeing as Grindelwald is still a threat,” a tall Slytherin girl (Agnes Rotonde, was it?) said, crossing her arms over her chest.
“It is strange, isn’t it? What is the purpose? I don’t see why they’d want to encourage anyone to become a dark lord, nor why they’d try to divide the student body like that,” Joy wondered.
“I think it was supposed to be some kind of light-hearted hypothetical that might’ve missed the mark a little? It was pretty fun to vote on, anyway,” the Ravenclaw shrugged.
“Who did you vote for? Personally, I think—”
Tom stared in fury as the girls seemed to forget he was there, engrossed in their own conversation. Right as his patience ran out and he was going to interrupt them once more, Joy looked at her watch and startled.
“Class started four minutes ago!” she exclaimed, prompting the others to check the time as well, in a frenzy.
“Oh no, wouldn’t want to be late for one of Binns’ illuminating lessons,” Rotonde responded as she rolled her eyes.
They ran to their respective classes, stifling their laughs, not sparing Tom a glance.
He walked away and fumed.
°*°*°
On Tuesday afternoons, Tom typically had double History of Magic with Professor Binns, who had died two years prior, yet continued teaching classes even after his passing. It wasn’t a huge change, really; Binns was just as boring and indifferent about his lessons as he was when still alive. Tom honestly had no idea why Binns was allowed to teach even while he wasn’t a ghost, but he wasn’t the one in charge of Hogwarts. Yet, anyway.
Tom had decided to skip History that day. Binns never cared if his students were present, and Tom was in no mood to hear him somehow turn what should be the most interesting subject at Hogwarts into the most stale and tedious. No, Tom instead went back to the empty Slytherin dormitory for some good old fashioned brooding.
“I wouldn’t make a good dark lord… Yeah, right,” Tom mumbled as he flopped down onto his bed. “Jetty Boy or whatever does some mediocre stuff with potions and suddenly she’s the end all be all of dark lords… As if!” He rolled over to stare at the ceiling moodily.
“I’d be a perfect dark lord, they just don’t see it yet… But I can make them see,” Tom said to himself. “They think my plans are bad, they think I’m not cut out to be a dark lord… Joy didn’t even know who I am! But I’ll prove them all wrong! We’ll see who’ll be laughing when I conquer the world, when they’re all begging for mercy at my feet. I’ll make the best plan to ever exist, and I won’t get defeated by a mere teenager, Ermes!”
With this thought Tom sat down at his desk and started working out his spectacular plan to become the best dark lord the world has ever seen.
This is what he came up with, after an hour of work:
1° Get a job at Hogwarts or Diagon Alley
2° Use the job to collect relics
3° Somehow use them to become immortal
4° Conquer the world
While it was perhaps not the most fleshed out plan ever, Tom felt confident it would still work. After all, detailed plans were stressful and constricting, not allowing room for growth or change. His plan, on the other hand, was loose enough to allow for change of plans, while still having a set trajectory. The perfect plan, Tom thought with a smile on his face.
Tom Riddle graduated from Hogwarts just a few days later, and his plan was put to the test.
He tried to get a job at Hogwarts right after Merrythought resigned her post, but Professor Dippet turned him down. Tom was too young, he said, too inexperienced to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. At the moment, at least. Dippet made it quite clear to Tom that he was welcome to try again in a few years.
So Tom waited, and he spent that time traveling the world, learning about other cultures and their unique spells and potions. It wasn’t on his agenda, but he had always wanted to explore, to get away from Britain. And maybe there were interesting relics to be found abroad, in cavernous valleys and sweltering deserts and snowy peaks, in the deepest, darkest crevices and most lush forests. But after years and years of searching and searching, it was surely about time to return home. He had found a few notable objects, such as the Diadem of Ravenclaw and the Cup of Hufflepuff, and a plethora of artifacts he didn’t and wasn’t planning to turn into soul-containers ( horcruxes, they were called), but he knew the locations of several items were within Britain’s borders, and he ached for home, for Hogwarts.
And so he returned, wiser, more experienced, more knowledgeable, and closer than ever to proving them all wrong. He was ready for his job interview, but old news caught up to him; Dippet had passed on, and Dumbledore was now headmaster. Yet, Tom still attempted to get hired, but to no avail – Dumbledore still didn’t trust him. Well, the feeling was mutual. Leaving Hogwarts for quite possibly the last time, Tom slipped the diadem horcrux into his old favorite room; if he couldn’t be at Hogwarts himself, a part of him should.
As a dark lord, of course, he needed to come up with the perfect name. No one would cower at the mere mention of a plain ‘Tom Riddle’, but Tom still wanted some clever connection to his past name.
“Tom Riddle, Tom Marvolo Riddle,” Tom repeated idly, lying on his bed, “Tom Riddle… Tim Puzzle… Joe Mystery, Bob Question… Bill Cipher? No, that’s even worse… Maybe an anagram would work better…”
And it did! Of course, there were many failed attempts along the way, including but not limited to:
° Mild Doormat Lover
° Armored Doll Vomit
° Lord Earldom Vomit
° I’m a Doll Dorm Voter
° Overlord Tidal Mom
° Lord Voted Immoral
“‘I am Lord Voldemort’… You know, I actually like this one.”
And so ‘Lord Voldemort’ was born.
Crafting a group of loyal, obedient followers to commit crimes in his name didn’t sound easy, but Tom had always enjoyed a challenge. And really, those purebloods and their obsessive hatred – they should really learn to think critically, because swaying them by appealing to their prejudice was child’s play. All he had to do was fill their heads with nonsense about his ideals and goals for the world while slowly concealing more and more of his true identity, and voila!
Innate Dark Lord qualities? Check.
A legion of followers? Check.
Fake ideals worthy of the second coming of Grindelwald? Check.
Bloody immortality? Check!
He was all but ready to conquer the world.
And if the first person Tom killed on that world domination murder spree was one Betty Joy, no one else had to know.