Dark Mark Rising

[dianella]

I'll post one chapter a day until finished

Chapter One
The Truth

The color drained out of his face.  "What?" he whispered.  His knees felt weak and his head swam.  His hand groped the air, seeking something solid in a world that had just fallen away from his feet.  It found the kitchen table beside him and he leaned heavily on it, as if he would just fall into a black hole if he let go.

It made no sense.  It couldn't be true, and yet…it explained everything.  His eyes were still fixed on the woman he loved - at least the woman he thought he had loved.  But how could he now?  

In one sense, everything was the same - she had the same silky black hair that just brushed her shoulders when she walked, the same green eyes that shone and sparkled when she smiled.  But she wasn't smiling now, and nothing would ever be the same again.  Their love, their marriage - she was carrying his child, for Christ's sake! - all a lie.

He turned his eyes away from her.  "Get out", he said.

"Tom, please - listen to me, let me explain!"

"Explain?  What could you explain?  The owls? Your strange friends?  Your lies?"

"I - I thought our love was strong enough.  I thought you could handle the truth - "

"The TRUTH?!  You think that your little 'confession' makes up for the fact that not one thing about our lives has been based on who - on WHAT - you really are?  That you're about to bear a child - a monster - based on a pack of lies?  What could you possibly say that could make anything right again?"

"Just that I love you, Tom.  And I'm a witch."

[minihagrid]

It's the moment we've all been waiting for....*dramatic music* 'The return of the story, and hopefully an ending this time!'  ;D

Chapter a day? Awwww...that means i have to wait AGES! About 7 days...Oh well.

Anyways....I love this story! Keep it comin!

[dianella]

Chapter Two  
The First and the Last

"Doctor, come quick - I think it's time."  The man in the white coat hurried down the linoleum hall and entered the room the nurse had called from.  Under stiff, white sheets a woman lay bathed in perspiration, on the edge of delirium from pain and medication.  "Tom, Tom?" she looked up hopefully, realizing someone had entered the room.  Her gaze fell on the face of Doctor Amadi, and she let her eyes roll back under their lids.

"Doctor", the nurse said, a touch of desperation in her voice, "her temperature is still rising.  I think we should have sent her to the hospital in Greater Hangleton.  I don't think we can handle her here."

"We'll have to make do - there's no time to move her now", he replied to the nurse.  He turned to his patient as she moaned from another contraction. "Mrs. Riddle, can you hear me?" he asked gently.  Her eyelids fluttered in response.  "Mrs. Riddle, you're about to have your baby, but you're very, very ill.  I need to ask you a few things before…" his voice trailed off slightly, "…before it's too late."

She turned and looked at him, her fever making her green eyes blaze even brighter.  She blinked to indicate she understood.

"Do you have any relatives that can care for your baby?"

Mrs. Riddle shook her head.  Summoning what little strength she had remaining, she whispered, "My husband…doesn't want…"

"Do you have a name picked out?"

She moaned again as her body worked hard to free the child within, took a deep breath and whispered, "Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"And if it's a girl?"

"It…won't…be", she said, needing a full breath for each word.  Her body nearly doubled from the strength of the next contraction and she cried aloud.

"The baby's coming", said the nurse, and she and the doctor positioned themselves for the arrival of Tom Riddle.  He entered the world with jet-black hair and eyes that were already bright green - unusual for a baby.  And as he drew his first breath to let out a wail that alerted the unsuspecting world to his arrival, his mother drew her last.

[dianella]

Chapter 3
The Orphan

Tom leaned against the chest-high wall made of rough-hewn stone that surrounded the Little Hangleton Home for Children.  He found it amusing that they called this place a home.  He had lived here for his entire eight years, and for not one day of that had this place felt like a home.  A home should have parents and love and caring.  But this place just had nurses and caregivers that passed through forming a steady stream of strangers that were known as "Ma'am" or "Nurse".  It wasn't worth the effort to learn their names.  As soon as you did they would be gone, replaced by another and then another.  

He stood looking up at a grand house that stood alone on a hill on the edge of Little Hangleton.  He had asked once who lived in the house and was told that it was known as the Riddle House.  Tom's heart had leapt at this - Riddle!  That was his name!  Maybe he had rich relatives…maybe they would swoop down from the hill with stories of how they had searched for him and at long last would take him home.  But the faceless, nameless nurse on duty at the Little Hangleton Home for Children had told him his mother's dying words were that he had no living relatives.  And so, every day Tom Riddle leaned against the wall, stared up at the Riddle House, and fantasized that he had a family that would take him away.

THWAP!  Tom's back stung as something smacked into him, jolting his body forward into the wall and splattering the back of his head.  He spun around and two older boys were doubled with laughter, hands black and dripping with mud.  "Hey, freak!" the taller boy yelled, "wishin' you could live in a real house?"  The other boy chimed in, "That probably IS your parent's house and they just didn't want a freak like you for a kid!"  Putting a cigarette in his mouth and punching his friend in the ribs for a light, he stalked off sniggering with the taller boy in tow.

They had touched a nerve.  Tom often withstood the jeers and comments from the other kids.  He was different - there was no denying that.  He didn't know why, but he didn't fit in, and they singled him out as a target of bullying and pranks.  But this time, they had reached into the deepest fear in Tom's heart and turned it into a weapon.  

Tom stared after them, cold fury flowing through his veins.  Waves of hatred seemed to be flowing over him and outward, like ripples in a pond when you drop a stone.  He was trembling…rooted to the spot by muscles that were as tense as a cobra about to strike.  

It happened as the boy struck his match.  Instead of the small flicker of the match tip, a fireball erupted into a mushroom that engulfed both boys.  The small boy that had been holding the match was incinerated immediately, and when the police came later there was nothing but ash to mark where he had been.  But the other boy…the other boy screamed in agony as fire followed his hair down into the roots of his scalp like thousands of fuses. His face was melting from the heat of the fire, and as he inhaled to scream again, the fire burned his throat, his lungs.  He fell to the ground, his clothes burning off of his body, his skin turning black, and thankfully, he finally died.

[dianella]

Chapter 4
The House

The air was filled with the acrid smell of burnt human flesh.  Everyone at the home was frozen in terror, and the moment seemed to stretch for an eternity.  Then the screaming started…the running…the panic.  Some of the nameless nurses rushed towards the boys, or rather what was left of them, in a ridiculous attempt to render aid.  Most of the other caregivers and the children ran away, looking desperately for some sort of cover in case the explosions weren't over.  As they ran past Tom they threw him looks alternatively filled with suspicion and fear.

During the melee, Tom made his decision.  He turned his back to the hysteria, placed both hands on the stone wall and hoisted himself over.  Landing softly on the other side, he crouched down and began to move along the length of the wall, working his way to a line of bushes and trees that edged the base of the hill.  His thighs and back began to ache from the effort of his covert movements and he was grateful when he finally reached the thick cover where he collapsed on the soft, cool ground.  

He lay on his back, arms over his face, running over and over in his mind what had happened.  What HAD happened?  He wasn't sure.  He had not been near those boys, and yet…he couldn't shake the feeling that somehow he had made that happen.  He had been angry, furious actually.  As they walked away, he had watched them with a hatred like he had never felt and there had been a pounding in his ears that built to a crescendo.  And then…  But how could he have caused that?  It had to be a coincidence.  People couldn't blow up other people just because they were angry!  

In the center of these swirling thoughts was the Riddle House.  Riddle…It was just another "coincidence" that just couldn't be.  There had to be a connection to his past, his secrets.

Having caught his breath and steeled his resolve, Tom pushed himself upright and worked his way along the tree line.  He didn't want to be seen by anyone from the home that might have realized he had run away, or by the inhabitants of the Riddle House that might peer out of its large mullioned windows.

His progress was slow, hampered by the circuitous route and the overgrowth of the foliage, but steadily the house grew larger and larger as he caught glimpses of if between the thick shrubs.

Finally reaching the back of the large house, he crouched down, shielded by the dense growth.  He looked up at the two-story house with its tiled roof and expansive windows and his heart began hammering.  There was movement in the large center window - someone was home.  During the journey, Tom had wondered if anyone would even be in the house and in the dark recesses of his mind he had hoped not.  Peering through unguarded windows and wondering about the people that lived inside would have been easier, safer than actually coming face to face with them.  Did he really want this truth?

He thought about the Children's Home. He thought about the faceless adults that only pretended to care.  He thought about the other children that didn't even bother to pretend that they didn't hate him.  He had nothing now - and that meant he had nothing to lose.  

[Leia Skye]

Wow...I never got a chance to read this at the old Trap Door, and I'm glad I finally sat down and read it! This is amazing! You go, Di! I can't wait till tomorrow when I can read more! ;D

[dianella]

Chapter 5
The Father

Tom's knees shook violently in protest as his feet mounted the steps up to the front of the house.  His heart was trying to leap out of his chest; his mouth was dry from rapid, shallow breathing; his face was flushed and hot.  He licked his lips, raised a fist and paused one last time before fully committing himself.  Finally, he knocked.

The door was opened by a man with salt and pepper hair and a middle that was, like the rest of the universe, expanding.  His brown eyes searched Tom suspiciously, looking left to right for what this boy might be trying to sell.

Tom tried to steady himself with a deep breath and finally said, "Hello sir.  My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle.  Do you know me?"

Whatever the man had suspected Tom might be up to, it was obviously not this.  His stunned face blanched and he gripped the doorknob even more tightly for support.  His gaze shifted to Tom's black hair and brilliant green eyes.  A look that resembled recognition dawned on his pasty white face.  Suddenly the man turned on his heel and slammed the door without a word.

Tom stared at the cracked, peeling paint on the door that was now mere inches from his face.  What had happened?  He was sure this man seemed to know something - but what?

Tom's body stood frozen as his joints engaged in a furious battle over whether to leave or knock again.  He couldn't leave.  He just couldn't.  Not after finally screwing up the courage to come.  He raised his hand to rap on the heavy wooden door again when it flew back open, sucking air and leaves into the house in a whirl.  

The man had reappeared and he no longer looked shocked.  He looked angry.  In one hand he gripped the handle of a large trunk that he had obviously dragged to the door.  

"Know you?  Oh - I know you!  I know what you are…what you mother was!"  

Tom leapt back as the man heaved the heavy trunk onto the porch where it crashed violently on the stone and clattered end over end down the steps.

"There!  That's all you'll get from me and I'm glad to be rid of it.  I should have burned it when she died.  Lord knows I prayed often enough that you'd die too.  Prayed that God would wipe you and all your kind off the face of the Earth.  Prayed I'd never have to see the monster she tricked me into fathering."  His voice, until now high with tension and fury, dropped to a threatening growl.  "Never come back here.  You are no son of mine."  And the door slammed for the second time.

[minihagrid]

The tension is too much! I want the new parts already! But keep on posting it! It reminds me of the good old days of TD 1...

Hope youve had chance to read my newest story Di, you're comments are most welcome. ;D

[dianella]

Thanks Minih!!  I haven't read your story yet  BUT I will tonight, I promise!!!  Right after I finish training my dogs
I'm glad the tension is mounting...it gives me time to finish the end of the story.  I know where I'm going, just need to write it!  BTW - this is more than just a story.  It is actually my theory of how Lord V. got started in the dark arts.  You'll see as we near the end - MANY chapters from now

[dianella]

Chapter 6
The Master

"Son?" thought Tom.  "Son?"

He was still standing on the porch, brain drowning as it tried to face the deepest dread that had lurked in Tom's heart for eight years.  This man was his father, but this man wanted him dead.  This fine home should be his, but instead he was forced to live in a loveless, uncaring orphanage.  An orphanage, Tom realized, that he had just run away from.  Now he had no place at all.

He turned his attention for the first time to the trunk.  He desperately wanted to know what was in it, but he couldn't open it here.  He had to get away from the Riddle House before that man - his father - came back.  He might just decide to help his death wish for Tom along.

The trunk weighed more than Tom, but he threw his weight forward and finally succeeded in dragging it to the safety of the trees.  Sweaty from the effort, he examined a very odd lock on the front of the trunk.  Made of silver metal, it was the shape of a snake that coiled through the trunk's fastenings to hold them firmly in place.  Tom didn't know how to open it.  It didn't seem to take a key, and even if it did he didn't have one.  He picked up a stick and tried to pry the snake's coils apart, but the stick snapped.  He picked up a rock and smacked the snake, which banged and flipped wildly, but did not open.  He tried a few more times and finally shouted, "Open up!" in frustration.  But that sound never reached his ears.  Instead he heard a hissing, spitting sound and to his astonishment, the snake-lock seemed to come to life and uncoiled to release the lid.  Confused and frightened, Tom reached forward and opened the trunk.

Strange and mysterious objects were tossed about in a jumble.  Books, crystals, a cloak, a small bronze cauldron, bottles with both dried and liquid contents.  He picked up a book - The Standard Book of Spells, by Miranda Goshawk.  Spells?  He put it back and picked up a highly polished tapered length of wood.  It felt warm in his hands as if it was alive, and he felt an energy pass from it all the way up his arm.  He picked up a photograph and screamed.  It had moved!  The image smiled and waved at him from the ground where he'd dropped it as if it had been a hot coal.

"That's your mother."  Tom's entire body jerked around to find the source of the deep silky voice that had floated out of nowhere.  A man had appeared noiselessly behind him, and Tom had never seen anything like this man in his life.  He wore a deep green cloak, and had long black hair and a black moustache that framed his mouth all the way down to his jaw bone.  His eyes were black, sharp and seemed to penetrate to the back of Tom's skull.

Finding what was left of his frayed nerves, Tom said, "My…my mother?"  He glanced back at the black-haired woman in the photo, still smiling and waving, her green eyes flashing.  "But how…how do you know?  And who are you?"

The stranger replied, "I knew your mother.  And you can call me…Master."

[dianella]

Chapter 7
The Student

The man approached slowly, bent down and picked up the picture.  The corner of his mouth moved slightly as he looked at the photograph, as if it was accompanied by a good memory.  "She was a beautiful woman, your mother.  And a talented witch."

"A what?" exclaimed Tom.

"A witch", the man repeated.  "And you're a wizard.  The last of a line of the most powerful witches and wizards in our world."

"That's…that's…well…impossible.  There aren't witches or wizards.  That's fairy tale stuff."  Tom's white face showed how frightened he was, but he couldn't take his eyes off of this man.

The man chuckled a deep, grumbling sort of laugh.  "Oh, I assure you, it most certainly is not 'fairy tale stuff'.  I am a wizard as well - Grindelwald is my name.  Your middle name is Marvolo, is it not?  Marvolo Slytherin, direct descendent of the great Salazar Slytherin, was your grandfather.  And I am here, Tom, to help you to fulfill your destiny as a Slytherin."

By now, Tom had sunk into the ground next to his mother's belongings.  This was crazy talk.  Maybe his mother had been crazy; maybe that's why his father hated him.  Thought he would turn out mad as well.  And maybe that's what was happening now - he was going mad.

The man was still speaking.  "It will be several years before you will leave for school, my boy, and we can't wait that long for you to start learning.  So I have come to begin tutoring you.  It's a promise I made to your mother long ago, when that fool muggle she married threw her out."

"Muggle?" Tom asked.  "Do you mean that man back there?  The one that said he was my father?"

"Muggle is the word we use for people that aren't magical.  And Tom Riddle, your father, is a muggle and an idiot.  You may be cursed with his foul name, but your blood is that of Slytherin.  And I'm here to make sure you rise as the heir you were born to be.  Now, are you ready to begin?"

Tom was still reeling from everything that had happened to him.  But when he looked in those eyes he saw strength, he saw respect, and he saw someone that saw him - and wanted to help him.  So, he stood up and replied, "Yes, Master."

[Leia Skye]

This is so excellent. I'm sorry that I can't make more specific comments, but it is just so good. You rock the casbah, Di! ;D

[dianella]

Thanks Leia!!!  It's so nice to hear comments like that.  Did you read the other story I have posted here, Young Remus?  It's good too.  (I think it's dropped on to page 2)

[minihagrid]

Yay, the new stuffs coming up soon..... ;D cant wait....

[dianella]

Chapter 8
The First Curse

Many weeks had passed since the day that Tom had tried to leave the orphanage and met his destiny.  Grindelwald was unable to stay in one place for any length of time, and so Tom had had to return to the orphanage.  No questions had ever been asked about his disappearance, and in the weeks and months that had followed the "accident", the nurses and other children gave him a wide berth whenever they saw him.  Thankfully, that was rare these days, as Tom had taken to sleeping during the day so he could sneak out at night to meet his teacher.  Even the small boy that shared this cold, stone room rarely saw or spoke to Tom.  He was fast asleep now; blonde curls falling softly across the cherub face and swaying slightly from the boy's deep, rhythmic breathing.

Tom lay awake on his cot, the thoughts in his mind racing madly in his skull.  His lesson that night had been thrilling, and he couldn't bear the realization that an entire day would have to pass before he could continue.  He looked out of the small window in his cell of a room, watching the sun rise over the hill and light the trees where he would meet his master when the darkness returned.  

Lessons with Grindelwald occurred sporadically.  Frantic spurts of tutelage when he was able to hide nearby separated by intervals of devastating emptiness when he was away.  During these times Tom kept his sanity by practicing his spells and reading books Grindelwald brought to him.  Tonight's lesson had been the culmination of much hard work and studying - he had learned his first unforgivable curse.  

Tom sat up in bed, giving up all pretences that sleep might come to visit.  He had to practice this new curse, had to perfect it.  He looked around for a suitable subject.  A cock crowed to announce the arrival of the new day, and Tom sprang to the window and looked at the bird perched on the stone wall, head tilted up to the sky.  He raised his wand, the wand that had been his mother's, and whispered, "Imperio!"  The rooster stopped in mid-crow and a glazed, unfocused look spread through its black eyes.  "Jump down", whispered Tom, and the rooster obediently obliged.  "Come this way", and the rooster, shaking its plumage, strutted in his direction, fluttered his wings and landed softly on the stone sill.  This was boring.  This was all normal rooster behavior!  How could he be sure the rooster was doing his bidding?  

A rustling sound came from the corner as his young roommate turned in his sleep, a tiny thumb falling away from the mouth that had held it captive during the night.  Tom smiled lightly as he looked at the boy, and did not turn his gaze back to the rooster as he whispered to it, "Kill him."

The bird shot across the room as if it were an eagle, beak open, claws outstretched.  It landed in a fury of talons and feathers on that angelic face.  The face that was now screaming in shock and agony, now streaked in blood, now missing eyes, now falling silent.