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The Forbidden Ship - a collection of completed short stories

Chapter Text

Prompt: Restricted Section.

It was so easy. Too easy, Tom thought as he strolled through the Restricted Section at his leisure.

Everyone always did precisely what he wanted, needed. They were all so abysmally stupid. All it took was a charming smile, a tilt of his head and some apologetic mumbling about needing to be there after hours because he had forgotten—As if Lord Voldemort ever would forget anything! –an important project that needed to be finished soon. The silly librarian didn't even blink twice before handing him the keys.

So now he had the area all to himself for the entire night. No stupid other students, teachers, or worse ... Candy Lemonbore to disturb him in his browsing. Finally, he'd be able to go through books without needing an excuse as to why he was handling such horrific titles. Really. If they didn't want students to read them, why have the damn books here in the first place? Morons. As soon as he were Headmaster, he'd make sure that students would get exactly those books HE approved of and nothing else.

His long, slender fingers slid across the book's spines.

Read it. Read it. Read it. Oh!

Interested, he pulled "The Power of Dark Animalistic Transfiguration" off the shelf. After skimming the index, reading the conclusion, he slid it back in the bookcase. Boring! As if he had any need to turn into a snakelike individual. Insane author.

Farther and farther, Tom went, tossing book after book into his schoolbag that he'd magically enlarged to hold much more than it would seem to at first glance.

"Secrets of the Darkest Arts", he read, smirking knowingly.

That one he wouldn't need anymore. He'd already expanded upon the theory in that book magnificently. He, a seventh-year-student, had done what no other wizard before him had achieved. Why he was bothering finishing Hogwarts was a mystery to him. They should give him his diploma with the highest honours and be done with it. He was already by far the superior wizard to those fools that taught classes here. Too bad he still had a reputation to uphold. He relished upon thinking about that moment when he could drop the charade and be who he truly was: The Greatest Wizard of All Time, Lord Voldemort.

Hmmm... "Temporal Cloning"?

Tom's fingers stopped at that spine. What was this?

He swiftly pulled it from the shelf and enjoyed the intricate carvings of several snakes that made up the letters on the leather cover. There was no author mentioned, just the title.

Snake letters, a book worthy of the Heir of Slytherin.

His hand caressed the cover, feeling the snakes move underneath his hand. An eyebrow raised, Tom looked back at the cover. Now, the snakes were creating new words.

Was that Parseltongue?

His mind formed the words that hissed from his lips subconsciously. When he was finished speaking, he turned cold to the marrow of his bones. Then, a pain-filled cry resonated through the library as he felt every cell of his body being ripped apart. This was so much worse than making a Horcrux, so much worse. He bend over, clutching the book to his chest, desperate to hang on to something, hoping the pain would stop soon. Perspiration formed on his brow; cold sweat dripped down his spine; he shivered, feeling positively feverish, and then, it was over.

Blinking several times, he straightened out. His eyes widened when a few feet away stood a perfect replica of himself, smiling smugly at him and raising its hand in a wave.

What the hell wa—!

He couldn't finish the sentence for the world started swirling next, twirling, dancing as if he were in some vortex. When it finally stopped, he stumbled into someone, dropping his schoolbag and his book as he crashed to the floor on top of a soft body and fell with his face into some big, brown mess of hair that fluffed all over him as if it were in attack mode.

"Eh, oye!" a shrill girl's voice shouted. "What do you think you are doing? Get off me!"

For a moment he remained still, waiting for his body to settle down and that nauseating feeling to vanish. Her hair sparked of magic, titillating his nerves. He enjoyed the feeling of it. He'd never experienced a girl who had hair that reeked of magic.

"Are you deaf?"

Her tone was now a lot lower and infinitely more threatening as irritation shone through it. He found it incredibly amusing. What kind of leverage did she think she had? He was on top of her, had her pinned down underneath him. She actually had a nice body, now that he considered it.

A devious smile erupted on his face.

Slowly, he moved, making sure to grind his body harder into hers as he lifted his face and stared straight into her brown eyes. He enjoyed the gasp that erupted from her throat and the way her eyes widened as she stared at him.

He'd never seen this girl before and, as Head Boy, he knew everyone.

"Hello, there," he said with a teasing undertone. "No, I'm not deaf, but as you may have noticed, I had a bit of an incident there beyond my control. I can assure you I had no intention to land my face into a hedgehog like you." His amused eyes flickered to her hair briefly.

"Beyond your control," she huffed in disbelief.

That drew his attention.

"Are you saying I landed deliberately on top of you?"

"You don't do anything that's not deliberate, Riddle." Her eyes darkened, and she repeated venomously: "Now, get off of me."

"Well, I feel quite comfortable here," he stated, propping his hand underneath his head lazily and staring straight into her hate-filled eyes.

Fortunately, he could feel her wand in her jacket's pocket. There was no way she could reach it since his body was in the way. Not that it would be of any use to her. Nobody bested Lord Voldemort in a duel. Nobody.

Alas, his wand was in his trousers' pocket, which was also out of reach, unless he lifted his body, which he didn't feel like doing right now because he liked the position of power he had over this insolent girl right now.

But still, this was interesting. He had no idea who this bushy-haired female was, but clearly she knew him, and from the look on her face, they weren't exactly bosom buddies. He sniggered softly at the idea of him having any buddies.


His head swung sideways when her fist connected with his jaw. He barely recovered from the shock that someone dared to hit his almighty being when another punch struck his face, resonating through his brain. Anger rushed through him, and he quickly grabbed both her arms, pushing them to the ground beside her head. Now he really had to make an effort to contain her underneath him because she struggled furiously. This had to end. He needed a distraction to get his wand.

Swiftly, he raised his head and then smashed his forehead against hers, hard.

Sweet Salazar, that girl had a thick skull.

Sparks filled his eyesight and pain resonated through his mind. It took him a couple of seconds before recalling he had a wand to retrieve. However, the sudden stillness of her body and her loud scream were music to his ears. He swiftly grabbed his wand. Triumph filled him when he looked back at her: Her eyes were watery; her face was flushed red; and her expression was of someone who did their best to control the pain they were feeling.


Torturing those who gave up immediately never was any fun. He liked those who fought back the most, and this one definitely seemed like a fighter. A worthy fighter, possibly, if that excess magic sparking from her hair was any indication.

"Now, my dear," he quietly said, feeling fully in control as he followed the contours of her face with the tip of his wand. "Let's find out what you know, shall we?"

He paused briefly, relishing in how pale she became, before he cast: "Legilimens!"