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The Missing Chapter by emz

Format: Novella
Chapters: 2
Word Count: 4,462
Status: WIP

Rating: 15+
Warnings: Scenes of a Mild Sexual Nature, Sensitive Topic/Issue/Theme

Genres: Romance, Angst
Characters: Voldemort, OC
Pairings: Other Pairing

First Published: 10/13/2007
Last Chapter: 01/15/2008
Last Updated: 01/15/2008

Banner by me

It was said he could not love. Was he born a murderer? How few know the truth … is it better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all? This is the story of a man who loved and lost, and emerged as the most feared wizard of all time: This is the missing chapter in the life of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Chapter 1: Chapter One.
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So, here it is. The first chapter in what I hope will be an interesting story… I know Riddle/OCs have been done before, but when this plot bunny hopped into my head, I was pretty proud of myself and I had to get started on it straight away. :P
If you like, please review. If you don’t, please review. :D
Oh, and yes, you pronounce her name Ee-fa ;) And Callam is pronounced like Callum, except you emphasise the am rather than the Cal – Callam :D
Enough of my ramblings, please read on :)

Chapter One.

On Christmas Eve, 1942, inside the snowy yard in the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a young girl could be seen trying to tie a note to her owl’s leg, who seemed determined not to take it.

“Xiao, come on, you always – ouch!” The girl had succeeded in tying the note to Xiao’s leg, and in repayment he had given her a sharp nip on the hand and flown away. She watched him go seemingly without regret, and shivered: it was almost evening.

Out of sight of the girl and her now absent owl, a boy stood watching the scene, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. He was a handsome young man, wearing green and silver robes. As the girl pulled her cloak more tightly around her, his eyes followed her hungrily and he melted into the shadows as she made her way back through the snow-covered yard into the warm and well-lit Entrance Hall.


Just inside the door, the girl turned, her face breaking into a smile as she saw to whom the voice belonged.

“What were you doing out there? It’s freezing.”

“Sending a letter to my parents. It’s Christmas Eve, you know, Callam,” Aoife replied, smiling.

“Yes, I know,” the boy called Callam said, turning slightly pink. He was quite tall, and wore the same blue and bronze robes as Aoife herself. He took a step towards her, and at that moment the door through which Aoife had just entered slammed shut, and they both jumped. The green-and-silver-clad boy was standing just behind them, staring at them with accusing eyes.

“’Evening, Riddle,” Callam said formally, clearing his throat. “You were outside, too? It’s getting late –”

“I’m aware of the time, thank you, Vaughn.” Riddle nodded his head at the pair of them curtly, and hurried away, avoiding Aoife’s eyes.

Callam shrugged, and turned his own eyes back to the girl standing opposite him. “Shall we?” He asked, gesturing towards two vast doors which framed the entrance to the Great Hall. She nodded and smiled, and they entered the Great Hall together, both of them ready for the banquet waiting for them on the Ravenclaw table.

The boy called Tom Riddle continued down the deserted hallway, trying to marshal his frenzied thoughts. How had he let himself become so immersed in his own wanderings that he failed to notice she had not left the Entrance Hall before he entered? How had he managed to convince himself it was a good idea, in the first place, to follow her outside when he was sure his absence would be missed? And how – his insides burned with anger at this last question – had that boy Vaughn managed to catch her attention in such a way that Riddle himself had never been able to master? For months, now, Aoife Murphy had been merely an attractive something – someone - to dwell on when he became bored of life’s repeated schedules. It was only in the last few weeks, Riddle now realised, that he had begun to see her as something more. He began to notice the way she smiled at the slightest thing, the light, soft laugh he treasured to hear. He liked to watch her dark hair cascade around her shoulders, and the way her eyes lit up when she was working.

Yet at the same time he despised her.

He despised the way she made him feel, the control she seemed to hold him under, though she had no knowledge of it. He despised the way she hardly spared him a glance, yet she spent all the time she could speaking with Callam Vaughn. But most of all, Tom despised the way she looked at him on the rare occasions their eyes did meet; the mixture of pity and disgust in her expression whenever she spoke to the Slytherin who was so well-loved, yet somehow so feared.

Riddle had not realised he had come to a stop. Anger flaring up inside him once more, he threw himself into the shadows behind a suit of armour. He felt a savage kind of pleasure, knowing that wherever he went he cast an aura of discreet unease, with the teachers so used to his charm that he was able to make them do whatever he wanted, and the students themselves who, once they had upset Tom Riddle, usually found themselves in the Hospital Wing sporting some obscure injury.

But Riddle was a careful worker. He had learnt from a young age, when he had taught those filthy muggle orphans a thing or two, that it would not do to be caught in the act.

A sharp voice pierced the silence, and Riddle peered cautiously out from behind the suit of armour.

“…yes, seems to have quite a knack for it. He’s a gifted boy, but there’s something about him –”

“Perhaps he is seeking attention? He has quite a troubled past, as you are aware. Orphaned, a loner with a talent for making strange things happen…”

Riddle felt a jolt in his stomach as he realised who the two Professors were discussing. They were walking down the corridor towards his hiding place, and suddenly Riddle was seized with an urge to show himself.

Stepping out from behind the suit of armour, he addressed the Professors in a quiet voice. “Good evening, Professor Dippet, Professor Dumbledore.”

“Good evening, Tom,” replied Professor Dippet in surprise, while Professor Dumbledore merely nodded, his piercing blue eyes fixed firmly on Riddle’s own. “Not having dinner, Tom? It’s Christmas Eve, the Hall looks beautiful…”

“I am not particularly hungry, thank you, sir,” replied Riddle, “I fancied a walk; the excitement is, perhaps, a little too much for me tonight.”

“True, true,” chuckled Dippet, “If I wasn’t so busy, I may have joined you myself..."

"An evening walk always does well to calm one's senses," mused Professor Dumbledore, and Riddle gave a stiff nod. When Dumbledore spoke again, there was something like suspicion hidden underneath his cheerful façade. "I assume you were simply making your way back to your Common Room? The castle hardly has much to offer at this time, Tom.”

"Oh, leave the boy be," said Dippet good-humouredly, "It is Christmas Eve, after all. And a merry one to you, Tom!"

“Merry Christmas, sir,” Riddle responded with another nod, then turned his gaze again to Dumbledore, who wished him a good evening, and the two Professors continued on their way.


“So why is it you decided to spend this holiday at the castle?” Callam asked with interest, helping Aoife to potatoes.

“Well,” Aoife replied, “My parents have gone on holiday, and I didn’t quite like the idea of staying at home with just Andrea, you know what she can be like.”

Callam laughed. “So where’s she?”

“She’s staying with a friend. I have to say, it’s lovely being at the Castle at this time of year, without the worrying about lessons - when you can just enjoy the castle and the people and all they have to offer.” Their eyes met, and Aoife looked down into her lap, blushing. Callam smiled, and continued cutting up his food. The next time Aoife spoke, however, her tone had changed completely.

“Tom Riddle’s strange, isn’t he?”

Callam looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”

Aoife avoided his eyes. She was careful what to say - she didn’t want to tell him everything that was on her mind. “Well, I mean, he seems so polite, so clever, and all the teachers love him, but –”

“Do you think he’s good-looking?” Callam interrupted.

“What?” Startled, Aoife put down her cutlery and stared at him.

“I meant – well, a lot of people think he’s good-looking. I was just – you might have…”

“He’s nothing special,” Aoife said coldly, and Callam’s expression brightened slightly.

Finishing her meal, Aoife’s thoughts wandered again to the boy they had just been discussing. True, he confused her. Tom Riddle was a lonely figure who she saw sometimes between classes, always solitary, always silent. But he seemed to draw her eyes, with the devoted attitude he showed to his studies, and the quiet, quick wit he displayed whenever she heard him speak. She knew little of the boy, but she was aware that he had grown up without parents or many friends, and he intrigued her.

“Eef? Are you coming?”

All around her, people were getting to their feet; Aoife shook herself and nodded to Callam, who waited patiently for her to gather together her things and together they walked out of the Great Hall and towards the Ravenclaw Common Room.

She did not, could not know that at this moment, she was in the thoughts of a young Slytherin boy pacing a room on the Seventh Floor, nor could this same boy know that, as she sat in a chair by the fire and stared at the flames, he was in hers.

Chapter 2: Chapter Two.
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Can I give a massive thank you and tons of huggles to the brilliant GubraithianFire, who helped me enormously with a particularly difficult section of this one.

I present you with Chapter Two. I’m a little wary of this one, it seems to me that it kind of lacks interest. While doing NaNo, I was trying to chunk out as many words as possible and this is what happened… I’d love to know what you think. As always, enjoy, and please review :)


Chapter Two.

Christmas Morning was spent in the usual manner for Tom Riddle. He received only a small card wishing him a Happy Holiday from Mrs Cole back at the orphanage he so detested, but the piles of presents at the foot of his roommates’ beds sparked no jealously in him. He had no family to speak of, and his private, secluded manner meant that those within his acquaintance were not usually considered strict friends. Riddle preferred not having to waste the little money he had on gifts which would probably be thrown out once the holiday was over.

Christmas had never been a cause of excitement in Riddle, and the fact that his birthday rested around the same time did not, as it would in many of his fellow sixth-years, fill him with anticipation, but rather a resigned kind of apprehension. These were just two more days which Riddle felt were over-commercialised.

He attended the large breakfast in polite, interested silence, and retreated back to the Slytherin common room as soon as it was courteous to do so. He spent the morning finishing the homework he had been set before the holiday, and lunch hour found him scribbling furiously in the library, while shouts of laughter could be heard from the grounds: the few who had stayed at the castle were having a snowball fight, younger students and Prefects alike.

Mere metres away from Riddle’s green-inked quill, in the biting cold of the Hogwarts grounds, Callam Vaughn received yet another snowball to the neck.

“Aoife!” He gasped, arching his back and narrowing his eyes at the girl who stood, laughing silently, opposite him. “You –”

But she was too quick for the handful of snow he aimed in her direction, dodging around a pillar and hitting him expertly between the shoulder blades with a freezing cold ball of her own. Still laughing, she leant against the wall of the Castle and pushed her wet hair off her forehead with gloved hands.


“Time to go in, you think?” She asked Callam, who nodded. She turned to grasp the door handle, and felt something large, wet and very cold sink down her back. She turned, her eyes full of something that seemed like anger, but was smothered somewhat with amusement.

“Sorry,” Callam grinned. “I just had to get you back.”


During the afternoon, the snow became so heavy that the students were confined to staying inside, and the majority who weren’t trying to sneak outside were gathered in the Great Hall, along with most of the teachers. Several large, squashy sofas had been summoned from assorted rooms around the Castle, and the atmosphere in the Hall was relaxed and sleepy, despite the dark grey clouds surrounding. All houses were mixed up among all year groups, and several games of Exploding Snap and wizard’s Chess were being played on various tables. The only person not engaged in a conversation or some kind of activity was the sixth-year male Slytherin Prefect, who appeared to be immersed in a book entitled Great Wizarding Achievements of the Eighteenth Century. He was frowning in concentration, and did not notice a girl sit lightly down beside him.

She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment.

“Tom?” She said, her head on one side.

Startled, Riddle looked up. “Yes?”

She held out a pack of cards. “Would you like to play?”

Riddle reached out and took the cards. He turned them over in his hand, wondering why she had offered.

“What do you want?” He said to her, his voice coming out colder than he had meant. She looked surprised, but did not flinch.

“It’s Christmas. You shouldn’t be doing work on Christmas Day!”

 “I wasn’t –” Riddle began, and then stopped. He put his book on the floor and reluctantly started to deal out the cards. He didn’t realise they were being watched until a throat was cleared and a shadow fell over their hands.

“Aoife? Riddle? What’s going on?”

“We’re playing cards,” Aoife said, smiling, “Do you want to join us?”

“Alright,” Callam agreed, sitting down beside her.

As the game went on, Riddle reflected on the oddity that was playing cards with two Ravenclaws he hardly ever interacted with. As his hands dealt the cards automatically, his mind wandered far away from what he was doing. It felt strange to be sitting this close to someone who had been at the forefront of his mind for months. Their hands brushed while she took the pile of cards. He looked at her, her eyes intent on what she was doing, and he felt an unfamiliar feeling in his stomach. What was this? He had become accustomed to only seeing this girl, this young woman, from a distance, and was unprepared for this sudden contact. The feelings of yearning that he had harboured for her seemed distant now; this was something else. They continued to play, and Riddle’s hands took over, as his mind stayed with his thoughts. It felt exhilarating to be near her. But it scared him. Her movements kept him mesmerised, every word she spoke, every time she laughed, he felt light-headed. But it angered him. Why was she speaking to him now, when she had made no effort previously? She must be hiding something.


His voice was commanding, and Aoife and Callam did not hesitate to do as he said.

“What’s wrong?” Aoife said in a small voice.

Riddle looked her hard in the face. She did not look away, and he saw her eyes were full of curiosity and confusion, not the mocking contempt he expected to see. Was she even aware of the foreign feelings suddenly inside him that he so loathed to acknowledge?

Trying to keep his voice steady, he asked them to leave. He could not stand to feel so powerless any more. It was unnatural and he needed to rid himself of it. Callam stood up and motioned to the girl, who did not move.

“Who are you, Tom Riddle?” She whispered.

Riddle kept his expression cold. She didn’t say anything more, but got up and left, sparing no more glances for him.


“That was a bad idea.”

“What? You’re telling me you wouldn’t have done the same thing?”

Aoife and Callam were walking back to their recently vacated seats, at the other end of the Hall.

“It’s Christmas Eve, Callam! He’s on his own!”

“He’s always on his own!” Callam retorted angrily.

“Why are you saying this? You know that’s not how we should treat others.” Aoife stopped and looked at him. He looked down, ashamed.

“I know. I’m sorry. I just … I wanted to spend today with you.”

 Aoife’s expression softened, and they sat down in silence. The Hall was growing dark, but lights were glittering all around the room from various floating lights, positioned inside the twelve Christmas trees, hanging from streamers and nestled in branches of mistletoe. Aoife looked up, admiring the beauty of it all, and felt something warm cover her hand.

She looked down, and saw that Callam had taken her hand. Her stomach jumping to somewhere in the region of her throat, she looked up again, unsure of what exactly this bold - but not altogether unwanted - motion meant. Her eyes rested on a Christmas tree branch inches above his head, on which was pinned a sprig of mistletoe. Swallowing hard, she dropped her eyes to Callam’s. She felt giddy and reckless, a feeling she had not experienced in this quantity before. His face was half in shadow, but she saw him blink a few times, as if steeling himself to do something.

“Aoife …” His voice sounded dry. Aoife forced herself to continue looking directly in his eyes.


He leant towards her. She couldn’t say she wasn’t expecting it, but as their lips collided she felt momentarily stunned. Callam pulled away, not looking her in the eye.

“I’m sorry, I …”

“Don’t apologise,” Aoife smiled, and cupped his face in her hands. He looked back at her, and for a long moment they just stared into each others’ eyes. It was hard to tell who moved towards who, but the next thing Aoife knew was that her hands were in his hair: she was kissing him, and he was kissing her, and when they finally pulled away, slightly abashed but strangely confident, she knew this would be one Christmas she would never forget.


The Castle was silent. Of course it was silent: it was early – very early – on Boxing Day, and who was going to be up now, when they’d not gone to bed until the early hours of this morning anyway? But there was someone. One young man was noiselessly pacing the corridor on the third floor. He was listening keenly for any sound of the caretaker, and sudden footsteps made his heart skip a beat. He let out an audible sigh of relief as he saw who it was. The Gryffindor smiled, tucking her long blonde hair behind her ears as she did so. Looking up at him through her eyelashes, she took a step towards him.

“Hi,” she whispered.


“You’re up early.”

Aoife yawned. She wasn’t entirely sure why she had got up, as she was still very tired after only a few hours sleep, but she had woken up, and realised there was not much point in staying in bed when there was so much to do. Christmas was over now, after all.

“May I join you?”

“Go ahead,” Aoife smiled, and her stomach seemed to flip over as Callam sat down on the sofa next to her.

“Did you enjoy your Christmas?” He asked, taking her hand and playing absentmindedly with her fingers.

“Yes, it was lovely,” Aoife replied, trying to ignore the prickling feeling spreading through the hand he held in his grasp.

“You should spend next Christmas at the Castle, too,” Callam mused, and then looked directly at her,” I liked sharing it with you.”

“Yes, I enjoyed it too,” Aoife said softly, and blushed. It was only a small hint, but it was the first mention from either of them about what had happened the previous day, and Aoife still didn’t know what to make of it.

Callam grinned, and then sighed.

“It’s all back to work today then, I assume?”

Aoife nodded, raising her eyebrows dejectedly. “Us Prefects have a lot to do!”

Callam groaned sympathetically. “Tell me about it?” He grinned. “Actually, don’t. I’ve had nothing but in-depth reports on the hard life of being a Prefect from CJ … But on a different note, have you seen the notice board?”

“What is it, more Prefect duties?” Aoife sighed.

“No,” Callam corrected her, “Hogsmeade on the weekend of the ninth coming up.”

“Oh.” Aoife blushed. She wasn’t sure what he expected her to say.

“You’ll come with me?”

Aoife looked up sharply. She saw him look slightly embarrassed, but sensed the seriousness under the question.

“Of course,” she replied. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The two of them went down to the Great Hall soon after their conversation, intending to help with the clearing of the Christmas decorations and the re-assembly of the House Tables. It was only when they entered and saw that it had all been done that they realised their mistake.

Callam burst out laughing.

“You’d think, in a school for witches and wizards, we would assume magic would be used … all the time?”

“You’d think,” Aoife agreed, grinning. They took their place at the Ravenclaw table, and started helping themselves to the otherwise untouched food already present there.

“This year has gone incredibly fast,” Callam commented conversationally.

“Yes,” Aoife agreed thoughtfully, “But from now until the end of our seventh year we’ve almost got all exams, so it’s not surprising, really…”

Callam stopped eating. “I can’t believe I’ve never asked you this before!” He exclaimed.

 “What?” Aoife replied, confused.

“What would you like to do when you leave school?” Callam asked, putting down his fork and looking at her intently.

“Well,” Aoife said carefully, “I’d ideally like to be a Healer, but I doubt that’ll happen.”

“Why?” Callam asked, interested. “I didn’t even know you were interested in being a Healer. I’m an awful friend…”

“Don’t say that,” Aoife said sharply, and then she sighed. “It takes years of training to become a Healer. I’m interested, yes, but I really don’t know if I’d have the commitment or the patience…”

“Of course you would!” Callam said encouragingly. “Go for your dreams!”

“What are your dreams then?” she retorted shortly.

 Callam didn’t reply.

“Tell me!” Aoife said playfully. “You’re not embarrassed, are you?”

“Well,” Callam said slowly, “I want to be a Quidditch play – hey, don’t laugh!”

“You don’t even play!”

“That’s why it’s so embarrassing!” Callam smiled grudgingly. “I’ve always been so scared to try out. I used to play with my brother at home all the time, but I never thought I’d be good enough to try for the team … I couldn’t stand being turned down.”

“You’re never going to get anywhere with that attitude!” Aoife exclaimed, and reddened when she realised her attitude had been exactly the same.

Callam grinned. “So we’re in the same boat really, then?”

“Yes,” Aoife agreed. “But remember we don’t really have to decide now…”

”We haven’t exactly got much time!” Callam reminded her. “We’ve chosen our OWL subjects already,…I’m assuming you did choose according to becoming a Healer?”

“Yes,” Aoife sighed, “I thought I may as well. But what I’m going to do really, I don’t know…”

“What interests you about becoming a Healer?” Callam asked.

“I don’t know, really, I just love the idea of spending my life saving others’.”

“Yes,” Callam said thoughtfully, “I know what you mean. I’ve never been able to handle the sight of blood though, really, so I’d never be able to do that!”

“What about you? Why would you like to play Quidditch professionally?”

“I just love the game. I know it’d never work, though, I’d have to have been playing for years, really, to make it. I’ll probably just do it as an aside to something else I want to do.”

“What else do you want to do?”

“I don’t know! That’s the problem. My parents always told me that if I picked subjects I wanted to do, I would end up doing a job I love. But how can that be, if the job I love needs qualifications I do not have?” Callam said wretchedly.

“Your parents are right, you know,” Aoife said fairly, “Even if you do end up doing the wrong subjects, you can go back and do another few years of schooling, or whatever you need. If I’m ever to become a Healer, there’s going to be so much more additional learning for me. We just have to be prepare to do whatever it takes to reach our dreams, I suppose.”

Callam was silent. Then he gave a soft laugh.

“You never fail to make me feel better, Aoife Murphy.”

Aoife smiled back, and their eyes locked. It was only when the bell rang that they realised how long they had spent talking, bonding, and swapping dreams.