Funny how vulnerable man is to life’s calamities, thought Tom Marvolo Riddle as he fingered Slytherin’s locket, the part of his soul that he wore around his neck.

It was very childish behavior that most, including him, carried into adulthood. Even though he knew that it was already in his possession, he always kept it with him to remind himself that he owned it. Possessiveness was a very human trait.

I need to rise above it, he reflected. But the Horcrux was new, after all. Still fresh from Hephzibah’s murder, or rather “poisoning”, it held his attention whenever his busy mind was not diverted elsewhere.

Tom took advantage of this free moment to think of his journey until now. Only a young man of nineteen, he had already created four Horcruxes: Rowena Ravenclaw’s famous diadem, Marvolo’s treasured ring, Helga Hufflepuff’s cup, and the one that he prized above all: Salazar Slytherin’s family heirloom; the locket.

Along with these “trinkets”, he had gathered several followers as well: Avery, Black, Lestrange… All pureblood families. All Slytherins. And all faithful.

Or so he hoped.

‘Tom,’ drawled someone from behind his chair.

‘Speak, Arcturus.’

‘Tom, what you had asked for has been done.’

‘About my…ah, little tour?’

‘Yes, the tour. You sail for the Indian subcontinent a month from now.’

Tom smiled mirthlessly. ‘With Miss Patil?’

‘Of course.’

‘Good.’

***

A month passed quite quickly, especially since he knew that a very interesting prospect awaited at the end. India had always held his fascination, with its golden skinned, raven haired people and its rich culture; but most particularly, a legend surrounding Salazar Slytherin.

Legend said that Slytherin, after leaving Hogwarts, went to India and lived out the rest of his days there. He became acquainted with its natives and learnt that they worshipped snakes.

It was here that things got interesting. Salazar attracted snakes wherever he went, and they acted on his orders, because, of course, he was a Parselmouth. Snakes laid eggs when he was around, and the eggs hatched faster. He was one of the best madaris, as Indians called snake charmers.

But there was one snake which no one in the little village located in the Thar Desert could control. This snake was called Kalinag, Black Snake, after the mythological creature that battled their god, Krishna, and lost.

But when Slytherin came near it, Kalinag, calmed down and succumbed to his crooning.

The madaris were very happy and their reverence for him knew no bounds. Kalinag was given a cave as a home, where it laid its eggs and where the snakes that hatched from them also lived.

These snakes were as uncontrollable as their ancestor. Wreaking havoc all over the place, they could only be trained by the descendants of a native that Slytherin had trained. Stories of them were told to every Slytherin, and it was courtesy of his friends that he knew this.

Now, a thousand years later, only one descendant of Kalinag remained. Nagini was her name.

And it was Nagini he wanted.

Having such a strong companion would definitely increase his odds of taking over the Ministry and eventually, the wizarding world. And if Nagini was so dangerous, it would be even better to have her as a Horcrux. He could control her, possess her, make her do things that would not be possible for a normal reptile.

And, with Miss Patil as a guide, the journey would surely be interesting. She would be a pleasant companion, even though she would have to be killed in the end. He would be meeting a classmate who was not a Death Eater for the first time in two years. He wondered how to greet her. But then, again, she was merely a tool, to be used and discarded: why should he show manners towards her?

Remembering the rebellious girl that she used to be, he smirked in anticipation as to how he would pull her down a peg or two.

It was with such thoughts that he passed the month before their departure.

‘Good evening, Miss Patil.’ He nodded at the tall woman who climbed up the stairs, her black hair whipping around her face. She looked quite a sight.

‘Evening, Mr. Riddle.’

‘Please, call me Tom, even though I despise the name. Are you ready, then?’

Miss Patil nodded. ‘Call me Anupama. You already knew my name, though, did you not?’

‘As you knew mine. We must now wait until the captain sees fit to start,’ Tom smirked. Anupama merely bounced in the balls of her shoes.

‘I understand, Tom, that you need a guide to show you around Rajasthan and India, in general. You do realize that it is unsafe for you, being British, to be going around with an Indian in these times of trouble?’ she asked.

‘It is in such times that one realizes the usefulness of a Polyjuice Potion. Though you are already fair and seemly enough to pass as English, do you not agree?’

Anupama straightened. ‘Are you trying to imply that Indians are not seemly?’ She snapped. Tom was a bit startled. Did she not realize that he could kill her with a flick of his wand?

He decided to enjoy the show, though. ‘I never said that, woman. Calm yourself!’

‘Don’t you order me around, Tom Riddle! Let me remind you that we were-’

‘In the same year, only you refused to go out with me-’

‘Because I thought you were a right foul-’

‘Silence!’ he hissed, pulling his wand out. Anupama’s brown eyes widened and she stumbled back a few steps. Tom sneered and put his wand back into the pocket of the Muggle trousers he was wearing, coupled with a plain shirt. He knew that he would look good in whatever he wore, so he usually dressed simply.

Anupama was wearing a brown skirt under a lavender shirt. Not that he took note of what others wore, of course; he just happened to be of an observant nature.

‘You shall have to be taught some manners, I see, Anupama,’ he said softly.

She opened her mouth, but then decided to settle for a glare. Tom turned away and surveyed the scene before him; a messy dock full of people who were scurrying around with lanterns held high above their heads so that it all looked like a swarm of fireflies from where they were standing.

‘It is not a very romantic time or setting,’ Anupama commented tentatively. He nodded absently, tugging gently on the chain of his locket.

Noticing Anupama observing his hands attentively, he raised an eyebrow at her, but she did not seem very fazed.

‘That is a- never mind,’ she said.

Tom turned away again as the ship started moving away from the dock. An alarming thought occurred to him and he turned to Anupama yet again. ‘You are not prone to sea sickness, I hope?’

‘Afraid not. And you?’

He did not answer because he did not want her to know that this would be his first ever sea voyage.

‘I’m retiring to bed, are you coming?’

‘Not yet; either way, we have separate cabins: you shall not be disturbed.’

‘Good night, then,’ she called, already halfway across the deck.

‘Good night.’

Tom looked out into the water. The moon, reflected in the black depths, looked like a Sickle that had been the victim of an Enlarging Charm. Not a pretty description, he knew, but then, he never was a poet.

He thought about what he would do for the coming month; that was how long it would take to reach Bombay. From there they would go through the state of Gujarat and into Rajasthan, the desert state. He guessed that he would use the time in between to get on better terms with this Anupama Patil who thought she was so great.

***

The next morning he found her in the lounge, reading a book titled Jane Eyre. Tom sat down in the couch in front of her and rested his left heel on his right knee. She did not acknowledge his presence and went on reading.

Apparently, this Anupama Patil did not know his power, or did not want to know it. His fingers twitching for his wand, he cleared his throat. She still did not lift her eyes.

Slightly annoyed at being ignored thus, he charmed the book shut. Anupama pulled her fingers out just in time and finally graced him with a skeptical look.

‘Thank you, it is a dreadful book.’

‘Good morning to you, too, Anupama. What happens in the end?’

‘Her love interest goes blind. Quite a pathetic ending, if you ask me.’

‘And you consider yourself a high enough authority to express so harsh an opinion?’

‘What are books for, if not to be commented on and discussed so that there can be improvement?’

He smiled. ‘Point to be noted. Have you had your breakfast?’

‘No. As a matter of fact, I was waiting for you. Shall we proceed?’ she replied, standing up.

‘Of course.’ They started walking towards the dining room, not sure what to say.

‘You shall enjoy Rajasthan, I think,’ remarked Anupama finally as they went down the stairs. ‘Lots of snakes. The culture and music, too, is not to be missed. The snake charmers there put up quite a dance. It’s called kaalbeliya. A lot of fun, you’ll find your feet tapping in rhythm, no matter how unappreciative of music you are.’

‘I see. What else is so alluring in Rajasthan?’

‘The weather. Very hot in the mornings and afternoons, and unbearably cold in the evenings. But a warm fire fixes that.’

‘Are we staying in the desert?’ he wondered aloud, slightly worried about the unusual climate. Of course, since they were magical people, the weather could not really affect them.

‘Wherever you wish to stay, of course. The desert could be very interesting.’ She winced.

‘We are staying in the desert.’

Anupama groaned. It was obvious that she would not enjoy their stay. Tom sneered.

It would be very interesting, indeed.

‘Good morning, sir. Good morning, madam,’ the doorman said expressionlessly. He, of course, had been eavesdropping on the conversation, but still had no idea of what had transpired.

‘Good morning,’ Anupama whimpered. Tom merely nodded.

Anupama came rushing out of her room and banged into an attendant. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ she muttered, running along the corridor and towards the library, where Tom was sitting.

All along the way, people were in tightly knit groups, whispering among themselves about the events that had transpired. Not a single soul wasn’t discussing the good news.

She barged into the library and found Tom to be the only person in it.

‘Tom! Did you hear?’

‘I am busy. Can we talk later, please?’

‘Forget your silly books right now! Did you hear?’ she demanded, panting slightly.

‘No.’

‘Dumbledore did it! He defeated Grindelwald! Our Dumbledore! The Transfiguration one!’

The book fell out of his hands. ‘What?’

‘Yes! Can you believe it? Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald! Grindelwald is shut up in his own prison, Nurmengard!’ Anupama exclaimed happily. ‘The wizarding world is free once more!’

Tom did not seem as happy as he should have been. He merely got a strange look on his face, somewhere between triumph and anxiety. ‘I see’ was all he said, though.

‘Do you want to come out? Mr. Bartholomew is treating all of us to drinks!’

‘Ah, of course, if Mr. Bartholomew is in the question,’ he mocked.

Anupama blushed.

It had been two weeks since they had set sail from England, and Anupama had already made a pleasant acquaintance. Mr. John Bartholomew was twenty one years of age, had a large amount of gold in Gringotts, and very good looking: broad shoulders, long brown locks, and blue eyes that resembled the Indian summer sky.

It did not particularly help that Tom had figured out that she was very fond of John. She had accidentally given it away when they were discussing him. Since then, Tom did not tease her about it, but whenever he was mentioned, he just became very sarcastic and mocking.

Well, yes, he teased her. A bit.

‘Come, then!’ she said, rolling her eyes. He got up and followed her outside as she flew past.

Outside, in the bright-not unbearably-morning sun, stood John, bowing when he noticed her.

‘Miss Patil-’

‘Call me Anupama.’

‘Anupama, then-would you and Mr. Riddle care for a drink?’

Anupama looked back at Tom and grinned triumphantly. ‘Shall we, Tom?’

He raised his eyebrows.

Anupama mouthed the word ‘Please’. If Tom displayed some of his contempt of Bartholomew here, all her hopes would be dashed. And she was so fond of John.

Then, Tom smiled-a real smile. ‘Of course.’

Anupama sighed with relief-inwardly, of course. Taking the hand John offered her, she proceeded to start chattering about how great Dumbledore was, and how he had taught her at Hogwarts-

‘You studied in Hogwarts?’ He looked surprised.

‘Why, yes, of course! And you?’

‘Beauxbatons.’

‘Oh! I see. Pardon me for asking, but are your uniforms really baby blue?’

***

Meanwhile, Tom was feeling very ignored. The lovebirds in front of him went on chatting, discussing Shakespeare.

Shakespeare, for Merlin’s sake. Tom snorted. Why did he even care about whom Anupama chatted with? She was merely a tool, a guide; once her job was done, he was going to have to kill her anyways: she would have known too much by then…

‘I say, we completely forgot Mr. Riddle!’ Bartholomew exclaimed, turning back.

He sneered. ‘Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Bartholomew. I am perfectly fine by myself.’

‘Oh, look! We have reached,’ said Anupama hastily, almost dragging Bartholomew to the bar.

Tom couldn’t help but chuckle to himself about how she doted on the man, while he could see right through all the politeness and etiquette. Bartholomew was a complete phony, not a man of Anupama’s intellect. And he knew that Anupama was of a very high intellect-at least, if all her ‘O’s were to be believed. She had also passed her N.E.W.T.s with flying colors: Professors Flitwick and Slughorn adored her. Even Dumbledore was very pleased with her.

Anupama was the first Patil to be in Slytherin; usually it would have been Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. They were never good friends, but Tom was always well informed, thanks to his friends, all of whom she had dated, except for him. He had always wondered why; he was as good looking as Arcturus Black, as much of a teacher’s pet as anybody.

But he had never cared for her anyways. Who would want plain, studious brunette prefect Anupama Patil when they could have the beautiful redhead Quidditch captain Minerva McGonagall?

Sadly, he and Minerva had broken up once she discovered his little group, the Death Eaters. She was very angry, but disappointed as well…

“Tom, a word, if you please.”

“Minerva.”

“Parkinson told me something. Something about you.”

He sighed; he knew what was coming. “The Death Eaters, isn’t it?”

“I never thought it of you, Tom…I don’t think you are the Tom Riddle I knew. You have changed.”

“Minerva-”

“I’m sorry, Tom. We can’t be together now, unless you change your views.”

“Perhaps you can change yours? Minerva, you are the first blood traitor of your family. That is all. Together we can turn the wizarding world around.”

“Dumbledore thinks-”

“Dumbledore may think a lot of things-but it is your choice: to follow a Muggle-loving fool, or someone who is slowly stepping towards eternal glory.”

“As a tyrant? I don’t think so.” She stepped forwards and put a hand on his shoulder. “Tom. What you’re doing is wrong. See the error of your ways before it is too late.”

He shook it off. “I guess this is goodbye, then, Minerva McGonagall.” With a final kiss on her lips-more out of desperation than anything else-he walked away.

Tom stuck his hands into his pockets and started walking slowly, thinking if he really had made a mistake in choosing this path.

But then his ancestor came to his mind. Salazar Slytherin, who fought, who dared to separate himself from his close ones to fight for his beliefs.

Why should Tom rethink his decision for a wayward, stupid witch who was being misled?

Minerva McGonagall was nothing to him, nothing. No one could make him change his beliefs, neither friends, nor family…not that he had any left.

‘Come on, Tom, stop brooding about whatever it is that you are brooding about,’ someone said cheerfully. Of course, the only person who talked to him on this ship in such an audacious manner was Anupama.

‘Have you had your drink? Can we get back to the library?’ he asked impatiently.

Anupama sighed exasperatedly. ‘Yes. Thank you for behaving.’

Making sure to walk three steps ahead of her, he started towards the library, eager to get back to his book. Not that he was actually going to read it now. He had a lot of other things to ponder about.

Finally reaching the huge room, he sat down on the couch where he had been sitting previously and picked the book up. Hamlet, it was called. It was slightly contradictory that he was mocking Anupama and Bartholomew for discussing Shakespeare when he himself rather enjoyed the playwright’s work.

He had not even gotten past the Dramatis Personae when Anupama had come tearing into his privacy.

Dumbledore had defeated Grindelwald…that was a big victory. But that would mean that Dumbledore would get more political power; the Ministry would try to appoint him Minister, the Wizengamot would make him Head Warlock, of course. And an Order of Merlin, First Class, was probably on the way, too.

Dumbledore was gaining more fame, more power, and this meant bad news for Tom. He had to stop this. But how? Dumbledore was already on his way to becoming Headmaster, since Dippet had died.

‘Tom.’

He did not answer her. She had already disturbed him once.

‘Tom.’

‘Yes?’

‘Aren’t-aren’t you happy?’

‘Happy?’ What should he have been happy for? ‘Why, did John ask you to marry him?’

Out of the corner of his eye, Tom could see Anupama’s thin hands curl into fists. When she answered, though, her tone was very polite.

‘No, of course not. I was asking about Grindelwald’s defeat. Aren’t you happy that we will not be subject to his tyranny any more?’

He looked up. ‘Of course I’m happy. Can I go back to my book now?’

‘I guess so.’

Silence elapsed again.

‘Tom.’

‘What now?’

‘Did you-did you open the Chamber of Secrets three years ago?’

Tom’s throat closed up, and he clutched the book so tight that his knuckles turned white. ‘I-no, of course not, woman!’

How did she know? Nobody knew that it was him, and not Rubeus Hagrid that had opened the Chamber of Secrets and killed that girl, Myrtle, or whatever her name was. Who could have told her? Dumbledore suspected him, he knew, but could it be enough to tell a fellow student, even if the student was a prefect?

It had to be Dumbledore. No one else even had a remote inkling of a thought that polite, handsome prefect Tom Riddle could have done something so horrid.

But she knew of the Death Eaters. What was the harm in telling her that he had opened the Chamber of Secrets?

No. He could not say it to her. What would she think of him? A liar, a coward, a cheat, a killer. Certainly not an ideal first impression.

‘I was just asking. I won’t tell anyone, you know,’ she said imploringly.

Hamlet snapped shut sharply and Tom stood up. ‘I did not open the Chamber of Secrets, Anupama,’ he hissed before exiting the room and her uncomfortable presence.

‘Could you repeat what Mr. Riddle did the week before last?’ She knew he was barely suppressing laughter.

She did not find anything funny at all. Tom had been ignoring her since almost two weeks. It was more than a little dangerous to be ignored by a young man who was capable of murder.

‘Almost bit my head off just because I asked him something.’

‘And what did you ask him?’

Anupama took a deep, long sip of her Butterbeer to avoid answering.

Remembering Tom’s furious face, she choked, the liquid grazing her throat. She gulped repeatedly.

Eyes watering, she shook her head. ‘I think he was rather angry that I disturbed him while he was reading. He likes to be left alone.’

John laughed good-naturedly at her plight. ‘Well, well. It would be best, I should think, to steer clear of him for some time!’

‘I suppose so.’ Finally finishing the warm drink, Anupama set the glass down and stood up. ‘Is there nothing to do on this ship?’

‘Unfortunately, no. Except for the dances, and this is afternoon.’

She groaned, not bothering to hide her boredom. They had now spent a month on board. There were still two more weeks to go. What was she going to do till then? Sit around and twiddle her thumbs?

John laughed again. ‘I can understand. But you can always read.’

‘Go to the library where that hothead is sitting? I don’t think so,’ Anupama scowled. She didn’t have any particular desire to be shouted at. And- even though she didn’t like it- she was slightly afraid. After all, they were talking about Tom Riddle here.

‘All the same,’ John persisted. ‘Why don’t we just go and sit there? He’s not going to murder us, is he?’

Sighing, Anupama consented. They set off towards the library, animatedly chatting about the different aspects of Dickens’s writing.

***

‘Great Expectations, of course, is wonderful,’ Anupama said, brown eyes glowing.

John looked at her and smiled, taking in her wonderfully sculpted features. She was charming. He could not understand why Riddle was so rude with her. But then, Riddle had never seemed right in the head.

‘Mr. Bartholomew? John?’

He realised that he had been staring at her. ‘Beg pardon?’

‘I said, what is your opinion on Tom?’

‘Tom? He is rather ungentlemanly, I think, most rude! The way he behaves with you is abominable!’

Anupama cleared her throat. ‘I was speaking of Tom Sawyer.’

He blushed. ‘Oh. I see,’ he said slowly. ‘I like Tom Sawyer. I like it a lot.’

She laughed. Her laugh was throaty and sympathetic. John laughed along with her, laughing at himself for falling head-over-heels in love.

So this was love. So, love did not come gently, but suddenly, materialising into existence without warning. He knew he loved Anupama, and he also know that she was, at least, very fond of him. But their future lay in different fields: he wanted to become a Healer, while her interest lay in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Two people could not be more different- or similar.

For they shared the same likes and dislikes; they both loved Victorian and Shakespearean classics, and despised the Brontë sisters. Both were fonder of the sun than the moon, and both had been prefects.

But there lay differences too: he was Keeper on his Quidditch team, she hated Quidditch.

However, those were mere trifles; they could overcome them. She was nineteen; he was twenty-one, which was only two years of difference. They were both respectable Purebloods, everyone would approve of their marriage. His parents would be overjoyed.

Still- everything did not depend on his decision alone. Anupama was involved, and it depended on her. She might think of it as too fast, she might decline his proposal…there were all sorts of possibilities. The best thing to do would be to wait.

Wait for how long, he did not know. But patience was the key to happiness, was it not? And he would be patient. For all he knew, this could be a passing fancy. Perhaps he would notice some other pretty young lady and fall in love with her, too. He would have to wait.

‘Mr. Bartholomew? The library is this way.’ Anupama was looking at him strangely.

‘Ah. Of course.’

‘Mr. Bartholomew, are you all right? You seem…distracted,’ she said, frowning.

‘Thank you for your concern, Anupama, but I’m quite all right, just a little preoccupied, I guess.’

‘Might I be so bold as to inquire the reason?’

‘I-I was just thinking if there were any vacancies in St. Mungo’s recently,’ he lied swiftly.

‘I see. Well, after you,’ she said cheerfully.

‘Mr. Riddle is not going to murder you, you know,’ he said over his shoulder.

‘You never know,’ she muttered, following him.

‘Maybe you should apologise,’ he whispered when she caught up with him. At this time of the afternoon, most passengers were in the lounge, mingling with each other, so- as usual- Riddle was the only one.

‘Of course not, why should I?’ Anupama sounded defensive.

‘Just a suggestion.’

Riddle looked up, then seeing who it was, went back to reading Julius Caesar.

John rolled his eyes and went straight to the Charms portion of the library, while Anupama hung around behind him.

‘Anupama Patil,’ he whispered indignantly. ‘Tom is not going to kill you in front of me!’

‘I’m not afraid!’

‘And you’re not interested in Charms, either!’

She snorted. ‘Fine, I’ll just leave you to yourself, then.’ With that, she turned on her heel and stomped her way to History.

He sighed and leaned against the bookcase, closing his eyes. Anupama could be so immature sometimes. Pulling out a thin book covered with red leather, he opened it and started reading.

Suddenly, he heard a soft voice singing a song in an unfamiliar language. It was sweet and melodious, and he automatically stood up and started walking towards the origin of the music.

It was Anupama, singing under her breath while thumbing through a pile of books.

John sat down beside her. ‘You have an amazing voice,’ he said softly.

She looked up and raised her eyebrows. ‘Are you speaking to me?’

‘Oh, don’t be absurd. What do the words mean?’

Her expression softened into a smile. ‘It’s about the feelings of a gypsy woman when it rains in her village after years of draught. She’s singing and dancing, waiting…

‘Waiting for her beloved to return home from battle,’ Anupama finished, her voice almost inaudible.

He noticed- with some disconcert- tears in her eyes.

‘Why does the song sadden you?’

‘It’s not the song. War is brewing, John. The Indians are getting angrier. The Indian wizards are rebelling, and the British wizards are putting up a strong defence. Gandhiji is still steadfast in his method of nonviolence. Nobody is safe anymore. Neither me, nor Tom.’ She pulled out the newspaper and showed him the headlines.

[B]Indians demand independence, Gandhi still in jail [/B]

He didn’t know what to say. It was true. No one was safe. ‘You don’t have to do this, Anupama. You can go back to Britain. Tom cannot force you into anything!’

‘You don’t understand. Tom is gaining power in Britain. To cross him would mean the murder of my family. I couldn’t bear that.’

‘But-’

‘No, John. I am going through with this. I know where my loyalties lie. No matter how much I despise it, I have to do my job; if not for my sake, then for my family.’ She stood up and pushed the books away.

He got to his feet and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I… I can’t let you risk your life out there, Anupama.’

He knew what was about to happen.

Tom threw Julius Caesar down on the table and walked out of the library.