TITLE: MY ONE CONSTANT
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter. This is a product of my overactive imagination and utter boredom.
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It was nearing dusk. A cool wind ruffled his hair as he apparated to a deserted lane in the outskirts of the village. The sound of children's laughter drifted over to him. The kids were celebrating Halloween in the little village. He turned his back to the village and walked along a downtrodden path. He could have apparated directly to his destination but he needed some time to organise his thoughts.
The others hadn't gone through what he had and so they didn't understand his decision to come there. His ideas had clashed with theirs from the very beginning. They had always thought that he had hated him, but that was not true. He only hated what he had become, not who he was. After the war, they had wanted to behead and burn his body in public. To boost the people's morale, they said. He had put his foot down and insisted on burying him. They had argued but hey, when you are the wizarding world's Saviour, they have got to agree to your whims. So, he had had a funeral with only him and her in attendance. This was another reason as to why he loved her. She respected him. She recognised him for what he had been- a powerful wizard with big dreams who went about achieving them in a disastrous manner.
It had been seven years since the Battle of Hogwarts. Six years since he completed his education. Five years since he had been elected as the youngest Minister of Magic, ever. Five years since the wizarding world had truly started improving. Magical orphanages had been established. The Muggle technology had been integrated with magic while the secrecy about Magic had been reinforced ten times stronger. The Old Ways and the celebrations of traditional events such as Samhain and Yule have been encouraged. Magic, which had been slowly dying this past century, was being rejuvenated. He had also successfully integrated the Magical creatures into the new era with little effort, as he had their gratitude for saving Magic from withering away. England's Magical Community was emerging as a strong power internationally with several countries following their lead.
He had finally achieved a peace, a sort of calm, with himself. After having been haunted by his memory for the past seven years, it was finally time to say good bye, to let him go. He had thrown himself into the work of rebuilding the backward wizarding community, every waking hour, to prevent from thinking about him. Not that it worked, as his dreams or nightmares were still filled with him. So that day, on Samhain, the day when the spirit world is in closest contact with the living world, he decided to visit that place.
Ron and Hermione tried their best to dissuade him. He is not worth it, Harry, they said. He killed your parents. He doesn't deserve your visit. Only when his fiancée, sweet Ginny, with her fiery spirit and steadfast understanding had told them to let it go did they shut up. She sent him off with a lingering kiss and a loving smile.
So, here he was, standing in front of the open gates. The archway above those gates read, Little Hangleton Cemetery. He walked inside with his right hand in his pocket, clutching the Elder wand. The evening rays of the sun glinted of the Resurrection stone embedded in the ring he wore in his left hand. He had left his trusted Invisibility Cloak at home. Walking gracefully with the light of the setting sun throwing his chiseled face to hard focus, his hooded cloak swishing with his every movement, the hood thrown behind, he looked every bit a Lord. He was the holder of the title, the Master of Death, after all. At the beginning he had denied himself the title, but after seeing the many Magical Beings such as the centaurs, the goblins, the Veela and such acknowledging him with utmost reverence as the Master of Death, when he was sure that he had never told another living soul about it, he realized that this was a gift from Magic herself and fully accepted it.
He was brought out of his musings to see that he had arrived at his destination. There, opposite to the statue of a guardian angel, was a grave made of pure black marble. The writing on it was golden. He stood in front of the grave.
TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE.
I AM LORD VOLDEMORT
There is no good or evil, only power and those too weak to seek it.
On the top right of the tombstone was the Dark Mark.
He stood staring at it for a moment. He knew that the Resurrection stone would be glowing. He could feel the power gathering around him but he did not look around.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle," he whispered softly. "Heir of Slytherin, Head Boy, a genius and an insane psychopath, Lord Voldemort. You were brilliant, charismatic and handsome. You could have taken the wizarding world by storm. You could have become the Minister of Magic. You could have changed the world. But you didn't. Instead you became a mad dictator."
A cold breeze washed over him.
"You know," he continued. "When I met you in my second year in the Chamber of Secrets, you told me we were alike. I didn't want to listen to you. But I never forgot what you said. And when Dumbledore showed me his memories of your childhood, I actually started believing what you had said. Dumbledore wanted me to hate you, but I related and I understood. You were a survivor just like I was.
"I am sorry that you suffered in the orphanage. I am sorry that you chose to hate, rather than let go, like I did. I am sorry that you lost faith in love. I am sorry you built a fortress around yourself so that you will never get hurt. I am sorry that you never got to realise your dreams. I can understand why you wanted immortality. You were afraid, weren't you, Tom? You were scared that you might die before you got to reform the world for the better. But you went about it the wrong way, didn't you? You tore your soul apart, an abominable act against the very essence of Magic, and lost your mind, your sanity as the price."
He took in a shuddering breath and looked up at the sky. He did not know why it felt important to pour out his thoughts in this still graveyard, but he did anyway.
"You see, Tom, it was because of you my parents are dead. You killed them. And because of that, I was sent to live in my personal hell on earth, with the Dursleys. I was treated as their house elf. Till I turned eleven, my room was the cupboard under the stairs. Until the age of four, I thought that my name was Freak or Boy. I should hate you by all rights. But in my eyes, you redeemed yourself for that, because it was your piece of soul in me which provided me the comfort when I needed. During the nights, in the darkness of the cupboard, I felt the phantom touch with the semblance of a hug. You were the one who soothed me when I was hurt. You were the one who held me when I cried. When I was lonely, you were always there for me. Even during the final battle, when I walked to my death, you were with me, you stood by my decisions. You gave yourself up so that I may leave the King's Cross station and return to the living. Do you have any idea how empty I felt when I came back? It was like I had lost a part of myself. I don't think I ever got over it."
He paused here.
"Anyway, I did what you had wanted to do. I revolutionized the world. No child will suffer the same fate as we did. No one will grow up without love or care."
He turned away from the tombstone and around. There, behind him, was the translucent form of Tom Riddle wearing his Hogwarts uniform. He looked as he did in the Chamber of Secrets but without the air of arrogance. As he watched, Tom Riddle appeared to become more opaque. His clear sky blue eyes were warm and solemn as he gazed upon his once mortal enemy. He appeared to be deep in thought.
Harry cleared his throat.
"Tom."
Something flashed across Tom's face but it was gone before Harry could decipher it. Tom tilted his head.
"Harry." His voice was smooth and clear.
They both stood there looking at each other quietly. The silence was not oppressing nor was it unnerving. It was comfortable. It reminded Harry of the times when he sought comfort from the Horcrux without even knowing what it was. It gave him a sense of belonging and for the first time since the Battle of Hogwarts he felt complete.
Several long minutes later, Harry asked curiously, "What is it like? The afterlife?"
Tom took his time in formulating an answer.
"It is different for each person. For some, it is heaven, for others it is an endless abyss. It could be the purgatory or hell."
"What about you?"
Tom drew in a shuddering breath.
"I reunited with all the pieces of my soul. After that, I had to watch everything I did, every mistake I committed, every family I destroyed, the cities I burnt, the future which could have been had I not annihilated it. It was...it made me feel remorse and guilt for the first ever time." His voice was soft.
Harry nodded. Tom gave him a wry grin.
"I met your parents and your godfathers Black and Lupin."
"Oh?"
"They...forgave me." His voice held disbelief, awe and relief.
Harry stared for a moment and then chuckled. "Of course they did."
Tom smiled.
They remained silent, the quiet broken only by the call of birds as they returned back to their nests.
"You should leave," said Tom, softly. "It is late and your friends and family will be waiting for you."
Harry swallowed.
"Thank you," he said, turning to look at Tom in the eyes. "Thank you for being there for me, for being the only constant in my life, for taking care of me."
Tom looked uncomfortable as though he was not used to being thanked; and considering who he had been once, it was highly possible.
Harry gave a smile which came out as a grimace and turned back to leave.
He had only taken five steps when Tom called him, "Harry!"
He turned to look at him.
Tom's eyes swirled with a plethora of emotions. Harry recognized regret, sadness, pride and affection.
"Thank you for understanding and accepting me. Farewell, little one."
Harry's eyes widened at the endearment which had been whispered in his ears during times of despair and a bright grin broke out on his face.
As he watched, Tom Riddle became translucent and finally vanished.
"Goodbye, brother," he whispered into the still night.
Harry left for his home with a lighter heart and soul.
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Author's Note: So...I didn't get the ending quite right. This fic was actually supposed to have been a morbid one. I wanted to kill off Harry but I really don't understand how this came about. Oh well!
I realize that Tom Riddle is a bit out of character. You have to understand that he had been dead for about seven years. He got back his full soul. He learnt what it is to be forgiven, to be remorseful and in short, he learnt to be human once again. Hence, he appears to be quite free as there is no need to be guarded anymore.
Review if you feel like it.
#DW#