For the longest time, I wasn't even sure myself that I was going to write this, but as you can see I couldn't resist the temptation. ;) As the summary says, this is a companion piece to the AEP trilogy, and it will contain eighteen missing scenes from that universe that I didn't get to include in the original fics for whatever reason. You can read that trilogy without reading this, but I'd advise reading that before reading this one! Just a suggestion. :P
It starts just before Danielle and Tom first meet, and will continue all the way up to the year 1965, when Will graduates from Hogwarts. The first four entries take place during the time of An Exquisite Pain; the next four take place during Dancing With Time; the two after that take place during The Fate's Illusion; and the final eight occur after TFA's epilogue.
Also, spoilers abound for all three stories here, so please finish those fics before you begin this one! I hope you enjoy it. :D
September 1942
Tom Riddle sat perfectly still, exuding an air of power even in the deserted compartment, face impassive and his fingers stroking the handle of his wand. He was already dressed in his Hogwarts uniform, his new Prefect badge glittering on his chest. The first meeting of the year was in ten minutes, and although he did not intend to be late, it would not start without him despite his status as a new Prefect.
Power was an indescribably useful advantage.
Sensing movement at the compartment door, his dark blue eyes flickered over to the pretty, brown-haired girl who had just bounded inside and perched on the seat across from him. "Hello, Tom," Olive Hornby purred, leaning forward and smiling widely at him. The scent of her perfume had quickly spread throughout the entire compartment, and Tom fought the urge to curse her, keeping his tone as polite as possible as he replied, "Good morning, Miss Hornby. Are you looking forward to your new duties as Prefect?"
Olive nodded enthusiastically. "Of course," she exclaimed, but her words were as artificial as her eyelashes. "But I am most excited about the person whom I'll be sharing the duties with. I've always wanted to get to know you better, Tommy."
Tom didn't even grace her with a response, aside from a slight curling of his lip at being referred to as "Tommy"; he hadn't been called that since he was three years old, and only by Mrs Cole. Cursing Olive Hornby would not be satisfying enough for him. Without another word, he stood up and left the compartment, leaving her staring open-mouthed after him.
He hadn't gotten halfway across the train when he was greeted by another, slightly less irritating Slytherin, the always good-natured Alphard Black. "Riddle, mate," Alphard said cheerfully, grinning easily at him. "I should have known you would become a Prefect."
"It did not come as a surprise, I assure you," Tom answered dryly, giving him an automatic, charming smile, before sweeping past him and continuing on down the hall, seized by a sudden surge of dizziness.
Alphard stared open-mouthed at his retreating figure for a moment before shrugging and slipping into his own compartment where Alyssa and Dylan MacDougal were diving into the candy they'd bought from the trolley. Dylan grinned easily at him and Alyssa's cheeks turned slightly pink when he entered, but neither of them seemed to have noticed his short interlude with Tom.
Not thirty seconds later, the door swung open again and Olive Hornby stuck her head in, a scowl on her face. "Why were you talking to Tom?" she demanded of Alphard.
He blinked in confusion. "Er, I was just saying hello…"
"Is that not allowed anymore?" Dylan chimed in.
Olive glared at him. "Shut up, MacDougal."
Alyssa stood up, her small form a surprisingly formidable sight and her hair crackling with magic, indignant at her twin being insulted. "Don't you have first-years to jinx?" she inquired, her tone dangerously calm.
The other girl narrowed her eyes and tossed her head back defiantly. "Well, at least I'm a Prefect," Olive bragged, causing Alyssa and Dylan to stare dumbfounded at her before she flounced out of the compartment, the door slamming shut behind her.
She caught up with him at the end of the corridor, grabbing his hand and pulling him back, her nails digging into his skin. Tom could feel his façade beginning to crack, and he snapped something about rejoining her in the compartment later before he pulled his arm out of her grasp and walked through the nearest door, finding himself in a dusty storage room, where cardboard boxes were stacked up against three of the walls. An old, disused sink and mirror hung on the far wall, and Tom nonverbally cast Lumos before walking over to the mirror, noticing straight away that his eyes had briefly flashed red.
He splashed cold water on his face in an attempt to gain control again, his knuckles as white as the porcelain sink. He was furious at himself for letting his disgust of Olive Hornby ruin him like this. The knowledge that he would have to spend the next two years as her fellow Prefect repulsed him beyond belief. When he opened the Chamber of Secrets, Tom decided, she would be his first victim.
Without warning, he broke out into a fit of coughing, his hand coming away from his mouth red. Tom pushed down the first stirrings of fear, a shameful weakness, and stuck his fingers under the water, watching the blood swirl away down the drain. The past summer had been a particularly bad one for the curse, but if all went according to plan he would not have to deal with it for much longer.
Tom waited until his eyes were back to their normal blue and the dizziness had abated before leaving the room, as composed as ever and this time with a triumphant smirk on his face. In the end, he would be the one to come away victorious.
He hadn't told Olive there was a Prefect meeting.
November 1942
The second she walked into the Potions classroom, Danielle knew it wasn't going to be an ordinary lesson. Slughorn was bustling around the dungeon, his enormous stomach bobbing in front of him and his walrus mustache quivering with excitement. The desks were all pushed aside to make room for a large, bubbling cauldron, out of which was wafting a delicious scent. Danielle inhaled deeply and for a moment, she was back at home again, Mrs Bailey baking bread in the kitchen and her bent over a fresh piece of parchment and a new book—
"Merlin, that's amazing," Dylan breathed from beside her, and Danielle sadly opened her eyes as she was brought back to the present.
"Gather round, class!" Slughorn called as the Slytherins and Ravenclaws—Danielle eyed their blue robes with longing—filed into a circle, everyone commenting on the heavenly smell.
Danielle was standing between Alyssa and Dylan, wishing that her arm wasn't quite so close to his, as he kept blushing and avoiding her gaze. She felt a prickling on the back of her neck, and didn't need to check to know that Riddle was watching her. Fighting back her usual wave of disgust, and a curious jolt in the pit of her stomach that she interpreted as fear, she stared straight ahead, staring blindly at Slughorn through the haze.
"Now, can anyone tell me what potion this is?" Slughorn asked, but everyone knew who he was really addressing. There was only one person he would ask.
"It is Amortentia, sir," Riddle said smoothly, his voice closer to Danielle than she would have liked. "The most powerful love potion in existence."
"Infatuation potion, my dear boy!" Slughorn chuckled. "There is a vast difference—but I wouldn't expect you to know that at your age!"
Or ever, Danielle thought.
"—But five points to Slytherin all the same." Slughorn surveyed the row of rapt faces, looking pleased. "What do you smell, Tom?"
There was a curious expression on Riddle's face as he stared at the vat of Amortentia, his eyes blank. "Nothing, sir."
Danielle honestly wasn't surprised—the only thing he loved was probably himself—but Slughorn blinked several times, taken off guard, before he continued his lecture, squinting now and then sideways at Riddle as if expecting him to change his answer. "It has the ability to make the drinker utterly infatuated with its giver, and this altered state is therefore extremely dangerous. Amortentia is currently prohibited by every magical government in every country. We are going to attempt to brew it today—I have obtained the Headmaster's permission—and I daresay that none of you shall be able to do it completely perfectly, thus rendering the potion harmless—except for perhaps Mr Riddle. Whoever gets the closest will be awarded fifty points to their House and a potion of their choice from my private stores—barring this one, of course! You will find the instructions on page three hundred and ninety-four of your textbooks. You have one hour—good luck!"
The class scrambled to action at once, and while Slughorn reprimanded Olive Hornby for her effort to scoop up some Amortentia with her own cauldron, Danielle got to work. She was only half-heartedly slicing up beetles and stirring four times counterclockwise after each insect was added, knowing that she would never be able to get the potion exactly right. It kept hissing and bubbling at inopportune moments, but luckily she could see that Alyssa and Dylan weren't doing much better. Alyssa's potion had turned the exact shade of her hair and smelled strongly of cat sick, while Dylan's was shooting up at random into the faces of passerby, including Olive's, much to Danielle's delight. Across the room, Riddle was completely focused on his work, but Danielle thought she glimpsed a frustrated expression on his face. Trying not to appear too vindictive, she glanced back down at her concoction, where a single bone floated aimlessly on top of the liquid.
"Clara, why did you put a bone in your potion?" Alphard Black asked, peering over her shoulder. He frowned at her, his friendly face morphing into one of confusion.
"Er, I didn't," Danielle said truthfully. They looked at each other for a moment before both burst out laughing, Danielle feeling better than she had in a very long time.
After an hour had passed, Slughorn began to examine the potions, ending with Riddle as usual. Although the bone had mysteriously disappeared from Danielle's potion, it had turned a rather alarming shade of brown and was so thick that it was impossible to stir. Slughorn only glanced at hers, seeming horrified, before moving onto Dylan, where there was a brief but amusing interlude as the contents of his cauldron launched themselves at Slughorn, causing him to Vanish the entire concoction.
He reached Riddle last, a visibly eager expression on his face. But when Slughorn staggered back, choking, the entire class rushed over to see what had happened. Riddle's potion was black and completely still, showing no signs of frothing or fizzing. A terrible smell wafted from it, even worse than Alyssa's had been, so that Danielle had to cover her nose with her sleeve to keep from inhaling it. Riddle himself was glaring down at it, his pale hands clenched into fists and his expression furious. Slughorn looked shocked, and hurried away from Riddle's cauldron without a word. All in all, it resembled toxic sludge, and Danielle bit her lip so hard to keep from giggling that it started to bleed.
The House points and the prize potion ended up being awarded to a spotty Ravenclaw boy who looked stunned at besting Tom Riddle, and ran out of the dungeon before Slughorn could change his mind. The other students were whispering about Riddle's failure—and such a spectacular failure it had been—and Danielle found herself reliving the wonderful moment at dinner that night with Dylan and Alyssa.
"Did you see his face?" she snorted, shaking her head as she sipped a goblet of pumpkin juice. "He looked like he wanted to force-feed it to everyone. That wasn't a love potion, it was a hatred potion! Slughorn should have made him drink it—"
"Good evening, Miss Ashford," a disturbingly familiar voice said from behind her. Danielle slowly turned around to see that Riddle himself was standing next to her.
"Hello, Riddle," she mumbled, sinking down in her seat, completely mortified. Alyssa and Dylan both looked sympathetic, and the three of them watched Riddle continue down the Slytherin table.
What happened to him never eating at mealtimes? Danielle thought grumpily as she put down her fork and goblet, her appetite disappearing along with him.
Under no circumstances was she going to Prefect duty that night.
January 1943
Danielle watched the sun slowly sink over the horizon from the picture windows in the Prefects' common room, her legs curled up in the high-backed armchair she was sitting on and her chin resting on her knees. The light reflecting on the glistening snow hurt her eyes, but she stared blankly across the grounds as though mesmerized. Her mind, however, was in turmoil. She couldn't stop thinking about the way Riddle had looked in the hospital wing, a sickly grey sheen to his skin and his hand clenched tightly in a fist. She knew she oughtn't to be worried about him, and to be more worried about herself, but she couldn't shake the anxiety from her mind.
Someone cleared their throat quietly from behind her, and Danielle immediately whirled around, her hand flying to her wand when she saw that Riddle was standing by the door, his tall form silhouetted in the dying light. "Good evening, Miss Ashford," he announced, and walked toward her, his hands clasped behind his back and looking as much like a dark angel as ever. But Danielle forced such a silly comparison out of her mind and glared at him, not daring to remove her hand from her wand as he stopped in front of her.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, not even bothering to hide her accusatory tone. "How did you escape from the hospital wing?"
Riddle arched his eyebrows. "I have ways," he said in that infuriating, arrogant tone that Danielle loathed so much. Before she could snap back a sarcastic retort, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the note she had left on his bedside table, now neatly folded. "I came here to ask you exactly why you wrote me this note."
Danielle wasn't sure what answer he was looking for. "It's an apology," she said slowly. Had he even read it?
"I am aware of that," Riddle replied, the muscles in his jaw working. "But have I not already told you that it is not your fault? Must I explain once again?"
Instead of answering, Danielle simply stared at him, deciding that the best course of action was not to do anything at all. She was suddenly aware that her hands had moved from her knees to the arms of the chair, and her nails were digging almost painfully into the fabric. She slowly loosened her grip, but didn't look away from Riddle, who appeared quietly exasperated at her lack of a response. "As your memory appears to be failing you, I will tell you that—"
"I know what you said," Danielle snapped, more harshly than she intended. "My question is, what is Dippet going to do to you now that he knows?"
Now it was Riddle's turn to pause, and his voice was emotionless as he answered, "He will presumably send me to St Mungo's. In his mind, I am a danger to students and will most likely harm one of them if I am not closely monitored."
Danielle had to fight the sudden urge to laugh; if only Dippet knew the whole truth. "And you're just going to sit back and let that happen?"
"I have no other choice."
"Liar," she half-teased, feeling her mouth quirk upwards in a brief grin. How could she be amused at a time like this? "You're going to find a way to stop that from happening."
Riddle blinked, and even she was almost taken in by his act. "I can do nothing, Miss Ashford."
Danielle was feeling impossibly playful, and she wondered what had gotten into her. "Like I just said, you're a liar, Tom Riddle." She was oddly confident, and she had no idea why. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he wouldn't dare attack her in a place like this, where one of the other Prefects could walk in at any moment.
Riddle looked stonily down at her, his expression betraying nothing. "I daresay you will have another Prefect soon. Perhaps Mr MacDougal will be appointed next."
She thought of Dylan's kiss earlier that day, the feel of his lips against hers, and her stomach twisted in something that was almost like revulsion. "Dylan is far too careless to be a Prefect," Danielle said softly, and prayed that it was true. She liked Dylan very much, but she had never wanted to be anything more than close friends with him.
"And you are not?" Was that a hint of a teasing tone in Riddle's voice? Startled, Danielle met his eyes again.
"No," she said in the gravest voice she could muster. It was then she realized just how close their faces were—how close their bodies were—and she could feel the warmth radiating off his skin; nothing at all like the ice-cold monster that she envisioned Voldemort as being.
Voldemort. No matter how charming Riddle was, no matter how handsome, she could never forget the fact that he was destined to be Voldemort, the most evil wizard who had ever existed. It was impossible for him to be anything but Voldemort. Fate had laid out his path for him long before Danielle was even born, and there was nothing she could do to change that. "I—I guess I'd better go," she said, abruptly standing up and stepping away from him. He took a step back as well, and Danielle ran her hand through her hair in an unsuccessful attempt to distract herself from the intensity of his gaze. "And…maybe you should go back to the hospital wing. You'll get into a lot of trouble if Madam Cutteridge finds you missing."
Riddle nodded, although the movement seemed mechanical, almost distracted. "Good night, Miss Ashford," he told her, and Danielle turned to leave, but something stopped her. She stared across the room at the fire crackling in the grate.
"One more thing," she added recklessly, pivoting around to face him.
Now Riddle was the one looking away from her, out the window. The sun had almost completely vanished, and the room was rapidly becoming bathed in darkness. The light of the dancing flames was reflected in his bright blue eyes, and Danielle forced herself to avert her gaze lest she stare at him like an idiot. "I might not be allowed to call you Tom, but you can call me Clara."
His eyes flickered up towards her again, and Danielle grimaced, feeling warmth rise up in her face that had nothing to do with the fire. Merlin, had she seriously just said that? The heat must be getting to her.
Riddle regarded her wordlessly, seeming almost as taken aback as she was. Before Danielle could say anything else incriminating, she turned on one heel and fled the room, blushing madly for the rest of the evening.
March 1943
Danielle sat cross-legged on her four-poster bed in the Druri Inn, her dark curls falling over her face as she stared down at the broken shard of the Box of Desire for the umpteenth time. She knew, logically, that it was more than likely Tom was never returning, that he was off in the wilderness somewhere letting the curse control him, but a small, pervasive part of her made it a ritual to stare at his face in the mirror every day. She let her eyes rove over his form as she had never been able to do when he was physically present, lingering on his cold blue eyes, his pale skin with spidery veins weaving just under it, throbbing with life, his dark hair framing his forehead…her heart stopped for a moment before it started back to life, and Danielle hated herself for being so taken by him.
She tossed the mirror aside, as she did every evening when she realized how pathetic she was being, letting it hit the wall with a dull crack and flopping back onto her pillows, now turning her gaze to the ceiling. Her clothes reeked of coffee, but she didn't have the strength to take a shower, and she wasn't hungry enough to go down to dinner. The walk from the café back to the inn every day was long and monotonous, but at least she had Marigona to talk to. She didn't like having too much time to herself anymore; she didn't want to be alone with her thoughts.
There was a muffled noise from outside, just below her window—the crunching of leaves. Glad for a distraction, Danielle swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, squinting out the darkened glass at the street below, dimly lit by lamps. At first, she could only see her pale reflection—but then her eyes landed on a dark shape moving across the grass. She was about ready to dismiss it as an animal and go back to her brooding, but it stopped and turned its head up toward her, and Danielle realized that it was human. In fact, it was a familiar human. Danielle's heart leapt; she would recognize those piercing eyes anywhere, or that black, black hair—
Tom, she thought, and moved to open the window, or turn around and race downstairs to meet him—she wasn't sure which. She felt alive, sparking with energy in the way she hadn't felt in over a month. But just as she was getting ready to call out to him, the figure looked away and melted into the shadows, not before Danielle had the chance to see his robes properly, which were patchy and worn, nothing at all like the ones Tom would wear, and upon closer inspection the shape of his face was less angular, and he wasn't as tall as Tom. Numb with disappointment, Danielle sank back down onto her bed, realizing that Tom would never be that loud if he was trying to stay hidden. He was noiseless and would never make the mistake of stepping on a branch to alert her to his presence. She had confused him with someone else entirely. What did that say about her? Moreover, what did it say about her sanity?
Danielle picked up the shard of broken mirror again, and cried out as it dug into the palm of her hand, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. But she barely noticed the pain; she was staring at Tom's face, which was smirking at her as if he knew exactly what she had done. In a sudden surge of anger, she threw the mirror down, hearing it clatter to the floor, and buried her face in the pillows—hating Tom for dragging her into this entire mess and then leaving her, but most of all hating herself.
July 1943
Danielle loved working at Flourish & Blotts. She loved spending hours among the old, dusty books, secluding herself on the chair behind the front desk—or, if the shop was too busy, on the stepladder—poring over the text and just inhaling the scent of parchment. It was times like these when she understood why she'd originally been placed in Ravenclaw.
Her manager, Irvin Aldwinkle, was taking the day off for reasons yet unknown—although Danielle suspected it had something to do with his heavily pregnant wife—and so she and the other staff members were left to handle the shop by themselves. It wasn't a very difficult task, as luckily the shop wasn't very busy, and she still found the time to steal off and do some reading by herself.
Confident that her coworkers were handling things well enough on their own, she barely glanced up when she heard the bell above the door ring. "Clara!" a voice called out, and Danielle reluctantly put her book aside to see Muriel Weasley waving her over to where a familiar, dark-haired figure was standing by the door.
Her curiosity was immediately piqued: why in the name of Merlin was Tom here? It was always Danielle who visited him at lunch break; never the other way round. She hopped off the stepladder and hurried over to them, smiling at Muriel on her way by. Muriel was a bit eccentric, but Danielle knew she meant well.
"What are you doing here?" she asked him, taking him by the hand and leading him into the backroom despite his narrowed eyes. Tom despised public affection of any sort—any affection at all, really—but Danielle was no longer fazed by it.
"I was released early for the break," he explained as Danielle shut the door behind them, perching on one of the chairs whose desk was overrun with the books that had been sent to them damaged or in an otherwise compromised condition.
She raised her eyebrows dubiously. "So you decided to visit me?"
"Where else would I go, Clara?" he asked her flatly. He refused to sit down or even make himself comfortable, although Danielle could see his eyes flickering over the books.
Good point, she thought. But something still wasn't adding up. "So why not just work through lunch anyway?"
His jaw clenched. "Dumbledore decided to pay a visit."
Danielle put a hand over her mouth to hide her grin. The only thing Tom hated more than Muggles was Dumbledore. She immediately felt guilty for finding the notion amusing. "You do realize that he'll probably find us here, right?"
Tom shook his head. "If he did so, he would be making it clear that he traveled to Diagon Alley specifically to keep watch on me. I already suspect he is doing so, but I doubt he would be particularly obvious about it."
As usual, she couldn't argue with his logic. So Danielle wracked her brains for something to talk about with him—which was surprisingly tricky, even though she usually supplied about ninety percent of the contribution. Her eyes landed on a book of old Muggle fairy-tales, remembering when Mrs Bailey had used to read her bedtime stories. "Do you…do you ever wish that you knew your mother?" she asked him carefully, making sure to steer the conversation specifically away from his father.
Tom went very still, and his dark blue eyes focused on her, raking over her face as if searching for any malicious intent. Danielle was fairly certain he was using Legilimency on her as well, and prayed that he wouldn't find any clues that pointed to her real self. After a long, tense moment, Tom finally said, "No. She may have been a pure-blood witch, but not only was she weak enough to die, she passed on the curse to me."
"You mean she abandoned you," Danielle said quietly.
Tom gritted his teeth. "She did not abandon me," he said in an eerily level tone. "It would have made no difference whether she left me at the orphanage or raised me herself."
I think it would have, Danielle thought, but didn't dare to voice her thoughts aloud. "Tom—" she began, but at that moment the door banged open and Muriel came rushing back in, her orange hair in disarray.
"Clara, we need your help," she announced, not seeming to care at all about the scene she had interrupted; Danielle wondered if she was related to Alyssa. "There's a customer waiting, but I'm on break right now," she explained, collapsing onto the second chair. "Good luck!" she chirped.
"Gee, Muriel. Thanks," Danielle said, not without affection, as she stood up and headed out of the room, beckoning Tom on her way. He ghosted after her silently as they wove through the shelves and piles of books to the front door, where an impatient-looking boy was waiting for someone.
"Hello," he called to her, in a voice that dripped with arrogance and entitlement. "Are you the help? I hope you're more competent than that other girl." He extended a hand to her. "My name is Edward Bailey. I expect you've heard of me—"
Danielle could only stare at him, speechless. The Baileys were Muggles, not a wizard like this boy so obviously was. But still—hearing her real surname again was like a slap across the face. She was suddenly wracked by memories of her family, of her parents and brother, of her house…
"I'm sorry, Edward," she managed to choke out. "I can't help you—one of my coworkers will—" She couldn't finish her sentence before she instinctively ran out onto the street, like a cornered animal. Danielle heard Tom calling after her, but she didn't look back, finally finding herself in an abandoned alleyway far from prying eyes. She brushed the tears away, hating that she felt like such an emotional wreck. She'd been absolutely fine for the past months, so why did it have to start now? She was sure that Edward Bailey wasn't related to her in any way—judging by his pretentious manner, she hoped he wasn't—and she had no idea why she'd broken down.
"Clara," Tom hissed a moment later; she was vaguely surprised that he had followed her. He didn't ask for an explanation, since he knew that Danielle would offer one anyway.
"Sorry for running away," she apologized, though Tom wasn't the one she needed to apologize to. "He…he just looked a lot like my father." This was a lie, of course, but she had to rely on the fact that her mind was so muddled he wouldn't be able to get a proper reading if he did try to use Legilimency.
Tom was silent for a long moment, before he asked in a strange tone, "Do you miss your family?"
Danielle was so stunned for a moment she forgot her distress and simply stared at him. "Every day," she finally managed to choke out, forcing the image of Andy falling dead to the ground of her mind.
Tom was clearly uncomfortable; this was not his element in the least. Danielle might have found it amusing under normal circumstances. "If you cannot handle it, go back to the orphanage," he told her. "If your manager is at all fair, he will allow you to do so."
Danielle took a shuddering breath and smiled at him. She knew she would have to pay for this later, but right now Tom was trying to make her feel better, and that meant more to her than she could ever possibly say.
October 1943
"Clara?"
The timid, hesitant voice caused Danielle to glance up from her table in the library, the candles burning low and casting ghostly reflections on the darkened windowpanes. She felt a sickening surge of dizziness at the sudden movement, but managed to force it back. She would have to see Madam Cutteridge as soon as possible about her unexplained illness.
"Hullo, Erik," she said, putting down her quill and closing her Charms textbook. "How are you?"
The mousy Hufflepuff boy slid into the seat beside her, ruffling his blond hair. His wide eyes reminded Danielle of an owl, and she felt a rush of affection towards him. "I'm fine," he answered. "I just…wanted to talk to you, if that's all right."
"Sure," Danielle replied, but privately she wondered why Erik wanted to speak to her of all people; whenever she caught a glimpse of him in the corridors he was always with his Hufflepuff friends. "I'm meeting Tom at eight, though, so if you don't mind him listening—"
"Riddle?" Erik asked, looking downright terrified. "No, not at all—it's just that I'm sure he wouldn't care about my problems so I would probably bore him—"
"I'm sure you wouldn't," Danielle lied. She folded her hands in front of her, feeling inexplicably like Dumbledore. "What did you want to talk to me about?"
"Well…" Erik cleared his throat, his voice trembling. "I was…I was just thinking about my parents. And how they were killed by Grindelwald. You're an orphan too, Clara. I thought you might understand."
Danielle swallowed. In many ways, she was an orphan. "It's the most horrible feeling in the world, isn't it?" she asked, her voice constricted. "Knowing you'll never see your family again. But…I hope that they're proud of me. You know, if they're in the—the afterlife, or whatever you want to call it."
Erik nodded slowly. "If you don't mind me asking, how were they killed?"
Danielle quickly averted her gaze, hoping he would chalk it up to her struggling to stay in control of her emotions. "Air raid," she said, although the words came out sounding a bit too flat and unemotional. She mentally cursed herself as she added, "I managed to get out in time. I was always their first priority."
"That's awful," Erik sympathized, but Danielle thought she saw a strange curiosity alight in his expression. Her eyebrows drew together slightly as he continued, "But they were magical, right? Why couldn't they have saved themselves?"
"I don't know," Danielle replied truthfully, briefly wondering if anyone else had thought of that little loophole. "That's one of the questions I never got to ask."
"What about your brother?"
"He was ki—" Danielle suddenly caught herself, heart pounding and staring at Erik with alarm. "Hang on. I don't have a brother." But it was too late—her slip was already obvious.
Erik was leaning forward now, an almost hungry look in his eyes. "And are you and Tom…romantically involved?"
His questions had become a bit too prying for her liking. Danielle felt blood pooling in her face as she pretended to look at her watch and then back up at him. "Sorry, Erik, I have to go," she said. "It's getting late—I hope you feel better!" Her chair scraped back and she hurried out of the library, her textbook clutched under her arm. She didn't look back.
A tall, dark figure was leaning against the side of the opposite wall when she emerged out of the library, head ducked. Danielle had the sudden urge to smack the stupidity out of her own head at her elementary mistake.
"Going somewhere?" Tom asked smoothly from behind her; to Danielle's annoyance, he sounded almost amused. "I saw the Dahl boy's pathetic attempts to make conversation with you."
"Yeah, well, congratulations on your excellent observational skills," Danielle said, not turning back to look at him. She knew she'd made an ever larger mistake by not trying to remedy the situation in some way; instead, she'd scuttled away like a coward. There was a reason why she hadn't been Sorted into Gryffindor.
"What did he want to speak to you about?" If Tom had been any other boy, Danielle would have thought he was jealous, but even the notion sounded ridiculous.
"He was asking about my family," she muttered, vaguely aware of Tom trailing behind her at a slower pace, a leisurely smirk on his face.
"Ah," Tom said quietly. "I gather it was too much of a sensitive subject?"
"Yes," Danielle growled through gritted teeth. His smirk had disappeared, and he looked perfectly serious again. "Not that you would know anything about family."
The insult escaped her lips before she could stop it, and she saw Tom's eyes harden imperceptibly. "Do you really want to play this game, Clara?" he asked smoothly, dangerously.
"It's not a game, Tom," Danielle said. "It's the truth." And with that, she turned on her heel and stalked away. Tom didn't follow her this time, but she could feel his gaze on her all the way back to the Slytherin common room.
"Where were you, Clara?" Alphard asked when she collapsed onto the couch in front of the fire. "You disappeared right after dinner and none of us knew where you'd gone."
"I was studying for Charms," Danielle replied, staring numbly down at their chessboard; although Alyssa and Dylan were playing as a team, Alphard appeared to have beaten them easily by himself. "And then Erik Dahl wanted to see me."
"Oooh," Alyssa giggled, raising her eyebrows and grinning at Danielle. "Wanted to ask you out to Hogsmeade, did he?"
Danielle rolled her eyes. "Not that, thankfully. He just wanted to talk about...you know...our parents. We're both orphans."
"And did Riddle join in on the conversation?" Dylan interjected. "He's an orphan too, you know."
She almost laughed. "Thankfully, he didn't."
"I bet he was listening, though," Alyssa said. "He's always watching Clara like a Hippogriff. It would be adorable if it wasn't so..." She paused, apparently searching for the right word.
"Strange?" Alphard offered.
"Creepy?" Dylan said.
"Well...yeah." Alyssa scowled at the offending chessboard as Alphard's pawn captured her king. "He was probably jealous."
Danielle shook his head. "I don't think it was that bad, Lyssa." Although part of me wishes it was.
Her three friends exchanged knowing looks, a gesture they knew exasperated her. "Whatever you say, Clara," Dylan replied, but he was grinning.
The common-room door swung open and Tom stepped in, closely followed by Abraxas Malfoy and Orion Black. His piercing gaze swept the room before his eyes landed on Danielle. The two of them shared a long, unfathomable stare before Tom turned away and went up to the boys' dormitory without another word, his followers obediently going after him. Danielle shivered, vaguely aware of Alyssa, Alphard and Dylan talking around her but not hearing the words. No, she told herself firmly, The day Tom Riddle feels jealousy is the day he'll admit he's in love with me.
And even she couldn't help but smile at the thought. It was obvious, even to the complete outsider, that only one of them was in love with the other.
April 1944
It was early morning at St. Mungo's—early enough that the birds hadn't even started singing yet, much less that visitors had begun trickling down the corridors. Healer Elspeth Wainscott adjusted her uniform as she made her rounds through the rooms, checking to make sure that her patients were still comfortable and asleep. She was in charge of the long-term care unit, and as a result, its residents had larger, more spacious rooms than most—not that many of them could appreciate that.
After an hour of carefully navigating through the wards, stepping over tentacles (from those unfortunate witches and wizards who were in the hospital because of Transfiguration gone wrong) to avoiding the sharp teeth of a failed Animagus who was permanently stuck as a half-human, half-lion creature, Wainscott breathed a sigh of relief as she reached the last room on the floor, a breakfast tray hovering in front of her. Technically, there was no need to even bring it, as the room's current occupant had been in a coma for two months, but Wainscott was a very optimistic witch.
She quietly slipped into the room and closed the door behind her, gently taking the tray and placing it on the bedside table. The prone figure lying on the bed was as still and white as ever, looking as close to death as a human could possibly get. Her dark, curly hair was tangled on the pillow, her eyes closed, hands placed flat at her sides. The mystery of Clara Ashford was one that continued to baffle the staff at St. Mungo's, as well as the foreign Healers who had been brought in—which admittedly wasn't very many due to the war. Clara was, as far as they could tell, unconscious and unaware of what was occurring around her, locked in a comatose state the likes of which Wainscott had never seen before. If a cure wasn't found within the next month, law required them to break the magic that tentatively chained her to life. It had always been St. Mungo's policy—like in the Muggle world, there were wounds even magic wasn't able to heal, curses that couldn't be broken. Wainscott had seen several such cases during her career, but none broke her heart quite as much as Clara's did, seeing a young girl's life ripped away from her so forcibly.
Wainscott turned pitying eyes on her now—and gasped as she saw that she was not alone. A tall, dark figure was standing over the bed, his long, pale fingers wrapped around Clara's wrist. Wainscott recognized him immediately: this was Tom Riddle, a Slytherin Prefect and a student at Hogwarts. He visited Clara quite frequently, though not as much as her other friends—a group of three Slytherins: two talkative redheads and a cheerful brown-haired boy—or even as often as an auburn-haired Gryffindor girl who usually just stood at the end of Clara's bed looking stricken—and Tom Riddle kept odd visiting hours. He had somehow bypassed the magic that kept visitors from popping in as often as they wished, but Wainscott had never exactly enforced the rules when it came to him. She was thinking now that that had been a mistake.
"Visiting hours are not until nine, Mr Riddle," she told him, slightly flustered. He had straightened up and was staring at her, an unfathomable expression in his narrowed blue eyes. He was far too young for her, but Wainscott never failed to be charmed by his presence. Tall, dark and handsome, with those striking eyes, and that voice...
"I apologize," he said now, low and pleading. He cast his gaze downwards so that it rested on Clara's face, his long eyelashes casting shadows along his pale cheekbones. Wainscott sharply scolded herself for thinking of a teenage boy in such a way, as if he was the hero of a Muggle romance novel. "But I am unable to visit later today, and it is Clara's birthday." His voice was deep and persuasive—even Wainscott was taken by him.
"Oh, her—her birthday?" she asked, her voice girlishly high-pitched. She quickly cleared her throat and adopted a deeper tone. "How old is she?"
"Seventeen," Tom replied. He let go of Clara's wrist, a single rose appearing in his hand as if he had pulled it out of his sleeve. He placed it in her limp palm and gently closed her fingers around it before leaning over and softly pressing his lips to her forehead, brushing aside her hair. Wainscott couldn't help but imagine him doing the same to her—and then pushed the thought of her mind, disgusted with herself.
"Well, Mr Riddle, you may stay if you promise to be quiet," she hedged.
Tom looked directly at her then, and his expression hardened. There was something cold in it, like ice, and she suddenly felt unnerved. "On second thought, I believe it would be in my best interest to leave," he said smoothly, breaking their gaze first and turning to the fireplace. His stare still lingered on Wainscott, like the imprint of cool fingers on the back of her neck.
Tom Riddle didn't look at Clara Ashford again before the emerald flames swallowed him up, and Wainscott had a sudden urge to make sure that the girl was still alive. Wishing her a happy birthday, she thought, had not been the true reason for Tom Riddle's visit.
But if that hadn't been the case, what was?
June 1944
"Have any of you seen Clara today?" Alyssa asked the Great Hall at large, resting her head on Alphard's shoulder. She had woken up to find her friend's bed neatly made and, although her suitcase was still in its usual place, her robes had been hanging off the bedpost. It was as if she had completely disappeared off the face of the earth. Now it was dinner and there was no sign of either Clara or Tom anywhere in the castle.
Dylan leaned forward, his freckled face worried. "You don't think Riddle changed her into a mouse or something, do you?"
Alphard shook his head; Alyssa, who was nestled in the crook of his arm, was jostled slightly, but she only snuggled deeper into his side. "Riddle's gone too," he pointed out. "Did Clara mention she was going anywhere?"
Alyssa shook her head slowly. "They can't have left Hogwarts, can they? They have nowhere to go aside from that Muggle orphanage."
"Maybe they're in the Prefects' Bathroom," Alphard sniggered, while Dylan's face took on an unattractive green hue. Alyssa took advantage of their close proximity to jab him in the side with her wand.
Georgina, who was sitting several metres away from the main group, frowned at them but remained silent. Erik was stirring his soup slowly with his spoon, one hand propped on his cheek to hold his head up, but Alyssa had the feeling he was listening to their conversation all the same.
"It's not funny," she told him sternly, though she couldn't quite hide her blush. "Our best friend is missing and you're making jokes?"
"Ah, Lyssa," Alphard said, leaning back and pressing a kiss to the top of her head, "I'm just pulling your wand. I'm sure someone knows where she is. Look, there's Dumbledore." He raised a lanky arm and waved at the Transfiguration professor, who had just entered the Great Hall along with Holstone. While Holstone went directly up to the staff table, Dumbledore smiled at the students and bypassed the young Slytherins, his half-moon glasses falling down his crooked nose.
"Good evening, Mr Black, Mr MacDougal, Miss MacDougal," he said, inclining his head politely to each of them. "What can I do for you?"
"Where's Clara?" Alyssa asked immediately, not bothering with niceties. "Ow—sir?" she added after Dylan kicked her foot under the table.
At this, a strange, closed expression appeared on the professor's face. The twinkle that was always in his light blue eyes had been muted, and his tone was the experienced flatness of someone who lied very often and very well. "She and Mr Riddle are currently on an errand for me."
"What sort of errand?" Georgina piped up, unable to contain her curiosity.
Dumbledore fixed his gaze on her, and some sort of understanding passed between them—Georgina did not look satisfied in the least. "An important one," he said pleasantly. "Rest assured that they shall both be back in one piece very soon. Do not worry, Miss MacDougal," he added as Alyssa opened her mouth to protest, "Clara was the one who volunteered to do it." His mustache twitched, and all of a sudden his eyes were twinkling again. "Now, if you'll be kind enough to excuse me, I would like to sample the Yorkshire pudding before Horace undoubtedly does." And with that, he swept off to the staff table, leaving the students feeling vaguely as though they hadn't had a conversation with him at all.
"How can he manage to say so much and so little at the same time?" Alyssa asked, taking a long sip of pumpkin juice as she watched Dumbledore sit down with narrowed eyes.
Dylan shrugged. "It's a gift. D'you think he was telling the truth? That Clara volunteered for it?"
"Yes," Georgina answered immediately, glancing at Skender. She did not sound happy about this fact. "Believe me, she did."
June 1945
"It's very…small. I expected it to be a bit, er, bigger, honestly."
Danielle raised an eyebrow at Tom, who looked exasperated at her words. "This is not my fault, Clara," he said with as much patience as he was capable of possessing with her.
She sighed and took another step forward into the flat. When Danielle had envisioned living on her own in London, she hadn't expected a closet-size flat on the seventh floor of a nondescript building at the very edge of Diagon Alley. Then again, she couldn't afford much else with the meagre pay Holstone had given her outright.
At least Alistair and Ophelia didn't seem to mind the cramped quarters—Ophelia was buzzing around the main room, her eyes bright, while Alistair squawked impatiently from inside his cage, wanting to be let out.
With Tom still standing at the front door, his quick mind assessing the place, Danielle took it upon herself to physically explore the flat. The entrance opened up into a main room with a heavily-curtained large window—when she peered through it she could see witches and wizards bustling through Diagon Alley—and the northern wall was almost completely taken up by a stone fireplace. At least it'll be cozy in winter, Danielle thought idly. Connected to the main room was a small kitchen with a table with enough room for five people, although it would likely be a bit cramped if Alyssa, Dylan and Alphard decided to all come over at once.
Off the kitchen were two doors; one leading to a bathroom which wasn't much bigger than a broom closet, and the only bedroom. Danielle pursed her lips as she surveyed the bedroom—she guessed that there wouldn't be much room for anything more than a four-poster bed and bedside table.
It wasn't much, but it was hers—well, hers and Tom's, at least for the summer. Danielle walked back into the main room and crossed her arms as she gauged Tom's reaction. He was still standing at the front door, his face a blank mask. "Well, what do you think?" she asked.
"It will suffice," he said shortly.
"I agree," Danielle replied, going over to the kitchen area to make herself a cup of tea. "I think I'll go out this afternoon and buy some new furniture for it." When she received no reply, she spun around on one heel, glancing around the room. "Tom?"
The apartment was completely empty; he had disappeared as quickly and silently as a ghost. But where Danielle might have once been frustrated with him, she found herself surprisingly calm. She supposed she should have expected his disappearance—he would want to scope out the area and make sure no one had been following them. His paranoia was both unsettling and reassuring to her. But Tom would return. He always did.
Danielle cupped her steaming mug of tea in both hands and drifted over to the window. Almost immediately, she spotted a familiar dark-haired figure standing some feet apart from the crowd. She had no idea what he was doing, but she knew it was probably in her best interest not to ask.
As if he was somehow using Legilimency, Tom raised his head and looked up at her. Danielle quickly drew back, unable to keep the smirk from her face.
Some things, at least, would never change.
May 1946
Danielle sneezed loudly, upsetting the flower she had been planting in the garden. Ophelia, who was fluttering around her head, twittered in excitement. Danielle groaned, sniffling pathetically as a dull ache began in her forehead. She must be getting a cold.
When she had safely planted the rest of the flowers she had earlier procured from Felicity, Danielle straightened up, stretching her arms above her head and yawning. It was barely noon, but she found herself as exhausted as if it was midnight. Must be the sun, Danielle thought to herself as she glanced up at the few weak rays that somehow managed to shine through the omnipresent clouds. Norfolk was nowhere near as rainy as Hogwarts, but visits from the sun were few and far between.
Gathering up her gardening tools and wand, Danielle trudged back into the manor. She was still trying to figure out how exactly she wanted to decorate it—although she and Tom had been living there for two months, she just wasn't used to so much space, especially after their tiny flat in Diagon Alley.
Alistair was squawking madly when she went to feed him lunch—a rare occurrence for the normally calm owl. Ophelia, too, appeared more agitated than usual, buzzing around the room madly. "What is it, guys?" Danielle asked her pets, putting her hands on her hips and looking from one to the other questioningly. Of course they couldn't answer her, so she sighed, shook her head, and went upstairs to find some Pepper-Up Potion.
But after digging through the bathroom cabinets, she came to the conclusion that it was nowhere to be found. Funny…she could have sworn they had a bottle around somewhere…perhaps Tom had taken it, although that seemed unlikely. Several of the other potions had mysteriously switched positions, too. Danielle frowned and sneezed again—it looked like she would just have to grin and bear it until Tom came home. Perhaps he would take some pity on her.
She trudged to the bedroom where she sprawled out on the bed, closed her eyes, and was dead to the world until she felt someone's lips gently brush her forehead. Danielle's eyes fluttered open to see Tom hovering over her, still dressed in his Ministry of Magic uniform. "I see you have had a productive day, Clara," he said mockingly, straightening up and shrugging off his robe. Danielle slowly sat up, holding a hand to her head. Light from the setting sun poured into the room through the French doors leading to the balcony. Danielle squinted at the clock hanging on the wall—what she'd intended to be a quick catnap had turned into six hours.
"I'm sick, Tom," she moaned, and blew her nose to emphasize the point. "Lyssa must have given me her cold."
"Do you not have Pepper-Up Potion?" he asked, looking displeased. For someone who had spent the majority of his life ill, Danielle thought, he could be a bit more understanding of her plight.
"I thought we did," she moaned, collapsing back onto the pillows. "But it's not there anymore. Did you take it?"
"No," he replied shortly. "You must have misplaced it."
"I must have," she agreed, and gave Tom her most pleading look. "Would you Floo to Diagon Alley and buy me some more? It won't take you long…"
Her husband stared calculatingly at her, and Danielle was sure he was about to refuse, but her heart leapt when he nodded once. "You are not useful if you are bedridden," he said, which was about as much sympathy as she was going to get.
Danielle smiled widely at him. "Thank you, Tom," she replied fervently. "I'll make it up to you as soon as I get better."
"I have no doubt that you shall find some creative and intriguing way of doing just that," he said dryly. Danielle doubted that she looked particularly desirable right then, with her nose bright red, her hair strewn about the pillows, and with a mound of tissues next to the bed, but that just meant she would have to work extra hard to please Tom.
"Love you, darling," she teased, feeling her eyelids flutter shut again.
She could have sworn she heard Tom laugh under his breath. She felt his fingers lightly caress her face once, brushing her hair back from her eyes, and before she knew it she was asleep again.
June 1948
Exhausted but triumphant, Danielle smiled wearily down at her newborn daughter, who was sleeping peacefully in her arms. She had given birth not twelve hours beforehand, and Healer Wainscott had dismissed her from St. Mungo's soon afterward with a clean bill of health. Her pregnancy and labour had gone as smoothly as she could have hoped for; nothing like the agony she'd experienced when she was pregnant with William. There had never been any doubt that the fetus wasn't afflicted with Vetus Periculosus as its older brother had been, and for that, Danielle couldn't be more grateful.
Tom was sitting in the armchair beside her, keeping a close eye on Will, who was running around the room trying to catch a squawking Alistair. Will was nearly sixteen months old, and so far had seemed more interested with the animals than his new baby sister. Danielle couldn't fault him—she vaguely remembered being the same way when Andy was born.
Although Tom hadn't wanted a child in the first place, let alone two, he had been surprisingly quiet about the entire situation, seeming more resigned than anything else. But Danielle knew there was still hope for him: she'd caught him playing with Will on more than one occasion and she had seen the small but unmistakable twitch of a smile when he held his daughter for the first time. Tom may have not been "meant to be a father", as he himself had said, but Danielle was certain he would be much more of a father than his own father ever was. As much as their relationship had been tested over the years, she knew that he would always be present in her life. She had been overwhelmed after two very small children had joined them in such a short period of time—Tom, whose only experience with family was theoretical in nature, was completely out of his depth. All of the knowledge he held in his brilliant mind couldn't begin to help him with this.
As if he sensed she was thinking about him, he glanced up at her, his dark blue eyes flashing in the light. She noticed his gaze linger on the still-wrinkled face of their daughter before moving to her. "Have you thought of a name for her?" he asked. Danielle knew that it was probably pathetic she was inwardly rejoicing so much at him calling the baby a "her" instead of an "it", but any progress with Tom had to be achieved in very small steps.
"Actually, I was," Danielle said slowly. Tom didn't seem to have a particular preference for names, so she assumed the decision was wholly her own. She had been thinking of names ever since she had discovered she was pregnant—she'd always known, subconsciously, that the child would be a girl. If that was to be believed, she would have yet another daughter within several more years—but she was getting ahead of herself. The image of the two smiling dark-haired girls in the Mirror of Erised flashed through her mind again. "I was thinking of Catherine," she began. "After Cathy Earnshaw in—"
"Wuthering Heights," Tom finished for her, a smirk pulling at his lips. "I should have guessed, Clara. You always had an unhealthy fondness for that book."
Danielle flushed; the book had been so crucial to her sanity during her first year in the past that sometimes she wondered if she would have ever survived without it. "Well, you can't deny that Catherine Riddle has a ring to it," she said.
"If you say so," Tom replied, sounding exasperated, but his eyes were full of gentle amusement. Perhaps it was true that fatherhood really did soften men, Danielle thought, before just as quickly dismissing the thought. Nothing could ever soften Tom Riddle.
If he was in a good mood, she ought not to quit while she was ahead. So she kept her expression neutral as she continued, "I want her middle name to be Merope."
Tom's lips parted slightly; he looked almost taken aback. "Merope?" he repeated.
"Yes," Danielle said, firmer this time. "Will is already named after my two brothers; I want Catherine to have a connection to your family."
She heard Tom scoff under his breath. Danielle expected him to outright refuse, or say that he did not have any family, but after a long moment he finally gave an infinitesimal nod of his head. "As you wish, Clara," he said resignedly. She would have cheered in victory if she wasn't so drained of energy.
"Cat!" Will said very suddenly, pausing in his quest to catch Alistair, and pointed at Danielle. His jet-black hair was messy and tangled—he needed a haircut, she idly thought—and his eyes were wide and excited as he stared over at her.
"That is your mother, not a cat," Tom told him. He reached out and drew Will back from the annoyed owl, lifting the boy into his lap and holding him securely so he couldn't wriggle free. Danielle's heart warmed at the sight.
"He's talking about Cathy," she explained, the nickname falling easily from her lips. "He can't quite pronounce her name yet."
"Cat," Will said again, and beamed, looking like an angelic copy of his father. Tom himself couldn't hide his amusement.
Danielle smiled lovingly at her son before looking down at Cathy, who had finally opened her eyes. They were a much lighter colour than Will's, she thought, almost grey. The idea that Cathy would have Danielle's eyes, just as Will had Tom's, gave her an enormous sense of satisfaction.
"Hello, Catherine Merope Riddle," Danielle murmured, and leaned down to kiss her on the head, which was already covered with dark hair. She settled back in her chair, feeling as if her heart was so full that it was nearly bursting, and grinned happily at her family.
November 1950
"You know, I used to think that Tom Riddle would be the last person on earth to become a father," Alphard remarked, propping his feet up on the coffee table—ignoring a displeased Alyssa's scowl—"But he proved me wrong. Twice. How on earth did you do it, Clara?"
"I think we all know how she did it, mate," Dylan said good-naturedly, prompting a blush from Felicity and an eyeroll from Danielle. "But seriously, it still seems a bit weird to me. No offense."
Danielle gave her friends a gently amused grin. "Honestly, I'm just as clueless as you. I can't say that either of them were planned."
"I don't think most babies are, honestly," Alyssa sighed. She looked over at the playpen in the corner, where three-year-olds Eridanus and Will—the two quietest—were playing with a toy broomstick. The other children were in the backyard being looked after by the Blacks' house-elf while the adults relaxed in the drawing-room. Danielle always looked forward to these visits, usually held at Black Manor—it gave her a break from trying to keep up with two toddlers when she wasn't at work. Sometimes she forgot just how lucky she was to have such close friends who knew everything about her and still trusted her. Every time the five of them got together their old rhythm always clicked back into place effortlessly, as if they were teenagers again.
"Speaking of Tom, is he showing up today, Clara?" Alphard asked, swirling the glass of Firewhiskey in his hand. "I ought to let the kitchen staff know how many people are coming to dinner."
"He should be," Danielle replied, glancing at the fireplace. "He said he would Floo here straight from the Ministry. Unless, of course, he was called on a last-minute trip to America or something."
Dylan whistled under his breath. "And you wouldn't go with him?"
"Probably not, no."
"You're mad, Clara," Alyssa told her bluntly. "I would never pass up an opportunity to go to America."
"I don't accompany Tom on all his trips," Danielle said. "Will and Cathy are still too young to travel very far and I only go if one of you lot can look after them."
"What about when they're older?" Felicity asked curiously. Danielle smiled at her; Dylan's wife was still so quiet that she always tried her best to be as nonthreatening as possible.
"I don't see why not," answered Danielle. "I mean, once they're off to Hogwarts I'll be going everywhere with Tom. I've always wanted to see the world. Well, more of it than I already have, anyway."
"I take it that means you're stopping at two children, then," Alyssa said as she curled up in Alphard's lap.
"It seems that way," Danielle said hesitantly, trying her hardest to push her vision in the Mirror of Erised out of her mind. She and Tom had never discussed having a third child, which would have been a very short conversation as he had made his thoughts on babies perfect clear—but there were nights that she turned over in bed after they had made love and wondered…
"We're done, too," Alyssa continued, snapping Danielle out of her thoughts. "Two boys are enough to carry on the family name, and there's absolutely no way I am going through pregnancy again." She glared at Alphard, who smirked down at her.
"So are we," Dylan said, putting an arm around Felicity. "Fee and I decided that one is more than enough. Pippa is enough trouble for at least three, anyway."
As if on cue, the elegant French doors leading out to the patio burst open and the exuberant four-year-old herself sprinted in, her red hair soaking wet. She was giggling madly as she leapt up onto Dylan's lap. "Daddy, help me!" she shrieked just as Cepheus and Cathy ran in after her, followed by the exasperated-looking house-elf. All three children were completely drenched.
"They jumped into the pool, didn't they?" Alphard sighed. "I'm going to have to put a Blocking Charm over it."
While he went outside to do just that, the fireplace flared green and Tom stepped out, as impeccable as ever. His eyes flickered over the scene once before finding their way to Danielle, who immediately went over to him. "Cathy jumped into the pool," she explained.
"I can see that," Tom said, with a smirk. "I do not imagine supper is ready, either."
"Unfortunately not." Danielle lowered her voice and whispered, "You're not going on a trip to America, are you?"
"Not to my knowledge," replied Tom, raising his eyebrows. "Why do you ask?"
"Never mind," said Danielle, and breathed an audible sigh of relief.
Just as Tom had predicted, dinner was postponed while the children were lectured on being responsible, and after several heated arguments which had involved crying and slamming doors, the table was finally set. Tom spoke politely about his recent examination of a cursed jewel he had found in New Zealand while Danielle kept a close eye on a sulking Cathy to make sure she didn't misbehave again. It was late by the time the four of them bid goodbye to Alyssa and Alphard and Floo'd back to the manor. Danielle managed to wrestle Will and Cathy into the bath in hopes it would put them to sleep quicker, and her wish was rewarded when both of them fell into a deep slumber minutes after being put to bed. It was nearly midnight by the time an exhausted Danielle finally retreated to the master bedroom, feeling just as tired as if she had put in an entire day's worth of work.
"Finally some peace and quiet," she groaned, gratefully closing the door behind her. Tom was sitting at his desk, bent over a book and turning a quill over in his long fingers. The doors to the balcony were slightly ajar, the cool autumn breeze blowing inside. Danielle went over to the doors and stepped outside, fighting to control a shiver. The sky was peppered with stars, the moon shining down onto the manor grounds, reflected in the pond in the centre of the gardens and glistening on the marble pathways. Sometimes she didn't fully appreciate how beautiful their home was.
She didn't notice that Tom had ghosted up to her until she felt his breath tickle her ear, sending goosebumps racing up her spine. "Something is bothering you, Clara," he murmured. She felt his hands on either side of her waist and leaned back into him, closing her eyes. It was so rare that he initiated moments like this that she wanted to stay in them forever.
After four and a half years of marriage, Danielle didn't even try to lie to him. "You're not going to like it," she warned, turning her head so that her cheek was against his chest. His heart beat steadily under her, a reminder that he was and would always be human.
She was so close to him that she could feel his chest rise and then fall in an infinitesimal sigh. "What is it?" he asked again, sounding resigned.
Danielle opened her eyes again and twisted her head so that she was staring up at his face. "Alyssa asked me if we were planning on having more children," she admitted, watching his expression carefully. "I said no, and honestly my hands are more than full with Cathy and Will, but…I've been thinking a lot recently about something I saw in the Mirror of Erised. I saw us and Will and Cathy…but I also saw another girl standing next to us. She didn't look much younger than Cathy."
Whatever thoughts were going through Tom's mind, he was hiding them exceptionally well. "And you are sure that she is…ours?" he asked.
Danielle nodded firmly. "More than anything. I just don't know what to think of it. If it—if it's fate or something—"
Tom silenced her babbling by gently placing a finger to her lips. "But fate is merely an illusion, is it not?" he asked, and Danielle thought she saw a faint smirk pull across his face as he echoed the words she had once told him.
"It is," she agreed, "But I don't feel like what I saw in the Mirror of Erised was fate, exactly. It was more truth, or a reflection of it. I don't know," she cried, and buried her face in Tom's chest.
He spun her around effortlessly so she was facing him and, hands still tight around her waist, lifted her up so that she was sitting on the balcony railing and they were eye-to-eye. Danielle gripped his shoulders, startled, but his arms completely encircled her; falling was the last thing she needed to worry about. "I know better by now not to go against you," he whispered. "If we are to have another child, Clara, then so be it."
"Tom," she said, but he wasn't finished yet.
"However, you must also know how…opposed I am to the idea of children," he continued. "I will not change my views on that, whether we have two children or twenty. But I will still be their father."
It took a moment for his words to sink in, and Danielle let out a long, low breath. "I don't think it's a good idea to actively try for another baby," she whispered. "That's not what I want. But if it happens naturally, then…so be it."
Their foreheads were so close now that they were almost touching, and Danielle punctuated her statement with a quick kiss on his lips. But Tom held fast to her, lengthening the kiss until her heart began to pound and her head began to spin. She broke away first, panting. "However, for future reference, Clara, I would appreciate you telling me if you have any other such visions," he breathed.
"Of course," she tried to tell him, but Tom's mouth was on hers again and all rational thought escaped her. Danielle's legs snaked around his waist and he pulled her off the railing, supporting her entire body. She frantically reached for the buttons on his shirt as he kissed her so deeply she thought that she would become completely consumed by him. Everything around her was Tom, and nothing else mattered.
When his lips moved to her throat, pushing the fabric of her robes aside so that he could kiss her bare shoulder, Danielle managed to choke out, "Are you sure this is a good idea, considering the conversation we just had?"
She felt rather than heard Tom growl in reply against her skin, and she knew that she had finally gotten him past the point of no return: there were no reservations whatsoever for either of them as he carried her into the bedroom.
July 1951
It was the height of summer, and England was experiencing one of its worst heatwaves yet, sending the temperatures skyrocketing. Plants wilted and the grass was brown and burnt.
It was rather unfortunate for Danielle that she was pregnant during such an unbearable season, and even more unfortunate for Tom, Will and Cathy. She spent most of her time in bed asleep, waking only to demand water or complain about how hot it was and how she felt as big as a Hippogriff.
Four-year-old Will and three-year-old Cathy wanted to visit Danielle, but they had seen her ban Tom from their bedroom–and their father seemed all too happy to oblige–but they were afraid they would be banished as well if they tried to enter.
"Why is Mummy so angry all the time?" Will asked at supper that night. Minnie had been preparing all the meals, and Danielle was noticeably absent, as she had been for the past several weeks.
Tom glanced across the table, first at his daughter, who was fanning herself with a piece of parchment, her chubby face bright red with heat and staring into space, and then at his son, who looked more curious than anything else. "Because she is expecting a child," he said shortly.
Will frowned. "But why would that make her angry? Shouldn't she be happy?"
Tom's eyebrows arched slightly. "No. Children do not guarantee happiness, as she seems to think."
This did not answer Will's question in the least. "So why did she become pregnant, then, if it was only going to upset her?"
"I asked myself that very same question," Tom muttered, before pushing his plate away and standing up. He was going to ask the Ministry to send him very, very far away on his next trip.
December 1951
Danielle sat curled up on the sofa in the drawing-room, holding a mug of warm tea in one hand and balancing four-month-old Eleanor on her lap. Although Ellie was too young to understand the holiday, she seemed to realize that it was a special day nonetheless, and was giggling in that infectious way babies did, clapping her tiny hands together and her eyes shining. Danielle pressed a kiss to the top of her head before smiling over at Will and Cathy, who were both sitting under the tree and shaking their presents excitedly.
"Mummy, can we open these now?" Will asked, as patiently as he could. Cathy was already sneakily beginning to rip open the wrapping paper; Danielle was sure she would later blame it on the cat, and mentally placed a bet that she would someday be Sorted into Slytherin.
"Wait for your father," Danielle began to say, but stopped herself just in time, her smile fading: of course Tom wasn't going to watch the children open their presents. Well, at least he would be home for Christmas instead of staying in some far-flung country far away from any human habitation; it had taken Danielle nearly a week to convince him to return to England after spending a month in the mountains of Nepal.
"Yes," she finally said. "Open them."
With twin shrieks of delight, the boy and girl pulled aside the paper on their two largest gifts: Will's revealed a book of Muggle fairy-tales—despite his young age, he was already reading voraciously and was at a level of comprehension far beyond his peers—namely Cepheus, Eridanus, and Pippa. Cathy's present was a plush, emerald green toy unicorn, nearly as big as she was, that galloped around the room and listened to voice commands.
Both children immediately tossed everything else aside and began to inspect their gifts: Will, with a comically serious expression on his still-chubby face, stood up and settled himself in the armchair by the fire before opening his book, while Cathy attempted to climb the unicorn and ride around the tree on it.
A movement from the doorway made Danielle look up, and she felt a wave of shock when she saw Tom standing there, watching his son and daughter silently. She automatically stood up and, balancing Ellie on one hip, walked over to Tom, placing a hand on his face. "You're here?" she asked him tentatively; it was both a question and a statement.
He half-smirked, one corner of his mouth quirking up. "Obviously," he replied.
Cathy suddenly shrieked loudly, and both her parents glanced over at her in concern. "It's snowing!" she cried, pointing outside the window where Danielle could see fat white flakes drifting down from the coppery grey sky, coating the gardens with a fine silvery powder. "Can we play outside?"
Danielle, smiling again, nodded, watching two blurs dash past her into the foyer. "Don't forget to put on your coats!" she called after them before turning back to Tom; she realized he was standing under a sprig of mistletoe she had cheekily placed above the doorway.
He raised an eyebrow, a rare amusement sparkling in his blue eyes. "And do you have a gift for me, Clara?" he asked.
"Of course," she smiled, and reached up to kiss him as their children ran outside to play in the snow.
December 1957
"Is Daddy home yet?" Eleanor asked in a hushed voice, tugging at her older sister's sleeve. Cathy, who was as bossy as she was rebellious, impatiently swatted Ellie's hand away.
"Of course he isn't. Don't be stupid," she scoffed. The two sisters had taken it upon themselves to prepare a cake for their father's birthday–but, as Will had correctly pointed out, they were more excited about having cake than anything else. Since they couldn't use magic, they were forced to make it the Muggle way. After a bit of sleuthing, Cathy had managed to find Danielle's recipe book, but seeing as how most of their meals were prepared the magical way, the Muggle appliances the books called for were unavailable to them.
Cathy brushed her dark hair out of her eyes, leaving a spot of flour on her cheek, and gritted her teeth as she stirred the batter, which was lumpy and not the smooth mixture the book described. "At least we have an oven," she grumbled to herself. "Ellie–turn it on."
The younger girl bounded across the kitchen and stood on her tiptoes, attempting to reach the dials. "I can't do it," she complained, looking seconds away from tears. "I'm not tall enough!"
The boy sitting at the kitchen table stood up and walked over to Eleanor, flipping a dial on the oven before picking her up in one swift movement. Will had recently gone through a massive growth spurt—everyone swore he would be at least six feet tall someday. He held Eleanor against him tightly while she struggled to jump out of his arms, and fixed Cathy with an amused stare.
"Did you consider asking Minnie to do it?" he said.
Cathy rolled her eyes and huffed in annoyance. "Of course," she replied, finally giving up on the batter and shoving the entire bowl into the oven unceremoniously. "But I wanted to do it myself."
"And a great job it is," Will said sarcastically, sitting back down at the table and pulling Eleanor onto his lap, his arms still tight around her. "Mum and Dad are going to be so thrilled."
Cathy was about to snap back a retort when Ellie shrieked, pointing at the oven. "Smoke!" she shouted, and sure enough, a trail of smoke was rising out of the top of the door.
Will said a word that would have gotten him grounded for a week if Danielle had heard, and finally let Eleanor go, hurrying over to the oven and throwing it open. Smoke poured out of the open door, and Cathy began to choke, pulling her shirt over her mouth. Ellie, now sobbing, ran out of the kitchen, and Will bravely attempted to pull the bowl out, but its scorching heat burned his hands.
"Get out of here," he snapped at Cathy, but she stubbornly shook her head, filling another bowl with water and tossing it at Will. He had managed to turn the oven off, but there was no end to the smoke. The kitchen was filling up with it, and neither child could see properly. Will threw the water into the oven, and his heart stopped when he saw the orange flicker of a flame.
The door burst open, and Ellie ran back in, dragging Danielle by the hand. She took one look at the mess and wordlessly raised her wand.
Instantly, the smoke cleared; the fire vanished. Air rushed back into Will and Cathy's lungs, and Will saw that the bowl had been nearly burnt to a crisp inside the oven, still smoldering slightly. He cringed away from his mother, waiting for a lecture, but amazingly, Danielle's lips were twitching as if she was trying not to laugh.
"What in the name of Merlin have you done?" she demanded, and sank into a chair. "You're lucky that I just got home—"
"We were trying to make a cake for Father's birthday," Cathy admitted, suddenly shamefaced. "But we couldn't use magic."
Danielle laughed in spite of herself when she caught sight of the charred bowl. "Well, that's a reminder never to leave you home alone again," she mumbled. "At least not until you learn how to cook. Why didn't you ask Minnie?"
"We wanted it to be a surprise," said Will. "He's going to be so angry with us."
"Oh, I don't think so," Danielle mused. She pursed her lips and stared around the kitchen. "I think we can remedy the situation."
"How?" whined Eleanor, who was still crying.
Danielle stood up and walked over to the counter, examining the recipe book. "I'll teach you how to bake a cake the Muggle way without burning down the kitchen."
The three Riddle children exchanged sheepish glances, shuffling their feet in embarrassment, before walking over to join their mother.
February 1962
It wasn't often that Will came down to the Great Hall to see a pile of presents stacked on the Ravenclaw table. Cepheus, Eridanus, Pippa, and Cathy were already waiting for him. Will pretended to be exasperated, but in reality he was pleased. It wasn't often he was shown such deliberate kindness, even on his birthday.
"Open my present first," Cathy insisted. She was perched on the edge of the table, a Slytherin scarf thrown casually over her shoulders and her skirt much shorter than necessary. She knew that every teenage male–and even several females–in the Great Hall were staring at her, and she was basking in the attention.
Will cautiously took the box she held out to him, wary that it would contain a joke gift or even a pile of hissing snakes, which had been her present to him the previous year. But when he unwrapped his gift, he found not a pile of snakes, but a new, gleaming copy of Hogwarts, A History."How did you get this?" he asked, grudgingly thanking his sister.
She looked smug. "I know exactly what the shopkeeper at Flourish & Blotts likes," she announced proudly, to general disgust.
"Catherine, you're only thirteen," Will hissed.
She rolled her eyes. "Fourteen in four months. Merlin, you sound like Father. Now open up the rest of your presents."
And Will had no choice but to do so. He received a carton of Chocolate Frogs from Cepheus, a box of quills from Eridanus, a single red rose from Pippa that changed colours depending on the holder's mood (a strange present, Will thought), and a new pair of robes from his mother. But there was still one gift that hadn't been opened at the end of the table. No one seemed to have any idea who it was from, but Will's suspicion that it contained a jinx or a curse from one of the many classmates he'd angered over the years was outweighed by overwhelming curiosity. At his friends' urging, he hesitantly opened, unwrapping the paper carefully.
Inside was a stack of ten books: the complete encyclopedia of the entire wizarding world. Will's mouth fell open; he had only ever seen a set in the Hogwarts library.
"There's a note with it," Pippa observed, plucking a piece of parchment out of the wrapping. "To William," she read aloud, "In hopes that you shall study them diligently and further your knowledge more than any wizard has ever done." She frowned. "It's signed by a T.R."
"That's Father," Will breathed. "Tom Riddle." But why would he give Will something this rare and expensive?
"Oh, you've always been his favourite," Cathy said, rolling her eyes, but she was smirking.
Will immediately picked up the first volume and began to read, resolving to write Tom a letter as soon as he was finished.
July 1965
"Absolutely not, Catherine."
The pretty dark-haired girl standing in the doorway scowled, drawing her travelling cloak more tightly around her shoulders. "It's too late, Father. I already told Rita I would be there."
"What you told your friends is irrelevant." Tom cut an imposing figure silhouetted in the dying light shining in from the drawing-room windows. "You are not going."
Cathy looked about to stamp her foot, her stubborn expression mirroring her father's. "Now is not a good time to begin exercising your authority. I'll be back before midnight. Besides, Mother said I could go."
"I said I would think about it," Danielle said quietly, drifting in from the kitchen with Ellie at her side. Unbeknownst to everybody except Tom, Will was sitting in the window seat with a book and trying to ignore the entire conversation. "I didn't give you permission to sneak out of the manor at dinner. I would have agreed," she added, prompting an overdramatic eyeroll from her eldest daughter.
"Would everyone just leave me alone and let me do what I want?" she asked shrilly.
"I'm trying," Will mumbled from his hiding-place. Cathy ignored him.
"I'm seventeen–in case you don't remember, I'm of age. What were you doing at seventeen, Mother? Father?"
Neither of her parents answered. Instead, Tom ordered, "You should consider yourself fortunate that we did not have to fetch you from your schoolmate's house. I cannot imagine that would have been beneficial to your popularity."
Cathy bristled and was clearly about to fire back a retort that would get her grounded until the term started, but Danielle intervened by putting a light hand on Tom's arm, her wedding ring glinting in the light sparkling off the ornate chandelier.
"Let her go, Tom," she murmured into her husband's ear. "Let her make her own mistakes. She's right–we were doing worse at her age."
Tom's eyes narrowed; this was evidently not a topic he enjoyed discussing, but at least he didn't argue. He drew back into the kitchen without another word. Ellie followed him, wide-eyed, while Will breathed an audible sigh of relief. Cathy blinked at her mother; Danielle had pursed her lips, her expression thoughtful.
"Thank you, Mum," she said in spite of herself, and the simple sentence alone brought a smile to Danielle's face–Cathy hadn't called her that since she was a child.
"Don't expect this to become a recurring theme," she warned, but her lips were curved upward. "And whatever happens at that party, don't let your father hear about it."
Cathy immediately shook her head. "I've plenty of experience at that, believe me." And then she was out the door so quickly even Merlin the cat couldn't slip outside in her wake.
August 1965
Danielle still couldn't quite believe that her oldest child—her only son—was moving to London. It seemed like just yesterday she had been standing on Platform 9 3/4 waving goodbye as the Hogwarts Express had carried Will away to Hogwarts for the very first time. Now, seven years later, she was standing on the front steps of their manor, waving goodbye as he prepared to Apparate a hundred miles away. She knew that he would be happy in London, having a flat all to himself and sharing the building with Cepheus and his Muggle girlfriend Sylvia, but the mother in her never wanted him to leave.
"Do you have everything?" she asked him as she fussed over his luggage and brushed a piece of dust off his robes. Will reluctantly accepted her hovering without complaint.
"Let him be, Clara." This came from Tom, who was standing several steps behind her. "He is prepared."
"You can always come back anytime if you forget anything," Danielle said. She searched his face for any signs of trepidation, but his face was a replica of the smooth mask his father so often wore, betraying nothing. "London will be noisy at first, but you'll get used to it in no time."
Will nodded once. "Thank you, Mum."
Danielle felt tears building up in her eyes; not wanting to embarrass either herself or Will, she threw her arms around him, hugging him tight and kissing his cheek. "Love you, Will," she whispered. "Say hi to Cepheus and Sylvia for me." She felt Will nod against her, and she prolonged the hug for as long as she possibly could before moving aside, trying to smile.
"Good luck in London, Willy," Cathy said with a smirk, using his hated childhood nickname, before giving him a tight hug as well. Time and distance would never erode their rivalry. Danielle was pleased to see that Will hugged her back.
Ellie went next, whispering something in Will's ear as she stood on her toes to hug him. A slight grin crossed his face as she spoke, and he nodded and ruffled her hair when she stepped back. She beamed at him in that admiring way she always had, ever the adoring little sister.
Tom, of course, said his goodbyes last. The two male Riddles had always had a complicated relationship, and while they did not hug or even shake hands, Tom's parting nod and "Good luck, William," to his son said all that they needed to. Danielle didn't think that either of them would have been comfortable with any sort of outward display of affection.
His goodbyes said, Will paused before them, giving the manor—the only home he had ever known—one last long look, as if committing it to memory, before turning his back and beginning to walk away down the stone path that led to the gardens. He halted at the entrance to the hedgerow maze and picked up his suitcase. Even from her distance, Danielle could see him take a deep breath. She hoped he wouldn't feel too ill; he loathed Apparating as much as she did.
She raised her hand to him once more in farewell, and Will did the same. He straightened up and turned on his heel before vanishing with a loud crack.
Danielle leaned back into Tom, who put a hand on her shoulder. "He'll be all right," she murmured.
Her husband glanced down at her, a certain warmth in his eyes. "I know he will."
And Danielle believed him. No matter what he might say, Tom would never give her false reassurances when it came to matters concerning her or their children. If he knew that Will would be all right, it was most definitely the truth.
They were, after all, a family.
So this is it, guys—the end of House of Cards, and the end of the trilogy's oneshots. (There was a huge Deathly Hallows reference in the last one; hopefully someone caught it!) I'm going to say goodbye to Tom and Danielle (for good) this time, as I have no plans for any other sequels or spinoffs, nor am I planning on continuing with Realm of Ashes. However, in the words of J.K. Rowling herself, "I've always said I'm not going to say I definitely won't. Because I don't see why I should say that." While I'm finished with the Harry Potter fandom for now, that's not to say in a couple of years I won't change my mind. We'll see.
And with that being said, I want to offer my heartfelt thanks to all the readers and reviewers who have stuck with me for the past five years of this whirlwind journey (is that too hyperbolic?) Y'all are the best. I love you guys.
Thank you so, so much.