Seven Ways to Escape the Afterlife
By Jollie Killjoy
A/N (skip if you'd like): aye, this is me first fanfic! Well... it wouldn't be correct to say first, seeing as I had written a few before this one... but most of them remain unfinished and unposted, so I suppose it counts as a first. Sort of. Anyways! If I make any mistakes regarding Harry Potter info/timelines and if stuff doesn't make sense according to the books, please tell me! I haven't read any of them for a while, except for the Half Blood Prince of course (in two days! Rather impressive for a slow reader like me). Hope you enjoy!
Prologue: A Midnight Trip
It was a serene and peaceful night in the wizarding town of Hogsmeade; a little too peaceful, perhaps, seeing as the owner of Zonko's had a terrible habit of testing his upcoming (and often highly explosive) products late into the night. The residents of the town paid little mind to the lack of explosions, though; grateful for the apparent tranquility, they simply assumed that the man had blown himself up or something of the sort.
Not that a town neighboring a mystifying school like Hogwarts could ever hope be peaceful, really. On the surface it was, perhaps, but as the townspeople slept, deals were being dealt; young Tom Riddle was out heading for the Hog's Head with less than legal intentions in mind.
I suppose it's safe to take this bloody thing off, he thought to himself, taking off the invisibility cloak he had nicked from a fellow Slytherin. Seeing as said Slytherin was a first year, he was having some trouble keeping himself hidden, but luckily, he managed to creep his way out of the castle without rousing anyone (except for the Bloody Baron, who Tom suspected had noticed him, but the deceased don't really count).
"If he isn't here this time..." the young man whispered to himself, trailing off in annoyance as he uncloaked himself and stuffed the enchanted fabric in one of his velvet pockets. Well, actually... it wouldn't be correct to say that the pockets belonged to him. Nor did the rest of the outfit, for that matter. They were actually Professor Slughorn's, the potion master; Tom, who was currently bearing the Professor's form (with much thanks to a flask of Polyjuice Potion), had to 'borrow' some of the heavy man's clothes to pull his temporary identity off. "I hope that filthy little house elf gave me the right set of robes," Tom continued to whisper to himself, slightly paranoid. Taking a deep breath and mentally preparing himself for the important task at hand, he stuck a plump hand into his pocket to make sure he had the correct amount of Galleons and entered the Hog's Head.
"Slughorn," muttered the shaggy barman, nonchalantly acknowledging the man's presence. "The usual mead?"
"Indeed," Tom said, faking his professor's greedy smile flawlessly. Inwardly relieved that the Polyjuice Potion had worked (and why wouldn't it? Tom was no beginner at the delicate task of brewing it) he looked around, but saw only three other people in the bar: two anxious-looking men clad in heavy fur, and an immensely drunk, shriveled old woman.
I hope Borgin knows what he's doing, Tom thought tensely, willing his face not to twist into an angry scowl. Sending his son of to deliver three highly valuable pints of Unicorn blood, of all people! He probably left half his intestines behind apparating here, the bloody fool! He took a seat behind the two fur-clad men, looking at the door impatiently. Blocking out the wails of the intoxicated old woman, he started to ponder what he would resort to if, within half an hour, Borgin's son didn't arrive. I could always wrench his guts out through his throat and dispose of his body in the Forbidden Forest... but that would be rather tasteless and unimaginative, wouldn't it?
"Shhhh! Don't be so bloody loud about such a wicked matter! It's bad luck, I tell ya!"
Upon hearing the panicked whisper, Tom snapped out of his gruesome musings. What matter could be so horrific that it was feared to be talked about, in the Hog's Head of all places?
"Fine, fine," one of the fur clad men murmured irritably, running a dirty hand through coarse, black hair. "But heed my words, the man, if you can call him one at this point, is not to be associated with anymore. The separation of one's soul is downright unnatural!"
"Must be warped beyond belief," the other man whispered fearfully, burying his face into his high-necked bear coat and pulling his large hat further over his forehead.
"Aye," the first man continued, a sinister look in his eyes. "Horcruxes... they're a tricky matter. They deform you into an inhuman swine, but they make you absolutely immortal, I heard."
At that last sentence, Tom completely froze. Absolute immortality? But... It can't be, I must have misheard...
The bloke who seemed to be hiding inside a mass of fur gulped in response. "Immortal?"
"I reckon anyone with a Horcrux would be hard to finish off entirely if part of his soul is tucked away somewhere, unless you know where that part is, which is highly unlikely." the black-haired man said in a hushed voice, clearly getting a bit frightened himself. "So as I said, you have to stay away from him. No idea what he's gonna do next, the madman."
"Oh, I will," replied the other, eyes wide. "Wouldn't want to be involved in such a dreadful matter."
Upon hearing this, Tom's face twisted into a disturbingly unhinged smile that seemed to go beyond typical greed, looking quite out of place on Slughorn's fleshy face. The thought of immortality excited him immensely; endless time... Endless possibilities...
"Your mead," grumbled the barman from behind the oak counter.
Tom jumped a bit, clearly startled. "Ah yes, thank you..." he said a bit shakily, getting up to retrieve his drink. Shit, I broke character, he thought to himself angrily, vowing to be more careful next time. Although, as he guzzled the beverage, his mind started to drift again. No death, no humanity... No chains to hold me back...
Looking at the door one more time to see that Borgin's son had not yet arrived, Tom suddenly decided that he didn't really care. As he paid the barman and walked swiftly out of the Hog's Head, his intentions became not only illegal but especially dark, perverse even.
Horcruxes... I must discover more.
