Chapter 3: - Dark Discussions
Tom Riddle had long since come to accept that Wizardkind as a whole despised anything that disrupted their neatly ordered lives.
As the green flames flared to life around him, he appeared within the fireplace in the heart of the British Government. He had entered the Atrium countless times since graduating and while it usually held an energetic buzz of human life as many witches and wizards went about their daily business going and fearing he had rarely heard it echo with so much anger.
Even on this day, so many years ago when Gellert Grindelwald had stood at its centre victorious over those that had dared defy him for so long. No, on that day the crowds had been a sombre, more subdued gathering as they waited to hear what their fate would be.
Silently, he cast a spell ridding him of any sort of that particular method of travelling and stepped out of the fireplace into the mass of people.
He regarded the sea of robed men and women before him. Circles of witches and wizards had formed, and he noted the usual cliques and factions. Others roamed about, leaving one circle and joining another. Hands flashed in expressive gestures, and the occasional exclamation or denial rose above the din.
He reeled off the names mentally as he passed the familiar faces. Not all of them were allies; most were foes. Those that did notice him bowed respectfully enough that he wouldn't be able to call them out on it but most were too engrossed in their own worries and concerns about the day's events. Troubled by what such an attack could mean or whether more would come.
Nobody had had to worry about the thought of this kind of violence in such a long time that they had perhaps almost forgotten that they had once been at war for nearly four decades. It made him wonder just how much of their spirit had been broken, or whether they had simply accepted what fate had thrown them, happy to be alive and continue on with their lives without thinking too much about what they had lost.
Perhaps if he thought about it long enough, he could admire the determination, but he wasn't often thinking about things that held little importance to him.
Amongst the chaos, he could clearly see the Ministry officials. Assistants directing people to various make-shift medical areas. Catering staff providing food, and hot drinks. Aurors dealing with any security concerns or missing people enquiries.
The attack on the arena had left nothing but confusion and hysteria.
As he passed, he caught fragments of conversations which seemed to emanate from the roof. It didn't take a genius to understand the topic of discussion; the day's events were on everyone's tongue and would be for some time.
He listened, carefully, judging the mood of the people in the room, their opinions. Some more heated than others.
A tall, slender, silk black-robed figure stepped out of the crowd and strode towards him, he watched carefully.
"My Lord," Lucius Malfoy greeted, his head bowed just low enough to be respectable but not too low to lose his dignity. It always amused him how far Malfoy would go to please him while trying to remain as dignified and as relevant as he presumed he was.
"Lucius," he nodded in return.
"The Cabinet isn't being gathered?"
"It would appear not. I am attending a private meeting with the Minister and the Heads of Magical Law Enforcement. Perhaps the Minister wants to know more information before conveying them to the Cabinet," he answered. "General mood of the crowds?"
"Anger. Disgust. What you would expect under the circumstances. People are afraid; they do not understand who would do such a thing. Some are even going as far as to whisper that the Americans are responsible and that it will mean war."
"They signed the Pact over ten years ago Lucius. They are in no position to start a war. Besides they would not attack the arena, they would attack elsewhere."
"Of course," Lucius agreed.
"What else?"
"Rebellion. Though some argue that it is to be expected considering how we treat the muggles." He continued the disgust in his voice was evidently towards the sympathisers. "Others say it is something else, though."
"Speculation on everyone's part. And everyone is none the wiser," Riddle replied
"Is there any way to find out?"
"I am sure that it is on the Minster's mind and that he will do everything in his power to find those responsible and punish them accordingly."
"I will make enquiries," Lucius said, it wasn't a question but it had been worded in a way that gave Tom the power to say yes or no. Lucius was subtle, but he wasn't that subtle. He was asking silently, do you want me to investigate or prevent the investigation. Are you responsible?
He wasn't. While he was putting his plans into motion, an outward attack would only put everyone on edge. Something he didn't want. Though he supposed, he could use it to his advantage if he had to.
"Make enquiries, quietly and discreetly, I want to know as soon as you do Lucius, anything is better than nothing."
Lucius bowed, "As you wish My Lord. And what of the girl?"
"Not your concern," he stated. Leaving no room for further discussion into that particular direction. He had a suspicion that the unsuspected muggle-born was the girl he had been looking for, discreetly, of course, the girl who had seen too much but held too much potential to simply get rid of.
"Now if you will excuse me, I must make my way to the Minister's office."
"Of course my Lord. I will gather what information I can."
"See that you do."
He left Lucius to the crowds and walked through the corridors to the lifts. From there he would be able to make his way towards the Minister's office.
Caution, you have much to do and very little time to do it.
He entered the Minister Adjunct's office without knocking, his eyes sweeping the room; he had rarely seen it so cramped with people before.
"Forgive me for being late," he greeted smoothly, already putting in place the mask he would need for this particular dance. He noted who bowed in the room and who gave barely more than a respectable nod, before taking his place. He had neither friends nor allies in this room. They may serve and respect him because of his connection to the Emperor, but they weren't his.
"Forgive Lord Riddle, since when have you ever asked for forgiveness?" Madam Bones smiled, though he noted her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.
In fact, all she held in her eyes as she looked at him was loathing, though she hid it far better than most did. He had faced her more times than most on the battlefield during the war, the fact she survived was a clear indicator she was a formidable witch. The fact she had maintained both her position and her clout after the war also showed she played the game well.
But then that had been one of Grindelwald's weapons, those who fought against him were welcomed with open arms into the upper echelons of his Empire, they were gifted with life and second chances and most often they took them. She had probably taken this position in hope to fight the system from within.
Ten years later only she would be able to tell herself comforting lies about how successful she had been or not. Though Riddle supposed regardless of her stance, Bones was a fair and justice person and treated all within the law fairly. It was such a shame that the Heads of the departments below her did not share the same philosophy.
"Never, Madam Bones. I sleep well at night and have no need for forgiveness, nor desire for it."
The man sitting next to her snorted, Tom turned to look at him; the man met his gaze without flinching. Rufus Scrimgeair was a hardened battle wizard who had long lost his naivety. Equally formidable both on the battlefield and off the field. He had a strong set of values and believed in the law. He believed that no one should be held above the law, even those that had the power to crush him with a mere thought should he even attempt to hold them accountable for their actions.
As the Head of the Aurors' office, he was perhaps the only Head of the legal departments that actually supported Bones. Together they had indeed thrown barriers in his way, but they were little more than lambs surrounded by wolves. They have teeth, so dogs would be more appropriate than lambs. Shadows behind them shifted drawing his eye to the two Aurors that stood on guard behind their Heads. Frank Longbottom and Kingsley Shacklebolt, both were powerful wizards in their own right.
"Hem-hem."
Tom turned from the Aurors towards the woman sitting next to Fudge. She was wearing a bottle green tweed suit with a fuzzy pink cardigan. Her large flabby face was looking directly at him, her wide, slack mouth smiling or at the least its version of a smile. He detested her on sight, right down to the black velvet bow that tied up her mousy brown hair.
"Senior Undersecretary," he smiled, mockingly. "How lovely you look this evening."
The woman blushed ever so slightly with a squeak that made him cringe, before turning her brown eyes firmly back onto him.
Dolores Umbridge only had one passion - Minister Adjunct Fudge. It was painfully obvious that she was in love with him, though Fudge seemed oblivious of the fact. Love had never been an emotion or concept he had truly ever understood of experienced he knew it was a weakness that he could exploit in others. And while Fudge was oblivious of his Undersecretary's affection Mrs Fudge wasn't, and that was something he could use to his advantage. A word here and a word there and in truth, other people would do the work for him in destroying Minister Adjunct Fudge.
When the time is right.
"My Lord Riddle, we do rather have important matters to discuss this evening. The Minister simply does not have time to watch you exchange taunts with those who serve," she answered, her voice crisp and high pitched that it almost sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Not to mention the condescending tone she spoke to him and referring to the others in. As if they were nothing but dirt on the floor.
It amused him, picturing her death. He would kill her slowly and painfully, and he would enjoy every second of it. Though for the moment, he could silently admit she had her uses as few as they were.
He flashed her a smile, "Forgive me Madam Umbridge, you are right of course. Thank you for reminding me of the important matters at hand, I would not wish to delay the Minister any more than I already have."
He could hear the fake coughs and sniggering of some of the others in the room but chose to ignore them. Umbridge shot the others a dirty look but remained silent.
"I do believe your teasing my Undersecretary Tom," Fudge commented,
"Only a little. I secretly want to steal her away from you Minister. She is so efficient at her job I just can't help myself," he laughed.
Fudge coughed, clearing his throat as he shifted in his seat. A clear sign that the man was getting flustered and uncomfortable of that trail of thought.
So quickly stirred Minister, so easy to read.
"Dolores is quite right, we have much to discuss. What do we know about the attack?"
"Four magically infused PWM's were set off within the arena."
"PWM's?" Fudge asked
"Panzerwurfmine grenades, the Thule Society were working on them with the Lord Emperor's Wizards in the early days of the war with the Nazis. The Emperor ordered they all be destroyed after the Nazi army was disbanded and formed into the personal guard and security officers," Tom supplied, "Clearly some of the leftovers weren't destroyed as was reported."
"Their destructive capabilities were exactly how the books said they were. The explosion obliterates the central area of the target unleashing the magic to finish off the rest. The wild magic eating away at everything in sight. If we had been unable to contain the wild magic, then it would have taken half of North London before the day ended," Bones added.
"The suspect?"
"Male, late fifties early sixties. The suspect is dead, but the remains are currently being examined, or rather what is left. It will be difficult to identify the culprit as there is little left of him."
"Wizard or Muggle?"
"Again, unknown at this given time. PWM's can easily be activated by muggles. The magic is already stored in them; it is the explosion that triggers the release. Other than what is written in the history books and witnesses first-hand very little is known about the devices."
"The Thule Society was experimenting on infusing magic into muggle devices and stabilising them, so they would be an effective weapon for muggles to use. The exact mechanisms of how they worked or even how they were made were all destroyed as the Emperor didn't want them to fall into enemy hands considering how effective they were," Tom added, silently musing about who had the possible connections to gain access to such a device. There were very few on the top of the list.
"What do we know?" Fudge all but barked at them.
Tom could see the anger clearly in Fudge's face, every word almost a whisper through clenched teeth as he turned a darker shade of purple.
The silence in the room that followed the question was answer enough.
They knew nothing.
"Do you mean to tell me that an unknown wizard, possibly a muggle," Fudge spat, "was able to set off a device in the arena which has injured hundreds and killed god knows how many and we are aware of NOTHING!"
"There was no calling card to associate the suspect with any sympathisers or any known enemies of the Empire," Bones answered.
"Outside sources?" Fudge asked
"You mean America and the Soviet Union?" Umbridge clarified.
"Yes," Fudge answered waving his hand in confirmation. He was still the same purple coloured face he was minutes earlier.
"Neither of them is in a position to break the Pact that they signed. They may despise the Empire and the Emperor but until they are in a situation where an attack would be to their advantage they would not risk open war. None of us have actually recovered our strength and numbers since the last one ended and they wouldn't risk breaking peace," Tom supplied slowly, his mind already going over people he would need to get into contact with to ensure it wasn't. A move for either country would be foolish but as he had learnt in the past desperate people can do stupid things.
"That is my belief as well, but I have agents already working to intercept any movement on their part that looks to be an attack on the Empire. If America were to move we would be there first stopping port," Bones agreed.
"So we are thinking our own home grown rebels then?" Fudge asked.
"Order of the Phoenix has been destroyed, almost ten years ago, there is nothing left of them." A tall, dark man to the left of him said.
Tom turned to look at him. Everardo Montague, Head of the British Black Dogs division. Grindelwald's personal assassins, spies and soldiers. Trained in the darkest of arts and rituals to become something else. Something less than human. They only had a small division within Britain, but the few they had would be hell unleashed on the battlefield. Montague was the worst of them, and while he wasn't anywhere near in strength of magical power as himself, his skill set laid in particular areas that made Tom cautious if nothing else.
He wasn't afraid of the man, but he wasn't stupid either, Montague was dangerous.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Longbottom shift ever so slightly. Most people would miss it, but he didn't. Of course, the Order of the Phoenix struck close to home with the man. Ten years ago he had been at the heart of the organisation. If he remembered correctly, Longbottom had been questioned at considerable length on the activities of the group and its members. Whether he managed to hold back some small details was hard to say, but he did know that what had been given had hardly been new to them. Subconsciously he found himself looking towards the Head of the Snatchers. A reward of his own for his services during the war. Peter Pettigrew had indeed come a long way from betraying his friends, and the Order that had fought for so long.
"Tell me, Peter, is there any chance that the Order could have been reinstated?" he asked, perhaps he could admit to himself more for his own entertainment than for any real value of the answer. He could see Longbottom tense as the little man spoke. It must kill Longbottom being in the same room as him after all, Peter was responsible for so many deaths. Bones, Ferwick, Dearborn, Mckinnon...even his own friends. Oh, how that must weigh heavy on him.
Or perhaps like many traitors he simply did not care.
"Some escaped My Lord, but were later killed," Peter answered, his eyes not quite meeting Tom's.
"True. I do believe the Emperor himself killed the Potters on the mainland. Such a waste of talent James Potter. Even his wife was an extraordinary witch. I do think we called her 'Lady of Slaughter'" he gave a small chuckle, "She certainly made us bleed when she faced us in battle."
"My Lord," Peter nodded sombrely.
"I think their child was with them when they were found. Do you ever wonder what happened to her?" he gave a small smile.
"Lord Riddle, I do believe you are getting off track," Bones cut across, her voice as cold and as sharp as steel that gave clear indication she wasn't to be argued with.
"Of course Madam Bones. I am only asking Peter does he believe any of his old friends are around to order this attack," he answered, meeting her eyes with his own. She gave him a look of disbelief and arched an eyebrow. Its message was easy to read 'I know what you are doing. Picking at old wounds over lost friends just to get a reaction. The dead are dead'.
"He fed her to the wolves," Peter answered his voice quite, to begin with, but was slowly getting louder. "Our Lord Emperor fed their child to the wolves. And no. No one managed to escape that would be able to muster up the people into such an attack. You cut off the head of the order."
"The thing with heads, they sometimes have a way of growing back," Tom muttered to himself, aware that others were speaking and choosing not to listen. It was possible that one member of the Order had managed to escape and had enough determination and will to work in the shadows. It would mean they have spent the last ten years slowly gathering in strength and this attack was just the starting point.
"How are we proceeding with the investigation?"
"I currently have Aurors questioning witnesses as well as those on the ground at the scene. They are combing the area for anything that will give an indication of who was responsible," Rufus answered.
"I am liaising with the Unspeakable's collecting memories of the guards as well as witnesses who are willing, to get a play by play of what happened, and any visible indicators of what it was triggered at that particular time," Bones said.
"I have also increased security within London both on the ground at our main areas that would be prime targets for a possible future attack."
"And what of the girl?" Fudge asked him.
He sighed, "The girl is currently in a guest room in my Manor."
"Are you entirely sure that is appropriate Lord Riddle?" Bones queried, barely keeping her disproval of the situation from showing.
"Do you fear her safety or her virtue Madam Bones? I can assure you children hold no interest to me," He smirked, "Integrating her into an orphanage with other Muggle-borns would be a disaster. After all, they have no memories of where they came from. They only believe they are magical orphans."
"I do not fear that at all Lord Riddle; I am merely concerned for your interest in her."
"Could she have been a part of the attack?" Umbridge asked, cutting across him before he could reply.
He sighed wearily, making a show of choosing his words wisely. "The girl's only crime is not being found before her coming of age, which is hardly her fault and more down to the incompetence of those tasked with finding such children," He answered, shooting Umbridge a look. It was she who was in charge of that task. "No, her magic while powerful, naturally reacted to her desire to live more than she wanted to die, and so it shielded her through the flames. She will remain in my care and slowly be educated, come September if I feel she is a threat to everything then steps will be taken. And as for my interest in the girl, it is simply to assess how much of danger she may be to those around her. "
"You are talking about killing her," Bones accused, hotly.
"It would be a kindness. Better death than constantly fearing yourself and what you are capable off. Those emotions would be catastrophic with magic, and nobody would be safe. She would have no control over anything and could end up killing hundreds," He answered; his voice was cold and booked no room for argument. "Uncontrolled magic can be lethal, as we all know."
He had no desire to kill the girl; at least not yet. He would determine just how useful she could be before making that choice. If it came down to it, then he would kill her without a second thought.
"Very well. It is agreed then, the girl will stay at with Tom and he will assess her progress. The attack will be investigated thoroughly. I want a full report by the end of Friday why we allowed such a thing to happen and areas we need to improve our security. I will not have anyone think we are weak. There will be no mercy for those who are caught breaking the laws and certainly none for committing treason," Fudge ordered. "You are all dismissed. Tom stay a moment."
Tom stayed seated while the others stood and left the room until only he and Fudge remained.
"Are you confident about the girl? That she is best staying at your manor rather than one of the orphanages?"
"Yes," Tom paused as if he was carefully picking his words. "She poses a risk if we put her in an orphanage. Questions would be asked, and she would unknowingly answer them. Memories are such fragile things and children's memories even more so. She could be the domino that pushes all the other dominos over."
"I suppose you are right," Fudge sighed, one hand resting on his forehead as if he were massaging it.
"The Emperor needs to know."
"Yes he does," Tom agreed, "He will likely hear about it from his loyal Hounds, but it would be best if he also heard it from you. We wouldn't want him to question your own loyalty to him."
"I serve the Emperor and the Empire!" Fudge spluttered
You help yourself, Tom answered silently, "Of course you do, but to ease any doubts that others could whisper in the Emperor's ears it is best if news of the attack was taken to him personally. By you."
"You are quite right Tom, quite right. I will have my Undersecretary begin making arrangements at once. It would be perhaps better to wait until I have the full report to disclose to the Emperor."
"Facts are better than speculation. Yes," Riddle agreed, "If that will be all Minister, I do believe I will retire for this evening. I have much preparation to do before the new school term starts, not to mention educating the girl."
"Of course, of course. Good evening Tom."
"Minister," He nodded politely, letting the one word convey his regards before standing and moving towards the fireplace.
By forcing the Minister's hand by strongly suggesting he visit the Emperor himself, he had at the very least bought himself some time with the girl, before others would want to start to intervene. It was a small window, but one he would make full use of.
XXX
She was floating.
She was weightless.
She had no anchor, she was free and yet on the corners of her awareness something was swirling with colours, and feelings, flashes and images.
Memories.
The thought felt loud in the vast emptiness of...of what she wasn't sure. It was the oddest feeling. She wasn't sure she liked it, lost as she was. Surrounded by space?
But then just as if she were floating on a sea, a whirlwind of colours and feelings and flashes and images sucked her in until she was consumed by...a memory...
She was sitting on the cold hard floor, watching the other children around her being comforted by their mothers. She was alone and felt as though she wanted to cry but knew that if she did she was admitting weakness and weakness was a death sentence. Especially for those who were alone. She could hear the muffling and mumbling of those around her but remained silent as she slowly chewed on a dry piece of bread. She was hungry, so hungry but then everyone was as well. The laughing of the guards echoed loudly in the night. A shadow watched from the corner, she could feel the weight of them watching. The world spun around her and then she was falling.
Her memories.
Her life.
Flashed before her eyes. Dragged from the corners of her mind for the entertainment of another. She could feel them now, more aware of their presence than she had been, but she was powerless to stop them.
A part of her rebelled, at the idea of being so weak. But even that was more of a feeling of rebellion a sense of anger than her actually being able to see it. She tucked herself into a tight ball, gathering what she could and hiding them from sight.
She could see, though she wasn't sure seeing was the right word, pieces that were broken, missing threads that led into the deeper darkness that she didn't want to venture into. An emptiness that she had always been aware of yet never had consciously thought about until now, where it seemed she was trapped in her own mind.
A shadow engulfed her. Swallowing her up whole until more memories overtook her. They blurred together, in a swirl of too bright colours that hurt her eyes.
This is impossible.
"Impossible," the shadow says to her. The voice is sharp, she is afraid it might crack her skull. She fell to her knees, colliding with what felt like concrete.
And then they're gone. Her memories and nightmares, gone.
Tiled floor and wallpapered walls rise around her.
A bedroom.
She struggled to her feet; one hand rubbing her aching head as things slowly came into focus. A figure watched her from the corner of the room. A hand gripping a wand.
"What the hell did you do to me?" she croaked, and immediately wished she could take back the words. He was a Wizard; she couldn't talk to him that way. He could kill her where she stood, and nobody would say anything.
No, she thought. You aren't in a prison cell yet, which means he wants something which means for the time being you aren't going to be killed.
He didn't look offended. Instead, he smirked. A wave of nausea washed over her when she met his dark ebony black eyes, almost instantly Holly felt drawn into their depths. She doubled over and fought the urge to vomit.
"What are you doing to me?"
"Searching your memories."
"That was you?" she accused hotly, reaching up to cradle her head again. "You were in my mind? My memories? My nightmares?"
"If you know someone's fear, you see them," he answered, "And I had to know what I had on my hands."
"What gives you the right!" she hissed at him.
"Ill-mannered little brat aren't you?" he paused, "But a survivor never the less. I suggest you pay close attention little Snow."
He was mocking her; she could hear it clearly in his tone. She couldn't help but flinch at his use of Will's nickname for her.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Tom Riddle, and I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft of Wizardry."
Holly froze. She could feel her pulse increase ever so slightly.
She like most living in the Warren knew better than to draw wizardkind's attention to one's self. But some names, some stood out with even more of a warning.
He wasn't the Emperor.
He wasn't the Minister Adjunct Voice.
He was known by another name, though, a name that rippled fear into the hearts of those that heard it. Voldemort.
He was the heir and that made him dangerous and powerful. There were too many stories whispered by the fire about him, some that made even grown men tremble.
She was screwed. She was royally screwed.
"I'm not going to kill you. I didn't go to all that effort of saving your life just to kill you now," he stated, a smirk curving his lips ever so slightly as if he had read her thoughts. But then he probably had, and she would be none the wiser. Only she was certain she hadn't felt anything like she had only moments ago.
"Save my life?" she questioned, not bothering to hide the distrust from her voice.
"You performed magic in front of hundreds of wizards and witches, in front of muggles, right after a terrorist attack. People naturally started adding, and two plus two equals five in most of their minds," he replied smoothly. "I am the only reason you are still alive."
Her hands clenched, and she wished for something she could not put a name to.
"I didn't do anything, I don't have magic," she said it through clenched teeth. Determinedly leaving no room for argument. Of course, he was a wizard he cared little more her expressions or feelings. He continued as if what she said mattered little to him. He had decided she had magic and that was what he was sticking with.
Stubborn.
"Yes, you do. You are a witch," he paused, "How else would you explain surviving when others that were around you, did not. A person's desire to live can be the strongest emotion. It fuelled your magic into action to protect you from harm without any direction or control."
It was logical, but accepting meant what he was saying was real, and she wasn't ready for that. Not by a long shot.
"I can't be a witch."
"Then you are a muggle who has stolen magic?" he asked, his eyebrow had risen ever so slightly at the question. "No little Snow, you are a witch whether you like to believe it or not. A half-blood perhaps. You are the right age to have been orphaned during the war. With no memories of your parents and no one being none the wiser of your existence, you would have been placed in the muggle orphanages before the war ended."
Holly looked at him, truly looked at him for the first time. He was the same man she had seen in the arena yet seemed taller up close, but maybe her mind was interpreting him as a giant towering over her because he was her captor. He was tall with a medium build, but he had broad shoulders, something that she hadn't been able to see before.
On closer inspection, she noted handsome didn't quite do him justice. His face was aristocratic and too beautifully shaped to be called merely striking. It was the type of beauty that instantly drew people to it; she had seen it enough times on the streets of the Warren, even if she had never really understood the reasons why.
He was intimidating.
Power was swirling around him, she could almost taste it, and he moved with a grace that she had come to recognise as dangerous.
It was also at that moment she realised she was completely at his mercy. She had magic and had revealed it to hundreds of people, she wasn't sure exactly what it meant, but she knew it was important. And whatever was going to happen to her, depended solely on him.
Am I really a witch?
Could I have been orphaned in the war and lived my whole life believing myself to be a muggle.
She was exhausted. Her mind overwhelmed by the day's events. Tears were stinging her eyes threatening to fall, but she pushed them back. She wouldn't cry. She had that much pride and sheer determination left. She would not give him any more satisfaction of seeing her weak; he had already seen her memories, her past that was more than enough.
"What do you want from me?" she managed to force out.
"A large number of things. But none of them is your concern. Right now though little Snow you are an opportunity."
"An opportunity?"
"Yes. You are no longer Holly, a muggle thief."
"Then who am I?" she asked.
"You're half-blood. Your parents were killed during the war, and you were orphaned. With no record of you, you were lost during the chaos and raised amongst the muggles. You grew up believing you were nothing, and now due to pure chance have been made whole again," he paused, "You are a witch. And you have returned home."
"A half-blood?" she questioned, her mind already turning over his words. He wasn't lying, but he wasn't telling her the whole truth. He was hiding so much, and she was barely scratching the surface of this new world she found herself in. She was in over head, and she had no understanding of it other than what he was telling her.
You avoided Wizardkind, those were the rules that muggles lived by. And her mind hadn't fully caught up to the idea or possibility of her being anything else.
"Someone who belongs to both worlds and yet fits into none. Before the war wizards and witches fell in love and married muggles, children from such a union are and were half-bloods. They are rare in the younger generations now. Such unions are outlawed, but you are the right age to be the last generation before the end of the war."
"How can I play this role?"
"It isn't a role. It is true, and no one can argue with it. You are a witch, magic runs through your veins and so it is the only possible explanation."
He was definitely holding something back there. Holly wasn't sure what or even how she was so certain, but she was. She could feel it in her bones.
"You will spend the remaining summer weeks here. Learning everything you can and need. We are estimating your age as close to eleven so come September you will be attending Hogwarts along with the rest of your year mates, and you will be starting your journey as a witch."
That last statement told her more than he perhaps would have wanted her to know. Whether she wanted to go or not, he was going to do everything in his power to ensure she went to Hogwarts.
"Why. Why go to all this trouble. Why not just kill me, or let me go?" Holly asked
"Because you have the potential to be useful especially in the days to come..," he paused, as if thinking how much to tell her and how much to hold back "should this attack prove to be more than a mere act of muggles lashing out at us, which I believe it was. The attack was too well planned and coordinated to have been a random one off."
She frowned.
Will had said there had been whispers but nothing that actually stood out as rebellion. Her mind was running through all the possibilities of how she could possibly be of any use or help until it finally settled on one scenario.
"You are going to use me," she stated he was looking at her, his black eyes studying her every move. He remained silent, though as if he wanted to see where her trail of thought was going. "If the muggles see me as a witch by blood but muggle by nature, raised up with you, then they can be placated. It's like an old fairy tale, a commoner becoming the princess. You're going to use me to be their champion. They can look at me instead of the terrorists."
"You are remarkably quick for your age. Intelligent and street smart as well," he paused, took a breath before carrying on, "yes Snow you are going to be used to placate the muggles, allow them to connect with you as one of their own despite the magical blood running through your veins. Allow them to have a champion; someone they can believe is on their side."
"They won't fall for it," she argued.
"Perhaps but you are going to convince them otherwise, you are going to make them believe."
She shook her head. This wasn't a fairy tale or even a dream. This was a nightmare. She could accept if she admitted that she was a witch. Could accept she had magic and learn to control it. But playing this part, this role he was setting out for her. She wasn't sure she was capable of it. One slip up and she could entice thousands of people into an all out war.
"It won't work."
"Then I must impose you make it believable. You have an understanding of the darker nature of the world in which we live in, you have seen and experienced some its horrors. But you are still young and have not experienced war. The Emperor would sink this entire country into the ocean if he thought a rebellion was going to cause too much trouble. You are going to be a distraction, and you are going to do it so well that everyone will forget about the rebellion."
"But it's a lie."
"That is the beauty of it, Holly. It is the truth. No one can deny that you have magic, no one. Which means you cannot possibly be muggle; you are a lost witch returned to us. But you were raised by muggles!"
"And then what? You raise me up onto a peddle stool, what happens then."
"You become the witch you were born to be," he answered softly. "You are a witch Holly whatever you choose to believe, and sooner or later your magic will react again and again until you are unable to control it. Your own people will turn on you, rip you apart. You need to learn, and you need to control it."
She couldn't form the words to respond. She had so many questions and yet she couldn't voice a single one. Instead, she just nodded. It was all she could do.
I am a witch.
I am a witch.
Not a muggle.
She wasn't sure how she was supposed to feel over the realisation. Grateful? Happy? She didn't feel any of them. She didn't feel anything but fear and terror and panic. She had grown up hating everything magical. Being afraid of her masters and turning their attention to her. She had rebelled in her own way, she had escaped the Pit, had lived on the streets and had stolen and broken more than a few laws. She had resisted in fitting in, without causing too much noise or attention all for her to save enough money and escape on the Underground.
A dream that had just been stolen from right under her feet.
How could she possibly go from hatred to acceptances?
Not feeling anything was the safer option. She didn't want to be a witch. She didn't want to be anything but far away.
There is nothing you can do. So do what you need to do to survive. Escaping on the Underground is not lost to you, just postponed. Survive today run tomorrow. The voice urged her.
Holly couldn't argue, though she wouldn't exactly call it the voice of reason, it was right. She couldn't give up easily, and while the situation she found herself in hadn't been part of her plan, she would survive it.
She wasn't weak.
She was a survivor.
She would play this game, but she would do it to her own tune.
She would learn, but she would learn for her own reasons.
She looked up and met Riddle's eyes with her own, before breaking the contact.
"What do I need to do?" her voice sounded more confident that she felt, but she could feel the determination was running through her.
She was going to survive, whatever the odds.
No one could argue she wasn't adaptable.
He smirked at her as if he was reading her every thought. And maybe he could, maybe some of them had that capability.
You haven't broken me. I will play along with you, you bastard, I will learn and I will be great and when the time comes I will make my escape, and there is nothing you will be able to do.
