homo praesumitur bonus donec probetur malus

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There was a crying girl on the stall. Her sobs echoed inside the bathroom along with his voice, hissing words in Parseltongue. There was a snake, coming out of the sink and, then, the crying girl was not sobbing anymore but remained in silence, fallen on the floor with her dark eyes wide open. Then there was a man, he was crying too, even harder than the girl. As he held the hand of an old lady whose body was sprawled on the floor, his sobs shook his tall body with such violence Tom had never seen before. The man's face was an older copy of his own and Riddle just wanted to finish him as soon as possible as he heard him begging… Please, please, please. The man disappeared and an old woman took his place, her painted face smiling to him shortly before her expression became one of horror. Then, another man. A beggar, from his looks, looking up at him, confused, before ending up like the crying girl: dead.

And pain. The ripping pain in his body, as if someone had been pulling part of his organs out of his it, was there. For each person, there was another bolt of pain. He remembered the voice coming from the locket and the copies of Harry and Hermione mocking the red haired boy. His voice mocking him, his magic tempting him.

"You brought You-Know-Who back?" he managed to make out a voice from amidst Horcrux-Harry and Horcrux-Hermione's mockeries.

"Part of him. Part of his soul. It was an accident."

"But why is he here?"

"We couldn't have abandoned him in the middle of the forest, Ron!" It was Hermione's voice. The real Hermione's voice, caring and stubborn, not dangerous and mocking Hermione.

"Then why didn't you, you know, finish him off?"

"And get down to the same level as You-Know-Who? No, thanks."

" 'Mione." It was Potter speaking now. "We might have pulled him from the locket but there was still another part of his soul in it. We divided the fragment of the locket in two and Ron destroyed one of them."

"But the other part is still here." Tom felt his throat hurt as his voice came out, sounding hoarse. His eyes were still closed but the boy could feel the stare of the three friends falling onto him as he raised his hand, which felt heavier than usual, and tapped, on his own sternum.

There was a moment of silence before he heard the rustling sound of someone moving. Soon, there was a hand on his forehead, pushing his hair back. Instinctively, Riddle relaxed under the touch, recognizing it as Hermione's.

"Are you all right?"

"Do I look all right?" he managed to speak, taking a deep breath and wincing as a faint pain appeared on his chest. "For how long have I dozed off?"

"Not at all." Hermione's hand left his forehead and found the side of his throat. "And you've been unconscious for almost a day now. Are you in pain? I can give you some of that sleeping potion…"

"I've been sleeping for almost twenty four hours, Hermione; I don't think I need more sleep." The boy opened his eyes, staring at the witch's concentrated face. Her fingers were still in contact with his skin. "What are you doing?"

"Checking your pulse," she answered. "It was really faint and slow for hours now."

Riddle turned his head and saw Potter and the red haired boy from the forest sitting in the middle of the tent. Under a better light, he could make out the ginger's appearance with more precision. Ron – if he recalled his name correctly – was taller than he and Harry, had a long nose, bright blue eyes and numerous freckles on his face. His hair was redder than it looked in the darkness of the forest. As he looked at the other boy, the image of the copy of Harry and Hermione that came out of the locket appeared on his head once again, and, at that memory, he turned his gaze to Hermione. Her hair was messy; her face looked tired; her eyes were bloodshot and had dark bags under them and her expression was that of worry… That was the Hermione he was used to.

"Is the ginger your friend?" he asked in a whisper, not wanting to be heard by the other boys.

"Yes, he is."

"You know about the horcruxes?" It was Harry's voice that made him look away from the girl.

"Harry."

"I think I managed to make things out after your friend stabbed the locket," said Tom, trying to raise his voice in order to be heard by them. "And I ended up feeling the stab."

"Then you should have died, shouldn't you?" asked Ron and Riddle didn't even try to resist the urge of rolling his eyes.

"Yes, I think it would be really more polite from my part to die back there." He shrugged. "I'm sorry I survived."

"How did he survive, Hermione?"

"How will I know, Harry?" asked the girl, turning to look at the other boys as Tom tried to sit up.

"It was you who were reading that book on the horcruxes."

"Before you begin with your theories," said Riddle, making the three friends look back at him. "Would any of you care to explain to me what the hell is going on?"

"As you said," Ron spoke. "You already put the pieces in place, didn't you? When I destroyed the locket."

"Yes but I would very much like to hear it from someone else. From someone who is not in the shadows, like I am." Tom looked over to Hermione and, then, to Harry. "Those horcruxes are they… Mine?"

He didn't know if it was the silence or the worried expression that took place in the teenagers faces that made him sure of his suspicions. Hermione looked down to her own hands, biting down on her lower lip, while Harry furrowed his brows, looking more strained than irritated by the question. The ginger mirrored Potter's expression and Tom thought about how silly he looked as he did so.

"That You-Know-Who bloke," he whispered and, for the first time in days, felt really confused, like when he first woke up in the company of Potter and Granger. "He's… Me, isn't he? The locket was his horcrux and it was I who suffered from the injury inflicted upon it. That means it's part of my soul that is- Was confined into it, am I right?"

"Yes." It was Harry who answered him and Tom had to breathe deeply in order to prevent his expression from faltering. "We were trying to find a way to destroy the locket, Hermione and I, and she found this… Spell-"

"Ritual," corrected Hermione.

"Right, we found this ritual which was supposed to destroy a horcrux but it didn't. Instead, you happened." The green-eyed boy pointed at Riddle, shrugging. "We still don't know why it resulted in you coming out of the horcrux and not destroying it. And we also don't know why it was just a part of the soul that escaped from it."

"From what I read, the soul comes out as a whole from inside a horcrux," the girl explained. "But, as you came out, the locket was still a horcrux; it was still a vessel for his soul. I must have done something wrong because it was supposed to finish the horcrux and not… Bring its soul back."

"You didn't do anything wrong at all," whispered Tom, remembering the pages he had read in The Secrets of the Darkest Arts right before stalking after Harry. "The ritual you found out about, was it one that involved blood and other stuff like that? It was described in an illustration."

"Yes." She narrowed her eyes as she looked at him.

"How do you know that?"

"Because he stole my book last night, didn't you?" Hermione asked. "I found it on your bed after Harry and Ron brought you back."

"You can't blame me, Hermione." Tom allowed a tiny smile tug on his lips. "You did promise me any book in case I won a duel against you and, from what you and Potter said, I did win…"

"After going mad and attacking me with dark magic!"

"Oi, could you two stop that and tell us what happened? About the horcrux, I mean," said Harry, waving his hands in order to get their attention.

"As I was saying, I saw it, this ritual's description. The thing is: it was, indeed, made to finish a horcrux," he explained. "But not to finish it in the way you thought."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that the ritual you performed was aimed to be the last step of the creation of a horcrux," said Riddle, watching as Hermione's eyes widened. He heard a soft 'what?' coming from the ginger boy but didn't care to look at him. "From what the book says, the act of extreme evilness cracks the soul. Another act of evilness pulls it from the body and confines it into an object, which would be the first ritual. So, evilness makes a horcrux stronger. The more wickedness in the fragment of the soul, the stronger the horcrux is. But a soul is composed by evilness and goodness…"

"Not You-Know-Who," whispered Ron.

"A soul is composed by evilness and goodness," Tom repeated, glaring at the red haired boy. "And, as long as there is a hint of goodness inside the horcrux, it'll weaken it, even if just a bit. So that ritual of yours was made to extract the weak part of the soul." He pointed at himself. "And, therefore, finish the horcrux."

"But… It can't be," murmured Hermione.

"Are you sure of that, Riddle?" asked Harry.

"No, this is what I made out from a single reading," he explained. "So, I would very much like to take a better look at the book in order to confirm it."


It was her fault. It was her fault that they had a younger Lord Voldemort inside their tent. How could she get caught in such a silly translation mistake? No, not even a translation mistake because she did manage to translate the runes perfectly. It was just an interpretation mistake. And it led to such a great mess! Now they had Tom Riddle trapped with them, knowing they were after his horcruxes and getting more and more information about his other-self and his powers each day that passed. Even if the boy had said he was, as he put it, "the weaker part of his soul", Hermione couldn't help but wonder how long it would be until he turned back to his original self. After all, he had attacked her in a rather Voldemort-esque way and she wouldn't forget so easily those blue eyes of his suddenly turned to the scarlet red of Voldemort's back in the occasion.

And it was all her fault.

"You worry too much."

The girl raised her head to look at Tom, who was sitting on the couch in front of her armchair. He had The Secrets of the Darkest Arts on his lap and he was still on Harry's pyjamas, with a jumper over it. His face was still too pale and, in her opinion, he shouldn't be out of bed.

"I have reasons to worry."

"Me," he blurted, giving her a half-hearted smile.

"You're one of them," she said, rubbing her face before looking back at the Tales of Beedle, the Bard.

"And the other pieces of my soul are the rest." The girl didn't raise her head to look at him as he talked but felt an odd tone in his voice. "You won't tell me more about my… My other self, right?"

"There's not much to tell you about. He's evil and did a great damage to our world," Hermione explained, sighing. "We're trying to stop him because he's wrong."

"What you told me about the wizards who don't like Muggles, was it me who began with all that stuff?"

"No, but he gave strength to this kind of thought. Where are Harry and Ron?"

"Outside. Your ginger friend does not seem to like me much."

"Neither does Harry," whispered Hermione, looking up to him as he heard him chuckling. "Tom?"

"Yes."

"Stop referring to him as 'me', all right?" The boy's eyebrows furrowed as he stared at her. "The idea that I have of You-Know-Who is, well, not of a teenager boy. It's something like a monster in a story, you see?"

"Glad to know I don't fit in the shoes of a monster," he whispered. "Yet."

"Stop it."

"I know you're thinking the same thing," said Tom, a small pout appearing on his lips. "How long until Tom Riddle becomes You-Know-Who? How long until he goes mad and kill us all?"

"Stop putting words in my mouth, Riddle." She rolled her eyes and sighed.

"I'm just saying what is in your head."

"You are looking into my head!?" Hermione gasped, quickly raising her Occlumens walls. She was not good with Occlumency, yet, but apparently that was enough to keep Tom out by the look on his face. "Since when?"

"I noticed I could do it sometime after the locket incident. Weasley's mind is kinda weak."

"Don't say that about Ron."

"Can my other self-do that too?" he asked, abruptly.

"Yes, he can."

"Then your friend should learn to make his mind stronger, after all, you're against someone who can easily look at all of your thoughts and…"

"Stop behaving like that!" she shrieked, watching as Riddle's eyes snapped back at her. "You should not want to be him! It's not a nice thing to be, it's a horrible thing to be, actually! Stop acting as if you are him, as if you understood him!"

"This may be news to you, Hermione, but I do not want to be him. The ones who want me to be him, who expect me to go mad and kill everyone, are you and your friends! Even if I couldn't look into your minds, I would have understood that Potter hates me because he thinks I am You-Know-Who! That the ginger hates me because my effing horcrux tried to tempt him – and he, I might add, almost succumbed to it. That you don't trust me because you think I'll murder you because of your Muggle blood!" The girl frowned, not expecting Riddle's face to turn into that depiction of sadness. "You are turning me into him. Now, talk about putting words in someone else's mouth."

Hermione stared at him for a long minute before sighing and getting up. She rolled her eyes as the boy moved to the far end of the couch once she sat down next to him. There were times during which she would see Tom as a small boy.

"You have to understand that it is a bit difficult not to picture you as him."

"You just said…"

"I know what I just said." She sighed. "But we relate you to You-Know-Who because, well, we learned that he was you a long time ago."

"When?" he asked, his blue eyes shining with curiosity.

"When we were twelve. But that's not important." The witch stretched her arm in order to rest her hand on his shoulder, giving him a comforting smile. "But at the same time, it's difficult for me to relate you with him… Especially after talking to you for a few minutes."

"Why? Do you think he wouldn't want to talk with you about death and all that philosophical stuff we talked about a few days ago?" The wizard laughed and Hermione took this as a permission to get nearer.

"No, he would start to give a speech on how he would never die. Tom?" She watched until his laughter died out. "I've been thinking about this for quite some time now… How old are you?"

"I wish I knew," he said. "You're not the only one thinking about this detail."

"Oh. I mean, you don't look much older than we and yet we know You-Know-Who created the locket when he was in his early twenties, I think," Hermione explained. "Then you should look at least a bit older."

"People always told me I looked younger than I really was?" he guessed. "But maybe… Maybe the piece of the soul inside the horcrux is not equivalent to the person's age when it was created? The killing cracks the soul but its fragments remain inside the body until the creation of the horcrux is done. I think that, when you make the ritual to create the horcrux, the magic will simply pick a random piece of the soul and put it inside the object."

"But then you would look younger. Your first killing was at the age of fifteen…"

"What?" asked Tom, his eyes widened.

"Oh, I guess you didn't know about… Myrtle, or didn't remember," whispered Hermione. "Well, You-Know-Who killed a girl when he was still in school. Her name was Myrtle and she was a Muggleborn. The first crack on your soul came from her murder."

"Then, if I was a fragment created by that murder, I would be fifteen."

"I guess…"

"And the next horcrux was this one already? The locket, I mean."

"No, there was another one, when you were sixteen. You turned a ring into a horcrux," said Hermione, feeling apprehensive on approaching the subject. "It has already been destroyed."

"And who… Who did I kill?" asked Riddle and the girl couldn't understand what was the expression on his face. He looked curious, sure, but there was also a great shadow of worry over his features.

"You know what? We actually shouldn't be talking about it. And, as I told you already, you are not You-Know-Who, you're a different person and…"

"Who did I kill, Hermione?" he demanded and the witch stared at him for a while before sighing.

"Tom Riddle," she whispered, watching as he scowled. "Senior."

The wizard's eyes grew wider and started to look glassy. Hermione squeezed his shoulder only to find a faint tremor shaking his body.

"I d-did," he stuttered. "I did not kill my father."

"I'm sorry," the girl murmured, actually feeling bad for him. From what she understood from her talking with him, this Tom Riddle did not hold any grudge against his Muggle father. Actually, there was still a hint of the child who hoped the man would take him out of that orphanage in this Riddle.

"I wouldn't… I wouldn't kill my father." A faint laugh escaped from his lips as he shook his head. "Why would I kill someone for whom I've been waiting for since I… Since I could understand the concept of mother and father?"

"I have no idea of what goes through your head, Tom." She sighed and put an arm around his shoulders, using her other hand to hold his. "I'm sorry."

They remained in silence for what seemed to be an eternity. Hermione didn't think it would be helpful trying to make him speak right now, especially because it looked like Tom would burst into sobs in case he tried to say anything. So she simply sat there, her arm around him and her hand being squeezed by his thin fingers, listening to his hitched breath. It was only when she felt the tremors on his hand ceasing that the girl looked at him, smiling softly and wishing to change the subject.

"So I think you must be twenty years old." She offered the information as if it could be used to comfort him. "This means I must rephrase what I said earlier: the idea that I have of You-Know-Who is not the one of a young man. You're not a teenager, you old thing."

"You're wrong," he whispered and she felt relieved to see him smiling, even if it was weak hint of a smile. "I'm twenty-one. My birthday was on December the thirty first."

"Well," Hermione chuckled, resting her head on his shoulder for a few seconds. "Even older, then."


A/N: Thanks, Miss RSS, for beta reading :D So... Here's the reason Tom is acting weirdly in this fic. The illustration is on my tumblr... It's not a really great one this time, sorry. (also, I'm sorry for sneaking Riddle Sr in almost all of my stories D: he's my curse or something like that, he appears in my texts before I even notice...sorry).

- Sofia: thank you so much! Connecting the plot with the original is the thing I dread the most D: I'm afraid of putting too much of it and then the story ends up looking too much like the book, but I'm also afraid of not putting enough of it to the point of forgetting this is set during Deathly Hallows...but I'm so glad you're enjoying it :D And Ron is like a stone in my shoe, really... I'm afraid of writing him, he's a difficult character for me to write, he and Harry, actually. But I hope I end up doing him well... Again, thanks :D

- GenneGenevieve: thank you! And I'm happy to hear you're enjoying it :)