Abraxas Malfoy was having lunch with Thoros Nott in the Hog's Head, not because he liked it, but because many establishments didn't serve Death Eaters. Yet Aberforth Dumbledore, bitter owner and known goat lover, could not afford to turn down any business. It helped that the man hated Albus Dumbledore with a passion unknown to wizards and witches alike. They could talk as freely as two Slytherins could in public spaces. Normally, Abraxas would floo to Thoros' or vice versa, but neither could be bothered and a walk would do both good.
Thoros was Abraxas' oldest friend. A close second was Walburga Black, but she was not counted because she was toxic and had treated Abraxas as a sidekick rather than a friend. Not to mention they'd had a terrible falling out. Where Walburga said everything on her mind, no matter the hurt it would cause, Thoros picked his words carefully, as if any altercation with Abraxas would take away from his long wizarding lifespan. Abraxas counted on that when he said, "I have started a hobby, Thoros."
''This ought to be good,'' the man whispered. Abraxas raised his platinum brows, awaiting something to be said on his expense, but nothing was.
The Malfoy clapped once. ''As you may know, there is a lot of robes in my wardrobe. Some are simply revolting. Some, though, are still rather a la mode. Not in their natural state, of course. I just need help with picking proper accessories.''
Thoros did not ask why Abraxas had dragged him from his manor to talk about robe accessories. He simply ordered them food. Fish stew for himself and pasta for Abraxas.
"Should we make an outing of it? The more accessories you have the better, yes?'' Abraxas grinned when Thoros continued. ''Theodore has grown into such an amazing person. I'm proud of him, really. Has Draco written you?''
''He has! He's at this conference of sorts in Munich. Now, about this trip of ours. I was thinking we first hit the Ministry owned shops."
"Really?" Thoros showed his incredulity well, only by lilting his voice in a specific manner. Anything more would be undignified considering their pure upbringing.
"Mhm. They have brilliant necklaces. While I'm at Hogwarts, would you mind procuring me an item?"
"What are friends for?" Thoros asked and tipped Aberforth when he came by with their food because he wasn't a stingy asshole. Tipping your waiters ensured that whatever they overheard would not be relayed later on. Aberforth showed his appreciation in a polite nod in their direction.
Thoros took the first sip of his stew when Abraxas idly commented: "I need you to seduce Dolores Umbridge."
Thoros tasted death twice in his life. Once when he was on a Death Eater raid in 1977 and now in 1998 when a piece of fish stew lodged in his throat and he hacked desperately for breath.
"The one time I don't have a healer on me is when I need one?" Abraxas said, voice panicked because, if his accomplice died, he'd need to speak to Lucius and Narcissa about this private matter. He waved his wand and a force of magic did the Heimlich manoeuvre for Abraxas.
"Are you joking?" Thoros plead, still among the living. "Are you joking?!"
Abraxas Malfoy quietly admitted that he was not and that, if Thoros did this for him. he would do whatever the Nott wished. As the Malfoys have always been friends with Notts and this transcended want, it had become expected of both families to be interwoven.
"I want them all brought to your Manor and I want them all burned! Fin! Ende!" Thoros Nott snapped. For too long, he had allowed a spectre to haunt his life. Now that he knew of his lord's living status, he wanted to help out in bringing him down as much as possible. He had a son to take care of! What kind of father would he be if he allowed himself to take up a Death Eater mask and commit terrorist attacks? The 70s were a midlife crisis, if anything else.
Abraxas recoiled and began to cough loud and painful, like a cat in February. "Don't say things like that. They're all I have..."
"Lies, you crow!'' Thoros shouted and then, remembering himself, lowered his voice in a hiss. ''You keep mementos and collect them like a bird that's got nothing else to live for but hoard and remember!"
Abraxas bit back a retort about divorce and abandoned children with terrorist fathers, and instead said diplomatically, "Thoros, if you do this for me. I will let you do the honours when or if I decide to be rid of them."
Thoros Nott, disgusted by his actions and the looming presence of a very much alive dark lord in hiding, sneered. "Fine." It would be easier to destroy him if his soul pieces were all in one place anyway. "Do you know where all of them are?"
"I think I do. Unless they have been moved..." Abraxas trailed off, pensive.
The Diary was in Malfoy Manor. Check.
The Locket was in Umbridge's custody. If Thoros did as told, they would change that quite nicely.
The Cup was in Bellatrix's vault. Abraxas was certain Narcissa could be trusted. Only a Black was safe in a Black's vault. That much everyone knew.
The Diadem was in Hogwarts. As Abraxas was in Hogwarts himself, he'd make a day out of trying to locate it.
The Ring was in Gaunt's shack, though that place radiated such powerful poverty that Abraxas Malfoy would dare not step one foot on the property. Nevermind the potent wards and curses set.
"Your job will be to get the Slytherin one." Abraxas decided.
"What will you do?" Thoros asked.
"Thoros, dear man, I live in Hogwarts. It will be a piece of cake to locate the Ravenclaw item."
"Mh." Thoros had plenty to say to that, but didn't. And for that, Abraxas cherished him.
They finished their meal, shifting into mundane topics. Lucius was nearing election time. He wasn't going to win. The new politics would never allow a Death Eater to win, not even if imperius was claimed. Theodore was soon going to finish his healer program. Thoros was so proud of him.
"I don't deserve him, Brax."
"I understand that feeling well." Abraxas said, meaning Draco. That boy had been everything Lucius could not be. He would be a great Malfoy Lord when the time came, as long as Lucius didn't drive them and their fortune into the ground.
"You don't think you deserve Lucius?" Thoros asked, surprise evident. He looked through the window to see if someone might have enchanted some pigs to fly.
"Lucius doesn't deserve me," Abraxas corrected his friend's mistake.
"You overestimate your worth, Abraxas."
"Like most people do works of art." Abraxas winked, not allowing to show his uncertainty. He wondered if Thoros was not a Nott and if he was not a Malfoy would they have still been friends. If Thoros had had a choice in the matter.
Thoros snorted. Abraxas gloated, twirling his cane as they slipped outside. The Malfoy Lord then leaned on his incredibly indulgent friend, wrapping his free arm under Thoros'. "You are a good friend."
"Notts and Malfoys have always been friends. It is a duty now more than anything else.'' Thoros said, annoyed. At Abraxas' quiet retreat, the Nott Lord added, ''You left the peacocks on Malfoy ground. Why?''
''I am allowed one familiar to take with me to Hogwarts and I cannot choose, Thoros! It would be anarchy without mon Flocon to lead the rest of them.''
''Flakey?'
''Flocon de Neige is his full name. It means Snowflake in French.''
''Ah, the white one.''
''Oldest one, too. He's somewhere my age. I've had him since I was a boy.''
''Take him with you. It's heresy to part with your familiar.'' Thoros then whispered conspiratorially: ''Sic the pandemonium which is your enormous muster of peafowls on the world in your absence.''
"Oh, you know me so well!" Abraxas shouted, leaning and swaying them both as they staggered through Hogsmeade like drunks without a drop of alcohol in them.
"You loud man."
Whilst twirling the cane: "Tom's term of endearment for me in parseltongue was an exclamation snakes have when they encounter a human that screams in fear."
"You did scream as a boy a lot."
"It was how Walburga and I communicated." Abraxas said. "We were like bats."
"How any of her dormmates could still hear after spending seven years in an enclosed space with her remains a mystery..."
''Sound muffling charms.''
''Thank Merlin for those.''
Dumbledore reached the outskirts of Little Hangleton with no difficulty. Riddle Manor stood out like an eyesore with its decadent and corroding appearance. The wards around it were protective and distinctly Malfoy.
Wisely, because Dumbledore didn't get to be the age he was if he sought out danger needlessly, he absconded towards the Gaunt shack. Compared to Riddle Manor, it was in ruins, falling apart and crumbling in on itself. The wards set around the place were Tom Riddle; not yet the full monster which was Lord Voldemort.
Harry Potter had been briefed on Lord Voldemort. Moody and Dumbledore had seen the boy grow pale and resolute as the seconds ticked by.
"I will do my best to win against him," the Boy Who Lived had said, like a true auror.
Moody smiled proudly and said that he would train Potter himself to face off with You Know Who.
Dumbledore kept the secret of horcruxes to himself, as it would kill him to have an open communication with anybody about anything.
It was important to note that, since Lord Voldemort had not tried to do anything in Harry's first year, Dumbledore saw no need to give Harry his invisibility cloak. Did a child with no threat on its head need a Hallow? Harry had grown into such a biddable boy without it anyway. He was even an auror! It was like the boy wanted to be a tool! Who was Albus to deny him such a life?
Not to mistake this train of thought of Albus' as him hating the boy or not caring for him. Oh, no. Dumbledore was fond of Harry very much. He saw him as that one distant nephew he felt no obligation to but sometimes still saw on gatherings like meal time at Hogwarts and such.
So, secretly, Albus went out to try and destroy a horcrux.
It was how he found himself summoning magic so it allowed him to fight into the building. Wheezing, he slipped to sit on the floor to catch his breath. His magic was powerful even after time and space had separated Tom Riddle from his ancestral home.
The not yet dying wizard set for the biggest magnitude of magic in the area. Right beneath the floorboards. Dumbledore took the elder wand with worn, shaky fingers and cast to have them vanish.
A box, preserved and kept out of harm's way, glowed. Beckoning.
Dumbledore tried to spell it open. It would not budge. The suffocating wards sensed his unwanted and disallowed presence. They put more effort into their magic, stomping down on his lungs, going from warning to threat in no time.
The box would not levitate. The wards made his time run out so Dumbledore could not figure out how to counter the box's magic. He lunged for it then, in a fit of desperation and Gryffindor bravery. Opened it in quick, vigorous movements.
The wards screeched like sirens listened to by a boy terrified for his life in a bunker underground.
In the box was the source of the foul, giant excerpt of magic.
25 percent of a soul was stored inside a small ring.
The elder wand pulled Dumbledore to take it, sensing that the ring was not simply a horcrux, but a Hallow.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore propped the ring onto his finger sloppily and felt a ghostly caress over the back of his neck.
He heard his sister's voice calling to him. "Al, I forgive you. Al, it's all right. Al, don't fight."
His eyes scrunched shut. The creases on his face looked painful.
Magic attacked. The walls seeped with hatred, ancestral. Of an heir scorned forever. Of an heir unforgiving.
Magic destroyed. The ring clamped shut and he could not remove it. A spectre appeared before him, sixteen of age and a murderer. That was fact.
The place of the crime mere moments ago visited.
Tom Riddle's face twisted in a pleased smirk. Hubris gloating in his crimson eyes.
"Professor, I am your mortality." When Dumbledore did not do anything or say anything because he was in unbearable, crippling pain, the horcrux switched to Ariana's voice, syphoning the resurrection stone's power. "Al, Al! You killed me, Al."
Rage erupted from Dumbledore as he swiped the spectre with the elder wand, but the magic went through Tom Riddle. A ward was hit and the spell was flung back, knocking him down as a result. He wheezed laboriously.
The voice shifted to Tom Riddle: "Professor, know that you have brought this on yourself. Was it worth it, to die for The Greater Good?"
With the last bit of magic he could do before passing out, Albus Dumbledore disapparated from the Gaunt shack.
The wards stopped their loud noise.
The ring remained.
Tom Riddle laughed, softly. If the dark wizard could feel, Albus Dumbledore thought, this would amount to happiness.
But in his eyes, Tom Riddle would forever remain an emotionless monster, incapable of feeling anything other than hatred.
Tom Riddle felt anxiety grip him hard by the throat and slowly strangle him as Merrythought continued her peering. Then, when she saw that he would not say anything, she took it upon herself to tell him, "We shall speak later. Do not avoid me. I will find you."
"How's your wife?" Tom Riddle found himself asking. His voice cracking.
"Oh." Merrythought frowned, uncomfortable with the sudden shift in topic. "She left me for the Unseelie queen to be her consort in court. It's a long story. I shall tell it to you later."
The faux American nodded and fled in quick strides to Lena for safety. Hermione was coming too, Draco by her side.
Lockhart was too busy schmoozing the most influential of speakers to notice anyone but himself. He laughed jovially with two Asian women. One was dressed in a flowery kimono and was talking slowly, deliberately choosing her words with care.
"It is good to meet you." She said with a bow. "I am Sato Kimiko, and my sister here is Sato Makoto."
The other woman nodded, dressed in a dark blue pantsuit. On her tie there was a flower in bloom, pink as a sakura blossom.
"Hello," she waved from her seat. Next to her were two laid back men talking to each other. One was black while the other was Native American. They hissed in parseltongue with one another and laughed.
"What are you two beautiful ladies presenting?" Gilderoy Lockhart wondered and leaned close in Kimiko's personal space. She gave him a courteous smile and explained that her sister was here by herself just as she was.
"I am here to collect sponsors," Makoto said decisively, "for my research in melding magic with technology. I have a software engineering degree. Think of how we could benefit if we could use computers and technology! The world is embarking on a digital revolution and we need to keep up."
Gilderoy, i do not know what a computer is, Lockhart smiled and said that that sounded productive. Next, he turned to Kimiko and asked about her work.
"Transcendental apparition. Let's go to the moon! It is possible if done right and prepared for, as the muggles have shown us. Continental apparition is slowly gaining traction and the next logical step is the moon. We are magic; no necessity for spacecraft."
Gilderoy, i did not know we landed on the moon, Lockhart smiled politely and excused himself.
Meanwhile, Tom Riddle heard a distinctive hissing sound where Gilderoy had been seconds before.
''So, Lord Voldemort walks into a bar-'' the Native American man started.
''I heard that one already,'' the black wizard said, tossing his dreads over his shoulder.
''What about the one where Lord Voldemort finds a golden fish in a pond and wishes for immortality?''
''Heard it, too. I think we've exhausted them all these past 17 years, Askook.''
''I think you are right, Kajo.''
The fucking parselmouths were telling Lord Voldemort jokes and laughing! If the British heard them they would be appalled at the gall of them all to undermine the horrors they'd faced by making fun of their monster in the closet. Lord Voldemort deserved better than this! Lena grabbed his arm and calmed his magic, utilising her hypnotic vampire powers to do so. She told him to go on a walk and find their seats. Tom Riddle did this, if only to stop himself from killing in a public venue.
Merrythought sought him out when she saw him alone and tousled emotionally. She grabbed him by the underarm and led him outside of the spacious arena. It looked like a smaller, quieter quidditch cup stadium, sans the fanfare of sport and jocks. ''Let me start off by saying that 1948, for me, was a mere month ago.''
The fairies had taken her, Tom Riddle instantly gathered, allowing the woman to lead him to a small garden area where they could sit and not be listened to. Time in Faerie passed slower than in the human realm. A month in Faerie could be fifty years in the human realm.
''I am seventy-one, professor. I am not twenty-one,'' Tom Riddle told her gently. He could not wrap his thoughts around the phenomenon of losing so much time in such a little span.
Merrythought regarded him with weary eyes that beheld kindness and affection, still. No wonder she could look at him like this; to her, he was still a student,not the mad, immortal wizard of everyone's nightmares. It put him at ease, if only until she gleaned into the past and understood his darkness.
''I know this. It confuses me, lad. Everyone keeps asking me about my time in New Zealand and I think it is the funniest euphemism for the fairy realm that I have ever heard.''
''Fairy propaganda to stop anyone from looking for you, then.'' Tom Riddle said. Then he inquired of her wife by choice, if not law.
''Beatrice is well. She likes Faerie and has decided to stay.'' There was bitterness as the aged professor spoke. She had retired to be with her wife, else she would not have parted with Hogwarts.
The shrubbery around them was stunning and littered with roses that shifted colours every five seconds, Tom Riddle noted to distract himself. It was akin to Narcissa Malfoy's projects. The Black had always been fond of aesthetics, rigid and clean. Not nearly as messy as Malfoys tended to be with their decor.
''Were you both taken?'' He found himself asking.
''No, it was only me. Beatrice came to my rescue and then was seduced to their side. The Unseelie queen is a bigger catch, you see.''
''Oh.'' Then, to mend his professor's broken heart, he told her his romantic folly. ''I poisoned Abraxas.''
''That isn't something to laud.'' Awkwardly, the woman asked, ''What had he done?''
''I am mad, Professor.'' Tom Riddle said and to admit this to someone who could, if they so wished, bring him down frightened him like a fox in front of hunters. ''I had done upon myself horrid things that took my sanity piece by piece, each less easier to part with.''
''The horcruxes.'' Her nonchalance with the noun set Tom Riddle overboard and he asked her if she knew what he had done in his fifth year with Myrtle Warren. She was the best Defence professor Hogwarts would ever see, his hypothetical self-included. How had he fooled her?
''You did not fool me. I was aware, as was Dumbledore, but he had had no noun to use to get you a sentence to Azkaban. He had come to me as you often did for guidance or conversation. The wizard was in pain. War loomed. His lover was nearing the threshold of our Islands. He needed a win. To some, it's fighting dark creatures, and to some, it's hunting children and wishing upon them Azkaban. I did not tell him anything nor did I hint at it. I loved you, lad, like you were mine. Dumbledore could go bugger off.''
''Why!'' Incredulity and bewilderment both entangled Tom Riddle's jumbled words. ''How can you not condemn me when everyone else would in a heartbeat?''
''I cannot judge you or condemn you,'' she confessed and he listened, unaware of how much he had longed for her voice and guidance. Merrythought had taught Dumbledore as a boy. If anyone was the wise sage type, it would be her.
''It is the easiest thing to do,'' the wizard said. Even though Merrythought favoured him, Tom Riddle would not ask anything of her. The loyalty she had for him was unparalleled. Perhaps because he had always wished it of her, but had never dared ask. Loyalty was the mark of Hufflepuffs, the hat had said.
''I cannot judge you for creating a horcrux because that is the only thing that kept me alive this past month - fifty years, what have you.'' Merrythought did not look away from his crimson eyes, watching as realisation struck like a clock on number twelve. There was no cuckoo to fly out, though instead Tom Riddle made an uncomfortable noise in the back of his throat and asked her how.
''It's cannibalistic.'' Merrythought clarified, blinking. Tom could swear he saw a red glint in her eyes. It did not clarify much, but it allowed Tom to begin to piece together what his professor had been up to in Faerie. If one were to eat their food, they would be trapped forever. It was their lore, after all.
''Oh my god, you cannibalized the fairies to circumvent their conditions.'' He cursed like a muggle, unaware of the lapsus. A swish of magic nearby did not alert either of the two magicals, for it was the least of their worries.
''I devoured their magic.'' Merrythought pulled out a ring (wedding ring?) from her robe pocket and said that she had put it all in here.
''How did you not go mad?''
''After the second time this had happened, I learned to conjure food and drinkable water, since aguamenti tastes like shite. It was better than to lose myself in the power I got from creating horcruxes.''
''I made five.''
''Oh. Oh fuck, lad. That's a lot.''
''It doesn't feel like a lot until you don't know who to trust and everyone is shooting killing curses at you.'' The man whispered sheepishly, divulging an excerpt of his madness to be picked apart. It was not.
''It is amazing, the feeling, when you make one,'' Merrythought confessed. The more powerful the magic of the victim, the more powerful the wizard creating the horcrux would be. Lord Voldemort could not comprehend what doing so to a fae would bring.
''If I could choose to make one right now without any repercussions, I would. Though, I fear creating another horcrux could send me overboard. It is dangerous magic.''
The magical signature lurked. Merrythought looked in its direction, but chalked her instincts up as heightened and afraid from the month spent running for her life and watching over her back constantly.
''I need to find the cunt that created the first horcrux and have him fix me. Do you know how? I care not for immortality.'' Merrythought said, hopeful and wrong to presume.
''Last time I checked, he was in Greece on an island somewhere, breeding basilisks.'' Tom Riddle tried to glance through the shrubs, feeling something watching him. He had a feeling what was happening and allowed it to happen, if only to continue his conversation with Merrythought undisturbed.
''Have you met?'' the ancient witch asked.
''I have not. Nor do I plan to. What I could do is ask around which island he is on and tell you.''
Merrythought smiled at Tom Riddle and pulled him into an awkward hug. He tentatively wrapped arms around her and let her hug him. It was him that pulled from the embrace first, when he had gotten enough of that. It confused him greatly. Up until this point, the only two people that had hugged Tom Riddle were Abraxas and Slughorn.
''HEY!'' Lena's protective voice pierced the air between them and, just as she lunged for Merrythought, the witch dodged, pulling out her wand and casting a protective shield.
''Lena, wait! We're all on the same side.'' Riddle tried for some sanity, but it eluded him and all of his compatriots.
''You were emotionally compromised,'' Lena said in Albanian and gestured Tom Riddle's salt-covered face, which he fixed soon afterwards.
Tom Riddle, in his defence, then said that she was as blind as a bat and how dare she insinuate that he, an emotionless creature of darkness moulded by hatred and anger, could ever feel anything other than the aforementioned.
Merrythought looked between Lena and Tom and asked what was going on.
''I'm his parental supervision.'' Lena introduced herself. Behind her, Tom Riddle was inhaling and exhaling slowly and deeply.
Merrythought looked betrayed. ''Lad,'' she said softly.
''Lena's more of a father figure,'' defended Tom.
''Get with the times, son. I used to be a man and now I'm not.'' Lena said and then elaborated further for Merrythought, who was not aware of the long and arduous story of Lena's self-discovery. ''Funniest bit was I was born as woman. But due to circumstances, I was man for two hundred years. I was fifth daughter in a family with no sons and my father decided I was to be his son. Did not consult me. Very rude.''
''Uh huh.'' Merrythought made prompting noises to be polite. ''I'm happy you figured yourself out, Lena.''
''Thank you. Would you like to hear more? Talking helps accept.'' Lena exhausted her English and kept asking Tom for more words. He indulged.
''I mean,'' Merrythought shrugged and put away her wand, recognizing friend instead of foe in the situation, ''if you like.''
Lena opened her mouth to talk about her moment of epiphany, but then was interrupted by a shout.
''Everyone!'' Hermione yelled and all three adults looked in her direction as she ran towards them. ''We need to take our seats. They're starting.''
''We won't die if we miss a few introductory sentences,'' Merrythought mumbled, earning a fierce glare from Hermione. The old witch turned to Tom and whispered, ''Is this your granddaughter?''
''No, she is my apprentice.''
''Coulda fooled me. You're both nerds. Am I using that word correctly?'' Merrythought chuckled and asked Lena.
''You are!'' Lena laughed heartily and took to Merrythought like bees to coca cola. Now that she knew the witch meant them no harm, Lena unwound and adopted a familiar relationship. Tom didn't think too much on it, aware of how his dark arts mentor was beyond help.
''Professor Merrythought, Lena, please stop.'' It was illegal for them to gang upon him like this.
''Boo, you insufferable nerds!'' Merrythought shouted at both Hermione and Tom.
''You are not cool!'' Lena joined in. ''You are the opposite of cool!''
Hermione didn't know how to feel about two old ladies jeering at her like this. Neither did Tom Riddle, for that matter.
Antagonists, because the story really needed some outside source of mischief to further along the plot, gathered behind curtains to view the attendees and watch out for their target. Draco and Hermione conversed, sitting at the same table. Two old women laughed at each other and kept elbowing one another cheerfully. Gilderoy Lockhart was sitting next to Lord Voldemort in a cowboy hat and denim robe, with red boots peeking out. Neither spoke a word to one another and instead sat in unnatural silence.
''Let's snipe him,'' a woman's voice said, wand out and taking aim.
''No, no, when he is on the podium.'' A Spanish accent seeped from the other woman, stopping her from shooting. ''He will pay for his crimes. We will enact revenge for all of the lives he's ruined and we shall make it public!''
