Frank Bryce was tired.
He had spent four long, harrowing years in the war before injuring his leg and was sent back home with nary a pence to his name. He had returned to his old job as a groundskeeper, serving a well-known, reputable family called the Riddles. He didn't interact with them much, nor did they pay much attention to him, but he had a small, respectable cottage on the grounds and was allowed to keep to himself. Because of this, he was fiercely loyal to them and would protect them until the day of his death.
One snowy day in February, he was braving his way through the grounds back to his cottage when he spotted a lone figure in the distance, barely visible through the sleet that poured down from the sky. Frank stopped and squinted at the boy; he looked very much like a younger version of Mr Riddle. But that was impossible—Mr Riddle was at the house taking tea with his parents. Shaking his head and muttering under his breath how it was foolish to go outside during a blizzard, he shuffled back to his cottage.
While Clara had been distracted speaking to the MacDougal boy and his Muggle wife, Tom had easily slipped out of the house and Apparated to Little Hangleton. He had been unknowingly given the name of the town by Clara when she had confessed her visit to his own uncle, Morfin Gaunt. From there Tom had down his research to discover the exact location of the Gaunt cottage and the Riddle House.
Tom did not know how his parents had met, nor did he care. His father had never been in love with his mother, or else he would not have abandoned her when she was pregnant with Tom. An old feeling, the mixture of anger and something that was almost pain, stirred up within Tom as he thought those words, but he refused to let himself be swayed by them. When he was a boy he had spent long, lonely nights at the orphanage wishing his father would take him back. Now he wanted nothing more than to see the light leave the elder Tom's eyes; in his mind he had no father.
The Riddle House loomed up in front of him as he strode purposefully up the front path, his heavy coat concealing his wand. Cold fury burned inside him while he surveyed the manor, its turrets and towers almost remarkably similar to Hogwarts, the mansion where his father had lived a succulent lifestyle without a care in the world, ignorant of the fact that his son was alone and starving in a Muggle orphanage.
Tom set his jaw and pointed his wand at the front doors; they burst open with a loud crash and he strode inside, pausing only to Stun the housekeeper who had run into the foyer to investigate the noise. This was none of the uncontrollable anger that Vetus Periculosus had wrought in him—it was only pure, cold, calculated fury.
Like Voldemort.
He had waited for this day for years. Tom knew that it should have been done long ago, but something had always happened to put it off, or for Clara to get herself involved in some abysmal plan that tore his attention away from the task at hand. Nineteen years of misery and resentment and torment were festering away inside him, and Tom suspected that not even Clara would have been able to distract him.
They were sitting in the drawing-room, talking in loud, arrogant voices about an affair the postman had been having with another one of their housekeepers. Tom stopped in the doorway, looking like a perfect replica of the nineteen-year-old Riddle Senior, and there were three distinct gasps from his father and grandparents.
"Who are you?" Tom Riddle Senior demanded. He lunged for the gun that lay on the coffee table, but his son had already pointed his wand at him.
"Darling, no!" Mary Riddle shouted. She screamed as her husband Thomas pulled a shotgun from his pocket and pulled the trigger. The ensuing shot echoed around the room, causing Tom Riddle Senior and his father to freeze. The youngest boy was the only one not to have reacted.
"I," he said calmly, looking directly at Tom Riddle Senior, "am your son."
There was a very long silence, during which Mary Riddle began to cry and clutched at her husband's arm, who ignored her. "Your mother was a filthy, good-for-nothing whore," Tom Senior spat, brandishing the gun at his younger counterpart. "I want nothing to do with either you or her. Now get out of my house and never show your face around here again."
A light smirk crossed Tom's face, but it held none of the foolishness and superficiality that his father possessed in such great quantities. His was truly terrifying, and even the Riddles could sense it. "I plan to," he said, in a very quiet voice. Mary screamed again, grabbing a glass vase from the table to hurl at Tom, but before she could throw it the room flashed with green light and everything went silent.
Six miles away, the Horcrux necklace burned hotter than it ever had before, so searing that Danielle cried out in pain and dropped her tea. Dylan and Felicity both rushed toward her, but she barely noticed the boiling tea splashing on her skin—a vision flashed in front of her eyes, so vivid that for a moment she believed she was there herself—and she saw an elegantly furnished room, three bodies strewn on the floor. She gasped as a choking hollowness filled up her heart, a darkness so deep that she was left grasping around blindly, certain that she would never find a way out. It was like being in the presence of a Dementor—but no, there was a spark of something deep down, something that Danielle was able to grab onto. Tom, she thought wildly. Tom, you have to stop. Get away from there—leave!
And then the connection broke, and she was back in the cottage, staring up at a shocked Dylan and Felicity, her eyes wild and tea dripping from her robes.
This time Tom didn't bother to cast Memory Charms on the housekeeping staff before he Disapparated out of the manor, reappearing on the main road just outside of the Gaunts' cottage. After he had seen the bodies of his family fall to the floor and the green light had faded from his eyes, he had heard Clara's voice urging him to leave. If Tom had been a less interrogative person, he would have dismissed it as a strange coincidence, but he didn't believe in coincidences.
Carefully filing away the memory to the back of his mind for later examination, Tom set off down the road, without a glance back at the Riddle House.
He felt nothing but a cold satisfaction at having murdered his father's side of the family; it was what they deserved, after all. If Tom Senior had shown remorse for what he had done, his son would have spared him. But he had scorned Tom, and in doing so he had only ensured his death.
It was only a short walk to the cottage, and Tom's sharp eyes spotted it right away. He didn't bother to conceal himself with a Disillusionment Charm; there were no other living souls around for miles, and even if there were, they wouldn't be out in a storm like this. Some inconsequential part of him was aware that it was bitterly cold outside and that he hadn't used a Warming Charm, but he barely felt the freezing air swirl around him. He had reached the Gaunts' cottage, and took a moment to survey it much in the same way as he had surveyed the Riddle House, taking in its collapsing roof and the snake nailed to the old wooden doorframe. It was ironic that, with all of its ostentatious grandeur, the manor had been nothing more than a façade, with no depth in the least. And now this tiny, shabby cottage had been the home of Tom's mother's family, with Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw and Godric Gryffindor as their ancestors. How many ignorant souls had walked by, unaware of the secrets it contained and instead thinking of the superficial Riddle House?
He would have once smirked at this, finding it amusing, but now no trace of humour crossed his mind. Something inside of him had changed, hollowed out, since he had created a Horcrux. Clara didn't notice, of course; she had been so preoccupied that she hardly noticed much of consequence anymore. When Tom had told her he loved her, that day in the Albanian pharmacy, he had felt perhaps a slight twinge of reluctance, but nowhere near the anger he should have logically expected to feel. In the past two months, his relationship with Clara had gone from intense both physically and mentally to one where they barely touched or spoke about important matters. Tom was certain that, once Clara was no longer preoccupied with her job and worrying about Slytherin, she would begin to press him on why he was acting differently towards her. He thought back to the previous summer, their first desperate, frantic night in the Room of Requirement and then the longer, unhurried days after they had first moved into the flat, where he and Clara had spent hours in bed…now it seemed as if it had been another person who had done those things, opened himself up in ways Tom had never even considered doing.
But he mustn't be sentimental now: what was he doing, thinking about that blasted girl any more than he had to? Tom's insults toward her were no longer filled with malice as they had used to be; now they were used only out of habit, perhaps even a touch of affection. Setting his jaw, he tore his mind away from her and focused on the task at hand.
Homenum revelio, he thought confidently, and sure enough, there was someone in the cottage. Tom knocked loudly on the door; surely he would be able to find the answers on Slytherin he needed.
It was quite a while before the door finally opened, revealing a short, hideously ugly man with an unkempt beard, ripped clothing, and dark eyes that glinted malevolently at Tom. He brandished a steak knife with one hand and a wand in the other. "What are you doing here?" he hissed in Parseltongue. "Get out of here, Muggle!"
"I am not a Muggle," Tom replied back, and he saw the shock on his uncle's face. This must be Morfin Gaunt, his mother's brother and the last heir of Slytherin besides himself.
"But you…" Morfin trailed off, lowering the hand that held the knife, though his wand was still pointed at Tom. "You look mighty like him. My sister ran off with him, didn't she? She took Slytherin's locket and left us! And then that girl showed up and started asking questions about the curse, saying that my sister had a son with that filthy Muggle!" He spat on the ground.
Tom took a step forward. "What do you know about Slytherin?"
"Not much," grunted Morfin; he took a step back into the house and sank into an empty, overstuffed armchair. Tom's lip curled in disgust as he surveyed the shack's interior; it was absolutely filthy, covered with a layer of dust and debris scattered everyone. "I'm descended from him, see. I'm the last one left, unless you count my sister's pathetic child—but he don't count, that Muggle blood taints Slytherin's noble blood! My father had Slytherin's locket—it was his prized possession until Merope stole it—and this ring. It's all I know of him." He brandished his middle finger at Tom, who saw that it wasn't a very rude hand gesture he was making, but rather showing him a gold ring that was inset with a heavy black stone.
"And what of Slytherin himself? Have you ever heard stories that he is still alive?"
Morfin shook his head and grabbed a wine bottle, the liquid inside overflowing and sloshing all over his robes as he lifted it to his mouth. "Never heard nothin' like that…my father used to say that he lived in the east, in Norfolk, but I never been there. Don't care, neither." He took another gulp of the wine and abruptly slumped down into the chair, snoring loudly. He had fallen asleep.
Tom stared in revulsion and a hint of disappointment at his uncle before pulling out his wand and pointing it at him; he refused to get too close to the filthy old man.
Later that day, Morfin would wake up surrounded by Ministry personnel and charged for the murder of the Riddle family. He admitted to it at once, unaware that false memories had been implanted in his head, and carted off to Azkaban, where he would spend the remainder of his life. If some part of his mind remembered the young, handsome boy who had appeared in the doorway and spoke to him, he never breathed a word about it. He was too preoccupied mourning the loss of the Gaunt ring, unaware that it had contained the Resurrection Stone all along.
Danielle tried her hardest to concentrate on Dylan's inane conversation—after Felicity had brought her a new cup of tea, Dylan had begun telling her about his plans for the new baby, including potential middle names and the Houses he hoped for it to be one day Sorted into—but Danielle's elation over becoming a godmother had abruptly vanished. Now she was worried about Tom and wondering why she had seen the strange vision. Was it just a hallucination, or had it actually happened? She had never heard of Horcruxes being so closely tied to their "owners", as it were. If that was the case, why was she being so closely affected by it? She had a vague memory about reading that Horcruxes could affect the moods of the people around them, but nothing about seeing visions or actually becoming connected to the person to whom they belonged. Danielle's hand unconsciously reached up and closed around the locket, which had cooled, and wondered if the red mark just below her collarbone, which matched the strange mark she had seen on Tom's chest, would ever disappear.
Just as Dylan was recounting an argument they had had while trying to decide what colour the wallpaper in the baby's room should be, the front door swung open again. Felicity jumped, letting out a small gasp. Dylan rose to his feet, reaching for his wand, but lowered it when he saw that it was just Tom. Danielle noticed the edge of something hard in his eyes, and quickly lowered her gaze when he walked over to her.
"Where did you go, Riddle?" Dylan asked, sitting back down next to Felicity, who had put a protective hand over her stomach.
"I was just taking a walk around the gardens," Tom replied smoothly, echoing Felicity's earlier words. "They are quite a sight to behold, even in weather such as this."
Both Dylan and Felicity appeared to be satisfied with this explanation, but Danielle, of course, knew he was lying. Seizing her chance, she jumped up and asked, "Can you show me those gardens, Tom? I'm quite curious now."
He shot her a warning look, but couldn't refuse in front of the others, so was forced to follow Danielle out of the cottage and out onto the road. She cast a Silencing Spell in case any Muggles happened to be nearby and crossed her arms, glaring up at him. "How many people did you kill?" she demanded. When he didn't answer, she jabbed her wand at him; he didn't flinch away. "You killed your father, didn't you? I saw it."
Now a faint hint of surprise crossed his face, and something that was almost like unease. "I presume you called out to me as well?"
Danielle stowed her wand back into her robes, satisfied that their conversation was finally getting somewhere. "Yes, I did. The necklace burned me as well."
Tom reached out and lifted the locket away from her neck, turning it over in his fingers before letting it drop back down; her skin tingled at his touch and she saw a flash of black that quickly disappeared. "It must be transferring some of its energy over to you. Since it is still connected to me, it can feed off my emotions. I would imagine that having multiple Horcruxes would diminish its strength…but even then, the connection might be honed…"
"You mean you would consciously be able to communicate with me?" Danielle asked, stunned. "Like…like telepathy or something?"
"That is a very Muggle way of looking at it, but yes," Tom confirmed, sounding almost lazily amused. "I will have to research that."
The thought of being connected to him by a Horcrux was not a pleasant one at all, and the image of the three bodies lying in the Riddle House crossed Danielle's mind. She cringed away from it, forcing herself to meet his gaze again. "Can we go home?" she begged. "I can't stand another minute of Dylan rambling on about whether they're choosing Niffler black or Flobberworm yellow for the baby's bedroom."
"Flobberworm yellow?" Tom asked. He still sounded amused, but Danielle knew he was contemplating the different ways he could toy with her mind—he would probably make her see false visions or hallucinations.
"Yeah," replied Danielle as she took a step away from him, back toward the cottage. "It sounds like the most unappealing colour—probably the last one I would choose for a nursery, but…what's on your finger?" She had seen that flash of something black on his finger again.
Tom raised his hand and she saw that he was wearing a ring on his right index finger, inset with a black stone. There was an odd symbol scrawled on the stone, but Danielle couldn't make out what it was. "It is another one of Slytherin's heirlooms," he explained, and Danielle realized that she had seen Morfin Gaunt wearing it when she had paid Little Hangleton a visit two winters previously. This must be the ring that Voldemort had used as a Horcrux.
Her eyes flashed up to him, startled, but Tom was sliding the ring off his own finger. He grabbed her wrist and dropped it into her palm, where the stone glittered slightly in the weak winter sun. "There," he said. "Consider it your engagement ring."
No matter how much she questioned him about what else he had done in Little Hangleton, Tom was frustratingly silent, only saying that she would eventually find out. Danielle wasn't sure whether that was a good or bad omen—but when it came to Tom, it usually wasn't good.
Invidia Skeeter's article appeared on the front page of the Daily Prophet the next week, and although it was shorter than Danielle expected it to be—it briefly stated that Tom was a half-blood, had grown up in a Muggle orphanage and been Prefect and Head Boy at Hogwarts, although it gave no explanation of his sudden departure from the school—he appeared to be satisfied with it. And, it appeared to have worked, as Slytherin still hadn't resurfaced and the diadem and Cloak were still hidden away.
Schefflur hadn't come forward either and accused Danielle of being a time-traveller—at least not publicly. He still had a reputation to uphold as Holstone, although once the summer came that was liable to change. He couldn't disrupt the timeline now, since he held such a valuable position at Hogwarts, but the question that often kept Danielle awake at night was what would happen when he felt like he had nothing to lose.
She was still on uncertain terms with Georgina, and although she had considered writing to her several times and asking about Schefflur, Danielle had refrained from doing so, still not quite able to forgive her after what she had done—or didn't do. Why hadn't she informed Danielle beforehand that Schefflur was teaching at Hogwarts? Danielle had very nearly been killed because of Georgina's omission of that one little fact. Perhaps it was childish and bullheaded of her, but she wasn't planning on speaking to Georgina until the other girl contacted her first.
On top of all that, Bode had recently informed her that although she was one of his hardest-working employees and technically should be eligible for moving up to a higher position, he was reluctant to allow it because she was too young.
"I can't believe it," Danielle groaned that night, slamming the door of the flat behind her and shrugging off her jacket. "He told me that I had to wait until I was twenty-one before I could even be considered for a raise! In his mind I'm still just an intern." She gritted her teeth and stalked over to Alistair's cage, who had been nudging at the lock with his beak, and let him out before reaching out her arm for Fawkes to fly onto. The phoenix was a surprisingly compliant pet; he didn't make half as much noise as Alistair and Ophelia put together, and during his Burning Days Danielle would often sit cross-legged on the bed with the tiny bird in her lap, stroking his gold-plumed head.
When Tom didn't respond, she glanced over at him to see that he was closely inspecting the mantle on the fireplace, reaching out his finger to swipe a bit of dust away. "Someone has been here," he announced, straightening up and dusting his hand off.
"What do you mean?" Danielle asked, alarmed. "Everything looks fine to me…"
"They did not take anything, but the wards I put up around the flat have been tampered with and the fire is still warm," Tom replied shortly, beginning his customary pacing around the room.
"But…but surely the animals would have alerted us," Danielle stuttered, glancing over at Fawkes and Ophelia. "I would have thought that Fawkes would be able to scare anyone away."
"Not if they were placed under a charm as well,'" Tom said grimly. He looked up and they met each other's gazes across the room, and they both knew what the other was thinking: Slytherin was likely the only wizard powerful enough to get past Tom's defensive wards.
"So," Danielle said, taking a deep breath and resisting the urge to run out of the flat screaming. "Did he get the diadem?"
Tom shook his head. "I did not hide the diadem or the Cloak here—fortunately, everything else appears to be untouched. There is, however, no telling what sort of ancient magic he may have placed on the wards." He looked frustrated, and for once, Danielle could sympathize with him. Tom was so used to figuring out the answers within seconds that knowing there may be branches of magic he wasn't aware of had to be unbearable for him.
After a long, uncomfortable silence, Danielle asked, "What do we do now?"
Tom responded to her question with one of his own. "Do you have a dress?"
"A…A dress? Why do I need a dress?" she stammered, completely befuddled.
"A wedding dress," he clarified, and Danielle's eyebrows shot up. "We are engaged, are we not?" he asked, a tone of sarcasm slipping into his voice.
"Yeah, I got that part, thanks," she snapped back. "Are you suggesting we get married now?"
"Tomorrow," he answered, waving his wand at the kitchen table. The items scattered on the wood immediately arranged themselves into a neat pile before Tom conjured a box and Summoned them inside.
Danielle hated asking so many questions, but her mind was still racing to keep up with his logic. "Why? Are we moving out or something?"
Tom didn't look at her as he replied, "Yes, Clara. That is exactly what we are doing."
"I can't believe you're finally getting married!" Alyssa squealed as she danced down the rows of dresses at Twilfitt and Tattings. "It's been months and I was beginning to think you called off your engagement."
Danielle rolled her eyes. "It's only been three months, Lyssa. You and Alphard were engaged for a year."
"But Alphard's not Tom," she was quick to reply, tossing a dress at Danielle. "If I were you, I'd want to marry Tom as soon as possible before he changes his mind."
Danielle, staggering under the weight of the dresses, couldn't help but chuckle. "As opposed to him changing his mind after we get married?"
"Shut up and try on the dresses," scowled Alyssa, knowing she had been beaten. Danielle cast the dresses an evil look, despairing at the fact she would have to try all of them on.
After she had ascertained that Tom was serious about getting married the next day, she had enlisted Alyssa's help with going down to Diagon Alley and picking out a dress; it was a sheer stroke of luck that the store was open late on Friday nights. At least Danielle wouldn't have to worry about taking a day off work, as she would have bet every Galleon she owned that Tom wasn't planning on a honeymoon.
"So you and Alphard will be the witnesses, then?" Danielle asked, stalling for time. Perhaps it hadn't been a very good idea to ask Alyssa for help choosing a dress after all.
Her friend nodded as she continued to scour the shelves. "I'll ask Dylan if he wants to come along as well…that is, if he can bear to be away from Felicity for an hour." Her voice dripped with sarcasm, and Danielle was about to say that Felicity was welcome to attend too until she realized that a Muggle wouldn't be allowed in the Ministry. "Now try these on," she instructed. "The shop closes in half an hour."
"Lyssa, I don't want to try any of them on," Danielle groaned, placing her hand on her forehead. "This was a terrible idea…listen, just pick a dress for me and I'll wear it, all right?" I've had enough stress for one day, she thought. First I was passed up for that raise, then I learned that Salazar bloody Slytherin has access to our flat, and now I'm apparently getting married tomorrow.
Alyssa finally looked concerned. "If that's what you really want, Clara. I'll make you some hot cocoa once we get back home."
"Back home?" Danielle echoed. "You mean I'm not going back to the flat?"
Alyssa shook her head. "It's bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding, remember?"
"Merlin, I thought that was only a Muggle tradition," Danielle groaned, leaning her head back against the wall and staring up at the ceiling.
"It's actually a wizarding tradition that was somehow passed through to Muggles," Alyssa explained. "Alphard can tell it much better than I can. Something about a Grim and a prophecy…"
Danielle, who would usually have been interested in such a tale, now found that it wasn't the foremost thing on her mind. The prospect of spending a night away from Tom and the flat was something of a relief to her, since he would undoubtedly be up all night compulsively checking to make sure that the wards were still working—and besides, if Slytherin did try to get in again, her absence would be one less target for him. She tuned out Alyssa's chatter and hoped that her friend would choose an appropriate dress.
To Danielle's relief, Tom didn't seem to particularly care that she was spending the night at the Blacks', and she found herself sitting in the kitchen of Alyssa and Alphard's new home—a grand mansion not far from MacDougal Manor and that could have comfortably fit ten of Dylan and Felicity's cottage—with her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of cocoa, despite the balmy March weather outside.
"…And then he said, 'Well, this certainly is a grim situation!'" Alphard laughed, but Danielle had barely heard his story. She appreciated her friends' efforts to calm her down, but she wasn't sure how to explain to them that it was much more than just pre-wedding jitters. How long had Slytherin known where they lived? Why hadn't he taken anything? What if he had found the diadem and replaced it with a fake one, like the time Tom had found the fake diadem? Danielle certainly wouldn't be surprised if that turned out to be true. She knew, of course, that Tom was more than capable of defending himself if Slytherin did decide to return, but what if he, knowing that she was the weaker link, went after her instead? Alyssa and Alphard were both quite capable and proficient at magic, but Danielle was sure they wouldn't be able to last in any sort of combat against a thousand-year-old, nearly immortal wizard.
She excused herself soon after Alphard's story—which was, she would realize later, actually quite funny—and went up to her room. Although it was lavishly decorated—no doubt they had received a large portion of both the MacDougal and Black fortunes—and her bed was just as comfortable as her old four-poster bed at Hogwarts, Danielle couldn't sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, a different and equally horrible scenario would pop into her mind: Tom somehow being overcome by Slytherin, Schefflur coming after her, both storming into the Ministry during the wedding…Danielle jerked awake for the millionth time, feeling something hard press into her palm. She shakily uncurled the hand that had balled into a fist and saw that it was just her ring digging into her skin. Despite its dubious origins, Danielle had worn the Gaunt ring on her finger almost constantly. She wasn't even sure herself why she continued to wear it, since it, unlike the locket Horcrux, wasn't bound by a Permanent Sticking Charm, but even so…Danielle held her arm out in front of her and watched the stone reflect the moonlight, casting long shadows onto the floor. She supposed she ought to be ecstatic and delighted that she was finally marrying Tom after weeks of uncertainty and hesitation, but all she could muster up was trepidation.
Alyssa woke her up early the next morning—Danielle hadn't even realized she'd fallen asleep until she saw sun streaming in through the curtains instead of moonlight—and forcibly dragged her out of bed, stuffing a thick white material into her arms. "Your dress," she said at Danielle's puzzled, half-asleep look. "Put it on."
Sleep deprivation combined with worry did little to help Danielle's nerves, and she ended up sitting, zombie-like, in the master bedroom in front of Alyssa's vanity table while the bossy redhead fussed over her, making sure that the dress fit correctly and pulling her hair up out of her face. Despite Danielle insisting multiple times that she didn't want or need a bouquet of flowers, Alphard dutifully brought her freshly-cut roses, which Alyssa explained proudly were from their garden.
"Lyssa, I'm getting married at the Ministry, not Westminster Abbey," Danielle complained before realizing she probably wouldn't understand the reference. Still, her friend definitely picked up on her uneasiness, and thankfully stopped her fussing.
"Fine," Alyssa sighed sadly, throwing up her hands in defeat. "I suppose it's suitable for a Ministry wedding."
Danielle shot her an amused look before standing up to see the damage that had been wrought. To her pleasant surprise, she didn't look half-bad: the dress Alyssa had picked out was perhaps tighter than Danielle would have liked, and rather low-cut, but it was simple and, she hoped, not overly expensive. Part of her hair was pulled up into a bun, leaving the rest to fall back over her shoulders, and luckily Alyssa hadn't seen it necessary to put any makeup on her. Danielle had to admit she was pleased with the outfit—it wasn't overly obvious she was wearing a wedding dress, but it wasn't shabby either; she might have been a guest at someone else's wedding.
Alyssa shoved the flowers into her hands and brought Danielle a pair of flat white shoes that were far too small, but Danielle didn't dare to complain. "We're meeting Dylan at the Ministry and Alphard told Tom that we would be there at noon," she explained as Danielle tried squeezing her feet into the shoes, thinking guiltily of Georgina. "I can't believe this is actually happening!"
"Me neither," Danielle muttered, trying to ignore the searing pain in her feet and wondering if she would be able to cast an Undetectable Extension Charm on the shoes so she would be able to walk.
"Now, are you hungry or thirsty?" Alyssa asked, flittering about her like an excited bird. "I can even ask Mother and Father if Tippy can prepare something and bring it over—"
"Just water, please," Danielle said, following her out of the room and back downstairs to the kitchen, where Alphard was waiting for them.
"You look great, Clara," he said, grinning. "I see that you didn't let Lyssa go entirely berserk."
"Excuse me?" Alyssa asked, appearing behind Danielle and glaring at her husband. "I would not have gone berserk! She doesn't even look like a bride as it is…"
Despite herself, Danielle couldn't help but laugh—until the locket gave a sudden tug, seemingly of its own accord. Her smile froze on her face, and she reached out to grab the back of a chair in case she was met with another one of the strange visions, but she stayed firmly in her own mind. At least the metal hadn't heated up as it had done before.
Tom had said that there might be a way to control the Horcrux, to make Danielle see what he wanted her to see instead of being pulled into his mind at certain moments, but from what she gathered he hadn't figured out a way to harness its power yet. At least it had only burned her once, but she couldn't shake off the feeling that it wouldn't be the only time.
Danielle was hardly spared a second glance as she was rushed through the Ministry Atrium later that day. Alyssa's hand was clasped tightly on her arm as she was yanked through the crowds, Dylan and Alphard walking on either side of her. With every step she took, Danielle's trepidation grew. After months of not even speaking about a wedding, they had made rushed plans within twelve hours, and now she was beginning to wonder if it was all a trick and Tom was still in their flat smirking to himself. Or—even worse—what if Slytherin or Schefflur got wind of the wedding and were planning to show up at the Ministry today? Danielle quickly ducked her head at the thought, although she knew it didn't do much to disguise her features.
Later on, she would look back at the journey to the officiant's office as a blur. Her heart was pounding so loudly that she could barely hear anything else, while another part of her was in denial that this was actually happening. She was finally getting married to Tom Riddle.
To Voldemort.
Danielle let out a squeak and stopped in her tracks, collapsing against the wall in horror. Why was she suddenly becoming upset about this now? She had had years to come to terms with the fact that she was in love with the Darkest wizard to ever exist, but now that she was actually marrying him it was as if the idea hadn't fully sunk in until now.
"Clara, are you all right?" Alyssa was asking worriedly from above her, but Danielle couldn't respond. She wanted to be sick, but concentrated on closing her eyes and taking deep, calming breaths. Come on, she told herself. You have been nearly killed dozens of times, time-travelled a hundred years into the future, broke into Nurmengard and was sent to Azkaban! Are you really going to let a wedding stop you?
"Yeah, I'm fine," Danielle said shakily, standing up straighter and forcing a smile onto her face. "Let's go."
Her friends still looked concerned, but she forced herself to move ahead and through the door where the officiant stood waiting.
It was a small, plain office, indistinguishable from Danielle's own office in the Department of Mysteries. A picture window looked down onto the street, where torrents of rain poured down onto the poor souls stuck outside in the storm. Nothing about it suggested that it had been the site of thousands of weddings through the years, some more rushed than others.
Tom was standing in front of the desk, dressed in a dark suit that made Danielle's jaw drop for a moment—Merlin, how did he look so bloody handsome in everything?—next to a man that she recognized as the same officiant from Alyssa and Alphard's wedding. They both turned as she hurried in, dropping the bouquet of roses on one of the chairs.
"Oh, excellent," the officiant said in a bored tone. "Looks like they finally decided to show up."
"We're only ten minutes late," Alyssa shot back, not seeming to notice or care that he was the same wizard who had married her and Alphard just three months before.
Danielle walked up to Tom and grabbed his hand tightly, not letting him pull away. "I thought you would be the one who wouldn't show up," she whispered. He gave her a withering look.
"If you'll just sign here, please," the officiant said, Summoning a piece of paper over to each of them; he kept casting longing glances at the window, as if eager to get to his lunch break as soon as possible.
I hope Alyssa and Alphard didn't pay him too well, Danielle thought darkly as she glanced over the paper. She recognized the vows from their wedding; the standard declarations of love and devotion to each other for the rest of their lives. Well, one of their lives would be much shorter than the other's. Grabbing a quill from the inkpot on the desk, she signed Clara Marie Ashford, 12 March 1946 at the bottom of the parchment and handed it back to the officiant. He waited for Alyssa and Alphard to finish signing their witness papers before collecting them all with a wave of his wand. "Congratulations," he said in the same uninterested tone, inclining his head to Danielle and Tom. "You are now legally married." At his words, Danielle felt a twinge on her finger and she looked down to see that a gold ring was now sitting on her left hand, taking the place of the Gaunt ring, which had moved to her index finger.
"That's it?" Alyssa asked, sounding disappointed. "No vows or anything?" Danielle distinctly heard Alphard mutter something that sounded like "Wish our wedding had been more like this."
"Some people don't need vows, Lyssa," Dylan said patiently, and Danielle supposed he was thinking of his and Felicity's wedding.
"Actually, they were on the parchment," she explained, letting go of Tom's hand—she was pleased to see that he was wearing a ring as well—and, after a quick smile at the officiant, grabbed her bouquet and followed her friends out of the room. "I suppose he didn't feel the need to say them aloud."
"So how does it feel to be married?" Alphard asked her.
Danielle looked over at Tom—he was her husband now—and found herself unable to process the fact that she was married to him. They had barely been inside the officiant's office for ten minutes. "I can't believe it," she said slowly. "Merlin, I'm only eighteen. If you'd told me a year ago that I would be married…" Shaking her head, she smiled to herself and turned back to Alphard. "What I mean to say is that it hasn't sunk in yet."
"That's normal," he replied, turning his gaze to Alyssa, who was talking to Dylan excitedly. "I still don't think it's sunk in yet that I'm married myself."
They emerged from the dark, cool Atrium of the Ministry into the pouring rain, standing under an overhang for shelter. Danielle hugged each one of her friends, profusely thanking Alyssa and Alphard for allowing her to stay at their manor overnight. "You better invite us to your new place!" Alyssa threatened. "Where is it, anyway?"
Danielle's eyes widened; with everything else that had been going on, she had completely forgotten that the whole reason for their marriage was because Tom was planning on moving out of the flat. "I…have no idea," she stammered. "I suppose I'll tell you when I find out."
"Well, that sounds ominous," Dylan muttered, giving Tom a hard glance. "Good luck, Clara."
His dislike for Tom had always been obvious, and it was apparent the feeling was more than mutual. Tom, however, just smiled, as if something about Dylan's comment was amusing to him. His annoyance was almost imperceptible, but just in case Alphard or Alyssa decided to agree with Dylan, Danielle hurriedly said, "Yes, I'll invite all of you to a housewarming party sometime."
A loud crash of thunder interrupted Alyssa's answer, and Danielle jumped backward into Tom. The Muggles who were out on the street began running for cover under the overhang, effectively stopping their conversation. Alyssa and Alphard Apparated back to their manor, and Dylan back to Great Hangleton, leaving Tom and Danielle alone. Sensing what he was going to do, she grabbed his hand and, after casting a Disillusionment Charm on them, Apparated away from the crowd of Muggles.
Danielle wasn't sure where she expected to reappear—in front of a rundown cottage, maybe, or even another flat in London—but she most certainly hadn't anticipated a sprawling manor house, every bit as grand as MacDougal Manor or Alyssa and Alphard's house. The grounds appeared to be well-kept and equally as large; there was even a pond on the front lawn in which ducks and swans were swimming.
"Where are we?" she asked dizzily, staring in awe at the manor looming in front of them—it looked at least a hundred years old.
"Norfolk," Tom replied, beginning to stride up the pathway toward the mansion. "Morfin Gaunt told me that Salazar Slytherin once lived in this area and I spent several days researching where he may have resided. The evidence pointed to this property, although of course the original manor would be long destroyed. There was a Muggle couple living here until very recently; they were both old and died within weeks of each other."
Danielle gave him a pointed look. "I don't suppose you had anything to do with that?"
"No, Clara," Tom said wearily. "It was merely a coincidence."
You don't believe in coincidences, she thought, but didn't voice it aloud. "So…we're going to live here now?" she asked in awe, craning her neck for a better view of the manor.
He nodded and opened the front door, Danielle stepping into a wide, tiled entryway with a glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling and a spiraling mahogany staircase leading up the second floor, where a balcony circled around the room. "I have been planning to move into it for weeks; it was only a question of when," Tom explained. But Danielle wasn't listening to him—she had heard a familiar cry, and rushed into the adjoining room where Alistair flew toward her, hooting excitedly. Fawkes and Ophelia followed suit. "And you brought all the furniture with you, too!" Danielle exclaimed. She laughed out loud. "I can't believe it, Tom," she said for the millionth time that day, standing on her tiptoes so she could kiss him happily, his arms wrapping around her waist in response. "What's gotten into you?"
His body tensed against hers, and Danielle pulled her head back so she could stare up at him. "There was hardly a more convenient time for the wedding, and it would have been foolish to stay in London any longer."
"Then why," she whispered, "Did we move to the place where Slytherin used to live?"
Tom's expression betrayed nothing of his true emotions as he said, "Firstly, he would not expect us to come here—in fact, it would be the last place he searches for us—and secondly, I have rendered the area Unplottable and studied advanced defensive magic in order to construct wards that are even more powerful than the ones that surrounded the flat."
This wasn't comforting to Danielle in the least, and, sensing her discomfort, Tom added, "I will not let Slytherin or Schefflur harm you, Clara."
"But you…you're not infallible, Tom! You said so yourself! You may be able to save your own life with that Horcrux, but what about mine?"
His grip tightened on her, and he murmured, "Trust me, Clara."
And Danielle had to—it was, after all, her only choice.
I hope that chapter was a bit unexpected-in a good way, of course! I know a lot of you weren't very keen on the idea of Tom and Danielle getting married, but it was always something I envisioned for them.
I hate to say this, but I think that I'm going to have to update a bit less often from now on. As you may have noticed (and probably have, judging by the steady decline in reviews throughout the story) updating every five days is really starting to become a bit of a burden for me, and I know that the quality of the fic is starting to reflect this. It's not that I've lost inspiration for this story or don't want to write it anymore...it's just that I'd like to concentrate on other stories and be able to write this one when I want to rather than feeling pressured to update. I've done the every-five-days updates for nine months now, so I feel a break is long overdue.
That being said, this story is not abandoned, nor is it even on hiatus. It just means I'll be updating less often-maybe once a week or so, if I'm feeling particularly inspired. Of course it doesn't mean that I'll stop writing cliffhangers! ;)
Just a quick heads-up, the next chapter will skip ahead four months, to July 1946. It doesn't mean that nothing happened to Danielle and Tom in that time...it just means that it wasn't particularly eventful. :) I decided to give them a bit of peace in the first months of their marriage, since they (or at least Danielle) deserve it.