Chapter 29 - Proof
Disclaimer: I don't own most of this stuff. The only things I own are a few spells, fictitious books, and some supporting characters.
Dinner was a somber, formal affair. Tom was very glad he had dressed well, and as it was, his clothing, though stylish, was definitely the least ornate. Most of the conversation revolved around investments, issues at the Ministry, and, unfortunately, Morgana's opinions on everything.
The Malfoys were doing their best to impress Tom, thought their motives were unclear. The simplest dish was whole lobster with butter sauce. After the meal, crème brulee with an intricate gold leaf pattern in the caramelized topping materialized in front of them. When they were finished, Setheus stood.
"Why don't you ladies retire to the parlour?" he said with the force of a command. Though she was clearly put out, Morgana left without comment.
"Abraxas, Mr. Riddle, please follow me to my study. Aulus, show Mr. Black around the grounds," he ordered.
Minutes later, the three stepped into a dark, masculine room. Appointed in dark green velvet with rosewood furniture and bookshelves, the room was beautiful in a very Slytherin fashion.
"Please, sit down," Mr. Malfoy said, gesturing to a chair near the desk behind which he was sitting.
Tom took his seat. Abraxas did the same.
"Abraxas relayed a very curious story to me last night, Mr. Riddle. Do you have any idea what it might have been?" the elder Malfoy asked emotionlessly.
"I'm sure I don't know, unless you find occasional lovers' spats curious," Tom replied, meeting Malfoy's eyes with his own.
"I was referring to your claim of a certain ancestor," he clarified, irked at Tom's wilfulness.
"Ah, I didn't realize it would be worthy of such concern on your part," Tom mused. "Perhaps I ought to have just Stunned Abraxas instead of bothering with conversation."
"You wouldn't have had an easy time of it," Abraxas interjected, offending at Tom's mean opinion of his capabilities.
"Of course not," Tom agreed.
"Mr. Riddle, apparently your association with that Gryffindor Mudblood has robbed you of all appreciation for subtlety. Now answer me, are you the Heir of Slytherin?"
"What if I am? I don't see how it is any of your concern."
"Mr. Riddle, I am in the position to help you a great deal if you are, in fact, deserving of such help. Rest assured that you will only gain if you were being honest with my son. I am giving you the chance to prove yourself."
"How do you propose that I...prove myself?" Tom asked coolly.
"I'm sure you can come up with something," the Malfoy patriarch replied.
"You will make an oath never to disclose this to anyone," Tom ordered.
"If you are the Heir of Slytherin, I will not reveal what you tell or show me while in this room," Setheus vowed, the crackle of magic sounding around him.
"Very well." Tom pulled the heavy ring from his finger and set it on the desk. "This ring has been in the possession of my family for centuries. Only the Heir of Slytherin can wear it without suffering the effects of the curses upon it."
"While that is a very nice story, you have done nothing to prove that it is true," Abraxas interrupted.
"Would you care to test it?" Tom asked generously. "You have a younger brother: surely your father could spare you?"
"Florry," Setheus called, snapping his fingers.
A house elf materialized in front of the desk.
"Put on the ring," he ordered the cowering servant.
Florry reached a trembling hand toward the ring. The second the unlucky elf touched it, her finger began to smoke and burn. She pulled back with a smothered scream, not wanting to risk the wrath of her master.
"Leave," Setheus ordered. "May I cast a diagnostic spell?" he asked Tom.
Tom nodded, watching the older man closely. He cast a several spells, all used to reveal the presence of curses and give their identities.
"There are many curses upon this ring, but I cannot determine their nature," Setheus admitted. "I have never seen most of them before. Whoever enchanted this ring was a master of their craft," he continued admiringly.
"You believe me now?" Tom asked.
"You appear to be telling to truth, or at least part of it."
"Well, now that we have answered all of your questions, it is time for you to answer some of mine," Tom spoke. "What do you know about the Deathly Hollows?"
Malfoy looked shocked. "Do you have them?" he asked with dreadful eagerness.
"I would not tell you if I did, but I do not. I need information on them."
"Grindelwald was rumoured to have it, but it had disappeared by the time the International Wizengamot tried him," Malfoy shrugged. "To claim it, you need to defeat its owner and it will belong to you. They won't be able to use it properly."
"Do you have any idea what it looks like?" Tom asked.
"Dark brown wood. Supposedly, it looks like it has been streaked with blood."
Tom immediately recognized the description as fitting his own wand, the one Dumbledore had given him at graduation. It would make explain Dumbledore's actions.
"What about the cloak and stone?"
"I have no idea."
"Then I will take my leave."
"I am sure we will meet again before too much time has passed," the older man said.
Tom was just about to leave the room when he noticed a silver cage in the corner. He turned from his path to the door and walked over to it.
"What are you doing?" Malfoy asked, sounding slightly irritated.
"Well met, snake brother," the adder hissed.
"Good evening," Tom replied in Parseltongue.
"You speak Parseltongue," his host interrupted.
"Of course. I'm the Heir of Slytherin," Tom asserted, as he walked once again to the door.
Tom left the town house and Apparated back to his apartment building. Once in his room, he immediately drew his wand and examined it carefully. It was definitely made of elder wood and could look bloody if one had a strong imagination. Almost positive that he was now in possession of two of the three Deathly Hollows, Tom sat down to plan his next actions. He would need to be cautious around the Malfoys. They were the epitome of a Slytherin family and would be watching him. He would need to fulfil their expectation to receive their support, yet he couldn't be obvious about it without alienating Hermione.
Upon thinking of her, Tom picked up the ring he had made her. He looked at the clock: it was just nine o'clock. He looked at the ring a moment longer before Apparating. Hermione was curled up on her sofa reading a book. Tom nearly laughed out loud when he read the title.
"I guess I should have bought that for you when I saw it."
"Louisa thought my skirt was too short, so I figured I ought to find out what you people wear in the 1940s. Did you know that the more old-fashioned Purebloods still prefer that a widow marries her husband's brother if she is childless to carry on the family line?" she asked, not even looking up.
"Yes, I did," Tom said, hiding his exasperation. He had expected her to at least stand up to greet him. "I brought something for you," he added, trying to get her attention.
"Set it on the table," Hermione waved dismissively.
Tom waved his wand and Hermione flew towards him. He caught her and set her upright before taking her hands in his.
"I would much prefer to give it to you in person," Tom said seductively.
"Tom, I am your girlfriend, not your child. You could have asked me instead of dragging me over," she frowned.
"I'm sorry, I wanted you to be as excited about this as I am," Tom said.
"Well, what is it?" Hermione relented.
Tom pulled the ring out of his pocket. "I made this for you," he commented, slipping it onto her finger, specifically, her left ring finger.
"Tom, this isn't an engagement ring, is it?" Hermione asked, dumbfounded.
"It is if you want it to be," Tom offered craftily.
"That's your idea of a proposal?" Hermione asked incredulously. "You can keep your bloody ring!" she said huffily, throwing the ring at Tom's head. He caught it and looked at her in surprise.
"I'm sorry, I didn't even think of what that finger would mean," he lied believably. "But if you want me to propose, I will. I wasn't planning to for a while, but I can't imagine marrying anyone else. The engagement can be as long as you want," he added, warming to the subject.
"That was slightly better, but I expect more of you," Hermione smirked. "Keep the ring for now. You can try again later." Inside, she was ecstatic that Tom was willing to commit, and even brought it up first. Louisa's wedding had led her to start thinking about her own wedding and family, though she still planned to wait a few more years.
"No, I want you to keep the ring," Tom insisted. "It has several protection charms on it, since Thomson took your other ring. It can be a . . . betrothal ring. Showing that we will get married, just not immediately."
"All right," Hermione agreed simply. It was exactly what she had wanted the moment he brought up engagement. Tom kissed her hand before sliding the ring back onto her finger. Hermione was nearly overcome with emotion and pulled him down to kiss him. Tom was not as calm as he would have liked and responded passionately to Hermione's kiss. They pulled apart several moments later, breathing rather harshly.
"I had better go," Tom said. "We both have work tomorrow."
"Good night," Hermione said. "I love you, Tom," she added, hugging him for a moment longer.
"I love you, too," Tom whispered before Disapparating.
*** *** ***
Hermione went to work the next day, hoping that Thomson would be in a good mood. She was getting tired of his overbearing methods and constant attempts to make her lose focus.
Today was her lucky day.
"We are going to have a little talk before starting your training today," the head Auror said, leading Hermione into his office and motioning for her to sit.
"About what, sir?" Hermione asked coolly.
"About your training, of course."
"What specifically?" Hermione questioned, dreading the direction the conversation was likely to take.
"I have decided that you will start taking part in group training exercises. However, you will take the Auror qualification test today. You are perhaps the most exceptional trainee of any I have worked with. Yes, I know you held yourself back," he grunted, seeing her look of disbelief. "But you have still been astoundingly successful. I will administer the written and practical exams. If you pass them, you will continue group training with the other trainees and begin to work part-time as an Auror or take a job in the Department of Mysteries, since Trelawney has offered you a position." he finished, a hint of distaste in his tone.
"Will you give me a few days to decide?" Hermione asked, confident that she would pass the exam. She had never failed one before and was never planning to.
"You will have until Friday," Thomson replied. "Are you ready to begin the test?" he asked. She nodded, and he slid a stack of parchment across the desk.
The written portion was fairly simple, dealing mostly with procedures and legal issues. Hermione finished within the hour, positive that she had missed no more than two or three points. Thomson looked over it for a few minutes and almost cracked a slight smile.
"You're practical will take place in the same room as your assessment at the beginning of training. I will oversee it. You will not be penalized for any actions, not even Unforgivable Curses, though I would advise against using them," he warned.
Hermione held back a smirk. "I've been around too many Slytherins this year," she thought.
The practical was fairly close to what Hermione had expected. There were exercises dealing with magical creatures, hostile enchantments, and fairly generic criminals.
The final part of the practical was a surprise, though Hermione would later think that she ought to have expected it. She found herself once again on the battlefield, everything identical to her previous experience in the room.
"Granger, help me out over here," a witch in black robes with the Hogwarts crest called.
As before, Hermione hurried over to the witch, who was being attacked by two large wizards in black robes. She quickly dispatched the Death Eaters and immediately ran over to where she knew Harry's body to be. She Disillusioned herself, not wanting to repeat the experience with the Cruciatus Curse. Hopefully, she would have destroyed the Horcrux by the time Voldemort found her.
Once again, she took the sword from Harry's still warm hand, shivering when her hand brushed against his. Not even pausing to look around her, she slammed the point into the locket. A scream of fury cut through the sounds of battle. Hermione took a moment to reassure herself that she had completely destroyed the locket and steeled herself for the coming confrontation with Lord Voldemort. She would not be caught unprepared this time.
"Hermione Granger, the Mudblood friend of Harry Potter, how pleasant to see you again. Though you left me, I never thought you would actually try to kill me. I must admit, I underestimated your Gryffindor predisposition for martyrdom," Voldemort hissed, red eyes flashing with rage.
"What are you talking about? I was never with you. I thought you only made things up when people asked about your bloodline," she retorted, hoping that Thomson wouldn't ask her about it after the exercise.
"I never really cared about bloodlines until I met you," he replied with a ghastly smile, circling around her. "Of course, I thought pure blood was superior, but not worth killing over. Your betrayal was what made me crave killing Mudbloods. It was never about not having pure blood; it was about having mud blood."
"I never betrayed you, how could I?" Hermione asked, praying that this Voldemort wouldn't say anything about his past self.
"Of course you did," Voldemort said. He stood close behind her and whispered in her ear. "But I see you are still wearing the ring I gave you. I'm touched. After all, I can't imagine marrying anyone else," he hissed, pressing his lips against her neck. Hermione jerked away and turned to face him.
"Maybe I will forgive you if you ask very nicely," he said conversationally. "You did say that you love me. Of course, I don't love you, but a Mudblood can't have everything."
"You killed everyone," Hermione accused, shaking in anger. "I have nothing for which to ask forgiveness. However, if you ask very nicely, maybe I will make your death painless."
"Ah, still clinging to your Gryffindor nobility. And to think you were almost placed in Slytherin. You will never kill me, even though your Ministry demands it. After everything we went through together, killing me seems so blasé, anticlimactic. Maybe I will make you my pet," he mused. "A fitting position for you."
"You are not the man I knew," Hermione ground out.
"Yes, I am. I was always there, though you chose not to see it. So many things you ignored, pretending that love could conquer all. Obviously, it can't," he said mockingly, motioning to the dead bodies around them.
Hermione tightened her grip on her wand. "But what love cannot conquer, hate can," she whispered. His attention returned to her just as the green bolt hit him in the chest. Hermione noticed curiously that his eyes had seemed to change to gray as he died.
The battlefield swirled around her. She blinked and when she opened her eyes, she was back in the small room in the Auror Headquarters. She tensed when she thought about Thomson seeing the interchange on the battlefield.
"Congratulations, Auror Granger," Thomson said, stepping into view. "Though I would like to ask, I will refrain. You seem to be trustworthy, and I have never been wrong."
"Thank you, sir," Hermione returned, relieved by his response.
"Now, about your practical. The single exercises were exemplary. Though still very good, the group simulations could use a bit of work, as I suspected. Black and Dawlish have been short a team member these last few weeks and I'm sure they will be glad to have you back."
"All right," Hermione agreed.
"Very good. Mondays and Wednesdays you will report to regular training with the other trainees, Tuesdays and Thursday you will go on assignment with senior Aurors, and Friday, you will work in the Department of Mysteries," he said with faint distaste. "I truly hope that you do not decide to pursue a career in something absurd like Trelawney did. She was a very promising trainee, same year as I was," he reminisced. "By the way, here is your ring back," he said, pulling it out of his pocket. "I must apologize for my manners that day. We had just lost a new Auror to a simple Fireball Curse. Something like that ring would have saved him."
"I understand," Hermione replied, some of her angst for the man disappearing; he seemed to care a lot about his employees.
"I would be very indebted to you if you could convince Tom Riddle to make several more or show one of our enchanters what spells he used," he continued. "He would be compensated very well."
"I will talk to him about it," she promised.
"Thank you," he offered gruffly. "Now, you better hurry. The trainees leave in ten minutes via Portkey."
Hermione rushed to the training room, feeling better about her career choice than she had since the first day in the Forbidden Forest, but feeling conflicted about the rings on her finger and in her pocket. It seemed that every time her relationship with Tom went forward, something happened to remind her of who he was or might become.
Several floors below, Tom Riddle walked into the department library. "Deathly Hallows," he said quietly to the little man at the entrance. The librarian looked suspiciously at him before standing up and moving more quickly than anyone his age had the right to, in Tom's opinion.
"There's an enchantment preventing anyone from finding these books without being shown the way," he explained as Tom followed him through the winding stacks, up rickety steps, down spiral ramps, and through more than one secret doorway. Finally, he stopped. "Every time you want to come here, you will need me to show you the way. This room is Unplottable and I cannot be forced to give the directions by Veritaserum, the Imperius Curse, or any other measures. To find your way back, lay your wand across your palm and say 'Findetür.' The wizard who created this room was from Durmstrang," he explained with a sour look. "Your wand will glow when you are going in the right direction. Don't even bother writing down the directions, because the room will be somewhere else when you get here. And you can't remove books from it, though you can copy up to five feet of parchment."
"Is that all?" Tom asked exasperatedly.
"Yes," the old man said, taking pleasure in Tom's displeasure. If he was going to have to show the young whippersnapper the way to this room every day, he wanted someone else to suffer along with him.
Tom's only purpose was to determine if the wand Dumbledore had given him was the Elder Wand. He was soon surrounded by stacks of books. Many of them were appeared to be paraphrases of the same source text, but he couldn't find the source. After a few hours, he came across an old leather-bound journal, covered with scrapes and stains. He opened it with little hope of finding anything worthwhile, but was greatly surprised. It was the journal of a traveller named Roderick who had attempted to trace the ownership of the Elder Wand.
The writer had spent fifteen years going around Europe, the British Isles, and even Siberia, trying to fill in the history of the Elder Wand. He or she had started with Barnabas Deverill in the seventeenth century, travelling to Bradford-on-Avon, where the Deverill family had lived in an old Saxon church for a few hundred years at the time of Deverill's death. Local folklore had pointed to Loxias, then Livius or Arcus. Roderick had gone to the home villages of both and collected all the information on them and their families, tracing out possibilities. By the end of his journey, he had discovered that the Elder Wand was in possession of Gregorovitch the wandmaker. Tom stood from the cramped desk and went in search of information about Gregorovitch. The librarian directed him to a much closer shelf with only a few books on it. Tom wasn't surprised when he discovered that the wandmaker had been killed by Grindelwald. He surmised that the Dark wizard had taken the Elder Wand from Gregorovitch and kept it until he was defeated by Dumbledore, something that gave Tom pause.
"Though it is exceedingly powerful, it does not make one invincible," Tom determined. Continuing to analyse events, Tom realised that he must have disarmed Dumbledore immediately following Grindelwald's defeat. Tom almost felt some slight pity for Dumbledore, losing the wand only hours after winning it, but he deserved to lose it if he couldn't defend himself.
"I wonder why Dumbledore gave me the wand," Tom questioned himself.
Tom resolved to think on it later. For now, he needed to go speak with Hollis.
His supervisor was sitting at his desk with a harried look on his face as he sorted through the mounds of forms in front of him.
"Never let them give you any job in the department other than researcher," he advised Tom. "People like us are distinctly unsuited for anything involving the tedium that is paperwork."
"I have some information on how to get Nichols out of the Veil," Tom offered.
"Talk. I'm listening even though I appear to be suffocating myself in parchment."
"I need the two of Deathly Hallows to enter the arch safely and bring him back. Without them, I would die, get lost, or at the least, not be able to return with Nichols."
"How do you expect to get your hands on the Deathly Hallows?" Hollis asked in horror. "The Ministry tries to get us to find them once every decade or so. The closest anyone ever got was when one of the Seer's thought that Grindelwald had the Elder Wand. The others haven't been heard of in years."
"What would the Ministry do if I were to find them?" Tom asked, feigning nonchalance.
"They would send you through the Veil and be waiting around the arch to disarm and Obliviate you should you return successfully," his supervisor admitted. "I guess I need to go to the Minister and explain the situation to him. Maybe you'll be assigned to find the Deathly Hallows. Oh well, every new researcher deserves the chance to try their luck at finding them. I spent a very enjoyable summer in Austria looking for the Resurrection Stone," he reminisced, sliding his chair back from the desk. "My fiancée even visited for a weekend. They give a very generous expense account," he clarified. "Though you might want to avoid that part of Europe right now, with that Muggle war just over."
"I'll keep that in mind," Tom replied as Hollis trudge out of his office. Tom glanced at the papers on Hollis' desk before following him. There was nothing terribly interesting, though there was a form for him to sign about a new filing system for prophecy globes. Though Tom had never had much reverence for Divination, he had to admit that some prophecies couldn't be rationalised.
Hermione arrived in the training room just as they were about to leave.
"Thomson sent me for group training," she told the Auror in charge.
"All right, take the Portkey with Black and Dawlish," he ordered.
"Hermione! Welcome back!" Alphard crowed, slinging an arm around her shoulder, pouting when Hermione shrugged it off. "Is that any way to treat a teammate?" he asked, stymied.
"If their name is Alphard Black, yes," she retorted.
"I'll second that," Dawlish commented, a glint in his eye. "Glad to have you back, Granger. I was planning on strangling Black here today. Now I'll have help."
"But Dolly, I thought we were becoming friends! Now who am I going to get to help me with my homewo-" he was cut off when the Portkey jerked them from the room.
"So, how have you been?" Dawlish said when they landed in a meadow. "We heard that you were training with Thomson. Did you get him to agree to come back to regular training?"
"Not exactly," Hermione replied. "He said that I didn't need any more individual work, but I needed to improve on coordinating with other Aurors. I passed my certification this morning."
"Congratulations," Alphard interrupted. "Now I have an excuse to drag both of you out for drinks, providing we survive today's training."
"Trainee Black, be silent," the trainer's voice boomed across the meadow.
"Yes, sir," Alphard replied, innocence dripping from every pore. Hermione couldn't believe how much he reminded her of Sirius in that moment. He probably could have given the Marauders some good competition.
"Today you will be duelling each other in groups. You will have five minutes after I finish giving instructions during which you must determine a strategy. There are no set requirements, but the last group intact will receive a bonus."
"What sort of bonus?" Hermione asked out of the side of her mouth.
"Probably finishing early, maybe individual training with a more senior Auror, no way of telling, really," Dawlish supplied.
The Auror had finished. Hermione thought for a moment before beginning to speak.
"I am very good at defensive and shielding spells, but probably not as agile as the two of you," she admitted. "I think that I ought to take care of the defensive work and leave the attack to you. Do either of you have a specialty?"
"I'm rather good at psychological spells, Confundus and the like. I can incapacitate them a bit and let Alphard finish them off," Dawlish offered.
"Sounds good to me," Alphard agreed. "Maybe I'll turn them into frogs, that could be fun," he considered.
Hermione and Dawlish looked at each other and smirked. This was going to work out wonderfully.
