Harry is too powerful and Riddle is too weak. Other times, Harry is too weak, Riddle too powerful. You can never really strike a happy median for everyone, can ya? In this story, there are three strong characters: Riddle, the master of magic. Harry, the master of emotion. Regbo, the master of the mind. We have yet to truly see Riddle and Regbo in action.
Soon.
29. Chapter Twenty-Nine
"Tonks?"
Elbowing his way through the crowd, Remus couldn't find her fast enough. They were all in his way. "Excuse me, please!" Remus swam through the traumatized group of witches and wizards as they looked toward the group of gathered Aurors.
Around their gathering forms, a few discarded bodies lay. Sheets covered their prone forms, hiding their identity and giving them a semblance of concealment. The sheets could not hide the bloodstains. And the sheets did not discriminate the size of the body they covered either. Some bodies beneath were large, some were abnormally small.
Remus stared at the wreckage, smelling the blood, smelling the fear and utmost horror.
He could smell them.
His hackles rose at the mere scent. He was surprised there was enough blood to make puddles.
"Alastor!" Remus cried out, seeing the Head of Magical Law Enforcement.
He pushed through the crowd and approached the grey-haired Auror. The man's dark eyes narrowed as they watched Remus' approach. As soon as the man identified him, a tight line appeared on his already thin lips. Remus instantly hesitated at the fierce expression. He and Alastor Moody were on good terms.
Or at least he'd thought.
"Lupin," Moody growled in greeting. He nodded to a few Aurors and they gave him varying looks before departing. "Come over here." The man lifted a hand and placed it on Remus' shoulder, steering him further away from the Aurors and further away from the gawking spectators.
"Where is Tonks?" Remus pressed, straining his neck around to look at the group of Aurors. James and Sirius weren't in this particular group. "She's under your mentorship. Shouldn't she be here?" He licked his lips. "When I heard about the attack—"
"It was a rogue attack. Completely random."
They stopped and Remus shook his head.
"Vampire attacks are never random. This is their true nature."
Moody's beady eyes stared at him. "I had a feeling you'd think as much." He looked over Remus' shoulder at the bodies. "But what makes this any different than werewolves on the full moon, eh? What makes this any different than a wizard whose gone mad with the Dark Arts? This was an isolated attack."
Frustration and impatience immediately set Remus on edge. "Ok." He ran a hand through his hair. "You are the expert, Moody." Smiling ruefully, he raised his eyebrows. "Where is Tonks? I came here to see Tonks."
"I'm sorry, Lupin."
The words froze him, chilled him to his very bones. After trying, and failing, to take in proper oxygen, Remus gasped shakily. "Don't do that."
Moody crouched next to a corpse and moved aside the corner of a white sheet, revealing Tonks. The old Auror's face was carved from stone, making him appear very much like a solemn statue. His fingers tightened around the sheet as he stared at Tonks.
"She just told me she was with child. She fought to protect many today, Lupin. She was a force."
"No."
Remus fell to the ground, his knees stinging madly at the harsh impact. As he crawled towards Tonks, his palms scraped against the unforgiving gravel and immediately drew blood. As he fisted the white sheet, his bloodstains overlapped Tonks' drying blood, creating an inky, sick blackness.
Sobs shook his body as he reached for her. The shocking amber hair she'd worn today was now her natural, light brown hair. Her face was pale, too pale from the loss of blood. He knew pregnant women tasted good to vampires. The beast probably hadn't been able to savor her before Aurors took him down.
They'd argued that morning about her role with the Aurors. Remus had pleaded with her to take desk duties, at least until the baby was born. As predicted, Tonks convinced him that things would be ok. She would stay a field Auror until she was closer to her due date.
Remus squeezed his eyes shut, clutching her to his chest as he cried.
His mate.
His cub.
She'd been his everything.
"Lupin."
Inhaling her, Remus gently stroked her hair as he ignored the outside world. She'd been the only one to see past his lycanthropy. She had wanted to start a family, always optimistic about their future, their children. She'd been so young, so full of life, yet she always possessed a certain astuteness beyond her years.
"Nymphadora," Remus whispered brokenly.
"Lupin."
Remus blinked and turned away from the stretch of never-ending meadows. In the distance, a storm was brewing, creating an ombré of ominous blues. There were no trees, no buildings for miles. Even with his sharp eyesight, he could see nothing but tall, gold grass.
So very barren with the exception of the old castle before him.
Greyback lifted a lip. "Distracted?"
"Not at all," Remus replied levelly, following his Alpha up the steps.
Three other members of their pack followed at their heels. They entered the gothic manor, hardly marveling at the ancient stone and the beautifully stained-glass windows. Wrought iron decorated the interior, a harsh and handsome contrast against the dark wood and rustic stone.
As werewolves in the wild, they bypassed the demonstration of splendor and continued down the massive hallway. Perhaps many years ago, Remus would have marveled in the architecture, the history, but he was more concerned over the danger. There was a discreet scent of blood and death in the air, an unsettling contrast to the warm environment.
Two wizards in purple robes stood at attention in front of an expansive door. Their faces were void, as were their eyes as they werewolves stopped before them.
Remus' attention dropped to the porcelain masks discarded around their necks. They might as well have been wearing them. Their true faces expressed just as much emotion as the bland, expressionless masks. No personality showed through, not even a hint of opinion or judgement.
Glancing at Greyback, Remus knew the man was cruelly amused at the spectacle.
That's why they were here, wasn't it? Their Alpha saw an opportunity in the making.
Without so much as an interrogation or search, the two purple-clad wizards stepped aside and pushed open the massive door. The werewolves walked inside the hall, surprised at the incredibly high and vaulted ceilings. The majority of the hall was empty, save for a handcrafted chair sitting upon a raised dais.
Against the walls on either side of the hall stood an array of soldiers, all dressed in the same purple garb. Their eyes were blank, just as unresponsive as the man or woman next to them. Remus tried not to dwell too long on the scene. These toy soldiers must have been enemies at one time. From what he knew, Regbo did not make a habit of controlling his followers unless absolutely necessary.
"Hello."
All eyes turned to the slim and grandiose man sitting upon the handsome chair. Remus' lips twitched at the unfamiliar sight.
Pale eyes landed on him. "Remus Lupin, it feels like ages ago."
"Ages ago makes us old and weary," Remus whispered. "It seems as if time has reversed for you."
Indeed, Regbo, who was once old—almost as old as the late Albus Dumbledore— now looked preserved at the young age of thirty. His face was free of wrinkles and now baby smooth, revealing his aristocratic bloodline. His grey hair was now a light blond and his steel eyes were bright with life.
Furthermore, the familiar scent.
Remus had mixed feelings for Regbo. The man had led Remus' research group with a firm, but guiding hand. He formed a bond with all the members, Lily included. Yet, somehow, the situation with Lily and her family had spiraled so out of control… Remus hadn't fully understood what had happened in those days.
Regbo claimed Riddle was responsible for James and Lily, but Remus was under the impression that wasn't entirely true. Regbo was just as guilty, as he had known what Lily was hiding. Hiding from all of them.
His hands curled at his sides at her betrayal.
Even after her tragic death, and the death of James, it still sat horribly with him. How she could—
"I can't say the same for you, old friend." Regbo leaned forward and clasped his hands together. "You look decades older. Has times really been that difficult?" He looked to Greyback. "Let me assist you with your troubles, then. I believe that is why you agreed to come here today, is it not?"
"There has been rumors of two Dark Lords." Greyback squared his shoulders and looked Regbo in the eye. "The media and law enforcement haven't connected the dots, but we know more. We know Riddle is preparing to take his leap as a sole ruler of Britain and we also know about you and your quarrel with him."
Regbo leaned back pleasantly. "And you've come to offer your allegiance? To myself? To Gellert?"
Greyback hardly batted an eye. "Yes." His hands curled. "Frankly, we waited for Riddle to approach us about an allegiance; instead, he had the audacity to send one of his men to attack our reserve. He's clearly stated his intentions, as we intend to." A vicious smile crossed Greyback's face at the notion of destruction and death.
Remus shifted uneasily. This was his family now. His friends. His life.
He owed Greyback for taking him in those many years ago. He'd learned life was not black and white, but rather a very murky shade of grey. He'd accepted the animal he was and embraced his beast side. Despite the release the acceptance brought him, Remus could never escape the suffocating burden on his chest.
Something screamed at him, telling him that this was not his path to take.
He'd stubbornly ignored that sweet voice… that familiar but haunting voice. He knew this was not the right path. He'd seen and witnessed the evidence, but he could not stray from this destiny. Not anymore. Blood already soaked his hands and dripped a steady, accusing trail behind him.
"Is there something wrong, Mr. Lupin? Do you not agree with such an allegiance?"
There was no Albus Dumbledore to run to for help. There was no such leader of the Light. If there had been, Remus was so far in the depths of darkness, he knew he'd never receive assistance anyway. What good could come out of siding with a Dark Lord or a Dark Lord? Was there a lesser evil?
His thoughts strayed to Harry, recognizing the sharp pain in his chest at the mere thought. Harry. Lily and James would be devastated if they knew what their son became. Moreover, Remus was entirely to blame, he knew that much. He accepted that much. But Harry, gods Harry.
Despite the boy's deeds, despite the darkness he cloaked himself with, Remus still saw goodness in him. It was twisted and completely warped, but it was still there.
The Potter line was destined to be Light, no matter the depravity of their actions.
Remus looked up at Regbo, no longer seeing the man he knew on a personal level. This man was something entirely new. "Harry," Remus whispered. Instantly, he became unnerved at the carnal glow in Regbo's eyes at the mention of the Potter heir. "I would like to spare him in this war."
Greyback shifted angrily. "Potter," he spat, "Gutted you and two other members of our pack!"
"Silence," Regbo ordered icily, not even sparing Greyback a second look.
Instantaneously, whether voluntarily or involuntarily, the Alpha werewolf stiffened with absolute silence. The atmosphere in the room grew cold and dangerous. Regbo was powerful magically, but in no way did his magic even compare to his mind magic. Though Remus was not the object of Regbo's frustration, he could still feel cold fingers clench warningly around his mind, his very consciousness.
Remus knew many of Regbo's confrontations with Voldemort would happen behind the scenes. It was to Regbo's benefit not to face off against Voldemort's potent Darkness.
"Tom Riddle is knuckles deep inside Harry."
Remus blinked at the odd phrasing, wondering if it was a sexual innuendo or just Regbo's unfamiliarity with the phrase. He frowned when he saw the slow, growing smile across Regbo's face. No, the man knew exactly what that meant.
"I don't—"
"Doubtless of their exclusive relationship, I am very interested in sparing Harry."
"Harry doesn't know anything. He doesn't know what Lily was doing or what is inside him. He will be no help to you in regards to Gellert." He pressed his lips together immediately upon the mention of Grindelwald. He knew that was a particular touchy subject for Regbo. Yet, the man hardly seemed phased.
His expression hadn't altered much since the mention of Harry. Heavy lids and an indolent smile.
The man's eyes were bright.
Had Regbo's fascination for Gellert somehow transferred onto Harry? But that was impossible. Regbo worshiped Gellert. He shaped his entire life around raising Gellert from the ashes, nursing him back to health, back to power. Changing the world just to mirror Gellert's radical beliefs! Harry was attractive and powerful in his own right, but he was no Grindelwald.
The fascination with Harry had to originate from the night Lily and James died.
When everything had changed.
There were things even Remus was oblivious to from that night and only Regbo held all the knowledge.
"I know he's oblivious," Regbo murmured. "I've tried many times to capture him, even before Riddle became aware of him. But alas, someone or someone's always stood in the way." The Dark Lord leaned forward and smiled inexplicably. "Can you wager a guess who is protecting the boy? Who always seems to get in the way of our plans, Remus?"
Remus' unnerving swiftly turned hot with rage.
He lifted his lips, revealing his canines.
"Vampires."
. . Dreams. .
"France, Sweden, Norway, Russia…"
Kingsley laughed bitterly and rubbed his eyes tiredly. A bit of moisture wet his thumb and forefinger and Kingsley refused to believe they were tears of frustration. The others would think they were. He couldn't let them see. War had many difficulties, or, at least that's what Kingsley assumed.
He'd never participated in a war before.
"All Ministries shut us down completely." He kept his back turned to the small group. "Riddle already ensnared their loyalty, or at the very least their inactivity." He scoffed in bitter amusement. "But hadn't we anticipated this? He's had decades of acting behind the scenes. He's secured nearly all the powerhouses of different countries."
They were all quiet behind him. And why shouldn't they be? It was bleak.
"So, we can't count on outside help," Grey's voice broke the silence with utmost confidence. "That just means we need to continue recruiting from within our own borders. Already, we've received word from many families who will support us. Alastor Moody is rounding up more help and trying to establish an order. We have possession of Voldemort's Inner Circle—"
"For the time being."
Kingsley closed his eyes, gathered himself, and turned back around to the others. "This is the last time we meet like this. In Riddle's territory, no less." He looked around at the interrogation room. He'd swept for any surveillance charms, anything of the sort and found nothing. "The Wizengamot is going through each member. So far, half have walked away free."
"That's because half of the Wizengamot supports Riddle."
"Severus Snape, Regulus Black, Lucius Malfoy, Greengrass, and both Carrows were found guilty and are being sent to Azkaban. That's better than having them all walk, I'd say. All of those individuals are powerful in their own right."
"What upsets me is that Riddle isn't making a move yet." Kingsley forced a sigh. "After his performance the other day with the basilisk, I thought for sure he'd drop the act." He raised his hands, about to do a gesture of frustration, before dropping them to his sides. It made sense, albeit frustratingly.
Tom Riddle struck Kingsley as the type of man who did things on his own terms. He wasn't going to have Custos or anyone else dictate when he would act.
"And Grindelwald?"
"Two Dark Lords," Grey surmised unhappily. "As if it couldn't have gotten worse."
"I heard Grindelwald is still rotting away with wounds Albus Dumbledore gave him during their final confrontation." Wilson looked around at his comrades. "I'd say we are dealing with a wizard who wants to carry on Grindelwald's legacy and his style. I don't know much about him, but I may know someone who can get more information."
Kingsley nodded. "Find out. The more we know about our enemies, the easier it will be to eliminate the threat."
Solemn faces looked back at him. They were all grim, not at all hopeful. There were several casualties from yesterday, both Ministry workers and civilians. There would have been more, Kingsley realized, had Potter not shown up. They would have eventually figured out the rune, but by then, it would have been too late.
Or perhaps not…
He pondered the appearance of the basilisk. Riddle had summoned it with a surprising amount of smugness. It was if he'd waited for the opportune time to show off, to reveal his cards. The mere thought of having a basilisk here, in the Ministry, put Kingsley on edge. It was just another tool their enemy had and they did not.
Nothing was said to the Minister regarding his pet. No one demanded that he get rid of it. If it weren't for the Minister, the sudden appearance of more enemies would have overpowered them entirely.
"In the meantime, I want to start training. I want to incorporate physical combat as well." He pressed his lips together at the very sad memory of yesterday's attack. "I highly doubt Grindelwald—whomever he was—will execute the same battlefield strategy as he did yesterday. When Custos pokes his nose into that sort of situation, he becomes superior and a threat to everyone, only because his allegiances are still unclear."
Grey made a sort of gesture with her mouth, a frown, but a stern grimace. "Is he alive?" she asked, her tone rather meek. "It didn't look good."
"Who the hell cares?"
Grey looks at Sanders sharply. "I want to know. I care."
"Then you are being unreasonably sentimental over a serial killer who prances around a Dark Lord for fun."
"Quiet!" Kingsley roared, silencing them instantly. "We will all have varying viewpoints on an array of controversies. Custos is one of those controversies. As long as we all work together toward a common goal, I believe there is nothing wrong with expressing a different viewpoint on certain subjects."
He turned back to Grey, acknowledging her respectful nod with one of his own. "As far as Potter's condition, I am at a loss. Sirius Black's service will be today. Perhaps there may be a sighting of Potter."
"In which case, we would apprehend him doubtless of our… varying viewpoints, isn't that right, sir?" Sanders asked smartly, raising an impatient eyebrow. "No matter how many lives he thinks he's saving, he's also taken many. He needs to be on the same boat as Voldemort's men on their trip to Azkaban."
Grey raised a defiant chin. "Considering what we may be up against, Sanders, Custos may be more useful to us alive and free."
"You're going to trust a serial killer?"
"We can't even walk the halls of the Ministry without suspecting one of our own!" Grey countered fiercely.
"Too true," Auror Priest interrupted. "We need to take things one step at a time. We'll worry about what to do with Custos when we are faced with that decision. In the meantime, I think we should carry on Auror Shacklebolt's orders and continue recruiting people we can trust."
"Thank you, Priest."
And didn't Priest's words ring true? No one in the Ministry could be trusted, not even these few Aurors he pulled aside as an exclusive group. Kingsley acknowledged that. When he established his most trusted allies, including Moody and the Weasleys, they could talk more openly.
For now, this would have to do.
His thoughts lingered on Potter. He was uncertain about that man.
On one hand, Potter wanted to reveal Tom Riddle as Lord Voldemort and incarcerate his Inner Circle. On the other hand, however, he was willing to flaunt his abilities in front of the Dark Lord as some sort of courting ritual. Perhaps he wanted to impress the Dark Lord who hadn't taken much interest before.
No matter what it was, Kingsley pondered on the possibility of speaking with Potter face to face, without any confinements or life-threatening situations. Harry Potter was still inside Custos. James and Lily remained a factor in the boy's life. If Kingsley could appeal to that side of Potter, maybe they'd get a firmer partnership with the serial killer.
If he was alive.
Kingsley sighed.
. . & Darkness. .
Harry sipped at the amber liquid, peering out into the overgrown Quidditch pitch. In the center, a controlled, burning fire roared. It cast long, deep shadows across the grounds, outlining the goal posts at the end of the makeshift pitch. There were no stands for this particular pitch, so Harry settled himself on the tall grass, near the fire.
He stared at the orange fire, swirling around the liquid in his glass.
Behind him, he could sense his approach.
"I hadn't thought your semen was capable of transmuting into tracking charms," Harry said bitterly.
"Which is why I need to continue to replenish," was Riddle's cheeky, yet precise response. "I don't want you out by yourself. Foolish child."
Aw, there was that possessive and controlling tone Harry was waiting for. "Just because you fucked me, Riddle, doesn't mean you can order me around." Harry continued to stare into the fire. "You had your duties at the Ministry today, why should I sit around on my arse and wait for you?"
Riddle bent down and pressed his lips against Harry's temple. "It was a good day, thanks for asking, my dear."
Green eyes widened and he turned away from Riddle, unable to stop the grin. He fiddled with the glass in his hand, aware of Riddle sitting next to him. He was fortunate the Dark Lord had to work today, as it gave Harry time to recoup, to recover. Last night had been, Merlin, it had been good.
He did not regret it in the least.
It did bring up questions, though. How were they to interact with each other now? What were Harry's expectations of Riddle and vice versa? Were they in a committed relationship now?
Harry knew the answer to the last bit. Unless Riddle stated otherwise, he was to practice monogamy.
But how were they supposed to act with one another? Certainty not romantic and sappy, but did Riddle expect Harry's utmost loyalty to his cause? After reading the Prophet— a very detailed and flattering article about Custos saving the lives of Ministry workers and innocent bystanders— Harry learned the Aurors had custody of the Inner Circle. It had been his intention, though he wondered what Riddle planned to do about it.
"What are you reminiscing about tonight?" Riddle asked.
Harry turned his head, admiring the way the fire played off the man's sharp-featured face. With a flourish wave, Riddle encompassed the overgrown and dingy Quidditch pitch. It truly was a morbid, pathetic sight.
"A life you can no longer live?" Riddle mused, as if he knew Harry so well and thought so little. "A Quidditch career you cannot pursue? Friends you cannot see again?"
"Actually," Harry started, taking another swig of bourbon. "I am celebrating a life lost too soon." He reached for the bottle of Gideon's Bourbon and poured himself some more fingers. "To Sirius Black, a surrogate father, or more appropriately, a big brother who was always there for me."
He toasted the sky, towards the general direction of the star of Sirius, before tipping back.
God, he was an idiot. The guilt he harbored over Sirius was a burning presence in his stomach, and it wasn't from the bourbon. The things he said to Sirius before his murder… they were callous. The way he'd acted was callous. If only he could have a few more minutes with him. To tell him how grateful he was for his presence after his parents' deaths…
The man had loved him, spoiled him, and nurtured him.
It truly was Harry's fault he was gone, yet he knew it was impossible to fix this particular mishap.
He made a face as he tipped back another ounce. "Not my preferred brand of bourbon, but it was his." He studied the bottle. "His service is today. I, of course, can't attend, but I thought I'd do something in his honor." With his head light with booze, he continued to talk Riddle's ear off. "This is the Quidditch pitch my father and Sirius built when I was young. They wanted to train me appropriately, they said. They were so damn proud of themselves for building it."
White fingers suddenly curled around the bottle of Gideon's Bourbon.
Harry watched as Riddle took hold of the bottle and wrapped his lips around it. He drank straight from the source, his expression rather unimpressed as it went down his throat.
"I never liked Black," Riddle admitted. "But he knew his allegiances and stuck to them loyally. That, in itself, is an admirable trait." He took another sip before pouring some more in Harry's tumbler. "You have lost all your parental figures all before the ripe age of twenty-five. Do you feel lost, child?"
A sneer took precedence on his face. "Not especially." He stared at Riddle's profile, almost obsessively. "What was your childhood like? With your mother?"
It was surreal to see the Dark Lord sitting in an overgrown Quidditch pitch. Even more surreal was their conversation. Harry and Riddle conversed many times before, but nothing quite so personal. It was only fair he knew more about Merope Gaunt and Tom Riddle. Wasn't it? Or was he assuming, just because they fucked, that he now had every right to know Riddle's deepest, darkest experiences?
He corrected himself. Yes, it was fair.
Riddle knew the inside of Harry's mind. He knew his horrors and his tragedies. What had Riddle said earlier? If either one of them felt the balance shift between them, they would fight for equilibrium. Well, that's what Harry intended to do tonight. Find out more about Tom Riddle's personal life so they would be on equal ground.
The Dark Lord was silent for a moment, as if contemplating whether to answer the question or not.
"Poverty," was Riddle's next words. "Poverty was what I remembered the most about growing up with Merope as a very young child. And hunger."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "It is surprising, given your status as a Gaunt. A Slytherin." He swirled the amber liquid in his glass again, admiring the hue. "But I suppose it makes sense. The Gaunts were rather…"
"Inbred and deranged?" Riddle scoffed. "They were just as underprivileged as beggars on the street. They verbally and physically abused my mother. When she found out she was pregnant with me, a Half-blood, she ran. She gave birth in an orphanage. They allowed us to stay there for a few years before it closed down. We were in and out of shelters after that, unable to eat for days at a time."
"Why didn't she appeal to the Riddles for help?"
Tom looked at Harry from the corner of his eye. "The Riddles were the worse sort of scum." He turned away. "My mother all but raped Tom Riddle, using a love potion to subdue and gain his compliance. Going back to him, after he ran away upon hearing the news she was pregnant, wasn't an option. I am proud of her for resisting that temptation."
"Yet she named you after him…"
"For my beauty, she said," Riddle's lips quirked. "Just because he ran, just because she refused to go back, did not quell her obsession. For many years, she carried a flame for him."
Harry tried to imagine a young Tom Riddle dressed in rags and fighting for food. It did not conjure itself, though he knew it to be true. "And when Hogwarts started? What did your mother do?" He could only imagine a young Tom Riddle's face as he sat down for the Hogwarts feast for the first time.
"I have no idea what she did to scrap by during that year. Whore herself out, perhaps. She was a witch, but a very mistreated witch. Her powers were meek and suppressed due to her treatment with the Gaunts. She had a… child-like mentality. The older I got, the more I realized just how much she needed help.
"When I attended Hogwarts, things changed. I was able to form the right connections. I got her a job at Borgin and Burkes. She started earning money and she started investing herself in the Wizarding culture. During those Hogwarts years, I taught her a lot, and she taught me. We vowed we would make a new name for our family, cleanse the image of the rotting Gaunts and reestablish the Slytherin pride."
Riddle sipped from the bottle once more, his face a perfect mask of indifference.
"She was your one true companion," Harry observed thoughtfully. He imagined it. He could see it. "You went through so much together. I know she was your weakness."
"Very much so," Riddle concurred darkly. "Which is why… I searched for a cure."
The roaring fire suddenly shifted, diminishing and lowering to small, sparse flames. Harry stared at the fire, sensing Riddle's darkening aura. He kept a steady control over his emotions, though he wondered at Riddle's abrupt change of mood.
"You asked for answers." Crimson eyes turned to Harry. "Regarding your mother." Inclining his head, Riddle assessed him closely. "Merope was diagnosed with a terminal disease. It was a result of inbreeding amongst wizards. Incurable at the time and virtually impossible to research, I found someone who was willing to do anything to stop it."
Harry set down his tumbler and pulled up his knees. He sat back and stared at the distance, suddenly upset, knowing exactly where this was going.
"Regbo."
"Toby Regbo, a German scholar. Very brilliant." Riddle's lips parted and his white teeth flashed. "I paid him anything he asked for, just as long as I also return the favor of becoming his Grindelwald. Finish where Gellert left off against Dumbledore and continue his regime. Regbo was easily manipulated and he began his research."
"And you had no intentions of becoming Grindelwald, not when you intended to make a name for yourself."
Riddle's sharp cheekbones seemed rather prominent as he gazed intensely at Harry. "You know me so well."
"So what?" Harry shot back fiercely. "Regbo established a group, the same group my mother was in, and they created a cure for you. She decided not to give it up, so you had her tortured. Some… nameless woman who would not surrender the cure. Isn't that right? You didn't know her name, or the name of the family members taken to get her to cooperate. You just wanted that cure. So Regbo planned everything. The torture. The torturers. Everything."
"Essentially. Yes."
Harry stared and Riddle stared back.
"It's just as I imagined," Harry whispered. He threw his tumbler into the fire. It shattered on impact and the flames roared back to life for a brief moment before dying back down. "You really don't give a fuck about the identity of those under you."
"There are hundreds of people beneath me, Harry. At the time, Merope was on her deathbed. I couldn't have cared a less who was being tortured, so long as I received the cure in time."
He seemed so nonchalant about it, so upfront.
Harry turned away, running a hand through his hair and considering the development. It really was what he'd imagined. Riddle was too big, his stretch was too far to keep track of the identities of those following him. What he hadn't predicted was this, all this, was to find a cure for Riddle's dying mother.
If the situation were reversed, wouldn't Harry do the same thing?
He stood up, disgusted with himself for giving Riddle excuses. He should be irate, not understanding.
"Where are you going?" Riddle demanded sharply upon Harry's sudden retreat. "I don't want you roaming about unprotected—"
"It didn't work, did it?" Harry interrupted calmly. He turned back around and watched as Riddle stood up from his position by the fire. "If I recall correctly, Merope died around that time. All that torture and death really didn't help matters, did it?"
Before he could turn his back on Riddle, the man spoke once more.
"You tell me."
Harry flashed the man a cruel look. "Excuse me?"
Riddle, who'd looked so out of place earlier, suddenly reestablished his elusive and powerful aura. He smiled at Harry, his amusement far from good-natured and every bit cruel. "They gave you the cure to test your mother's claim. They also gave it to your father. Only you survived. And it wasn't a cure."
Unsettled with the claim, Harry could only stand there silently.
"Your mother," Riddle continued softly, "Stumbled unknowingly upon immortality by conducting rather unorthodox and extremely immoral experiments."
"Immortality," Harry repeated blankly. "You do realize I nearly died yesterday."
"There are varying degrees of immortality. Just because you are immortal does not mean you are immune to death." Riddle lifted his brows. "I am at a loss as to whether the stab wound would have truly killed you, though I wasn't going to risk your life to find out."
"I'd say," a new voice rang out across the pitch. "That your immortality mirrors a vampire. They are immortal, but a stake through the heart can kill us instantly. Or… other means, of course."
Harry turned, not at all surprised to see William Stratton appear out of nowhere. Only, this time, he wasn't wearing his usual dark glasses. Sharp, gold eyes stared at Harry, proof that he was not a blind therapist at all, but a magical creature.
Stratton suddenly smiled and clapped his hands happily; easily overlooking Riddle's darkening countenance. "I'm so glad to see you two come together and unite. I believe it's time we finally get the answers all of us have been waiting for, don't you think Mr. Riddle?"
Kind of a cliffhanger, kind of not. *Shrugs* At least it's out earlier than usual, no?
