"I have always hated Azkaban," Azrael said, and though his cheeks were flushed by fire whiskey his words were not clear and his eyes, no longer hidden by glasses, were sharp as daggers as he stared into the burning liquid that served as his drink.

Lily had gone home, lingered on his doorstep and hugged him too tightly, before apparating back to her own apartment where she could confront Severus, Sirius, and all their ghosts on her own without the emperor of Ubik hanging over her like everything else.

Later, when Azrael undoubtedly left and returned to his own distant life and kingdom, Tom was sure he would see her again on his doorstep. Red hair flying out behind her, eyes wide and green, a smile that tried to be cheerful but held a bitter edge directed towards him. And he would feel…

He didn't know, only the thought of that feeling made his heart ache in his chest and wish that, perhaps, she had found a way to stay tonight.

But no, she'd just stared for a moment at the pair of them, eyes empty and dry, and then had disappeared. For a moment, staring after her, Azrael had looked pained by that as if he'd hoped…

Well, whatever he'd hoped, or Tom had hoped they found themselves in Tom's warded basement, drinking, as Tom had earlier predicted.

"I have hated the very idea of it as well as its stark and bitter reality," Azrael continued after another long drink, "It is barely even a prison at its heart, it is a sacrificial temple with which we feed the cruel carrion gods we cannot banish."

"I can hardly argue with that," Tom said as he nursed his own drink with a sigh, wondering if they really would come for him this time or pass him over again, and if his paranoid premonitions of seeing the inside of Azkaban would one day come true.

In the light of the runes of Ubik, Azrael glowed, and Tom tried to remember if he had ever looked so strange and so inhuman as he did in this half-light.

The moment was lost as he rubbed a face against his hand, strangely human for a moment as he blew out, and the words came out in a bitter rush that Tom could only barely catch, "You know, I never thought this would happen. I thought that if you changed, if you could be what you are now, then that would somehow solve everything. As if what you could become was at the root of…"

Tom offered a dark snort, remembered again why he was drinking, not over the death of Sirius Black or Severus Snape, but this reason. This clear reason that he had so long avoided confronting. So, it was half drunk and too bold that he wryly asked, "Have you ever really seen me, Azrael?"

Azrael looked up at that, watching as Tom motioned to himself, to his muggle suits, to his profession, to his past, to all of his failures and mediocrities piled up against something that had once been prophesized to do great and terrible things, "I am the joke of my own existence, god emperor. I, Azrael, am the punchline of fifty years of life in counting. And you… You've always, always, seen something else! Someone who isn't me!"

And he had thought it was the other way around, that Azrael was the only one who had seen Tom at his worst and at his best, that he had seen through all the masks but was that truly ever it? Or did Azrael only look at him and see this grand master of… Of manipulation and darkness! This ineffable evil which all men were to be judged against, so no matter what Tom did now, the bar was very low as far as proving his own morality and worth were concerned.

As if simply by not being the worst of all men, Tom was somehow good enough, good enough to be what he was now.

He laughed, throwing his head back at the hilarity and staring at his cleverly warded ceiling that was perhaps the culmination of everything he had achieved, "God, do you remember when we were fourteen and all the dreams I had for myself? Not an inkling of doubt either, as if by merely existing I was capable of refashioning this country into my image. And look at me now! I'm not even capable of getting them to publish my bloody exam revisions!"

He looked forward again, caught Azrael's alarmed and wide-eyed expression, even as Tom sighed with mirth and said, "And you, you sit here and claim that somehow I can be the root of all evil in England. Like I can be responsible for the deaths of Sirius Black, Severus Snape, and everybody in between. Like I have the power to change… anything."

He looked down at his own pale, useless, hands, a bitter smile on his lips, "Great and terrible, what utter tripe."

The fire whiskey was bitter, too bitter, but Tom drank anyway and enjoyed the way his throat burned. As he tried to put aside remembrances of his own youthful confidence and ambition. What would that Tom Riddle had done if he could see Tom now?

"Are you done?"

"No," Tom said shortly, flatly, but Azrael hardly seemed to care.

"You are a good man, Tom," Azrael said, his eyes burning, and god he looked like Lily then, like Lily had when she had sat in that same chair and said those same words to Tom with that same burning faith in something Tom simply could not see.

"Not a nice man, certainly not kind, but good, in a way I never would have suspected you were capable of," Azrael said, and he leaned forward, across the divide between them and took Tom's hands in his, "And whenever I judge anyone else against you, it is because of that, because you gave me faith where I had almost none that anything, and I mean anything, is possible. That is more than any grand ambition you once had could ever be worth."

His hands tightened for a moment then, his eyes… Were his eyes watering at the corners? Tom almost couldn't tell but it seemed like it, and his voice when he spoke began to shake ever so slightly, "And then you and Lily Evans… I think you love her."

"Love?"

"Or you will, if you don't already. And she loves you, I think, and the way she merely looks at you I have to wonder if she ever really loved…" he paused, closed his eyes and cleared his throat, and then spoke with his eyes closed, hands still clutching Tom's, "And I realized today, whenever you even looked at each other, that in a world where you are a good man, if not nice or kind, then I am an aberration. I am… something that should not exist."

He seemed utterly certain of this, not drunkenly certain, but perfectly serious and unwilling to let Tom get even a word in edgewise as he continued, more heartfelt and desperate than Tom had seen since they had once attended Hogwarts together all those years ago.

"And I… I can't mind that, no matter what it means for me, for everything that I am or was. I…" he paused, opened his eyes and gave Tom a weary and heartbreaking smile, "Your life is so far from meaningless Tom, that sometimes it pains me."

Looking at him, at the picture he made, Tom couldn't help but remark, "I think you're drunk."

But Azrael just shook his head, "No, Tom, for whatever it's worth I'm giving you my blessing."

"Your blessing?" Tom shot back but Azrael still held on tightly, smiling like a fool, like the fool Tom had once wanted so very badly. Still, in some ways, would always want. Even now, even after all this time and all their flaws.

"You might not appreciate it, want it, or need it but none the less you have it. Go and get the girl, live your ordinary farce of a life and embrace it for the miracle that it is, even when it seems hopeless and pointless. Know that I will never find it either."

With that Azrael leaned back with a smile, let go, and took up his glass for one last, bitterly long drink. Then he stood, or rather, staggered to his feet, ignoring Tom's raised eyebrows at the picture he made, the emperor and the fool all rolled into one.

He looked down at Tom with a fondness that Tom wondered if he deserved, or if it was one that had survived all those years since Ubik, "Write, Tom, and when you marry, I will be expecting that wedding invitation."

And just like that he was gone, leaving Tom, with bemusement and utter bewilderment, to continue drinking alone and wonder what the hell that all was supposed to mean anyways.

It happened the next day, a pair of faceless aurors knocked at his door after classes were finished, both dressed in standard red and with a request that was truly a demand to bring him in for questioning regarding the death of Sirius Black, Tom was taken to the ministry and into one of the back rooms.

In and out, without Minerva, Lily, or even the God Emperor of Ubik the wiser.

The room itself was stark, not muggle in design, there was no one-way mirror facing him but an observation platform outside the room entirely with magical windows in, and instead of black it was a blinding white.

He sat there, face blank, back straight, staring forward and giving nothing away as his heart beat like a steady drum inside his ear, waiting.

On his wrist, in a holster, his wand thrummed, not taken from him yet, and that surely was a sign. He was not arrested, merely questioned, they had not taken his wand, and so sweat would not pour down his back yet and Tom would not flee the country yet.

A man melted through the wall, walking into the room without windows or doors, and Tom himself seated face to face with auror captain James Potter who summoned a table between them.

He looked the same as ever, hair flying in all directions, his face fashioned with a sort of roguish charm. However, there was a somberness, a rage, to his expression that hadn't been present as a school boy. His eyes were dark and ringed with shadows, his face paler than it had ever been in school, and when he looked across at Tom there was a coldness that he would have disdained and mocked as a boy in any Slytherin who dared wear that same look towards him.

Captain Potter started with no introduction, "Professor Riddle, I'm afraid Severus Snape told us everything."

Ah, Tom almost wanted to smile, of course he had. Vindictiveness had been what Severus Snape had died for, of course, of course he had given Tom Riddle's name over to the aurors.

For a moment Tom looked at him, this boy staring across at him, and then the surreal nature of the scene struck him and stripped any nervousness or apprehension from him. He saw James Potter for what he was, a grieving boy only just graduated from Hogwarts, and grasping onto the last straws he had.

"You don't have anything," Tom said almost wonderingly as he tasted the truth of those words, after all these years, after Mars, after Severus Snape, they still had nothing.

James Potter sneered, a strange look on his otherwise charming face, an ugly expression fueled and marred by anger and grief, "That's not what Snape told us, he said you goaded him into it, that you told him to get a potions mastery and to poison Sirius Black at the first opportunity. He confessed, professor, we have all the records here."

And Tom interrupted him, a smile growing on his lips, "No, you have nothing, if you had anything at all you'd put me on the stand."

"Don't think I…"

Tom continued as it all came together, as every piece fit into the puzzle of why even though Tom himself was a farce the auror department and murder of Sirius Black was far more of one, "And even if you did put me on the stand, you would never want me there, for I would have no choice but to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth."

James Potter leaned forward, as if Tom had given him the opening he needed, grin growing shark like in anticipation, "The truth, you mean that you colluded with him and…"

"The truth that I had very little to do with it," Tom interjected, and then his eyes drifted to the wall, where he was certain Potter's superiors were watching, and with a lilting smile he decided to drive home just what a mistake Captain Potter had made here today, "The truth that Sirius Black attempted homicide at the age of fifteen against one Severus Snape."

James Potter leaned back, paled, opened his mouth, but he had lost control of the interview before it had even begun. He had lost control of everything in his fifth year and was still paying the consequences.

"Severus Snape," Tom continued calmly, "A poor, halfblood, Slytherin student, who was almost mauled to death by a werewolf because of your best friend Sirius Black. The incident, of course, hushed up by Albus Dumbledore, and your other friend the werewolf, sheltered illegally by the school even after almost killing or turning another student. All because your friend, Sirius Black, thought it was funny."

James Potter desperately interjected, no longer seeming to realize where he was, who he was, as he said, "That wasn't…"

"Oh, but it was," Tom assured, "It always had been, hadn't it? Sirius Black going just a little too far, because it was funny and because he was a Slytherin. I caught Severus Snape afterwards, genuinely concerned for himself, and I told him the one thing that I thought might keep him alive through the rest of Hogwarts as he watched Sirius Black, you, and Remus Lupin get away scot free. More than that, get away with a life debt in your pocket, because you kept your friend Remus from unwittingly murdering a classmate. And I wonder if it was more because of the impact it would have on your friends versus saving Severus Snape's life."

"You're lying!" James hissed, seeming to remember at least some of his venom and argument once again, "You didn't give two shits about Severus Snape and we know it. But we know that you've always hated Sirius' father!"

Tom just stared at him blankly, and for a moment, a single moment, he pitied Jams Potter. He didn't realize or want to realize that putting Tom Riddle away would not bring Sirius Black and would not take away what he had done, what either of them had done, all in the name of good fun.

"It doesn't matter," Tom finally said, and he wondered what Potter's superiors would do with this information, if they would let it lie and stew in useless anger against Tom because of it and all the accusations he dared to throw. He imagined they would, he imagined Potter had enough influence for that at least, "Bring me to trial and you will get off, for solving the situation and for simply being a Potter. But Remus Lupin… Now what do you think will happen to him? Where in the world will they ship him off to?"

Because the werewolves who broke the law, who were careless and deemed dangerous, oh they did not get half the luxuries that their defeated and desperate bretheren did. There was a dark corner of Ireland, overcrowded and wild with dangerous magic, where they hid away the wolves that wore the faces of men.

But now was not a moment for Remus Lupin and the fate that James Potter was entirely too willing to condemn him to for a revenge against a man that was barely involved, instead it was for James Potter, as Tom saw everything he thought he was and everything he wasn't, "You are, I think, an armchair supporter of muggleborns, captain. You talk the talk, even walk the walk from time to time, but you have no real respect for muggles, or for the history of your muggleborn peer."

Tom's eyes drifted over the red of Potter's uniform, the cold icy cast to his eyes, as he concluded, "No, you like the ones like Lily Evans, the ones that are pretty, smart, charming, and from well-off families, the idealized muggleborn. Funny, isn't it, captain, how you had no qualms tormenting half-blood Severus Snape for years?"

And James Potter looked at him, as Orion Black had once looked at him, and Severus Snape had once looked at him, and loathed him entirely. But Tom had said all he needed to say, and he knew, even in that moment, that he would never be brought to the stand.

And it was only a half-hour later that he was walking out into the twilight, blinking against the setting sun, and smiling for this small, petty, victory that he had earned for himself. No matter the consequences.

The winter holidays snuck up quickly after that, how could they not, after everything that had happened. Soon enough it was Tom's birthday again, except instead of Minerva ambushing him for drinks and forcing him to celebrate late into the night it was himself and Lily in his home, the Christmas decorations she'd thrust upon him still up.

The tree in the corner of his living room, branches just brushing the trap door, glittered with twinkling magical stars, muggle and magical ornaments intertwined in something that was at once somehow both tacky and heartwarming.

"James sent me a letter," Lily noted, leaning against him, a strange source of warmth that even now he wasn't quite used to.

Tom hummed slightly, looking at the way the lights played against her hair, some parts a soft glowing white against it while the rest bled into that golden red that always reminded him of the sun itself.

"He always sends me a letter, every Christmas, of course he sends me letters all the time," she laughed, back lifting and falling against his, "But the Christmas ones are something special, even for him."

James Potter, needless to say, since Fall, he had sent Tom no letters at all and likely never would.

"I imagined he asked you for a date," Tom said with a wry smile.

"Of course, he's been asking after that for years," Lily said but then paused, frowned slightly, "No, this time I think he actually asked me to marry him…"

Tom paused looked down at her and watch as Lily turned to look at him, eyes wide and earnest, "It was hard to tell he's… He hasn't been in a good place since Sirius died, but I think… It really seemed like he was asking me to marry him. And I almost…"

"Said yes?" Tom questioned, not quite serious but not entirely unserious either.

"No, of course not," Lily retorted, "But I almost… I felt guilty, for a moment, saying no. Because it truly was heartfelt, and I… felt for him. Not love, not marriage, but I felt for him all the same."

Love, Tom thought about that word as he held her here, trapped for a moment on his birthday in a year that was at once the same and different as any other year in his life. He saw his life stretching forward, the eternal muggle studies professor, stagnating for decades upon decades…

Then he looked at her, and felt his voice catch in his throat.

"What is it?" she asked.

And for a moment, no, longer than a moment, ever since she had forced himself into his life and refused to leave at every available opportunity, at every opportunity she should, he looked at her and thought…

"I love you."

Lily blinked, leaned back from him, eyes wide and face contorted into something almost comical for its surprise, "What?"

But he repeated it, stunned, horrified, and yet strangely light to put a name to the thing he'd been denying then only vaguely acknowledging, "I love you, Lily."

And it wasn't that he loved Azrael less for all the bitterness there, or that his past hadn't happened or didn't matter, or that he didn't find himself bitter even now, but the future did not seem so bleak and dark if only because he had this present moment, this warmth, to cling to.

As if even by being near him, she infused every avenue of his life with hope.

A soft and tender hope, not for greatness, but to transcend the need for greatness entirely.

"Are you feeling territorial, Tom?" Lily asked, eyebrows raising and a teasing smile on her lips, "Because James Potter telling me he wants to marry me doesn't mean you have to say…"

"No, no, it's not that," he said, holding her closer and almost desperate that she understand this more even than she had understood his own past, "But you've heard everything about me, seen parts of it, and you never flinched. And I love your eyes, I love the way the light catches inside them and reflects off them. I love your hair, I love your freckles, I love the way your temper burns and your goddamned stubbornness, but more than that I love you."

He was a fool in love, and he was too much of a fool to even realize it until now. When even the emperor of Ubik had seen it before he had.

He turned her to face him fully, looking her directly in the eye and not daring to let her look away, "It doesn't have to be tonight, Lily, or tomorrow, or even a month from now. But Lily, I can't picture a future without you in it. Marry me, please."

It wasn't her words that told him, though she said them shortly later, but it was a wide, startled, and then overwhelming grin that gave him his answer.

And for this single, solitary, moment, beneath Christmas decorations that were edging out of season, Tom was happy.

Author's Note: Yes... I have nothing to say to any of this. New in the world of "October", Tom's worst nightmare of being on the cover of Witch Weekly in "Tom Riddle and the Curse of Witch Weekly".

Thanks for reading and reviewing, reviews are much appreciated.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.