Chapter 37 – Facing Inevitable Fate
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or receive financial rewards from this work.
Early in the morning, a man walked through the Ministry, unnoticed by the patrols who stood bleary-eyed at doorways and trudged automatically up and down the hallways. He carried with him a bundle wrapped carefully in dark fabric. As he had expected, no one realised that an interloper was present, even when the doors to the Department of Mysteries creaked open, apparently of their own volition.
He made his way to the room that held the Veil, barely noticing the disorienting movement of the entryway. He untied the wrapping of the packet and vanished it before pulling the cloak it had contained over his head. Stepping up onto the dais, he gazed into the portal. He felt a moment's hesitation. There was a very small possibility that he had been mistaken about the validity of the Hallows he had found or the rune translation. However, his usual self-confidence returned to him shortly. He drew his wand under the cloak and stepped through the arch.
It was as if he were stepping through a curtain of liquid ice. He shuddered as the feeling flowed through him. Then it was over. His eyes adjusted to the dim light and went wide at what he saw. It was a room very similar to the Entry Room in the Department of Mysteries. There were several doors lining the walls, all unlabeled except for the one directly across from him, on which "The Lost" was written in black, peeling paint. He turned to look behind him. Instead of an arch, he found a heavy black door. He reached out and turned the handle. Somewhat relieved that it was unlocked, he returned his attention to the other doors.
While Tom admittedly felt slight curiosity, his innate sense of self-preservation prevented him from even entertaining the idea of attempting to open one of them. He walked carefully across the room and pulled the door open. He was greeted by a rush of stale air and distant wailing.
The room was misty. Tom couldn't see the walls or floor, only the foot or so of clear air in front of him. He silently cast Lumos, but the spell did nothing. Guessing that something prevented the use of magic, he pulled the Gaunt ring off his finger and looked down at it. As he focused, it began to glow. The mist rolled back and he was able to see the room more clearly, including the floor. Other than the small patch of stone on which he currently stood, it was covered by corpses, nearly all dry skeletons, and scraps of clothing. The skeletons looked undisturbed, like they had fallen asleep and failed to awaken, though there was some disturbance where it appeared as though someone had waded through them. The light spread from the ring. When he was able to see farther, Tom noticed a body that seemed less desiccated. He walked the ten meters across the bones to it. Bending down, he saw a patch declaring the man to be Unspeakable Nichols. He pressed his fingers to the man's neck. Just as he was about to remove them several seconds later, he felt a weak pulse. He waited. Twenty seconds later, he felt another pulse. He tried levitating him, but once again, his spells didn't work. Sighing exasperatedly, he lifted the man. As he stood, his cloak caught on a femur and slid partway off. A rumble sounded through the room. The mist began to roil and a peculiar odour spread through the air.
"It smells almost like...asphodel?" Tom questioned. Recalling the main use of asphodel, Tom hurriedly pulled the cloak back over him, threw Nichols over his shoulder, and began running back toward the door. The light from the Resurrection Stone began to fade. He steps slowed as he neared the door. He felt his eyes begin to droop. As blackness threatened to overwhelm him, his hand found the door. He pulled it open and collapsed into the other room, kicking the door shut behind him. After a few minutes, his mind cleared. He stood up and inspected the man he had rescued. He was extremely thin. Tom figured that the mist must slow down metabolism. Otherwise, Nichols would have been long dead.
Tom decided to wait a little longer before trying to return to the Department of Mysteries. He didn't want to risk going back before he was fully in control of his faculties. Unfortunately he waited a little too long.
Nichols coughed and opened clouded eyes.
"Who's there? Where am I?" he rasped, looking up at Tom.
"Damn!" Tom thought. His cloak had slipped off again when he threw himself through the door.
Nichols spoke again. "Who are you?"
Tom cloaked himself hurriedly. He could only hope that he would have time to Obliviate the man when, or if, they got back through the Veil.
Tom grabbed Nichols' bony arm, pulled open the door that led back to the Department of Mysteries, and braced himself as he stepped through. This time, the sensation was one of heat rather than ice.
Tom almost groaned aloud when he saw an Unspeakable in the room. He cast Obliviate on Nichols silently, blocking out his worries. He then used Legilimens to make sure that no trace of anything that had happened in the rooms through the Veil remained in Nichols' memory. He dropped Nichols roughly on the floor and followed the Unspeakable to the door. The patrol opened the door the same instant that Nichols called out.
"Williams, help me." Using Williams' distraction to his advantage, Tom slid through the open door and made his way back through the Ministry. Less than an hour later, an owl was outside his window with a note ordering him to report to the Minister of Magic immediately.
"Well, Tom, I must admit that I didn't even consider some of these translations," O'Moriarty said as he looked over Tom's notes on the rune translation from the Veil. "Just to make sure I have this right, you translated it as, 'Only one whose eye is sheltered from death may part the Veil and enter death's realm as an honoured guest. Only one whose face see's death may part the Veil and find oneself lost.'* I can see why you switched the cases of 'eye' and 'death.' It fits with some of the dialects from farther north. But this translation makes the individual parts exclusive. If I am reading this correctly, someone who has never seen anyone die can go through as "an honoured guest," but anyone else is lost inside. I can support this translation, but we had better find out if Nichols has seen anyone die. I personally hope he hasn't. While I've enjoyed this project, I'm more than ready to get back to my own work."
"I know what you mean," Tom commiserated, thrilled with the librarian's easy acquiescence.
"Tom, you should Owl the Minister, since you have had the most contact with him and this translation is your idea," Hermione suggested.
By noon, Tom was standing in Nichols' private room at St. Mungo's with Minister Purgen.
"What did O'Moriarty say?" Purgen asked without delay.
"He said that he could agree with the translation, but it raises a very important question."
"Well, what is it?" Purgen asked impatiently.
"Has Nichols ever seen someone die?" Tom asked. Purgen looked irritated, not knowing why Tom would ask such a seemingly unrelated question.
"If he has, then he shouldn't have been able to return. But if he hasn't, it makes at least some kind of sense."
Purgen called for a mediwizard. "I need you to wake up Unspeakable Nichols," he demanded.
"But, Minister, he is extremely weak. You should at least wait until tomorrow," the mediwizard protested.
"This is important Ministry business. Wake him up now."
"Very well." The mediwizard placed his wand to Nichols' temple and murmured a quick spell. Nichols began to groan immediately and attempted to sit up.
"Unspeakable Nichols," Purgen began. "Can you hear me?"
"Yes, Minister," Nichols whispered.
"I need you to answer a question for me."
The Unspeakable nodded weakly.
"Have you ever seen a human being die?" Purgen asked.
Tom tensed with anticipation. If Nichols answered in the negative, he wouldn't have to worry about that stupid arch, Purgen, or the Deathly Hallows again, hopefully.
"No," Nichols rasped, falling back into his pillow.
"Thank you, that is all," Purgen said.
Tom didn't know whether the Minister was pleased. While he should be, since his second cousin once-removed was alive, this also meant that there was no longer any reason to believe that the two remaining Deathly Hallows were within reach. But Tom did know that fate had just handed him an extraordinary gift. He would now be free to search for the third portal with no worry of interference or suspicion, as long as he did nothing abnormally stupid.
"Riddle, I would like to speak with you in my office at two o'clock," the Minister ordered.
"I will be there, Minister," Tom replied. Purgen strode out of the room, robes flaring about him, mimicking his volatile mood. Tom stood a moment longer. He felt eyes on him and looked down to the malnourished Unspeakable.
"Who are you?" Nichols asked curiously.
"Tom Riddle, Unspeakable. I was assigned to work on the Veil after you went missing," Tom answered. If he didn't tell Nichols about his work, someone else would, causing him to look dodgy, the last thing he needed.
"Did you help rescue me?"
"No, I actually completely mistranslated the inscriptions and only figured it out this morning after you came back," Tom lied apologetically.
"Oh." The sick man stared at the ceiling silently for a few minutes. Gradually, his eyes slipped shut and his breathing evened out. Tom strolled out of the room, extremely pleased with the reaffirmation of a successful Obliviation.
At two o'clock, Tom entered Purgen's office.
"Mr. Riddle," the Minister began, "with Nichols safe return, there is no longer any need for you to continue searching for the Deathly Hallows, especially if Grindelwald was telling the truth about the destruction of the Elder Wand. Head Unspeakable Trelawney will be responsible for your future assignments, though I doubt she will be giving you any important responsibilities after the difficulties you have caused with your mistranslation." The Minister had a spiteful look on his face. He was definitely irritated that he had lost out on the chance to gain control of the Deathly Hallows and Tom was the best candidate upon whom for him to relieve his pique.
Tom now had other concerns outside of the Department of Mysteries, so he was not overly disappointed with the Minister's threat, but he conjured up an expression of dissatisfaction to appease him.
"I understand, Minister."
"Good. Report to Trelawney." Purgen waved his hand at Tom dismissively and began looking through a stack of press releases on his desk.
Tom was met by Trelawney immediately upon entering the Department of Mysteries.
"Good work today, Tom," she complimented him. "If you hadn't figured out that translation, Purgen would have had the whole department out searching for the Deathly Hallows," she rolled her eyes.
Tom breathed a completely sincere sigh of relief.
"You have a few choice for your new assignment," Trelawney continued. "The Thought Chamber has been understaffed for a few months, but I wouldn't recommend it to you."
"Why not?" Tom asked.
"In my opinion, it's by far the least interesting of all the department projects. The Unspeakables there spend most of their time casting Obliviations on brains, then attempting to break or alter them. I would personally recommend that you try the Time Chamber. The Department just released a new invention, the Time-Turner, but there is still some tweaking left to do. They are also researching possible mechanisms for time travel over longer distances. With your knowledge of ancient runes and enchanting, you could help a great deal."
"What are the other possibilities?"
"You could keep working on the Veil if you wanted," Trelawney frowned. "There is also the Space Chamber and the Hall of Prophecy, but you would spend most of your time there filing and retrieving prophecies. Not much research to be done."
"You only mentioned five rooms," Tom noticed. "There are six doors in the vestibule."
"We don't really do anything with the sixth chamber. A few decades ago when I first started here, an old Unspeakable with more than a few eccentricities did some experiments in there. He put up the wards on the door. He was Avada-ed with his own wand about fifteen years ago. No one has been able to get in since." she shrugged. "Give it a try if you want."
"Can I have a while to consider my options?" Tom asked.
"I want an answer by the end of the week," Trelawney admonished him. "But you can have the rest of the day off," she added, looking to all the world like an grandmother doting upon her favourite grandson.
"Thanks," Tom said with a charming smile.
Hermione had been on pins and needles the whole day, waiting to find out from Tom what exactly had happened. Thomson had given her desk duty, telling her that Purgen had wasted too much of the day for her to go out on an assignment and directing her to a stack of reports over three feet high that needed to be filed. She had made only a nominal fuss: filing only took up a small part of her consciousness, giving her the time to think about other things, like the Veil, the Deathly Hallows, and most enjoyably, Tom.
When she finished work at five, Tom was waiting for her in the Atrium.
Hermione invited him over for dinner. The two of them combined their culinary ability and managed to produce a more than decent repast for themselves.
"New table?" Tom asked when they sat down.
"Yes." Hermione could restrain herself no longer. "What exactly happened today?" she blurted out.
"I was wondering how long it would take you to ask," Tom smirked as he twirled the linguini around his fork.
"Just answer the question," she prodded with fond exasperation.
"Well, we were both called in early this morning after an Unspeakable found Nichols in the room with the arch. You were with me until I met with the Minister and Nichols at St. Mungo's. I told Purgen about our theory and he asked Nichols whether he had ever seen anyone die. Nichols said no, so I think we might finally be done with the whole business," he finished, sincere relief in his voice.
"Do you know what you are going to do now?" Hermione asked.
"Trelawney is allowing me to choose my next assignment. I can do almost anything I want in the department. Do you know if you'll still be able to work with me, now that we're finished with the Veil?"
Hermione shrugged. "I was doing paperwork most of the day, so I didn't get a chance to ask Thomson. I'll probably meet with him tomorrow, so I can ask then."
"What do you want to do?" Tom asked, hoping that she would decide to focus on her training. She had helped him a great deal with the arch, but he would rather not have her privy to everything he was working on in the Department of Mysteries.
She was silent for a moment. "I enjoyed working with you, especially since I didn't get along with Thomson at first. But I think I would rather put all my time into my job. The length of training depends how hard I work and I want to finish as soon as possible. If I had wanted to spend all my time in the library, I would have gotten a job in the Department of Mysteries," she finally answered, somewhat apologetically.
"I don't mind if you prefer to focus on your Auror training," Tom reassured her. "We see each other nearly every day anyway."
After the explanation of the day's events and discussion about work were finished, they contentedly finished their meal.
Tom helped Hermione clear the table and clean up the kitchen and the couple settled in on the couch. Tom put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to him, an action that had happened so many times as to be nearly reflexive.
Hermione leaned her head on his shoulder. "I love you," she murmured, closing her eyes.
"I love you, too," Tom replied, kissing the top of her head, causing her to burrow closer to him. Hermione's breathing evened out a few minutes later and her body relaxed against him in sleep.
Tom closed his eyes as he was encompassed by a feeling of pure contentment. "Do I actually love her?" Tom asked himself in shock, eyes flying wide open. "No, I can't. It's not possible," he denied. "I admire her and don't want to risk my enemies using her intelligence like they did in the future," he tried to convince himself. But for the first time, his usual arguments didn't wholly convince him. Conflicted, he moved to disentangle himself from Hermione. Feeling him move away, Hermione roused enough to put her arms around him.
"Will you stay here tonight?" she asked sleepily. "Just to sleep," she added with a slight blush. "Tomorrow's Saturday," she reminded him when he opened his mouth to begin his attempt at an excuse.
"All right," he agreed. Hermione smiled drowsily and replaced her head against his chest.
Realising that he wouldn't be going anywhere in the short term, Tom allowed himself to drift off to sleep next to Hermione.
He woke up three hours later, still on the couch entwined with Hermione. Feeling slight stiffness from his awkward position on the couch, he removed himself from Hermione's arms and stood up, planning to leave. Hermione roused at his movement. She watched silently as he walked over to pick up his bag.
"Tom," she called softly.
"I was going to go back to my flat," he explained. "It's late."
"You can stay here," Hermione said, blushing at her offer. She stood up from the couch and stretched.
"Are you sure?" Tom asked. Simultaneous feelings of warmth and trepidation nearly overwhelmed him. He wanted to stay, but at the same time, he felt that if he didn't run, he might never escape.
Hermione nodded, stepping toward him. "I can transfigure some clothes for you, and I think I have an extra toothbrush."
"I'll transfigure my clothes while you use the bathroom," Tom finally agreed.
Half an hour later, Tom was lying in bed with his sleeping girlfriend wrapped around him. As sleep took him, he thought that he might never want to leave.
* Original Translation: Only one who hides from death's all-seeing eye may part the veil and enter death's realm as an honoured guest. Only one who looks into death's face may part the veil and find the one lost.
AN: I was looking around on and discovered that you can make the length requirement as high as you want in the address. I found that the longest HP fanfic is over 887,000 words long! I'm not sure I've written that many words in my entire life!
We are now over the hump, so to speak, of this fic. We have one portal and a good bit of relationship-building left, but I can't see it going over 200,000 words, a very respectable length, in my opinion. I'm hoping to have this complete by the end of the academic year.