Regrets collect like old friends

Here to relive your darkest moments

I can see no way, I can see no way

And all of the ghouls come out to play

~ Shake It Out x Florence + the Machine

Chapter 37: Nothing Would Be the Same

Books. His office was drowning in them. Law books, magical law books, medical books…the list could go on for ages. He wasn't always like this—head stuck in a book. But ever since the accident, this is where you could find him. Always find him. Every once in a while, he would feel a pang of guilt, an urge to be a better father—a better husband. But he couldn't look at her without seeing those tears in her eyes—the fear on her lips—the trembling of her body. He couldn't look at her without crumbling at the fact that he was the cause of it all.

He couldn't look at his own son, his prince, without seeing that look of anger on his face. The unending question tattooed on his forehead. The questions he never asked, because his father would never answer: Why?

Because it's what I had to do. He would answer in his head, but he knew that was no answer. But what else could you do when the Dark Lord commands you to do something? What else can you do when the world around you slows down and all you can hear is his voice—do it, Terrell. Do it or she dies.

Nothing has been the same since. Theodore hates him. His marriage had never been the same. Alana understood of course- but Terrell knew part of her hated him for it too. The way she was raised—the muggles taught her that a husband should always protect his wife. But that was before she found out she was pureblood—her whole world changed after that. And nothing has been the same since.

So he hid his pain and those memories in the books—trying to find answers. Trying to find anything that would fix what he broke. Years ago, his father would tell him to be a man—stop hiding and step into the storm. But it was already too big by then—with everything that was going on. The war. The secrets.

Who wouldn't try to run from it all if all you had to do was open a book?

The fireplace roared, and the man closed the book he was reading, looking up to see his new guest.

"Working as always." Tom Riddle said curtly. "I've always wondered where you put in the time to sleep."

Terrell sniffed. "People like us don't get to sleep."

Tom Riddle sat down across from him. "And so you're right." He looked at the files and documents on Terrell's desk. "Any progress with finding our friend?"

"He's alive. But he's been a ghost ever since that confrontation with Black. There have been small sightings of him—mainly by muggles. Reports of a rat turning into a man. You can imagine how fast that was hushed up."

"Insanity charges." The older man nodded.

Terrell sniffed again, turning another page in the portfolio. "But since then nothing. He's been under the radar for the past couple years." He looked up at his master. "Are you sure we need him?"

"He's the only one the Ministry isn't looking for. As long as they think he's dead, he is the best option—we just need to find him first."

Terrell adjusted his reading glasses. "I'm assuming this isn't all you came for."

Tom Riddle sighed. "Lucius has been arrested. Blackmail charges." He then threw a purple portfolio on the table.

"How is it that he's always in trouble?"

"He did what he had to do." The Dark Lord replied, not noticing Terrell tensing across from him. Because he did what he had to do. Of course.

"He has a trial with the Wizengamot tomorrow—I need you to defend him."

"You need him for something." The man said, looking through the file. "Otherwise, you would let him rot in Azkaban."

His master intertwined his fingers. "It's time."

"This soon? But the heirs aren't even—"

"There's been some complications at the school. We must do it before the boys turn fifteen—or all will fail."

"I see," Terrell nodded. "And you need Lucius to gather the others."

Tom Riddle nodded. "Precisely."

The head of Nott Manor then looked through Lucius Malfoy's file. Stacks and Stacks of documents—newspaper clippings. All of them from the war—muggle disappearances, houses burned down, countless amount of deaths. He guessed they were all lucky it was just blackmail this time.

"It won't be easy," The man said, looking over his spectacles. "They gave him a pass last time—they won't be able to look over certain events this time."

"Then you make them." Tom Riddle said bluntly. "I don't think I should have to remind you of what would happen if you fail, do I?"

Terrell felt his throat go dry, but his face wouldn't show his expression. He looked into those heartless eyes of Lord Voldemort—trying hard to separate them from his own. When did he become the bad guy and the victim at the same time?

"What time is his trial?"

Riddle nodded. "Eight o' clock." He then got up, grabbing his cane. The man noticed that his master looked weaker—worse than he had a year ago. It was time. He watched as the Dark Lord floo'd out of his office. Turning to face the windows behind him, Terrell not came face to face with the darkness—it was starting again. Lucius—the trials—the secrets.

His eyes then left the window, onto a portrait in the center of the room. It wasn't the traditional pureblood family portrait—Alana's idea. They were all smiling—a time when the days were brighter, when you could sleep without wondering if the Ministry was going to burst into your home and take you away. Or if Aurors would ambush you during family dinner. Theodore looked the happiest—and so did Terrell. If he must be honest, he was.

But now, nothing would ever be the same.

Tobias had never been so happy to see his friends in his life. He clung onto Pansy, as she clung onto him, despite the slime and blood his shirt was covered in. Draco stood beside him, his arm on his shoulder—his grip tighter than ever. Tobias looked over Pansy's shoulder to see Ginny and Ron being hugged by their mother. Mr. Weasley looked relieved and worried at the same time. He turned to look at Blaise, who hadn't moved since he stepped inside.

"Ahem."

The reunion was broken by the sound of Professor McGonagall's voice.

"As much as I love reunions," she said. "Mister LeStrange was just in the middle of telling us how he and Mister Longbottom saved Miss Weasley."

Blaise spoke for the first time since they walked in. "So why are we here?"

"Professor Snape believed that the full story could not be told without the rest. So here we are." She then looked at Tobias. "You may continue Mister LeStrange."

Tobias took a deep breath. Speaking slowly, he told them everything—well, everything relating to him. The voices. Hermione and how she figured out it was a basilisk. Aragog and Moaning Myrtle—how her bathroom was the entrance to the chamber. He was avoiding speaking about the diary—or how Ginny was involved. Every now and then he would glance over at her—her head on her mother's shoulder, tears still falling down her cheeks. He knew what she was afraid of—what if they expelled her?

In the midst of his speech, Theodore raised his hand. Everyone looked at him, hoping that he wouldn't bring up the diary.

"Yes, Mister Nott." Professor McGonagall addressed him.

"I would just like to say," Theodore started. "The school owes us, me personally, an apology for all the emotional distress we were put under."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Emotional distress?"

Theodore opened his mouth to explain, but Neville clapped a hand over his mouth. Theodore frowned, his eyes narrowing, but he did not fight against Neville's hand.

"I guess that is something we will discuss later—" Professor McGonagall said.

"—or not—" Draco growled, glaring at the brown- haired Slytherin.

"But back to the story," the professor continued. "you all found where the entrance was—breaking a hundred school rules into pieces along the way, I might add—but how on earth did you all get out of there alive, Mister LeStrange?"

"Well, that's easy." Neville spoke this time, releasing Theo's mouth and grabbing the silver sword. "We used this—" Fawkes then perched himself on his shoulder. "—and Fawkes."

Neville went on to tell about the battle— how Fawkes blinded the basilisk. How he somehow summoned the sword from the sorting hat and how ultimately, it was Tobias who stuck the giant serpent with the weapon, killing it. Tobias noticed he was doing his best to avoid the parts about Ginny and the diary. But his heart began to race as both Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall gave the two boys puzzled looks.

"You welded the sword, Mister LeStrange?" asked McGonagall.

Tobias nodded.

"But that's impossible—a Gryffindor is able to summon the sword, which explains Longbottom's case, but only a true Gryffindor would be able to wield the sword—yet using it so profoundly to kill a beast such as a basilisk."

There was a silence, and Tobias felt his world spinning once more. He remembered what the sorting hat said—that he could've been in Gryffindor or Slytherin. Did wielding the sword of Gryffindor not make him a true Slytherin?

His thoughts were interrupted as a band of green flames arose from the fireplace. The professors quickly drew their wands, as well as the Weasleys. The second years and Ginny froze in their spots—it was three o' clock in the morning—who could be floo'ing into Dumbledore's office at this hour?

"That is a very peculiar situation, Minerva," a familiar voice said, causing the adults to lower their wands. "But what interests me most, is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny, without stepping inside the castle."

Dumbledore then stepped out of the fireplace, his robes free of any dirt and soot. Tobias and Neville felt a strange relief rush over them—seeing as they weren't the ones to break the news to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley that their daughter was possessed by the Dark Lord himself. But Tobias felt a sick feeling also rise in his stomach as Dumbledore said the words "Lord Voldemort."

"Dumbledore!" McGonagall breathed out. "I thought you weren't supposed to return until morning."

The headmaster chuckled. "Correct. Yet, I never stated what time in the morning I would return." He then winked at Tobias—a gesture meaning that he would take it from here.

Mr. Weasley looked horrified. "W-what's that? Voldemort? En-enchant Ginny? But Ginny's not…Ginny hasn't been…has she?"

"It was the diary." Tobias said, pointing to the damaged leather book upon Dumbledore's desk. "My grandfather…" He swallowed, his heart pounding as he was about to reveal his deepest darkest secret. "Tom Riddle, wrote in it when he was sixteen…"

Ron gave Tobias a confused look. Tom Riddle was Tobias's grandfather—he wouldn't hurt Ginny? Would he? He then looked back at his sister, who was now trembling again, the tears reforming in her eyes.

"Brilliant." Dumbledore breathed out. "Of course, he was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen." He then turned towards the Weasleys, who were as confused as they were upset.

"I believe I have served an injustice to my friends—keeping the real identity of Lord Voldemort a secret. Only a few know—such as Severus and Minerva. It is true that Lord Voldemort opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago—but it was under a different name. Tom Riddle."

Ron felt the realization crash into his stomach. Tom Riddle was Voldemort? The Lord Voldemort? Who his parents fought against during the wizarding war? The Lord Voldemort who destroyed and murdered everything in his way. The stories of him were chilling—they used to give Ron nightmares. But that wasn't what shocked him the most. Tom Riddle was Tobias's grandfather. Tobias LeStrange was Lord Voldemort's grandson.

"No one ever connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy. Many thought Tom Riddle dead—after Hogwarts, he disappeared—traveling all over the world, studying the depths of the Dark Arts. He had gone under so many magical, and dangerous, transformations, by the time he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort—no one recognized him. An advantage he has been living on for many years."

"But, Ginny," Mrs. Weasley said. "What's our Ginny got to do—with—with—him?"

Dumbledore looked at the woman, his eyes soft and sympathetic. "It seems that our year-long mystery has been solved, Molly. Ginny—"

"It was me!" Ginny interrupted, breaking into a sob. "His d-diary. I've b- been writing in it, and he's been writing back all year—"

"Ginny!" Mr. Weasley roared. "Haven't I taught you anything? What have I always told you? Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain. Why didn't you show the diary to me, or your mother? A suspicious object like that, it was clearly full of Dark Magic—"

"Hey!" Draco shouted, appalled at how Mr. Weasley reacted to the news. Couldn't he see that Ginny was already upset about what she had done? "She didn't know he was going to do that to her!"

Mr. Weasley snapped his head up, storming towards the blonde Slytherin. "But you knew, didn't you? Is that why your father came and got Dumbledore suspended—was it you who gave it to her?!"

"It wasn't him, dad." Sobbed Ginny. "I found it inside one of the books Mum got me. I th—thought someone had just left it in there and forgotten about it—I d-didn't know!"

Dumbledore stepped up, placing a hand on Draco's shoulder. The blonde Slytherin was now shaking with anger. He didn't care that Ron was his friend—how dare this man accuse him of harming his daughter?! He helped save her!

"Arthur, Ginny needs to be taken to the hospital wing right away. This has been a terrible ordeal for her. There will be no punishment." His words were now directed towards Ginny. "Older and Wiser wizards than she have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort." He then walked through the door, opening it. "Bed rest and perhaps a large, steaming mug of hot chocolate. I always find that cheers me up. You will find that Madam Pomfrey is still awake. She's just giving out Mandrake juice—I daresay the basilisk's victims will be waking up any moment."

Draco's mood perked up then. "So Hermione's okay!"

Dumbledore nodded, still looking at the red haired girl. "There has been no lasting harm done, Ginny."

The girl nodded, slowly walking out of the headmaster's office. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley right behind her—both parents still tense from their newest discoveries.

The headmaster then turned to Snape and McGonagall. "I think it would be wise to notify Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick of our news. And to let the students know that Hogwarts will indeed be staying open."

"Of course," said Professor McGonagall. "I'll leave you to deal with this lot, shall I?"

"Certainly."

The boys watched Professor McGonagall leave, and then Professor Snape, who really hadn't said much since everyone entered the room. Dumbledore looked upon the group of second years—Tobias LeStrange, Neville Longbottom, Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley, Pansy Parkinson, and surprisingly, Blaise Zabini. He could see the uncertainty in their eyes—the fear of what was to come.

"We're in trouble, aren't we?" Theodore said, giving him a half- smile.

Dumbledore looked at them firmly. "Well, I seem to remember telling you, Mister Weasley, and Mister LeStrange that I would have to expel you if you broke any more school rules."

Ron's mouth dropped opened.

"That's hardly fair," Theodore spoke again. "Ginny set a basilisk loose and she's getting hot chocolate!"

"Which goes to show," Dumbledore continued, smiling. "that the best of us must sometimes eat our words. You will all receive Special Awards for Services to the School, including you Miss Parkinson, and—let me see—yes, I think two hundred points for Slytherin and Gryffindor."

"And an apology from the school." Theo huffed.

"Of course, of course." He then paused, looking towards Lockhart, who hadn't said a word since Snape came to retrieve the rest from his office. "But one of us seems to be keeping mightily quiet about his part in this dangerous adventure."

Ron went red. "Uhhh professor—there was an accident down in the Chamber of Secrets, Professor Lockhart—"

"Who said my name?" The man said quickly, smiling absently. He looked towards Dumbledore. "Are you a professor, too?" He chuckled. "I wasn't a very good one. My friend, Dra-co, said I wasn't."

Draco scratched his head, he hadn't been expecting Lockhart to repeat that. He cleared his throat. "He tried to do a Memory Charm and the wand backfired." He shrugged. "Thought I would have a little fun."

"Dear me," The headmaster shook his head. "Impaled upon your own sword, Gilderoy!"

Lockhart frowned. "Sword? Haven't got a sword. That boy has, though." He pointed towards Neville. "He'll lend you one."

"I think Professor Lockhart needs to be taken to the infirmary, as well. Mister Malfoy, if you and the rest wouldn't mind, I would like you to escort him there." He then looked at Tobias and Neville. "I'd like a few more words with Mister LeStrange and Mister Longbottom…"

Draco got up, escorting Lockhart out of the office. Theodore and Ron went behind him, Theodore rambling about getting some hot chocolate. Blaise trailed behind them, his hands in his pockets. Pansy went next, but stopped at the door, casting a curious look back at Dumbledore and Tobias before she closed the door, leaving the three alone.

Tobias felt his hands sweating again. Neville didn't know what to do—this was his second time being in Dumbledore's office.

"Sit down, both of you."

The two boys walked to the chairs in front of the headmaster's desk. They sat down slowly, both avoiding the old wizard's eyes.

"First of all, I want to thank you both," Dumbledore said, and Tobias looked up, and noticed his eyes were once again twinkling. "Neville, you must have shown me real loyalty down in the Chamber. Nothing but that could have called Fawkes to you."

"And Tobias," He continued. "So you met your grandfather's sixteen-year-old self. I imagine he was most interested in you…"

Tobias nodded. It wasn't strange that the young Tom Riddle was eager to meet his grandson. It was strange in how eager he actually was. He called him the "Chosen One" and kept referring to some "prophecy." He even involved Neville, calling them both the "boys of July." What did all that mean?

"Professor Dumbledore…" said Neville. "…Riddle kept saying something about a prophecy…he kept calling Tobias the 'Chosen One.'"

"Did he now?" The headmaster responded. He hadn't expected Neville to be involved in the confrontation with Tom Riddle. If Riddle had referred to the prophecy, his targets were now both boys—and while he thought killing both boys would fulfill it, Tobias would've survived and Neville would've died. An interesting confrontation that must've been.

"What is the prophecy?" Tobias asked. "And what does it have to do with me and Neville?"

Dumbledore stared hard at the boys. Right now he had to make a decision—he knew they weren't ready, but Riddle had already exposed them to it.

"There is a prophecy, that a boy born at the end of July would destroy Lord Voldemort. You two, among many others, were candidates."

Neville straightened himself up. "So it wasn't actually about us?"

"No." Dumbledore shook his head. "Riddle was aware that you two were born in July, making you targets because of the said prophecy."

Tobias frowned. "But that doesn't explain why he kept calling me 'The Chosen One.'"

Dumbledore clasped his hands together. "Well, that is another situation. Many do not know, but Lord Voldemort had a son, his true heir. Yet, you, his grandson, was chosen to be the Heir of the Dark Lord."

"A son?" Tobias said softly. "He never told me he had a son."

"He doesn't speak of him. No one knows where he is. If I am correct, Mister LeStrange, he should be a year older than you."

Tobias was silent for a moment. So many things were happening at one time. There was a prophecy, about a boy who would destroy his Grandfather. His Grandfather also had a son—a son who was supposed to be the true Heir of the Dark Lord. So why was he chosen?

"But why—why did he chose me? And not his son?"

Because you are the boy who is meant to destroy Lord Voldemort. But Dumbledore could not say this. Not now—it was too risky. Tobias wouldn't understand—no doubt he would try to prevent the prophecy from occurring.

"That is a question I cannot answer." He finally said. "But I will say that your Grandfather is a great judge of character. He must have seen something in you, Tobias, that he didn't see in his son. And that maybe why you were chosen."

The headmaster's words popped another question in Tobias's head. What did his grandfather see? Did he see what the sorting hat saw—Many traits of a Slytherin. But many traits of a Gryffindor as well— or what Hermione saw when they first met? You don't look like a Slytherin. Why was he chosen? When he could've been put in Gryffindor, instead of Slytherin?

"There's one more thing." Tobias blurted out.

Dumbledore raised his brow. "Yes, Mister LeStrange?"

"When I was being sorted, the sorting hat told me something. It said I had many traits of a Slytherin, but many traits of a Gryffindor as well. How could my grandfather had picked me to be his heir—if I wasn't a true Slytherin?"

Dumbledore smiled. "And why do you believe you weren't put in Gryffindor?"

"Because," Tobias paused. "I asked to be put in Slytherin."

Dumbledore sat back in his chair, the smile still on his face. "I believe he chose you, Tobias, because you had the courage to choose your destiny—a luxury that most of us do not have. Sometimes we must make choices that others may not like, and that shows what we truly are, despite our abilities."

Tobias nodded. So maybe he was a true Slytherin—because of his choice last year. But there was still one more thing he didn't understand—something that bothered him the most.

"Professor," Neville said. "What's that sword?"

Dumbledore lifted up the silver sword, the ruby encrusted handle shimmering in the firelight. "This, is the sword of Godric Gryffindor." He turned the handle towards the two boys, and Neville gasped in amazement as he read the engraved name. "Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of a hat." He winked at Neville.

Tobias frowned again. Only a true Gryffindor. It was the same thing McGonagall said. So why was Tobias able to weld it? Why did it fit so perfectly in his hand? Neville may have pulled it out of the sorting hat, but had it come for him? But why would it come for Tobias? A Slytherin? The Heir of the Dark Lord?

"Is there something wrong, Tobias?" Dumbledore asked, clearly observing his facial expression.

Tobias shook his head. "No sir…I'm just…tired. It's been a long night."

"And so it has," Dumbledore agreed. "What you both need, is some sleep. You and Neville are dismissed. I need to write to Azkaban—we need our gamekeeper back. And I have to contact an old friend, too. We'll be needing a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher… Dear me, we do seem to run through them, don't we?"

Tobias and Neville got up, walking towards the door. Neville went through first, but Tobias stopped at the doorway. He thought about what Dumbledore said—about choices. And he had a few more decisions he needed to make.

"Professor." He turned around.

The old wizard looked up. "Yes, Mister LeStrange?"

"I was wondering," The boy said uncertainly. "If you could not mention this to my grandfather? About me, Draco, and Theodore being in the chamber. If anybody asks, it was Neville and Ron who saved Ginny."

Dumbledore made no reaction to his request. "Well that would certainly be a mess if anyone knew, now would it? Consider it done. Is there anything else?"

Tobias stood there for a moment, pondering if he needed anything else. He smiled when something came to his mind.

"An apology for Theodore…for his…emotional distress."

Dumbledore smiled. "Of course. Anything else?"

The Slytherin boy's smile turned into a smirk this time. "Actually, there is one more thing."

Lucius stared at Fudge from his position in the middle of the courtroom. He knew that the Minister would not look back. That's how Fudge always was—looking away from the dangers that lurked in the wizarding world. He was the last resort for Minister when he was sworn in—Lord Voldemort had killed the last one. Fudge thought that being Minister of Magic would be an easy job after the war—until the secrets came out, and the trials began, and former Death Eaters demanded work. Funerals after funerals he had to attend. Meetings after meetings he had to organize. Cities he had to rebuild—families he had to put back together. So much work for an incapable man.

Terrell was standing beside him. His black suit was as dark as the atmosphere. Another man who hid from the darkness. Not because he was afraid of it, but because it broke him. The war left many broken men, and Terrell was one of them. His family had been torn apart—his own son couldn't even stand the sight of him. But he stood here, strong—Lucius admired him. Not many men would return to working for the Dark Lord, not after what he made Terrell do to his wife. Lucius shuddered at the thought.

Fudge cleared his throat, stepping up to the podium. "This trial is now in session. Crouch, would you read the details?"

Barty Crouch, another man affected by the war. Lucius chuckled to himself as he thought about his son, Barty Crouch, Jr., one of the many faithful followers of the Dark Lord. Crouch Senior's face was priceless when he found out—when he had to sentence his own son to Azkaban.

"Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, you are being charged for threatening Ministry officials and due to a recent review by the Wizengamot, we will be revisiting your crimes from the war. Is your lawyer present?"

Terrell Nott cleared his throat. "Yes, sir. He is. I will be defending Mister Malfoy, today."

Crouch's jaw clenched. "Very well. Shall we begin?"

He flipped another page. "Mister Malfoy," He then held up a red portfolio. "Do you know what this is?"

"A portfolio." Lucius responded.

"Are you aware that you are the only Ministry official who carries these red portfolios?"

The blonde smirked. "Well, what can I say, Crouch? The usual purple gets boring after a while."

"You do know where we got his, don't you Lucius?" The man asked, his anger rising. "You do know that we have looked inside and read the contents?"

"Then, you must've found some interesting information. You Ministry officials aren't so pure after all."

"What are you doing?" Terrell growled out the corner of his mouth.

"Testing the waters." Lucius responded. "Play along."

"And neither are you, Malfoy." Crouch spat back. "Hypocrisy is what it's called. When a man as notorious as you tries to blackmail another man with his wrongs. You've been doing this for a long time—and it's about time it has stopped."

He flipped through more pages, more furious than before. "Nineteen seventy- six, the Russian Ministry. Nineteen seventy- nine, the family of muggles in France. Nineteen eighty—"

"Excuse me, Crouch." Terrell interrupted. "As we would love to revisit Lucius's previous crimes, there are some issues, Ministry related issues- that need to be addressed."

Fudge glared at the man. "Like what, Mister Nott?"

"Like that fact that half of your school governors did You- Know- Who's bidding during the war. Though some testified, claiming they were under the imperious curse, many confessed to the crime- yet they were allowed a job in the Ministry."

The courtroom went silent. Crouch was fuming, and Fudge seemed nervous.

"Willis Mannery, for example, burned the school records of several Death Eaters on You – Know- Who's orders. He confessed to the crime in the Dark Arts Trials of nineteen eighty- three, yet he walked free."

"What is your point?" Crouch retorted. "We all did things we weren't proud of. But our actions do not compare to his!"

"Why?" Terrell shot back. "Because of this mark on his arm? These crimes were not actions of pleasure, but orders from Lord Voldemort himself."

"Do not say that name!" Fudge hissed. "You say it again, and you're out of here, Nott!"

Nott took a deep breath. "My point is—where is Willis's retrial? Why wasn't he thrown in Azkaban? What happened to equal opportunity?"

"He's a Death Eater!" Crouch roared.

"He was a Death Eater." Nott corrected him, pulling out another piece of parchment. "According to his document, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy confirmed that he was no longer a member of Lord—You-Know-Who's forces."

"But that doesn't—"

"This is also Lucius's first offense against the Ministry—his first offense in ten years. According to Ministry policy, a Ministry official is given three strikes before termination."

Fudge sighed. "As they may be the case, we cannot let Lucius walk free. You do understand that, don't you Mister Nott?"

Terrell nodded. "I do. Which is why I have composed a compromise."

"Compromise?" Barty Crouch growled.

"Indeed. Lucius will plead guilty, if you allow him to keep his position. He will serve a probation period before returning to work."

Fudge shook his head. "No—we cannot have that kind of behavior for a School Governor."

"Lucius has done more good for the schools than the rest of the governors combined. Do I have to remind you that the muggle attacks at Hogwarts would've remained unknown had Lucius not brought it to your attention, Minister?"

Fudge went silent.

"We all make mistakes." Nott continued. "And sometimes we are blinded by what we want to see in a person, whether than what they are now. Isn't that right, Crouch?"

Barty was now breathing heavily—Lucius smirked at the nerve that Terrell had struck in the man.

"And what if we don't comply?" Fudge asked.

"Then I'll be back, with more information." The brown haired man said promptly. "These aren't the only files I have in my office, Minister."

The minister gulped, finally seeing that he had lost this battle. "No need for that. Crouch, I believe you know the verdict."

Crouch frowned. "In the case of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, we find the defendant guilty. He has been sentenced to three months of Ministry probation, after he will return to his position as school governor."

The grapple was banged and the trial was over. The Aurors freed Lucius, returning him his wand. The first thing Lucius did was change his clothes, returning to his usual black suit. Terrell returned his glasses to his coat pocket, summoning his belongings back into his briefcase.

"You know what this means?" Lucius said to the man. "It's happening again. He's getting ready."

"I'm aware." Terrell responded casually. "Part of the reason why I am here today."

Lucius nodded. "What does he need me to do?"

The other man looked around, making sure no one was listening. He cast a small silencing charm around the area, slowly tucking his wand back into his pocket.

"Gather the others." He said lowly. "You have until your probation is over."

"And the key? Have you found him?"

Terrell closed his briefcase. "He's alive. That's all I know. There's also another thing."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"The ceremony, it's happening."

"So soon? But the boys—they aren't ready."

"Then get them ready."

The brown haired man then left the courtroom. It was true. The boys weren't ready, especially not Theodore. They didn't know what being an heir actually meant yet. They had to want it. Truly want it.

Then make him want it. Because it's what you have to do.

Hermione woke up, squinting her eyes as the light from the window shone through. She put her hands on her face, she could feel her face. She looked at her hands, wiggling her fingers—wiggling her toes. She fluttered her legs. She could move, she wasn't petrified any longer. She hopped out of bed, noticing the other victims were stirring as well. Colin had just put on his cloak, rushing out of the hospital wing. Penelope Clearwater was reading get well cards, sniffling at each one. Justin Finch- Fletchley was writing a letter—probably to his mother to let her know he was alright.

She didn't wait for any further instructions. She grabbed her cloak and rushed out of the hospital wing—she had five boys she needed to see. As she burst out the doors, she could see that everyone was heading towards the great hall—murmurs of a "Great Breakfast Feast." Everyone was in their pajamas, seeming happier than before.

"Did you hear?" A Hufflepuff girl said. "The Weasley girl is safe! She was saved! The monster was killed!"

Hermione smiled brightly at those words. They had done it—they really did it. She ran through the crowd, pushing through students until she made it to the Great Hall. She pushed through the doors, quickly spotting her friends sitting in their usual spot. She had never been so happy to see them.

Ron was stuffing his mouth as usual. Neville had just spilled some pumpkin juice on his robes. Theodore was running his mouth, and Tobias couldn't hold back the laughs he tried to hide. And there was Draco, enjoying it all—but she knew he was waiting for something.

She ran towards them, not caring about the whispers and looks she was getting.

"You solved it!" She screamed. "You solved it!"

"Hermione!" Draco shot up, hugging the bushy- haired witch. She blushed as she hugged him tight.

Theodore hugged her next. "Welcome back, kiddo!"

She hugged Neville next, and then Ron. And lastly, there was Tobias, who was smiling nervously at her.

"Come here, you!" She said, pulling him into a hug. She could tell Tobias was shocked at first, but she smiled when he relaxed against her.

"I forgive you, you know?" She whispered against him. "I know you wouldn't have done all this if you had cared about me being muggle- born."

He hugged her tighter, until Draco cleared his throat. They all sat back at in their seats. The boys told Hermione about their adventures when she was gone. Their conversation was interrupted as Dumbledore stood up at the podium. The Great Hall then went silent.

"I have a few extra points to assign." He said. "But first an announcement from Professor McGonagall."

The witch stood up, walking promptly to the podium. "All exams have been canceled for this year!"

The Great Hall erupted in cheers and whistles. All the boys high fived, laughing as Hermione frowned—an "oh no" leaving her mouth.

"Next," Professor Dumbledore announced. "Professor Lockhart will no longer be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, due to the fact that he has lost his memory."

More claps and cheers.

"Shame." Theodore said, eating a piece of bacon. "He was starting to grow on me."

"Now to the points. To Neville Longbottom and Ron Weasley, for outstanding bravery and service to the school, I award Gryffindor fifty points."

The Gryffindor table broke into louder cheers and claps. Neville smiled and Ron went red as everyone stared at them, clapping and whooping.

Draco sipped some of his juice. "I can't believe you told Dumbledore not include us in the Chamber of Secrets incident. We could've gotten Slytherin extra points."

"Don't worry. I've got something better in mind." Tobias said.

"These aren't points," Dumbledore continued. "But I would like to sincerely apologize to Theodore Nott, for the emotional distress that was caused during his conviction as the Heir of Slytherin."

Theodore nodded at the man. "I accept your apology."

"And lastly, to Blaise Zabini."

The whole Great Hall went silent. Blaise Zabini? What was he getting an award for?

"Zabini!" Ron roared. "What is he getting points for?!"

Tobias smirked. "Wait for it."

"For being a manipulative little git," Dumbledore continued. "I subtract Slytherin seventy points."

Draco almost choked on his food. "Seventy?"

"Oh, that's cold." Theodore chuckled.

The whole Slytherin table was now glaring at Zabini, whose face had turned red in embarrassment. The once Slytherin banners now turned to Gryffindor red. Gryffindor had won the house cup.

Tobias laughed. "Now that, I wasn't expecting."

Theodore turned to look at the tan Slytherin, who was now squirming uncomfortably in his seat. "He's so dead."

"How is he progressing?" Tom Riddle asked.

The muggle man across from him set down his drink. He wasn't exactly happy to see the dark wizard—he had heard the stories about Lord Voldemort. Sometimes they gave him nightmares. He didn't want Atlas to grow up that way—no matter how hard the blood pumped through his veins.

"He's fine." The man grunted.

These visits were always short and quick. Riddle would ask how the boy was doing and then leave. The woman, however, would stay longer. She would talk to Atlas, tell him about a place called Hogwarts. But the man always declined—he didn't need to be exposed to that. He didn't need to be exposed to what created the bastard in front of him.

"How is his magic?" Riddle continued. "Is he controlling it better?"

"If you mean is he performing to your liking, then yes."

The wizard frowned. "It would be wise not to talk to me that way."

"Or you'll what?" The man spat back. "You'll kill me? And take away the only family that boy's ever known?"

"He isn't your family, Demetric." Tom hissed back.

"He isn't yours, either."

A door opened, and a young boy of fourteen stepped out. He had brown hair and green eyes. His mother's eyes. The muggle man stood up as the boy came into view. Tom did not move—he sat there, observing the boy. He had grown into a well- shaped boy. His hair was ruffled and his clothes were loungy—sweatpants and a t- shirt.

"Why didn't you tell me Mister Riddle was here?" The boy asked Demetric.

The man glared back at Tom. "He just arrived. We were talking, Atlas."

Atlas nodded, turning back to look at Riddle. The older man looked different—he was carrying his cane again. He never really said much when he came to visit—he only stared at him. His father told him it was because he was watching over him—to make sure his "power" didn't get out of hand. This wasn't the only wizard that visited him. A woman would come, every once and a while. Professor McGonagall, she called herself. She would tell him about this place called Hogwarts, but his father would never let him go.

Demetric walked towards the door. "I'll leave you two alone." He looked back at Riddle. "You have one minute."

Tom smirked. "More than enough time."

The muggle man left and Tom gestured for the boy to take a seat at the kitchen table. Atlas sat down, his eyes never leaving the older man across from him.

"Why do you tolerate him?" He hissed. "You hate muggles."

"He keeps you safe." Tom responded. "But if it was up to me, you wouldn't be here."

"Demetric won't let me go. He doesn't want me to end up like you. She doesn't want me to end up like you either."

Riddle chuckled. "They are blind. But your time is coming."

"When?"

Tom adjusted his tie. "Soon. For now be patient."

"I've been patient for three years." The boy growled back. "When will you let me accept my destiny?"

"Time's up." Demetric had walked back in. "Mister Riddle has to go now, Atlas."

Atlas nodded once more, bidding his goodbye to the dark wizard. Tom Riddle nodded back, standing up to grab his cloak. He walked towards the front door, where Demetric was standing, waiting. As Riddle approached the door, the muggle man stopped him, placing a hand on his chest.

"He will never be you." He said darkly. "I want you to know that."

The older man chuckled, sending chills down the other man's back. "You forget, Demetric. He is my son—my blood runs through his veins. You are nothing to him."

He pushed through the doorway, never looking back at the house. He hated coming here. It was her fault. It was her fault that they were in this predicament. That his son was out of his reach. That he had to tolerate this muggle man. He gritted his teeth as he walked out into the yard, disapperating on the spot.

Author's Note: So Voldemort's son! Atlas Riddle. If you weren't aware, the conversation between Atlas and Voldemort was in parseltongue. And Hermione's back! So Follow, Fav, and Review!

~TheeStoryTeller