Malfoy in Montenegro

by limeta

AU of Retired Prometheus: Draco Malfoy doesn't get Abraxas to intervene with the mentorship program, so he ends up being apprenticed to the faux-american we all love: Montgomery Goldsmith. AKA Lord Voldemort in hiding. Or: That one fic where Abraxas and Tom meet, resolve their differences, and marry in one chapter.

A/N: This is important! Do not, under any circumstances, take this AU of an AU to be similar to how the AU Retired Prometheus is going to end at all. Because this is just me writing alternatives for fun and Retired Prometheus is nothing like this. OK, it may be like this a little. A smidgen. A tad. A pinch. But I'm not telling you which parts.

---

Hermione Granger was the Brightest Mind of Hogwarts. She wore this as a badge of honour, as she should, but this made Draco Lucius Malfoy second fiddle – and he really hated that.

But, as Theodore told him, his reputation was being keenly watched. ''Don't whine about this. Accept your fate. It's one year. You've got nothing to prove and Hermione's got everything to prove. Let her boast and parade around with Lockhart.''

In another timeline, Draco would not have spoken with Theodore (a very sensible individual who did not get this levelheadedness from his constantly stressed out Death Eater father, but instead sharpened it on his own time and by emulating book characters). Instead he would have spoken with his grandfather, who would have jumped quickly to make Draco's dreams reality.

''I want Gilderoy Lockhart, though!'' Draco whined and pouted at Theodore, who stared at him for a reasonable minute before telling him to act like a man and not a stupid twelve-year old.

Draco acquiesced to this, realising that it wouldn't hurt to interact with Americans. ''I'd like to see New York.'' Theodore nodded along and said that everything had its up and downs.

A while later, however, Draco found out that this was an ex-pat American. Living gods knew where in a forgotten country nobody from his social circle knew about. His mother had needed to take out an Atlas. Only his grandfather vaguely recalled it: ''Isn't that near Albania?'' Before Draco could ask why his grandpa knew this, both his parents quickly jumped to shush him and say that this wasn't important to know.

''My good friend Tom lived there for a while!''

''Who?''

''Nobody!''

---

Hermione Granger didn't rub it in Draco's face, as that would be beyond ill-sporting – but she did dance a jig whenever she saw him. Her shimmies irritated him far more if she'd outright call him a piss poor Silver Place. Draco desperately wished for someone to give him an award for his patience.

But as Theodore Nott told him: He had nothing to prove.

Besides, he was rich. That was a plus since day one. Knowledge faded away and was forgotten, but generationally-accumulated wealth lasted forever. Or until someone gambled it away. The more Draco thought about this the more he realised that he was definitely not making good comparisons.

---

His grandfather hated Americans because a friend of his died in America. But if asked in public why he detested Americans Abraxas Malfoy would lean on his cane, switch his weight accordingly, and sneer: ''They are weird, capitalist driven nouveau-riche, shotgun wielding beasts without any regard for the finer things in life.''

Thoros Nott was caught writing this down to use for a book he was secretly writing. ''It's just for fun.'' He would say defensively, ''It isn't any good either. If something else comes along I'll stop writing it. But it is a good hobby, all the same. Why are we still on this topic? Goodbye.''

Draco asked Theo what his father wrote about and Theo shrugged. ''This and that. I don't care much. What's your father's current obsession?''

''He's taken up knitting because Arthur Weasley told him he didn't know how to cross-stitch. I fear for the winter months and the monstrosities he'll make me wear.''

''Isn't he running for Minister?''

''Yeah, but the knitting's a before bed type thing. Drives mum nuts.''

---

Narcissa Malfoy could be seen very sneakily disposing of the knitting equipment that kept her husband up until the wee hours of the morning.

Abraxas Malfoy blearily blinked at her. Narcissa paid for his silence by giving him a badly knitted hat in peacock colours.

---

Abraxas' friend was a friend he'd met while in New Zealand. His name was Larry Lazarus. ''We went to a party.'' His grandfather coughed into his hand and hid the blood red smear from Draco. ''I miss him quite often. Don't go getting ideas from this American. No limits with them. They've got to top off everything and show off even though they may die. Be sensible.''

''Does dad know about Larry?''

''Nobody needs to know except for you. It'll be our little secret.'' Abraxas nudged Draco and smiled. His teeth were red. Draco balked. Abraxas apologised and wiped the blood away better, wheezing out a painful laugh as he did so. ''To be ill is to not be at all, my dear grandson!''

---

The first American Draco met was a man named Montgomery T. Goldsmith. The T was for Texas, he would later hear. What kind of inane American thing to have your middle name be of a state you were from and not your father's name. Completely different worlds they lived in, these Americans.

Montgomery Goldsmith smiled and outstretched his hand to shake. Like some plebeian without good breeding. Purebloods, on principal, didn't shake hands. Hermione forced Draco to shake hands and each time he'd feel like he'd catch some form of disease. It was so unhygienic.

Disgustedly, Draco Malfoy accepted the hand and shook it.

Hermione Granger had sent him a postcard from Italy. She and Gilderoy Lockhart were gallivanting! He ate a burek offered to him by a grandma archetype named Ilinka Mrvaljević and tried not to cry from the sheer dismay his new surroundings brought him. None of this was how he pictured his one year away from family.

His mentor was some odd snake man. He had scales. All right, it was a magical experiment gone wrong, Draco couldn't fault that, as a lot of wizards and witches suffered from a chronic illness called: Safety measures? Don't know them.

His eyes were red. Draco didn't think anyone other than the Dark Lord had red eyes. Aside from vampires, but Montgomery Goldsmith didn't have fangs. His ears weren't pointed. The man looked like some sort of scaly abomination that couldn't even erupt from a cauldron in a cemetery powered by the blood of enemies, fatherly bones, and willingly given flesh.

Zorka Mrvaljević was a kind soul that helped him out with whatever he needed. She spoke fluent English and Draco was thankful. She doted on him and told him that whatever he needed she'd help him out with. It was weird. Especially because her nickname for him was Junače (meaning Hero? Montenegrin was a weird language). This woman was very much acting like a mother figure to him. Lady, get your own kids. Luckily he didn't say this to her and the doting didn't offend him, only weirded him out a little bit. Later he would find out that her son was dead and that Draco should keep his mouth shut about his feelings on the matter.

The matter of Montgomery Goldsmith continued to baffle Draco. He regarded this being of utter chaos that was supposed to care for his wellbeing and teach him (what was his specialty again, potions? Venoms and antivenoms? Nobody knew, not even he himself because he'd had one sip of rakija and spoken about horcruxes)

Currently, he was arguing with a snake.

It was a very passionate argument. The snake (Zorka supplied its kind: poskok) hissed angrily. Montgomery had scrunched his face up in a sneer and was not about to be trampled down by a snake the length of his leg. Draco sat at a table and dumbly watched. He thought about his life, what it would mean to spend a whole year in some unknown and forsaken place called Montenegro. The Old Town of Kotor was super interesting, however. He liked it a lot.

Back to the matter at hand!

These were the things that Draco knew about Montgomery Goldsmith:

He was a parselmouth.

He was losing an argument with a snake.

He knew of the Malfoys as the first thing he'd asked after meeting him was how Abraxas Malfoy's health was.

He was American, but when pressed for a more narrow location just batted away this question and afterwards muttered about Texas. To non-Americans, that was the most American place in America. When told one was from Texas the other wouldn't dare doubt their American-ness.

He had scales.

He was not a blood purist and frowned upon pureblood supremacy.

The poskok bit Montgomery Goldsmith's foot and Draco, being the only one nearby, went to fetch a bezoar. After administering it, Montgomery Goldsmith thanked Draco for his assistance and told him that he could ask about anything.

''I've always wanted to learn occlumency and leglimency.'' Draco said. He already planned on writing Granger how wonderful and outstanding his mentor was and that she and her five star hotel could suck it.

''I specialize in potions.'' Montgomery Goldsmith denied him. This was not because Montgomery Goldsmith didn't know how to teach occlumency or legilimency, but because Draco Lucius Malfoy was of Black blood and anyone of Black blood could, if rattled enough, breach into another's mind easily. Montgomery Goldsmith was going to keep his memories under tight lock and key, thank you so very much.

''Oh...'' Draco said, disappointed. Then, however, he asked: ''Do you know a thing or two about dragon pox?''

Montgomery Goldsmith, well aware of where this was going, nodded. His voice cracked: ''Y'all best believe I know a thing or two about them nasty dragon pox, son. My grandma kicked it when she went around dancing with a Hungarian Horntail.''

Draco wrote a letter back home telling everyone that things were fine. This was code for: I hate it here, but I am an adult and I will endure.

His mother sent him a dragon plushie he'd cuddled as a child. Draco was mortified when Montgomery Goldsmith saw it. ''What's its name?'' Montgomery had teased, ''Is it called Spikey?''

''It is actually.'' Draco said, holding Spikey with all of his strength. He had furrowed his brows. ''How'd you guess?''

Montgomery Goldsmith remembered young Narcissa Malfoy and him, back as Lord Voldemort, drinking tea and talking shite about people. She'd been an excellent conversationalist. ''Of all the things, my lord.'' She spoke, ''of all the names, my son named his dragon toy Spikey?''

''My first pet snake was named String.'' He had replied and drunk his tea. Narcissa had laughed at him. She was one of the few people that were allowed such privilege.

Now, in the present, under Draco Malfoy's scrutiny, Montgomery Goldsmith shrugged and said that it was a lucky guess. ''It looks like a Spikey.''

Draco nodded, seemingly satisfied with this.

---

A few days later, Montgomery Goldsmith made a grave error. He asked Draco Malfoy about Harry Potter. Not knowing that Potter was Draco's greatest enemy and that not even the Dark Lord had with Potter what Draco did.

''Potter?'' Draco sneered, eyes blazing with fire. ''Harry bloody Potter.''

Montgomery Goldsmith, dare he say this, was afraid of what was to come because he felt like he'd unleashed the teenage equivalent of Pandora's box.

Draco clattered his fist against the table they sat at and ate. Montgomery blinked, smiling bemusedly.

''You want to know about Harry Potter, sir? Fine, let's talk about Harry Potter and his oh so saintly demeanour and his oh so important scar and his oh so I'm the Saviour of the Wizarding World haughtiness. It began on a stormy September 1st when I offered a boy friendship and he denied me most heinously, sir! Then I knew that I had dealings with a maniac.''

Montgomery Goldsmith briefly thought about saying something, but didn't, because Draco was exactly like his grandfather and when that man started ranting there was no interruption big enough to succeed.

''It was the most embarrassed my family has ever been. Never before has anyone dared renounce a Malfoy's friendship.'' Draco gagged. ''I even tried shaking his hand because I'd heard he was an eccentric.''

Montgomery Goldsmith poured himself some orange juice from the table and drank, humming in accord to Draco Malfoy's painful recollection.

Tears welled in his eyes as he cursed the day he'd ever tried befriending Potter. ''Next, oh NEXT! Favouritism! Let's talk about Dumbledore and favouritism. He's the Headmaster at Hogwarts, by the way.'' Draco explained, just in case his mentor didn't know who bloody Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was.

''I know of him.'' Montgomery made the biggest understatement of the millennium.

''First years aren't allowed to bring their own brooms. Fine. All right. Okay. If everyone follows this rule it's fair. Harry Potter? Followed the rule, I'll say. But when we were learning to fly at the pitch he flew – all right, me having goaded him on, I admit,'' Montgomery Goldsmith was so lost. Yet trapped in silence. Draco cried openly, overwhelmed by his emotions like all Malfoys before him. ''He became the youngest seeker in the century!''

''Is he any good?'' Montgomery Goldsmith asked, trying to piece together this Dumbledore driven world of chaos. This was what happened without Dippet. Reasonable man, that Dippet. Incredibly heterosexual. Didn't know that Dumbledore batted for the other team, nor that Abraxas Malfoy batted for both. Or maybe he did know, mused Tom in an attempt not to listen to Draco, and just pretended not to for the sake of Hogwarts drama?

Draco's face formed a grimace. He tried to speak, but would be overcome with pain whenever he even thought about admitting that Harry Potter was actually good at quidditch.

''Take your time, Draco.'' Montgomery taught. ''Take your time.''

''He's not bad.'' Draco Lucius Malfoy said, having grown a pair to admit that his arch nemesis was actually good at something.

''Is he better at it than you?''

Draco cried.

Montgomery just kind of, very awkwardly, apologised for asking this. He stood up and went to hug the boy. All Malfoys liked to be hugged; they were very physical people that craved attention and care. Montgomery Goldsmith would write a book entitled: Maintaining a Malfoy. After Abraxas, Lucius, and Draco –Montgomery could call himself a Malfoy expert easily. Draco gripped his USA-flag inspired shirt and cried into it.

''If it makes you feel any better,'' Montgomery patted his blond head, ''Harry Potter sounds like a fucking prick.''

''It does.'' Draco squealed, words muffled by the fabric. ''Sometimes I wish the Dark Lord had killed him before he could have made my life hell.''

Montgomery Goldsmith thought about a world where 1981 had not happened as it had. He blinked away tears because he was not an emotionally compromised teenager and had a stronger constitution.

''He's an auror, you know.''

''Aurors are fucking idiots.'' Montgomery didn't have to pretend when he said this. He loathed aurors and thought that they were tools of the Man.

''Thank you, sir.'' Draco mumbled. Montgomery nodded. They returned to their dinner and began their lessons after.

Said lessons consisted of theory and then practical implementation. Draco, who was a good potions student, was not really challenged, but kept his mouth shut. He worked on diligently because sometimes his mentor would speak of solutions made of phoenix tears and special snake venom that could cure many illnesses.

Montgomery used this opportunity to ask about Abraxas Malfoy. Draco understood this as his mentor taking an interest in working with him on a possible cure. He didn't tell this to his grandfather, mostly because he didn't want to raise his hopes.

''My grandfather's really ill.'' Draco explained. ''Has been for seventeen years. People claim he's going to die any time soon, but grandfather is nothing if not obstinate.''

''Yeah?'' Montgomery said, leaning over a pressure cooker as he added vials into the mix. He wandlessly circled his finger above the mix and it stirred anti-clockwise three times, then clockwise seven.

''Mhm.'' Draco nodded. He put his hands into his pockets and watched, keenly. ''Apparently he was poisoned. One moment he was fine and the next thing my parents knew he was being carted off to St Mungo's for treatment. It's a really ugly form of dragon pox.''

''Dragon pox can't be caught without being put in front of a dragon.'' Montgomery Goldsmith said. ''It's not the type of illness that can be transferred from person to person. Especially not if all of the inoculation has been administered. Has it? You're not one of those people that say I'll rather suffer than go to a healer, are you?''

''No, no. That's ridiculous. All forms of vaccinations have been proven not to affect magic.''

''Then, see, it couldn't have been dragon pox.''

''Form of.'' Draco corrected. He was easily riled, Montgomery noticed. His crown may be platinum but his heart was all Black.

''Fine. Let me entertain this thought. I assume it's a derivative of dragon pox that's been infused with some other illness that attacks the immune system. Or rather, the magic.''

''My grandfather is no squib.''

''Did I say that?''

''You implied it.'' Icily Draco Malfoy said. ''He can use magic.''

''Really?'' Montgomery Goldsmith breathed, surprised for the first time while speaking about Abraxas Malfoy's conditions.

''As I said, my grandfather is not a squib.'' How precious, thought Montgomery as he watched Draco Malfoy fluster angrily on his grandfather's behalf.

''All right.'' Montgomery allowed. ''Then what's the problem?''

''Appearance wise it's like dragon pox. He's got scars and pustules and all of that,'' Draco shuddered at the thought of it. Montgomery didn't speak. His red eyes bore into Draco. ''But he's weak and he can't use magic for very long. While he's not using it he can get on well. Even the pain isn't that harsh, he says. But even when he apparates it's a horrible stab and the illness suffocates him.''

''It's infused with his magic, you know.'' Montgomery Goldsmith said, out of the blue.

''What led you to this conclusion?'' Draco asked, leaning forward.

Montgomery didn't look into the Black-Malfoy's eyes. He just minded his potion and talked, blinking when vapour rose from it quickly. His eyes closed and he rubbed the mist out. ''It's obvious.'' Obvious, perhaps, to the one that had made the concoction, ''It travelled through the organism and latched onto his magical output points. So, whenever he did magic the clogged points would punish him for using magic. There's this magical suppressant used by vampire hunters on vampires –it's actually very, very ingenious. Basically, what it does is it seals the vampire's magic into their own body. Which is preposterous, you say, vampires are magical creatures – their whole existence is basis on magic. To bind a vampire so is agony. Exactly! They use magic to feed, as you know. Perhaps you don't. Not many are familiar with vampires and their lifestyles. So, you bind the vampire and you tell them: 'Hey, you're free. You can piss off.' The vampire is happy to survive the encounter with a hunter. You see where I'm going with this – it's oh, IT'S BRILLIANT.''

Draco nodded uncertainly. His mentor looked and sounded how serial killers did when asked about their life's work. He just didn't know why this was a very apt description.

''Now, the vampire tries to go and feed. It can't. Their magic lashes out against them because this is not allowed. This goes against everything the bond represents. However, the bond must be willingly accepted. Vampires, of course, choose the bond over the sun. They don't know what's happening to them. But they're drowning in their agony and in their own thirst. This was designed in 1763 by a vampire hunter from Zambia. Quite an extraordinary tale. However, there's a way to circumvent it. You just don't accept it. Anti-dark arts propagators speak about how alluring and abusive the dark arts are, but more of its rituals and spells demand sober consent than any in the plainer arts. Do children consent to the Trace? No, I should think they don't.''

''I hardly believe my grandfather would willingly take a poison...''

''Ah, but this is a bonding ritual, Draco.'' Montgomery's face softened and he patted him on the shoulder. ''What happened to your grandfather was just a drunk drinking. Like they care to check what's in drinks? By simply accepting to drink he had consented to its potent contents.''

Draco Malfoy narrowed his silver eyes. They were not like Abraxas'. In fact, he looked a lot like Walburga Black with such an expression plastered to his young face. ''How do you know my grandfather drank the poison?'' Draco had not mentioned there being any drinking involved.

His mentor laughed, warily. ''How else would it be administered? Intravenously? Honestly, Draco, by process of elimination drinking is the only viable consideration.''

''Mhm.'' Draco said. ''All right.''

''Who taught you potions? Your knowledge base is good. Which is a rarity in most young people's cases. They don't understand the beauty of potions.''

''Severus Snape, my Head of House.''

Montgomery nodded. Yes, his most loyal death eater.

''He's the coolest person I know.''

''Oh?'' Montgomery said, feigning interest.

''Yeah! He was a spy during our civil war. You might not know much about it, but he joined the Death Eaters (these are Voldemort's people) and then realised the error of his ways and gave information to Dumbledore (these are the not radical blood purists).''

Montgomery Goldsmith's face split into an uncomfortable, unexpected smile. ''A spy? Severus Snape?''

''Yes. Really mean bloke, though.''

''Severus Snape the Spy?''

Draco nodded. He pulled them back to the conversation from before and inquired, ''Then.'' Draco moved closer. ''You mean to say that my grandfather's illness is not actually dragon pox. That it's just a way to throw healers off?''

''Precisely.'' Montgomery proudly said, his face still stuck in that horrible, twisted realisation that he had poisoned Abraxas Malfoy for a crime the man had not committed. ''Genius, no?''

''Aha.'' Draco said, not at all finding it genius. He scrutinized his mentor, but hid the suspicion behind more questions of an eager student.

''It is the suppressant that when triggered mimics the symptoms of dragon pox. If it were really dragon pox your grandfather would have died much more quickly.''

''Do you know a way to cure my grandfather?''

''We can only speculate.'' Montgomery Goldsmith fanned away.

''Then.'' Draco Malfoy smiled, faintly showing his teeth and a glimmer that formed in his eyes, ''shall we speculate?''

They did.

It was seventeen possible concoctions, three months, and a quidditch world cup later that Draco Malfoy gave up. He was looming over the pressure cooker, his face covered in sweat, and he said: ''I'm done.'' His voice turned into a screech that Montgomery flinched at, reminded of someone quite terrifying to him, ''I'm absolutely done!''

Tears of frustration welled in the corner of his eyes. He fanned his arms around. ''I'm too stupid for this.''

Montgomery Goldsmith remembered Abraxas Malfoy during NEWT year, having a meltdown before the examinations, calling himself stupid and writing out a will because his mother was going to kill him. Then, that had seemed over dramatic. Later, when Abraxas had told him more about his mother… it had seemed horrifying. For those interested, Abraxas had willed Tom Riddle all of his peafowls. Tom Riddle had kindly declined, saying that the orphanage disallowed pets. This had made Abraxas burst into tears. Walburga Black, surprisingly, had accepted to care for Abraxas' peafowls were he to die before her.

''You're not stupid, Draco.'' Montgomery comforted, never seeing Abraxas more in Draco than in that moment. ''You're a very bright young man.''

''I'm not.'' Draco said, crossing his arms and glaring at the pressure cooker. ''None of my ideas are working. None of our ideas are working. This is too complicated.''

''Yes.'' This his mentor allowed. ''It is very complicated. Only really powerful and genius wizards could glean into its inner workings. If you work very hard you may even succeed. But don't just lose hope at every obstacle. You look sadder than a dementor in a room full of occlumensi.''

Draco sniffled, cracking a small smile at that comparison. Montgomery tentatively drew him into a hug. Draco wrapped his arms around his mentor and apologized for losing his composure.

''If I expected a Malfoy to have composure, Draco, I would admit myself to a mental institution.''

Draco laughed. Montgomery ruffled his hair and told him to go and rest up while he made them something to eat. Obediently, his apprentice obliged.

Montgomery opened the antivenin compartment to his lab, saw a translucent vial labelled AM, took it, and then swiftly poured it into the pressure cooker. This was done in the same likeness a cat would open something that it shouldn't, saw something that wasn't for it, and then just with the same decisiveness of a cat, tossed this something down with its paw.

Then, as if nothing had happened, Montgomery casually returned to the other part of the kitchen and began to prepare fish fillet because, by Merlin, he wanted to eat some fish fillet.

Draco returned and found that his pressure cooker was emitting odd lights that had never been emitted in his history of pressure cooker potioneering. ''Montgomery? Sir?''

From across the room, Montgomery pretended he had no idea why Draco was calling him. ''Draco, give it a rest, would you? I'm eating. Take a seat with me and stop your nattering.''

Draco Malfoy did not do any of these things. He looked at the potion and said: ''It's worked!''

''See!'' Montgomery proudly said. ''You're a very bright young man. It only needed time to adjust. Some things can't work immediately.''

''But how did it work?'' Draco began to overthink things. Montgomery closed his eyes and exhaled painfully.

''It worked.'' Montgomery said and then made up some bullshite explanation on the spot. Draco seemed satisfied with it.

He broke into a wide grin and said that he was going to write his grandfather. ''I'm going to get it patented – you included, of course.'' Draco backtracked when he remembered that Montgomery Goldsmith had helped him along with this research.

''Are you sure it works, though?''

''Is there a way to test it?'' Draco asked. Montgomery said no, as they did not have a sample of the poison. However, he couldn't just give the concoction to Abraxas.

''My grandfather doesn't really mind what he drinks. If I tell him it might cure him he'll snatch it from my hand and drink it like a shot.''

Montgomery Goldsmith, Draco saw, didn't look the least bit surprised.

So, Draco sent his grandfather a letter in which he explained everything. How his red-eyed parselmouth mentor with ties with Albanian vampire communities had found snake venom that counteracted with many rituals and could be enchanted to dissolve magical bonds. How this was not at all Dragon Pox but some form of vampire bond that had been adjusted for fully human wizards. How Draco had worked every day diligently to make him something that could maybe (MAYBE GRANDFATHER! MAYBE! NOT WITH UTMOST CERTAINTY!) cure him if he drank it.

---

A few days later.

Abraxas Malfoy was in Montenegro, mind sober, magic clean, and a willow wand outstretched dangerously. His silver eyes glowed.

Montgomery Goldsmith, who had opened the door to his cabin, widened his eyes and tried to speak: ''Lord Malfoy, it is an honour to host-''

''Silence.'' Abraxas said. He waved the wand imperiously and said: ''You are not to speak to me, Tom Riddle.''

''You must be mistaken. I am but a genius, capitalist-driven, Texan American-''

Abraxas put his willow wand against Tom Riddle's neck and told him to be quiet. ''I will not repeat myself again. Thoros and I have gone to fetch your horcruxes after I have drunk the cure of this, this illness! If I do not return safe and sound in a day, he will burn them all with fiendfyre.''

Tom Riddle narrowed his crimson eyes and didn't speak.

Abraxas Malfoy's face was marred with scars and bumps. Tom Riddle's body was marred with scales. They looked monstrous together, each finally reflecting their ugly inner crimes.

''Come potioneer.'' Abraxas gestured them both inside and asked that Tom Riddle get them veritaserum. Tom Riddle opened his mouth to say that he didn't keep that here, but Abraxas laughed this off. ''I know you, Tom Riddle. I KNOW you.''

Fine. Tom Riddle was happy that Draco and Zorka had gone on a boat trip along the Montenegrin coastline. That ought to keep them occupied today. He rummaged through his cabinets and dug out veritaserum. Abraxas procured two small glasses. Tom was just about to tell him these were used traditionally for rakija, but Abraxas didn't look like he was interested in anything but whatever he had come here initially to do.

Tom Riddle poured two glasses and then took his up just as Abraxas took his own up. He went to tip the potion into his mouth when Abraxas tut-tutted him. Like some small child. Abraxas gestured him near and motioned for their arms to interlock so they drank each other's glasses. Fine. Fine. Abraxas didn't trust him not to have somehow, magically poisoned him in the seconds that spanned the potion pouring? Fine. Tom Riddle would allow this.

Having finished their drinks, Abraxas asked.

''Why send me the cure now?''

''Draco Malfoy's an incredible potioneer and if word got out it would be plausible if he had created your cure.''

Next it was Tom's turn: ''Are you going to reveal my identity?''

''This depends on your answers, Tom Riddle.'' Abraxas returned coolly. They had taken seats at the kitchen table and regarded each other. They were both Slytherins and their lives were of mutual benefit and usefulness.

''Do you regret poisoning me?''

''I regret that you suffered this long for a crime you did not commit, yes.''

''So, you learned only recently that you'd poisoned me for naught.''

Montgomery wheezed out a painful, embarrassing, and humiliating: ''Yes.''

Abraxas Malfoy's face twitched. He covered his mouth with his hand and laughed into it. This was all so very absurd to them both. Montgomery then asked: ''Why did you kill Nobby Leach?''

The laughter stopped. Abraxas inhaled sharply: ''I was high.''

''Was there any other reason?''

Abraxas did not know what it was that Tom was fishing for. He spoke honestly: ''He and his stupid ideas were going to change the wizarding world for the worse and I was going to stop him.''

''... That's it?''

''Yes. Why do you ask, Tom?''

Tom Riddle shrugged. He kept his tongue locked between his gritted teeth.

Abraxas pressed him. Their magic interwove. The contents of the veritaserum worked.

''Because you knew I cared for him.''

''I did not, actually. I learned this only whilst in New Zealand in rehab. Mind you, had you actually bothered to visit me we could have cleared this up.''

Exhaustedly, Tom Riddle sighed. ''Abraxas, I couldn't look at you without being repulsed.'' He looked at his unglamoured form and said: ''Right now I find it easier to look at you than I did then.''

''Wow. You sure know how to make a man feel special.'' Abraxas hissed venomously.

''I feel very... very strongly about your existence.'' Tom Riddle answered truthfully.

''That's... Do you hear yourself, you emotionally stunted wreck?!''

''Abraxas, this is hard for me.''

''Hard?'' Abraxas shouted, rising from his seat and yelling, gesturing his form and his skin and his pain, ''Do you know what HARD is, Tom Riddle? My life. My life's very hard. You left me for dead, without an inkling of love for me. You chose that mudblood over me and nobody ever told me why. I demand to know.'' He stomped his foot against the ground harshly and asked, silver eyes forcing him into complacency: ''What was your relationship with Nobby Leach?''

Tom Riddle didn't fight the veritaserum. He let the truth finally dangle in open between two living men fighting still because of a dead man: ''I loved him, Abraxas.''

Silence accumulated like a terrible reminder of differences tipping over similarities. Crimson pooled into silver. Abraxas mutely nodded, a strangled sort of scream trapped in his throat. ''So,'' he finally said after a lifetime of silence, ''it's like that.''

''I cared about you first.'' Tom Riddle honestly said. Were he not under veritaserum Abraxas would not have believed him. This said more about their relationship than anything ever could. It disgusted him.

Abraxas shook his head and whispered hoarsely, disappointed in himself and the world: ''You can't even say 'love' in the same sentence as my name, Tom.'' Then, a pause: ''I am sorry about killing Nobby Leach. It wasn't a jealous lover seeking revenge. Rest assured, it was solely prejudice against mud-ggleborns that moved my wand arm that day.''

''Had you known?'' Tom wondered. ''What would you have done then?''

''I would not have killed him as painlessly as I had.'' Abraxas thoughtfully said. Tom eased him back into a sitting position, telling him to calm down and not leave anywhere until the veritaserum wore off.

''Why'd you start using?'' Tom asked, inferring the cocaine. That had never come to light. Nor had he ever made a point in asking. After the sixties they'd both been swept up in a war.

''I saw things.'' Abraxas explained. He clenched and unclenched his wand arm. Tom made no move to steal the wand away. He simply watched Abraxas and said that he'd like to understand. ''I saw our future, Tom. We were thrilled together. There was no Lucius wearing me down. No Antoinette. No Malfoy name or pureblood duty to shackle me to a life I had always found... limiting.''

''You can't hallucinate from cocaine.'' Tom Riddle had read a pamphlet on cocaine after Abraxas had gone and made himself a clean citizen.

''Oh. I didn't do it for cocaine. Goodness, everyone thinks I did it because of the high, the speed, the bohemian lifestyle of it all.'' Abraxas snort-laughed. He rarely snorted in his laughter. Tom had told him it was endearing and he never hid it from him. There were sad, hopeless tears in his eyes as he spoke: ''My magic was heightened. I could tap into magic that usually I found trivial or confusing. For the first time I understood things.''

''You drink a potion that dissolves cocaine in it for magic amplification.'' Tom Riddle hissed. Abraxas missed this man that knew everything and yet knew nothing. ''What you did was nothing except cruel to yourself and others around you. Selfish, irreverent man.''

''Scared you a bit, didn't I?'' Abraxas finally pieced together. ''You're scared of people not aware of their actions.'' Alcoholic Mrs. Cole flashed in Tom Riddle's mind, but he disallowed Abraxas to know. ''Aren't you?''

''Yes.'' Yet veritaserum compelled him. ''So, what branches of magic did you finally understand?''

''Divination.'' Abraxas breathed shakily. He leaned back into his chair and broke eye contact, staring upward at the ceiling wistfully. Tom Riddle called bullshite on this and demanded the man take another shot of veritaserum.

''You hate divination! You don't believe it works. You don't believe it has any basis in reality. Arithmancy is your trade.''

''I thought I was seeing prophecies.'' Abraxas said. He played with his wand anxiously and admitted things that he had never thought to admit. ''I saw you and I, Tom, far away from England. We were just living together. It was fun. No Malfoy obligations. Just us two on some yacht.''

''Living? Together you mean? What, were we married?'' Tom Riddle sneered at him. ''You would rather have lived in your little delusions than accept your life and make something out of it? You want to know why I let Leach into my life, Abraxas? It was because you were absent minded and corroding yourself freely. Antoinette left for France with Selwyn. For the most part Lucius was at Hogwarts and away from your repugnant addiction. Where did that leave me, then? I bore the brunt of your idiocy, yet you dare play the victim here.''

Abraxas flinched. Then, however, he shot back. Sparks of magic flying across his form. ''Pretty rich coming from someone who forced me to see him ruining his mind in a steady and unfaltering pace! Your horcruxes, Tom Riddle, what are they except an addiction? You are not without fault.''

''I never said I was!'' Tom lashed out. Next he said, fuming still by this conversation, by having this man in his life again: ''Besidess, you could have always left.''

''Left? I can't have just left you to yourself. You would have found a way to kill yourself even with so many horcruxes had I not stood by you to help you keep your health.''

''Oh here we go again.'' He slammed his hands on the table, with currant sparks flying about his body. ''Let's talk about Tom Riddle the mudblood orphan, Abraxas Malfoy's charity case! I don't need your pity or your so called salvation.'' Tom Riddle stood up and shouted. ''You never liked all of me, only pieces that you found interesting or eccentric enough to fit your pureblood platter.''

''How dare you-''

''Face it! You only liked me while I was pandering to you purebloods. Walburga Black said this once and I regret not listening to her: He only likes you, Riddle, because you're a novelty to him.''

''That is –'' Abraxas was not allowed to finish his sentence because Tom Riddle shouted over him.

''I do not know why you're here or what you want from me, but I am afraid.'' Tom Riddle said, truthfully, and that hurt far more than any lie. ''I am afraid I do not have any place for you in my life.'' He shook with an overwhelming rage that simmered.

''That is not true.'' Abraxas said, then corrected, voice small for a man of his height and imposing stature. ''About Walburga. That isn't true. She has a power to get into people's heads and put words that aren't true there. I am sorry that I gave you reason to believe her.''

Abraxas wore a robe that reflected all light simultaneously when put in front of sunlight. In darkness it was shrouded in the same shade of the shadow, making him near invisible. From the window nearby seeped light that cast half of his robe into such a diverse light. It could be called magical genius, that robe's creation.

Tom Riddle watched the robe, breathing heavily and trying not to say anything else he might regret today. ''You still wear it.''

''It's my favourite.'' Abraxas returned, equally as wary and tenfold wearier. ''I love it.'' (I love you)

''Abraxas,'' Tom Riddle gently asked, forcing himself to be gentle, forcing himself not to remember the Minister Shaped Hole wedged between them, ''what do you want from me?''

Abraxas shrugged. ''I just want to give us a try again.''

''A try?'' A bitter, bitter laugh: ''Like ... a date?''

''Would you go on a date with me?'' Abraxas inquired, furrowing his brows.

''I don't think... we've ever... gone on a date.''

''Hogsmeade?'' Abraxas scoffed.

''Those weren't dates. You were just avoiding Walburga and her cronies.'' Tom accused. ''How strange it was that you called me every slur in the book whilst with her, laughed at my hand-me-down robes, and tried giving it your best to intimidate me to leave Hogwarts and not – as you said I believe: Toxify your air with mud. Mind you that still makes zero sense.''

''I apologized for the name calling.''

''For the wrong reasons, Abraxas. You only stopped name-calling me when you found out I was a halfblood. You only asked me to accompany you to Hogsmeade because you needed me to pass OWLs. I find your upbringing unfortunate, truly I do. But you never understood my guardedness with you. Because if you were so quick to take me into your circle then you would be just as quick to cast me out.''

''You never brought this up.'' Abraxas said. He did not like listening to any of this. The truth was there and he hated how he'd never given it another thought. For him this business was done. Tom was not Slytherin's Mudblood, but a revered member of His house.

''Would you have, were our positions switched?''

Abraxas found, upon reflection, that he wouldn't have brought this up either. Dredging up the past did nothing for the present, only made the future more unstable.

''You've got to understand my side of things, though.'' Abraxas tried to reach out, but Tom shuddered in repulsion and groaned at this.

He moved away from Abraxas and said: ''I don't want to understand the purebloods anymore. You've had your chance and you've done nothing for me.''

''Nothing for you?'' Abraxas had given his heart to this man. ''You think love's just a transaction to me?! You think I just gave you my heart out of the blue, flippantly? Have you no decency!''

''I don't love you.'' Tom Riddle shouted. He felt so weak. Only people struggling for power shouted. Only people struggling to be heard and listened to and obeyed shouted: ''I did love you! I did, Abraxas.'' He found the words unlocked, he found this tidalwave of emotions freed and he hated every waking second of it. Because Abraxas looked at him in fear. And this was why he never showed people how he felt, this was how he never dared tell people his real thoughts, this was why he hid away. He was no Hell's spawn from Wool's, he was no revered and well-respected member of magical society, he was no more a Minister in the Shadows, he was not a Dark Lord anymore. He didn't know who this man speaking was, but Tom Riddle found these words unrecognizable, whilst knowing he'd wanted to say them all his life. ''You've always belonged!''

Abraxas stood now, as well, to take a step back. Tom took an emboldened step forward. ''Your parents have had a plan for you since the start and you could either fit the mould or not – but either way you would belong to the upper crust of pureblood society. Disownment means nothing to blood purists. Because blood will out and at the end of the day you cannot change your blood. Fuck!'' He angrily screamed. Abraxas took another step back, until he found himself trapped by the wall behind him. He stared and watched in horror. It was not fear, because he never was nor would ever be afraid of Tom. This Prometheus who'd driven himself into an eternal punishment, without a Hercules to save him.

''I was born in a world I could never belong in. A pathetic orphan good for factory work or Soho! Do you know why I persevered in Hogwarts, even though all of you gave it your best to run me out? Well,'' he wet his lips, ''it's very simple, Abraxas. I wanted an education and I sure as hell wouldn't have gotten one in the muggle world. Didn't have enough money, enough connections, overall the thirties were a thankless time for orphans.'' Then, upon retrospect. ''Being an orphan makes any decade thankless for living, really. The systematic abuse didn't help either. But fine,'' Tom repeated, ''fine! I could have made a life for myself there. I made this.'' Grabbed hold of Abraxas' robe and startled the blond into making a yelp. ''I had deft fingers. I could've gotten some tailor apprenticeship and avoided a death in a factory. Mrs. Cole would have liked to get me out of her hair as much as possible. Not like the other children liked me any.'' He kneaded the fabric carefully. Abraxas noted that Tom's clothes always lasted much longer than anyone's. That he took care of his things, not because he liked them very much, because he didn't know if he would ever get anything better. Was that how he saw Abraxas?

''I love you.'' Abraxas whispered. He still didn't dare touch him. Because he didn't want to be flayed with the cruciatus curse. Carefully he tried taking a step forward, and was allowed. So he did. ''You didn't belong in the muggle world, Tom. You would be wasted there. Hogwarts was your only salvation and I understand that. Don't think I'm ignorant that I don't. I do. You would endure everything to go back to it and for that I admire you.'' Then, then, then with the most venom Abraxas had ever talked about the purebloods. ''We were wrong to ostracize you. We saw that and we rectified it.'' Tom stopped holding onto him and crossed back to the table to sit down at.

''Yet again,'' he glared and those crimson eyes glowed in this light, ''you misunderstand what I mean to say. People cannot change. In their core they remain the same. People can only ever be diverted.''

''What? Is your muggle tailor your core and everything else a diversion?'' Abraxas laughed.

''No. The fact was that whenever I made a plan it would fall away! Just when I made peace to belong in the muggle world, Dumbledore came to liberate me from my poor house only to shove me at all of you vipers in waiting, drenched in a pool of purity dating back generations. I had no idea who my parents were, let alone my grandparents! In the muggle world they would have killed me or locked me up because of my magic, something I cannot change; and in the magic world you all tried to ruin my life because of blood purity, also something I cannot change. I didn't belong ANYWHERE!''

And then the culmination, the reason this was all being said. ''Nobby made me belong.'' Tom said, with a morose smile. He looked away from Abraxas, grasping at his hair with his hands and digging his fingernails into his scalp.

Abraxas walked over to his seat and sat back in it, looking at Tom like a soaked rat. Or a de-feathered peacock. ''I understand that he offered you friendship when we all called you slurs.''

''And burned my books and hid my things and got me into trouble.''

''All of those things, yes.'' Abraxas thought about eleven year old Tom Riddle and thought that he was going to throw up. How callous and cold children could be. Walburga rallied them all up and relished in bringing the unworthy pain. There was no such thing as being unworthy. When a person awarded value to another person that was when things became hard and prejudice was born.

''I wanted to make my own way.''

''People don't do that.''

''No. YOU don't do that. YOU don't know what it's like to work a single day in your life. YOU don't know what it's like to try and get a job in the Ministry only for them to keep telling you that there aren't any openings – when you know for a fact that there are. Flitwick pulled strings and got Nobby that job as a fetch boy in the Ministry. Slughorn offered to do the same to me, but… the environment would have only reminded me of why I couldn't do this on my own with my marks and my accomplishments. Merrythought pulled strings for Mandy to get into that healing programme you know. Same thing. No positions were open for mudbloods.''

''But you aren't a mudblood.'' Abraxas said. It seemed like such a redundant observation, but it was all he could find himself to say.

''If I were none of you purebloods would have looked at me and that would have given me a peace of mind. As a halfblood you don't belong anywhere in full. You're on the outskirts of both castes. But Riddle's a mudblood name. So I fashioned myself a new one. To distance myself from the orphanage, the mudbloods, and my father.''

''How can you ever expect to accept someone's love when you hate yourself, Tom.'' Abraxas finally asked, canting his head to the side, and grimacing painfully.

''Love is meaningless. I know this know. I accept this wholeheartedly.''

''It's fine if you don't love me…'' Abraxas breathed. It wasn't fine, but he would accept it. ''But try for yourself. This…living like this isn't doing you any good.'' He'd seen the scattered-about letters and the snakes nearby and the mess of his life. The stubble wasn't doing him any favours, either, but Abraxas wouldn't call attention to it.

''And now you think you're some sort of hero of mine, don't you?''

''Let me take you out.'' Abraxas didn't want to ask if the man had eaten anything. They'd been here too long, cooped up in this home. The veritaserum was dripping away from their system and maybe that would be for the best. Being honest with one another wasn't an endeavour Abraxas expected would lead to this.

''Take me out? Like on a date or an assassination attempt?''

''Dinner. Come on. I'll buy.''

''Actually.'' Tom Riddle said, still not willing to back down and change the subjects. ''That really pisses me off.''

''What does?''

''You just flaunting your money at me. It's daunting. You once offered to buy me a house. It was the most terrifying thing to ever happen to me. It was fine at first, when you'd buy me chocolates at Hogsmeade. This was something that I could pay you back, but then you asked me to live with you after I'd come back from Albania. I was unemployed and I said 'sure', but I thought it was all going to be temporary! It wasn't! You kept buying me things and I kept accepting them even though the tally in my head was far beyond what I could pay back realistically. All right, when you donated to the movement I didn't feel bad because it was for the movement and it would benefit all Death Eaters.''

Abraxas stared, open mouthed.

''Anyway. Don't buy me things. Don't spend money on me anymore. On the basis that I were to keep you on in my life, that is. I haven't decided yet.''

Veritaserum was doing wonders for their relationship.

Abraxas nodded. ''All right. No grand gestures, then. I can do that. Would it kill you to verbalize your wants more? Every time I asked you a question it would meander to: Do as you like, Abraxas. Whatever, Abraxas. It's your house, Abraxas. I know for a fact that you hated the wallpaper I had chosen in 1959, yet you kept your mouth shut and would glower at it whenever you thought I wasn't looking.''

''It literally was not my place. It was your home and as a guest I really have no say.''

''Here we go again. Guest. You think you're a guest? I asked you to be Lucius' guardian if either Antoinette or I died and you think that's something I'd ask a guest? Entrust the Malfoy legacy to a guest!?''

Tom Riddle raised his arms in the air and said: ''With pureblood culture? I wouldn't be surprised if you elected complete strangers to care for your children!''

Abraxas knew that Tom had said this a bit sarcastically, finding strength even with vertisaerum to angrily point out how weird pureblood culture was, but Abraxas, also being under veritaserum couldn't help but answer this: ''There were... a few isolated incidents. Not in this century, mind, but people did leave their children's guardianship with influential celebrities as long as they were pureblood.''

''...''

''It was a short lived practise!''

Tom turned his head to the side so he didn't look at Abraxas. He cupped his head with one hand and leaned on its elbow that pressed against the table.

''So, do you love me?''

''Honestly, Abraxas?''

''No, Tom, lie to my face, why don't you?''

Tom Riddle shrugged. ''I won't deny that you're the first person that cared for me and let me think that I deserved love, but my emotions are complicated and my view of the world is, well, stunted. You purebloods have all of these rules, but nobody tells you that you're not allowed to express yourselves. Sure, be rigidly married and have offspring you don't want – but you like blokes? Have a lover, no problem. Like women? Go on supposed business trips with your best 'gal pal'. You want to cry? Cry. You feel horrible and disgusted with where your life is going? It's like a club with you people.''

''The more I think about you, the more I want to set Mrs Cole on fire.'' Malfoy said. And then called Tom Riddle out: ''Still haven't answered my question, you elusive serpent you.''

''Fine.'' Tom said. He straightened out, made eye contact with Abraxas, held it, and announced with finality: ''The truth is that I don't love you and I don't think I will ever bring myself to love you.''

Abraxas swallowed down his reply. Tom thought that was for the best. He couldn't handle another round of angry shouting.

''What about you, Abraxas...'' Tom asked, ''do you still love me after everything I've put you through?''

''Yes.'' Abraxas admitted. ''Unlike you, Tom, I'm not afraid of my own emotions.''

''Aren't you angry with me?''

''I am, yes.''

''But you're willing to get past that?''

''Yes.''

''Why?''

Abraxas shrugged. He leaned back in his chair and with his hands made a fifty-fifty gesture as if not knowing himself. ''I want this to work. Do you know how much time and effort I would have to go through, the emotional baggage I would have to unload unto a new, tabula rasa lover? You know everything about me already and like a dead horse I won't stop beating the chance for us to give this another try.''

''This is the most inspired speech I've ever heard. Yet, at the same time, it awakens in me a state of chronic depression.''

''Come now! You didn't tell Nobby Leach about horcruxes, did you?'' Abraxas joked, imagining that something so private could only be between them two.

''I did, actually.'' Tom Riddle said. ''Him and Mandy.''

''You are utterly deplorable, Tom Marvolo Riddle.''

''I was in love, Abraxas. Live and let live.''

''Larry was right I should have had more flings in my life.''

''Who the bloody hell is Larry?''

''Larry from rehab? I've never told you about Larry?'' Abraxas was scandalized. ''I've never told you about LARRY LAZARUS?!''

''No?'' Tom shook his head, his eyes hazy from the veritaserum that they'd both abused. A few drops were necessary for this conversation, yet they'd not trusted each other with the truth so they were riding on a veritaserum high that could last them days. It especially reminisced being hungover without having been drunk.

''Back in 1969, in New Zealand, while I was in rehab, I met this charming muggle named Larry Davidson.''

''Muggle. You hung around with muggles like they were your friends...''

''Tom, when a need arises, all wants are put aside. Anyway, Larry Lazarus was this bloke whose heart stopped three times while he was doing cocaine, yet three times he survived. After the third time his relatives brought him to rehab. Apparently the pain of watching their family member destroying himself was too much for them. Rubbish, is what I say. They just wanted him away.''

Tom Riddle made no comment. But then he couldn't help himself: ''You don't think that that was what happened with you, do you?''

''Pardon?''

''That Antoinette and I sent you off to New Zealand because we just wanted you away. That's not what that was. You were literally destroying yourself.''

''It wasn't any of your business what I was doing, though.'' Abraxas sneered. His eyes sparked with rage and he clenched a tight grasp around his willow wand. Willow wand wielders had a deep, underlined problem with something about themselves. It was an issue that manifested and grew and grew. Wand makers who weren't neutral like Ollivander, pitied willow wand wielders.

''It was when you went about killing people. Do you have any idea how many memories I had to take out of Lucius' head? He doesn't remember half of the things you did. Else, let me assure you, Abraxas, you would have ended up like my father twice over.''

Abraxas shrugged, uncomfortable, he kind of dismissed all of this with a nonchalant wave. ''I've never cared much for Lucius.''

Tom Marvolo Riddle was reminded of Tom Riddle. How he'd gesticulated similarly when trying to hide his own son's existence from his parents (his grandparents!). Was this an aristocracy thing? This uncaring for family?

''Tell me about Larry.'' Tom switched back to the topic at hand, having noticed that Abraxas, ever obstinate, would not budge.

''He was a comedian, really. Always told these funny jokes. Looking back on them I realise they were beyond stupid. But then I really needed a laugh. Walburga was my only visitor. I asked if you would ever visit me and she always gave these cryptic answers about your whereabouts. I'd gathered you weren't available and so I decided to endure all of the therapy and the group sessions and the bonding –Tom, the bonding! The questions? The diagnosis. Everything.''

''Oh right. You'd finally gotten your dyslexia diagnosed then.''

''Yes.'' Abraxas said. He nodded. ''It was nice to finally realise I wasn't stupid.''

''And that your mother's an abusive twat.''

''This is true.'' Abraxas laughed, not calmly at all. Even now, decades after her death, her words of his being a disappointment rang faintly.

''I didn't visit you in New Zealand, mostly because I was battling my inner demons in a dementor infested swamp.''

''That should be the title of your autobiography.'' Abraxas joked, because everything else he had to say was disheartening.

''Walburga Black was the only one that could scare the dementors into letting her anywhere near me. I wanted to isolate myself and mourn in peace. But no.'' He rolled his eyes. ''No~! Walburga Black wanted to come and micromanage everything like a control freak.''

''I'm sorry you went through that.''

''Don't be. At least I got a painting out of it.''

''A painting? Walburga painted you?''

''No. Walburga and I were painted by Jerry.'' At Abraxas' blank look, Tom explained: ''Jerry the Dementor.''

''I didn't know dementors had enough brain cells to grasp aesthetic nuance.''

''It was like a cross between Surrealism and DADA.''

''Where is this lovely painting?''

''Riddle Manor. I put it in a secret compartment of a secret compartment around 1970 before I came to haunt the world with my presence. You know, before the war that would not have happened had Nobby Leach still lived. Probably. I think.''

Birds chirped outside. The sun rose to its peak height. A clock on the wall reached noon. Tom Riddle leaned forward and slumped on the table, exhausted by all of this honesty. His brain hurt.

Abraxas Malfoy tried to sway for fun and mental stimulation in his chair, but only ended up falling out of it. He clattered to the floor with a loud thud. His brain hurt, also. They should not have drunk so much veritaserum.

''Tom?'' it was a small call. Nothing like how Abraxas Malfoy usually spoke. This was timid and fragile, not hidden behind grandeur and money.

''Yes, Abraxas?'' this was a tired, scared man that wanted to forget his existence and live out his days until nobody ever remembered Lord Voldemort. He felt no remorse for his actions, and probably would never feel like he'd been wrong to kill the people he'd killed as he always pitted himself against others. For him, his actions were all for the sake of his own survival.

''We've got issues.'' Abraxas said. ''And I think that it's unfair to just brush them aside.''

''Yes.''

Abraxas remained down. It was hardwood and uncarpeted. He saw dust lining the floor and focused on it.

''I don't want to go on a date with you, Abraxas.'' Tom Riddle whispered. ''I don't think I want you in my life at all, to be honest.''

''Yeah.'' Slowly Abraxas agreed. ''I think that's a wise decision.''

''You're pushing something that isn't there.''

''Yeah.''

''I'm not saying this to be cruel to you.'' Tom Riddle gently told him, trying for some semblance of empathy here, even though it came to him much harder than it did to other people, ''But now that you're cured and can live your life safely without my presence, I think you should try and live your own life.''

''Were you scared?'' Abraxas asked. They didn't look at each other and somehow the words travelled faster, without fear of eye contact and legilimency. ''I mean, after the Potter's, how were you still alive?''

''I was a wraith, Abraxas. It was the most painful kind of existence I have ever been subjected to.'' Tom Riddle breathed in and then out. His voice hitched when he continued. This was very hard for him. ''I do not like to be reminded of my time wandering around the world, trying to ground myself in a reality that I could not grasp on my own. Dumbledore would have snuffed me out had I remained in England. So I sought Lena in Albania. But I was so tired. So, very, very tired. I possessed a snake in Montenegro – bloody thing bit me and I cut its head of recently, but it served its purpose and for that I am thankful – and then Zorka found me. I tried possessing her. After my time spent with the dementors I found human misery, not delicious, no – but enough to sustain me. It was easier to possess sad people than it was mentally aware and calm individuals. However, I didn't expect Zorka to actually help me with making a body. Montenegrin witches don't play around, I'll say this much.''

''I am happy that you survived that.''

''But then my brain…and my body… were not in sync.''

''oh.'' Abraxas said, that word coming out as strangled.

''In 1991 I got a body, but it wasn't until 1995 that I got around to living and thinking. All of the memories were there, Abraxas. Well, the memories that I wanted to keep. Half of the things from the orphanage I just can't remember. Not that I want to remember them, but it's strange to have gaps like that when I've so meticulously kept my mind like a clockwork machinery.''

''Antoinette divorced me.'' Abraxas said. ''Which is a good thing, because I was never nice to her.''

''No. I should think not.'' Tom Riddle returned. ''Antoinette and Lilith deserve better than either of us.''

''Thoros told me to kill you, you know. That he would destroy the horcruxes and that all I needed to do was shoot you dead and feed you to my peafowls to erase all evidence.''

Tom gagged at such a prospect. ''Abraxas.''

''I refused.'' Abraxas laughed. ''Even though your death would solve a lot of problems.''

''I don't want to die.''

''Not even now?''

''No, never.''

The veritaserum bottle burst at the magical crash of power.

Abraxas asked him if his body could contain his magic. ''It can't be comfortable, can it?''

Tom Riddle was silent. He wandlessly motioned for the glass shards to vanish, trying not to make his accidental magic a spectacle. It was mortifying. But the stress of Abraxas making him do this, the anguish of all of these emotions coming through and him being forced to come to terms with his actions and his misdeeds, and how Abraxas, complicated, complicated man – how he still loved him.

''I've got something for you.'' Abraxas said and from Tom's perspective the sight of Abraxas trying to dig something from his own boot was a hilarious sight. He took out a long, familiar white stick made of yew.

Offering it to Tom like a sacred relic, Abraxas told him that he'd kept it safe for him. Tom grasped his yew wand and his magic thrummed. His magic tempered. His red eyes glowed, but the fear and memories of the last time he'd gripped this wand terrified him.

He put it in his robe pocket quickly and thanked Abraxas.

Abraxas didn't pretend like he didn't see the reaction. But he didn't say anything to it, either. Which was kind of him.

''Draco Malfoy,'' Abraxas spoke in the tone of voice of a quidditch commentator, ''after working diligently with a mentor M. T. G. the T standing for Texas is the worst thing you've made me learn – has created a cure for the most baffling illness the whole magical world has seen. The illustrious Abraxas Malfoy, cured after seventeen years of thought to be chronic pain, has this to say,'' then Abraxas' normal posh drawl returned: ''I'm going to fuck off onto a yacht and never return. Me, all of my peafowls, and my billion galleons are leaving this pathetic island and never, ever stepping another foot there.''

''Is Snowflake still alive?''

''Flocon de Neige is a darling and he still loves you very much, Tom.''

Tom smiled at him. Abraxas thought, as he finally glanced over to Tom, that this was the first time the man had smiled without there any extra motive behind it.

''Those birds always slept on my side of the bed.''

''Because they didn't want to disturb me, their master.'' Abraxas said, very territorial when it came to his bloody peafowls.

''No, it's because they liked my scent and wanted to be near me.''

''They're my familiars.''

''And like their master they're obsessed with me.'' Tom flaunted.

Abraxas guffawed. It was not unlike a peacock's caw.

Tom Riddle pushed himself up from the table, having found his head not hurting as badly as before. He tottered towards the kitchen and took two mugs, breckland thyme tea (majčina dušica in Montenegrin which honestly is a much better way of saying it because it means mother's little soul and this is the first time the author has seen the English version which is deplorable and needs to not exist, how bloody uncreative) and then Tom Riddle proceeded to make said tea.

''You know this tea's called Mother's little soul in Montenegrin.'' Tom Riddle, souless mummy's boy, said.

''Oh that's so much more creative than breckland thyme tea.'' Abraxas said.

They sipped their teas and moved to watch some television programmes. There was a VHS which Tom Riddle asked Abraxas if he wanted to see some high quality muggle entertainment. Abraxas, shrugging, said sure. They watched the Simpsons.

Whenever Montgomery Burns, American capitalist supreme, would appear, Abraxas would turn to look at Montgomery Goldsmith and squint.

It was after the important and key episode entitled: Who shot Mr. Burns? That Abraxas dared verbalize his conspiracy theory: ''All right, not to judge, but did you really name yourself after this bloody nuclear plant owner?''

Tom Riddle sipped his breckland thyme tea and ignored Abraxas Malfoy's question in a very pointed, very obvious way.

''Mon Merlin.'' Abraxas whispered and returned his gaze to the show.

''He's you if you were American.'' Tom Riddle finally said.

''Where do you see -''

In the best Montgomery Burns impression ever: ''Thoros, release the peafowls!''

''That happened one time! One time! Walburga was on my estate and she wouldn't leave. I had to get creative. She had bloody Geb with her!''

Tom placed a hand on Abraxas' hand and said in a soothing voice: ''Nobody's making fun of you.''

''You're making fun of me right now.''

''Yeah, but I'm allowed to do that because I'm American, Abraxas.''

''You know I don't like Americans. This is just your plot to get at me. You designed this sort of persona specifically because you knew I would be appalled at it.''

Yet again, Tom Riddle pointedly drank majčina dušica and ignored Abraxas' words.

''The only thing I can compliment you on is your state of dress.''

Tom Riddle, kicking it in a USA flag-inspired shirt and jeans, could only nod in thanks.

After they'd watched all of the Simpsons tapes Tom Riddle had, Abraxas vaguely said that he should return and stop Thoros from lighting fire to Tom's soul pieces.

''I would really appreciate that.'' Tom said.

Abraxas scoffed. ''I'll forward them to you via mail.''

''I'm bloody disappearing is what I'm going to do.'' Tom said. ''When this grandson of yours gets it in his head to proclaim to the world that he made the cure the first thing Moody is going to do is look into me – the mentor.''

''Oh shite, yes. That's true.'' An idea. ''OK, so then come with me to Malfoy Manor, get your things, and then leave.''

''Do you still have my Jean Michel Jarre records there?''

''Tom, I threw those out because electronic music is rubbish.''

''They were a gift from Antoinette and how DARE you say something so uncultured you-''

Abraxas snort-laughed.

Tom Riddle stopped.

''I have a room full of your things. It's behind my mother's portrait.''

''Ah yes. That mother of yours that hates me. The most spiteful place to place my things. Lead on, Abraxas.''

They went to Malfoy Manor just in time to stop Thoros Nott, known Death Eater and arsonist, from setting fiendfyre to a garbage can full of Tom Riddle's horcruxes. He had aviator sunglasses on, a margarita in his free hand, and was dressed as it was already 1999 and not 1998.

''Abraxas no!'' Thoros Nott yelled once he understood who was with Abraxas Malfoy. ''You're both toxic to each other! Don't stay together please!''

''Nott!'' Tom Riddle screamed and surged to save his horcruxes. Once this was done and he cradled all of his horcruxes to his chest like a mother did its kittens, he spat acid at Thoros Nott: ''Hear me, Nott, you are lucky that I returned before you could have done something to my soul. If you had done something, I would have burned you to cinders and returned you as an inferi!''

Thoros Nott, addled by the margarita, and absolutely demolished by this turn of events, just found strength and mental fortitude to say: ''You think so? Well, you're wrong!''

Tom Riddle narrowed his eyes. ''I don't have time for this.'' Turning to Abraxas. ''I am leaving. Keep the records for your amusement.''

Abraxas, still very persistent even against all odds. ''Ten year rule?''

''What?'' Tom questioned harshly, his tone leaving no room for half-baked ideas.

''Let's give each other ten years to get a hold of our lives and then if we're still single we get in touch?''

''You think that I won't hate you in ten years?''

''I don't think you hate me. I think you hate what your life has become and it's easy to blame everyone except your fragmented soul.'' He pointed at the horcruxes. ''If I'm wrong feel free to duel me to my death in ten years.''

Tom, absolutely in love with structured plans, nodded along to this. ''Make it twenty.'' He turned on his heel and disapprated with a crack.

Abraxas took out his willow wand and cast an obliviate at Thoros. There was no reason why Thoros needed to know how Tom Riddle looked like.

---

Montgomery Goldsmith died in a fiendish fire. A potion experiment gone wrong. Draco mourned and credited him in his papers.

Abraxas went to get some plastic surgery because he was not going to look like a messily discarded Etch A Sketch for the rest of his life now that he was healthy. Afterwards he bought a yacht and decided to live his days out in the ocean. This didn't last for long because Abraxas Hyperion Malfoy had no idea how to sail and the yacht sank after only two days of sailing.

While this was happening, Tom Riddle had integrated himself in a parselmouth community in India and someone, after listening to his long and arduous tale, told him he needed therapy. And Tom Riddle, pretty exhausted by the world, just kind of groaned: ''If I must.''

Thus began his long and skipped over tale of self-discovery and journey to finding a path towards healing.

---

Technology evolved, as it was meant to do.

Smartphones became a thing, but more importantly: Social media became a thing that purebloods joined for the sake of fun more than anything. Abraxas Malfoy made an account. His profile picture was him with a white peacock. They both wore Happy 2006 glasses. Even though it was well into the year 2018.

And Marvin Smith from Australia friended Abraxas Malfoy on facebook.

''It's a huge step up from America, is what this is.'' Abraxas muttered and sent Marvin that annoying wave that usually nobody sent to each other, but Abraxas was one of those people that liked to wave.

Marvin replied with his wave.

Abraxas then sent him a thumbs up emoji.

Marvin then sent him a bigger thumbs up emoji because he was a competitive little shite.

This went on for a while until it, naturally, escalated into them sending each other memes.

Marvin Smith didn't have scales because apparently a shaman from Mongolia knew how to get him to shed the scales. He looked a tad like Montgomery Goldsmith, but without the scales it was very hard to tell. He was employed in a magical bookstore that for muggles was just a regular comic book store. It explained why most of his tagged photographs on his wall were of nerds and him, the alpha nerd.

Abraxas: How is Australia?

Marvin: There are too many spiders I was not ready to fight. My crimes from my youth are coming back to haunt me as I fight Hunter spiders out of my closet.

Abraxas: Reminds me of how much time I spent fighting you out of the closet.

Marvin: That was illegal, Abraxas, if you may recall.

Abraxas: In the muggle world.

Marvin: I have a hobby now. A perfectly nice and satisfying hobby that lets me both micro manage people and train my magical craft.

Abraxas: I am intrigued.

Marvin: Have you ever heard of Dungeons and Dragons?

Abraxas: No, tell me more.

So, he did.

So, they decided to meet up for a game.

A few parselmouths that Marvin had met on his travels joined them. Marvin's flat in Australia was nice. It was a quaint little thing that was decorated obviously completely by Tom Riddle.

''Sato Kimiko.'' Sato Kimiko introduced herself and shook Abraxas' hand.

''Sato Makoto.'' Sato Makoto introduced herself and shook Abraxas' hand after he'd finished shaking hands with her sister.

''We met at a conference in Japan in 2008.'' Marvin explained.

''What was the conference about?'' Abraxas asked. He dropped his arse on a dingy green sofa. ''Also, just so you know, I found this Greek named Alexio online. We're best friends and he keeps sending me pictures of nothing captioned: Death says hello. ''

''Ohhh!'' Makoto and Kimiko laughed. ''That's Alexio. He's immortal. Death shows herself to him only.''

Marvin uncomfortably nodded that what they said was true. ''He's the creator of the horcruxes and we had a long, long and detailed conversation about remorse.''

''Marv,'' Makoto gestured Abraxas, ''does he know?''

Marvin nodded.

''Oh yeah,'' Kimiko spoke then, ''at this conference in 2008 we mostly talked about how to make technology available to mages. But a lot of us parselmouths were there, because, well, usually we travel in packs. Marvin here was a complete surprise. He told the best Voldemort jokes, until, of course, we realised that he was Voldemort and then the jokes became sad.''

''I can't even tell self-deprecating jokes without someone calling my therapist.''

''They were really sad.'' Makoto nodded. ''We told Alexio about him and then Alexio sent you… what did he send you?''

''A basilisk.''

''Yes! A baby basilisk!''

''That was not a baby basilisk and that man knew its eyes were lethal… he just wanted to check how good my horcruxes worked.''

''Do you still have your horcruxes?'' Abraxas asked, suddenly. He waited with bated breath for this, deep down wondering if maybe Tom Riddle had gotten rid of them and that this was why he was so calm and unfretted.

''I reabsorbed most of them. One of them was too … much …''

''I'm going to take a gander and say it's the Locket.'' Abraxas remembered that while collecting the horcruxes the Locket had nearly possessed Thoros and killed Abraxas in a painful duel to the death.

''That one's got more issues than my therapist deserves to deal with.''

Makoto and Kimiko minded their own business by setting up the DnD map. Marvin helped and taught Abraxas what went where. ''So, you have a Dungeon Master – basically a God of this world.''

''That's you.'' Abraxas called out.

''How did you know?'' Tom Marvolo Riddle, biggest God complex case, asked genuinely.

''Never mind.''

''You make up characters.'' Makoto giddily explained next. She went into great detail, pulling up the fifth edition Dungeons and Dragons handbook and telling Abraxas about the world and how much freedom everyone could have.

''This is so fun!'' Abraxas said as he was given a sheet to make his character. ''I'm going to be an elf.''

''You would.'' Tom Riddle dragged him.

''He so would.'' Makoto, a humble orc warrior with a sad backstory, agreed.

Kimiko, also an elf, said that people didn't understand the beauty of elves.

''You ought to invite Zorka more often.'' Makoto said. She turned to Abraxas: ''Whenever Zorka plays everything ends neatly. She's a force of calm and reason. Also I think she's the only one bold enough to be a Drow and be very cheerful about it.''

''She has to be somewhere, if not in her real life.'' Tom Riddle whispered. He addressed Abraxas next: ''What are you naming your elf, Abraxas?''

Abraxas, who had successfully named over a thousand peafowls in his life, began to ponder this with more intensity and care than a writer picking a character name on a baby naming website.

It took him ten minutes to figure out a name and then, he lost the name just as he had grasped it only to realise that he didn't like any of the names falling in his head – all for Tom Riddle to name Abraxas' elf for him: ''His name is Caviar Richperson, let's just start the game.''

Abraxas looked at Tom.

Tom looked at him and told him that when he thought of a name he could just slide it in, that this was a fill-in name and why was Abraxas looking at him like that.

''Lord Caviar Richperson of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Richperson.'' Abraxas corrected.

And Tom Riddle couldn't help but laugh hard behind his Master's screen.

A few DnD sessions later, Abraxas asked Tom on a proper date that this time, Tom Riddle accepted.

They went to see a Bohemian Rhapsody. When it was time to pay Abraxas said he'd forgotten to transfer his galleons to muggle money. Tom Riddle knowingly eyed him as he paid the woman at the tickets. ''I know what you're doing and I'm very happy that you are.''

Abraxas winked at him and grabbed hold of the popcorn. He was wearing a robe, but in 2018, honestly, nobody would even bat an eye to Abraxas Malfoy's sense of style.

Before the movie started and as those commercials raged, Abraxas said something to Tom: ''Marry me.''

Tom Riddle, immortal via horcrux, thought that he was going to suffocate to death that day as popcorn lodged in his throat. He hacked out something that could be inferred to mean 'yes', but it could also mean 'holy fuck Abraxas we haven't even had one successful date in the 80 years we've known each other, you impatient fink, sweet merciful gods I'm dying'. It was very hard to tell.

---

A few days later:

The witnesses were called in.

Antoinette Mercier and Lilith Selwyn like beautiful spectres of class exuded the sense that they had their lives arranged together perfectly. Like an antithesis they observed the mess of the future union between Abraxas Hyperion Malfoy and Marvin Richard Smith.

''Ex husband.'' Antoinette greeted Abraxas. ''Ex wife.'' He greeted her back.

''Hey, beard.'' Lilith nudged Tom.

''Weren't you mine?'' Tom grinned and kissed Lilith on the cheek.

The wedding was, much to the utter joy of everyone involved, not a spectacle because Marvin Smith did not want to be put in the spotlight. Mostly because of his identity as Lord Voldemort; though, also, because of his anxiety that kicked in whenever he got close to accepting love into his life.

They found a sleep deprived witch to bind them together. She'd come very well recommended by Lilith Selwyn.

Their magic interviewed as their vows exchanged.

''I promise to love you even when we're buried in debt because of how much money you spend on your many, many familiars.''

''That's sweet but given how I'm a genius at arithmancy I can go to a casino and always win, so money is never a problem. I promise to love you even when you get it in your head that you can't love because that idiotic man whose name shall not be uttered convinced you just because your amortentia smells like nothing means you're nothing.''

Tom Riddle teared up and when this was brought to his attention said that he wasn't crying that he was just allergic to happiness. This was said sarcastically, but Abraxas wouldn't put it past Tom from actually being allergic to happiness.

As far as robes went, Abraxas Malfoy didn't pull any punches. He wore the most extravagant, eye-catching robe ever sown. To contrast, Tom Riddle wore a white robe because white really looked good on him. His red eyes and dark hair popped.

Antoinette and Lilith signed with their blood, to seal the ceremony as valid.

''You may now kiss the bride.''

Abraxas and Tom looked at each other and had a few questions to ask about this, but then the witch looked at them better and yawned: ''Sorry, usually women have me as their bonder and the speech comes reflexively.''

It was Abraxas that pulled Tom into a kiss.

They'd signed with their blood, so their names weren't important. Marvin Thompson and Montgomery Goldsmith and Lord Voldemort and Tom Marvolo Riddle had married Abraxas Hyperion Malfoy.

''My lord.'' Abraxas teased the new Lord Malfoy.

''Yes, my lord?'' New Lord Malfoy teased Lord Malfoy.

''They're both going to be insufferable.'' Antoinette whispered in French. Lilith nodded.

The bonder went to sleep on a couch, having had a long and turbulent night of partying last night with a portkey mistress from France.

Lord and Lord Malfoy regarded each other. Silver and crimson. They held hands and Tom Riddle's face twitched in a bemused, disbelieving smile. Abraxas' wide smile didn't falter.

''Well.'' Tom Riddle whispered, ''What now, husband?''

''Whatever we want.'' Abraxas said.

He expected a lot of things to come out of Tom's mouth, but this wasn't one of those things.

''Good. Let's go kill Harry Potter because that prophecy has been on my mind for the past 38 years.'' Tom said with the decisiveness of a very decisive person that did those 'I know what I want in life' exercises every morning.

Antoinette and Lilith stood by mutely, scandalized, as Abraxas agreed: ''Sure, let's do it. Let's make it look like an accident, too, while we're at it. He's an auror, it's like he wants to die!''

''Yessss.'' Tom Riddle's sibilant drawl seeped through from excitement. He giddily clapped his hands together and kissed Abraxas. ''Being married is better than I expected!''

After having killed Harry Potter and making it look like an accident, Abraxas Malfoy got another yacht (this time having learned how to maintain it and how to sail because fool me once was okay, but fool me twice? Only well-read people who didn't know how to do math were allowed to be fooled twice)

Tom and Abraxas reclined on this yacht, sunbathing. Vast ocean water surrounded them.

Abraxas wore one of those large women's hats from the 1910s because he liked vintage things and the pin came in handy as a melee weapon. Tom was moaning contently at the sun, more prone to cold-bloodedness after having gone through his body-building ordeal than he was willing to admit.

''You know, looking back on it, my cocaine prophecy came true.''

''Abraxas, I don't want to think about that.''

''We're on a yacht and we're married.''

''Abraxasss.''

''Also, nobody's asked me why I've married you. They just see how you look like and understand that you're my midlife crisis.''

''Oh?'' Tom grinned at this. He stretched and winked at his husband. A very weird turn of events, but ones that he was happy had happened.

After this honeymoon period, though, he did get Abraxas to agree to go to therapy because the man's obsession with peafowls wasn't healthy and spoke of something deeper and better hidden– not to mention that their joint trauma from Walburga Black needed addressing. Thank Merlin the woman was dead. Tom didn't know how he'd fare if she found a way to come back to life.

''Thoros thinks I'm using you for your very sexy body.'' Abraxas laughed on the deck of the ship and ran a hand across Tom's back. His body was younger than his soul. Someone might call Marvin an Old Soul, even. Tom scoffed and turned around so he was facing the sun. A warm shudder coursed through him pleasantly.

''To be fair I do look like a very sexy sixty year old boy toy.'' Tom hissed out a laugh. Then, a very curious smile crossed his face. ''Would that make you a ninety year old silver fox?''

Abraxas guffawed.

Tom kissed him, relishing in the way this felt oh so terribly right.

It felt good to be loved, but it also felt very nice to hear that he could love and to actually follow through with the action. It'd taken him a very long time to find it in himself to do this, but he found that the journey was worth the end result.

Abraxas smiled that small and very fragile smile he only ever gave Tom. They'd be okay. He leaned onto Tom and closed his eyes. They allowed each other rest.

Until the yacht crashed because Abraxas had neglected to sail it properly. Again.

Tom wiped tears away from his eyes as Abraxas tried to save the situation and spectacularly failed: ''As the kids these days say, Abraxas: LMAO!''

''I am going down with this ship if it's the last thing I do!'' Abraxas shouted. Tom snorted. He walked over to the busied man, grabbed a hold of him, and then decided to fly them to shore.

In the sky, Abraxas watched as the ship caught on fire, exploded, and proceeded to sink down to the deep depths of the ocean.

''If this is how our honeymoon ends, then I'm very excited to see what our marriage yields.'' Tom continued. ''It'll be very exhilarating.''

Abraxas rolled his eyes at the joking tone. ''You're terrible.''

''And that's exactly why I love you, too.''

---

FIN