FIFTY-FIFTH

Samhain was once again upon them, and the boys were in the practice potions room, setting up their ritual. None of them expected to meet or speak with anyone this year; no one had lost anyone close to them. So it was a complete surprise when Corvus was startled by a barking laugh. His eyes snapped open, staring in shock at the two spirits that stood before him.

"Hello, pup," the man with the long dark hair and grey eyes said softly. "It's good to see you again."

"S-sirius Black?" Corvus asked, flabbergasted.

"In the flesh, so to speak," Black replied with a grin. "I don't know if you remember me, or Remus Lupin," he gestured to the man standing next to him, "but we were really good friends with your parents."

"I know of both of you," the raven said through gritted teeth. "What are you doing here?"

Remus flinched, then answered with a sad smile, "We've come to see you, cub. To make sure that you're doing well."

"I'm fine," Riddle replied stiffly. "I just didn't expect to see either of you, since I never saw hide nor hair of you before I died."

"I'm...I'm sorry about that, Harry," Sirius replied softly. "I should never have run after Peter Pettigrew like that. I should have stayed and taken care of you, like I was supposed to."

"My name is Corvus Seiryu Riddle," the boy snapped angrily. Theo and Draco jerked, as if they would rise and come to his aid, but he shook his head minutely and they subsided, glaring at the two spirits wrathfully. "Harry Potter died on July 15, 1991."

"No you didn't, pup," Sirius snarled back, baring his teeth for a moment. Remus put a hand on Sirius' shoulder to calm him, and grey eyes closed for a moment. When they opened again, the convict was calmer. "No, you didn't. You're here, in front of me, healthy and strong. As for the name change, I categorically do not accept that you're in any way part of You Know Who's insane crusade. You're good, and Light. I'm glad that you're not part of Dumbledore's plans, but you're still a Light wizard, and you need to fight whatever hold the Dark Lord has on your mind. You can start by getting away from these slimy bastards." He waved his hand at the boys around the circle, a moue of disgust on his face.

"These bastards, as you call them, are the best friends I've ever had," Corvus growled, emerald eyes glowing in warning. "In fact, they're the only friends I've ever had. Father has been nothing but kind and gentle and wonderful to me, and he's the reason that I'm alive. If it comes down to a choice between you and him, I'll take him every single time. You're dead, and a part of my parents' past with which I do not wish to acquaint myself. The fact that you tortured and tormented Slytherins, simply for the patch upon their robes, makes me sick.

"And you," Corvus rounded on Remus, whose amber eyes widened in shock, "did absolutely nothing to stop Dad or this moron from abusing others. As a prefect, it's your responsibility to uphold the rules of the school, and make sure that transgressors get their just punishment. Instead, you went along with it, which makes you just as guilty, even if you didn't participate. Dumbledore gets a lion's share of the blame, though, because, as headmaster, he was supposed to treat everyone fairly. Instead, he was biased toward Gryffindor, whilst completely against Slytherin. At least, he made it seem that way. Neither of you will ever get my sympathy or consideration."

"Now hold on, here. You have no right to talk to us like that," Sirius barked indignantly. "We are your elders, and demand the respect due us. You've become nothing but a snot-nosed little shit, who needs a good ass-whipping. And I'm just the man to do it..." Suddenly, a hand came from thin air to slap Sirius Black on his head, hard. He yelped and flinched away, going from angry adult to recalcitrant child in moments.

"Sirius Black!" the woman bellowed loudly. She didn't come through, however. "How dare you speak to my son like that! I can't wait for the ritual to end, so that I may teach you some manners!"

"It's ending now, Mum," Corvus murmured with a malicious gleam in his eyes. He then bent over and blew out the candles before either man could say anything, making them disappear back into the ether.

"That was disturbing," Blaise murmured, shaking his head in sorrow.

"Yeah, but I'd really like to be with them, to see what Mrs. Potter does to them," Greg chirped with a wide grin. "It's bound to be hilarious."


They were in their Magical Theory class, chatting quietly, when professor Kadysheva walked in with a pensieve in her arms. She set it carefully down on the table and turned to the students. "Today we will be discussing the mechanics of pensieves. We will cover what they do, and how the magic works." The lesson went on for about twenty minutes when Corvus raised his hand. "Yes, Mr. Riddle?"

"I understand how pensieves work," he said quietly, "but I don't quite get how the magic operates. I mean, I know that we pull a strand of memory from our heads and put it into the bowl, where the runes activate the magic so that we can step into them and view them from outside the event. I guess the part I don't understand is how we know that the memory we're seeing is true."

"Please clarify your question. There could be many different answers to that general statement," the professor replied with a smile.

"I guess what I'm having trouble with is perception. Memory is an ephemeral thing. Two people who've witnessed the same event could have drastically different memories, which would be true for each of them. How would the pensieve distinguish the actual event from what the memory perceives the event to be? What happens when the memory provided is twisted because of how the person feels about the event? I mean, say something truly horrifying and traumatic happens. Wouldn't a person alter their own memory of the event, so that it wouldn't seem as horrifying, just so they could handle it?"

"Those are excellent questions," she said, looking at the rest of the class. "Indeed, perceptions play a very important part in memory. The magic of the runes on the bowl will play each memory as truth, as the person sees it. It is very hard to gauge the veracity of memory, without corroborating witness accounts and memories. In most magical communities where pensieves are used in trials, there are several memories used, from a variety of sources, to get the complete picture of the event. The justices will then put together as accurate a picture as possible, and make their judgments based on the complete account.

"Sometimes, due to agenda, or political advantage, memories that are viewed are skewed in the direction that is optimal for the desired outcome. Since the truth, as the donor perceives it, is acceptable, it is easy to twist the outcome of a judgment in the favor of one with more political clout, or one with the deeper pockets. As with all else, magic is not perfect, and mistakes have been made when using pensieve memories as the only testimony in court cases."

Another student raised her hand, and the professor nodded to her. "What about repressing the memory? Would the pensieve be able to read repressed memories? I'm thinking about what is going on in magical Great Britain right now, with all of the victims of Headmaster Dumbledore, and the broken obliviates. Would anything even show in that instance?"

"Unfortunately, the memories would not reveal anything," the professor said sadly. "In the act of repressing or obliviating memories, they are partitioned off from the conscious mind, and hidden in the subconscious. We have no magic at the moment that could reach into these partitioned parts of memory, to extract them for viewing. All that would show in a pensieve is blackness."


The kids were back at the Manor for the weekend, receiving specialized training where applicable. Corvus was ensconced in his father's study, on the man's lap as they cuddled. "Father?" the boy asked drowsily.

"Mmm?" was the equally sleepy reply.

"Did I tell you about the little boy?"

"No. What little boy?"

"Well," Corvus said as he straightened, more awake. His father reluctantly released him as he stood to sit in a chair across from the Dark Lord. A small pout was on his father's face, making Corvus smile fondly. "When I died, and I was on that bench before my parents came, I saw an angry little boy. He had dark hair and eyes, and I felt such hatred from him. I tried to coax him to come talk to me, but he just stood there, glaring at me. I felt his anger fade when I started to cry, but then my parents arrived, and I forgot all about him. I still wonder who he was, and why he was there."

"Did the boy feel at all familiar?" Tom asked softly, an idea beginning to form in his head.

"Come to think of it, he did," his son replied, eyes brightening. "It felt like I'd known him all my life, even though I've never seen him before."

"Sounds like the horcrux within you manifested itself as that boy when you died," his father answered after a few moments' thought. "Since I'd gifted you with it when you were a baby, it must have become a part of your soul. It was with you for so long that it became one with you. It might have even altered your own personality and feelings a bit."

"I...I don't think it did that," the boy said thoughtfully. "I'm pretty sure that the Dursleys did that all by themselves. I needed no other help to think and feel as I do, believe me."

"Well, be that as it may, I am now a permanent part of your soul, and I couldn't be happier about it."

"I'm glad," Corvus said with a wide smile. "You know, sometimes I can feel what you're feeling. If it's the horcrux doing that, I'm not going to complain. While we're sharing, could you tell me how Wormtail got me out of the morgue? I know that those places always have someone around."

"Well, when he brought you back to me, he said that he had to wait in a corner of the room, under shadows, until the people finished their initial investigation of you. They'd taken pictures of all the damage, but decided to put off the autopsy until the following day, since it was so late in the evening. Your physical condition left no doubt as to the manner of your death, but they wanted to take a closer look, anyway.

"So, after all the x-rays were done, and the examinations complete, they left. They'd put your body in one of their coolers for the night, and, as soon as the lights were out, Wormtail reverted to his human form and quickly took you from the drawer. He then apparated you, since he couldn't carry you as a rat, to the apparition room in the manor. He then brought you to me, and the rest you know."

"So, there are naked pictures of me out there, showing all the damage that had been inflicted on me?" the raven asked, scandalized.

"Nonono," Tom was quick to reassure his son. "Lucius went into the muggle world before your first year in school and destroyed every bit of evidence of your existence there. He wiped out school pictures, newspaper articles; everything he could find that would lead back to you was obliterated. He worked to keep you safe even before he got to know you. He did that for me, without having been asked to. That's why I depend on him so much; why I made him my right hand."

"Whew," Corvus sighed out. "That's a relief. Remind me to get something special for him."


The boys returned to school tired, but happy. Blaise and Tracey had their betrothal ceremony privately, with only their families and the Dark Lord in attendance. Everyone was grinning; it seemed that Daphne and Greg, as well as Millie and Vince, also took advantage of the officiate's presence, having their own ceremonies to cement their relationships. In the Slytherin common room at Hogwarts, Pansy was feeling a little left out. She wanted to have a betrothal ceremony, also, but knew she had to wait until Percy was in place as Senior Undersecretary. She was looking forward to assassinating Umbridge during their holiday; she thought it would be the perfect graduation present for Percy.

So she was feeling a little left out as she felt the bonds between the betrothed couples thrumming gently in the air. Every one of Corvus' Inner Circle could feel the magic; since they shared souls with their Alpha, they became more in tune with him, and could feel each other; almost like an echo. I'm so glad that I'm part of something this special, she thought with a small smile. It's the greatest feeling in the world to know that I belong to so many people, and that they all love me unconditionally. This is my family now, and I wouldn't have it any other way.