The Imposter Complex, Chapter Thirty Three: Truth and Reconciliation.
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'Will you, Tom, fight the Dark Lord Voldemort and his followers?'
'I will.'
'Will you do all that you can to see him captured, or his personality destroyed?'
'I will.'
'And will you, upon his defeat, present yourself to the Wizengamot to be judged anew?'
'I will.'
A third stream of fire worked its way around our clasped hands. The flaming cords sank into both of our arms, searing right through my enhanced skin. I suffered it with little more than a hiss, but was satisfied to hear Dumbledore grunt in pain.
I released the Headmaster's hand immediately, and examined my own forearm. The Vow left a very distinctive scar, as though a fine chain had been heated red-hot and pressed against me. The pain from it had vanished swiftly, but it had been replaced with a little weight in the back of my mind. Right now it was easily ignored, but I knew from the writings of others that it would soon begin to fray at me.
:—:
I swept from the Ministry a short while later, a half-free man. I had advised Scrimgeour about Azkaban. He had remained a stony-faced enigma at the news, I couldn't tell if he was even worried or not. But he'd told me that they would treble the guard, so that was something at the very least.
Dumbledore had instructed me to meet him in my office later this evening, to discuss my employment. I had scoffed at that. He hardly needed to act delicate about firing me. But he had been quite insistent, and I had technically been placed at his disposal by Bones.
For now, I had some small time free. I gnashed my teeth to myself as I strode down Whitehall, an elderly couple scurrying out of my path. It was a sunlit afternoon in London, and that pissed me off. There ought to be a typhoon to match me.
Gods I needed a drink.
Thought of drink turned my mind to Avery, and my eyes widened with horror. Last I saw of Garrow, he had been on the island with Lord Voldemort and the other Death Eaters. And the last time they had been in close proximity, Garrow had told the Dark Lord very thoroughly to fuck off.
I twisted through space in a heartbeat, appearing with a crack of thunder in Alfhearth's foyer.
'Hetty!'
Garrow's House Elf appeared with a pop in front of me, looking in a right state. She was crying, and squeezing and tugging on her long floppy ears so hard that she was at risk of tearing them right off.
'Oh mister Tom, mister Tom, Hetty doesn't know what to do! Master Garrow is broken, Hetty doesn't knows how to be fixing him!'
I swore viciously, and the House Elf flinched. 'Where is he?'
'The master bedroom, si-'
I apparated thirty feet straight up, right into Garrow's room, and took in what lay before me. Hetty was right.
It was a miracle that he was still alive. He clearly had not been here long; blood was only just starting to stain his sheets. The man had been savaged, gouges and gashes coating his body. His left arm was gone entirely, a seared black stump all that remained. He was conscious, trying to speak but only gurgling was coming out.
I didn't say anything either, there was no time. I just got to work. Had I arrived even minutes later, I'd have been too late. Each and every one of his wounds was laced with dark magic, and it took a constant stream of sorcery just to prevent him from expiring. I was barely making progress.
'Rövid, raktár, spanyol, osztály.' I recited during the brief opportunity of a spell that had no incantation. The stud under my collarbone heated briefly, signifying the disarming of the lockdown enchantments on my study.
'Hetty!' I called, and the House Elf came. She made a keening noise at the sight of Garrow, and squeezed her ears harder.
'Hetty!' I shouted, getting her attention. Ah fuck, she wasn't keyed to my regular wards either. '...fetch Sirius Black. Find him, tell him he needs to get the chalice from my cellar or the man who saved his godson dies! Go now!'
Hetty disapparated mid-frantic nod, and I returned my full attention to Garrow.
I did not know what vile magic lord Voldemort had worked on him, but it was as cruel as it was virulent. These gouges weren't just on his body, they were inside him, riddling his organs. More of them were appearing even as I sealed the ones that already existed, and for all my medical expertise, I could feel that I was being outpaced. Damn it all.
For too long I sat there, pouring every ounce of magic I had into keeping my oldest friend breathing for another minute at a time. At some point Hetty had cracked back, and I turned her to fetching me healing potions from the Avery store. Blood replenishers chief among them. They did little more than take a fraction of the weight from my shoulders, but it was something.
Finally, after I didn't know how long, Sirius arrived. Steeped in magic as I was, I felt as much as heard him crack into the parlour below, then the frantic sprinting up of stairs until he threw open the bedroom door, clutching his wand in one hand and Hufflepuff's cup in the other.
I wasted no time, yanking the Chalice across the room in a heartbeat with wandless magic. A flicker of my wand had it filled with water, and I poured it straight down Garrow's throat.
The flow of magic I was weaving over him did not cease however. Not until I felt the shift, the might of the Chalice battling against whatever black sorcery Lord Voldemort had put to work. Slowly, Garrow eased into a natural slumber.
I half-collapsed onto the side of Garrow's bed, exhausted. I glanced at my watch. I'd been at it for almost an hour. It had felt far longer.
'What the hell took you so damn long?' I asked finally, flicking my gaze up to Sirius.
He raised his hands in defence. 'I was at Hogwarts, and Hogwarts has had its floos locked down since we found out Voldemort was back. Had to sprint all the way out to the gates just to apparate to yours.'
He did look a bit haggard himself, actually. I looked back to Garrow. He was still in a bad way. The gouges that had been cleaved into him were sealing over and no longer being replaced, but his arm... it wasn't being repaired by the cup's magic.
I inspected the wound more closely. A charred lump of flesh just barely sticking out from his shoulder. The second time I'd ever seen Hufflepuff's cup be defeated...
'Fiendfyre.' I murmured. Atlantean-level magic, just like the Killing Curse. The most likely explanation. His wand had likely been consumed in the blaze as well.
At least the Chalice had rid the wound of the horrendous stench that usually lingered eternally on such injuries.
Sirius spoke up behind me, his tone uncertain. 'So... Dumbledore says you're back on our side?'
It took me a moment to respond. I was silently going through options for prostheses in my mind. Simply chopping off more arm wouldn't let us grow the arm back; spells like Fiendfyre were vindictive about their curse scars
'I never left it.' I said finally. 'It really wasn't much more than a mistaking of identity, if you think about it.'
Sirius snorted, and I turned to face him. 'That's putting it mildly.'
We looked at each other for a long moment, a suddenly at a loss for something to say.
'You lied to me.' He said finally.
'I did.'
'For years.'
I swallowed. 'Yes.'
'You're a murderer.'
'This is also true.'
Sirius looked to the corner of the room. 'I don't even know you.'
'Of course you do. I didn't fake my personality, Sirius. Just my name, and a bit of my backstory. Okay, most of my backstory. But even still.'
'You still murdered a teenage girl. I... How can you expect me to look past that? Ever?'
His eyes glistened, looking back to me.
I swallowed again, hard.
'I... had an affliction. Still have it, really. I've just gotten really good at controlling it.'
Sirius looked horrified. 'What, an urge to go around brutally murdering innocent children?'
'No! Gods no, it's...' I wasn't entirely sure how to describe it, now that the time had come. I'd never talked openly about it with anyone, ever.
A moment's silence passed, Sirius gracing me with time to gather my thoughts.
I spoke at last. 'The first time you were ever in a fight. I mean like a real life-or-death, other guy wants to put your head on a spike fight. Tell me about it.'
Sirius looked confused at the non-sequitur, but humoured me. 'It was during the last war, James and I were at the Diagon Alley attack in '76.'
'Were you scared of dying? Beneath all that Gryffindor bravado I mean.'
'Of course, I was terrified. Bloody damn near wet myself.'
'Well... that's how I feel. All the time.'
Sirius frowned. 'I don't follow.'
'Every single second, I feel like I am seconds away from brutal death that I can do nothing to stop. Even sitting here talking to you, hell even quietly drinking tea at home. For as long as I can remember. When I was a child the Muggles put me on medication for heart troubles because I was having panic attacks every half an hour.'
'...well I suppose that does explain those night terrors of yours.' Sirius admitted. 'But I don't see what that has to do with you murdering a girl.'
I ran my hands through my hair. 'I wanted to be immortal. I needed to be immortal. I learned Occlumency out of a book at eleven out of sheer necessity. But for most of my life since, it could only take the edge off. I only really got a handle on it after I escaped the Diary. Horcruxes were the most immediate method I could find to ensure my own survival. I'd hoped that that would cure me. I was wrong.'
'So you murdered her for peace of mind?' Sirius now looked on the verge of fury.
I shook my head. 'You don't understand what it was like. I don't expect you to. I just ask that you believe that for my younger self, there was no other alternative but to do what I did.
'Had I known what it would do to Lord Voldemort's psyche, I wouldn't have touched it even in my desperation. A broken mind is no better than a dead one. But I didn't know. The world has paid for that mistake ever since.'
I held up the Gaunt ring, and Hufflepuff's Chalice. 'I wish I could take it back, I really do. But I've been doing the next best thing. This ring was another of Lord Voldemort's Horcruxes. The cup was another. I've reclaimed the soul pieces within, and destroyed the tainted minds they bore. I'm going to keep doing it until Lord Voldemort is gone and I am whole again.'
Sirius sighed, and sagged into one of Garrow's armchairs. For a long time, neither of us spoke.
Finally, he spoke again. 'You know, I'd hoped at first that you were just, I don't know, his kid or something. When we were waiting for you in Dumbledore's office, I mean.'
I snorted, glad for the opportunity to shift to a less heavy topic. 'As if I'd blight any misbegotten child of mine with the name "Tom".'
'Yeah, that's what Dumbledore said too... Why did you keep going by Thomas then, if you dislike it so much?'
I shrugged uncomfortably. 'Well Lord Voldemort was taken, so it was just... simpler, I suppose. Less likely that Garrow or I would slip up in front of somebody.'
Sirius wrinkled his nose. 'You would have preferred Lord Voldemort?'
'Of course.' I said immediately. 'It's the coolest name I ever came up with, and I spent a lot of time on that sort of thing.'
'The coolest name you could come up with was Lord Flies-from-Death?'
I scowled. 'It's not Flies-from-Death. I thought you were supposed to be fluent in French?'
'I am. Your grammar's dogshit.'
'It is not! It was supposed to be Death's Flight. Like a deadly bird of prey, swooping down on unsuspecting prey.'
Sirius's brow creased.
'Fuck that's wanky.'
We stared at each other again for a stretched moment, before we both burst out laughing.
'I suppose it is a little.' I admitted. 'It's certainly been tainted now, at any rate. Still a great name though.'
Sirius shook his head ruefully. 'If you say so, Tom.'
We spoke for some time longer, letting Garrow get his sleep. It was still tense, but I could sense how much he wanted to be able to trust me again. All I had to do was not fuck it up.
:—:
I slunk up to spiral staircase to Dumbledore's office that evening, one Pepper-Up Potion later. My stamina was restored, but it did leave me feeling a little... twitchy.
'Come in, Tom.'
I scowled, as always, at the closed door.
'Your bit wasn't impressive in the 40s and it's not impressive now.' I said flatly, pushing the door open.
My Vow twinged at the back of my mind as I beheld my binding partner. This did nothing to improve my mood. The injuries from his battle with Lord Voldemort lingered upon him. Not so his office, which he had clearly taken the time to repair of the damage our little skirmish dealt out.
Dumbledore smiled benignly at me. We were supposed to be on smiling terms now? 'You must forgive an old man his small eccentricities.'
'Eccentric my arse, it's a power move to intimidate teenagers and little else.' I flopped grumpily into one of the Headmaster's squishy armchairs.
'Perhaps. But alas, I did not summon you to discuss my method of greeting visitors. First matters first, we must discuss your employment in this establishment.'
'I'm not sure what there is to discuss.' I said, without sarcasm. 'Certainly I've picked up a fondness for teaching this past month, but you don't need to sugar-coat it for me. No parent is going to want Lord Voldemort's clone teaching their kids.'
Dumbledore steepled his fingers beneath his chin. 'You assume I have called you here in order to fire you?'
I raised an incredulous eyebrow. 'Implying that you didn't?'
'On the contrary, Tom. I wished to assure you that your position is not at threat. Indeed I expect you to resume classes, tomorrow if you are able.'
I laughed disbelievingly. 'You're joking.'
'I am not.' Dumbledore said, smiling slightly. 'I admit there would be some comedic irony, if the curse that your other self almost certainly laid down used you to set a record for briefest Hogwarts tenure, but no. No, knowledge of your status as a Horcrux is limited only to those who were party to your arrest. Perhaps more importantly, your identity as Voldemort's alter ego remains unknown to all but a rare few, even among Death Eaters.'
I was incredulous to say the least. 'How is that possible? You declared me to the entire Wizengamot.'
Dumbledore gave me an almost cheeky grin. 'We declared you as Tom Riddle. An identity Lord Voldemort has spent almost fifty years doing his very best to divorce himself from. Of those who knew you in your youth by both names, only misters Avery and Nott remain.'
That sent an unpleasant shudder of reminder through me, that Abraxas Malfoy had passed away during my incarceration in Denison. The chance to say goodbye to another old friend, stripped from me by this crusade of mine. I would not raise his shade, as I once had Lysander. Troubling one old Knight's final rest - necessary as it was - had been enough.
'That's not enough.' I said. 'Potter knows who I am, and if he knows, then Granger, and the Weasleys know. What am I even supposed to say to that Ginny girl? "Hi, sorry I stole your body and used it to attack your friends, but I'm a teacher now!"?'
Dumbledore looked a little uncomfortable, and glanced over at one of the instruments strewn about his office before slowly replying.
'Harry... has not been told that you were the Diary. He knows only that you are Tom Riddle. He is still recovering in St Mungos, to my knowledge unconscious. Thus, he has not discussed it with anyone. The Healers are still assessing him, to ensure that Voldemort did not leave any unpleasant surprises upon him. I intend to speak with him when he awakens, explain how events have played out.'
'Lie to him, you mean?' I said sardonically.
'Perhaps. I admit, I have had more immediate matters on my mind than what to tell Harry when he wakes. I have not yet decided the proper course to take.'
I thought for a long moment. 'I should be there then. It'll go better. I need to collect a blood sample anyway.'
Dumbledore hesitated. 'I do not think that is a good idea. Harry has just been through a highly traumatic event, and-'
'Hardly his first. He seemed to recover from his past run-ins with Lord Voldemort and myself just fine.'
'Never has he been so injured, nor so close to his demise.' Dumbledore countered. 'No, I must be firm on this point. I shall meet with Harry and explain... explain some things to him that I should have a long time ago.'
'How delightfully enigmatic.' I said dryly. 'So I'm supposed to just, what, go back to work like nothing ever happened? I thought Bones only freed me for the sake of the war effort?'
Dumbledore nodded sagely. 'Yes indeed, that was the primary motivator. But I convinced her that you would be wasted as a shock troop or ordinary auxiliary. Certainly we will have such assignments for you. But you are just as valuable preparing our young adults to defend themselves against whatever Voldemort has planned for them.'
It made sense, in a way. Lord Voldemort's most infamous raids and attacks back in the day had been on student trips to Hogsmeade, and Diagon Alley near the end of August. Giving the most vulnerable members of our society the means to fight back, it could make all the difference.
'Very well.' I said evenly. 'I accept.'
'Excellent.' Dumbledore said, sweeping to his feet. 'Now, I have one final order of business with you tonight, though I fear it may take up a goodly amount of time.'
'What now?' I said cautiously, not moving from my chair even as the Headmaster seized a pinch of floo powder from his mantelpiece and thrust it into the hearth.
He turned back to me, a mischievous glint in his eye. 'We must introduce you to the Order of the Phoenix, of course.'
:—:
I did not recognise the building that we flooed into. It was majestic, to be sure, all sweeping arches of silvery stone and gilded, intricately carved sconces from which crystals imbued with witch-light glimmered.
'What the hell is this place?' I demanded, looking in every direction for something I might recognise. 'It's gorgeous.'
Dumbledore smiled placidly. 'Is it not? It was designed by Ignatius Longbottom in the late 17th century, supposedly inspired by his own waking visions of the Otherworld.'
I quirked an eyebrow at that, but withheld any comments about the man's sanity. Whatever Longbottom's inspiration, the product was a marvel.
'I see. Why are we... wherever this is then?' I asked, as the Headmaster led us down a long vaulted hallway.
'It is called Tech Mell. It was generously loaned to our cause by Madam Longbottom, and now shall serve for the forseeable future as our headquarters.'
I made a bit of a face at the name. 'A bit derivative, don't you think? Are we even in Ireland?'
'We are.' Dumbledore confirmed. 'You'll forgive me if I keep the precise location from you until after we lay down the Fidelius.'
We strode into a great hall, struck through the centre by a long table, not unlike that which one might see in a board room. An eclectic gallery of rogues were already seated, all of the allies Dumbledore had collected for himself. From Hagrid and Snape at one end to the entire set of adult Weasleys at the other.
Fleur was here, I noted with a start, sitting next to her beau Bill. Even more surprisingly, Viktor Krum was also present, with an arm around Hermione Granger, and a few seats down Cedric Diggory was quietly conferring with what could only be his father.
They all looked up as we entered; clearly they had been waiting for Dumbledore. Moody scowled deeply at me from where he skulked in the corner, and I sneered back at him. I took a seat by Sirius as the Headmaster made his way to the head of the table.
'Allies, comrades, friends. Welcome.' Dumbledore began, his arms outstretched on either side as though he intended to embrace the entire chamber. 'Welcome to the first meeting of the new Order of the Phoenix. Just as our symbol arises from the ashes, so too do we rise once again to meet the re-emergent Lord Voldemort.
'So do we rise.' intoned a solid chunk of the room, to the general confusion of the younger members of the crowd, and of myself.
I scowled. As if this hadn't felt culty enough already.
Dumbledore continued. 'As you are all no doubt now aware, the Dark Lord Voldemort has returned. Whilst we are fortunate enough to have Minister Bones committed to ensuring his defeat, this organisation is still necessary. The Death Eater remnant have had nearly two decades to dig their fingers into the Ministry's inner workings. Despite my own efforts - and that of many of you - to prevent them from doing so, this means we cannot rely on the Ministry alone.'
Shacklebolt spoke up in his resonant baritone, sat as he was by Dumbledore's side. 'There are certainly some within the Auror office that I would consider suspect, but Scrimgeour cannot afford to suspend them without genuine evidence.'
Dumbledore nodded gravely. 'Just so. What other word have you from the Aurors, Kingsley?'
Before Shacklebolt could speak, one of the Weasleys spoke up. It was the mother, what was her name again...
'Albus, should Hermione really be here? She's too young!'
Her sons groaned, and one of the twins put his head in his hands. Granger went pink, and retorted angrily.
'I am of-age thank you very much! I have every right to be here!'
The patriarch - Arthur - placed a hand on his wife's forearm. 'Molly-'
'You are still in school!' Molly said shrilly. 'You shouldn't be worrying about horrible things like this!'
'Enough.' Dumbledore said firmly before Granger could respond. 'Hermione is a legal adult. I would permit you to veto your own youngest son's attendance if he were of age yet, but Hermione has a right to be here.'
Molly sat down in a huff. 'I wonder what her parents would make of that.'
Shacklebolt interjected quickly before the argument could resume. He started breaking down who in the Auror office could be trusted as potential recruits, and who were likely Death Eater sympathisers.
Things continued in this vein around the table for some time. It got dull quickly; the minutiae of war. I listened with one ear, amusing the rest of my brain by examining my compatriots. Snape gave me a venomous look when our gazes met, and I mimed a slicing motion across my face to match his still-livid scar. He scowled deeply and looked away.
Fleur, to my odd displeasure, looked very comfortable with Bill Weasley, though she offered me a radiant smile and a small wave when she saw me looking at her. I smiled back, we had become much closer friends over the past months. I shook away the sensations that tried to wriggle their way in at the thought. Foolishness.
I spoke up instead, seizing advantage of a temporary lull in the discussion.
'Dumbledore. What of Minerva? I understand we've captured her?'
Dumbledore's expression turned grave. 'Indeed, we have. Kingsley and Tonks were able to abscond with her during the battle, though we are yet to turn her over to the Ministry's Aurors just yet. Ted?'
A portly middle-aged man who had been sitting next to Tonks piped up.
'Ah, yes. Andi and I are still only beginning our assessment of Professor McGonagall. Keeping in mind that neither of us are specialists in mind Healing, we have not yet figured out how You-Know-Who is controlling her.'
'How do we know that he is?' Moody barked, his already-hideous face twisted. 'What if McGonagall was a spy all along, and we just cannae see it because we've known her too long?!'
'No.' I said firmly. 'Lord Voldemort did something to her. Something to do with Rookwood, it's why he wants to attack Azkaban as soon as possible.'
'Oh aye? And how would you know that then?!' Moody demanded, firing up immediately.'
Dumbledore held up a single hand. The same arm my Vow was burned into, beneath his robe. 'I trust Tom's judgement when it comes to Lord Voldemort, Alastor.'
Moody grumbled, but Ted brightened.
'Good, then we know there is something at least to find!' The man's disposition dimmed a little. 'Although, if this is Augustus Rookwood's work we're talking about, that may be beyond my means.'
'I can look.' I proffered. I was more than a little curious myself; if I could reverse-engineer whatever had engendered such loyalty in Minerva, who knows what applications it could have...
'No.' Dumbledore said sharply, as if reading my thoughts. I checked my Occlumency just in case. 'I will assess Minerva's mind personally.'
I scowled, and went back to half-tuning out as conversation shifted to other topics.
Shortly after, Krum's thick accent recaptured my attention; Dumbledore had just asked him about Igor Karkaroff.
The Bulgarian was shaking his head grumpily. 'Headmaster Karkaroff is a fool. I have been told that he fled Durmstrang the day he learned that You-Know-Who had returned, even though Durmstrang is the most protected place in all Eastern Europe. Idiót.'
'Do you think the Death Eaters will find him?' Bill asked, across from him.
'Karkaroff eats like a bear and works like an insect. I think they will have him within of a pair of months.' Krum said matter-of-factly.
Dumbledore stroked his prodigious beard. 'Unless we can bring him in first. He may yet have information we could need. Viktor, how do you like your own chances?'
Krum shrugged. 'I may attempt. I would need help, I am no tracker.'
Dumbledore shifted his gaze to me. 'Tom, I believe you have experience in this arena?'
I raised an eyebrow. 'I thought you wanted me back teaching Defence?'
Snape audibly choked at that, and shot me a look of renewed loathing, but said nothing.
'I do, but I believe we agreed that your weekends would remain free?
I scratched my chin. 'Two days a week to track down the Headmaster of Durmstrang when he doesn't want to be found, and beat the Death Eaters to the punch...'
I looked over to Krum. He shrugged.
'Sounds about right.' He said easily.
I smirked. 'Well then. Igor-hunting we shall go.'
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A/N: I will likely return to a fortnightly schedule from here-on out. We'll see how much writing I get done, but it won't be any longer than that.
Please follow and review.
