The Imposter Complex

by Notus Oren

Tom Riddle escapes at the end of Chamber of Secrets, and is quite surprised to find that nothing about the future is as he ever thought it would be. Soon, Tom finds himself on a globe-spanning quest to follow the path his forebear blazed and perhaps, at the end, to put a stop to him once and for all.

36. The Wretched Tapestry

The Imposter Complex, Chapter Thirty Six: The Wretched Tapestry.

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Potter had been right. For so long I had had myself convinced, that Lord Voldemort was not who I was. Shoved down the creeping thoughts when they reared their heads, kept the truth buried in the furthest reaches of my mind where it could not haunt me. Convinced myself that my first victim had just been a means to the most important of ends. But it was all a lie. I had always been a monster.

Why was I even fighting this? How many more times was this cycle going to repeat? Destroying myself again and again on this quest without end, and each time pulling back my fragments back together to pretend I'm still a man. Each time, coming closer to crumbling away entirely.

If I let it kill me, I could possibly take Lord Voldemort down with me. All I would have to was let go. One truly good, altruistic act in my godsforsaken life. But the thrill of primal terror that thought produced sent a shock wracking through me. Damn it all. No. I couldn't do it. Could not pry my own iron grasp to life.

But that would be the cheap way out, would it not? To dodge responsibility, to escape the blame. To let others take up my burden, if reintegration did not kill Lord Voldemort outright. No, I had not come this far merely to die the moment I realised the magnitude of my own sins.

That conviction, however, did nothing to assuage the agony in my chest, in my heart. Nor could I find the strength to push the memories away any longee, to bring them back under lock and discarded key. They were loose in my mind now, whether I liked it or not.

I needed help. I needed... absolution.

There was only one person who could save me from this. I fumbled for my Ring, the pain in my heart redoubling as her face swam once more to the forefront of my mind.

Once. Twice. Thrice.

Sandra McKellan stood before me, an angel in white, the early-morning sun wreathing her fiery hair from behind in a rose-gold halo. She was as beautiful as the day she died.

My throat seemed to seal tight at the sight of her. I simply stared.

'Tom? Is that ye?' She frowned. 'Ye look so different?'

Her Doric accent was as strong as it had been in life. I forced air through my throat. 'Y-yeah, I, er, I've been through a bit over the years. How did you recognise me?'

Sandy looked almost amused. 'He said ye might summon me someday.'

My confusion deepened. 'He? He who? Lysander?'

'I dinna know who that is.' She said simply. 'Fit do ye want?'

I swallowed. 'Do you remember how you died?'

She tilted her head. 'I know ye murdered me.'

The words drove a proverbial knife deeper; the pain in my chest intensifying enough to make me gasp. I slid forward off the bed, my knees thudding onto the timber floor before her. I gazed at the floor, unable to look her in the face any longer.

'It's... killing me...' I wheezed.

'I can see that.' Sandy said. Was I imagining the tinge of pity in her tone?

She stepped away, approaching the corner of my bedroom where a mirror stood. Inspecting herself?

'You... don't seem angry...' I managed.

'Being dead can have that effect.' She said dryly.

I thought back to Lysander, to Czernobog. My experiences with the dead hadn't reflected that before. They'd always been quite happy continuing grudges where they'd left off.

'I was angry.' She said. 'For a long time. If I hadn't been afore-warned, I might still hae been. But the more I thought about what I'd say to ye, the less angry I was. The more I just felt sorry for ye, gone mad as ye have...'

I saw her legs turn to face me, striding over to my side. She laid a hand on my jawline, and guided my head up to look at her face again. Her touch was... strange. More real than a ghost, but without the true presence of a living person. Like the sensation of touch that lingers after it passes.

My grey-green eyes met her piercing blue, and she smiled a sad smile. 'My forgiveness will do ye no good Tom, and I cannae give ye absolution. Nae one else can but ye.'

I swallowed again.

'I don't know how. I've been hunting Voldemort, I've been fighting Death Eaters. What more is there?'

She smiled sadly, cradling my head in her hand. 'Yer still clinging to what made ye.'

I blinked. 'I don't understand.'

She sighed. 'Ye will. In time. Ye've been running from yer past for too long, Tom Riddle. It's time ye faced it.'

Sandy straightened, her hand sliding from my face.

'And needn't be so afeared of death, Tom. It can be good over there. Real good. If ye let it be.'

Then she was gone, though I had not dismissed her. Leaving me with naught but more questions than ever.

Time almost lost its meaning. I tried to take Sandy's advice, immersing myself in memory as I sat knelt upon my bedroom floor. Undoing the work I had done for so many years, and over again in Carcassonne. I would hide from my sins no longer.

The pain did not stop, but it did seem to... shift. Becoming more metaphorical than metaphysical. Sandy may not have cured me of this affliction, but her words had given me purpose. Somehow, the affirmation that redemption could exist buoyed me. I would not die this day, no. I would live.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was going to become a good man.

Sunlight caught my eye, and I winced. The angle of sun had shifted as I had sat there; it was almost nine. My eyes widened and I cursed, scrambling to my feet. I had a class to teach.

:—:

The class of sixth years oohed and aahed over the lightshow that this month's artefact gave off. I chuckled lowly to myself. The deadliest thing Loxias of Itea ever created, and they treat it like a firework display.

The Calamity Sphere was, like all of the Dark objects they would examine, a perversion of another form of magic for malevolent purposes. In this case, Divination. Within a thick glass case sat an unassuming crystal sphere almost indistinguishable from a Palantír. Only this item shimmered and gleamed with blatant magic, actively trying to seduce onlookers to pick it up.

But the sight that it granted was cursed. It would only show the viewer that which would hurt them most. Worse, if a seer picked it up, it would show a false future, leading them to make grave errors that would lead instead to chaos, destruction, and massive loss of life. It is said that the Thirty Years War was caused by such a vision, when a wizard loyal to Ferdinand II used it to try and guide the emperor on how to convert all those pesky Protestants.

Devil only knew how he made the thing. Naturally, I was keeping the blighted thing well beyond the grasp of any overly foolish teenagers.

It was appropriate though, I mused, that this object had been next on the list for the NEWT class to learn from. The Prophecy that Snape had spoken of in Scar's memories weighed on me. Dumbledore was still keeping secrets from me, even with the Vow that still twinged at the back of my mind. I wasn't terribly surprised by that, but it infuriated me. A Prophecy about Lord Voldemort and Potter was something I deserved to know about. Every single time I start to think I can trust that shrivelled bast-

I closed my eyes and breathed through my nose. Good thoughts, benevolent thoughts. Maybe he had a reasonable explanation. I would find him later, after today's classes, and politely ask him why he hadn't told me.

:—:

Dumbledore seemed determined to stretch my newfound attempts at magnanimity. He was not in his office when I came, nor was he at dinner. Even Filius, acting Deputy Head, didn't know where he had gone. There was only one place I knew where Dumbledore might go without telling Flitwick.

The great silverite hearth of Tech Mell flared with green flame, and I strode forth into the Order of the Phoenix Headquarters. The foyer chamber was devoid of inhabitants, so there was nobody to see the irritation flicker across my face as I swept down the hall.

It was raining in the north of Ireland today, loud enough that when I stormed into the meeting hall, I startled Remus so badly that he dropped his book into his stew.

The werewolf cursed, fishing the aged tome out, dripping with broth. 'Damn it Tom, don't do that!'

'Do what, walk?' I snapped acidly, before catching myself. '...I'm sorry Remus. I've had a... a difficult day. Do you know where abouts Dumbledore is?'

Remus didn't look offended by my outburst. 'Yes, he's down in the dungeon. He's interrogating Minerva.'

That gave me pause. 'Still? It's been weeks.'

Remus shrugged lightly. 'I'm no Legilimens, I don't know. Apparently she's a tough nut to crack. Ted and Severus are down there with him. What are you after Dumbledore for?'

I hesitated. 'Something's come up. A piece of information that could end this war, maybe.'

Remus chewed on one tip of his moustache. 'Best to let him know immediately then. Take that corridor there, then down the flight of stairs on your left.'

'Thanks Remus.' I nodded stoutly, hurried out through the archway he indicated.

The dungeon of Tech Mell did not look like one. It was made of the same smooth silvery marble and gilded fixtures as the rest of the caisleán, and its chambers did not have bars. Instead, there were glimmering panes of some transparent crystal that made the whole thing look rather like a muggle aquarium.

There were a few occupants in the tanks - or cells, I suppose - as I walked by them. Karkaroff was here, Shacklebolt and Moody hadn't yet finished plying him for old secrets. I didn't recognise any of the others, but most had Dark Marks visible on their forearms. Captives from the Battle of North Ronaldsay, most likely. Odd, I'd assumed Dumbledore had handed them over to the Ministry ages ago.

The Death Eaters sneered at me as I passed, making rude gestures and hurling insults that failed to pass through the crystalline wall. I merely smiled benignly at them. Benevolent thoughts. No gloating.

The dungeon corridor ended with a single larger cell, like it was reserved for special prisoners. Unlike the other cells, this one contained furniture, a desk and two chairs seemingly formed out of the same single piece of silver marble as the floor. On one chair, bound, sat Minerva McGonagall, an ugly, almost inhuman expression on her face. In the other, facing her and away from me, sat the familiar shape of Albus Dumbledore, in his usual garish attire. They appeared locked in a staring match.

The Vow twinged at me when I looked at Dumbledore. I suppressed a scowl, and resisted the urge to scratch at the scars on my left arm. I had initially hoped that changing bodies would free me from the Vow, and intentionally had not marked my new one with its chain-like scars. To my chagrin, they had seared themselves back into place within moments of the switch, more painfully than the first time. Almost as though the Vow had been punishing me for trying to pull a fast one.

Snape sat in one corner of the cell, looking his usual ugly- er, less comely self, while Ted was leaned against the opposite wall, looking a bit nervous. The latter brightened when he saw me. He approached the crystal wall and rapped on it with his wand. An oval hole irised open in it, and he stepped through. It sealed immediately behind him.

'Ah, Tom right? Ted Tonks, I think we met at the first Order meeting.' The man offered a hand out to me, smiling guilelessly. You could practically smell the Hufflepuff on him.

I took the handshake with a charming smile, and dipped ever so lightly into a Hampshire accent to match his own. Not enough for him to consciously notice, but enough to keep him well at ease.

'Tonks? Any relation to the Auror? She told me it was a mononym.'

Wait, was manipulating my accent to make him trust me unethical? Damn these instincts, I'd already committed now.

Ted chuckled heartily. 'Ah, so she wishes. She's my daughter. Her first name is Nymphadora. The wife and I thought it was a beautiful name, but, well, you know how youngsters can be.'

I smiled politely again, carefully avoiding insulting the man by laughing at his awful taste in naming conventions. And here I thought I'd had it bad with "Tom".

'Oh trust me my friend, I'm a teacher. I know all too well.' I looked over at his shoulder at Dumbledore. Snape sneered at me when he saw me looking their way. 'How's the interrogation going?'

'Er, not sure to be honest. I'm a middling Legilimens at best really, learned it as part of my Healer training and haven't had much practice since...' Ted admitted, blushing a little.

I clapped him bracingly on the shoulder. 'No shame in that Ted, none at all. Grim business at the best of times, Legilimency.'

'It is that.' He said, looking a little relieved at the validation. That was good, right? I made the man feel less insecure. Flamel Peace Prize here I come.

'Would you mind terribly if I were to sit in? I have important business to discuss with Dumbledore, but I wouldn't want to interrupt him.'

'No no, of course. He's been at it almost an hour straight, he usually comes up for air somewhere around this time. You'll be better company than bloody Snape, I'll tell you that.

We laughed, and Ted led me into the cell. The atmosphere in here was odd. It felt magically filtered, and I noted that there were no vents in the ceiling. The room was airtight.

'Riddle.' Snape said, his tone glacial as ever. 'What are you doing here?'

I opened my mouth to make a biting remark, but stopped myself. Benevolent thoughts. Happy thoughts. Was it good to rip into Snape? I suppose Sirius did it all the time, but then he wasn't trying to rejigger his entire personality so...

And the moment was passed, too long to make a quip even if I'd tried. Snape seemed surprised, and looked at me suspiciously.

'What's the first thing I said when we met?' He snapped suddenly.

I frowned. 'Excuse me?'

'What did I say when we first met?'

His wand was suddenly in his hand, and I realised what he was getting at.

'You said...' I began slowly as I cast my mind back. When had we even met?

Then my brow furrowed. 'You didn't say anything. We didn't say anything directly to one another the first time we were in a room together.'

A beat passed, and Snape put his wand away, still looking at me a bit oddly.

'What are you doing here?' He repeated.

'I've got to ask Dumbledore about...'

Actually, this might make for an opportunity to get more information before I confronted Dumbledore. I turned to Ted, apologetically.

'Would you mind giving us the room please Ted?

The Healer raised his hands immediately. 'Say no more. Need to know is need to know.'

He left the cell, sealing the crystal behind him. I turned back to Snape.

'I've cured Potter of the Horcrux in his head.'

'So I've heard.' Snape replied, his tone mocking. 'Were you hoping for another school plaque? Perhaps they'll give you a nice medal this time.'

I conjured a chair and sat down across from him, not taking the bait. 'The fragment had some interesting memories to show me. Memories of you dobbing in a certain pair who'd defied the Dark Lord three times.'

To my surprise, Snape's face contorted with anger. 'You have no idea what you're talking about,' he snapped immediately.

'Well yes, I assumed there was more to the story than Lord Voldemort knew, or you wouldn't be sitting here across from Dumbledore, would you?'

Snape's scowl deepened. 'Nothing more that concerns you, Riddle.'

'It's a prophecy about my other self, how could it not concern me?' I responded.

Snape appeared as if he would very much like to tell me to fuck off and be done with it, but for some reason he didn't. After a long glare, he growled a few words.

'If you have heard what I recited to the Dark Lord, you know all of the prophecy that I do. The rest of it is known only to the Headmaster.'

I gazed at his bisected face, searching for dishonesty. I didn't find it, but that meant little. The man was a spy, after all.

I nodded to myself, and leaned back in my chair, glancing at McGonagall. 'Then how's the interrogation going?'

'Poorly.' Snape said shortly, though he had no hesitation about changing the subject. 'The Headmaster and I have been making attempts in turn. His progress is slow... and my own even slower.'

The last was said with a reluctance, and I actively crunched down on any display of amusement. No more schadenfreude for me.

'Mind if I take a look then?'

Snape's expression turned back to sour derision. Ah, and we'd been making such progress. 'You believe yourself our better at the Mental Arts?'

'To you, certainly.' I said before I could stop myself, and Snape looked furious. 'Sorry, that was unkind. But three minds are better than two, no?'

Snape stared at me oddly again, then twitched his head in McGonagall's direction.

'Be swift then.' He bit out. 'Observe only. Do not attempt to make any alterations. Even the slightest of tweaks could cause her psyche to unra-'

'Yes, Snape.' I said, cutting him off. 'I'm aware.'

His only response was a sneer.

I shifted my seat to where I could see into McGonagall's eyes, over Dumbledore's shoulder. I thrust forward with my mind, behind her flat gaze. Dumbledore had dismantled any mental defences she might have had, and I slipped into her thoughts without struggle.

I found myself standing amid thick, lush grass, marbled skies above me. The tingle of salt on the breeze. A rippled and roiled plane of sage green stretched out before me, two, three hundred feet before dropping into an ocean-side cliff. I recognised the terrain, if not the precise location. The Scottish Highlands.

'Minerva!'

I pivoted at the sound, a mother's call. Behind me was the rear of a small cottage of grey stone, set upon the far outskirts of a disjointed little hamlet. The call had come from within the house.

'Yes mum?' Came a tiny, eager voice.

'Go fetch your sister, lunch is on the stove!'

'Yes mum!' Came the voice again, and the back door was flung open.

A little girl came tottering excitedly out, couldn't have been much more than eight, nine at a stretch. I could see the traces of the Minerva I knew upon her, separated by decades. She ran right by me without so much as a glance.

This was no mindscape, it was a memory.

I followed her, across the dozenfold tiny hills and ditches of the cliffside. She traversed them effortlessly; she had been doing this all her short life. At last, she led me into a ravine, right on the edge of the cliff. Another little girl was down here, stabbing merrily away at the crumbly porous rock with a sharp stick.

'Mini, I'm digging dinosaurs!' The little girl exclaimed, looking up at Minerva adoringly. The sister. She was younger than Minerva, far younger.

Minerva didn't say anything. A chill began to creep its way down my back.

Her face twisted into that same ugly expression she wore in the Real, and upon the face of a young girl it was all the more alien, and haunting. Her sister saw it too, and her overjoyed expression faltered.

'Mini?'

I knew what was about to happen an instant before it did. Minerva took two swift steps forwards, and slammed both palms into her sister's shoulders, sending the much smaller girl tumbling back, and over the edge of the cliff.

My body leapt forward before I could even process it, trying to catch the girl. My hand passed through her arm as if I weren't there, and she fell. I could only watch in stunned horror as she tumbled through the air, jagged rocks below. I watched a child decades dead die once more before my very eyes.

Someone was screaming, wordlessly. I think it was me.

I couldn't tear my gaze away from it, even as the waves crashed around that small, broken little body and stole it away.

'Awful, isn't it?'

I whirled around at the calm, familiar voice. Dumbledore, where he certainly hadn't been a few moments before. In the Real his robes had been shimmering turquoise, but in Minerva's mind he was dressed in deep, featureless charcoal. He gazed solemnly at me, as memory-Minerva doddered back up to the house as if nothing had happened.

I struggled to produce a response. 'I-I don't... Why would she do that?'

Dumbledore raised surprised eyebrows. 'I am taken aback, Tom. I did not take you for one to be so confounded by senseless brutality.'

I spluttered. 'Not from a fucking eight year old, Dumbledore! Fucking long-dead Merlin!'

I spun away from him, bringing my hands to my head. I couldn't get the sight out of my mind. That broken, torn little form. I retched then, emptying my imaginary stomach onto the grass.

I rounded on Dumbledore, suddenly furious. 'What the hell's the matter with you? How are you so godsdamned calm?!'

Dumbledore met my gaze evenly. 'Minerva McGonagall never had a sister.'

I looked at him incredulously. 'What?'

'She had two brothers. Malcolm and Robert. One of them is alive today, the other was killed by Death Eaters in the last war. She never had a sister.'

'Then who was...' I gestured behind me with my hand, unwilling to say the words.

'A fiction. She never existed. You may rest easy, Tom. Our dear Professor McGonagall is no mad murderer.'

I stared blankly at him. 'Impossible. You can't fake a memory like this. It can't be done.'

It was true. Crafting false memories was a superficial thing at best. They mainly worked by influencing the victim's mind to ignore the ill-fitting patch job. Imposed dream-logic, if you will. The weaker the mind, the easier it was. Muggles you could trick into believing just about any backstory you gave them.

Outside scrutiny was an entirely different story. A false memory could fool a brief inspection by an adept Legilimens if you were really gifted at it. But to defeat a mind-reader of my, or Dumbledore's calibre? Absolutely not. Not even this Rookwood could be that good. Surely.

'I'm afraid so.' Dumbledore said gravely. 'I confess I am unable to find flaw with it either. Were it not for my own personal familiarity with the McGonagall family, I would have been fooled as well.'

I was silent for a long moment. 'How many more of her memories are like this?'

Dumbledore sighed heavily. 'Dozens. Perhaps indeed hundreds. Her entire life has been rewritten to turn her into the perfect killer, the perfect Death Eater. I have been attempting to find the seams in the illusion, but I have found little success.'

I shuddered. The thought that someone could overwrite my entire mind like that and I'd never even know I'd been changed. A sudden spike of guilt lanced through me at how I'd erased the other Horcruxes without even really thinking about it. It wasn't the same thing, but...

I felt Dumbledore's eyes on me. 'There's something different about you tonight, Tom. Has something happened?'

I didn't meet his gaze. 'Working through some stuff. Trying to be a better person.'

Dumbledore took a seat on one of the rocky outcroppings. 'I see. Is that why you refrained from engaging Severus in one of your usual verbal skirmishes?'

I looked up sharply. 'You were aware of that?'

Dumbledore looked caught out. 'Maintaining conscious awareness in tandem with deep Legilimency has been a hard-won talent. An obscure one also, so I would ask that you be discreet about it please. But we were discussing your... stuff?'

I looked about, curious as to why we were still here. After a moment I realised Dumbledore had set the memory on a partial loop. Little Minerva was doddering back up the cliff to the cottage all over again.

'Is this really the place to be discussing my personal development?' I asked dryly.

Dumbledore shrugged lightly. 'Minerva's conscious mind has been rendered into a deep slumber. You would be hard-pressed indeed to find a more private place to have a conversation.'

A frown settled on my brow. 'I'm not in need of psychiatric analysis... thank you. I can take care of myself. How about we talk about something a little more interesting?'

I leant against the opposite side of the little ravine from him.

'When were you planning to tell me about the Prophecy?'

Several emotions flickered across Dumbledore's face, too swiftly to identify. He settled on mildly abashed. 'I was rather hoping to avoid it. I would be most curious to know how it crossed your path.'

I scoffed. 'Call it a blast from the past. Don't you think that a fu... that a damn prophecy about me is something that might be useful for me to know?'

Dumbledore tilted his head. 'The Prophecy is not about you. It is about the primary Lord Voldemort. You are not mentioned.'

'I'll be the judge of that.' I said, colder than I intended.

Dumbledore held my gaze for a long moment, before finally nodding.

'Very well.'

He brought two finger to his head, and when he drew it away, an ethereal strand of silver came streaming out of his temple after. With a flick of his wrist, it came loose from the fingers, growing and shimmering until it formed into a painfully skinny young woman wearing an eclectic array of shawls, and a pair of enormous, thick-lensed spectacles.

I recognised her from work, and I turned incredulously to Dumbledore. 'Trelawney? You can't be serious?'

Dumbledore shushed me, and gestured at the memory. I looked back to see that her eyes had rolled back into her head, and she was making raspy gasping noises. Well I'll be, the weird old hippie actually had some real ability.

'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can die while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...'

The memory dissolved into nothingness after it had said its piece, and I stroked my chin in thought.

'Well... I've sort of bollocksed that up haven't I?'

Dumbledore looked surprised. 'How do you suppose?'

'I cured Harry of his Horcrux. I broke the prophecy... I didn't even think it was possible to do that?'

'It isn't.' Dumbledore said sharply. 'A Prophecy once delivered always come true. Trying to avert it is as fruitless as trying to change history with a Time Turner. This simply means the Prophecy will come true in a different way than was expected.'

'But what other resolution is there? It can't be me, I was born about as far away from July as it's possible to be, and my mother never even got a chance to defy me.'

Dumbledore lifted his hands helplessly. 'I confess, I am as lost as yourself. Harry is bound to life so long as Voldemort's second body lives, of that I am certain. The old magic Lily Potter brought to bear was a powerful protection indeed. Perhaps there is some reciprocal effect there which I have hitherto been unaware of...'

I blinked. 'What? Potter's immortal?'

That was met with a stern look. 'Under specific circumstances. It will not aid you on that fool's quest of yours, and nor will I.'

I felt myself get defensive immediately, and almost had to physically force myself not to retort with a snide remark. Instead I shook my head. 'Fine, I don't need help on that anyway. But this prophecy business. Was there anyone else who fit the bill that you and Lord Voldemort may have overlooked?'

Dumbledore opened his mouth to reply, but then suddenly cut himself off, looking alarmed. An instant later, Snape popped onto existence beside us.

'Headmaster! It's happening! The Dark Lord is attacking Azkaban!'

:-:-:-:-:

A/N: My apologies for being a couple days late on this chapter, it proved to be a particularly tricky one to write. Shouldn't affect next chapter's release, action scenes come easy ;)

Please follow and review.

Edited on the 21st of May, 2020 for a continuity error.