Tom smiled as he closed the mirror. He was willing to bet a handful of Galleons that Harry had no clue why he responded the way he did. Tom had experience with people's extreme reactions upon seeing him in various stages of undress. He fondly remembered the time straight as a broomstick Abraxas brained himself on a bedpost when Tom exited the bathroom only wearing a towel riding low on his hips during their fourth year. Hormones were flying high with all of them, adolescents that they were, and Tom had experimented with how to use his body to manipulate those around him. Abraxas got to spend the night in the hospital wing while Tom collected some more useful data to work with.
Of course, this time he hadn't purposefully talked to Harry while naked. Harry caught him right out of the shower. But that made the results no less entertaining.
Tom continued getting dressed while thinking about his little soulmate. He spent a lot of time thinking about Harry ever since he found himself stuck on the back of Quirrell's head for the second time in his existence. This time, though, he had a complete soul and the first few days of coming back to life were perhaps the most confusing and terrifying days of Tom's long life. To say he suffered through a brief but overwhelming existential crisis was putting it mildly. Poor Quirrell must have gotten more than a few splitting headaches before Tom came to his senses and started planning instead of panicking while questioning his own existence.
The thing was, though, that for Tom, it seemed like the past 50 years hadn't really happened. Or rather, that they'd happened to someone else and Tom somehow got stuck with that person's memories. Ever since he violently ripped his soul apart, it wasn't really Tom anymore who had lived his life. The creature Voldemort was just that…a creature that became more and more of a monster, sliding deeper and deeper into insanity the further he ripped his soul apart.
Tom had a hard time coming to terms with what his life had become, all because of a spur of the moment decision he had made when still a child. Fuelled by fear and arrogance, Tom had decided to pursue immortality in the only way he knew how, through a ritual he'd read about in a single book.
Merlin, what a fool he'd been. And what a price he'd paid. Intellectually, he knew he'd done all those horrifying things. Murdered hundreds, tortured perhaps a tenfold more. Enslaved and humiliated those he once called friends. Pursued an agenda that would have seen the wizarding world destroyed.
Yes, Tom knew he had done all those things, had the memories of performing each and every foul act, yet emotionally Tom couldn't comprehend what he'd become. No matter what righteous fools like Dumbledore claimed, Tom hadn't been born a monster. His childhood had moulded him into a hard and resourceful child, used to fighting for every scrap of anything, willing to lie and cheat and hurt others to get ahead in life. But that was the result of his upbringing for the most part. Tom wasn't heartless. Tom had normal, human emotions. Tom cared.
And then Tom ripped his soul apart and Voldemort had been born and fifty years later Tom found himself stuck on the back of someone's head because his prophesized enemy decided for some inexplicable reason Tom deserved a second chance.
Some days, Tom realized his existential crisis was far from over. Never in a million years had he expected to do his life over again. After he came to his senses enough to realize he needed off Quirrell's head as soon as possible, he'd realized he needed someone competent that he could trust to help him start the process of eventually regaining a human body.
Quirrell had been able to catch Crouch Sr unawares outside his own home, stun him in the back and dose him with an undetectable poison he'd picked up in Knockturn Alley hours earlier. Tom had warned Quirrell to not confront Crouch Sr in any way, shape or form, since Crouch Sr was an accomplished dualist and would wipe the floor with Quirrell if given the chance. And Tom had no desire to end up as an interesting specimen to experiment with deep in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries. Thankfully, Quirrell had managed to dispose of Crouch Sr without any trouble and Barty had been freed. It took Barty a week or two to regain most of his personality after having spent years under the Imperius curse, but right from the start he'd recognized his Lord and vowed to do whatever his Lord needed of him.
Before long Tom found himself occupying a homunculus, and while far from ideal, it was a hell of a lot better than riding along on the back of someone's head.
And then Harry had decided to visit and Tom had been perplexed by his adversary, his vanquisher, his murderer. Harry, barely a man stuck in a child's body, decided to treat Tom as an old friend, regaling him with tales of his own betrayal and untimely death, while Tom kept wondering when Harry would raise his wand and finish the job. Tom was mortal, or so he thought. And he'd accepted that, he'd vowed to himself, once he regained his senses, that he'd never make a horcrux again, no matter how short his second life might be.
And then Harry casually informed him that he was in charge of Tom's life, that he decided how long or short Tom would live this time around.
Rage had consumed Tom, alongside dread and disbelief. This child, this incompetent nobody had somehow gained control over Tom's entire existence?
And then Tom remembered Harry as he stood before him in the clearing in the Forbidden Forest, ready to sacrifice everything no matter how terrified he was. And yes, Harry had been filled with fear and doubt, Tom had read it all in his eyes, yet Harry stood there, defiant and strong and more powerful than Tom could ever hope to be because Harry mastered the fear that Tom never could and had led to Tom's downfall so many years ago.
And in the Great Hall, when Harry stood before him again, fearless this time, a confident smile on his lips, certain he knew something Tom didn't, but yet again utterly willing to stand in the way of a killing curse. It was incomprehensible to Tom, how such an ordinary child could hold so much strength and power and not even realize it.
If someone had to have control over Tom's life, it really could only be the person whose life had always been entwined with Tom's, who had seen to it that Tom got to have a second life in the first place. Tom had accepted it as best he could, privately vowing to keep a very close eye on Harry and manipulate him where he could to improve his own existence.
Well, Tom had tried to manipulate Harry, but sooner rather than later his calculated conversations with Harry had turned into genuine talks he actually looked forward to. The horror! Tom shook his head as he tied his shoes and remembered the utter shock he'd felt once he realized he'd actually become friends with Harry bloody Potter. He wasn't even sure when it had happened, just that he'd noticed it after he'd ordered Barty to drop everything and rush to a muggle bookstore to get Harry some helpful books after Harry told him about having a panic attack in Snape's classroom.
And there was another conundrum.
Severus Snape and his utter betrayal of Tom and the fact that he was still living and breathing. Tom liked to blame Harry for this. He found that blaming Harry for everything and anything he refused to acknowledge as his own fault was quite convenient, but truthfully Severus's fate was equally his own doing.
Before, when Voldemort had led his life, he'd been unable to comprehend why Severus would betray everything he once held dear over a silly little girl that barely acknowledged his existence anymore. But nowadays, Tom understood. He imagined himself in Severus' shoes, while Harry occupied the place of his mother, and Tom knew without a doubt he'd do everything and anything Severus had done and more, to avenge Harry.
So, while Tom didn't like it, he understood why Snape had done what he'd done. And he also knew Voldemort had been beyond reason and needed to be stopped and in some ways Tom admired Severus for being perhaps the only one of his followers who had so successfully countered Voldemort's plots and plans. Others had tried, like Lucius and Narcissa, but not until the very end, not until they'd hit rock bottom and had nothing more to lose. Harry had told him how Narcissa had defied him at the very end. Tom wasn't surprised that she had, just that it had taken her that long to do it. Narcissa was one of those people that looked like a delicate flower, but inside her sat a spine of steel. Only a fool would ever underestimate her.
Of course, Voldemort had been such a fool, but Tom liked to think he knew better, at least since starting his second life.
This was why he had decided to involve Narcissa in his future plans. Not only could she temper Lucius' more extreme pureblood notions and ambitions, Narcissa's quiet strength, keen intelligence and quick mind were a welcome addition to Tom's plans.
First on the agenda was a visit to his old Hogwarts friend Theodorus Nott, father to Harry's friend, Nott the younger. Tom expected no problems there, since Theodorus had always been loyal but never an extremist. Dorus, as his friends called him, was a true Slytherin, ambitious but practical. He'd never let his beliefs stand in the way of furthering his goals, which for Dorus meant growing his wealth and caring for his family.
"Morning, my Lord," Barty said, briefly lowering the Prophet in his hands to look up at Tom as he joined his assistant at the breakfast table in the recently renovated conservatory.
That was another thing Tom ran into these days. He was no longer comfortable calling his associates his followers. He'd realized some time ago he didn't want followers, people who would blindly do whatever he told them. He wanted people at his side who were intelligent enough to come up with the best course of action with or without Tom's approval. He wanted people who would stand up to him if needed, who would point out if Tom was about to make a colossal mistake instead of cowering in fear. Harry had no problem telling Tom how he really felt, for which Tom was grateful, and Barty was slowly learning that these days his Lord welcomed his honest opinion, even if it went against expectations. A work in progress, still, but improving every day.
"Morning," Tom replied while he sat down, spread a napkin across his lap and waited for his plate of food to appear before him in seconds thanks to Winky. "Did you secure that appointment with the Malfoys?"
"Yes, we're expected at two this afternoon to inform them about our new business venture," Barty said from behind the paper.
"Excellent," Tom said between bites of scrambled egg. "I'll visit Dorus this morning, get him up to speed."
"What are you telling him?" Barty asked, lowering the paper just a smidge, grey eyes curious as he stared at Tom with raised eyebrows.
"The truth," Tom said after some thought. He sat back and picked up his cup of Earl Grey. "Dorus has always been loyal yet practical. I suspect he'll be secretly glad of my transformation while pretending it's all the same to him."
Barty snorted and went back to the Prophet, muttering something about opportunistic Slytherins.
Tom sipped his tea, thinking it was a shame so many of his contemporaries had passed away already. Abraxas had been a good friend, once upon a time when Tom still preferred calling them friends instead of followers. And Rudolph Lestrange, father of Rodolphus and Rabastan, had always been a decent friend. Wily and with the strangest sense of humour Tom had ever encountered, but happy to follow along with Tom's plans. At least, in the early days. Later, when Rodolphus and Rabastan had become fanatical followers, beyond reason and thriving on the pain of others, Rudolph had withdrawn from public life, claiming poor health but spending the last ten years of his life living quietly in his Mansion with his wife while his sons wreaked havoc on the world around them in between kneeling at Tom's feet and kissing the hem of his robes.
Tom experienced a strange sense of shame, not for the first time, when realizing what he'd done to his friend's children. Once upon a time, Rodolphus, an accomplished duellist and very talented at charms and enchanting, and Rabastan, well on his way to becoming a Potions Master, had their whole lives ahead of them. Handsome, talented, wealthy, with bright futures awaiting them both. And now they were stuck in Azkaban for life, minds broken under the onslaught of dementors.
And all because of Tom.
These were bitter realisations to have, but Tom forced himself to acknowledge these thoughts instead of pushing them away. He'd read the books on traumas and how to deal with them that Harry had sent him after he was done with them, and he realized acknowledging all the crap that had happened in your life was the first step in dealing with it. Pretending it didn't exist was a way to make matters much, much worse. So Tom forced himself to feel every ounce of shame and regret his mind could come up with.
After finishing his breakfast, Tom pushed his chair back and got up. Barty was still working his way through the paper. Like a true Ravenclaw, Barty was unable to resist any written word within reach. Though truth be told, Tom wasn't much better. He hadn't been lying when he told Harry the hat had considered Ravenclaw for him. "I'm off. I'll be back before our meeting with the Malfoys."
"Good luck," Barty called after him half-heartedly, face still obscured by the Prophet. "Tell Nott I said hello."
Tom shook his head in amusement, strolled out the house and beyond the anti-apparition wards. A determined thought, a push of magic, and Tom stood in front of the gates of Nott Manor.
It was a good thing, perhaps, that Dorus had only fathered a child very late in life. That meant, at least, that Dorus' son hadn't yet been ruined by Tom. Of course, in Tom's previous life, after regaining his body and building his army back up, Nott the younger had received the mark, alongside quite a few of his followers' children who'd grown old enough during Tom's absence. But since the boy was barely seventeen and still in Hogwarts, Tom had left him alone for the most part. Now the boy was only eleven and rooming with Harry and unaware what a horrible fate he had unwittingly escaped.
Dorus was one of those few purebloods who had married for love right out of Hogwarts. He'd been the subject of much teasing for his infatuation, if not obsession, with Shelley Abbot, a pureblood Hufflepuff a year below them. But Dorus was in love, obvious for everyone to see, and after much wooing and courting, he won the fair Shelley's heart and hand in marriage. Shelley, it turned out, was just as in love as Dorus.
What should have been a long and happy marriage filled with the laughter of many children turned into a nightmare when Shelley was unable to carry a child to term and suffered miscarriage after miscarriage. Dorus spent a fortune searching for a cure the world over for decades, and when he finally found a witch in Bolivia who performed the kind of rituals even Tom would have thought twice about, both Dorus and Shelley pounced on the opportunity. The witch warned them the ritual came at a heavy price, one that could not always be predicted. It was Shelley who insisted they go through with it. So intense was her desire for a child that she was willing to sacrifice her own life to have one.
And so Theodore Nott was brought into existence and a few minutes after birthing him, with her precious baby clutched to her chest, Shelley passed away, her magic having forsaken her, the price that the ritual ultimately demanded.
It was a small miracle Dorus hadn't grown to resent the child. Though some of the light had left Dorus' eyes with the loss of his beloved wife, the love he had for his child was unmistakable. He doted on the boy, though never really spoiling him.
Tom suspected that had he managed to do to Nott the younger what he'd done to Rodolphus and Rabastan and many others, Dorus would have made it his mission in his remaining life to ruin him, to see to his end. If Dumbledore had realized it, he would have had another spy ready to sacrifice everything to see Voldemort dead for good.
But thankfully it hadn't come to that and Tom's relationship with Dorus wasn't yet beyond repair. Tom walked up to the Manor doors, taking in the well-cared for gardens. Shelley had spent many hours seeing to them, always having had a knack for Herbology, and nowadays the house-elves looked after them in her honour.
One such house-elf opened the doors just as Tom climbed up the steps.
"Is the Master of the house available?" Tom asked politely, "Please let him know Tom Riddle is here to see him."
"Mr Riddle be following Plucky," the young elf said, stepping back to let Tom enter.
The manor's interior hadn't changed, Tom noted as he walked after the house-elf on the way to Dorus' office. Filled with marble and dark woods, but also lots of floral patterns and paintings of far-off shores and landscapes. Not quite the dark and gloomy house one might expect of a Death Eater, though certainly advocating pureblood pride in many small details.
"Mr Tom Riddle is being here to see you, Master Dorus," Plucky said as she pushed open the heavy doors to the office.
Dorus sat behind his mahogany desk, staring at them in obvious surprise. "Now there is a name I haven't heard in a long time. Everything all right, my Lord?"
Tom smiled and shook his head while he sat down in one of the leather chairs in front of Dorus' desk. "Oh yes. I'm better than I have been in many decades."
"You look better, that's for certain." Dorus leaned back in his chair, looking Tom up and down. "Plucky, bring some tea." The elf popped out at once. Dorus went back to observing his guest. "Nice transfiguration work."
"You have a sharp eye still, I see," Tom said with a slow nod. "A little transfiguration was necessary if I am to pass as my own son. Thomas Cayden Gaunt, at your service. You may call me…" Tom meant to say Cayden, just like he'd planned all along. But something stopped him. Ever since he'd started calling himself by a new name all those years ago, his life had gone to hell. Tom didn't consider himself a superstitious person in the least, but at the same time, why make the same mistake twice? Using a fake name hadn't gone so well for him in the past. Perhaps it was time to own up to his real name, just like he owned up to all the traumas received and caused in the privacy of his own mind.
Perhaps Harry was onto something by so stubbornly calling him by his real name from day one.
"You may call me Thomas," Tom finally said, strangely feeling as if a weight had fallen off his shoulders by finally owning up to his own name. "Tom for friends, of course."
"Of course," Dorus replied quietly, head tilted as he stared at Tom in something akin to wonderment. "It's good to finally see you again, Tom." Dorus remained quiet as Plucky served them tea, though his gaze was ever sharp. Dorus had always been a very observant person. Once they both had steaming cups in front of them, Dorus leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Now do you mind telling me what the hell happened, Tom?"
Tom threw his head back and laughed. It was good to be treated as a person again, strange as that thought was perhaps. But Dorus was someone he'd known since he was eleven and it was somehow delightful to be seen as Tom Riddle again instead of the Dark Lord Voldemort who tortured and killed for any and every reason. "I'd be happy to tell you, old friend, but I need a little bit more security before I can."
"Unbreakable Vow?" Dorus guessed.
"Not quite that drastic," Tom said as he reached inside his robes. He pulled out a secrecy contract he'd prepared days earlier and gave it to Dorus. With a frown of concentration, Dorus read it, ran his wand over it, and then reached for a quill and signed it with a flourish. He added a drop of blood and the contract briefly flashed orange to indicate it was now active, meaning Dorus couldn't physically discuss any of the things Tom told him that day with anyone Tom didn't explicitly approve of.
"Thank you," Tom said, tucking the signed contract away in his robes. "The short answer is horcruxes."
Dorus's eyes grew wide. "A horcrux? Tom, that kind of magic… wait, did you say horcruxes? Plural?"
"Unfortunately, yes," Tom whispered, lowering his gaze, an odd sense of shame washing over him.
"Tom," Dorus sighed, rubbing both hands over his slightly wrinkled face. His blond hair had gone mostly grey, but aside from those things he still looked exactly like he always had. "Tom, you're such a smart lad, always have been, but to make multiple horcruxes…"
"I'm aware I'm the world's greatest fool, yes," Tom said with a solemn nod. "I know it turned me completely insane."
"Well," Dorus said with a small, almost helpless shrug. "Perhaps a little insane."
Tom gave him a look.
"All right, yes, by the end you were very far gone and beyond reason," Dorus conceded. "To be honest, I thought it was a blessing in disguise, for your own sake, when you died. I'd always wondered what the Tom Riddle I knew would think of the Dark Lord he'd eventually become."
Tom snorted and looked out the window. "The Tom Riddle you knew is utterly mortified, traumatized and suffering from a mild existential crisis."
Dorus shook with suppressed laughter for a few moments before giving in and laughing out loud. Tom couldn't blame him. The situation was rather absurd. "But at least the Tom Riddle I knew is sitting in my office right now," Dorus finally said after catching his breath. "And that's more than I thought I'd ever see."
Tom grinned and downed his tea. "The short answer to that is Harry Potter."
Dorus' mouth sank open.
"Would you like to hear the whole story?" Tom asked, enjoying seeing his old friend so openly shocked.
"Yes, dammit, Tom, of course." Dorus jumped up from his chair. "Plucky, we're moving to the drawing room. Bring us that 1942 bottle of Ogden's finest I have been saving." He gave Tom a crooked grin as he gestured for Tom to follow him. "This had best be good, Riddle, if I'm to serve you my best whiskey."
"Oh, trust me," Tom said, following after his friend. "This will be the best story you've heard in decades."