Hey guys, I forgot to update on FF last Friday, so I'll be giving you guys two updates today :DD
I also wanted to say, I'm going to change Chapter 61's name to "Who to Use as a Scapegoat?' If you guys aren't from AO3, then you wouldn't know, but the original Chapter 61 was actually a one-shot written by the author; it just completely slipped my mind at the time of upload, so I apologise :,( The events that happen in that one-shot doesn't apply to this fanfic you're reading now. I'll upload it as a separate work so I don't have to go through the long process of deleting and re-uploading chapters. Anyways, enjoy reading~!
(Edit: Guys, I just realised there's no MA15+ rating on FF, and there's a risk of this account getting suspended if I upload the one-shot (cause it's smutty-smut). You guys can find it by searching up my account on AO3 : snow_owl01)
December 1943
Tom didn't know what Harry was talking about, but the terribly-wise Slytherin could vaguely assume the direction of the topic at hand.
He was called Tom Riddle, but he didn't like this name.
It was ordinary, plebeian; if you called out 'Tom' in the streets, at least a dozen heads would turn. What made it even worse for the Slytherin was that this name was derived from the Tom Riddle Sr., his sire who was already six feet under.
It wasn't unusual for a son to inherit his father's name, and in some instances, it was an honor.
But how could that foolish and ignorant Muggle qualify as his father?
One day, he'd get rid of the connotations to his "dirty half-blood" lineage, and debut into society as Slytherin's descendant. By then, "Tom Marvolo Riddle" would be a name completely abandoned, and he'd have a title that would make everyone tremble with just its mention.
But for now, he had Harry standing right in front of him; Tom couldn't reveal his motives at a time like this, or rather, he didn't dare to.
From the moment Harry appeared in the Chamber, from the moment Harry called out to him, Tom's mask had completely lifted, revealing the fiendish fangs hidden in his smile.
Harry, finally privy to Tom's plans, in a confrontation with him.
The Slytherin never hesitated to choose power over Harry, even when power meant opposing his guardian. He didn't regret it either, but he was afraid.
He was afraid, so he wrapped his arms around the young man's waist like ice-cold shackles.
Even if the darkest, most malicious part of himself were to be exposed to the light, even if his most grotesque actions were laid out on a table, even if Harry looked at him with eyes filled with disgust, sickened by him…
You're not allowed to leave me, Harry.
"Harry, are you a relative?" Tom asked, voice muffled as he buried his face into the crook of Harry's neck, breathing him in. In Harry's perspective, his voice seemed to have a raspy quality to it, giving off the impression of caution. Tom Marvolo Riddle was the best at exercising this trick, learnt from the rabbit-holding Billy twelve years ago; he just had to lower his posture, charm his company, and murmur lowly, "You can speak it… I heard you speak it, our language.."
Harry was unable to suppress his twitch, shocked; he'd always thought too well of human nature.
"I'm not, but I'm your father. At least… Nominally." Harry sighed.
Tom's disguise worked once again. He didn't know what he expected. Was it more of his people? Just three months ago, he'd ended his biological father's life.
The teenager had a lithe but sturdy physique; just by leaning against Tom, Harry could feel the hibernating, coiled strength simmering under his skin. Tom's warm breath gently splayed against Harry's cheek.
"That girl…" Harry closed his eyes wearily, feeling a sudden hitch of breath by his ears, and smiled bitterly to himself. "She's buried at the hill next to the Black Lake. If you have time, go and take a look."
"Hm." Tom's eyes were dark. Harry's back was turned to him, so he couldn't see the slight tremor in the Slytherin's emotions.
Harry knew all of this wouldn't make a difference. All he could do was ask Tom to visit the girl's grave and hope that such an act would tug at Tom's remorse, and consequently absolve him of some of his sins.
In the end, it all led back to Tom Riddle.
Two men stood silently in the cold chamber with only the sounds of water echoing around them.
Harry really did want a confrontation. With carefully curated words, he was able to cautiously maintain a balance between them both. Even in Tom's infinite wisdom, how could he not understand Harry's intentions?
"Tom, don't push me." Harry couldn't control the tremor in his voice. He didn't want this, didn't want to perpetually be on guard against the child he had raised, the child he'd come to love. He wanted to shake him and ask, 'What's so bad in remaining 'Tom Riddle'? Staying as MY Tom?' Only then Harry could finally be a father and hold the child in his arms, twine their hands, watch him grow up, get married, have children…
There are so many ways to succeed, why choose the one with the most destruction?
Tom tightened his arms and held him as firmly as he could - just like that year when he was just born, clutching Harry's clothes with all his might.
Harry, don't push me either.
Tom's red eyes and face were buried in Harry's side, his lips pressed right against his pulse. Tom fought the urge to open his mouth. He was afraid that as soon as he would, his sharp fangs would sink into Harry's veins, forcing the older man to leave him.
He would never forget that day in August when Harry walked through the door - what his silhouette looked like against the moonlight.
'To meet the most wonderful surprises in my deepest despair' and 'to fall into the darkest loss among the brightest smiles'. Who could stand to bear this? Not Tom Riddle.
The selfish, greedy, paranoid Slytherin never bothered to wonder if Harry Potter, similarly, could bear it himself.
Someone once asked: "How many roads must a boy travel before he becomes a man?"
But why didn't anyone ask: "How many times must a person endure their hope shattering before they're forced to give it up?"
No one asked, but someone answered: "Gryffindors are rash in their decision of bravery, in their unwavering nature of power larger than themselves. They embody the reason why they're referred to as knights, crowned with a wreath of courage. They don't choose to be brave, because to them, it's not a choice. It's inevitable."
"Tom, just... be Tom Riddle, alright?" Harry asked, voice cracking, sounding pained.
Tom paused, considering. "Okay." Tom understood what Harry meant with his question. 'Just Tom Riddle' - a bright Tom Riddle. Tom pursed his lips, suppressing the scarlet that seeped out from the corner of his eyes.
As long as you don't leave.
When facing the fork in the road between power and Harry, he would never hesitate to choose the former over the latter. After all, power is might, right? It's all he's worked for, bled for, ached for.
But.
He stopped his train of thoughts. Instead, he sighed, breathing in Harry's scent once again.
For the first time in a long time, Tom Riddle felt shaken.
Harry stayed at Hogwarts as a teaching assistant.
Professor Merrythought's physical condition seemed to worsen, and even the instances of Harry's substitutions grew.
Although the students were worried for their elderly Professor, they didn't reject the new assistant; after all, Assistant Potter's classes were much better than Professor Merrythought.
"Alright, since all of you have been requesting it so much, let's do a demonstration. Who wants to be my partner?" Harry's smiling eyes swept through the classroom, deliberately ignoring his arrogant Slytherin's raised hand. "Hm… Parkinson, come up."
The smile on the corner of Tom's lips didn't falter; he just watched the boy named Ovi get up happily from his seat to stand next to Harry.
"Tom?" Cygnus, who was sitting beside him, asked.
Tom raised his eyebrows, moving his line of sight to Cygnus. "What's wrong?"
Cygnus looked at Tom's normal expression and frowned. "You… Nevermind, it's nothing."
Tom turned his head, smiling as usual.
How could he not notice? Harry was avoiding him.
Why? Although it wasn't exposed, both of them came to an understanding.
Harry was from the future; what Tom had done, what he was hiding, Harry knew very well. But Harry wasn't omniscient; there were still things he didn't know.
The current Harry would never know about the filthy, vile ** hiding under Tom's beautiful facade.
The sixth-year Slytherin, who had already revealed his temperament, sat in the classroom with a gentle smile so bright it could blind someone, his pupil's blood-red.
"Ovi, well done!" Watching the Slytherin boy, though unskilled, defuse his spell, Harry praised him without hesitation. "Five points to Slytherin."
When giving out points Harry always used Snape as an inverted reference. He was very generous; whether it was Gryffindor or Slytherin, he was always fair.
Ovi smiled shyly and walked to his seat. Since Abraxas graduated, he wasn't forced into doing unsavory things anymore, and his demeanor became more cheerful and bold. Once someone becomes bolder, ideas that were long suppressed would resurface again.
A year ago, Ovi was always attached to others, cowardly, and evaded the responsibility of being the one to stretch out his two hands to try and hand someone a torch. A year later, Ovi looked at the young man standing on the platform with a beautiful smile and pursed his lips.
Ovi walked to his seat, but went past the Slytherin Prefect's table and met a pair of dark judging eyes. They clearly held no emotions, but Ovi felt they were extremely terrifying.
The timid student hurriedly accelerated his pace.
Tom Riddle, Mr Potter's adopted son, was a demon obsessed with his father!
In this revelation, Ovi was determined to rectify past mistakes and to take the reins of chance; to open his arms and extend help to those outside his family.
Harry Potter, I'll help you escape your son, he thought.
