By the way guys, I just wanna talk about the number of chapters again-
The author messed up the numbering for her chapters (she skipped Chapter 86) so there's altogether a total of 98 chapters. Since Chapter 61 was published separately (you'd have to go to AO3 to read it, since it's an explicit chapter), there's a total of 8 chapters left for me to publish. Just a heads up ^^
1948
"Is there anything else you'd like to say?" The tall and handsome young man curled up his lips; in the damp dungeon, it was as if he stood on a throne when he looked down at the woman in rags.
Maybe it was due to the shabby clothes and greying hair, but the woman looked much older than before. But one's physical appearance would never be able to conceal the edge of their soul; wisdom would never fade, nor would it become covered in dust.
"Shouldn't it be you who has something to ask?" the woman refuted calmly, even daring to provoke a triumphant smile. "You'd never be able to find him, no matter how many times you ask."
No matter how powerful Tom Riddle was, could he break the confinements of space and time? Could he reverse mankind's undetectable fate? Could he touch into the future?
He couldn't.
Tom Riddle would always be but a mere human; he'd never become God.
"Joan, do you think I wouldn't care to kill you?" Blood-red eyes stared at the woman tightly, the deep and terrible dark-red hue symbolizing the most primitive ominosity, representing the clotting of blood and ending of life. The Slytherin asked the question with a light tone as if it was a common query.
Joan smiled, just as she did when she stood by Harry and watched him converse with her; a light and breezy smile.
"Do you think I don't dare to die?" The woman with prominent wrinkles by the corners of her eyes responded lightly. After all, she couldn't pause time as Harry could. In 1947, Joan was already over fourty; was already old.
Tom stood still, his eyes dropping.
She dared to die, but he didn't dare kill her. He needed to keep something to remind himself; to remind himself of the past; to remind himself of every minute and second he once spent with Harry.
Joan's a witness. She can't die.
Tom Riddle was only 21 years old; he was high-spirited, had a perfect future, and was well-read with an unparalleled memory - he'd never fall under a disease that would cause memory loss like Alzheimer's. But what made him panic, what he was forced to restlessly admit, was he had begun to forget.
He remembered every detail in his plan to dominate; remembered the fatal weakness of every Pureblood family; remembered every trick for deceiving people, but everything about Harry had gradually begun to blur in his memories.
The Dark Lord, who'd always been arrogant and confident, was panicking.
He'd returned to the vicious cycle he'd been trying to get rid of.
Because of Harry's disappearance, his heartbeat seemed to have become strange. He began to have trouble breathing; even taking deep inhales of air to try and expand his lungs to the maximum couldn't rid the suffocating feeling. His internal organs would twitch and convulse; he'd always be thinking in a trance; his emotions were like an awakening volcano, causing his fury to erupt even with the slightest disobedience from others.
He was back to his most hateful and weakest state.
In his fifth year, he resolutely made a Horcrux, storing all his memories in the diary with satisfaction; he believed that if he removed Harry from his mind he'd no longer be influenced by him, that the idea that he'd 'like' and 'love' anyone would become impossible.
But five years later, when he finally found the opportunity to completely forget Harry and get rid of his weakness, he panicked.
He didn't want to forget!
He didn't want to forget how that person brought him home; didn't want to forget how that person hugged him to sleep; didn't want to forget how that person took him by the hand and led him into the Wizarding World!
The Slytherin descendant suddenly swept away all the objects on the table, glass and ceramics shattering with a crisp sound and creating a complete mess. He bared his teeth, his sharp fangs pressed against his lips so tightly the skin seemed to almost cut open.
These were his things! His memories, emotions, possessions… Everything was branded with Tom Riddle's name; if he was unwilling to give them up, then nobody could take them away from him!
However, Fate was far beyond the capabilities of humans.
"Abraxas…" Tom sat in the head seat, his spoon stirring his bowl of thick soup. "How's your son?"
A year ago, the unforgettable, young and frivolous Malfoy became restrained and humble; perhaps it was because the person sitting in the head seat had become powerful enough to control him. "Lord, Lucius is doing fine. Yesterday, he learnt to call out 'Dad'."
Tom looked up and smiled. "Malfoy, I believe it's time for our agreement to be implemented."
Abraxas lowered his head, unspeaking, covering the unwillingness and desperation in his eyes.
Their agreement was cruel and straightforward.
"Taking our friendship into consideration, I'll let your bloodline continue. After that, you'll surrender your life."
He was unwilling to accept it - why should he pay his life for a dead man who had already disappeared for a year?
The Lord he'd put his loyalty upon rose from his seat, his jade-black hair making him appear especially handsome. "I allow you to choose how to die, but in the end, you must die."
One phrase determined his fate.
Tom Riddle long held the power to influence another's life and death.
Over time, his memory had begun to fade faster and faster.
Joan, who he'd always locked in the basement, wore a puzzled expression when faced with his query.
It wasn't just him. The entire world was erasing the traces of Harry Potter; or rather, Harry Potter had abandoned this era.
Until one day, he woke up from his sleep and decided to wash up and attend his meeting, before suddenly realising it was far too early for the meeting to commence.
Nobody had woken him up; nobody dared to wake him up.
If Harry was here...
Who's Harry?
The thought passed in a flash, but the Slytherin's features suddenly distorted.
Even though he could deliberately remember, he still couldn't resist subconsciously forgetting.
He couldn't forget! If he was unwilling to give them up, then nobody could take them away from him!
He needed to seal these memories, just like how he sealed his soul!
Wait, sealed… His soul?
Horcrux!
The Slytherin advocated Dark magic, whilst Horcruxes were an incomparably evil form of Dark magic; it was a sharp weapon Tom Riddle could firmly believe in!
Since even the soul could be sealed, since it could even resist the normal laws of life, then it'd definitely be able to seal something as measly as memories!
As long as something's branded with Tom Riddle's name, no form of power would ever be able to take it away!
And so, Tom Riddle sealed his most painful yet sweetest memory, along with a piece of his soul, into his Slytherin pendant, and left it in the cave he once arranged as a cage.
Three decades later, it was destroyed in the hands of another Slytherin.
The young but brave Slytherin left these words:
To the Dark Lord,
I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can.
I face death in the hope that when you meet your match you will be mortal once more.
He'd always been mortal, it's just his destined match wasn't ruthless enough; with resolution, he would back down step-by-step, forgive him little-by-little, always reluctant to cast Avada Kedavra. You could say his match was cowardly, hesitant and feminine; but you wouldn't deny that he was sincere, optimistic and persevering.
"Lord, the woman you locked in the basement tried to escape," someone reported to him.
He stopped writing, tapping the nib against the parchment, letting the ink flow freely. "What woman? Why is she locked up in the basement?"
The man scratched his head in distress. "Uh… I don't remember, my Lord, but it shouldn't be a big deal. She wasn't sure either."
He nodded indifferently. "Leave her alone; let her escape. I can't afford to support idlers here."
No matter how deep one's love, how unforgettable an experience, how passionate one's feelings burned - the reduction of the universe to a single being, the expansion of a single being even to God, that is love - in the end, it still couldn't match against Fate and time.
The Greeks once said, the Gods believe loving someone unreasonably is against common sense.
To love someone too deeply is blasphemy.
What's more, Tom never admitted he was in love.
Fate moved silently, unchangeably, driving destiny and history to gradually coincide. Even before one had begun thinking of changing, Fate would already have finished a layout plan, steadily maintaining history's trajectory.
This was a game set up by Fate; all beings were just pawns, unable to escape from the black and white squares of the chessboard. Even if they did escape, the chess pieces would merely lose their purpose, and a human would no longer be human.
