Witch by the bird and the bee
Tom watches himself as he presses her back against him, as he holds her by the throat, as he says those words. And then he looks at her expression and understands. He'd worked so hard to have her and he had never realized why he was actually failing.
It's not that she loves Cain so much that she'd choose him if Tom let her.
It's not that she wants to make Cain happy so badly that she'll accept being unhappy.
It's that she'll never be able to look at Tom without thinking about him.
Not with the way things are now, at least, he thinks. She's afraid, and it's never going to go away if she has even an inkling of a doubt that things could end up the way they did last time. If he wants her to choose him, it has to be a choice for her. A real one that she can walk away from. He has to risk that her choice won't be him. That it won't be them at all. That she will be gone. Not just out of his grasp. Out of his sight. Out of his life. Maybe not today, but some day. Is he ready for that? Would he be even after a thousand years? Especially after a thousand years?
Who is he kidding, pretending those are real questions.
But he can't keep her broken, and he cannot let her die.
It's an easy answer, and the hardest choice he's ever had to make.
"Cassandra," he calls out to get her attention. The scene turns fuzzy as her attention shifts to him. He hisses, "This is the past, and it can be the past forever if you want it to be."
The memory fades and it is just the two of them standing in that opulent bathroom again. She does not turn or respond, just staring back at him through the mirror as if in a trance. He takes a step closer to her, careful to move slowly.
"You understand what I am saying, don't you? I didn't give you a choice that night, but I will give you one now," he says. Still nothing. He takes another step. Then he takes a knee and reaches his right hand out. "This should still work, even here. If it does not, I promise we will redo it once you wake up. If you would be so kind as to give me your hand, Cass."
She turns finally, staring down at him as she nearly whispers, "You can't be serious."
He tilts an eyebrow and forces a smirk, "Why would I be offering if I'm not?
She starts to reach out and then hesitates,"This has to be a trick. You'd never…"
"I'm not him, Cassandra. If this is how I have to prove that to you, I will," he insists. When she still does not move, he reaches up to take her hand. She does not resist as he pulls it forward. Luckily, he's powerful enough not to need his wand for this. "Ask away, little harpy."
"Will you," she starts, voice shaking. She takes a breath and starts again. "Will you, Tom Riddle, refrain from injuring, harming, or killing Cain Rosier in any way, including through injury to others, emotional or mental manipulation, or inducing others to cause him any harm?"
"I will," he says, watching as a thin stream of golden light wraps around their hands.
"Will you, if I should wish to, allow me to leave without repercussion or interference?"
"I will."
"Should I do so, will you cease all contact and abstain from all efforts to find me?"
"I will," he answers. She nods and falls silent. He takes that as his cue. "Now I have one for you, little harpy. Will you rest?"
"I will," she replies, an informal promise instead of a formal vow like the ones he had made. The golden chains around their hands glow for a second before fading into his skin.
The world starts to fade to black and he slips out.
Cain is staring at him when he comes back to reality, but Tom is too drained to care. He lays his head down on the pillow next to hers and tries to clear his mind. Unsuccessfully, as within moments he is interrupted by Cain spitting out, "Shouldn't you be leaving?"
"Shouldn't you?" Tom mumbles back, not bothering to look up.
"Do you really want to keep doing this to her after seeing that? She thinks of you as - "
"How about you? Can you really claim to deserve her after seeing what you let her go through just because you were too much of a coward to intervene? Then and now. You let him get her in his grasp - something you should have learned from, and yet you still let me do the same thing a decade later."
Cain falls silent for a few seconds, scowling. Finally, he whispers as if to himself, "We both fucked up, didn't we?"
Tom blinks, a slow sigh escaping him before he mutters, "I just wanted - nevermind."
"That's all I wanted too," Cain admits before pausing again, fiddling with the edge of the blanket covering her. "If it's any consolation, I think she did. In her own way. I guess it wouldn't have been so awful if we hadn't both thought the same."
Tom takes a deep breath before sitting up and looking him in the eye, "It doesn't matter now, does it? I'm going to the potions lab. They need you to fill out some paperwork here."
Two weeks pass, a blur of boiling hot cauldrons and stark white walls and endless failed attempts. She's stable, at least. But there is a world of difference between stable and truly alive. Tom does nothing else but read and brew and think. He can't bring himself to sit still at her side for even a minute. Cain is the one who keeps vigil over her bedside, who talks to the healers and shares what they've learned.
Finally, Tom runs out of ideas and books to check. He's exhausted his own collection, as well as the Rosier family library and every public repository available to him. He's even written to Slughorn without luck. Time to expand the search, even if that means other people finding out what's happened.
He starts with Lestrange. Given his friendship with Cain, he seems like a relatively safe choice. Moreover, his family has one of the largest libraries in Europe. He sets a meeting with Lestrange to visit it the next day, since one has to be accompanied by a family member to gain and retain access to the building.
Lestrange is lounging in an armchair by the fire catching a snitch spelled to float around in front of him. Tom is sitting against a shelf skimming through a stack of books he has pulled, disappointed to find little new information among them. Her collection is much more eccentric, he thinks. He wishes he could access it, but without her the place has locked itself down. No floo connection. No apparating onto it. No stepping anywhere near the grounds, in fact, as the forest around the house is seemingly spelled to lead travelers on a wild goose chase.
Tom looks up when the snitch falls to the ground as the enchantment on it fades, glaring at Lestrange for the noise. Instead of spelling it again, Lestrange just looks back at Tom, his bored face betrayed by his shining eyes, "You must actually care about Cassandra if you're doing all this for her, right?"
Tom does not appreciate the informal tone from one of his followers. Nevertheless, as he is the one imposing on Lestrange right now, he lets it go. He answers slyly, "She's very useful."
Undeterred, Lestrange continues by nonchalantly asking, "Was there a moment?"
Tom's eyes sharpen to a glare, "Excuse me?"
"When you knew she was special," Lestrange says with a false smile. "Was there a certain thing that made you feel that way?"
The memory of Dolohov screaming comes back to him. But had it been then, or even before then? When she'd expertly manipulated Malfoy in the casino? When she'd created the perfect potion for him? When she'd confessed to killing a man?
"There were many things," he simply says, looking back down at the book.
Lestrange frowns at his answer, pausing before firing out, "Have you ever thought there was something strange about Cassandra?"
"It depends how one defines strange, doesn't it?"
"Strangely compelling."
"That's hardly any more specific," Tom replies. He does not miss the way Lestrange rolls his eyes and sighs in response.
"I mean she has a tendency to make most men do foolish things, in my experience. Cain nearly killed himself jumping off a cliff - along with a dozen others - to impress her when we were teenagers. I guess his inheritance wouldn't have come soon enough to catch her eye those days," Lestrange sneers, sitting up straight now. "In another incident, she wandered off into the forest and a group of them went looking for her. When they didn't return within a few hours, the house elves had to be organized in to a search team to find them. It's a bit odd, isn't it, how she seems to inspire such extreme gestures?"
"What exactly are you alleging? That she had all of those people under a love potion?"
She can't have given him a love potion, Tom thinks. It wouldn't work on him anyway, according to all the scholarly studies done on it. She doesn't want him to love her anyway. Regardless, Lestrange is right. There is something strange about her, something he had been meaning to find out before all of this had distracted him. Lestrange falls silent, seemingly confirming he has not found the answer either. Tom grows impatient.
"Envy engenders spite. Spite spawns lies, Lestrange," he spits out. He knows, though he has never said, that Lestrange is not at all interested in all the lovely pureblood girls he brings around to events. He knows, though he has never said it, that Lestrange is interested in Cain.
"I am not envious. Simply trying to help you. And my best friend," Lestrange lies.
"If you think you know something that will help, just spit it out."
"I'm sure you'll be disinclined to believe me unless you reach the conclusion yourself."
"Tell me what you want me to believe and I will see if I do," Tom challenges. Lestrange meets his stare, holding it for a second before speaking again, voice low.
"A beautiful woman with golden hair and pale skin, skilled at dancing and wandless magic, with the ability to conjure and control fire instinctively, who mesmerizes most men. What does that sound like to you?"
"Cassandra is not a veela."
"How would you know?"
"I've examined generations of her family tree. There's not a single veela among them. All pureblood witches from established and well-known families. And since veela traits are only passed down maternally, that means it would be impossible for an affair to result in an illegitimate heir who did have them."
Lestrange leans back again, quiet for a moment, before muttering, "That's true."
Tom observes him for a minute before saying, "And yet you don't believe it."
"How could I? She basically confirmed it herself. It doesn't make any sense. Unless she was lying but - "
"She confirmed it?"
Lestrange's eyes go wide, realizing he's accidentally let slip more than he meant to. After scrambling for a few minutes for an excuse and failing to find one, he admits, "Yes."
"Why didn't you start with that?"
"Because you still don't believe me. Introducing the idea to you by saying that would have elicited a far more… shall we say heated response, wouldn't it have?"
Tom knows he's right. Someone accusing her of hiding something like that from him would surely have regretted the consequences. He prods, "So why risk mentioning this now?"
Lestrange leans back, looking up at the ceiling as he replies softly, "I might not care for her, but there is someone else I do care for that's being affected by all of this. Even though that person will never care for me in the same way, I can't sit back and allow them to suffer merely due to my own suffering."
So it is as he thought. Well, there is no denying the traits Lestrange has listed do match. The similarity does seem questionable, at the very least. And he's open to trying anything at this point, no matter how impossible it seems.
Tom stands, "Where's the magical creatures section?"
It takes him all evening, but he finally recalibrates the potion to account for the different sensitives to certain ingredients between veelas and wizards. By the next afternoon, he has a first batch prepared. He takes it to St. Mungo's just in time for the healer's daily rounds.
The healer tries it. No luck. Again. Of course. To be honest, he'd expected as much. Lestrange must have been lying. Or perhaps he was telling the truth but she'd been lying to mess with him. Either way, the result is the same.
Tom grips his wand and wishes he could kill the entire useless staff of this useless place, starting with the healer in front of him, but he knows that wouldn't be productive. Evidently, so does Cain, because he strategically moves to position himself between the two of them. Tom collapses into one of the chairs, tired and out of ideas.
He doesn't know when he falls asleep or how, but the next thing he remembers is mumbling beside him. He comes to too late, just registering the door swinging shut again as the healer walks out.
"Whatever you did this time seems to have worked a little," Cain says from his side. From her side, where they both are. "Her temperature went up slightly and there don't seem to be any adverse effects. They are going to try brewing a stronger batch."
It takes him a moment to process what that means. For his mind to catch up to the temporary rush of happiness and send him spiraling right back down again.
If the potion worked, that meant Lestrange had been right. That meant she wasn't a pureblood. Wasn't even a witch, really. That meant she'd lied to him. Hidden this for him for a year and a half. That meant everything they'd been working toward had been a sham. It can't have been. She'd been so passionate, and he'd done the research, and there was no way he wouldn't have noticed something like this.
He stands, bracing himself against the bed, seeing his hand shaking as he curls the sheets under his fingertips. He looks at her face, eyes closed, hair fanned out across the pillow and he thinks no. She can't have betrayed him like this.
Perhaps there is another explanation. The cumulative effects of all the potions finally adding up, or maybe the original poison starting to weaken itself over time.
There has to be another explanation. He takes out an empty potion vial from his pocket and his wand, magically pricking her finger so that he can capture a few drops of blood.
"What are you doing?" Cain inquires, scowling.
"I need to check something," Tom answers simply.
"To fix the potion?"
"Partially."
"They can do that."
"No. This isn't something - it's best to do it myself."
"So there's something you don't want them to know," Cain asks, an eyebrow raised. Tom stays silent. Cain ventures a guess, "Did you put something dangerous in it?"
"No, and that's all you need to know."
"You're really not going to tell me?"
"No."
"I have a right to know just as much as you do."
"If you did, you would know."
"How am I supposed to know if you don't tell me? I'm stuck here all day answering questions while you - "
"What a heavy burden to carry, getting to be by her side as you've always wanted while I am out running around looking for a way to fix this problem you made."
"I made? You're the one who - "
"You proposed and she said no, right? That's what led to this. You reminded her of - "
"No, you do! You have since the beginning. Constantly. It's no wonder why. If you cared at all about her, you would leave - as you know she would want you to do if she was awake."
"Do not presume things about our relationship or her thoughts on it," Tom says, voice deathly quiet. "Remember, she still preferred to spend her nights in bed with me rather than with you. Ask yourself what that says."
Cain stands, fists curled up at his side, "Remember that she still… No, nevermind. Doing this again is pointless. Go do your tests."
Cain turns away, striding over to the windows on the opposite side of the room to look out of them silently. Tom closes the vial and leaves without another word.
When he adds the species categorization potion to the blood and it turns pink, Tom instinctively recoils, dropping the vial. The shattering echos around the potions factory, but the small puddle in front of him stays put, evidence that he hasn't made a mistake.
How has it taken all of this for him to truly know her and all of the secrets she has been keeping? He'd told her who he was, why would she have put up the act of hiding who she was - what she was - all of this time?
He whips back on his robe and apparates to the lobby of St. Mungos, determined to get an explanation even if that means diving into her mind again.
Instead, what he's met with is an empty room where she had been only hours ago.
He stomps back down the hallway until he finds a medi-witch coming the other way. He demands, "Where has the patient in the corner room gone?"
She blushes, "Apologies, sir, I believe someone should have informed you - "
He forces a smile as he says, "Well, they didn't, so can you?"
She fumbles with the clipboard in her hand, "Let me just check the chart… here we - "
Before the medi-witch can mutter an answer, another one rushes over, interrupting by saying, "You'll need to check in with the front desk, sir."
Tom turns his attention to her, trying his best to keep his tone polite, "Why is that?"
"All visitors are required to check in with the front desk every time they leave and reenter the premises. It's procedure. I'm not sure how you got into the elevator, however - "
"It's just a simple question, and it looks like she's already got the answer right there. Wouldn't it be easier for everyone to deal with this matter quickly, right here?"
"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm afraid we aren't authorized to divulge that information."
"Why not?"
"As I said, it's procedure. If you would kindly - "
"It seems odd that after several weeks of visiting this floor I am hearing of this procedure for the first time today."
"Sir, I'm sure the front desk would be more than happy to inform - "
"Just give me her new location," Tom demands, dropping the act.
"Unfortunately, sir, as I said, we aren't authorized to, You can take the elevator down - "
"I will not be doing that, nor following this ridiculous procedure," he says tersely, wand clutched tightly at his side. "It would be easier for everyone if you just told me right now."
"Mr. Riddle," a familiar voice comes from behind him. That healer, Pollingtonious. Tom's eyes remain resolutely fixed on the nurses, staring them down. "I would be more than happy to explain further. But, first, kindly put your wand away. You'll find it won't do any good anyway, since only authorized wands belonging to facility personnel can use offensive or defensive magic within these walls."
Tom tucks his wand back in his pocket, finally turning to stare at him. He hears the nurses scurrying away and waits until they are alone in the corridor before asking, "If I go down to the front desk, I won't get any further than I did with those two, will I?"
He nods, face drawn, "I am afraid you have been removed from Ms. Malecrit's authorized visitor list. As such, it is my duty to ask you to leave."
"Rosier?"
"Yes."
"She woke up."
"What makes you think that?"
"He wouldn't have let her be moved in her prior state."
"She'll be comfortable and recover well. You have nothing to worry about."
"I am sure you understand why I may have trouble taking your word for that."
"Here," the healer says, holding out a card. "Once the tests to make sure she's stable and mentally aware are done, she'll have control over decisions again, at least formally. Write me in a few days and I'll deliver your request to her personally, then let you know when she gives the go ahead. However, for now, I'll have to ask you again - "
"Leave. Yeah, I got it," Tom says, turning on his heel, anger he can't act on bubbling inside of him. He doesn't even know at who anymore.
A/N: OMG, this story has gotten so long. And we're like maybe half way through? Is it time to call it and make this a multi-part fic? I mean, this is ridiculous. When I started writing this, I never imagined it would be this involved. Believe it or not, this started off as a fairly simple idea! I'm curious to hear what my darling readers think now - Did this story go where you expected? What do you think will/should happen next?
Anyway, sorry for the long wait, had writers block and then personal issues came up. Next chapter is already written a bit, so should be a shorter wait. However, I do only expect to update every three to four weeks from now on because it's finals season and I will have a summer job. Want me to update faster? Review, it really works! I get most of my inspiration to write from people interacting with the story. You can also ask questions, keep updated on my stories, and even send prompts you want to see me write via tumblr: hogwartsmeangirls. Hope you all liked this chapter and can't wait to hear from you :) Also hope you listen to the song because its awesome.