Chapter Ten

Dumbledore was in the kitchen speaking with Severus by the time the three teens returned. No doubt he desired an update about their lessons. Tom eyed the two suspiciously, but Severus had been a double agent for years. There was, unfortunately, very little he could tell visually about the man's loyalties. He would have to trust in the combination of vow and ritual.

He flushed at the memory of his weakness and turned away. As he did, Hedwig fluttered in and landed on the back of his usual chair. She cocked her head at him expectantly. Tom looked back. "Yes?" he asked. She had no letter for him.

Hoot.

Simple looking turned to irritated staring. Tom frowned. "What do you want?" he hissed. No doubt Potter had some absurd routine for her that she was expecting, but giving his identity away now would be an awful way for her to repay him for not killing her.

"Treats," Hermione whispered.

Tom glanced at her. "What?"

With a huff, Hermione strode out of the room and up the stairs. Tom followed, more sedately until he realized she was entering his room. He caught up to her just as she opened his trunk. "What are you-"

She threw him a bag of owl treats. "She wants treats." For a moment, it seemed like she would leave, but just before she passed him to leave, she pulled back. She looked at him, wavering, before swallowing hard and taking a deep, calming breath. "Harry would know that."

Tom opened his mouth, paused, and shut it again. Treats. He'd been revealed by owl treats of all things. Had Potter infected him with his ridiculous brand of luck as well?

Hermione stood in the middle of his room watching him, but what could he do with Dumbledore in the house? The best he could manage was to throw locking and silencing charms at the door.

"Who are you?" Hermione asked quietly at last, once it was clear he wasn't going to deny it.

Tom snorted and leaned against the door, arms crossed. "You tell me, brightest witch of her age."

Her brown eyes narrowed. "You haven't been taking Polyjuice, and I can't believe that Professor Snape wouldn't have realized it if you were someone else simply using glamours. That's Harry's trunk, and Hedwig recognizes you, so that's almost certainly Harry's body, which means you're possessing him."

Tom made a see-sawing motion with his hand. "More or less," he agreed. Possession wasn't quite the correct term, but the difference wasn't important for the sake of this conversation.

Hermione pursed her lips in thought. "The most reasonable answer should be that you're You-Know… No, V-Voldemort, but that doesn't make any sense. You've acted nothing like the man Harry described. He was… is… insane, and you clearly aren't." She checked his reaction, but he didn't so much as twitch. "But… you are a bit like how Ginny and Harry described Tom Riddle from the diary, before he became V-Voldemort." She looked at him defiantly. "You're a horcrux."

Almost immediately, her brow furrowed again. "But where on earth would Harry have run into another horcrux? It's not like Voldemort would have left them just lying around."

Tom rolled his eyes and crossed the room toward her. Hermione flinched back, but he merely opened his trunk and withdrew the locket from the warded bottom. "There was, actually, a horcrux in this house," he said, showing her the necklace, "but the one you're looking for was made by accident. It's been with your friend all along." He tapped the lightning bolt scar and smiled thinly. "The dementor took Potter's soul, releasing me."

Hermione's gaze flickered past him toward the door. "Why hasn't anyone done anything? Professor Snape can't possibly not have realized given the Occlumency lessons."

"Severus agreed to keep my secret in return for my vow that I would discover a way to rescue Potter's soul from the dementor."

Hedwig hooted her agreement.

There was a moment of surprise, then the muggleborn girl's jaw clenched. "What are you trying to do?"

Tom studied her. This was not the way he'd have liked to come out, as it were, but it seemed as though the girl was willing to be reasonable. He'd apparently navigated this correctly so far. He only needed to make it the rest of the way through the conversation. At worst, he'd Obliviate her, but even professional Obliviations did some damage to the mind. Potter's magic was still not as controlled as he'd like, and he didn't want to destroy her intellect.

Decided, he went for, more or less, the truth. "I will rescue Potter's soul, if possible, as I vowed. I will defeat Lord Voldemort such that he will cease to be an issue, then use the fame and public goodwill for doing so to get myself a position high in our society, ideally Minister or Headmaster, but that will likely depend on my age at the time. I would settle for becoming a professor for a few years if I'm too young to be granted a higher position. From there, I will place my allies in other positions of power, and we will change the world."

"So mudbloods like me are exterminated or, at best, lower-class citizens?" Hermione asked scathingly.

Tom blinked. "Of course not," he said. "That's Lord Voldemort's agenda. It would make no sense for me to follow it."

Hermione glared at him. "What, so suddenly you like muggles?"

Rolling his eyes, Tom turned his desk chair to face her and sat. "I don't 'like' muggles, as you say, but I do respect their power. I grew up in the time that they were unleashing weapon after weapon against each other, remember. I know full well that muggles have it in them to destroy the world, and magic will not save us from that.

"Lord Voldemort's agenda was merely a practical one. I had a society filled with discontent, powerful, rich, disorganized Purebloods just waiting for a leader to bring them together. Muggleborns, on the other hand, had already flocked around Dumbledore, who hated me at first sight. It was an easy choice to make." He shrugged. "Now, Dumbledore is aged, and Harry Potter is situated nicely to succeed him. It is, again, an easy choice."

Hermione seemed torn. "You did so much evil just because… it was easier?" she asked, sounding somehow more upset than before.

Tom cocked his head. "Would you feel better if I had done it because I hated the people I killed?" He wondered at her naivety. Some of the worst evils were committed simply because it was the easier path.

"Yes! No, I… I don't know," Hermione admitted. "It just seems wrong." She bit her lip. "Are you going to kill me?" She was trembling slightly, he noticed, and Tom suddenly appreciated the amount of sheer Gryffindorish idiocy required to confront him like this. It was almost admirable.

"No," he said. "At worst, I'll erase your memories and try this conversation again when I've had more time to prepare for it."

She laughed, the sound half hysterical. He let her, examining the locket as she sorted herself. He could feel the presence inside, but only as something Dark. It didn't feel like his. That was distressing.

"Why?" He looked up as Hermione finally spoke again. "Why not kill me? Or why not Obliviate me right away? Why are you acting... like... " She faltered, floundering for words, but Tom thought he understood.

"Hermione," he said seriously, "I don't want to kill you, and you're far too brilliant to risk damaging. If you've done any research on the spell, you'll know that even skilled Obliviators leave behind some small damage. I'd prefer not to take the risk if it isn't necessary."

"Even though I'm a muggleborn?" she asked, a note of challenge to her tone.

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Of course. Blood doesn't matter to me. Even as Lord Voldemort, I attempted to recruit Lily Evans, you know." After all, if he could have an inbred witch for a mother and a filthy child-abandoning muggle for a father, blood clearly couldn't be all that important.

"What do you want from me?"

Tom considered that carefully, because even though he already knew the answer, it was important to word things correctly here. "At the least, I want the legitimacy your friendship lends me. Beyond that, I want your help revolutionizing wizarding society. I may not always agree with your plans, but I will listen to your input and, if I disagree, will explain why and give you the chance to modify your plans to something that agrees with the both of us." He smiled softly. "Having seen the results, I agree that the dictatorship Lord Voldemort desires is a poor choice, but democracy is too slow. Surely you can see that. This is my compromise." He stepped closer, ignoring her discomfort, and took her hands in his. "Please, Hermione. Help me change Magical Britain for the better."

She started to nod before realizing what she was doing. Her eyes widened, and she snatched her hands away, shooting him a suspicious look. "I want reassurances in the form of vows," she said. He had her.

"Not the ritual?" he asked with the barest hint of a smirk.

Her face pinked, and she bit her lip. "That too," she decided. "For now though, I want vows that you'll rescue Harry and… and that you won't require me to do anything Dark or illegal and... that you won't kill any innocents."

"Very well," he replied easily. The first vow he'd already made, so repeating it would cost him nothing. As for the second, he very much suspected that the girl would do those things of her own accord if he gave her the right information. After all, really, what thirteen-year-old decides to brew Polyjuice in a bathroom stall? The third, on the other hand, was merely poorly worded. What defines an innocent? A newborn child? Fine. He had no reason to kill any of those anyway. Not after the disaster he encounted the last time he attempted to murder a child. "In return, I want your vow that you will help me keep my identity secret."

With a wave of his wand, he made the vows. Hermione watched suspiciously until he was finished, then seemed to relax minutely. "Thanks," she said with the sort of confusion most often seen in people who've found themselves saying 'you too' after a waiter tells them to enjoy their meal. She made her own vow without hesitation.

Tom nodded shortly and removed the spells from his door. He glanced at the owl who'd started the entire mess and sighed. She looked entirely too pleased with herself. Still, it was better to give her the treats she'd demanded before she decided to engineer any other discoveries. He brought one to her, which she ate with an appreciative preck. Only then did she hop from her stand over to the bed and gently retrieve a letter from under the sheets.

It was from Skeeter. As he read it, a grin crept across his face. He noticed Hermione next to him, reading over his shoulder. The moment she realized he was looking at her though, she jumped back as though burnt. Tom sighed. "Hermione, I've been Tom Riddle the entire time I've been here. If I haven't cursed you yet, I'm unlikely to now."

She flushed, but obligingly returned to her original position.

The letter requested a time and place to meet. Tom quickly wrote on the back, 'Between Numbers 11 and 13, Grimmauld Place, London. August 13th,' and gave it to Hedwig, along with another treat. Hedwig hooted happily and flew off.

He watched her until she'd disappeared, then sighed heavily. Dumbledore was probably still down there. "Dinner?" he suggested.

Hermione hesitated. "I'll… be along in a minute, if you don't mind," she said quietly.

Tom eyed her warily, but nodded. He returned the locket to his trunk and warded it again lest she get any ideas, then left. A second after he'd closed the door behind him, he heard a choked sob, then a high keening sound more akin to a wounded animal than a teenage girl. He stared at the door silently. It wasn't an unfamiliar sound. Humans he'd tortured past their limits, to the point where the pain was too intense to even cry, made that sound sometimes. Frowning, he flicked his wand and restored the silencing charm on his room. With the girl no longer audible, he returned to the kitchen for dinner.

When he reached the door to the kitchen, the rest of the teenagers in the house were leaving, dinners in hand. He supposed there was an Order meeting about to happen then. Sure enough, when he entered, Dumbledore was there, in addition to a number of Order members, some of whom Tom had never seen before. The Headmaster glanced at Tom as he entered. "Where is Miss Granger?" he asked, but he didn't seem particularly concerned.

Tom shrugged. "She said she needed a minute."

"I see. Would you be so kind as to bring her dinner to her? I'm afraid this was the only time I could find to hold this meeting." The man stood, and everyone quieted. Mrs. Weasley brought Tom two plates while quite obviously not looking at him. It looked more ridiculous than anything else, Tom thought. Dumbledore spoke again before Tom could leave the room. "If you would wait one moment, however, there is something I would like you to hear."

Tom turned, glancing at Severus, who ignored him, expression impassive.

Dumbledore nodded. "Thank you. I heard that there was an argument this morning regarding love potions. Certain people have come to me to request that I share my opinion on the matter, so I shall." Mrs. Weasley looked smug now, and Tom wondered that he'd ever found her tolerable. Dumbledore continued, "I dislike love potions, which is why I have expressly forbidden Professor Snape from teaching them, although they have historically been a part of the curriculum. However, almost all traditional families use them for one reason or another, so I can not forbid them. To do so could very well push otherwise Light families into the arms of our enemies." He looked directly at Mrs. Weasley. "I will not censor anyone for expressing their preference toward using love potions, but as Mister Potter's guardian whilst Sirius remains a fugitive, I will ask that he not be subjected to them. Minerva has requested the same as Miss Granger's Head of House."

That was… surprising. Tom supposed even Dumbledore could be sensible on occasion, although his passive attitude toward the problem was worse than useless.

Mrs. Weasley looked ready to cry. Dumbledore looked away from her, toward Tom. "Mister Potter, I hope you will convey to Miss Granger my deepest regrets for any distress she experienced in regards to this matter."

Tom nodded smoothly. "Of course, Headmaster." He left, not particularly surprised to find Ginny, Ron, and the twins still on the other side of the door waiting for him, dinner in hand.

"Where's Hermione?" Ginny asked immediately.

"In my room," Tom replied.

Ron reddened. "Why -"

Before he could finish his sentence, the twins looked at each other, mischievous grins sliding across their faces. "In your room-"

"-you say? Tell us -"

"-what exactly -"

"-is the delectable Miss Granger -"

"-doing there?"

Tom grimaced. "How much do I have to pay you to get you to stop that?" he asked seriously.

Both boys grinned. "Sorry, but we -"

"- can't stop this -"

"- for any price."

Closing his eyes, Tom took a deep breath. He regarded them tiredly. "Fine. To answer your question, I don't know what she's doing specifically. She wanted a moment of privacy, and I lent her my room for it." He turned to Ginny. "Can we go to the library? I don't want to hold these plates all day."

Ron followed them, still obviously upset, but at least waited until they were sitting before starting in on him. "What were you doing with Hermione?" he demanded.

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Talking," he said coolly. "I hear friends do that occasionally."

Naturally, this just incensed the young Gryffindor more. "What were you -"

Tom cut him off. "It is very much none of your business," he said. He gave his head a shake. He'd had more than enough of this day. Jaw clenched, he stood. "Sorry, Ginny. I'm going to bed early tonight." He flicked his wand, vanishing his dinner, and left.

He ran into Hermione just outside the library. The way she flinched upon seeing him didn't improve his mood. "Your dinner's in there," he said curtly. "Good night."

"Wait," Hermione whispered, grabbing his wrist.

"What?" he bit out. He noticed that although her eyes were a bit red, she otherwise showed no signs of her earlier distress. That was something at least.

Hermione peered at him, examining him right back. "What's -" She cut herself off. "Nevermind. When can we do the ritual?" She smiled wanly. "I think it'll help me trust you more too," she admitted.

Tom grit his teeth. Ideally, it was something that should be done as soon as possible. In that regard, he should tell her to come to his room tonight. Even so, her timing was terrible. It wasn't her fault - not entirely anyway. He clenched his fist, digging his nails into the palm of his hand until the pain could distract him from his frustration. "Tonight then," he said. "Once everyone's asleep. I've already set up the runes."

"Alright," said Hermione.

He left before she could say anything else.

Once he was back in his room, he retrieved the locket and sighed. It still felt like, more or less, nothing. Was that how it'd been before? Had there ever been a connection between himself and his horcruxes? He frowned. No, he'd had that vision. Clearly he was still connected to Voldemort. Did the horcruxes not connect to each other then? If that were the case, he may as well assume the horcruxes were useless to him.

He thought back to Potter's interactions with the diary and with Voldemort and had to reluctantly acknowledge that Potter didn't seem to have had any reaction to the diary. In that case, it was more like a star, with all points connecting to the center, than a web, where they would connect to each other as well. He pursed his lips. Open, he hissed.

The locket opened, and the sense of Darkness increased. He felt it trying to pull information from him to use, but there was no sense of recognition.

"Avada Kedavra," he said. A flash of green light hit the locket. Inky black smoke emerged from it with an ear-numbingly high shriek, then dissipated. The locket fell to the ground, and he kicked it away from him, feeling cold.

He hated this. He'd never even intended to make Potter into a horcrux.

Hoot.

He glared at the snowy owl as she landed on his shoulder.

Hoot.

"Why are you even here? Weren't you Potter's familiar? You can't have missed that I'm someone else, can you?"

Hedwig cocked her head with an air of exasperation. In reply, she started preening his hair, moving each piece carefully without pulling on it.

Tom endured the affection stoically. "You are not my familiar," he told her.

The owl moved so she could look at his face.

"You aren't."

She hooted indignantly.

"If I had a familiar, it would be a snake," he said firmly.

Hoot? she replied curiously.

Tom lifted his chin. "Of course. I'm a Parselmouth. If I can speak to snakes, doesn't it make the most sense that my familiar would be a snake?"

Hedwig bobbed her head, and Tom got the distinct feeling she was laughing at him. It was ridiculous to be arguing with an owl anyway. She would do what she wanted, and if it became too much trouble, he could always kill her.

Like the locket.

He looked at it again. His link to the main soul remained silent. It seemed impossible that the creator wouldn't sense the destruction of their horcruxes, but… He flopped back onto his bed, arm over his eyes. It had been a poor attempt at immortality, he decided. There were other methods. He just needed to find one he could make work for himself.

Not the Philosopher's Stone, unfortunately. He had some ideas about how to create one, but he didn't believe the Flamels were dead, no matter what Dumbledore claimed. They'd managed to hunt down and destroy every subsequent attempt at creating a stone for the past six centuries. Even he wasn't arrogant enough to believe he'd fare any better.

The book Hermione found had some ideas on the subject as well, but it was all very harmonious and love and peace. Even if he were inclined to attempt immortality that way, the lack of immortal covens hanging about indicated the rituals didn't work very well.

Speaking of...

There was a knock at the door, and he cursed to himself. What time was it? He hurried to open it, letting Hermione in. Once the door was closed, she handed him a vial with, presumably, her blood and backed up to let him uncover the runes hidden under the rug.

Straight to business then? That was fine with him. Tom would rather that she be on her way as quickly as possible. That in mind, he moved quickly and efficiently about the room, finishing preparations for the ritual. The muggleborn girl watched him with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. That was fine. He wasn't doing anything but what she'd asked for herself.

At last he was done, and they faced each other from opposite sides of the circle. He raised an eyebrow. "Do you know the words?" He assumed the answer was yes - this girl thrived on over-preparedness.

Sure enough, Hermione looked offronted. "Of course," she sniffed.

"Then let's start," he said. He stepped forward, and she mirrored him. "Verum tenetur in unum…"

As before, the magic swelled and the runes glowed, and Tom found himself directly in front of her. Unlike Severus, Hermione's eyes flicked from side to side, watching the magic with a familiar excitement. He laughed softly. He'd been the same the first time he'd witnessed a ritual.

His laughter caught her attention, and she set her shoulders, bracing herself. Tom tilted her chin up, noting how tense she was and moving slowly to avoid startling her. Breaking the ritual now could be disastrous. As their lips touched, her eyes closed. Tom counted. One. Two. Tongues touch. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six-

He released her and stepped back quickly. Before he could fall, he dropped to his knees and sat back just in time for the wave of vertigo as a foreign awareness filled him. His heart pounded in his ears and the only other thing he could hear was a high ringing. There were no helpful Potions masters with calming draughts this time. Across from him, Hermione wobbled for a second before collapsing.

Tom wasn't sure how long it took before his heartbeat stopped overwhelming him and his breathing returned to normal. Hermione still looked dazed, her fingers pressed to her lips. Tom clenched his jaw and focused on the connection to Severus, then the connection to Hermione. He shut his eyes, and his breath whooshed out in a sudden wave of relief. The connections did as he'd hoped - they competed with each other, lessening their effect.

Now, finally, he could take stock of his partner in the ritual. "Hermione?" he asked.

She blinked and lowered her hand. "Oh," she said. She looked at him and touched her lips again. "I hadn't thought of it till it was too late. That was my first kiss," she told him distractedly. He wondered if something had gone wrong and addled her brain. That would be a shame. Her brow furrowed. "This feels… well, quite different in a way, but not so different in another way. I think if you were actually Harry, it would have been quite like how I usually feel."

Tom stared at her for a moment before dismissing her ramblings. He knew full well that the ritual left one feeling out of sorts, so he'd give her until tomorrow to make sense again. "Good night," he said, standing and holding out his hand to help her up.

She took it, but once she was standing, she peered into his eyes instead of leaving. "Are you alright?" she asked quietly.

His expression closed off. "I'm fine." When she didn't move, he turned to get changed. It wasn't until he'd removed his shirt that she finally left. He fell into bed and buried himself under the covers. He'd been able to ignore it while Hermione was there, but now that there was nothing to distract him, he was too cold again. He cast a warming charm on the blankets and pulled them until they were up over his mouth. Finally, he was comfortable enough to begin to fall asleep, and he sighed.

As he closed his eyes, he frowned. Severus had been his first kiss. He gave himself a shake and mentally scolded himself for the ridiculous thought. A moment later, he was asleep.