Chapter 7

The address Dumbledore had given him was in a purely Muggle area. He could not make a quick visit there, he had to proceed with greater caution. That same evening, when only a few Muggles were still out and about, he searched the street for a suitable apparition point. In the end, Tom decided on a spot in a secluded side alley that lay between two large rubbish bins.

Shortly before nine o'clock, it was dark as early in the morning and the rain had been pelting down from the sky since Tom had got up. The knocking on the window pane had woken him up. Now the wind was blowing stiffly in his face. To keep from shivering, he pulled his head in and fiddled with his scarf.

He hurried to the doctor's praxis. There, well protected from the weather, Dumbledore was waiting in the entrance. He wore a red and gold scarf, a grey, thick winter jacket and black cloth trousers. Wordlessly they greeted each other and climbed the stairs to the surgery together.

"The weather is not suitable for sunglasses." Dumbledore gave Tom a wry look. "Can you actually see anything behind them in the dark?"

"Go," Tom merely grumbled, "still better than entering with reddish gleaming eyes."

"I suppose it's better that way, or you'd be referred to an ophthalmologist. Nice model you've got there, by the way."

"Hmm."

Tom followed Dumbledore, who took the lead as a matter of course, through the door most reluctantly. Quietly, the professor laughed as Tom stumbled over a step and waved his arms wildly to find his footing. Dumbledore grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back into a straight line.

While Tom was still trying to get rid of the dirt and dampness from his shoes on the doormat, the professor walked towards the receptionist. In the waiting room he took off his jacket and Tom eyed the checked shirt Dumbledore was wearing. He had also tied on a red and white striped tie. He was clearly dressed too pretentiously, but Tom was still amazed at his conformity. It was more inconspicuous than he had thought. After all, they hadn't talked about it in advance.

"I'm going in alone," Tom admonished his former teacher. "This is my health, so it's my business."

Dumbledore just nodded. "Go ahead, I'll wait here then. The rest is taken care of, I'll pick up that tab as well."

"You instigated this whole thing and blackmailed me, don't expect any thanks from me."

"I don't, you've already educated me well on that."

They put their heads together and whispered. It must have made a strange picture, because the receptionist kept sticking her neck out in their direction.

"You can hand me my bag already," Tom demanded.

"I don't have it with me."

"But that was part of our agreement."

"It was part that you get it back, but not that you get it back here. You will have to accompany me to Hogwarts after the appointment. We still have our interview to continue anyway."

Tom sighed. "You cut-throat. You're not planning on hiring me anyway."

Dumbledore waggled his eyebrows. "Riddle me this, Tom: if you believe that, why are you applying in the first place?"

He snorted. That was rather sly of the old man. "I wanted to give you a chance to convince yourself otherwise, but apparently you're not taking it..." He scratched the back of his head. "And I've enjoyed being at Hogwarts and wanted to pay the school a visit, albeit a short one. Is that forbidden?"

The professor shook his head in surrender. "Of course it isn't. Hogwarts was your home, wasn't it? It must have been hard for you to turn your back on the school."

"You bet it was."

"But then why did you release the basilisk?" he whispered to him. With a spell he made the door of the waiting room fly shut. "By doing so, you risked Hogwarts being closed. You killed a girl – you've already admitted that. So don't deny it again. I also remember that you can talk to snakes."

Tom gritted his teeth and growled:. "I wouldn't know that I told you this."

"You did. The first time we met at the orphanage you dismissed me with those words. It was important to you to be special even among wizards."

Hectically, he went through his memories again. Had he really done that? It seemed so careless to him. But… – It would fit his state of mind at the time. He chastised himself for not having recalled this encounter much earlier. Why could Dumbledore still remember it? It had been years, no, even decades ago. It might have had great significance for him – but not for Dumbledore. Certainly, he had not been the only child he had told about the magical world.

Tom gritted his teeth. As easy as it was for him to read other people – the professor was a closed book to him. In some ways he could still understand him, in that Dumbledore was like everyone else. But there were parts... – Tom shook his head. There were things Dumbledore did – because honestly, his words count for nothing to Tom – that were completely beyond his understanding.

For better or worse, he would not be able to get past Dumbledore any time soon. He was a highly respected man in magical society. Tom had to defend himself against his accusations. He could not let this stand. "Sir, I had already said it: it was an accident. The Basilisk doesn't like to be told what to do. The girl was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"And Mr Hagrid? You put the blame on him, even though you were the culprit. Even had an award given to you."

Tom slid back and forth in his chair. This was not going in a good direction at all.

"They would have closed Hogwarts if I hadn't done it."

"You could have come forward with the truth and taken responsibility for your actions."

"I didn't want to go back to the orphanage and even Hagrid could stay at the school after all."

"You are incorrigible," Dumbledore groaned. "You have destroyed several lives and you justify yourself in this way? I should bring it to the charge... – At least then a small service can be done to justice."

"Have you never made a mistake?" hissed Tom back. Again astonishment gripped him as Dumbledore flinched. The professor avoided his gaze and looked fixedly at the floor. He looked dismayed. Tom knew how to proceed. "You did, and I bet that's why your brother is so angry with you. He's never forgiven you."

"You know?"

Tom grinned triumphantly. "Knowing of your kinship, the resemblance jumps out at you." He hadn't known about this and had lain awake until deep in the night, pondering the host of the Hog's Head. At some point it had struck him. "What have you done to make him so angry?"

Furrows dug into Dumbledore's forehead. "Something I very much regret. Do not try to penetrate my thoughts, I warn you!"

He put out his feelers and the walls of Occlumency stood rigid and firm. The professor was practised and hardened. "I bet it was an accident that killed someone. Someone very important to your brother, or he wouldn't have been angry about it for so long."

"Don't think I'm going to tell you. You are far from being a good listener."

"I am an excellent listener. For I also know that Aberforth and Sabrina thought we were lovers."

Dumbledore gave him a dark look.

"You see, Dumbledore," he spoke teasingly. "We are more alike than you would like to admit. We both brought death once. In our own way, we are both brilliant, outstanding wizards and yet the black sheep of our families. Even our sexual preferences are not socially accepted."

"You can't compare!"

"And how I can!" Tom leaned towards him so that his lips were close to the professor's. He could feel his breath on his face. Avertedly, they looked into each other's eyes. "So, take me to court and I promise you that I will lay out our common ground in great detail before the Wizarding Gamot."

He watched Dumbledore's face intently and could see his lips twitch. For a moment, Tom thought he wanted to kiss him.

Terror gripped his guts. He had to pull himself together or he would have backed away. Bitterly he regretted having come so close to his nemesis. He didn't want to hold out, but he was even more loath to see his former teacher gain the upper hand again. Dumbledore was a master manipulator, he was everything Tom wanted to be – influential, highly respected and powerful. Only he was able to put Tom on the defensive by his mere presence.

In a split second, Tom decided he had to take advantage of the proximity at hand. If he backed down now, he would lose his face. He had to underline his threat, show him once and for all that he knew no fear of the professor. With fierce determination, he bridged the last, tiny distance to a kiss, which he forced on Dumbledore.

Their mouths touched. His beard tickled Tom's nose and chin. Even more energetically, he leaned forward to give his counterpart no chance of escape. He neither tasted nor smelled anything, only the pressure against his lips.

At first Dumbledore wanted to dodge. He could not flee, Tom had driven him into a corner. The professor had surprised him often in the last few days – but now he shocked him: he braced himself against him.

Their heads collided. The tip of Tom's nose was pressed flat against Dumbledore's cheek.

With brute force he pushed Tom away from him.

As if he had been burned, Tom jumped back. He swung to his feet and ran to the door of the waiting room. With such a safe distance, he stared spellbound at the professor and ran an agitated hand through his hair. What had he done? How had he been able to catch himself off guard like that? His hands trembled and he tried to hide it. But it welled up and turned into a tremor of his whole body.

The professor wiped his mouth with one hand. He hid his face in his hands for a moment, breathing deeply in and out as if he needed to calm down first. Then he crossed his legs, tugged his jacket into place and spoke in an occupied voice: "What were you trying to achieve? Your calculation seems to have backfired..."

"I didn't calculate anything," he defended himself breathlessly. Then he added: "If you want to charge me, go ahead. Then I'll tell the Wizarding Gamot about this, too."

Dumbledore was not intimidated. "That would be as humiliating for you as it is for me."

Tom clenched his hands into fists. It was one of the few times he had lost his tongue. Full of anger, he eyed his counterpart, who carried nothing of his inner life to the outside world. While Tom was almost raging with anger, the professor looked as if he was frozen in an iceberg.

"Tom? Are you really all right?"

A punch to the pit of his stomach. Tom gasped for air and sucked the anger back into his lungs as well. He wanted to scream and wrap his hands around the other's neck. His fingers were to dig into the other's soft flesh until he no longer stirred. Until the professor was cold and lifeless – until he could terrorise him no more.

No further argument was possible, the receptionist asked the next and only patient to come in.

oOo

Secretly glad to have escaped the situation, Tom entered the consulting room. The doctor, a middle-aged man with blond hair and a severely trimmed beard, dressed in a white coat, greeted him with a handshake. "You are here for a suspected case of diabetes?"

"It's more than a suspicion. I was diagnosed once before, nine years ago, but the symptoms have receded."

The doctor looked at him in amazement. "How can that be?"

"I thought it was a misdiagnosis at the time." Emphatically innocent, he shrugged. "Now I don't care. I have definite symptoms."

A blood sample was ordered and a blood sugar test carried out. Tom had to wait in the consulting room. No excitement rose up in him, for he had known the result recently. He knew he had diabetes, but the fact that a Horcrux – immortality – had not made this problem go away filled him with despair. No matter how much he brooded, he could think of no other way to stop this disease.

After fifteen minutes, the doctor returned. "Well, the results are clear. Your blood sugar level is much too high when you are sober. You have the juvenile form of diabetes mellitus."

Weary, Tom nodded.

"The disease develops when the pancreas no longer produces insulin because the immune system has destroyed the producing cells. The only treatment option is to supply artificial insulin from the outside. This is a good way to bring it under control. I will give you the appropriate equipment and you can always come here if you have any questions or problems. Here you have a glass syringe with which you can inject the insulin into your lower abdomen. You will do this twice a day. We will work out a strict plan for injecting and eating times, which you must stick to at all costs. Sweet foods in any form are forbidden."

This was also accompanied by a heavy, metal case, filled with alcohol, to store the glass syringe and urine tests for sugar for self-monitoring.

"Every now and then you have to have the syringe sharpened so that it pricks well again. Twice a week it needs to be taken apart and boiled. You are welcome to come to our practice on Saturdays and we will do the sterilisation for you."

It would determine his daily routine. There was no more spontaneity. He had to swallow. Not only would he destroy his everyday life, it would ruin much more.

"Do you have any questions?"

"Yes..." His voice failed. He had to ask the next question, but it wasn't sure he would be able to bear the answer.

"Then ask them."

"What is my life expectancy?"

The doctor put everything aside and tapped his finger against the table. Only now came the difficult part. "That's hard to say."

"You'll have prognoses, won't you?"

"I do – only... You said you had already been diagnosed with it nine years ago... – Wrongly – it's strange. The average life expectancy of diabetics is lower than that of a healthy person. If you haven't had treatment for the metabolic disease for nine years, that drags the prognosis down again – maybe quite a bit."

Tom bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. The leaden taste settled on his tongue. Slowly he felt nauseous. He didn't fear dying – he couldn't die. However, his body would not last forever and then what? Would he then be a ghost? A nothing? It was a question to which he demanded a solution. Just then it had become even more urgent. "And if you leave that out of consideration?"

"Well, there can always be secondary damage. The blood vessels can be damaged, which can lead to a heart attack or circulatory problems. The risk of eye and nerve diseases are increased and a kidney disease could develop. Especially with kidney damage, life expectancy drops sharply."

He put his hand over his mouth, but he had to keep digging. It wasn't good enough. "And in terms of numbers?"

The doctor swallowed and gave him the answer extremely reluctantly. "Statistically, their life expectancy is 50 years. But just a lot of patients who got it in their teens die before they are 30."

His body trembled. This couldn't be happening! He was immortal... – had an immortal soul, but his body could be gone in a few years. And he didn't know what would be then. He had never thought that far ahead. Why hadn't the Horcrux stopped the general body processes?

He had to find a solution.

Otherwise he might soon end up a blind wizard with kidney and nerve damage.

In a daze, he said goodbye to the doctor, packed the utensils and then stood in the waiting room. Dumbledore floated towards him. He said something to him and Tom just nodded, even though he didn't understand what the professor wanted from him. The kiss... – Dumbledore's terror – he hadn't forgotten it, but it suddenly no longer seemed important to him.

They left the doctor's office together. The rain whipped against his head, his hair stuck to his forehead and the back of his neck. The wind blew towards him, enveloping his body and making him shiver.

"Tom?" it drifted over to him. "The diagnosis must have been more devastating than I expected."

He shook his head and contorted his face into a twitching grimace. With that, he managed to shake himself awake. Gradually he forced his way back to reality. Realisation was bearing down on him like masses of water. "I have a problem," he said meaningfully.

Dumbledore looked at him questioningly. "You kissed me to convince me of your ruthlessness, Thinking back I would say you have more than one problem."

Tom waved it off. "My life expectancy is extremely short. Soon whatever problems you have with me will have taken care of themselves."

"You're going to die?"

He swallowed. "Not necessarily tomorrow, but the disease will kill me sooner or later."

And all because his father was a bloody Muggle who had passed on the predisposition to him.

"The certainty of death is something we all have to come to terms with. Eternal life may sound tempting, but one chooses such only out of weakness. Nevertheless, I would have wished you a long and full life. I am sorry that you have received this prognosis."

"You're a bad liar," Tom hissed.

"I really mean it. You are still so young that such news is tantamount to shipwreck."

"What do you know about it? It's obviously never hit you."

Dumbledore fell silent. They apparated to Hogwarts together.