Sorry for the gross delay - I had writer's block, and stuff happened. But I'm here now, and I'm back with a new chapter!
And that was it.
Kate doesn't see much of Tom afterwards - with NEWTS only weeks away, she is too focused on exams to indulge herself in social responsibilities. Apart from the occasional stolen kiss or a passing smile, there is no extra-curricular conversation.
And once the exams are over, there are no conversations whatsoever.
She alights on the Hogwarts Express after their graduation ceremony, boarding the carriage of Head Girl and Boy for one last time. She expects Tom to enter after her, but the train takes off, and he is nowhere to be seen. The sharp whistle wakes her upon arrival, and she walks off the train and onto Kings Cross.
London doesn't look the same anymore.
The buildings are more or less intact (the Blitz was over a year ago), but the people are nothing but different. Mothers don't frown in worry anymore as their children go out to play but still pull them off the streets, yanking them by the collar as they stray towards a park or the nearest broken structure, scolding them with eyes full of terror. Men talk freely as they walk, but they cannot help but stare around in wariness, looking up at the sky ever so often.
She boards the bus, the only other occupants an old lady and a family of four. The lady keeps a light hand on her groceries, patting the bag to stop the carrots from spilling. The woman keeps a tight grip on her baby, her other two children running along the length of the bus. Kate gets off at Argyll Street, walking the few metres left.
The front gate is bolted shut but she easily puts her hand through the grills and opens the hatch, the metal gate swinging open. Father never leaves it unlocked - maybe in a hurry he might've, but he never has.
The house bears a deserted look, a generous layer of dust on the furniture and appliances. I heard that everyone was back home. She refuses to consider the alternative - that's just the paranoia talking.
The rest of the day goes in cleaning the house, dusting mantelpieces and yanking bedsheets to get the dust mites out. By evening, the house is clean - and so is the fridge.
She meets Colonel Jameson at the greengrocer's, and after a curt handshake, the middle aged man offers to walk her home. "How are you?"
"Just got back home from school, Colonel."
"Ahh - in the country, aye?"
"Ireland - my mother preferred education back home."
"Like her." His brow furrows and he hesitates before he speaks next, opening the door. "Kate, my child, there is news for you. A soldier left this letter with me." She looks at the writing upon the envelope, the unmistakable slanted cursive of her father. "I'll take your leave, then." The man shows himself out, and she closes the door behind him, reading the envelope's contents.
Delayed - all right then.
She doesn't think too much of it until two days later on a sunny morning, a British soldier shows up on her doorstep, suitcase in hand. "Ma'am." She nods in response, and he puts on his hat again as he motions towards the door. "May I take a seat?" She waves a hand, the boy (he cannot be possibly older than 21, she wagers) opening his briefcase. "It's disgraceful if the lady remains standing while I sit." Kate sits down, leaning towards the documents and the small velvet box.
"What are these?" He gulps, rubbing his neck a little before he begins.
"Ma'am, it is with utter grief that I bring you the news of your father's demise, Major Aidan John Summers." The effect is like snow - it fills her up, slow and steady, and soon she cannot feel her insides, the cold packed tight in her veins, burning its path through her body.
She picks up the piece of paper with shaking hands, vision blurry - but not from tears. The letter states that her father perished at Sainte Honorine des Pertes in France, the troops having fought back the Axis with success. He will be awarded the Victoria Cross for his valiant efforts, the award encased in the purple velvet box that lies on her table.
But Victoria Crosses aren't bringing him back.
"Okay," she lets out a thick croak, rushing the man out of the house as she slams the door behind him. Gone.
She lies down on the sofa slowly, arms curling around her pajama-clad legs as the tears start coming and her throat is closing and her heart feels like it will break out of her chest. It makes her feel like she is choking on air and she wants this to stop.
The feeling continues until the light is gone from the sky and comes back, and with the rise of the sun of another day, the searing pain has been replaced by dried out eyes and hollowness in her heart. Her head hurts and so does her stomach, but none of that is comparable to the ache that has gripped her chest and refuses to let go.
First orphaned, now homeless.
Tom's state of affairs is suffering a gradual degradation, what with the shutdown of Wool's orphanage. Granted, he was glad to see the place the gone, but the fact that he has no money to his name and no Hogwarts to turn back to is a troubling situation indeed.
"Come stay with us at Wiltshire," Abraxas offers over a cup of coffee at the Cauldron, his old mates absent at the table. "Mother will be more than glad to see you."
"This is too grand an offer, Abraxas. To come and stay with your family?" The blonde guffaws, patting Tom on the back with a heavy hand - he grimaces a little at the gesture, fighting down an urge to smack the Malfoy heir.
"My family would like to keep you for as long as your pride permits. Besides, the Malfoys should be given an opportunity to prove their value to their Lord." The corners of his lips turn up at the latter end of the sentence and he leans towards Malfoy, lean fingers running over the latter's under the table in the secluded, quiet booth that is far from prying eyes and tattling tongues.
"I need you to prove your worth to me, Abraxas." He knows of the boy's tendency to swing both ways and while Tom necessarily doesn't, the experiment is delectable enough to undertake. He can see the hesitation in the boy's head and he lifts a finger, delicately placing it on Malfoy's lower lip. "Kate was a… distraction. A beautiful one, mind you, but a distraction nevertheless."
"Good Lord, Tom."
"Clever, my dear - and not here. Perhaps in the confines of Malfoy Manor, in the safety of your room."
"Your wish is my command."
He rises from his seat, lifting the coat off the table and draping it across an arm. "That's my good boy. Now, shall we?"
The Malfoys are glad to see him, and Wiltshire Manor has the regality and charm that befits his future status of Lord Voldemort - it will make a fine bastion. The house that technically belongs to him is large and stately, but the taint of his father's filthy blood is something he can't scourge off the floors and walls - a waste of a perfectly good property.
"My dear boy," Mrs Malfoy caresses the top of his head and ushers him straight to the dining table, where dinner commences with a serving of mushroom soup and discussion of plans after school.
"What fine Ministers they will make," Mr Malfoy beams at the two boys at the table, laughs being traded freely between the three males while Mrs Malfoy serves them another helping of steak. "I feel it is a crying shame Grindelwald got defeated by Dumbledore. Alas, fools such as he cannot understand the path to the greater good." Tom raises his glass to this, and the Malfoys smile a lot larger, sharing details of a jaunt in Germany, which he of course listens to with utter concern and enthusiasm, nodding and humming at all the right places.
The night is spent in Abraxas' room, trading family secrets for bed-breaking action and sweet embraces in the afterglow.
The same routine continues for a week, but Tom cannot put his plan into action as long as he stays under the Malfoy roof, so he tells Abraxas one cloudy morning that he has to go on the next step to achieve greatness.
"Are you certain this isn't possible here?" Tom runs his fingers along the length of Malfoy's chest as he speaks, voice low and soothing.
"I'm afraid not."
"I'll come with you."
"In due time - I will call for you when everything is ready." Abraxas sighs, blonde hair falling into his eyes.
"Alright then - in due time, my Lord."
That afternoon, Tom packs up, trunks ready for departure. "If only the Gaunts and Riddles had not squandered away their wealth - what an heir the two bloodlines have," Mrs Malfoy frets with his collar, looking at him with a maternal expression.
"Salazar's descendants have always had impetuousness in their blood," he sagely comments, Madam Malfoy nodding sanctimoniously.
"But you are wiser, aren't you, dear?"
"Certainly, Mrs. Malfoy - I shall restore our names to their former glory."
"That you will. Do return if you feel the need." But he won't, not as of now and Tom, trunk and all, Apparates to a familiar house in Kettering.
It's raining, and because of the abundance of Muggles and an absence of an umbrella, he does not apply the Impervius, choosing to walk in the downpour. The front gate is bolted shut and the curtains open, and Tom can see a familiar silhouette by one of the windows looking listlessly at the horizon.
He waits until he is sure the coast is clear, then undoes the bolt and walks to the door, knocking thrice to ensure the occupant hears him.
"Tom?"
Her voice is hoarse and dry, and he can tell by her gaunt face and red, puffy eyes that she has neither eaten nor slept in the past few days. He would have mustered an answer had Kate not collapsed on the doorway, her form shaking before she crumples to the ground.
She's hallucinating.
Because there is no way that in the thick of a thunderstorm would Tom Marvolo Riddle be at her doorstep, drenched to the bone and looking at her like a man coming home.
She manages to get his name out of her mouth before her knees give way, vision swimming before it all goes black.
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