Disclaimer: All you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling

Summary: In the bowels of the Ministry of Magic is hidden the biggest enigma of the wizarding. No, it is not some weapon, or a spell or even a secret doorway to other words. It's a simple golden goblet with the power to find soul-mates. And every week it produces a list of names, creating a tight contract between the soul-mates and itself. A contract so powerful that breaking it will cost your magic or ever your life.
So what happens when the day after her seventeen birthday, Ivy Potter's name is called out, matched to the one and only Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord Slytherin? Hell breaks loose, of course.

Rating: M
Main pairing: Fem!Harry/ Tom Riddle
Warnings: Mentions of abuse, violence, sexual situations

Saints and Sinners
Chapter 6
Fallout

Feeling like an interloper, Ivy stalked the empty darkened halls of the castle, mind a heavy, jumbled mess and body tense as a bowstring ready to fire.

It had been a surprise that the wards had even let her in, something she had not considered in her sudden desperation to come here, to find some resolution, some answers which had been denied to her most of her life. Whatever it was her distress or the familiarity of her magic, but the half-sentient castle had let her in, ancient wards parting to envelope her in their familiar embrace, the feeling of home and belonging soothing something deep in her soul.

Her steps echoed in the empty walkways, the curious eyes of the portraits following her progress to the headmaster's office, but her expression must have been forbidding enough so that they did not try to engage her, even to sooth their endless thirst for news and gossip.

She was once again reminded of how thoughtless - how rash -her plan was by the sight of the gargoyle guarding the familiar staircase. It had been years since she'd done something like that, jumping headfirst in the direction her instincts led, with no thought of what she would do next.

Thankfully, there was no need of guessing the password as she usually did, or even curse herself for not taking the Marauder's Map in her hurry, because as soon as she approached the statue spun by itself, twisting away to reveal the spiraling staircase.

The Headmaster's office was empty of human presence when she ascended, most of the portraits snoring loudly in their frames. The lamps were lit though, and the fireplace burning and for a moment Ivy felt like she had travelled several months back in time. She half expected to see Dumbledore sitting behind the desk ready for one of their lessons or hear the soft croon of Fawkes greeting her from his perch next to the fire. Even the desk was the same as she remembered, littered with dozens of strange and bizarre gadgets and gizmos, with several of the brightly colored quills the old man had adored still scattered next to pieces of parchment. But there was no Dumbledore on the lavish throne-like chair and no Fawkes, the majestic phoenix having left for parts unknown immediately after the funeral, probably never to return.

Sometimes Ivy still heard his last mournful song in her dreams and woke up gasping and in tears.

But she had not come tonight to lose herself in bittersweet memories, tempting as the thought was.

So she tore her gaze away from the desk and past, turning towards the wall where a large portrait hung, familiar blue eyes watching. It was a good portrait, a representation of Dumbledore as she would always remember him, with long white beard and hair, dressed in bright plum-colored robes. Somehow, even through the canvas and the brush strokes, his eyes twinkled, mouth twisting in a grandfatherly smile as soon as he noticed her attention, despite the rather severe expression on her face. "Ivy, my dear girl-"

And suddenly Ivy couldn't bear it, the soft-spoken words, the deceiving affection in his voice and that damn twinkle he always had, as if he hadn't ruined her life.

"I'm not here to exchange pleasantries, Headmaster." She snapped, voice sharp and cutting as the jagged edges of a piece of broken glass, something dark in her purring at the sight of Dumbledore's surprised face. Rarely would she have allowed herself to speak to him in the tone - with the notable exception of the end of her fifth year- having always been too good of a soldier to question the words of her leader and general. But he was dead and she was alive, a doll with her strings suddenly cut, with no one to tell her what to do and so, so lost and angry.

"Watch your language Potter!" Phineas Nigellus' snide voice called out from his portrait, probably awoken by the jarring volume of her voice. With the corner of her eye she could see the other portraits stirring as well, curious and enraged by her lack of courtesy to the last headmaster.

"You watch your Phineas. I am Lady Black now. If I wish I could have every portrait of yours recalled and burned for all the annoyance you've caused." His gasp of outrage was almost worth it.

Ivy used his scandalized silence to turn back towards the headmaster she knew personally, unsurprised to find him mostly unperturbed by her shortness of temper. "Did you know I am his horcrux?" Her voice was as calm as she could make it but even a deaf man couldn't miss the frosty edge of her words, the barely restrained storm underneath her skin. Dumbledore knew it, of course, knew the vicious monster living in the darkest corners of her mind, being the one to feed it when it would suit his purposes and chain it when it became a liability. But there was no one left to chain her anymore and he was aware, judging by how quickly the twinkle in his eyes was extinguished when faced with the barely restrained violence in hers.

"Dear girl-" He tried again in the same soft grandfatherly voice the younger Ivy had tripped over herself to hear. It angered her that even after being so thoroughly disillusioned by the man, she still felt a tug in her chest at the sound, some part of her desperate to sooth the sadness in it.

"No!" She growled, pacing the short distance to the fireplace and back, like a tiger caged. "You don't get to speak to me in that tone. Did you know?"

"I had a guess."

And there it was, an answer as cryptic as it could be and somehow still enough to confirm her worse fear, to truly reveal the depth of his manipulation of her, of his regard for her life. The air left her in a rush, feet freezing, half turned towards the portrait and half away, as if it would be enough to hide the hurt her face must be expressing.

A huff of laughter escaped her, a wretched, unhappy sound torn from somewhere deep in her chest. "We both know how accurate your guesses are, don't we Dumbledore?" Something menacing and angry burned in her chest as she stalked in the direction of the portrait, each step enunciating the words spewing from her mouth. "You knew and still you let me live, pretending that I was something more than a pig raised for SLAUGHTER!" Her magic lashed out with the sharpness and accuracy of a whip, pushing all gadgets and gizmos off the desk with a devastating sweep. The sound of shattering glass and clinking metal was deafening in the silence.

"How could you?" Ivy asked finally, panting as she tried to pull herself back in control. "How could you look me in the eye all those years and know, know that you were leading me straight to my death?"

He didn't answer, not that Ivy needed and wanted the answer she already knew. It was always for the Greater Good with him, wasn't it? What was one little, insignificant life in the face of the thousands that would die by Voldemort's hand? What did it matter that that one life was everything to her? That she had dreams and desires, wanting to have a family, to become an auror or a healer or maybe even a curse breaker, to honor life her parents and Sirius had gifted her at the price of their own.

"Well, it doesn't matter anymore, does it? Tom already knows and even if he wants to, he can't kill me anyway. You lost everything, old man." She sighed, leaning back against the desk and fixing the mess she created with a wave of her wand. She might be angry with Dumbledore but she didn't want to cause any trouble for McGonagall or whoever had taken his place.

There was a sudden sound of rushing footsteps and Ivy looked up surprised as McGonagall burst into the room, dressed in a long Gryffindor red dressing gown and with her hair in a sleeping net, wand drawn and eyes frantically scanning the room for threats. "Potter – Ivy – What are you doing here?" Despite her less than put together appearance, McGonagall sounded as stern as always, easily making Ivy feel like a small first year who'd been late for Transfiguration class. "And what was that noise? I heard a crash."

"Forgive me, Professor, Headmaster Dumbledore and I were having a small disagreement." Ivy answered as neutrally as she could manage, even if the older woman's raised eyebrows showed she had not been as convincing as she'd hoped. She felt McGonagall's eyes trace her form, saw as the harshness softened to concern.

"Are you alright, Ivy?" For all her stern appearance and no-nonsense attitude McGonagall was a kind woman, fiercely protective of her little lion cubs. It hardly mattered that as the years passed Ivy thought of herself less and less as a brave lion and more as a snake in a lion's den, willing to lie and slip through her classmates' inquiries rather than face them head on - to McGonagall she would always be one of her own and for a moment it was almost enough for Ivy to break down, to share everything that kept her awake at night.

It was a momentarily weakness, a dash of longing for comfort, before she pulled herself back, closing herself behind the walls of her mind and heart, slipping the mask on her face with the familiarity of a well-worn cloak.

"I will be." She sighed, unable to completely hide her bone deep exhaustion. "I am sorry about the commotion, Professor. If you'll excuse me," She didn't wait for response before twirling on her heel and walking out of that wretched office with the dozens of gazes tearing her apart from the portraits on the walls.

As she walked out she was able to catch a glimpse of her appearance in the reflective surface of the glass doors of one of the cupboards and suppressed a grimace. No wonder McGonagall was worried about her. The last two sleepless nights were blatantly obvious in the bruises underneath her eyes and the drawn paleness of her skin. Her muggle jeans and large T-shirt were wrinkled and creased, openly displaying the fact she hadn't changed them in while. Now that her anger had been mostly exhausted she looked smaller than usual, the confidence she usually portrayed gone from her hunched shoulders.

Why had she even come here in the first place? For answers? For assurances? As if she hadn't learned not to expect the truth from Dumbledore if it didn't fit his plans.

No, she needed-

She wasn't even sure what she needed. A bottle of firewhisky perhaps or a whole cauldron of Dreamless sleep if only to escape her mind for a little while.

Her mind shied away from the idea of returning to the Burrow. It was where questions and worried looks awaited her, no doubt the household already aware of her missing status. Hopefully Mrs. Weasley's enchanted clock, which she and Hermione had been added to, much to the two girls' surprise and affection, would hold the panic at bay for just a little longer.

What Ivy needed was to be alone with her thoughts just for a moment, to clear her head and to think, without her family looming over her shoulder in concern.

Her destination still unclear, Ivy twirled in place at the gates of Hogwarts, allowing the Apparition to sweep her away.

Godric's Hollow was exactly as she had always imagined, even if she had never seen it outside of a map of magical villages she'd found in Hogwarts library last year. Her rather disorientated Apparition attempt had left her – thankfully whole – standing in the middle of a rather narrow road, bracketed from both sides with identical cozy-looking two-store cottages, with well-manicured lawns and ivy on the walls. There was no light in the windows, no shadowy shapes visible through the glass, but it still, even in the dead of night the small village managed to look warm and comforting and everything Ivy wished she'd had during her childhood.

The end of the street opened up in a small picturesque square, surrounded by closed down shops and pubs, the faded signs gleaming in the moonlight. There was a statue in the middle, an obelisk like the one Ivy had glimpsed in London on one of the rare primary school excursions the Dursleys had been forced to let her go on. As she walked closer though, the air around it seemed to shiver and shift, magic slipping away like a veil, revealing not a memorial of muggle war-heroes but rather a statue of a family. Something in her chest ached as hungry eyes devoured the faces – a man with glasses and wing swept, untidy hair, a woman with warm, heart-shaped face holding onto a half sitting toddler, whose expression seemed to have been frozen amidst a giggle. They were smiling, all of them, happy and content and somehow despite being made from cold, unmoving stone the statue exuded warmth Ivy had longed for her whole life.

Oh, how desperately she wished to remember these times, with her parents smiling down at her, holding her close as if she was the most precious thing in the entire world. Instead what she got was her mother's dying screams and the flash of green light which had cut her life short.

The same green light which instead of killing baby Ivy, the way it had hundreds of people through the ages, had left her with a scar and a silver of Voldemort's soul.

How much had that affected her life, affected her? Where did she end and where did Tom Riddle begin?

The Parseltongue came from him that much was certain but what else? Her darkest impulses, the desires and monsters hidden in the depths of her conscious never to see the light of day – were they hers or were they a reflection of the Horcrux inside her prompting her down the path Riddle had taken decades ago?

She needed answers, desperately, and there was only one person who could give them.

Calling her Patronus was as easy as breathing by now, the handsome stag prancing around the statue solemnly, as if he too felt the somberness of their location. Ivy called him softly to her, running a palm down a semi-ethereal muzzle softly.

"Go to Tom Riddle, Prongs." Ivy whispered, voice loud in the silent night. "Tell him I need to speak to him. Tell him to come to the place where it all began."

Finding the Potter cottage was easy, the Fidelius Charm having fallen with her parents' death. It was still standing the way it had been left sixteen years ago, with half of the second floor blown off, marking the place where the killing curse had rebounded. Stopping in front of the fence and peering into the overgrown garden, Ivy took a moment to imagine what her life here could have been, surrounded by her parents' affection. Perhaps she would have gotten siblings or even a dog and spent hours chasing them in the garden or flying on a broom when she got older or -

Happy, it would have been a happy life, everything little Ivy Potter sobbing on her tiny cot in her tiny cupboard had dreamt about. But now, just as it had been then, it was nothing but a wishful musing, an orphan's dream – unreachable, unachievable and yet so, so desired.

The pop of Apparition would have startled her from her thoughts if she hadn't expected it since the moment her Patronus faded from sight. The sound of footsteps on gravel approached, pausing next to her and yet she did not turn, her eyes still fixed on the ruined house as if she could reverse time by gaze alone. Here with no distractions around, no wards, no wizards and witches, the hum of her magic at his proximity was even more poignant, like they were two planets orbiting around each other with gravity pushing them closer and closer until eventually they collided in an explosion of ash and stardust.

He didn't speak and for a moment neither did she, both of them staring at the place which had changed their lives, a meeting so monumental it had grinded prophesy and destiny to ash. But soon enough the weight of the unsaid between them became too oppressive, too much to bear for her already fragile state mind and the words tumbled out of her mouth without conscious choice. "What does it mean for me, being your Horcrux?"

She heard him exhale heavily, a sound on any other person she would call a sigh, the shifting in her peripheral vision telling her he'd leant against the fence, copying her posture, fingers steepled together.

"It's complicated." He started simply and beneath the forced calmness she could hear the frustration in his voice. For a short, absurd moment Ivy was reminded of Hermione and her anger when she couldn't find the answers she needed in her beloved books. "I've been researching the topic since I found out and I still don't have a concrete answer." He turned his head to look her in the eye. "You must understand Ivy, that there has never, in the recorded history of magic, been a living person used as a horcrux. It has never been even theorized. Souls are too fickle and volatile, mixing two of them together is -" He took a breath. "Everything I'm telling you is more of a personal theory, rather than facts."

She was starkly reminded of Dumbledore and his theories and it made her jaw clench in annoyance and anger. "Never the less I would hear them. You promised me you would not keep the truth from me, ugly as it might be."

He twitched at the demand in her voice, an unvoiced sign of displeasure at being commanded but didn't deny her. "From what I could find the soulmate bond should be strengthened by the preexisting connection between us, though hopefully not to the point of everyday emotions and thoughts bleeding through. Tell me, have you had any dreams or visions this summer?"

Frowning, Ivy tried to remember if her scar had hurt at all this summer, coming up blank.

The answer seemed to please him. "Good. I've reworked my Occlumency barriers, hopefully to the point where they should keep most of it at bay. Of course, it is possible that stronger emotions might still bleed through but it should be rare."

"How come that didn't work before? I thought you were a Master Occlumens."

"What is Occlumency, Ivy? At its basics?"

"It's a magical defense of the mind against external penetration." Ivy recited, briefly remembering Snape's failed attempts to teach her and later Dumbledore's vastly more successful ones.

"Just so." Riddle inclined his head. "Only it defends against external penetration. And my barriers, no matter how strong, could not keep what they recognized as a piece of me out. That's why you were able to glimpse into my mind, especially when I was feeling something strong enough to reach you and call to you even with miles between us."

Ivy was silent as she chewed on the new information. It explained many things even if she loathed the suggestion that Voldemort subconscious recognized her, or at least part of her, as himself. But it was a relief at least to know finally, to understand the reason behind things, to gain answers which had been denied to her over and over.

But there was another worry on the forefront of her mind, a suspicion which had been born the moment she'd learned about the horcrux. She had refused to even contemplate it back then, chugging the thought to the dark recesses of her mind hoping it would disappear, like a child closing its eyes and thinking it made them invisible. It hadn't of course. It hadn't disappeared and the words were out of her mouth before she could hold them back, if only to keep her head buried in the sand a little longer. But for all her short comings Ivy had never been a person to shy away from the truth. "And what does it mean about me? About my… lifespan."

The silence was heavy between them, suffocating and threatening, the sword of Damocles hanging over her head.

"Horcruxes, save for a few ways, are indestructible Ivy." He said quietly but his words rang through her skull as if he'd yelled them in her face. "My Nagini is one of them and she has not shown signs of aging despite the long years she has been in my company."

And here it was, her worst fears voiced and confirmed for the second time in three days.

It had always been probably one of the biggest differences between her and Voldemort – his lust for immortality and fear of death, against her martyr tendencies and quiet acceptance. For all her anger towards Dumbledore for concealing her eminent demise from her, Ivy would have been prepared to die when the time came. Not gladly perhaps, because despite everything she still had dreams and ambitions, but if it came to a choice between herself and the people she loved, she knew what she would have chosen.

But immortality… It had never been something she'd lusted after, not the way most people do. And she had considered it, especially after the destruction of the Philosopher's Stone during her first year at Hogwarts. Nicholas Flamel had had it, immortality, and still he'd given it up because he was tired of living, tired and lonely despite having his wife. What did that mean for Ivy who loved people so fiercely, who couldn't imagine a year without Hermione's hugs and Ron's sometimes annoying habit of arguing with her, let alone a lifetime.

A life without death, without the opportunity to see her parents again, or Sirius or even Dumbledore and every other person she had lost.

"Is there a way to reverse that effect? To make me mortal again?" Ivy could hear the desperation in her own voice, the thirst for a way out of it, the fear of the inevitability of the situation.

Something dark and angry flashed in Riddle's eyes.

"Are you suicidal, Ivy?" He spat through bared teeth. "After fighting me at every turn to stay alive?" There was fury in his voice, in his countenance as he turned to face her.

It made her own desperation melt away into anger. "No!" She hissed back, pulling back to put some distance as their combined magic sizzled between them, charging the air like just before the fall of a lightning. "But I have no desire to be forever alone!" It was startling how quickly the tentative peace between them had crumbled to this, this vortex of spite and wrath and rage.

"You should be grateful! I have given you a gift others could only dream of-"

"I don't want it!"

Ivy watched as he struggled to calm himself down, his hands fisted at his sides, trembling with barely-restrained violence. He turned away from her, breathing heavily and for a moment she feared he would explode, but when he spoke his voice was controlled. "Too bad for you then."

Unfortunately the calmness in him served only to enflame Ivy's own anger. That vicious monster in her chest stirred, coiling like a snake ready to lash out. She wanted to hurt him, to punish him for forcing her in this position. The words were out of her mouth before her brain had time to register them. "Maybe I should visit the Chamber of Secrets again," She hissed out, notes of parseltongue slipping in her speech as they often did when she was furious enough. "The Basilisk fangs did well enough against the Diary. Of course, I can't be sure how Dumbledore dealt with the ring but-" The world spun violently around her, the breath escaping her lungs as she found herself slammed back against the gate, not painful but hard enough to jar her. Riddle's hand was tight around her throat and constricting, his face only inches from her own, red eyes spewing fire. It lasted only a second, but for a moment she feared that he would simply strangle her consequences be damned.

But then something in his expression shifted, anger giving away to agony. His hand dropped from her throat and he wretched himself a few steps away, crying out in pain as he fell to his knees in front of her, muscles violently constricting as if he was under the Cruciatus.

It didn't last long, half a minute perhaps, but it felt as if it was an eternity as Ivy watched him groan from invisible pain, while she rubbed at the skin of her neck. It probably wouldn't even bruise – her tanned skin did not bruise easily – but the places where his fingers had dug into her skin were tender and throbbing, as well as her shoulder blades where they'd crashed against the gate.

The worst of the pain seemed to have passed, but Tom did not raise, panting heavily on his knees, one hand pressed flat against the ground in front of him, the other in a pale knuckled fist at his side. Suddenly he roared, swiping his arm in the direction of a nearby tree and Ivy jumped as it exploded in splinters and dust.

The episode had been enough to bring her anger down to simmer, rational thought slowly returning and with it her shame about her lapse of control. How had she allowed herself to regress back to this child, full of spite and righteous anger, speaking without a though or consideration of the consequences? She thought she'd outgrown these outbursts long ago, when her own rashness had cost her Sirius's life. Such reactions had no place in a leader, especially one who directly or not, held lives in the palms of her hands.

"What was that?" Ivy questioned quietly when it didn't seem like he would explode anything else in his frustration. His magic was heavy in the air, the taste of snow and ash and rust burning at the back of her throat.

"The bond." Riddle growled out, slowly pulling himself up, face pale and muscles twitching. His voice was low and hoarse, despite the lack of sound he'd produced even in pain. "I truly can't touch you." He laughed, a dark, unhappy sound. The pain seemed to have drained the worst of his anger and, though distinctively unhappy, he appeared much calmer – or at least less murderous.

He looked towards her but his gaze seemed drawn by the hand still rubbing her neck instead of her face.

Ivy almost flinched back when he approached suddenly, but then reminded herself of the episode which just happened, and forced herself to stay still as his long fingers replaced hers on her skin. She was prepared for the tingle of their skin brushing together, but the familiar cool sensation of healing magic was a surprise, even as the distant throb in her neck and shoulder dulled into nothing.

She watched his face from beneath her lashes as he lifted her chin to inspect her throat. "What happened to you? When I saw you last year you were-" Utterly mad, unhinged, unstable. "-Different."

"Insane, you mean?" Tom provided as he pulled back, one corner of his mouth jerking up in a sardonic expression. How different he looked from mere minutes ago when he'd seemed ready to murder her where she stood. "When I set off to make my Horcruxes, I admit I underestimated how important a soul is to one's mental health." He admitted somewhat painfully, thrusting his hands in the pockets of his pants and leaning back against the fence as if they were nothing but normal people having a conversation. As if they hadn't just been ready to tear each other apart. "Though since last year it has been slowly coming back to me, in pieces, and you just gave me the answer why."

"You mean the destruction of the horcruxes? But I thought that by destroying the container the soul is destroyed as well."

"Souls are an obscure branch of magic, Ivy. There is no way to know for sure what happens if they are destroyed or even if they can truly be destroyed. The fact is that I am once again in possession of rational thought – something you should be grateful for. Otherwise I just might have killed you in anger despite the consequences."

"I don't know," She muttered, watching him with a frown, Hermione's words ringing in her head. "Something tells me that it makes you even more dangerous than before."

Riddle smirked, sharp and glinting like knife in the darkness. "Clever girl."

AN: Well, this chapter reminded me why I never write ahead- I always rewrite the chapters completely when I come back to post them.

Thank you all for the follows, favorites and the reviews! I hope you like this chapter!