Chapter 17: With some very dark magic in a quiet London garden, nothing will ever be the same.


XVII.
A Handful of Thorns
[The Spektor Estate | December 27, 1943]


To say the Spektor Estate doesn't look a day over 500 years old would be an unfounded compliment. The once-stately stone manor house is tucked away on a dead-end street in what used to be the outskirts of London, but which, as the city has snaked its tendrils further into the countryside, has been incorporated into the city proper. Behind a tall stone wall topped with rusting ironwork, and through the thoroughly overgrown garden, passersby can just barely catch a glimpse of a light on in the attic room if they look hard enough.

It's known to the locals as "Devil's End," which is ironic considering what we know about one of the current occupants. But for whatever reason they started calling the place that, it can't be denied that its name sure suits it. The house is creepy, haunted, and has fallen in to such disrepair that it's a wonder the muggle authorities haven't come knocking to see if the place is up to code, structurally speaking. But nobody has knocked on that door in years. Until today.

"Anybody home?" A young man's voice, a little on-edge and faltering slightly, leaks through the thick front door. The door swings open right away.

"Who are you?" Victoria Spektor looks curiously at the boy. She is expecting somebody, but this is not the right person at all. The young man, bundled up in a thick red scarf and newsboy cap, is holding a tin with coins in it.

"Uhh...uh...I'm...caroling to raise money for the...for the...boy scouts..." He stammers, his arms shaking, jingling the coins in the tin. He's not much younger than she is.

"Just you?" Victoria asks, sticking her head out the front door to look around. She sees a group of young boys clustered around the gate, peering in with keen interest. "Ah. I see." She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a coin, and drops it into the tin. The young man looks at her in shock. "Is that enough to get me the one about the figgy pudding?"

"Ummm...yes of course..." Then, without much of a choice, the boy scout launches into a rather compelling solo rendition of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" while Victoria Spektor leans casually against the doorjamb, surveying the whole scene with mild amusement. When he's finished, and the nervous sweat has stopped pouring from his temples, Victoria claps politely. "Thank you, m'am...uh...Happy Christmas!"

"When's that again?"

"When's what?"

"Christmas." Victoria says. The boy looks at her in utter confusion. "Wasn't that a few days ago?"

"Why uh...yeah...it was..." The boy fumbles. "Still the season though, ain't it?"

"Hm. Yes. I guess it is. Well then, Happy Christmas." She says, slowly retreating back into the shadows inside the house as the boy turns and walks down the steps and along the walkway to the gate where his friends are waiting with bated breath.


"Oi Victoria—your boyfriend's here!" Barnaby Spektor hollers up the stairway, then returns to the door, folding his arms across his chest, not even considering to invite Tom Riddle inside—who's got his hands shoved deep in his pockets, shivering slightly. Barnaby smirks at his shabby appearance. "So you live with a bunch of muggles, that right?"

"That's right." Tom says blankly.

"You're mad to date my sister. She's completely off her rocker, if you know what I mean."

"I'm not sure I do."

"I thought muggles said that to... Well, how to put it...she's batshit crazy, you follow?"

"That's not a very kind thing to say about a family member."

"She's no family of mine. Only a half-sister, really. Not even pureblood though. Not that it would matter, I guess, to someone like you." He's a beater on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, so it goes without saying that he's built like a tank. Flaming red hair as well, and freckles on his cherubic cheeks.

"Oh get in already, you'll freeze to death." Victoria finally appears, her voice exasperated, and beckons Tom inside, slamming the door shut behind him. She takes his hand, wincing at the temperature of his skin. "Come, I'll light a fire." Barnaby's blocking the passage into the living room.

"You're not gonna introduce me, huh?" Barnaby teases.

"Go fall off a cliff, Barnaby." Victoria spits.

"So rude. Told you she was deranged." Says Barnaby as an aside to Tom.

"Choke on your own shit, you..." Victoria stops herself, takes a deep breath, breaks into the fakest smile Tom's ever seen, and says, pleasantly now, "Brother dearest, this is Tom Riddle. I believe you know him from school. Tom, this is my brother Barnaby, beater on the Gryffindor team, and future Ministry slimebag."

"A pleasure..." Tom mutters, the corner of his mouth twitching in either a smile or a grimace. "So you want to work for the Minister?"

"I got word just the other day that my application is being 'seriously considered.'" Barnaby boasts, a grotesque grin stretched across his pimply face, chest inflated to unreasonable proportions, shoulders thrown back, head held high.

"Good luck with that." Tom says. Barnaby doesn't pick up on the sarcasm.

"Thanks. Listen, if I were you mate, I'd get the hell out of here..." Barnaby says, his sentiment not threatening, but one of camaraderie. Victoria rolls her eyes, pushing past her brother and into the living room, where she lights a fire in the cavernous fireplace. Tom follows close behind. Barnaby shrugs and trundles away somewhere.

"I take it you don't like him very much." Tom says, kneeling by the fire to warm his hands.

"He's the worst." She sits down on the hearth next to him. "I'm glad you could come."

"So this is what it's like to grow up in a wizarding family..." Tom says, rising to his feet, starting to examine the contents of the room—the ancient portraits of long-dead Spektors lining the walls, the box of floo powder on the mantle, the smell of herbs in the fire, the curio cabinet full of strange instruments...

"Guess so." She says. "Obsessed with being pure blood, these lot are. Very proud of it. Well, pure except for yours truly."

"Another exception. I'm not surprised." Tom says, looking up at a portrait of an old man fast asleep.

"My father." Victoria says, coming up silently behind Tom. "Septimus."

"He's the one?" Tom says. She nods solemnly.

"It'll be the easiest. Nobody will suspect...I mean, he's gonna die soon anyway… Might as well make it...useful..." She says, feeling slightly nauseous as the words come out of her mouth. From the foyer they hear Barnaby shuffling about. "Going somewhere?" Victoria calls.

"Quidditch game." He says, "Why, you wanna come?" He snorts.

"No. Thanks." She says. The door slams behind him. Through the window, she watches him trudge up the walkway, broom over his shoulder.

"Good timing." Tom says.

"Yeah I guess. Let's just get this over with." Victoria sighs, rising from the couch and, with wand in hand, leads the way up the creaky staircase to her parents' bedroom. The candle's gone out near the bed, and the window's open, a soft breeze billowing through the curtains. Her father lies still, his eyes closed, hands at his sides. She doesn't even have to check his pulse. She knows he's already gone. Sadness floods her first, but with it, an undercurrent of frustration. No, she shouldn't be mad. That's awful. But her birthday is in just a few days...there's not much time... She turns back to Tom, raising her hands as if to say, what on earth am I supposed to do now? Tom shrugs, brow furrowed, crossing his arms. They stand there in silence for a moment or two before Victoria's little sister Lucinda—second year, Hufflepuff—pokes her head around the doorjamb. The young redhead looks from Victoria, to Tom, to her father, then back to Victoria.

"What'd you do?" She asks. Did Victoria look guilty? Maybe.

"He's gone, Lucinda." She says, voice wavering, sniffling a bit. It's all genuine, actually. Lucinda should recognize that. But she doesn't. The young girl races to her father, tears streaming down her face.

"What'd you do to him?!" She cries. Victoria throws up her hands.

"I just came up to check on him!" She says. It's the truth.

"What's he doing here?" Lucinda points rudely at Tom, who is lurking awkwardly in the corner. She recognizes him as the head boy from school.

"He just stopped by to say hello. Merlin's beard, why are you acting so paranoid?" Victoria wipes a tear from her own cheek.

"Mum says you're the reason dad was sick." Lucinda sniffles, waving that accusatory finger at Victoria now.

"Mum says a lot of things that aren't true." Victoria says.

"No! Mum's right about you! She says you're evil." Lucinda shouts, taunting her, in the way young kids do.

"You have no idea what you're talking about." Victoria says, her anger growing, overriding her sadness now. They've all got to pass judgement. They've all got to remind her she's a monster. There's only one person in her life that is actually being supportive... An idea dawns on her. One you might call an evil idea. Victoria draws her wand. If she's going to really take control over her life, she might as well start now.

"Ooooo I'm really scared." Lucinda teases. "What are you gonna do, kill me?" Victoria takes a deep shuddering breath.

"Avada Kedavra."


It's one of those moments where you escape from your own head for a bit, where you're able to see the proceedings as though you are an onlooker, perhaps an angel, perched on a cloud up in heaven somewhere, observing the terrible things, thinking to yourself how glad you are to be so far removed. Of course she's no angel, but the opposite, although, after taking one look at her sister's lifeless body, she turns and runs from the room in such a remorseful manner you'd think there's no way she could be one of the infernal. Tom chases her through the house, finding it difficult to keep up, what with all the twists and turns, and finds her sitting at the feet of a tall stone angel in the garden. Both Victoria and the angel are weeping.

"Well...you did it..." he's doubled over, gasping for breath, hands on his knees.

"It shouldn't have been her. She's just a girl. She's stupid but she doesn't know any better." Victoria says tearily.

"Shhhh." He kneels down next to her. "It's ok. You had to do it. And now it's done." He's trying so hard to be comforting, but he honestly doesn't give a damn about her sister. Probably better off dead, from what he barely knew of her.

"It's done." Victoria says, no longer crying now, wiping her cheeks, her voice hollow, empty. "So what now?" Tom reaches into his pocket and takes out a piece of parchment scribbled with notes. Mist develops softly in the dark places, like sleep.


Victoria understood why Tom could be so calm about all of this. He told her about what he'd done to his father and his grandparents last summer. Instead of being a red-flag, like most reasonable people would've taken it, the information only strengthened her trust with the young man. Murder is murder. Does the reason behind it make it more or less immoral? But given the knowledge that she might only have a few days left to live, and here's this boy who's willing to help her kill someone, perform a difficult piece of dark magic, all to save her life—all for the greater good, right? It's help she never thought she'd get. It's a chance at someday living as her true self, in pleasant obscurity, feeling healthy and, hopefully, happy.

She honestly doesn't think twice about why he's so keen on making a horcrux for himself. To her, it's just another way he's being supportive, as if to say, 'look don't feel bad I've done it too.' And as they work, reading off his scribbled notes, in the moonlit garden of angels, she feels a sense of peace wash away all the awful things. There's hope.

After the spell has been performed, and the two horcruxes lay at the feet of the angel, glistening in the moonlight, the two young people heave heavy sighs of exhaustion. Neither of them have ever experienced something so painful, so draining—of course, most people never will.

"You're going to miss curfew." Victoria says, glancing up at the sky, sun sinking behind the mansard roof. He picks up the gold ring, the one with the black stone in the center, and instead of sliding it back on his finger, he holds it out to her.

"I'll see you at school." He says simply. She takes the ring and holds it in her palm, not sure what to do, what to say. She's stunned.

"Ummm..." She looks up at him. "Let's hope." And next he does something even more odd. From his pocket he takes out a muggle camera—one he nicked from a kid at the orphanage and has been putting various enchantments on out of sheer boredom.

"Smile." He says. She's so confused that she can't help but laugh. It's an empty laugh, but one all the same. Her horcrux, the necklace with the eye pendant, is still lying on the cold stone. She doesn't want it. She'd throw it away if she knew that wasn't an incredibly stupid idea. So she picks it up and holds it out to him, pendant swinging like a pendulum, back and forth. The eyes of the angel follow the motion, and although neither of them notice, the two do have the vague sensation that they're being watched. Tom takes it, closes his fist around it, gripping it tightly.

"See you at school." Victoria says with a wink.


As Tom walks back to the orphanage, the necklace still clenched in his fist, he starts to doubt his reasoning behind giving her the ring. What if she gets the wrong idea? But isn't that the idea he wants her to have in the first place? He wants her on his side, and he's pretty sure he's just cemented that. But will she be loyal? Or is she just using him? No, she wouldn't do that. He's sure of it. She wouldn't use him. That's impossible. Suddenly he feels a pain in his hand. He opens his fist to look at the necklace. On his palm are small pricks, as though he had been holding a handful of thorns.