A/N: All characters… blah, blah, blah. See disclaimers in chapter one or My Antonia.
Notes at the bottom
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Touch of the Master's Hand
1959
"Do you really want to do that, Angel?" he demanded, his eyes glowing.
"It doesn't matter what I really want, right now, milord," she rebutted, her voice brittle. "You've seen to that."
"I don't want to see you locked up like this!"
"Then let me go!" she cried.
* * *
Spring 1947
"Congratulations, Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore said quietly. "You've received the highest score on the NEWTS ever."
Tom looked at Dumbledore suspiciously, neither of them aware of the child lurking in the shadows. "You say this like it is a bad thing, sir…"
"Not even the creators of this test scored this high. There are some materials in this test that cannot be found in this school, not even in the Restricted section of the library. Some of those books are even difficult to find in the most unsavory shops of Knockturn Alley. Yet, you, Mr. Riddle, answered those questions right."
"I… I… I went through Knockturn Alley this summer to pick up some books. How can I become a top auror if I don't know all of the tricks?" Tom countered, gaining certainty as he progressed through his explanation.
Dumbledore remained skeptical. "Right. Let us all hope, Mr. Riddle, that you never decide to use your knowledge of such matters." Dumbledore turned on his heel and walked away.
Angelina slipped out of her hidden spot in the shadows. "Congratulations," she whispered, smiling up at him with shining blue eyes.
"Thanks," Tom replied, sounding thoroughly dissatisfied.
"What's wrong?"
"Dumbledore," Tom sneered. "Every time I prove that I'm good, Dumbledore has to try and ruin it."
The child shrugged. She knew perfectly well that there were two Albus Dumbledores… one was kind and generous and taught transfigurations. The other was a cold and callous monster that killed her father. So why wouldn't that second Albus try to diminish the value of Tom's accomplishments?
"Some day, Dumbledore will pay for everything that he's done," Tom vowed.
Angelina smiled. "I want you to promise me that I'll be there to see it," she whispered.
Tom's own smile was gentle and caring as he stroked the soft flesh of the little girl's face. "Oh, no, Angel, I wouldn't want you to miss it for all the galleons in the world. You deserve to see it, after what he's done to you."
"And to be so against the Dark Arts… Stupid, just plain stupid…" Angelina shook her head. "He seems to miss the Art part of it… They are beautiful things to behold. For one to have that much power, and to focus it with such accuracy? That is a beauty, not an abomination." Her voice was filled with wonderment.
"You're a very special girl, Angelina Grindelwald."
"My family gained everything that it has ever had through the use of the Dark Arts. To turn my back on it because of him would be to disrespect my family. He killed my father. I won't let him take away my family honor, too," she declared, her blue eyes unusually bright.
"What are you saying?" Tom pressed, looking at the child with wonderment. His hands held hers as he knelt down on one knee to better look her in the eye.
"I'm saying
that I'm going to be the best dark witch that the world has ever seen. I'm going to make my father proud." I'm saying that you're going to be very
lucky to have me at your side… There's
nothing that you and I won't be able to do. The Great Lord Voldemort with Fräulein Grindelwald? We'll be unstoppable.
* * *
1959
Riddle… Voldemort froze at that suggestion. "I…" his voice trailed off to silence.
"My love," she whispered, seeing the indecision in his eyes. Gently, lovingly, her fingertips stroked his face.
He buried his cheek against her hand and turned, kissing her fingertips. The wizard pulled the keys out of his robe and held them tightly in his hands, staring at the metal keys as if he expected them to answer…
* * *
Spring 1947
"Happy Birthday," Tom greeted, smiling warmly at the child when she came down for breakfast.
Angelina smiled broadly, looking for all the world like a beautiful angel of death in her black Hogwarts robe. "Thanks," she responded, smiling cheerfully. Today was Angelina's twelfth birthday… In another seven days, it would be two years since Dumbledore had slaughtered her father.
Her smile faded. No doubt, there would be much celebrating and rejoicing in the wizarding world, particularly that idiot Headmaster Dippet. She, however, would be locked away in her dormitory while they all celebrated, mourning the man that they all loathed.
"I'll stay with you, Angelina," he whispered.
That was when Dippet took everyone's attention. "In one week, it will be the anniversary of vanquishing the Dark Lord Grindelwald. There will be activities to celebrate this momentous occasion lasting throughout the day. In the morning, there will be a Quidditch match between Slytherin and Gryffindor. We will have an early dinner, a feast, in the Great Hall, followed by a ball for all the students to attend…"
Angelina could feel the eyes of her housemates upon her. She, however, kept a stony countenance, revealing nothing in her face. The hatred that she felt for the headmaster? That was for her, and for her alone.
I won't cry, she swore. I won't let them see me cry. I'm a Grindelwald. Vater would never forgive me if I showed weakness in front of the enemy. She felt like she was dying inside, every time Dippet talked about what a monster her father was, and what a wonderful man Dumbledore was…
Dumbledore
is no great man. He's more of a monster
than mein Vater ever was. At
least mein Vater was honest about his intentions; when he came, you knew
that he would kill you if you did not join him. Not like Dumbledore, who pretends to be harmless and then kills.
As soon as Dippet finally shut up about the glorious murder of her father, Angelina threw her napkin on the table and walked out of the Great Hall. She focused on keeping her pace a slow, sedate walk. There was no way she'd give Dippet or anyone else the satisfaction of knowing that mere words could hurt Fräulein Grindelwald.
* * *
Spring 1945
"They've killed your father, and they'll be closing in any minute," her nanny panicked, shoving the shocked child to action. "We have to get out of here!"
Angelina stood and stared with wide blue eyes. "Where's my papa?" she screamed, clutching the teddy bear that he had given her.
"Angelina! Listen to me! A man killed your father. It's over. The fancy castles, the pretty dresses… It's over with! Your father had enemies, and they will storm the castle!"
"I just want my papa!" the child wailed.
Another voice shouted, "They're storming the grounds!"
"We've got to get out of here," the nanny said, her customarily crisp voice tinged with panic. "Come, we have a portkey. It will take us to a safe place." The nanny grasped her hand and clutched the portkey.
"No!" she screamed, snatching her hand out of the nanny's. The nanny's heeled shoes appeared to lift off the ground. The witch looked as though she was being sucked through the golden cauldron.
Then, she was gone.
And it was just the child, just turned ten, standing there alone.
She heard them long before she saw them.
There were men running up the stairs, getting stuck in the trip step, getting sucked into the void in the wall… But they would find her. They were coming closer… closer… She could hear them, hear their footsteps, their shouts…
But not many knew that Helmut Grindelwald had a little girl.
The door burst open, bouncing into the wall with a dull thud.
That was when she saw them… Four men, carrying wands, dressed in the black robes of the British Aurors. "There's no one left! No one but this little girl…"
"Wo ist mein Vater?" the child screamed.
"Who are you?" one of the men demanded. "Why are you in Grindelwald's castle?"
The child dropped to her knees, sobbing, repeating, "Wo ist mein Vater? Wo ist mein Vater?"
"Damn it, doesn't the child speak English?" yet another one exploded.
"What are we supposed to do with this? This was supposed to be easy. We come in, we get Heinlen, we begin to dismantle the estate. We weren't supposed to find screaming children!"
The fourth one, who had been silent up to this point, spoke up. "Would you all shut up? I may be able to find out something from the child, like where she belongs, if you'd all stop frightening her!" While his tone held an underlying hint of anger, he, at least, held a more soothing air than his companions.
The fourth man stepped forward and dropped down to the crying child's eye level. "Child? Please, we want you help you," he murmured soothingly, stroking her blond hair.
Angelina was too upset to remember her English. The young witch simply buried her face in her skirt and cried for her father.
* * *
Spring 1947
"Angelina?" a familiar voice called out, disturbing her from her reverie. Hidden among the old books of the library, she thought that she would have a safe haven… At least for a little while. It wasn't like people were in the habit of searching for Angelina Grindelwald when she wandered off, anyway.
"Gregory!" Angelina cried, throwing herself into her friend's arms.
Gregory wrapped his arms around her and held her close, kissing her temple affectionately. "Happy birthday," he whispered, his breath tickling her ear.
"I don't think I'll ever have another happy birthday," Angelina countered. No, of course not. People will be getting ready to celebrate the murder of my father on the day of my birth.
"Still, though, why don't you come back to the common room?" Gregory pushed. "It will be worth your while…"
Angelina shook her head. "They are planning a celebration to commemorate my father's death. I don't want to be near those people."
"Angelina, please," he whispered. "Not all of those people in our house, nor their families, are happy that your father is dead. I bet lots of them would rather Dumbledore had died, instead of Grindelwald."
The child looked skeptical.
"Please. Just… You trust me, don't you?" he pressed.
"Well… Yes," she replied doubtfully, her blue eyes peering at him with great suspicion.
"Then just come with me," he pressed.
"All right," she agreed.
He slipped his hand in hers and they walked back to the dungeons together. "Hot fudge sundae," Gregory whispered to the knight.
The knight slid open and revealed the Slytherin common room, filled with Slytherin students and a flashing banner that read, "Happy Birthday, Angelina".
The little girl smiled, and threw her arms around Gregory. "You planned this, didn't you?"
"I… Well," he finished lamely. "I just wanted you to have a happy birthday."
"And I am, thanks to you," she whispered in his ear, kissing him on the cheek.
"Angelina, I…" He paused, looking as though he was searching for the words. "I like you a lot. Would you… Would you…"
Her smile faded and her blue eyes widened. She knew where he was going with this. Someone, please come up with some kind of distraction!
And that was when Tom walked up. "Hello, princess," he greeted warmly. His green eyes focused on Gregory, filled with an intensity that lacked description. A faint sneer hovered on his lips for only a fraction of a second. He then shifted his attention back to Angelina.
"Hello," she murmured, her blue eyes sparkling as she looked him in the eye.
"Do you like your party?" Tom asked, not taking his eyes off of her.
"Yeah… It's great," she replied.
Their eyes were locked, and everyone else in the room faded to nothing. They didn't even notice Sally staring angrily or Gregory; poor dejected Gregory watching and wishing it were he on the floor with Angelina, rather than Tom.
"Do you want to dance?" Tom asked. "This time, there's even music…" His voice trailed off as he looked at her, watching for a reaction.
A smile slowly spread across her face as she heard the beginning chords of The Glen Miller Orchestra's In the Mood played on the phonograph. That smile was all the encouragement that Tom Riddle needed. He grabbed her hands and led her through the fast paced steps of the jitterbug.
Both of them were oblivious to an unhappy Gregory and an angry Sally sitting together watching.
By the time the music had stopped playing, their fellow Slytherins were surrounding them, watching them both execute the complicated steps of the muggle dance.
"Happy birthday, Angel," Tom whispered in her ear, kissing her on the cheek.
With that, he disappeared into the crowd, still there, still watching, but no longer visible.
"Come with me," Gregory commanded, smiling at the witch.
"Where are we going?" she protested as he took her hand and pulled her along with him.
"I want to give you your gift," he replied simply. He took her away to an isolated corner and pulled a box out of his pocket.
The little box fit in the palm of his hand and was wrapped in silver paper. It was tied with a bit of green ribbon. "This is for you," he whispered, taking her wrist in his empty hand. He brought her wrist and hand up to even level and placed the tiny box in her open palm.
"You didn't… you didn't have to get me anything," she murmured shyly.
"I know I didn't. I wanted to." He gave her a gentle smile. "Open it."
With nimble fingers, she pulled the ribbon, untying the strip of satin, and neatly tore the paper open. Inside was a little black velvet box. Angelina lifted the top and saw a silver spider staring up at her on a chain. "Gregory, it's beautiful," she breathed. "How did you know that the spider was on my family crest?"
"It seemed natural, Angelina. The spider is one of the most beautiful creatures. The complexity of her web is beautiful, but deadly to her prey. And the efficiency that she uses to kill? The spider suits you."
With shaking fingers, she lifted the thin silver chain and charm out of the gift box.
"May I?" Gregory whispered.
She smiled and handed the pretty trinket to him, and then turned.
There was a slight chill from the cold metal of the spider in her web resting on the ivory flesh of her breast. The witch felt her hair lift off the back of her neck as the boy gently clasped the necklace.
"You have beautiful hair," he murmured, letting the blond locks slip through his fingers. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the gentle scent of gardenias from her hair. "It feels like silk, and shines like spun gold…"
"Gregory, please," she whispered. Angelina didn't want to have this conversation… Not now… Gregory was her best friend. She didn't ever want to have this conversation with him.
She turned to face him and felt his arms gently wrap around her in a careful embrace.
"Angelina, I…" He stopped and gently brushed his lips against hers. He stepped back, horrified. "Oh, God, Angelina, I'm so sorry… I never should have…"
"You're right," another voice interrupted coldly. "You never should touch her."
Angelina whirled around. "Tom! I thought you were…"
"Somewhere else?"
"Well… Yes, actually. I thought you were busy prying Sally off of you. Of course, now that I think about it, I've never actually seen you pry her off of you… More like you just let the little piece of trash drape herself over you," Angelina purred maliciously.
"And there you are, making out with this boy in the common room in front of everyone," Tom countered.
"We were not making out. That was what you and that thing were doing after the Yule ball."
"Don't start," he hissed, roughly grabbing her by the forearm.
"Don't touch me!" Angelina snarled, flinging his hand off of her.
Interestingly enough, the three of them had managed to keep their voices low enough where the other members of the house couldn't hear them over the music.
"He's a little boy, Angel. I would think that you wouldn't waste your time with that." Tom's green eyes perused Gregory, noting his face, still boyishly round, and Gregory's unimpressively short stature.
"Jealous?" the girl spat, angered by his unwelcome and unfounded judgments.
"Of that? Please!" the older boy protested, his voice thick with undisguised sarcasm.'
"Well, what else would you call your little temper tantrum that you're throwing?"
"I don't throw tantrums," he answered petulantly.
One blond eyebrow rose up; skepticism was written across her face. "And what, my lord, would you call this little tirade of yours?"
He straightened himself up and said arrogantly, "Watching out for your best interests."
"I'm not a child! I don't need you to watch out for me!"
"Well, you obviously do! You're letting Gregory Fairchild drape himself all over you like a cheap—"
Angelina cut him off. "Like a cheap Sally?"
"Leave Sally out of this. She has—"
"Everything to do with it. You don't have any right to tell me what I can and can't do when you're letting that piece of garbage follow you around like—"
"She accuses you of doing?" he interrupted.
"I do not follow you around! You're the one who followed me over here!"
"Doesn't matter. See this?" he demanded, tapping his head boy badge. "This gives me every right to watch our for you and tell you what to do."
"Take points off of our house, then! Do it, I dare you! I'm not going to stand back here and let you berate me like a disobedient child."
"Then stop acting like one!"
"Make me!"
Tom opened his mouth to speak when Gregory interrupted. "Are you trying to ruin her birthday, or does being a jerk just come naturally to you?"
Riddle turned and focused his energy on the boy with dark hair. "You stay out of it, you little runt."
"Don't talk to him like that!" Angelina defended.
"I'll talk to him any way I want!"
"Enough! Both of you!" Gregory announced, using an air of authority. "You like Angelina, Tom. And, well, we both know what you think, Angelina. There's no reason for it!"
Tom and Angelina turned to Gregory at the same time. "You stay out of this!" they both snarled.
That was when Gregory gave up, and decided to let the two of them argue it out on their own.
* * *
1959
"I— I love you, Angelina," he explained. "But you drive me mad," Lord Voldemort said darkly as he dropped the keys back in his pocket.
"Then just let me go, darling… Let me go away."
He lifted her hand and brushed his lips against the soft flesh of her palm. "I can't give you up, Angelina…"
Riddle slowly released her hand and walked away, leaving her trapped in the cell.
* * *
Spring 1947
"And the house cup goes to Slytherin," Dippet announced, sounding remarkably unenthused.
"Hufflepuff bastard," Tom sneered, sitting in his usual seat beside Angelina.
Angelina stifled a laugh.
"It's been a wonderful year… No unfortunate accidents, no bizarre events…. Just a nice, quiet year with a good and healthy competition among the houses. Our seventh year students are now partaking in their final feast as students, and will leave on the Hogwarts Express for the last time.
"You will now be adults in the wizarding world, ready to embark in new adventures. Some of you will work for the Ministry in various departments… Some of you will become shopkeepers of Diagon Alley or any other wizard hideaway. Whatever you do, wherever you go, the world is at your feet, just waiting for you to make a go of it, and to do your best.
"You, ladies and gentlemen, are a credit to Hogwarts, and a credit to yourselves. I am proud of all of you." Dippet coughed and smiled. "Now, let us begin our feast."
The headmaster clapped his hands, and the plates were filled.
The students partook in their final meal for the school year before boarding the Hogwarts express.
"Tom?" the twelve year old asked hesitantly.
"What?" he asked, holding his fork full of pie in midair.
"Now that you're leaving… I—" She paused, her eyes downcast.
"I won't forget you, ever. And I'll still send you owls," he promised.
"Where will you go?"
"I'm going to learn how to perfect my art…"
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"Touch of the Master's Hand" comes from a poem by Myra B. Welch.
Tessie: I saw! Thank you so very much!
W&m_law: grins You'll figure it out, darlin'. I have faith in you… Although, of course, I'll take great pleasure in messing with your head until then… ;-)
Rushumble: You'll find Angelina to be very bipolar when locked away… Not only does she have the face of her lover, there's also the little specters of the past popping up to haunt her, as well…
Debra: I have a three year old that insists that I take breaks. J He's very, very demanding… more so than Tom, even.
Ruby: Thanks
Whitebears: Yup, that was a boo boo. Gotta re-upload chapter 2 and fix that… And I'll probably continue the time jumping format. It's a bit different than anything else that I've ever tried, and I'm kind of enjoying it. Hopefully, y'all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.
Oklahoma Gurl, Danielle, and Candace: Thanks so much, and I'll do my best to keep it coming.
Tempesta: Darling, dearest… I know that you've read everything, since you beta me and kick me in the ass when I need it, but still, you could at least post your review…
Oh, yeah, and here's a shameless plug: Tempesta writes some of the most awesome poetry on ff.net. Check out her stuff here:
http://www.fanfiction.net/index.fic?action=Directory-AuthorProfile&UserID=19758