A New Day has Come
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine except what you don't find familiar.(y do we hafta do these anyway??)
A/N: Here we are. Hope you like- enjoy! Chapter 3
Minerva McGonagall gaped at the wizard before her. "You can't be serious, Albus. This is too much, even for you."
Dumbledore sighed, the tips of his fingers together. "I believe I know what I'm doing, Minerva." But he wouldn't say any more to explain why he was so insistent that Voldemort's son be imprisoned at Hogwarts, for now. And she knew he wouldn't say anything if he didn't want to. The old man had his reasons for everything, and Minerva didn't question him further.
"Fine. So I'm to go and fetch him now?"
The Headmaster nodded. "I need to know if he has the Dark Mark."
"I see. And will you question him under Veritasurem regarding his father's upcoming raids?"
" I don't know yet. Voldemort might not even have disclosed anything to him."
Minerva folded her arms. "Why don't you go get him?" She wasn't too keen on the idea of being alone with someone so closely related to such a monster- you never know what he might do.
Dumbledore look amused. " I will then, seeing as you are too scared to do it yourself. I must say though, I'm surprised; I thought you were the Head of Gryffindor house."
She knew he was pulling her leg, as he so often did, but she wouldn't be taken as a coward. "I most certainly am," she huffed. "I'll be right back."
She could hear the headmaster chuckling behind her as she strode out of the room, her shoulders held high.
She magically opened the door as she reached the small room, feeling as though the person inside was going to jump up and attack her any minute. But the person on the bed was asleep, lying on his stomach with no shirt on. Minerva's eyes widened as she saw the bruises and scars that covered his muscular back. She stepped forward cautiously.
"Ahem," she cleared her throat loudly, hoping he'd wake up. But the boy lay still on the mattress. Suddenly he jumped up. "No, don't go, please, where are you? Dammit!" he cried. Minerva frowned, telling herself he was probably dreaming.
"Ahem," she cleared her throat again. The boy seemed to jolt awake, and his eyes widened as he saw Minerva. She noticed he had another deep gash across his chest, and a few purple bruises on his arms. But there was no Dark Mark anywhere.
To her surprise, Riddle blushed. She wondered if he was embarrassed because she'd seen him shirtless, or because she'd seen his bruises, or both.
"Mr. Riddle?" she said curtly, drawing her lips to a thin line.
"Yeah..." He hastily got up and threw on a shirt that was lying on the floor. Minerva examined him closely. His face did have the "Don't mess with me" look she'd expected, but there was more than that, more that she couldn't read.
"Professor Dumbledore wants to see you, if you'll come with me."
"Why?" His bluntness surprised her.
"You'll find out when we get there," she said coolly.
He shrugged, carelessly tossed on a pair of robes- green, she noted- and followed her out of the room.
"Handsome fellow, isn't he," remarked Riddle as they reached the hideous stone gargoyle. Minerva gave him a piercing stare. There was a hint of laughter in his eyes, and Minerva tried not to smile.
"There's worse, believe me," she said.
"Oh, I've seen worse," he replied, his eyes suddenly taking on a haunted look.
Minerva gave the password in low tones so he wouldn't hear, and the gargoyle leapt aside.
"I'll bet you have," she muttered softly as they climbed up the moving staircase that led to the Headmaster's office.
"Professor McGonagall, Mr. Riddle, sit down, sit down," Dumbledore gestured to two seats before his desk as they entered the circular room.
They did. Minerva noticed Riddle's eyes casually viewing the room, then resting briefly on the beautiful phoenix. Minerva decided to stay and listen; she wanted to know what Dumbledore had to say to this boy. She found herself wondering about Mo's scars, and what Dumbledore would say when he saw them.
"So, Mr. Riddle, had a good night- any problems?" Dumbledore asked conversationally.
"It was all right." What McGonagall and Dumbledore couldn't possibly know was that he'd had a horrible night, tossing and turning, enduring nightmares about both his father and his current situation, on top of that, the recurring dreams of the dark, striking girl that haunted him regularly now.
"Right. Mr. Riddle, I need you to take off your shirt," said Dumbledore.
The boy's eyes widened slightly, then he seemed to understand, and said swiftly, "Oh, I assure you, I don't have the Dark Mark, if that's what you're wondering."
"I'm afraid I'll have to see for myself."
Riddle glanced at Minerva. "Professor Mac-Donald here-"
"It's McGonagall," she snapped.
"Right. Professor *McGonagall* here can tell you that I don't have the Dark Mark."
Dumbledore frowned for a moment, then said, "Oh, you were asleep when she came in to get you?"
A faint blush tinged Mo's cheeks, and Minerva nodded. "Yes, he doesn't have it Albus, but you can check, nevertheless." She wanted Dumbledore to see the bruises on his chest.
Riddle scowled slightly, then muttered, "Oh what the hell," and tore off his robes and shirt.
Dumbledore immediately saw that not only was there no Dark Mark on his arm, but also the numerous bruises and scars across his chest, arms and back.
"I get in many accidents when I work with potions," Riddle said unconvincingly as he put his clothes back on.
Dumbledore and McGonagall exchanged glances. "I'm sure you do," said Dumbledore softly, fixing him with his penetrating stare that unnerved most people Minerva knew. Riddle, however, looked slightly uncomfortable but didn't squirm or look away.
They didn't pursue the subject further, but thought it more than likely it was Voldemort's doing. Still, Minerva was surprised the Dark Lord would use physical abuse, a Muggle way, when he could easily use all means of magical torture.
"Was there something else?" asked Mo finally.
Dumbledore shook his head. "Minerva, would you take him back?"
"Of course. I'll see you later, Albus." She led the boy back to his room after he'd taken one last look at the phoenix. He was silent as they came in, and only nodded when she told him that the house elves would send up his breakfast soon. Minerva left after magically locking the door, her head filled with thoughts about this mysterious Mo Riddle. *~*~* Mo's 'breakfast' turned out to be a small piece of toast, some butter, and a glass of store-bought pumpkin juice. *What did you expect, a feast for the Dark Lord's son?* he told himself bitterly, after deciding he wasn't hungry anyway. He ate two bites of the toast and took one sip of the juice, then sighed, getting up from the chair by the table.
*What the hell am I going to do now?* he thought as he paced back and forth across the tiny room. He wondered if his father knew about the attack by now. If he knew that twelve of his Death Eaters, plus his own son, were now imprisoned: the Death Eaters by the Ministry, waiting for their trials, and his son at Hogwarts. He probably did know, and was probably furious. He wondered why he hadn't just wrestled his wand from Dumbledore yesterday night; he was pretty good at Muggle, physical defenses. Then he was glad that he hadn't, for the other men would have probably stunned him in a second. And now there was no way of escape. He was stuck here with his father's worst enemy, the one he'd heard about for so long, and had now met.
Not that things were better at his father's place, where he was supposed to be evil, and where he had to endure his father's beating and torture. What he hadn't told McGonagall and Dumbledore earlier was that his bruises were a result of his father's physical abuse when he realized his son could- most of the time- resist magical torture. He was sure though, that they hadn't bought his story . What he hadn't told *his father* was that after much work, he'd created a potion that would block Cruciatus, as well as a number of other painful spells his father seemed to like. He hadn't bothered with Imperius, as he could resist it almost effortlessly by himself. But resisting painful curses was harder for him, though he could do it to a certain extent. As for the killing curse, he had yet to discover the trick to make the potion work. He had been working on it for at least two years, doing endless research and experiments. There had always been that deep fear inside of him that his father might one day kill him, as he had so many others, if he didn't fulfill what was expected of him. And he wanted to be ready. He didn't even care about all the fame and fortune he'd get if people knew what he was doing, and what he'd already done.
Mo sank to the floor and leaned against the wall, feeling defeated. God knew how long he would stay cooped up in that room. It occurred to him that he had some of his books, he could read up on more potions, but he just didn't feel like it. He felt bored and restless, and he inwardly cursed his father, the Death Eaters, the Aurors, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, all of them. He didn't deserve any of this.
Suddenly, he thought of Snape. He knew that he was a genius in potions, his father had told him as much, as well as that he had helped brew potions for his father on numerous occasions when he had been a Death Eater. He also knew that Snape was currently the Potions Master at Hogwarts. He thought back to the days when he was just a child, barely seven, when he used to spy on the Death Eater meetings at his father's mansion. He had admired Snape at that time, for some reason. Perhaps it was because of his sureness of himself, the quiet way he stood, his quick tongue, and the fact that he only had to speak a few words softly to get the attention of all those around him. Even his father had liked him, before he had been so utterly betrayed by him. Mo had been disappointed that the big dark man wasn't going to come anymore. He had hoped to meet him someday, as his father had promised he would meet the Death Eaters when he was a little older.
*I sure met him all right,* he thought bitterly as he remembered the spiteful, sarcastic man he'd seen the day before. But now he had no choice; he needed him if he wanted to get out of this room, maybe even go home. In the very least he would be able to continue working on the block for Avada Kedavra. He was planning on bribing the man, showing him how to brew the potions he'd already created as well as his progress with the Killing Curse, in turn for letting him go, or at least for permission to continue work on it in the Potions lab, wherever that was. But it would mean revealing the secret he'd kept for so many years, and he wasn't sure he wanted to do that.
Finally he decided. He had no choice. He could wait to see if there was any news from his father, but he knew deep inside that even if there was, there was nothing he could do. He had never dared attack the school before, and Mo didn't think he was going to now. He wanted out as soon as possible.
He took out a piece of parchment from a packet he had in a pocket of his backpack, and found a pen in the pockets of one of his jeans. He had no quill or ink and would have to make do with the Muggle thing. He chewed thoughtfully on the end for a moment, before scribbling a note.
* To whomever gets this, I'd like to speak with Professor S.Snape on a rather urgent matter. Preferably as soon as possible. I'd appreciate it if you tell him. Thank you. -Mo.*
He hesitated for only a moment, then told himself he had nothing to lose. He slipped the parchment under the door. It was only a few hours before he heard footsteps coming from outside.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine except what you don't find familiar.(y do we hafta do these anyway??)
A/N: Here we are. Hope you like- enjoy! Chapter 3
Minerva McGonagall gaped at the wizard before her. "You can't be serious, Albus. This is too much, even for you."
Dumbledore sighed, the tips of his fingers together. "I believe I know what I'm doing, Minerva." But he wouldn't say any more to explain why he was so insistent that Voldemort's son be imprisoned at Hogwarts, for now. And she knew he wouldn't say anything if he didn't want to. The old man had his reasons for everything, and Minerva didn't question him further.
"Fine. So I'm to go and fetch him now?"
The Headmaster nodded. "I need to know if he has the Dark Mark."
"I see. And will you question him under Veritasurem regarding his father's upcoming raids?"
" I don't know yet. Voldemort might not even have disclosed anything to him."
Minerva folded her arms. "Why don't you go get him?" She wasn't too keen on the idea of being alone with someone so closely related to such a monster- you never know what he might do.
Dumbledore look amused. " I will then, seeing as you are too scared to do it yourself. I must say though, I'm surprised; I thought you were the Head of Gryffindor house."
She knew he was pulling her leg, as he so often did, but she wouldn't be taken as a coward. "I most certainly am," she huffed. "I'll be right back."
She could hear the headmaster chuckling behind her as she strode out of the room, her shoulders held high.
She magically opened the door as she reached the small room, feeling as though the person inside was going to jump up and attack her any minute. But the person on the bed was asleep, lying on his stomach with no shirt on. Minerva's eyes widened as she saw the bruises and scars that covered his muscular back. She stepped forward cautiously.
"Ahem," she cleared her throat loudly, hoping he'd wake up. But the boy lay still on the mattress. Suddenly he jumped up. "No, don't go, please, where are you? Dammit!" he cried. Minerva frowned, telling herself he was probably dreaming.
"Ahem," she cleared her throat again. The boy seemed to jolt awake, and his eyes widened as he saw Minerva. She noticed he had another deep gash across his chest, and a few purple bruises on his arms. But there was no Dark Mark anywhere.
To her surprise, Riddle blushed. She wondered if he was embarrassed because she'd seen him shirtless, or because she'd seen his bruises, or both.
"Mr. Riddle?" she said curtly, drawing her lips to a thin line.
"Yeah..." He hastily got up and threw on a shirt that was lying on the floor. Minerva examined him closely. His face did have the "Don't mess with me" look she'd expected, but there was more than that, more that she couldn't read.
"Professor Dumbledore wants to see you, if you'll come with me."
"Why?" His bluntness surprised her.
"You'll find out when we get there," she said coolly.
He shrugged, carelessly tossed on a pair of robes- green, she noted- and followed her out of the room.
"Handsome fellow, isn't he," remarked Riddle as they reached the hideous stone gargoyle. Minerva gave him a piercing stare. There was a hint of laughter in his eyes, and Minerva tried not to smile.
"There's worse, believe me," she said.
"Oh, I've seen worse," he replied, his eyes suddenly taking on a haunted look.
Minerva gave the password in low tones so he wouldn't hear, and the gargoyle leapt aside.
"I'll bet you have," she muttered softly as they climbed up the moving staircase that led to the Headmaster's office.
"Professor McGonagall, Mr. Riddle, sit down, sit down," Dumbledore gestured to two seats before his desk as they entered the circular room.
They did. Minerva noticed Riddle's eyes casually viewing the room, then resting briefly on the beautiful phoenix. Minerva decided to stay and listen; she wanted to know what Dumbledore had to say to this boy. She found herself wondering about Mo's scars, and what Dumbledore would say when he saw them.
"So, Mr. Riddle, had a good night- any problems?" Dumbledore asked conversationally.
"It was all right." What McGonagall and Dumbledore couldn't possibly know was that he'd had a horrible night, tossing and turning, enduring nightmares about both his father and his current situation, on top of that, the recurring dreams of the dark, striking girl that haunted him regularly now.
"Right. Mr. Riddle, I need you to take off your shirt," said Dumbledore.
The boy's eyes widened slightly, then he seemed to understand, and said swiftly, "Oh, I assure you, I don't have the Dark Mark, if that's what you're wondering."
"I'm afraid I'll have to see for myself."
Riddle glanced at Minerva. "Professor Mac-Donald here-"
"It's McGonagall," she snapped.
"Right. Professor *McGonagall* here can tell you that I don't have the Dark Mark."
Dumbledore frowned for a moment, then said, "Oh, you were asleep when she came in to get you?"
A faint blush tinged Mo's cheeks, and Minerva nodded. "Yes, he doesn't have it Albus, but you can check, nevertheless." She wanted Dumbledore to see the bruises on his chest.
Riddle scowled slightly, then muttered, "Oh what the hell," and tore off his robes and shirt.
Dumbledore immediately saw that not only was there no Dark Mark on his arm, but also the numerous bruises and scars across his chest, arms and back.
"I get in many accidents when I work with potions," Riddle said unconvincingly as he put his clothes back on.
Dumbledore and McGonagall exchanged glances. "I'm sure you do," said Dumbledore softly, fixing him with his penetrating stare that unnerved most people Minerva knew. Riddle, however, looked slightly uncomfortable but didn't squirm or look away.
They didn't pursue the subject further, but thought it more than likely it was Voldemort's doing. Still, Minerva was surprised the Dark Lord would use physical abuse, a Muggle way, when he could easily use all means of magical torture.
"Was there something else?" asked Mo finally.
Dumbledore shook his head. "Minerva, would you take him back?"
"Of course. I'll see you later, Albus." She led the boy back to his room after he'd taken one last look at the phoenix. He was silent as they came in, and only nodded when she told him that the house elves would send up his breakfast soon. Minerva left after magically locking the door, her head filled with thoughts about this mysterious Mo Riddle. *~*~* Mo's 'breakfast' turned out to be a small piece of toast, some butter, and a glass of store-bought pumpkin juice. *What did you expect, a feast for the Dark Lord's son?* he told himself bitterly, after deciding he wasn't hungry anyway. He ate two bites of the toast and took one sip of the juice, then sighed, getting up from the chair by the table.
*What the hell am I going to do now?* he thought as he paced back and forth across the tiny room. He wondered if his father knew about the attack by now. If he knew that twelve of his Death Eaters, plus his own son, were now imprisoned: the Death Eaters by the Ministry, waiting for their trials, and his son at Hogwarts. He probably did know, and was probably furious. He wondered why he hadn't just wrestled his wand from Dumbledore yesterday night; he was pretty good at Muggle, physical defenses. Then he was glad that he hadn't, for the other men would have probably stunned him in a second. And now there was no way of escape. He was stuck here with his father's worst enemy, the one he'd heard about for so long, and had now met.
Not that things were better at his father's place, where he was supposed to be evil, and where he had to endure his father's beating and torture. What he hadn't told McGonagall and Dumbledore earlier was that his bruises were a result of his father's physical abuse when he realized his son could- most of the time- resist magical torture. He was sure though, that they hadn't bought his story . What he hadn't told *his father* was that after much work, he'd created a potion that would block Cruciatus, as well as a number of other painful spells his father seemed to like. He hadn't bothered with Imperius, as he could resist it almost effortlessly by himself. But resisting painful curses was harder for him, though he could do it to a certain extent. As for the killing curse, he had yet to discover the trick to make the potion work. He had been working on it for at least two years, doing endless research and experiments. There had always been that deep fear inside of him that his father might one day kill him, as he had so many others, if he didn't fulfill what was expected of him. And he wanted to be ready. He didn't even care about all the fame and fortune he'd get if people knew what he was doing, and what he'd already done.
Mo sank to the floor and leaned against the wall, feeling defeated. God knew how long he would stay cooped up in that room. It occurred to him that he had some of his books, he could read up on more potions, but he just didn't feel like it. He felt bored and restless, and he inwardly cursed his father, the Death Eaters, the Aurors, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, all of them. He didn't deserve any of this.
Suddenly, he thought of Snape. He knew that he was a genius in potions, his father had told him as much, as well as that he had helped brew potions for his father on numerous occasions when he had been a Death Eater. He also knew that Snape was currently the Potions Master at Hogwarts. He thought back to the days when he was just a child, barely seven, when he used to spy on the Death Eater meetings at his father's mansion. He had admired Snape at that time, for some reason. Perhaps it was because of his sureness of himself, the quiet way he stood, his quick tongue, and the fact that he only had to speak a few words softly to get the attention of all those around him. Even his father had liked him, before he had been so utterly betrayed by him. Mo had been disappointed that the big dark man wasn't going to come anymore. He had hoped to meet him someday, as his father had promised he would meet the Death Eaters when he was a little older.
*I sure met him all right,* he thought bitterly as he remembered the spiteful, sarcastic man he'd seen the day before. But now he had no choice; he needed him if he wanted to get out of this room, maybe even go home. In the very least he would be able to continue working on the block for Avada Kedavra. He was planning on bribing the man, showing him how to brew the potions he'd already created as well as his progress with the Killing Curse, in turn for letting him go, or at least for permission to continue work on it in the Potions lab, wherever that was. But it would mean revealing the secret he'd kept for so many years, and he wasn't sure he wanted to do that.
Finally he decided. He had no choice. He could wait to see if there was any news from his father, but he knew deep inside that even if there was, there was nothing he could do. He had never dared attack the school before, and Mo didn't think he was going to now. He wanted out as soon as possible.
He took out a piece of parchment from a packet he had in a pocket of his backpack, and found a pen in the pockets of one of his jeans. He had no quill or ink and would have to make do with the Muggle thing. He chewed thoughtfully on the end for a moment, before scribbling a note.
* To whomever gets this, I'd like to speak with Professor S.Snape on a rather urgent matter. Preferably as soon as possible. I'd appreciate it if you tell him. Thank you. -Mo.*
He hesitated for only a moment, then told himself he had nothing to lose. He slipped the parchment under the door. It was only a few hours before he heard footsteps coming from outside.