Author's Note: Of course that isn't the end of the trilogy! Twenty-four
chapters in each installment -- My keyboard just broke after I spilled a
glass of water in it (Sorry for the delay)
Chapter Fifteen -- Birthday Celebrations (Part One)
It was no longer simply flecks of gray.
Tom stared in the mirror, slightly worried. A strand of ebony was a rare occurrence now in the gossamer of Tom Riddle's hair. The thick locks had all turned a sable shade of gray -- Lighter than the jetty hue of his youth but lacking that flagrant white of aging. Tom's hair would never carry the sickly ivory color of Albus Dumbledore's -- Instead, it would only carry gray.
"Would you stop staring at yourself?" Harry smiled, walking out of the bathroom and ruffling Tom's hair playfully.
"I look old enough to be your grandfather," Tom said distastefully.
"Do you want me to be perfectly honest?" Harry asked, pulling on a pair of school robes and quickly buttoning them up.
"Go ahead but remember that I'm turning seventy today," Tom responded, flinching a bit at the word "seventy."
"Yes, you are starting to look older," Harry answered. Tom sighed mournfully. "But I still think you're dashing."
"Thanks," Tom said, raising an eyebrow slightly as Harry ran out the door for class.
Tom turned to examine himself in the mirror once more but he couldn't withhold the smile that was creeping up onto his lips. "You shouldn't be smiling," he scolded. "You're probably going to end up with lines -- Creases and spots and wrinkles and sagging." To be perfectly honest though, other than the gray hair, Tom showed almost no other signs of aging. The slight creases at the edges of the eyes were still there but they were barely apparent and, more than anything, they just helped to give him "character" -- A look of maturity.
"Happy birthday, my dear boy," came a voice from the doorway and Tom turned around to face Albus Dumbledore -- Smile tugging at the sides of his lips, blue eyes twinkling in the morning sunlight. "I'm afraid I have let myself in without an invitation. Your door was unlocked."
"Don't worry about it, Albus," Tom sighed, waving a hand about absently. "Have a seat."
Albus slowly lowered himself onto one of the couches. He showed all of his one hundred fifty years and then some. Tom quickly rose from his seat and headed over to Albus -- To assist the old man in any way possible. The chilled gray of his hair must have caught the sunlight because Albus' smile suddenly broadened ten-fold.
"Ah, my boy! Welcome to the prime of your life!" Albus said, his voice laden with delight.
"What do you mean the 'prime of my life?'" Tom asked stiffly. "I already had my prime back in the late 1970s or sometime around then. One can not experience one's prime twice."
"Are you sure that was your prime, Tom?" Albus asked.
"How could it not have been? I had everything I ever wanted, Albus. I had power and prestige and a legion of loyal followers. And I had Severus . . ." A nostalgic smile crossed Tom's lips. It was a smile that confused Albus Dumbledore immensely. "What more could one ask for than Severus?"
"You loved him that dearly, Tom?" Albus asked curiously. "For some reason, I had the impression that he was simply a servant and nothing more -- A servant that you sometimes had brief . . . liaisons with."
"I would love to know where you were getting your information from," Tom scoffed. "Severus and I were very publicly together. And I loved him more than life . . ."
"More than you love Harry?" Albus asked.
Tom paused for a moment.
"I cannot answer that, Albus," Tom said regretfully, lowering his eyes to the ground.
"Then it was not the prime of your life," Albus said decisively. "You had power that required pain and destruction. And don't you dare pretend that you thrived off of that either."
"You know absolutely nothing about me, Albus," Tom sniffed, looking very aloof.
"I know more than you think I know," Albus replied. "I know that when you were a fifth year, Professor Kettleburn made you dissect a recently deceased Kappa that had washed up on shore. When the blood sprung from its veins, you were the only student in the class to fall down in a dead faint."
"Ah yes," Tom said weakly, slightly nauseous at the memory. "The Kappa -- The most famous demon in Japan."
"Yes," Albus smiled. "Japan and certainly not Mongolia."
"Mongolia?" Tom asked, wrinkling his nose slightly. "Who on earth would say that Kappas are found in Mongolia? You must have hired an extremely uneducated professor, Albus."
Albus kept his mouth shut though it was difficult. Tom hardly noticed. He was back to scrutinizing his reflection. "Vanity," Albus thought to himself, shaking his head forlornly. "God knows how he got by as that disfigured creature all these years."
"I thought glamouries weren't supposed to age anyway," Tom huffed, pulling at a strand of hair. "I thought that I was supposed to look sixteen forever."
"That, my dear boy, is a myth."
"Please tell me this isn't going to get much worse," Tom said, brushing his hair back and sitting down, as if he was resolving not to stare in the mirror any longer.
"I assure you," Albus smiled. "It won't get any worse than this."
"Good," Tom huffed, crossing his arms against his chest.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------
Double potions class.
Never had torture been so accurately defined than in those three words. Sitting in the damp of the dungeons for the majority of the morning, languishing over steaming caldrons bubbling over with god-knows-what and kept in a state of perpetual fear by the repressed sadist running the class.
Double potions class.
Harry sat down and braced himself for another bout of pain and misery. Hermione automatically took her place next to him, smiling broadly. While the class prepared themselves for the Armageddon otherwise known as "potions class," Severus Snape scrawled notes on the board. Harry had never taken notice of Severus' handwriting before. The potions master wrote in a small script with plenty of flourishes on the first letters of sentences. It was surprisingly flowery and delicate.
"Copy these down," Severus commanded once the class was appropriately settled.
Harry dipped his quill into the ink well and began to scribble the notes in a large, awkward hand. It was the handwriting of a teenage boy -- Messy and oblong (Barely readable, to be quite honest). It was certainly a sharp contrast to Severus' work.
"So today's the birthday," Hermione whispered.
"Yes," Harry replied, a grin washing over his face. "Are you coming to the celebration?"
"Of course! I wouldn't miss it for the world!"
"I think we're going to have to scratch the idea of putting seventy candles on the cake though," Harry said thoughtfully, copying down a few more words.
"Why?" Hermione asked, sounding somewhat disappointed.
"Tom's self-conscious," Harry sighed and Hermione giggled quietly.
"So what did you get him?"
"Yes," came an ice-cold voice from behind the chattering duo. "What does one get the man who has everything?"
Harry spun around in his seat. Green eyes met pitch and the two stared at each other -- Their emotions completely unreadable. The potions master stood before the two -- His back ramrod straight, thick woolen robes covering him from his neck to the heels of his boots. Harry fleetingly remembered that brief glimpse of a shoulder -- Wondering what the vast expanse of Severus Snape's flesh would look like. Was this what Tom and his father had felt for the man? Had their minds also been haunted by these thoughts? By the insatiable curiosity and longing mixed with horror?
"I can't tell you now, Professor," Harry said simply. "You'll just have to come to the celebration tonight and see for yourself."
Harry noticed the temporary shock in Severus' eyes.
"I'll just have to do that. You'd do well to pay attention in my class, Potter."
And with that, Severus turned his back on Harry Potter.
Chapter Fifteen -- Birthday Celebrations (Part One)
It was no longer simply flecks of gray.
Tom stared in the mirror, slightly worried. A strand of ebony was a rare occurrence now in the gossamer of Tom Riddle's hair. The thick locks had all turned a sable shade of gray -- Lighter than the jetty hue of his youth but lacking that flagrant white of aging. Tom's hair would never carry the sickly ivory color of Albus Dumbledore's -- Instead, it would only carry gray.
"Would you stop staring at yourself?" Harry smiled, walking out of the bathroom and ruffling Tom's hair playfully.
"I look old enough to be your grandfather," Tom said distastefully.
"Do you want me to be perfectly honest?" Harry asked, pulling on a pair of school robes and quickly buttoning them up.
"Go ahead but remember that I'm turning seventy today," Tom responded, flinching a bit at the word "seventy."
"Yes, you are starting to look older," Harry answered. Tom sighed mournfully. "But I still think you're dashing."
"Thanks," Tom said, raising an eyebrow slightly as Harry ran out the door for class.
Tom turned to examine himself in the mirror once more but he couldn't withhold the smile that was creeping up onto his lips. "You shouldn't be smiling," he scolded. "You're probably going to end up with lines -- Creases and spots and wrinkles and sagging." To be perfectly honest though, other than the gray hair, Tom showed almost no other signs of aging. The slight creases at the edges of the eyes were still there but they were barely apparent and, more than anything, they just helped to give him "character" -- A look of maturity.
"Happy birthday, my dear boy," came a voice from the doorway and Tom turned around to face Albus Dumbledore -- Smile tugging at the sides of his lips, blue eyes twinkling in the morning sunlight. "I'm afraid I have let myself in without an invitation. Your door was unlocked."
"Don't worry about it, Albus," Tom sighed, waving a hand about absently. "Have a seat."
Albus slowly lowered himself onto one of the couches. He showed all of his one hundred fifty years and then some. Tom quickly rose from his seat and headed over to Albus -- To assist the old man in any way possible. The chilled gray of his hair must have caught the sunlight because Albus' smile suddenly broadened ten-fold.
"Ah, my boy! Welcome to the prime of your life!" Albus said, his voice laden with delight.
"What do you mean the 'prime of my life?'" Tom asked stiffly. "I already had my prime back in the late 1970s or sometime around then. One can not experience one's prime twice."
"Are you sure that was your prime, Tom?" Albus asked.
"How could it not have been? I had everything I ever wanted, Albus. I had power and prestige and a legion of loyal followers. And I had Severus . . ." A nostalgic smile crossed Tom's lips. It was a smile that confused Albus Dumbledore immensely. "What more could one ask for than Severus?"
"You loved him that dearly, Tom?" Albus asked curiously. "For some reason, I had the impression that he was simply a servant and nothing more -- A servant that you sometimes had brief . . . liaisons with."
"I would love to know where you were getting your information from," Tom scoffed. "Severus and I were very publicly together. And I loved him more than life . . ."
"More than you love Harry?" Albus asked.
Tom paused for a moment.
"I cannot answer that, Albus," Tom said regretfully, lowering his eyes to the ground.
"Then it was not the prime of your life," Albus said decisively. "You had power that required pain and destruction. And don't you dare pretend that you thrived off of that either."
"You know absolutely nothing about me, Albus," Tom sniffed, looking very aloof.
"I know more than you think I know," Albus replied. "I know that when you were a fifth year, Professor Kettleburn made you dissect a recently deceased Kappa that had washed up on shore. When the blood sprung from its veins, you were the only student in the class to fall down in a dead faint."
"Ah yes," Tom said weakly, slightly nauseous at the memory. "The Kappa -- The most famous demon in Japan."
"Yes," Albus smiled. "Japan and certainly not Mongolia."
"Mongolia?" Tom asked, wrinkling his nose slightly. "Who on earth would say that Kappas are found in Mongolia? You must have hired an extremely uneducated professor, Albus."
Albus kept his mouth shut though it was difficult. Tom hardly noticed. He was back to scrutinizing his reflection. "Vanity," Albus thought to himself, shaking his head forlornly. "God knows how he got by as that disfigured creature all these years."
"I thought glamouries weren't supposed to age anyway," Tom huffed, pulling at a strand of hair. "I thought that I was supposed to look sixteen forever."
"That, my dear boy, is a myth."
"Please tell me this isn't going to get much worse," Tom said, brushing his hair back and sitting down, as if he was resolving not to stare in the mirror any longer.
"I assure you," Albus smiled. "It won't get any worse than this."
"Good," Tom huffed, crossing his arms against his chest.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------
Double potions class.
Never had torture been so accurately defined than in those three words. Sitting in the damp of the dungeons for the majority of the morning, languishing over steaming caldrons bubbling over with god-knows-what and kept in a state of perpetual fear by the repressed sadist running the class.
Double potions class.
Harry sat down and braced himself for another bout of pain and misery. Hermione automatically took her place next to him, smiling broadly. While the class prepared themselves for the Armageddon otherwise known as "potions class," Severus Snape scrawled notes on the board. Harry had never taken notice of Severus' handwriting before. The potions master wrote in a small script with plenty of flourishes on the first letters of sentences. It was surprisingly flowery and delicate.
"Copy these down," Severus commanded once the class was appropriately settled.
Harry dipped his quill into the ink well and began to scribble the notes in a large, awkward hand. It was the handwriting of a teenage boy -- Messy and oblong (Barely readable, to be quite honest). It was certainly a sharp contrast to Severus' work.
"So today's the birthday," Hermione whispered.
"Yes," Harry replied, a grin washing over his face. "Are you coming to the celebration?"
"Of course! I wouldn't miss it for the world!"
"I think we're going to have to scratch the idea of putting seventy candles on the cake though," Harry said thoughtfully, copying down a few more words.
"Why?" Hermione asked, sounding somewhat disappointed.
"Tom's self-conscious," Harry sighed and Hermione giggled quietly.
"So what did you get him?"
"Yes," came an ice-cold voice from behind the chattering duo. "What does one get the man who has everything?"
Harry spun around in his seat. Green eyes met pitch and the two stared at each other -- Their emotions completely unreadable. The potions master stood before the two -- His back ramrod straight, thick woolen robes covering him from his neck to the heels of his boots. Harry fleetingly remembered that brief glimpse of a shoulder -- Wondering what the vast expanse of Severus Snape's flesh would look like. Was this what Tom and his father had felt for the man? Had their minds also been haunted by these thoughts? By the insatiable curiosity and longing mixed with horror?
"I can't tell you now, Professor," Harry said simply. "You'll just have to come to the celebration tonight and see for yourself."
Harry noticed the temporary shock in Severus' eyes.
"I'll just have to do that. You'd do well to pay attention in my class, Potter."
And with that, Severus turned his back on Harry Potter.