Chapter 38: In the dark of the night

13th August, 1994

Tom sat with the Philosopher's Stone. It was blood red in most places, but within the nooks and crannies, the shards hidden by the darkness looked black. Like congealed blood staining the floor.

No matter which way he turned it or which angle hit the light, the dark black still marred the stone's beauty. But its aesthetics didn't detract from its power.

And he could feel its power. Even now, placed on a pillow in front of him, the stone was humming – calling out to him – much like it had the night he had taken it from Flamel. He'd known exactly where it was. He'd known exactly where he'd needed to carve the glass to reach in and take it.

He shifted, and the stone glinted as his eye picked up a new facet of light being reflected off it. It winked at him, hiding its secrets away.

Tom had researched the stone as best he could, but the Flamels had taken care to keep all information about the Philosopher's Stone close to their chests. Lysander hadn't been much help either; the most he could give Tom was speculation.

"If it's based on Alchemy, then it's very likely that the Stone doesn't have infinite power," Lysander said. "When the energy used to make the stone runs out, it will probably stop working."

That was obviously not something Tom wanted to hear.

For weeks he experimented with the stone, seeing how far he could be away from it and still draw on its power. His experiments led him to believe that he needed to be in constant contact with the stone in order to gain the power increase, and that was incredibly frustrating.

Still, it made more sense now why Flamel had fastened the Stone inside him. Tom had thought it was just for protection; after all, what better place to keep a valuable object than with you at all times? But it did mean that he was at a loss.

He didn't want the Stone inside this body. Not if he would be gaining a new one soon. But similarly, he didn't like how weak he now felt without it. His magic hadn't lessened in any way, but the sheer increase in power he attained when he held the Philosopher's Stone close was similar to a waterfall gushing, as opposed to the trickle of a steady stream. Still reliable, still carving out paths, but with less force.

In some ways Tom also didn't like that he'd grown accustomed to the power. He'd had to learn to recontrol the force of his spells through his wand, and wandless magic. The hardest part about learning to use the wand with his left hand was mirroring the actions. His muscles refused to move smoothly, and the effort it took to remember to reverse each spell was excruciatingly annoying.

Wandless magic had, in comparison, been easier to learn. No habits to break, no new movements to learn. Just force of will, and Tom had plenty of that. But it hadn't been easy either. He was used to overcompensating with wandless magic – pushing too hard to get a fraction of the result. But with the Stone…well. Walls had been damaged, and at one point, he'd killed a house elf because it had startled him.

It came in handy, though, when the Rowle patriarch stormed in. The man had started kicking up a fuss about his son. A month was fine, but longer than that meant he was wasting his time. Ásgeir Rowle had come to Lysander, asking where he was.

"Why would I know?" Lysander asked.

Rowle stared him down, hands clenched softly into fists. The man was large and reeked of booze. Tom had been able to smell it through the cracked door of the study. "Why else would you have been sniffing your nose around?"

"Ásgeir - "

"The boy is needed for family business! He's done wasting his life away."

"Why would I have seen the boy at all? I thought you said he was off in France," Lysander said.

This was going nowhere. Lysander couldn't see the man about to reach for his wand, so Tom stepped inside. There was a moment where Rowle narrowed his eyes, as if trying to clear the booze from them, but Tom had already knocked him unconscious.

A rudimentary dig through his mind showed him that the man was suspicious of Lysander for some reason or another, but it was too foggy from the alcohol to go much further. Tom rearranged his memories, as carefully as he could with the Stone, to make sure Rowle thought his son was still off and would return in October. That would buy them some time.

"You need to sort this out, and soon," Tom said. "He doesn't trust you. You should no longer engage with him until I can force obedience."

That was if they still wanted the Rowles. His Ministry connections were useful, though less so than the Malfoys. And if this was his temperament, perhaps it wasn't worth going for the father. The other son might be more controllable.

He still needed to sort out who was on Voldemort's side and why.

"Yes, my Lord," Lysander said, sounding deflated.

Two days later, Voldemort's return was announced and quickly buried in a panicked flurry as Daugher apparated herself and Theodore back to the manor in ash-streaked, burnt clothing. Death Eaters had raided the Quidditch World Cup, and Tom didn't know how to feel about it.

On the one hand, Voldemort had made a move. Whether the Wizarding Government acknowledged it - and they were not acknowledging it - was not his problem. It didn't change his slow forming plans much at all.

It did mean that Dumbledore was aware that Voldemort was truly back and gathering his forces, which meant one of two things: either Dumbledore would ignore his focus on Tom and strategize for Voldemort, or he would believe that he and Tom were working together. One was obviously a better outcome for him - at least until Lysander figured out how to get his body into the Rowle boy's one.

In the meantime, he checked on the stone after every large use just to make sure it wasn't losing any of its power. The problem was, Tom didn't know whether there would be a physical indication. He'd thought, at first, that it was the dark shadows on the stone, but they disappeared in the light.

Nothing had changed – not even the energy he could feel with it – so Tom resigned himself to monitoring it when he could, and to use it infrequently. The sooner he had that new body, the better.

Tom gave Lysander a month. That would be enough for some progress.

23rd August, 1994

His body wasn't his own. Tom understood that distinctly, but it still felt like it was a part of him; on the edge of his awareness he could feel a sense of completeness that was…familiar. He had felt it before, but he couldn't remember when.

Regardless, it didn't stop the fact that he wasn't able to control this body. Nor was he in a human body.

He could feel the warmth from the sun-soaked ground. It was just enough heat that it warmed his body as he moved across the floor. He mapped the area, noting the wildlife that could be a source of sustenance. He was scenting the parameters of the grounds.

A scent caught his nose, and Tom was turning suddenly, following it. This was not one that the host body had smelt before, and they were curious about it.

The distinct lack of control was disconcerting, but he couldn't separate himself from it. Tom could feel the absence of his magic in this body, and that meant he wasn't truly there.

Maybe he was in another one of Potter's dreams. In which case, she had a disturbed unconscious mind - though he knew that. Either way, considering he had very little choice in the matter, Tom kept watch through the animal's eyes.

It was close to the ground, and every so often Tom saw a forked tongue in his peripheral vision that would then somehow translate the information of smell to Tom's mind. So, he was inside a snake. His affiliation with the symbol of his ancestry had never gone further than Parseltongue. He had never considered becoming an Animagus.

It was an interesting experience to say the least.

Looking through the snake's eyes was something he would have never imagined he would be able to do. And the image it painted was a colourful one: Snakes could see in the dark from the way heat emitted off objects. Tom could see outlines of brighter, redder colours in the distance amongst the cooler colours that outlined a house, and he almost wished he could stop and just observe.

But of course, he had no control.

The closer he got to the house, the more he tasted the air, and the stronger the familiar and unfamiliar scents became.

Tom slithered through a small hole in the wall. The edges of it brushed uncomfortably against their scales, just slightly too tight for the thickest circumference of their body, but soon enough they were through. There were sounds coming from somewhere close by, but interestingly enough, the unfamiliar scent was stronger now - and very much reeking of sweat and fear.

"Nagini?" Tom heard their name and they moved closer to the voice only to see an old man shuddering behind an open door. There was warmth and people on the other side of the door, talking.

"There is a man here," they said. Tom had never experienced the way the muscles in their mouth moved and stretched differently to his human mouth - even when speaking Parseltongue. The way that it was both a natural thing, and something that he felt the need to catalogue was also a new experience. "The man seems to be very afraid. He is listening to your conversation."

"Is he now?" a voice responded. "A Muggle?"

They tasted the air. "Yes," they said.

"Come to me, Nagini."

They came, tracking through the dust of the house and towards the Muggle man, and the one awaiting them. Would they be allowed to eat the Muggle? It was a tempting thought, and Master was usually generous. But they wouldn't be able to do it yet. Besides, the room was warm.

As they entered the room, the first thing Tom noticed was the roaring whiteness of the fire heating a warm patch on a rug by the side of a large armchair, and the familiar unwashed scent of the man on the other side of the chair. He seemed to be cowering as they passed him by.

The cowering man was of no consequence to them. The rug was warm.

"Nagini has interesting news, Wormatil." This was not Parsletongue - Tom knew that. The voice was high-pitched and almost infant-like. It was a grating sound to his ears, and it was coming from the chair.

Tom wanted to look up, but he couldn't control the snake's head.

"In-indeed, My Lord?"

"Indeed yes. According to Nagini, there is an old Muggle standing right outside this room, listening to every word we say."

The man called Wormtail immediately began shuffling over to the door with his want pointed at it. Tom saw the door being flung wide open, and then there was an old, white haired, pathetic looking Muggle being dragged into the room.

The man was limping, holding a walking stick in one hand, and trying to use Wormtail to steady him as he was being pulled into the room.

"You heard everything, Muggle?" the cold voice asked.

"What's that you're calling me?" the Muggle said, definitely.

"I am calling you a Muggle," the voice said, unimpressed with the defiance. "It means that you are not a wizard."

For whatever reason, the Muggle seemed to be getting braver. "I don't know what you mean by wizard. All I know is I've heard enough to interest the police tonight, I have. You've done murder and you're planning more! And I'll tell you this too," he added, suddenly, "my wife knows I'm up here, and if I don't come back -"

"You have no wife," said the cold voice. Tom detected the amusement in it, and he could feel something forming in his mind, but it was difficult to distinguish where his thoughts began and where Nagini's ended. It was almost as if the more time he spent in the body, the more he was amalgamating with it.

"Nobody knows you are here. You told nobody that you were coming. Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Muggle, for he knows...he always knows..."

An onslaught of panic rose in Tom at the name, but he couldn't move. And he couldn't wake himself up from whatever this was.

"Is that right?" the Muggle said. "Lord, is it? Well, I don't think much of your manners, My Lord. Turn 'round and face me like a man, why don't you?"

"But I am not a man, Muggle," said the cold voice, barely audible now over the crackling of the flames. "I am much, much more than a man. However...why not? I will face you...Wormtail, come turn my chair around."

Wormtail walked over slowly, as if reluctant to have to touch the chair. As he did so, Tom caught a glimpse of Voldemort, of what he had become and the panic was overrun by nausea. The body was small, wrinkled and child-like. Disgusting to look at.

The Muggle started screaming so loudly that it seemed to echo through the empty house, but it was cut short by an Avada, and then he crumpled to the floor.

"What - what should I do with the body My Lord?" Wormtail asked.

"Nagini, come."

Tom was moving again, undulating over the rotting, warm carpet and up the armchair, circling his body around the tiny frame carefully, so as not to break anything. The body was cold - too cold to be comfortable against his warmed scales, and when Nagini tasted the air, the smell was revolting. Like a half-dead corpse.

"Do you want it?" Voldemort asked.

"I am still full from the last human," Nagini said.

"Very well. Dispose of it, Wormtail, and leave us."

Wormtail looked at the body and whimpered, but he nodded. He took it outside to dispose of it, and Tom was left with Voldemort.

He looked through Nagini's eyes and tried to find anything redeemable in the gnarled, half-dead body before him. Some semblance of the greatness he'd been sacrificed for, but he couldn't see it at all. It was just the shell of something that, perhaps, had once been a god, wrapped in skin so thin that it almost seemed translucent against the bone.

"He is not a useful slave, Master," Nagini said. "Let me eat him?"

"Now now, Nagini. He is inept, but until the Potter girl can be attained, he has his uses." Voldemort shifted, the sharpness of his bones digging into Tom's scales.

"What stresses you?" Nagini asked.

He sighed. Hot, rotting breath blowing through thin lips. "I do not like having to rely on the whims of Crouch, nor Wormtail."

"Must you use the girl, then? You have most of the things you need."

"It must be Potter." An edge of menace spilled through the tone, and Nagini shifted. "She will be disposed of this year. I will not be bested by a child. With Crouch at Hogwarts, Halley Potter will be as good as mine."

"But is Master whole enough to withstand another kill?" Nagini asked.

"I will have the protection her blood affords her. I will return to my full glory!" he shouted. Nagini hissed in displeasure, and Voldemort looked at her. He raised a bony hand and stroked the scales with his freezing fingertips. "I am sorry, Nagini. I am tired - I must rest now."

"I will rest too. Sleep, Master."

Waking up, Tom was immensely aware of the control he had over his body once more, but that relief was quickly overshadowed by the images replaying over and over in his mind of what he had just witnessed.

He'd never seen that snake before. He didn't know who Wormtail was, or what Voldemort had looked like - and this was not one of Potter's dreams. Not when he could so clearly feel every blade of grass and cold tile that Nagini had slithered over. Not when he could taste the air, and certainly not when he'd felt somewhat more complete whilst he was inside the snake.

It wasn't a dream. And the only logical solution was that he - as a horcrux - was able to connect with another of Voldemort's.

Their conversation made sense too. Last year, Lysander's musing had forced him to consider whether or not Voldemort had figured out how to split his soul evenly, but he'd sincerely doubted it as Lysander had also believed that five had been created. And Tom was fairly sure that the snake was one of the five.

Why else would the snake be so close to Voldemort? Why else was it so…sentient.

Snakes were not the smartest of creatures. They mostly ran on pure animal instinct unless they were a form of magical snake or a familiar. A familiar was attuned to its owner's magic. Magical breeds were more likely to have intelligence, like a kneazle or a hippogriff.

Nagini went beyond that. Her cognitive abilities suggested she was bound with something more than just baseline magic. If she was his horcrux, that would explain why he had felt a little more complete around her. And it would explain why he was able to see through her eyes.

If he was right, though, then at least he knew where one of the other four horcruxes were. But it still didn't alleviate the problem of Voldemort

He'd known Voldemort was out there and likely plotting to return, but now that the threat was imminent, Tom was faced with a harsher reality: He needed to kill Voldemort. He was weak now - perhaps he could do it now that he had the Stone.

From the sounds of his plan, Voldemort was going to use Potter to return to his full power. How, when or what that would look like, Tom didn't know.

He should have just killed the girl when he had the chance. She was causing more problems that he wanted to deal with. Now he couldn't, both because of the Vow, but also because he couldn't let Voldemort take her to regain his power. Tom would have no chance then.

He needed a plan. He couldn't walk around with his face anymore, and he couldn't keep staying in the Manor. He needed that body.

Though Lysander wasn't hard to find, Tom hadn't quite realised that he'd not seen the man around the manor recently. It was good, he supposed, that Lysander was focusing on his task. It was taking longer than perhaps he had anticipated, but Tom had been fine with that so long as progress was being made. And the weekly reports suggested that Lysander was, indeed, making progress.

However, now that Tom had proof that both Voldemort and Dumbledore were plotting in a way that would certainly interfere with his plans, Lysander would need to increase the pace of his progress.

Lysander was in his office this evening, instead of being in the laboratory. Tom wouldn't begrudge him his break, it was Theodore's birthday after all. Theodore had been true to his word; there was no large party, just he and Lysander spending the day together.

Daugher had given the boy a gift, and so had Tom.

For the first time in a while, Tom had forgotten that he had no money to buy a gift. It irked him to see that Daugher had been able to buy the child ingredients for his potions kit, or that Lysander had been able to give him a family heirloom - something of his mother and fathers. It was stupid, but it annoyed him.

The only things left that Tom could provide was information or a favour. He had let the boy choose between the two, and in true Slytherin fashion, he had picked the favour.

It was the smarter choice, to be sure. Theodore Nott could now ask for one favour so long as it did not encroach on certain stipulations. What he chose to do with the favour - what he would ask for - was something Tom would look forward to seeing.

That had been that morning.

He had given the two of them enough time now, and yet, when Tom had walked in on the two of them wrapped in blankets with a cup of what he could only assume was hot chocolate, Tom felt…guilt. He pushed it aside, however. "I do hope you enjoyed your day, Theodore?"

The boy nodded. "I did. Thank you, Mr Nymous."

"Very good. I must ask that you let me borrow your grandfather for the rest of the evening. I have some important things I need to discuss with him."

He could see the boy's disappointment and almost wondered if he would say something to disagree, but then Tom noticed the look he gave Lysander, and the tiny nod her received, and then the boy stood up.

"Of course, sir. I'll let you and my grandfather speak."

Lysander stood up too, placing a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. "I think Nariyah wanted to corrupt you with something or another. Why don't you see what she has to show you?" he said.

Theodore smiled, wanly, nodding his ascent. "I'll see you tomorrow then," he said.

"Of course. Don't sleep too late."

Then, just like that, the boy left the room. "You raised him well," Tom said, approvingly.

"Theo has always been perceptive. He got that from his mother."

Tom hummed. "I need to see the progress you've made. Where are your notes?"

Lysander seemed to be holding back a sigh. "They're in the laboratory, my Lord. Shall I take you there?"

Tom nodded. He followed Lysander down the stone stairs and into the laboratory where Lysander immediately showed him his notes. Things were looking promising, even if he didn't fully understand what the experiments meant. The progress was notable. When he was done, he handed the notebook back to Lysander.

"I need you to start working on human exchange now," he said.

"My Lord - there are still things I haven't stabilised yet!" Lysander said, eyes wide with panic.

"Voldemort is making plans that he hopes will secure his return to full power. Dumbledore is aware that I am alive."

Lysander went quiet. Tom could see him trying to make sense of everything this meant. Hopefully he would also realise that Tom was still very connected to Voldemort if he was able to pick up his emotions and his visions - even if he wasn't fully aware that Tom had linked to another of the horcruxes.

As Lysander thought, Tom turned his attention to Rowle's body. He moved closer to examine it.

"That is very serious. But, my Lord -"

"Did you not hear me?" Tom asked. Rowle's body was starting to atrophy where the muscles hadn't been used, which was a shame; Tom wasn't sure if he had much time for a physical regiment.

He took a step back to try and look at the body as a whole, and as he did so, Tom wondered just why Potter had become attached enough to this person that she had felt guilt over his death - enough so that she had stolen a time turner. It was strange; if she hadn't cared so much, she wouldn't have gone back in time, and therefore he wouldn't have been Kissed.

Still, it was useful for him now.

Lysander interrupted his train of thought. "Of course, but I've only just managed to stop the animals from dying. It would be unsafe to trial it on humans - where would I even be able to find -"

"I assume the number of homeless Muggles hasn't lessened since my school days," Tom said. "Nobody would miss them."

Lysander choked, the noise coming out in a strangled gasp. "I - my Lord - I do not -"

"You don't want to kill?" Tom interrupted. He looked at Lysander now, eyes locking the man into place. "Did you think you would be able to study Soul Magic without getting your hands dirty?"

"Yes." The word was firmer than his others. Lysander had truly believed that he wouldn't need to go past his limits in order to achieve the knowledge he wanted. What a stupid Ravenclaw.

"Well then, you were naive!" Tom spat. "I am now under threat from multiple avenues, Lysander. You will do what needs to be done to ensure I can act without Dumbledore or Voldemort noticing. When you have the bodies, call me. Perhaps the Stone can supplement your work."

"I didn't agree to murder!" Lysander said.

Tom turned around and looked him dead in the eye. "Didn't you?" He let the silence sink between the two of them, the tension permeating the air. Lysander was fooling no-one. While he may not have taken the mark, Lysander had been close enough that Voldemort had gone to him with questions about Horcruxes. They both knew his hands weren't as clean as he liked to pretend they were. "You've always known what Soul Magic and Alchemy entailed. An equal exchange. That's what you told me all those months ago. So I find it hard to believe you were naive enough to imagine that we wouldn't need to take a life somewhere in all of this."

"Not -"

"It doesn't matter, though, does it?" Tom asked, softly. He reached his left hand out and clasped Lysander's wrist with it. When he lifted it up to the light, the thin, scar-like strips became visible underneath his robe sleeves. "You'll do what I ask, because if you don't then Theodore will have to take up the mantle."

Lysander ripped his arm away, looking much paler than he had a moment ago.

"He's too young to be much use now, but he'll get older. His uses will grow. I would rather not stoop to Voldemort's tactics, but I won't be caught because you pretend to be unwilling. You and I both know you've gone further for the pursuit of knowledge."

"As you wish, my Lord."

Tom smiled. "Good. Perhaps a little bit of Felix Felicis will aid you in your work. You may only need three or four tries." He left then.

On his way out, he heard the sound of glass shattering and rolled his eyes. There was no-one to blame but himself; Lysander had been the one to offer the child up. He had been the one to get caught up in his lust for knowledge.

Tom couldn't care less about the child. He was useful in so much as he could keep an eye on Potter for the upcoming year, but even that use was coming to a close. He wouldn't harm the child - there was no point, and if he wanted Potter to become more accommodating to his side, then it was likely he would need to refrain from hurting children. Besides, Theodore had a favour from him now. He still wanted to see how he would use it, and if it was his or his grandfather's life in the balance then it was obvious what would happen.

But Lysander had all but laid his own weakness to Tom on a silver platter, so why would he not use it?

Theatrics aside, Tom did need to check in on Potter. They would need to meet, and soon. But he needed to ensure that he wouldn't be caught by Dumbledore.

This time, he had called for Potter.

"Why are you in my dream again?" she asked.

Tom walked around the room, taking everything in. They were in a small bedroom, with a single bed, a wardrobe and nothing else. It was tiny, but it was more than Tom had ever gotten in the orphanage. He'd never slept in his own room before, always having to share with another child, or his Hogwarts peers.

This was a luxury.

"I needed a way to contact you, but I wasn't sure whether Dumbledore was monitoring the house. This seemed like the best way." He walked over a loose floorboard and knew this was where she kept her wand in the summer. How tragic, being forced to hide something innately a part of you.

"Don't open that," she said.

He looked at her; she was sitting daintily on the bed. Hair coming out of the strict plait he'd always seen her in. A loose strand was framing her face in such a dainty way that Tom wanted to pull at it - mess it up the way it had been the night she'd messed around with the time turner. Or even the night that he'd seen her in the Chamber.

Halley Potter. The Girl Who Lived.

Smaller then than she was now. Leaning over a dying girl and going toe to toe with him and his Basilisk. Her hair had been wild then, too.

"Why did you call me?" she asked.

"Voldemort is planning something that involves you this year," he said, keeping careful watch on her facial expressions. What was interesting was that she only looked confused, not panicked like he imagined she would have. Perhaps it was an indication that the Stone was working as well as he'd wanted it to.

"What is he planning?"

"I don't know," he said.

"Why did you tell me?" she asked. "It's not like I can do much from Hogwarts."

"Don't do anything. If something seems out of the ordinary…" he paused. He didn't necessarily want to have Dumbledore be the person she went to for help. But needs must. And he wouldn't be able to do much either. "Go to Dumbledore, immediately."

"Fine," she said, staring at him with her green eyes. "But why do you care?"

"From what I've gathered, Voldemort will use you to attain his full strength, and then it's only a matter of time before he realises I'm alive. I would rather that not happen."

Potter hummed, still looking at him. "That makes sense. Was that all you wanted to say?"

Tom itched under the collar at her audacity. Who was she to dismiss him? But he pushed it aside. "Yes."

"Alright then," she said. "How are we going to keep doing our lessons with Dumbledore watching me so closely?"

His jaw clenched, and it took a careful moment to loosen it. What he wanted to say was that they wouldn't. He had better things to worry about now that she was mostly mentally protected by the Stone. But he felt the Vow remind him of his promised and cursed the sentience of magic.

"I'll figure out a way. If nothing else, we can try here - using this dream space."

She shook her head. "That won't work. When this happens, it's like I don't get enough sleep. I wake up exhausted."

"It's likely just your body adapting to it. You'll get used to it."

Potter bit her lip. "And if I don't? Dumbledore will get suspicious if I'm exhausted all the time. I already failed most of my subjects last year - a repeat will have people looking into this more."

"You'll just have to figure it out then, won't you?" he said. This almost wasn't worth the hassle. "Keep vigilant - try not to get captured or killed."

"I'll do my best," she said, sarcasm lacing her voice.

Tom would have cursed her if he could, but he could feel himself waking up. It was an odd sensation, moving from dreaming to waking, but as he opened his eyes to sunlight creeping through the curtains, he couldn't help but feel like Potter had been hiding something from him. He just didn't know if it was worth it to figure it out.

AN: How did you all find it? I'm super interested to hear what people think of the Tom/Nagini section because it's not something I've seen before (not that it hasn't happened before) but I thought it was a cool idea.

Hope you all have a great weekend, and if you're in the UK, hope you enjoy the fireworks tonight.