Requiem for a Dream

Disclaimer:
JKR owns Harry Potter and Co., Mozart owns the song Requiem, from which I borrowed the lyrics to add a bit of color to this bit of fan fiction.


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Tuba mirum spargens sonum per sepulchra regionum, coget omnes ante thronum.
Mors stupebit et natura, cum resurget creatura, judicanti responsura.
Liber scriptus proferetur, in quo totum continetur, unde mundus judicetur.
Judex ergo cum sedebit, quidquid latet apparebit, nil inultum remanebit.
Quid sum miser tunc dicturus? quem patronum rogaturus, cum vix justus sit securus?


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"E-excuse me," the man said, his voice apologetic and somewhat sad, "but would you two mind if Harry and I had a-a moment alone?"


Hermione looked at Ron, giving him a look and grabbing his hand and yanked him away. The two walked out of the room, speaking in whispers. Harry's eyebrows furrowed in thought, before he looked up at the man who he nicknamed to himself Old Riddle. "What's going on?" he asked again.


"Harry, son, don't you remember anything?" he asked gently, not pushing things too far.


"Who are you?" Harry asked, a little frightened to be alone in a room with someone who could pull out his wand and kill Harry easily. He felt a stab of vulnerability jolt him in his little bed.


"Harry," the man started, taking a seat next to the hospital bed. He took Harry's hand in his, frowning as Harry recoiled and pulled his hand back. "First things first, then; who am I? I am your father by adoption, Tom Riddle. I remember the first day I thought of adopting. Narcissa and I had just divorced, and I was... exploring my interests in this young woman named Bella. Well, I saw you. Your parents had died in a car accident when you were a year old, and you were put up for adoption. When I saw you, you were almost five years old, and this fiendish boy named Dudley always beat you up and forced you to sleep in the cupboard under the window seat in the boys' dormitories... I decided, after much deliberation about the responsibilities of childcare and such, that I could not possibly let you live with that Dudley. And then I met the caretakers of Private Adoption Agency. I knew I had to give them a lot of information about myself, so I lied. And you were adopted unto me and my 'wife,' who I refused to name. I said it was a surprise for her, and the man-- Vernon Dursley, I believe-- agreed to it.


"That's just how I came upon you, Harry. I took care of you, and I upheld my position in society as a strong-willed inventor. But I never have told you what makes up the Riddle wealth and fortune. I guess, since you're now turning 18 in two and a half months, I should tell you. No, I did not reap benefits off of my divorce with Narcissa Malfoy. But I did make one invention that has given me money and power since the day it hit retail lines. Harry, son, I invented the g-string." There was a pause and silence. Harry blankly looked up at his 'father.'


"Er, how then..." stumbled Harry, so confused. Shaking his head, he tried to put puzzle pieces together, but things were missing; he didn't know exactly what to expect. Harry observed the man through conscientious eyes. He glanced at Tom's hand, narrowing his eyes uncertainly. "How come you have a wedding band on if you've divorced Mrs. Malfoy?"


"Oh, right. Back to your story.. One day, just after you were seven years old, Narcissa showed up on my doorstep, crying and bloody, holding a child about your age. She sobbed to me about her new husband's torrid abuse and beatings. She left him because she could not stand his abuse to their son. And, we hit it off- so to say- on that night she reappeared. Your step-brother is named Draco, he's turning 19 on December 13th this year. Narcissa and I remarried, after working out our differences in tastes. We tried to have a child, and we conceived a girl we'd decided to name Susan. But, when the nine months elapsed.... Narcissa passed away with Susan in the birth." Tom stopped, choking up.


Harry felt guilty, like he should be comforting his supposed father. How do I live, when I don't know what is reality and what is my mind's fantasies? Harry thought sadly. Draco Malfoy was his step-brother? He almost had a sister?


Harry almost broke down and cried; everything he knew as real was all a lie his cruel mind tricked him into thinking of. Taking a few deep breaths, Harry looked back up at Tom, who was currently blowing his nose.


"That's all of our history, Harry. You went to Boarhound Elementary with your favorite teacher Miss McGonagall. You had your friends Ron, Hermione, Lavender, the Parvati twins Patti and Padmae. And the schools, Snakeskin Elementary and yours... You all had the worst schoolyard fights...." he chuckled at the memories. "The schools around here like naming themselves after animals and such," he added as an afterthought.


There was a knock on the door. "Come in," called Tom almost happily.


"I hope we didn't interrupt," Hermione said, smiling demurely.


"Not at all, in fact, I just retaught Harry here his entire history," Tom explained, opening the door completely. Hermione walked the rest of the way into the room, and Harry's heart fluttered for a moment, seeing her smile shyly and blush. Then he saw; she was holding a hand. Harry's eyes followed the hand up to its arm, stopping at the face. It was Draco.


"Harry, I was so worried, I... I honestly couldn't believe I left the house so quickly to hang out with Blaise. I was mortified that my last words to you would have been 'See if I care you took my hair gel, you obviously need it,'" Draco said apprehensively. His hair was not as gelled back, but it was lazily falling into his eyes. "I wish I had never left you all in there... I wish I hadn't gone to Blaise's without turning off everything..."


He stopped, as Tom looked at him with an air of 'shut the hell up!'. "I think Harry has learned enough for today," Tom said, and only now did Harry notice Ron standing behind Draco, and a girl behind Ron. "We'll talk more tomorrow."


Everyone nodded and departed, and a nurse came in who looked an awful lot like Pomfrey.


Harry shut his eyes lightly, taking it all in. It was hard to, and he tried for the likes of him to remember something, anything.


But nothing came.


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A/N:
Eh, getting bored with the story. One of my Muses left me while writing this, so I don't know what's going on with this story anymore. Blah. But it should be fine. I have an idea, but I highly doubt it'll be enough to get 12 chapters. Maybe 11, if I take into account that Mozart didn't even finish his Requiem before he died. Eh, time will decide.

Thanks to my reviewers, you guys all rock!