26. Death by Division

Tom Riddle had died. He had been dead. He had drifted through the world as something both more and less than a ghost, an incorporeal creature kept together by unquenchable desires, for revenge, power, a return to life. He had been a parasite, living through others, preying on the very essence of life, learning to sense the presence of other soul hunters like himself. And he knew without a doubt that the being hunting him through the dark woods was something much worse than a simple, mindless Dementor.

He staggered, stumbled, ran at intervals through the irregular undergrowth. He was too unbalanced, too unsettled by the revenge he would never get, too troubled by Potter's death to focus properly. There were wards and traps all through the woods surrounding Malfoy Manor. He couldn't Disapparate and any hex was likely to misfire. He needed to get out into the open fields, needed to get his bearings, needed to see his pursuer coming.

He had been lured into the woods. While he was wandering near the edge of the Malfoy gardens, seething with anger and disappointment, a voice had called for him.

Had he been in a more stable state of mind, he would have demanded that the speaker come to him, into the garden. As it was, he stalked into the woods, demanding an explanation that never came. And then he had sensed it. The danger, death defeated, an undead soul. The hunger. It stood between him and the garden, a dark outline against the moonlit hedges. Then, thrown to the ground by his own hex, he had turned, and he had run.

There was such immense power. Lord Voldemort had been the most powerful dark wizard in the world before his death and was no less powerful in his resurrected form. But this was power beyond magic. A primal power over life and death, ripping through the fabric of reality, a black hole in the web of life. There was an opening in the undergrowth. The woods ended. Tom Riddle lurched into the open field. And came face to face with the darkness.

'Hello, Tom,' said Bellatrix, smiling. 'Looking for me?'

Tom breathed through his nostrils, steadying himself. 'Not particularly, no. Did you - want something?'

'Dinner? Tonight?'

Tom frowned, his mind curiously sluggish. 'I'm - rather busy.'

'Yes. I noticed. And I suppose you've also been too busy to get me out of Azkaban, no?'

There was no point in answering. Tom's hand edged towards his wand. Bellatrix was unarmed.

'Still,' she continued, 'it worked out for the best, in the end.'

The world flashed green. Bellatrix crumpled. Tom turned, and stopped, eyes widening. A ghost stood before him; a spectre, a disturbance in the visual spectrum, a being of darkness, a perfect replica of Lucius's son. Tom could see him clearly, and yet his senses insisted there was nothing there. It was all in his mind. Inside him. A chill seeped into his chest. Draco's arm was stretched out before him. Tom looked down. The arm penetrated his chest.

It had a grip on his heart.

A voice hissed inside his mind. 'You destroyed our life, you heartless beast!'

Claw-like hands clutched his head from behind, long fingernails digging into his papery cheeks. 'You always were a naughty boy, Tom,' purred Bellatrix and yanked him backwards to devour his soul. His heart burst from his chest and Tom Riddle finally died from the fatal division he had suffered all his life, torn between mind and emotion.

When she was done feeding, Bellatrix turned her attention to the creature still cradling her victim's heart in its outstretched hand. 'You have me to thank, you know,' she said, 'for not leading them to you before the gestation was complete. Though,' she grinned, 'that could just have been my self-preservation instinct. I rather enjoy freedom, you see.' Her eyes narrowed. 'You tried to resurrect him didn't you, Draco dear? My poor darling Draco. It's unhealthy to get so attached. Makes your mind snap.' She turned to go. 'Still, who am I to judge you? I've grown awfully attached to this body, even if I don't need it. Like you, I'm immortal, as long as I find food to sustain me.' She turned back. 'But I suspect you don't have that problem, having gone through such a - complete transformation. Most intriguing. And, yes, I can feel it. Your power exceeds mine. But I shouldn't let it bother me, or you. You're an amoral creature, Draco, just like your father. You won't stop me. Revenge powers you. Single-minded. Like father like son.' She walked away. 'He would have killed you too, of course.' She disappeared into the mist. 'Fascinating family.'