Ink Is Thicker Than Water
Chapter One – Slytherin Always Wins
Wherein the basic premise of the story is revealed, and then a month later the author 'revises' the chapter and manages to change the basic premise significantly
'So ends the famous Harry Potter,' said Riddle's distant voice. 'Alone in the Chamber of Secrets, forsaken by his friends, defeated at last by the Dark Lord he so unwisely challenged. You'll be back with your Mudblood mother soon, Harry … She bought you twelve years of borrowed time … but Lord Voldemort got you in the end, as you knew he must.'
If this is dying, thought Harry, it's not so bad. Even the pain was leaving him …
But was this dying? Instead of going black, the Chamber seemed to be coming back into focus. Harry gave his head a little shake and there was Fawkes, still resting his head on Harry's arm. A pearly patch of tears was shining all around the wound - except that there was no wound.
'Get away, bird,' said Riddle's voice suddenly. 'Get away from him. I said, get away!'
Harry raised his head. Riddle was pointing Harry's wand at Fawkes; there was a bang like a gun and Fawkes took flight again in a whirl of gold and scarlet.
'Phoenix tears ...' said Riddle quietly, staring at Harry's arm. 'Of course …healing powers … I forgot …'
He looked into Harry's face. 'But it makes no difference. In fact, I prefer it this way. Just you and me, Harry Potter … you and me…'
He raised the wand.
Then, in a rush of wings, Fawkes soared back overhead and something fell into Harry's lap - the diary
For a split second, both Harry and Riddle, wand still raised, stared at it. As Riddle opened his mouth to begin the incantation that would end Harry's life, Harry seized the Basilisk fang from off the floor in his right hand and raised it above the diary held in his left. The expression on Riddle's face turned from one of triumph to one of horror in an instant. Riddle dropped Harry's wand and lifted his palms in a placating gesture. "Harry, no! Don't do that… don't…" His voice had a desperate, whining edge to it. "You don't want to kill me, look at me, I'm still young… I didn't kill your parents, I haven't done those things, that he did, that Lord Voldemort did… I can change!"
Harry looked up from the tattered diary and into Riddle's bright green eyes; so similar to his own and in a face only a few years older than Harry's own. His hand wavered, indecision writ clear on his face. Riddle was on his knees now, "Look, I'll let the girl go… That's what you want, right? Right! I'll go back to the diary, just don't kill me!" Riddle gestured frantically with his hand, and his body began to disappear, starting with his feet; fading away like the ghost of a memory that he was. Harry looked over to Ginny, the eldritch light coming from the walls of the Chamber augmented by a warm yellow glow that Fawkes, who was perched above the unconscious girl and trilling softly, gave off. She stirred, and whimpered, and Harry looked back to Riddle, whose legs had already faded away to nothing, leaving his torso floating, upright but still close to the ground from where he had been kneeling.
Harry felt his blood pounding in his ears, and trickling along his arm, and chest, from where the Basilisk had caught him with its' whip-like tongue in their battle. Two sides of Harry warred within him, trying to decide Riddle's fate. It's justice; he's Voldemort, he has to die! No, look at him, kneeling there with that pitiful smirk on his face. Hang on…smirk Harry focused his attention once more on what was left of Tom Riddle, a sense of wrongness growing in his chest. Riddle was no longer looking into his eyes, but down at the diary, his handsome features twisted into a vicious grin. Harry followed Riddle's eyes down to the diary, and his own arm, which was oozing with blood, even more than he had thought he had. Was there some wound that I didn't notice until now, Harry thought. A second fang? No, wait… that isn't blood!
Ink was running along Harry's arm, and pouring from the book in torrents now, as Riddle faded ever faster. In desperation, Harry brought his Basilisk fang stabbing down straight through the centre of the diary, and Riddle's victorious laughter stopped as he grimaced in pain. Only his head remained, but Riddle looked into Harry's eyes. "Gotcha", Riddle forced out through his clenched teeth, and what remained of his face vanished from sight, as the last of the ink contained in the cursed diary burst from its pages and joined that which was rapidly spreading up towards Harry's shoulder.
Harry dropped both diary and fang into his lap and batted feebly with his left hand at the ink covering his right, not having the strength left to stand. The ink clung magically to his skin however, and he only succeeded in spreading the taint to his left arm. He fell back in exhaustion, unable to do anything more but lie against the wall and shiver while the cold, black ink spread chilly tendrils across his chest, as though seeking blindly for something, though he knew not what. Harry looked once more towards Fawkes for help, hoping that his Headmaster's phoenix would again come to his aid when he needed it the most, but the fire bird was rubbing its head against Ginny's pale cheek and crooning to her. He called out "Fawkes" in a hoarse whisper, his breathing ragged from the pressure of the ink on his chest, and the regal bird turned its' head to look at him and gestured towards Ginny, then went back to her, seemingly oblivious to Harry's predicament.
Underneath Harry's shirt, a tendril of ink reached his left side and ghosted across the long but shallow cut left by the tongue of Slytherin's monstrous pet. The wound burned at the touch of the living ink, and Harry sighed in relief when the tendril pulled back away from the cut, before gasping in terror as he felt the entirety of the ink on his body suddenly congeal in a great mass and rush all at once towards that single spot. Harry looked at where the cut was visible through a great rent in his thick Hogwarts robes, which now, soaked through with filthy sewage and blood, held his weakened body down, and saw the ink pouring into his body in a great black torrent, before he blacked out from the excruciating pain.
The twelve year old hero came awake slowly, blinking with his right eye while knowing, somehow, that opening his left would be problematic. He focused his vision on Fawkes, who had flitted over to stand a few feet from him, having finally noticed something was wrong. Stupid bird probably thinks I just collapsed from exhaustion. Let's keep it that way. The phoenix clacked its' beak in an uncharacteristically matronly manner, causing the boy to snort in amusement, which turned out to be a mistake when he inhaled brackish, slimy water through his left nostril and erupted in coughs. Feeling returned to his body incrementally, and he realised that he was lying on his side, half under the liquid that covered the floor of the Chamber of Secrets. His head pounding fiercely, he lifted himself carefully back into the sitting position he had fallen from, leaning back against the ancient wall, the cool stone going some way to relieving his aches and pains, at least temporarily.
The boy's mind swum with two sets of memories, but one soul was firmly in control. A new body, a chance at life again. Far more than I could ever have hoped for, much stronger than that vulnerable shell of magic I was draining the girl for. Tom Riddle stretched his new arms above his head and inhaled deeply, revelling in the simple ability to feel again. He had forced his way into the twelve year old body, absorbing Harry's own soul into his smaller, tattered piece of one by sheer force of will. Well, I'm not perfect, hopefully using that boy's soul to patch up my own won't have too many adverse effects on my personality, and this immature body and magic will hold me back - though if he managed to 'defeat' me then he must at least have some potential. At least I have all his memories, which will make it much easier to impersonate him. All in all, excellent work, Tom.
A smug, victorious grin came to his face as he rose shakily to his feet and looked, his eyes holding thinly veiled contempt, towards Ginny who was stirring into wakefulness. Looks like you get to live, you irritating, whiny bitch. You're going to be an important part of my heroic tale. Tom's face set with a determined look and, grasping the fang-pierced diary, trod unsteadily over to first the place that he had stood and, groping in the water, he pulled out Harry's holly and phoenix feather wand, filthy but whole, and, after checking for holes, slipped it delicately into a pocket of his robes, before returning to where he had fallen and gathering up the Sorting Hat. He lifted it towards his head, before catching himself and giving himself a mental slap. Ignoring a strangled "I say old chap" from the ragged tear at the brim, he stuffed it rather viciously into another pocket. Better make sure Dumbledore doesn't have a reason to want to come down here. Of course, if he asks, I can always feign trauma. Tom reached towards the monstrous head of the Basilisk, and, carefully gripping its' upper jaw between the fangs, pulled open its' mouth with his left hand, and reaching shakily in with his right, tore out the sword of Gryffindor with a great heave, and was spared the shock he would have had as the dead Basilisk's jaw snapped closed because he fell painfully backwards with a splash. He pulled himself to his feet once more and turned away from the dead monster, his face expressionless. It wasn't like she was intelligent, just a mindless, bloodthirsty tool. He cast his eyes towards the great, impassive face of Salazar Slytherin that dominated the entire Chamber. What would you say to me if you could see me now, ancestor?
A trill from Fawkes brought his mind back to earth, and he looked towards Ginny just as her eyes fluttered open and she took in the scene - Basilisk, phoenix, dirty, blood-stained Harry and Tom Riddle's enchanted diary - and she burst in to tears and began wailing nauseatingly.
"Harry – oh, Harry, I tried to tell you at b-breakfast, but I c-couldn't say it in front of Percy. It was Tom, Harry, well, I-I mean, he was m-making me d-do it – and – how did you k-kill that snake? W-where's Tom? The last thing I r-remember is him coming out of the diary-"
Tom quickly crushed the look of disgust that came to his face at Ginny's weakness. He grinned, trying to make the right impression. "It's all right," he said, holding up the diary and tearing the fang out, pocketing it and showing her the hole that pierced straight through the diary. "I've dealt with it. Now let's go back..." He searched Harry's memories. "Your brother is waiting for you -"
"I'm going to be expelled!" Tears ran pale glistening tracks down Ginny's grimy face while Tom helped her awkwardly to her feet. "I'll be expelled and never be a proper witch and never learn how to make you fall in lo-" Ginny gasped, clasping her hands over her mouth and staring wide eyed at her 'rescuer', but he wasn't listening to a word she was saying. She burst into a fresh round of sobs. Tom grit his teeth and shut his eyes against the world. He had a pounding headache, and Ginny was making it worse. "Let's just go," he said, and started walking towards the chamber's entrance, not checking to see whether the red-headed first year was following after him.
Fawkes trilled a little, quieting the crying girl, and set off towards the exit, his flaming plumage giving off a little light to guide the way for the students. They stepped back into the dank tunnel, leaving the cavernous, achingly silent chamber and its looming, quietly menacing master behind them. As they passed the threshold, Tom turned and looked at the carved serpents in the doors that stood open before him. He looked around the Chamber one more time. Really could do with some cleaning charms, it's a disgrace to Salazar's memory. If I'd had more time with Ginny I would have done already. Ah well, I have all the time in the world, now.
"Close." Out of the corner of his eye, Tom saw Ginny flinch at his hiss, but she didn't look at him. The stone doors swung shut without a sound, and Tom turned again and walked off towards Fawkes, who was hovering patiently at head height a little further down the passageway. After a few minutes progress up the dark tunnel, a distant sound of slowly shifting rock reached Tom's attentive ears.
Ginny lifted her head at the sound, breaking out of her self-pitying reverie, and stumbled forward a little faster, pulling Tom's arm. Tom resisted, keeping his slow but steady pace, and she looked back, concerned. "Oh, Harry! Are you hurt? I-I'm sorry, I didn't realise!" She was still sobbing slightly, and her face was streaked with tears. Tom wasn't hurt, much, but he was less than eager to meet Ron, and any questions he might have. Not to mention, running was undignified. The sodden pair drew closer to the rock fall and as the sounds of shifting stone grew clearer Ginny called out a tentative "Hello?" Ron's eager face appeared through the sizeable gap he had managed to make in the rocks.
"Ginny, you're alive, I don't believe it!" Ron shouted, relief writ clear on his freckled features. He reached out an arm and helped her through the gap, and tried to pull her into a hug, but Ginny held him off, sobbing. "What happened, Gin- blimey, where did that bird come from!" Ron's voice hit shouting pitch again, and Tom winced, before glancing towards the phoenix that had flown through the gap ahead of him.
"He's Dumbledore's, a phoenix. He, ah, helped out." Tom only wanted to have to tell the story once, and that was going to be to Dumbledore.
"Wow, a real phoenix!" said Ron, gaping. "And how come you've got a sword?" the boy's jaw dropped lower as he took in the jewel encrusted blade that hung loosely from Tom's right hand.
"I'll explain later. Look, let's just get out of here, alright?" said Tom, trying to be amicable, and giving a sideways glance towards Ginny.
"But-"
Not now, Ron," Tom said firmly, irritated by Ron's inability to take a hint. "Where is Lockhart?"
Ron snorted in amusement. "He's back down the tunnel. Not up to much though…" Ron looked on the verge of breaking into laughter, as he led Tom and Ginny away from the rocks.
"The backfired spell, right?" said Tom, scanning Harry's recent memories, "still out cold?"
Ron gathered himself to speak, but he still had a huge grin splitting his face apart.
"Oh no, it's much better than that! He's obliviated himself. Hasn't got a clue who he is, or where he is, or who we are." Lockhart was sitting on the shed Basilisk skin, humming placidly to himself. It seemed that if nothing else he had retained his fastidiousness, and was reluctant to get dirty. "I told him to come and wait here. He's a danger to himself"
Lockhart looked up when he heard them coming, and twirled a lock of his silken hair between his fingers. "Oh, hello again! Ron, wasn't it? I see you've brought some friends."
Ron raised an eyebrow towards Tom. "Yeah, that's right. This is Harry, and my sister Ginny", Ron indicated the pair with a thumb.
Lockhart nodded good-naturedly at them. It didn't look like he was paying attention.
"I say, this is a rather dirty sort of place, isn't it? You don't live here, do you?"
"No," said Tom. "In fact, we were just leaving, and you're welcome to come with us" Tom forced himself to smile at the deranged man. It didn't reach his eyes, but Lockhart seemed pleased by it.
"About that," said Ron, peering up the pipe. "How are we supposed to get back out again? I mean, we aren't snakes you know".
Tom paused and looked further down the tunnel into the darkness, in the opposite direction to the rock fall and the Chamber. Just around the next bend, up a flight of stairs to another parseltongue door. It comes out in the dungeons near Professor Slughorn's – no, Professor Snape's office. He didn't say anything. There was nothing he could say that would explain away his knowing about that entrance to Ron, and Ginny wouldn't know about it, he had made sure she couldn't remember the details of any of the… incidents. He felt a momentary stab of guilt, now, at using the girl in his scheme, and crushed it. Maybe he was more easily influenced by his newly healed soul than he had thought he would be. Really though, being stuck in the diary, he had had nothing else to do. The chance of wreaking havoc in Dumbledore's school and putting the fear of Slytherin into some mudbloods was too good an opportunity to pass up. A little bit longer and the old man would have been fired. It isn't like she's going to be expelled, anyway. I'll tell Dumbledore enough that he will believe she is free of blame, and that it's all over. Then I can get on with my new life.
Ron tapped him on the shoulder. "Look," he said, indicating Fawkes, who was hovering just below the entrance to the pipe, and waving his shimmering golden tail feathers. "I think he wants us to grab hold, but we're much too heavy for him to carry…" Ron trailed off uncertainly, looking sceptically at the bird and around him at the potential cargo.
Tom put a hand over his eyes, and sighed. He's only a thirteen year old muggle-lover, and not a very intelligent one at that, he can't be expected to know about phoenixes, Tom told himself.
"Fawkes," said Tom, "isn't an ordinary bird." He turned towards his companions. "Look, you three, take hold of each other's hands." They did so, Ron taking command and grabbing Ginny and Lockhart, one in each hand. Tom took hold of Lockhart's other arm, and reached out gingerly towards Fawkes' feathers, then took hold of them. An extraordinary lightness seemed to spread through his whole body, and with slow strokes of his wings, Fawkes rose up through the pipe with his human chain in tow. Tom relaxed, and shut his eyes, enjoying the magical feeling of weightlessness. He blocked out the sound of Ron and Lockhart's exclamations that came from below him and reached out with his mind towards the foreign magic that flowed over his skin. It was like the warmth of a fire, soothing the aches in both body and mind and he lost himself in that wonderful feeling, but all too soon it was gone, as the golden tail slipped through his fingers and he, Lockhart, Ron and Ginny were unceremoniously dumped on to the damp floor of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
Tom stood slowly, straightening his clothes a little. He would have cast a cleaning charm on them, but it seemed like a waste of effort. They were a complete write-off. Besides, the blood and dirt and rips in the fabric would enhance his story, when he told it. My glasses, though, he thought and took them off to clean them in one of the working sinks, as the serpent-engraved one slid back into place of its own accord.
"You're not dead," he heard from behind him, but didn't turn. He again felt remorse as he thought of the friendly but awkward bespectacled girl he remembered from the forties.
"Were you hoping I would be?" he said, placing his glasses back onto his face, while cursing them inwardly. His old body had had perfect eyesight.
"Well, you know, if you had, I'd have been happy to share my bathroom with you," said Myrtle, blushing silver.
Tom gave her his first genuine smile in decades. "Maybe next time, Myrtle."
"Harry?" said Ron, as they left the bathroom for the dark, deserted corridor outside. "Maybe next time, Myrtle?" he simpered, "something going on you should be telling me about?" Ginny sobbed, loudly, and Ron looked anxiously over at her. "Er, sorry… Where now, Harry?"
Tom nodded towards Fawkes, who was lighting up the corridor in fiery red and golden yellow as he flew silently down the corridor. They followed him, and found themselves outside Professor McGonagall's office.
Tom knocked and pushed the door open.
For a moment, there was silence as Tom, Ron, Ginny and Lockhart stood in the doorway, covered in much and slime and (in Tom's case) blood. Then there was a scream.
"Ginny!"
It was Mrs Weasley, who had been sitting crying in front of the fire. She leapt to her feet, closely followed by Mr Weasley, and both of them flung themselves on their daughter.
Harry, however, was looking past them. Professor Dumbledore was standing by the mantelpiece, beaming, next to Professor McGonagall, who was taking great, steadying gasps, clutching her chest. Fawkes went whooshing past Tom's ear and settled on the mantelpiece by Dumbledore, just as Tom took a judicious step back to avoid being swept, with Ron, into Mrs Weasley's tight embrace.
"You saved her! You saved her! How did you do it?"
"I think we'd all like to know that," said Professor McGonagall weakly.
Mrs Weasley let go of her children and turned to Tom, who hesitated for a moment, then walked over to the desk and laid upon it the Sorting Hat, the ruby-encrusted sword and what remained of his diary.
He searched Harry's memories slowly, cataloguing everything that had happened since Hallowe'en piece by piece, and began speaking into the rapt silence, telling it as he thought Harry would have told it. Humbly, bashfully, quietly, he told them about hearing the disembodied voice, how Hermione had finally realised that he was hearing a Basilisk in the pipes; how he and Ron had followed the spiders into the forest, that Aragog had told them where the last victim of the Basilisk had died; how he had guessed that Moaning Myrtle had been the victim, and that the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets might be in her bathroom...
"Very well," Professor McGonagall prompted him, as he paused, "so you found out where the entrance was - breaking a hundred school rules along the way, I might add - but how on earth did you all get out of there alive, Potter?"
So Tom, whose voice was growing hoarse from all the talking, cast a quick soothing charm on his throat and ploughed on with his story. He told them the story as he knew it, but from Harry's point of view: how Fawkes had arrived just in time with the Sorting Hat and how he had slain the Basilisk with the sword, almost dying in the process. But then he faltered. He had so far avoided mentioning himself and his diary at all. He knew he could tell it without anyone suspecting anything – had Harry been a little faster with the Basilisk fang it would have been all over for him, but he was also reluctant to mention Voldemort's name at all – after all, saying 'I defeated Voldemort – again' was a sure fire way to more exposure, and being noticed was not a good thing for a wizard who was trying to steal someone else's identity. Besides, while it was true that he couldn't really call himself Voldemort anymore – the main soul had that name, and he was mostly Harry Potter, even if Tom Riddle dominated – the Riddle/Voldemort connection was still supposed to be a secret, and while he was sure that Dumbledore knew that particular truth, with what he knew from Ginny, and from Harry's memories, it didn't seem to be public knowledge, and he wanted it to stay that way.
"Ginny was possessed by a dark artefact," Tom began again, ignoring Mrs Weasley's gasp, "belonging to a dark wizard named Tom Riddle", Harry gave a hard look towards Professor Dumbledore, who nodded slightly. Tom ploughed on, explaining the rest of the story as he had decided it would be told, ending with himself dying when Harry plunged the fang into the diary.
After being assured by the Headmaster that Ginny would not be punished for her actions while under the spell of the diary, Arthur, Molly Weasley took their only daughter to the hospital wing. McGonagall was asked to alert the kitchens so that they could prepare a feast, and, after rewarding 'Harry' and Ron with 400 house points for Gryffindor and Special Services awards, then talking rather unproductively to Lockhart, Dumbledore sent Ron and the obliviated Professor to Madam Pomfrey, closed the door and sat down alone with Tom.
"I was wondering, Harry, why you wished Tom Riddle's future identity to remain a secret?" said Dumbledore, in a curious but gentle tone. Tom looked up into Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes, smiling at the man he hated most in the world. No doubt I killed all the others on my little list. How disappointing that nearly fifty years have passed and I still have yet to make you feel the pain that you put me through every year. Tom froze when he felt a creeping tendril of magic seeping into his unshielded mind. He broke eye contact with Dumbledore as slowly as he dared and stared down at his feet. Merlin! I thought I was the only student he mistrusted enough to use legilimency on! Was Harry up to something as well? He searched the boy's memories futilely for any sign of duplicity or cunning. Innocent as a lamb. Is keeping your little golden boy under control that important to you, Dumbledore? Or… is that it? Do you simply abuse your power with all your students? With anyone who is too foolish or trusting to suspect that you might be creeping around inside their head?
Tom almost laughed. I should have known, Dumbledore. You're a real Slytherin. Harry doesn't know any occlumency, he thought to himself, how am I going to get around this? There's no way I can look into his eyes without him seeing right into my mind, or else being blocked and realising that something is very, very wrong. Damn it, there isn't anything I can do about it for now; I'll think of something later, I'm sure. Tom settled for just being nervous and bashful around the legendary wizard, and tried to force himself to blush, scanning his victim's memories for an appropriate answer.
"I thought it would be a better idea to keep the name Voldemort out of it, sir. People seem to overreact whenever he is mentioned. Plus, well, if it had got out it might have been like I 'defeated' Voldemort all over again sir. I would hate to be even more famous..." Tom trailed off, looking away from where Dumbledore sat, towards Fawkes on the mantelpiece. Dumbledore called his phoenix to him, and Fawkes settled on to the old man's lap to be stroked. Trying to get me to look at you, Dumbledore? You'll have to do better than that. Tom kept his gaze resolutely on Fawkes, not remembering the heavenly feeling of the phoenix's magic.
"And so you met Tom Riddle," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. "I imagine he was most interested in you..."
Tom adopted a pensive look for a moment, and then arrogantly decided to play with Dumbledore a bit, just to get back at the man for trying to read his mind.
"Professor Dumbledore... Riddle said I'm like him. Strange likenesses, he said..."
"Did he, now?" said Dumbledore, looking thoughtfully under his thick silver eyebrows at Tom. "And what do you think, Harry?"
"Well... I don't know sir... He did look strangely like me, actually. The same eyes..." Tom trailed off, thinking furiously. His mother's eyes – that's what people always tell him. Memories of a smiling woman in a mirror, and again in a photograph album swam past Tom's mind's eye.
"You know what, he actually looked a lot like the photographs of my mother that I have seen..."
Harry, whose eyes were fixed on the steady motion of Dumbledore's hands stroking Fawkes, only just managed to contain his shock when he saw the Headmaster's hands clench almost imperceptibly at his last statement. He decided to risk looking at Dumbledore, concentrating hard on blanking his mind, the most basic and inconspicuous form of occlumency, and hoping the man was too distracted to use serious legilimency on him, but the Headmaster's face was locked into a gentle, serene expression and Tom looked down again, no wanting to tempt fate.
"I'm sure that's just a coincidence, my dear boy," intoned Dumbledore, his voice calm and unwavering. "I was actually speaking more of personality, than something as superficial as looks, Harry" - there was a slight tone of admonishment in Dumbledore's words, and Tom thought hard on his answer, weighing what he knew of Harry from the memories he had gained in his mind before replying.
"Well, sir," he started hesitantly, "The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin... and I was worried about that at first, not to mention me being a Parselmouth - people thought I was Slytherin's heir for a while... but, I realised that it's not what abilities you have or what house you are in that matters but what you choose to do. And what I did was Gryffindor, right, Professor?" Tom finished, certain that that was what Dumbledore had wanted to hear, and, though he still wasn't looking at Dumbledore, he could almost hear the smile in the man's jovial reply.
"Oh well done, Harry! That's exactly right. This sword-" Dumbledore lifted Godric Gryffindor's sword and the blood-stained rubies twinkled in the firelight. "This sword proves that you belong in Gryffindor, if nothing else does," said Dumbledore simply.
Dumbledore began talking happily about getting Hagrid back from Azkaban, and a new defence teacher, but Tom was lost in thought again. That sword proves that Harry belonged in Gryffindor? A Parselmouth? I've seen that sword before, old man. Dippet used to keep it on the wall in his office. Do you really expect me to believe that it found its way into the hat by itself? And that your phoenix just happened to know it was in there? Well yes, I suppose you do, don't you?
Tom looked back through more of Harry's memories, scanning quickly over the past year. He held back his disgust at how lazy the boy was, how reluctant he was to take advantage of the magic he had been blessed with.
You knew about the Basilisk all along, of course you did. Slytherin's heir; petrified students; dead cockerels, and surely you knew about that oaf Rubeus and his pet spiders. I was a fool to think you wouldn't pick up on the clues, and that was without knowing that you were reading the minds of your pet Gryffindors. You must have known about Harry's 'voices' from that first night at Hallowe'en. Did you read the girl, as well? Did you know about me even then?
But why keep quiet about it… Why did you let me go on, allow Malfoy to suspend you? Tom trawled further back through Harry's memories, which he had shunted out of the front of the boy's mind when he had taken possession of it, pushing them to the back to let his own memories - which ended in a short, bloody ritual and a forcefully whispered 'Avada Kedavra', then decades of silence before his enchantment of Ginny Weasley – flow into the space left there. He felt disgust and a brief moment of sympathy and shared pain and understanding for the boy whose body and soul he had taken for himself as he passed over the memories of the Dursley's, before striking gold.
How on earth, Dumbledore, how in this magical world of ours could you possibly expect anyone to fall for that one? And yet they did. People trust you so much, you sneaky, manipulative, legilimencing, morally bankrupt old bastard, they trust you so bloody much that they don't even see what's right there in front of them as long as you tell them just to believe you. Your protections? The only real protection there was the mirror. Any wizard who knew a few basic spells and wasn't a complete moron could have got past them, all except your mirror, so why were they there? Not to test Harry's skill or power, because we both know a twelve year old is a twelve year old, no matter his potential, and you seemed happy for him to waste that potential by never applying himself to learning the magic arts. His determination, then, his drive to succeed and to do what is right, but what for?
The swung open and hit the wall with a crash. Tom jumped and turned to scowl at the man who had made him lose his composure. Lucius Malfoy stood in the doorway, a snarl evident on his features, his usual pale complexion stained red with anger. A heavily bandaged house elf cowered behind the man wringing its hands.
"Good evening, Lucius," said Dumbledore pleasantly.
Mr Malfoy swept into the centre of the room, house elf crouching at the hem of his long black cloak.
"So!" he announced, ignoring Tom and fixing his cold-eyed glare on the outwardly genial Headmaster. "The rules seem to mean nothing to the great Albus Dumbledore. Even after the school governors suspended you, you saw fit to return to Hogwarts. Though," Malfoy paused, looking around the office and sneering, "you have demoted yourself to Deputy Headmaster, perhaps? It is the governors who decide what disciplinary action is appropriate for staff, not you, Dumbledore."
"Ha," said Dumbledore, smiling, "very funny, Lucius, but no. I have in fact returned to my former position, despite availing myself of Minerva's office for the moment. You see, Lucius, the other eleven governors contacted me today, while I was enjoying my unexpected holiday. It was rather like being caught in a hailstorm of owls, to tell you the truth, except the weather is rather too clement for that. It seems they had heard about our most recent troubles and decided I was the only man for the job after all. Very strange tales they told me, too. Some of them seemed to think that you had threatened to curse their families if they didn't agree to suspend me in the first place."
Mr Malfoy's mouth set into a thin line, but he didn't rise to that particular bait. His eyes still held a hint of triumph.
"So – have you succeeded in stopping the disturbances?" he sneered, "or are your efforts proving as successful as they have been previously?"
Dumbledore continued smiling serenely. "As it happens, Lucius, you will no doubt be ecstatic with joy to hear that we have indeed stopped the attacks, and that no more of our precious muggleborn students need fear for their safety."
Lucius' scowl morphed slowly into what looked like a very painful smile. Tom was intrigued by the exchange but he allowed himself to be momentarily distracted by Mr Malfoy's house elf, who was twisting his ears and looking from his master to Tom desperately. It seemed as though the pitiful creature was attempting to draw his attention to something. Dobby, that's his name. Now where did I see him? Ah yes. Tom got it all at once, his quick mind making the link between Harry's memories and Dobby's master almost instantaneously. Lucius Malfoy, it seems you were one of my 'Death Eaters' after all. But if you had my diary, does that mean you knew I was… not a pureblood? Ah well, it doesn't matter now, I suppose.
"I assume the criminal responsible has been turned over to the proper authorities…" Malfoy trailed off, losing his fake smile as Dumbledore's eyes crinkled with barely suppressed mirth. He held up the tattered remains of Tom Riddle's diary.
"Oh my dear Lucius, I'm afraid the perpetrator is far beyond punishment. Of course, had one of our more public spirited students not neutralised and handed in this enchanted diary – which we have identified as belonging previously to Lord Voldemort - Arthur Weasley's daughter might have been blamed, and putting aside the potential miscarriage of justice, that would have been quite disastrous for his Muggle Protection Act. Why, the Wizengamot might have dismissed it out of hand as hypocrisy!"
Malfoy looked furious, but as Dumbledore continued his face twisted into a gleeful smirk.
"Ah, Headmaster, thank you. You just reminded me of the secondary reason for my visit to the school. I was coming to inform you that in today's meeting the Wizengamot voted to dismiss the bill as unnecessary. They seemed to believe, as I do, that the legislation we already have in place is quite sufficient to protect Muggles. It was most unfortunate that you were busy with your other duties and missed such a crucial assembly, but perhaps this mishap will lead you to support me when the Wizengamot meets again next month. I intend to suggest that as you seem unable to adequately fulfil your role as Head due to your duties at Hogwarts, not to mention your commitments as Supreme Mugwump, we should make it a full time job. Of course that would mean, since you seem so very attached to your position as Headmaster, that you would have to resign. I would make a fine Head of the Wizengamot, don't you think?" Malfoy flashed his teeth and tossed his hair with a flick of his head, like a model.
Dumbledore's eyes had stopped twinkling. He gave a mournful sigh and said "no doubt your proposal will garner as much support with the Wizengamot as your attempt to remove me did with the school board."
"We shall see," said Malfoy, his momentary good mood evaporated. "Good day, Headmaster." The platinum blonde wizard turned with a swish of his robes and made for the door. Tom decided it was his turn.
"Mr Malfoy," he said, smirking slightly, "don't you want to know how such a dangerous artefact found it's way into the hands of a first year?"
Lucius Malfoy rounded on him.
"How would I know how the stupid little girl got hold of it?" he said.
"Because you gave it to her, Mr Malfoy," said Tom, "in Flourish and Blotts, just before your little fist fight with Mr Weasley. You picked up her Transfiguration book, and slipped it inside, didn't you?"
He saw Mr Malfoy's pale hands clench and unclench.
"Prove it," he hissed.
"It's a little too late for that, naturally," said Dumbledore, tapping the wood of McGonagall's desk through the hole in the diary with a fingernail. "The unfortunately necessary measures taken against the book have destroyed its contents, leaving no trail to follow. However, Lucius, if you happen to have any more of Lord Voldemort's old school things lying around, well, I should be a little more careful what you do with them. No doubt Arthur Weasley in particular would be most eager to have them traced back to you."
Malfoy hovered in the doorway for a few moments, his right hand half raised with his fingers curled. Probably got his wand in a wrist holster, thought Tom, who reached towards the pocket of his robes where Harry's wand lay. I should get one. Malfoy's attention, however, was on Dumbledore, who just stared at the raised arm impassively. With a final sneer Malfoy lowered his arm and stormed out of the room, calling "come, Dobby" behind him to his hapless servant.
Tom stared after the damaged house elf, and a smile found its way to his face as a plan formed in his mind. Not quite sanitary, he thought, but if it works, it will certainly be worth it to see the look on Malfoy's face.
"Professor Dumbledore," Tom said, without turning to look at the old man. "Do you think I could have the diary back if you have no more use for it? I wish to return it to Mr Malfoy"
"Of course, Harry. There really isn't anything more I can with it," he said. He seemed surprised. Tom stood, and took the diary from McGonagall's desk, giving a quick glance into the Headmaster's eyes to make sure he didn't get suspicious. "But Harry," Tom paused in the doorway. "I'm sure you're tired, but do make sure you go down to the feast before bed, you need to eat, and I'm sure your housemates will want to congratulate you on your success," said Dumbledore in his customary grandfatherly tone. Tom grimaced at the thought of congratulations, but nodded to the elderly wizard.
He hurried out of the office, and, removing one of his shoes, a rather tattered white one which of some strange muggle design, he took off a filthy, sodden sock and stuffed the diary inside it. Slipping the shoe back on, Tom ran down the corridor towards the Hogwarts entrance hall, and found Malfoy and Dobby at the top of a flight of stairs.
"Mr Malfoy!" He called, hurrying up the man, whose nose wrinkled when he came close. I must stink. I'll have to do something about that, even if these clothes aren't worth washing. The day isn't over, yet. "I wanted to return this to you," he said, thrusting the squalid package into the immaculate pureblood's hands.
"What in Merlin's name, Potter?" the man frowned deeply at the item as he ripped off the sock and tossed it one side. Looking down at the diary, he dropped it, deliberately. He met Tom's eyes with a menacing glare. "You shouldn't play games with your elders and betters Potter. I'm going to make sure you learn that. We're leaving, Dobby." Malfoy looked down at Dobby, who was holding the sock as though it was a winning lottery ticket, and his eyes widened. "Shit. You've lost me my servant, boy!" Malfoy snarled and lunged for Tom.
Quick as a flash Tom had Harry's wand out and with a circular movement followed by a stab, almost faster than the eye could see, he let loose a banishing hex at Mr Malfoy, throwing he man backwards down the stairs into a crumpled heap. Malfoy staggered to his feet, his face livid, and drew his wand, but as he looked up to where Tom stood he was met by a disarming hex that the boy had thrown pre-emptively before the man had even reached for his wand. Malfoy was thrown to the floor again and Tom caught his wand, twirling it between the fingers of his left hand before smirking cruelly at the stuck up pureblood. He was about to snap it but then thought twice, and pocketed it.
"Perhaps I'll ask Dumbledore to return it to you… in public, at the next meeting of the Wizengamot. That would be fun, wouldn't it?"
If it was possible for Lucius Malfoy to become more angry, he did now. "You smug little urchin, give it back!" he shouted, rushing towards the stairs, magic and dignity forgotten as he ran towards the boy who had humiliated him so.
"Ah, ah, ah, Mr Malfoy", said Tom, pointing Harry's wand, still stained from his earlier adventures, at the enraged soon-to-be-ex-school governor. The man stopped half way up the stairs, seeing reason.
"You've made a powerful enemy today, Potter," he spat. "I'm going to make you wish your mudblood mother had never whelped you." Tom's eye twitched, even if the insult didn't really apply to him, his own blood status was a touchy subject to say the least. Mudblood mother, hmm. Dumbledore's reaction might indicate otherwise.
"Leave. Now," said Tom, as calmly as he could. Malfoy sneered, but, seeing the futility of his situation, turned and stalked off down the corridor towards the main entrance of the school.
Tom turned back to Dobby, who was backed up against the wall, holding his long ears down over his eyes and quivering. The elf seemed to sense Tom's gaze on him though, and, realising that the confrontation was over, rushed over to the boy, and grabbed him around the knees.
"Harry Potter freed Dobby!" said the elf shrilly, gazing up at Tom with shining lamp-like eyes. "Harry Potter set Dobby free!"
Not quite, thought Tom to himself. He wanted to curse the disgusting little rat that was clinging to his legs, he held back. Harry Potter wouldn't do it, and besides, he knew what it was like to be treated like dirt. If he doesn't let go of me soon, though…
"You're welcome, Dobby. In return, though… perhaps you could do something or me?" said Tom. The only things he could think of at that moment were things he wanted the elf not to do, but that was something.
"Yes sir! Dobby will do anything for the great Harry Potter!" Dobby's crinkled face had cracked into and even wider smile and the servile creature looked like he was going to burst from happiness at being assigned a task by his hero.
"I was hoping, Dobby, that you would firstly let go of my legs, and secondly refrain from trying to save my life again," said Tom, who, though his patience was wearing thin, tried to keep his tone light as he had a feeling the ugly little elf was going to be crushed. Sure enough, Dobby lost his smile and his huge, glimmering eyes filled with tears. Then he smiled again.
"Of course, Harry Potter sir. Dobby promises never to try to save Harry Potter again."
Tom finally snapped. He opened his mouth to utter a curse at the irritating ex-slave, but Dobby had already disappeared with a loud crack. Ah well, no idea what I would have used on him anyway, and it would have been hell if anyone saw me.
Absentmindedly, Tom wondered if it was really a good idea, security wise, for any old elf to be able to apparate in and out of Hogwarts just like that, but dismissed it as Dumbledore's problem.
Tom walked towards the stairs, dragging his hand along the wall, feeling the old stone beneath his fingertips and just delighting in the atmosphere of the ancient magical castle that would always be his home. It's been far too long, he though, smiling softly. He adopted a sedate pace, feeling exhaustion sap at his entire being, physical and magical. He had put his all into those simple spells against Malfoy, and fortunately it had been enough, but it had taken everything he had left. He was acutely aware that twelve year old Harry Potter had magical reserves far smaller than those of sixteen year old Tom Riddle, and pondered on what he could do to address that, other than simply wait for puberty to set in.
When he reached Madame Pomfrey's domain, Tom paused in the doorway, but once he saw that the explosive Weasley matriarch had already left, presumably for home, taking her husband with her, he stepped inside. In fact, only Ron was visible, sitting the end of a bed next to another that was curtained off. He walked towards the redhead, intent on keeping up appearances. And raised a hand in a slight wave, but his quiet greeting was drowned out by his friend's loud "Hello, mate, how's it going?" The boy piped down though, when Madame Pomfrey emerged from behind the pale blue curtain, clucking her tongue and shooting a disapproving glare at Ron.
"How are you, Harry dear?" she said kindly, answering her own question with a flurry of diagnostic spells, few of which Tom recognised. Well, I never wanted to be a healer anyway, though I suppose learning a bit more wouldn't hurt, he thought, memorising each of the incantations and wand movements as the mediwitch cast them, intent on trying them out when he got the time.
Pomfrey ushered him towards a bed, which he sat down on, to her palpable disappointment. "Stay right there, dear," she said firmly, bustling off towards some back room that Tom had never had the privilege of entering. He took the opportunity to tug at the tear in his robes, looking beneath but finding only dirtied but whole skin beneath. He was only slightly surprised to see that the gash made by the Basilisk's tongue had healed, and allowed himself a little smile at his own genius in using the ink as a medium for his soul, rather than the actual pages of the book.
Tom looked up. Ron was staring at him. "How is Ginny?" he said calmly, not really interested in the answer but worried about every stare or unusual look he got. With a glance toward the drawn curtains, Ron answered him. "She seems fine, I think. They gave her some potions, I dunno what, but she's just sleeping now. Madame Pomfrey says she'll be fine."
"I do indeed, Mr Weasley", said Madame Pomfrey, who was glaring at Ron again. It seemed the boy managed to attract her ire no matter what he said. "And I'll thank you not to discuss the status of my patients. Mr Potter, if you want to know how somebody is doing, you can ask me. Now drink these." She placed three small bottles on the bedside table, all of which, though unlabelled, Tom could guess at the identity of simply by shade. He downed the first – a headache reliever – eagerly, and valiantly stopped himself from gagging at the sickly sweet taste of the Contusé potion that followed it, but paused at the last – a dreamless sleep potion. Tom certainly felt like sleeping, but not in the hospital wing. Luckily Ron came to the rescue.
"Er, can we go down to the feast now, Madame Pomfrey?" he asked, looking a little scared, and with good reason.
"What! You're patients!" She checked Ron over again, and sighed. "Well, I suppose you may go if you must, Mr Weasley, but Mr Potter will be staying the night here." Ron looked like he was going to protest, but Tom seized his chance, "actually, Madame Pomfrey, Professor Dumbledore said he wanted me down at the feast tonight, much as I would love to remain here in your tender care," he said smoothly, trying to butter up the intemperate matron, and twisting Dumbledore's words somewhat to his own ends.
"Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr Potter", she replied, but she gave him a slight smile. "However, if the Headmaster insisted, then I must let you go. Now get out of my infirmary." She gathered up the potion bottles, two empty, one full, and stalked off, muttering audibly about 'irritating old men with no respect for the medical process'. Tom and Ron eyed each other, palpably relieved at their release from the matron's clutches, and made for the door.
Tom stepped into the Great Hall just behind Ron. Most of the school were in their night clothes, though they seemed as exuberant as ever. He stopped himself before walking towards the table that was decked in green and silver, and followed Ron to his 'new' house table. A frizzy-haired girl jumped up from her seat as she saw them coming and rushed to hug him.
"You worked it out, Harry, "the girl all but squealed, "I knew you would!" Harry's memories supplied a name. Hermione. Scanning the most recent memories of her, he knew what to say.
"I couldn't have done it without you, Hermione." She loosened her arms and he pulled back, taking her arm and leading her to the table. He ate a little, tuning out the girl's ramblings as she didn't appear to require any responses. Tom looked up to the head table, where the central seat was still empty. He didn't want to be around when Dumbledore announced the extra points, he was none to eager to lose Slytherin the House Cup, but more importantly he didn't want to be mobbed by joyous Gryffindors.
"I'm tired, Hermione," he said, startling the girl. "If anyone asks, I've gone to bed, alright?"
"Sure, Harry… Goodnight," she said, not looking very sure.
Tom got up before she could change her mind and order him to stay. "See you tomorrow," he called softly as he left, walking towards the Gryffindor common room and searching Harry's memories for the password. The corridors were deserted, and he passed the portrait without incident and, climbed the stairs to the second year dorm and fell heavily into his bed, and out of the waking world
This chapter has now been significantly revised. Strange that it took far longer to rewrite than it actually took to write in the first place, though it did increase in length by about 60.
Hopefully it's an improvement on the old version, and even more hopefully it will make it easier for me to write the second chapter, which has been languishing in a state of incompleteness for a very long time now, to my shame.
Anyone who notices these things might have noticed that my other story (of which I had only written one chapter anyway) has been removed. It's on hold until I actually devise a storyline for it (not to mention a real title), because I had absolutely no idea where it was going to go after the first few chapters. It might never resurface, as it's subordinate to this story right now, and is a post-HBP story, and I thought most of HBP sucked.
Anyway, talking about this actual story (/sigh), you might be impressed by my little A.A. Milne – style chapter exposé at the beginning (if you aren't, you suck). I will be continuing this feature, since it draws attention away from my poor title-thinking-up skills. My change to the scene with Dobby was chiefly because I am unhappy with the idea that a house elf is more magically powerful than a wizard (Lucius Malfoy, inner circle death eater, defeated by a 2 foot tall green slave. The ministry should just use them as Aurors), but also because sticking to canon would have been completely pointless, but I didn't want to lose that scene entirely. This chapter clocks in at 8,915 words (not counting this excessively long author notes type thing), which is the highest word count for any chapter of this fic so far. Yay!
Criticism is welcome, as is obeisance, grovelling, prayers, undeserved praise, and all the rest. Just put it in a review, and I'll lap it up, no matter how illiterate or smelly you are.
P.S. Should I be putting a disclaimer in anywhere? I know loads of people do, but I always thought it was redundant, seeing as how the disclaimer can be instantly inferred from the fact that you've posted your work on and thus you clicked the button signifying your adherence to the submission guidelines. /shrug.