Author's Notes: Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed! All-American Vampire, TeenageZombie, larken27, The Enchanted Teakettle, ChuckTheGingy, deepeningblue, Phinea, Odessa, Aarzu, Wren, blueforest, Autumn Faery, and SarahC.E., you guys are wonderful.

Enjoy this last chapter, in which Riddle continues to reveal himself. For more yummy psycho-analysis, I've included some notes at the bottom of this chapter about Tom's revelations here.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does.

Recap of Chapter 19:

'Maybe we're more alike than I thought,' Tom said in a low voice.

Honora's eyes shot up to meet his. Now that was something she had not considered. But when he said it, she realised he was right. They were alike. Ambitious, skilled, clever, ruthlessly alive…Honora shuddered. The fact of it was that Lord Voldemort was her perfect match.

Chapter 18

Turnover

Honora and Tom stared at each other.

'Tom,' she began softly.

'There's something else,' Tom said. He took a breath. 'This ring is proof of my magical lineage,' he said, holding it up. 'And I'm the one who took it from my worthless uncle on the night I killed my father.'

Honora's eyes widened in horror. Oh, for heaven's sake. Now he feels like telling me everything. He's confessing murder to me. Pretty soon he'll ask me if I want to join the Death Eaters.

'That's right. I killed my father, and my grandparents. I walked up to their big beautiful Muggle house, and walked in on their elegant dinner, and I killed them. And I was happy to do it. Shocks you, doesn't it? Makes you scared? You must think I'm a monster,' Tom spat venomously. 'Well, time to face facts, little girl. I am.' He was bragging now.

Honora was scared stiff, determined not to show it but failing miserably. 'You killed your own father, just like that. Did you plan it out, Tom? Did you plan it in your mind, over and over, until you got to his house?' Her voice was shaky and her hands clasped together, knuckles white, as she prepared to listen to the confessions of someone who was a violent sociopath, disturbed in ways she could not possibly understand.

'I went looking for my uncle. He was the one who told me my father was a Muggle,' Tom said. 'Until that night, I had wondered if my father was a wizard. But no. I discovered that my wealthy, snobbish Muggle father had been alive all that time, had abandoned my mother; he wanted nothing to do with me. He deserved the death he got.' Tom's voice was clinical, remorseless as he continued to speak. 'That's right, my only family was a psychotic uncle and a filthy Muggle father. I disposed of them both. I cleansed my life. I murdered my father and framed my uncle Morfin for it, who was sent to Azkaban. And I'm glad I did it.' He laughed, high and cold. 'So what do you think of that, Honora Crowley? Surely not even you can find an excuse.'

Tears welled in Honora's eyes, fear and pity mingled together. No, there was no excuse. But Tom Riddle had not pre-meditated the murders, either. She could only imagine the rejection, the fury he must have felt that night, when Morfin told him how his father had abandoned him to a miserable life in an orphanage, and lived in a house nearby. Really, Tom just had anger issues.

'How did it happen, Tom?' Honora asked as gently as she could. 'Did your father know who you were?'

Tom stared, disbelieving, that she would not back down or run away or call him evil. 'I didn't plan it,' he whispered hoarsely, finally breaking a little. 'I wanted to confront him, show him what he had done. Then, when he realised…he called me a freak. He laughed at me… At me! When I am better than he will ever be.

'I was the superior Tom Riddle, and he had the audacity to—it was then I realised that the only way for me to exact my revenge was to kill him. Of course, I had to kill my grandparents, as well…they were witnesses. I implanted Morfin's mind with the confession. He deserved it, he was unworthy of the Slytherin line. I took the ring so I would never forget.' Tom's face was twisted with pain and calculation, the psychosis within uncoiling on his features.

Honora's heart wrenched in empathy for him, overwhelming her fear. She could not quite believe she felt sorry for Tom Riddle, a.k.a. Lord Voldemort, already a multiple murderer. Yet, she did. It seemed like such a terrible accident, circumstances that had conspired against the little child that had been Tom Riddle. Life had not treated him well and he responded the only way he knew how. He learned not to feel, to channel his power and anger and became a manipulative, charming man with nothing but darkness inside.

She stepped towards him. Tom would not look at her.

'It's all right,' Honora whispered. 'It's all right, Tom.' She took his hands in her own and let her head fall gently on his chest. She was not sure where she had stopped pretending to be his friend and started being his friend.

His hands clasped more tightly around hers, and he let his chin rest on the top of her head. They stood like that in silence for a long time. It was nearly four in the morning when Honora and Tom said a quiet, meaningful 'goodnight' and Honora went to bed.

After that night, everything was different between them.

Tom spent more time in their Head common room. Honora also started going there to study, instead of the library. At meals, he met her eyes from the Slytherin table, and she would smile and wave at him. During their night patrols and Head duties, they would actually chat. They discussed their classes most of the time; sometimes they talked about new magical theories or old magical theories or both. Oftentimes they went over the mysteries of the Hermetic texts and the various ways the secret coded cipher might be uncovered.

The subjects of the Chamber of Secrets and Tom's father were never mentioned or even approached. Honora was afraid to say anything to him and Tom seemed to feel he had said too much already. However, they settled into an uneasy peace, a tentative friendship, over the course of the winter.

For Honora, things had never been clearer. She decided to try an experiment; could she alter the future not by killing Tom Riddle, but by changing him? Could he be turned from his dark path? At this point, Honora was invested in him. She had let herself start to care about him, and it seemed grossly unfair to just kill someone without allowing them the opportunity to become someone different. She had to give Tom the chance to redeem himself. If he could not… well, she would cross that bridge when she came to it.

Damaris again invited Honora to stay with the Turpins, this time for Christmas, but Honora declined. She wanted to stay at Hogwarts, not just because she had told Tom that she would, but because it was her last year. Honora wanted to spend as much precious time at the beloved school as she could. Damaris seemed to understand.

'I wouldn't want to eat my Aunt Lucinda's attempts at making mince pie either,' Damaris said. 'My mum always tells her to let the house-elves do it, and Lucinda always insists on trying it herself. It's disastrous. My memories of Christmas always have a slightly burnt smell to them!'

Lawrence Carter was going home with Damaris for Christmas. With trepidation, Damaris had agreed that it was time he met her parents officially. Honora had laughed; Lawrence was so all-around nice that she could not imagine Mr. and Mrs. Turpin finding anything to disapprove of. Honora felt in a much better mood about Damaris and Lawrence's imminent engagement; for some reason she could not imagine herself with a boy like Lawrence anymore. She wanted her dearest friends to be happy together, and showed this by teasing them about their relentless hand-holding.

The last hurrah of the term was, as usual, the Hogsmeade weekend in December. Honora put on woollen skirt and scarf and a thick, swinging coat and tramped through the snow to the Three Broomsticks with a huge group of friends. For the boys, all the talk was on Quidditch; Honora tuned out as Ash got into an argument with John Parrish, Kay's Hufflepuff, about the relative merits of South Africa's Beater technique against Australia's aggressive use of their Seeker.

'Boys and Quidditch,' Honora rolled her eyes to Damaris. 'I'll never understand it.'

'I like Quidditch,' Damaris said.

'No, you like Lawrence playing Quidditch,' Kay said.

'True,' Damaris conceded.

'Even I'll admit it builds muscle quite nicely,' Honora said with a dreamy smile. For some reason, a memory flitted across her mind of that frightening dance she'd shared with Tom Riddle at the Salvation Ball last year. 'But I'd rather get an athletic workout in other ways.'

'Honora!' Portia overheard and looked appalled.

'Get your mind out of the gutter, Gryffindor!' Honora taunted good-naturedly. 'I meant things like hill-walking or swimming in the lake.'

'Oh!' Portia blushed. 'I guess I've just been spending too much time with Frank.'

'Oooh! Tell us about Frank!' the girls chorused, a little too loudly.

Frank Finnigan glanced over at them, looking worried.

Portia would not say anything more after that.

Having warmed herself with two butterbeers, Honora left the pub to do her Christmas shopping. Her girl friends were easy to shop for; things like stationary, coloured quills, and little accessories were always popular. The boys were a bit more difficult. In the end she settled on sweets from Honeydukes for them. Finally, Honora went to the post office. She had written to Obscurus Books, the publishing firm on Diagon Alley, to inquire about a copy of a rare text.

It was the Kybalion, the only known relic of the great founder of the Hermetic tradition, the wizard Hermes Trismegistus. At least fifteen copies were known to exist, but they were still exceedingly rare to find. Honora thought it was the only book that could possibly hold a clue to the cipher in Nicolas Flamel's papers. Of course, she figured Flamel had seen the Kybalion, but Honora planned to give the tome as a Christmas gift to Tom Riddle. Perhaps with constant access to it, he would figure out the puzzle, discover the secret code, and go further along the path to using love as greatest strength. She had received an owl from Obscurus the week before; they had acquired a copy for her but the cost was 100 Galleons. They would send the book to her upon receipt of payment.

She had initially balked at the price. Honora only had 176 Galleons left for the entire year. But then, what did she expect for such a rare book? I'll just have to get a job after graduation. Right away. She had replied to Obscurus with her 100 Galleons attached before she could change her mind.

To her dismay, the Kybalion had not yet arrived, but a small note from the proprietor at Obscurus told her, with his regrets, that the book would not be available until the 28th of December – three days after Christmas. With a sigh of irritation, Honora sent an owl back, instructing them to send the text directly to her at Hogwarts as soon as possible. She would have to make it a New Year's gift for Tom.

At the end of the day in Hogsmeade, Honora met up with Kay for the walk back up to Hogwarts through the snow. Kay asked her if, as Head Girl, she had any idea where their Transfiguration teacher had gone.

'Dumbledore? No, he's been gone off and on all year,' Honora replied. 'I have no idea what he's up to.' That was not strictly true. Honora had a strong suspicion that Dumbledore was off doing something about the Dark wizard Grindelwald.

'Do you think he's off doing something about Grindelwald?' Kay suggested.

Honora smiled. Apparently it wasn't that much of a secret. 'I think it's a definite possibility.'

'I heard a rumour amongst the Gryffindors that he was,' Kay said. 'Not that I believe rumours. I believe evidence. But the way the Muggle war is going, and now Dumbledore on all these extended absences…I think we're on the brink of winning.'

'Really? What's happening on the Muggle side?'

'After D-Day – that was the invasion this summer, you know – we have been sweeping across Europe. We've liberated most of France, Belgium…the Germans are collapsing really fast. And that must mean that Grindelwald will go soon, too. Oh, Honora, it must make you happy! I mean, Grindelwald's goons killed your family. The Germans put you in exile. So it must be great, eh?'

'Yeah!' Honora nodded. 'It is. Dark wizards need to go down.'

'It's true,' Kay agreed. 'I'm just glad for the prospect of peace. Three of my Muggle cousins are in the Army, fighting…it'll be good for everyone if Grindelwald is defeated, and his Nazi puppets too.'

Honora had not realised that Kay had family fighting in Europe. Muggles, even; life was dangerous for them. Dark wizards cause so much trouble. If only they would all just curl up and go away. It was wishful thinking. 'I hope your cousins come out of it all right,' she said to Kay, squeezing her hand for comfort.

In addition to Dumbledore's absence, not many students were staying at Hogwarts for Christmas. When the Hogwarts Express left bearing the student body home for the holidays, Honora was nearly alone in Ravenclaw Tower. Only a few third-years and Ash Wynn stayed. She and Ash took to playing games of chess in the common room; Honora felt she should not leave her friend with third-years for company.

However, she was incensed to discover that several seventh-year Slytherins had stayed over, other than Tom Riddle, that is. Antonin Dolohov, Michel Rosier, and Ian Avery were all there for Christmas, as was Olive Hornby.

Honora did not like Olive Hornby and the feeling was mutual. Olive was a cruel, mocking girl who seemed to get her kicks out of mercilessly teasing the weak and stupid. In other words, she was a typical Slytherin. She was somewhat pretty; her dark, coarse hair offset her small upturned nose and full lips that were always painted red. Honora had disliked her intensely ever since Olive had made a nasty comment about Kay's dress at the Turpins' summer garden party. Her behaviour at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was not forgotten, either.

What was especially annoying about Olive Hornby was that she threw herself at Tom Riddle every chance she got.

For the Christmas feast, Honora wore a red dress and resolved that she was the Head Girl and Tom was Head Boy and they would be sitting together. There was nowhere she would rather be on that Christmas of 1944; Hogwarts was now her home in a way that, strangely, Polaris had never been. Honora got a small twinge of sadness thinking about her grandmother's Christmas 150 years in the future. She wished she had her gold locket to gaze at; in its absence she had no pictures of her family. Happy Christmas, Grandmother, she thought to herself. With a glint of a tear, Honora realised she could not quite remember what Eleanor looked like. She could, however, remember her grandmother's voice, and the way she had hugged her, in that Siberian forest. Shrugging it off before she got weepy-eyed, Honora went downstairs to the common room.

'Honora! You look, um, really pretty!' Ash Wynn was waiting for her.

'Thank you!'

Ash took her arm and they walked down to the Great Hall. It was decorated with twelve enormous Christmas trees that twinkled with lights. Enchanted snow fell from the ceiling and garlands of holly were swagged along the walls. Christmas music drifted in from somewhere. A single long table was set in the middle of the room; on Christmas Day the students and staff all ate together. Several people already mingled in the room, drinking wassail, pumpkin juice, or brandy.

A wide smile spread across Honora's face. She loved holidays. It all felt so special. She chose a glass of wassail and joined Professors Merrythought and Drakkis. Drakkis, the head of Ravenclaw House, was a tall, thin, dour man of high intelligence.

'Our Head Girl here is one of my best students in Arithmancy,' Drakkis said in a rare display of outward approval. It must have been the holiday spirit.

'Well, she is one of my best students in Defence Against the Dark Arts,' Merrythought added. 'Miss Crowley, have you thought about becoming an Auror? You seem to have made up defensive spells that no one has ever thought of before. It's truly amazing.'

Honora smiled sweetly. She could not take credit for the spells she knew; they were merely the result of future centuries of magical evolution. 'I do enjoy Defence,' she said to Merrythought. 'But I'm actually considering becoming a Curse-breaker. That way, I can use my skills at Defence Against the Dark Arts in combination with other things.'

'Good choice,' Drakkis nodded his head. 'Arithmancy is an essential skill in Curse-breaking. Many of the older tombs, especially in Asia, use a highly complex mathematical basis for their protection.'

Merrythought chuckled and shook her head. 'But, Miss Crowley, think of the good you could do for the world by becoming an Auror! I can think of no more important task than stopping Dark wizards.'

As he said it, Honora saw Tom Riddle walk into the Great Hall, trailed by his small pack of Slytherins.

'I agree with you, Professor,' Honora said to Merrythought. 'But there are many ways to work against Dark forces.' She smiled to herself.

'That's right, Galatea, let the girl be,' Drakkis said gruffly.

Excusing herself from her professors before they could start arguing, Honora sauntered up to Tom Riddle. He turned and his eyes widened slightly when he saw her.

'Honora,' he greeted her, with a little smile on his lips.

'Tom,' she smiled back. 'Happy Christmas.'

'And you.'

She leaned in towards him conspiratorially. 'You'll never guess what I sent to Dippet, anonymously.'

Tom groaned. 'What?'

'Well, you know how he loves licorice?'

'Yes…'

'Well, I sent him Steamer Sticks, disguised in a package from Honeydukes. They'll make hot steam blow out his ears as soon as he takes a bite!'

Tom snickered. 'You didn't.'

'I did!' Honora giggled. 'I hope he opens them in plain sight of everyone.'

'Well, maybe it'll clear his head of all that hot air,' Tom said.

They sat next to each other at dinner. Honora was pleased that Olive Hornby was stuck at the other end of the table, and Tom did not seem to be paying Olive any attention. The feast was wonderful; roast duck, goose, and turkey; cranberry sauce and potatoes and vegetables. Honora and Tom kept up an ongoing commentary on the food, the drink, the other guests, and the potential whereabouts of Dumbledore.

'You must be glad if he's off to defeat Grindelwald,' Tom said.

'Of course. I would be ecstatic to see one more Dark wizard bite the dust.'

'Come, now, Honora. The Dark Arts can be very useful.' Tom glanced at her. 'Only the best wizards can approach them.'

'Perhaps, but they always get burned in the end. To know about the Dark Arts and come out of it, soul intact,' Honora emphasised her words, 'takes a great deal of self-control and focus. Most wizards lack that.'

'Hmm. So you're not opposed to the Dark Arts, as long as they're controlled?'

Honora thought over her response carefully. 'I think it's good to know your enemy. Knowledge is power. However, I would learn the Dark Arts only to find new ways of circumventing them entirely.'

'Like transmutation,' Tom quirked an eyebrow at her. 'Changing the very nature of the soul and its relationship to magic.'

'Exactly. I don't think any of the Dark Arts can come close to what Hermetic alchemy might achieve…if it's properly applied,' Honora said with conviction. In a flash of comprehension, she understood what Dumbledore had done by sending Tom Riddle to Nicolas Flamel as an apprentice. He had turned Tom away from evil magic like Horcruxes and set him on the biggest challenge of all: enlightening the soul for true immortality. Honora knew that Hermetic mysticism was anything but Dark magic; its entire basis was the oneness of universal love.

If Tom Riddle had really paid attention to Nicolas Flamel, she mused, perhaps he had changed his mind about other things, too. With a lift of her spirits, Honora thought that Tom might be open to seeking other kinds of immortality, through love, just like Flamel had done. She could not affect his ultimate goals, but perhaps she could affect the means he used to attain them. It was a beautiful thought for Christmas Day.

The main course disappeared before them and a host of amazing desserts suddenly appeared. Honora's eyes lit up. She helped herself to sticky toffee pudding, along with apple crumble and an exquisite-looking crème brulee.

Tom gaped at her. 'Didn't you get enough to eat?'

'Tom, don't be silly. Everyone has a separate compartment for dessert.'

He laughed at her. 'No they don't!'

Honora held her nose in the air. 'Well, maybe not you,' she said haughtily, then flashed him a dazzling smile as she dug into her sticky toffee pudding.

A/N: Yes, Tom confessed a great deal to Honora in these past three chapters. As we all know from books 2 and 4,, Riddle/Voldemort has always had a penchant for long-winded, dramatic speeches. This is no exception.

I firmly believe that Tom's character is such that he wants a perverse sort of credit for the things he's done; he wants people to know that he's the Heir of Slytherin, that he was powerful enough to murder his own father, etc. I think it bothered him that he never was able to step forward and claim those things openly. For instance, when you look at sociopathic criminals, many of them seem to almost want to be caught. They want people to be afraid of them, and to brag about the things they've done. Thus, Honora's slip of the tongue last chapter gave Tom the opportunity to let it all out, which he did.

Also…I re-read the canon on this, and I do not believe Tom Riddle pre-planned the murder of his father and grandparents. He tracked down Morfin Gaunt, and it all just went downhill from there. I think it is plausible that his Muggle father, Tom Riddle Sr., did not give poor Tom the best reception…a dangerous thing to do indeed! So the whole thing is so sad really.