Author's Notes: My dear readers and reviewers, thank you! The Enchanted Teakettle, LovinLovegood1, Wren, All-American Vampire, Autumn Faery, Larken27, Odessa, blueforest, KrazieChickadee, DeepDownSlytherin, Maelys, Nimbus B, padfoot'smoon, Nosilla, forceuser1456, and twighunter. Again, responses to anonymous reviews can be found in my profile.

I'm obsessed with WWII history, so I've integrated some of it into this chapter.

The Incohare Calx spell I mention (I made it up) sounds really cool to me, and I got the idea from Disney's Sleeping Beauty, when the raven familiar of Maleficent is turned to a stone statue. I would be pleased to see someone else use it in a fic :-) P.S. Am I the only one who thinks that Parseltongue is dead sexy?

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

Recap of Chapter 20:

Honora swept in front of Tom to the portrait hole. 'Oh, by the way – I've almost finished the equations for Arithmancy. We're ahead of everyone,' she tossed over her shoulder to him.

'That's because we are the best.'

'True.'

They were only five minutes late for Potions, and Slughorn barely noticed the tardy transgressions of favoured students such as Tom and Honora. Kay archly raised an eyebrow at Honora, who looked back at her with virtuous blankness. Even now, she wanted her relationship with Tom to stay secret, so that no one dared interfere. All that morning, Honora made a good effort in class, but inside she relished the night's impressions of Tom on her skin, and on her soul.

Chapter 21

Shed Light

Regrettably the rest of the day was too busy to spend any time with Tom, but they did give each other smouldering looks in the hallways whenever they passed one another.

For Honora's part, it felt as if Tom was a totally different person now. He had stopped bothering to put up his cold, emotionless-yet-charming facade around her. Granted, the rest of the school was still completely fooled. But Honora and Tom were in on their own private little secret. She knew what he was and what he had done. She also figured that, if her intuition had been correct, she was the only human being he had ever loved. Honora hoped that was enough to change things.

Did she return Tom Riddle's love? The question confused Honora. Certainly she wanted to. She wanted to turn him toward higher pursuits than dictatorship; she wanted him to be with her as her only equal. However, the fact remained that he was potentially Lord Voldemort, the evil ruler of her own time that had brought so much misery and death, however disconnected that figure was from her beautiful, captivating friend. I love him, but I don't trust him. Not yet.

Honora resolved to let things take their own course. She felt out of control, a feeling she normally disliked immensely, but there was nothing to do but accept it in this case.

She also wondered if she should ever tell Tom about her true past, about the fact that she was a time-traveller. The truth was that Honora wanted him to know. He had been up-front with her about his past; she owed him the same. Yet, she feared that if he knew he had succeeded in becoming the all-powerful dictator of the world, as Lord Voldemort, it would only encourage him. Honora knew that her grandmother Eleanor, and Julius Talbot, and the centaurs, would be appalled at the idea of confessing their desperate plan to Tom Riddle himself.

But they don't know him like I do, Honora's mind bleated. They don't love him like I do. She sighed at this; love certainly was not simple. In fact, it had twisted her life and mission so into knots, Honora did not know her way out.

The other problem with telling Tom that she was really from the year 2112 was a definite lack of proof. For the thousandth time, Honora kicked herself for losing her locket. It had been her only link, her only evidence, of her past and purpose. If Honora blurted out to Tom that she came from a tiny enclave of light wizards fighting against his future-dictator self, he might send her to St. Mungo's as a mental patient. Not wanting that, Honora decided to keep quiet, for the time being.

In early March, the Daily Prophet blared the headline that everyone had been waiting for: 'DUMBLEDORE DEFEATS GRINDELWALD; The Dark Wizard's Forces Scatter in Germany; Victory for Britain!'

It set the school rocking with exaltation; Dumbledore returned to cheering crowds in Hogsmeade. Nearly the whole of the student body turned out, laughing and shouting and drinking, confetti issuing forth from wands. Most of the older Slytherins abstained from celebration; Tom Riddle merely kept his cool demeanour intact and was not seen dancing in the streets.

Honora suggested he celebrate with her in private.

Since Hogwarts was mainly empty, it was easy to sneak Honora into the Slytherin dungeons and into Tom's Head Boy bedroom. She glanced around the Slytherin common room curiously as they passed through it; indeed the light filtering through the lake gave the large room a quavering, blue look. It was almost pretty. The house colours of green and silver were everywhere, with heavy doses of black furniture and white marble.

Tom held her hand as he pulled her up a short flight of stairs and into his room. Honora could not conceal a smile as she looked around: the room suited Tom perfectly, dark and masculine and rather dramatic. Warm torchlight flared up with a wave of Tom's wand. A large four-poster bed sat in the middle of the room, carved of ebony, with green and silver satin coverlet and velvet drapes. A green velvet sofa was perched in front of the lakeside window, watery silver light gleaming through in soft rays.

Honora stood in the middle of the floor, not sure if she was allowed to sit down or touch anything. Tom stepped behind her, wrapped his arms about her waist, and kissed her neck, his breath hot on her skin. It was rather nice, until she noticed something moving in the corner.

Honora's eyes widened; it was a huge snake, now uncoiling itself and slithering towards her, supple dark scales glinting in the light. 'Uhh, Tom?' she pointed. 'What is that?'

'Oh.' Tom exhaled in a soft chuckle. 'Honora, I'd like you to meet my familiar, Nagini.'

'Huh?' Honora looked up at him doubtfully. 'Nagini?'

'Don't worry, she's very nice. She already knows all about you.' As if to confirm this, the snake Nagini slithered her way towards Honora and drew up to human height. Honora locked eyes with the reptile, unable to blink. The snake really was intimidating. Figures he'd have something like this as a pet. Her mind dinged something about a mention of a large snake in McGonagall's book, connected to Lord Voldemort, but Honora was too distracted to pursue the thought.

Tom reached out a hand and ran it along Nagini's nose, a practised and affectionate caress. Nagini's forked tongue flicked out of her mouth contentedly. Suddenly Tom started hissing to it in Parseltongue, those sinuous syllables quivering through the air. His eyes watched Honora as he spoke.

Honora felt hot all of a sudden. The hissing, murmuring sound of Tom's voice wrapped around her throat and ears, striking a chord somewhere deep inside. It was weird, dark, and certainly frightening, but for some reason Honora felt a primal attraction to him at that moment. Her mouth quirked upward in a sultry smile. 'I like to hear you speak Parseltongue,' she whispered, her voice low.

'Why?' Tom switched back to English, but softly.

'It sounds like it takes a lot of…talent to speak.'

'Oh, it does. The pronunciation off the tongue…it takes a great deal of dexterity,' Tom looked at her, his dark eyes glittering with double meaning. 'Come.' Placing a hand at the small of her back, he guided her toward the sofa and they sat together. Tom conjured a bottle of red wine and two glasses. 'You wanted to celebrate,' he said, taking a more casual tone.

'Aren't you glad, Tom?' Honora said to him as she settled in to rest in his arms on the sofa. 'Grindelwald is gone.'

'I can't say I care one way or the other,' Tom replied. 'Grindelwald was weaker than Dumbledore; that's all there was to it.'

'And the light prevails again,' Honora said delicately.

Tom snorted. 'And why should I be happy about that?'

'Because if Grindelwald's gone, that's one less wizard who's trying to get power that might be ours.'

Tom regarded Honora with a look of sudden respect. 'Oh, so it comes out! You didn't want Grindelwald dead as revenge alone, did you?'

'Well, no. I think Britain should be in charge of things, and we can't have some old German wizard running around influencing people, wreaking havoc, doing bad things to no end.'

'And if he did bad things toward a good end?'

Honora shook her head. 'Oh, no, you don't. The ends do not justify the means, because the means can change you by the time you reach your goal. And frankly, it's a lot more of a challenge to stay on the good side of things and still gain power. I've never known you to say no to a challenge, Tom.'

'Interesting point. So you're not against the pursuit of power, fortune, personal glory…as long as it benefits everyone else, too?'

'Exactly.'

'Now that is a challenge.'

'Speaking of that, Tom, how is the Kybalion coming along?'

'It's fascinating,' he replied, lighting up with that familiar thirst for knowledge. 'The power that might be unlocked through transmutation of the soul would change the very nature of how we do magic. Wandless magic, an ability to control our environment in undreamt-of ways…see, it all seems to be about finding that root of truth as to why magic works. The unified equation that we've talked about is really just an Arithmatic representation of the inner truth.'

'Which, according to Hermetic mysticism, is light. Universal Love. Incomprehensible, yet it can be experienced and channelled, even.'

Tom sighed. 'Apparently…love.' He sounded almost disappointed. 'I want to go to Egypt,' he said abruptly. 'The text speaks of a chamber that Trismegistus built, to contain his power…'

'You and secret chambers,' Honora rolled her eyes. 'I want to go to Egypt too.'

'And what makes you think I'll take you with me?' Tom was smiling now.

'You just will. And if you don't, I'll pester you until you do.'

'I knew you would say that.' Tom sighed dramatically. 'The things I put up with.'

'Egypt will be fun. We can buy carpets.'

Tom looked down indulgently. 'We could open a magic carpet shop in Diagon Alley,' he joked. 'Call it 'Wild Threads'.'

Honora laughed out loud. 'You're silly!'

'I'll show you all around London.'

'Oh, that would be brilliant,' Honora said. 'There is so much to do and see, even in the Muggle parts. I love that city.'

'I love London, too,' Tom said, quietly now. He got a strange expression on his face, as though remembering something that was both painful and wonderful.

'What is it?' Honora looked at him, snuggling next to him in a gesture of comfort. She was surprised that Tom Riddle, of all people, would hold affection for the city of London.

Tom said nothing for several seconds, but his face darkened and he set his mouth firmly before he began to speak.

'I was just remembering London during the war. You wouldn't believe it, during the Blitz, how awful it was. Yet, the city of London kept going, the people kept living, somehow. I remember we never got enough to eat, at the orphanage. It felt as if the world was being drained of colour, bleeding to death every day.

'Then, the sound of the jerries, flying overhead…you would think it'd be a roar, dull and deep, but it wasn't. It was more of a whine, like a bee on some terrible errand. The sirens would start…and then the noises. Soft thuds, if the bombs were far away, or sharp and crashing if they were close. Screams, too. We didn't have a shelter, so during the raids Mrs. Cole, the headmistress of the orphanage, took us down into the basement and we hid beneath the stairs. Once –' Tom stopped, remembering. 'Once I was out in the city, when the bombs came. I went around London all the time on my own, you see.'

Honora smiled vaguely at this. She could just see little Tom, running around London, probably as coolly polite, watchful and dark, as he was now.

'It was twilight, and I had gone wandering through the market at Covent Garden, just wandering. Then the sirens started blaring. I wasn't scared, not really, but I knew it was going to be bad. Every night it seemed to get worse. Everyone around me started running for the shelters, no panic, but a kind of grim, purposeful run for the Underground station.'

'Oh!' Honora interrupted. 'The Underground! Two summers ago, when I was in Muggle London, there was a bombing raid. I didn't go through much of it; I was nearly to the Leaky Cauldron and got in just in time. But I saw people running down some stairs marked 'Underground.''

Tom nodded. 'That's the public train system,' he explained. 'The Tube. During the worst of the Blitz, they were bomb shelters at night, safe as long as they didn't take a direct hit. But—' he sighed, clenching his jaw. 'I was thirteen. It was during my third year, and not enough staff was here at Hogwarts, so I had to go back to the orphanage for Christmas holidays. It was two days before my birthday, and…that night, I barely made it to the Underground. It was the closest I'd ever been to the bombing before. We were all huddled in together, complete strangers, faces set against the horror right above our heads.'

Honora had a sudden flashback to hiding in the dungeons of Polaris, while Dementors and Death Eaters broke through overhead. She knew exactly what Tom was talking about.

'I stayed there all night, just waiting. A woman brought me a cup of water, and two biscuits. I didn't sleep. Just listened. I knew I would be all right, I was always able to make things happen, the way I wanted them to…If my life were truly in danger, I could have used magic. But it wasn't just about me, right then. I was stuck underground, with Muggles, and I can't stand Muggles. For some reason, though, I didn't mind, I almost felt…' he struggled with his words, 'I was one of them. Even though I was a wizard, it was still London, a place I know like the back of my own hand. And around me were people under attack, weak but still brave, not allowing themselves to be afraid.' He laughed, harshly. 'I thought at the time that the whole lot of Londoners ought to be Gryffindors.'

'And you, too,' Honora said, with a wry smile.

Tom scoffed. 'No, not I. I took a more realistic view of things; it was a matter of who would outlast the other. Would the Germans succeed, or would the English?' Then he sighed, sad and nearly wistful. 'But the next morning, when I emerged from the shelter, and looked around me…I wanted to win. I wanted England to win, to stop the people who dared to attack us.

'You see, there was nothing left, except rubble and blood. I stood in the middle of it, and I stepped on something and looked down, and it was somebody's hand, blown off. I didn't recognise it at first.' His tone became colder, more clinical, as he did when he was talking about brutal violence. 'I walked back through the streets, sometimes climbing over bricks, sometimes over bodies. The city was burning. I crossed the Thames, and I reached the orphanage…' Tom stopped, seemingly unwilling to go on.

'What happened?' Honora gazed up at him, surprised to see his perfect brow furrowed in concentrated effort to speak.

'They hadn't even noticed that I was gone,' Tom said bitterly. 'No one noticed.'

Honora blinked, horrified. 'What?'

'I think Mrs. Cole wanted to be rid of me,' he said, trying to sound like he did not care, but failing utterly.

'Oh, Tom,' Honora touched his face, tenderly, wishing that she could have been there with him.

'It doesn't matter. I'll never see that place again. But London...it's a city that endures, even through the worst humanity can throw at it. I admire stoicism, and fortitude, and we outlasted the Germans. We outlasted Grindelwald.'

'And? Now that we've won the war? Britain victorious?'

Tom's mouth quirked into a smile, against his own will. 'I guess maybe I'm a little proud,' he admitted.

Honora settled back up against him contentedly. Though he would never admit it, Tom Riddle had a heart somewhere inside of him.

The inevitable march of history, the ending of the war, and Tom's impassioned discussions about alchemy all combined to remind Honora that she, too, was graduating soon and needed to decide on her own plans. In a few short months, she would be on her own in the big wide world.

She was also nearly broke. The bag of Galleons she had been given by the centaurs had worn down and now she only had 37 left. It was barely enough to get her through Hogsmeade weekends and incidentals for the rest of the term. She did not want to take out a loan from the goblins; their interest rates were notorious and it was never a good feeling to be in debt. However, she had sent her letter of intent to the Curse-breaking Division of Gringotts Bank. With her grades, Honora was certain she would be invited to an interview.

Professor Drakkis had told her that interviews for Curse-breakers were not just a sit-down affair. Apparently they put applicants through tests to see how well they could think on their feet. The prospect was nerve-wracking. Honora made Tom duel with her a few times, just to stay sharp. She had a feeling that he secretly enjoyed sending nasty hexes her way, just to see what she would do.

Tom did teach her several useful offensive spells, including the Wooden Stake curse, 'Nemorosus Talea', which sent a sharp stake made of ash straight through a vampire's heart with the flick of a wand. He also taught her a rather scary curse called 'Incohare Calx.' It turned any creature into a stone statue, permanently. Honora knew it was a Dark Arts curse, but she rationalised it to herself by figuring she would use it only on monsters, not humans. She had no idea, and did not really want to know, where Tom had learnt those spells in the first place.

With a squirm of guilt, Honora was beginning to agree with Tom about the Dark Arts. There was something fascinating about them. They also generally required more power and skill than normal spells, which attracted someone like Honora. It was the thrill of the forbidden, combined with an intellectual challenge. However, Honora was careful to remind Tom that Dark spells were child's play compared to Hermetic alchemy. Surprisingly, he agreed with her.

'Flamel has formally asked me to come back to work with him for a year,' Tom told Honora one day in April. 'We're going to go over the work I've done with the Kybalion. I'm rather hoping he's going to teach me how to make the Philosopher's Stone in exchange.'

'That—that's great, Tom,' Honora replied. 'It really is the cutting edge. But are you sure you want the Philosopher's Stone? I mean, immortality…it could be really good, but it could backfire. You might be sorry.'

'There is nothing worse than death. The ultimate power would be immortality. You must believe that.'

'I believe everyone has immortality.'

'What? Don't be ridiculous. That's impossible, people die every day, even the most powerful wizards, even my mother—'

'Ah.' Honora leaned back and regarded Tom critically. 'You think if you can avoid death, you can beat the thing that made your early life what it was. To you, death is weakness.'

Tom did not say anything. His expression was a scowl, however.

Honora continued to press the issue. 'What would you say if I told you there is more to it than that? Our bodies may die, but the soul goes on. There are many worlds besides this one, Tom. Hermetics teaches us that; and I know it for a fact.'

'How could you possibly know?' Tom sneered. He really did get unpleasant when she started pointing out the holes in his plans for immortality.

'I died once, Tom,' Honora said, without thinking about what explanation it would demand.

His eyes widened in disbelief. 'You're lying.'

'I'm not.'

'How? You must have been mistaken.'

Honora thought about how to word things. She considered revealing it all, right there and then: her time travel from the year 2112, her mission, all of it. But, just as the words were on the tip of her tongue, she lost her nerve and decided to tell a half-truth instead. 'When I was rescued from, um, the Dark forces, I had to go through a kind of—crack—in space and time. I was saved by the centaurs of…of the Black Forest! Yes. There was a planetary alignment that would allow instantaneous travel out of that part of Germany, which as you know was surrounded by anti-Apparition wards due to the war. So there was this light and the centaurs told me that my body would die when I stepped through. I would be blasted apart and then sort of…reconstructed on the other end.'

Tom was now paying rapt attention. 'And did you, you know, die?'

'Yes. I felt my body destroyed, an instant of terrible pain…then there was a black sort of tunnel, and faces, I knew they were the souls of people who had died and they were sort of cheering me on, I guess. There was a really bright light at the end of it and I approached it…' Honora started to get tears in her eyes. She had never described her experience out loud before. 'It was the whole Universe, there, truth and light and ultimate love, enveloping me. It was so nice. I almost didn't want to come back. But then I felt tugged along and I knew I had to go back to life. I felt my body reassemble, just as the centaurs said, and my soul kind of flew back into it. That's how I got out of, er, where I was. Out of danger.'

'You never told me that before.' Tom sounded almost accusing.

'I've never told anyone that before.'

They sat in silence for awhile. Tom stared down at the floor, lost in thought. Honora wondered if he was thinking about his mother.

'You know…' Tom mused, 'the light you saw…maybe it's what the Hermetic alchemists talk about. The source of magic, of life,of everything. And so if you could make sure your spirit was eternally youthful, then with the proper magical application the body could become so. It would provide a theoretical description of the Philosopher's Stone, and open up the potential for a melded soul and body immortality.'

'Wow.' Listening to Tom talk about that kind of magic gave Honora goosebumps. 'Now that sort of thing I could get behind. Maybe that's what you're supposed to do.'

'True Immortals, walking the earth,' Tom said softly. His eyes held a rabid gleam, a hunger.

It made Honora hungry for it, too. If she achieved immortality through alchemy, not the Dark Arts, she would be one of the greatest wizards in history. It would also mean she might live to see her own time again, 2112, and see it a happy place of laughter and freedom. That is, if Tom Riddle would include her in his scheme.

A/N: Please review! This was sort of the last 'nice, sweet, happy' chapter. And just so everyone is prepared, in the next installment things become very serious indeed...the angels are calling for judgement day.

Tom's account of the London Blitz refers to the night of December 29/30, 1940, when a massive German bombing raid created a firestorm in the centre of London that destroyed the area from St. Paul's Cathedral to the Guildhall. Over 1500 fires burned that night, but miraculously the cathedral itself escaped destruction. During the course of the Blitz (Sept. 1940 – May 1941) over 40,000 British civilians were killed, including over 5,000 children. Nazis! I hate those guys! Since it occurred during the school year, I've taken the liberty of sending Tom back to the orphanage over Christmas holidays in 1940.

The Muggle war in Europe ended in May 1945 (I'll be showing that later) but I figured that Dumbledore's defeat of Grindelwald likely preceded that, so I've decided it happened in March 1945.