October 1, 1968
Potions Classroom
"Miss Black, your cauldron is practically singing! A perfectly-brewed Draught of Living Death! Though I can't say I'm surprised. I've heard such excellent things about you, my dear, from Tom—er, Professor Riddle" Professor Slughorn said kindly, with a nod to Acantha, her partner, as if to acknowledge that this was technically a paired assignment.
"Thank you, Professor Slughorn. Yes, I'm to be his new research assistant" said Bellatrix.
"You remind me of him, you know. Both studious, driven, with a certain degree of…ah, personal magnetism. I hope it is not untoward of me to make the comparison, Miss Black."
"Not at all sir, and it is an honour to be compared with him" Bellatrix said, trying to hold back the worshipful tone in her voice as much as she could.
"Well, Tom did follow the rules more closely as Head Boy than you have, my dear. You set us back in the running for the House Cup with that stunt you pulled on Prewett. Well, here's 10 points to Slytherin for your potion—we've got to start making up that deficit, eh?"
While Slughorn prowled the room, observing her classmates' cauldrons and jotting down notes, Acantha strained their finished potion into a glass vial and cleaned their workstation. Bellatrix had done the majority of the work crushing and dicing the potions' ingredients with her silver and onyx dagger (popping out the quill attachment) that Professor Riddle had gifted her for her birthday, which proved particularly helpful for crushing the outer pod of the Sopophorous bean that she needed to brew the Draught of Living Death, while Acantha merely stirred, or if she felt like being useful, said the incantations. This was always how paired assignments went, and Bellatrix had no complaints, given how much she hated cleaning up.
The other girl regarded Bellatrix curiously as if weighing whether to address her seatmate.
"That's the first time in ages I've heard you bring up Riddle, and only because Sluggy brought him up first. I mean, in his class, you'll answer his questions, but I don't hear you wax poetic anymore about how handsome he looks when he rolls his wand between his index finger and thumb when he's concentrating, or how he's the most brilliant mind of the last century, or whatever."
"Oh, haven't I? I didn't realize." Shit, Bellatrix thought. Was she causing more suspicion by trying to act less suspiciously?
"Probably for the best if you're going to be his research assistant. Your obsession was a little over the top. I'll admit that he is fit for his age. I still find him scary, though."
"He has that kind of presence, I suppose. I'm mainly excited to be learning about blood magic and vampirism with him," Bellatrix said, knowing that her friend cared little for such intellectual topics that she was looking forward to discussing with Professor Riddle.
He had been vague with her about the nature of her duties as his research assistant, and whether they would strike a balance of business and pleasure. Of course, she understood the main reason he'd come up with this plan was to have her available for helping him 'relieve stress.' But he'd still needed to write her a letter of recommendation, which outlined their plan of study, which was ostensibly research into protective ancient blood magic as a modern solution to treating vampire wounds, as well as tracking their feasting patterns through trace magic that would retain identities of past victims, as a way to help wizards and witches anticipate future attacks. Bellatrix had been fascinated, and wanted to tell Professor Riddle that she would gladly research this for him, even if it wasn't required of her.
"So, how are things with you and Rodolphus Lestrange, Bella?" Lucy Greengrass butted in.
Behind Bellatrix, Lucy was seated next to Gemma Parkinson. Gemma had recently broken up with Evan, and so she and Lucy had spent most of the double Potions period gossiping about Olivia Shacklebolt, a popular sixth-year Ravenclaw chaser who had been spotted with Evan outside of Madame Puddifoot's in Hogsmeade last weekend.
"I didn't realize the rumour mill had you so busy today, Lucy."
"I'm sorry, Bella. I didn't mean anything by it."
Lucy genuinely looked fearful that Bellatrix might retaliate with a hex.
Slughorn re-approached just then and whispered a sympathetic 'oh dear,' as he passed the table at which Greengrass and Parkinson's cauldron was currently emitting plumes of black smoke and an unpleasant gurgling noise. Neither girl appeared overly-concerned, as whether they obtained at least an Acceptable in Potions would have no bearing on if they made good marriages. Few pureblood women of their status had careers before marriage, and it was almost unheard of to continue to work after marrying.
"It's fine, I'm not angry. Erm… Rod asked me to go for a walk along the Black Lake after his Quidditch practice tomorrow."
"A date? That's fantastic! Oh, I really hope you give him a chance, Bella" Lucy gushed.
"It's not a date. We're just talking and getting to know one another more."
"Sounds like it's a date. Professor Riddle, who's that?" Acantha teased.
Bellatrix immediately reddened, deeply uncomfortable with how often the topic had come up this period. It was for the best that they thought her affections were redirected to Rodolphus, but even though it was all a ruse, Bellatrix hated the feeling that she could not loudly proclaim her true allegiance. It was a ridiculous notion that such a boy, well-meaning and devoted as he was, could occupy a place in her heart that was already taken by a far superior wizard. She imagined Rodolphus' sandy brown hair and pale eyes juxtaposed against Riddle's jet black hair and piercing midnight glare. His tall, lean body as he held her in his arms after he'd taken her virginity, and when he was in the classroom and performed powerful non-verbal magic, against an image of Rodolphus's awkward, pimple-faced, bulky teenage body wearing his Qudditch uniform and being knocked unconscious in the head with a quaffle in their fourth year. It wasn't even a contest.
She felt suddenly sick, and made an excuse that she had terrible cramps and needed to rest in her dorm. She quickly bid her friends good bye and promised she'd see them at the Slytherin Table later.
October 1, 1968
Headmaster's Office
Tom climbed the stairs to the Headmaster's Tower and slipped past the enormous gargoyle statue as he waited for his scheduled appointment with Dumbledore to discuss Bellatrix's research assistantship. His best pupil had wasted no time in submitting her application with Tom's own letter of recommendation attached, and now Dumbledore just needed to give his stamp of approval.
The large, oval-shaped office was just as impressive as it had been when it was occupied by Dippet, although Dumbledore had added his own personal touches, including a number of fine silver instruments. There was hardly any space on the walls that was not covered by portraits. Two of Hogwarts' female Headmasters, Phyllida Spore and Eupraxia Mole, began to exchange whispers to each other, craning their necks toward the edges of their respective picture frames to appraise the handsome, dark-haired Professor who had just entered the room.
Tom could guess the approximate nature of their remarks, as he was used to women frequently blushing and giggling in his presence since he had been a lad of around 15. But while Tom was used to having this effect upon living witches (and the departed, he supposed, remembering Helena Ravenclaw's ghost), making portraits blush was new development for him. Sometimes he considered skipping his weekly doses of potion and letting the Horcruxes taint his outer beauty to match his inner Darkness. Of course, he would need to wait until he no longer was undercover at Hogwarts to do so. Would Bellatrix still be attracted to him then, he wondered?
"Tom, please have a seat," Dumbledore said as he pulled out a chair with wandless magic.
"Jelly slug?" he asked.
"No, thank you," Tom Riddle said.
"Frankly, I will admit that before I received her application, I was almost exclusively aware of Miss Black as being a menace to classroom safety, and for starting unprovoked duels in corridors. Notably, she was responsible for the assault on Gideon Prewitt. But as your letter of recommendation notes, she manages to achieve at least Exceeds Expectations in all her classes, despite numerous behavioural write-ups."
"Bellatrix—Miss Black— does many things that would surprise many people. When she properly channels her more erratic impulses, she is a very able scholar."
"But Miss Black is an emotionally troubled and vulnerable youth, Tom. It is my responsibility to ensure that any extended influence you might have as her mentor should not increase these characteristics. I happen to share Horace's observation that there are certain similarities between the two of you."
"Similarities? Why, Miss Black is a pureblood young witch who has been brought up within that society. Hardly similar to my own circumstances," Professor Riddle said, crossing his arms around his chest. His forehead crinkled and his lips hardened into a frown.
"Distinct circumstances, yes. But uncanny similarities," Dumbledore said, staring at the younger man through his half-moon spectacles, betraying no hint of emotion.
Tom's Occlumency shields gave not even a quarter of an inch under the gentle chipping away to which they were presently subjected. At the precise second that Dumbledore was aware that Tom could feel his presence, he predictably pulled out. Coward, Tom thought.
"You know, Tom, I had no idea what to think after those years when I heard rumours of you working in that dreadful shop, and then you disappeared for nearly a decade and we'd heard neither head nor tail from you... I admit part of me felt there might be no second chance for Tom Riddle. But I see how you've taken your role as an educator quite seriously, and perhaps I was too quick to judge."
Now it was Tom's turn to mirror back the infuriatingly serene look that Dumbledore always wore. He knew at this moment exactly how he would use these words to his advantage, playing upon the old man's misguided sympathy.
"I believe I might be someone uniquely qualified to help Miss Black channel her magic into more productive avenues given…the follies of my youth. It would be a worthy endeavour to prevent another curious mind from making the same mistakes."
Tom alluded openly to the rumours he knew had circulated in the decades when he was far away from England. Dumbledore had no doubt expressed reservations to Dippet about hiring Tom last year, and it would do no good for him to feign ignorance on that score.
"You may have a point. I will approve this research assistantship. But progress reports will be due monthly to ensure that Miss Black continues to benefit from the arrangement, and that her behaviour is not regressing."
"Of course. I would expect nothing less, Headmaster."
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire.
October 5, 1968
Abraxas Malfoy had entirely too much space all to himself at Malfoy Manor, with his 13-year old son Lucius away at Hogwarts. On this particular evening, he decided to extend an invitation to his oldest friend to join him at his stately home for firewhiskey and cigars, as well as to chat about the progress of his latest mission.
Among the inner circle of Death Eaters, Abraxas was the only one privileged enough to still call Lord Voldemort "Tom." He had been one year ahead of Tom in school, but was eager to follow the younger boy's leadership based on his brilliance and the discipline with which he ruled his Knights of Walpurgis. After graduation, Abraxas dropped hints among certain company that the brilliant Hogwarts Head Boy was the last of the Gaunts and a Parseltongue. Purebloods who might not have ordinarily accepted a half-blood into their world were at least willing to hear out his ideas, and so Abraxas helped facilitate Tom's integration into high society.
Tom travelled directly from the Three Broomsticks to Malfoy Manor, which was connected to the British Floo Network. Increased security measures would become necessary as their plans took shape in the future, although the ancestral Malfoy property was heavily warded with ancient blood magic that would activate alarms if anyone crossing the property intended to harm a blood relation of the Malfoys.
The Malfoy's house-elf, Dobby, beckoned Tom from the fireplace toward the drawing room, where Abraxas was seated in a dark brown velvet divan. The room was covered in bronze damask wallpaper and earthen-hued draperies. There was a black grand piano in the corner, as well as mahogany bookshelves as tall as the room's ceiling on which were perched a variety of Dark artefacts, including a Hand of Glory, a crystal ball, obelisks, and assorted tomes.
Abraxas' blond beard was streaked through with white-silver strands; his hair was thinning and likewise threaded with white. Abraxas Malfoy, as an aristocrat in his early 40s, should not have had such dark purple bags hanging under his eyes, as he did very little work besides serve on the Hogwarts Board of Governors and hold a ceremonial position on the Wizengamot; however, years of overindulgence in drinking and dragon claw powder had prematurely aged him. He had only reigned in his partying and substance issues at Tom's insistence four years ago, when it became necessary for him to take the mantle as his second-in-command. The death of his father Septimus, around the same time, had also brought the new Malfoy patriarch a focus on building the kind of world he wanted his own heir, Lucius, to inherit.
Dobby poured the bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey into two elegant crystal tumblers, and carefully trimmed the ends of the cigars.
"Can Dobby be assisting Master and Mister Riddle with anything else?"
"No, leave us alone, Dobby."
The elf snapped his fingers and disappeared with a loud crack.
"Tell me, Tom, how are the recruits?" Abraxas asked.
He slowly exhaled his tobacco smoke, which lent a grey filter to the soft yellow glow of candlelight in the room.
"Evan Rosier and Rodolphus Lestrange are more than capable. I shall probably initiate them both in the new year. I also have an interest in recruiting Bellatrix Black," Tom said.
"Cygnus and Druella's eldest daughter?" Abraxas wore a look of surprise.
Fifteen years ago, after a gala at Malfoy Manor, Cygnus's wife Druella found temporary comfort in Abraxas' arms after becoming fed up with years of her husband's unfaithfulness. Somehow, the liaison became known to Cygnus. The animosity between the Malfoy and Black men grew, with each trying to outdo the other with displays of wealth and extravagance, a rivalry with which Tom was familiar.
"Yes, although Bellatrix far exceeds any of the Blacks in how useful she can be. She's highly intelligent, skilled in duelling, and has an almost single-minded obsession with our movement, or perhaps I should say with me."
"Intriguing. And is she… serviceable?" Abraxas asked amusedly.
"Very serviceable. She was so eager to be of service, in fact, that even I couldn't deny her what she wanted," Tom said, a red glint in his dark blue eyes. "I conned Dumbledore into approving my request for her to be my research assistant, but she won't be assisting with any research, you understand."
Riddle laughed, almost giddy with power. Abraxas managed a small laugh of his own, mildly unnerved by his Master's light mood. But he would not complain, as he far preferred this version of Tom over the more bloodthirsty version.
"I've only ever known you to possess the highest standards, my Lord. If Miss Black meets those standards, then I am sure she is a valuable asset."
"And when should I expect a new Lady Malfoy?" Tom asked jokingly.
"I should think never; I already have one legitimate heir. I wouldn't mind finding a new toy, as my last turned out to be half-Veela. I couldn't abide keeping anything part-beast in the home, at least not for longer than one month."
"I should think a Veela would be preferable to whatever Ministry shrews that Slughorn has been trying to set me up with," Tom complained.
"Merlin, is Old Sluggy still playing matchmaker? No longer content to just match the children."
"I can't very well brush him off; the man remains my most important defender within the school. He keeps Dumbledore off my case. And I suppose I have a sentimental reason not to; after all, I owe him my immortality. Maybe I could confound him to think I went on a date," Tom continued, pausing to savour the burning tickle of firewhiskey in his throat, "Or perhaps I could give him my set of criteria. Must be very obedient, very interested in committing murder on my behalf, and enjoy the finer aspects of the Dark Arts."
Abraxas couldn't help but laugh now at a rare show of humour from his friend.
"Is it not wonderful, Brax, that a daughter of the Noble House of Black wants to serve a half-blood as her Master?" Tom smirked, noting Abraxas' raised eyebrow, "Oh, she knows. She mentioned finding no information on my surname in magical records, so I had to punish her. Only she seemed to enjoy her punishment a bit too much. Which reminds me, I really ought to show Miss Black what a properly-cast Cruciatus feels like."
Abraxas' complexion turned a sickly hue, but he quickly recovered himself. It was not surprising given all that he knew of Tom's interests, that he would want to use an Unforgivable Curse in that context, although they had never discussed the topic together. He was thankful that he had no daughters (well, at least none that he knew of) at Hogwarts.
He inhaled his tobacco and felt more at ease before speaking again, "I felt your curse once when we were sixteen, and have endeavoured to never feel it again."
"And you of all people have no need to fear, so long as you don't give me a reason. But enough about the Cruciatus—what news can you give of our efforts to Imperius the targets that we discussed?"
"Infiltrating the Auror Office was initially difficult, as you know, but Yaxley managed to place Bones under the Imperius Curse on his second attempt last week, and made him fire a bunch of investigative assistants who were co-ordinating on a task force to gather information about your crimes. He made Bones think there was too much administrative bloat, and that there was no clear evidence that Lord Voldemort is actively involved in anti-government activities."
"Keep at it. And what of the situation with Nobby Leach?"
"We should be ready to proceed with our plan to eliminate Leach. By the way, brilliant idea, my Lord, to use a delayed-reaction curse that mimics the progression of Spattergroit. I anticipate Leach's government should fall sooner than later."
"What do we know of Eugenia Jenkins, his probable replacement?"
"She should be easier for us to handle, I suspect. Not a threat to pure-blood interests."
"Well, I'm pleased to hear it. I count on you to delegate to the others any lesser tasks that need to be done when I'm at Hogwarts. As you know, I've had less time to devote solely to strategy as I would like. I hadn't realized upon accepting this job how many hours I would be spending grading essays on Boggarts and grindelows."
"Is Lucius keeping up with his homework?" Abraxas asked, hoping to change the subject. He was admittedly nervous about getting close enough to curse Leach, which would need to happen soon at a Ministry gala on October 17th.
"He does reasonably well in my class. But I had to give him a warning about doing his little girlfriend Narcissa Black's homework for her. She's the icy blonde who looks like Druella. Your son used an enchanted quill to replicate her handwriting, but didn't realize I could detect forgeries."
Abraxas met that revelation with a playful smile, admittedly proud that his son was a Malfoy through and through, already pulling strings and levers to get his way.
"Merlin and Salazar, what is it about these Black sisters that they have my son and Master both so smitten? What about the middle daughter? I forget her name."
"Andromeda. Bellatrix never mentions her, I get the feeling they've had some falling out."
"Well Tom, I'm not so much a nocturnal creature as I once was. I'll be heading to bed shortly; feel free to use one of the guest chambers. Dobby can have breakfast ready for you tomorrow."
"I'll be returning to Hogwarts, but thanks all the same, Brax. You know what do about Leach."
"I've always considered you to be a man of vision. It's my honour to purify the Minister's office, an honour I don't take for granted. Well, goodbye, Tom. Until our next meeting."
"Goodnight."
Tom Riddle took a scoop of Floo powder in his palm and re-emerged in Hogsmeade. Walking from the village to the castle, the autumn air had a chill that felt refreshing against the wool collar of his outer cloak. After making three Horcruxes, he hardly felt extremes of heat or cold much anymore. Many of his sensations were deadened, making him seek out and crave more vigorous passions, bolder flavours and smells. It was a clear night, and he searched the starry sky overhead, thinking about the prophecy, his future, and what role Bellatrix would have to play in all of it.
Whose name reveals her true nature as clearly as it reveals her nobility. Bellatrix. His beautiful warrior.
Would he command her to kill? He would. Her soul already felt tangled with his own; the Darkness of her magic had called out to his, and he had answered it. He wanted to find her in the Dungeons, slip her another note and summon her directly to his living quarters so that he could feel her magic thrumming in his veins, but she would probably be sleeping. There was so much he wanted to share with her, things he'd never told anyone. The thought of her face, the sound of her voice as she said his true name in a moment of ecstasy, made him consider that all the Boggart essays, Occluding Dumbledore, and plotting to oust Leach was worth it if it meant he could be near Bellatrix.