Hermione was at Hogwarts, barefoot and in her nightgown. The door that led to the grounds stood open, letting in a draft of cold air. There were several people gathered outside, preparing for some kind of magical event. Her thick, woolen sweater was the only thing that kept the chill from sinking into her bones. She looked around. It was eerie. It was as if the battle had never happened. The walls, pillars and corridors of Hogwarts were still intact, and the staircases ran like clockwork.
Then Hermione remembered the year was 1945 and she was nothing but a ghostly visitor.
There was an elderly wizard walking down the corridor in front of her. He halted when he heard a voice.
"Headmaster Dippet!"
The voice echoed in the hallway.
Hermione turned. A plump witch with flyaway hair was hastening towards him.
"What is it, Professor Merrywood?" Dippet asked, adjusting his long, purple robe.
"It's Tom Riddle sir," she said out of breath. "I don't know what's happened. He's in your office—asked to see you. He's not well, Headmaster, not well at all."
Dippet's face fell. "The graduation ceremony starts in two hours, we don't have time—"
"I insist you see him, Headmaster. We can't leave him in such a state—"
Hermione followed Dippet and Merrywood to the seventh floor. When they reached Dippet's office, he opened the door cautiously. Huddled in a corner of the room was Tom Riddle. He was shaking. His robes were torn, and there was blood on his face and hands.
But even with the blood that marred his face, Hermione could see that he was incredibly handsome.
He had hazel eyes, high cheekbones, a strong jawline, and thick, dark hair.
"Tom, what's happened?" Dippet demanded.
The boy lifted his head slowly, as if coming out of a long stupor. He looked at Dippet, then at Merrywood almost like he'd forgotten they were there. Then something flashed across his eyes. Some kind of recognition. "I need to see Dumbledore," he said.
Dippet stared at him in consternation. "Professor Dumbledore is seeing to the graduation ceremony. He has amassed quite a crowd, many wish to congratulate him on his recent—"
Tom's mood changed instantly. "I don't care! Call him at once!"
Dippet took a step backward, stunned at Tom's reaction. "Now Mr. Riddle, this is most unlike you…"
Tom cradled his head in his hands, and suddenly Hermione could hear his thoughts echoing inside her own mind.
Dippet didn't understand. He'd have to make him see…why couldn't he just get Dumbledore?
Dippet was looking at Tom with increasing concern. Hermione guessed he had never seen him in such a state before.
"Mrs. Merrywood, call Professor Dumbledore, tell him it's an emergency."
The plump witch nodded and left the office.
"Now see here, Mr. Riddle…"
Tom was consumed by panic, his eyes wide. He was no longer listening to Dippet.
Nothing mattered anymore, not after what he'd seen, not after what he'd done. But it would be put right. Dumbledore would put it right.
"What is it boy, what's happened?" Dippet asked. "Were you attacked?"
Tom began rambling, but none of what he said made any sense.
Dippet's eyes widened. Riddle had lost his mind. He crouched down, and pressed his wand to the boy's temple.
It was the only way…
Gossamer silver strands emerged from the tip of the wand. Dippet pulled a flask from his robes and collected Tom's memories.
There was a black cabinet behind his desk. A shallow stone basin lay inside of it. Dippet tipped Riddle's memories into the pensieve. The silver-blue memories swirled, and moments later they became transparent, like glass.
Dippet looked down into the basin, and Hermione crept up behind him, eager to get a closer look. She could just make out a foggy London street…
Her vision was suddenly obscured by Dippet's head, who was leaning forward, preparing to fall into the memory.
Hermione hesitated. She didn't know if she should dive in…
She was already trapped in the pages of a book, and now she was on the verge of falling into Tom Riddle's memory. What if she couldn't get back to the present?
Dippet started to disappear.
Hermione panicked. She took a deep breath, and decided to take the risk.
In one quick movement she leaned in after him. The office gave a terrible lurch, and she was thrown forward, falling through an icy-cold wind.
She spun at an uncontrollable speed, Dippet at her side. She shut her eyes, and her stomach turned over as the velocity picked up, pulling them further into the unknown.
Moments later Hermione's feet hit solid ground.
She opened her eyes and looked around.
She had landed on a dimly lit street in 1940's London.
It was early morning. The cobblestones were wet with rain.
Hermione walked slowly, worried she might slip. But oddly, her feet remained dry.
Tom Riddle was a few feet away, walking briskly.
Dippet hurried after him, and Hermione struggled to catch up.
She was barefoot, and in the middle of London, following Tom and old Headmaster Dippet down street after street. She realized the strange sight they must make, an old wizard, and a barefoot girl in her nightgown, then she remembered no one could see them.
A thick, morning fog rolled out in front of them, and Londoners were gathered en masse on the streets. The excitement on their faces contrasted strangely with the gloomy weather.
Tom was dressed like a muggle, in trousers, a vest, a long coat, and a hat. He was even more handsome now that there was no blood marring his features. People turned to look at him, admiring him, but Tom took no notice of them.
His gaze was fixed straight ahead, his mind wandering, and Hermione could hear his thoughts again.
The times were changing, and Grindelwald was losing his battle abroad.
The light was winning.
Muggle Londoners were cheering around him. They jostled past him, ready to join the parades and celebrations that were taking place all around the city.
They had no idea that Grindelwald's war had influenced their war too.
"Get your paper! Victory in Europe!"
The newspaper boy shoved past Tom, and the headline on the front page rippled in the wind, heralding the end of an era—as the wizarding war and the muggle war connected to it drew to a close.
Tom's hopes of glory were quickly fading. The stories in the Daily Prophet were fresh in his mind: Dumbledore Defeats Grindelwald in Epic Duel.
And while the war had raged abroad, Tom had fought his own small battle at home, at Hogwarts. It was his duty as the Heir of Slytherin to release Salazar's monster, and now, a girl was dead. He did not regret it. Myrtle Warren was insignificant. History would forget her.
And yet…he saw Warren in his dreams. She haunted him. He was not sure if he'd ever be able to shake the memory of her pale face staring up at him after he'd killed her.
And after enduring the investigation that had followed her death, it became clear to Tom that he could lose everything. If he hadn't blamed Hagrid, the blame might have fallen on him. He was sure Dumbledore was set on finding evidence against him.
And now Dumbledore had defeated Grindelwald. Grindelwald who everyone thought was invincible, Grindelwald who's ranks he'd desperately hoped to join.
The mighty could fall.
But perhaps, in time, he could surpass the achievements of the wizards that came before him. He could be greater than Grindelwald, greater than even Salazar Slytherin…
But there was one problem.
There was her. He could not lose her.
Tom stopped in front of Bellefaire Orphanage, a grim, square looking building surrounded by high railings.
He had no fond memories of the place.
Mr. Bellefaire was a cruel man. From the time he was a child, Bellefaire had made a point of visiting the orphanage on the first Sunday of every month. He doled out severe and twisted punishments to the students that struck his fancy. Tom was often on the receiving end of those punishments. Bellefaire had a particular interest in him...a sordid one that lasted years.
For Tom there was life before his first "punishment" and life after.
The matron and the teachers said nothing, fearful they'd lose their employment.
Tom hated Bellefaire deeply, but he'd also learned a great deal from the man.
He had died a year before Tom left to Hogwarts. His many indiscretions, illegal dealings and abuses were never discovered or reported to the police. He died safely ensconced in his wealth and his power.
And so Tom learned, it was better to be feared than admired. Better to take than to give. Money, notoriety, power. Those were you friends, those were your allies. People could not be trusted. They were too weak and unpredictable.
Tom looked around at the familiar streets. It was here that he learned to fend for himself. It was here he discovered what his good looks could get him. The trust of a stranger, their wallet, their hard earned shillings, anything he wanted...
The London streets and its unsuspecting citizens were his for the taking.
But he had more important goals now...
Tom stopped in front of the gates of the orphanage. Two muggle boys were standing in the bare courtyard on the other side. They looked at him uneasily, not welcoming his return.
"Riddle?" one asked, cautiously. "I thought you weren't back until summer?"
"I'm looking for Catherine," Tom said, a warning in his voice.
The two boys looked at each other uneasily. The skinnier of the two answered him.
"She's out by the looking point."
Tom walked through the cobblestoned street, his hands in his pockets. He imagined Catherine's look of surprise when she finally saw him.
She was his accomplice in many ways. She'd covered for him when the other children at the orphanage accused him of wrongdoing, she'd helped him steal in the streets of London. She'd shared his vision for the future. The two of them were born low but they would rise high above their circumstances. Of that, they were certain. It was their destiny...
A short distance away, Hermione watched Tom closely, wondering why he'd left Hogwarts to return to the orphanage he hated. Dippet was a few feet behind her now, the expression on his face unreadable.
Tom found Catherine leaning over the lookout point's railing. The entire city of London was laid out before them.
Tom thought back to when he and Catherine were eight, standing in this exact place, making plans—pretending they weren't orphans, but the children of wealthy foreigners, visiting the city on holiday.
Catherine was tall and matched Tom's height. She had flowing black hair, bright blue eyes and a long, slender neck.
Hermione thought she looked rather beautiful.
"Tom…?" Catherine asked, finally sensing his presence.
He smiled. "Catherine."
"What are you doing here?" she said slowly. "I thought you were away at school."
"They sent us home early…to celebrate the end of the war. My exams are finished. I only have to return for graduation, they'll have a ceremony I suppose."
It was partly true. Hogwarts was celebrating the defeat of Grindelwald. Many students had been separated from their families, and some were permitted to leave school and return home. Dippet knew he had no family, but when he told him a close friend was ill, he'd agreed to let him go.
Tom had expected Catherine to run into his arms and embrace him, but she looked at him apprehensively, like she needed to tell him something unpleasant.
When she didn't speak, Tom took a step closer to her. "I heard rumors that you were ill, is it true?"
He leaned over the railing next to her, and stared into her face, willing her to look at him.
When she didn't, he took her hand.
"Catherine, what is it? Tell me."
She pulled away and wrapped her coat tightly around herself, her breath coming out in puffs.
"Haven't you missed me?" Tom asked, moving behind her to kiss her long, elegant neck.
She shrugged him off. "We can't keep doing this, Tom. Things changed while you were away."
"We had a perfect summer—"
"Yes, we did. But I'm engaged now."
"Engaged?" Tom asked, the blood draining from his face.
Catherine turned to face him. "Jack is a good man. He'll give me a good life."
"The bricklayer?" Tom said, his temper rising. "You don't love him. You'll tire of him within a week."
"I'm not joking Tom, I'm marrying him." Catherine extended a hand out to him, showing him a gold band around her finger.
Tom took her hand. "But you don't love him," he repeated, more to himself than to her.
Catherine sighed. "No Tom, I love you. But you keep so many secrets. I only see you for the summer, and then you disappear for the rest of the year. You've never let me visit you at school, and I've never met any of your friends. It's almost like you want to keep me hidden away."
"Catherine, I've told you, you don't want to meet those blokes. They're posh snobs. They won't be kind. I barely tolerate them at all."
She sighed. "It's not just that, Tom. What you did to Benjamin Woodburne last summer—it wasn't right. You almost paralyzed him, and all because of some stupid fight the two of you had over nothing. All our lives, you've always been on the brink of crossing the line. Up until now you've danced right on it, but that time—you went too far. He might've died…I don't want to see that side of you ever again."
"It was an accident," Tom insisted.
Catherine shook her head. "You and I both know that isn't true. I never told anyone, but—I can't lie for you anymore. It's happened before—"
"I lost control, I admit it, but you know me better than anyone. I care for you, Catherine. We can be happy."
She swallowed uneasily. "I'm not well, Tom."
He scanned her face, his heart slowing. "So the rumors are true? You've been ill?"
"The doctors say my mind isn't right. It's a very complicated disease. It starts with mild hallucinations, but then it gets to the point where you can't remember what's real and what's not." She dropped her voice to a whisper. "I scare myself sometimes. They're suggesting electroshock therapy and other things, but I don't want to do any of that. I'll need to be looked after, and Jack will make sure that I'm alright."
Tom's mind was racing. She was so young. How could she be ill? There had to be a solution...magic could cure her, if muggle medicine could not. He was sure of it.
Catherine spoke again. "We're not kids anymore, Tom. We used to talk about rising in the world. You always said I'd become a fine lady, walking arm in arm with you through Knightsbridge. I'll never be a fine lady, Tom, and I don't fit into your plans." She took a deep breath. "You never say much about your school, but I can tell you're doing well. You'll rise. I'll work in a factory until my mind goes, then I'll be Jack's wife and nothing else. It's how things are meant to be."
"You don't mean that," Tom said, kneeling in front of her. "Marry me instead."
Catherine laughed. "So you ask me now? Now, when I've agreed to marry someone else? Would you have asked me otherwise? Or is it only your bruised pride that spurs you on?"
"That's not true, and you know it. I love you, Catherine."
"You don't know how to love, Tom. I—"
He stood. "You have no idea how much I love you. All my life—"
"It's too late. You'll have to make room for someone else. That's all there is to it." She stepped away from him. "I—I have to go."
She tried to leave but Tom embraced her, drawing her close. And then he froze.
"There's something else you're hiding," he said, his voice low.
Catherine shut her eyes, cursing at herself. She shouldn't have let him get this close.
"Show me," Tom demanded.
Hermione frowned at the pair of them, confused as to why Tom's mood had changed so dramatically.
Catherine undid the buttons of her coat. Her back was to Hermione, but she saw the pallor on Tom's face.
"You weren't going to tell me?"
"Jack and I are going to be parents. It's not your concern."
"How many months are you?"
"Tom—"
"It's mine, isn't it? Not Jack's? That night before I went away to school. You weren't going to tell me?!"
"Let me pass!"
"No," Tom said, his voice harsh.
She made to push past him, but Tom reached for his wand. He was seventeen now and he no longer had the trace. He could perform magic as he pleased.
There was a blast, and a shot of fire erupted from his wand.
A line of fire circled around Catherine, blocking her path.
Her mouth dropped open in shock.
"This is the sort of thing the doctors warned me about…" she said, panicking.
Tom stepped closer to her.
"You're not imagining it, Catherine. It's real. I can see it too."
"No, it's not!"
"There's so much I have to tell you, Catherine. So much you don't know about me. And I can get you the proper help."
He reached for her arm, and with a flick of his wand the fire was gone.
"Tom, let go of me! You're scaring me!"
"I'm sorry, but I can't let you leave."
"Tom no—"
"Stupefy!"
She slumped in his arms. He carried her, and walked away from the lookout point, the London fog obscuring them from view.
Hermione turned to Dippet standing beside her. She had no idea what the old wizard was thinking, but she didn't have time to wonder for at that moment the scene dissolved…
They were in a small flat on a dodgy looking street.
Hermione guessed they were in the outskirts of London.
It was days later, and Tom was speaking to an elderly man at the front door. Catherine was sitting by herself in a chair, staring out a window at the far end of the room.
Hermione noticed a golden band on Tom's finger…and there was a matching one on Catherine's hand. But it wasn't the one Jack had given her. It was new. Had he coerced her into marrying him?
"Is there anything you can do for her?" Tom was saying. "She's expecting."
"Your wife…" said the man, confirming Hermione's suspicions, "suffers from a rare disease."
Hermione guessed the man was a healer and not a muggle doctor by the lime green robes he wore, and the emblem embroidered on his chest: a bone crossed with a wand.
The healer cleared his throat. "Psychological and social stressors can play an important part in triggering episodes of illness. She will imagine threats to her person. It's a difficult disease, and she needs constant attention. Neither magic nor muggle means can cure her.
Tom swallowed. Was he making her worse? By exposing her to magic?
No, he told himself. She was fine, they were happy.
He would find a way to cure her himself. He knew he could do it. He had solved far more complex matters than this, in both the magical and muggle world.
He briefly thanked the healer, modified his memory, then sent him on his way.
Tom looked around at their small flat.
He'd stolen a small amount of muggle money to pay for their lodging—just enough so they wouldn't draw attention to themselves. He would need to return to Hogwarts in a few weeks time for the end of year ceremony, but after that his life was his own.
He had been pursuing a job at the ministry, and for now, he gave up his plans to help the last of Grindelwald's supporters.
It was a dying cause, and if he tied his name to them he would tarnish the reputation he'd worked so tirelessly to build.
All in good time.
He would be a model citizen for now. He would climb his way up the ministry ladder in whatever way he had to. Buying and selling secrets, until he had the right people in his pocket, indebted to him. It would take years. It wasn't what he'd hoped for, but he had Catherine to think of now.
Yet, there was one project he refused to let go. He would make just one. After all, he had risked everything for it.
What was the point of building a life, struggling and toiling to make a name for yourself…just to die in the end?
He would make a horcrux, and he had already taken the first step towards doing so—he had murdered Myrtle Warren.
But to actually finish what he'd started, he needed her remains.
He didn't have the chance to perform the necessary ritual with her at school. It was too risky with Dumbledore breathing down his neck.
And now the girl had been buried. He could always choose a new victim, but Tom hesitated at the thought of killing again.
Myrtle Warren continued to haunt his dreams. He didn't want to add another ghost to his nightly visions.
Instead he bided his time, and broke into Myrtle's tomb a few days later. He severed the dead girl's arm and took strands of her hair. When he was sure he had everything he needed, he sealed the tomb again.
No one would know the difference.
He transfigured Myrtle's remains and took them to his flat in London.
Perhaps, after the ritual was complete, Myrtle would leave his dreams forever…and he would be free again.
Hermione watched Tom give Catherine a sleeping draft and put her to bed.
Then he went to the sitting room and shut the blinds.
His first horcrux. It would be a memorable day...
On a small table he laid out his diary from school. He assembled Myrtle's remains on the table, and removed the transfiguration spell. He set candlesticks on either side of them.
A rush of excitement swept through him as he set up his cauldron. He had waited for so long…and now the moment was finally here.
Hours later he'd brewed the required potion. Myrtle's hair was wrapped around his wrist.
The girl's severed arm had been cut to pieces and was sitting at the bottom of the cauldron.
Myrtle Warren had proved very useful to him indeed...
Tom reached for a cup and dipped it inside the cauldron. He'd have to drink the potion, and after it took effect, he'd have to draw blood from his veins and fill the diary's pages with it.
Tom raised the cup to his lips, taking a long draft. It scalded his throat, and burned like acid in his stomach.
He hunched over and felt violently ill. Something was happening to him…his heartbeats were growing faint…maybe his heart would stop beating altogether. He saw dark spots in his vision and gasped for air...then like a large swell, his heart began to beat at an impossible speed…threatening to break through the walls of his chest…there was pressure behind his eyes…the first phase was starting—
There was a crash.
He looked behind him, Myrtle's hair still in his hand.
Catherine was awake and she'd seen everything. A lamp lay broken at her feet.
She was trembling and gripping the wall for support.
"Catherine…I can explain…"
She held a hand up as he stepped towards her, warning him not to come any closer.
"You're mad, Tom."
There was terror in her eyes, and her eyes kept darting to the door, her mind working out how fast she could run away.
Riddle moved slowly towards her, like a hunter about to subdue its prey.
When he reached Catherine, he raised a hand to touch her face, trying to calm her.
"You're mad," she said again.
"No my love," Tom whispered into her ear, his eyes cold. "You're mad. Remember?"
Catherine's mouth fell open in shock at his cruelty. She tossed his hand away and looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. She was not imagining this…she was not…
Tom thought it was a pity to manipulate her in this way, to use her deteriorating state of mind to his advantage, but he could not allow her to turn against him. And modifying her memory wasn't an option. She was already in a delicate state with the disease. He couldn't risk altering her mind further and losing her completely.
"I'm not imagining this!" Catherine shouted. "This isn't like your other spells. You're performing some kind of dark ritual—"
With a flick of his wand, Tom performed a concealment charm, temporarily hiding the cauldron from view.
With another flick of his wand the shutters opened. The light streamed in from the windows, brightening up the room.
"What ritual Catherine? You should get some rest, you're not well."
"But I just saw you—you were—"
"I've only just arrived home Catherine, what are you on about?"
Suddenly, his coat was draped over his arm, his hat in his hand.
Catherine stared at him, utterly astonished.
She was certain of what she'd seen.
This wasn't like the other times—was it? She wasn't imagining.
Tom always had a darkness in him, since they were children. But nothing he had ever done compared to what she had just seen…
Tom reached out for Catherine, but she withdrew into herself, wishing she was anywhere else, sensing she wasn't safe with him no matter what he said.
Tom prepared another sleeping draft for her, and made her take two doses this time, waiting until she was sound asleep before he began again, determined to complete his work on the horcrux.
The scene dissolved.
It was several days later. Catherine was giving birth.
Tom was pacing back and forth inside their bedroom.
Catherine was bleeding profusely and the baby was coming early.
Tom had called the muggle midwife that lived up the street.
"What is it?" Tom asked the midwife, as she left Catherine's side to speak with him.
"She and the child may not survive. It will be a difficult birth."
Tom weighed his options. He did not trust the midwife's abilities, and he knew nothing of births. Catherine needed the attention of a Healer. He would apparate them to St. Mungo's…
Then he remembered the ministry was arresting anyone who apparated. The city was on lockdown. The stragglers of Grindelwald's army were trying to escape, and the ministry was intent on catching every last one of them.
He had his broomstick, but Catherine was in no condition to fly. He bent down to lift her. He would carry her to St. Mungo's if he had to.
"You can't move her!" the midwife shouted. "She's too delicate."
The amount of blood on the sheets made Tom's head spin. "I'm going to get help," he said. "I can't let her die."
He tore out of the room.
"Lad, where are you going?!" the midwife shouted after him. "The baby's almost here!"
Tom raced to St. Mungo's, tearing down the crowded streets of London. He was hyper-aware of everything. The billowing smoke rising from the chimneys, the cars honking, people shouting, feet hitting pavement, the pulse of a hundred Londoners and the frantic beating of his own heart.
He marveled at how frail life was. How weak.
He could not lose her, not now.
He had to bring a healer to Catherine.
It felt like an eternity passed before he arrived at St. Mungo's.
Once inside, he was met with a firm refusal by the Head Healer.
"We can't spare anyone," the man was saying. "There was a skirmish outside of Ealing. The last of Grindelwald's followers tried to escape, and injured several ministry fighters. We're tending to them."
Tom seized the healer's robes and threw him against the wall. "My wife might die! I need your help!"
"A great many people may die today, young man. We're doing the best we can. I have work to do boy, unhand me now!"
Tom looked ready to curse him.
The healer looked into his face, saw his building anguish and frustration, and took pity on him.
"Contact Healer Dilys on Padwick Street. He might be able to help you. He's retired now but he still attends to calls every now and again."
Tom ran out of the hospital. His throat constricted with fear. Padwick street was too far away. He'd already been gone for too long. He didn't have time to find another healer. He had to get back home.
He'd deliver the child himself if he had to.
He bolted through the London streets again, his heart thundering against his chest in a merciless rhythm.
Half an hour later he arrived at the flat completely out of breath.
He tore through the front door and ran to the bedroom.
The midwife was hovering over Catherine, and he couldn't see her properly.
"WHAT'S HAPPENED?!" Tom shouted."ANSWER ME!"
The midwife turned to him, holding something."You have a son," she said. She held out a small bundle and placed it in Tom's arms. It was warm, soft and squirming.
Tom's lungs dragged in air. It was as if he had been holding his breath underwater, finally able to come to the surface. He stared down in shock at the little bundle in his arms.
"He's healthy and the mother is well."
Tom put his hand on the child's little chest, feeling his heartbeat.
He had Catherine's nose, and his eyes and dark hair. Tom held out a finger and watched as the baby wrapped his tiny fist around it. He had a firm, strong hold. Something warm spread through Tom's chest that he didn't recognize. It felt foreign and unfamiliar. He realized he had a family now, a real one, and he would fight fiercely to protect it. This boy would not suffer as he had suffered, he would be a fine wizard.
Tom decided he'd accept the job at the ministry if it was offered to him. The only obstacle was Catherine, she had been intent on leaving him, but she would come around in time, she had to. Their son needed them.
Catherine looked anxious and distraught, almost on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Tom couldn't understand it. She and the child were out of harm's way. What could possibly be troubling her now?
"It was always meant to be this way," he said, trying to reassure her. "You and me together, we're a family now."
She said nothing, her mind far away from him.
Tom decided to ignore her strange behavior. He assumed it had been a difficult birth. She needed rest.
"We'll call him Henry," he said, more to himself than to Catherine.
The scene dissolved.
There were a series of other memories, most of Tom with his son. Catherine's growing depression was evident. She suppressed it in Tom's presence, but it was clear to an outsider that she was reaching her breaking point.
Finally, Hermione and Dippet came upon a final memory.
It was a dark, cloudy day.
Tom had completed his first horcrux, but it was not enough for him. He had to find a way to transfer the power of the horcrux to his son. He'd almost lost Henry and Catherine in childbirth, and he never wanted to be in that position again.
Thorough research told him he would have to take another life, to endow his son with the protection of the dark item.
After much thought, Tom chose to kill a man who was terminally ill in a muggle hospital some distance away.
He decided he was doing the man a favor…ending his life early was, after all, a noble act.
As Tom did with Myrtle, he took what he needed from the body and returned home.
He allowed Catherine to watch this time. He needed her compliance, and her blood, for the potion to work. The ancient magic required unicorn hair, and the blood of the child's parents, in addition to the remains of the murdered victim.
And the blood had to be given willingly.
Catherine watched in horror as Tom brewed a new potion, and added vials of their blood to the cauldron. Tom had said it was for the child's health…that everything would be fine…but she knew better.
She was crying and protesting but Tom ignored her pleas.
He was carrying Henry in his arms, intent on the task at hand.
"This is the devil's work Tom. We can't—"
He poured the potion into a cup, then made to open Henry's mouth.
"STOP TOM, NO!"
She rushed at him and sent the cup flying through the air, its contents spilling across the room.
Tom lost control of himself. He flew into a rage and yelled obscenities at her, frustrated that his efforts had gone to waste.
He had killed the man for nothing, and now he would have to kill again…
Catherine threatened to leave him, but Tom would have none of it. He cast a special enchantment around the flat that prevented her from escaping or taking Henry.
An hour later Tom looked down at his watch. He was late. He had an appointment at the ministry. A final interview to secure his new position.
And then, later that night, he had to attend the end of year ceremony at Hogwarts.
Tom breathed heavily.
He didn't have time to talk Catherine down from her hysterics, and to his dismay, she began to hallucinate in earnest, their argument triggering the worst of her illness. Her despair was utterly consuming her…
Tom gave her a potion and told her to go to bed. He would be home in a few hours after the interview. He would see to her then.
The scene dissolved.
It was later that evening. Tom was walking down the London street that led to his flat. It was beginning to rain.
He dug into his pocket for his key and opened the door. He stopped dead at the entrance.
Catherine was lying facedown on the sitting room floor.
He rushed to her side and turned her over. There was a knife in her hand and her clothes were drenched. Tom touched her sleeve and lifted his hand to the light. It was stained red.
He realized she was covered in blood.
"What have you done?!" he cried.
He looked for cuts on her arms, thinking she had injured herself, but he found nothing. The blood wasn't hers.
"Where's Henry?" he asked.
There was an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. Why wasn't the baby crying? He always cried when he was left alone…
He dropped Catherine and rushed into the next room, disappearing from view.
Hermione stumbled backwards into Dippet, but he didn't flinch. The old wizard remained rooted to the spot, unable to see her.
Hermione held her breath, a terrible sense of dread spreading through her.
Suddenly, there was a loud crash and she guessed Tom had fallen to the floor.
He was yelling, but his words were unintelligible.
Hermione looked down at Catherine, finally realizing what she'd done.
In the next room, a terrible scream of anguish ripped from Tom's throat.
Hermione covered her ears, but it was no use. Tom's guttural screams were ringing in her ears.
She backed further into Dippet, paralyzed with fear.
Seconds later Tom flew back into the room.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO OUR SON?!"
Catherine shielded her face with her hands.
Tom raged at her and seized her shoulders. "YOU TOOK HIM FROM ME!"
Catherine was heaving. Convulsions ran through her body, and hot tears streamed down her face.
"WHY DID YOU DO IT?!"
"YOU CAN'T TURN HIM NOW!" Catherine cried.
She gasped for air. "His soul is safe..."
Tom's nose ran, and his eyes flooded with tears. He was shaking uncontrollably, and his eyes were bulging out of their sockets. He no longer saw the girl he loved, but an ignorant muggle who had destroyed their lives in one stroke.
Hermione knew what he was going to do before he did it. Catherine screamed as Tom lunged forward and struck her. She turned away. She didn't want to see this. She reached for Dippet's arm, hoping to yank them from the memory, but her hand fell right through him.
She was trapped in a living nightmare.
Catherine's screams, mixed with her own, were reverberating off the walls.
There were flashes of movement…the sound of strangled cries…
Hermione was trembling, struggling to find a way out of the memory, and just when she thought she couldn't take it anymore, the room started to spin.
She was tossed back and forth in an icy cold wind, Dippet beside her, his robes flapping behind him. There was a flash of light and they were both thrown forward.
Hermione landed on a cold, stone floor.
She looked up. They were back in Armando Dippet's office. Tom Riddle was still there, looking like a man destroyed.
Hermione's mind was reeling.
Tom had just found his son dead at Catherine's hand, and then he'd killed her—killed his wife…the only girl he'd ever claimed to love.
She wished she hadn't seen any of it.
Dippet clutched his chest, and for a moment Hermione thought he was going to have a heart-attack. He leaned over his desk, staring at Tom through disbelieving eyes.
"You've seen what's happened then?" Tom said, staring at the pensive with wild eyes. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a ruby pendant hanging on a thin, gold chain.
"I wasn't thinking clearly, I know that now." Tom stood and stretched his hand out to Dippet.
Dippet stumbled backwards, as if Tom was a bomb that might explode at any moment.
"I transfigured her body, Headmaster," he said, gesturing to the necklace. "If I can just speak to Dumbledore he can put her right again. He defeated Grindelwald, surely he must know of a way to revive her."
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dippet's hand tightening around his wand. The old fool wasn't listening, he seemed to be working out a way to restrain him.
And then Tom caught sight of himself in the mirror hanging above Dippet's desk.
He looked mad. There was blood all over him, and his eyes were wild. He was holding a jewel in the palm of his hand like his life depended on it.
Tom turned back to Dippet, hit by a sudden realization. The old wizard had no intention of helping him. He would be sent to Azkaban, his future career as a wizard over. He was mad with grief, but his sense of self-preservation kicked in.
"We will get you the help you need, Tom," Dippet was saying. "Just lower your wand now…"
He hadn't even realized his wand was pointed at Dippet. But all the better…
It was now or never…
"OBLIVIATE!" Tom shouted.
Dippet was blown backwards. He fell over his desk, crashed into a chair, and landed in a heap on the floor.
Tom stuffed the jewel that was Catherine's transfigured body into his robes.
Merrywood had already seen him in his current state and would undoubtedly tell Dumbledore. He had to come up with a story…
When Dumbledore arrived he would say he had been attacked in Hogsmeade.
Tom broke the mirror above Dippet's desk with his fist, and lifted a shard of glass from the floor.
He cut his arms and legs with it, so it would appear the blood on his robes was his own.
He was numb to the pain, his mind set on one purpose, one mission, to make it out of the office with his reputation intact.
He repaired the mirror and lifted Dippet up.
He sat the wizard in his chair, then straightened up the items that had fallen from his desk.
"Ennervate," he said.
Dippet slowly came to life, and with quick wandwork, Tom planted a false memory into his mind.
Moments later he heard the sound of footsteps. No doubt Dumbledore and Merrywood would burst upon the scene at any moment.
Tom looked down at his wand, then snapped it in half, just as the door to the office flew open.
"Tom?" Dumbelore asked at once, taking in his appearance.
"The boy was attacked!" Dippet cried indignantly, slamming his fist on his desk. "Just now! In Hogsmeade!"
Hermione's eyes widened.
"Grindelwald supporters," Tom said firmly. "They were angry over the outcome of the war. They wanted to stir up trouble."
He lifted his broken wand and handed it to Dumbledore.
"I tried to fight them, Professor, but I was outnumbered."
Dumbledore looked at Tom through his half-moon spectacles for several minutes.
Eventually he said, "I will call the school nurse to look at your injuries."
"They're minor," Tom said quickly. "It's more the shock than anything else, Professor."
"Grindelwald supporters disturbing the peace in Hogsmeade! We will catch them dear boy!" Dippet promised fervently.
Dumbledore ignored him. He was looking at Tom intently like he was trying to read his thoughts.
Tom sensed it too. He closed his mind off, and showed Dumbledore what he wanted him to see. Four thugs, an attack in Hogsmeade, flying spells, a broken wand...
"Perhaps, you do not wish to attend the ceremony, Tom. You've suffered a great shock."
Tom was certain Dumbledore suspected something. But he could prove nothing of what had transpired. He had no idea of the truth, because he wasn't able to see into his mind. And that, gave Tom an incredible amount of satisfaction.
Despite defeating Grindelwald, the greatest wizard that ever lived, Dumbledore was not able to see into his, Tom Riddle's mind. A seventeen year old boy who was reeling from the greatest shock of his life.
"I will attend," Tom said firmly. "I don't see why this incident should alter my plans. I will, however, need a new wand. A spare for now, until I can visit Ollivander's."
"Of course," said Dumbledore, raising an eyebrow at Tom's demanding tone. "We shall procure one for you."
Tom and Dumbledore stared each other down. Dumbledore looked like he might say something more, but instead he turned to Professor Merrywood. "Please accompany Mr. Riddle to see the school nurse."
He turned to Tom. "I will see you at the ceremony."
Minutes later Hermione watched Tom attend his graduation. He flashed a smile when he had to, shook hands, made toasts and laughed, acting as if had not just murdered his wife and lost his son.
At the end of the day he strayed from the crowd, lost in thought...
What if Dumbledore decided to investigate and look into Dippet's mind? He could figure out the truth...
Tom adjusted his robes.
He'd have to go abroad. He couldn't risk rotting in Azkaban at the age of seventeen.
He was cursed. He could never live a normal life. Perhaps he was not meant to. He had been foolish for wanting one.
He would go home and bury Catherine and Henry. Then, he would make a new name for himself.
His muggle father had to die, there was no question about that. He had to erase all traces of his past before he assumed his new identity…
Tom breathed in deeply.
He also had to modify the memories of everyone who knew Catherine at the orphanage, destroy any written record of her...
Hermione felt a tap on her shoulder. She gasped in surprise and spun around.
Malfoy had appeared out of nowhere.
"It's time to go," he said, his voice stern.
He took hold of Hermione's arm and before she could stop him, the scene was vanishing and they were wrapped in a blinding white light.
Hermione could only think of one thing.
Catherine was Tom Riddle's wife. She was his muggle wife.
She caught a final glimpse of Tom as he walked away, no longer a boy but a broken man, and she knew what he was thinking…
If no one would love him, then they would fear him. While the world was celebrating the defeat of Grindelwald, and the rise of Albus Dumbledore, Tom's world had ended. But he would be re-born. He would forget Catherine and the son they had. He was free of all ties that made him weak.
In time, he would be greater than Grindelwald, he would be greater than any wizard who came before.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you for reading! Hope you take a sec to review :)