Chapter Twenty-Five
Hagrid was back. Tom stared at the head table with a certain amount of irritation.
"It was nice while it lasted," Luna said from her seat next to him. "But really, having Professor Grubbly-Plank here raised the standard of teaching too high, so we shouldn't have expected any different."
Tom snorted and returned to the homework he had spread out on the table in front of him instead of his breakfast. Even putting in the minimum amount of effort to continue passing required some amount of time, and between detentions, study sessions, rituals to keep himself from falling apart, and plotting out how to rescue Potter, Tom just didn't have enough room in his schedule.
Across from them, Hermione pushed her breakfast around her plate in a daze. Through the bond, Tom felt her emotions soaring and plummeting and twisting all over and was happy to leave her to it.
"Hey," came Ginny's voice.
Tom's head jerked up. "Ginny. She let you out?"
Ginny smiled tiredly. "Yeah. I'm supposed to take it easy, but I'll be fine."
"How's Crabbe?" Hermione asked dutifully.
Ginny's expression soured. "He'll live. He won't be getting out anytime soon though. I get the feeling Madam Pomfrey wasn't pleased with him." She cut her gaze toward Tom. "Not that she's happy that he's there, but she didn't look like she was in any rush to get him healed up."
Tom sighed and pulled Ginny onto the bench beside him, sandwiching her between himself and Luna, who also wrapped an arm around the red-head. Tom turned to glance at the Slytherin table. Malfoy was staring at him, hate and fear etched across his face. Tom scrawled a quick note, tapped it with his wand, and sent it slithering across the floor and up the boy's leg.
He watched as Malfoy grabbed at the paper and unfolded it.
I'll let you and Nott live if you and your fathers swear yourselves to me. You have until the end of break.
"What was that about?" Ginny asked curiously.
Tom just smiled. "Just trying to make some new friends."
Suddenly he felt the strangest sensation. It was a bit like the burst of hot air when opening an oven, but it was a purely psychological experience. Tom looked up to the head table and frowned when he caught Severus staring at him. It wasn't quite legilimency, nor was it muggle telepathy, but the end result was much the same. He understood that Severus was concerned about the note he'd just sent Malfoy because Malfoy was his godson, even though that was information Tom hadn't known before.
"I see," Tom murmured.
"What is it?" Hermione asked, glancing between Tom and the head table.
"It seems the second stage of the bond allows the transference of more information than simple emotional state," Tom said. He focused on the bond and, after several attempts, saw Severus start and focus even more intently on him. Tom smiled faintly. He'd thought as much. Severus hadn't intentionally sent his message.
You cursed my godson?
Tom inclined his head but gave no further reply. He didn't want to grow accustomed to this sort of convenience. In his present situation, Tom was already wary of losing sight of himself. If he allowed the separation between his own thoughts and others' thoughts to diminish, how long would it be until he ceased to be Tom Riddle?
Still, he would need to experiment with it to discover its full capabilities and limitations.
"Should we go see Hagrid?" Hermione asked. At Tom's startled glance, she smiled wryly. "It's what Harry would have done and, well, I am curious what he's been up to. He looks like he got in a fight with a bus and lost."
Tom looked back up at the half-giant and conceded her point. "I suppose we should," he sighed and started packing away his homework. "We can go after our study session."
Only Hagrid wasn't at home when they went over that afternoon, and while Hermione went again after dinner, Tom had yet another detention to attend. To his surprise, Umbridge was humming to herself when he arrived. Tom eyed her suspiciously, wondering if she'd somehow gotten the curse undone.
"You seem to be in a good mood, Ma'am," Tom said as he finished writing his hundredth line of the night.
Umbridge started, as though she'd forgotten he was there, then peered closely at his hand. Tom wasn't sure what she expected, but blood oozed out of it and into the cloth he'd set under it, as it had for the past week. The Quill's magic made the 'ink' unusable for anything else, but Tom wasn't going to bet that the same held true for any blood that dripped from the back of his hand, so he'd made sure to keep things clean.
"That hurts, doesn't it, Mister Potter," Umbridge said with false sympathy.
"Of course," Tom agreed. "Are you just now realizing that, and that's why you're so pleased?"
Umbridge's expression soured immediately. "You would do well, Mister Potter, to learn to hold your tongue."
Tom shrugged. "I've already got detention every day from now until the winter break, and I don't doubt for a moment that you'll find an excuse to get me back here once break is over no matter what I do."
That seemed to give her pause. Tom had thought it might. Most people had trouble creating an appropriate level of discipline, and she was no exception. By being so unreasonable, she'd given Tom a free pass. After all, if he was going to be here every day regardless, there was no point in obeying her rules.
Of course, there were two typical responses to this sort of realization. One was to reevaluate one's methods and work to ensure future disciplinary actions were appropriate in both content and scale. The other, the one Tom rather expected Umbridge to go with…
"I suppose if this doesn't bother you, I'll need to find something better," she mused.
The other response was to become even more unreasonable. It was a stupid response, but Tom wasn't about to try to explain muggle psychology to the woman. It wouldn't help anything.
Of course, her response may have been more effective against an actual teenager. Tom, however, was a master of the unreasonable discipline method. It would hurt his pride too much to let an amateur win against him.
"That creature… Hagrid, I believe his name is? You're friends with him, aren't you?" she asked out of nowhere.
Tom blinked. "Is this an 'I'm threatening you by threatening your friends' thing or an 'I dislike you even more because you're friends with a halfbreed' thing?" he asked curiously. "Or maybe a different thing altogether?"
Tom was rather proud of the way her eye twitched.
"It's a 'you'd best say goodbye, because he won't be here for much longer,' thing, you filthy little halfblood," she snapped, and she snatched up her Quill and the parchment. "Get out."
A moment later, Tom found himself staring bemusedly at the door to her classroom as it slammed shut. With a mental shrug, he turned to head back up to Gryffindor Tower.
"You're out early," Neville commented from a table in the Common Room.
Tom nodded. "I think I'm growing on her. She's even given me a pet name, you know."
"A pet -"
"Name -"
"He says. May we -"
"Quote you on that?" asked Fred and George.
Tom smirked. "Of course."
"What kind of pet name?" Neville asked skeptically.
"Filthy little halfblood," Tom replied, still smirking. "I feel terrible for her. I can't imagine wanting company so badly as to start assigning teenagers detention just to have someone nearby." He really couldn't, even if that was admittedly more to do with his own social issues than hers.
"You know, mate, I really don't think that's why she's doing it," Ron said.
Tom sniffed. "That's my story, and I'm sticking to it."
"Are you some kind of masochist? I mean, really, are you?" Dean asked.
"Hardly." Tom shot the boy a look. "She's the one who keeps putting me in detention with her, so if anyone's a masochist, it's her."
Dean shook his head and walked closer to Tom. Quietly, and positioned so no one else could see, he pulled up the sleeve on his right arm. There, on the back of his hand, it said, I must listen when my betters are speaking. Thomas smiled wanly. "Don't even try to tell me you don't have something on your hand. I've seen the way you hold it when you get back."
Tom blinked, glancing around the room to make sure no one was paying close attention, then undid the glamour over his own hand. Dean recoiled, prompting Tom to look more closely at his hand. He grimaced at the sight of the wounds. The skin was an angry red, and dried blood crusted up around the edges of the letters. He'd have to start requesting Purification Potions from Severus to reduce both his chances of infection and the amount of dark magic clinging to him. "Has she given anyone else those detentions that you know of?" Tom asked, reapplying the glamour.
"Yeah. Both the twins, a few of the younger years, and a handful of students from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff each. Aside from the twins and you, we're all muggleborns." Dean said with a sigh.
Tom's brow creased in frustration. His own lack of time was preventing him from catching Umbridge attacking others. "Dean," he said reluctantly, "Do you think you could keep track of who she's sending to detentions? I've got a potion you can take beforehand. It doesn't stop the damage, but it makes it hurt a lot less."
Dean nodded sharply. "Of course!" He hesitated, looking uncertain, before plowing ahead. "Neville told me about your study sessions. Do you think I could join?"
Tom considered it. "There are Slytherins there," he warned. "And we'll be testing your magical alignment. If it's dark, I'll expect you to learn dark magic. Is that acceptable?"
Dean nodded. "Yeah. I just… I believe you, you know, about You-Know-Who. And even besides, I know there are plenty of people who'd like nothing more than to see me dead or 'put in my place.'" He swallowed. "I want to be able to protect myself and, if it comes to it, my family."
"Of course." Tom dug into his bag and withdrew a primer on rituals he'd started carrying around not long after beginning the study group. "The first ritual here is the one we'll be using to determine your alignment. Read up on it and bring the necessary materials. We meet on Sunday mornings, right after breakfast, on the seventh floor."
Dean beamed. "Thanks, Harry."
With Dean came the rest of Umbridge's targets, all muggleborn students who were more than willing to take a few Stinging Hexes from Tom in the name of beating their more official tormentor. To Tom's satisfaction, the new statistics had the muggleborns' alignments following the same distribution as the purebloods'.
Almost before they knew it, it was late December, and their group was celebrating the season with a battle royale.
Tom slashed his wand, sending purple flame spiraling toward one of the twins, who skipped back and summoned a desk into its path. A silent Blasting Hex slammed into the wall beside him, making Tom spin and summon Padma to him to block Luna's follow-up curse.
To his surprise, rather than defend herself, Padma took the hit with a muttered oath and shot a Piercing Hex through his arm.
Everyone stopped.
"Oh Merlin and Morganna, I'm so sorry. I wasn't really expecting that to work. It's just you're always summoning us as shields and I thought I mean, it's Luna, so she's not going to cast anything too awful so if I just took it, but I really thought you'd still manage to dodge or I'd have used something else," the Indian witch babbled in panicked apology.
Tom cast a somewhat overpowered Episky and Vanished the blood. He sent Padma a sharp grin. "Well done. You planned that ahead of time?"
She nodded hesitantly.
"That was a good idea. I've been waiting for someone other than the twins to start dueling with their minds instead of just reacting." Still wearing a pleased smile, he sent a silent Piercing Hex back, hitting Padma's arm exactly where she'd hit him. He hummed cheerfully as he swiftly disarmed every other student, making a point of using his injured arm even though he wasn't left-handed.
"Harry!" Luna chided.
Tom rolled his eyes. "She's fine." He gestured to where Padma was just finishing healing her own injury. Tom had, naturally, included lessons on basic first aid.
Luna frowned at him. "Still. It wasn't very friendly."
Tom wondered what gave Luna the idea that he'd meant to be friendly. "Everyone just stopped because Padma managed to hit me. I hadn't called time, so that was stupid of you."
Hermione glared at him as she collected her wand. "Anyone else would have understood that time was implicitly called."
"Shame you didn't ask anyone else to lead these sessions," Tom said blandly as he returned Neville's wand to him. "Stay after though, if you would. I'd like to discuss the second step."
Handing out the last wand, Tom called for attention. "As you're aware, this is our last meeting before winter break. During break, I'd appreciate it if each of you could spend some time in self-reflection. If you know Occlumency, please review your mindscape. If you know muggle meditation, something along those lines will suffice. The purpose is to begin learning the Patronus Charm and the Animagus transformation. I don't expect that any of us will succeed in the latter before the year ends, but I expect our seventh years are resourceful enough to keep learning even after they've graduated." Tom closed his eyes and took a breath, then gave them all the warmest smile he could muster. "Happy Yule, everyone. Stay safe."
Once everyone had left, Hermione looked around curiously as the Room reconfigured itself. She blinked at the familiar runes and circle on the floor. "You wanted to do it now?" she asked.
Tom nodded, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Will you?"
Hermione hesitated. "I… Yes. Alright then." She smiled shakily. "Are you ready?"
In lieu of reply, Tom started the incantation, smiling to himself when Hermione swiftly caught up. When it came time to offer his show of trust, Tom reached into his bag. He pulled out Rowena's diadem. "This is for you," he said quietly. "It's one of my horcruxes."
Hermione flinched, almost dropping it as she took it. She fumbled to grab hold of it, then winced and adjusted her grip to be more gentle. "This is a part of your soul?" she hissed, as though the ritual cared what volume she spoke at.
Tom nodded slowly. "It is. I'm entrusting it to you." He took her hand and looked at her, trying to impress upon her how serious he was. "You can do whatever you think is best. If you want to kill it, you can. If you want me to kill it, just say the word. If you want to keep it, that's fine too. Whatever you want."
Hermione examined it carefully. "What makes you think it won't affect me the way the diary affected Ginny?"
"Because I've had words with it," Tom said, a touch of an arrogant smile on his lips. "It knows that the second I so much as think it's trying to influence you, I will kill it." He'd additionally placed more wards on it than were around his vault at Gringotts, then Obliviated the horcrux before threatening it again. He trusted Hermione. He didn't trust himself.
Hermione glanced from him, to the diadem, and back to him. At last, slowly, hesitatingly, she placed the diadem on her head.
Tom felt the ritual conclude and smirked. It may have been anticlimactic, but he rather preferred his rituals to be that way. Most rituals only really became exciting when something went wrong, after all.
"Nothing's happening," Hermione said, pouting.
Tom glanced at her. "Becoming a horcrux destroyed its ability to work correctly," he said, realizing she'd been hoping for the diadem's more famous properties to take effect.
Hermione glared at him. "Say that sooner!" She pulled the diadem off and gave it a glare as well for good measure, and Tom could have sworn his horcrux shrank away from her just the slightest bit. After a moment, Hermione smiled at him. "Thank you, Tom. I don't… I'll have to think about it, but I'll take good care of it in the meantime."
Tom left the Room, assured that she would know he wasn't upset. He just wasn't up to the task of navigating his feelings around his horcruxes in general, let alone trusting someone enough to risk giving one to them.
Tom awoke to a pounding headache and Ginny, who was already awake, watching him with something approaching alarm.
"Tom?" she asked, touching his forehead gently. "Are you alright? You feel like you might have a fever and… well… you were hissing. In your sleep, I mean."
He stared at her, trying to make sense of her words through the pain. As the headache receded, a sense of unease crept in to replace it. He'd been dreaming about the Department of Mysteries again, but this time it was Nagini sliding down the corridor, and… He frowned. This time Arthur Weasley was there, which made no sense. He shook his head. And then when Mister Weasley noticed him, Tom, as Nagini, had bitten him, which was equally nonsensical. The dream had ended with him returning to Voldemort, who was alone. Tom had examined the other part of his soul critically. He looked exhausted, and Tom didn't doubt that he was expending far too much magic each day. It was the sort of thing he'd do. Nagini slithered over to Voldemort and curled up around him, forcefully reminding Tom of the way Ginny curled up around him. Also uncomfortably similar was the way Voldemort reached down absently to stroke Nagini's head, mind miles away.
Ginny called his name again, and Tom started, realizing he'd been falling back asleep. He looked into her eyes. Telling her he'd dreamed about killing her father was probably a stupid idea, so he shook his head and smiled weakly. "I'm fine," he said. "I just had a bad dream." And it was. That was yet another oddity. Considering it, he didn't particularly mind the idea of Mister Weasley dying, and it wasn't as though he didn't dream about killing various acquaintances on a regular basis, but somehow he still felt anxious about this particular dream.
Ginny looked at him doubtfully before nodding. "Alright then."
She laid back down, but Tom stayed up, thinking. Had Voldemort sent him that dream? Why?
A new thought occurred to him. What if Dumbledore had set members of his bloody Order to guarding the prophecy? It was a stupid idea, of course. The only ones who could collect the prophecy were those spoken of in it, and Arthur Weasley of all people was not up to the task of confronting Lord Voldemort, but he couldn't rule out any level of stupidity when dealing with Dumbledore. If he accepted the possibility that Mister Weasley might be in the Department of Mysteries, that could have been less of a dream and more… He slid out of bed and transfigured his night clothes into school robes.
"Tom?" Ginny questioned sleepily.
"I'll be right back," Tom said soothingly and slipped out the door, down the stairs, and through the portrait.
The moment the portrait closed, he broke into a run. Ginny would be useless to him if her father died at his other self's hands. Unlikely though it seemed, he had to make sure Mister Weasley wasn't actually bleeding out on the floor in the Department of Mysteries.
Once he reached the gargoyle, Tom halted, panting, and stared at it. The password. What was it? "Chocolate frogs, sugar quills, blood pops, Bertie Botts, Hershey's, M&M's, Fizzing Whizzbees, Exploding -" He cut off as the gargoyle began to move and pushed past it the moment the stairs began to appear. At the top, he pounded on the door, behind which he heard a susurrus of voices. "Headmaster! Open the door!"
The door opened to reveal Dumbledore wearing a white nightshirt and an absolute eyesore of a dressing gown. "What is it, my boy?" Dumbledore asked. He was smiling faintly, but his tone at least was appropriately worried.
Tom hesitated. He very much did not want to do this, but the alternative was unacceptable. "I had a… what might be a vision. Voldemort's snake attacked Mister Weasley in the Department of Mysteries."
The Headmaster's expression turned grave, and he turned to the portraits on the walls. "Everard? And you too, Dilys!" He gave both former Headmasters swift, sharp orders, then sagged. "Mopsy?" he called, and a moment later a house elf appeared. "Tea for two, please." The elf disappeared, and Dumbledore sank down behind his desk, gesturing for Tom to take a seat as well.
Fawkes flew over, and the Headmaster stroked the bird's head and said quietly, "We will need a warning." Flames blazed up around the bird, and then it was gone.
Tea had just popped onto the desk between them when Everard returned. "Dumbledore!" he shouted. "I yelled until someone came running," he said, panting although Tom was quite certain paintings couldn't actually become physically tired, "said I'd heard something moving downstairs… they weren't sure whether to believe me but went down to check… you know there are no portraits down there to watch from. Anyway, they carried him up a few minutes later. He doesn't look good, he's covered in blood and very pale, I ran along to Elfrida Cragg's portrait to get a good view as they left…"
"Good," said Dumbledore. "I take it Dilys will have seen him arrive, then…"
Sure enough, the elderly witch reappeared within her frame and sank into her armchair. "They've taken him to St. Mungo's, Dumbledore… They carried him past my portrait… He looks bad…"
"Thank you," Dumbledore said calmly, but the tightness around his eyes betrayed him. Now that things had quieted and there was little left to do but wait, he turned to Tom and poured them both tea. "Would you like anything in yours?" he asked.
Tom paused. What did Potter drink? It would take too long to search for such an innocuous memory. "No thank you," he said. A person who enjoyed sugar or cream in their tea might occasionally take it straight, but a person who preferred their tea straight would very rarely drink it any other way.
They sat, sipping their tea. "I must thank you, my boy," Dumbledore said at last. "Whatever the end result, it's better than it could have been."
"Even if he dies?" Tom asked skeptically before he could stop himself.
Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Yes. Even then, I feel certain his family would prefer if his last moments had been with someone, anyone, rather than alone in the dark."
Tom didn't understand - dead was dead - but nodded and looked down as though it made some sort of sense. He stared into his tea. His reflection was pale and stressed. "He needs to live," he whispered, mostly to himself. There was every chance he'd lose Ginny otherwise, though if her father did survive, she would instead be bound even more tightly to him. If he had some way to be sure… but Nagini's venom was potent and would resist any attempts to heal the flesh. The healers would lose precious time trying to close the wound instead of extracting the poison. Tom set his jaw and looked up at Dumbledore. "What if it was poisonous?" he asked. "They don't know it was a snake, and who knows what kind of awful venom Voldemort's snake might have."
Dumbledore's eyes widened, and he turned to Dilys's portrait, but she already knew. She nodded sharply and ran out of her portrait once more. Looking back to him, Dumbledore gave him a proud smile. "Thank you again. I hadn't even considered that aspect yet."
Tom looked away. "May I go?" he asked abruptly.
The Headmaster hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. I will be sending for Arthur's children shortly, so if there is anyone where they ought not to be, please send them on their way first." His eyes twinkled at almost their usual strength as he said that, and Tom grimaced, realizing that he should have known Dumbledore would be aware of Ginny's sleeping arrangements.
When he got back to the dorm, he shook Ginny gently and, as she woke up, handed her the Invisibility Cloak. "McGonagall's coming, you need to get back to your dorm," he told her in a whisper. Eyes wide, Ginny nodded and hurried away.
Maybe ten minutes passed before there was a sharp rap on the door. Tom sat up, pretending he'd just woken, and called, "Come in," as Thomas and Longbottom worked on waking up Ron and Finnegan. The dorm door opened, and Professor McGonagall entered. "Mister Weasley," she said sternly. "Get dressed and meet me in the Common Room in five minutes."
Ron sent the rest of his dormmates a questioning look, which only earned confused shrugs. Tom watched him go and closed the curtains again. There was nothing more he could do now.
At the staff table the following morning, Dumbledore looked grave and, when he caught Tom's eyes, gave a single shake of his head. Tom's gut clenched.
"Tom?" Hermione whispered. "Do you know what's going on? I heard Ginny and her brothers were all sent home in the middle of the night."
Tom looked into her worried brown eyes. He'd failed, that's what had happened. He'd set out to save Ginny's father, and he'd failed. He couldn't stop the sinking sensation that Potter, had he actually been Potter, would not have. Potter would have gone immediately, probably would have woken up earlier even, sick to his delicate Gryffindor stomach, instead of watching the entire vision. He swallowed, then looked away. "I don't know," he lied.
There wasn't much point in lying, given the bond, but Hermione only asked, "Are they okay?"
Tom couldn't answer that either. Was Ginny okay knowing her father had died to Voldemort while she was sleeping next to Tom Riddle? He very much doubted it.
Worried tears welled up in Hermione's eyes. "Who?" she asked.
At last, a question he could answer. "Mister Weasley," he said quietly, then stiffened and forced himself to hold still while she flung her arms around him with an injured sound.
Another set of arms surrounded him, and he turned his head to see Luna behind him, faintly trembling. Perhaps sensing his gaze, she lifted her head and stared back into his eyes, gray-blue meeting emerald green. It wasn't your fault, he could practically hear her thinking. He looked away. He knew that. It wasn't his fault. Not technically. Not in any sane sense of the word. But in the end, what mattered was that he hadn't been enough. And he suspected the real Harry Potter would have been.
AN: I went over this so many times in my head. First I wasn't sure if Tom would even see the vision or not, but I eventually decided it wasn't certain either way, so I should go with whatever worked best narratively. Then I wasn't sure if it would be best if a) he never saw it and Mr. Weasley died, b) he saw it and intentionally let Mr. Weasley die, c) he saw it and didn't pay it attention and let Mr. Weasley die, d) he saw it and tried to save Mr. Weasley but failed, or e) he saw it and saved Mr. Weasley. This was the end result of those considerations.
