Chapter Twenty-Six
The official story came out later in the day. Supposedly, the portraits in Dumbledore's office had alerted him that Arthur Weasley was in Saint Mungo's, and the Headmaster had sent the Weasley children home early because of it. That meant, of course, that Tom and Hermione were stuck waiting for the end of term so they might take the train back to London and, from there, to Grimmauld Place. There wasn't time for owl post to be practical, even if they could be sure Umbridge would let the letters get through, so they had no way of telling how Ginny was coping. Tom had to shut down his awareness of the bond because the intensity of emotion coming through it was beyond his ability to process. He'd heard that other people felt things more deeply than he did, but that only now made sense. He thought if an event ever caused him to feel this much, he would Obliviate himself rather than deal with it.
Tom and Hermione didn't speak much during those last few days, though Hermione came up to the boy's dorm the first night with her trunk, informed the other boys that she'd be staying with Tom, and moved in. No one bothered to report her, because without her, Tom's magic prowled about the room, unnerving the remaining boys and chilling them to their cores.
Sleeping proved difficult. Tom kept startling into wakefulness, which more often than not woke up Hermione as well, but he refused to tell her what had happened. His dreams were nothing more than dreams, but in them, he killed Ginny's family again and again. Those dreams always ended with Ginny staring at him with a broken sort of look before disappearing.
It was with some relief that the two of them boarded the train alongside Luna and Neville.
"Ginny… can be rash," Luna was saying. She looked worried, which was rare enough for Tom to pay attention, but he couldn't tell whether she was worried about what Ginny would do to him or what he'd do to Ginny. "She'll probably need time to think things through, but then she'll need you to be there for her."
Neville chipped in, saying, "If you need to, you know, get away for a bit, you can come to Longbottom Manor. It can get difficult being around people who're mourning." He looked apologetic as he said it, but the look was mostly directed toward Hermione. Perhaps he'd identified her as the most emotionally normal person in the car.
Tom turned to look out the window. The sky was gray and filled with the strangely thick clouds one saw when it desperately wanted to snow but hadn't gotten to it yet. He wondered if Voldemort had begun negotiations with the dementors. He would have, if it were him. Getting access to the dementors would be easier if they were no longer guarding Azkaban, so he hoped his other self wasn't spending all his time on the stupid prophecy. The thing probably didn't even say anything useful. His eyes slid closed, exhaustion catching up with him, and he rested his cheek against the icy window pane.
It seemed like he'd only been out for a second when Neville was shaking him awake. Tom looked to Hermione automatically, only to catch her looking at him upon being woken by Luna. She sent him a small smile, and Tom tried to return it, though he thought he'd failed. Again. The thought made something heavy form within him. It sank down through his chest and into his stomach before disappearing, leaving only a sick, anxious feeling behind.
Moody picked them up at the station, magical eye spinning rapidly, automatically cataloguing every student exiting the train. "Dumbledore says you've got an Invisibility Cloak," he said in lieu of greeting. "Pretend you're off to a corner to snog or something and put it on."
Tom made a face at the man's back. That was his grand plan? Instead, Tom cast wandless Notice-Me-Nots, then wrapped the Cloak around himself and Hermione.
Moody gave them an approving nod and stomped his way to the exit. Just before he reached the wall, which applied its own manner of Notice-Me-Not Charms to everyone going through it, he pulled on his own invisibility cloak.
He still made a horrible clacking noise on the cement, so Tom and Hermione followed the sound, aided by their knowledge of the route they needed to take. Partway there, a giggling couple nearly bumped into Moody, then walked with them the rest of the way to Grimmauld Place. The man walked up the steps and entered the hidden house, and the invisible trio followed.
The townhouse looked better. It was cleaner, and a new wall covered the place where Walburga Black's portrait hung. However, the atmosphere hadn't improved at all. Angry and despairing magic clung to everything, and when they entered the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley sat there, hands wrapped around an empty mug, staring blankly. Though she logically couldn't have lost weight in only the past few days, she still looked as though her skin hung too loosely from her frame.
Hermione's hand found his, and Tom let her squeeze as hard as she wanted.
No doubt anything he had to say would ring hollow. He'd learned the hard way, growing up during the war, what sorts of things one did and didn't say to the grieving, but he'd been told that his attempts at comfort, the few times he tried, sounded more condescending than kind.
The man pulled off a wig and false mustache, changing posture in a half dozen tiny ways to turn into Remus Lupin. Tom was impressed despite himself. He'd sort of written Lupin off as useless due to his probable debt to Dumbledore, but it seemed he at least had some interesting skills. As Lupin shuffled into another room, the woman shifted forms and became Nymphadora Tonks. Moody grunted and pulled out a bottle of firewhiskey from his coat.
"Welcome back, Harry," Tonks said quietly. Her hair was a pale imitation of its former shade, still pink, but a washed out shade streaked with brown.
Tom nodded. "Hello Auror Tonks. Can we talk later?"
The metamorphmagus nodded. "Wanted to speak with you about something myself. Tomorrow soon enough?"
"Sure." Tom turned and headed up the stairs.
Hermione sent one last look at Mrs. Weasley, then followed him. Her end of the bond was full of unintelligible emotions.
Hesitantly, Tom checked the bond with Ginny. Hers was filled with similar, equally incomprehensible emotions, but with one additional, overriding emotion Tom recognized easily: anger.
He looked up and found the girl standing at the top of the stairs. Tom smiled thinly, keenly aware that she had the higher ground. Her gaze flickered to something over his shoulder, and she slipped away as though she'd never been there.
"Hey kiddo," came Black's voice. "Gonna go up without even saying hi?"
Tom turned to look at the man. "Hi Sirius," he said quietly and continued his way up to his room.
Black laughed and followed him, eyebrows raising when Hermione brought her trunk into Tom's room. "That's new," he commented.
"What happened?" Hermione asked.
Black's expression turned grim. "Arthur passed away the same night he arrived in Saint Mungo's. Molly was able to say goodbye, barely, but the kids didn't get even that. None of them are taking it well. Molly's the worst though. She's… well, I'm sure you saw her." The man sighed and scratched his head awkwardly. "I mean, the kids at least are still doing better than I did when James… but anyway, I'm sure you would without me saying it, but try to cut them some slack if they snap at you or something. We've all been a little on edge lately."
"Alright," Tom said. He was a guest in this house, so he would obey reasonable requests from the Lord Black.
Black smiled at the pair of teens. "I'll see you in a bit for dinner then. Try not to advertise this too much," he told them, nodding toward their side-by-side trunks.
Not long after Black left, Ginny entered. She glanced at Hermione, then dismissed her and focused on Tom. "You knew," she said lowly.
Tom said nothing.
Ginny's lips pressed together, muscles pulling into a dozen different micro expressions as her emotions spun momentarily out of her control. "Why?" The question burst out in a sob.
"I'm sorry," Tom told her, the regret he'd experienced ever since realizing his failure thick in his voice. He knew immediately, though, that it'd been the wrong thing to say, no matter how sincere he'd been.
Ginny stiffened. "Sorry?" She let out a choked laugh that broke into sobs. "You? You're sorry?" She shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself. "My father, Tom." Her face crumpled. "I trusted you. I trusted you, and you just let him die!"
Tom's face went blank even as Hermione gasped.
Ginny didn't seem to notice. "Well? Nothing to say for yourself? You say you aren't Voldemort, that you've changed, but when it was between him and my father, you just let him do what he liked, didn't you!"
Tom bit his tongue against his first reaction. "Are you done?" He had to fight to keep his tone even.
He didn't dodge the hex. As winged monstrosities formed and fought to climb out of his nostrils, Tom stood still and silent. Ginny froze for half a second, expression horrified, but then pain swept that away. She screamed in inarticulate rage and sorrow and sent a chain of curses at him, ending with the Cruciatus, just as he'd taught her. Tom used the half-second he had before it hit him to clench his teeth and lock his legs, then his world exploded into an agony he'd felt only a handful of times before.
The pain ended. Hermione held Ginny's wand in shaking hands. Tom wordlessly removed any remaining effects and spat out frothy pink saliva. "Get out." His voice shook, and he wasn't sure if it was from anger or residual tremors from the Cruciatus.
Ginny shuddered, but tried to maintain her bravado. "Oh, now you're mad? You-"
Tom's voice was ice as he sunk himself into his magic to keep a tighter leash on it. "I accept that you are distraught, so you may have ten seconds before I kill you. Leave."
For one terrifying moment, he thought she'd stay, and his already shaky control began to unravel faster than he'd expected. Then twin arms grabbed her and dragged her out of the room. Ron slipped inside in her stead, but Tom couldn't spare the boy his attention. He needed something he could destroy before his magic escaped his control entirely. A soft touch on his arm made him turn, his magic already shaping itself. The diadem sat on the bed. "Avada kedavra," he hissed, and his magic rushed out of him and enveloped the diadem.
Tom stared at the dead horcrux, panting from the amount of magic he'd spent first on casting the spell, and then on containing it. He had the unsettling feeling that had he not put in that effort, the spell would have spread out and killed everything else it encountered save for him. He switched his attention from the diadem to his wand. It was hot, but not as though he'd overpowered it. Fawkes really was a spectacular bird, he thought inanely.
Suddenly, he felt Hermione's arms slip around him and stiffened, but as she slowly tightened her hug, giving him every chance to pull away, Tom relaxed. He sagged to the side and into her, breathing in her scent and closing his eyes. "I didn't," he said tonelessly into her hair. "I went to Dumbledore."
"Shh, I know."
"She's gone now." He was empty in a way he hadn't been when he only suspected this conclusion.
Hermione grabbed his chin and made him look at her, expression determined. Something incredibly hot emanated from her through the bond, and Tom stared into her eyes, trying to discern what it was. "Listen to me, Tom Riddle," Hermione said, voice low. "Ginny is not gone. She's upset, and Ginny says and does things she doesn't mean and without thinking when she's upset, but she is still here, and she is still ours."
"She doesn't trust me," Tom said, but he heard the petulant turn of his voice and knew he'd lost this argument already. He could feel Hermione's rage. He knew how hard she had to be fighting to maintain her control... for his sake. Affection for her filled him and he wondered at how many different types of fondness it was apparently possible to feel.
Hermione's cheeks colored, and she huffed, anger fading. "If she didn't trust you, she'd never have voiced any of that. Not with her knowing who you are anyway." She scowled. "Not that I'm excusing her, because that was a horrible thing to do, but she wouldn't have done it if she really thought even half of what she accused you of."
"It was an impressive Cruciatus," Tom said. "Far better than I'd have expected for her first time properly casting it. I suppose I've been a bad influence." Tom closed his eyes. "Can you deal with him?" he asked tiredly.
"Yeah." Hermione handed him Ginny's wand and released him, raising her own wand as she turned to face Ron.
Ron held up his hands in surrender. His eyes were wide, and his freckles stood out against the pallor of his face, but he stood firm. "I just wanted to talk," he said quickly. "I… I already know you're not really Harry." He swallowed. "I… Fred and George and I saw your name on their map. Since Hermione trusts you though, we figured… Hermione would never do anything that would hurt Harry." He nodded, as though affirming this to himself.
Hermione glanced at Tom, who watched Ron speculatively. "Go on then, make your pitch," he said.
Ron didn't hesitate. "I've been thinking, the last couple days. Since Dad… Since he died. There's nothing I could have done to keep him from dying. It wouldn't have mattered if I was the world's most powerful, smartest, bravest fifth year, because I'd still be a fifth year. I still would have been at school, asleep in my dorm when it happened. But before… I knew that before too, so I felt like, what's the point in trying so hard? It still won't matter. Now though…" He clenched his fists. "I don't want to reach a point in time where someone I love dies, and I could have done something about it if I'd just been… better."
"What are you trying to say?" Hermione asked impatiently.
Ron grimaced. "I'm saying that I want in. We want in. Me, Fred, and George. Whatever it is you guys are doing, we want to help. And also… I want you to make sure I don't forget this feeling and go back to just hanging out and being a regular kid. Normal isn't good enough. Not now anyway."
Tom probed at the teen's mind, examining the shallowest layers for any signs of doubt or guilt or falsehood. He appeared to be telling the truth. Tom ended his Legillimancy and nodded slowly. "Very well."
Ron let out a breath, the tension leaving him. After a moment though, his face drew in again. "If you don't mind, can - can you tell me what happened? To Dad? Only just, you know, cuz Mum hasn't been up to really telling us anything. Not even knowing is… It's hard."
Tom blinked. He looked to Hermione, who did a poor job of feigning neutral disinterest, and sighed. He felt raw and exposed, and he hated it, but if telling the truth here could gain him allies, then it would be stupid to refuse. "Potter had 'visions' from Voldemort because I existed within him. Obviously, I too receive said visions, though I usually ignore them. Voldemort's been sending visions of a door deep in the Ministry of Magic since before Potter got Kissed." He spoke dispassionately, but one hand tangled in the bedsheets, knuckles turning white. "I also dream. Often. Of killing people, torturing them. Whatever atrocities you might think I'd dream about, I probably do."
Tom pointedly didn't look at Hermione, able to feel the disgust as well as the frustration from knowing he could feel it despite her efforts to hide it. "That night, I got a vision of Nagini, Voldemort's familiar, biting your father because he was standing guard outside the Department of Mysteries. She returned to Voldemort after that. It took time for me to wake up and even longer to realize the possibility that it was something that had actually happened. When I did, I ran to Dumbledore and told him everything relevant that I knew, and he took action immediately, but it was still too late."
Hermione made a small 'oh' of understanding.
Ron looked down. "If Harry was still, you know, Harry, do you think Dad would have survived?"
Tom ignored the flare of anger from both Hermione and, surprisingly, Ginny. "Yes," he said. "Nagini's venom is potent, and her bite would have bled heavily, but I think that, had he received help even a couple of minutes sooner, he would have lived. Harry Potter would most likely have successfully saved him."
Twin exhales sounded from just outside the door, and it opened again to show not just the twins, but Ginny as well. Tears dripped down her cheeks. For a second, she just stood there, until one of the twins nudged her with his foot. Then she flung herself at Tom, knocking both him and Hermione over, sobbing. "I'm sorry, Tom, I'm so so sorry. I knew I shouldn't but I couldn't help it and I just didn't want to think about it and I just wanted someone to pay for it and you were there and then -"
Tom ignored her, instead keeping his attention on the three boys in front of him. He couldn't deal with Ginny's hysterics right now. He was too spent and too off-balance to offer her anything but coldness.
One of the twins grimaced. "Can't say this is exactly what we were expecting."
"But can't say it's exactly not either," said the other.
"But in any case, you're an idiot."
"Maybe Harrikins could've saved Dad -"
"Or maybe he couldn't, but -"
"I'll bet Harrikins wouldn't have been able to teach us those spell chains -"
"Or about our magical alignments -"
"And if we end up fighting for our lives -"
"We love Harry, of course, but -"
"We'd rather have Tom Riddle at our side -"
"So long as he's on our side."
Ron had a long-suffering look on his face by the end of their twin-speak. "They mean that we don't blame you." He winced, looking apologetic. "And I'm sorry for asking that. I wasn't thinking."
Tom chuckled weakly. "You are a Gryffindor."
Ron shot him a half-hearted glare before hesitating. "What about Harry? Is… Is there any hope of him coming back? Eventually?"
Tom shrugged. "I've sworn on my life and magic to both Hermione and one other that I'd get him back if it's at all possible. Thus far, I've confirmed that his soul is most likely still intact. Now, I'm attempting to discover a means of replicating a dementor's ability to draw out the soul. I also need to discover which dementor Potter's soul is within. Past that, I have no intention of giving up this body, but I have a few ideas for how to get Potter an appropriately compatible body." He stared off into space for a moment, considering everything he needed to pay attention to for the fulfillment of his vows. "Of course, I won't be able to do anything about the fact that he'll have spent the interim inside a dementor. I don't know if he'll have had any sense of the passage of time or if he'll still think he's fourteen and in Little Whinging. I also don't know what his mental state will be like. After viewing his memories of Voldemort, I don't believe spending long periods without a body is conducive to mental stability, so I'd expect an extended recovery."
As Ginny and Hermione both gave him surprised but pleased looks, as though they hadn't already known he took his oaths seriously, one of the twins raised their hand. "I still have one more question. Why are you fighting against Voldemort if you are Voldemort? And how are there two of you anyway?"
"Horcruxes," Hermione answered. "Voldemort split his soul and put pieces in different objects."
"There were seven made, I think," Tom said. "Potter killed one though, and I've killed two more now, so there's just me, Voldemort, the ring, the snake, and the cup left. The intention was to have a seven-part soul, but I was an accident." He paused for a moment in bemusement while the twins started snickering. He shook his head and moved on, assuming that whatever it was, it wasn't important. "As for why… Voldemort would never share power, not even with himself." He paused, frowning. "And he also tried to kill me. I understand that he didn't realize Potter was a horcrux, but that just makes it manslaughter instead of homicide, and I'm quite certain I'm legally allowed to be upset about it."
"Don't forget that you're not really Voldemort anymore," Ginny added, an apologetic note to her voice.
Tom sighed. "And that. No one's ever made a horcrux out of another person before, and I can see why. I can tell that I'm not totally myself. It's a very uncomfortable demonstration of nature versus nurture."
"Of what?" Ron asked blankly. Both twins looked equally confused, and even Ginny seemed lost.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's the concept of how much one's own biology, that is to say, their genetics…" She spotted the even more lost looks and huffed. "Oh, whatever, their blood, if you will, rules their character compared to their environment. Some people believe it to be much more strongly one than the other or even entirely one or the other, but recently I think most people believe it to be a bit more complicated than that."
No one looked enlightened by this.
"Well -"
"Dinner!" came Black's shout from downstairs.
The Weasley boys immediately hurried out and down the stairs, but Tom grabbed Ginny's wrist and held her back for a moment. Hermione stopped by the door curiously. "You will never attack me like that again," he ordered. While he saw no signs of burns where their bare skin touched, he didn't doubt that it was painful for her at the moment. He also didn't much care.
Ginny stiffened. "No, I won't," she agreed quietly.
"If it happens again, I will give you the most painful death I can imagine."
Ginny paled and nodded. "I understand."
Tom studied her. "Good." He stood and started toward the kitchen. Just before stepping onto the stairs, he paused, considering something. "Hermione moved into the boys' dorm while you were gone. Decide whether you intend to join her, take turns, or return to your dorm." Hermione made him… tense, perhaps was the word, but it wasn't a wholly bad feeling. It wasn't enough to make him willing to release her.
Hermione made an interesting sort of squeak. "I thought I'd just go back to the girls' dorm when term starts," she protested.
Tom stared at her blankly for a moment before continuing down the stairs. He could always go fetch her if she tried to be uncooperative.
AN: Not gonna lie, I feel bad reading the reviews for Ron's interlude. Cuz like… I absolutely planned on writing him off originally. I don't really dislike him. I get that of all the things he does that people bash him for, mostly they only really seem bad because they're set against people who are all kind of extraordinary in their own ways. Ron's only real problem is that he's a pretty normal teenager. Unfortunately, I (and thus Tom) have no use for normal, so I didn't expect to be using him. In fact, I was working really hard not to have to. But around the time I realized Arthur Weasley was going to die, I also realized that that was precisely the sort of thing that could be a catalyst for Ron's character.
