AN: Helloo. Again, I am a day late but I don't have a job anymore so I was living it up yesterday as a congratulations to me for quitting. It was a poorly-suited job for me. We don't need to discuss it. I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's very Tom focused.
As usual, a very big thank you to my Beta readers for looking through this and giving me feedback to improve. I don't know what I would do without you guys.
Chapter 4: So don't ask that question here
Lysander Nott was staring at Tom, his already pale face now wholly ashen. Lips drawn into a thin line and eyebrows furrowed. He looked like he'd seen a ghost, though Tom couldn't say he blamed the man. It was not every day that your Lord rose from the dead in his prime form after all.
"My Lord," he whispered.
Tom looked up at the man. He had grown older.
Everything about Lysander was now wiry where he had been in his prime. Hair that had been thick and brown was silver and thinning. Lines ran across his face, above his brow and under his eyes making him look tired and dull and, though he had carried himself with restrained power, his body still looked like it could be snapped in two if Tom exerted just a little pressure on the bones.
It was surprising how much that had taken him aback. Tom was not sentimental, nor was he stupid. Men grew old as was the design placed upon them. But he hadn't expected Lysander to look as old as he had. The man had been three years his senior in Hogwarts, and the last he'd seen of him had been as he was pledging himself to Tom.
Was this what it was to grow old? Tom was not impressed. "Lysander," he said with a smile. "How have you been keeping yourself?"
"Well, My Lord," he choked out. Lysander cleared his throat once, and then again. When that didn't work, he walked over to a well-stocked cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Ogden's finest. He poured himself a generous helping and drank the thing in one go.
Tom hummed to himself. He was not usually so willing to let indulgences like that pass, but the man had just had a bit of a shock, and if the firewhisky was going to get him past it, then Tom would allow it this time.
The firewhisky seemed to shake Lysander out of his stupor and colour came back into his cheeks. "May I ask, My Lord, how are you -"
"Alive?" Tom asked. He was having far too much fun with this, even if it was just a shadow of the amusement he was used to feeling.
"A lovely young girl lent me her soul."
"Her soul?"
Tom noted the slight hitch in his voice. It almost passed him by, but something about it made him pause. Lysander had never been a man that would shy away from the Dark Arts, despite his placement in Hogwarts. It had been integral to his character, and the reason Tom had respected the man. But the hitch in his voice raised a concern with Tom.
"Yes. If you ask me, she was wasting it."
Lysander considered this and then took another gulp of the drink in his hand, finishing off the beverage. "Of course. I am glad you were able to adapt my research so thoroughly."
Tom narrowed his eyes.
This was the reason he had come to Lysander. The man's obsession with Soul Magic had been what had tempered his anger when Slughorn had given him the barest bones of information. Lysander, who had been out of Hogwarts and away from the eyes of Dumbledore, had been happy to explain the theoretical underpinnings of what would have eventually come to be his Horcrux creation.
"Your assistance was most helpful. Though I am going to need it again."
"Whatever you need," Lysander said.
Tom smiled at the man who had always been willing to devote his research to the cause. It was an admirable trait, and one that Tom had made use of on more than one occasion it seemed.
But he wasn't sure he could trust Lysander with the truth of his…resurrection. The Tom standing before him was not the Voldemort that Lysander had dealt with in the past. It was a disadvantage that Tom had not had to contend with yet; it was not a problem being stuck at seventeen because he'd had enough knowledge to implement his plan.
But now?
"For now I need a new wand and a base."
Lysander was accommodating, but then Tom expected nothing less of the man. Despite being sorted into Ravenclaw, Lysander was a thorough-bred Pureblood and as such, was trained to respect his superiors.
All within the first week and a half of Tom's arrival, Lysander had provided him with his own wing in the manor, instructed the House Elves to follow his orders, suitably replaced his wand - though his own would have been preferable, Tom did not expect Lysander to know where to find it, nor would it be a good idea to parade around Wizarding London with Voldemort's wand. Potter's would have also been acceptable; he had been able to yield it like it was his own, but again, there were problems with commandeering hers.
Lysander's grandson Theodore had also been given explicit instructions that the guest in the West Wing was not to be disturbed, nor to be discussed with his friends. Theodore had looked at the man solemnly and then nodded before quietly asking to be excused.
Tom approved of the boy's obedience.
Unfortunately, the man had also gotten over his shock and was far too curious for the level of intelligence he had.
"My Lord, how did you survive the spell?" he asked one evening.
Tom looked up from the tome in his hand. The book was one of many Lysander had on wandlore, and it was the very ease in which he'd used Potter's wand that left him with questions. The familiar trill of what he assumed was the wand's core had been powerful, but as far as he knew, a wand was loyal to its Wizard until won or the Wizard died.
Regardless, Wandmaking and its ilk was not a familiar topic to Tom. It was possible he would need to make a trip to Olivander's soon.
Tom levelled a look at Lysander. "How forward," he said.
"There was much speculation as to what occurred and, forgive me, but love was not what caused the Avada to rebound," Lysander replied with a sneer.
Love? Was that what Dumbledore had preached? How predictable.
But that was not the issue to deal with at that moment. Tom knew that he had discussed the theory of Horcruxes with Lord Nott before his other self had made the diary. The memories of it were clear in his mind in and among the useless drabble from the chit. But how much had he discussed with Lysander after the diary had been made?
That was a gamble, and Tom hated those.
There was a small likelihood that Voldemort had discussed his plans with Lysander if only to understand how stable the Horcruxes would be. Seven was a magical number, but Tom remembered his other self running the calculation as to the impact of creating seven distinct Horcruxes. At the time, the numbers had not looked good, but he had no way of knowing how that had changed.
It also did not fail to escape Tom that he was all but starting out from scratch. He had made it his business to know exactly what Voldemort had been involved in, the plans he had carried out and those that had followed him in the last 20 years and Tom was not overly impressed.
Voldemort's work was sloppy and haphazard. Other than the Malfoys, the Notts and the Rowles there was little influence in the Ministry or Hogwarts. Voldemort had accrued the forces of halfbreeds and non-human creatures for his war, and while that had some impact, the falling out was clear.
However, those who had followed Voldemort were those who were loyal and insane. And Tom was now beyond caring about blood purity. He wanted power. After all, Mudbloods had their uses and Blood Traitors were often from powerful families. The Prewetts and Dumbledore could attest to that.
And those followers were not going to be happy about the change in regime.
So, perhaps giving Nott the information he was so desperate for would begin a new path to victory. Brute force had its uses, but intelligence? That was the true way to win a war.
"A Horcrux," Tom said.
Lysander's eyes went wide. Nearly bugging out of his head. It was unattractive.
"A Horcrux," he whispered almost reverently. "My Lord, that is...astounding. We talked about it, of course, the theory was applicable, but I thought it wouldn't be possible to stabilise the exchange without a Philosopher's Stone."
Tom's interest piqued. The Weasley girl had said something about Voldemort going after the Philosopher's Stone in Potter's first year. Had that been why?
"The implications of this - you truly are the greatest mind, my Lord." Lysander started rambling on, talking about theorems, equations and more. Tom stopped listening because he had not found or created a Philosopher's Stone. So he had not stabilised the exchange.
Although he couldn't be sure, Tom strongly suspected that his other self had not only failed to stabilise the formula to separate souls evenly, but that the cost had been his sanity.
If that were the case, then he, as the first Horcrux, had the largest portion of Voldemort's soul. He was the most stable. He was the most powerful.
Fucking Circe! Voldemort had made Horcruxes without considering the effect on his mind and now - somewhere out there - there was a half lucid, wholly erratic psychopath who would very likely be unhappy to have the sentient part of his soul up and about with a will of its own.
"...my Lord?"
"What?" he snapped.
"I'm sorry. But you are not the original Voldemort, are you?" Lysander asked.
Tom's wand was in his hand and at the man's throat and Lysander's hand was raised in surrender just as quickly. "You dare question me?" Tom snarled.
"No, my Lord. I am impressed - even more so. You, not Voldemort, have managed to use the soul of another to raise yourself once more without an array or a circle or Runes."
Anger surged through Tom. Who was he to cast judgement on him? "Legilimens," he spoke. There was a moment of resistance that came with the defences drilled into children of that era, but Lysander's barriers were lowered almost immediately. There was no need for force, but Tom added a little extra push as he rummaged around.
It wasn't easy to lie under the spell, but there had been people known to hide the truth.
Lysander was telling the truth. There was more awe and intrigue than anything malicious, and fairly close to the surface was his concern for Tom and the stability of the process and a genuine interest in seeing how Tom would progress.
But what interested Tom the most were the thoughts linked to memory.
Lysander had seen Voldemort at various stages of his rise to power, but it was the months leading up to his defeat that Lysander was most invested in Tom seeing. Voldemort had a gleam in his eye that suggested an instability that was dangerous to his self-preservation. He was goading one of the Lestrange brothers, taunting him with something before throwing the Cruciatus at him.
There was power behind the spell, sheer raw power that came from Tom's magical core, but it was the taunting. Lysander despised the blatant display of power for the sake of entertainment. Magic was to be used in pursuit of furthering oneself and somehow, he wasn't sure how, but somehow Lord Voldemort was corrupting it.
Tom released Lysander from the spell. The man fell back, gasping for air, his face pinched at the pain resonating in his mind.
"You have contempt for me," Tom said.
"Not you, my Lord. I was aware of Voldemort's quest for immortality; it was what led me to serve him so faithfully. But -" Lysander cut himself off out of worry about his next words.
"Speak," Tom said.
Lysander nodded. "To search for immortality at the cost of one's sanity can be...hazardous at best. Forgive me, my Lord, but I believe there is nothing worse than blind ambition."
Lysander stood still, very much like an animal about to be slaughtered, as he waited for Tom to speak. It didn't take very long, but those thirty seconds were some of the tensest Lysander had experienced in some time.
"Tell me then, how do you deem me different?"
"Taking on a soul is different from separating it. You are, if I am correct, half of his soul?" Tom said nothing. "The magic, the intention alone to take that girl's soul...it is formidable. I wish only to provide my assistance in the hopes that I may learn something."
"And what if I give you nothing?" Tom asked, wand still pressed into the base of Lysander's neck.
"Studying and understanding the workings of Soul Magic has been my life's work. Merely observing a Horcrux is valuable knowledge, but I am also able to offer support if something goes wrong."
"Wrong?" Tom asked, ice in his tone.
"I believe that Voldemort created at least five Horcruxes. He didn't confide in me, but the fact that he became more unhinged over the years suggests that more than three were created. There is little research on a living Horcrux and even less on what would happen if the two of you were to interact. But my research has provided me with evidence to suggest that the energy of souls can be harvested and you have proved it, my Lord.
"If I were able to synthesise the right equation, you could, in theory, reclaim enough of your soul that you become the Prime, and Voldemort the Horcrux."
Tom looked at him. That certainly had its advantages. And he would need to deal with Voldemort anyway. He would resurface and Tom was sure Voldemort would try to kill him.
That was not acceptable.
"How?" Tom asked.
"It's untested. But a combination of runes, alchemy and quantum physics."
"Muggle science?" Tom all but scoffed but images of bombs and sirens and destruction came to mind. What was a wand to incendiary weapons such as those?
"Yes. Primitive and useless as Muggles are, unable to perform magic, their science has come a long way since 1943."
Tom kept his wand at Lysander's throat for another minute as he considered the possibilities. But even as he kept it there, he knew the man would have his uses. It would be stupid to kill him.
But it was equally as stupid to leave him unchecked.
"If you are anxious, my Lord, I am not opposed to an Unbreakable Vow."
Tom looked at him and finally released the wand from his neck. Yes, Lysander was almost too intelligent for his own good.
Somehow two months had passed and Lysander was proving himself to be useful to Tom. The man had managed to create a list of all the names of sympathisers or known Death Eaters who were in Azkaban, acquitted or dead.
It was a substantial list. Most of the names meant little to Tom, having come after being made into a Horcrux, but some were as familiar to him as the memories of his Common Room.
Some, like the Lestranges or the Blacks wouldn't be swayed; too much madness and exposure to dark magic. It was very likely that Tom would be required to dispose of them at some point or another. But some could be.
And better still, some he could draw in anew. That was exciting. Although he hadn't made a plan yet, Tom almost tingled at the feeling of seducing light or grey families to his side.
There was, however, the small problem of Halley Potter. He had almost killed the girl in the alley. It had been all he could do to target that anger towards the whore, because if Potter had been killed then at the very least, life would have become incredibly difficult for Tom to maneuverer the way he was planning to.
But at the time, and still two months later, he had half a mind to Crucio her.
She was another one that was too stupidly clever. He had seen her eyes, seen the confusion when he'd begun the Unbreakable Vow. For all her pretending in the Chamber - and who better to recognise the hidden panic under a cool gaze than Tom - she still knew so little about her birthright. She was so childishly naive about magic. Though it wasn't surprising considering who they had her living with.
Tom almost pitied her for all the ignorance she possessed because of the Muggles she lived with.
Still, she had an instinctual understanding of magic it seemed; how else would she have known how to latch onto the magic surrounding the Vow and tie him to her own? How else could she have overridden his own intent.
Though he had also underestimated her. He hadn't expected a child to react so instinctively to the magic as she had. It was why he'd thought to use the Vow in the first place.
He wasn't going to underestimate her again. Tom felt himself grip his wand in anticipation, but there was no whore to kill this time, only Lysander. It would do no good to allow himself to become overcome with anger. He was above that.
But it was harder to control now. That was going to be a problem. Tom gritted his teeth and made note of that for another day. He would need to begin working on his Occlumency once more.
Still. For all that Halley Potter could have sworn him to, this would work in his favour. After all, he was required by magic to teach her all he knew, wasn't he? And what was better than corrupting Dumbeldore's Chosen One?
There were even spells that he would need to teach her that required her to be under excruciating pain. He could punish her for her audacity, of course, but the magic he would teach her, the knowledge that he was moulding the one that had disposed of Voldemort in Tom's own image was enough to make him chuckle darkly.
"Care to share what you've found so amusing, my Lord?" Lysander asked. He was more familiar with Tom now. Two months of offering up one's home and themselves for service would do that. But Lysander still trod carefully.
Tom Riddle, no matter the version, was not a man to mess with.
"I was thinking about Miss Potter," was all he said.
Lysander sat back in his chair and looked at the young Horcrux in front of him. He was still in awe, still so dangerously curious about the being sitting in the chair opposite him. There was so much potential there, questions Lysander had been asking himself for decades.
What was in the soul? How could it be transferred? Who were you if you took on the soul of another?
And there was the potential to answer those questions right in front of him. Lysander was not fond of this opportunity ending prematurely because of a little girl who constantly brought on too much trouble.
"Have you decided on a course of action for her?" he asked.
Tom chuckled again. "I believe so. I'll be monitoring her," he said.
"Only monitor?" Lysander asked carefully.
"Dumbledore would be driven to act out if I were to take away his pawn," Tom said. Then he smiled. "What I find more fascinating is that she seems so unwilling to be made a pawn."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know many Slytherins willing to follow Dumbledore's regime, do you?"
Lysander refrained from stating that Severus Snape was indeed now tucked safely under Dumbledore's thumb as that was redundant. But her house placement didn't necessarily determine her loyalties. Swayed them thoroughly, yes; he remembered his own House and the things that happened in the halls that were sworn to secrecy, even against his cousins.
"But surely...surely she would have strong ties to Dumbledore."
"How much do you know about Halley Potter?" Tom asked.
"Little, I confess. Theodore has only spoken about her in passing."
"Where does she live?" Tom asked. "Who are her guardians? What was she doing before she arrived at Hogwarts two years ago? Why was she placed into Slytherin above Gryffindor, or even Ravenclaw? She has the capacity for intelligence if what happened in the Chamber was any indication."
Lysander began to answer only to realise he couldn't. With a start, he realised that he was able to answer those questions for any other Pureblood or Half-blood child from the Malfoys to the Greengrasses, the Davises, Rowles, Diggorys and even the Finnigans, Weasleys and Lovegoods.
To varying levels, of course.
It was beneath him to know the goings-on of Half-Bloods. But Halley Potter was an exception. And he knew almost nothing about her.
Tom watched Lysander closely. He noticed the moment it clicked into place and smiled an acerbic smile. "Nobody knows."
"Why not?"
"Dumbledore has been hiding her away with Muggles."
A sharp intake of breath came from Lysander. "Surely not."
Tom hummed. "It is clever. Hiding her in the Muggle world kept her from Death Eaters and Voldemort sympathisers. But it also should have kept her stupid. And Miss Potter is not stupid."
There was, indeed, logic to that argument, but Theo had told him that Halley Potter had known barely anything of the Wizarding World when she had come to Hogwarts.
She had, apparently, made allies with the Parkinson and Greengrass heirs, which suggested Potter had made herself knowledgeable in the matters of alliances and vassals, but to not have that knowledge passed down by family? That would have made her a lamb for the slaughter!
"Did Dumbledore engineer it so?" he asked himself.
Tom laughed. "Who's to say for sure. But I would not put it past the old goat. I suspect he knew Voldemort was not truly dead and he is the sacrificing type."
Lysander pulled his lips into a grimace of distaste. He was well aware of the skeletons Albus Dumbledore was hiding. Knowledge was power after all.
"That is unbefitting behaviour to the heir of House Potter," was all he said.
"Quite. However, I believe Miss Potter is something of an observer. She seems to bide her time, waiting for the opportune moment."
Much like a Slytherin.
It was left unsaid but it suggested far too much. Lysander wasn't sure what Tom's plan was, nor did he care all that much. But he was left with a gut feeling that Halley Potter was not going to play along nicely.
"In the meantime, I would like to talk to your grandson. Perhaps at dinner tonight?"
"What for, my Lord?" he asked. The agonizing torture Death Eaters experienced at Voldemort's hands flashed through his mind, and Lysander had to still himself with the sudden adrenaline that flooded his veins.
"I have a job for him while he is at Hogwarts."
Halley knew that they hated her. She wasn't sure if she hated them but there was something hot and angry in the pit of her stomach whenever she saw their faces.
But they let her out of the cupboard in the middle of August and things carried on as normal. The only difference was how on edge Halley felt. Riddle knew where she lived. What was there to stop him from making another appearance?
And, more than that, what had he made her do? That spell had bound them together somehow and all he'd told her was that if she broke her word, she would die.
Was that true? Or was it just a tactic to get her to follow instructions? She knew how powerful a motivator fear and survival were.
So she kept an eye and an ear out, but he didn't show up. Not once for the rest of the summer did she see him. Although that didn't mean that someone wasn't watching her, but somehow she was very sure that it wasn't Riddle.
The end of Summer was drawing near, and with it, Halley became more anxious. The Dursleys hadn't said anything, but she knew that there was always the threat of keeping her from going back to Hogwarts. It wouldn't make sense for them to do that but both of them were spiteful enough to keep her in Surrey just because she enjoyed the school.
And Marge was coming again this year.
If Halley screwed up, there would be hell to pay. Vernon had told her himself.
"If I see one hint of that nonsense, if you do anything else while my sister is here, we'll see how you get to that school, freak."
It was said low, just loud enough to be heard over the news. He didn't even look at her when he said it either, and somehow that struck unparalleled fear into her stomach. Halley nodded and she handed him his tea and scurried back to the kitchen.
In the background words of an escaped mass murderer could be heard before Vernon switched over the channel.
The warning was sound and she heeded it. She went about with the cooking, cleaning, gardening and whatever else they threw at her in silence. Yes sirs. No ma'ams.
Marge came and went without any fuss - well she fussed about everything Halley did and criticised anything she saw which left Halley prone to some bites from the dog - but there was no trouble from Halley. Not even when a letter from Hogwarts came.
Halley intercepted the owl before it could stop at the house and took it. The owl bit her, drawing blood, when she told it that she didn't have any treats, and then it flew away.
She tucked the letter safely under her ratty top into the second-hand vest Petunia had reluctantly brought her. Apparently her growing breasts didn't warrant a training bra just yet.
Halley didn't take it out until she was sure they had all gone to bed. The little light they had given her in the cupboard flickered unstably. It was probably going to give any day, but hopefully Halley would be gone by then. The letter contained the usual required reading list and she was pleased to note that they weren't by the same person. It seemed like the Lockhart fiasco wouldn't be repeated.
But there was something new in the letter as well. A permission slip.
Halley had forgotten that Third Year was the first year that students were allowed to go to Hogsmeade and she touched the paper fondly. The upperclassmen would always bring back something from the sweet shop or the prank shop.
Halley would sit quietly in the common room while they strategized what stores to go to, or how they were going to take one of the girls to Pudifoots.
She had wondered how many Wizarding towns there were and only been to Diagon Alley so far. If Hogsmeade was anything like Diagon, she would be in for a treat.
But she needed permission from a guardian and there was no way she would get it now, despite not having gotten into any more trouble for at least three weeks. But maybe she could just forge one of their signatures.
Halley took a pen from one of the old containers and laid the parchment flat against her thigh.
She signed Petunia's signature in the familiar overly floral cursive, smiling. But the ink seemed to sink into the parchment.
For a moment, Halley's heart leapt into her throat. It was exactly what had happened with Riddle's diary. Logic overcame her as soon as the writing came back red.
A school wouldn't do that, require the price of your soul, much less for a permission slip.
It must have been enchanted somehow. Maybe to recognise an adult, or maybe it was somehow linked to the Hogwarts registry?
No, that didn't make sense; they wouldn't be able to know if the signature was faked then. But either way, she didn't think she would be going to Hogsmeade unless the Dursleys decided to be kind or she snuck into the village.
Halley bit back the disappointment. There were more pressing things to think about like how she was going to get her textbooks this year.
And what Riddle wanted with her.
Honestly, it was probably safer for her to stay in the castle. Riddle could strike at any time, but it would be impossible to reach her in Hogwarts.
With nothing else to do, Halley turned the lightbulb off and lay down trying to keep herself warm. There was only a week left and then - she hoped - she would be back at Hogwarts.
