Chapter 23: Bridges they are burning
11th March 1994
Tom read Theodore's middling report on Potter. He was truly tired of reading about her failures, about how she was receding in on herself. As if one tiny prank was enough to set her spinning out of control. She had allies, but it wouldn't be enough to keep Dumbledore from questioning her.
She needed to be reminded of what was at stake, and their upcoming meeting would be the perfect time to do so.
He'd sent her a letter before the blistering disappointment that had been Lysander's trip. He'd not expected a response, but a response had come nonetheless. The morning after they'd returned.
Potter couldn't leave the castle.
Tom had set the letter alight with a burst of wandless magic in his fury. Was she an idiot? Had he miscalculated her intelligence that day? Or was she being willfully disobedient? It was hard to tell, and all the while, Tom imagined what it would be like to Crucio her.
Not enough to do any permanent damage - it would be a bad idea to do that right away - but enough that she remembered who she spoke to.
He wrote back telling her to prepare for their meeting in a week. He didn't elaborate on the fact that she should come alone, but maybe he should have.
She didn't respond to his letter, and Tom saw fit to see it as a sign that she understood. If she didn't, if she brought someone, well... he could have some fun. At the very least he would be able to unleash some of his frustration out on them.
That night, the anger faded. But it was replaced with...something else. The feeling sat like a stone in his gut, eerily familiar to the fear of the unknown. He'd not felt it since being in the diary, and before that it was at the blears of the sirens over England.
He hated it.
Clenching his teeth, Tom left his bed and his room. He didn't knock on Daugher's door and she wasn't asleep.
Like usual, she preened and simpered, taking the brutal fucking he gave her with a salivating mouth.
He was rougher than normal. He noticed bruises forming on her dark skin, and a bloody bite mark that slowly dribbled onto her satin bed sheets. The thrill of possessiveness sent shivers down his spine. He'd marked her, and he would keep doing so long after she realised that he wouldn't let her go.
When he was finished, he left. But after the post-high left him, that feeling returned in full force, and he was forced to ask himself why it was there. But nothing came to mind.
"Is something troubling you, my Lord?" Lysander asked.
Tom cut his eyes to the old man and then back to the wand lore textbook in his hand. He needed to control himself; if he was broadcasting this feeling so strongly that Lysander could pick up on it, then he was allowing himself too much room to think on it.
It was also possible that this was just another aspect he'd picked up from the Weasley girl's soul. She had whined and complained incessantly; her self-deprecating thoughts and overwhelming tendency to feed her pointless emotions was something that had helped him control her. But if that had been a part of the exchange...well.
He filed that thought away to deal with another time.
"The Potter girl's mental fortitude is deteriorating to the point that she's going to become dangerous to keep around," he told Lysander.
"Ah," was his response. "I see." Then he was quiet for a moment.
Tom knew the contemplative look on his face; it was always there. No matter the time or the place, Lysander would look at Tom with that questioning stare while he formulated his thoughts.
Under the circumstances, Tom tried to ignore it. But the cloying feeling of being dissected never left him. Lysander never truly cottoned on to what Tom was thinking or feeling, but sometimes the man said something that made Tom's skin itch with discomfort at how close he was.
But today, Tom didn't have the patience to withstand that feeling. "Spit it out!"
Lysander startled. Not a noticeable amount, but Tom was watching him closely. Good. He'd controlled the urge to torture Lysander after his failure, if only because he knew that was how Voldemort would act, and Tom was nothing like that carcass.
"It might be in your best interests to approach the situation with honey, my Lord."
"As opposed to what?" Tom asked.
"To a more...decisive action."
Tom tutted. "Do you think I haven't already considered that course of action? Potter hasn't trusted me since I took Weasley's soul." And that was incredibly inconvenient. It would make everything so much easier if she just took him at his word.
"No, my Lord. I was just…" Lysander didn't seem to have much to say, Tom returned to his book, effectively dismissing the man. He didn't care whether Lysander stayed in the room or not, but Tom was getting tired of having to listen to the man ramble on.
He had to admit, begrudgingly, that Lysander had a point. To some extent, Potter had trusted him while he was in the diary. Those tactics wouldn't work a second time, she would see them coming a mile away.
Potter saw him as the villain, alongside Voldemort and potentially Dumbledore - and he wouldn't pretend otherwise to placate her sensibilities - but maybe he could offer her something that they couldn't.
Wasn't she struggling with Dementors? He couldn't offer support there. Dementors went after souls, and he had more than one floating around in his body. He would become an instant target if he got near them, and he was enjoying not being a husk of a person again. But maybe he could offer her something else.
Everybody had their price, after all. And Potter was just a child. One who'd been lied to and mistreated all her life. And she was in Slytherin for a reason, despite her current behaviour. Whatever her ambitions, he would be able to exploit them to his favour, somehow.
She hadn't been sleeping properly. The last two nights had passed by in fits of restlessness or nightmare filled dreams of spiders and snakes, and red hair, and Riddle.
Both Greengrass and Parkinson had commented on her appearance and the fact that she constantly looked like she was going to fall asleep at the table in the Great Hall. But she refused to tell them about the note.
They couldn't know he was coming to Hogwarts. She couldn't tell them that he was going to be as close to them as Hogsmeade because then she would have to tell them that he knew there was a tunnel that went from the second-floor bathroom to the village if you spoke to a portrait nicely enough.
And then, she would probably die from the Vow.
Maybe he had something to do with Black after all.
She waited until she was sure that everyone was asleep before she got the cloak from the bottom of her bed. This was the first time she'd used it in a long time, and something about it made her feel guilty. Like she was using it for something it wasn't designed for.
She donned it, taking the map with her. And even though she knew it worked, knew the words that activated the map, she felt stupid holding onto a blank piece of paper so tightly.
Would there even be any point in taking it? Everyone would be in bed, wouldn't they?
But still.
Halley whispered the words under her breath, and it was like they breathed life into the map. Immediately, ink bloomed onto the page in a way that looked disturbingly similar to how blood pooled on the floor. But soon enough, the blooming ink receded, and she was left with the names of rooms and the occasional footprint trailed by a name of a person.
Halley stared for a moment, taking in her name at the entrance to the Third Year dorms in amazement.
At first glance, the map seemed incredibly accurate - potentially down to the number of steps it would take to get to her sleeping peers' beds. She would need to experiment with it, to see if it truly was as accurate as it seemed.
And this was something her father and his friends had come up with during their time at Hogwarts. Halley felt a modicum of respect towards him. This was an incredibly impressive piece of work. A mastery of Charms and maybe even Runes. She didn't know. But the dedication and time that must have gone into creating it was amazing.
And it was the first time she'd ever felt anything more than a mild curiosity, guilt, or resentfulness towards one of her parents.
But this wasn't the time to ogle over a map. Especially because it seemed like Rowle was in the Common Room. She wondered if he was sleeping, maybe he'd fallen asleep while working on his coursework, so she made sure the cloak was covering her properly and made her way to the Common Room.
Rowle's back was too her but as Halley walked around, she could see him from a clearer angle. There were bits of parchment everywhere; some had half-scribbled notes, and some meticulously crafted.
Books were spread across the table, and he seemed to be looking throughout all of them, cross-referencing or maybe just trying to take in as much information as possible. As he turned a page, Halley saw ink stains covering his fingertips and hands.
She'd never seen him so frantic.
In any other situation, Halley would have felt sorry for him. But Rowle was blocking her exit. There was no way she'd be able to get out of the Common Room door without him noticing. And he wasn't moving. There was only one thing to do.
Carefully, she moved behind him. Then, she raised her wand out from under the cloak and sent the stunning spell towards him. The bright red light shot forwards, and Rowle barely had a chance to turn around before it hit him right on his cheek.
Halley winced, knowing how much that would hurt the next day.
She didn't pause though; she rushed past his now slouched form and out of the door, keeping one eye on the map and one on where she was going. But Halley could walk this route in her sleep. The second-floor girl's toilets weren't anywhere anyone went anymore. Especially not since everyone had found out that's where Moaning Myrtle had died, and that was where Weasley was last seen before she'd died. Though, last she'd heard, Moaning Myrtle had been getting a lot of attention from the professors and curious students alike.
Halley was surprised they'd not just cordoned off the toilet. Someone had obviously believed the entrance to the Chamber was somewhere in the toilet, because she'd heard rumours that the staff had spent all of the summer holidays looking for it. But no-one had found it. And she was supposed to have forgotten it.
No, Halley wouldn't forget the path. But at least its notoriety would work in her favour.
That's what she had thought until she got outside and heard muffled voices.
Halley almost groaned when she heard that it was Granger and Moaning Myrtle again. She was brought back to the year before, when she'd stumbled on the same thing. Did the girl honestly still not have any friends? Was Granger really still doing this after a year? But despite the fact that there was a ticking clock above her head, Halley once again couldn't do anything but wait.
So, she waited, anxiously picking at the skin of lip until her tooth wore through and she tasted copper on her tongue. And still Granger was sitting there talking to Moaning Myrtle. But then, Granger mentioned something that made Halley stand to attention.
"– keep using the time turner, Myrtle. I feel so tired all the time."
"You could stop using it," Myrtle said.
Silence. Then Granger spoke again. "I need to show them that I'm just as good as them – better even. Despite being a Mudblood ."
What was Granger doing with a time turner? How had she even managed to get a hold of one? They were monitored to the highest degree because you didn't mess with time. Bad things happened to people who messed with time. Even the Muggles knew that.
But it made sense; Granger had quite literally been in two places at once throughout the year. How else could she be with Halley in Ancient Runes and Parkinson in Care of Magical Creatures? How else was she constantly not there when Halley looked, only to appear a moment later?
Why else would she always be doing homework at the table? It wasn't like Granger couldn't keep on top of everything. Unless she had double the workload.
Someone had given permission for Hermione Granger to be in possession of a time turner, and she'd been using it all year.
What the hell?
She didn't have time to process it anymore, because footsteps sounded through the hallway and all too soon, they were at the toilet door. Halley had to jump to the side to avoid bumping into Professor Sprout.
"Who's in there? Oh, Miss Granger, it's you," Professor Sprout said. Her voice became softer, and more understanding as she noticed who it was. "You shouldn't really be here, dear. It could be dangerous, and it's a bit past your curfew, isn't it, dear?"
Did Granger get special treatment from the teachers as well?
"I'm sorry Professor. I was just talking to Myrtle," Granger said, sounding as contrite as she should.
But not guilty .
Like she knew she could be doing this.
So not only did Granger get special privileges in the form of a time turner, but she could be out at all hours, and no-one batted an eyelash?!
"It's probably best you get to bed now. Stress and sleep deprivation can do awful things to a growing girl's mind."
Halley could have laughed at the irony, but she kept herself quiet. She was so close now. All that needed to happen was for Granger and Sprout to leave, and for her to sneak into the passageway. Riddle had been waiting for nearly forty-five minutes, and every minute more meant he was more likely to do something to her as punishment.
"Of course, Professor. Let me get my things."
"Let me." There was a pause that signified magic had been done, and Granger thanked Professor Sprout. Then, a moment later the two of them made their way out the door.
Halley barely squeezed through the gap as the door closed, but she got inside. Myrtle had retreated back into her toilet – thank god – and Halley began looking for the entrance to the passageway.
She didn't need to look too far. There was one portrait in the girl's toilets that were directly beside a long set of mirrors. The portrait didn't move, but it was of a young girl with chestnut brown hair, holding a serpent in her hand.
"Open," Halley hissed quietly. The serpent blinked, thrice, and then the portrait began to open slowly. Loudly.
"Who's out there!" Myrtle's nasally voice screeched.
Halley jumped inside and ordered the portrait to close. She just about saw Myrtle diving out of her toilet through the last sliver, and Halley breathed a sigh of relief.
She smelt damp before she saw anything else. That musky scent that made her feel like she was breathing in water was claustrophobic. She swallowed, trying to get the taste out of her mouth, but it was just replaced by the cloying smell. Halley wrapped the scarf at her neck across her nose but had to remove it again immediately. The thin material stopped her being able to breathe properly, and the hot air made her feel dirty and sweaty. The damp was better than the feeling of suffocation.
Halley took a steadying breath and got used to the way the watery cloying air filled up her lungs. She was already late. She didn't want to keep Riddle waiting any longer than she had to.
"Lumos." The passageway lit up in a circular circumference. Thick dust particles travelled through the air in a lazy glide; not caring that she was there tampering with their pathway.
Something silver caught her eye and Halley whipped her head in the direction. The light from her wand had reflected off a silvery sheen, that when she looked closer, became a spider's web.
Shivers wracked her body, and she took an automatic step back, only to brush up against something wispy and soft. Halley screamed and turned to see a spider scuttling away from the web her fingertips had broken.
Why hadn't she thought about the spiders?!
Her heart was racing frantically and there were too many thoughts and images spilling from her mind into her body. The pain and the fear were still there. She'd never gotten rid of it; she'd just pushed it deep down. Hoping.
But she was surrounded by them now. Halley could feel the phantom legs crawling up and down her arms and legs. In her hair. At the base of her neck. She shook everything, as if the shaking would dislodge the thoughts and phantom spiders from her mind.
All it did was make her dizzy.
Halley fell backwards against the stone wall that was the entrance to the passageway. The handle hit her spine, and a sharp pain made her gasp. The familiarity of the feeling nudged her out of anxiety and forced her to take a deep, steadying breath.
Breathe. In. Out. In. Out . The air is humid and it's pressing against your skin. The temperature is cold. You're shivering a little. You've breathed in and out eight times now. Your eyes are closed. It's dark. Your hand is clenched around your wand. You're safe.
The last thought was enough to let her release some tension, but she didn't truly believe it. She had her wand. The spiders weren't going to be lethal like the others – and if they were, she had her wand.
"You're late." Tom tried not to let anger fill his tone, but the girl flinched anyway. She had emerged from the passage that led from Hogwarts to the Hogsmeade shack he'd chosen wearing an invisibility cloak and was almost an hour late.
He could smell the scent of wet dog in the shack and had tried to start a fire to keep it away from him. At some point or another he'd noticed the dog that was making the foul smell, and was considering just ending it all, but then the girl came through the entrance.
"I'm sorry."
The girl was snivelling. She was bent in on herself, crouched low, voice demure and full of fear, and at his mercy. A shiver of delight washed over him, and Tom had to wonder if this was a gift for his patience. Regardless of whether she trusted him at the moment, Halley Potter was ripe to shape however he wanted her.
He ignored her apology in favour of conjuring a set of chairs for the two of them to sit on. The girl practically leapt backwards when they appeared, and she shook as he sat down. He watched her, cowering like prey, ready for the taking.
How stupid were people to believe that this little girl was what had brought Voldemort to his end? No. Something else had to have been at play. Tom added it to the list of things he would need to understand before he could make a move.
"Stop it," he ordered. Tom didn't have time to coax her out of an anxiety attack again, and her green eyes flashed towards him, and for a moment he was reminded of Billy when he'd found his dead rabbit. Recognition. Understanding. Clarity.
Something changed in the Potter girl. She stopped shaking and she stood up. Not straighter; her frame clearly screamed submission, and she kept her wand tightly in her hand by her side. But something else had clambered into her skin, and it reeked of resignation.
"You wanted me here," she said with a flat tone.
Tom hummed. "You've demonstrated an aggressive lack of control over your emotions, and sooner or later it's going to draw attention to you." And wouldn't that put a damper on his plans. "So, I am going to teach you a technique to control."
She looked caught between frustrated and curious. "Because of the Vow?"
"Because you're being careless," he snapped. "Do you think Albus Dumbledore is going to allow the Girl Who Lived to have a nervous breakdown?"
"He's watched it happen so far," she said. Was that bitterness in her voice? How funny.
Every time she told him how far Dumbledore was letting her fall into herself, Tom wanted to laugh. The man had always been so willing to push his nose into Tom's business, and now he refused to listen to Potter's cries for help.
Instead, he said: "There's a limit to what he'll ignore, Potter. And you cannot reach that limit lest you mess with my plans. So, if I have to teach you Occlumency, then so be it. Now, sit on the chair."
The girl's eyes flickered between him and the chair in front of her. He kept his eyes on her, and her wand when she raised it towards him. Tom remembered the feeling of her wand in his hand. The trill of ease. The naturalness. His wand was fine. But Tom did not do fine . At some point, he would need to get his own wand back. Another thing to add to the list.
Then the girl was moving.
She clenched her invisibility cloak tightly to her chest and slowly, carefully, inched her way towards the seat.
Tom waited until she was in her chair to probe at her thoughts. He didn't go far; he didn't need to. Her shields were abysmal. Potter was practically screaming her thoughts at him:
Halley had expected the seat to be cold and hard; they were just a simple pair of wooden ones. Plain and functional, and designed to keep the person sitting straight. But she was surprised by how comfortable and warm the seat was. It was a respite from the chilly March air that surrounded them, and she couldn't help but wonder why. Why make the chair comfortable?
Why was he being nice to her? Why was he going to teach her how to control her emotions? It couldn't just be for the reason's he'd given her. And what was Occlumency? And why was he staring at her so intensely?
Her mind went fuzzy, and she felt trapped. She had trapped herself in this shack with Tom Riddle and hadn't told anyone where she was or what she was doing. Stupid. So stupid!
The girl's thoughts were so loud. So ready to be manipulated. Oh – Lysander was right. He could have so much more fun drawing her to him with honey. "Calm down. It makes no sense for me to do anything to you right now," he said.
"How did you know that?" she asked.
"You scream your thoughts so loudly you may as well be speaking them out loud."
"What?"
Tom put on an air of boredom. There was no way he could act that wouldn't make her suspicious so, now, he would just need to choose one set of behaviours and stay consistent with them. Soon enough she'd become reliant on it. On him.
"What do you know about mind magic?"
She stayed quiet. Which meant she knew nothing. Of course she didn't; why give her such important information while she could still be trained to use it?
"There are two branches that are well-practised. One is Occlumency; the study of shielding the mind and the other is Legilimency, reading the mind.
"You can read my mind." Potter's voice hitched and tears welled in her eyes.
Tom sighed at how dramatic she was being. Yes, he could read her mind. Of course he was going to use that to his advantage. But did she have to have such a big reaction ? "The sooner you come to realise that you have very little power in this…exchange we have, the easier your life will be."
"I don't want you in my mind," she spat.
"Do you have something to hide?"
"No."
Lie.
She'd responded too quickly, and her mind filled with the little plans she and her allies had made. Cute. And it showed some resilience.
"I think we both know that's not true," he crooned. Tom watched her fight back a squirm and smiled to himself. "Regardless, anyone with any talent or practice in Legilimency would be able to read your mind with just a brush. That's why I'm going to teach you Occlumency."
"What has it got to do with controlling my emotions?" she asked.
Tom couldn't help himself. He laughed. Long and loud, and it reverberated through the shack and bounced off the walls. "Oh Halley, how do you control your emotions without controlling your mind?"
She was embarrassed. Her shoulder shrunk in on themselves again, and she broke eye contact, effectively cutting herself off from him.
Tom debated whether or not he should tell her about that little trick. Legilimency could only be used when someone had direct eye contact, after all. But why cut off his access to her? Still, he needed to warn her about Dumbledore. He couldn't allow her to give their meetings away. It would eradicate everything he'd put into action.
He sighed. "It can only be accessed through direct eye contact," he said.
Her head snapped up. "What?"
"Legilimency can only occur when direct eye contact is made. It's why I told you not to look Dumbledore in the eyes."
The girl stiffened and her eyes darted around, probably remembering all the encounters she'd had with the old goat. He understood the sinking feeling she probably had all too well; when Tom had found out that Dumbledore was a master Legilimens, it was one of the few times he'd felt true fear. But she didn't need to worry.
"He refuses to use it on students."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. If he had changed in any way, you wouldn't have been able to lie to him about the Chamber of Secrets."
"Couldn't he just be biding his time?" she asked, looking frantic.
Tom shook his head. "Even if he is, that's all the more reason to learn Occlumency and not meet his eyes. Do you think you can manage that?"
She nodded.
That night he gave her very clear instructions. She was to locate the book titled The Active Mastery of Mind Magics and begin reading it. If Dumbledore had removed the book – as Tom was sure he would – she was to tell Theodore Nott to ask his grandfather for it. And then she would read. She would read and understand and at their next meeting, he would test her. And in the interim, Halley Potter would focus on not having a breakdown. Because the more she gave in to her emotions, the more they would control her.
And if she had one…well…he'd learnt so many interesting things about her from his brief glimpse into her mind. She was useful to his plans, but he didn't want to make her indispensable. Nothing was.
AN: Hey all. Hope you enjoyed the read. I got some feedback from my betas that this chapter was quite a faster read than the ones they've done so far and I wanted to get your opinion on it. Do you think that I need to work on chapters being more engaging or the pacing, or anything like that? I recognise there's not a lot of Tom and Halley interactions at the moment but that will change as the fic goes on and she's not in Hogwarts as much.
Looking forwards to hearing from you, and I hope you have a good rest of your weekend.
