The next morning, Tom awoke earlier than normal, deciding to begin the day before the rest of the student body.
By 5:45 in the morning, he cautiously approached the common room, seeing it was still empty. He made his way out the exit, checking to make sure he was alone. He purposefully avoided main hallways as he made his way upstairs. The people in the portraits were sleeping, and he consciously walked as quietly as he could to not wake them. It would be the stupidest thing to be outed by a painting for not following curfew hours.
He passed through an outdoor corridor, feeling the freezing winter breeze numbing his ears as he walked against it. Everything was quiet, and the stars gleamed above him in the pitch-black sky.
He opened a door to another corridor, leading to the main staircases. It was unavoidable for where he was going.
He quietly made his way past the portraits of the Hogwarts founders, and they remained ignorant of his presence in their sleep.
Tom entered the left corridor of the castle, climbing from the fifth floor to the seventh, and made his way down the hall. He paced a few times in a certain spot, and a door appeared. It was the Room of Requirement, which served as a personal hideout of sorts since he discovered it in his third year.
He entered, making his way past a bishop and knight from a wizard's chess set as well as the shelved books and miscellaneous magical items. He reached a desk on the opposite side of the room near a record player and fireplace, setting down his bag of books and class material. He went to the shelf behind him, pulling the books he had hidden for himself in case he was discovered.
He looked over the covers, almost as if he needed to decide what he would research today. One book discussed old practices of magic that were no longer considered accepted for their dark qualities. The next discussed extending life through magic, through the making of Horcruxes. Tom had Professor Slughorn to thank for that information. Lastly, Tom had a few books about Slytherin house history.
He opened a folder of his, paging through the parchment of a prefect application. His research on previous Slytherin prefects helped shaped the personality he needed to acquire that position. The person many students see is not entirely real. He arrived with the goal of not being the outcast he was at the orphanage, yet was weary and preferred to distance himself from people. But Eleonora and Isidore intrigued him, sensing their power, seeing their intelligence, and the fact that they were powerful purebloods. Tom didn't mind being charming, because what's pleasant about actively putting people off? Although, the older he got, the more of a pain he found it to be likeable. This was simply due to something he couldn't control; his looks. The females of Slytherin would annoy him to no end, competing for his and/or Isidore's attention by boasting about their pureblood families or abilities.
Honestly, he didn't hear half of what they said anymore. This was a phony that even he couldn't take, despite the person he portrays himself to be to them. He mostly made up a polite excuse of why he couldn't study with them, claiming a professor needed his assistance of he had already promised someone else his time in the evening.
All the same, they helped Tom like Eleonora more than he realized. She was humble, her power remained a mystery to the other students. She never boasted about her lineage, and nobody knew it. She was highly intelligent, but never boasted the way many girls liked to. She had nothing to prove, and it only made him more curious about her.
Tom began to look over his application once again, particularly in the professor recommendation section. A signature was required from each professor he had as a fourth year.
He gritted his teeth with a frustrated grunt when he saw the Transfiguration space blank. It required Professor Dumbledore's signature, the one professor he could not fool, which made him dangerous.
Tom thought for a moment, then paged through the list of Slytherin prefects in the book. His eyes scanned over names from the past two hundred years as they fit on the two pages in front of him, and he counted six Lestranges in the last 100 years. Even two Gaunts were listed.
Tom leaned back in the chair for a moment, then rummaged through his bag, pulling out his diary. It was an old one he had from the orphanage, containing thoughts of his life from a year before he came to Hogwarts until present day. He found only three pages remained in his one, deciding to buy a new one soon.
He pulled out a quill, beginning his newest entry.
February 15, 1940
Last night, Isidore finally revealed his past to us. I knew something troubled him, but never realized just how much the problems with his family escalated. His mother, Theodora Gaunt, is currently serving a life sentence in Azkaban for using the Cruciatus curse against her ex-husband.
Theodora Gaunt attended Hogwarts until she was 18, as most students, then married and had Isidore immediately. He said the marriage to Cornelius Lestrange was very ambiguous, in the sense that it happened quickly and nobody knows why. Although, Isidore did mention that she was taken from him at such a young age, he hadn't learned the family dynamics yet. Isidore mentioned that the Gaunt bloodline is direct lineage to Salazar Slytherin, which explains how his mother was a parselmouth despite being in Hufflepuff.
Of course, Professor Dumbledore has failed to mention that my lineage as a Gaunt leads to Slytherin, and explains my ability to converse with snakes.
However, his mother did sometimes mention her memories of Hogwarts. He mentioned the names Serafina, Evander, as well as Isaac. Isidore was surprised to hear that my mother's name is Merope Gaunt, and he said that she was Theodora's cousin. So, that does make us related, although somewhat distantly. Admittedly, I felt happy, but reluctant to get excited. It's not wise to get my hopes up. I'm conditioned to be mistrusting for a reason.
Isidore explained how powerful the Lestrange family is to me. Cornelius Lestrange is the son of Lucien Lestrange, a powerful man who had a high position in the Ministry of Magic before he died. The Lestrange family always had power and wealth, but Isidore explained that Lucien increased the family's riches tenfold. Lucien was a gifted potioneer, as he invented a potion that made him the king of the magical black market. Apparently, this potion was a concoction that drove people to immediate suicide, and was heavily popular for assassination in other aristocratic wizarding families. He doesn't know the name of the potion, but said it's best that it's forgotten.
Rumor has it that Lucien Lestrange was killed by Cornelius, probably to inherit his father's power and wealth. Apparently, Theodora saw the way Lucien treated his four children, and Cornelius had struggled the most with magic but had the most ambition. Theodora had mentioned that Cornelius had a half-brother, who was the eldest of the Lestrange siblings and far superior to all of them. This man was gifted, surpassing Lucien Lestrange in his magical ability as a mere sixteen year old, and had the intellect of a genius. Theodora saw this Lestrange in particular very mistreated, as his siblings found it troubling that a half-blood illegitimate Lestrange had most of the power of the next generation. Furthermore, Lucien was angered about this, as he hated non-purebloods and only had himself to blame for not being faithful to his wife.
Cornelius had apparently confronted his powerful brother, losing to him in a battle. Even though he was the victor, he apparently got driven away, though Isidore disclosed that his mother never said why. Although she told him years ago what happened, he remembered distinctly that she seemed to be hiding something at this point of the story.
And that was all he knew.
Tom looked at his watch, then slammed the books in front of him shut in a hurry. He had lost track of time, and breakfast was about to start. If he was seen by other students leaving this part of the castle, his cover would be blown. He hoped that the portraits would be waking up at sunrise, and he was thankful it was winter which guaranteed him an extra ten minutes with its later sunrise.
Tom hurried out of the room, realizing he was already late and needed a good excuse. He scurried past the portraits as they slept, then made his way to the Transfiguration classroom, knocking on the door.
"Come in," he heard, then opened the door exchanging a blank stare of mutual trepidation with Professor Dumbledore.
"Riddle, what brings you here at this hour?" Professor Dumbledore asked, setting down the blackboard chalk. Tom approached him, taking out his prefect application papers.
"Good morning, sir. I wanted to see you before classes about my prefect application. I was able to see all of my other professors last night, but didn't find you here in the evening. I believe with my grade in your class, I am eligible to apply," Tom said in his usual polite voice. Dumbledore eyed him suspiciously, then said, "I'm glad to hear you've taken a liking to this school and your house, Tom. I'm glad I found someone in you who cares so much."
Tom gave him a strained smile, though internally seethed. He hated being reminded by Dumbledore that he found Tom. Every ounce of his being knew it was Dumbledore's attempt to keep him in check, as if Tom owed him.
"Thank you, sir. I'm glad we agree on that," Tom said politely, handing Dumbledore the paperwork. Dumbledore took them, eyeing Tom for a moment, then walked to his desk and signed the papers.
"There you are, Tom. Please return these to Professor Slughorn this evening," Dumbledore told Tom.
"Of course, professor. Thank you. Have a good day," Tom said with a polite nod of his head, then he turned and left the classroom. He headed to the Great Hall, realizing he was starving after his long morning of research.
"There he is!" Eva said from the breakfast table. Tom slid next to her, and Eleonora asked, "where were you?"
"I left early to get my prefect application papers signed," he said, holding them up, then he began eating.
"Eleonora, have you finished yours?" Elaine asked, and Eleonora nodded.
"I turned them in before Quidditch practice yesterday," she told everyone.
"I'm sure you'll both be selected, but when do you find out?" Isidore asked.
"One week. They move it along fairly fast to train us before the summer vacation," Tom said.
"It seems early. With weather this awful, summer seems so far away," William said, motioning to the frosted windows behind them.
"Oh, Tom. While you were gone, Eleonora begged for me to fill them in on the fact that you're my second cousin," Isidore said bluntly.
"I couldn't believe it!" she said excitedly. Eva bounced a little in her seat, saying, "this is great! You both found a family member! Do you know how happy I am about this?"
"Yeah, it's pretty great. I was relieved that I found a family member who isn't deranged," Isidore said, and Tom nodded saying, "yeah, me too. And through my mother's side."
"So Salazar Slytherin is both your ancestor?" Eva asked quietly, and the boys nodded.
"Apparently, if everything my mom told me is true," Isidore said.
"Are you a parselmouth, Isidore?" William asked just as quietly as Eva, and he shrugged.
"Not sure. I haven't seen a snake since I lived with my mom, so I can't remember," Isidore said with a shrug.
"Well, we have time to figure that out," Eva said, and everyone nodded in agreement. They looked around, seeing students beginning to exit the Great Hall for their morning classes.
"Tom, hurry," Eva said as he scarfed down his piece of toast. The two of them had their History of Magic lecture together on Thursday mornings.
"We have to go, the classroom's a bit far," Eleonora said, then she walked with Isidore and William to their Defense Against the Dark Arts lecture.
"Bye guys," Elaine said, opening her book to read on the way to her Charms class.
"Sorry, Eva. Thanks for waiting," Tom said after swallowing the toast while they hurried out the doors.
"It's okay, you had a busy morning. It's a seven minute walk, and we've got five. We can make it," she cried, and they began hurrying to the third floor classrooms.
Meanwhile...
"Mr. Lestrange, please follow me," an Azkaban guard said to the visitor. After discarding his wand and being pat-down, he was cleared to enter the dreadfully notorious prison.
He adjusted the maroon tie he wore with his suit, flashing the guard a smile to hide his nerves. Even though he towered over the guard at 6' 3" and had the looks like he stepped out of a catalogue for suit models, he was terrified of Azkaban and the guard's empty eyes that stared into his. As usual, he hid his emotions splendidly, as this was a perfected talent of his since his days as a Slytherin prefect.
The guard walked him into the prison, taking him to the sixteenth floor through a back elevator. He carefully followed the guard past the dark cells, seeing a flickering light dimly blinking above the inmate to his right. His eyes narrowed, and he held back a gasp once he saw how malnourished the man looked as he lay in an uncomfortable position against the bars.
"He's alive, Mr. Lestrange. Relay to the ministry we keep our inmates alive," the guard began, and he snapped his head back to meet his steely cold eyes.
"A dementor recently passed by and paid him a visit, that's all. It takes a few hours for them to recover," the guard said simply. The nonchalant attitude of the guard describing a dementor visit as a casual encounter was disgusting.
A chill crept down his spine, and his stomach knotted as he heard a prisoner scream with what sounded like a dementor sucking its soul out from around the hall. He decided he would collect the information the Department of Mysteries wanted as fast as he could, then leave and never be assigned to Azkaban for an assignment again.
"You're from Ireland, then?" the guard asked, refocusing the man back to the present.
"Yes sir. Slane, Ireland," he answered, and the guard nodded curtly.
"I've been. Slane Castle is a marvel of its own," the guard said, putting his hands in his pockets as he looked up thoughtfully.
"So, you need to interview an inmate, correct?" The guard then asked.
"Yes sir. The Department of Mysteries requested that I work with a non-combative inmate."
"Not a problem. The sixteenth floor inmates are generally calmer than the rest. Most of 'em are here for white-collar crimes and aren't very combative, although they aren't perfect—" the guard said, then they heard a commotion from around the corner. It sounded like screaming accompanied with crashes against the bars.
"Although, I think a fight broke out; cell 95 is the one I was going to take you to. Please conduct your meeting without me until I return," the guard told him, motioning to the cell next to them before he took off running. Being alone was terrifying, and the image of the miserable inmates lying in random places within their various cells made it worse. He gulped, then turned to see the woman sitting in cell 95. She sat on the floor, her legs outstretched as she leaned against the wall, staring out the small window. Her prison garments loosely hung from her thin shoulders, and her black hair was hanging down in unkempt waves. Once he got close enough, he could hear her voice as she hummed a song, her ethereal voice quite familiar.
He walked closer, her voice climbing higher as it lured him closer. The sounds of the prison drowned out, and all he could hear was her as he tried to place her voice.
He carefully approached the bars of her cell, saying, "Excuse me, inmate 1695? I have a few questions for you. I'm from the Department of Mysteries of the Magical Congress of the United States of America."
She went silent, lifting her head slightly from where it rested agains the cold stone wall. She vaguely found his voice and Irish accent familiar, and lazily turned her head to face him. They both then froze once they made eye contact. Her ice blue eyes went wide, and she bolted up, running to the bars to meet him. It had been 12 long years since she had seen him, and he hadn't changed a bit aside from looking a little older, as he was in his early thirties rather than a recent Hogwarts graduate.
She grasped the bars, taking in every inch of the person she saw before her. He was still much taller than her 5' 8" frame, with his hair the same shade of (almost black) brown that glistened with red undertones in the dull light. His skin was fair, and his eyes a beautiful light brown with hints of green that added to the extremely handsome face he had.
Completely shocked, he dropped his files and briefcase, clasping his hands around hers that were clutched around the bars.
"Theodora?!" He exclaimed in disbelief. She nodded, reaching a shackled hand to rest at his defined jawline. He looked so sad in that moment, almost hurt to find her in prison. Understandably so. Anyone would be distraught to find the person they've been in love with since they were 15 incarcerated in Azkaban.
"Wait a minute, I must be imagining things again. I hallucinate after dementors come for me sometimes," she mumbled, putting her hands to her face.
"Thea, it's me. I promise, I'm real. Tell me what's wrong, how did you get here?" he begged, gently grabbing her hands.
"No, you're not real," she said, laughing sadly. He leaned forward, prepared to say something as he frowned, feeling his heart breaking.
"I mean, I've hallucinated you showing up before. Normally you're still 17 or something, wearing your Slytherin robes. Sometimes Quidditch ones too," she said in a daze, and he shook his head.
"Nevertheless, I guess my brain was able to figure out how you'd look as a 32 year-old. You're so handsome," she giggled, and he gripped her hands tighter.
"Thea, can't you feel my hands? I'm real," he insisted. She stared at him for a moment, then he pinched her arm.
"Ouch!"
"It's what I used to do to you when you'd fall asleep studying, doesn't it bring back memories?!" he cried, then her eyes began to focus on him as she thought. He patiently waited, her eyes darting between both of his as if she needed to make sure he wouldn't disappear with a blink. She finally gasped, her eyes filling with tears as he nodded.
"Thea, what happened? How did you get here?" he pleaded.
"How I got here?" she asked with a small giggle to hold back tears. She looked back, now with heart breaking with how disheartened his eyes looked in that moment. It made her angry, as she felt protective of him, then her face twisted into a disgusted snarl.
"I'll tell you, if you so wish, Evander Lestrange. I'm here because of your stupid half-brother."
A/N: *nervous laughter*
Thank you for reading!
