Teaching History (is Old News)
22 - Apologize
For two years, after graduation, Tom traveled to as many countries as he could. He spent most of his time in Albania, diving into the Dark Arts, pushing the limits of magic. He wrote notes on as many magical creatures he could study, he mastered and reworked many dark curses.
Every spell he learnt was something he could rub in Dumbledore's face when he returned for an interview. Too young? Too inexperienced to teach right out of Hogwarts? Tom would show him. He would show everyone who had ever wronged him that he is a superior being, better than everyone who ever doubted him…
But Tom always felt something missing. Incomplete.
For a long time, Tom thought that this feeling was his need to prove himself, to become the best applicant for the soon-to-be-opened DADA position. He thought this feeling was the need to fulfill his ambition as Dark Lord. After all, Tom didn't need attachments. Any personal attachments were weakness.
And yet, Tom wants Harry to be his equal.
And yet, Tom misses Harry.
All those Death eater meetings pretending he didn't want to curse every one of his followers, all those days cooped up with a dark arts text, all those days wanting to strangle the sycophants who only ever praised him to gain a higher social class, and Tom never recognized the emptiness within himself.
The lack.
:
[…Nagini,] Tom asks, because there is no one else to ask. Perhaps this is why other humans value 'confidantes.' Tom, being superior to everyone, has never needed one before. [What do snakes do to regain favour with each other? To… apologize?]
[…What?] Nagini lifts her head up from the corner of gloom. Apparently, she can still smell Harry's scent lingering in the floors. [Why would we apologize to one another? I would destroy any rival snakes who cross me.]
Tom pushes aside his lesson plans for next month. [Never mind, I forgot that you're a mere animal.]
Nagini hisses loudly. [A mere ANIMAL who treats Green Eyes better than YOU. If you wish to court him, then feed him well, and destroy all rivals.]
[I am NOT courting—Never mind. You wouldn't understand.]
A few seconds pass before Nagini says, [This… 'apologizing'… it will return Green Eyes to our nest?]
[Yes,] Tom says, though his inner Dumbledore says no.
[Give him an offering of dead flowers. Red like the colour of blood. That should be similar to offering him what you've hunted.]
Sometimes, Tom wants to move to another universe filled with other competent beings like himself. No Divination plaguing his equals, no annoying snakes who clearly don't understand his greatness. [For the last time, Harry is not a snake. He will NOT appreciate a dead rat or—]
[But humans give each other dead flowers all the time to show remorse, correct? I heard it in one of the 'romance' books Green Eyes gave me.]
Tom doesn't know whether to scowl or laugh. [You… read romance novels?]
[Yes. Green Eyes likes to read them to me so I can understand humans better. They make me more hungry.]
Many questions come to mind such as, how Nagini is able to read English in the first place. But, being Lord Voldemort's familiar, perhaps that should be expected.
[…Never mind, I don't want to know.]
There must be some effective way to gain someone's forgiveness! If computers worked in Hogwarts, Tom would browse through the internet (one of five of the only useful things muggles have invented). He can't imagine the humiliation and ridicule he might receive if he asked one of his co-workers… however…
Tom begins to smile. Perhaps to reach his ever-absurd Harry, he needs to use some absurd methods himself…
:
Crowds of students gather in front of the bulletin board in front of the great hall, whispering to each other about the strange new notice. Normally, professors post club times, choir tryouts, lists of useful texts for extracurricular hobbies like Wizard chess or cooking. Some students use the bulletin board to find study partners or organize weekend friendly game nights.
Today, however, a new notice reads: List the best ways to apologize to someone important. The person to write the best method will win 50 Galleons. AFTER the method has been successfully implemented.
"Whoa, that's good money! Could use more investments for our future endeavors," Fred or George remarks. "Put down do all your chores or something, that's what we do for mum!"
"Nah," George or Fred shakes his head, "we usually sweet-talk her. Put that down too!"
By lunchtime, Tom secretly collects the results and crosses off the obvious methods like 'just apologize clearly' (useless) or 'wait till they're not angry anymore' (he needs to see Harry again. Lord Voldemort doesn't wait.)
So far, bribery seems the best method—chocolate or flowers ([I told you,] Nagini gloats) being the most popular. Some students suggested serenading; the song selections provided are either modern trash sung by the Weird sisters or from muggle musicals that used to play on reruns in the orphanage. Tom scraps those immediately. After hearing Harry hum those very same songs while baking, Tom doubts his own singing could create the same soothing effect.
Bribery, it seems, may be the best method. But what to get for Harry Potter? What would he appreciate? Not money or new clothes…
"Man, that poor bastard who put that notice up this morning must be so desperate," Chang remarks, taking a big bite out of her apple.
"Or socially inept," Snape sneers, trying to cut up his meat. "Imagine the stupidity! Posting up potential vulnerabilities…"
"Any idea on who did it?" Hooch pipes in, handing McGonagall another fork. "Can't be a student, with that writing style."
"You never know. Might be a prank the Weasleys are setting up, or a dramatic exercise from the Theater Club," Chang says.
"We have a theater club?!"
"Yes, Rolanda. And we have a chess club and cooking club too! Not everything is about Quidditch!"
"Gasp," Hooch pretends to be wounded, "how dare the former Ravenclaw seeker say such a thing?"
"Still… I do find myself curious…" McGonagall surprisingly joins in. "They must a desperate or private person to seek help like this. How does one go through life without having to apologize at least once?"
"Speak for yourself," Snape sneers once more.
"Then," Tom smoothly interjects, "if you are so above it all, Severus, how would you create the perfect apology?"
Snape's face goes dark. "There is no such thing as a proper apology. No matter what, the wronged party will always hold some resentment towards you from it. All you can do is move on or devote yourself to undoing that wrong until fate sees fit."
Everyone at the table drops their cutlery in shock.
"Wow," Chang remarks, "that is dark as hell, what in the world happened to you?!"
Snape merely stands up and leaves.
"…Does anyone else think we should start teaching a mandatory social skills class to staff and students? Anyone?"
The whole table, but Tom, raises their hands.
:
Tom finds himself distracted by Snape's words for the rest of the day. Are apologies truly worthless? Will Harry never speak to him again? Always staring at Tom with an accusing look in his eye, never acknowledging him…
His quill snaps and the ink bottle besides him shatters, spilling all over his desk.
"Merlin, Professor, are you alright?!" Granger says.
Tom stares down at the ink, the stains that would be permanent if not for magic.
"Class is dismissed. You may use this free period however you wish, though I advise you use it for homework. I'm needed elsewhere…"
He has the perfect bribe to assemble.
His confused class stares after him as he storms out.
"…He's definitely the bloke who posted that note this morning," Ron Weasley tells the others.
"…Should we send anonymous letters with gift ideas for Professor Potter?"
"Oh yes. Put down dancing hamsters, more yarn, and baking supplies on the list. Oh, and owl treats."
:
First, Tom conjures the finest quality yarn he can, in every bright colour. Smooth and silky, nothing itchy or prone to fuzz like Harry's cheap materials. He bundles them up with ribbon and places them in a huge woven basket. Then Tom finds genuine origami paper, the kind that folds easily, and is soothing to touch. He picks random patterns from each stack of paper—polka dots, rainbow fans and more. Then, Tom goes hunting for warm blankets. The hammock Harry sleeps in always seems impractical and cold.
"What else…?" Tom murmurs, thinking of other hobbies Harry enjoys. Maybe a few sweets? He conjures up a few orders of chocolate frogs and treacle tarts as well. Also more of those obnoxious neon socks Harry is so fond of.
A few death-eater-ducks waddle about and attempt to chew on the gift. Tom wandlessly turns them temporarily to stone to prevent any accidents.
He's thinking of adding some owl treats when suddenly someone knocks on the door.
Tom ignores it. The 'do not disturb' sign should deter any visitors.
The ignorant person knocks again, louder.
Scowling, Tom opens the door, ready to berate any student or teacher come to see him at seven in the evening, when all words clog up in his throat.
There, standing in his doorway, is Harry.
All of Tom's speeches about equals, all the arguments he has in favour of the Death Eaters, every flattery he knows, seems to vanish under an invisibility cloak. All Tom can concentrate on is the heavy bags under Harry's eyes, as if some muggle punched him in both eyes, and the plain clothing he has on. Every Harry's hair seems messier than usual, more dull and drained. He looks like he's fading.
"Have you been sleeping at all?!" Tom blurts out.
Harry glares. "Yes," he lies. "I sleep great lately. Now, are we going to dueling club or not?"
Tom blinks at him. "…Dueling club…?"
"It's tonight, remember? I would have sent another sick note, but I didn't want to miss the first session. I am supposed to be running it with you."
Still processing the fact that he actually forgot one of his responsibilities, Tom doesn't move.
"Urgh," Harry sighs, a hand to his temple. "Listen, I get that you're angry at me, but now's not the time—"
"Angry at you?" Tom snaps out of his daze.
"Yes, angry—"
"You're the one who's angry at me! I've been waiting, giving you space, trying to think of ways to show remorse, and you think I'm angry?!"
Harry's frown falters. He looks lost, like the day he found out he had family other than the Dursleys. "I… Aren't you though?"
Tom's fingers curl up together. "Yes, I'm angry, but not at you!" At himself, at the situation, at how blind he's been. "I'm more frustrated than angry." Anger feels different. Anger is the desire to hurt and maim, to make others suffer. While Tom has felt inklings of those urges for Harry, it's nothing compared to the lack and the desire to be near him.
"I don't…" Harry steps back, "I don't understand… you should be angry at me. Why wouldn't you be angry with me? Every Tom Riddle is so so bloody angry all the time…"
"Well, I'm not like those Tom Riddles," he hisses. "I actually miss you—"
Harry's eyes look oddly intense. "You do?"
"No!" Tom denies, but it's too late. "I merely… tolerate you more than I do others."
"Oh. I see." Harry's expression abruptly closes off. "Then it's a good thing we're both taking care of the same club. Which we're running late for. Right now. You should get changed."
Mentally, Tom curses himself for losing track of all the apology plans in his head. He steps back in his office, hunting for better looking robes, when Harry gives a quiet gasp.
Tom turns around, and to his horror, Harry has found the unfinished, overflowing gift basket… and is reading the card. The card Tom hasn't figured out how to write yet, but merely says I'm sorry.
Don't touch that, Tom almost shouts, almost curses. But Harry's voice, softer than a dying whisper, makes Tom feel cold.
"Is this… for me?"
They stare at each other, like wobbly reflections in a pool, distorted by ripples. Tom wants to say something, reply, anything, but words might shatter the strange precipice they seem to be standing on. There is something deeper in the air, that Tom doesn't understand, doesn't want to embrace, but won't turn away either.
To say 'yes' would be to admit weakness, vulnerability, a disgusting mortal nature that Tom has wanted to throw away since he made his first horcrux. And yet, to say 'no' feels like leaving his lack a gaping wound forever…
Harry's gaze begins to falter, to stare off into the distance at other futures, other Toms. Harry knows the twisted and flawed faces of so many versions of Tom, yet he's always smiled at this Tom, always reached out to him.
"Yes," the words come out, like an overflowing dam. "It's not done yet, but yes."
"Oh…" Harry says quietly, and Tom sees the Harry he grew up with, the Harry he works with now, as the same person. "I… I didn't think you'd ever… Wow. Thank you."
Tom refuses to admit how his throat clogs up. "Do you forgive me?"
Harry's fingers tighten against the basket. "I need… time. Lots of time. I don't know if I can trust you. But… I want to."
"But you're supposed to forgive me now. I gave you a gift!"
"Do you even understand why you're apologizing for?"
When Tom doesn't answer, Harry only nods.
"That's why I need time. And so do you. Think about it some more, Riddle. I'll see you at dueling club."
Tom resists the urge to pull Harry back towards him.
EDITED CHAPTER - Nov 15, 2019