"I caused the destruction of Troy, the worst of tragedies and numerous maladies, yet I am chaste, desired, and ever fought for. What am I?"
Her mouth moved without her consent. The riddle simply was.
Harriet was frozen. Tommie was placid, unconcerned (except that she was simultaneously anything but).
"Love. The answer is… love." Harriet seemed caught in the same trance, her incredulity unmistakable as she spoke.
"Love," she tried. It felt right, like a long-lost puzzle piece correctly placed, like fangs buried in the throats of wriggling prey.
She… loved her. The shattering, remaking she felt. This uncharacteristic desire for someone else's happiness. Unfamiliar, yet right.
"Love," she repeated, tasting it with wonder. And something within her collapsed.
She unraveled in a burst of magic and pain, a shock wave sending Harriet to her knees. Her paws were melting, her fur was retreating, her bones were shifting and cracking in horrific patterns. The amount of magic required to maintain such a spell left the room in complete disarray.
Tommie screamed. (Really, what else could she do?)
The transformation took mere seconds—or was it hours, days, a thrice-damned eternity?—and then everything fell still. She lay facedown where she'd fallen, panting. Her body felt wrong—naked—flat—weak. Cloth rubbed against her skin as she moved, and she began to blearily examine herself for the first time to see what it was.
Despite feeling otherwise, she wasn't naked at all. She wore the same clothing that she'd been transformed in: heavy trousers, hiking boots, cotton shirt. Her wand was still in its holster. Even her bottle of water was here. How… considerate, she supposed. She took a tentative sip, then let the open bottle slosh away. The water was absolutely foul.
"Um," Harriet said, seemingly recovered from her fall, her hair still standing on end. "So, um, that's it, then."
"Indeed," Tommie agreed. She tried to stretch but stopped when her claws didn't extend.
She had no claws. She knew this. But— Her hands were pallid against the brown of the carpet. She simply stared at them, resisting the urge to knead in frustration.
She rose to all fours, turned about. Her limbs felt oddly proportioned, her hind legs much longer than her forelegs. She flicked her tail. She had no tail to flick. She knew this, too.
"Are you okay?"
"I think I need help," Tommie muttered. She endeavored to stand properly and nearly landed in a tangled heap. Harriet put out a hand, steadying her.
Standing on two feet felt like the tenuous task of rearing up without a tail for balance. … She'd never thought she'd miss hers.
"Why don't you sit down?" Harriet suggested. Tommie nodded a little shakily, and Harriet supported her across the room to the bed. Tommie perched on the edge.
"I'm, er, going to go out and end and party," Harriet said uncomfortably.
"You don't have to do that on my account," Tommie protested, her tongue moving strangely in her mouth. Her fangs had dulled and shrunken, had become hardly significant amid a row of squarer, flatter teeth.
"I came back here because I couldn't take anymore," Harriet replied harshly. "It has very little to do with you."
She wasn't being wholly truthful (an old skill, quietly reemerging), but it still stung. Tommie tried to sense Harriet's true feelings and found… nothing.
In fact, there were no emotions to sense… anywhere. They had been… snuffed out… Was she entirely alone, and Harriet just an illusion of her fevered brain?
"Wait! Don't go!" she choked, beginning to panic.
Harriet came back reluctantly, her face pinched in something that resembled concern. "I'm not going far," she sighed.
"I don't sense… what I did… before." No scents, no emotions. The world had lost its vibrancy, and Harriet—if she were here at all—was just Harriet.
"Oh." Harriet did come back then, resting a hand on her shoulder. "I'm… sorry."
When she made to remove her hand, Tommie put hers atop it, keeping it in place. Harriet fidgeted from foot to foot, not meeting her eyes, her cheeks tinged a faint pink. "Thank you," Tommie tried. It was hardly enough, hardly scratching the surface of the muddle she was in.
"Yeah." Harriet extricated her hand and hurried from the room.
Tommie watched the place where she'd disappeared for a moment, then shook her head in a vain effort to clear it. She would be back, she said. She still existed. She was no illusion.
She let her wand fall into her hand for the first time, felt the warmth of it chase through her fingers, up her arm, blossom in her chest.
The room was a mess. She could fix that. She swished her wand once, then twice. Scattered papers and torn books returned to their homes. The owl cage—blessedly empty for the moment—righted itself. The general air of chaos faded.
Much better.
She was euphoric. She was free. She was floating on a cloud of… bone-deep exhaustion. It came on suddenly and inexorably. She fell back onto Harriet's bed and knew no more.
#
The front room was uncomfortably quiet as Harriet emerged. Everyone stared, some out of curiosity, some anxiety. Hermione was the first to speak.
"Is everything all right? We thought we heard a scream."
Shit, the Silencing Charm must have broken. Harriet found Ginny passed out, her head in Bulstrode's lap, her feet in Zabini's. Neither seemed put out by this arrangement. Her heart sank with guilt.
"Everything's fine," she said awkwardly. "But I think all of you should go." Damn, that sounded rude. It hadn't in her head.
Hermione eyed her knowingly. "I agree," she said. (Harriet gave her what she hoped was a grateful look but could just as easily have been a grimace.) "Long day, you know. Take any leftover food and drinks you want."
"Hey, now you're talking," Fred said weakly.
"I'm sorry," Harriet tried, too late to count.
Luna smiled at her contentedly. "Love is beautiful," she sing-songed. She was definitely drunk.
"Love is messy," Harriet automatically corrected.
"That, too." Luna nodded decisively.
They all streamed out the door, Ron and George supporting Ginny between them. Remus lingered worriedly. "There's someone else here, isn't there?"
"Yes, but you probably knew that when you arrived."
"Not really." (Oh, good. Her plan had succeeded.) He sighed, shaking his head ruefully. "Can never be certain of scents when magic is involved. Something changed, though. That was clear enough."
Harriet hugged him, desperate for comfort that she didn't deserve. He returned her embrace, patting her back firmly.
When everyone had mercifully departed, Hermione gave Harriet a critical once-over.
"Did you drink anything?" Harriet muttered, a little annoyed at her scrutiny.
"Some. Obviously less than Ginny. That's not important. What the hell did you say to her? What happened back there? We all heard the scream."
"Curses break loudly," Harriet replied, burying her face in her hands. "I need to go and—" She hurried away from Hermione's cloying concern.
The room had been set to rights. Crookshanks was curled up on her bed, resting contentedly against Tommie's side. Tommie, meanwhile, was sound asleep, still wearing shoes, her wand clutched in her hand.
She looked so… peaceful. And small. And kind of sweet. And also beautiful with her dark hair spilling across the pillow. Harriet just… stared, utterly captivated.
Tommie had killed without remorse and… and the damn curse had broken because she… loved Harriet… What in the fuck? Her heart leapt. She felt sick and exhilarated in turns. She couldn't do this right now.
(Except, that, Merlin! Tommie loved her, and she wanted to dance… Hell no!)
Harriet quickly unlaced Tommie's boots, then gently pried her fingers from her wand—in case she rolled on it whilst she slept—and set it on the nightstand. As she held it, she noted a warmth not dissimilar to what she felt with her own and nothing like what she'd once felt when she'd held Hermione's on a whim.
Oh, glorious distraction!
Harriet hurried over to an undisturbed stack of old books and rummaged through them until she withdrew a thin, dusty tome on wand lore. She hadn't read it in years, not since she'd skimmed it after buying her wand. There'd only been one section that interested her, and she flipped to it, remembering her visit to Ollivander's as she went.
"Curious," he'd said, wrapping the holly-and-phoenix wand in a box and brown paper.
"What's curious?"
"The phoenix who gave the feather for your wand gave one other… just the one. But the owner of that wand has not been heard from in many years. Perhaps, we can expect great things from you, Miss Potter, where she never delivered."
"But who—"was she began.
"Never you mind." And he'd dismissed her brusquely, as if the exchange had never occurred. So off to Flourish and Blots she'd gone to find out anything she could. This book was the most affordable they'd had in stock.
Brother wands meant little, it claimed. Duels between them were nigh impossible, but that didn't mean their wielders shared anything of note. Harriet closed it, unsatisfied. She was probably wrong about Tommie's wand, anyway.
Harriet lay down cautiously beside Tommie, trying to jostle the mattress as little as possible. The bed was big enough for the two of them, and she didn't have the heart to make Tommie move elsewhere, not like the other time she'd found her asleep in her bed.
#
She did not dream. No, that wasn't quite right. She dreamed, perhaps, of sensation alone. Complete, new, whole. Pleasant, yet strange for all that.
When she woke, the sensation was gone. She was on her back—not a position she was used to. Her eyelids were heavy. Her stomach growled belligerently. Her mouth felt sticky and tasted foul. She cleared her throat fruitlessly.
"Good morning," a needlessly chipper voice said. "Sleep well?"
Tommie wrenched her eyes open to find Harriet standing beside the bed, fully-dressed but less put-together than she sounded. Her hair was sticking up in all directions and there were bags under her eyes as if she hadn't slept half as deeply as Tommie had.
"I suppose." Her voice was hoarse. "I could use some water, I think. Fresh water, not bottled, if you please."
"Come on, then. You should start walking around as soon as possible, else I'd get it for you."
She was probably right, but Tommie couldn't help a flash of resentment. She rolled off the bed, landing awkwardly on her feet and steadying herself with a startled grasp at Harriet's nightstand. Little improvement since last night, then.
She spotted her wand near her hand and quickly picked it up, the familiar rightness of it spreading through her fingers. "You fell asleep holding it," Harriet told her. "Thought it would be better off there."
"Thank you," Tommie replied. She pushed away from the nightstand and took a tentative step toward Harriet. Then a second. Then a couple strides. Harriet smiled encouragingly; Tommie had never felt more humiliated.
It was a very long walk.
Hermione sat drinking tea and reading at the kitchen table. She raised her head as they entered, unsurprised. Crookshanks was batting around a bundle of feathers, which he abandoned to rub against Tommie's leg.
"Well, well," Hermione murmured. "This is quite the change since yesterday."
"You don't say." Harriet pulled out a chair for Tommie and darted off to fill a glass. Tommie obligingly sat, pushing Crookshanks gently away, wishing she could have comfortably remained standing. How long would this discomfort last?
The water was soothing. The porridge from a pot warming on the stove brought back memories of breakfasts she'd shared with associates—dead now, some of them—that she hadn't thought of in decades. Harriet quietly ate her own porridge. Hermione studied Tommie with an expression she could interpret only as rabid curiosity.
"So, how did the curse break?" Hermione finally asked, jittery in anticipation.
"She said a riddle. I answered it." Harriet swayed slightly from side to side, one of her feet bouncing.
"That's it? But how did you know the riddle?" Hermione asked, turning to Tommie.
"I just… did. It simply came to me when I felt… the requisite emotion." Was it merely an emotion, though? She tried again. "When I understood." Better, if even more vague.
"Fascinating. And what's it like being human again?" Hermione demanded.
"Odd." Harriet still seemed removed from the conversation. Tommie wished she would contribute again. The interrogation was too close, and she had no desire to push Harriet further away by offending her Mudblood friend with some snappish retort.
"Are you experiencing any dysphoria?" Hermione asked. "Animagi have reported that sort of thing after being in their second forms too long."
"A bit." Tommie considered. "Less now, I believe. Last night was unpleasant."
"I'm sure it will pass in time," Hermione said reassuringly.
"I hope so."
Harriet seemed to come back to herself as the conversation petered out. "Um," she began, "you don't look like you've aged a day."
"Oh?" She needed to see for herself how she now appeared. The state of her clothing and belongings suggested Harriet was correct. The curse was removed, and she had returned fully to what she had been. But—
"Don't follow me, please," Tommie said, getting to her feet with much greater ease and entering the small bathroom. She placed her hands on either side of the sink, leaning close to the mirror. The woman staring back at her had hair that was in desperate need of a wash and thorough brushing, a clump hanging over her left ear. Her skin was unblemished. Her eyes were dark, the pupils round—
Ah. That was different. They had been a rather vivid red with slitted pupils after Horcrux Number Five. She'd hidden it well, but this was no glamour and that meant—
Everything had reverted to how it had been, except for her soul.
No!
No, she would not believe this yet, would not accept the end of her immortality, the death of Lord Voldemort. But for years, she had entertained the hope that the Sorcerer's painful reassembly had been part of the curse, that it, too, would cease once she had found the riddle.
No!
The mirror shattered. Her drawn face was reflected in jagged pieces: A mosaic of misery. She heard frantic footsteps pounding down the hall.
No!
She needed to go. She raced ahead of the footsteps, clumsily pulling on her boots.
"Tommie, what's wrong—?" Harriet's hand clutching hers…
She needed to go. She spun on the spot and Disapparated with a thunderous crack, dragging Harriet along with her.
They emerged from the suffocating darkness in the middle of an overgrown, untended hedgerow. Harriet dropped her hand abruptly and began blasting her way through the tangled vines. Tommie followed her path, thinking ruefully that they had not been so wild when she'd been here before.
Harriet halted in the long grass the hedges hadn't yet reached, just in front of Tommie's destination. Tommie brushed impatiently past her and began removing the wards she'd put up—strong as ever, thank god.
"What is this place?" Harriet croaked.
"My mother was raised here," she replied shortly, the rotting door swinging inward with a final flick of her wand. Tommie entered, Harriet walking hesitantly in her wake. She almost told her to stay outside, but what would be the point? If it came to it, she could Obliviate her just as easily inside the hovel as out. (Or was it that she merely wanted Harriet to know everything? Or that she was too much of a coward to face her failure alone? … Best not to answer those.)
It was dim inside, the midsummer day unable to make itself known. Every surface was caked in a thick layer of dust and grime, the only light a faint glimmer through the front window. Harriet furtively lit her wand. Tommie, meanwhile, crouched in the center of the floor and opened the trapdoor to what had once been the cellar. A large wooden box floated to her hand at her summons. She caught it, letting the trapdoor fall closed.
The box sprang open at her hissed :Open.: The items within appeared uncorrupted by time. She picked up first one, then another.
There was nothing in the diary. The Peverell ring did not resonate when she touched it. Hufflepuff's cup remained still. Ravenclaw's diadem was in the Albanian tree she'd found it in, but she had no doubt of its emptiness. She could not bear to touch Slytherin's—her mother's locket, could not bare to feel it as lifeless as all the rest.
This was no true reversion; her soul was indeed stubbornly whole.
No matter. She could fix that directly.
(No, she couldn't! She gained nothing, lost all''')
Tommie unsheathed her wand and turned to face Harriet—beautiful, wild, unequaled Harriet—and cast. Not a Killing Curse, she realized too late. A Disarming Charm. (She meant to kill her, she couldn't kill her, she needed her.)
Harriet, still wary, smoothly raised her own wand and deflected it. "What the fuck!" she shouted, justifiably confused.
In the heat of the duel, Tommie bared her teeth in a savage, exultant grin.
"Tommie! Is this really what you want right now?"
"Yes! Fight back. Fight! Back!" And Harriet did.
Tommie cast again, not caring what, only that she needed a duel, needed to win, needed to prove her worth. Harriet returned everything curse for curse, each reflected hotly in her eyes. They danced from one end of the hovel's parlor to the other, leaving no piece of decrepit furniture intact, no patch of dust undisturbed. Perhaps they would have continued indefinitely, but something unusual occurred.
"Crucio!" Tommie bit out, wanting suddenly to hear a symphony of screams, for others' pain had so often been her balm.
"Stupefy!" Harriet spat nearly simultaneously, on the verge of panic. This duel was clearly not as enjoyable to her.
The Stunning Spell and the Cruciatus Curse collided. Instead of ricocheting off each other as they ought, they became something else entirely.
A golden thread of light stretched between their wands. Tommie's fingers clenched about hers, for it had begun to hum in strange resonance. Harriet was doing the same, her mouth open in surprise. "We need to break this!" she said, her voice going shrill in anxiety. "Right. Fucking. Now."
"On three, then." If Harriet knew what this phenomenon was, then who was she to disagree. "One, two, three!" They each gave an almighty tug, and their wands wrenched apart—reluctantly, she thought. The golden light vanished.
"Explain," Tommie said peremptorily. "Please," she added at Harriet's huff.
"Our wands share a core. Yours is a phoenix feather, right?"
"It is." Ollivander had been suspiciously pleased when it had chosen her, his unnerving eyes alight as he murmured about visions of death and rebirth and greatness. She supposed the rebirth bit was accurate, now.
"He told me mine had a twin, but that the one who had bought it disappeared. I was new to magic. I wanted to know what twin wands meant."
"And?" Cold dread trickled down Tommie's spine.
Harriet's mouth twisted into a painful half-smile. "That was Priori Incantatem. If we'd let it go on, one of our wands would have thrown up past spells. I didn't want to see what yours would show."
Tommie tried to think of something to say but came up short. She had killed only once with this wand but saying that wouldn't be a comfort. "We cannot turn them against each other. We are… fated."
"Fated what?" Harriet was dubious, yet almost hopeful.
She curled up with her head resting on her knees, the way Harriet so often did. "I don't know." But, oh, she had never wished to know anything more. And yet…
If Harriet Potter was, then Lord Voldemort could not be.
Tommie Riddle was left with… nothing.
A/N: It's been a year. The end is in sight. Thank you for sticking with me.