A/N: I'm going to start this author's note very obnoxiously.
PLEASE READ MY AUTHOR'S NOTES, at least before coming to any conclusions! I had a few people contact me concerned that the previous chapter was the last chapter of the story, upset by the lack of real closure and the abrupt ending. If they'd read my author's note, they would have seen that I said that there are still chapters left! I promise, I'll let you know when the last chapter comes out! I know I get ramble-y sometimes, but to save you heartache, you might want to at least skim these!
I have a few other things to mention. First, my family is going through some things so though I want to try to update every couple of weeks, I can't promise I'll update…at any point in time, really. It could be weeks, it could be months. I know this is something you're all used to anyway, I just wanted to warn you. If I disappear for four months, it could be that I don't have access to a computer or the ability to write at the time. I WILL FINISH THIS STORY. Don't worry about that.
Second, a huge thank you to lilythefreak of tumblr for beta-ing this chapter for me. I got into a huge rut and was considering throwing this whole thing out and starting again, and you offering to beta for me was what saved this chapter from certain doom. So thank you, again!
Thirdly, because it's been a few chapters since I've done it: I own nothing. Harry Potter is the property of JK Rowling, and the Lady of Shalott that so influenced this story was written by Tennyson.
Please read, enjoy, and if you can, review!
One Year Later
Ginny stood near the front of a line that blocked the front counter of Flourish and Blotts. There hadn't been a signing at the shop since Gilderoy Lockhart had been signing books there, back in Ginny's first year at Hogwarts. It was here Ginny had received the diary that had started it all.
And now here she was, standing in line at another book signing. She pressed a hardcover book with a dark green leather cover against her chest, her thumb going over the engraving on the side, swirling lines of gold forming the title The Witch of Shalott.
She'd discovered this book five months ago. Luna had dragged her shopping at Diagon Alley, intent on purchasing new books on Magizoology and some new sweet that she claimed had an ingredient in it that attracted Crumble Horned Snorkacks, and she intended to collect as much of it as she could before going to Sweden. When Ginny pointed out that Luna wasn't planning on going to Sweden for years, it didn't seem to matter to Luna. She claimed the ingredient would work whether the sweet had expired or not.
While Luna bought the newest editions of her books written by wizarding naturalists, Ginny browsed the fiction section for something new to read. There was a time that Ginny was more a doer than a thinker. Granted, she'd always been smart and quick-witted, but she used to prefer playing Quidditch or getting into trouble over sitting still and reading. But after being controlled by and then captured and held captive by Tom, she'd become used to sitting still, enjoying the quiet and the peace. All the books she'd read had made her thirsty for more.
The title practically jumped off the shelves and attacked her. With a gasp, she'd seized the book and flipped through it. It was a magical retelling of the tale of Elaine and Lancelot. In this one, Elaine was a witch, and Lancelot a muggle. When Lancelot came to stay with her family, he and Elaine slowly fell in love, and despite his feelings for Guinevere, Lancelot proposed to her. However, once it was revealed that Elaine was a witch, Lancelot left her. On his way back to Camelot, he was attacked by a rival knight, who wanted Lancelot out of the next jousting competition. Elaine used magic to heal him and nursed him back to health. He still rejected Elaine and returned to Camelot. Elaine died of a broken heart despite her family's attempts to save her with magic, and she was sent to float into Camelot on a flower-strewn boat. When Lancelot revealed he knew the girl and told his story, King Arthur condemns him, saying that without Merlin Camelot would not be the great place that it was and if Lancelot hated magic, then he hated Camelot too. Lancelot was exiled, and when he turned to Guinivere for help, she revealed that her mother was also a witch, and turned away. Lancelot left Camelot, and was eventually killed by a roaming band of barbarians, and his last thoughts were of Elaine's pale face in the boat full of flowers.
Ginny purchased it immediately, and sat outside Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor and had a scoop of chocolate chip ice cream and began devouring the book while Luna went shopping for her sweets. She barely managed to put the book away so she could return home, and as soon as they were through the door Ginny had the book out again and read while lying on the couch. The book was finished in twenty-four hours, and she went back to the shop to search for more.
The shopkeeper told showed Ginny The Squib Governess, which the woman described as a 'Wizarding version of Jane Eyre', where a young Squib is rejected by her pureblood relatives and sent to a school where they used torture methods to attempt to force magic out of non-magical people. Eventually she grew and went to work as a governess for a wealthy pureblood girl, hired by the girl's mysterious father. As Ginny bought the book, the shopkeeper mentioned something surprising and wonderful: the author, Dante Wickham, donated nearly all the profit from each book to families affected by the Wizarding wars.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Ginny had wondered if Tom was somehow involved with the books. This fact proved to her that he wasn't. He may be unwilling to kill Muggles now, but that didn't mean he was going to sacrifice in order to be charitable to them or their allies.
Ginny read the second book just as quickly as she'd read the first, and then found out that his third book The Phantom of the Chamber of Secrets would be released in a few months.
And so a few months later Ginny found herself standing in line waiting to meet Dante Wickham, her favorite of his books ready to be signed. She'd also get a signed copy of his new book, and probably spend the rest of her afternoon reading it. She looked forward to lying on her couch with a warm cup of tea, and listening to her mother's favorite album, You Stole My Cauldron, but You Can't Have My Heart.
A little nervous, Ginny's hands shook as she took a step forward, only three people standing between her and Dante Wickham. She wasn't sure what she'd say. She couldn't explain to him properly what the story of the Lady of Shalott meant to her, because she didn't entirely understand it herself. The story tied her to some of the worst moments of her life, and yet it still held a place in her heart. She'd obsessed over it for so long, it was like it was a part of her.
Whether that made Tom Riddle a part of her, she didn't know, and she didn't care to.
The connection between her love of books and Tom's hadn't escaped her. He'd loved old muggle stories, and now she did, too. He'd surrounded her with books, and after escaping him, she'd surrounded herself with them. She had read the stories he'd mentioned, and so many more. And now she was obsessed with the story he'd forced her to be obsessed with, although it was a new version of it. Maybe she ought to feel disgusted with this connection, but she found that she couldn't. Books had been her comfort for too long, and she couldn't give them up now. This was perhaps the one thing she was willing to have in common with Tom Riddle.
She'd thought little of Tom for the last year. Once, curious, she'd tried to research him through muggle and magical means, but had found nothing. She tried to look for Hades, too, and found only a short article in a Muggle newspaper about his house having been abandoned. She didn't know if that meant he was dead or not; it could be that he knew better than to hide there with Tom looking for him.
The thought of Hades still being alive and out there made her nervous, but there was nothing she could do about it. If Tom Riddle couldn't track him down and kill him, then she certainly couldn't. She had no choice but to be prepared for an attack at all times, but to not let the paranoia take over her life.
Other than that, Ginny had pushed Tom out of her mind. She thought of other things, instead: Her future and exactly what she'd do with it (she still didn't know), Quidditch and getting into Quidditch shape again, reading, spending time with her remaining family and friends. Nothing else really mattered.
Another person left the line, beaming. Ginny couldn't get a look at Wickham yet, but she noticed the manager happily taking payment for new books, and someone she recognized as a journalist from the Daily Prophet looking bored and half-asleep. He'd interviewed her just after the Battle at Hogwarts years ago, and the sight of his face caused terrible flashbacks and an ache in her heart. Instead of staring at him, she looked down at her book and tried to figure out what she could say to Wickham without making herself out to be a rambling idiot.
But too soon it was her turn, and she didn't know what to say. So she set the book down in front of it's author, and waited, hoping he'd say something because her throat was closed up and her heart was racing. She couldn't even bring herself to look at his face.
"Thank you for coming," he said, his voice lighter than she'd expected, "Who should I make this out to?"
She watched his pale hands and long fingers seize the book, and standing so close to him she could smell his cologne, something spicy that reminded her of incense. Quickly, her mind rushed from incense and the inside of the bookstore to incense and the inside of her room at the shack, incense swirling in the air and a tray of aphrodisiacs and a voice that was so –
Ginny quickly closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to shake the image from her mind. "Ginny Weasley," she said quickly. From the corner of her eye, she saw the reporter look up in excitement. "It's good to meet you, sir."
She heard Wickham laugh amusedly. "No need to call me 'sir', my dear. Would you mind if I made it to 'Ginevra'? I've always preferred your full name."
Surprised, Ginny frowned, and then glanced up to get a look at the author that spoke to her so intimately. Her heart pounded in her chest when she recognized the shape of his face, the curve of his lips, and the look of cold amusement in his eyes.
She knew who this was. "To-"
"Dante Wickham, Miss Weasley," he introduced himself, holding out a hand for her to shake.
Her eyes narrowed on his face. His hair was lighter, now more of a dark brown than deep black, and his eyes were a light grey. There were bigger changes, too. His eyes seemed wider, his brows higher, and the shape of his nose was now less Roman, more Nordic, and a little smaller. But she was sure it was Tom Riddle she was looking at. His expression was still the same, and now that she thought about it, his hands were, too. How could she have not recognized his hands? After the amount of times they'd touched her…
Hesitantly, she reached out and took one of them, and he gave her hand a firm shake.
"A pleasure to meet you," he said, smiling, his teeth white, and small lines forming around his eyes proving the gesture genuine.
Ginny tried to pull her hand back, but to no avail. He wouldn't release it. She felt her face go pale and a chill began to settle in her limbs. "Same," she said shortly, not sure why she was going along with his ruse.
Tom opened his mouth to speak, but a flash of white light interrupted him. His grip on her hand tightened, and the mix of detached amusement and courtesy drained from his eyes, being replaced by a familiar cold anger. The look in his eyes was the same as when he'd faced Harry after he'd gotten his body; the same anger, the same arrogance, the same distaste.
He finally let go of Ginny's hand, and Ginny shook it to alleviate the soreness. Tom Riddle turned slowly to face the reporter.
"You will not be publishing that photograph," Tom said, his voice flat, and leaving no room for questions.
Or so Ginny thought. "Why not?" said the reporter, looking at the camera and grinning. "That's the most perfect photo I could have asked for. People knowing that Ginny Weasley reads your books will make them fly off the shelves, anyway-"
"Neither of us give you permission to publish it," Tom said, his voice dangerously calm, as though it took all his strength to keep composed. She could see his hands shaking, his left drifting to the pocket of his robe, where Ginny assumed he kept his wand. He clearly wanted to harm the reporter; why he bothered to restrain himself, Ginny didn't know. That didn't seem very Tom-like.
"Why not?" the reporter asked again, oblivious to Tom's forced restraint.
Tom closed his eyes and took in a deep breath to steady himself, and the shaking ceased. "You would be taking advantage of Miss Weasley's losses in order to turn a profit, and I will not allow it," he said, his voice again level. "Whether they are your profits or mine."
The reporter seemed taken aback, but he was smart enough to nod and delete the photo. "Yeah, yeah, okay. You sure I can't even mention-"
"Yes."
Disappointed, and yet again bored, the reporter collapsed back into his seat. "Okay, then. Whatever you want."
"Good," said Tom, and then he turned back to Ginny and picked up his quill. "So…to Ginevra Weasley?"
Ginny stood, her jaw dropped, her heart racing She'd seen him be almost kind to her, but to watch him swallow his anger against someone else was a strange sight to behold. She could still see his face when he told her he was going to kill Harry, in the Chamber of Secrets all those years ago. She could easily recall the desperation in his expression when he wanted to murder Hades. The cruelty in his eyes when he'd hit her and made her lip bleed, then kissed her violently.
"Y-you've changed a lot, in the last year," she found herself saying.
Tom smiled as he signed the book, To the brave Ginevra Weasley. I'm glad you enjoy this book. I'm a big fan of yours. – Dante Wickham. He closed the cover and pushed it back to her, then picked up a copy of his new book as he looked up at her. "It hasn't been easy," he admitted, his voice softer now, though tight with some emotion she couldn't identify. In his eyes, she could see just how close the reporter had been to physical harm.
"Why did you bother, then?"
Tom finished signing the second book, and handed it to her. With shaking hands, Ginny took it, and picked up her worn copy of The Witch of Shalott and pressed them both against her chest as she waited for a reply.
Hesitating, Tom took his leisurely time to set aside his quill, and watched as Ginny paid for her copy of his new book. Only when Ginny was ready to give up and turn and leave, he said, "If you can wait a few minutes, I will explain everything to you, Ginevra. I only have a few more signatures left to give until the event is over. Will you meet me after?"
This wasn't a very wise choice to make, she was sure, but she found herself nodding. Her head was clouded with confusion, and she craved answers. Why was he Dante Wickham? Why was he writing books? What had changed him so dramatically that he was willing to go from dreams of ruling the world to settling for being a relatively unknown writer? And why would he give his profits away to people he'd once spent his time destroying?
"Okay," she breathed. "Where?"
"The Leaky Cauldron," he replied. "I'll buy you a coffee."
Ginny nodded, and wordlessly left the line, letting the woman behind her take her turn with Tom – with Dante.
She went to the Leaky Cauldron and waited, spending her time examining Tom's signatures, flipping through the thick pages, and then stuffing them in her bag with disgust. She'd devoured his words greedily, devoted her mind to thoughts of his stories and the person she thought he was, and now a sense of betrayal settled in.
All that time, it had been Tom. Tom had written the books she had loved. Her captor had somehow captured her again, captured her mind and imagination and her heart, as she'd loved those words as dearly as she'd loved any friend. And it had all been Tom Riddle. He'd created those words, and once again it had been his words repeating in her mind again and again.
It made her feel sick.
As she contemplated this feeling, a shadow crossed across the table. She looked up and into the altered face of Tom, who had a small smile as he set a chipped, white mug down in front of her, then took the seat across from her, cradling his own mug in his hands.
She touched the mug and, despite it burning her fingers, lifted it to her mouth to take a scalding sip. Though she winced at the burn that formed on her tongue, she sighed with contentment. He'd bought a café au lait, exactly the drink her soul needed at that moment. She glanced up at his face with surprise at his ability to read her mind.
"I did live in your head for over a year, Ginevra…." He said silkily, setting his cup down on the worn wood table with a soft 'thud'. "Of course I know some of your favorites."
Ginny shifted in her chair, unsettled by the reminder. She glanced around the pub, making sure no one was close enough to hear them, and then asked, "What's going on, Tom? Why do you look different? Why are you writing books and donating money to people who were once your victims? Why are you Dante Wickham? Why are you doing this?"
Tom laughed. "Did you really think I could go around looking like a young Lord Voldemort?" he scoffed. "No. I had to change my whole self, starting with my appearance. And I had to be careful about it. No one could know that I'd changed the way I looked. So shortly after we last said goodbye – we say goodbye quite a lot, don't we? – I approached a Muggle healer. He is of the sort that is an expert at changing appearances. I'll admit I used less-than-respectable magic to convince him to help me, but in the end he used Muggle means to alter my appearance. I then purchased a dye for my hair, and something called contact lenses, that Muggles usually use to help them see, but the ones I bought are colored so my eyes are lighter than they are naturally. This way, no one could use magic to discover my original appearance."
Ginny took a moment to process all this information, and then nodded. It did make sense. "And then you changed your name to Dante Wickham and started writing books."
Tom shook his head. "No, not right away. As soon as I recovered from the surgery – Muggle medical practices can be quite barbaric and very painful – I tracked Hades down, for the last time."
"The last time?" Ginny repeated, gripping her cup in her hands and leaning forward. "As in, the last last time, as in there's no need to track him down again?"
"Yes," said Tom softly, almost reassuringly. "You do not need to worry about Hades Xylander ever again. Or any other Death Eater, for that matter."
Ginny frowned as she took a sip of her coffee, and then asked, "Why?"
"Because they're taken care of," said Tom, and he paused to clear his throat. "Any that may have been a threat have had their memories of being Death Eaters wiped. All the rest are married with children or otherwise settled in their new lives, and less likely to try to harm muggles or their supporters ever again and risk losing their own peace."
"Why have you done that?"
Tom sighed. "How many times must I tell you? I do not need my conscience weighed by unnecessary deaths. It's taken time, but I have cleaned up Voldemort's – my – mess, as well as I possibly can. I have moved on from that, and I do not intend for any more harm to come from the…the person I once was."
Ginny leaned forward. "As in, you don't want anyone else to get hurt because of Tom Riddle's thoughts and actions."
"Yes," said Tom, nodding his head. "Exactly. I am no longer Tom Riddle. My face has changed, my appearance, my occupation, even, I've noticed, the way I think. I consider myself Dante Wickham now, the half-blood writer of Muggle tales reimagined as Wizarding ones. This is my life now."
Ginny leaned back in her chair, and trailed her finger around the edge of her cup as she tried to grasp all the meaning behind Tom's words. Had he really so fully abandoned the person he had once been? Did he really care about whether or not old Death Eaters rose up? Was Dante Wickham – charitable, creative, calm – the person Tom wanted to be?
It was difficult for her to imagine that Tom would honestly want to change so drastically. But here he sat across from her, dark eyes now pale, two of his three published books in her bag, books that were inspired by tales originally written by muggles. It was hard to deny the facts that literally sat in front of her, but how could she ever believe this was real? How could he go from a man who killed muggles for sport, to a man who held her captive and tried to force her to love him, to a man who spent his time writing stories to entertain people and helping them repair their lives post-war? Even if it was just to 'clean up Voldemort's mess', how could he be this person, really and truly changed?
And how was it that, no matter how hard she tried, she just didn't care? Yes, she felt betrayed, but not by Tom. She was betrayed by her imaginary version of Dante, some kind-hearted wizard that didn't exist. But other than that, she didn't care what Tom did. She knew she ought to; she ought to care that he didn't hurt muggles, that he stayed far away from her, that he didn't become the person he once was. And though she did care about that…she didn't care enough. After so much time spent with Tom Riddle haunting her in one way or another, she was exhausted. Spending time and thought and fear on him again sounded like an insurmountable task. She didn't have the energy to care about Tom and the details of his life. It felt like he was a complete stranger to her.
And in a way, he was.
"I live in a flat in London," Tom admitted, finishing his coffee. "Nowhere near yours, I made sure of that. But still, in the same city. If it concerns you, I'll live somewhere else. A combination of money from the books and money from…well, let's say from my father's side of my family…has made it possible for me to live comfortably almost anywhere. It may be better, even, if I stayed away from cities with too much magical influence. I've been…avoiding temptation, as best I can."
Ginny considered his words for a moment, took another drink from her coffee, and then sighed. "You know, I don't think it matters, I really don't. London is large enough that we may never see each other again, and if we do it'll probably be from across the way in Diagon Alley. All we have to do is turn our heads and pretend we didn't see each other." Ginny pushed her cup aside, and stood, placing her hands on the top of the table for a moment before reaching down and picking up her bag. "If you want to leave for your own reasons, that's fine, but I…I can't afford to care. Worrying about where you are, what you're doing, who you are now…it takes too much from me. So just…do what you want."
Tom looked at her face, his expression vaguely concerned, but he didn't say anything. With another sigh, Ginny lifted a hand in farewell and turned away. "Goodbye, Tom. Thanks for the signatures, I guess."
"Wait," Tom said, standing quickly.
Ginny turned back, her expression blank. "What is it?"
Tom blinked, staring at her for a moment, and then he shook his head. "No. No, nevermind. I imagine an offer to walk you home would be turned down in a heartbeat, and rightly so."
Ginny frowned. "What more could you possibly have to say?"
He hesitated a moment, pushing their cups together in the center of the table, and then shrugging off his robes, revealing muggle clothing underneath, the sort he wore around when Ginny had been trapped with him.
Without meeting her gaze, Tom said, "There's more. More explanations, which you deserve. And…" he finally looked her in the eye, his eyes expressing a sincerity she didn't think he was capable of. "And I want to hear what you have to say, as well."
Ginny paused. She knew she ought to say no and leave, but there were unanswered questions still, and if she had a chance to finally have full, complete closure, how could she say no? Though she was so tired of the whole thing, a tugging in her mind begged her not to turn this chance down.
"I still don't want you to know where I live," she said. "But…I suppose if you really wanted to know, you could find it pretty easily. So, I guess…."
Tom looked at her expectantly, but it was hard for her to find the strength to say the next few words.
She took in a long, deep breath, and then forced them out. "Come with me, then."
Artificial: I realize that three books in one year is a bit ridiculous, but roll with it for me. Maybe magical writers have a way of writing/publishing much faster! Also, I'm not married to this chapter name, so don't be surprised if it changes in the near future. As always, thanks for reading, and please leave a review! It means more to me than I can adequately say!