Happily Ever After
rating upped for basically things listed in chapter one, only more so.
o1. the unforgivable
The scroll Harry gave me contained precise instructions on how to travel back sixty-five years in time.
When Dumbledore finished his time spell in 1997 it would've taken someone back to 1932 to kill a six-year old Voldemort. This may seem cruel to you; you might think it's inhumane, but that's only because you weren't there. Voldemort was the most powerful wizard alive at the time Dumbledore finished that spell. He meant it as a last resort, something we wouldn't even think of using unless we were beyond all hope. And Voldemort—he was horrible as a teenager too, you know. Teenager, young adult, there was never a time when he was matured that he was harmless. As soon as they put that wand in his hand they made him nearly impossible to kill. He was exceedingly clever, and heartless. It would've been impossible to trick him or win him over; impossible to kill him in a wizard's duel. And if the situation were dire enough for the spell to be used, we had to make sure there wouldn't be any mistakes. That the would be dispatcher wouldn't get caught. That Voldemort wouldn't get any information from interrogating the failed killer that would make him even more formidable. And so getting to him before he got that wand, before he learned a spell, or even heard of the wizarding world was imperative. Necessary.
A year after completing the spell, Dumbledore died. He gave the scroll to Harry, who I think almost used it. I remember him acting odd around that time. Secretive, like he was hiding something from me and I suppose this was it. I also suppose that he didn't do it because he knew he was the prophesized one, not Dumbledore, and he was wary of the consequences, worried about leaving me. Then he died, like I said, at the end of 1999, and he passed the scroll to me.
I used it the year after, in the spring of 2000, and it worked, taking me back sixty-five years in time, exactly as it said it would. People on the street stared at me a lot, because I wasn't wearing the right clothes, but I didn't care. I had a job to do. And although navigating old muggle London was a bit difficult, it didn't take me too long to find the orphanage that Voldemort had been dumped in after his mom was chased out of Little Hangleton for being a witch.
It was a run-down dilapidated place. Looked very much like the sort of building that would collapse in the next strong wind, that'd have rats and roaches crawling across the interior. The windows were grimy, the doorknob was rusted—I thought it might give me a cut and that cut might get infected and rather than killing Voldemort I'd end up dying myself of some horrible disease or other.
There were two women running the place, one was rather plump and friendly, she had brown hair and reminded me much of Mrs. Weasley—that's Ron's mother—and the other was a bit on the thin side, brown hair also, but an absolute shrew. I asked where I could find Voldemort (I had to remember to say "Tom Riddle") and the shrewish woman asked me if I was with some sort of childcare service, was I a friend of the family, was I looking to adopt. I said the last; that my husband and I had heard of an incredibly bright boy at the local orphanage and were quite eager to make him a member of our family. The shrewish woman said that was fine with her because they were quite eager to part with him, and the plump lady said I could find "Little Tom" at the factory down the road and gave me directions, telling me he got off at four. "Isn't he a bit too young to be working at the factory?" I asked. "You'd be best mindin' yer own business," the shrew replied. So I left.
I was in 1935 and Voldemort was nine years old. And, again: you may think this is cruel or inhumane or despicable or horrid, but you weren't there. You don't know what he was. We did. I did. First hand, we knew what he was, what he did, what this nine-year-old was going to grow up to do. The facts were incontrovertible, it wasn't as though we were going to get rid of him based on the mere possibility that he might grow up to commit atrocious acts; it was a certainty. We—I lived through it. I saw the bodies of his victims—either killed personally or by his command. Most of them died harder deaths than a killing curse would've afforded. You've never seen any of the corpses, or any of the pictures, but I did. People would disappear sometimes… the Death Eaters would take them, and you wouldn't see them for months—the people—and when they finally did surface they… And the massacres, whole families killed, houses reduced to ash, the attack on St. Mungo's… and it was seeping into the muggle world too, the Ministry couldn't even keep it quiet anymore, there was mass hysteria, the muggles broadcast it on their news channels and it got all over the world, and the muggle governments started taking action and then the muggle military got slaughtered, because Voldemort—he was more powerful than we'd assumed, we didn't have any idea what he could really do and people were dying everywhere and Harry was our only hope and then he...
So I had to do it, do you see? There was no other way… So I hid in an alley near the factory. My clothes stood out on the streets and I didn't want him to see me. I stayed in the shadows for quite a while—they were disgusting, they smelt bad and there were rats crawling over trash bins and people looking through them for food, an old woman kept coming near me and pulling my hair and I wanted to make things better for her too but I couldn't. I didn't have any money to give her. So I told her to go away and I just waited until finally, Finally he stepped out.
I knew it was him, because I'd seen pictures. Black hair, blue eyes, cherubic face. Living breathing proof of how appearances can be so deceiving. He didn't look anything like what he really was; he just looked like an intelligent, sweet nine year old boy. But that was a lie. I knew it was a lie, he was evil incarnate, like the bloody Anti-Christ. It stopped me for a moment, because… because he was so young, but then he saw me. I don't know how he knew I was there, it was probably because he was so powerful, even at that age, even untrained, and he looked me in the eyes.
And I saw it there, all of it, in those blue orbs, all the malice, the cruelty that characterized the snake he'd grow up to be. And I didn't hesitate.
I used the killing curse, the unforgivable. You know which one, I won't say it. It was almost an easy thing. And I felt good afterwards. It was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do and I knew that. I wasn't sad. I didn't feel guilty. Not a bit.
I thought that would fix everything. That I'd use the scroll to go back to the future. That when I got there things would be better. Harry and Dumbledore would be alive and so would Ron and his family and everyone else. People wouldn't be so afraid any more and the wizarding world would be as nice as it was when I first went to Hogwarts. When my parents took me to Diagon Alley to get my supplies, and everyone was polite. We could walk down the streets without being frightened of anti-muggle purebloods like the Malfoys. We didn't have to go into hiding because our house was a major target for Death Eaters and young witches and wizards could study in peace. That's what I wanted. That's what we all wanted. Like starting over, almost.
But that… that wasn't what happened…
end notes: Short chapter. Sorry. I'd have made it longer but that would've ruined it. And I've realized… that I've just killed a nine year old. So um… I think I'm going to have to up the rating… It was supposed to start off on a slightly hysterical note, then get very matter of fact, then sort of disintegrate again. I'm not sure that it worked, but oh well.
Time stuff for reference. Fun.
In this fic, Tom Riddle was born in 1926.
This is based on the fact that
1) He was sixteen when he opened the CoS
2) He opened the CoS fifty years before 1992 (when the book CoS takes place… I think)
3) 1942 – 16 equals 1926
Reasons this might be wrong:
1) I'm not sure if CoS did actually take place in '92 (I'm fairly sure?)
2) Riddle might be born late in the year or something… I don't know
Reviews are always loved and appreciated. Especially articulately negative ones ).
THANK YOU!
El Ci Aech Johnson- In a weird way, I like that beginning too. I think it's one of my favorites. Thank you for the compliments and stuff -insertsmileyfacehere-.
Adriane- Really! I didn't know that! Anywho, thanks for liking the story and the next chapter of AIR will be up… a little after this actually. Or before it. Either way? Sorry for moderately disappointing you. I don't think I've ever had saltines, but I have been ingesting insane amounts of water? I'm over-hydrated…
LolaQ- Thanks!
WordE. Smith- I don't usuallylike first person either, but this fic almost had to be written in first person. I don't think I'm good enough to write it, but I'm glad you like it. I'm giving it a whirl. Trying something new. Trying new things is always good. Unless they're things like drugs and smoking and alcohol and jumping off palm trees to see whether you can fly. Ok, rephrase, trying new things artistically is always good. I hope this doesn't suck. You'll tell me if it starts sucking right? Be cruel, I'd appreciate it.
ZippyRox- Thanks, I will -insertsmileyfacehere-.
sexy-jess- Yeah poor Hermione -sniffle-... only here it's sort of... less poor Hermione... but still sort of poor Hermione... but... not... really. Wow. Ok it's 6:30 Ididn't go to sleep last night, SOI have no clue what I'm talking about. But thank you for liking the story all the same -insertsmileyfacehere-