A/N: Hello again!
Special thanks to: ItsTheWhovian and JFC (X3)
ItsTheWhovian: Thank you! *Blushes* I've updated now. I love your profile pic by the way, Clara's my favourite companion! Hope I hear from you again :)
J.F.C:- Chapter One: That is an absolutely hilarious comparison! Thank you for your input, it is much appreciated. And I would tell you who Voldemort was, but that would ruin the entire plot...
- Chapter Two: Thanks for the alternate idea :) Unfortunately, I have a short amount of patience so I tend to end my stories abruptly. I'm hoping to drag out Tom and Katherine's first year for that reason until the ultimatum; when Katherine travels in time. :)
- Chapter Three: And yes, that was a good point- with her foolishness (which I'd purposely inserted in hopes that she wouldn't seem too 'Mary-Sue-ish') she would end up causing her brother to become Voldemort sooner than expected; the only question is when he'd take total control... :) *Gives a low whistle* I have a genius reading my story. I honestly am impressed. You've got it in one with your two possibilities, but I won't be telling you which one; sorry :( I would love to tell you, but that'd ruin the entire plot. I've updated, too :) Thank you for your insightful comments- I hope you'll review again soon :)
Tom Riddle has given you both a huge hug and a kiss (depending on which you prefer).
Again, much thanks to my favouriters and followers:
Favourites:
- Chuu112
- Cytryne
- DannyRaven Lover
- J.F.C
- Nacanaca
- aspygirlredp
- cup'o'tea
Followers:
- Chuu112
- Cytryne
- Golnara
- J.F.C
- Nacanaca
- Takahashi Amaya
- aspygirlredo
- cup'o'tea
- patches7
Tom Riddle has already given these loyal readers an invitation by owl mail- unless you are a new reader. Hopefully your invitation will reach you swiftly.
As I had expected, Tom refused to even meet my gaze since that night. We awkwardly sat apart from one another, though we shared a table in every class- which was inevitable since we had the same surname and we were always seated according to the alphabet- but tried to distance ourselves from the other twin as much as possible. As of now, we still refused to meet the other's gaze. I sighed, fed up.
"This is getting ridiculous. Tom? Truce?" I asked. He gave me a stony look, his face set with no emotion. But I could see a flicker of something- and for a second, I feared it would be Voldemort- but later saw it as indecision. He finally allowed his mask to break, his small smile shining through. He took my offered hand.
"Truce."
•••
I sat, bored out of my mind in the History of Magic class. The past few weeks had flown by like a whirlwind, my mind blurring past the huge tomes of information that both Tom and I had soaked in. I thought back to my Transfigurations classes and frowned. The next day we had Charms and did exactly the same spell. We tried to tell the Headmaster about it, but his eyes twinkled in an eerily Dumbledore-like way and he only tapped his nose, telling us to wait and all would become clear. We later found out what he meant when Dumbledore had not only taught us how to transfigure a match into a needle, but taught us how to do it when it was in mid air, casting two spells at once. I, grudgingly, had finally admitted that he was an excellent teacher if one excluded his severe favouritism. Tom poked my side and I was brought back to the present- but not before my gaze lingered on his nape for a second, remembering how those spiteful words had been inked onto the skin of his neck. I finally redirected my attention to the ghost who taught the lesson, his monotonous voice lulling me back into a daydream...
"Ouch!" I exclaimed. Tom had poked me again- but this time with the nib of his quill. I glared at him whilst he smirked, his green eyes crinkling in amusement.
"How do you expect to get an O if the only thing you do all day is sit there and daydream?" Tom asked, one eyebrow lifted in amusement. I pouted at him and his other eyebrow joined the first. "Don't pout, it is rather unbecoming." I rolled my eyes.
"You sound like Mrs. Cole when she runs out of her gin." I commented. Tom sighed and shook his head.
"You're not getting any notes from me..."
"That's not fair!" I crossed my arms. "You always let me copy your notes back in Primary school!"
"Yes, but that was because I knew that we were destined for something greater. I knew that we were going to leave that pitiful excuse of a school for ages." I refrained from rolling my eyes yet again.
"Party pooper..." I mumbled. Then- "OUCH! WHAT IN THE NAME OF MORGANA WAS THAT FOR?!" The stinging hex Tom sent at me was aimed at my right arm- and though I was a little bit ambidextrous (Tom taught me how when he broke his right arm and had to make do with his left) I still glowered at him for the punishment.
"Five points from Slytherin." Binns' voice broke through the classroom, interrupting me from dissecting Tom with my mere gaze. All of the Slytherins groaned whilst the Hufflepuffs tittered. I frowned at those ruddy badgers.
"Why is it your ruddy business if we lose points?" I asked the whole class. They were immediately silenced. "We can win them back, if you're so concerned about those childish points. It's not like there's going to be a punishment if we come out on the bottom." The class immediately placed their attention back to Binns- well, the population that weren't asleep, anyway- and those few Slytherins who hated us the most gave us a heated glare before doing the same as the rest of the class. I shook my head at their childishness.
"Thank you." It was whispered- so quiet that I almost thought it was never said, but I somehow managed to pick up on the quiet word of thanks.
"You're welcome." I whispered back to Tom, my face set in an expression of sincerity.
•••
It was the end of November and Christmas was approaching. Throughout all of this time, Tom and I had somehow managed to keep Slytherin's points on balance with Dumbledore's strange obsession with attempting to get us to lose points and the over friendliness of Slughorn- if accompanied with his sexist opinions that were rather rudely shoved into our faces. We'd been invited to a group known as the Slug Club- a small gathering of Slughorn's favourite students- in a room. We seemed to have 'hit the jackpot' as some say, since the date that the invitation specified seemed to have, coincidentally enough, coincided on the date of one of the monthly parties that Slughorn often issued. Tom and I had heard of various students' rendezvous throughout the night with the advantages that the club promised- most of these accounts having come from Slytherins themselves- but we weren't impressed. Slughorn had somehow managed to smuggle Firewhiskey and was allowing even first years to have a taste. Tom and I, being avid alcohol abhorrers since we were reminded of Mrs Cole, and subsequently the orphanage, had voiced out thoughts against the beverage and Slughorn had brought it down a little after buying a load of Butterbeer. The name of the beverage instantly had us on edge, but he promised that the liquid had no alcoholic content at all.
We made a word of promise never to drink it anyway- just in case.
Now, on the other hand, Tom had already left for the party and I was still looking through the meagre clothes that Tom and I had. We had three outfits each, Hogwarts uniforms and Orphanage uniforms being compulsory and Tom had his Sunday best that the orphanage forced him to wear every weekend to go to the church in order to 'force the demon out of him'. I, on the other hand, had only the clothing that my mother had left me.
Or, more specifically, the very same clothes that she had birthed Tom and I in.
Wonderful.
Unfortunately for Tom, the only appropriate clothing that he could wear was his Sunday best- the same clothes he had buried as deep into his trunk as it could go- although it wasn't the traditional Wizard's robes. Tom had sacrificed the bad memories that the starchy garments gave him and instead went to the party with his head held high, his fringe neatly combed and his Slytherin tie- the only Hogwarts clothing he chose to wear with it- around his neck.
I looked despairingly at the dress. Whilst the stains of childbirth had long since been washed off, the dress still caused me to feel dirty somehow whenever I wore it- whether because I was wearing the clothes of a dead woman or because it had once been awash with internal fluids, I was unsure of- and I had only ever wore it in the orphanage. But I had no other option- I couldn't come in with my starched, grey orphanage clothes- especially considering the fact that everyone here seemed so very medieval that it seemed taboo to wear a robe above the length of your ankles. My skirt reached my calf- it seemed indecent to wear it. I couldn't wear my Hogwarts uniform for obvious reasons. I sighed.
Mother's dress it is.
I shed myself off my school uniform and literally slithered into the dress that my mother had lent down to me with a look of disgust on my face. The dress brushed the floor and I had to roll up the sleeves, though I was likely to fit into the dress within the year if I did hit my growth spurt. My mother clearly wasn't a very tall person.
The ruffled blouse that had long since had its pleats flattened out was admittedly loose on my flat board figure. The blue pinafore I wore was plain, the only thing speaking of value being the small embroidery on the corner of the dress.
Just a small initial.
MG. Merope Gaunt.
The second I saw it, I was enraptured yet again in a world where my mother hadn't left us in the orphanage, having lived instead and taken us in. I shook my head a few seconds later.
It wouldn't do well to dwell on dreams.
The dress clearly came from at least four decades ago. It gave me a pretty good shot at what my mother's age would have been if she'd been fitted with this dress at around my age- she would probably have been in her late thirties or early forties by the time she'd given birth to us.
Late mother indeed.
I slipped my feet back into the patent shoes that weren't really patent at all anymore, having been reused three times over by other girls before me. The glossy covering of the leather had worn down to its bare foundations and the shoes were bursting at its seams. I shrugged- the dress would cover it anyway.
"Here goes nothing, Katherine." I muttered to myself. "Just hope that Tom won't blow his fuse over this..."
•••
I could hear the giggles, soft music and conversations coming from the room before I even entered. Our potions classroom had been converted into a ballroom, with all of the tables pushed to the side. The stairs were decorated with twining ivy and the room, which had previously appeared clustered when I attended the classes, suddenly seemed massive.
I felt so very small.
Despite my perceptions of myself, the music immediately stopped when I walked in. The students- and I was surprised to note that there were a few Ravenclaws and even a handful of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs among the majority of Slytherins- were silenced. Their half- masks were donned elegantly upon their faces, the girls with their hair done in elaborate styles and in large frocks whilst the men were dressed in either traditional Wizarding robes or Muggle suits. When I self consciously played with my waist length hair, which had been allowed to tumble in messy waves, the students cast me disdainful looks, their eyes roving from my tangled long hair to the shoes that had somehow traitorously revealed themselves. There was suddenly a small hustle and a small boy emerged.
I swallowed.
"It seems like my sister was looking for me. Excuse me whilst I go and help her." Tom said, a polite mask on his face. I could see the cracks starting to surface, however. I saw his eyes turn red and a rush of air left my lungs. I tried to run back the way I came from, but I tripped over my mother's dress and fell down the stairs.
Tumbling, stumbling down and down...
I eventually hit the floor on my bottom, no major pain on my body apart from major humiliation. Everybody burst out laughing, their taunting mocks stinging me worse than a dagger could. I flushed a furious red and got up, determined to run when a hand clasped around my wrist. I looked up sharply, embarrassment and anger on my face whilst those tears spilled from my eyes and onto my cheeks. I distantly heard Slughorn calling over the crowd, but only saw the fury in Tom's eyes.
"You're coming with me, sister dearest," He hissed, his voice laced with venom. "And you'll make sure that no such mistake will happen again, do you understand?" I jolted in fear and tried to wrench myself out of his iron hand, but he held fast, his expression becoming from emotionless to a falsely sympathetic face. "Not so fast, Katherine Merope." He said, his voice apparently filled with fond exasperation. He cupped my cheek with his hand. "I will need to punish you accordingly, my sweet sister." His voice was filled with false gentleness, but I knew better.
"I'm so sorry, Tom, so sorry, so sorry-"
"That's not good enough, Katherine." He answered, a delicate smirk on his face. I trembled. "I want you to beg me with my name- my real name."
"Promise you won't hurt me?" I whispered. The crowd was still chatting, the occasional clink of two glasses slicing through.
"I promise."
"Then please, Voldemort, please. Don't hurt me." I pleaded. The arm that held my elbow travelled down my forearm and jerked it. I gasped in agony. "Y-you said you wouldn't- wouldn't hurt me!" I stammered. He leaned forward to me, his eyes glinted.
"Guess what?" He only gave a seconds pause before his other hand pulled my hair. I closed my watering eyes- the pain was too much. "I lied." He turned on his heel and pulled me through the crowd, attracting the attention of many people. Many gave approving noises and hoots of agreement on Tom's side, the boys shouting that a girl like me deserved it with the other girls shrieking in laughter. We eventually left, the pain throbbing into instant, burning torment. He pulled me right through the hallways until we reached the common room and he threw me to the floor, his eyes holding nothing but contempt. He drew his wand.
"No! Please!" I curled up into a ball, despite the throbbing in my scalp. "Please don't hurt me." I whispered. There was a minute pause- almost as though Voldemort was trying to assess the situation- until he spoke again.
"Where is the money?" He asked, his voice full of barely contained rage.
"What money?" I managed to breathe. He looked even angrier- if that were possible. He snarled and spat obscenities in Parceltongue, his hatred conveyed through his curses though he didn't direct it to anyone in particular.
"Get to our dorms. NOW." He shouted. I jumped to comply, leaving him well enough alone.
What on earth had just happened?
I ran to our dorms like hell was on my heels, tears streaming and muscles screaming. I could hear his feet pounding after me and I pushed harder until I ran into our dorm. I heard a whistling crack of magic pass my ear, but managed to dodge it.
I wasn't so lucky the next time.
It hit me on my leg, and I cried out. However, I pedalled harder, hoping the next wouldn't hit my head.
Just a bit more...
I reached our dorm and slammed the door shut, leaning against it as I tried to regain my breath. But then I heard clicking.
" No, no, no, no!" I span around and pounded on the door. " NO! You can't leave me like this!" I punched the door again, my skin breaking and blood leaking out of my knuckles. I stopped, shallow breathing reaching my ears as the dorm that had once been my safety became a prison. I was suddenly hit with enlightenment and whipped my wand out. " Alohomora!" Nothing. No click. No squeal of worn hinges. " ALOHOMORA!" This door needed more than a simple unlocking charm... I turned around, desperately searching the room with my eyes for a textbook- anything that could give me more complex instructions. A charms book caught my eye and I flipped it open, hoping against hope that I'd find something- anything- that could get me out of here.
Flick.
Cleaning charms.
Flick.
Beauty charms.
Flick. At last!
" Alohomora..." I murmured, reading the title. I felt my emotions rush out through me, disappointed anguish coursing through instead.
There was nothing.
I gave a cry of frustration and picked up the chair nearby before hurling it at the mirror above the cold fireplace. The mirror shattered, shards of glass hitting my face and piercing my skin. I was oblivious to the pain, filled with my own anger at my brother.
Voldemort had never been so active before.
Of course, Tom's eyes had occasionally been red, but I never thought much of it, dismissing it as a small irregularity that we both seemed to posses. But Voldemort was quiet back then. My thoughts were interrupted when the shards rearranged themselves on the mirror and fixed themselves again. Irrational immaturity taking over, I threw the chair at the mirror, again and again and again.
Shatter, fix, repeat.
Just like the way Tom controlled my emotions.
With a final shout of anger, I tossed the chair for the last time at the mirror.
It fixed again.
Sighing, I briefly wondered how the chair stayed together through the whole ordeal before a distant part of my mind told me that it was probably a strengthening charm. Looking up again at the fixed mirror, my eyes met with the bloodied face of a girl who looked like a war victim, thin but long scars slicing across my cheeks, forehead and nose.
Would this be how I'd look like if any World War does, indeed, break out yet again?
Trembling, though I was unsure of whether it was of anger or utter, desperate sadness, I collapsed onto the wicker chair, burying my scarred face in my hands, ignoring the sharp sting when my hands made contact with the wounds. I finally pulled my hands down my face- as though I was washing it- and finally felt something.
I was laughing.
I didn't know why.
I was laughing so hard. My sides were starting to hurt- as though there was a vice around my waist. Tears were streaming down at the same time, the salt bring pain anew, and I knew I looked like a mess of tears and mucus, but I didn't bother to stop myself. If anything, I laughed even harder.
Because I knew I would break down if I didn't.
A fist pounded on my door.
" Shut up, Mudblood!" Someone fumed. I vaguely recognised the voice as Mulciber, the rough voice having mocked me only moments before at the party.
So the Slug Club had ended, then.
" No one tells my sister to do anything." A new voice hissed.
Tom.
There was utter silence, and my laughter stopped. I could imagine the whole scene, having seen it enough times at the orphanage. Tom would stare down at the person who dared insult us until they scampered away like mice, apologies being repeated over and over again. As expected, heavy footsteps pattered away and the door clicked open. Tom walked in, almost as if though he had to wrestle a dragon to see me. Once his eyes made contact with mine, I knew he thought an apology from my side was in order. I almost snorted.
If there was one thing that Tom and I shared, it was our stubborn streak.
A moment of silence stretched on between us, though it felt like a millennium to me.
" Well?" Tom prompted, his voice filled with the same iciness he presented himself to the other Slytherins with. I flinched.
I hated myself for it.
A/N: World War Two is looming on the horizon for our favourite twins... and there is tension between them... What will happen next?
I hope you all enjoyed!
Please review; Tom will give you a hug and kiss if you do :)