The Dark Lord Part Three: Tea and Plans

Draco ushered the Cape into the backseat of his car, after he'd handcuffed the vigilante's hands in front of his body. (Ostensibly, this was so Draco could keep his eyes on the illusionist's hands at all times. Word of the Cape's abilities as an escape artist had spread, so the excuse had gone unquestioned.)

The chief of police drove for a while, his eyes frequently darting to his rearview mirror.

"Here," he tossed the handcuff keys to the 'prisoner,' once he judged they were far enough away from the other ARK employees. The Cape quickly ditched the manacles.

"I hope you're not expecting a thank you," the vigilante groused. From the tone of voice, Draco was certain the mask concealed a raised eyebrow. He frowned. If the two didn't keep butting heads, the hero would probably get along great with his boss. They seemed to be more similar than they would ever admit.

"I had to do that for appearances," Malfoy pointed out. He couldn't openly defy Snape.

"What, you had to waste time while the Dark Lord is preparing a massive attack on the city? Please tell me you're cancelling the parade."

"I can't," Malfoy responded. "But look: There's no way he'll be able to gas the parade-goers. We've arranged top-notch security. Nothing that isn't supposed to be there is getting through."

Harry considered the last statement, the wheels in his head turning.

"Nothing that isn't supposed to be there," he repeated. But if something appeared innocuous, as if it were part of the festivities… "Turn the car around! Now!" he ordered his former partner.

~CAPE~

Bellatrix poured the tea for them, as Riddle explained some of the reasons his plans for developing the city were doomed to failure.

"I have plans. I have scars on my body from where the orderlies would beat me. I have tremors from all the stress, all the night-terrors. I don't have hope.

"Why should I? Snape owns more than half of Palm City as it is."

"You keep up with the news, then?" Hermione asked. Then she chided herself. Maybe he was holed up in this institution, but that didn't mean he was cut off from the rest of the world. She shouldn't have assumed.

"News," Riddle shook his head. "I'd hardly call what gets written about him news. You can't find an impartial story when the reporters are all in his pockets."

"Not all of them are," Hermione said, quietly but firmly. Riddle turned to look her in the eyes. He nodded after a moment, as if satisfied by what he saw there.

"Who did you say you were looking for?"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle. There's a certificate of birth, but it was never filed," she handed the document she'd gotten from Neville to Riddle. "We file this, and you can claim your inheritance. You can keep Snape from taking control of the docks."

Riddle examined the papers. Then he looked up at her.

"You never featured in any of my plans. You could actually make them a reality. Why would you help me?"

Hermione looked at the crib in the room. It looked like she had finally found someone who could empathize with the tragedy that was her childhood. Certainly here was another person who hated her father.

"Because maybe I understand what it's like to be an orphan," she said aloud. She didn't, of course. But she had lost her mother and she would prefer to think of her father as dead than to think about who he was.

~CAPE~

The Cape and Malfoy burst onto the scene. Sure enough, the ARK employees that had been left to guard the truck had been knocked unconscious. Others were guarding the truck now, no doubt ones who worked for the Dark Lord.

The two quickly subdued most of them. It was surreal for Harry, working with Malfoy again. It was almost like old times—except, of course, for the mask on his face and the cape he was using as a weapon.

Now only one man was left to be dealt with: Pius Thicknesse. If anything, he proved easier to restrain than the men who had been reporting to him. At first this confused Harry, but Malfoy quickly spotted the reason.

"Look at his eyes. He's been drugged."

Just like Lavender was, Harry thought.

"The dead will rise," Thicknesse pronounced.

"What?" Malfoy asked.

"The Dark Lord will claim what is his," Thicknesse parroted his master.

"Who is the Dark Lord?" the Cape demanded.

"Tom Riddle," Thicknesse replied.

Harry's heart started pounding. Riddle was the Dark Lord. Orwell had gone alone to find Riddle, and she still hadn't returned his phone call. Oh god. What had she gotten herself into this time? He had to find her!

~CAPE~

Riddle had gone back to looking at the certificate of birth.

"Kidnappers didn't bring me here," he observed. "My parents did," he handed her back the document, with his parents' names on it.

"They left me here, an unwanted child. But they didn't expect the little boy to have a knack for chemicals. Neither did the orderlies who used to bully me. But they learned their lesson," Riddle stood up from his chair at last, surprising the blogger who had assumed he was crippled.

"Especially," Riddle continued, "the chair of St. Mungo's, Pius Thicknesse." Revenge was sweet. But Riddle wasn't finished with his speech. He began telling the reporter about the birth defect he'd been born with.

As he spoke, he took off his wig, and then started peeling off his face—no, not his face, Hermione realized quickly. Riddle had been wearing a mask. Without it, far from looking handsome, he barely looked human. There were only slits where there should have been a nose. His eyes gleamed menacingly as he continued.

"They say my mother, Merope, screamed for two days after she saw me." The Dark Lord blew his powdered toxin into Hermione's stunned face before she could retreat.

"When will you stop screaming, my dear?" Tom addressed her seemingly lifeless body. Hermione lay upon the floor, staring at nothing, her mouth contorted in a silent scream.

TO BE CONTINUED

Author's Note: And so alternate episode seven draws to a close.

Once again, this chapter has not been beta-d.

Thanks again to Orwell, dem bones, and IronAmerica for reviewing!

Did you know that Monday was The Cape's night? Are you content to allow NBC to give Mondays over to Revolting?

Let's show NBC that we won't settle for Cape-lite.

-Six Seasons and a Movie!