Chapter 14:
Disclaimer : Nothing belongs to me here. JKRowling's the Goddess
A.N : Well, thank you for your comments because it makes me less lazy xD. And please keep on commenting :p
He had been turning over in his bed for the last couple of hours. His sheets were tangled around him, sticking on his skin as sweat poured out of his body. Ajas grunted before kicking them off as he sat up, his hand pressed against his forehead. His mind was in complete turmoil due to the discoveries he made earlier that day.
My cloak is a hallow.I had it since I was 11, and I never knew anything… He almost wanted to damn himself. He stood off his bed as he realised that sleep was a lost cause. He then paced through his appartment, opening every windows and letting the night's fresh wind circulate throughout his home.
After taking his shower he paused in front of the mirror, observing his true form in all it's naked glory. His grayish skin reflected the pale moonlight, giving it an ethereal marble like glow. White marble with black veins pattern… His body was tall and slender, fine muscles flexing at each movements. He traced his facial traits with the tip of his fingers ; it didn't feel as foreign as it used to be. He was getting accustomed to this appearance, his real appearance. He didn't want to conceal it, he didn't find it repulsive anymore. It was…himself. He embraced his nature.
Alright, let's not waste any more time.
He briskly walked out of the bathroom, dressing himself meanwhile before letting himself fall couch facing the fireplace. He then grabbed his pouch before carefully pulling out the leatherbound book
Secrets of the Darkest Arts
His finger caressed the cover and the spine, weighting it and then carefully opening it as if the book was a sacred relic. A soft breeze penetrated the room, ruffling his hair. Chills went down his spine, but he wasn't sure whether it was due to the freshness or to the very fact that he was about to read something so…satisfying. Something that he had been pleading to know. And it was with contentment that his mind plunged into the book.
XxXxXxXxXx
"The creation of a Horcrux allows one to gain the ability to resurrect themselves if their body is destroyed…." Ajas's eyes skimmed through the section dedicated to dark soul magick "[...]multiple Horcruxes might ensure near-immortality[…]an object that contains one's fragment of soul[…]"
It was so far the darkest magic he had ever read about. From it's nature to it's very own creation "A human sacrifice […] pull out the heart with thy bare hands […] use the blood to trace the runes in a perfect magickal circle […] place the heart and the object on top of it in the middle of the circle […] recite […] rip the heart off with thy bare teeths and cut thyself […]spill the drops of blood onto the object…"
And Ajas connected the dots together ; Slytherin's locket with a fragment of soul in it, Tom Riddle's diary containing a "memory" which can posess and wishes to regain a body, Voldemort's seeming immortality…
The old coot of a headmaster probably knew about the diary being a horcrux all along. Why on earth does he keep this kind of information to himself? "Because I don't want to destroy your innocence, Harry…" blah blah blah. And wow, were the previous headmasters retarded or something? Keeping a book like this in a school's library, accessible to children…? - Ajas chuckled for himself before reaching for the locket.
:What am I going to do with you?: He slipped in parseltongue. As an answer, the Horcrux hummed softly, warthm radiating from it. Ajas smiled, almost fondly for an unknown reason to himself before letting it drop on his chest, hidden under his robe.
:I will not fight against you, Lord Voldemort. At least not for now ; I will not fight against anyone. Let the prophecy be void until I can find out the truth: He whispered to the locket, sitting there and thinking about the new developments which occurred during the previous months.
He realised for a long time ago that no matter what he will be involved in this war ; as the prophecized child, as the boy who lived and who saw HIM return, as HIS son…as the used-to-be Hero of the Light, as the used-to-be archenemy of the dark. Yet, nothing obliges him to truly join a faction : he is leaning towards his own… The unpredictable one man army. That doesn't mean that he won't favor another side, that he won't rally , but he needs some time to examinate each forces with an objective eye (something that he had been lacking since early childhood) before chosing.
He also discovered that he was in fact Voldemort's son and Slytherin's heir. The implications might influence his decision ; whether Voldemort knew that Ajas, former Harry Potter, was his son, whether he learned it already, recently or not. And how will he act with this knowledge…It is very important to Ajas ; a father alienating his own flesh and blood might make of his son his true archenemy. Because Ajas now knows the key to Voldemort's downfall ; the destruction of his horcruxes. Yet, he could forgive his father if he did not knew about Ajas being his heir.
And the only way to learn about it was to contact his deceased mother and the only viable way Ajas saw was through the stone of ressurrection. Ajas knows of a potential place in which the hallow might be hidden and decided to investigate within the next week.
If I seriously do get it and plan on becoming a true one-man-army, I should start seeking the third one to complete the collection…He grinned before resuming his studies. He kept reading for hours, ignoring the timid sun smiling through the night's grayish clouds as golden rays penetrated his room. He then trained with his knives, trying to throw multiple ones accurately.
After that, he went checking for the potions he brewed several days ago ; colourful fumes escaped from the kitchen, embalming the atmosphere before reaching out to the windows. Several cauldrons were filled with simmering or boiling potions and Ajas decided that he should start bottling some of them. Revigorating draughts, strenghtening draughts,polyjuice...and some poisons. He was beginning to get satisfied with his potion's stock and always carry several vials on himself because they may become handy at some of the most unexpected times.
While pouring the colored liquids into small crystal containers, Ajas thought of the progress he made in his studies. He had major task at hand, such as retrieving the Hallow and eventually participate in a war : therefore he decided to postpone Hogwarts. He also took notice of the ministry organising NEWTs tests for people who were homeschooled or eventually foreigners.
When he was done with it, he putted on his glamour before going to Gringotts for the pensieve. The trip did not take more than 30 minutes and was both usual and dull. The black stone bassin now laid on his desk, empty . With trembling fingers, he poured the silvery threads out of a memory containing phial. After that, he plunged his face within the bassin….
Up out of the swirling, silvery mass rose a little old man revolving slowly in the Pensieve, silver as a ghost but much more solid, with a thatch of hair that completely covered his eyes.
Looks familiar… Ajas glanced around before realising that it was the interior of the Borgin&Burke shop
"Yes, we acquired it in curious circumstances. It was brought in by a young witch just before Christmas, oh, many years ago now. She said she needed the gold badly, well, that much was obvious. Covered in rags and pretty far along…"
Merope? Ajas dared a guess.
"…Going to have a baby, see. She said the locket had been Slytherin's. Well, we hear that sort of story all the time, 'Oh, this was Merlin's, this was, his favorite teapot,' but when I looked at it, it had his mark all right, and a few simple spells were enough to tell me the truth. Of course, that made it near enough priceless. She didn't seem to have any idea how much it was worth. Happy to get ten Galleons for it. Best bargain we ever made!"
He only paid 10 galleons to a pregnant women in a near deathlike state for a historically valuable artefact?
"Fucking bastard…" Ajas muttered "So…basically, Merope somewhat ended up with Riddle Sr and it ended up badly…Riddle Sr was probably a bastard too for leaving a pregnant women on her own…"
Oh nice parentage you got there Ajas. Morons and Retards…Luckily mum's side's a bit better. Wait, no, there's still Petunia. Damn. Ajas was still curious about how Riddle Sr and Merope ended up together. After all, Riddle Sr was already engaged with that beautiful blonde muggle Cecilia and Merope wasn't exactly pretty either: the one night "stand" was out of question. Unless Riddle was extremely drunk... Merope was pity inducing but not love inducing and Ajas wasn't sure if Riddle Sr was able to have the slightest hint of empathy. Unless Merope used magic…But she is a squib, right?
….
Oh. Love potion. But then why they broke up? Ajas tried to think for a valid reason. According to him the most probable theory was : Riddle Sr got drunk one day and slept with Merope (seeing how the girl was completely enamored by him), thus cheating on his fiancee. He got Merope pregnant, she told him about it and he refused to aknowledge her. Marvolo threw Merope out because she got impregnanted by a Muggle...
Ajas then gave up on verifying that hypothesis, considering that it was an unnecessary piece of information. Drunk or not, love potion or not , Riddle Sr was still a downright pompous shitbag, no wonder why Voldemort hates him. That kind of guy seriously merits to rot in the seven pitches of hell….
Ajas took another phial and poured the liquid into the pensieve, repeating his previous actions. He stood nearby a younger version of Albus Dumbledore, with auburn hair and beard. They were in what seemed to be London in the 40ies. Dumbledore paused for a while before passing through a set of iron gates leading to a bare courtyard. It fronted a rather grim, square building.
Wool's Orphanage, Ajas read the pannel above the entrance while Dumbledore knocked on it. The door was oppened by a scruffy girl wearing an apron
"Good afternoon. I have an appointment with a Mrs. Cole, who, I believe, is the matron here?"
"Oh," said the bewildered-looking girl, taking in Dumbledore's eccentric appearance. "Um… just a mo' …MRS. COLE!" she bellowed over her shoulder.
Dumbledore stepped into a hallway tiled in black and white. Before the front door had closed behind them, a skinny, harassed-looking woman came scurrying toward them. She had a sharp-featured face that appeared more anxious than unkind, and she was talking over her shoulder to another aproned helper as she walked toward Dumbledore.
". . . and take the iodine upstairs to Martha, Billy Stubbs has been picking his scabs and Eric Whalley's oozing all over his sheets — chicken pox on top of everything else," she said to nobody in particular, and then her eyes fell upon Dumbledore and she stopped dead in her tracks, looking as astonished as if a giraffe had just crossed her threshold.
"Good afternoon," said Dumbledore, holding out his hand. Mrs. Cole simply gaped.
"My name is Albus Dumbledore. I sent you a letter requesting an appointment and you very kindly invited me here today."
Mrs. Cole blinked. Apparently deciding that Dumbledore was not a hallucination, she said feebly, "Oh yes. Well — well then — you'd better come into my room. Yes."
She led Dumbledore into a small room that seemed part sitting room, part office. It was as shabby as the hallway and the furniture was old and mismatched. She invited Dumbledore to sit on a rickety chair and seated herself behind a cluttered desk, eyeing him nervously.
"I am here, as I told you in my letter, to discuss Tom Riddle and arrangements for his future," said Dumbledore.
Yay first meeting.
"Are you family?" asked Mrs. Cole.
"No, I am a teacher," said Dumbledore. "I have come to offer Tom a place at my school."
"What school's this, then?"
"It is called Hogwarts," said Dumbledore.
"And how come you're interested in Tom?"
"We believe he has qualities we are looking for."
"You mean he's won a scholarship? How can he have done? He's never been entered for one."
"Well, his name has been down for our school since birth —"
"Who registered him? His parents?"
There was no doubt that Mrs. Cole was an inconveniently sharp woman. Apparently Dumbledore thought so too, for Harry now saw him slip his wand out of the pocket of his velvet suit, at the same time picking up a piece of perfectly blank paper from Mrs. Cole's desktop.
"Here," said Dumbledore, waving his wand once as he passed her the piece of paper, "I think this will make everything clear."
Mrs. Cole's eyes slid out of focus and back again as she gazed intently at the blank paper for a moment.
"That seems perfectly in order," she said placidly, handing it back. Then her eyes fell upon a bottle of gin and two glasses that had certainly not been present a few seconds before.
"Er — may I offer you a glass of gin?" she said in an extra-refined voice.
"Thank you very much," said Dumbledore, beaming.
It soon became clear that Mrs. Cole was no novice when it came to gin drinking. Pouring both of them a generous measure, she drained her own glass in one gulp. Smacking her lips frankly, she smiled at Dumbledore for the first time, and he didn't hesitate to press his advantage.
"I was wondering whether you could tell me anything of Tom Riddle's history? I think he was born here in the orphanage?"
"That's right," said Mrs. Cole, helping herself to more gin. "I remember it clear as anything, because I'd just started here myself. New Year's Eve and bitter cold, snowing, you know. Nasty night. And this girl, not much older than I was myself at the time, came staggering up the front steps. Well, she wasn't the first. We took her in, and she had the baby within the hour. And she was dead in another hour."
Ajas couldn't help but feel sad each time he thought of Merope. She was probably worn out by then, energy-less. Giving birth became fatal
Mrs. Cole nodded impressively and took another generous gulp of gin.
"Did she say anything before she died?" asked Dumbledore. "Anything about the boy's father, for instance?"
"Now, as it happens, she did," said Mrs. Cole, who seemed to be rather enjoying herself now, with the gin in her hand and an eager audience for her story. "I remember she said to me, 'I hope he looks like his papa,' and I won't lie, she was right to hope it, because she was no beauty — and then she told me he was to be named Tom, for his father, and Marvolo, for her father — yes, I know, funny name, isn't it? We wondered whether she came from a circus — and she said the boy's surname was to be Riddle. And she died soon after that without another word. Well, we named him just as she'd said, it seemed so important to the poor girl, but no Tom nor Marvolo nor any kind of Riddle ever came looking for him, nor any family at all, so he stayed in the orphanage and he's been here ever since."
Like I thought previously. Riddle Sr was a fucking bastard. Leaving his child in an orphanage.
Mrs. Cole helped herself, almost absentmindedly, to another healthy measure of gin. Two pink spots had appeared high on her cheekbones. Then she said, "He's a funny boy."
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "I thought he might be."
Ofcourse he is. I was a "funny freak" myself.
"He was a funny baby too. He hardly ever cried, you know. And then, when he got a little older, he was. . . odd."
"Odd in what way?" asked Dumbledore gently.
"Well, he —"
But Mrs. Cole pulled up short, and there was nothing blurry or vague about the inquisitorial glance she shot Dumbledore over her gin glass.
"He's definitely got a place at your school, you say?"
"Definitely," said Dumbledore.
"And nothing I say can change that?"
"Nothing," said Dumbledore.
"You'll be taking him away, whatever?"
"Whatever," repeated Dumbledore gravely.
She squinted at him as though deciding whether or not to trust him. Apparently she decided she could, because she said in a sudden rush, "He scares the other children."
"You mean he is a bully?" asked Dumbledore.
"I think he must be," said Mrs. Cole, frowning slightly, "but it's very hard to catch him at it. There have been incidents. . . . Nasty things ..."
Dumbledore did not press her, though Ajas could tell that he was interested. She took yet another gulp of gin and her rosy cheeks grew rosier still.
"Billy Stubbs's rabbit. . . well, Tom said he didn't do it and I don't see how he could have done, but even so, it didn't hang itself from the rafters, did it?"
"I shouldn't think so, no," said Dumbledore quietly.
"But I'm jiggered if I know how he got up there to do it. All I know is he and Billy had argued the day before. And then" — Mrs. Cole took another swig of gin, slopping a little over her chin this time — "on the summer outing — we take them out, you know, once a year, to the countryside or to the seaside — well, Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop were never quite right afterwards, and all we ever got out of them was that they'd gone into a cave with Tom Riddle. He swore they'd just gone exploring, but something happened in there, I'm sure of it. And, well, there have been a lot of things, funny things. . . ."
Ajas felt that the story was a bit one-sided. Who knows how the other kids treated Tom? Perhaps they were a bunch of Dudley Dursleys. If it's the case, no wonder why the child went insane…
She looked around at Dumbledore again, and though her cheeks were flushed, her gaze was steady. "I don't think many people will be sorry to see the back of him."
They probably all hate him. For being different…for being a freak.
"You understand, I'm sure, that we will not be keeping him permanently?" said Dumbledore. "He will have to return here, at the very least, every summer."
"Oh, well, that's better than a whack on the nose with a rusty poker," said Mrs. Cole with a slight hiccup. She got to her feet, and Harry was impressed to see that she was quite steady, even though two-thirds of the gin was now gone. "I suppose you'd like to see him?"
"Very much," said Dumbledore, rising too.
She led him out of her office and up the stone stairs, calling out instructions and admonitions to helpers and children as she passed. The orphans, Ajas saw, were all wearing the same kind of grayish tunic. They looked reasonably well-cared for, but there was no denying that this was a grim place in which to grow up. Ajas also noticed the several wooden crosses hung on the walls…
A christian-run orphanage. Ajas shuddered at the thought….They probably treated Tom like a demon child…Exorcisms? Isolation?
No one is born evil – The phrase rang within Ajas's mind. He was, after all, a fervent supporter of the nurture theory when it comes to nature vs nurture.
"Here we are," said Mrs. Cole, as they turned off the second landing and stopped outside the first door in a long corridor. She knocked twice and entered.
"Tom? You've got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumberton — sorry, Dunderbore. He's come to tell you — well, I'll let him do it."
Ajas and Dumbledore entered the room, and Mrs. Cole closed the door on them. It was a small bare room with nothing in it except an old wardrobe and an iron bedstead. A boy was sitting on top of the gray blankets, his legs stretched out in front of him, holding a book….
Ajas gasped.