Author's Note: This is my favourite chapter in the story and it's one that I've been planning since the very beginning. I always thought that when Harry lost consciousness in the forest and had that whole talk with Dumbledore, at the same time, Voldemort had a similar talk with Dumbledore elsewhere...and this chapter is my interpretation of it. Hope you enjoy :)
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all rights and characters belong to J.K Rowling. I am simply having fun with my imagination. Thanks
CHAPTER 49: THE ORPHANAGE AGAIN
"Where am I?"
"Where do you think?"
"I don't know what I think. Just tell me where I am, okay?"
"I'd rather hear your theories."
"JUST TELL ME WHERE I AM!"
"Oh boy, have I missed this."
"This? What is this? What happened?"
"Open your eyes and see for yourself, Tom."
"Open my eyes? What do you mean, 'open my eyes'? They are open!"
"Now, now, no need to get angry."
"They are open. See? They're open! And everything is black. Ugh, turn on the light, will you?!"
"Hmm…they're open? That's odd."
"What's odd? Hey—where are you? Hey, come back! Don't leave me."
"I'm right here, Tom."
"I think I'm starting to go mad…I can see things fading in and out of focus. It's so dark here. Open that light, already!"
"You want to see?"
"YES. What kind of question is that?! Of course I want to see!"
"Just think it."
"Think it?"
"Think that you want to see. Go on; do it."
"Is this a joke?"
"I suppose I'm not surprised…you never did trust me, did you, Tom?"
He sighed and concentrated hard on wanting to see. The room suddenly brightened up as though curtains had been drawn back in a swift effort. Tom blinked rapidly. He could not feel a thing. Everything was so weird. He focused his eyes and looked around at his surroundings. The bed. The desk. The closet. The window. The man. His eyes stopped at the man and he stared at him for a long time.
"Don't you recognise me, Tom?" said the man.
Tom continued to stare.
"I haven't changed that much, have I?" said the man, and he reached for the small closet door and opened it, revealing a mirror in which he glanced and frowned. "Nope. Still the same old me—whiter beard, I'd say."
Tom nodded.
The man closed the door and walked over to the small window, glancing outside.
"I think it is going to rain soon, don't you, Tom?"
Again, Tom nodded, too lost for words.
The man sighed happily and took a seat on the chair across from the bed on which Tom sat. They remained quiet for a long time, sitting like a doctor and patient.
"You have also changed a great deal," said the man, finally breaking the silence.
Tom opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again. Feeling was slowly tickling its way back into the tips of his legs and arms. He suddenly became aware that he had a body which he could move. He experimented with a few fingers, tapping them on the bed sheets in a slow, rhythmic movement.
"Where am I?" he finally asked, his childlike voice ringing in his ears more clearly now.
The man frowned.
"Don't you know?"
Tom shook his head and then took another careful look around the room. He had been there before—he was sure of that much. But when? It seemed like so long ago. He stood up, causing the floorboards beneath his feet to creak. He looked out the window. Children were riding bicycles up a rainy street and a postman was making his rounds. Tom backed away from the window and tried the closet next. It was empty, except for a small box which rattled when Tom picked it up. He opened it, ignoring the fact that the man was still watching him intently, and eyed the various objects inside—a ball of string, a yoyo…unimportant things. Tom shut the box and put it back in its place. He finally noticed the mirror and jumped back, gaping at his reflection. He was a child again, but he had blazing scarlet eyes instead of the blue ones he'd been born with.
"Surprised?" said the man, who looked amused as he watched Tom analyse himself in the mirror. Tom's eyes met the man's. "It is what the real you looks like, Tom—a mere child, weak and vulnerable, but with the envy, malice, and evil that you so clearly possess."
"I…" said Tom, who was eyeing the man as though he'd spoken a completely different language. "Why are we back here? What is this?"
"This is your parting, Tom," said the man, simply.
"PARTING?!" cried Tom. He shut the closet door abruptly and took a step towards the man. "Parting where? Am…am I d…d…d…"
"Dead?" said the man. "Are you dead?"
Tom gulped nervously.
"Is that really all you care about, Tom?"
"Yes," breathed Tom.
The man sighed heavily.
"No," he finally said. "You are not dead, Tom. But you are also not alive. You are, I suspect, stuck somewhere in the middle."
"What does that even mean?" demanded Tom.
"It means that you and I have a lot to talk about," said the man.
"Right," laughed Tom. "What would I have to talk to you about?"
"Oh, lots, believe it or not," said the man, raising his grey eyebrows. "We have not had a good, long chat in years, Tom. It is about time we paid credit where credit is due."
"Speak English," hissed Tom.
The man sighed again.
"Where shall I start then?"
"Start with what is going on here."
"Well," said the man. "We are inside your room. You are 11-years-old, though you have your intelligence and your memory is still intact. I am sitting here with you, and it looks like it is going to rain soon."
"Right," said Tom, slowly. "I do have my memories intact. I remember everything."
"Mhm," said the man, who was clearly so very amused.
An image of a darkened forest appeared before Tom's eyes. It was cold and he was wearing a long, dark cloak. A glorious wand slipped through his fingers and a jarring pain stabbed him like a heart to the dagger. He'd heard faint whispers and gasps from a crowd that dissolved before his eyes, as did everything else.
"Am I…d-dead?" he croaked.
"No," said the man. "Like I said, this is just a time for us to talk."
"ABOUT WHAT?!" cried Tom. "I have nothing to say to you!"
"Oh, but I have lots to say to you," said the man. He then glanced at the window and stood up from the chair, moving to the door.
"W-where are you going?" said Tom, who watched him open it and step out.
The man turned to look at him with a curious smile.
"How about a walk in the rain?"
He did not wait for Tom to answer. He turned and walked away, leaving the door wide open. Tom hesitated, glanced out the window again, and then followed Dumbledore out of his room at Wool's Orphanage.
As soon as they were outside, the rain stopped. The streets were strangely dry and there were no puddles in sight. But the clouds were still relatively dark and the winds rather chilly. All the children from before had vanished. There was no one else except for Tom and Dumbledore, walking along the street together.
"We have lots to discuss, Tom," said Dumbledore. "Where would you like to begin?"
Tom thought for a minute.
"I suppose we should start with what just happened."
"Fair enough," said Dumbledore. "What do you remember?"
"Everything," answered Tom, truthfully. "I remember the battle, the boy coming into the forest—I remember killing him."
"And what happened after that?"
Tom paused.
"Nothing. Nothing happened. I woke up here."
"You don't remember the pain?"
"Well yes, I remember the pain." He paused. "Did the curse rebound on me again?"
"Something like that, yes," said Dumbledore.
"Why does this keep happening?" said Tom, mostly to himself.
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.
"You haven't a clue, have you?"
"No," said Tom, a little annoyed now.
"Very well," said Dumbledore. "Let's go back."
"To?"
"To Godric's Hollow."
They stopped walking. The street dissolved around them—the cars, the buildings, the sidewalks…everything vanished. And just as quickly, a new scene materialised before their eyes. It took Tom a second to recognise it as the room where he had murdered Lily Potter. She stood now, holding her child close to her as she muttered an unfamiliar incantation and paced around the crib at the center of the room. Outside, lightning was flashing madly. Shouts could be heard from down below. Tom watched the scene lazily and soon became aware that Dumbledore was watching him, and not the scene. He looked up at him.
"What?"
"Oh nothing," said Dumbledore, quickly. "Just observing. Look, here you come."
The door burst open and in came the fully-grown Tom, wearing the hood of his black cloak and pointing a wand at the woman.
"No! Please, not Harry! Please, not him! Kill me instead! Please, I beg you. Don't touch him!"
"Stand aside, you silly girl…stand aside now," said Voldemort.
Tom crossed his arms. He was very interested in watching this happen from the outside. He wanted to see exactly what had happened—every second of it.
The girl put the boy down in the crib and turned to face Voldemort. She spread her arms to shield the crib, but he only laughed at this shrivel attempt to save the boy's life.
"PLEASE, HAVE MERCY! PLEASE, I BEG YOU! PLEASE! PLE—"
His spell hit her perfectly and she shrieked before falling to the ground, unmoving. Laughing cruelly, Voldemort turned his wand to face the boy sitting in the crib with tears in his eyes. He did not think twice about it. He muttered the spell and it all happened very quickly. The flash of green light erupted from his wand like an exploding canon, and just as quickly, drew back. His wand began to vibrate and shake in his hand. Furniture everywhere was flying and thunder rumbled in the distance, accompanied by occasional flashes of lightning. Tom watched as his older self crumbled. His knees buckled and his wand slipped from his fingers. His body slowly began to shrink and dissolved into nothingness. Tom watched as the powers forced themselves out of the body, followed by the echoed whispers of their incantations. Colourless, they swarmed out of the room which was now filled with Voldemort's cries.
"Not very pretty, is it?" commented Dumbledore, slyly.
Tom dropped his hands to his sides and said nothing.
"Come on," said Dumbledore, moving towards the door. "I have no further interest in staying here."
Tom followed him out into the darkened village. The thunder and lightning had stopped as the man and the child resumed their walk.
"So it happened again then?" said Tom.
"Not quite," said Dumbledore. "It is true, the curse rebounded upon you again. But it did not have the same effect as it had last time."
"Why is that?"
Dumbledore smiled.
They reached the door to the church at the end of the street. He opened it and motioned for Tom to follow him inside. Tom did. He closed the door behind him and looked around. They were standing in the middle of the Great Hall at Hogwarts. It was packed with students, waiting for the Sorting Hat to place a skinny boy at the front into a house. Tom and Dumbledore joined the group of first years and watched as the Sorting Hat spoke to the 11-year-old version of Tom.
"Want to know what he was telling me, don't you, Dumbledore?" said Tom now.
Dumbledore shrugged.
"It's up to you."
"Right," scoffed Tom, knowing perfectly well that he had no choice. "It was telling me that it had never seen the name Riddle before but that I had magical blood…and a hunger for power."
"Right on both accounts," commented Dumbledore, slyly.
"It said something was very interesting, that there was no mistaking it, and that it was nice to meet me. Then it said that it would put me in my rightful house."
"That it did," said Dumbledore. "Come on."
He motioned for Tom to follow him and they disappeared from the hall. They walked silently along the dungeons until they finally reached the Slytherin common room. Dumbledore placed his hand on the door and it shoved aside, allowing them entrance. They found a partially crowded room where all the excitement and rage was regarding some attacks at Hogsmeade. They found Tom sitting by himself in an armchair in the corner with A History of Magic open in his lap. He was listening to the other Slytherins exchange false information regarding that day's events. Dumbledore moved forwards and sat down in the armchair next to Tom's. Tom however remained standing, watching himself pretend to read.
"Here I must be thirteen or—"
"Fourteen," said Dumbledore. "Here, you are in your fourth year at Hogwarts."
"Right," nodded Tom. "Why are we here, Dumbledore?"
"Just wait," said Dumbledore, kindly.
They waited.
Soon, the others tired of talking and proceeded up to their dormitories, leaving Tom alone in the common room, with the ghosts of Dumbledore and himself sitting near him. At half past 12, the portrait hole slid open and a few students clambered in and joined Tom on the couches. Tom stood up to face them.
"Well?" he said.
"Well, nothing!" exclaimed Avery, happily.
Tom's ghost scoffed.
"He was always a git," he commented.
"I wonder who made him that way," said Dumbledore, without looking at him.
That shut Tom right up.
"We got away with it," said Lestrange.
"Good," said Tom's older version, a small smile spreading on his face. "You did well. All of you."
The scene dissolved and Tom was now standing alone in the middle of a deserted Chamber of Secrets. The skeleton of the basilisk lay a few feet away from him, draped in water. Tom looked around nervously.
"P-professor?" he said, his voice shaking slightly.
He had never been in the Chamber of Secrets that young. He'd only found it in his fifth year, as he could recall. He had to admit that, standing there alone, it was quite frightening for an 11-year-old.
"DUMBLEDORE!" he called out.
"Calm yourself, Riddle," said Dumbledore, appearing right behind him.
Tom jumped back and breathed heavily.
"Don't do that," he said through clenched teeth.
"Oh I'm sorry, Voldemort, I didn't mean to scare you," said Dumbledore.
"Shut up," muttered Tom. "You didn't. Anyway, what are we doing here?"
"I am showing you something," said Dumbledore. His eyes left Tom and landed on a figure that lay sprawled on the floor at the center of the chamber. Tom ran up to the girl and stared at her white face. She was holding his diary in her hands.
"That's one," said Dumbledore.
"What a little thief," he breathed.
He turned to face Dumbledore, who'd raised his eyebrows.
"People shouldn't go taking things that don't belong to them!" said Tom angrily.
"I beg your pardon?" said Dumbledore.
"You wonder why she got snatched by the monster and brought down here?" said Tom. "It was her fault. She shouldn't have been so nosey."
"I believe it was you who possessed her to come down to the chamber, Tom," said Dumbledore, quietly.
"It bloody serves her right," said Tom, looking back at the redheaded girl on the ground before him.
He heard Dumbledore sigh and next second, he was walking away.
"Hey, where are you going?!" Tom called after him, and with one last glance at the girl's body, he ran to join Dumbledore who was striding across the chamber.
"Afraid to be left alone, are you?" said Dumbledore, without looking at him.
Tom didn't say anything.
They ended up on the lakeshore, both of them standing in front of Dumbledore's white tomb. Voldemort's grown version was leaning over him, a wicked smile on his face, as he slowly pulled the Elder Wand from Dumbledore's grasp and held it firmly with his long white fingers.
"What was that you were saying, about how one should not steal that which does not belong to them?" said Dumbledore.
Tom scoffed.
"That's different."
"Enlighten me—how so?"
"This is me," said Tom.
"Ah," said Dumbledore. "And those same rules do not apply to you, do they?"
Tom ignored him and watched the gleam on Voldemort's face. Dumbledore was shaking his head now disapprovingly, and began to walk away again. Reluctantly, Tom followed him.
"So I'm not dead then," he said. "But you are."
"Yes, I am," said Dumbledore. "Thank you for that, by the way."
"Mhm," said Tom. "So how can you continue to exist now if you are dead?"
"Well you see," said Dumbledore. "There is always something that you never quite understood, Tom." He paused to look at him. "There is an afterlife, Tom. There is life beyond death."
"Impossible," said Tom, rolling his eyes at the old man. "Death is the end."
"No," said Dumbledore, sadly. "It most certainly is not. It is only but the next great adventure."
"Keep telling yourself that," said Tom. "You don't think I know what's going on here?"
Dumbledore frowned.
"And what is going on here, Tom?"
"This is all happening inside my head," said Tom. "I am not really here. And neither are you."
Dumbledore sighed. He motioned for Tom to follow him, and next second they were walking along the Hogwarts corridors again, on a cool winter night. Tom did not ask why they were following Voldemort, whose long black cloak was wrinkled with snow. They reached the door to Dumbledore's office. Voldemort knocked. The door opened. He went inside.
Dumbledore and Tom stood in the corner of the office, watching as the younger Dumbledore poured wine into a goblet which he offered to Voldemort. They sat down and exchanged a few words as they drank. Then, Dumbledore set his goblet aside and leaned forwards.
"You call it 'greatness', what you have been doing, do you?" he said, delicately.
"Certainly," said Voldemort, casually, and his eyes seemed to burn as he said it. "I have experimented; I have pushed the boundaries of magic further, perhaps, than they have ever been pushed—"
"Of some kinds of magic," the younger Dumbledore corrected him quietly.
Tom crossed his arms again and again, he felt Dumbledore watching him.
"Did you know?" he said, quietly.
"No," said Dumbledore, surprising him a bit. "Not yet, at least." He turned on his heel to walk away, then paused and looked back at Tom. "But I had my suspicions."
Together, they departed from the old office and walked along the castle corridors in silence. They reached the seventh floor and watched Voldemort pace in front of a wall. The wall then materialised into a door. He looked over his shoulder a few time and then let himself in, with Dumbledore and Tom following him. They watched as Voldemort paced around the large room, so littered with random objects. After a while, he found a spot and gently placed the Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw into a little treasure box.
"That's two," said Dumbledore.
"I never imagined that someone would find it here," said Tom, truthfully. "I thought…"
"You thought you were the only one to ever have found the infamous Room of Requirement?" said Dumbledore. Throat too tight to speak, Tom nodded. "I admit, I never had the pleasure to find it myself. But I knew about it all along."
"So the boy took it then?" said Tom.
Dumbledore smiled and turned to look as the Room of Requirement door slid open again and Harry Potter entered, fully-grown, dirty from the battle, but eager and determined. The two watched as he paced around the room, looking frantically at every little corner, every table, every object in sight. He paused suddenly, and closed his eyes. Tom watched as the boy listened intently. Then, he opened his eyes and glared at the partially covered treasure box on the table. He slowly walked up to it and moved the cloak aside. He picked up the treasure box, opened it, and a smile flashed across his face as his considered the object inside.
"Right," said Tom. "I don't need to see the rest of this."
Tom was slowly walking along the darkened streets of Knockturn Alley. There was no one else in sight and it looked like it was going to rain again. He looked around nervously.
"P-professor?" he said, his voice slightly trembling.
"Yes?" said Dumbledore, appearing right before his eyes again, causing him to jump back in fright.
"STOP DOING THAT!" he hissed.
Dumbledore smiled.
They suddenly heard a terrible shriek. Tom wheeled around, his eyes fully alert.
"What was that?!"
"Let's go find out," said Dumbledore, simply.
He led the way out of Knockturn Alley. The shrieks grew louder now as they descended through the streets, finally reaching Diagon Alley. Tom stopped short and watched as his Death Eaters battled the villagers. There was blood everywhere—people screaming and shouting and begging for mercy. The Death Eaters were chasing them and laughing at their shrivel attempts to save their skins. This time, Dumbledore crossed his arms.
"Is there anything you would like to say, Tom?"
Tom did not answer right away. He watched Snape's younger version run along Barty Crouch Junior as they chased an elderly witch into a shop. There were a few flashes of green and red light. Then, the two departed from the shop, looking rather pleased with themselves.
"Those two were always my favourites," said Tom, finally answering Dumbledore.
Dumbledore shook his head and turned away from the street.
It instantly materialised into Crystal Cave and the pair moved into the dark depths of it, the water wetting the hem of Dumbledore's cloak. Tom walked alongside him, in his schoolboy clothes, jumping over the rocks. They quickly found the corner where the bowl that Voldemort had enchanted lay. They stopped right in front of it. Tom peered inside. The locket was there alright, drowning in the silvery blue potion. Tom looked up at Dumbledore questioningly, but Dumbledore shook his head. And so they waited.
Soon, a man appeared, hauling something long and heavy—it looked like an ax. His wand was sticking out of the pocket of his robes and it took Tom a moment to realise that the man had not come alone. Standing behind him was a very small creature. It looked to be about the ugliest thing Tom had ever seen. The two were walking in the shadows, so Tom couldn't make out who they were. But he knew. Oh yes, he definitely knew. He watched young Regulus make his way over to the crystal bowl. He handed his wand to Kreacher the elf, then swung the ax and hit the bowl hard. It fell with a loud clash that echoed loudly throughout the cave.
At this point, Dumbledore got tired of standing and took a seat on one of the wet rocks nearby. He continued to watch the scene, fully alert. Tom was also interested to see how Regulus had managed it. How did he manage to destroy the locket? But what he saw pleased him very much. Regulus took a hold of the locket and hit it as hard as he could with the ax, but nothing happened. Puzzled, he took the wand from Kreacher and hit the locket with the most powerful spell he could think of. Still, nothing happened. He tried a couple of more spells—tried burning it too—but no matter how hard he tried, he could not do it. The locket was as good as new.
"That right there is the power of my kind of magic," said Tom, proudly.
Dumbledore did not reply.
The locket suddenly slipped from Regulus' fingers and onto the floor, for he'd heard a chilling sound—a horrifying sound—that had sent a wave of panic through him. Next moment, the inferi were rising from the waters and headed straight for him. They hissed and whispered as they slowly ascended, feeling hungry for flesh and blood. Regulus shouted "Expelliarmus!" and "Rictosempra!" but only a couple of the inferi were affected by these weak spells. Regulus turned back to the entrance to the cave but it was blocked now by a swarm of inferi headed straight for him. Losing hope, he grabbed the locket and turned to Kreacher. He pulled a locket just like it from out of his pocket and threw that at the elf.
"HERE!" he yelled. "TAKE IT! FIX THE BOWL AND PUT THIS REPLICA IN THERE!"
"But master!" croaked the elf, but Regulus was already being pulled down the rocks.
Skeletal hands found their way around his legs, arms, and neck and were pulling him with incredible force. His wand dropped from his grip and rolled down the rocks. Panicked, the elf grabbed his master's wand and fixed the bowl instantly. He placed the fake locket inside and refilled it with the silvery blue potion from before. When he turned back, his master was already halfway into the water.
"DO WHATEVER YOU CAN TO DESTROY IT!" cried Regulus, dropping the real locket which fell on the rocks in front of him. "PROMISE ME, KREACHER! PROMISE ME YOU WILL TAKE IT HOME AND YOU WILL DESTROY IT!"
"K-Kreacher p-p-promises, master!" said the elf, in a frightened voice, and he ran forwards and took the locket. He then reached for Regulus' hand, trying desperately to pull him from the inferi's grip.
"GO! GET OUT!" shouted Regulus, and with that, he was thrown into the water.
Tom and Dumbledore watched as he struggled for a few seconds and then went under completely and did not rise again. Frightened, the house elf began muttering to himself as he picked up Regulus' wand, threw it into the water, bowed for his late master, held the locket closely to him and made a run for it, leaving Tom and Dumbledore alone in the darkness of the cave. It was quiet for a long time before Tom spoke again. He was very surprised with what he had seen and he turned to Dumbledore.
"Did he do it?" he said, in as low a voice as his 11-year-old self could muster.
"No," said Dumbledore.
"But—"
"Just watch."
So Tom waited. It seemed that hours had passed by them. Time was a very strange thing in this new dimension that he was in. Finally, two figures entered the cave, one taller than the other, though both grown. Their wands were lit up and they were slowly making their way towards the bowl that Kreacher had repaired years before. Tom gasped. It was Dumbledore and Harry Potter. Dumbledore was muttering something to the boy that Tom could not hear. Even after Tom jumped from the rock and walked right up to the pair of them, he still could not hear it. It was strangely muffled. Furious, he turned to face his version of Dumbledore.
"Why can't I hear it?" he said, through gritted teeth.
"Oh, it's not important," said Dumbledore, smiling sweetly. "All you need to know is that I drank the potion, got the fake locket, and was murdered by Severus Snape later that very same night."
"Good riddance," muttered Tom.
Dumbledore sighed heavily.
"The boy has been travelling for the last year, looking for the real locket. He found it eventually and eventually, he learned how to destroy it."
Dumbledore then rose from the rocks and began to walk away.
"Where are you going?" demanded Tom, also jumping to his feet.
"There is nothing left for us here," said Dumbledore. "That's three. Let's go have a look at the others?"
"Just tell me what happened!" yelled Tom, suddenly. Dumbledore paused to look at him. "I don't want to see! I just want to know!"
"What do you want to know?" said Dumbledore, finally.
"What happened to Morfin's ring?"
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows and smiled.
"Was it not Marvolo's?"
"WHAT HAPPENED TO IT?" yelled Tom.
"I took it," said Dumbledore. "It took me a long time to track it down, I'll admit, but it was I who took it and it was I who destroyed it…long before the boy even knew your secret."
"How did he find out?" breathed Tom. "How did you find out?"
"I think I've always known, to be perfectly honest with you," said Dumbledore, thoughtfully. "But the boy was only clued in on it a few years ago—in his sixth year at Hogwarts."
Tom glared up at the old man. Smiling stupidly, he turned and walked out of the cave. When Tom finally followed him out, it took a moment for him to realise that he'd walked into the Ministry of Magic. It was rather empty, as opposed to the swarm of wizards that passed there daily. Dumbledore was standing at the end of the hall, admiring the fountain. Tom walked right up to him and stood on his side, also watching the fountain.
"And the cup?" he said. "How did the boy find out about the cup?"
"He didn't," said Dumbledore, cleverly. "He only figured that something was hidden in dear old Bellatrix Lestrange's vault. And when he finally got there, he found it instantly."
"How?" said Tom, who was growing furious again.
Dumbledore smiled brightly at him.
"It's a nice day out. Why don't we go for a walk in the sun?"
Without waiting for Tom's answer, he started back down the hall. Bewildered and slightly panicked, Tom followed. In no time, they were outside, strolling along the sunny streets of London. Again, they were the only ones. Everyone else was off somewhere.
"You do realise you haven't won, don't you, Dumbledore?" said Tom, finally. Dumbledore looked down at him curiously. "I still have more secrets—secrets that you don't know about."
"You have one secret," Dumbledore corrected, "And she answers to the name 'Nagini'. Yes, I know about her, Tom. And now, so does Harry."
Tom tried to swallow but it was impossible. It was as though the air had been forcefully sucked out of him, stripping all sense of feeling from him completely. He stood rooted to the spot, trying to comprehend these words. Alright, so the boy knew about Nagini. But so what?
"The boy is dead," said Tom, his voice slightly shaking.
Dumbledore turned to look at him.
"He's dead," said Tom, again. "I killed him. I hit him with the killing curse. He fell to the ground, unmoving. I killed him, Dumbledore. It's over!"
"I've always found that help would be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."
"W-what?"
"Or rather, those who deserve it," said Dumbledore.
"I don't understand," said Tom.
"When will you ever learn, Tom?" sighed Dumbledore. "Did it not cross your mind that, perhaps, the boy must have told someone else? Do you really think that your secret died with him?"
Tom's mouth dropped open, and noticing this, Dumbledore's smile widened.
"Come," he said. "Mrs. Cole is waiting for us."
Feeling perplexed beyond comprehension, Tom allowed Dumbledore to guide him back into the orphanage. They made their way up the stairs and into the large dining room. Seated at that table were the last people Tom wanted to see: Avery, Lestrange, Nott, Rosier, Davis, Selwynn, and Rowle. The seven boys, all of them 11-years-old (like him), were eating some mince pies with Mrs. Cole. Dumbledore smiled at them all and took a seat at the end of the table.
"Come join us, Tom," he said, as he began to cut his own pie.
Tom felt his feet force themselves to walk and found a seat right next to Dumbledore. He stared at the others, who pretended like they'd not seen him. Mrs. Cole was looking drunk as usual. This was worse than all the dreams Tom had had combined. A million times worse.
"So you showed me what happened," said Tom, looking at Dumbledore. "You showed me everything you wanted. What happens now?"
"Well," said Dumbledore, chewing for a moment. "You have a choice."
"A choice?"
"Yes, I think you do." He paused. "You can choose life or death."
"That's easy," said Tom. "Life."
"It's not that simple," said Dumbledore, smiling again. "If you choose life, it won't be easy. But if you choose death, you need never go back and deal with a sea of angry Death Eaters."
"I am the only one who is allowed to be angry here, professor," said Tom. "They have no business getting angry and they would not dare to!"
He pointed his finger at the other boys but they ignored him and continued to eat, as though he was not there and they could not hear him.
"So it is life that you choose then?" said Dumbledore, after a while. "That is your final answer?"
"Of course," said Tom.
"You never learn, do you?" said Dumbledore, sadly. "There are things far worse than death. I have always tried to teach you that."
"There is nothing worse than death," breathed Tom. "Nothing. I would rather go back to my rudimentary form and years of exile than end up just like you."
"You think so?"
"I know so."
Dumbledore sighed again, putting down his knife and fork.
"Very well, Tom. I tried—I really did. But once you set your mind to something, there is no trying to convince you otherwise…just ask Severus."
Tom scowled at him but said nothing.
The clock on the wall began to chime. Dumbledore looked up at it thoughtfully, and then frowned.
"It is time for you to go back," he told Tom. "This is where we part ways."
"Forever," Tom added, "For I will remain in the living world and you will always be in the world of the dead."
"As you wish," said Dumbledore, bowing his head to him.
Tom grew even more furious now, but was momentarily distracted by a tingling sensation in his toes. It slowly moved up his legs and into his stomach. His fingers also began to tingle and then the sensation moved up his arms and into his neck too. He felt incredibly strong and powerful—so full of energy and determination. He looked up at Dumbledore who, for a split second, met his eyes. And then—
"Wake up! My lord, please wake up! Please!"
Tom glanced around the table again and then back at Dumbledore.
"I'm not here," he told him. "I'm not really here."
"Yes, you are, my lord! Of course you are here! You are here with me and I am here with you! Please, wake up! Open your eyes for me! Please!"
"Goodbye, Dumbledore," Tom whispered. Just before the room dissolved before his eyes however, Mrs. Cole's head snapped up and she met his eyes, as though he had only just walked into the room. There was something very peculiar about the look she gave him—almost knowing.
Tom opened his eyes. The dark green blurriness quickly materialised into trees, and the feeling of the cool wind was very evident on his skin now. The image of Dumbledore and the others at the orphanage was still so clear in his mind, though now he knew exactly where he was and how old he was. His red eyes shifted around until he finally found Bellatrix sitting right next to him, one hand on his heart and another on his cheek, tears sparkling in her eyes.
As you well know by now that the next chapter is going to be the last one for this story, I thought I'd post about what I'm working on next.
There are two other stories on my page that I think you guys should check out. One is about Draco time-travelling to the Marauder Era during their sixth year. It is a story I am co-writing with DaOneInDaCorner. Do check it out. It's called "Hogwarts: Marauding the Timeline".
The other story is my first attempt at writing in the Alternate Universe. It's a story where James and Lily live, thus Harry grows up rich and famous and spoiled like there's no tomorrow. Unfortunately, this means that Draco grows up in the opposite circumstances. The story is written in their joint perspectives and it definitely puts a twist on canon. It's called "An Unkindness of Wizards". Let me know what you guys think of both! I personally think they're much better than this story was.