Come Together Chapter 21 - Party

A/N:

Oni: Hello my Pretties!

Tom: We are back with another chapter.

Steve: And this one came pretty quick!

Oni: It's a little shorter though. But hopefully the new arc is settling in now as we delve into more uncharted crossover territory.

Bucky: As always, Oni doesn't own Harry Potter or the MCU, but this crazy crossover storyline is hers I guess but hey, no monetary stuff is gained so I think we're good.

Oni: ANNNND ONWARDS!


Focus on the mission.

Agent James Montgomery Falsworth, codename Union Jack, was decidedly unsettled by the current turn of events but as always had gone to lengths to project that he wasn't. So here he sat in the living room of the small apartment they were currently residing in with Tom and Dr. Riddle as he described the "Lady Astley" situation to their new addition and how they planned on going about apprehending her. Perhaps unbeknownst to the two Riddles, their stances while listening intently practically mirrored each other. So far nothing had been said about their relation to one another. In fact, they appeared to be pointedly ignoring that subject altogether, acting as if they were strangers now just becoming colleagues.

"Her abilities appear to stem from the object on her head." Major Tom Riddle stated, tapping at the only decent photograph they had of their target, "From what she's done in the past, its effects include, but I doubt are limited to, driving everyone in a twenty-meter radius into a manic frenzy."

And so far it was working. Which, to James (or Jack, as his peers at the agency call him due to his new callsign), said a lot about the personalities of both Tom Riddles. The bond they shared through blood. Their resemblance to each other was uncanny. Shockingly so. Anyone who wasn't blind and deaf would notice. At what point would they address the proverbial elephant they'd trussed up in the corner of the room?

No, focus.

"Positively bacchanalian." Doctor Tom Riddle responded with a nod. "And she may be using it to enthrall others into letting her into the parties in the first place. Invitations are apparently out of date for her."

It had already been the better half of the day and neither of them had called each other anything other than their titles. Though to be fair, Jack had been doing the same thing. It avoided much of the confusion that would have undoubtedly arisen from just the names. Jack was starting to wonder if that was the reason the doctor had been assigned to their group in the first place. Having two Tom Riddles in two separate teams sounded like the beginning of a comedy. Or a tragedy. He wasn't sure if the current situation was any better, though.

The younger Tom huffed, a hint of a smile on the corner of his lips. "Indeed. Or, considering that tiara, below her. Best to make sure we don't fall into her radius of effect, or better yet, unaffected by her power."

Despite the fact that they were ignoring the glaringly obvious, both of the Tom Riddles were getting along quite well — frighteningly so, if Jack was to be perfectly honest. They both were using their natural charm, like birds displaying colorful feathers. But having met Tom Senior one-on-one before this and recalling Tom Junior's exploits in minor espionage during the War, neither of them were using their full ability.

Honestly, who in their right minds thought this was a good idea?

"There are a few ways of going about that." The older Tom explained easily, unconsciously mirroring Junior's stance and watching the smoke from his own cigarette waft upwards to the ceiling. "Of course, I'm unsure what may or may not work on whatever device she is using."

Jack idly wondered if it was a sign of respect. Tom tended to drop all pretense when he saw you as a friend, or at least an equal. And that was back when Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes were still among them. That was how he was in that cell with the lot of them in that godforsaken Hydra base. Ha, he'd practically been a baby in their eyes then. Like a stray cat. Or as Barnes had once put it, a wrathful chihuahua. Some of them had gotten 'jinxed' for saying such things aloud. Good times, if one ignored the surrounding circumstances.

"Perhaps it would be better to learn them all, and hopefully one of them will work the day of the party if she is to show up." Jack interjected, former-Commando Tom nodding in agreement.

The neuropsychologist began to explain possible techniques, which mainly involved emptying the mind and putting mental barriers up, or focusing on a single thing intently and not letting go even if your thoughts try to pull you elsewear. Dr. Riddle apparently employed the use of a tack in his earlier days, pricking his skin and focusing on the pain to ground himself in reality. Jack had noticed that the older man refused to look at his younger doppelgänger whilst detailing that tidbit (which sounded useful, but stung of bitter experience). Tom opened his mouth, as if to ask what had happened. For a moment it almost seemed like the elephant would finally have a sliver of attention.

"Although, if you think someone else is under the influence of mind control, the best way to snap them out is through cognitive recalibration." Tom Senior finished, his lips quirking up in slight mirth.

Once again, it was ignored pointedly.

"And what would that entail?" Tom Junior asked curiously, his expression belaying nothing else.

"You hit them really hard in the head." The doctor replied with a smirk, tapping at his temple with a finger at each emphasizing word.

At this, Tom actually let out a laugh, which was joined by his father, and then by Jack (for far different reasons).

Oh, bugger it. This is far more entertaining than it has any right to be.


Jack had never enjoyed going to parties. Not of this sort, anyways. Yes, the venues were always sparkling and the alcohol of a high quality, but it was all of a stuffy nature rife with old families and traditions that he found himself despising even more after his time as a Howling Commando. The gala they were attending was held in a historical building in Stuttgart, not far from where they were stationed. There was an air of elegance to the architecture, the staircases to the ballroom were wide and cream-colored. Jack had been in a number of these types of buildings in his childhood and as an adult could appreciate the workmanship without finding it as snobby as he did in his teen years.

The hosts had a number of expensive pieces of art on display, all prizes to act as bait for the enigmatic Lady Astley, whose arrival and departures came with a certain lightness to the hosts' coffers. She seemed to go after items of great monetary value, though Jack doubted that was the only reason. Lady Astley was not merely a thief. She sowed madness and chaos to the upper class with glee, putting herself in the spotlight while others (there had to be others) in her employ made off with the stolen goods.

Lord Falsworth forwent the military dressings, feeling that it would draw too much attention, and instead dressed in a sharp, well-tailored suit along with Lord Riddle. If anything, Dr. Riddle appeared to feel more out of place in the ball, judging from his knitted brows and the way his hands wrung each other. The both of them had been able to secure invitations to the party in advance (no forging lineages or titles needed, as fate would have it), so the most annoying part had been getting outfits. Tom had added hidden pockets in case things got nasty, smirking when Jack requested a hidden tack pocket — 'just in case'.

With the two Lords taking up the majority of the attention, that left it up to the third member of their little group to do most of the snooping.

A waiter with a plain face offered them champagne. Dr. Riddle took a flute, sniffing it and giving the waiter the side eye as Jack did the same. There had been a flash of fear on the doctor's face before it had settled into something more neutral. Jack wondered what kind of poison the older Riddle had experienced for such a reaction. Well, perhaps he'd get the story someday. The man seemed to have led a more exciting life than his file had dictated.

"Any lovely damsels catch your eye?" Jack asked nonchalantly, eyes scanning the crowd.

"No, sir." The waiter mumbled in a thick German accent that even to those around him sounded like a native. "Was hoping for a princess with all the nice furniture, but haven't found one yet."

Once again Jack found himself impressed with Tom's skills as an actor. Truly the young man had missed his calling as a thespian if the lad hadn't loved violence so much. A most unfortunate trait that wouldn't bode well for any of his peers in theater. Luckily he chose this line of work instead, even if Jack had to shake his head at the looks of vicious glee the man had when taking down enemies with lethal (or at least grievously injuring) force.

But right now he was playing the part of a young servant who could blend into the crowd. In fact, Jack couldn't see him at all anymore. Had he used magic? Not likely, the magical world (as Tom had explained to the remaining Commandos before they went their separate ways) took their Statute of Secrecy seriously. He doubted Tom could get away with using too much, even if it was to help with issues such as this.

With time to themselves until (hopefully) the main attraction arrived, Jack decided that it was a fine time to do some snooping of his own now that Tom-the-younger was off serving champagne and eavesdropping on conversations.

"I must say, I'm rather impressed by you, Doctor." Jack began, watching as the man turned to him with the same 'what on earth are you planning' look that Tom often gave the Commandos (and especially Howard Stark). "Your job does not seem to be an easy career path, but you are quite talented in the craft."

Dr. Riddle gave him a level stare. For a moment Jack felt transported in time, back to the Hydra camp where he'd been taken as a prisoner of war. The eyes of a young man with shifting blue eyes, like the older man before him. Shrewd, cunning, and paranoid.

Broken.

"I studied it out of necessity in my younger years." was all the information Tom Senior put forth. His eyes once again darted to the flute, sniffing it again, brows knitting again.

"Trouble in the home?" Jack probed.

"Of a sort." came the dry response. He placed the flute back on another plate without ever taking a single sip and instead took out a hip flask and drank from it. "It became a passion later. I've come to love it." There was a wry bitterness in his tone, his eyes narrowed and the corner of his mouth curled up.

Jack knew there was a story behind this, and he would bet his mustache that it had something to do with his younger doppelgänger. But this was not the place to ask. Not here, not out in the open, where even the walls and tables had ears. So he let it go for now, and delved further into inane conversation.


Meanwhile, a Perfectly Ordinary Waiter was making his way across the ballroom, eyes scanning for suspicious activity as well as signs of Lady Astley. He'd already clocked about three men in the same waiter uniform he wore loitering around the art pieces, casing them, and two women in maid uniforms bumping into patrons and slipping trinkets off without the victims noticing. Were the Waiter a nicer sort of person who cared about petty theft, he would've said something. But he wasn't, so instead he continued to look around whilst trying to listen in on the various conversations.

Inane chatter washed around him, each with their own morsel of somewhat important information hidden between sips of champagne. Somebody's looking for ways to bring their family back to their former glory, another is here to snag a rich husband, another is interested in the art collection to add to their own. Bits and pieces of verbal battles upon silvered tongues that are just as prevalent in the upper crust of the muggle world as they are in the magical one. The Waiter could almost imagine the faces of the purebloods mingling around the room. Orion chatting up Rastus Lestrange, Nott and Greengrass trying to sweet-talk some of the women, Crabbe and Goyle stuffing their faces at the buffet table.

His mind wandered again, brain fogging up until someone bumped into him, nearly making the delicate flutes on his platter fall over. Which would have then crashed to the floor and caused a commotion. But he'd been able to balance the plate so disaster had not yet struck and oh, he was wandering again. It cleared up some as he apologized with stumbled words, playing his part as the Perfectly Ordinary Waiter who was now Slightly Frazzled.

The man who had checked him was tall, as tall as Steve was, but with a slightly thinner build. His hair was dark, but not as dark as his own, closer to chestnut. Sporting a neat suit, he seemed to blend in with the rest of the guests if it weren't for the partner that lightly held his arm.

MI6's pictures did her no justice.

In the flesh, she was practically radiant. A round face with alabaster skin made her look as if she were carved from marble. Brunette hair that was held up by sparkling hairpieces (in a way that was practical, he noted, Peggy would've done something similar had she gone to this sort of party). Dressed in glittering scarlet red, all eyes had turned to her. She had chuckled good-naturedly as she beamed at the Waiter, asking him to forgive her date for his clumsiness.

As soon as he felt a probe in his head, he slammed down his Occlumancy shields. The Waiter was tongue-tied and stammering out his thanks and agreements, Tom Riddle was reeling. That had felt like… like an Imperius curse. Mind-control indeed. Disguised hazel eyes flickered to the top of her head, where the tiara sat.

It was a delicate, silver thing that upon closer inspection resembled more a circlet than a crown. It took the shape of some kind of bird (that hooked beak was the mark of a bird of prey) with its wings outstretched with small diamonds paving the way. At the center of it, where the 'chest' of the bird was, was a large fist-sized blue gemstone that flowed even in the light of the ballroom. Even the two other blue gems that hung below it did not glow like this, filled with a central, ethereal power. It was familiar… somehow. Though he couldn't quite place where he'd seen anything like it before, or if he was mentally merging the photograph he'd been studying with something else.

Another pulse of energy hit his Occlumancy shields like storm waves on seaside walls. It was surprisingly powerful. He'd not gotten a Legilimency-type attack of this caliber before, not even when training with Dumbledore (Monty and Howard had suggested it to strengthen Tom's mental fortitude — supposedly it would help with the after-effects of the Cruciatus curse). As the waves receded for another blow, he sent his own delicate probe at the source.

What he linked with was decidedly not Lady Astley.

He nearly hit the ground at the sudden burst of power that smashed against mind, a raw wave of yellow light flooding his sight. It took a few seconds of his legs refusing to work to finally maneuver to a wall before he had to collapse. His Occlumancy shields had shattered to stardust as images and emotions and sounds flooded his mind. Lands and people and stars. Planets with being much like them, living their lives in war and peace. A galaxy of existence, an infinite melody of being.

It felt familiar, somehow. Something within him recognized it. Like a lullaby sung by a dying mother to her son. Like the smile of a comrade, not knowing whether they'd make it out of this war alive. Like the feeling of a stem of Forget-Me-Nots in his fingers—

Wham.

A solid foot connected with his midsection, knocking whatever air was left inside him. It also did the trick of knocking him to his senses as Tom took in the state of the present, which had devolved into utter pandemonium. Sensing movement to his side, he blocked the next kick from a rabid party-goer with shock. His head whipped around, trying to grasp the current situation.

In the time he'd been overrun by whatever it was in the tiara, Lady Astley had turned the party upside down. Waiters were beating patrons up with their metal dish trays, some guests had weaponized their broken champagne flutes with gruesome efficiency. Lady Astley herself was standing at a makeshift stage, her honeyed words insisting the people continue to fight each other. The people he'd been tailing before were protecting and carrying away the art pieces, which he ignored for the time being in favor of not getting stabbed in the face by a high-heel. He instead rolled into a standing position, knocking the woman out the old-fashioned way, eyes flickering about as he sought out his compatriots in the madness.

Fending themselves off the best they could was Falsworth and Dr. Riddle. The good doctor had managed to shake Lady Astley's mind control, though Falsy seemed to be fighting for control even now as he dispatched those around him with ease. Tom watched as Dr. Riddle managed to get a clean hit into Falsy. For the most part the agent seemed to recover somewhat due to that.

Cognitive recalibration, indeed.

With the two of them accounted for and seeing that everything was in some modicum of control, Tom enacted the next stage of their plan. A couple of the art pieces that contained electronic trackers hidden inside them (which the three of them had been placing during the party) were being carted off by the glassy-eyed minions of Lady Astley. Tom stole a camera and snapped a couple photos of them, the Notice-Me-Not charm he cast on himself making sure he wasn't bothered by the riot happening around him. He recognized that glazed look — like someone under a mind-altering spell like Confundus or Obliviate or Imperio. Perhaps they were not working for her of their own volition.

Now armed with proof that the object Astley was using was magical, the young wizard used the situation to his advantage. He was unsure what the German Ministry of Magic was going to find from this (or if they would be able to do anything at all, seeing how well they did during Grindelwald's reign), but he wouldn't let the opportunity to use magic go to waste. Tom snapped off a tracking spell onto Lady Astley's partner (he dared not place one on Astley herself, not with the possibility of whatever that was on her head alerting her of such magic), who was the only member of her entourage who lacked the glazed expression, timing it with a hit from a rather pauch-bellied gentleman who was frothing at the mouth. Which was excellent timing, seeing as Lady Astley took the man's hand not a moment later, the familiar crack of Disapparation could be heard above the crazed hollering, and the two of them were gone.

Ah, the show was over, then. Another spell hit the chandelier, causing it to make a loud ringing noise that multiplied in the ballroom chamber. While everyone else in the room went down to cover their ears, Tom had already dragged Falsy and the doctor out of sight, the sound of Apparition drowned out by the noise. Even as he Disapparated, he could hear the voices of people finally coming to their senses.

Once their feet hit the carpet they promptly sagged onto the closest piece of furniture they could find. Falsy had made it to the couch, looking queasy. Doctor Riddle had managed to claim an armchair, not doing much better. Tom had given up on properly sitting and instead had draped across the top of the count Falsy laid on, completely spent.

Time had passed in silence. None of them were quite sure if it were seconds, minutes, or hours, but by the end of it Falsy had spoken up.

"You need to talk to some of your people." His gaze was directed upwards at the teen (still a teen, after everything, it was easy to forget that tidbit) emulating one of the snakes he loved so much.

"I need to talk to some of my people." Tom agreed with a long sigh.

"I need a stiff drink." Doctor Riddle grumbled, causing the other two to chuckle and make noises of assent.


The German Ministry of Magic, as it turned out, was still a complete mess. Apparently it had been one of the places completely thrashed by Grindelwald during the War, and the Magical community in Germany was still trying to get on their feet. While they were doing miles better than their muggle counterparts, the magical side of the war had taken its toll on them.

Though you couldn't tell just by looking at the place.

Wizards and witches in official ministry clothing bustled about, parchments charmed to travel to their destinations flew overhead (folded into various shapes, not just an airplane), a regal double-headed golden eagle statue kept watch from its perch above a large water-wall that was used as the entrance for the Ministry itself. It was, as far as he was concerned, nicer than a tattered phone booth and better than having to flush oneself down the loo like the British Ministry workers did (according to Nobby and Alastor).

Tom took in the sights for a moment before heading over to the middle aged witch who was perusing what he could only guess by the cover was their version of Witch Weekly. She didn't look up as he approached.

"Please put your wand on the scale." She intoned flatly in German, "What is your name and the purpose of your visit?"

The yew wand was carefully placed on the scale. Absent-mindedly he wondered about the purpose of such a scale. Did it catalog the wand to visitors? Was there an alarm that sounded for stolen wands? Was it some kind of ploy to check if the person arriving had a wand to weigh?

"Lord Voldemort, here to speak with the head of your law enforcement." He replied in what he hoped was decent German. Hey! French and German were one of the things he'd refined during the War.

To her credit she didn't even look surprised as she regarded him. With a slightly less bored tone she directed him toward the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, her eyes trailing him even as he took back his wand and passed the visitors' area. He was thankfully left mostly alone save for a few souls who'd recognized him and would either pause briefly in their journey or go up to him and thank him for his part in defeating Grindelwald.

The secretary at the DMLE requested he wait there as he checked if the Head was available for a meeting, a little starry-eyed as she spoke to him. Tom settled in one of the chairs, getting the distinct feeling that this conversation was going to be unpleasant.

A half hour in the future would see him speaking to Markus Reinhardt, the recently-appointed head of the German DMLE. He would've been imposing to anyone who wasn't as ridiculously tall as Tom was, with a square jaw and a build more befitting of a boxer than a wizard. Dirty blond hair matched the short beard the wizard wore, with narrowed icy eyes that regarded Tom with suspicion. The hour after that had them chatting over tea (how many different types did the man have stocked?! Tom was not used to being asked 'what kind?' as a follow-up to 'would you like some tea?') about their respective backgrounds. Apparently Reinhardt was a ex-hit wizard, which explained the reason why the man was built like a tank despite most wizards (outside of Quidditch players) having noodles for limbs. Unfortunately he was also busy enough as it was quelling the remnants of Grindelwald's forces to help much with the Lady Astley issue, especially since she wasn't exclusive to Germany.

Seeing as her nationality was a mystery, it was difficult to determine whose jurisdiction she fell under. Moreso, since this was already an MI6 issue (which Tom skirted around, but mentioned the muggle governments were mobilizing to address Lady Astley's presence), the German Ministry of Magic was hard-pressed to put their fingers in the mix. Especially since the main victims so far were muggles, and her abilities were still considered 'muggle' despite Tom's insistence otherwise. Not without proof that Lady Astley was indeed a witch.

In short, Lady Astley was currently MI6's problem.

The trip to visit Justus Pilliwickle, Head of the British Department of Magical Law Enforcement, yielded much the same results. Even when he tried to explain how this may affect the wizarding side, Pilliwickle simply did not want to hear it. There were far more pressing matters with the remnants of Grindelwald's army to deal with a lone woman with a potentially stolen magical artifact.

The War was over, and therefore the Statute was once again tightening around them. Tom thought it was rather ridiculous. The War proved that magic was no longer exclusive to witches and wizards — Hydra was able to utilize the raw energy of the Tesseract, after all. And that energy could very well be considered pure magic. Times were changing. The world was moving on and Tom feared for the future of a magical community that refused to move with it.

Which was why he'd put his own personal plans into motion as soon as he could, and Tom was loath to disrupt their work in case it set them back too far. No, he had other avenues to work with. All was not lost. Even now, the tracker he'd set on Lady Astley's partner pinged out their current direction.

This was going to be a long week.


While Tom Marvolo Riddle was busy making his rounds in the magical circuit of contacts, James Montgomery Falsworth was also keeping busy organizing the information they'd gathered from the rather disastrous party. The morning after had been spent nursing headaches from either the mental attack or the alcohol (probably the former, seeing as Tom the younger didn't get hangovers anymore and even that lad was out for the count). Interviews of the patrons who'd attended were gathered, property damage was noted, and phone calls were made back to headquarters.

Doctor Tom Edgar Riddle was most helpful with calming down the members of society who could only vaguely recall their bouts of madness and hysteria induced by the tiara (which, Tom had confirmed, was magical in nature) and were rightfully distraught over the entire situation. He'd been a right charmer and yet still held an air of solemnity when taking down their statements and asking them further questions. The older man's countenance seemed to grow more grave as the interviews continued and by the end of it appeared rather disturbed by his findings.

They put together their current information the best they could. Photographs were tacked onto cork-boards with notes and clippings of information regarding certain details. The notion of magic was not mentioned, not yet, instead calling Lady Astley's tiara a 'weapon of highly advanced technology' — which perhaps wasn't entirely incorrect either. From what he recalled of Tom and Howard's Technomancy project, there may come a point where magic and science would become one and the same (Tom would probably agree with the sentiment were he present).

As the both of them sat with their respective cups of tea, Jack decided that he would bite the proverbial bullet and finally address the poor proverbial elephant in the basement.

"It is rather astounding to find two individuals sharing a similar appearance and name."

The doctor, who had been in the motion of raising the mug to his lips, paused. The moment passed and he continued the motion without speaking. But Jack was not to be deterred. Perhaps a more direct approach.

"Is there a relation between-"

"No."

Jack was taken aback by the vehemence with which the normally calm doctor spat out the word. So he sat down in the kitchen chair instead and flipped through the newly-compiled files, waiting to see if Dr. Riddle would say anything further. Silence reigned in the small apartment, with only the sound of fluttering paper and the clinking of ceramic. Jack had gone through three folders of paperwork and was convinced that was the end of it before Dr. Riddle's voice cut the silence. If asked

later, he did not startle from it.

"The Falsworths are a Barony, are they not?"

A quick glance to the side told Jack the doctor had sagged into the armchair that he'd more or less claimed, peering into his mug with a faraway look.

"Count, actually." Jack corrected softly. Dr. Tom Riddle gave a grunt of acknowledgement.

"The Riddles were once a powerful Earldom, if you heard my father and grandfather talk of our history. With more power and land than we knew what to do with. Nowadays it's nothing more than a title of the gentry, and the deed to a rather humble valley."

The former Commando turned to regard the doctor, wondering where this was going.

"Of course, that didn't stop my family from lauding it over the tenants of their land. To hear them speak you would assume we were still practicing feudalism, like savages." And in a much softer voice, one that Jack could barely make out- "And I once thought the same."

Jack couldn't quite picture Dr. Riddle being the snobbish sort, but then again, his (presumed) son had changed drastically from the first time they'd met in that cell in Austria. He supposed all that was left of that in the man in front of him was the tatters of his privileged upbringing.

"There was a forest next to the town that used to be out of our jurisdiction." There was something fragile in the voice that spoke those words, as if it would become choked at any moment. "Belonged to a family that was once as powerful as ours, though eventually our family had acquired it — all except a house and the land it stood on. But the dregs that remained in that shack were… Well, no one saw much of them unless one of the males of the species came crawling out for drinks. Talk of the town was they were all mad, inbred freaks who stubbornly clung to their existence. I think I still believe that."

For a few good minutes he said nothing else, closing off into himself as he stared out the window. Jack returned to his paperwork, mulling over the information he'd been given, wondering how it all fit together.

"The rumors weren't wrong." Dr. Riddle intoned in the silence, nearly making him jump. "The Gaunts were all raving lunatics with an air of unnaturalness around them. They were capable of things normal people weren't. To make boils and hives sprout from faces, making snakes and other animals do their bidding, half the time their run down shack couldn't even be found even if you went down the same road every day. The lot of them were less of a stain and more a festering wound, but I hadn't known there were more of their kind — hadn't known there was a kind at all — until I met a Gaunt in person."

Silence again. Jack wondered if this was purposeful to keep him on his toes or not, but at least now the information was going in a direction he understood. Tom Marvolo had spoken of his maternal family with a painful reverence that always held an undertone of disappointment. He recalled the teen detailing the first and only visit to his uncle Morfin — and the sequence of events that landed him in that camp in Austria.

Poor lad had gotten chewed out by Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes for his recklessness. The lad that clung to them all for a semblance of family, who allowed himself to be doted upon by the Potters as a placeholder for the son that they never had in their prime — and them placeholder parents for the orphan of Wool's.

"I take it the meeting was not a pleasant one?" Jack asked wryly instead of allowing the doctor to clam up again. This time Tom Edgar was the one surprised. As if he'd forgotten there was, in fact, a living person listening to his tale. A low, bitter chuckle. A shake of the head.

"There were three in the house. An old man and his two spawn." Jack noticed the way his jaw clenched at the last word. Bitter, resentful. "I thought them mostly harmless so I used to take the road through the forest that passed by their hovel with my betrothed. I know not how, but the male spawn, Morfin, flung something at me and my face immediately broke out into hives. It was brushed off as an allergic reaction to whatever he threw, but they faded before nightfall with no signs of pockmarks. I was young and curious, so I decided to chance it again."

Despite initially being so reticent, Dr. Riddle was shaping up to be quite the storyteller. Not even hiding his curiosity now, Jack had shifted completely away from his work, hands folded in front of him and leaning forward a smidge.

"I saw a man I'd never seen before running out of that shack in the most ridiculous outfit I'd ever laid eyes on." The short laugh lightened up the doctor's face somewhat. "I thought perhaps the Gaunts had relatives — or at least friends — just as mad as them. But the man was being chased away from them, a look of fear in his eyes that almost made me want to believe him to be sane. I hadn't known then that he was most likely perfectly sane, just one of their kind."

Ah, well that would explain the lack of shock at the sudden teleportation exit that Tom the not-doctor had taken them through. Or maybe he'd just compartmentalized that along with the fact that he had a son.

"Old Mad Marvolo wasn't seen soon after that, and neither was Morfin."

"Dead?" Jack asked. Dr. Riddle shook his head.

"Imprisoned. For attacking government officials."

"The man in the strange clothes you met." Jack deduced with a nod, before something stuck him. "How did you find out that information?"

Something in the doctor's expression shifted.

"The last Gaunt left in that hovel."

"Ah, yes, you did mention that Marvolo had…" Jack stopped, suddenly realizing where he'd heard that odd name before. It must have shown in his face, because Dr. Riddle grimaced.

"Her name was Merope. And what she did to me…" Tom Riddle took a shuddering breath. "What I experienced… is something I wouldn't wish on anybody. And despite the fact that I was not in control of my own mind, what I did created something… something I cannot take back."

"You mean Tom, er, Junior, I suppose." Jack confirmed, watching the man nod weakly, holding his head in one hand. "Hence your current career path."

"The power Lady Astley had is… similar. It is not imbibed but it takes hold of the mind in the same way." Dr. Riddle explained.

This time Jack could relate, having been under its throes and still sporting the headache that came with getting out of it courtesy of the man in front of him. The tack didn't work as well as he'd hoped. Though he could speculate, he had a feeling Dr. Riddle may have used it as a long-term method rather than a short-term aid like Jack had.

"You seemed to handle it well." He noted aloud.

"I've built up an immunity, so to speak." Dr. Riddle muttered.

With a sigh, Jack stood up and took the two mugs away.

"I'm going to get the both of us something stronger."

"Much appreciated."


Omake 1: Yes, the Name was Intentional

As the waves receded for another blow, he sent his own delicate probe at the source.

What he linked with was decidedly not Lady Astley.

He nearly hit the ground at the sudden burst of power that smashed against mind, a raw wave of sound flooding his ears.

"We're no strangers to love.

You know the rules, and so do I.

A full commitment's what I'm thinking of.

You wouldn't get this from any other guy!"

What the hell?! He clamped his hands over his ears but it was no use — the music was coming from inside his head. It wasn't anything he'd ever heard before, and it was something Tom was sure shouldn't be heard yet.

"I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling.

Try to make you understand."

"Make it stop! Make it stop!" one guest cried.

"Never gonna give you up!"

A couple people had begun rioting. Worse, many more had begun dancing in ways not yet seen in this time period.

"Never gonna let you down!"

Some had actually begun to sing along despite the fact that none of them had heard the melody before.

"Never gonna run around and desert you!"

Was Lady Astley holding a microphone?

"Never gonna make you cry!"

Tom lifted his wand.

"Never gonna say goodbye!"

The enormous chandelier above the ballroom began to shudder dangerously.

"Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you!"

CRASH.

Silence filled the hall immediately after the chandelier fell on top of Lady Astley. Everyone began to come back to their senses.

"If I had a nickel for every time you've crushed someone under a heavy weight from above, I'd have two nickels." Falsy told Tom, half amused and half shocked. "Which isn't much, but it's weird that it's happened twice."


Omake 2: Riddle Me This

"Sir!"

The agent in charge of organizing the teams for the "Lady Astley" case turned to the sound of his assistant's voice.

"Is there a problem?"

"Sir, there is an outside agent and a neuropsychologist with the same name." The agent takes the grouping schedule from his nervous assistant. "We have a Tom M. Riddle and a Tom E. Riddle. Intel shows that they are father and son. No further history with each other. Might not even know the other exists."

"Put 'em together." The agent decided. "Having them on different teams will be a nightmare in case of a mix-up."

"But Sir-"

"Also, make sure to thoroughly debrief Union Jack after the mission."

"Sir…?"

"Look, whatever happens between them is going to be top tier drama and I refuse to not be privy to it. I know you're curious as well or you wouldn't have come to me in the first place."

Sheepish, the assistant smiled and saluted. "Yes, sir!"

Neither of them had any idea how complicated that family situation was.


A/N:

Oni: Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Can you guess what's going on for this next arc?

Tom: Please stop memeing me in every omake.

Oni: No!

Tom: *sigh* If you liked this chapter and/or story please consider following, favoriting, and reviewing…

Oni: And I'll see you next time, My Pretties!