"Did I know, in my heart of hearts, what Gellert Grindelwald was? I think I did, but I closed my eyes."
Albus Dumbledore.
May 1st, 1949…
Happiness and bliss, could mean ignorance at worst. In Athelinda's case, it was.
But they were happy. Truly happy for the first years.
Right until that moment. Right until the end.
Athelinda's eyes were closed but she was awake. Borgin and Burkes… She honestly wondered how Tom was getting along, but she did not doubt him and his capabilities in the least.
She felt a stirring inside. She had been feeling physically uneasy in her belly. She hoped Tom would come home soon.
Her hand groped the nightstand next to her bed and fumbled to touch the locket, along with the ring that Tom had given her. She felt the coolness of the gold and the bumps of the stones, and relaxed immediately. At least if he was not there with her, she would have something of him. She missed him terribly, even though she did not admit to it.
It had been three years since she had last seen her family. Three years since the marriage began, and she still felt the regret and hollow emptiness and pain when she thought about her family. But she had always brushed it aside. It would end well, she told herself. Of course it would.
He always left rather early, and returned rather late. She had a job in the ministry, but again that was a stepping stone. A junior assistant in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. At least she would be able to find out what was going on overseas.
She saw some of Tom's old school friends, but rarely, they both preferred to keep their marriage a private, even secret, affair. She didn't like all of them, didn't think highly or trust them, so even though she never begrudged Tom his friendships, she never wanted to be near those sly sycophants.
We all need sycophants in this world, she thought to herself. Some people are cattle and others are cow-herds who tell them where to graze.
The Knights of Walpurgis were a secretive order, so Tom Riddle kept them quiet. His wife, thankfully did not know, or even appear to want to know what he was doing.
They were a select group and none of them were aware of the connection of their leader with the pale black-haired, black-eyed woman most had seen in school.
But they met underground when Tom was supposedly at work, or when she was asleep.
Athelinda was a confidante, but to that which Tom would never, ever in a billion years, tell the Knights. Tom's vulnerabilities, his frustrations with everything and everyone from the Ministry to Mr. Burkes was told to Athelinda who kept her mouth shut, listened, soothed him and offered excellent advice in dealing with them.
Best of all was her encouragement. It was not empty phrases, such as "You can do it, you're the best!" no. It was strength and courage that she imbued to him. She made it sound reasonable without sounding sycophantic. She was no flatterer.
Tom talked to her- told her of his joys and triumphs, his frustrations and set-backs. But he always altered them- he did not tell her everything, any more than he told the Knights of Walpurgis about her.
She did not know about them either.
But Athelinda relaxed and usually didn't care a whit. She minded her own business, she didn't give a damn who her husband spoke to and befriended.
That was what made certain she never glanced long at him prior to the surprise visit to the Shrieking Shack. However things changed, and so did Athelinda.
How long was it, since she saw her parents, siblings and house-elf?
The pain always struck her then. Sharp, lingering and spreading throughout her. And always she banished it- forgot it by thinking about something else.
Where was Tom?
The pain turned to frustration and irritation. Eyes snapping open, Athelinda's black eyes flashed with annoyance, before rising and pulling the locket over her head.
Her fingers brushed over it, and her gaze lingered as she held it. There was nothing left- no family, nothing. No semblance of her old life. No loved ones apart from her husband. And…
Athelinda roused herself. Where was her husband?
Rising, she held her irritation at bay by wrapping her dressing gown around her figure and decided to look for her husband.
If she had dwelt upon it, she would have realised that the frustration and irritation came from the pain of distance and loss.
And guilt.
Marching in the small hallway- she still wasn't used to such an enclosed space, but it was not at all bad- Athelinda could not find Tom.
Scowling, she marched off to the cellar. The food was there, along with potion ingredients and books- she needed to read, to brew a potion, anything.
But as she went downstairs (the cellars were more extensive than the house itself), she heard a suspicious noise.
It sounded like there was someone in there.
Drawing her wand, her heart hammering, Athelinda readied herself. Her repertoire of spells and her training in combat was more thorough and experienced than what she would likely encounter, but she would take no chances.
But what she heard made her stop.
"-only time itself will tell," a voice sounded in the cellar. "But I believe that it will be very soon now, very soon indeed."
Athelinda froze dead. It sounded like… Avery.
But that was absurd! What was Avery doing here?
The last she saw him they were in Hogwarts. Maybe she should have paid more attention to Avery, but she knew him as part of Tom's devoted followers- like an aphid to an ant.
But no reason at all to think that he would be here. He was one of dozens and she was not aware that Tom was inviting them here.
She never cared much for him. But she surely would know if Tom…
But she never saw him at work.
She could have hit himself. She cursed herself inwardly. She never asked him anything!
Athelinda scowled as Tom emerged in their bedroom.
"Where in Merlin's name have you been?" She asked so frostily he paused.
"I was at work?" He answered, his handsome eyebrows raising.
Athelinda regarded him with black eyes, the same colour as his own, but so cold it was a miracle he stood his ground.
It reminded him, in a way, of her brother, the day he brought Hagrid to the Headmaster's Office.
"Do you really expect me to believe that?" She asked so dangerously quiet. He was impressed. Amused and impressed. A strange combination, but not unwelcome.
"I did tell you I was eating before I get home," Tom said sounding amused. He took off his wristwatch and placed it on his nightstand.
Athelinda boiled silently.
"I don't believe that. Or at least, I bet you must have had a lovely meal with Avery."
Tom froze.
He turned. His wife was glaring at him.
"What were you doing with him?" She asked. "Are you jealous?" He asked, arching an eyebrow.
She sneered mockingly. "When Merlin returns to teach chimeras to dance ballet."
He smiled. "Love," he said standing and holding his arms open.
"Don't my love me." She hissed. Her blood was boiling.
She went over to lie down on the bed. On the way she passed a massive earthenware urn filled with hot water and sealed tightly but magically allowed oxygen inside. Inside it, was an egg. Surasa's egg, which she had given Tom as a wedding gift.
It was still incubating.
She glared at him as she lay down. Her black eyes refused to look at him, as he took off his jacket and laid down next to her, drawing and arm to pull them closer and kissing her.
"My love," he whispered in her ear. He continued to kiss her at the cheek, close to her mouth and down the line of her throat. Athelinda might have felt a stirring but happily, she ignored it. Nearby Surasa observed pretending to be asleep. She was used to it, or rather to him doing this thing he so typically did, but not her current actions.
His hand drifted to the hem of her nightgown and between her legs, but she turned and gave him such a glare it startled him. And disappointed him.
"Love," he groaned. "Athelinda."
"Don't." She hissed, eyes wide and bright with rage. "Treat. Me. Like. A. Fool." She sent him a scorching glare this time.
Severely disappointed, any hopes he had deflated, Tom Riddle lay back down on the bed.
"You take me for a fool, don't you?" Athelinda hissed in parseltongue.
Tom's eyes snapped open. "I never said that."
"You lied to me." Athelinda turned and glared at him. "And worst, you treat me as an incompetent, clueless idiot, who shouldn't be wasting her time with anything deep. Need I remind you what I am capable of? Or do you need to go back to school to find out?" She sent a withering gaze.
"I was given gifts and powers of knowledge that you can scarcely believe when I was born." She hissed. "The Naga that nursed me with her venom instead of milk ensured that. I was given gifts and powers that you can never hold or understand."
He raised his eyebrows, curbing the urge to laugh. "Gifts?" He asked, trying to hide his amusement. "Powers? Like…" But he didn't get to finish, as his wife sent him yet another glare.
She snarled and lay back down on her pillows.
"Are you a seer?" He asked.
She narrowed her eyes when she looked at him. "Seers are slaves to the future. They can only see and tell of what is to come. They cannot decide it." She sneered.
"And you can?" Tom looked and sounded incredulous. "The Naga venom gave you that."
Her eyes narrowed further. "You doubt me. Very well then, I shall issue what is to come. I am carrying your child."
It was as if time stopped and Tom stared at her.
She smiled, chillingly and leaned forwards. "It is a boy-child. But because you have treated me like a fool, then I shall make this happen: our newborn son shall be born with the image of the serpent in his eye."
Tom stared at Athelinda. She smiled cunningly, a blade-like smile.
"And he shall be known as one of the greatest wizards in the history of the world." Athelinda smiled wider, a smile that didn't reach her eyes, any more than his did for the Knights of Walpurgis.
"This much, will be."
If only she knew. But even as Athelinda ate more and carefully, even as she was sick in the mornings, she knew that she had done the wrong thing in deciding the child's fate like that. Even as she rested ensuring the child's health, something felt wrong. In what she did, and something about the father.
Something was not right about Tom, but she ignored it. She would not regret anything.
But was that wise?
The person that lived their entire lives without regrets, despite everyone making mistakes, is bound for disaster. What if she did do the wrong thing? What if her husband was…
Stop, she ordered herself firmly. She would not go that path. She had given up so much, to give up now.
But what if she hadn't?
That, unknowingly, would be the most haunting question of her life.
Athelinda had had enough.
Strange noises, and secret, underground, night-time meetings with his 'friends'.
It was time to put a stop to this.
She got up and wrapped and tied a dressing gown around her. Her feet slid onto slippers and she went for the cellars.
She checked everywhere about the house first. Tom wasn't there.
She went downstairs, but found something blocking her path. Her eyes narrowed.
She knew Tom's style at least. Muttering an incantation in her native Atlantean, she cast a spell so powerful, no enchantment from non-Atlantean magic could ever withstand it.
"Homenum revelio," she whispered after lighting her wand. No one.
Carefully, she stepped forwards. Her covered feet treading soundlessly, Athelinda, sister of Rhaegar one of the bravest wizards that ever lived, moved forwards.
There was a door at the end. It was, she realised, a very long cellar.
How come she never noticed that? She was bewildered. She placed her hand on the brass knob and was about to open but paused.
What was on the other side? Would she regret this? What would she find?
Either way, Athelinda made a defining choice then and there not to walk anywhere blinded, and this time, she would keep it.
She opened the knob and what she found changed her life, and herself once more, forever.
It was dank and dark.
But once she lit the inside, she wished she never did.
Well, at least a part of her. The other part was glad.
There were all sorts of things there. Some were objects, she recognized a Hand of Glory, a skeleton of…. Was it a Quintaped? Various skeletons, as a matter of fact, and objects which, in shock, she recognized as being of dark and twisted things. There were countless dark objects, and some deceptively beautiful objects she was sure was, in fact, cursed.
There were thick leather-bound volumes, covered with dust, and she stopped and paused to stare at them. She wondered if she could pick one off the shelf. But what if, like the others, they too, were cursed? Or hexed? Or even placed with an alarming spell.
"Hexia Revelio," she whispered. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. After casting several more spells by far, more complex and advanced than that, there was still nothing.
Carefully, with shaking fingers (why was she so afraid?) she was about to take one off the shelf when she heard voices.
Athelinda froze.
Casting a spell that cunningly allowed her to eavesdrop, by amplifying the sound, only to her, Athelinda heard people talking.
Avery.
She was sure of it.
But why would Tom lie?
But then again, why would Tom keep these secrets from her?
Already, she was far too icy inside. She took a deep breath and listened.
Avery was talking.
"Perhaps we will be able to-" "I know what you suggest Avery," Tom's voice echoed and oh, it was cold. Colder and far more frightening.
"If we wait we will have merits. But if we do not, then it appears we shall lose. Snakes strike when their prey is in sight. They do not go charging into the clearing with all they have. We must wait, and we will."
"But my lord," Another voice protested. My lord?! Since when was Tom, my lord?
"What about the remnants? Grindelwald's army is being hunted down, and they will want reassurance-"
"Do you doubt me, Rookwood?" Tom asked and the voice was much colder than she thought a human voice could possibly be.
"We will have what we need, have no fear. Lord Voldemort never fails, nor does he forgive failure."
Lord Voldemort. What was that? The name of an ancient dark lord? Feeling icy-cold herself, Athelinda hastily scanned her memories of books and lessons for the name of a dark lord, or even a minor dark wizard named Voldemort, but found none.
Who- what- was this Voldemort? She was so panicked, she was ice-cold.
"Soon we will defeat the ministries on their own grounds," Tom said in the same cold tone. "And the order will be restored, amidst all. The old families can have a choice- to join us, or to fall, to suffer the same fate as the mudblood scum and filth endure. And soon, with order restored, we shall have peace."
Athelinda couldn't speak. She couldn't breathe. Tom was talking about 'mudbloods' and…
Treason. He talked about defeating ministries on their own grounds.
Like Grindelwald.
Her heart, her soul, every fibre in her being, turned to ice.
He was the Dark Lord. He wanted to overthrow.
He wanted blood and death. He wanted a war. He wanted Muggle-borns exterminated. He wanted to be Grindelwald.
This was not the Tom she knew.
The voice of the Tom she knew was not at all like this. Warm-
Did she know him? Warm? Was there warmth? Was there charm? Yes, but was there anything else? Was there something else?
How much did she know about him?
What year were they first introduced? How old were they? When did she start to notice him? How did she start to notice him? How did she start to-
How did she feel towards him? Did she feel something? Did they share something apart from ambitions? What did she feel towards him? Did she like him because he was handsome (as if!), charming, intelligent? Talented, protective, ambitious?
Did they even share the same ambitions?
There was always something beneath, always something beneath his voice.
But she knew him! Surely she must! But even then, Athelinda was aware of how much a fool that sounded like.
How could she not know him, her own husband? But then, how could she have entered a union with someone she did not know?
Nearly vomiting, Athelinda struggled not to make a noise or go too quickly as she struggled up the steps.
But then she decided to take a book after all.
Not even bothering to discern the title, Athelinda flipped feverishly through the pages, searching. Searching, for what she didn't know. All she knew she had to do something! Her hands, her whole self was frantic with fear.
And then she stopped at a title with a page-marker.
The title was Horcruxes.
A Quintaped is a creature classified XXXXX, same as a dragon, Acromantula and basilisk, by the Department of the Regulation and Control over Magical Creatures, with five club-footed legs and a taste for human flesh. They are native to the Isle of Drear in Scotland, made unplottable due to the danger.
I take inspiration from Norse mythology, and even though I took to liking the show Vikings on History Channel, there are some errors. However, there is a Viking leader- semi-legendary, or even historical- named Sigurd-Snake-in-the-Eye, because his mother prophesied that he would be born with the image of the serpent in the eye, and there was a great scene there to show that. Obviously because not only that Viking family, but this family- mother and father alike, has an affinity or 'a cult of snakes' as a historian once put it, I found it irresistible. But I swear this is an entirely original character, even if he is named the same way. I don't own Norse mythology, or J.K Rowling's works, I'm afraid. This guy's a wizard and a truly terrifying one too, later on. Just not giving away who he will be terrifying to!
Yes, by this point he has made Horcruxes, well at least one, and he has given Athelinda one as well, for reasons which I will later try to explain. I don't know if you want me to redeem him, and save him, but I'm not all too sure about that. Convince me, someone like Voldemort is worth the effort, or else it's likely to be wasted. As I said, this isn't the typical Tom Riddle/OC romance. If it was so straightforward and plain romance, then nothing here would have happened!
P.S: I'm really, really sorry for the long wait! I was working on other things, including another fanfic!