Title: The Boys Who Lived
Author: Shara Lunison
Beta: Batsutousai
Rating for this Chapter: K+
Pairings: Harry/Henry (OMC), several others—none of them canon
Warnings: SLASH, eventual twincest, slightly manipulative!Dumbledore, grey Harry/Henry, OoC-ness, others as I think of them.
Summary: The Potter twins are attacked by Voldemort and somehow defeat him. Now the Dark Lord has returned and they have to choose between light and dark. SLASH, Twincest, rated M for later chapters.
Disclaim Her: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N: You get this two days early because…. We made it to 200!!!!! Thank you everyone who reviewed!! And I think that although it won't be an overt pairing, I will go along with the majority who voted for H/R/D. Anyone who is strongly against this shouldn't have too much to complain about.
Chapter Twenty-Five: Unwelcome
Draco's presents for the twins were just as nice as the robes and necklace he had gotten for Ron and Hermione. They both received very nice heavy wool cloaks that had deep hoods, "The better to hide your faces with, if you want," Draco told them.
Hermione gave them some books on advanced charms and transfiguration since, "You can't very well learn nothing but Defense spells. No one actually duels that way, and if they do they must be sorely outclassed."
Ron, having been badgered somehow by his mother into learning how to knit (he promptly learned well enough to do so magically), gave everyone matching silver, white, and gold hats and scarves, to display their inter-house unity. "Now everyone will know better than to mess with any of us, because we're welcome in two houses and have as many people to back us up."
Predictably, Hermione practically burst into tears at Ron's 'noble actions'.
The first day of the new term arrived wet and cold as all of the students slushed their way through the icy snow to return to school and the warm dinner waiting for them in the great hall. Dumbledore had returned, at last, but his left hand was a blackened and withered piece of flesh that appeared to be quite useless to him now.
And then, halfway through the meal, Voldemort decided to call a meeting of his Death Eaters and doubled the pain by extending the 'invitation' to the twins.
-o-0-o-
Harry and Henry found themselves close to one another, sharing a pair of eyes as one looked out the left and one the right. A hand was stroking their scales, oh so deliciously, and they could smell the pain from the master's mate leaning against the arm of the throne beside them with his arm bared.
The master was holding the tip of his wand against the mark on the man's arm, and rolling the narrow point against the skull in a brutal caress. They hissed, pleased, when the master's mate finally allowed a gasp of pain to pass his lips.
Through the doors at the front of the room, men in dark cloaks and wearing full-face white masks emerged and took pre-determined spots to kneel to the master and supplicate themselves before him. As the taste of fear filled the air, they hissed again in satisfaction even as the master's chest rumbled with a darkly pleased chuckle.
Only when the room was so quiet you could hear each man's breath as it whistled, slow, fast, or panicked through thin pale lips, did Voldemort speak. "Death Eaters," he called, just loudly enough for his voice to reach the back of the room without echoing. "Soon, the final obstacle in our path to victory will be removed. One final death and we will ascend as the masters of our brethren, and rule them with an iron fist."
He stood and swept down the stairs of his dais, his snake familiar still draped around his shoulders. Voldemort passed among his followers, straightening a cloak here, or squeezing a shoulder there. Little touches just so he could enjoy the gasp of fear or the shine of pride in their eyes as they decided, depending on their current favor with him, whether they would live or die tonight.
"Tonight!" he cried, standing behind all of the gathered men and watching with glee as they jumped, "You will receive your final orders until the day of reckoning. The Order has been too informed about my doings as of late, so you will be informed separately. You will not breathe a word of your task to anyone, lest you wish that I would simply kill you to spare you the pain."
He stalked through the center of the gathering and back up the stairs to his throne, and slowly sat as he brushed his gaze over every man present. "And whatever task I give you, you will focus only on it until we have succeeded."
Beside him, Severus crossed his arms over his chest and Voldemort smiled. His plans for Severus were the greatest of all.
The twins felt themselves fading away from their snake self as the meeting came to a close. Mentally clutching at one another, they welcomed the blackness of the void.
-o-0-o-
Luckily for the twins, they didn't remember much more than falling out of their seats at the Slytherin table, but their sore throats attested to the fact that they had been doing a lot of screaming.
Aside from the frightened white faces of their friends in the hospital wing later that evening, they also had to suffer through the pinched and terrified glances from the rest of the students the next morning.
On the plus side, they did earn many more sympathetic glances than they had been getting before the Dark Lord's attack.
Another note came from Dumbledore by way of the blonde Ravenclaw at lunch, reminding them of the meeting that night and asking that they use their invisibility cloak to come to his office.
They were a bit surprised when they arrived to find that the girl who had delivered the message was already there.
"Ah, Harry, Henry. Welcome!" Dumbledore said with a smile. He offered them tea, which the girl was already sipping, and then motioned them into the two chairs waiting for them in front of his desk.
"I took the liberty of asking Ms. Lovegood to join us for a few minutes. Her mother was a true Seer and it has come to my attention that she has inherited the gift, though it is still untrained. I wanted to make sure there wasn't some hope of either of you still being the subject of the prophecy."
The girl looked at them with a dreamy smile, her eyes somehow staring at them and through them at the same time. "I'm Luna Lovegood, second year Ravenclaw. It's nice to meet you."
"Likewise," Harry said with a smile, thankful to finally know her name. Henry just nodded.
"Ms. Lovegood, if you would?" Dumbledore asked.
"Of course, Professor, I was just enjoying my tea so much I didn't want to put it down." She set the cup on the edge of the desk and turned in her chair to face the twins and held out her hands.
Unsure what to do, they each took one, only to have them turned palm up as she peered intently at the lines crossing their palms. After a few moments she spoke, "I always wondered whether twins had identical handprints, but it seems that is one myth that can be safely dispelled."
She released Harry's hand momentarily and focused on Henry's. "Your life line intersects all of the other major lines on your hand. This brings you into frequent danger and makes it hard for you to understand yourself. There is also this V-shaped line which your life line bisects."
"V for Voldemort?" Henry asked, amused.
"That would be silly," Luna said, not sounding either angry or amused or even fascinated by the conversation. "Harry has the V as well. I think it represents the two of you and shows that you will come together at some point in your lives."
Henry glanced nervously at Harry as Luna released his hand. His brother didn't seem to have recognized the connotations of that remark, but judging by Dumbledore's grave expression, he did.
"Your life line," Luna told Harry, "Has many tiny lines folding into it and making it stronger. You are a leader—there is something about you that draws people towards you without you even trying." She looked up with a small smile. "I always wondered why I found you more attractive than your brother."
Harry blushed furiously, while Henry fought down his jealousy.
"These two lines," she gently fingered two lines that cut across Harry's palm and passed one another without quite meeting, "represent an important choice which will dominate your life. Both of them touch the other small lines, but only one of them is connected to your life line. If you ever find yourself with a difficult decision, make sure you choose carefully. Only one of these lines will find its way into your life."
"Do you see anything about Voldemort or their role in the war?" Dumbledore asked, popping a lemon drop into his mouth as he tried to hide his impatience with the reading.
"Oh, that," Luna said dismissively. "They will both face Voldemort many times, but neither of them will kill him. That fate rests with another."
"I see." Dumbledore sucked on his candy with disappointment. "Thank you my dear, you may return to your common room now."
"Thank you, sir. I've always wanted to meet Harry and Henry, but the opportunity never seemed to come up. I blame it on the wrackspurts."
"The what?" the twins asked simultaneously.
"Wrackspurts," Luna said again, walking slowly towards the door. "They're invisible creatures that crowd around your head and distract you. They're quite the detriment to society, you know."
"Thank you, Ms. Lovegood," Dumbledore said again.
"Sir?" Harry asked once she had left. "Was that really necessary?"
"I had to be absolutely certain that there was no hope that either of you were the one from the prophecy. The information and subsequent mission that I am about to detail to you will place you both in grave danger. Were either of you the Chosen One, I would not have felt right letting you attempt this until you were older and stronger. But even as it is, I do not have much choice in the matter. Tom is moving now, and so we must move as well."
"What have you been doing all this time, Professor," Henry asked, looking at the Headmaster's withered hand with concern. It seemed to have gotten worse, even from the day before when the school had first witnessed it.
Dumbledore held up the hand and grimaced as he flexed his fingers slightly. "Ah, this. I was foolish, my boys. So very foolish. I can only hope that you will not follow my example during your search for the horcruxes. I don't suppose you have managed to enter Horace's good graces in all this time?"
They shook their heads ruefully.
"Alas, if only the key piece to the puzzle did not reside in his mind."
"Professor, what do you mean?" Harry asked. "Why is Professor Slughorn so important?"
"Horace taught Tom Riddle in potions when he was here many years ago. He was the boy's head of house as well. He holds a memory that may tell us, once and for all, of the depths of Voldemort's depravity as it concerns his horcruxes. But it will do no good simply to tell you, so come over here and I will show you." He led them over to a cabinet where he removed a heavy stone basin using his one good hand and set it on a table in front of a little glass curio that held an assortment of vials, all with little silvery wisps floating inside them.
"This," he motioned to the basin, "is called a pensieve. It is used to view memories, like those you see there in the case."
There must have been hundreds of memories in the case, but the professor only removed three, carefully pouring them one after the other into the empty basin and swirling them with his wand. "After you, boys. Just place your face into the memories and you will be pulled into them."
They did as he instructed and were surprised to find themselves, moments later, standing on a dirty London street outside of a building labeled as "Stockwell Orphanage". Beside them stood the Headmaster, and a much younger red-haired version of himself staring up at the sign. The younger Albus moved forwards and they followed him into Tom Riddle's history.
-o-0-o-
July 15, 1942—
Tom had never taken well to strangers. Much less strangers entering his bedroom with the matron. It was probably the main reason he had never been adopted. He just didn't open up to people willingly.
But the strong scent of gin on the matron's breath made him even more wary of this man wearing a ridiculous plum purple suit.
"Tom, this is Mr. Bumbledore. He's come to talk to you." The matron looked between the two expectantly as though they would instantly hit it off. "Oh, well, I'll just leave you to it." She beat a hasty retreat, closing Tom's bedroom door behind her.
The two continued to stare for several more moments before Bumbledore came to sit in the wooden chair beside Tom's bed.
"Tom," began the purple-clad man, "My name is Professor Dumbledore."
"Professor?" Tom interrupted, "Like a doctor? Have they decided to send me to the crazy farm at last?" He scrambled off of the bed away from Dumbledore. "You're here to take me away aren't you? Tell the truth!" Tom forced a bit of magic into his last words, making them ring forcefully in the air.
"No, Tom." Dumbledore spoke softly, and a little sadly. "I am a professor at Hogwarts. It is a school of…"
"Right, a school," scoffed Tom, "A school for delinquents, right? Well I'll have none of it. You can't make me go!"
"Hogwarts," Dumbledore spoke sternly, "is a school of magic."
There was a long silence.
"Magic?" Tom asked, "It's magic, what I can do?"
"What is it that you can do?" Dumbledore asked, piercing Tom with an almost hungry look.
"All sorts," Tom breathed excitedly. Then he hesitated, the things he was using the magic for now would probably not be acceptable to this man. "I used to practice on a spinning top. I could make it keep spinning when it was about to stop. And once, I made it float. I can also make animals do things I tell them to, without training them."
Dumbledore frowned. "And what of the things the matron has told me of? An incident with a rabbit, perhaps?"
"Lettuce?" Tom asked cautiously. "I didn't mean to hurt her, sir. Billy just made me so mad when he wouldn't let me hold her. I wouldn't have done anything to her, but the children here are all afraid of me, because of what I can do." Tom forced himself to sound sad, even managing to force out a few tears for show.
"Accidents of these sorts happen to many children as they grow into their powers. I'm sure you didn't mean any harm to the rabbit, Tom, but you still caused the death of an innocent creature. Acts like this will not be tolerated at Hogwarts." Dumbledore smiled pleasantly at the misunderstood boy in the bed. It seemed that the stories told by the matron were caused by his wayward magical abilities and not founded in fact.
"I understand sir." Tom hung his head and pretended to be chastised, but he was shaking with excitement. "I knew I was different. I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something."
"Well, you were quite right." The man smiled genially down at him. "You are a wizard."
"Are you a wizard too?"
"Yes…"
"Prove it," Tom demanded, forcing a little magic into these words too.
Dumbledore looked taken aback for a moment, but then pulled his wand from inside his suit jacket and pointed it at the wardrobe in the corner and gave it a subtle flick.
Within moments the wardrobe was a blazing tower of flame, and Tom stood up angrily, yelling, "NO!" Everything he owned, precious little that it was, was in that wardrobe. How dare this man, this wizard, destroy his things?
But with another flick of his wand, the flames disappeared and the wardrobe was left untouched. Tom turned to stare at the man, and found his eyes being held for several long moments.
Little crinkles appeared around the man's eyes, and his expression grew concerned as he held Tom's gaze. "I think there's something trying to get out of your wardrobe."
The boy's head snapped around as a small rattling noise came from the closed doors of the furniture in question.
"Do you have some things in there that are not yours, Tom?" Dumbledore asked.
Tom looked at the wizard again and held his gaze. Something told him he would be caught in a lie this time. "I suppose so, sir."
"Pull them out."
He opened the doors of the wardrobe and saw his box of treasures was rattling on the shelf. Gingerly he pulled it down and dumped them on the bed for the man to see. They stopped quivering as soon as they were released from their prison.
"You should return these things to their rightful owners, with your apologies. I will know if you do not."
"Yes, sir," Tom said reluctantly.
"Thievery is not tolerated at Hogwarts, much like the uses you have been bending your powers towards. We can help you not only learn magic but also to control it. You are not the first, nor will you be the last student, to come into our care that has let their magic run away with them. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic will punish lawbreakers still more severely. All new wizards must accept that they must abide by our laws."
"Yes, sir," Tom said again, hiding his contempt for these threats easily. "I haven't got any money, and I doubt Mrs. Cole could spare any for me."
"That is easily remedied." Dumbledore handed him a small pouch that clinked with coins, and he opened it curiously to examine a large fan-shaped gold coin. "Here is your school letter. There is a list of supplies that you can get at Diagon Alley. I can help you find everything…"
"You're coming with me?" Tom interrupted. He had been looking forward to examining things for himself, and perhaps spending any extra money on some books or other things that looked interesting.
"Certainly, if you…"
"I don't need you," Tom said firmly. "I'm quite used to going around London on my own. How do I get to this Diagon Alley? Sir," he added when the man caught his eye.
Dumbledore paused and stared at him for a long moment before, somewhat reluctantly, continuing. He explained about the Leaky Cauldron and where it was located, and told Tom to ask for the barman to open the entrance to the alley for him.
"And once I have all my things, how am I to get to the school?" Tom asked.
"The instructions are also in your letter. The train leaves from King's Cross on September the first at eight in the morning. There is a train ticket in your letter as well."
Tom nodded and set down the bag of money and the letter to shake the professor's hand as he stood. He felt the sudden urge to ask after his most favored power. "I can speak to snakes. I found out when they took us to the country one summer. They come and find me, and I talk to them. Is that normal for wizards?"
The wizard's eyes once more caught and grabbed his, and he felt some fleeting feeling in his thoughts, but it was gone before he could grasp it.
"It is unusual, but not unheard of," Dumbledore finally said.
Tom's eyes narrowed, but just nodded in reply. The man knew something about that particular skill. He made a note to himself to look it up at the first opportunity.
"Well, it was very nice to meet you Tom. I look forward to seeing you in the fall."
"Thank you, Professor."
-o-0-o-
January 20, 1960—
"Enter."
He opened the door to the familiar office at the summons and strode forward to stand before his old transfiguration professor's desk.
"Good evening, Tom," Dumbledore said. "Please, have a seat."
He paused as he moved towards the chair to stare at the Headmaster. "They don't call me that anymore," he said. "They call me…"
"I know what they call you, my boy. But alas, having been your teacher once I fear you will always be Tom to me."
Voldemort narrowed his red-hazed eyes at the old man, but took his seat at last. "I have returned," he began without preamble, "to once more request that I be allowed to return to the castle, to teach. Headmaster Dippet once told me I was too young, too inexperienced. But I have lived many more years now, and I have learned a great many things that I should like to pass on to the next generation."
Dumbledore stared at him for several long moments with his fingers steepled in front of his face. Voldemort felt the subtle prying at his thoughts that he had once been oblivious to, as a child, but could now not only sense but block and subvert if he so chose. He did so now, sharing memories of his travels—the clean bits that the old man would find no objection with.
Finally the Headmaster spoke. "I know of your 'travels' as you called them. Words of your deeds have traveled far. I should be sorry to believe even half of them."
He betrayed nothing of the anger he felt at the man's words. But it didn't matter. His true reason for coming to the castle tonight would remain a secret. But if he could shape those young minds to his cause… "Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies. Surely you know this, Dumbledore."
"You call it 'greatness' what you have been doing, do you?" Dumbledore asked indignantly.
"Certainly," Voldemort said, with a faint hint of nastiness in his voice, even as his eyes glowed a little redder than before. "I have experimented and pushed the boundaries of magic further than anyone else has ever dared. I have done many incredible things in recent years, Dumbledore. Things that man once thought impossible within the laws of magic."
"Of some kinds of magic," the Headmaster interrupted coldly. "Of other, much more powerful kinds of magic, you remain woefully ignorant both of the possibilities and the laws that govern them."
Voldemort sneered, but Dumbledore continued.
"Why are you here tonight, Tom?"
"To apply for the position of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, as I said already," Voldemort snapped, losing patience with the old man's games.
"No, that is not the right answer. You came here, with your henchmen sequestered in the Hog's Head waiting for you, for some other purpose tonight. Because surely you must know that I would never offer you this position. Indeed, I fail to see why you are requesting a job you do not want."
"On the contrary, Dumbledore, I want the job very much," Voldemort said frostily, standing and gathering his black cloak around him like a mantle. "But if that is your final word…"
"It is."
"Then I take my leave of you, for I believe we have nothing more to say to each other." He turned and strode towards the door, pausing to listen to the old man's parting words.
"No. The time is long gone when I could frighten you with a burning wardrobe and force you to make repayment for your crimes. But I wish I could, Tom…I wish I could."
Voldemort stormed from the office and glanced towards the other end of the corridor where the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy was hanging. Good humor somewhat returned, he left the castle for what was likely the last time and returned to his 'friends' in the Hog's Head pub.
And while there, he propositioned the barkeep for a bargain. In return for protection and a small amount of money to upkeep the shabby bar, Aberforth Dumbledore would report on the comings and goings of his clients, and keep an eye on his brother.
-o-0-o-
April 11, 1944—
Sixth year Tom Marvolo Riddle glanced coyly at his head of house as the Slug Club laughed at one of the fat man's jokes. "Sir," he said during a lull in the noise, "is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?"
"Tom, I knew you would find out," Slughorn said, in high good humor. "I'd like to know where you get your information, boy. More knowledgeable than half the staff, you are."
Tom smiled while the other boys at the table laughed and gave him admiring looks.
A chime sounded a moment later from behind the professor and he turned to look at it in consternation. "That time already? You boys had better be getting back to your common rooms. Lestrange, I need your essay by tomorrow or you'll have no grade for the assignment. Have a good night, all!"
One by one the boys left the room until everyone except Tom had left. He watched his potions professor putter around for a few moments, putting things away and tidying up before the man finally noticed him sitting there in silent repose.
"Tom! What are you doing, you're going to be out in the halls after curfew if you don't hurry along now."
"Sir, I wanted to ask you something," Tom said quickly, standing and striking a casual pose beside the fireplace.
"Ask away, then."
"Sir, I wondered what you know about…about hor…"
-o-0-o-
The memory turned blurry and indistinct, and they suddenly found Slughorn looming there larger than life as he told them not to ask him inane questions and to get out right this minute.
With a nearly audible thump, the three wizards returned to the room they had left from. The twins looked at the Headmaster in confusion.
"What happened?" Harry asked.
"This is why I asked for your help in cornering Horace," Dumbledore admitted. "That final memory is a lie. The true memory is something I fear will be very important if we are ever to defeat Voldemort once and for all."
"It sounded like he was about to ask about horcruxes just before the memory faded out," Henry observed.
"Yes, and I fear that whatever answer Horace gave, regardless of his fear or shame of the memory now, is integral to our mission. You boys must find some way to weasel it out of him."
"Sir, during our vision the other night, Voldemort was telling the Death Eaters that they only had to kill one more person to achieve their goal. Do you think he might have been talking about Professor Slughorn?" Henry asked.
Dumbledore looked thoughtful for a moment before shaking his head. "Horace holds a memory of importance only to Voldemort. Unless him keeping his horcruxes a secret will enable his victory, I don't see how…" he paused and turned to rifle through some papers on his desk, looking for a particular one.
"What is it, sir?" asked Harry.
"When I was trying to convince Horace to return to teaching, he used a great number of arguments trying to refuse the post. Here!" he fished out a piece of parchment and read it over, his finger tapping one particular paragraph. "He said, 'They've been trying to recruit me for months, Albus. The Dark Lord seems to think that I know something that will be of great value to him. I've been in hiding, moving every few days to keep ahead of them. But you can only tell these people no so many times before their interests turn from hounding to hunting.'"
"That's why we can't get close to him!" Henry smacked himself in the forehead. "He's terrified that we'll turn him in, because of the Marks."
"Yes, and it would seem that there is something else that Horace knows other than that memory I wish you to procure, which is quite valuable to Voldemort. I will of course understand if you can't find out, but it would be worth our while to at least try. It may be that Horace himself does not even know."
"I suppose we can try. Asking about that may give us the leverage to get the memory," Henry said.
"What about the other memories?" Harry asked. "Why did you show us those?"
"The first memory was the occasion when I first met Tom Riddle as a child. Even then, as you both saw, he had a violent, vengeful streak that he used to punish others as he saw fit. You will also notice that he lied about all of those things the matron told me about his odd accidents and the terrible things that had happened around the orphanage and to the other children.
"The other memory took place only ten short years after he graduated from Hogwarts. He worked in Borgin and Burkes for many years, and collected a number of priceless heirlooms that once belonged the Founders—many of which he murdered or stole to acquire. And then he simply disappeared. When next I heard of him, he was calling himself Voldemort and had gathered a small army of followers who were helping him to do terrible things.
"There are many other memories I could show you, boys. But it is late for tonight, and at the moment the most important thing is to get the memory from Horace. When you have achieved that goal, we will know where we stand and I will have a better idea of what you need to see to accomplish our mission of destroying all of the horcruxes. Send me a message when you have managed that and we will meet again."
The twins nodded reluctantly and trooped out of the office and across the seventh floor to the Gryffindor common room. It was only as they entered the dark and quiet room that they realized how very late it was.
"How are we going to do it, then?" Henry asked, lifting his hands up in frustration as he remembered how they had been throwing themselves at the potions professor all these months.
"I think we should have realized the answer to that a long time ago," Harry sighed and glanced at the staircase to the girl's dormitory. "Hermione is already in the Slug Club. Now that we know what we need, perhaps she can manage where we couldn't. Or maybe she can help us think of something instead."
"Right. For now, sleep. I have arithmancy in the morning, you know. We can ask her at breakfast what she thinks."
They were asleep before their heads hit their pillows.
-o-0-o-
A/N: The first two memories are actually excerpts from another fic I'm working on called For These Waters are Come Thither. I got lazy, which is why they're also from Tom's POV. But I think it kinda works in here to have it from his POV and not Harry/Henry, since that's the way Jo did it in the book and recapping is boring for all of us, yeah?
~Shara