Author's Note: Unstable internet is unstable. Yergh.

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= Riddles =

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On Adoption


Going cold turkey on power is not easy. Thoughts on adoption.

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It was strange to wake up to the cool air that was London on Monday mornings. The air wasn't as bothersome as Mos Espa. Something stopped it from being completely comfortable—Anakin thought the bed still felt a bit too empty. He had never said it aloud and Tom certainly never mentioned it, but he suspected that he wasn't entirely alone in that thought. At first, Anakin's bed had been right next to a window with Tom's right next to it. As soon as Anakin came up with the idea of joining it, his brother had pushed their beds together without an argument or question. Just like the pallet beds in the Skywalker home.

Only without mother.

Besides, not being completely alone helped with the nightmares of the future-that-wasn't. It helped to have a familiar Force presence nearby, especially when it was one that was similar that it was easy to attune to. Mrs. Cole had taken one look at their interior rearrangements and didn't say a word, so he supposed it passed her inspection.

Anakin covered a yawn and a sideways glance showed that Tom was also dragging himself up from under the light blankets.

"Mornin'" Anakin muttered.

"Morn'" Tom murmurred, sounding worse than Anakin. "I swear the first thing I'll buy in Diagon Alley other than a wand is coffee."

"Or you could make a strong cup of tea right now." He suggested.

"Good idea." His twin answered, but still not getting up from the bed. He'd only turned to flatten his face further into the pillow. "…maybe a bit later."

Anakin grinned in amusement. "How much later is 'a bit'?"

For all his ease of waking up in Tattoine, he was bad at doing so immediately on Earth. Curiously, the opposite happened with Anakin—or perhaps it was one of the last vestigial familiarity each had with their native worlds. Tom pulled his blanket over him again. "Let me correct that—much, much later."

"You know the bathrooms are going to be a rush if you don't wake up now, right?"

There was an unintelligible sound of protest, or maybe defence, but he couldn't really discern it. No further movement happened. Anakin shrugged and considered that he'd tried his best, deciding that now he can move on without any guilt and consider his obligation to warn his brother as already served.

'-

Tom sat on the weathered old Persian rug in the study hall with the same bleary-eyed look he had in the morning, a strong cup of tea in front of him. If there was a hidden plate of cookies under the table from the Riddle Super Secret Stash (as other kids have called it), he certainly wasn't telling anyone.

Food was generally a free-for-all affair in places like the orphanage. If you still want to eat it later, you eat it now. Leaving it around was an invitation for it to get picked up and eaten by someone else. There's the possibility of keeping it, but it's not as if it was easy to figure out a good hiding place for food except for the dry sort.

When a cup of tea was known to belong to Thomas Riddle, however, people generally left it alone.

The last time anyone tried to swipe his tea was done by Billy Stubbins. He tried it in a single large gulp, and it had him choking and spitting at once. Tom had reported the incident immediately to Mrs. Cole with an almost vindictive relish, and Billy received a telling-to. It all added up perfectly for him, as he had his fill of entertainment for the day by standing behind Mrs. Cole while sending Billy well-calculated looks of complete satisfaction—it was working so much that at the end, the boy was red-faced and was prepared to jump at him if Mrs. Cole wasn't there. After all that, Billy was charged with mopping up the mess he'd created.

The boy retaliated the best he could by telling everyone that Tom drank the bitterest tea 'in the universe', to Tom's amusement and Anakin's laughter. He'd looked so frustrated at having his revenge foiled then that Tom was sure he would cry. The boy's was face already beginning their strange contortions towards it and the young wizard watched in fascination, a thinly-disguised grin on his face. He was still waiting for the moment's culmination when he sensed something through the Force and followed his instinct to duck—just in time before Anakin swiped the back of his head.

"Leave the poor boy alone."

"I was only watching him," Tom pointed out.

"He was going to fall apart if you watched him a bit longer."

"Whyever would he do that?" Tom asked, his voice perfectly reasonable. "It's quite harmless. I can't set people on fire by a glance, I assure you, and not from lack of practice."

Anakin gave an exasperated sigh. "Tom…"

Billy Stubbins had slunk away in defeat in the ensuing light argument between Tom and Anakin, to the first twin's disappointment. His reactions were ever so funny; every time he noticed Tom now, he'd startle easily like a cornered rabbit. Every time the darker-haired of the Riddle twins turned his gaze on him, Billy started getting twitchy. Tom might've taken any other opportunities to scare the boy out of his wits if Anakin hadn't pulled him away for some reason, or came up with more interesting things to do—it turned out that his blond twin had actually noticed what he'd been doing. One day his brother gave up with the distraction ploys and went straight to the point.

"Please tell me you've stopped trying to find ways to terrorise Billy." Anakin said.

"Ask no questions and you'd be told no lies," Tom said idly. Anakin rubbed his eyes.

"Tom, we've been dark lords. I know what power feels like with an army at hand, as I'm sure you do too. Now please tell me that you're not getting your replacement power trip from bullying a five-year-old?"

That snapped Tom to reality quickly. Far too quickly. He remembered all too easily the men grovelling at his feet and the dark bitter honey sting of casting Crucio on incompetent fools and the obedience that followed. Good, he'd thought. He could remember how fear and awe tasted in the air, and it was all so close. He could do a wandless Imperius with barely a second of thought, his skill in it unmatched. He would bet a hundred galleons that he was still just as good even now. He was always just one such Imperius away from getting Billy Stubbins to dance to his tune until his feet bled. All it takes was a flick of his wrist and fine control of the mind. It would all be so very, very easy

And would you willingly pay the price again for that power, when you know now what it would cost?

He raged. He might not channel it, but just because the conflict was inside did not mean that it was invisible outside. Other children avoided his path, even many of the older ones. Many didn't dare to even meet his gaze. Tom wasn't paying attention to them at all as he was lost wth his own demons. He had found a quiet corner of the study hall to sit in, deepening his connection to magic as he meditated.

It was not fair! The power was there for his taking. Virtually no one else could wield it as easily, or understand it so intimately like a lover's whisper in the night. The ordinary fools needed a firm hand to guide their lives. He could do so many things with it. He could change the world in his image.

But to take that power was to allow it to pervert his own image in the first place. What kind of world would abominations carve in their image?

So much power, and yet so much of it he couldn't even use without falling into a slow spiral of self-destruction as the monster inside him subsumed his human side completely. It was not fair. But life rarely is, the thought floated gently in his mind, we do what we must, with what we have. The whisper had been so quiet that it was hard to be sure whether it was his own or not. But it was his own alright—usually he was not so attuned with magic that he'd notice all the softer voices in his head.

Would you destroy yourself once more by doing what is easy, instead of finding your own path to power that will allow you to live a whole and unpoisoned life with it?

He took a deep breath. Realisation allowed the rage to leave. What remains now was nothing but tiredness and an almost painful knowing. The answer was always inside him all this time; he wouldn't do it. He wanted to be self-aware more than he wanted to be the mindless monster.

Anakin had known what was happening too well and left him alone. His brother had steered clear of him, and even took pains to inform other people to stay away as well and not bother him. He left Tom to decide when he wanted to find him. When Tom finally came out looking for his twin, looking worse for wear, Anakin had casually asked him if he'd like to meditate together. That was that. There was no judgment, and no efforts to get him to talk about what had happened and Tom was too relieved to even comment on it.

It was only on the next day that Anakin asked whether Tom was alright. By then, he was more certain of the answer already.

"I will be."

Tom exhaled slowly. He shook his head as he dispelled the memories from some weeks ago and drank his usual strong cup of tea. Billy Stubbins was still avoiding him with almost exagerrated care, sometimes peeking around corners and scanning rooms through the door for a while before deciding whether to enter or not. Tom might have found it all funny if he was paying attention like he had, but therein lays the difference. Now, he wasn't paying attention anymore. There were other things worth his focus; like the question that Anakin had asked him some time ago. He hadn't been prepared to give the answer then. Hopefully, he had a better answer now.

'-

"So, what about the mundane schools?" Anakin asked him.

They were in the backyard again, doing lightsaber katas of Soresu that would help with their current height disadvantage against possible enemies, using wooden sticks found of broken brooms. Thinking of brooms reminded him of magical brooms and wands again, but that particular issue could wait for now. Tom thought he caught glimpses of kids watching them from the windows, but he ignored them.

"Adoption, not by muggles but by magicals," he said. "At the very least we'd get more relevant education."

He could feel his twin's mental poke, for using the word 'muggles' and merely rolled his eyes. Yes, yes, I'll remember better next time. Anakin had pointed out that the use of the term was derogatory, or at the very least, condescending, and he wanted them to change the habit.

"Yet you said it isn't a solution," The blond Riddle answered.

He took a deep breath, all while letting his movements flow from slashing to parrying and then a thrust. It was an exact mirror to Anakin's movements. "The first is the issue of a neutral family. Since we'd end up as Heirs of Slytherin, it would be too easy for any of the families interested in political gain to leverage it. We have to find a more-or-less neutral one. As far as I've researched the wizarding families of Britain, many of the older families who usually refused to take sides had either died out or gone defunct through various conflicts and wars."

"I can't ever imagine why," Anakin replied, his tone insolent. Tom grinned.

"Because most people in a war doesn't like them. It's not a permanent problem, though. We can even resurrect some by encouraging the Ministry of Magic to track the surviving issues and descendants."

Anakin caught his tone. "Encourage?"

"Encourage, because with the way that some of the unclaimed estates are lying fallow, the Ministry gets to manage them when they're not placed in trusts and received their income. Thus they can be… unmotivated in finding the surviving descendants. Then, the families that do manage to survive are usually powerful enough that they represent their own faction or lead one."

Anakin continued on until the end of the particular set of movements, and Tom followed suit. He had already memorised this one, his issue was just in making sure he did the forms right. Anakin set to the side and nodded to him, signaling him to start while Anakin stayed still to help him spot any weakness in forms.

"You sound like you already have a particular family in mind."

Tom nodded, "I do. I have… issues with it, though. I know it's one of the best choices possible, but it still doesn't change how I feel about it."

"Are you going to tell me now, or would you still need some time?"

Tom stalled from answering, even as he continued to finish his movement set. Anakin waited. When the dark-haired twin was done, he met his twin's gaze. In a move that was irregular of him, he fought the instinctive need to hide or hold back his unease.

"It's Dumbledore."

He knew Anakin recognised the name from the concern on his face. They settled down and walked away, the leftover stick piled in a corner to be returned to the shed later. The two of them walked on, weaving past the manual water pump and the lines of laundry hanging to dry—laundry was part of their chores yesterday, and it would also be so two days from now, but not today. For some reason their steps carried them to the kitchen again. Mrs. Swinburn grinned her crooked grin to them, and they grinned back.

"Hello boys. Back again?"

Anakin shrugged. "We need something to do with our hands."

"Good for you. You can start with the cabbages in the corner."

They flowed with the easy rhythm of those that had worked together for a while. Anakin set the stools in place, including the small one they'd need to step up. Tom brought them the knives first and then the vegetables. This time, he was the one who created the distraction field around them as they immersed themselves in the work again.

"I thought you said Dumbledore never liked you?" Anakin asked.

"He was the one who found me here, the first magical I remembered meeting," he said.

His brother noted that. "Just like Qui-Gon had been the one to find me."

He nodded. "That's true, I suppose, though you didn't have Qui-Gon trying to kill you, or mentoring the person he thought could do so." Anakin cringed when he realised what he'd done, but Tom was unperturbed. "I'd still say that he wasn't wrong in his assessment. It was not exactly an inspired choice to bring me to Hogwarts."

Anakin focused on his vegetables, but from his expression Tom could see that he was grappling with several things at once, but he was doing his best to think everything through instead of rushing it. Unfortunately, patience wasn't his strongest virtue. The effort he put at it was visible from the lines on his forehead.

"Why would you say that?" Anakin asked.

"Say what?"

"That you shouldn't have gone to Hogwarts. That was what you meant, right?"

"Did you know why he doubted me?" Tom asked. "It was because he saw how I interacted with the other children. It was because he knew that I was the one who killed Billy Stubbins' rabbit."

"That infernal rabbit—wait, you're saying it belonged to that Billy? The one who seemed to be stupidly looking for trouble with you repeatedly two weeks ago before you start to terrorise him back?"

Tom chuckled. "Yes. It was only a week, Anthony, you're counting the same week twice. It's strange to know how fate turns, doesn't it? Perhaps there is a connection between us after all." His tone was more mocking than serious. Anakin listened to all that without interfering or immediately replying.

"And that's the only issue you have with him?"

"Billy is not worth my time. I couldn't care less about his stupid rabbit now." he said, as if he didn't know the question better.

Anakin glared at him. "Not Billy. Dumbledore."

"Well, the man dogged me through my school days, but that's hardly a cause of concern. He was annoying, but he wasn't wrong. He was watching a potential threat to his school—if I was in his position, I would've neutralised the threat far sooner than Dumbledore would go with his whole wait-and-see-until-all-hell-breaks-loose approach. How hard was it to kill a kid no one would miss or mess with his life in Hogwarts, when Dumbledore was a respected professor?"

His voice was casual and light, as if he was considering what brand of tea he wanted to buy this time. Really, it was nothing personal for him—

Anakin rolled his eyes. "Tom."

"I know it's not a path most people would consider. It does not make it any less true, or any other path more convenient to take than to just kill the problem. His problem has always been that he's so… idealistic." Tom said the last word with a visible cringe that Anakin couldn't help but smile.

"You're hardly allergic to idealism."

"Not for lack of trying, I assure you," he replied with a familiar dryness. The conversation fell into a lull again as each was lost in their own thought.

"So… contact him or not?"

"Contact him." He said. The decision wasn't actually that difficult to make. It was the best choice available to them and he already knew that—the problem was a matter of coming to terms with it. "But I think it's better if we try to make some reasons and alibies too, while we're at it."

Anakin tapped his chin as he mused on it. "I already have one. It's one that I'd definitely use if we ever get dragged to explain the things we do to the Jedi Council. Visions."

"Heirs of Slytherin and Seers as well? Interesting. People are going to flock behind our banner and make us into icons. Ergo, the other kids are going to hate us… on the other hand, I can certainly get used to the hagiography again." He said, completely flippant.

He ignored the evil eye that Anakin was sending him. What was Anakin's problem with minions, really? It was always nice to receive adulation, especially when he knew the masses could've chosen to give it to someone categorically worse—Cornelius Fudge, anyone? From the annoyance that was still twinging through their bond, it was clear that his brother was not of the same opinion.

"If it becomes public. For your information, I don't want to become a saint, or icon. I've had enough of that to last through several lifetimes."

Tom nodded. "Unfortunately, Anthony, gossipworthy news almost always becomes public. It's merely a matter of when, and whether we can manage it to our benefit when it happens, or not."

'-

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