71 – In Momentum
Harry ran. He staggered and stumbled, keeping his eyes fixed determinedly on the darkness before him. It was all he could do as danger approached. There was no turning back. Shadows were engulfing him, confusing him, as he held his lit wand high up in a fist. It did nothing to light up the dry, hard ground beneath his feet. The earth shook and echoed like the beat of a drum at every heavy step, adding to the sound of panicked breath tearing through his lungs.
His determination was faltering. Panic must have caught up with him: it expressed itself in the terrified glance he cast over his shoulder. Grindelwald was close. He was advancing quickly, his followers' voices rising up as one as they charged. Harry was terribly outnumbered.
"CONFRINGO!" he shouted, throwing a spell back at them blindly. "EXPULSO! AVADA KEDAVRA!"
Grindelwald's people were shouting in panic now. Flames had erupted around them, spreading quickly over the dead, dry grass. This encouraged Harry greatly and inspired him; he stopped running for the first time tonight. He faced the advancing wizards bravely, a smile spreading across his face. Raising his wand, he began to use the last curse he'd need to win – Fiendfyre.
The cursed fire spread so quickly, it was an amazing sight to behold. Dragons and Lions of flames ate up wizards in seconds, growing tremendously large and intimidating all those who cowered near. It had put enough distance between Harry and Grindelwald to give him time to run. Only, the fire spread his way too. It hissed through the grass, roaring up towards the heavens as it greedily took in all it could for further fuel and strength.
Harry was running again, terrified yet bearing a grin at his own creation, which awed and amused him still. He fled from the scene, running faster than he'd ever ran before as the fire drew nearer, taking over total darkness, meeting his heals and cloak and robes and -
Tom's eyes flew open. He lay on his back in bed, sweating lightly, caught up in the sheets that surrounded him. His heart was bearing fast. He turned to his left and reached for Harry, but he found no one was there. This was no real surprise, seeing as Tom was currently staying alone at Lestrange's house, but he felt disappointed nonetheless. He yearned for Harry to be close. The dream he had awoken from filled him with both fear and admiration. Admiration for Harry's bravery, for his willingness to fight, and fear for the Fiendfyre he was surely unable to control...
Tom's hand grasped the empty sheets, pulling the cold material to his warm palm. Amusement reached his lips; Lestrange had doubtlessly given him the finest bedcovers available to any guest. He might, even, have reserved these fine sheets just for Tom. He wished only that he had Harry to share them with. To calm his vague sense of worry, he reminded himself that Harry, in the dream, could have Apparated away. Harry was smarter than to die from his own fire, after all. He was more cunning, more intelligent...
Slowed in his tired state, Tom's thoughts were disorganised. He breathed out heavily, running a hand over his face as he wondered what time it was. Morning hadn't yet broken. Tom wasn't tired; he had gone to bed early to wake up before dawn, to get his work in order before leaving Lestrange's home. It was the end of his second week away from Harry and although they would be meeting up tonight, Tom was distracted by a desire for him to be close now. The dream made him fear that something was wrong. He was tempted to slip away from the house to go pay Harry a visit.
He glanced at a clock sitting on a table nearby. It was five O'clock in the morning. He wouldn't have to be up until at least seven, and the inn was only minutes away, via Apparition. Tom enjoyed the idea of meeting Harry in these early hours, seen by no one on his way to that quiet place. He knew he would be distracted by this thought, distracted by the need to hold Harry in his arms all day if he did not do something about it now.
So he got out of bed and changed into simple robes. Casting a Disillusionment Charm on himself, he slipped out of Lestrange's house without notice.
The inn was locked when Tom arrived there, but the locks were so simple to break, he wondered if the innkeeper had even tried. The sun hadn't even begun to rise yet. Theories of murders played on Tom's mind as he closed the door of the inn behind him, passing quietly through the narrow passageway. He made his way to the staircase. He knew which room was Harry's.
The locks on Harry's room were harder to break, but at first Tom didn't bother; there was light behind the door. He smiled. Knocking lightly, he waited for an answer. When he got none, his smile fell. He unlocked the door, stepping inside, apprehension finding him. Harry was asleep in bed, but he had left the lights on. It occurred to Tom that Harry didn't want to be surrounded by darkness. The thought made him pause. He knew Harry must have been sleeping badly lately.
Tom was glad he had shown up here. He wondered how he could have known something was wrong as he made his way towards Harry's bed, sitting down on one side of it. He reached out a hand to brush hair from Harry's face. He stirred a little.
"Good morning," Tom said softly.
Harry's eyes opened slowly, peacefully. When he saw Tom, a smile reached his lips. The sight sent adoration soaring through Tom's very chest.
"'Morning," Harry mumbled tiredly. "What're you doing here?"
"I wanted to see you," Tom said. "I dreamt of you."
Harry seemed glad to hear it. His beautiful eyes were shielded when he stretched. Tom watched when they opened again; Harry gazed at him with a tired, satisfied look. He reached out a hand to stroke the side of Harry's face.
"Are you alright?"
"Of course, yeah," Harry answered. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"The lights were on."
Harry shot a glance at the lantern on the table next to him, rubbing his tired face when the light him. "Must have forgot to put it out."
Tom wasn't convinced, in honesty. He wanted to know what had happened. "Did you not sleep well?"
"I slept fine," Harry said. His voice was too monotonic. Tom took this as a conformation that he hadn't.
He decided not to push the subject, lest that should annoy Harry. "It's been days since I saw you properly," he commented.
"I know."
"I've missed you."
The claim seemed to lighten Harry's mood. He sat up in bed, put his hands around Tom's waist, and gazed at him happily, unable to remove a smile from his face. "It's good you're here," he said. "I've missed you as well..."
Tom gave a hum of laughter, which he was sure Harry felt when they kissed. Harry was already blissfully unclothed. Tom was tempted to join him in this immediately, but there was no need; it was early, so they may as well enjoy the precious time they had together on this cold winter morning. Tom looked down at Harry fondly, running one hand through his hair and another down his back. Harry craved his touch, moving into it, the bedsheets covering the lower half of his body.
"You have that interview with Dumbledore later," he mentioned with eyes closed.
"Yes," Tom said, "later in the evening... Bring me good luck, won't you?"
He kissed Harry's neck, pulling him in closer.
"I'll try," Harry murmured.
Tom didn't think twice about this claim. He slid both of his hands to Harry's back, lost in desire.
"It must have been a good dream," Harry mumbled, smirking.
Tom looked at him. The sight of his green eyes full of such desire was too much to take. He cupped Harry's face again, breathing deeply.
"It was nothing sexual," he admitted, his voice slowed by desire. "You were merely fighting. You fought powerfully..."
An odd look crossed Harry's face. It stayed for only the faintest second. Tom couldn't place it, since Harry knew Occlumency too well, but if he had to guess, he'd say it was a look of disappointment, of regret. Or something... Had he wished for a less dull dream?
Tom learnt in, kissing Harry fully and moving closer until, without knowing which one of them encouraged it, Harry fell back on the bed. Tom ran a hand down his chest, gazing at him as he hovered above, very pleased with his choice to come here at all.
Stroking Harry's hair back, Tom took in the sight of his handsome face. "You're beautiful, you know..."
A smile overrode all other expressions on Harry. "So are you..."
They didn't say much more past this. All Tom wanted was for them to lay close, to enjoy this quiet meeting. Harry agreed with this unspoken plan; they spent a long while after this caught up in each other's desire, sharing a connection beyond words. When both of them were satisfied enough, they spent thirty, forty minutes laying in a close embrace, halfway between sleeping and waking. They spoke of how they cared, how they adored one another, basking in the overpowering glory of it. By the time Tom left, he was intoxicated by the love he felt for Harry. His soul mate...
By half past six, Tom was back in Lestrange's house getting ready for the day. He hadn't been missed so early; barely anyone was awake. After changing into proper robes and preparing for the important day ahead of him, Tom spent another hour drafting letters and fixing some notes he had written down the night before. There was a knock on his door at eight O'clock. A servant informed Tom that he was invited to join Lestrange and his wife Galatea for breakfast – an offer that he took with politeness and without hesitation.
They spoke of pleasant, meaningless subjects Purebloods were fond of discussing during any event involving guests in fine manors like this one. Tom found amusement in his acquaintance with Galatea. She hated having him in her home. During Lestrange's wedding, she had shown an extent of distaste for him that made Lestrange visibly panicked for three quarters of the day. She had thought, initially, that his stress was caused not by her behaviour, but by the extravagance and pressure from their wedding as a whole.
When Tom had proven himself worthily informed and connected to the most Pureblooded families in Britain – as well as many further countries – her behaviour towards him had changed. After all, Lestrange, as well as many guests, treated Tom with the utmost respect. Galatea realised all of this with caution and dubiousness. Her snobbishness turned to intimidation and respect. Tom had spent every interaction pleasantly ignoring her existence ever since.
He was sure she feared him now, like Raphael. She held her seven- and five-year-old sons Rabastan and Rodolphus close to her when he was near, shooing them away to the servants and tutors when she could. Tom was glad of this, for the presence of small children irked him greatly. Neither Galatea nor Raphael seemed particularly sympathetic to their children – at least not around guests. It made Tom wonder if it was for the mere sake of keeping a Pureblooded line that people bred at all.
He wondered idly if his appearance scared the Lestranges. He had changed a great deal since he had first met Galatea almost seven years ago, after all. She was put off by his changed, higher voice, his bloodshot eyes and his almost burnt skin, even if she had never liked him for his good looks in the past. His fading face alarmed people. It made them suspicious of where he had been.
"You must travel far for your research, I am sure?" Galatea suggested knavishly in the first week of Tom's stay. "Raphael has of course spoken highly of you these last few years."
"Has he?" Tom asked calmly, giving Lestrange a politely quizzical look that he was sure unnerved him greatly. It was easy to evade her question. "I was under the impression that he spoke very little of me these last few years. My story is, after all, a boring one, full of much research and dire tales of the work I aid."
"You don't work alone then?" she asked, pushing the subject with full force, it seemed. "If you are a mere aid in a field of work and research, that is."
Tom forced a convincing smile. Her persistence irked him; he knew it was result of Raphel letting too much information slip.
"I do not believe that any occupation could be anything more than a mere contribution to a preexisting field of work," he said. "Knowledge is, after all, the result of enthusiasm being struck in new minds as dying professors, artists, masterminds, philosophers, and general witches and wizards begin to fade..."
Which, by the same note, was why immortality was so important to Tom. If a single mind were to comprehend an infinite number of years, an infinite escalation and development of thoughts and ideas, researches and studies, history and theories to explore, that single mind would be more powerful than any preceding it.
"I must say, you have a fine way with words," Galatea said, subtly noting his ability to avoid direct answers. "I must assume, then, that your truly enjoy your research, even if it is not simple enough to be spoken of during a light meal. Few are so fortunate as to take part in work they're truly enthusiastic about."
Tom was unsure what her thoughts on this were. She wasn't a talentless witch; she had gained a certain amount of skill even in the art of Occlumency, which did impress Tom quite a bit. She knew the magic either because of Lestrange's encouragement or because she had realised on her own that Lestrange was slowly learning how to read her mind. If the latter, Tom wondered if she may be of some use to the Knights in the future.
Tom didn't have much time to think about such things now, however. Tonight was a very important night and he needed to make sure everything was in order. It was a dark winters day and the clouds looming above England drooped and dragged with the weight of awaiting snow. By the time night fell, Tom had gotten all of his work in order and was ready to gather a few chosen Knights to accompany him as far as Hogsmeade.
It pleased Tom greatly that, in their dedication, his friends insisted upon joining him on his way to this interview with Dumbledore. Spending three years away from them seemed to have made them all determined to stay in his favour, to get close to him again, and to watch out for him even when he did not truly need their help. As much as Tom would never admit it, this (as well as the formation of the Death Eaters in his absence), won his approval easily. It was all he expected.
"It is my belief that this shan't be a particularly long interview," he informed the Knights as they made their way down a quiet street in Hogsmeade. "Dumbledore is, after all, not one for dawdling on a subject unless he desires to take part in some subtle form of mockery."
"I s'pose we'll just wait in Hogsmeade then," Dolohov commented, clearly keen upon the idea.
"I assume you won't be join us in drinking before you go?" Rosier asked. A note of strong humour attached to his voice when he added, "It's all any of us would do if we had to face Dumbledore like that again."
Tom could see Harry suppressing a smile for the first time this evening. The idea of Tom showing up drunk to his interview with Dumbledore amused him greatly; he couldn't hide it very well. Tom was glad that his mood was light, at the very least.
"I shan't be taking part in such an activity the evening," Tom said. "Unless, of course, I find a way to tempt Dumbledore up at the castle, or if tonight ends with a reason for celebration."
"I wish you luck then!" Dolohov said heartily.
Mulciber snickered.
"Even if these two drunkards are blind with intoxication, you may leave your faith in us, my Lord," Rosier said silkily.
"Oi!" Dolohov called, not quite able to wipe that smirk off his face.
"Well keep an eye out for signs of danger," Nott added.
Tom smiled mechanically, saying nothing. He was distracted momentarily by a dislike at the idea of Harry spending time talking to Nott while he was being interviewed. He would be distracted by this thought dully all night, he knew. He decided to do something about it.
"Jonathan, a word please?"
"Of course," Harry answered.
The Knights fell away as if a series of strings had been cut from Tom. They were in the habit of doing this when he asked to speak to a Knight in private. He continued pacing down the street as Harry followed.
"Is something bothering you?" Harry asked.
He could always tell, Tom mused. "I wish only to ask you if you would accompany me up to the castle."
"I'd love to," Harry said. "I don't want Dumbledore attacking you that far away – we know he's stronger than even Grindelwald."
Tom wondered if Harry feared Dumbledore like he did. They had never really discussed it.
"Are we leaving now?" Harry asked.
"No." Tom stopped walking. They were far enough away from the Knights to be neither heard nor seen. "I want you to take this."
From his pocket he withdrew the Diadem. It felt cold in his hand – colder than any normal item should be even in such low temperature. Harry stared. He didn't take it immediately.
"I am aware that it suits my eyes better," Tom joked in a low voice, "but I want you to hold onto it for me."
"Why'd you bring this here?" Harry asked, taking it from him, finally. He didn't give it a second glance before storing it in his robes.
"I wish to hide it," Tom told him, "up at the castle."
Harry nodded once at this, perhaps remembering now that they had discussed this before.
"When I leave for the castle, I advise you stay here until the Knights ask if you wish to join them in the local pub. They won't be suspicious if you say you'll stay out near the gates of Hogwarts."
"Right. I'll meet you on the corridor outside Dumbledore's office afterwards," Harry said.
"Yes. I shall speak to you more then."
"Alright."
Tom almost wanted to show him deeper signs of affection before his interview, but he didn't need to. In a single look, they could convey a humble agreement they had reached long ago; they loved each other more than words could express.
Tom felt encouraged by this even as he and Harry returned to the Knights, even as he said goodbye to set off in the direction of the castle. It softened his paranoia to think about that look in Harry's eyes. He was sure that Harry might speak to Nott in the next few minutes, catching up after three long years of connecting only through letters, but they wouldn't have much time. He pushed these troublesome distractions to the back of his mind to pay attention to a more important thing: the awaiting interview with Dumbledore.
When Tom reached the gates of Hogwarts, he paused to greet a surge of old emotions he had forgotten about in his belief that they were lost. The great castle was as he had always remembered it. Fires from within sent flickering light out into the vast darkness of night, showing the patterns of glass windows as well as giving an inclination of how high the towers and turrets of Hogwarts twisted up towards the snowy heavens. A silhouette of the school could be seen set faintly against the slightly lighter clouds behind it, showing the magnificence of this place proudly to Tom's eager eyes.
Each roof was covered in thick coats of snow and each window was obscured partially by formations of ice and snowflakes when Tom passed through the school. It was lit warmly when he entered it; he gazed at the many portraits in the entrance hall, making his way up the marble staircase that he knew so well. The Christmas Holidays had always been a strange time for Tom during his years here. Once he got over the initial irritation at the existence of Christmas as a whole, he enjoyed having the school almost entirely to himself. He would enjoy it again soon, if things went as planned.
An odd sensation followed him on his way to Dumbledore's office. It wasn't this new route to Dumbledore nor his apprehension for this meeting that made him feel this way. It was something about this school, about being here again, that made him feel like he had never felt before. He came to the conclusion, many staircases and corridors later, that he had missed this place dearly. Not only that, he missed the age he had been here, he missed the classes he had taken – he missed that time. It was nostalgia, he realised. How very strange it felt...
He approached Dumbledore's office. He was not nervous, but he took a moment to wonder how the evening might end. He thought of what it would be like teaching at Hogwarts, manipulating the minds of hundreds of students right under Dumbledore's nose. Curiosity then caught him. He wondered what it would be like seeing Dumbledore as headmaster of Hogwarts. Standing up straighter and preparing himself and his mind the best he could, he knocked.
"Enter," Dumbledore's voice called calmly.
Tom did so without hesitation, nor much haste. He had visited the Headmaster's office only a few times in his life, always to ask Dippet if he could stay at Hogwarts for longer. The first thing he noticed upon entering it now was that there were many recognisable items from Dumbledore's old office here, to no surprise. Dumbledore had done well in decorating the place, gathering many new spindle-legged tables to display interesting antiques and artefacts on. A few items were rare and valuable, others were mere curiosities. There was a Phoenix slumbering on a perch nearby.
"Good evening, Tom," greeted Dumbledore. He was sitting at his desk, gazing at Tom across the room with a look of tranquillity. "Won't you sit down?"
"Thank you," Tom said, moving forwards to take the seat Dumbledore indicated.
How bizarre it felt to be under Dumbledore's gaze once more, after all these years. He knew it was best to remain as polite as he could with his Professor during the course of this meeting. How successful he might be of this, he was as of yet unsure. He tried his best.
"I heard that you had become Headmaster," be began. "A worthy choice."
"I am glad you approve," said Dumbledore, smiling. "May I offer you a drink?"
"That would be welcome. I have come a long way."
Dumbledore stood up, making his way to a cupboard on the other side of the office. Even when Dumbledore returned with two goblets of wine, Tom wondered what Harry might think of them indeed drinking throughout this meeting.
"So, Tom," Dumbledore began pleasantly, straightening up in his seat, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"
'Tom'... Dumbledore was using this name deliberately. Tom could hear it in each waver of his voice, upon the very pronouncement. He sipped his wine, wondering how drunk he would have to be to be fine with this.
"They do not call me 'Tom' any more," he said calmly, holding back the anger from his voice. "These days, I am known as -"
"I know what you are known as," Dumbledore interrupted, smiling. "But to me, I'm afraid, you will always be Tom Riddle. It is one of the irritating things about old teachers, I am afraid, that they never quite forget their charges' youthful beginnings."
Dumbledore rose his glass as if to toast Tom, heightening his mockery to the highest degree. Tom watched him unblinkingly, shielding the irritation that gripped him beneath the surface. Dumbledore knew that he regretted their first meeting, at the orphanage. He was reminding Tom that no matter what he did, no matter how he presented himself to new people, under different names, different lies, Dumbledore could not be fooled. It wasn't that Dumbledore felt Tom couldn't change for the better, it was that he knew he hadn't.
This entire meeting was a joke to Dumbledore; Tom could see this now. He was refusing to use his proper name, refusing to even let it be spoken in his office. Tom had absolutely no power over this conversation and this irked him beyond all else. He tried very hard to push all of this anger and hatred away.
"I am surprised you have remained here for so long," he said. "I always wondered why a wizard such as yourself never wished to leave school."
"Well," Dumbledore said, clearly taking deep enjoyment from all of this, "to a wizard such as myself, there could be nothing more important than passing on ancient skills, helping hone young minds. If I remember correctly, you once saw the attraction of teaching too."
"I see it still. I merely wondered why you – who is so often asked for advice by the Ministry, who has twice, I think, been offered the post of Minister -"
"Three times by the last count, actually. But the Ministry never attracted me as a career. Again, something we have in common, I think."
Tom inclined his head, saying nothing. He took no interest in the Ministry only because it was so much easier, so much better, to send his friends in there instead, to gather information and spy for him while he spent his efforts on his work and research, exploring the wonders of magic. He sipped from his goblet. Working at the Ministry was a mindless job, one that gave a good name to wizards, but did little else. He was sure Dumbledore knew this, but he was showing off – his correction of being offered the post as Minister three times suggested it openly.
Every time Dumbledore interrupted him, he became more and more convinced that he would not be able to obtain this job. This infuriated him, as he knew Dumbledore intended it to. He took his time allowing a silence to drag on, thinking privately that Dumbledore couldn't possibly know what power he had risen to. Dumbledore couldn't possibly know that if he didn't get this job tonight, he would move onto great things that would shake the wizarding world more than anyone else in history – more than Gellert Grindelwald's himself – ever had before...
"I have returned," he began calmly, " later, perhaps, than Dipper expected... but I have returned, nevertheless, to request again what he once told me I was too young to have. I have come to you to ask that you permit me to return to this castle, to teach. I think you must know that I have seen and done much since I left this place. I could show and tell your students things they can gain from no other wizard."
Dumbledore considered this for a time, watching Tom over the top of his goblet. Tom didn't feel as though his chances were good even before Dumbledore spoke, barely moving.
"Yes," he said quietly, "I certainly do know that you have seen and done much since leaving us. Rumours of your doings have reached your old school, Tom. I should be sorry to believe half of them."
This did not panic Tom. Nothing could be proved, at the very least. "Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies. You must know this, Dumbledore."
"You call it 'greatness', what you have been doing, do you?"
"Certainly," Tom agreed, more vexed now than he could hide. "I have experimented; I have pushed the boundaries of magic further, perhaps, than they have ever been pushed - "
"Of some kinds of magic," Dumbledore cut across him coolly. "Of some. Of others, you remain... forgive me... woefully ignorant."
All Tom could do was laugh coldly to soften his rage; he knew where this was headed.
"The old argument," he said. "But nothing I have seen in the world has supported your famous pronouncement that love is more powerful than my kind of magic, Dumbledore."
"Perhaps you have been looking in the wrong places," Dumbledore suggested.
Was Dumbledore, perhaps, suggesting Harry was the wrong place? Tom was in no state to think it over. When Dumbledore spoke of love he meant the vague, simplistic context of it, not the love Harry and Tom took part in. They were beyond love itself. They were soul mates. The thought felt so perfect to Tom, it filled him with such a deep sense of calmness, understanding, and satisfaction, there was no need to prove himself to Dumbledore by explaining it. Fury lead him onwards.
"Well, then, what better place to start my fresh researches than here, at Hogwarts? Will you let me return? Will you let me share my knowledge with your students? I place myself and my talents at your disposal. I am yours to command."
"And what will become of those whom you command?" Dumbledore asked, his scepticism clear in his eyebrows as they rose. "What will happen to those who call themselves – or so rumour has it – the Death Eaters?"
For the first time, Tom was stunned. How on earth could Dumbledore know this name, when Tom himself had only heard it spoken aloud two weeks ago? The Death Eaters, unlike the Knights, were a very recent, very small group. Tom immediately attempted to pull himself back together, refusing Dumbledore the satisfaction.
"My friends," he said quietly, "will carry on without me, I am sure."
"I'm glad to hear you consider them friends," Dumbledore commented. "I was under the impression that they are more in the order of servants."
"You are mistaken."
"Then if I were to go to the Hog's Head tonight I would not find a group of them – Nott, Rosier, Mulciber, Dolohov – awaiting your return? Devoted friends indeed, to travel this fear with you on a snowy night, merely to wish you luck as you attempted to secure a teaching post."
Someone had informed Dumbledore on the happenings of the Knights of Walpurgis. There was a rat amongst his friends... Tom couldn't keep the maliciousness from his voice when he said, "You are omniscient as ever, Dumbledore."
"Oh, no, merely friendly with the local barmen. Now, Tom..."
Dumbledore put down his empty goblet, bringing the tips of his fingers together as he sat up, gazing at Tom steadily. Tom could have warped that old, wizened face without regret just to wipe away the satisfied, patronising look Dumbledore gave him.
"... let us speak openly. Why have you come here tonight, surrounded by henchmen, to request a job we both know you do not want?"
"A job I do not want?" Tom repeated, bemused by the claim. "On the contrary, Dumbledore, I want it very much."
"Oh, you want to come back to Hogwarts," Dumbledore said confidently, "but you do not want to teach any more than you wanted to when you were eighteen. What is it you're after, Tom? Why not try an open request for once?"
Tom bared his teeth once more. "If you do not want to give me the job -"
"Of course I don't," Dumbledore cut across him, astounded, "and I don't think for a moment you expected me to. Nevertheless, you came here, you asked, you must have had a purpose."
Tom stood up. He was full of such rage that he felt he couldn't be here for a moment longer. Someone had tipped Dumbledore off. Someone had ruined the possibility of Tom ever teaching at Hogwarts so long as Dumbledore was here. This enraged Tom very, very much.
"Is this your final word?"
"It is."
"Then we have nothing more to say to each other."
"No, nothing," said Dumbledore. He was standing too, a sudden look of great sorrow crossing his face. "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..."
He could have killed Dumbledore in that moment.
A wave of hatred unmatched by any previous one filled him. Hearing a direct reminder of his childhood was too much – was he meant to share Dumbledore's sentiment, he wondered? Did Dumbledore truly think he was the same as he had been before? Did he think he had ever made a difference in Tom's willingness to rise to power?
With all the willpower he had, Tom turned away from Dumbledore. He stormed out of his office without so much as uttering a single word, lest it should come out in the form of a deadly curse. He could have smashed the entire office. He could have destroyed the stone gargoyle outside, or shattered the tall glass windows lining the corridors, but he resisted. He would not give Dumbledore the satisfaction of knowing he enraged Tom so. He had not won such a privilege.
"Tom?"Harry's voice called out.
Even hearing this name from Harry's lips agitated Tom further. He swore that from this moment onward if another wizard spoke that name besides Harry, he would murder them where they stood. Harry was emerging from underneath an Invisibility Cloak, watching Tom. He wore a look of understanding.
"What did he do?"
Tom was too terribly angry to give a proper response to this. "That loathsome old fool," he hissed through his teeth, "that cowardly, patronizing bastard!"
Harry was folding up the Cloak, storing it in his pocket. "We both knew he'd be like this, Tom."
"I expected to reach some sort of understanding, at the very least!" Tom snarled. He wanted something to fight, someone to relieve his anger on. "Dumbledore has taken me as another malleable fool upon whom he can practice his subtle, delicately mastered mockery, putting his all-knowing mind on exhibition for the fullest opportunity to flex the muscle of his bitterly condescending, dour disapproval and disfavour!"
Harry was unaffected, as if he had expected all of this to happen. "So, basically he just spent the whole interview taking the piss?"
"To the fullest degree, yes!"
All Tom could do was pace the corridor, watched by Harry, who was calmly compassionate. Dumbledore had wished to scare him, but Tom would not allow that to become true. If Dumbledore was going to watch over him in caution, he was going to do everything he could to avoid detection.
He couldn't keep the rage from his voice when he said in a deadly hiss: "We have a traitor amongst our Knights..."
For the first time, Harry's tranquillity faltered. He stared at Tom. "What makes you think that?"
"Someone informed Dumbledore of the things we get up to – I am sure of it! Dumbledore has been occupied by his responsibilities as Headmaster of Hogwarts for months, it is highly unlikely that he could have stayed so watchful all these years, stayed so ready for my return! He knows of the research I have done, he disapproves of the exploration of my kind of magic – how could he have know about this, if not from a traitor?"
"You know what Dumbledore's like. He's been suspicious of you from the start, hasn't he?"
"He has had more than enough to worry about; I was meant to go unnoticed by his ever-judging eye! Someone direly close to us has refreshed his judgement and his caution. Someone has shaken him, causing him to stay watchful in that tower for any sign of my approach – I know it!"
Tom ground his teeth to stop his own ranting. He was flicking through a list of all his Knights, through the family members and friends closest to those most likely to share secrets.
Madly, he mulled over the possibility of one of Grindelwald's people talking to Dumbledore about their war. Yet even if someone else close to the school had spoken to a follower, even if a single teacher here had merely overheard a conversation about Grindelwald's following, Dumbledore could have caught word of it. But then, where would this lead him? How could this lead him to knowing Tom had formed a Dark Arts group? How could he know what the Knights and Death Eaters were doing?
Harry could see he was brooding and fuming. He didn't bother to try soothing Tom's paranoia because he knew it had to happen. "Come on," he said, gesturing towards the heart of the school. "There's no point staying around here."
Tom saw no reason to object, after a moment. He stopped pacing to face Harry.
"Which way are we going?" Harry asked. "You must have a place in mind."
He was referring to the Horcrux they were going to hide. Tom had almost forgotten about this. A sickening pleasure filled him when he realised how much this would spite Dumbledore. To keep a piece of soul here, to curse the job – it was the perfect revenge! Harry seemed almost alarmed when enthralment showed itself sharply on Tom face.
"This way!" he said, fuelled by determination. "I already have the perfect place chosen..."
They were far from Dumbledore's office now, heading up a spiral staircase towards the highest floors of the castle. On the seventh floor, they stopped down a quiet corridor covered in tapestries and other charming and odd pieces of art. Tom slowed to an abrupt stop in front of a tapestry of trolls attempting to learn the ballet and felt Harry slow in the same moment. A prominent look of confusion crossed Harry's face.
"Wait here," Tom said quietly.
Harry did so, not interrupting when Tom began walk. 'I need a place to hide my Diadem...' he thought three times, pacing past the blank stretch of wall. When a door appeared, Harry stared for a moment before catching Tom's eye.
"What's in there?"
"Take a look for yourself, if you wish."
Tom watched eagerly and stood nearby as Harry stepped forth, through the door. Inside, they met a seemingly endless hall, full of forgotten, hidden items that created clumsy towers and piles as far as the eye could see. A thousand years of regret and secrecy had created this masterpiece. Seven years of creating the Death Eaters and sinking into the wonders of the Dark Arts had led Tom here.
"What is this place?" Harry asked.
"An ancient piece of magic," Tom said in a low voice, "the Come and Go Room. I discovered it when I was fourteen years old, when several belongings were stolen from the Gryffindor Common Room and I had no one at hand to deal with it for me. Stealing the items was a rather important event amongst the Knights here, of course; something to do with Quidditch – a long story – but something of great importance derived from it for me."
"This place is completely hidden," Harry finished, understanding. "No one knows about it."
"Yes." Tom smiled. "For centuries, this has remained a place that hardly any student explored the full power of, even if many, clearly, have stepped foot in this particular room when in need to hide an object. Any student who had discovered this hiding place rarely knew how to return to it. You must have a true need for the room to get here, you see. This is a place that Dumbledore himself would not know of if you asked him about it."
"This is brilliant," Harry said.
They began walking onwards, making their way through pathways that wove through piles of hidden objects.
"So," Harry said slowly, "if you were in need of a place to hide, this place would hide you?"
"Yes," Tom said. "It would hide you with all the power it has. It might even protect you, if you were to ask for it."
"The safest place in Hogwarts," Harry said quietly.
"Indeed..."
Harry turned back when he heard Tom's vague, contemplating tone. He began rummaging in his cloak pocket.
"Here," he said, "you better hold onto this."
"Yes. Of course." Tom took the Diadem carefully, feeling the cold metal beneath his palm and fingers. He examined it for a time, taking in the last moments of it he'd see before it was placed here for years on end.
"What is it?" Harry asked.
He knew Tom too well.
"It occurs to me," Tom began, suppressing a smile, "that since this is indeed the safest place in Hogwarts – the safest place, perhaps, in any wizarding dwellings you and I have ever stepped foot in – would it not indeed be a fine place for you to hide your Horcrux too?"
"Oh," Harry said. He was surprised. He said nothing more than this.
"It would be perfect for your Horcrux to stay within such close proximity to my own," Tom added, not at all discouraged. "I want our souls to be close. Hogwarts is what brought us together, after all. The Sword of Gryffindor belongs here, in the castle, so if you were to keep it hid-"
"No," said Harry sharply.
Tom stopped. He stood very still, a moment of anger arising in him at being interrupted yet again tonight. This was not because of Harry specifically; echoes of Dumbledore still haunted him.
"No?" he repeated softly.
Harry knew he had made a mistake at this. He looked away, his shoulders brought up in one swift, subtle movement. He was tense and paranoid. Of the Horcrux being found here?
"No one would find the Sword here," Tom commented.
"Well, it does have Gryffindor's name on it."
"No one comes here in search of rare items. Almost everything in here is ruined."
"I know, but..."
Tom waited for him to speak, knowing he would.
"I'm a bit – concerned about the Sword..."
Dread rose within Tom so intensely that he couldn't keep the petulance from his voice. "Do not honestly tell me that it has been broken once more?"
"What? Oh, no – no it isn't that," Harry told him quickly. "I just want to be sure nothing happens to the Sword."
"Why would anything happen to the Sword?"
"It rightfully belongs to a true Gryffindor. I wasn't even in that House."
"Why does this worry you?" Tom demanded.
"If an actual Gryffindor is in need of it, what if it disappears to them instead?"
Tom thought about this. "That was mere legend and myth, surely?"
"I dunno, it might be. But either way, I want to be sure."
Was this a ruse, Tom wondered? He didn't think so. Harry had no reason to lie about this.
"Maybe – maybe I should make another one," Harry said slowly. "I mean, then I can hide that one here, at Hogwarts, keeping the Sword close to me..."
Tom stared. Surely he hadn't heard him right. "Another Horcrux?"
"Yeah."
"As well as keeping the Sword as a Horcrux?"
"Yeah, of course. I can't risk being mortal again, it's too danger-"
Tom had stepped forwards before he could help himself, his eyes widening. His heart swelled in unexpected rejoice and he grasped Harry's shoulders, the Diadem still in one hand. A large grin spreading across his face. "This would be perfect!"
"You're shocked," Harry commented, his voice wavering in shared happiness.
"I'm amazed!" Tom told him, looking for that same joy in his eyes. He kissed Harry once, then again, laughing. "I'm thrilled!"
"Well, I'm glad." Harry grinned too.
"If you should make another Horcrux, what item might you choose for it?"
"I dunno," Harry said. Then, quite suddenly, he smirked. "Maybe a crown."
"Not Gryffindor's, surely?" Tom asked, holding Harry closer now. His free hand fit so well on the small of Harry's back. "That would be far too much into bad taste to be allowed."
"Didn't Slytherin have a crown once?"
Tom shook his head. "Centuries ago, it was lost."
"It's not in here, I suppose?" Harry mused.
Tom was amused by his. "I'm afraid that, as legend tells, it is more likely that Slytherin took his crown away from this castle. Not a soul knows where it has been lost."
"I guess this room doesn't have everything, then."
There was something unusual about Harry's voice. It was cheery, but something was off. Tom could tell he was thinking deeply about something.
"Where should we hide this, anyway?" Harry asked, gesturing to the Diadem. His odd tone had faded; perhaps he realised it had sounded unusual.
Tom took in a deep breath, looking around. "That, I am not sure about... there are very many places in which to hide a Horcrux, after all."
Harry turned to his left to where Tom was looking. A battered old cupboard that looked as if acid had been poured over it stood behind a cage containing the skeleton of a deformed, five-legged creature.
"Maybe deeper in the room?" Harry suggested slowly, turning back.
"No," Tom said. "We haven't much time."
Harry watched him closely, but Tom merely smiled.
"You chose this spot, after all," he said quietly.
Conjuring a fine cushion out of nowhere, Tom placed the Diadem on top of it. This, of course, wasn't his most securely placed Horcrux, but so few people knew about this room, they were so far nestled into it, and there were so many other objects around here that there was no safer place.
Tom turned back to Harry, who's attention had been focused on the bust of an ugly old warlock nearby, sitting near a wig. Tom couldn't guess what he was thinking.
"You never had any meetings here," Harry observed. He was clearly trying to make this idea sound new and curious, but Tom knew he had thought it over in his mind; his tone was overdone. "It would have turned into the perfect place, since you had a real need for it."
"Our headquarters in the dungeons had already been formed at the time," Tom told him. "I saw no reason to change locations; it was always a perfectly hidden base to which we could run. Even at fourteen years old, I knew it would be wasteful to share my knowledge of the Come and Go Room with my friends."
"And me?" Harry asked. He was looking steadily at Tom now. "For months, you and I wanted somewhere to go together. You never told me about this place."
To this, Tom had no answer – not one he was willing to give, anyway. He couldn't spot any anger in Harry, but nonetheless he caught a demanding look in his eyes. Did he know why Tom had kept quiet about this room? Was he, perhaps, asking this just to hear it from Tom's lips? No, he was too calm. There was a chance he knew the answer already and was being understanding – unlikely. There was a greater chance that this was curiosity and old desires speaking. Tom acted on the latest guess.
"This was a part of Hogwarts I often forgot about," Tom lied. "In my mind, I thought of it only in reference to Ravenclaw's lost Diadem. What with NEWTs, the Death Eaters, and my future to worry about, it wasn't somewhere I thought about being with you in. I'd never used it for that in the past."
"Right," Harry responded. A crease formed between his eyebrows. Tom watched him closely. "I sort of thought you might have just avoided telling me about it because it was such a perfect place to hide Horcruxes."
He had guessed correctly. Tom had to find away around it. "What makes you say that?"
"Well, the less people who know about this room, the better," Harry reasoned. Catching Tom's eye, a smile formed on his lips. "We did only know each other for a few months, after all. And I mean, you wanted a proper relationship, not just one that lasted until the end of the year. You knew we'd have privacy later on."
Tom felt a moment of pride that Harry understood him, then a low emotion after lying to him, then fear that Harry knew him so well. The emotions wove in and out of each other. Fear was the first to fade: Tom hadn't felt that emotion from Harry's guesses in years. Tom wondered what that negative emotion was as he focused on the love he felt for Harry. He felt that unusual, low feeling a lot when he made a mistake in lying to Harry.
"I suppose that might have been a contributing factor," Tom agreed slowly. "I desired to use this place for the Diadem very much."
"More than you desired sex?" Harry teased. He was in good spirits now. Because he learnt the truth.
"You know it wasn't like that."
"I know," he grinned. "I understand, anyway."
Tom inclined his head wordlessly. He knew Harry hadn't trusted him at the beginning either. His suspicions had been something that drew Tom to him; he was never frightened, but he was also never ignorantly willing to follow without question like Tom's other friends had. It had set him apart from the others. It had been the subject of curiosity that drew Tom to Harry so powerfully, giving him the excuse to almost constantly think about the other boy...
"Let us return to our Knights," Tom said calmly.
It felt so good to spite Dumbledore, to accomplish the final touch to the completion of his Horcrux. To know that Harry desired to create another Horcrux too overrode Tom's negative feelings so much, his chest burned with the happiness he felt. He was so angry and so happy all at once, there was only one thing he wanted to do.
"I suggest we should drink with the other in celebration," Tom said with a grin, "to relish in the accomplishment of spiting Dumbledore more than he will ever know possible..."
Harry agreed to this idea and followed him out of the Come and Go Room. Tom wondered, on their way, whether Harry was still thinking about his lie, whether he regretted they never came here in the past, and whether he knew that Tom still had a problem with trusting him fully...
It wasn't that Tom had never trusted him, not at all. This was something that had happened only in recent years. Tom had mistrusted Harry as much as anyone else around him when they first met (and that distrust had deepened with Harry's ability to see through his manipulations with precautions vigilance), but as soon as they had gotten close to each other outside of Hogwarts, Tom had trusted him with every plan he had, every emotion he felt, ever thought he had.
Through Scotland, England, and Albania, through catching Dragons and through Harry being captured by Grindelwald's people, through forming the Knights and beginning more complex research, Tom had trusted Harry. This had only changed when Harry decided to change. The moment he gave up Emeric's wand to forget him, to fall into the Dark Arts wholly, to create his first Horcrux, things were different than Tom first supposed.
Harry had always had an alarming brilliance in the subject of the Dark Arts – this could not be denied. The Knights had been fearful and jealous of him while Tom was impressed and captivated wholly. What Tom hadn't noticed was that Harry was holding back. It was a moral conflict, Tom knew, if not a unwillingness to let him know they were, perhaps, equally as powerful. Tom was especially wary of the latter idea. Harry, surely, knew how much power he truly had, but there was no telling when he'd stop holding back...
Tom openly showed Harry how much making Horcruxes and practising stronger magic enthralled him, but behind all of this, he was mentally keeping Harry at a distance. He was terrified that something unexpected might happen, that Harry might turn on him and use his power for a very different cause – or worse, he would fight Tom over the Knights. Tom loved Harry very, very much, and he knew that Harry loved him like no one else possibly could, but his power worried Tom. His power was too great.
They fled from Scotland that night, taking shelter in an inn lower in England while the Knights separated from them (thoroughly drunk) to their respective homes. Tom didn't remember that night too well; all he knew was that he and Harry had had their own private celebration with much energy and vigour. For the next few months, Tom was fuelled by hatred for Dumbledore to begin bringing the Knights of Walpurgis back together with all the power he had.
The Knight had all reunited to him readily. They were keen to start work and this pleased Tom; there was no better time than now for them to act so willingly upon his command. He had no job, he had completed most of his work abroad, and to have an army of Knights at his command was the best possible honour he could ask for. If Dumbledore was determined to keep a keen eye on Tom's followers, Tom was prepared to test just how subtle a detail had to be to slip beneath his notice.
The first thing Harry and Tom needed in England was a place to stay. Tom thought about about getting a new place – perhaps even getting their old house back – but since Dumbledore, for one, knew of the criminal activities they all might take part in and since Tom was unwilling to take on a job to hide his real intentions in England, he decided to keep his whereabouts entirely secret. Black presented a spare piece of property of his own for Tom to take and from that point on it was used as his residence with Harry as well as headquarters for die Ritter von Walpurgis.
By the time spring was at it's fullest, all of the Knights had returned to Tom to become reconnected with him once more. Those who had taken on jobs at the Ministry as a part of Tom's plans began acting on casual orders from him. They gave him information he was eager to have and made sure that the criminal activities of other Knights were overlooked by Ministry workers – at the Auror Office especially. Those who were dedicated fighters, in the interest of anything brutal and gory, were working very different operations.
By the summer, Tom began focusing again on his Horcruxes. The Diadem was safely hidden at Hogwarts while the Diary, the Locket, the Cup, and the Ring were kept with him at his new house. The Ring was the only item Tom hadn't made into a Horcrux yet. He had planned, initially, to create a Horcrux with it as soon as he left Hogwarts, as he had done with the Locket and Cup, but one thing had stopped him. He had wanted Harry to have it instead, and this desire was still yet to be met. Harry was putting up a strong argument.
"You're the one who found the Ring," he said. "It's directly connected to your Uncle, and even if it isn't a family heirloom from Purebloods after all, it's still really important to you. I don't want want to make a Horcrux from it, but I know you do."
"And what of your next Horcrux?" Tom asked. "It has more of a legitimate connection to you, being related to Grindelwald. What is more, to give this item to you, to know that I have brought this Horcrux upon you, is a great honour to me."
"Well, how about this," Harry said, turning to Tom fully for his attention. They were lying in bed, waking up as the sun began to set slowly, casting golden light through their bedroom window. "You make a Horcrux out of it, but I keep it for myself – at least for a few years. That makes more sense, doesn't it? You gave me this Ring the first year we met, but I never intended to keep it to myself as a Horcrux. I want to keep this close to me – and if you're soul is connected to it, it's all the better to me."
Tom felt this was a rational solution. He had thought over the possibility of hiding this Horcrux in the Gaunt House, but he was still unsure as to whether that ugly old house would stay where it was now that Morfin was rotting in a cell in Azkaban.
"If that is what you desire, I cannot refuse. But what are you going to use for your next Horcrux?"
"I dunno really... I'm pretty sure something will show up some time soon. I just want to wait until then, for now."
Tom didn't like this idea. He was sure Harry noticed it from his silence.
"It won't take long," Harry assured him. "There's no rush, anyway, since we have the Sword right here. I still have to kill someone else to even start making a second Horcrux."
"Our lives are only going to get more dangerous."
"I know, but I still have the Sword. I made a promise to make a new Horcrux. I won't disappoint you."
Tom put the thought to the back of his mind with effort, putting his trust in Harry. There was much to distract him from this concern even as months passed, for an entire network of crime under his control was forming before Tom's very eyes. He began making connections with all of the witches and wizards throughout London involved in the Dark Arts. Through the Knights, he traded goods with other Sorcerers, selling Dragon Eggs from their hidden sanctuary in Scotland, to begin, in exchange for items and gold that would fund the developmental of the Knights.
Gonson, Weiß, Rowle, and any other wizard who wanted to go unnoticed by the Ministry without any darker lawbreaking got involved with trading for Tom. Those who took interest only in Ministry work, like Rosier, Lestrange, Black, and Nott, took no actual part in such a crime. The "Death Eaters" – Avery, Dolohov, Mulciber, Random, Gibbon, etc, – preferred much darker, much dirtier work with glee. By the time the year ended, Tom was reaching a little bit of a problem hiding murders his Knights had committed.
Early one evening, Rosier and Black showed up at Tom's house asking if they could speak to him urgently. Mulciber and Avery were dragged along, prepared to explain the most recent murder they had committed.
"The Ministry is starting to get suspicious, my Lord," Black informed Tom without hesitation. "The Department of Magical Law Enforcement are already sending out Aurors to begin a full investigation on the matter at hand. We've made a huge mistake in killing Bones; I don't think the Ministry is going to cease their inquiry until the problem is resolved."
"What is it that you fear the will the Ministry do, Cygnus?" Tom asked him calmly. "There are tens of wizards between that crime scene and the Knights of Walpurgis. We shan't be affected."
"But there were are two eye-witnesses who saw Mulciber murder Bones, my Lord," Rosier told him. "We haven't got any assurance that his secret is safe when neither of those wizards care about Mulciber nor have any reason to defend him at all."
"Well," Tom said, turning a critical eye upon his most brutal Knight, "I dare say Mulciber has committed enough crimes in secret to give any Ministry reason to imprison him for a great number of years... If things go badly and if the two wizards do indeed admit that Mulciber murdered Bones, there are ways to soften the affect of this. We could convince the Ministry, after a certain amount of bribing witnesses, that Mulciber was not wholly responsible."
"And what if it's more complicated than that?"
Tom pretended to think this over, sitting up straighter and placing his hands together in a gesture that subtly mocked Dumbledore. "What we should hope for most is that a mere few months in prison is the worst Mulciber gets. After all that has happened, this might do well to lessen his blood-thirst for a while..."
Rosier, Black, and Avery turned a concerned, awaiting gaze to Mulciber, who was suddenly gaping at Tom with a look of outrage.
"What, so you're just gunna let the Ministry take care of me, then?"
"A few months away from crime would do you well, Mulciber."
"Then give me a holiday, not a trip to Azkaban!"
"Do you honestly feel as if you deserve to be rewarded, after failing to follow direct orders on a job yet again?" Tom asked. His gaze was unkind, his words cold and calm. "No, I do not believe even you could think that."
Dumbfound by his cold remark, Mulciber turned to the three other Knights for a clarification that he wasn't in the wrong. Rosier and Black avoided Mulciber's eyes and Avery gave him a hopeless shrug that said "there's nothing we can do".
"Fine," Mulciber said brutally, turning back to Tom. "If that's what you want, then fine..."
"Now," said Tom, ignoring him, "let us discuss how we might influence this problem so that Mulciber will not be lost to us forever..."
The others may have not been so keen, in honesty, to ensure Mulciber's return, but they nevertheless put their best efforts into their ideas of what should happen next. Tom decided to begin bribing the two eye-witnesses, a task that seemed simple enough at first. He put the problem to the back of his mind as a few months passed, until another problem arose. One of the two wizards, Frederic Moore, was refusing to take bribery and was prepared to drag Black and Rosier into this for even attempting to keep him quiet.
"Moore is a friend of Bones," Black explained drably, brushing rain off of his cloak as he stood before Harry and Tom. "He doesn't want any money, all he wants is for Mulciber to be executed for this crime as well, my Lord."
"This crime as well?" Tom repeated. "You mean to say he has caught word of Mulciber's earlier crimes?"
Rosier shot Black a worried glance. Slowly, Black said, "Yes, my Lord. It would seem as if... well, he's keen to seek revenge at the loss of his friend."
Tom's nostrils flared as he thought this over, watching his two Knights closely for further signs of guilt. There was none, for now. Tom had no patience for this problem of Mulciber's. Worse than that, he had no patience for petty wizards who caused him such inconveniences. If the situation permitted it, Tom would have happily silenced Moore for good.
"We must strengthen our determination," Tom said, "and find a new tactic to ensure that Moore loses interest in fighting for this. The question is, how should we approach the subject..."
"He's rich," Rosier mentioned. "It's possible that we could threaten to damage his wealth in some way."
"If he is not so avaricious as to take the sum of money we've offered, it is doubtful that he would bow down to any loss of his current fortune," Tom said. "It would, perhaps, merely encourage him to look deeper into the sort of people behind Mulciber."
"If not his wealth," Black began, "perhaps his reputation is a weak point? It'd at least be safer to push this type of pressure on him."
"Blackmail is hardly safe," Harry commented.
"In this situation, it's better than bribery," Black said bluntly.
"How is it better than bribery?" Harry asked. "Our problem isn't that Moore has enough money to not want any more, it's that he's refusing to stop being loyal to Bones, even after death."
"I'm talking about reputation, not money."
"It counts as the same thing here. Moore knows that if we're willing to bribe him with that much money, we'll go after anything just to shut him up. It doesn't matter how much money we take or how else we try to ruin him. He's too emotionally wrecked to care."
Mulciber looked positively bored of this. For the first time tonight, he spoke, pulling his attention to the four wizards with effort. "I dunno why he cares. Must have cared about Bones a lot, eh? We could just put 'em right next to each other, down in two graves."
Tom acted as if he may not have heard Mulciber at all, resisted the urge to shout at him.
"So, what do we do?" Rosier asked, bringing them back to the point.
"We might have to take Mulciber's advice," Black said slowly. "We haven't any other weapons..."
"The resulting problems would be more severe than what we currently have to deal with," Tom said, feeling irked to say it. "We would have neither enough time nor enough resources to keep the Ministry from suspecting Mulciber murdered Moore too..."
"So, that's it then?" Rosier asked.
Tom stood up straighter, breathing in heavily. "I'm afraid so."
"What? You can't!" Mulciber exclaimed, far from untroubled now. "You can't just get me chucked in Azkaban for the rest of my life!"
"True," Tom said slyly, "I cannot 'chuck you in Azkaban'... yet I'm afraid, Mulciber, you have already done it all yourself."
He couldn't keep the hate and enjoyment out of his voice. Letting Mulciber go to Azkaban was the only solution to the problem and Tom felt less and less reluctance to let it happen the more he thought it over. Rosier and Black must have known it too; they cast furtive glances at Mulciber, turning away from him when Tom did.
"Wait," Harry's voice called before Tom could draw to a verbal conclusion for this meeting. "I have an idea. I'm not sure it'll work, but I think it's worth a shot."
"Do tell us?" Tom encouraged him.
"It's just, if Moore won't take bribery because of his loyalty for Bones... what if we threatened Bone's reputation instead? We'd be set, wouldn't we?"
The three Knights and Tom stared at Harry, astounded.
"We'd be threatening his loyalty, instead of anything else," Black said slowly, facing Tom. "It might actually work."
"It's perfect!" Rosier declared.
Mulciber became alert with hope at Rosier's tone. "What, so I ain't going to Azkaban then?"
"Probably not," Harry told him, saving Tom from having to speak to him at all. "If we can pull this off."
"Brilliant!"
Quite suddenly, a smile broke across Tom's face. He hadn't taken his eyes off of Harry. In a hushed voice, he said, "To ruin the life of a dead man... I would never have suspected something so wicked of you, Jonathan."
A look of soft pride seemed to pass across Harry's face, even as the Knight's eyes fell upon him. Tom admired it for only a second, before stepping into a quick, musing pace.
"We could plant evidence in his home suggesting he had stolen a very valuable, very treasured item," Tom said. It was a simple plan, a common one. He was elated with the pleasure of Harry having found a solution to the problem – a solution of interest, what was more. "If I were to lead this small operation, I could break into Bones' home without so much as a trace left behind."
"You, my Lord?" Black repeated, surprised. "Would that not needlessly risk you getting caught in England?"
"Do you question my ability, Cygnus?" Tom asked, annoyed. "There have been enough inconveniences concerning this entire situation as it is. Since you are all evidently incapable of adapting even to the least troublesome situations at best, I have no choice but to step in myself."
"Alone?" Rosier asked.
"Yes. This would be best."
"My Lord, let us accompany you to his house, at the very least," Black said, clearly desperate to make up for his and Rosier's incompetence in some way. "It would be the most safe approach – the most sure approach – for breaking entry into a dead man's home."
"If you insist," Tom answered shortly. "If, however, I find that you have, in some way, wrecked even this simple duty, on your head be it..."
Tom began crafting a plan immediately. Rosier was eager to begin tracking down Bone's home and family history, while Black was given the task of searching through Ministry reports of valuables stolen at least a month or two before Bone's death. While Black could have taken the role of the victim of Bone's staged thievery, Tom decided that filing a report for a stolen item now would be too suspicious to the Ministry's ever-watchful eyes.
Instead, they chose to look at ten or fifteen different reports sent into the Ministry asking for the return of stolen items, and (starting with the most expensive, most missed items), Tom sent a team of his Death Eaters to begin searching every corner of London for crooked witches and wizards who had heard whispers of recent thieveries. In a fortnight, they had tracked down a stolen item – a polished, jewelled candlestick worth a fortune – doing the Ministry of Magic a great deed to mask a much deeper, much more serious felony.
"Hideous thing, ain't it?" Avery commented as he retrieved shining gold candlestick from a bag. "I can't see why they'd want it back, to be honest."
Mulciber snickered, an action that caused strong, sour looks from his fellow Knights, who were clearly irked by the last few months of covering up his crimes for him. Mulciber had been called back from any operation involving Tom's Knights or Death Eaters these last few months, lest he should put himself in even deeper trouble.
"Here you go, m'Lord," Avery said thickly, handing over the precious item. He smelt strongly of alcohol, likely as a result of the heavy sum of money he knew he would get from Tom for this. The yellow-teethed, disgracefully satisfied smile he gave Tom next suggested he planned on spending more money on the same cause.
"Take this," Tom said softly, giving Rosier a nod to hand three bags of money over to the awaiting Death Eaters. "You have not failed me, despite prior doubt..."
Deaf to Tom's critical remark, Avery, Dolohov, and Gibbon took their money greedily. Tom then sent them away, having lost interest entirely in what else they might have to say. Examining the golden candlestick, he mused how the night might end. It was a simple enough plan, with simple enough results if things went well. Calling Black, Lestrange, and Rosier into action, they rose from their seats to accompany Tom out of the headquarters, ready to approach Bones' house.
Bones lived alone – unsurprising for a man who was not yet married at thirty-eight. He might have had a large extended family, but if he did, Tom had not bothered to listen to Rosier's description of them. When he entered the house, making his way along the narrow corridor, Tom saw no portraits of other witches and wizards who were not famous or very ancient. The staircase leading both upstairs and down creaked underfoot, but Tom had no need to stifle the sound. This thin, tall house was not difficult to navigate. In two minutes, he was in Bone's bedroom.
It was dark in here, for Tom did not bother to turn on the two lamps on Bones' bedside tables. He held his wand high up instead, navigating his way through the tidy room. The expensive candlestick didn't look out of place in here, but Tom turned to Bones' wardrobe still where, amongst many pairs of robes, cloaks, boots, belts, and socks that would never be worn again, there was a perfect hiding place for this rare, stolen item. When the Ministry searched the house, they would most certainly find the gold candlestick nestled suspiciously here, waiting to ruin Bones' reputation forever.
Tom stood up straight, drawing away from the wardrobe as he closed it gently. He was pleased by how simple this mission was and he was keen to get back to Harry at their house, to forget about the trouble Mulciber had caused him with all of this. Tom was already taking quick steps over the rich red carpet, leaving it as spotless as he had found it, when something caught his eye. Another piece of gold, equally as polished as the candlestick had been, glistened in the wandlight as he passed.
Normally, Tom would not pay any attention to a distraction like this when he was doing important work for his Knights, but the task of framing Bones was so easy and Tom felt so relaxed, he took a moment to pause and turn to the source of glimmering light. A gold pocketwatch stood on one of Bones' beside tables, abandoned. It was placed in a fine velvet case, kept close to Bones' bed, which was the most peculiar thing of all to Tom.
It wasn't uncommon to find watches like this one in wizards' homes. They were often given as presents, traditionally when a wizard turned seventeen, old enough to use magic legally. What caught Tom's interest and made him pause was that Bones hadn't died with this watch on him. He clearly cared about it a lot – the box said as much – but if he treated it with caution, it should not be on display at all. It can't have been something Bones wore on special occasions, for that wasn't fashionable. The only answer left was that Bones never wore it. He examined it, either because it had sentimental significance or because it was an heirloom.
Tom felt as if it was the latter. He drew towards the night table, examining the plain, shining surface of the watch. After his work in Borgin and Burkes' shop, he could spot valuable items with skill and ease. He knew this pocketwatch had significance, despite being engraved with a simple design, seemingly plain and average. Tom could sense great magic within it, he could see the faint touches of a skilled horologist, perhaps aided by someone else renown for their skill in working with gold. It might be worth the risk to take this watch.
This was an old habit of Tom's. He couldn't resist finding a trophy of his own every time be committed a successful crime. This was a mediocre crime at best, but if the watch was important, Tom couldn't leave it here. If the watch turned out to be an Heirloom of a wizarding family, he wanted to keep it close... No one would know it was gone. Since Bones lived alone, there would be no one who could say whether he had kept the watch here at all.
Taking the velvet case along with it, Tom slipped the golden watch into his pocket. Feeling more accomplished than ever, he slipped out of Bone's house without so much as a backwards glance. Rosier and Black emerged from the shadows when Tom strode through the wizarding town Bones lived in. They were calmed by Tom's confidence and eager to see his happiness.
"Bones and Moore shan't cause us a single problem from this point on," Tom assured them quietly, angry and pleased at the same time. "Let us flee from this village, lest we should be caught..."
They Apparated back home with three loud bursts of noise, unnoticed by the humble witches and wizards in nearby houses.
Black and Rosier left Tom before so much as returning to his house. Tom was glad of this. He wanted to speak to Harry, which he only ever liked doing properly when they were alone. Entering the house, Tom turned immediately to the living-room, where he knew Harry might be.
"How did it go?" Harry asked him the moment he appeared, putting down a book in his hands.
"There were no complications," Tom informed him, taking a seat beside him on the couch. "In fact, it went better than I first assumed it might."
"I'm just glad this is almost over, to be honest. Mulciber causes a lot more trouble than it's worth."
Tom merely smiled, reluctant to discuss again how Mulciber was important as their personal assassin. Another more important, more pleasing, thought was distracting him. "I brought you something."
Harry looked up, surprised. "From Bones' house? But I thought you said-"
His words were cut short when he caught sight of the golden pocketwatch handing from a chain in Tom's hand. Tom assumed at first moment that he was surprised by the look of the watch, but when a moment passed, there was a much stronger, much more fearsome look in his eyes.
He must have feared that the Ministry would see the watch was gone, Tom thought.
"The circumstance suggested that to take this watch would be no cause of future trouble," Tom assured him, wanting to take away his clear unease. "You needn't be troubled by my decision."
"Right," Harry agreed faintly, distracted.
"Besides," Tom said softly, "I rather thought it might suit you."
Harry took his eyes away from the watch for the first time.
"Thank you," he said.
He seemed to be searching for something in Tom's expression. What he might be looking for, Tom had no idea, but he studied Harry's cautious, confused, determined eyes for a moment. Then, perhaps deciding that Tom knew what he was doing, Harry calmed somewhat. He reached out a hand to take the pocketwatch from Tom's light grasp.
"It really is beautiful," Harry commented, opening it to examine it more closely. Stars spun around the face of the clock in circular motions, in replacement for hands.
"What is more," Tom said, "it is an Heirloom, or at least an ancient artefact passed on through generations. Though admittedly a rather plain outward design, this is the work of a fine horologist."
Harry watched the time slipping by for a little while longer, clearly thinking. Then, as if distracted previously, he closed the pocketwatch, collecting up the chain and taking the box from Tom's hands to hide it away in his own pocket.
"We should have a look at it later on, together," Harry said. "Maybe to see where it comes from or, I dunno, just to see how rare it is."
Tom smiled, pleased at Harry's interest. "I would like that."
"How was it tonight, anyway?" Harry asked again, wanting to get the full story.
"Insipid to say the least," Tom answered. "I should be happy only when this entire tiresome event comes to an end. Which, admittedly, may not happen any time soon while Mulciber roams free..."
"He'll know not to kill someone like that again," Harry reasoned. "He's going to get time in Azkaban for this, without question."
"Yet even if he spends a few months away, we have yet to mask all of the crime he's committed so far. What we are supposed to do with the rising number of bodies Mulciber piles up, I have no idea."
Harry said nothing for a moment, looking down at his hands with creased eyebrows. Tom waited for him to speak.
"We could put those corpses to some use," he said slowly.
"It becomes too difficult to keep Inferi in control throughout the streets of London," Tom responded. "You know this well."
"I know, but what if they weren't here in London?"
"What use would that be?"
"Well, you've been wanting for hide Horcruxes, haven't you? What if we just, I dunno, brought them to the Cave we've been looking at... That way, we can hide all those bodies there instead of just transfiguring them and hiding them in chosen spots constantly."
Tom was surprised, enthralled. Before he knew it, a grin spread across his face. "This is a brilliant idea!"
"You think?"
"Yes!" Tom stared at Harry joyously, wanting nothing more than for him to know the brilliance of the suggestion. "It would not only solve that small problem, but turn it into the perfect protection for our Horcruxes!"
Harry seemed pleased at Tom's enthusiasm. Tom was already planning how best to get the Knights to move their dead, keeping the Cave secret whilst also attracting no attention from the Ministry or anyone else. No one could know it was a hiding place for a Horcrux, not even the Knights themselves...
"We could have the Inferi waiting for our commands there," Tom said, thinking aloud. "Even if we are far away from the Cave, from England itself, they would do their duty. It's a mistake Grindelwald made when he was in power; he did not think of the possibility of keeping Inferi enchanted in one place, as a personal army of the dead. His followers barely knew how to control Inferi... but with this, we will have them always at our command..."
Harry calmly began discussing this possibility of all of this with Tom, bringing up ideas on how the Inferi might be useful in the future. By storing bodies in the Cave and bewitching them, they were creating as much of a plan to fall back on as their Dragons in Scotland and clan of Giants in Albania. Tom was building up an army with success and surprising ease, working away from the eye of the Ministry and planning solutions for every possibly inconvenience that might come his way.
By the time six months passed, Mulciber was serving a year in Azkaban and Tom was getting several selected Knights to move the corpses of their victims. They were under the illusion that this Cave was merely an insignificant hiding place for bodies. Tom made sure that none of them truly knew where this place was, they were merely following his directions, unaware that he planned to make an army of Inferi here. Harry and Tom stood by and watched while bodies were being dumped into the cold, clear water of this hidden Cave.
The Knights complained of the smell and the low temperature, clearly not pleased to be dealing with corpses several months or years old, even with the aid of magic. Tom was silent as he watched the useless bodies of the soon-to-be Inferi floating on the surface of the silent water, sinking slowly into darkness, like the process of death itself again. They cave was already enchanted with powerful spells. No witch or wizard could enter the place without first drawing blood and weakening themselves. If they dared to come here, they would rest amongst Inferi forevermore.
Tom had magic surrounding the Cave to stop it from detection, to stop Muggles from coming near, to stop the screams of the Inferi and their victims from ever penetrating beyond these walls. He was going to fashion a boat that only one wizard could take and he was going to create a small island amongst the lake of Inferi. Upon that island would be a potion, a maddening potion, that must be consumed. This was all to hide his Locket safely, to catch whoever dared try and take it from him...
When the Knights were done with their work, Tom sent them away, giving them short instructions to return to their houses before they were missed. He stood alone with Harry after this, doing nothing more than looking out at the dark, smooth surface of water. Tom was annoyed by the deaths of these people, by how easy it was to kill so many. Before he allowed this anger to reach him fully, he turned to Harry, who was watching him closely, and suggested they seal this place up again and leave.
Out on the vast, open edge of cliff, high above the crashing waves, Tom was distracted by the warm colours of the setting sun. Harry had barely said a word since they arrived here; he must have known Tom was deeply vexed. Tom tried to calm himself by thinking about how well-protected his Locket was going to be. The only thing that stopped his anger, however, was the knowledge that he had become so much more powerful than any Muggle could have dreamed...
"Summertime is such a strange change of earth," Tom commented quietly, in a moment beside himself. They stood upon the edge of the cliff, looking out across the sea. "I cannot honestly say that it reminds me of much more than being forced to returned to the orphanage... or of the night I murdered my father, my grandparents..."
His scathing tone told Harry of the anger he felt, as much as he might have preferred avoiding any sign of emotion. He wished he could dig up the corpses of his family to bring them all here too, to make a mockery of death and use them to murder other Muggles, to terrify anyone that met Tom's wrath. He wanted to let his victims serve him in death forever, to take power over all of Britain, all of the wizarding world, all of magic...
Tom's thoughts were stopped, however. Harry had taken his hand. Without a word, without a glance, they stood together on this windy, salty cliff, and Tom knew Harry understood.
"Come on," he said quietly. "Let's go home..."
If Tom had been with anyone else, he would have been too proud to agree. He would have fled from here to find those corpses no matter how much attention this might attract from the Ministry, or the Muggle police. He followed Harry, however. He couldn't shake his anger off back at their house, but he wasn't so cruel as to let it affect Harry. It carried on for so long that when a month passed, Tom was ready for the arrival of difficulties concerning his Knights. He was ready to silence any dark witch or wizard in London who dared cause him trouble.
"These ones are from that Dark Arts group that reckons we shouldn't be getting so much attention," Dolohov slurred brutally as he gripped the shoulders of a struggling wizard. "They've been causing us a right bit of trouble, haven't they?"
"It would appear as if they've gained a little more knowledge about us than you might be comfortable with, my Lord," Lestrange told Tom formally, unable to keep the bored tone from his voice as usual. "We brought them here due to a lack of knowing what else to do."
"A wise decision," Tom remarked softly, his eyes burning in anger as he examined the young witch and two wizards before him. Their minds were easy to read. "Yes, I think these are indeed a few of the many young Sorcerers who have caused a great deal of problems for us in recent months..."
"I reckon they're at least a part of 'em, my Lord," Dolohov said.
"What do you suggest we do with them, my Lord?" Nott asked.
"Well, I cannot safely say that bribery might work upon them, despite their evident lack of fortune in both money and intelligence." A few of the Knights snickered along at the sight of Tom's sneer. "No, I suggest we teach them a little lesson... Let us enrich their deprived minds and show them the importance of pride, loyalty, and respect for stronger groups dedicated to the Dark Arts..."
"Who should be taking care of it, my Lord?" Dolohov asked.
Tom was tempted to call Harry forth to torture these Sorcerers for him, but he knew this wasn't the correct time. Harry's murders had to be more meaningful, they had to be for something he would never end up regretting... Instead, Tom desired to settle his own anger with this. He stepped forwards gracefully, examining the brave, the snarling, and the terrified expressions of the three strangers facing him.
The snarling, cursing wizard caught Tom's attention first. The wizard was not yet thirty, but was clearly dedicated solely to the Dark Arts and wished to make a name of himself. Tom watched him struggle, his hands tied and Avery's strong grip on his shoulders. Tom steadied the wizards face with one hand, staring down into his mind. It would be easy to break this wizard, to horrify the others.
"Stand him up," Tom ordered, a smile curling onto his face. "Allow me to demonstrate what happens to those foolish enough to pry into Lord Voldemort's concerns..."
It was so easy to watch the wizard's mind, to learn precisely what would terrify, hurt, and break him the most efficiently. Tom was so eager in his anger, he had but a few short minutes before the wizard was screaming in agony at the memories Tom tampered with, shaking and vomiting with the weight of physical pain. Before long enough, the wizard passed out, useless now.
"The girl," Tom ordered sharply, "bring her forth!"
He was surprised at the bravery the witch attained after watching the first wizard shatter before her eyes. Bravery was a harder emotion to break, it worked on ignorance and firm belief rather than hiding other emotions, like anger. These Sorcerers were weak, however, and she broke after only a few minutes longer than the first.
The third Sorcerer had already vomited once by the time he was thrown forth. He shook badly and pleaded for mercy before any magic at all was used upon him. The Death Eaters laughed at the sight, too used to weak wizards like this to remember what if felt like to once be like this. Tom was so eager to torture this wizard, he pushed it too far. He was too engrained in the wizard's mind to notice it when he was losing blood, losing air. When Tom noticed he was dying, he watched the wizard's mind for every thought, every emotion that began to slip away.
But Tom learnt nothing of death. He learnt nothing about what happened to a person's soul when their bodies became useless, for a barrier seemed to place itself between living thoughts and the afterlife. The soul slipped from the wizard's mind as if through a drain, a tiny hole, and Tom could not follow it. Conscious, suddenly, of the quiet Knights around him and the blankness in the dead wizard's eyes, Tom let go of the wizard's throat, allowing him to slip away and crumple to the floor. That was it. That was the wizard's entire existence – gone.
Tom did not say a word about it.
He stood up straighter, turning to his Knights. The witch and wizard previously tortured seemed to be conscious again, screaming for their dead friend to wake up. Tom turned his back on the scene, barking out orders to his Knights.
"Take those two back to where you found them," he said. "Or, if more convenient, to a different common slum in London... Take care of the dead one in the usual way. They shan't be a problem for us anymore."
The Knights followed his orders without reluctance. When they were finished and the house was quiet once more, Harry found Tom upstairs, brooding over many things. He wanted to talk about why Tom had decided to murder that man. Tom explained it was an accident and after a certain amount of reassurance, Harry stopped bringing it up. Even as time went on, however, Tom was distracted by those last few seconds of life he saw in peoples' eyes.
As months passed, more people had to be killed by Tom's Knights. Often, he would allow others to be killed by the Knights while he watched their minds for death as it approached. He grew agitated when he could not find out anything new. The Knights were soon rising to so much power that murder was less common due to widespread fear. Tom began losing interest. Anyone who did not have information to give him immediately were useless to him. He allowed his Knights to kill without question. It was how things worked.
Soon, Tom's obsession with watching people die turned into his obsession with Necromancy. The Inferi were strong, but they slept beneath the surface of the lake in his Cave. The enchantments protecting the Locket were complete, the Cave was sealed off and secured, and Tom's attention was turning towards another Horcrux he wanted to make. Harry's Horcrux.
"I haven't had my soul split for it yet," Harry said calmly again one morning. Tom had brought the subject up hopefully, thinking Harry might have been mulling over the idea of Horcruxes since they finished hiding the Locket. "I still need to kill first."
"We can have that arranged," Tom told him. "There are hundreds of people out there the world would not miss. Moreover, you can silence another troublemaker for our Knights."
Harry shook his head. "I don't want to kill some random person. I want to kill someone important, if I have to."
As much as Tom didn't want this to be true, he understood Harry's choice. He wished only that an important kill would show up some time soon. The breakable Sword worried Tom. He was so worried, in fact, that he had enchanted his Ring to give Harry extra protection – even if, in truth, Harry was more than strong enough to defend himself. Harry wore his Ring often, now. It gave Tom a sense of pride that his soul was upon his very hand. He didn't care what his old schoolmates might think.
Waiting for the right kill to come around, Tom put the matter of Horcruxes to the back of his mind the best he could yet again. Although he would never admit it, he was scared. The idea of Harry slipping away from him like mortals did, so easily, so boringly, terrified him more deeply than he could ever feel comfortable saying. It kept him awake to think of it at night, it tempted him to bother Harry about Horcruxes often. If Harry slipped away from him, into nothingness, as if he had never existed at all, Tom would be lost forever...
So he waited and protected Harry now like he had for so many years in the past. His fear of Harry's brilliant power was put on hold, because the love he felt for him caused further hatred of death. Harry was the only person that had ever mattered, truly. Tom couldn't, Tom wouldn't, let him die like his parents had, like his enemies had, all in weakness. Harry's worth, alongside Tom's, was so great that to lose their place on earth would be to lose the entire point of existence, the entire point of anything.
Together, they were rising to great power, and Tom hoped to keep it this way. The whole of London feared Tom now. The whole of England knew of his bloodthirsty Death Eaters and the things they got up too. No one knew exactly who was a part of Tom's group, but the name Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters was being whispered within every dark corner of pubs across the country, every shadowed alley and trusted household. Tom wondered how Dumbledore thought of him now. He wondered whether Grindelwald too had heard whispered of where his wayward followers had gone and who they were serving now under the secret name the Knights of Walpurgis.
Tom wondered too how the Ministry would handle the attacks he had planned for the future. How easy – how gloriously simple – it was to have a nation crumple before his greatness... Attacking the Ministry would be his greatest challenge yet, greater even than defeating the followers of Gellert Grindelwald and leading on from where he had left off. Tom was patient. He was biding his time while all of England froze in apprehension. They waited for the moment, the year, in which Lord Voldemort would strike.
