perception
real-placebo-effect
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what lies across that line?
whoever wishes to keep a secret must hide the fact he has one
johann wolfgang von goethe
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wednesday, july 25th, 1941
9:25 AM
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Tom loaded his bags onto the train and tried to ignore the awkward family situation next to him. Albus and Naomi Dumbledore.
"Uncle Al, I hate to sound ungrateful and all..." The girl said, fidgeting. "But could you just go away? You're making this a bigger issue than it is."
Tom pretended not to hear the furious, whispered conversation that ensued and listened as closely as he could, to no avail.
It ended with an unexpected, "Very well, Naomi."
She smiled gratefully at him and unexpectedly hugged the red-haired man. A small cough from his right alerted him to someone trying to gain his attention.
"Tom," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "Thank you so much for taking care of her-" As if I had a choice,"-and, as always, do owl me if you find yourself in need. I will pick her up two weeks before the end of the holidays."
"Yes, Professor." Tom replied, not at all missing the eye roll from the girl.
"Can we get on the train now?" She said, checking her nails looking bored. Of course she wasn't the one who had to load the suitcases. Tom could swear that the girl had piled her suitcase with rocks, simply to be spiteful. She was a Dumbledore, after all.
"Yes, I believe you can." Dumbledore said. "Take care of yourself, my dear."
"Trust me when I say I will, Uncle Al."
How the bloody hell do people not notice this? Tom thought, actually amazed.
"Goodbye." She said, rather awkwardly and walked into the train. The second Tom looked for Dumbledore, he had disappeared.
"Are you coming in?" She asked. Tom forced a flush to his face and walked in, too. "Which carriage are we talking?"
"This one. It believe it's empty." He replied, gesturing to the first one he found, closest to the exit. Luckily enough, it was empty and they, the girl immediately sitting so that she took up a whole side on her own, her back leaning against the window, pulling out a book from Merlin-knew-where.
Tom made himself comfortable for the journey and the train soon started moving in sharp, jerky motions. After ten minutes, he was bored. He watched with interest though when she wove her hand in the general direction of the carriage door and it seemed to bolt itself.
"How did you do that?" Tom enquired. She looked up, startled, as though she'd forgotten he was there. Then she blinked and the look was wiped from her face. He stared at her as she stared back.
"Magic." She said, wriggling her fingers at him, as he scowled. Her smiled widely and returned to her book as Tom resigned himself to sleeping the ride away. He needed as much as he could get, after all; it was summer.
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Harry walked into the kitchen, looking for Hermione – Snape had given them a nasty Potions essay to do over the summer, as he did every summer. Just as Harry was about to push the doors open, voices filtered through the wood, pausing his hands.
He should've just turned around and walked away; Hermione would probably be in the library and it was probably some kind of Order business anyway. Yet he stayed, pressing his ear against the door, straining to hear the hushed conversation.
"—and they've returned." Harry jolted as he realised who it was; Dumbledore, the man who had cooped him up in Privet Drive for majority of the summer, not so much as looked at him during his trial and had ordered everyone to keep him out of the loop.
Another jolt because this time, it was Snape talking. "You can't be serious, Albus. They can't be trusted. You saw what happened after—"
"—I think they can do this. They're incredibly powerful and their absence has no doubt only made them stronger." Dumbledore said, matter-of-factly, voice broking no argument. "I've gone to great lengths to get them on our side."
So these people could betray the Order at any given moment?
"So these people could betray the Order at any given moment?" Snape said, apparently thinking the same thing as Harry.
"They would never betray the Order. Trust me on this one, Severus." Dumbledore reassured, but Harry still had doubts.
"They hate you Albus. Or at least, she does." Snape said, cynically. "After what she classified as a betrayal from you, why the bloody hell would she come back to England? After all these years, why now?"
Now Harry was intrigued; no one but Voldemort could hate Dumbledore. "Severus, I have no idea why you are so against this; I thought you would be overjoyed to see a childhood friend! And you, Sirius? And Remus? Surely, you are not against this as well."
There was silence, and Harry was afraid they'd found him. until Lupin spoke up. "It'll be good to have her home. It's been a long time, and maybe, she's willing to give us another chance."
There was more silence, until Sirius spoke his voice barely audible and empty and bitter. "And so the Blake sisters return."
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4:30 PM
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"Hello? Earth to idiot?" Someone was slapping his face none-too-gently. Tom was exhausted and flinched, turning his head away but refusing to open his eyes.
She sighed. "Do you want to eat or not? You look anorexic enough as it is; I'd hate for you to die on me. There'd probably be paperwork and everything, and Fate knows just how much I hate that..."
Just as she said that, the beautiful fragrance of food circulated around his nose, seducing him awake.
After taking a generous bite of the proffered sandwiches, which she insisted on paying for, much to his annoyance, he looked at her. She seemed incredibly tense, barely touching her own food, and her foot was bouncing up and down, for one reason or the other.
"Will you not eat?"
"No." She said simply, her viridian orbs dragging themselves back to him, at full intensity. Something rushed through him then, hot and hard and uncontrollable and he remembered, remembered the smell of rain and desperation and fear and warmth and life. Images blurred passed his mind, at a hundred miles per hour, unrestrained, wild, frenzied, frantic, frenetic, chaotic all blurring over each other until he could make no sense, and it was overwhelming him, the knowledge, the power, the lust, the pure magnetic attraction of it all, but he couldn't process a thing, and the images all twisted together, a whirling cyclone within his own mind and—
"Riddle, get a grip!"
Tom's grey eyes slid back into focus at the sound of her sharp voice and sharp eyes and he was surprised and slightly disorientated at the sudden clarity. "What happened?"
Although he murmuring to himself, she took the liberty and replied, "I don't really know. You asked me if I wanted to eat, I said no, you said the food at the orphanage was rubbish and then you just kind of froze up and I called your name for about...ten, maybe fifteen minutes? You didn't answer until just now."
That was most disturbing indeed.
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1:30 PM
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He's Tom Marvolo Riddle.
I can remember every word that has ever been said to me about him. Manipulative, intelligent, cruel. Hypocritical, despotic, psychotic. Cunning, sly, charming. Handsome, ugly, dark. Curious, furious and powerful.
And damn, was he powerful. Even now, in a relaxed state, there were still waves of it, pouring over me like liquid chocolate, alluring and tugging relentlessly, over and over.
He was also staring at me.
I could feel it, his eyes roaming over my face fastidiously, taking pieces of my face and dissecting it, cross-referencing, identifying, analysing. There was nothing intimate or admiring about it; it was methodical and meticulous. Feeling slightly annoyed – I had every right to be – I raised my own eyes, studying him the same way he studied me, knowing full well the effect that my eyes had on him.
As predicted, his eyes couldn't meet mine. I couldn't shake off the feeling that I'd seen those eyes somewhere before.
"Yes, Riddle?" I prompted.
"You're the Professor's niece." I supposed he wanted an answer.
"Yes." No one said it had to be detailed, after all.
"I wasn't aware the Professor had siblings." He said, carefully.
I raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware that you and my uncle had such an open relationship."
"How old are you?" He asked, teeth glinting.
I did the math. "Fourteen."
"Where are you from?" I expected something along the lines of "Are you a pureblood", so this is pretty refreshing, isn't it?
"I'm from England."
"Why are you tanned?"
"That's a stupid question." I said, flatly. I wanted to hurt him, to tear at his skin and eyes and fake smiles, because I could still remember the way he smiled when he sent those curses, as if all our lives meant nothing.
"If so, why won't you just answer, then?"
"Because you're an annoying git." I snapped. I wished I didn't have to hide my wand from him; I wanted to cast Crucio over and over – like he'd done to me. Or would do to me. Or might do to me. Or is doing to me. Time-travel is a bitch.
"I hardly think—"
"That my antagonism to you is warranted? No, it is. You keep prying – don't think I didn't see you on the platform, Riddle – and it irritates me. If you had the right to know, you would know. Whoever it is you're trying to delude—"
"Delude, Miss Dumbledore?" His voice was startling empty, devoid of all emotion. I wondered if he was angry and then I realised I didn't care. "I'm not trying to delude anyone. I merely thought, seeing as we will be having a joint summer, that it would be far more conducive to at least be acquainted with you. I clearly don't know about yourself, but I, for one, would actually like an enjoyable summer."
"Oh, really?" I replied, withholding all the emotion from my own voice. "I'm sure, then, that you're familiar with the old adage that knowledge is power."
His face was impassive, but I trudged on nonetheless knowing I had hit the nail on the head, making my voice cutting. "I suggest, Riddle, that you stay away from me. Stop asking your artless, tactless, asinine questions because your rather pathetic attempt at obtaining information, is so transparent, I pity you. You do not want to cross me, Riddle. I am not like these other girls."
He raised an arrogant eyebrow and I resisted the urge to punch him. Instead, I stopped and stared at him, taking some kind of fierce joy and pleasure as he squirmed and fidgeted under my gaze, his own eyes flickering away to the floor in defeat.
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1:45 PM
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Riddle was still fuming, I could tell. He looked so remarkably like Harry that it hurt sometimes, but it did make his body language a little easier to read. Even in the familiarity, there were huge differences between Harry and the would-be Dark Lord. Harry had Lily's eyes, a square face and prominent jaw line, and thin pliable lips. Riddle, though, had a much more striking face; aristocratic, arrogant, soft and charming.
As my mind drifted, I couldn't help but think about Fate's message. Not all wars are fought with wands? But how else could I stop him other than killing him? I glanced towards Riddle, worrying my bottom lip. He was asleep, finally, and it would've been so easy. I knew three hundred ways to kill – painful and easy and undetectable – no one would be able to trace it back to me. I only needed to say one word.
My wand hadn't been activated yet – still on the stacks at Ollivanders', technically – I'd have to do it nonverbally.
Practicality and pragmatism kicked in sooner than I'd hoped.
"Make sure no harm comes to him. Naomi. I know you're angry, and I know you hate him, and I am sorry for this. But I only have your best intentions at heart."
Albus didn't want Riddle dead. He would know – and you should never alienate a willing ally, especially not some as powerful and influential as Albus Dumbledore. I wouldn't be able to do it in the summer, not with all the Muggles and the Trace placed back on me. According to Albus, Riddle would be the most guarded at the orphanage too; there was little chance of catching him unawares.
What was I supposed to, then?
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4:17 PM
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Oh, for the love of Mary.
Tom was snoring; not like those soft little snores that adolescents sometimes do, but big, rumbling noises. When he'd first snored, she had actually thought it was an earthquake.
He was deeply asleep. Besides the snoring, he looked completely relaxed and his chest rising and falling slowly, as his hair fell over his face, peaceful and unguarded.
I should just kill him now.
I'd be doing the world a favour.
Her hands fumbled for her purse, which Albus had charmed to be bottomless, and found the rough outline of her wand. She ran through the three hundred ways she's learnt to kill a man, the words blurring in her mind as she tried not to panic.
She didn't know what else to do; she was out of options. Naomi couldn't avenge them all – names written on her skin and behind her eyes in blood and pale bone – not without spilling his blood. Or her own. She was just as responsible, after all, for this mess.
She wouldn't be able to do it, though. She wanted to tear him apart, drag knives over his pale skin and gouge his eyes would with a spoon – but Naomi knew better than anyone that she was weak.
She blinked and saw a child.
Tom was slumbering, face slightly flushed from the warmth of train and he was just a child. He'd barely scraped the age of having lived life – never felt the soft lips of a woman against his own, never pressed into the heat between a woman's legs, never felt Firewhiskey burn its way down his throat. He'd not found friends to share his curiosities with, to nudge shoulders with in the corridors, had never watched the dawn.
With a jolt. Naomi realised he never would.
Not only would he miss out on all the beautiful little facets of life, but millions would miss out on this – herself, included. Misery and loneliness and fury and helplessness would thread through their lives and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Because he was just a child, and Naomi would not kill him.
She hung her head in shame.
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7:29 PM
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He had finally drifted off again, only to jolt awake to someone's cold fingers poking his sides. He looked at the girl, annoyed. "What?"
"We're about to arrive, and you haven't changed."
"It's alright," She raised an eyebrow at this, apparently amused."I do not need to change,"
"Of course, should've known." She remarked. The girl glanced outside the window. "We've arrived."
True to her word, the train came to a stop with a loud screech. Tom hurriedly grabbed his things and beckoned to the girl, who was already leaning against the doorframe, waiting for him. "Come on, Riddle. We don't have all day."
She threw him a grin over her shoulder, and Tom raised an eyebrow at her sudden change of attitude.
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7:39PM
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Mrs Cole was not what Naomi had been expecting, not at all. Instead of an old, decrepit, buck-tooth, age-ridden flesh covering idiocy, she met a striking beauty with dark, calculating eyes, high cheekbones, supple arms and rough hands that had known rougher times. The signs of age were present in the barely perceptible crow's feet and the odd grey hair, but Naomi just assumed that was hardship.
Running an orphanage can't be easy, after all.
"I was ever so happy when I heard that Tom would be bringing one of his friends over! It's a pity you can't stay the whole summer though, dear. You seem like such a nice girl!" Mrs Cole, or Harriet, as she'd made Naomi call her, said. She risked a glance towards Tom and, to her surprise, found that his look mirrored her own – complete and utter shock.
But surely he'd seen her before?
"Thank you so much for letting me stay...I had always been so nervous to ask Tom-" Naomi tried to keep her voice steady and excited, not to waver and catch and spit out lord voldemort the dark lord I detest and despise you instead, "-but I'm glad I did this time! I just hope it isn't too much trouble...it was quite a hasty decision..."
"Oh, nonsense, dear!" Mrs Cole said, dismissively. "I'm glad to see Tom has some friends!"
She filed away the response for future reference, watching Tom looking more and more like he was drowning by the minute. "Of course, Harriet."
"Oh, but, the Professor's niece? I never even knew he had siblings!" Mrs Cole exclaimed.
"Yes, I'm his younger brother's daughter. I'm not surprised that Dad isn't as well known...Aberforth Dumbledore and Albus Dumbledore are complete opposites."
"You're such a young thing, too!"Oh, the irony. "Are you Tom's girlfriend?"
There was a curious tone to Mrs Cole's voice – something darker and laced with fury – but Naomi couldn't grasp at it, the explanation and the feelings sliding away from her, as though she's cupping water. Naomi turned to Tom, a shared look against a myriad of nothing and it baffled her completely, because Tom's eyes slid away once again.
"No," She laughed, her voice wavering, "No, I'm not."
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8:30PM
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She grew more and more interesting by the second, every second he watched her. She'd quirk her lips, let the light shine into her eyes just so, angle her eyebrows minutely but he saw through it all. And Tom knew he'd have to be careful, so careful around her because she was damn good at this.
What was this? It was a game, of course. The only game that had ever really mattered to Tom – acquisition of knowledge, because knowledge was power. Charm and mould everyone to perfection, to their own purposes. What Naomi Dumbledore's purposes were, Tom didn't know. But what he did know was that she played her part flawlessly – almost too flawlessly for her to have never done this before.
He found it very difficult to look into her eyes. He knew exactly why, though, so Tom wasn't worried. Besides their startling intensity, her eyes nearly always watched him accusingly.
As if he had done some great injustice to her.
He found it disconcerting when she looked at him because, quite frankly, her gaze was just as piercing as her uncle's, just as judgemental and condemning with their eternal green.
His gaze, yet again, flickered to the girl. She looked peaceful, unlike the first time he ever saw her...asleep. He continued watching her, the reason Tom was not too sure of, catalogued silently the nuances of her face. Sometimes, her eyebrow would quirk or her eyelids flutter. She looked so innocent and innocuous that it sickened him; it was all a facade, and she had no idea how far Tom would go to win the game.
She had no idea, whatsoever.
"Tom, I know that she will be somewhat of a...riddle to you. And, by all means, I encourage you to find out as much about her as you can; alas, even I am estranged with my beloved niece." Dumbledore stopped at this point, his blue eyes not twinkling anymore and looking keenly at him. "But I implore you, Tom, do not push her. She is brittle and unable to withstand such...attentions right now. She would be destroyed if you force the truth from her."
He thought about it, thought about seeing her sobbing and screaming and pleading, thought about her green eyes glassy and empty – and something dark curls along his spine, spreads through his legs and heart.
Tom flexed his fingers and a small smile touched his lips.