A/N: Peeps, I had so much trouble getting this chapter done, but it is finally here.
Regular readers will notice that chapters are named now, they are no longer dates. However, I did keep the dates in the actual text. Very diary-like, if you will. Wink.
I must confess that I went through previous chapters and edited a few things, mostly grammar and descriptions. Nothing has changed, storywise, so you don't have to reread the whole thing.
Without further ado...
WARNING. There is underage drinking in this one and hints of sex. Nothing explicit. See notes at the end of the chapter regarding the drinking, and if you do drink, do it responsibly.
Chapter 9 - The Dutch Girl
August 19, 1943
Tom's prayers were answered four days after his daring mission to Hangleton - he had woken up feeling invigorated and free from pain. No owls had been sent to him in all that time, but instead of feeling comforted, it put him on edge. It was the boldest thing he'd ever done, more daring than approaching Muggle criminals and demanding a job, even bolder than claiming he could open Slytherin's fabled Chamber - he was uneasy with the lack of knowledge of what had happened after his departure.
He needed information.
He was about to leave the room when he remembered the Horcrux on his finger. Half of his soul resided in that ring now. Tom was self-conscious about losing it somewhere in Diagon Alley, but unhappy about the idea of leaving it behind. In the end, the fear of the ring slipping from his finger into a gutter somewhere won out, so he hid the ring in a secret compartment inside his trunk, next to the diary and the grimoire, before stepping out into the day.
Tom slunk away from Knockturn Alley, hunting for news and for something to eat. The atmosphere in Diagon Alley was cheerful, with families out shopping and seemingly oblivious to the war raging outside.
He recognised some of his peers, and looked away with a pang of envy, a feeling he had never experienced before. It suddenly hit him that, as long as he didn't know who they were, he had been able to entertain the faint notion that his family might want him, however unlikely it seemed. That perhaps someone, somewhere, could be wondering what had become of him - when in reality, they were either unaware of his existence or had consciously chosen to ignore it.
The memories of his grandmother's shock, his grandfather's swift reach for a weapon, his father's aghast expression, and his uncle's revulsion at his mother's memory, all came flooding back. Loving parents and doting grandparents had not been in the cards for him, that much had become obvious. No matter, he'd done fine without them so far, he didn't need them.
Honest.
Tom sealed the uncomfortable feeling in a box, buried it, and resolved not to touch it. He could not go through life pining for something he could never have. It still stung to look at the oblivious families getting on with their lives around him, but like other types of pain it would eventually fade.
He paid a street vendor a few Knuts for that day's edition of the Prophet, and settled down outside of a coffee parlour to read over a steaming cup and biscuits. In contrast with the livelier atmosphere of the shoppers around him, the front page of the Prophet depicted a smoking ruin and witches and wizards flitting through the rubble.
"Destruction of Albiones: Grindelwald's Reign of Terror Continues"
Yesterday, Albiones was the subject of a raid by forces loyal to the dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald. The raid was swift and unexpected, with the Alliance quickly overwhelming the all-wizarding town. Witnesses state that they were searching for members of a resistance group known only as Les Renegades, who have been opposing Grindelwald's expansion since 1939.
The raid resulted in a number of resistance fighters being captured. It has caused panic in the neighbouring city of Amiens, with many of the city's residents fearful that they could be next. The mayor of Amiens has called for calm and urged residents to remain vigilant.
The Ministry of Magic has released a statement condemning the raid and vowing to continue to aid the French resistance in their fight.
It is not yet clear what Grindelwald's plans are for those he has captured, however, it is clear that despite the ICW's multiple attempts to stop him, the dark wizard has no intention of backing down and will continue to fight for his cause.
Tom scoffed at the article. The Ministry's aid had not done much for the French; the Auror office was always recruiting these days, but no Aurors had been sent to the continent. Spencer-Moon was more concerned with strengthening British borders, while sending caches of potions and small teams of healers to the resistance groups in France and Germany. There were rumours of small British intelligence groups, but they operated independently. The government simply could not be trusted to be competent.
He kept flipping pages, but there was no mention of Morfin or the Riddles anywhere in the Prophet. Perhaps they'd been mentioned in an earlier edition while he'd been recovering, or maybe they hadn't even been mentioned at all, but that would be unlikely. Three Muggles murdered by the Killing Curse, and only one wizard living nearby? Maybe Vera would have information. She must have heard something in the courtrooms.
She said she'd be waiting for him, but he had yet to see her. Tonight he'd get her to tell him if there had been any interrogations or, better yet, arrests. If she wasn't forthcoming with the information, there was always Legilimency. Hopefully it would not come to that; he would hate to scare off a potential asset. Wondering about it was driving him mad. He couldn't stand not knowing.
"Tom? Tom!"
He frowned and looked up from the Prophet at the sound of his name.
Antheia Rosier was waving at him from the other side of the street, dragging a blonde little girl behind her, while her older brother tried to swat the crowd away.
Tom suppressed the impolite urge to bolt. He disliked running into people he didn't intend to meet, even if they were people whose company he found agreeable, like the Rosiers. So many of them had the potential to derail his carefully crafted day.
Antheia reached him before he even had time to respond. "It is so good to see you," she said warmly, pulling out a chair and sitting down next to him. "I am so sick of seeing the other boys all summer. You have no idea. If Archibald Hornby tries to get me interested in his story about the kelpie again I will hex him," she prattled on, putting down her shopping bags and flagging down the waiter before Tom could protest.
"Antheia," he greeted dryly. "Please, sit down."
She gave him a shameless grin.
Her brother, Angus, caught up with them then, escorting the bewildered younger girl, as Antheia had abandoned her in her haste to get across the street.
"Riddle," greeted Angus with a curt nod that Tom returned.
"Rosier, and…" he paused, glancing at the younger girl standing by Antheia's side.
"Druella," supplied Antheia, squeezing the girl's arm. "She's our little cousin. Finally starting school this year."
"How do you do," Druella quipped with a tiny bow, round blue eyes glancing shyly at him. She was the opposite of her cousins: fair and strikingly blond where the Rosier siblings had olive skin and dark brown hair.
"Fine, thank you," replied Tom slowly, switching his gaze between the three Rosiers and the server waiting on the sidelines, unsure whether to pull up chairs for the newcomers or not. Antheia was already perusing a menu, despite Tom's raised eyebrow and her older brother's disapproving stare.
Antheia was… not exactly a friend, Tom didn't make friends, but she was his fellow prefect, so they interacted plenty. She was intelligent, if a little intense, and an excellent Potions partner, so most times he didn't mind having her around.
"Excuse my dear sister's exuberance, Riddle," Angus said with a short sigh. "She seems to have left her manners in Spain."
"I have behaved all summer, dear brother, and Tom doesn't mind when I am myself," she replied without lifting her eyes from the menu. "That's why he's my favourite. Excuse me, is there nutmeg in this?"
Tom silently mourned the loss of his peaceful breakfast while Antheia pointed out choices to a waiter, and he signalled at Angus to sit down. Once she made up her mind, it was impossible to get Antheia to budge without causing a scene.
A second server hurried to conjure new chairs and menus.
Angus pulled out the chair for his little cousin first, and then sat down himself with a small grimace. "My apologies, Riddle. I thank you for the invitation to join you."
"Quite alright, Rosier, it has been a long summer," he replied evenly. "I am rather glad to see familiar faces."
Antheia lifted her bright hazel eyes, and gave Tom a mischievous smile. "I know that look. Don't worry, Tom, we won't take up much of your time. We still have plenty to purchase for Druella, and I want to visit the new apothecary, but we are ahead of schedule so I thought we'd stop to catch up."
Tom quickly schooled his face back to that of the charming prefect. He hadn't even noticed that his mask had slipped, which was extremely unusual for him. Her assurance that this would be a brief affair somewhat settled his ruffled feathers, but his slip up rubbed him the wrong way. It was not normal to not be in control all the time, not for him.
"What were you reading before I interrupted you?" Antheia asked, before taking a sip of her coffee as it had just landed in front of her.
The Daily Prophet lay open on the table, an opinion piece on Grindelwald still visible. The Dark Lord was a thorny topic with the Rosiers because of their infamous aunt.
"Nothing particularly interesting," he replied, folding the paper in half, careful not to display the smoking ruins of Albiones splashed on the front page. "Same old," he added.
Antheia narrowed her eyes briefly, and then nodded. "We tried to keep up with the news at first, but they are always the same. Muggles blowing things up, and everyone panicking that the Statute will fall. Don't worry, dearie," she added, noticing her cousin had looked up in alarm. "That will never, ever happen. To tell you the truth, we were far too busy to even notice what was happening outside of the villa."
Tom couldn't help but stare at her for a moment while he processed her words. It was easy to forget how sheltered purebloods were from the realities of war, particularly when you spend two months skipping around craters, working for Muggles and trying not to starve, while keeping an ear open for the wail of sirens. Antheia's world was so different from his own that it gave him a little whiplash.
Not even Angus, who was more down to earth, seemed to realise that something was amiss.
"It was so tedious, Tom," she continued, as she picked apart a pastry. "Dinners, tea parties, and balls. Don't get me wrong, I like beautiful gowns as much as the next witch, but I can't wait to be in the Potions lab again."
Tea parties. Tom had stabbed a man to death and Antheia had been going to tea parties.
"It does sound bland," he said instead, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice and failing. Bloody purebloods.
"Don't laugh! You're lucky you don't have to attend any events," she said in mock annoyance.
Of course Antheia would think he was laughing at her misery, and not at the trainwreck that was his own life. It was so far beyond her comprehension it was comical.
"I am relieved that it is over," said Angus, speaking up for the first time. "Lately every summer is the same. Everyone is trying to throw the most exclusive party to parade their fashionable guests around. It is enjoyable at first, but mothers make it so weary. They are like hawks."
Antheia smiled evilly at her brother. "You only say that because Mother caught you trying to sneak off with Opaline Volant," she teased with an exaggerated French accent.
Angus gave a dignified sniff despite his pink cheeks. "I was not sneaking off, Antheia. I was escorting her outside for fresh air."
"Yes, that's your story and you're sticking to it," she said. "Rejoice, brother mine, Mother can't keep an eye on you at Hogwarts. You'll have Opie all to yourself."
"I told you not to call her that," Angus fumed. "It is unbecoming."
Tom watched them bicker and huffed in amusement. So this was what normal people did during the summer. It was a well-known rite of passage for young purebloods, and respectable half-bloods, to join the older cabal and start to mingle after their OWL year. It would improve their prospects enormously when they left Hogwarts if the adults were well acquainted with them and their skills. The joys of privilege.
"Don't think you're safe, Riddle. Mother will allow me to include people in the guest list next year. The boys missed you," said Angus with a significant nod.
Antheia smirked. "I know the ladies missed him more."
"Antheia, please," scolded Angus, while Druella blushed and Antheia cackled.
Tom sipped his coffee and smirked. "I'd be honoured to attend."
He'd gotten Angus' message. Only a handful of Slytherin boys knew the truth about him: they were all members of the Knights of Walpurgis, a pureblood club that had existed under wraps in Slytherin House for decades, open only to scions of prominent families. It was always headed by a Seventh Year. Angus Rosier had been voted as the head a few months before, on Walpurgis night.
Tom was the first member of uncertain parentage to be invited. A few words in Parseltongue had earned him the right, proving he was descended from the Gaunts (and by extension, from Slytherin himself); the fact that he'd found the Chamber was a much more closely-guarded secret. Rosier, as the new leader, was among the lucky few who knew.
The Sacred-Twenty-Eight list had all but become an exclusive checklist to pick the leaders of the club. If your surname wasn't there, you could not be a candidate. This effectively ruled Tom out, but he didn't need to be the official leader for the others to fall in line.
"In any case," said Antheia with a residual grin. "It will be good going back to school. You almost didn't make it, Ella, they were going to close it at the end of last year."
Tom shifted. Right.
Druella looked alarmed. "But they did catch it? The monster? Mother said she didn't want to frighten me and told me not to even think about it!"
Antheia leaned down conspiratorially. "Oh yes," she whispered, going for dramatic effect. "It was an acromantula. Tom caught it just in time."
Druella gasped and gawked at Tom in admiration. Tom shot his fellow prefect a dirty look.
"We can do without the theatrics, Antheia. It was still young, hardly a difficult task," he said dryly, making the brunette roll her eyes.
"Of course you would say that," she replied, leaning back towards him. "But for the rest of us taking on a regular spider is frightening, never mind a man-eating spider the size of a large dog."
"And we are oh so grateful," said Angus, catching Tom's eye before turning back toward the little blond girl that had squeaked in fright at the spider's description. "You have nothing to worry about, Ella, the student responsible was expelled. You will be perfectly safe at Hogwarts. We will make sure of it, won't we, Riddle?"
Tom stared at the older Slytherin. It was subtle, but Angus had a pleading look in his eyes, begging him not to have a repeat of last year's chaos. They had cut it close.
Warren's death had shaken up the boys, particularly Malfoy, who started having nightmares. Lestrange had put on a brave face, but Tom had caught him zoning out in class. Pendelton had withdrawn into himself for a week. Nott had boasted about it, but it was obvious he was nervous. Avery had gone into a full blown panic, thinking that they would be expelled or worse. For all their bravado, they turned into bed-wetting first years when things got real. Of course Tom had had to fix the mess, but Rosier's level-headedness had been instrumental in keeping the others in line.
Tom himself had been briefly gripped by panic when he found out the mudblood had remained behind as a ghost, but all Warren wanted to do was haunt Olive Hornby, and had not even seen him at the entrance to the Chamber. He was determined to keep a lower profile for a while, until all rumours of the Chamber became just that: rumours. The war should keep people's attention diverted away from him and his activities. Rosier had nothing to worry about.
"Certainly," Tom said airily. "In any case, I can't imagine something like that happening again this year. We have enough to worry about with the upcoming N.E.W.T.s."
Antheia groaned. "Don't remind me. I know you must have gotten Outstandings in every subject," she told Tom with a good-natured grumble.
"Did you not?" he asked with a smirk, knowing full well she struggled with Charms and History.
"That's mean, Riddle," she chastised him, but she was trying to suppress a smile. "At least I will be dropping several subjects this year."
Tom relaxed as the conversation stirred towards small talk. Weighing every answer to secretly communicate with Angus while not tipping off Antheia was exhausting. The youngest Rosier began bombarding him and her cousins with questions about classes and the school, and Antheia made use of each opportunity to pile compliments on Tom because, inexplicably, it made Druella blush; she was fond of pushing people's buttons like that.
"Yes, alright, stop that before his ego bursts," said Angus with some annoyance, cutting the conversation short. "Besides, we all have plans to attend. We did invade his table, if you remember, sister?"
Antheia stuck out her tongue at her brother in very unladylike fashion.
With the table cleared and the bill paid, courtesy of Angus to make up for his sister's intrusion, the Rosiers took their leave. Just as well. Druella had begun staring at Tom starry eyed and he found it mildly discomfiting.
He took note of where the Rosiers were going and made sure to walk away in the opposite direction, scanning the crowd for familiar faces as he went so he could escape before being noticed himself. He made it into Flourish and Blotts without incident to purchase his Mind Arts book, and fled back to the safety of Knockturn Alley, where very few Hogwarts students dared to venture.
The afternoon whittled away as Tom read, filling his head with knowledge about how to empty it. Occlumency was about control and parcelling emotions, which came naturally to him. Most of the time.
The Gaunt ring was safely back on his finger. He'd grown used to the warmth it radiated. It kept his usually cold hand comfortably warm.
When the sun began to descend, he reluctantly slipped the ring off like he had done that morning, and stored it back in his trunk. Vera had not been home earlier in the day, but she usually stepped outside for her daily smoke at around this time.
He leaned on the dimly lit balcony outside while he waited, trying to empty his mind the way the book had suggested, focusing only on his breath. It took him a few tries, as he kept getting distracted by his neighbours ambling down the corridor on their way to dinner, the children squealing upstairs, and other sounds of life swirling around him. In the few seconds that he managed it he discovered a thunderous silence before his thoughts took over again, vying for attention. It was a fascinating sensation, like being underwater.
Tom was so enraptured in his practice that he didn't notice Vera's presence until she touched his arm, startling him back to reality. With a smirk, she asked playfully, "Awfully distracted, aren't you?"
He shook his head and quickly schooled his face into that of pleasant surprise. This was his opportunity to get the information he wanted. "I am now."
Vera laughed, a tinkling sound. "I've been calling your name for some time. You did not answer."
"Forgive me, I get lost in thought sometimes," he replied with a genial smile. "I figured you'd join me at some point."
"Here I am," she said, sidling up to him, fiddling with a strand of dark brown hair as she did so. "How was your trip?"
Tom faltered for a moment, his eyes wandering briefly towards his room, where the Horcrux remained safely hidden. "It went well," he said at last. It wasn't a complete lie, he'd gotten something he wanted out of it. "It was good to get out of the city, if only for a few days."
"A few days too many. I've had nothing to look at but hags."
He smiled in amusement despite himself. Tom could always count on Vera to be forward; for once someone else was doing the heavy lifting, and he just had to stir the conversation until he made an opportunity to bring up the whimsical subject of murder.
"It's a wonder you're not driven mad," he said, making his tone light and jovial. "You must have some interesting stories to tell."
Vera covered her mouth as she laughed, her blue eyes glistening in the low light. "Why don't you come inside and find out?"
Tom hesitated for a moment. Vera's invitation to her room opened the possibility of a private conversation, away from eavesdroppers, which suited him well. On the other hand she had very obviously been trying to get him in her bed since the first night they had spoken.
She was so close he could smell her perfume, the same flowery scent that had lingered on that first night after Blackfriars Bridge. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't tempted.
He smirked and leaned into her slightly, catching her off guard, judging by the slight widening of her eyes. "Lead the way," he said finally, keeping his voice low.
Vera's eyes sparkled with mischief when she latched onto his arm and he allowed her to lead him to her door. He registered an odd feeling of anticipation that had little to do with the information regarding Morfin.
When Tom entered her room, he was pleasantly surprised. It was identical to his own, yet it had a cosy, lived-in quality to it. There were paintings and plants adorning the walls, and thick leather-bound books and scrolls scattered on every surface. He noticed titles like "A Compendium of Legal Enchantments" and "The Mystic Rules of Magic: A Comprehensive Guide to Navigating Magical Law", and Dutch titles he couldn't read.
"I came here last year," Vera said, gesturing around, her gaze lingering on Tom. "I was homeschooled; Mother never wanted me to attend Durmstrang. Unfortunately, I had to leave when the Grindelwald situation got too bad," she explained grimly. "See, you either do as he says or you're sent to Nurmengard, but the Statute is there for a reason. I will not help him dismantle it."
Tom listened intently, intrigued.
"It's a shame that you had to leave your home," he said sympathetically. "But I understand your position. It's important to stand up for what you believe in."
Vera smiled at him, her eyes flickering with a warmth that sent a thrill through him. He couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to kiss her, to feel her body pressed against his...
He pushed the thought aside. He had a mission to accomplish, and getting involved with Vera too soon would only complicate matters. He needed to focus on the task at hand.
"Why not enrol in Hogwarts, though?" he asked. Tom had assumed he wouldn't be seeing her at school, but he had to be certain. "Plenty of foreigners have been accepted since the war began."
She shrugged. "I like magical law, as you can tell, and I thought a job as a court scribe would get me there faster than a NEWT in Herbology or Astronomy."
It made sense, but it left a sour taste in his mouth. Tom couldn't fathom why anyone would turn down an opportunity to study at Hogwarts.
Vera smiled, her eyes twinkling. "But that's enough depressing talk," she said. "Come. Have a drink with me," she added invitingly, taking his hand and leading him to the table. Tom pushed a stack of heavy books aside while she sat down right next to him and summoned a bright green spirit from her cabinets, pouring two tiny glasses, barely larger than his thumb.
Tom stared at the bright liquid apprehensively. He'd had butterbeer and firewhiskey before, but he'd never seen this thing at any Common Room parties. He was debating whether it would be wise to inquire about it, but Vera had already raised her glass in a toast before he had a chance to decide.
"Proost."
They drank. The cool liquid seared his tongue and throat and made him cough despite himself, leaving behind a bittersweet taste. He grimaced and glared at the bright green bottle as if it had offended him.
"What is that thing?" he rasped. "It is foul."
"Absinthe," she replied brightly, amused at his reaction.
"Absinthe? Isn't that Greek for undrinkable?"
"Bugger if I know, I don't speak Greek."
"Why do you drink it?"
Vera's smile turned devious. "It is illegal back home, but not here."
"Hilarious for someone who claims to like magical law."
"You can get away with an awful lot of things if you know your way around the law," Vera purred, her sultry voice making Tom look back at her.
"You are a treasure trove of knowledge, aren't you?" he smirked, watching as she puffed up with pride. She was correct, of course. Wasn't that one of the many reasons why he sought her out?
Vera emptied her second glass and grimaced at the taste, only stopping for a moment before refilling both their glasses.
"Take the old lady across the building," she said, gesturing at the door. "She sells people's hair for… recreational Polyjuice use."
Oh, Tom remembered the one-eyed woman very well. Or rather, the feeling of her hand on his hair, and he shuddered violently at the implication.
"That's not illegal?" he asked in full honesty, feeling like he needed to scrub his skin clean.
Vera smirked. "Polyjuice is not on the list of controlled substances, so it's perfectly legal. Come now, you're telling me you never thought of using Polyjuice in a more… entertaining way?"
"No? Why would I do such a thing?"
"Fair," she replied with a playful twinkle in her eyes. "Someone as handsome as you wouldn't need it."
"Well, thank you," he said sarcastically. "I think I can add this whole conversation to the list of disturbing things I've discovered this summer."
"Happy to be of assistance."
They downed another tiny glass, and Tom felt his lips go numb, getting buzzed alarmingly fast. Not even firewhisky affected him this quickly. If he kept drinking he would miss his chance to question her. He looked over at her, and she looked back with a lazy grin.
"So, what were you up to while I was gone?" he asked in a casual tone, hoping the alcohol had fogged her senses enough not to detect the blatant subject change.
Vera's eyes lit up, and she turned in her chair to look at him fully. She placed her hands on his arm and squeezed, her touch sending a pleasant shiver down his spine despite himself. "There was an uproar. A murder," she said in a dramatic low whisper.
"Murder?" he asked, making sure to sound properly surprised. He didn't need to fake the intrigue, he had that in spades.
Vera nodded gravely. "Three murders, rather. The whole floor was aflutter. My boss was cross that the blokes over at Criminal didn't want to share the gossip with the civil courts. Naturally I got the details."
Tom tensed. This was it. He would finally learn if they had gone after Morfin, or if he had left any breadcrumbs leading back to himself. "What happened?"
"Three Muggles, a family. Some deranged vagrant living near their home hated them," Vera said, reaching for the bottle again, and refilling his glass a third time. "The other scribe gets very chatty when you compliment him, particularly if a pretty girl touches his arm like this," she added, brushing her fingers over Tom's upper arm. The gesture gave him goosebumps, and in his current state he couldn't help but lean towards her.
If the Dutch girl had this effect on him, he could tell why a lesser man would spill his guts to her.
Vera was forward, sly and smart. And alone. If he could use his contacts to sponsor her career who knew what she could do for him in return. He had to get this woman on his side.
Questions burned on the tip of his tongue, urging him to speed the conversation along, but he had the feeling that rushing her would have the opposite effect. So he bit his tongue and waited for her to resume the tale.
"He had already been arrested a few years ago for attacking them, but they released him and now he's killed them," she said. "It was bound to happen sooner or later, if you ask me."
The relief that flooded Tom was so powerful he sagged in his seat. Morfin had taken the fall after all, he had nothing to worry about.
"Vile man," Vera continued, oblivious to Tom's reaction. "They took him to courtroom Ten. Fergus, that's the other scribe, said it was chilling. He said he was proud of what he did, no remorse, so they sentenced him to life. There hasn't been one of those in some time."
"Some uproar," said Tom quietly.
Vera leaned back in her chair, a thoughtful look on her face. "It makes you wonder what drives someone to do something like that," she mused. "To take someone's life so callously."
Tom shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "Some people are just monsters."
"Yes," Vera agreed, her eyes flickering up to meet his. "But sometimes, it's more complicated than that."
He stiffened but met her gaze evenly, ignoring the stab of panic caused by her statement. She couldn't be on to him, could she?
Vera must have sensed his discomfort, because she quickly changed the subject. "You know," she said, the playful glint returning to her eyes. "I don't think you've told me much about yourself. You've let me do all the talking."
Tom's mind raced, trying to come up with a plausible lie. Now that he had gotten what he wanted from her, their encounter was devolving into the sort of social scenario that he normally avoided. If not for the undeniably pleasant pull she had over him, he would have already confounded her and left. She could blame the absinthe in the morning.
That and he still wanted her as an inside woman in the Ministry. Mainly that, but the alcohol was making his head fuzzy and it was bloody difficult to concentrate.
"I dabble in a few things," he said with a shrug. "Reading, mostly. I used to explore the city before it became too dangerous to do so. Maybe I could take you on a tour some day," he offered, knowing he would never do anything of the sort.
It seemed to placate her, though, because her lazy smile was back and she was refilling her glass again. Circe, the girl could drink. "We'll see how the night goes," she replied cryptically, shooting him a heavy-lidded look.
Tom smiled, amused by her suggestion. Just like it was when they first met, they both knew the other was bluffing; two liars who wanted something from each other. He found himself enjoying the game. "I suppose we'll see," he said before taking a sip from his glass.
"If all goes well, and if this war is ever over, and you find yourself in Rotterdam, I'd be happy to pay back the favour," she said airily. "Not that there's anything other than ruins to see at the moment."
"I am sure they are every bit as nice as London's," he replied cheekily.
Vera laughed. A full-bellied laugh. It must be the alcohol because Tom had never made anyone laugh. It had to be. He didn't like the small swell of warmth in his chest.
"You're terrible," she told him, once she got a hang of herself, somehow edging even closer to him. Her soft hair tickled his chin.
"Oh, you have no idea," he mumbled to himself, polishing off his third glass of the night.
"You know, I don't laugh a lot," she said, suddenly contemplative. "Not since…"
The room swam for a bit, and Tom gripped the edge of the table. "Since…?" he asked, looking for something to focus on.
"Since papa."
Merlin, Circe and Hecate.
Somehow they had circled back to the subject of dead fathers. What was it that normal people said to each other when they were upset?
"I'm sorry," he said, not trusting himself to say anything else. He might just blurt something about his own father in his current state and blow his cover.
To his surprise, Vera scoffed.
"Idioot Dreuzel vater," she growled, reversing to Dutch. "He did not like finding out his wife and daughter were witches. He left. Years ago," she added, waving her hand dismissively.
Tom cursed mentally. So not dead, just gone, like his own. Well, his father was dead now. Either the absinthe must be clouding his judgement, or finding out they had something in common had softened him. "They do that, don't they?" he mused, staring at the bottom of his empty glass.
Vera nodded grimly, leaning fully on him now. He could feel the heat of her body next to his and the softness of her breath on his cheek. There must have been something in his voice because she bit her lip and glanced at him, looking like she wanted to say something, then thought better of it and looked away.
Tom frowned. "You're not going to ask?"
"You do not look like you want to talk about it."
"I don't."
"Then let's drink," she said, filling up their glasses again. "To those left behind," she added, lifting her glass.
Tom lifted his fourth glass half-heartedly. "Cheers."
"Proost!"
The heady look she gave him after they banged their empty glasses on the table sent a jolt of electricity through his body. She was so close now he could see every freckle, the different hues of blue in her eyes. She bit her lip and glanced down at his mouth, and for a moment he half-expected her to make another move. Instead, she looked at him with a knowing glint in her eye.
Without warning, Tom pulled her towards him and kissed her. Vera responded eagerly, her arms wrapping around his neck. She slid out of her chair and unto his lap, only breaking apart from him to smile before kissing him again.
He'd surprised even himself, and couldn't quite remember what he'd been thinking about before. Vera's soft hair and warm skin were too distracting. He let his hands wander, from the curve of her neck to her waist, and by Vera's sigh, it seemed she didn't mind. But then she bit him, and he pulled away with a bruised lip, shooting her a reproachful glare.
Tom liked to be in control, it grounded him, yet Vera enjoyed defying him. It was odd, but in the haze of alcohol clouding his mind he did not care as much as he should. Her cheeky smile and the loss of her warmth on his lap as she stood up prompted him to follow her. She wrapped her hand around his shirt collar and pulled him towards the bed. His smirk matched hers, and he went without protest.
Falling asleep came naturally, exhausted as they were. The night was cool, and the warmth of Vera's body against his lulled him into a pleasant sleep. Surrounded by her books and scrolls, safe in the knowledge that no one would be coming after him, and still under a satisfying buzz, it was probably the most pleasant he'd had the whole summer.
Of course, it couldn't last. As the night wore on, Tom's dreams turned dark. He was back on Blackfriars Bridge, picking his way through the twisted metal. He could hear footsteps moving in the dark, but not even the light from his wand could penetrate the oppressive blackness. Vera's slow, gentle breaths became a rasp he was all too familiar with. His neck prickled, and he slowly inched his hand towards the nightstand, where he'd left his wand in the waking world.
Tom opened his eyes to see a bloodied figure at the foot of the bed.
Then he jolted awake.
He was still in Vera's room. It was the middle of the night, and his wand was in his hand. There was no one struggling to breathe anywhere near him. It took him a moment to recognise that Vera's arm was wrapped around his neck; she was dead asleep, and didn't even stir when Tom disentangled himself from her.
The scent of her perfume was suddenly too cloying for his senses. He felt like he was suffocating.
He sat up in bed, panting like he'd run a mile, his heart still pounding in his chest.
The bloody nightmares were back, worse than before. He'd stopped having them after making the Horcrux. He thought that'd be the end of them, he'd hoped…
Tom scowled and ran a hand through his black hair, trying to shake the images from his mind.
The Muggle he had killed continued to haunt him. But why him? It would make more sense for his nightmares to star his father rising from the grave, or even Warren, whose only sin had been being born a mudblood and being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He held his head as he stood up. A slight dizziness still remained, impairing his movements as he got dressed. There must still be some alcohol left in his system.
I'm never touching absinthe again.
Tom's gaze lingered on Vera for a moment as she turned away from him in her sleep and let out a contented sigh. He grimaced, feeling a twinge of guilt. He had used her, manipulated her, and yet she had still given herself to him willingly. Not that she hadn't gotten what she wanted from him. He pushed the thought aside, not wanting to dwell on it any longer. At least her dreams were peaceful.
He tore his gaze from her body and stepped into the hallway. There wasn't more he could get from her tonight, and he preferred to sleep alone.
The cool breeze ruffled his hair as he closed the door quietly behind him. It was completely deserted and silent for once. He crossed the short distance to his own room, pondering over ghosts.
Perhaps it was a matter of unfinished business. It felt like an eternity had passed since the attempt on his life -so much had happened since then- but it had only been a week, and Crowe was still out there.
Tom clenched his jaw, knowing that no one should be able to get away with trying to kill him. Sooner or later he would make the muggle pay.
History Trivia
Old Boy Networks: We know very little about the Knights of Walpurgis in canon, only that it was an early version of the Death Eaters. In my headcanon the Knights were an Old Boy Network at Hogwarts, very similar to the clubs in Eton, Oxford and Cambridge. These informal networks originated in the British elites and traditionally included only male pupils who helped each other in business or personal matters; this also restricted opportunities to group members, so they are often blamed for nepotism in government, business and other professions. Very Slytherin.
Rotterdam: The city was bombed by the Luftwaffe in 1940 as a way to get the Dutch army to surrender. The Netherlands was a strategic location between Germany and the British Isles, but the country declared itself neutral in the conflict. Hitler did not care, and invaded anyway. Many Dutch people fled to other cities or even other countries during the first days of the air raid. The city itself was heavily damaged, and the only building left somewhat standing was St. Lawrence Church.
August 19, 1943: Just a coincidence, but this was the day the UK and the US secretly agreed to combine their physicists to develop the atomic bomb.
Troublesome Vocab
Absinthe: It does not actually mean 'undrinkable' in Greek. It is the Greek word for wormwood, which is one of the plants used to make the drink. Absinthe got a bad rep in the late 19th century and it was banned in many countries, though strangely not in the UK, probably because it wasn't as popular as in continental Europe. If you get your hands on it don't drink it neat like these two idiots! I had them drink it wrong on purpose. Dilute it with water or pour it over a burning sugar cube to burn some of the alcohol away, I say this from personal experience.
Idioot Dreuzel vater: Idiot Muggle father. Just in case the context was not clear enough.
Additional Notes
I had a bit of fun teasing Druella. It amuses me to think that Bella's obsession for Tom originated with her mother.