Warnings for this chapter: Historical revisionism/reinterpretation of past events - or Tom's view on what happened. I tried to make it all fit without changing too much so... suspend your disbelief :D.
28. REWRITING HISTORY
The next few days were an endless feast of frustrations for Tom. Holly didn't allow herself to be found, much less cornered into a conversation for which she wasn't ready, quietly slipping away when Tom tried to talk to her or at most spitting out a few angry words in reply to his pleas before going back to her silent treatment.
But her anger was easy to bear when compared to the fearful skittishness and wounded innocence that lurked just beneath, that too often slipped through the cracks of her composure, that made her flinch back when he tried to reach out to her. He had hurt her, unintentionally or no, and he wanted to fix it, if only she would let him.
"Holly, please," he pleaded at the end of the week and at the end of his tether, gently catching her hand and refusing to let go even when she winced back. "Please let's talk. This has been going on long enough and I think we're both miserable with it. Are you really planning on ignoring me for the rest of our lives?"
He kept his eyes on her, ignoring the sputtered protests and open belligerence from her friends, who of course had pretended not to hear his earlier dismissal. Holly was his focus and his chest ached at the wary, startled look she gave him, the way her small hand trembled ever so slightly in his gentle grasp.
"Please, Holly."
"I don't know what to say to you," Holly finally murmured, accusingly.
"Then let me talk. Let me explain, apologise," he all but begged, rubbing his thumb carefully over her knuckles until she finally gave a grudging nod. "Thank you, Holly. Might we take this to our quarters for a bit more privacy?"
Holly agreed after a long moment of consideration and he carefully shepherded her towards their rooms, half-fearing that she might slip away again if he let her out of his sight for even just a few moments. But Holly, for all that she had avoided him for the last few days as if he had caught a particularly contagious strand of Dragon Pox, and even though she almost viciously tugged her hand free from his hold, seemed resolute now and when they turned towards their chambers she sent her friends away with only a few softly spoken words and kept pace with him.
"Would you like something to eat?" he asked once they had reached their quarters, the door closed behind them. "I noticed that you haven't been eating much lately."
Holly glared at him, her sparking green eyes telling him exactly how little she appreciated his care right now. "You wanted to talk. Talk," she commanded, her arms crossed defensively over her chest.
Tom suppressed a sigh, judging the chances of getting her to actually sit down slim to none. "You have every right to be angry at me," he said, continuing before she could point out that she hadn't asked his permission. "I made a mistake, though not the one you think, and I reacted poorly when you told me the news."
She remained implacable, as close to emotionless as he had ever seen her, as she listened to his explanation about how he hadn't known that the contraception spell needed to be reapplied. He handed her the book with the instructions so that she might see how the layout was less than ideal and then tried his best to take the sting out of his ill-spoken advice.
"You said I should get an abortion," Holly accused him, speaking up for the first time. "You wanted to kill my child."
"No, Holly, just no. I saw how much you were hurting, how afraid you were and I wanted you to have that option," he pleaded, trying to reach out to her, but subsiding when she rebuffed him immediately. "I know you feel like I forced this on you and in that moment I just wanted to assure you that I would support whatever decision felt right to you."
"You think it would feel right to kill my child?" Holly demanded in an angry whisper.
It sounded preposterous, ludicrous when put in those terms and Tom could only shake his head helplessly. "I'm sorry, Holly."
Holly was silent for a long moment. "You broke the contract," she finally said and Tom merely nodded, not thinking it wise to repeat Lucius' succinct assessment of what possible loopholes might still be available to him. Holly looked miserable enough as it was, small and lost and queasy. "Dumbledore says…" She shook her head and broke off. "I don't want to go back to war."
"Neither do I," Tom admitted carefully, forcing himself to continue, "Though, as I'm sure Dumbledore has informed you, you could well take me off the playing field all together. It might not be much of a war after that."
Holly jerked at his words, paling drastically. Tom could easily imagine what ideas Dumbledore might have put forth, but the vehemence of her reactions still discomfited him. And gave him hope.
"You said you didn't know the spell had to be redone," Holly reminded him, rather forcefully. "I'm not… it wouldn't be fair to…"
"Then what do you want to do? How do you want to move forwards, kitten?" he asked gently.
"I want to be able to believe you. To believe that you didn't plan this, that you kept your word or at least intended to do so. But I'm not sure I can. I… I think I need you to tell me the truth," Holly replied hesitantly, after a long silence, but fixed him with an unwavering gaze. "The whole truth."
There was no mistaking her meaning, but he still had to resist the instinctive urge to ask if she was sure. But he could see that she was, her chin tilted up defiantly, her small shoulders squared and her gaze direct and challenging. He had waited so long for her to be ready, had tried to be patient and to give her as much information as she was willing to receive to come to her own conclusions, but truthfully this situation seemed a less than ideal starting point for changing her mind and her whole worldview.
Still, he nodded, then gave her a gentle smile. "Of course, Holly. The whole truth is a tall order, though – perhaps I can at least persuade you to sit down?"
Holly hesitated and he could see that she was not enamoured with the idea of decreasing the distance between them or moving away from her escape route. He sighed soundlessly.
"How about this…?" he asked, taking another step back towards his writing desk before slowly and as non-threateningly as possible drawing his wand and letting it drop into the desk drawer before the wariness on her face could bloom into full-fledged panic. He pushed the drawer closed and moved away from the desk, indicating the sofa with an inviting, careful gesture.
Holly gave him a long, hard stare, then huffed and fairly threw herself down on the sofa. A moment later, the low coffee table in front of her set itself with tea and scones and biscuits, which at least brought a slightly tired smile to her pale face.
"Thank you, Dobby," she whispered into the air, reaching to pour herself a cup of tea and taking one of the cookies before she focused back on him expectantly. "Tell me."
Tom stalled a few more moments to find his own seat and the best way to start. "I suppose for me all this started the summer before my Fifth Year at Hogwarts. I had made some inquiries, done quite a bit of research to find out more about my family, my roots. I had found the contact details for my maternal uncle, Morfin Gaunt, and went to visit him, hoping he might be able to tell me something more about my mother. He did, though he also told me about my father."
He sighed, swallowed against the bitterness rising in his throat. Meeting his uncle had not been the family reunion he might have dreamed of as a small child, before he got hardened to the cruel realities of life. The memory of it still stung, even decades later, filled him with unease, disgust at the unkempt, deranged wizard who had raved at him in Parseltongue, threatened him for looking like his father, rambled on about disgrace and filth, and told him a fragmented, no doubt biased version of what had happened between his sister Merope and the arrogant Muggle after whom Tom had been named.
"After speaking to my uncle, I went to confront my father," Tom said, striving for an even tone though he felt strangely unmoored by the sympathy he could read in Holly's clear green eyes. "To this day, I can't say what I hoped or intended to accomplish – maybe I just wanted to look him in the eyes and demand an explanation for why he had abandoned me to be raised in an orphanage. But if my uncle had been full of anger and rage towards Muggles, condemning his sister for marrying beneath her station, my father, as it turned out, held no less disgust and hatred towards the Wizarding world."
Holly was listening attentively, her brows pulled together in an unhappy furrow, but he continued before she felt compelled to try and comfort him. He knew he didn't deserve it.
"Afterwards, I tried to tell myself that it was self-defence. Sometimes I believe it, too, but… I know I was angry, so very angry, and I could have used any number of spells to merely incapacitate or immobilise him without doing any lasting damage. That's not what I chose to do, though," Tom said, afraid to look at Holly and see her earlier sympathy washed away by condemnation.
He didn't go into further detail, knowing that the arrival of his uncle and the death of his paternal grandparents would only add another layer of complication to an already long and convoluted tale. He would tell her someday, if she decided that she could still tolerate his presence after all was said and done.
"After that, I was a mess. I don't think I felt guilt, or even regret, not then at least, but it… it weighed on me, I suppose. And instead of telling me more about who I was and where I came from, it put everything I thought I knew about myself into question," he continued. "I was still struggling with all this when it was time to return to Hogwarts. I couldn't sleep or concentrate in class to the point where even the teachers started to notice. Dumbledore confronted me… and then I was lost."
"Lost?" Holly asked in a small voice, tinged with wariness and something else that he might almost have called tenderness.
"I don't have any memory of almost three quarters of that year," Tom told her bluntly, knowing that this was the point where he might very well lose her. "I remember that Dumbledore asked me to stay behind after one of his classes, that he asked if there was anything troubling me, that he pressed me for details about my summer… I have been able to piece together most of what happened that year, but I have no actual memory of any of it until I woke in the Chamber of Secrets with Erna guarding me."
"Your diary…"
"I made that to try and compile my knowledge of that year. I never meant for it to fall into someone else's hands, much less for it to be used to reopen the Chamber," Tom retorted, a little too sharply if Holly's startled look was any indication; he sighed. "I had found the Chamber and learned how to open it towards the end of the previous school year and spent ever free moment until the end of term exploring the tunnels and chambers and pouring over Slytherin's private book collection."
"Book collection?" Holly asked, and it wasn't really relevant to anything, but she already looked as if she was trying to follow three different trains of thought at once and if she needed a few extra moments before he piled on even more information, he was more than happy to oblige.
"His journals mostly, from before the time Hogwarts was built until he parted ways with the other founders and left the school. Some research notes about the nature of magic, reference materials, and rolls of parchment with mostly unpublished articles," he offered. "From what I could find, he was an accomplished, well-versed scholar, erring on the side of theory and philosophical ruminations rather than practical applications, but no doubt a powerful wizard: a source of inspiration for many young witches and wizards – including myself."
She nodded in vague acknowledgement before pinning him with her gaze again, prompting him wordlessly to continue.
"I can only assume that Dumbledore had noticed my prolonged absences and discovered the reason for them and when I returned after the summer… Perhaps he saw my preoccupations as an opening. I was never able to prove his involvement or to ascertain what exactly he did to me. I suspect a version of the Imperius Curse, but it might well have been another compulsion spell or a potion of ensnarement.
"As I said, I have no memory of this, but in that year the Chamber of Secrets was opened and Erna was released," he told her. "Several Muggleborn students were attacked, left petrified. One girl died – and then Erna dragged me down into the Chambers and kept me there until my mind finally cleared.
"When I dared to ascend again, I invented some pretext to get a meeting with Headmaster Dippet in the hopes of filling in some of the blanks. He told me that they were considering closing the school – that it would be irresponsible to allow the students to remain in the castle when the Chamber had been opened."
"You framed Hagrid. He was expelled because of you," Holly spoke up, glaring at him.
Tom tried not to sound as indifferent as he felt about that particular casualty. "I did what I had to do. I sealed the Chamber again, made sure that Erna went back into hibernation, but I knew it wouldn't be enough to keep the school open. They needed a culprit and Hagrid was the obvious choice. And believe me, that Acromantula was not the first, nor the most dangerous monster he had thought to bring to the school."
"He wasn't responsible for this monster or for Myrtle's death," Holly protested stubbornly and Tom sighed.
"He wasn't," he admitted evenly. "But neither was I and if I hadn't acted first, I'm convinced that Dumbledore's finger would have been squarely pointed at me."
"You're saying he engineered all of that, used illegal magic, risked the lives of countless students, just to get you expelled?" Holly asked with open scepticism.
"No, not just to get me expelled," Tom replied, closing his eyes before looking at his wife again, hoping that she might read the truth in his eyes. "To set me up as the villain in the continuous saga of Albus Dumbledore, wizard extraordinaire, paragon of Light, defeater of Dark Lords and magnanimous protector of the entire Wizarding world."
Holly blinked at him, her almond-shaped eyes rounding in confusion. "What? But… that's not… what?"
Tom sighed again, more deeply than before. "I'm sure you've heard that Dumbledore is widely hailed as the greatest wizard of modern times, right? Do you know why?"
She opened her mouth, but then closed it again and furrowed her brow to actually think about his question. "He defeated Grindelwald?" she made it sound like a question and he despaired a little at the quality of her education so far.
"Gellert Grindelwald, considered one of the most powerful Dark wizards of all times and incidentally also a former friend of the beloved Albus Dumbledore." Tom couldn't quite contain his sneer. "I don't think this is the time to go into details about his ideology, but he was a proponent of Wizarding supremacy and wanted to abolish the Statute of Secrecy. By any means necessary.
"Grindelwald eventually declared open war on the world and immediately calls were raised for Dumbledore to confront his former friend and bring him to justice. But Dumbledore dawdled – for six long years of chaos and death. Maybe he was afraid. Maybe he liked being asked. Maybe he enjoyed the far-reaching authorities and unquestioning obedience he was assured during this state of emergency. Maybe he had other reasons.
"When it finally happened, the duel – and I'll give him that – is said to have been an extraordinary battle of skill and magic, from which Dumbledore eventually emerged triumphant. Grindelwald was taken into custody and Dumbledore was of course celebrated as a national and international hero, his popularity rose and his word was considered law."
"Okay… I still don't understand how that's an explanation for anything," Holly replied a bit impatiently. "Least of all for why you murdered my parents."
Tom winced, conceding her point. "I know… I know I'm asking a lot here, Holly. I know what you've been told, from the moment you stepped foot into the Wizarding world, but… I first met Dumbledore in 1938 when he invited me to attend the school. Grindelwald was at the height of his power, the Wizarding world was clamouring for a saviour, for Dumbledore to be that saviour, and Dumbledore somehow still found the time to meet and personally introduce himself to every Muggle-raised student entering Hogwarts for the first time. Why, Holly?"
Holly huffed in frustration. "I don't know! Why would that matter?"
"Because I think he was looking for someone to mould into his next opponent, a new Dark Lord to defeat to make himself shine all the brighter and to consolidate the power he so enjoyed," Tom murmured, a little alarmed when Holly snapped to look at him with incredulous horror, all the colour leaving her face. "Holly…"
She shook her head wildly, cutting him off before he could continue. "Tell me why you killed my parents."
Tom knew that Holly wouldn't appreciate another careful built up, but there were still some points he needed to make if he had any hope of convincing her. "I hope you know by now – that you have seen for yourself – that my ideas and objectives are not the evil plots and schemes that Dumbledore is all too eager to assign to me and my followers. I certainly never had any intention of waging war on the Wizarding world and for several years after I left Hogwarts, I tried to effect change on a political level – much as I'm doing now. Meanwhile, Dumbledore was doing everything to undermine and discredit me, sowing mistrust and false information about my alleged anti-Muggle agenda… gathering loyal supporters into an army of vigilantes."
"I don't think I like where this is going," Holly warned him quietly, but Tom knew he couldn't stop now.
"His supporters started to go after me and mine for any perceived transgression – and I'm not denying that we retaliated. I was not the one who started the war, but I was damned if I would let Dumbledore finish it," Tom said, keeping his voice as gentle as possible, though he wasn't surprised when Holly flared up with anger.
"You killed people, wiped out entire families!"
"And do you think we suffered no losses?" he snapped back, jumping up and starting to pace. "I lost friends – good and honourable witches and wizards whose only crime it was to believe in me and wish for a better future. Half my followers were killed – ambushed in raids or arrested and executed on flimsy charges, on so-called evidence provided by Dumbledore. Ask Melisandre what happened to her sister! Ask David what they did to his wife and unborn child!"
He broke off and mentally cursed himself as he registered how choppy Holly's breathing had become, how she was pressing herself back into the cushion with the first tears gathering in her expressive eyes. He sank back into his armchair.
"Holly, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have raised my voice. It's just… I made mistakes. I committed crimes and yes, I hurt and even killed people who did not deserve to be pulled into this war," he said, much more quietly. "I'm not denying that. I will never deny that. But there was a heavy cost for both sides."
"And my parents?" Holly whispered after a long silence, not meeting his searching gaze. "Were they just two more casualties in a war that no-one will admit to having started?"
Tom sighed, for the umpteenth time that day. "I was informed about the prophecy, or at least parts of it, at what I perceived to be a critical junction. I knew that I could win the war and the thought of victory slipping through my fingers at the last moment, of dying before I could accomplish anything filled me with fear… and determination. If I had allowed myself more time to prepare, to weigh all my options… I hope I would have found a different solution. But I was losing ground with every day the war dragged on and I convinced myself that one last, decisive action – however morally reprehensible – would be for the greater good.
"Your parents… were good, honourable people, brave and loyal to a fault. I offered them a chance to step aside, but of course they could no more countenance the murder of their child than you can now," Tom whispered. "And then I saw you, in your crib… You didn't look like my downfall. How could you? I thought of just taking you, raising you as my own, but the risk of this becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy seemed too great. I told myself that one innocent life was not too high a price for an end to the war. I raised my wand; I spoke the words, and the rest, as they say, is history. I regretted it even before I spoke the curse."
"And all the other times you tried to kill me, after that? Just trying to finish the job, I assume?" Holly asked bitterly. "But of course, if you were scared of me as baby, imagine how frightening I must have seemed as a skinny eleven-year-old!"
"It seems I'm in the habit of making poor choices where you're concerned, but in defence of the indefensible: For most of our encounters, I was not in possession of all my faculties, mental or otherwise. Less than a ghost, a fragmented memory, newly resurrected… Sanity doesn't come with any of that, I'm afraid, and I was hardly aware enough of my surroundings, of myself to make a decision other than survival," Tom replied, softening his tone even further. "Still, I'm very sorry, Holly."
Holly shrugged lightly. "I understand wanting to survive – though I still wish you hadn't dragged me into it."
"I shouldn't have," Tom agreed immediately. "But I wasn't the only one who sought to involve you, Holly. Or do you think it mere coincidence that after a decade of no-one even entering the forest in which I had taken refuge, I should find one of Dumbledore's own teachers stumbling into my hiding place, all but offering himself up for possession? That Dumbledore decided to relocate the Philosopher's Stone to Hogwarts in the same year when you entered the school for the first time. That he asked one of his staunchest supporters to pick you up from your relatives, when that duty is usually performed by one of the Heads of Houses, any one of whom would have been much better qualified to handle your Muggle relatives and introduce you to the Wizarding world – except, perhaps, with fewer paeans sung about Dumbledore's greatness and without showing you exactly what you were ostensibly not meant to see."
He couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice and he didn't try, either. The way Dumbledore had manipulated not only himself, but especially Holly, who, as she had rightly pointed out, had only been a skinny eleven-year-old witch then, still made his blood boil. All of it had been so carefully and ruthlessly engineered to test Holly's skills and her loyalty to Dumbledore, while her safety or her wellbeing had obviously never been a concern.
"I know," Holly murmured, making him stare at her in surprise. "I know he's been manipulating me, trying to mould me into a weapon to use, his little toy soldier. Ron and Hermione figured it out at the end of our First Year, though I didn't want to believe it then."
"So… you believe me?" Tom asked, feeling almost crushed under the sudden weight of hope and other feelings as he leaned forward. "Holly?"
"There's still a world of difference between acknowledging that Dumbledore is a manipulative old coot and blaming him for every bad decision you and I have ever made whilst also accusing him of intentionally wanting to create another Dark Lord to augment his own power, don't you think?" Holly asked back, getting to her feet and pacing away from him. "I want to talk to my godfathers."
"Of course," Tom agreed, biting back his disappointment and rising much more carefully from his seat. "The fireplace here is connected to the Floo network – I've read up on it and it's safe for you even during your pregnancy. Take as much time as you need and please know that when you return and have made your decision, I will accept whatever might be your judgement."
"You mean that?" Holly asked, slinking a bit closer when he offered her the little box of Floo powder.
"I do, kitten," Tom affirmed quietly, catching her vibrant green eyes with his own red ones and dropping even the last of his mental defences. "I have placed all my cards on the table and if you cannot believe me… I know how frightened you were of that possibility and I would not want to add to that. I want you to be happy, Holly, and yes, I hope that that happiness will somehow include me, but I have forced your hand often enough."
Holly gasped, stumbling a little, and he instinctively reached out to stabilise her, drawing her ever so slightly into his arms. "Are you okay? Are you in pain? Do you want me to get Madam Pomfrey?"
"I'm fine. Just…" She waved her hand helplessly, freeing herself again. "Stuff."
Tom snorted a little, but stepped back to let her pass through to the fireplace. "That's enlightening."
"Lots of stuff," Holly clarified, staring up at him defiantly.
Tom raised his hands in surrender and chuckled softly. "Of course. And as I said, take as much time as you need with your godfathers."
He smiled at her again, as gently and patiently as he possibly could. He knew that all of this would have been a lot to take in, even if Holly hadn't also been dealing with an unplanned pregnancy. He wished he could have asked her about that, offered her more assurances of support. Perhaps, once she had made her decision – provided she didn't opt to follow Dumbledore's suggestions, after all.