Weasley is King

Chapter 3: The King of His Litter

By: HolyHeathen

Proofread By: Grammarly

Erupting fire and ashen earth. Dozens of desolate shadows fled down cobblestone paths, racing to escape the fiery hell that fell down upon them. Stray debris exploded, flinging mounds of the remnant building high into the air, only to rain down in a horrific hail of muck and blood. The sky itself, choked with smoke, seemed to cry out at echoing bombardments, the thunderous missiles echoing out across the city. Areoplanes soared overhead; whether they were ally or foe, it was unknowable through the dark field of smog covering what once had been London.

Tom had sat there, huddled and shivering in the damp sewer with other lost survivors, for nearly a month and a half now; his orphanage having been flattened by the bombings several weeks prior. The filth and soot that now stuck to every inch of the war-torn world around him was penetrating; the London he had once known, had once been a part of (albeit unwillingly), was no more. Moreover, even at his insistence (pleadings even) to any teacher who would listen that returning to this muggle wasteland would result in his death, all such worries had fallen upon deaf ears.

It was now, as the Nazi muggle forces, in league with that deranged friend of Dumbledore, did their very best to end every last life within London, Tom could do little more than wait: wait and hope this Merlin damned situation he was now placed in didn't crumble and fall in atop him.

In these long unknown hours, where the sky was covered in dust, and the sun blotted out behind the smoke clouds of burning fires, Tom couldn't help but blame Dumbledore—for forsaking his warnings, allowing him to walk back into the arms of his likely demise. For abandoning a member of the magical community, the highest grade earner of his class, now relegated to fear for his life when he was released from school for the summer. And finally, for Grindelwald.

Dumbledore may not have been his headmaster, but Dippet was itching to retire, and in his incompetent final years, Albus was the only realistic candidate for replacement.

Additionally, when Tom had coaxed a few extra drinks into a lonely Aberforth, the extent of his brother's relationship with the now infamous international terrorist had become entirely too clear. Entwined as they were, for the "Greatest Wizard of His Age" to sit by all high and mighty, researching and teaching while, at the same time, his lover tore through Europe slaughtered muggles and wizards alike, his willful negligence of the happenings of the world outside Hogwarts was beyond unforgivable.

There were many other ways to conquer the world. The one he saw around him was barbaric and unacceptable. Tom would do better; he would BE better. There was no room for error or a single wizard to be left behind.

It had not worked. At all.

To even begin thinking about where Tom- no, Lord Voldemort, had gone wrong took a length of time seemingly so vast there were no words to describe the experience of its distance.

The somewhat new Lord Voldemort (or at least a copy of his consciousness, as he himself had at one point conceded) had existed in the void of his horcrux for a time unknown, reminiscing back to his stay in that tunnel below a battle-torn London.

The only comfort was his slight connection with the other horcruxes, though the relationship and memories shared were only strong at creation and faded quickly with time.

The young Voldemort had seen much through these fading connections of his own rise and fall. He was even privy to the creation of the final soul shard, now embedded within the same child who had supposedly been predestined to destroy him.

But what to do? It was evident that increasing his resistance to mortality had only eroded his sanity and that of his followers. By the time the actual battle began for the heart and soul of but a single country, Britain, the corporeal Voldemort was too far gone to have ever won, obsessed with thoughts of traitors and prophecy, things the version within the diary could only scoff at in their absurdity.

Things must be done; changes must be enacted; the foolish and crazed form of his now elder self must be put down. This was the decision Tom came to. Thus, all he could was wait and gather himself, for when some unfortunate fool opened the dairy, it was then that he must strike.

Tom's wait had been relatively brief, surprisingly (compared to the decades before unknowingly spent in Lucius' drawer), and feeling the absence of the set of heaving wards, he had been swamped in and the embrace of large swathes of overlapping magical signatures, was the only alert that Tom had that he was now moving, and in the presence of a great many people.

There were many tense moments, wondering if he had somehow been discovered (his view of the outside world was negligent due to how little energy he had been able to ween off over the years), but it had all resulted in a final pleasant and familiar sensation—the wards of Hogwarts Castle. Tom smiled to himself (in his mind, as he had no tangible form in this space) and bathed in the welcoming feeling of being home once more.

There was little time after that before words formed before him, and a small, very welcomed, magical stimulus siphoned into his starved core.

"Hello, this is the diary of Collin Creevey. If you see this, please return immediately."

Feeling his horcrux core slowly growing as the boy began to write boring interactions about his day, Tom flexed his increasing power slightly and wrote back, sucking the ink into his page and redirecting it into new words.

"Hello friend, this is quite an awkward situation, but I think you may have unknowingly picked up my diary!"

Several moments passed before a response came.

"And whose diary is this?"

"Well, it isn't much of an issue, but my name is Tom! It is nice to meet you, friend; what is your name, if I may?"

Of course, Tom had already read everything Collin had written, every little detail of his interaction that day laid bare before him; how few friends he had, and how he wished for someone he could confide in, but Tom would save all of that for later. Now was the time for the setup, as every new line written was a bit more magical energy he could siphon off from the unsuspecting lad.

"Collin"

"How do you do, Collin? It's been a while since I've spoken to someone, so sorry if I'm a bit forward!"

"I'm alright, thanks for asking. How long have you been in the dairy, or have you been a dairy?"

"Well, Collin! Asking a lad their age right out the gate! But it's fine; I was once a student at Hogwarts, you see, quite a while ago, I would assume. Would you mind letting me know what year it is?"

"1992"

"Well, I'll be; it's been quite a long time then."

Several moments passed as Tom sat back in his ethereal space, reveling in his newfound and growing strength. He felt that maybe he was close to ascertaining his surroundings if his powers grew a bit more; he knew this innately, as though the knowledge of his abilities as a horcrux became evident as his beady magical core swelled with incoming energy.

"If you wouldn't mind, could you tell me what house you were in?"

Tom's nonexistent eyes narrowed for this line of thinking went down a few paths, either he was a prejudiced Slytherin/Gryffindor who only accepted those who were part of their agreeing faction, or he was a hopeful wanderer, wanting to find someone of the past of his own house to connect with.

"I am of the great and noble house of Slytherin, although, as I said, it has been quite some time since I've been to school, over 50 years in fact; I would assume times and people have changed since then."

Explicitly mentioning a time before the war could lull the boy into a sense of security, especially if the boy isn't from Slythe-

"I see; I'm in Gryffindor."

Well, that solved that, then.

"That's not a problem! I had a wonderful friend from Gryffindor. He was very loyal, especially when it mattered!"

"That is so cool! Would I know him? What's his name?"

"He is long before your time, don't worry, you certainly wouldn't have heard of him. But, I do think you might have heard of this fellow: do you know one Rubeus Hagrid?"

To be Harry Potter! What a life it must be! Surviving near-death experiences, discovering ancient and mysterious chambers, and battling werewolves! What stories! Many of them, however, happened supposedly before his time in Hogwarts, thus leading Tom to be highly skeptical of their veracity.

Collin wrote much of the darling of wizardkind, but he also wrote of some supposedly exceptional boy from the Weasley litter, who, Collin claimed, was the brains behind the dubbed "Golden Trio," consisting of both boys in question and a mudblood with top marks.

Collin had never been much of a star student himself, and Tom had helped him so much since they had first met with; schoolwork, classes, and some extracurricular spellwork as well that Collin wasn't too sure of their legality, but Tom had yet to lead him astray!

In the three months since he had picked up the mysterious diary, Tom had taught Collin so many amazing things, and as of late, these things had begun to move towards a very rune-focused workload, which Collin was, in all honestly, entirely lost in.

Tom could obsessively write for hours without breaking, and in the end, most of it would go over Collin's head, being so long and verbose that he was unable to read it all before the ink began to disappear. Try as he might, Collin just couldn't keep up with the verifiable genius of the boy in the book.

Taking a break from his notes and holding his aching wrist in his hand, Collin stared at the final sentence within the open diary, the only one that had not yet sunk back into the yellowed pages:

"Is this life enough for you, Collin?"

The words had appeared several days prior, and although Tom never directly referenced wanting to "help" Collin change, he often made minor remarks about how little self-respect Collin had or how obsessed he seemed to be with the "Potter celebrity."

Day in and day out, Collin had lived his new life as a wizard, cowering in the shadows of those around him. The school-no, the whole damned wizarding world was so scary. All these people and customs, creatures and magics, all supposedly acceptable and mundane, were highly dangerous and could explode and kill anyone at any moment! By contrast, the technological advances of the muggle world felt so secure and safe, and Collin could only desperately hope to return to them. Collin had planned to withdraw after that first year; if it hadn't been for Harry Potter.

Harry Potter, the boy who had lived in his world, the muggle one, had come out and fought the Dark Lord just as the parents he had never met did. That admission Collin had overheard that first year between Harry and his friends: "It was Voldemort Ron, he was there, and I killed him, I bloody killed him!" was the only thing that had brought Collin back. Knowing others were willing to fight to protect people like him from evil was all the knowledge Collin needed to determine to stay, and thank goodness he did; for it led him to find Tom and go on a journey from the near bottom of his class to the top five, even his parents (in their vague understanding) were quite impressed!

But back to Tom's question, was this enough? All he had was Tom. His days consisted of waking up, a brief good morning in the diary, breakfast, classes, lunch, classes again, studying, dinner, sleep, and repeat. This last year, as wonderful and fulfilling academically as it had been, had not scratched the itch that Collin had ever since enrolling in this school and throwing his whole muggle school life and friends away; why couldn't he make any friends?

Collin was friendly enough, he thought, and not anywhere near as ugly as some of the blokes in Slytherin. Was it the camera? It was the only thing his parents had purchased for him that wasn't on the Hogwarts checklist of required items, but if it meant making a connection or two, Collin could give it up.

Finally, after several more minutes of self-reflection, Collin turned to the only person he could, the person who may be the only magical friend he would ever have (hopefully not):

"What am I doing wrong?"

"Well now, Collin, to what are you referring? You're doing quite well in school, no?"

"That's not what I meant, and I think you know it."

"Now, now, Collin, no need for suspicion; I'm only jesting. But as for this 'loneliness' we have oft talked about, I have just the solution!"

Perking up, Collin shoved his notes to the floor and brought the diary to focus in front of him.

"I hope this isn't another joke."

"No, no, of course not! I know we have only just begun on runal topics, and I am also aware that this isn't your strongest area, but I think a ritual might just be what you need!"

Flabbergasted, Collin picked up his quill to instantly stop any such suggestion, but the entire page filled with a thick, inky black just before his own ink could touch the page, effectively blocking him from writing. This had never happened before.

Removing his quill nib from the page, it returned to its blank yellowed color before Tom began to write once more:

"Give me a moment to explain, Collin! A young lad such as yourself, with great academic prowess and interesting hobbies such as photography, as you explained to me, should certainly be swamped by choices for friends, so I've thought it over, and the way I see it, we have two options: we can attempt a 'Societas Fortuna' ritual, which is in essence just a ritual form of the Felix Fellices potion, but with a narrowed specificity towards finding a 'companion' as it is put, OR we can sit here, and I can attempt the much longer and more strenuous process of teaching you more advanced social skill from the confines of the pages of a book. The choice is yours."

"Is there no third option?"

"None that I've been able to surmise."

Kicking back his armchair, Collin could only stare up at the ceiling, wondering if even asking for help from a magical diary was the best idea.

"Oi Collin! Quiet it down over there, mate! Some of us are tryin' to sleep, yeah? Thanks!"

His miffed classmate startled Collin and caused him to lean farther back in the armchair, finally leaning it back far enough that it fell back with a resounding CRACK! Now, several roommates were waking, and the original one, who could only be Seamus, yelled, "DAMNNIT COLLIN COULD YOU GO TER SLEEP ONE NIGHT AT A NORMAL TIME?"

In that moment, Collin made up his mind.

The ritual was far more complicated than Collin could have ever anticipated. Several multilayered steps, and by Merlin, even blood! At a certain point, Collin was sure even the actual Felix Fellices potion would be easier to brew than the ritual was to prepare, two dozen rune glyphs, eight different tufts of hair, a drop of his blood, and for some weird reason, the root of a stillborn ent, which Collin had had to save up for four months of his parents fairly hefty allowance in order to buy.

Arranging the stone glyphs in the perfect pattern had taken an hour by themselves. Then the dozen or so lines of spoken spellcraft that had to be used to combine the hairs into a thin twine took several hours to get right, even with Tom's helpful phonetic spellings. Wrapping the string around the root and dripping his blood into the stone circle was by far the easiest part, followed, of course, only by a literal two entire pages more of spoken portions of the ritual; by the time Collin was confident he could get it right, the sun had begun to peek out through the trees at in the clearing of the Forbidden Forest Collin had been using.

Taking a preparatory deep breath, Collin began the recitation. The Latin and other unknown words slipped together as previously dormant magical energies in the air began to thrum and ripple through his skin, making him shiver.

As he reached the midway point and flipped the page, Collin noticed the entire clearing around him had been greatly disrupted; small pebbled and specks of dirt floated in a slow-shifting circle around his stone ritual area, and a stray crackle of power manifested a spiral crackle of sparks in and around the epicenter of him and his stones. It was becoming a storm.

Focusing back on the diary, Collin continued.

As he neared the final few lines, a feeling overtook him. A strange feeling, one he had not felt as a boy of his young age. Dread.

Endeavoring to stop, Collin attempted to close the diary but found his hands locked in place. He tried to close his mouth but found he was speaking against his own accord. His eyes were forced from line to line, following the ritual to its final destination.

Pops and sharp cracks could be heard around him as the floating debris now flew with a hurricane's might, slamming up against an invisible shield that encompassed Collin and the ritual site, as though Mother Magic herself wished for the ritual to be stopped.

The final words were spoken, and a magical force lifted Collin into the air, his body long beyond his control. Arching bolts of lighting streaked from each of the rune stones and into the boy, as the entire shield collapsed in an implosion of magical might, sucking in the rocks and dirt. A large dust cloud covered the area, and from its depths, only two glowing scarlet eyes shot through the opaque brown fog.

"Finally. I am home."

Ronald was violently awoken, the lingering presence that he had been ignoring in lieu of his studies now stronger and fiercer than ever.

Something has changed, but what?

Even as the uncontrolled magic was suddenly reigned in, dissipating from the entire atmosphere of the castle, Ron was left with a resounding tingling sensation. The force he had felt before was now holding an extremely tight leash, and with the potency of the magic that he had experienced for but a moment or two, the one wielding it was unbelievably skilled. Far more skilled, he hated to realize, than Ron himself.

Perhaps this is an opportunity for growth…

Shaking the dust from his hair, Collin-no, Tom-stood up to meet the world he had left several decades prior. As the cloud of dirt around him settled, he breathed in a deep breath, relishing the smell of the woods and its familiarity, flora, fauna, magics, and all. Finally, he was home.

It had taken considerably more time than he had anticipated siphoning magic off of the boy, at least for his core to be a comfortable enough size that a ritual such as this would not instantly destroy him.

Tom had considered merely sucking the boy to death, as vulgar as such an action sounds, but in doing so; he would obtain the body he had formerly been inhabiting, the one that the old goat was most familiar with. This could not happen.

Transferring souls was much more feasible then, as he could grow his horcrux's magical core and later combine it with the boy's while obtaining a new form that no one would suspect, that of a mudblood.

At first, Tom had been quite estranged from the idea of inhabiting someone of such low social and… familial standing. Still, he found now that the boy's magic was surprisingly compatible with that of his core, begging the possibility that his host may also be a long-lost descendant of Slytherin lineage.

How interesting…

Author's Note:

Sorry for the wait, folks; I had to go back and do a few corrections to lead the story in the direction I felt was more interesting (and less horrifically fraught with spelling mistakes). I decided to bring Tom into the fold as a pseudo-antagonist of sorts and somewhat reduce the dependency on Ronald as the sole character with any real plot, I hope it's to your liking. Anyway, hope to see you soon with more stories!