Those who have the ability to change things have a responsibility to do so, Tom told himself as he stood in the wings and straightened his robes. And I can change the world.
"Nervous?" Harry asked as he ran his hands over Tom's collar and smoothed it down. He leaned in and pressed a quick, soft kiss to Tom's lips and pulled away before anyone could say anything inappropriate was happening. The Wizengamot lords were worse than school children, always gossiping. They'd be quick to say that Harry was influencing his vote.
He opened his mouth to lie, but the words never came. Instead, the truth found its way to the surface much more easily. "A bit."
Harry's hand found his and he squeezed. "Don't be. You'll be brilliant. I know it."
Tom smiled.
Harry pulled away and walked up the stairs to take his seat.
Tom closed his eyes a moment, letting his thoughts fade away. They practiced what he would say in favor of the bill, and it was important to be honest. To wield that honesty as a weapon as sharp as a sword.
He watched from his alcove as the lords and ladies filtered in and took their seats. He spotted some familiar faces, Alexander among them.
The Minister opened, as usual. The old business was handled. And then…
"We have a speaker on behalf of the Muggleborn and Muggle-Raised Advocacy Bill. Without further ado."
The Minster held a hand out, motioning to Tom to take the podium. A hushed murmur of curiosity spread through the Wizengamot like wildfire, but Tom kept his eyes ahead. He wouldn't meet their eyes yet, not when he'd risk losing his nerve.
"Noble Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot, my name is Tom Marvolo Riddle," Tom started, ignoring the way his stomach twisted with all the eyes upon him. He felt Dumbledore's prodding gaze and shoved the attempt at Legilimency aside."Some of you may know me. I met many of you during the Yule Balls and Professor Slughorn's parties when I was in school with your children."
He took a breath. Don't let them see how this bothers you to admit this.
"I was born in a Muggle orphanage in London's East End. And for the next eleven years, I stayed there with no knowledge of the Wizarding world."
A murmur rolled through the crowd like waves. He set them aside in his mind and continued, keeping his eyes on Harry.
"I often had outbursts of accidental magic. 'Freakish incidents', the matron used to call them. When I was six, she ordered an exorcism for me for the first time. It was not the last."
If his previous words had upset them, this was so much worse. They all had some vague concept of what an exorcism was, from history books and because there was something similar used on ghosts as a last resort. It was a horrible, inhumane practice, not unlike what he went through as a child. Perhaps it was little wonder there was something so broken inside of him. He was vaguely aware of the horror on Alexander's face, of the way Harry seemed to reach for him.
"I learned to control these freakish incidents, but it didn't matter in the long run. I had already been named a demon child by the matron."
The whispers rose again.
"Upon receiving my Hogwarts letter, I was visited by Albus Dumbledore, who promptly set my wardrobe on fire. I had stolen some personal objects from the other children in an attempt to keep them from retaliating." He glanced down for a moment, forcing his hands to unclench. Anger wouldn't be useful. It was best to stuff it away in a box for now. "Being Muggle-raised in Slytherin was difficult. It was like travelling to a new country with no knowledge of the culture. And then the war started."
The room was silent. Entranced. All eyes were fixed on him. Dumbledore's eyes burned though, barely concealed fury.
Harry had told him he needed to be specific when he spoke of the incident when he received his letter. 'The press will eat it up,' Harry had said, 'and then they'll turn on Dumbledore. You'll see. He's not the hero he pretends to be.'
"Many of you may not have heard, but London was bombed during the war. The Blitz. When the air raid sirens went off, we would all crowd into the nearest shelter and wait for it to be over. I used to go to sleep and wonder if I would even hear the sirens. Most days, I wasn't sure if I would live long enough to see the next morning."
He never voiced these concerns aloud. What good would it have done? He had been terrified and he had done terrible things to ensure he would live.
He waited until they grew quiet again. It took longer than he expected. After all, most of the Purebloods had no concept of the Blitz. Even the Halfbloods among the crowd were mostly Wixen-raised. Muggleborns did not inherit heredity seats, so the only Muggleborns in the crowd were undersecretaries and other staff. Of those, Tom knew most of them had not been raised in London during that horrid time. They had no concept of how bad it was. And he had managed to mostly miss the worst of it by being at school, thankfully.
"And I was not the only student at Hogwarts living in similar conditions. Not all of them were Muggleborn. Some had only one Muggle parent, and yet, they died like Muggles all the same. They have become a statistic in the grand scheme of the war."
That was the straw that broke the audience. Tom fought to keep the smirk from his face. Harry's grin was sharp, eyes flashing dangerously down to him.
He bowed his head and stepped down, walking purposefully to his seat. It was what would assure their success, according to Harry. Lord Slytherin, the first Lord Slytherin in centuries to sit in the Wizengamot, raised as a Muggle. Nearly killed in a Muggle War.
He looked at Harry and allowed himself to smile.
"I didn't know it was that bad," Alexander said softly as the sitting ended. "I knew things weren't great, but I didn't know…"
Tom clenched his jaw. "I didn't want anyone to know."
"And yet you told everyone today?"
"It was my idea, I'm afraid," Harry said as he stepped up to them. "You were brilliant, love. Dumbledore nearly had an aneurysm when you named him."
"You'll have to show me the memory."
Alexander tilted his head. "I never knew that Dumbledore was the one who gave you your letter."
There was a calculating look in his eyes.
"I found that bit of information fascinating as well, Mr. Riddle."
Tom turned, meeting the eyes of Lord Longbottom.
"Or should I say, Lord Slytherin?" Lord Longbottom asked with a raised brow. "Students are usually quite close with the teacher who delivers their letter. With that kind of introduction into the Wizarding World, it's a wonder that you're here with us today."
Tom smiled humbly, making sure to soften his stance and dip his head slightly. "I'm not here for me today, Lord Longbottom. Such a bill does me no good now. It's the children that'll benefit from this."
Those Gryffindor pursuers of justice sure liked a hero. Someone selfless and doing things for someone other than themselves. Tom was more than willing to paint himself as someone who was a bit naive and idealistic if it turned the Moderates to their side. The Progressives loved a hero-type too. He might persuade one or two with such an act.
If they didn't share a bond, he wasn't sure he would have picked up on the amusement from Harry.
"The Muggleborns and Muggle-raised for now," Lord Longbottom agreed.
"Yes, but I'm sure our society as a whole will benefit from this. The more Muggleborns that feel comfortable in the Wizarding World, the more likely they are to stay after Hogwarts."
"And that means fresh blood introduced to the bloodlines," Alexander said. It was almost comical to watch Lord Longbottom flinch. "Half-bloods are traditionally much more powerful than Purebloods or Muggleborns. Mr. Dumbledore, for example, is quite well-known as being magically powerful."
"But fresh blood also means fewer squibs."
It took everything in him not to flinch from Abraxas' voice.
He had listened to him. And wasn't that a strange thought. Abraxas had actually listened to Tom's thoughts on blood purity.
"There's very little proof that Half-bloods are more powerful than Purebloods," Lord McMillian, a Progressive, argued.
Harry turned and Tom was surprised that his fangs hadn't dropped. He could feel the way magic stilled around Harry, draining it from the air so that it crackled under his skin. From the way the others shifted, they felt something too, even if they couldn't put a name on what it was.
"Are you sure about that, Lord McMillian?" His voice was like ice and Tom fought back a smile at how sharp the words snapped.
"I'm surprised to hear you, of all people, sprouting blood purity," Lord Malfoy said as he approached. His hand went to Abraxas' shoulder and his son straightened.
McMillian sputtered and Tom wasn't surprised when he made his excuses and left.
And then, Lord Malfoy fixed his gaze on Tom.
"I supposed Professor Slughorn was right about you." He stared at Tom in a way he often had, trying to make him feel smaller. It hadn't worked, not outwardly anyway, but Tom had hated him. "Congratulations on your seat, Lord Slytherin. I hope we will see great things from you."
"Thank you, sir."
Lord Malfoy inclined his head. "If you will excuse me."
Lord Malfoy would be a powerful political ally. Tom couldn't wait to see him grovel after years of making Tom feel like he was lower than the dirt beneath his feet.
He eyed Abraxas. Some day, he would take his father's place as lord. As angry as he had been, it was better to make peace now than allow such tensions to continue between them. It was time for Abraxas to learn his place once more.
"Tom."
Tom stiffened, and he saw Harry straighten across from him. Tom turned, hating how he felt eleven years old again. Dumbledore's gaze was heavy, full of judgement, and, more than anything, Tom wished for him to suffer. It was on Dumbledore's word that Dippet always sent him back in the summers. It was Dumbledore who saw a child in an orphanage, concerned that the man was a doctor come to take him away to an asylum than believing him about magic, and did nothing.
Lord Longbottom was right. It was only sheer stubbornness that kept Tom from leaving the Wizarding World after graduation. He didn't want Dumbledore to win, and his desire to spite the man was such that he would have gladly burnt the world down in order to take his revenge.
How dare Dumbledore act high and mighty after everything he had done to him? To Harry as well. If Harry could forgive Tom, the would-be murderer of his parents, but not Dumbledore, it said something about the man himself.
"Your speech was quite interesting." The last word was said more like a curse than a compliment. "I'm not sure why you felt the need to exaggerate so thoroughly though. As you yourself pointed out, I had been to the orphanage you grew up in and the conditions weren't anywhere near as bad as you made them seem."
His voice held a deep disappointment, the likes of which made Tom's stomach twist uncomfortably. He hated, even more than he hated the man, that some part of him still craved his approval.
"Are you trying to further the hatred towards Muggles?" He stared over his half-moon glasses with that look Tom had become well-acquainted with during school. Thou art weighed in the balances, and art found wanting.
For a second, he forgot how to breathe. Control his magic or control his breath, but he wasn't sure he could do both.
Lock it in a box and shove it away, he thought desperately. Don't let him see how it affects you.
And then, he felt the gentle tap to his mental shields from Alexander, grounding him. Harry's fingers brushed against his and he resisted the urge to reach out. He wanted to, but he refused to show weakness to Dumbledore of all people.
"The Muggles aren't the helpless creatures you make them out to be, Mr. Dumbledore."
Dumbledore straightened, looking away from Tom to glare at Harry.
"Hadrian—"
"That's Lord Peverell, to you, Mr. Dumbledore." Harry cocked his head. "You were not my teacher and I do not give you permission to address me so informally."
Dumbledore shook his head. "Must we stand on such antiquated practices, my boy?"
"Professor," Abraxas said in his usual charming manner for addressing politicians, "Lord Peverell asked you to address him by his title. It's only proper courtesy to do so."
Dumbledore's face did funny things. Perhaps Dumbledore thought talking them out of this was going to be easy.
"As I was saying," Harry said smoothly. "The Muggles are hardly defenseless. Like anyone else, they have the capacity for great cruelty, as well as great kindness. But treating them as if they are all innocents who need to be coddled does them a great disservice."
Dumbledore looked like he swallowed a lemon whole. Good.
"I suggest you do more research on the subject before you behave as if they don't know any better."
"I'll take your words into consideration, Lord Peverell." He looked like he was in pain trying to say the words and Tom fought back a laugh. Without another word, Dumbledore turned and strode away.
"What was that about?" Abraxas asked, eyes wide. He looked between Harry and Tom.
Alexander turned to Harry and studied him appraisingly. "You seem to have a grudge against Dumbledore."
"I don't really like that he got away with murdering an innocent girl." Harry shrugged. "Also, taking out his relationship issues on Tom was not right."
Alexander blinked. "Relationship issues?"
"Oh yeah. Dumbledore and Grindelwald were lovers way back. The whole 'greater good' bit was Dumbledore's doing."
"Who did Dumbledore murder?" Abraxas asked, his face paling more and more by the second. He looked only moments away from collapsing on the floor.
Harry stared at Abraxas like he forgot that the Malfoy heir was there. It was strange to see how he looked through him rather than at him, and Tom briefly recalled Harry speaking of his friendship with Draco. Did he see his friend where the grandfather now stood?
"His sister, Ariana."
Alexander and Abraxas stared. Harry stated the fact so casually that for a moment that Tom forgot they were still in the middle of the Wizengamots. Not until he saw that the people beside them had grown quiet, leaning closer to listen. Harry continued talking, just quiet enough to give the appearance of pretending to be private about it. But if he truly didn't want people to know, he wouldn't be talking about it here. As it was, everyone would know by the end of the week.
It. was easy to forget that Harry had grown up as a public figure in his time. It made sense that he would learn how to work the system.
"He, his brother, and Grindelwald fought about Dumbledore staying to care for Ariana." Harry shook his head sadly. "It didn't fit in his plans to stay, so he killed her. Of course, then the Aurors had questions and it was easier to pin everything on Grindelwald, who disappeared."
Abraxas' eyes darted quickly to the side, to the lords and ladies doing a terrible job of pretending not to listen. "How do you know?"
Harry smiled mysteriously. "I have my sources."
Most of those people would assume it was Ariana herself that told him, considering the rumors that had circulated. Tom was willing to bet that wasn't actually how he knew. Perhaps Dumbledore in the future had confessed to him. Maybe Grindelwald told him.
Tom wouldn't be surprised to find Harry talking to ghosts. Most people would think it was madness, but Tom knew better than that.
For a crowd of politicians, they did an awful job pretending that they hadn't been listening. When their group turned to head towards the floos, the others scattered in such an obvious way that even a Gryffindor would have noticed.