Part III
8th September, 1945
Tom descended the marble staircase at ten o'clock at night, stealthily, not wanting to be caught wandering the castle at such a late hour. It would be highly compromising for both him and Albus. It was the ninth night since that fateful September eleventh that he had been sneaking into Hogwarts and joining Albus at his place.
Tom hadn't anticipated them being intimate on each of his visits, and it had somewhat unnerved him at first. He didn't know what word to put on the relationship they had. He always had the desire to meet him again, which was why he acquiesced to each of his former teacher's requests. Tom greatly enjoyed talking with Dumbledore; his vast knowledge astounded him every time they broached a subject together. It was extremely pleasant to converse with him, given how his audacious knowledge flowed freely now that they were close.
What troubled him a bit more was that invariably, Albus would be the one to initiate, and their discussions always ended up in the wizard's bed. Tom didn't know what to make of it. He couldn't affirm that he enjoyed these encounters with his former teacher because it remained somewhat unpleasant to him. The pain didn't diminish even though they had made love a small handful of times by now. Tom much preferred being on top, but that was without considering Dumbledore, who often managed to persuade him to submit. In essence, Tom didn't despise finding himself beneath Albus, but it didn't particularly please him either.
He was reassured that he didn't feel disgust at being pressed up against a sweaty, ailing body; these sensations had even become somewhat pleasant against all odds. Tom had never imagined he could enjoy sex with anyone. He had never gone beyond receiving fellatio from less inhibited girls in his Slytherin dormitory. In truth, Tom had never found it particularly useful. He rarely touched himself either because the relationship he had with his body prevented him from deriving much pleasure from those caresses. He didn't appreciate the lines of his body. Tom was aware that he was very appealing, but that wasn't what he wanted. His physique didn't reflect his power, and it greatly annoyed him.
When Albus laid his hands on his body, on the other hand, he experienced a variety of sensations, both unpleasant and captivating. He sometimes liked his own body during these intimate contacts. Over the course of their conversations, Tom had gained the courage to ask for certain caresses and had literally exploded with pleasure as a result of these touches. Sleeping with Albus was in many ways something Tom enjoyed, even if he would prefer it not to happen every time he came to see the man. It seemed so natural for Dumbledore that Tom let it happen without a word, trying to engage as much as possible. He felt that Albus particularly enjoyed these moments and that it helped him forget that he would soon die. Tom, for his part, relished drowning in an aura as powerful as Dumbledore's and managed to find some interest in these repeated dalliances.
During these privileged moments, Albus's eyes became as bright and radiant with well-being as they had before, back when Grindelwald's ghost didn't darken his gaze, causing pain and weakness in the process. Tom had stopped trying to talk about a possible solution with Albus because the few times he had broached the subject, the professor had immediately shut down, becoming taciturn and irritated. Tom didn't really want to bother his mentor; that's why he didn't insist anymore.
In a sense, it suited the orphan because he had nothing to gain by explaining what he intended to do. He refused to let Dumbledore know about the Horcruxes, especially when he caught Albus looking at him thoughtfully. Tom wasn't stupid; he knew that his aura had been intrinsically altered because of the Horcrux and that a wizard as powerful as Dumbledore could easily sense it.
Tom had decided to act. He could no longer wait a few more weeks. The problem wasn't that Dumbledore was on the brink of death, but the virus had the disturbing ability to kill without warning signs. Dumbledore could die the next day or in ten weeks. No one could predict that, and Tom didn't really want to experience the sensation of waking up next to a cold body.
In that case, it was just as well to kill the professor with his own hands. Being a spectator to such a malignant and inexorable death made him sick with fear. Consequently, he had studied the chapter on Horcruxes in his grimoire more deeply and secretly crossed his fingers that what he was about to do would work correctly. He was relatively sure of what he was doing, but it was the first time in his life that he was taking such a big risk. The only thing that really reassured him was that two Horcruxes already guaranteed his life, whatever might happen.
Tom passed through the gates of Hogwarts and hurried to reach the village of Hogsmeade so he could Apparate. The chill of the night air did little to dampen his growing excitement; if anything, it heightened it. Unlike the anticipation he shared with Albus, this sensation was infinitely more captivating. It swept over him like a tidal wave, engulfing him in pure ecstasy. He yearned to feel the surge of power coursing through his veins, igniting his senses. With each step, the orchestration of his destiny unfolded before him, promising a kaleidoscope of vibrant possibilities on the horizon. With a bit of luck, what he was about to do would not compromise his future in any way, but he had to act cautiously for that. He couldn't afford to neglect anything now.
Tom Apparated once he reached the borders of Hogwarts and found himself in the middle of a clearing still shrouded in darkness. Eagerness radiated from Tom's face. He could see not far from him the Gaunt house, its chimney belching clouds of black smoke. A glance through the windows reassured him that Morfin was still there, ensnared by the Imperius Curse. He slept blissfully.
The orphan chuckled and whispered a "Lumos" into the dark night. He knew where the Riddle house was located. It was just a matter of finding the largest house in the village. It was an old Manor that was not devoid of a certain style. If there was one thing that Tom could bear about being the child of a Muggle, it was that his father was not the lowest of the low.
He strode along the path to the Manor, making sure he had the Gaunt ring in his possession. The building was covered in ivy and had been built on a hill overlooking the small village of Little Hangleton. The smell of damp dead leaves wafted in the air and filled Tom with a soothing sense of well-being. On the Manor door, a small leaden cherub painted black waited to be struck against the wood, but Tom seized his wand with an arrogant smile.
Impatience and doubt mingled in his mind, but nothing was stronger than the firm decision to annihilate every little piece that could remind him of his childhood in the orphanage and his origins. He couldn't start anything as long as the last members of his paternal family were alive. It was paramount to him that his father and grandparents disappeared from the face of the earth so that the secret of his birth would never be revealed.
"Alohomora!" he pronounced, haste making his voice quiver.
He stealthily entered the house as silently as a snake slithering on the ground. Some lights twinkled in the house and especially in the living room, a room he could see through the corridor that zigzagged to a slightly open door. He heard voices speaking in a haughty and distinguished manner:
"But I assure you, father. It's obvious that Elinor will agree to accompany me, I don't see how it could be otherwise…"
"Do as you see fit, Tom, but this time, rein in your wife a bit, she can be…"
Tom stepped into the dimly lit entrance hall, where only a few beams of light gently kissed the glass of a clock hanging on the wall and the various copper objects scattered throughout the room. The carpet beneath his feet muffled his steps. The bourgeois-sounding Tom in question was his birth father. The second man was undoubtedly his grandfather; his voice was deeper and more assertive. Tom wasn't surprised to learn that his father was married - likely to a Muggle, given the aversion he held toward magic. "What a dimwit," thought Tom, gritting his teeth.
He ventured into the dimly lit hallway, adorned with a few strategically placed paintings and a small wooden table against the wall, on which lay the petals of a gorgeously arranged bouquet of flowers. His wand provided some illumination as he approached the slightly ajar door of the living room. With his perfect vision, he could clearly make out a middle-aged woman seated on the sofa by the fireplace, absentmindedly fiddling with her pearl necklace, her gaze lost in the flames of the hearth, oblivious to the conversation between the two men. There was no one else in the room, and Tom was pleased with that.
He needed only these three people. The churning in his belly intensified as his wand pushed open the door. A creak sounded, but the two men didn't startle. They turned slowly toward the intruder, and it was only then that surprise painted their faces.
"Who are you?" Mr. Riddle asked, his tone severe.
The woman also turned her head and stood up quickly, one hand on her heart, as Tom Riddle Junior advanced. It was at that moment that they recognized him. It wasn't hard to notice the striking resemblance between the newcomer and the man standing in the middle of the room. They were nearly identical, except that the stranger was much younger and seemed to be fuelled by obscure intentions.
"Here's the little family finally reunited," Tom whispered, his voice dripping with hatred.
"What are you doing here? Why aren't you with your wretched mother?" spat Tom's father, approaching briskly, yet keeping a vigilant eye on the wooden stick the stranger wielded.
"She's been dead for nearly nineteen years," the orphan replied.
"Get out of this house immediately," ordered the patriarch, his voice hoarse.
"I won't linger, but you will listen to me carefully. You are well aware that I'm a wizard, which is why you rejected Merope Gaunt."
At this, both men recoiled immediately. The woman was already pressed against the opposite wall, unmoving, her eye fixed on Tom. The orphan's father had paled, undoubtedly recalling the potions he had been forced to ingest because of Merope.
"You will sit on the floor and form a triangle, right now," demanded Tom, casting a few spells to persuade them to comply.
They quickly sat in the middle of the room, exchanging fearful glances. Tom bound them with a spell and sewed their lips shut, so they couldn't utter a word. They moaned in pain, and as the quick spell tortured their lips, tears of agony streamed down their pallid cheeks.
"Perfect," murmured Tom, before placing the Ring that had once belonged to Salazar Slytherin in the middle of the triangle formed by the Riddle family.
He took the shrunken tome from his pocket and enlarged it hastily. He laid the book on the floor and opened it to the desired page. The formula for the horcruxes was imprinted in his memory, but to perform what he was about to do, he needed to add a few formulas after the first one. He had memorised them, but not entirely confident, he had brought the book. He didn't want to die like the creator of the curse.
The sacrifice of the horcrux was simple. To allow someone to live at the expense of the horcrux without that person having to pour their soul into the object, the horcrux creator had to make a sacrifice. Certainly the greatest there is. According to the book, the Horcrux Receptacles had to be three in number and possess the same blood as the creator. Usually, Tom didn't need several people to create a horcrux, and anyone could do. He had used Hepzibah Smith as a Receptacle for Helga Hufflepuff's Cup and Moaning Myrtle for the Diary.
Tom had no qualms about killing three members of his own family; he would have done it regardless of the consequences. However, he was terrified to know that the Gaunt Ring would now ensure his and Albus Dumbledore's lives. It was indeed Dumbledore's life he wanted to save. As long as the Gaunt Ring remained intact, Dumbledore would stay alive. In other words, Tom could never get rid of Albus because to do so, he would have to destroy his own horcrux, which would significantly weaken him.
Tom was more than determined to create more horcruxes to ensure he wouldn't die even if he decided to finish off Dumbledore. The teenager was also far from naive; Dumbledore was one of the few people who knew his past and could jeopardise his future. Yet, he was already starting to utter the desired formula, his wand raised toward the three trembling individuals.
The Ring quivered on the floor. Tom uttered the Killing Curse, and the last descendants of the Riddles died instantly. But he didn't stop his incantation; he continued to chant words from another time, keeping his eye fixed on the Grimoire. He was beginning the second phase of the Curse and didn't want to make a mistake. Armed with his wand, he finally pointed at the Ring and whispered his and Albus's name in one breath.
He felt a terrible cold engulf him, and his body seemed to split as he distinctly felt a part of him leaving to join the Ring that had once been Slytherin's. Tom murmured the last words of the incantation and collapsed to the floor. The Horcrux Curse was nothing extraordinary to an outside observer, but the emotions he felt were so intense that they left him panting with fatigue and excitement simultaneously.
However, the Avada Kedavra was far less enjoyable this time than the last times. The exhaustion caused by creating the horcrux completely drained him of any desire. He wanted nothing more than to fall asleep. Yet, he had to get up; he couldn't afford to stay here. He delicately retrieved the Ring and placed it on his finger. Trembling, he began to walk out of the living room and the house. He was determined to visit Morfin Gaunt to reinforce the Imperius Curse and accomplish some other mischief.
It was almost midnight, and he couldn't take it anymore. He absolutely had to go home. Tom struggled mightily to enter the Gaunt house and cast the Imperius Curse. Morfin was still asleep, and Tom was relieved. In his state, he might not even have been able to fight him, although it would have been surprising since Morfin was still under his control.
In his mind, Tom convinced his uncle to confess to the murders of the Riddles. He created false thoughts in which Morfin meticulously slaughtered the Riddle family so that the Aurors who would deal with his case wouldn't suspect a thing. The orphan had no desire for the Aurors to pursue him for what he had just committed. On the verge of passing out, Tom finally managed to Apparate to the Leaky Cauldron. He crawled to his bed, clutching the walls and floors.
This time, sleep took him the very second he closed his eyes.
XxXxXxX
Tom felt beaten by the icy wind, as if the Earth's coldest chill slid over him like a fierce gust of air. The breath encountered no resistance; his body was so weak that it didn't halt the wind's course. He didn't have the strength to open his eyes, even though his right fist clenched tightly around the Gaunt Ring, which still felt warm against his skin. Comforted by the thought that it was still there, he drifted back to sleep, although the pain remained just as sharp and acute. He wasn't accustomed to feeling such emptiness within him. He had strange dreams in which he saw himself as transparent as air, floating above Hogwarts. Insubstantial, lifeless, and soulless. When his hands tried to touch his body, they encountered a gaping hole where his chest should be. He had never felt such fear as he imagined himself disappearing entirely as the hole widened, expanded, and eventually burned every inch of his skin.
Vulnerable and weak. As useless as a Muggle. To become nothing and have no memories. This idea horrified Tom, filling him with uncontrollable terror and plunging his eyes into horror.
Groaning weakly in his sleep, Tom continued to toss and turn, his fist clenched and his eyelids tightly shut. He found no rest that night or the following day; his body and mind were too weak to pull him out of the sleep that was in no way restorative. It wasn't until the evening of that day that he was able to clear his head somewhat. He opened his eyes slightly and saw shimmering reflections on the walls of the white-washed room. Lethargic, he couldn't open his eyes further to understand what lights had managed to infiltrate his room.
A deep sigh passed through his body, and he felt the weight of a blanket gently settle over him. Soon, a comforting warmth enveloped him, bringing a pleasant sensation. A hand caressed his moist face, then the springs of his bed creaked as a body slipped under the covers beside him. Tom furrowed his brows slightly and gathered all his strength to open his eyes, but the airy caresses on his skin overcame his curiosity. He fell asleep and once again entered the world of dreams. The cold then flooded his body again, erasing the faint traces of warmth he had felt.
He shivered for hours before he could fully wake up. The pain was now much less intense. A soft light brightened the room through the cracked shutters. He sat up in bed, trying to shake off any trace of weakness within him. It was unsuccessful. The horcrux he had created was decidedly much harder to bear than the previous ones.
A rustling of fabric was heard in the corner of the room, and Tom immediately turned to the silhouette sitting on a chair.
"Ah… Finally awake," murmured the silhouette in a dull voice.
"Albus?" Tom exclaimed, while at the same time, the fingers of his left hand went to rub the stone of the Gaunt Ring.
"You've slept an uncountable number of hours. I've been very worried."
"Oh... Um, sorry," replied Tom, unsure of what else to say.
He rubbed his eyes and sighed. He swung his legs over the covers and noticed that he had been undressed. He turned to Albus with an irritated expression.
"Did you undress me?" he asked.
"It's more comfortable this way, isn't it?" Dumbledore responded, without a smile on his lips.
"What are you doing here?" Tom asked.
"We were supposed to meet last night," the professor simply replied.
"Ah... Yes, right. Is it just me, or are you angry?" Tom inquired.
"It's not yet time for that discussion. You should eat something," Dumbledore calmly advised.
Tom spotted the hearty meal that Dumbledore had just conjured on one side of the bed. The man rose from the chair, fixing the young man with a penetrating gaze devoid of malice. It was detectable in that gaze that worry had been fully present for hours, but now barely concealed anger covered it all.
"I'm not hungry, and it wasn't necessary for you to stay here. I can manage on my own," Tom asserted, trying not to look at the plate. He suddenly felt nauseous.
"Listen, Tom, I know what you did..." Albus finally let it out, unable to hold back any longer.
"What do you mean?" Tom gasped, tensing suddenly.
"I'm not a fool, and I saw how you were last night. If I hadn't been here, I'm not sure you would have woken up this morning," Albus explained sternly.
"Don't exaggerate, and I don't need you," Tom retorted.
"It's pointless to say that I'm extremely disappointed," Albus continued, ignoring the teenager's biting remark.
"So... What are you going to do? Send me to the Aurors?" Tom exclaimed sarcastically, gripping the Gaunt Ring tighter in his fist.
Albus Dumbledore sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. He noticed the icy gaze of his former student, and it saddened him immediately. The warmth that had been so present in recent days had disappeared. The orphan's gaze had returned as dark and haunted as before.
"It's not like you killed anyone..." Albus whispered, taking the young man's right hand.
Tom looked at him uncertainly, furrowing his brows slightly. Professor Dumbledore couldn't ignore the fact that killing was necessary to create a horcrux. What did he exactly know? He saw a strange expression pass over Dumbledore's face as his gaze brushed over the Ring, but it seemed more curious than repulsed – besides, Tom was convinced that Dumbledore, upon laying eyes on a horcrux, would only feel disgust.
"Dark Magic is not a game, Tom. The consequences of this magic can be devastating. That's why it's extremely restricted in Britain, but you should know that with all the Defence Against the Dark Arts classes you've had..." Dumbledore said.
"I know, but what makes you think I've practiced dark arts?" Tom hastily responded.
"Your condition last night reminded me of someone else," Albus said, looking away.
Tom nodded, feeling a pang of jealousy. Albus was once again referring to Gellert Grindelwald. He didn't dare admit it to himself, but occasionally Tom felt like his former teacher mistook him for that pathetic dark wizard. The passion that overwhelmed him every time they made love was sometimes so suffocating that he felt like it wasn't meant for him, as if Dumbledore wanted to fuck a ghost, a memory. Grindelwald must have played with dark magic from time to time, and Tom could easily imagine Dumbledore taking care of him. The thought sent shivers down his spine.
"I know you've practiced dark magic, but I'd like to know why..." Albus confessed, squeezing the orphan's hand tighter.
"You don't know?!" Tom exclaimed.
"How would I? " Albus replied, looking at the boy with even more intensity.
"Usually, you're always the first to know what's going on. I sometimes feel like you know everything," Tom remarked.
Dumbledore smiled weakly and released Tom's hand without abruptness but with a slight awkwardness.
"You must tell me what you've done and why," the professor insisted seriously.
"I just wanted to enchant an object, ensure protection... Well, ensure our protection," Tom replied hesitantly. "I... I think it worked."
"What are you talking about?" Dumbledore asked, stepping back a bit.
"I think you don't have to worry about the Curse of Hel anymore," Tom confided, smiling secretly.
"Toothache, drastic measures. I responded to dark magic with dark magic. Grindelwald probably didn't study traditional dark magic well enough; it has its advantages too even if it's more classical," assured Tom, his eyes gleaming.
Albus rose, fixing Tom with a certain scepticism. He remained silent for several minutes as he examined his former student's satisfied expression.
"Say his name," Dumbledore ordered in a low voice.
Tom sighed, rolled his eyes, but eventually relented after about thirty seconds.
"Gellert Grindelwald," he uttered as coldly as possible.
Albus stood, his gaze steady, ready for any pain, but nothing happened. He examined his body as if an injury might have appeared, but there was nothing at all. He looked up at the adolescent, bewildered.
"You managed to eradicate the kveikja kroppur," he murmured, seeming incredulous at the thought.
"Apparently," replied Tom, smiling faintly.
He lay back on the bed, suddenly overwhelmed by a new wave of fatigue. If the virus had still been present, the mere mention of Grindelwald should have triggered a surge of pain in Albus's body. Tom had taken great risks, but he had achieved his goal. Dumbledore would be as immortal as him from now on.
"What exactly did you do, Tom?" asked Albus, still stunned by the discovery he had just made.
"Nothing more than saving your life," Tom promised, sighing.
A moment passed.
"But why?" whispered the professor, watching the adolescent with a new eye, both surprised and bewildered.
Tom lowered his head and settled more comfortably on his bed. Albus did not take his eyes off him, but he knew the orphan would not answer him. He continued to contemplate his young lover's profile thoughtfully, wondering what could have gone through his mind. Tom, for his part, did not want to ask himself that question again; now that it was done, it was impossible to go back. Inevitably, a dull and threatening anxiety returned to haunt him nonetheless. Certainly, he had just saved Professor Dumbledore, but was it a good thing? Hadn't he just made the biggest mistake of his life? He had no idea, but as he felt his mentor's body draw closer to him and heard his voice murmuring things of which he absorbed only every other word, he knew that for now, it was the best decision he had made in his life.
"What have you done?"
XxXxXxX
The weeks that followed were divided between clear skies and torrential rains. The relationship between the two men became increasingly less peaceful as the days went by. Tom still visited Hogwarts very regularly and spent many nights in Albus's company, but the discussions they exchanged were no longer educational or enjoyable. Albus had fully regained his powers now, and they continued to grow as they always had until he had fallen victim to the Curse of Hel.
It was much more difficult to deceive the professor now. Tom was constantly on guard; any lapse, a single moment of carelessness, could destroy everything the young man was trying to accomplish. He wasn't sure where he stood. His professor's presence by his side appeared to him as both his greatest asset and his greatest threat. With each passing day, Tom felt the need to regain the well of power, knowledge, and strength that characterised his mentor's aura. Being in his company invariably filled him with great comfort and replenished his own powers. Since he could feed on this whole soul, nourished by blindly powerful white magic, he was paradoxically much more capable of practicing Dark Magic at will without exhaustion interrupting him.
Moreover, the professor's knowledge of many branches of traditional magic was an undeniable advantage for Tom. During his schooling, Albus had always been extremely reserved, not wishing to dwell on subjects that could be controversial. Now, the professor needed no coaxing. Tom realised that Albus knew much more than people thought; he was a living library. He knew things that even books didn't mention. The professor had created many very useful spells that appeared nowhere and had never been recorded. Albus didn't want to present his inventions; a perfectionist to the core, he waited until his spells were precisely perfected.
Where Tom was undoubtedly brighter than Albus was in potions. This was the only area where Albus did not seem to take real pleasure. His universe mainly consisted of transfigurations and spells. He wasn't bad at potions, but only repeated practice allowed him to properly develop these magical brews, although it was a logical and natural science for the young wizard.
Tom's other area of expertise was, of course, the Dark Arts, a branch of magic as dark as it was delightful. Albus didn't want to hear about it, especially since he had learned that Tom regularly practiced Dark Magic. Before that, he sometimes allowed himself to talk about it - he knew a lot about Dark Magic because of Grindelwald - when they found themselves in his quarters. He had always known that Tom had a slight inclination towards Dark Magic, but he was now surely aware that it was not just a passing temptation. Tom had already succumbed, and Albus did not want to encourage him in that direction, far from it.
He kept an eye on what Tom was doing, who he was talking to. It was absolutely not like the professor to spy on someone like this, but he was certain that the young man was not telling him everything. Tom had closed his Occlumency barriers for several weeks now, and despite all the power of the professor in Legilimancy, he could not enter his thoughts. He had realised from their very first meeting that Tom was a talented wizard, but now he knew that his former student was more than that: he was simply a genius. He sometimes had a little reluctance to admit it, but Tom was much more gifted than he was at his age, and yet at eighteen, he boasted of being the best wizard in his circle. Albus was not unaware that he had quite a few very enviable powers and that few wizards could match him, modestly, of course.
However, Tom was one of those wizards who could compete with him, and deep down, the professor knew that the young man was dangerous. He didn't have a good nature. Strangely, Albus had always been attracted to unsavoury characters. Gellert Grindelwald was nothing like Tom. The former was always smiling, jovial, full of humour and enthusiasm, while the latter was withdrawn, dark, asocial, filled with hatred, and possessed a special humour closer to sarcasm than geniality. Yet where the two men resembled each other was in their boundless ambition, the intimate conviction that they were following the right path, and a very pronounced taste for the dark and ignored arts. They were also two geniuses who did not deny it and played with it at every opportunity.
Albus had been like this for a while, but he quickly mellowed. He had paid the price for his impudence and youthful folly; he knew the dangers of magic, whereas the two men were completely unaware of them. It must be said that both wizards had nothing to lose. Almost orphans themselves, detached from any parental presence, they had no other responsibility to bear than that of their own lives. At their age, Albus had a younger sister he had to take care of and a younger brother he had to watch over, not to mention his sick mother and absent father. He had to take on some responsibilities that the two men would never know.
All this made the professor somewhat taciturn and suspicious of Tom. It was obvious that Albus had absolutely no confidence in the teenager. He had always known that the orphan was not the disciplined and scrupulous young man that the Hogwarts professors liked to believe. He realised this every day since he had entered into this strange relationship with the young man.
He had begun some research to guess what Tom had done to save him from a destiny that seemed sealed. What magical act had he performed to destroy the Curse of Hel? He had only one clue from him: it involved traditional Dark Magic. With this, Albus had centuries to tirelessly scour. Throughout history, the Dark Arts had been profusely used.
He had noticed the even more abyssal darkness of Tom's soul. Dumbledore had the intuition that his former student had done something monstrous, but he couldn't blame him for it. Yet, he often trained himself to nurture bad feelings towards the young man, hoping that contempt and hatred would come naturally. However, there was nothing to be done. The only positive aspect was that Albus had ended up being extremely unpleasant with Tom. Not for the reasons that would otherwise be obvious, but simply because he couldn't bring himself to blame him.
He felt like he was much more attached than the young man was. The latter rarely sought his company - or so it seemed. Dumbledore, on the other hand, enjoyed these moments spent with the orphan a little too much. He was also somewhat touched that the young man had wanted to save him and had succeeded. Somewhere, Albus wasn't sure if he wanted to know the details of Tom's misdeed.
Nevertheless, Dumbledore no longer sought to be kind to the young man. He was all too aware that Tom was hiding a lot from him and was capable of great misdeeds. That was probably why the Transfiguration professor should certainly not have been surprised by what he discovered later.
In early November, Albus Dumbledore experienced the taste of betrayal even if he had no clear evidence of it. He had waited for Tom all evening, but the young man had never deigned to come. Around one in the morning, Albus decided to visit him. The latter still rented a room at the Leaky Cauldron even though these days he slept much more often at Hogwarts than at the pub.
He entered through the back door of the closed bar and ascended the stairs leading to Tom's room. A surge of unsettling memories flooded Albus's mind as he turned the doorknob. Inside, once again, he found his lover trembling and covered in sweat on his bed. It was the second time he had found him in such a deplorable state. The first time, Tom had almost died, but the professor had managed to keep him alive. At a glance, Albus recognized with certainty that this state was the result of a significant use of dark magic. Thankfully, Tom appeared to be in slightly better condition compared to the first instance. Albus reasoned that the young man must have been engaging in different activities this time. After all, the previous occurrence had been an act to save the professor's life, but now that he was out of danger, Tom likely had other pursuits. With a heavy sigh, Albus pondered what Tom could possibly be occupied with during his free time.
The professor approached the trembling figure and noticed that the young man was completely soaked. What he had initially taken for sweat was simply water. All his clothes were soaked with this liquid and dripping onto the bedspread. Fatigue was clearly evident on the young man's face. Albus slowly surveyed his lover's body, frowning. Several things were missing. Notably the Ring.
Albus clasped the orphan's hands once more, confirming the absence of the Resurrection Stone.
With another sigh, the professor settled on the bed, keeping a cautious distance from the drenched figure. He had immediately recognised the ring when he had the chance to examine it closely, yet he refrained from mentioning it to the young man. Albus was fairly certain that Tom was unaware of the true significance of the jewel he once wore on his finger.
Despite Dumbledore's repeated inquiries, Tom had always been evasive when questioned about the ring, never relinquishing it even for the briefest moment. His responses had been vague, often just muttering something about its beauty. Albus saw through the facade; he knew there was more to it than mere aesthetics. The ring held a special significance for the young wizard, prompting him to guard it so closely.
However, Albus knew that Tom had no magical culture. Moreover, he knew absolutely nothing about wizarding beliefs. Especially those shared with children. Proud and pretentious as Tom was, he didn't think it was important to know wizarding tales. For the young man, it was childish and only served to give slight notions of good or evil. During conversations with Tom, Albus swiftly discerned that any hint of Manichean thoughts in discussion tended to greatly irritate him.
Be that as it may, Dumbledore was convinced that Tom did not know The Tales of Beedle the Bard and even less the story of the Peverell brothers. He probably didn't know that the stone attached to the golden ring had once belonged to Cadmus Peverell and that it had the power to resurrect the dead.
Since he had recognised it on Tom's finger, Albus had been tempted countless times to snatch it, especially when the young man was sleeping, just to use its power once. He dreamed so much of seeing his family again. For years, he had been looking for this ring. Previously, he had shared this desire with Grindelwald, then the desire had become deaf and had ended up buried under a thick layer of denial.
Seeing Tom weakened like this on the bed in the room, Albus felt like he was reliving those moments with Gellert. Sometimes, he felt like history was repeating itself. His eyes remained fixed on the orphan's bare hands. He swallowed hard. He had a bit of trouble seeing this missing ring and almost regretted not seizing the opportunity to use it when he could. Guilt engulfed his body, and the professor sighed.
Tom seemed to hold onto the Ring at least as much as Dumbledore did, even though the latter didn't know exactly why. He didn't think Tom could have gotten rid of it. The fact that he had parted with it meant he had put it in a safe place so as not to lose it. Albus really couldn't imagine the teenager selling an object that seemed so dear to his heart.
The professor noticed shortly after that the locket he wore around his neck had also disappeared. Albus dried the Tom's body with a spell and added new blankets to the bed. He watched over the impertinent lawbreaker's bedside until morning. In his mind, a flurry of questions collided, leaving him disoriented. He struggled to grasp what the young man was scheming, yet his curiosity intensified more than ever, verging on a relentless force.
XxXxXxX
December 1945,
It had been a month since Tom had secured the Slytherin locket and the Gaunt ring. He had first turned the locket into his fourth Horcrux, disposing of a wretched Muggle vagrant he stumbled upon near the spot where he intended to hide the locket. It was a secluded aquatic cave in the south of England known only to him from his childhood, a place obscured from prying eyes except for the orphans who had been with him at the orphanage. He had stashed Hufflepuff's Cup in his Gringotts vault temporarily, awaiting a more secure location; his current vault was too close to the exit. He reasoned that once his worth was acknowledged, he would be entitled to nobler vaults like those guarded by the bank's dragon.
As for the Gaunt ring, it had been meticulously concealed amid the wreckage replacing the former Gaunt house. Indeed, when he had framed Morfin Gaunt in his place, a commotion erupted at the old Gaunt house as Aurors came to apprehend him, and amidst the flurry of spells, the entire hovel had been razed to the ground. Tom was unfazed by this; he operated on a cyclical logic, believing that the ring must return to where he had taken it. Now, it lay hidden in a golden box beneath the musty floorboards of the cabin, safeguarded by layers of enchantments.
He was proud of his accomplishment. With four Horcruxes in his possession, he was certain that the deed he had done to save Albus would not thwart his destiny. However, since the day he had created the fourth Horcrux, something strange was happening to him.
He felt like he was changing... He wasn't quite the same anymore. He sensed it in his thoughts and in how he perceived things. Yet, it was somewhat unsettling. Food no longer tasted the same to him, and few things interested him lately apart from the notion of amassing more power.
That's why Tom was pensive that evening as he made his way to Hogwarts Castle. He wasn't even sure why he continued to see the professor, except that the thought of not seeing him anymore was unbearable. However, the professor had become so uncompromising with him that their time together was no longer enjoyable.
Albus continued to see him despite the rampant criticisms and incessant questions. Tom was not one to back down from putting the man in his place, but these quarrels wearied and irritated him. What was even more concerning than their discord was Tom's casual indifference to it all, which seemed far more alarming, even to himself, than anything else.
"Do you even care about what I'm saying?" Albus questioned as the orphan had been at the professor's for ten minutes without uttering a word.
"Of course I do," Tom sighed, sinking into a chair.
Exhaustion frequently took Tom by surprise, too. In those instances, the only solace he found was in the comforting proximity of Professor Dumbledore. His aura emanated such potent white magic that it pacified Tom's weary and battered body. Deep down, Tom acknowledged that without the professor's inadvertent and unexpected assistance, he would have found it much harder to endure the division of his soul into four parts within such a brief span.
However, Dumbledore's presence was becoming less restful. Tom could sense the man's fear and irritability even when they lay side by side on the bed, bodies naked and pressed together. Even with closed eyes, Albus Dumbledore remained unyielding. Tom suspected that the man noticed all the changes in his lover's soul but refused to acknowledge them. He understood that his former professor might know more than he thought but chose to turn a blind eye to avoid facing the consequences Tom's actions. Albus Dumbledore did not wish to live through another story like the one with Gellert Grindelwald and preferred to pretend not to notice anything.
Nevertheless, Albus was too honest by nature, and this denial gnawed at him from the inside. It prevented him from sleeping and enjoying Tom's presence. He feared having to part ways with the young man, but revelling in the fact that he was still there was utterly impossible for him. Tom wondered where they were headed. Their relationship—strange as it may be—seemed to have no future. Tom let out a long sigh on the chair as he pondered this. He didn't want their relationship to fade away, but he saw no other end in sight.
He almost jumped when he felt a hand slide up his neck so gently that Tom flinched. Albus had not been gentle with him for a long time. Did he feel his own sadness? Was he thinking the same thing? They were both far too shy and inhibited to talk about it, but they both felt it as Tom slowly removed his travelling attire to free his body from the burden.
A heavy weariness made him take off all those clothes while Dumbledore's feverish hands were already clutching his body. He knew this bed well. The drapes and sheets, the predominance of red when the rest of the place was a charming wood. Tom had nothing against the colour of blood... It was, admittedly, the standard of the Gryffindors, but he still harboured a fascination for this particular colour.
Distracted, he paid little attention to Dumbledore's kisses which were trying to stimulate him somewhat. Tom almost felt sorry for his mentor for being so reluctant to make love. While he had enjoyed a few sensations in the previous weeks, this fourth horcrux had been more than decisive for his system. Now he was indifferent at best to the caresses, but the sad truth was that it was all starting to make him sick.
He concentrated on not rejecting the kisses that ventured onto his body. These gentle touches were annoying him more than anything else. He tried to relax; his gaze fixed on the top of the bed. He didn't want to put Albus through this, it was cruel enough not to want him and still see him. Tom had simply become addicted, and there was nothing pleasant about the relationship any more. All the same, he was grateful to the Professor for facilitating the changes in his body with his healing aura.
Albus stopped his hands on the orphan's body and looked at him sternly:
"Are you bored?" he asked in a cold voice.
"No, I'm not bored."
"You've barely reacted! If you don't feel like it, just say so..."
Tom felt a weight sink in his chest, it was so difficult to face that gaze, so blue and so frank. He had learned to love those eyes, so often filled with joy. He didn't want to be the cause of this disillusionment.
"Go on, I was just a distracted..." the young man explained with an apologetic smile.
"Of course..." muttered Dumbledore, frowning, his own desire seeming to wane as well.
When he saw Dumbledore about to get out of bed to put his clothes back on, Tom firmly grasped his arm and pulled him back towards himself. He really didn't want Albus to sink into the despair that was already brimming from his eyes. The professor knew there was something wrong with the young man and his blindness did not extend to denying an extinguished desire.
Determined to convince him otherwise, Tom kissed him with what he hoped was passion and caressed his body in the most sensual way he had ever done. The young man licked the soft skin he was getting to know so well, giving the adult knowing glances. Albus was beginning to relax a little as Tom's kisses became more and more intense. Tom could feel his heart beginning to beat rapidly, as if drawn into the flow of a steady rhythm he had no way of stopping.
The young man's hard work seemed to be paying off. He wanted to give Albus what he had been waiting for weeks: proof that he was attached to him. Tom wanted to make love to him as adoringly as when he was creating a horcrux. He wanted to put his whole heart into it, even if that expression only had a vague resonance within him.
Albus' response was not long in coming as the two bodies began to caress each other. The adult surprised himself by thinking that he might finally be getting what he wanted from the young man... His kisses were all the more playful at that moment. Tom hastened to prepare the man with the meagre knowledge he had of the subject; it wasn't the first time he'd done it with Albus, but Albus usually put him at ease.
With one hand on the back of the young man's neck, Albus looked into his eyes and his breath caught as he saw the horrible contrast between tenderness and unhealthy madness. Closing his eyes once more, Albus pulled his body closer to him, anticipating what was about to happen. Tom felt an unpleasant shiver run down his spine as he imagined himself entering the body he loved in spite of everything. A host of images far removed from sex had to invade his mind to keep his desire intact.
However, Albus reopened his eyes just as Tom was about to enter him, and with his face so close to the orphan's, he couldn't miss the intense red glow that crossed his irises. Dumbledore's response was swift: he abruptly pushed the young man away, causing him to tumble backward onto the edge of the bed. Stunned, Tom took a moment to register that his mentor had seized his wand and aimed it directly at his heart.
Tom glanced up at his former teacher, his brow furrowing in confusion. Pain flared in his lower back, fuelling his growing frustration. What had he been thinking? Albus could see that there was no crimson gleam in the young man's eyes. Lowering his wand, Albus's tense breaths betrayed his lingering fear. He hadn't imagined it. He had witnessed the glimmer in the young man's eyes. Change was underway, and he could sense it in every aspect of the teenager's demeanour.
His voice had changed... It was losing its husky, sensual edge that he loved so much, his skin was turning strangely white as if the boy hadn't seen the sun for many summers and, strangely, his fingers seemed to be getting bigger. They were losing their softness and elegant shape. Albus Dumbledore was not going mad: his young lover was disappearing in favour of someone else who utterly repulsed him.
"That's not how you push me," protested Tom as he struggled to stand, anger evident in his eyes.
"Dress yourself, Tom, and leave," Dumbledore instructed sternly.
"What?" exclaimed the young man, advancing towards the professor.
Dumbledore pointed his wand at the young wizard once more.
"You heard me, you need to go... I can't take this anymore, you're keeping too many secrets from me and I no longer have the strength to believe it's not serious."
"But... Albus... You know I wouldn't do anything to harm you, don't you?" inquired the young man, continuing to advance despite the raised wand.
"No, I can't trust you," replied the professor, taking a deep breath.
"Oh, I see..." muttered the orphan with a bitter expression. "I guess saving your life means nothing to you."
"Your methods are dubious, you're changing, you've altered your soul... I can feel it, it terrifies me and it drives me away from you... I don't want to see you anymore, Tom. Go away."
Tom was now close to the adult who had resignedly lowered his weapon. Their naked bodies brushed against each other, but only their eyes truly met. Albus saw that his lover was terribly hurt. He gathered all his strength not to give in; he already felt like his heart was about to explode.
"Is this how you end our relationship? By kicking me out?"
"I'm sorry, Tom. There's no other way. Perhaps we'll meet again in a few years, when you've regained your senses, but I can't do anything for you. I'm too weak against you, and I've already experienced a relationship like this; I refuse to go through it again."
"You're still comparing me to Grindelwald?" spat Tom, suddenly stepping back.
"I can't help it..."
"What a fine way to end our relationship," Tom remarked sarcastically as he hurried to dress, his haste evident in his clumsy movements and trembling hands.
Irrevocably, he now felt ashamed of his body and felt the need to hide it. He felt rejected like the dirtiest of beings, and a burning pain had now settled in his heart.
"Stop using Dark Magic and maybe we can see each other again," declared Albus in a voice he tried to keep neutral despite his own tremors.
He stared at the young man, arms hanging by his sides, resisting the urge to take back his words even though he meant every word he had spoken.
Tom raised his head as he buttoned his cloak. Disbelief had made him raise a sarcastic eyebrow, but resignation now distorted his features. Giving up his greatest ally for someone who didn't even acknowledge what he had done for him? Forget the beauty and grandeur of Dark Magic for him? Never.
"We'll meet again, Albus, don't worry about that."
XxXxXxX
June 5, 1996
It was finally in his hands after so much relentless searching and unanswered questions. The Resurrection Stone, as brilliant as the last time he had seen it, hanging from Tom Riddle's finger. It was now in his hand. Albus had endured countless sleepless nights before he could find it. He had made the decision to research Tom on the day of their first meeting after they had broken up.
It had happened in 1955, Tom had come to Hogwarts to ask him to work for him. A bitter laugh shook Albus at this memory. Lord Voldemort had thought he still possessed some credibility in his eyes. At the age of thirty, the man no longer resembled the one he had once been at all.
The whites of his eyes were bloodshot, his skin had become deathly pale and so waxy that it pulled his face into an ungraceful shape. Albus would not have recognised him if Tom had not come forward and tried to muster his once charming smile. It was hopeless, the horror that had gripped Albus since that day had never faded. He immediately understood that the man had never ceased his experiments with Dark Magic. So, it wasn't difficult to refuse him the teaching position he was asking for.
However, Albus understood that day that Tom Riddle was searching for something and that his taste for the dark arts had become too alarming for the good of the magical community. He had started his research and finally stumbled upon Horcruxes, finding in their description what he had been searching for so many years.
He knew he had to destroy the object he held in his hands even if it turned out to be the stone he had so desired to possess when he was young. A guilty desire gnawed at his insides as he turned the object between his fingers. Suddenly sighing, telling himself he could indulge in this last pleasure, he put the ring on his finger, awaiting the long-awaited effect.
Unfortunately, nothing happened... And worse still, the ring stubbornly stuck to his finger. Albus sighed deeply, acknowledging his own foolishness. He couldn't use the stone as long as the Horcrux was inside it. Tears welled up in his eyes as he realised this. He had thought he could behold the faces of his mother and little sister one last time before dying.
Obviously, fate had other plans. Albus resigned himself, mentally berating himself. How could he believe in such madness? It seemed he would never change. He had the unfortunate habit of believing in impossible things... sometimes so close to surrealism that it became ridiculous. Of the two loves that had filled his life, the second had been the most destructive.
Paradoxically, it was thanks to him that he was still alive but his twisted mind had done something so unthinkable that it was also because of him that he would have to take his own life. He would destroy this Horcrux, which would naturally bring back the Kveikja Kroppur within him. The Curse of Hel would resume where it had left off and Albus would slowly but surely succumb.
One of his loves had wanted to kill him while another had wanted to save him. The sweet irony was knowing that they both now desired his death. Albus rose and, armed with the Sword of Gryffindor, prepared to destroy the Horcrux.
He knew that this act definitively sealed his fate. He thought it would be a case of 'the end justifying the means'. One of the Horcruxes would be destroyed, at least.
Everything was for the best this way. Without a doubt.
XxXxXxX
May 7, 1997
"Albus Dumbledore is dead, Master. I killed him."
The lipless face of Lord Voldemort formed a smile.
"Very well, Severus. You will be duly rewarded," he replied in measured tones.
Lord Voldemort knew he had lost a Horcrux, and so he felt a certain annoyance, but nothing was more pleasing than knowing Albus Dumbledore was dead. His greatest enemy had fallen, he had succumbed. He had chosen to destroy a Horcrux rather than to live, it had been his choice, and the Dark Lord relied on his other Horcruxes to keep him alive.
The slight, unusually rare smile that had appeared on the lips of Lord Voldemort did not leave him for a long while. He was absolutely certain that once lost in the abyss of death and oblivion, the bright blue gleam of Albus Dumbledore's eyes would no longer disturb his nights.
Oh yes, he could bet on Severus Snape's loyalty.
Just like his faithful Death Eater, his heart would be incapable of betraying him once more, wouldn't it?
I hope you enjoyed this story. The aim was to make a seemingly impossible couple as believable and canon as possible. Feel free to leave a comment. Thank you!
SamaraXX