Chapter Five: Dumbledore's Offer

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things—terrible, yes, but great." — Garrick Ollivander

Sixteen year old Tom Riddle watched the Headmaster take a seat across from him. "If you continue to deny you are Tom Riddle," Dumbeldore said, "I won't hesitate to kill you. I could do it without harming Ginevra Weasley any more than you already have. Her soul may be subdued, but she remains present, albeit unconscious. If I were to cast the killing curse, yours is the soul that would be hit, not hers."

That much was true. Tom knew the killing curse—for all its advantages—could only take one life at a time. But was Dumbledore willing to go that far? Tom had gotten Myrtle Warren killed and released the Basilisk, but surely the Headmaster would have him arrested for such things, not murdered on the spot!

"With your soul gone, Ginevra would have a chance at life again. I would do it right now, if it weren't for the fact that I need your help."

My help? What could he possibly need me for?

Dumbledore must have cast a finite incantatem wordlessly, because Tom felt his vocal cords free up.

He wondered if Dumbledore was bluffing about killing him, but it made sense that he might go that far to restore Ginny to life, if that was the only way to do it.

"Very well, Professor," Tom said in Ginny's voice, but very much in his own tone, "It seems you leave me no choice but to dispense with the facade."

"That is wise of you."

Each of them considered the other for a moment.

"How did you know it was me?"

Dumbledore allowed a smirk. "Much has happened in the fifty-one years since you were trapped in the diary, Tom. Allow me to fill you in. "

And so Dumbledore told him the story of what had become of Tom Riddle, the original sixteen year old boy he split from in June 1943.

"So Voldemort played right into the prophecy?"

"Indeed."

Tom couldn't believe it. The original Tom had actually followed through on all his plans, gained power, turned the Death Eaters into a loyal army, challenged Wizarding Britain, only to suddenly fail at the cusp of victory, on Halloween night of 1981, when his killing curse inexplicably rebounded off a one-year old boy.

"He failed."

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He failed to conquer Magical Britain. But most ironic of all, he failed to attain immortality. You see, he never once suspected that the Horcruxes he'd taken so much pain to create had not made him immortal at all."

It was everything Tom had feared since he'd woken up in Gryffindor Tower. Was there no way to attain immortality after all?

"Horcruxes are copies only," Tom said disappointedly.

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded, "Tom had succeeded in splitting his soul, but the split parts were not anchors, but duplicates. He had only cloned himself—of which you are one."

"He's dead then, the original Tom Riddle?"

"Irrevocably so."

"What happened to the others? Did any of them return like I did?"

"One did. Three and a half years ago, when a wizard named Quirinus Quirrell set out to find artifacts from Voldemort's period of obscurity. Quirrell thought it would bring him the respect and recognition that had eluded him throughout his life. Unfortunately, as he fawned and obsessed over the Horcrux he'd found, the soul within emerged and possessed him."

"Which Horcrux was it?"

"It was the Locket of Salazar Slytherin. Quirrell found it in a cave on the English coast where Voldemort had hidden it."

A strange feeling came over Tom, a feeling that someone else had gotten to live his life. He had always intended to find the long-lost Locket of Slytherin. Now he would never get to rise to that challenge.

"How old was Tom Riddle in the locket?"

"Twenty-four. He'd made it into a Horcrux in 1951. From his perspective, forty years had passed in the blink of an eye, and he was disoriented to find himself in the body of Quirinus Quirrell in 1991.

"But like you, Quirrell-Tom adapted to his circumstances quickly. He learned about the life and death of the original Tom Riddle, and of the identity of his body. I can only imagine his amusement when he discovered Quirrell was Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts, the very position that had eluded him for so long."

"What did he do?"

"Having discovered that Horcruxes were not the key to immortality he'd hoped for, Quirrell-Tom made a new plan. He decided to steal the Philosopher's Stone—which has since been destroyed, lest you get any ideas. At the time, it was kept at Hogwarts for safe keeping."

"All he had to do was show up for work," Tom said.

"Yes. And so he did. Right under my nose. But eventually, he made his move for the Stone, and I found him out. I captured him, learned his story, and then ended his life with a killing curse. I had no choice, you see—it was the only way to save Quirinus."

"Did you?"

"He woke up, but only briefly. Perhaps it was because his soul had been displaced for too long, or maybe he lacked the will to live any longer, but Quirinus's soul slipped away and he died."

Tom appreciated that he had the benefit of learning from the mistakes of not one, but two previous Lord Voldemorts.

"What of the other duplicates?"

Dumbledore opened a drawer and magically lifted them all onto the desk—The Cup, the Ring, The Diadem, the Locket. The first three were broken apart and scorched—destroyed.

Tom's jaw dropped. "You killed them!?"

"Yes, I killed them—before they could possess anybody. Only the Diary eluded me until now." Dumbledore placed the Diary on the desk with the others, watching Tom's face for a reaction.

I'd just hidden that! How did he— Tom clenched his jaw. Damn it. Dumbledore is good. Tom mentally kicked himself for not hiding the thing more carefully.

"Unfortunately, I have no way of knowing if the original Tom Riddle made any more Horcruxes after 1951. There could still be others of which I have no knowledge. Given recent events, I believe it's possible at least one more was made."

"What recent events?"

"There's been a resurgence of Death Eater activity this year. It began this summer, with an attack on the Quidditch World Cup. Something has clearly changed for them to become so emboldened, and I want to know what that is."

"Maybe they found a new leader who could fill Voldemort's shoes," Tom said.

"Perhaps that someone is another Tom Riddle copy, or perhaps it's someone new. Either way, they need to be opposed. That's where you come in."

"So you want my help bringing down the Death Eaters?"

"Yes."

Tom didn't like the idea of fighting his own followers. He had been proud to hear they'd become such a force to be reckoned with. Even if he wanted to, he didn't know if he had that kind of power anymore, in this new body, without his original wand.

"What's in it for me? If I cooperate, would I not simply be prolonging the inevitable—you killing me to save the Weasley girl?"

"It's true that there is no world in which I allow you to remain in this body forever at Miss Weasley's expense. But if you uphold your end the bargain, I will pardon your past crimes and give you a second chance at life in a new body."

"Whose body? A rat's?"

"Not all of us are masters of cruel and ironic punishments, Tom. No, I would furnish you the body of a human man. One that is vacant."

Vacant?

"One who's been kissed by a Dementor," Tom said as he realized it.

"Precisely."

The thought sent a chill down Tom's spine. Dementors had their uses, but their ability to steal the soul from a person had always unsettled him.

"How would you even get your hands on such a body? From Azkaban? That would require Ministry cooperation."

"I could manage it," Dumbledore said. "I am Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards now, as it happens."

Dumbledore had clearly done well for himself in the last fifty-one years. Tom made a mental note to read up on Dumbledore's biography, as well as catch up on everything else he'd missed in history, politics, and developments in magic.

"Are we in agreement?" Dumbledore asked.

Helping him in exchange for a pardon and a new body was a fair deal, as far as deals went. But some insurance wouldn't hurt. "I will agree to your conditions if you're willing to make the unbreakable vow."

Dumbledore scoffed. "I would rather kill you and be done with it. You have no leverage to make that kind of demand, nor would I want to involve a third person to bind such a thing. Besides, I may not be able to anticipate every loophole. You might find a way to contrive a situation in which I'm forced to break the vow and die for it."

"That wasn't my intent," Tom grumbled, even though it had been. "I simply want assurance that you won't betray me in the end."

"You'll find I have a reputation as a man of my word. Beyond that, I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice."

"So be it," Tom sighed, conceding defeat. "What must I do?"

"First, you'll continue playing the part of Miss Weasley. We'll keep up the amnesia story for now, and I'll recommend to Arthur and Molly that you remain at Hogwarts and attend classes."

"And how do I help you oppose the Death Eaters?"

"You will be my spy among them."

Tom scoffed. Surely Dumbledore jested. "You want me to go undercover with the Death Eaters? And what, convince them all that Ginny Weasley is a card carrying member?"

Dumbledore betrayed a hint of a smile. "Not quite."