Author's note: Hello everyone, I'm so sorry for the even longer and absolutely unforgivable wait than usual! I'm really grateful to all of you who take the time to read and follow/favourite this story! To the lovely guest who left a comment last time: I could not reply personally because ffnet only allows me to respond to registered reviewers, but your comment made me so happy! Happy read everyone! Ps: to the crazy psycho who posted a disgusting review about child abuse and other disgusting content as an invitation for people to follow them on telegram: FUCK YOU. To everyone else, I deleted the comment. I'm really sorry if you read that, some people are terrifying.
"Well, I never ever want you to change
But my heads up in the clouds while you're drenched in the rain
I don't have any time to explain
I can meet you in the middle but it won't be the same"
- Oliver Tree
— October 1947 —
When she opened her eyes, the embers in the hearth had turned cold and the silence, so thick, was almost painful to her ears. She straightened herself on one elbow and pushed away the blanket she did not remember having wrapped around herself before she stood up gauchely, her eyes still heavy with sleep. She headed to the dining room, noticing that not even a single crumb was left on the dining table.
There was no sign left of the party they had thrown, a celebration in her honour, and in the one of the baby.
"A boy" Tom had announced proudly while he had strutted about that night, an expression of pure bliss on his face. But it was less his elation that had struck her than the one of the others - for Tom's current circle of friends extended far beyond the dozen Slytherins she had known in school - and that night she had been introduced to countless strangers - former Durmstrang schoolers, successors of foreign dynasties - who had bowed before her, their heads bent as they referred to their baby as "the heir".
The heir.
What a strange way to call an unborn child, she thought as she padded down the hallway, her bare feet sinking into the soft rug. They transported her towards the light that glowed at the end of the corridor and on her way, she mulled over the guests' conversations, those that hinted at Tom's great ancestry. "Why does this mean so much to them?" she wondered as she found herself on the threshold of her husband's study.
She peeped inside the room through the door left ajar, observed Tom who was sitting by his desk. The fire that roared in the hearth was casting a complex blend of shades on his face, accentuating his handsome and chiseled features.
Father of the heir.
She pushed the door open and eyed him to inquire permission to come in, as if all the deference she had witnessed that night had imposed itself on her too. Yet, he did not look back, his eyes riveted on the desk, and she stepped into the room already, because she assumed that his silence granted her the right to join him.
She headed towards the desk, and seized the hand Tom offered her. He brought her fingers to his lips, kissed each knuckles with care.
"You fell asleep" he whispered, his voice soft while he pulled on her hand and she eased herself on his lap with clumsy movements.
"I'm sorry"
"Don't be. You needed to rest"
She recalled how she had retreated in the adjacent room after only a few hours, let herself fall on a chaise lounge. She had closed her eyes shortly, and failed to realise that sleep had gripped her.
She left a small kiss on his jaw and buried her face in the crook of his neck, enjoying Tom's sole presence.
A rare gift.
Ever since their argument in August, which had had Annabel reconsider the very nature of their relationship, her pregnancy had taken an arduous turn.
"Too much stress" had announced the healer who followed her, and who had advised her to slow down. She was meant to rest, take some time away from St Mungo's.
Words that had not fallen on deaf ears.
Tom, who was so terribly concerned about her health ever since she was with child, had suggested that they moved to the countryside. After all, the refurbishment of the property they had inherited from her parents was over, and the sea air would do her good.
"No more lies" Tom had assured her as he had linked his hand to hers on the doorstep of their new home, before he had promised Annabel that he would be there, more so than ever before.
And Tom Riddle was a man of his word.
Just like that, he obtained the right to relocate his office to the countryside, only going to London a few days a week to tend to the business he could not delegate. All at once, Annabel found herself monitored day and night, subjected to Tom's never ending surveillance, and when he could not be there, he'd ask one of his friends, Alastair at best, Nott at worst, to make sure that she ate substantial meals, went for her daily stroll.
She put up with it, mainly because she knew that despite Tom's obsessive supervision, she was still allowed to come and go as she pleased.
A prerogative she knew most young women did not have.
"No curfew, what a lucky girl" she remembered Margaret's envious mutterings the last time she had met her friend for tea, when the latter had taken her leave in great hurry once she had peeked at the time. She had to be home before dusk, she had explained, for her husband expected her to greet him the very moment he stepped out of the chimney.
Yes, Annabel was aware of her privileges, but also of their conditionality, that such advantages could be taken away from her the very moment Tom would decide otherwise. A daunting possibility, for if he had never openly threatened to change his mind, she was well-aware that such liberty came at a cost…
She knew that people talked, questioned Tom's authority in their marriage, he who let his wife work and speak her mind, he who let her wear trousers. And she knew, sometimes with a dazzling clarity, that her being home and with child served Tom's ambitions more than ever, that she was now part of his plan, meant to mend what had been broken, restore the dignity of their house, and of people-like-them, and that since then, Tom could finally, unquestionably, establish his authority on that group of people who followed him.
A group that was ever more present in their lives.
Since their move, their house had become the theatre of incongruous events, starting by the weekly meetings Tom had begun to organise at their place, and which gave Annabel the feeling that their living room had turned into a gentleman's club.
Oh, how much she had hoped that by moving away from London, Tom would forget all about his past intentions, but instead, he had brought politics with him.
A howl interrupted her train of thoughts, a somber noise made by the roaring wind.
"I don't know if I'll ever get used to that place" she shuddered at the sound, for the house they now lived in was as splendid in summer as it was dismal in winter.
"It's just air diving into the moats" replied Tom, and she wiggled on his lap to peek at him. He bore no trace of exhaustion and his features were alert, animate, like every time he had an idea, a scheme, something that had him forget about his monotonous life at the Ministry.
"It is late. Aren't you tired?"
"I'm working on something" he replied with a smile, and the gleam in his eyes sent shivers down her spin. She recalled the wacky arguments he had brought up last August, how he had shared with her that he believed he had a purpose: leading the wizarding world in lieu of the corrupted Ministry.
"I'm planning a trip" he smiled, and he bent over the furniture to grab a rolled parchment. He pushed her away gently, forced her to stand before he revealed what proved to be a map. He pushed around some quills and books, unrolled the parchment on his desk before he placed some weighs on each corner.
Annabel stared at the land now exposed before her, and she grazed the parchment, her fingers gently stroking the printed title.
"Shqipëria…" she forced out with a frown.
"Land of the eagles" whispered Tom and Annabel raised an eyebrow.
"Albania?"
A proud smile showed on his lips and he leaned on the desk with both arms, contemplated the land like a defiant emperor.
"Why?" she breathed as her eyes scoured the map, mixed-feelings gripping her. She stared at the jagged relief of the western side, dramatic mountains that she imagined scorched by the summer sun, their parched earth tormented by the icy air in the colder months.
"I'm searching for something"
Tom's voice was barely audible, his eyes lingering on the lines and crosses he had drawn in red ink. He was quiet, like deep in thought, and when she asked what he was searching for, his lack of reaction forced her to search for his eyes, and she pressed her lips tight when he did not look back at her.
"Tom" she wished to warn him, but he was heading towards the bookshelf already, his gait quick like if he was in a rush, his reaction so sudden, so unlike his previous behaviour that Annabel wondered if her husband was not under the influence of a spell.
He grabbed a book on the second shelf, surged back to her.
"Here" he pushed the book in her hand, and he casted a spell so the pages turned swiftly, until they stopped on a portrait.
The image showed Hogwarts' founders, clothed in their ceremonious robes, each of them identifiable by their distinctive colour. Annabel frowned, looking at the grim face of Salazar Slytherin, searching for what Tom was trying to imply, but he shook his head, and a smile showed on his lips.
"Not here silly" he cooed, and he tapped on the witch dressed in blue, on the jewel that hugged her head.
"Here"
"The Ravenclaw's crown?" Annabel asked, puzzled.
Tom nodded and he snatched the book away from her hand, slammed it shut.
"I'll start a collection of relics"
"But wh-"
"You said I should find a hobby didn't you? Back then, when we left London"
He strutted towards the bookshelves, lay the book back on its initial place.
"So I wouldn't let myself tempted by controversial activities"
Annabel searched for the deception behind his words, something that would prove to her that he was being dishonest once more, but all she found was a fervour she had not expected, which she not seen for long.
"I've always been fond of antiques, of the secrets they hide... Magical items talk just like we do, you know? You just have to make them speak..."
He walked towards the end of the room, placed the book back on the shelf before he turned around, his steps making the wooden floor creaking.
"It's fascinating, the countless stories those objects have to tell, memories of an entire bloodline really, that you get to learn through the heirlooms"
He stopped before her, a grin on his face.
"Can you imagine, darling, all the things such an item might conceal, all the mysteries it might withhold?"
Annabel nodded, astounded by Tom's sincerity, thrilled by his sudden excitement, and she was so entirely relieved suddenly of his new fancy being so innocent, that a small laugh escaped her lips.
Tom searched for her eyes, his face happy and bright as he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.
"Perhaps I'll have you wear it" he murmured with a smile before he gently grabbed her face, grazed her forehead with his thumbs before he kissed her lips.
"A beautiful crown for a beautiful queen"
—
"Of course, what I had understood as a harmless hobby proved to be a somber chase for power" she paused and looked to the side with an indecipherable air.
"Voldemort left for Albania a few weeks later. Whether he found the diadem or not, I never knew"
"He did" replied Harry with a parched voice. "He managed to charm the Grey Lady, and he made her tell him where she'd hidden the diadem"
"Rowena's daughter…"
Harry nodded, noticing for the first time that his mouth was dry and he grabbed his teacup to plunge his lips in the tepid liquid.
"It means he must have already searched for the item back in school…" she whispered, her delicate eyebrows joining in the middle of her forehead with a frown.
"I knew he was interested by Horcruxes back then but I was far from imagining that he would dare giving it a try. Let alone that he was already seeking potential receptacles for his soul…"
She stopped and let out an ironic chuckle.
"I don't know why I'm being so surprised… More often than not, I feel like I married a complete stranger"
She shook her head, her sarcastic smile lingering on her lips. She casted a spell so the bottle poured her another glass which she grabbed between two fingers.
"But-" interjected Harry, and she raised her eyebrows as if to encourage him to speak his mind.
"You were close, right? I mean, he trusted you"
"To some extent…"
She pouted and took a sip of her drink.
"I liked to believe that I knew him like no one else did, that I got to see a side of him that was forbidden to others… What I had yet to understand was that Voldemort had two faces"
"Like Janus" interjected Hermione with a knowing air and Healer Selwyn nodded.
"The Roman god with two faces, one that looks towards the past, the other towards the future" specified Hermione for Harry and Ron.
"The Roman god of transitions and duality" interjected the healer before she placed her glass back on the table.
"Voldemort was a contradiction in himself. He was tender yet brutal, gentle yet mean. He inspired trust and fear, was both near and far…"
She sighed.
"That dark side of him, he only showed to others at first. When I first got to see it, I felt like I had been deceived all along"
There was a scribbling sound, words that Hermione was setting down on paper, to keep a record of their meeting. When it ended, Harry looked up, noticed that the girl was shifting in her seat. She cleared her throat, played nervously with her quill.
"And what-" she paused.
"I'm sorry but… what happened to the baby?"
For a second, no one talked, and the witch's features hardened ever so slightly, like if her face had become marble, turned into a mask that showed a cryptic expression. Harry shot Hermione a dark look, and the girl glanced down, her cheeks a bright red.
He thought this was the final straw, that the witch would dismiss them there and then when he saw her stand up and lean on the chair next to her, her hand clutching the back of the furnitures to steady herself. She headed towards the door, and Harry almost stood up as well, all certain he was that she would call for them, ask them to take their leave.
Instead, she excused herself and exited the room, only to come back a few minutes later with a carton folder.
She sat down back on the chair, issued Ron to hand her over the pair of tortoiseshell glasses that stood on the shelf behind him.
"Let's see" she croaked before she opened the binder and turned a few pages, licking her finger every now and then.
"Here we go" she whispered, and placed on the table a clipping.
She stood up, and headed towards the cabinet from which she had already processed a bottle of wine. This time, she took out a bottle of liqueur, and Harry found himself unable not to judge her as she filled a crystal shot glass and drunk its content down in one.
"I was there-" she gestured in the direction of the newspaper article.
Harry exchanged a look with his friends and slid the piece of paper towards him.
"Powerful quake in Peru kills hundreds of wizards - November 1st, 1947" he read out loud, and paused to watch the woman chug another glass.
For a healer, she certainly should watch her liver, he thought before he pursued his read.
"A powerful earthquake in the Peruvian Amazon jungle has killed at least two hundred people, a number that is expected to rise as rescuers are still trying to reach the most remote areas.
The quake occurred during the annual prize giving of the International Order of Healers, which hosted about two thousand people.
Among the victims, two British nationals, Healer Valerian Garel Oatbeard, nominated for his work on pain extraction spells, and Healer Annabel Sybil Riddle, nominated for her research on unicorn blood.
The injured have been repatriated to the UK and are currently under intensive care"
Harry looked up from the article, to watch the witch walk back to the table, her gait unassured, the smell of alcohol lingering in the air as she sat down.
"It was my fault…" she whispered.
"We did not see it coming, the landslide that followed the quake. It took everything away in mere seconds…"
Her voice broke.
"I stayed under the debris for hours"
"When I woke up, he was gone. The baby, I mean..." she paused, and brought her hand to her lips.
Harry thought she was about to be sick, and he looked around for a bucket, something he could summon instantly to minimise the damage, before the woman pursued.
"Later I learned..."
"I learned that he was asked to choose between me and the child...
"He chose me"