Chapter 8
Chapter 8: A Matter of Life…
June 20, 1982- Tom's Office, Slytherin Manor, Unplottable Location
Tom was nervous. Actually, he was anxious. Well- he simultaneously couldn’t wait to get this over with- finally- but he also wished that it would never end. He felt like if he did accomplish what he hoped to, he wouldn’t know what to do next. This was something he had wanted ever since he met the so-called ‘Leader of the Light’. Ever since the first time Albus Dumbledore had visited him- though interrogated fit better in Tom’s mind- at Wool’s Orphanage, Tom had hated the long-bearded wizard with his entire being.
At the time, Tom had been secure in the knowledge that he finally had the means to protect himself from his tormentors. Even if the children had whispered that word- freak- when they thought he was out of earshot. Tom had known better, of course. He was special. He could do things that no one else at the orphanage could. He had a gift, and he told himself that he was therefore strong enough to do anything he liked, including living every day like their words didn’t hurt him. No, their insults were just the barbs of childish jealousy. No, their words didn’t affect him. No, he didn’t want someone to show they cared. No. He was fine; he always had been. He had been a king ruling an empty kingdom, and he had been fine with that.
At least, he had been fine with it, up until the day that the Transfiguration Professor had ‘visited’ him. Albus-Bloody-Dumbledore had set his possessions- the only things that he, Tom, owned- on fire. These were the objects that were the physical representation of his triumph over his tormentors and Tom had thought they were gone, forever; burned into unrecognizable ashes. Afterwards, Dumbledore had dared to smile at him and tell him that those objects weren’t actually destroyed. Tom had recognized what that piece of magic had represented- after all, he had done it every single time a new kid came into the orphanage and thought they were better than him, Tom Marvolo Riddle. Similarly, on that fateful day, Dumbledore had attempted to show him that he held power over him. Tom scoffed at the mere thought. As if.
From that day, Tom had sworn to himself that he would one day destroy everything the old man was and cared about.
Now, he finally had the means to destroy Dumbledore once and for all- and that was where his conflicted thoughts originated from. On one hand, he could finally kill the old coot and be done with it- eliminating the one threat there was to him and his cause. However, he knew that after this he would be in unfamiliar territory. He could only guess as to how the public would react to the headmaster’s death and that was not something he liked.
Tom had always prefered to know- or be able to accurately predict- what would happen in any given situation. When he would kill Dumbledore, he didn’t know how the public would react and that was something that Tom disliked. He needed to find a way to direct the masses but he didn’t know how- that’s it! Tom thought triumphantly. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before; it was so simple yet he knew it would work. A malicious smirk stretched across his lips at his idea. It was perfect.
After all, he doubted that Dumbledore would want the Wizarding World to be aware of his- relations- with Grindelwald.
If Tom was being honest with himself, it had been mere luck that had led him to this information, and in the effort to erase the mental image that came along with it he had almost forgotten about it.
Tom had been in one of his last years at Hogwarts- his sixth if he remembered correctly- and had been exploring the seemingly endless secret passages in the school. After he had found Salazar Slytherin’s Chamber of Secrets he had realized that the basilisk's residence was not the only parseltongue-activated area of the castle. On one of the many days he had been exploring, he had accidentally stumbled into what seemed to be Dumbledore’s bed chambers.
Being the Slytherin he was, he had immediately searched the room for any leverage against his hated professor- after he had made sure the aforementioned professor hadn’t been present, of course (he wasn’t a foolishly idiotic Gryffindor).
He hadn’t found anything after fifteen minutes and had been ready to give up and leave, but he had seen something glimmer out of the corner of his eye. He had turned around- confused- as he had searched the entire room multiple times already and hadn’t noticed what in Morgana’s Knickers he had just seen. He had turned his head, eyes flitting rapidly from place to place, trying to spot what he had- Ah hah! He definitely had spotted something, but like before he couldn’t see it looking at it head-on.
He had tilted his head, contemplatively, and had slowly traced his steps back to the source of the glimmering, all the while making sure to only look at it from the edge of his vision. His steps had led him to a seemingly blank, normal section of stone wall. He had prodded the surface with his magic, testing for any energies concealed to the naked eye. His magic had slipped off a barrier of some sorts.
After a few minutes of prodding with both of his magics’ -using them to implement his will to be granted access to the hidden space as one of Hogwart’s Heirs- it had opened.
It had resembled a crude safe that had held a single vial filled with silvery liquid. Tom, of course, had recognized it for what it was immediately: a memory. Tom had left Dumbledore’s room soon after, not wanting to get caught trespassing. He had, of course, created a touch-activated compulsion web in the vault-like space before leaving the bedroom. His spells had weaved the compulsion web so that when the Deputy Headmaster returned to his chambers and checked up on the hidden space, Dumbledore’s mind would suddenly deem the space and any memories surrounding it as unimportant. The web would trap the old wizard’s mind, rendering him completely unaware of what had transpired.
Tom had slipped back into his dorm room, practically shaking in excitement. He finally had something that he could use as leverage over the only person that stood between him and complete domination of the wizarding world- at this point in his life, he still had aspirations of becoming the “Supreme Ruler of the Wizarding World” (he had seen the title in a comic book the summer before at the orphanage and had thought it fitting).
It hadn’t been until months later that Tom had been able to find a pensive that he could use to view the Leader of the Light’s memory. If he had known the contents of the memory, he doubted he would have submerged himself in the silvery substance of the Pensive, Tom mused. It was something that had shocked him to his very core to the point that he decided to use it only in emergencies in a desperate attempt to forget about the graphic images he had witnessed.
Of course, it wasn’t everyday that Tom was trapped in a Pensive memory of the person he despised and the fearsome German Dark Lord showing their mushy, hufflepuff feelings towards one another- not to mention the unwanted pornography displayed by the two wizards. Tom remembered that he had been trapped inside the Pensive memory, unable to escape from the images presented to him. He had seen every little thing that Dumbledore and Grindelwald had done together, from plotting world domination to their love life, and he even witnessed their fallout in which Dumbledore’s younger sister, Arianna, was killed in the crossfire.
It was quite strange, Tom mused to himself; he couldn’t quite remember why he had forgotten the memories in the first place, but that did not matter to him at the moment- all that mattered was that he finally had a way to control the Wizarding World’s inevitable outburst after he would kill Dumbledore. Dominik, one of the lower-ranked members of his court, had finally been able to break through the mental defenses hiding Dumbledore’s location within the mind of Aberforth, who was Dumbledore’s brother.
It was time for that fool to die, Tom thought savagely. Tonight was the night that the old fool would die and Tom would enjoy every second of it.
-HCR-
June 20, 1982- The Cottage, Forests Outside Slytherin Manor, Unplottable Location
Helena Ravenclaw looked up at the moonlit forest surrounding her little clearing. It seemed as though Tom Riddle had finally made his first move. It was time to inform her Lady of the young Lord’s decision so they could start marking the rest of their loyal ones. Tom and Lillian were the first to join her Lady’s noble cause, but The Gray Lady knew that there were so many more who would aid them in their path to victory.
-HCR-
June 20, 1982- The Small Cottage, Unplottable Location
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore sipped on his honey-sweetened tea, contemplating his life. The crackling embers of the fire were slowly dying out, casting heavy shadows across his sitting room, but the Leader of the Light didn’t mind. He was sitting on his favorite stuffed chair that sat against the wall, looking to the rest of the room and his polished wand that sat on the table in front of him, glistening in the faint moonlight. He turned his head slightly to look at the weaning moon; it was little more than a sliver and yet it seemed to cast such bright light on everything it gazed upon. The corners of his lips on his wrinkled face tilted upwards slightly as he gazed upon the serene moonlit scenery outside.
The Headmaster of Hogwarts sighed heavily, turning away from the tempting beauty of the night. He knew that he had done many wrong things in his life, many of which he would never be able to fix or undo.
In his foolish youth, he had believed that what he and Gellert had been planning was the right thing to do; he had thought it was what had been needed. The colossal vitality of his illusion had cost him both his sister and his relationship with his brother, Aberforth. Even now, his brother blamed him for little Ariana's death, refusing to meet or even talk to him.
Yes, there were many things that he wished he could change about his life. Hindsight was a wonderful thing, after all.
However, he still felt that there was so much that he could give to the world yet at the same time he didn’t know how to ever show it due to the untouchable ‘Leader of the Light’ facade that he had created for himself. His bright eyes were downcast as he pondered if there even was anything that he could do at this point. He had acknowledged and accepted his prior mistakes, but he somehow felt that this was not his end. Sybil herself had hinted that his end was near, yet he hoped that one of his portraits or maybe even his ghost would stand the test of time pass his knowledge of forgotten spells and obscure magics down to the future generations of witches and wizards.
The wizened old wizard set his chipped tea cup down on the wooden coffee table in front of him before leaning back into the cushiony warmth of the worn chair. He rubbed his knobbled fingers on his wrinkled eyelids, trying to fight Morpheus’ welcoming darkness. He let his hands slowly fall back to rest on his lap, the tips of his fingers overlapping one due to his slightly clasped hands. Maybe he would just close his eyes for a second. Yes, that sounded nice. Slowly, and softly, the Leader of Light fell asleep, the embers in the fire place slowly dimming the room until all of the light came through the windows by the soft glow of the moon.
-HCR-
June 20, 1982- The Small Cottage, Unplottable Location
The weathered floorboards groaned and groused under Tom’s feet, making him abandon his plan to assassinate his former professor stealthily. He took a split second to straighten his posture and set his face into an emotionally detatched mask before striding through the doorway into the adjoining room.
Upon entering the room, he was mildly surprised for a moment at the homely, almost muggle-like state of the room, right down to the old-style radio playing soft classical music on the mantlepiece- Bach if he remembered correctly. As he directed his gaze across the room filled with old stuffed chairs- one occupied by the old bastard himself- he let a smirk slowly spread across his face. His eyes snapped to his Dumbledore who was completely defenseless as he dozed on, unaware of the dangers that were- quite literally- in front of him.
Just as Tom was readying himself to kill the old bastard once and for all, he was suddenly assaulted with the memories of his own torment at the hand of a laughing Billy Stubbs while the rest of the orphans looked on, laughing maliciously. It was over in a millisecond, but it felt like eternity for the Dark Lord who had once been a helpless orphaned boy. He tightened his grip on his wand, his expression tightening and his eyes glinting with ruthless determination. He opened his mouth to utter those two fateful words, but the bearded old wizard shifted slightly before Tom could actually just kill him.
He decided to allow the old fool to know just whose hands he died at, for the Leader of the Light would be dead at the end of the night regardless. He stood stoically, although impatient as he waited for his formed Professor to wake up and face his destiny.
Dumbledore slowly cracked his eyes open, rubbing them with his knobbled hands and calmly looked upon the rage-filled Tom Riddle standing in the middle of his living room. His eyes saddened at the sight of his old pupil. The now powerful Lord seemed to always be the epitome of the failures he had committed over the years, so the Headmaster of Hogwarts supposed that it was only appropriate that Tom would be the one to finally set things right for him. He had always said that death was ‘the next great adventure’, so he supposed it was time that he lived up to his words of wisdom.
It was finally time for him to die.
“Hello, Tom.” Albus smiled warmly in greeting towards the most powerful wizard in Britain. Tom bristled in anger at the assumed familiarity.
“You never earned the right to call me that,” Tom hissed out back at the wizard before him. Albus’ expression dimmed marginally at the statement.
“No, I suppose I never did earn the right.” He murmured, his eyes assessing the younger wizard’s hostile stance and expression.
Tom didn’t answer, choosing to glare at the Headmaster instead.
The old wizard sighed, pushing his half-moon spectacles farther up his crooked nose.
“I’ve wanted to apologize to you for many years, Tom,” Albus stated, sighing. “I believed you would never allow me to do so, so I suppose that now is as good of a time as ever. After all, it won’t matter what I do by the end of the night.” The Defeater of Grindelwald looked pointedly at Tom’s wand which was still directed towards him.
“If that is so,” Tom began, flashing his teeth savagely at the Leader of the Light, “Then why did you shun me from the beginning? Was it because the noble Salazar Slytherin happens to be my ancestor, Dumbledore?” He paused contemplatively for a split second before he bared his teeth ruthlessly in a glint of white bone, his eyes filled with a passionate hatred for the man before him. “Or was it because I reminded you of two boys who believed that they could change the world by achieving world domination?” Dumbledore looked up at the imposing figure before him in absolute shock, fear coursing through him at the mere mention of his relationship with Grindelwald. How did Tom know?
The Dark Lord- who had been scanning his enemy’s wrinkled face for any response to his words- grinned viciously at his victim. He felt a savage kind of victory as he watched Dumbledore fold in on himself, pain-filled tears falling down his face at the onslaught of memories he was facing.
“I know everything about your little lover, Headmaster,” He jeered, feeling pleased with himself as the ‘great’ Dumbledore broke down even further at his last sentence, crumpling onto the floor helplessly as his frail body shook with uncontained sobs.
Tom reveled in his victory, his eyes drinking in the sight of the old man in the position he used to be in. Let’s see how you handle the panic attacks, old man, He thought darkly. Let’s see how you like them.
A subtle nudge from Lillian’s side of their mental bond had him alert of her presence immediately. His bonded’s presence filled his consciousness as she searched for the source of his sadistic glee. He immediately felt her exasperated amusement as well as her impatience fill his mind at the picture Dumbledore’s pathetic form lying upon the worn floorboards. She soon left his mind, but not before leaving with a parting message. Come home, she whispered in his mind, filling Tom with a warm feeling that he could not explain in words. Come home to me, to your children. Hadrian misses you and so do I. Besides, the your two little rascals are kicking more than usual, his Lillian added snarkily. Tom nearly chuckled out loud at her statement. Lillian had become more and more sarcastic as she progressed further and further in her pregnancy. And if you come home and get blood on the floor, I will kick your bloody ass, even though doing things with added weight from the twins is nearly impossible. Tom knew she was being serious, as her raging hormones made her actions unpredictable and although he loved his Lillian, he knew that she could use his pressure points for near-torture without any remorse. I love you, we all love you. Come home, she finished and Tom suddenly felt barren and empty without her comforting aura surrounding him. He shook the feeling off quickly as he looked at Dumbledore.
Tom sighed heavily. He supposed that his playtime with his victim was over. Besides, spending time with his family was far more important than killing Albus-bloody-Dumbledore. Tom latched onto the Headmaster’s vulnerable mind with a fierce grip, forcing Dumbledore out of his panic attack until the old man blearily focused on the Leader of the Dark Sect. Tom looked at what was left of the once great wizard with remorse. He had gotten his revenge on him, but this was not how this admittedly incredible man should meet his end.
The frail wizard opened his mouth, no doubt to apologize once again, but Tom silenced him with a harsh glance.
“Dumbledore,” He started, almost hesitantly, “I understand that you feel remorse for your previous actions and decisions.” Tom gained more confidence in his words, which became more and more pronounced with each word he spoke. “If I had given into my childish arrogance, I would undoubtedly hate the choices I had made.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “Thank Morgana I didn’t make those choices, but that does not mean I am a good man with a righteous set of morals, just like you realizing your failures in life- including your decisions surrounding me- does not make up for the things you have done. I therefore cannot offer you my forgiveness, as you do not deserve it, but I do recognise and respect your honesty even on the verge of death. That is all I can offer you as of now, old man,” Tom finished, looking directly into Dumbledore’s slowly warming blue hues.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Mugwump and Defeater of Grindelwald, looked at his former student and smiled.
“That is all I can ask for, my boy.” Dumbledore finished, his eyes watery yet his expression remained grateful. He was going to die now, finally happy.
He was free.
Albus Dumbledore died with a warm smile upon his lips.
Tom left the small cottage quietly, feeling significantly lighter than when he had arrived.
-HCR-
June 20, 1982- Hadrian’s Bedroom, Slytherin Manor, Unplottable Location
Hadrian awoke with a start, cold sweat making his shirt cling to his shivering skin. He panted heavily, feeling completely overwhelmed. What was happening? Where was his Dada? Hadn’t he been there a moment ago? Right as the thought left his mind, a light prettier and brighter than he had ever seen before surrounded him. Hadrian blinked curiously.
“Pwetty?” He asked of the bright magic. Almost in answer, the lights glowed even brighter before concentrating itself towards the Slytherin Heir’s chest, burrowing itself in a cocoon of Hadrian’s unbiased magic. It shuddered slightly before calming down, seemingly becoming dormant. Hadrian’s magic purred contentedly at the visitor, although the toddler still felt like something was still missing there. The little boy yawned sleepily before curling back up against Nagini’s sleeping form and soon fell fast asleep.