Chapter 11
Original timeline
“Well, it looks like Albus Dumbledore’s sins are beginning to come home to roost,” said the powers that be softly, a chuckle at the back of their throats. “With the revelation that the boy who died wasn’t actually a Potter, that should throw the wizarding world into a bit of chaos. And if we love anything more than the Prince-Riddle family, it’s a bit of justified chaos.”
“Are we just going to let the humans believe that the Potters stole someone’s child after their own died?” Destiny queried curiously. She didn’t care overmuch about the ephemeral reputations of people in the human world, but she didn’t want any sort of backlash to be aimed at Tom Riddle or Severus Snape. “I’m afraid that Dumbledore might spin it in a way to make the sheeple believe that the Riddles were actually behind the substitution.”
“Never fear, my child,” the powers reassured gently. “We have some humans who have committed some heinous acts against us, and are willing to do what we ask to avoid the punishment awaiting them for as long as possible. We’ll have unimpeachable evidence scattered about to convince the magicals that Dumbledore is wholly responsible for stealing another’s child to keep his favorite minions happy. As well, we've doctored some memories so that Hawthorne's appearance in the Potters' home has a more reasonable explanation. We're just going to stir the pot a bit and then we get to sit back and watch the show.”
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Lucius carefully entered the wing that the Dark Lord had taken for his own after his successful resurrection, helped along by the blood of his own unrecognized son. The blond wasn’t looking forward to breaking this bit of news to his mentor, considering how devastated both he and Severus were after their child had disappeared. He sank to one knee in front of the throne in which Riddle sat, head bowed and shivering slightly, both in awe of the magnificent power Voldemort had and the fear of misplaced reprisals for the news he brought. “What is it, Lucius?” the older man queried softly. Though he had used Nagini’s venom in the ritual, because she was a maledictus and still had human DNA in her, he came back in a stronger, younger body, without the serpentine appearance he’d expected. His dark hair was silver at the temples, and he looked very distinguished and urbane, which would help his goals along tremendously in the coming years.
“I...I have some news that you and your mate might not like,” the blond replied, voice shaking noticeably. Raven black brows winged up on a pale forehead, and ruby eyes narrowed suspiciously at the normally unflappable Malfoy lord kneeling before him. Riddle touched Lucius’ tattoo on his left forearm, which Malfoy had automatically held out, knowing that his Lord would want to call his spouse to his side for this. It was maybe a half hour later that the Potions Master strode into his husband’s private quarters, standing at his side and staring down at the top of the bent blond head of his very best friend.
Heaving a quiet sigh, and keeping his eyes on the floor, Lucius stammered, “H-Harry Potter w-wasn’t a Potter. He had been killed by some dementors sent to his neighborhood just a few weeks ago, and when they did an autopsy and took blood samples, they d-discovered that h-he was...was…”
“Out with it, Lucius,” Riddle barked anxiously, pretty sure he knew in which direction this was going and fearing the worst.
“He was your son, my Lord,” Malfoy whispered brokenheartedly. “He was Hawthorne Thomas Riddle.” The atmosphere in that small room grew tense and thick as both Severus and Tom fought to come to terms with the news. They knew that their son had been stolen in the night just a few weeks after he was born, and every tracking and scrying spell known to wizardkind was used to try and find him, to no avail. They knew that it had to have been someone close to them to steal their baby, but they never knew what had happened to him. Until now.
“I...I hunted my own son?” Voldemort asked incredulously, heart breaking all over again at the horrible things he’d done to his precious baby, without even knowing that the boy was his. All he saw was the death of his hopes and dreams for their world, reflecting at him from defiant sparkling emerald eyes. All he felt was an incandescent rage that a mere child would mean the end of his efforts to save their world, as he was fated to do by the powers that be.
Severus was wallowing in his own guilt, flinching over and over again at the memories of the abuse he’d heaped upon his son’s head whilst the boy was in school. All he saw when he looked at Hawthorne was his bitterest enemy and abuser, and despite his adult status, he’d acted wholly childish and entitled in punishing the supposed son for the father’s wrongs; in emotionally and mentally destroying his own son for someone else’s deliberate mistakes. “Where is he now?” the potions professor barked, dark eyes narrowed on his best friend angrily.
“As soon as I found out that he was your son, I contacted some of our people in the Ministry, and they’re sending his body to the manor tomorrow. Dumbledore has already started trying to spin this to make it look like you were the one to place Hawthorne with the Potters after their own child died, but so far, it’s not working. We’ll need to get ahead of this before the shite truly hits the fan.”
The wards around the manor alerted Lucius to a visitor outside the gates, and with a nod from Voldemort, was given permission to go see who it was. It couldn’t be a Death Eater; they were given limited access to specific floos that would keep them in the room in which they’d arrived until someone from the family came to escort them to wherever they needed to be. Exiting the manor, and with an invisible house elf shadowing him, the Malfoy patriarch stopped in shock as he saw the man outside his gates, looking shabbier than ever and shivering fitfully. “Pettigrew?” Lucius queried incredulously. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to speak to our Lord about something important, Lucius,” the ratlike man replied, voice trembling alarmingly. He looked to be on the edge of tears, and with a curt nod, Malfoy opened the gates and led the way into the manor and to Voldemort’s private wing.
“Wait here, and I’ll let him know you need to speak with him.” With a barely there nod, Lucius took his leave, and was gone for a few moments before he returned to lead Pettigrew into the receiving room, where Tom was sitting forward on his chair, eyeing the ratlike man suspiciously.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Wormtail?” the Dark Lord intoned warningly. "You'd been suspiciously absent from the ranks for a fairly long while."
Gulping, Pettigrew said, “I’m so sorry, my Lord, for all the pain I’ve caused you and Severus. I was the one to steal your son and take him to the Potters. Dumbledore knew I was one of yours, and he’d threatened to out me to James, Sirius and Remus if I didn’t help him keep the Potters happy. My biggest regret is the sorrow I feel at the death of Hawthorne. I used to cuddle up with him in his pram after he was born, and I tried to continue that tradition after I took him to the Potters. His was the purest love I’d ever felt anyone give to me, and I took that away from you. I’m ready to face any punishment you and Severus feel I deserve for destroying your lives.” He bowed his head, tears falling freely to the floor as he awaited his fate, knowing that he earned whatever the Dark Lord wished to do to him in recompense for his mistakes.
“How did Albus convince you to betray me like that?” Riddle hissed, words on the edge of parseltongue in his fury. “Hawthorne adored you, and you sentenced him to a miserable life and a future death at my hands! I can’t even imagine how Severus feels, knowing he’d bullied and verbally abused his own son for the last four years!” The silence was thick as the air snapped with Riddle’s barely restrained angry magic. “WELL?!” he bellowed when there was no reply forthcoming. “ANSWER ME!”
Flinching and crawling toward the throne on his belly, Pettigrew sniffled and tried to come up with something that would hopefully save his arse. He knew, however, deep within his heart of hearts, that nothing he could say would ever gain him forgiveness for such a monumental betrayal, so he girded his loins, as it were, and told the unvarnished truth. He owed his Lord that much. “My life has been meaningless for too long, my Lord,” Peter murmured quietly. The room echoed with a sepulchral silence, so every word the rat animagus said was heard as if it was being shouted from the highest bell tower. “Even with the Marauders, I wasn’t considered as more than a tag-along. Most of the pranks that James and Sirius pulled were without my input, and I felt like a useless appendage with them.
“It was the same at home. My father was so disappointed in me, and he never failed to let me know, whether by word or action, how much he despised my existence. Mum came from an abusive home herself, so she accepted his treatment of us without protest, thinking that it was what all married couples did. I wanted to matter; to prove that I was important to someone, and when Lucius told me of you and your goals, I thought I’d finally find my place. But it wasn’t much different being one of the Death Eaters, either. I was their plaything; their toy when things didn’t go quite the way that they’d expected, and Bellatrix was particularly vicious.
“Then James and Lily got married, and had a baby, and those first few weeks were glorious. Harry loved cuddling me close at night in my animagus form, and I finally felt love for the first time. But then he died suddenly, unexpectedly and for no reason, and the Potters were inconsolable. Dumbledore knew of Severus’ son; somehow he’d gotten ahold of Hawthorne’s birth certificate, and he came to me one night to discuss a proposition. He promised me that I would be celebrated as a hero if I could ‘rescue’ an innocent child to be raised as an ‘icon of the Light’. That people would treat me with honor and pride, and that they would finally see me, instead of glancing past me as if I didn’t exist. Dumbledore promised to protect the Potters, and especially Hawthorne; that the boy was marked by Fate for a greater purpose.
“Then you came that night, and everything changed. I was supposed to let you into the cottage, and you were supposed to confront the Potters and die at their wands. Somehow, though, he was sure you wouldn’t disappear completely. I know that you’d told some of your most trusted about your efforts at immortality, but I didn’t think Dumbledore would be aware of it, which means we have a spy in the ranks. Anyway, you were destroyed, and I grabbed your wand and bid Hawthorne a tearful goodbye before I fled the cottage. I lost track of him after that, and when Black tried to kill me in Hawthorne’s third year, I realized that Dumbledore used me as a patsy. A fall guy for the deaths of the Potters and the abuse of Hawthorne.
“I never turned away from you, my Lord. I’ve always been faithful, and I’ve spent the last fifteen years gathering all the secrets I could about our venerated Chief Warlock, and if there’s any way I can make up for my part in the harm to your family, I’ll willingly do it, even if it includes my death at your hands.” By the time Pettigrew had finished his tale, his voice was hoarse from talking so long, and the shadows in the room had lengthened a great deal.
Riddle was silent on his throne as he stared unblinkingly at Wormtail’s bent head. Everything his minion had told him was the unvarnished truth, and he didn’t hesitate to paint himself in a bad light by his words or actions. Knowing how skilled Albus was at manipulation and mind magics, Tom couldn’t help but believe that everything Pettigrew had done over the intervening years wasn’t wholly voluntary. “Rise, Peter,” he finally sighed out tiredly. The rat animagus scrambled to his feet, never lifting his eyes from the floor as he awaited his fate. “I want you to gather all of that information of which you’re aware and bring it to me as quickly as you can. Then I want you to use your animagus to spy on Albus and his sycophantic followers. Discover what his plans are now that his ‘savior’ is dead.”
Tom closed his eyes and clenched his teeth as he fought back the overwhelming grief that wanted to swamp him. A hand in the small of his back reminded him that he wasn’t alone in this, and he pulled Severus down onto the seat beside him so that he could lean against the man and borrow some of his strength. With his eyes still closed he said, “The papers will begin the shredding of the man’s reputation and status in our world. I want you to find everything you can so that we have enough to eradicate him from our history and our memories. I don’t want him to be remembered for anything good. Start with that whole debacle with Grindelwald and work your way forward. I’m counting on you, Peter. Don’t let me down.”
“I will find the secrets that not even his parents knew,” Pettigrew promised, a feral grin on his face. “You can count on me.”