What's in a name?
Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Hermione tapped her pencil against her chin as she gazed at the name of Harry's 'passenger' in her notebook. Something about it just seemed off to her, as if she had seen it in different form before, but she couldn't possibly imagine where, and it drove her mad.
She threw the pencil onto her desk, frustrated with the lack of progress she'd made with that particular mystery. She had spent the past three weeks trying to unravel the strangeness of the name, but to no avail - it didn't help that aside from that plaque she and Neville had found and what little Harry had told them, there was no mention of Tom Marvolo Riddle anywhere in her books.
Whatever had happened to him, it had caused him to vanish from sight in the forties, only to reappear now, in Harry's mind at that - and none of these things made any sense. 'A common theme with the wizarding world', she thought to herself as she leaned back and rubbed her temples.
The worst part was that somehow, Harry having a backseat driver did actually make sense, as scary as it may be. It was the least insane explanation for the flash in his eye colour both during the... troll's death and later in the chess room, and it explained a great deal about some of Harry's somewhat strange behaviour - like his slightly annoying tendency to have those strange apparent mental conversations. Hermione had initially suspected he might simly be in dire need of therapy - considering what she suspected about Harry's home life, that would be the bare minimum of steps to be taken to ensure his mental wellbeing - but the fact that Tom Marvolo Riddle really did exist and had, in fact, proven his existence twice so far indicated that he was, in fact, more than a mere figment of Harry's imagination.
Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Hermione drummed her fingers on her desk as she chewed on her lower lip. Maybe she was overthinking it - maybe there was some logical explanation as to why a student who graduated in 1945 had ended up in Harry's mind. Maybe there was some relation between him and Harry, and maybe some form of Necromancy or similar shenanigans had been involved at some place - considering how flippant mages could be about usually generally accepted concepts of reality and logic, maybe the elder Potters had been dabbling in these branches of magic. It was unlikely, but considering the supposed greatest wizard of modern times had placed a priceless and potentially dangerous magical artifact in a school and had hired a possessed teacher, Hermione was less than willing to fully discard that theroy.
She frowned as she thought about the timeline. Harry's parents had been killed on October 31st, 1981, while Harry had survived - then, as Harry had revealed to her and Neville, he found out that Tom was in his mind when he was seven years old (he couldn't recall the exact date, as he said), with them later experimenting with switching places as the dominant soul leading up to the... thing in the bathroom, during which Tom proved he could harness Harry's magical abilities himself.
Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Harry had further explained that they - well, Tom - had speculated that Tom was a minor soul shard that had been atached to Voldemort's wand and had, upon the attempted murder of Harry, jumped from the wand to the impact zone of Voldemort's curse.
Hermione frowned again. Strange - something about the word Voldemort bugged her now, as well. Maybe it was the idea of the mad wizard behind it - the fact that he somehow still lived, and had attempted to restore his body, apparently, was more than disheartening, but Hermione couldn't help but feel like it wasn't just the fear he inspired.
She picked up her pencil again and, just out of a hunch, decided to write down both TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE and VOLDEMORT down on a piece of paper before her, placing the former above the latter.
There were clearly similarities between the two lines - to be expected, to a degree, but something told Hermione that this was more than just a coincidence. She narrowed her eyes and began connecting the matching letters, letting out a hiss when she was done - she was, in fact, able to spell VOLDEMORT from TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE.
Coincidence? Maybe.
Overthinking on her part? More than likely.
Nevertheless, Hermione looked at the remaining letters of the upper name. One M, one O, one R, the I, one D, one L, and the A remained from TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE, and Hermione's frown only deepened.
O-R-D-L could spell out LORD, and as she recalled from her books, Voldemort had liked to refer to himself as Lord Voldemort, so she threw the title before the lower name - sure enough, this eliminated the four letters from TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE. Only M, I and A remained.
M, I, A - I AM.
Hermione didn't notice her pencil dropping from her hand, nor did she notice her hearbeat being audible in her ears, or her palms moistening with sweat. She did notice her breathing becoming more frantic, however, as well as her vision becoming blurry - she blinked it away and forced herself to calm down.
TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE.
I AM LORD VOLDEMORT.
It made too much sense to be wrong - Riddle's sudden disappearance from sight, Voldemort's emergence, their existence... Hermione didn't know if the latter was some accident or part of some nefarious plot by the dark wizard, but one thing she knew for sure - she had to warn Harry and Neville.
"You did not perform quite as well as expected of you, Neville", Augusta Longbottom sternly said as she folded her hands while leaning back in her imposing armchair. "However, your courage in preventing the theft of the Philosopher's Stone more than makes up for your academic shortcomings."
Neville bit the inside of his cheek as he stood before her in the Longbottom library. "Thank you, grandmother", he replied.
"To be entirely honest, I am pleasantly surprised you performed as well as you did", she continued, now in an ever so slightly softer voice. "Given your difficulties manifesting magic, I was entirely prepared to receive word that you had failed your first year exams. Nevertheless, your performance, while it does no live up to our family's standards, is indubitably solid overall." She frowned. "Apart from Transfiguration, that is. Your father certainly never struggled with the subject, I really did expect the same of you."
"I'm sorry", Neville said in turn, gripping his wrists behind his back to keep them from fidgeting. "I did perform better in Charms, though."
Grandmother snorted. "Yes, because Charms is so utterly important to your future, Neville", she drawled and rolled her eyes. "Any work you put into that sad jest of a subject would be better served in Transfiguration and Potions - subjects that actually matter."
Neville pursed his lips, already regretting having broached the subject of Charms in the first place. "I don't know whether increasing my focus on Potions would help", he admitted. "Professor Snape clearly dislikes me, and most of my housemates, with a passion."
"True", the old woman acquiesced. "I shall write Albus about that wretched boy's behaviour" - Neville took that to mean she was about to send a howler - "and I will arrange for you to be tutored during the holidays. You will not fail at Potions of all things - not as long as I am on this earth."
Well, that was as loving as she got, Neville figured.
"I also approve of your choice in friends", grandmother carried on. "The Granger girl clearly is intelligent and, if given the chances, will get far in life - do make sure you nurture this friendship. I am also gladdened to learn that you do not mingle with Weasley's youngest son. Anyone named after that flimsy coot Bilius cannot possibly be worth your time, and I am relieved to know you have some common sense, at least."
A smile appeared on her lips for the first time in the conversation. "And of course, I was beyond pleased to learn you have become close friends with Harry Potter. I do not know what nonsensical ideas Albus has for him, but the fact that you had the initiative to invite him during the summer make it much easier to properly introduce the lad to our customs and ways. And it does appear that he has had a positive effect on your composure", she noted.
Neville blinked in surprise.
"Oh yes, you may not have noticed, but you finally learned to stand up straight, and you have yet to flinch or stutter once", grandmother stated with a smile. "Clearly, you have found your backbone where you found your courage - most admirable indeed."
Neville blushed a bit. "Thank you, grandmother", he replied.
"Now then, I will need to send an owl to arrange for young Harry's visit", she murmured more to herself. "I certainly hope his guardians will see the wisdom in him visiting, after all, Frank was childhood friends with James, and Alice and Lily used to be inseperable..."
"Ah, grandmother?", Neville spoke up, finally daring to ask the question that he had kept to himself for several weeks now. "While at Hogwarts, I visited the Trophy Room, and I saw that in 1943, a Tom Riddle had been awarded an award for special services. I couldn't find anything else on the matter, though, but since you attended Hogwarts during that year, I was wondering if you knew something about that?"
Augusta Longbottom's face darkened considerably. "Yes, you would be curious about that", she muttered. "Let me tell you right away, Neville, that Tom Marvolo Riddle", she practically spat out the name, "is not an example you should ever follow."
Neville blinked. "Who was he?"
"He was a cancer - a wretched beast masquerading as a boy, who took the worst wizardingkind had to offer and gave them a warped purpose. His madness was only ever eclipsed by his brutality, his cockiness paled in comparison to his cruelty, and the less I speak of his reckless ambition, the better. His actions killed some of our most promising youths, and drove even more away from the proper paths in life."
Grandmother snorted derisively. "That... name... never suited him, either - far too pretty for a wicked snake like him. I always preferred to call him by that ridiculous moniker of his, just to spite the pathetic little ghoul. No, Voldemort is not someone you should look at as an example - if you ever have to look at him, I hope it is to strike him down for good."
"Voldemort?!", Neville asked in shock.
"Good - you do not fear the name", grandmother grimly said. "Fear will only block you, and kill you. Do not show that devil any fear, and he will fall before you." She narrowed her eyes. "I'll include a request to finally get rid of that wretched plaque in my letter to Albus - I cannot believe that goat has yet to do it."
Neville didn't listen anymore though - he was too preoccupied with the fact that his friend carried a piece of Voldemort's soul in him. He couldn't believe he had missed it - it made too much sense; how 'Tom' had been able to kill the troll, how he had bonded with Harry in the first place...
Oh no.
Did Harry even know?
Did Harry even care?
Neville didn't want to think about that possibility, but if he and 'Tom' had been friends for as long as Harry said they were, there was a fair chance Voldemort had already sunken his claws into Harry's mind.
He knew one thing for certain - he needed to warn Hermione and Harry. And if that didn't work...
Well, he really hoped he didn't have to explain the whole story to his grandmother.
"Acceptables", Abraxas Malfoy rumbled as he fixed Draco with a cold glare.
Draco winced at his grandfather's tone. He had never liked the office the Head of House Malfoy used for his work - it was dark, and oppressive, and generally uncomfortable. Sure, Draco longed for the day he would sit in grandfather's seat, but for now, he found himself on the receiving end of the elder Malfoy's piercing eyes, and he hated every second of it.
"You only received an Outstanding in Potions, and that clearly is only due to Severus' leniency and long memory", grandfather continued. "An Exceeding Expectations in Charms and History of Magic each are the bare minimum, at the very least, yet somehow, you even managed to fall short of that." He tossed the piece of parchment with Draco's grades into the nearby fireplace.
"Acceptables", he repeated. "Hah!"
"It's that Granger girl", Draco attempted to defend himself. "The mudblood has the teachers wrapped around her--"
"Did I say you could speak, boy?", grandfather practically thundered, and Draco recoiled. "You are lucky you even passed your exams at all, nevermind that you still have some sliver of respect in Slytherin after that pathetic foolery with the dragon and that unicorn."
"But Potter really had a dragon!", Draco whined. "And I did see someone feasting on a dead unicorn in the forest!"
Grandfather merely narrowed his eyes dangerously. "I do not doubt that the Potter boy may have had a dragon - but you bungled the matter in such a manner that even if you had successfully incriminated him, you would not have gotten away yourself. And I will not even start on just how badly you miscalculated that plot - honestly, if Lucius hadn't made sure of it, I would doubt you are even my grandson."
"But-"
"Do not interrupt me!", the old man barked. "You had one very simple task - befriend Harry Potter and ensure he sees things the proper way. Instead, you made a fool of yourself at every single turn - first that idiotic dueling challenge, then letting yourself be outsmarted with that Dragon story, and then being a hysterical pansy worthy of the Parkinson name about some creature killing a unicorn. You have the cunning of a dunderheaded Hufflepuff, the subtlety of a boorish Gryffindor and the charm of an ink-covered Ravenclaw, and were you not your father's only child, I would not give you a minute of my time."
Draco blanched. "You cannot possibly-"
"I most certainly can, boy", grandfather said. "Lucius has coddled you beyond reason. Being a Malfoy means more than merely swinging around your family name, strutting about like one of our peacocks and hurling insults at those rightfully our lessers. Do you think Armand Malfoy was able to build our House with hot air alone? No, he used his brain, he used his wand, and he used his connections to do so. If you had been in his place, our family would never have gotten out of Normandy in the first place."
"But these people-"
"Will not care for your name if you cannot live up to it", the old man interrupted. "That is precisely why the Weasleys now live in the muck where they belong. Septimus Weasley was handed everything in life, yet was neither smart nor ruthless enough to keep any of it, and tearing down that pathetic dunderhead was a child's play."
Abraxas leaned back and folded his long, thin fingers. "Thankfully, you are still young, and moldable enough. There is still time to ensure you turn out as something worth calling an heir to the Malfoy family. But make no mistake, boy", he fixed his ice cold glare on Draco again. "Failure to perform adequately will be dealt with accordingly."
Draco's face lost what little colour it had left. "You cannot mean to disown me", he responded.
His grandfather simply shrugged. "Your mother is young enough to have another child", he said dismissively. "And Lucius at least has enough smarts to see matters my way most days."
The fireplace chimed, the telltale sign that someone was attempting to enter the office via floo travel. The old man subsequently made a dismissive hand gesture. "Now leave, Draco", he ordered. "I have more important business to attend to than your shortcomings."
Draco stiffly nodded and turned to leave. Before he exited the office, however, he still caught his grandfather's next few words, though they were not directed towards him.
"Welcome to Malfoy Manor, Madam Orschitsch. I hope your journey was a comfortable one."
Draco shook his head as he closed the door. He didn't quite care for what his grandfather was doing now - all that was on his mind was how the hell he'd prevent being disowned.
Potter - that was the answer. If he could somehow smooth things over with Potter, make him see reason, his standing would be confirmed.
But how on earth would he be able to do that?