Chapter 15 - Winter, Spring, and Summer

Written by Nemesis

Grindelwald turned his crimson eyes to Tom, who scowled darkly and whipped out his wand, prepared to fight. The Dark wizard before him laughed a cold laugh, deeper than that of Tom's specter, but just as frigid. "You," he beckoned. He had a very thick accent. "Come here."

Tom backed away, his eyes flashing, but not red. "Stay away from me, Grindelwald," he murmured.

Grindelwald's lips curved upwards. "Brave little brat, aren't you? Let's see just how brave you are. Crucio!" Tom's wand slipped out of his hand and he fell into the snow, crying out in pain. It was fifty times worse than any of his beatings, and it felt like every inch of his body was being consumed with flame. He heard the other students run away in terror, and as the curse was mercifully lifted, he felt someone kneel at his side.

"Tom? Tom, are you all right? Say something!" Dumbledore's face swam into view.

"I'm alive," Tom whispered. "My wand… I need my wand."

"Get away from the boy!" Grindelwald commanded. "He is all I want, Albus. Give him to me, and you and your precious school escape unharmed."

Professor Dumbledore glared up at Grindelwald and Tom shakily sat up. He saw his wand about ten feet away. Ignoring the pain he was still feeling, Tom lunged for it, whirled on Grindelwald, and yelled, "Petrificus Totalus!"

Grindelwald got to his wand in time and blocked the spell, which rebounded and hit one of his young followers. He did not seem to care in the slightest. He pointed his own wand at Dumbledore, who was trying to get to him, and shrieked, "Impedimenta!" Dumbledore froze. Smirking, Grindelwald turned to Tom, who had got to his feet. "There is no point in resisting, Riddle," he cackled. "You are brave, I'll give you that. It is something the Dark side could use. Join me, Tom. I will give you power beyond your wildest dreams."

"Why me?" Tom demanded.

"You know why, Riddle. You know what you are. Now, would you like to become my ally, or will I have to work against you?"

Tom narrowed his eyes. "I don't need you," he spat.

"Really?" Grindelwald looked disappointed, but amused. "Well, I'm sorry I have to do this to you, Riddle, but if I have to beat you into submission, that's what I'll do. Crucio!"

Again, Tom was possessed by the all-consuming pain. Every bone in his body felt like it had shattered, and hot knives seemed to be splitting his skin open. Grindelwald, laughing, lifted the curse after a very long time, and Tom stumbled to his feet. "Still stubborn?" asked Grindelwald. Tom nodded defiantly, and Grindelwald tried to perform the Cruciatus Curse yet again.

Before the curse hit him, Tom thought fast. He jumped out of the way and performed the counter-curse on Professor Dumbledore. Dumbledore immediately raised his wand and shouted an incantation. Grindelwald reflected this spell, too. "Stand behind me," Dumbledore hissed. Tom obeyed, watching by looking around Dumbledore's left arm. The rest of the school stood up on the hill, watching in disbelief.

Grindelwald was smiling in a seemingly pleasant way. "Now, now, now, Albus, why don't you consider the offer? You know what my dementors are capable of. They could suck the souls out of each and every one of your darling pupils. My children could level this castle in a few minutes. Is it really worth it, all for one little boy?"

Tom sent a whispered hex in Grindelwald's direction. This one impacted, and Grindelwald stumbled. It was the Leg-Locker curse, one of Tom's specialties. Unfortunately, Grindelwald knew the counter-curse, and had it performed in an instant. "It seems you don't want to cooperate, Albus, am I right?"

"You don't get Tom or the other students," Dumbledore said, a sense of fury radiating from him once more.

"Oh, don't I? Crucio!" Grindelwald screamed for the fourth time. Dumbledore collapsed, leaving Tom out in the open. Grindelwald smiled, completely ignoring Dumbledore, who was clearly putting his every atom of effort into not crying out. "Now, Tom, why don't you come with me? I can help you avenge yourself upon every person who has ever harmed you. I can help you gain ultimate power."

"I've said it before and I'll say it again," Tom repeated obstinately, "I don't need you." He helped Dumbledore to his feet.

"Oh, but you do," said Grindelwald, eyes glinting. As Grindelwald raised his wand, Tom transformed into a cat and dashed into the Forbidden Forest. "An Animagus? This is better than I thought. Hmmm… O'Nally, get him. Take a few dementors with you. If he resists too much, the dementors are allowed to kiss him."

"Yes, Master," responded a girlish voice. Tom's heart rate quickened, as did his footfalls. He ran and ran until he could run no more, and he hid himself inside a shrub, remaining a cat.

Tom stayed in there for what felt like hours. Suddenly, there was a rustling in the leaves nearby. Tom, terrified to see a dementor, instead found himself looking up at a centaur. The centaur had an Arabian body and a head of dark hair. Tom meowed quietly. The centaur made a motion of surprise, then brushed away the leaves of the bush. He stared. "You are a wizard," he said softly. "Reveal yourself." Shivering in the cold, Tom resumed his usual shape. The centaur looked even more astonished. "A child?" He surveyed Tom's face more closely. "A Circle member," he breathed. "What are you doing in the forest, young one?"

"Grindelwald wants to get me," Tom muttered under his breath. "Who are you?"

"I am Miravez. Who are you?"

"Tom Riddle--Lord Voldemort," he added, not really knowing why.

Miravez nodded his shaggy head. "Voldemort--it is an unusual name, but it has been mentioned in the stars. A Lord, you say?"

"Not formally…self proclaimed." Miravez laughed quietly.

"Yes… the twelfth members of both Circles will be Lords. One descended from darkness, the other from light. One self-made, the other, knighted. No particular order, the prophecy does not extend that far. You could be either, my child."

"What do you mean? I… I'm not a member of the Circle of Darkness, am I?"

Miravez stared hard at Tom, and his brow furrowed. "You have both marks upon you, my child."

Tom took a few steps back. "I could be either?"

"That is what I have said." Miravez's eyes moved skyward. "Neptune… you usually cannot see him, but he is there. He is there, and very bright. Look." Tom looked up, and he saw a planet he had never seen before. It was glowing brilliant blue, and it seemed larger even than the brightest planets. "You are in grave danger, little one."

"Hmmm… well, I have dementors who want to kiss me, a Dark wizard after my blood, and a crazed Irish girl on my tail," Tom thought sardonically. "Of course I'm in danger!"

"Follow me, young Voldemort," Miravez murmured. "If I am with you, you will be less likely to be hurt. Perhaps transforming into a cat again would be wise." Tom obeyed, and trotted along at Miravez's heels, the snow feeling bitter against his leathery paws.

There was another rustling sound, and a girl burst into the clearing. She had dark blonde hair and poison-green eyes, a wand in her hand. She would have been beautiful if the look on her face had not been one of pure dementia. As she saw Miravez, her lips curled into a smile. Tom immediately crept into the bushes as silently as possible. "Ah, my centaur friend. Have you seen any little black cats scurrying around?" She had a heavy Irish accent.

"No," Miravez said mournfully.

"Liar. Avada Kedavra!" Tom heard the centaur's knees buckle as green light filled the clearing. "Come on, dementors. The little brat must be around here somewhere." Three tall, hooded dementors entered the clearing, whispering in their cold language. Tom backed away. One of the dementors took a deep, rattling breath, and as the little amount of joy Tom had was sucked out of him, the dementor pointed at the spot where Tom lay. Before Tom could react, the girl had reached down and seized Tom by the scruff of his neck. She stared into his face, smirking.

"I've always liked cats," she snarled. The girl, O'Nally, tapped Tom with her wand, and he fell to the ground next to Miravez. He had turned back into a human.

"Expelliarmus!" Tom shouted. The girl's wand flew out of her hand, and Tom caught it. She had clearly not been expecting this. The girl backed away, eyes wide. Tom raised his wand again. "Stupefy." The girl keeled over, unconscious. Not keen on being found with an unconscious girl and a dead centaur, Tom snapped the girl's wand in half and hurled it into the bushes, intending to leave.

A cold, clammy hand closed on his shoulder. Tom looked up and saw a dementor glaring down at him. He had completely forgotten about them. Concentrating very hard, Tom summoned up the thought of getting out of the Forbidden Forest alive. That was the happiest thought he could come up with. "Expecto Patronum!" His mother's image burst out of his wand, and it immediately swatted the dementor's hand off Tom's shoulder. Looking furious, it shooed the dementors away, off into the darkness. That done with, the Patronus smiled at Tom and disappeared.

"Tom! TOM!"

Tom turned around to see Professor Xavier running toward him. He looked very distraught, and he had twigs in his hair. "We've been looking everywhere for you! We thought that little girl got you."

"Never mind that, what's going on?"

"Professor Dumbledore finished Grindelwald. He had to, or else the rat would have started killing students. Anyway, Grindelwald is dead, Tom, you don't need to worry about him anymore."

Tom sighed. "Good riddance, I say. What are we going to do about the girl?"

Professor Xavier noticed the prone girl on the ground, her dark gold hair spilling around her. He shot ropes at her from his wand, which bound her tightly. "This," he said, and he picked her up. "We'll take her back to the school. All the other supporters have been captured." They were now walking through the forest back to the school.

"And the dementors?"

"They left. I'll have to get Ogg to go and look for the three you took care of back there." He grinned suddenly. "Excellent Patronus, by the way."

Tom returned the grin. "Thank you."

When they reached the school, everything was in chaos. Students were running around, Headmaster Dippet was panicking, and a few teachers were nursing small injuries. Madam Viola was mending Professor Dumbledore's nose; it seemed to have been broken badly in two places. "It'll never look right again, to be sure," she said, "but it'll work."

Dumbledore, however, did not seem to care about the fact that his nose had gone from straight to extremely crooked. He looked stunned, and, to Tom's amazement, furious with himself. Professor Xavier led Tom over to where Dumbledore was sitting. "Hi," Tom said tentatively. Before Dumbledore could reply, someone rushed over. It was Headmaster Dippet.

"Mr. Riddle?" he croaked. "You--you showed incredible courage tonight. Incredible courage and talent beyond your years. I know nothing will really ever reward you properly, but how does a Medal of Magical Merit sound to you?"

"Are you serious, sir?"

"Of course I'm serious! You'll have your name up in the Trophy Room, my lad. Of course, it already is--the Honor Roll--but this will be all on its own. It's only a trifle of what you deserve, but I hope it will do. And I'll make it two hundred points to Slytherin."

"Two--two hundred points? I didn't do anything, I just fell over a few times and turned into a cat! That's nothing!" Dippet, however, would have none of that. He waved away the comment and turned to Dumbledore.

"I'm sending a letter to the Minister of Magic," said Dippet. "He'll want to reward you, to be sure."

Professor Dumbledore seemed to be in shock. "I can't believe it," he kept murmuring. "I can't believe it, I actually--" He broke off, looking very ill. He looked up at Dippet. "I've never killed anyone before," Dumbledore said quietly. "When I was an Auror, I never killed anybody, and now I've…"

"Oh…" Dippet clearly felt awkward. "Well, good luck with that," he added lamely. "Mr. Riddle, you should have Madam Viola check up on you. The Cruciatus Curse can cause considerable damage to the flesh."

Only now did Tom truly notice the aching sensation all through his body, and the fact that his arms and legs seemed to be bruised. Hearing this, Madam Viola (having finished with Dumbledore) bustled up to Tom and gave him the once-over. "I'd say a night in the hospital wing and a few pain-relieving potions," she said. "Come on, lad, let's go." Tom followed her up to the castle, looking over his shoulder at Professor Dumbledore. He had never seen him so shaken up before. Was it really that traumatizing to kill someone, even for a good cause? In any case, Tom hoped that things would finally settle down now, and that Dumbledore would go back to normal. However Tom disliked his teacher's rages, it scared him equally to see him weak.

********************

As it happened, Professor Dumbledore was very slow to heal. He received the Order of Merlin, First Class, and a few other Ministry titles that clearly meant naught to him. Tom noticed he seemed rather more subdued than usual, and he would never talk about what had happened. Tom, meanwhile, felt quite befuddled. That incident in the earliest hour of the year stood out in his mind like a painting in angry, lurid colors. He would pass through the Trophy Room and stare at the little bronze medal, wondering what it had to do with the events that had transpired.

Another thing had been nagging at the back of Tom's mind for a long time. The centaur, Miravez, had said that he had both marks upon him, that he could be either a member of the Circle of Light or of the Circle of Darkness. Half of Tom's mind was horrified at the idea that he might be destined for evil, but the other half was no short of thrilled. Tom started having his nightmares on a nightly basis, and that nasty, nagging voice in the back of his mind seemed to be getting stronger. Twice during Easter break, he found himself crouched in the Restricted Section under the Invisibility Cloak in the dead of night, reading books he knew he should never even know existed.

Then again, his own ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, had studied the Dark Arts. He had not been a Dark wizard, though. Tom finally gave in, and decided that it was all right to study the Dark Arts as long as he did not use them on other people. By the start of the summer term, his excursions to the Restricted Section had become a nightly event. Tom kept them secret from Nepenthe, who he knew would have a fit if he found out, and Tom certainly did not want an angry cobra anywhere near him. When he was sure Nepenthe was not around, Tom would experiment with spells he had learned, usually on flobberworms he had borrowed from the Care of Magical Creatures teacher.

Perhaps his midnight readings had something to do with it, but Tom's Defense Against the Dark Arts grades suddenly skyrocketed. Professor Xavier, amazed at Tom's progress, was perpetually giving him advanced books to study. Tom appreciated this, as comparing these to the Dark Arts books was very interesting. He noticed that the books about defense tended to gravitate toward cruel magical creatures and the spells to ward them off, while the books teaching the Dark Arts tended to concentrate more on spells, curses, charms, and potions. Guilty though he was for engaging in forbidden activities, Tom did enjoy learning a whole new subject.

On the downside, Professor Dumbledore seemed to know that Tom was not the perfect student he appeared to be. Every time Tom turned up to breakfast looking drowsier than he ought to have, Professor Dumbledore would shoot him suspicious looks. It grew to be quite an annoyance to Tom, being constantly asked if he was all right, if he had slept properly. He knew that Dumbledore suspected him, and it made him feel both exasperated and furious with himself. Deep down, he knew that studying the Dark Arts, even without practicing them on humans, was still a bad thing, and he hoped against hope that Dumbledore never found out.

********************

As it always must, summer came around, and with it, summer holidays, looming ever nearer. Tom breezed through the end-of-term exams and once again made top grades, the best in his year, as usual.

Before Tom knew it, his trunk was packed and he was waiting for the horseless carriages on the school steps, feeling even gloomier than he had the previous year because he knew what he was in for. The train ride to King's Cross was uneventful, and, as it was last year, Miss Dench was standing near the entrance, waiting primly. "I was wondering when you two would get here," she snapped. "Come on. We're already late for supper."

"Boo-hoo," Tom muttered sarcastically. Abby giggled.

When they arrived at the orphanage, Mr. Carney was there. He was waiting for Tom and Abby on the steps, arms folded and grimacing horribly. "Get your stuff inside," he barked. "I want a word with you two."

Tom's stomach took a dive. When Rupert Carney "wanted a word," it usually meant that he wanted to hurt the person he was addressing. Tom dragged his trunk up to his dormitory and hurried back down to the entryway to meet Abby, who looked confused and apprehensive. "Follow me to my office," he sneered, looking as though he was truly enjoying this. Abby and Tom followed, and so did Miss Dench. Mr. Carney threw open the double doors and entered his office, seating himself behind his desk. He had Tom and Abby sit down in chairs in front of his desk, and Miss Dench stood guard at the door. "So," Mr. Carney said, a nasty smile on his face. "So."

Abby looked rather green, and for once, Tom felt that they were on the same plane. They exchanged looks, then looked back at Mr. Carney. "So," Mr. Carney repeated. "Miss Dench tells me that you two are a witch and wizard."

Tom's jaw dropped. That perfidious old bat had ratted them out! He spun around in his seat and glared over at Miss Dench, who curled her lip as their eyes met. "What?!" Abby squeaked. "Th-th-th-tha-that's r-r-r-r-r-ridic-ridiculous!" Abby was stuttering so horribly that Tom could barely understand her.

"I have found significant evidence to the contrary," Mr. Carney scorned. He pulled out a Charms textbook. "I found this under your bed, Miss Forrey."

Abby blanched, and Tom's eyes flashed. Of course, it had been the Muggle-born to ruin everything. Mr. Carney was looking more murderous than ever. "I will not tolerate that dangerous nonsense under my roof," he continued, his eyes lingering on Tom. "Either you stop practicing it and cease attending that school of yours--in which case I'll have to stamp it out of you to make sure you never get involved again--or you insist on continuing with your studies and get thrown out of this orphanage."

"You can't do that!" Tom shouted. "That's like witch-burning or something! It's illegal!" He found himself on his feet.

"So?" Mr. Carney snarled. "That hardly matters to me. The fact is, you--you freaks of nature--are a danger to both the children and staff of this orphanage! If you want to keep your home here, boy, you'll keep your mouth shut and stop practicing your witchcraft. Oh, and that's a beating you've earned yourself for your cheek, Riddle."

Acting on instinct, Tom dashed for the door, pushing Miss Dench out of the way and exiting at breakneck speed. Without bothering to look behind him, Tom threw open the orphanage doors and took the stairs four at a time. He heard shouting behind him, but did not stop to watch. He kept running, racing along the sidewalk. Twice he forgot to look both ways when he crossed the street, and cars screeched to a halt as they missed him by inches.

Finally, Tom stopped in a blocked-off alley, unable to run any farther. Gasping for air and clutching a stitch in his side, he slumped against the brick wall, brushing his hair out of his eyes. He could hardly believe what had just transpired. Mr. Carney had as good as thrown him out of the orphanage just for being magical. He had known Muggles were usually unsavory, but to be prejudiced against someone for simply being a wizard was too much. It was too unkind. Too much like his father.

"We don't need them," Tom thought. Those horrible, lesser beings scrambling across the earth, making life harder for wizards. He had met hundreds Muggles, and none of them had been nice. None of them. It was at that moment that Tom decided that he never wanted to see another Muggle as long as he lived. He wished they would be wiped off the face of the earth to save him the trouble of dealing with them.

Tom could see that dusk was quickly falling, and the rashness of his action suddenly hit him. He was lost in Whitechapel, a borough of London with a history of gruesome murders, and he was completely without any magical assistance--well, nothing but his wand, but that was no good if someone sneaked up on him. Just as he was wondering if Mr. Carney was still looking for him, a dark shape appeared at the other end of the alley.

"There you are, Riddle," Mr. Carney growled. Before Tom could react, the man had seized his arm. "Maybe you want a beating like the one you had a couple of years ago?" There was a maniacal smile on his face. "I could give you something a hundred times worse and leave you to die here. Nobody would care, Riddle."

"Stay away from me," Tom said through clenched teeth. Mr. Carney laughed and withdrew a belt from his jacket. As he tried to bring it down, it suddenly and magically skidded to a halt in midair, then crumbling into pieces. Tom breathed a sigh of relief, and he suddenly realized something. He was not at home, so he could perform as much magic as he wanted, and the Ministry would never know. Making up his mind, Tom wrenched his arm out of Mr. Carney's hand. The orphanage headmaster looked stricken and kept looking from the ruined belt to Tom. Eyes gleaming a brilliant red, Tom drew his wand out of his pocket and performed the first curse that came to his head. "Crucio!" he cried, his voice echoing around the deserted alleyway.

Mr. Carney fell to the pavement, shrieking and spluttering. He was shuddering and twitching in a dreadful way, and Tom watched, his emotions torn in two. Part of him was screaming at him to stop, while the other half was immensely enjoying it. The latter half won over, and Tom did not lift the curse for a good five minutes. Finally, he let his arm fall, glaring down at Mr. Carney. "Oh, I would like you to remember that," he spat, the twisted smile back on his face. "I'd like it to haunt you, to torment you, just like all of your beatings do for me. But I can't let you get me in trouble, now, can I? Obliviate." Tom performed a strong enough memory charm to make Mr. Carney forget both the Cruciatus Curse and the fact that Tom and Abby were a witch and wizard. Before the man could see him, Tom dashed out of the alley and retraced his steps back to the orphanage.

He saw Miss Dench in the office window. Tom waved at her, and she fell for it, coming out of the orphanage. She came to the sidewalk where Tom was standing. "Come back, have you?" she snapped.

"Yes. Obliviate." With a flash, Miss Dench completely forgot her discovery about Abby and Tom. She looked slightly dazed, but Tom brushed past her and made for the office.

Something in Tom had made a decision. He found the office empty (apparently Abby was in her room) which was to his advantage. Tom strode over to Mr. Carney's file cabinet and jerked open the drawer marked "P - S." He shuffled through the folders until he found the one labeled, "Riddle, Tom M.," which he tugged out. After flipping around a while, he unearthed the right page.

-------
PARENTS
Mother--Deceased as of Dec. 12, 1931
Place of residence: N/A
Father--Living but unwilling to make contact.
Place of residence: 163 Maple St., Little Hangleton.
-------

Tom snatched a scrap of paper and scribbled down his father's address, his heart thumping in his ears. That done, Tom replaced everything carefully so that it would not look like he had been in there, then heading up the staircase to his bedroom. He changed into some clothes that were normal as opposed to his orphanage uniform. Blending in would be important if he was to succeed. He threw on a black overcoat on top of his already rather dark outfit, pocketed his wand and the address, and hid his Invisibility Cloak in the large inside pocket of his coat, just in case. Tom knew that he was very good at sneaking around, but one could never be too careful.

With that, Tom strode down the stairs. He stopped into Mr. Carney's office again, borrowing about fifty pounds and a few spare pence. Tom pilfered a little food from the kitchens, tucked it into his pocket, and sneaked out the front doors. He kept to the shadows, hoping that nobody would see him. After plucking a rose from the orphanage garden, Tom walked a few blocks to the Whitechapel cemetery, looking around for the familiar headstone. Finally, he spotted it. Tom knelt before it, and, for the first time in his life, prayed in earnest.

"Mum," he said softly. "Mum, I want you to please forgive me for what I am about to do. Don't be angry with me, please. I know you loved Father, but I can see him without the obstruction of love in my eyes. I see him in a true light; he hurt you horribly, Mum, and I am going to get him back. I am going to get him back for doing to you what Mr. Carney just tried to do to me. I hope you understand, Mum. Please understand." Tom laid the rose across the grave, biting his lip. "Well, goodbye, then." Tom got to his feet and waited on the corner. A carriage finally came by, and Tom hailed it. The driver smiled jovially at him.

"Where to, lad?" he asked.

"King's Cross Station," Tom replied immediately.

"All right," the driver smiled. He prompted the horse and they started off. By the time they reached King's Cross, it was pitch-black outside. Tom thanked the driver and paid him before walking into the station. He felt strangely resigned, as though the half of him that usually fought this sort of thing had given up on this issue.

Tom hurried up to the ticket window and took out the remaining money. "Excuse me, ma'am?"

"Yes?" the woman asked.

"When's the next train to Little Hangleton?"

The woman was silent for a moment. "We don't have any trains to Little Hangleton," she said. "However, we do have an overnighter to Greater Hangleton at ten o'clock--that's in a half-hour. Little Hangleton's a short distance from there."

"That will do," Tom said quietly. "How much for a ticket to the next train?"

"Five pounds, fifty," the ticket-holder replied. Tom counted out the money and handed it to her, and she gave him a ticket. "That's on Platform Six, sweetie," she added, seeing Tom look over his shoulder uncertainly.

"Right. Thanks." Tom made his way over to the platform and climbed the stairs into a train car. It was really just like going to Hogwarts, except in the dead of night. He selected a compartment and sat by the window, staring up at the full moon in the clear night sky. The train started up shortly afterward, and it appeared Tom was one of the few people taking it. When the ticket collector came by, Tom handed him the ticket, then resumed his surveillance of the sky. After a while, he fell asleep on his seat, for once not dreaming. This was a good thing, for Tom truly did not want to think about what he was about to do.

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