Chapter Text
January 26, 1990. Dr. Relish journal notes on first meeting with Tom Riddle.
Patient is eight years old and tall for his age. He is oriented to person, place and time. His eye contact is piercing and he gives good formal contact, and very little emotionally contact. He is sullen child deeply traumatized by the end of his family and seems to express it by closing of.
Spoke very little throughout the whole meeting and took little comfort by the present of his grandfather. When briefly left alone with the child, he confessed that he didn’t really like his grandparents.
“They are like father.” He had said.
When asked to elaborate he glared at the undersigned.
“They don’t really want me.” The child mumbled.
-
The Riddle House was perched on a hill overlooking the village of Little Hangleton. It was easily the largest and grandest building for miles around. A beautiful manor that loomed proudly behind iron gates, flanked by rows of trees currently coated in gold and scarlet of the autumn days.
About two decades ago, a young woman by the name of Merope Gaunt stood just outside its threshold. As if created just to contrast the lovely sight before her, Merope was haggard, drawn and emaciated. Her hair- brown and a little greasy – was an uneven mess, while her teeth were yellow and crooked. She looked like she was in her mid-thirties, but was actually barley twenty.
Few payed much attention to her, but considering the ridicule her family usually inspired, that might have been a blessing. It made her task easier at least.
Merope eyed the handsome manor house and the golden glow that seemed to surround it. She stared at it as she had done countless times before; entranced, and always, always envious. Sometimes simply taking in the splendor had been enough to sate the gnawing pangs of hunger coming from her neglected soul.
However, that was not the case that night. She would not settle with just peeking in through the window of another life. This time she would take what she wanted. This time love would conquer.
As the moment drew nearer - dawn quickly ebbing its way into daylight - all the reasons not to do this came flooding into the anxious woman’s mind. I must, Merope inwardly repeated, I must or I might as well just die.
Cold sweat glistened on her furrowed brow and tears threatened to flood. The potion in her pocket felt impossibly heavy. It was not like she wanted to start her and Tom’s life this way. She understood it was a bit wrong, but they left her no choice! If the Riddle’s only gave her a chance…if they only allowed her to show them just how dedicated and loyal she could be to their family. She would shower Tom with love, be the most obedient wife, the most dutiful daughter-in-law.
They looked at her like she was dirt beneath their feet, like she was less just because she was unable to afford the lifestyle they had. Little did they know she came from a remarkable dynasty too. Her ancestor was Salazar Slytherin. Her Tom would understand she was worthy, if only given the chance to spend some time with her.
Merope took a shuddering breath and gathered her strength. Turning towards the iron gate that had kept her out her whole life, she pulled down the handle and pushed her way in. Behind her, the morning yawn of Autumn bathed the courtstone path in a golden light.
Beneath the sound of her thumping heart, Merope had a hard time hearing her own footfalls. Her face had turned a ghastly color - nearly white. Numbness wrapped itself around her.
Too often, Merope felt like there was an invisible veil between her and everyone else. The world changed and moved so fast but she didn’t. Instead she would pass through it slowly, like through murky water, and no one saw or heard her. Invisible. A ghost before she even hit the grave.
That description was more accurate that Merope would have guessed, for her memory haunted the Riddle house long after her deed.
Her presence was felt by the broken family left behind by her selfishness. It soured every interaction, twisted any semblance of love, and poisoned every heart. Her legacy was an aching felt in each of the remaining Riddle’s heart, one that ebbed and flowed like a cold tide, yet the pain never eased.
About two decades later after Merope, a young man by the name of Harry Potter stood just outside the mansion’s threshold. Unlike Merope, it was his first time viewing building. Unlike Merope, he didn’t pay its grandeur much attention. Unlike Merope, he wasn’t alone.
Unlike- or actually, in a way, they shared the same reason for seeking out the house.
Harry was also looking for a Tom Riddle; the man he loved higher than anything.
Behind him, Orion Black shifted uncomfortably, while giving the surrounding area an offended look. It was a common trait among the pureblood families, to find the idea of muggles possessing wealth offensive, to find it wrong. Be it by genuine ignorance or willful delusion, most of them was convinced muggles were primitive compared to the magic community.
With a note of incredulity in his voice, Orion asked, “What makes you think we’ll find Riddle here?”
“It is the only place I can think of,” Harry answered, working to keep the testiness from his voice.
He was still processing how what was supposed to be the happiest day in his life, turned into this worrisome mess. Harry had woken up with butterflies in his stomach this morning, feeling beyond excited for the wedding. He had kissed Tom goodbye, secure in the knowledge that the next time the saw each other would be when they were walking and-in-hand to the altar. The plan was that Sirius would knock on Harry’s door and get him when the time was right, and Harry patiently waited for it the moment Hermione and Ron left him.
He waited, and waited, but as minutes passed the tension in Harry grew. Sirius should have been here by now, Harry had thought. He filled himself multiple cup of water he had no intention of drinking and his eyes kept darting to the door. He picked up The Daily Prophet, only to throw it away seconds later. When his aggravation became high enough he moved to stand an inch from the front door, staring at it as if he could will Sirius to open it, visualizing his godfather’s mischievous smile as he apologized for being late and slyly adding that he would not keep Harry from his husband any longer.
And yet, when the door finally busted opened, Harry only received distressing news.
Tom had disappeared, he was nowhere to be found. For a horrible moment, Harry wondered if Tom had gotten cold feet right before the wedding and decided to runoff, but when he entered the room meant for Tom, he found a discarded congratulation card on the floor. It was from Tom’s grandparents and Harry –
Harry knew how…dysfunctional the relationship between them was. It gave him a bit of hope to begin with; the possibility that Tom had gone to them. Anything seemed better that the option of abandonment – or so Harry thought.
“Shall we enter then?” Orion asked after the silence stretched on a little too long.
Harry turned his head towards the man Tom chose as best man. Truth was that Harry knew little of Tom’s friends, even though Tom occasionally invited them over to their house. Tom never seemed to care much for them, though by all accounts they adored him. Orion even insisted to come along Harry to search for Tom.
And yet, Harry had to say, “I think it best I continue alone from here on.”
“Oh?” Orion sneered, “You expect me to just skulk outside this muggle resident?”
Harry ran his hand through his hair, making it even messier than usual, before saying the words he knew would affect Orion the most, “I doubt Tom will be pleased to see you.”
That did give Orion a pause, uncertainty entered his eyes.
Harry pressed on, “In fact, I reckon he’ll be pissed.”
“...Fine, but don’t take too long,” Orion sighed, not at all pleased with the arrangement.
Harry shot him a grateful smile before taking a shaky breath and walked forward. It was strange how apprehensive he felt. Like he was about the walk into something horrifying. The feeling intensified as he passed through the gate and cautiously walked along the courtstones to the Riddle house, tendrils of weeds that had broken through the stones brushed the bottom of his pants.
When he finally reached the entrance, he paused for a moment before raising his hand and gently rattled his knuckles against the cold oak door. It lurched open. Harry’s ears resonated with the quiet squeal of the hinges as the hallway of the house became visible. He peered through the darkness, but found no one within it, making his stomach knot as wave of hesitation crashed over him.
“Tom?” Harry called out, but was meet with silence.
After debating with himself, he added, “I’m coming in,” before lifting an unsteady leg and stepped into the house.
The hallway was large, airy and eerie. An uneasy breeze blew down the corridor and grasped Harry with it chilly touch. Gryffindors don't run away from their fears, so Harry pressed on bravely (why did he need to be brave?). The sound his footfalls echoed from the walls as he exited the hallway and entered large room. At the center of the new area was a set of stairs that ascended a total of about five feet. The stair was wide enough at the bottom that several people probably could stand on it. It was very grand, Harry thought, before turning his attention to the door in the right corner. It had been left ajar, allowing a golden glow to meander like a narrow stream across the room.
Naturally, Harry moved to investigate. Stopping up right before the door, he asked, “Tom? Are you there?”
When there was no reply, he pushed the door fully open, and entered what seemed to be a small library. Bookshelves lined the walls and Harry could see row upon row of books, some even stacked in piles on the floor.
Harry almost missed the dark silhouette standing in front of window; the bright daylight making it hard to entirely see the features of the figure standing there, yet Harry immediately knew it was Tom.
His fiancé remained silent, as though not having noticed Harry coming in. As Harry eyes adjusted to the light, he took in the sight of almost-husband. Tom had his back turned at him and seemed to be wearing his weeding robs. There was no, as far as Harry could tell, signs of injured or anyone else in the room.
Feeling a bit like a broken record, Harry said, “Tom?”
Said man turned his head to the side, and while Harry still couldn’t make out Tom’s face, he felt Tom’s stare like a weight.
“Harry,” Tom spoke softly, a smile lingering in his voice.
A surge of confidence started to form after Harry heard Tom’s friendly tone. It was strange of him to feel so apprehensive. Sure, the situation was odd enough for him to have questions, but there was no need to be frightened.
“Is it not bad luck for groom to see bride before wedding?” Harry said with equal parts humor and unease, “Well, the other groom in this case. “
A rich, dark chuckle left Tom, before he turned his whole body toward Harry. Since Tom was blocking most of the window, the light behind him only served to broaden his shadow. The effect was a Tom-shaped darkness engulfing the room. It made him look very ominous.
“Then again, at this rate, we’ll miss the wedding anyway, “Harry blabbered nervously.
“My apologies,” Tom said, “I lost track of time.”
“Erm,” Harry responded eloquently, glancing around the room again, a bit confused what could have occupied Tom enough for him to become late his own wedding. Biting his lips, Harry decided to go to the heart of the matter. “Where are your grandparent?”
It was hard to tell for sure, but Harry thought he saw Tom’s lip twisted oddly, as if he was trying to smile or grimace maybe, “Gone, I’m afraid.”
“Gone?” Harry repeated stupidly, unsure what else to say.
Tom gave him a sharp nod before stalking towards him. Startled, Harry stepped back, an action that did not go unnoticed if Tom’s sudden halt was any indication. Tom turned statue like, and away from the window Harry could see how pale he looked. Traces of weariness sat upon his noble and handsome features. And almost against Harry’s will, sympathy surged up in him.
Harry took the steps to close the distance between them and wrapped an arm around Tom’s shoulders and pulled him close, gently rubbing his arm. Tom melted into the embrace and hugged Harry tightly, kissing the top of his head. Ear pressed against Tom’s chest, Harry could hear the calm beating of Tom’s heart. Everything would be okay, right?
“I’m glad you came, “Tom whispered, “It saves me a lot of time not having to track you down.”
Harry pulled away far enough to look at Tom, craning his head a bit, and saw that Tom’s expression was softer than he ever remembers seeing. Tom’s hand found its way to Harry’s hair, threading his fingers through his curls. Looking utterly besotted, and yet unnervingly resolute.
“Harry, my dear Harry, “ Tom’s dark eyes drank him in greedily, “You have no idea how much you mean to me.”
The worshipping tone surprised Harry, Tom was not cold per say, but he was more often than not a bit reserved with his affection. It felt like Harry was seeing other side of him; an intense side threating to consume him.
“You are such a blinding sight. Being with you allows me to push away reality in favor of the most lovelies dream.” Tom’s grip tightened, “Over the years I have learned to lust after your presence like no other. My feelings were so strong they felt like cure to all my problems."
Unease circled its fingers around Harry’s body, tenderly caressing every inch of him. His voice cracking when he said, “I-I don’t understand.”
Tom looked down at him as one might do to a distressed child; comforting, gentle and a bit condescending. “I know.”
Harry tried to shrug out of Tom’s iron grip, but the younger man didn’t let him go. Tom laughed without a trace of humor, “No matter what I do, something always get in the way, and I can’t erase the whole world.”
Tom suddenly let him go and Harry stumbled backwards, he barely managed to spat out, “What the actually fu-“
Before -
“Oblivion.”
-
Mars 29, 1990. Dr. Relish excerpt from conversation with Tom Riddle.
Patient opened up to day to speak more about a subject that had previously lifted his mood considerably. Throughout the many sessions, the patient has often hinted having a close friend who was very dear to him.
Do you keep contact with your friend?
“No.”
Do you wish to?
“…not before….”
Before what?
“Not before I’m certain he’ll like me.”
What makes you think he wouldn’t now?
No answer was given.
-
“Did you hear what happened on Potter and Riddle’s wedding?”
“No? I wasn’t invited.”
“Apparently, Orion Black busted in full of blood, no one knows what to make of it.”
“Oh! Oh! Well, my sister told me that Riddle was brought into St Mungo's Hospital, but it not common knowledge yet so don’t tell anyone else.”
Many speculations on what happed buzzed through the public until The Daily Prophet updated the public on what really happened.
Rita Skeeter wrote a very riveting article about the tragedy that befall Brittan’s favorite couple: A group of old Grindelwald supporter had caught wind of the wedding and had decided to take their revenge on the Savior himself.
A fierce battle toke place unknown to the people attending, a battle that had many casualties. Fortunately, none of the conspirators survived, no doubt a testimony to the skills of both Riddle and Potter. And yet, the wounds Potter sustained proved to be lethal and it is said he died in his fiancé’s arms. Riddle didn’t escape unscratched either, spending a long time in St Mungo's to recover.
Poor man has not been the same after losing his fiancé. Rumors has it he is planning to move from Britain.
-
“February 14, 1991. Tom Riddle letter assignment.
Dear Harry,
I have never written a letter before, but it seems right that my first should be to you. Even if you’ll never receive this. Dr. Relish nags that I can contact you if I want, but I don’t want you to meet me while I’m in asylum. Not that I’m here all the time. Anyway, our reunion deserves better.
I think about you a lot, more than anything else. Or, at least, I try to. My thoughts are much happier when they are about you. And if just thinking of you can make me happy, I wonder what being with you will be like?”
The corner of Tom’s lip twisted upward as he read the letter he wrote for what felt like a lifetime ago. He had never thought of himself as naïve or childish, but the evidence was proving him wrong.
He was not his mother; The love of his obsession would not sate him. Nor could he ever dare to use magic to bind his love to him, the option always left a sour taste in Tom’s mouth.
Love was a weakness, that much was obvious, and clinging to it had made him pathetic. He realized that the moment after killing his grandparents, when the painful emptiness arrived. He killed his father, his grandfather and his grandmother. His mother and uncle died by someone else’s hand, but it didn’t change the fact that they were six feet underground.
Death, death, death.
Nothing he ever did eased his pain, not for long anyway.
He glanced down on the sleeping form to his Harry, the person that had caused so much pain and happiness in his life. Tom understood that it was futile to start a life together, and yet it was hard to let him go. Harry felt like part of, one he would need to shed. And what better way to do that than with his mortality and emotions.
Splitting one’s soul would irrevocably change a person, and Tom was curious who he would be after. Tom ran his hand gently down Harry’s cheek, a loving caress as he gazed at him. Indecisiveness hit him as tried to say his goodbyes to the love of his life.
Death, death, death.
The plan was to use his death to create Tom’s first Horcrux, a day Harry would leave too, by death or choice. That was why did seemed like such a good idea, this way Harry would always be with him in way. His death would wrap Tom with protection and take with him all Tom’s weaknesses.
However, suddenly that seemed like such a waste, thought that might be Tom getting cold feets.
But – what if, he could help but to wonder, What if…..Harry became his Horcrux instead?