Chapter 7. Family ties
December 2, 2023 at 9:28 AM
A slow inhale. A slow exhale. Tom leisurely, deliberately raised his hands, wand still clutched in his fingers. He carefully turned, assessing the situation. Only three, three opponents draped in black robes, faces hidden by enchanted hoods. Not Aurors, thankfully.
The wizard beside him now had a wand pointed at Tom’s chest. The two further away exchanged glances, one even started lowering his wand, relaxing at Tom’s apparent cooperation. Paying no mind that he still hadn’t dropped his own weapon.
In the next instant, a grey shadow flashed — a heavy boulder materialised from thin air and crashed onto the nearest stranger’s head with a dull thud. Wordless, wandless magic. The man didn’t even realise what had happened before crumpling lifeless to the cobblestones. His hood fell back, revealing his face as a trickle of blood from the shattered skull ran down his temple.
Tom’s next gesture threw up a shield charm just as the narrow alley’s grey walls lit up with colourful flashes of curses. Some beams struck the wall beside him, blasting out a spray of stone chips and grit that pelted his face like coarse hail.
Attempting to Disapparate in that moment disoriented Tom. At the last second he managed to halt the Apparition, miraculously without splinching himself. He staggered back from the wall into open space. Focusing was impossible amidst the noisy kaleidoscope, he didn’t dare try Apparating again — first he had to deal with these unknown assailants.
He found himself trapped by his attackers at the end of the narrow dead-end before the bar’s doors. What was inside was unclear — could be an ambush. Seizing an opening, he threw a rather rare locking charm at the entrance and an Incarcerous at the fallen wizard. Alive or not, no time to check, but best not to leave an enemy at his back.
Stepping forward, Tom tried to push back his opponents. A purple beam flashed dangerously close — he barely managed to dodge by jerking sharply aside. A standard Protego wouldn’t have stopped that curse. One of the attackers, the taller one, angrily snarled at his accomplice who had cast the dark spell:
“Stop! We need the boy alive!”
“He’ll be alive, just not very lively,” the second voice giggled, for a moment sounding feminine.
Capitalising on their brief hesitation, Tom slashed his wand — a fiery whip whistled through the air. The assailants leapt apart but the shorter one, likely the woman based on her shriek of pain, was lashed across the shoulder by the burning tendril. Simultaneously, a loud thump came from the bar’s locked door, as if someone was trying to break out.
“Tom, stop!” the wizard suddenly shouted, holding up a placating hand. “We don’t want to hurt you.”
Tom froze, eyes darting between the woman clutching her shoulder and the dropped wand, to her partner. The whip hissed indignantly, going limp in his hand, its tail writhing along the ground.
“I disagree with that!” the woman screeched. The man just shushed her in irritation.
“How do you know my name?” Tom asked warily. Uneasy thoughts buzzed in his mind.
“We’re sent by your father!” the wizard insisted, tone coaxing as if calming an unruly child. “We only meant to escort you to an address, not fight you.”
“My father is dead,” Tom said tightly. “Long dead.”
What was this, a ploy? They were losing and clearly trying to confuse him. Probably distracting while their accomplices broke the locking charm on the door. He needed to kill them and get out of here.
“He said you’d be difficult, but I didn’t expect this much…” the man sighed. He persisted, “Your father wants to see you. We truly didn’t intend to duel you, only deliver you safely.”
“And what’s my father’s name?” Tom sneered. He vanished the burning whip but a lethal curse was ready to fly from his wand any second — he was growing weary of this dance in the narrow alley.
“Thomas…” the man glanced around nervously to confirm they were alone, “Thomas Gaunt, of course.”
***
“What part of 'deliver him unharmed' was unclear?” Tom grimaced as the beautiful dark-haired witch pressed a cotton swab soaked in the essence of cardamom against his cheek. The extract stung his skin but the scratches quickly closed up. At the long massive wooden table, he sat alone with just the witch fussing over him. He looked up, examining the spacious dining room brightly lit by numerous candles — they crowded the bulky crystal chandelier hanging low over the table and burned in the curved silver candelabras in each corner. Their warm light danced softly on the silk wallpaper and dark wood panelling. A cosy fire crackled in the large fireplace across from the table. Lying stunned before the hearth was the wizard Tom had knocked out, head bleeding. Four others shuffled around him. The short, plump woman with cropped hair still clutched her wounded shoulder, gaze guiltily downcast. The tall, slender man with dark hair and a pale, delicate face paced before the nervous group, shooting them an irate glare before stopping by the body. Tom watched him — essentially himself, albeit much older — with greedy eyes. With an expression of revolted interest, the man placed a shiny polished boot on the unconscious man’s shoulder and flipped him onto his back with a short kick. “Why did you bring Travers?” He tilted his head in that painfully familiar way. “My lord, perhaps Bella could…” the woman began uncertainly with a nod at the dark-haired witch tending to Tom. “Alecto,” the man laughed shortly, glancing at her. She shrank away immediately. His tone was deceptively mild, “You think this is a hospital?” “No…” she mumbled, looking away. “So where is the hospital?” he persisted in the same tone, as if speaking to a dim-witted child. “St. Mungo’s, sir,” she answered hesitantly. “So why the hell is he still here?!” the man suddenly roared in her face, making her recoil in fright. “I…I…” Alecto stammered. “Amycus, help me.” She and the man beside her lifted their unconscious comrade, forgetting her own injury. “I’ll fix this, my lord, forgive me.” Her terrified gaze darted to the wand that had appeared in Gaunt’s hand out of nowhere. In an instant, the wizards grasped the lifeless body and retreated through the fireplace. “Fucking amateurs, not a Knut’s worth of brains between them,” Gaunt hissed after them. With an irritated flick of his wand, he vanished the blood pooled on the stone floor. Then he turned to the two remaining: the tall man with long white hair. His tone instantly shifted to perfectly calm with a touch of mockery, “Lucius, I’ll grant you completed the task. Though I didn’t expect it to cause…such difficulties. You barely managed with five.” “I didn’t anticipate the boy would be so powerful, my lord. He clearly takes after his father,” the blond responded evenly. “I appreciate your flattery,” Gaunt smirked. He no longer tried to maintain a polite neutral expression, and his handsome face twisted into a harsh grin. Part of the facial musculature clearly wasn’t functioning, likely to avoid wrinkles. His features now made a more disturbing impression than the rage directed at Alecto. Tom didn’t blame Lucius for nervously swallowing. “But next time I say the danger level is nine out of ten, don’t take it as a joke. You’re dismissed.” After a brief bow, Lucius and his short, skinny companion beat the quickest retreat possible through the fireplace. Gaunt watched them go, his smirk slowly fading. “Lucius Malfoy,” he mused aloud. “Times like these, I miss Abraxas. Both Lucius and his son…fall short. Abraxas died a month ago of dragon pox,” he explained, noticing Tom’s questioning look. “But even so — one of my most resourceful Death Eaters. My followers.” The man paced along the table and smoothly took the seat at the head. He casually crossed one leg over the other and finally turned his attentive gaze to Tom, examining him with polite interest. “Greetings…Father,” Tom lifted the corners of his lips in a slight smile. He caught the witch’s hand with the healing potion and pushed it away — her fussing was getting on his nerves. “Some things never change,” the witch laughed and glanced between young Riddle and Gaunt. “You always hated doctors.” “I don’t like to be doctored, dear. So leave the boy be, a couple scratches won’t spoil that face,” said Gaunt. “Yes, one of the few I’ve trusted with our secret, of course under an Unbreakable Vow,” he nodded to Tom. Tom looked at the woman before him again, more closely this time — at the hair styled in an elaborate twist cascading down her back, the beautiful face with sharply defined wine-coloured lips and large black eyes not marred even by the heavy lids and overlarge jaw. He had seen her photo before, in his fabricated past. “Bellatrix Black?” “Née,” she nodded. “Not that you had much choice about letting me in on things,” she said to her husband and her eyes flashed warningly. “We likely wouldn’t be sitting here calmly chatting if you’d actually brought home some bastard child to meet me.” Trailing thin fingers through Tom’s wavy hair, Bellatrix leaned back appraisingly. “You’ve always been a looker.” “Oh, I’d have enjoyed watching that demonstration of the Black temperament,” Gaunt laughed mockingly. Tom smiled slightly — though this man was largely a stranger, he was essentially Tom himself, only much older. And he knew without a doubt things would not have ended well for Bella in a row. “What do you think would be fitting punishment, Tom? The whip?” Gaunt asked with restrained amusement. “The belt,” Tom responded. He affected a thoughtful expression, propping his chin in his hand. “A narrow one.” “Ooh, the boy’s already playing games,” Bellatrix purred, her fingers diving into his hair again. Tom jerked his head irritably away from the touch. “So standoffish,” she huffed, pouting. “You won’t like his games, dear. At least not all of them. So rein it in,” said Gaunt. The dining room door creaked softly and Tom turned to the sound. One of the two tall carved dark wood panels cracked open and a skinny dark-haired boy slipped through the gap. Tom stared, transfixed at the child — no older than six, with a handsome face and slightly wavy hair. Looked very much like Tom himself as a boy, if with a slightly heavier jaw and dark eyes. “You know you shouldn’t interrupt adults when they’re talking,” Gaunt scolded, face stern. “I got bored,” the boy’s dark eyes examined Tom with innocent interest. “You’re not mad, right Dad?” “Meet your brother, Kaus,” Gaunt said instead of answering. “I have a brother?” The child approached the table, intrigued by Tom. “Why’s he so old? I wanted a younger one.” “You’ll get a younger sibling, it’s not time yet,” Gaunt grinned. He leaned forward, elbows on knees to get eye level with the boy. “But this is a secret. You can keep secrets, right?” he whispered. The boy nodded solemnly, taking a couple more steps toward Tom, who shook his thin hand seriously. “Tom. And you’re Kaus? Lovely name. Kaus Australis is the brightest star in the constellation Sagittarius, did you know that?” The child nodded. “It’s the tradition of the Noble House of Black to use names from stars. Are you named Tom like Dad? Who’s your mum?” “We’re still having adult talk,” Gaunt insistently tilted his head toward the door. Tom noticed the man was growing irritated, though he remained casual — for a second his pale lips had tightened. “Go find Mrs. Rosier.” “She’s boring,” Kaus sighed. “I’d rather play with Tom.” “In a bit,” Tom responded politely and the boy reluctantly shuffled to the door. “You decided to have a kid?” Tom asked once the child was out of sight. Gaunt shrugged. “It can be amusing. At times. Bella, keep an eye on him,” he nodded to his wife. After she left the room, he cast a spell to lock the doors against further intrusions and layered silencing charms overtop. Only then did he continue, “But I doubt that’s what you really wanted to ask me, is it?” “Not that,” Tom nodded. “I’m more interested in how you managed to pull this off?” He gestured around the spacious, lavishly decorated dining room. “It was a long journey, spanning several decades,” the man smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He got to his feet and slowly walked to the fireplace. Tom watched the smooth, confident motions. “Minister. Before that — Head of the DMLE. And even earlier you became Thomas Gaunt. So where did Tom Riddle go, and where did Gaunt’s papers come from?” Tom gently asked what interested him most right now. “I provided you the papers for Gaunt,” the man replied, gazing into the flames. He clasped his hands behind his back. His whole posture expressed calm and certainty, as if this situation was entirely routine and meeting his young self was nothing remarkable. “And I brought you into the Ministry archives, from where you went back in time and put the documents in their proper place.” “An ouroboros,” Tom smirked. “The serpent eats its own tail, no beginning or end. You made the papers yourself in order to become yourself. Elegant.” He paused. “Just a couple more things I’d like clarified, and I’m ready to get started right away…” “Don’t be hasty,” Gaunt replied without turning. “Everything in due time.” Tom frowned, considering those words — something about them bothered him. He tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the table. “What is it you want from me?” he finally asked. The man didn’t respond right away. He turned slowly to face Tom, taking a seat across from him at the other end of the table. Leaning forward confidentially, he placed both hands palm-down before him. “You’ve seen who I have to work with,” he jerked his head toward the fireplace where Alecto and Amycus had left. “My people aren’t the brightest. The old guard is parked in cozy Ministry offices, no one will get off their ass for fieldwork except maybe Antonin. And the young ones…” He scoffed in contempt. “As you saw yourself.” “I read about the attacks in the papers,” Tom said pensively. “Those were your people’s doing?” “Of course,” Gaunt relaxed back in his chair. “What better tool to control society? Fear, naturally,” he answered himself. “As long as they’re afraid — for themselves, for loved ones, for their own children — they’ll go wherever we nudge them, like a flock of sheep, if we hint that we know the solution and can save them.” “And you created that fear in order to exploit it yourself,” Tom nodded. “Clever.” Gaunt just spread his hands. Tom watched the open, trusting gesture. “You know those manipulations don’t work on me?” “Sorry,” the man didn’t seem embarrassed in the least, just smiling his disturbing smile. He calmly lowered his hand to the table, palm down. “Force of habit.” “So you used the Cleopatra Ritual instead of Horcruxes?” Tom commented, piecing things together from his limited facial expressions. “It provides longevity, but not immortality.” “The soul increases magical power, I realised that the second time,” Gaunt agreed. “It shouldn’t be divided. And this body will serve nearly unchanged for another twenty years or so,” he flexed his fingers, examining the smooth skin. “Then I’ll simply swap it for a new one.” “Blood also boosts magical ability,” Tom mused. “Parseltongue, for example, is partially hereditary.” “I said I’d change bodies, not blood,” Gaunt replied mildly. Tom stared at him uncomprehendingly for a couple seconds before the realisation hit. “Kaus? You’ve already prepared your next vessel…” he exhaled. The man across from him nodded. Tom’s gaze lingered on those cold, blue eyes — his own eyes. “What could be better than my own flesh and blood, with a dash of Black thrown in?” Gaunt smirked. “Surely Bella won’t approve?” “I can handle one woman,” he said sharply. “She could never truly defy me. Besides, I’ll need a new wife anyway — the public doesn’t trust an unmarried politician. What is it, Tom, feeling sorry for the boy?” He raised an inquiring brow. “Already growing fond of your son?” “You know I’m not,” Tom shrugged. His hand involuntarily darted to his mouth again and he forced it down to the table, concealing his emotions. The child did remind him of himself as a boy in certain ways. Would he want someone using his own body? Definitely not. But would he take another’s if necessary? Without hesitation. Tom dismissed the irrelevant reflections and returned to the conversation. “You said I’d be useful here. What did you mean?” “And now we get to the interesting part,” the man leaned forward confidentially again. Tom didn’t bother commenting on the rhetorical tricks this time, just watched the firelight dance on the smooth pale skin as he listened intently. “As you can imagine, not everyone approves of my methods of expanding my power. My hapless helpers slip up here and there. Relatives of victims seek revenge. More people than I expected want to resist. And one has gathered them around himself.” “Dumbledore?” Tom guessed randomly and hit the mark — Gaunt nodded. “Dumbledore and his mangy Order of the Phoenix,” he grimaced painfully. “Trying their hardest to prove my involvement in these incidents. Of course the old man’s smart enough not to accuse the Minister for Magic of such openly…but he’s digging under me.” He paused to let his meaning sink in. “James Potter even managed to find certain evidence, ten years ago. But I eliminated him in time.” “Reckless of him,” Tom smiled predatorily. “And worst of all, Dumbledore knows nearly all my people while I don’t have a single spy among the enemy,” Gaunt jerked his head irritably. “After what I learned from Rita Skeeter’s biography about past events, I don’t plan to use turncoat Snape again. Especially since he’s fully switched sides…” “So you need a spy?” Tom asked. “And that brings us back to you,” Gaunt slapped the table. “You’re new to everyone. Except Dumbledore — to him, you’re an old face with no ties to me. Who better to trust than myself?” His smile turned hard. “That’s why you’ll return to Hogwarts. “But why?” Tom shrugged. “Surely plenty of Death Eaters' kids attend Hogwarts, they could report Dumbledore’s actions.” “Yes and no,” the man scoffed. “The problem with Death Eaters' children is that they are Death Eaters' children. No one will trust them. No one will recruit them into the Order of the Phoenix.” Tom’s throat went dry. He blinked in confusion. “You want me to…join the Order of the Phoenix? Me?!” he asked, feeling extremely stupid. “Yes, you,” Gaunt nodded indifferently, closely watching his expression. “You’re young, intelligent, talented. Perfect reputation, no shady connections. Excellent at playing the good boy role. Putting on masks is nothing new to you.” “And if I refuse?” Tom asked irritably. “I hadn’t planned on returning to Hogwarts…” “You won’t refuse,” Gaunt said mildly. “You’ll go to school. Be a good little boy, get in with the right people, pull the wool over their chicken brains and follow the path I took fifty years ago. Only after completing the task will you receive what’s needed to travel to the past, close the time loop, and become Thomas Gaunt.” “You realise you’re blackmailing yourself?” Tom raised an eyebrow. “It’s for both our benefit,” Gaunt spread his hands theatrically. “For your own good.” Noting his young counterpart’s frown, he continued, “It will benefit you as well. Spend two more years at Hogwarts, finish your education. Many approaches to magic are more advanced now than fifty years ago. When you return to your time, you’ll be lightyears ahead of your peers. Everything will fall into place and one day you’ll end up here, Minister for Magic, in a lavish mansion,” he gestured down his body. “You’ll have everything you desire, endless lifetimes ahead…” “Tempting,” Tom drawled. “Doesn’t seem like I have much choice…” “I knew we would quickly see eye to eye,” an expression as far from pleasant as a shark’s grin spread on Thomas Gaunt’s face.
