The Last Chance Of Tom Riddle

“Rum-pum-pum-pum… Tu-ru-ru-ru-rum-pum-pum…” Rubeus Hagrid, Professor of Care of Magical Creatures and part-time Hogwarts Gamekeeper, was in the finest of moods as he sorted through his purchases from Diagon Alley. Life was grand: summer was in full swing, the garden was blooming and bearing fruit, and his animal charges were multiplying and fattening up. Only one circumstance clouded Hagrid’s carefree existence — an attack on his precious cabbages by flesh-eating slugs… He looked at the jug of insecticide potion he had picked up in Knockturn Alley with a touch of rugged, masculine tenderness. Now he would show those little pests how to ruin a harvest… The children would be back at school soon; what would they eat if these little monsters were already testing even the young pumpkins with their teeth? Some kind of mutants… Things had not been like this in the old days. Taking the poison, the Gamekeeper pressed the sprayer lever as a test. A pungent-smelling cloud formed in the air. The massive mastiff sitting by the table wrinkled his nose and let out an ear-splitting sneeze. “Sorry about that, Fang…” With a heavy tread, the half-giant stomped toward the door, flung it open — hearing the dog continue to sneeze behind him — and nearly knocked over a young woman standing on the porch in Muggle clothing. She took off her sunglasses and looked up at him with elongated, golden-amber eyes. “Hello, Mr. Hagrid. I hope I am not interrupting?” “Hullo… Can I help yeh?” he asked, wondering what such a beauty could possibly want in his bachelor’s den. “You don’t recognize me? Of course… so many years have passed,” she smiled. “But Snowball would have known.” The giant peered at her face for a few more seconds, brow furrowed, and then gasped, nearly dropping the container of anti-slug solution. “Miss Aola?! Blimey! How can it be, all these years, and yeh haven’t changed a bit?!” She shrugged, as if in apology. “Here, try some of this tea, herbs I gathered meself!” Hagrid boomed, pouring boiling water into an enormous clay mug and sliding it toward the Lady. The aroma of the drink was pleasant and spicy. “Or maybe summat stronger, for our meetin'?” He paused in the middle of slicing a chocolate cake — which, judging by its gargantuan size, was also home-baked — and raised his thick eyebrows meaningfully. “I got some vodka, infused with dragon liver…” He smacked his lips, trying to convey the full flavor and bouquet of the heavenly drink to tempt his guest into trying it. “Thank you, but I think I will pass,” Aola declined. She wanted to keep a clear head, a state that such a cocktail would hardly facilitate. “Well, if yeh change yer mind, just say the word.” Hagrid placed a slab of cake on a huge plate — it was enough to last her three days — and set it before the girl. He sat down opposite her, propped his cheek on his hand, and looked at her fondly. “All these years gone, and yeh have only gotten more beautiful,” he remarked guilelessly. “Genes. I am a half-human, just like you. My mother was something of a nymph,” she replied, trying to pinch off a piece of the rum-soaked cake. She liked this hut and its master, who had carried his bluntness, generosity of spirit, and love for animals through the years. It seemed, however, that he had never found a wife. “I knew it,” Rubeus assured her. “Yeh were always so kind, both ter me and the creatures. Oh, I got loads of them now! Forest is full. We will finish our tea, and I will show yeh everythin'. Yeh just vanished after yeh left back then. Me and Snowball, we remembered yeh for a long time.” “Only you?” Aola searched the half-giant’s eyes searchingly. “Did no one else remember me?” The man grew somber, let out a meaningful “ahem,” and looked away. He fell silent, tapping his thick fingers on the roughly hewn tabletop. “Ruby, I was completely cut off from this world for seventy-five years! I was officially considered dead; I even have a grave. This morning, I went to Mr. Ronald Weasley’s shop. He threw me out quite rudely, just for asking about Tom. Please, for old time’s sake, explain to me what happened.” “Son of a stray donkey, let him pray to the Almighty and be glad I left him alive!” a squeak erupted from the bag. Hagrid jumped a good half-meter in surprise. The dog, having finished his sneezing, began to growl. “Abu, my dear, I completely forgot about you,” the Lady realized. She pulled a tiny suitcase from her handbag, restored it to its normal size, and took out the lamp. The jinni burst forth in a black whirlwind, hovering under the ceiling and glaring sternly at Hagrid, calculating whether to punish the brute in advance — just so he would not dream of upsetting his Mistress. “Hagrid, this is my majordomo, Abu. Abu, this is my former student, Rubeus Hagrid.” The men gave each other a restrained nod. “Abu, be so kind as to take the suitcases and get us a couple of rooms in… which hotel in Hogsmeade is best?” “The Three Broomsticks is decent enough fer a lady like yerself,” Hagrid assured her. “In the Three Broomsticks. And wait for me there.” “As you command.” The jinni bowed and snapped his fingers at the suitcases — they began to beat their brand-new wings vigorously, sending the dog into a true frenzy — and all three flew out through the half-open door. “Fang, pipe down!” the half-giant barked at the raging dog. “Abu is a bit hot-tempered, like all jinn,” the Lady explained. “Did Ron treat yeh poorly, then?” Hagrid asked. A shadow crossed his open, kindly face once more. “I cannot say I am used to such treatment,” Aola answered honestly. “Well, it is understandable… cannot blame him much… Tom, ahem… Tom’s followers, rather, they killed his older brother, Fred… Brave lad he was, bit of a troublemaker, aye… but brave. Fought to the end, he did.” “So, Tom fought on Voldemort’s side?” the girl asked quietly. She knew that wars were not about growing daisies, didn’t she? But to hear that her boy had become a killer… It was so painful! “How can I put it… he was that cursed Voldemort hisself!” Hagrid roared, slamming his fist onto the table. The cake flew into the air and thudded back onto the plate. Tea splashed everywhere. Aola gasped. Her vocal cords seized in a spasm of shock. Her heart constricted painfully. “Right then, no gettin' 'round it now, we need that vodka…” the master of the hut grumbled, standing up and heading for the cupboard. “Drink up, drink up, Milady,” he muttered, nudging a silver cup toward her trembling fingers, filled to the brim with a greenish, absinthe-like liquid. Aola clung to it like a life preserver. She raised it to her lips, closed her eyes, and took a deep swallow of at least half the cup. It felt like liquid fire had been poured down her throat; her breath hitched, and tears sprang to her eyes. For a moment, she thought her hair would straighten itself without any fashionable irons. She began to cough, gasping for air. Her heart was racing, and blood rushed to her cheeks. “Here, have a bite of this,” something cool and oblong pressed against her fingers. A cucumber, right… Biting into it, she began to chew, trying to quench the fire blazing in her mouth and stomach. Sadly, it would not help the pain burning in her heart… Her Tommy and the Dark Lord who had unleashed a long war for power over the wizarding world were one and the same person. It was monstrous… “Tell me… tell me everything,” the Duchess demanded once she had caught her breath. By the time Hagrid finished, the day was already drawing toward evening — it was evident from the light falling through the windows and the half-open door. Crushed by what she had heard, Aola remained silent for a long time, trying to reconcile with what the Gamekeeper had told her. And he had not just told her… he had opened his memory, in which she had seen things… things that made her wish she had actually died. She was shattered… Her Tommy, who used to get the most beautiful flowers for her from Madam Frost’s greenhouse… Who had confessed his love with tears in his eyes… Who had trembled at every kiss… Such a gentle lover, afraid of hurting her with a careless move… Her brilliant boy… The handsome one with angel-blue eyes and a charming smile… Her dear boy — a murderer! And not just a murderer, but a true monster, a tyrant, a psychopath who spared neither women nor children… nor his own relatives! A snake-like horror who had lost all resemblance to himself and to a normal human being… He had lived a life full of lies, fear, and violence, and had been killed by a teenager, almost a child… What a bitter irony… For he had repeated the path of Ragmudin, who had once fallen by his hand. Unbearable pain… Simply unbearable. With every new breath, Aola felt as if her heart were about to burst, but it faithfully continued its rhythmic work, promising many, many long years of suffering. With a groan, she dropped her head into her hands, fingers clutching her hair. She wanted to do something, anything, to dull that intolerable burning in her chest for even a second. “Miss Aola… forgive me, but yeh asked fer the whole story yerself…” poor Hagrid felt guilty, not knowing how to comfort her. He was not exactly an expert at consoling grief-stricken women. “It is my fault… It is all my fault…” she moaned, without lifting her head. “What are yeh talkin' about? He never said a word about yeh, went on like nothin' had happened. I thought yeh had just left, and things between yeh were over…” He hesitated, fumbling for words. “Because of me… Because of me,” she repeated. Then she lifted her head and looked at the giant, her pupils dilated with pain. “It was because of me that he killed for the first time… We were attacked, by the lake, at Easter… bandits. He killed one, the most dangerous and experienced one… he was saving me… And Septimus, too, back then at the ball… out of jealousy. I saw it in him… I saw that he could go too far… but I thought I could help, fix him… show him the right path… And instead, I abandoned him… He had no one… He only loved me, truly loved me…” She sobbed, and tears rolled down her face in torrents, large drops jumping into her unfinished vodka. “Now yeh stop that!” Hagrid almost shouted. “There is plenty of orphans who never knew a parent’s love from the start. Look at Harry… or Neville. Or Teddy, for that matter. Did they turn into monsters? He was not a child; he knew what he was doin'… he understood.” Aola downed the green liquid in one gulp and closed her eyes. Then she looked at the half-giant with an unexpectedly steady gaze and demanded: “Tell me where he is buried. I want to see his grave.” Hagrid spread his hands and muttered: “I am afraid that is just not possible, Miss Aola.”