The Last Chance Of Tom Riddle

“It is unbecoming of a duchess by birth to address anyone in such a manner,” replied the entity that, only minutes ago, had been Tom Riddle. “Especially a pretender, is that not so?” Aola asked sharply, trying not to show that those crimson slits in his eyes made her shudder. “Do you mind if I call you by the name I remember — Tom?” He grimaced. “Putting the mongrel in his place right away? Qui-i-ite right… I take it the tenderness is over? Should I prepare for a flogging? Is your charming mouth about to preach me a sermon on my unrighteous life?” It was very strange… to suddenly remember everything at once. A few minutes ago, he was essentially a teenager, stunned by the information dumped upon him; now, an entire life lay between his past and present selves… A life quite difficult and by no means filled with light, warmth, or joy. “Stop… you are no mongrel,” Aola said, already regretting her harshness. She stood up. The situation and her state of mind demanded distance from this new, unfamiliar Tom. His voice remained the same, but how the intonations had changed… It seemed she had sent Abu out of the tent too hastily. Tom remained on the ottoman, tracking her with those hideous eyes. Was he feeling weak after the seizure, or was he consciously showing disrespect in retaliation for her words? Aola had no idea what to expect from this man. “I am not going to moralize… You know perfectly well yourself what is good and what is evil… I just want to understand…” “Understand what?” he spat. “What it is like to lose the only person you loved more than life? To bury them, mourn them, and not know why you should keep breathing? You were everything to me, do you understand?! Everything! I lay in a paupers' hospital among Muggles dying of typhus, thinking you were dead! I looked at your coffin in the family vault and thought your delicate body had been blown to bits by a Muggle bomb! If not for my grandfather’s ring, I would have thought so all my life!” “You tried to resurrect me?” Aola guessed. “Does that surprise you?” he smirked. “When you did not answer the call of the Stone, I realized you were alive. Alive, yet for some reason unwilling to see me again. You tore out my heart and flew off to the clouds to your mother, to strum a lute or whatever peris do for fun? What was left for me? Tell me, my lady, what was I supposed to do?!” He rose and approached her in one swift movement. “What? Forget you, marry some clucking hen, and breed a heap of offspring like those Weasleys?” “Not the worst idea…” the girl replied, frightened by his outburst. He suddenly gripped her chin firmly. “Have you seen your own face?” he almost hissed, leaning in close. Fire-bright pupils searched her face hungrily. “Seventy-five years, and you look exactly as you did the day you first entered the DADA classroom. You have grown even more beautiful. You, an immortal born under a ducal crown, will never understand what I feel! I did not want to meet you as a pathetic, sickly ruin, so I did what I could to wait for you.” “Stop it, Tom,” she firmly pushed his hand away. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You had everything you needed to build a normal life. I did not force you to steal and kill! Alas, I know what it is to lose loved ones no less than you do. As you can see, I did not snap and suddenly decide to crush the whole world under my heel. A thirst for power clouded your mind — admit it — and do not try to justify your actions with a tear-jerking story about lost love! If you had truly thought of me, you would never have turned into a crazed chauvinist whom Hitler would have given a standing ovation!” “Ah, yes… the dear inventor Bobby. Muggle Bobby,” he replied, ignoring her last words. “How could I forget. You were always so fond of Muggles. Why then was it not him you brought back to life, my peri? I am a more entertaining toy, am I not? Milady had a nice rest and decided to have some fun?” “Don’t be like this, Tommy… I love you. I want to give you a chance. Both of us… a chance to start over…” “Why should I believe you? How do I know you aren’t lying about where and with whom you have been all this time?! You see, I am a Squib now — a pathetic parody of a wizard — and I cannot look into your lovely head to ensure you are telling the truth. Did the shaman not intentionally conjure up a toothless toy for you? Dear bunny Tommy… just like the real thing, only he doesn’t bite at all. Speaking of bunnies, I lied to you — I am not sorry. Just as I am not sorry for that stupid horned beast of Hagrid’s.” That, it seemed, was too much. Her restrained anger boiled over, and milady delivered a stinging slap to the resurrected Dark Lord’s face. It was so unexpected that for the first second he was stunned, blinking his eyelashes. Her small palm could hardly cause much pain, and he was used to pain anyway… but Merlin’s beard, how it stung his pride! Tom pressed a hand to his cheek, wiping away the mark of the blow, just as he had once tried to hold onto the trace of her first kiss. His orphanage caretakers hadn’t been truly cruel people; back then, hitting children was simply the norm. It hadn’t lasted long with young Riddle… until misfortunes began to befall anyone who punished him. Tom had taught others to fear him… But the memory of those humiliations sat like a sharp splinter deep in his heart, and Aola had just snagged it, sending a pulse of pain through him. He seized her thin wrists and jerked the girl toward him, brutally forcing a kiss upon her indignantly parted lips. Resentment, unquenched passion, the fury of a past defeat — he wanted to dominate her. To erase that seal of innate superiority from her beautiful face. To cause pain, to get even for everything he had endured thanks to her. Milady threw her head back, trying to free herself, struggling in his arms. “Let go!” she cried out, both frightened and furious. It was no use… he threw her onto the bed and bore down on her, pinning her beneath him. The beaded collar of her blouse gave way, exposing her chest; the thin fabric tore under his fingers. Tom completely lost his head, showering her skin with kisses that were more like bites… The spicy scent of her body and hair drove him mad. She tried to fight him off, but he flipped her onto her stomach, pulling the thin trousers from her hips, feeling the wild pulse of blood in his veins and a crazed arousal. He dug his fingers into the short curls at the back of her head, holding the writhing body beneath him. Animal instincts sang their primal songs in his blood. The ability to think and judge his own actions fell before their onslaught. He was shaking. The hot lava in his groin demanded immediate release; it was physically painful — he felt he would die if he did not rid himself of this burning weight… He wanted to drive into her delicate body until the very end, listening to her screams, watching her graceful back arch with every thrust. She could easily have stopped him, unarmed as he was, with a single movement, but for some reason, she did not, only demanding he release her and struggling to get free. Sex and violence often go hand in hand… but even now, he had no time to think of that. Tom loosened his grip slightly and rose to pull off his trousers, and in that same second, a powerful blow from wings threw him all the way to the screen, knocking the breath out of him. Aola rose into the air as high as the tent allowed, her beautiful face distorted with rage, her pupils elongated and flickering predatorily… Tom had seen Lady Meroving like this only once before, in the battle over the lake. Then, the blows rained down, and compared to a slap, the thrashing she gave him was quite painful. Strong wings, capable of lifting two people at once, lashed so hard that he had to cover his face with a bent arm and bite his lip, enduring the beating. However, it ended quickly. He pulled his hand away from his face and felt the metallic-salty taste of blood in his mouth. Real, living, human blood. It seemed she had split his lip after all. Aola hovered half a meter above the ground, her massive wings beating, scattering everything light in the dwelling to the corners. Almost all the lamps had gone out, but even in the dimness, Tom saw how beautiful she was in her rage. A true Fury… “Mistress?” the genie’s worried voice came from behind the flap. She snapped her fingers, and her torn clothing became whole again. Tom touched his tongue to his cut cheek and winced. A dull, aching pain began to flow into his initially numb body. “Feel better?” he asked calmly, standing up. “Abu!” she cried instead of answering, her dragon-like eyes flashing with anger. The genie slipped through the flap in a second and took in the mess in the tent with a keen eye. “Watch over Mr. Riddle. He must be here when I return,” she commanded and flew out. The genie hovered at the entrance, arms crossed. The expression on his face promised nothing good. Tom suddenly felt that he, strangely enough, felt better personally, though his body ached where her strong wings had struck. The wound-up fury had let go, replaced by apathy. He rubbed his bruised shoulder and trudged to the ottoman. He lay down, hands behind his head. How lovely… Deprived of a wand and basic magical abilities… Essentially a prisoner of a woman he loved to distraction, with whom he had just utterly ruined his relationship. An idiot? Harry did not share his troubling dream with Ginny — he didn’t want to worry his wife without good reason. She was already upset after sending their two eldest children to Hogwarts. Lily was also preparing for school, though a regular Muggle one. Both her father and Aunt Hermione had attended such schools and decided it would benefit their children as well. Having eaten breakfast without appetite, the girl almost dragged her bag of school supplies to the door. She was, of course, envious of her older brothers and couldn’t wait for her own Hogwarts letter to arrive so she could finally go to a school for real sorcerers. He had to stop and give the little one a short lecture on the benefits of broad knowledge and the terrible harm of a dismissive attitude toward Muggles and their way of life. She was a bright girl and seemed to understand correctly, promising to study hard so he and her mother could be proud of her. But even at his desk in the Ministry, Harry could not settle. Nothing specific had happened… and yet a vague sense of anxiety gnawed at his heart. Unable to stand it, he went to see Hermione. She was fully absorbed in a report from Dartmoor about recent sightings of a Hellhound near a Muggle settlement and didn’t immediately notice his frayed state. When Harry finally shared his worries with his old friend, she set the papers aside and asked seriously: “Do you think there is cause for concern? Lady Meroving has left England, and as far as we know, has not returned. What could happen? All the Horcruxes are destroyed. There is simply nothing for him to be reborn from.” “I don’t know… I really don’t know. That’s why I’ve only told you.” “Do you want to do something?” “Yes, and I want you to come with me.” Harry, not knowing why himself, suddenly wanted to check if the seals on the Dark Lord’s grave were still intact.