The Last Chance Of Tom Riddle

Aola descended to the shore at the very edge of the water and sat on the pebbles — her legs were trembling, refusing to hold her up. Her fingers danced so violently that she had to clench them between her knees. She let out a ragged sob but immediately grew angry with herself. “Don’t you dare start crying!” her inner voice snapped. “You knew what you were getting into! You saw what he had become!” But even knowing that, accepting what had happened was not easy. She could still feel his grip on the back of her head and hear his hoarse, ragged breathing. What if she was wrong, and nothing could be changed? The girl suddenly felt dirty; she wanted to wash. Hurriedly pulling off her clothes, she stepped into the cold water, first asking the local spirits and creatures for permission to bathe. The water was searingly cold, but it was exactly what she needed. Entering up to her chest, she pushed off from the stony bottom and swam, cutting through the dark surface with a white shoulder. Simple, rhythmic movements were soothing; thinking of a solution became easier. And the further she swam from the shore, the more clearly she saw a way out of the situation. By the time she emerged from the water, milady knew exactly what she had to do. She hastily pulled her clothes onto her wet body and flew north. By the time Aola returned, the hybrid of young Tom and cynical Voldemort had cooled down and gathered his thoughts enough to even apologize for his behavior. On one hand, he had indeed allowed himself too much and had been crude. On the other, being friends with the one you depend on was much more profitable than being at odds—at least until he regained his strength. Aola returned half an hour later. Her expression was impenetrable — lips pressed together, chin held high. She didn’t even look his way, only exchanging a few words in Farsi with the genie. Tom glanced at Abu and asked if they could speak in private. “We have already spoken…” she murmured. Was he to apologize in front of this fanged freak? In front of a servant! The indignation of the coming humiliation stirred up all the settled sediment of his malice, and instead of an apology, he asked rather venomously if the genie would hover over his soul even when he needed the latrine. Aola measured her lover with a cold gaze and asked the genie to leave them for a moment. “I’m close by if anything happens,” he grunted, eyes flashing black, and flew out. Tom opened his mouth, but milady forestalled him. She clenched her slender fingers and said: “Mr. Riddle, I must apologize for my lack of restraint. Please forgive me for striking you.” What a refined upbringing… A lady is a lady, after all. “I lost my temper too, I admit… Shall we forget this little incident? Accumulated resentments kept us from controlling ourselves, but I trust it won’t happen again?” “Of course, you can be certain of that, Mr. Voldemort. I have no moral right to judge you or lecture you. Moreover, I have no right to hold you here against your will. Now that everything between us is clear, I believe we can part ways.” “What do you mean — part ways?” Tom didn’t understand. “Just that — Abu and I are Apparating home, and you are free to go wherever you please and do whatever you wish. This is your life — I have returned it to you, and you may dispose of it as you see fit. Please leave the tent. You may keep the clothes and shoes, of course.” “But…” he tried to find the words, processing what he had heard. Was she kicking him out?! Abandoning him in some wild steppe, as helpless as an infant — without magic, without a wand?! “I am going nowhere! You must have lost your mind from an excess of emotion! It’s nothing but steppe all around, and I am a miserable Squib who can’t even conjure a glass of water!” She suddenly smiled, so warmly, so sunnily… as only she could. And she said: “You are a human, Tom. An ordinary human. Congratulations, you have a chance to walk in the shoes of those you despised throughout your worthless life. By the way, there is plenty of water; the lake is fresh. Abu, help our guest find the exit!” “I will leave on my own!” he hissed at the returning genie, stunned by her words. “Don’t you dare touch me, you creature!” In a fit of rage, he burst outside, still hoping deep down that she was simply getting back at him for his rudeness. That she would mock him, show him who was boss, and then take him at least to Europe! Or at least leave the magic carpet so he could get out of this godforsaken wilderness. But he hoped in vain. Miss Meroving packed the tent away and pointed a finger at the horizon: “Tseren-Shulam’s camp is that way. Not far, fifteen or twenty kilometers. I advise you to start at dawn; it’s easy to get lost at night. Ask her for a horse or a camel — she is a kind woman. She might give you one. I don’t rule out that you might have to work a bit… with your hands. You’ve acted like a total bastard for so many years; don’t miss the chance to at least try living differently. All the best.” “You… you!” Tom gasped with indignation. “Where did you pick up such words, and you call yourself a duchess?!” “None of your business,” the girl cut him off calmly, adding in a lower voice, as if sharing a secret: “And God forbid you, Tommy, should try to rob the shaman out of old memory and bad habits… or do something worse. She is a kind woman, but by no means a fool. You’ll only harm yourself.” “But I don’t know a word of Mongolian!” “You know one — thank you. Remember one more: 'uu' — please. In the world of well-bred people, these two words can work real miracles.” “Is this how you love me, Aola, really?! Is this love, in your opinion — to leave me here to die?!” The presence of the servant no longer bothered Mr. Riddle. “Precisely. I gave you a chance. How you use it is up to you. I have no intention of nursing you like a small child — I am no longer your teacher, and you are not a child. I hope for your prudence. Farewell.” And she Apparated before Tom, already prepared to grovel, could beg her not to leave him here alone. “Good luck, master,” the genie grinned widely and vanished to the accompaniment of his own nasty snickering. Silence and darkness reigned on the shore, and only the large stars slowly winked in the abyss above the abandoned Dark Lord. The former Dark Lord. Since Harry intended to check the seals privately, without attracting the Ministry’s attention yet, he and Hermione had to wait until the end of the working day and Apparate to the cliff at the entrance of the Crystal Cave only in the evening. The possibility of entering directly was blocked by a special spell. Perhaps it was self-suggestion, but the sea seemed to him exactly as leaden and violent as it had been on the day he and Dumbledore first came here. “Will we have to swim? You could have warned me — I would have brought a broom!” “Sorry… I didn’t think.” She rolled her eyes and began to undress. “Turn away! Are you going in with your clothes on? It’ll be uncomfortable.” Harry had to apologize again. You could never understand these women… She was going to swim undressed, but God forbid he should watch her take her clothes off! The meticulous Hermione neatly tied her clothes into a bundle and slipped from the ledge into the water. “Brrr, it’s cold!” she exclaimed and swam toward the cave with a neat breaststroke. Harry jumped in after her, without undressing. He hadn’t drowned then, and he could handle it now… Hermione reached the cave first and, having dried her undergarments on herself, began to dress. Harry wasn’t staring — it wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen her before… And yet he noted how her figure had rounded and become more graceful. “Quite a place…” she remarked, looking around. They moved forward, and Harry felt the trace of outside interference in the protective spells. When they stood over the black tomb, holding their flaming wands high to ward off the Inferi — he was certain of it. The seals had been broken and reapplied. “Someone was here. Digging in the grave,” he said firmly. “Her?” “Who else?” “But how could she have known? Only you, McGonagall, and Dumbledore know where the cave is!” “Imperio? Crucio? Veritaserum? There are plenty of ways to loosen a tongue… She didn’t come to me — that’s all I’m sure of.” “What could she have taken from there? A bone for a souvenir? The body is a fake, after all,” Hermione grimaced. Harry shrugged: “I have no idea. There was nothing on it but the robes — Aberforth and McGonagall examined the body before the funeral. No rings, no medallions — nothing.” “What shall we do?” The man was silent for a moment and then decided: “Let’s visit Lady Meroving and ask her point-blank why she violated the protective spells and what she was trying to find in that scum’s grave.” “Harry, you know perfectly well that this madam is outside our Ministry’s jurisdiction, and her clan is so influential they couldn’t care less about their own, let alone ours. I looked into it and told you as much.” “I remember. We’ll have to approach her privately. Just ask… for now.” “And if she refuses to speak with us?” “If she refuses — we act officially. Meroving or Merlin himself in a skirt, complicity in the Dark Lord’s cause must be stopped. Their Ministry must understand that, right? If that doesn’t help… we’ll try another way.” He paused and added: “You know, I’ll go to any lengths just to keep HIM lying under those stones.” “So will I,” Hermione replied firmly, placing a hand on his shoulder. Both of them had become parents, and their old fears seemed trivial compared to how they now worried for the lives and well-being of their children. Alas, the return of the Dark Lord echoed in nightmares for more than just Mr. Potter. That same night, with a roar full of animal joy, the savage Fenrir Greyback woke from sleep on his narrow prison bunk. Terrible, shaggy, looking more like a werewolf than ever after years of imprisonment even outside the full moon, he had never worn the Dark Mark, but he felt the master’s return with some inhuman instinct. He simply knew — it had happened. Pressing his hairy muzzle to the bars, he bared his sharp yellow teeth and howled. Diagonally across the narrow corridor, Mulciber Junior dissolved into mad laughter in his cell. The Mark on his arm burned like fire.