The Last Chance Of Tom Riddle

Portraits on the walls, stained glass in the windows, a staircase changing its position with a terrifying creak, the light scent of centuries-old dust — everything was the same. Tom was different. He was no longer the enthusiastic boy who had finally found himself and his place in a cold, hostile world. Not the young wizard, full of dark power, striving to find not only a job and ancient artifacts but a sense of home. Not the lich, completely devoid of human feelings, filled to the brim with only malice and a thirst for power, coming to subjugate, punish, and kill. He was different. But what was he? Yes, he had done what he intended, but he felt no particular need for it, nor any satisfaction from the suffering he had inflicted on Neville. “Neville! I was just looking for you, where have you been? The other teachers have already been warned,” a man in ridiculous glasses ran up the stairs toward him. What the hell was happening?! Potter was here?! Wasn’t he supposed to be at the Ministry?! That look through the lenses of the glasses… it cut through his heart like a knife, throwing him back into far from pleasant memories from twenty years ago. His skin crawled with goosebumps. He took a sharp breath through his nose, trying to calm down, and put on a welcoming smile. He had always been good at pretending to be nice. “Hello, Harry,” he shook the outstretched hand without hesitation, suppressing his first instinctive urge to hit Potter with an Avada on the spot. “I was a bit busy; Luna asked me to settle something. Did something happen? Did someone escape from Azkaban?” Aola — echoed in his mind. Milady lost her temper and turned him over to the Ministry of Magic. “On the contrary, someone was put in there yesterday… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I’m still not entirely sure of anything,” Harry looked at his friend a bit guiltily. “I have a lesson starting soon. Should I cancel it, since things are so serious?” “No, there’s no need. I’ll tell you on the way. How are Luna and Alice?” They waited for the staircase to lock into place and moved deep into the corridor, familiar to both of them down to the smallest detail. The Defense Against the Dark Arts office was still in the same place it had been during Tom’s school days. “They’re fine, thank you. My wife is finishing her work on Paddle-footed Blibbering Humdingers; she just left for fieldwork in Devonshire, and our daughter is with her grandmother…” “Paddle-footed?” Harry asked. “Paddle… Paddle-footed,” the companion corrected him and gave a casual shrug — as if to say, whatever keeps the wife happy… Harry smiled understandingly — Luna hadn’t lost any of her quirks with age. To Tom’s considerable relief, the Longbottoms had only recently acquired an heir, and the girl didn’t attend the school yet. Ransacking Neville’s memories, he decided the brains of this family were slightly skewed. It was no wonder Frank and Alice had gone mad under torture instead of dying — the predisposition for insanity was clear. Aola should meet them before claiming there was something wrong with Tom… It was simply incredible how such types could seriously oppose him and his Death Eaters. “So, what happened?” The man with Professor Longbottom’s face turned the initiative back to his companion, having no desire to answer further questions. He already guessed who had ended up in Azkaban and why… And these thoughts were even less pleasing than having his arch-enemy within arm’s reach at a moment when he wasn’t needed at all. Listening to Harry, Tom tried to maintain a proper expression — a mix of concern and surprise — though his heart clenched painfully. Whatever was happening between them, however she treated him, Azkaban was the last place the milady should be! Even without the Dementors, it was repulsive enough. That prison had devoured all of Bella’s beauty. “Right… don’t worry, I know what to do,” he replied to Potter. “I still don’t think she could have resurrected Voldemort. No Horcruxes are left — you know that yourself.” “Then what is Lady Aola hiding so carefully that she went to prison without blinking an eye?” “Who knows, perhaps something more intimate than his diary? Women… can they ever be understood? Sometimes they can be agitated by utter nonsense. Or maybe she’s hoping for help from her high-ranking relatives and patrons?” Tom suggested, thinking only of getting Potter to leave as soon as possible… Before he changed his mind and killed him right outside the DADA office. Potter and the Mudblood Granger had read his notes about Aola! And probably not just them! Damn it all… He should have destroyed the diary! But could he? Could he really? Destroying the memory of her was harder than destroying this entire world. He thought he had hidden the memories of his only love more securely than the fragments of his own soul… “Yes, her cousin is at the Ministry now with a whole pack of lawyers… I think they’ll secure an extradition, and on the Continent, she’ll be out on bail in no time — that’s all…” “Alright, Harry, don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on the kids,” the pseudo-Neville nodded. Just then, a crowd of noisy first-years flooded the corridor, eager to get into the classroom. “Uncle Neville! Dad was looking for you,” a green-eyed boy, looking much like Potter, almost hung on Tom, but caught himself in time — here he was Professor Longbottom, not a godfather. “He found me, as you can see,” Tom answered calmly, turning around. The professor’s tall, robed figure blocked Harry, and the son didn’t notice him immediately. “Oh,” the boy immediately put on a stern face, trying to look more serious. The students hadn’t been briefed on the reasons for the increased school security, but Harry had naturally warned his own children, telling them to keep their mouths shut. Of course, this secrecy didn’t apply to Uncle Neville. “Did Dad tell you yet?” Albus asked in a hissing whisper. His eyes were shining. Being the son of a hero, growing up on stories of his parents' adventures, dreaming of similar feats and victories… “Finally, something interesting is happening!” — it was written in capital letters across his freckled face from ear to ear, no matter how hard he tried to look serious. “Go to class, Al, your godfather and I have already discussed everything,” Potter replied affectionately. The first-years crowded in the classroom doorway, staring at them and whispering along the lines of — wow, it’s Harry Potter himself! The model father, Tom thought with dull irritation. And where was his own curly-haired girl with golden eyes? There was no girl… and her intended mother was now in a damp cell in Azkaban. He shook the outstretched hand again, conveying the warmest greetings he could squeeze out of himself to Ginny and Lily, and clenched his fists as he watched his enemy walk away. No, he couldn’t lose control… He was alone now. Completely alone. Composing himself, Tom went into the office — to meet the one who was supposed to become the tool of his sophisticated revenge, and now… Now, who knew. Aola wasn’t the first to break his plans and turn his life upside down. Or death. The night in the prison cell had been repulsive to the milady. And somehow endless. The chains and the narrow bunk made it impossible to lie comfortably or even put her hands under her head. The thin woolen blanket did nothing to save her from the damp autumn wind, saturated with sea moisture, whistling through the narrow loophole. Actually, covering herself in her position had been an epic task. The skin under the wide rings of the shackles itched terribly. Also, someone further down the corridor, presumably having long since gone mad from the “charms” of this place, screamed all night as if being slaughtered… It seemed that in the euphoria of the pleasant news about Tom, Aola had been over-optimistic in deciding that it was quite tolerable here. The morning brought new stress. Naturally, she needed to use the toilet, but even if she were a man, she wouldn’t have been able to unbutton her trousers on her own, and female anatomy required more serious exposure. She had to wait for the rounds and ask the guards to unshackle her hands for at least five minutes. Two determined-looking women, aiming their wands at her and threatening to disintegrate the Duchess into molecules if she tried anything, granted her request. She had to relieve herself under their watchful eyes. Even for the not-at-all prim Aola, who grew up among simple Persian children, such a violation of intimate boundaries caused outrage. When she was shackled back up, the milady’s face was flushed with embarrassment and anger simultaneously. An outrage! When she got out of here, she would raise the issue of humane treatment of prisoners at the European Ministry of Magic. Yes, criminals of the wizarding world deserved strict isolation, often life-long, but taking away the last scraps of human dignity was not right! Muggles had stepped far ahead in this regard, while wizards still held a grim medieval attitude toward their own kind. Breakfasts in the world’s least humane prison didn’t exist — they fed the inmates twice a day. Instead, Maitre Fabre visited Aola. Her brother and aunt were denied entry. Assuring the prisoner that her case was already being discussed in the highest circles, the lawyer took a list of permitted items and food from the guards and promised to send them to the milady by lunch. Lunch became another trial. This time, for the guards' nerves rather than Aola’s. She couldn’t eat by herself — the length of the chain didn’t allow the spoon to reach her mouth. The choice was either to feed the high-born prisoner or unshackle her hands, and the guards, thoroughly wound up about her abilities, didn’t want the latter at all. Aola saw how they looked at her — like a curious, beautiful, and very dangerous animal. Just think, the eternally young lover of the Dark Lord! Yes, it seemed she had been over-optimistic in thinking she would leave Azkaban whenever she wanted… As a result of arguments and heavy deliberation, a compromise was found — they simply lengthened the chain connecting the leg and hand shackles so that she could hold a spoon herself and — hallelujah! — finally scratch her nose, which had begun to itch like crazy, as if on purpose! As if sensing its mistress was in an absolutely helpless position for the first time in her long life and could now be tortured at will. However, the great-great-granddaughter of Frankish kings still wouldn’t eat the disgusting oatmeal sludge — she wasn’t quite that hungry yet. Having drunk some lukewarm tea, the milady seriously considered what awaited her if Maitre Fabre failed to secure her deportation. The clever duo, Potter and Weasley, to their credit, had grasped the essence of her nature. So far, only women had entered the cell, on whom the Peri charms, alas, did not work. The option of charming a guard was off the table. Where Tom was now and what he was doing, she could only guess. He might not even find out she was in Azkaban… Besides, he was terribly offended by her… Would he decide she belonged here and that this was a perfectly adequate payment for his slavery under Tseren-Shulam? Right… and then there was the faithful Abu, imprisoned in that accursed lamp… What did she have left? Five minutes in the morning and five minutes in the evening when they would unshackle her hands.