Transcendence

Additional Disclaimer: Any vaguely recognizable Lockhart lines are modified from Chamber of Secrets, Chapter 17, "The Heir of Slytherin"; and Chapter 18, "Dobby's Reward."

Myrtle's line is modified from Half-Blood Prince, Chapter 24, "Sectumsempra."

Lucius's "slippery" attempt at taking credit is inspired by his lines in Goblet of Fire, Chapter 33, "The Death Eaters."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tom Riddle did not feel fear. Or much of anything, really, but certainly not fear.

Although he had often caused it in other people, he had never personally experienced a racing heart or the feeling of jumping out of his own skin. He had watched others wipe sweaty palms on their trousers and had seen their eyes go wide in terror, but he had never personally experienced those sensations.

Until he had watched Harry Potter almost destroy him.

He supposed that was the difference between having a phobia of an abstract idea, of something far off in the future, and almost watching it come to fruition right in front of his eyes. Certainly he had a phobia of death, but no matter how irrational his thoughts had been, his reactions had always been rather rational. He had endeavored to find a way to defeat death. And he had succeeded. He had defeated his phobia, conquered death.

Now, as he leaned heavily on a damp stone wall deep in the Chamber, bending forward with his hands on his knees and his head hanging down, trying to breathe deeply and calm his racing heart, he thought that perhaps this wasn't the ideal time to contemplate his own psychology.

He was annoyed at himself for reacting this way. He was annoyed that he had been robbed of the moment of elation he'd expected to enjoy when he got a body. He was annoyed with himself for being annoyed.

And he had more pressing matters to deal with at the moment.

Ginny and Potter would be missed before long, if they weren't already, and that thrice-damned bird would surely go running to its thrice-damned owner. The longer he waited the more difficult it would be to get out of the castle. It had only been a few minutes at the most, so hopefully he still had time.

He took a circuitous route back towards the entrance so as to avoid the main chamber where it had happened. It was really too bad that there was only one entrance to the Chamber, especially when he discovered a pile of rocks blocking his way to the pipe. There was quite a large hole in the wall of rubble, and he peered cautiously through it.

A pair of blue eyes peered back at him.

"Who're you?" demanded the boy.

"Tom," he replied truthfully. It wasn't as if he had anything to lose by doing so.

The boy pulled back far enough that Tom could see freckles and ghastly orange hair. "Where's Harry? And Ginny! Where's my sister?"

Ah, so this must be Ron, Tom thought.

"They're here with me," he answered, infusing his tone with the urgency and near panic he felt for himself. "Is there anyone else there who can help us? Do you have any professors with you?"

"No," replied the boy, clearly panicking now himself. "Let's make the hole bigger, then we--"

But he didn't get any further, because Tom, satisfied that Ron Weasley was the only immediate threat, aimed Potter's wand through the hole and said, "Avada Kedavra."

He couldn't see Ron fall, but he could hear the satisfying thump as he hit the stone floor like a bag of rocks.

It was only a moment's work to make the opening large enough for him to comfortably crawl through. He stepped over Ron's body with barely a glance downwards and quickly crossed over to the pipe leading up to the girl's bathroom. There he met a blond-haired man who was sitting at the edge of the pipe.

"Hello!" he greeted Tom cheerfully. "Who are you?"

"The boy said he didn't have any professors with him!"

The man smiled in agreement. "Oh, I'm sure he hasn't. I'd make an awful professor."

Tom could only stare in astonishment. "Who are you?"

"Well, I don't know," he replied. Then, as if he found nothing worrying about that fact, he asked, "I say, do you know where we are? Strange sort of place, isn't it?"

There was really no telling whether the man was serious or not, but Tom had quite finished wasting time. A moment later he was stepping over another body and up into the pipe. He could clearly hear the lament of the phoenix from behind him, still in the Chamber, and he hurried to levitate himself up to the entrance. Then he stepped out of the sink only to come face to face with a girl he'd never thought to see again.

"Tom?" she asked, clearly as incredulous as he was.

He hadn't known her in school. He had learned who she was after he'd killed her, of course, but only because of all the articles in the newspaper and the memorial service they'd held for her. Still, he wasn't at all surprised that she knew him--everybody knew him!--even if it was quite inconvenient. She could easily identify him by name to anyone who asked. And certainly she knew now where the entrance to the Chamber was, even if she hadn't before.

He sighed in defeat.

"It was you?" she continued, her voice going higher with each syllable, though he wouldn't have said it was possible if anyone had asked him before he'd heard it for himself. Then she spun in midair and streaked out of the bathroom, screeching, "MURDERER! MURDERER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDERER!"

He sighed again, casting a Disillusionment Charm on his body and Muffling Charms on his feet as he hurried out of the bathroom and down the corridor. He slipped into the nearest classroom when he heard footsteps rushing towards him, although he felt secure enough in the strength of his charm to stand just inside the doorway and watch as a group rushed past his hiding place. He easily recognized Dumbledore, although the man was significantly older than he had been before Tom went into the diary--fifty years older, in fact. He could have identified the man by his garish robes if by nothing else.

He didn't recognize the others, although he assumed that the two with orange hair must be related to the Weasley children, probably their parents.

Ah well, he thought with an easy smile, fortunately for them they still have five more children. For now.

After the group had passed by, he quickly stepped out into the corridor behind them and made a beeline for the staircase before they doubled back to look for him. And before anything else happened, with the way this night was going. Fortunately it was the dead middle of the night, so no one else was around and he was able to rush out the grand doors without further hindrance. He made for the Forbidden Forest, because he figured that the first place anyone would look would be towards the gates.

He was breathing heavily by the time he'd made it deep enough in to feel secure about stopping and leaning against a tree. It was very clear to him that this body was brand new and not at all used to physical exertion. Tom absolutely reveled in the feel of his lungs burning and his legs aching. It was painful, but it mean that he was alive, that he was real and no longer practically a non-being stuck in some accursed book for all of eternity.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He still had a grin on his face and his fingers wrapped around the diary in his pocket when he Apparated into the front drawing room of Malfoy Manor. A house-elf popped into the room, squeaked, and popped back out before he could react to it, so Tom shrugged and settled onto one of the fine velvet sofas. The room had been changed since the last time he'd been here, but he figured that wasn't too much of a surprise, seeing as it had been fifty years. Even pure-bloods redecorated at least once every half century or so.

He hadn't been waiting long before a tall wizard with shoulder-length blond hair Apparated into the room a few feet from him. He appeared angry and disheveled, and he was on the verge of storming out of the room when he caught sight of Tom sprawled elegantly across his furniture. He scrutinized Tom with such intense suspicion that a lesser wizard would have balked.

Tom stared right back.

"I do not believe I have had the pleasure," the man said, finally, his tone stiff with formality and distrust. "Are you waiting for my father?"

Tom had thought at first that he was looking at an older Abraxas, but he quickly realized that it couldn't have been. This wizard was probably only in his late thirties or early forties, and anyway Abraxas would have recognized Tom right off. (He had to wonder, of course, why Abraxas's son, apparently a follower of Lord Voldemort, wouldn't recognize him, even a younger version of himself, but he pushed the thought aside for later consideration.)

He was spared from having to answer when another man appeared in the doorway, apparently having been summoned by the house-elf.

"Tom?"

He made no attempt to disguise the shock in his voice. Their eyes met over Lucius's shoulder, and Tom could see the differences in their features now that he could see them at the same time. Lucius's features were sharper than his father's, and he didn't have Abraxas's wide jawline or thin lips.

Then the elder Malfoy seemed to recover himself sufficiently, and he crossed the room in three long strides, shoving past his son in order to kneel in front of Tom.

"Forgive me, My Lord. I forgot myself," he said with every appearance of sincerity. His son made a wounded sort of sound in the back of his throat that Tom could hear from where he was sitting. "Your appearance... You look just as you did in school.... My Lord, how...?"

Tom realized that he was unlikely to be able to pull off a lie about being the Lord Voldemort they knew if he couldn't even recognize his own followers at first glance. However, he was confident that he could manage to simply omit certain information for long enough to buy himself a bit of time to figure out his next move. He hoped that it hadn't been a mistake to come to Malfoy Manor, but he hadn't been able to think of anything else to do, given that he had no money and had little idea about the differences between his own time and now.

Lucius had by this time come to kneel beside his father. "I beg your forgiveness, My Lord. If I had recognized you--"

"Yes, I'm sure," Tom cut him off. "I can overlook your mistake this once. In fact, I believe that I should reward you for the loyal service you have done me."

He removed the diary from his robes and held it near to his body, where the Malfoys could see it but had no chance of touching it.

They were silent for a handful of seconds before Lucius ventured to say, "My Lord, I have constantly thought of how to restore you. Nothing could have prevented me from helping you. I expect no reward for doing what any of your loyal servants should have done."

He was lying, Tom knew. His voice contained an air of flattery and charm that was the hallmark of a man who was trying to make someone believe something that wasn't entirely true, for his own benefit. Tom had practiced tirelessly as a small child to rid his own voice of any such obvious signs that he was insincere.

What was more, Tom knew that there was no way Lucius could have known what would happen when he gave the diary to Ginny Weasley. After all, Tom himself hadn't known that he was capable of restoring himself to a body until he'd actually undertaken to steal Ginny's soul just to see what would happen. Tom would have thought twice about creating Horcruxes if he'd known at the time that they were capable of manifesting themselves as he had now--it wasn't good for business, after all, to have multiple versions of yourself liable to pop out of the woodwork.

He offered the man a cold, humorless smile. Abraxas shuddered from his place on his knees next to his son.

"I doubt that, Lucius." Malfoy looked ready to protest, but a lazy wave of Tom's hand was enough to convince him to snap his mouth closed again. "Still, you were the means of my return, whether you intended it or no, and Lord Voldemort does not forget."

Abraxas finally raised his eyes from the diary to look him in the face. "Will you remain as you are now, My Lord?"

"I imagine that I will," Tom replied confidently, although in reality he did not know the answer. He had long since perfected the art of always appearing to know what he was talking about, and even fifty years in utter social isolation could not make him forget that skill. "I admit that when I created this artifact when I was sixteen, I was not thinking of how my followers in later years would react to a leader who looks as I did then, if I ever had need of using it."

He did wonder privately whether he was legitimately a real person. Would he age? Could he eat? Would he need to sleep? Could he be killed just as any other person could? He would have to test these things for himself at the earliest opportunity.

For now, his answer seemed to satisfy the Malfoys' curiosity on that point.

"Sixteen..." breathed Abraxas, eyeing Tom's features with a mixture of awe and foreboding. "My Lord, I had no idea--That is, I never knew then that you had already--that you had--"

Tom cut him off smoothly. "If I had wanted you to know, you would have known."

"Of course, My Lord. Forgive me."

The elder Malfoy looked properly humbled, although perhaps he looked a little hurt as well. Tom wondered if his position of prominence among his followers had carried over into their adult lives and beyond. Abraxas had been older, in fifth year when Tom was in first, and he had been the first person to recognize the potential of being close to the scrawny orphan who could speak Salazar's language. Malfoy had sought Tom out long before his fellow first years had learned the hard way that it was far better to be on his good side than his bad.

"You are not wrong to think now of my fellow Death Eaters' reactions, My Lord," Lucius offered, his voice carefully measured so as to give the least offense possible. "My father and his friends surely remember their school days with you, but they never speak of it. Before tonight I had never thought of you as--forgive me, My Lord--as someone who was once a normal boy."

"By which I am sure my son means only your outward persona, My Lord," Abraxas rushed to add. "You were never normal, average."

Lucius, who had apparently not considered that his words could be interpreted in quite that way, nodded along vigorously.

"Yes, quite so, My Lord; please forgive me if my words could have been taken as anything else." Tom waved him along impatiently, and he hastened to say, "I mean only that those of us who did not share childhoods with you know nothing about that time. Why, I had not even known your given name before tonight; I had only known your initials, from the diary."

Tom had learned more than he could have hoped to learn even if he had engineered the conversation himself.

So I am not known by my given name--Abraxas was so quick to apologize for calling me "Tom" that I truly must not allow anyone to speak of it. He curled his tongue up against the roof of his mouth as he thought. It was a tick that was undetectable from the outside, and he had long since trained himself to do that rather than to bite his lip or tilt his head. Unless, of course, he wanted someone to be aware that he was thinking about something, in which case he would tilt his head with impunity. What could Lucius have meant about not having ever thought of me as normal? Can my appearance have changed so much?

"And how do you think of me, Lucius?" he asked suddenly.

The man's eyes widened fractionally, although it was clear he was attempting to control his expression. "My Lord?"

"Only as your lord?" Tom asked, as if the man had been giving him an answer and not asking a question. "Not as Voldemort?"

"No, My Lord!" he cried. "I would never presume! I could never dare!"

Tom was more satisfied than he could have expressed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the early morning hours of the last day of May, Tom stretched luxuriously against the silky sheets in the Malfoys' best guest room. The room had been constructed to house King William III, as the portrait of Brutus Malfoy had been all too happy to inform him, when William and Mary had been expected to visit Brutus at the end of the seventeenth century. However, the Statute of Secrecy had passed in 1692, so, much to Brutus's chagrin, the expected visit had obviously never happened. So the room had been updated with the latest technologies and luxuries over the years, and Brutus's portrait was hung there in commemoration, but otherwise it was kept mostly the same as when originally built. Some sort of tradition, Tom supposed.

Lucius had installed Tom in the room late the night before, after he had exhausted himself with research in the Malfoys' vast library. He had needed to learn about everything he had missed, as he had told his hosts. If the Malfoys assumed that he was only referring to the past ten years and not to the past fifty, then he was not about to correct them.

It felt indescribably good to lie in a real bed and rub himself against real sheets. And to eat real food and thumb through real books.

Tom never cried, neither from sadness nor happiness nor otherwise, but he imagined that if he were the type of person who did, he would have been a blubbering mess for the past twenty-four hours.

The thick carpet felt absolutely amazing between his toes when he finally got out of bed, and even the cool bathroom tiles beneath his bare feet seemed like an amazing luxury to him. He had no words to even begin to describe the hot water running through his hair and over his body. He did have a few words he could have used to describe the feel of slick soap and a firm hand against his member when he indulged himself in the shower, but he figured that the wordless noises he allowed to escape his throat were much more fitting for the situation than any flowery description he could have provided himself.

He had long since forgot what it felt like to actually experience his senses. Sight, smell, taste, hearing, touch--they had been all but lost to him in the diary, but now he planned to revel in them as much as possible.

His eyes landed on the ornate toilet as he was stepping out of the shower. And really, even the Malfoys' toilets were over the top? He rolled his eyes heavenward for a moment. Then it occurred to him that he had no need to make use of the facilities, nor had he the day before, even though he had veritably gorged himself with every food and drink his hosts had put in front of him. He might have forgotten exactly what having a body felt like, but he remembered the regular occurrence of certain bodily functions.

Researching the exact nature of his newfound body leapt up to number one on his to-do list, in front of finding someone to shag, learning all he could about what he had missed, figuring out what to do about his other self, and setting up some longer term goals for his new reign.

(He scolded himself and reluctantly moved finding someone to shag lower down the list, after learning all he could about what he had missed. He refused to move it any lower.)

Although neither of them had mentioned it the day before, it was clear that at least one of the Malfoys had taken note of the school uniform he was wearing and had taken it upon himself to procure Tom some more appropriate clothing. He gleefully burned his old clothes, not caring at all about the scorch mark he left on the expensive carpet. It took him a few minutes to get used to the slightly different cut and fit of his new modern clothes, but by the time he joined the Malfoys for breakfast he was moving just as elegantly as he ever had.

Three people rose from the table when he entered the room, and Lucius rushed to offer him the chair at the head of the table.

"My Lord, I hope you slept well. Here, sit down and allow the house-elves to serve you."

Tom mentally smiled at the man's over-solicitousness. It had been revealed the day before, after someone finally thought to ask why Lucius had been Apparating back to the Manor in such a furious state, that he had managed to get himself ousted from his position as a Hogwarts governor. Tom hadn't been truly angry--after all, he had never known that Malfoy was on the school board in the first place, and it wasn't like he had formed any plans around it--but he had thoroughly enjoyed acting like he was disappointed and watching the man metaphorically dangle uncomfortably over the fire.

He waited until they were all seated to respond. "I slept very well. Brutus Malfoy had the most interesting story to tell me about my room."

All three Malfoys immediately looked uncomfortable, and Tom delighted in pointing out their hypocrisy. Abraxas had always insisted that his family had never had any contact with Muggles, yet here Tom had found out that they had originally been granted land in England by William the Conqueror and that they had planned to house Muggle royalty in their home. He didn't truly mind their family history, of course, but he always took pleasure in twisting pure-bloods' beliefs to his own needs and for his own amusement.

Fortunately for the Malfoys--or perhaps unfortunately, as it would turn out--the arrival of their morning post saved any of them from having to respond.

Tom could see the headline of the Daily Prophet as Abraxas picked it up.

THREE KILLED IN ATTACK AT HOGWARTS!

He blinked once in surprise. Three dead?

"Give me that!" he demanded, but he had already Summoned it out of Abraxas's hands and into his own before the man had time to respond.

Two Hogwarts students and one professor were killed in the early morning hours of May 30th. This is the culmination of a series of attacks at the school beginning last Halloween, although these are the first deaths. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, who was somehow involved in the events, was moved last night from the school infirmary to Saint Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, but the details of his involvement and of his condition have not been released.

Headmaster Dumbledore refuses to reveal any details of what took place at the school, but he assures this reporter that the monster has been destroyed. He says that the unfortunate deaths of Professor Gilderoy Lockhart and students Ronald and Ginevra Weasley, as well as the undisclosed injuries to Harry Potter, happened in the confrontation with the beast and that, while tragic, such an event cannot happen again.

Tom dropped the newspaper and slumped back against his chair in surprise. How had Potter survived? He had hit him with a Killing Curse at almost point-blank range!

Lucius, who had his own copy of the newspaper, addressed his father and wife. "Listen to this: 'This reporter is far from convinced by Dumbledore's reassurances; if he has nothing to hide and the monster really has been destroyed, then why has he not released the full details of the events? Indeed, I wonder at Headmaster Dumbledore's presence in the school on the night of these events after the Board of Governors had voted to remove him from his post due to his handling of the attacks earlier in the year. It seems that Dumbledore orchestrated to have himself reinstated as headmaster and for Lucius Malfoy, the concerned board member and parent of Draco Malfoy (second year), removed from his position as a school governor. Malfoy had pushed for Dumbledore's removal, citing safety concerns and Dumbledore's incompetent responses to the attacks.'"

Narcissa clapped her hands in delight. "My dear, if you put the right words in the right ears, you could easily have the entire school board ousted and yourself reinstated by the end of the day!"

While the Malfoys celebrated this small victory, Tom stared hard at his abandoned copy of the newspaper as if it might rise up from the table and give him the answers he sought.

How had Potter survived?

"My Lord?" he heard, and he looked up to find all three Malfoys watching him. He was sure it wasn't the first time Abraxas had called his name. "My Lord, what are you doing to do? What would you have us do?"

Tom really had no idea.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Notes: The information about the Malfoy family history comes from Pottermore. According to this account, the first Malfoy on British soil was Armand Malfoy, who came over with William the Conqueror and was granted lands by him. After that the Malfoys maintained influence in the Muggle royal court for many centuries and built up their fortune by taking advantage of Muggles, and when the Statute of Secrecy was proposed in the late seventeenth century they were vehement opponents of it. However, after it passed they quickly adapted and soon were insisting that they had never interacted with Muggles at all.

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