Transcendence

Tom leaned against the window frame and watched the sunrise through the floor-length window in his bedroom. He hadn't slept since the night before or eaten anything since dinner two days ago. After hearing the news about Potter, he had been too agitated to give it much thought. He had often gone without food or sleep when he was deep into research or some other obsession, so it wasn't exactly unusual.

What was unusual was that he wasn't the least bit tired or hungry.

It was clear that he didn't have a human body, at least not exactly. Perhaps his body was the Horcrux now, and not the diary? Maybe he had just switched containers?

But he could eat and sleep and wank off and enjoy the contrast between the hot summer air and the cool stone against his skin. What he needed to know was if he had to be subject to the normal human needs and weaknesses.

It was possible that his other self would have some idea what was going on, that he had gathered more information in his travels or in the actual practice of making Horcruxes. Tom only had the knowledge he'd gained up until the time he'd entered the diary and whatever he'd managed to learn in the Malfoy library since his return. It was most vexing to feel as if his brilliant mind had been wasted for fifty years, and he was indescribably jealous that his other self had apparently been able to go all the places and learn all the things that he had dreamed of while he was a student.

Well, he thought as he pushed himself away from the window and towards the bed where he had left Potter's wand, there's only one way I'm going to learn anything about this.

The first step, the most important litmus test to determine what sort of thing he was, would be to figure out if he could be injured through normal means. The diary, like all Horcruxes, was virtually indestructible (except, of course, if one happened to attack it with something just as Dark as it was, such as basilisk venom). His other self had never conducted any experiments on him that he was aware of, so this knowledge had always been theoretical rather than empirically tested. Until little Ginny Weasley's actions had proved it to him when the diary hadn't been damaged by the water she'd tossed him in.

However, Tom had no intention of trying to drown himself, not in a toilet or otherwise.

The dagger he conjured was plain but deathly sharp. It slipped into the skin of his wrist quite effortlessly, like gliding through water. Dark blood immediately poured from the wound.

Is it even blood? Tom wondered idly, his thoughts seeming almost detached from the situation. Maybe it's the potion used in the Horcrux ritual? Or ink.

He dragged the blade upwards towards the crook of his elbow. The pain made his hand slip so that the gash curved inwards instead of making a straight line. It was nothing to the pain of being made into a Horcrux, though, so he didn't allow that slight inconvenience to stop him. Skin and muscle and sinew separated right down to the bone, and when he was finished making the cut he stabbed downwards into the bone itself once for good measure before calmly setting the dagger on the bedside table next to him.

It was difficult to see through all of the blood (or whatever it was), but he was pretty sure that all of the anatomy looked to be in its proper place. It was quite fascinating to see one's own insides. He wondered why he'd never done it before.

Then before his very eyes the horrific gash began to heal. It didn't close up or reknit itself or anything else to suggest that he was just a magically fast healer. Rather it just... melted away, as if it had never existed to begin with. He was left with an arm as pristine as ever, except that it was drenched in thick, dark blood. He extended and contracted his elbow experimentally, then twisted his forearm so that it was facing upwards then downwards.

There was no pain or any other sign that he had been injured.

Over the next half an hour or so he concocted increasingly painful and injurious experiments to perform on himself, from burning a hole in his own chest to removing one of his little toes from his body. No matter what he did, whether the Muggle way or by magic, he came away in the end without a scratch on him.

Tom had the urge to write all of this down, as he had always done with the results of his experiments or any other new knowledge he had gained. However, this particular field of knowledge was better left only in his own brain, and perhaps that of his other self. Even if he put the very best protections he knew how on his notes, then locked them in a safe box with another layer of the very best protections, then threw the whole thing into the middle of the Arctic Ocean, he still wouldn't feel secure having such information about himself written down.

A knock came at the door. "My Lord?"

"Come," Tom had replied before he'd really thought about it.

He realized his mistake as soon as Lucius froze in the doorway, wide eyes taking in his form. The man had called his name in shock and rushed across the room before Tom had time to reassure him.

"My Lord, what is this? What's happened?"

Lucius had seized his blood-covered forearm and was holding it closer to his face to inspect it. No doubt he was looking for the injury that must be the source of the all the blood that was splattered across Tom's body and his bedroom.

"Let go, Malfoy," Tom ordered, although it came out much calmer than he was sure Lord Voldemort would have been under the same circumstances.

The man dropped Tom's arm as if it had burned him.

"Forgive me, My Lord! I meant no disrespect! I was thinking only of your safety!"

"I know," Tom replied in his eerily calm voice, "and that's why I haven't removed your hand from your body."

The truth was that he relished the physical contact, and it was only the knowledge that Lord Voldemort would have never allowed his followers to touch him without permission that had kept him from allowing Malfoy to paw at him to his little blond heart's content. It seemed that he was quite a bit more tactile--that he enjoyed human contact a lot more--now than before he'd gone into the diary, which was really no surprise, given the complete absence of physical sensation for the past fifty years. Perhaps if Lucius had shown any sexual interest in him...

But no, he hadn't noticed any indication that the man would be a willing partner in that. Unfortunately.

He stepped around Malfoy, who leapt out of the way so quickly that he almost tripped backwards, and made his way to the bed, where he had dropped Potter's wand sometime during his experiments. It was only a moment's work to put his appearance to rights. He would leave the bedroom for the house-elves.

"Why are you here?" he asked the other wizard.

Lucius looked as if he desperately wanted to ask what Tom had been doing and whose blood was still all over the room, but instead he schooled his voice into an impressively level tone, given the circumstances, and explained, "I came to see if you would like breakfast, My Lord--you must be hungry!--and to tell you that I will be meeting with the Minister this morning to see about my position on the school board."

Tom had no intention of eating breakfast. Sure he desperately missed food, and as early as twenty-four hours ago no one could have suggested to him that he should willingly give it up. However, he was determined now to see if he could go inhuman amounts of time without food or sleep.

"I'm not hungry. I expect you to return with information about Harry Potter."

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

Lucius had been reinstated to the school board, just as his wife had predicted. They had all been amused by the article in the Daily Prophet proclaiming him the victim of a scheming old man who had used his influence to get rid of his opposition and reclaim his position. The public perhaps would not have been so critical of Dumbledore regaining his position as headmaster if there hadn't been three deaths and one injured Savior on his watch, all of which seemed to reinforce the idea that Malfoy had been right about Dumbledore's inability to handle the situation.

As for the accusations that Lucius had threatened to curse the families of the other members of the board in order to get them to remove Dumbledore in the first place, they were considered nothing more than a baseless attempt by Dumbledore's supporters to cover their own tracks and to continue defaming the man who had called for their idol's removal.

It seemed that Tom's victory that night in the Chamber had more far-reaching effects than even he could have imagined.

Still, the Ministry was reluctant to remove Dumbledore now that he was reinstated. Lucius had succeeded in having the rest of the supposedly dirty board removed and had installed some of Tom's supporters in their places, but he couldn't select all of the new members. The other board members and Minister Fudge were convinced that it would be political suicide to remove Dumbledore at this juncture. Lucius's hands were tied until Dumbledore screwed up again.

Most frustratingly, Lucius had been unable to dig up any useful information about Harry Potter or the Chamber incident. It wasn't really his fault, as Dumbledore was keeping the boy strictly isolated in a private room at Saint Mungo's and had insisted that they had to wait until he was released from the hospital to speak to him.

Still, Tom had been most displeased, and Lucius had been the most convenient target for his ire.

When Lucius strolled into the library a couple of weeks later, in mid-June, Tom's hopes were renewed. He did not have the look about him of someone who knew that he was about to be held under the Cruciatus Curse. Tom hoped that meant he actually had something useful to say this time around.

"My Lord," Lucius began, quickly bowing in Tom's direction by why of greeting, "Potter has finally been released from Saint Mungo's. Dumbledore tried to keep it quiet, and if not for Fudge's interference I am sure that I would not have known about the interview until after the fact." Here he allowed himself a brief chuckle. "The look on Dumbledore's face when he saw me standing there will be etched into my mind forever."

Tom perked up, sitting up straight in his seat and pushing away the heavy tome he'd previously been hunched over. He gestured for Malfoy to sit.

"And?"

Lucius gracefully lowered himself into a large wingback chair directly across from Tom's.

"I was able to cast doubt on both his story and, I am happy to say, his mental faculties. I accused him and Dumbledore of having concocted the whole story about the Chamber of Secrets in order to cover up Dumbledore's incompetence."

The Malfoys had a large Pensieve, which was quickly sent for. Tom was momentarily uncomfortable at the thought of leaving himself exposed and vulnerable while he was inside the Pensieve, but then he remembered his own virtual invincibility and, with a cold laugh that seemed to unnerve Lucius, pressed his face into the swirling liquid.

He landed in the entrance hall at Hogwarts, right in front of the grand staircase. He was standing right next to Lucius, who was conversing quietly with two other men. At the sight of one of the men he experienced the same sense of surprise he'd felt when he'd first seen Abraxas looking so old. It had to be Richard Mulciber, only fifty years older.

The other man he recognized only because he had seen his picture in the newspaper. Cornelius Fudge was standing directly on Lucius's other side, wearing a pinstripe suit and holding a lime green bowler hat in one hand.

The group stood assembled when Dumbledore exited the Great Hall with Harry Potter a step behind him. The look on his face when he saw them was, as Lucius had said, quite priceless.

"Cornelius," he said, not exactly politely, "I wasn't aware that we would have an audience. Surely you understand that Harry isn't strong enough for an interrogation?"

"An audience, Albus?" Lucius answered before the Minister could speak. "Surely you do not suggest that representatives from the Board of Governors do not have a right to be present for this inquiry?"

Mulciber spoke up in agreement. "Quite right, Mr. Chairman. The members of the school board think only of the safety of the students, and I'm sure that Minister Fudge would never suggest that he or any other Ministry official be allowed to questions a Hogwarts student without board oversight."

Fudge looked rather more confused than not, but he nodded in agreement anyway. "Yes, yes, of course!"

Dumbledore could not but agree, although he did not look pleased. "Very well. I had planned to conduct this interview in my office."

With that, he led the group through the castle and up the staircase behind the statute, where Harry immediately dropped into a maroon armchair. Indeed, the boy had looked to be swaying a bit on his feet, and Tom studied him with curiosity tinged with hate.

He wished that he weren't inside a memory, so he could try the Killing Curse again. Next time he'd shove his wand right up Potter's nose and cast it twice, just to make sure it took.

Potter had barely got settled into his chair before Fudge said, "Now then, Harry my boy, why don't you tell us what happened?"

"It was Voldemort," he stated immediately. Everyone in the room except Dumbledore reacted immediately. There were shouts and shivers all around, and Tom watched Lucius grip the handle of his cane so tight that his knuckles went white.

"Preposterous!" cried Fudge. "You-Know-Who has been dead for over ten years!"

Dumbledore's blue eyes were grave. "As I have told you, Cornelius, he is not dead. He has merely been beaten back, not defeated, and it seems that now he has returned."

Fudge spluttered in indignation.

Lucius sniffed in disdain and demanded, "You expect us to believe that You-Know-Who himself has been hiding out undetected in the school all year, petrifying students and cats?"

"No!" cried Harry. "It was Tom Riddle's diary! He had--!"

Mulciber, although he was clearly startled at the mention of that name, had picked up on Lucius's game by then. He cut off the Boy-Who-Lived with a dramatic flourish of his hand. "I thought you said it was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! Now you say it was Tom Riddle!"

"You know as well as I do, Richard, that Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort are one and the same."

Dumbledore's eyes seemed to bore into the man, and Tom assumed that it was only decades of experience under Lord Voldemort's gaze that allowed him to hold firm under the scrutiny.

"I know no such thing!" he declared hotly. "You always hated Tom, and you've been accusing him of this since he discovered the culprit fifty years ago! You didn't have any evidence then and you don't now!"

Harry sat forward in his seat, as if he wanted to leap to his feet but hadn't the strength to manage it. "We do have evidence! I saw him! He tried to kill me, and he did kill Ginny and Ron!"

There was a minor uproar, and in between the people trying to be heard over each other and Fudge's exclamation of "Who is this Tom Riddle? Somebody tell me who this Riddle is!" Lucius cracked his cane loudly against the stone floor.

When he had everybody's attention, he sneered at Potter and asked again, "And this Tom Riddle has been in the school all year?"

"It was his diary! He had possessed Ginny; she'd been writing to him all along!"

Tom saw Mulciber stiffen and knew that he had some idea now what had happened. It wasn't exactly surprising, he supposed, given that he was one of Tom's first followers and had undoubtedly been there to witness nearly everything.

"Preposterous!" Fudge repeated. "I've never heard of any diary doing any such thing!"

Both Potter and Dumbledore opened their mouths to speak, but Lucius beat them to it. "Now, Minister, I'm sure that we can easily clear up this mystery. Just give us the diary, headmaster, and we can verify these claims for ourselves."

Tom smirked at Malfoy's cunning. He had known that there had to be a reason Voldemort had given the man his favor and trusted him with possession of a Horcrux.

Dumbledore frowned. "Unfortunately, we do not have the diary--"

"Because Riddle took it with him when he left!" cut in Potter.

Lucius looked for all the world as if he was terribly concerned and confused, although Tom knew that he had to be immensely enjoying himself. "I thought you said that Riddle possessed Miss Weasley through the diary? How is it that a diary could carry itself away?"

Harry looked enraged now, and his voice was anything but calm when he tried to explain. "He said that he had stolen her soul to escape from the diary, to make himself a body. That's how she died."

Mulciber was staring hard between Potter and Malfoy now, an expression of mingled shock and hope on his face. It seemed that Tom would have to solidify his plans for Voldemort's followers sooner rather than later.

"I see," said Lucius, although disbelief was evident in his tone. "Even if this is true, it does not explain what kind of monster perpetrated the attacks, or why neither Headmaster Dumbledore nor any of the professors were able to find and stop it. How did it come about that it was you, Mr. Potter, who finally faced this monster?"

The headmaster looked rather more guilty than embarrassed, in Tom's opinion. He wondered how much Dumbledore had actually known, because he certainly didn't believe for one second that, with fifty years to think about it, a man as smart as the headmaster hadn't been able to figure out exactly what the monster was. And that would certainly explain why his bird had shown up at the opportune moment....

But why had he allowed things to continue, if he had known? Why had he allowed Potter to come to the Chamber?

Tom had lost the train of the conversation while lost in his own musings, but he was brought back to the present when Potter rose from his chair.

"I'm not making it up! I can prove it! I'll show you the Chamber and you can see the basilisk's corpse for yourself!"

Tom looked at Lucius, who seemed rather alarmed at the suggestion. He assumed that nothing bad had come of it, though, or else Malfoy wouldn't have been quite so happy when he'd returned to the manor, so he followed along behind the group without any particular anxiety about the outcome of this little adventure.

When they reached the second floor bathroom, Potter strolled right up to the sink and said, "Open."

Everyone watched in silence, but nothing happened.

"Open," Potter tried again, but again nothing happened. He screwed his eyes shut. "Open!"

Fudge chortled. "I say, Harry, this has all been a fine joke, but--"

"No! I can do it!" Potter cried. "It's just difficult to speak Parseltongue unless I'm actually talking to a snake!"

Mulciber huffed in exasperation. "Come now, I think we've heard enough! The story is nothing short of fantastical, and neither Mr. Potter nor the headmaster has been able to provide even a shred of evidence for any of it!"

"I am afraid that I have to agree," said Lucius. "It seems that nobody here is interested in telling us the truth."

Dumbledore stared at him seriously. "Now, Lucius, you know that's not true."

Potter, who had been looking at the group with disgust, finally exploded. "YOU KNOW THE TRUTH, MALFOY! YOU'RE THE ONE WHO GAVE RIDDLE'S DIARY TO GINNY!"

Lucius's eyes glittered malevolently as he allowed his gaze to take the measure of the boy. Mulciber was looking between the two of them with the same expression as before.

"Mr. Potter!" exclaimed Fudge. "You cannot just go around making baseless, disrespectful accusations about upstanding members of society like Mr. Malfoy!"

"Now, now, Cornelius," Lucius's smooth voice broke in, though his icy gray eyes were still boring into Potter's green, "I think that it's quite clear Mr. Potter has been coached to say these things."

Potter and Dumbledore both protested, but it was too late. Fudge had taken hold of the suggestion and clearly had every intention of running with it and never letting it go.

"Yes..." he mused. Tom could almost physically see the thoughts as they took form in his mind. "Yes, Lucius, Mr. Potter has clearly been dragged into this in an effort to protect Dumbledore...."

Potter spluttered in indignation, and Dumbledore began, "Now wait just a moment, Cornelius--" but the Minister would hear none of it. Lucius smiled victoriously in Potter's direction as he turned to follow the Minister out of the bathroom.

Tom pulled out of the memory with a smirk on his face. Lucius was watching him with a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"Are you pleased, My Lord?"

Tom acknowledged his pleasure with a nod, careful not to allow too much emotion to show in front of his follower. "There is no chance that they will use truth serum or perhaps a Pensieve to learn the truth?"

"No, My Lord. I suggested to Fudge that a wizard as powerful as Dumbledore, given the weeks he has had alone with Potter, could certainly have implanted false memories that would fool any measure we could come up with to test him."

Although obviously Dumbledore had done no such thing, Tom knew that it was an entirely plausible excuse. He himself had done it before, when he had framed his uncle for the murder of his father and grandparents, and he'd only had a couple of hours and about a hundred years less experience than Dumbledore.

"Will Dumbledore be removed?"

The smile slid off of Malfoy's face. "I'm afraid not, My Lord. Fudge is quite convinced, but this information is not public."

And therefore it would be politically unpopular to remove him, Tom's thoughts supplied the rest.

He sincerely hated Dumbledore, he really did. The man had always been a thorn in his side, and now after so long his influence and the cult of personality that had grown up around him were major hindrances.

"But My Lord, the good far outweighs the bad," Lucius's voice broke into his thoughts. "I'm sure that something will happen soon enough that will allow us to oust Dumbledore, and Fudge is convinced that Potter is either mentally incompetent or simply a tool for the headmaster."

Tom nodded. "Yes, Malfoy, overall this is a victory. You have done well.... But leave me to my thoughts now; you have left me a lot to consider."

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

A little more than a week later, on June 19th, Tom was reading quietly in the library. He had long since finished reading the most reliable history books at hand, and there wasn't much else he could learn on that front unless he actually got a follower--or Lord Voldemort himself--to fill in the blanks. Now he was studying magical textbooks, refreshing his memory of things he had learned long ago but hadn't had an opportunity to practice in five long decades.

Next he would move onto more advanced areas. He had a lot of catching up to do if he wanted even a small part of the knowledge he was sure his other self had gathered over forty years of travel and practice, before he'd been defeated.

He was enjoying a thoroughly depraved guide to Memory Charms when his solitude was interrupted. The Malfoys knew not to interrupt him in the library unless the need was dire or the information more interesting than whatever he might be reading, so he looked up expecting to receive important news from Abraxas or Lucius. Instead he watched a smallish, shockingly blond boy cross the room to one of the corner bookcases.

This must be Lucius's son, Tom knew. In fact, he looked like a replica of Lucius done in miniature.

Draco carefully transferred several books from the bag he was carrying onto the shelf. Tom stayed silent and kept his seat as he watched these proceedings; the best time to observe a person, after all, was when he didn't know you were watching him. Draco handled the books with love, placing them most carefully into place, and before he turned away from the shelf he ran his hand reverently over the volumes that had already been there.

Then he turned and caught sight of Tom, and he froze for a second before his expression morphed into a haughty mask.

"Who're you?" he asked as he sauntered over to the group of chairs where Tom was sitting. "I'm Draco. Draco Malfoy. Are you here with your father? Father told me he has an important guest, but of course all of the guests are important or they wouldn't be allowed to stay here."

Tom raised his eyebrows in amusement. "No, I'm not here with my father."

Draco dropped himself into the chair across from his.

"Really? How old are you?"

"Sixty-six," Tom answered honestly.

The youngest Malfoy glared at him in annoyance. "If you don't want to answer, you just had to say so."

There was a gasp, and they both turned to see Abraxas standing in the doorway watching them with wide eyes.

"Draco!" He rushed to where they were seated, his robes swishing around his legs when he came to a halt. He bowed low in Tom's direction "My Lord, please forgive my grandson's impertinence. He had no idea who you are; he had not been told yet of your return...."

There was complete silence for several heartbeats as they both looked at the older man, then Draco turned to stare at Tom with wide, frightened eyes. Tom could practically see the pulse point in his neck fluttering wildly. He seemed frozen in place until his grandfather's hand on his shoulder propelled him forward. Then he fell to his knees in front of Tom's chair.

"Please, My Lord, if I had known... I..."

He seemed to be at a loss for words.

Tom considered punishing him, or at least letting him sweat it out for a while longer. However, he wasn't actually angry or insulted--after all, he really ought to get used to such reactions, given that he did look like a sixteen year old and not at all like a Dark Lord. There would be plenty of opportunities to punish people for making that mistake in the future, he was sure, but he doubted anything good would come of torturing his hosts' only child.

Still, there could be no harm in scaring him just a little....

He reached out and allowed the long fingers of one hand to curl over Draco's soft hair. The boy trembled under the touch, and his grandfather looked as if he wanted nothing more than to reach out and snatch the boy out of his master's grasp. Of course he wouldn't dare. Tom tilted Draco's head back until he met the swimming gray eyes and allowed his hand to travel down until his fingers were half wrapped around Draco's throat. He could feel the elevated pulse and the convulsive swallows, and he allowed a smile to play across his lips.

"Leave us, child," Tom ordered as he let go and sank back into his chair. He was secretly amused at calling someone a child given his own appearance and the fact that he still felt sixteen rather than sixty-six, but he didn't allow his amusement to show in his expression.

Draco stumbled to his feet and headed unsteadily for the door. He glanced back over his shoulder and, instead of looking at Abraxas as Tom would have expected, he looked right at Tom. As soon as their eyes met, Draco's widened and he looked away, rushing the rest of the way out of the library.

Tom fought the urge to smile. He hadn't been so amused in quite a long time.

He turned to his oldest follower, twirling Potter's wand around his fingers. "Now, Abraxas, you and I need to have a little chat about this oversight."