Transcendence

Author's Notes: All exams, papers, and holidays are officially finished for me, and I have a bit of a break now so for a while I should be able to focus on writing this and my other story, The Other Side. I hope you all had a good holiday season and that the wait wasn't too long for this chapter!

There is sexual violence in this chapter. I don't think it's enough to raise it above an R rating, but I wanted to be doubly careful so I have edited the details out of the version on this site. If you want to read the full version it's available on FFN, AO3, and AFF; links are on my profile.

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The last official meeting before they carried out the plot at Gringotts was a tense affair for everybody involved. Lestrange clearly had a reason to be nervous, as he was the one really risking his neck, but in reality his nerves were more because of his intense fear of displeasing Tom than any worry for himself. Tom attributed Abraxas's nerves to worry over whether the goblins would keep their end of the deal, which was never a sure bet. Lucius was right to be worried, since his neck was on the line on two separate fronts, the goblins and the Polyjuice Potion.

No doubt Mulciber, who didn't actually have any personal stake in this operation, was so jumpy just because it was obvious that Tom himself was operating with a hair trigger.

Tom turned his head abruptly to meet Mulciber's frightened eyes, and the man flinched and was unable to hold his stare for more than a few seconds before he dropped his gaze to his lap.

"But you must feel left out of these proceedings, Mulciber, since you've nothing to contribute," said Tom in his own imitation of the low, sibulant voice his other self had used in Abraxas's memory. "Why don't you tell us if you have anything useful to add?"

Tom was half hoping that Mulciber wouldn't have anything interesting to say, because he was itching to torture something. This usually turned out to be the case, because Mulciber's somewhat low administrative position at Saint Mungo's (after having lost his position in the Ministry when his son was caught as a Death Eater) didn't afford him much access to information that Tom would find useful. This time, however, the man perked up at the opportunity, and Tom suspected that he wouldn't be able to torture him after all.

"My Lord, paperwork came across my desk only this afternoon indicating that Molly Weasley is a serious case for one of the Mind Healers."

It took Tom several seconds to piece together why exactly he should care about the state of this Molly Weasley's mind, but then he determined that she must be the mother of the Weasley brats he'd disposed of. Little Ginny had only ever referred to her mother as "Mum," but why else would Mulciber bring it up? The whole thing brought a cruel smirk to his lips as he recalled thinking in the Chamber that he would never spare another thought for little Ginny after she was out of his sight. It seemed he had proven himself correct, at least until someone else brought her up.

His followers had all sat back further in their seats at the twist of lips, as if to get as far away from him as possible, which only made Tom's smirk deepen.

"The Healer is petitioning the hospital to be allowed to treat her free of charge for the indefinite future," Mulciber rushed on, eager to tell all of his news before Tom could decide how to react. "The hospital takes on such charity cases in serious circumstances. The Healer's professional opinion is that Mrs. Weasley might present a danger to herself or others without proper treatment, but the Weasleys have exhausted their ability to pay."

Lucius couldn't suppress a snicker. "Now that you mention it, I had heard from my friends in the DMLE that Weasley returned from bereavement leave as soon as the period of paid leave expired, even though Bones told him that he was free to take as much additional time as he needed. No doubt he couldn't take any unpaid time off without his remaining children starving to death."

His colleagues joined in on his laughter.

"It's very amusing news," Tom broke in, and all of them immediately quieted down as if they had never been laughing at all, "but what use is it to me?"

It was rather a rhetorical question only intended to make them refocus on what was important. In fact, Tom's mind had begun spinning with possibilities as soon as he'd heard the news.

However, Lucius apparently took it as a genuine inquiry, because he, always eager to make life harder for Arthur Weasley, immediately said, "My Lord, if I may, I suggest that we could achieve several objectives at once here. If everyone were to think that you are actively targeting the Weasleys..."

Tom had been thinking the same thing. A malicious smile curved over the handsome lines of his face. "Yes, that would certainly distract Dumbledore and send Potter into a tailspin. And it seems that such a threat might send Molly Weasley into a complete mental breakdown, if she isn't there yet."

"I will find out the details of her condition," added Mulciber. "I should be able to get my hands on all of the Healer's records on Monday."

Tom nodded. "Good. Lucius, you will give your house-elf very clear instructions about what to tell--and not tell--Potter."

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The next day, Saturday, was absolute hell for Tom. Yesterday he'd been able to distract himself with the final preparations for today, but now all that was left was the waiting. He absolutely despised waiting for other people to carry out his plans, both because he hated waiting itself and because he hated not being in control.

And he couldn't distract himself by waiting around. Tom's mind refused to focus on anything besides what the Horcrux had told him about the hiding places. Places that represent something important about his past, he'd said. Places that represent something important about his place in the magical world.

Tom leaned back into his thick down pillows and closed his eyes to better recall the Horcrux's exact words about its own creation.

"What better place to create me than here, on our father's grave? There's something incredibly poetic about it all," he'd said, eyes gleaming with pride and more madness than even Tom was entirely comfortable seeing. "You were created in the same place where your soul was split to make your creation possible, although it wasn't planned that way for you, of course. I decided to carry it on after you were created."

Tom had arranged his expression into one of interest. "And since you were going to use our father's death to create the next Horcrux, you had to do it here. Why here, though, and not up at the house?"

The Horcrux grinned. "It was also about what this place means.... Hogwarts was our first home in the magical world, the place where we began our education, and the place where we made our first kill. The other locations have to be just as significant. I might have killed our father up at the house, but the house itself has no significance. This village is what's important: the house, this graveyard, the hovel where our mother grew up. This is the final resting place of the last Tom Riddle, the place where his legacy ends.... And I just liked dancing on his grave."

Tom opened his eyes and stared up at the canopy, having been able to reach no conclusion other than the one he'd already made.

It was all madness. Horcruxes were meant to be hidden--protected!--where nobody could find them!

Of course Tom understood the need for grand gestures--Lord Voldemort's Horcruxes could be nothing short of exceptional, just like he was--but that's why he had chosen the Founders' artifacts as his remaining containers. The diary had a purpose, and furthermore it represented his mind and thoughts. The ring was a representation of his heritage, his ancient, pure bloodline dating back to Salazar himself. The remaining four were grand symbols of the wizarding world, representations of Tom's rightful place and his eventual dominion over magical society.

But hiding Horcruxes in places intrinsically connected to himself was just sheer stupidity!

It was a good thing he came along when he did, or else surely his other self would have been defeated eventually because of his utter madness. Tom was considering now whether it was even worth it to bring the man back, if he was that insane. He would definitely have to take things even more carefully than he'd been planning to before. Perhaps if he could just use the Horcruxes' knowledge instead... but no, he would have to deal with his other self somehow, since his continued existence meant that his other self could never be disposed of....

First he needed to find the rest of the Horcruxes. His own placement was irrelevant because he'd had a purpose the later Horcruxes hadn't, so the ring's placement in the Gaunt shack and the cup's placement in Gringotts were the only clues he had. Little Hangleton was significant because it was everything about his heritage, the good and the bad, all rolled into one otherwise insignificant speck on the map. There were any number of things about Gringotts that might have seemed important to his other self, but he couldn't guess which one or more of them had actually been important in Voldemort's insane mind.

The Horcrux in the ring hadn't known much about it, as he had only had the beginnings of plans when he was created. Tom would have to wait until he had the cup in order to know more.

Tom hated waiting!

He rolled off his bed and crossed the room to the unobtrusive door nearly hidden in the wall paneling. It led to a relatively large room, though much smaller than his bedroom, that had originally been intended as a dressing room when his suite had been built anticipating a royal visit, before the Statute of Secrecy had passed. There was enough room for a large bed and plenty of toys.

His Muggle was huddled on the floor, which was amusing for Tom. He had an exceptionally comfortable bed, but apparently he refused to go anywhere near it unless Tom forced him to.

"Up," he ordered.

The Muggle flinched and pressed his naked, trembling body further into his corner, but there was still fire in his eyes when Tom forced him up. That was good; Tom smiled, showing the boy his white teeth.

"You know, darling, you seem unhappy," Tom said, his voice a smooth mixture of intimacy and mockery. His prick stirred with interest at the flash of disgust and anger in the Muggle's eyes. "Perhaps I ought to have taken your wishes into consideration. I'll tell you what: You can choose which spells I use today."

The Muggle finally turned his eyes upwards to stare at Tom with the horror of one who had comprehended that he was looking at a monster. Tom smiled back.

"Don't be shy about telling me what you like best. The Cruciatus Curse? The Blood Boiling Curse?" He leaned in so that his lips brushed against the Muggle's ear and his breath ruffled the curly hair. "How about my curse, do you like that one?"

The boy slammed himself sideways then, and Tom registered the feel of soft hair against his skin just before the pain. He stumbled backwards, his hand automatically coming up to cradle his nose, and watched the Muggle scramble for the door.

He couldn't get out, of course, with the locking spells on the door. Still, Tom let his magic lash out violently. The boy's cry of surprise and pain was cut off abruptly, his breath knocked out of his lungs as he was slammed up against the wood. Tom half considered either letting the magic crush him against the solid oak or allowing him to crumple into a heap on the floor, but he settled for a happy medium. As Tom straightened himself out and took an unsteady step towards the Muggle, the boy kicked his feet wildly in midair as he searched for purchase against the smooth door, and he clutched desperately at his throat as if he could somehow release the collar of magic that was supporting his entire body.

"You filthy Muggle," hissed Tom, his voice an unpleasant mixture between English and Parseltongue, "you dare to strike me?"

His prisoner's eyes were wide open and rolling frantically in panic as he failed to draw breath. Tom watched in satisfaction as his nails tore gashes in his own throat in his attempts to free himself. Finally, he turned wild, pleading eyes to Tom's.

Tom brought up an elegant hand to collect the trickle of blood that had leaked out of his tender nose. He examined the blood with glowing eyes, then turned his fingers for the boy's inspection. "You expect me to help you now, after you have drawn my blood? My blood?"

The tears that streamed down the Muggle's face did nothing to persuade his captor, but Tom was interested in something else. He stepped closer, trailing his wand down the side of his prisoner's face and across his jawline.

"Will you submit to me willingly, if I let you live? Will you submit to whatever I want, no matter what it is?"

The Muggle hesitated for the barest second, but then he nodded. His face was beginning to turn a horrendous shade of burgundy by then, so Tom had expected that response. The real test would come when he was actually faced with Tom's demands when his life wasn't about to be snuffed out. The thought made Tom smile in anticipation.

In any event, he would be well and truly distracted from all the waiting.

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It was taking too long. The hot shower that was usually a relief to him hadn't done any good at all. Well, except for actually cleaning him, which it did quite well, as evidenced by all of the blood that had swirled around the marble and down the drain. Torturing his Muggle had been fun for a while, but nothing could fix the fact that Malfoy and Lestrange should have been back hours ago.

He was just stepping out of the shower when Abraxas burst into his bedroom, a clearly panicked Lucius right on his heels. Tom only had to take one look at them through the open bathroom door before he had brought them to their knees with the sheer force of his rage.

"What happened?"

"Please, My Lo--" began Lucius, but a glare from Tom, even completely nude and dripping as he was, stopped his plea short.

His father, who actually had the answers, quickly filled the silence. "My Lord, the Aurors... Lestrange..."

He seemed unable to articulate his thoughts into anymore coherence than that, but Tom could well fill in the blanks. Both Malfoys cried out as his fury washed painfully over them.

"How?" he hissed.

"The--the potion, My Lord!" gasped Abraxas. "It had to be that! I was speaking to the goblin when I heard the commotion, and when I looked back Lestrange was himself again. I've spent the rest of the day at the Ministry, but I managed to convince them that Lestrange had blackmailed me and I had been planning to ask for their help as soon as my family was safe."

A deadly calm settled over Tom's mind, and his followers both cried out with relief as his magic uncurled itself from their bodies. He sucked in a deep breath full of hot steam and took his time putting on a thick robe he Summoned from his wardrobe. By the time he had completed the task, he had settled his thoughts enough to deal intelligently with the situation.

Tom turned steely gaze on the elder Malfoy. "So I made a mistake with the potion?"

Abraxas bowed his head. "No, My Lord, I'm sure that you could never have made a mistake. I suppose that I must admit, to my shame, that it was my grandson's error."

Lucius let out a low moan of distress, and Tom turned cold eyes and an even colder smile on him. "It seems, Lucius, that you never shared the details of our arrangement with your father."

"Master, I beg you! Please, please take me instead! I will take his punishment on top of my own!" he pleaded, bowing so low that his forehead touched the damp floor and his hair fell from its normally neat tie and spread out around him.

Tom watched impassively as Lucius prostrated himself and his father seemed to realize that the situation was more serious than he had originally considered. Tom supposed that Abraxas had known that blaming Draco would earn the boy a punishment--would earn all of them a punishment--but he had thought it would be manageable. Indeed, it was more than clear now that he had utterly underestimated Tom in more ways than one.

"What was it that I said when I agreed to take Draco on?" asked Tom coolly. "Ah, yes, I remember! That I would hold you both fully and equally responsible and force you each to watch as I torture the other."

Lucius moaned again, and Abraxas stared between them in growing terror. If Tom hadn't been so focused on his goal, he undoubtedly would have taken a full measure of sadistic pleasure in watching the eldest Malfoy realize his error.

A snap of his fingers produced a house-elf. "Bring Draco to me."

The order had the expected result on both of the Malfoys, but Tom ignored their begging as he brushed past them and, finally, into the bedroom. His temper was hanging on a thread, and if he allowed himself to react then he would obliterate Abraxas Malfoy on the spot.

When Draco appeared in the doorway, he looked around the room in shock and not a little fear. Tom was sure they made quite a sight, him in a dressing robe with the elder Malfoys practically licking the floor at his feet. He held out his hand, and Draco warily but readily came to him, allowing Tom to wrap his wand arm around his shoulders with such trust that surely his father and grandfather would have been horrified by it even under the best of circumstances. Tom allowed his wand to hang casually down across Draco's chest, where it would surely cause him some harm if Tom lost his temper and his magic sparked. This was not lost on either of the elder Malfoys, though Draco himself seemed not to think anything of it.

"It seems that our potion failed," he told the boy, a hard edge to his voice that didn't quite allow it to be as casual as he'd hoped. "Your grandfather has been quick to blame you for the mistake."

Draco's jaw dropped open. "What? No!"

Tom smirked at Lucius and Abraxas from over Draco's head. "No? So you're saying it was my mistake, then?"

"No!" cried Draco. "I'm saying that there was no mistake! It was perfect! You know that!"

"Really?" he asked coldly. "Tell me, Draco, if the potion was perfect, then why was Lestrange exposed in the middle of the Gringotts lobby, before the Polyjuice ought to have worn off?"

Draco's mouth worked for a few moments before he found his voice. "It--it must have been... tampered with."

He was so upset that he had forgotten to add his customary "My Lord" to his declarations, but Tom didn't mind. The boy had reacted exactly as he'd hoped, and his father and grandfather had, in turn, reacted to Draco's words exactly as he'd anticipated. Lucius appeared caught between hope and horror, and Abraxas's carefully constructed mental walls shifted in his fear and regret. The shift was just the minutest amount, but it was enough for Tom to attack the weak point and work his mental fingers into the resulting crack.

He couldn't make out Malfoy's exact thoughts, not unless he had direct access and was willing to destroy the man's mind, but he had advanced enough to be able to make out the generalities.

Tom bit back a curse and subtly pointed the tip of his wand away from Draco's chest, just in case.

"Indeed, that is what I think as well," he finally said, turning his flashing eyes to Abraxas. "The real question is who would have dared to tamper with it."

Abraxas's face remained completely impassive, which was probably more of a giveaway than if he'd tried to act offended at the accusation. Honestly, Tom had to wonder sometimes about peoples' inability to lie believably. He'd learned very quickly as a child that there was a fine balance between acting unworried and acting offended, and too much on either side would advertise guilt. With the exception of a few panicked, fearful reactions that he hadn't yet learned to control as a child (His first meeting with Dumbledore came immediately to mind, which did not improve his mood at all.), he had always carefully tailored his reactions to what people expected, to great effect.

On the other hand, Lucius was staring at his father with his mouth agape, utterly unable to control his reaction.

"Father..." he began, then trailed off, his voice a rather tragic mixture of disbelief and anger.

Tom felt Draco shake his head in denial from where the boy was resting against his side, and he looked down in time to meet wide gray eyes. "No, Grandfather wouldn't... He wouldn't!"

"Oh, but he would. He thinks that loyalty to my other self means that he must thwart my plans, and by tampering with the potion he could simultaneously ruin my chances of retrieving what I need from the Lestrange vault and get rid of someone more loyal to me than to my other self."

Most of it had been an educated guess, but he could tell by the spark of steely defiance in Abraxas's eyes that he was right on the money. They glared at each other with pure hatred until Lucius broke in, his voice shattered.

"No... But why would you--" He cut himself off with a nervous glance in Tom's direction, then apparently decided that asking his question was worth the risk of drawing his master's ire. "Why would you risk Draco? My son..." He was on his feet suddenly, glaring down at his father with as much fury as Tom had ever seen him direct towards anyone. "He's my son! How dare you use him in your mad scheme! How dare you!"

Abraxas looked contrite. "Lucius... I did not know. I thought that we would all be punished but nothing more than we could endure, than what we have endured before--"

"DRACO HAS NEVER ENDURED IT!" roared Lucius, cutting off wherever Abraxas had been heading with his explanation.

His father pinned him with a glare that had undoubtedly been used to cow his son since infancy. "You are the one who offered your son to Tom Riddle, not me. You are the one who agreed to the terms, not me."

"You're the one who sabotaged his work!" retorted Lucius. "The issue of punishment would not even be on the table if you hadn't done that! The scale of punishment is irrelevant--I can't believe that you willingly set him up for any punishment!"

Abraxas pursed his lips into a harsh line, the so familiar pure-blood hauteur coming over his face. "He will have to endure torture sooner or later. If he had to suffer sooner--if we all had to suffer--in order to remain loyal to our lord, I judged it well worth the price."

Tom had heard more than enough to learn all he wanted to know. Abraxas, unaware of the terrible scope of the threat Tom had put over Lucius and Draco's heads when he had accepted the boy's help, had acted to sabotage him out of loyalty to his other self. And he had acted alone, no doubt because he knew that his son would never have agreed to go through with anything that would have put his own son directly in harm's way. Whether Lucius would have agreed to sabotage him if Draco hadn't been in the picture, Tom didn't know.

As he felt Draco tremble against his side, he judged that it was irrelevant at this point--Draco was his now, and it was far too late for his father to do anything to change that.

"Did you really think I would accept that our work was faulty? That I wouldn't figure it out?" he asked somewhat incredulously. "Apparently you are so blinded by the insanity of Lord Voldemort that you have underestimated my intelligence. I would kill you for that insult even if I weren't going to kill you for your betrayal."

Draco gasped and wrenched himself from underneath Tom's arm, going instead to his father's embrace. It was the most physical affection Tom had ever seen the littlest Malfoy willingly display; apparently the situation was enough to override his teenage independence. Lucius closed his eyes tightly for a few long moments before he turned a pleading gaze on Tom.

"Please, My Lord, if you would... Please spare my son from having to see his grandfather..." He trailed off with a choked sound, apparently unable to finish the sentence aloud, no matter what his father had done or how angry he was about it.

He would normally be furious at any request coming from someone with so little bargaining power in the situation, but in this case Tom had to acknowledge, if only to himself, that murdering Abraxas Malfoy in front of his grandson would probably damage the relationship he was building with the boy. Fortunately he wasn't planning on murdering Abraxas just yet anyway, so he was spared having to balance those varying concerns.

"Tell me, Lucius, do you need your father's approval to maintain your various interests, so long as he lives?"

Lucius stared at him in confusion for long enough that Tom had to say his name sharply. Then he seemed to snap out of his stupor. He explained, "Er, no, My Lord. He turned over most of the day-to-day operations to me years ago. His approval is only needed for major decisions."

"Fantastic," said Tom, although the tone of his voice didn't sound excited at all. He spoke to Lucius as if Abraxas wasn't even in the room. "Your father will be imprisoned here until further notice. If he wants so badly to help Lord Voldemort, then he will be glad to know that his body and soul will be donated to that cause when the time is right. In the meantime, he is already dead to you and your family. Am I understood?"

Lucius stroked his hand through his son's hair, pulling Draco further against him. He let out a shaky breath and determinedly refused to look down at his father.

"Yes, My Lord."

It was the work of a moment to bind Abraxas and toss him into the room with Tom's pet Muggle. Tom smirked a bit at how furious the man would be about that, but he'd brought his expression under control by the time he'd turned back around to face Lucius and Draco.

"Malfoy, find out everything you can about what your father has said to the Ministry, and what has happened to Lestrange. Draco, I want your report about what he did to the Polyjuice Potion by the end of the week. And someone tell Mulciber that I want answers on Monday and not a day later, or he'll find himself hogtied with Abraxas."

He spun away and opened his wardrobe. The Malfoys recognized the clear dismissal for what it was and quickly left him alone. Tom finally let out the breath he'd seemed to be holding in along with his rage, but he quickly reined it all back in as well as he could. There was absolutely no room for impulsivity, especially not now that he was short one Horcrux and two followers. He dressed quickly, intent on going to the library to continue working towards figuring out where else Voldemort would have put Horcruxes.

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Author's Notes: I hope it was worth the wait. I appreciate the reviews!