Transcendence

Draco was scheduled to Floo back before classes on Monday morning. Narcissa had insisted that he should stay home as long as possible ("They must not feed you well enough at that school. You are much too thin!"), and Draco had been perfectly willing to oblige. Tom suspected that his cooperative attitude had more to do with Draco's luxurious private bedroom than with the quality of Hogwarts' foodstuffs, which he personally remembered quite fondly. Still, he was surprised that Draco hadn't tried to get away from his overbearing mother sooner.

Tom was sure that even if his mother had lived, he probably would have ended up killing her eventually if she had been anything like Draco's mother.

Not that he was annoyed enough to give up the great fun he was having at Narcissa's expense, of course.

He shot a humored smirk in her direction when Draco looked down at his plate, but she barely had time to register his expression and begin to worry before Tom said, "Draco, there will be no need for you to send me anymore letters this year."

Draco's eyes, full of surprise and worry and quite a lot of hurt, shot up to meet his across the wide expanse of the Malfoys' dining table.

"My Lord..." he began, with a notable hesitation, "were they not... helpful?"

"They were quite helpful." Tom kept his voice as bland as possible, but Draco still lit up with pride, even mixed with confusion as it was. Tom took another bite of sausage and chewed deliberately slowly. Draco managed not to blurt out his questions while he waited, but Tom could tell that it was a close thing. Finally, he said, "However, your mother has expressed some worry at you being given assignments at your age. I find that I am inclined to listen to her and keep you out of it until you're older."

Of course, Tom's pronouncement had nothing whatsoever to do with Narcissa Malfoy's worries, which the woman knew, even if her son did not. After all, Tom had very nearly killed her the last time she'd tried to keep her son away from the Dark Lord. But even if she hadn't been able to figure out his end game in lying yet, Draco's reaction made it immediately apparent.

"Mother!" hissed her son as he spun to glare at her. There was a look of such undisguised fury on his face that even Tom was very slightly surprised.

For her part, Narcissa's expression was one of surprise and not a little anger. She turned to look at Lucius, but of course her husband could no more offer help against Tom than she could help herself. They both turned again to look at their son. Tom knew that he had managed to both tie their hands and stir the beginning of distrust and resentment in Draco's mind.

Finally, in a smooth, soothing tone, Lucius put in, "Now, my dear, I am sure that Draco can handle writing a few letters. It does not put him in any danger at all, I am sure."

Tom could see the ploy for what it was: Even if Draco no longer completely trusted his mother, at least he might still trust Lucius if he seemed supportive, and then at least one of them might still have some control over their son's situation. Tom wasn't at all sure whether Narcissa would ever forgive her husband for it, though.

Lucius shot a strained smiled at his wife and son from across the table. "Surely we can allow him to perform this small service for our lord?"

Narcissa steadfastly avoided meeting either Tom's or Lucius's gaze, or even looking in either of their directions at all. She smoothed her expression into one of reconciliatory calm.

"Yes . . . Yes, I think that would be all right."

Before anyone else could respond, Lucius added, "There now, it is all settled. But you cannot fault your mother for being worried about you, Draco. You are our only child, and as much as you wish to grow up quickly, your mother and I wish that you could stay young just a little longer."

Draco barely managed a nod in acknowledgement before he turned to look at Tom with so much hope spread across his face that it would have been quite sickening if it hadn't been exactly what Tom had been looking for. And it was still a little sickening even then.

"Well, if your mother withdraws her objections," Tom said, twisting the knife in Mrs. Malfoy's heart just once more, "then I expect your reports weekly, as before."

"Yes, My Lord!"

Tom unfolded his long limbs gracefully from his chair and headed for the door. Just before he exited the room, he turned back and saw the youngest Malfoy's eyes still on him. He purposefully softened his expression just enough that Draco was able to discern the change.

"Oh, yes . . . " he began thoughtfully, as if he hadn't planned it all along, "I have some books that I would like you to study. You may come with me to the library."

When Draco leapt up from the table and followed Tom out of the dining room without a backwards glance at either of his parents, Tom and the Malfoys all knew who was winning Draco's loyalty.

Later, after the littlest Malfoy had been packed off to school and Tom had spent all day in the library, he paused outside of Lucius's study on his way back towards his bedroom. The Malfoys were having an argument inside, and of course he had no compunctions about listening at doors.

"What do you want me to do, Narcissa?" came Lucius's voice, raised and clearly agitated.

"I want you to be a father to your son! For once!" she said not-at-all kindly.

His voice rose even further in response. "I am being a father to my son! I cannot get rid the Dark Lord, not even this version of him! I am protecting Draco the best I can under the circumstances!"

"It's your fault that this version of him even exists!" shrieked his wife. "You released him into this world! You offered him your son's services!"

Tom was torn between barging into the room and Cruciating Narcissa Malfoy's brain out of her nose, or staying where he was and listening further. He had never allowed anyone to talk about him in that manner without punishment, and he had no intention of starting now. However, in the end his curiosity won out over his anger. He could dream up new ways to torture Narcissa later.

"I can't go back in time and change it!" defended Lucius, the edge in his voice replaced now with defeat. "I would change what I did last year if I could--I would go back and make it so that I never gave the Weasley girl that diary--but I have to live in reality, Cissy. Even if Tom Riddle did not exist, You Know Who still would. Draco cannot escape his father's fate, just like I could not escape my father's fate. You knew that when you married me, and you knew that when we conceived our son."

There was a pause, then Narcissa said coolly, "If I could go back and change something, I would make it so that I'd never married a Death Eater or brought an innocent baby into it."

She was so intent on storming out of her husband's study and on wiping away her tears that she did not notice Tom standing a little ways down the corridor, which was probably for the best. Tom would not have wanted to distract her from such fresh misery.

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

Lucius was still standoffish and sullen a week later when he led Mulciber into Tom's study. Tom found it distantly amusing, but his patience was admittedly beginning to wear a bit thin. Perhaps it wasn't exactly fair of him to purposefully drive Malfoy to the edge of his tolerance and then get annoyed at the results he'd caused, but what was the point of being a Dark Lord if he couldn't be as capricious as he pleased?

"Mrs. Weasley's been committed!" crowed Mulciber almost as soon as he'd crossed over the threshold, distracting Tom from his musings about Malfoy, who had now gone from moping to barely able to contain himself.

"What?" exclaimed Lucius. "When did this happen? Why didn't someone tell me?"

Richard cast a glance at Tom, but when it became apparent that he wasn't going to step in and curse either one of them for their disrespect, he turned back to Malfoy with a cruel, elated grin. "I doubt that it's made the Ministry rounds yet. It's all very hush-hush. I only heard so soon because the receptionists were gossiping about it in front of me."

Lucius was nearly hysterical with laughter, and Tom figured that it had more to do with him appreciating the opportunity to let loose and relieve some stress than with him actually thinking it was that funny.

Of course, Tom himself couldn't really care any less about the Weasleys' misfortune, except that it would surely hurt Potter to watch the woman reduced so low because of Potter's own failure. He could tell that Potter was the type to take everybody else's actions and misfortunes onto his own shoulders, even when anybody else could objectively see that it wasn't his fault. Draco's reports about the boy's apparent mental state only confirmed what he'd already known.

"What about her clock?" he asked, the wheels turning in his mind. "I understand that she carries it around with her constantly."

Mulciber pondered that train of thought for a moment and then shrugged. "She must have it with her. I've never heard of her coming to the hospital without it, not even for her hour-long sessions with the Mind Healer, so I can't imagine that Weasley would have got her out of the house without it unless he knocked her unconscious."

"She stills trusts it then? Unquestioningly?"

"Yes, My Lord," Richard replied, standing just a bit taller in anticipation for whatever plan Tom was scheming.

Tom finally smiled.

"Excellent. Then I will need you to find out her precise location in the hospital." He picked his wand up from the desk with deliberate movements. "Unfortunately, neither of you has enough skill with charms for what I have in mind, so I will have to go to St. Mungo's myself. Of course, neither of you can be of any help with my other plan either. I find that you are both quite useless to me of late."

He watched with barely contained amusement as they simultaneously reared backwards in alarm as if the same puppet master controlled both their strings.

"My Lord, I am certain that I--we--can do whatever you require...."

Tom really hoped that Voldemort had never actually enjoyed such blatant ass-kissing. Of course Tom wanted to be feared, but he'd prefer it if everybody's reaction to terror was to keep their mouths shut, not to yammer away with empty platitudes.

He shifted head ever so slightly and let his gaze fall directly on Malfoy. "As reassuring as I am sure I find that, I need somebody slightly stupider than either of you."

That didn't seem to reassure Malfoy at all, but Mulciber at least seemed to recognize the glint of humor in his master's eyes. The tension in his shoulders relaxed considerably, and he offered a small smile that was really nothing more than a twitch at the sides of his mouth.

"Of course, My Lord."

Tom was honestly glad at times that he had someone around who remembered what he had been like when he'd been human. Not that he would ever tell Mulciber any such thing. He sat back in Abraxas's plush desk chair without acknowledging the older man's words or expression.

"I know where Lord Voldemort is," he began, then paused long enough to watch the mixed joy and surprise and fear that crossed over his followers' faces. "Well, in any case, I know the general area where he is. What I need is someone too stupid to figure out why I would send someone to Albania."

Lucius looked like he would have let his jaw fall open in horror and astonishment if he hadn't endured a lifetime of training in proper pure-blood comportment, and instead he had to settle for looking a bit like he'd sat on a porcupine.

Mulciber was clearly torn between excitement and anxiety, but he managed to recover himself first. He swallowed visibly and appeared to search for the right words for a moment before asking, "My Lord... do you not want to... to find him yourself?"

"I imagine that he would attack me on sight. That would not be very conducive to the two of us forming any sort of working relationship." Tom had to consider for a moment just what he wanted to share with the two Death Eaters, but his thoughts were so rapid that he didn't pause long enough for either of them to discern it. "He will possess the person who finds him, just as he did two years ago, and he will pick apart every thought in his vessel's mind. His vessel will simply have to know enough that Voldemort will be willing to form an alliance instead of trying to kill me."

"And if he isn't?" blurted Malfoy.

He looked like he immediately regretted it, and Tom could hear Mulciber thinking that he was curious of the answer but glad he hadn't been the one to ask.

Tom frowned. "He will be. But if not, then you will just have to hope that I am stronger than him."

In Malfoy's mind, images of Draco and the beginnings of dangerous thoughts began to take shape.

"None of that, Lucius." The man's gray eyes shot up to meet Tom's red ones, and Tom offered a smirk that contained more sadistic pleasure than anything else. "Come now, do you really think that your son would be safer if Voldemort ended me? I know you aren't that stupid. For that matter, neither would you--you brought me back."

Really, if Lucius would just put the same creativity into being a good Death Eater as he did into trying to get out of being one, then Tom doubted that he'd really even need to try to get out of it.

"How about Goyle?" intervened Mulciber before Lucius could say or think anything to provoke Tom even further. "He's an idiot; he wouldn't even question why he'd been given the honor."

There was a pause before Lucius responded, but then he seemed to register what Mulciber had said and broke his gaze away from Tom's to shoot an incredulous glare at the older Death Eater. "Goyle? He probably wouldn't even understand that he had been asked to do something."

"Crabbe then," said Mulciber.

It was settled quickly after that. Crabbe hadn't even been born when Tom had last been alive, and Tom hadn't been in his presence for several seconds altogether before he realized that he probably would have killed the man as a teenager if he'd had to share so much as a common room with him. He could tell solely from the man's thoughts that he was the absolute worst mix of pride and stupidity. He was too big of an imbecile to be of much use at anything but had an ego so large that he thought he could do pretty much everything.

And he clearly had no idea who Tom Riddle was.

He stomped into Abraxas's study behind Mulciber and, right after he mentally calculated the worth of the whisky lined up on the sideboard, he wondered why the hell there was a kid sitting behind Abraxas's desk.

Mulciber bowed sharply at the waist in deference, then straightened and turned towards the enormous presence behind him. "This is Crabbe, My Lord."

Tom had been too overwhelmed by the events in the Chamber of Secrets and by all of the sensations in his new body to have been able to fully appreciate Lucius's reaction when he'd first figured out who Tom was. He didn't have that problem with Crabbe. When the man's mind froze for several long seconds, Tom smirked to himself in sick pleasure. When his mind started racing with a mixture of disbelief and horror, Tom finally looked up from the notes he was writing and let his eyes settle on the troll hulking in his doorway.

Tom would never get tired of the sheer terror he produced in others. Of course, he wasn't stupid enough to think that he could rule or inspire loyalty by fear alone, but it was good enough for dealing with Voldemort's followers.

"What is this?" Tom broke the silence, carefully measuring out the cadence of his voice to imitate his older self. "Do you no longer respect your master enough to bow?"

Crabbe stood gaping at him, frozen with shock and fear. Mulciber rolled his eyes at the younger Death Eater but quickly stepped out of the line of fire, crossing the study to sink down in his usual chair.

"When I learned that many of my Death Eaters, supposedly the most loyal and dedicated of my followers, had claimed to be victims of the Imperius Curse instead of proudly standing by me, I confess that I was . . . disappointed."

Crabbe made a sort of choking sound and was finally propelled into action. He fell to his knees on the threshold and pressed his forehead very nearly to the floor. "Master . . . Master, please . . ."

Tom cast a wandless Cruciatus Curse, and Crabbe's enormous body promptly contracted and convulsed as he screamed.

Richard leaned over the arm of his chair to get a better look, while Lucius flinched almost imperceptibly and tried to make the way he sat further back in his seat look graceful. In large groups, Tom would have spoken the incantation aloud; he had found that there was a powerful psychological effect when onlookers actually heard an Unforgivable being cast. However, in such a small setting, with only Malfoy and Mulciber as witnesses, he felt that it was better to let Crabbe witness "Voldemort's" undiminished power. It was incredibly difficult to cast Unforgivables even using the incantation, much less nonverbally.

When the curse was finally lifted, Crabbe lay face down on the floor with his legs sticking out into the hallway. Movement was obviously excruciating for him, but he pulled his large arms under his body and hefted himself up with a groan.

"My Lord . . . Master . . . Forgive me . . ."

"Forgive you?" echoed Tom, allowing a mocking incredulity to seep into his voice. "Malfoy, do I forgive?"

Lucius jumped at being addressed. He jerked his head up to look at Tom, steadily keeping his gaze off the large man on the floor of his absent father's study. "No, My Lord."

"Should I make an exception for Crabbe, do you think?"

Malfoy swallowed, but his voice came out strong. "No, My Lord."

Tom turned back to Crabbe, who had managed to lift himself onto his haunches but was visibly shivering from the curse.

"Well, you heard him. However, I do allow my followers to repay their debts. Malfoy, for example, has given me his only son." Lucius jerked as if he'd been struck, but he didn't make a sound, and Tom acted as if he hadn't seen. He continued, "However, from what Draco tells me, your son would be a burden rather than a boon."

If Crabbe had doubted even for a moment that the strikingly handsome young man could be the Lord Voldemort he had known, all of his doubts were erased by Tom's grandstanding and casual cruelty. Mulciber, Tom could tell, was highly amused by the entire exchange, although he was doing his best to keep his face straight. For his part, Tom was more impatient than amused, which made Crabbe's next words all that much sweeter to him.

"Please, My Lord, I'll do anything!"

Tom allowed a monstrous smile to form on his full lips. "I do have something in mind, something that will test your resolve and be of great use to me if you succeed."

Crabbe's double chin quivered. "Anything, My Lord!"

"Very well," replied Tom, as if he'd had to seriously consider the matter. "I left something that has great value to me in the depths of an Albanian forest. The place is dangerous, corrupted by Dark magic that has likely attracted Dark creatures, but if you can retrieve it for me then I will consider part of your debt repaid."

Crabbe blinked slowly, and Tom fancied that he could almost see the wheels attempting to turn among the cobwebs of the man's mind. "But . . . what is it?"

"A piece of myself, you could say," Tom told him. "I cannot tell you what form it has taken or where it might be hidden exactly. Part of your task is to identify it."

It was all bullshit, of course--Tom just needed Crabbe to get close enough for Voldemort to possess him--but it seemed to satisfy Crabbe's curiosity. Or else he was just too confused to come up with any more questions.

"This is very important, Crabbe. Pay very close attention so that you remember what I've said exactly." Tom leaned forward in his chair and caught Crabbe's dull brown eyes with his own glowing ones. "I do not want this . . . item to be harmed. I want it here with me at Malfoy Manor. It is an integral component of my future plans, and I will not be able to succeed without it. Your only job is to get it here."

He wasn't sure that Crabbe took in the whole message, but it was undoubtedly stored in his memory, and that was what was important. Voldemort would see it and would hopefully be intrigued enough to come to Wiltshire peacefully, if only to see what Tom had to say. And when he arrived . . . Tom would cross that bridge when he came to it.

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

The fact that Voldemort was likely to make an appearance at Malfoy Manor soon, for good or ill, had Tom wearing the Horcruxes he could directly on his person. If Voldemort did decide to attack him, he wouldn't be able to try to destroy Tom without destroying three of his other Horcruxes as well. Tom was wearing the locket around his neck and had the tiara tucked into the inside pocket of his robes, but he had been putting off placing the ring back on his finger for days.

He could protect himself from the Horcrux as long as he was in control of his faculties, but he could not guarantee that he would always be in completely control of his faculties. For example, Voldemort might try to possess him or just attack him, and Tom did not want to find out how it would feel if the Horcrux took the opportunity to attack him at the same time.

He knew that he could not be ripped out of his body--his vessel--by conventional means, but certainly it was possible to do it by unconventional means. After all, the diary had once been his vessel, and now it was not. The ring Horcrux was pretty much mentally intact, so if it was possible for Tom to be ripped out of his body then the ring was certainly capable of figuring out how. It wasn't as if the Horcrux had anything else to do with his unlimited time.

On the other hand, the risk of not wearing the ring was even greater than the risk of wearing it. Tom did not have Hufflepuff's Cup, so he was already down one Horcrux. At the moment, he judged that the risk was much greater that Voldemort would decide it was worth destroying three Horcruxes as long as he had two (the ring and the cup) left, than that the ring would figure out a way to harm him any time in the immediate future.

Tom still wasn't looking forward to facing the Horcrux, though. It wasn't that he was afraid; he generally did not feel fear, with his near death in the Chamber of Secrets being the only exception in his memory. It was just that he didn't know what to expect, and he hated not being in control.

Finally, he decided that he couldn't justify waiting anymore, and after he had settled himself into his luxurious bed he reached towards the ring on the bedside table. He could feel the Horcrux's energy licking at his hand as he drew closer to it, and when he finally ran one long finger over the cool metal, magic sparked between them.

Sweet Salazar, Tom had forgotten how fantastic--orgasmic--the pain felt.

He allowed himself a groan and sunk bank into the pillows as he slid the Horcrux onto his finger.

The Little Hangleton cemetery was the same as it had always been. The Angel of Death guarded the elaborate graves of Tom's father and grandparents at the highest point of the sloping graveyard. Below them on three sides were a maze of other graves ranging from above-ground marble crypts to simple headstones that had begun to sink into the ground. Up the hill and some distance away, Riddle House loomed over the family's estate, which abutted the cemetery on one side.

"You came back," said the Horcrux from behind Tom, where he seemed to have appeared as if from thin air. "I thought you had taken what you wanted and abandoned me back where you found me."

"Are those yew trees?" asked Tom.

He couldn't sense the Horcrux's surprise, as the other Tom had his senses as closed as off as possible, but the long pause was a dead giveaway. Then, the Horcrux only said, "What?"

"Those trees," Tom repeated, pointing at the small wooded area along the stone wall at the graveyard's border, which he had only just noticed, "are they yew? I can't tell from this distance."

The Horcrux seemed distinctly annoyed now.

"Yes, I think," he said more sharply than necessary. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Oh, nothing," Tom said easily. He finally turned to face this other version of himself, meeting the dark eyes with his own, which he could not will to be red while inside of the Horcrux's mindscape. "Yes, I came back. If Lord Voldemort doesn't know that I exist and where I am now, then he will soon. I have to keep you with me for added security."

The Horcrux nodded, but the look on his face was inscrutable. He took a step backwards and hoisted himself up onto their grandfather's sarcophagus. Since he hadn't been attacked yet and the Horcrux seemed as placid as Tom had ever seen him, he figured that there wasn't any attack coming at the moment. He was sure the Horcrux couldn't possibly be operating without some sort of plan, but he would never figure out what it was if he resisted. The Horcrux would be wary now and would not easily let himself be lulled into a false sense of security again, but nonetheless the best option was to play along.

He followed suit and lifted himself onto the cool stone next to the Horcrux. Their shoulders and knees bumped, but neither pulled away.

After several minutes of silence, the Horcrux said, "You don't have to come here, even if you have to keep me on you. You could keep our minds entirely separate if you wanted. You proved that last time."

"I could," acknowledged Tom, "but it takes a lot of effort and I would rather you simply cooperate. I have much better things to focus on than you, especially when you don't really have a choice, in the end, besides to accept me, since nothing you can do will hurt me."

The last was a lie, of course. The Horcrux could certainly cause him pain, even if he could not win their battles.

"I hate you," the Horcrux said flatly.

"I hate you, too," assured Tom.

The Horcrux snorted. "However, I do not want to be stuck here alone forever. I thought you were never coming back, and it was worse than before, because I know now what it's like to have company."

They lapsed back into silence. Tom's eyes traveled back to the little copse of trees at the property line. He measured the branches with his eyes and started to firm up the plans that had begun to form in his mind, although he knew that in the real world it was fifty years later and they had all grown out far beyond what they were here in the Horcrux's memory.

Finally, the Horcrux asked, "So did you come to sit here or to fuck?"

A startled laugh escaped Tom's mouth before he could stop it. He knew that they were never going to talk about their past or the current situation beyond what had already been said. Tom--they--didn't work that way. If he had come here, he supposed it could have been to fuck, even if he hadn't thought about it that way when he'd made the decision to come. Certainly the Horcrux, if he was still anything at all like Tom himself, might just be arrogant enough to believe that Tom craved him enough to come back here for that.

And what the hell? If he had already sold his body once then he could do it again. It wouldn't even be that difficult to fake desire, since it had felt rather good in the end.

Instead of answering verbally, he leaned over and sealed his mouth against the ice cold column of the Horcrux's neck.

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

Citation: Tom's conversation with Crabbe is inspired by his first conversation with the Death Eaters after he's resurrected, in GoF Chapter 33, "The Death Eaters."