The Broken Victory

Chapter 18: Nameless Here Forevermore

At last summer had arrived. I was all packed and ready to leave, sitting on my bed reading a Muggle newspaper. Dumbledore had brought in the copies to compare the present war situation between the Muggle and magic communities in his Muggles class. Simon had taken the class and given them to me when he was through. He now took all the Muggle Studies classes, mainly because I never took a single one and there was no real competition for him. It was also a great way to keep updated on Dumbledore.

I was puzzling over where exactly the places mentioned in the paper were in comparison to the orphanage when Simon interrupted me. "Tom, you sure you don't want to come with my family to Romania this summer? We have the room; my sister isn't coming with us." His offer was genuine. We got along fairly well, and by being in each other's presence, we could keep a close watch on what the other was learning.

I shook my head ruefully. "Can't. I have to go back to the orphanage. Really back." I winced at that, recalling the conversation I had had with Dumbledore, Dippet, and the Assistant to the Minister of Magic, Kerin Blumfeld, the day before.

Dumbledore had summoned me to Dippet's office. I had a good idea what it was about, since Snicks had heard him call the Ministry of Magic to confirm an appointment for the same time. I had become relaxed, thinking that the war situation had deterred too much attention of the Ministry for them to notice my illegal use of magic last summer. Apparently, I was not about to be let off the hook.

I dressed in my work robes, complete with Slytherin badge shining, a contrite look on my face. For added effect, I carried the autobiography recently published by the Minister of Magic. Knocking hesitantly, I waited a beat after being welcomed, as if to collect my bearings.

I stood still by the door, keeping my gaze off Dumbledore. Dippet stood in greeting me. He nervously motioned to Blumfeld. "Come in, Tom. No need to be nervous. We are all, ah, friends here." Turning, he guided me to Blumfeld. "This is Mr. Blumfeld, Tom. He is the Assistant Minister of Magic."

I nodded solemnly at him, politely offering my hand. "I know all about you, sir. Very pleased to meet you."

Blumfeld was not an easy sell. He took my hand, but said rather grimly, "I know a great deal about you too, Tom. I wish we could meet under better circumstances." He backed away to look me over before asking, "Do you have any idea why I would be called in to see you on the Ministry's behalf?"

I looked down, answering in a small voice, "To expel me, sir." When this response got no reply, I looked back up and said, "It's all right, sir. I knew this was a possibility. But I couldn't refuse to help that woman, sir. That isn't what I have been taught here." Blumfeld and Dippet were melting, until Dumbledore spoke.

"Why didn't you call the Ministry for help, Tom? Surely there are more qualified persons who could have assisted her. The Ministry cannot allow simply anyone to use that kind of magic, right?" He was throwing my own arguments back in my face. I almost smiled. I hadn't had a real battle with Dumbledore in a long time.

I looked at Dippet pleadingly. "She wouldn't go to the Ministry for help, sir. I--understood what it was like, to be an outcast. How could I not help her?"

Blumfeld sighed. "No one is doubting your altruism, Tom. But Professor Dumbledore's point is clear. The Ministry cannot accept this behavior unpunished." He paused, looked at Dippet's pleading face, and then sighed again. "Still, your heart was in the right place..."

Dumbledore, who had been quiet for a moment, seemed to realize the conversation was shifting away from his focus. "No one doubts your altruism Tom, like Mr. Blumfeld said, but why did you not come tell us immediately afterward? Why did you not trust us?" That last line was delivered with the most passion of all he'd said thus far.

Looking him squarely in the eye, I replied, "How could I, sir? She might have got in trouble. I would rather you punish me a thousand times than be the reason she got in trouble. She has gone through enough, and she was nicer to me than most."

At that, I knew Blumfeld was on my side, especially when Dumbledore added quietly, "And bought you new clothes."

"Albus!" Dippet cut in angrily, and I hid a smile. Since becoming Salazar's heir, it was much easier to play the victim when I myself no longer believed it.

Dumbledore took a deep breath, regaining his control. "I am sorry, sirs, and to you, Tom, for any unfounded accusation you interpreted. But this is not the first time Tom has disobeyed a direct rule. While his excuses always seem legitimate, it does not discount the fact that he is not above the law."

"Perhaps I am mistaken, but that standpoint hasn't always hold true when a Gryffindor is involved, has it?" I couldn't help but add. Dippet rolled over my comment, oblivious to it.

"Really, Albus, when did you become such a hard-liner? That was never your way with the children. Although I must admit, Mr. Riddle is a bit different than most." He smiled at me, and I responded with the same. Dippet continued. "As a matter of fact, he rather reminds me of you, Albus. Maybe that's what's got you so nettled. Oh, I know; your breaking the school rules was entirely a different situation, eh?" Dippet's eyes were twinkling, and he and Blumfeld had a good chuckle at the younger teacher's expense.

The mood sufficiently lightened, I approached Blumfeld and asked, "Does this mean that I am not expelled?" My voice showed the hopefulness I felt.

Blumfeld put a hand on my shoulder and jovially said back, "Oh, I think not. I'd hate to do something to make you mad at me, since you're headed to become the next Minister of Magic from what Dippet says." However, being the consummate politician, he had to please everyone, or at least try to. "Still, I don't think you should be rewarded, though your intentions were good. Your request to spend the summer on campus is denied. You are to return to the orphanage, the real one this time, and will be watched closely. So, no more saving lives for the moment, alright?" He winked at Dippet, and the two shared a good laugh. Clasping each other on the shoulder, they left the room with Dumbledore and myself in it.

Dumbledore looked less than satisfied. I wondered if he really wanted me expelled. However, he merely pointed at the book I was holding loosely under my right arm. "What are you studying now, Tom?"

I felt a little foolish, since the book idea was meant to be used under dire circumstances on Blumfeld and Dippet and not Dumbledore. However, I knew I had to show him. "It's a copy of the Minister's autobiography. Rather interesting, really. I thought I might ask Blumfeld for an autograph from the Minister."

I couldn't blame the look of amusement on Dumbledore's face. "You are good, Tom. No mistake about it." His face softened, and he added. "I only want what's best for you; you know that."

Smile frozen, I said, "Of course, sir." That's why you are sending me to another war-torn country that despises me. For my own good. I submit to your better judgment. On that thought, I spun on my heel and left the room.

Simon shook me out of the memory. "It's almost time for the train. We better get going." I nodded and stood. Snicks slid onto my shoulder, planning on coming back with me.

The orphanage was much the way I had left it. I couldn't believe that I would be allowed inside, but I was. The Blunts, as it turned out, were away for the summer. It was no coincidence that they were avoiding me, but I could care less. Sean was eighteen by now, and no longer at the Boom Room. Without Trevor there, I was left mostly alone. Well, avoided like the plague might be a better term, but it was just as well.

I didn't do much magic. Part of the reason was that I didn't want to press my luck with the Ministry. Also, since I was left to myself, I didn't need it as a defense. And with the current war situation, and anyone seen as outside of Hitler's "norm" being persecuted, I was especially careful, even though it was fairly safe at the orphanage. It was much harder being without information about the goings-on in the magic community.

I was complaining as much to Snicks when all the other children were outside playing. Snicks, sick of me, rolled onto his stomach on the windowsill and spat at me, "If I were you, I'd be happy."

"About what? The overflow of rats?" I gibed.

"Haha, how droll. No, you are back here with the run of the place, and you haven't once tried to break into the Bluntsss' office." He looked disappointed in me.

I shrugged. "Why would I do that? I've seen everything there."

Snicks sighed in longsuffering. "You haven't been here in two yearsss. Aren't you curiousss?" Reproached, I had to agree. Plus, there was nothing better to do.

I jumped off the floor and sneaked downstairs. The orphanage had been left in the hands of a Ms. Evans. She seemed a nice enough sort, of a similar appearance to Mrs. Blunt, only less uptight. Still, she kept her distance from me. I guess she had been warned. However, she always went outside to monitor the children, so I had free reign. Inside the Blunts' office, it was so much the same it was depressing. Unlike the rooms at Hogwarts, everything here was so bland and cold. Even the picture of the family on the desk was dusty.

Snicks and I searched high and low, and the only interesting thing we found was that there was no record of me anywhere to replace the one I had stolen. That didn't really surprise me, given the animosity between the Blunts and myself. They could hardly have imagined my coming back here. I still don't know how Dumbledore managed that one.

After twenty minutes, I was finished and about to tell Snicks to give up the hunt when I heard his excited hiss. I spun, looking at every corner of the room to no avail. Confused, I called out, "Snicks? Did you get stuck again?"

His reply was hollow and seemed to come through the wall. "Oh, you are ssso amusing, Tom. The way you insssult me, I almossst don't think I ssshould ssshow thisss to you." His hiss was as arrogant as it had ever been.

"Show me what? Where the hell are you?" I felt foolish talking to air.

Finally, I saw Snicks slither out of a small crack in the wall. "Here." He was carrying a pile of papers in his small mouth. Dumping them at my feet, he announced, "There wasss a box hidden behind that wall. You'd be amazed at what one can find between the linesss."

I was too intrigued to be annoyed at his attempt at intellectual verbiage. Kneeling down, I brought the papers to me, careful to avoid his spit. What I found kept me pinned there for the next hour.

"Snicks!" I whispered excitedly. "Did you read this? It's a name license or whatever...for Trevor! Apparently, his last name wasn't originally Blunt...I wonder why? I can't quite make out what Trevor's last name used to be...the paper's been scratched on."

I turned to the next page. "It continues on here...huh, did you know Mr. Blunt's first name is Thomas? I never knew that...Mrs. Blunt always called him Darling." Words failed when I saw the next page. With shaky hands, I voiceless mouthed what I read. "It's a marriage license...between Mr. And Mrs. Blunt...and it's dated October of 1927...that's three months after Trevor was born." A cruel smile drew up my lips. Trevor the bastard child...it had a nice ring.

I turned to Snicks with a triumphant grin. "Looks like this little scavenger hunt wasn't a total waste. I found out Trevor's just as much a literal bastard as he is a figurative one."

Snicks didn't share my amusement. Huffing, he hissed, "That doesn't really help. I thought we'd find sssomething really ussseful. Sssomething a centaur told me." He shook his head dejectedly.

Shrugging, I picked up a smaller, bonded group of papers. "There is some stuff left..." I opened the booklet, scanning its contents. My eyes widened as I saw what was inside. It was a passport, with the picture torn apart and most of the information scratched out. All that remained was a single location called Little Hangelton...and the last name of Riddle.

The rest of the summer I spent racking my brain. I couldn't do a repair spell here; it was too risky. Dumbledore probably had covert owls or something watching my every move. So I just stared at the passport incessantly. It had to belong to my father...or some relative. I knew that Mr. Blunt had some dealings with my father...to raise me against the demon ways when I was dropped off. And it was obviously of some importance, to be placed by his son's license and his marriage certificate.

The owl to return to school couldn't have come sooner. The tutoring I had done the past year had provided me with enough fare for transportation to the platform. Dippet had said that hand-me-down editions of the schoolbooks would be waiting for me at Hogwarts, so I didn't even have to go to Diagon Alley. However, I was anxious to hear some wizarding news, so Snicks and I paid a visit.

It was just as loud and confusing as I had left it. I still didn't like the crowds and noise, and I knew to steer clear of the really interesting places in Knockturn Alley.

Snicks slid over to the Magical Menagerie to see some of his friends. Not wanting to hear sob tales of snakes I could not help, I agreed to meet up with him later. I found a vacated paper outside of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. It was full of praise for Dumbledore. Apparently, over the summer he had helped in the capture of twelve spies of Grindelwald's. His smiling face adorned the front page, with his arm around a young, smiling, stern eyed witch who had helped him. The caption said her name was M. McGonagall.

Dumbledore looked far too happy for my tastes. Luckily, it was soon time to return to the platform. I stood on the side, waiting with my light, worn suitcase, watching the people around me. All the tears and goodbyes seemed so futile to a jaded third year like me. I stood indifferently till someone hit my shoulder.

I turned slowly to find Bill Weasley smiling sheepishly at me. "Sorry, Tom." A little girl stood next to him. Her hair was a much darker red, and her eyes were a warm brown. She clung to Bill's hand, staring at me cautiously. I looked from the mute child to Bill, who explained, "This is my little sister, Annie. She's a first year." Annie nodded solemnly, still not speaking.

I smiled at them. "Another Weasley, eh? Perhaps this one will have some class and be a Slytherin." Annie's eyes widened in fright, and she ran away.

I stared at Bill questioningly. He looked embarrassed as he said, "She's buying into all that stuff about the Slytherins being evil...our older brother has teased her about it all summer. Sorry." He sounded more apologetic that Annie had displayed her dislike of Slytherins than that her beliefs were unfounded.

Either way, I shrugged it off. "Well, what can you do? I guess she doesn't want to come to our nightly sacrifices of virgins, then." Bill looked stunned, so I added dryly, "I'm kidding." Feeling I had terrified the Weasleys enough for one day, I got on the train. Eventually I was joined by Simon, Samantha, that Snape kid, Sammy's sister, and Randy. Randy still looked frigidly at me, but our conversation was civil enough. Eventually Mack and Damien joined us, and the talk naturally spun to Quidditch. Bored, I let my mind wander. If only I could have a schoolbook to read...anything that might help me find a spell to recover the passport.

Dinner was as stimulating as always. The only semi-interesting thing was the sorting of an incredibly large first year named Hagrid. Luckily, he was sorted into Gryffindor; if I thought that I had had it bad with the taunting in Slytherin, this one would have been decimated. He looked incredibly nervous and unsure, and moved just as awkwardly. I guess I was staring hard, because Simon snapped his fingers in front of my face.

"What are you gawking at, Riddle?"

I grinned and pointed. "Future tutees. I expect this shall be a lucrative semester." Everyone followed my point to the Gryffindor table and snorted in agreement.

Slytherin actually had the second most students this year, with ten boys and twelve girls. Annie, thankfully, was not one of them. After dinner, I was racing to my room when I ran into Dumbledore. I was surprised to find him with the new kid, Hagrid. He must have sensed my curiosity, because he inquired, "Is there something we can help you with, Tom?" He had taken to predominately calling me by my last name.

I shook my head quickly, smiling at them. "No, sir. I was just going to the Slytherin common room." Hagrid shuddered at that, and my eyes momentarily narrowed on him in distaste.

Dumbledore placed a protective hand on Hagrid's shoulder. "Ah, but have you already forgotten the rules? I do not believe running is permitted in the halls. You know better than that, Mr. Riddle. I thought you would use the summer to think of things like this."

Mr. Riddle this time. It took a great deal of strength to grit my teeth and smile. "Of course, sir. I apologize to both of you." I held out my hand to Hagrid, who took it tentatively although his was twice mine's size. "Welcome to Hogwarts. Ask if you need anything..." I kept his gaze until he smiled back slightly; then I broke away. Dumbledore wasn't worth my time right now. I had more important things to work on.

~*~

"It doesn't work!" I yelled inside my head. Flopping back on my bed, I glared at the passport. It just sat there, mocking me silently. It was a few weeks into the school year, and I hadn't made any headway in reassembling the passport. I had tried just about everything, even checking to see if it was spell-protected, to no avail.

Snicks, sensing my frustration, was comforting for once. Sliding coolly around my neck, his tongue whipped my chin as he hissed, "You are trying too hard. You need a break."

I groaned, freely talking to him since I was alone in the dorms. "That is the one thing I'll never need. What I need is to figure this out!" I punctuated that last word with a fist slamming onto the book.

Snicks winced, then asked, "Why isss thisss haunting you? Whoever it isss, the passst cannot be changed."

I held my aching head in my hands, trying to explain it to him. "You don't understand. Whoever this is, is me. Made me live like I did...made people treat me like this..." My jaw hardened. "I bear his name, and I never received anything from him. I have to know him...to know why he owns me. Why he made Blunt keep my name...why my mother took it for me." My fingers softly traced the words I had been scrawling on a parchment beside the passport. Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Snicks slid down my chest and curled up on the passport, blocking it from my glazed eyes. "Thisss isssn't who you are. You make yourssself. Take your passst, and mold your own future." He sounded so sincere that I couldn't mock him for being sappy. He jerked his head over to the parchment, trying to alleviate the tense mist in the air. "Maybe you could just change your name," he joked. "Make a new one."

I smiled at that. "Rearrange the letters, right? To make it better? Like Sammy writes on the note board in the common room during finals...stressed is just desserts backwards."

Snicks nodded. "Exactly. At leassst your name isssn't Bob...then it would be harder to arrange."

The game lessened the headache in my temples. I stared at the letters. TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

Pausing a moment, a thought came to me and I scribbled out the TOMR, and wrote MORT. "That should be part of it, since this is the death of my being bound to Riddle."

Snicks looked a little hesitant, as if I were taking the game too far. "Okay...that'sss therapeutic, I sssuppose." He was ready to move on, but once an idea grabbed hold of me it became a possessive obsession. My hand wrote in time with my thoughts, manifesting my inner thoughts seamlessly.

MORT

MAVOLO RIDDLE

I was going to be a great wizard some day, wasn't I? And I was from a line that was worshipped like a god...LORD should be a good place to start.

LORD MORT

MAVOIDLE

I wasn't going to be a lord of death, though. Maybe the death of something... oh, such as the hypocritical way of thinking that people like Dumbledore adhered to. I had learned some French from studying spells... de meant "of."

LORD DE MORT

MAVOIL

Death of what? Flightless fancy, quick judgments, groundless ridicule...I would rise above all of that. All of that torture that had been inflicted on my family, my mother and Salazar, I would lord over and be the death of. I seemed to remember that vol meant flight in French. A quick check in a dictionary proved my memory correct. I smiled at the fate of it all. Only three letters left.

LORD VOLDEMORT

MAI

AM I

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT