Harry Potter and the Second Prophecy

Chapter 9 - The Green-Eyed Monster

"Tom Riddle's mother was beautiful...striking...a pureblood with a passion for life and love and literature who loved romance and beauty above all else. Her father's name was Marvolo...Marvolo Pritchard."

Harry put up his hand. "Wait, what? You're related to..."

"Voldemort, yes. But not on a direct line. I guess it's a pureblood thing. Anyone with a bloodline like mine is basically related to everyone else in the magical world. Hell, Ron and Ginny are probably related to Voldemort. Who cares? The point is, Tom's grandfather was a Pritchard, which is one of the reasons he knew that the Oracle's prophecy pointed at one. May I continue?" she asked.

"All right," relented Harry.

"Tom's mother's name was Celine. She was a gifted witch and was most adept at transfiguration, a gift she apparently passed on to Tom. According to Albus, your gift for Quidditch came to you from your father. So the both of you received special talents from your magic folks. Anyway, when Celine graduated from Hogwarts, she moved to Yorkshire to attempt to learn about Muggles; it seems she had a head for business and wanted to learn of their tastes and styles so she could transfigure ordinary items into things Muggles would appreciate, sell them, get rich, and retire after she changed her Muggle earnings into...whatever those gold things are that Magical people use."

"Galleons," Harry interjected.

"Whatever. Marvolo hated the idea...he didn't want his daughter associating with Muggles, but she was almost eighteen, and he had no choice. He kept up contact with her, trying to convince her to return to the family home, promising her he'd take care of all her wants and desires; I guess he was from a pretty wealthy magical family. Celine, however, would have none of it. She had begun amassing her fortune, and one day a particularly attractive Muggle came into the shop she'd opened to order one of her "handmade" suits. His name was Tom Riddle. He was so attractive, in fact, that she immediately fell for him, and did everything in her power - using only her powers as a female, mind you, because she didn't want to trap him with magic - to peak his interest. It worked, but it was an unfortunate match; he never respected her because he considered himself to be from a line of English nobility, and thought that she, though beautiful, was a relatively common shopkeeper, having to work for her money. He may have been gorgeous, but he was also cruel. After he'd bedded her often enough to sate his needs, he refused to have further contact with her...until he found out she was pregnant. He did the proper thing for the time and proposed, but, still thinking her a commoner, ignored her almost completely...until she was about seven months along. She decided, since they were married and a child was on the way, it would be best for her to tell him the truth about her heritage - about her magical abilities. She thought it might help him find a new interest in her, being that she was from such a prestigious and wealthy Magical family, but she was sorely mistaken; instead, he beat her soundly for keeping it from him and demanded that she begin transfiguring things in their home, changing common items into priceless antiques.

"At this point she considered leaving him, but he swore to her that if ever she tried to leave, he'd find her, and then he'd kill her. He beat her again just to prove it." Camilia looked at the shock written on Harry's face and said what he'd been thinking. "I know, no love in that relationship, huh?" He ejected a brief, nervous laugh, and she continued with her story.

"Celine was concerned that she might lose the baby because of the two beatings and went to see a midwife, who allayed her fears but was horrified by the bruises she bore. Celine shrugged them off, and endured her husband's abuses through next two months of her pregnancy. When she delivered and discovered she'd borne a son, her husband immediately stepped in and declared that his name was to be Tom Riddle after his father. Because Celine begged him to allow her to give him a middle name, and her begging took place in front of the midwife and her assistants, Tom, not wanting to seem as horrid as he was, relented and allowed her to bestow upon him the middle name of Marvolo, after her own father." Camilia stepped briefly out of her story. "Interesting to note your name, Harry; if Albus wasn't mistaken, you have your father's name as your middle name. Take it as you will.

"Shortly thereafter, Marvolo and his wife, Venutia, visited their daughter to meet their grandson who, even as a newborn, was the spitting image of his father, but who obviously bore his mother's green eyes. At the same time they met their son-in-law, who they immediately detested, and again discussed with Celine the option of returning home. With fear in her eyes, believing that now her son would be leverage to her husband to keep her there, she declined. Her father, who until then had not mentioned noticing her bruises, told her he knew that if she remained, Tom would eventually kill her, and entreated her to return home once more, offering protection from her husband. Celine, nineteen and with a newborn, in her terror, declined again. Marvolo at this point drew himself up to his full height, took Venutia's hand, and summarily disowned his daughter, stating that he'd rather she were not his than to know that, as his daughter, she chose to remain in a home that would ultimately be the death of her. Then, his wife's hand in his, he stormed from the house, never to be seen or heard from again. I guess he never told his other children the whereabouts of Celine, never even revealed to them that she'd had a child, and took the tale to his grave.

"He had been all too correct, however. Riddle decided he'd be willing to keep Celine around so long as she was nursing, but the beatings worsened, the demands increased, and since she was so exhausted from caring for a baby and a home, the demands he made were almost never met. She began to wean her child at about eighteen months, and by the time he was two, Riddle had begun bringing other women into their home and into their bedroom. Celine was forced to tolerate it, terrified that if she rebelled, her son would pay the price.

"According to Albus, Voldemort's first memory is of his mother; he vaguely remembers feeling her fear, smelling it on her. She was afraid all the time, you see, and so on some horrible, sick level, Albus believes he began to equate that feeling with love. She was so afraid of her husband that she began to detach herself from her son; that way, if anything happened to either of them, she wouldn't be crushed by the weight of her son's fate on her shoulders.

"By the time Voldemort was four, Celine was a shell of a woman, a slave in her own household, and a pitiful creature. She seldom spoke - not even to cry out when Riddle beat her - and showed love to no one. She was too empty to feel anything but fear, too overcome with misery and anguish to find any joy in her son. One afternoon, Riddle came home to find Celine asleep on the floor in his stables after a long day of transfiguring hay bales into antique writing desks, and he began to beat her as she slept. She did not stir as he hit her, and when finally the young Voldemort entered the room to determine the source of the noise that had disturbed his play, his father stopped his battery and left. He never noticed that Celine had died; whether it was of a broken heart prior to his beating or during due to the injuries she sustained, no one knows. She lay unattended to for days until, finally, a city representative came to the home to answer some complaints about a putrid stench coming from the Riddle barn. He found Celine, had her buried, and had the horse whose stable it was put down, thinking her injuries and death had resulted from a mad horse. The authorities interviewed Riddle, who claimed that Celine had been adulterous; he believed his wife had run off with another man and so had not missed her, and his son had not complained, so he'd let her go without attempting to seek her. Voldemort said nothing when interviewed; in fact, he seldom spoke. He spent most of his time observing, much like I imagine you did growing up with the Dursleys, Harry.

"It was at age 8 that he began to discover his power. He found that, by harnessing his own anger, he could make things happen: to things, to others, and even to himself. He knew nothing of his mother's abilities; only that she loved him through her fear and her rejection, and that women were good for little more than sustenance and, according to his father, sex. At this time, Riddle began to cash in his amassed antiquities, remodel his home to nearly double it in size, and, with the added room, invited his own parents to move in. He hired servants, drivers, gardeners...a whole staff, including a governess to look after his son. He insisted that everyone in his employ address him as Lord or Lord Riddle, and took long trips to other parts of Europe, leaving his son home to entertain himself.

"At ten, Voldemort realized that his powers were increasing, and that he no longer required anger to maximize his abilities. He learned to control others, and practiced most often on his young governess, who he made do all sorts of damnable things that I won't bother to describe to you, Harry. At this point, he only knew that he could make things happen; not why. On his eleventh birthday, November 5^th," she paused, "Harry, do you realize that makes him a Scorpio? They're ruled by Pluto! That means they're most likely to abuse power, to become fanatical, destructive, and self-serving!"

"How on earth did you know that?" questioned Harry.

"I...I remember it from Trelawney's class...Scorpios are also the ones driven by sex...that's how I remembered it," she added quietly.

"Well, I guess that would make sense with Voldemort, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, it would...I'm sorry, I should continue. It's just strange when Trelawney is right about something, isn't it?" She smiled. "Anyway, so he gets his Hogwarts letter on his eleventh birthday and it says the school has been looking for him for some time; Albus wasn't sure why they couldn't find him, but he thinks perhaps Marvolo had cast some sort of spell on the home that prevented the magical community from locating anyone with magical abilities while residing in the Riddle household. Turns out he's a wizard! He wasn't as surprised as he was fascinated, and he immediately went in to where his father and grandparents were eating dinner to get leave to go to the school.

"His father came unglued. He cursed Voldemort, cursed his 'pathetic witch of a wife,' and cursed the day he'd ever got caught up with a magical person. He swore that Voldemort would never attend Hogwarts, and told him never to speak of magic again. Sounds familiar, doesn't it?

"Voldemort, however, had other ideas. He had experimented with his ability to murder before, first with insects, and then with mice and rats, until he had advanced to farm animals; the townspeople had not been able to explain the recent string of animal deaths throughout the city. He had not, until that moment, experimented with his abilities on people. I doubt it took much to push him over the edge...and so, he did it. He killed his own father, his grandfather, and his grandmother, packed up his things and moved to Hogwarts, and 'learned' after his first two weeks at school that his entire family had been killed as they ate their supper.

"Orphaned, he spent his summers living at Hogwarts, developing his talents and reading everything he was able to get his hands on from the restricted section of the library. He studied relentlessly, was popular in school and amongst the members of the Slytherin house, 'enjoyed' what Albus deemed 'excessive' female companionship, and graduated at the top of his class, destined for what everyone believed would be a fabulous career at the Ministry of Magic. But Albus knew differently.

"He said he'd never trusted Tom Marvolo Riddle, never believed he was just a bright, studious young man, never credited him with anything more than intense drive, charm, and intellect. When Tom chose, after graduating, to move to Bulgaria to study the physical properties of magical creatures, everyone hailed him as the next healer, believing he'd return with knowledge and abilities that could end the magical community's suffering from magical maladies. Albus only believed that when he returned, he'd have attained the knowledge and abilities to heal and profit only himself.

"When he did return, he sought not the opportunity to heal, but the opportunity to lead. He wanted to be the Minister of Magic, even ran for the position, and when he lost out to the then-Minister, he retreated angrily to a Bulgarian school called Durmstrang - "

"I know Durmstrang," Harry interjected.

"Okay, well, that's where he went, and he ended up immediately being made Headmaster there. He was only there for three years, though, and then he disappeared. Two years after that, he returned with disciples, declared open war on the Ministry of Magic, and had a huge following of people he called 'Death Eaters.' Enter Mr. Harry Potter."

Harry looked up at her when she said his name, and they both stared at one another without speaking. It was Harry who broke the silence.

"So Voldemort is a green-eyed orphan with his father's name who didn't know he was a wizard until he was eleven." Harry had begun rushing his speech. "His family didn't support his attending Hogwarts, but he did anyway, and was well-known here." His voice became even more frenzied. "He has a knack for transfiguration, had a strange career, and now is after the both of us. Does that about cover it?" At this point, Harry stood so quickly that his chair fell over, and he did something that, even to him, was inexplicable: He grabbed hold of the table and threw it onto its side as hard as he could. The coffee pot went flying and broke into a hundred pieces when it hit the floor, the mugs shattered against the shelves on impact, and Camilia sat rooted to her chair, gawking at Harry's display. Harry stepped forward, knelt in front of Camilia, and grabbed her around the upper arms. He then screamed into her face. "I AM NOT VOLDEMORT, GOD DAMN IT! I WILL NEVER BE LIKE HIM! I COULD NEVER DO ANY OF THOSE THINGS! WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS? WHY ARE YOU COMPARING US? I AM NOT VOLDEMORT!"

It was right then that Dobby came running through the door into the root cellar where they were. He must have thought that Harry was having a breakdown, that perhaps he was going to hurt Camilia, and attempted to pry Harry's fingers from her upper arms. Camilia was in shock. She said and did nothing but to gape open-mouthed at Harry. Then her senses returned, and she pushed Dobby off Harry. "Leave him!" she commanded Dobby, who, looking rather abashed, ran from the room and pulled the door closed behind him.

"Tell me you don't think I'm like that," demanded Harry, pleading with her now. "Tell me that Dumbledore doesn't believe that's what I'll become!"

She told him he had it all wrong; both she and Dumbledore knew who and what Harry was, that though he and Voldemort had certain life circumstances in common, it was the decisions they had each made throughout their entire lives that had brought them to where they each were today - polar opposites - and it was because of those decisions that Harry had no chance of becoming what Voldemort had become. After a very long moment of silence, Camilia offered to cheer Harry up.

"Wanna see something cool?" she asked, doing her best to sound as normal as possible.

"Sure," he replied.

"Watch this," she entreated him. She brought her hand up toward her face, almost as though to block a punch, and suddenly shot it outward toward a large parsnip, which immediately exploded. She then threw her other arm in the direction of a grouping of onions on the opposite wall, which detonated like a time bomb set for that precise second. Finally, in a very graceful, swift gesture, she threw both arms backward over her head toward a number of sacks of potatoes on the back wall. Miniscule specks of potato flew everywhere; the room was covered with them.

A smile crept onto her weary face, and she looked at Harry. "Mash, anyone?" They both burst into hysterics, laughing themselves to tears, and when they had finally laughed so long they couldn't laugh anymore, Harry paused to consider the mess in the room.

"This'll be a fun one to clean, Camilia," he teased.

"No, no problem at all, actually," she said. "I mean, do you really think Albus would've let me blow up everything in his office without teaching me how to repair it all? Watch this!" With that, she swung her arm outward toward the mess of parsnip on her right, and turned her hand in a half circle while bringing together her fingers. As she did so, the parsnip re-formed itself perfectly. She did the same with her left hand to the onions, and then turned around to face the place from whence came the potatoes. She steeled herself momentarily, preparing to exert the required effort, raised her arms as though calling for a congregation to rise, and motioned outward to the room, bringing her hands together in front of her, watching, at the same time, the potatoes return themselves to their unmashed state.

"You seem to like to make it big," Harry noticed.

"Make what big?" she asked.

"Your displays," he said.

"Well, like I said originally, what fun is conjuring butterflies? If it's going to be worthwhile, it's got to be something huge. Something powerful. Something impossible for everyone else, right?" Camilia didn't need an answer.

"I'm impressed," stated Harry, contemplating, however, the significance of what she'd said about displaying her powers.

"So am I," countered Camilia. "I thought sure I'd at least miss an eye or two." She chuckled at her own joke, then asked, "Harry?"

"What?"

"Can we go to bed now?

"Excellent idea," he agreed. "But first, could you do me a favor?"

"What's that?" she inquired.

"Would you mind repairing that coffee pot, and maybe fixing the mugs, while I right this table? Don't want Dobby having to answer for it, you know..."