So I recently discovered and finished this Tomione Fic (Strange Attractors by Orange) that was...
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False Riddle [HP TMR SI/Gamer/Multicross]
- Thread starter Mistelteinn
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Prologue - It begins
- Location
- InTheWinterLand
So I recently discovered and finished this Tomione Fic (Strange Attractors by Orange) that was just absolutely STUNNING. Not so much the romance but how the world-building really made me feel like the 1940s magical Britain could have existed. I have never devoured a 500K word fic as fast as I have this. It's inspired me to start my own little Tom Marvolo Riddle SI fic.
Premise: SI replaces consciousness of Diary Horcrux as he is draining life from Ginny Weasley. Gains Gamer powers, and tries to abuse it. Will find game has level-scaling. SI has to play the great game not the actual game. Will probably turn into multicross in future. For all those people tired of OP Gamer Protagonist inserts. XD
Note: This is cross-posted from SB, on recommendation by readers.
Enjoy!
——————————————————————————————————————————————————
The teenager with handsome, aristocratic features opened his eyes. They flitted about the chamber, quickly accessing his surroundings, taking note of the stone face set in the wall, the dark, damp and wet floor, the red headed girl barely into her teens and most importantly the brown leather covered diary lying next to her.
A few seconds passed. Drip. Drip. Drip.
Drip.
His calm mien was broken and his eyes flew open, slightly unhinged. For the soul that now occupied the diary horcrux of Tom Marvolo Riddle recognised where he was.
In the Chamber of Secrets.
The deja vu was uncanny. The movie had scared him as a little child. He spun around, as if seeking confirmation that he truly was in Slytherins hideout. He was bound to be disappointed if he had hoped for anything else.
The situation sunk in.
He was the teenage version of [I AM LORD VOLDEMORT]. Which meant he was in the Harry Potter series. Book Two, page 251 (UK Edition). A stray thought flitted through his strangely sharp mind. Why could he remember that? Another thought flashed by. Canon or Fanon?
Eyes narrowed as something else caught his attention.
Why was he not panicking? He could not remember his name. He had always been Tom Marvo- no. he was not. He was in a strange place- no, it, was intimately familiar.
The mild strain of a migraine gently began.
He was a college student just about to graduate from the University of Hong Kong. He was Asian. Chinese. Definitely Not Caucasian. His parents had given much to put him through school. He had parents. Not An Orphan. He was addicted to HP fanfiction. No. This was reality? …? ? ?̜̣͓̾ͩͬ̈ͬ̂͝?̹̼͉͔̝ͧ̋ͯ͊̀̅̂
The Gamer?
With a roll of his dark eyes he thought.
'Well, if this wasn't a blessing, then I didn't know what is.'
The white font of Yes and No gently pulsed. He considered it. He knew it was a mistake. He was genre-savvy.
It was a mistake yet this was a rock and a hard place. On the one hand, zalgo text and possible insanity from [C̰͇̋̒Ô̢̖̞̥͔͎̤̤̊ͫRͫ̇͏͓͔̩̯̼̺̣]. NO. Don't say it. On the other hand, possible Bipolar personality disorder, Schizophrenia or Dissociative Personality disorder.
Pick your poison. He wasn't a Necromancer and he did not study souls, so he was hardly an expert on the effects of soul splitting. He did, however, know someone who did.
Even had first hand experience with it.
A giggle. Strange. Tom Marvolo Riddle DID NOT GIGGLE.
But he was not Riddle.
But he was.
The Not-Riddle knew this had been going on for long enough. It wasn't mentally healthy. He studied psychology- no, he was self studying rituals- so he could self-diagnose. As any person who had access to the DSM-IV could. Though, an insane person would not think themselves insane.
A small ray of light shone through the dark cloud. At least he had enough self-awareness to-
ENOUGH. This was going nowhere.
With an effort of will, he stabbed his index into Algiz. It was ALgiz. ALGIZ. THe RUne for ProTEction. Keep that in mind. PRoTeCTION.
Magic was conceptual. Yes. Conceptual. Hold the concept in your mind. It had been how he had started utilising accidental magic. He could DO THINGS. Billy's bunny didn't dance on it's own now did it?
Yes. It was Algiz. The RUNE ALGIZ ᛉ Not Y. Protection. Not YES.
Keep Hold Of It. Algiz. A shield.
Algiz. Awakening.
Algiz.
Not-Riddle felt his half-corporeal body moving on its on accord.
His knees fell. His torso bent. His head touched the wet stone floor.
[DING!]
[Corruptive influence detected. Isolated. Ꭾʊʀɢɛɖ.]
'You lucky, lucky boy.'
A whisper in the wind came. It was an underground cave.
THERE COULD BE NO WIND. His mind screamed. Too much, too fast was going on. He could barely keep up.
But they both knew if they didn't.
It was the end.
Premise: SI replaces consciousness of Diary Horcrux as he is draining life from Ginny Weasley. Gains Gamer powers, and tries to abuse it. Will find game has level-scaling. SI has to play the great game not the actual game. Will probably turn into multicross in future. For all those people tired of OP Gamer Protagonist inserts. XD
Note: This is cross-posted from SB, on recommendation by readers.
Enjoy!
——————————————————————————————————————————————————
[DING!]
[Physical Resurrection (Projected) is active.]
[Life Drain in Progress. Remaining Time: 09:43 min.]
[Warning. Fail if interrupted by magic. BE CAREFUL.]
[Physical Resurrection (Projected) is active.]
[Life Drain in Progress. Remaining Time: 09:43 min.]
[Warning. Fail if interrupted by magic. BE CAREFUL.]
The teenager with handsome, aristocratic features opened his eyes. They flitted about the chamber, quickly accessing his surroundings, taking note of the stone face set in the wall, the dark, damp and wet floor, the red headed girl barely into her teens and most importantly the brown leather covered diary lying next to her.
A few seconds passed. Drip. Drip. Drip.
Drip.
His calm mien was broken and his eyes flew open, slightly unhinged. For the soul that now occupied the diary horcrux of Tom Marvolo Riddle recognised where he was.
In the Chamber of Secrets.
The deja vu was uncanny. The movie had scared him as a little child. He spun around, as if seeking confirmation that he truly was in Slytherins hideout. He was bound to be disappointed if he had hoped for anything else.
The situation sunk in.
He was the teenage version of [I AM LORD VOLDEMORT]. Which meant he was in the Harry Potter series. Book Two, page 251 (UK Edition). A stray thought flitted through his strangely sharp mind. Why could he remember that? Another thought flashed by. Canon or Fanon?
Eyes narrowed as something else caught his attention.
Why was he not panicking? He could not remember his name. He had always been Tom Marvo- no. he was not. He was in a strange place- no, it, was intimately familiar.
The mild strain of a migraine gently began.
He was a college student just about to graduate from the University of Hong Kong. He was Asian. Chinese. Definitely Not Caucasian. His parents had given much to put him through school. He had parents. Not An Orphan. He was addicted to HP fanfiction. No. This was reality? …? ? ?̜̣͓̾ͩͬ̈ͬ̂͝?̹̼͉͔̝ͧ̋ͯ͊̀̅̂
[DING!]
[Host Memories Detected.]
[Warning. WargnigD. WRANNIG. C̰͇̋̒Ô̢̖̞̥͔͎̤̤̊ͫRͫ̇͏͓͔̩̯̼̺̣R͒Ũ͙ͫͫ̿̃͊ͣP̞͔̿͗ͬ̇͊ͪT̳͙̲̗̼͈͐̏̂̈̃́ͤ͜#̘̪͈̬̆͐̀@̷̙̤̜͊ͦ!̩̠̯̹ͨ$̴̘̌͒̓%͍͚͎̲̞̞̰͗#̛Ė̹͓̗͇̳̞ͦ̇̀̀̚F̹̱͓̺̰̹͉̍ͬͭ̚W̨̗̩͂̅̿ͣF̟̯̮͕͎͓ͨ̽ͨ̍̈F̩͉̯̬̫̃̋͛͌͊ͩ̀F͉̬̝͎ͪͭ͠F͖̋̿̐͌ͪ̒̒F̡̗̫̿̐̉͗D̙̖̳̟͆̎̂̾͟!]
[Containment Activated. Processing.]
[Purge Complete.]
[Would you like to transfer host memories (Unco̴̝͙̰̮̟̖ͅrru͠pted) ?̬̪̤̥̈́ͬ̇͂͒͞]
[Y / N]
[Host Memories Detected.]
[Warning. WargnigD. WRANNIG. C̰͇̋̒Ô̢̖̞̥͔͎̤̤̊ͫRͫ̇͏͓͔̩̯̼̺̣R͒Ũ͙ͫͫ̿̃͊ͣP̞͔̿͗ͬ̇͊ͪT̳͙̲̗̼͈͐̏̂̈̃́ͤ͜#̘̪͈̬̆͐̀@̷̙̤̜͊ͦ!̩̠̯̹ͨ$̴̘̌͒̓%͍͚͎̲̞̞̰͗#̛Ė̹͓̗͇̳̞ͦ̇̀̀̚F̹̱͓̺̰̹͉̍ͬͭ̚W̨̗̩͂̅̿ͣF̟̯̮͕͎͓ͨ̽ͨ̍̈F̩͉̯̬̫̃̋͛͌͊ͩ̀F͉̬̝͎ͪͭ͠F͖̋̿̐͌ͪ̒̒F̡̗̫̿̐̉͗D̙̖̳̟͆̎̂̾͟!]
[Containment Activated. Processing.]
[Purge Complete.]
[Would you like to transfer host memories (Unco̴̝͙̰̮̟̖ͅrru͠pted) ?̬̪̤̥̈́ͬ̇͂͒͞]
[Y / N]
The Gamer?
With a roll of his dark eyes he thought.
'Well, if this wasn't a blessing, then I didn't know what is.'
The white font of Yes and No gently pulsed. He considered it. He knew it was a mistake. He was genre-savvy.
It was a mistake yet this was a rock and a hard place. On the one hand, zalgo text and possible insanity from [C̰͇̋̒Ô̢̖̞̥͔͎̤̤̊ͫRͫ̇͏͓͔̩̯̼̺̣]. NO. Don't say it. On the other hand, possible Bipolar personality disorder, Schizophrenia or Dissociative Personality disorder.
Pick your poison. He wasn't a Necromancer and he did not study souls, so he was hardly an expert on the effects of soul splitting. He did, however, know someone who did.
Even had first hand experience with it.
A giggle. Strange. Tom Marvolo Riddle DID NOT GIGGLE.
But he was not Riddle.
But he was.
The Not-Riddle knew this had been going on for long enough. It wasn't mentally healthy. He studied psychology- no, he was self studying rituals- so he could self-diagnose. As any person who had access to the DSM-IV could. Though, an insane person would not think themselves insane.
A small ray of light shone through the dark cloud. At least he had enough self-awareness to-
ENOUGH. This was going nowhere.
With an effort of will, he stabbed his index into Algiz. It was ALgiz. ALGIZ. THe RUne for ProTEction. Keep that in mind. PRoTeCTION.
Magic was conceptual. Yes. Conceptual. Hold the concept in your mind. It had been how he had started utilising accidental magic. He could DO THINGS. Billy's bunny didn't dance on it's own now did it?
Yes. It was Algiz. The RUNE ALGIZ ᛉ Not Y. Protection. Not YES.
Keep Hold Of It. Algiz. A shield.
Algiz. Awakening.
Algiz.
[DING!]
[Memories (Uncorrupted) have been successfully transferred.]
[WARNING. Emergency Patch in 3…] [2…] [1…] [Patching.]
[Patching Complete.]
[Administrator Gia is present. May the User be gratified. All bow. All hail.]
[Memories (Uncorrupted) have been successfully transferred.]
[WARNING. Emergency Patch in 3…] [2…] [1…] [Patching.]
[Patching Complete.]
[Administrator Gia is present. May the User be gratified. All bow. All hail.]
Not-Riddle felt his half-corporeal body moving on its on accord.
His knees fell. His torso bent. His head touched the wet stone floor.
[DING!]
[Corruptive influence detected. Isolated. Ꭾʊʀɢɛɖ.]
'You lucky, lucky boy.'
A whisper in the wind came. It was an underground cave.
THERE COULD BE NO WIND. His mind screamed. Too much, too fast was going on. He could barely keep up.
But they both knew if they didn't.
It was the end.
Chapter 1 - Route Established
- Location
- InTheWinterLand
As it came. It went.
The heavy presence that had forced them onto their knees had left. The integrating memories and identities slowly merged, gluing together a fractured whole. Perhaps into something even greater.
There had been a real worry at first. [Corru-]. No, won't say it. Can't chance it.
There had been a real worry at first that he would go mad, certifiably insane, even worse than the actual Tom. But trading a sincere albeit confused and forced bow had been worth the chance of a lifeline out of between the rock and hard place. Oh, who was he kidding, an ROB saw fit to take pity on him and he was grateful for it.
A whole soul with holes like swiss cheese and the jagged half of psychopath did not a man make. But that thing, that presence had forcibly mangled, grated and minced Tom. Tom was now shredded, his powdery remains filling up what was their soul now.
They now had a name. They were, am, will be Tom Marvolo Riddle. This muggle name, it had not been good enough for both originals, but it was good enough for Not-Riddle, now T.M.R.
He relished the words in his mouth. Until he had lost his own, his hadn't truly appreciated the value of a name. Now, he realised, a name was more than just words, it was your identity, your social anchor and if what he psychophysically felt was true, your SOUL.
And he would have that identity. Even if he had to become the usurper, the false original. the False Riddle. By hook or crook, he would have it and make it his.
A sixth instinct popped. And for the nth time in so many minutes, a popup popped up.
[DING!]
[Please Note: Purging has damaged obtainables. However, they are now Uncorrupted. Be grateful.]
[You Have Gained The Following:]
[150 XP]
[Unclassifiable | Memories [Uncorrupted, Damaged]: 16 years of life — Originator Tom Marvolo Riddle.]
[Skill | Magic [Wand-based]: Tier C, Level 25/100, Proficiency: 67%]
[Skill | Magic [Mind Arts]: Tier A, Level 71/100, Proficiency: 83%]
[Skill | Magic [Rituals]: Tier D, Level 3/100, Proficiency: 12%]
[Trait | Sociopathic Intellect: Tier B]
[Trait | Method Actor: Tier SSS]
[Trait | Combat Switch: Tier B]
[Title | Outworlder]
[Title | Swiss Soul]
[Title | He who has been graced]
[DING!]
[You have levelled up. X4]
[XP to next level up. 0/160]
All the notifications had been very interesting and all, but since they had no comparative standards to identify their current skill level, they would have to be left on the back burner. The tiers and scales were quite obvious, but they had both been fond of the saying "Trust but Verify". Truly, being the perfectionist that both they were, calling up [Status] and strategising his long term future plans was incredibly tempting.
However, he was still in a incredibly dangerous environment and it would not do to be score checking and shopping before getting offed by an enemy champion. For god's sake, there was a [Basilisk] nearby, ONE OF THE ONLY THINGS THAT COULD ACTUALLY KILL HIM! It was like fighting in the Baron Pit!
Huh. No sweating, anxiety, twitchy fingers or other physiological reactions to stress. This was good.
Given his calmness, he could assume either [Occlumency] or [Gamer's Mind] were in play, maybe even both. If not those, then probably his inherited Sociopathy. Because, his meta-knowledge had immediately pointed out an problem, one he had to deal with NOW. His stream of thoughts flashed as his mind went into overdrive.
He was Tom Marvolo Riddle. In the Chamber of Secrets. With Ginevra Weasley. With a 60 foot basilisk. WITHOUT HARRY POTTER!
Fuck, he had to make a decision here, didn't he. This right here, was a nexus point. He could kill Harry. He could. He definitely could. He wasn't the arrogant toe-rag that was Yet-to-be-Voldemort.
But Dumbledore was still here. What then? Would he be coming? Wasn't here? But the Phoenix? An independent agent? Perhaps. Trust but Verify.
Damn, he wasn't sure. But even so, after killing Harry, then what?
Actually, on second thought.
Could he though? Was the prophecy still in play? It was in canon wasn't it? Self-fulfilling? Possible.
But if it wasn't, then this was dangerous. No. Can't chance it. Play safe. Survival first.
Prophecies were the magic of Fate. Of Inevitability with a capital I. There had to be a reason for why the Unspeakables studied it, they were [Researchers] of the wizarding world. Logical Proof and Truth. Albeit unverified.
He had seen Final Destination. All the movies. He was definitely NOT scared. At all. No, he wasn't.
He and Tom both agreed on one thing. They didn't want to die.
A quick check.
He needed more information. He wasn't corporeal yet. He probably still had a few more minutes before the Saviour of Magical Britain arrived.
Yes, information gathering. A quick dive into his own mind palace. Unsurprisingly, the Hogwarts library. Inherited from Tom indeed.
He swam. Misty figures and structures passed by. Looking for the Chamber of Secrets. One piece of information stood out. Not from his meta-memories. From Tom.
The [Basilisk] was [Soul-Bound].
[Soul-Bound] to the [Soul] of Tom, son of Riddle.
Well, he wasn't Tom was he. No, Tom was here, but Tom was glued powder stuffing the holes in his actual soul.
The [Basilisk] would definitely not recognise powder Tom. Perhaps it would, but he would take no chances with his continued existence.
Power of Friendship route it was then. He'd help Harry Potter and try his best to convince him to let them free.
Another piece of information drifted by. [Basilisk Egg (Stasis)]. At the back of the tunnel.
Better. Things were slightly looking up.
A thought. [Basilisk] reagents were both incredibly potent and rare. He could use some of that. Yes, the corpse would indeed be useful.
Another thought. The magic is in the eyes. Uchiha? Implantation? From mother [Basilisk] to child [Basilisk]. Maturation Skip.
He considered. Definitely possible, worth looking into. Lizard type, maybe has regeneration. Wait. Skin. Magically Resistant.
Burns. Skin grafts. Again mother to child, lower rejection chance. Gain matured MR? Possible. Noted.
[Life Drain in Progress. Remaining Time: 05:01 min.]
Tom's mind abruptly stopped. Time was running out, besides he knew he had decided upon a course of action. He would trick Potter then gain his freedom. But first, he had to setup the stage that He and Potter were to act upon. Waving the silly chits wand, Tom casted an [Obliviate] at her, whisking away Little Ginny's memories of her bestest friend Tom. The only one who would listen to her. He would not miss her woes of how Potter would not look at her.
Another twirl of the wand. And wasn't it uncomfortable, he missed his Yew Wand. Something for the future him to handle.
Referencing the scene from the movie, Tom rapidly sifted through her creepy preteen mind and identified her memory of the Malfoy-Weasley fight at the beginning of the year. It wasn't the most subtle of his works, but it was the best he could do with the limited time he had. Now, if anyone checked, in particular Dumbledore- He knew all his tricks, his feather-light touches, the skimming gleans- they would hear Lucius Malfoy whisper an [Imperio] as the girl turned her back on him.
Just for good measure he casted [Imperio Maxima], using the spell modifier to give the impression that it had been extra strength from Malfoy and had been active for several months now. He had no way of spoofing the wand signature or [Priori Incantatem]. But, that Lucius would soon visit, would be a nice coincidence. You needed to regularly reinforce the spell. Dumbledore would wonder what his true purpose was in coming to the school. A nice bit of misdirection.
It was a good thing that the strutting peacock hadn't any true idea of what the [Diary] was. Oh, he predicted there would be suspicion from the gay lord, but it would probably be far less than in canon, and if Harry Potter collaborated, getting off scot-free wouldn't be an impossibility.
Did he just think gay lord?
Damn, that childish outburst was actually cringey. He had underestimated Tom's hatred for the man.
Sigh, them's the works when both sides had access to meta-knowledge and contemporary knowledge. He had to remind himself that this was 16 year old Tom, not the feared Dark Lord with mature insults that he would become and have.
It was almost time for the hero of the hour to show up. Any moment now.
At a distance, a rumbling crash. The ground trembled slightly. Water from the damp ceiling rained down a bit. The puddles rippled.
He tried out [Observe] to check the entrance. It didn't work. Perhaps on the living then?
For given value of "living". Again he invoked, on the near death chit.
[DING!]
[You Have Learnt:]
[Skill | GAMER [Observe]: Tier E, Level 1/100, Proficiency: 02%]
[OBSERVE]
[Name: Ginevra Molly Weasley "Ginny"]
Damn. Just a name. He could've told you that himself.
No. Don't think like that. Think positive. No, no dark side thoughts today, even if they have cookies.
He had hoped for a developed one, but it turned out to be an unripe spell. Oh well, he'd grind it if he had to. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth and all that. Free food is still free, even if it might just be bite-sized. A few more casts did nothing but raise his Proficiency up by a few percent. He'd have to grind the spell up later.
Yes. The timing was almost right. It was time to set things in motion.
Let the curtains raise.
"-SSS- Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four. -SSS-"
The heavy presence that had forced them onto their knees had left. The integrating memories and identities slowly merged, gluing together a fractured whole. Perhaps into something even greater.
There had been a real worry at first. [Corru-]. No, won't say it. Can't chance it.
There had been a real worry at first that he would go mad, certifiably insane, even worse than the actual Tom. But trading a sincere albeit confused and forced bow had been worth the chance of a lifeline out of between the rock and hard place. Oh, who was he kidding, an ROB saw fit to take pity on him and he was grateful for it.
A whole soul with holes like swiss cheese and the jagged half of psychopath did not a man make. But that thing, that presence had forcibly mangled, grated and minced Tom. Tom was now shredded, his powdery remains filling up what was their soul now.
They now had a name. They were, am, will be Tom Marvolo Riddle. This muggle name, it had not been good enough for both originals, but it was good enough for Not-Riddle, now T.M.R.
He relished the words in his mouth. Until he had lost his own, his hadn't truly appreciated the value of a name. Now, he realised, a name was more than just words, it was your identity, your social anchor and if what he psychophysically felt was true, your SOUL.
And he would have that identity. Even if he had to become the usurper, the false original. the False Riddle. By hook or crook, he would have it and make it his.
A sixth instinct popped. And for the nth time in so many minutes, a popup popped up.
[DING!]
[Please Note: Purging has damaged obtainables. However, they are now Uncorrupted. Be grateful.]
[You Have Gained The Following:]
[150 XP]
[Unclassifiable | Memories [Uncorrupted, Damaged]: 16 years of life — Originator Tom Marvolo Riddle.]
[Skill | Magic [Wand-based]: Tier C, Level 25/100, Proficiency: 67%]
[Skill | Magic [Mind Arts]: Tier A, Level 71/100, Proficiency: 83%]
[Skill | Magic [Rituals]: Tier D, Level 3/100, Proficiency: 12%]
[Trait | Sociopathic Intellect: Tier B]
[Trait | Method Actor: Tier SSS]
[Trait | Combat Switch: Tier B]
[Title | Outworlder]
[Title | Swiss Soul]
[Title | He who has been graced]
[DING!]
[You have levelled up. X4]
[XP to next level up. 0/160]
All the notifications had been very interesting and all, but since they had no comparative standards to identify their current skill level, they would have to be left on the back burner. The tiers and scales were quite obvious, but they had both been fond of the saying "Trust but Verify". Truly, being the perfectionist that both they were, calling up [Status] and strategising his long term future plans was incredibly tempting.
However, he was still in a incredibly dangerous environment and it would not do to be score checking and shopping before getting offed by an enemy champion. For god's sake, there was a [Basilisk] nearby, ONE OF THE ONLY THINGS THAT COULD ACTUALLY KILL HIM! It was like fighting in the Baron Pit!
Huh. No sweating, anxiety, twitchy fingers or other physiological reactions to stress. This was good.
Given his calmness, he could assume either [Occlumency] or [Gamer's Mind] were in play, maybe even both. If not those, then probably his inherited Sociopathy. Because, his meta-knowledge had immediately pointed out an problem, one he had to deal with NOW. His stream of thoughts flashed as his mind went into overdrive.
He was Tom Marvolo Riddle. In the Chamber of Secrets. With Ginevra Weasley. With a 60 foot basilisk. WITHOUT HARRY POTTER!
Fuck, he had to make a decision here, didn't he. This right here, was a nexus point. He could kill Harry. He could. He definitely could. He wasn't the arrogant toe-rag that was Yet-to-be-Voldemort.
But Dumbledore was still here. What then? Would he be coming? Wasn't here? But the Phoenix? An independent agent? Perhaps. Trust but Verify.
Damn, he wasn't sure. But even so, after killing Harry, then what?
Actually, on second thought.
Could he though? Was the prophecy still in play? It was in canon wasn't it? Self-fulfilling? Possible.
But if it wasn't, then this was dangerous. No. Can't chance it. Play safe. Survival first.
Prophecies were the magic of Fate. Of Inevitability with a capital I. There had to be a reason for why the Unspeakables studied it, they were [Researchers] of the wizarding world. Logical Proof and Truth. Albeit unverified.
He had seen Final Destination. All the movies. He was definitely NOT scared. At all. No, he wasn't.
He and Tom both agreed on one thing. They didn't want to die.
A quick check.
[Life Drain in Progress. Remaining Time: 06:23 min.]
He needed more information. He wasn't corporeal yet. He probably still had a few more minutes before the Saviour of Magical Britain arrived.
Yes, information gathering. A quick dive into his own mind palace. Unsurprisingly, the Hogwarts library. Inherited from Tom indeed.
He swam. Misty figures and structures passed by. Looking for the Chamber of Secrets. One piece of information stood out. Not from his meta-memories. From Tom.
The [Basilisk] was [Soul-Bound].
[Soul-Bound] to the [Soul] of Tom, son of Riddle.
Well, he wasn't Tom was he. No, Tom was here, but Tom was glued powder stuffing the holes in his actual soul.
The [Basilisk] would definitely not recognise powder Tom. Perhaps it would, but he would take no chances with his continued existence.
Power of Friendship route it was then. He'd help Harry Potter and try his best to convince him to let them free.
Another piece of information drifted by. [Basilisk Egg (Stasis)]. At the back of the tunnel.
Better. Things were slightly looking up.
A thought. [Basilisk] reagents were both incredibly potent and rare. He could use some of that. Yes, the corpse would indeed be useful.
Another thought. The magic is in the eyes. Uchiha? Implantation? From mother [Basilisk] to child [Basilisk]. Maturation Skip.
He considered. Definitely possible, worth looking into. Lizard type, maybe has regeneration. Wait. Skin. Magically Resistant.
Burns. Skin grafts. Again mother to child, lower rejection chance. Gain matured MR? Possible. Noted.
[Life Drain in Progress. Remaining Time: 05:01 min.]
Tom's mind abruptly stopped. Time was running out, besides he knew he had decided upon a course of action. He would trick Potter then gain his freedom. But first, he had to setup the stage that He and Potter were to act upon. Waving the silly chits wand, Tom casted an [Obliviate] at her, whisking away Little Ginny's memories of her bestest friend Tom. The only one who would listen to her. He would not miss her woes of how Potter would not look at her.
Another twirl of the wand. And wasn't it uncomfortable, he missed his Yew Wand. Something for the future him to handle.
[Legilimens]
Referencing the scene from the movie, Tom rapidly sifted through her creepy preteen mind and identified her memory of the Malfoy-Weasley fight at the beginning of the year. It wasn't the most subtle of his works, but it was the best he could do with the limited time he had. Now, if anyone checked, in particular Dumbledore- He knew all his tricks, his feather-light touches, the skimming gleans- they would hear Lucius Malfoy whisper an [Imperio] as the girl turned her back on him.
Just for good measure he casted [Imperio Maxima], using the spell modifier to give the impression that it had been extra strength from Malfoy and had been active for several months now. He had no way of spoofing the wand signature or [Priori Incantatem]. But, that Lucius would soon visit, would be a nice coincidence. You needed to regularly reinforce the spell. Dumbledore would wonder what his true purpose was in coming to the school. A nice bit of misdirection.
It was a good thing that the strutting peacock hadn't any true idea of what the [Diary] was. Oh, he predicted there would be suspicion from the gay lord, but it would probably be far less than in canon, and if Harry Potter collaborated, getting off scot-free wouldn't be an impossibility.
Did he just think gay lord?
Damn, that childish outburst was actually cringey. He had underestimated Tom's hatred for the man.
Sigh, them's the works when both sides had access to meta-knowledge and contemporary knowledge. He had to remind himself that this was 16 year old Tom, not the feared Dark Lord with mature insults that he would become and have.
[Life Drain in Progress. Remaining Time: 03:01 min.]
It was almost time for the hero of the hour to show up. Any moment now.
At a distance, a rumbling crash. The ground trembled slightly. Water from the damp ceiling rained down a bit. The puddles rippled.
He tried out [Observe] to check the entrance. It didn't work. Perhaps on the living then?
For given value of "living". Again he invoked, on the near death chit.
[DING!]
[You Have Learnt:]
[Skill | GAMER [Observe]: Tier E, Level 1/100, Proficiency: 02%]
[OBSERVE]
[Name: Ginevra Molly Weasley "Ginny"]
Damn. Just a name. He could've told you that himself.
No. Don't think like that. Think positive. No, no dark side thoughts today, even if they have cookies.
He had hoped for a developed one, but it turned out to be an unripe spell. Oh well, he'd grind it if he had to. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth and all that. Free food is still free, even if it might just be bite-sized. A few more casts did nothing but raise his Proficiency up by a few percent. He'd have to grind the spell up later.
[Life Drain in Progress. Remaining Time: 02:39 min.]
Yes. The timing was almost right. It was time to set things in motion.
Let the curtains raise.
"-SSS- Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four. -SSS-"
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Chapter 2 - Hideaway
- Location
- InTheWinterLand
The Stone door set into the mouth of the Statue of Slytherin, began to lower with a low grumble. Tom's strangely sharp senses heard the faint mechanical clicking, whirring and grating of gears. Strange that it was a mechanical grind, not the smooth silence of magic. With a loud boom, the door opened with a drop. A click resounded in finality.
He had at most 30 seconds.
He pulled up the mask. He failed with ease. For he was Not-Riddle. But do he had to, the luxury of try escaped him.
Once again.
And again.
Three times for Three words.
Tom Marvolo Riddle. The perfect student. Ever so helpful. Straight A student. A Hogwarts prefect.
Responsible. Guiding. CARING.
Method Acting required immersion. He knew Tom Marvolo Riddle was fake. Here he had to be genuine. Potter was a Gryffindor. Reckless, perhaps. But one does not survive the muggles without some sort of cunning, high or low. Concealed or shining within audacity.
A flawless mask is a flaw itself. This play deserved, no, needed a perfect Dramatis personæ.
He considered. Yes, he had to introduce the chips into the edge. The hidden false "True" Tom under Fake Tom.
He laughed.
He hoped this would be over soon.
He was losing sight of himself.
For from behind Layers and Layers of PERSONA.
He was blind.
No wonder onions made people cry.
This was his life, wasn't it?
A Greek Tragedy.
Even now, the happy went on top of the sad.
Jagged edges. Red Eyes. His future from magic, his past from tears.
Helpless in his own life. He was a War Orphan.
The muggle cunts were shelling London.
Two blocks down from Wool's was blasted rubble, blood-soaked cobble and lost mangled limbs. It was but a glance, but one was all he needed. He did not scream. He did not fear. Fear was the mind-killer.
He had been lucky.
He was NOT AFRAID-
NO.
No, no. For this to work, he had to bring up traits. Loath as he was to do so.
His most vulnerable ones. Real or Imagined. And Tom was afraid, so very very afraid of death.
Of being just a number. Of being the shredded flesh splattered on the wall. A corpse was a murder, a pile was a statistic.
This was what drove him to create Horcruxes. Of course, had he known the consequences of that. He would've CRUCIO'D Slughorn into a vegetable. Head of House or not. The mere thought of this betrayal incensed him, made even worse by its unwitting nature.
Yes. Anger was what he needed.
Anger at the world for giving him a bad hand.
Anger at the Adults who didn't listen, who didn't care.
Anger at his peers for forcing him down this path.
And most of all.
Anger at himself, for being too weak to resist. Too fool to swim against the tide. To balk at the establishment.
Anger had always been easy to conjure up, easiest to corral, easiest to force upon the Concealed World.
Sympathetic Magic worked through symbolic association.
He visualised an angry person flipping a Galleon into the air. It floated. Gravity lost its hold.
Yes. He and Harry were more similar than they cared to admit.
Both orphans.
Both Halfblood. Parseltongue.
Both alone. Friendless. Suppressed.
Both lived in fear of Muggles.
Unable to shine. Intellectually or otherwise.
Covered by the dirt that was the muggle world.
Was their true selves.
Two sides of the same coin.
Ouroboros led the Tail to the Head.
And the Head devoured the Tail.
But they were one.
——————————————————————————————————————————————
A faint scritching noise resounded throughout the Chamber. Of scales and spikes scraping against the cold stone tunnel. Of a secret making itself known, showing its might.
The shaped stone hissed in pain.
And Statue of Slytherin replied with Parseltongue, in faux-hisses and faux-Ssss. Echoing from its mouth.
An echo no longer.
.
.
.
The Basilisk arrived.
.
.
.
A sense of wonder. One whole gaped at the actual physical proof of his current situation. The remains of another, cringed at his alternate end.
The mind strained. A gentle pain.
.
.
.
The Basilisk curled up.
.
.
.
The incredulity of it, reminded the 20-something year old of attack patterns of horrific creatures he once saw within a screen. Creatures he slew for fun, for mats and bragging rights. But the hunter was now the hunted.
Strange it was. That wonder came and panic never arrived. That his mind was still afforded the luxury of having FLASHBACKS.
He was glad for the Gatekeepers of his mind. Had he'd been anyone else, anywhere else, anytime else. It would've crippled him.
Emotional Suppression rebounds into clinical mental abnormalities. Sociopathy would ruin his impulse control, and being eternally calm made him a machine, not human. And their Deus Ex had already played their hand.
But he was nonetheless grateful. Grateful, that his mind was running smoothly on rails. Even if those rails sometimes led elsewhere. It was still better than derailment. Better than the overwhelmingly complete utter PANIC he knew he would've, should've felt.
He was a soft, couch-bound student who only occasionally visited the gym. His only experience with blood were scrapes on the baseball field.
In no way was he ready to deal with this.
Tom could've. Would've. Tom was barely here, doing his best.
Give Tom control.
Sound the Retreat.
Air Sirens Wailed. A shrill sound.
Back, back into the depths of the Hogwarts library.
Hide and let the [Darkest Wizard of All Time] deal with this shit.
He would've been embarrassed, that a 16 year old handled this better than him.
But shame flew away in the face of death.
Ha! Who was flight from death now?
He kicked himself into gear. MilSim had been a reflection of reality he enjoyed whilst on exchange in America.
And there was at least one thing he could do before letting the other take the metaphorical reins.
He had at most 30 seconds.
He pulled up the mask. He failed with ease. For he was Not-Riddle. But do he had to, the luxury of try escaped him.
Once again.
And again.
Three times for Three words.
Tom Marvolo Riddle. The perfect student. Ever so helpful. Straight A student. A Hogwarts prefect.
Responsible. Guiding. CARING.
Method Acting required immersion. He knew Tom Marvolo Riddle was fake. Here he had to be genuine. Potter was a Gryffindor. Reckless, perhaps. But one does not survive the muggles without some sort of cunning, high or low. Concealed or shining within audacity.
A flawless mask is a flaw itself. This play deserved, no, needed a perfect Dramatis personæ.
He considered. Yes, he had to introduce the chips into the edge. The hidden false "True" Tom under Fake Tom.
He laughed.
He hoped this would be over soon.
He was losing sight of himself.
For from behind Layers and Layers of PERSONA.
He was blind.
No wonder onions made people cry.
This was his life, wasn't it?
A Greek Tragedy.
Even now, the happy went on top of the sad.
Jagged edges. Red Eyes. His future from magic, his past from tears.
Helpless in his own life. He was a War Orphan.
The muggle cunts were shelling London.
Two blocks down from Wool's was blasted rubble, blood-soaked cobble and lost mangled limbs. It was but a glance, but one was all he needed. He did not scream. He did not fear. Fear was the mind-killer.
He had been lucky.
He was NOT AFRAID-
NO.
No, no. For this to work, he had to bring up traits. Loath as he was to do so.
His most vulnerable ones. Real or Imagined. And Tom was afraid, so very very afraid of death.
Of being just a number. Of being the shredded flesh splattered on the wall. A corpse was a murder, a pile was a statistic.
This was what drove him to create Horcruxes. Of course, had he known the consequences of that. He would've CRUCIO'D Slughorn into a vegetable. Head of House or not. The mere thought of this betrayal incensed him, made even worse by its unwitting nature.
Yes. Anger was what he needed.
Anger at the world for giving him a bad hand.
Anger at the Adults who didn't listen, who didn't care.
Anger at his peers for forcing him down this path.
And most of all.
Anger at himself, for being too weak to resist. Too fool to swim against the tide. To balk at the establishment.
Anger had always been easy to conjure up, easiest to corral, easiest to force upon the Concealed World.
Sympathetic Magic worked through symbolic association.
He visualised an angry person flipping a Galleon into the air. It floated. Gravity lost its hold.
Yes. He and Harry were more similar than they cared to admit.
Both orphans.
Both Halfblood. Parseltongue.
Both alone. Friendless. Suppressed.
Both lived in fear of Muggles.
Unable to shine. Intellectually or otherwise.
Covered by the dirt that was the muggle world.
Was their true selves.
Two sides of the same coin.
Ouroboros led the Tail to the Head.
And the Head devoured the Tail.
But they were one.
——————————————————————————————————————————————
A faint scritching noise resounded throughout the Chamber. Of scales and spikes scraping against the cold stone tunnel. Of a secret making itself known, showing its might.
The shaped stone hissed in pain.
And Statue of Slytherin replied with Parseltongue, in faux-hisses and faux-Ssss. Echoing from its mouth.
An echo no longer.
.
.
.
The Basilisk arrived.
.
.
.
A sense of wonder. One whole gaped at the actual physical proof of his current situation. The remains of another, cringed at his alternate end.
The mind strained. A gentle pain.
.
.
.
The Basilisk curled up.
.
.
.
The incredulity of it, reminded the 20-something year old of attack patterns of horrific creatures he once saw within a screen. Creatures he slew for fun, for mats and bragging rights. But the hunter was now the hunted.
Strange it was. That wonder came and panic never arrived. That his mind was still afforded the luxury of having FLASHBACKS.
He was glad for the Gatekeepers of his mind. Had he'd been anyone else, anywhere else, anytime else. It would've crippled him.
Emotional Suppression rebounds into clinical mental abnormalities. Sociopathy would ruin his impulse control, and being eternally calm made him a machine, not human. And their Deus Ex had already played their hand.
But he was nonetheless grateful. Grateful, that his mind was running smoothly on rails. Even if those rails sometimes led elsewhere. It was still better than derailment. Better than the overwhelmingly complete utter PANIC he knew he would've, should've felt.
He was a soft, couch-bound student who only occasionally visited the gym. His only experience with blood were scrapes on the baseball field.
In no way was he ready to deal with this.
Tom could've. Would've. Tom was barely here, doing his best.
Give Tom control.
Sound the Retreat.
Air Sirens Wailed. A shrill sound.
Back, back into the depths of the Hogwarts library.
Hide and let the [Darkest Wizard of All Time] deal with this shit.
He would've been embarrassed, that a 16 year old handled this better than him.
But shame flew away in the face of death.
Ha! Who was flight from death now?
He kicked himself into gear. MilSim had been a reflection of reality he enjoyed whilst on exchange in America.
And there was at least one thing he could do before letting the other take the metaphorical reins.
[Combat Switch: Activated.]
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Chapter 3 - Goal Setting
- Location
- InTheWinterLand
The colours of the world fade a bit, becoming slightly desaturated.
An overlay pops up. Steady footing on the slippery stone floor is covered in light green. Yellow covers the rest.
The [Basilisk] is outlined in scarlet danger red.
The red spikes, becoming more INTENSE.
The [Basilisk] lunges at him.
Tom, ever calm, takes three steps to the right.
As the [Basilisk] passes by a hairbreadths, a jutting spike scrapes his cheekbone.
He had miscalculated. He was rusty. A step short. No matter.
Tom doesn't bleed. Tom doesn't know why either.
The stink of the [Basilisk] pervades the air, a foul odour emanates from its mouth.
It bares two venom-filled fangs leading twin rows of snake teeth, hissing incomprehensibly at him.
Tom sticks to the plan. Killing it now is not the plan.
A twirl of the wand. A blast of energy hits the water.
A bloody stench arises. Where once was a pool of tepid cave water, now floats a bloody chunk of meat.
The blood stains the pool a dark red.
The [Basilisk] notices and lunges for the transfigured meat.
Another twirl.
And another.
Enough to keep the beast busy for short scant while.
Spinning on his heel, with his back straight and the demeanour of one who knows no defeat.
Tom confidently walks towards the still body of Ginevra Weasley and his diary, his horcrux.
With a flick and a silent [Wingardium Leviosa], she floats. Tom picks up his diary, any magic unable to affect it.
He looks for a nook, somewhere more out of the way. A suitable location for stage props.
He sets the body down, the diary next to it. Only a faint breath slightly misting indicates its status amongst the living.
His diary has to be next to her for the drain to continue.
He would've spirited it away if not.
Several clunking noises reverberated as the Vault Door Snake-locks release.
[Quietus] removes the sound of [Basilisk] tearing into meat.
It also removes the sound of his footsteps. The rustling of his robes.
Almost time.
Tom heads towards the entrance.
Finding a spot with a good vantage point is easy.
He conceals himself behind one of the many snake head statues.
He hates that his shoes and feet are soaked.
So unbecoming.
—————————————————————————————
The world stuttered. A bit of lag time.
A slightly baby-faced girl drops down from the ladder with a muffled humph.
With her wand out, she cautiously scans from side to side.
A yellow outline glows into existence, surrounding her.
Tom resisted some strange urge to squeal and pinch her baby cheeks.
Wait.
Wait.
Potter was a girl?
This little wisp of a girl killed the greatest wizard of all time?
What? Are you serious right now?
[OBSERVE!!!]
[Name: Rose Lily Potter "Rose"]
Fucking WHAT?
[OBSERVE!!!]
[Name: Rose Lily Potter "Rose"]
[OBSERVE!!!]
[Name: Rose Lily Potter "Rose"]
[OBSERVE!!!]
[Name: Rose Lily Potter "Rose"]
[OBSERVE!!!]
[Name: Rose Lily Potter "Rose"]
[Title: The-Girl-Who-Lived]
Tom's mind went into overdrive again.
Regardless of her innocent doe eyes, this was The-Girl-Who-Lived.
Pawn of Fate. Eventual King- No. Queen on the Board.
The combat overlay flickered. And popped.
The world slowed down, seconds turned into minutes.
The world completely drained of colour into a monochrome as his brain began to heat up, blood pumping through capillaries.
His heart pounded. Straining to speed up oxygen and glucose transfer to the brain.
Combat assessment had to be thorough and detailed to pick out strengths and weakness. A few seconds to do much. But Tom had gained much in the duelling pits of Slytherin.
Checking out her features and body shape and extrapolating combat potential from that. The strongest Magicals were almost always the fittest and most attractive, if they had not yet been ruined from combat, age or experimentation, all of which required a prerequisite of power in the first place. Magic was the way of self-reinforcement, creating a physical [Halo Effect]. The fact that his admittedly limited experience and sample size even had a correlation showed he was onto something here.
Tom eyes roamed, eying her up and down. Taking in all the details.
The dirt on her face. Her bloody knees and torn stockings. The mud on her soaked and torn robes. And the fish [?] bone stuck in her hair.
He laughed a little. Fool girl slid down through the dirty pipes instead of taking the Float Platform like a civilised person.
He refocused his attention on her physical features.
Tom's experienced eye assessed her. He was used to guesstimating through the robes Magicals wore.
The signs were there for those who knew the ins and outs of combat.
Aurors did this in mere seconds in real time. He had to speed up his own perception.
Her hair was a flowing mess, like morning bedhead, tied into a ponytail. Rich in Raven black.
Her face had soft features, but a sharp jawline. An vaguely similar aristocratic nose stood below a pair of glowing green doe eyes, glinting behind a pair of hideous spectacles.
The girl had a bit of weight in her. But it seemed strangely unhealthy.
She was thin in some places like the limbs and had fat on places she shouldn't have.
It wasn't exactly unfit and it was hard to exactly describe, and there were signs of malnourishment.
As she slowly advanced through the corridor and moved into better lighting. He could see the ribs slightly sticking out from her chest through her wet school shirt. But her side profile had a curved swell that indicated the development of breasts and a rear.
Tom knew 12 was within the age puberty began for girls. But secondary sex characteristics took time to develop. Those curves were unnatural. As was the red gold lacy bra that was starting to show through. Gryffindors.
Considering her [Title], Tom was relatively sure her peers and surrounding social circle had strongly influenced her. An attractive witch was a strong witch, an ideal they subscribed to which was forcibly imposed on her. A 12 year old child.
But a child does not know what a healthy body image is. The mind then takes social cues from the environment to determine what is. Considering the vain girls and petty boys of Gryffindor...
To put it mildly, her fat stores were unevenly distributed.
Tom had a good gander at why she had the fat in the first place.
For he too experienced much the same for his first few Hogwarts years. Except his fat cells had been used up in bone and lean muscle production. Inducing height and swimmer build, giving him his attractive appearance.
This sudden forced change only happened if someone tried to eat as much as possible to gain weight in a short period of time. In stronger witches and wizards with strong willpower, they would unconsciously distribute excess fat to create an ideal body image. But this too, was a process that took place over time. When this was rushed, the result stood before him.
A misshapenly attractive child. Half adult, half starved waif.
Perhaps it was Not-Riddle talking but he sympathised with her.
Like a bear preparing for winter hibernation.
Tom too, had the habit of eating as much towards end of the year, putting on a bit of weight.
For both boy and girl would starve in the summer.
One fed with rations. Another with leftover scraps.
Because magic consumed their fat stores, not their hunger.
But they would survive till the term starts again.
Repetitive starvation till the last of their teenaged years.
Even if they both preferred a fully belly to a full appearance.
Tom's mind suddenly raged at those beasts who were starving a magical. A child no less.
Not Riddle had once heard of a saying. He couldn't properly recall the muggle saying but it went something like, I may disagree with you, but I will fight to the death for your right to disagree with me.
Tom supposed the same principle applied here. He might be possibly be mortal enemies with the Magical girl, but he would defend her Magical-given right to healthily grow up into that mortal enemy to the death.
Her disgusting muggle relatives was on his list now.
Indeed, it would seem to him that the muggles were still very much the same. Wallowing in the filth of uncivilisation.
Were they even aware of the possible consequences of the moon landing? Of the potential awakening of the Great One that is the Moon?
After all the Good Hunters had sacrificed, these pigs would piss upon their efforts?
No. Slytherin had the still right of things, even after a thousand years. Perhaps he would not take up the great work this time but-
With a sudden jarring [ENFORCED] sense of clarity, calm, and vanishing anger, Tom recalled his original objective and reached several conclusions.
Rose Potter might be malnourished and physically unfit but she was definitely not an average witch. That bedhead was the result of a strong magical aura.
With all the cosmetic charms that existed, there was no way for a girl to have bedhead. He knew of not one girl who did not take at least basic care of their appearance. Even more so for witches who only need a few flicks of the wand.
No, it was probably due to the dense thick magical aura that hung over her. Even standing several meters away, he could feel the crackle of gathering magic. This property of strong magic sometimes mimicked lightning, the elemental representation of pure power, manifesting in different individual variations.
Various Shacklebolts, a lineage of above-average Magicals would find sparks arcing between the tips of their fingers. In a more personal example, a strong witch like Bellatrix would find their hair frizzy with static as they gathered their magic.
And one could not mistake those softly glowing eyes for anything else.
The forcible self-induced body growth meant her magical power was within the top ten percentile of her age range. More importantly, it indicated her extreme vulnerability to social acceptance. Such changes required such a strong desire to fit in that one is magically self influenced into becoming what others expect of you. Just as he had once desired the acceptance of Slytherin house. It was even encouraged in lieu of Obscurials. No one preferred a magical disaster.
She was indeed similar to him at her age. Perhaps even equal. And this was the most important conclusion of all. It was validation of his decision. For if they were equals, then Fate was weaving her tapestry made of puppet strings.
If he could not sever these strings, then he would reappropriate them for him own purposes. Defeat only came when one gave up.
Despite his original plan going FUBAR. Tom was nothing if not determined and adaptable.
A dozen plans were thrown out of the window.
A half dozen more modified.
While his main plan re-solidified.
He would charm Rose Potter's mind, steal away her heart, and seduce her to his side.
He would become responsible for her, guide her, take care of her and become her everything.
Yes. This would be the end goal.
If Fate warped this into yet another Greek Tragedy, Tom could say at least he tried.
Tom thought it shouldn't be too hard. He did have his own sporting advantages of appearance and experience. Preteen crushes formed easily, and a girl always remembered her first time. Imagine if it were not pain associated with that memory but a drowning from pleasure.
This load of neural synapses firing would bind her more tightly than any spell ever could. Moreso if enhanced by the mind arts. One also couldn't leave out sacrificial rituals of virginity.
There was a reason why honeypotting has worked so well throughout history. Many a great wizard and witch were brought low and humbled by the base power of sex.
Grindelwald bound his lover, his only possible opponent with a blood pact, which he used to great effect as a deterrence.
The Madam Zabini is but the mere latest in her long lineage of black widows and succubae.
Even Fleur, the veela half breed snagged herself an [Eldest of Seven].
Tom would've disdained such base methods on anyone, least of all a mere girl.
But this was no mere girl. This was the Girl-Who-Lived, the one who conquered Voldemort in her Original and a thousand other Alternates.
Tom would learn from them, he who took over the Continent and they who are of the Richest of the British.
And that was just the vanilla side of things without getting into tantric rituals. Some of the things the Roman Magus of Old got up to were too hedonistic even for him, though he supposed that was due to his preferences for the more straightforward Dark Arts rather than the reality warping magic of wombs. It was a good thing the actual Warp did not exist, as far as he was aware.
Still, the concept persisted. A living anchor that was equal to him but bound to him alone, Tom liked the sound of that. He liked it very much.
Another barrier against death if he decides to not get rid of the horcrux within her.
He still hadn't peeked into her mind, so he wasn't sure of the difficulty of the challenge. After all, she was too a potential Slytherin. So young too, her personality still in flux, house traits still being nurtured, yet to sprout. He acknowledged that she was not yet a true lion, that there was a chance the concealed snake in her would see right through him.
But the best manipulations were those one could see coming from a hundred miles away, yet could do nothing about.
For what is greater than the need for acceptance by a dearly loved one?
Perhaps the bearded fool was onto something, even as it completely galled him to think that.
Still, canon Harry Potter's true desire at heart was to have a family. Ergo, this counterpart should be the same. It should be if the only change to canon was a genderflip. Unspoken was his desperate desire for this to indeed be canon and not some obscure fanfic. With a bit of denial, Not-Riddle resurfaced and banished the dreaded thought from Tom's mind. That way led to madness.
Not-Riddle was content at first, shotgun was indeed better than driving. But this was a bit creepy, even if it was a good plan. For the first time in his perceived while, Not-Riddle exercised his influence. The plan was good, but it needed bit of tweaking-
Tom thought that with his current form, perhaps the role of a protective adoptive big brother would be more suitable. For now.
It required minimal change from his perfect prefect mask. It was just easier to adapt.
Responsible. Guiding. CARING.
The world sped back up. Colour fading back into existence.
The combat overlay reentered his field of vision.
Once again adjusting his mask slightly. Tom heads back to the main chamber where the [Basilisk] is, his figure concealed by the snake statues.
Rose was still tiptoeing her way forward to the main chamber.
Smart girl. Cautious.
Tom quickly finds himself looking at the [Basilisk] in front .
It is enjoying itself, engorging itself on meat.
'Enjoy your last meal.' Tom thinks.
He takes aim and lets loose a [Reducto] at the water next the [Basilisk] head as it is eating.
He lets the spell of silence drop.
The [Basilisk] whips its head, facing him.
It is fully enraged.
Roaring out a shrieking hiss.
An overlay pops up. Steady footing on the slippery stone floor is covered in light green. Yellow covers the rest.
The [Basilisk] is outlined in scarlet danger red.
The red spikes, becoming more INTENSE.
The [Basilisk] lunges at him.
Tom, ever calm, takes three steps to the right.
As the [Basilisk] passes by a hairbreadths, a jutting spike scrapes his cheekbone.
He had miscalculated. He was rusty. A step short. No matter.
Tom doesn't bleed. Tom doesn't know why either.
The stink of the [Basilisk] pervades the air, a foul odour emanates from its mouth.
It bares two venom-filled fangs leading twin rows of snake teeth, hissing incomprehensibly at him.
Tom sticks to the plan. Killing it now is not the plan.
A twirl of the wand. A blast of energy hits the water.
A bloody stench arises. Where once was a pool of tepid cave water, now floats a bloody chunk of meat.
The blood stains the pool a dark red.
The [Basilisk] notices and lunges for the transfigured meat.
Another twirl.
And another.
Enough to keep the beast busy for short scant while.
Spinning on his heel, with his back straight and the demeanour of one who knows no defeat.
Tom confidently walks towards the still body of Ginevra Weasley and his diary, his horcrux.
With a flick and a silent [Wingardium Leviosa], she floats. Tom picks up his diary, any magic unable to affect it.
He looks for a nook, somewhere more out of the way. A suitable location for stage props.
He sets the body down, the diary next to it. Only a faint breath slightly misting indicates its status amongst the living.
His diary has to be next to her for the drain to continue.
He would've spirited it away if not.
Several clunking noises reverberated as the Vault Door Snake-locks release.
[Quietus] removes the sound of [Basilisk] tearing into meat.
It also removes the sound of his footsteps. The rustling of his robes.
Almost time.
Tom heads towards the entrance.
Finding a spot with a good vantage point is easy.
He conceals himself behind one of the many snake head statues.
He hates that his shoes and feet are soaked.
So unbecoming.
—————————————————————————————
The world stuttered. A bit of lag time.
A slightly baby-faced girl drops down from the ladder with a muffled humph.
With her wand out, she cautiously scans from side to side.
A yellow outline glows into existence, surrounding her.
Tom resisted some strange urge to squeal and pinch her baby cheeks.
Wait.
Wait.
Potter was a girl?
This little wisp of a girl killed the greatest wizard of all time?
[OBSERVE!!!]
[Name: Rose Lily Potter "Rose"]
[Name: Rose Lily Potter "Rose"]
What? Are you serious right now?
[OBSERVE!!!]
[Name: Rose Lily Potter "Rose"]
Fucking WHAT?
[OBSERVE!!!]
[Name: Rose Lily Potter "Rose"]
[OBSERVE!!!]
[Name: Rose Lily Potter "Rose"]
[OBSERVE!!!]
[Name: Rose Lily Potter "Rose"]
[OBSERVE!!!]
[Name: Rose Lily Potter "Rose"]
[Title: The-Girl-Who-Lived]
Tom's mind went into overdrive again.
Regardless of her innocent doe eyes, this was The-Girl-Who-Lived.
Pawn of Fate. Eventual King- No. Queen on the Board.
The combat overlay flickered. And popped.
The world slowed down, seconds turned into minutes.
The world completely drained of colour into a monochrome as his brain began to heat up, blood pumping through capillaries.
His heart pounded. Straining to speed up oxygen and glucose transfer to the brain.
Combat assessment had to be thorough and detailed to pick out strengths and weakness. A few seconds to do much. But Tom had gained much in the duelling pits of Slytherin.
Checking out her features and body shape and extrapolating combat potential from that. The strongest Magicals were almost always the fittest and most attractive, if they had not yet been ruined from combat, age or experimentation, all of which required a prerequisite of power in the first place. Magic was the way of self-reinforcement, creating a physical [Halo Effect]. The fact that his admittedly limited experience and sample size even had a correlation showed he was onto something here.
Tom eyes roamed, eying her up and down. Taking in all the details.
The dirt on her face. Her bloody knees and torn stockings. The mud on her soaked and torn robes. And the fish [?] bone stuck in her hair.
He laughed a little. Fool girl slid down through the dirty pipes instead of taking the Float Platform like a civilised person.
He refocused his attention on her physical features.
Tom's experienced eye assessed her. He was used to guesstimating through the robes Magicals wore.
The signs were there for those who knew the ins and outs of combat.
Aurors did this in mere seconds in real time. He had to speed up his own perception.
Her hair was a flowing mess, like morning bedhead, tied into a ponytail. Rich in Raven black.
Her face had soft features, but a sharp jawline. An vaguely similar aristocratic nose stood below a pair of glowing green doe eyes, glinting behind a pair of hideous spectacles.
The girl had a bit of weight in her. But it seemed strangely unhealthy.
She was thin in some places like the limbs and had fat on places she shouldn't have.
It wasn't exactly unfit and it was hard to exactly describe, and there were signs of malnourishment.
As she slowly advanced through the corridor and moved into better lighting. He could see the ribs slightly sticking out from her chest through her wet school shirt. But her side profile had a curved swell that indicated the development of breasts and a rear.
Tom knew 12 was within the age puberty began for girls. But secondary sex characteristics took time to develop. Those curves were unnatural. As was the red gold lacy bra that was starting to show through. Gryffindors.
Considering her [Title], Tom was relatively sure her peers and surrounding social circle had strongly influenced her. An attractive witch was a strong witch, an ideal they subscribed to which was forcibly imposed on her. A 12 year old child.
But a child does not know what a healthy body image is. The mind then takes social cues from the environment to determine what is. Considering the vain girls and petty boys of Gryffindor...
To put it mildly, her fat stores were unevenly distributed.
Tom had a good gander at why she had the fat in the first place.
For he too experienced much the same for his first few Hogwarts years. Except his fat cells had been used up in bone and lean muscle production. Inducing height and swimmer build, giving him his attractive appearance.
This sudden forced change only happened if someone tried to eat as much as possible to gain weight in a short period of time. In stronger witches and wizards with strong willpower, they would unconsciously distribute excess fat to create an ideal body image. But this too, was a process that took place over time. When this was rushed, the result stood before him.
A misshapenly attractive child. Half adult, half starved waif.
Perhaps it was Not-Riddle talking but he sympathised with her.
Like a bear preparing for winter hibernation.
Tom too, had the habit of eating as much towards end of the year, putting on a bit of weight.
For both boy and girl would starve in the summer.
One fed with rations. Another with leftover scraps.
Because magic consumed their fat stores, not their hunger.
But they would survive till the term starts again.
Repetitive starvation till the last of their teenaged years.
Even if they both preferred a fully belly to a full appearance.
Tom's mind suddenly raged at those beasts who were starving a magical. A child no less.
Not Riddle had once heard of a saying. He couldn't properly recall the muggle saying but it went something like, I may disagree with you, but I will fight to the death for your right to disagree with me.
Tom supposed the same principle applied here. He might be possibly be mortal enemies with the Magical girl, but he would defend her Magical-given right to healthily grow up into that mortal enemy to the death.
Her disgusting muggle relatives was on his list now.
Indeed, it would seem to him that the muggles were still very much the same. Wallowing in the filth of uncivilisation.
Were they even aware of the possible consequences of the moon landing? Of the potential awakening of the Great One that is the Moon?
After all the Good Hunters had sacrificed, these pigs would piss upon their efforts?
No. Slytherin had the still right of things, even after a thousand years. Perhaps he would not take up the great work this time but-
With a sudden jarring [ENFORCED] sense of clarity, calm, and vanishing anger, Tom recalled his original objective and reached several conclusions.
Rose Potter might be malnourished and physically unfit but she was definitely not an average witch. That bedhead was the result of a strong magical aura.
With all the cosmetic charms that existed, there was no way for a girl to have bedhead. He knew of not one girl who did not take at least basic care of their appearance. Even more so for witches who only need a few flicks of the wand.
No, it was probably due to the dense thick magical aura that hung over her. Even standing several meters away, he could feel the crackle of gathering magic. This property of strong magic sometimes mimicked lightning, the elemental representation of pure power, manifesting in different individual variations.
Various Shacklebolts, a lineage of above-average Magicals would find sparks arcing between the tips of their fingers. In a more personal example, a strong witch like Bellatrix would find their hair frizzy with static as they gathered their magic.
And one could not mistake those softly glowing eyes for anything else.
The forcible self-induced body growth meant her magical power was within the top ten percentile of her age range. More importantly, it indicated her extreme vulnerability to social acceptance. Such changes required such a strong desire to fit in that one is magically self influenced into becoming what others expect of you. Just as he had once desired the acceptance of Slytherin house. It was even encouraged in lieu of Obscurials. No one preferred a magical disaster.
She was indeed similar to him at her age. Perhaps even equal. And this was the most important conclusion of all. It was validation of his decision. For if they were equals, then Fate was weaving her tapestry made of puppet strings.
If he could not sever these strings, then he would reappropriate them for him own purposes. Defeat only came when one gave up.
Despite his original plan going FUBAR. Tom was nothing if not determined and adaptable.
A dozen plans were thrown out of the window.
A half dozen more modified.
While his main plan re-solidified.
He would charm Rose Potter's mind, steal away her heart, and seduce her to his side.
He would become responsible for her, guide her, take care of her and become her everything.
Yes. This would be the end goal.
If Fate warped this into yet another Greek Tragedy, Tom could say at least he tried.
Tom thought it shouldn't be too hard. He did have his own sporting advantages of appearance and experience. Preteen crushes formed easily, and a girl always remembered her first time. Imagine if it were not pain associated with that memory but a drowning from pleasure.
This load of neural synapses firing would bind her more tightly than any spell ever could. Moreso if enhanced by the mind arts. One also couldn't leave out sacrificial rituals of virginity.
There was a reason why honeypotting has worked so well throughout history. Many a great wizard and witch were brought low and humbled by the base power of sex.
Grindelwald bound his lover, his only possible opponent with a blood pact, which he used to great effect as a deterrence.
The Madam Zabini is but the mere latest in her long lineage of black widows and succubae.
Even Fleur, the veela half breed snagged herself an [Eldest of Seven].
Tom would've disdained such base methods on anyone, least of all a mere girl.
But this was no mere girl. This was the Girl-Who-Lived, the one who conquered Voldemort in her Original and a thousand other Alternates.
Tom would learn from them, he who took over the Continent and they who are of the Richest of the British.
And that was just the vanilla side of things without getting into tantric rituals. Some of the things the Roman Magus of Old got up to were too hedonistic even for him, though he supposed that was due to his preferences for the more straightforward Dark Arts rather than the reality warping magic of wombs. It was a good thing the actual Warp did not exist, as far as he was aware.
Still, the concept persisted. A living anchor that was equal to him but bound to him alone, Tom liked the sound of that. He liked it very much.
Another barrier against death if he decides to not get rid of the horcrux within her.
He still hadn't peeked into her mind, so he wasn't sure of the difficulty of the challenge. After all, she was too a potential Slytherin. So young too, her personality still in flux, house traits still being nurtured, yet to sprout. He acknowledged that she was not yet a true lion, that there was a chance the concealed snake in her would see right through him.
But the best manipulations were those one could see coming from a hundred miles away, yet could do nothing about.
For what is greater than the need for acceptance by a dearly loved one?
Perhaps the bearded fool was onto something, even as it completely galled him to think that.
Still, canon Harry Potter's true desire at heart was to have a family. Ergo, this counterpart should be the same. It should be if the only change to canon was a genderflip. Unspoken was his desperate desire for this to indeed be canon and not some obscure fanfic. With a bit of denial, Not-Riddle resurfaced and banished the dreaded thought from Tom's mind. That way led to madness.
Not-Riddle was content at first, shotgun was indeed better than driving. But this was a bit creepy, even if it was a good plan. For the first time in his perceived while, Not-Riddle exercised his influence. The plan was good, but it needed bit of tweaking-
Tom thought that with his current form, perhaps the role of a protective adoptive big brother would be more suitable. For now.
It required minimal change from his perfect prefect mask. It was just easier to adapt.
Responsible. Guiding. CARING.
The world sped back up. Colour fading back into existence.
The combat overlay reentered his field of vision.
Once again adjusting his mask slightly. Tom heads back to the main chamber where the [Basilisk] is, his figure concealed by the snake statues.
Rose was still tiptoeing her way forward to the main chamber.
Smart girl. Cautious.
Tom quickly finds himself looking at the [Basilisk] in front .
It is enjoying itself, engorging itself on meat.
'Enjoy your last meal.' Tom thinks.
He takes aim and lets loose a [Reducto] at the water next the [Basilisk] head as it is eating.
He lets the spell of silence drop.
The [Basilisk] whips its head, facing him.
It is fully enraged.
Roaring out a shrieking hiss.
Chapter 4 - HTWF&IP
- Location
- InTheWinterLand
Tom starts strafing, sidestepping to the right.
Forcing the Basilisk to keep its head on a swivel.
To the side to the side Tom goes.
Feet sliding and gliding. Never off tilt. His wand at the ready.
A right foot forward. A left foot slide.
It lunges once more, missing as Tom gracefully dodges.
Tom recovers, a duelists stance.
Footwork. Footwork.
Footwork was key. A key to balance.
4 steps this time.
His head sharply leans to the right.
A featherlight brush against his cheek.
Perfection.
It ruffles his hair.
Annoyance.
Perfect hair took perfect effort.
A half step more next time.
A continuing rush of wind and scaled mottle green flesh.
Stone crumbles.
The beast has gotten itself stuck in the wall.
A smirk from Tom.
Taking advantage of this opportunity.
Tom starts casting [Gemini] on himself. A spell of his own creation.
A modified [Geminio] that can be casted on the living, creating a soulless, insentient, but animate copy linked to the original mind that lasts for 5 minutes. Tom didn't much like his creation. Long cast time. And copies had a 4/5 chance of being a gibbering mess.
Success though.
5 minutes.
More than enough.
The copy sprouts from his finger.
Tom gives his copy a nod.
It nods back, the instructions in its mind holding.
The copy takes Ginevras wand and taps Tom on the head, an egg cracking from a cast disillusionment charm.
The copy turns and taunts the [Basilisk] in parseltongue.
Apparently the mother of the [Basilisk] was but a [Wall-Lizard], not even worth a snack.
Not his best insult. But Not-Riddle was raised right. Foulness may come but stays in his mind.
Tom and his copy may not be able to parse the words of the [Basilisk] but it was able to understand them.
It shrieked again, angered despite the fact that it was borne from chicken and toad.
The copy brazenly laughs and scoffs at the [Basilisk], walking towards one of the various tunnels set into the walls of the chamber.
With his back turned, the copy flicks the wand.
Water rises and solidifies into an icy spike.
Another flick.
The spike shatters against the resistant scales.
It didn't do anything. But no matter.
He means to lead the [Basilisk] on a wild goose chase.
The [Basilisk] falls for it. Rushing after the copy. Slithering ensues.
Toms eyes steadfastly tracks the [Basilisk] movement. Making sure.
It is a snake.
Constant vigilance.
Tom makes his way to the front of the red-haired idiot. Pretending to be standing guard.
Making use of his last few seconds.
Tom quickly dives into his memories. Recalling the lines from the script and book.
If the girl led with the book, he would finish with the book.
If it was lines from the movies, then with movie lines he'd reply.
He was somewhat out of his element here, having to actually charm a young girl.
Tom did followers, servants, sycophants, not girls and whatever this was.
Tom demanded support. Not help. Not assistance. Support.
Not-Riddle half cried half laughed. Ultimately sending over some of his experience.
He face softened, becoming more genuine.
Rushed footsteps come from behind him.
Pulling his mask up, his facial features morph into intense worry and concern.
His silver tongue twists, preparing for eloquence. Persuasion. Influence.
—————————————————————————————————————————
Rose Lily Potter rushes to the side of Ginevra Weasley. Her heart beating a hundred miles a minute.
She falls onto her bloody knees as her wand clatters on the ground next to her.
Tom internally winces. He was never one for pain. Tom is sympathetic.
"GINNY! Oh Ginny! Please don't be dead! Wake up WAKE UP!"
"Please wake up!"
The red hair swayed as her head lolled hopelessly from side to side.
Her voice is strangely husky. Damaged vocal cords? Tom isn't sure, but he notes it down.
However. He did get confirmation.
Movie lines it was. The 'Oh' was in only in the movies. The devil in the details.
His disillusionment fades, as he seeming materialises beside her.
Tom with his visage of worry, speaks up.
"She won't wake."
He adds some emotions to the mix, slight fear and additional concern.
Her face is one of surprise and recognition. There was desperation deep in her eyes.
"Tom."
"Tom Riddle."
"Wha-What d'you mean, she won't wake! She's not-"
Tom cuts her off, putting a finger to Ginevra's neck for a pulse. Subtly checking the timer.
Damn. The counter somehow increased. It must've been when he moved the two out of the way.
Magic on the body, a levitation charm. Diary in hand.
It didn't break the process, but Tom has a feeling he won't be so lucky next time.
"She's still alive. But only just."
Rose stared at Tom, confused with sudden realisation. Tom Riddle was 50 years ago.
But here he stood, handsome and not a day older than sixteen.
Uncertain, she spoke up.
"A-Are you a ghost?"
Honestly is the best policy. Tom was confident he could twist it.
"A memory. Preserved in a diary for fifty years." Tom quietly said.
Voice honey sweet, laced with guilt with a dash of regret. Not-Riddle had once bartended for 3 months.
He points at the diary next to Ginevra.
Rose doesn't have the time to wonder about it.
She grabs Ginevras hand.
"She's cold as ice!"
"Ginny, please don't be dead!"
"Wake up!"
"You've got to help me Tom, there's a BASILISK!"
She manages to hoist Ginevra up, holding her by the shoulder.
Her face is one of slight fear, an intense look as she stares into Toms eyes.
Tom likes that look of resistance. He resists the urge of the Mind Arts. He can't be distracted here.
Sss~sShowtime.
Ha! Let's wreck this joint.
"I know. It's not here for now. I've spelled it away. But it won't last."
Tom leans down, picking up Rose's wand, giving it a twirl between his long fingers. Internally scolding her for letting go.
Bright sparks suddenly fill the room. No surprise there. Brother wands. It fits him like a silken glove from a long lost lover.
Once again with a true wand in hand. Tom feels more confident than he has in the past few minutes, more confident than ever.
"Give me my wand, Tom."
Roses staring eyes start to fill with suspicion, her tone possessive of her symbolic link to the magical world.
Tom couldn't help but wryly grin. He fingers it again and gives it a twirl. Can't help that showmanship.
"You won't be needing it." He drawls.
Tom can see the refusal in her eyes. The desperation is spreading, colouring her gaze. Tom loves it.
"Listen to me Tom! we've got to go, We've got to save her!"
'Listen to you Rose?' he thought.
Yes.
Finally.
The first changes. Extra words in the dialogue. Start small, grow big.
Let's go.
Rose almost collapses, unable to support Ginevra's weight. She gently lets the girl back down onto the stone floor.
She looks at Tom with a plea in her green eyes.
Tom continues the play. A actor delivering his lines with an absolute Oscar worthy performance.
"I'm afraid I can't do that, Rose. Not just yet."
"You see, if Ginny Weasley leaves this room. The Basilisk leaves with her."
"We both know what will happen. It will get into Hogwarts."
"I will always be a Hogwarts Prefect. Even now. I can't- Rose, I can't just let her leave."
"NO!"
"I'm sorry Rose. It was Ginny Weasley who opened the Chamber of Secrets."
She's scared now. The beginnings of despair. The taste is in the air.
An unnoticeable lick of his lips. Nerves.
Break them down and build them up greater than before.
"No. She couldn't. She wouldn't. I KNOW GINNY."
Tom cut her off angrily.
"I saw it all, Rose, I was with her the entire time."
"It was Ginny who set the Basilisk on the muggleborn and Filch's Cat. Ginny who wrote threatening messages on the walls."
The confusion was palpable. Rose Potter simply couldn't envision Ginny Weasley doing that. Not a friend. Never a friend. Potter had always been loyal. Especially to her friends.
"WHY?" she whispered harshly in disbelief. Still aware of the threat, lurking in the chambers.
Tom grinned underneath his mask.
He's got her hooked. Time to reel it in.
"Because she's been cursed. No doubt, You'll learn about in fourth year. Magic is as wondrous as it is dangerous. Charming others with intent to harm does not even make top 10 on the list."
"You didn't think that Voldemort and his ideals were really gone did you? No, his philosophies were not his. They existed long before his rise. I've felt the sting of those beliefs. They persist today, as evidenced by our presence here and now."
"You think Voldemort is the only one who hates the muggleborn? Think AGAIN, Rose. Use that bright mind of yours I know you have. Think."
"I've been stuck in the diary for so long. I barely know of the world. You do."
"Rose. You've been in this world for years now. You know more than I do."
"THINK. Who stands to gain the most? Why did Ginny have this Diary? It's a cursed artefact. It should be under lock and key. Any ADULT wizard knows this. Then, who put this in the hands of this unLUCky firstie? Who could be so MALicIOUS? Who would deal in such bad faith? To ruin a child's JOY."
"Because I'm not sure it could be anything else. One does not stumble upon a cursed artefact like this willy nilly. All prefects know this. All adults know this."
Tom begins spinning his web. Half-truths. Not-lies.
Tom gives her a helpless look. He's at the end of his wits.
A Sixth Year Prefect, sworn to help the students of Hogwarts. But Powerless here and now.
Roses eyes began to clear up. She was accepting him. Accepting HIS truth.
The seeds were there, about to sprout.
But he couldn't let it. She'd be suspicious if she came to a conclusion so soon. She'd notice his leading questions.
Abused children were bright. Inherently Suspicious. That was how they survived. How Tom survived.
A distraction was needed. Power dynamics. Don't let up.
Maintain control of the conversation.
Use her name. Cultivate intimacy.
Tom gave her a small smile.
"I see you have an idea."
"TOM! I think I know who it is, I think-"
"Stop."
Using the 'Big Brother' tone he borrowed from Not-Riddle.
Tom interrupted before she could finish.
"No. Rose, you don't need to tell me now. We can figure it out after we get out of here."
"But for now. No distractions. We still have a Basilisk in here with us."
She looked unsure. But still accepted his words.
"Also. A word of advice for the future. Rose, you have to be wary. In our world, Magical knowledge is dangerous. Sometimes literally so."
"Some things you should know. Some things you are better off in ignorance. Rose. The trick is figuring which is which."
"The sooner you learn this. The better off you'll be."
His expression was that of a stern senior who knew best. Taking care of their little juniors.
Roses eyes glinted in the dim light. A micro-expression.
Her face resumes.
She didn't expect him to catch her.
Tom knows that look. He sees it in the reflection sometimes. When Tom plays the human.
'Well, Well, Well~ The young hatchling has come out to play.'
Tom was enjoying this. Immensely. He was actually enjoying it.
Forcing the Basilisk to keep its head on a swivel.
To the side to the side Tom goes.
Feet sliding and gliding. Never off tilt. His wand at the ready.
A right foot forward. A left foot slide.
It lunges once more, missing as Tom gracefully dodges.
Tom recovers, a duelists stance.
Footwork. Footwork.
Footwork was key. A key to balance.
4 steps this time.
His head sharply leans to the right.
A featherlight brush against his cheek.
Perfection.
It ruffles his hair.
Annoyance.
Perfect hair took perfect effort.
A half step more next time.
A continuing rush of wind and scaled mottle green flesh.
BANG!
Stone crumbles.
The beast has gotten itself stuck in the wall.
A smirk from Tom.
Taking advantage of this opportunity.
Tom starts casting [Gemini] on himself. A spell of his own creation.
A modified [Geminio] that can be casted on the living, creating a soulless, insentient, but animate copy linked to the original mind that lasts for 5 minutes. Tom didn't much like his creation. Long cast time. And copies had a 4/5 chance of being a gibbering mess.
Success though.
5 minutes.
More than enough.
The copy sprouts from his finger.
Tom gives his copy a nod.
It nods back, the instructions in its mind holding.
The copy takes Ginevras wand and taps Tom on the head, an egg cracking from a cast disillusionment charm.
The copy turns and taunts the [Basilisk] in parseltongue.
Apparently the mother of the [Basilisk] was but a [Wall-Lizard], not even worth a snack.
Not his best insult. But Not-Riddle was raised right. Foulness may come but stays in his mind.
Tom and his copy may not be able to parse the words of the [Basilisk] but it was able to understand them.
It shrieked again, angered despite the fact that it was borne from chicken and toad.
The copy brazenly laughs and scoffs at the [Basilisk], walking towards one of the various tunnels set into the walls of the chamber.
With his back turned, the copy flicks the wand.
Water rises and solidifies into an icy spike.
Another flick.
The spike shatters against the resistant scales.
It didn't do anything. But no matter.
He means to lead the [Basilisk] on a wild goose chase.
The [Basilisk] falls for it. Rushing after the copy. Slithering ensues.
Toms eyes steadfastly tracks the [Basilisk] movement. Making sure.
It is a snake.
Constant vigilance.
Tom makes his way to the front of the red-haired idiot. Pretending to be standing guard.
Making use of his last few seconds.
Tom quickly dives into his memories. Recalling the lines from the script and book.
If the girl led with the book, he would finish with the book.
If it was lines from the movies, then with movie lines he'd reply.
He was somewhat out of his element here, having to actually charm a young girl.
Tom did followers, servants, sycophants, not girls and whatever this was.
Tom demanded support. Not help. Not assistance. Support.
Not-Riddle half cried half laughed. Ultimately sending over some of his experience.
He face softened, becoming more genuine.
Rushed footsteps come from behind him.
Pulling his mask up, his facial features morph into intense worry and concern.
His silver tongue twists, preparing for eloquence. Persuasion. Influence.
—————————————————————————————————————————
Rose Lily Potter rushes to the side of Ginevra Weasley. Her heart beating a hundred miles a minute.
She falls onto her bloody knees as her wand clatters on the ground next to her.
Tom internally winces. He was never one for pain. Tom is sympathetic.
"GINNY! Oh Ginny! Please don't be dead! Wake up WAKE UP!"
"Please wake up!"
The red hair swayed as her head lolled hopelessly from side to side.
Her voice is strangely husky. Damaged vocal cords? Tom isn't sure, but he notes it down.
However. He did get confirmation.
Movie lines it was. The 'Oh' was in only in the movies. The devil in the details.
His disillusionment fades, as he seeming materialises beside her.
Tom with his visage of worry, speaks up.
"She won't wake."
He adds some emotions to the mix, slight fear and additional concern.
Her face is one of surprise and recognition. There was desperation deep in her eyes.
"Tom."
"Tom Riddle."
"Wha-What d'you mean, she won't wake! She's not-"
Tom cuts her off, putting a finger to Ginevra's neck for a pulse. Subtly checking the timer.
[Life Drain in Progress. Remaining Time: 06:39 min.]
Damn. The counter somehow increased. It must've been when he moved the two out of the way.
Magic on the body, a levitation charm. Diary in hand.
It didn't break the process, but Tom has a feeling he won't be so lucky next time.
"She's still alive. But only just."
Rose stared at Tom, confused with sudden realisation. Tom Riddle was 50 years ago.
But here he stood, handsome and not a day older than sixteen.
Uncertain, she spoke up.
"A-Are you a ghost?"
Honestly is the best policy. Tom was confident he could twist it.
"A memory. Preserved in a diary for fifty years." Tom quietly said.
Voice honey sweet, laced with guilt with a dash of regret. Not-Riddle had once bartended for 3 months.
He points at the diary next to Ginevra.
Rose doesn't have the time to wonder about it.
She grabs Ginevras hand.
"She's cold as ice!"
"Ginny, please don't be dead!"
"Wake up!"
"You've got to help me Tom, there's a BASILISK!"
She manages to hoist Ginevra up, holding her by the shoulder.
Her face is one of slight fear, an intense look as she stares into Toms eyes.
Tom likes that look of resistance. He resists the urge of the Mind Arts. He can't be distracted here.
Sss~sShowtime.
Ha! Let's wreck this joint.
"I know. It's not here for now. I've spelled it away. But it won't last."
Tom leans down, picking up Rose's wand, giving it a twirl between his long fingers. Internally scolding her for letting go.
Bright sparks suddenly fill the room. No surprise there. Brother wands. It fits him like a silken glove from a long lost lover.
Once again with a true wand in hand. Tom feels more confident than he has in the past few minutes, more confident than ever.
"Give me my wand, Tom."
Roses staring eyes start to fill with suspicion, her tone possessive of her symbolic link to the magical world.
Tom couldn't help but wryly grin. He fingers it again and gives it a twirl. Can't help that showmanship.
"You won't be needing it." He drawls.
Tom can see the refusal in her eyes. The desperation is spreading, colouring her gaze. Tom loves it.
"Listen to me Tom! we've got to go, We've got to save her!"
'Listen to you Rose?' he thought.
Yes.
Finally.
The first changes. Extra words in the dialogue. Start small, grow big.
Let's go.
Rose almost collapses, unable to support Ginevra's weight. She gently lets the girl back down onto the stone floor.
She looks at Tom with a plea in her green eyes.
Tom continues the play. A actor delivering his lines with an absolute Oscar worthy performance.
"I'm afraid I can't do that, Rose. Not just yet."
"You see, if Ginny Weasley leaves this room. The Basilisk leaves with her."
"We both know what will happen. It will get into Hogwarts."
"I will always be a Hogwarts Prefect. Even now. I can't- Rose, I can't just let her leave."
"NO!"
"I'm sorry Rose. It was Ginny Weasley who opened the Chamber of Secrets."
She's scared now. The beginnings of despair. The taste is in the air.
An unnoticeable lick of his lips. Nerves.
Break them down and build them up greater than before.
"No. She couldn't. She wouldn't. I KNOW GINNY."
Tom cut her off angrily.
"I saw it all, Rose, I was with her the entire time."
"It was Ginny who set the Basilisk on the muggleborn and Filch's Cat. Ginny who wrote threatening messages on the walls."
The confusion was palpable. Rose Potter simply couldn't envision Ginny Weasley doing that. Not a friend. Never a friend. Potter had always been loyal. Especially to her friends.
"WHY?" she whispered harshly in disbelief. Still aware of the threat, lurking in the chambers.
Tom grinned underneath his mask.
He's got her hooked. Time to reel it in.
"Because she's been cursed. No doubt, You'll learn about in fourth year. Magic is as wondrous as it is dangerous. Charming others with intent to harm does not even make top 10 on the list."
"You didn't think that Voldemort and his ideals were really gone did you? No, his philosophies were not his. They existed long before his rise. I've felt the sting of those beliefs. They persist today, as evidenced by our presence here and now."
"You think Voldemort is the only one who hates the muggleborn? Think AGAIN, Rose. Use that bright mind of yours I know you have. Think."
"I've been stuck in the diary for so long. I barely know of the world. You do."
"Rose. You've been in this world for years now. You know more than I do."
"THINK. Who stands to gain the most? Why did Ginny have this Diary? It's a cursed artefact. It should be under lock and key. Any ADULT wizard knows this. Then, who put this in the hands of this unLUCky firstie? Who could be so MALicIOUS? Who would deal in such bad faith? To ruin a child's JOY."
"Because I'm not sure it could be anything else. One does not stumble upon a cursed artefact like this willy nilly. All prefects know this. All adults know this."
Tom begins spinning his web. Half-truths. Not-lies.
Tom gives her a helpless look. He's at the end of his wits.
A Sixth Year Prefect, sworn to help the students of Hogwarts. But Powerless here and now.
Roses eyes began to clear up. She was accepting him. Accepting HIS truth.
The seeds were there, about to sprout.
But he couldn't let it. She'd be suspicious if she came to a conclusion so soon. She'd notice his leading questions.
Abused children were bright. Inherently Suspicious. That was how they survived. How Tom survived.
A distraction was needed. Power dynamics. Don't let up.
Maintain control of the conversation.
Use her name. Cultivate intimacy.
Tom gave her a small smile.
"I see you have an idea."
"TOM! I think I know who it is, I think-"
"Stop."
Using the 'Big Brother' tone he borrowed from Not-Riddle.
Tom interrupted before she could finish.
"No. Rose, you don't need to tell me now. We can figure it out after we get out of here."
"But for now. No distractions. We still have a Basilisk in here with us."
She looked unsure. But still accepted his words.
"Also. A word of advice for the future. Rose, you have to be wary. In our world, Magical knowledge is dangerous. Sometimes literally so."
"Some things you should know. Some things you are better off in ignorance. Rose. The trick is figuring which is which."
"The sooner you learn this. The better off you'll be."
His expression was that of a stern senior who knew best. Taking care of their little juniors.
Roses eyes glinted in the dim light. A micro-expression.
Her face resumes.
She didn't expect him to catch her.
Tom knows that look. He sees it in the reflection sometimes. When Tom plays the human.
'Well, Well, Well~ The young hatchling has come out to play.'
Tom was enjoying this. Immensely. He was actually enjoying it.
Pictures
- Location
- InTheWinterLand
All credit goes to original artists.
Let's see if I can't turn T.M.R. from a irredeemable monster in human skin into an actual human being.
Tom Marvolo Riddle (Chapter 1)
Rose Lily Potter (Chapter 3)
Let's see if I can't turn T.M.R. from a irredeemable monster in human skin into an actual human being.
Tom Marvolo Riddle (Chapter 1)
The Basilisk in the Chamber
- Location
- InTheWinterLand
Basilisk roar at 0:35 and 1:35.
Basilisk lunges at 0:41 and 0:46
Can't believe how good the CGI is even after 17 years.
Video
Basilisk lunges at 0:41 and 0:46
Can't believe how good the CGI is even after 17 years.
Video
Reading Glasses
- Location
- InTheWinterLand
I guess these are the lenses through which I understand Riddle and Harry.
Don't read if you want to draw your own conclusions and interpretations of this Tom.
Really, don't do it. Lol. Some stuff here might even be offensive to some people.
Don't read if you want to draw your own conclusions and interpretations of this Tom.
Really, don't do it. Lol. Some stuff here might even be offensive to some people.
Tom Marvolo Riddle
Harry Potter (Rose Lily Potter)
I see Tom Riddle more as a product of his times more than just unfortunate genetics. BUT.
If you study psychology, then you learn that genetics can actually create psychopaths. Traits of insanity have been proven to be passed down. A study on serial killers I can't recall.
Still, now we have the base line. Insanity from the Gaunts.
Already not a very good start. Still, people with "insanity DNA" actually do turn out fine with a normal upbringing.
Emphasis on normal. Filled with love, affection and social links that makes a healthy mind.
Then we get Tom, whose is an Orphan. Bullied from young. The guys formative years was during WWII.
Millions died and he lived in the muggle world. He understood the scale, unlike a pureblood.
Life is cheap to him because the world told him it was cheap. Life has no value because Hitlers SS gasses Jews, while Japs rape the Koreans in Nanking. Meanwhile, millions die of starvation in the Soviet Union. And in person, Tom realised just how close he was to death, how close he was too getting his head blown off by a Nazi bomb.
If that was happening with the muggles. Can you just imagine just what atrocities Grindelwald was committing? This is the guy who I assume "created" Hitler.
This is the Era Riddle grows up in. It's entirely unsurprising he turns into a psycho.
To be completely honest, Riddle is tame for who he is.
Canon figures states british population is 3k, of which 1k is hogwarts students.
Bullshit.
Let's just go with a ballpark figure of 60k instead. Seems more reasonable. Assume Riddle killed 25 percent of the population off.
Unlikely considering guerilla tactics, but eh. Pseudo maths.
That's 15k deaths.
WW2 British casualties were 450k.
Tom managed to do 0.03% compared to WWII. Yeah, like I said. Tame. If we're looking at lives as numbers.
He is a villain by fate of defeat.
They'd be screaming his name if his faction won.
See, in my story, the problem is when Riddle gained metaknowledge and witnessed the extensive fictive content in our world. At least the stuff the SI read.
So, the logical flow goes like this.
All stories must follow a plot.
TMR is a story character.
TMR is real.
All other story world's are real.
Voldemort or Riddle always dies, even in 90% of fanfiction.
Ergo. TMRs fate is to die.
The entire thing is irrational. But he's got fucking magic and time travel. The question is more why wouldn't he believe.
Moving on, as a sentient being, he wants to live.
We're not even mentioning his obsession with death.
Tom actually plans to seduce a 12 year old. He has absolutely no qualms. Hes creeping on her not because she's a girl. He's creeping on her for what she represents. Denial of Fate.
Where does this obsession with fate come from? I'm giving Tom a second hidden motivation.
One can't narrowly escape from death without some sort of belief in a higher power. However, God says to burn the witch so that's out. He hasn't been introduced to Merlin so that's out again. Then let's just go with Fate. It'd make sense for teenage Tom. It'd be something that would get him through the raids. At least that's what I think. That your Fate is to survive the war. Being magical would reinforce that belief.
That Tom survives an insanity encounter and is graced by a outworlder all but utterly and irreversibly sets his belief in stone.
Honestly, TMR would do the creep on an old lady of 70 years if it meant the same. You can bet he'd fucking find the fountain of youth. Lol
If you study psychology, then you learn that genetics can actually create psychopaths. Traits of insanity have been proven to be passed down. A study on serial killers I can't recall.
Still, now we have the base line. Insanity from the Gaunts.
Already not a very good start. Still, people with "insanity DNA" actually do turn out fine with a normal upbringing.
Emphasis on normal. Filled with love, affection and social links that makes a healthy mind.
Then we get Tom, whose is an Orphan. Bullied from young. The guys formative years was during WWII.
Millions died and he lived in the muggle world. He understood the scale, unlike a pureblood.
Life is cheap to him because the world told him it was cheap. Life has no value because Hitlers SS gasses Jews, while Japs rape the Koreans in Nanking. Meanwhile, millions die of starvation in the Soviet Union. And in person, Tom realised just how close he was to death, how close he was too getting his head blown off by a Nazi bomb.
If that was happening with the muggles. Can you just imagine just what atrocities Grindelwald was committing? This is the guy who I assume "created" Hitler.
This is the Era Riddle grows up in. It's entirely unsurprising he turns into a psycho.
To be completely honest, Riddle is tame for who he is.
Canon figures states british population is 3k, of which 1k is hogwarts students.
Bullshit.
Let's just go with a ballpark figure of 60k instead. Seems more reasonable. Assume Riddle killed 25 percent of the population off.
Unlikely considering guerilla tactics, but eh. Pseudo maths.
That's 15k deaths.
WW2 British casualties were 450k.
Tom managed to do 0.03% compared to WWII. Yeah, like I said. Tame. If we're looking at lives as numbers.
He is a villain by fate of defeat.
They'd be screaming his name if his faction won.
See, in my story, the problem is when Riddle gained metaknowledge and witnessed the extensive fictive content in our world. At least the stuff the SI read.
So, the logical flow goes like this.
All stories must follow a plot.
TMR is a story character.
TMR is real.
All other story world's are real.
Voldemort or Riddle always dies, even in 90% of fanfiction.
Ergo. TMRs fate is to die.
The entire thing is irrational. But he's got fucking magic and time travel. The question is more why wouldn't he believe.
Moving on, as a sentient being, he wants to live.
We're not even mentioning his obsession with death.
Tom actually plans to seduce a 12 year old. He has absolutely no qualms. Hes creeping on her not because she's a girl. He's creeping on her for what she represents. Denial of Fate.
Where does this obsession with fate come from? I'm giving Tom a second hidden motivation.
One can't narrowly escape from death without some sort of belief in a higher power. However, God says to burn the witch so that's out. He hasn't been introduced to Merlin so that's out again. Then let's just go with Fate. It'd make sense for teenage Tom. It'd be something that would get him through the raids. At least that's what I think. That your Fate is to survive the war. Being magical would reinforce that belief.
That Tom survives an insanity encounter and is graced by a outworlder all but utterly and irreversibly sets his belief in stone.
Honestly, TMR would do the creep on an old lady of 70 years if it meant the same. You can bet he'd fucking find the fountain of youth. Lol
Harry Potter (Rose Lily Potter)
I've always thought Harry had some sort of undiagnosed psychosis.
Abuse always leaves a mark. Physical, Verbal, or Neglect. All three are charges in court.
I may have read too much fanon, so Harry's abuse is greater in my mind than it is represented in Canon.
But no one locks a child in a closet.
That really disturbingly reminds me of the many ACTUAL abuse cases. Where the SWAT had to rescue little girls chained in the basement.
Yeah, I dunno what was going on in Rowling mind then.
No one gets away unscathed by that.
I personally think Harry's saving people thing, while very admirable, is still a very problematic symptom of childhood neglect.
It's a dangerous attention seeking behaviour that wasn't identified and instead endorsed by almost everyone in Magical world by dint of their preconceived notions of who Harry Potter was.
Poor guy. You have to risk your life, but people won't even say thanks.
I don't actually recall anyone ever thanking him for saving them in Canon. Been a few years since I've read the books tho.
Abuse always leaves a mark. Physical, Verbal, or Neglect. All three are charges in court.
I may have read too much fanon, so Harry's abuse is greater in my mind than it is represented in Canon.
But no one locks a child in a closet.
That really disturbingly reminds me of the many ACTUAL abuse cases. Where the SWAT had to rescue little girls chained in the basement.
Yeah, I dunno what was going on in Rowling mind then.
No one gets away unscathed by that.
I personally think Harry's saving people thing, while very admirable, is still a very problematic symptom of childhood neglect.
It's a dangerous attention seeking behaviour that wasn't identified and instead endorsed by almost everyone in Magical world by dint of their preconceived notions of who Harry Potter was.
Poor guy. You have to risk your life, but people won't even say thanks.
I don't actually recall anyone ever thanking him for saving them in Canon. Been a few years since I've read the books tho.
Chapter 5 - Preparations
- Location
- InTheWinterLand
The little snake still had much to learn. Gryffindor was ruining her, but should she nurture the snake inside…
Tom had read the works of the Paracelsus, Hohenheim of the Light, hidden deep in the Restricted Section.
Hohenheim was one of the many proteges of Flamel. Famed for his healing ability, equally ruined for his experimentation into Chimeras. Tom's mind conjured a vision. The Nemean Lion mixed with the Dread Hydra.
He'd have to teach her how to spell her glasses. Maybe obtain contacts from the muggle world. Enchanted later on, of course. Those eyes of hers gave away entirely too much and that was without legilimency.
She would be his Bellatrix Version Two-Point-Oh. Although perhaps a more than a blunt instrument.
Voldemort had grown used to overwhelming force, his matured reserves allowing him to throw Instant Death anyway he liked, anytime he liked. This Tom looked his nose down at that particular catastrophe of a failure, indeed, he personally would have preferred a treasured obsidian scalpel to a common sledgehammer. But that was just him.
Feigning ignorance and suppressing his mirth. Tom spoke up.
"Keep what you know to yourself for now. Tell the Aurors later. A secret given is no secret at all."
Toms eyes drifts far away into the past. Oh, how he regretted being read like an open-book in his first encounter with Dumbledore.
"I promise you Rose. We'll get whoever is responsible for this mess. They won't escape our wrath."
Tom sees a steely determination spark in her eyes. A bit of admiration too?
With another twirl, Tom lightly tossed Rose's wand back to her.
Her unconscious seeker reflexes lashes out, snatching the wand out of the air like a serpent striking.
Her finger imitate him, twirling her wand too. A clumsy attempt of a beginner.
Her left eyebrow raises. Toms eyes direct her to Ginny.
"Before we do anything else, cast the drying charm on Ginny. You mentioned she was cold? She's probably completely soaked to the bone"
With a half-grimace and sigh, he mutters. "Didn't even realise that, the perils of being a memory."
"How Tom? I- we haven't learnt that spell in Charms yet."
Tom tuts.
"Slacking off Rose? When I was your age, I'd completed a quarter of the Hogwarts library."
She slightly pouts with anger. "Well, I'm not Hermione okay?"
"Yes, yes, you're not your Ravenclaw friend. Look, the movements go like this."
Tom mimes holding a wand.
"Point and flick. [Ventus Calidi]."
Rose ignores correcting Tom in favour of pointing and flicking her wand at Ginny.
[Ventus Calidi]. A puff of spiralling warm air.
[Ventus Calidi]. Another puff of air, not even warm this time.
Rose gets slightly visibly frustrated. Her next [Ventus Calidi] is unexpected.
Her robes burst into flames.
A sharp Eeeppp!
Quickly taking her outer robe off, she flings it and beats it against the wet stone floor.
She stamps on the flames for good measure.
This time, it is Tom who raises an eyebrow. An unimpressed one.
"Really, Rose?"
Rose ducks her head sheepishly, looking away to the ground on the right. Glaring at his diary.
Tom rolls his eyes. As if it were his fault the spell failed. He couldn't let her get any bright ideas.
Another distraction. Hmmmn. Evolutionary traits. Primate grooming. Physical contact establishes trust quicker.
Taking a step closer to Rose, right next to her. He realises that he towers over the short girl, despite how she had always seemed larger than reality to him.
He ruffles her hair, throughly turning it into a mess. He plays ignorant to her flinch at first.
She looks up at him. Meeting his eyes. Tom looks away. Not-Riddle can't stand those doe eyes without guilt.
As he stopped, Tom notices something strange on the side of her neck, behind her ears, unconcealed by the ponytail. It was hard to notice unless one was right next to her.
His eyes narrowed. Fractal lines. Lichtenberg scars that had healed into an ivory white.
There was no spell that could cause this as far as he knew. Only a magical sickness, but one every wizarding child got innoculated against. Muggleborns got the vaccination in their introduction. It included a trip to the Diagon Alley and to St. Mungos.
So why did these scars exist? Another thing to note down.
He'd have to take her to the wizarding hospital for a check up. Maybe even to those private pureblood healers for more extensive checks. Tom's pride refused to have his possibly best and first minion harmed in anyway.
He played ignorant again. Annoyance.
He sighed.
"Look, just give me the wand. I'll do it."
Rose suspiciously glares at him.
"Yes, I'll give it back to you later. Give."
Her reluctance to let go of her wand resembled a baby with their pacifier.
With wand in hand, Tom's mind brought up a list of spells.
[Ventus Calidi]
A spiral of hot, warm air surrounded Ginevra. Drying everything and keeping her insulated with the residual warmth in the robes. He supposed this was the least he could do for her.
Tom then turned the wand on Rose.
Her eyes sparked with fear, reflexes beginning to move.
Tom knew it, she didn't trust him yet. Not really. But he had expected that.
The night was still young. They were not yet Fire-Forged Friends.
Before Rose could move. Tom casted.
A [Scourgify] blasted away all the dirt on her face, the fishbone sent flying before puffing away. The mud on her robes caked, dropping away. Her greasy hair dripped, turning silken soft.
A second [Scourgify] got the rest of the grime. He had overdone it. Even her teeth seemed a little shinier, perhaps his intent was a bit too strong.
[Ventus Calidi] dried her clothes and heat pervaded her robes, warming her up. It was incredibly comforting.
A glance down reminded Tom of her scraped knees. Tom knew of many cases where healing without cleansing resulted in a trip to St. Mungo's a few days later. Tom wasn't so careless, the double cast of [Scourgify] had removed the dirt and probably any vectors of infection as well. A simple [Episkey] and Tom saw the skin on her knees growing visibly to the naked eye.
[Vestitus Reparo] caused the threads in her stockings to unravel near the tears before they knit back together. Her torn robes did the same, shifting anew. A new but shorter hemline replaces the burnt edge from her miscast and her robes no longer drag on the floor. Though her stockings now appeared a bit more sheer. Her robes ever slightly thinner.
Tom's experience was speaking, his own use of the spell during his Hogwarts years allowed him to smooth over and utilise existing fabric, redistributing it over the ruined areas. It was far better than the rough thin patches that occurred when he first learnt the spell. His current robes were not much better than hers, thread-bare from too many repairs.
An [Oculus Reparo] snapped the warped frame of her spectacles back in place. A final [Ancoris Protego Maxima], the prefix anchored the triple strength shield charm to Rose. The spell would protect her from what was to come. Triple strength from Tom Marvolo Riddle meant that even a [Basilisk] fang would bounce off the charm. Still, he'd have to keep an eye on her. The [Basilisk] did not hold the Wizard-Killer classification for nothing.
Rose gave a laconic thanks, still off-tilt from her false alarm and unconscious reflexes.
Annoyance pricked Tom yet again. She was pushing his buttons.
All that for a measly thanks. Not even a "very much".
So unappreciative of his genius. No matter. She would learn.
Tom had successfully distracted and cajoled Rose. Her guard was down and drained away was the tension of being in a life-threatening situation.
Preparations for the incoming encounter. When the basilisk came, he'd be able to make a even larger impact on her heart than if she'd had her guard up all the time.
—————————————————————————————————————————————————————
The copy was still walking through the tunnels, occasionally transfiguring obstacles.
Icy barriers rose here and there. Stone walls unfolded out into a brick barrier, mimicking the alley entrance.
The Basilisk would smash through them with ease, taking bare few seconds to do so each time.
Still, it slowed the beast down enough to always keep it on the back foot behind him.
He had done two laps through the pipes around the chamber.
He was halfway on his third lap, when the mental command came.
The copy acquiesced, it was having fun with [Basilisk], but commands were commands.
He made his way back towards the chamber, stringing the beast along. Updating the original with an ETA countdown.
In front, the copy saw the original cast an anchored shield charm on the girl.
A strange sight from afar, like two people illicitly meeting up.
A Gryffindor and a Slytherin. Romeo and Juliet. He rolled his eyes.
Ah, but that was his goal wasn't it? Tension release.
Well, guess who was bringing the tension back.
With a flick, the [Quietus] the copy had casted to remove the presence of the noisy barrier-wrecking [Basilisk] dropped.
A blast of [Expulso] into the stone wall peppered the [Basilisk] head with shards of granite.
A shrieking hiss.
The copy disappeared into black smoky mist. Ginveras wand clattering on the ground.
The [Basilisk] turned the corner, chasing its prey.
Only to smell two more two-legged snacks.
It would savour the crunch of their bones.
The sweet juices that would flow.
It dived through the black smoke, roaring all the while.
Tom had read the works of the Paracelsus, Hohenheim of the Light, hidden deep in the Restricted Section.
Hohenheim was one of the many proteges of Flamel. Famed for his healing ability, equally ruined for his experimentation into Chimeras. Tom's mind conjured a vision. The Nemean Lion mixed with the Dread Hydra.
He'd have to teach her how to spell her glasses. Maybe obtain contacts from the muggle world. Enchanted later on, of course. Those eyes of hers gave away entirely too much and that was without legilimency.
She would be his Bellatrix Version Two-Point-Oh. Although perhaps a more than a blunt instrument.
Voldemort had grown used to overwhelming force, his matured reserves allowing him to throw Instant Death anyway he liked, anytime he liked. This Tom looked his nose down at that particular catastrophe of a failure, indeed, he personally would have preferred a treasured obsidian scalpel to a common sledgehammer. But that was just him.
Feigning ignorance and suppressing his mirth. Tom spoke up.
"Keep what you know to yourself for now. Tell the Aurors later. A secret given is no secret at all."
Toms eyes drifts far away into the past. Oh, how he regretted being read like an open-book in his first encounter with Dumbledore.
"I promise you Rose. We'll get whoever is responsible for this mess. They won't escape our wrath."
Tom sees a steely determination spark in her eyes. A bit of admiration too?
With another twirl, Tom lightly tossed Rose's wand back to her.
Her unconscious seeker reflexes lashes out, snatching the wand out of the air like a serpent striking.
Her finger imitate him, twirling her wand too. A clumsy attempt of a beginner.
Her left eyebrow raises. Toms eyes direct her to Ginny.
"Before we do anything else, cast the drying charm on Ginny. You mentioned she was cold? She's probably completely soaked to the bone"
With a half-grimace and sigh, he mutters. "Didn't even realise that, the perils of being a memory."
"How Tom? I- we haven't learnt that spell in Charms yet."
Tom tuts.
"Slacking off Rose? When I was your age, I'd completed a quarter of the Hogwarts library."
She slightly pouts with anger. "Well, I'm not Hermione okay?"
"Yes, yes, you're not your Ravenclaw friend. Look, the movements go like this."
Tom mimes holding a wand.
"Point and flick. [Ventus Calidi]."
Rose ignores correcting Tom in favour of pointing and flicking her wand at Ginny.
[Ventus Calidi]. A puff of spiralling warm air.
[Ventus Calidi]. Another puff of air, not even warm this time.
Rose gets slightly visibly frustrated. Her next [Ventus Calidi] is unexpected.
Her robes burst into flames.
A sharp Eeeppp!
Quickly taking her outer robe off, she flings it and beats it against the wet stone floor.
She stamps on the flames for good measure.
This time, it is Tom who raises an eyebrow. An unimpressed one.
"Really, Rose?"
Rose ducks her head sheepishly, looking away to the ground on the right. Glaring at his diary.
Tom rolls his eyes. As if it were his fault the spell failed. He couldn't let her get any bright ideas.
Another distraction. Hmmmn. Evolutionary traits. Primate grooming. Physical contact establishes trust quicker.
Taking a step closer to Rose, right next to her. He realises that he towers over the short girl, despite how she had always seemed larger than reality to him.
He ruffles her hair, throughly turning it into a mess. He plays ignorant to her flinch at first.
She looks up at him. Meeting his eyes. Tom looks away. Not-Riddle can't stand those doe eyes without guilt.
As he stopped, Tom notices something strange on the side of her neck, behind her ears, unconcealed by the ponytail. It was hard to notice unless one was right next to her.
His eyes narrowed. Fractal lines. Lichtenberg scars that had healed into an ivory white.
There was no spell that could cause this as far as he knew. Only a magical sickness, but one every wizarding child got innoculated against. Muggleborns got the vaccination in their introduction. It included a trip to the Diagon Alley and to St. Mungos.
So why did these scars exist? Another thing to note down.
He'd have to take her to the wizarding hospital for a check up. Maybe even to those private pureblood healers for more extensive checks. Tom's pride refused to have his possibly best and first minion harmed in anyway.
He played ignorant again. Annoyance.
He sighed.
"Look, just give me the wand. I'll do it."
Rose suspiciously glares at him.
"Yes, I'll give it back to you later. Give."
Her reluctance to let go of her wand resembled a baby with their pacifier.
With wand in hand, Tom's mind brought up a list of spells.
[Ventus Calidi]
A spiral of hot, warm air surrounded Ginevra. Drying everything and keeping her insulated with the residual warmth in the robes. He supposed this was the least he could do for her.
Tom then turned the wand on Rose.
Her eyes sparked with fear, reflexes beginning to move.
Tom knew it, she didn't trust him yet. Not really. But he had expected that.
The night was still young. They were not yet Fire-Forged Friends.
Before Rose could move. Tom casted.
A [Scourgify] blasted away all the dirt on her face, the fishbone sent flying before puffing away. The mud on her robes caked, dropping away. Her greasy hair dripped, turning silken soft.
A second [Scourgify] got the rest of the grime. He had overdone it. Even her teeth seemed a little shinier, perhaps his intent was a bit too strong.
[Ventus Calidi] dried her clothes and heat pervaded her robes, warming her up. It was incredibly comforting.
A glance down reminded Tom of her scraped knees. Tom knew of many cases where healing without cleansing resulted in a trip to St. Mungo's a few days later. Tom wasn't so careless, the double cast of [Scourgify] had removed the dirt and probably any vectors of infection as well. A simple [Episkey] and Tom saw the skin on her knees growing visibly to the naked eye.
[Vestitus Reparo] caused the threads in her stockings to unravel near the tears before they knit back together. Her torn robes did the same, shifting anew. A new but shorter hemline replaces the burnt edge from her miscast and her robes no longer drag on the floor. Though her stockings now appeared a bit more sheer. Her robes ever slightly thinner.
Tom's experience was speaking, his own use of the spell during his Hogwarts years allowed him to smooth over and utilise existing fabric, redistributing it over the ruined areas. It was far better than the rough thin patches that occurred when he first learnt the spell. His current robes were not much better than hers, thread-bare from too many repairs.
An [Oculus Reparo] snapped the warped frame of her spectacles back in place. A final [Ancoris Protego Maxima], the prefix anchored the triple strength shield charm to Rose. The spell would protect her from what was to come. Triple strength from Tom Marvolo Riddle meant that even a [Basilisk] fang would bounce off the charm. Still, he'd have to keep an eye on her. The [Basilisk] did not hold the Wizard-Killer classification for nothing.
Rose gave a laconic thanks, still off-tilt from her false alarm and unconscious reflexes.
Annoyance pricked Tom yet again. She was pushing his buttons.
All that for a measly thanks. Not even a "very much".
So unappreciative of his genius. No matter. She would learn.
Tom had successfully distracted and cajoled Rose. Her guard was down and drained away was the tension of being in a life-threatening situation.
Preparations for the incoming encounter. When the basilisk came, he'd be able to make a even larger impact on her heart than if she'd had her guard up all the time.
—————————————————————————————————————————————————————
The copy was still walking through the tunnels, occasionally transfiguring obstacles.
Icy barriers rose here and there. Stone walls unfolded out into a brick barrier, mimicking the alley entrance.
The Basilisk would smash through them with ease, taking bare few seconds to do so each time.
Still, it slowed the beast down enough to always keep it on the back foot behind him.
He had done two laps through the pipes around the chamber.
He was halfway on his third lap, when the mental command came.
The copy acquiesced, it was having fun with [Basilisk], but commands were commands.
He made his way back towards the chamber, stringing the beast along. Updating the original with an ETA countdown.
In front, the copy saw the original cast an anchored shield charm on the girl.
A strange sight from afar, like two people illicitly meeting up.
A Gryffindor and a Slytherin. Romeo and Juliet. He rolled his eyes.
Ah, but that was his goal wasn't it? Tension release.
Well, guess who was bringing the tension back.
With a flick, the [Quietus] the copy had casted to remove the presence of the noisy barrier-wrecking [Basilisk] dropped.
A blast of [Expulso] into the stone wall peppered the [Basilisk] head with shards of granite.
A shrieking hiss.
The copy disappeared into black smoky mist. Ginveras wand clattering on the ground.
The [Basilisk] turned the corner, chasing its prey.
Only to smell two more two-legged snacks.
It would savour the crunch of their bones.
The sweet juices that would flow.
It dived through the black smoke, roaring all the while.
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Chapter 6 - You thought it was fluff, but no. It is I, Despair.
- Location
- InTheWinterLand
The [Basilisk] head emerged from the smoke like a dread creature from lore.
Which Tom supposed it was indeed.
He was getting utterly sick of this [Basilisk].
And this wet damp chamber.
The shrieks made his ears hurt.
The dim lighting did his eyes no favour and he really hoped he wasn't going to get trench foot.
His feet and shoes were still soaked.
Tom wanted to wrap this up quickly, but he knew it wouldn't be so easy.
Although Tom's attitude was nonchalant, his body was still primed.
Fast-twitch muscles ready to act at any moment.
Tom pointed his wand in the general direction of where his copy last was.
He [Accio]'ed Ginevra's wand before tossing Roses wand back to her.
Her right hand struck out without looking at it. Grasping her wand.
Unlike him, Rose was staring at beast, her eyes wide.
Condensed air misted as the [Basilisk] breathed out. A forked tongue slithering as it tasted the air.
It's jaundice double-lidded eyes were reflective, an eerie glow as slits dilated in the dark chamber.
Tom supposed they were lucky, Fated to both be parseltongue. It's killing gaze worked not on kin.
"Tom." she shakily said. "I-i-is t-that the B-basilisk? It's rather b-big."
Tom quipped. "What do you think Rose?"
She threw him a piercing glare that could skewer one like a kebab several times over. [Basilisk] kin indeed.
"Not the time, Tom." Still glaring and visibly on edge. "What do we do?"
Her fingers were twitching, eyes flitting about behind her ugly glasses.
Tom pretends to be in thought. He sneaks a quick [Observe].
[Observe]
[Name: Salazar's Pet Basilisk]
[Title: A Muggleborn Purging Instrument]
'Very helpful.' He drolly remarks.
Turning to face Rose.
"We? No, Rose. You will go and get help."
"I've dealt with the [Basilisk] once and I can do it again. What I can't do, is kill it. Which YOU can manage if you can get me some reinforcements down here."
Spinning on his heel, without looking back at her, Tom begins striding forward.
Intent to fight manifesting as the air grows heavy around him.
—————————————————————————————————————————————————————
He hears Roses footsteps follow him. Good. He now had her motivations on point.
She still had the "saving-people-thing". Still seeking validation. Still bound by the chains of society.
Tom pretends not to notice her presence. He wanted her to follow.
He raises his wand as the [Basilisk] rears back.
He doesn't cast just yet. Toms style is supposed to be much like his foe. His current foe wasn't the best example. A thousand year powerhouse with invincible scales gave it impunity.
Ignoring this anomaly, all [Basilisk] were ambush predators in the dark, like Tom.
Out in the open, once revealed, Tom much prefers deflections, ripostes and coup de graces.
An elegant style. Intimidating and efficient. Only resorting to brute force as a last resort.
Tom waits.
The [Basilisk] strikes. Coiled muscles in flexion. Fangs elongated in thrust. Tips ready to inject.
Chemical energy turned kinetic. Raw physical might.
Tom mildly curses, as if having noticed he was not the target.
His head turns to his left, "finally" noticing Rose behind him.
Tom dives at her and tackles Rose to the ground. Their pristine robes once again stained by tepid cave water.
He's saved the [Saviour]. No one can say they've done that before. Tom mentally pats himself on the back for job well done. He knows he deserves it.
A rushing hiss passes by above. A sharp sound of spiky scales screeching against smooth stone on landing.
As always. Tom has calculated things perfectly, nothing touches his back.
Nothing is injured except perhaps his pride. Mayhap a bruise or two on the elbow and knee.
Then.
Tom finds himself lying on top of Rose, squishing her, a leg between hers. Faces mere centimetres away from each other. Tom can feel her body heat. His attempts to shift and get up causes her breath to stutter.
Tom steadily ignores her blushing crimson red face and avoids her eyes, preferring to glower at the Basilisk.
It's mocking him. It definitely is. How dare the beast. He's going to outright wreck its shit up. He will.
Oh, he will.
Not-Riddle mentally scoffs from his enjoyable seat of safety, popcorn in hand. He wonders how Tom keeps getting himself into these situations. It's like watching anime. Toms plans and plans but the actual situation reeks of Fate with how things coincide.
Yes, slip on a banana peel and fall through the shower door. What a coincidence. And Tom thinks he can escape from Fate. Not-Riddle doesn't want to think about it anymore.
He distracts himself and is unable to help but steal a line. Directing it at Tom. Very apropos. Smirk.
'She's a Gryffindor. You're fraternising with the enemy.'
Laying with the enemy. Or in this case, on top of the enemy. Whilst fighting a fierce battle.
Tom definitely does not notice their compromising position or how surprisingly soft she is. Or that his own face is heating up.
Tom kicks Not-Riddle back into his pity corner where he belongs and recentres his mind. Calming himself.
Not-Riddle had forgotten how bad hormones were at 16.
NO! No distractions. At this rate, Not-Riddle was going to get them both killed before they even got out of the Chamber. It was all his fault.
Not-Riddle cheekily sends an 'Amitabha. Thou shall not be tempted, eh?'
Tom ignores him with the ease of one used to fools and grabs Rose to his chest. She squeaks incomprehensibly. He is definitely still ignorant of her intense flush. He can feel her heart pounding, several muscles tensed after their fall.
Another thing to rectify. How to fall. Correctly and most importantly, with style.
Loosened up, rolling off momentum. Popping back up on the balls of ones feet with simple ease. It was only right things were done like so.
Tom puts his words into practice, rolling them both away from the Serpent King.
Internally, Tom is mortified, having to actually roll around on the ground. But needs must.
They both get up quickly, one even faster than the other. Once afoot, Tom takes her hand and starts to run, making their way to the stone snake head statues.
Weaving about between them, the Serpent King loses sight of its prey.
Tom can hear it take a deep sniff of the air. Before rushing at them once more.
Whilst running and dodging between the statues. Their presence is constant.
Their scent fill the air and once more, the Serpent King loses his two-legged snacks.
Still concealed with Rose tightly pressed against his back. Tom tersely explains whilst keeping an eye out.
He consciously forces spoken English. No unconscious slips into parseltongue.
"Rose. I'm just a memory. The [Basilisk] can't truly harm me. It also means I can't do much to mortally harm it too. It's why I need you to get the Aurors and Professors down here."
"Now GO! The entrance is right there!"
"NO!" She denies. "I won't leave you down here, I won't."
"I can help Tom. I can. Just tell me what to do."
They both duck again as the [Basilisk] passed by once more.
They both move from cover to cover. Head down low. Again pressed together behind another statue.
Tom lets out a reluctant sigh. As if convinced by her.
"Alright. Listen closely, Rose. I'm only going to say this once. If you really want to help, then you need to be bait."
"I have a spell that can help us out, possibly restrain the beast completely. But it has a long cast, 30 seconds and requires focus. I'll be defenceless. As a second year, you don't even know the shield charm yet. The only way is to lead it off into the tunnels. Are you up for it?"
"Yeah. I can do it." Less of a reply, more psyching herself up. She didn't sound very confident.
Yet another thing to fix. Tom didn't want a nervous wreck in battle.
He wanted a war-sorceress. A coven-trained. A Black witch. Preferably without madness.
By now, Tom had a list. At this rate, he was going to have his work cut out for him.
Nonetheless, he pushed on. He'd give her some confidence.
"Good. Now don't worry. Just run and mind the floor. Don't slip. If you do, push with your back leg and turn the fall into a slide, left leg straight and right leg hooked under it. Okay?"
"I cast a shield charm on you earlier so you won't be too endangered. I'd still highly recommend not getting caught. I don't want you turning into [Basilisk] food, not when we've just met alright?"
She nods. Face in a rictus of steel.
Tom peeks his head over the statue. The [Basilisk] is still off to the side.
Tom taps on her shoulder, motioning for her to come see. He points.
"You see that tunnel over there opposite of where we are? Just follow that tunnel and always keep to your left. You'll go in around in a circle and end up back here. It should be enough time for my spell."
"Go on my mark!"
Tom waits until the [Basilisk] head is turned back.
It will grant her a few extra seconds of head start as the [Basilisk] seeks her out.
"MARK!" A harsh whisper, a pat on her shoulder and she takes off like a snitch.
Her quidditch practiced body pumps speed through her legs. She leans slightly forward, accelerating, reminded of how Wood used to and still forces them on sprints. Running hardened the body, he'd say. It was good training.
Of course, Wood would get pranked afterwards by the Twins each and every time. She can't help but smile.
All the muscles are used in controlling a broom, but none so much as the legs and inner thighs, he lectured.
That advice and hard work was paying off now. The Basilisk was close behind, but it wasn't catching up.
Her legs burned as her face steamed. Sweat dripped, her skin shiny. Her eyes tracked the shifting path.
She chanced a glance back. It was having trouble with turning the corners. Constantly smashing.
Being so large did have it's downsides. For one, she was far more agile than the large snake.
—————————————————————————————————————————————————————
With the two disappearing from his sight. Tom waits a second.
Constant vigilance.
Straightening up from his crouched position is a relief on his knees.
Because squatting is a position only for the uncivilised. Though there might be bias there.
Toms mind gains some respite from the constant presence of adrenaline in his bloodstream.
Indifferent coal-black eyes return. His face and body relaxes into an extreme neutral. Free of having to manufacture tension, both danger and sexual. His friendly prefect Tom demeanour drains away, ready to be brought up instantly.
If Tom wanted to be rid of the [Basilisk]. A simple air to flour transfiguration with a [Vermillious] would've taken care of things. Tom now knew the principles of thermobarics. He'd have to apparate out from the inevitable collapse of course, but the anti-apparition wards didn't cover the Chamber.
In truth, Tom would've done that. But Tom has just gained the most powerful non-nuclear weapon of the muggles. Tom can now single-handedly wipe out an entire block of buildings. Tom has even been subconsciously spell-crafting. A funnelled thermobaric into a singular point? The AK becomes redundant. Tom doesn't need anymore power. Tom now focuses on secondary objectives.
Not-Riddle is surprised because even he had been taken in by the mask. The Chamber was cold. Had it always been so? It was all unnatural and Not-Riddle didn't feel so swell.
Tom had known what he was doing, rather, Not-Riddle knew what he was doing and Tom used his knowledge to great effect. Not-Riddle did not think his knowledge of how to pick up one-night stands at the bar would be used like so.
But Not-Riddle had allowed it. He could excuse many things for his own continued survival and sanity. This was not the safe 21st he knew. This was another world. If the glimpses of Tom Marvolo Riddles world knowledge at Sixteen was true?
TvTropes called it "A Crapsack World". Only the fact that the Masquerade still existed kept Not-Riddle from committing personality suicide and letting Tom take over completely. That Magical Britain was Safe and Vanilla also helped — But only just.
Not-Riddle retreated back into the mind. No more introspection for now. He didn't, couldn't deal with this shit.
The world resumes for Tom.
Which Tom supposed it was indeed.
He was getting utterly sick of this [Basilisk].
And this wet damp chamber.
The shrieks made his ears hurt.
The dim lighting did his eyes no favour and he really hoped he wasn't going to get trench foot.
His feet and shoes were still soaked.
Tom wanted to wrap this up quickly, but he knew it wouldn't be so easy.
Although Tom's attitude was nonchalant, his body was still primed.
Fast-twitch muscles ready to act at any moment.
Tom pointed his wand in the general direction of where his copy last was.
He [Accio]'ed Ginevra's wand before tossing Roses wand back to her.
Her right hand struck out without looking at it. Grasping her wand.
Unlike him, Rose was staring at beast, her eyes wide.
Condensed air misted as the [Basilisk] breathed out. A forked tongue slithering as it tasted the air.
It's jaundice double-lidded eyes were reflective, an eerie glow as slits dilated in the dark chamber.
Tom supposed they were lucky, Fated to both be parseltongue. It's killing gaze worked not on kin.
"Tom." she shakily said. "I-i-is t-that the B-basilisk? It's rather b-big."
Tom quipped. "What do you think Rose?"
She threw him a piercing glare that could skewer one like a kebab several times over. [Basilisk] kin indeed.
"Not the time, Tom." Still glaring and visibly on edge. "What do we do?"
Her fingers were twitching, eyes flitting about behind her ugly glasses.
Tom pretends to be in thought. He sneaks a quick [Observe].
[Observe]
[Name: Salazar's Pet Basilisk]
[Title: A Muggleborn Purging Instrument]
'Very helpful.' He drolly remarks.
Turning to face Rose.
"We? No, Rose. You will go and get help."
"I've dealt with the [Basilisk] once and I can do it again. What I can't do, is kill it. Which YOU can manage if you can get me some reinforcements down here."
Spinning on his heel, without looking back at her, Tom begins striding forward.
Intent to fight manifesting as the air grows heavy around him.
—————————————————————————————————————————————————————
He hears Roses footsteps follow him. Good. He now had her motivations on point.
She still had the "saving-people-thing". Still seeking validation. Still bound by the chains of society.
Tom pretends not to notice her presence. He wanted her to follow.
He raises his wand as the [Basilisk] rears back.
He doesn't cast just yet. Toms style is supposed to be much like his foe. His current foe wasn't the best example. A thousand year powerhouse with invincible scales gave it impunity.
Ignoring this anomaly, all [Basilisk] were ambush predators in the dark, like Tom.
Out in the open, once revealed, Tom much prefers deflections, ripostes and coup de graces.
An elegant style. Intimidating and efficient. Only resorting to brute force as a last resort.
Tom waits.
The [Basilisk] strikes. Coiled muscles in flexion. Fangs elongated in thrust. Tips ready to inject.
Chemical energy turned kinetic. Raw physical might.
Tom mildly curses, as if having noticed he was not the target.
His head turns to his left, "finally" noticing Rose behind him.
Tom dives at her and tackles Rose to the ground. Their pristine robes once again stained by tepid cave water.
He's saved the [Saviour]. No one can say they've done that before. Tom mentally pats himself on the back for job well done. He knows he deserves it.
A rushing hiss passes by above. A sharp sound of spiky scales screeching against smooth stone on landing.
As always. Tom has calculated things perfectly, nothing touches his back.
Nothing is injured except perhaps his pride. Mayhap a bruise or two on the elbow and knee.
Then.
Tom finds himself lying on top of Rose, squishing her, a leg between hers. Faces mere centimetres away from each other. Tom can feel her body heat. His attempts to shift and get up causes her breath to stutter.
Tom steadily ignores her blushing crimson red face and avoids her eyes, preferring to glower at the Basilisk.
It's mocking him. It definitely is. How dare the beast. He's going to outright wreck its shit up. He will.
Oh, he will.
Not-Riddle mentally scoffs from his enjoyable seat of safety, popcorn in hand. He wonders how Tom keeps getting himself into these situations. It's like watching anime. Toms plans and plans but the actual situation reeks of Fate with how things coincide.
Yes, slip on a banana peel and fall through the shower door. What a coincidence. And Tom thinks he can escape from Fate. Not-Riddle doesn't want to think about it anymore.
He distracts himself and is unable to help but steal a line. Directing it at Tom. Very apropos. Smirk.
'She's a Gryffindor. You're fraternising with the enemy.'
Laying with the enemy. Or in this case, on top of the enemy. Whilst fighting a fierce battle.
Tom definitely does not notice their compromising position or how surprisingly soft she is. Or that his own face is heating up.
Tom kicks Not-Riddle back into his pity corner where he belongs and recentres his mind. Calming himself.
Not-Riddle had forgotten how bad hormones were at 16.
NO! No distractions. At this rate, Not-Riddle was going to get them both killed before they even got out of the Chamber. It was all his fault.
Not-Riddle cheekily sends an 'Amitabha. Thou shall not be tempted, eh?'
Tom ignores him with the ease of one used to fools and grabs Rose to his chest. She squeaks incomprehensibly. He is definitely still ignorant of her intense flush. He can feel her heart pounding, several muscles tensed after their fall.
Another thing to rectify. How to fall. Correctly and most importantly, with style.
Loosened up, rolling off momentum. Popping back up on the balls of ones feet with simple ease. It was only right things were done like so.
Tom puts his words into practice, rolling them both away from the Serpent King.
Internally, Tom is mortified, having to actually roll around on the ground. But needs must.
They both get up quickly, one even faster than the other. Once afoot, Tom takes her hand and starts to run, making their way to the stone snake head statues.
Weaving about between them, the Serpent King loses sight of its prey.
Tom can hear it take a deep sniff of the air. Before rushing at them once more.
Whilst running and dodging between the statues. Their presence is constant.
Their scent fill the air and once more, the Serpent King loses his two-legged snacks.
Still concealed with Rose tightly pressed against his back. Tom tersely explains whilst keeping an eye out.
He consciously forces spoken English. No unconscious slips into parseltongue.
"Rose. I'm just a memory. The [Basilisk] can't truly harm me. It also means I can't do much to mortally harm it too. It's why I need you to get the Aurors and Professors down here."
"Now GO! The entrance is right there!"
"NO!" She denies. "I won't leave you down here, I won't."
"I can help Tom. I can. Just tell me what to do."
They both duck again as the [Basilisk] passed by once more.
They both move from cover to cover. Head down low. Again pressed together behind another statue.
Tom lets out a reluctant sigh. As if convinced by her.
"Alright. Listen closely, Rose. I'm only going to say this once. If you really want to help, then you need to be bait."
"I have a spell that can help us out, possibly restrain the beast completely. But it has a long cast, 30 seconds and requires focus. I'll be defenceless. As a second year, you don't even know the shield charm yet. The only way is to lead it off into the tunnels. Are you up for it?"
"Yeah. I can do it." Less of a reply, more psyching herself up. She didn't sound very confident.
Yet another thing to fix. Tom didn't want a nervous wreck in battle.
He wanted a war-sorceress. A coven-trained. A Black witch. Preferably without madness.
By now, Tom had a list. At this rate, he was going to have his work cut out for him.
Nonetheless, he pushed on. He'd give her some confidence.
"Good. Now don't worry. Just run and mind the floor. Don't slip. If you do, push with your back leg and turn the fall into a slide, left leg straight and right leg hooked under it. Okay?"
"I cast a shield charm on you earlier so you won't be too endangered. I'd still highly recommend not getting caught. I don't want you turning into [Basilisk] food, not when we've just met alright?"
She nods. Face in a rictus of steel.
Tom peeks his head over the statue. The [Basilisk] is still off to the side.
Tom taps on her shoulder, motioning for her to come see. He points.
"You see that tunnel over there opposite of where we are? Just follow that tunnel and always keep to your left. You'll go in around in a circle and end up back here. It should be enough time for my spell."
"Go on my mark!"
Tom waits until the [Basilisk] head is turned back.
It will grant her a few extra seconds of head start as the [Basilisk] seeks her out.
"MARK!" A harsh whisper, a pat on her shoulder and she takes off like a snitch.
Her quidditch practiced body pumps speed through her legs. She leans slightly forward, accelerating, reminded of how Wood used to and still forces them on sprints. Running hardened the body, he'd say. It was good training.
Of course, Wood would get pranked afterwards by the Twins each and every time. She can't help but smile.
All the muscles are used in controlling a broom, but none so much as the legs and inner thighs, he lectured.
That advice and hard work was paying off now. The Basilisk was close behind, but it wasn't catching up.
Her legs burned as her face steamed. Sweat dripped, her skin shiny. Her eyes tracked the shifting path.
She chanced a glance back. It was having trouble with turning the corners. Constantly smashing.
Being so large did have it's downsides. For one, she was far more agile than the large snake.
—————————————————————————————————————————————————————
With the two disappearing from his sight. Tom waits a second.
Constant vigilance.
Straightening up from his crouched position is a relief on his knees.
Because squatting is a position only for the uncivilised. Though there might be bias there.
Toms mind gains some respite from the constant presence of adrenaline in his bloodstream.
Indifferent coal-black eyes return. His face and body relaxes into an extreme neutral. Free of having to manufacture tension, both danger and sexual. His friendly prefect Tom demeanour drains away, ready to be brought up instantly.
If Tom wanted to be rid of the [Basilisk]. A simple air to flour transfiguration with a [Vermillious] would've taken care of things. Tom now knew the principles of thermobarics. He'd have to apparate out from the inevitable collapse of course, but the anti-apparition wards didn't cover the Chamber.
In truth, Tom would've done that. But Tom has just gained the most powerful non-nuclear weapon of the muggles. Tom can now single-handedly wipe out an entire block of buildings. Tom has even been subconsciously spell-crafting. A funnelled thermobaric into a singular point? The AK becomes redundant. Tom doesn't need anymore power. Tom now focuses on secondary objectives.
Not-Riddle is surprised because even he had been taken in by the mask. The Chamber was cold. Had it always been so? It was all unnatural and Not-Riddle didn't feel so swell.
Tom had known what he was doing, rather, Not-Riddle knew what he was doing and Tom used his knowledge to great effect. Not-Riddle did not think his knowledge of how to pick up one-night stands at the bar would be used like so.
But Not-Riddle had allowed it. He could excuse many things for his own continued survival and sanity. This was not the safe 21st he knew. This was another world. If the glimpses of Tom Marvolo Riddles world knowledge at Sixteen was true?
TvTropes called it "A Crapsack World". Only the fact that the Masquerade still existed kept Not-Riddle from committing personality suicide and letting Tom take over completely. That Magical Britain was Safe and Vanilla also helped — But only just.
Not-Riddle retreated back into the mind. No more introspection for now. He didn't, couldn't deal with this shit.
The world resumes for Tom.
- Location
- InTheWinterLand
Shrugs. Tom Marvolo Riddle is a psychopath. He seduced a ghost and a granny in canon. I understand where you're coming from since I did write him like this but the entire goal is to show you just how bad Riddle is, then how to redeem him.
You posting a meme doesn't really affect anything if it's not a constructive meme or constructive criticism. You are free to not read my work. And I can tell you now, there won't be any NSFW content here. So I dunno, it's all up to you, madam.
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RichardWhereat
Feanor did nothing wrong.
- Location
- Australia
So, you take one of the two most powerful wizards in recent British history, and make him even more OP? The story could probably have stood on its own without the gamer mechanic.
TimeLordLucario
The Oncoming Aura Storm
- Location
- Australia
Nice, you can really tell that Tom is a psychopath from your writing.
Jolly good show, my good man.
Jolly good show, my good man.
RichardWhereat
Feanor did nothing wrong.
- Location
- Australia
But is it Tom, or an SI?
- Location
- InTheWinterLand
Gamer is more for me than anything else. It's my first story so Gamer is my crutch for how to write power gain. There's only so many adjectives that comes to my mind so I wouldn't be sure how to quantify and show that Tom has gotten stronger without the simple representation of a gamer. Str 1 --> str 10 is more easy to understand and conceptualize than Strong and Stronger. In any case, the Gamer will be a tool for the story, not the story itself.
I love that you're asking that, its what I kinda want people to feel, how the lines between the two are blurred, but still having separate egos.
Its like, depending on the situation, separately, either one of the two, or both together. Who is more competent in that specific scenario?
For example, we have a combat situation. Tom says Hi. Die.
Then we are on say, the train to Hogwarts. SI says Hi and makes new friends.
Mostly, you should be able to tell them apart by who is actually acting like a human being and who is not.
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- Location
- usa
I spy a wild Yharnam and a 21st century physicist with the power to bend reality over a barrel.
looking forward to what the death eaters are gonna think of the new dark lord here
looking forward to what the death eaters are gonna think of the new dark lord here
Edifier
Trusted within thoughts.
- Location
- Court of Moon Wizards
Rule Two: That's a yikes from me, bro.
"Chapter 2 - Hideaway" makes no sense. There's no context to all that mad gibberish. Not even the last line.
It could be removed and all that would be impacted is my state of confusion, as in having a noticeable degree less of it.
By the note of scars, looks like this is fannon where Harry is properly beaten like she should be. hehh heh heh.
It could be removed and all that would be impacted is my state of confusion, as in having a noticeable degree less of it.
By the note of scars, looks like this is fannon where Harry is properly beaten like she should be. hehh heh heh.
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- Location
- Tri-State Area
I like it.
I mean, I don't like the whole "sexually(?) manipulate a 12 year old girl", but given the setup it could be worse, the plot is a means to an end after all. I really love how you are making Tom as a character. This is one of the best characterizations of Riddle I've seen so far. Sociopath indeed, morally horrible being, but damn isn't he interesting to read about.
Like reading about monsters in general, you might not like them, but you can't stop looking at them when they show themselves.
As for those who have an issue with this being a "SI" story, and the SI not becoming a paragon of morals and all, the SI is really a personality merge between Tom and him. He can very well be a monster and sociopath and all, and by created as such without the author of the SI being a sociopath or wanting to be one.
Note for the author: Might want to remove the SI tag in the title, so you don't suffer from "how can you do this things" comments, as if you are writing a wish-fulfillment story about killing your pet cat in real life.
Also, do note that if magic can affect your body to this agree, potterverse magical humans might as well be aliens, if they can live for half a decade more than normal humans, and jump to mid-puberty in a few months at age 12. They are as much humans as Gandalf was. So a physically 14ish girl romancing with a 16ish (50+ mentally? does it count if he was stuck in a book and merged with another being? Does it substract?) is not that weird. The power of love! It transcended the moral issues of age! People have free will and don't like each other after a while? No issue, magic will mind-rape them with the power of love and soul bonds!
Everything has two sides people, so just a reminder not to attack the author on his right of free-speach, if you don't like the story and it isn't breaking forum rules, don't hate and just leave.
Another note to author: Perhaps less interference by "fate" when it comes to stuff like him dropping on her in a romantic fashion? As interesting as it is from the Non-Riddle point of view, it isn't so much if you consider that Non-Riddle and Fate, are both controlled by the author. I think the reason why someone above thought you were writing preteen smut is because Riddle thought of seducing Rose even though you didn't actually go with it and changed it into "brotherly relationship", there is still the fall on top of each other scene, which while it does seem more of a joke against fate and all, might not sit well with anyone because of the questionable direction of it. Did the SI drop of top of her and is seducing her or did he drop on top of her by accident and the author is making a parody-like moment of it regarding magic and fate.
Also, since we are doing a moral discussion of the story...
No one is saying anything about the guy ( @Edifier ) who actually comments about wanting to see preteen girls get abused?
I mean, I don't like the whole "sexually(?) manipulate a 12 year old girl", but given the setup it could be worse, the plot is a means to an end after all. I really love how you are making Tom as a character. This is one of the best characterizations of Riddle I've seen so far. Sociopath indeed, morally horrible being, but damn isn't he interesting to read about.
Like reading about monsters in general, you might not like them, but you can't stop looking at them when they show themselves.
As for those who have an issue with this being a "SI" story, and the SI not becoming a paragon of morals and all, the SI is really a personality merge between Tom and him. He can very well be a monster and sociopath and all, and by created as such without the author of the SI being a sociopath or wanting to be one.
Note for the author: Might want to remove the SI tag in the title, so you don't suffer from "how can you do this things" comments, as if you are writing a wish-fulfillment story about killing your pet cat in real life.
Also, do note that if magic can affect your body to this agree, potterverse magical humans might as well be aliens, if they can live for half a decade more than normal humans, and jump to mid-puberty in a few months at age 12. They are as much humans as Gandalf was. So a physically 14ish girl romancing with a 16ish (50+ mentally? does it count if he was stuck in a book and merged with another being? Does it substract?) is not that weird. The power of love! It transcended the moral issues of age! People have free will and don't like each other after a while? No issue, magic will mind-rape them with the power of love and soul bonds!
Everything has two sides people, so just a reminder not to attack the author on his right of free-speach, if you don't like the story and it isn't breaking forum rules, don't hate and just leave.
Another note to author: Perhaps less interference by "fate" when it comes to stuff like him dropping on her in a romantic fashion? As interesting as it is from the Non-Riddle point of view, it isn't so much if you consider that Non-Riddle and Fate, are both controlled by the author. I think the reason why someone above thought you were writing preteen smut is because Riddle thought of seducing Rose even though you didn't actually go with it and changed it into "brotherly relationship", there is still the fall on top of each other scene, which while it does seem more of a joke against fate and all, might not sit well with anyone because of the questionable direction of it. Did the SI drop of top of her and is seducing her or did he drop on top of her by accident and the author is making a parody-like moment of it regarding magic and fate.
Also, since we are doing a moral discussion of the story...
No one is saying anything about the guy ( @Edifier ) who actually comments about wanting to see preteen girls get abused?
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- Location
- InTheWinterLand
Hmmn, the point of that chapter was to indicate how the SI let the Tom part of the personality take over.
Like Jekyll getting being mugged and letting Hyde out to play, because Hyde wouldn't care about being shot and would have a higher chance of getting out alive. Jekyll would run and get shot in the back.
The whole manipulation thing is the beginning of Tom plan but is it really how things will end?
I guess I'll throw a
It's taking ships to conquer America, then going full native.
But I mean, you're in the mind of Tom Marvolo Riddle, a guy who went off into the deep end.
Not too sure what people expected, flowers and prancing ponies? lol
In speaking of Sociopathy though, you do have to realise there is some percent of all highly successful men are highly functional sociopaths or at least show some traits of being one. CEOs, Politicians etc all have a way of divorcing themselves from reality.
Sociopaths never Apologize. --> "Admit nothing. Deny everything. Make counter-accusations"
-- American political consultant
Anyways, like I said in the previous reply, Tom is currently in control.
Why the does the SI NOT take control then?
1. SI is scared and confused.
2. Tom is simply better equipped in terms of personality to deal with things.
( I'd equate this to something like soldiers going under aggression training. Tom has, can and is willing to plan and kill something, basilisk included, whereas the SI has none of that mental aggression and planning he needs to survive.)
3. Ergo, SI is practicing escapism at the moment. And letting Tom run the show.
4. Another issue that hasn't been shown for now is how trapped the SI feels being stuck in there with Tom.
SI thinks it's in his best interest to cooperate for now, because when you have mystical energy doodads, things like Dark Naruto and getting rid of Dark Naruto is a thing.
Tom has seen Naruto through the SI's mind, but he hasn't internalised it or considered the implications yet because they are still in a combat situation. But SI is scared of what will happen when he does. If anyone ends up as Dark Naruto, SI feels like its a larger chance thats going to be him.
Whilst it seems like a personality merge, it half is and isn't because somehow, the two of them are still separate egos.
And yeah. Im just borrowing the logic from Obscurials in how it can affect the body. Rose is a special case, because she's literally experienced a near decade of people pretending she doesn't exist. Neglect in the extreme so that, magic does affect her in a way. She has the appearance that the magical worlds envisions of her, but she isn't actually in puberty yet. This will probably become a plot point later on.
And to your point where they might be aliens, you've reminded me of Atlanteans from Stargate Crossovers
The fall on top scene isn't so much fate or a parody or an accident or whatever. You can view it from two points.
1. It's a careful deliberate action committed by Tom in pursuit of the goal to make Rose his underling via binding her through love. This is "True" Tom's actions with his motivations hidden underneath the mask he is wearing. Which is why he pretends to be all flustered and not willing to look at her. Because that would be the correct reaction of a sixteen year old.
2. It's fate making a joke out of Tom, which is why Not-Riddle is laughing, because he has watched anime and thus has the appropriate context to know that joke. Actual fate wouldn't really be showing their hand so early in such a crude manner, if fate even exists at all.
SI doesn't realise how the entire thing was deliberate by Tom, because of the convincing-ness of Tom's follow up reactions which is why the SI is so creeped out when Tom takes off the mask at the end of the chapter.
The SI knows he is not as smart as Tom, but the SI realises that Tom pulled the wool over his eyes. The problem then is that "if you can fool someone who is literally living in your body, who can't they fool? And what else has Tom hidden from the SI without his knowledge?"
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Chapter 7 - An Insane Maestro
- Location
- InTheWinterLand
Play this! Or not! Up to you [Statues — HP&DH-P2 OST]
OR
Play this! Or not! Up to you [Fear of the Dark — Iron Maiden]
These are fantastic for the first part.
I entirely confess I got waaayyyy too carried away by making references here.
FYI, other verses WILL NOT play a major role until we are far along the road. At most, they serve as lore to fill up the horrifying background of the Not!Magical Britain Wizarding World.
————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
With a stone mien, Tom eyes the entire room, drinking deeply from his senses, visualising its entirety, enshrining it in his mind.
Conceptual. Conceptual. Conceptual.
'Incantations are a crutch. Do not rely on them. But do not discard them.' Words on a scrap of scripture.
From Bombadil. Tom.
His namesake. The First of Arda, The Lost Continent.
Voldemort thought Tom too muggle. A Rejection. Unacceptable.
Not-Riddle knew better.
Tom was a talented conman.
Tom was a pioneer of electricity.
Tom was an impossible spy.
Tom was a Founding Father.
Tom was a God — Loki.
Tom was before the GODS.
Invigoration of amplified confidence in the self.
Magnification of Confidence was the Creation of Self-Hypnosis. Self-Hypnosis into Belief. Belief was effect on the Waking World.
Tom closes his eyes, concentrating on the task ahead of him. Unknown to Failure.
Slowly his magic unveiled, and released from the tight leash Tom holds. Unaware of Loss.
Magic unwraps and twists into threads, snaking away across the room. All roads lead back to one Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Each thread penetrates into the snake head statues. Soaking into them, magic rooting into their insides. The thread is a marionette connection.
The spell is straining to cast and to direct for one with a teenagers reserves. But he was before the GODS.
So Tom does it anyways. The arrogance of one known to Magic.
Not-Riddle tells him Rose is depending on him. If she doesn't make it out alive, neither will he.
Tom agrees with Not-Riddle. Their failure means the beast will get him, if not that then the old coot.
But Failure? Tom does not think the word means what Not-Riddle thinks it means.
If Tom does, even trying Tom cannot fail.
With a deep deep breath, Tom raises his arms up and to the sides. A maestro in front of a golden orchestra about to perform.
Tom conducts. He is the Wilheim Furtwängler. Wand in Right. Open-palmed in left.
In need of peace to drown out the explosions, Tom once sneaked out to the Orchestra. He accidentally saw through a wizards disguise.
The greatest symphonic and operatic conductor of the 20th century was a follower of Grindelwald. Conducting in London.
Under disguise to spy for him. Tom still enjoyed his showing mightily. His baton work was exceptional.
So Tom desired to learn. And as he soon found out, Wilheim's wand work was exceptional too.
But Tom prevailed, with deep dive legilimence. He stole even muscle memory.
And now the baton is the wand. Unsuitable though it may be.
An expert made do with what they had in hand.
Even if he desired Roses wand.
A flick. An incant.
An inhale.
Exhale.
Toms face breaks into wide grin. A real one from Not-Riddle. Overwhelming emotions from him suppresses Tom. A fondness for constructs — Golems and giant mechs. A man's true romance.
Not-Riddle also wants a personal Death Star or two or a dozen and to be the God-Emperor of all Mankind.
Yes, Not-Riddle wanted all of that.
He is on a power trip. But he'd would settle for BFGs. Big Fucking Golem Snakes.
For now.
And so, he half-whispers to himself. Another line stolen. Still entirely apropos. Slightly bashful.
"I've always wanted to use that spell."
The air sizzles with magical energies. Tom's smoky magic mists about the room, at times attached like ropes.
Tom maintains his envisioning of an awakening snake.
After a nice bask in the hot warm sun. It was now time for the hunt. A juicy morsel awaited the snake. All it had to do was wake. Wake. Move. AND HUNT!!!
Tom demands it.
"Come to me." he hissed.
Parseltongue and Snake Statues made his work easier. A strong sympathetic connection.
The spell takes hold with a finality. They are now under his full control.
If it were not in the guise of snakes, Tom wasn't sure if that would've worked out 100%. But Tom's mind doesn't even take a fleeting glance in the direction of failure.
16 Stone Golemic Guardians are now curling up in front of him. Soldiers at the ready.
Rose was about to come back. Though, his plan to animate the statues wasn't really the goal.
They were yet another set of stalling tactics. The true lynchpin laid with the phoenix.
Tom awaited them both.
—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
Tom had kept mental count so he'd regain his body or at least some facsimile of it when Rose arrived for the second phase.
By his count, Tom had 7 seconds left. Still, it didn't hurt to check the timer.
Off by a second. For once, Tom was lenient on himself. Fighting the Basilisk wasn't exactly a light task, nor was breathing life into 16 4-meter tall Golems.
The clock ticks life away. Seconds pass.
Tom can hear the [Basilisk] scales screeching and rapid footfalls. Still very faint but approaching.
Both of them BRACED. Once bitten, twice shy.
[Ding!]
[Life Drain. Completed.]
[Physical Projection. Obtained.]
[You May Now Interact In Full With The Physical World.]
[Warning. Interruption Has Resulted In Source Non-Expiration.]
[Shell Degradation Beginning. Remaining Time: 6 months, 6 days, 6 hours.]
[GAMER Kindly Reminds User. This Is Your Only Warning.]
[GAMER Kindly Reminds User. Please Regain Body Before Limit.]
[GAMER Kindly Reminds User. Failure Is Grounds For TERMINATION.]
Tom and Not-Riddle are both very glad nothing BROKE when they finally turned corporeal.
Barely just minutes ago, Not-Riddle was almost ruined because he got caught in a catch-22.
So they were both understandably weary of the GAMER.
One at the power of GAIA [?] and Gia.
Another at the mysterious magic that had pulverised him.
Not-Riddle was even more disturbed that the GAMER seemed to have a sentience of some kind.
Just as with the example of Tom, "Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain.".
But now wasn't the time to be considering this. He'd have to wait until later.
Recruit that "Ravenclaw". She would enjoy running experiments. They think.
A reversal of roles. Whilst Not-Riddle is plotting.
Tom is MARVELLING. Tom despite his memories, was still in the end, a disembodied spirit / soul / shard.
Had been from the beginning. Would've been till the end. But now he was not.
So this wasn't a real body? But Tom could now feel sensations. He did not even realise how muted his senses once were.
Perhaps that was why his senses were strangely sharp at times before.
How, rather than suddenly experiencing a supersensory charm, it was more akin to regaining what was once originally his for a short while.
Another pop up interrupts both of them. Toms gut drops.
Tom knew it was too good to be true. There was no such thing as a free lunch. Tom just hoped he would not BREAK.
Tom did not panic, because Tom Marvolo Riddle does not panic. In truth, it was more Occlumency and Moderator's Mind [?]. But they were both his in the end, so it still counted as Tom.
All at once, several things happened at the same time. Rose arrived. The Phoenix arrived. His mind & body had arrived.
Tom cursed.
Quick pitter-pattering of feet. Panting out of breath. Shrieking hisses follows closely.
A cutting screech. Something yelling out "LET GO! YOU FEATHERY MENACE.".
Tom can't find it in himself to laugh. For there is only:
A Nyarlat̷͎̞hǫṯ̣͍́e̤͈̰̞͍p̨̘í̲ͅc̣̖͍̫͍—
No, a Narcoleptic fainting spell. Tom doesn't have narcolepsy.
Recalling? Tom can barely remember anything from the past 2 seconds.
Tom knows something is horrifically wrong. Something about a feather? Laughing?
The two non-sequiturs bravely tries to distract him from a growing spike in his mind. He feels shredded.
Tom tries to stop his thoughts. To not think about anything, to think about nothing. But the nail is hammered in.
The migraine had finally made it's way to Tom. A rough-housing so wildly divergent from his expectations of gentleness.
Not-Riddle had to help out. Tom was getting absolutely swamped with sensitive input. His skin was on fire. His mind was melting.
His existence was AGONISING.
Unlike Tom, Not-Riddle wasn't heartless. Acting as a railway signal, Not-Riddle diverted the flood of hurt deep into a conceptual pool of the Cruciatus Curse. The conceptual containment of a spell-page that was bound to the Grimoire that was the mental total representation of Toms Spell Knowledge.
The spell-page tinges with a nasty shade of crimson carmine that crackled. The spell-page began to wrinkle and convulse, like an animation charm gone wrong.
The containment held. The pain was no longer mind-crippling but the spell-page was now permanently cardinal and crinkled.
Looking at it, Not-Riddle could feel his nerves a little on fire, despite not having metaphysical nerves at all. He speculated that the next Crucio would result in an instant vegetable. It wouldn't even take 3 minutes.
For Tom, pain and pleasure receptors fired constantly. He was getting a glimpse into the pain side of things. Not-Riddle jokingly thought Tom deserved a taste. Don't dish it out if you can't take it.
Tom could certainly take it, if his gritted teeth and clenched jaw was any indication. Not-Riddle was somewhat afraid Tom would snap Ginevra's wand at the hilt, but he was confident in Tom's self-control. After all, Not-Riddle had helped hadn't he? Pleased as punch he was.
Not-Riddles default defence mechanism was to throw humour and casual disregard at everything. EVERYTHING. He rather thought it was working quite well. Anything for a distraction.
[Statues — HP&DH-P2 OST]OR
Play this! Or not! Up to you
[Fear of the Dark — Iron Maiden]These are fantastic for the first part.
I entirely confess I got waaayyyy too carried away by making references here.
FYI, other verses WILL NOT play a major role until we are far along the road. At most, they serve as lore to fill up the horrifying background of the Not!Magical Britain Wizarding World.
————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
With a stone mien, Tom eyes the entire room, drinking deeply from his senses, visualising its entirety, enshrining it in his mind.
Conceptual. Conceptual. Conceptual.
'Incantations are a crutch. Do not rely on them. But do not discard them.' Words on a scrap of scripture.
From Bombadil. Tom.
His namesake. The First of Arda, The Lost Continent.
Voldemort thought Tom too muggle. A Rejection. Unacceptable.
Not-Riddle knew better.
Tom was a talented conman.
Tom was a pioneer of electricity.
Tom was an impossible spy.
Tom was a Founding Father.
Tom was a God — Loki.
Tom was before the GODS.
Invigoration of amplified confidence in the self.
Magnification of Confidence was the Creation of Self-Hypnosis. Self-Hypnosis into Belief. Belief was effect on the Waking World.
Tom closes his eyes, concentrating on the task ahead of him. Unknown to Failure.
Slowly his magic unveiled, and released from the tight leash Tom holds. Unaware of Loss.
Magic unwraps and twists into threads, snaking away across the room. All roads lead back to one Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Each thread penetrates into the snake head statues. Soaking into them, magic rooting into their insides. The thread is a marionette connection.
The spell is straining to cast and to direct for one with a teenagers reserves. But he was before the GODS.
So Tom does it anyways. The arrogance of one known to Magic.
Not-Riddle tells him Rose is depending on him. If she doesn't make it out alive, neither will he.
Tom agrees with Not-Riddle. Their failure means the beast will get him, if not that then the old coot.
But Failure? Tom does not think the word means what Not-Riddle thinks it means.
If Tom does, even trying Tom cannot fail.
With a deep deep breath, Tom raises his arms up and to the sides. A maestro in front of a golden orchestra about to perform.
Tom conducts. He is the Wilheim Furtwängler. Wand in Right. Open-palmed in left.
In need of peace to drown out the explosions, Tom once sneaked out to the Orchestra. He accidentally saw through a wizards disguise.
The greatest symphonic and operatic conductor of the 20th century was a follower of Grindelwald. Conducting in London.
Under disguise to spy for him. Tom still enjoyed his showing mightily. His baton work was exceptional.
So Tom desired to learn. And as he soon found out, Wilheim's wand work was exceptional too.
But Tom prevailed, with deep dive legilimence. He stole even muscle memory.
And now the baton is the wand. Unsuitable though it may be.
An expert made do with what they had in hand.
Even if he desired Roses wand.
A flick. An incant.
An inhale.
Exhale.
[PIERTOTUM LOCOMOTOR!]
[Your Cast Is A Critical Success! Gain [50%] Skill Proficiency In Magic (Wand-Based).]
The hauntingly unique melody of stone crunching with movement.
Staccato jaws snap shut. One by one. Emeralds gleams. Arisen.
[Your Cast Is A Critical Success! Gain [50%] Skill Proficiency In Magic (Wand-Based).]
The hauntingly unique melody of stone crunching with movement.
Staccato jaws snap shut. One by one. Emeralds gleams. Arisen.
Toms face breaks into wide grin. A real one from Not-Riddle. Overwhelming emotions from him suppresses Tom. A fondness for constructs — Golems and giant mechs. A man's true romance.
Not-Riddle also wants a personal Death Star or two or a dozen and to be the God-Emperor of all Mankind.
Yes, Not-Riddle wanted all of that.
He is on a power trip. But he'd would settle for BFGs. Big Fucking Golem Snakes.
For now.
And so, he half-whispers to himself. Another line stolen. Still entirely apropos. Slightly bashful.
"I've always wanted to use that spell."
The air sizzles with magical energies. Tom's smoky magic mists about the room, at times attached like ropes.
Tom maintains his envisioning of an awakening snake.
After a nice bask in the hot warm sun. It was now time for the hunt. A juicy morsel awaited the snake. All it had to do was wake. Wake. Move. AND HUNT!!!
Tom demands it.
"Come to me." he hissed.
Parseltongue and Snake Statues made his work easier. A strong sympathetic connection.
The spell takes hold with a finality. They are now under his full control.
If it were not in the guise of snakes, Tom wasn't sure if that would've worked out 100%. But Tom's mind doesn't even take a fleeting glance in the direction of failure.
16 Stone Golemic Guardians are now curling up in front of him. Soldiers at the ready.
Rose was about to come back. Though, his plan to animate the statues wasn't really the goal.
They were yet another set of stalling tactics. The true lynchpin laid with the phoenix.
Tom awaited them both.
—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
Tom had kept mental count so he'd regain his body or at least some facsimile of it when Rose arrived for the second phase.
By his count, Tom had 7 seconds left. Still, it didn't hurt to check the timer.
[Life Drain in Progress. Remaining Time: 00:08 min.]
Off by a second. For once, Tom was lenient on himself. Fighting the Basilisk wasn't exactly a light task, nor was breathing life into 16 4-meter tall Golems.
The clock ticks life away. Seconds pass.
[Life Drain in Progress. Remaining Time: 00:04 min.]
Tom can hear the [Basilisk] scales screeching and rapid footfalls. Still very faint but approaching.
[Life Drain in Progress. Remaining Time: 00:01 min.]
Both of them BRACED. Once bitten, twice shy.
[Ding!]
[Life Drain. Completed.]
[Physical Projection. Obtained.]
[You May Now Interact In Full With The Physical World.]
[Warning. Interruption Has Resulted In Source Non-Expiration.]
[Shell Degradation Beginning. Remaining Time: 6 months, 6 days, 6 hours.]
[GAMER Kindly Reminds User. This Is Your Only Warning.]
[GAMER Kindly Reminds User. Please Regain Body Before Limit.]
[GAMER Kindly Reminds User. Failure Is Grounds For TERMINATION.]
Tom and Not-Riddle are both very glad nothing BROKE when they finally turned corporeal.
Barely just minutes ago, Not-Riddle was almost ruined because he got caught in a catch-22.
So they were both understandably weary of the GAMER.
One at the power of GAIA [?] and Gia.
Another at the mysterious magic that had pulverised him.
Not-Riddle was even more disturbed that the GAMER seemed to have a sentience of some kind.
Just as with the example of Tom, "Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain.".
But now wasn't the time to be considering this. He'd have to wait until later.
Recruit that "Ravenclaw". She would enjoy running experiments. They think.
A reversal of roles. Whilst Not-Riddle is plotting.
Tom is MARVELLING. Tom despite his memories, was still in the end, a disembodied spirit / soul / shard.
Had been from the beginning. Would've been till the end. But now he was not.
So this wasn't a real body? But Tom could now feel sensations. He did not even realise how muted his senses once were.
Perhaps that was why his senses were strangely sharp at times before.
How, rather than suddenly experiencing a supersensory charm, it was more akin to regaining what was once originally his for a short while.
Another pop up interrupts both of them. Toms gut drops.
[Ding!]
[Valid Physical Mind Detected.]
[Mental Statistics Are Now Unlocked.]
[Intelligence, Wisdom & Willpower Have Been Revealed.]
[Mental Stats Will Now Take Effect On User.]
[Retroactive Effect Applies: Last [30] Minutes.]
[Please Await Patch.]
[Gamer's Mind: Overrided.]
[Hidden | Gamer's Insight: ENABLED.]
[Moderator's Mind: Activated For Patch Duration.]
[GAMER Kindly Reminds User. Please Be Seated.]
[GAMER Kindly Reminds User. Don'т do anyтнιng ѕтυpιd, вoy...]
[paтcнιng…]
[Valid Physical Mind Detected.]
[Mental Statistics Are Now Unlocked.]
[Intelligence, Wisdom & Willpower Have Been Revealed.]
[Mental Stats Will Now Take Effect On User.]
[Retroactive Effect Applies: Last [30] Minutes.]
[Please Await Patch.]
[Gamer's Mind: Overrided.]
[Hidden | Gamer's Insight: ENABLED.]
[Moderator's Mind: Activated For Patch Duration.]
[GAMER Kindly Reminds User. Please Be Seated.]
[GAMER Kindly Reminds User. Don'т do anyтнιng ѕтυpιd, вoy...]
[paтcнιng…]
Tom knew it was too good to be true. There was no such thing as a free lunch. Tom just hoped he would not BREAK.
Tom did not panic, because Tom Marvolo Riddle does not panic. In truth, it was more Occlumency and Moderator's Mind [?]. But they were both his in the end, so it still counted as Tom.
All at once, several things happened at the same time. Rose arrived. The Phoenix arrived. His mind & body had arrived.
Tom cursed.
Quick pitter-pattering of feet. Panting out of breath. Shrieking hisses follows closely.
A cutting screech. Something yelling out "LET GO! YOU FEATHERY MENACE.".
Tom can't find it in himself to laugh. For there is only:
P̢̙̹͇̥̟͓̲̰̝̠̟̱̟͔̄̍̑̓̔̄́́͘͠A̸̻͓̩̝͍͇̩̤̬̺̪͊̍̏ͩͪͭͣ̍͋̄̓͞ͅͅI̵̜͙̯̟̘̥̙̬̙͊̔͐̒͐͒ͣ̊͗̏̕͟N̨̡̻̬͙͔̯̗̍͛̒̂̍̏ͬ̾ͯ́ͨͥ̓̈ͤ͠. P̸̗̘̙̖̥̦̩̾̆̽͑̄ͣ̓̈́͟͞A̛͔̭͖̜̻̦̩͋̋ͩ͗̋I̪͈̪̮ͪͨ̽ͧͦ̇̂͌̆̀Ṇ̞͖̺ͯ̓̀̕. P̮͉̱͕̪͠A͋ͩ͟Ḯ̶͕̱ͪ͗ͯN̼͕̰̻̘̙̘͒.
[Moderator's Mind: ENFORCED.]
Ꭾaιn.
[Moderator's Mind: ENFORCED.]
Ꭾaιn.
A Nyarlat̷͎̞hǫṯ̣͍́e̤͈̰̞͍p̨̘í̲ͅc̣̖͍̫͍—
[Ꮛnғorced.]
No, a Narcoleptic fainting spell. Tom doesn't have narcolepsy.
Recalling? Tom can barely remember anything from the past 2 seconds.
Tom knows something is horrifically wrong. Something about a feather? Laughing?
The two non-sequiturs bravely tries to distract him from a growing spike in his mind. He feels shredded.
Tom tries to stop his thoughts. To not think about anything, to think about nothing. But the nail is hammered in.
The migraine had finally made it's way to Tom. A rough-housing so wildly divergent from his expectations of gentleness.
Not-Riddle had to help out. Tom was getting absolutely swamped with sensitive input. His skin was on fire. His mind was melting.
His existence was AGONISING.
Unlike Tom, Not-Riddle wasn't heartless. Acting as a railway signal, Not-Riddle diverted the flood of hurt deep into a conceptual pool of the Cruciatus Curse. The conceptual containment of a spell-page that was bound to the Grimoire that was the mental total representation of Toms Spell Knowledge.
The spell-page tinges with a nasty shade of crimson carmine that crackled. The spell-page began to wrinkle and convulse, like an animation charm gone wrong.
The containment held. The pain was no longer mind-crippling but the spell-page was now permanently cardinal and crinkled.
Looking at it, Not-Riddle could feel his nerves a little on fire, despite not having metaphysical nerves at all. He speculated that the next Crucio would result in an instant vegetable. It wouldn't even take 3 minutes.
For Tom, pain and pleasure receptors fired constantly. He was getting a glimpse into the pain side of things. Not-Riddle jokingly thought Tom deserved a taste. Don't dish it out if you can't take it.
Tom could certainly take it, if his gritted teeth and clenched jaw was any indication. Not-Riddle was somewhat afraid Tom would snap Ginevra's wand at the hilt, but he was confident in Tom's self-control. After all, Not-Riddle had helped hadn't he? Pleased as punch he was.
Not-Riddles default defence mechanism was to throw humour and casual disregard at everything. EVERYTHING. He rather thought it was working quite well. Anything for a distraction.
Last edited:
Piertotum Locomotor by Minerva Mcgonagall
- Location
- InTheWinterLand
To 1:50 we go! My favourite scene from the Deathly Hallows.
Chapter 8 - [Phoenix] Ash
- Location
- InTheWinterLand
Tom booted Not-Riddle out AGAIN. A calm fire burned inside him, flickering in a controlled spiral.
Once again, his was the fury. Toms anger allowed him to overcome his remaining tremors. His shaking hand slowly stabilised.
Forcing himself to move took a tremendous effort of will that he actually suddenly found easy to summon up.
Tom jumped onto the head of one of his Golems. A wise choice. Better than rolling on the ground like mud-people.
Civilised, as a true scholarly wizard ought to be. Intelligence twinkling with a Grimoire at his side.
Tom's was in his mind. Never-lost. Thief-proof. Indestructible by virtue of being non-physical.
But there were no spells now that could aid him. Not in this particular phase of the plan.
Besides, all of Toms focus was on Golem Manipulation. For him, it was an active spell requiring attention channeling.
Tom wasn't yet a Transfiguration Master who could cast-and-forget battle transfigurations and animation charms.
It was on his list of things to learn. But for now, Tom had to be the golems. Envision their actions and actually act upon them.
Tom didn't bother with the [Phoenix] just yet. He still kept track of it though. Its part was crucial.
But it was still flying over here. It's passenger screaming unkind obscenities. Tom could stand to take a lesson from that hat.
—————————————————————————————————————————————————————
Without a time turner, Tom could only physically do one thing at a time.
Tom called out to Rose as she appeared from the side-tunnel. They were beginning the end-game now.
"Over here!" Tom clearly enunciates with a wandless [Sonorus]. There was no need to shout. He was a wizard.
Half-haggard and mentally drained. Tom looked Gaunt. From his ordeal, not his family.
Though Tom supposed his family was an ordeal too.
He thinks that from her point of view, he looked completely wiped out from his spell casting.
It wasn't entirely true but Tom wasn't about to dissuade her. Not when it was so convenient.
Her thinking he had his limits was yet another card in his deck. It didn't matter if he actually had limits or not.
First impressions made, stuck even in the face of evidence proving otherwise later on. She'd always slightly underestimate him.
Tom focuses his will, magic pulsing through invisible marionette strings. Mineral forked tongues slither out in animation.
Alive. Stone set emeralds glowed viridescent, in mimicry of the verdant-eyed who'd survived acid-green death 12 years ago.
Tom focuses his wisdom, strategically positioning his Golems in a half-moon envelopment. 12 Golems moved to become equally spaced. 6 at Southwest and 6 at Southeast facing the North that was the tunnel. A fixing force.
The Anvil of War, for the Hammer of the Great.
Tom focuses his intelligence, knowing that a [Basilisk] whilst an ambush predator, are not cautious by nature. Why would they be? Impunity came from an Instant Death Gaze and Impervious Scales.
But its petrifying gaze would not work on original stone. Death would not come for those who weren't alive.
The ignorant beast will charge right in.
Tom exploits this. 4 of his golems stick to wall, hidden and flanking the entrance that Rose appears from. Their magic bringing them to life, 2 of them even snake their way vertically up the wall. Like perched gargoyles, they leer down, ready.
Toms envelopment was once that of a pincer. Now it has a vertical element to it.
Tom doesn't have para-troopers, nor even the terracotta knights of the original spell. Not-Riddle bemoans lack of ODSTs.
But they were fine. They were happy. They had BFGs.
Tom can't wait to see a ton of stone land on flesh and bone. Tom will soon see who crushes who. His eyes full of derision.
Still. Derision in his eyes still won't help against the strain of low light, of accommodation of distance, far to near.
The growing shape beneath him catches his attention. Rose is running towards him a few meters away.
With a mental command that doesn't even need to be thought. The Snake Golems head bows, lowering just off the ground.
Kneeling with a hand out to the side. Tom prepares to lift Rose up onto their mount.
Rose easily catches Toms intention. She thinks, at least it isn't a broom floating hundreds of metres in the air.
And so, with a hop, skip and bounce. Rose jumps a leap worthy of a dunking baller.
Her air time travels, wand in left, right outstretched.
A hand with snake motif ring grasps a thin wrist. A hand calloused by broom handling grasps a strong wrist.
This is no unbreakable vow, but unspoken is their twin determination to get out of here alive.
Toms bicep flexes, muscle outlined by a threadbare robe sleeve. Both grips tighten.
Silently with a spin, he swings Rose onto stone, her feet landing like a cat, a graceful gymnast with robes still aflutter.
No words are spoken between them. Toms sympathetic magical link is now actuating. His earlier efforts now bare fruit.
Neither eternal enemies nor eternal friends just yet.
In this instant, there is only eternal interest.
Vested effort in survival and victory.
United in purpose.
—————————————————————————————————————————————————————
Rose stands slightly to the back, her lungs gulping down air. She doesn't rest though, Rose still wants to fight alongside Tom.
She is still recovering from an all out sprint. Tom can see the wide dilated eyes of an all-out flight. And now they were going to fight.
It is up to Tom for now. Tom won't put Rose at risk until she is at her optimum. Tom checks his anchored shield charm. Still active.
Good. Without needing to recast anything on her, Tom can start. His mind once again IN the golems.
He readies his forces, envisioning the upcoming action. One to his left and two to his right will surge forward as a bulwark of the vanguard. The remaining on the side would counter. Flanking the beast.
The golems stir slightly, commands received, movement in preparation. Some rear back slightly for a cobras strike. Others lean down, slightly to the side for the lashing out of a vipers head. Each is independent with their own quirks. Strangely, Tom somehow gets the feeling that this is what they were designed for.
Slytherin was extravagant, but he was practical. Snake heads serving as mere decorative statues? Tom castigates himself for being so unobservant. He promised himself to improve.
Tom nearly fails to react in time when the [Basilisk] silently POUNCES out from the dark tunnel, with nary a cry or whisper.
Tom has been too reliant on audiovisual cues. Tom looks into its eyes and sees a sapient Serpent King.
He is reminded that this is an animal, not one of his constructs. The beast is learning as it lives.
Neither can live while the other survives.
A quick twitch of his wand and Tom is yet again thankful for the pits of Slytherin.
As planned, 3 Golems spring out on an intercept course.
The [Basilisk] unceremoniously crashes into the first Golem.
A realisation that the statues should have original enchantments, because instead of stone crumbling, Tom can only see a bit of dust and flake.
The [Basilisk] roars in defiance, angry at these new contenders, these interlopers who would interfere in its hunt.
The Golems are on a hunt of their own, as the other two rush, from left and right. Each set of fangs and ripping stone teeth clamp down, finding purchase against uneven scales.
Stone teeth fail to penetrate, but that is by design. Toms orders are only for restraint, not for the kill.
That honour was for the recruit behind him. He'd make her important. See what they could achieve together as one.
The remaining golems surround the [Basilisk], biting down one by one, sectioning the [Basilisk] body into sectors of restraint. Each golem responsible for weighing down one part of the beast.
Tom knows this is not nearly enough. A snakes muscular anatomy was spread out throughout its entirety. It wasn't like a human where locking down one limb meant incapacitation. The [Basilisk] was still attempting to flail about. But it would suffice for now.
Tom keeps his reserves on the walls. Waiting for it to happen.
Behind him, Roses face is that of amazement.
At how the beast that had been looking to take a bite out of her, had been so easily restrained.
This was what Magic could do. Not the cheap and simple spells from boring classwork and mind-numbing essays.
Of real magic, of the sight that had greeted her on alightment of the Hogwarts Express. A Castle Of Wonder.
—————————————————————————————————————————————————————
From the peripherals of his eye, Tom caught a flash of red accompanied by a high-pitched cry, of a [Phoenix] descending into battle.
A flashing fume of flames and the [Phoenix] DIVES.
This is the moment.
This is what Tom is waiting for.
The diving [Phoenix] aims, talons going for the [Basilisk] eyes, dropping the hat somewhere Tom can't see.
The thrashing of flesh against stone was a confusion of splashing water, cracking stone and spurting blood.
Two scars mar the now imperfect [Basilisk] face. His reserves had jumped right in at the very last moment, also pretending to go for the eyes.
The four reserve golems successfully ran interference in the nick of time, driving the [Phoenix] off target.
As if Tom would allow that over-puffed chicken to damage his precious ingredients.
[Basilisk] reagents matured for a thousand years. Where and when on Earth was he going to find that again?
Not very bloody likely is what it was. Tom wanted a corpse with intact EVERYTHING.
What Tom wants, Tom gets.
Not-Riddle imagines the golems gleefully shouting "I'M HALPING! I AM!".
Not-Riddle vows to make Tom keep these cute little buggers. Entirely too useful not to take possession of. Pre-enchanted too. A bargain really.
Tom handles his reserve golems in a series of looping lunges, each time driving the [Phoenix] off and out of position with a pretence of combat and aid.
Eventually, the [Basilisk] manages to score a hit on the flighty bird. Drops of its venom splash against the [Phoenix] wings.
Tom can see a bit of [Phoenix] ash manifesting as unnatural flames burst into existence, burning away the wound of the [Phoenix].
Tom is entirely too satisfied. An Objective accomplished. Not-Riddle imagines a Tomcat going 'Puurrrfect'.
The [Phoenix] sings a mournful song and flees to the top of Slytherins head, nursing its pained wings.
Tom notices but his attention is elsewhere. Wandlessly, Tom transfigures a vial from the stone wall and with a surreptitious twitch of his finger, the still adrift [Phoenix] ashes gather and pour into the vial like cremated remains.
Rose doesn't notice a thing. Mind still fixed upon the struggling [Basilisk], eyeing the bleeding wounds with a slight cringe and a bit of disgust.
Still, it's not like Tom was going to use those ashes for any kind of nefarious purpose. What was he?
Some kind of failed dark lord of blackest edge with no nose?
No, Tom had better plans for that. He had started scheming the moment he had seen the words [Shell Degradation].
In all honesty, Tom has no idea what that means. But the English language was obvious enough, and as an educated man, Tom had an educated guess.
Once again, his was the fury. Toms anger allowed him to overcome his remaining tremors. His shaking hand slowly stabilised.
Forcing himself to move took a tremendous effort of will that he actually suddenly found easy to summon up.
Tom jumped onto the head of one of his Golems. A wise choice. Better than rolling on the ground like mud-people.
Civilised, as a true scholarly wizard ought to be. Intelligence twinkling with a Grimoire at his side.
Tom's was in his mind. Never-lost. Thief-proof. Indestructible by virtue of being non-physical.
But there were no spells now that could aid him. Not in this particular phase of the plan.
Besides, all of Toms focus was on Golem Manipulation. For him, it was an active spell requiring attention channeling.
Tom wasn't yet a Transfiguration Master who could cast-and-forget battle transfigurations and animation charms.
It was on his list of things to learn. But for now, Tom had to be the golems. Envision their actions and actually act upon them.
Tom didn't bother with the [Phoenix] just yet. He still kept track of it though. Its part was crucial.
But it was still flying over here. It's passenger screaming unkind obscenities. Tom could stand to take a lesson from that hat.
—————————————————————————————————————————————————————
Without a time turner, Tom could only physically do one thing at a time.
Tom called out to Rose as she appeared from the side-tunnel. They were beginning the end-game now.
"Over here!" Tom clearly enunciates with a wandless [Sonorus]. There was no need to shout. He was a wizard.
Half-haggard and mentally drained. Tom looked Gaunt. From his ordeal, not his family.
Though Tom supposed his family was an ordeal too.
He thinks that from her point of view, he looked completely wiped out from his spell casting.
It wasn't entirely true but Tom wasn't about to dissuade her. Not when it was so convenient.
Her thinking he had his limits was yet another card in his deck. It didn't matter if he actually had limits or not.
First impressions made, stuck even in the face of evidence proving otherwise later on. She'd always slightly underestimate him.
Tom focuses his will, magic pulsing through invisible marionette strings. Mineral forked tongues slither out in animation.
Alive. Stone set emeralds glowed viridescent, in mimicry of the verdant-eyed who'd survived acid-green death 12 years ago.
Tom focuses his wisdom, strategically positioning his Golems in a half-moon envelopment. 12 Golems moved to become equally spaced. 6 at Southwest and 6 at Southeast facing the North that was the tunnel. A fixing force.
The Anvil of War, for the Hammer of the Great.
Tom focuses his intelligence, knowing that a [Basilisk] whilst an ambush predator, are not cautious by nature. Why would they be? Impunity came from an Instant Death Gaze and Impervious Scales.
But its petrifying gaze would not work on original stone. Death would not come for those who weren't alive.
The ignorant beast will charge right in.
Tom exploits this. 4 of his golems stick to wall, hidden and flanking the entrance that Rose appears from. Their magic bringing them to life, 2 of them even snake their way vertically up the wall. Like perched gargoyles, they leer down, ready.
Toms envelopment was once that of a pincer. Now it has a vertical element to it.
Tom doesn't have para-troopers, nor even the terracotta knights of the original spell. Not-Riddle bemoans lack of ODSTs.
But they were fine. They were happy. They had BFGs.
Tom can't wait to see a ton of stone land on flesh and bone. Tom will soon see who crushes who. His eyes full of derision.
Still. Derision in his eyes still won't help against the strain of low light, of accommodation of distance, far to near.
The growing shape beneath him catches his attention. Rose is running towards him a few meters away.
With a mental command that doesn't even need to be thought. The Snake Golems head bows, lowering just off the ground.
Kneeling with a hand out to the side. Tom prepares to lift Rose up onto their mount.
Rose easily catches Toms intention. She thinks, at least it isn't a broom floating hundreds of metres in the air.
And so, with a hop, skip and bounce. Rose jumps a leap worthy of a dunking baller.
Her air time travels, wand in left, right outstretched.
A hand with snake motif ring grasps a thin wrist. A hand calloused by broom handling grasps a strong wrist.
This is no unbreakable vow, but unspoken is their twin determination to get out of here alive.
Toms bicep flexes, muscle outlined by a threadbare robe sleeve. Both grips tighten.
Silently with a spin, he swings Rose onto stone, her feet landing like a cat, a graceful gymnast with robes still aflutter.
No words are spoken between them. Toms sympathetic magical link is now actuating. His earlier efforts now bare fruit.
Neither eternal enemies nor eternal friends just yet.
In this instant, there is only eternal interest.
Vested effort in survival and victory.
United in purpose.
—————————————————————————————————————————————————————
Rose stands slightly to the back, her lungs gulping down air. She doesn't rest though, Rose still wants to fight alongside Tom.
She is still recovering from an all out sprint. Tom can see the wide dilated eyes of an all-out flight. And now they were going to fight.
It is up to Tom for now. Tom won't put Rose at risk until she is at her optimum. Tom checks his anchored shield charm. Still active.
Good. Without needing to recast anything on her, Tom can start. His mind once again IN the golems.
He readies his forces, envisioning the upcoming action. One to his left and two to his right will surge forward as a bulwark of the vanguard. The remaining on the side would counter. Flanking the beast.
The golems stir slightly, commands received, movement in preparation. Some rear back slightly for a cobras strike. Others lean down, slightly to the side for the lashing out of a vipers head. Each is independent with their own quirks. Strangely, Tom somehow gets the feeling that this is what they were designed for.
Slytherin was extravagant, but he was practical. Snake heads serving as mere decorative statues? Tom castigates himself for being so unobservant. He promised himself to improve.
WHOOSH!!!
Tom nearly fails to react in time when the [Basilisk] silently POUNCES out from the dark tunnel, with nary a cry or whisper.
Tom has been too reliant on audiovisual cues. Tom looks into its eyes and sees a sapient Serpent King.
He is reminded that this is an animal, not one of his constructs. The beast is learning as it lives.
Neither can live while the other survives.
A quick twitch of his wand and Tom is yet again thankful for the pits of Slytherin.
As planned, 3 Golems spring out on an intercept course.
The [Basilisk] unceremoniously crashes into the first Golem.
A realisation that the statues should have original enchantments, because instead of stone crumbling, Tom can only see a bit of dust and flake.
The [Basilisk] roars in defiance, angry at these new contenders, these interlopers who would interfere in its hunt.
The Golems are on a hunt of their own, as the other two rush, from left and right. Each set of fangs and ripping stone teeth clamp down, finding purchase against uneven scales.
Stone teeth fail to penetrate, but that is by design. Toms orders are only for restraint, not for the kill.
That honour was for the recruit behind him. He'd make her important. See what they could achieve together as one.
The remaining golems surround the [Basilisk], biting down one by one, sectioning the [Basilisk] body into sectors of restraint. Each golem responsible for weighing down one part of the beast.
Tom knows this is not nearly enough. A snakes muscular anatomy was spread out throughout its entirety. It wasn't like a human where locking down one limb meant incapacitation. The [Basilisk] was still attempting to flail about. But it would suffice for now.
Tom keeps his reserves on the walls. Waiting for it to happen.
Behind him, Roses face is that of amazement.
At how the beast that had been looking to take a bite out of her, had been so easily restrained.
This was what Magic could do. Not the cheap and simple spells from boring classwork and mind-numbing essays.
Of real magic, of the sight that had greeted her on alightment of the Hogwarts Express. A Castle Of Wonder.
—————————————————————————————————————————————————————
From the peripherals of his eye, Tom caught a flash of red accompanied by a high-pitched cry, of a [Phoenix] descending into battle.
A flashing fume of flames and the [Phoenix] DIVES.
This is the moment.
This is what Tom is waiting for.
The diving [Phoenix] aims, talons going for the [Basilisk] eyes, dropping the hat somewhere Tom can't see.
The thrashing of flesh against stone was a confusion of splashing water, cracking stone and spurting blood.
Two scars mar the now imperfect [Basilisk] face. His reserves had jumped right in at the very last moment, also pretending to go for the eyes.
The four reserve golems successfully ran interference in the nick of time, driving the [Phoenix] off target.
As if Tom would allow that over-puffed chicken to damage his precious ingredients.
[Basilisk] reagents matured for a thousand years. Where and when on Earth was he going to find that again?
Not very bloody likely is what it was. Tom wanted a corpse with intact EVERYTHING.
What Tom wants, Tom gets.
Not-Riddle imagines the golems gleefully shouting "I'M HALPING! I AM!".
Not-Riddle vows to make Tom keep these cute little buggers. Entirely too useful not to take possession of. Pre-enchanted too. A bargain really.
Tom handles his reserve golems in a series of looping lunges, each time driving the [Phoenix] off and out of position with a pretence of combat and aid.
Eventually, the [Basilisk] manages to score a hit on the flighty bird. Drops of its venom splash against the [Phoenix] wings.
Tom can see a bit of [Phoenix] ash manifesting as unnatural flames burst into existence, burning away the wound of the [Phoenix].
Tom is entirely too satisfied. An Objective accomplished. Not-Riddle imagines a Tomcat going 'Puurrrfect'.
The [Phoenix] sings a mournful song and flees to the top of Slytherins head, nursing its pained wings.
Tom notices but his attention is elsewhere. Wandlessly, Tom transfigures a vial from the stone wall and with a surreptitious twitch of his finger, the still adrift [Phoenix] ashes gather and pour into the vial like cremated remains.
Rose doesn't notice a thing. Mind still fixed upon the struggling [Basilisk], eyeing the bleeding wounds with a slight cringe and a bit of disgust.
Still, it's not like Tom was going to use those ashes for any kind of nefarious purpose. What was he?
Some kind of failed dark lord of blackest edge with no nose?
No, Tom had better plans for that. He had started scheming the moment he had seen the words [Shell Degradation].
In all honesty, Tom has no idea what that means. But the English language was obvious enough, and as an educated man, Tom had an educated guess.
Interlude — A glimpse into the wider world
- Location
- InTheWinterLand
Not-canon for now, until I decide where to take plot thread and confirm my original creations.
Do keep in mind that MACUSA is "similar" to the British MoM due to their branching roots. The same assumption can't be held for other countries.
—————————————————————————————————————————————————————
Interlude — A glimpse into the wider world
The elevator currently at Level 88 under Woolworth Building is automatically expanding as it fills with a sea of hooded black robes. Each hooded person is indistinguishable from the next. The only item of identification is a badge of gears and eyes denoting their rank and capacity under the Department of Enigmas.
The elevator is filled with low murmurs. An undercurrent of controlled panic.
Not once had the MACUSA Woolworth building seen so many Decipherers out and about. In well, … forever.
There was that one time where their counterparts across the pond had gone cray cray with their experiments in Time-Travel back in the 1890s.
That was a hundred years ago, even then, there had not been so many as what was currently present.
Back then, the Decipherers finally left their labs and along with ICW Sorcerers and other researchers from various magical governing entities, had arrived en force to the Chambers in the Department of Mysteries in Britain.
The British Unspeakables had been strictly, strongly and properly chastised.
Seekers of Magicks policed their own, they had to, given their universal autonomy from governance.
The political capital spent then had put Magical Britains Unspeakables behind for years, but everything was forgiven when the time came to unite against Grindelwald in the Global Wizarding War.
Not many could remember the last time the Hooded Intellectuals were out in force. After all, this wasn't France where the Suitors would prance around and show off their latest magical developments.
Ranked on a global scale, the Decipherers were in the top 10 of those ICW sanctioned groups who delved deep into the magicks. Everything they did was so wrapped up in black tape and invisible code-cipher ink that nothing leaked out.
In Whitehall of the British Ministry of Magic, you could access the Department of Mysteries by lift. In Woolworth, there was no Department of Enigmas. Or at least, that was the official Congress line.
But now, a typeset of Decipherers could be seen inside the elevator. Various sets leaving every few levels. Despite their urgency, they were still as professional as ever.
They weren't a waggle of Unspeakables.
Some of them were looking to go to Level 5, the DMLE.
Some are heading for the Department of Aurors, others to the floo, to go to the ICW offices.
Other disperse towards various subdivisions and locations of importance.
The Decipherer with the most gears and eyes on his badge makes his way to the President's Office.
Try as he might, neither he nor his robes can hide his nervous gait.
Because all Decipherers bore the same message.
"We have detected a Level 5 Outsider Incident."
"This is no drill. This is no mistake. Our Real-Time Incursion Index has displayed a level 5 breach centered around Northern Europe."
"Our scale globe had its linked dimensional wards shattered at approximately 1400 hours, ICW Time. 29th, May 1993 of the Gregorian Calendar."
"We repeat. This is an official message of warning to all concerned parties from the Department of Enigmas of the Magical Congress of the United States of America."
—————————————————————————————————————————————————————
The mesmerising voice of a quarter-veela magically seizes attention from all parties within Woolworth.
This particular announcer has never been heard before in the building, but none can mistake her message for anything else.
The hypnotic magic stops after the first few words, purpose achieved, panic avoided.
"To all internal MACUSA Witches and Wizards."
"The Department of Enigmas is now on Level Ten War-footing Alert."
"All personnel are to remain at their stations and prepare for imminent counter-measures deployment."
"Failure to comply with Decipherer instruction will result in immediate eradication."
"This is your one and only notice. Disobedience will not be tolerated."
Do keep in mind that MACUSA is "similar" to the British MoM due to their branching roots. The same assumption can't be held for other countries.
—————————————————————————————————————————————————————
Interlude — A glimpse into the wider world
The elevator currently at Level 88 under Woolworth Building is automatically expanding as it fills with a sea of hooded black robes. Each hooded person is indistinguishable from the next. The only item of identification is a badge of gears and eyes denoting their rank and capacity under the Department of Enigmas.
The elevator is filled with low murmurs. An undercurrent of controlled panic.
Not once had the MACUSA Woolworth building seen so many Decipherers out and about. In well, … forever.
There was that one time where their counterparts across the pond had gone cray cray with their experiments in Time-Travel back in the 1890s.
That was a hundred years ago, even then, there had not been so many as what was currently present.
Back then, the Decipherers finally left their labs and along with ICW Sorcerers and other researchers from various magical governing entities, had arrived en force to the Chambers in the Department of Mysteries in Britain.
The British Unspeakables had been strictly, strongly and properly chastised.
Seekers of Magicks policed their own, they had to, given their universal autonomy from governance.
The political capital spent then had put Magical Britains Unspeakables behind for years, but everything was forgiven when the time came to unite against Grindelwald in the Global Wizarding War.
Not many could remember the last time the Hooded Intellectuals were out in force. After all, this wasn't France where the Suitors would prance around and show off their latest magical developments.
Ranked on a global scale, the Decipherers were in the top 10 of those ICW sanctioned groups who delved deep into the magicks. Everything they did was so wrapped up in black tape and invisible code-cipher ink that nothing leaked out.
In Whitehall of the British Ministry of Magic, you could access the Department of Mysteries by lift. In Woolworth, there was no Department of Enigmas. Or at least, that was the official Congress line.
But now, a typeset of Decipherers could be seen inside the elevator. Various sets leaving every few levels. Despite their urgency, they were still as professional as ever.
They weren't a waggle of Unspeakables.
Some of them were looking to go to Level 5, the DMLE.
Some are heading for the Department of Aurors, others to the floo, to go to the ICW offices.
Other disperse towards various subdivisions and locations of importance.
The Decipherer with the most gears and eyes on his badge makes his way to the President's Office.
Try as he might, neither he nor his robes can hide his nervous gait.
Because all Decipherers bore the same message.
"We have detected a Level 5 Outsider Incident."
"This is no drill. This is no mistake. Our Real-Time Incursion Index has displayed a level 5 breach centered around Northern Europe."
"Our scale globe had its linked dimensional wards shattered at approximately 1400 hours, ICW Time. 29th, May 1993 of the Gregorian Calendar."
"We repeat. This is an official message of warning to all concerned parties from the Department of Enigmas of the Magical Congress of the United States of America."
—————————————————————————————————————————————————————
The mesmerising voice of a quarter-veela magically seizes attention from all parties within Woolworth.
This particular announcer has never been heard before in the building, but none can mistake her message for anything else.
The hypnotic magic stops after the first few words, purpose achieved, panic avoided.
"To all internal MACUSA Witches and Wizards."
"The Department of Enigmas is now on Level Ten War-footing Alert."
"All personnel are to remain at their stations and prepare for imminent counter-measures deployment."
"Failure to comply with Decipherer instruction will result in immediate eradication."
"This is your one and only notice. Disobedience will not be tolerated."