Fic: Hindsight (Tom Riddle, PG-13, darkish themes)
This is for s8219. I hope this is at least sort of what you wanted...
Title: Hindsight
Author: QueenC
Pairing(s): None, really
Rating: PG-13 (to be safe)
Disclaimer: JKR owns it all. I'm just having a spot of fun.
Spoilers: Through Half-Blood Prince.
Summary: "The road to Hell is paved with good intentions."
Warnings: Disturbing imagery, abuse of power, darkness of the human soul. Nothing too horrid but tread carefully if darker themes aren't your thing.
Word Count: 2, 393
Author's Note: This was written at the request of s8219 for the_fund. Not typically my cup of tea, since I rarely write anything that takes place pre-Trio Era. However, this was for a good cause and, to be honest, I loved the overall idea. It's a bit dark (as is most everything I write, anymore) but nothing too awfully bad I don't believe. Enjoy!
Acknowledgement: Thanks to princessjessia for the quick beta and to s8219 for the donation and infinite patience. So sorry for the delay!
******
Hindsight
by: QueenC
"Good afternoon, Tom. Please, have a seat."
Albus watches behind twinkling eyes and merry spectacles as the creature not quite a man yet not quite something else enters the room. He appears tense -- perhaps believes he's gotten himself into a bit of trouble over the Westerly girl -- and the older wizard is reminded of the young boy this being once was. As Tom takes the offered seat, there's something about him that also reminds Albus of another conversation they'd had in this very office, many years ago.
"Hard to believe it's been that long, isn't it?" the younger man questions, slight smirk tickling his once handsome features. He's comfortable, now, with one leg crossed at the knee and an arm around the back of the seat. He looks casual, stretched out as though he belongs there.
Albus supposes, after so many years, perhaps part of him does.
The Headmaster shrugs and shows he has nothing else to hide in his mind. His intentions are clear and written on his face. Tom isn't foolish enough to allow the opportunity to pass by.
"You know why you're here?" Albus questions after a moment. The twinkle is gone from his eyes as he gives the man a hard look.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor decides he, too, needs to shrug. His is far more noncommittal. "I do not presume to know everything," he responds.
An amused smile. "In some circles that fact would be heavily disputed," Albus states cheerily. He receives a bored look for his trouble. Unfazed, he pops a piece of candy into his mouth and sucks at it for a moment. When he speaks, it is but one word.
"Potions."
A finely shaped brow, nearly invisible save the outline of where it once grew, arches toward the professor's scalp. He makes the connection but takes a second before showing it. "Impossible," is all he has to say, head shaking a bit. "I would know."
"Not everything is of your concern, Tom," Albus chides, though he's still smiling benignly. He takes a brief pause. "The general announcement will follow breakfast in the morning. I knew it mattered a bit more to you..."
"There is someone for the job." Not a question. A statement of understanding.
Albus nods his head. "There is."
That brow arches again and the silence stretches. The Headmaster blinks first.
"Severus Snape. He's recently expressed interest in the position and is more than qualified."
The dark wizard scoffs, unable to help himself. "Snape?" he replies. His voice rings of surprise. "Again, I say, impossible. That man possesses zero teaching ability."
The twinkle returns. "There were some who said the same about you," he reminds the man and knows he's won this round. The slight frown from his opponent only cements that fact. He moves on.
"He is to learn your duties as Head of Slytherin."
It's a crushing blow and for a second the form of Tom Riddle reflects that fact. His eyes widen a fraction and his nostrils flare. "I am to train my replacement." Another statement of fact, though one born out of his inability to ask a question rather than his knowledge of the fact.
"In essence, yes. Although you are certainly not losing your job." Albus chuckles, shaking his head a bit at the faintest bit of surprise shining in the dark eyes locked onto him. "It is merely a precaution. Minerva has been trained in my stead. You were trained in hers. Severus, it stands to reason, would be your responsibility." His voice turns almost gentle. "We cannot all live forever, Tom."
"No," Tom agrees, shaking his own head. "We cannot."
He lets that slide though the hint is well received. He hates being reminded of the ways Tom hasn't changed. Still obsessed with immortality and preacher of the pureblooded way of life. He'd much rather focus on how he has changed.
"Was there anything else, Headmaster?" The voice is clipped. Albus heaves the silent sigh of the weary.
"Always in such a rush, Tom," he chastises gently and almost teasingly. "You miss half of life that way, you know."
Tom laughs, a slightly high wheeze that isn't quite as horrific as it initially seems. It isn't a laugh of true humor, though he is amused. "Perhaps," he tips his head. "Though I also accomplish far more than most others."
Albus meets his eye and catches flashes of a screaming girl and blood-soaked hair. The mask is beginning to slip on the younger man. He casually looks for more.
Screaming and begging and pain so sweet it tastes like candy...
He blinks, returning to reality. Tom is giving him an odd look and he feels embarrassed for the first time in a very long time.
"Find anything interesting, Headmaster?" his tone is almost mocking and Albus frowns slightly. Still, he's been caught and acknowledges that fact.
"My apologies, dear boy. I lost myself there for a moment." It isn't enough for the mild invasion, but Tom accepts it well enough. He doesn't have to guess the man's done it himself many times over.
They fall into a silence that is almost companionable, one born of years working side by side. It's an odd arrangement, but it works.
Albus considers it one of his more brilliant plans.
Or perhaps one of his most foolish.
He thinks it's rather a combination of the two. And while it may not be something that produces immediate results, he knows it will pay off in the long run. He knows that by giving the monster that was Lord Voldemort access to the minds of mere children, he ultimately ended up saving the lives of half of them.
Granted the man is still a monster in many aspects. But allowing him to remain on, by showing him there is more to life than horcruxes and immortality, Albus likes to think he might have finally reached the boy Tom Riddle never had a chance to become. He knows he may be deluding himself, of course, but so long as there is proof he will keep the faith. And there is proof.
"I've an appointment with a student, Headmaster," the voice, not quite rude yet not quite polite (Albus almost thinks it's rife with barely controlled tolerance) interrupts his thoughts. He smiles a bit at the penetrating eyes that hold an unasked question likely never to reach his ears.
Not everyone needs ears to hear, however.
"Of course you do," the aging wizard replies and his answer is rife with double meaning.
Some of that proof positive he's constantly searching for appears in the form of something akin to relief flashing briefly across the other man's face. The twinkle in his eyes returns, as he knows now Tom truly has made a niche for himself, here. It's a heady feeling, he decides, being right all the time.
Not entirely, a small voice whispers. He's reminded of previous meetings with previous slips of the wizard's mask that led to previous glimpses of scenes he'd be best never seeing. Girls and boys alike, pain and screaming and delicious, delicious fear, the headiest aphrodisiac that exists to be certain. Pleas of 'no more, sir' and 'please, Professor' that haunt his waking moments and make the tediousness of his existence that much easier to bear.
That time Albus didn't accidentally see anything. His employee forced it on him.
A warning, his own mind whispers and he recognizes it as something even more than that. It's a price to pay. A few lost souls slipping through the cracks, none of which he'll allow him to forget lest he truly believe the option was flawless. A painful reminder of those he couldn't save -- wouldn't save -- in order to make the world a better, safer place.
"Young Mister Black requires yet more counsel?" he hears himself asking, already knowing the answer. He noticed the identity of the student the man is meeting with long before the mention of a meeting came to pass. It's mixed in with the other memories and Albus focuses on it to keep himself in his seat and the smile on his face. His chest feels heavy, though, as he realizes with each passing second of inaction he is damning yet one more innocent.
He's long since damned himself, though, so he sees no point in worrying about the others. Not when the price is this high.
Tom replies and Albus almost misses the answer, so caught up in his moment of conscience. However a simple 'yes', even when spoken in a voice a bit too high-pitched for a grown man, is easy to miss in most circumstances so he doesn't consider himself rude. Not for that, at least.
A sound begins to fill the office and the silence between them. The Headmaster smiles a bit, the expression partially hidden behind his long beard, and wonders if Fawkes' song is for him or the man across from him. They both could certainly use a bit of emotional healing to be certain.
The Defense instructor stiffens a bit at the noise. Albus knows the phoenix makes him nervous. The creature brings out in him emotions which otherwise don't exist. It's painful and awkward and likely quite upsetting, he's sure.
But he doesn't dare stop his familiar, either.
The lament ends on a high, beautiful note that leaves one wizard in chills and the other with the taste of this morning's breakfast churning in the back of his throat. Then there is a flash of red and orange and breathtaking blues and greens and the bird is out the window, off for a flight to parts only it knows of. Its wings flap near silent in the approaching twilight and neither man speaks until the whisper of wind has disappeared.
"I will speak with Horace's replacement," the younger wizard announces. Albus wonders idly if he's unwilling to speak his servant's name or if he merely believes avoiding doing so will keep anyone from realizing Severus is a servant. It doesn't matter really but the curiosity remains.
"Of course. I'm certain he'll appreciate the gesture." He glances once more unto the man he's seen grow from child to adult. Wonders, not for the first and likely not the last time, whether this truly is the only way. The best way. Or if it's simply the easiest way for him.
Tom rises to his feet, thin smile marring what once was handsome features. "I still say it's a mistake," he murmurs, obviously playing the game still. "Snape hasn't any ability to empathize with these children. He could barely accomplish being one, himself."
Albus feels weary from the play and his own smile slips a bit. "There is always good to be found in all of us, Tom," he states. "Even the worst have something positive to offer this world."
"A sentimental statement," comes the reply, yet his tone isn't full of derision but rather an almost amused fondness. It's more proof of the changes, but Albus can't bring himself to care very much at the moment. He wants the meeting over and rises to his feet to see it through to completion.
"The rambling advice of a doddering old fool, perhaps," he hears himself say in response, the smile returning if only a bit less bright than before. "Now, unless there was something you wished to discuss..." The twinkle comes back in his eyes. There's a pregnant pause of hesitation. Albus has to remind himself not to press too hard. He knows there's something, but pushing will only make it retreat further rather than cross the tongue of his former student.
Eventually Tom tips his head once, a show of acknowledgement. "I've caught a boggart for the students to study," is how he begins. He struggles with a question -- permission, perhaps -- before wording it in a way to keep his pride intact. "I intend to give them a hands-on experience."
Albus ponders this a moment. His first inclination is to refuse. A group of children facing their worst fears is not his idea of a healthy learning environment. Yet the refusal doesn't seem capable of forming on his tongue and he knows immediately why.
Another bit of proof, perhaps.
"I've found," he muses softly, "in situations such as that, caution tends to be the side to err upon. A reminder that not all are capable of conquering their fears, even through laughter, wouldn't be amiss either." It's as close to permission as he'll grant and it's more than enough for the man across from him.
"Wise words," comes the gruff acknowledgement and then Tom is on his heel and striding to the door. He pauses, though, just before exiting and glances back at his one-time mentor (and idol, though he'd never admit it to anyone save perhaps himself).
"I hear the Potters are expecting. Do pass along my best wishes for a healthy birth. I'm uncertain when I'll find the time to pay them a visit personally."
Albus feels the weight of the world crash down upon him as a slight smirk -- one born of true evil -- greets his blue eyes. Then the man is gone, the door shutting softly behind him, and slowly the Headmaster collapses into his chair. The room spins at an odd angle as realization forces its way in past all his delusional concepts of change and proof and the healing of a soul through innocence revisited.
It makes sense now and he recognizes everything for what it truly is. The images of students, the glances of contriteness, all of it a clever ruse over twenty years in the making. There has been no change. No real mending of a broken soul or chasing away of all-encompassing darkness. No, this has all been a joke. He's been little more than a pawn (a well used one, at that) and he tastes the bitterness of defeat on his tongue.
This time Fawkes isn't present to ease his pain.
And somewhere else in the castle, the creature formerly known as Tom Riddle continues to bide his time, entertain himself with coerced students, and wait for the birth of a prophesized child who will help ensure his immortality in a way no sword from a long dead wizard ever could.
Fin
Title: Hindsight
Author: QueenC
Pairing(s): None, really
Rating: PG-13 (to be safe)
Disclaimer: JKR owns it all. I'm just having a spot of fun.
Spoilers: Through Half-Blood Prince.
Summary: "The road to Hell is paved with good intentions."
Warnings: Disturbing imagery, abuse of power, darkness of the human soul. Nothing too horrid but tread carefully if darker themes aren't your thing.
Word Count: 2, 393
Author's Note: This was written at the request of s8219 for the_fund. Not typically my cup of tea, since I rarely write anything that takes place pre-Trio Era. However, this was for a good cause and, to be honest, I loved the overall idea. It's a bit dark (as is most everything I write, anymore) but nothing too awfully bad I don't believe. Enjoy!
Acknowledgement: Thanks to princessjessia for the quick beta and to s8219 for the donation and infinite patience. So sorry for the delay!
******
Hindsight
by: QueenC
"Good afternoon, Tom. Please, have a seat."
Albus watches behind twinkling eyes and merry spectacles as the creature not quite a man yet not quite something else enters the room. He appears tense -- perhaps believes he's gotten himself into a bit of trouble over the Westerly girl -- and the older wizard is reminded of the young boy this being once was. As Tom takes the offered seat, there's something about him that also reminds Albus of another conversation they'd had in this very office, many years ago.
"Hard to believe it's been that long, isn't it?" the younger man questions, slight smirk tickling his once handsome features. He's comfortable, now, with one leg crossed at the knee and an arm around the back of the seat. He looks casual, stretched out as though he belongs there.
Albus supposes, after so many years, perhaps part of him does.
The Headmaster shrugs and shows he has nothing else to hide in his mind. His intentions are clear and written on his face. Tom isn't foolish enough to allow the opportunity to pass by.
"You know why you're here?" Albus questions after a moment. The twinkle is gone from his eyes as he gives the man a hard look.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor decides he, too, needs to shrug. His is far more noncommittal. "I do not presume to know everything," he responds.
An amused smile. "In some circles that fact would be heavily disputed," Albus states cheerily. He receives a bored look for his trouble. Unfazed, he pops a piece of candy into his mouth and sucks at it for a moment. When he speaks, it is but one word.
"Potions."
A finely shaped brow, nearly invisible save the outline of where it once grew, arches toward the professor's scalp. He makes the connection but takes a second before showing it. "Impossible," is all he has to say, head shaking a bit. "I would know."
"Not everything is of your concern, Tom," Albus chides, though he's still smiling benignly. He takes a brief pause. "The general announcement will follow breakfast in the morning. I knew it mattered a bit more to you..."
"There is someone for the job." Not a question. A statement of understanding.
Albus nods his head. "There is."
That brow arches again and the silence stretches. The Headmaster blinks first.
"Severus Snape. He's recently expressed interest in the position and is more than qualified."
The dark wizard scoffs, unable to help himself. "Snape?" he replies. His voice rings of surprise. "Again, I say, impossible. That man possesses zero teaching ability."
The twinkle returns. "There were some who said the same about you," he reminds the man and knows he's won this round. The slight frown from his opponent only cements that fact. He moves on.
"He is to learn your duties as Head of Slytherin."
It's a crushing blow and for a second the form of Tom Riddle reflects that fact. His eyes widen a fraction and his nostrils flare. "I am to train my replacement." Another statement of fact, though one born out of his inability to ask a question rather than his knowledge of the fact.
"In essence, yes. Although you are certainly not losing your job." Albus chuckles, shaking his head a bit at the faintest bit of surprise shining in the dark eyes locked onto him. "It is merely a precaution. Minerva has been trained in my stead. You were trained in hers. Severus, it stands to reason, would be your responsibility." His voice turns almost gentle. "We cannot all live forever, Tom."
"No," Tom agrees, shaking his own head. "We cannot."
He lets that slide though the hint is well received. He hates being reminded of the ways Tom hasn't changed. Still obsessed with immortality and preacher of the pureblooded way of life. He'd much rather focus on how he has changed.
"Was there anything else, Headmaster?" The voice is clipped. Albus heaves the silent sigh of the weary.
"Always in such a rush, Tom," he chastises gently and almost teasingly. "You miss half of life that way, you know."
Tom laughs, a slightly high wheeze that isn't quite as horrific as it initially seems. It isn't a laugh of true humor, though he is amused. "Perhaps," he tips his head. "Though I also accomplish far more than most others."
Albus meets his eye and catches flashes of a screaming girl and blood-soaked hair. The mask is beginning to slip on the younger man. He casually looks for more.
Screaming and begging and pain so sweet it tastes like candy...
He blinks, returning to reality. Tom is giving him an odd look and he feels embarrassed for the first time in a very long time.
"Find anything interesting, Headmaster?" his tone is almost mocking and Albus frowns slightly. Still, he's been caught and acknowledges that fact.
"My apologies, dear boy. I lost myself there for a moment." It isn't enough for the mild invasion, but Tom accepts it well enough. He doesn't have to guess the man's done it himself many times over.
They fall into a silence that is almost companionable, one born of years working side by side. It's an odd arrangement, but it works.
Albus considers it one of his more brilliant plans.
Or perhaps one of his most foolish.
He thinks it's rather a combination of the two. And while it may not be something that produces immediate results, he knows it will pay off in the long run. He knows that by giving the monster that was Lord Voldemort access to the minds of mere children, he ultimately ended up saving the lives of half of them.
Granted the man is still a monster in many aspects. But allowing him to remain on, by showing him there is more to life than horcruxes and immortality, Albus likes to think he might have finally reached the boy Tom Riddle never had a chance to become. He knows he may be deluding himself, of course, but so long as there is proof he will keep the faith. And there is proof.
"I've an appointment with a student, Headmaster," the voice, not quite rude yet not quite polite (Albus almost thinks it's rife with barely controlled tolerance) interrupts his thoughts. He smiles a bit at the penetrating eyes that hold an unasked question likely never to reach his ears.
Not everyone needs ears to hear, however.
"Of course you do," the aging wizard replies and his answer is rife with double meaning.
Some of that proof positive he's constantly searching for appears in the form of something akin to relief flashing briefly across the other man's face. The twinkle in his eyes returns, as he knows now Tom truly has made a niche for himself, here. It's a heady feeling, he decides, being right all the time.
Not entirely, a small voice whispers. He's reminded of previous meetings with previous slips of the wizard's mask that led to previous glimpses of scenes he'd be best never seeing. Girls and boys alike, pain and screaming and delicious, delicious fear, the headiest aphrodisiac that exists to be certain. Pleas of 'no more, sir' and 'please, Professor' that haunt his waking moments and make the tediousness of his existence that much easier to bear.
That time Albus didn't accidentally see anything. His employee forced it on him.
A warning, his own mind whispers and he recognizes it as something even more than that. It's a price to pay. A few lost souls slipping through the cracks, none of which he'll allow him to forget lest he truly believe the option was flawless. A painful reminder of those he couldn't save -- wouldn't save -- in order to make the world a better, safer place.
"Young Mister Black requires yet more counsel?" he hears himself asking, already knowing the answer. He noticed the identity of the student the man is meeting with long before the mention of a meeting came to pass. It's mixed in with the other memories and Albus focuses on it to keep himself in his seat and the smile on his face. His chest feels heavy, though, as he realizes with each passing second of inaction he is damning yet one more innocent.
He's long since damned himself, though, so he sees no point in worrying about the others. Not when the price is this high.
Tom replies and Albus almost misses the answer, so caught up in his moment of conscience. However a simple 'yes', even when spoken in a voice a bit too high-pitched for a grown man, is easy to miss in most circumstances so he doesn't consider himself rude. Not for that, at least.
A sound begins to fill the office and the silence between them. The Headmaster smiles a bit, the expression partially hidden behind his long beard, and wonders if Fawkes' song is for him or the man across from him. They both could certainly use a bit of emotional healing to be certain.
The Defense instructor stiffens a bit at the noise. Albus knows the phoenix makes him nervous. The creature brings out in him emotions which otherwise don't exist. It's painful and awkward and likely quite upsetting, he's sure.
But he doesn't dare stop his familiar, either.
The lament ends on a high, beautiful note that leaves one wizard in chills and the other with the taste of this morning's breakfast churning in the back of his throat. Then there is a flash of red and orange and breathtaking blues and greens and the bird is out the window, off for a flight to parts only it knows of. Its wings flap near silent in the approaching twilight and neither man speaks until the whisper of wind has disappeared.
"I will speak with Horace's replacement," the younger wizard announces. Albus wonders idly if he's unwilling to speak his servant's name or if he merely believes avoiding doing so will keep anyone from realizing Severus is a servant. It doesn't matter really but the curiosity remains.
"Of course. I'm certain he'll appreciate the gesture." He glances once more unto the man he's seen grow from child to adult. Wonders, not for the first and likely not the last time, whether this truly is the only way. The best way. Or if it's simply the easiest way for him.
Tom rises to his feet, thin smile marring what once was handsome features. "I still say it's a mistake," he murmurs, obviously playing the game still. "Snape hasn't any ability to empathize with these children. He could barely accomplish being one, himself."
Albus feels weary from the play and his own smile slips a bit. "There is always good to be found in all of us, Tom," he states. "Even the worst have something positive to offer this world."
"A sentimental statement," comes the reply, yet his tone isn't full of derision but rather an almost amused fondness. It's more proof of the changes, but Albus can't bring himself to care very much at the moment. He wants the meeting over and rises to his feet to see it through to completion.
"The rambling advice of a doddering old fool, perhaps," he hears himself say in response, the smile returning if only a bit less bright than before. "Now, unless there was something you wished to discuss..." The twinkle comes back in his eyes. There's a pregnant pause of hesitation. Albus has to remind himself not to press too hard. He knows there's something, but pushing will only make it retreat further rather than cross the tongue of his former student.
Eventually Tom tips his head once, a show of acknowledgement. "I've caught a boggart for the students to study," is how he begins. He struggles with a question -- permission, perhaps -- before wording it in a way to keep his pride intact. "I intend to give them a hands-on experience."
Albus ponders this a moment. His first inclination is to refuse. A group of children facing their worst fears is not his idea of a healthy learning environment. Yet the refusal doesn't seem capable of forming on his tongue and he knows immediately why.
Another bit of proof, perhaps.
"I've found," he muses softly, "in situations such as that, caution tends to be the side to err upon. A reminder that not all are capable of conquering their fears, even through laughter, wouldn't be amiss either." It's as close to permission as he'll grant and it's more than enough for the man across from him.
"Wise words," comes the gruff acknowledgement and then Tom is on his heel and striding to the door. He pauses, though, just before exiting and glances back at his one-time mentor (and idol, though he'd never admit it to anyone save perhaps himself).
"I hear the Potters are expecting. Do pass along my best wishes for a healthy birth. I'm uncertain when I'll find the time to pay them a visit personally."
Albus feels the weight of the world crash down upon him as a slight smirk -- one born of true evil -- greets his blue eyes. Then the man is gone, the door shutting softly behind him, and slowly the Headmaster collapses into his chair. The room spins at an odd angle as realization forces its way in past all his delusional concepts of change and proof and the healing of a soul through innocence revisited.
It makes sense now and he recognizes everything for what it truly is. The images of students, the glances of contriteness, all of it a clever ruse over twenty years in the making. There has been no change. No real mending of a broken soul or chasing away of all-encompassing darkness. No, this has all been a joke. He's been little more than a pawn (a well used one, at that) and he tastes the bitterness of defeat on his tongue.
This time Fawkes isn't present to ease his pain.
And somewhere else in the castle, the creature formerly known as Tom Riddle continues to bide his time, entertain himself with coerced students, and wait for the birth of a prophesized child who will help ensure his immortality in a way no sword from a long dead wizard ever could.
Fin