Chapter 7-The Tragic Tale Of Lily And James Potter

Chapter 7: The Tragic Tale of Lily and James Potter

"You can't kid me! The asylum, that's where you're from, isn't it? 'Professor,' yes, of course – well, I'm not going, see? That old cat's the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they'll tell you!"

"No one's taking you anywhere against your will, Tom."

"But you are a doctor, aren't you?"

"No Tom, I am a professor."

Tom huffed, exasperated. Honestly, why did everyone think him so naive? "I don't believe you. I hear Mrs. Cole and the others talk, they want me locked up. They think I'm different."

"Perhaps they're right."

Tom glared at the old man, trying to convey how utterly unimpressed he was with his supposed 'insight'. "I'm not mad."

"Hogwarts is not a place for the mad – it is a school; a school of magic."

Tom froze, at that.

"You can do things, can't you, Tom? Things that the other children can't."

"Yes." Finally...finally someone had found him.

"Tell me about some of the things you can do, Tom."

"I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who are mean to me. I can make them hurt if I want to..."

"...I can speak to snakes too," Harry moaned a bit, and then continued to mumble, "They find me, they whisper to me..."

He blinked blearily. "Hogwarts..."

He reached under his pillow, pulling out the little mirror and smiling hazily at Tom. "You got your Hogwarts letter!"

The look on Tom's face was unreadable. "As will you, a year from now."

Harry's smile grew sharp and bright. "I can't wait...I wish it was today. I wish I could go today."

"Patience is a virtue, Harry."

Harry scowled playfully. "What would you know about virtue?"

The boy in the mirror smirked, but it was subtle. "Very little. It's all hearsay."

Harry laughed quietly.

"It is your birthday tomorrow, is it not?"

Harry nodded eagerly, despite the discomfort growing inside him like a festering sickness. The last couple of months had been...tense. Tom had been staring at him – really staring at him, his face unreadable, and he refused to confess what was distracting him, no matter how many times Harry asked, and Harry could not help but wonder if the distance they'd managed to close since their first meeting was widening once again. He really hoped not.

Over the past year and a half, Tom had changed. Perhaps he hadn't changed, but at the very least he was less...caged. As time wore on, he started to show emotion – more than just anger, annoyance, and amusement (those, Harry had catalogued as his default states); there were times when he even seemed troubled, or betrayed sentiments akin to affection. When Harry confessed his fears and insecurities, there were times when Tom would refrain from mocking him, and would instead grimly acknowledge his confession, and offer silent solidarity. There were times when Harry could swear he saw genuine pride in Tom's eyes when he managed to master a new spell, and while Tom still stared on impassively when Harry referred to him as his friend, he no longer mocked and denied it. And then there was the thing about parseltongue...Tom would never admit it, of course, but Harry had come to recognize that Tom found Harry's enunciations of the language of serpents endearing...a fact that he had learned to use to his advantage.

Tom had become more human...in some ways. But with Tom's new openness came further evidence that he may have been wrong, and that Tom, as always, was right – Tom Riddle was not a good person. There were times when he seemed a little...unhinged. It had become evident that he really did take great pleasure in his own cruelty, and that he was not capable of expressions that came easily to Harry – like sympathy, remorse, and grief. Tom never showed any regard for anyone besides himself and Harry, which was...concerning. Especially since, as the months slowly passed, Harry found himself acting more and more like Tom. He didn't think he was being cruel, no, and he certainly wasn't remorseless...but at the same time, stealing money from Aunt Petunia didn't bother him very much anymore, and neither did scaring Dudley off with carefully placed 'accidental' magic. He found that he no longer had any interest in gaining the approval from the Dursleys, and didn't want to even try to befriend his classmates. He'd never say it out loud, but they were all just so...pointless. He didn't want to hurt them or scare them, like Tom encouraged him to...but he didn't want anything to do with them, either. Tom had noticed his change in behaviour, and seemed pleased by it. And, as it happened, a pleased Tom was a Tom less inclined to torture Harry on a whim, and more inclined to crack a joke. Apparently, Tom Riddle had a sense of humour. Who knew?

But the last couple of months saw Tom becoming distant again, opting out of their daily storytime sessions and cutting conversations short. He obviously had something on his mind, which he was neglecting to tell Harry about...and as much as Harry trusted Tom, the whole thing made him uneasy.

"I do have a present for you, Harry."

Harry glanced at him, surprised. "Err...you didn't like, possess me in my sleep and steal something, did you?"

"And why would I waste my magic on something like that?"

"Because you value my happiness?"

An eyebrow twitched. "No."

Harry pouted, but Tom continued to ignore him, "What I want to give you cannot be bought or stolen. It's something I've never deigned anyone else worthy of."

"Uh...wow. What is it?"

"The truth."

Harry blinked. "Ok...that sounds...brilliant. So, what did you want to tell me?"

"We will speak of it tomorrow."

"Why not now?"

"I would not want to ruin your birthday for you."

Harry frowned. "You won't ruin my birthday."

"Oh? And how would you know that?"

"C'mon Tom! I wanna know now."

Tom looked entirely unimpressed.

:Pretty, pretty please?: Harry added sweetly, in parseltongue, for good measure.

In the mirror, Tom rolled his eyes. :You are a nasty, manipulative child. I hope you know that.:

:If I am, it's entirely your fault.:

Predictably, Tom sighed in resignation. "Very well."

Harry grinned.

"Do no't look so pleased with yourself; I can change my mind, if I so wish it."

Harry did his best to straighten his face.

"Now...before I give you the truth...I must tell you a story."

Harry's eyes brightened. "What kind of story?" he asked eagerly.

"A story about a wizard, a witch, and a man named Lord Voldemort."

Harry coughed out a laugh. "Lord who? Voldymort? What kind of name is that?"

As soon as he asked, his scar began to burn, causing him to wince. "Lord Voldemort, Harry."

"Fine, Voldemort. What kind of name is that?"

"A name so feared that thousands of witches and wizards will not say it aloud. They called him 'He Who Must Not Be Named'."

Harry's eyes widened and he sat up straight. "He Who Must Not Be Named? Why? Why were they so afraid of him?"

"Because, Harry, Lord Voldemort was the most powerful wizard to ever walk the earth, and was the darkest of all dark wizards, well versed in the blackest of black magics. He was the Dark Lord."

Harry stared at him in awe, transfixed. "The Dark Lord? A real Dark Lord? He was real?"

Tom nodded gravely. "Yes, the Dark Lord Voldemort was as real as you and I."

"And he was really powerful?"

"He was."

"So if he was a dark lord...did he hurt people? Is that why they were so afraid of him?"

"Indeed it is, Harry. Lord Voldemort brought suffering to many, and through his cruelty and power, inspired fear in thousands."

Harry frowned. "Why?"

"You see, Harry...the Dark Lord Voldemort waged war on the wizarding world."

"War? Against wizards? Why would wizards and witches fight other wizards and witches?"

Tom sighed. "It was...a complex matter. There are those who believe one's magical lineage is of the utmost importance, while there are those who discount it all together. The issue of blood purity is one of great importance to wizards, Harry, and it is a conflict steeped in ancient tradition, prejudice, money, power, and corruption. Of this conflict was born a civil war, fostered by Lord Voldemort and his followers."

"And Lord Voldemort..."

"Fought against the Ministry of Magic, and allied himself with the old families of the wizarding world, the families who value blood purity and who preserve the art of dark magic."

"So...he was a racist snob."

Another shot of pain pierced Harry's forehead.

"Withhold your judgments for now, Harry, and listen to the rest of the story."

"Yes, Tom."

"Now, there were many who opposed Lord Voldemort, for varying reasons – some because they had no respect for the purity of wizarding blood, others because they refused to acknowledge the superiority of wizardkind over muggles, and still others because they opposed the use of dark magic -"

"Um, Tom? What is dark magic?"

"Another story for another time."

Harry pursed his lips. "Fine."

"Now, among those who opposed Lord Voldermort were a man and a woman, a wizard and witch barely out of Hogwarts. They...loved each other very much, just as they loved their child."

"They had a kid?"

"Yes, the wizard and witch were man and wife, and together had a son, born into the strife and horror of civil war."

"And what happened to them?"

"They died," Tom said, simply. "And that is what this story is about - their deaths."

Harry looked at him, puzzled. Why was Tom telling him a story of the death of this family for his birthday?

"It so happened that on one night, a servant of the Dark Lord overheard something strange – the words of a seer; the words of a prophecy."

"A prophecy?"

"Yes, a prophecy that foretold the coming of a child with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord."

Harry's wide eyes grew even wider as excitement stirred in his chest. "So what happened next?"

"When the Dark Lord heard of this prophecy, he was furious, and became determined to kill the child before he grew strong enough to fight."

"He wanted to kill a kid? That's terrible..."

Tom stared at him a moment, an unreadable look marring his face. "...indeed. Now, the prophecy claimed that this child would be born of those who had thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies."

"And...the witch and wizard...had they defied Lord Voldemort three times?"

"Yes, and their child, a son, was born as the seventh month died. So Lord Voldemort bestowed upon this child the honour of being hunted by the Dark Lord himself."

"Some honour."

"More than you know, Harry."

"Then what happened? To the witch and wizard? And their son?"

"They learned of Lord Voldemort's plans, and went into hiding. But one of their closest friends, one of the few that knew of their location, betrayed them to the Dark Lord."

Harry gasped. "And he found them?"

"Yes. He found them, and then he came for them. On the night of All Hallows Eve, the Dark Lord Voldemort made his way to the home of the witch and wizard and their son, the child with the boded power to vanquish the Dark Lord. First, he killed the wizard, who died bravely, protecting his wife and son. Then, he turned his wand on the witch. He showed her mercy, and gave her the chance to step aside, but she refused, and he killed her as well."

Harry frowned, pity for the unfortunate family welling up in his heart.

"Finally, Lord Voldemort turned his wand on the little boy, the prophesied child, and said the words avada kedavra."

Harry's eyes flashed with recognition. "The killing curse."

"That is correct. But that night, the strangest thing happened – the killing curse failed to kill its target, and the child, instead of dying at the hands of the Dark Lord, was spared."

Harry gaped at him. Tom had told him of the three unforgivable curses - three pieces of crude, evil magic that attack the soul itself; Harry knew that the killing curse rends the soul from the body, that it was impossible to survive. "But how?"

"The witch, his mother, was very powerful, and very clever. So when she heard of the Dark Lord's plan to kill her son, she created a spell from the most secret and oldest of magics, a spell that would save her son, at the expense of her own life. It was...ancient and rare magic, Harry, magic that could only be wielded by the unconditional love of a mother for her son. This was a power the Dark Lord knew not, a power he was not prepared to match.

"So you see, Harry, when Lord Voldemort killed the witch, he activated the spell she had cast, and the child was spared. However, the killing curse was not rendered ineffective; instead of killing the child, it rebounded, and instead attacked the Dark Lord himself."

Harry stared at him, stunned.

"And thus the Dark Lord Voldemort fell, while the child lived, unharmed...except for a scar."

Wait.

"...a scar."

"Yes."

Harry paled at that, a flurry of thoughts stirring in his mind.

"Now Harry, what month is it?"

"...July."

"Which is...?"

"The seventh month...and it's the end of the seventh month...my birthday is the day the seventh months dies...and I have a scar...and my parents are dead..."

Tom nodded. "Do you understand, now?"

Harry nodded shakily. "Then...they didn't die in a car crash."

"They most certainly did not. Lily and James Potter died fighting for the life of their son; you, Harry Potter. They died bravely, with honour; some would call them heroes."

Harry looked down at his hands, and then back at the mirror. His parents...they were murdered. They were killed, right in front of him, because of him. A dull ache was spreading across his chest, while is shoulders grew heavy and his head light, tears starting to gather in his eyes. "My parents...did you know them?"

Tom grimaced a bit, at that. "Well you see, Harry, the story is not over yet."

"...it's not?"

"No. What I have told you is the truth...but not the truth I mean to give to you. Fetch that notebook beside the bed, and the pencil beside it."

Harry dried his eyes with his sleeve. "Um, ok."

"I want you to write my name."

"Your name?"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"Ok..."

"Now write the name 'Lord Voldemort'."

Harry obeyed, a frown marring his tear-stained face.

"Now look."

"Look at what?"

"Look."

So Harry did, his frown deepening. Two names...Tom Marvolo Riddle and Lord Voldemort, one on top of the other, granite scratches on old, yellowed pages. Why did Tom have him write them both? How was Tom connected to Voldemort? It must be the name, he thought furiously, something about the name...

They were different lengths, one was a full name, the other a title. One was clearly English and the other was...something else...maybe French? The letters...they shared a lot of letters. Actually, now that he looked closely, every letter in 'Lord Voldemort' corresponded to a letter in 'Tom Marvolo Riddle'. And there were three left over...'m'...'a'...'i'...

"Who am I?"

And then he gasped.

"I...am...Lord Voldemort?"

"We are. You and I...we're remnants of the dark lord."

Harry was pale and still, and so Tom – rather, Voldemort – continued his tale. "You see, Harry, I am a powerful wizard. My power...was legendary, true genius amidst the greatness of magic. But even the most powerful are not immune to the illness that plagues all men; death. I have never been under the illusion that I am invincible, so I created a failsafe. Five of them, in fact. They are called horcruxes. Now Harry, a horcrux is an object which holds part of a person's soul, a magical hiding place, of sorts. In the case of that person's death, the horcruxes act as anchors, and keep the master soul from passing on to whatever lay beyond the veil of death. So you see, while Lord Voldemort's body was destroyed, he lived on...his soul grounded by the five horcruxes he had already created...and moreover, that night, when Lord Voldemort perished by his own killing curse, his soul split once more. One piece, the master soul, would have fled once our body was destroyed, and the other...I am a piece of Lord Voldemort's soul, and you, Harry Potter, are his horcrux. Lord Voldemort lives on...through us."

Harry blinked, his face still – but the stillness of his face did not stop the tears from falling. "You...you killed my parents?"

"I did. And many, many others."

"Why...why would you do that?"

"I told you, Harry, there was a prophecy-"

Harry grit his teeth painfully as fury errupted inside of him. The sound of shattering glass was distant to him, as he sat there shaking and sobbing. "SO WHAT? A prophecy? Why does that have to mean anything?"

"...it does not. I know that now. Whatever the prophecy said, I now believe it to be null and void...it was a mistake to chase after vague omens of the future uttered by an old woman with too much drink in her. It was a mistake, and I have paid for that mistake. But that does not mean I am sorry for what I did. I made a mistake, yes, Harry, but I will not insult you by pretending that I feel remorse for what I took from you that night. I had taken many mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters before that...the lives of Lily and James Potter meant no more to me than any of the others."

"Then...all of this...I was alone, and hated, and feared, and locked in a cupboard – because of you? And you don't feel the least bit sorry for it?"

"No, I don't."

Harry looked at him, horrified, the anger slowly draining away, leaving only shock and defeat behind. "You...don't care? You don't care at all?"

The boy...man...monster in the mirror sighed. "For what it is worth, given the choice, knowing what I now know, I would spare your parents. No magical child should be treated as you have been."

Harry scowled through his tears. "Just muggle ones, then?" he bit out scathingly.

Tom was unfazed. "They are not my problem."

"And why am I your problem?"

"We are one and the same now, Harry. My life is tied to yours. I have plans for you, and so your fate is very much my concern," he replied frankly, as though it were a simple matter.

"And what if I don't want any part in your plans?"

"Then...I will have to rethink them."

"I don't understand why you've told me this – why didn't you just lie? Wouldn't it be easier for both of us?"

"This is my gift to you, Harry. It is what I give to you freely of my own accord, at my own expense. You see Harry, I once thought you to be weak, an impressionable child to be molded as I see fit. I saw you as an obstacle in my path, a gateway to my freedom. But I understand, now, that your worth extends beyond a body and a name for me to take as mine. There is a purity in you, in your magic, that I have not seen before. It is an aggressive, corrosive sort of light that I had not thought existed.

:You have impressed me, Harry Potter, and...you have earned Lord Voldemort's respect. That is why I am telling you the truth.:

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and then another, and then another...

He slid the mirror under his pillow.

"Goodbye, Tom."

Harry had expected to wake to unbearable pain and a bleeding scar, but he didn't.

July 31st, 1990...he was 10 years old. Every year, when his birthday came and went, he expected to feel something, some sort of change; after all, birthdays were supposed to be special, right? But he felt nothing. Every year, it was the same; July 31st came and went, the seventh month dying silently in its sleep.

But this year was different. This year, he was Harry James Potter, a 10 year old wizard and the son of Lily and James Potter, a witch and wizard who died bravely protecting him. This year, he knew the truth - that he was living on stolen time. This year, he knew that his mother and father had not left him to die a meaningless death; they were tragically murdered...at the hands of his friend. His best friend. While Lily and James Potter lay silent and still and a cold grave, Harry Potter spent the years they never had the chance to, feeding and caring for a body he shared with the man who had stolen everything from them.

He looked down at the little white candle he held in his hand, as he sat sullenly at the edge of his bed.

"Incendio."

This year, he was an orphan without a family...the only family he thought he had had taken his true family from him...remorselessly, without mercy.

He was alone.

"Happy Birthday, Harry."

"Get up."

Tom stared dispassionately at the prone forms lying at his feet. Frowning, he poked little Amy Benson's face with his shoe.

"Amy~" he sang sweetly, hoping to coax her to her feet, "Time to wake up."

But there was no response.

He looked at the other body, kicking it a few times with a mild frown on his face. "Dennis, get her up."

The boy didn't move.

They weren't listening to him. Why weren't they listening to him? Why? Why?

Fury exploded within him, and he felt his face contort into a horrible scowl. "Get UP!"

Still, no response.

Tom sighed. "Oh dear. I broke them, didn't I?"

He shook his head sadly. "Now how am I going to explain this to Mrs. Cole?"

"Tom – Tom! Please stop, please! Jack's had enough! He's sorry, he really is!"

The boy stopped writhing on the ground.

"Fine. It was getting boring anyway."

"A girl died, Riddle."

"Yes, it's a shame I had to cut things short. But I'm sure there will be opportunities to repeat the experiment at some point in the future."

"She's dead, Riddle."

"Yes, Avery, you already brought up that particular point."

"I killed my father."

"...What...?"

"Oh, close your mouth, Black. It's undignified."

"Sorry, I just...I thought you said you killed your father."

"I did, and his filthy muggle parents too. It wasn't as...cathartic as I hoped it would be, but the fact that it's over and done with does provide something of a sense of relief."

"Riddle," Black hissed, "Don't make jokes like that. It's not funny."

Tom narrowed his eyes. "Do you think I'm lying to you, Black?" he said slowly, dangerously.

The boy beside him paled rapidly. "You...you don't mean...Riddle! You could get in a lot of trouble for something like that."

Tom waved him off. "I framed my uncle. I'm not worried."

"And you..."

"And I what?"

"You don't feel...conflicted about it? At all?"

Tom frowned. "Why would I?"

"I love you." She looked up at him with expectant eyes, glimmering with hope.

"And what do you want me to do about that?"

"Say you love me too!"

He sighed. "I'm not really in the mood to lie right now. Can you just go away? I'd like to get back to my Potions essay."

"I thought you were my friend."

There was hope in his eyes, a wretched sort of hope that made him want to laugh and furiously rip the other's face off at the same time.

"Friend? I suppose. But that does not mean I cannot kill you."

His bedroom was dark, painted with the vaguest hint of a sunrise, and Harry was still as he sat cross-legged on his bed, mind whirling at an incredible speed. He felt sick, dizzy. He was about to do the right thing...he thought. But it felt...so wrong. Everything felt wrong.

He traced the scar on his forehead slowly, carefully.

This was the right thing to do.

And he had to do it.

He closed his eyes, steeling himself. He knew what he had to do.

"I forgive you."

It was early, before 7 am, and the day was August 8th, 1990. Harry woke before the sun that morning, his mind busy and sharp. He hadn't moved since waking up, but as soon as he made his decision, he wasted no time in pulling out the mirror from below his pillows and proclaiming his forgiveness to his shell-shocked reflection.

"...what?"

"I forgive you, Tom."

Harry doubted Tom Riddle had ever looked less sure of himself. Indeed, the look on his counterpart's face was that of utter shock, seasoned with...incredulity? Horror? "I killed your parents. I turned my wand on you when you were just an infant."

That he did.

"You have suffered, Harry Potter, more than any child should suffer, and this suffering is of my own making. Every tear you have shed, every bruise, cut, abuse...all this -"

"Tom." Harry sighed softly, allowing himself a few moments and one deep breath before he willed a small, sad smile to grace his lips. "I know that. And I know that it was wrong, terribly wrong...but you didn't. You didn't understand. And you'll never understand." He looked at Tom with tears in his eyes, his face pained with acceptance and pity. "You'll never know love, or friendship...and I feel sorry for you."

"You -"

"I forgive you."

Tom's red eyes drilled into him, expressionless.

"You're a fool Harry Potter."

:I know.: