Chapter Text
He thinks he is dreaming.
He is surrounded by fog, dense like a wall everywhere around him. Up, down, left, right, all directions soon became unclear.
He reaches out a hand.
The fog unravels into a memory of the past.
"Riddle!"
That voice, usually so low and cool, carried loudly in the bathroom’s relative quiet. Tom Riddle whipped around and narrowed his eyes at the other boy who stepped out of the vestiges of a disillusionment charm.
Behind him, the entrance of the Chamber of Secrets rumbles open, and the low grinding of scales against stone echoed forth.
"Corvus Black." Riddle sneered. “Come to play?”
The other boy stalked forth, circling Riddle and the open chamber entrance with near-silent footsteps until he stood before him.
Riddle hates that face, with aristocratic features set in murderous coldness, mocking him with his eyes like he has secrets Riddle does not. Others fear its piercing green, so sharp and all-seeing, but not Riddle.
Never Riddle, because he knows, one day, he will personally dig them out.
“You always did insist on getting in the way, didn't you? Always being the perfect little student in front of all the teachers, and no one ever questioned how you knew everyone’s dirty secrets?!”
“This is madness, and you know it.” Black snarled. In reflected light of the bathroom, those eyes almost shone. “Do you really think you would herald forth some new age of purity in this school, carrying on Slytherin’s great work? Dolohov, Nott, they would rather be dead before falling at a halfblood's feet. All they are is a pack of cowards - cowards who will not hesitate to throw you aside once they see the truth.”
“Then so be it!” Riddle snapped, drawing his wand. Black too flicked his wand towards Riddle in a split second’s reaction, tension filling the air. “This is my legacy, and you have no right to deny me! Basilisk!”
Behind them, seething hisses echoed closer in horrifying response. Black’s green eyes flicked behind him and back, and his grip on his wand tightened.
He closed his eyes when the basilisk rose out of the pipe behind in all its gold-eyed, emerald-scaled glory, like Riddle’s guardian demon called from the abyss.
“Are a couple of mudbloods worth the great Heir Black’s life?”
“I thought you were smarter than this, but it seems I was wrong.” Black's wand was still drawn, even as his eyes are tightly shut. “If you kill me now, you will cement the school’s fate for certain, Tom Riddle. Are you going to doom Hogwarts?”
“I have no time for your threats anymore. Without you as a comparison to hold me back, they’ll all acknowledge me for the power I hold.”
“You would not have the opportunity by then-”
“Who are you to dictate what I can or cannot do? Who do you think you are?"
“Do you truly not see what you will drive the school into at this rate or are you so far up your arse that you cannot even listen to what is happening around you? Do I have to spell everything out for you? Do you not know what will happen?!”
The basilisk hissed and coiled then, poised to strike. Riddle snapped.
“And what do you think you are getting at, hm?”
Black snarled, and his magic coiled so angrily that a faucet behind them actually lit on fire from accidental magic.
“If you petrify any more students they are going to CLOSE the FUCKING SCHOOL!”
The boy froze.
The fire behind them spluttered and began to slowly die. The basilisk is still tensed in preparation to strike, only awaiting Riddle’s order.
Yet between them, an eternity seemed to stretch on in silence.
"Fuck!"
He turned around and hissed in snappish parseltongue. The basilisk uncoiled, turning around and beginning to wrap its great coils around the sink, its golden eyes turning elsewhere.
A flick of his wand later and dark mist bloomed forth, swimming through the air until it enveloped the two of them in a bubble, shielding the basilisk from view. Black hesitantly opened his eyes then, surveyed his surroundings, and turned to face Riddle.
Slytherin is a house full of deceitful games. Only in moments like this when emotions run high and tensions are thick do its best players drop their masks and allow a glimpse of their true selves. Black seemed irritated and deep in thought, pacing across the floor with a deep furrow between his brows. Riddle's thought process too is uncharacteristically clear, painted out in the expressions on his face as it progressed from confusion, to disbelief, to consideration, and realisation.
“Congratulations. Have you finally figured it out?” Black sneered.
Riddle glared, though it lacks the previous venom. "You think they will close Hogwarts?"
Black gave him a withering stare.
Tom Riddle always knew there was a chance they'll close Hogwarts, but he thought them braver than this. Yet it seems for all their bragging, the students in this castle ultimately prove to be a group of cowards.
Even if he has done this in accordance with Slytherin's will, even if he opened the chamber and bid them all to see, Hogwarts's alumni are all too blinded and content with their safety to take the risk. The purebloods, though they brazenly declare themselves pure and untouchable, are still afraid of what they cannot control. No matter how many muggleborns he petrifies or how often they cheer on the actions of this mysterious heir, they are all still spoiled children, too used to being able to run to the safety of their parents for all their problems.
They will always find themselves thinking, "But what if the next one is me anyway?" They will write to their parents and raise a racket because compared to their own peace of mind the closing of Hogwarts is no big deal. Nott will go back to be homeschooled by private tutors. Malfoy will read books in his sprawling estates. Rosier will go to Beauxbatons, scrape by with his family's gold, and retell today as naught but a dramatic story for future pureblood children.
Where would Riddle himself be? Shipped off to rot away in Wool's Orphanage, of course. Hogwarts closing is everything to Riddle, but nothing to them.
Yet despite this, Black is here, and he has confronted him instead of going for the headmaster. Proud, spoiled, pureblood Black is here before him, against all logic and reason.
"Why are you here then?" Riddle stopped his pacing. "Why would you care?"
"I would not expect you to understand." said Black, twirling his wand.
Riddle scoffed, making his derision known loudly. Black narrowed his eyes. He stopped his wand-twirling, tightening his grip on the handle, and turned to face Riddle fully.
"I care, because Hogwarts is my home."
Somehow, even though they came from the depths of Black's heart, those words also mirrored the sentiment in his.
"Because if they close the school then I will return to a world where my life is dictated by fools that can punish me for my mere existence, where even the likes of Walburga can order me around like a fucking house elf. Because if they close the school, then I will be sent to my death, and rot unknown behind locked doors. So, I do care if Hogwarts closes. I care a lot, and I do not expect someone like you who is destined for greatness to be able to understand."
Black did not look away once throughout. It is in moments like these that Riddle fully notices the sharpness of his eyes, and how that unholy green seems to pierce through even occlumency barriers to his very soul.
He wants, more than ever, to reach forth and dig them out. See if they will still look like that separated from Black's skull, laid in his hands and covered in blood.
"Now, I have laid down my cards and reasons. Will we continue acting sensible, or shall I have to turn you in?"
There again, the intense stare-off. Even though it is Black who has walked in here and had his truth laid out in the open, he still holds himself with dignity, as if it was Riddle instead who had his secrets exposed.
Refusing to bow down even until the end.
"Fine."
The gathered tension seemed to vanish.
"I shall cease- "
A bang of a wooden door opening, a scuffle of shoes, and a sudden scream.
The two boys snapped to the source of the sound and Riddle quickly dissipated the black mist surrounding them. The basilisk is turned away from them, still coiled around the sinks, but its gaze is directed towards the cubicles.
The last one is open. Before the door lies the body of a young girl, face frozen in fear.
"Shit!"
Riddle quickly commanded the basilisk to return to the chamber in rapid hisses of parseltongue as Black dashed to the fallen girl. He felt for breath under the girl's nose and placed two fingers on the side of her neck. Finding no pulse, Black shook out his wand and pointed the tip to the girl's chest.
"Rennervate!"
Nothing happened.
"Reparifors!"
Nothing again.
"Inpulsa!"
A bit of movement, then nothing. Riddle approached them as the chamber entrance closed in the background, the basilisk disappearing inside.
"Did I do the shocking spell correctly?" Black asked, not looking up.
Riddle rolled up his sleeves and pointed the tip of his wand to the girl's chest.
"Inpulsa!"
The body heaved as if zapped with electricity, yet quickly became still once more.
"Inpulsa!" he tried again.
Black checked the girl's pulse. After a time, he looked up and shook his head.
Dead.
This bloody fool looked right in a basilisk's eyes and was killed on the spot.
Riddle swore, sending a blast of magic towards the walls that would have no doubt alerted half the school if not for the privacy wardstone he set beforehand. He finds he cannot muster the energy to care. How did he miss an entire girl in here when he came to open the chamber? What was she even doing?
"Myrtle Warren," said Black, fishing a crumpled essay from the dead girl's pocket. "Third year, seems to be a mudblood. We can work with this."
"Are you thinking of pinning the murder on someone?" Riddle asked.
"She fits the criteria of the previous petrification victims, so it could be spun as the culprit's first kill. We must make sure our scapegoat is believable. Did you have someone in mind?"
"Rubeus Hagrid," Riddle replied, anger vanishing as if a switch had been flipped. "He keeps an acromantula in secret, it's in a cupboard in one of the dungeons. Pin the incidents on a dangerous beast out of control and he won't even be able to explain himself. That just leaves the chamber of secrets and rumours."
"Use Alphard. Orion tells me he is close to Hagrid. A pureblood who would know the rumours and take advantage of the beast to direct it to muggleborns."
Black stood, expression schooled once more. Any of his previous outbursts of emotions are nowhere to be found. "It would be exactly in line with House Black's expectations, after all. Irma and Pollux will eat up the story, might even praise the fool. What to do with the corpse?"
Riddle glanced at Black from the corner of his eye.
"Leave it here." he tested, walking to the door. "You're a prefect, we can stage a discovery. Perhaps "see" Alphard Black leaving the scene and go drag him out of Slytherin dorm?"
"I can arrange a meeting between Alphard and Hagrid in the dungeons," Black answered clinically, following Riddle to the door. “Catch them both at the scene."
"Then I will handle that part. Set the stage. You bring the teachers over."
"Very well."
The door opened and the privacy wards dispelled. At the entrance, just outside the bathroom, the two stopped. They turned and assessed the other in a new, complicated light.
Without another word, Riddle and Black turned away and went to enact their plan.
The fog surged back in and devoured that memory like sand by the waves of a rising ocean tide.
He is still dreaming.
Once more, he reaches forth into the fog.
"It better not rain," muttered Corvus Black, sitting at the end of their rocking boat. He'd ditched the pointed hat for the graduation ceremony within seconds after exiting the great hall, and now it is nowhere to be seen.
"If you worry about dampening your freshly washed hair, then perhaps you should put the hat back on." Tom Riddle drawled, leaning against the other end of the boat with his arms crossed.
Black gave him a look.
He needn't say anything - Riddle is not wearing his hat either. His head, propped against the thin pole of the boat's lantern, is tilted sideways, discreetly observing the glassy black expanse of water and their fellow graduating classmates in other boats. The man’s hair is somehow still in perfect shape despite the draughty breeze of the lake.
“Finally graduating.” He remarked. “Any plans for the future, now that you are Lord Black?”
Black was still looking sideways over the black lake. Riddle thought he wouldn’t answer for a while and contented himself to sit in silence. Thus, it was a pleasant surprise when Black finally did reply.
“I think I will continue studying wandlore.”
“Wandmaking?” Riddle turned back, raising a brow. “What about your soul magic?”
“Yes, I’ll be studying that too. Announce it to the class, why don’t you, what with the entire graduating year on boats within listening distance.” Black deadpanned. “Furthermore, you do not think I can really just waltz into thte ministry and tell the Unspeakables “Hey, I am thinking about expanding on the research of a previously unknown and unexplored branch of magic that may or may not yield dubious and very illegal results, can I get paid?”
“Well, as you are the type to actually register your animagus form, I don’t see why you would not.”
“Thank you for the suggestion, but I and most normal people quite enjoy not having to serve time in Azkaban.”
Riddle hummed and leaned back against the lamp pole again. Black looked at him, then leaned back against his corner of the boat as well, returning to scanning the waters.
“Will you stay in touch?” Riddle asked again.
“Why? Think you will miss me?”
“Oh, your sarcastic wit for sure. I don’t think I can live a single day without those snarky comments.”
“If it keeps our Lord happy, then this one will be sure to owl updates about the mundanities of daily life. Would you like daily updates, or perhaps weekly floo meetings?”
“This is what I’m talking about.” Riddle teased. “Such acuity of wit. Are you sure I cannot convince you to stay by my side and lavish my noble personage with your quips, as you are already doing in between classes?”
“I will push you off this boat before you can even scream.”
“I look forward to you trying.” Riddle chuckled.
The conversation between them lulled again, sending the two into a comfortable silence. Black returned to his survey of the lake, this time lightly skimming his hand along the water’s surface.
Then the giant squid swam by, bumping lightly against the side as its one inquisitive eye ogled the passing boats. Deciding there was nothing worth its interest, it dipped below the surface again.
"Corvus." Riddle suddenly said, "Do know that if I were to respect anyone, it would be you."
His tone was light, yet as he looked at Black, his gaze was completely serious.
"You are the only one I can bring myself to regard as a true equal."
This time, Black remained silent.
The blasted white fog is back again. There is one final piece of memory, but the fog is obscuring it. It is the most important one - he can feel it.
It is just beyond here. Just past the fog.
He reaches for the fog and his hand passes through. Around him, the world shatters into colour, driving the fog away.
The last memory unfolds.
“Protego Maxima!”
The crash of spell fire fizzled uselessly against the silvery barrier, yet it is unrelenting, as dozens of curses and hexes bombarded the cloaked figure maintaining the protective charm. It holds, shielding the caster within, but it will not last forever.
All of a sudden, the attack stopped.
From behind the mass of masked death eaters, a black-robed figure strode forth.
Tom Riddle has lost his handsome features. His skin is even paler since graduation, a pallor almost chalk-white. His hair, while still dark, is no longer lush. Instead it falls in unhealthy strands and frames his gaunt face, around eyes that now glow a permanent and blood-like scarlet.
"Oh, Corvus." Voldemort drawled in his sibilant tone. "You know already this dance tonight will end in your death. We may be powerful, but unlike you, I am not here alone."
The death eaters circled closer at his words, the most powerful amongst Voldemort's ranks. Some are old acquaintances, some are new recruits. Some point their wands at a former classmate with complicated feelings, while others radiate downright malicious glee.
"To be known now as the Dark Lords Raven and Voldemort respectively, you and I have gone up in the world. Stop resisting, there is no dishonour to die surrounded by friends."
For it is true. Even if he is now a dark lord and the others are on the opposing side of a war. Even if they are all dressed in black, with ornate silver masks covering their faces. Corvus knew every one of them.
Martinus Mulciber, who used to play beater for the Slytherin team, in the year above them. He holds his wand tight, but his eyes betray his mixed emotions.
Louis Avery, who taught Riddle of pureblood etiquette when he was still nothing more than a nameless second year. Who has a fiery temper and never backed down from a slight to his honour.
Evan Rosier, who was the quietest during their meetings at school, but came up with the most creative ideas. Who cried in secret when his crup passed away in the winter of their 4th year.
Antonin Dolohov, who sat with him and Malfoy while they listened through Lestrange's wild conjectures in their dorms. His hold on his wand is weak, and he is hesitating visibly.
Tiernan Nott, who preferred books to the wild skirmishes of Quidditch and yet could fly a broom with effortless grace. Who was intimidated by Hippogriffs during Care of Magical Creatures and had a flair for the artistic.
Fulcran Lestrange, who was a mischievous prankster and horrible gossip. Who went to him first whenever he got the latest news and always was a bit crazy.
And Tom Riddle.
All old friends, with their wands pointed at him.
The Dark Lord Raven, as he is now known, merely sighed and offered a chuckle.
"You are right."
"It is not too bad to die surrounded by friends."
In one fluid movement, he ripped off his black cloak and threw it into the air.
Voldemort's alarm was instantly raised. “Back!”
But it was too late. In a split second the entire area was engulfed in a sea of raging black fiendfyre.
As the inferno took shape, forming a gigantic whirlwind, it surged forth and started to grow blurry shapes, producing visages of draconic heads and gaping maws. The death eaters who could not evacuate fast enough threw up hasty silver shields that flickered out just as quickly under the onslaught of newly formed fangs snapping forwards. Fiery beasts clawed their way out of the main mass of flames; unholy chimaeras with bird-like heads, serpentine tails which lashed as fast as a whip, combined to one form and flaring open a pair of massive wings that sent heatwaves blasting across the area. They blazed forth on talon-tipped legs, crying and screeching, disintegrating all in their way until not even ashes remained.
It is this hellscape that rushed towards Voldemort. Before they could reach him, he flicked his wand outwards and with a burst of raw magic sent the nearest beasts crashing back into the main body of black flames. Enraged shrieks echoed, mixing with the crackling of fire and wails of those consumed by the monsters. Fiendfyre swirled, lashing out angrily, and gathered into itself as if possessing sentience. Rearing into a huge spiral of flame, it stretched all the way to the ceiling, curved, and struck at Voldemort like the head of a great black snake.
The Dark Lord whipped his wand once more and the fiendfyre crashed into an invisible barrier. Undeterred, it struck again and again, each time becoming more defined, gathering more power until it is no longer just a swirling mess of black fire but an enormous dragon.
A visage of death given form by cursed flames. Voldemort hissed. His grip on his wand tightened.
"Finite Incantatem."
A line of brilliant green slithered rapidly and bisected the room, separating the Dark Lord and his followers from the thrashing dragon. Black fire claws raked and bounced back, unable to pass the line. It roared, opening its jaws wide, and from its mouth even more black fire billowed forth in a deadly stream.
The line flared as Voldemort tensed to hold the spell. The surviving death eaters, finally snapping out of the shock of survival, rushed to add their power to their master's magic.
"Finite!"
"Finite Incantatem!"
"Finite!"
Against the strain of the dragon's flames, the line slowly pushed forward, backing the fiendfyre away. It thrashed and raged, yet against the force of Voldemort's will it was unable to proceed any further.
Slowly, torturously, the cursed fire pushed against the wall and howled. The barrier crushed against it, causing the dragon's form to lose its definition and break down, shrinking and compressing until it is no longer a massive beast but a cluster of angrily flickering flames. Until it eventually petered out and died.
When it was over, only one dark lord remained.
Lying in a crib in the perfectly normal muggle household of No. 4 Privet Drive, a baby with eyes as green as the killing curse wakes up and laughs.