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“Whoa.”
Tom Riddle slowly became aware of the fact he was no longer at Hogwarts. He could not remember exactly what he’d been doing, but he knew he’d been at Hogwarts. Opening his eyes slowly he took in his blurry surroundings. He made out two people, roughly the same height. He blinked again and saw magic shimmering strongly around the shorter, female shaped one.
The magic felt familiar, yet he had no idea why.
“What did you do?” hissed a male voice.
“I seemed to have spilled some potions on that creepy, stalker like sketchbook your mother kept,” the first voice— an American female— said. “Though, dude, in person he’s even hotter.”
“He doesn’t look hot,” the boy offered. “He looks like a ghost. Only not as pearly.”
The girl gave an exasperated sigh.
“True. He’s not very solid. But, he is in living color,” the female said and then chuckled. “That was a great show. Jim Carrey was brill.”
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind.”
Tom blinked a few more times. Slowly, the two figures in front of him came into sharp focus. The female and male were almost the same height, the male only a couple inches taller than the female. The pair made a strange couple, between the female’s clothes and heavy glamours. The female was dressed in an odd assortment of Muggle clothes (she had a strange sheer shirt on and shorts, tights and knee high boots), while the male was clearly of pureblood wizarding stock. Tom took a few steps backwards only to fall through the shelves behind him.
“Dude,” the female breathed. “So cool. I wonder what those were?”
“Atlanta!” the male scolded as the female moved forward.
Tom felt around for his wand, but did not find it anywhere. He felt naked without it, vulnerable. He always had his wand on him since he’d bought it at age eleven.
Now, he had no wand and he was standing in shelves. That he was sure of. He was unsure what time of day it currently was. Or for that matter what month, day, or year. Judging by the female’s choice in clothing, Tom would wager he was in future. One where females wore less clothing.
“Where am I?” he demanded, as the female came forward a bit, studying him with a look of fascination on her face.
“Oh, he even sounds pretty,” the female all but squealed. “It’s totally not fair! Why does one guy get all that?”
She waved her had at Tom, mock outrage on her heavily glamoured features. Tom frowned, noticing the features were made with pure white magic, while she seemed to ooze various shades of grey magic. It was the grey magic that called to him. He could feel the power.
The male behind her snorted. “You saying I’m ugly?”
“Oh, Reggie daaaaarling,” the girl dragged out, “You’re a Black, of course you’re not ugly. You’re just not…pretty.”
“And Sirius?”
“Oh, Siri wishes he looked like this guy here. Tragically, you Blacks just aren’t pretty. Good looking, handsome…sure. Elegant looking indeed. But him…he’s total a teenage heartthrob material.”
Tom studied the pair carefully from his spot in the shelves. He focused on the fact the female had said the boy (he was clearly younger than Tom) belonged to the Blacks. The boy did look a bit like Alphard. He had the classic Black aristocratic features, the grey-blue eyes and raven hair. It was straight, though, not the usual wavy locks most male Blacks had. The boy did not possess that annoying carefree ease Alphard had either. The boy reminded Tom strongly of Alphard’s cousin, Orion.
The female, under all her heavy glamours, was also very clearly a Black. She had the Black’s wavy black locks, cheek bones and manner of carrying herself. Her eyes, though, were a shimmering amber, which Tom had never seen on a Black. Shifting his eyes, he managed looked at the girl with the glamours on.
That was new. So was seeing magic, now that he thought about it.
Shockingly, she looked more like a Black with the glamours. Her hair was now straight like the boy’s, but no longer black. It was a rich shade of mahogany. Her nose took on a more Black-like appearance. The eye color switched out to a green-grey color. Not exactly typical Black, but closer.
The pair could have been twins. It was disturbing, since the boy was clearly looking at the girl in a manner told Tom they were not twins. Or related closely, but then again, they were Blacks. They tended to marry their cousins.
Obviously, Tom was at one of the many Black homes. In the musty, dusty attic. Looking around while the pair continued to banter with one another, he took in all the various family heirlooms that resided in the attic. It was a mash up of objects, but each object oozed Dark magic. That alone put Tom more at ease. He could see the magic dancing when he shifted his eyes to see magic.
It was fascinating. He needed to understand.
“I wonder what we did exactly?” the girl asked, kneeling down over the notebook on the ground. It was soaked in purple liquid. She sniffed it a few times. “That’s so…vierd.”
“Is that a word?” Tom asked hauntingly, taking a few steps froward to look at the purple soaked notebook. He could see his own face drawn in a careful hand, blurred now thanks to whatever had soaked the notebook. He felt a shiver run down his spine. He could feel a connection to the notebook. When he looked closer, he could see magic slowly swirling out of the notebook, connecting to him.
He was connected to the notebook? The notebook had his magic?
“‘Weird,’ with an accent, dude,” the girl offered, slowly standing up to face him. “I guess introductions are in order. We know who you are. Walburga was nice enough to label every single drawing she made of you. Though, she didn’t do you justice at all.”
Walburga Black. Urg.
He glanced back at the boy, realizing where his harsher features had come from. And, if memory served him correctly, Orion was betrothed to Walburga— thus why the boy also reminded him of Orion.
“I’m Atlanta Black, or just Lanta.”
“Not a very Black name,” Tom instantly pointed out. “It’s not a star.”
“True. But I am American and while the American branch kept with that standard, for some unknown reason, my mom picked out Atlanta. And didn’t even bother to spell it not like the city.”
“Atlanta, a variation of Atalanta, Greek.” Tom paused for a moment, picking his brian. “It means ‘secure, immovable.’”
The boy snorted.
“Yup. That’s me. I’m not moving until you make me,” she joked. “I think my mom liked the Greek myth about Atalanta. Though, I dislike it. I’m all for woman power.”
Tom regarded the female in front of him for a moment before turning his attention to the Black boy.
“Regulus Black,” the boy offered. “A proper Black name.”
Black shot a look at Atlanta, who heaved a great sigh and rolled her eyes deeply.
Turning her attention back to Tom, she said, “I’d shake your hand, but you’re not very solid… seeing you’re still standing in the shelf. Which, is cool.”
Tom stepped out of the shelves, coming to rest next to the girl. He was only a couple inches taller than her. She was very tall for a girl. He studied her carefully. She radiated magic. Tom felt himself smirking at the feeling of the power radiating off her.
She was interesting.
Her magic seemed to be reaching out for him, twisting around the black tendrils that were dancing over his skin. He glanced at the notebook again and happily noted none of his black magic was coming out of the book any longer. He had it all within him.
Whatever he might currently be…
This whole situation was interesting. Though, seeing magic might get annoying once he got back to Hogwarts. The whole castle was seeped in magic, old, powerful magic.
“Nice to meet your acquaintance,” Tom said smoothly, charm oozing from every pore.
The girl quirked an eyebrow at him. “Of course. I’m amazing.”
She knelt down again, studying the purple soaked notebook. She sniffed it, though she was no where near enough to smell anything. She made a face.
“I think those went bad like five lifetimes ago,” she offered. She pulled out her wand and began poking the notebook, muttering under her breath.
Tom had to catch his breath.
Grey. Millions and millions of shades of grey swirled around the girl thickly as she performed magic. Tom felt his own magic reacting with hers, swirling darkly around him, reaching out to join hers. He noticed she froze for a moment. She glanced up, knitting her eyebrows together as her eyes came to rest on Tom. She poked the notebook again, causing Tom’s magic to swell yet again. Quirking an eyebrow, Tom noticed she could see the magic in the air. He took a quick glance at the boy. From his expression, he could feel the magic, but he wasn’t seeing it in the sense Atlanta and Tom were.
The girl prodded the notebook hard, causing Tom’s magic to jump off him and towards her.
“Stop that,” he snapped.
He was still connected to the damn notebook clearly.
“You don’t have a wand, yet you’ve got your magic…well, kinda,” Atlanta offered, sitting back on her haunches. She studied him carefully. “You’re Dark.”
Tom squared his shoulders and glared at her. He was not willing to share anything with these strangers, so he did the next best thing: joked. Most people thought Tom had no sense of humor and he was all business and politeness.
No one usually realized he was joking when he did.
“I’m not anything. See.”
He retreated back into the shelf.
“Hardy, har, har, Riddle,” Atlanta dryly drawled.
“Addy?”
Atlanta startled, clearly have forgotten there was another person in the room with them.
“Huh?”
“Excuse me,” Tom corrected without thinking.
“What?” Atlanta asked, looking at him while Black stifled a snort.
“The proper way to express your confusion is ‘excuse me’ not something that clearly expresses you’re brian dead.”
Atlanta surveyed him cooly. “Interesting. I know you’re not a pureblood, yet you aim to be one.” Tom frowned. “I guess that is what happens when you get put into Slytherin.”
The boy cleared his throat.
“I know, I know. But I’m the crass American, Reggie!”
“You know better!”
“Eck,” the girl snorted. “So, excuse me?”
She turned and gave Black a sickly sweet smile.
“I was going to ask you what exactly do you think happened. He has magic, can he use it without a wand? And, he’s like a ghost, but ghosts have no magic. Nor do they spring out of sketchbooks my mother kept.”
“Brilliant deduction,” Tom drawled.
“It is,” Black snapped. “I think whatever the purple gunk was, while expired, reacted with the magic my mother used when she drew these pictures of Riddle.” The boy pinned Tom with a look. “Also, my mother, being the sick harpy she is, managed to get traces of his magic and essence. Hair, blood, and…skin.”
Tome felt sick. How had Walburga Black gotten any of that off him? And how DARE she do that.
“I’m not even going to ask how she managed to do this.” Atlanta shuddered.
“Excuse me?” Tom asked, feeling outraged. His magic swirled around him, crackling darkly. The boy jumped backwards, while Atlanta simply rolled her eyes.
“Riddle, dude, get a grip. You’re thirty-seven years out of your time here. Walburga is grown, married and has two kids. I think you’re safe. She didn’t marry you. So, I guess she got over you.”
“She can’t have married me,” Tom said at the same time Black said, “She was betrothed to my father since she was five.”
“Don’t mean she got no feelings,” Atlanta offered in a heavy American Deep South accent, causing Tom to cringe at her bad grammar. She laughed loudly. “Okay, so Walburga Black is creepy as hell. So is Great Aunt Cassiopeia, who clearly made whatever spilled on the sketch book. Now, what do we do with this pretty boy?”
“Pretty?” Tom sneered.
“Oh, you’re very pretty— dare I say, boarding on beautiful, darling,” Atlanta drawled, laying on a rather thick, more posh accent. “Dude! I’ve totally got a prank for Sirius!”
“NO!” Black shouted. “He’s already pretty!”
“Sirius isn’t pretty. He just thinks he is.”
“Atlanta.”
“Regulus.”
“Tom,” Tom offered. “Excuse me, what are you going to do about me?”
The pair turned to him.
“I’m sentient,” Tom pointed out. “It’d be murder if you were to get rid of me.”
“I have no idea. I don’t fancy you want to live in the Black’s attic and pretend to be a ghost?”
Tom folded his arms. “No. Next brilliant suggestion.”
Atlanta took a few steps closer to him and stared at him while he stood in the shelf. “No clue, pretty boy. We could try to find you. Put you back into your older self. I think…I’m not sure, but…if you’re sentient, that means…you’ve got a soul. But, you’re not sucking us dry. You were born out of a potion.”
“That book wasn’t a horcrux,” Black stated. “It wasn’t…it did not have enough Dark magic to be one of those things.”
“So, you have no soul!” Atlanta cried, throwing out her arms. “And you’re not dead! You’re…something new.”
Tom felt a wave of pleasure at this. He liked being different, something unique. He glanced over at Atlanta, who was wearing a similar expression to his own— yet there was something else in her expression that Tom could not place. Her face quickly morphed into one of deep thinking. She brought her hand up and rested her chin in the crook between her thumb and index finger.
“You’re made up of DNA and magic. I wonder if you retained your own personality, as that stems from souls usually,” Atlanta mused, crossing her arms as she studied him.
“Hence why horcruxes can think for themselves,” Black said quietly, looking almost as if he wished he did not know this information.
“I am still myself,” Tom offered. “What is a horcrux?”
Black shifted, turning his eyes to the floor.
“Hmmm,” Atlanta hummed, clearly not having heard Tom’s question. Her mouth quirked in one corner and she tilted her head to the side.
“Excuse me, I asked what a horcrux is,” Tom reminded the room.
“It’s a…horrible way to make yourself almost immortal. It tethers your soul to this plane of existence,” Black said, looking like he’d rather throw up than explain. “You tear your soul apart to make one through murder of an innocent.”
“Seriously?” Atlanta asked, turning around to look at Black.
Tom shifted within the shelves. He didn’t care how one made one, once he was human, he was going to research these horcruxes. The room fell silent as Atlanta turned to look at Tom again, that deep thinking expression on her face once again.
“Mother took his essence,” Black said, lighting up. “I’ve read about spells that take a bit of essence of someone’s soul. It’s like a copy. What did you call it?”
“Photocopy. Xerox,” Atlanta supplied, using foreign sounding words again. “So, technically, your mother stole some of Tom Riddle’s essence, infused it in the notebook and spent her nights kissing his pictures or something?”
“Atlanta Dorothy Black that was crass. Please. Mental images,” Black said, shuddering alone with Tom.
Dorothy? Tom thought, staring at the girl in confusion. What a Muggle sounding middle name. Tom filed away the information for later.
“Fine, but his actual self is missing some of his essence, which is like the surface of his soul. Can you grow a soul from essence?” Atlanta mused.
“I don’t know…aren’t souls…well, unique?”
“So, we ought to give it back to the older Tom Riddle,” Atlanta suggested, turning away from Tom to face Black. “We find Tom Riddle, if he’s still alive and meld the two together?”
“No thanks,” Tom said instantly. “I like being my own person. And if I can grow my own soul, then I won’t be like the older Tom Riddle.”
Who hopefully wasn’t going by his Muggle name any longer…
Atlanta quirked an eyebrow, turning back to face Tom. She gave him a rather crooked smile, watching him carefully. He felt her eyes on him and felt his magic reacting again. She twirled her wand in her left hand in a familiar manner, watching as her magic and his magic reacted to one another as she let out bits of magic from the tip of her wand. She met his eye, and Tom knew they’d drawn the same conclusion: he was tied to her.
Even if he grew a soul (which he doubted would happen), he was still tied into her magic.
He could stay with her, or go back to his own body— wherever he currently was located.
He didn’t want to meld with himself, though. He was different than his older self. He was unique.
“I guess I could keep you.”
“Atlanta!” Black shouted. “How do you plan on keeping him? He’s not a pet!”
“He’s correct. I’m not anyone’s pet, possession or anything, thank you very much.”
Tom shifted, trying to pull his magic back away from her. Atlanta’s hand darted out and managed to grip his arm. “Look. I can touch you.”
Tom felt rather disturbed by this. Mostly because he felt his magic react to her touch and trickle over to her more than it’d had doing before. He looked up at her with wide eyes, finding the strange greenish-amber eyes glowing in reaction. Then, when he was about to tear his arm from her grip, he felt her magic mix with his and they crackled together in a brilliant show of grey and black magic. It swirled around them, dancing over their skin, causing her glamours to glow bright white.
It was beautiful. And strong. Tom felt drunk on the power he was feeling from the mixture of their magics so close together.
He found he didn’t want to leave. He wanted that power, even if it meant begin dependent on someone else.
“You didn’t do those,” Tom realized, his voice a little too breathy for his own taste. He almost wanted to reach up and touch the skin under the glamours, just to see what might happen.
“No. I didn’t,” she replied, looking at him with a guarded expression. “How come I don’t know who you are? You’re really freaking powerful, even in this shadow form. You are bursting with Dark magic, yet you don’t seem evil. And you can’t be older than sixteen.”
“I’m fifteen. How old are you?”
The girl laughed a mirthless laugh and rolling her eyes up to the ceiling. “Oi vey, to know how old I am.”
“Addy?”
Tom had forgotten the other boy was in the room. Again. And clearly from the startled expression on Atlanta’s face, she had as well. Again.
“Yes, Reggie?”
“How old are you?”
Her expression changed and she dropped Tom’s arm. Tom felt like he was missing a limb suddenly and frowned deeply. She turned towards the boy, her mouth opening and closing a few times.
“Well, I was seventeen when I left,” she replied. “And that was, uh, in May. I was born in November. So, I’d been seventeen for almost six months. When I got here it was September. So…er…in March I’ll be eighteen.”
Tom’s ears perked up. That made it sound like— she was a time traveler.
“And you’re in sixth year?”
“Well, I told Dumbly to put me in six— we’ve been over that, Reggie,” Atlanta reminded the boy.
“I know. I still don’t understand. You’re confusing, Addy,” the boy muttered, looking rather bemused.
“Please explain what you’re talking about,” Tom demanded.
“Oh, I’m from either the future or an alternative universe. And don't tell me your theories on time travel. I’ve got my own I’m working from,” she said, dismissal clear in her tone. “Anyways, because of the crap sixth year I had back home, when I got here I suggested Dumbledore put me in sixth year. I kind of was totally distracted by this war taking place here and didn’t give it my all. So, in I’m still seventeen at the moment. There! I answered the question!”
There was a loud crack, the noise filling the confines of the attic. The ugliest House Elf in the world appeared. Black looked mildly interested, while Atlanta frowned deeply at the ugly Elf.
“Mistress is looking for you, Master Regulus,” the Elf said in a croaky voice, eyeing the girl with clear distaste. She glowered right back at the House Elf. She changed how she was standing, almost challenging the Elf to say something to her.
“I ought to go see what she wants,” Regulus muttered. “Will you be all right?”
“Nasty, nasty girl,” the Elf muttered under his breath. “Dirtying Mistress’ house with her nasty Muggle clothing.”
“Kreacher!”
The Elf startled. “Yes, Master Regulus?”
“You were speaking out loud again. Do not speak in that manner about Atlanta.”
“Yes, Master Regulus,” the Elf replied, bowing low. Black muttered under his breath about his mother making the Elf crazy. He turned back to Atlanta, “Will you be all right up here?”
“Sure. I’ll figure out what to do with our new friend.”
The elf looked rather alarmed to see Tom, who was standing the shelves again.
“All right.”
Black eyed Tom for a moment in distrust before following the House Elf out of the room. Atlanta turned to him, putting her hands on her hips.
“Okay, Tommy boy, we’re going to have to figure out what to do with you,” she announced.
“Don’t call me that,” Tom snapped.
“Fine. Riddle me this, riddle me that,” she muttered, pulling her wand out again. Suddenly she laughed. “Riddler! I loved that character. Best villain. He likes riddles, puzzles and word games. Plus, he’s insane. But, not the Jim Carrey one. There was something off about him in that role. Though, he does play insane well. And stupid.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Batman. I don’t remember when Batman came out. He’s a comic book superhero,” she explained. “The Riddler was one of the bad guys.”
“Muggle thing?” Tom questioned, vaguely remembering comic books.
“Yes. It was a really big deal in the sixties. There was this TV show. It was in reruns when I was a kid. I used to catch it when my mom would dump me at Mr. Remus’ house, as he had a TV. I love TV. I don’t know why the wizarding world won’t adopt TV. They finally adopted a radio of all things.”
She shook her head, pulling something off her wrist. She gathered her hair up behind her head and fastened it. She put her hands on her hips.
“All right, Riddler.”
“I’m not sure how I feel you nicknaming me after a villain,” Tom said, though he was the first to admit, if there were a story written, he’d be the villain.
“You are alive with Dark Magic,” Atlanta pointed out. “You’re the bad guy. I’d be the ambiguous character that no one knows which way she is going. But, to matters at hand other than what we are to call one another. I need a way to transport you without people seeing.”
“You are not transporting me!”
“Oh, cool your jets, Riddler. If Walburga finds out what we did on accident, or that there’s a ghost like being here, she’ll get rid of you faster than you can say ‘wait, wait…don’t kill me.’ She’s seriously a piece of work. Be happy she was forced to married Orion,” Atlanta offered. “Tragically, with all my vast knowledge, I have no idea how to transport you— but, I can touch you.”
She poked him in the chest with her finger. Tom took a step back, coming out behind the shelf. He walked around the shelf, coming to stand in front of her. Using his own magic, he caused a swell, shoving it over to Atlanta, allowing it to swirl around her. He felt himself getting fainter, he snapped his magic back to himself.
“Interesting. You seem to be mostly magic. That means…”
“It’s the most important thing to me,” Tom supplied.
“True.” Atlanta bit her bottom lip, shoving her hands into the pockets of her shorts. “Do that again. I’m going to try to channel you somewhere you can hang out.”
“Hang out?”
“Future expression for…well, sitting still and…er…well, that’s it. Hmmm,” she hummed, glancing at her bare forearm. “That’s kind of…well, a little too Death Eatery for me, so we’ll use the right arm.”
“I’m going to live on your arm? No.”
“Aw, Riddler, come on. I’ll let you out. You’re not my pet, object, or possession. But you’re, well, tied to me. Can’t you feel that?”
“Yes.”
“And if any of the Black besides Reggie see you— you’re toast. The nice crispy kind Peter just adores. The Blacks hate ghosts and tragically there’s no way they will wait for the Ghost Busters. They’ll just bust you themselves.”
“Ghost Busters?”
“Yet another Muggle thing. There were these three guys in New York City who went around trapping ghosts and freeing the city from hauntings,” Atlanta said, waving her hand at him. “I could go for some marshmallows…”
Tom did not grasp what she was trying to tell him. It was frustrating to say the least.
“I want to channel your magic into my arm and put you there for safe keeping. I don’t have a home, but once I get back to Hogwarts, you can have free-reign of my room. I’ve got my own room because I’m special. Or difficult. Anyways, I’ve read about this. Well, not this. You and me, but channeling magic from someone else into a mark. I think Moldy Pants uses this method to keep track of the Eaters of Death. Gross. I can’t believe I’m going to do this, but you’re pretty.”
“Moldy Pants?”
“Trust me, I bet his pants are moldy. And by pants, I mean his trousers. Not his underwear,” she quickly added. “We’ll call him Moly Trousers.” She pulled her wand out and took a deep breath. “I don’t need an incantation because I’m just putting you there for safe keeping. I don’t need to sear you to my skin, as I’d like to let you out.”
Tom shifted a bit, studying her carefully. He did not want to depend on anyone, let alone this strange girl, but he could feel the tug to be near her, the tie to her. He knew he couldn’t keep his form if he trailed too far from her. He glowered. This was less than ideal. He’d have to think of a way out of the predicament, but she was rather fascinating.
And a time traveler.
“Okay. First try. Uh, try pushing your magic to me,” she offered. She gulped.
Tom let his magic go, sending it out to her. He could feel her concentrate on capturing his magic with her wand. She began to sweat a bit as she took his magic and forced to into her arm. He felt himself fade from his current form and sink into her skin.
He could see. He was sure he was looking through her eyes. The room came into sharper focus. He could see so much all of a sudden. He felt himself look down at a pale forearm.
“Interesting. Why a snake?”
“I like snakes,” Tom replied. “I am a Slytherin.”
The snake on her arm was silver and green, of course. It twisted it’s way around her arm like a bracelet, snaking its way up to her elbow. As he looked at it through her eyes, he noticed it glittering. Atlanta turned her arm, studying the whole thing. He could feel her unease grow a bit.
“Whoa. That is freaky. God, if my father was here, he’d give me a talking to. Proper girls don’t have tattoos. Especially ones oozing with Dark magic,” the girl muttered.
She turned her arm a few more times, muttering at least it didn’t look like a Dark Mark. Tom furrowed his eyebrows, wondering what a Dark Mark was. It intrigued him, though. If he ever got out of his predicament, he’d look into it for his Knights.
“Honestly. What were you thinking Atlanta! You’ve just pushed some strange teenager’s Dark magic into your system and now you feel him in your head. Brilliant! You’re an idiot, Atlanta Siria Black.”
She said this all in a rather stuffy sounding British accent.
Tom snorted. Wait, didn’t she say her middle name was Dorothy earlier?
“Can you make me do anything?”
Tom tried for a few moments. He could push his magic around her core, mix it with hers, but he had no control. He let out a noise of anger.
“I see.” Atlanta was quiet for a moment. “Give me a second.”
He felt something shift and she raised her wand.
“Cast a spell. Nothing too harmful. I can feel what you’re thinking.”
Sighing, Tom cast a simple Lumos charm.
“Wicked,” Atlanta breathed. “I so did not do that. Well, just to warn ya, everyone thinks I’m crazy already, so the fact now I’ve got a you in my head won’t be that far of a stretch for people to believe. I know you despise this arrangement, but we’ll figure something out. I still think we ought to give you to yourself. If we can find you. You’re are seriously brilliant. I can feel it. Though, you don’t seem to have any morals…dude!”
“Excuse me?” Tom asked.
It was a strange sensation, to actually speak, hear himself speak, but know no one except Atlanta could hear him.
“You’re like Moriarty or something,” Atlanta offered.
It was the first odd reference she’d made Tom actually got. Despite his dislike of Muggles, they were better at writing fiction than wizards. Sherlock Holmes happened to be one of his favorites, as Holmes and his nemesis Moriarty were brilliant and dangerously clever.
“I’m going to go downstairs now. I bet the Blacks are wondering where their rude house guest went. Just to warn ya, they hate me because I’m American. Not because they know what I am.”
“What are you?”
“Oh, you can’t hear my thoughts? I can’t hear yours, I just feel your emotions. Or sense you. I guess I only hear you when you actually speak.”
“Same here. You’re…confusing. You’ve got a lot of emotions.”
Atlanta snorted rather unattractively.
“You’re just not good at reading emotions because you don’t seem to have any,” Atlanta said happily. “All right. I’m going to stop talking to myself now and go downstairs.”
Tom felt her walk across the room, which was filled with magic. It was coming off of almost every, single item in house as she walked through it. It was bizarre to move, seeing out of someone else’s eyes. The girl started down the stairs, pausing to store the soaked sketchbook in her trunk. She was about to leave the room when she made a noise of annoyance. Tom wasn’t sure what she what she was annoyed about till stood in front of a mirror. She was wearing a short coat like thing that stopped at her hips and had sleeves that ended at her elbows. She waved her wand and the item lengthened.
“Urg. This is so much worst. I hate robes,” she grumbled. Tom could feel her disgust. It ran about as deep as his for all things Muggle.
Traveling through the house, Tom surmised it was the holidays, due to the fact the dark house was decorated for the Yule. Upon entering the drawing room, Tom was positive he was correct. A few of the older people he vaguely recognized sat in the room. There was a beautiful dark haired girl, draped on a couch, eyeing the girl he was in with repugnance. The other girl, a blonde, ignored Atlanta’s entrance all together, her nose seemingly stuck up in the air. Atlanta sat down on the couch next to Regulus, who appeared relieved to see her.
The next two hours passed very slowly. The girl had been right: she was unwelcome in the Black house. Tom quickly became aware that Walburga Black was ten times more demented than she’d been at school, and Orion Black was quiet and silent these days. When no one was paying attention to him, he cast dark looks at the dark haired girl draped on the couch in the corner.
Alphard was absent, which was tragic. While Tom wasn’t exactly fond of the strange man, he was amusing. This dreary get together was in need of someone like Alphard.
The everyone was terrible. Even by Black standards. The conversation lingered on about Americans and their lack of pureblood pride. The dark haired girl was the worst out of all the people in the room. Atlanta hated the dark hair girl with a vindictive passion. While Tom was no stranger to feeling hate, the emotion behind this hatred made it stronger than anything Tom had ever felt.
It made him upset. He did not want Atlanta feeling this way.
It was an odd sensation. He’d never been upset because someone else was upset. Tom was sure he was getting angry because Atlanta was being treated like scum wasn’t helping her ire either. He could not understand how the morons in the room failed to realize the girl in their mists was more powerful than any of them. No matter her blood status.
Tom knew blood status didn’t equate power when it came down to it in the end. He was a half blood. Half his blood was Muggle, and yet he was the most powerful person (besides Dumbledore) at Hogwarts. The purebloods in his House had nothing on him. In fact some of them were less powerful than some of the Muggleborns. Purebloods, like the Blacks, were arrogant and believed keeping their blood pure would allow them to be all powerful.
It was a lie.
Tom had spent five years studying and knew if you kept your blood line to only the small portion of purebloods, eventually power would be lost. Look what happen to Slytherin’s line. The Gaunts were almost squibs from what Tom had learned during his research. They’d lost all their gold and there had not been a Gaunt in attendance at Hogwarts for over eighty years.
Wizards were superior to Muggles. Tom didn’t care where the magic came from, any drop of magical blood caused the person to be better than the average human being. Tom, though, was not stupid. He’d been around the “best” of the best of wizarding society and knew how to work within those confines. Not one of the powerful families in wizarding society shared his view point.
That was fine.
Their viewpoints had not changed in the thirty-seven years. In fact, it was worse. And there was some mad Dark Lord who was making the situation worse from what Tom surmised.
Tom Riddle spent the two hours blasted emotions. They made him feel stronger, made the ones he felt normally stronger. It was a peculiar feeling as most times he went out of his way to feel blank, to feel nothing other than power.
It never occurred to him emotions could make him more powerful. He thought emotions made him weak.
He was wrong. How…wrong. Tom was never wrong. It fascinated him to a degree he could admit he had been wrong. That which doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
Emotions didn’t kill him. If anything, they made him feel stronger.
By the end of the two hours, there was one emotion Tom was unable to understand. It wasn’t hate, it wasn’t pity and it wasn’t anger. It was something he’d never felt before and was directed at Regulus. He had to know what this emotion was, as it fueled all her other emotions and made them stronger and wilder.