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antihero-writings · 3 years

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The Boy with the Unspeakable Name (Ch7)

Fandom: Harry Potter (and the Chamber or Secrets)

Fic Summary: Tom Riddle may have won his battle with Harry in the Chamber of Secrets, but there were a few unforeseen consequences; loss of Tom's memory being the most obnoxious of them. Is it possible to stop Tom's past from becoming his future? Or is the young Tom Riddle doomed to repeat his mistakes?

(I'll put the links to chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 & 6 in a reblog!! I also have a version of this fic with all the chapters in one place!!)

Notes: Was that the fastest I've posted a next chapter, without having it written ahead of time? I think it might be!!

It definitely helped that two scenes were directly from the book XD But still, I was shocked by how fast this got done!

By the way, I realized there was something important I should probably have occur in the previous chapter, that I didn't include, so please note something will be added in at some point! I finished this chapter before I edited the last one so it's not there yet XD I'll let you know at the start of the next chapter if I edited it in.

I also realized I did not mention Fawkes hanging out in the office in other chapters XD, so I'll probably have to edit that back in too, haha!

Comments are always extremely appreciated!! And do let me know if you'd like me to add you to a tag list for this fic!!

Chapter 7:

There was the sound of Dumbledore’s chair scraping against the floor as he stood abruptly.

“Now I must apologize.” Though still solid, his voice had lost its pleasantness, now it had an edge. “Severus.” The word was sharp, “I cannot allow you to treat a student this way.”

The two stared at each other, and it was as if they were having a conversation in simple glances. Snape seemed to lose the silent argument, because he sighed and said in a clipped way, not looking at Tom.

“My apologies. I lost my composure.”

When Harry looked at Tom he saw that, behind the adult’s backs, his lips were curving into a smirk.

He wasn’t even really upset, was he? He’d have every right to be upset by a scene such as this, but in the end…he was just happy to see Snape get in trouble.

Harry and Snape had rarely, if ever, been on the same side, and the muting spell, while he admitted was necessary—(number of things flared to his tongue that he was glad he wasn’t capable of saying)—didn’t give him any fondness for him…yet it seemed for a brief moment, they were united. But he wouldn’t say he was the least bit opposed to Snape’s treatment of Riddle.

He had expected Snape to be his usual collected self, even favor Riddle the way he did Malfoy—they’d suspected on more than one occasion he was in league with Voldemort. Seeing the hatred in his eyes for Riddle made Harry take a step back, both physically and mentally.

“Thank you.” Dumbledore sat back down.

Tom said nothing, his eyes fixed on Snape, intent set in them. “You must really hate me.” He said the words like he relished the idea. “What did I do?” Tom’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve killed a girl, so there must not be much I can’t do.”

The teachers’ eyes widened, and they looked at each other.

“You didn’t kill her.” Dumbledore cleared his throat.

Tom raised an eyebrow. “I thought Harry here made that rather clear.”

“Harry thought you did. But this is magic of course. I am able to deduce from the information you have given me; it was in fact another force working through you through that diary. Destroying the diary severed your ties with that force, but also cost you your memories.”

Harry wondered what Dumbledore’s aim was. He had killed Ginny, they both confirmed it.

“How would you know this from just a bit of information?” Tom scoffed.

“Because I’ve dealt with such forces on more than one occasion—even this specific one before. This one is a particular nuisance.”

After a moment of silence Dumbledore spoke:

“Professor Snape. Will you kindly take Mr. Riddle to Madam Pomfrey?”

“Sir?”

“Well, the boy has suffered a loss of memory, he ought to stay in the hospital wing until we get all this sorted. There should be a few empty beds now that the petrified students have been cured. “Also…” he interrupted them as they turned to leave, and something sad indeed entering his gaze. “Send the Weasleys to me, will you?”

Harry’s stomach gave a painful jolt at the name.

As the two left—(rather stiffly)—Dumbledore flicked his wand, lifting the muting curse Snape had placed on Harry.

Harry drew in a great gasping breath.

“Thank you, professor.” He heaved.

“Don’t mention it, Harry. I don’t imagine that was very pleasant”

“No.” Harry replied, making faces, just glad to have use of his lips again.

“Did Professor Snape force you to drink the truth serum, Harry?”

“Actually…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I drank it myself.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I must say, that was not an answer I was expecting. May I ask if you had a reason?”

“You told me to tell Snape every detail of what happened, but I…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I couldn’t. Every time I tried to say something he’d interrupt, or I couldn’t get it out…it was the only way.”

“I’m sorry you had to resort to such measures, Harry. I only meant that he ought know a good potion of what happened, not every detail. I think, in fact, knowing every detail resurrected old grudges for Severus.” He looked towards the door.

“It’s alright. I won’t say it wasn’t fun to watch. …I’ve never seen Snape like that…Why does Snape have a grudge against Voldemort?”

“It is not not my place to tell you.”

“Like he’d ever tell me.” Harry scoffed, then froze, eyes wide, worried he was about to get in trouble.

Dumbledore gave a small smile, “I can see why precautions were necessary.”

Harry smiled sheepishly.

“But, no,” Dumbledore replied. “I don’t imagine he will.

“I apologize if that was rather difficult to watch. I wanted you to be here. I thought you deserved to hear our conversation.”

“Thanks.”

“Sit down, Harry.” He gestured to the chair in front of him.

He was about to sit down, but paused. He knew it was silly, but he didn’t like the idea of sitting in the chair the young Voldemort had just sat in.

Dumbledore smiled a little. “Sit.”

Slowly he lowered himself into the chair, sitting on as little of it as possible.

“First of all, Harry, I want to thank you.” He stroked the phoenix, witch had fluttered down onto his knee. “You must have shown me real loyalty down in the Chamber. Nothing but that could have called Fawkes to you.”

“…Fat lot of good it did me.” He didn’t mean to say it aloud.

“Oh, I think it did a great deal of good. Who knows how things would have gone without that. One thing I know would have gone differently is you likely would have had great deal of trouble getting out of the chamber. Fawkes is the one who flew you out, is he not?”

There was a long moment where they sat in silence, before Harry spoke:

“I couldn’t save her.”

Dumbledore looked up.

“I couldn’t save her.” He continued. “She was lying on the floor, helpless, and he was taking her life force. Next thing I knew she was dying, and he was coming back…” his voice became a pained whisper.

“It’s not your fault, Harry.” Dumbledore said earnestly. “More practiced wizards than yourself have been unable to save their friends and family from Voldemort. Her death is not on your hands.”

Harry paused, fidgeting with his hands, looking away.

“I could have killed him. When he came back he was lying on the floor unconscious…I could have…I bet most people would have. But I didn’t…I couldn’t…” he stammered, then looked up. “Why couldn’t I?!”

Dumbledore stood and sat on the desk in front of Harry. “Something people often don’t tell you, is sometimes it takes just as much courage to spare a life than to take it, often more. It may be strange to hear, but, I think it may be a very good thing that you didn’t.”

“How?”

“Let me ask you something…do you think Lord Voldemort deserves a second chance?”

Harry thought a moment; he thought of the of the man who killed his parents. Then the boy that had been before him, the one who had told him he was Voldemort, set the snake loose, and nearly killed him, and did kill—

“Honestly, professor? No, I don’t think so.”

Dumbledore nodded. “That’s very understandable. Then let me ask you something else…Do you think Tom Riddle deserves a second chance?”

Harry cocked his head to the side. “Sir?”

“Tom Riddle. Or, maybe not even Tom Riddle. I am referring to the boy who was sitting here moments ago. Not the man who killed countless. The boy who currently is nothing more than that.”

He thought harder. The boy sitting there wasn’t the same, not quite, but he still wasn’t exactly kind…. Harry himself had though Tom Riddle an ally in the diary…

“He killed Ginny.”

“Lord Voldemort killed Ginny. The boy sitting before us moments ago did not.”

“I…I don’t know.” Harry wasn’t sure why he was asking him this. “What do you think?”

“I knew Tom Riddle when he was at school. I knew him to be—while charming on the outside—clever, cunning, and manipulative. Many times I have regretted not seeing what was coming, and taking precautions, sooner. If I had seen him here today I might be inclined to say ‘no’ myself. However…the boy who stood before today may not be the same as the one I knew.”

“What do you mean? Because he lost his memory?”

“Perhaps. However…I think coming back using the diary specifically, as well as Ginny’s life force, as opposed to other means, may have had consequences he couldn’t have foreseen.”

“What do you mean sir?”

“We’ll learn in due time. Currently it is nothing more than an untested hypothesis of mine, and I don’t make it a habit of divulging those as fact.”

“So, you met Tom Riddle—before he lost his memory, I mean.” Dumbledore altered the subject. “I imagine he was most interested in you.”

Harry’s thoughts were jumbled, but something that had been nagging at him before this all started, and it presently came tumbling out of his mouth.

“Professor Dumbledore, Riddle said that I…I’m like him. Strange likenesses he said…”

“Did he now?” Said Dumbledore, looking thoughtfully under his thick silver eyebrows at Harry. “And what do you think Harry?”

“I don’t think I’m like him!” Harry said more loudly than he intended. “I mean, I’m—I’m a Gryffindor, I’m…”

But he fell silent, a lurking doubt resurfacing in his mind.

“Professor,” he started again after a moment, “the Sorting Hat told me I’d—I’d have done well in Slytherin. Everyone thought I was Slytherin’s heir for a while…because I can speak Parseltongue…”

“You can speak Parseltongue, Harry,” said Dumbledore calmly, “Because Lord Voldemort—who is the last remaining descendant of Salazar Slytherin—can speak Parseltongue. Unless I’m much mistaken, he transferred some of his own powers to you the night he gave you that scar. Not something he intended to do, I’m sure…”

“Voldemort put a bit of himself in me?” Harry said, thunderstruck.

“It certainly seems so.”

“So I should be in Slytherin.” Harry said, looking desperately into Dumbledore’s face. “The Sorting Hat could see Slytherins power in me, and it—”

“Put you in Gryffindor.” Said Dumbledore calmly. “Listen to me, Harry. You happen to have many qualities Salazar Slytherin prized in his hand-picked students; his own very rare gift, Parseltongue, resourcefulness, determination…a certain disregard for the rules,” he added, his mustache quivering again. “Yet the Sorting Hat placed you in Gryffindor. You know why that was. Think.”

“It only put me in Gryffindor,” said Harry in a defeated voice, “Because I asked not to go in Slytherin…”

“Exactly.” Said Dumbledore, beaming once more. “Which makes you very different from Tom Riddle. It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities. Did you not prove that once again today when you chose not to kill him? That took incredible bravery.” Harry sat motionless in his chair, stunned. “If you want proof, Harry, that you belong in Gryffindor, I suggest you look more closely at this.”

Dumbledore reached across Professor McGonagall’s desk, picked up the blood-stained silver sword and handed it to Harry. Dully, Harry turned it over, the rubies blazing in the firelight. And then he saw the name engraved just below the hilt.

Godric Gryffindor

“Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the Hat, Harry.” Said Dumbledore simply.

For a minute, neither of them spoke.

“Sir?”

“Mm?”

“May I…May I tell Ron and Hermione about all of this? About Tom, about…?” he trailed off.

Dumbledore took off his glasses and cleaned them. “Under most circumstances I would say yes, especially considering Ron’s position, but this one is…rather special. I’m currently of the mind that the less people know Lord Voldemort is back—in any form—the better.

“This situation is both particularly strange, and particularly delicate. You may tell them that Lord Voldemort was working through a diary to control Ginny, and that this lead to her death—that is, of course, what I will be telling the Weasleys…But I believe it is safer for everyone if they do not know he successfully managed to return to the land of the living.”

Harry looked at the ground. The thought of keeping all this to himself was almost more daunting than the fact that it had happened in the first place.

“Harry, where is Ron?”

Harry’s eyes widened. “I…left him down in the chamber…I….I don’t think he would have left if I told him he had to.”

Dumbledore’s eyes mirrored his. “Oh dear. Well we’ll certainly have to sort that out won’t we?”

“What should I do, sir?”

Dumbledore pulled open one of the drawers in Professor McGonnagall’s desk, and took out a quill and a bottle of ink. “What you need, Harry, is some food and sleep. I suggest you go back to Gryffindor tower, while I write to Azkaban—we need our game-keeper back. And I must draft an advertisement for the Daily Prophet, too,” he added thoughtfully. “We’ll be needing a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher… Dear me, we do seem to run through them, don’t we?”

“So…” Harry spoke, his gut twisting, unsure if this was the truth serum speaking, or if pained curiosity was guiding his tongue now, “Hogwarts won’t shut down?”

Dumbledore paused, looking up at him. “I imagine I’ll have to suffer through several unpleasant meetings, but I don’t think they’ll succeed at closing Hogwarts. The threat is gone, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” Harry’s voice was small. “Tom Riddle’s still around…I mean, won’t his memory come back eventually? Don’t you think he’ll be the same person when he gets his memory back?”

“You’re not saying you’d like Hogwarts to close, are you?”

“No!” Harry stood. “Of course not! I just…I…If we’re not safe…maybe it’s better…”

The thought of not coming back to Hogwarts, staying with the Dursley’s for the indeterminate future, with the knowledge that Voldemort was walking around as his sixteen your old self…

“The fact that Voldemort is back in this way makes the situation rather unorthodox, but there’s no place safer than Hogwarts. Firstly, if the school closes, I fear that would make things more dangerous on his end, rather than less. There’s no telling what he could do, released out to the world.”

“But he wouldn’t know how to do magic! Wouldn’t that—?”

“He knows magic exists, now. Knowing him, he’d do anything in his power to learn how to master it, and that could make him far more dangerous than simply teaching him. Hogwarts, while a place that will indeed teach him magic, is a place where we can more easily keep an eye on him. Not to mention the fact that Hogwarts, is, I believe, the one place Tom Riddle felt at home in the world. I think being in one of the few environments he truly felt comfortable in, will help nudge him in the right direction, don’t you?”

“The right direction? You really do think he can be reformed.”

“I am not certain. I still need to do the kind of heavy thinking one does when pouring over an unfamiliar restaurant menu in attempts to decide what to order. …But I think trying wouldn’t be remiss to try.”

Harry said nothing, questions, demands, insults, bobbing to the surface of his brain.

“We can and will certainly discuss this more after I myself have done more thinking on my own.” He said earnestly. “But at this particular moment, I don’t think it beneficial for you to continue troubling yourself. Food and sleep, Harry, I think will do you a world of good.”

Harry stayed a moment, sitting in the chair, trying to think of anything else he could ask, but he was tired of even simply thinking at this point. “Yeah, okay,” he sighed softly, before getting up and crossing to the door.

He had just reached for the handle, however, when the door burst open so violently that it bounced back off the wall.

Lucius Malfoy stood there, fury in his face. And cowering behind his legs, heavily wrapped in bandages, was Dobby.

“Good evening, Lucius,” said Dumbledore pleasantly.

Mr. Malfoy almost knocked Harry over as he swept into the room. Dobby went scurrying in after him, crouching at the hem of his cloak, a look of abject terror on his face.

The elf was carrying a stained rag with which he was attempting to finish cleaning Mr. Malfoy’s shoes. Apparently Mr. Malfoy had set out in a great hurry, for not only were his shoes half-polished, but his usually sleek hair was disheveled. Ignoring the elf bobbing apologetically around his ankles, he fixed his cold eyes upon Dumbledore.

“So!” he said “You’ve come back. The governors suspended you, but you still saw fit to return to Hogwarts.”

“Well, you see, Lucius,” said Dumbledore, smiling serenely, “the other eleven governors contacted me today. It was something like being caught in a hailstorm of owls, to tell the truth. They’d heard that Arthur Weasley’s daughter had been killed and wanted me back here at once. They seemed to think I was the best man for the job after all. Very strange tales they told me, too…Several of them seemed to think that you had threatened to curse their families if they didn’t agree to suspend me in the first place.”

Mr. Malfoy went even paler than usual, but his eyes were still slits of fury.

“So—have you stopped the attacks yet?” he sneered. “Have you caught the culprit?”

“We have,” said Dumbledore, with a smile.

“Well?” said Mr. Malfoy sharply. “Who is it?”

“The same person as last time, Lucius,” said Dumbledore. “But this time, Lord Voldemort was acting through somebody else. By means of this diary.”

He held up the mangled book, watching Mr. Malfoy closely. Harry, however, was watching Dobby.

The elf was doing something very odd. His great eyes fixed meaningfully on Harry, he kept pointing at the diary, then at Mr. Malfoy, and then hitting himself hard on the head with his fist.

“I see…” said Mr. Malfoy slowly to Dumbledore.

“A clever plan,” said Dumbledore in a level voice, still staring Mr. Malfoy straight in the eye. “Because if Harry here” —Mr. Malfoy shot Harry a swift, sharp look— “and his friend Ron hadn’t discovered this book, why—Ginny Weasley might have taken all the blame. No one would ever have been able to prove she hadn’t acted of her own free will…”

Mr. Malfoy said nothing. His face was suddenly masklike.

“And imagine,” Dumbledore went on, “what might have happened then. The Weasleys are one of our most prominent pure-blood families. Imagine the effect on Arthur Weasley and his Muggle Protection Act, if his own daughter was discovered attacking and killing Muggle-borns…Very fortunate the diary was discovered, and Riddle’s memories wiped from it. Who knows what the consequences might have been otherwise.”

Mr. Malfoy forced himself to speak.

“Very fortunate,” he said stiffly.

And still, behind his back, Dobby was pointing, first to the diary, then to Lucius Malfoy, then punching himself in the head. And Harry suddenly understood. He nodded at Dobby, and Dobby backed into a corner, now twisting his ears in punishment.

“Don’t you want to know how Ginny got hold of that diary, Mr. Malfoy?” said Harry.

Lucius Malfoy rounded on him.

“How should I know how the stupid little girl got hold of it?” he said.

Anger rose in harry at the insult

“Because you gave it to her,” his voice was tempered, “in Flourish and Blotts.

“You picked up her old Transfiguration book and slipped the diary inside it, didn’t you?”

He saw Mr. Malfoy’s white hands clench and unclench.

“Prove it,” he hissed.

“Oh, no one will be able to do that,” said Dumbledore, smiling at Harry. “Not now that Riddle has vanished from the book. On the other hand, I would advise you, Lucius, not to go giving out any more of Lord Voldemort’s old school things. If any more of them find their way into innocent hands, I think Arthur Weasley, for one, will make sure they are traced back to you…”

Lucius Malfoy stood for a moment, and Harry distinctly saw his right hand twitch as though he was longing to reach for his wand. Instead, he turned to his house-elf.

“We’re going, Dobby!”

He wrenched open the door and as the elf came hurrying up to him, he kicked him right through it. They could hear Dobby squealing with pain all the way along the corridor. Harry stood for a moment, thinking hard. Then it came to him—

“Professor Dumbledore,” he said hurriedly. “Can I give that diary back to Mr. Malfoy, please?”

“Certainly, Harry.”

Harry grabbed the diary and dashed out of the office. He could hear Dobby’s squeals of pain receding around the corner. Quickly, wondering if this plan could possibly work, Harry took off one of his shoes, pulled off his slimy, filthy sock, and stuffed the diary into it. Then he ran down the dark corridor.

He caught up with them at the top of the stairs.

“Mr. Malfoy,” he gasped, skidding to a halt, “I’ve got something for you —”

And he forced the smelly sock into Lucius Malfoy’s hand.

“What the—?”

Mr. Malfoy ripped the sock off the diary, threw it aside, then looked furiously from the ruined book to Harry.

“You’ll meet the same sticky end as your parents one of these days, Harry Potter,” he said softly. “They were meddlesome fools, too.”

He turned to go.

“Come, Dobby. I said, come.”

But Dobby didn’t move. He was holding up Harry’s disgusting, slimy sock, and looking at it as though it were a priceless treasure. “Master has given a sock,” said the elf in wonderment. “Master gave it to Dobby.”

“What’s that?” spat Mr. Malfoy. “What did you say?”

“Got a sock,” said Dobby in disbelief. “Master threw it, and Dobby caught it, and Dobby — Dobby is free.”

Lucius Malfoy stood frozen, staring at the elf.

“You’ve lost me my servant, boy!” Fury curled around his words as he lunged at harry.

But Dobby shouted, “You shall not harm Harry Potter!”

There was a loud bang, and Mr. Malfoy was thrown backward.

He crashed down the stairs, three at a time, landing in a crumpled heap on the landing below. He got up, his face livid, and pulled out his wand, but Dobby raised a long, threatening finger.

“You shall go now,” he said fiercely, pointing down at Mr. Malfoy. “You shall not touch Harry Potter. You shall go now.”

Lucius Malfoy had no choice. With a last, incensed stare at the pair of them, he swung his cloak around him and hurried out of sight.

“Harry Potter freed Dobby!” said the elf shrilly, gazing up at Harry, moonlight from the nearest window reflected in his orb-like eyes. “Harry Potter set Dobby free!”

“Least I could do, Dobby,” said Harry, grinning. “Just promise never to try and save my life again.”

The elf’s ugly brown face split suddenly into a wide, toothy smile.

“I’ve just got one question, Dobby,” said Harry as Dobby pulled on Harry’s sock with shaking hands. “You told me all this had nothing to do with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, remember? Well —”

“It was a clue, sir,” said Dobby, his eyes widening, as though this was obvious. “Was giving you a clue. The Dark Lord, before he changed his name, could be freely named, you see?”

“Right,” said Harry weakly. “Well…I’d better go.”

Dobby threw his arms around Harry’s middle and hugged him.

“Harry Potter is greater by far than Dobby knew!” he sobbed. “Farewell, Harry Potter!”

And with a final loud crack, Dobby disappeared.

He turned to Dumbledore’s office, contemplating returning to ask him a few more questions, but he saw the Weasleys entering the door.

The pit in Harry’s stomach grew teeth.

Where should he go? Ron was still down in the chamber, and he wasn’t sure either of them would want to talk anyways. Hermoine was surely awake by now…and he probably should give her a warm welcome back to awakness.

If she’d awoken yesterday he’d be ecstatic to go talk to her…but, at this particular moment, if he was being entirely honest with himself, he wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to her. She’d have a million questions for him, none of which he was particularly inclined to answer at this moment.

It came to him that he didn’t want to talk to much of anyone.

Just when he had that thought he saw Hermoine down the hall. Well, not so much saw her, as glimpsed her, then felt her arm around him.

He was expecting her to happily ask what was going on, and where Ron was, but when she pulled away—(the hug was abnormally long)—he saw tears glinting in her eyes and she said, with the air of someone who doesn’t know what else to say, “I’m so sorry, Harry.”

He gave her a quizzical look and she answered his silent question: “Professor Snape told me everything before I left the hospital wing.”

Harry highly doubted he told her everything, but, even so…What was this feeling? Was he actually feeling grateful towards Snape for the second time in the same day?

“I brought you this.” She held up the plate she was holding in her other hand. “I just thought…I wasn’t sure you’d want to go down eat with everyone else.”

“Thank you, Hermione,” and he really meant it, feeling true relief for the first time that day.

“Should we head back to Gryffindor Tower?”

He nodded.

Notes cont:

Again, that conversation about the sorting hat, and the Lucius scene, are both taken directly from the book (with a couple minimal changes), I certainly am not taking credit for writing them!!!! I just needed both those conversations/scenes to be there more for housekeeping reasons than anything else.

What does Dumbledore call Ron? Is it "Ron" "Ronald" or "Mr Weasley"? I couldn't remember. Also, what does Snape call Dumbledore? He calls him "Headmaster" right? Does that go for both when he's around students, and when he's alone with Dumbledore?

There were a couple places where I was nervous I went a little OOC, but I couldn't think what else to have them say...I hope I was okay?

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