#180 in Fanfiction || #1 in Hermione ||
In the language of literature, there exists a seemingly-concrete, antonymous relationship between good and evil, light and dark, hero and monster. And yet, we often disregard the transition from one to anothe...
With a look of both innocence and mischief that might've taken her from Gryffindor, Ariana nods and smiles at the directions of her older brother, turning on her small heel and back into the painting. In its dreary background, the girl becomes smaller and smaller, altogether disappearing as the others stare warily, wondering where she travels and for what purpose. Harry wants to hope that Aberforth is committed to their righteous cause, but if he is, it's likely not due to Albus himself.
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"Where've you sent her?" the Boy Who Lived asks, turning to the blue-eyed man who meets his gaze with more composure, the acid of his eyes neutralized by the base of his sister and home.
"You'll see soon enough."
The air seems to lighten around them, no longer bogged by the notion of Albus Dumbledore's insipid actions, or so Tom assumes. And though it is particularly less awkward, Hermione cannot help her curiosity that might just drag back the tension. She asks, "That's Ariana, isn't it? Your sister. She's beautiful."
Almost changing his personality to the likes of his sister, Aberforth gazes off in remembrance, remarking, "She'll always be beautiful."
Harry and Ron, both confused, share a baffled look of pure curiosity, evident to the others yet unremarked upon. Tom, on the other hand, cannot quite hold back his disgust at the almost infatuated tone of the brother towards his sister. And though he cannot quite relate--given he has no siblings (thank Merlin)--Tom doubts that is a normal relationship between two family members.
"She died very young, didn't she?" Hermione questions, remembering the girl's age from her grave, but not wishing for Aberforth to see Tom's facade of disgust if they are to stay safe in this bar.
Silence sits upon their shoulders at the most unneeded question of the night, Aberforth seeming to tense again under a remembrance of Albus Dumbledore: "My brother sacrificed many things, Mr. Potter, in his journey to find power, including her. She was devoted to him--he gave her everything, but time."
He does not know when it changes--it might very well be this moment--but Tom Riddle finds himself not longer despising Albus Dumbledore, the one who made his old life difficult. Tom wants to think it is a long time coming--if for no other reason than to fit with the others' perceptions, a strange concept. But whatever the time, it is clear Tom is not so inclined to hate, loath, or envy the man, but to respect him in the most petty of ways...because he deserves the respect. Maybe it's because Albus Dumbledore is no longer the perfect figure of morality and righteousness, but sinful in his personal life and deceptive in his magic. Dumbledore is more like Tom than he would ever have admitted, a notion that is more promising to the previous Dark Lord than any other: that he can make good of himself even at an older age. Or perhaps, it is selfishly what Dumbledore did for Tom--send him forward to where he belongs. Both dark at a young age, and both removed from love, Albus Dumbledore seems particularly similar to Tom Riddle.
