52|| Knight to F5
It does not seem fitting that the group of three--Hermione, Ron, and Tom--would enter Shell Cottage without the final member of their group, even with Ron's brother owning the beachside home. They are here for Harry, and they've just witnessed a horrid death of an old and innocent friend, a personal blow on their forces of light. So, the three stand outside the door into the Cottage kitchen, watching as Harry slowly makes his way towards them, across the blowing white sands of early morning.
To their left, the waves crumble down on the flattened shore, sending crests and rumbles of sound clashing into the ears of homebodies and travellers alike. In reality, it is quite loud in their eardrums, but none of them seem to notice at the moment. With Harry numbed by the death of Dobby, Hermione recovering from her torture, Ron worried about his friends, and Tom almost plotting his revenge, nature does not seem all that important in the moment.
Other than to hold the elf within his arms, Tom has not let himself free from Hermione's side, constantly touching her as if Bellatrix will whisk her away if he is not nearby. Of course, the worry cannot be put past him, especially under the circumstance of his love for her, protective above all else. Hermione, always having been independent and strong, seems almost lost in a new identity in this wish to never leave his side. Homely.
The three follow Harry into the Cottage's kitchen without a word, like the soldiers to a leader, devoted by all means necessary. And the kitchen is quaint, with white-washed adornments and a homely smell like that of the Burrow. Within the confines of the room, the newly-married couple of Bill and Fleur Weasley stand side-by-side, one bearing intense scars and the other looking exceptionally perfect. But in the case of either person, they look far better than the Golden Trio-plus-one: Harry is still recovering from the Stinging Hex, Ron's fists are bloody from stupidly hitting the walls of the dungeons, Tom bears a cut on his upper arm where a hex of Draco brushed him, and Hermione has that gruesome injury to recall. Indeed, they exemplify the bloodiness and bloodlust of war more than any eye could imagine, perfectly framed by the room basked in white.
"I need to talk to the goblin," Harry tells Bill and Fleur, never once exchanging that typical greeting of his. But it is understandable with the losses he experiences almost daily, losing more of himself with each duel he battles.
But Bill Weasley is not looking at Harry, the face of the Boy Who Lived being well known to him with all the time they've spent together. Bill does not even look at his own brother, but the mysterious boy to the right of Hermione, almost as tall as Ron but darker than the whole of them put together. This figure exerts a power almost unimaginable to the experienced Bill Weasley, like a dark relic of old magic. And though the boy does not endanger Harry or the other two, his appearance is nothing less than suspicious.
"First, tell us about your friend," Bill responds to the demand of the Boy Who Lived, keeping his blue eyes trained upon the dark-haired boy. Tom looks back at the Weasley emotionlessly, that stoic facade a permanent implant on his face when Hermione is not the focus of his thoughts. And though he could be described as a statue--alabaster and chiseled in the kitchen of Shell Cottage--he moves forward with an offered hand.
"Tom Vincetamor. It's a pleasure to meet you," the typically charismatic boy says shortly, not inclined to be charming when this man is obviously a Weasley and suspicious of Tom, not a good combination if Ron is any sign. And though Tom does not get any immediate response from Bill, Hermione's mouth drops slightly and a startled gasp breaks upon her lips, to the notice of all parties in the room including Bill.
Being the only ones to understand Latin, it is like a secret held between Hermione and Tom: Vincetamor. Once, her fake middle-name, and now, Tom's fake last-name. It's the summation of their combined efforts to win this war, the power behind the righteous sacrifices to defeat Voldemort. It is everything that Voldemort does not understand, but Tom Riddle comprehends completely.
Vincetamor, n. meaning 'powerful love.'
And in those words, when Tom recognizes the force and chooses it for himself, Hermione had never loved him more than she did in that moment.
Of course, it confuses Harry and Ron as to what the word means, watching as Hermione stares enamoured at Tom Riddle, but the boy does not return the look, staring intently at Bill Weasley. Hermione's jaw eventually closes from its locked opening, but her eyes sing of the high-heavens in love and joy and everything good the world encompasses. And though Tom does not flicker an eye towards her, and even pretends she is not looking, he cannot help feeling all the same, just in a different fashion. She is his.
Bill reaches out for Tom's hand, concluding that this boy and Hermione will not be sharing the importance of this word. "I am Bill Weasley, this is my wife Fleur, and that is Luna Lovegood." Tom nods at Bill's wife, remembering her as a victor in the Triwizard Cup. And yet, when Tom turns to Luna Lovegood, he actually becomes flustered. The bright smile on Luna's face is the epitome of innocence and good-blessing, despite her previous occupation in Voldemort's headquarters. Of course, Tom has never met a person as bright as Luna, so when her smile is focused on him--so intent--he cannot help stumbling a bit in his facade. Hermione only smirks at the unarming ability of Luna Lovegood, especially on the mask of Tom Riddle.
"Are you part Veela?" the French woman asks, analyzing his stumbling facade for some sense of familiarity.
Tom turns to her with a confused expression, not bothering to hide his surprise at the notion: "What? No, I'm a halfblood wizard."
But he'll take that as a compliment...as most wizards would. Of course, Tom Riddle knows he is a sight, having been told by women and seen the jealous looks of men in the past. But, of course, that simply comes from the handsome features of his muggle father, not a Veela, though that would have been preferable for his past purposes.
The older Weasley brother looks suspiciously upon Tom, a boy he's never heard of nonetheless seen. He asks, "How did you come to join our Golden Trio?"
But seeing as Tom is new to this, having only heard the stories of the past adventures and not the current fame of the three heroes, Tom cannot be acknowledged for knowing the nickname of grouped Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
"Golden Trio?" he asks, but takes into account the notorious grouping of the three best friends in the past and deduces the rest. Tom turns over his shoulder to eye the Trio, all looking less than perfect as he turns to Bill with, "Oh, I don't think they're very golden at the moment."
It's not the best thing for Tom to say if his intent was to reassure Bill Weasley of his good intentions. But Riddle is not attempting to win the Weasley over, content with his words as Harry grins and Ron rolls his eyes. And yet, Hermione is clearly the winner of all three, her eyes still wide on his body and now meeting his eye. A soft smirk breaks across his face at her obvious infatuation with him, but he cannot deny feeling the same for her.
"You didn't answer the question," Bill rebukes, prompting Tom to turn back to the suspicious brother of Ron with an even colder expression than before. Tom Riddle does not like to be questioned by strangers, this man's name only having been vaguely mentioned by Hermione in her stories. Given Hermione's closeness with Ron and Harry, Tom was more acceptant of their aggressions, but this other figure has no right to judge him on appearance.
"And you won't get anywhere with a hostile approach," Tom almost hisses under the falsified pretense of courtesy and prompting Bill's jaw to clench tight.
Harry, sensing the tension between the two, moves from his melancholy delay and steps between Bill and Tom, looking back to the latter. "Bill, Tom is on our side. He is as passionate about defeating You-Know-Who as we all are, if not more."
"More? But 'Arry, he killed your parents!" Fleur expresses, her accent even thicker with the revelation and tension of the room. Bill watches Tom with a steady eye, looking for any clued response to the boy's identity. And yet, Tom's hidden his intent from more keen eyes.
"He did a lot worse to me," Tom answers, the fact being of true sentiment. Sure, Harry was made an orphan and unloved nephew by Voldemort's ways, having to constantly face this grown man in battle. And yet, Voldemort has taunted the soul of Tom Riddle from his first memory, a whole eighteen years before he was freed.
Tom steps back from the conversation, next to Hermione and Ron with a cold expression on his pretty face. It's a visage that screams of conclusion, that no new information will be gleaned from the boy within this time. Sighing impatiently, Bill gestures for Harry to follow him towards the goblin's room, followed by the remainder of the Golden Trio and one more.
Like all things in the quaint house, the door to Griphook's room is white, and the room itself, visualized at the turned nob, is even brighter. The Weasley brother lets the four in with an unsteady eye paid towards the goblin and Tom, unfitting for their sides. But upon Harry's incessant glance, Bill departs the room.
"How are you?" Harry questions Griphook with some sense of propriety and actual concern, though it is far less for this creature than it is for any creature within this household.
"Alive," the goblin responds mundanely, not looking the least interested in this conversation that will be directed towards Harry's purposes in this war.
"You probably don't remember--"
"--that I showed you to your vault the first time you visited Gringotts?" Griphook is soon to cut in under petty assumptions of his memory. "Even amongst goblins, you are famous, Harry Potter." It comes as a surprise to all four as the goblin turns to the previous Dark Lord himself, "As are you, Tom Marvolo Riddle."
Under the eyes of the goblin, Tom freezes momentarily, never having met this goblin in his time, though he supposes it is possible that his later self met Griphook. But, overcoming the shock, Tom's mouth twists into a nasty sneer of the 1940s Dark Lord, a look that Harry and Ron have yet to see in their time together.
Leaning down into the goblin's face, one that did not cringe away at Bellatrix's knife, Tom is particularly horrifying as he threatens, "You would do best to keep this knowledge to yourself. I may be on the righteous side now, but that does not mean I lack the conviction to hurt you greatly if you hurt us."
Harry and Ron are most horrified by the change in Tom's demeanor, though it's been a long time coming. Indeed, the two expected the boy to crack a whole while sooner, but this seems to be the most fitting time given the past night. And though his eyes are not red and his wand is not palmed, darkness is clear in Tom's facade. The entirety of a character cannot be changed with time, and Tom was born into darkness.
In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth...darkness was over the surface of the deep...And God said, 'Let there be light,' and there was light.
Perhaps then, Tom is the most natural of them all.
But Hermione does not wish to believe this: that Tom is an endless chasm of starless space. So, she becomes that light, her particularly paled hand reaching out for his wrist, palm up like appeasing a wild beast. Tom eyes her from his peripheral vision, a deep sense of calm overwhelming his senses as she brushes his skin lightly. Like a buffer to the acidic venom of a King Cobra, she disarms the darkness with the reignition of her flame in his eye.
"Tom..." Hermione breathes a faint plea, the boy triggered back from the nasty goblin and returning to her side. Harry and Ron watch the interaction with wide eyes: the Dark Lord succumbing to the touch of a righteous warrior. And though they are now concerned at Tom's character, they realize Tom is safe as long as Hermione is unharmed and on their side.
"You buried the elf," Griphook interrupts, seemingly unaffected by the scene he just witnessed, no matter how strange. "I saw you."
"Yes," Harry responds, trying his best not to think of Dobby, yet thinking of Dobby as a motivator for their fight. Do not feel. Act.
"And brought me here," the goblin continues to state the obvious, watching Harry with a sharp eye almost as observant as Hermione and Tom, but not quite. He has less to lose if his eyes aren't tuned. "You are a very unusual wizard."
Harry is not willing to partake in these conventions of pity, returning to the topic of greater importance, asking, "Why did you leave Gringotts?"
"Soon the Death Eaters will control it. That was unacceptable to me."
"Then you're on our side," Ron falsely concludes, stepping forward with a gleam in his eye, a false promise.
The goblin shakes his head in disagreement and disgust, replying that "This is a wizard's war. I take no side." If Ron listened in History of Magic, he would have known that.
"I need to get inside Gringotts, into one of the vaults," Harry cuts in, not necessarily caring if the goblin is on Voldemort's side as long as they get entrance into the vault. It is a deficiency in his thought process, but one they cannot help now.
"It is impossible."
"Alone, yes. With you, no," Harry responds, the goblin keeping to a cold look, though he seems to be thinking. Momentarily, Griphook flickers his eyes over to the Sword of Gryffindor, propped in the corner of the room where he may keep an eye on the valuable creation.
"How did you come by this sword?" he asks after some seconds of silence.
"It's complicated," Harry responds impassively, but with urgency. "Why did Bellatrix Lestrange think it should be in her vault at Gringotts?"
"It's complicated."
Stark stares are shared between the parties of the conversation, testing the stubbornness of one another for any cracks to chip at. Tom almost rolls his eyes at the particularly Gryffindor attribute, knowing this might've gone smoother if he was in control. And surely, the goblin would not have won.
"The sword presented itself to us in a moment of need," Harry finally cracks, knowing this petty fight is just a roadblock in a tight schedule, "We didn't steal it."
Nodding with a complacent feeling, though thoughtful look, Griphook relates that "There is a sword in Madam Lestrange's vault identical to this one, but it is a fake. It was placed there this past summer."
"And she never suspected?" Tom asks with surprise. Bellatrix Lestrange may be a complete lunatic, but she's also very observant and smart for all Tom can tell. It seems unlikely that she'd let a fake Sword pass into her vault without a question towards its origin or realism...unless, of course, she trusted the person that brought it to her.
"The replica is very convincing. Only a goblin would recognize that this is the true Sword of Gryffindor."
"Who put it there? The fake," Ron is quick to pick up on the intentions, proving himself more valuable in Tom's eyes.
"It was not my place to ask, nor did I desire to," the Goblin says straightly and honestly, "There are more than a few curious things in the vaults at Gringotts."
"And in Madam Lestrange's vault as well?" Harry asks, searching again.
The goblin looks particularly menacing and tricky and he responds with a vague, "Perhaps."
"I have gold. Lots of it," Harry stupidly tries to bribe the creature, an unmotivating amountage being nothing of worth to Griphook.
"I have no interest in gold."
"Then what?"
Griphook appears to be a conniving creature, one who's won the battle of wits, as he twists the hair upon his chin, eyes gazing about. But they stick to one thing in particular, an easy thing to assume the goblin wants if they know anything of goblins.
"He wants the sword," Tom tells Harry, the boy immediately going to deny such a thing, but being cut off by Griphook entirely.
"That is my price," the goblin says, his tone being one of final judgement, sending shivers down multiple backs. Why does it feel like they just made a deal with the devil?
"All right," Harry relents, both Ron and Hermione looking particularly shocked at the sacrifice Harry is willing to make for an unknown object in Lestrange's vault.
"I have your word, Harry Potter, that you will give me the Sword of Gryffindor if I help you?" The smaller hand extends outward in offer, only a moment passing before Harry clasps it uneasily with his own palm. The goblin grins at the contact, a look paid to the Sword of Gryffindor, before the four begin backing towards the door, Harry dropping Griphook's hand.
Into the small hallway, the four stumble out awkwardly, turning their eyes to Harry as the boy looks contemplative as to what he just did.
"That was not a good decision," Tom remarks, having read the plotting expression on Griphook's face, though there are a variety of things that he could be planning. With no clues to go on, the four will just have to be on their guard.
"Harry, are you thinking there's a horcrux in Bellatrix's vault?" Hermione asks, still not believing a horcrux is worth the Sword of Gryffindor and that Griphook is necessary to enter the vault. It may be impossible, but so is an ineffective Killing Curse. Look where that got Harry.
"She was terrified when she thought we'd been in there. She kept asking you what else we'd taken. I'd bet anything there's a horcrux there. If we find it, we can kill it. And if we kill it, we're one step closer to killing him."
"And if we find one? How're we supposed to destroy it if we've given Griphook the sword?" Ron brings up the excellent point, surely making strides in intelligence, at least to the unnaturally quiet Tom Riddle leaned against the wall.
"I'm still working on that part," Harry relents, prompting the eyebrows of Hermione to furrow in frustration. Surely, killing the horcrux is the most important part of the process, not finding it. Even if they find all the pieces of his soul, the Dark Lord will continue to thrive as long as they fail to destroy the pieces of his soul.
But before Hermione can begin ranting at Harry for the awful choice, Fleur steps out from another guestroom ahead, the tools in her hands reminiscent of its occupant: Ollivander. Harry must look convinced in that moment, for no words are exchanged between the few as she blocks the door and explains, "He's too weak."
But the boy must also look intent, his green gaze penetrating his fellow victor with such conviction and stubbornness that Fleur cannot help relenting. Stepping aside, she reveals to them the door which holds all the secrets to the Elder Wand, the piece of magic that may be the final blow to the cause of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.
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