80|| Rook to E8 {Checkmate}
2017, a whole twelve years later. To those having witnessed such a time, it moves quickly with the aging of parents and children alike, bound together by more than just blood and morals, but stories of the ever-aging--still present--past. Of course there are always the lingering issues of the War: telling the children of Voldemort and explaining to them why mother has a scar. But for the most part, it is a domestic life with the press focusing on the families of the Golden Trio, both at home and away at work.
But in those passing years, there are constants to ground the heroes of the War: Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, Gringotts, Platform 9¾. And it is the latter that places them into reality on September 1, 2017--the first day of a new term at Hogwarts and bringing with it a noticeable amount of stress for parents and First Year students alike.
And none more so than Albus Severus Potter, the second son and child of Harry Potter and Ginevra Weasley. He might've been here in past years to see his brother off, but to be departing on the train provides a whole new mindset and perspective of the King's Cross experience. Albus is shepherded through the growing crowds of muggles by his two parents, lingering with his sister while his brother surges onward with a black dog by his side, both nearly dancing in excitement. Muggles watch them as if knowing the identity of his father, but Albus further blames the attention on the dog in the train station if only to remove himself from more attention.
At Platform 9¾, James Sirius Potter--a twelve year old Gryffindor--only looks at his parents and brother before charging through the barrier and into the magical world of his forebearers. Unnecessarily wily and mischievous, James has no regard for his bags--knowing his parents to be capable--as he rushes through the fuzzy dimension and into the platform from which the Hogwarts Express will depart. And though he is running at full throttle towards his friends, James is held back again--not by his parents--but by an arm clad in white linen that wraps around his waist and pulls him away from the train.
"Woah there," Tom Riddle remarks, having barely caught the boy before he escaped them for another four months, "where are you going, James?"
Perhaps knowing the drill, James Sirius is quick to embrace his uncle and aunt, overly hasty and with a lacking feeling they know to already exist. His Uncle Tom watches him with sheer amusement while his Aunt Hermione seems almost nostalgic in her smile at him. But practically begging, James moves away with, "I've made something new. I gotta go!"
As the young Potter rushes off towards the Express, Hermione releases a sigh and shakes her head wearily, her curly hair brushing the cheek of the daughter that sits on her hip. Looking at Tom, she reminds him, "You're a bad influence."
"I think that'd be Fred and George, or perhaps Sirius," Tom responds, pointing to the firework-popping twins down the Platform and the dog now waiting at his feet, tongue hanging out like a true and appropriate mutt. And though Hermione does not like to agree with him--simply because he's usually wrong--she cannot help agreeing this time, shrugging her shoulders as Tom grins at his beautiful wife, the woman reciprocating the look at the intensity of his gaze.
On the other side of the barrier, Albus Severus clings to his trolley, still positively terrified of following his brother, past a barrier that will bring about a new reality. But his father--understanding from years of trouble--comes to stand behind him, looking at Albus with a kind smile and reassuring words.
"Together?"
The boy nods at his parent, his hands being accompanied by Harry's before they are both pushing the cart through the barrier and into Platform 9¾. Albus stares entrancingly upon the crimson train, puffing white smoke, that awaits his arrival and discovery, completely missing his mother and sister's arrival behind his back. But through the chaos, not much is perceived, with worried parents and children packing trunks and bearing 'goodbyes' for the semester. It's entirely understandable why Albus looks thoroughly terrified in a sea of strangers.
But upon closer inspection, it becomes clear that not all these wizards and witches are strange. Up ahead--and through the steam--Ron and Luna Weasley are embracing their daughter, Rose, while Hugo, their son, waits at Luna's side. And unlike Albus, Rose seems confident in her departure, if not a bit sad, looking to Albus with a kind smile that almost reassures him of safety in the unknown. At her side, Ron comes to gaze upon the eyes of his best friend, sending a wave at Harry Potter and his own sister, having seen them just two days prior.
Further down the Platform, swamped by the crowds in order to avoid the press, Hermione and Tom Riddle are sending off their two eldest children. Kneeling down, Tom rests at the level of his son as he fixes the collar of his sharply dressed offspring. It's Abraxas Percival Riddle, the only son of Tom and Hermione Riddle, a boy of inky black, yet curly hair, hazel eyes, and thirteen years of age. Dressed not in his school robes--but still in his Slytherin colours--the boy looks as sharp as his own father, Tom wearing an Italian suit and Abraxas adorning a collared shirt beneath a green sweater. Pulling his hands away but not standing, Tom Riddle grins at the boy, both fatherly and sly all at once.
"If you are going to be mischievous, make sure there's someone else to blame," Tom reminds his son, the boy being a source of pride for him, not only because he's the newest Heir of Slytherin but due to his intelligence and power. Surely the offspring of the most powerful wizard and witch of the generation.
But Hermione disagrees with that parenting--a common thing--exclaiming loudly and for the surrounding patrons to hear, "Tom!"
"But don't tell your mum," Tom hisses in Parseltongue, Abraxas nodding while Eloise Jean Riddle--the six year old, blonde haired, green eyed daughter in Hermione's arms--giggles lightly at her father's words, ones that Hermione cannot understand. She hates when he does this.
But the anger dissipates at the common sight of Tom embracing their son, almost heartwarmingly to those acting as witness. At first, Hermione feared Tom would be incapable of loving anyone besides herself, but now that they have three children, it's clear that Tom is more than capable of loving many, especially if they are his. Forgetting such a thing--a soft smile on her lips--Hermione hands Eloise to Tom before pulling Abraxas into her arms one last time.
"Brax," Hermione sighs slowly, feeling treasonous, "borrow James's cloak if you choose to do those things. I do not want a letter home."
"Yes, mum," the boy grants, looking particularly docile in her presence--maybe because of her title or perhaps due to her gentle mothering of the boy.
"Good." She is pleased, kissing his cheek and smoothing his unruly hair. "Don't forget to give Professor Longbottom our best. I love you."
"Love you too!" the boy cries before rushing off towards Scorpius Malfoy, the son of Draco, whom he'd promised to help integrate in the school. Almost paradoxically, Tom had noticed Abraxas to be the kinder of his children, not truly Slytherin except in his sly ambitions he rarely spoke of. Rather, his first daughter--who then turns to leave--is the one of strength and tenacity, the Gryffindor: Clarence Elizabeth Riddle, twelve years old and as much trouble as James Sirius Potter. With her wavy, honey-brown hair and dark green eyes, the girl exerts a mysterious vibe that her father thrives upon, having learned it from him many years ago.
"Do not let your brother get into too much trouble, alright?" Hermione requests of the girl, her hands fixing the maroon collar of Clarence's dress, looking as sharp as the whole family given Tom's continual insistence upon such things.
But the daughter wants to laugh at her mother, responding, "You know he won't."
And despite all intentions to correct the girl's mischievous streak, Hermione cannot help grinning at Clarence, her daughter being much like Tom while Abraxas is much like herself. Leaning down and embracing Clarence, Hermione is quick to whisper, "Then make sure you don't."
Clary pulls away with a smile towards her mother, rushing over to Tom and hugging him about the waist. Tom places Eloise on the floor, opening his arms for Clary with a massive grin that looks identical to that of his daughter.
"You have a wonderful year, Clarence. And if anyone bothers you, let me know. I'll take care of them." Hermione would rebuke him for these words, but Tom's been known to say this to every child of theirs and those of the Golden Trio--a tradition if nothing else. Clarence leans up and quickly kisses her father's unaged cheek, nodding in response to his words before rushing off and onto the train.
Picking Eloise up and placing the smaller girl on his hip, Hermione accepts Tom's gesture of contact, tucking her waist into his empty arm, a coalition of the remaining Riddle family and hidden tight within the crowds of people, not wishing to take away from their children on this important day.
Suddenly--although expectantly, given his typical actions--Tom leans down to kiss Hermione's cheek, a warm brand on her soft skin that burns as his lips brush into words, "They're perfect."
Hermione cannot help agreeing with him, the three children being nothing less than a perfect mix between her and Tom, all relatively dark in spirit but lightened by the kindness of Hermione. She'd once feared that their children would have the second personality that Tom had with Voldemort, but upon Abraxas and Clarence's growth, the thought was forgotten. Hermione's blood reconciled Tom's inherited flaws...just like she saved the sinner himself.
Hermione leans away from his soft embrace of her cheek to send him a warm--never dimming--smile, "Like you."
"Or you," Tom offers, a wide grin bracketing his face, so thoroughly and increasingly in love with Hermione Riddle. He loves their bickering, their fights, their disagreements, and their moral differences. Tom Riddle loves anything having to do with Hermione, none more than his children.
Some feet away, Albus Severus Potter is struggling with his shoelaces--a situation juxtaposed upon another--bent down in an attempt to tie them and taking far too long to actually complete. So, leaning down, Harry makes his supportive presence known, Albus looking up to his father with wide and scared eyes.
"Will there really be Thestrals pulling the carriages?" he asks of all things, the notion of the creatures symbolizing death only furthering his fear. And despite all things--Thestrals being the least frightening--Harry smiles warmly upon his son.
"There's nothing scary about Thestrals. They're gentle things. You've heard the stories of your uncle and aunt," Harry says, gesturing to Tom and Hermione a bit away, although Albus's eyes never waver from his father, "Anyway, you won't be going up to school in the carriages. You'll be going in the boats, remember?"
The boy nods in understanding, eyes falling and voice whispering the next question, "Dad?"
"Yes?" Harry hums.
"What if I'm put in Slytherin?" the boy looks up with the leading concern of his young mind, eyes boring into Harry's with every fear revealed. And his father just watches him in response, analyzing his every feature and attribute, before leaning closer altogether.
"Albus Severus Potter. You were named after two Headmasters of Hogwarts. One of them was a Slytherin. And he was probably the bravest man I ever knew," Harry responds, knowing better than anyone that the attributes of Houses are not always concrete, but widespread. Hermione's as much a Ravenclaw as she is a Gryffindor. Abraxas Riddle is honestly more of a Gryffindor than a Slytherin, and Clarence Riddle is surely the opposite.
But Albus does not understand such things, frowning as he considers the negative, "But just say I am--"
"Then Slytherin House will have gained a wonderful wizard," Harry answers before Albus can complete his thoughts, reassuring his son that they will not be disappointed in him if he is placed in the enemy house of his brother.
But the conversation is not quite done, Tom remarking from nearby that, "Slytherin house has been known to produce brilliant wizards on more than one occasion."
Harry can only send the friend a 'really?' expression, Tom shrugging with a grin that will never lose the pride of his heritage or his House. Looking back to his son--who appears slightly relieved that a Slytherin (Tom) could befriend Gryffindors--Harry says, "But listen, if it means so much to you, you can choose Gryffindor. The Sorting Hat takes your choice into account."
"Really?" the boy questions excitedly.
"Really," Harry reassures, the train's whistle sounding loudly through the magical terminal and shocking the son into silence. The Boy Who Lived looks at Albus with an eager anticipation for his son, "Ready?"
"Ready." He is certain this time. Looking at one another for a mere moment, Harry embraces Albus into a large hug that bids a great goodbye, doing the same for his mother before boarding the train and finding a seat with Clarence Riddle, Rose Weasley, and other congregated friends. Chocolate frogs cling to the windows, like they once did for the Golden Trio, as fireworks stream down the halls of the train with a promise for adventure. Children wave to their parents, none more than Albus to Harry, as the train lurches to a start, wheels turning and horns blowing with a goodbye for some months--not forever.
Together again, Harry and Ginny Potter, Ron and Luna Weasley, and Tom and Hermione Riddle stand side-by-side, the Golden Trio together in the middle, watching with affection as their children chug away into the distance. Sirius Black sits at their feet, his tail wagging and tongue lolled outward, almost too happy to be a goodbye. Eloise Riddle, Hugo Weasley, and Lily Potter look half tempted to run after the train themselves, but only wave with their parents and smile as the train is lost to the distance for another school year at the most magical place on earth--where it all started: Hogwarts.
Tom turns to Hermione with the train having departed and parents now leaving, journalists suddenly making their way towards the group of six but more towards one, given her position. Tom looks at her with utter love at the scope of growing older with their children, the exemplification of his love for her in those small and powerful bodies. Eloise sits on his hip with a look towards the masses, Hermione and Tom simply stuck to one another with every bit of love they feel ribboned between their irises: bright green and honey brown.
"Can we have another?" he asks for the fourth time this week, an almost constant argument between the two when it comes to children and duty, but easing every year with the children aging.
And though she usually denies his requests if only for her already busy life, Hermione can imagine a fourth boy running around their house in his sharp suits, chasing and hissing after his father who seems to lose all manner when it comes to his children. And so, she can only say, "Maybe next year."
Tom Riddle will take that, knowing he'll win her over eventually, that handsome and love-struck expression on his face and always basking in the light of her love. It's nowhere close to the end of their lives, their children's schooling, or her job, but as long as they have each other, Tom is certain they will live on--if not in blood, then in legacy.
"Whatever you say, Madame Minister Riddle," Tom grants Hermione as the press begins to swamp them, pressing a firm but passionate kiss to her lips with every intention of locking their reality into this form of contact. Like rain in the desert, Tom absorbs the presence of Hermione and her happiness, like an oasis needing relief from the hot sun of the flashing cameras. Even if this is domesticity, powerlessness, and weakness, Tom will choose Hermione then and there, and for every day that comes.
Harry Potter and Tom Riddle were tainted creatures--a calf and a deer--from the horrors of their childhood and merciless heritage. One having been raised and fattened for the slaughter, the other having been strengthened into a feast, both figures of antonymous attributes were shaped by the War in which they participated.
They might have been branded and burned, tenderized and violated, darkened until they were near black in color--but both figures exemplified the power of the universe through the concept of light. Whether it was Harry's inner light--his intention to do good--or an exterior radiance for Tom--Hermione's presence--both wizards came to understand the permeability of darkness: light is dimmed by the addition of darkness but never completely eradicated as long as one light exists. And yet, the dark will always be defeated by the presence of light, a single candle to brighten the darkness.
They were both burned black but retained light through virtue, tainted but not eaten by the times. They were warriors in the end, lovers throughout, and fathers to the brightest children of the generation.
Tom Riddle wanted to thank Hermione for the salvation she provided, but in the end, it was all his choice, the choice of a good heart. And it was this good heart that said,
Let there be light.
And all the world's people say,
The End.
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I truly hate the connotative finality of those words, but I find them fitting seeing as this story will not have a sequel. I apologize for such a thing, but I do not have nearly enough material to write a whole new book on Hermione and Tom.
That being said, please leave questions here for a Q&A which I will be posting on Tuesday. These can be questions for the characters (who will 'answer' the questions) or me (though I am far more boring). This will not work unless you provide questions, so please do participate if you have even the smallest question.
Thank you, and Merry Christmas/Happy Hanukkah!
xo
Patagonian