Work Text:
Imitation Game
In the top drawer of his desk lay an object he should have disposed of long ago. Shaking his head, Albus Dumbledore put his quill aside. This year, the extensive planning for the new school year would finally manage to throw him off his game. A little break couldn't hurt.
As if of its own accord, his hand wandered to the top pommel. It squeaked as he pulled open the drawer.
The diary lay untouched among the quills, ink and sherbet lemons. He popped one into his mouth and thoughtfully drew a large circle around the basilisk tooth with his fingers.
Should he? - Why not?
Wearing protective gloves, he began to pull the tooth out of the book. Carefully, he flipped through the white pages of the book.
Could Tom Riddle's sixteen-year-old image still respond if he were to write something? Did it still pose a danger? The basilisk's poison should have destroyed it – as soon as it came to Tom Riddle, he had long since stopped relying on words like "should" and "actually". Magic was unfathomable in some things and all too often took inexplicable paths – just like its users.
It was for research. Just research.
Hello,
are you still there?
Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
The ink seeped into the paper and disappeared. Seconds later it was as white as before. As if nothing had happened. Dumbledore continued to gaze at the diary. Nothing. Tom Riddle seemed to have left, too bad.
Had he just been disappointed? Quietly he laughed at his thoughts. He did indeed keep finding ways to surprise himself.
– At the same time, black letters appeared.
That couldn't be!
Where shoul-i-d I have gone?
That was indeed the Riddle boy. Questions were answered with queries.
Tell me, have you noticed any changes recently?
– Which could be caused by a basilisk tooth in your body? But he didn't want to rub Riddle's metaphorical nose in that.
No.
And do you notice that you're randomly inserting letters into your sentences?
Oh, that, it's noth-a-ing.
I can't stop it.
No problem.
This promised to be an interesting development.
So you're a memory of sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle?
I am the me-m-mory.
I am Tom Rid-a-dle.
Created in a black magic ritual, I suppose?
You ask quest-m-ions you al-a-ready know the ans-c-wer to.
What a waste of time.
Harry said you can show memories, flashbacks?
Can we talk face-to-face?
I can only show me-h-mories.
Like a pen-i-sieve.
But our conversation in this moment is not a rehearsed thing?
Not an apparatus trained to give answer y to sentence x?
My ans-n-wers a-e-rise in the here and now.
There is noth-c-ing pre-a-taught.
That is the way of the dark magic.
I can't say any-l-thing a-c-bout how it looks with you.
Dumbledore puffed. He put his quill a little harder on the paper than necessary for his answer.
I was only asking politely. You don't have to be insulting.
Tell me, can I see the conversations with other people,
with Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley, for example?
No.
Why not?
Can you re-u-member e-l-very word you said?
I speak, you write.
How's Har-a-ry Pot-b-ter?
Well, he came through the encounter unscathed.
You may not be very happy about it...
...but wouldn't you like to check on Miss Weasley?
Is she still a-l-live?
Yes.
There's a more inter-e-esting ques-l-tion I'd like to ask.
That was strange. Riddle had never announced a question in advance.
What is it?
Why do you take the time?
It must be ob-i-vious that I'm not go-m-ing to tell you any-i-thing
a-t-bout how you can des-e-troy this di-d-ary.
Is your life that emp-i-ty?
I'm not trying to trick you, if that's what you're getting at,
although it's not wise of you
to cut off the conversation this way.
Or do you have somewhere to go today?
If you e-h-ver want to talk a-a-bout dark ma-v-gic
I'm the per-e-fect per-n-son to talk to.
I doubt you'll be a-o-ble to talk with my hu-h-man counter-e-part.
I wouldn't call him human.
I'll al-a-so help you with my know-r-ledge a-t-bout dark magic, if you like.
You know I'm well-o-read.
For a price, I suppose?
You know the ans-n-wer.
Shaking his head, he slammed the book shut. Tom Riddle and be helpful? He reached for a sherbet lemon. Why would he ever ask him for help when he had the Hogwarts library within walking distance? What couldn't be found there, the sixteen-year-old hadn't found either. Although... who knew where he once had his nose in. But... If he couldn't find what he was looking for himself, there was still a long line of people he was more likely to ask than Tom Riddle.
He must be very lonely in his self-made prison if he came up with ideas like that.
oOo
Sirius Black has broken out of Azkaban.
Break-l-ing out of Az-y-kaban is thought to be im-a-possible.
He's the first to do it
...and he's on his way to Hogwarts.
Why?
To kill Harry Potter for his master.
For me.
If he succeeds, he will accomplish what his master failed to do.
Several times. Does that worm you?
Har-p-ry Pot-u-ter is a wand-m-ering dis-p-appointment.
Black, too, will come to this real-b-isation.
He's com-u-pletely un-t-talented, de-a-vastating nor-m-mal.
It will be all too e-i-asy to kill him.
Yet you have failed... three times.
He is special.
You only close yourself off to this possibility because you-
Suddenly the writing disappeared. Tom Riddle had interrupted him, though he was no more than a mirror image with whom one occasionally conversed.
Are you try-s-ing to tease me?
He must be very lonely in his self-made prison if he came up with such ideas.
oOo
The Triwizard Tournament is coming up.
Do you want to know what the unexpected happened?
You're go-o-ing to tell me any-m-way.
You bragged about your knowledge off dark magic.
What hap-u-pened?
The Goblet of Fire was tampered with.
Instead of three champions, it chose four.
Two for Hogwarts, one of them under the age limit.
Har-c-ry Pot-h-ter?
Yes.
What is the spell?
Do you know anything like that?
Ma-d-gick Moste Evile.
That's the book.
Thank you.
He felt no remorse, for he had not asked the 'real' Tom Riddle for help. Just an automaton that had been created by the 'real' Tom Riddle countless years ago.
oOo
Voldemort is resurrected.
I don't see the point in tel-i-ling me that.
If I gave you a body...
Would you be on our side then?
Why should I?
His madness can no longer be in your best interests.
Do you really want to start a war, Tom?
A re-f-volution.
Not a war.
Do you ever regret your actions?
Ne-f-ver.
Not even the creation of this diary?
Don't you feel imprisoned?
I am grate-e-ful for my ex-e-istence.
Don't you want to... live?
I'm al-n-ready a-t-live.
But for a bo-f-dy... – You know my wish.
If he gave it a body, would it really live?
It was worth a try, wasn't it? For research?
He stopped before he had quite finished this thoughts.
oOo
The ministry refuses. It suppresses the truth.
Voldemort has returned, and they're painting Harry and me as liars.
Ig-r-norance is more danger-o-ous than ill will.
I've been say-m-ing that for years.
Not always.
But often.
You write regul-y-arly.
Do you get lone-o-ly?
Sometimes I think we've become...
we've become something like friends.
Ignorance can also be a blessing.
Natur-u-ally.
oOo
I was hit by a dark curse.
What hap-w-pened?
I wasn't paying attention.
Tell me more.
The curse is spreading.
The potions master was only able to contain it.
I shall be dead within the year.
Why did he tell Tom this? Surely there were a number of more suitable candidates, but still, of all things, he found himself in front of the open diary. The quill scratched across the pages. He didn't have to wait long for an answer.
Was it a curse?
Or an en-i-chanted ob-t-ject?
The latter.
He couldn't tell Tom that it was his ring – his doing – that had put him in this miserable position. He did not want to give him this victory. But... this was perhaps a fitting opportunity to...
I found the locket of Salazar Slytherin.
And this car-h-ried the curse?
Yes.
They were playing a risky game. Dumbledore, however, had the advantage. While Tom Riddle possessed the insight into his mind, he knew what he had become. The prepared memory of his sixteen-year-old self knew at most his plans at the time. Whether he had implemented or modified them, however, the Tom Riddle before him could not know.
He had only created the locket horcrux after the diary. The ring, however, before that, so that Riddle was in a position to help, should he want to and if Dumbledore would allow it.
Do you re-t-member my pro-h-posal?
You help me, I help you.
You know what I want..:
Free-i-dom.
I can't sacrifice another human being to you.
Then I have no rea-s-son to help you.
He had already spoken to Severus Snape. In his opinion, there was nothing to be done. The curse that had afflicted his hand would spread over the course of the year and corrode his heart. Tom Riddle, however, was an expert in the field of dark magic. He had cursed the ring to which he owed all this.
People die every day.
If we have a deal, I will find some poor soul who has only a few days to live.
You can then use it to become human.
We have a deal.
One of them would have to pay in advance. Dumbledore saw no other solution, no matter how long he thought.
I be-i-gin.
Astonishing! But he wanted to hear what Tom had to write.
I'm waiting.
Go to the Gaunts' Hut.
On the side-n-board a-s-bove the lit-i-tle fire place you will find a ring.
My grand-g-father's ring. If you put it on
it will neu-h-tralise the curse you re-t-ceived in the cave.
Dumbledore couldn't help himself, he slammed the diary shut and banished it back into the drawer. Driven by his thoughts, he stood up, his feet moving of their own accord. At the window, he looked out at the dark green fir tops of the Forbidden Forest. They sparkled in the sunlight like tiny crystals. The black lake lay in silence, no wave reaching the surf. He closed his eyes, though there was nothing wrong with the sight. He closed them and breathed in deeply. Then exhaled. Almost meditating, he spent a few minutes.
The desk called to him again and when he sat down, the chair felt harder and more uncomfortable than ever before. He reopened the diary. The last lines he had written had disappeared, but he still remembered them well. ...it will neutralise the curse you received in the cave.
So Slytherin's locket was hidden in a cave – at least, that's what sixteen-year-old Tom planned to do. There was no harm in investigating this hypothesis. He had no other starting points either.
Have you al-r-ready bro-e-ken your pro-f-mise?
I thought you we-l-re a man of your words.
He shook his head at such audacity. Just a moment ago he had tried to trick him into a quick death, now he demanded to know the truth from his counterpart.
You don't mean to tell me now that this is a dark magic panacea?
There is no such thing.
I know that and you know it too.
Not in the uni-e-versal sense, no, but for my ex-c-periments.
In the et-vent that one of my ex-x-periments should turn a-x-gainst me.
Tom Riddle was nimble when it came to excuses – his speciality. Dumbledore sighed. It had been a waste of time. All those conversations with an automaton – an illusion. He shouldn't squander what little time he had left now any further.
I have seen through you. The ring will kill me; it will trigger a curse that will cause my body to die off bit by bit – and at a rapid rate, should the Potions Master not be able to contain it for a certain period of time. You must know, I too have withheld the truth from you: The cursed object was not the locket but the ring. Now at least I know that the locket could be hidden in a cave – in a place that means something to you.
For some time he waited for a reaction, but he sat and stared in vain. Riddle did not write another word.
My days are numbered.
Why did you try to take this last year from me?
You could have been free.
Wouldn't that have been better for you?
A second chance?
The possibility of a life?
Did this even exist for him?