Chapter Text
"Tom Marvolo Riddle A.K. Volodya."
Tinky, one of the personal house elves of the Malfoy family, in whose manor Tom Riddle has been settled for a year — Volodya, if you believe the fantasy of the addressee — a few minutes ago let a white polar owl into the man's office, politely asked about new assignments and, having received a negative answer, silently disappeared into thin air. The owl swooped down in a spiral onto the table and held out a beige envelope in its beak. Tom wisely, and not at all because he was paranoid, decided not to touch either the bird or the mail for now: he visually assessed it, noticing that such papers were used at Hogwarts; looked at the owl, she only patiently burned Riddle with yellow saucers of eyes; directed the wand, checking for tracking charms, curses and similar nonsense that it could have flown straight to him from Albus, he did not remember the nickname further, Dumbledore, along with a package of chocolate frog tied to the bird's paw. And who in their right mind would send Lord fucking Voldemort letters from the school of magic, especially so wittily signed? The sender is either tightly beaten off, or Albus — which, in principle, is not mutually exclusive.
Finally, having satisfied all the needs of his anxiety, Tom adopted the letter. He turned it over again, scanning the jumping handwriting with unblinking eyes. Not Albus — there are no curlicues on which, in his school years, a man wanted a transfiguration professor to hang himself. A teenager? An idiot? Dolokhov escaped from the bunk and settled in the castle storeroom? The latter is not even unlikely, although Riddle planned to plant a Trojan horse under the walls of Azkaban later.
Tom sighed. With a jerk of the letter opener, he opened it, taking out a folded piece of paper. On it, in the same dances, but in different words, the letters were emblazoned:
"My dear Tom.
How are you? How is the seizure of power and the torture of Death Eaters? I hope it's super. And, since the mood is good, I inform you: You've won. Fanfare, ovation, vive le roi! Destroy the country, eat babies for breakfast— or what are the Dark Lords having fun with? — I don't care. Finita la commedia, I surrender. The only request, Tommy, is to kill. I will not lift my wand at you, even this that is for food, I will accept your avada with honor, dignity and open arms. If you want — publicly, if you want — we will crowd, as a couple, into an empty classroom. Choose. I'm waiting for Halloween. Wouldn't it be dramatic? And last time you didn't do it very well — I give you a chance to correct an annoying mistake.
P.S. Hedwig loves bacon.
With love, your suicide bomber, Harry James Potter"
Is this a fucking joke?!
Tom read it again, dumbfounded. And more. And again. But the text, mocking and spitting caricature, did not change. Harry-the Chosen One-Potter voluntarily gave victory in the war into the hands of the main antagonist of his story. In the war he was being prepared for, which was inevitable between them because of the prophecy. The boy stirred up the Dark Lord's plans, chuckling and poking the middle fingers of both hands into the snake — no longer—face. Riddle growled and forcefully slammed the plaintively crunched piece of paper against the table so hard that the window in the office shook. Hedwig raised an eyebrow like a human being, saying: "Uncle, are you a fool at all?", the man just snorted at her. According to Potter, either Mungo is crying in the psychiatric ward, or he jumped several flights of stairs with his head on moving stairs, and Madam Pomfrey did not agree to treat him. Or maybe the troubles with the head are transmitted from enemy to enemy? Reasoning logically — absolutely contrary to logic — Tom collected his horcruxes, leaving only Nagini, he really got into her: he sent the Malfoy scion to the rescue room to get the diadem of Candida Ravenclaw; he went for the ring himself, as well as for the Slytherin medallion, although he had to sweat a little - Regulus Idiot hid a Piece of Black he was at his estate; Penelope Hufflepuff's cup was the hardest to get — Bellatrix went crazy, if she could go even more crazy, in Azkaban, so Tom had to talk very carefully with the goblins of Gringotts. With a fight, screams and selected obscenities picked up from Antonin, Riddle collected all the available fragments of the soul, for prevention threw a couple of careless cruciatus at Lucius for the diary and performed a ritual on himself. Consequently, he returned the appearance that his ego missed, returned to the original tasks and plans of their interest group, put his brains in place — went to a psychologist almost for free; which means, believing the hypothesis, Harry Potter should now be a snake-like scarecrow with his perceptions of the world shifted sideways.
Tom laughed out loud, imagining a very pleasant picture in his head. The Little Dark Lord.
“Tinky!”
“Tinky's here, Mr. Riddle, what can Tinky do for you?”
“Bring me some bacon and bring Severus to me.”
Tinky nodded and apparated with a pop. A smart elf — she immediately rushed to Hogwarts so that a member of the Order of the Phoenix with a laughing mark on his forearm could come up with a decent excuse for the director. A plate with several pieces of bacon formed on the table. The owl purred happily and climbed onto Tom's broad shoulder. He chuckled, holding out a treat. Not all owls like to eat from the hands of strangers, perhaps the bird irrationally, like its owner, trusts a man. Hedwig rubbed her soft feather head against Tom's cheek, allowing herself to be stroked.
After a few minutes, which Riddle spent rhythmically scratching the owl under his beak, a green flame lit up in the fireplace, passing the potion maker through its tongues. A moment before, Hedwig had flown out the window, giving Tom a final gentle bite on the ear. She thanked me. A packed chocolate frog was left lying next to the letter.
“My Lord,” — Snape bowed in greeting and sat down on the chair offered with an imposing gesture.
"Glad to see you, Severus, — Tom nodded back. Without asking, a decanter of firewhisky and two patterned glasses appeared on the table. — Want to drink?”
Without waiting for an answer, Riddle splashed the liquid into both of them.
The potions master frowned:
"Thank you, My Lord."
But he took the glass.
“There's no veritaserum here, relax, Snape," Tom chuckled, sipping from his own. I caught the man's somewhat surprised look at me. “For the master of mentalism, you sometimes think very loudly.”
Severus was silent for another second, swirling the liquid around the walls. He looked closely, evaluated whether to believe it or not. Riddle grinned sourly. His followers were afraid, having kept in limbo pictures of the terror that he had done while being very unpresentable. And this fact did not suit the new "milord", whom Tom had been for a little more than six months. Okay, we'll work it out, we'll think about it later.
“Severus, tell me, what is our dear bird doing right now?” Riddle set the glass aside and leaned forward, as if looming over the potion maker with an aura. He folded his fingers into a lock, resting his chin on them.
“There have been no meetings for several months," Snape took a timid sip, "Dumbledore is worried about something. He was looking for something, but he didn't find it.”
Tom chuckled. Horcruxes.
“I'm sorry, my lord, that's all I have.”
“And what about their Golden Boy?”
Severus raised an eyebrow. He gritted his teeth irritably.
“Still the same Potter. He is not privy to the affairs of the Order. There were some conflicts with the younger Weasley — he refused to go”
“Thank you, Severus, you can go.”
Snape bowed, saying goodbye with the usual "my lord", and disappeared into the fireplace. Riddle stared thoughtfully at the letter and the chocolate frog. It probably wasn't a trap, since Dumbledore wasn't so kind as to persuade Potter to join his circle.
Well, the Chosen One, once he offered himself on a platter, you will have both avada in the forehead, and the drama of the unfolding scene, and the correction of the annoying mistakes of Samhain.
“You are a strange man, my suicide bomber, Harry James Potter.”