Published at 27th of May 2024 12:13 am

Chapter 193: The Second Face

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18 February 1994, Hogwarts

Neville walked outside the duelling arena, seething about the conversation that he had with Harry. What right did he have to interfere in family matters? What right did he have to uproot Neville's life so much? It wasn't any of his business anyway. Why did everything have to be against him? Why couldn't Neville just have a single year without something horrible happening?

He remembered his first year when he was unknowingly being taught by the man who killed his parents. He had almost died, saved by some kind of weird magical interaction that made Quirrell burn whenever Neville touched him. He remembered his second year, where he was blamed for petrifying muggleborn students, just because of being able to speak Parseltongue. He was then trapped in an illusion while destroying some diary… It sounded weird when he thought about it objectively, but that didn't matter. Neville was vilified as an unstable boy, desperate for attention. And this year, all he wanted was to have some friends again, bond with Harry even more so, and have some fun in school. The tournament did provide an opportunity to regain some of his reputation.

Not qualifying in the preliminaries in the first task was unfortunate, but he had gotten over it. But the duelling tournament was supposed to be his greatest opportunity, and when he realized that he might have lost, he went too far. He didn't think, with anger clouding his mind, and Warrington had almost died for it.

It was just a lapse of judgement, nothing more. Neville didn't mean to hurt him. There was nothing wrong with having a tempter, was there?

Harry couldn't be right. He just couldn't.

"It just wouldn't be fair," he murmured to himself.

"If there's anything I've learned in the past year, it would be that life is just not fair," a mocking voice interrupted him.

When he turned, Neville suppressed the urge to groan; of course, he had to run into one of the most unpleasant people he had ever met, Draco Malfoy, "I'm not in the mood, Malfoy."

"Funnily enough, neither am I. You're not the only one who has things to brood about, Longbottom."

"What, your diamond shoes are too tight or something?"

"I'm just annoyed to see your ugly mug," the blond retorted immediately, before smiling softly, "So, why aren't you in the arena with the rest of the people?"

"Just had some thinking to do…"

"Yeah, I suppose you're having a hard time too, with the whole almost killing another student and whatnot. Not that I have anything to help the mood. I just lost my only opportunity at having any sort of security from my house in my time in Hogwarts."

Neville furrowed his eyebrows, "How?"

"I lost my duel. It's Slytherin stuff and I'm not really allowed to talk about it, but let's just say that I had a lot riding on my duel. It's a shame that I got Potter's girlfriend. It's only logical that he trained her enough to defend herself."

"Really? Greengrass is Harry's girlfriend?"

The Malfoy scion shrugged, "Don't know. Don't care. They might as well be considering just how inseparable they are. No one really tried asking him about it, but no one in the house had the guts to touch her or her sister. Potter is all nice and calm when you leave him alone, but he could be fucking terrifying when you get a rise out of him. No one wants to risk poking the dragon and all that."

"Hmm, I always wondered what happened in that house of yours. So, how did losing a duel destroy any protection you might have? As far as I remember, you still have a nice fortune in the bank, more than enough to hire people to look the other way."

"Yeah, and I have access to a pittance of that fortune until my majority. Nott made sure of that when he took over from my father. As far as they're concerned, I can barely do anything other than bark until I'm seventeen. And today, I just proved that I couldn't handle fighting a girl in my year, and that's not to mention the opportunity that I just lost. Losing to Potter wouldn't have been a shameful thing, losing to Greengrass, well… I'm in some very shitty few years…"

Neville frowned, "You don't seem overly concerned…"

"I guess I'm just desensitized. I've been doing nothing but losing fights since my father died. I expected this anyway. There's also the calming potion that I drank, I guess. Maybe it's even the Firewhiskey I mixed with it. I don't know."

"That's a pretty dangerous conversation," the Gryffindor retorted.

"Maybe. But it's better than hyperventilating and crying out in despair. So, what about you? What are you running from?"

"I'm not running from anything…"

"Of course, you are," Malfoy replied with a scoff, "I recognize that desperation from a mile away. Is it about you almost killing Warrington? It's a wonder you're still in school. Most people would have been expelled, maybe even arrested. I wonder how many times Dumbledore will have to bail you out."

"Just stop talking," Neville gritted out.

"Touched a nerve, did I?" the blond answered with a familiar cocky smile, "I have to admit that you're a lot more different than before. I remember in our first year, you were so against dark magic. I wonder if your parents could see you now…"

"Enough, Malfoy!"

"I wonder if they'll be like the rest of the world, disgusted by your actions. I personally think that they'd be ashamed to see you as their son."

That just came closer to home than he expected, especially with the possibility of him being disinherited, and just like that, Neville's control slipped, and he yelled out, "THAT'S ENOUGH!"

A burst of magic, born of rage and fear, sent Malfoy flying. Neville followed up with a wand in his hand, ready to send a piercing charm at his enemy, only to freeze in the middle of the action. What was he doing? Why did he even attack Malfoy?

The reality of what he had nearly done — what he might have done — hit him with crushing force. In a moment of horrified clarity, he felt like he could have easily just gone through with it, he could have killed Malfoy.

And just like that, Harry's words came crashing back. He was getting unstable. The scar was having a lot more influence on him than he realized.

Oh Merlin, what was he doing?

He looked at the disoriented Slytherin with pity and regret, "I'm sorry, Malfoy," and he just ran. He ran as far as he could. Away from other people and their judgement, away from his problems.

Neville didn't even know where he was going, but when he looked around a few minutes later, he found himself in the empty Quidditch pitch. It was a place that once represented his freedom and joy. It represented what he could have been before Dumbledore banned him for breaking into the Slytherin common room.

It was a representation of his potential, but currently, it was just a good place to vent. He looked at it, with teary eyes and muttered, "It's not fair."

"IT'S NOT FAIR!" he repeated, this time, shouting with raw emotion this time.

Another pulse of magic ripped the plants and roots from the ground around him. This time, he took out his wand and sent a blasting curse towards the stands, while yelling, "WHY?"

Spell after spell burst from his wand, each a manifestation of his frustration and pain, tearing through the air until he was left drained, kneeling on the grass, his breath ragged sobs.

"Why do those things always happen to me?" he muttered.

"Because it is your destiny," a weirdly familiar voice retorted. Neville turned in surprise but froze when he recognized the person standing next to him. He looked older, and his eyes were purely red, but he knew that face. He knew that arrogant smile.

"Tom Riddle," he snarled.

"I suppose, technically, I am."

"You're my scar, whatever is trying to take over my crest."

The older man nodded, "I suppose take over is a bit of an oversimplification. The correct term would be that I'm trying to merge with you."

"Merge? You've kept me angry all the time. I almost killed someone!"

"That's not true. I never urged you to do anything, I just lent you, my skills. My temper might have been included, but I did not urge you to do anything. You just never learned to control yours. I can teach you that if you want."

Neville scoffed, "You want me to work with you, with the man who killed my parents."

"Lord Voldemort killed your parents; I am not him."

"What are you then?"

Riddle shrugged, "Something new, something unique. I suppose I'm a fragment of a whole, a shard of something precious, and echo of your parents' murderer."

"And why should I trust you?"

"You're the one who woke me when you unlocked your crest. You're the one who stopped my imprisonment. You gave me life and purpose. Why wouldn't I work in your best interest."

The Longbottom scion stiffened, "And you want us to merge?"

"You have great potential, one that you've barely scratched the surface. You just lack the knowledge necessary for you to rise, the knowledge necessary for you to grow. The knowledge that I have. I could help you surpass everyone. That Potter boy, Voldemort, even Dumbledore. Why do you think they're so well-regarded, why they're so respected? They have power and you don't. But you could. You only have to give me a chance."

Neville wanted to deny it outright, but the picture was an attractive one. To get Harry's skill in magic, the respect Dumbledore garnered with his presence. He shook his head slightly. What was he doing listening to Voldemort of all people?

"What if I don't want power?" Neville simply responded.

"Then you'll die," Riddle answered with a shrug.

"You'll kill me?"

"No, why would I do that? I don't have to kill you. I don't wish to kill you; my existence is tied to yours. But think about it. If you leave things as they are, we will slowly merge and there's nothing you can do about it. But if you deactivate your crest, you'll cripple your potential. You could be a good wizard, even a great one, but you will never approach Voldemort's level. He will be back eventually, and he will kill you, and there's nothing you can do about it. Dumbledore might save you, but you'll end up as nothing more than a pawn, used for publicity and as a symbol."

"No!" Neville yelled.

"But yes. You know it and I know it too. But don't think about the negatives. Can you imagine what the two of us could accomplish together, to create a better world, to fix magical Britain? To make it like your old friend, Hermione wished it could be. Imagine that she wakes up one day and sees you create the world of her dreams… We could even try to heal her together. I have memories of the Diary's creation. It was my invention, after all. We could fix her, together. Now wouldn't that be something?"

He had to admit that the idea was enticing, the prospect of helping Hermione… But the prospect of changing the world irked him. It reminded him of the illusion in the Diary. Riddle had used that exact same line on him to help turn him against Harry.

It could have been an illusion, but maybe there was something subconscious about it. Still, something bothered him, "But how many people will have to be hurt? What if I kill someone this time? I almost killed Warrington over a duel. I almost attacked a drunk Malfoy."

Tom Riddle's face hardened, "As many as it is necessary for us to be joined. Great sacrifices are required to achieve greatness. It's a tragic thing, but it is necessary."

"No," the young Gryffindor simply answered.

"Please, Neville, listen to me!"

"I said no!" he yelled, "I can't. My parents wouldn't have wanted this. If you knew Hermione, you would have baulked at the mere idea of hurting people. You're trying to use me, turn me into you. Well, I won't let you. I refuse. I'd rather be a weaker wizard than turn into a monster. I'd rather lose my legacy than turn into you. I'll grow stronger on my own, to create my own legacy, then to inherit your tainted one."

Neville ran towards the arena, ignoring Riddle's protests all the while. He ran until he saw her, sitting alone, in a corner, away from the excitement. He rushed towards her, with tears in his eyes. Neville could see her looking more relieved, then slowly turned to concern as she saw the desperation in his features, "What's wrong?"

He looked at his grandmother, with pleading eyes, a testament to his desperation and determination, "You were right. You were always right. I need help. I need you to stop this."

"What are you babbling about, Neville?"

"I accept. You were right, Gran. Please deactivate my crest."

"Oh, Neville," the bittersweet, smile on his grandmother's face broke his heart just a bit. But he would not be stopped. He would not turn into another Voldemort. He didn't need a crest to make his parents proud. He would climb the ladder all on his own, he would work his ass off and he will create a new legacy of his own.

He knew that it wouldn't be easy and that the path ahead would be full of challenges, but it was a path he was determined to walk. He would heal and he would grow into a man his parents would be proud of.

AN: This was pretty hard to write. As usual, please let me know what you think or if you have any suggestions.

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