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Transcendence	By : ChapterEight Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 11845 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling or any of her licensees, so I do not own Harry Potter or make any money off of this story.

Chapter List
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Author's Notes: There is a slightly expanded version of one scene on AO3 and AFF.

It was fascinating that Tom's entire world had fit inside an eight by five inch space. It had seemed much larger to him, of course, since he'd had the rein of his own mind. Still, the fact that he had existed in such a small object was endlessly amazing to him.
The diary wasn't even an inch thick. How had it held him? How had he fit inside it?
If he were the kind of person who had… feelings… then it would undoubtedly also be endlessly uncomfortable or terrifying to think of it. As it was, he was simply fascinated. He couldn't wrap his mind around it, which was really saying something.
Tom ran his fingers over the cover. He'd thought it was so high quality when he'd bought it, but that had just been the ignorance of an orphan who'd had secondhand clothes and whatever supplies he'd been able to scrounge up. Since living in Malfoy Manor he'd been surrounded by only the best. The leather covering the diary was rough against his fingertips; the smooth leather of the blotter on Abraxas's desk was probably ten times better quality and a hundred times more expensive than anything Tom had ever owned.
The pages were still pristinely white despite everything the diary had been through, until Tom meticulously wrote the date in the top corner of the first page. He understood from Ginny's descriptions, when they'd first met, that whatever she had written had sunk into the diary, and whatever he'd replied had appeared in its place.
The ink stained the paper, 5 August 1993 in his spidery script.
It neither disappeared from the page nor appeared in his consciousness like Ginny's words had. Tom leaned back in his chair and stared at the ink as if it would reveal all the answers he wanted.
Of course it didn't, and neither did the tiny sliver he ripped off the corner of the page. He didn't feel any of it.
Still, he felt his chest tighten in anticipation when he carefully tipped the small vial of basilisk venom over the diary. It had taken him days to get up the courage to finally do this, but it turned out that watching the drop fall had no great effect on him. There was no great increase in heartrate or perspiration or heavy breathing like he'd experienced the last time the venom had been about to come into contact with his diary. When he finally upended the entire contents of the vial onto the pages, he felt nothing as the paper began to wilt under the venom's corrosive powers.
Tom had thought he'd feel elation, or at least contentment, or something, when he was finally able to say conclusively that he was himself, by himself. The reality was far less dramatic. He felt, as usual, next to nothing.

The trouble with holding the master of the manor captive was that his house-elves ultimately obeyed him. Tom had found it necessary to keep Abraxas knocked out in a magical coma to stop him from simply having his house-elves free him, which was extremely inconvenient when Tom wanted to question him about all sorts of things. The trouble with house-elves was that no one seemed to know enough about them for Tom to even begin to construct a magical barrier that would keep them out of a certain area no matter whether their master called them there.
Tom found it exceedingly distasteful to have to experiment on house-elves. Not because of any humane considerations, of course, but rather because they were annoying, foul little creatures that were better kept in the background away from wizards. By the third day of his series of experiments, his mood was really beginning to deteriorate.
Draco didn't seem to mind being around the servants nearly as much, and he also seemed to be developing a reckless sort of immunity to Tom's moods.
As the house-elf they were using that afternoon Apparated through Tom's magical barrier with seemingly more ease than ever before, Tom cursed aloud and followed it up with a magical curse for good measure.
Draco halfheartedly kicked the squealing, flailing creature further away from himself and diligently recorded the results in the ever-expanding ledger they'd procured for that purpose.
Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. "Let's add species-dependent barriers to the list of noes. I think we've exhausted all of the possibilities for it."
"We have," Draco confirmed after flipping back through his notes for a few seconds.
"All right, I'm finished with this today," admitted Tom, although his voice didn't betray the depth of his annoyance.
Draco nodded and scribbled a few more notes before snapping the ledger closed. Tom knew that he would have an updated report of all the combinations they'd tried on his desk by lunch the next day. (It was, he had to admit, much easier to conduct experiments when he had an assistant.)
"Er… My Lord…" began Draco before Tom could turn to leave the room. "I was wondering if I might… ask you something."
Tom turned back around to face him, one elegant eyebrow raised in inquiry.
Draco swallowed nervously. "It's just that I've been wondering about something I heard, you know, that day… about Tom Riddle."
If he'd been in the habit of external signs of his thoughts, Tom would have huffed in frustration. He shouldn't have been surprised, of course, that Draco had remembered his grandfather mentioning that name, or that he'd finally mustered up enough courage to ask about it. That didn't mean he couldn't be annoyed, however.
"That is my given name," he finally decided on confirming. There was no point in trying to hide it, since there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop the curious boy from looking him up in the Hogwarts library. If the Granger girl had found a picture of him, then Draco would undoubtedly accomplish the same. "Lord Voldemort is my chosen name."
Draco looked unsurprised, but he still bit his lower lip nervously, so Tom knew that he was not yet satisfied. In short order, he ventured, "But Riddle isn't… I mean, it isn't…"
"A wizarding name?" supplied Tom. "Yes, I am aware. Why do you suppose I chose to give up my name for another?"
Draco gaped at him, opening and closing his lips several times as if he meant to say something and then changed his mind.
Tom offered a weak smile and saved him the trouble of vocalizing his thoughts. "You're wondering why I think pure blood is so important, and why pure-bloods have been so eager to follow me if I am not pure myself. I have come to learn that purity of blood does not have anything to do with magical power, but it does have quite a lot to do with how connected to one's magic someone is. And obviously Mudbloods pollute the wizarding world with their pointless Muggle ideas, like the worst kind of poison eroding away our traditions and values and, most importantly, knowledge."
He stepped further into the room, nearer to Draco, who stared at him with wide gray eyes.
"Pure-bloods have followed me either because they do not know or, if they do know, they recognize my power as greater than theirs…. So much greater than theirs that it would be foolhardy to cross me, Draco. Do you understand?"
"Yes," he squeaked, then he cleared his throat and tried again. "I mean, yes, My Lord."
Tom smiled more genuinely now. "That's good, Draco. Very good. I trust that you do not have any more questions about this?"
"No, My Lord."
"And I will never hear that name from your lips again?"
"Of course, My Lord!"
"Undoubtedly you will look me up as soon as you step foot back in Hogwarts," Tom mused. "Perhaps I will answer your questions then, so long as you abide by our understanding."
The conversation now clearly over, Draco hopped down from the lab table he'd been perched on and followed Tom out of the large laboratory they'd claimed as their own.
Lucius was waiting for Tom outside of Abraxas's study. When he saw them coming down the corridor together, his pale face took on the same pained look as it normally did when he saw his son anywhere near Tom. Draco chirped a greeting to his father but didn't break his stride towards the library, and Tom shot an amused look at Lucius behind his son's back before gesturing for him to enter the study.
He wondered if watching Lucius watch him sit at Abraxas's desk would ever cease to amuse him. He hoped not.
"My Lord, I do not wish to raise your hopes unnecessarily," began Lucius, "but there may be an opportunity to find Potter." Tom, who had always found it beyond infuriating that Dumbledore had hidden Potter so well, perked up and waved his hand for more. "The Accidental Magical Reversal Squad was deployed to Potter's house last night—he blew up his aunt and then ran away, apparently—and Fudge tracked him down to the Leaky Cauldron this morning."
"He's at the Leaky Cauldron?"
Tom was ready to leap from his chair immediately, although what exactly he'd do was as yet beyond him, but Malfoy's apologetic look stopped him.
"Not anymore, My Lord. Arthur Weasley's department is always aware of these incidents; they have to quickly determine the nature of the magical event and coordinate which department handles it, of course. The Order spirited Potter away before I had time to even get there."
Tom levelled a cold glare at Malfoy.
"I know, My Lord, but at least Potter is away from his usual summer home. We have no way of finding that, but at least we have a chance of figuring out where the Order has holed him up now."
"Oh good," replied Tom. "I'll just deploy my army to search every known member's house. We should hear back in a couple of days."
Malfoy looked torn between fear and exasperation. When he spoke, his words were obviously measured so as to get his point across with the least likelihood of being flayed alive. "I know that the situation is not entirely helpful, My Lord, and I did consider waiting until after I had a chance to get any additional information before I informed you. However, I thought you would want to know as soon as possible, before I risked my position to get information that you might not even want to use. I do not know your plans for Potter in order to coordinate my own responses accordingly."
Indeed, although a large part of Tom wanted to kill Potter at the first opportunity and hex Malfoy for good measure, the rational part was quick to remind him of all the downfalls. Sending Malfoy to get information on Potter's whereabouts was likely to make people suspicious of the man, even people who hadn't been suspicious up to this point (notably, Fudge himself). Even if he were successful, killing Potter would cause its own problems. It would immediately put the rest of the wizarding world on high alert, for one thing, even if many of them were not willing to admit that Lord Voldemort had returned. And Tom was having such fun tearing down the Ministry's and the populace's confidence in Dumbledore and Potter, specifically by actually driving Potter as mad as he sounded….
"I was thinking, though, that if Black were to hear that Potter is on the move…" Malfoy's voice broke through the silence.
Tom curled his tongue up against the roof of his mouth for a moment as he tapped the tip of Potter's wand against his desk. Neither Mulciber nor Malfoy (even with the help of his wife) had been able to gain any more useful information about their escaped fugitive, and when Tom weighed the pros and cons of Black being at large he found himself uncomfortable with the possible consequences.
"Your thoughts have merit," he finally allowed. "I will rely on you to make sure that this information is front-page news. If Black makes a mistake, either we will get to him first, or he will be arrested and the Ministry will be able to determine conclusively that he acted alone."
Lucius looked relieved for the first time since he'd seen his son and Tom together. "Yes, My Lord. Either way we will come out ahead."
Tom's lips twitched in amusement, even though he was not unaware of the difficult position Malfoy was in. The man had no choice but to ingratiate himself to Tom, but because of the brand on his arm he would never be able to give Tom his full loyalty, even if that were what he wanted. Unfortunately for Malfoy, Tom knew that.
It was exceedingly amusing, but as Tom watched the back of Malfoy's blond head disappear out his office door, it occurred to him that it was also exceedingly inspiring when he considered how to handle his own followers, currently a party of one.

It turned out that the Granger girl was actually quite good at the task he'd given her. With the exception of the biased tone he could detect when she disagreed with something, her work was nearly professional quality. She had yet to work on anything severely above the level of a normal third year, though, so he was eager to review her work on the more difficult texts he'd brought with him on his trip. It was the second round of testing he planned to perform, and if she succeeded he would begin to give her books he had not yet actually read for himself (with, of course, a book or two he had actually read randomly delivered for continued quality assurance purposes).
He thought that her constant stares and lip biting were because she was expecting some sort of verbal indication that he thought she'd done a good job, but when she finally spoke it turned out to be on the subject they'd discussed during his last visit.
"I've been thinking about the first exception to Gamp's Law," she began hesitantly. When he looked at her impassively but offered no objection to the topic, she cleared her throat and started again. "I thought that it has to be impossible that no one has ever tested the theory, especially after that book was published, but of course I don't have access to a library or any book shops so I had to think theoretically about why the tests would have failed instead of just looking it up. My thoughts are only general, of course, because I couldn't look up any of the specifics, and I might be incorrect, of course, because I can't verify anything…."
She trailed off and looked at Tom expectantly, but he offered her no reassurance. She cleared her throat again.
"It's just that from what I understand about chemistry—You're right, of course, that magical children are horribly deficient in basic knowledge like that. I cannot believe that it has never occurred to me before to miss all of the things I would have learned had I continued in the Muggle education system! Science and mathematics and even history are so important that—!"
At Tom's raised eyebrows, she stopped speaking abruptly and a flush rose up on her cheeks, a marked contrast to her too-white complexion. She had only just begun to regain color in the weeks she'd been exposed to sunlight through the magically barred windows.
"Right, well, that is to say… From the limited knowledge of chemistry at my disposal, I think it must be impossible to recreate the exact chemical makeup of a food. It's so complex that I don't think it would be possible for someone to think about all of the factors that go into it, such as how two molecules can be structurally almost identical yet be so different. We can duplicate food we already have, or maybe we could modify food if we knew exactly what we were doing, but I don't think that we could possibly take into account all of the factors in transforming some non-food item into good, nutritious food."
Although she had presented her case in a strong voice, she looked at him nervously now, clearly frightened at his reaction to being told that he was wrong. To her obvious surprise, Tom allowed himself a small smile.
"Good, Granger. I am pleased."
"You're—you…" she spluttered. "You're pleased?"
Tom leaned back regally in his chair. "Yes. I only wanted you to think for yourself instead of spouting off a list of citations. It seems that not being able to look up answers in a book has done you a world of good."
If Hermione Granger had hated him before, he was sure from the expression on her face that she hated him doubly as much now.
"You mean that you knew what you were saying was wrong, but you—you argued it anyway?"
"I was playing devil's advocate, yes." He grinned at his own choice of words, this time genuinely. "It is terribly appropriate that I would be the devil's advocate, is it not?"
If she saw any humor in it at all, it was not apparent from her reaction. "I can't believe that I spent days agonizing over what you said when I was right all along!"
Tom leaned forward suddenly, and she abruptly stopped talking. He regarded her through narrowed eyes, finally saying, "I challenged you because you were utterly incapable of explaining why or how or anything else remotely useful. There is a difference between knowing an answer—understanding it—and simply repeating what other people have said verbatim without being able to explain why. As I told you before, I have absolutely no use for you if all you can do is the latter."
Her brown eyes were wide and her face still flushed with embarrassment and fear when she ventured, in a small voice, "So you were telling the truth about making money? They are wrong about that, even though they aren't wrong about food?"
"Yes, very good, Granger," he said mockingly. "You have learned today that sometimes what other people say is right and sometimes it is wrong, and the only way to tell the difference is to think for yourself."
She swallowed convulsively and asked, "Will you… explain it to me?"
It was clearly difficult for her to ask that of him, and internally Tom cheered at his success in pushing her to this point, as he had planned. She might end up being a useful asset in the end after all, or perhaps he would still end up determining that she was useless beyond the fact that her disappearance hurt Potter. Only time would tell. But at least now the door had been cracked open and she had a chance to push it open further and maybe to one day walk through it, to come to his side willingly.
Outwardly he allowed himself to deflate all at once, as if the anger he had been projecting had suddenly left him. He ran a hand through his thick hair, messing it up as if he had forgotten himself, and she noticeably relaxed.
"How about you tell me, Granger?" he asked, allowing his voice to lose its normally hard edge. "What is it about these particular lumps of metal that makes wizards unable to create them, and how might one get around that limitation?"
When he left the cabin this time, the Mudblood was staring after him with a look born of determined curiosity. As soon as his face was hidden from view, Tom allowed himself a smirk.

"Why do you want to find the others?" the Horcrux finally asked one day as he was nibbling down the side of Tom's neck.
Tom had been thinking about his answer since before he'd asked about the others the first time, and especially since they'd started their physical relationship. He had been waiting for days for the Horcrux to finally ask the question, to open the door to that discussion.
He massaged his fingers against the Horcrux's scalp and pulled him harder against his neck. "It's an insurance policy for when he—Voldemort—finds out about me."
The Horcrux released the suction on his skin with a smack and pulled back to stare at his face, eyes roaming over his features as if he might be able to discern all of the answers just from looking.
"You know he won't be happy that I have a body," clarified Tom. He tugged on the Horcrux's head to pull him back down, but at the resistance he sighed and let himself fall back against the grass with an irritable glare. "Fine," he said on another sigh. "He'll probably think destroying me is a better idea than allowing me to have a body, but if I have his other Horcruxes under my control or hidden where he can't find them then he won't think I'm expendable."
Of course he hadn't told the Horcrux about Voldemort's demise or about all of the research he had planned for his fellow Horcruxes, and he didn't plan on it either. He thought that he was more likely to get cooperation using only the self-preservation story.
The Horcrux stared at him through narrowed eyes as Tom busied himself running his hands over his partner's arms and shoulders as if he were too nervous to lie still.
"So you plan to, what, hide me away in another dark hole somewhere?"
"That would probably be safer for you," he said hesitantly, his fingers digging hard into the Horcrux's shoulders, "but I have grown rather… attached to you. I was thinking you might want to risk staying on my finger, even though Voldemort might be so angry that he fries us both."
They stared hard at one another for several long seconds, until Tom craned his neck up to press a kiss to the Horcrux's jaw, which was the furthest he could reach in this position. Then he found himself aggressively pressed into the ground as their mouths mashed together, and the Horcrux tugged insistently at the soft flannel pajama bottoms he was wearing.
Tom had always known where his game with the Horcrux would inevitably lead him. Their kisses had grown bolder every time he'd entered the graveyard, and he had come to look forward to the Horcrux's cold hands against his skin. He had steeled his mind for more, carefully thinking through what he would have to do and preparing himself to act.
He just hadn't expected it to come so quickly.
Still, his hands were steady as they undressed one another, and in response to the Horcrux's silent challenge, Tom smiled and leaned in to suck hard on a patch of skin on the underside of his jaw. Then he allowed his hand to be guided lower and his fingers to be wrapped around the Horcrux's erection. It was odd; Tom had hardly ever done this, as he usually wasn't concerned with his partners' sexual gratification and wanted to skip right to the fun parts—fun for himself, that is. However, in this case he was not ready to go that far, as he would undoubtedly have to allow himself to be the submissive partner, so he threw himself into making the experience as good for the Horcrux as he was able.
A few moments later, a cold hand closed around his own warm member, and that made it almost all worth it.
The Horcrux's cold breath brushed his skin when he moaned, and Tom fisted his hand through his partner's hair until he forced their mouths together in a violent clash of lips and tongues and teeth. Then it was all hot hands against cold skin, and cold hands against hot skin, and their hot and cold breath mingling whenever they groaned or whispered filthy words to one another.
It was the singularly most intimate experience Tom had ever had, which he found unaccountably hilarious since they hadn't gone further than tugging each other off.
The Horcrux’s fingers had warmed up enough now that Tom was left with only the feeling of slick fingers and a broad palm along his shaft. He let out an involuntary grunt and pressed his hips further up towards his partner after the Horcrux rather roughly ran his thumbnail along the slit, gathering up the fluid there and using it to further lubricate his movements.
He was pushed firmly back down into the ground, for which he retaliated by mimicking the same movements on the cock in his hand. For good measure, he reached up with his free hand and pinched one of the Horcrux’s nipples. That earned him a breathless sort of half-chuckle against his mouth before his counterpart nipped harshly at his lower lip.
It seemed to be over too soon. Tom had only just begun to really appreciate the feel of soft skin on the Horcrux’s hard shaft, and to feel brave enough to begin experimenting with different grips and movements, when suddenly he realized that he was on the verge of finishing.
When they had finally sated themselves, Tom's hot cum cooling against their stomachs and the Horcrux's cold cum warming, they lay motionless on their father's grave. The Horcrux was lying atop him, Tom's legs parted to accommodate him and the weight, heavier than expected, pressing him into the soft grass. The Horcrux was undoubtedly setting the tone of their encounters, making his point very clear that he was the dominant partner between them. Tom found that he didn't mind quite as much as he had at the beginning. Nor did he particularly care anymore that, now that he wasn't moaning or whispering against Tom's skin, the Horcrux had stopped going through the motions of breathing and felt almost like a corpse above him.
"Do you swear it?" the Horcrux eventually broke the silence. At Tom's hum of inquiry, he clarified, "That you only want the other Horcruxes so you can hide them. That you'll keep me with you."
"I swear," replied Tom, without any outward hesitation at all even though he had an internal aversion to swearing anything.
The Horcrux laid his head against Tom's shoulder and pressed his nose against the soft skin of Tom's throat.
"Before I was created, I had been thinking about the cave."
There was no need for him to elaborate on exactly which cave. And really, Tom felt like sort of an idiot that it had never occurred to him before—or as much as it was possible for him to feel that way about himself, which wasn't really much.
"I had not actually solidified any plans or put anything there," cautioned the Horcrux, "but it's the best I can do for you."
Tom turned his head to kiss the Horcrux, but, finding that he couldn't reach, he settled for nuzzling his cheek against the Horcrux's hair instead. "Thank you."
The Horcrux let out an exhalation of cold breath against Tom's neck and then pulled back.
"Where are you going?" asked Tom.
"I thought you'd want to go off Horcrux hunting," answered his counterpart.
Tom knew that there was undoubtedly an opportunity here to garner even more trust in the Horcrux's eyes. If not trust of him personally, then at least trust in the idea that he highly prioritized his relationship with the Horcrux. As much as he wanted to rush off to the cave immediately, he wanted even more to milk this relationship for all it was worth. Accordingly, he reached up to wrap his hand around the back of the Horcrux's head, running his fingers through the soft hairs at the base of his neck.
"Of course I do, but it can wait a while longer," he said truthfully, pulling the Horcrux down for a quick kiss. "At the moment I want this even more."

Later, Tom grinned maniacally up at dark green canopy of his bed at Malfoy Manor. He felt loose and satisfied due to his pleasant exertions with the Horcrux, although his lips and skin were as pristine as ever, without any hint of bruising or swelling. His body felt like he would after any normal wet dream, even though mentally he had the benefit of his memories as if they had happened in the real, physical world.
It seemed that the consequences of his actions with the Horcrux would be limited to his memories and whatever pertinent information he was able to gather. Including, at this very moment, the very likely location of another Horcrux.

Author's Notes: Thank you again to everyone who reviewed; I think I managed to reply to everybody personally. Please everyone do let me know what you think!
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