The Girl from Azkaban ~ Tom Riddle (18+)

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕿𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖞-𝕾𝖎𝖝

~✧~

Malin Head was one of the most southerly places in Ireland and the only place in Great Britain that had a portkey in the form of a 'room' rather than an object. It was very unusual for portkeys to be tied not to an object but to a specific local space, for its evocation proved exceedingly difficult. Moreover, only very few magicians knew of such portkeys, as the Ministry tried to conceal their existence as early as the 18th century. Portkeys, like the one in Malin Head, had the special property of not keeping records of their users, so no one could trace who used them.

Tom had already heard about this way of getting to the Caribbean last year and was extremely dismayed to learn all the details, even if he didn't show it at the time. It was a stranger who told him about the portkey. He had met him in a small village near Small Heath. The man already seemed older and grumpy. He burst into the small, empty pub and took a seat next to Tom . Tom's first thought was to chase this man away, but when he gave him another look, he realised that there was something surprising about him. For the time being, the stranger, like Tom himself, wore a black cloak that hid his face for the most part.

Only when the man asked for a whisky did he remove the wet hood of his cloak. He revealed a scarred half of his face to Tom and then, as he turned to give Tom his full attention, he revealed the other half of his face - his eye was missing and a huge indentation adorned his temple.

"You're not from around here," the stranger stated and Tom nodded, "Neither are you." Tom himself sipped his whisky glass and turned away from him, staring straight ahead.

"What brings you here?" the old man inquired and Tom briefly considered answering. He watched the stranger from the angle and saw a silver blade rustling across his thigh.

To avoid any possible incidents, Tom decided to act himself. He placed his wand on the table, "I wouldn't do that." Tom wasn't clearly sure, but something told him that revealing his identity would be enough of a warning.

"You're a wizard," the stranger stated, reaching for the wand. Tom let it happen. "Mhh black yew and veela hair," he noted, "An interesting mix."

Tom eyed him, "You know your stuff, but something tells me you're not a wizard."

"That's right," he countered, "My parents were though."

Tom frowned, "Then why aren't you?"

"It looks like the genes skipped me," he explained, glancing into his glass. With a little flick of his wrist, he made the golden liquid spin.

"That's unfortunate on the outside."

"Indeed," the stranger nodded his head, "And what brings you to Small Heath? You're no more from here than I am."

Now Tom was the few who nodded, "I was paying someone a visit, that's all."

"Your girl?"

A smile crept onto the wizard's face, "No, she's already waiting at home though."

"Then she's certainly looking forward to your return."

"I hope so," Tom replied.

"Believe me she does, my girlfriend was the same way, even if she didn't always show it."

"Was?"

"Yes she was killed in an act during the First World War."

Tom felt no sympathy but still wished his condolences. He had not been the best at expressing emotions, but over time he learned when people felt certain emotions and how to act when they did.

"Did you also receive your injury from times of war?", Tom harked back even though he was sure that this had not been the original ash.

"No, they came from a desperate attempt to drown pain."