Consuming Shadows

Chapter 20

Tom Riddle.

Voldemort.

Hadrian's first reaction was denial – complete and utter denial – as he stared at the man in front of him. He blinked, waiting for the image to dispel, because...this could not be real. There was no way this was happening. He had to be hallucinating.

Because nothing else made sense.

This had to be some sort of trick.

And yet, a part of him that he had developed and sculpted over the years – the part that always just reacted, not letting things like logic and facts hinder his movements – had already accepted this, and responded accordingly to the revelation.

Shackles erupted from the floor and ceiling and walls, heavy golden chains twisting their way around the man's body and pulling taunt until they were on the verge of slicing through him.

Threat temporarily neutralised, Hadrian finally allowed himself to stumble back.

Ridd – Voldemort was in his head. He had viewed his memories. He had seen his mother's face. He knew.

There was no way the man had not made the connection already. An idiot could have done it with all the information he had just uncovered, and Rid – Voldemort was no idiot.

The thought had fear ramming into him with the force of a sledgehammer.

Sweet merciful Morgana – he knows.

What was he supposed to do?

Could he even do anything?

They had plans in place for situations such as this, contingencies to eliminate any threat that could expose their secret; and he had always known that the day would come when Voldemort would discover who he really was. He just – never in a million years could he have prepared himself for this.

He was not supposed to find out so soon. He was not supposed to have entered his mind at all. None of their goals had been achieved yet, they still had years of work to do. This had all hinged on Hadrian's ability to keep their secrets safe, and now Voldemort had all but plucked the information right from him.

If only he was stronger. If only he had better protected his mind. If only he had not let himself be so grievously injured.

Everything was ruined.

There was no way he would survive the night. Voldemort would kill him the second he got free of his mind, and then he would go after his mother –

No.

Hadrian clamped his eyes shut. No, I refuse. This bastard won't touch her. I won't let him.

A delicate calmness settled over him, icy and dangerous, blanketing the panic.

Hadrian dropped his hand and turned his gaze on Voldemort.

Riddle stared back at him blankly.

He looked – different, somehow. His features more youthful, around his late thirties if he had to guess, which was much younger than normal and a far cry from what the Dark Lord was supposed to look like.

For a brief, pathetic moment, Hadrian entertained the thought that maybe he was wrong, that they were not the same person.

But the thick, potent magic slithering through his mind was undeniably that of Voldemort. He remembered the feel of it, imprinted on him ever since he had foolishly established that tentative connection so many weeks ago on his arrival at Hogwarts.