Coup de Foudre [Fred Weasley] [6]

⚡️ Chapter 40 ⚡️

As Vega dove into the shifting silver mass of the Pensieve, she found herself landing into the very office that she had just left, followed by Harry and Dumbledore. She looked around – there was Fawkes slumbering happily on his perch, and there behind the desk was Dumbledore, who looked very similar to the Dumbledore standing beside her, though both hands were whole and undamaged and his face was, perhaps, a little less lined.

The one difference between the present-day office and this one was that it was snowing in the past; bluish flecks were drifting past the window in the dark and building up on the outside ledge. The younger Dumbledore seemed to be waiting for something, and sure enough, moments after their arrival, there was a knock on the door and he said, "Enter,"

Vega's eyes widened and Harry let out a hastily stifled gasp.

Voldemort had entered the room. His features were not those Vega had seen emerge from the great stone cauldron almost two years ago: They were not as snake-like, the eyes were not yet scarlet, the face not yet mask-like, and yet he was no longer handsome Tom Riddle.

It was as though his features had been burned and blurred; they were waxy and oddly distorted, and the whites of the eyes now had a permanently bloody look, though the pupils were not yet the slits that Vega knew they would become. He was wearing a long black cloak, and his face was as pale as the snow glistening on his shoulders.

And while it was very uncomfortable to see someone become like this, Vega was relieved to see that there was a distinction between her and people related to her.

On the other hand, the young Dumbledore behind the desk showed no sign of surprise – evidently this visit had been made by appointment.

"Good evening, Tom," Dumbledore greeted easily. "Won't you sit down?"

"Thank you," Voldemort replied, and he took the seat to which Dumbledore had gestured – the very seat, by the looks of it, that Vega had just vacated in the present.

For a moment, there was silence.

"I heard that you had become headmaster," Voldemort spoke up, and his voice was slightly higher and colder than it had been. "A worthy choice,"

"I am glad you approve," Dumbledore replied, smiling. "May I offer you a drink?"

"That would be welcome," Voldemort said. "I have come a long way,"

Dumbledore stood and swept over to the cabinet where he now kept the Pensieve, but which then was full of bottles. Having handed Voldemort a goblet of wine and poured one for himself, he returned to the seat behind his desk.

"So, Tom... to what do I owe the pleasure?" Dumbledore inquired.

Voldemort did not answer at once, but merely sipped his wine before he finally decided to answer, "They do not call me 'Tom' anymore. These days, I am known as –"

"I know what you are known as," Dumbledore assured him, smiling, pleasantly. "But to me, I'm afraid, you will always be Tom Riddle. It is one of the irritating things about old teachers. I am afraid that they never quite forget their charges' youthful beginnings,"

With that, Dumbledore raised his glass as though toasting Voldemort, whose face remained expressionless. Nevertheless, Vega felt the atmosphere in the room change subtly: Dumbledore's refusal to use Voldemort's chosen name was a refusal to allow Voldemort to dictate the terms of the meeting, and she could tell that Voldemort took it as such.

"I am surprised you have remained here so long," Voldemort said after a short pause. "I always wondered why a wizard such as yourself never wished to leave school,"