Masquerade- Tom Riddle Fanfiction

Internal Conflicts

Addie's POV

*****

Numengard. I remembered this prison all too well with its massive grey walls and enchanted iron bars that prevented anyone from escaping...whether it be in or out. My footsteps echoed in the dim corridor; Tom silently walking beside me. He had convinced the official to let him follow, being even more persuasive than normal. His expression was impenetrable, but I detected fury radiating off of him in waves. He didn't like this situation. Each footstep I took, I could hear those accursed cries and agonies of the damned; their only sin was opposing the one who tore their families away. I remembered the veela's eyes; blue and begging for death. Every single magical creature had been freed. But my mind was eternally chained to the horrors of this place.

The guard in front of us halted before showing us into the dungeon. It was exactly like mine-- damp with mildew and rats scuttling about in the dirt. Heavy manacles bound the dark silhouette onto the floor-- the darkness so obscure that it was suffocating.

"Lumos Maxima," I whispered, the tip of my wand igniting as the light shone on the haggard face of my father. Grindelwald. He had only been imprisoned for a few hours, yet his face suffered with agony; his eyes shining with a luminescent quality. He had gone mad. The familiar, hot surge of anger made me grip my wand tightly at my side. He was my blood father, nothing more. I remembered everything in my past in the single moment that we locked eyes.

After what seemed like a century, he spoke, "You look much like your mother." I felt a tight knot of fury in my chest-- begging to be released, begging to hurt every single inch of Grindelwald there was.

"You have no right to say her name," I said coldly, "you lost that a long time ago when you made her into a Horcrux." Beside me, Tom stiffened, as he heard the truth. I could imagine those icy blue eyes narrowing; unsure of what to feel-- regretful? Surely not. He would be wary.

Grindelwald was silent. "But you came here," he pressed, "despite all odds, you accepted my invitation to talk. And I'm sure the reason is not because you want to talk to your darling father. You want to know if there is anything else about your mother."

He read my emotions like a book, despite my firmly renewed Occlumency walls. "You have always been good at hiding your thoughts," he gave a rueful laugh, "I suppose it is an inherited trait."

"So, then, proceed," I cut him off, "I don't have all day."

He gave Tom a sidelong glance, his eyes almost knowing. Tom stared back coldly. A slight, manic smile spread on his lips, as if he was gleeful that he knew something I didn't. "My boy," he said with a slight chuckle, "I see you have already succeeded in splitting your soul. It is no small wonder why my daughter is so drawn to you--"

"I am not your daughter," I interrupted, my eyes flashing, "and you will do well not to drive off topic. I will only tell you this rule when we talk: if I hear you trying to manipulate or perhaps even think about deception, I will leave. You will rot in this prison without having a final say. If you talk directly, I will listen, and you will get to have your soliloquy."

"Not much choice is there?" he asked shrewdly, "but I have a condition as well-- the boy leaves us."