Invictus [Tom Riddle / Tomione]

Epilogue

School was let out for the holidays, so the Hogwarts dungeons were empty.

Some common rooms might have still contained a few students who stayed over the holidays, but none belonged to Slytherin house, of course. They all had families, whose blood was pure and noble.  No reason to stay behind.

Tom had been the only Slytherin student who ever stayed over Christmas, though in his later years, he was invited to Malfoy Manor for the holidays.

He only went once, because he couldn't stand the icy looks given to him by Abraxas' mother. It reminded him of that which he could not change: his muggle blood.

Hermione could not change hers either, nor did she want to. That thought pricked him often, reminding him of how bigoted and narrow minded his views had been before she landed in his life.

You never believed it, he told himself. You only wielded those beliefs for the sake of power.

It didn't make him feel any better about it... because he had, in fact, believed it.

For a time.

And because he had believed it, those icy looks irked him, the judgement in the eyes of the elder members of his followers' families who didn't want their heirs tainted by the influence of a half-blood.

Tom had wanted nothing better than to bring the entire pureblooded set to their knees before him, to see the defeat in their eyes when they realized that yes, both politically and magically, they had been bested by someone of inferior birth.

Tom stood in his old Slytherin dorm room, gazing into a makeshift mirror which he'd transfigured out of a green tie he found under his old bed.

He wondered which poor sod slept in it now.

He was offhandedly thinking of all the ways he might destroy Malfoy's life as he adjusted his bowtie. It was his favorite pastime of late.

Rosier and Rowle were behind him, getting dressed as well. They were uncomfortable in their muggle suits... scratching at the collars, brushing off lint, exchanging glances every so often.

Tom's lips twitched.

Today was Hermione's day, but it was also Tom's day, because he was getting what he'd wanted, what he'd sworn to himself that he would do nearly a year ago.

He was marrying Hermione Dumbledore.

...Granger?

The names were interchangeable in his mind now.

He'd given her the option of using the name Dumbledore as well, but she'd chosen Riddle.

"Granger is who I used to be," she'd said. "Dumbledore is who I am now. But Riddle..." She smiled up at Tom, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Riddle is my future."

Tom had once sworn that he would shed that name forever.

Now, leaving it behind would be impossible.

Wouldn't it? It was a small price to pay to get what he wanted. Perhaps, with his extreme shift in plans, a muggle surname would serve him better.

Hermione had chosen to embrace her muggle heritage as she made wedding plans, though to outsiders, it merely seemed as if she were making a statement by mixing muggle wedding traditions with wizarding ones.

She was an activist, after all, and she said it would help with Tom's reputation for the public to see him participate.

The public still questioned their engagement.

Tom stared into the mirror as he pinned in his cufflinks.

His skin was slightly more waxy than it had been before the cave, features sharper, his cheeks a bit more gaunt, eyes more hollow.