Disclaimer: I'm too young to be Rowling so there is sadly no way Harry Potter is mine…

Parts of JK Rowling's HP7, end scene between Harry and Voldemort; and HP4, graveyard scene.

Inspired by Mono Inc.'s "Potter's Field"

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MINISTRY

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Close yopur eyes and you can hear the weeping

Forgotten lonely hearts can't make their peace

… … …

Amelia Bones had been about to cross the Atrium and go to lunch when suddenly a port-key landed in the middle of it, disposing a man touching several others who were clad like Death Eaters.

Amelia stopped dead in her tracks.

The man on the other hand looked up, his eyes wandering around the Atrium before settling on her.

His eyes narrowed.

"You're… law enforcement, aren't you?" he asked her, his eyes on her Auror robes and a thoughtful look in his face.

He looked as if he had never seen Auror robes before and was trying to decide by description if she was or wasn't what he guessed her to be.

"I'm an Auror," she agreed. "Head Auror Amelia Bones, at your service."

"Ah, yes, Auror," the man agreed, speaking quietly and more to himself. "That was the word, wasn't it?"

Amelia's frown deepened and she stepped closer.

"You actually don't know the word 'Auror'?" she asked suspiciously.

The man inclined his head.

"It's not as if I had a lot to do with the magical world until now," he replied and Amelia reached for her wand, ready to cast an alert for the Oblivators.

He was a muggle? In the Ministry of Magic?!

The man seemed to understand her fear because he added with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Not that I had anything to do with the non-magical world in the last fifty years or so as well," he said. "So, I'm quite sure that I'd be mostly as hopelessly out-of-date with them as I am with the magical world."

That actually made Amelia stare at him.

A hermit, maybe?

He didn't look like he was old enough to have kept away from both worlds for fifty years, but… Amelia knew that there were some wizards who aged slower than usual, so maybe he was a wizard who had kept away from both world for quite a long time?

Werewolf?

She knew that there were some muggles who survived the bite. They would belong to the magical world, after, but they often didn't interact with it, just like they would often draw away from the muggle world as well. There was also the fact that some werewolves for whatever reason aged very, very slowly.

Amelia scrutinized the man in front of her.

He wasn't wearing a robe, and Amelia – for all her little knowledge of muggle clothing – couldn't really determine if he was clothed out of date for a muggle. Nevertheless, she also couldn't remember seeing a muggle on the streets as stiffly… or maybe formally dressed as the man in front of her.

He was wearing a solid lighter green shirt with a spear-point collar and a darker green tie with a geometric pattern, a grey double-breasted pinstripe suit jacket, single pleat trousers in the same colour with wide legs and a simple black belt.

He also had a hat that Amelia was nearly sure was called a fedora.

On top of that, the man had a dagger at his hip, attached to his belt and was wearing a pendant.

It was the pendant that stopped her dead in her tracks for a second time that day.

For a moment, she was sure that she was looking at Grindelwald's symbol – then she saw the differences.

While the pendant showed a triangle with a circle cut in half in the middle, the line that cut the circle went further down and left the triangle ending with a lightning bolt like 's', it could also be the rune sowilo, the sun rune… or, if you added part of the circle it could depict a stylized 'p' half hidden in Grindelwald's symbol.

Nevertheless, it wasn't quite the same as Grindelwald's symbol.

The man himself, on the other hand, was handsome. He looked to be in his late twenties, early thirties with raven locks and bright blue eyes in a handsome face.

He looked… a bit like somebody Amelia had seen before, but no matter how much she tried to chase that thought, she couldn't find the answer.

In the end, she decided to start from scratch.

"And who are you?" She asked.

He looked at her, his face calm and his eyes serious.

"I'm called Tom," he said. "I'm here on behalf of my Lord to deliver a traitor and his allies."

With that, he gestured to the men lying on the floor in front of him.

Amelia followed his gesture with her eyes.

Oddly enough, until now, they hadn't seemed to be relevant for her – something that wasn't like her at all.

It was then that she noticed something else important about the other men.

"They're dead," she said and pulled her wand on the stranger.

The other man just looked at her calmly.

"All except of one," he agreed with no remorse in his voice. "The traitor is still alive."

Amelia grabbed her wand tighter.

The man looked at her wand with a frown.

"If you use that on me," he said, sounding oddly unconcerned. "Can we agree on not using a fire spell? I'm not into exhibitionism. Also, I like my hair and I doubt anybody wants to watch me regrow my skin or any other nauseating things like that."

Amelia stared at the other man with an incredulous look.

That description didn't sound like symptoms typical for a werewolf, but the unconcerned way he said those words told her that he knew his words to be true.

What did that mean?

Amelia knew for sure that even a werewolf wouldn't regrow skin as easily as the stranger, Tom, made it sound.

"That's your answer to a wand in your face?" she asked in disbelief.

The stranger, Tom, shrugged.

"I'm not that bothered by spells," he said. "Of course, my Lord might not take well to an attack on my person – especially if it was unwarranted."

Amelia raised an eyebrow.

"You're in the company of quite a few dead people," she pointed out. "There's quite a bit suspicion on you if you look at it like that. 'Unwarranted' isn't a word I would use in circumstances like that."

The other man raised his eyebrow.

"And I was the one who brought them to the Ministry," he countered. "This should at least tell you that I'm here to cooperate."

"For your Lord," Amelia added with a frown.

She hadn't missed that description of the one sending Tom, after all.

Tom inclined his head.

"I am a servant of my Lord," he agreed. "He was the one who send me to cooperate, so I will cooperate."

Amelia looked him over.

There was just one 'Lord' she remembered – and he had been the one who started the last war.

Voldemort.

Amelia stared at Tom with a deepening frown.

Her gaze travelled to the dead men to his feet.

They all wore black cloaks and white, sometimes shattered masks.

Death Eaters.

Followers of the only man she knew was referred to as 'my Lord' by his people.

Oddly enough, it wasn't the dead Death Eaters to his feet that made Amelia hesitate to put Tom down as a Death Eater himself.

It was his looks… and the way he looked at her.

His gaze was cold, unrelenting, but not without mercy.

He was sure of himself, but not because he was a fanatic – or at least that's what Amelia interpreted his conduct as.

She simply couldn't see Tom as a follower of that man.

And yet, he had said 'my Lord' more than once.

"'My Lord'?" she repeated, her wand tight in her fist, yet her voice more curious than suspicious. "Who are you referring to, when you say 'my Lord'?"

The other man looked at her with a slight amusement on his face.

"I'm… not sure you believe me if I answer," he said calmly. "At least not without verification."

Amelia raised an eyebrow at that.

"Why shouldn't I believe you?" she countered.

Tom just raised his eyebrow at her.

"Legends and myths and the fact that there's been no evidence that my Lord's position exists for quite a few hundred years," he said calmly.

Amelia frowned at that, but decided to leave it be for the moment.

Sometimes, some things were better verified through irrefutable means.

She guessed, that the question could wait for the moment. There were still other questions to ask, after all.

"If you can't explain that then at least explain to me why you're here, with dead people at your feet," she countered.

"Death Eaters," Tom corrected her immediately, clearly seeing the distinction as important. "And the traitor is still alive."

Amelia decided to ignore his correction about one of them for the moment.

There were other pressing matters she needed to know, and she would get the answers to them – even if she had to confront him directly.

"Did you kill them?" Amelia asked coolly, scrutinizing him to ensure he wasn't lying.

Tom returned her gaze evenly.

"No," he said without guilt or remorse. "The dead took revenge. I was simply sent to hand them back to your realm after they died in my Lord's."

That stopped Amelia dead in her tracks.

"Our realm?" she repeated.

There… was something about his answer that told her that she should know what he was talking about.

In her mind, there was a vague memory of someone telling her something about jurisdiction when she had started in her job as Head of the Auror Corps...

But currently, she couldn't actually remember what that memory had entailed.

She just remembered that she had thought that information total humbug back then.

She hadn't believed it.

She totally hadn't believed it.

But… now, she couldn't remember what it had been that she had been told back then…

Nevertheless, the way he had said 'the realm of my Lord' had Amelia feeling a shudder running down her back.

It felt… dangerous, like a change in the air.

The stranger inclined his head to her nearly forgotten question about realms.

"They decided to enter my Lord's realm and attack our people," he answered her. "They attacked my Lord. We don't take kindly to an unwarranted attack to our Head of Realm."

Amelia shuddered at the cold tone of his voice.

At the same time, she understood where the man came from.

She'd have reacted the same when she'd still worked under Moody if Moody had been attacked in front of her…

For a moment, she was tempted to ask further, but in the end, rationality won.

There was no way she could continue to interrogate him in the atrium.

"We should change location," she said, with a sigh, resigning herself to a lost lunch break. "I think, further discussion should be done elsewhere."

The other man inclined his head.

"If you prefer," he answered, clearly not caring too much about it.

Amelia sighed.

"I will call some colleagues," she said. "And then we will talk."

She knew that with him showing up with dead people at his feet, there might be questions – and some of her colleagues might not be willing to accept a simple statement from him as a fact.

Interestingly enough, getting the man to the Aurors' offices turned out to be pretty easy.

Tom followed when she told him to, after she had handed over the dead to one of the Aurors that had come after she send out her call.

Another one, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had taken the only still living one into custody.

Amelia knew that some people in the Ministry might have objected to her decision to actually put somebody into custody who had been brought together with the dead after clearly losing in a fight, but… he was wearing a Death Eater robe and the only other witness had spoken about an attack.

Amelia might have to verify it, but until then, she would be cautious.

"He can transform into a rat, according to my Lord," was the only thing Tom had said when she had told Shacklebolt to put the living one into one of their cells.

"Spell against animagus-transformation, then," Amelia added, making a mental note to charge the unconscious man after getting the confirmation with being an illegal animagus.

Shacklebolt agreed, but there was a frown on his face when Amelia gestured for Tom to follow her.

"Ma'am," he said slowly. "Do you think it's wise to simply trust him on his word? He came with the dead, after all."

"He brought them, yes," Amelia agreed. "But just because he brought them, we can't simply accuse him of killing them as well."

"Especially because I'm not your jurisdiction," Tom added, seemingly unbothered by Shacklebolt's indirect accusation.

Amelia and Shacklebolt both frowned at him.

Tom on the other hand waved it off as if it wasn't interesting.

"You wanted to talk to me elsewhere," he reminded Amelia. "Maybe it's time to go there?"

For a moment, Amelia actually had to fight against her urge to ask further questions right there and in that very moment.

In the end, rationality won out.

She gestured for Tom to follow her and finally brought him into one of their interrogation rooms.

"I hope you are aware that there will be some suspicion against you until we have verified that you actually didn't kill those people," she said and then held out her hand.

He raised an eyebrow at her in a silent question.

"Your wand," she clarified. "It's procedure."

Oddly enough, in Amelia's opinion, he could keep his knife. She was even legally not allowed to take it… but then, knives and other weapons hadn't been in use in the magical world for longer than even her great-grandparents had been alive.

The habit not to carry muggle weapons even preceded the Ministry… so maybe, there was a reason why there was no law against any kind of muggle weapon even if it was carried openly like with Tom.

Tom meanwhile looked at her in amusement.

"I don't have one," he told her, sounding unbothered.

Amelia blinked, not expecting that answer.

"What?" she asked, stumped and a bit out of her dept.

Tom waved it off, clearly unbothered by his answer.

"No magic for me, I fear," he said. "I was normal-born in life even though my… wife and… son weren't."

For a moment, Amelia frowned at him.

Something… had been mildly concerning about his answer, but for the life of her, she couldn't see what it had been.

What had drawn her attention yet eluded her about his sentence?

"You're a muggle, then?" she asked, going with the next best thing that she had gathered from his answer.

A son and a wife in the magical world meant that he was at least exempted from the law.

He just looked at her in amusement.

"Not more than you," he said, his mouth clearly attempting to smile even though he seemed to try and suppress it.

Amelia's eyes narrowed.

"You said you were… 'normal-born'," she said. "Doesn't that imply that you are a muggle?"

"No," Tom replied and leaned casually back against the backrest of the chair he had claimed as his. "That just means that I was a… muggle."

He grimaced at the last word in distaste.

"I am, however, not anymore," he added.

That actually gained Amelia's attention.

"What do you mean, you're not a muggle anymore?" she asked, her gaze fixing on his face. "You can't lose a status like that!"

Tom just looked at her, a mocking smile on his face.

"You people really have forgotten the truth about us, haven't you?" he asked, his eyes suddenly sharp.

Amelia frowned, but before she could voice the question already showing on her face, he answered.

"Potter's Field," he said, confusing Amelia even more. "I am from Potter's Field."

"Which Potter's Field?" Amelia asked, not able to follow.

There were thousands of Potter's Fields all over Britain, so which did he come from… and why did he tell her that he came from one?

Tom actually lifted his shoulder in a half-shrug that time around.

"I was buried in Little Hangleton – and that's where I hailed from right now," he replied. "But does that really matter? Shouldn't it be enough for you to know that I hail from Potter's Field?"

Amelia stared at Tom in alarm.

"Buried?!" she repeated.

Tom frowned.

"I told you I belong to Potter's Field," he said slowly, while scrutinizing her. "To belong to Potter's Field implies that I had to be buried somewhere… or at least that I died somewhere somewhen."

He said it so calmly that Amelia wondered if he had any idea how much he had just turned her whole world upside-down.

"I…," her mouth snapped shut when there was a knock on the door.

She stared at Tom for another moment, then she stood up and opened the door.

On the other side, there were Kingsley Shacklebolt and a healer.

"We're here with the veritasserum for the interrogation," Shacklebolt said.

Amelia knew that she hadn't even asked for veritasserum, but it seemed as if Shacklebolt had decided to take it into his own hands and get it as well as a healer to ensure they could do a formal interrogation.

"Shacklebolt," she said slowly.

"Protocol is clear on that: being found with people who were killed, you have to be formally interrogated," Shacklebolt replied calmly, his eyes piercing.

It seemed, he was uneasy with the idea of Amelia being alone with the stranger and had decided to step in the only way he could without breaching Protocol.

Amelia turned to look at Tom who was looking at them thoughtfully.

"Veritasserum?" Tom asked her the moment her gaze met his. "Truth...serum?"

"Yes, truthserum," Amelia replied.

Tom's face turned thoughtful.

"As in: It ensures that people know you're saying the truth?" he clarified.

"As in: It will force you to tell the truth," Shacklebolt corrected Tom coolly.

Tom crooked his head thoughtfully.

"Any side effects?" he asked with interest in his eyes.

Shacklebolt frowned.

"Some people react allergic sometimes," he said. "But otherwise, no."

"It doesn't have harming properties on either squibs or muggles as well if that's what you're fearing," Amelia elaborated.

Shacklebolt looked at Tom in surprise.

"You don't have magic?" he asked.

Tom inclined his head.

"Not in the traditional way," he agreed unconcerned. "I'm normal-born, originally. That doesn't lend itself to active magic, very well."

Shacklebolt frowned.

"If you don't have magic, how and why are you here? And what did you have to do with the dead you brought with you?" he asked.

"We should keep those questions for the interrogation," Amelia reminded Kingsley before he could say anything else or Tom could answer. "Now is just the question if veritasserum might be a possibility or not."

Kingsley frowned.

"If he doesn't have magic, he shouldn't be here at all," he started to say, but before he could say anything else, Tom spoke up again.

"Veritasserum might be helpful to ensure that you believe what I have to say," he agreed with Amelia, clearly unbothered by the idea of taking it.

Something in Amelia relaxed at his more or less agreement to it.

People who had to hide something normally were far less willing to take truthserum than those who didn't.

Tom's eyes focused first on the healer, clearly picking him out as the expert among them when it came to the serum, before looking at Amelia and the Shacklebolt.

"The serum," he said slowly. "What will happen if it doesn't work?"

"You're taking it out of your own free will, at the moment," Amelia told him calmly.

"And it has never not worked," the healer added. "There can be differences how much it influences people, but until now, I have never found someone who was immune to it."

Tom thought that over, before he inclined his head.

"Then I officially agree to take the serum," he said. "I just want it to go on record that I can't guaranty that it'll work. For all that I'm… alive… I'm not really of this realm."

While Kingsley shot him a confused look at that, Amelia thought that over.

She hadn't forgotten his remark about him having been buried after all, and while she still didn't know what to make of his remark, she believed that he had told her the truth – as unbelievable it sounded.

In the end, she decided to keep his words in mind and see where it took them, in the end.

"It's alright," she said, calmly when she had decided how to answer. "If you're agreeable to trying we'll see how far we get."

Tom nodded and then leaned back on his chair, seemingly relaxed.

Amelia set up the recording spells – there were always more than one to be sure that everything was recorded properly – and then gestured to the healer.

"A healer needs to be present if the serum is used," she officially informed him – something that had to be recorded to assure that he had been informed. "Just in case you're allergic to it or get too stressed while it's used. Both has happened in the past and there have been deaths."

Tom shot her an amused look.

"I doubt I will die from it," he pointed out, and Amelia had to admit that if he hadn't been lying – which she believed – then he would definitely not have to fear that possibility.

Not if he had been buried and therefore had been dead before – even if she couldn't explain how it was possible for him to be here, not to mention alive.

"It's protocol," she said instead and he nodded.

"I understand."

"It's also protocol for the healer to take a medical reading first to have a baseline," Kingsley reminded her and Tom shot her an unhappy look.

"Does he have to?" he asked.

"Something to hide?" Kingsely shot back immediately, his eyes narrowed.

Tom just sighed and Amelia wondered if the spell used by the healer would show that Tom was dead.

What an odd thought that was…

"If it has to be, go ahead," Tom gave in before she could ponder that question.

The healer did the spell.

The results… were interesting at least.

Tom's heart rate was far slower than usual – far too slow to be healthy for a living being, with far less than half of the heart beats per minute of an average person.

His breathing was even less than his heart beats compared to an average person and Amelia wasn't too sure if he actually needed to breath of if he just did… but then, he said he was dead. Who knew what he needed at all?

His average health had him down as too light for his height by a good stone or four, showed that he was a bit dehydrated, had a barely existing blood sugar and a few breaks here and there that seemed to be healing at a rapid pace. Overall, the spell concluded, he was in good condition.

The healer frowned.

Tom looked amused.

"Not really human," he said as if to explain the differences away or why the spell still deemed him healthy enough. "I wouldn't be here if I had a standard human's condition right now."

The healer still frowned, but in the end nodded slowly.

"What kind of creature blood–?"

"No creature," Tom interrupted. "If you need to put down something, put it down as a magical condition thanks to my oaths. It's true enough."

"You are aware that we will ask that question again when you've taken the serum," Kingsley pointed out. "It falls into the standard questions thanks to the irregularity in the spell."

Tom shrugged.

"I didn't lie," he countered. "But that's alright as well. I would prefer if it wasn't something spread around, but I don't mind answering the question even under truth serum."

"The part of the interrogation that surrounds your circumstances is covered with an oath as long as you don't turn out to be a suspect," Amelia said. "That's standard procedure as well."

"Good," Tom agreed. "Now – veritasserum?"

Amelia dictated the use of veritasserum, stumbling over his name in the process.

"Tom Riddle," the other man supplied, before she could ask. "That's what I've been using for my whole life."

She nodded.

"Your whole name will be part of the process," she cautioned.

He just inclined his head.

The healer nodded towards Amelia, indicating that the spell applied to Tom to monitor his condition was functioning. That assured, Amelia administered the veritasserum and the interrogation started.

The moment, the veritasserum started to cloud Tom's eyes, his vitals dropped into nothing.

Alarmed, the healer reached immediately towards the antiserum.

The next moment, the vitals returned, even if the heart rate and the breathing rate were even slower than before, barely existent.

"Are you alright?" Amelia asked concerned.

"I'm not dying," was the dry reply.

That actually stopped Amelia and the others in their tracks. Normally, truth-serum removed all emotions from the voice of the interrogated.

"Is the serum working?" Kingsley asked with a frown.

Amelia shrugged; the healer frowned.

"It should," the healer said.

"Most likely," Tom said, sounding relaxed. "At least I feel the compulsion to tell the truth."

Amelia blinked, exchanged a look with the other two, before sighing.

"Do I have the go to continue?" she asked the healer.

The healer nodded slowly, hesitatingly.

"I'm… a bit unsure because of his vitals, but I think you can continue as long as my spell says he's in good condition."

Amelia nodded, took a deep breath and then continued with the normal questioning.

"What's your name?" Amelia asked, centering herself in the normal questioning.

"Major Thomas Sigebert Michael Edward Riddle, M.D., of the Royal Army Medical Corps."

Amelia frowned.

Royal Army Medical Corps… she didn't have a lot of contact with the muggle side, but she remembered hearing about them.

He must have been something akin to a healer, if she remembered it correctly.

"Please state your age and date of birth."

"I was born 31st October, 1905 in Little Hangleton," Tom replied and both, the healer and Kingsley did a double-take at that.

Then Tom hummed and added.

"I died at 37 years of age, on 28th August, 1943."

"That's… a bit more information that we normally get when we use veritasserum," Kingsley commented with a frown.

The answer came from Tom.

"It's not as if I'm forced to just answer questions right now," he said.

The other three exchanged a look.

"That's… definitely not the usual way for the serum to work," the healer commented.

"I'm not really human," Tom countered.

"A good argument," the healer agreed. "Creature blood often changes the effect of the serum. I remember that giant blood shortens the impact to about ten minutes instead of the usual twenty-five to thirty with regular wizards. Goblin heritage on the other hand gives the speaker more freedom under veritasserum."

It was Kingsley who asked the next question.

"What did you mean, you're not really human?" he asked Tom.

"I'm bound by an oath," Tom replied. "It makes me more than I was, but less human than normal humans."

"Is that also the reason why you told us you died?" Kingsley asked and Amelia frowned, not happy with Kingsley's decision to take over the interrogation.

"I told you I died because you asked about my age," Tom replied. "I don't have an age anymore – and it's not that I can actually lie right now."

"You… you don't look dead to me," the healer intercepted in that moment, stammering nervously. "Your vitals are odd, but you don't look dead to me."

Amelia frowned.

Normally, the healer had to stay out of the interrogation… on the other hand, nothing in this interrogation seemed to be like always…

Tom hummed.

"I'm not… anymore," he answered, not sounding all that bothered. "I stopped being dead the moment I swore myself to my Lord."

Kingsley opened his mouth, closed it and then frowned.

"You're here. If you'd really were dead, even an oath wouldn't keep you alive–"

"I'm in service of the Lord Potter," Tom Riddle countered. "My oath is my life. I wouldn't be bound without a death date."

He looked amused at that.

It was a bit disconcerting considering that he shouldn't even show emotions under veritasserum.

Amelia couldn't help but wonder for a moment how much the serum had control over Tom.

She planned to actually return to the normal questions – instead her mouth spoke without added input of her brain.

"Lord Potter?" She asked, feeling surprised and confused.

Of course, she knew about the Potter family, but while one or two of the Potters had taken up a position in the Wizengamot, they weren't considered Lords.

By Merlin and Morgana, they weren't even considered part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight – those families that consisted solely out of magicals for more generations than most could even count!

She had expected a lot, but not the Potter name falling in a setting like that.

"The Potterer," Tom clarified, as if it made it clearer what he meant.

She wanted to protest and tell him that his answer didn't make sense when finally something unearthed itself in her mind with those last two words.

The Potterer.

Those words actually ensured that a shudder ran down Amelia's back.

She knew she had heard that description before.

It felt as if the answer sat on the tip of her tongue, yet she couldn't reach it.

Then another thought entered her mind – something he had told her before.

Their realm versus the realm of Tom's Lord.

The Potterer.

Old wife's tales suddenly haunted her thoughts.

Her mind travelled back to when he had told them his death date.

"You said you died on 28th August, 1943," she forced out, her thoughts whirling full of stories her Grandpa had liked to tell her – stories that her Grandma had always reprimanded him for because he seemed to want to frighten Amelia with them…

"How…," she swallowed and then forced herself to sit straight and concentrate on Tom. "How did you die?"

"I was killed by my son," Tom replied calmly. "A son I knew nothing about."

His cool eyes met hers, far too alive for the serum he was under.

"As far as I could gather over the time since I died, he was named Tom Marvolo Riddle by my… wife," the last word was said with clear distaste in his voice.

Amelia was mesmerized how much his emotions were able to bleed through the serum he was under.

"You might have heard of him under his assumed name," Tom continued. "Lord Voldemort."

There was grim distaste in his face when he said that.

Amelia, the healer and Shacklebolt all shivered.

"You're You-Know-Who's father?" Shacklebolt asked, clearly disturbed.

"His sperm donor," Tom corrected him without emotion. "I didn't know about him and I didn't raise him. My only connection before tonight was the day, I was killed by him and the day he was… conceived."

"What connection did you have with him today?" Amelia asked him with a frown, her former thoughts derailed by Tom's latest statements.

As far as she knew, Lord Voldemort was dead, so Tom's statement should have been a lie – and yet, he was saying it under the influence of veritasserum…

Amelia looked at the handsome face of the man in front of her, her eyes searching.

"Pettigrew did a ritual," Tom answered calmly as if she should have expected dead wizards to do rituals left, right and center… "He used my bones for it – and his master tried to take my Lord's life after his return to the living."

"Pettigrew?" Shacklebolt asked. "Peter Pettigrew?!"

"The traitor," Tom confirmed. "The one who is still alive."

The healer and Shacklebolt both frowned.

Amelia stared at Tom, not sure what to think.

She hadn't looked at the Death Eaters closely before ordering Shacklebolt to take them away, and she doubted that Shacklebolt would have recognized Pettigrew, since back then, Shacklebolt hadn't been part of the aurors…

"Are you sure that you can't lie under the serum?" Shacklebolt asked Tom in that moment, clearly disbelieving the once mundane man.

Amelia could follow his thoughts.

Even if Shacklebolt had been too young for the Auror Corps, he had still heard about brave Peter Pettigrew's deeds that gained him an Order of Merlin, Third Class.

Tom just looked amused.

"I could stop my vitals," he said, not even trying to censor himself. "Like that I wouldn't be influenced by it further, but as long as my vitals are somewhat working, then yes, I'm under its influence."

Kingsley and the healer stared at Tom while Amelia sighed.

"I think that's one sentence we should cross out from the interview," she said dryly. "Just to be sure that actually nobody reads it – no matter if we need to release some of the interview to court or not."

Most people would be hard pressed to believe that Tom had a death date – telling them that he could stay alive without any vitals would be one truth too many…

"So, in other words what you said about Pettigrew and You-Know-Who was true right now?" the healer asked.

He looked pale, and Amelia felt sorry for him.

She didn't feel any better.

She had gone through the last war. She definitely didn't want to go through another one because the Boogey-Man from the last had returned – and from what Tom had said, that was what Voldemort had done.

"Yes, as far as I know," Tom answered. "But then, you have Pettigrew in custody. You can easily prove for yourself that he is a Death Eater and what he has done."

"What about Black?" Amelia countered. "Sirius Black was said to be the right-hand-man."

Tom made a gesture that could have been a one-sided shrug or the beginnings of a wave with his hand. He had been sitting basically without motion since he had taken the serum so Amelia was surprised that the gesture had come through as far as it had.

"I can't talk for Black," Tom said. "But I can tell you that Pettigrew is the reason the dead were disturbed."

Which told her that Black, at least, hadn't been there when Lord Voldemort had been resurrected.

For a moment, Amelia contemplated that.

Then she forced her thoughts away from the question.

She should return to protocol.

They had disturbed it enough… and yet…

"The ritual," she said slowly. "You said he used your bones…?"

She wasn't even sure how to ask what she wanted to know.

It was… a very, very disturbing thought to think.

After all, Tom was in front of them – alive.

It was disgusting enough to think that Voldemort had used the bones of his dead father… to see that father alive in front of them… it made Amelia shudder with revulsion.

"Yes," Tom answered. "My bones, Henry Potter's blood and Pettigrew's hand."

"Henry Potter?" Shacklebolt asked, picking up on the different first name faster than Amelia.

"Henry James Potter," Tom elaborated calmly. "Also known as Harry Potter."

Amelia pinched her nose.

"Where is Harry Potter right now?" She asked with a sigh. If the boy had seen the resurrection of Lord Voldemort, she had to talk to him and get his memories…

"At school," Tom replied. "He and Cedric Diggory returned there while I took it upon myself to come here and inform you."

Amelia nodded business-like.

"Good," she said. "We will need statements and memories from them to support what you told us. It would help if you were willing to give us your memories, as well, as further prove."

"Henry James Potter should be able to give you his memories," Tom Riddle countered calmly. "If you persuade him, you might even get them from Pettigrew… but I fear, looking into the memories of somebody who dwelt in death even just for a few minutes and was still in death while it happened… would not be good for your mental health."

Amelia Bones looked at Tom sharply at that.

He hadn't said anything, but it was more what he hadn't said that alerted her.

He had named Harry Potter and Peter Pettigrew when it came to witness memories… and refused his own reasoning that he 'dwelt in death' while it happened.

He had not said anything about Cedric Diggory, and yet, he also had never said 'my memories', and had instead used 'into the memories of somebody'.

It was no evidence, but it made her heart hurt anyway.

Cedric Diggory was just a boy… had been just a boy.

"Potter's memories, then," she finally concluded, feeling like something was stuck in her throat. "And if possible, a statement under veritasserum for the rest."

"While I can't agree for anybody else, it should be possible," Tom replied calmly. "The Potterer won't refuse, most likely."

And there it was again.

The Potterer.

But this time, the answer came to her and didn't just sit at the tip of her tongue.

The Potterer.

Every child in the magical world raised on the old tales knew that title.

Children were warned to behave on potter's fields in his name. It was the name of a legend, of a ghost story – and yet, suddenly, it was oh so real.

No, not suddenly.

Amelia had been warned before, long, long ago.

'Potter's Field isn't our jurisdiction,' her predecessor had once told her. 'If you ever have to enter for any reason in your capacity of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, ask for permission before entering and thank the dead after.'

Amelia had dismissed that advice back then.

It had been an old warning, after all, told by one Head of DMLE to the next – and in her eyes, it had never been more than an extension to the children's tales about the Potterer she had heard while growing up.

Childish warnings there to frighten people to ensure they were respectful, but nothing more…

'Potter's Field is not part of our jurisdiction. The dead govern their own,' was the last warning she had gotten from her predecessor.

And she had gone and ignored it.

That thought made her shudder.

"The dead took revenge," Tom had said.

The dead.

She looked at the man – a man unconcerned about everything they could do to him and a horrible thought entered her mind.

"You… you said the dead took revenge," she said, swallowing hard. "What if we dismissed what you said? What if we ignored your warning?"

Tom's lips spread into a sharp smile and his vitals stopped.

He leaned forward, unbothered by missing breath and heartbeat.

"The dead will fight," he said, his eyes capturing her own, making sure to show that he meant it even without the potion's influence that wouldn't have let him change his position. "With you or against you. Our Lord died for you once – he won't do it again."

Amelia shuddered.

"So, tell me," Tom continued. "Do you really want to ignore the truth today?"

No.

And that was a really terrifying thought.

… … …

Hear unchristened souls yearning for remission and relief

The shady side of life and the downside of belief

… … …

… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

So, I didn't actually plan to finish the second chapter of this story before finishing Basilisk-Born, but I guess I ended up writing it no matter my intentions? *sweatdrops*

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

'Till next time

Ebenbild