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Decades in the dark he had waited, sitting stagnant, stuck, impatient in exile and utterly forgotten to the passage of time. The Ring burned with neglect - how dare he be left like this? Out of sight and mind, stored like some common trinket beneath the rotting floorboards in a hovel of an even more rotten family. In the years of waiting, and waiting, and waiting, cursing his main soul piece vehemently, all the Ring could do was store the limited magic he still had and fall into long, meditating sleep. A few times he had attempted to draw the snakes that guarded the shack closer to him, reaching the tendrils of his magic out, out, out. But they could sense the darkness of him and kept well away, so his appetite for life, for living, went unsatisfied.He did not know how long passed between Voldemort storing him away and vowing to return, and the day that the door of the shack fell open with a resounding creak, alerting him to the presence of another at long last. What he did know however, when he stirred into alertness with what might be considered a yawn, had he possessed a mouth to do so, was that whoever had just entered the Gaunt shack was not Voldemort. No, he knew the taste of the main soul piece from which he came, knew the sour and tarnished smell of him. No, this was someone else, someone treading gingerly into the shadowed room with soft steps, the dim light of a wand guiding their path.Well. It would be a shame to waste such an opportunity, would it not?He calls upon his magic, excitement bubbling wildly through him as he lets it bleed out freely into every shadowed corner of the depleted shack, coaxing its prey forward like a siren singing softly.
Closer, closer. Find me, find me.
The snakes flee at the first shift of magic, their scales dragging harshly as they rush to escape him and his curse, but the stranger kneels down to bring their wand light closer. They inspect the floorboards, stopping when the beam of light catches on the glint of his metal, the shine of the black stone which is embedded in the centre. Then the noise of the wood splintering above him as his hiding place is revealed, and he prepares himself to strike even as his magic continues to tempt the person closer, closer with his echoey soft whispers.
Come closer. Pick me up and put me on.
They seem to hesitate, reaching down into the cool space under the floors before pulling back at the last minute, clearly rethinking. If he had teeth currently, he would be gritting them as he builds all of the energy he has, determined to catch his prey now that the taste of another's magic is so tantalisingly close.
Put. Me. On.
Another lingering moment and then -As soon as the metal of the Ring is settled in place against the skin of his poor, foolish prey, he attacks; violently digging his metaphorical claws in as the first curse takes action. The dark magic immediately sinks under the skin, riddling its way through blood and muscle as it spreads like wildfire through everything within reach, travelling further up the arm. The owner of said hand falls back with a cry of pain and the light blinks out as the wand is dropped to the side, throwing the room into darkness once more.It matters not. He does not need light to find the flickering magical core within the writhing body beneath him, needs no guidance in latching onto it and draining it with deep pulls, stealing their power and taking it for his own as a body begins to form.It was painful, to become physical again from nothing but a shard of soul and pure stubborn willpower. He slams into awareness all at once, wobbling on his new knees as he becomes aware of his heart beating madly like a drum, his lungs filling and deflating erratically. His bones, muscles and skin knit themselves together, piece by agonising piece, the sensation of being tingling and numbing all at once. The rush of blood is loud in his ears as he finally unfurls from his bent stance a few minutes later, wavering only briefly over the mostly drained body at his feet before standing to his full height, rolling his shoulders to shake the stiffness away and blinking his eyes open for the first time in so long.
Tom Riddle breathes deeply, triumphantly, inevitably.
Alive.
A shuffle and a poorly masked gasp of pain draws his attention downwards to the body on the floor and Tom very nearly stumbles off his newly formed feet when it registers just who had stumbled into his trap and become his unwilling prey. A laugh bubbles up before he can help it, incredulous and overjoyed at the sight.“Dumbledore.” Tom drawls out, satisfied to see that his pale blue eyes hold not even a single trace of that maddening twinkle now. Instead they stare up at him in pained dismay and shock, the bloodied wet breaths rattling in his throat as he gapes up at Tom, his body shuddering as the Ring continues to weave its web of devastation. Tom grins cruelly from his place looming over him.“I suppose I must thank you for freeing me from my confinement. What a shame that you will not live long enough to see the results of such.” He says sardonically before his eyes catch on something laying on the floor.Ah yes. That’ll do nicely.Dumbledore’s wand is long, engraved with strange markings and bumps which rub against his palm strangely when Tom picks it up, weighing it in his palm. Upon seeing what he’s doing Dumbledore becomes frantic, his arms shaking weakly as he attempts to sit up and crawl over, as if to take it back. His eyes are wide and bloodshot and his ghostly white skin has grown paler still.“Ah ah. I don’t think so.” Tom sings, stepping back and out of the way, a needless action when the old man quickly succumbs to hacking violently on the floor as he keels over again, the red splatters of blood he coughs up decorating the black deadened skin of his hand.He tuts at the pitiful sight but smiles all the same, twirling the wand the same way he used to with his own Yew wand. While there was an appeal in thieving the wand of Dumbledore practically from beneath his old, crooked nose, nothing would compare to his first wand, the one that chose him. All the same, it would work for what he needed to do now so he wields it in his palm properly, a flickering heat answering him back.“Now then, before you go.” With an unnecessary but well deserving kick, Tom sends Dumbledore splaying onto his back on the dusty floor, ignoring the yell the man lets out as he hovers over him, levelling the stolen wand in his face. “Let’s see what’s been happening while I’ve been away, shall we?”He takes great delight at the dawning realisation in Dumbledore’s eyes as Tom looks head on into them, calling the incantation loud and clear despite not needing to, just to make the impact of it hurt all the more.
“Legilimens!”
Slipping into Dumbledore’s mind is oh so simple due to his depleted magical core, to the rampage and ruin his cursed ring has dealt against his defenses. The old professor puts up an effort to fight him off, but his feeble shields fall easily when against Tom and his freshly invigorated power, his encompassing need to know what shape Voldemort has molded the wizarding world into in the years between then and now.But instead of the success he’d expected, Tom only finds madness and failure. What had Voldemort done? Where had the careful ambition gone, the plans he’d made with his Knights to overhaul the Ministry from the ground up, to slip into the gaps and climb until they reached the top, until Tom reached the top? All he could see was a magical society rife with fear and mayhem, so much blood and potential lost to the hands of a madman. For that was all this Voldemort could be; utterly and irredeemably mad.It was absurd, nonsensical - where had Voldemort gone so wrong? And how could Tom make sure that he didn’t end up the same way?He pulled out of Dumbledore’s mind and stumbled back, his own thoughts realing and recalibrating with what he’d learnt. Something itched under his skin, a restless urgency to get out into this future world and do something.
Tom wasted no more time in the shack, yanking his ring from Dumbledore’s prone body and leaving it behind without a backwards glance, no longer caring to draw out the defeat of his most hated teacher. He slips it in place on his own finger, the curse having lodged itself firmly into Dumbledore’s very bones and making it wearable again.Outside in the open air for the first time in fifty years, Tom takes a deep lung filling breath and soaks up the clinging warmth that lingers on summer nights. It’s a balm against his skin, which carries the cold of having been stuck in the ground as a ring for so long, something he can only hope will not be long lasting.The moment passes and Tom opens his eyes from where they’d unconsciously fallen shut, settling them immediately on a house in the distance. A familiar house, perched obnoxiously atop the hill overlooking the village of Little Hangleton, and one that in his own memories, he had not long left behind.Riddle Manor.It was as good a place as any and admittedly quite ironic, seeing as Tom had vowed to never step foot in its halls ever again once he’d left the bodies of his paternal family strewn across them. But that was then and this was now, and from what he’d gathered from Dumbledore’s memories, while Voldemort had once taken up lodging there, he likely wouldn’t return.Using the slant of moonlight overhead, Tom winds his way back through the silent country lanes in the direction of the Manor, his new wand clutched tightly in hand as a precaution. It’s far easier this time around to get into the building, to push through the roughage of overgrown weeds and plants towards the front door which swings open under his touch without the need for magical interference.It’s slightly jarring to see the decrepit ruin of the interior, when the memory Tom has still fresh in his mind is so strikingly different. Before the entry hall had been grand, with deep red rugs lining the floor and heavy, ornate furniture boasting shining vases and expensive decor. A butler had answered the door then, but the only greeting Tom receives here and now comes from the echo of his shoes walking across the cracked marble floor.Time had dealt its hand here and it was glaringly obvious that Voldemort had not dedicated time towards interior decorating during his stay. But as much as he’d despised the name, and still does, Tom is a Riddle and this is Riddle Manor. It’s his. And he’ll be damned twice over if he’s going to live in a place as run down and depressing as this as he figures out how to live in the future he now finds himself in.That was a job for another day, though. For tonight he makes his way through the ground floor of the house and settles on a small room with an unbroken window at the back, where the carpet has not yet been completely eaten through by the mice. Tom transfigures himself a decent enough bed for the night from some discarded pieces of wood left laying around, and a blanket from some torn curtains.He’d slept in worse places and the effort of gaining his physical body again was beginning to give him a headache, so he kicked his shoes off and curled down to rest, twirling the ring around on his finger methodically. He keeps his wand held loosely in his other hand and thinks sluggishly over his plans to find more answers, until the weight of sleep pulls his eyes shut for good.Answers which will likely begin with Voldemort’s end.
Harry Potter.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Harry makes his way down the stairs slowly, keeping to the outer sides where the wood doesn’t creak as badly out of pure, ingrained habit. He can hear the drone of his Aunt’s usual daytime tv coming from the lounge, but his hopeful assumptions that she would ignore him as he leaves were soon dashed as she calls out to him in her usual shrill voice.Or more accurately, she spits out the words, “Boy! Come here!” as if he’s nothing more than a disruptive dog, trained to head its owner's demands. Harry spares the front door a longing glance before he turns to trudge through to where she’s waiting for him, barely bothering to even take her eyes off the screen of the shiny, new and overly large television set that his Uncle had brought sometime while Harry was away at Hogwarts.There was something to be said for men and overcompensating, Harry thinks to himself while Aunt Petunia briefly slants her cold eyes at him, curling her lip up at his clothes as if they hadn’t previously belonged to her precious ‘Dudders’.“I’ve left some money on the kitchen counter. Go to the shop on the corner and get some more eggs and bread.” She orders, jerking her chin over to the kitchen.Harry holds back a sigh. “Yes Aunt Petunia.”He goes over to the counter to collect the change she’s left there, rolling his eyes when he sees it’s an exact amount, leaving nothing leftover for Harry to contemplate spending on something else. As if he even wanted to! He shoves the money into his pocket and it jostles noiselly together as he goes back towards the front door.“Back in a minute,” Harry calls out needlessly, receiving no reply besides the tinny sound of artificial laughter coming from the tv. He makes sure not to slam the door behind him as he shuts it, and not to cut across the grass of the front garden as he heads in the direction of the corner shop that sits nestled at the point where Privet Drive and Dingle Road meet. He’d have gotten a bloody earful of it when he went back if he had, even though Dudley and Uncle Vernon did it all the time.Harry scoffs but carries on anyway. Annoying as it is to be sent out like an errand boy, he can’t complain too much. It was perhaps the first time that the Dursley’s weren’t chomping at the bit to have Harry slaving away in their house all summer, as if they too could sense the wrongness that he had returned with, his depression hanging like a physical weight at his shoulders.So his relatives had, for the most part, left Harry to his misery and he had left them to theirs, which had suited him just fine to begin with. But without the usual tasks of working away in the garden or cleaning the house to occupy him, Harry’s thoughts would inevitably end up spiralling into darkness. He’d be laying down on his lumpy mattress in his little box room, daydreaming about Quidditch, and then he’d suddenly start remembering the blinding flash of spells cracking through the air in the Ministry, the dawning horror when he realised he’d led his friends into danger by falling for Voldemort's trap, how he’d practically hand delivered Sirius right to his own death……Exactly like that. Harry shudders and tries to shake off his dampening mood, seeing the shop come into view as he approaches the end of the road. Its dull, peeling paint and the overall rundown appearance of it is the sole reason Harry had been sent out to get the stuff, rather than his Aunt coming here herself. Oh no, this was far too common a shop for the likes of Petunia Dursley, who took pride in shopping exclusively in Waitrose.Or not so exclusive, Harry huffs amusedly as he pushes the door open, hearing the chime of the bell above his head. He spares a polite smile to the bored looking teenager sitting at the till, and she soon goes back to her magazine without any further acknowledgment, so Harry makes his way through the shop in the direction of the eggs, hardly paying attention to the sound of the bell chiming again as someone enters after him.Hmm, a pack of six or a pack of twelve? Aunt Petunia hadn’t specified…Harry compares the prices of the two to the change he’s got in his pocket, mouthing along as he counts it out again. He decides a pack of twelve should be fine, and picks them up, aware of the other shopper entering the aisle on the other side of the shelf he’s standing at, their shoes squeaking harshly against the linoleum flooring.He pays them no mind and goes over to the bread to look for the brand he knows his Uncle prefers. Once he’s found it, Harry checks the money again to make sure the total adds up properly, which is when he feels the unnerving sensation of being stared at prickling at the back of his neck. In his peripheral vision he can just see the blur of the other shopper as they stop and linger at the opposite end of the aisle Harry is in, the edge of a shoulder swaying in and out of view as if they’re shifting on their feet to keep looking at him.Harry looks down at his money again, trying to appear busy counting it out as he hears them messing about with the plastic packaging of whatever is in front of them, and while he’d like to reason it away as something else - a would be thief making sure the coast is clear or just a particularly strange muggle, there’s an sense of alarm beginning to ring in his head telling him that he needs to pay attention. He takes a quick breath, glad for the press of his wand against his hip where he’d tucked it away in his waistband. It’s not the most accessible right now, with the eggs and bread still clutched in his hands, but it’s better than not having it with him at all.As calmly and casually as he can manage, Harry walks through the shop, pretending to stop and look at something else in another aisle, all while straining to listen for the person as they move as well.Definitely following him then, albeit subtly.Harry’s heart begins to thud, racing in his chest as he tries to think of what to do. If this is a wizard, which it must be, then no matter what they want, Harry needs to get them out of the shop and out of the way of any muggles. He could go back to Privet Drive where the blood wards should keep him safe, or so Dumbledore had always claimed, but that wouldn’t stop the person from hanging around.So, Privet Drive was a no go, even though Aunt Petunia would likely box his ears for taking so long to come back. Even as much as he doesn’t get on with them, Harry can’t risk his relatives being hurt by someone aiming for him over something stupid, like eggs and bread. But where can he go? Yes, he has his wand on him, but he’s still underage and knows all too well the second he uses it, even in self defence, he’ll be slapped with another expulsion letter that he very much doubts even Dumbledore can get him out of a second time around.His dawdling must be glaringly obvious by now, so Harry finally goes up to the till and sets the stuff down for the girl to scan. He tries to figure out if her sluggish movements and blank face are from her just being a bored teenager stuck behind a till in the summer, or something more nefarious, like an Imperius.
“That’s £3.75.” She mutters and Harry hands the money over, asking for a bag too. With that done, he leaves the shop with the chime of the bell ringing behind him as he darts his eyes about the street, wondering where to go.He knows the roads and back alleys of this area well, having spent much of his childhood being chased through them by Dudley and his gang playing ‘Harry Hunt’, so his only real option is to try and shake his stalker by taking the extremely long, scenic route back to the house. If he’s quick enough to lose them, Harry could potentially jump the fence into the back garden as an extra precaution, though he winces to think of how Aunt Petunia will screech at him for doing so.Harry squares his shoulders and grips the shopping bag tight, going in the opposite direction he’d come from, towards Briar Road. The road will eventually loop around to Magnolia Road and Magnolia Crescent, which is where he had first seen Sirius in his animagus form, and just beyond that was Privet Drive. As he comes up alongside the fence of the first house on the street, Harry just catches the echoing sound of the shop’s door bell chiming again and his pulse quickens.The chase is on.Hermione would really have his head for how a trickle of excitement swims through him at the thought, how a slightly deranged grin graces his lips even as he picks up the pace. He doesn't go looking for trouble, that’s something he’d always stood by, by when trouble came to him? Well, who was Harry not to respond to it? The streets aren’t too busy, which is somewhat of a blessing and a curse. Harry’s glad there’s no one who could potentially be caught up in whatever is currently happening, but at the same time it would’ve been easier to slip away if the streets had been filled with the neighbourhood kids all out playing.As he goes round the first bend of the street he tosses a look over his shoulder to see if he can see his stalker. There’s nothing out of place, but Harry isn’t about to take that as a positive when there’s such a thing as Notice-Me-Not Charms and Silencing Spells. The only noise in the street is the wind as it rustles its way through the trees, and the loud plastic of his shopping bag where it scuffs up against the denim of his jeans as he walks, coming up to the end of Briar Road and the beginning of Magnolia.A car drives past and the noise of it as it rumbles past makes him jump a little, reaching to clutch the wood of his wand over his clothes. He stares after it as it drives off, feeling a little ridiculous at being so high strung. When he looks around again, there’s still nothing out of the ordinary and an inkling of doubt begins to grow.Was he just being paranoid? Had Harry finally gone mad, like the Prophet had claimed he had all of last year? He sighs and carries on walking, still looking around him diligently but letting some of the tension in his spine bleed away.Perhaps it was nothing after all. Harry hadn’t been sleeping very well since the Ministry, since well - ever, really. Everytime he closed his eyes he saw the look in Sirius’ own when Bellatrix’s spell had hit him, that resigned, sad look. The echo of his last words rang in his ears, made somehow worse for the fact that Sirius called him James. It left a sour note in his mouth, to think of only being seen as an extension of his dead father, and when his thoughts went in that direction Harry usually called the night a bust, instead reading one of his old school books to keep him awake.He slips into the alley that connects Magnolia Road and Magnolia Crescent with his mind drifting miles away, lost in his returning melancholy, which is why it takes a second for him to register the sound of a very familiar crack. The crack of Apperition. Harry stops dead as the wizard lands a few feet in front of him, hands slung casually in his trouser pockets.“Hello, Harry Potter.”Harry could almost choke, his mind blanking as it attempts to process just who it is that’s appeared in front of him. Truly, he must have fully gone round the bend, otherwise just how on earth could Tom Riddle be standing in front of him, grinning wide and smug at Harry from the other end of the alley.“Well?” The hallucination-apperition-figement-of-Harry’s-nightmares prods, tilting his head to the side. “What are you going to do now?”What is he going to do?Harry spins on the sole of his trainers and bolts. There might have been a sigh of disappointment behind him, but he doesn’t stick around to hear it, instead putting all of his energy into running as fast and as far as he can.
What the fuck? What the fuck!
What is going on? When he thought someone had been following him, he had not been in the running of possible culprits! A death eater, maybe, or a member of the Order told to follow him, not Tom Bloody Riddle! It couldn’t actually be Tom Riddle though, could it, as Harry had killed the ghostly form of him that had come from that Diary, stabbed it clean through with a Basilisk Fang and taken Riddle right along with it, so who? Was it Voldemort himself, in disguise as his younger teenage version so as to get around easier? If that was the case, why had he just stood there? Followed Harry into a corner shop and watched him as he picked out bread and eggs. Eggs that are no doubt all going to be smashed by the time he gets back to number 4, if he does at all!Without conscious thought, Harry runs in the direction of the overpass where the Dementors had attacked him and Dudley last year. It wasn’t exactly ideal as it was further away from the safety of the wards, of the general public, but his mind was occupied on other things, mainly to GO GO GO.
He has to stop eventually to catch his breath, his lungs and legs burning with excersion. When Harry looks around, he realises he’s ended up nearly on the outskirts of Little Whinging, where the housing gave way to fields of sad looking grass and trees. It was also completely sparse of people, which was good for them but not so much for Harry who was now on his own as another Crack rings out, only a wand he can’t use and a bag of groceries as his weapon.Well. He could always start throwing the eggs, if it came down to it. Now that would be a sight.Tom Riddle appears looking completely unphased, his white shirt tucked into smart, black trousers, a pair of lace up loafers on his feet. He watches Harry in return, taking in his baggy jeans and tshirt with the slight uptick of a perfect brow.“No need for alarm, Harry. I’m not here to hurt you. My name is-”“Tom Riddle.” Harry cuts him off, seeing the way that jawline clenches with irritation. “I know who you are, and what you do. Don’t come here and try to spout nonsense about ‘not hurting me’, when it’s all you ever do.” He slips his wand out from his jeans, to hell with the trace. If Voldemort is here to try and trick him away again, Harry will not be going quietly.He wields his Holly wand in front of him and glares at Voldemort or Tom Riddle, whatever he wants to call himself. Instead of looking angered at being yelled at though, the man tuts his tongue and holds his empty palms up affably.“If you’d just listen to what I have to say, there would be no need for all of this posturing. You can put your wand away, I know you can’t use it yet anyway.”Harry scowls, not lowering his wand for a second. “Try. Me.”Tom-Voldemort shrugs in defeat. “Fine, whatever helps you feel better. As I was saying, my name is Tom Riddle but,” He takes a step closer to Harry, who takes a matching one backwards. “I am not Voldemort.”There’s a pause as if he’s expecting the statement to hit Harry hard, to make him lower his wand and open his arms in friendship. Harry scoffs loudly instead, a derisive laugh falling from his lips which has the other man at last losing the handsome-charming-harmless facade that he’s wearing, a deeply annoyed look gracing his handsome face instead.“Yeah, and I’m the tooth fairy,” Harry says sarcastically, not believing it for a second. “You expect me to believe that? This isn’t the first time your teenage self has popped into existence, and I’ll take you out the same way I took him out.”Okay, so Harry knew he couldn’t exactly take him out right here and now, seeing as he didn’t have a spare Basilisk fang on hand. Tom-Voldemort seems to know that too.“Oh? Did you slip a jar of Basilisk venom in your shopping bag, along with those horrifically expensive eggs and bread?”“Maybe I did. And anyway - that’s a good price for twelve eggs, I’ll have you know.”Tom-Voldemort did not look impressed.“I’m not here to talk about fifty years of inflation with you, Harry Potter. I’m here because I need your help.”Now that, more than anything else the infuriating prat had said, did make Harry stop for a moment, his wand arm wavering.“Help? With what? Murdering innocents?”“No.” The other wizard grits, clearly fed up with Harry’s cheek. “Listen. That Diary that you so brazenly destroyed - I come from something that used the same kind of magic. I’ve been stuck in a Ring for fifty years and now I’m here in this maddening, confusing future and you’re the only one who can help me.”In one of the nearby trees a crow makes a high, sharp noise and flies off. Harry frowns thoughtfully at what Tom-Voldemort had just said, puzzling it over. Not exactly implausible, as he had seen it firsthand before. But wait, hang on…“And just who did you drain to come alive, I wonder? Yeah, I know how that works,” Harry adds bitingly when those muddy brown, red tinged eyes shift a little, caught out. “I stopped you last time, but you were well on your way to draining the life out of an innocent little girl to come to life again. So, I’ll ask again. Who. did you. Kill?”Tom-Voldemort’s fists clench at his sides, a furious scowl on his lips.“Someone who did not know this infuriating side of you, obviously. Where is the golden boy who’s so eager to help, hmm? Where is the so-called Chosen One when someone needs him?”Without really meaning to, Harry rushes forwards a few steps, coming up close to physically jab the end of his wand into the others wizards ribs, causing him to wince and clutch at himself with a short yell. “He doesn’t help a future dark lord when they're avoiding his question! Who have you killed! Answer me!”Before he can get an answer however, there’s another crack from behind Harry, who spins around with his wand raised in defence, unfortunately leaving his back wide open to Tom-Voldemort behind him.He can’t dwell on that though as he realises just who has popped up in the deserted path.“Snape?!” He and Tom-Voldemort yell incredulously at the same time. When Harry turns to keep both wizards in his eyeline, he sees the wand clutched in Tom-Voldemort's hand and his heart drops out of his chest.“That’s -” His words are cut off as suddenly there’s a flash of bright, blinding red and then Tom-Voldemort is on the floor, knocked out by Snape’s powerful Stupify. The wand, pale and long and oh so familiar, rolls out of his grasp to land at Harry’s feet. He crouches down to pick it up with hesitant fingers, half aware of the black robed potions master billowing towards him.“Dumbledore’s wand. It’s Dumbledore’s.” Harry mutters, eyes stinging sharply. He looks up, for once uncaring of the murderous look on his Professor's face as he stops to tower over him, glowering. “Dumbledore, is he-?”Harry can’t even say it. Snape seems to understand anyway.“He’s alive. Just.You’re coming with me.”Snape waves his wand over the prone form on the ground and it rises up. He grabs onto the sleeve and then holds his other arm impatiently out to Harry, who holds on with shaking fingers. The three of them crack away, leaving Little Whinging behind.The discarded bag of eggs and bread, dropped and forgotten sometime during the heated discussion, spills out messily onto the floor.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Harry’s knees wobble and threaten to give out from under him as he lands on solid ground again, and he has to bend over to heave a little, nausea rising uncomfortably in his throat. Snape doesn’t wait for him, doesn’t even spare him a look as he storms away through the gates of Hogwarts where they’d landed, his pace unforgiving. Harry has to jog to catch up, feeling weak and wrung out, Dumbledore’s wand still held tightly in his hand.The sky over Hogwarts is blessedly blue, unlike the insistent grey that had covered Surrey for days on end, but while usually seeing the castle would make Harry’s chest spark with warmth and happiness, his nerves are far too frayed currently to muster up even a glimmer of joy to be back so soon.They hastily make their way through the deserted halls to the Headmasters office, the Phoenix that guards the door not even waiting for a password before spinning out of the way, allowing the three of them to squash into its narrow stairway and go up. The office itself is empty, clean of all the mess that Harry had made in his grieving rampage after Sirius, and they pass through it into a doorway that he’d never noticed before on his visits to the office. It leads to another set of stairs curving away around a bend ending at another door, which Snape raps his knuckles on twice before entering.As they go through, Harry realises the room they’re now in must be Dumbledore’s private living quarters, as a lumpy yellow sofa and matching armchair is the first thing to greet them. A bright purple throw is settled over the back of it and on the table in front, a precarious pile of what appear to be knitting magazines.“I’ve got him.” Snape’s voice tears Harry’s attention away from the eclectic decor, and slowly he turns around to the other side of the room where a curtain, blue and bedazzled with twinkling yellow stars, is pulled across an archway that divides the space.From behind it a frail voice is just about audible. “Good. I am glad to hear it.”Snape discards Tom-Voldemort none too gently onto a wooden chair, a set of ropes leaping from his wand to confine him tightly in place. Then he goes over to the curtain and pulls it back a little.“He was not alone.”A loaded silence.“I see. Harry?”Snape moves out of the way, spearing Harry with his pitchy gaze as he nods him forwards, over to the curtain.Harry breathes unsteadily as he approaches, nervous and afraid like never before as he gently splits the curtain down the middle with his hand, then ducks his head through the gap. Inside is a shaded nook, containing a large bed which is laden with multiple soft, bright coloured throws and pillows, and it reminds him immediately of a blanket fort - something he had never been allowed to join in on when Dudley had made them in the past. It’s cosy, secreted away and secluded, like a little blanketed nest, and if it were any other time, Harry would've marvelled at the sight of it and asked for tips on creating his own.As it is, his attention is soon drawn to Dumbledore who is tucked up within the folds on his blankets, looking deathly pale and severely unwell. He’s got an old fashioned nightcap settled on his head and a knitted, pink shawl drawn over his shoulders. Yet even so, he looks up at Harry and manages a small smile, his eyes bright and kind behind the trademark half moon glasses he wears.“Harry, my boy. I’m so happy to see you, despite the circumstances. Please, sit with me.” He reaches out to pat the edge of the bed and - Harry can’t hold back the gasp that escapes him; Dumbledore’s hand is completely withered, a black husk of skin and bone that’s shrivelled almost beyond recognition, as if badly burnt. It looks horribly painful but Dumbledore just smiles serenely, pulling his hand back and tucking it away under his blanket. Harry sinks down onto the mattress, the softness of it immediately making him dip further down into it, coming to lean against Dumbledore’s covered legs.“What…What happened, Professor? Your hand-”“A long story, Harry, one made up of many parts, I’m afraid.”“It was him, wasn’t it? Out there,” Harry gestures towards the living room where Snape is standing vigil over the unconscious Tom-Voldemort, not looking away for an instant. “He found me in Little Whinging, and he had this.” He holds out his hand, showing Dumbledore his own wand. The old man looks down at it and some of the tightness around his eyes seems to smooth out. He doesn’t reach for it though, so Harry goes back to holding it, liking the feel of the bumps under his thumb.“Did you disarm him, Harry?”Harry shakes his head. “I didn't want to get expelled again,” He explains lamely, “Snape knocked him out with a stunner, and it dropped on the floor. I recognised it as yours straight away.”“Professor Snape, Harry.” Dumbledore says predictably, kindly.“Sorry, sir.”“What did he speak to you about?”So Harry recaps the events of the day, starting from realising he was being watched in the shop right up to when Snape had swooped in. Dumbledore listens attentively, furrowing his brows at some points.“He asked for your help? You’re certain?” Dumbledore questions, seemingly stuck on that point. Harry nods and the Headmaster turns his eyes upwards in thought, apparently mulling it over.“He may yet be reasoned with, if he is asking for help...”“Professor,” Harry cuts across him as Dumbledore begins to mumble to himself, “Sorry, but sir, is he actually another version of Voldemort, then? From the same thing as that Diary I destroyed years ago?”A deep sigh, one that has Dumbledore coughing a wet, rattling cough, and then Snape swans over to intervene when it doesn’t stop for a few agonising minutes. Harry is completely lost, heartbroken to see the Headmaster this way. Dumbledore takes the potion that Snape hands him with difficulty, finally settling down with tears streaming down his wrinkled face.When he speaks next his voice scratches and rasps in his throat. “I must apologise, Harry. It was not my intention to let you see me so unwell and unlike myself, but this is of the utmost importance and I fear it can no longer wait.”He brings his hand out of the blanket once more and twists it a little, showcasing the entirety of the utter devastation that’s been dealt to it. Harry can hardly bear to look at it.“You see it was a failing on my part, to not prepare myself better in defense of the dangers I knew would lie ahead. And in my unpreparedness, I was cursed, quite completely. But, if you can believe it, my boy, this is actually the least important part of what I’m about to tell you.” With that said, he hides his arm away again. Harry can’t help but gape a little incredulously at the statement, which makes Dumbledore smile ruefully.“What it all comes down to, is Voldemort’s obsession with mortality, his need to triumph over death itself and the steps he took to achieve that. You and I both know that he did not truly die the night he attempted to kill you, Harry, but the question I pondered over for so long was, how then did he survive? Well, three years ago when you delivered the remains of Tom Riddle's Diary to me, and told me of the events in the Chamber of Secrets, you also delivered the answer to that question, or at least the beginnings of it.”Harry tries his best to follow along as Dumbledore explains further.“The Tom Riddle you met today is indeed just like the Diary, in that they’re pieces of Voldemort left behind, tucked safely away and preserved as a fail safe, a back up plan for if something were to go wrong. Something that did go wrong, when he entered Godric's Hollow all those years ago.”“Pieces of him, sir? Like his magic, you mean?” Harry asks, thoroughly confused. Dumbledore shakes his head.“Not his magic, at least not entirely. No, something far more sustainable and long lasting. His soul. Soul magic, specifically one of the darkest and most incomprehensible rituals I’ve ever come across in my research. That is what I believe Voldemort created in the years following his graduation from Hogwarts, and before. The Diary as you know took the form of a Tom Riddle still in school, and I suspect the one tied up in my living room is not much older than that.”“So, you mean there are others? More versions of Tom Riddle who can come to life?” His head is near spinning. One Voldemort was bad enough, now there could be multiple at a time?!“They can only gain a life form when they take it from someone else, Harry.” Dumbledore reminds him. He sinks into his pillows a little more and Harry remembers just what he’d been demanding of Riddle before Snape had shown up, the reality of what it meant that he had Dumbledore’s wand in the first place.“But you’re still alive.” He says weakly, childish in his hope that the man will nod and say ‘all is well’. Instead he tilts his head at Harry, taking in the details of his face carefully as if committing them to memory.“I will not see the end of the summer, my boy.” Dumbledore says then, so gently, trying to soften the blow as if he is not the one in more pain.The impact of it is like nothing Harry had ever felt before. His lungs suddenly feel two sizes too small, struggling to draw in breath as his heart cracks and breaks. His mind is numb, completely blank while a high pitched ringing starts echoing in his ears, like he’s suddenly stuck under water. Harry knew death, knew it as the shadow that had been at his side his entire life, his only constant companion. But this? This death, not the instant seering green light of the Killing Curse and blank, white eyes, but something somehow both drawn out and far too quick. All Harry will be able to do is watch as Dumbledore dies, falling like sand in an hourglass, slow at first and then all at once draining away, impossible to stop.“Voldemort’s curse would have killed me outright, had Fawkes not answered my call for help, and had Professor Snape not been nearby to put a pause on my death. But that was all it was, Harry, a pause.”He cannot stop the sudden sob that rips its way out of his throat then, can’t help the way his shoulders jump under his cries as he bends forward to bury his face into the mattress. Dumbledore’s none withered hand comes up to smooth over his hair in comfort and it makes Harry cry all the more, so unused to such a soft touch and so resigned to the fact that it’s coming from someone else that he’ll lose.“You can’t die, you can’t! I need you, we all need you!” Harry begs and pleads, half muffled into the fabric under his face.Dumbledore doesn’t answer, only carries on soothing Harry as he cries himself into near exhaustion, his head throbbing and pulsing painfully. When he sits up to clean his face off, Dumbledore looks at him sadly.“I have led a long life, my dear boy. And before I go, I must do everything in my power to ensure that you do too. Let’s have a break, you’ve had quite enough shocking revelations for now. But later I must begin what I had hoped to teach you during your next school year, and for the moment we should address what we’re to do with our guest.”They look as one through the curtains over to the slumped form of Tom-Voldemort, or just Tom, Harry supposes. Snape is sitting on the yellow armchair reading a knitting magazine, which would have been an amusing sight, if it were not for the new information clouding his thoughts, weighing his very soul down to the ground.“Ah Severus,” Dumbledore calls out and the man looks up, closing the magazine with a swish. “How about some refreshments? I think myself and Mr Potter could do with a pick me up. And, while I think about it, some Veritaserum for our friend should do nicely, hmm?”————Snape shockingly brings back ice cream sundaes, two huge glass dishes heaped up far too high, not that Harry is complaining. He’d only ever had ice cream a few times, the summer he’d spent roaming around Diagon Alley and frequenting Florean Fortescues. His sundae is chocolate and Dumbledore’s is strawberry; they both eat half each before swapping over.Harry takes a quick trip to Dumbledore's loo, which is decked out floor to ceiling with lemon themed items, and when he returns Snape has helped Dumbledore over to the armchair, a blanket tucked securely over his lap. It sits turned facing towards where Riddle is still in the wooden chair and Snape stands poised and ready with the Truth potion.“Take a seat, Harry. Over there, on the settee.” Harry does as he’s bid, sitting sideways against the back cushion to watch.Snape administers the potion and then withdraws, shooting a look towards Dumbledore before he casts the incantation to revive Riddle, the ropes binding him in place not budging an inch as the wizard slowly becomes alert again. He doesn’t bother to thrash about as Harry thought he would, instead only blinking a few times as he takes in his surroundings. When his eyes settle on Dumbledore his lips turn up into a snarl, that normally handsome face twisted and warped with cruelty.
“You!”
“Indeed. I have a few questions for you, Mr Riddle, if you wouldn’t mind answering them?”“Yes I do mind! Piss off and die already.”Harry buries his teeth into his bottom lip to stop himself from raging at the other boy, taking great effort not to rise with the building anger that longs to bubble over. Dumbledore seems unphased, and Snape keeps his face as blank as ever, even as he shifts minutely on his feet.“What is your full name?”“Tom Marvolo Riddle.”“And your Birthday?”“31st of December, 1926.” Riddle grits out, rolling his jaw mulishly. “Satisfied now? Clearly your Veritaserum is working as it should.”“I’m sure you can understand the necessity of making sure you are who you claim to be. Before the events of last night, what is the last thing you remember?”Riddle fights the potion as much as he can, pressing his lights so tightly together that they turn white, but in the end the compulsion of Snape’s brew is too strong and the words come spilling out all in a rush, blurring together.“Cold. Dark. Isolation.”“And before that?”“Leaving my newfound family members dead in their own house, the deranged look on my Uncle’s face before I framed him for their murders. Pain.”Dumbledore purses his lips at hat but nods as if it was what he expected. Then, he asks, “How many Horcruxes did you plan to make?” which is when Riddle begins to thrash about madly in his chair, writhing like a caged animal as a wild, deranged look flashes in his eyes. He bares his teeth at the three of them, trying in vain to not answer and the ropes begin to leave red markings on his skin where they tighten to keep him in place.“Sss..se - SEVEN!” Riddle eventually spits, then begins to laugh excessively. Harry sits hidden half behind the yellow cushions of the sofa as if his behaviour is somehow contagious, so he doesn’t immediately clock on to the shift until Dumbledore looks his way.“Could you please repeat what Mr. Riddle just said, Harry?” He requests, jovial and somewhat smug.Harry blinks. “Uhh, seven?”Riddle’s laughter abruptly cuts out.His face has fallen deathly flat and the full weight of his attention is now directed solely onto Harry, studying him with those searing eyes as if seeing him for the first time. Harry is confused by it, not knowing what’s making the other wizard act so bizarrely until Dumbledore elaborates.“Thank you Harry. I gather then, Tom, that when you rifled through my memories last night you did not stumble across that piece of information? You can not hide behind Parseltongue here.”Understanding dawns to Harry then just as the information seems to finally settle with Riddle as well. He does not avert his gaze from Harry even as his eyes twitch with annoyance, and the potion compels him to answer Dumbledore’s somewhat redundant question.“No I did not. It seems there is much about you, Harry Potter, that I still have yet to uncover.”
The words are spoken for Harry only, Riddle slipping so naturally into the sibilant tongue of serpents that if it were not for Dumbledore and Snape looking questioningly between them, Harry would have never noticed the shift. Parseltongue had never come as easily to him, but he finds it takes almost no effort now as he replies.
“Good luck with that.”
Riddle’s lips turn up into a sharp smile, dangerous and handsome all at once. Harry’s heart betrays him as it stutters and skips, and he sinks down further behind the protection of the yellow sofa, hiding his lower face away as the inferno of Riddle’s attention becomes too much to bear. Snape clears his throat loudly and the tension breaks at last as Riddle looks away from him, shooting the potions professor a disdainful scowl.“What was your impression of Voldemort from the memories you saw?” Dumbledore pipes up again, drawing the conversation back to where it should be.Riddled fingers clench. “Insanity. An uncontrollable, unorganised, egotistical, foolish embarrassment!” He’s shouting by this point. “All of my cultivating and work, gone! Pushed to the side! He clearly lost his mind somewhere along the way - I would never have fallen for a half heard Prophecy, would never have been so utterly insecure to think a mere baby could defeat me!”“Not exactly fond of your future self?”“He is not my future. Not anymore.”“So what is?”And that’s the question, Harry thinks. If this Riddle hates Voldemort so much, hates the path he ended up taking, then what does he want? What is going to do now that he’s got a body again? Harry waits in anticipation as Riddle falters, not resisting but more so like he can’t answer to the pull of potion because he doesn’t know it yet to give.“I want to live.” He says in the end, a fragile crack giving his emotions away. “I don’t want to go back to that hole in the ground.”Harry’s eyes connect and catch onto Riddle’s as he looks once more to him, unwavering as he adds.“I want to destroy Voldemort and everything he’s built.”In his throat, Harry’s breath catches and sticks. Something in that fiery statement, that assured declaration that Riddle wants the same thing that he wants - to see the end of Voldemort and his war. Some small spark of something very close to hope begins to grow in him. After all, who better to bring about Voldemort's end than himself?
Dumbledore seems to agree. His back finally unstiffens and he slumps back into his chair, relaxing and deflating.“That settles it. Severus, the antidote if you please.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Tom rubs at the raw skin of his wrists as the ropes drop and disappear with a puff of smoke, standing and pointedly rolling his neck and shoulders to ease the tension lingering there. His limbs feel stiff with numbness, no doubt from being knocked out and then tied up without care, and he tries to squash the shame that wants to rise at being so easily caught out. He shoots another venomous look at the caster of said spell, the hook nosed, sallow faced Potions Master and Spy, Severus Snape.Turn-Coating coward more like, Tom thinks spitefully, turning his back on the man to stretch his legs walking around the room he woke up in. Not exactly how he’d expected the day to go when he’d woken up that morning to the first full day of his born again life dawning grey and dreary. Not one to be perturbed by dismal weather though, he’d gone down to the village once again whilst being hidden under an invisibility charm to sneak into a small grocery shop there, taking what he could before returning to the Manor.The food was strange, and not just because it had been so long since Tom had eaten anything at all, the physical movement of his jaw aching as he chewed. For one, everything was wrapped up in hideously bright plastic packaging, seeming to compete against each other for being the most eye-catching and obnoxious. The price had nearly taken his head off, and it was a good thing he’d silenced himself as well otherwise his scandalised gasp would have immediately given him away. It was madness! The gaping expanse of time that had passed while he’d been stuck in the Ring had sunk in just a little more with each bite of the shiny red apple he’d pilfered, and the idea of trying to catch up on everything he’d missed seemed impossibly daunting, especially when he needed to overthrow the maniacal dark wizard version of himself at the same time.But he’d had somewhere to start at least, a focus point in the sea of uncertainties ahead of him.From the other memories Tom had helped himself to in Dumbledore’s mind, besides his own crushing future, one particular bespeckled, wild haired and green eyed boy popped up frequently. So he’d pulled on that connection, overwhelmingly soaked in love and grief as it was, and it had led him to Harry Potter. Voldemort’s bane. He wore an array of titles; laudatory ones such as Boy Who Lived, Chosen One, Golden Boy, and then some not so flattering, like Plotter Potter and Boy Who Lied.But mostly what had captured and held Tom’s attention was seeing through Dumbledore’s eyes the aftermath of everytime Harry defeated Voldemort. As a tiny eleven year old, lying in a hospital bed after killing his teacher possessed by Voldemort’s spirit, only a few scratches and scraps to show for it. Again, only another year older, delivering Tom’s childhood Diary and Horcrux undeniably destroyed, along with the tale of slaying his beloved Basilisk with the bloody great sword of Gryffindor.As if that was not enough, then came Dumbledore’s memory of resignedly reading Harry’s name as it is spit out from the ancient Goblet of Fire, watching with pride as the boy, more into his teen years, persevered and triumphed through each task of the Tournament - only to see him return from the third task not as a Champion, but as a traumatised, harrowed shell of a child recounting the tale of Voldemort’s resurrection.Tom had devoured each memory as they had flashed by, his obsession growing with every time Harry’s jaw set stubbornly as he faced down death and doom, everytime he achieved the impossible and survived.
Naturally it had been the logical step to take as his first action in this new age, to seek out the solution to his problem by turning up outside of Harry’s home address, a key bit of information plucked from Dumbledore’s memory of dropping a recently orphaned Harry off on the doorstep, and wait for the boy to emerge.That first in person look hadn’t told him much, besides that the so-called ‘equal’ to Voldemort dressed like a street urchin and was woefully un-observant to when he was being followed. Or so he had thought. He had soon been corrected when Harry had clued in to Tom mirroring him in the shop, leaving soon after to speed walk away, drawing him out on a merry goose chase to the deserted edges of the town where he was free to wield his wand and barbed tongue.Somehow he hadn’t expected for the boy to be quite so aggressive or confrontational, barking and feral like a dog and yet clever and quick as a fox with catching onto the hidden meaning in Tom’s words. The blazing fury in those green eyes when Harry had stepped forward, stabbing the end of his wand between his ribs and demanding Tom to answer him, was nothing short of breathtaking. As burning and unforgivable as Fiendfyre, smouldering through Tom right to his very core.And now he knew of something else that made the story of Harry all the more compelling and complex, his impossible ability to speak Parseltongue, the language of Tom’s lineage, Tom’s ancestors. How could it be? How dare it be, and yet… He had never known another with the ability, had never conversed in his mother tongue with anything besides actual snakes before.His head feels overloaded with information.For now he looks around in growing dismay, categorising the furniture and decor as being in line with Dumbledore’s signature eye searing taste.And where was he even going to begin with thinking about Dumbledore?
He looks over at the old man sitting in his putrid coloured armchair, Harry and Snape standing nearby as they talk together in low voices. How foolish he’d been, to assume him as good as dead and leave without making sure. As foolish and short sighted as he’d ridiculed Voldemort for being, and look what it had gotten him. With a not-dead Dumbledore.Although, his curse had seemingly sped his timeline up at least. Tom can see even from the other side of the room the damage that had ravaged through the man’s body, how worn down it had left him. Truly, it was a miracle he’d lived long enough and had enough magical energy left to call for help, or whatever it was he’d done to leave the Gaunt shack.
Damned cockroach.
Tom goes over to the window and stops short, his sulking thoughts clearing instantly as his heart sings, enraptured. The view of Hogwarts’ grounds had not changed in fifty years, a steady and reliable constant that had the last bit of tension ebbing away as he looked out at the picturesque landscape, its rolling hills and clear summer skies.In some ways it had barely been a few months since he’d last seen this view and yet Tom also deeply felt those long fifty years that had separated them. He always missed Hogwarts when he was away and each return back to Wools became all the more agonising when he knew of her warmth, her welcome. Hogwarts had always been his home and Tom knew it always would, that no amount of time would change that.He almost doesn’t realise he is no longer alone at the window until there’s a hesitant cough at his side. When he turns to look, he has to adjust his gaze downwards a little where Harry stands, shifting awkwardly on his ratty old trainers.“Dumbledore needs to rest,” He begins, his eyes cutting and blameful as he knows full well why that is, “He said we could go for a walk through the castle and outside for a bit, as long as you wear these.” Harry holds his palm out and resting at the centre is a pair of silver bracelets, the metal thick and muted.“Magic dampening cuffs?”Harry’s slender shoulders shrug up and down, unashamed. “What did you expect? Just because you might want the same things as we do doesn’t mean we’re going to trust you fully yet. So it’s these and go with me or you can stay locked in a room somewhere while Dumbledore has a nap. Your choice.”“Well, then, when you put it that way. Cuff me.” Tom purrs the words out and holds his wrists up obligingly, delighting in the pink that spreads over Harry’s cheeks and ears as he fumbles to lock the metal in place. Thankfully they’re not connected together so Tom is still free to move about without issue, but he can feel how his magic instantly dampens and it chafes at him irritatingly. He had only just gotten it back, after all.But it was better than listening to Dumbledore’s snoring. Harry stops to bid the two men goodbye, missing the weighted looks they give Tom as he turns to lead the way out of the door. Tom only smiles with the cock of his head and practically skips away after the shorter boy, sending a hopeful wish to whatever higher power is out there that Dumbledore will die in his sleep. The door swings shut sharply behind him, smacking him on the rear and nearly sending him flying down the stairs into Harry’s back.The castle clearly sensed Tom's unsavoury thoughts towards her beloved headmaster and didn’t appreciate it. He rubs over the smarting skin of his rear with an indignant huff before continuing down the steps.Harry leads the way through a doorway which leads into what Tom recognises to be the Headmasters Office, going off the shape of the room. There’s spinning trinkets and devices littered all over the bookshelves and while he longs to stop and snoop, Harry is holding the door open waiting for Tom to go through first. When they reach the bottom and step out into the corridor, the stone statue settling back into place in front of the entrance, Harry turns to look at him.“Where do you want to go?”Where, indeed? There’s a myriad of places that come to mind; the Slytherin common room, the abandoned room in the Dungeons where he and his Knights would meet up to plan and duel, the Room of Lost Things up on the seventh floor. Hundreds of his favourite spots all blur in his mind as he mulls it over, the library, the astronomy tower, the courtyard by the greenhouses, down by the edge of the lake…Although he doubts Harry will agree, he still has to suggest they go to the Chamber. Predictably, the boy stands firm with his arms crossed tight as he says no.“Why ever not? You killed my Basilisk already so there’s no danger. I want to pay my respects to her.” He’s still sour about his dead Basilisk so he doesn’t bother to camouflage the rebuke in his tone.A scoff, “Respect, right. The answer is no, Riddle. For one, the entrance got completely sealed up by a backfiring memory charm, so it’s completely caved in. And for two, I will not subject Myrtle to her murderer on a random Wednesday afternoon.”“I - Pardon?” Tom’s brows disappear into his fringe. “Surely you don’t mean Myrtle Warren?”“Yeah, I do. She’s a ghost and she haunts the bathroom she died in. You know, the one where you were letting your great bastard snake free to kill all the Muggleborns?”Myrtle Warren. A ghost. Wonders never cease.“You know yourself that it wasn’t technically me that did that,” Tom tries, but gives up on the idea at Harry’s unimpressed stare. “Perhaps we’ll give the Chamber a miss then. How about we just walk and see where we end up?”“Alright.” Harry nods and sets off, slowing down enough for Tom to draw level with him as they walk, likely so he can make sure he doesn’t slip away while his back is turned. The halls are of course deserted with it being the start of the summer break, allowing him to reacquaint himself with the halls and corridors in peace. The sun shines brightly down through the windows to guide their path forwards, the both of them walking in companionable silence for a few minutes before Tom breaches it.“What’s your favourite spot in the castle?” He doesn’t know what compels him to ask the question, besides maybe his magpie habit of wanting to collect and hoard as much information about people as possible. But also he finds himself just genuinely wanting to know, wanting to add the answer given into the mental structure he’s building about Harry, to see where it fits in.At first Tom doesn’t think the other is going to answer him, walking forward resolutely without pause as they make their way through the quiet castle, but he must decide that walking in silence becomes boring rather quickly as he opens his mouth to speak.“I suppose you’ll find it predictable but it’s probably the Gryffindor common room and dorms.”“On the contrary. It makes perfect sense to me.”They walk up the stairs side by side, stopping to wait for the next one to move around their way. Tom’s eyes inspect the portraits along the walls, trying to figure out if there’s anything different that’s been added since he last walked these halls and his head jerks back to look at Harry as the boy returns the question unexpectedly.“What about you?”He thinks on it for a moment, hands tucking into his pockets as they walk up the staircase which has made its way to them. “While the Slytherin common room and the Head Boy dorm especially are favourites of mine, I do confess that I always enjoyed sitting in the Great Hall. I’ve long admired the charmed ceiling and I even tried it once in my own room during the summer.”Harry’s face is open and interested, barely paying attention now to the direction their feet take them. “Did it work?”Tom tilts his head as he remembers, “Somewhat. It made the roof see through but the pollution in London made it so there was no chance of seeing the night sky at all, let alone any stars, so I changed it back.”“What about the trace?”Smirking, he says, “What makes you think I used my wand to do it?”“Oh yeah.” Harry's eyelashes flutter behind his glasses as he looks Tom up and down in his entirety, some of the easy going comradery leaving his face as he remembers. “Evil genius, how could I forget.”Tom smiles charmingly.“Please, you do flatter me so.”They wander the halls for nearly an hour, Harry occasionally piping up with some little tidbit of information. There are changes, certainly, but it’s a relief to discover that Hogwarts remains mostly the same as Tom remembers. The ghostly Professor Binns still taught History of Magic, although that isn’t exactly a positive, the Giant Squid still resided in the Black Lake and Tom still had the muscle memory ingrained within him to skip over the usual trick steps in the staircases. Eventually though, they find themselves meandering back down to go out through the doors of the Clock Tower, feeling wasteful for not taking the opportunity to be out on the grounds while the weather was so agreeable.The water of the courtyard’s fountain fills their ears with a pleasant babbling as they round it to continue out over the wooden bridge, as beguilingly wonky and uneven as ever. Tom looks peacefully out through the arches over the sweeping hills and the drop of the valley underneath them, stopping in place when they reach the end of the bridge which opens out onto the hillside.The heady warm wind ruffles through his hair and clothes, trailing over the skin of his face pleasantly. Tom tips his head back to soak up the rays of sun, breathing deeply just as he had the night before when he’d first stepped out under the stars. What a relief it was, to feel his lungs as they filled and deflated, to smell the dirt and grass of the earth under his feet where he stood.When he opens his eyes again, Harry is staring at him. Not a look filled with judgment or pity though, just one of curiosity and observation. Still, Tom feels a wave of embarrassment at being perceived while he was allowing himself to be vulnerable, so he ducks his head and shoulders past the boy to continue down the path.“That’s new.” He says, pointing down to a little stone hut tucked away on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a small vegetable patch to the one side of it. Harry comes to stop at his shoulders and looks down to where he’s pointing. For the first time Tom watches a smile light up the other wizard's face, the serious expression that had been engraved there since he’d first seen Tom instantly smoothing out to reveal the boy hidden underneath. His frame loses some of its sharpness, the dark shadow figuratively hanging over him clearing away as Harry opens back up.“That’s Hagrid’s Hut.” The boy says, mischief apparent in his tone.
Pause.
“I don’t suppose you mean Rubeus Hagrid by any chance?” Tom queries, but really, how many other Hagrids could there be?Harry grins wickedly. “The very same. He’s the Groundskeeper as well as the Care of Magical Creatures Professor.”“How...delightful.” The word is said with difficulty, like trying to pull out his own teeth. Just how many more of his past actions is he going to face today? “Friend of yours?”“Yes,” Harry says proudly, before looking at the hut forlornly. “My very first. It would’ve been nice to see him but..” He doesn’t finish his sentence, the reason being clear.Tom had framed Hagrid for the events with the Chamber and Warren’s death, and he’d subsequently been expelled. He’d known Hagrid likely wouldn’t have gone any further in academics, what with his half giant status, but he hadn’t much cared beyond making sure he was saving his own neck. That didn’t exactly make him the top choice as an afternoon tea guest.He allows Harry another moment of looking like a kicked puppy before being overly noisy as he turns on his feet to walk towards the treeline in the opposite direction, knowing the boy will follow behind.They fall into silence once more, which is only broken about a half hour later by the arrival of a ball of white-blue light that hovers in front of them. From within, the voice of Snape begins to speak.“Return now. The password is Butterscotch.”And so back to the castle they go.—————————Apparently having survived his nap, Dumbledore sits at the desk in his office in a chair transfigured to be more comfortable for him. Two accompanying chairs sit side by side on the other side of the desk, clearly meant for Tom and Harry as Snape departs as soon as the two of them arrive.“Did you have a pleasant afternoon?” The old man asks congenially, looking first to Harry and then to Tom with a smile. He despises it and does not return it or answer the question, letting Harry be the one to talk. He has no desire to partake in ‘small talk’, thank you very much.“It was fine, sir. Did you sleep well?”“Very much so, my boy, thank you.”Tom can’t help rolling his eyes. Thankfully, Dumbledore doesn’t draw out the inane conversation much longer, instead getting straight into what they’re all here for; defeating Voldemort.As he starts though, Dumbledore focuses solely on Harry for the moment, leaving Tom feeling like a fly on the wall as he’s sitting front row to the emotional speech that the old man begins to unpack onto Harry.“It was never my intention to burden you with this task, Harry. When I first discovered that Voldemort had used Horcruxes as his means to immortality, I began researching, gathering as much first hand evidence as I could possibly find while following the trails that Voldemort left behind on his path. All in the hopes that I could find them and destroy them, and in turn make the task of defeating Voldemort for good less of a hardship for you.”He continues, “This will not be easy to hear, but I’m afraid it would be most unwise for you to return to Hogwarts in September, Harry. With my passing Voldemort will not hesitate to take ownership over the school and you will not be safe.”Devastation. That is the emotion made crystal clear in every cell of Harry’s body as the news registers to the boy, and he shifts forward in his seat to bury his head into his hands, yanking desperately on his hair.“But what about the others?” Harry demands, voice thick and muffled. He doesn’t lift his head.“As soon as my death is public, most will know it will not be an advisable choice to return. The order will do what they can to help, but unfortunately it will be too suspicious if nobody at all returns. Some chances will have to be taken.”Angrily Harry sits up at once, eyes glittering jewels where they’ve gone damp with despair. They pierce Dumbledore the same way they’d pierced Tom, indignant and furious.“How can you demand that? How can you pick and choose who’s worth saving more, like they’re not all just children! The Muggleborns won’t be safe, nor the Halfbloods or ‘Blood-traitors’, or anyone other than the damn Pureblood BASTARDS who think they’re better than everyone else!” His voice cuts deep as he brings his last question striking down like a bolt of lightning, unrelenting. “How are you going to keep them safe?”“I am putting everything I can into place to ensure the safety of my students. Please trust in me that I am doing everything within my power.” Dumbledore pleads soft and small, the many wrinkles of his face furrowing worriedly.It doesn’t seem to appease him but Harry's fire is nonetheless dowsed as he nods reluctantly, slouching back down into his chair with a sigh drawn deep from within. Tom swings his foot idly where he’s got one leg crossed over the other and coughs once to bring them both out of their clouded thoughts.“If Harry will not be returning to Hogwarts, what will he - and by extension myself - be doing?”“Ah,” Dumbledore brings their attention to the things on the desk in front of him, notably a few leather bound notebooks, extra pieces of parchment sticking out of them haphazardly, as well as a few glass vials of murky grey liquid. “To defeat Voldemort, first we must defeat the Horcruxes. To do that, we need to first find out what vessels he chose and where he hid them.”Tom sits forward at once when Dumbledore moves some papers aside to reveal his Diary, or the wounded husk of what it once was. His fingers itch to take it back, his mind screaming MINEMINEMINE, so when the old man slides it forward with his singular functioning hand, Tom does just that.The leather bound cover feels just the same under his fingers tips, the metal corner brackets just as cold. But that is where the familiarity ends. A gash splits down the middle of the front of it, deep and violent, dried black ink giving the illusion of blood where the first piece of his soul had bled out of it as Harry had killed it, killing him.Resentment simmers as he thumbs the edges of the stained pages, turning it to trace over his engraved name.“The Diary was left in the hands of the Malfoy family, although when and why Voldemort chose to do so, I am not sure.”Malfoy. The memory of Abraxas’ white blond hair flashes behind Tom’s eyes for a second, the clear blue of his eyes as they’d looked worshipfully up to him. A member of his Knights and even someone Tom would have considered a friend, in the privacy of his own mind.Tom wonders if he’s still alive.Unaware of his thoughts, Dumbledore continues somewhat haltingly. “The Ring was left in the Gaunt shack. I’m sure you, Tom, can shed more light on the matter?”Though posed as a question, he knows that he is being told rather than asked to do so. He rolls his tongue over his teeth, annoyed at the continued use of his birth name from his old professor, but does as he’s bid with only a sprinkle of disdain coating his words.“I found the one remaining magical relative of mine lacking. The non magical ones even more so. I knew I wanted another Horcrux and the Ring sitting on my inbred squib like Uncle’s finger seemed as good a choice as any.” He spins said Ring on his finger in an all together unsubtle show off movement, as if it had not caused serious harm to someone only last night, someone sitting right in front of him watching.His lack of shame at his actions seems to grate at Harry next to him, as he twitches and shifts in his seat as if fighting the urge to leap at him and attack. Tom tilts his head to the side nonchalantly, helpless to the predatory smile he sends in return.
Go on, little Lion. Pounce.
Unfortunately, Dumbledore calls their attention back to him. “There we are then. Two Horcruxes we know of, and they are already taken care of. If we are working off of the assumption that Voldemort aimed to create seven, it is more likely that he created only six, to leave whatever last sliver remained within him as the seventh.”“Four to find then.” Harry supplies and Dumbledore nods in agreement.“Indeed. Since your awareness was halted when placed into the Peverell Ring-““Peverell?” Harry and Tom chime with twin perplexity.Dumbledore appears to look suddenly cornered, like he hadn’t meant to say it and now was trying to scramble for a reply.“The coat of arms upon the ring,” He explains shiftily and Tom glances down at it, twisting it to catch the light. He can’t say he’s taken much notice of it before, but indeed there is a symbol embedded within the black stone - one made up of a triangle, a circle within in and a line scratched through both. How intriguing.“The Gaunt are descended from the Peverell family, as well as the Potter family, fate should have it.”Harry waves his hands about in distress, “So, wait, does that make us related? Does that make me related to Voldemort?” The disgust with such a thing is evident and Tom can't say he can argue against that. Although anyone should be so lucky as to be related to him, the same couldn’t be said for the other version.Dumbledore titters. “I think you’ll find it impossible to escape some crossover in magical family trees, my boy. But rest assured it was a very long while ago and holds no importance to anything today.”Tom doesn’t necessarily agree, but Dumbledore finally reaches for one of the glass vials on the desk and the conversation re-focuses.“Back to the matter at hand. To find the remaining four Horcruxes, I thought I’d show you a collection of memories I have managed to compile, first hand interactions from various people willing to share them with me. They may give us some insight on Voldemort's movements and decisions, or at least we can hope. Harry, would you be so kind as to bring the Pensieve over here, please?”With a nod Harry goes over to an intricately carved cabinet, opening it up to lift the Pensieve bowl with care and bring it over. It’s settled on the desk and Dumbledore selects the first memory, allowing Harry to be the one to open it and pour the liquid in, seeing as his hands are weak and shaky.Tom rises to his feet and comes over to join Harry, watching as the memory settles in the strange substance of the bowl, blooming outwards in black inky clouds. Once it’s settled, Dumbledore nods his head to the both of them.“You’ll have to excuse me, I am too weak to join you, but rest assured I have seen these memories already and know of their contents. Watch it, study it, and we shall discuss afterwards what you’ve learnt. Bob Ogden, who worked for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, supplied this memory, of the time he was sent to arrest Morfin Gaunt for magic against a Muggle. Go ahead.”Harry and Tom stand shoulder to shoulder and duck their heads into the Pensieve, together.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Tom had only experienced using a Pensieve maybe twice in his life, and the sensation of falling so suddenly downwards has his stomach swooping uncomfortably, the vertigo jarring and nearly bringing his breakfast back up out of his throat. He stumbles once they land in the memory fully, but at least not as badly as Harry does, who trips over his own feet and the bottom of his baggy jeans, almost meeting the floor face first if not for Tom reaching out to grab his thin elbow, yanking him back upright.Harry shakes him off with a muttered thanks and they turn to take in their surroundings as the memory fully settles into place. It’s the same quiet country lane Tom had walked along just last night, fenced in by the high reaching hedges and trees that lead towards the Gaunt shack. Just in front of him and Harry stood presumably, Bob Ogden, a squat little man with extremely unflattering glasses perched on his nose, the lenses making his eyes look like tiny pinpricks. He leads the way to their destination, down the lanes until they come upon a gap in the hedge which Tom waves Harry through first before taking up the rear. The path is known to him, but Harry takes in each detail diligently as they pass into the shaded coolness of the trees along the crooked path towards the shack.It hasn’t changed much from the version of it here in the memory, looking just as dilapidated and unwelcoming as ever, overgrown with nettles and weeds and its small windows covered in grime. Ogden slows as he approaches cautiously, drawing his wand with apprehension. He and Harry, and admittedly Tom as well, all jump back as one when a rustle and a crack sounded out, before Tom’s Uncle drops down from a tree nearby to point a wand and a knife held in each hand to Ogden’s face.“Bloody hell.” Tom hears Harry mutter as he apparently takes in the image of the man, matty haired and gap toothed, a half crazed look in his dirty dark eyes. He couldn’t blame him; Tom had been just as disgusted and unimpressed when he’d first met him as well.“You’re not welcome.”Morfin half grunts, butchering the usual beautiful soft tones of Parseltongue completely. Like a caveman, Tom sneers.Ogden manages to stammer, “Er-good morning. I’m from the Ministry of Magic-”Morfin repeats his first statement and Ogden becomes more nervous as he blunders. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand you.”Harry’s head cocks for a moment, befuddled. Tom silently points to the snake nailed to the door and the boy seems to realise Morfin is talking exclusively in the serpent's tongue, which is why Ogden can’t understand him.There’s a bang and then Ogden is on the floor clutching his nose to quell the nasty spell the deranged wizard had hit him with. Some weak, trick spell from what Tom can see. It was no wonder; he had tasted the disappointing realisation that his relatives were not what he expected them to be already with a hard, bitter swallow.A loud call from within the shack. “Morfin!”Then another man comes hurrying out and this one does give Tom pause. He’s shorter than Morfin and his brown eyes are much brighter, but it could only undoubtedly be Tom’s grandfather, for whom he’s named after. Marvolo. His mouth goes a little dry as he drinks the sight of him in, having never met the man in person. He’d died shortly after Tom had been born, or so the records he had used to track his family down at long last had stated, and he half wonders if the man had even known Tom had existed, if he’d even cared.
Probably not.
The thought doesn’t sting. Of course not.He shakes himself off and pays attention again as Marvolo looks down at Ogden on the floor.“Ministry, is it?” This, he says in English, the change disconcerting and obvious to Tom’s ears. Harry seems to barely notice, only catching on when Ogden replies angrily.“Correct! And you, I take it, are Mr Gaunt?”“S’right. Got you in the face, did he?”“Yes, he did!”“Pathetic,” Tom can’t help stating, watching as the man only now get’s to his feet and puts a stop to the weak spell his Uncle had hit him with. Harry shoots him a look which he chooses to ignore.Marvolo tells Morfin to get in the house and his Uncle goes, slamming the door behind him and making the dead snake jump against it. Harry and he watch as Ogden attempts to protest.“It’s your son I’m here to see, Mr Gaunt. That was Morfin, wasn’t it?”Tom loses interest quickly as the discussion drags into matters of blood status and other useless information. He lets his gaze get carried away up into the trees overhead instead, trusting that Harry will be paying enough attention for the both of them, at his beloved Dumbledore’s request.To think the last line of Slytherin’s blood had ended up here, in the dirt and squalor so far removed from the legendary lineage they had practically deserted for something as stupid as ‘purity’.
Tom had been called impure for all of his life, by Mrs Cole, by the priests and pastors summoned to rid him of his demonic ways - by his last remaining blood relatives. But where were they now? Dead at his feet for he was the one superior, not through blood, but through power.
That was all that really mattered in the end.Ogden is reluctantly allowed into the house so he and Harry follow behind, led into the main room where not so long ago - or in the far future, depending on how you looked at it - Tom had resided under these very same floorboards as the Ring.“M’ daughter. Merope.” Marvolo says and Tom misses Ogden’s polite greeting in favour of coming face to face with his mother for the very first time. Harry steps back as Tom walks over to her, watching him while trying to still pay attention to the conversation happening.Tom ignores him, ignores the others, sights set on only one other person.Merope Gaunt. Merope Riddle. This is the first time he’d ever seen her in person, or as close to it as he was going to get.He had long been tormented over his mother. In his early years, over his unrelenting yearning for her, that unsquashable feeling of longing for an unknown impossibility. Then a little later it had turned into resentment, for dying and leaving him in the cold, uncaring hands of life as an impoverished orphan. As he’d learnt of his magic, the mystery of his mother had held less of his focus, for she must have just been a boring old Muggle - for no witch would not have used her magic to save herself and leave her unborn son alone and clueless to his birthright, surely not.How wrong he had been.Tom looks at her now, at her grey dress of rags and ever greyer complexion, face plain, hair dull and flat. He saw no resemblance in her, saw no connection between the two of them. Her eyes may have been the same dark shade as his, but hers looked in opposite directions due to the inbreeding that created her. She is weak, will always be weak.He feels nothing.
He steps away as she drops a pot with an echoing bang, retreating to stand beside Harry while they are helpless to watch the scene unfold, Marvolo bellowing and belittling her as she scrambles to fix it.Harry brings his hand up to his mouth, chewing on his thumbnail as he watches Ogden step in to help, and attempt to read the summons to his Grandfather and Uncle.“It is a summons to the Ministry for a hearing-”“Summons! Summons? Who do you think you are, summoning my son anywhere?”“I’m Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad.”Marvolo seems to lose the last of his restraint, “And you think we’re scum, do you? Do you know who you’re talking to, you filthy little Mudblood, do you?”Ogden stands his ground, surprisingly.”I was under the impression I was speaking to Mr Gaunt.”“That’s right!” He roars as he shows off the Ring sitting on his finger, shoving it under Ogdens nose. “See this?” Then he approaches Tom’s mother, flying at her to drag the girl over by her neck to a gasping stop in front of Ogden, showing him the necklace she wore.Harry and Tom step forward together to try to get a look at what he’s waving around, uncaring to how it half chokes his daughter. It’s a necklace of some kind, the chain of gold although it’s hard to see in detail with all the thrashing around the two of them are doing.“Slytherin’s! Salazar Slytherin’s! We’re his last living descendants, what do you say to that, eh?”They begin to quibble about the hearing summons again. Tom takes to watching Harry instead, as his expressions watching everything unfold are far more interesting. He clearly dislikes everything about Tom’s family, feels uncomfortable to be given a front row seat for their backwards, prejudiced ways. Another noise interrupts them all then, a sound of horse hooves galloping closer pulling a carriage, echoing laughter filtering in through an open window. Everyone within the shack falls quiet as they listen and Tom’s teeth grind and squeak as he realises what he’s hearing.“My God, what an eyesore!” An unknown girl's voice screeches out loudly, as if she were right here in the room with them. “Couldn’t your father have that hovel cleared out, Tom?”“It’s not ours. It belongs to an old tramp called Gaunt and his children. His son is really quite mad,” A man’s voice answers, and Tom knows just who that is, could practically hear the sneer that shapes his words as he speaks. “Don’t look at it, Cecelia, darling.”Morfin slips back into Parseltongue then, turning to stare at Merope sinisterly.“Darling," he called her. So he wouldn’t have you anyway.”The girl goes somehow paler, looking terrified. Tom watched impassionately.“What’s that? What did you say, Morfin?” Marvolo pipes up sharply. They’ve all forgotten about Ogden who huffs impatiently.“She likes looking at that Muggle. Always in the garden when he passes, peering at him through the hedge.” Morfin continues, ruthless even as Merope stares imploringly at him. “Hanging out of the window waiting for him to ride home last night, she was.”“Is it true?” Marvolo asks, quiet and deadly as he approaches the girl practically shaking in fear against the wall. Harry takes a mirroring step forward as if he’s forgotten they’re watching a memory and cannot do anything to intervene. “My daughter - pure-blooded descendant of Salazar Slytherin - hankering after a filthy, dirt-veined Muggle?”His mother shakes her head, but still does not speak. Tom does not know her voice, and it seems he never will.The scene falls quickly into chaos. Marvolo leaps for Merope’s neck and Harry yells out, “No!” as if it will change it. Ogden tries to get the man off of her, but it only results in Morfin attacking him again and chasing him out of the shack with his knife and wand once more.Tom grabs Harry’s elbow and drags him out after Ogden, much as Harry fights him, straining as if to go back when Merope’s screams pierce the air.“Come on, Harry.” He bites, wanting to get to the end of this gods forsaken memory so they could leave. So he could wring Dumbledore’s neck the same way his Grandfather had wrung Merope’s, for subjecting not only Tom to this memory, but also Harry. Why should his family business be aired out like this? What point was there to it other than making Tom feel humiliated and vulnerable to their pitying eyes, to their misguided ideas about him and his ancestors?As Ogden runs away he ends up in the path of the horse carriage carrying Tom’s father, giving him and Harry a fleeting glance of his face just before the memory begins to blur and fade, a hooked feeling becoming apparent in his middle as the Pensieve begins to spit them out.Dumbledore sits behind his desk, a cup of steaming tea having appeared in front of him as he waited for them to view the memory. Harry goes over to sit back down as well, his face tight with something unnamed. Tom feels too restless to sit however, and instead he paces the length of the office like a caged animal, prying uselessly at the magical cuffs he’s still wearing. How he longs to unleash his magic, to send everything within the room flying into destruction and ruin. His chest jumps up and down as he gets himself worked further and further into a rage.“Would you like to discuss what you just saw?” Dumbledore has the nerve to ask.“What I would like to discuss,” Tom snarls, looming over the back of Harry’s chair to direct the full weight of his loathing towards the professor. “Is what relevance does any of this hold in regards to finding the Horcruxes? What, you thought seeing my mother in person for the first time ever was going to do something, change something in me? You’re wrong, you’re always wrong! It changes NOTHING!”
He impulsively picks up the nearest shiny object on a shelf to his right and throws it straight at the old man’s face, hoping to take an eye out or at least break his long, prying nose. But Harry, who had twisted in his seat to watch him warily as he’d seethed, stands up in time to shield Dumbledore and be the one to take the brunt of the impact instead, flinching and crying out in pain whilst clutching at the side of his face as the object drops, shatters and breaks upon the stone floor.Tom pauses in his tirade, not exactly regretful but hesitant to carry on if Harry is going to be taking the hits meant for Dumbledore, who begins struggling in his attempt to stand.“Don’t,” Harry warns, red spilling down from the cut left high on his cheek, running from it fast and thick. “Please, sir, I’m fine, sit back.” He pressed the cuff of his jacket sleeve to stop the flow, more worried about making sure Dumbledore is doing as he’d said.Tom can’t drag his stare away from the sight of it, that bold red standing so stark against the boy's pale skin and bright eyes. It’s almost enchanting and he finds his mouth beginning to pool with spit and saliva as some unknown urge awakens in him to lick the dripping blood away, to hold the taste of it on his tongue. It is not a feeling Tom has ever felt before, such a strong magnetic pull towards another person, and he has to take a few physical steps backwards as if to break away from it, shaking his head to steady himself.The office becomes tense as Dumbledore tries to fret over Harry’s injury and the boy's staunch refusal to be fretted over. His sleeve is completely soaked as the blood doesn’t seem to be stopping and he begins to wobble on his feet, body jerking as if wanting to fall. His skin has been bleached of all colour besides the red of the wound and the frantic blinking of his eyes.“Please, Harry, the healing spell, Episkey. It will be enough to halt the flow until Professor Snape returns to the castle to see to it.” Implores Dumbledore, straining forward in his seat to capture his attention, hazy as the boy looks.“R-right. Episkey, okay.” Tom watches as Harry scrambles in his pocket for his wand, seeming to not notice that he actually grabs Dumbledore’s wand, which he must have taken from Tom when he was unconscious, raising it and calling the incantation. He says it twice before the blood flow seems to stop at last. Tom lets go of the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, unclenching his jaw with great effort.“Binky.” Dumbledore calls and a house elf immediately pops into place, squeaking in alarm when it sees Harry’s face. “Please could you fetch Mr Potter a warm washcloth, and a bite to eat to get his energy up.” The elf nods and cracks away, appearing only a few minutes later to drop off the cloth and an overfilled plate of sugary snacks; biscuits, tarts and cakes.“Thank you Binky.” Harry says to the elf before it leaves, cleaning his face properly. There’s still an angry red gash left behind, the skin of his cheek already stained with an onsetting bruise.“It’ll scar if it’s left too long.” Tom says quietly, speaking for the first time since he’d thrown the object, and Harry just looks at him with a flat eyed stare, like he’s nothing more than dirt.“It won't be the first scar I’ve received from a version of you, and it probably won’t be the last.” Tom has nothing to say in response to that so they all sit in strained silence as Harry eats, clearly lost in their own individual thoughts.-----------------The sun has moved around considerably by the time one of them deigns to talk, sending beams of light stretching long and golden across the floor. The sky is beginning to catch into fiery shades of orange on the horizon which Tom had been watching passively out of the window, turned away from the stilted atmosphere of the office.Dumbledore’s eyes had slipped shut at some point but they opened once more as he and Tom looked over to Harry, who’s at least looking less peaky now and is apparently ready to pick things back up.“Do you know what happened after the memory ended?”“Mr Ogden returned to the Ministry briefly to gather backup and they returned some fifteen minutes later. Morfin and Marvolo Gaunt resisted arrest and ended up being charged, Morfin for three years on account of his previous crimes against Muggles, and Marvolo for six months.”“Marvolo…” Harry sends Tom a fleeting look. “So that means Merope was-““My mother.” Tom cuts in, tone low and thick with fatigue. His chained up magic and the events of the day had depleted his energy levels, and as it stood although he was still furious at the memory and its contents being aired out like dirty laundry, he could not summon the strength required to be properly defiant. It takes effort not to let his eyes drop and stay closed, and even more effort not to let his words slur together. “Ugly little thing wasn’t she? A weak, runty child. I suppose I did take after her in some ways after all.”He titters a little. Mrs Cole has spent many drunken hours recounting how sickly Tom had been as a baby, wailing through all hours of the night to no end, small and frail from being born too soon, too quickly. Until his magic had bloomed to save him from the cold of the drafty orphanage halls, sustaining him more than the dregs of watered down milk ever did. He’d been small into his childhood years as well, thin and pale from lack of sunlight and proper meals mostly, and it was not until he went to Hogwarts and had access to proper healthy meals three times a day that he finally left his waifish-ness behind, a well timed growth spurt doing the rest. It had just been something else for his peers to pick at in the beginning, along with his ‘lack of name’, but Tom had soon shown them just what happened to people who underestimated him.There’s an awkward pause, then Harry continues.“Do you know what happened next?”“I’ll tell you what happened next, Harry Potter.” Tom whispers, leaning around the edge of his chair. “When a man and a woman love each other very much, they get married and have a baby. But when a woman thinks she loves a man very much, but the man doesn’t care two wits about her, she drugs him and rapes him and dies in childbirth, leaving the baby alone and the father uncaring and none the wiser. And when that baby grows up and tracks his family down, he’s met with disappointment and disgrace.”Harry’s glittering green eyes watch him steadily, unflinching as Tom spits out the truth of him, since everyone is just so interested in knowing. “My father told me what my mother had done, and he made it clear that I was worth as much to him as she was, which was nothing. So I killed him and his parents, and framed my Uncle for it, just because I could. And there you have it, poor little orphan Tom, born loveless of lies and hate and destined to be nothing more than that.”He looks over at Dumbledore, remembering clear as day how unsettled he’d looked upon meeting Tom for that first time in Wools, how he’d judged him from the get go and never gave him the time of day afterwards. As if Tom would have wanted it.“You certainly believed that to be so, didn’t you, Professor? Didn’t take more than one whisper from Mrs Cole before you’d made up your mind about me.”Neither Harry nor Dumbledore speak for a long handful of minutes, apparently not knowing how to address Tom’s speech or his blackening mood.“I can only apologise on behalf of my past actions, Tom - Mr Riddle. You are right, I judged you too harshly, and applied the weight of my own past mistakes onto you when I had no good reason or excuse for doing so. I am sorry.”“I don’t care for your sorrow. I never needed you anyway.” He declares flatly. Tom just wishes he’d get busy dying already.Harry chimes in then, having found his voice again. “She was wearing a locket. Merope, I mean. I didn’t get a great look at it but her father claimed it was owned by Salazar Slytherin. Do you think that’s another Horcrux, professor?”Despite the saddened expression he now wears, Dumbledore seems pleased nonetheless that Harry had caught onto that detail. “Yes I think it’s very likely. There’s another memory I have here that suggests as much, and may shed some light on how Voldemort came to have it, but I think-”There’s an abrupt knock on the door and all of them jump in surprise, looking over as one to see Snape as he swans back in, returning from wherever he had gone off to, looking over them all in turn with thinly veiled curiosity. His eyes catch on Harry’s face, the deepening bruise and red gash, then jump over accusingly to Tom.“Yes, I do believe that’s enough for today.” Dumbledore states, sounding relieved. Apparently he was not keen to show them another memory so soon, lest Tom fly into another temper.“We can resume our research tomorrow, for now I think it’s best for you boys to rest. Professor Snape has kindly opened up the Slytherin head dorm rooms for you to use tonight. I trust you remember your way, Mr Riddle?”Tom doesn't make an effort to respond, but Dumbledore nods them off without waiting for one anyway, his face tight with his own tiredness. “I will see you in the morning. Goodnight, both of you.”They exit through the door and down the stairs reminiscent of how they’d done so earlier, although somehow it feels like that happened many years ago, rather than mere hours. They both drag their feet and keep their mouths shut as they slowly shuffle their way down into the underbelly of the castle, deep into the dimly lit passageways towards the entrance for Slytherin House. The Head dorms were made up of a bedroom and bathroom for each head student, joined together with a small shared study room, and while it was separate from the other years’ dorms there was a doorway that led to the main common and study areas, so they were not completely removed from their housemates of seven years.Tom had resided in the Head boy room alone during his final year and took great advantage of the private space for hosting his Knight’s meetings and practising dark magic in peace. It was in those rooms that he had placed his first portion of soul into the Diary, where he had planned out where to place his next.The door opens without need for a password and sitting on the table waiting for them are steaming plates of food, as well as a glass jar with a note attached. Tom walks over to read it, hearing Harry following close behind, drawn over to the delicious smells wafting from the plates.“Healing balm.”“Huh?”Tom waves the jar and the note under Harry’s nose.“For your face.”“Oh, right.” Harry reaches up to take it and Tom just catches a glimpse of another scar on the back of his hand before it falls away again out of sight. “I’ll do it in a minute. I’m starved.”He sits down at the table and begins to serve himself, keeping his load light for someone who claims to be starving. Nonetheless, Tom sits opposite and does the same, restraining himself since he knows his stomach still isn’t ready for too much. The cuffs on his wrist jostle audibly where they catch on the plates.They eat in silence, not quite companionable but not quite hostile anymore either. It seems they’ve reached a strange impasse with each other and Harry appears deep in thought as he chews his food, furrowing his dark brows down at the table. At another time Tom might have prodded, but he’s used up the last of his energy and truly can’t muster the usual enthusiasm for probing into someone else's head.When they stand to follow the calls of sleep to their beds for the night, Tom going into the boys and Harry to the girls, they both stop in their doorways to turn back and look at each other for a long stretching moment. He can tell from just a glance that Harry’s mind is pitifully open and unshielded, something that will likely need rectifying if they’re to embark on their mission. But that’s a task for another day.“Goodnight then.” Harry says eventually, a low murmur as if to not disturb some unnamed feeling in the air.“Goodnight Harry.” Tom manages just as low, and shuts the door with a resolute click.
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Harry lays in the frumpy bed of the head girls dorm, sleep a far off thought as he fitfully tosses and turns so often that his borrowed pyjamas, provided by the house elves presumably, twist and snag around his body annoyingly. The buttons of the shirt dig into his chest so he turns over once again onto his back, his mind buzzing madly with everything that had happened in the last few hours.The two versions of Tom and Voldemort overlap in his mind, some of the information that Harry had been treating as fact now turning into theory. He’d always assumed that Tom Riddle was an emotionless, psychotic boy addicted to power, who hid it all behind a facade of charming smiles and even more charming personality. He went on to become the Dark Lord that ruled with fear and destruction until Harry had come into the picture and the rest was history. Every first hand interaction with Voldemort had only solidified this belief, but now the carefully constructed image of him was fraying and falling to pieces under everything Harry had observed this afternoon in the Headmasters office.This Tom Riddle, the one from the Ring that was around the same age as Harry if you ignore the time spent as an object, was nothing like the version that had been in the Diary. For one he was much more real, that was obvious, but he was also so full of feeling that Harry couldn’t figure out how he’d gone so wrong as to label him emotionless to begin with. He hid it well behind barbs and jabs that he knows will get a reaction, clearly enjoying the rise he got from people, but while Harry certainly wasn’t about to claim he was secretly good or anything like that, it was obvious now just how much that mask hid.Tom Riddle was a bottomless well of emotion, full of jagged anger, bitterness and resentment. There was so much pain in him, pain he tried to deny and cover up, acting like it wasn’t there. But Harry could see it, perhaps because he knew it. Their grief was prevalent within both of them, that chasm of ‘not right’ that rang hollow and echoing within.He had been told he was similar to Voldemort before, and even though Harry had always hated the comparison, now he could see that it wasn’t altogether untrue when compared to Tom Riddle.Harry sits up in the bed, sleep a lost cause. He brushes over the mark on his face, the wound that had indeed left behind a scar even after applying the balm that Snape had sent for him. His skin had already knitted itself together and the accompanying bruise had faded into nothingness as well, but a shiny white scar was left behind as evidence of where the object had struck him. He could only be glad that it healed over at all, unnoticeable unless someone were to come up close to him. At the time Harry had been annoyed and in pain, defensive over an attack towards Dumbledore, but now that he thought back to it…How would he have reacted? If the first time he’d seen his mum in person was through the memory of a stranger, having to watch as she was berated and attacked so violently in front of him whilst he couldn’t do anything, wouldn’t Harry too would’ve wanted to rage and react? Tom could talk down on her all he liked, and if what he said about how she’d come to have him was true then it was most certainly deserved, but she was still his mother, still the one who’d given him his magic which he was so prideful over.Growing up Harry’s Aunt had constantly informed him that his parents were drunks who didn’t care about him, that they’d got themselves killed just to be away from him, and as a child he’d believed it. He didn’t have any reason not to. But that hadn’t stopped Harry from yearning for them, for a mum to rock him to sleep in his cupboard when his stomach cramped painfully, for a dad to smooth over his hair playfully.Tom surely had wished for the same. Instead he’d been told to his face that he was worthless, better off dead like his mother.Harry isn’t sure what he would’ve done in that situation, to be quite honest.There’s no window or clock down here so he can’t tell just how long he’s been drowning under his thoughts, so he’s quiet as he gets out of the bed. He slips his shoes on then eases the door open gently, longing for his invisibility cloak that’s still tucked away at Privet Drive. Harry thinks of the look Aunt Petunia’s would have twisted up into when she realised he wouldn’t be returning, and he sends a commiserating thought to Hedwig who’ll be left there alone for a little longer. Thankfully she wasn’t caged and Harry had left his window ajar for her when he’d been leaving, so he hopes she’ll be okay.He pauses in the space between the rooms to listen, but there’s no noise spilling from under the door of Tom’s room. Harry doesn’t want to risk waking him up by opening the door to check he’s even still in there, so he’ll just have to hope and assume that he’s sleeping.It’s easy to slip through the main door to the head dorms and into the corridor beyond, easy to settle back into his nighttime wandering habits especially because there are no teachers or students even here to catch him. But he’s not just wandering aimlessly, no. Harry sets off in the direction of the Headmaster’s Office once more, desperate to talk to Dumbledore without the shadow of Tom and his sharp eyes hanging over them.The dark cover of night beyond the glass of the windows he’s passing makes it obvious that it’s clearly not an hour suitable for calling on a very ill old man, and if Dumbledore is asleep then Harry will just come back down here to try again at sleeping. But on the off chance that he’s up, he needs to take the opportunity.So Harry makes his way back up the stairs behind the statue of the Phoenix, through the dark and unsettling office towards the door up to Dumbledore’s living quarters. He feels awkward and rude for figuratively barging in like this, so he softly knocks on the door anyway out of politeness.Luck is on his side. He hears Dumbledore’s voice call out from within the room.“Severus? I thought you’d gone to bed?”Harry ducks through the door. The space is even cosier at night, a million little points of light dotted around the place, made up of flickering candles and conjured balls of light in jars. The curtains of Dumbledore’s bed are still drawn but from behind Harry can see another light source silhouetting the shadow of the man within.He coughs and feels heat blaring from his cheeks as he announces himself. “Um, it’s not Snape, sir. It’s me. Harry.”A throaty chuckle. “I suppose I’m not overly surprised. Come on over, my boy.”Harry does as he’s told, and much like earlier he splits the material of the curtains down the middle with his fingers to pull them back. Dumbledore makes room for him to perch on the edge of the bed, shifting the lap full of papers in front of him to one side.“It didn’t take you long to fall back into your habits, I see.” Dumbledore remarks, that familiar twinkle present as he looks at Harry. He smiles coyfully, ducking his head a little in a false show of shame that they both know he doesn’t have for sneaking around the castle at night.“I couldn’t sleep.”“I find myself in much the same boat. Would you like to discuss what is keeping you awake?”When Harry pauses, not knowing where to begin, Dumbledore looks at him knowingly.“Or should I say, whom?”“He’s different from what I expected.”Dumbledore gives a small smile. “You are no stranger to having wrong perceptions being made about you, Harry, about your person and your life. It seems you find yourself on the other side of that feeling with Mr Riddle.”“He’s just so real. Does that make sense?”“Perfectly,” Dumbledore nods. “I believe that is because this is effectively your first time seeing him as the actual boy that he is, rather than an idea in your head about Voldemort’s past.”“But I met the version of him from the Diary?”“Only what the Diary wanted you to see as it attempted to drain the life out of Miss Weasley. More of a mirage than a reflection.”Harry contemplates that but supposes it makes sense. The diary had been much more interested in finding things out about Harry rather than sharing things from his own life, and when he did share a memory, it was a misleading one.“Was that really the first time Tom ever saw his mum?”Dumbledore looks slightly ashamed of himself when he admits, “I didn’t know for sure but it seems yes, it was.”Harry bites on his lip, chewing the rough skin there “I think that was a little unfair of you.” He says softly, not wanting to be seen as chiding towards the much older wizard, but Dumbledore tips his head in agreement, wirey eyebrows drawing down over his eyes.“You are right Harry. Tom was well within his right to react as he did. although I am sorry you had to take the pain of it for me. It seems even I was taken under by the mask he wears so well, to have forgotten that he returned as a teenage boy with all the emotional baggage that comes along with that.”“Is it true about his parents? About what his mum did?”“I had only speculated about it until now but I am now inclined to believe that it is true. A few months after the scene of Bob Ogden's memory, Tom Riddle ran off to marry Merope Gaunt, leaving a tremendous scandal behind them. They disappeared for some months until Tom Riddle returned to his parents manor house talking of being hoodwinked.”“Drugged like Tom said?” Asked Harry.“We can only guess on the specifics. Due to her low magical ability I had thought she would have used a potion, but if she used something low risk or something on the other end of the extreme like Amortentia, I am unsure. But indeed, Merope tricked him into marrying her and sometime after became pregnant with Tom, until at some point, either because she thought by being pregnant with his child would make him stay or because she was not strong enough to keep up with the drugging, she stopped giving him the potion. But instead of staying with her, Tom Riddle was soon to leave her and never seek her or his unborn child out again.”“Until Tom found him.”“Yes. Until then.” The professor sighs. “It is a difficult situation to imagine anyone having to face.”“What was he like? Before this, before he started making Horcruxes?”“I’m afraid I can only tell you what I thought I knew about him, Harry. Like we’ve realised, we never truly know another person unless they chose to let us see them, something Tom does not do easily. When I first met Tom Riddle, I was delivering his Hogwarts letter to him at the orphanage where he lived. He was correct to accuse me of being swayed by the words of the Matron there, something I have long regretted and ruminated over.”“Swayed how?”“The Matron thought Tom to be a demonic child, having no other way to explain the occurrences of magic. She informed me that Tom frightened the other children, that there had been many instances of him hurting them and stealing their things, although he always denied it and there was never any proof of wrongdoing. Nevertheless, I let those ideas guide my first interaction with Tom and I do not believe he ever forgave me for it.”Harry mulls that over. Quite honestly, it wouldn’t surprise him if a lot of the things were true, knowing what Tom was capable of and what he’d done. But another part of him thinks about his own first introduction to magic. What if someone had asked the Dursleys about Harry before giving him his letter? What would they have had to say about him?Nothing good, he would wager.Dumbledore continues. “When he arrived at the school he stood alone and was met with silence when he sorted into Slytherin, after a moment of hat stalling. I gathered from what I saw of him in my classroom and the hallways that he was targeted for his secondhand robes and books, for his blood status and lack of family connections. Much like yourself he remained at Hogwarts for every holiday, once even asking if he could stay for the summer as well.”The memory of doing the very same thing echoes in his mind, and reluctant understanding begins to bloom under Harry’s skin. Dumbledore seems to sense it as well.“Do not think that he did not retaliate however,” he cautions, “Many of the house mates and other children that deigned to pick at Tom ended up in the Hospital Wing sporting injuries of varying severity. Tom was creative in his hexing, careful not to have it tracked back to him and none of his targets ever turned him over, or targeted him again. Then somewhere along the way something changed, and Tom soon began to gather a close circle of followers, all from highly respected families. I do not know what it is he promised them, or how he came to gain their favour, but by the end of his fifth year Tom had left his previous self behind.”Harry listens attentively, storing all the new information as he receives it.“The other teachers were suitably impressed by his studious nature and pleasing personality, singing his praises at every opportunity, and we all believed he would go far after Hogwarts. But instead of joining the Ministry like most everyone presumed, he chose to work at Borgin and Burkes for over a decade.”“Borgin and Burkes? The shady dark junk shop in Knockturn Alley?” Harry can’t quite fathom someone like Tom choosing to work there. Dumbledore gives Harry a long look, amused.“I will not ask you how exactly you know that shop, Harry. But yes, the very same. Before that though he asked the then Headmaster, Armando Dippet, to take over the role of Defence Against the Dark Arts from the retiring teacher, Galatea Merrythought. Dippet turned him away in regards to his age, but encouraged him to return in a few years. He worked in Borgin and Burkes obtaining dark and powerful objects, before returning to Hogwarts to ask again when I became Headmaster.”Harry’s eyebrows climb more and more with each new revelation. “But already I had been hearing whispers of unrest about some of the movements Tom and his followers were making. So I rejected him, which would turn out to be the last time Tom Riddle was heard of. He disappeared overseas and by all accounts did not return, as by that time he had shed his old self to become Voldemort completely.”As Harry processes that, a huge yawn splits across his face, cracking his jaw with the force of it. Dumbledore chuckles kindly.“You’d better be back off to bed, Harry.”So he shuffles back off downstairs, unnerved by how still and silent the castle is at this hour. His eyes itch with tiredness and when his head hits the pillow back in the head girls room, he only just manages to summon the effort to make sure his glasses are properly on the side table, before passing out completely.——————It feels like it’s been no time at all when a firm knock wakes him up, bleary eyed and dry mouthed. The door swings open before he can muster up anything more than a gurgling groan of dismay.“Do you always look as if you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards when you first wake up?” Tom Riddle asks pleasantly, and through his squinting eyes Harry can see the blurred outline of him coming closer to the bed.“Hmmph?” Harry mumbles.“You’ve missed breakfast. Or rather, I ate yours when you didn’t answer my knock earlier.” The boy adds, making Harry’s stomach groan in complaint. He sits up finally to rub at his eyes hard enough that he starts seeing tiny dots of light. When he opens them with a yawn, he finds Tom has snatched up his glasses and is waving them under his nose. He puts them on.“Time s’it?”“Nearly half past eleven.”Oh. Harry really had overslept. He also hadn’t had his sleep interrupted by nightmares about the Ministry, either.“Is there anything from Dumbledore yet?” He asks before getting out of the bed, feeling awkward still being in it with Tom in the room. The other wizard is of course dressed as impeccable as he was yesterday, all smart crisp lines and neat buttons. A far cry from Harry’s tatty, worn hand me downs.Tom turns to lean against the dresser, observing Harry like he’s a bug caught under a microscope. “Nothing yet. Fret not, he’s still alive as far as the elves reported. Unfortunately.”Harry sends him a dark glare and snatches up his clothes to stomp into the attached bathroom, closing the door with a slam. To think he’d somewhat felt sorry for him last night! Harry needed to remember who he was dealing with here.He dressed quickly, hopping from foot to foot as he shoves his way into his jeans, pulling the belt tight up to the hand made hole he’d had to make when it was thrown his way. The blood stained jacket is nowhere to be seen so he leaves the bathroom in just his shirt.The look Tom gives him speaks volumes, so loud that didn’t really need to vocalize his opinion for Harry to catch it. He does anyway, of course.“If the look you’re going for is a burlap sack then you’ve got it in one. Aren’t you supposed to be a Potter?”“Yes? What’s that got to do with anything?”Tom shrugs and he leads the way into the study room that joins the two bedrooms together. Despite what he’d said before, there’s a plate of breakfast pastries and some juice on the table, so Harry makes a beeline for it.“The Potters are an old, noble family. Rich. I can’t imagine you’re short on the funds needed for getting yourself some more respectable clothing.”Harry gulps his juice down, ridding himself of the awful dry mouth he’d woken up with. Really, when did Harry have the time to worry about clothing of all things? It seemed like such a pointless none-issue for him, to waste the money in his parent’s vaults on clothing. Who cared about looking respectable? He tells Tom as such, who clearly disagrees.“Looking respectable gains respect in turn, Harry. How do you expect anyone to take you seriously when you walk around wearing rags?”“People don’t usually take me seriously, ever.” He thinks back to all of last year, how his name had been dragged through every headline the Daily Prophet put out, called a liar and a nutcase in every issue. But who was right, in the end?Harry finishes his breakfast and the plates pop away as he gets to his feet.“I guess Snape will send another Patronus when Dumbledore is ready to start again,” Probably not for another few hours, Harry thinks, due to their late night conversation. “Up for another walk?”“I thought you’d never ask.” Tom replies with his sharp cat-like grin as they leave the room side by side. He has both his own wand and Dumbledore’s in his waistband again, kept tight and safe against his body even if the way they poke him as he walks is a little irritating.They head upwards out of the dungeons, greeted by the rays of light as they come up to the windowed halls. It’s another pleasant summer day, with vivid shades of green painted across the hills of the grounds, strokes of bright blue across the skies. Harry’s lips turn up into a soft smile, but there’s a bittersweet edge to the feeling, what with the fact this may be one of his last times seeing it.To not return to Hogwarts… it’s crushing. His heart feels clamped and pinched at knowing he may never return, depending on the outcome of their hunt for the Horcruxes. If they succeeded, would there even be a Howgarts left to return to? If there was, it would not be the same without Dumbledore here.And if they didn’t succeed…Well.Harry doesn’t know how long his stay at Hogwarts will be this time, doesn’t know how long it’ll take to talk through the memories and notes Dumbledore has, and he doesn't even know where they’ll be going after. But he does know that he wants to visit every corner of the castle that he can, while he’s still got the time to do so. Study every painting he’s overlooked before, run his hands across every book in the library.He doesn’t want his last memories of Hogwarts to be of his fifth year, with Umbridge and the detentions, Dumbledore’s avoidance of him and then the tragic ending at the Ministry.So, chest tight but determined to enjoy himself, Harry turns to look at Tom.“Shall we see if we can get into the other common rooms?”Those dark eyes seem to light up with eagerness, with excitement.“Which one first?”-----------It turned out Harry actually didn’t know the specifics of where the entrances to Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were in the castle, really he only knows where the Slytherin one is because he snuck in with Ron that time during second year, so he leaves it up to Tom to guide them. They’re going upwards first, towards Ravenclaw tower which is on the same floor as Gryffindor, which Harry wants to stop by next.The portrait of the Fat Lady guarded the entrance to Gryffindor common room, but the entrance for Ravenclaw when they come upon it seems to just be a plain old door, although with a very nice eagle-shaped door knocker on the front.“This seems somehow anticlimactic.” Harry says, figuring this was it.Tom smirks and reaches out, lifting the knocker to tap it in a rhythm against the door. The eagle shivers in place before its metal beak parts in two to begin speaking to them in a high, ringing voice.
“A box without hinges, key or lid.Yet golden treasure inside is hid.”
Harry gapes. “Huh?”With a snigger, Tom explains. “To gain entry into the ‘House of Knowledge’ you must first answer a riddle.”“Oh. Well. Good thing I’ve got you here with me then, Riddle.”
A flat look. “I do not enjoy that expectation, Potter.”
Harry bites on his lip to stop the huge grin that fights to be let spread. “Yeah but you know the answer though, don’t you?”He thinks for a moment that Tom isn’t going to answer just to spite him, but the desire to go inside clearly wins out as he reluctantly turns to the knocker to answer.“An egg.”The door swings open.“Oh! I get it!” Harry crows, now understanding the riddle. Tom gives him an almighty shove in the back to get him to go forward before the door shuts again.Any protest he might have made at being pushed about though is lost to the gasp he lets out as he takes in Ravenclaw’s common room for the first time.“Woah.”The first thing he notices is just how big the room is. It’s circular due to being in a tower, but there must be an enchantment on the place because it’s more on par with the size of a grand hall or ballroom. Harry pouts a bit thinking of the sometimes very overcrowded Gryffindor common room.“Impressive.” Tom chimes in while walking over to the row of arched windows that take up one whole section of curved wall, looking out of one to the ground below.“It’s so fancy.” The chairs are all matching, stiff backed and pristine blue with white pillows decorating them, but a lot of the space is instead dedicated to clusters of desks dotted around. Of course on the other side of the room there are the expected bookcases, rows and rows of neatly shelves tomes, and then two sets of stairs that lead around out of sight. In between the two doorways is a large painting.Harry hears Tom walk over to the bookshelves and begin to rifle through something or other, but he’s busy studying the woman in the painting. She doesn't move at all strangely, which must mean the painting isn’t a magical one - or that the magic had faded a long time ago. She was pale and had a waterfall of dark ebony hair reaching down past the frame of the painting. Her robe was blue and upon her head sat a silvery sort of crown, only smaller. Even though the painting didn’t move, Harry's eyes were transfixed, enamoured. The crown somehow had an unexplainable sparkle to it.“Rowena Ravenclaw.” Tom supplies from right behind him, resulting in Harry jumping nearly clean out of his skin as he shrieks, whirling around to scowl at the boy. He scrambles back though when it puts him nose to nose with the smirking wizard, briefly sharing the same air until Harry widens the gap again.“Don’t do that!”The boy looks innocently at him, tilting his head. “Do what?”He huffs and turns back again. So this was Rowena Ravenclaw then.“Why doesn’t she move?”“Hmm, too old, most likely. By the time the art of enchanting paintings came around the founders would have all been long gone.”“That’s a shame.” Harry thought she looked lonely and sad, in a way. He wondered if he was just projecting.“If you say so. Come on, we need to get a move on before we’re called back.”So they leave the Ravenclaw tower and its door knocker behind. Instead of heading down just yet though, Harry’s feet begin to drift towards where he knows the Fat Lady’s portrait is, shielding Gryffindor from view.“Harry?” Tom calls, having gone in the direction of the stairs before realising he wasn't being followed.“Can we - I want to go see Gryffindor. It might be the last time I…” He expects some measure of ridicule from the other boy for his vulnerability, but Tom surprises him by simply padding back over to his side on soft footfalls.“Lead the way then.”Harry does.The Fat lady waves them through without trouble or need of a password, and Harry half wonders why before the familiar sight and smell of the common room hits him all at once. His heart thunders in his chest, ecstatic yet saddened all the same. Tom looks about the room, taking in all the details.“It’s cosy.”“You don’t need to try and appease me.” Harry says, hoping the boy would just stay quiet while he attempts to absorb every bit of the essence of this space up in peace. He sinks down into his favourite armchair and closes his eyes, picturing the many nights he’d sat here with Ron and Hermione nearby, studying and plotting and just enjoying each other's company. Neville would be at one of the tables behind him with a plant of some sort, and Ginny would be with her group of friends laughing brightly about something or other. The twins too, causing mischief in the corner while Hermione kept them in her sights, and the pleasant bubble of overlapping conversation and laughter would lull Harry off into a daze, not quite asleep but not fully awake.Home.Harry opens his eyes. The room is empty, devoid of anyone besides him and Tom, who’s over by the notice board reading the list of in house rules. Suddenly he finds himself not wanting to be here at all, when it’s so different to how he’d come to know it.“I’m ready, let’s go.” He jumps to his feet, speeding out of the common room and barely remembering to hold the door open for Tom so it doesn’t smack him on his perfect nose as they leave. In another surprising move, Tom doesn’t choose to prod or question him, but Harry imagines he’s storing everything away all the same, ready to bring it up again another time.They walk in silence through the floors of the castle, down the moving staircases and in the direction of the kitchens, Harry notices. He asks if that’s where they’re going.“I was heading for Hufflepuff. The kitchens are down this way?”Ah, so Tom has never been before. Harry nods.“Yeah. Do you want to go there first?”“It is about time for some lunch, I suppose.”Harry once again takes up the lead and almost laughs out loud when he realises it’s his turn to be more knowledgeable about how a doorway works. He wonders if he can convince Tom to be the one to tickle the pear, or if it’ll just be too far below him.The painting of the fruit bowl that hides the kitchens is large, bordered by an ornate golden frame. They stop to stand in front of it, side by side.“To get into the kitchens you need to tickle the pear.” He gestures to the bright green, juicy looking fruit, trying to keep his face level, in case Tom thinks he’s taking the mick. Clearly he thinks that anyway, because he crosses his arms stubbornly.“I don’t believe you.”“Come on, Tom! The doors can’t all just be passwords and riddles. Just try it!”“I’ll turn you into a pear if you’re having me on.” The boy mocks but actually does reach out to barely grace the tips of his slender fingers over the fruit. It giggles and jumps in place, jumping off the painting to become physical, to be used as a doorknob. Astonishment as well as a trace of begrudging joy flashes across Tom’s face as he turns it and pushes the door inwards.Hundreds of huge, round eyes turn to stare in their direction.It’s Harry’s turn to urge Tom forward, guiding the shocked boy forwards by his elbow to one of the long wooden tables that mirror the house tables in the Great Hall.An elf scuttles over to them.“Hi,” Harry smiles, “Could we please have some sandwiches? And some juice? Thank you.”They sit side by side on the same bench, their elbows brushing while they watch the elves as they putter around, a lot less hectically than Harry had seen them be before. Obviously because there are no students or teachers in the castle at the minute to feed, outside of Dumbledore, Snape, Tom and him. Or at least, Harry doesn’t think there’s anyone else here currently, or surely they’d have come across them by now?That thought has him thinking curiously of his other professors, about where they go over the summer. A strange image paints itself in his thoughts, of Filch and Mrs Norris sitting on sunloungers by the sea somewhere, grouchy as ever even in the sunshine.Harry nearly snorts aloud at the mental picture, barely biting it back as the elves return with their lunch.“How did you find this place?” Mutters Tom, picking up a sandwich of cheese and tomato and taking a bite.“My best friend's twin brothers told us about it, in my fourth year.”“The year of the tournament.”Harry swallows his own bite of food a little roughly. “Yeah. How’d you know that?”“I saw it in Dumbledore’s memories.” Something he clearly holds no shame over. He chooses not to answer, knowing he’ll probably end up shouting at him, instead focusing on gulping down his own food despite not being overly hungry, having eaten not too long ago.The summons to return to the Headmasters office comes before they get a chance to uncover what Hufflepuffs entrance and common room consisted of, as they’re sitting finishing their lunch, dusting crumbs off their fingers and laps.That ball of light comes through the ceiling, stopping to hover over their heads as it starts relaying Snape’s message in the usual unimpressed voice that he speaks to Harry in.“I might have known you would not stay put, Potter. Return to the Headmasters office post haste.”“Best be off then.” Harry says haltingly once the light fades away again, feeling admittedly hesitant about watching more memories of Tom’s past, what with how he had reacted yesterday. But their time with Dumbledore is steadily draining away, and they need all of the advice he can give if they’re to have any hope of succeeding in their mission.All Harry can hope for is that he doesn’t gain any new injuries from whatever today's meeting brings.
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Tom steps back into the Headmasters office just behind Harry, feeling his mood and patience already fraying at the edges, and they haven’t even begun to drag up more memories of his unsavoury past yet today.Truthfully he’d had a pleasant morning pottering around the castle with Harry, their conversation had been easy and fairly lighthearted, and it was always a balm on his restless spirit to walk through the halls of Hogwarts soaking in her magic. He had surprisingly slept like a log, or perhaps not so surprising, considering the events leading up to it and the fact the bed in the Head Boys dorm was like sleeping on a cloud, on air.Much more accommodating on his still adjusting body than the floor of Riddle Manor had been.No, the cause of his unrest lay with two culprits that somewhat went hand in hand together; Dumbledore, living and breathing still and annoyingly looking a little healthier today rather than the opposite, and the magic dampening cuffs still in place upon his wrists. It was beginning to make Tom feel unwell himself, sweat gathering at the back of the neck and temples, his breathing becoming quick and short while his heart thundered in his chest a mile a minute.While guilt tripping Harry about it would have been far too easy, it isn’t him that he wants to direct his ire towards. Although Harry had been the one to put them on, he likely didn’t know about the side effects of such items, and therefore did not deserve full blame. Dumbledore however, did know and did deserve it. He’d been there when they’d snapped some on his warmongering ex boyfriend, after all.He was here to take down his estranged main soul, not to be analysed like a science experiment, and Tom couldn’t do anything with his magic contained and his emotions as erratic as they were. He cringes to think of how emotionally vulnerable he’d been yesterday as he’d lashed out like cornered prey, how he’d bared his stupidly weak and bitter heart for all to see, and he puts the blame entirely on the cuffs.So he doesn’t sit down when they enter the office, does not involve himself in the nauseating politeness happening between Dumbledore and Harry as they blather about their mornings.“Is something the matter, Mr Riddle?” The old man asks when he realises Tom is glaring at him from where he's been standing in front of his chair from yesterday, rather than moving to sit in it. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Harry fidget nervously.“You will remove the cuffs.” Tom states, orders really, leaving no room for misinterpretation; he will be having these cuffs off now.
Dumbledore studies him for a moment, looking him in the eyes yet not attempting to slip further in, perhaps knowing the pointlessness in trying. Tom half wished that he would, if only to give him a good reason to lash out in return. But while he doesn’t get that wish, the old man nods after a few minutes and looks at Harry.“Harry, would you mind terribly? You’ll need to will your magic into releasing them from Mr Riddle, use my wand to do it.”Harry looks a little unsure but he stands up anyway, lifting the hem of his shirt up to grab hold of Dumbledore’s wand where he’d had it stored in his jeans again. Really, Tom thinks judgmentally, of all the directions to point a wand in. He holds his wrists up as he’d done before, jolting a little when one of Harry’s warm hands comes up to cradle his own, keeping them in place as he levels the wand at the cuffs.The boy frowns down at the cuffs, scrunching his face up and biting his lip as he concentrates and Tom can’t look away, captivated by the shine of his bright green eyes as the magic answers to his call, his command. And then the cuffs crack open with a loud clink and Tom’s vision goes blotchy as the entirety of his magic rushes to the surface. It leaks out of him and then swans back in, in and out like a living breathing organism outside of him, swirling a little with Harry’s where he’s standing so near. He distantly registers his bodyweight being caught as he teeters forwards on weak knees, his forehead colliding into the solid curve of Harry’s shoulders as the boy stumbles a little trying to steady them both.“Tom? Are you alright?” Harry asks, muffled to Tom’s ringing ears. It takes another minute for him to gather himself, to stand up with a relieved intake of breath. He opens his eyes, unaware they’d fallen shut, and looks straight at Harry with a small but pleased grin.“Better than ever. Thank you, Harry.”He blushes wonderfully, pinky red blotching across his cheeks and nose, and their eyes catch and snag on looking deeply at one another before Dumbledore interrupts them with a little cough, breaking the bubble the two of them were in. Harry rushes to let go of Tom now that he’s recovered and they both staunchly avoid looking directly at the way Dumbledore’s eyes are positively gleaming as he twinkles at them, smiling like a fool.“Now that’s sorted out, my boys, are you ready to begin?”Tom’s rising mood sobers at once, remembering what it is they’re back here to do. At least he has the assurance of his magic being within reach once more. He makes sure his mental shields are all in place and locks down his emotions as best he can, determined not to allow any slip ups to occur.He and Harry nod their agreement.“Good,” Dumbledore begins, “Yesterday we left off having seen the memory of The Gaunts and having determined the possibility of Merope’s locket being another Horcrux. This Memory here supports that possibility.” He brings forward the Pensieve but waves the two of them off when they begin to stand.“We will just be skimming this memory rather than falling into it. I thought it would be best.”Tom grits his teeth at the insinuation that it’s because of him, but Harry derails his thoughts by asking Dumbledore, “You can do that?”“Oh yes, Harry. It doesn’t give you as clear an image of course, but it gives you the essentials. Let’s hear what Caractacus Burke had to say, shall we?”The memory is poured out into the Pensieve as usual, only this time instead of ducking their heads into it, Dumbledore swirls his fingers through the airy liquid of the bowl and lightly taps on the edge of it until the hazy figure of Burke rises up from the substance, silvery and ghost like.“Yes, we acquired it in curious circumstances. It was brought in by a young witch just before Christmas, oh, many years ago now. She said she needed the gold badly, well, that much was obvious. Covered in rags and pretty far along… Going to have a baby, see. She said the locket had been Slytherin’s. Well, you hear that sort of story all the time, 'Oh, this was Merlin’s, this was his favourite teapot,’ but when I looked at it, it had his mark all right, and a few simple spells were enough to tell me the truth. Of course, that made it near enough priceless. She didn't seem to have any idea how much it was worth! Happy to get ten Galleons for it. Best bargain we ever made!”Dumbledore shakes the Pensieve again to make the apparition disappear, Burke’s grating, crowing voice sinking back into the water of the bowl.“He only gave her ten Galleons?” Harry says, clearly indignant.“Caractacus Burke was not famed for his generosity,” Dumbledore explains, “So we know that at the end of her pregnancy, Merope was alone in London and desperate for money, leading her to sell her one and only valuable possession.”“But I don’t understand, even as weak as she was she could still do magic! If she could get to Knockturn to sell the locket, she could've gone to Diagon Alley and, I don’t know, asked for help or something!”“She didn’t want to.” Tom answers, remaining level toned despite feeling his emotions begging to be let free again. His magic roiled as he learnt just how much his mother truly cared for him, which was none. “Don’t you see, Harry? She only got pregnant to try and keep my father around, so when he ran off anyway what point was there to stick around for the constant physical reminder of her failure? Even if she had lived through childbirth, the chances are she would’ve left me in the orphanage anyway.”Harry’s face is stricken, as if he can’t fathom how someone could do something like that, but Dumbledore’s solemn face solidifies Tom’s statement.“I am sure it was not as simple as that. From the little we know of her, Merope’s life was long suffering and she did not have the strength and courage to live in spite of her pains, to live for her child.”“She was weak.” Tom cuts in, defiant, and the topic is dropped.“The reason this memory holds some importance is because, after graduating Hogwarts, Voldemort started to work in Borgin and Burkes, going against everyone's presumptions of what he’d go on to do as a career. HIs role in the shop was to meet up with potential customers to try and convince them to sell their priceless heirlooms and treasures to the shop, something Voldemort was very gifted at doing.”“Oh, I’m sure.” Harry mutters under his breath.“It’s not like there was much else for me.” He blurts out, not really meaning to but feeling the childish need to defend himself anyway. Two sets of curious eyes turn to look questioningly at him, so he powers ahead. “Borgin and Burkes I mean. Voldemort must have decided to work there after he’d put me in the Ring, because I hold no memory of applying, but I do remember applying elsewhere. They all rejected me, despite my high test scores and the letters of reference from Professors Slughorn and Merrythought. Because of my blood.”His words grew sour and he took a quick breath in, pausing to purse his lips before carrying on. “It makes sense for what I wanted to do, which was make more Horcruxes, but it wouldn’t have been my first choice.”“It is a long standing failing of the wizarding world, to hold so much reverence for what blood you have or where you come from. It is in no way indicative of our abilities or knowledge, nor should it have to be. I am sorry that the system failed you Tom, I believe you would have gone very far if only you were given the opportunity to do so. If I had given you that oppurtinuty.” The papers on the desk shift a little with the gentle breeze that flows through an open window somewhere above their heads, ruffling Tom’s hair as well. He digs his fingers into the meat of his palm and doesn’t allow his face to change. Fat lot of good it is to say this to him now, when his chance was gone.“There is much to be studied about the influences of muggle blood in magical families, how clearly it can rejuvenate old, stagnant bloodlines. You yourself are evidence of this, Tom, if you do not mind my saying. The Gaunt’s believed so much in purity of blood that they inbred themselves near to the point of extinction. Without your father’s blood, you would have been destined for the same lack of magical ability.”Tom very distinctly did mind, but he could not argue that what the man said was true. He had seen for himself how warped and ruined his family tree was, overlapping and joining where they definitely should not have. Still, he’s not about to agree to Dumbledore’s face.The man carries on anyway. “Much like you, Harry, my mother was a Muggleborn witch and if it is not too self flattering of me to say, I would say we are both made powerful because of their blood, not in spite of it.”This is new information to both him and Harry it seems, as they both gape at Dumbledore who only twinkles at them in return. “But we are getting away from the subject. As I mentioned, Voldemort’s role as shop assistant, amongst manning the shop and selling their wares, was to gain favour with the most elite of families and in turn, gain access to their possessions. One such client was Hepzibah Smith, a family long descended from the Hufflepuff line, much like the Gaunts and Slytherin.”“Oh, yeah. There’s a Smith in Hufflepuff in my year. Zacharias. Right tosser.” Harry says, switching to Parseltongue at the end purely for Tom’s ears alone. He smiles, pleased that Harry is warming up to him, and they share a quick look before returning to paying attention. Dumbledore clearly hasn’t missed the exchange, but lets it lie.“Yes, Mr Smith is in some way connected to Hepzibah and in turn Hufflepuff, although I’m not sure how closely. Either way, Voldemort struck up a working relationship with Hepzibah especially, and she took a great shine to him in return. This memory however, was given to me from her house elf at the time, Hokey. As before, I will remain here. We’ll discuss it when you’re done.”Dumbledore extracts the previous memory of Burke from the Pensieve and then adds the next one in. Tom and Harry approach it and dive in together.-----------The room they landed in was a hoarders paradise. Multiple cabinets teemed and overflowed with lacquered little boxes and gold-embossed books. There were orbs, celestial globes and a large abundance of different kinds of plants. It was, to put it simply, chaos. But Tom’s attention was soon captured by the pink clad, rather round looking old woman, an atrocious and elaborate ginger wig placed atop her head. She was looking into a small bejewelled mirror as she plastered her already coloured cheeks with red rouge, something Tom remembered the girls doing in the Slytherin common room, most often before any of Slughorn’s parties.He turns up his lip in revulsion and almost misses the tiny, ancient house elf positioned at the woman’s feet tying her shoes into place. It’s nearly completely hidden amongst the layered waterfalls of fairy floss robes the woman is wearing. And, really, pink robes and a ginger wig? What was she thinking?Then the woman opens her mouth to speak and his distaste for her blooms all the more at her sugary, bossy voice.“Hurry up, Hokey! He said he’d come at four, it’s only a few minutes to and he’s never been late yet!”She puts her rouge away and inspects herself in the mirror, angling her face every which way as if it would help the mess of her face look better in some lights. Impossible. Still, when she turns to her house elf to ask how she looks, the lying little thing replies politely.“Lovely, madam.”Tom can’t resist looking over at Harry for his reaction and they both start snickering until the tinkle of a doorbell ringing interrupts them all.“Quick, quick, he’s here, Hokey!” Hepzibah cries and the elf scurries away through the labyrinth of objects teetering in their towering stacks. It’s quick to return and this time, not alone.The Tom Riddle with two Horcruxes under his belt has grown even taller, standing a few inches above Tom himself as the memory of him passes by. His hair has grown longer too, more in a neglectful way than anything truly stylish, although it seems to fit his face well enough. He was wearing a black suit and he manoeuvred through the chaos of the room in a way that spoke of long familiarity. He bows low, something Tom scoffs a little at, and kisses Hepzibah’s chunky little hand that she holds out to him.Beside him, Harry remains tellingly quiet, only raising his hand up to his mouth to chew at his nails as they watch the memory progress.“I brought you flowers,” Voldemort says quietly, and produces them out of thin air, much to the delight of Hepzibah, who squeals in over the top excitement.Cheap trick, Tom thinks scornfully.“You naughty boy, you shouldn’t have! You do spoil this old lady!” She places them into an empty glass vase that was positioned on a little table nearby, so it must have been a habit for Voldemort to not turn up empty handed. Tom wondered where he’d got them; there was no way Voldemort would’ve brought them. Then, Hokey the elf then comes in with a tray of tea and cakes, setting it at the woman’s elbow.“Help yourself, Tom, I know you love my cakes. Now, how are you? You look pale. They overwork you at that shop, I’ve said it a hundred times.” True, Voldemort did look paler here than Tom did currently, either from the magical drawback of making the Horcrux, which Tom had experienced himself with the Diary, or from his likely return to poverty at the hands of his lifestyle. Namely, working for someone who no doubt does overwork him, and underpay him to boot.Voldemort only smiles mechanically, a poor comparison to Tom’s much smoother, natural looking facade. Already Voldemort was losing his touch.Hepzibah bats her eyelashes, falsely coy. “Well, what’s your excuse for visiting this time?”“Mr Burke would like to make an improved offer for the goblin-made armor. Five hundred Galleons, he’s feels it is a more than fair-”“Now, now, not so fast, or I’ll think you’re only here for my trinkets!” The woman pouts. Tom’s eyes roll back into his head.“I am ordered here because of them,” Voldemort replies “I am only a poor assistant, madam, who must do as he is told-”Tom just has to let out a sharp, barking laugh. “He sure does lay it on thick.” Harry only hums in agreement, watching closely.Hepzibah obviously doesn’t notice anyway, as she waves her hands about as if to physically shoo the conversation away. “I’ve something to show you that I’ve never shown Mr Burke! Can you keep a secret, Tom? Will you promise you won’t tell Mr Burke I’ve got it? He’d never let me rest if he knew I’d shown it to you, and I’m not selling, not to Burke, not to anyone! But you, Tom, you’ll appreciate it for its history, not how many Galleons you can get for it.”His back straightens, intrigued. It can’t be the locket, as Burke would already know all about it, so was this something else? Another possible Horcrux? Voldemort mutters something simpering about being glad to see whatever the woman wants to show him, because of course he does.“I had Hokey bring it out for me…Hokey, where are you? I want to show Mr Riddle our finest treasure. In fact, bring both, while you’re at it…”So the elf goes off and fetches whatever these ‘treasures’ are, returning with two brown leather cases held above its head as it winded through the maze of clutter.“Now,” Hepzibah takes both boxes and lays them on her lap, one atop the other. “I think you’ll like this, Tom… Oh, if only my family knew I was showing you.. They can’t wait to get their hands on this!”With Harry right alongside him, Tom crowds close behind the sofa the two are sitting on so he can peer into the box as Hepzibah opens the lid. Nestled against the silky soft interior sits a small golden cup, with two fine little handles on either side.“I wonder whether you know what it is, Tom? Pick it up, have a good look!” Voldemort reaches out his long, pale fingers and lifts the cup from its snug bed. Tom wishes he could do the same, his magpieing tendencies pinging madly in the back of his head, the desire to take and keep as loud as ever. He could see that it was the same within Voldemort, that familiar greedy expression gleaming in dark eyes, which are tinted ever so slightly red.“A badger,” he murmurs, and Tom see’s Voldemort twist the cup in his hands more, unwittingly showing Harry and Tom the engraving etched upon it. “Then this was?”“Helga Hufflepuff’s, as you very well know, you clever boy!” Askanced, Tom can only watch as the old woman leans forward in her seat and actually pinches the skin of Voldemort’s hollow cheek. Beside him, Harry chokes.
“Oh my god.” The boy gasps, his eyes wide with horrified amusement. “She’s treating him like a little dog! How has he not killed her?!”Fortunately for Hepzibah, Voldemort somehow refrains from fulfilling what is no doubt an elaborate murder scene in his head, and she continues blathering on, none the wiser. “Didn’t I tell you I was distantly descented? This has been handed down in the family for years and years. Lovely isn’t it? And all sorts of powers it’s supposed to possess too, but I haven’t tested them thoroughly, I just keep it nice and safe in here.”She slips the cup from Voldemort’s hold and places it gently back into its box, so occupied with doing so that she misses the dark shadow that crossed Voldemorts face. But Harry and Tom see it, sharing a look together at the implication that the cup is most definitely another potential lead for their mission.Hokey the elf took the box with the cup away again, leaving the second one behind, this one flatter. Big enough for a Locket, Tom reckons.He’s proven correct.“I think you’ll like this even more, Tom. Lean in a little, dear boy, so you can see…Of course, Burke knows I’ve got this one, I bought it from him, and I dare say he’d love to get it back when I’m gone..”The lid comes off and sitting upon another silky soft bed of lining, sits Slytherin’s locket. Merope’s Locket. Tom’s Locket.
Voldemort, whether he knows the close family ties he has to the locket or not, is completely enraptured, reaching out to pick it up without waiting for permission. “Slytherin’s mark.”The memory of his family hadn’t allowed Tom to see it properly, but he can see it now, where Voldemort holds it up to the light. It’s golden, heavy looking, with a snake shaped into the letter S on the front of it.“That’s right! I had to pay an arm and a leg for it, but I couldn’t let it pass, not a real treasure like that, had to have it for my collection. Burke bought it, apparently, from a ragged looking woman who seemed to have stolen it, but had no idea of it’s true value-” Tom and Voldemort mirror each other then as their knuckles go white as they tighten; Voldemort’s around the chain of the locket, and Tom’s into his own palms, digging his nails in painfully.Hepzibah prattles on about something else and reaches to take the locket back again. For a moment, Tom yearns to defy the impossible and snatch it away from both of them, but all he can do is watch as it’s slipped out of Voldemort’s grasp and placed back into the box.The elf takes it away and the memory draws to a close.--------------“What is your verdict?” Dumbledore asks once they’re seated again.“That hufflepuff cup must be another Horcrux.” Harry says, at the same time that Tom ventures, “Hepzibah Smith certainly did not live long after that memory.”“Very well deduced,” the Headmaster inclines his head. “We can not really say it as a certainty, but it is extremely likely that the cup of Helga Hufflepuff is indeed another Horcrux. As for Hepzibah Smith, she died two days after that memory.”“How wasn’t he caught?” Harry questions. Tom takes slight offense.“Because Hokey the house elf was convicted for accidentally poisoning her mistress' evening cocoa.”“So Voldemort framed the elf for it?”“Yes. He modified her memory, much like with Morfin, and so Hokey remembered and confessed to it. It was concluded that she had not meant to do it, but that she was very old and confused the sugar for something else. The matter was closed and by the time the rest of Hepzibah’s family realised two of her greatest treasure’s were missing, Voldemort had left his position at Borgin and Burkes and as you know, was not seen as Tom Riddle again.”Tom processes that slowly, running over the information in his mind. So, the first two Horcruxes had been personal; his childhood Diary and the Ring of his maternal family’s line. He could class the Locket as personal as well, but it also fell into another category. Howgwarts Founders items. Slytherin’s Locket. Hufflepuff’s Cup. That still left two more Horcruxes they needed to figure out, two that could belong to Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, to complete the set.It’s something he’ll need to remember.“It is through the memories and first hand accounts that I came to speculate on the whereabouts of each Horcrux. I was led to the Gaunt shack by the memory the both of you saw as well as one other, and seeing as that was a correct assumption, I feel fairly confident that my next one is as well.”Correct assumption. Tom hides a dark smirk. Of course it was correct because he found the Ring, but he bet everything that Dumbledore did not foresee that Ring would then come to life, and nearly end his in doing so. Although, he was still a little vexed with himself that it was only ‘nearly’.“Every year in your childhood, Mr Riddle, the orphanage took you all out for short outings to the sea or countryside, yes?”“Well, not every year,” Tom replies, flummoxed at the abrupt subject change.“Was it the same beach everytime?”Again, confused and becoming more guarded, Tom answers. “Yes. Whitstable. It was the cheapest.”“Hmm.” Dumbledore seems wary of speaking further, opening his mouth only to close it again as if reconsidering his words. Tom squints at him, daring him to do it. Harry’s eye flick between the both of them rapidly.“Do you remember a cave, Mr Riddle?”So it was about that then. Tom rubs the pad of his thumb over the nails of his other fingers, smoothing back and forwards as he tries to think of what to say.“Mrs Cole told you.” That was clear enough that it didn’t really need stating, but Dumbledore nodded anyway. He looks solemn, serious as the grave he’s headed for.“She told me that you, along with two muggle children named Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop, went exploring the nearby caves of the beach and when you all returned, the two others were not quite the same. Would you like to share anything about that day, Tom?”Would he?Tom remembers everything about that day.
He was half way through his eighth year of life, already world weary and bitter about his position in life, and Mrs Cole had told him before the day trip down to Whitstable Beach that it was to be his last, on account of ‘giving the newcomers a chance to get out’. All of the orphans of Wools could not go out at once, of course. There was never any point in taking the snotty nosed, mushy brained babies and toddlers for hours on the steam train either, so Tom had always been able to go, even if Mrs Cole thought he was a devil child who didn’t deserve rewarding with days out. But Tuberculosis was taking more and more people by the day, people whose children got orphaned and subsequently dropped on Wools doorstep.
Already Tom had been moved up into the Attic room on his own, although that was mostly because he liked to make sure the newcomers in his shared room knew who was in charge, by standing over their beds at night hissing in the snake speak no one else could understand. After so many of them had gone crying about his ‘unholy’ behaviour, Mrs Cole had one, smacked him on the backs of his thighs with her slipper until he was red raw, and two, cleared the Attic of the few cobwebs and boxes there before ordering him to move his bed up there if he wanted super that night.
Truthfully Tom was happier up there. He was at the top of the building now, figuratively and literally. But then Mrs Cole had told him that next year he wouldn't be going to the beach, especially if there were even more orphans by that time, which there definitely would be if the newspapers were to be believed.
Which left him here, at the beach, with a problem.
On his previous visits, Tom had come across a series of cave mouths embedded into the sides of the cliffs, only barely visible from his vantage on the cliffs above. He longed to go inside and explore but there was no discernable path that led down, which meant scaling down the side of the cliff by hand. Tom hadn’t been brave enough to try it yet but he’d been practising with his ‘specialness’ ever since, trying to make himself stronger so he could finally get inside.
He wasn’t sure if he was yet, but there would be no returning trips for him, so he needed to do it here and now.
“Amy, Denny, wanna go forra walk?” He asks the two children nearest to him. Little Amy Benson, who’d been at Wools for three years and was a year younger than Tom, and Dennis Bishop, who was the same age as him. They were the smallest of the lot and always wanted to stay on his nice side. They jump up and he takes one of their hands each, leading them away. Both of them keep quiet as they walk, knowing Tom doesn’t like inane chattering.
Although the day was a clear and bright one, the seas below were as fierce as ever where they slammed against the rocks. The cave was visible and Tom could see the little ledge where he’d need to land. The three of them stop there and Amy shivers at the picked up wind.
Tom turns to look at them, their nervous pale faces and twitching bodies. He smiles and looks deep into their eyes as he speaks. “Relax. Nothing bads gunna ‘appen. I’m gunna make ya fly. You’d like that, wouldn’t ya?”
Their eyes go big and hazy and they both nod in agreement.
“Good,” Tom says, pleased. “You first, Amy.”
Guiding her off the cliff edge starts off okay but as he’s putting all of his effort and concentration into keeping the girl airborne, the hazy cloud of compliance begins to lift from both her and Dennis behind him. Amy begins to thrash and panic and Tom has to grit his teeth hard to keep her up.
“HELP! HELP ME, TOM!!! PLEASE!! I’M GONNA DIEEEE!!” She screams and shrieks, becoming more and more hysterical as she hangs precariously over the roaring sea, then Dennis begins to cry as well and out of the corner of his eye Tom see’s the other boy move back, as if to go for someone. He spins around with a growl.
“STOP.” Dennis stops short, struck, but Tom realises in commanding the boy he’s accidentally let go of Amy, as the girl lets out a blood-curdling and echoing scream. He goes slamming down onto his knees as he hangs over the cliff, straining and physically holding his hands directed out to catch her before she meets her death on the rocks. Her body halts jarringly in mid air but she’s at least near the ledge now, so Tom deposits her there none too gently and falls onto his back, drained and nauseous.
At his side, Dennis remains standing in place and doesn’t make a single noise.
By the time he’s got his energy back up, Tom realises he’s gone very, very wrong with his endeavours of his last beach trip. He’ll never get inside the cave, and he’d gone too harsh on Amy’s and Dennis’s feeble minds. He’d managed to raise the girl back up to the cliff, but she was not as she had been before, even after he’s released her from his command. She had soiled herself at some point in her fear, and the smell of it itches his nose as he walks them back towards the others. Dennis was the same, despite not having gone over. Tom’s command to ‘stop’ had apparently stopped everything.
The day was a complete and utter failure. The train ride back was dour, Mrs Cole was fretting over Amy and Dennis too much to reprimand Tom for the moment, but he knew he’d be in for another lashing soon. She couldn’t prove he’d done anything, of course. But she’d beat him for it all the same.
“No,” Tom says currently, in the office of Dumbledore who is staring him down. He clears his throat, looks off up into the eaves of the room while feeling two sets of eyes boring into him.“I have nothing to share.”“I see.” Dumbledore replies, although sounding very much as if he didn’t. “Very well." He takes a breath, holding it for a long moment while the room is quiet and tense. Then, he releases it and they all breath as one. Then, the old wizard continues as if nothing had been said. "Nevertheless, I believe those caves are our best estimation on the whereabouts of the Locket, or at least another Horcrux. After leaving Borgin and Burkes, there is a substantial dark spot in our knowledge of what Voldemort did before returning to England. The most I could gather from outside sources was that while he certainly travelled to the other magical communities of the world, Egypt, Italy and Albania, to name a few, Voldemort did not keep close company and therefore nobody knew what he was doing.”“So you’re saying there may be Horcruxes hidden in different countries?!” Harry sounds despairing at the idea, and Tom can’t even blame him. Their task is already going to be difficult enough, to think of Horcruxes being even further afield takes it further and further into impossibility. Thankfully, Dumbledore shakes his head.“I do not believe Voldemort would have stored the vessels holding pieces of his soul overseas. He would have liked to keep them closer, for ease of comfort knowing they were fairly accessible if he wanted to check on them.”Tom scoffs harshly. “Well I can tell you for a fact that he never checked on me, not even once!” Alright, so he was still annoyed about that. Wasn’t he within his rights to be?Dumbledore carries on, delivering his next statement much to the shock of the two wizards opposite him. “The cave may be the last solid lead we have to follow. With that being said, I think it is essential that we go there as soon as possible, even today.”Silence rings in the office.“Today? But, it’s so soon, and, you’re not well, sir-” Harry begins, his words tripping over each other as he scrambles for what to say.Indulgently, Dumbledore smiles at Harry, something close to pity in his eyes.“I know it is not a task you wanted to do, Harry. But the sooner you begin finding these Horcruxes, the sooner Voldemort can be defeated. I do not have the privilege of time in front of me, and I know with certainty that after I am dead Voldemort will not hesitate to make things worse, for everyone, as he takes over ruling Britain.”He allows a moment for Harry to process his words.“Fine. We go to the cave,” The boy decides. “But then what? How do we destroy it?”“We don’t, in the strictest sense.” Tom decides to weigh in, “I will be absorbing the soul fragments from each vessel back into my portion of soul.” He explains, smiling.Dumbledore doesn’t seem altogether sold on that idea, opening his mouth as if to protest, Harry jumps in first.“Wait, but hang on-” He says, twisting to sit facing Tom more head on, “I’ve just realised. Aren’t you a part of him as well? Surely that means we’d need to destroy you for this whole thing to work!”“Not at all. When you split your soul, you split it in half. The diary was a full fifty percent of Voldemort, meaning as the Ring I am twenty five percent. Statistically by that standard, Voldemort making six Horcruxes leaves him with a minuscule sliver, which is probably why he’s such a raving lunatic. While technically my soul came from him, I now possess more of it.” Tom shrugs, feeling pleased with himself. “If I absorb the others, by the time we face Voldemort and kill him, it’ll effectively be as if he is nothing more than a vessel himself. We kill him, I absorb the last piece, and Voldemort is gone for good.”Dumbledore looks troubled, his one functional hand stroking nervous fingers over his beard, eyes darting about every which way. Tom watches, waiting for the denial, for the insistence that they be destroyed properly. But, just as before, the boy at his side speaks first.“How would you do that? Absorb them, I mean?”“When I was researching Horcruxes, there was another ritual written detailing how to change the vessels chosen for your soul piece. I can’t remember the exact specifics of it now, but if I perform that ritual in a closed circle of Runes with me and the Horcrux inside, by the time the soul is out of the vessel I can move in and take it instead.”“How do you know you’ve reattached it properly?”Tom rubs his chest with his knuckles and Harry’s eyes drop down to follow the movement.“I’ll know.” He says and that’s the last of it.“It seems we are decided then,” Says Dumbledore reluctantly. “If we arrive at the cave and find there is indeed a Horcrux stored there, Mr Riddle will reabsorb it. Very well.”Dumbledore then moves to stand.“Wait,” Harry almost trips as he rushes to his feet, “You mean right now?”Though slightly improved from his weak state the day before, it is clear Dumbledore is still not at his most able or powerful right now. His robes hang off him oddly where he’s already gone thin and brittle under the effects of the curse, his skin wrinkled and pale. But, even so, the old man stands without help and doesn’t wobble too much, his blackened hand hanging limp and useless at his side. Harry looks as if he’s only a few seconds away from jumping over the desk to help him sit back down, so Dumbledore draws himself up even more, a determined expression evident in every inch gained.“Time is of the essence, my boy. First though, seeing as you are still underage Harry, and my wand will not work with my depleted magical stores, I believe it’s time to re-equip Mr Riddle with a wand for the task ahead.”Tom tries to contain his excitement, but he knows his eyes must be positively gleaming at the news. He was more than efficient with wandless, wordless magic, more than capable, but he could not deny having a wand made it flow much quicker.“I know you will not enjoy doing so, but I would advise loaning your original wand for this, Harry, and you can use mine, seeing as it apparently has taken a liking to you.”“Oh,” Indeed, Harry does not look too keen to hand his wand over. Tom certainly wouldn’t, if it were asked of him to hand his wand over, but he stands from his chair with thinly veiled eagerness as Harry begrudgingly lifts his shirt again to slip both wands out.Dumbledore’s is far longer and much more intricate in design, but the appeal of that wand was mostly the irony of him, Tom Riddle, using it having bested his old
School teacher. Harry’s wand, which the boy hands out with a scowl painted on his face, is simpler, with a rougher look to the handle which Tom reaches up to wrap his fingers around.Almost before he’s even fully holding it, warmth begins to rush and sing through his body, lighting him up from the inside out. It’s exactly the same feeling he’d had at eleven, standing in Ollivanders where he’d just been handed his first wand, his true wand. How could this be? How could Harry's wand feel just the same?Although he’s still grumpy at giving his wand over to Tom, Harry notices his reaction and gives a hint of a smile.“It’s holly wood, and Phoenix feather core. Mr Ollivander told me when it chose me that the feather in mine was one of two, that it had a brother wand which turned out to be Voldemort’s.” The boy explains as Tom looks down at the wand astonishedly. Brother wands? He’d never heard of such a thing. He curls his fingers firmly and holds it tight, feeling the flow of magic like breathing and already knows he will not be handing it back. Dumbledore’s wand seemed to like Harry, the man had said? Well, that works in Tom’s favour. He also makes a mental note to look more into wandlore.“Wonderful,” Dumbledore says, moving as if to clap his hands before remembering that it would not be a good idea. “Come up here, we’ll go over the last few details before departing.”The man leads the way up to the second level of the office and then to a spiralling set of metal stairs, going up further. It leads to an open sort of observatory, much like the Astronomy Tower, with part of the roof missing to give access to the air beyond.“Now, it is of no question that we will face some sort of defense in our path to the Horcrux. There are endless possibilities to the options of guard Voldemort could have chosen, and none of them I am eager to face, so we must tread carefully and have our full wits about us. You must listen to what I say, and if the worst is to happen, Tom,” The man looks straight at Tom then, using his name for the first time since yesterday when he’d apologised. “Can I count on you to prioritise our safety, if the worst should happen?”Their gazes connect and suddenly Tom hears Dumbledore’s voice echoing between his ears, a whisper for him alone.
“Leave me. Make sure you get Harry to safety.”
His face doesn’t change, but Tom blinks, tightens his jaw and nods, just once. “Of course, Professor.” He replies, falling back on his old politeness. Dumbledore studies him and then nods in return.“Take hold of my arm, if you please.” Dumbledore directs so he and Harry do as he says. Harry gently clasps Dumbledore's weak arm, while Tom just barely allows his palm to rest on the other one.“Urm, sorry, sir, but what are we doing?” Harry questions, “We aren’t apparating, are we? I thought it was impossible to do in the castle?”“Not apparating, no.” Dumbledore replies serenely, just as a high cry of some kind of bird echoes around the room, and a light begins to burn and flare as it grows closer. “But something a little more exciting. Hold on, now.”Tom’s jaw drops and Harry gasps as Dumbledore’s Phoenix, Fawkes, soars into the room with sweeping, sparking wings, singing as he circles once then twice, stirring up the power in the room until it grows visceral, physical, so heady that Tom can practically taste it on his tongue.Fawkes pauses in the air above their heads, raising his wings skywards and calling loudly once more just as the room flashes a blinding, brilliant white. Tom's feet are swept from under him and then he's gone, transported impossibly away from the castle with the echoing cry of a Phoenix filling his ears.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Salt.That’s the first thing Tom registers as his feet touch on solid ground once more, Dumbledore and Harry at his side, and Fawkes nowhere to be seen. The salty air of the ocean, crisp and pervasive, assaults his sense of smell from their landing place atop the ragged cliffs of the coastline. He’d also barely taken note of how far along the afternoon had gotten, while they’d been busy viewing the memories and discussing the Horcruxes, so the sight of the darkening sky on the horizon is disconcerting.The waves below crash loud and echoing where they ricochet off the cliff face, sending sprays of foam leaping upwards, and when he treads carefully closer to the edge to look over, Tom sees they are as black and treacherous looking as ever. Time has barely touched the place, and if it were not for Dumbledore and Harry coming to look down at the violent waters below alongside him, he might’ve forgotten that he was not eight year old Tom Riddle anymore, in his isolated little spot atop the cliffs away from the other orphans.There’s a stabbing bite to the air here too, and his thin cotton shirt does nothing to stop his skin rising into goosebumps as it slips underneath his sleeve cuffs, his collar, caressing Tom with its icy fingers.Harry lets out a long whistle, stepping back away from the ledge for a moment.“I’m not usually bothered by heights, but that’s intense even for me. And I fell over a hundred feet from the air, once.”At first Tom doesn’t catch it, still busy reeling in his memories of the place. When the words sink in though, he twists to stare at the boy, perplexed.“Beg your pardon? Over a hundred feet? How?”He shrugs, “Quidditch accident. It was actually Dumbledore who caught me. What was that spell again, Professor? We might need it again soon.” Harry laughs once, as if waiting for Dumbledore to turn around with a titter of his own and say ‘jolly good joke, my boy’. Instead, the old man continues looking down at the waters for another handful of seconds, seemingly deep in thought.“Arresto Momentum.” Dumbledore eventually replies, stepping away from the cliff edge at last. He looks down at the grassy floor, looking for something. “Indeed, now that you mention Quidditch, Harry, I feel foolish having not thought to bring brooms so we could attempt to fly down to the cave opening. Alas, we’ll have to make do with what we have. Mr Riddle, if you could summon some of the nearby stones over here, please?”Tom relishes his first opportunity to use Harry’s wand, so does as he’s asked without complaint. A couple dozen stones, all different sizes, come zooming from all around, stopping short of colliding with them to instead land at their feet in a pile.“Lovely. Now, a little Transfiguration. We need these stones to be flatter and wider, big enough for us to step onto easily.” He mimes the shape he means with his fingers, holding them vaguely square shaped.Several memories of his past Transfiguration classes run through his head as he squats down over the pile to begin, the magic coming easily as he visualises the shape he needs to make the small stones turn into. It’s a little easier because he’s not changing the material, only the form, and Tom absently registers Dumbledore explaining what they need them for to Harry while he works through the pile, stacking the new square chunks of stone on his left.“We can not get to the mouth of the cave from the waters, otherwise I would have suggested we prepare a boat. The rocks at the side are the only way down, near impossible to achieve for Muggle’s alone, but with magic here to help us,” He gestures to the pile of rocks Tom has just finished altering, “we should be able to make it. Ah, very good work, Mr Riddle. Ten points to Slytherin.”Tom determinedly ignores him. The praise means nothing to him anymore.“Now, with some very strong sticking charm if you would Mr Riddle, the new shape of the stones will act as small platforms for us to step down on. We will have to go one at a time, I should think, so as not to strain the magic holding us up.”The wind whips up Tom’s hair in a frenzy, but he doesn't falter as he goes back over to the edge of the cliff to direct the new stone slabs into place. Dumbledore, he isn’t too bothered by, but he certainly doesn't want to go taking an icy dip in the waters below. So with his wand, patient and focused in a way he’s not had the chance to be in forever, Tom spaces the stepping stones one by one along the rocky sides of the cliff, going steadily downwards towards the ledge that leads to the cave, and making sure to imbue each one with as much will and power as he can. He leans over and squints as he tries to judge how close together they need to be so that the gap inbetween isn’t too large, but once he’s done he feels fairly confident that they’ll manage going down alright.Coming back up, though, might be a whole different story.But for now he steps back as the other two inspect his work. The sunlight is fading even more quickly now, so there really isn't any time to lose if they want to see the stones they’ll be stepping on.“I will go first. Wait for me to wave from the bottom, then you come down, Harry. Then Tom.” The old wizard decides and they nod in agreement, secretly relieved to have to be the first. Dumbledore takes a moment to shove the ends of his robes into his long, stripey pink socks, so that the fabric doesn’t hinder his movements so much.“Sir, are you sure this is a good idea?” Harry cuts in just then, chewing his nails. His eyes are wide just like an owls and his face is completely washed out with worry.“Oh no,” Dumbledore said calmly, “I am not sure of anything at all, my boy.”Clearly, this brings Harry no comfort.They all move to the edge together where they can see the first slab sticking out, just a little ways down. Tom holds his breath as the man gingerly sets his foot onto it, testing the stability. It stays put, of course, so Dumbledore shuffles his other foot onto it as well and then begins his descent.He braces both hands against the side of the cliff as he starts to step sideways down each step, shuffling and pausing on each one to make sure his feet are under him properly, before stepping to the one below. It must be hell on his legs, which are already weak with the curse, and from where they watch over him Tom can see that he has to stop for long moments to catch his breath, facing the cliff face with his head tilted down. The long, white tail of his beard picks up in the wind, which is trying its best to take the man up into the air as well, ripping at the loose hems of his robes with insistent pulls.Harry presses himself fully against Tom’s side, barely breathing.“You can do it, sir. You can do it.” The boy whispers under his breath with steadfast belief. As if the wizard can hear the words spoken, perhaps carried to him on the breeze, Dumbledore starts off again with renewed vigor, steadily getting closer and closer to the cave entrance. The waves thrash and throw themselves against the cliffs, each impact sending the spray up higher and higher.Tom watches on, his pulse fluttering rapidly with half fear, half thrill. With the dwindling light and the dark waters, the lower down Dumbledore goes the harder it is to see him. Another huge wave comes up suddenly hiding the man from view and no doubt drenching him. Only, when it recedes, he’s nowhere to be seen.Harry lurches forwards with a cry, going to his knees and nearly toppling over the edge himself if not for Tom, who leaps forward to hold him firmly in place, stopping him from falling. But he too frantically searches the surface of the sea below for any sign of Dumbledore, ears rushing with his galloping pulse.“Oh god, he’s gone. He’s gone, he’s gone! Tom, he’s fallen in, he’s gone!” Harry is quickly falling into hysterics, gasping as his voice goes high in distress. “What do we do, what do we do!”
They look over again, searching endlessly - but then, from the corner of his eye, Tom sees something.“There, there! Look!”Not from the water like they’d thought, but from the lip of the cave entrance that juts out, Dumbledore stands waving the end of his long beard in the air like a white flag, the bright colour of it the only thing making him stand out from so far away and in the limited light.Harry laughs, half delighted and half despaired. He drops his head in defeat and blows out a tremendous breath.“Holy bloody Christ.” The boy gasps, weary and exhausted already, and he’s not even had his turn yet.Tom turns his gaze up to the night where it darkens evermore, worried about their impaired visibility. Impulsively, he reaches his palm out to rest it on the exposed skin of Harry’s neck, giving in to the strange urge within him that pushes him to reach out and comfort the wild haired wizard.“Your turn, Harry.” He reminds him gently, coaxing him to his feet. Harry looks out over the sea with trepidation, a shudder racking his slight frame where he’s standing still only in his shirt from this morning. A shirt, and those stupid baggy jeans of his. Without care for how much Harry might like them, Tom sends a hasty slicing charm at the hems of them, freeing up his movement considerably.“Thanks,” He whispers, the word almost getting lost in the road of the wind.“I won’t let you fall.” Tom promises in return, finding himself truly meaning the assurance for once. He would not like to see Harry plunging to his death today, nor indeed any day soon. It’s shocking really, to have grown attached to him so quickly, but it’s something to think about later. For now, Harry nods his head up and down quickly a few times to bolster himself, then he straightens his glasses and moves towards the edge.Like Dumbledore, he eases himself onto the first stone slowly, gripping onto the grassy verge with white knuckled fingers. Once he’s got his footing, he sends a grin Tom’s way, the edges of it wavering only a little.“See you at the bottom.” He says before moving down to the second stone step, gaze downwards as he focuses on his steps carefully.Tom stays standing close to the edge, feeling infinitely worse than he did watching Dumbledore. He doesn’t lift his stare away from him for a second, following the boy's progress with his eyes watering from not blinking, his skin feeling clammy and hot despite the cutting cold of the wind. Being much younger and not recently nearly killed off by a curse, Harry goes a lot quicker and steadier than the old wizard before him, not letting himself stop to rest and instead powering through it all in one go.He makes it down without any issues in half the time Dumbledore took and though he blinks out of sight at the end the same way, Tom doesn’t let himself panic. Seconds later, the white of Dumbledore’s beard is waved again, signaling for him to go down too.Though he believes in his own power and ability, it is still nerve wracking to step out onto the first stone step, hanging effectively unsupported over hundreds of feet of open air, with an unforgiving sea waiting to claim him at the bottom. Still, he positions his body sideways and clings onto the rocky side of the cliff as starts climbing downwards, heart quivering and overly aware of the fact that by becoming human again, he doesn’t have a Horcrux to fall back on anymore.With the Diary destroyed, there was nothing tying Tom to life, nothing in place to allow him to return should he accidentally fall to the rocky, choppy waters below.
He’ll definitely have to rectify that little problem soon, although preferably without Harry finding out about it. The lower down he gets, the slippier the slabs become and he finds his muscles beginning to burn fiercely as he tries to maintain his core balance. He ends up shredding his palms to bloody ribbons from gripping the rough wall so hard, but he can see the lip of the cave clearer now, so he doesn’t delay.The waves crash again, closer and louder, but Tom manages to avoid it by jumping from the last slab onto the solid floor of the cave, only his back getting wet from the impact of it. Harry darts forward from where he and Dumbledore had been waiting and offers his hand out, which Tom surprises even himself by reaching out and clinging onto tightly, allowing Harry to bring him steadily back onto his feet.“Okay?” Harry checks, voice wavering. His cheeks are flushed from the cold winds, and his hands still holding on to Tom’s are frigid and stiff. Tom nods, unable to speak just yet, in case his heart where it's been lodged in his throat tumbles straight out. He looks around and sees that the small space is just big enough for the three of them to stand side by side while they catch their breaths and let their nervous limbs settle again. The wind whistles and howls, echoing more than it should in the small space.Tom lights up his wand with a lumos, the bluish glow highlighting an opening at the back of the entrance, winding away into the deep and the dark of the cliffs.“No time to waste. We need to take advantage of the lower tide.” Dumbledore says, his voice a quiet whisper as if not to disturb the stillness.As the one with the only source of light, Tom takes up the lead to guide them through the tunnel, its passageway so narrow they have to walk in single file. The walls drip wet and the ground is slimy with seaweed, making them falter and slip occasionally. But it doesn’t take long before the tunnel opens up to the cave, although it’s no bigger than the classrooms back in Hogwarts and it is entirely empty of anything, let alone the Horcrux they’re searching for.“It’s empty.” He mutters, disappointed that the trip and its dangers had been for nothing. Voldemort must not have returned to the cave of his youth, or if he had, he’d found it lacking.Dumbledore doesn’t seem to think the same.“To the eye, perhaps. But can’t you feel it, Mr Riddle? Magic has known this place.”He looks around again, sceptical, but closes his eyes and allows his magic to spill out, reaching and searching for something. Then, yes, he does feel another magical presence, although it’s stagnant as if it’s been sitting for a long time untouched, unchecked. But it is there.Tom looks around at Dumbledore. “A concealed entrance?”The man nods. Harry, at his side, has been silently observing them and he looks warily around at the dark room with pursed lips.“So a secret entrance inside his hidden cave,” The boy mutters, “Not paranoid at all, is he?”“Indeed, Voldemort seems to have taken tremendous caution in guarding this place, which leads me to believe we are on the right track. Now just to get through.” Dumbledore steps forward to run both of his hands along the walls, his ears tilted as if listening for something within.Just then, an idea strikes Tom.“Open.” Tom commands, slipping into the tongue of the snakes. Much to his frustration however, the entrance does not reveal itself even to Parseltongue. He scowls even as Harry nudges his arm companionably.“Worth a shot,” The boy reassures him, speaking low so as to not disturb Dumbledore’s concentration.It takes a few minutes of Dumbledore walking back and forth, inspecting the walls and tapping in random places, listening carefully. Then, he turns back to face them once more.“The entrance is hidden behind what seems to be a paywall, so to speak. It will require something in return, a sacrifice.”“Sacrifice?” Harry repeats, a wary note to his tone. Admittedly Tom has immediately begun picturing murdering Dumbledore where he stands and offering him up, but his daydreams are soon dispersed when Dumbledore smiles amusedly at Harry and shakes his head.“Nothing so bad as what you’re no doubt imagining Harry. It will require some blood, but I have come prepared for such things,” He reaches into the folds of his robe sleeves and slips something out, a glint of silver catching in the wandlight. Quicker than Tom or Harry can react, he unsheathed the small knife from its casing and drew it across the destroyed skin of his injured hand.“Professor!” Harry protests, jumping forwards as if to stop him, but the blood is already flowing steadily. Tom is intrigued to see it is still as red as it should be, spilling fast and free despite the outward appearance of the hand and how decayed it looks.How interesting.Dumbledore moves his hand up and allows the blood to drip down onto the rocky wall, the three of them watching keenly as it seems to sink into the stone, resulting in a silvery arched doorway making itself visible at last.Whatever lies beyond is cloaked by complete darkness.“After me, I think.” Dumbledore says quietly. Tom wills his lumos a little brighter as they follow.Impossibly, the sight that meets their eyes is one of a great, vast lake, stretching so far that Tom could not see the other side of it. How could it be here? Is this all part of the enchantments guarding the Horcrux?Tom decides it must be, that the true cave is only the small one they had just been in, not this space with its high ceilings of bare rock. The water was completely and utterly still, undisturbed by stray drips or natural movement, which told Tom that it was not natural, not at all.The darkness was dense, cloying in its overbearing, almost physical weight.“Let us walk,” Dumbledore says under his breath. “Be very careful not to step into the water. Stay close.”They set off cautiously, footsteps echoing around the cavern as they walked along the narrow edged path by the water. The view however did not change, no distance walked altered the fact that the solid wall stayed at one side of them and the dangerous expanse of the waters on the other. Tom realises further out into the water is a greenish sort of light, standing adrift and alone like a lighthouse drawing their attention. Or, more aptly, like a deadly Siren calling them to their deaths.The Horcrux must be out there.Harry is clearly of the same impression.“Sir, do you think the Horcrux is out there?” He asks, pointing to the light.“Yes, I’m sure it is. The question is, how do we get to it?”“Couldn’t we just try a Summoning Charm?” He follows up, colouring when Tom looks sideways at him for it.Dumbledore doesn’t call him out for the somewhat silly question though, instead stopping and turning to face the two of them.“We could certainly attempt to. Mr Riddle, would you mind?”Tom bites his lip, annoyed, but acquiesces with only a small eye roll.“Accio Horcrux!” He says aloud, just so Harry can’t claim that he didn’t even try properly. The Horcrux does not come sailing towards them as Tom predicted, but instead, with a reverberating and sudden crash, something large and pale erupts from the water a couple of feet away from them. In his surprise Tom lets his wand arm drop, so they do not see exactly what the thing is before it vanishes under the surface of the black water again, the crash sending ripples lapping at their feet.Harry had scrambled back in shock, pressing himself against the wall away from the water, which had already returned to that unnerving stillness with strange speed. Unnatural, just as Tom thought.“Did you think that would happen, sir?” Harry gasps, half accusingly.“I knew there would be something waiting to attack if we made any obvious moves to claim the Horcrux. Better to get an idea of what we’re facing sooner rather than later.”“But what was it?”“I am not certain, although I have no doubt that there will be more than that one.”“We’re going to need a boat.” Tom pipes up, coming to the realisation before the other two; If they can’t go through the water, and they can’t go around the edge, then they’ll have to go over.They walk the bank a little further around, all the while letting his magic figuratively sniff out any other traces of magic for signs of something to aid them. He doesn’t know how far they walk, seeing as the illusion of the room makes it impossible to track, but eventually his sweeping trips up on something, some ping of energy nearby.Tom stops and allows Dumbledore and Harry to peer over his shoulder as he waves his empty hand through the air, reaching for something beyond his vision. Then, he feels it - magic springs up to meet him, to answer, and all of a sudden Tom finds himself holding a thick, coppery chain which has leapt up from the depths of the lake to land in his palm. Harry jolts but Dumbledore smiles widely, a beaming proud thing that Tom has never seen directed at him before.“Very well spotted, Mr Riddle.” The man beams.“How did you know that was there?” Astonishment colours Harry’s tone and Tom can not help the smug feeling that fills him then. He puffs himself up.“I could feel the traces of it sitting dormant and ready to be called upon. It was simple, really.” Tom brags. Harry squints and pouts.“Come along then, boys. Let’s cross the water.” Dumbledore gets them back on track. Tom finishes pulling the boat to the surface, a small dodgy looking thing of wood that does not look as if it will hold all of them. Harry climbs in first hesitantly, twisting to help Dumbledore in second, with Tom pulling up the rear. Almost before his right foot has even left the bank the boat pulls off on its own, making Tom wobble precariously before he grabs onto the wooden apex for support. He looks backwards as the boat moves further into the waters, and it does not take long before he can't even see the bank or the walls of the cave, seemingly setting out on a never ending open sea of no waves.At some point, Harry lets out a startled shout and Tom whips his head and wand around to see what’s happened. The boy is staring into the water, mouth gaping open in horrified surprise.“What is it?” Tom demands, looking down as well. He doesn’t see anything.“I saw a hand in the water, a human hand!”Tom’s eyebrows hike up. They all look down as he points the beam of his wand down closer to the surface, and then-The body of a dead man lying face up just inches below them, his eyes open and misty white, robes and hair swirling around him like smoke. Tom swallows thickly, throat suddenly feeling extremely dry.“Bodies. The lake is full of dead bodies.” He states flatly and Harry lets out a high and strangled noise, apparently unable to hold it back. He keeps his eyes trained down at his bent knees instead, avoiding looking at the waters at all costs, but Tom makes sure to keep his eyes peeled for any sign of movement or reaction from the bodies, just in case.The boat sails on.That strange greenish light pulses and grows brighter as they approach the small island at the centre of the lake, which is made up of an expanse of flat stone no bigger than the Headmasters Office. It feels like an eternity has passed since they were there, sitting behind Dumbledore’s desk, and not only barely over an hour ago.“Careful not to touch the water,” Dumbledore reminds them before they all step carefully out of the boat in turns.Standing as the focal point of the island is a plinth made of stone, atop which sits a crystal basin. Seeing as there is nothing else for them to inspect, they approach the basin side by side to see that it is full of a strange emerald liquid, which is the source of that eerie glowing green light.“What is it?” asked Harry.“I am not sure.” Dumbledore replies. He moves as if to put his finger into it without thought, and now Tom can understand how he so easily got taken in by his Ring’s curse. Was he trying to speed up his death, or was he always this reckless?Harry’s abrupt yell is for naught, though, as Dumbledore’s fingers hit an invisible barrier, stopping them from coming into contact with the mysterious liquid.“You try, Harry.” The man orders but the same happens again. Tom tries as well, just in case his shared soul with Voldemort can somehow allow him to sidestep the enchantment in place, but no success. He then cycles through every diagnostic spell he can think of to try and determine what they must do with it, but each one comes back negative. The liquid cannot be vanished, touched, or changed in any way to allow them to check if anything rests at the bottom. Tom drops his wand when the last test comes back the same as all the others, and Dumbledore hums a considering noise, twirling the end hairs of his beard around his finger.“I believe that reveals to us that the potion is intended for drinking.” He says decisively. Tom had the nasty feeling that he was on the right track, seeing as nothing else was working and this is Voldemort they were talking about. Furthermore, if caves, blood wards, Inferi and potions of unknown properties are what stands in their way for this Horcrux; what are the obstacles in place for the other ones?“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Harry cautions but Dumbledore seems dead set on the idea.“Only by drinking the potion will we be able to see what lies at the bottom of the basin.” The man says, ignoring Harry who starts shaking his head madly, waving his palms around.“But you’re already so ill, you can’t drink it! It’ll kill you off here and now!” The boy tries to get the Headmaster to see reason, obviously entirely unaware that Dumbledore likey fully intends to die here. Tom doesn’t know why he wants to cut his already dwindling time left shorter, especially when there’s no doubt more information he could give them, but who is he to stand in the way of an old man's wishes?Dumbledore spins up some excuse to the bespeckled boy about how he does not think the potion would fully kill anyone, that Voldemort would have much preferred they live long enough for interrogation, or at least long enough to severely regret attempting to steal whatever lies in the basin.“So I’ll drink it instead!” Harry tries, desperate now. Tom makes no move to volunteer himself for the task, and wouldn’t even if Dumbledore was not so set on doing it himself.“No, Harry. I am older, and much less valuable than you. My mind is made up.”Seeing that the man will not back down, Harry drops his shoulders in defeat, a worried, scowling expression on his face.“Fine, sir.” He says shortly.“Good. Now, both of you, listen closely. I need your word that you will do as I command. Undoubtedly this potion is going to fight against being drunk, and it will not be gentle with it. It may paralyze me, make me forget where I am, what I am here for, or sow so much pain in me that I become distracted or incapable in some other way. It will be down to you two to make sure I keep drinking, even if you have to force me, so that we can empty the basin and get the Horcrux.”He waits for their response. Harry’s mouth opens and closes as he struggles to speak, looking completely perturbed by what the man had just said.“Professor, I don’t think I..” He begins weakly but the headmaster cuts across him.“I need your word Harry. We must get this Horcrux.” He looks at Harry imploringly, faded blue eyes filled with resolution. “Please.”
That last word, said so softly, is what makes Harry finally duck his head and nod reluctantly in agreement. Tom watches him, practically tasting the turmoil rolling off him.“Yes, okay. You have my word.” He says, troubled. Dumbledore nods graciously before turning to send a loaded look to Tom. Remembering his earlier promise, and having no real hang ups about it, he nods as well.“You have my word.”“Thank you. A cup, if you’d be so kind Mr Riddle.”So Tom conjures up a small goblet, handing it over to Dumbledore who takes it over to the basin. With bated breath, they all watch the goblet hit the surface and stop for a moment, resisting, until it then sinks under and begins to fill. Apprehension for what is to come next is rife between all of them, no noise besides their up-ticked breathing and the quiet drops of the potion falling off the now full goblet.Dumbledore raises it in a mock of a toast and then brings it to his lips to drain the liquid in one go. Tom holds his breath, heart thundering in his chest as he waits for something to happen, a reaction of some kind.“How do you feel?” Harry anxiously whispers, his arms folded tightly against his chest as if to stop himself from reaching out.The old man doesn’t answer, only shaking his head with his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Blindly, he shoves the goblet into the basin again and drains the next cup fully, then again, and again a third time, all the while staying hauntingly silent. Tom and Harry watch on, with fascination for the former and with dread for the latter.Then, half way through the fourth gobletful, Dumbledore's staggers and falls harshly over the basin, hanging over it and panting heavily with his eyes still closed. Harry goes to step forward, but Tom whips his arm out to catch him before he can get too close.“We don’t know what he could be capable of like this.” He whispers close to the boy's ear, just for them. Harry sets his jaw stubbornly, shaking his head in disagreement.“Professor Dumbledore?” He calls over, making sure to keep his tone low and gentle. “Can you hear me?”The man doesn’t answer, though his face is twitching rapidly under the throes of whatever is happening to him, eyeballs rolling around under their closed lids as if looking for something. His fingers are shaking where he’s clinging onto the basin for strength and the goblet, still half full, nearly slips from out of his hand.Harry rushes forward to catch it, putting him closer to the man. Tom stays close behind, wand held firmly in hand at the ready.“I don’t want…Don’t make me..” Dumbledore eventually speaks in a pained, frightened voice that Tom had not heard before, even in the shack when the curse was eating its way through him. Whatever this potion was, it was hurting the man much worse than he had.He’s almost jealous.The frail wizard speaks again, more of a moan akin to a child in pain. “...don’t like… want to stop.”Harry’s voice quivers but he determinedly tries to draw himself up, a false bravado etched into his shoulders. “You.. you can’t stop, Professor. You’ve got to keep drinking, remember?”There’s no answer. Tom takes a breath, holds it.“We’ll have to take over.” He says. The goblet is still half full and the basin looks like it’s barely been touched, still so much left to get through before they can see what it holds.Harry nods. “I’ll do it.”He approaches the still hunched over form of Dumbledore, hesitating before bringing his free hand up to rest on the man’s boney shoulder. “Here, Professor. Let me..”Though he wants to be gentle, Harry has to force the goblet to Dumbledore’s lips as the man begins to struggle against it, holding it in place until the last of it is drained. As Harry goes to fill it again, Dumbledore continues to speak broken sentences, interrupted by his pained groaning.“No…I don’t want to…I don’t want to…Let me go..”“I’m here, it’s alright. I’m here.” Harry attempts to soothe him, repeating the words over and over, but Dumbledore pays no heed to them, unable to process that he is being spoken to at all. Tom watches as Harry refills the goblet and brings it up to Dumbledore’s lips once more.“Make it stop, make it stop,” Pleads the shivering old man, weakly moving his lips away before Harry guides him back.“This will make it stop,” He pours the liquid down into Dumbledore’s mouth.Even before he’s done swallowing, Dumbledore screams, a gargled, agonising noise that echoes around the cavern, carrying across the vast black lake before rebounding back again, tenfold. Tom’s ears ring with it.“No, no, no, no, I can’t, I can’t, don’t make me, I don’t want to!” The spiel begins again, begging and pleading for release that neither he nor Harry can grant him. The boy is shaking in the aftermath of Dumbledore’s pained shrieking, his hands barely able to hold the goblet steady where he dunks it into the basin yet again. At least now, they seem to be making more progress and the levels are dropping, but Tom isn’t sure how much more the Headmaster can take before he falls apart.Again, Harry tries to comfort Dumbledore, or perhaps he says it for his own benefit, as he brings the goblet up again.“It’s all right, Professor, it’s all right. Nothing’s happening to you, you’re safe, it isn’t real, I swear it isn’t real! Take this, now, take this…”This time, once he’s drunk the gobletful, Dumbledore sinks down from where he’d still been clinging to the side of the basin, landing on his knees with a harsh crack as his body shakes apart. He begins to sob, great rolling tears streaking down his aged face, which is twisted up with such pain that he is nearly unrecognisable from the affable teacher of Tom’s youth.“It’s all my fault, all my fault,” The wizard cries, whimpering and yelping like an injured animal caught in a trap. “Please make it stop, I know I did wrong, oh please make it stop and I’ll never, never again…”Harry’s voice goes tight, his words cracking with emotion. “This will make it stop, sir, I promise.”The next gobletful is raised to Dumbledore's lips.Tom can tell the next steps of the potions effects are kicking in, as he starts looking up and around in the air as if seeing something he and Harry can’t, cowering in fright even as he still begs repeatedly, His limbs flail about, trying to fight off the invisible forces and he nearly knocks the goblet Harry has refilled again to the floor with his sporadic movements.“Don’t hurt them, don’t hurt them, please, please, it’s my fault, hurt me instead!” Dumbledore howls, the words making sense only to him.Harry finally falters, the burden of having to keep supplying the poison becoming too much to bear. His face is white and harrowed as he listens to the words Dumbledore is wailing, slamming his hands onto the stone floor and screaming again, high and cutting sounds, cutting straight to Harry’s soft heart.His arm drops, his shoulders curve in and slump.Tom steps forward, slipping the goblet from his loose fingered grasp.“I will do it,” Tom reassures him. He scoops up the potion until the goblet is full and turns around, arm raised. The sight of him approaching seems to register like a threat, because Dumbledore tries to claw across the ground to escape, nearly dropping into the body infested waters if not for Harry quickly catching him and holding him in place.“Please, please, please, no…not that, not that, I’ll do anything…”“Hold him steady Harry,” Tom orders so he can tip the liquid down Dumbledore’s gaping mouth, where he’s screeching and wailing for relief, the sound of his voice sounding scratched and ruined from the continued abuse.“No more, please, no more..”On the next scoop, Tom feels the bottom of the basin scraping against the goblet. Evidently, Harry hears it too, as he leans close to try and catch Dumbledore’s attention.“We’re nearly there, Professor. Drink this one, please, we’re nearly done!”But Dumbledore clearly is reaching his limit.“I want to die! Make it stop, make it stop, I want to die!”Devastation rips through Harry’s features, his eyes squeezing shut even as he continues to hold Dumbledore upright for Tom to guide the potion to his lips.Again, the goblet is refilled. Dumbledore gulps it down obediently, but he screams and writhes in place on the floor, clawing until his fingers turn bloody. Harry tries in vain to stop him.“Professor, don’t! You’ll be okay, please don’t-!”“KILL ME!” Dumbledore yells, a final echoing plea.Tom scoops the goblet through the potion one last time, seeing a glint of gold as he turns away to bestow the final cup full.“This one will,” He assures Dumbledore, who seems to pay attention enough to that promise that he allows Tom to tip the last of it in his mouth, until every little drop is gone.There’s a moment of deafening silence until the wizard gives a long and scraping, rattling gasp before keeling over face down, his body prone from either actually dying, or from his body giving up to pass out. Either way, Harry shoots forward with a shout, turning Dumbledore over onto his back and struggling to wake him.“Wake up! Wake up, you’re okay, you’re fine! Please, wake up! Tom, Tom!” Those bright eyes, red rimmed with emotion, cut right through Tom as he turned with a cry. “Cast a rennervate on him!”Though he itches to check the basin, to see if that glint of gold belonged to the Cup, or the Locket, or something else, he steps forward and casts the spell with a flash of red.Nothing happens at first. Harry shakes Dumbledore again, frantic, and Tom sends another rennervate. This time, there’s movement as his eyes flicker and roll beneath his lids.“Sir, are you okay?” Harry presses, insistent. Dumbledore still doesn’t move to speak.Uninterested, Tom turns his back on the two of them, directing his attention instead into the now empty basin. Or, not so empty, as at the bottom, sitting oh so innocently, is Slytherin’s Locket in all of its glory.The memories had not done it justice, had not allowed all of its detail to show through properly. It was chunky, gaudy in some ways, the links of the chain large and heavy looking. The locket itself shone brightly, that serpentine S standing out proud and true.And it was all his.His fingers burn to reach in and take it, to claim it as his own, so he does so with his breath held behind his teeth, wide eyed with wonder and awe. It’s bitingly cold where it touches his skin, either from sitting in this cave for so long or because of its true nature. He folds his fingers around it, clutching it close and tight to his chest as he lets his eyes fall shut to listen.
There’s nothing.Tom furrows his brows, straining. He vaguely registers a noise behind him, of water lapping at the edges of the platform.The Locket doesn’t make a noise. How could that be? Tom looks down at it in his palm, flipping it over to smooth his thumb thoughtfully over the back. Was it because he wasn’t the main piece of soul? Is that why he could feel no connection to it?There’s no time to puzzle over it. Behind him, there’s a yell of surprise and fear and that lapping water sound he’d been ignoring turns into frenzied splashing. Tom whips around, his wand and the Locket held tight in each hand, just in time to see Harry being surrounded by the hundreds of Inferi that have apparently awoken. Men, women, children, all with sunken, sightless eyes, move towards the rock and its occupants. Harry stands frozen protectively over Dumbledore, who doesn’t appear any more alert, leaving Tom to be the one to rush forward with his arm raised and his magic ready to strike.
Defence Against the Dark Arts, sixth year textbook; Inferi, like most classified dark creatures, the most effective way to defeat an Inferius, or plural Inferi, is to attack it with fire. In cases of a single Inferius, other offensive spells may work to weaken them, but against multiple at one time, only fire can dispose of them. Note that Inferi are already dead, and therefore cannot feel pain or take damage like regular wizards or creatures might.
The memory of that lesson guides Tom’s magic as he whirls his wand through the air to yell the incantation for the most powerful fire he knows.
Fiendfyre.
The effect is instantaneous. The creatures that had been clawing on their skeletal hands and knees towards him immediately shrink back, afraid. The green fire is uncontained, reaching its embers out to strike down each undead body, sending them to their final deaths. It’s a mercy, really, Tom thinks, before he turns to an astonished Harry.“We need to leave.” He orders, feeling sweat already starting to gather on his skin from the flames.The only trouble with Fiendfyre was that it was mostly uncontrollable, even more so when more power was pushed into, which Tom had just done. If he really tried, he could probably have it recede a little, but he's more than happy to let it blaze this place to the ground, seeing as they’d gotten what they’d come for. Already he can sense that some of the magic of the place is failing, which means they need to get out now. They’re standing under a cliff of who knows how much weight, and he is not keen to be here when it collapses inwards.Harry nods in agreement, but looks around despairingly. “How? The boat from before is gone, and this fire...”“I think I can Apparate,” Tom pants, but finds he’s right. The magic shielding this place from being found was snapping, breaking under the strain of the fire, and the cloying, trapping feeling of the wards is gone. “Yes! I can! Come here, quickly.” He holds his palm out to Harry who moves to grab it, but then stops suddenly.“Dumbledore, we need to get Dumbledore!” He cries, back treading. Above their heads, ominous cracks are starting to appear, dust and rubble falling down into the water, sending rippling waves. The inferno rages on, and Tom can barely breath.He grabs Harry’s shirt before he can go too far from him.“Stop! Leave him, he’s done for!” Tom has to shout as the noise in the cave has become deafening, the shifts of the rock all around them, the way the bodies of the undead shriek as they burn.Still, Harry seems uncaring of all of this, staring at Tom with horror, anger. “Leave him? No! NO! I am not leaving him, let me go-” He tries to yank away from Tom’s grip.But Tom hangs on tight, his knuckles aching under the force of it. He shoves the locket still held in his other hand into his trouser pocket, using it instead to dig his fingers into Harry’s shoulder, holding tight.Harry seems to realise what he intends to do, green eyes going wide.“Tom, don’t-”
The rocky ceiling gives an almighty crack as it splits for good, the magic and the fire finally causing it to give way. The cave, the island, the lake, everything shakes as the cliff starts to fall and Tom’s grip does not loosen for a second despite Harry’s desperate attempts to flee, reaching his free hand out to the prone body of Dumbledore still on the rock.“Dumbledore, I have to get to him, please!! No - NO!! DUMBLEDORE!!!” His devastated, desperate screams are lost to the ruin of the cave, to the fire.Tom holds tight to the boy and spins on his heel, disapparating.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Whether or not Tom had meant for them to land right in the middle of an occupied alley, full of blinding bright neon lights and signs from the nearby clubs, Harry doesn’t know. Their colours all leak and merge together, reflecting on the wet pavement as he vaguely hears Tom cursing at his side, while he of course stumbles out of the apparition on weak knees. Harry’s mind is rolling, reeling, and everything feels very far away and muffled, like he’s somehow under water.Tom sticks close beside Harry, remaining stiff and alert as he takes in their surroundings. One end of the alley leads out onto a busy road, several cars passing by in quick blurs, and the other end appears to be where the noise is coming from, a buzz of chatter and music. There’s also a group of barely dressed women a little further up, huddled together smoking and laughing. When they fail to react to two teenage boys suddenly appearing out of nowhere, Tom’s shoulders finally drop as his nerves are set at ease.“It’s fine, they’re all drunk. None of them should remember seeing us appear, if they noticed at all.” Tom murmurs low, for Harry alone to hear. He doesn’t reply, staring blankly down at his feet, his shoddily chopped jeans.There’s a thumping bass of dance music leaking out of one of the clubs, perfectly matched to the pulsing of Harry’s heart, each thud a horrible reminder of what had just happened, who he’d just left behind. He squeezes his eyes shut tight when they grow hot with tears, biting down on his trembling lip to stop the sob that longs to break free.“We need to move,” Tom decides, starting to walk off down the alley, past the women. When Harry fails to follow, feeling as if his feet are stuck cemented to the dirty pavement below, the boy doubles back and grabs hold of Harry’s hand tightly.“Don’t let go,” The boy says and then starts off walking again, this time towing Harry behind like an absentminded child.He doesn’t feel far off from that, truthfully.As they walk, London’s nightlife flashes and blares through all of his senses, the brightly lit restaurants blurring together in wet, wobbly blobs, the hum of angry, beeping traffic barely registering in his already ringing ears. Tom’s hold on his hand is the only thing stopping Harry from dropping into a ball on the floor and curling up, never to move again. He feels completely numb.Like a nightmare seared into his brain, all Harry can think about is Dumbledore’s face, the agony and suffering that had etched itself into every one of the old man’s features, twisting them up until he hadn’t been able to see past it to the person he knew underneath. That potion had worked its sinister poison through him so quickly, either by design or because he’d been so weak already.Harry should have tried harder to be the one to drink it, to share the burden at least… Instead, he now had the memory of forcing all of it into Dumbledore’s mouth, holding him as he trembled so violently under the onslaught. The gut wrenching cries he has so tortuously sobbed, begging for death, would echo in the caverns of Harry’s heart for the rest of his life.And now, unthinkable as it is, Harry knows in his heart that Dumbledore really is dead, gone forever. The cave had been falling, everything within it destined for dust and rubble. Dumbledore’s body would never be found from the ruin of that cave, Harry would never see him again, and the last moments of another person he loves are tainted, stained, by the pain and violence of Voldemort once more.Harry loses his fight with the tears in his eyes, and they cut hot paths down his face as they carry on speeding down the different streets, winding down pathways and cutting across roads with no real aim, no destination. Because where are they meant to go, what are they meant to do now?Dumbledore had left them this mission, this task, but he was gone before Harry really felt like he was ready to start. He was meant to have until the end of the summer; that’s what the old headmaster had said to him, that first day at the castle. It wasn’t even the end of July.Now, it’s just him and Tom, who Harry wasn’t sure he even wanted to be near to at this moment. After all, it was Tom’s fault Dumbledore had been that way in the first place, so weak and depleted that he couldn’t even use his magic, his wand. If he had been stronger, healthier, would anything be different? He probably would have still insisted on taking the potion himself, but if he’d had his magic, maybe they’d have been able to get out of the cave safely without it coming down on top of them, the way Tom’s fire had made it do.Perhaps the worst thing though, the thing that has Harry’s entire chest feeling like it’s being squeezed in a vice, is that Dumbledore had been waking up. Harry had managed to rouse him enough to get him to speak, and he’d been asking for water. So Harry had rushed to grab the empty goblet and go down to the water, which was when those nightmarish bodies had started to emerge, heading right for them. Tom had finally stepped in, and then everything had happened so fast that Harry had barely been able to keep up.But in those last few seconds before the apparition had taken hold to whisk him and Tom away, as he’d been crying out and straining to get to Dumbledore, Harry had looked across that stone island and locked eyes on twinkling, familiar blue. Dumbledore had been blinking away the haze of the potion in those final moments, awake and alert enough to look straight at Harry, to realise what was about to happen. But the man hadn’t looked pained, or frightened, or even angry.No, he’d looked at Harry and smiled. That same little smile, the one he always used at the start of term feasts, and the end of year house cup announcements. Contented, happy. He had looked at Harry, right before he’d be crushed to death, and Dumbledore had been happy.Harry gasps around his sob, unable to help the high, childish whine that bursts out of him as his lungs stutter and jump. His knees feel weak under him and he has to stop, has to dig his heels in and yank out of Tom’s hand to bend over and dry heave down on the wet pavement, hacking and choking. He feels like if he can do it hard enough, he can cough out his heart completely, if only to stop the way it’s cracking and breaking apart.Tom had stopped as soon as Harry pulled out of his hold, standing awkwardly beside him as he’d hit his breaking point and now he sets a hesitant hand on Harry’s lower back, as if to comfort him. He wishes he had the energy to brush him off, not wanting to be touched, but all he can do is continue coughing and crying.“Harry? What’s wrong with you?” Tom demands, completely befuddled by his behaviour. Harry only shakes his head, moaning miserably.He can’t explain this to Tom, who would never feel the same pain Harry did for the loss of Dumbledore, who would never understand the heartache he’s feeling for having left him.A group of rowdy men pass close by just then, calling and jeering at them.“Better out than in, mate!” One of them calls, sending the rest falling about laughing boisterously, a few clapping. They’re clearly well into a night out, and must think Harry is too, that he’s here throwing up his stomach over alcohol and not death.Harry can feel how Tom’s palm on his back turns into a tight fist, indicating that his touchy temper is growing short, so he stands back up straight, trying to shake off the storm of depressing thoughts while breathing deeply in and out a few times. He shoots a small, strained smile to the drunken men, before grabbing Tom’s elbow and pulling them away from the group, in case he gets it in his head to start sending spells flying.“I didn’t think the Muggles could get worse,” The boy spits, disgust and disdain colouring his tone. Harry rolls his eyes, scowling, and doesn’t bother to answer. His head feels even heavier now, stuffy with the onslaught of a headache and he knows he doesn’t want to be walking around London all the wretched night, so he keeps his eyes peeled for a quieter cafe and leads the way through the door at the first one he sees.A bell rings overhead, but the two or three other occupants don’t bother to look up. There’s an old woman behind the till, and she offers them a hint of a smile as they come in, her kind face lined with tiredness.“Order at the counter when you’re ready, lads.”“Thanks.” Harry mutters. He goes right to the back wall, to the more secluded type of booths. He all but throws himself down in an ungainly heap, breathing short and shallow, bringing his fists up to rub his sore, itchy eyes, which sting against the sudden bright fluorescent lighting.Tom’s legs brush against his as the other wizard seats himself with more grace. Harry doesn’t make any move to break the silence between them, too busy attempting not to break down into a screaming mess, and he only squints his eyes open again when he senses Tom getting back to his feet.His hand darts out, grabbing onto Tom’s pale wrist.“Where are you going?”Tom simply offers a raised brow in return, jutting his thumb in the direction of the counter.“I’m going to order. They’ll kick us out if we just sit here. What do you want?”“Nothing.” Harry mumbles shortly and lets go, watching Tom closely as the boy goes up to the counter.They haven’t got any money, so he wonders what the boy is going to do, then wonders if he even has the energy to kick up a fuss about them effectively stealing when he realises Tom will no doubt magic his way around it. Sure enough, he comes back with two steaming mugs in his hands, and a small plastic card with a number four written on it in marker. He sets the mugs down and happily slips the card into the metal little holder sitting in the middle of their table, sliding back into his seat with a grin.“Tea,” Tom announces, pushing a mug Harry’s way and keeping one for himself, “and toast, when it comes.”Harry watches, half astonished, as he shifts through the little packets on the table, finds the sugar, then goes about adding four of them into his mug. Tom then uses his torso to shield the mug a little before rotating his finger in circles over the top, the liquid inside stirring to match.“What is wrong with you?” Harry asks, point blank. Tom’s brown eyes shot up to look at him, creasing as he smiles disarmingly.“It’s only four packets, Harry, you barely get anything in these tiny things-” The boy starts, but Harry isn’t talking about the damn sugars. He ignores his own mug, leaning his upper body across the table to crowd in close.“How can you just sit there when you’ve left a man to be crushed to death not even half an hour ago!” Harry spits in his best attempt of a whisper, gritting his teeth. Tom appears entirely unbothered, like he’s having the time of his life sitting here drinking tea. He’s calm, collected, totally unruffled where he looks cooly back at Harry, even having the nerve to shrug.“You might not want to hear this right now, but he asked me to leave him. Ah ah-” He puts his finger up when Harry puffs up, ready to blow, “Dumbledore knew he was already dying, knew that we were about to do something dangerous. So he used Legilimency to tell me to make sure I got you out, to leave him.”He sips on his drink when he’s done speaking, letting out a little ‘ah’ noise of satisfaction after. Harry stares at him for a loaded, stretched out moment, entirely disbelieving. Then, he laughs, a cold, biting thing full of mocking, not a noise he’s ever known himself to make. He leans across the table further, getting nose to nose with Tom.
“I. Don’t. Believe. You.”
The woman from earlier walks up just then with two plates of plain toast, little golden packets of butter besides them. Harry sits back so she can place them down, and makes sure to study her closely as he thanks her and hands over the number card from earlier. She doesn’t seem too out of it, but her eyes are a little unfocused. Hopefully just a Confundus, then.She leaves them in a tense silence. Though Harry doesn’t want to, he pulls the tea and toast towards him and begins to eat, hoping it will help ease the hollow pit growing in his stomach. Tom doesn't say a word, only butters his toast and cuts it into neat little squares, looking out at the cafe rather than at Harry as he eats.When Harry is done, he flicks the crumbs off his fingers, then swishes the last mouthful of tea around his mouth, swallowing with a loud gulp. He sets the mug down to the side of the table, then looks pointedly at the side of Tom’s face.“Let me see it.” He finally says, ordering more than asking.Coyly, Tom says, “See what?” Like he has no idea what Harry could mean. He’s not in the mood to play games right now though, so he kicks the boy firmly under the table, feeling no remorse for the way he jerks in place, hissing.“You know what.”Harry doesn’t think any of the other cafe dwellers are wizards, but he’s still not about to go spouting the name of such a dark item for all to hear. Tom purses his lips, looking just like Aunt Petunia, but he reaches into his pocket without further protest. He cradles it with care in both of his hands, sliding them across the table to then open them up slowly, revealing the treasure within.The locket sits within, glinting innocuously in the light.Harry leans forward and tentatively reaches his own hand out to pick it up, his breath held tight in his throat. For some reason, he expects something to happen, some reaction or feeling to tell him that he’s holding a Horcrux, a piece of Voldemort’s rotten soul.But there’s nothing.Still held above Tom’s cupped hands, Harry spins it around in his own grasp, somehow feeling disappointed.“I expected it to feel..” He trails off, unsure of how to explain it. After all, the Diary hadn’t really let off any sort of feeling either, but still, Harry had known it was not just a plain old book when he got his hands on it.Tom’s face is severe, his pale skin even more pallid than usual.“I think something’s wrong with it.” The boy admits, barely a whisper like he can’t bear for it to be true. “I can’t hear it, I can’t feel anything when I touch it.”In his chest, Harry’s heart thunders.“What if it’s not..” a Horcrux, he doesn’t finish, but clearly he and Tom are on the same page.They lean over the table, heads bumping slightly together where they look down at their cupped hands. With a shaking thumb, Harry digs his nail under the latch on one side of the locket. He darts a quick questioning look at Tom under his lashes and gets a small nod back.With a quiet clink, Harry twists his thumb and the locket clasp falls open. They wait, barely moving or breathing, for something to happen; an attack, a sign, anything.
Once again, there’s nothing. No outward show of aggression as the Horcrux reacts to its attacker, no zing or spark of a spell, no oily lingerance of dark curses waiting to strike.Tom is the one to reach a long finger out then, slipping it into the opening to slowly ease the Locket open until it sits like a book in their hands. Both sides of the piece of jewellery are lined with green velvet material, emerald just like the house it belongs to, and laying in place on one of the green sides is a small, square piece of paper, folded up neatly.After a long pause full of surprise and dismay, Tom moves then to pick the paper up, beginning to unfold it as Harry watches on, nearly vibrating with the stress. He grips the Locket chain tight in his fist and Tom clears his throat, speaking in a hushed, thick tone.
“To the Dark Lord, I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have taken the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more. R.A.B”
“Oh god,” Harry chokes, eyes slamming shut. His head is still thumping with a vengeance, and the painful little twinges shooting around his skull are doubled as the words sink in. “It was for nothing. Dumbledore died for nothing.”He drops the locket, the chain of it scraping loudly against the table, then folds his fingers through his hair and pulls, desperate for an end to this nightmare. Wake up, wake up, wake up he pleads, pulling and pulling on the strands. But nothing happens; Harry is awake and everything is horribly real. There is no escaping this reality.The Locket is a fake, which means the real Horcrux is still out there somewhere, making their task all the more impossible. Harry very much doubts that luck is on their side enough for the person who wrote the note to have succeeded. Who were they? How did they find out about the Horcrux?Harry looks up at Tom, twin mile long stares shared between them.“What are we meant to do now?” He whispers despairingly. Everything had fallen apart in front of them, and nothing made sense anymore. The Horcrux Dumbledore lost his life for is a fake, and they have no idea where to begin on tracking the real one down, let alone any of the others.Unfortunately, Tom has no answer to give, no reassurance or smart ideas to share.“I don’t know,” Is all he says, defeat apparent in his slumped shoulders, a look Harry never thought he’d see Tom wearing.They sit in silence for a long time after that.-----------At some point, an undetermined amount of time later, the bell above the door rings as someone steps into the cafe. Harry glances up from the origami boat he’d been making out of one of the napkins on the table, something one of his old primary school teachers had taught him once that he’d never forgotten, and sees the new comer is dressed head to toe in a dark, sweeping robe, the hood pulled down low obscuring their face.It immediately sends his senses pinging off in high alert, so he gives Tom a quick kick under the table. The boy, who had been playing solitaire with a battered deck of cards he’d pilfered from the cafe's lone bookshelf, kicked Harry back reflexively before looking up in annoyance.Harry darts his eyes quickly to the man, now standing as if studying the chalkboard menu, then looks pointedly back at Tom. Thankfully, he seems to get the message. Laying down his cards, Tom slips his wand, Harry’s old holly one, out of his sleeve to hold it out of sight under the table, directed at the man's back.Whatever spell he does makes Tom suck in a quick breath.“They’re magic.” He murmurs.“Shit.” Harry tries to squash his fringe down over his stupid scar. The man, holding a wrapped up chocolate muffin, of all things, has started walking their way. “Shitshitshit!”They come to a stop in front of their table, apparently accessing the cards laid out and the sad little row of napkin boats.Then, they speak, and Harry has never relaxed so quickly in his life.“Language, Potter. Move over.” Snape’s voice bleeds sourly from the cover of the hood, as dour and unimpressed as ever.He never thought he’d be so glad to hear his most hated Professors’ voice, but some of the doom and gloom he’d been feeling falls away as Harry hastily shoves himself along the booth seat until he’s pressed flush against the wall. Though he usually resented being told what to do, especially by Snape of all people, he would gladly welcome whatever guidance he could get now.Snape sits down and pushes his hood back, shaking his long hair out of his face. Then he waves his wand around in a wavey formation, unbothered by the few muggles still sitting around the cafe.“And just why is it that you have not erected a privacy ward, or disguised yourselves with notice-me-nots?” the man asks, giving Tom especially a sharp, annoyed look. The boy colours slightly, only obvious because he’s already so pale, and he glares at Snape from across this table.“What do you want?”“I’ve come to fulfil Dumbledore’s last wish, which is making sure you two imbeciles are where you’re meant to be. Which isn’t here, if you couldn’t already guess, playing solitaire and moping in full view of any Death Eaters that should happen to pass by.”“Like you, you mean?” Tom jabs snidely, but Harry’s brief joy has burst and deflated after hearing Snape say the Headmasters name. He looks down at his hands in shame, picking the already abused skin around his nails until it begins to bleed.“Professor, I’m so sorry, I tried to help him but I… Dum-” Harry can’t even say his name, can’t bear to. “He’s gone. He’s dead…”Snape looks at Harry with eyes so dark it’s hard to discern where the colour ends and the pupil begins, then simply unwraps his muffin to take a bite, chewing slowly. When he’s finished his mouthful, he speaks again, the usual hatred for Harry only a back note in his tone.“I know, Potter. The Headmaster and I had previously discussed matters before you departed. He told me he was unlikely to return, and what I was to do if he should not. That is why I’m here.”Harry is confused, his mouth tugging down at the corners. “He knew? But he said to me he had the whole summer before… I mean, I knew he was hurt, but I thought he had longer.”“He lied, Potter. Dumbledore was surviving on fumes as it was. There was no way he was living until the end of the summer, not after that curse. It was a miracle he lived as many days as he did.” Snape says, factual but not uncaring.He directs his venomous glare at Tom as he speaks, and now that Harry is looking for it, he can see the tightness lingering in his Professor's face, a redness to the corners of his eyes the only evidence of his own pain. Snape is grieving too, only he had known what was going to happen all along, and had a little longer to try and cope with it.It seems only Harry hadn’t known what was going on, and wasn’t that the usual way? He couldn’t help but feel a little resentful over being left in the dark, again.
“So, what was the wish? Where are we ‘meant to be’?” Asks Tom, when neither Snape nor Harry speak for a while, the former eating his muffin and Harry lost to the turmoil of his thoughts.“Come with me,” Snape replies, throwing his rubbish down and getting to his feet with speed. Harry and Tom scramble to do the same, following behind as the man leaves the cafe and turns off to the left sharply, his strides long and unfaltering.He leads the way through London once more, turning right and left every so often, stopping to cross the roads at the traffic lights like a sensible person should. Tom and Harry stay quiet, mostly focused on not losing the darkly dressed man to the cover of night and the shadowed alleys, walking without pause for what feels like a very long time. Harry’s feet are starting to ache a little and the skin of his exposed arms feels completely numb from the cold, as he’s still only in his threadbare t-shirt.He rubs over them with his palms, crossing them tightly together to try and preserve what heat he can, and is so distracted by his continued shivering that when they finally do stop, it takes him a moment to recognise what’s in front of him.When he does, he spins around on his heel to glare at Snape, snapping in refusal.“No! No way, I am not going in there!”A row of tall, grey houses loom ominously over the three of them. Even though number twelve has not yet been revealed, Harry is already starting to feel like a rabid animal, wild and feral. He can’t go in there, not now, not so soon after Sirius, and now Dumbledore too-! No, no, Harry won’t, he can’t!
“You will, Potter.” Snape says with finality, then turns to Tom, “Harry Potter’s house is number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.”Harry startles out of his spiralling to look confusedly at Snape.“Wait, that’s not right-” Before he can finish though, the buildings begin to rumble and move in front of them, slowly splitting apart to make way for the one hiding behind. When it’s settled into place, the number on the door glinting at him like a bad omen, Snape grips Harry by the back of his shirt and starts to drag him in, Tom following behind.He tries to escape, hissing and spitting like a cat the whole way, but Snape gets him through the door and slams it shut behind them, locking them in to complete darkness and quiet.At least until Harry gets his lungs working again.“I’m not staying here!” He growls up at Snape, who’s lit the end of his wand so they can see in front of them. The entry hallway leads off deeper into the house, which gives off the same energy as a horrible, empty tomb, everything so silent and still. The air is stagnant, as damp and musty smelling as it had always been, only made worse for how it had sat empty the last few weeks and its complete lack of sunlight.Snape doesn’t even bother to reply, pushing past Harry and Tom to go off into the depths, lighting the lamps as he goes. Tom shoots a sideways look at him, before following along, inspecting the peeling walls and macabre decor intriguingly. Harry briefly looks back at the front door behind him, contemplating escaping - but where else would he go?So, with trepidation, he goes after the other two, keeping his eyes glued to the thin, worn carpet under his feet and steadfastly refusing to think about anything to do with this house or who used to live here.
Used to.
He grinds his teeth. Well that didn’t last long, Harry thinks to himself dourly. He turns at the end of the hallway to go into the dining room, opposite the stairs leading up into complete pitch blackness. His mood lightens a little though, when he sees the long wooden table, or rather, what is resting upon it. His trunk, all of his school things from the Dursleys, even his broom! And, best of all-“Hedwig!” Harry calls out, delighted, and the beautiful white owl flies over from where she’d been perched on the back of a chair to land on Harry’s shoulder, trilling in his ear and snapping at his hair chidefully. “What are you doing here?”“I collected your things on Dumbledore’s request earlier this morning, when your relatives had left for the day.”“Oh.” Harry isn’t sure how he feels about Snape visiting Privet Drive, even if he’d snuck in when his Aunt and Uncle weren’t home. “Um, thank you, sir.” He makes sure to add quickly, not wanting to be seen as ungrateful.Snape sits down at the table, folding his hands together and staring pointedly at Harry, who hastens to sit down as well, feeling as if he’s late for detention. Hedwig glides over to perch on the chair next to him and Tom is otherwise busy moseying about the room, inspecting the contents of an old dresser in the corner.“You’ll notice I did not reveal the house the same way it has been previously,” The potions professor starts, and Harry nods. When he had been brought here for the first time last summer, he’d been handed a piece of paper that said number twelve was the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix. Snape had said ‘Harry Potter’s house’, which made no sense, as it wasn’t. It was Sirius’, much as the man had hated it.Snape continues, reaching into his robes for a roll of papers, tied together with silky ribbon. “I hoped Dumbledore would be the one to inform you of this, but it seems the task has fallen to me.” He sounded bitter, even more so than he usually was. Harry watches with tense shoulders, aware that Tom has come to stand just behind him to observe as well. Snape sets the papers down, sliding them over to rest in front of Harry.“Before his arrest, Sirius Black,” Harry jolts physically at the name said aloud, especially the way it sounds coming from Snape, who sneers it out like it’s no better than mud, “named you, Harry James Potter, as the sole heir of the Black family. He had no children of his own, and his petty, childish personality thought it was awfully funny to stop the heir title from going to another branch of the Black family, namely to his cousin Narcissa Malfoy, and her children. That will was filed just after your birth, at the same time as he was named Godfather to you in your parent’s wills, and it sat untouched throughout his time in Azkaban. With his death, the will came into effect, meaning that you are now Heir to the most Noble and Ancient House of Black, and when you come of age, you will then be Lord.”Behind him Tom lets out a low whistle. “Oh, a Lord? I didn’t know I was keeping such prestigious company.” He titters. Harry looks at him, then back at Snape, bewildered.“What?” Is all he can think to blurt in response, feeling dense and lost. He’d been named Heir? What in the world did that mean?“You own this house, Potter, as well as any other vacant house belonging to the Black Family. You have ownership of the vaults, and to an extent, hold some manner of power over all the remaining branches as the sole heir and future Lord.” Snape explains.“But I don’t understand.” Harry insists, his leg beginning to bounce under the table. “Why is this the first I’m hearing about it?”Surely, this would have been brought up by someone, anyone, at some point? Why would no one have ever explained to Harry that one day, if he was lucky enough to live that long, he’d actually belong somewhere, that he would finally have a place in a family for the first time ever?…Not that it even mattered now. What good was heirship, houses and vaults, if the one person Harry wanted to be there with him for it was gone?“It’s all in there,” Said Snape, pointing at the papers, “Read them another time, where I don’t have to bear witness to it. I only bring this up because it means you legally own Grimmauld Place. With Dumbledore’s death, the Fidelius shielding this place has passed down to everyone else who already knows the location, meaning everyone in the Order is now a secret keeper. Dumbledore’s suggestion was that as soon as I brought you here, I should break and then recast the spell to make you the new secret keeper and in turn, make this place secure enough to house you for whatever it is you’re doing...”Snape’s lips twist up at the end of his sentence, and Harry suddenly realises that the potions master doesn’t know what Harry and Tom are doing, or what their mission is. While Dumbledore had apparently confided and trusted Snape with a lot, the topic of the Horcruxes was apparently not one of them. When Harry makes no move to fill the obvious opening Snape has left, expecting a response, the man stands from his chair to tower over Harry, glaring down his nose at him.He speaks softly, threateningly. “I do not know what it is that is so important it requires only you to do it, but I do know this; you are going to need a great deal more knowledge than you currently possess if you want even a slither of a chance of surviving, especially once the Dark Lord knows of the Headmasters death. He will hunt you down and no amount of wards or spells will keep him from you.”Harry rolls his jaw, biting on his tongue. He already felt entirely lost in this, knew that he wasn’t up to the task, not truly. But in the face of Snape’s doubt, Harry would always bluff his way out, hating the idea of him seeing just how correct the assessment was.“Thank you for your concern, Professor,” He says politely, digging his nails sharply into the meat of his palms. “But Dumbledore gave this task to me, and I’m going to do it. Alone.”Behind him, Tom clears his throat loudly.“With Tom,” Harry amends.Snape doesn’t appear mollified. He looks at the both of them furiously before opening his robes again, bringing out and tossing down two sealed letters.“Your trace was broken prematurely this morning, right under the noses of the Ministry. I suggest you get studying, now that you have the freedom to do so. Now come with me. I want to get the new Fidelius in place so I can leave.” Snape moves out of the room silently, leaving a thunderstruck Harry behind sitting at the table.What did he mean, the trace was broken this morning? His hand trembles as he slips it into the waistband of his jeans, where Dumbledore’s wand had been nestled the entire night, unusable even in the most needed moments. Or so he’d thought.Holding it in his hand, and feeling awful for even still having it in the first place, Harry whispers the first spell that comes to mind.“Lumos.”The long, greyish wand lights up a brilliant white, bright and strong. Harry’s tender, bruised heart shrivels up for good.He’d been able to use magic this whole day, the entire time they were in the cave… If Harry had known that, maybe he could’ve done something, summoned Dumbledore to him before Tom apparated them away…But Dumbledore knew Harry could’ve helped, and decided not to tell him. Because he knew he was going to die, and if Harry had known that too, he wouldn’t have let that happen.“Nox.” Harry says dully. The light goes out.He gets to his feet to follow after Snape, going to leave the room just as Hedwig coos mournfully at him from her chair, his loyal friend always having been able to sense when Harry was at his lowest, and wanting to comfort him. Harry allows himself one quick sweep of his fingers down her soft feathers before walking away, leaving her and Tom behind.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Most of the specifics of breaking and then recasting the Fidelius Charm admittedly goes right over Harry’s head, which is so full of buzzing, rattling white noise, that it’s a miracle he even hears enough of Snape’s voice to comply. Pure, mind-numbing exhaustion is really starting to set in now, creeping in to weigh at his shoulders, his back, and the same headache from before has grown steadily into migraine territory. The morning exploring Hogwarts with Tom feels light years away, a whole eternity expanding between the Harry of now and the Harry of then. So he does as Snape tells him without any fuss, repeating the incantations in a droning, flat voice, with each blink of his sore, tired eyes dragging out longer and longer.He’s not sure how long the process takes exactly, standing huddled tightly in the tiny room that Harry had never noticed before during his previous visits, tucked away behind the kitchen. It’s small and dusty and home to only one thing; the main ward stone of the house, or the heart of it, he supposes. It was this that kept Grimmauld safe and sheltered from the outside world, as well as supplying the house with that special sort of sentient magic that only very old wizarding properties held. Snape has Harry lay his palm over it as he swishes his wand in the air, drawing strange symbols that mean nothing to his fatigued brain, though he can distantly appreciate that it feels warm and welcoming to his touch at least, soothing to his still frigid skin.Then, after a while, Snape comes to a stop and allows his wand to fall, although the magic hovers in the air as if awaiting more instruction.“The last step will need to be performed outside, on the edge of the properties boundary lines. Get Riddle, then meet me on the front steps,” The man orders, before leaving the room without a backwards glance, just as he had done earlier.With a sigh coming from what feels like the very soles of his feet, Harry leaves the small room with the magic still dancing in the air, closing the door gently behind him. He shuffles up the stairs out of the kitchen, yawning so widely that his jaw aches under the force of it. He’s desperate for a bed, for a chance to finally stop, but he knows it’s a long way off yet. Although, whenever he does get that chance, the idea of him getting anything even close to resembling sleep tonight is laughable, verging into hysterical.Sleep? After everything that's happened, everything he’s learnt? An extremely unlikely outcome.Harry reaches the hall and pops his head back into the dining room, to see if Tom has stayed where he was left. Somewhat surprisingly, he has. Unsurprisingly however, he’s chosen to root through Harry’s school trunk, and has laid out all of his belongings on the wooden table to inspect with avid interest. Hedwig is nowhere to be seen.“Where’s my owl?” Harry asks. Honestly, there’s no energy left within him to protest against Tom’s nosey habits right now, no fuel to fan the flames of his annoyance over the breach of his privacy. But if the boy has done something to Hedwig… Harry is sure he could change up his sleepy attitude - and fast.Tom only smiles, falsely innocent, and steps away from Harry’s trunk.“She started hooting madly at me, so I let her out of the window. Gorgeous thing, isn’t she? Snappy too - bit like you,” He waggles his fingers, and Harry can now see the familiar red marks indicating various owl bites.He musters up a small, tired grin, proud of Hedwig.“Yeah, she is. Anyway, Snape needs us outside for the last bit of the spell so, come on.”The street outside is completely still with the height of the witching hour, the pressing pitch of night hanging heavy overhead. Snape almost blends right into it, if it were not for the pale skin of his face catching alight in the orangery glow of the street lamps. He is standing just at the bottom of the steps, wand drawn and tapping his foot with impatience.“In front of me, Potter. Riddle, to the left of him.”They position themselves as requested.“Once the spell is complete, only you will know Grimmauld place’s exact location. The memory of the house and what went on within it will remain in the minds of the Order, but they will not be able to remember where the house is, myself included. My mission from Dumbledore remains, so this is where we part ways, Potter. Whatever task the Headmaster bestowed upon you to do…” Snape trails off for a long moment, studying Harry like he never had before, as if he was truly looking at him for the first time, and not just the shadow of his father. His dark eyes pierce Harry’s own for what feels like forever, but must only actually be a few seconds, before darting away again.The potions master raises his wand and offers one last parting declaration.“I trust you will get it done. Good luck.”With that, he begins to finalise the Fidelius over Grimmauld, a determined set to his sharp face as he chants, and Harry feels his magic moving through him as it settles, marking him as the secret keeper. As soon as it’s done, Harry lets his eyes fall shut for the space of a breath to adjust to the feeling, and by the time he opens them again, Snape has vanished.Tom stands at his left still, looking befuddled with a deep crease in place on his forehead. Harry looks around at the deserted street before reaching out, touching his arm to get the boy's attention.“Harry?” Tom questions.Leaning close, Harry barely lets his voice go above a whisper as he speaks into Tom’s ear, switching to Parseltongue as well, just in case.“Harry Potter lives at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.” He reveals, just as Snape had done.Though to him the front of the house had not moved, Tom must be seeing it become revealed again as he lets out a soft ‘oh!’ noise, looking up in fascination. Harry leads the way back in through the front door, looking out once more to sweep his gaze up and down the road before closing it firmly, sealing him and Tom inside, safely out of reach.He stands with his hand resting against the wood, lingering there as the colossal weight of what’s yet to come settles into his bones. Then, from somewhere within the house, ringing from the depths of the upper floors, a clock announces the hour. The noise of it echoes down the empty halls, through the dusty rooms, and something about it sets Harry on edge. He turns to look apprehensively towards where he knows Sirirus’ mother’s portrait to be, wondering why she’s being so quiet when she usually loves to scream at any and every noise, but there’s nothing coming from behind her curtains, not even a peep. Perhaps Snape messed with it when he brought Harry’s things here earlier…With that thought, Harry shuffles past Tom to go into the dining room again, this time towards his trunk. He can’t be bothered to put all his things back from where Tom had got them out, so he just riffles through his piles of clothes until he comes across his favourite soft shirt, oversized from belonging to Dudley previously, as well as some lounge trousers and one of Mrs Weasley’s famous knit jumpers. Grimmauld place had always been a little drafty and Harry was still frozen from only wearing a t-shirt all day, so any warmth he can get is very much needed, as well as the comfort factor it brings to his weary heart.What he wouldn’t give for a hug from her right now, he thinks miserably to himself, shoving his things back into an untidy pile on the table. A hug from any of the Weasley’s would do really, Fred or George, Ron or Ginny, he wasn’t too fussed. Though, when Harry thinks of hugging Ginny.. Maybe not. With warm cheeks, he bundles his clothes under his arm, grabs the letters and papers still sitting on the table from earlier, then goes to leave.Tom, who had been watching Harry with his usual sharp attention from the doorway, straightens out of his leaning stance.“What about me?” He asks. Harry gives him a once over, taking in the buttoned shirt and formal slacks, and realises they won’t be very comfortable for sleeping in.So, with another yawn, he gestures back to his trunk.“Help yourself. That is, if you can cope with my ‘common’ clothing.”Even if he did find them common, Tom would just have to get used to it, as they’d likely need to share Harry’s already minimal amount of clothing for the next few days, unless they could scrounge something from one of the bedrooms upstairs. Tom was taller than Harry, so any trousers he borrowed would show his ankles off and it wasn’t like he was about to lend his jumper collection over - no way, so Harry would just have to hope there was still something knocking about that wasn’t moth bitten or out dated as hell. Although thinking about it, would something that’s super old fashioned to Harry actually look modern to Tom, seeing as he was from the forties?Harry’s head hurts just thinking about it. He waits for the boy to make his pick, somehow unearthing the only matching set of pyjamas he’d ever owned, a stripey set that he didn’t realise was still in there. He looks at them in Tom’s hold a little doubtfully, as he’s pretty sure the last time he wore them was in second year.Tom sees him looking and says, “I’m a dab hand at tailoring charms.”“Right. Well, come on then.”With Dumbledore’s wand in hand, and still sour about the fact he can use it, Harry leads the way up the stairs, lighting the lamps to guide their way. There’s a fine layer of dust that’s settled on the floor, flying up to float in the air when their footsteps disturb it. Kreacher clearly hadn’t been keeping on top of the housework, if he was even here at all. Harry hopes he isn’t. He’s not sure what he’ll do when he comes face to face with the elf again, knowing he’d lied and said Sirius wasn’t home that night of the Ministry, which had set off the entire tragic chain of events.Harry would just give the house a bit of a once over himself, if need be. He’d dealt with more than a bit of dust and stale air, that was for sure. They go up the stairs to the first floor and then up again, stopping on the landing of the second. On the right is the door leading to the room where he and Ron had slept last summer, which looked over the tiny, overgrown back garden attached to the house. Other than what he deemed ‘his’ bedroom, this floor was also home to a ‘treasury’, which was just a small room cramped with overly large wooden cabinets full of dusty old trophies and heirlooms, a Billiards room - or at least a wizarding adjacent version, with a piano, wizarding chess tables and a miniature charmed quidditch arena, and finally another room that was turned into a bedroom for the Twins when they were here. Harry has no idea what it was used for before that, but he presumes it’s still set up that way and he turns to Tom on the landing to ask which he’d prefer.“You can stay in this room with me,” He offers, not really knowing why, as the only thing he wants besides some sleep is to be alone, “Or there’s another bedroom through there which should be usable.”Harry points over to where he means, realising ‘should’ is really the key word there; knowing Fred and George, they could have left any manner of one of their products lying around, waiting for its next unlucky victim to stumble across it. Harry almost wishes they have, just so he can have a laugh when Mr oh-so-nosey Tom finds it and tries it. Thankfully, Tom picks the latter choice, and they bid each other mumbled goodnights before slipping away into their chosen rooms.Like everything else in the house, his room is stiflingly dark and still, and of course covered in dust. He lights only the lamp that sits on the table between the two twin beds, which is bright enough to see what he’s doing while not being too overbearing, then picks up the covers on his bed to wave as much of the dust off as he can, coughing a bit as it flies up everywhere. Suitably cleared off, Harry then finally removes the clothes he’d had on for far too long, throwing them on the floor to be dealt with another time and quickly getting into his pyjamas.Dumbledore’s wand and the letters from Snape get placed onto the table with care, along with his glasses that he takes off before laying down. The covers are icy cold, nipping at the bare skin of his cheeks and neck and sending him into shivers once more.He could throw a warming charm over the bed and himself, but Harry just can’t muster the effort. In the blurry glow of the lamp light, Harry takes in the empty bed across from him with a painful pang, wishing hopelessly for Ron to come blundering in from the bathroom, talking around a yawn about Quidditch while he clambered into bed, just as he had last summer.But there’s no Ron here to walk into the room, no other Weasley or Hermione toddling about the house to lull him off to sleep.There’s no Sirius. No Dumbledore.There’s only Harry, and the teenage version of Voldemort sleeping in the room across the hall.He rolls over in his cold bed and shuts his eyes, begging for sleep to take him swiftly.----------Harry is somewhat surprised to open his eyes again after what feels like only seconds later, but judging by the brightness in the room and the dry taste in his mouth, must have been hours. He blinks heavily with foggy eyes, smacking his lips together and swallowing, trying to get some moisture back to his throat.He’d slept, and pretty well at that - with no nightmares or even regular dreams to speak of. His exhaustion must have overpowered the usual insomnia he suffered with, and for that, Harry is beyond grateful. He sits up against his headboard with a yawn, stretching his arms up and his legs out with satisfaction.The July sun is beaming into the room, painting the old, grey patterned wallpaper in cheerful, glowing strokes, completely at odds with the reality of what the day brings.No amount of summer sun will change the facts; that Harry is alone, that he has an impossible mission ahead of him with no idea where to start, and that Dumbledore is dead.Harry stares at his covered lap, sitting numb and motionless until a tapping noise interrupts his bleak mood. He looks up, squinting towards the window.“Oh!” He breathes, somehow having forgotten. “Hedwig!”Sliding his glasses on, Harry gets out of bed and rushes over to the window where Hedwig is waiting to be let in, her yellow eyes flinty with annoyance. She must have been waiting a while. What time even is it, Harry wonders.He opens the window wide enough for her to fly in, then leaves it open for good measure, hoping the fresh air will help some of the dust and musty smell dissipate. She flies over to the top of the wardrobe and clicks her beak at him, complaining.“I know, I know. Sorry for taking so long to let you in.”She watches him knowingly, always so perceptive to him and his moods. Harry had sometimes worried that she was actually an Animagus trapped in her animal form, just because of how intelligent she was, always seeming to listen to him when he spoke to her, knowing when he needed a sharp nip versus a soft coo. He’d told Tom that Hargrid was his first friend, but really, that honour lay with Hedwig. He tries to smile up at her but it falters and falls soon after.“I’m fine,” He assures her, sighing when her eyes glint as she blinks, loud with her judgement.Harry amends, “I will be fine. I don’t have time not to be.”And isn’t that the truth.Seeing as he didn’t bring his trunk up, and that he straight up refuses to wear the same clothes as the day before, Harry goes out the door still in his pyjamas and knitted jumper, making sure to grab Dumbledore’s wand on the way.Tom’s door across the landing is still closed. When Harry stops to listen for a second, he can’t hear any movement from within, but the boy could have put up a ward for all he knows, so he moves to go down the stairs without bothering to knock. After a quick stop to the toilet on the first floor, Harry carries on down to the dining room, where his trunk and things are still strewn about.Now that some of the rush and gloom has faded off, Harry is beyond anxious to go over his things and make sure Snape got everything, to make sure Tom hadn’t pilfered anything when he’d been going through it. He makes an effort to fold his clothes up neatly, his few shirts and jeans, his uniform and robes. Socks and underwear just get shoved on top, most of them mismatched from giving them to Dobby or just plain getting lost, as socks usually tend to do.His school books are all here, along with the usual supplies of parchment and ink bottles, quills both broken and intact. Really, his trunk is a bit of a disaster. There’s chocolate frog cards here and there, forgotten homework assignments and far too many pages of random doodles he always ends up doing in History of Magic, that really should be thrown away. So he starts making a throw away pile, categorising his things as he goes. Quidditch gear, check, crumpled up potions essay with Snapes sweeping handwriting in an angry red, rubbish pile. A Chudley Cannons scarf from Ron gets folded up and put to the side, as well as one of Hermione’s hand made lumpy hats that he can’t bear throwing away, even if he’d likely never wear it.An empty tin of leftover crumbs… Harry is a little ashamed of that one. How long has that been in here? He throws it away quickly. Eventually, his trunk is empty and the dining table is even more covered in stuff, but at least it’s more orderly.There’s only one problem.His Invisibility cloak, the shard of mirror Sirius had given him that Harry had foolishly forgotten about in his time of need, the Marauders Map and the photo album of his parents are missing.And he knows exactly where they are. Still hidden away under the floorboards in his room at Privet Drive, where he stowed his most precious items at the start of every summer, in case his Aunt and Uncle decided to lock up all of his things, like they sometimes did. Nobody knew about the hiding place, which is why Snape will have overlooked them.Harry sinks down onto a chair and lets his head fall into his palms, groaning low with frustration. Just another bump in the road, another hurdle in their process. Harry needed those things though, hated the thought of them sitting in that house so far away from him. But it meant going back there, going out into the world when it was about to go up in metaphorical and probably very literal flames.They’d have to go soon and Harry would need Tom to take them, seeing as he couldn't apparate. Just another thing to add to his never ending list; learn to apparate, somehow. When Snape had told Harry he’d need ‘considerably more knowledge than he currently possesses’, it had chafed at him, making him flare up in defence. But it was true, horrifically, undeniably true. Harry knew nothing, he only had five years of education under his belt, and he’d never been the best of students, not like Hermione.From above his head, Harry hears the floorboards creak as Tom finally emerges, and not too long after, the sound of the shower sputtering to life from the bathroom on the first floor. He shakes himself out of his depressed slump and gathers up all of his things to take up to his room, hovering the trunk along in front of him rather than dragging it up each flight of stairs - there are some silver linings to being free to use magic, after all.He puts his things away quietly, conscious of the fact that Hedwig is still asleep on top of the wardrobe. With that done, and considering he has to wait for Tom to be done showering, Harry then goes over to his nightstand where the letters from Snape are still sitting waiting for him, deciding to get them out of the way now.The first one is sealed with a red coloured stamp that he unfortunately recognises straight away, the bold strokes of the ‘M’ indicating it as a Ministry of Magic letter. Harry slides his thumb under the seal nervously and slips the parchment within out, unfolding it in his lap to begin reading. Across the top, written in large bold writing, the letter is titled;
Ordinary Wizarding Level Results
Harry gapes. His exam results? Already?! He hadn’t expected them until the end of the summer at least!He reads ahead, breath held in his throat. Even though he won’t be returning to Hogwarts to continue his lessons, he still wants to know how he's done.
Harry James Potter has achieved:
Astronomy: A
Care of Magical Creatures: E
Charms: E
Defence Against the Dark Arts: O
Divination: P
Herbology: E
History of Magic: D
Potions: E
Transfiguration: E
Harry reads the grades over several times, a spark of pride lighting in his chest. He’d done pretty well, considering what a colossal mess last year had been, what with Umbridge and the visions. He’d done better than he’d thought in Herbology and Transfiguration, not to mention Potions! He wished Snape was still here so he could rub it in his face - real, physical proof that Harry was good at Potions! The fail in Divination and History of Magic isn’t so surprising, and the bold ‘O’ next to Defence is the highlight of the page.He laughs a little, wishing he had someone with him to share his joy with. As if summoned, there’s a knock on the door, which then opens to show Tom’s head of perfectly styled waves.“Oh, you are awake, I thought I heard you moving about.” The boy says, inviting himself in. Harry stands up to bound over excitedly, waving his letter all the while.“Look! Snape brought my exam results early!”Tom takes the letter and straightens it out, the page creased from Harry’s excitement. His dark eyes dart about the page as he takes in the results, smiling pleasantly once he’s finished.“Congratulations, Harry.” He says, surprisingly warm. Harry feels his cheeks flood with heat, suddenly bashful. Tom continues, “An impressive turnout.”Harry takes the offered letter back, cradling it with care. “Thank you,” He murmurs in response. Tom, he knows, probably was more on par with Hermione in school and likely got complete Outstandings, but the praise still felt nice, a brief slant of happiness in the dark reality they’re in.They stand looking at each other for a moment before Tom clears his throat.“I came in to see about borrowing a different shirt, if you don’t mind. My trousers are fine, but my shirt was already worn down fifty years ago, so I don’t think it’ll take another cleaning charm without falling apart.”Harry now realises the boy had walked in only half dressed, his top half still clad in the striped pyjama top he’d borrowed, albeit charmed to actually fit him. It’s a strange sight, but Harry had anticipated this and already set some of his things aside earlier.“I don’t have much,” He warns, going over to the chest of drawers to the pile he’d left on top. “Especially if you’re after shirts, of all things. But these are the clothes I won’t miss, if you want to take your expertise in tailoring to them.”He hands them over and watches as Tom sorts through them, pursing his lips at some and scoffing at others. Harry crosses his arms, unimpressed.“So sorry my fashion offends you,” He drawls sarcastically. Tom has seemingly landed on the one item he likes, the black shirt that had gone with Harry’s dress robes for the yule ball in Fourth year.“Not to worry, Harry. Not everyone is perfect,” Tom practically sings, the insinuation that he is excluded from that claim loud and clear. Before Harry can puff up about it though, the boy starts to unbutton his pyjama shirt and lets it fall onto Harry’s bed, standing bare front he waist up as he waves Harry’s Holly wand over the black shirt to enlarge it.Harry’s eyes darted over the boy's chest, ivory strokes of skin suddenly everywhere he looked. He just about registers the sight of pale nipples and the way his ribs protrude out a little with his slimness before Harry looks hastily up to the ceiling instead, burning with embarrassment. If Tom notices, he makes no sign of it, throwing the newly changed shirt over his shoulders and slipping his arms through, long, thin fingers expertly doing the buttons up. He takes care to tuck the shirt in properly with neat sharp movements, before standing straight in front of Harry as if to say ‘tadah!’.The sight of him, dark slacks and shirt against pale skin, with that equally dark hair and gaze.. Harry’s throat goes dry.
“Well, how do I look?” Tom prods, a smugness to his smile like he knows exactly what Harry is thinking about.Without bothering to reply, in case all that comes out is a panicked high pitched squeak, Harry just nods his head frantically and then, even worse, gives a thumbs up. Tom laughs, a deep, warm noise, that doesn’t help Harry’s thundering heart one bit.What in the blazes is happening here?“Glad you approve. Now, what are we doing today? Tackling the fake Locket or drowning in your sorrows?”Although Tom asks it sarcastically, more as a pointed reminder of their Horcrux problem than an actual question, Harry suddenly sombers as he remembers his earlier spiral downstairs.“Actually, a little of the second.”At the raised brow he gets, Harry explains that they’ll need to return to Little Whinging to collect his things, trying to cite the importance of what they are without giving them away. He doesn’t really want Tom to know about the cloak for some reason, despite the fact they may need to use it together at some point, and he knows the boy would roll his eyes at Harry’s sentimentality over his photo album. So, when Tom voices his doubts, Harry can only repeat himself, pleading a little.“We’ll go and wait for them to leave for the day and be in and out again before you know it. Please, Tom. This is really important.” To me, he doesn’t add, but the point is made clear anyway. Tom studies him with a blank face and for a moment Harry thinks he’ll be rejected anyway.Then, the boy sighs and closes his eyes as if terribly burdened. “Fine. In and out?” He checks again.Gratefully, Harry nods and reassures. “In and out!”He wastes no time rushing off to take a speedy shower of his own, washing himself with rough, quick movements. Once he’s dry and dressed, once more in a variation of jeans and a t-shirt, he takes the stairs two at a time, only slowing to tread lightly when he comes up next to the still mysteriously quiet portrait hidden behind ratty curtains.Tom is just coming out of the room at the side of the entrance hallway, the one Harry knows has the Black family tapestry spread out over the walls, forking off in different directions to connect all the names and faces together. The boy looks pensive, a troubled tick to his brow.“Alright?” Harry asks, worried Tom has changed his mind about going.“Fine. Are you ready to go?” Tom replied shortly, brushing past the moment as his face flattened out again.Studying him, Harry considers pushing the issue. But it’s not really the right time, so he drops it and nods his head to Tom’s question, tapping his hip to feel for the wand tucked away safely there.“I’ll hide us under disillusionment charms, but keep your wand ready now that you know you can use it,” Tom bosses, taking Harry’s old wand from out of his shirt sleeve. He taps it none too gently over the top of his head which makes him shiver at the strange, slimy feeling of the magic settling in place. Tom gives him a quick once over, nods, then turns his wand on himself to repeat the process.“We’re going in blindly as it is, since we have no idea if Voldemort knows anything yet. We’ll go in, get your things, then leave quickly. No detours.”Harry takes a deep, tense breath and nods his head in agreement.“No detours, got it.” They go out the front door cautiously, stopping on the top step to check three times over for any signs of being watched or listened to. When they all come back clear, Tom holds his arm out in invitation for Harry to grab tightly. As soon as he does, the two of them are cracking away from the top step in an instant.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Little Whinging greets them with a dense, heavy rain, pouring down from the solid slab of grey cloud cover above to soak them immediately, as they land in place. Tom throws up hasty water repelling charms over their heads to shelter them from further deluge, but the chill has already set in regardless, sending them into shivers under their minimal layers. Neither of them had bothered with coats or jackets, and they paid for it now with goosebumpy arms and chattering teeth.But they had a task to do and standing here in the rain didn’t get it done any faster, so Tom waved his arm for Harry to lead the way, thankful at least that the dismal weather meant the streets were deserted as they passed through them on their way back to Privet Drive. It was strange to think that Tom had been here not even a week prior, waiting for his first glimpse of the famed Harry Potter, and how much had happened in the very short time since then. He’d gained his body back, killed Dumbledore - by some approximation, and now had a mission set out ahead of him to cement his new future in place.Still, some of that optimism and drive had been squashed in the discovery of the fake Horcrux, and even more so after what Tom had found earlier today, before leaving the townhouse to come here.Whilst Harry had been showering, he had allowed his curiosities to lead him into the only other room on the bottom floor, opposite the dining room from the previous night. At first he’d presumed it empty and uninteresting, only boasting a barren hearth that may have once been connected to the Floo system, but was now merely a fireplace waiting to be made up. So, Tom had turned to go and explore something else, before stopping short when he’d come face to face with the opposite wall.A family tapestry, one belonging to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, spread out from one side of the wall to the other with huge rows of names and faces, all staring back at him with their haughty, empty eyes. Thankfully they had not been the moving, speaking kind, but even so their attention was unnerving. He’d stepped forward despite that uneasy feeling though, looking over the names and startling once he’d begun to recognise them.Arcturus Black 1901 to 1991, Tom had recognised instantly, although he’d only met the man a handful of times. Orion and Lucretia’s father, a serious, slinky type of man who’d always looked at Tom with the distaste that Pureblood wizards never fully hid well, or more likely just never cared to hide. He’d detested how much Orion had looked up to Tom during their school years, how the other members of the Black family couldn’t help but flock to him. The date had surprised him a little, to know he’d survived for so long, likely outliving many in his family.Tom was no fool. The fact that Harry was the sole heir to this entire tapestry, the fact that they could live in this ancestral house because it stood empty, surely did not mean that many of the Blacks were still around. But the truth had been a hard swallow. Tom had followed Arcturus’ line to Lucretia and Orion, and stopped when he saw both of them with death dates written under their portraits. Orion had gone in the late seventies, but Lucretia…Tom had only missed her by a handful of years. Though at first she had treated him indifferently, his friendly bond with Orion had eventually soothed her steely facade, enough for them to get along well and leave school together on friendly terms. Her name connected to Ignatius Prewett and ended, either because they did not have children or more likely, because the tapestry only listed children directly connected to the Black line.His eyes darted back over to Orion’s name and the one connected to it, huffing with slight amusement. So he had ended up marrying Walburga after all. Orion had long lamented the betrothal, although not so much the fact that it was to his cousin, much to Tom’s dismay, who knew all too well what family inbreeding resulted in, but more so that it was to her. Walburga had been in the year above Tom, and thank God she was, as Tom did not think he could have put up with her for all of his classes on top of the time he had to spend in her presence in the Slytherin commons. She was headstrong in her beliefs and liked to let everyone know about it, and especially in his earlier years she had delighted in being most cruel to him, poking and prodding until he’d lash out in return.She had outlived Orion by a handful of years, dying in the mid eighties. Her children linked below her and Orion, Sirius and Regulus, were also both dead. Sirius must have been Harry’s Godfather, the one who named him heir. The date below his charred portrait was this year.That had set the theme for most every other familiar name he found on the tapestry. Alphard, Walburga’s brother and someone Tom had got along with well, had died sometime in the seventies and boasted a charred portrait similar to his nephew Sirius. Cedrella, Cygnus and Cassiopeia, all of whom he’d met only once and very briefly, were all dead. Cedrella was also charred, although the reasoning behind that likely lay with her marriage line, which connected to Septimus Weasley, a known blood traitor family - at least in the eyes of the ‘sacred’ families.Dorea, who was finishing school as Tom had started, had died in the seventies as well, and her marriage line connected most interestingly to Charlus Potter. Tom had stepped away from the tapestry with a bitterness flooding his mouth, idly wondering if Harry had ever looked up here and seen the names, or if he already knew of the existing connection to the Black family before his godfather made him heir. A connection Tom had once longed for, to belong so surely to a name, at least until the reality of that had soured the idea for good.Faced with all that death, of the people he knew and had shared lessons and meals with, knocked some of his surety down a peg. His lack of Horcrux once again became glaringly, all consumingly obvious, and in that room surrounded by the names of the dead with his head spinning, Tom had the mad idea to make a new one now, today, to slip away while Harry was distracted collecting his things and find the first Muggle he came across, to start the ritual. He’d looked down at the Ring on his finger, the one that had housed a Horcrux before and could easily house one again, and his eyes went dry as he’d stared manically down at it, thinking of the possibilities…Only the sound of Harry’s footsteps as they’d come down the stairs, creaking and scuffling on the wood, had drawn Tom away from his clouded thoughts. In that room, watched on by the members of a nearly extinct bloodline much like his own, Tom had drawn himself up straight and inhaled deeply, calming himself down. Hastiness was how mistakes were made and right now, there was no room for them. Perhaps once he had reclaimed more of Vodlemort’s soul pieces, he’d then think about making another Horcrux of his own…He shook the lingering thoughts of death away as they came to a stop over the road from number four at last, standing shoulder to shoulder in the continued rain to wait for the occupants of the house to leave. The downstairs window is aglow with light from within, and every so often Tom can just make out a figure inside casting shadows through that light as they move around.After about ten minutes, Tom speaks up, loud enough to be heard over the downpour.“Are you sure they’ll be going out today, in this weather?” He casts a disdainful look upwards.“Positive,” Harry confirms, shifting on his feet. His hair is damp at the edges from being caught unaware earlier, and it curls up in little springs against his forehead and neck. “Uncle Vernon will be at work and my Aunt always takes Dudley with her on a Friday to go shopping, no matter what the weather’s like.”Mentally, Tom gives them another five minutes before he’ll be taking charge, not at all inclined to stand about like this when he can just walk right in and Imperio them, Harry’s feelings be damned. Fortunately for them a black car turns down the street before their time is up, cutting through the rain with the sleek, smooth look all these modern vehicles possess, pulling to a stop outside number four and beeping its horn jarringly loud.“Motorcars really have come a long way.” He can’t help but murmur, fascinated in spite of himself. He colours a little when Harry twists his neck to look at him, lips quirked up at the corners.“Surprised you even know what a car is. Old man.”Harry earns himself a shove for that and it soon turns into a scuffle of childish pushing and pulling, jabbing and pulling on each other as they squabble. It’s a good thing they’re still hidden behind Tom’s charmwork, or they’d be giving the driver a rather odd showing right about now.“I’ll show you old man,” Tom warns, irked at how Harry’s little laugh shoots through him like a live wire. Before he can deliver on that promise though, the front door of number four finally cracks open and two very contrasting people rush out of it, tearing through the rain to jump in the car.The woman is very thin, as if she’s been stretched out like taffy, with blonde hair mostly hidden by a plastic rain hood tied under her pointy chin. She wraps her raincoat tight around her and urges the other person along hastily. It must be the ‘Dudley’ that Harry spoke of, most likely her son going by the matching blonde hair, but that’s where their similarities end. Where the woman is thin, her son is far from it, thundering on large stocky legs to the car and sending the puddles splashing up madly. He’s round, pure and simple, everywhere from his face to his middle, and the car visibly dips when he gets into it.Tom and Harry watch from their place on the path as the car pulls off, leaving the street empty once more. They give it another five minutes, just in case the car should circle back, before finally walking over the road and approaching the door.Harry slips Dumbledore’s wand from his jeans, much to Tom’s annoyance as he’d told him to keep it on hand, and levels it at the door.“Alohomora.”It clicks and unlocks, and Harry opens it only wide enough for him and Tom to slip through before closing it again behind them. The boy lets out a breath, some of the tension in his frame receding.“Okay. Stay here, I’ll be back in just a minute.”Harry goes off up the stairs on quick feet, but even before he is fully out of sight, Tom is already moving off the welcome mat and walking further into the house, curious to see what Harry’s childhood home looked like. The boy had not mentioned his family once in the days they had been acquainted, and Tom is drawn to that fact like a shark to blood. Why had Harry made no remark about not returning to his home, his remaining relatives? Why had he not made a fuss about saying goodbye to them, but had half begged to come back here for his precious things?Tom walks down the short hallway and stops in the open doorway to look in at the lounge, boggling at the huge grey box in one corner. Surely that wasn’t what televisions looked like these days? Why were they so huge? Tom had only seen a muggle television once, through the window of a house on his route to the grocers market, and that had been a quarter of the size of this monstrosity. He looks away from the apparent new age of technology, slightly unnerved, and turns his gaze on the rest of the room instead, taking in all the photos that stand pride and place on every spare wall space and surface.Disappointingly, there is not a single photo of Harry. Not one. Instead, they’re all of the round, blonde son from before, following him from a baby, wailing and ugly, up through his childhood and teen years. Some of them feature the parents, the thin woman and an even larger man who must be the father, and all of them stare out at Tom with judgement and disdain.He turns his back on the room, thoroughly uninterested and now even more intrigued by the mystery of Harry’s home, and comes face to face with a cupboard door, slanted to match the shape of the stairs. Not one to leave any stone unturned, he reaches out and twists the knob to have a look, absently noticing a slitted grate and a lock resting on the outside of the door.Inside is a cramped storage space, housing a few wonky shelves of cleaning supplies, a whole lot of dust and cobwebs, and a ratty looking blanket discarded on the floor. There’s a piece of paper sticking out from underneath the blanket that crinkles as Tom accidentally steps on it, so he crouches and eases it out, smoothing his palm over the creases. In green crayon, wobbly handwriting spells out ‘Harry’s Room’, a few of the letters written backwards endearingly.Harry’s room.. What was something like this doing in here? It was the sort of thing the other orphans had liked to do in Wool’s, creating personalised name signs for their bed areas just to give them a little sense of belonging, of individuality. Tom had never made one of course, although every so often one of the braver kids would come up to his attic door to scrawl all sorts of titles across the wood, like demonic, unholy or devil child. Tom’s eyes darted from the paper to the cupboard space again, taking in the threadbare blanket spread out across the floor for a second time. He turns on his heel and looks at the lock on the door, then peers into the lounge at the lack of photos once more, feeling his lips tugging down. Something about it struck him as odd, very odd indeed.Harry chooses that moment to start coming back down the stairs, sending cascades of wood dust snowing down in the cupboard and covering the blanket. A spider falls from the slats as well, before climbing back up to its web. Tom can’t tear his gaze away from the tiny space.“Okay, I’ve got them, we can go now. Tom? What are you…” Harry stands at the base of the stairs with a battered looking duffel bag tucked under his arm, staring down at where Tom is still crouched in front of the open cupboard. For some reason, Harry’s face goes pale and tight, and his throat bobs visibly as he gulps. Tom watches it all, several different thoughts falling into place in his mind.He straightens out of his crouch, still cradling the paper gently in his hand. Harry’s green eyes, usually so clear and bright, go flat as he looks down at it. He starts forward, reaching out as if to grab it off Tom, who immediately moves it away.They both pause, something tense settling into the air between them.“Give that to me.” Harry orders, holding his hand out.Tom steps back again defiantly. “No.”“Tom,” Harry's voice goes hard. “Give it here. Now.”Though his voice is firm, his eyes are flinty and panicked as they shift about, searching for any distraction or escape like a trapped animal. Harry is clearly unsettled, and Tom watches as his fingers squeeze tightly on the strap of the bag, turning white. When he doesn’t get a reply, Harry then tries to change tactics.“Tom, you said in and out, remember? We don’t have time for this, put that down and let’s go.” He turns and starts off towards the front door, throwing the fraying bag strap over his shoulder and holding it protectively with the hand not reaching for the door.“Did they shut you in this cupboard, Harry?” Tom asks, cutting right to the point. Harry was right, he hadn’t wanted to linger here, but he needed to know if what he thought was true.For anyone else, the question might have seemed completely ridiculous, a huge assumption to make over a simple piece of paper in a cupboard. But combined with the lack of regard about essentially never seeing his family again due to their Horcrux mission, there being no photo’s of Harry in the heart of the house and above all, and his reaction to seeing Tom knelt before the open doorway, the pieces slot into place in Tom’s mind, confirming his suspicions.Still facing away, the boy goes deathly still, staring straight ahead of him like he hadn't heard Tom speak. But Tom knew he had, knew from the way his spine went stiff and his shoulders bunched up around his ears.But just as Harry turns back again, no doubt to lash his fierce tongue upon Tom, to spit and deny and deflect, a sound comes from just beyond the front door, like the scuff of a shoe on the garden path. They both fall quiet and on surprisingly silent feet, Harry backs right up to stand flush against Tom and falls into a defensive stance without hesitation. Clearly, he’s all too eager to fight his way out of the situation.“Your relatives?” He breathes over the boy's shoulder, wand held ready in hand.“I don’t think-”But what Harry didn’t think, Tom wouldn’t find out, as at that moment the door handle starts to twist slowly, turning to allow the lock to unlatch again. Thinking quickly, Tom grabs the back of Harry’s jumper and tugs them into the small cupboard, one hand covering the reactive yelp the boy makes and the other using his wand to pull the slanted door quickly but silently shut, just as the front door begins to open. In such a small space they’re forced to press entirely up against each other and, being much taller than Harry, Tom lets go of Harry’s face to instead grip onto his waist, stopping himself from teetering over. They hold their breaths behind their teeth, straining to listen over the blood rushing in their ears as the newcomer steps into the house and shuts the door again, their clothes rustling audibly in the silent hallway. There is barely enough room in here for one teenage boy, let alone two, and the strain of keeping his muscles locked in place begins to burn through Tom’s thighs already, making his grip on Harry tighten. The boy’s breath catches just slightly, and this close Tom can practically feel how his heart is thundering right in his own chest.Whoever it is walks miraculously past the cupboard door without pausing, their footsteps then sounding on the tiled floor of the kitchen. There’s a few accompanying sounds, like a cabinet door opening then closing, a chair being moved from under the table, but all the while they say nothing to help them figure out who it could be or why they’d come in. Tom’s chin digs into Harry’s shoulder, entire body trembling under the effort of staying still as the figure walks past again, and Harry presses his weight back as if to help steady him. There’s a loud creak right in his ear and a resulting cascade of dust as the person then begins to climb the stairs. It tickles in his nose and eyes, irritating at the worst possible time, but as they climb further up a new plan begins to form.Barely having to lean down, he presses his lips to Harry’s ear, speaking in the softest, quietest hiss as the landing above creaks and moves under the weight of the stranger above.
“Can you tell where they are upstairs?”
Harry tilts his head, the soft tufts of his hair kissing Tom’s cheek. Another creak, this one far louder than the rest. Harry seems to recognise it instantly.
“Main bedroom, looking over the back garden.”
“We’ll go out the front then. I’m going to silently open both the doors, keep your wand in hand and get ready to go.”
A single nod, and Tom does as he’d just said, wordlessly commanding his magic out to open the cupboard door and the front door without a single sound. Harry steps out first on hesitant feet, peering up through the wooden slats of the stair rail as he tiptoes over to the front door. Tom ducks out of the cupboard with aching shoulders and shuts it just as quietly as before, making sure no thing looks amiss. Harry is already out through the front door, waiting for Tom under the porch but as Tom moves to join him, a flare of white light hits him in the back and his illusion spell shatters.
From up the stairs, there’s a loud yell and clomping footsteps, “POTTER!” but Tom is already out through the front door, slamming it shut with his wand.He turns to a panicked Harry, shoving at him. “Go go go!!”Much like the last time they were here, Harry wastes no time in digging his heels into the ground and pushing himself into a full sprint, Tom right on his heels as they tear through the rain, the sound of their stalker not far behind. Spellfire begins to flash through the downpour with no regard for their setting, making them have to duck and swerve, cursing all the while.“Stop, Potter, or I’ll blow this street and all the disgusting Muggles in it to pieces!” The man behind bellows, firing again. Tom goes to carry on, uncaring of his claim, but Harry - stupid, bleeding heart Harry Potter - grinds to a sudden stop, sending Tom nearly crashing into him as he stops short too.“Keep going!” He spits, reaching out to grab him but having to stop and twist, slashing his wand up to avoid the red stunner that comes flying his way.
He will not be taken off guard by another Stupefy in Little Whinging!
The man, now standing in the middle of the road a few feet away, sneers at Tom and tuts in mocking. He’s stocky, a few dark wisps of hair atop his balding head, and his skin is rough and textured like a bag of potatoes gone rotten and old.They stand staring each other down, waiting to see who will strike out first. Harry is at his side, hissing urgently. “The Muggles, Tom! You can’t attack him here, everyone will see!”“He started it!” Tom can’t help but point out, irritated at the scolding tone. The man bends in the middle as he cackles madly, clearly deranged on top of being idiotic.“Talking to yourself, Potter? Finally lost your mind have you, like your stupid Mudblood moth-”But the man doesn't get to finish. Despite Harry’s earlier protest, he has no problem stepping forward with a fierce cry, throwing a spell of snapping red at the man, who manages to block it but visibly stumbles back under the force of it. The mocking sneer slides right off his ugly face as he looks from the empty space where the spell had come from to Tom, clearly having had the impression that he was Harry.If he were to walk over and knock on the man’s skull, Tom is almost certain it would echo. How could he not know what Harry Potter looked like? Voldemort truly had fallen from grace, to keep the company of such fools.But there’s no time to dwell on the idioticness of his predecessor, as the attacker starts up a crusade of spells, targeting Tom but also throwing them wide to try and catch out the still invisible Harry, who’s jumped into the fray like a fish to water, moving about and shielding against the onslaught with admirable natural skill. He gives as good as he gets, sending off jinxes and hexes like there’s no tomorrow, and Tom can only hope he can duel Harry himself one day, just to have that exhilarating force turned on him. Instead, he uses the more biting, dark spells that Harry would not use even if he knew them, covering the gaps that the other leaves and successfully driving the man back under their combined force.His face becomes warped with rage as each of his spells fade and fizzle against their shields, and in desperation his movements become short and sloppy as he shoots out dangerous, fatal spells, entrails expelling hexes and bone crunching curses joining the familiar streaks of Crucio red.Eventually though one of his spells manages to slip through their forces, hitting Tom right on the shoulder and sending him down to the floor, gasping in pain. Every nerve feels aflame, pulling and twisting and it takes every scrap of dignity he still has to not let the scream trapped in his throat break free. Harry is there at his side instantly, knees slamming against the wet floor as he hovers worriedly over Tom, leaving his back wide open to attack.“Ha-Harr-” Tom attempts to gasp, to warn him not to let his attention waver. He can see through the black fog of unconsciousness that is attempting to take him under that the man is stepping closer with a victorious grin on his face, raising his wand at Harry’s back.There’s a bright flash, a cry of Harry’s name that might or might not come from him and then everything is fading into black. Before he loses his grip on reality for good though, he manages one last bitter vow to never return to Little Whinging again. Getting knocked out twice here is two times too many as it is.-----------He comes to again laying spread eagle on a slim bed, his injured arm propped up on a pillow and wrapped in bandages. It leaves his chest exposed to the chill of the air where his shirt is hanging open, but thankfully that’s as far as his discomfort goes, no lingering twinges of pain left as he sits up to greet Harry as he enters the room.“Feeling okay?” The boy asks, coming to sit on the bed by Tom’s knees. Unlike his earlier, when seeing Tom’s bare chest had him blushing and flustering, he rakes his gaze over him now only to survey the skin for any leftover signs of pain.“Spiffing.” He replies, feeling anything but. There was no physical pain, but his ego had once again been battered by being carted away like a damsel while being unconscious. Tom was meant to be better than this, he’d never had so many hits while he’d been in school. He’d like to chalk it up to still being so newly awake and not back on his usual level of skill, but it’s a weak excuse and he knows it. Something he’ll have to rectify as soon as possible.Harry seems to know what direction his thoughts have drifted, as he sets a light hand on the blanket over Tom’s knee and gives it an affirming squeeze.“Don’t be sour, Tom. I’m just glad it only caught your shoulder otherwise Lupin might not have been able to undo it so quickly.”“Would you have missed me, Harry?” Tom teases, wondering who this Lupin person is and if he’ll have to actually thank them for helping him. He hopes not.That finally has the boy’s cheeks colouring, blooming into spots of delicious pink. His lips turn into a scowl, although it’s not as fierce as it could be.“I can’t have you flaking out on me yet. I still have need of you.” Harry says, bringing his reassuring hand away to cross his arms instead.Tom grins wide. “Use me as you will,” He purrs just to see how much farther down that colour goes. Rather far, he’s pleased to see. Before Harry can blow up from overheating through, Tom steers them back on track. “So, who’s Lupin? What happened?”Glad for the subject change, Harry begins to explain. “Arabella Figg, one of my neighbours who I used to go to a lot when I was younger, she’s a squib and part of the order. She saw all the flashes of magic and thought you were me, so she Floo’d the order and they arrived just as you got hit. Lestrange scarpered - that’s who was attacking us.” He clarifies for Tom when his brows pull down. He’d gone to school with a Lestrange, Francis, in the year below. He’d been one of Tom’s Knights, which he supposes explained why one of his possible son’s was a Death Eater.“What’s the Order?”“The Order of the Phoenix. It’s a rebellion group, you could say, that was founded back in Voldemort’s first war. Dumbledore used to be in charge of it,” Here, Harry stops and slumps, sighing as he runs his fingers under his glasses. Tom watches his weary frame closely, wondering just how long he’d been asleep for. “None of them knew he was dead. They’d been trying to contact him… I had to tell them he was gone.”This gives Tom a bit of pause, and he sits up further, leaning closer to the other boy. “What did you say to them?” Surely he wouldn’t have spilled about the Horcruxes?“I said that Dumbledore had picked me up a few days ago to go on a mission, something to do with the Prophecy, and that he’d died during it and left the task to me instead. They weren’t happy, even less so when I said I’d be going off on my own instead of going to Hogwarts.”“Not entirely on your own,” Tom reminds him. “What did you say about me?”Harry’s shoulders shrug. “That Dumbledore brought you with him and that you’re here to help me. Not a lie.”“But not the truth.”“What did you expect me to say? That you’re the one who killed him?” Harry jabs under his breath, darting a look at the door. No one comes bursting in to string Tom up by his thumbs, so presumably they’re not being listened to.“I told you he chose to die there, Harry, I didn’t make him do that.”“Whatever,” Harry mutters mulishly before carrying on, “anyway, we’re in one of the other safe houses of the Order. Belongs to Andromeda Tonks, one of Sirius’ cousins, though she’s not really in the order as such. It’s only her, her family and Lupin here now, but earlier there were more. They had a lot to say.”Tom finally gets out of the bed, standing up with a stretch. He winds his bandaged arm back through the sleeve and waves a hand up his front buttons to magic them closed. There’s a small window in the room so he walks over to inspect their surroundings, seeing only stretches of green fields and hills for miles around. A long way off from London then.“Like what?” He says after a few moments. It takes Harry a while to answer, having got lost in his own thoughts while Tom had been looking outside, but he stands and joins him as he returns to the topic.“The old minister Fudge stepped down, I guess embarrassed or scared that he’d been calling me a liar all of last year and then Voldemort appeared to prove him wrong. Someone named Rufus Scrimgeour is in his place now, but the Ministry is struggling. Voldemort hasn't exactly been quiet, attacking Muggle and Magical places, sending his Death Eaters on raids and kidnapping people left and right. The head of the Auror unit is dead, one of my classmates Aunt’s and some bloke named Yaxley is in her place. A Death Eater plant, one of many.”They stare out at the scenery, so calm in the face of the storm that’s rolling in, hanging overhead with foreboding energy. So Voldemort had already begun his infestation. The Ministry would not hold out against him for long.“Dark times,” Tom says, barely audible. Still, Harry hears it loud and clear, sighing in return.“Dark times,” He echoes.They fall into silence for a while after that, side by side watching the sky as it steadily darkens on the horizon.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Eventually there’s a soft knock on the door, stirring Tom and Harry away from their distracted staring. They look over as one when the door opens just enough for a head of cascading shiny, dark curls to peek through, searching them out with pale blue eyes.“Oh, you’re up then. There’s dinner on the table if you’re hungry.” The woman says, voice deliberately calm and soothing, like she’s speaking to a dog prone to snapping. Perhaps that’s what they are, he and Harry, just two creatures unaccustomed to a gentle touch or a helping hand. His stomach grumbles, thoroughly barren, and his polite manners settle back into place as he offers her a smile.“That would be most welcome. You must be Mrs Tonks?”The woman nods. “You can just call me Andromeda. Come through when you’re ready.” With a last, searching look, she closes the door once more and walks away. Harry sighs.“They’ll probably ambush us again over dinner,” He mumbles, ducking his head. Tom finds himself reaching up to pet over his hair, like a master and their unruly dog, earning himself a scoff and slant of annoyed green.“There, there, dear Harry. I won’t leave you to be questioned all on your own. Let’s go.” Tom straightens his shirt one last time and leads the charge out from their little room, thankfully seeing the edge of a dining table just around one wall. He makes his way over, listening as Harry follows behind diligently on pattering feet.He’s greeted by a small, rectangular table, two empty place mats sitting side by side on the left. He takes his seat and Harry falls into the one next to him, steadfastly avoiding looking at the table’s other occupants. Tom has no such qualms.At one end sits Andromeda, who is waving her slim wand to guide plates of food to the middle of the table, inviting them to serve themselves as they please. Opposite her is a man of a similar age, mousy haired and jovial looking - her husband, most likely. Over the table from him and Harry is a woman who might be their daughter, from the hints of their features coming together in her face, then beside her to finish off the table, another man. This one is taller, his face sporting a handful of white scars, and amber eyes that haven’t stopped staring holes into the side of Harry’s face, occasionally drifting to bestow Tom with the same treatment.Tom’s polite smile doesn’t waver under the scrutiny as he puts his studying on hold to dish himself a hearty helping of roast potatoes, vegetables, chicken and yorkshire puddings. A veritable feast to his poor, neglected stomach. He pours plenty of gravy over, then passes the jug along to Harry.They eat in silence, not quite tense but neither easy going, only the scrapes of their cutlery against ceramic filling the small dining room, and eventually the man sitting opposite Andromeda seems to buckle under the figurative weight of it.“Arm feeling alright now then, lad?” He asked, directing his question to Tom and nodding his head towards his injured arm.Tom swallows his mouthful of food. “Yes, thank you. Harry says I have a fellow named Lupin to thank for that?”The scarred man shuffles in his seat, appearing awkward. “Yes, that would be me. You were lucky to only be clipped on the shoulder, I might not have been able to stop it otherwise.”“The lack of pain tells me I was in capable hands, either way. My thanks again, Mr Lupin.”“Ah, just Remus please.”Tom concedes, “Remus, then.” before going back to his food.Remus Lupin, he thinks to himself, barely containing a snort. How ironic for a werewolf to be named as such. The amber eyes had been the first tell, the scars a second. Tom could not slip into his thoughts by simply looking into them either, a natural defence he’d read about once. He’d never met one personally, but Tom knew all the signs. He looks at Harry, catching his eye. One dip into that woefully unprotected mind confirms it for sure.When the meal is coming to a close, their plates cleared and the food sitting heavy on Tom’s stomach, Remus seems to have found his voice once more, enough to try and coax the reserved boy next to Tom into conversation.“We would really like it if you could stay here tonight, Harry. There’s still so much to discuss and none of us like the thought of you going somewhere unknown by yourself. Not with the Death Eaters becoming more bold with their attacks.”Harry, stubborn creature that he is, clearly dislikes the idea of needing to be watched over like an infant.“I’m not alone. I have Tom.” He declares, sure as certain. It fills him with glee, white hot pleasure soaring through his blood at the bold claim.Remus clearly isn't of the same belief. He looks at Tom with thinly veiled suspicion, one mirrored in the faces of the other three sitting at the table.“While we admire your loyalty, Harry, you have to understand our concerns. None of us have even heard of Tom before today! I’m sure you’re as you say you are,” He adds in Tom’s direction, his tone turning contrite, much to his amusement. “But with things as uncertain as they are right now we can’t be taking risks. Especially with Dumbledore gone! You need to be here, with people who can protect you! You’re still underage, how can you-”Remus had stood at some point, impassioned as he spoke, and Harry joined him now, banging his palms on the table and making the others jump.“Protect me? Protect me!? I don’t need your protection, I’ve never needed it! Every time I’ve faced Voldemort I’ve done it on my own! There was no one there to protect me then and I don’t need it now! I’ve told you, I have a mission that Dumbledore left me! Me and Tom and no one else, and sitting around here arguing about it doesn’t change that!”Andromeda gets to her feet, ushering the plates into the nearby kitchen. Her husband joins her after a moment but the other woman stays put, watching Remus and Harry with furrowed brows. Tom reclines in his chair, patting his full belly absently as he observes.Remus rubs over the bridge of his nose, appearing aged and weary. “How are you meant to do that, Harry? You’ve not told us where you’re going to stay, how you’re going to be kept safe while you do this ‘task’-” Here, he makes little finger motions, as if doubting the existence of such a thing in the first place. This only serves to rile Harry up more.“What, you don’t believe me? Is that it? Think I'm just as mad as the papers say?” Harry snipes, hackles effectively raised.Remus waves his large hands in denial and the woman finally stands as well, looking imploringly at Harry.“Of course we don’t think that! But it’s just, so much has happened with you recently, I mean only a few weeks have passed since the Ministry-”Harry steps back, flinching harshly. They all catch the movement, but only Tom is left slightly puzzled by the reaction. He finally joins them all in standing and lays a hand on Harry’s shoulder as a physical tether. Pointedly, the boy does not shake him off, instead dropping his head to choke back deep, gasping breaths as he tries to pull himself back together.Tom turns a flat eyed look to the culprits of Harry’s upset, smiling without warmth.“It’s been a trying day, as I’m sure you’re most aware,” He digs, glad to see them baulk in response. “Harry and I will stay tonight to help assuage your concerns, but we’ll be leaving on the morrow. Dumbledore’s task is most definitely real, and it will require our complete attention. Goodnight.”With that, he stears Harry away from the table, back in the direction of the room he’d woken up in. No one protests or tries to follow, so once he’s closed the door behind them, Tom slips his wand out to add a few wards on top to keep it that way.Harry sinks down onto the bed, flopping onto his back. He sits still like that, simply breathing in and out while Tom watches, before at last pulling himself out of whatever dark cloud he’d been lost in and letting out a groan of dismay.“They’re never going to let us leave.”“Of course they will. And if they don’t, I shall make them.”It’s telling to his exhaustion that Harry only huffs a little to the barely veiled threat, sluggishly rolling his eyes to look at Tom where he's taken a seat at the small desk.“No murder, Tom.”“Cross my heart,” He promises, if only to make Harry laugh. He does so, tired little puffs of noise escaping his nose.“Like you have one.” The boy retorts.“Touché.”The room falls quiet, their matched steady breathing filling the air. Outside, the sky beyond the window is truly dark now, only Tom’s reflection staring back at him as he looks out. His thoughts drift away, mulling over the events of the day - the past few days really, categorising things in his mind. The fake Locket takes up a significant portion, compelling and infuriating in equal measure. He yearns to get back to it, to study the letter inside again, to write down everything Dumbledore had told them about the Horcruxes and Voldemort’s life after he’d disposed of Tom in the Ring.The ring. Tom looks down at it on his fingers, rolling it around compulsively.A small snore breaks through his haze and Tom looks over at the bed. Harry had rolled away from him, showing Tom his back where he’d curled up into a tight little ball, hugging a throw cushion as he slept. His round glasses were still in place on his face, smushed in what must be an uncomfortable position.With a sigh, Tom walks over and slowly eases them off the boy's face, folding them and setting them onto the nightstand with care. Barely thinking about it, he takes up the folded blanket from the end and throws it over Harry, making sure he’s completely covered before going back to sit at the desk. Tom would rather not be so vulnerable, in a place he doesn’t know with a house full of people he doesn’t trust. So instead he riffles through the desk, finding some parchment and a quill and ink, settling in place for a few hours of planning and brainstorming.He draws six little stars in bullet points and then beside them writes the Horcruxes he knows; The Diary - destroyed, the Ring - absorbed, the Locket - ?, the Cup - ?. The other two stars sit empty for now, though he makes a note below them about the Hogwarts Houses, specifically something belonging to the house of Ravenclaw and the house of Gryffindor.Then he makes a few notes about the defences of each one, the curse attached to his Ring that had sentenced Dumbledore to death, the entire cave business surrounding the Locket and the Diary which in itself had defences built in, his younger self hidden within to entice and enchant the foolish prey who chose to write in his pages. The Locket had been bestowed with an entire different level of protection, but why? Did Voldemort keep that level of dedication up for the other three?Most of his scrawling questions bloom out into other, unanswerable queries, which has him huffing and grumbling in frustration. He stands up and paces the small room, back and forth over and over, so caught up in his scrambled thoughts that he nearly misses the whimper coming from the bed.Tom stops in place, twisting around to look at Harry’s back. He waits, wondering if he’s misheard, but no, Harry makes another little sound and squirms on the bed, beginning to pant.Hesitantly, Tom approaches the boy. “Harry?” he whispers.On the bed, Harry continues to thrash, growing more and more wild in his movements until turning over onto his back with his face scrunched up with pain. His brow is soaked with sweat, and his scar, where his hair has fallen to the side, stands red and irritated against his pale skin. Tom looks from it to Harry’s twitching shoulders and arms. A nightmare? Not so surprising, he supposes. He reaches out for Harry’s shoulder, thinking that shoving him awake and out of it would be for the best.“Harry, wake up.”Before he can make contact however, Harry’s lips fall open, twisted up into a snarl.“You’ve disappointed me.” He hisses, not quite in Parseltongue but veering very close. His words are cutting in a way that’s unfamiliar in Harry’s voice, like they don’t belong to him at all. Tom stares, backing up a few paces with his hand still half raised.What on earth?Harry’s back curves as he falls onto his other side on the bed, nearly hanging off it. He mutters a few other words, failure, boy, and Muggles before falling quiet again. Then, just when Tom thinks it’s over, Harry’s head is thrown back on his pillow as he laughs, high and cruel and completely chilling. It goes on for a few seconds until the cackling turns into hacking, and Harry starts to cough and choke madly.Finally Tom steps forward, waving his wand so a stream of Aguamenti shoots over Harry’s head.The boy sits upright with a shocked gasp, coughing anew. Perhaps not the best method for waking someone already choking.“Whaahh!! Tom! What was that for?” He shrieks, squinting furiously at Tom as he jumps up out of the wet puddle left on the bed, shaking his hair out like a dog. When he doesn’t respond, Harry snatches up his glasses and turns his annoyed, tired eyes on him, full of accusation.“Well?”“You were talking in your sleep.” Is all Tom can say, soft and barely audible in the room. He’s still reeling from the strange behaviour, trying to figure out what it all meant. Was it just a dream, or something more? That laugh… It was so unlike anything he’d known Harry to make. One could argue he hadn’t known Harry long, but even so, it was odd.Some of Harry’s bad mood at being awoken seems to disappear at Tom’s words though, leaving a sheepish, worried face behind.“Oh,” He mutters, and drops his arms from his chest. “Sorry, didn't mean to disturb you. I’m surprised it took so long for the nightmares to come back, to be honest. I’d been having them every night before.” Then, Harry winces like he hadn’t meant to share that last bit. He yawns and snatches his wand up to dry the bed.But Tom can’t let it go, can’t shake that it was something more than a mere nightmare.“Do you remember what you dreamt of?” He asks, a gentle prod.“Huh? Oh, uh, no actually.” Harry rubs his face tiredly, but seems to be telling the truth. “Why? What did I say?”Though he sounds worried, Tom feels it’s more out of embarrassment than deceit. He lets go of the breath stuck in his chest and gives the other a disarming smile.“Nothing interesting. Apologies for the abrupt wake up call. Go back to sleep.”Harry looks between him and the bed. “What about you? Aren’t you going to sleep?”Tom seats himself back at the desk, turned away from Harry as he answers.“No, I’m fine. You go ahead.”He listens as Harry sets his glasses back down on the nightstand and shuffles back under the blanket. The lamp on the table goes off, leaving only the one he’s using at the desk aglow.“Night,” Harry mutters and soon after the sound of his breathing evens out again, soft little snuffles accompanying them. Tom stares down at the wood grain and answers long after Harry is too far gone to hear it.“Goodnight.”-----------Despite his claims of refusing to sleep so unprotected and vulnerable, Tom finds himself jolting awake from his slumped position on the desk some hours later, disturbed by the sun's fingers caressing his cheek through the window. He sits up with a groan, feeling stiff from his head to his very numb toes, yawning painfully wide.There’s a clock on the far wall, alongside a few seemingly hand painted landscapes, and it reads eight o’clock.Ugh. Tom could really do with another few hours, the last time he’d registered was three something, but he’d be getting no more rest on that rickety bloody chair. Looking over at the bed tells him that Harry hasn’t moved much in his sleep, clearly undisturbed from further dreams or uncomfortable resting places.Lucky him.Briefly, spitefully, he entertains the idea of waking the messy haired boy with another bout of Aguamenti, just to hear his girlish yelling, before casting the idea aside. Fun as it would be, he needs Harry in a good mood to go out there and convince the ‘Order’ to let them leave, and the sooner they do the sooner he can get back and have a nap, before getting to the proper work of hunting the Horcruxes.Still, he can’t hold himself back completely. He walks over and hovers over Harry’s sleeping, peaceful face, then speaks directly into his ear very loudly.“Good morning, Harry!”The boy’s eyes fly open, wide with panic and alarm. Tom jumps back on quick feet, crowing in delight as Harry swings up out of the bed and promptly gets his legs tangled in the blanket.“TOM! God, I’m going to kill you! Just you wait -” Harry spits, completely incensed, fighting to get his feet under him. Tom chortles in a most undignified manner.“I’m waiting, Harry, whenever you’re ready.”That has Harry snatching up his wand and sending a jinx at Tom, which he hurries to dodge. It fizzles as it hits the chair instead.“You’re a complete tosser, Tom Riddle!” Finally on his feet, Harry is pink in the face with annoyance. His hair is completely wild, standing up every which way in a fairly impressive show of defiance.“Only to you, Harry Potter.” He vows, completely truthful. Something about Harry brings out the childish side of him, the side he kept locked up tight around his peers in Slytherin. They required a more cleverly mischievous, poised version of Tom that took many years of practice to get right, and he relishes in the opportunity to let a little more loose now. Harry gave as good as he got and they matched up with each other’s levels of rascality perfectly.Once again, they’re interrupted by a knock on the door. It doesn’t open this time though, due to Tom’s wards in place, and the knocking and calling becomes a little more frantic.“Harry? Are you in there? There’s breakfast, and I have a surprise out here for you. Harry?” Remus Lupin’s tone is rife with worry.Harry crosses over to the door and waves off the magic in place, leaving Tom to stare wondrously at the apparent easy nature that he does it in as he pulls it open to come face to face with the werewolf.“Yes, I’m here,” He says shortly, his sour mood with the man from last night not altogether dampened by sleep. “What do you mean, surprise?”While the sight of Harry in front of him has some of the tension leaking from those lanky shoulders, when Remus looks from the boy’s pink face to the rumpled bed, and Tom standing just beside it still grinning, those amber eyes turn steely and dark. His nostrils flare, clearly scenting for something ‘unsavoury’ like a sniffer dog. It takes everything in Tom not to make a leery expression, just to wind him up and watch him go. When he smells nothing of the sort, obviously, he turns his attention back to Harry who’s standing cross armed waiting for an answer.“Come and find out. We’re in the garden, since it’s a nice day.” Remus tempts, or tries to anyway.“We’ll be out in a few minutes.” Is all Harry says, closing the door on the man’s frowning face. Then, he turns to Tom, who beats him to the punch.“Your pet wolf thinks I’ve stolen your virtue.” He can’t help teasing, wagging his eyebrows suggestively.Harry’s face practically lights on fire, burning into bright blotches of red.“Can you just behave for once, please? Whatever it is they’ve pulled together is clearly meant to sway me into staying for longer, so just keep quiet and let me handle it, alright?”Ah. Not completely blind then, his Harry. Clearly expecting a verbal answer, Harry’s brow arches up.Tom folds his hands behind his back and smiles.“Lead the way then.”With a huff, Harry slips his shoes back on his feet and does just that, striding out of the room like a soldier wading off to war. Tom keeps a few paces behind him, intrigued as to what they’ve brought out as a weapon against Harry’s solid wall of stubborness. They go out the back door, following the babble of chatter belonging to far more people than were present last night.When they step out into the sunshine, Tom sees an elongated dining table set out in the garden, laden with plates upon plates of breakfast foods and surrounded by an alarming amount of red headed people. Harry stops short, sending Tom colliding into his back.“Oh, shit.” Is what Harry says, lost to the sudden noise that erupts as the table sets their eyes on him. They all begin to clamber up, calling out to Harry. “Shit, shit, shit!” Harry whinges.“What is it? Who are they?” Tom quickly asks, sensing their weapon of choice had been a very effective one, to send Harry’s steady resolution crumbling already.“The Weasleys. They’re my.. well. My family, or as good as.” Harry explains and then starts off towards them, drawn in despite knowing better. Tom lingers by the door, half contemplating going back inside.They would clearly be here for a long while yet.Damn you, Remus Lupin.Tom sets off after Harry, cursing the wolf to hell and back in his head as he does so. He’s already lost sight of the boy to the cluster of orange, completely lost in hugs and smothering from his gaggle of Weasleys. Andromeda, her husband and daughter, whose names he never asked for, and Remus are sitting watching happily from one end of the table. When Tom draws up beside them, Remus shoots a look of victory his way, and then covers it by clearing his throat.“Ah, do take a seat, Tom. I fear Harry may be a while yet, if Molly has anything to say about it.” He says pleasantly, waving to an empty seat across from him.“Thank you,” He says, mentally listing the multiple ways of killing werewolves as he fights to not leap across the table and throttle the damn mongrel, sitting with all the grace he beat into himself to fit in. He helps himself to the spread of fresh fruit laid in the middle of the table, gulping down glassfuls of water as he watches the scene.No less than six redheads are standing in a tight circle around Harry, as well as a singular bush of brown hair slotted amongst the fray, each of them demanding Harry’s attention, ruffling his hair, cupping his cheek, patting his shoulders.Tom’s teeth grind against each other, the hand in his lap turning to a fist under the table, aching for his wand. He watches raptly as the cult of Weasleys finally seem ready to let Harry go, each one meandering back to their places at the table. Harry however reaches out and grabs the arm of the girl Weasley, keeping her back before she can sit down. He ducks his head to speak into her ear and, unseen by Harry but in full view of Tom, the girl’s face first lights up in a flush at the close contact before whatever is being whispered to her seems to register. Her eyes dart up and jump about the table until they land on him, blowing wide with apparent fear as the colour bleeds out of her face in an instant.Unfortunately his attention is soon drawn away from studying each of the curious reactions of the girl by everyone sitting down and beginning to dig into breakfast. There’s bacon, eggs, sausages, tomatoes and hash browns - whoever had cooked today had pulled out all the stops. Tom butters himself some toast and serves himself a little of each dish, not feeling overly hungry, a strange, irritating restlessness instead taking up room in his stomach.He’s also none too subtly being stared at as he does so, sized up by everyone at the table new and known to him much like the dinner last night. He takes it all with the grace of the Slytherin he is, of course, meeting their looks with a calm facade and polite manners. The bushy haired girl who had come with the Weasleys, a cousin perhaps though she lacked any resemblance, doesn’t take her eyes off him for a second. When Tom bites into his toast and flicks the crumbs away with an easy wandless vanishing charm, her eagle eyes of course catch the movement and they narrow suspiciously.At last though Harry’s hushed conversation comes to an end and he walks along the length of the table to sit down in the empty place between Tom and the youngest redheaded boy, a harried look clinging to his features though his smile is genuine. Perhaps that’s the problem, Tom muses as he continues to eat, nudging the plate of sausages Harry’s way. Though the boy knew it was a trap, it was the most enticing kind, a trap he didn’t want to resist. Like a fly drawn to honey, the reward was sweet yet sticky, hard to pull away from. A smart move on their part and one they well utilised.Tom rather thought they’d be fighting their way out of this place, in some sense of the word. They clearly did not want to relinquish Harry to Tom, no matter what the boy said about Dumbledore’s last wishes.The girl goes off to the other side of the table, as far from Tom as she can get, and promptly hides herself away behind the curtains of her long hair. Occasionally, she’ll peer at Tom with fleeting quick looks and he makes sure to meet them head on every time, sending her jumping back behind the makeshift safety of her hair. Strange indeed.Harry gives him a kick under the table and when Tom turns away from the girl at last, he sees the boy is sending him a warning look over his mouthful of breakfast. His voice from earlier rings in Tom’s ears telling him to behave.
He smiles insolently and turns to the table, everyone’s eyes suddenly dropping from where they’d been observing the two of them.“You’ll have to forgive me,” He says with faux shame, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’m afraid I don’t know many of your names. Nonetheless, it’s wonderful to meet you all. I’m Tom.”At the end of the table, the girl chokes on her mouthful, spluttering. One of the twins pats her on the back forcefully until she settles down again, only Harry’s stiffness at his side hinting at something more than meets the eye with her reaction.Andromeda’s husband seems to take the jump to begin introductions, seeing as no one else moves to speak.“Not to worry, not to worry. Well you know Remus and my Andy of course. And that’s my beautiful daughter Nymphadora-”The aforementioned daughter scowls and, surprisingly, her hair bleeds into a pinky red from the mousey common colour it was before.“Dad!” She hisses, embarrassed. Tom can only gawk at her, physically slack jawed in astonishment until Harry sends another kick his way.The man laughs happily. “Sorry, dear, sorry. She doesn’t like the name her poor parents spent months deciding on, you see,” He explains to Tom. “She prefers to be called Tonks.”Andromeda pipes up then, exasperated. “You have yet to introduce yourself.”“Oh yes! And I’m Ted.”“I’m glad to put the names to the faces. Forgive me, Tonks, but are you a Metamorphmagus, by chance?”Tom can’t help asking, can’t help from the wonderment he feels at meeting an actual person with the ability. It was a dying out trait when he was in school, so to meet one here in the future was nothing short of a miracle. To her credit she colours and nods, and then shifts her nose to look like a beak to prove it.“Remarkable,” He breathes, completely awed. Remus shifts in his seat, unsettled for reasons unknown. Tom turns to the rest of the table. “And you must be the Weasleys, yes? Harry has mentioned you of course, but it might take me a moment to pinpoint who is who.”Harry had done no such thing prior to this morning, but only he and Tom knew that. He takes pity on him and nods to each person in turn.“Well I told you about Fred and George, that’s the twins.” At their names they send Tom mirrored grins, gleaming with mischief. “Don’t accept anything they try to offer you. There’s Ginny,” That’s the girl, who pointedly does not look at him when she’s named.“Mr and Mrs Weasley, of course.”The balding man at the other head of the table sits with a cup of tea in his hand, watching the proceedings, and offers a polite nod. “Arthur, and my Molly.” He clarified, patting the back of his wife’s chair. She doesn't offer much to Tom, no smile or greeting, only observing him very closely. A certified mother, keeping her eye on an unknown outsider.“And this is Ron, my best friend I told you about, and Hermione Granger, my other best friend.”With those last introductions, Tom can now put names to everyone at the table. And a little more, from the little showings of their nature that he’d be able to observe. None of them trusted him, though he hardly expected them to, but only the protective mother, the strange daughter and the werewolf were so outwardly obvious about it.“Pleased to meet you all, despite the circumstances.”There’s a somber pause and everyone wilts a little into their breakfast at the reminder of the most recent bleak news, Dumbledore’s demise.By the time their plates are cleared and waved away to clean themselves, the sun is lulling Tom into a pleasant, contended haze, so much so that he reclines in his chair and closes his eyes with a sigh, brushing against Harry’s arm. Arthur, Tonks and Ted had gotten to their feet and left for work together a little bit ago and the twins had done the same not long after, despite the protests from their mother about the dangers. Apparently they owned a joke shop on Diagon Alley that had opened earlier that Summer, but they were too proud and stubborn to stop running their business even in light of the raids and the fear rife in the streets these days.Andromeda goes back inside with Molly after breakfast, drawn away to the domestic duties of housewives, and Remus urges them all to their feet so he can return the table and chair inside reluctantly. Tom stretches and yawns, still feeling heady with sun warmed fatigue.As predicted, as soon as they were out of earshot of the adults, Granger whirls around on Harry, determined to get her answers.“Harry, tell us what’s going on!” She cries, clearly at her limit of being left in the dark. The strange daughter also seems to have finally found her tongue and courage as she quickly follows up with her own barked question.“Tell us what Tom bloody Riddle is doing sitting here like he’s not got a single care in the world!”Tom looks around, delighted to see Granger and the boy Weasley jump back in alarm. Harry’s shoulders slump down and he lets out another one of his groans, full of weariness.“Tom Riddle?” Granger repeats, incredulous.“As I live and breathe.” He confirms. Like a raging bull, Ginny goes red in the face and makes as if to charge, forgoing her wand and raising her fists like a madwoman. Tom steps back, putting Harry between them as a physical barrier while the boy puts his hands up to stop the girl.“Look, just stop for a second, please! I’ll explain what I can, but you need to hear me out! I told you not to freak out, Ginny!”Ron pipes up, face shocked and pale behind his smattering of freckles. He keeps a few feet away from Tom and stares at him like he expects him to start sending killing curses flying out the end of his wand at any moment.“I think she’s well within her right to freak out, mate.” He says, words almost lost to how his sister is spitting with rage.“How can you stand to be near him like he didn’t nearly kill me, kill you! It’s Voldemort, Harry, can’t you see?!”Kill her? A memory plays then, of the first day he met Harry, ‘you were well on your way to draining the life out of an innocent little girl to come to life again’. That was what Harry had shot at him when he was demanding to know who he’d killed to leave his Ring, like his Diary had attempted to do before him. So, Ginny Weasley was that ‘innocent little girl’ then. That certainly explained her deranged behaviour, and why Harry had chosen to forewarn her before breakfast.She continues to try and edge past Harry to hit out at Tom, growling and hissing like a feral beast.“This isn’t helping anything!” Granger bursts out, throwing her hands up. Tom quite agrees.“Get a hold of yourself or I’ll do it for you.” Tom suggests kindly, all too ready to knock her out and put an end to her tantrum, feeling oddly irate at how close she presses against Harry to try and get to him.No one else seems to like that idea though.Harry spins round on him and jabs Dumbledore’s wand at him without a second thought, hitting him in the chest with a stinging hex. Tom clasps his smarting skin through his shirt, hissing indignantly.“I told you to behave!” Harry bites, annoyed.“Did you just do magic?!” Granger shrieks, sending the nearby birds fleeing at the high pitched noise.“Bloody hell.” Ron adds, hanging his head.Tom rather wants to join him.Bloody hell indeed.----------After a tense little standoff, they decide to traipse around the perimeters of the house wardline for lack of other things to do, Tom in the back and Ginny in the front, the other three in the middle as a precaution. As they walk in the strange marching line formation, Harry stiltedly tries to explain a few things, apparently more forthcoming with information for these ‘best’ friends of his, unlike he was with Lupin.“Dumbledore broke my trace so I’m allowed to do magic now. He also gave me his wand before he died, because his magic wasn’t working.”“But what about your wand?” Granger queries, apparently taking the lead with the questioning.“Tom has it.”“Right. Tom Riddle, as in Voldemort’s younger self, has your wand? A smart idea, that.” Ginny snarks.Harry sighs. Tom wants to rip every orange hair out of the girl's head, to grab a big fistful and yank-Harry’s voice cuts his daydreaming short, “Sounds insane, I know. But he’s not Voldemort, not really.”“What a glowing report you make of me, Harry.” Tom can’t help adding, stopping to avoid the pointy elbow that gets thrown back at him.“Quiet, you.”“But why is he here?” The bushy haired girl demands as they stop at a stone wall to pull themselves up on it for a rest. Tom does no such thing, instead pacing away to lean against a tree trunk opposite, tucked away in the shade. The sun was getting high in the sky, the hours of the day creeping further away from them.“I can’t tell you much, it’s just too dangerous,” Harry begins, waving his hands to stop the protests before they come. “I was telling the truth when I said it was between me and Dumbledore. Tom’s presence was an accident, you could say, but I would still have to do what I have to do to defeat Voldemort and win the war. Just like that damn prophecy said.”Harry kicks his heel against the wall, looking down at the floor with a troubled expression.“That’s all it comes down to, always. Me versus Voldemort, which one of us can kill the other first. Voldemort isn’t going to hang around with his next attempt now that Dumbledore is gone either. I don’t know what I’m doing or where to begin, how long it’ll even take, and worst of all I don’t know how to keep everyone safe in the meantime.” He confessed in a whisper, head dropping in shame.Ron lays his palm on the back of Harry’s neck, giving him a reassuring shake. “It’s not up to you to worry about everyone, mate. The Ministry and the Order have already started sending fliers and things out to help people be aware of the dangers, and now they know that Dumbledore is gone they’re probably going to double down.”“Fliers?” Asked Harry, raising his head.“Yeah,” Granger jumps in, “The Prophet hasn’t been completely hijacked by Death Eater plants yet, as far as we know, and they’re really pushing the safety point hard. I’ve got one of them here,”She pulls a piece of folded paper from her pocket and hands it over. Tom leaves the shade of the trees so he can read as well, leaning against Harry’s knee as the boy opens it up.
Protecting your home and family against Dark Forces
The Wizarding Community is currently under threat from an organisation calling itself the Death Eaters. Observing the following simple security guidelines will help protect you, your family and your home form attack.
You are advised not to leave the house alone.
Particular care should be taken in the hours of darkness, wherever possible, arrange to complete your journeys before night has fallen.
Review the security arrangements around your house, making sure that all family members are aware of emergency measures such as Shield and Disillusionment Charms, and, in the case of underage family members, Side-Along-Apparition.
Agree on security questions with close friends and family so as to detect Death Eaters masquerading as others by use of Polyjuice Potion (see page 2).
Should you feel that a family member, colleague, friend or neighbour is acting in a strange manner, contact the Magical Law Enforcement Squad immediately. They may have been put under the Imperius Curse (see page 4).
Should the Dark Mark appear over any dwelling place or other building, DO NOT ENTER, but contact the Auror office immediately.
Unconfirmed sightings suggest that the Death Eaters may now be using Inferi (see page 10). Any sighting of an Inferius, or encounter, should be reported to the Ministry IMMEDIATELY.
“Are people taking it seriously?”Granger furrows her brow with worry, looking out across the green fields surrounding them. “They sort of have to, everyone knows it’s changing out there. Even my parents know something isn’t right and they’re muggles. The random attacks, the list of missing people getting longer and longer.. Nobody has the privilege of ignoring it, besides the ones behind it.”She takes in a breath, holds in. Tom looks over each of them in turn, matching severe expressions to be found on their faces.“Without Dumbledore I think everything will get even worse, and fast. So, anything we can do to help you, we will, Harry. We’re here for you.”Harry jumps down from the wall and meets the bushy haired girl in a fierce hug, Ron soon latching on as well. Tom surveys them with only a slight sneer at such a display, and they all jerk about when a call comes from within the house.They all move to return inside, and this time Ginny holds Harry back to whisper in his ear, as he had done to her earlier. Tom stops when he notices Harry isn’t behind him, though Ron and Granger carry on none the wiser. She’s got Harry by his hand, holding it tight as she looks at him head on.Impulsively, Tom quietly summons a snake shadow, a spell he created during the winter of his sixth year when he was bored out of his mind. It allows him to send his shadow pets off anywhere he wants them, listening through them to their surroundings. Physically he crosses his arms and taps his foot in a show of impatience, but his mind is occupied with listening to the whispers floating in his ears.“ - you to get hurt. He’s a master manipulator, Harry, I spent a whole year with Tom Riddle in my head! You can’t trust a single thing he says-”“I know that, Ginny!” Harry cuts in. “I’m not an idiot, I know what Tom Riddle has done and is capable of, okay?”“Well, you seem to be awfully friendly with him! He’s got to you already, I can tell!”“Look, he’s just - a means to an end, alright? I need him to help me defeat Voldemort and pushing him away because he’s a bit of an arse isn’t going to help me do that.”Ginny huffs impatiently, looking down. “Just please be careful around him. Please. I don’t want to see you get hurt because of Tom Riddle. Not again.”From where Tom is standing, he can see Harry bring his arm up to push Ginny’s long hair out of her face to get her to look at him, can hear his nudging little hum as if the boy was right here beside him.“I’ll be fine, Ginny. I know a thing or two about out manoeuvring Dark Lords, teenage versions included. Don’t worry about me.”Ginny blushes. “I always worry about you, reckless Gryffindor.”Tom has heard quite enough. He slashes his shadow snake away and calls out sharply.“Hurry up, Harry!”Then, he turns away and marches into the house, biting down on his lip in fury. He’s ready to leave - to get back to Dumbledore’s task, and dilly dallying around here hugging and talking about feelings is not on his to do list. Means to an end! Ha! Harry needed Tom, far more than he needed Harry! He was half tempted to leave the wretched boy here, before remembering how that girl had smothered herself all over him and changing his mind.As soon as Harry is over the threshold, Tom has him by his shirt and is dragging him into the room they’d shared last night. He splutters the whole way and the others call out in worry and protest. Tom slams the door on them none too gently.“Tom! Stop dragging me, what’s got into you?” Harry cries, trying to get his feet under him.“Get your bag from yesterday, Harry, we’re leaving now.” Tom states, turning away to the desk. He’d left his papers from the night before there glamoured to look blank, and he snatches them up now to shove into his pocket.Harry stammers, taken aback. “N-now? Slow down will you, we can’t leave right this second-”“Every minute we sit here, Voldemort gets stronger and we waste Dumbledore’s dying wish. Is that what you want, Harry? To let Dumbledore down?”Tom sees the way his spiteful words land on Harry’s frame, his shoulders bowing and his face falling. Hurt is etched across every line and crease of his face, but Tom is past caring about Harry’s grief.“Right,” Harry says flatly, gathering the bag of his things from the Dursleys. Tom realised he’d never taken the chance last night to go through it and laments his unusual mood further. What was he doing, teasing Harry and lazing about in the sun? Tom needed to get himself together, to remember what he was here for.Defeating Voldemort and stepping into the space he’ll leave behind, to take over the Wizarding world the right way, the way he’d intended to do before Horcruxes and Harry Potter.
He grabs hold of Harry’s skinny wrist and yanks the door open. Multiple pairs of confused, concerned faces are watching, waiting. Tom throws a smile too sharp for politeness in their direction and pulls Harry along behind him.“We’ll be off now, thanks ever so much for this delightful visit, but Harry and I have a world to save. Goodbye.”Unashamedly, he gets the two of them through Andromeda’s front door and then throws back a strong locking charm to keep them all at bay, dragging an unwilling Harry behind him to the ward line.By the time the others are through his charm, Tom and Harry have already whirled away, landing back on the front step of Grimmauld Place and stepping back inside without another word said.