Warning: slight LV/HP, somewhat non-magical AU.
Disentangled: A Prologue
The prison was not unlike any other old prison. The wall was grey and cracked. The room was dim and cold. The air was still damp because of the rain that hadn't stop pouring since morning. The fan at the ceiling whirled noisily despite the cold; no one had thought of turning it off. There was a radio in the corner playing some sleep-inducing classical musics. The only guard in the room was sitting in a chair next to the door and he was dozing off. It was quite clear that the prison wasn't in top condition. And yet, they still use this prison to hold that man.
Harry sometimes wondered if people really knew who that man-what that man could do. What that man had done all these years. If they really know how dangerous he was and how he doubted this puny little place could hold that man forever. If they had been here two months ago, that man would have scoffed at this level of security and told Harry that he would see him in two days, then he would woke Harry up the following morning and told Harry that he had been kidding.
It was clear that they didn't what that man was capable of.
Harry fidgeted in his seat. Lifting his left hand from his left, he examined the time. He'd got less than a half hour until his aunt picked him up. Where was that man? Was he dead already? Harry swallowed, imagining that man dead because of starvation, considering how neglectful these people were, he wouldn't be surprised. He certainly hadn't looked his best when Harry had seen him in the court. Harry wondered if that man would lose some sleeps while waiting for his judgement. It's a satisfying, yet hurtful imagination.
From distance, Harry began to hear some footsteps approaching. He straightened his postures. Hands combed through his unruly hair. His face was a blank mask betraying nothing. He caught himself before his hands can straightened his tie and vest. Harry sighed; old habits were hard to die.
After a series of clinking and clacking of the keys, the door in front of Harry creaked open. Two guards led a prisoner inside the room and led him to his chair. After checking his handcuffs, they walked back, closed the door, and stood near the door.
Behind the plastic glass, that man smirked. "Your tie is crooked."
His voice was rough and a little breathless; he hadn't used his voice for a while. His lips were cracked. He suffered from dehydration, it seemed. How he managed to do that while it'd been raining on and off for the past few weeks, Harry would never know.
"I'm not wearing tie." The corner of Harry's lips twitched.
That man sneered. "How tasteless. What are you wearing, then?"
"I'm not a phone sex operator, sir."
"Never implied you are." He smiled though. "I always know Bartemius is a bad influence. Anyway, what are you wearing?"
"Polo shirt and jeans."
"How casual. At least you're not wearing those blasted, unnecessarily irritating T-shirts."
"I have many of them in my new wardrobe, sir."
"They turned you into such a simpleton, I see. Next, you'd tell me you like rolling in the mud, playing football."
"I did list that as a hobby in the CV I sent to Hogwarts," Harry pondered. An amused smile slipped through his facade.
"I thought plucking the fruit from the tree won't make it fall near the tree."
"In defence to the fruit, you were not supposed to return and eat the fruit while cutting the tree down, sir."
"But I haven't eat the fruit, now, have I? The fruit decided to fall from my pants before I managed to take a single bite."
Harry didn't reply. That man didn't say anything after that. The bitter silence stretched for a Minuet. Yes, exactly one Minuet in G major. That loopy radio had been playing Bach's for awhile. How despicably unfitting. Almost as unfitting as Harry's bright turquoise polo shirt or the man's bright yellow boiler suit. He still held his poise and grace despite the horrid clothing, though. He still managed to look like a bloody Hollywood actor with his flowing brown hair and forever young face.
"What are you doing here, Harry?" That man finally asked.
"I don't know, sir," Harry said truthfully. "I just wanted a closure of some sort."
"Wanted?"
"Yes. Right now, I want to know why. I want to know your motive. I want to know whether you are actually insane like you said you were or it was a trick so they would not throw you in jail."
"I'm not that insane yet, but it was certainly preferable than being thrown in this jail. About two other question, please be more specific."
"What motivated you to kill my parents?"
"The old man Dumbledore hasn't told you anything yet?"
"Not much."
"Of course. Have you told him anything about me?"
"...Not much."
"Did you tell him about the source of my so called 'magic'?"
Harry grind his teeth. "You killed my parents."
"That I did," he confessed easily.
He knew Harry as well as Harry knew him. He knew that if Harry had told Dumbledore about him, Harry would say that Harry didn't tell Dumbledore to give their side an advantage over the 'Dark Side'. Harry knew this too.
"You were my mentor."
"I thank you for not telling him that, at least."
Harry exhaled slowly. This man was still feeling betrayed because Harry had testified against him. Harry was feeling betrayed because he had killed Harry's parents. Here they are, trying to guilt trip each other and bound to both sprawl gracelessly on the floor.
"Don't sulk. You won't miss them anyway."
"I do miss them," Harry said faintly, defensively, knowing that man would leap on it like a cat on a string.
"Do you? Because the last time we met, you said you'd like to see them dead."
Harry smirked. "The last time we met, I testified against you, sir."
That shut him up. Harry's betrayal apparently still stung. It stung quite deep to, if the frown marring his otherwise porcelein blank face was any indication.
"You hate them."
"Only sometimes. You hate Nagini too, sometimes. Do you want me to kill her?"
"No. How is she?"
"She is fine. Well, as fine as she can be while being caged in a zoo and fed rat twice daily."
"You didn't take her with you?"
"My aunt hates animals."
"I see. What did Dumbledore tell you then?"
"He told me that you kill my parents because my dad had played an important role in-in a project where they had tried to catch you and failed but they had managed to-"
"Make me like this," that man finished.
"And he said that you want to avenge your eyes by killing everyone involved that day. My parents are the last to die. Now, that you've gotten your revenge, you can surrender yourself easily without trying to escape. Are those true?"
"Yes, they are."
They knew each other too well. That's exactly why Harry knew that Tom Marvolo Riddle was a lying liar who lied.
"Of course it is, sir."
They were such a liar.