Warning for mild gore in this chapter
Harry laid the vibrant yellow daffodils down on the grave, the soil on top still fresh. The bright colour of the petals stood out violently against the brown mud, and it seemed almost offensive to place something so full of colour and life against something so dead, but daffodils had always been Cedric's favourite flower.
It had been two weeks since Cedric's death, and Harry was still struggling to come to terms with it. He knew that he hadn't been a good boyfriend to Cedric—where Cedric wanted a happily-ever-after and sweet romance, Harry only wanted sex and a good time together—but Harry had still cared for him. He had certainly never expected bubbly, outgoing Cedric to kill himself, but that was what the Aurors had ruled. Not that Harry didn't believe that suicidal people couldn't feign being happy, but he was sure that Cedric wasn't ithat/i good of an actor.
Truth be told, Harry wasn't entirely sure it was a suicide. Sure, slashed wrists and hanging were classic suicide moves, and at had it been earlier in the year Harry would have been shocked and horrified but he'd have believed it...but that was before Harry had met Tom.
Ever since Cedric's death, the nightmares and flashes of red eyes in windows and mirrors had only increased ten-fold. Sometimes he would wake in the middle of the night feeling a clammy hand around his throat, or ice cold fingers brushing against his cheek. He'd even confided in his mother that he felt like he was being haunted, but Lily had simply smiled sadly and said dealing with death affected people in different ways but 'things would get easier'.
He hadn't told her that sometimes he heard a hushed whisper calling his name enticingly, and as far as Harry was aware, auditory hallucinations weren't a common effect of grief.
Then there was the fact that another farmer had been brutally torn apart just days after Cedric's death, and more recently an old woman out walking her dog was slaughtered. The werewolves were blamed again, and Harry had been ready to admit what he'd seen in the Forbidden Forest that night when the Aurors found evidence than a werewolf group were indeed in the area. That wasn't to say they were definitely to blame for the attacks, but Harry felt a little bit of guilt ease at the possibility that Tom hadn't been the killer.
It was the not knowing which was driving Harry crazy. Thoughts of Tom seemed to consume his every thought, regardless if he was awake or asleep, and Harry was seeing and hearing glimpses of Tom everywhere, but he still wasn't quite sure if it was real or not. Then there were all the deaths that had happened since Harry had met Tom which could also easily be attributed to other creatures or reasons, but could also very well be because of Tom.
Harry wasn't one to sit around and wait for things to fall through, however. He wasn't patient, and he couldn't stay in the dark any longer; if Cedric had indeed been murdered, Harry wanted justice for him. Harry needed answers now, and to get them he had to go back into the Forbidden Forest.
The trees of the Forbidden Forest stretched up impossibly high into the night sky, their leaves rustling in the breeze which stung Harry's cheeks with the cold. The moon, almost full, glowed brightly and cast a stream of orange light across the otherwise pitch black field Harry was standing in.
As the wind continued to whip through the trunks of the trees, Harry swore he could hear his name whispered in it, beckoning him into the darkness. Harry took one step forward and then froze again, the nausea in his stomach and the tightness in his chest growing worse with every inch closer he got towards the forest.
He didn't want to go in, but he had to. If he wanted justice for Cedric and the others that had been killed, Harry needed to discover the truth so that their memories could rest in peace; he owed that to them, seeing as it was potentially his fault they were dead anyway.
Harry had prepared himself for the forest—in theory, he had nothing to worry about. As well as having his wand out and ready, he had some Muggle items stuffed in his pockets, courtesy of his mother's supply cabinet, which included a torch, plasters, and a panic alarm. He also carried a switchblade which Sirius had gifted him with on his last birthday, just in case he got disarmed. On top of all that he was wearing his Invisibility Cloak so there was no way that anyone or anything would be able to see him.
His parents were both on night duty, of course, because they barely liked him leaving the house since the attacks as it was, never mind going to the actual dreaded forest. He'd considered telling one of his friends where he was going, but he knew that nobody would understand, and even if they did that would only mean a search party would have to go into the Forbidden Forest after him if he did end up disappearing. Harry wasn't going to put any more lives at stake.
With a deep breath, knowing it was now or never, Harry forced his body to continue forwards and step into the forest. A chill shuddered through him as he passed the treeline, the already cold breeze turning to ice all at once.
It was hard to see far in front of him without a light, but he couldn't risk drawing unnecessary attention to himself. He had chosen to enter the forest invisible for a reason, and casting Lumos would simply be creating a target for the creatures of the forest to find.
He did have a plan, even if it wasn't a very good one; find Tom, watch his patterns and behaviours and see if he looked like he could have killed Cedric and the other villagers. If it really came to it then Harry would ask Tom directly, but he'd rather have as little contact with him as possible.
The forest seemed impossibly silent as Harry walked through it, almost like it was dead. There was no hooting of owls, or leaves rustling, or snapping twigs. The only things Harry could hear were his own breathing and footsteps, and he felt unnerved that the forest was so quiet; it wasn't natural.
It went much the same way for an hour; aimless wandering amongst the darkness and the strange silence. Harry had seen no form of life yet, whereas the first time Harry had been in the forest Tom had been upon him within twenty minutes. Harry had kind of hoped he'd stumble into Tom quickly this time round, because the forest was far too large for him to search in one night, plus the further he went in, the more chance he had of getting lost.
Luck certainly didn't seem to be on his side tonight.
Harry paused by a large oak tree while he decided which way to turn next. He chose to turn left, and it wasn't long on his new path that he found himself stepping on something soft and squidgy. He grimaced, foot hovering in the air as he looked down and squinted so he could see through the darkness.
It was a rabbit, or rather the remains of one. The carcass was just on the turn of rotting, flies buzzing around the split open stomach and the entrails which spilled from the wound. Harry's frown deepened, a sick feeling coming over him at the sight.
He took a large step over the dead animal, only to find himself almost standing on a similarly torn apart fox. He cast Lumos just for a moment, casting a beam of light across the forest floor.
Into view came body after body of slaughtered animals, blood and guts splattered up tree trunks and across the dirt.
Harry's heart dropped into his stomach, and he flinched violently at the sight. He dropped the spell, and as the light faded a pair of red eyes gleamed at him through the darkness before they too disappeared.
Harry's already racing heart began beating so fast he swore it was going to burst through his chest, and though his mind was screaming at him to run his feet refused to move, staying firmly in place. He could turn back, go back home where he'd be safe, and leave the creature hunting to the Aurors, but Harry couldn't bring himself to do it; he wasn't a coward—he'd sworn to find the truth for Cedric, and that was what he had to do.
Fighting away the logical part of mind that still wanted to flee, Harry instead pressed onwards despite the jelly-like feeling in his legs. He stepped over each animal corpse, boldly looking forwards as he moved further into the dark forest.
"You're braver than I thought, pretty," a chilling voice murmured, echoing around the trees, making it impossible to pinpoint where it had come from. "But what some call brave, others call stupid."
Harry knew there was no point staying silent now; Tom knew he was there.
"I need to talk to you," Harry admitted, clutching his wand tightly in his fingers. It gave him a sense of security, and the magic embedded in it warmed slightly as if to comfort him.
"Do you?" Tom exclaimed in mock shock, still hiding amongst the trees. "Don't I feel honoured? So tell me; what brings pretty boys into my forest, looking for me rather than running away from me?"
"I need to know if you killed him." Harry said, voice breaking on the last. "Did you kill him?" he asked, voice stronger.
"Kill who?" Tom purred. "Oh, that lover of yours, you mean? He was good at making you moan, though I do believe I'd be much better at making you scream."
"You did, didn't you?" Harry swallowed heavily. "Why? Were you jealous? How-?"
"I never said I killed him," Tom cut in. " I'm not going to indulge your whims and tell you whether or not I killed him, because you must already blame me. If you thought there was even the slightest chance it may have been suicide, you wouldn't risk your own life coming out here to find me."
Harry scowled. "Or maybe I just wanted to find out the truth so I can honour Cedric's memory properly."
Tom was right though; Harry did blame Tom—he needed to, because otherwise it meant Cedric had really had been in that much anguish as to take his own life…
Harry let out a shout of surprise as his Invisibility Cloak was yanked away from him, and a Stinging Hex left his wand on instinct, splintering into a nearby tree. He span around, still seeing no sign of where Tom was lurking.
"That's my father's Cloak," Harry said quickly. "Give it back or-"
Tom giggled coldly. "You think you're in a position to make demands, pretty? You are naive, aren't you? Tell you what; I'm going to give you one free shot at me, and if you can cause some serious damage to me then I'll give you the Cloak back."
It had to be a trick, it just had to be. But then Tom stepped into view, just as devastatingly handsome and terrifying as before; snow white skin and blood red eyes, and cheekbones as sharp as the teeth that sat between perfect ruby lips.
Tom stalked gracefully towards him, eyes flashing over as he looked at Harry hungrily.
"Well," Tom offered, holding his arms out at his sides, the Invisibility Cloak fluttering from its grasp in Tom's fingers. "Take your shot...come on, do it. Do it. Do it. Do it."
Harry shot a Slashing Hex right at Tom's face.
Tom didn't even flinch, nor did he show any signs of distress as the skin on his face parted. The wound almost looked like it was imelting/i, blood and waxy white skin oozing together as the slash on the cheek widened far enough for Harry to see the red flesh and white muscle beneath...only for the injury to begin stitching itself back up.
Harry's eyes widened in horror as Tom's face healed itself, leaving only a splatter of blood as proof that his face had just been torn open.
It was then, much too late, that Harry decided to flee. He spun on his heels and prepared to break into a run, only to feel a blur brush past him before he crashed into a firm body.
An impossibly strong arm wrapped around Harry, holding him tightly against Tom's body. Harry squirmed, desperately trying to at least free his right arm so that he could use his wand to defend himself, but it appeared that Tom had no intention of letting him go.
Tom used his other hand to grasp the back of Harry's hair, yanking his head back sharply so that Harry was forced to look up into Tom's face. Tom smelt like blood, metallic and sharp, clogging Harry's senses.
"You chose to be a coward too late, it seems," Tom tutted mockingly, entirely unfazed by Harry's attempts to free himself. "Your father is going to get either you back, or his Cloak back."
"Keep the damn Cloak," Harry spat, slumping in Tom's grasp as his body grew tired from fighting to escape. "Just let me go, you-"
"I don't want the Cloak," Tom interrupted, letting out a short, maniacal giggle. Harry's heart turned to ice in his chest, his body suddenly finding new motivation to struggle once more. "You are much more appealing to me."
"No," Harry stated. "No. Let me go! Let me-"
With enough squirming Harry finally managed to reach the switchblade in his pocket. He pressed the button on the side and, as best as he could, slammed the knife into Tom's arm.
The shock was enough for Tom to loosen his grip just enough that Harry managed take that split-second to break free of his grasp. The switchblade fell to the ground but Harry ignored it as he span around, and without looking back he cast a spell to create a fiery barrier between him and Tom as he ran.
Harry couldn't remember which way he'd come from, but he didn't care; he just ran and ran and ran until his chest and legs burned with the exertion of it. He had no idea if Tom was behind him or not, but he couldn't afford himself a moment's hesitation in checking; he just had to get away.
Eventually he reached a point where he could see a flicker of light amongst the trees ahead of him and found his feet carrying towards it. He still had no idea where he was, but if there were people there he must be near civilisation, which meant he was back to relative safety.
His feet were aching but he had to make it to the light, he just had to. He was getting so close now that he could smell the smoke from what had to be a fire, and could hear the low muttering of voices…
A figure stepped out from the trees and Harry crashed straight into it. For a horrifying moment he thought it was Tom, only for him to look up and realise that his night had just got a whole lot worse.
The figure was a man, tall and bulky, and all hair;with long, straggly silver strands from his head and a beard on his chin to match, and with a thick coating of hair across his broad, muscular arms and peeking out from under the collar of his leather vest. The man's teeth were yellow and crooked, his nose was bent like it had been broken several times, and his eyes were a vibrant amber shade found only amongst werewolves.
Harry had only ever seen Fenrir Greyback's face on wanted posters in the village, but he looked far more terrifying in person.
"Hello, luv," Greyback purred, knocking Harry's wand out of his hand before the spell he'd been about to cast could even leave his lips. Greyback caught Harry's wrist and pulled him close; Harry struggled against the hold and Greyback twisted his hand, causing a snapping pain followed by a burning jolt of pain coursing through Harry's arm.
Harry gasped in pain, tears springing to his eyes as Greyback curled his other arm around Harry's back and dropped a large hand down to squeeze Harry's arse.
"Didn't Mummy and Daddy teach you not to wander into wolf territory?" Greyback taunted nastily. "The Full Moon isn't for another couple of nights, but don't worry, luv," he added, hoisting Harry up to throw him over his shoulder. He gave Harry's arse a slap for good measure. "Me and the lads can still have plenty of fun with you until then."