By Your Side
Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I do not own the published masterpiece of Harry Potter. I also do not write and publish this story to earn any sort of profit. I simply do it because I need to.
Claimer: I do, however, own and take full responsibility for this twisted story.
Beta read by Arithmancy Master.
Chapter Seven
I Chased You
Harry woke up with a start, as if emerging from under deep water. Panting heavily, he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his Gryffindor red and gold nightgown. Breathing heavily, he noticed that his throat was sore, as if he'd spent the entire night screaming in his sleep. But, judging by the sleeping forms in the beds around him, that couldn't be the case.
Harry twisted around in his sheets, laying flat on his back and stared up aimlessly into the dark ceiling, waiting either for sleep to claim him again or, if that wasn't possible, for morning to come.
The fuzzy feelings from the night before were all gone – the light-hearted happiness that had engulfed him, when Tom told him he would never turn into Voldemort only because Harry would hate him for it, had seeped out during the night and left him entirely. What was left was bitter tasting fury at what his best friend had done to him before that.
He had been blinded by the overpowering feelings of relief once all his secrets were out in the open, proving all his fears to be for naught. He remembered clearly the moment when all the tension had let go of him – He and Tom had been standing still in silence, just looking at each other for minutes as the rain poured down, washing away all the weight from off Harry's heart, leaving it light and soaring.
He'd been able to laugh then – it hadn't been because of any sort of amusement, but out of pure relief. Tom had walked along the thin line separating him from what he could become and decided, on his own, he would not cross but rather take a firm step back. Away from Voldemort, and all that that name meant.
But on the other hand, now afterwards, when the calm had settled in and reality came creeping back, Harry was left with the other part of yesterdays encounter. The part he would much rather forget about.
He had been brutally pushed up against a bookshelf, standing powerless as Tom roved through his mind in search for answers – inflicting severe pain, while coldly covering his victim's mouth with a hand to quiet the screams.
It was cold, brutal and so typically Tom Harry couldn't really say he was surprised. Thinking back on all the years they'd known each other, he wasn't surprised in the least. In fact, he knew Tom to be short tempered, nosy and having so little empathy he could not possibly relate to other people's pain – doing something like this wasn't only unsurprising, it was in fact to be expected if he was pushed far enough.
Largely because of his Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, rooted in his extreme fear of death. It made him obsess over all sorts of things – among them, Harry himself. He had, somewhere along the way, decided that his best friend belonged to him and therefore saw no reason whatsoever why he wouldn't be allowed to decide everything for him.
They had had spats about it many times before, and Tom now understood that if he wanted to keep Harry by his side he had to take his feelings and choices into consideration. It had been hard work to teach him that, but somehow Harry had managed.
What had happened now was that Tom had snapped. Harry had pushed his buttons much too hard with his avoidance, his secrecy and his blatant refusal to reveal what had him so distracted. Tom had clearly become very angry and hadn't seen any other solution than to use brutal force to get what he wanted.
And he'd gotten it, alright. But he'd pushed much too far in order to get it. And he didn't even know it.
Tom thought everything was fine between them, but it wasn't. Harry wasn't happy, he was angry – and he had every right to be. Not only because his best friend had dared to do that to him, but also because he had done it at all. Using Legilimency on somebody against the other person's will was nothing less than abuse. And the fact that Tom had dared to do it to Harry, whom he did all in his might to stay close to, meant he had no scruples about doing the same thing to somebody else.
Anybody else.
It could not happen! This was just the sort of thing that separated Tom from what he was and what he could become, in a worst case scenario. He could not go around violating other people, in any sort of way. Harry had to put a stop to it, immediately!
The only way to do that was making Tom realize exactly how wrong his actions had been. Nothing else would work.
Making a firm decision to see this through to the end of it, no matter what, Harry steeled himself and got out of bed to take a long shower in preparation. When he got down to breakfast with Ignatius, Rowan and Bree he was prepared for battle with a coolness that could only be found in those moments when he knew he had no other choice but to do what was right, rather than what was easy.
As soon as he arose from the table he saw in the corner of his eye how his Slytherin friends mimicked his motions. Harry walked out of the great hall and stood staring into the wall as Tom and the others made themselves known.
"Morning Potty," Silas greeted him with a wide grin and punched his shoulder playfully. "Look, I made a present for you."
With those words Harry's head was rudely assaulted by another one of Silas' funky knitted hats – this one in a bright pink colour, decorated with tiny little dots of purple. Its tussles fell down like two braids on either side of his face, making his nose tickle uncomfortably.
"Lovely," Harry lied, forcing a smile onto his stiff lips. "What's the occasion?"
"Occasion? Oh, er... you know, for Grizel Mulmont's Day... Which is today, so wear it, okay?"
"Grizel what now?" Harry asked in incomprehension, letting out a disbelieving laugh as Alfred took it upon himself to hit Silas over the head, making the short scrawny boy let out an indignant "Hey!" in protest.
"Stop making stuff up, you saphead!" Abraxas growled from his side, shaking his head in disagreement. "There's no such thing as a Grizel Mulmont's day."
"Well, how would he have known, eh? He hasn't grown up around magical folk. If you hadn't told him he probably wouldn't have realised," Silas claimed in an offended tone.
"Hey! Have lived in the magical world for years now, remember?" Harry exclaimed, feeling a bit insulted. The others only rolled their eyes at him. "What? I know stuff!"
"And you don't think he'd become suspicious when nobody else in this bloody castle was wearing anything like it to cheer for the great day of Milmont, eh?" Alfred exclaimed as if Harry hadn't said anything at all, pinching Silas in the side, making him skip to the side to come and stand safely behind Harry's back.
"Mulmont, dumbass. Like the Egyptian Fashion Guru..." he piped up, sticking out his little pink tongue at the others.
Harry sighed deeply and decided to defuse the tension before the childish bickering turned into a fully fledged argument. "What is it? Why do you want me to wear it so badly?" he asked the impishly smiling boy behind his back, making his smile turn into a sheepish grin. He didn't get a word out, however, before Alfred decided to answer for him.
"He's been going around all morning, trying to get us all to wear those crazy hats. Wants us to do some free advertising for him, that's what he's on about."
"What crazy hats?" Silas piped up, pouting as if hurt. "They're not crazy... Right Harry? You like them, right?"
Harry's smile stiffened further. Oh great... Now he would have to wear this monster of a hat all day unless he wanted to hurt Silas' feelings. There was no way he was going to do that.
"Love 'em," he decided, making the other squeal happily and hug him from behind.
"See?" he leered at an indignant looking Alfred, Abraxas and Tom standing behind him rolling their eyes at each other. "They're not crazy, and they'll be quite popular one day when I stand next to Mulmont and the other fashion geniuses as their equal. You'll be sorry you ever scorned me!"
And with that Silas smiled happily, pulled out yet another knitted hat out of his robe pocket and placed it on the top of his own head. Its bright turquoise colour clashed horribly against the little pink hearts it was decorated with, and Harry silently thanked all deities in the world he hadn't had to wear that one at least.
"Or," Alfred cut in, as soon as he'd regained control of his sniggers, "you are the one who will be sorry once you realize what a mistake you've made once every proper person in the fashion industry starts laughing behind your back."
"Well now," Abraxas interrupted with a great sigh, grabbing hold of Alfred's shoulders, forcing him forwards in an awkward frog-march. "Stop your bickering, you sorry excuses for adult wizards, we'll miss Charms altogether at this rate."
The lot of them hurried to the third floor, making it to the only class they all had in common for their final year. People around them were casting curious glances at Harry's and Silas' headwear. Harry found this extremely embarrassing, but Silas thought it a great opportunity for doing some advertising for his self made garments as well as the clothing line, named Silsel, that he would be working on after he graduated. Alfred, on the other hand, took it upon him to ridicule his friend behind his back all the while, making half the people they passed laugh at Silas instead of listening to him. That didn't seem to matter in the least for him, however, which seemed to only agitate Alfred all the more. Harry strongly suspected he was jealous of his friend for some reason, but of what was hard to tell. Did he have a secret wish to become a fashion designer, or something?
Alfred soon gave up his desperate attempts at sabotaging the other, and settled with scowling angrily at his back. Harry heard him mutter "Silsel... dammit, and I gave him that stupid nickname in the first place...", and could barely restrain his laughter. Yes, definitely jealous.
As soon as they'd made it to the Charms classroom, Harry hurried to pull Tom aside, declaring he needed to speak with him. He got curious looks from the others, but they left them behind without complaint, to Harry's great relief as well as horror.
He led Tom further down the corridor, sneaking into the trophy room after checking it was empty, all the while trying to regain the steely determination he had gathered at breakfast before Silas stuck a bloody bonnet onto his head.
"You look ridiculous in that hat," Tom snickered, as if he had read Harry's mind. Well, that was the root of the problem, wasn't it?
That though in mind, Harry took a deep breath and pierced Tom with a steely look of pure fury. The other simply furrowed his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth twitching with held back laughter.
"Sorry, have I offended you?" he said, stepping closer so that he could reach out and play with the braided tussles hanging from the hat down the sides of Harry's face. "Do you really, actually, like it?"
Instead of answering, Harry simply slapped his hands away and stalked over to the other side of the room, keeping his back turned to the other so that his composure wouldn't soften by the hurt look Tom surely was giving him by now. He had to teach Tom this lesson, and he had to be sharp about it. Giving in was losing, and he couldn't lose this time.
He couldn't lose Tom.
"What's wrong?" the other asked from behind him, and Harry took another deep breath and stared at a set point on the stone wall, picturing his furiously beating heart turning into that very same material, just for a little while.
"I am angry at you," he proclaimed in an as calm tone as he could muster, feeling his stomach churn at what he was about to do.
"Gathered as much," Tom said quietly, shifting slightly, tentatively stepping closer. "Why?"
"Because of what you did to me, last night," Harry said coldly, still focusing with all his might on the stone wall in front of him.
He heard Tom hesitate, standing still for a couple of heart beats, before he started coming closer again until he stood immediately behind Harry's back, breathing into the back of his head. "What did I do to you, that made you angry, last night?" he wondered, as if he didn't already know the answer.
"You trapped me against a bookcase, threatened me, dug your way deep into my mind to get what you wanted, hurt me to the point that I screamed in agony while you simply held your hand over my mouth to quiet me. You tortured me last night."
Harry felt the fine hairs on the back of his neck shift as Tom let out a shaky breath. "I didn't mean to hurt you," he whispered softly, the tone tainted with something Harry recognized as guilt. Good, he thought bravely, that meant the bloody bastard actually did feel some remorse about what he'd done. That would make things a bit easier.
"Yes, you did," he contradicted quietly. "You knew what Legilimency does to people, you knew what it would do to me."
"You didn't give me any other choice," Tom claimed, and Harry finally felt his heart harden with anger at that statement.
"No other choice?" he breathed out furiously. "What, I didn't tell you what you wanted to know and that left you no other choice but to force it out of me? What, I had it coming? Should I beware now? Do I have to watch my back every time you want something out of me?"
"NO! No, that's not what I meant," Tom exclaimed breathlessly, grabbing a hold of Harry's shoulders, clutching at them with shaking hands. "I was just so... You weren't telling me anything."
"Oh, so it's my fault. I simply provoked you into torturing me, you had no other choice. How silly of me, I see it now," Harry snapped, true anger rolling through him now because Tom was trying to freaking defend his actions.
"No, Harry, stop it! Stop misunderstanding me, I never meant it that way. I never meant to go that far."
"Well, you did go that far, Tom. You crossed the line – you fucking went over and beyond the bloody line."
"Shut up!" Tom yelled fearfully and clutched Harry tightly against his chest in a restraining embrace. "Just... just don't! I'm sorry, I told you, I won't do it again."
"I don't believe you," Harry stated coldly, battling against the persistent little voice that told him to stop hurting Tom, that enough was enough. His conscience.
But he couldn't go soft now, he needed to finish it. "I can't trust you when you quite obviously was capable of doing it last night. Why not again? Why not to somebody else? What's stopping you?"
"Please, " Tom gasped, his hands and arms shivering uncontrollably as if cold. "Please... I was just trying to help."
"Help whom, Tom? You? Because you certainly didn't help me."
"You keep shutting me out," Tom whispered in a haunted voice. "You keep slipping away, through my fingers, hiding things from me. You make it impossible for me to stay by your side. That's all I wanted, not to hurt you. I wanted to know."
Harry let out a deep breath and felt himself deflate, shrink together, his stone cloaked heart beating a hole in his chest from the pure pressure of staying cold and angry when Tom was acting vulnerably for once. Showing that he regretted what he'd done, begging desperately for Harry to understand.
And he did. That was the most horrible part of it. Harry understood perfectly well. All the weeks of secrecy, of sneaking away to the library on his own, of actually avoiding Tom at times because he was so awkwardly set on not giving Harry any form of privacy. From Tom's point of view, Harry actually had been avoiding him, slipping away, as if he didn't want to be with his best friend any longer.
He hadn't acted in anger, but in fear.
He feared Harry would leave him. Would start to dislike him and stop being his friend. So he had done something reckless. Evil. Stupid, and now he was even more frightened because in his attempts at making everything better he might have pushed the thing he tried to protect even further away.
Knowing all this, the hard cold truth, Harry could do little more than stand helplessly staring into the wall as Tom stood behind him, shivering, holding him tight while chanting broken whispers of "sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry".
But it wasn't over yet. Tom might be sorry, but that didn't ensure Harry he would never use Legilimency on an unwilling subject again. He needed to do more, he needed to land the final blow or everything might have been for naught. He needed to use the final weapon that he knew would make Tom beg on his knees for forgiveness. All well in theory, but in practice – it was just cruel. Horrible. Monstrous.
But he had to do it.
So he braced himself, squared his shoulders and filled up his lungs with fresh air. He already loathed himself.
"I hate you for what you did to me."
Flashbacks attacked his minds of that night after the escape from the asylum, when Tom had broken down in his arms, confessing his fears for the first time.
"... because you'd think even worse of me, because it's unnatural – inhuman! And then... then you found out what I could do – and you reacted just like I knew you would! You hated me!"
"I didn't-" Harry tried again, but wouldn't be listened to.
"And then you knew and I tried – I did my best to act normal in front of you – but you saw. You saw me with the horses and I... I could tell you hated me for it! And then... everything else... that doctor... You know it all – you know everything! Every little thing that is wrong with me! Everything that makes me into something else – a freak of nature – aren't I? I'm wicked – nothing special – just wrong, wrong, wrong!"
Harry had had to spend the rest of that evening reassuring the other he did in fact not hate him, until he finally calmed down and fell asleep.
And now he had used all of that against Tom. His Tom.
He felt sick.
So did Tom, apparently, for he was hissing so furiously Harry couldn't understand a word he was spitting. Suddenly, he was spun around, coming face to face with the deep sorrow that he had single-handedly caused. He had been smart to turn away at the start of their spat, for if this was how Tom had looked all the way through it he surely couldn't have stomached doing what he had had to do.
"You do not hate me," Tom managed at last in a thick voice, his hands clutching Harry's shoulders so hard he could feel the bones grinding against each other.
Harry felt like he was having a claustrophobic attack, the walls moving in on him, his breath coming out in short pants, his ears ringing, his cheeks growing hot.
"You don't hate me, you don't!" Tom repeated in a broken whimper and Harry couldn't take it any more. Enough was enough!
He felt burning tears starting to roll down his cheeks as he flung himself at the other, burying his face in the crook of Tom's neck, wishing he could build a nest there and never come out again in the hard cold world where he had to cause such pain in his beloved friend.
"No," he managed to gasp out. "I still hate what you did but no, I don't hate you. I couldn't..." Warm tears leaked out and travelled down to dampen the black and green robes on which Harry's head was resting on.
"Don't ever do that to me again, you big idiot," Harry whined and Tom simply responded by clutching him even tighter.
Their Charms class both started and ended, but they didn't care. They just held each other through it all, the only witnesses the shining trophies glimmering down at them from their shelves in the dark, damp room.
Then came the day when everything turned for the worse.
On the 17th of April, Harry found himself in the company of Silas, Abraxas, Alphard Black, and Dido Burke, all of them sitting together around one of the wooden tables in the depths of the school library. The seventh year students sat scribbling furiously on their theses, while Alphard quite casually sat knitting a deep green pullover, with the air of someone who had finished all his studies for the moment and didn't have anything better to do. He kept freezing for long moments at times, though, lost in thought. The others were too, suddenly finding themselves sitting staring into the depths of their parchments while their minds had strayed far away from the paths they should be on.
It all had its natural explanation, of course, for this morning at breakfast horrific news had reached them though owl post and the front page of The Daily Prophet. News of the war.
Last night, the British troops of sorcerers had marched straight into enemy territory and found themselves in a vicious battle with a great deal of causalities. 263 sorcerers all in all had succumbed to death, and an additional 131 were left fatally injured. People they knew, people they held dear and cared for. People they loved.
Amongst the causalities were a lot of relatives of Harry's friends. A lot of relatives of all the people at Hogwarts. And also, to Harry's great horror, his own Uncle Leonard.
Aunt Katherine had not only lost her only daughter to the war, but her husband as well. Charlus had lost his father, Daniel his grandfather. Arabella had lost one of her two sons and Walter had lost his only brother.
And Harry had lost yet another dear one, but there was no pity to be found for him from the people around. They were all treating their own wounds, mourning their own dead ones.
There were of course those that did not have the great misfortune of losing close ones in this act of war – but those were few, and almost all of them with Muggle parents who were in their turn out fighting the war on the Muggle side of it all.
This was a day of grief for all of them, and perhaps that was the reason why Abraxas suddenly snapped and charged at the unsuspecting Alphard sitting innocently and calmly at his side.
"How dare you sit here and fucking knit as joyously as ever? That's bloody mental, you hear me? Mental! You're practically shoving it in our faces how all your relatives managed to live through the attack last night unscratched. You fucking bastard! Do you know how it feels? Dammit!"
And with that he was bolting, hurrying away as if shot out of a canon, leaving all his things and his dumbstruck friends behind.
They were all looking at each other, not saying a word, just understanding and letting things be as they were. Only Alphard was looking away, down into his lap, clutching his knitting needles with shaking fingers – in vain trying to continue his work.
"I'm sorry," he suddenly whispered, barely loudly enough to hear but somehow loud enough for the words to ring in their ears.
Then, Silas reached out a hand and put in on top of Alphard's shivering ones, looking deep into his eyes and simply smiling. Soundlessly telling the other how it wasn't his fault and that he shouldn't be feeling sorry.
Harry saw in the corner of his eye how Dido stiffened at the scene and refused to look at it, turning her head away sharply, breathing deeply through her nose.
She had lost both her brothers last night. Both. Ascanius and Achates were dead, and Dido was left without them for ever more. Harry found that while she could not bear to look at Silas comforting Alphard, he in his turn could not bear to look at her, when her entire being was shining out of pure grief.
He looked away from her, down onto his thesis scribblings, when it happened.
He felt like someone unexpectedly slammed a sledgehammer over his forehead and suddenly everything became pain. He clutched his head and moaned in agony, reaching blindly behind himself to shove the backrest of his chair away, arising slowly and making for the bathroom just outside the library entrance. No one stopped him.
Once he entered the bathroom the burning pain intensified like a thousand hearths ablaze, and he slumped together over one of the sinks, turning on the tap with ice cold water to splash it all over his head and torso.
He was breathing deeply, leaning with all his weight on the white porcelain sinks, the sound of the water flowing out of the tap deafening to his ringing ears.
He was breathing heavily, the Gryffindor tie much too tight around his neck. He ripped it off and tossed it as far as he could manage, making it end up in a pool of water next to his feet.
He knew what was happening, this was old news to him, this had happened before. Certain times when Voldemort's power grew strong enough to battle against the binds that held him firmly in place inside of Harry's mind. Any moment now he would faint from the pain, any moment now.
Any moment now.
Then, light-headedness, the room was spinning, no sound could be heard as if he'd gone deaf.
He slowly looked up into the mirror in front of him and felt his heart beat a hole through his ribcage at the sight that greeted him.
Swirling, crimson pools of death.
He knew he was panting, but he couldn't see it. He knew he was feeling terrible pain, but no sign of agony was visible on his face. He knew he felt terrified, but the corners of his mouth were ever so slowly creeping upwards into a sly grin, the red eyes of his enemy mocking him silently.
Against his will, he found himself standing beside his own reflection. Watching it twist his features into something vile and unnatural. Something that wasn't supposed to be. He felt everything that he was sinking away, the essence of Voldemort crawling to the surface under his skin, like black ants drawn to a piece of sugar left behind in the summer heat.
And then, next to his own face, far behind his back, Abraxas appeared. Reflected just like he was, only in control of his own body. Muffled sounds began to make themselves known in Harry's mind.
"Harry?" Abraxas said in a fearful voice. "Harry, what's wrong?"
The tap in front of them was still spitting out water, Harry distantly heard his own breathing coming out in ragged pants. A low, rumbling laughter of victory was building up in his chest.
Then, Voldemort spun their body around and faced Abraxas' rigid apparition, wand raised threateningly.
"Malfoy," he said in a low, hissed sort of voice. And then, a viciously thought "Crucio" went through their shared mind and a spell emerged from out of the tip of Harry's wand.
Harry helplessly screamed his terror as the curse surged towards his friend, but Abraxas thankfully managed to throw himself out of the way just in the nick of time.
The fear suddenly seeped out of Harry's mind completely and pure, terrible anger filled it, and he lunged at Voldemort. Clawing at him, ripping him away and pushing him to the dark depths from where he came from.
He was suddenly in complete control of his body again, and the shock of if made his knees buckle, sending him down onto the wet, cold ground. Then came the pain, making him curl up on himself, clutching his head, weeping, screaming.
Somebody was kneeling at his side, hands roving over his body, desperate to help, not knowing what to do.
Then, finally, came the darkness.
Next thing he knew was a fluffy, warm sort of white world. A blurry world that hurt his eyes when he tried to look at it. But his eyes were adjusting, ever so slowly, and soon a blurry shape was coming into focus from above him.
"Tom?" Harry wondered, not knowing if he had whispered it or only mouthed it. The blurry figure above him didn't seem to react. Perhaps he'd only thought it...
Then, his eyes decided to cooperate and colours suddenly made themselves known. Deep black eyes came into focus, short ash-blonde hair and a hooked nose.
Eileen.
She looked terrible, her eyes bloodshot and wet from crying, no doubt. When she realized Harry was awake, she let out a shuddering breath and took a firmer hold of his left hand.
"Harry? Oh Merlin, Harry? How are you feeling? Hey, I'm here sweetheart, I'm here. I was so frightened."
Harry twisted around a little and found himself lying in a very comfortable bed, all his pains gone, although a tad bit sore, his surroundings telling him he had been brought to the hospital wing.
He silently reached out for Eileen and she immediately fell into his arms, holding him close, weeping on his shoulder while trying not to put any weight on his body. Harry stroked her hair calmly, trying to sooth his own panicking thoughts that were screaming at him that this was bad. This was terrible! Voldemort had grown much too powerful. He needed to hurry! He needed to find a cure now or he wouldn't have any more chances.
But Eileen's warmth, her silent breathing and her clutching hands were calming him. Even her soft hair running through his fingers seemed to tell him it was alright. Despite the treacherous little voice in his head telling him just how much he wished the hair would be black instead...
When they had both calmed down, at least moderately, Eileen straightened her back and pierced him with a feral look of utter intent. "I need you to tell me exactly what happened, Harry," she stated calmly.
I'm so sorry, Eileen... But I won't, Harry thought to himself before answering her. "It was the sickness I've told you about. It makes me faint at times, it's nothing dangerous really."
Of course he wouldn't tell her the truth – there was no way! He was the one who was supposed to save her, not the other way around. Besides, he was almost at the end of his research, or so he was telling himself at least, and Tom was helping him. He wasn't alone in this, and there was no point in worrying Eileen further. He wouldn't tell her.
"But the sickness, as you call it, has never put you in the hospital wing before, Harry. If you're trying to wave this away as harmless, I just... It can't be, you're not fooling me. This is serious, isn't it?"
Sometimes, Harry bemoaned Eileen's clear-headed perception of the things going on around her.
"It is serious, I know that," Harry said in a calm tone, hoping to soothe his girlfriend with little bits of the truth. "But you don't have to worry, I know what it is, I know how to treat it... Before long it will all be over and done with, alright? It's fine."
Eileen's eyes softened slightly and she reached out a hand to lay it on the side of Harry's face, caressing his cheek softly with her thumb. "You're so brave, Harry. So brave... Almost too brave for your own good, I suspect... But I'm not like you. I'm not brave. When I heard you had had some sort of accident and was taken to the hospital wing... I couldn't breathe I was so scared. I thought the worst... I feared for your life."
"It's alright," Harry whispered, laying his own hand on top of Eileen's smaller one, holding it to his cheek in a comforting grip. "I'm alright, see?" he said and turned slightly to press a soft peck into the palm of her hand.
The sound of somebody clearing his throat interrupted them suddenly, and Harry snapped up his eyes to catch sight of Tom at the foot of his bed. He looked furious. Livid, his eyes piercing Eileen with a look of pure death.
"Out," he said in an ice cold tone of voice, leaving no doubt about what would happen to her did she not comply.
He obviously wanted to talk, about what had happened. What had truthfully happened, and Harry knew Eileen could not be here to hear it.
The best course of action would perhaps be to shove Tom away and tell him to come back later to have their much needed talk then... But that would not be possible, Harry realized as he looked at the other's expression – he was about to explode from the look of it.
Eileen would have to go.
Before she could start arguing with the livid, possessive sadist and possibly get injured in the process Harry clutched her hand tighter, successfully making her eyes snap back to him again.
"Please, Eileen," Harry said softly, letting some of his fear shine through his eyes as he spoke. "Please, I really need to talk to Tom for a second. Just a short while. I promise. It won't take long."
With a long suffering sigh, she nodded silently and pressed a soft kiss onto his forehead before leaving them alone, glaring poisonously at Tom all the while as she went.
As soon as she was out the door and Harry was left alone with Tom, he let all his walls fall, letting his real feelings of utmost fear seep through and bleed through his skin.
Tom sat down on the side of his bed, and Harry forced his sore body into a sitting position so that he could wrap his arms around the other's chest, leaning his head onto the shoulder in front of him. He suddenly felt much better. Safer.
"Abraxas told me you tried to hex him with an unforgivable," Tom hissed in the secrecy of Parseltongue. "Is that true? What happened?"
"Voldemort happened," Harry said and told him everything.
Harry elbowed Tom in the side, a joyous grin on his face, nodding towards the doorway. Tom excused himself politely to the old wizard they had stood conversing with, and turned to look at him with an annoyed glare.
All around them were lots and lots of eggs, feathers in varying colours and chocolates of all kinds. There stood an entire basket full of Chocolate Frogs, next to a giant Easter ham with all kinds of delicious dishes surrounding it. On the floor little yellow chickens made out of paper, spelled alive, were running about, chipping merrily.
One could say Professor Slughorn knew how to celebrate Easter in, not style perhaps – rather in galore than anything else. He had invited all kinds of guests to enjoy his holiday feast, it being a bit on the crowded side since he had decided to host the party in his own office as opposed to his annual Christmas party that was celebrated in the west wing reception room.
But, apparently, all the guests had not arrived as of yet. Or perhaps now they all had, and the last guest was standing panting from exhaustion in the doorway.
Harry nodded that way once again, and as Tom finally looked in the right direction his glare turned upside down and his grin outshone even Harry's in its brilliance.
"Man-eater," he breathed out in a gleeful voice, all but chuckling evilly. Harry was thankful he didn't.
They stood waiting for a couple of moments, watching as their professor made his way over to his guest to bid her welcome and show her towards the buffet table. As they walked over to it, and in succession also closer to where the two predators were standing, smiling wickedly, Harry caught sight of something that had his heart skip a beat – Mrs Smith was wearing the locket.
Tom caught sight of it too, and he gave Harry a quick nod, silently confirming this meant they would put their plan into action tonight. They had been planning this very carefully, and nothing could go wrong tonight – they didn't have many weeks left of the school year after all. And after this term was over they would not ever come back again. Not to study, anyway.
They had planned the plan very carefully. Mrs Smith had come to a total of four Slug Club parties so far, and never had their plan worked out properly. The old woman had worn all kinds of jewellery: rings, bracelets and earrings of different sorts – but never Salazar Slytherin's locket.
Until now, that was! This seemed to be their lucky night.
Furthermore, they had another mission this evening. Through their research about how to get rid of Voldemort, they had found out a lot, more than they could dream of, about all kinds of Soul Magic – as well as other kinds of Dark Arts that Harry rather not think about for the moment. Or, at all, preferably. Some of those things were quite fearsome in character, so devious that the books themselves screamed upon touch.
But, despite their great progress there was one little factor they could not get their minds around – how did one make a Horcrux? If they were supposed to transfer Voldemort's soul out of Harry's body, the most logical answer would be to somehow create a substitute Horcrux and then destroy it. But how could they do that when the only description of the process they got from out of the books was that "Of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction" or, "The Horcrux is created through an act of evil", something that was hardly helpful at all. Maddeningly unhelpful, in fact.
So, the plan was for Harry to charm the locket from off of Mrs Smith, while Tom charmed the secret of Horcruxes out of Professor Slughorn. Very simple, one might think... Harry thought it worse than his previous N.E.W.T level midterm tests, to be quite frank.
But they couldn't put their plan into action this early on in the evening, people would notice if the host and a woman wearing a big sparkly necklace suddenly disappeared from the party. And if the woman in question returned without her brilliant set of jewellery... And besides, it would all go so much more smoothly if the target was a slight bit tipsy, if not drunk, as the plan played out.
So they busied themselves, mingling around, greeting Mrs Smith of course, but leaving her be after that to have all the food she could ever want and a healthy amount of drinks accompanying that. At 11 pm she finally looked ripe enough to pick, and Harry sauntered over with a confident stride, which Abraxas had made him perfect (that one time when Silas had forced them both to model for him in his fashion show), that had her watch him with greedy eyes as he came closer. As he came to stand in front of her she was actually panting as if short of breath, her cheeks flushing alarmingly red, her fat fingers fanning in front of her face in a frantic manner.
"Hepzibah," Harry greeted warmly, smiled softly and picked up the hand that was not fanning its owner, only to place a soft kiss upon it.
"Oh Harry," the old woman gushed, brushing off his dress robes in a motherly way, leaning very close to him and almost resting upon his shoulder as she gazed into his eyes. "I was just about bored out of life, I tell you, you naughty boy. You keep me waiting, don't you! Oh, I must say I enjoy your company far too much. Far too much – you must think me such an old crone."
"Not at all," Harry lied smoothly, rearranging the old crone unnoticeably so that she leaned more on his arm than on his shoulder, enabling it for him to move around more steadily – something that would be a necessity once he put his plan into action.
As Mrs Smith fawned over him, Harry sneaked a glance over his shoulder, meeting eyes with Tom. They nodded once to each other as a signal, and Tom immediately made his way through the sea of people and into the fold of his target, a box of crystallised pineapple waiting readily inside of his robe pocket.
Assured the other part of the plan was set into motion, Harry caressed Mrs Smith's forehead softly, letting out a well practised little hum of wonder. "Are you quite alright, Hepzibah? You are looking a bit out of breath. Do you want to take a quick stroll outside?"
The swooning woman quickly agreed, and Harry slowly led her out of Slughorn's office and out of safety. Once they'd gotten outside, he quickly led her to one of the stone benches lining the corridor wall, sitting her down and slipping down beside her, close enough for her to smell the perfume he'd sprayed on earlier than evening.
"How are you feeling?" he asked her softly, close enough to her ear to make his breath ghost over her flushed pink skin.
"Oh! Quite alright, my dear, quite... Well, I have to say... I find myself relieved, my dear, you came alone tonight. No girlfriend leading you around. You're all mine, for once-" She was interrupted by a sudden hiccup that made her generous bust bounce upwards joyfully. "Oh my!" she giggled, patting Harry's knee with a few short slaps. "Perhaps that last glass of firewhisky wasn't one of my most brilliant ideas... But enough about me, now, how about you? How are you feeling, my dear Harry?"
"I... I'm alright..." Harry said, making his voice shake, looking away as if too ashamed to meet Mrs Smith's eyes.
"But, oh dear, what it wrong my dear boy?" Hepzibah simpered worriedly.
"Oh no... Nothing... It's just... It's so silly," Harry said, sniffing silently as if holding back tears.
"On, now... Harry, you do know you can tell me anything, don't you?"
He gave a shaky smile, hesitatingly shifting his eyes up to meet Hepzibah's and then back again. "It's just... I didn't know you had it, is all... I've been looking for it for so long, and here you are, wearing it around your neck.. You've probably had it in your possession all this time..."
"Oh, I'm not quite sure what you're talking of, my dear boy, I..." Hepzibah hesitantly shifted her gaze down onto her chest, where the locket lay snugly, shimmering up at her teasingly. "This?" she asked, pointing questionably at her bosom, surely meaning to aim at the locket in her drunken state.
Harry nodded twitchily and swallowed deeply. "I... It's just, I've been looking for it, you see. Ever since... Ever since I found out..."
"Yes?" Mrs Smith questioned, shifting closer to peer motherly into his eyes.
"Ever since I found out I am Salazar Slytherin's heir."
Hepzibah Smith's eyes went impossibly round and she began fanning herself absent-mindedly with her hand, forming a perfect O with her mouth. "Salazar Slytherin's heir?" she asked breathlessly. "But then, that must mean... But, surely, you can't be... That would make you a..." She shifted closer still, putting a hand to her mouth, clearly intending to whisper. "A Parselmouth!"
Harry straightened his back, meeting her bewildered eyes steadily, and hissed silly nonsense at her. It must have sounded very impressive, or perhaps Hepzibah was just drunk enough not to question him, but she jumped backwards, the locket bouncing merrily on her chest, and her hand started fanning in a furious pace.
"Oh my lord," she wheezed out, looking a bit frightful.
"So you see," Harry continued slyly. "The locket was supposed to be passed down to me, as it has been from father to son, ever since Slytherin's time... But then, it was lost..."
"But you are a Potter," Mrs Smith interrupted in a shrill voice. "Potters have never been known to have Slytherin blood. How come..."
"But I am not a true Potter, Hepzibah," Harry whispered. "I am from the future, remember. I got the gift of Parseltongue from my mother's side. See, my father was a Potter, but my mother..."
Hepzibah was nodding importantly, swallowing every word with an eagerness that made this oh so easy. "Your mother had Slytherin blood," she concluded, fondling the locket between her fat fingers. Harry simply nodded and she let out a deep sigh, almost sorrowful. "I could give it to you, Harry, as a gift."
He almost leaped up from the stone bench in joy, but thankfully managed to control himself in time.
"But," Hepzibah said, a glint sparkling mischievously in her eyes. "I do want something in return. You see, Harry, I have been so lonely... So lonely ever since my dear husband passed away. And you have been so good to me. I confess I have had fantasies, I will not deny it, fantasies about you and your friend... Well, when you showed up at my porch, I thought I was going to go mad with desire... Still... I realize, no matter how great a fortune I have, you would never take me for the money, you're not that kind of person. I know, but an old lady can wish, can't she?"
Harry suddenly felt sick by the mere thought about what old Mrs Smith might have been fantasizing about, but scolded his expression into one of polite curiosity – with great difficulty.
"Well," Hepzibah continued slyly, fondling the locked absent-mindedly. "I can give you this... In return for, let's say... a favour."
A/N: Monster chapter is monstrous... (The longest one so far...) I have changed the plot line for this so many times. And the name for it... Actually had to split it in two as well, so there's more coming, believe me. As soon as I get it out of my mind, that is.
Hope you all had a great Christmas, if you celebrate it, that is.
As always, thank you for reading, following and favouring the story (and me, which is like wow. AWESOME!). And also, thank you so much for the reviews, they really help me stay on track and work out the kinks in the story.
Until next time! Mischief managed!
