.
...o0o...
In Death, Standby
Chapter VI
Riddle Me This
…o0o…
Harry learned the first thing about the joys of portkeying as a sharp yank somewhere behind Harry's navel materialized. The next sensation was the nausea caused by the swirling motion, then the sharp 'bang' as the portkey's magic tore him forcefully through Hogwarts' ancient wards. Harry was only vaguely aware of moving, but he was acutely aware of the fact that the dinner he had enjoyed hours prior was determinately trying to make a reappearance. It didn't really help that it took mere seconds before Harry was slammed through yet another set of strong wards before he was ruthlessly dropped onto the floor of the Manor's entrance hall, where he collapsed in an awkward heap.
Harry let out a strangled groan and let his white-knuckled grip on the silver watch loosen. He could hear it rolling across the floorboards before stopping suddenly. Quiet clatter followed before someone picked it up, and then silent steps began to approach.
Harry buried his face into the cool floor and hoped he'd just die quickly.
"Will you vomit?" the Dark Lord—Voldemort, his name was Voldemort—asked, stopping cautiously at a good distance.
Harry gave it some thought, before he was able to reply with some difficulty, "Probably not."
Clearly the man didn't believe him, because he stayed where he was. "Why are you here?" was his next question.
"Dumbledore," Harry answered simply. His stomach churned, but the worst of the nausea was subsiding.
There was second of silence, before Voldemort muttered a quiet, forceful, "Finally."
Harry lifted his head just enough from the floor to shoot a death glare, which was unfortunately ineffective.
"I hate it when you do this," he mumbled feebly. Any further protests were choked in his throat as a hand grasped at the neck of his robes and hauled him up. Coming face to face with the Dark Lord sent a surprising spike of elation through Harry's system and he couldn't quite smother the grin that took over his face. He knew he was probably in trouble for slinking from Hogwarts like he had, but right now he didn't care one bit.
"Hi," Harry greeted, the grin widening into a beam. "It's been a while."
Voldemort didn't particularly warm up to Harry's sincere greeting.
"Was he with you when you used the portkey?" Voldemort asked, his hand still curled around the nape of Harry's neck. "Was Dumbledore in the same room?"
Harry blinked at the bizarre question, before nodded hesitantly. "Yes?"
A ghost of a smug smirk flashed across Voldemort's face at the reply. It was never a good sign in itself and even less so in this context. The Dark Lord apparently didn't feel the need to explain himself, however, as he merely reached out to press the portkey into the palm of Harry's hand.
"Why is that so important?" Harry asked suspiciously, slipping the silver watch back into his pocket almost reflexively.
"Hogwarts' wards are tied to its current Headmaster, as well as to the castle itself," Voldemort explained. "Since the old goat is the focus point of the warding hub, the wards are strongest around him. It is mildly surprising that the portkey actually worked."
For a moment, all Harry could do was stare at the man uncomprehendingly.
Voldemort didn't seem to notice anything amiss and merely muttered, "This is good news, indeed," more to himself than to Harry.
"You used me to test your portkey," Harry realised sourly and didn't bother to hide his scowl.
"Yes, and the results appear most encouraging," Voldemort replied, ignoring Harry's disapproval completely. "And did he hear you speak it?"
"Speak what?" Harry wondered, confusion effectively washing off his frown.
Voldemort's heavy, irritated glare fell on Harry like a ton of rocks.
It took a moment, but Harry got it. "Oh! Parseltongue? Um, yes, probably. I did speak it, but it was a very short sentence and I didn't yell it out or anything," he explained, then hesitated, "Is that... bad?"
The Dark Lord's reply was snappish and impatient, "Why do you think I designed the portkey to be activated with Parseltongue? There are dozens of other ways to make it work."
Harry blinked. He knew there was something he was meant to realise right about now, but no epiphanies were forthcoming. He pursed his lips for a moment, pretended to think about it, before asking curiously, "Why did you?"
Voldemort gave him a searching look before realisation dawned on his face.
"Sometimes I forget how ignorant you are," he muttered more to himself with curious amazement in his tone, before turning to Harry, "There are exactly two people left in the entire world who speak it."
It took an embarrassingly long moment before Harry realised what exactly that meant. Even then, he struggled to understand. "Snakes speak it all the time," he pointed out hesitantly.
Voldemort scoffed. "For some reason people never seem to count snakes among those numbers," was his dry reply to Harry's weak argument. "Two people, brat."
Two people in the entire world. The more Harry kept repeating that sentence in his head, the more horrifyingly incredible it sounded. It would mean... Well, it meant that there was no one quite like them in the world. It meant that Harry didn't just imagine it when he thought that he was different from all the Death Eaters and sycophants who flitted around the Dark Lord at all times. Harry was like the Dark Lord, at least in this one unexpectedly important way. Speaking Parseltongue put Harry automatically into the same league as Voldemort. The language Harry had spoken as long as he could remember suddenly gained new significance in light of this earthshattering revelation.
"Oh," Harry commented finally, sounding just as astonished as he felt. "I thought..." But Harry isn't sure what he had thought. At least, he had never suspected Parseltongue to be quite so exclusive. Harry mentally shook himself to get his mind back on track. "I still don't get why it's so important that Dumbledore found out about it. Isn't it counter-productive to let him know things like these?"
"It will keep him wondering," Voldemort replied, as if it wasn't all that important of a matter. "He's much less of a menace when he has something to occupy his time."
Harry wasn't stupid enough to think that that was the entire truth of it, but decided to let it slide. He had more important things to focus on.
"You knew this was going to happen, didn't you?" he accused.
"Of course," Voldemort replied shortly before he turned and started to walk away, as if Harry's concerns didn't matter to him at all. Which they probably didn't, but Harry was full of righteous anger by now, so he could ignore that little fact with surprising ease.
"And you didn't think it would be a good idea to let me know?" Harry asked, hurrying his steps to keep up with Voldemort's long strides.
"Letting you know anything is rarely a good idea," the man told him nonchalantly.
Harry resisted the urge to comment on that. Obviously there was nothing he could say or do to convince the man that he wasn't actually as stupid and naïve as the Dark Lord thought, but still, it left a bitter taste in the back of Harry's mouth. As used to Voldemort's schemes as he was, it was still a bitter pill to swallow that in the very end Harry was just one of those schemes to push around and pull whenever the man felt like he could be of use in one way or another. It wasn't turning out to be the happy homecoming Harry had been hoping for. Perhaps he was more naïve than he realised, then.
"I have somewhere to be right now," Voldemort said then, "But once I am back, I expect a full report about the progression of your studies and the proceedings at Hogwarts."
Harry blinked, startled, and asked, "You're leaving?"
The man didn't dignify that with the obvious response.
"One more thing," he said instead, turning to Harry with a sharp glare, "I heard about your little vow of allegiance."
At first Harry was a tad confused, but then remembered the morning after Halloween and shrugged a little sheepishly.
"Oh, yes, that," he commented smartly.
"Yes, that. I do not appreciate your rash actions," Voldemort informed and Harry flinched a bit under the words. He opened his mouth to defend himself, but something, an out of place flicker of approval in the red eyes, distracted him.
"You're lying," Harry realised with amazement. Despite himself, and the potential danger in calling the Dark Lord a liar, Harry couldn't help the smile that insisted on climbing onto his face.
"I am most certainly not lying," Voldemort pointed out dryly. "In the future, I expect you to consult me before revealing any of the rebellious little ideas that reside in that head of yours to the general public. Is that clear?" Despite his tone still being sharp and slightly threatening, the reluctant, smug approval didn't dissipate.
Harry nodded obediently, feeling slightly better than moments before. He replied with, "Crystal."
Then another thought occurred to him and his small smile faded.
"How did you even hear about that?" Harry wondered. "When I left, you said something… that I was supposed to be your eyes at Hogwarts?"
Obviously, if Voldemort had heard about that little incident, then he already had eyes all over the place, eyes that Harry was utterly oblivious to. It made Harry feel somewhat unnecessary and obsolete. What was his purpose at Hogwarts if it wasn't for keeping an eye out for the happenings there? Just to study? It was oddly disappointing to find out that in the end, Harry was still useless to the Dark Lord.
"I said nothing about ears," Voldemort tossed back, uncaring.
"You're a crafty bastard, aren't you?" slipped bitterly from Harry's lips before he could stop the words.
The spell hit before Harry had a chance to realise what exactly he had just said. It broke his nose with a loud audible crack and sent blood flowing with the force of a waterfall. Harry's hands flew to his face and a pained groan escaped him. His eyes watered and thick, sticky blood poured down between his fingers. It was quite strange, how utterly unaccustomed to it he was. He had been gone for mere months, and yet he had almost forgotten what pain felt like.
"I see you have learned new words in your absence," Voldemort commented coldly.
Harry gritted his teeth together and, despite his better senses screaming against it, he muttered, "I take back the crafty part. That was the most unsubtle spell anyone has ever used in the history of magic."
Voldemort cast a last chilly glance at Harry, turned towards the fireplace in the hall, and flooed away before Harry had a chance to say as much as goodbye.
And Harry was left there, alone, forgotten and cast aside, blood running down his face and a dull ache in his chest.
Yes, not quite the homecoming he had been hoping for.
…o0o…
It turned out that the not-so-happy reunion was only a prelude to the trend that would follow. During the following days, Harry barely saw Voldemort as he was often away, and when he did see him the man was distant and reticent. At first, Harry was somewhat confused and hurt, but slowly the realisation dawned that the Dark Lord was acting no different from how he had acted before Harry had left for Hogwarts. It was Harry who had changed and forgotten what life at the Manor was like.
It was a horrifying realisation because it meant that somehow during his months at Hogwarts, Harry had lost something precious. While he had previously fitted seamlessly into the slow, bizarre life at the Manor, he now stood out like a sore thumb. He had forgotten how to live in his own home, how to coexist with Voldemort and Nagini and all the dark, long silences that dwelled in the halls. Hogwarts' cheerful, easy days had turned Harry soft and mellow, something different from what he had been before.
Going to Hogwarts had been like walking from a dark room into a very brightly lit one. At first the light had burned and blinded him, but once he got used to it, he had seen more than he had ever seen in his life before. Then after returning to that dark, dim room—the life from before—he couldn't see anything because his eyes weren't used to the dark anymore. It was disturbing and frightening, and the worst thing was that Harry stood alone with his dilemma; he had no one to turn to. It made him feel awfully lonely for the first time in his life.
If this was what growing up was about, Harry wasn't so sure he welcomed it.
…o0o…
On the Christmas Eve, they received a guest.
Lucius Malfoy appeared like the bird of an ill omen he obviously was, wearing his usual carefully apologetic expression and displaying his obvious reluctance at being at the Manor in the first place. Harry recognised his brisk walk that was accompanied by the sharp tapping of his walking stick long before he could even see him. Alerted by the noise, he followed after it from the library where he had been reading his text books just to kill time, and caught the man on his way to the Dark Lord's study.
"It's you again," Harry greeted when he caught up with him, before realising that it might be considered quite rude, and added, "Hey." Then he took a look at Lord Malfoy's face and took a not so wild guess, "More bad news? You're in luck; he's been in a reasonably good mood today."
"Thank you for your assessment," Lord Malfoy replied, sounding anything but grateful. His expression was grim and grave, so Harry suspected something more serious was at play here. He was curious enough to trail after Mr. Malfoy to the study. Voldemort took notice of his silent entrance, but didn't comment, so Harry interpreted it is as acceptance.
"My lord," Mr. Malfoy said and bowed slightly as soon as he entered.
"So, it is you again," was Voldemort's curt greeting. "What is it this time?" He asked, sounding almost disinterested.
"My lord, years ago you entrusted a certain object to my care," Mr. Malfoy began carefully, "And told me to inform you if—"
Mr. Malfoy didn't make it to the end, before Voldemort's indifference had faded and something surprisingly close to alarm had taken over his face. He didn't let the Death Eater finish, but interrupted with an urgent, "Where is it?"
Mr. Malfoy responded by reaching for something from his pocket and setting it onto the table before the Dark Lord. Harry leaned curiously closer to take a look and what he saw made his jaw drop and his heart skip several beats before restarting again.
It was the black book. The very same black little book Harry had first seen in the Mirror of Erised. It laid there on the table, as innocent looking as it had been in the mirror, but the way Voldemort reached for it indicated that it was probably the most valuable thing in the entire Manor at that very moment. His fingers ran carefully over the leather cover, as if checking for damage, before the Dark Lord raised a displeased, questioning look towards Mr. Malfoy.
"It has been... leaking, my lord," Mr. Malfoy explained, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant.
"What do you mean?" Voldemort asked sharply.
"It has been affecting the house elves," Mr. Malfoy replied quickly, "I do not know how or why now, but one of them went mad and massacred half of the other elves before trying to set the house on fire. Then it tried to get to the book, but it was protected behind very powerful magic, so the elf wasn't successful. I managed to interfere before more damage could occur."
While Mr. Malfoy spoke, Voldemort's alarmed expression had turned into a very carefully maintained mask of blankness, which usually indicated that he was well beyond furious. When he spoke, the words were somewhat distracted, but coated with displeasure, "A house elf? Of course. They are weak-minded creatures."
"I interrogated the mad one and it said that the book had told him to do it," Mr. Malfoy added. "I do not know why they are reacting now. The book has rested in the same vault for decades and there had been no problems before. I came to you as soon as I could."
Voldemort sat there for a few moments more, then he stood up abruptly.
"There is something I have to check," he told simply and Disapparated right on the spot, before the echo of the words had faded.
Silence swirled in the room in his wake.
"He does that," Harry said after a while. "Quite a lot."
Mr. Malfoy glanced at him, but didn't reply.
Harry's eyes were drawn back onto the book that still rested on the table. It was so close now, actually present in the same room and not hidden behind the reflective glass of the Mirror of Erised. Yet, it was utterly unattainable in its importance to the Dark Lord and in the restrictive presence of Mr. Malfoy, who clearly wasn't sure how to proceed now that Voldemort had so abruptly left without leaving further instructions behind.
Harry's fingers itched with the desire to reach over and pick the book from the table.
"Surely you have better things to do than wait for him, don't you?" he asked casually. "If you want, I'll look after the book until he's back."
Mr. Malfoy took another look at Harry and the temptation to accept was obvious on his face, but he still responded with, "It is better if I wait."
Of course it was. Harry knew that much, but he still wasn't ready to give up. He shrugged slightly with pretended indifference.
"He's sometimes gone for a very long time," he said, and again got no answer.
In his mind, Harry was quickly running over the few facts he knew about Lucius Malfoy, looking for a weakness that would be usable enough to make him leave. The only ones he could come up with were Mr. Malfoy's blind obedience to the Dark Lord's whims and his devotion to his family. In the end it boiled down to the question of which weakness was the stronger one. Would Mr. Malfoy prioritise the Dark Lord or his family first?
"So, how has Draco been?" Harry asked then. "I haven't heard from him since the holidays started."
"He is fine, I would assume," Mr. Malfoy replied.
"That's nice," Harry nodded back, "I was a bit worried about him, you see."
That seemed to catch Mr. Malfoy's attention, but the only indication of it was the slight narrowing of his eyes and the questioning look he cast at Harry.
He would have to tread carefully now, but perhaps, just perhaps if he played his cards right...
"He didn't seem to take Hogwarts very seriously," Harry said. "I tried to warn him that it would come back to bite him in the arse when exams rolled around at the end of the semester, but he was more interested in trying to sneak girls into Hogsmeade."
Harry almost felt bad for lying like this, but then he reminded himself of how Draco had been giving him silent treatment for the last month and then felt a lot less sympathetic.
"Is that so?" Mr. Malfoy asked and something sour had entered into his expression.
He sent a silent apology in his head to Hermione, but decided to press on anyway. If Draco's reaction on the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of the year was something that ran in the family, then it was likely that Mr. Malfoy held some rather anti-muggleborn ideas, too.
"Yes. There's this one in particular, Hermione Granger is her name," Harry told, "that he's been getting rather friendly with. She's quite clever, that one."
And just like that a frozen look of incredulous astonishment appeared on Mr. Malfoy's face, and he obviously didn't listen past Hermione's obviously muggle name. There was little Harry could add at this point. He could only hope that Mr. Malfoy's concern for his son was enough to override his fear of the Dark Lord's moodiness.
"It's a pity you have to be here on Christmas Eve," Harry added as an afterthought. "Since the holiday is supposed to be family time and all that."
He wondered if he was over doing it a bit now. A misstep could mean that Mr. Malfoy would catch on to what Harry was doing.
"Yes, indeed," Mr. Malfoy replied sounding a bit distracted, before his focus seemed to return upon Harry. "You will pass the book onto the Dark Lord?"
Harry tried to look innocent. "Of course. I will look after it until he returns," he promised. "I know where he keeps important documents, so I'll just put it there and it should be safe enough."
Mr. Malfoy seemed to waver on the edge for a while, before nodding. "Very well. I wish you a happy Christmas then," Malfoy said lastly, to which Harry replied politely and barely hiding his mounting excitement.
A few more minutes and Mr. Malfoy was gone, leaving Harry alone with the mysterious book.
"Well then," Harry muttered to himself, walked around the desk, and hopped to sit on Voldemort's chair, staring at the book curiously. He hesitated for a moment, before reaching over.
Even more startling than the presence of the book itself was the fact that when Harry curiously opened it, every single one of its pages were blank. Not a word was written anywhere, no ink stain marred the sheets. Harry flipped through the book once, then for a second time just to be sure, before letting the cover snap closed. He was disappointed, of course. In the Mirror of Erised this book had been the most important book in the whole wide world, holding within its covers all the secrets imaginable. In this cold honest reality, it was an empty waste of space.
Or perhaps... Or perhaps it wasn't empty, but merely unwritten? What was it that Dumbledore had said about the Mirror? To some people it offers a glimpse of what to strive for. Perhaps this book wasn't for Harry to read as much as it was for him to write. It was an exciting thought, enough so to banish the bitterness of disappointment.
Harry tilted the book towards the light of the fire place to observe it more closely. Even though the worn leather cover revealed its age, the book was overall in a very good condition. The pages were undamaged and the binding still held firm. As Harry turned it curiously in his hands and flipped through the pages, a small inscription caught his eye.
T.M. Riddle
Harry frowned. It was clearly someone's name, most likely the previous owner's name, but it was odd that this T.M. Riddle had never actually written anything in what was obviously his diary. Perhaps he had lost it or forgotten about it before he got that far. It didn't really matter. Either way, Harry could not find any indication as to how it had ended up in Voldemort's hands and why it was so important to the man.
Harry flipped onto the first bone-white page. He snatched up a quill, twirled it once around his fingers and scribbled down the first thing that came to his mind.
My name is Harry.
The blue tinted ink remained on the paper for a few blinks, but then the words began to fade as if the paper was absorbing them. Soon the page was just as white and unblemished as before. Harry's eyebrows drew down in a frown and then climbed up again in surprise when entirely new words started to appear letter by letter.
Hello, Harry. I am Tom Riddle.
Not unwritten then, Harry thought to himself, as he slammed the book closed and stared at the leather cover, unsure of how to proceed. The strange feeling Harry had always gotten before making a bad decision made an appearance again, but he resolutely ignored it and slipped the book into his robe pocket. He would keep the book for now, but just for long enough to understand why the Mirror of Erised had shown it to him or until Voldemort returned.
…o0o…
The next day was Christmas Day and Harry woke up to an astonishing amount of racket and chaos, as he opened his eyes to the sight of a floor covered with snakes. At first he didn't quite comprehend what was happening, but stared at this scene for a good two minutes before his brain caught up with reality and the excited hissed conversation going on in the room.
:Is he awake?:
:He's awake.:
:How can you tell? How do humans sleep?:
:I'm so hungry...!:
For a brief moment Harry considered just closing his eyes and going back to sleep to hide from the obvious disaster that was brewing in the room, but unfortunately the general level of noise from the unexpected visitors made it quite impossible. With a heavy sigh he sat up and took a look around, trying to comprehend what was going on. A sudden and absolute silence fell in the bedroom, as all of the eyes in the room fastened upon Harry's sleepy figure.
:Would someone, please, explain?" Harry suggested tiredly. For a moment the silence prevailed, as all of the snakes waited for someone else to begin, until the room exploded with noise again as they all began to speak at once.
:He's definitely awake!:
:Explain?:
:She said there would be food.:
:It's cold outside. Too cold.:
:Yesss, cold isn't good.:
Out of all of the dozens of explanations that followed, Harry caught onto the general gist that 'she' had told that, for warmth and food, the Manor was the place to go. It didn't take too many guesses to know to whom they were referring. Thus, Harry called down a house elf to set up a fire in the bedroom's fireplace to make the guests comfortable before he left the room quickly, all the while raining down apologies for nothing in particular. The snakes didn't seem to mind him leaving, but formed a bizarre hissing and squiggling pile upon the rug in front of the fireplace and seemed all too happy just to stay right there.
For the next hour and a quarter, Harry ran through the Manor's corridors, yelling for Nagini as he went. When he finally found her, she was of course where he should have looked first; in the Dark Lord's study, comfortably curled in the armchair Harry considered his, and deeply asleep. Luckily, Voldemort was nowhere to be seen. He probably hadn't yet finished with the business that had sent him off in a rush the day before.
:Nagini! Wake up!: Harry ordered her and poked her huge bulk with his bony fingers. :You have some serious explaining to do.:
Nagini stirred lazily, taking her sweet time stretching and listening to Harry's nagging before she deigned to defend herself with a bored, :It is winter outside, Snakeling, I only saved them.:
Harry wasn't convinced. :There was a runespoor who said he had come all the way from Africa because you asked him to,: he pointed out, but Nagini didn't find this information particularly concerning.
:I've never been to Africa. Perhaps it is cold there, too,: the snake replied.
Harry counted slowly to ten in his mind, before promising very calmly, :If you don't explain this mess in the next five seconds, I swear to Helga Hufflepuff that I will transfigure you into a stick and snap you in two. You know I can do that, I go to a school.:
Nagini seemed to hesitate for a bit, but eventually explained reluctantly, :You go to a school, yes, and I cannot go with you.:
Harry stared at her frozenly for a moment, before horrifying realisation began to dawn. :Wait, wait... Do you honestly expect me to take one of those—"
:One will do, yes,: Nagini butted in.
:—Those things with me to Hogwarts simply because you can't go?: Harry finished and got a solid hiss of agreement in reply. Harry could only stare at her in wonder and asked, :So, is this like a job interview?:
:Maybe one of them will catch your fancy,: Nagini defended. :No one will be as amazing as I am, of course, but a few are clever little younglings.:
:Nagini...:
:Someone must look after you,: Nagini stated. She seemed so determined and made it seem like it was such a huge deal, that Harry was on the verge of giving in but the thought of how his housemates would react to a pet snake put a sudden stop to that train of thought.
:I will not take any of those snakes with me and that's final,: Harry told her in a very firm tone. :I will feed them and make sure they're warm for a day or two, but they cannot stay here. Thank Salazar Voldemort isn't here or he would have made sure you were the Christmas dinner this year.:
Nagini was about to shoot back an undoubtedly sharp retort, but caught on to something more important. She let out a startled hiss, :You know his name?:
Harry mentally cursed his accidental slip, but confessed reluctantly, :I found out. How do you know it's his name?:
Nagini curled into a coil on the chair and stared at Harry with her slit pupils for a moment, before replying, :I've always known.:
Harry felt offended and hurt, but hid it behind an irritated huff, :Why would he tell you, but not me?:
:How would I know? I'm a snake and many things people do confuse me,: Nagini told and rested her head on her tail, clearly preparing to go back to sleep. Then she suddenly added, :I think he fears that if you know he is human, he will become one.:
Harry blinked at her, startled and out of sorts. :But… I already know that he's a human.:
Nagini was clearly growing bored of the entire conversation and only answered with a lazy, :Do you now?:
The sharp reply was already on Harry's tongue when he actually stopped to think about it. Something had changed recently, hadn't it? It was different somehow to think of the Dark Lord as Voldemort. In fact, the whole world felt different, irreversibly altered after Harry had come to connect a name with the face. It was almost as if the Dark Lord had been a strange ghost just at the edge of reality, while Voldemort held some more human aspects that Harry had never come to associate with the Dark Lord. A mere name had somehow changed everything.
But of course Harry had always known that the Dark Lord was a human, somewhere underneath the mystery and death and Darkness. It was ridiculous to claim differently.
:It's not even his real name,: Harry mumbled as his final argument, before turning to leave the study and return to his more urgent snake problem.
Just when he was closing the door behind him, he heard Nagini's quiet retort, :Let's just hope you never find out that one.:
For some reason the conversation with Nagini clung to Harry's mind even when he returned to his bedroom to feed their houseguests as promised. When the floor was littered with dead-looking snakes with bellyfuls of mice in them, Harry allowed himself the luxury of just lounging on his bed, staring at the ceiling deep in thought. After a moment, he reached under his pillow and pulled out the diary he had hidden there. He had not written in it since the first time he had opened it, but the temptation was there.
After a brief moment of hesitating, Harry took the quill from his night stand and wrote:
Dear Tom, how do you know if someone is a human or not? -Harry
The words faded. Harry held his breath without even realising it, until new words began to appear onto the paper before his eyes and air escaped his lungs in one relieved exhale.
You can usually tell by their eyes.
Harry's heart stopped and the very vivid image of the Dark Lord's crimson eyes rose to his mind. He raised the quill to write something, but his thoughts refused to cooperate enough to form a proper sentence. In the end he didn't have to, because Tom Riddle carried on writing unprompted.
For example, werewolves' eyes usually hold a slightly yellowish tint, while Veelas can be distinguished by the intensity of their eye colour. Does that satisfy your curiosity, Harry?
Harry shook his head despairingly and wrote back, I don't understand anything anymore.
It took much less time for Tom to reply this time: From what I've heard, that is a very distinctively human characteristic, as well.
And all Harry could do was bury his face into the pillow and laugh, until one of the sluggish snakes lifted its head from the floor and told him to shut up.
…o0o…
That night found Harry lolling about on the floor amongst his squiggly guests, with Tom Riddle's diary spread out on the carpet next to him. Harry had been lazily writing back and forth with Tom Riddle throughout the day, mostly to find out who exactly this T.M. Riddle was and how he had ended up in a diary. It was very comfortable, in a way, to have someone (or rather several someones, if you counted the snakes, too) to chat with on a dark and chilly evening. Voldemort had yet to return from wherever he had rushed off to and Harry might have felt very lonely and bored, if it weren't for Tom Riddle's surprisingly pleasant company.
Around nine in the evening, a few of the snakes decided that they were hungry again and Harry had to call for a house elf to silence their relentless complaining. He called for some tea and sandwiches for himself and mice for his guests. When the house elf had returned Harry thanked it politely and, while sleepily munching a sandwich, watched how the elf stroked the fire and quickly tidied up the room.
He picked up a quill and wrote into the diary, House elves are lifesaving creatures. I would have probably starved to death a decade ago if it wasn't for house elves. It seemed a bit pointless to write something like this, but Harry rather wanted to keep the conversation with Tom alive.
The diary replied with, You're a very spoiled wizardling, aren't you, Harry? AndHarry could almost imagine the self-righteous, condescending tone radiating from the words and snorted a little into his tea. He prepared to pen his reply, when a silent startled squeak interrupted him.
"Master Harry, sir?"
Harry looked towards the house elf and smiled politely. "Yes?"
"I finds this. Under the bed, sir," the house elf told him and pressed a package wrapped in paper into Harry's hands.
"Oh, um, thank you. You can go now," Harry said to the elf distractedly, his attention already engaged by the unexpected present.
"Good night, sir," the house elf said and with a pop it was gone.
Harry stared at the package. It was relatively large, soft and wrapped in bluish paper and it even had a neat little bow on the top, just like a proper present. It was the very first actual present Harry had ever received so it felt a bit too offensive and aggressive to just tear into it, so for a moment he just sat there and stared.
:Is it food?: one of the snakes wondered, slithering closer curiously.
:Probably not,: Harry replied, glancing over only to see that while he was distracted, all of his sandwiches had disappeared mysteriously.
:I wonder where it came from, though,: Harry wondered and turned the package around in his hands. Somehow it seemed unlikely that Voldemort would go sneaking into his room to leave unexpected Christmas presents under his bed. Harry's thoughts were interrupted again as the deep, guilty silence from the snakes registered in his mind. He frowned deeply and cast a look around. :Where did it come from?: he asked, eyes narrowing.
There was a moment of awkward twitching and slithering, before a small dark adder flicked its tongue and confessed, :There was a bird.:
:A bird?: Harry repeated.
:A bird,: another snake confirmed, :With talons and beak and feathers.:
:It was scary!:
:And huge.:
Harry drew a slow breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. :And what happened to this big, scary bird?:
All snake heads snapped in sync to look towards a large, lazy looking python. Harry followed the example.
There was a moment of thoughtful silence, before the python said slowly and carefully, :It flew away.:
Harry smothered a laugh by biting down on his lower lip, before asking, :It flew away, huh? And none of you ate it or did anything else inconsiderate?:
Anther thoughtful moment followed, before the python tilted its head slightly and replied more hesitantly, :Yes, it flew away.:
After a heartbeat of silence the room exploded with different variations of :He's lying!: and :It flew away!: and Harry didn't even bother to try and hide his laugh any more. Still chuckling, he tore the paper from the present and into his lap fell a pool of soft fabric.
Harry blinked, then reached for the slip of parchment that fell from between the many folds of the fabric.
On one side was his name, Harry James Potter in neat, if slightly tilted, handwriting. On the other sidethe note said simply, "Use it well" and nothing else. Harry tossed it aside, deciding that it was quite useless, and focused on the object itself instead. As he turned it around in his hands and ran his fingers across the smooth, almost liquid texture, it didn't talk long for the suspicion to set in. It wasn't the first time Harry had seen one of these, but who and why anyone would send him one was beyond his comprehension. To confirm what he already believed to be true, Harry tossed the cloak over his shoulders and watched with curious fascination how the rest of his body disappeared.
Someone had sent him an invisibility cloak.
Harry reached a hand out, picked up a quill and watched how his bodiless, floating hand scribbled into Tom Riddle's diary, Dear Tom, what do you know about invisibility cloaks?
He flopped back onto the floor and watched how the reply stretched across the page, while admitting to himself that he hadn't been this content during his stay at Hogwarts or even since his return back home. It was nice, almost like having a friend.
…o0o…
Throughout the next day, Harry kept thinking about the book. He knew that the Dark Lord would return sooner or later and would wonder about where the book was, which meant that Harry would eventually have to hand it over. He didn't feel particularly happy about it, to be honest. He had grown almost fond of the little conversations he kept having with Tom Riddle and was reluctant to see them end.
Therefore, he came up with a plan to prolong this unexpected friendship he had discovered. It was dangerous and daring, but as the careful idea formed in Harry's head it took a firm hold and refused to go away.
That afternoon, Harry called a house elf down and asked if it could find or make an exactly identical copy of the book. The elf had fidgeted, eyed the book with nervous fear and stammered over sentences, but once Harry had turned his question into an order it had obeyed.
The thing is that most wizards kept forgetting how powerful the magic of the house elves was. It worked differently, yes, but that is exactly where its strength lay. The elf had snapped its fingers once and just like that, instead of one there were now two little black books on the table. There was something off about the copy, because if felt different from the original; the hum of magic that surrounded the book was gone, but otherwise it looked exactly the same.
Harry told the elf not to speak a word of this to anyone, before sending it away. He knew that should Voldemort ask directly, then the elf had no choice but to tell the truth, but at least the elf wouldn't go blabbing Harry's secrets accidentally now.
Harry wrapped the book in brown paper and sat by the Dark Lord's desk, picking up a quill and a slip of parchment. He rummaged through the drawers until he found a half-finished letter in Voldemort's neat penmanship and set out to carefully copy each letter one by one. It was slow work and Harry had to start over once, but in the end he had a neat short message finished.
Keep it where it has been these past years. It should cause no further problems, but if it does, inform me immediately.
No signature, because that's how Voldemort preferred it. It wasn't perfect but close enough. Harry's writing was a bit more wobbly than Voldemort's but to anyone who wouldn't bother studying it too closely, it would seem that the Dark Lord wrote it.
When Harry sent out an owl with the package and note to the Malfoy Manor, he had a moment of uncomfortably clear foresight. It was certain that one day the Dark Lord would find out. He would be furious and Harry would pay dearly for this, but for now... For now, Harry allowed himself this little luxury. There had to be a reason why the Mirror of Erised had shown this book to Harry, and until Harry figured out what that reason was it would only keep bothering him endlessly.
When the Dark Lord returned a day later, looking tired but oddly satisfied, Harry told him that Mr. Malfoy had taken the book with him when he left. Voldemort had accepted that with a vague comment about checking it later. Harry carefully maintained his neutral expression, although guilt had taken its firm hold on his mind. He squashed it by reminding himself that it was done and there was no way to take it back.
He could only hope that it was worth the risk in the end.
…o0o…
As it turned out, for a diary of an undoubtedly deceased person, Tom Riddle was unnaturally interested in the contemporary matters. He asked hundreds of questions, inquisitive and intruding, all leading to yet another question. He inquired about politics, weather, and international relations, and sometimes even wondered about muggles. But most of all, he asked about Harry. It would have been flattering how deeply interested in Harry the diary seemed, but Harry kept reminding himself that he was the first person Tom Riddle had talked to in a very long time, so it only made sense.
As fascinating as it was, talking to someone who had lived in an entirely different time than Harry himself, Harry wasn't stupid. The Diary was a magical object without an owner and found in suspicious conditions. Trusting Tom Riddle blindly would have been pure suicidal madness, so he carefully chose what to reveal to the diary and what to keep to himself. He never mentioned the Dark Lord or Nagini and never spoke about the Death Eaters. Occasionally, he'd slip and let Tom know things he probably shouldn't have.
One day Harry wrote, I'd like to see the world. Besides the Manor and Little Hangleton, I've only ever been to Hogwarts and once to Diagon Alley.
After that the Diary fell silent, not a word appearing onto its pages for the rest of the night. Harry waited for a while, before he gave up with a sigh and went to sleep. The next morning there was a single line, scribbled in Tom Riddle's elegant handwriting:
Why Little Hangleton?
It was a bit of a strange thing to focus on, perhaps, but Harry was only grateful that Tom had finally replied, so he volunteered information readily.
It's a village near where I live. I used to sneak there every now and then, even though I wasn't really supposed to. Why do you ask?
This time Tom replied with, I've been there once, a very long time ago.
There was something strange in the entire conversation, so Harry let it go and made a mental note never to mention Little Hangleton again.
Despite the fact that Harry knew talking to a magical object might not have been the best of ideas, he couldn't quite bring himself to stop. A few times he entertained the thought of returning the diary where he had found it, but always changed his mind before he got that far. After all, as unreal and potentially dangerous as Tom Riddle was, talking to him was very liberating in a way. Tom seemed to understand Harry better than anyone he'd ever run into before. No matter what Harry wrote about, Tom seemed to understand what he meant and why it was important. Despite himself, Harry felt some kind of a connection forming between them during the short duration of the Yule holiday.
Therefore, when the night before the departure of Hogwarts Express fell, Harry decided to take the diary with him when he went back. If nothing else, at least he'd have someone to talk to if the situation was similar to what it had been before the holidays. He could only hope that Voldemort wouldn't find out before he could return the Diary where it belonged.
…o0o…
The morning when Harry was due to return to Hogwarts, he came downstairs to the oddest thing he had seen in his entire life. The Dark Lord Voldemort sat in his usual spot in the sitting room, sipping what must have been his third cup of tea that morning—judging by his utterly relaxed expression—and dressed in a neat, but entirely muggle outfit.
Harry stopped at the door to stare. He probably looked ridiculous, jaw hanging open on its hinges and eyes wide as saucers, but he was too startled to worry about such things. Slowly he shuffled into the room and towards the tempting tea pot, never taking his eyes off the bizarre sight before him.
When Harry was half way across the room, Voldemort's eyes snapped up to meet his. Harry froze mid step. Harry wasn't sure what exactly he expected to happen next, he had never been in a situation like this before, but he sure as hell didn't expect Voldemort to give him this slow, searching stare, before welcoming him with a simple, "Good morning."
Harry drew a quick breath, just enough air to blurt out, "Morning."
"Are you ready to leave then?" Voldemort asked next.
Harry nodded mutely. Voldemort nodded back, before returning to his half-finished tea cup.
Then eventually, Voldemort seemed to grow bored of Harry's relentless stare and he sighed, "What is it?"
"What are you wearing?" Harry squeaked before he could catch hold of himself. He then had to raise a hand to cover up the unruly snigger that tried to escape.
"I do believe this is called a suit, if you've ever heard of the concept," Voldemort replied disinterestedly and drank down the last of his tea before standing up.
"You look..." Harry quickly swallowed the word 'stupid' which hung on the tip of his tongue, and continued with, "like a muggle."
Voldemort made a strange aborted eye roll before replying dryly, "I am aware."
"Why do you look like a muggle?" Harry asked curiously, and walked a whole circle around the Dark Lord, taking this bizarre costume in from every angle. Then he muttered, "This is so weird."
"If you're quite done, there's somewhere we have to be," Voldemort told him.
"We?" Harry parroted dumbly.
In reply, Voldemort took hold of Harry's elbow and Disapparated before Harry had time to catch onto what was happening.
Harry had had a few previous experiences with Side-Along Apparations before, but it didn't mean they got any easier with time. It was much like being squeezed through a narrow tube and simultaneously swirling in all possible directions. It took only a second, but by the time Harry's feet met solid land he already felt quite horrible.
"Rowena damn it," he groaned grimacing. "Why are all forms of magical transport so bloody terrible?"
"A very interesting question," Voldemort replied, sounding distracted, "It has to do with the laws of physics and defying them, but I doubt you'd understand it even if I explained."
"I'm not stupid—" Harry began, but his sentence fell short when he took a look around and realised where they were. Harry blinked a few times, before asking, "Did you really just Apparate us straight into King's Cross station?"
Voldemort glanced at the clock on the wall which claimed the time to be 10:25, before replying, "I did."
Harry shot a quick look around. It seemed that no one had so much as noticed their very abrupt appearance. There were quite a few people buzzing about, but none of them seemed to be paying them any particular attention.
"How did they not notice us?" Harry wondered, astonishment colouring his voice.
Voldemort grasped Harry's arm and began to drag him towards the platform 9 ¾. "Just pretend everything is as it should be and people, muggles especially, will ignore astonishingly disturbing things," was Voldemort's reply to the matter, but Harry greatly doubted he was telling the whole truth. He swallowed the rest of his bubbling questions, however, and meekly followed after the Dark Lord.
"Why did you come here?" Harry asked next, as they walked towards the right platform. He kept casting wary looks around, as the very real fear of someone pointing out that the most feared wizard in the entire country was having a daytime stroll on the station would not leave him alone. This wasn't normal even by Harry's standards. This was disturbing and surreal and there had to be some kind of a very good reason for this.
"To accompany you," Voldemort replied, but Harry wasn't fooled.
"I managed to get myself on the train in September. I could have managed it now just as well. So, why are you here?"
Voldemort shot him an irritated glance from the corner of his eye. "There is someone I must meet."
They passed through the hidden gate to the platform. The Hogwarts Express' fiery red engine was already in its place along with the cars, but the platform itself was mostly empty.
Harry took a look around the platform where they had just arrived. "Here? You will meet someone here?"
"Perhaps not. But I will find her only weakness here," the Dark Lord told. "I may require your assistance."
Harry gave a one-sided shrug. "Sure. What do we do now?"
Voldemort guided him off to the side and replied simply, "For now we wait."
Harry bit back the question 'how long?' and instead sighed a little and did as he was told.
As the clock neared eleven, people began to pour into the station through the hidden gateway. First just a few, then more and more families until the platform was almost as lively as it had been on the first of September. Harry glanced at the Dark Lord, but their waiting didn't seem to be anywhere near over yet. Harry sighed yet again.
The strange thing was that even though Voldemort kept shooting occasional glares at the bypassers, Harry was reluctantly impressed at how utterly ordinary the man could pass for when necessary. Of course there had to be some kind of spells in place, because no one took particular notice in either of them when they walked past, but as far as Harry could tell, Voldemort looked exactly the same as he always had apart from his muggle attire. Still, Harry kept half expecting that one of the people on the platform would suddenly look at them, point at Voldemort and ask 'isn't that guy the Dark Lord fellow?' and then chaos would break out. It wasn't exactly healthy for Harry's stress levels, but he knew better than to point it out.
As they stood there, waiting, a family of four passed them by, ushered forward by a fussing woman whose arms were full of packages and parcels.
"Hurry up, Melinda!" the woman was saying when she passed, "And straighten your posture. No lady should slouch like that!"
As she reached out to push a corrective hand between the annoyed-looking girl's shoulder blades, one of the packages in her hand tumbled down. She cast a look down, sighed irritably and exclaimed, "Now see what happened!"
Before she could make a move to retrieve her fallen possessions, however, Voldemort reached down quickly and easily, picking it up.
"I believe you dropped this, madam," Voldemort said smoothly and offered the package back to the woman. And Harry swore to Merlin that for that brief moment his heart stopped beating and blood froze in his veins. But the woman only offered a delighted, charmed smile and thanked the Dark Lord politely, fussing a bit about 'such good manners' and 'times like these'. Only when she was gone and the ridiculous feathered hat she wore was nowhere in sight, did Harry allow himself to breathe again.
"Are you doing this for fun?" he asked Voldemort, trying for an amused tone but it came out more accusing.
Voldemort didn't answer in words, but the look he shot at Harry spoke volumes.
About fifteen minutes of more loitering passed before the Dark Lord was suddenly startled into alertness. Harry took a curious look around, but could see nothing out of the ordinary, so he turned his baffled gaze onto Voldemort again.
"Him," the Dark Lord said and nodded towards a student in Slytherin robes. Harry squinted at the marked student and realised that he actually knew him.
"Isn't that Blaise Zabini?" Harry wondered aloud. "He's in the same Potions and Herbology class as I am."
"Excellent," Voldemort nodded his satisfaction curtly. Then he raised his wand and made some kind of complex gesture over Harry's head, muttering a string of Latin at the same time. Harry could almost feel the magic pouring over his head, running down his arms and spreading around at his feet, until the spell expanded and seemed to form a bubble around him.
"Um, wha—" Harry tried, but didn't make it any further.
"Go talk to him," Voldemort ordered. "Threaten him a bit, make him alarmed. If she's here, she'll appear."
"What am I supposed to talk about with him?" Harry wondered, casting a confused look at Voldemort, before glancing at Zabini again. They might share a few classes, but Harry didn't think he'd ever actually spoken to him.
In return, he got one of the sharpest, most predatory smiles he had ever seen. "Why don't you ask about his mother?"
Harry knew the Dark Lord well enough to tell that there was something rotten buried in that suggestion, but decided to do as he was told because he really didn't have any ideas of his own. It was obviously more of an order, anyway.
"Wish me luck," he murmured, more to himself than to Voldemort, before departing to make his way towards Blaise Zabini, who stood on the other side of the platform. He was casting looks around as if subtly looking for someone. He was already in his Slytherin robes and his trunk rested at his feet, almost forgotten. When Harry was a few steps away from Zabini, the spell woven around him seemed to ripple for a moment, before it expanded until they both were included underneath it. A muffling charm, then, Harry realised, most likely with something else tossed in into the mix to draw people's attention away from them.
"Zabini," Harry greeted, as he stopped next to the Slytherin with a polite smile plastered over his face.
Judging by the look that appeared onto Blaise Zabini's face, he wasn't particularly thrilled by Harry's sudden presence. "If you're looking for Draco, I don't know where he is."
Harry let his smile widen a notch. He hoped dearly the smile didn't look as deranged as it felt. "Oh, no. I was looking for you, actually," he told casually and shrugged.
Obviously, Blaise Zabini wasn't stupid. A frown was slowly appearing on his face and the previously bored disinterest was fading quickly under rising unease. Either Harry's words or his unnervingly wide smile was making the Slytherin wary.
"What do you want?" Blaise asked, tone sharper than before, but still coolly polite.
"How's your mother?" Harry enquired with feigned interest, and within the same instant the tip of Zabini's wand was pointed between Harry's eyes.
"What the fuck do you want?" he snarled.
"Small things, you know. World peace and chocolate for breakfast, for instance," Harry replied quickly and prayed to Merlin that whatever this was meant to achieve would happen before Harry got cursed too badly. He cast a discreet look around, but Voldemort was nowhere to be seen anymore.
"Don't you dare play smart with me now. Why the hell do you want to know about my mother?" Zabini asked.
Harry made a face, before replied, "I sure wish I knew."
Zabini looked confused for a brief moment, but before he could formulate a reply, they were both engulfed in a cloud of perfume as a woman, the most beautiful one Harry had ever seen, joined in on their cheerful little conversation. One moment they were alone and in the next she was there, black hair flowing and ferocious protectiveness lurking in her icy dark eyes.
"I do hope you are not bothering my son, young man," the woman said with a voice softer than silk, but her eyes were sharp and dangerous. "If that were the case, the consequences might be very unfortunate for you."
"Mrs. Zabini, I assume," Harry replied as politely as he could. He was capable of recognising a sincere threat when he heard one, so for good measure he even bowed ever-so-slightly.
Mrs. Zabini's painted lips stretched in a sugary sweet smile at the gesture.
"Clever lad," she said and reached over to run two ruby red nails across Harry's left cheek. Chills ran along Harry's spine and just like that, he knew that this woman wasn't only dangerous, but deadly, too. Just when Harry was starting to grow actually worried for his own wellbeing, the familiar figure of the Dark Lord appeared behind Mrs. Zabini and a pale hand holding a yew wand settled onto the woman's narrow shoulder.
"I recommend, Anabeth, that you keep your undoubtedly poisonous claws off that which I consider mine," Voldemort said calmly.
It was a very bizarre thing to witness, how the predator became the prey. Mrs. Zabini froze where she stood, her fingers still resting upon Harry's cheek, and her eyes widened almost comically and her posture grew stiff.
"Mother?" Blaise asked hesitantly. The simple question seemed to shake Mrs. Zabini from her stupor and her hand slowly retreated from Harry's cheek, returning to her side and curling into a fist. Her chin rose proudly, but when she spoke the words were frail.
"I did not expect to run into you here, Lord of the Dark," she said and fixed on a smile so forced that for a moment her beautiful face was transformed into something unrecognisable. Her words were obviously chosen carefully, but Harry didn't miss the boldness hidden in them.
"I am aware," Voldemort retorted.
Frustrated understanding took over Mrs. Zabini's face and she sighed. "Which is exactly why you are here," she concluded.
"Very good," Voldemort complemented mockingly, before he grew more serious. "I've come to find myself in need of your expertise."
Instead of flattered, like so many others might have been, Mrs. Zabini looked very annoyed by the admission beneath the carefully upheld façade of subdued politeness. "I am not yours to command and you would do well not to forget that," she said, and some of the natural haughtiness was back in her tone, now that she was growing accustomed to the changed situation.
"One of my great regrets, losing such a talent as yours. What I had in mind, however, was more along the lines of a business proposition," Voldemort explained.
Almost as if fighting her better judgement, Mrs. Zabini looked reluctantly curious.
"What is this so called business proposition of yours, then?" she inquired.
"A man who must disappear as discreetly as possible."
"Discretion?" Mrs. Zabini repeated and her smile was the closest to scorn Harry had ever seen directed at the Dark Lord. "Not really your forte, is it?"
"Perhaps. You, however..." Voldemort let his sentence fade significantly into silence.
"In exchange for what?"
"Protection," Voldemort replied immediately and cast a significant look towards Mrs. Zabini's confused and worried looking son.
Mrs. Zabini's entire demeanour seemed to transform as the previously careful curiosity sparked into anger. "The only one from whom we might need to be protected—" she began, sounding almost furious now and barely suppressing the worst of the bite in her words.
The Dark Lord interrupted before she made it to the end with a simple, "Exactly."
That one word was enough to silence Mrs. Zabini. She looked almost startled, before her eyes narrowed into slits as she weighed the Dark Lord with a suspicious stare. "How do I know you will keep your end of this deal?"
"Obviously you don't," Voldemort told and it was implied in his tone that he didn't particularly worry about keeping his end. "Should you accept, however, then we are speaking of a timeframe of two or three years, during which you can rest assured that I will stay away from you and yours. If nothing else that would give some time for this one," Voldemort said and nodded slightly towards Blaise again, "to learn a few spells to go along with his reflexes."
Mrs. Zabini took a moment to think it over, pearly white teeth digging into her lower lip as she chewed on it, before she seemed to reach a decision.
"Even if I were interested, I will not accept before I know who it is," she said finally. "There are... limitations that I am unwilling to cross."
Voldemort answered with a name, "Torgeir Hauge."
Something akin to realisation and a dozen other emotions flashed in Mrs. Zabini's eyes, before she settled for cool interest. "The Headmaster of Durmstrang? A most curious aspiration, if you wish to expand onto the field of education," she commented and quirked a brow.
"I may have found a better suited candidate to take care of his position," Voldemort said in reply.
"Oh, fancy that," Mrs. Zabini exclaimed in feigned surprised. "Two or three years, you say?"
Voldemort nodded once and repeated, "Two or three."
Mrs. Zabini pursed her lips thoughtfully, pretending to think about it some more, but it was obvious that she had made her choice. She confirmed with an exaggerated sigh and a simple statement, "Well, I am between husbands right now. I guess I could do with another." Then her eyes got harder again and her expression more tense. "After this, I expect not to see a glimpse of you for the next few years, or the deal is off," she warned.
"Naturally," the Dark Lord offered a slight nod to Mrs. Zabini, a satisfied smirk appearing onto his lips.
Mrs. Zabini nodded, too, before turning to her son one last time. "I have to go now, sweetie. I'm dreadfully in need of a nice long holiday somewhere dark and chilly. I want to see mountains. Norway, perhaps? Wouldn't that be nice?"
Blaise stared at his mother with a slightly pained look on his face. "Mum, please..."
"That's my boy," she interrupted and leaned in to press a kiss onto Blaise's cheek. Her lipstick left a red smudge behind. "You'll take care of yourself, won't you?"
Blaise struggled for a moment, before forcing out, "Of course, Mother. I'll write to you."
She smiled at him one last time, before turning towards Harry and the Dark Lord again.
She offered Voldemort a small nod and a stiff, "My Lord." Then she cast a look at Harry and after a brief moment of hesitating, nodded at him, too. Then she was gone, the sharp clicking of her high heels audible even when she disappeared amongst the crowd on the platform.
Voldemort turned to Harry with one final warning, "Try not to do anything stupid."
"Well, I can try," Harry promised and offered a small smile, "But I am a Gryffindor."
Clearly Voldemort didn't find it as funny as Harry did, because his goodbye was one very icy glare. Then he, too, was gone, the muffling charm and notice-me-not he had cast upon Harry fading in his wake. And thus, Harry and Blaise were left standing there on the platform with absolutely nothing to say to each other. They stood a minute in silence, before Blaise finally shot a sideways glance at Harry.
"So, the Dark Lord?" the Slytherin asked with poorly concealed bewilderment in his tone.
Harry nodded reluctantly. "Well, yes," he said, before adding, "Please, don't tell anyone."
Blaise snorted. "I do like being alive, you know. And no one would believe me anyway."
There was another awkward moment of silence after that.
Finally Harry couldn't help it anymore. "Your mother is very, um..." he started, but couldn't come up with a suitable adjective.
Blaise rubbed the back of his neck, before replying uncomfortably, "I know. Don't tell anyone."
Harry thought about it a bit, before suggesting, "Let's not mention this again. It's better to pretend it never happened."
Zabini was already nodding while Harry was still talking. "Agreed."
They exchanged a look of mutual understanding and resolutely parted in opposite directions.
…o0o…
-tbc-
…o0o…
