A lot of exposition in this chapter, not so funny, I fear. Thanks to everyone who reviewed for me to cheer me up. I can't tell you how much better it made me feel about writing again. Oh, and 10 points to Gryffindor for being pointed out on my "skiing in the Alps" reference. Umm, maybe it's a magic mountain? Okay, you got me there… :)

Playing Hero

Part 7

"Gahh!"

"Be quiet, Hermione, do you want us to get caught?" hissed Ronald Weasley. He shuffled them both through the thick of the night towards the back door of Riddle House as stealthily as he could under Harry's invisibility cloak, despite his slight lack of coordination problem. Both he and Hermione Granger had taken it upon themselves to discover the location of their best friend, and possibly rescue him in the process.

"Then stop stepping on my foot!" she whispered back and shoved him on. Quietly, they reached the back entrance, and Hermione pulled her wand free from her jeans and pointed it at the door. "Alohomora!" Instantly, the locks clicked open, leaving the door vulnerable to their wishes.

"You've got to be kidding me, could it be that easy? I bet there's a bunch of wards guarding the place, ready to fry us into floo powder," said Ron, sounding overly dramatic. Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head. "No, your mum said that Dumbledore already swept this area for wards. There's been no indication of any extra magic protecting this place since the day Voldemort and Harry went missing."

"Then why are we here?" Surely they wouldn't be keeping Harry here if there wasn't any protection over the house. "Didn't Dumbledore say we shouldn't be snooping about?"

Hermione fought the urge to point her wand at Ron, counting to ten internally before replying. "To. Find. Out. What. Happened. To. Harry. Besides, he's not going to send any of The Order here to look things over, and I'm not about to sit in The Burrow for the remainder of the summer speculating on their meetings over this. If they won't let us in on it, we're going to investigate this for ourselves. That's what we do, Ron, that's what we've always done!"

"Oh,"

Hermione turned the knob and cracked open the door to peek inside. "I don't see anything moving about, let's go,"

Carefully, both Gryffindors stepped into the decrepit old house, cringing as each step they took on the wooden floorboards creaked under their feet. Hermione gasped, seeing a shadowed figure approaching from the end of the hall. Ron clamped his hand over her mouth and flung them both back towards the wall behind them as the short, podgy shadow grew larger and larger.

"It's Wormtail!" he whispered excitedly, seeing the rat-faced little man drag himself through the corridor, sniffing the air like a dog. His eyes narrowed in anger as Wormtail approached, scanning the halls for the source of the noises he'd heard.

Hermione lifted her wand towards him as he closed their distance, ready to curse the living hell out of him if somehow he discovered them.

"Macnair? I know you're there, I can smell you,"

Hermione lowered her wand. Wormtail stood frozen in place, only his oversized teeth chattered up and down. "You win, okay? I don't like this game anymore!"

"You're not trying hard enough!" The door Ron and Hermione had just entered flew open with a bang. A large, hooded man drudged inside carrying a gigantic executioner's axe. He lifted it over his head, holding the shaft with both hands. His black eyes gleamed with electricity through the eyeholes of the mask; he had found his prey and he was ready to strike. Wormtail cowered, backing away from him, directly towards the two hidden underneath the invisibility cloak.

Instinctively, Ron reached behind him, and amazingly found and grasped hold of a doorknob his lower back had connected with. He turned it as he prayed for it to be unlocked; cringing in horror watching Wormtail duck aside to avoid the axe blade as it came crashing down towards them. He wrapped his arm around Hermione's waist tightly, intending to dive away, but the axe narrowly missed their heads and hit the door behind them. It burst open, cracking in two, sending both sprawling back, falling hard down a flight of stairs.

Macnair pulled his hood off and gaped at the door, scratching his head. "Lovely. Look what you made me do, Pettigrew,"

Wormtail scoffed back. "You are in so much trouble… I'm telling Lucius on you,"

Landing at the bottom of the steps, Hermione groaned, rubbing her bruised hip. Ron was splayed out flat on his back in an attempt to catch his breath. Luckily, neither Death Eater noticed the pair tumbling down, bouncing off each step. They watched the top of the steps as the shadows of both men disappeared.

"What the-!" exclaimed the bushy-haired girl, yanking the cloak away from her face. She stared off to the side, head tipped in confusion.

Ron sat up and squinted in the darkness of the old cellar, zeroing in on a block of candles burning deep in the back of the room. "What is that?" he whispered, balling up the invisibility cloak around his wrist. They both stood up and tiptoed over to the other side of the large room, growing more and more confused with each step.

Photos lined the back wall, illuminated by flame and magic, glowing brighter as they approached. At first, the person in the pictures appeared to be Harry, but as they closed in, that was clearly not the case. "It's some sort of shrine to this bloke, whoever he is," murmured Hermione, finding herself instantly fascinated with the handsome teenager. None of them were headshots, as it looked like the pictures were taken from various hiding places and the boy had no idea they were being shot, but it was very obvious this person was utterly dreamy in every way.

"What are you looking at?" said Ron, sneering, watching Hermione's expression as she studied the wall.

"Hmm? Oh!" Hermione broke from her reverie and shook her head clear. Looking down, she found more moving pictures, sketches, articles of undergarments, and poetry books were scattered out across the floor. "This is really weird."

Angrily, Ron shrugged and walked over to the other side of the cellar, lighting the tip of his wand to see. Stacks of boxes littered with water-soaked papers filled the corner, spilling out in a mulchy waterfall. "Maybe there's something here on some of this parchment that'll tell us where Harry is," he said, biting his lip at the sight of the wall behind it. It was bowing in; decay set deep throughout the foundation, showing serious signs of stress. "This wall doesn't look so good. I'll bet this house is going to fall in soon."

Hermione didn't look back. She knelt down in front of the shrine to examine the sketches and other things in the pile, hoping for a clue. "Just stay away from it, you know how clumsy you—"A loud smash filled her ears before she could finish. She whipped around in a panic, only to find Ron lying beneath a pile of rubble and an old lockbox. Quickly, she rushed to his side, tossing chunks of wall that broke apart in her fingers like wet chalk.

"Macnair, you've made the cellar collapse! Yes, you! I heard it fall in just now. If my private work has been damaged, I'll kill you! Oh, yeah, you'd better run!" Shouts and heavy footfalls pounded overhead. Hermione grew extremely nervous and quickened her pace. Within a few seconds, Ron was free and both stood up, pointing their wands out in front of them towards the cellar steps. Hermione cradled the ancient lockbox against her chest, knowing that if it had been hidden in the foundation of the house that it was probably important.

Lucius trudged down the stairs, oblivious to the intruders. He ran over to his shrine and sighed in relief seeing nothing of his things destroyed.

Hermione growled deep in her throat and stepped forward into the light. "You!" she cried hotly, unable to contain her emotion. "Stupefy!"

Before he'd even had a chance to turn around- Lucius fell to the floor, very much unconscious. Ron whimpered, screwing his face up. "Hermione?" he squeaked, "What did you do?"

"Open that box up while I levitate Mr. Malfoy. I want to know what's inside."

Surprisingly, the lock holding it closed had rusted away years before. Ron opened the box and dipped his hands inside. "It's some birth certificates and family tree stuff on the Riddle fa…m..— oh my god!" he shouted, shocked at what he was reading.

Hermione whirled around, breaking her spell contact. Lucius plummeted to the floor with a thud. She looked back, cringing. "Oops,"

"You're not going to believe this!" he cried, shoving some papers against Hermione's chest. She turned back and held them up to Ron's wand-light to scan them over.

'Well, well, well," she said, grinning from ear to ear. She shoved the papers into her jeans and re-levitated Lucius up into the air. "So, you're all powerful master, who we thought was a half-blood, isn't even that, Mr. Malfoy? No wonder you've all followed him around for nearly a century, caring less what his true origins were, you filthy perverts! Ha! You've all been worshiping a wizard-muggle-veela!"

Lying in bed with a lazy smile curled at each corner of his lips, Tom allowed himself to rest for the first time in years. Worry, anger, dread, and hate drifted away into the depths of his mind, shoved aside but the unmistakable emotion of silly happiness. He propped himself up, resting his chin in his hand as he lie next to Harry to watch him sleep. Never in his entire life had killing muggles or world domination been the least important agenda for the day; that would have to be dealt with later, once he could get his new-found beloved to understand him and his cause. He went over it in his head; a gut wrenching speech confessing his true identity and his devotion to the boy who had showed him more about life in one night than he had ever experienced before during his entire existence.

Harry groaned and rolled onto his side. Tom wasn't sure, but he'd imagined a slight grimace cross over the sleeping boy's features before he buried his head under his pillow. He slapped his hand against his forehead, feeling the 'not-as-frequent-but-still-extremely-annoying' headache returning. With a frown, he crawled off the bed and strolled to the toilet to freshen up. He looked back at Harry but his face was hidden. Surely he wasn't having a bad dream; not after the amazing breakthrough they'd made the night before.

He stood there, frozen in place, his mouth half opened. "Harry, I'm—I'm…" he said, stumbling over his words. "I'm not who you think I am, I don't know how to say this."

"Then stop trying and go back to bed," mumbled Harry. He wrapped his arm around the pillow covering his head and rolled onto his other side, away from Tom.

Taking in a huge, deep breath, Tom opened his mouth again, intent on finishing the sentence. "Harry, my name isn't Tom. Well, not anymore. My name is—"A loud knock at the door sent him juddering in place. He gawked at the door, knowing it could only be one other person in the home stupid enough to interrupt him during his single moment of purity. "Go. Away!" he shouted angrily.

"I don't think my father pays for you to treat me like this," sniggered Draco from the other side of the door.

Harry sat straight up, pillows flying off the bed. "Err, Malfoy pays you?" he cried, looking aghast. "Pays you for what?"

Tom blushed scarlet. "Nothing, he lies." Suddenly, the thought of telling Harry the truth meant a lot more than it had a moment ago. "Listen to me very carefully. I am not being paid by anyone to be here, I am—"

"There's an owl out here with a message for you. I just thought you'd like to know," injected Draco. His ear was pressed against the door. "And, um, please hurry. She's a very angry owl. She's attacking Crabbe."

Shouts and breaking glass echoed into the room. Harry ignored it, keeping his eyes on Tom. "Wasn't there something you wanted to tell me?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"My eye!" Crabbe screamed, running around the house with a large, snowy owl attached to his neck. Goyle chased behind with his wand, firing off a volley of counter spells that bounced around the chateau, littering the walls with crispy holes.

"I, uh, yeah. Maybe I should get that first though," he replied, pointing at the door.

Harry crossed his arms and sighed heavily. "Sure, fine,"

Tom gaped back. "What? Two minutes ago you had no interest in hearing what I had to say and now that I need to pry an owl off of a dying boy's throat, you're upset?'

"Just do hurry," Harry rubbed his scar as it flared up in pain. "I think Voldemort is close. I don't want to be alone here."

With a nod, Tom left the room. He ran down the hall with Draco in tow, tackling Crabbe as he passed by. The owl detached herself instantly and flew off, resting down on a small table. Tom got up and walked carefully towards her, leaving Draco and Gregory to tend to their friend.

"C'mere, girl, I won't hurt you," he cooed. The owl stood its ground; beak open, eyes squinted, appearing very untrusting of the tall boy. With nimble fingers, he untied the cord wrapped around her leg and removed several letters addressed to Harry, birthday cards, to be precise. Tom groaned; it was Harry's birthday and he'd forgotten.

He'd have to do something about that.