A/N: Despite the fact that I usually try to have a chapter up my sleeve until I have the next one written and in view of my birthday tomorrow I decided to make a gift for you all, taking a leaf out of hobbit's book (they tend to give out gifts on their own birthdays, if you don't know). Anyway, on one side, about half of the next chapter is written already and the rest of it is more or less planned out. On the other side, I have started writing yet another story, I am posting Prologue and the First chapter of it today (or tomorrow) as well, if you are interested (another tomarry, another cliché: Harry goes back in time to adopt Tom). That was shameless self-PR, yeah XD I love those. I want to let couple of chapters of that one out of my mind before I return back to this story and to other posted ones, too. Also, I am going to have the ordinary office job from now on, so will have considerably less free time. This means that I can't say anything about next update, probably in a month, or on the opposite – in a week's time (depending on how busy I will be and how tired after working days, or how much free time I'll have in office to contemplate new chapters).
Thanks for the reviews, they make my day every time I see a notice and read them! Sorry, no personal responses this time, I will try to converse with you all in the next update!
Enjoy!
Hermione was furious. After Harry escaped from Grimmauld Place, Dumbledore had told everyone that their precious Savior was out of his mind a little, due to the torture he'd undergone at the hands of Voldemort, so it was urgent to find him as quick as possible to help him come over it. At first, Hermione had thought that was a wise move not to tell of Harry's real condition to the Order members, so that they won't worry even more and wouldn't be distraught during their search.
She had thought that Dumbledore, too, came to his senses and returned to being the grandfatherly figure for Harry, as he'd been before.
But now Hermione was not so sure anymore.
She was again stealthily listening on the conversation not intended for her ears, or anyone else's ears, at that matter, aside from those involved in the discussion.
"Headmaster, are you certain, that it won't make the matters worse?" the voice of Kingsley Shacklebot was laced with worry. "I am not sure, the others will have it in themselves to throw offensive spells at Harry. Hell, I can hardly do it myself!"
"Mr. Shacklebot, I assure you, it could only speed things up. If you happen to come across Harry, you'd better be prepared to Stupefy him and bring him here. From then on it would be my business to talk him back into the fold, so to speak. He'd lost himself a bit, while Voldemort tortured him. You clearly remember the Longbottoms? They were Crucioed to insanity in the matter of hours. And Harry had spent days at Voldemort's place and under his wand. He is strong young man, but nobody could stay strong that long, you should understand. So just bring him here, and I take it upon myself to heal his clouded mind."
Hermione bit her lip, trying to suppress the anger upon hearing this. It seemed, Dumbledore remained the same way he had been when Harry returned: stubbornly refusing to care for his student and simply pushing his case on.
When no other significant words were said, Hermione turned on her heels, at last coming to the decision to talk to Ron about her upcoming escape to help Harry.
She never noticed a dark heavy eyes of someone, looming in the corner not far from her hiding place, watching her like a hawk – Sirius had been also listening on the same conversation, and followed her with his gaze, when she headed off to go search for Ron and Ginny.
Harry somehow managed to raise the unconscious heavy body of the Dark Lord onto the bed and now was sitting cross-legged in his feet, worriedly looking at the unmoving form in front of him. Tom had remained seemingly lifeless for the past two hours, not coming to himself despite Harry's halfhearted attempts to wake him. Harry was reluctant at first, realizing, that it was probably for the better for Tom to stay unconscious, thus not feeling the unnecessary pain he should have been in otherwise, and to heal a little. But when the second hour neared its end and the Dark lord still stayed like this, Harry began to feel slight worry. He carefully tried to look for that place inside his mind where their connection was, which never fully closed off during all this time. Well, except for that one time, when the Dark Lord made a special effort to cut Harry off during his supposed meeting with vampires the day before.
Harry felt a tiny shred of the other's mind present inside his own conscious, so he somewhat relaxed. Hopefully, this was the indication that Tom was healing, and the Dark Lord would feel better upon his wake, Harry mused, his tense pose slackening a notch.
Another hour passed in silence. Harry never left his post at the feet of the bed, ignoring the numbness in his limbs and a nagging feeling of hunger slowly growing in his empty stomach. When several minutes earlier he heard the knock at the door and the Death Eater brought his food and potions, Harry sent him away, taking only those vials, which he knew for certain he could drink independently from a meal. He was in no mood for eating anyway, too worried over the Dark Lord to digest anything.
While he was keeping his self-appointed vigil, Harry wondered when he began to care about the Dark Lord so much. No, this was definitely not as simple as a worry for the Dark Lord, Harry held no warm feelings towards Voldemort. But he certainly cared for Tom, the father of his unborn babies. And he was absolutely sure there was a difference between these two figures, at least in his mind. Voldemort had put him into the dungeon, ordered to torture him and sent angry headaches his way through their mental link, when he Crucio'ed somebody. Tom held him tightly through the night, took his sickness upon himself, joked with him and kissed him to calm his hormones down. Sighing, Harry winced at his own sappy thoughts. But what he could do, if it was the truth?! He really was going soft and turning into a hormonal pregnant woman from all of this!
Sniffing quietly, Harry shifted in his place and took out the Calming potion from his inner pocket. He'd made sure it was constantly on him at all times now and intentionally had put it inside his robe, after that incident at the garden the day before. With a crooked smirk Harry inhaled some potion to calm down.
He was starting to seriously freak out now: the half of the third hour passed and Tom still was lying motionlessly! What was worse, that tiny shard of his mind, which Harry had felt earlier, suddenly retracted, leaving him painfully empty and alone inside, even though physically he continued to sense the heat of the body of unconscious Tom near him and continued to hear his slow and uneven labored breathing.
Almost five hours had gone from the moment Tom had fell unconscious, when he finally stirred and moaned softly, waking Harry, who was nodding off, still sitting at his perch in the feet of the bed.
"Harry?" Tom called out in hoarse and sleepy voice.
"Yeah. How are you feeling?" Harry straitened his legs with a low moan of his own and dragged a hand down his face, trying to wake up.
"Have you been sitting like this the whole time?" avoiding answering his question, inquired Tom in surprise.
"I don't mind," with dismissal replied Harry. "How are your wounds? Better?" hope was obvious in his voice.
"I think so," in unsure tone responded Tom. "At least, I don't feel anything anymore. Just numb and a bit sore," he admitted. "What time is it?" for some reason he didn't took out his wand to cast Tempus.
Harry shrugged.
"Don't know. Afternoon. You've slept for about five hours, I think. I don't have a watch or a wand, so – " he trailed off meaningfully.
"Oh, right. Here," Tom patted himself and raised a brow in surprise, finding out he was still bare-chest, only bandages covering his torso. "Where had I left my robes?" he mused.
"Bathroom, I suppose. I'll bring them," Harry got up, but almost fell on top of Tom, his legs still numb from sitting so much time in one position. "Wow! Sorry. Did I hit you?" he rushed to ask, when hearing low hiss of pain from Tom.
"That's alright," Tom gritted through his teeth, wincing slightly. "Are you okay?"
"My legs are numb after five hours of sitting," Harry snorted. "That's nothing." He got up again, careful not to lean on Tom's wounded chest more. "I'll get your robes."
"Just my wand will do. It should be in one of the pockets," Tom clarified.
Harry nodded and went to retrieve his wand, returning in a minute.
"It's not there," in a surprised voice explained Harry. "Are you sure, it's not somewhere on you?"
Tom swore under his breath and holding up his palm muttered "Accio wand!" Nothing happened.
Harry raised an inquiring brow at that.
"What's wrong?"
Tom furrowed.
"Don't understand," he grunted. "Accio wand!" he repeated with more force this time. Again no wand came flying into his opened hand.
"Accio Voldemort's wand!" now Harry tried, but to no avail. He certainly felt a tingle of magic leaving his core in search of the object in question, but the wisp of energy just dissipated into thin air.
"It's protected from anyone but me summoning it," not helping, supplied the Dark Lord. "And with a Paseltongue spell, at that – " he trailed off, slapping his hand on his own forehead. "Fool," he grumbled.
"Accio wand" the Paseltongue of the spell didn't help either, his wand still was nowhere to be seen.
"Fuck," Tom breathed out angrily.
"That's not funny anymore," Harry commented. "What are we going to do now?"
"We should do nothing," the Dark Lord corrected him and sat up abruptly, immediately doubling on himself in obvious pain and inhaling loudly, his face scrunched in discomfort. "Bloody hell!" he gasped.
Harry rushed to his side with intent to help, but Tom held up a hand, which shook involuntarily.
"I'm okay," he gritted and slowly straitened his back, his movements tense. "Blasted blood-suckers," he grumbled. "I'm going to personally Crucio Avery for this," he added heatedly.
Harry felt an impeding headache.
'How are you going to, without your wand?' not hiding his own rising anger and annoyance at the Dark Lord's wrath, as well as his headache, inquired Harry sarcastically through their mind-link. 'Poke him with your bony finger until he dies from tickles?'
The Dark Lord bared his teeth angrily at Harry.
'Not funny,' he responded curtly. Harry still managed to feel his chest throbbing painfully along with Tom's pulse, because their mental connection lingered for another second or two, after Tom tried to cut Harry off from his own conscious.
"Are you absolutely sure you haven't left your wand somewhere in the Mansion after your arrival? You were wounded," Harry reminded Tom.
The Dark Lord shook his head minutely and glanced at the door in silent contemplation.
"The door of this room is warded with Parsel, too. My wandless spell just now might have tripped on the wards," Tom mused and stood up, this time moving his upper body more carefully.
He came to the door, opened it and looked out, scaring a Death Eater, who stood guard on the other side.
Ignoring the Death Eater, the Dark Lord raised his hand and hissed the same spell in Parseltongue, as before, summoning his stray wand. When nothing happened again, he frowned and returned to the room.
Harry winced sympathetically.
"Maybe, you've managed to leave it at the vamp's lair?" Harry supplied, internally preparing himself for the upcoming storm.
Tom shrugged, immediately grinding his teeth from his own careless motion.
"Hope, not," he grumbled. "It'd be too generous of a gift for the Master."
At that moment they heard a noise coming from the corridor: something hit the door violently and clattered onto the floor with an unmistakable wooden sound. A tentative knock followed.
"What?!" the Dark Lord barked out annoyed.
The door opened, the scared Death Eater looking inside tentatively.
"My Lord, a wand just collided with your door," he mumbled and gulped audibly, seeing the Dark Lord stride to the door briskly, his face lighting up in joy and with a satisfactory smirk on his lips.
Before the poor lad could flee, Voldemort reached the door, and his wand consecutively, and, still smirking, picked it up, his movements jerky, and brow furrowing from pain the action caused him. Not showing his discomfort openly in front of the Death Eater, the Dark Lord caressed his wand longingly and without any sort of warning pointed it at the Death Eater, who was still worriedly looking at him.
"Crucio," in a sing-song voice intoned the Dark Lord, grinning madly and looking like a child, who finally managed to get his hands on his favorite toy after a seriously long waiting.
The Death Eater fell to the floor screaming his lungs out.
Harry winced at the sound, but made no movement to interfere, clearly understanding the Dark Lord's joy and the extent of unbelievable stupidity of the Death Eater's actions. No wise man could have barged upon his Lord right after seeing him in an obviously horrid mood and covered in bandages from head to toe. Maybe a full two minutes of Crucio were a bit harsh as a punishment, but Harry let the Dark Lord have his moment of entertainment for now.
Only when the Death Eater at the floor began frothing at his mouth quite literary, the sounds of his screams turning completely animalistic, Harry's headache rising to an alarming level, he went up to the door and put a careful hand over the Dark Lord's, attempting to push down his wand and end the curse.
The Death Eater let out absolutely horrid scream at the moment Harry's hand covered Tom's on the wand, their magic accidentally combining for a split second, the Dark Lord's intent dragging along energy from Harry's magical core, thanks to the weakened mental shields between them.
Tom inhaled sharply.
Harry felt a jolt of indecipherable emotion coming from him through their mental link.
Their intertwined hands lowered, the movement finally ending the curse.
The Dark Lord unceremoniously pushed the tortured man over the threshold with his foot to the man's side and slammed the door shut.
Harry stumbled to the armchair and collapsed into it with a heavy sigh, bringing his hands up and massaging his aching temples.
The Dark Lord remained near the door frozen, a thoughtful expression creeping upon his face, which had paled drastically over the last couple of minutes.
"Do you realize, what had just happened?" he breathed out with an odd amusement in his voice.
"We nearly killed the poor lad?" Harry supplied angrily. "Why didn't you lower your wand right away?" he grumbled distraught. "I never had any intention to torture anyone, let alone – this particular man!" Harry cried out in frustration.
Tom seemed to not comprehend what had upset Harry so much.
"Why are you angry?"
"Don't you realize, what had just happened?" Harry parroted, even more furious now.
Tom shook his head negatively, no trace of remorse or understanding in his attentive gaze, which was directed towards Harry.
"Your unborn children just unknowingly participated in torturing someone!" Harry whispered harshly, a single angry tear going down his cheek, which, in contrast to Tom's, was sickly gray.
His own words seemed to sink in Harry's mind finally and he made a mad dash to the bathroom, collapsing onto his knees in front of the toilet and vomiting violently.
Tom came to the widely opened bathroom door, but made no attempt to enter, looming at the entrance and looking at Harry with discomfiture.
"Don't come near me," Harry managed to snarl in between angry groans and sobs shaking his whole body, while he was still bending over the toilet, his sickness not subsiding even a notch.
This finally jerked Tom out of his trance.
Not heeding Harry's request, which sounded more like a furious order, he stepped over the threshold and towards Harry.
"Don't touch me!" Harry shrieked in rage and again bent above the toilet.
And this order was ignored, too. Tom came closer to Harry and put a steady hand on his back, rubbing it gently in circles.
Harry tried to shrug his hand off, but his sickness took over him, not giving much room to argument.
When Harry finally reclined back, instinctively leaning on Tom's legs with a tired groan, Tom picked him up in his hands with a barely heard grunt, and carried back to the room, even managing to grab a towel with one hand and water it on his way. He deposited Harry on the ruffled bed and started to gently wipe his face with a towel, still not issuing a word.
Harry had no energy left in him to protest, so he simply allowed this tentative care for a while.
When his shivering subsided and headache eased slightly, some color returning to his face, Harry angrily pushed Tom's hand with an almost dried towel away, the motion successfully knocking the kneeling Dark Lord down onto the floor.
"What was that for?" Tom grumbled under his breath.
"You deserve this and more for that stunt with a wand!" Harry snapped, his eyes flashing angrily.
Tom sat up with a sigh.
"Explain, please. I don't understand," he pleaded.
Harry shook his head furiously.
"If you don't understand, nothing I could say would sink in!"
"Harry, please – "
"Did you not hear what I said earlier? Our magic combined for a moment there, when you were eagerly torturing that man! The magic of the twins was in, too! And you're glad for that, don't you?!"
Tom recoiled.
"I would never allow – "
"But you just did! If you lowered your wand – Hell, if you just lifted the curse earlier – !"
"Harry, I – "
"Listen to yourself," Harry whispered hoarsely. "It's always 'I', 'me' – " He shook his head exasperated. "Do you ever think of anyone but yourself? Of our children?" his voice went deadly low. "I think I miss on today's dinner. Not hungry for some reason." Harry grumbled suddenly and turned on his side and away from Tom, who was still sitting on the floor with head lowered.
With a tired sigh Harry closed his eyes, hoping to get some sleep, but it didn't come.
When Snape, as usual, arrived that evening, he came upon the strange sight: Harry was lying on the bed, with his back to the Dark Lord, who was sitting on the floor, leaning on the bed, in a clearly uncomfortable position, his own back tense and rigid, with an air of remorse to his persona, longingly looking with pleading blood-shot eyes at Harry's turned back.
Thinking, that he'd never seen the Dark Lord in a more degrading position, Snape carefully knocked on the opened door, announcing his presence.
"May I?" he whispered, assuming from Harry's posture, that the boy was sleeping.
The Dark Lord waved a hand in a lifeless gesture, his eyes not leaving the form on the bed for even a second.
Snape quietly entered the room.
"What did you want?" the Dark Lord asked lowly in a toneless voice.
"Potions," reminded him Snape. "And that report."
"Later," came an impassive voice. "Don't put it with the others."
"What about the dinner?" Snape inquired. "Should I cancel it?"
"No. We might be late a little, though," the Dark Lord let out a shaky breath. "If this is all, you may go."
"My Lord, what about magic for the babies?" Snape dared to ask.
There was a loud sigh, but the sound came not from the Dark Lord.
Harry turned to lay on his back and looked at Snape.
"Evening, Severus," he murmured in soft voice. "Did you bring me another batch of your poisons?" Harry gave him a small lopsided smile. "I wonder if there is one for stupid stubborn Dark Lords among them?" he shot a nasty glare at the said Dark Lord.
"What did he do this time?" ignoring the man in question, Snape raised a curious brow.
"Did you happen to stumble upon the dead body beyond our threshold?" Harry retorted. "No? I hoped, there isn't one, but still – " he shrugged uncomfortably. "We might have accidentally made another Death Eater into raving mad lunatic with the help of a combined Crucio feeding on both our magic and on babies', too," Harry fumed. "And this idiot here had the audacity to be glad about it!" Harry rubbed his face with forceful gesture. "Do you still not understand what's you done wrong?" he turned his gaze to the Dark Lord, his fury suddenly returning and a burst of his angry magic lashing out at everyone in the room in scalding hot waves. The temperature in the room dropped in mere seconds, the glass on the window darkening with frost.
"Harry, you do realize, that's not very good for the babies?" Snape admonished him with worry in his voice.
"He'd done it several times already," the Dark Lord said impassively, not one muscle twitching, despite the obvious discomfort, which such abrupt changes of the temperature had caused to his half-naked body.
"And participating in torture is good for them?!" Harry shrieked, his eyes ablaze with fury. A split second later the fire roared wildly: under Harry's angry gaze the floor board just shy of the Dark Lord's knees lighting from a wandless magic outburst. What was curious, despite his clear rage, Harry seemed reluctant to directly attack the father of his children with his magic, even if the magical outburst looked like it was uncontrolled.
Snape noticed that half the room seemed like an old battlefield with several black burnt-out spots on the floor, on the walls and on some of the furniture pieces. One particular spot on the wall was in the form of a rough man figure, looking like someone had made the coal sketch of the outlines of the body, suspiciously similar to that of the Dark Lord.
"Harry – " Severus was not sure himself, what he was going to say, what he could say to calm this furious storm of fluctuating emotions down and not become another target. There was no need to invent anything: the bonfire, crackling merrily at the Dark Lord's feet just moments ago, abruptly dissipated with a low hiss, the wooden floor-boards creaking under the growing frost-path rapidly crawling towards Voldemort. The climate changed again, making Snape shiver from cold. The Dark Lord's body trembled, though he seemed not to notice it, too immersed in his self-appointed watch.
Harry let out a long tired sigh and laid down in almost liquid motion, this time not turning away from the other men in the room.
'I suggest you put something on. Don't scare poor Sev with your very human and very cold body, will you? Pardon me, but I don't have the strength to look for a clear shirt for you right now,' Harry sent a sarcastic mental jab Tom's way. 'We are still expected at your so-called informal dinner, as I understand.'
Tom sighed quietly and slowly raised to his feet. Throwing a sideways glance at Harry, he went to the wardrobe, his movements jerky and rigid.
Snape carefully stepped closer to the bed and held out several colorful vials with potions to Harry, one after the other.
"You might want to drink these, as well," he suggested, adding two other small bottles to the customary batch of medicine. "That's mild Calming Draught. I consulted with Algie earlier, you may consume it sometimes, just don't make a habit of it. And this one is Magic Replenishment. My Lord, I advise you to drink one, too," looking at the Dark Lord with a carefully blank expression, added Snape.
Voldemort gave out a jerky nod and came to the Potions Master, holding out his empty hand.
"May I inquire, if you have some Blood Replenishment potion with you too, Severus?" the voice of the Dark Lord was polite, low and toneless, as if he didn't truly care if he get the potion or not, asking just in case he could get one, but not really needing it.
Harry raised a silent brow upon hearing that, the gesture almost identical to the one Snape would gladly show, if it was not the Dark Lord asking the question.
"Certainly, my Lord," producing the required potion from his pocket, replied Snape.
The Dark Lord took the vial and, briefly glancing at Harry for some reason, drank it.
"Severus, you may go to the dinner, we will arrive shortly," with a wave of his hand Voldemort sent Snape away.
As soon, as the door closed behind the Potions Master, Harry stepped up to the Dark Lord with a mildly annoyed expression. All he did though was to smooth down some wrinkles on the other's shirt silently.
'You are still angry at me,' the Dark Lord deduced mentally.
Harry scoffed at that.
'I will remain angry until you understand the reason behind my anger,' Harry retorted. 'As for now, we have a social affair to attend,' he winced, 'which happens to be important for both our magic, as well as for your future heirs' health. So I'll drop the matter for now.'
Sighing, Harry went to the wardrobe, too.
"Need help?" offered Tom in a neutral tone, seeing Harry critically assessing several items of clothing for their fitness for his small frame.
"Please," Harry grumbled reluctantly, giving the pair of black trousers and the simple white shirt to him.
Tom slowly took out his wand and traced the outlines of the clothes with the tip of it, mumbling a quiet incantation under his breath.
"Here."
"Thanks."
"Shall we?" Tom offered Harry his hand, after they both dressed and freshened up in bathroom, one after the other.
Harry let out yet another sigh but accepted the offered hand. They left the room.
