The moment Tom left the bedroom, the urge to stride right back in and wrap himself around Harry hit him like a hammer, but he knew Harry needed space and to be honest, so did Tom. The sight of Harry's back, so purple it was nearly black, had Tom seeing red, a telltale warning that he needed to cool off before he blasted a hole in the wall.
He headed down the stairs and came across no one, but when he reached the last step, he heard the Potters' voices coming from behind a closed door. With no intention of joining them, he passed it and entered the kitchen.
He tapped his wand against a kettle and instantly it filled with water. He chose two cups from the cupboard and the soft hiss of the ninazu issued from beneath it. He'd completely forgotten about her.
Crouching down, he asked, "And what was your plan?"
The snake's pale face peeked out from under the cupboard. "I am confused. You smell like Master, but you aren't Master. You and the boy make no sense."
"The Dark Lord owns you" — Tom narrowed his eyes — "and yet you helped his prisoner escape?"
The ninazu coiled in on herself, shamed.
"I was tricked. He said he knew where there were toads."
Tom snorted. He stood and cracked open the kitchen's back door, birdsong erupting.
"No tricks. Enjoy the feast."
Intrigued, the ninazu flicked her forked tongue and then shot past Tom, vanishing into the grass. The kettle began to whistle. He shut the door and returned to his search for tea. He found a tin of Muggle-brand bags. Wrinkling his nose in distaste, he ripped open the packages, plopped them both in the cups and poured hot water up to the brims.
What would Harry do when he discovered his parents were alive?
Grimacing, Tom carried the cups out of the kitchen, trying to formulate the best way to tell him, but the door where he'd heard the Potters' voices was now open. Dumbledore's star-burst robes were visible and —
The tea sloshed over the cups' rims as Tom veered off course, bypassing the stairs and entering the room they were gathered. At the sound of his arrival, Harry turned from his parents' embrace. He looked furious.
.
xXx
Harry was beyond angry. He was livid.
"Harry—" Tom began.
"Sorry," Harry interrupted, speaking to his parents and Dumbledore, "but Tom and I need to talk. Could you give us a minute?"
"Of course," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "Lily, I've been meaning to get an update on your supply of bezoars …"
Tom shifted slightly out of the way as they trooped past. His dad shot him one final glance before clicking the door shut.
Tom opened his mouth, but Harry beat him to it.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Lips pressed thin, Tom set the cups of tea he held down on a side table.
"I didn't think it was the right time," he replied.
"The right time?" said Harry in a strangled voice. "Just when, exactly, did you think the right time would be?"
"When you wouldn't be hysterical."
"Oh? Am I'm being hysterical?"
"Harry—"
"Because why in the world wouldn't I be hysterical?" Harry went on. "Why would anyone meet their dead parents and not go: Wow! Been a long time!"
Furious, Tom pointed his wand at the door, muffling the room. "Keep your voice down. They don't know."
Harry jerked as if he'd missed a step. "They don't — know?"
"That I murdered them?" hissed Tom harshly. "No. Dumbledore and I both felt that wasn't the best way to introduce myself."
Harry's knees gave out along with his anger. He dropped onto a couch, stunned.
"They have no reason to think otherwise," Tom explained in a gentler tone. "Though a great deal is different in our worlds, here, they are alive and so they expect the same to be true in our world. I'm sorry you found out the way you did. That was not my intention." His voice hardened slightly. "I did tell you to stay put."
"I never stay put," Harry replied without thinking. "Do they … do they live here?"
"I believe so. Are you all right?"
Harry remained perched on the edge of the couch, feeling like he was a rubber band stretched to its limit. Any moment he'd snap.
"Yeah," he answered. "I'm fine."
"Harry."
"I'm fine," he repeated, and though his voice was a higher octave, though tremors shook his hands, he would say it again and again and again until it was true.
Tom's jaw tightened in frustration, but a soft knock on the door stopped the discussion from continuing. Dumbledore's head appeared around the door.
"Dinner will be ready soon."
"We'll take it upstairs," said Tom before Harry could speak.
Dumbledore seemed to hesitate, before entering the room and shutting the door behind him.
"I know how difficult it is to be under this roof for both of you. There are other safe houses I could send you to, but I recommend that you stay here as it contains the two people who will be the most dedicated to your protection."
"Why did Fawkes bring us here?" Harry asked.
"I can only guess. He's been melancholy of late, though, to be fair, he is always melancholy when a Burning approaches. Tell me, do you possess a wand of holly, Harry?"
"Yes," said Harry, puzzled that he would ask such a question.
"And you, Tom. Your wand is yew, I take it?"
"Yes," Tom replied, his voice clipped.
"And they both contain a feather from Fawkes?"
"Yes," Tom answered shortly. "What does this have to do with anything?"
"Out of all the cores — dragon heartstring, unicorn hair — the phoenix is the rarest because the phoenix gifts the material to the wand maker. Ollivander told me Fawkes appeared in his shop on a balmy night in August 1937. A year later, one of the two wands created from his feathers was bought, by you and your counterpart," Dumbledore said, peering at Tom over his half-moon spectacles. "Because of this act of giving, phoenixes stay connected to the wands they helped create, and in turn, to the witches and wizards the wands choose. I believe Fawkes sensed the pair of you. Sensed a healing and a bonding between his only two wands and brought you both here in a hope of helping two more souls find a similar end."
Chills spread up Harry's arms.
"That," said Tom, "is the most imbecilic thing I've ever heard."
"Is it?" Dumbledore asked, not remotely abashed. "It could be. Fawkes might have simply flown a bit too far."
"This isn't a game, Dumbledore," Tom snarled.
"No," Dumbledore agreed. "It certainly is not."
Harry sat up straighter. "Can Fawkes send us back?"
"Not at this time, I'm afraid. He will be full grown again in three and a quarter months. As to whether he will, I cannot say."
"Excuse me?" Tom hissed.
"Tom—"
Tom ignored Harry. He stormed toward Dumbledore, seething.
"I told you before, Dumbledore. We are not fighting your war."
"And I have told you, I do not wish for you to do so. What I am saying, Tom, is that I am no master of Fawkes. He has chosen to spend his days with me not out of force on my part, but of free choice from him. Bringing the pair of you here was entirely his decision; I am simply attempting to explain what his motivations might have been. I am no more able to order him to send you back as I am to order the sun not to shine."
"Are you saying that our departure is on the whims of a flying pincushion?" Tom bellowed.
"We will get you back," Dumbledore assured them. "But it will take time."
Tom ground his jaw and paced up and down the room, looking murderous.
"This house is secure," Dumbledore continued. "You are both safe here. I only request that you do not explore past the wards. Harry, does the Dark Lord know that Tom is here as well?"
"No," Harry said after a pause. "No, he doesn't."
"Good. I imagine he was quite disturbed by what he discovered from you."
"That's one way of putting it," said Harry darkly.
"If he learns that you both are here, he will become even more determined to find you. I still have some trusted contacts among the Unspeakables; I will theorize with them about possible methods of transportation. Your wand, Harry, do you still have it?"
Tom looked at Harry sharply and Harry blinked like a deer caught in the headlights.
"No," he answered, registering this for the first time and it left him even colder.
"I'll see what I can do about retrieving it. In the meantime, you can borrow one of ours. We've collected spare wands over the years." Dumbledore turned for the door. "I imagine you are both worn and weary. I will leave you to your dinner."
But the one question that had been burning inside Harry ever since he'd seen the poster over the factory workers — Magic is Might — burst out of him.
"How did it happen? How did he take over?"
"We lost," said Dumbledore simply.
"But the Prophecy…"
"Yes. Tom told me about that. You see, I have not been Hogwarts' headmaster for twenty-one years," Dumbledore explained. "Evan Rosier is. He must have been the one the Prophecy was addressed to."
"So You-Know-Who has known the Prophecy all along?" said Harry.
"It seems likely," said Tom.
"I could expound upon the details of the differences between our worlds to exhausting measures, but I don't think that would do either of you good," said Dumbledore. "Eat. Rest. We will look after you. We will sort this out." He put one hand on the doorknob, but stopped and looked back over his shoulder. His lips formed a soft smile. "And Harry, happy birthday."
.
xXx
Rosier bowed deeply as Voldemort stepped out of the Headmaster's fireplace.
"My Lord, how may I be of service?"
Voldemort cast his eyes upon the portraits lining the walls. They did not meet his gaze.
"I have business to attend to in the castle," he told Rosier. "I will not need your assistance."
Rosier was not swift enough to mask his relief. He bowed again.
"Very good, My Lord. I wish you success in your dealings."
Voldemort left him, descending down the spiraling staircase. He strode through Hogwarts, not coming upon any ghost or professor. Not even the poltergeist dared to cross his path.
He came upon the door he sought and entered the bathroom. It had taken him years to find the Chamber of Secrets. He had looked everywhere, inspected every suit of armor, every painting, every fireplace, every stone statue, but for naught. The Chamber eluded him. He'd nearly given up until one lucky afternoon when he'd overheard Walburga Black demand that the girl's bathroom on the second floor should not permit mudbloods for it was clearly of Salazar Slytherin's design, all thanks to an etching of a snake on one of the taps.
Like a film on a loop, Voldemort saw Potter plunge a fang into his diary. He closed his eyes against the memory, fortifying himself for what must be done.
"Open."
The floor vibrated, the sink lowered down and the long, black pipe was revealed. He did not slide downward, but flew like smoke on the wind. He flew past a recently shed skin. He flew past bones, rat and human alike. He flew until he reached the Chamber with its pillars of serpents. He touched down at Salazar Slytherin's feet. He wondered if the great wizard would make the same choice if he was in Voldemort's position.
"Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four."
Far overheard, the statue's mouth opened and the basilisk emerged, his great body uncoiling from the depths of the statue.
"Hello, old friend. Did you enjoy the Muggles I sent?"
The basilisk bowed his head, allowing Voldemort to touch him, and the snake hissed in appreciation. Voldemort had wanted to bring the basilisk to the Palace, but the snake had been against it, insisting that Hogwarts was his home.
"You are troubled," the basilisk observed.
"I am. I have come to a painful realization." Voldemort's hand stroked the smooth scales that shimmered under the torchlight, shimmered as if they were encrusted in emeralds. "I have a vulnerability."
The basilisk snorted and Voldemort, against all odds, felt a half smile tug on his lips.
"I did not foresee it until now," he amended. He stepped away from the basilisk, taking in the sweeping chamber, his youthful hideaway. The hours he had spent down here, dreaming and planning his future. He knew he would never return to it after today. He drew his wand.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Surprise crossed the basilisk's face before it fell to the ground, its heavy coils making the floor shudder.
"It was necessary," Voldemort whispered over the corpse.
He waved his wand and flames engulfed the snake's body, filling the Chamber with smoke.
.
xXx
Harry was distinctly aware of how bright the kitchen was. He felt that suddenly he had perfect vision. His mother's hair was not simply red. Orange and gold and even hints of plum glinted in the strands. His father sported a week old stubble.
Harry stood like a fool, tongue-tied. What do you say to the people you'd always longed to speak to? Looking just as hesitant, his mum and dad stood across the table.
Breaking the silence, Tom asked, "Do you have wine?"
"Only butterbeer," said his dad. "They're in the pantry."
Tom's expression turned stony.
"Get me one?" Harry asked.
"Only for you."
Harry blushed.
"Sit, sit," his mum insisted. "Dinner's almost ready. We didn't have much time, but we've fixed up some of your favorites."
Harry stared at her blankly. "You didn't have to—"
"Don't be silly," said his mum. "It's your birthday!"
But it wasn't just his birthday, Harry realized. It was also his counterpart's. And where was he? He should be here, in Harry's place. Not god knows where doing god knows what.
Tom joined him at the table and handed him a butterbeer and Harry mentally shoved aside the unease his double sparked within him.
"Here we are," said his mum, levitating an enormous shepherd's pie, a dish of buttered peas (Harry grinned at Tom, who rolled his eyes), seared tomatoes, and for desert, his dad presented a stunning treacle tart.
"This is … this is … thank you."
His parents beamed.
.
xXx
Snape had not been his sole reason for visiting Hogwarts. The only tame herd of thestrals resided in the Forbidden Forest and Harry needed one. A Portkey would have done the job quicker, but Portkeys could be traced. Thanks to the horse's incredible speed, Harry arrived to the Sahara by sunset.
And it was still hot.
The thestral touched down on the crest of a dune and Harry dismounted. Grimacing, he transfigured his black robes to white, covering his head. The thestral flexed its wings, stretching its neck luxuriously in the heat.
"Show off," Harry muttered, his glasses slipping down his sweaty nose. He pulled out his wand and quickly located the marker he'd left in his last search. "Point me."
The holly spun on his open palm and jerked to a stop. Harry set off to his right, continuing his long northward trek. Of course Voldemort would hide it in the Sahara. Harry supposed it could be worse. The rain forest, for instance, or tucked instead the heart of a volcano. A year ago, when he'd realized the vastness of the task before him, Harry had sought help from the locals, but the moment they realized what he was looking for, they'd all emphatically brushed him off. The Vanishing Sands, they called it, a mysterious place on the dunes where no one ever returned. The sun cast his shadow long and narrow. How many more months would he have to search? Sand slid under his feet as he climbed a dune that looked like every other dune, the thestral meandering slowly after him. A strong wind kicked up and Harry turned, protecting his face. The wind blew past him, chasing itself over the next sandy hill, and he felt it — that sizzle under the skin that had nothing to do with the heat.
He was close.
Heart thundering, Harry closed his eyes and focused.
Where are you?
The threads of magic he knew so well — as well as his own — sang out to him, as haunting as siren song. He turned a quarter to the left. Was the heat radiating off the sand or was that wrinkle in the air an advanced Disillusionment? Carefully, Harry stepped closer to it.
Without warning, the Dark Mark burned red hot on his skin. He doubled up, hissing from the pain.
"Fuck."
The Dark Lord wanted him. Did he know where Harry was? But how could he? Tom didn't even know. The mark burned again and Harry knew there was no time to dawdle. He dug out his personal Portkey from the depths of his robe. Flying back with the thestral would take too long. He set another invisible marker at his feet.
I'll be back, he promised.
"Go back to Hogwarts," he told the thestral. "Go!"
As the thestral expanded its wide, leathery wings, Harry gripped the Portkey in his fist. With a tap of his wand it glowed brilliant blue. Instantly, he was yanked by the navel. A blink later, his feet slammed onto hard ground. He was in the Palace's Apparition Chamber. Swiftly, he transfigured his robes back to their previous state, his sweat chilling so fast, goosebumps erupted.
The fireplace behind him burst into life and Peter Pettigrew tumbled out of the hearth. Not sparing Harry a glance, Pettigrew ran past him. Harry quickly followed, knowing exactly where they were both headed. Harry's mouth went dry as he entered the Founders' Hall. Every Death Eater was present. There hadn't been a mass meeting in over a year. Quietly, Harry wormed his way through the ranks, taking his place next to Snape.
"You're late," Snape muttered under his breath.
"I got in before the —"
A loud echoing bang sounded, making a few twitch in their places, as the doors to the hall sealed shut. Snape lifted a black eyebrow, unimpressed. Silence in the hall fell; all attention turned to the raised pedestal in the center of the hall where Voldemort stood.
"Thank you for coming so swiftly." He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but his voice carried clear and sharp. "Some of you already know why I have summoned you this evening."
Farther down the line, nestled between his parents, Draco shot Harry a frightened look.
"This afternoon, an individual infiltrated Factory Seven. No lasting damage was done, and the culprit was apprehended. Most unfortunately, after I questioned him, he escaped the Palace."
Shock and surprise rustled through the ranks. Harry was alarmed. For anyone to escape the Dark Lord was a monstrous feat. To do it inside the Palace was something else entirely.
"Someone helped him," Voldemort said softly.
A different sort of ripple ran through the Death Eaters as Voldemort's glare scorched over them.
"This traitor will be found," Voldemort promised. "I will see to that personally. As to the boy who fled …"
His eyes shifted, fixing upon Harry.
"His name is Harry Potter."
Harry blinked stupidly, sure that he hadn't heard right. The Death Eaters buzzed about him.
"He came to us from another world," Voldemort continued. "It is paramount that he be captured. Unlike our Harry, this visitor is not a Death Eater."
Harry's mouth dropped open. Not a Death Eater? How could he not be a Death Eater?
"I want him brought to me alive. The one who does so will be greatly rewarded."
Down the line, Alecto and Amycus grinned at each other.
Bellatrix stepped forward. "My Lord, how did this happen? Are you sure it was not an Order impostor?"
"I questioned him myself, Bella, as did the Lord General."
Harry's eyes darted to where Tom stood, arms crossed, leaning against a pillar, his face impassive as ever.
"How he arrived here is one of the numerous mysteries I intend to solve," said Voldemort, his eyes burning with murder. "Find him."
At once, the Death Eaters dispersed, moving to the ends of the hall. Harry had the impression Snape wished to speak to him, and Draco was trying to catch his eye, but Harry dodged them both, weaving his way to Tom.
"Come with me," Tom ordered. They left the hall and Apparated to Riddle House. Tom marched to the Drawing Room, heading straight to the giant liquor cabinet set against one wall.
"Why were you late?" Tom asked, pouring himself a shot of Firewhisky.
Harry knew all of Tom's moods and tonight's was bloody. Inside his robe pocket, the Portkey rested. If Tom asked to see it … if he inspected it …
"I was with the Finland Giants," Harry lied. "I thought I could convince them to join us."
"And?" With a click of glass on glass, Tom returned the bottle to its tray.
"They need more time."
"Of course they need more time, but I already told you that."
Wariness slipped into Harry's chest. "This other me, you really questioned him?"
"Oh, yes," Tom breathed. Glass in hand, he strolled to him and it took everything Harry had to remain perfectly still. "He looks just like you, but I suppose that goes without saying, as he is you."
"He isn't," said Harry without even pausing to consider the matter.
"Incredible, isn't it?" Tom mused, standing nearly chest to chest. "How the threads of our lives seem nothing more than choice and chance. For example, isn't it extraordinary that you serve me" — Tom trailed a finger along Harry's left arm, directly over the Dark Mark hidden under the sleeve — "while your twin defies me."
"You don't know that he's against us," said Harry. "Just because he didn't take the Dark Mark —"
"Because he didn't take the Dark Mark tells me everything. You don't seem particularly upset by this revelation. Why Harry, are you not as loyal to your Lord — to me — as you have claimed to be?"
"Of course not. I'm surprised—"
"Surprised. I see. Not disturbed? Not furious? Merely surprised." The room seemed to drop in temperature from his icy rage. "Have I wasted my days on you? Is this doppelgänger a foretelling of your true feelings? Are you nothing more than that Longbottom fool?"
A tremor shook Harry's hands. He clenched his fists.
"No."
"No?"
"No," Harry repeated, vehement. "I serve you. I always have."
"Always?" Tom breathed.
"Yes."
"There is no order I could give you that would make you pause? No command that you would not obey? Not even, say, the execution of yourself?"
"If he's a traitor to you, he's a traitor to me," Harry stated simply. "Is that what you intend to do once you've found him?"
Tom did not reply, but the answer was clear. He threw back the glass, swallowing the whiskey in one go.
"Where do you think he went?" Harry asked.
Tom smirked.
"Where all lost boys go when there is nowhere left to run. Home."
.
.
.
Author's Note:
This will be the last chapter I post here as the next will have explicit content. From here on out I will be posting the remainder of When the Phoenix Cries exclusively on Archive of Our Own. If you would like to continue to read, please join me there. My username is the same (purplewitch156). Hope to see you next week!