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Brynn

Chapter 12: Bare Hands

It was five days since they left Hogwarts. It seemed much longer though, as Draco spent most of the period in the library or in the room he shared with Harry, studying. It wasn't even remotely enjoyable, but he still felt lucky compared to his roommate. The Gryffindor was studying only half as much as him, because the rest of the time he was requested to entertain the Dark Lord.

He would come back distraught, eye the sharp, pointed candlesticks, and fling himself on his bed – the one they had slept in the first night – to bury his nose in one of Draco's books. Draco would quirk up, welcoming the distraction, and question Harry across the room from the second bed he claimed as his. From the few hints he gathered that they were having political and academical debates, though he couldn't imagine what field was Harry so accomplished in, that the Dark Lord would consider him an adequate partner.

The afternoons spent together were strange, but Draco liked them. Harry had decided to keep his friendly attitude – he simply pretended that the past five years didn't happen and they knew each other for a week. In a way it was fitting. It was less than a week since Draco realised that the Harry Potter was not Boy Who Lived. And it was mere five days since Harry Potter met the person Draco Malfoy was forced to become by the mysterious inheritance of Healing powers.

However, much, much weirder than the afternoons were the mornings. Draco woke first, dressed, and went straight to the library. By the time he returned, the room was empty, his bed made, and his pyjamas neatly folded under his pillow. He thought the house elves were doing it, until he ran into Harry tyding up today. He was either avoiding his duties for a while longer, or enjoyed such work… or was simply used to do it. Draco had tried to talk to him about it, but was flatly refused. And therefore his mind was now straying from the chapter in front of him to the boy who was being grilled in the Audience Hall.

"This is pointless," he grumbled and slammed the book shut. Sheets of his notes ruffled, and a roll of parchment fell off his blanket, moved by the draught.

"No, it's not."

He jumped, startled by the invasion.

"Myrtle," he gasped with relief. She floated over to him, 'seated' herself next him on the bed, and put her hand through the book.

"This is not much good," she admitted, and pulled her hand out, glaring at it with disgust.

"Are you able to read like that?" he asked, fascinated.

"Of course not, dummy. I don't see – that means I can't read. But I'm able to percieve."

He blinked. She rolled her eyes.

"Yes, I know what's written there. Most of it is true, but Scuttleframe married a Healer, she wasn't one herself and she didn't see him come to his powers. Do you remember if there is Fighting scythe with bare hands by Edgar Bones in the library?"

Draco nodded. He remebered it only because of a rather morbid illustration on the front cover. It had shocked him how much it resembled the scene of Harry's suicide attempt in Myrtle's bathroom. Still, it was a thin, tiny bond, and he didn't think that he could learn much from it.

"Read that one. And read it quickly."

"Myrtle?" He wasn't used to that level of care from her. She usually didn't mind people dying, so why would she help him with learning the Healing stuff was a mystery to him.

"Edgar was a Healer himself. He bloody well knew what he was writing about. And it's not the theory either. That might be nice to know, but won't help you much with the actual Healing-"

"Where do you know this stuff from?"

She glanced at him askance.

"I knew a Natural Healer once. Not a happy person, that one."

A light breeze ruffled his hair and he scowled at having his hairstyle ruined. She smirked and passed him a ribbon. Draco stared at her for a while incredulously. She couldn't mean that… But, obviously, she did. He sighed and tied his hair.

"Happy now?" he asked venomously. She smiled.

"You're handsome like this. Go to the library right now, Draco. Edgar was a brilliant young man, and I fear you're going to need his knowledge sooner than you might think."

"Why are you helping me with this?" he asked straight, even as he stood up and donned his outer robe. He knew better than to disregard Myrtle's advice. She gave it scarcely. When it came as far as her interferring, she must have had a damn good reason.

"Aside from that I like you?" she said solemnly. He raised an eyebrow. It was no news that she liked him – he even considered her a friend, but that wasn't serious enough for her to be interested in his study.

"Harry is glad that you are here," she admitted. "He hates being alone… I think that is why he got over the animosity between you two so quickly."

Draco halted on the threshold and looked back. Harry? Harry was so important to her… unless she was manipulating him, of course, but he had seen her care about Harry, and there was more between the two of them than between her and Draco. A piece of conversation flashed through his mind.

"I've had me in my head since I remember."

"It's weird."

"It was. For you, too… like, the same guy, twice-"

"Wh- How do you know?"

"I've had me in my head since I remember."

He paled.

"Myrtle… who is he really?" he breathed, afraid of what he might find out. She didn't understand his question, but ather than asking for an expansion, she flew straight through him.

"He's exactly who he says he is, Draco. Who he acts like. He doesn't pretend anything."

"Why did you call him 'Tom'?" His fingers subconsciously tightened around his wand.

"I don't know how much I can tell you…" she sighed. "Come on, I'll try to explain it along the way." Draco hesitated, but when she set out he followed her into the maze of winding passages. He would have enjoyed being able to walk through walls, but in his opinion it was never as bad as to the skill being worth dying for.

"So?" he insisted.

"Fifteen years ago, Tom – Voldemort – attempted a Dark ritual with Harry as the sacrifice." Draco nodded. It fit with the public version – the Dark Lord attempting to kill Harry – only offered more detailed information. It also explained why would the Dark Lord do it at all.

"To be blunt: he fucked up. What really happened there is anybody's guess, but the outcome is that a bit of Tom, of his conscious – of his soul, perhaps – remained in Harry afterwards. He was able to suppress it for years, but now it's become more dominant than ever…"

"I still don't get it." How could somebody put a bit of themselves into somebody else? He had given Harry his magic, and that was all he was able to transmit, and giving magic didn't have side-effects like that…

"I'm not surprised you don't, Draco. This is not your league. Try to picture it like this…" she paused, searching for a fitting metaphor. "It's as though he had a split personality. Just the second part is not quite his own."

Draco gulped. Oh yeah. That did make sense. And it put quite a lot of things into perspective…

Myrtle halted.

"I'll leave you here. Don't forget: Edgar Bones, Figting scythe with bare hands. Start as soon as you can… please."

To say Draco was confused would be a huge understatement.

D-N

"My Lord-"

Adrian cut himself off and halted respectfully a mere step beyond the threshold. He stared transfixed at the sight in front of him. In the dusk of the hall, there stood two identical thrones, the Dark Lord's on its usual spot, the other facing it. Both were occupied.

"My Lord," he repeated quietly, bowing deep. A snow-white hand, paler than the Dark Lord's own, stuck out as Voldemort's companion gestured to the new-comer. Adrian straightened, waiting for an order.

"-wards? Especially if you are awaiting them…" said a curious young voice as the Silencing Spell was cancelled.

"Approach," the Dark Lord commanded, and Adrian obeyed without second thought. The second throne disappeared and finally the sight of the person sitting in it was revealed. The landed in a half-squat, narrowly avoiding falling on the floor.

"For a seventy-year-old, that was incredibly childish, Tom. Do one more thing like this, and you can shake hands with Snape."

Adrian paled. No one, no one ever dared to use such tone with the Dark Lord. No one ever dared call him by the filthy Muggle name… who was this person? How could they be so stupid? They would be extremely lucky to receive only a chastising Cruciatus… Besides, he knew Professor Snape, and anybody who described the man as 'childish' was in for hours of pain…

"You will show respect, or I'll make your life worse. It will be a difficult goal to achieve, but I will find a way," the Dark Lord replied darkly, and Adrian shivered, even as he walked up to the – now only – throne. "Wormtail!"

"Oh please, I'll do it myself," muttered the second person. From this close they were visibly small, even though their voice was male… and vaguely familiar. "Just don't get that thing near me…"

Voldemort smirked. Adrian covered his shudder by promptly kneeling.

"Poor child. It seems that there is one more thing we share. But by all means – provide us with light."

Adrian stared, amazed, as the small man, whose only visible part of body was ghostly-white hands, spread his fingers. There was a tiny blue flame on the tip of each of them. He blew. The flames darted through the air, lighting the nearest candlesticks, torches and basins with oil. In the sudden glow, Adrian with awe noticed that while the stranger did wear proper Death Eater robes, their colour was light green. Unthinkable. Disgraceful.

"Impressive," the Dark Lord admitted. Adrian's jaw sank yet lower, both with seeing his Master acknowledge other wizard's skills and the realisation that said wizard just performed the advanced Elijah Charm wandlessly.

"If I let you kill Wormtail, will you take his place?"

"By your side, Tom? Never!" the green-robed man spat loathingly. "I leave you to tending to your lackey. I'm sure he's suffering from either shock or heart-attack by now. Look how rigid he is- ah."

With a flick of the Dark Lord's wand the insolence was disciplined. The stranger was bound and gagged, seated on the lowest stair in a position that must have been extremely uncomfortable. Still, the punishment was absolutely incommensurate to the insult.

"You're going nowhere. But you will be silent. Speak, Adrian."

It took the young man a few seconds to compose himself enough to be able to obey that command. The Dark Lord wasn't known for his patience, though, and that sped up the process greatly.

"It is about the raid, my Lord," he started uncertainly, glancing at the huddled man at the bottom of the stairs. "We have received new intelligence – there might be some unexpected resistance…" he bit his lower lip. Voldemort's gaze darkened.

"It is too late to alter the plans."

"Yes, my Lord," Adrian bowed lower, hoping that this augurey wouldn't be smitten for the message it heralded.

"Proceed as scheduled."

"Yes, my Lord," the young man gulped and looked up.

"Go."

He didn't wait a second longer than necessary – he stood up, bowed again, and hurried out of the room. The green-robed wizard, somehow having been freed from his manacles, winked at him.

"You know Adrian?" Voldemort asked, uncaring that the Death Eater was stll within earshot.

"I played Quidditch against him. Besides, he's got one of those faces – hard to forget."

Adrian ascribed it to the shocking events, and the stress, but the next sound was almost like… laugh?

N-N

"I'm sorry, Tom," Harry whispered, standing up from the cold floor.

"What?"

"I said I'm sorry," he repeated. When he looked up, there was honest regret in his eyes. It genuinly startled the Dark Lord – people often said to him that they were sorry, but those were his followers who had failed in their tasks. Never someone who was truly apologetic. He didn't care for such emotions. But the fact that he didn't understand it irked him.

"What for?"

Harry shrugged.

"For being childish, I suppose… I'll be sure to shake Snape's hand the next time I'll meet him." Voldemort laughed. He had given up on trying to keep a straight face whilst around Harry in the privacy of a Silencing Spell. He was known to laugh, of course, but usually his cause to do so entailed some extreme violence. However, Harry's statements were often cruelly truthful, and he liked cruelty. The child never laughed with him – it meant what it was saying earnestly.

"Go back to your room," Voldemort ordered.

"No," Harry said easily and attempted to cast a Cushioning Charm on the stairs. He failed, sighed, and sat down even so. "I want to stay."

That caught Voldemort's attention. Harry rarely said he wanted something.

"What for? You claim you don't enjoy suffering-"

"I don't!" The boy half-turned so he could look at the man. "But I can help. I want to help."

"As Draco has informed me, Healing was not added to Hogwarts curriculum yet-"

"It was not," Harry admitted, "but my childhood taught me to always know how best to nurse injuries. I am quite-"

"Useless."

Harry closed his eyes and suppressed the wave of tears. He knew he was useless. He wanted to save everyone the nuisance of dealing with himself, but he wasn't allowed to.

"How is it possible that one moment you cast a perfect high-level Dark Charm, and the next you can't manage simple Cushioning?"

"Inotoounlessgic," Harry mumbled. Voldemort growled and Harry's shoulders sagged – he wasn't happy about revealing this.

"I can't perform wandless magic, alright? But you can. When you concentrate, you're as pointed as a needle." The boy paused and hunched a bit further. "I cast through you. Mostly Dark Spells and such… 'cause you have to approve of what I'm casting. Therefore the botched Cushioning."

Tom laughed.

"That is ironic. The Saviour of the Light casts Dark Spells throuh the Dark Lord!"

Harry scowled at him.

"Yeah, but you're useless for healing, so I need Draco to bring down my wand. I know you want to use him tonight. But there is a difference between use and abuse."

"I don't see any."

Harry shook his head.

"There is one. Be careful with your toys, Tom, lest they break."