Chapter 14:

"Did you want it to be a date?" Harry asked, quietly. He was standing outside of the Ministry with Tom, shoulders hunching forwards and his hands stuffed into the pockets of his dark green dress robes against the brisk chill in the air. Tom's robes were black on the top, light and almost silky, with a hint of burgundy underneath and a white shirt.

The other glanced askance at him, looking almost surprised at the question.
"As you said," his psychiatrist murmured, "that would be inappropriate."

But it didn't answer the question. Harry's mouth felt dry, as he watched Tom, dropped his gaze, watched him again.

"Did you though?" he insisted. Tom studied him carefully in turn.

"Do you want me to want to? You seemed rather opposed to the idea when I suggested the implications of a plus one."

The lack of straight answer told him everything he needed to know - then again, Tom wasn't one for straight answers normally, so maybe he was just reading into it. He didn't know what to think of how to feel either way, and wetted his lips.

"I think Voldemort might be someone close to me," he said, instead, as they started walking up to the front door. It was an easier topic, familiar ground between them, if a little new in his revelation.

Tom glanced at him again, expression impassive though his eyebrows arched a little.
"Should I take that non-sequitur as an accusation?" he asked, mildly.

Harry's brow furrowed for a moment, eyes flickering with confusion, before his expression cleared.
"What? No - merlin - I didn't mean you. Sorry, bad conversation change there. I just-no it's not an accusation."

"Glad to hear it. That could have been counterproductive."

"Your biggest concern over being accused of being a mass murderer is that they'd be counterproductive to my therapy sessions?" Harry snorted.

Tom gave him a small smirk.
"I'm very dedicated to my job."

The ballroom was exquisitely if ostentatiously decorated, with glittering lights overhead and a large dance floor which gleamed beneath their feet. Harry hovered uncomfortably on the edge of the room, not stepping into the swirl of different colours and fabrics and faces, frantically trying to search out a familiar face or head of ginger hair.

Tom was regarding him quietly, the smirk having faded for something more serious.

"Have you reported your theory to the other Aurors? Do you have any idea who it could be?"

Harry shook his head to both.
"I'm looking into it. Possible motivations. People powerful and intelligent enough to pull it off. Would have to be a master Occlumens, otherwise I would already know who it was. I'd be able to sense the emotions the second I stepped near them. At the moment it's only during murder that he becomes...unfettered. Though I suspect he's manipulating what I get there too. Course he is. I get it because he wants me to get it. Maybe it's Snape. He's good at that mind stuff and his attempts to teach me Occlumency were crap. Fits the criteria in some ways. Hated my father, could be why he killed him."

"Severus Snape?" Tom murmured.

"You're skeptical?" Harry returned.

"No," Tom said. "It's a logical conclusion. I'm also not, however, entirely convinced either without proof."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. Proof was a reasonable demand. He needed proof. Something other than shadows to cling to and grasp at.

The next second they'd been spotted and swept into the party.

The thought still lingered.

The ball was alright, all things considered including his own awkwardness on such occasions. Though, he had to admit, he was a damn sight better than he had been in his fourth year.

He cringed at the memories.

He moved around the room, mingling and dancing with different people, still trying to find Ron and Hermione amongst the crowd.

Tom dispersed from him from a while, but mercifully didn't stray too far when the uncomfortable questions started, or to those who viewed him in a less than friendly light or suspicion in regards to the Voldemort case.

Harry knew Tom was a famous psychiatrist, of course, but it was only outside of the context of their private sessions in Tom's office that he realized to what extent this was.

The other appeared highly respected, and seemed to know everyone with a lot of influence. It reminded him of his initial reluctance over mind healers - they knew too much, too intimately, about too many people.

They were in an enormous position of power, especially if they abused it.
He swallowed.

Tom wasn't like that though. Tom...helped. He was good.

"Harry?" He glanced over, startled, when the familiar weight of the other's hand settled on his shoulder. "Alright?" Tom scrutinized him carefully.

Harry forced a smile, before nodding, thoughts spinning over a new idea now.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks."

Tom glanced around them briefly, at the bustle of people already swarming for attention, before sliding his other hand around Harry's waist and pulling him round on the dance floor, settling smoothly in with the music.

The people drifted back, at bay out of whatever sense of politeness they had.

"Talk to me," Tom instructed quietly.

Harry didn't say anything immediately, half pulled away from dancing, embarrassed, but Tom's grip was surprisingly secure and squirming away would cause more of a scene then just dancing with the man. Even if Tom was dancing with him for the sake of uninterrupted private conversation. He swallowed.

"You must feel very powerful, doing your job," he murmured, finally. "People give you their weakest points, trust you with it. You must have a tremendous amount of influence on people."

Tom watched him carefully.

"And this disturbs you?"

"Well, yeah," Harry said, honestly. "Though that's not really my current line of thought. I just..." he wetted his lips, growing more animated as he thought it out in his head. "I assumed Voldemort was someone of great magical power, because that would account for his self-obsessed sense of superiority, and how easily he gets his victims to comply to his wishes. There are never signs of a struggle, after all. I mean, with me and you, he just blackmailed me into doing what he wanted instead of using force..." Harry's eyes focused again from where he'd drifted, to find Tom still listening intently. "Sorry. I'm just thinking aloud at you. This is supposed to be a party."

"By all means," Tom looked amused. "Feel free to continue." There was that same razor sharp intelligence present though, despite the reassuring smirk he received. "You think if Voldemort doesn't have magical power, he must have another type of power. Like, as your once again offensive non-sequitur suggests, a psychiatrist."

Harry offered a sheepish grin.
"Sorry. But yeah, exactly. Like a psychiatrist. Or a...teacher. Anyone that the people in the victim range would naturally trust."

"Like an Auror," Tom said quietly. Harry's eyes snapped up, and he swallowed.

"Like an Auror," he accepted, mulling over the thought. That worked too. Alarmingly well actually with the other evidence. "Flexible timing, though he works primarily in the evening and the night, with the bodies found in the morning. So teacher isn't ruled out either."

"So position of power. Close to you. Intelligent. Looking ominous for constructive therapy sessions," Tom murmured. "I mean, aside from that I apparently beat up, torture and threaten to kill myself."

Harry snorted, not really very amused.

"Well, that puts a disturbed light on things. Merlin," he muttered, before shaking his head. "No, if it was you, I'd...be far more...changed by now. He said he wanted me broken. You don't do that. Hell, if anything you're the only thing-" he stopped himself, throat bobbing. It seemed too vulnerable to admit that, even thoughtlessly. He didn't much like the thought of how much he was relying on Tom nowadays, however much he was also grateful for it. "Unless he was lying," he got himself back on track, continying. "And considering I could feel how delighted he was by the statement, I don't think he was."

"Glad to see my name is cleared then," Tom said. "Would you like me to give you a name of some other mind healers in my field?"

"Thanks," Harry murmured. "But I think I'm going to go over the victim list again with this in mind. There has to be some correlation. Some place where he would meet the victims, which they all have in common. A service they all have taken. I'll check when they were at Hogwarts too."

Spurred by progress after so long, Harry offered an apologetic smile and pulled away again, only for Tom to tighten his grip again. Harry's brow furrowed in confusion.

"You work too much," Tom said, seriously. "Have you considered that? What happened to having the night off?"

"Voldemort could be picking out another victim...and you want me to dance?" Harry demanded incredulously. "The sooner the case is solved, the better." He suddenly flushed. "Um. Not that I'm ditching you as my plus one. Well, I am."

"Rude."

"Sorry."

"I understand. Duty calls," Tom said, giving him a small smile. Harry suddenly felt guilty. Because he had invited Tom as his...plus one. Even if he still didn't have a clue what to think of that.

Hell, it was hard enough knowing that what he was feeling was actually him, without contemplating further on the potentially blurred lines between liking someone and needing them.

Tom could probably be the first to tell him that his 'clients' often sought to supplement a professional relationship to justify and feel better about the uneven power balance of knowledge. .

Either way, actually doing anything about it when he didn't have a clue wasn't a good idea. He wasn't...stable enough at the moment to be involved in anything. Tom had to understand that. He couldn't be too offended or anything.

Now he was just giving himself a headache.

"Thanks for listening to me talk about work. Again."

The song was coming to a close, anyway, switching to something more upbeat.

"You'll be alright getting home?" Tom checked. Harry flushed, though the concern was...sweet, he guessed.

"Yeah. Big bad Auror here. I'll just go find Ron and Hermione...apologize for leaving early and all that."

Tom laughed, stepping back.
"Don't forget to mention it to your boss, too."

Harry nearly groaned, smiled and wandered away to let Tom dance with somebody else. He certainly had enough people eyeing him up.

He was almost at the door when it started.

The relish Tom had felt for the 'evening's entertainment' couldn't help but be soured and diminished by his conversation with Harry, and his only contemplations therein.

He was starting to wonder if this game wasn't getting too dangerous, because as much as he adored toying with the boy, he refused to go to prison for the thrill when he could just shift it onto a much more...private board.

Harry was more fun alive, but he'd kill him if it became necessary. He hoped Harry wouldn't be so selfish as to force him to that.

He'd been tracking his plants around the room quietly, and even with his mood darkened, he couldn't help but note how flawlessly everything else was going.

The music switched, to a rather cheery instrumental version of 'The Twelve Days of Christmas' around the same time the bodies fell from the ceiling.

They weren't real, but people immediately started screaming and rushing to the edges of the room or towards the door.

Harry froze, pushed forwards again with the other Aurors, trying to calm the delicious panic in the room.

The boy dropped to examining the bodies, quickly figuring out they were merely very lifelike transfigurations. He'd considered using Inferi and having them walk in, because their terror over the lack of security would have been truly delightful, but they would have burned his art before they got the message. This was better.

That, didn't, however, mean that the twelve bodies didn't represent anything.

This time, however, he'd refrained from leaving his emotions on the scene, but the pinned butterfly corsages should indicate well enough, and it wasn't sloppy enough to be a copycat.

Such a shame he couldn't watch, but he was sure Harry would fill him in.

He stepped out along with everyone else, and set about doing his best to 'help'.

Harry felt the blood run out of his face as he dropped to his knees by the bodies. He had a moment of utter horror, and it took far too long for any of them to realize they weren't real. That they were transfigured.

Tonks had pointed it out, recognizing the signs of morphing and appearance changing.

The world was spinning. He couldn't breathe - picked up a note clearly addressed to him.

"What is it?" Robards demanded.

His fingers were so steady he could almost convince himself he didn't feel like he was going to pass out.

"Twelve bodies representing twelve upcoming murders in the next twelve days," Harry muttered, voice cracking. "He's given us their identities. And...what's going to happen to them and how they're going to be found."

"Why the hell would he do that?" Dawlish grunted. "Bit stupid. Now we can stop him."

"Unless he's trying to prove that we can't," Ron groaned. "That he'll get to them anyway."

"What does the note say?" Scrimgeour questioned, striding over to him to snatch it.

Twelve days. Twelve gifts. Twelve lives at stake.
You have everything you need to solve the puzzle.
Merry Christmas, love.

The heart is nothing without the head.

A/N: I had a whole fluffy bit involving suits and whatever else ball style involved. Then the plot ran away with me. Sorry. But hey, I'll fit those scenes in soon enough. It's somebody's birthday soon after all ;) And there are lots of other things involved in the next chapters, as much fun as just having each one be a mini mystery and case will be :P Enjoy! haha. Reviews much appreciated. Hope it wasn't disappointing.