Summary: After being turned into a snake by Snape and Dumbledore and unable to change back, Lord Voldemort has no choice but to turn to the only other living Parselmouth, Harry Potter. After making a deal with each other, Harry agrees to help the Dark Lord return to his human form. Forced to work together, how will Harry deal with having Voldemort live around his neck?
Rating: M for slight language and slash
Warnings: Harry/Voldemort SLASH (please don't read if you don't like), Grey(ish)!Harry, Slightly-manipulative but not "evil"!Dumbledore
Disclaimer: I don't, and never will, own Harry Potter. All it's plots and characters belong to J.K. Rowling and company.
A/N: As always, a big thank you to all my readers! You guys are the best :)
New chapter! It's a little later than I wanted, but it's also waay longer than I thought it would be. I had exactly what I wanted to happen in my head, but writing it all down was harder than it should have been. Anyway, I think I'm finally happy with this chapter so here you go! Lot's going on, I hope you enjoy it!
This chap is not beta-d so any spelling/grammar mistakes/stupid ideas are still mine ;)
Enjoy!
"Regular speech"
:Parseltongue:
'Thoughts'
"Spells"
:Spells:
"Harry? Are you alright?"
Harry looked up from his breakfast, of which the only thing he had accomplished was pushing his eggs a complete three-hundred-sixty degree lap around his plate rather than eating it. Hermione was examining him with concerned eyes, and Harry forced himself to smile. He might have succeeded in that, but his face was rather numb so he wasn't sure.
"I'm fine, Hermione. I'm not very hungry this morning, for some reason." For emphasis, he dropped his fork down on the table and placed his hand in his lap.
"Are you sick?"
Harry shook his head. "I don't think so. Just…not hungry," he said blandly. Unwilling to draw more of Hermione's attention towards himself, Harry pushed away from the table and stood up. "I'm going to the library. I'll see you in class, alright?"
"Okay, Harry," Hermione said softly, still watching him in poorly concealed concern. Harry attempted another smile, and thought he had gotten this one right when Hermione smiled in return. Harry left the Great Hall and pointed his feet in the direction of the library, because it was as good a place as any to go. He wondered if there was a book there about how to pretend everything was fine when it really wasn't.
Harry had been emotionally hurt, before, and rather awfully at that. It didn't make the hurt he felt now any easier. He knew the risks; of course he did. Love was a perilous thing, after all. His happiness in general usually didn't last long, anyway, so why should he have thought things would be any different now?
There was no one who he could turn to, no one he could share his problems with, and since there was no one to talk to he simply gave nobody a reason to ask questions. His slip up this morning with Hermione wouldn't happen again.
Harry sighed and continued down the hall.
He went around the next couple of weeks on autopilot; externally, life for everyone, including Harry, wasn't much different than before. In the hidden parts of Harry's soul, thought, it was a different story. He just wasn't happy. Harry wanted to blame someone, or something, but he knew he would never be able to decide who or what to settle on. His mind considered such questions as: Why did his life always have to suck? Why did Tom have to be such a callous bastard? Why did he have to care so much? Why couldn't he, just for once, have something good happen to him?
Why did he have to fall in love with the bloody Dark Lord in the first place?
Harry hadn't forgotten who Tom was, not exactly. But, he had become enamored with the new side of him he'd never seen before; indeed, perhaps no one had seen. He didn't know if that part of Tom had been there all along, someone he'd always been but kept hidden, or if it was only what he could have been…should have been, if only his life was a little different. Harry hadn't been able to help himself, and love knew no bounds.
As far as Harry could tell, his and Tom's…disagreement…hadn't made the powerful man revert to his original policies. So far, everything was well, and Emrys Aleron was quickly becoming a popular individual, with Voldemort still working obtrusively in the background of everyone's minds, but never overwhelming.
The fallout of Rita Skeeter's article had been as massive as Harry had predicted it would. Wizarding Britain talked about it for a long time; some people were scandalized, others felt justified, and then there were those who ooh'd and ahh'd over the article and fell right into the trap that had been set for them. Harry was pleased to see that the horrid interview with Rita had been worth it, but he had also come to despise it because of the amount of people that came up to him and asked about his life and his new guardian when he would have rather done without having to pretend things between him and Tom, or "Emrys", were perfectly fine. It just…it hurt to have to think about him anymore than he already did. He knew he was desponding, but he didn't care.
After a time, the harshness wore off and Harry quit trying to analyze his life, and just listened to that illogical part of himself that had rarely ever let him down before. Regret, for him, was not an option. He had hope that Tom was not yet lost to him. Fools hope? Maybe, but there were many things worth fighting for. Some might have considered falling in love with the enemy as the worst kind of curse, but for Harry…it was a bit of a miracle.
Being a miracle didn't make it hurt any less, though. Hope warred with despair in Harry's heart, because for the moment he had no idea what the future really held for him and Tom. He really had felt betrayed when Tom asked him to make his own Horcrux…to split his soul through murder. Harry wasn't disillusioned: Tom himself was a murderer, and had no qualms for it if it brought him closer to what he wanted. Harry had always known that, and even he could admit that sometimes…death was better. There was once a time he thought he'd have to kill Voldemort, to protect the one he loved. He would have gladly become a murder for that. he had no choice before, but now he did.
Harry couldn't lie and say that, after the initial shock had worn off, he had let his mind wonder what would happen if he did agree to making a Horcrux. Would it really be that bad? Was he being unfair, letting Tom make all these sacrifices while he himself refused this one request?
But for Harry…the thought of killing someone for his own gain made him feel sick. He couldn't do it…it was too much to ask for. If that's what Tom required of him to gain and keep his affection, then Harry supposed he didn't want it in the first place.
And that was the hardest part, because he still yearned for it and didn't know how he could ever stop.
At one point Harry finally gave in to temptation and stayed late after DADA class, cornering Snape before the man could tell him to sod off.
Harry approached his professor's desk, nervously shifting the strap of his bag higher up on his shoulder.
"What?" Snape barked with resigned impatience, never once looking up from the assignment he was grading (or using as a doodle pad, considering the number of red marks on it). Harry's mouth line flattened in hesitance for a moment before he steeled himself.
"Have you spoken with…with Tom, lately?" he asked stiltedly, doing his best to appear casual and not desperate.
Black eyes looked up at him for once. "Last week. Why?"
Awkwardly, Harry shrugged. "I wanted to know if he was…doing alright, I guess. I haven't seen him, after all, since…since he came to Hogwarts."
Dammit, Harry hated himself for possibly giving Snape a reason to be suspicious with his halting sentences. It was just that he had avoided talking about Tom, and he hadn't realized how tripped up doing so would make him. Not wanting to alert Snape even more to the emotions he held just beneath the surface, Harry forced himself to not fidget. Still, he was aware the Potion's Master was studying him in a far more interested light.
"He appeared well, as far as I could discern," Snape said neutrally. "It wasn't exactly an afternoon tea party in which I could enquire about his health."
Harry felt an actual smile curl the corners of his mouth at Snape's snarky comment—trust him to never change. "No, I suppose it probably wasn't." He paused. "If you see him again, tell him I said 'hello', if…if you don't mind, that is, sir."
Snape's eyes bored into his for a moment, and then he slowly nodded. "Fine," he said tautly.
Another small smile crossed Harry's face as he nodded at Snape. "Thank you," he said, genuinely grateful. With one last nod in Harry's direction, Snape looked back down at the assignments he was grading (doodling on) and, seeing the dismissal, Harry turned and left the classroom, feeling a little better than he had before.
A little over two weeks later, Snape called for Harry to stay after class. Fretfully, Harry waited while the other students cleared out, some giving him pitying looks because it was Snape's class and nothing good ever came from staying after. Harry didn't think he'd done anything that warranted a detention or anything (because, despite their newfound truce, Snape was still an irritable, children-can't-do-anything-right kind of professor) so Harry concluded it must be something relating to Tom that made Snape request him to stay.
Once the last student had left, Harry approached the man's desk, hands wringing themselves together in tension.
"You wished to speak with me, sir?"
"Yes," Snape said crisply, his fingers idly drumming a tattoo on his desk top. "I gave him your…message," Snape finally said after having to search for the term he deemed proper.
"Oh?" Harry said, casually, forcing his hands to stop strangling their own blood supply. "Um, thank you, sir. Did he…say anything?"
Snape arched a black brow, clearly displaying that he didn't quite understand the proceedings, but would go along with them nonetheless for the moment. "He sends his regards."
"Oh," Harry said again, and tried not to look either disappointed or happy, because in all honesty he wasn't sure which he was to begin with.
"He also would like you to be present whenever I am to relay information and progress reports to the Headmaster, and…regrets that he hadn't thought of it sooner. He decided neither you nor the Headmaster could be kept out of certain things, especially if things are to proceed smoothly," Snape finished, eyeing Harry shrewdly.
Harry's face alighted in shock, though he attempted to keep it muted. His indecision from before was gone, and he definitely decided that he was not disappointed. He had worried that what happened between him and Tom would ruin everything else, but it seemed that Tom wouldn't be cutting him off. It gave Harry hope that Tom didn't completely despise him, at least…
After the few seconds it took to compose himself, Harry cleared his throat and smiled excitedly. "That's great. I would really appreciate it, sir, if you told him 'thank you', if you ever get the chance. And, uh, I hope you don't feel like a messenger, or something," he said awkwardly when he realized just who he was asking the favor from. Nevertheless, he looked hopefully at the Potion's Master, uncaring if he looked like a big-eyed puppy.
"Oh, don't bother, Potter," Snape grumbled, though he seemed more resigned than angry. "I've been the 'messenger' to a sadistic megalomaniac and a barmy old codger for more years than I care to think of. Next to them, you are more of a reprieve than anything," he said snidely. Harry grinned widely at that, making the man's mouth turn to a sneer as he waved his hand in Harry's direction in a shooing motion. "Get to your next class, brat, and be sure to go to the Headmaster's office tonight at eight."
"Thanks, professor!" Harry called out as he turned and fled, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. He was thinking that, perhaps, thing might be alright.
It was late, and Harry was tired. He had been ensconced in one of Gryffindor's big, squashy chairs for much of the night, reading the book someone had left in his stack of textbooks one night while he was in the library. One might have said Harry would be paranoid, after previous experience with strange books finding their way into his hands, but this one seemed innocent enough. The Tales of Beedle the Bard the cover said, a simple, immobile illustration of a wizard beneath the title. Ron had seen him with it, and had exclaimed reminiscently how his parents used to read it to him all the time. Harry had a hard time after that being cautious of a children's book. He decided to read it, wondering if the stories inside would have been a favorite of his as a child had his parents been around to read it to him. Now that the book was finished, Harry was considering heading to bed, not knowing that sleep would yet be far to come.
"What the bloody hell?"
Swiveling his head around, Harry glanced towards the entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room where a sudden commotion was coming from. A boy he recognized as a Fourth Year was standing in front of the portrait hole, appearing as if he was arguing with someone on the outside. Looking at the clock on the mantel, Harry double checked that it was well past curfew; it being a Friday night (now Saturday morning) and nearing a mid-month sweep of projects, practicals, and exams being the reasons why so many students were still up. Perhaps it was somebody's sweetheart, trying to sneak into the dorms, not an uncommon occurrence. Harry was about to turn away in disinterest, when the younger Gryffindor was suddenly shoved back and a slim figure pushed their way past the threshold and into the Common Room.
It was Draco Malfoy.
From among the Gryffindors, shocked gasps and shouts of outrage were let loose as they noticed the blond intruding on their territory. That Fourth Year Malfoy had shoved past was now leaning and tugging on the older boy's arm, valiantly trying to remove him from the Gryffindor house. Draco hardly noticed, his eyes frantically searching the room as he merely jerked his arm away.
"Harry Potter! I need to see him!"
Setting his book aside, Harry stood, effectively getting Malfoy's attention. The boy's eyes widened in relief and he practically scampered over to his childhood rival, dodging any attempts the Gryffindors made to grab ahold of him. When he got to Harry, he latched onto the other boy's arm and started dragging him back to the entrance portal. Lady hissed a bit at the rough treatment as Harry stumbled to keep upright against the unexpected force tugging at his body.
"Malfoy! What…?"
"No time for talk, you've got to come with me," Draco spouted frantically, the tone of his voice prompting Harry to follow dutifully along, a bit shocked at the Slytherin Prince's actions. He had actually broken in to the Gryffindor Common Room after curfew to get to him, so obviously there was something important going on.
"Wait, Harry, you're just going to go with him?"
Glancing over his shoulder, Harry waved his hand at Ron, who was deep into a chess game with sleepy Seamus, who seemed unable to comprehend the misfit blond invading the Tower, let alone a chess match. "It's fine, don't worry," Harry said complacently. Well, he wasn't actually positive if things were fine, but if Draco wanted to do something to him he wouldn't have revealed himself to so many witnesses, right?
Once out in the hallway with the portrait shut behind them, Malfoy let go of Harry's arm and started pacing back and forth in front of him, muttering under his breath, his fingers clenching and unclenching in anxiety.
"Malfoy, will you just tell me what it is?" Harry snapped, irritated that he'd been dragged outside by a possibly insane Slytherin.
When Draco stopped and pulled out his wand, Harry stiffened and moved to grab his own, but halted his actions when the blond simply threw up a Privacy charm. And then Draco finally began to speak.
"There's going to be an attack. Tonight." Draco scowled exasperatedly at Harry's "so what?" face. "At Hogwarts!" Draco particularized sharply.
Harry could feel his face go slack in shock. "What?"
There was a slight sheen of sweat on Draco's forehead as he started rambling and shifting from foot to foot. "You have to tell Dumbledore, Potter! I don't know when they're coming, I only know it's tonight."
"Wait, why can't you tell him?" The thought crossed Harry's mind that Draco was having one over him, and he studied him suspiciously. Still, he could feel himself growing on edge by the seemingly genuine anxiety the other boy radiated.
"I can't," the blond said desperately. "I'll be expelled, probably thrown into Azkaban because I was the one to fix it and then accidentally let it slip to Crabbe and Goyle who told their fathers who told a few other people and now they're on the way here and I didn't even know those two could read let alone write a letter or have the brains to do a favor for themselves—"
"Draco!" Harry hissed, snapping the blond out of his yammering. "Try to make sense, please. What is happening?"
"I told you, there's going to be an attack on Hogwarts…tonight," the boy stated, frustrated, but a little more coherent.
"How?" Harry demanded to know.
Draco swallowed visibly. "The Vanishing Cabinet, in the Room of Requirement. I…I fixed it this year, in case it would come in handy one day. My father told me that if I wanted to earn the Dark Lord's favor, I would have to prove my worth to him. Last year, after we discovered your little band of child warriors"—Harry scowled at that—"in the Room of Requirement, I went back and inspected it later. That's when I found the Vanishing Cabinet. I recognized it because its twin is in Borgin and Burke's. If I fixed it, it would serve as a connection for anyone who wished to get into Hogwarts. It…it was my secret project, but I may have told Crabbe and Goyle about it," Malfoy finished mumbling, shifting from foot to foot as he faced Harry.
Harry's expression was growing colder and colder. "You told those idiots how someone could get into Hogwarts?"
"I—I was bragging, I suppose. They planned to get marked, too, but I didn't know they'd tell their fathers, or that their fathers would want to use it as a means to steal the credit that should have gone to me!" Draco defended. "No one was supposed to know…If it's not under the Dark Lord's orders, no one would dare try anything."
"Nobody stupid enough would dare, you mean." Mostly that was true, but Harry knew it may be more than that. "Why would they want to risk it?"
Draco's teeth worried at his bottom lip in an uncharacteristic break of Pureblood cool. "You should know! The Dark Lord has been…strange. He underwent a massive reorganization of the ranks, where some people benefited, and others didn't. Crabbe and Goyle's fathers were the latter of those two groups. They wish to reinstate themselves in the Dark Lord's favor, believing they had done something to displease him. I found out about it when the two brutes' sons left a letter explaining the plan out on one of their beds, with the two of them missing."
Harry grimaced, and rubbed his palm over his face in vexation. "So, a bunch of Death Eaters are coming here tonight because they think it would please the Dark Lord?"
"And to steal the credit from the Malfoy family!" Draco huffed, and then winced when Harry shot him a glare. "What? It's true! They're jealous that my father is still highly ranked, and that I am sure to follow," the blond boasted. "Among the Death Eaters, it's a competition to see who can rank the highest." Harry rolled his eyes.
Harry had learned much regarding Tom's campaign at the meetings with Snape and Dumbledore. Tom, it seemed, had weeded out his ranks once he regained control a few months back. The ruthless wizards or witches of his Inner Circle or upper echelons who had no useful skills save blind murder and destruction had been demoted, per se, though it was more like they were given their own division. This new group was often left out on the secrets of Tom's political play, especially regarding Emrys Aleron. That was the privilege of a different set of people. Snape and Lucius Malfoy were part of the few that were more privy to the higher plans and motives, along with politically-minded and levelheaded wizards or witches who were subjected to Unbreakable oaths of secrecy, but for the most part Tom kept much to himself.
Emrys Aleron, to those who were deemed trustworthy, was a wizard cavorting with the Light side but secretly was an ally to the Dark. He was under the Dark Lord's influence, and it was he who was at the center of much of Voldemort's plans. Of course, no one, save for Snape and Lucius, knew that the Dark Lord was Emrys Aleron. Tom, for the most part, still cavorted around in his Voldemort guise for the majority of Death Eater meetings. Everything had to be carefully constructed and told to only the right people to ensure sensitive plans weren't ruined by any idiots unwelcoming of the changes present in the Dark.
The downside of all the secrecy, however, was the fact it was a secret. The uninformed, such as the supposed group planning on invading Hogwarts, had no idea that what they were doing was unnecessary and pointless. In the old campaign, though, taking Hogwarts would have been a great victory.
But now, it was, quite notably, a Very Bad Thing.
"Draco, you prat, this could put everyone in danger! Who cares if you were the one to let it slip, you should have gone straight to Dumbledore!"
"I almost did, but…I thought that maybe you'd be able to tell…to tell the Dark Lord as well," he said, voice quivering. Harry hid his own wince; he hadn't contacted Tom himself in over a month. "He could stop them before they get here," Draco insisted. "I just found out, Potter…if I'd known…" Draco huffed, clearly frustrated. "Sorry," he mumbled.
"We don't know when they're getting here, and I don't know if I can warn him in time," Harry said, hands fisting into his hair. Internally, he cursed the fact that McGonagall had an emergency somewhere, and she wouldn't be expected back until the end of the weekend. He would have gone to her first, but that wasn't an option now and he had to figure out something else to do.
"Come on," he suddenly said, grabbing hold of Draco's arm in an opposite configuration of what they composed earlier. He snapped the password to the Fat Lady's portrait, dragging Draco back inside the Gryffindor Common Room, ignoring more shocked gasps and confused whispers.
"Let me go, Potter!" Draco ordered, shaking his arm in an attempt to throw Harry off.
"Uh-uh, no way, you're coming with me. We're going to talk to Dumbledore."
"But Dumbledore's not up here! You're wasting time!"
"No," Harry opposed, "I'm saving time. Trust me." He led Draco into his Dorm room, knowing that Neville and Dean, who were both sleeping, had noise canceling charms and would not hear them. Harry steered Draco to his bed where he dropped the other boy's arm and proceeded to dig frantically through his trunk. He pulled out the Marauder's Map, quickly pulled his wand free from his pocket and tapped the parchment, incanting the passphrase for the Map's magic.
"Bloody hell," Draco whispered once Hogwarts' blueprint showed up on the Map. "That's how you do it." Harry ignored him, though, unfolding the charmed parchment and spreading it across his bed.
"Here, help me look for Dumbledore. His name will show up somewhere, and then we'll know where to find him."
Knowing Dumbledore's habits, the man could be anywhere if it happened to be a night he fancied a stroll around the castle. Together, Harry and Draco searched the Map, eye roving over the paper for Dumbledore's name. Ever since Draco told him of the attack, Harry had felt a sense of urgency coiling in his stomach, and he felt sick with it.
"Ah, there!" he suddenly exclaimed shortly after they started looking, his finger stabbing the parchment next to Dumbledore's name. "Good, he's just in his office." In typical Hogwarts curiosity, the entrance to the Headmaster's Tower had conveniently moved to the Seventh Floor recently, the same floor the Fat Lady's Portrait was on and thus it wasn't too far from the Gryffindor House.
There was a knock on the Dorm room door. "Hey Harry? Did you kill the bloody git or are you just holding him hostage?" The door swung open and Ron peeked his head through. Malfoy took two threatening steps toward him.
"Why you—"
"He's a hostage."
"Hey!"
Harry stood quickly and grabbed a hold of Draco's bicep again. "I'll just be taking him to Dumbledore, now."
Draco's face screwed up comically. "Were you not listening to me, Potter? I said I can't go."
Harry rolled his eyes. "You worry too much." He turned to Ron. "I'm not sure how long I'll be gone."
"Do you want me to go with you?" Ron gave Draco an overt stink eye, and the blond in turn deepened his scowl. "I don't trust him."
Harry waved his free hand dismissively. "No, I'll be fine. You should stay here." 'You know, in case there's a Death Eater attack,' Harry mentally added. He would prefer no one else got involved. "Let's go, Malfoy." He tugged on the surly boy's arm, forcing him to stumble forward.
Ron's brow was furrowed, probably knowing Harry wasn't telling him the whole truth, but called out to Harry's back, "If you do something stupid, don't expect me to defend you from Hermione."
Harry saluted him in acknowledgment. "Gotchya. See you in a bit."
"You're a bloody menace, Potter," Malfoy complained as Harry dragged him back down the steps. "I shouldn't have even warned you, and let the Death Eaters deal with your arse." Harry ignored him.
It was quite late, but nobody tried to stop Harry as he made his way through the Common Room, especially with Malfoy in tow. He and Draco left through the Portrait Hole for the second time that night.
"When do you think they're coming?" Harry asked as he led a sullen Draco Malfoy towards the Headmaster's office, never relinquishing the hold he had on Draco's robes to make sure he didn't run away.
"I don't know. Probably when everyone is asleep."
Harry, sensing Draco wasn't exactly in the mood for further conversation, grunted once and then fell silent. Their footsteps echoed down the empty corridors, and sleeping portraits snored in their frames. What worried Harry was the fact the Room of Requirement was on the Seventh floor, also, though in a castle the size of Hogwarts it left some buffer should the invaders get it. Still, it was too close for comfort.
As they were about to round the corner into the corridor with the Gargoyle statue, Harry remembered that Draco was a Prefect and likely knew the password to get into Dumbledore's office.
"Hey, Malfoy—"
"Stupify!"
Ducking reflexively, Harry fell back around the corner, inadvertently leaving Draco in the line of fire. Harry escaped the spell, but Draco did not, and fell heavily against Harry. Harry yelped in surprise and fell against the wall to steady himself. Quickly and not exceedingly gently, he let Draco fall to the ground and pulled out his wand.
Hearing heavy footsteps coming his way, Harry quickly threw his Invisibility Cloak over himself and tried to even out his breathing so he wasn't heard. He had a pretty good idea who had just sent that stunner that hit Malfoy. And so, when Greg Goyle came into view, Harry wasn't surprised. Having been only able to see the stunned blond, Goyle was unprepared when Harry shot at him his own stunner, dropping the large Slytherin easily.
Harry flipped the Cloak back over his head and cast a Rennervate at the unconscious Draco, who immediately sat up before groaning and holding his head. His eyes trained on his unconscious housemate and he groaned again.
"Goyle stunned me!" He sent an angry glare at Harry. "You used me as a shield, you tosser."
"Oh, did not," Harry responded, though his attention to the blond was only halfhearted. It wasn't a good sign that Goyle had been here right now. With a sense of dread, Harry pulled out the Map again to check it, afraid of what he might find.
"Fuck," he cursed, eyes focused on the dozen or so names appearing just outside what Harry knew to be the unplotted Room of Requirement. Slamming his eyes shut, Harry exploded across the link he and Tom shared, breaking through the barrier between them in his haste in order to slam into Tom's mind. He could feel the tax the distance put on the link, but he persisted as sweat spontaneously broke out on his brow. Feelings of Tom flooded his senses, and he momentarily felt the flare of his rocky emotions regarding the man, but he pushed that aside in order to send Tom a message.
'Tom! Death Eater attack at Hogwarts! Come if you can!'
That was it. That was all the time and energy Harry could sacrifice. He knew Tom had received the message, but he couldn't wait for any reply right now. He pulled himself back into his own mind and opened his eyes again.
"We have a problem."
"Please don't say it, Potter," Draco beseeched as he scrambled to his feet.
"Okay, I won't," Harry said, still looking at the Map. "Malfoy, you need to warn Dumbledore right now. You know the password, so it should be easy for you to get into his office."
Draco frowned at him. "Why does it sound like you're not coming with me?"
"Because I'm not."
Draco eyed him shrewdly before coming to the conclusion, "You're going out there as bait, aren't you? Distract them until the Aurors or whoever the hell gets here."
"Yup."
"Why?" Draco asked incredulously. "They can't get into Dumbledore's Office without the password, let alone if Dumbledore doesn't want them to. Why bother?"
Harry sighed. "What makes you think they are only after Dumbledore? If they can't get to him and didn't know I was safe in his office, who do you think the next person they'd want to get at would be?"
Draco seemed to think a moment, and Harry gave him an incredulous look, and the blond's face in turn brightened as the answer came to him.
"Oh right, you."
"Yes, me," Harry said dryly. "It would put the other students in danger if they tried to get into Gryffindor Tower."
Draco scoffed. "Yes, knowing you Gryffindors, more than one of you would try for the heroics."
"Draco, they are getting closer. I suggest you shut up and get a move on."
The blond boy's face was blanched white, despite his act of bravado and haughtiness. "Right—warn Dumbledore." He took two steps forward before pausing again and looking back at Harry. "Please don't get yourself killed, Potter…I have a feeling more than one person would be out for my blood after that."
"Glad to know your self-preservation skills are intact," Harry noted.
"As if your utter lack of self-preservation skills will do you any better," Draco mumbled as he walked hurriedly away, wand out. "I hope you have a plan." Harry had to smile slightly at that, but only briefly before something occurred to him and he raced after the retreating blond.
"Hey wait." Before Draco could even turn around, Harry snatched his wand away from him, causing Draco to make a loud sound of protest.
"What are you doing?"
"I do have a plan," Harry semi-lied, "and it involves this." He waved the dark-wood wand in the air while the Malfoy heir glared threateningly at him.
"You're going to cast some illegal spells with it and blame it all on me, aren't you?" he hissed angrily, making a swipe for his wand.
Harry signed in impatient exasperation. "I'll wipe it clean." Draco, though, lunged again for the compensated wand, but Harry pulled it away. "Please, Malfoy," Harry implored, stepping backwards. "There's not much time left…get to Dumbledore now. I have it under control," Harry said under a façade of confidence. When Draco still didn't move, Harry pointed his stolen wand at him. "Run."
That got the blond moving. Harry watched him hurry down the hallway, while Harry turned to face the other way he knew the Death Eaters would be coming from. He checked the Map again to find their position, and estimated he had only three minutes before they got to him. Taking his bottom lip in between his teeth, Harry slipped into a shadowed alcove and pressed his back against the stone wall.
:Master, what's going on?: Lady hissed into his ear, her tongue waving madly in the air as she tried to sense the danger causing her Master's emotions. Harry titled his head a bit so he could see her out of his peripheral vision. Just moments earlier, a bizarre thought—that clearly indicated he'd gone mad—had come to him and resulted in his borrowing Draco's wand.
:Lady, would you obey me no matter what?:
:Of course, Master,: the snake responded immediately. :You're my Master.:
:Swear on your Magic?:
Lady pulled back, confused. :I don't—:
:Just swear it.:
A pause, and then, :I swear on my Magic: After a pause, she mumbled, :Silly, strange Master…:
It was a crazy idea, incredibly risky, foolish, and a whole lot of other adjectives. But he needed help, and he hadn't wanted to risk any of his friends' lives. Gritting his teeth in decided determination, Harry hissed at Lady to uncoil from his shoulders. She did so readily, and Harry set her on the floor in front of him.
Harry hesitated only a moment. :Remember your vow.: Pulling out his wand, he pointed it at his Transfigured companion.
:Finite Incantatum,: he intoned, willing his Parselmagic to cancel the strong magic Tom had put on her earlier.
Tom cursed under his breath as he scratched another line out of the addendum he was attempting to compose. Irritably, he threw the quill down on his desk and turned the paper to ashes with a flick of his wand in his fit of pique. It was the third one that night he'd done it to. Closing his eyes to try and rein in his temper, Tom deliberately set his wand down on the desk so he wouldn't be tempted to go destroy other things.
He told himself it was the Death Eater meeting earlier that night which had set him on such an edge. It wasn't wrong to say this; his followers had been particularly insufferable that night, and more than a couple of them had felt the brunt of his displeasure. But really, he couldn't blame the idiots.
Tom sat back in his seat, though if anyone were to ask, it certainly wasn't in defeat. He was just…acknowledging the fact his mind wasn't on the task he was trying to complete.
How could it be, when all his mind wanted to think about was Harry Potter?
It was all-encompassing, this continued mental referral to the boy, and he was completely unprepared for it. Harry was the puzzle he could never complete, the mystery he could never solve. He fascinated, vexed, and drove Tom to the brink of his limits. It was almost…unfair, because Tom had no precedence on dealing with such a person.
Their last conversation was the most frequent thing he focused on.
When Tom first faced the fact that he only had one Horcrux in the form of a mortal human wizard, it had caused some concern. Perhaps the death of Harry wouldn't have equaled the death of the Horcrux, but if it did, it would have been incommodious—a problematic flaw in his lifetime ambitions. Immortality had always been a goal of his, for one reason or another. One of the only benefits of that Halloween night many years ago had been the solid proof that his Horcruxes had kept him in the planes of existence. He hadn't died that night, not really. He had successfully cheated death. The price of multiple Horcruxes, however, had been steep—and more so than he initially realized.
The original solution he came up with had been simple: he would just have to come up with a traditional, inanimate vessel and make a second Horcrux with it. Problem solved.
But that didn't happen. He simply couldn't do it.
Getting his soul back had taught Tom a great deal. Mostly, a single-minded, delusional madman would not be able to conquer the Wizarding world. The healing of his soul had changed him, the return of his sanity being the obvious dissimilarity, but it was the unexpected innovations that made the real difference.
He couldn't make another Horcrux…he couldn't tear his soul. He didn't even try, but not of his own volition. His mind was willing, but it was the only thing that was.
It wasn't his ability to kill that had been hindered, though perhaps his conscious made itself evident at times…executions were kept cleaner, quicker, and more thought into whether it should or should not occur. Murder wasn't the problem…it was memory.
As if Tom's soul remembered how it felt to be split, it quivered and recoiled from even the thought of going through the ritual once again.
It was unfathomable. The very essence of himself was horrified at the prospect of breaking itself to pieces, of trapping itself in a cold, unfeeling object for eternity, to wait in darkness for the chance to be reunited with its whole. It put Tom's fear of death to shame, an irony not lost to him—it was the Horcruxes, after all, which he made in the first place to save himself from death.
He didn't know what to do. His magic actually turned on him if he picked up a chosen object, zapping his hand and forcing him to drop the intended vessel.
The problem was esoteric. There was nothing he could do to fix it…he was the problem. He had mutilated his own soul, had whittled it down to almost nothing, and when he got a second chance with it, it hadn't gone unaffected. It chose to protect itself, and wasn't that a strange conundrum, because its biggest enemy was Tom himself, and Tom was his soul and his soul was Tom. So really, though he may think he did, Tom, at his core, did not want to make any further Horcruxes. It was hard to argue with one's self.
It stirred Tom up until there were times he felt like two people, and not just Tom Riddle or Lord Voldemort. Or maybe that was it and he was simply having a harder time than he imagined finding himself. Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, Emrys Aleron…which persona was the truth? Perhaps it was inevitable that he'd be confused at one point or another, what with the many faces he'd chose to show people. Tom's soul may be intact again, but he was still piecing himself together.
It wasn't long before Harry's mortality crossed Tom's mind. He toyed with the idea extensively. There was something that appealed to him about it…and then something that appalled him. Frustrations abounded, first with his own soul, and then with the vacillation over Harry's that he couldn't comprehend the reason for. It was such an odd idea—a Horcrux with its own Horcrux.
Tom left for Hogwarts for the interview with Rita Skeeter still undecided if he should even ask it of Harry, and hadn't even intended to bring it up just yet. He should have stuck with his original plan, but then he hadn't expected to get thrown into the deep end with one look into resplendent green eyes.
That February night, while they were together, Harry's mind had opened up to his. Tom had felt Harry's emotions, coupled with the sensations from his body as the young wizard had clung to Tom as if he never wanted to let go.
Tom witnessed the love Harry felt for him that night…an emotion unlike any he'd ever experienced himself, and suddenly his world changed again. He'd felt the feeling from Harry before, that time at the Ministry, but then it had hurt, and wasn't all for him, and he hadn't been able to withstand it. Not this time. In that moment, Tom hadn't wanted it to stop.
Tom now knew why so many had fallen victim to the emotion. The temptation of it, to wrap himself in the feeling, to do whatever it took to do so. The yearning, and hot, burning want of it. Harry Potter's love had more impact than he ever could have thought possible.
It overwhelmed Tom…and it would have been a lie if it didn't frighten him. It was an addicting, dangerous emotion—something one could get lost in.
The spoken admission, said aloud by the boy later, had thrown Tom off-kilter even further.
No one had ever said that to him before…
He wasn't infallible. It was greed. Greed and an overwhelming desire to have everything he'd ever wanted: power, immortality, and Harry Potter. Once it was the boy's death he valued, but now it was his life. The trouble with his own inability to create a second Horcrux and ensure his immortality would be obsolete if Harry only ensured his own precaution from death. Harry had never been anybody's but Tom's, and would be his forever.
Tom had been so focused, so assured that things would go his way that he hadn't noticed the strange look in the boy's eyes, and the distant, pained expression. He couldn't see his…mistake. Yes, he realized that now. He knew Harry wouldn't agree to it. But in that moment, he didn't care, because he would get what he wanted.
It was arrogance and a flawed sense of the world which made him believe that since Harry loved him, he would be willing to do anything for him. Tom's impression of love had always been that it turned the bearer into a mindless creature, bound to the emotion and a victim to its whims—granted, that came from a bias assumption. But Harry proved Tom wrong. He had thought that Harry would have been compelled to sacrifice a tiny portion of his soul for the one he loved.
Harry said no.
Tom had been angry, and frustrated. Did Harry not say that he loved him? So why didn't he show it? Bitter resentment had roiled within Tom's chest, along with an old revulsion. Love was useless, then, after all.
Then why did he, later, still find himself craving it? Why would he dream of Harry's touches, of his soft words, of his smiles? Once again, his soul disagreed with what his mind thought was best…no, worse than that, because even his mind couldn't let go of the boy.
It had taken Tom a long time afterwards to finally admit to himself how hurt he had been when Harry had refused. And he'd handled it badly. Harry had come to matter to him…and that was the problem. Tom realized he'd made himself vulnerable to that pain, and then fell victim to it. He had never been able to associate himself with others, to put himself in their place—everything had always only been about himself—and perhaps because he was unused to doing so, it had taken him so long to see through Harry's eyes and fully comprehend what he'd done to the young wizard…his precious Horcrux…his Harry.
Harry had made himself vulnerable as well. He had given more to Tom than Tom had given in return, even. How would he be feeling any different than Tom? While Tom had felt betrayed, he suspected that Harry had as well.
He had regretted immediately telling Harry to leave, but he'd let him go anyway. He knew he had been too worked up, still, too likely to make brash assessments. He needed to get away, to clear his mind, and rethink…everything. Only Harry Potter had the ability to look upon his very psych and force Tom to see himself in different ways. Harry's unbearable comparison to his Muggle father had made Tom physically ill by how much he was abhorred by the thought, and a fair blow considering his comparing Harry to Merope Gaunt only a few moments earlier. Perhaps Tom couldn't stand the notion because of how perilously close to the truth it fell.
Even when his anger cooled to nothing, Tom didn't contact Harry. He didn't know quite what he wanted to say to him. He still hoped that maybe Harry would change his mind, and the thought stilled him into inaction. He focused on his operations, which were, for once, going incredibly well.
And then, one day, Snape had given him a message from Harry.
Such a small thing…Hello.
It had the power to make Tom feel ashamed of himself, and what a feat that was. Inexplicable. But how could it not make him ashamed, when he personally was throwing away the thing that he had been cheated of all his life? Nobody had cared for him like Harry did. Tom was just coming to comprehend how much of a human heart he truly had…how it still desired the things he had once given up on.
:Master?:
:In here, Nagini,: Tom called out sibilantly, beckoning to his familiar. The large viper's familiar head appeared in the doorway, and she slithered along the floor until eventually ever last inch of her twelve foot length had slipped into the room. Instead of curling up in her usual spot by the fire, she chose to climb up and over Tom's shoulders, her extensive size forcing her to wrap her bottom half around the legs of the chair her Master sat on. She bumped her head into Tom's arm, demanding affection, and Tom automatically raised his hand to scratch at her chin. Nagini hissed in delight.
:You smell stressed, Master,: the snake said after a time, slightly reproachfully and sounding like a mother. Tom sighed.
:It can't be helped, my dear.: He picked his quill up, and wrote a few words on the fresh page before him.
:Harry Potter could help. When is he coming back?:
The tip of Tom's quill froze midair as his hand stilled, surprised by Nagini's statement and question. Withholding his initial impulse to say Harry Potter most certainly did not ease his stress, and clearly only added to it, Tom asked Nagini demurely, :Why do you wish to know?:
:I like him. He made you happy.:
It was noticeably difficult to swallow after that remarkably simple statement, so blunt and powerful in its straightforwardness. Harry made him happy. It had all the more impact because, in that moment, Tom knew that it was the nothing more than the truth. Harry Potter had the ability to reach into him, to distract him from the heavy-handedness of bitter pasts and tumultuous futures, to find the person he hadn't known he was capable of being. No one, single person had ever been more significant to Tom than that particular green-eyed wizard.
"Yes, he does…" Tom whispered.
He really had been so careless—and ungrateful. It was terribly recognizable now. For the first time in his entire existence, he had found someone that had grounded him into the fact that he was human, and that perhaps it wasn't the most abhorrent thing he thought it was. It was his saving grace. And how did he repay Harry? By demanding the one thing from him he had always known Harry would never be able to give.
Tom eventually saw why he had been so indecisive before about Harry making a Horcrux. The idea had appealed to him because then he would have that precious marvel for eternity, but then his traumatized soul couldn't bear the thought of forcing the one it admired for its purity to feel the same pain, to be spoiled. In a way, Tom was now bizarrely relieved that Harry had refused…it would have only further cemented in his mind his long-ago conclusions on love. But Harry wasn't truly a victim to it; he accepted and embraced it, but it didn't change who he was.
Perhaps it wasn't this horrible thing that should be avoided at all costs.
In fact, could it actually be that what Tom felt for Harry was—
'Tom! Death Eater attack at Hogwarts! Come if you can!'
Tom stumbled to his feet, knocking the chair out from under him and causing Nagini to slip abruptly from his shoulders with a strangled hiss as the doorway in his mind slammed shut once more.
Stress, indeed! Did that boy go looking for trouble, or did trouble just always find him? Tom had yet to decide.
:What is wrong, Master?: Nagini asked urgently, sensing her wizard's rising anxiety.
:I have to go.: He swept from the room, ignoring his familiar's questioning hisses. Tightly gripped in his hand, his wand glowed brightly at the tip as his magic surged forward in a rush to match the adrenaline pumped through his body by his rapidly beating heart.
He had anticipated some kind of trouble; it was only to be expected after the widespread reorganization of his ranks. It was the nature of his previous campaign that brought many the more unscrupulous witches and wizards to his side, and while fear kept most of them in check, it wouldn't be enough for everyone. There were those who flocked to him simply for the sense of power it bequeathed them, and in the past he had usually rewarded followers for any acts of opportunistic creativity.
Now that he thought about it, he remembered one of his followers just recently asking about his tentative plans he'd had concerning Hogwarts and Dumbledore's death from the beginning of the school year. He tried to remember what he had said…or what Voldemort had said.
"Those plans have been abandoned. There was too much complication and risk," he'd told the man—Pickety, if he remembered correctly.
"Master, what of Dumbledore?"
Tom had waved his hand absently. "I have different plans, Dumbledore will fall into my trap eventually." What the man didn't know was Dumbledore was already dying, and wasn't a problem anyway, not with Harry's help. Tom had expected Pickety to accept his statement, but the man had persisted further.
"Master, what if—"
At that point, Tom had grown impatient, and his wand had ended up pointed at Pickety . "I am very busy, and have no time to discuss this." Recognizing the threat, Pickety had bowed and left.
Tom should have listened to the man's further attempts for discussion, but he had not thought any further on the Death Eater's enquiry, even knowing the man was one of the more curiously odd ones.
It was Harry Potter's fault, of course, what with him being so damn distracting.
'Oh, this is so stupid,' Harry idly thought, watching as a brief flash of magic flared around the cobra on the floor. Oh, sure, he had made Lady promise upon the magic she didn't know that she had to obey him, but that may not mean a damn thing. He could simply be adding another rogue Death Eater to the halls of Hogwarts. Lady may call him Master, but it was quite possible Bellatrix Lestrange would rather choke on her own wand before she agreed to do anything Harry asked of her.
Ah, well, too late now!
The magic faded away, and Harry looked on as a very human Bellatrix pushed herself up slightly from the floor and glanced around in dazed confusion. Luckily for everyone involved, she was dressed in the same outfit she wore when Tom transfigured her all those months ago, preserved by the magic of the spell. Her wild hair frizzed around her face and fell in a dark cascade down her back.
Black, glittering eyes met Harry's.
Bellatrix moved her mouth, her lips forming words but her throat failing to make the sounds at first. She tried again, and managed to get out one, stilted word: "P-Potter?"
Pressing his lips into a thin line, Harry took a cautious step in her direction, watching carefully for her reaction. His wand was in his hand, but pointed down at the floor; he didn't want to threaten her into any untoward actions.
"Right at this moment, rogue Death Eaters are attempting to invade Hogwarts in a direct violation of the Dark Lord's wishes. I'm going to try and stop them, but I need your help. Will you give it?" Harry was firm and direct to the point. Bellatrix, for her part, looked uncharacteristically lost and confounded, and Harry could almost see the cogs turning in her mind as she tried to comprehend her situation. Harry wondered how much she did and didn't remember, and how much her time as his "familiar" affected who she was now. Harry made no move to rush her, though his tense posture belayed how thin a veil his impatience was kept behind.
"Will you help me?" Harry asked again, eyes boring straight into Bellatrix's wild stare.
"I…will," Bellatrix finally said, her voice flat and a bit clumsy still, and almost confused at her own answer. "I will? Hmm, seems I have to," she mumbled strangely to herself. "I was ordered by…someone." She shook her head, glazed eyes clearing. Harry didn't know if it was the Dark Lord's order she remembered from just before he Transfigured her, or if it was his own, but he dared not question her.
The witch twisted her head around, taking a brief categorization of her surroundings, before she heaved herself to her feet. She staggered as she righted herself, one hand reaching out to press against the wall for support. Harry held his breath, still fearing to speak and break whatever spell that made Bellatrix agree to listen to him. Still leaning against the wall, Bellatrix held up her free hand in front of her face, clenching and unclenching her hand and standing in rapt attention as she did so. Apparently satisfied, she let her arm fall to her side and rose to her full height, also taking her supporting hand away from the wall to tug on her skirts, straightening them. She gave Harry a haughty, slanting look that said, "Well? What are you still standing there for?"
"Eh, Potter? Who are these nasty, traitorous wretches that I get to tie up with their own innards?"
It seemed Bellatrix had recovered. Harry swallowed hard at the gleeful smirk she adopted as she outlined her intentions for the invaders. "Er, Crabbe and Goyle, seniors, for sure, but I'm not really certain who the others were." He hadn't recognized their names on the Map, and was too much in a hurry to stop and memorize them. He pulled out the charmed parchment and flipped through the folds until he found the section that named all the intruders. They were nearly to the Gargoyle's corridor now, and Harry felt sweat break out on his brow.
"Him," Bellatrix suddenly said, pointing at one particular name. Jerande Pickety. Harry had never heard of him before.
"Who is he?"
"Thinks himself to be important and always looking for grand opportunities to prove it," Bellatrix muttered contemptuously, and Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from saying, 'Sounds like you.' "Gryffindor, actually, and fancies himself to be the grand hero of the Dark Lord's. He's the brains of this sedition," Bellatrix answered Harry's question with. He frowned.
"How do you know? Crabbe and Goyle's sons were the ones to find the way into Hogwarts."
"Mmm, and knowing those two idiots, they were the ones to squawk to Pickety for them to have gotten this far. The Dark Lord was considering a break into Hogwarts earlier this year—"
"He was?" Harry squeaked, to his embarrassment. Bellatrix ignored him.
"—and Pickety was part of the group that would go. He was very excited about it…Dumbledore after all had a hand in sending his father to Azkaban in the first war, and ooh, wasn't he bitter about it! Anyway, Pickety loves throwing one over on the Light and Ministry whenever he can, and was disappointed when the Dark Lord chose to wait on Hogwarts. He's both smart and crazy enough to think something like this would work."
Harry's brow rose when Bellatrix made a comment about how crazy someone else was. Suddenly, the witch grasped Harry's shoulders and shoved him against the wall, bringing her face in close. Harry gritted his teeth and stared her down, heart thumping in his chest.
"You are telling me the truth about his, Potter? They must be stopped because my Master wishes them to be?" Her lips folded into a pout. "Master did say you were important." Her grip loosened, and she pet Harry's shoulders as if she was clearing his clothes of some dust.
"It's true. The Dark Lord has bigger, better plans than this." At least, Harry hoped Tom would want this to be stopped. Hogwarts was more or less already within his hands, with Dumbledore cooperating the way he was. Worried about how much time had passed, Harry glanced over Bellatrix's shoulder in the direction the invaders would come from.
Bellatrix must have noticed the look, because her smile widened so her less than perfect teeth, marred by her stint in Azkaban, showed as her lips pulled back over them. She suddenly slapped Harry smartly on his back, making him stumble forward a step."This will be fun, Potter! Now, will I have to do this with my bare hands? But oh, I do so love a sharp knife…or any sharp object…"
"Er, no," Harry said, his face scrunched tightly. He reached into his robes and pulled out Draco's wand. "Here, it belongs to your nephew." He held the dark wand out to Bellatrix, and almost snatched it back at the all-encompassing delight that stretched across her mien. "Don't do anything unless I tell you to," he told her firmly. For a second, Bellatrix's eyes glared hotly with defiance, but then they mellowed out as a furrow marred the space between her brows. She nodded tamely, and wrapped her surprisingly dainty fingers around the handle of Draco's wand.
Harry watched her carefully for any sudden movements, body tense and ready for action should she do anything that called for it. Bellatrix, however, merely cackled and sent a pale yellow spell spiraling to the ceiling, singeing the stones slightly. Harry rolled his eyes and pulled out his Invisibility Cloak.
"Can you Disillusion yourself?"
"Of course," Bellatrix snipped, tapping her borrowed wand on her own head, and suddenly Harry had to concentrate really hard in order to get his eyes to focus on her.
"Brilliant," he breathed, and ducked under his cloak and disappeared entirely.
"Ooh, how very handy," Bellatrix said, seeming to be genuinely impressed. Harry gritted his teeth, and cast a Parseltongue silencing charm.
His eyes were on the Map, and to the new development he hadn't expected. "Dammit," he cursed under his breath. He turned to Bellatrix.
"Half of them are coming here, but the others are going in the opposite direction, I believe to Gryffindor Tower." Looking for me, is what he didn't say. "I think you should stay here, and I'll go after the others."
"How brave you are," Bellatrix teased as if talking to a young child. "Taking on big bad Death Eaters all by yourself. Don't let mommy know." She twirled her wand within the grasp of her fingers, and placed the tip against her lips. "Oops."
Harry controlled his temper. He made to take a step, but aborted that motion before it was executed. "Just so we're clear, we only want to capture them. No killing, got it?"
"Takes the fun out of everything," Bellatrix grumbled, sounding very put-upon.
Sticking the tip of his wand out from under his cloak, Harry cast a tripping jinx on the stone floor of the hallway, thinking that at least one of the pranks the Weasley twins had taught him would be put to good use.
"There—I'm sure you can find some enjoyment out of that."
Harry didn't wait to see her reaction as he slid out of the alcove and fled back down the corridor the way he'd come.
Dumbledore was only dozing, just having settled down into bed, when a chime went off signaling someone's use of the password to the stone gargoyle. Instantly on alert, the old yet still spry wizard stood up from bed, wand already in hand. He flicked it, and the outfit he had worn that day—a fetching sky blue, complete with floating clouds—settled once more around his body. A pounding on the downstairs office door quickened his steps as he hurried down the stairs from his bedroom. Down in his office, lights flared and Fawkes trilled at him questioningly.
It was young Draco Malfoy who stumbled in through the door when he opened it.
"Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore exclaimed softly. The poor boy was pale, with dark circles under his eyes and his breaths were escaping in hurried pants.
"Harry Potter's being an idiot, and you need to go help him," the blond stated in a rush. Indeed, Dumbledore didn't really expect that sort of thing to come from the young Malfoy's mouth, but the context of the statement perhaps didn't quite surprise him.
"Mr. Malfoy, come, sit down and tell me what's wrong."
But Draco only shook his head. "No, you don't understand, there's no time for that—"
Before Draco could explain more, the flames in the fireplace flared green and a disembodied voice called out, "Dumbledore, you incompetent fool! Let me through."
Now this was very curious. Suddenly Dumbledore found Draco Malfoy's warning to be even more serious than he'd thought, because it seemed Tom Riddle knew something he had yet to find out about, and it concerned him enough to get to Hogwarts. A quick drawing of runes into the air opened up the Floo channel. Tom didn't waste any time coming through the flames, though he drew up short when he saw the Headmaster and the young Malfoy heir already in the office. His red eyes settled on Dumbledore.
"Was I mistaken, or were your wards on Hogwarts supposed to keep out people with dangerous intentions?"
"They didn't go through the wards," Draco whispered, his hands nervously wringing themselves raw as he glanced fearfully up at Tom in such a way made the Headmaster suspect the boy knew exactly who stood before him. Tom's eyes gave him away. Dumbledore thought to offer him a lemon drop to calm his nerves, but feared there was little time for that.
Tom took a step towards the poor blond boy, and asked, "What do you mean by that?" The man suddenly swept his eyes over around Dumbledore's office, realizing something for the first time. "Where's Harry?"
"Mr. Malfoy here was just about to explain that, Tom," Dumbledore said, taking no offence to the dark glare Tom shot him, probably for the use of his birth name. Dumbledore never understood the aversion to it; Tom was such an easy name to say, rolling off the tongue quite easily. But that was neither here nor there. Besides, clearly his old student was quite worried for dear Harry. It really was quite endearing.
Tom's glance turned back to Draco, who seemed undecided between hiding behind Dumbledore's robes and ensuring his pride was intact. Really, Dumbledore wouldn't have condemned him for hiding, as Tom could be quite menacing for one as soft hearted as Draco Malfoy. The boy could never truly hide that aspect of himself from his Headmaster.
"Well? Where is he? What do you know?" Tom demanded of Draco. To help fortify the boy's courage, Dumbledore thought to pat the boy congenially on the shoulder.
"Go on, my boy. From what I can tell, time may be of the essence."
Draco wet his dry lips with his tongue before finally saying in nearly one breath, "Potter sent me to warn you, while he stayed behind to try and stop the Death Eaters that got into Hogwarts through the Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement."
Dumbledore was quite alarmed, but not surprised by the seriousness of the situation…he had expected it from all the clues he put together. Tom looked furious. Dumbledore figured he wasn't quite used to worrying about someone just yet. The Headmaster had to use his wand lock the door to his office to ensure Tom would stay just a bit longer and not storm out as he tried to, though he knew the man would be quite upset with him.
It hadn't ever occurred to the Headmaster that the war would end with Tom falling in love with Harry, and vice versa, but after living as long as he had these kind of surprises life throws out have become the highlight of his existence. Harry might have thought he'd concealed it from him, and Tom might have thought it didn't even exist, but Dumbledore wasn't fooled. Dare he say it, the thought of it often brought a satisfied smile to his face as he considered how wrong he had been—and thankfully so—when he thought Tom could never love. Ah, but at least he was right about it being Harry's greatest strength.
Of course, he was worried about how difficult things would be for the two, how complicated things would be, but he was a firm believer that those two were too stubborn and strong-willed to give up against opposition. In the end, he could do nothing but give them his blessing.
Dumbledore turned to his Phoenix familiar and told him, "If you would, Fawkes."
Fawkes sang a few notes of his favorite melody and flamed away, off to gather help. To Draco, Dumbledore said, "Stay here, my boy. When the others Floo in, tell them what you know and they will know what to do."
Giving the pale boy a reassuring smile and another solid pat on his shoulder, he silently directed him to one of the comfortable chairs he always had available for his visitors. He was aware there was much more to the story than the boy had shared just yet, but it was of little concern at the moment. Because Draco had come to him, Dumbledore would do all in his power to protect his student if need be.
On his desk, Dumbledore had a tiny silver gadget which he now laid his hands on. It was cylindrical and etched with runes, and when he twisted the top portion, he felt the wards around Hogwarts shudder as all the Houses were locked down and the alarm around the Castle raised. The Portraits had already filed out of their frames to give the rest of Hogwarts' occupants more detailed facts.
While he was completing his task, Dumbledore idly commented, "Tom, might I suggest you put your Glamours up?" It'd be easier to explain who he was if his face was familiar.
Tom slashed his wand, hissing something before the face of Emrys Aleron glowered in Dumbledore's direction at the momentary interruption of his trying to unlock the door. For all of magical talent he had, he never did think that simply asking for the door to "please open" would do the trick. Dumbledore had always valued the power of the polite word.
Dumbledore said the passphrase to unlock the spell on the door's lock, and it clicked cheerily open. He spared a glance at Tom. "Shall we?" The other man made a sound suspiciously like a growl as he filed past.
Dumbledore followed Tom's quick pace down the stairs, his mind as focused on the task ahead as he knew Tom's to be. The other man threw up a strong shield as the Gargoyle moved aside and they cautiously stepped out from behind it, not knowing what they'd find on the outside. The first thing Dumbledore thought was that the cackling laugh coming from just a few steps down the hall was awfully familiar. His next thought after they crept closer was how impressed he was by the amount of cloaked and masked figures lying on the ground.
"I had thought we might have been of use," Dumbledore contemplated aloud to himself. He was quite thrilled when he managed to make Tom snort in dry amusement as the man shot a pale-colored spell at a man, who dropped abruptly when it hit him square in the chest, quite unconscious. And hopefully not dead.
A feminine figure came out of the shadows, the woman laughing as she dueled with an unidentified man.
"Bellatrix Lestrange?"
"That brat is either incredibly smart or irreversibly stupid," Tom hissed. Bellatrix landed a spell on the person she was dueling, and he fell, writhing, to the ground. Now there was only Bellatrix standing, and five men on the ground. Despite the situation appearing under control, Dumbledore felt unease.
"Where is Harry?" It wasn't lost to him that he was repeating Tom's earlier question.
"Bellatrix!" Tom called out, causing the witch to fall into a low crouch, wand raised. The two gazed at each other for only a second or two, before a decidedly unsettling grin broke out over Bellatrix's face.
"My Lord!" she exclaimed, somehow recognizing him in his Glamours, and rather cheerfully if Dumbledore had to say, and practically skipped over the bodies littering the floor as she made her way towards them. When she got close, she bared her teeth at the Headmaster. "Dumbledore," she jeered, and said man only smiled. Bellatrix glowered at him and fell into a crouch before her Lord. Internally, Dumbledore clucked in distaste.
"Bellatrix, where is Potter?"
"My Lord, he—"
There was a crack and a folded letter appeared in front of Dumbledore's face. Calmly, he plucked it out of the air and opened it up. It was short and to the point.
"We have Harry Potter. Surrender yourself and he will live. You will be escorted to our location by the men outside your office."
Tom snatched the letter from Dumbledore's hand. "It seems they are unaware we are already informed," said Dumbledore. Tom flicked his wand and vanished the mask of the unconscious man at his feet. He examined the face revealed, scowling.
"The group split up. Potter went after the one headed to the Gryffindors," Bellatrix whispered, looking fearfully up at her Master as the fury rolled off him in waves. His jaw was clenched tightly, same with his fists, but still something possessed Dumbledore to lay a hand on the man's shoulder in comfort. Quick as a snake, the old wizard suddenly found a wand pointed at his chest, tip sparking, and despite the rush of adrenaline pouring through his veins, Dumbledore only smiled very softly in compassion.
"He'll be fine."
"I'll kill him myself if they don't," Tom proclaimed, though Dumbledore was not fooled.
"I think you'll find holding him close would be more satisfying."
Tom recoiled a bit, Glamoured brown eyes boring into the light blue one's Dumbledore had. His lips parted, as if we was going to say something, but after a moment he changed his mind and his lips closed firmly. Dumbledore dropped his hand from the man's shoulder, and Bellatrix looked back and forth between them perplexedly.
With his wand still pointed at the Headmaster, Tom waved it in the air in a casual gesture. "You know what they want. They called for your surrender. I suggest you comply."
Dumbledore agreed, because he knew if he didn't he'd be hogtied and dragged to them anyway.
"By all means," Tom's old Transfiguration professor said placidly. "Fawkes should have notified the Aurors by now, and they will be here shortly. These men here," he said, gesturing at the bodies on the floor, "shall be fine until then."
Dumbledore lead the way, his two unlikely companions following behind him, Disillusioned and silenced.
It could be that he was walking to his death…he didn't know. He was more or less dead, anyway, but he was optimistic that this wouldn't be his last night in his beloved school. But if it would save Harry Potter's life, Dumbledore would gladly offer himself up.
The entrance to Gryffindor Tower was not far from his office, and soon enough he heard the low rumble of voices, and particularly at one point a very familiar voice rising above the melee.
"Let me go! You're making a mistake," Harry Potter tried to warn, but a hissed order to be quiet was the only response he got.
Calmly, Dumbledore tucked his wand up his sleeve. He was surrendering himself, after all, and would not need it.
"Harry, it's alright. These men will find out soon enough what they've done."
Green eyes blinked sharply in the dim light. Each of Harry's arms was held by a different Death Eater, who gripped the appendages tightly as the boy struggled to free himself. "Professor, don't—"
"It's alright, Harry," Dumbledore repeated. Only a few of the Death Eaters had their masks on, proudly showing off their faces. Dumbledore focused on the man who seemed to be in charge. He was only vaguely recognized by the Headmaster.
"Disarm him," the stranger said. Dumbledore felt a pang of dismay at that prospect. Surprisingly, the Expelliarmus came from the young Mr. Crabbe, whom Dumbledore mourned his involvement. The spell fell true as it hit him right in the chest.
Dumbledore felt his wand—the Elder wand—get ripped out from his sleeve, and watched it spiral through the air and thunk into the temple of Vincent Crabbe. The boy bent hurriedly to pick it up, and placed it in his outer pocket. The poor child had no idea what he'd just done.
"Where are the others?" someone in the shadows finally thought to ask, whispering it to the person next to him. Many of the men, about seven in number, shuffled nervously at this observation. Dumbledore smiled genially.
"It's a trick!" someone exclaimed, and now wands were all pointed at the Headmaster. Their attack had been based on the element of surprise, and perhaps they were realizing they had somehow lost it. Harry's eyes were trained sharply at something just over Dumbledore's shoulder, trying to peer into the shadows. And then…he nodded. Dumbledore knew a voice had whispered something within his mind, though he pretended he hadn't seen to avoid alerting the invaders.
Apparently Tom wasn't going to wait. Two powerful stunners hit the men on either side of Harry, allowing for the young wizard's release. Two others fell, while Harry, wandless, dived at the person nearest to him, the surprise and spry attack knocking the burlier wizard off his feet and to the ground, where his head cracked against the stones. Physically stunned as the person was, Harry was able to wrestle his wand away from him and pointed it at his captive's throat.
Harry had just disarmed Vincent Crabbe. Relief, and the sense of a fate exploded in Dumbledore's chest. He watched Harry jump as another man fell close to him, though not yet unconscious, which then spurred him to further action, with his hand fumbling to find the pocket he'd seen the younger Crabbe put his Headmaster's wand. Dumbledore appreciated the concern, but that wand would no longer work well for him.
Dumbledore could tell the moment Harry's fingers came in contact with the sometimes-labeled Deathstick, as the boy jerked his hand away and looked at it, appearing flabbergasted. Shaking himself, his hand returned to the wand and pulled it out, now holding one in each hand. Reaching out his own hand, Dumbledore summoned one of the fallen Death Eater's wands and cast an Incarcerous at the man on the ground who appeared to be trying to get up. Calmly, he approached his young student. Across the corridor, Tom was dueling the last two men, easily handling them with all the grace and talent he held. The Death Eaters hadn't been prepared to face their own Master, though they did not know it was he. The Headmaster was quite pleased that, for once, the man was working for the same goal as he himself, and with abject efficiency at that. Dumbledore wasn't sure where Bellatrix was, but assumed her presence here would be kept a secret.
"Harry, I'll take care of young Mr. Crabbe here." The dark-haired boy glanced up at him and nodded. He climbed to his feet, and held out the Elder wand to Dumbledore, trying to give it back to him. Dumbledore was about to say something, but many things happened at once before he could.
First, Tom sent one of the men he was dueling crashing into the other, sending them both tumbling to the ground near where Harry and Dumbledore stood. The spell from the man who got knocked into was sent astray, where it hit Dumbledore in the side. A blackened hand pressed into the wound, and came away tinged red with blood.
"Professor!" Harry took hold of Dumbledore's robes, helping the man stand upon his suddenly weakened knees. In that moment, the old wizard really felt his age. In his haste, Harry had dropped Crabbe's wand, though the Elder wand still remained in his palm—perhaps he instinctively knew how important it was. It was unfortunate that the wand he dropped rolled back towards the person it originally belonged to.
Vincent Crabbe picked up the wand. There was a flash, and Dumbledore feared the worse, but Harry was still standing, unharmed next to him.
"Tom," Harry breathed, and Dumbledore realized that a spell from the ex-Lord Voldemort had prevented Crabbe from doing anything. But it also distracted him from stopping the crouched leader of the group before he shot off a spell of his own straight at Tom's unprotected side. Dumbledore expected he would be able to shield himself in time, but it was well known that fear made people think irrationally. Harry called out Tom's name again, and his desperation was evident.
Suddenly, the boy was no longer by Dumbledore's side but in front of the spell. If he used his wand…a Protego...anything to help protect himself…
…but Harry didn't, and the spell engulfed him.
"No, Harry!" Tom cried, too late to stop him. He seemed…shocked. Dumbledore was also feeling a shaken. A suspiciously green curse flew from the tip of Tom's wand to hit the last offender, killing the man instantly. Dumbledore couldn't bring himself to care.
Tom was on Harry in an instant, crouched by his side and checking his life signs. From the shadows on the other side of the corridor, Bellatrix appeared as the Disillusionment fell from her body. She had dragged all the stunned and restrained Death Eaters to the other side of the hall. A staccato of footsteps echoed down the corridor, signaling the arrival of the authorities. Making a decision, Dumbledore pointed his borrowed wand at the witch and used his knowledge in Transfiguration to revert the spell held on her, and her body spiraled down until a cobra appeared in her place. It would be hard to explain her presence, and Dumbledore wasn't sure she deserved to be captured in payment for helping them today.
Harry still hadn't moved, and when the corridor was flooded with Aurors, Dumbledore closed his eyes tiredly.
Harry's sense of proprioception came back to him slowly. Pressure against his back told him he was lying on it, spread out on the ground. Everything was quiet. His eyes were closed, but bright light was shining through his lids until they fluttered open, and then Harry could see that the brightness was not from a light, but from the shock of all the white that surrounded him.
He was certainly not in the last place he remembered being, and logically, if that spell he took before he fell unconscious told him anything, he should probably be in the Hospital Wing. But he wasn't.
Well, shit…this must means he's dead. What else could this place be, other than some sort of afterlife?
'This sucks,' he thought.
Harry groaned softly and squeezed his eyes shut again. It was then that he felt something shifting on his chest, and it caused his eyes to snap open, much faster than before, in a startled reaction.
There was a face hovering over his. Harry's eyelids widened even further in amazement.
"Tom?" he croaked.
The pale cobra with bright, ruby eyes flicked out its tongue in response.
Whew, lots of words in that chapter. Tom's section took me forever to complete and get as in character as possible.
Unless my mind goes crazy on me, next chapter will be the last. I hope to get everything tied up in a nice bow. Thank you for all your support getting me this far, you guys are simply wonderful!