Chapter 21: Fallibility
Harry finally guided the two of them around, and faced the pair of flaming crimson eyes. The intensity of the glare he was subjected to threatened to truly frighten him. Snape never could look as menacing. But Harry didn't feel guilty. He had gone in search of Tom first, and Tom had departed on journey to Southern Europe. And since nobody else in the Fort would listen to him, he had no other option but to play 'Boy Hero' again.
"I was going to return," he said calmly, staring into the eyes of the Dark Lord with silent request for rationality.
"I know," Tom admitted after a while. "And that sole intention would save your guardian the death… but I believe that a few Crucios they would be subjected to might motivate you not to run away again." So much for rationality. It was Tom's mistake that caused such situation to come about – Harry was merely trying to prevent any fatal eventualities.
"Mr Weasley came to me with a proposal."
Harry sighed. As if that was his cue, Bill emerged from the stairs, and gave Harry a mock-reproachful gaze. The boy forbade himself to roll his eyes.
"Bill-"
"Harry-"
"Let me speak!" he snapped. The anger finally boiled over. "Bill, you are an adult person! You should learn to shut up to save your neck! I was trying to make you listen to me – but no, your typical Gryffindor arrogance was louder."
Draco squirmed, and Harry felt a warm hand touch the spot between his shoulder blades. The redhead, naturally, didn't listen.
"Harry-"
Harry growled, but seeing the Weasley's stubborn expression, he gave up.
"I'm washing my hands. If you die because of something I had to do, it's your fault."
Bill blinked, for the first time noting something to be out of ordinary with the 'Boy Who Lived'.
"Harry?" he asked, confused. He was suddenly strongly reminiscent of a younger Ron. Draco smirked and spoke.
"That's Tom's residue formulating Harry's thought, Weasley. I dare say you sank yourself into some deep shit." The blond chuckled weakly. Harry knew he was hurting, but at the same time was glad that he felt like joking.
"Draco," Tom attempted to chastise the young man. It was a wrong move – Draco was still very much aware that it was the Dark Lord who had landed him in this position, the Dark Lord who didn't give him the chance to protest, the very Dark Lord, who didn't discern the bloodlust and spite that drove Bellatrix into taking custody of her nephew.
"I apologise, my Lord. I'm afraid I'm not thinking straight."
Tom's forehead creased, and Harry saw the residual rationality creep out.
"Yesss, child…" he hissed. "I am mossst dissspleasssed…" Draco cringed in the anticipation of Cruciatus, "…with my Lieutenants. Crucio." Bellatrix woke up screaming, trashing on the floor. Harry watched with a spark of sadistic – no doubt Tom-induced – interest.
Draco looked in that direction… and had to close his eyes immediately. His instincts were screaming at him, but he forced himself not to listen. His Aunt wasn't worthy of being his next Bestowed.
He felt a cold hand on his forehead.
"Crucio," repeated the Dark Lord and Bellatrix felt slack, whereas Rodolphus started screaming instead.
"Come on, Draco. Lets get you back to the fortress."
Draco gulped.
"I…"
"Shh."
They were already at the door, when the Dark Lord released the curse and turned to them.
"Stop."
Harry – suicidal idiot! – ignored him.
"Potter, you take one more step and I'll make sure Weasley will begin to regret his decision right now." Harry halted, and then slowly turned around, trying to make the move demand as little of Draco as possible.
"And what exactly makes you think I'm interested?" he snarled. "I tried to protect him – he hindered me. I-"
Voldemort smirked. The smirk, combined with the causuality as he argued with Harry, Draco unexpectedly saw a Slytherin in the Dark Lord. Perhaps, once upon a time, a young Tom Riddle was someone Draco Malfoy might have related to.
"I know you."
Harry shrugged his free shoulder and tonelessly pronounced: "Fuck."
The Dark Lord scoffed, but the sound bordered on a chuckle.
"I want to speak to you… tomorrow. For now, be aware that I accepted Weasley's offer to take custody of you. I need to be able to Crucio someone when you decide to not obey me again, don't I?"
"You're a sick- damn…" Harry's shoulders sagged, and Draco suddenly realised that they were supporting each other. How did Harry presume that they would transport themselves to the Fort, he had no idea.
"I see you understand your position."
Harry's eyes travelled to the eldest Weasley son. His brows furrowed, but he bit his tongue to avoid voicing another insult – which would this time cause the idiotic redhead to suffer under a pain curse.
"Yeah… Yeah, I understand."
The Dark Lord nodded, but, strangely, Draco detected no sense of accomplishment from the wizard.
"Perfect."
"My Lord-"
"Bill, don't you think you've messed up enough?" Harry asked softly. The redhead ignored him.
"William."
"My Lord, I would like to offer to adopt Draco Malfoy, too."
Harry jerked, and Draco ignored the pain in his wrist in favour of clutching his shoulder.
"Let me go, Draco, I'll kill him and we'll be free again," he muttered, shaking.
"You wouldn't do that," Draco objected. "That's Tom speaking. You wouldn't be able to."
"Why-"
The blond shook his head, and watched as Harry once again sagged.
"We'll deal with it."
Harry sniggered weakly and looked into the pair of narrowed grey eyes. They nodded to each other with mutual comprehension.
"Yeah. It's going to be alright."
They traded wry smiles. The Dark Lord had been apparently watching their interaction; he wordlessly bound the two Lestranges, and commanded the Weasley to come out of the shadows.
"That is an unexpected proposition. Would your wife accept that?"
"They're married?!" Harry exclaimed, ignored by everyone but Draco, who mirrored his puzzled expression. He had had no idea.
"Of course, my Lord," the Weasley replied, somewhat surprised by the question. Harry's and Voldemort's reactions cofirmed Draco's suspicion – that flaming idiot had just pulled Fleur down with him.
"Then I approve," the Dark Lord replied with barely-concealed humour.
Draco gently patted Harry's shoulder.
"I take it back. He is an idiot… I can't believe he dragged Fleur into it."
His friend glanced at him, looking incredibly old with grey hair and too many wrinkles.
"That's what I was saying all the time, Draco. He doesn't understand."
Draco's eyes widened.
"You mean he doesn't know…" That if either of them decided not to fight against the Light, it would cost Fleur her life?
Harry shook his head ruefully.
"Fuck."
D-N
The Dark Lord strode out of the Nigricans. Ever since he saw the state young Draco was in, the anger within him kept steadily rising. No matter how much Bellatrix and Rodolphus suffered, no matter how much Rabastan – brought into the basement by William a while later – scraped, and grovelled and pleaded and screamed, the persistent emotion wouldn't go away. He hated being controlled, and this controlled him.
It made him feel dangerous things, like gratefulness to Potter, and self-doubt, and… better stop there. If there were a more powerful Legilimens' in the neighbourhood, they would have noticed what went on inside his head, and that would be the end.
His mood sank further when he came face to face with Lucius, who was just about to cross the wards. This Malfoy had nothing to do there – and if he were truthful with himself he would have admitted that no Malfoy should have been there – and Tom definitely didn't want to see that arrogant aristocratic visage today.
"Lucius," he said evenly. The blond scraped to bow, but failed to kneel. The garden path was dusty and Malfoy's robe expensive, but it served to cement Tom's conviction that something fatal should befall the man. Preferably soon.
"My Lorrrd…"
And the deformation caused by Azkaban made Tom's long-since-abandoned instincts scream bloody murder. Lucius Malfoy was never to be trusted, but this was new – this was something that might hinder the Dark Lord's plans and the cause.
"What leads you to this site?" Tom asked, knowing perfectly that it was what Lucius wanted to ask of him. The Death Eater squirmed.
"Bellatrrrix was as kind to invite me forrr tea, my Lorrrd."
"Was she? And Narcissa could not come? I hope she is well?"
Lucius gulped.
"Well, my Lorrrd. She admits to missing herrr- missing Drrraco." This, Tom could believe. But he had a hunch as to what drew his once right-hand man to Nigricans, and a short glance into the slightly too-wide grey eyes ascertained his suspicion. Things did not bode well for this Malfoy.
"Bellatrix might appreciate your assistance, Lucius, though I expect she is not in the state to act as a hostess this afternoon. That is all."
He strode away from the man, rather glad he had dismissed William before his arrival. The day had been bad enough as it was, and it was not ending yet.
N-H
When the gate opened, Hermione jumped to her feet. It wasn't the best idea, because both her legs were asleep from the long wait. She had gone through a lot of different states of mind: mad at Harry, mad at Voldemort, and then mad at Snape to the point of shouting at him for being an insensitive brute. By this time she was merely worried, which was rather routine for anyone around Harry.
Two boys leaning on each other half-stumbled, half-stepped inside. She was suddenly glad that her fit of temper drove Snape away, because Malfoy obviously wasn't in a state to listen to Harry-bashing, which would have necessarily occurred.
"What happened?"
Harry glanced at her and smiled. Hermione gulped – this wasn't the sixteen-years-old boy who had fled Hogwarts three weeks ago. This… person had a face that was decades older, and grizzled hair. She was temporarily stunned – wordless, staring. Harry's smile widened as he spoke.
"The boss of this place let the Lestranges adopt Draco, and now we're in trouble because I had to pull a 'Boy Who Lived' to get Dray out of the place before he was flawed."
"Dray?!" exclaimed the blond in outrage. Hermione ignored him, filing the information away for later conversation and settling for berating who she finally decided was indeed her friend.
"Harry, sarcasm doesn't sound good from you." Which wasn't true. Sarcasm fit with the emaciated frame and aged face perfectly.
"That wasn't sarcasm, Mione," Harry replied benignly and led Malfoy towards the staircase. She rushed over to support them from Harry's side, still not feeling close enough to the Slytherin to put her arm around his shoulders.
"Oh, sure-"
"Trust him, Granger," Malfoy interposed with a sarcastic smirk. "This was not sarcasm." She looked into the grey eyes, for sincerity. It was there. She gasped.
"Oh, my… you do attract trouble, Harry, don't you?"
Malfoy grinned, then stepped wrong and screwed his face in pain. Harry barely caught him and Hermione gripped the railing to keep all three of them from falling.
"That was an understatement, if I ever heard one," the blond muttered through gritted teeth.
"Enough, guys," Harry cut in. "Draco, I know it hurts. It won't be long now. Mione, kindly hush for a moment and wait till I get my brother into shape."
"Brother?!"
The boys traded an uncertain glance. Harry shrugged.
"We weren't given much choice. But I don't really mind."
The girl lifted her hands in helpless surrender.
"Better than if you two were sleeping together, I suppose…"
They skidded to a halt at the same time and she lost her grip on Harry, taking two more steps forward. She spun to receive two identical awestruck glares.
"Hermione Granger!"
She put her hands on her hips and glared back.
"What? D'you think I'm blind?"
"She's bonkers," muttered Malfoy.
"Yeah."
Hermione followed them on their quest upstairs. She knew where they were headed, and understood their desire to get there as soon as possible, but that didn't give them an excuse to be so curt.
"Harry Potter, I've been waiting for you here for the past three hours, be so kind and give me a while of your time."
Harry opened the door to their bedroom and maneuvered the two of them inside. When she stepped in, he was helping Malfoy sit on his bed.
"I'm sorry, Mione," he said, raising his wand and trailing its tip past Malfoy's hand, wrist, forearm and elbow. She couldn't help but notice that the blond's face lost some of the strain.
"This was just… more pressing. Still is."
Hermione sighed.
"I know. You can't stand seeing people suffer, right?" Malfoy smirked at her over Harry's head. He was right. It was a redundant question. "Well then, lets get to it. I might as well help you."
H-N
Harry was sitting on the cold tile of the hall's floor. The corner he had found for himself was behind Tom's throne and so shadowed, that only those with the sharpest eyes could see him huddled there. Perhaps half an hour ago, when a clock somewhere in the vicinity struck midnight, he had closed his eyes, and just listened.
This room was a rather interesting place to be, whether something was happening or not. This time there was no particular meeting, only several small and little relevant auditions, and Harry's mind drifted from presence to the recent past, mainly focusing on Draco. Mione had to return shortly after they had put Draco to sleep, and he let her go before Snape came to retrieve her. He didn't feel like seeing the Potions Master today.
He was brought out of his reminiscence when the Dark Lord sent everyone away and the handful of last Death Eaters scrambled to leave as fast as their legs carried them to escape Voldemort's irritation. The fires went out. In the semi-darkness and silence following the crash of the gates being shut, Tom laid back against the wood behind him, and called for Nagini. The snake didn't respond.
"I know I ordered you to come and speak with me today, but I didn't mean so early today."
Tom sounded tired. It had been a long day, for both of them and many other people. It was the highest time to go to sleep, and Harry had no idea what it was that kept them still in the room. He didn't want to talk. He wanted to seeth for a while, sleep on it, and start another day with a big, cheerful, fake smile.
But that was an illusion, and the darkened room, cold stone, quiet, and exhausted Dark Lord with an army of inner demons dancing in circles around both of them were real.
"You didn't know, did you?" Harry asked quietly.
"I didn't."
He stood up, walked into the starlit part of the hall and approached the throne, eventually leaning forward and resting his elbows on the backrest. Tom was tall; the throne obscured him whole but for the top of his skull. Harry followed the line of his gaze and stared into the darkness.
"He's going to be alright."
"Only because you went after him." There was a certain thoughtful quality in his voice, and for a while it sounded as though the Dark Lord was experiencing an onslaught of his own humanity. He, too, was fallible, and not entirely without emotions, though Harry doubted there was any way to revive his conscience.
"How is it, Harry, that you know my followers so much better than I do?"
"Tom, I know people better than you do. You see them as tools – perfectly predictable. But they're not…" Harry's eyes prickled. "They're not," he repeated under his breath.
Tom faced around in his seat, almost gently pulled the boy closer, and cupped his face.
"Someone hurt you," he stated with a mixture of wrath and – maybe – regret.
Harry scoffed.
"A lot of people hurt me. You hurt me. It never matters." He knelt, laying his palms on the arm-rest on that side, and looked up at the Dark Lord. "Tom, people are bound to act irrationally. Bellatrix is insane. She has no children. Did you ever care to think about why?" Obviously not. "Because she slaughters every being she has any modicum of control over. You handed her a doll, and she does not dress her dolls. She destroys them."
The wizard frowned; his crimson eyes darkened.
"Am I so limited?" It was the first time ever Tom sounded not quite self-assured. Harry thought he might have heard a hint of fear in the question… it shocked him, and confused him… Why would the Dark Lord bare his weakness in front of his archenemy?
Then he took in the entire scene and shook his head. They must have been the weirdest set of archenemies ever.
"There is a great part of the world you never noticed. The one that makes life worth living. You were so focused on power itself… but power never did and never will make you happy."
Tom smoothed Harry's hair out of his face and played with a stray lock for a moment before pushing it behind his ear. The touch still hurt, but the boy refused to be conquered by pain.
"You're not exactly happy yourself."
Harry laughed quietly. It was a dry laugh, harsh and unforgiving.
"I sought happiness, I craved it… but it was banned. I was shown what I could have, and then it was taken from me. That's enough to drive one insane."
"You're not insane. I am."
"Oh, but we can never be sure. Maybe you are the sane one, and the rest of the world is gone bonkers? It would make sense… in a way, you're doing things logically. The rest of the world is… well, illogical. Doesn't that translate as insane?"
Tom retracted his hand, scowled again, and turned away. The expression – Harry noticed – ironically made him seem less reptilian.
"I spoke to you to clear my confusion-"
"And I only confused you worse." Harry stood up and set out on the way back to the bedroom. "But then again, does it surprise you? It's only words, Tom. They mean nothing. Or very little." He rubbed his forehead. "Except that they're enough to change the world…"
"You were right," Tom replied coldly. "You are not sane."
"I just… I just want to die, Tom. That's all. Just let me die, and-"
"No."
Harry sighed and hung his head.
"Goodnight, Tom."
N-N
Harry stood in front of the mirror, gazing into the eyes of his reflection. They used to be malachite - like a stone so polished that it shone, but dead within. Now they were the colour of leaves, perhaps not so radiant anymore, but there was life behind them. He wondered where it came from.
It hit him after he parted from Tom at night; upon returning to the bedroom and falling on his bed, the scene repeated itself in his mind over and over, no matter how much he had wished to just sleep. Yesterday had been a strenuous day…
'It' – the reason why he was once again staring at Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was that something inside him shifted when he hung on the cross. He was sure he was going to die. Once again, it did not work out. He felt different. Most importantly, after telling Tom that he wanted to die, he realised it was not the truth.
He wanted… something. He didn't know what, but not death. And the uncertainty and confusion was the irrational moment of life he had lacked before. He briefly glanced at the Boy Who Lived and smirked.
Since Friday, Harry Potter was back. Or, perhaps, for the first time there. He would, of course, have to battle with all the other shards of himself, but now he had a chance. The only thing that remained was to find out whether he was, or was not sane.