The secret of Vauxhall Road
Author's note: It was really, really difficult for me to come up with a name for this chapter, because several important things will be revealed here. So I decided to pick out the one which I – after a long consideration - found the most acceptable. As usual, I also have a message for my reviewers: I love you guys! Thanks for amazing reviews. I hope you'll find this chapter as entertaining and interesting as the previous one.
*****
Crowborough, Southern England
22nd December 2000, 17:40
"Harry ... Harry, wake up..."
Harry Potter, the twenty-year-old wizard with possibly the craziest and hardest life experiences of all people in his age, softly groaned.
"Harry..."
Someone was patting his face. At first he didn't care, but as the burning feeling of his left cheek multiplied, it quickly began to annoy him.
"Huh ... Ron, stop it, I'm awake," he muttered, his eyes still closed.
"Harry?"
And he was awake – or at least awake enough to realize that this voice didn't belong to his best friend. He looked up instantly and met a pair of kind brown eyes. The man above him smiled and sat back in a chair.
"Feeling better after your nap?"
Harry hurriedly rubbed his burning eyes beneath his glasses and tried to remember what happened.
"Daniel..." he began and looked around. "What ... what am I doing on a sofa?"
The doctor sighed, gazing at the raven-haired youngster reproachfully.
"You fainted, Harry. When I think about it now, it should not have surprise me that much. From the very beginning you were the worst kind of patient. Instead of taking a proper rest you'd wandered around the hospital and searched for your friend. And now this. Remember, you're still exhausted, don't overstrain yourself!"
"I ... fainted?" Harry stammered as his memories gradually returned to him.
"Yes, drink this. It should help you to regain energy."
Harry took a steaming cup from the doctor's large hands and sniffed the aroma of sweet chocolate.
"Thank you," he breathed of and sipped the hot beverage. He would relax immediately if there wasn't a strange nagging feeling in his head, urging him to ask something very important. It had to be about what Daniel said before.
"My ... my friend? You said my friend?" He sat up with a tremendous start and almost spilled the chocolate over himself.
Mr. Rodgers nodded, got up and seized a large package from a chair behind him.
"Yes, your friend. But no need to worry, Harry. Mr. Moore is upstairs. He didn't disappear anywhere." There was a tension in the doctor's voice when he said it and Harry could not overhear it.
"He's still here ... he didn't ... he didn't..." Unconsciously, his hand wandered upwards and squeezed his throat. "I don't understand it," he muttered, his stare dull and unfocused. "I really..." Harry's hands started to tremble, making the cup rattle in the saucer. The sound of it broke through his bewilderment. He shook his head, promptly finished the drink and tried to get up.
"I don't understand it," he repeated when his attempt to stand up failed and he heavily sank back to cushions. "What did he do ... what did he say ... after I ... fainted?" he asked haltingly, afraid to look the other man in the eyes.
"Nothing," Mr. Rodgers replied and shrugged his shoulders. "I wanted to start a conversation, but he only asked one thing. He wanted to know whether you really saved his life or not – and when I said yes he turned away and left. That's all."
"Oh Merlin!" Harry howled and palmed is face. "How could you say it, Daniel?-!"
The doctor looked at him doubtfully. "Honestly Harry, I'm confused. Why should I lie? What's the problem? Maybe if you explained what's going on, I would understand better. Because, I couldn't help but notice that Mr. Moore wasn't thrilled about it either."
Harry forced himself to take a deep, steady breath. He closed his eyes and rubbed small circles into his temples.
"No ... no, I'm sorry Daniel. Forget it, please. This is just one of our ... little private dissensions. We'll try to settle it, okay?"
Daniel nodded, immediately looking relieved. "Perfect," he said and handed Harry the bulky package he held under his arm. "Here are your clothes. It's washed and dried, Alice also tried to repair it but some garments were torn to pieces. I'm sorry if something's missing."
"Thank you, Daniel," Harry whispered and with a doctor's help he finally rose to his feet.
"By the way, where's your wife and daughter?" he asked as he was led towards the stairs. He tried the best not to sound fearful for them. Fortunately, Daniel didn't notice.
"They were in the living room when I saw them last. I guess they are preparing decorations for Christmas tree. I also think that Alice is writing down a list of items which I'm supposed to buy tomorrow. I bet she's happy that I took a day off and promised to take you to London. Otherwise she would have to go there by herself."
"At least someone's happy," Harry murmured.
"Sorry?" Daniel asked, but Harry just waved his hand. "Ah, nothing. If you excuse me now I have something to discuss with eh ... Walter."
"Sure," the other man smiled and turned away. "The dinner is at seven, okay?"
"Yeah..." Harry watched him leave and then he mustered the courage to climb the stairs and face the unavoidable.
He halted right before the door to Annie's room and took a deep breath. As he stood there it occurred to him that he had absolutely no idea what he was going to say once he entered. At least one thing he knew for certain. He'd rather have a month of detentions with Snape than spending one minute in Riddle's presence, especially after recent events. After several excruciating seconds he forced himself to seize the door knob and turn it. The door opened with a soft click and revealed the darkness inside.
Harry had to gather the rest of his resolve to step inside. It couldn't go unnoticed by him that he wasn't in the same small silly pink bedroom which Daniel showed him hours ago. It felt cold and different and it made him uneasy.
"Voldemort?" he asked quietly, desperately wishing for his eyesight to accommodate to the lack of light. He didn't close the door in case he would need to back off quickly; still the light coming from the hall provided only minimal illumination.
Instinctively, he reached for a light switch.
Just as his fingers swept over the white box he heard a well-known cold voice.
"Don't touch it, Potter."
That was a very effective way to freeze him.
"Or shall I say, my friend?"
Harry didn't breathe, he didn't move, he only desperately searched for the source of that voice. Finally, he found it. Two gleaming red eyes closely observing him from a dark corner. His knees immediately turned to jelly and he felt strong shivers running up and down his spine.
"Tell me, Harry, do you feel better now, when the truth is out?" Voldemort said softly, quietly with a slight mocking undertone. He moved and stopped by the window, where Harry distinguished a shape of his tall, gaunt figure.
The younger wizard forced himself to break his congealment and said.
"Look, I came here to explain that stupid misunderstanding. Don't listen to Daniel and his wife; they both have a very biased opinion about what had happened."
The short silence was broken by the Dark Lord again.
"I'm quite certain that those filthy muggles told the truth. Rodgers did only his job when he helped me – unlike you, Potter. You voluntarily carried your mortal enemy for over two miles. Care to explain that?"
Damn, damn, damn, was all Harry could think at the moment.
"I ... I don't know why I did it, okay? I was exhausted; I couldn't think normally, I was only listening to my instincts and ... and..."
Voldemort quickly, fluently stepped closer. Unconsciously, Harry retreated.
"So, your instincts told you to save me."
He could see him better now, the shape of his flattened serpentine face and his pallor gleaming through the semidarkness. "Your hero complex is affecting you more then I thought. When you have no one around to protect, you don't mind helping your enemies."
"That's not truth!" Harry sputtered. Voldemort curiously tilted his head to one side.
"Isn't it?" he whispered.
"Just ... just don't make me regret it," Harry retorted, running short of arguments.
"If I killed you right now, you wouldn't have time to regret it, would you?" the other man said slyly, making Harry grit his teeth. The anger rose in him again.
"Too late, you missed your chance! I'm awake and don't intend to make my death easy for you."
To his surprise the Dark Lord ceased advancing on him and resumed his post by the window.
"Oh yes, I missed a chance indeed, but you missed greater one, didn't you?"
Harry looked at the floor, desperately thinking about what to say, but no ideas were coming. The silence prolonged and it seemed that none of them could break it. In the end it was the Dark Lord who spoke again.
"Potter, this is a serious matter. You act very strange. Do you realize that what you did would be considered as the worst kind of treachery among the members of your beloved Order?"
Harry never looked at it from this point of view. It was quite scary to realize that Voldemort was absolutely right.
"Moreover, I've never expected you to act against the prophecy. Aren't you supposed to defeat me, boy?"
Harry slowly, uncertainly moved toward the center of the room.
"I don't care about the prophecy. It's your obsession, not mine." He noticed that the Dark Lord looked at him again, but didn't speak.
"And I saved you because I felt I owe you that. And I couldn't live with a thought of having any obligation towards you. This is the truth. Deal with it the best you can."
Voldemort kept his gaze longer than the youngster found pleasant. Only when he started to visibly fidget Riddle looked away.
"This is so absurd," he said, his voice low, but still very clear. "All of this is absurd. The cave, the hospital, this ridiculous house and most of all you."
He stared out of the window, his long fingers clutching and releasing a white curtain.
"You didn't owe me a thing, idiot. Only a moron like you would think something like that."
With Voldemort's growing perplexity Harry felt his own diminish. He made few courageous steps forward.
"Are you trying to tell me that you didn't deserve to be saved? Funny, I didn't expect this one coming from you."
"Potter, you-!"
"Forget it," Harry said and smirked at Riddle's gloomy face. "Oh, you see - I almost forgot that I brought you something!" He raised the big package and held it at a level of his eyes.
The Dark Lord's sour expression changed into suspicious one.
"I think you'll like it unless you became fond of your current clothes."
"Brat," Voldemort barked but grasped the pack, tearing the soft paper to pieces. He had to be pleasantly surprised when his eyes glanced over his cleaned, repaired black robes. Meanwhile Harry rummaged through the heap of clothes and found his jeans and shirt. He was however disappointed that his pullover was missing. He didn't intend to use it again, particularly because Voldemort had a pleasure of wearing it, but it would be quite a fun to remind the bastard his promise. What a pity. He sighed and gathered his clothes instead. It was soft and smelled so nicely that he couldn't wait to have it on.
Briskly he began to undress himself.
It was just a couple of seconds later when he heard a stifled gasp echoing in the small room. He glanced back and saw Voldemort glaring at him with an evident disapproval in his eyes.
"What?" he bristled, scowling more than the Dark Lord.
"What do you think you're doing, Potter?" the older man hissed venomously.
Harry already wearing nothing but undies quickly retorted.
"Changing my clothes - obviously. What's your problem?"
"You are my problem, Potter. Go change somewhere else!"
"You mean you want me to run around this house in my briefs only because you've never seen another naked man before?"
"GET OUT!"
Harry snorted in resentment, grabbed his clothes and stumbled toward the exit. He stopped right there and turned at Riddle whose sanguine eyes persecuted him.
"Who's a moron here," he spat and slammed the door shut.
*****
London
22nd December 2000, 16:20
It got warmer. The wind blew from southwest, bringing more humid air. When finally started to rain, the over-cooled ground formed a glazed frost over pavements and streets, causing car accidents and traffic jams practically at every corner.
In the older part of the city aside pre-Christmas buying craze of the main streets, an old purple triple-decker bus came to a sudden halt. One would expect that this unusual vehicle would raise attention, but none of few pedestrians who passed by took even a simple glance. They also ignored a small group of people who got off and hurried to the side as the bus drove away and with a loud bang disappeared.
"Let's go kids, hurry up," Molly Weasley whispered and with fearful expression hurried to the front, leading the group together with her husband towards the Grimmauld Place.
"Mom, we're not five year old," George rolled his eyes, but followed nevertheless.
"Gosh, how I hate traveling by a Knight Bus. It gives me bruises all over my body," Ron huffed from somewhere behind him, rubbing his sore waist. "Hermione, what do you think...?" He looked around, searching for his girlfriend.
"Hermione?" he asked again.
"She's here."
Shacklebolt, who seemed to be closing the short procession, cast some spell to protect them from rain and wind. Then he stepped aside and revealed the young witch, who had her nose buried in some paper again.
"Don't tell me that you're reading that letter again," Ron complained and she shot him a glare before she looked back at the sheet illuminated by the tip of her wand.
"You don't understand it," she sighed and her eyes skimmed over the lines again.
"Every time I read this I feel as if I'm missing something important. For a brief moment I have it within a grasp and then it slips again."
"Hermione, maybe this letter isn't as important as we think. For all we know we can't even confirm that the Leader is the one who wrote this nonsense. So..."
"Would you two stop discussing this topic while we're outside?" Percy bristled and looked around suspiciously. "Leave it until we are safely at home."
Hermione cast a glance in Percy's direction and then stabbed Ron with her fierce look.
"I don't see you coming with some better ideas," she spoke in much quieter voice than before. Then she turned to the previous Minister.
"Kingsley, if you don't mind I'd like to ask you if you ever heard anything of Vauxhall."
Shacklebolt looked at her briefly and his eyebrows furrowed from intense thinking.
"Vauxhall? No ... I'm not aware of hearing that name before. What should it be?"
Hermione shook her head.
"I'm not sure. I found it imprinted in this paper and I hoped that you could help me puzzle it out. Honestly, this is really strange. Why it is just me who find this name so painfully familiar?"
"Is that the Romanian letter you stole from the Leader's apartment?" Kingsley asked and before he obtained a positive reply he continued. "Hmm ... Vauxhall ... it doesn't sound much Romanian to me,"
"No, it doesn't..." Hermione mumbled quietly. Her forehead wrinkled as she thought about it over and over. "But the Leader could always write that letter here, not necessarily in Romania."
In the meantime they approached their well-protected base. Arthur pulled out his wand and tapped on the black, shabby door once. Something metallic clicked inside and a moment later the door opened wide and let them step inside.
Hermione wasn't paying attention to anything around her, not even to Ron who helped her out of her coat.
"Vauxhall, Vauxhall," she only repeated over and over as if she invented a very intriguing magical formula. That was enough for the ginger headed youngster to run out of his patience and lose his temper.
"Hermione, would you please stop saying that!" he sputtered. "Obviously it's not helping! It's not getting us anywhere! For all we know the Leader or whoever wrote that trash could easily tear that worthless piece of paper from whatever insignificant diary he found and you are just wasting your time because of its misinterpreted content!"
He took several deep breaths, surprised by a sudden silence. They often had lover quarrels, but never before Hermione stared at him like that. Then her eyes flooded with tears. She looked like she was going to break into tears and Ron already started to fabricate the complicated apologies when she jumped forward and hugged him fiercely.
"Ron," she sobbed. "Ron, I love you. You're a genius!"
"Wh ... what?" he coughed, trying to catch his breath. To his ultimate shock she kissed him loudly on cheek and hugged him again.
"This is it, Ron, this is it! It's the diary! I knew it all the time! I just couldn't sew the pieces together! Vauxhall Road, Ron! Vauxhall Road was a store in London where Tom Riddle bought his diary! How could I be so stupid?-!"
Everyone around watched the scene in an astounded silence. But Hermione didn't care; she turned on the spot and sprinted upward to Harry's bedroom with Ron upon her heels. He was too far from understanding what happened yet.
The young witch didn't wait for him; she hastily flung the door open and began to rummage in Harry's things.
"Her-Hermione, what are you doing?" Ron gasped and rubbed his aching side.
"It must be here, it must be somewhere here...," she talked to herself as she continued to disarray the room.
"Hermione!"
She looked at him and snapped her fingers.
"Right, a luggage."
She got on her knees and pulled out Harry's old school trunk from beneath the bed. With a flick of her wand she opened it and immediately noticed a black cover of a small, damaged book, which was half covered by the junk inside. She mindlessly pushed aside something what suspiciously reminded a piece of old, dried snake's skin and seized the book carefully.
"Look, here it is," she whispered with a hint of insecurity in her voice.
"Hermione, can you explain me what's going on?" Ron insisted as he knelt beside her.
"Yes, I think I finally can," she whispered and showed him the book with a nasty hole in the middle. "You know what it is?"
Ron rolled his eyes. "Of course. It's You-Know-Who's old diary. The one that Harry destroyed in the Chamber. I'm not that dim! What's wrong with it?"
"I'll show you," she whispered and opened the book. "Because if I'm correct, we are going to find out that one page in his diary is missing."
"What?-!" Ron yelped.
"Look at this," Hermione unfolded the letter and indeed, the size, the paper quality and also its color seemed to be equal. Ron felt his chin slack as he watched his girlfriend list through blackened, perforated pages.
Finally, on the very last sheet she halted.
"Just as I thought," she whispered and her shaking finger pointed at the book's binding. Without a doubt there used to be another page. Carefully, she took the letter from her lap and with her unsteady hand slowly brought it together.
It fitted perfectly.
"Oh Merlin," Ron moaned incredulously. "This is – this is not possible!"
"S ... Someone," Hermione stammered, quickly constructing a bold theory, "someone had to tear it out of this book before Harry destroyed it. Someone, who wrote this text..."
Ron still shook his head, refusing to believe his eyes.
After short pause Hermione continued.
"This couldn't be done by just anyone... It had to be a powerful wizard to cause such damage to his Horcrux. If it really was the Leader, then it completely changes the situation..."
Slowly she closed the book and looked at Ron.
"If the Leader ripped that page off Voldemort's Horcrux he could hardly be his ally. Maybe he has really nothing to do with Harry's disappearance. Maybe ... it's time to openly ask him whose side he's on."
*****
London, the Ministry of Magic
22nd December 2000, 15:40
"Good afternoon, Dolores."
Dolores Jane Umbridge, the current Minister for Magic, almost jumped from her luxury seat. Her stubby fingers dug into the hard surface of the desk.
"Leader," she replied calmly once she composed herself. "I wasn't expecting you this late. To what do I owe the pleasure of your little delayed visit?" she asked with a fake politeness. Lately she couldn't help but feel strange in his presence. Threatened was the best word to describe it, still she couldn't say why.
The tall, black-hooded man wordlessly took a seat on the other side of her table. Once comfortably seated, he spoke.
"My apologies, Minister. I'm terribly sorry for my late arrival, which was caused by an urgent compulsory service."
"Was it more urgent than a meeting with the Minster?" Dolores inquired and tapped her fingers against the wooden surface. She couldn't possibly see Negura smirk beneath his cape.
"Certainly not. My mistake, Minister," he replied softly and charmed her with his remorseful voice.
"I brought you a report," he said suddenly and leaned over the table to hand her a parchment, "but as I see I'm not the only one."
"No, you are not," she said sharply and pressed her palm to the pile documents before her.
"I have heard and read about very bad news concerning you, Leader. I'm curious how you will explain them," she continued, eyeing him suspiciously.
"Ah, what a sad coincidence! I'm also afraid that I can't cheer you up today," Negura responded, his voice still light but not enough to make her suspicious.
"Very well, speak first. What is it you came to tell me?" she asked directly and straightened her back to keep a superior pose.
The more stiff and reserved she grew the more relaxed and carefree the Leader seemed to be. He crossed his legs and leaned his head against the rest.
"We caught two Death Eaters today, Draco and Lucius Malfoy to be precise," he began. "I know this is not entirely bad, but the problem is that they refuse to tell us certain things, even under the Veritaserum. How unfortunate. We have a secret base of the Dark Lord within reach and still it slips through our fingers."
"And this is the worst message you wanted to report to me?" she asked strictly, her lips forming a thin line as she hold back her anger.
"It's not all...," Negura whispered, his pleasant tone slowly drifting away.
"I have something more interesting for you," she butted in, seized the pile of sheets from the table and handed them over. "Read," she ordered. Negura calmly took it and began to list through the reports.
"Hmm, really, you were right, Minister. This is much more interesting reading. So there are hundreds of vampires on the Ministry and I'm the one who's responsible for this?" he said, sounding slightly amused.
"Now, you really don't believe that, do you?" he asked kindly but the toad-like woman was too stubborn.
"Prove me otherwise now, or get ready to be transported to Azkaban vault."
Negura sighed and his face turned sour for a second. There was also a dangerous gleam in his eyes before he smiled politely and took her hand between his.
Umbridge gasped when she felt a warm tingling on the place where their skin touched. She looked at him wide-eyed as he slowly lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the top of her ugly fingers.
"Tell me, Dolores, am I a vampire?"
"Ah ... eh ... of course no," she stammered, her lumpy face turning as pink as the ribbon under her thick neck. "But...," she began.
Negura stopped her as he slowly stood up and straightened his back.
"Naturally, I know about those bloodsucking freaks at your Ministry. If you let me finish my report I would explain everything," he said, his face blank and serious. "As I questioned Malfoys, I managed to obtain certain revelations. They told me that the Dark Lord is back and regained his previous powers. They also said that there is something here, in this very building, what he desires so much that he was willing to collaborate with vampires to obtain it." Negura turned his back to her, so she couldn't catch a single glance of his face, but she didn't even try as it was the last thing which bothered her at the moment.
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back. How could he survive it?-! How could he get out?-! But now when it happened ... that also means that he will come for his Elder Wand! I am in a mortal peril! Dolores was a mere step from a hysterical fit, repeatedly clutching the cursed wand in her trembling hand.
"You don't need to worry, Dolores," Negura finally turned to face her again. "I know how to play these games. I will eventually turn the vampires against him and then get rid of them all. He will lose. Trust me, I'll deal with this. I will protect you and the Ministry."
Dolores, paler than ever before, slowly stumbled over to him.
"Thank you, Leader," she whispered weakly. "I ... I'm so sorry that I didn't believe you first. It was so stupid of me to distrust you after everything you've done for me." She hugged him and he didn't protest.
"Forgive me my precipitation. You surely know what to do. You're the best. Just ask whatever you need and if I can help it, it's yours."
Right after that she buried her face to his chest and missed her chance to see the most evil smile distorting Dragomir's handsome face.
*****
Crowborough, Southern England
22nd December 2000, 18:50
Before Harry returned to Annie's room, he was quite satisfied. He managed to find a bathroom, where he took a long hot shower (only with Daniel approval of course) and even though it required some acrobatics not to wash his plaster, it was worth the effort. Now when he was freshly shaved and his unruly black hair finally dry, he missed only very few things to a full contentment. The first one was his jeans. It was just his bad luck that they didn't fit around the plaster. Fortunately, Daniel lent him a training suit for tonight. Tomorrow he'll have to deal with his favorite trousers by cutting their leg. Second were his new glasses. He still couldn't inure to their shape and number of diopters. He only began to realize how much he missed the old ones. The constant headache he felt reminded him times when his scar used to torment him so much. And the last but not the least of his problems was the Dark Lord. Harry knew very well that the rest of his good temper will be gone for good the moment he reentered Annie's bedroom – Voldemort's new kingdom.
But he had no choice. It was only ten minutes until the dinner and the great Lordship still didn't deign to come downstairs. Alice offered that she'll go and fetch him, but Harry quickly refused as he was the only one who knew that it wouldn't be a good idea.
So he climbed the stairs again and halted in front of the door like before. However, this time he felt only a fraction of previous anxiety. Deciding to be polite this time he knocked before stepping in.
"Voldemort?" he asked and peeped inside. "Dinner is will be served within few minutes so if you want to eat something then you should come along."
No response.
"Voldemort?" Harry tried again, moving further in and closing the door behind him. Once again he had to wait for his eyes to accommodate to the darkness.
"Potter."
Harry did his best not to let the latter know how startled he was for a fraction of second.
"Are you coming then?" he quickly asked.
Silence.
"Fine, sit here and sulk, that suits you the best."
"Bring me the dinner here," came oh so pleasant response.
Harry gritted his teeth in annoyance.
"Forget it, Riddle! If I recall, you're supposed to act like we're getting along! But from my point of view, you didn't even start to pretend. Don't you see how horribly unsociable it is from you to sit here and ignore your hosts? Even Mr. Rodgers began to notice that something's wrong with you."
Voldemort rose to his feet, his body casting a threatening shadow in a soft light coming through the window. Once he spoke the room temperature dropped a few degrees.
"I want to kill that muggle, Potter. I want to kill him, his wife, his child and on the top of that you. Tell me, boy, is something wrong with me?"
Harry realized that no one else but Voldemort could bring him from absolute calmness to the state of utmost fury by a single sentence.
"You are SICK!" he spat and bit his lip to hold back a tirade of insults.
The older wizard paid him no attention. He slowly sat into a small armchair and stretching his long fingers. "Shut your loud mouth, Potter. Besides, I don't intend to do it. Killing you wouldn't help me to get out of here. It would be just a reckless wasting of my energy." His scorching gaze scrutinized the pictures of Disney princesses on the cover he was sitting on.
"If only being in this muggle den wasn't so frustrating," he hissed quietly. "I wish I could apparate from here this instant. This is beyond humiliating..."
Harry had just enough of his haughty rant.
"Go on then! Apparate. But don't ask me to retrieve your splinched ass!" he snapped furiously and turned to leave and let the bastard rot alone with his evil thoughts.
"Potter?"
Harry didn't know what made him stop, but he did and now he glared at his enemy from a doorsill.
"What?" he barked.
"Before you bring me a dinner, I ... require your assistance." Except that shortest halt the Dark Lord's voice was so calm and elated, that if Harry were a Death Eater he would sank to his knees and crawl towards him on all fours.
Harry, however, wasn't his bootlicker, so he merely froze in shock on the spot.
"What?" he choked, agape.
The Dark Lord remained seated, unmoving, filling the space with a livid aura.
"You've heard me, brat. Come closer."
Harry slowly, cautiously approached him.
"Is this by any chance your way of asking for help?" he inquired from a safe distance. A single glance of furious blood red eyes was the only reply he received.
"Lovely," Harry whispered and stepped a little closer. "So, what do you need?" he sneered.
"Untie it without any stupid comments," the Dark Lord ordered and pointed at his back where Harry immediately noticed the source his troubles. Voldemort still wore hospital clothes which were now creased and lacerated from what had to be a violent attempt to remove them. Harry remembered having no problems to shed his own, but unlike Voldemort he could use both hands. He simply untied the first knot and pulled the garment over his head. The Dark Lord couldn't do this. His left arm was fixated in a plaster and untying those tight knots with only one hand was clearly past his abilities. How spent he had to be when his magic couldn't deal even with a trifle like this?
Harry smirked. Who would have thought that the same man who kicked him out for changing in the same room would ask this kind of a help?
He was more than tempted to leave Riddle like this.
"Potter," Voldemort spoke lowly, his voice even colder than usual. "If you ever mention this to anyone, I mean anyone, brat, I assure you that you'll meet the worst fate."
"Oh, don't worry," Harry chuckled, enjoying the Dark Lord's indignity, "even if I wanted to talk about this I really doubt I would find a person who would believe me."
Harry moved over to where the latter sat and placed his palms on the bony shoulders. He felt Riddle tense as if suffering an electrical shock.
"You don't usually turn your back on your enemies, do you?" the younger wizard inquired as he set to work.
"I said spare me your comments, Potter," Voldemort hissed, glancing over his shoulder to see what Harry was doing.
"Hmm," Harry mumbled and tried to undo an overly constricted node.
A moment later he finally succeeded and revealed a patch of milky white skin. He skimmed his finders over it just to make the other more nervous. When Riddle recoiled, he briskly began unlace the next one, which he managed to disentangle within a couple of seconds. He was dealing with the third when he noticed something strange on the man's back. He took a closer look at something what looked like an ornament inscribed into the snowy skin. It occurred to him that it could be the tattoo which Nurse Ross found so fascinating. Excited by this new discovery he sped up undressing his companion.
"That's enough, Potter," Voldemort ordered coldly, but Harry didn't listen. He pushed the fabric aside to admire that tattoo masterpiece which covered half of the Dark Lord's back.
He couldn't believe what he saw. He expected many things, but nothing like this.
Astonished, he surveyed a pair of gorgeous wings which lay before his eyes. Every single feather was beautifully portrayed to the most precise detail. It looked so real, so angelic, that Harry couldn't resist the need to feel a texture of it.
His fingers moved closer on their own accord.
"This is ... amazing," he muttered breathlessly, glancing between the tattoo and the profile of the Dark Lord's emotionless face.
Voldemort stayed silent. He waited. Harry waited too. His curiosity won in the end. Slowly, carefully he touched it and then caressed its outline with his fingertips. It was soft like a silk and unexpectedly warm. Harry began to feel a slight, pleasant tingling in his hand and also strange burning feeling in his chest. Surprised that he forgot to breathe he quickly sucked in the air.
The serpentine wizard watched him over his shoulder all the time, quiet and still. His rigid body couldn't possibly tense any more.
When he finally spoke, his voice didn't betray anything.
"I said that's enough."
The sound of his high, chilly voice snatched Harry from his enthrallment.
The younger man quickly stepped back, his cheeks slightly reddened from embarrassment. He couldn't believe what he had done. It was something unthinkable, scandalous, egregious... How could he ... how could he...? But still...
"Eh," he cleared the throat and rubbed his burning palms against his shirt. Voldemort looked away, calm and distant and for some reason Harry couldn't tear his eyes off him.
"I don't know what it is or for what purpose you have it on your back, but ... from where I stand you look almost like a fallen angel. And that's unbelievably accurate, isn't it?"
Except the slightest twitch of pallid lips the other man didn't move.
"Even fallen angels have a chance to redeem themselves. Never forget that. Dumbledore told me that you still can..."
The blood red eyes looked up at him, blank and hateful, and Harry immediately hushed up. He took two steps backward, anxious and also a little sad.
"Daniel and Alice are waiting," he muttered in a queasy voice. "So if you want your dinner, you have to come downstairs, because I won't bring you anything up here."
When that awkward silence continued, Harry decided that the only wise thing he could do was to leave the Dark Lord alone.
With a sigh and one last glance he backed off the room.
R&R