Chapter 25: Two Lessons

Here's another chapter right after the last one to make up for all the time it took to upload between chapter 23 and 24. You're welcome.

She thought it had been forever. She thought decades upon decades of her life were taken away from her, sucked from her body, ripped from her soul. She thought she had lived there half her life, letting it all slip away, down the drain, with the wind. She thought she would die there. She thought that she would bleed every last drop, breathe her last breath, and he would watch as the light left her eyes.

It had been five years.

"Five ghastly long years…" she spoke quietly to herself as she wrapped her arms around her, still feeling bare and vulnerable, even underneath the sweater and pants she now wore.

"Janet," Harry said, sticking his head through the front door of the Burrow. "Are you alright?"

With a sniffle, she shook her head. The things she had been through…the things she had done. Five years ago, she had been an ordinary girl, almost on her way to her first chance to be an actress. She had been twenty-three and naïve. No one had hardly ever given her more than a glance. And then this man came along, beautiful and tall, with elegant language and a look of recognition in his eyes. She had thought it was a pick-up line, pretending that he knew her. After a while, she went along with it, hoping it would progress into something further. She had never been with any man before, and the thought of skipping out on one that was interested in her seemed like a waste.

She had thought they hit it off, talking like they had known each other for years. Little did she know that Thomas was a madman. It hadn't been until he had kidnapped her that he had even given her the impression that something was really wrong with him. Janet looked back on it now and wondered what happened when she never turned up for her audition. Most of all, she wondered what would have happened to her if she had turned Thomas away and went to her audition later that week. Would she have a job? Would she be famous, by now? She would never know.

Harry came and sat beside her. "I can't imagine what it must have been like," he said softly. "I suppose, it would be much worse than waking up one day without a purpose in life." He shook his head. "That's what I've been trying to avoid since the beginning of this year."

Janet said nothing.

"I didn't know about you, otherwise I would have been there in a heartbeat to save you. But I didn't. It was all still in the process, that plan of his…" Harry sighed. He turned at looked at her, though she did not look back. "It'll never go away. The only promise I can give you is that every obstacle will make it harder." Harry looked down at his lap. "But you've got to be brave. You've got to be stronger than every obstacle and tell them they won't tear you down. And some will listen, but others will try their hardest to knock you down. And when you fall," Harry looked up and met her milky brown eyes, "you've got to get back up and keep at it. If you don't, you'll let the good things in your life walk away."

With that, Harry stood and entered back into the house, gently closing the door behind him and leaving Janet to her thoughts.

"How is she doing?" Hermione asked from the couch where she was wrapped in a blanket, still shaking. She had been asleep not moments before his departure outside.

"How are you doing, Hermione?" Harry came over beside her and sat on the arm of the couch.

She sighed. "Physically? Quite better. Mrs. Weasley has been fussing about me all day." She gave a small smile. "She really is a blessing, that woman."

Harry nodded. "How are you otherwise?"

Hermione took in a shivering breath. "It's difficult to say…"

"Then relax." Harry put a gentle hand on her leg. "You need it. For the baby, at least."

Hermione's brows knitted together. She whispered, "how's Ron?"

Harry looked to the ground. "He's in St. Mungo's with the rest of the healers. Last I heard, they said they all suffered a really terrible curse that they were working on reversing. I haven't gotten any updates since."

She gave a quick nod and looked away, a gleam in her eyes.

Harry looked away, too, but found there wasn't much in the Weasley house anymore. They still had all their furniture, but the walls were bare except for Mrs. Weasley's enchanted clocks, filled to the brim with people from her whole family. He didn't want to look at them. Ron was on them. He wouldn't be able to tear his eyes from the hand that pictured Ron and pointed to something terrible.

He looked instead to the dining room where Tom had been sitting for the past hour, staring at the kitchen as it did the chores while Mrs. Weasley was cooking them dinner. Harry remembered the first time he ever saw Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen, but surely Tom had seen such a thing before…right?

Harry stood, considering placing a gentle hand on Hermione's shoulder a moment before he thought better of it. He walked over to Tom at the table, sitting in the chair beside him, watching Mrs. Weasley, too.

Even in her old age, she was so skilled in everything she did. Her thinning hair was pulled behind her, the curly tips fading into grey, as if they had been dipped in paint. She used spells to keep the rest of it a bright red, but she must have liked how the ends looked. She had told them all she would make something special for dinner tonight, but had not quite explained what. She moved from pot to pot, tossing in this and that, stirring here and there, checking the oven. The dishes began to plop themselves into the sink full of soapy water, splashing on the counter where Mrs. Weasley was mixing something in a bowl.

"Ohhh," she said like a curse. Quickly, she grabbed a towel and began wiping up the water. "Well, at least it didn't make it to the peas."

She was wearing a long sweater over a dress with a pattern Harry couldn't quite discern. He wasn't quite sure what she used to wear-possibly things she stitched together herself-but he felt she was so much more Mrs. Weasley with that sweater on. Ron had bought it for her on her last birthday, with prompting from Hermione. It had been the first time Ron had ever gotten her something to wear, she said then, and she loved it. She wore it like a crown.

"Is she informed?" Tom asked quietly.

Harry did not look to him. "About what?"

"Myself." He folded his hands on the table.

With a half-smile, Harry replied, "Yes. And now she's going to feed you dinner."

Tom's brow furrowed. "I am responsible for the death of her son and the near-deaths of her husband, youngest son, and daughter."

Harry glanced at Tom, but let his gaze fall back to Mrs. Weasley. "She knows that." After a moment, he looked back to Tom. "You kept count of whose deaths you are responsible for?"

Tom shrugged. "Only of those important to you. It was once a contest."

Harry slowly turned back to watch Mrs. Weasley. Was that what war was to the other side? A contest? Who can kill more of the other side? Who can murder more loved ones? The thought was sickening. But of course, that was war.

After a moment of silence, they continued watching Mrs. Weasley. She had taken out what appeared to be a chicken from the oven and was now shredding it by hand. Harry marveled at it, wondering how she could manage to do so without burning her fingers.

On a whim, Harry said to Tom, "You know, she was the one who killed Bellatrix LeStrange."

Tom's eyebrows raised. "Interesting."

Harry shrugged. "Killing someone isn't all that interesting. It's why." When Harry turned to look at Tom, he found Tom was already looking at him. "Anyone could kill anyone. It's a terrible thing to do, really, even in a war." Harry half-smiled once more. "She was saving Ginny from her. Ginny's told me and the kids the story for ages. She had quite the catchphrase before she did it." Harry's smile melted, and he turned from Tom.

"Ginny," Tom said, testing the word on his tongue. He had decided to change the subject. "Is that your ex-wife?"

Harry nodded.

"The little girl I tried to murder in the Chamber of Secrets?" Tom glanced curiously at Harry. He wondered at what point he would be tossed from this house and had taken to finding just where the line might be drawn.

"Yeah," Harry said. "She was just a first year, then. Just my best friend's little sister."

Tom watched him. While Harry's eyes faced Mrs. Weasley, they seemed to be decades into the past. "If you shared such a bond, why divorce?"

Harry sighed. "I'm not sure I want to answer that question sober."

Tom was unpleased with this answer. He glanced about, taking in his surroundings, judging just what he could get away with. He was in a house of kind people, clearly. They may be interested in taking their minds off their own problems and focusing on Harry's. A little fire whiskey might do them all some good.

Tom rose, unnoticed by Harry, and walked to Hermione on the couch. Before he was in her sight, he glanced over her, considering what he would say. He noticed that she was staring off at the wall, where hardly anything was hanging. He pondered that, rather than attempt to charm her, he should try for a warmer approach; less charisma, and more friendliness would work, he thought. He had a plan all worked out in his mind, but unfortunately, he could not remember her name.

"I do apologize for disturbing you…" he left a pause for where he would have stated her name, "but Harry seems to have drifted off into a day dream of sorts." Hermione's eyes grew curious. "No need to worry. I believe he is reliving his past. I was unsure if you wanted to be informed."

Hermione pressed her lips into a smile. "That happens from time to time. We're all under quite a bit of stress. It's a kind of escape for him sometimes."

Tom nodded. "Yes, of course." He molded his face into a somber expression so well put-together, he almost felt it. "It has been difficult." After a moment, he spoke up suddenly, "Do you happen to know if Mrs. Weasley owns whiskey? I suppose we would all enjoy a hard drink."

Hermione nodded. "I'm sure she does. I can go ask-" she began to throw the blanket off her.

"While I am not your healer," Tom replied automatically, "I do believe that mobility was strictly prohibited until further notice." The phrase left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he let it slide.

"Yes, of course." Hermione sat back, a smile growing on her face. "Maybe you ought to ask. I should rest."

Tom could sense the gentle surprise in her tone. He almost mechanically wanted to roll his eyes, but found that maybe he did not want to. He was unsure.

Either way, he walked back to the kitchen, standing for a moment in the doorway, considering Mrs. Weasley and how to approach her.

"Yes, dear?" Mrs. Weasley piped up before his mind had come to a conclusion. "What can I get for you?"

Rather taken aback, Tom opened his mouth, but said nothing. He didn't have time. He always needed time. Mrs. Weasley was a type he had never talked to before. He needed to analyze her.

Mrs. Weasley flicked her wand and a knife began cutting the potatoes she had been washing in the sink. She turned to face him. "Are you alright, dear?"

She called him "dear." He was not sure how to feel about that. It felt awkward on his ears to even hear the word. "May I speak with you a moment?" Tom took a calming breath while his mind raced for information.

"Of course." Mrs. Weasley picked up a towel and began to dry her hands off.

Tom was quiet a moment. For once, his mind was at a loss of what to say. He considered in an instant speaking his mind, and decided it might be most appropriate.

"Why have you allowed me into your home?" Tom asked, his body rather rigid and unsure.

Mrs. Weasley sighed and placed the towel on the counter. "If I'm honest with you dear, it took a bit for me to get used to the idea."

Tom's mind wondered. "Then why did you allow it?"

"I trust in Harry," Mrs. Weasley said softly, and then smiled. "He was a part of the family before he had even made it to Hogwarts." She turned back around and began tossing the potatoes into one of the many pots she had on the stove. "If he wants to protect you, you must be worth saving."

Tom let his mind consider the words she had spoken only a moment before changing the subject. "Do you, by chance, have any fire whiskey? I believe we could all use a bit of…" Toms words halted in his throat as it tightened a bit. What was he feeling? Nausea? Possibly from all the genuine feelings in the room. "…something to calm us."

"Oh, that is an idea," Mrs. Weasley stepped over to a tall cabinet and tapped on the door three times with her wand. Down from the cabinet floated two bottles: one a deep rust red and the other a clear bottle two thirds full with amber liquid.

"Excellent," Tom smiled pleasantly. He held out his hands and Mrs. Weasley placed the bottles in them. "I will be back in a moment for the glasses."

With cautious speed, he exited the kitchen and placed the bottles on the dining table gently. With a quick glimpse to Harry, Tom could see he had snapped out of his daydream.

"What are those?" Harry asked.

Although a true response was on the tip of his tongue, Tom replied, "Pumpkin juice," in a sarcastic tone before turning and heading back to the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley handed him three whiskey glasses and a wine glass. Tom nodded and thanked her before returning to the dining table.

Harry was looking over one of the bottles. "Why does Molly have a bottle of Guinevere's Fire Whiskey?" Harry uncorked the top of the bottle easily and looked inside. "And why is some of it missing?"

Mrs. Weasley came to the table, chuckling and placing some plates down. "I know I'm mostly a wine drinker, Harry dear, but I can handle a bit of fire whiskey now and again." She headed back into the kitchen.

Tom chuckled quietly as well, seeing the confusion on Harry's face. He was truly amused, and it left a lighter feeling in his stomach area.

Mrs. Weasley returned with silverware and pots of food floating behind her. As she placed the silverware at each plate, the pots would unload themselves in generous portions: potatoes, carrots, stewed tomatoes, chicken with stuffing, and Yorkshire pudding.

"Alright now, boys, pour the drinks. I'll go get Minny." Mrs. Weasley smiled and left.

Tom raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Minny?"

Harry nodded, already pouring the whiskey. "That's her pet name for Hermione. Ron calls her 'Mione', so she sort of based it off that." Harry took a sip of whiskey and began pouring the next glass. "It's been a long week."

Tom nodded. "Indeed." When Harry finished pouring another glass, Tom took it and took a sip. As the liquid touched his lips, he could feel the heat in his nose. Traveling down his throat, it left a trail like fire to his stomach, before cooling down and spreading a warm feeling over his limbs. It was excellent, he thought. He had only ever had expensive fire whiskey, compliments of Malfoy, but he had heard that the cheaper kinds often kept their fire too long. He had often thought that the expensive ones lost their fire too soon. This had the perfect amount of heat. He enjoyed it so much, he took another sip almost immediately.

Mrs. Weasley came into the room once more, Hermione with an arm over her shoulders walking gently and slowly.

Harry quickly stood and went to help. "Still a bit weak, I take it."

Hermine nodded. Her face seemed a bit paler than Tom had seen earlier, though not too noticeable.

"Oh, maybe I should have brought your plate to you, dear. The healers advised no magic, and all. It would have saved us all the trouble." Mrs. Weasley said regretfully as she and Harry gently helped Hermione into a chair.

"I'm quite fine, Molly. Thank you. It's good that I walk. I need to start getting my bearings back." Hermione looked to the last empty whiskey glass.

Harry went back to his chair but began pouring the last glass before sitting down, handing it to Hermione when he finished. Afterwards, Harry uncorked the wine bottle and began pouring Mrs. Weasley a glass.

"Thank you, dear." Mrs. Weasley removed her apron and placed it over an empty chair. "Well, go on. You can all eat. Janet says she won't be joining us tonight. Poor thing."

As they all began digging into their food, Tom watched Harry carefully. He seemed to only be sipping his fire whiskey lightly. Tom, who was not too fond of alcohol and its effects on his mind, emptied his glass much quicker. The thought of not hearing the story was making him dreadfully bored. He wanted more insight on the Boy-Who-Lived.

Tom pondered a moment on what to do. He calculated the amount of peer pressure he would be able to push on Harry without the interference of the other two: not much unless it was devastatingly subtle. Tom did not think he could breach Harry at all being that subtle, not even counting the fact that Tom hated subtlety altogether. He was more of a dramatist. He wondered if, possibly, he could pressure all three simultaneously. If he could get the other two intoxicated, he would have no problems getting to Harry's story…

"I must say, Mrs. Weasley," Tom stated between the short conversations that had been occurring before, "this fire whiskey is the best I have ever consumed." He had noticed she responded well to honesty rather than charm. He could be honest (enough). "And I have tasted only the finest of liquors." Tom put on a charming smile. He calculated that it may not be too much partnered with this compliment; just enough to make it genuine.

Mrs. Weasley smiled. "Why thank you. My son Charlie gifted it to me just last Christmas. It's Romanian."

Hermione sipped a bit more from her cup. "It is rather warming. Not too hot."

"I'm glad you all are enjoying it," Mrs. Weasley said. She looked to Harry's glass, still practically full. "Would you like some wine instead, Harry dear?"

Harry glanced up from his chicken. "Hmm? No thanks. I just haven't stopped eating long enough to drink much. I'm starving." True to his word, Harry's food was already half gone, while everyone else's plates were practically full.

"Well, no rush, Dear." Mrs. Weasley smiled. "It's good to see you eating so well. I'm sure you haven't had quite a meal in a while."

Harry nodded, shoving a large bite of potatoes into his mouth.

As dinner continued, Tom noticed how empty his stomach had been. He could not remember the last full meal he ate. He had taken potions, mostly, to rid of his hunger. Tom ate and ate, his manners keeping him just short of gorging himself. As he reached for another sip of whiskey after finishing his portion of chicken, he realized that his glass was empty.

Mrs. Weasley noticed and smiled. "Let me pour you another glass." She stood, grabbed the whiskey bottle, and poured more amber liquor into Tom's glass. Tom thanked her and took a large sip, then continued to eat.

By the end of dinner, Tom had finished his second glass while Harry and Hermione had just finished their first.

"Would you all like another glass? It's almost gone." Mrs. Weasley looked about the table, beginning to clean up some plates.

"I'll have some more, thank you." Tom pushed his legs up, intending to stand, but found the room began to move and sway as he did so, throwing him off balance enough so that he fell promptly back into his chair.

Mrs. Weasley chuckled. "Had a bit too much, eh? That's quite alright. This drink does have a way of catching up with you long after drinking it."

Tom's world settled once more. He realized now how blurry it had become as he looked to Mrs. Weasley. Something happened on her face, around her eyes. Had she blinked? Or had it only been one eye? Why would she wink at him?

Tom attempted to think more about why he had drank so much. He was a terrible lightweight. He knew that. Had he thought drinking more would get the others to drink? He couldn't remember. Maybe he had enjoyed the taste too much.

Harry chuckled. "Are you alright, Tom? You look a bit bewildered."

Tom looked to Harry. He had perfectly tousled raven hair that brought out his bright green, almond-shaped eyes. Why had Tom not noticed these things before? Were there other things he had not noticed?

He looked then to the girl. Hermininny? That had to be her name. Ninny, Ninny, Ninny, he thought to himself, reciting it to put it to memory. He very well couldn't talk to her correctly without knowing her name. She had bronze hair that stuck out in giant ringlets like she had springs in her hair. He had thought it bushy before, but found it was rather pleasant now. More like a trimmed bush. A well-kempt, expensive bush. Yes, he rather thought it was fashionable. He rather wished he could pull it off himself. He would need much more hair.

Hermione chuckled. "You would indeed."

Tom was confused at this statement. Was she reading his mind?

"No, Tom." She said, giggling. "You're saying it all aloud." In a moment, she leaned back in her chair, falling into a fit of giggles.

Mrs. Weasley chuckled. "I suppose I should've brought out the small glasses. I forgot how potent this whiskey is."

Ah hah! Tom stood feeling accomplished, though he couldn't remember why. He was so focused on the excitement, he thought it really didn't matter much as to why.

Mrs. Weasley disappeared to the kitchen to finish the dishes. Tom glanced at Harry, wondering about his state. Was he as excited as Tom? He ought to be. The world was pretty grand. It was Tom's World, after all.

Tom concentrated for a moment, trying to block out the blurred motion of the room to make out what Harry was doing with his hands over his face.

"Haaary," Tom said in an attempt to retain his perfect speech. He would never dare slur his words if he could help it.

Harry placed his face on the table and wrapped his arms around them, making quite strange noises. Tom got oddly close in an attempt to hear, bumping Harry's head with his own.

Tom stood back up suddenly, causing the world to move much quicker, and he fell, just barely catching himself on the table. "Haaaaryyy," he said. "Waat iiis wrooong?" He really tried to annunciate. He thought he was fairly successful.

Harry was crying. But why? Tom patted Harry ungracefully on the back. Did that cheer him up? It didn't seem like it. Tom considered that maybe he was crying because he was tired. Tom could understand that. He thought maybe he would ask.

"Haaaarryyy… aaare yoooou…tiiiredd?" Tom tried to focus on Harry. Focusing was difficult, mostly because the world was spinning. Why did it have to spin so fast?

Harry did not respond. Tom looked to Hermione. She was about to fall out of her chair. Tom tried to jump to her soon enough to stop her from falling, but found that he missed, bumping her and causing her to fall to the floor. Instead of crying out in pain, it only made her laugh more.

Mrs. Weasley ran into the room. "Is everything alright?"

Tom nodded. "Heeerniiinny feeell." Instead of helping her up, Tom went over to Harry and attempted to lift him up. Harry seemed to get up with him. Tom placed one of Harry's arms around his shoulders as if to stable him. "Iiii'm taaking Haaarrry…" Tom paused to think, "tooo schleeep." He nodded and headed off.

The pair managed to stumble all the way up to the top floor, avoiding too many bumps and bruises on their knees. Tom thought he was quite accomplished. He was proud of himself. He wanted everyone to be proud of him.

"Haarry," he spoke seriously, seeming to gain more control over his mouth, "aaare you proud of meee?"

Harry stumbled over to the bed and fell onto it, face down in the sheets.

"Nooo…" Tom went over and fought to turn Harry over so he could respond. "Haarry."

"Why should I be proud Tom?" Harry sniffed. He had stopped crying.

Tom fell onto the bed next to Harry, facing the ceiling. "Becaaause…" he replied carefully, unsure of what he was originally going to say, "I aam aaliive. And…I aam breeeathing. Thaaat! Is somethiiing tooo be proouud of."

Harry shook his head. "Let's just…" he shook his head again violently, "…all die!"

Tom tried to sit up, finding the weight of his head much heavier than it had been before. "Noooo…" he whispered loudly. "Nooooooo…"

After a moment, Harry was no longer shaking, but breathing deeply. Tom turned his head to face Harry, squishing his own arm underneath him. He poked Harry a few times, calling his name, but found that he was asleep. Tom shook his head. Harry couldn't fall asleep. He was supposed to be awake! It was the day time. They had just eaten…breakfast? He couldn't recall. He knew he had eaten something delicious. Eggs, maybe. He could distinctly remember eggs. It had to be breakfast. There was no time for sleeping.

Tom attempted to push himself up using the arm underneath him, but found this only further tangled himself by turning and pinning the other arm between himself and Harry. His face was in the bed and he couldn't talk. He had to talk.

With a huge gust of strength, Tom pushed himself off the bed and landed on the floor in a huge heap. He quickly climbed back onto the bed, pushing Harry further onto it so he didn't fall. That fall would probably hurt. Did it hurt Tom? He thought maybe it might have. It was hard to tell. He should push Harry further up anyways. He needed covers to sleep and he was on top of them. Tom pulled and tugged at the sheets, but they hardly moved while underneath Harry. Instead, Tom got into the bed, placed his back against the headboard, and pushed them down with his feet. The covers moved enough so that Tom could maneuver Harry until he was mostly underneath them. Afterwards, he felt largely tired himself. That was a large amount of work for him to do. He hoped that Harry would be proud of him.

Tom pushed his legs under the covers and passed out, his head only half on the pillow, just as the sun had set, casting out pink and navy into the sky. The house was fairly quiet, with only a faint echo of giggles for a while until they, too, were put to sleep. Then, the house rested.

Lol, drunk Tom. What do you think?

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