Chapter 36:

It was finally time to go back to Hogwarts, tomorrow, and Harry knew that at the beginning of this summer he would have been utterly relieved at that fact.

He'd learnt a lot of spells in the remaining summer time, including, but not limited to: Confundo, Glisseo (which caused a flat surface or stairs to turn into a slippery ramp) and Impervious Charm to use on his glasses to keep water away. Harry was thinking that would be useful for Quidditch, though Tom cited a battlefield as an example.

He also learnt the Imperturbable Charm for private conversations, the Disillusionment Charm to hide. He had the Invisibility Cloak too, but he saw no reason to mention that.

Tom also showed him the Obliviate, a memory charm, a Tongue-Tying Curse and Ennervate.

That was just a few though - Tom had mainly focused on offensive spells that would attack his opponent before they could attack him, but there had been defensive stuff thrown in their too.

Nothing, Harry had discovered, had been shown just for fun though.

He'd also picked up some spells from the books he'd bought for himself - and Tom had still given him essay, though the number significantly dropped in comparison to practical work.

He felt guilty thinking it was the best summer he had in a very long time. The beginning had been absolutely horrible, and it had still been patchy at times, but...it wasn't the Durlseys.

He felt guilty for preferring the company of a Dark Lord, of Voldemort, to his own blood relatives too. It wasn't supposed to be like that.

It wasn't that he wasn't happy to go back to Hogwarts; he really was, he loved Hogwarts! But he was also just a little nervous. And he'd miss Sirius.

He didn't know how people would react to him, or what had changed. Tom had said he would look into the Ginny matter, but he hadn't done anything solid yet and had finally warned him to stop pestering or he would just leave her in there for good.

Since then, he'd been quiet on that topic, though it still lingered on his mind.

The next morning, at ten, they would be going to Malfoy Manor, apparently. Harry didn't see why he couldn't just stay the night at the Weasleys and head off with them, but Tom had been insistent for some reason or other.

Now, it was the last dinner, and he still remembered the first so vividly.
God, so much had changed in that time. He felt guilty about that too now, uneasy.

"I know you're going to miss me terribly and sob to have to leave my side, Harry, but you could at least try and look you're pleased to be going back."

Harry looked up at that, startled, before sneering.
"You're a nar-" what word was it that Tom used about the Malfoys once? - "a narcissistic prat," he declared. "I'm not going to miss you, don't be stupid."

"No, I'm sure you won't," Tom smirked, a gleam in his eyes. "So why do you look like someone's kicked a kitten then?"

"I don't look like someone's kicked a kitten," Harry replied hotly. "And maybe you're the one that's going to mooch about missing me. You kidnapped me in the first place cause you were lonely."

"I didn't kidnap you because I was lonely," Tom returned, flatly. "I honestly don't know where you got that idea from."

"I don't believe you. Why did you kidnap me then?"
Harry realised, now, that it had never actually been explicitly said. The question had been acknowledged a few times, but, mostly, it had only lurked in the background of conversations and cups of tea and whatever else had made up this weird and still somewhat troubled coexistence.

The worst had been when he found out about the Azkaban break out. The Lightside had told him all about it, and he'd promptly shunned Tom's company and refused to acknowledge him for three days before the elder lost patience, blasted his bedroom door open, slammed him into the wall by the throat and...proceeded to very calmly ask some questions.

Was anyone hurt during the raid?

He'd been forced to answer no, as far as he was aware, but he was sure he would have been told if someone was.

Do you think anyone deserves to be stuck with the Dementors and their worst moments, just for fighting what they believe him?

He'd tried to think of a way around the question, stopping and starting, because something had still felt so wrong...but in the end he'd had to again concede to a 'no.' Not for fighting what they believed in, though he'd heard that some of the Death Eaters had done a lot worse than just fighting. He hated that Tom had a question for that too.

Does that make the Ministry and the Light better for condemning to an equally terrible if not worse fate in Azkaban?

He still didn't know what to think about it, and had ended up yelling at Tom to just 'shut up' and 'stop it'.

He was certain that his life used to be less confusing.

He remembered he'd once been terrified of Tom dragging him to the grey area of shadows, darker and lighter, where the other resided - and he knew now that he was correct to be so frightened.

He'd been right. Tom did get him lost in the shadows, and he left no one but himself as a guide for navigation.

That wasn't right either, and yet, the very nature of the situation gave him no one else to cling to as tightly. People he used to know and trusted moved in the shadows too, but he didn't want to look at them and reach for them with Tom's hand metaphorically on his shoulder. He didn't know what he would, and what Tom's eyes on them would reveal to him.

Sometimes ignorance was bliss.

Meanwhile, the silence hung between them now, for a sticky few moments, filled with the things unsaid, and the possibility of those that could be spoken.

"Because you're my soul-mate," Tom said, finally.
Harry's eyes narrowed.

"But you didn't know that. Then. In the chamber."

"What are you looking for?" the other returned, more coolly now. "Something to show that you're a special, unique snowflake to me? I was bored, there was something about you, so I took you. I didn't premeditate special purpose for you."

"Is this all just a game to you then? Something to pass the time?"
Harry didn't even realise when he could feel his fingers tightening around the cutlery, tone growing more heated.

"Don't be absurd," Tom said, too lightly. "It's not just a game." His eyes, in contrast, were far too intent. Harry felt like they could reach out and choke him, swallow him whole if he let them. He glared back, refusing to yield, however much he desperately wanted to look away. Tom stared right back, unflinchingly. "Does it bother you? The possibility that this is all pretense and I don't actually care for you?" Harry's mouth felt scraped raw, the bad taste plunging into his gut. "Are you getting sentimental, Harry? Attached?"

"No," it was near a whisper, furious. It felt as if he could have screamed the words instead. "As if."

"I think you are. And I think it terrifies you, child."

"I'm not a child," Harry growled, feeling frustrated all over again, as if the summer days had reversed and never happened. Except they had, and now the words, the possibility, cut even worse.

"You should be more careful with who or what you give your heart to, Harry Potter," Tom murmured, eyes glued on him, before that familiar, charming smirk which he'd grown so used to was back. "Just as well I always take good care of that which belongs to me, hmmm? Finish your dinner. Are you all packed for school?"

Harry could have gaped at the switch - and he couldn't believe that somewhere along the line he'd forgotten how...turbulent, Tom could be.

"My heart doesn't belong to you," he sneered, uncomfortably. "You sound like one of my Aunt Petunia's bad romance novels."

Tom just laughed at him, and Harry could almost think he'd imagined the cruelty so prevalent before, but he knew he hadn't. It messed with his head.

The meal finished in a stiff silence, the type they hadn't seen in a while, and he didn't like it. It was silly, but he'd...it was the last night before going back to Hogwarts. He'd expected...he didn't even know what he'd expected, or come to expect from Tom.

"I don't know."
Harry looked up at the quiet words.

"What?"

"I don't know why I took you."

Harry swallowed, looking down, refusing to be pathetic, and affecting a shrug.

"It's okay. I don't know why I put up with you either and haven't stabbed you yet. You're a complete git."

Tom smirked.

"I think it's going to be an interesting year."

Narcissa Malfoy couldn't help but feel a little concerned to have the Dark Lord and Harry Potter around, more due to the presence of her elder sister than anything else.

She didn't particularly want Bellatrix around, as cruel as it was to say that about her own flesh and blood, but she was hardly a good influence on Draco.

And now the Dark Lord was coming. With Potter.

She never thought she would feel so much pity for either of them.

It wasn't that it didn't twist her insides to see the emaciated state her once beautiful sibling, and close friend, had come too. It tore at her heart to see Bella so withered, compared to her former glory, even if the woman still had her allure in personality and a wild sort of confidence so very different from her own, determined composition.

Bellatrix had a new dress on, clean hair, heeled boots laced up high with one of her old black dresses on clinging tightly to her form, face pale and lips scarlet.

"My lord," she murmured, almost immediately, once the Dark Lord and Harry had been led to the sitting room. The child was pulling his trunk behind him, apparently trying not to seem as uncomfortable as he actually was.

His eyes moved over Bella the second he saw her, and widened as her sister promptly leapt on him. She knew all about her sister's plans, of course, and had already expressed her skepticism on the matter, and her displeasure.

Really, Bella should be more loyal to her husband - he was from and old and honoured family, recent events regardless, and she should still be more faithful to him as was the Pureblood way. If she was unhappy, she certainly shouldn't be showing her favours so explicitly.

"Mrs Lestrange, I think you're suffocating my charge..."

Bellatrix never had been the mothering type.

Harry was convinced that this had to be a murder attempt, as arms crushed him from every side and yanked him forwards against a tightly corseted chest and bony ribs.

He flailed, wand out in a second, digging into the Harpy's throat, just as Tom spoke out.

The woman – it was, in fact a woman - took a step back, though her hand remained clutching his shoulders.

"Who the hell are you?" Harry demanded, eyes wide.

"I'm Bellatrix," she said. "But you can call me Bella, Harry."

What had Tom called her?

"That's okay, Mrs Lestrange..." Lestrange. He knew that name, she - he took an abrupt step back, almost walking straight into Tom's chest, stepping on his foot certainly. "You're one of the Azkaban escapees."

"Clever boy," she cooed, taking a step towards him again. "You're such an adorable little boy, aren't you?"

He stared at her sullenly, in something like disbelief.
"I'm thirteen."

"Yes, yes," she waved a hand. "Quite. I'm sure you'll be as handsome as your master when you grow up."

"Tom's not my master,"he said, coldly. "No need to project your feelings and status onto me. It's a bit unhealthy."

He was liking her less and less, and her eyes flashed at his comment, before growing distracted.

"Tom?" she said, suddenly, snatching on it, before glancing at the Slytherin Heir as if to slot the names together. "Tom," she repeated to herself, much more softly, in almost a croon.

"You will not refer to me as such," Tom warned, eyeing her. "I am still your Lord."
Right. Yeah. He didn't want to accidentally undermine Tom's reputation and forces - he'd save that for if - when - if he actually wanted to purposely sabotage.

"Of course," Bellatrix said, dipping her head. "I didn't mean any offense."

Tom continued to study her for a moment or so, before he glanced at Narcissa.

"The train leaves at Eleven. You'll want to make good time."

"I'm sure she knows that, she's took the train plenty of time's before, and I'm perfectly alright catching it myself without an escort, you know," Harry said. "I did in my first year, and I didn't even know how to get on the platform then."

They were all staring at him, and he found himself automatically straightening his posture, chin jutted up in something just shy of blatant defiance.

He found he much preferred Tom when it was just them, in private, he was less uptight.

Less of the Dark Lord.

With Voldemort, as Tom was now he supposed, it just felt like he should keep his mouth shut seeing as he apparently couldn't do or say anything right, and he wanted to shrink into himself. He raised his brows, instead.

"What? It's true," he protested. "You're fussing over nothing."

"Perhaps remember that the Ministry has been hunting you as a murderer for the larger part of the summer, and who exactly it is that you have been associated with, and rethink the 'nothing' aspect of that statement," Tom said, dryly. Bellatrix giggled. Harry really didn't find it that funny.

"Are you telling me something's going to happen?" He was rather alarmed when he didn't get a response to that. "No, seriously, is something going to happen?" he demanded. "You better not attack the train. That would suck." He paused, blinking. "And think of the First Year's! You'd ruin their first ever trip to Hogwarts and that's just unnecessarily cruel and-" that wouldn't persuade Tom, he needed something else. "And then they would never join yo. Because everyone thinks Voldemort is a total twat, which is probably right cause he - you - he killed lots of people and children. So really you want an image makeover."

They were staring at him even more now, and there was a shocked sound at the door.

"Mother...I'm ready to go now." Draco. God, the blond had practically squeaked the words out.

And great, Draco was now staring at all of them too. Wasn't the Malfoy heir supposed to be used to this type of stuff happening?

Tom and 'Bella' were still staring at him, whilst Narcissa looked over to her son, before back.
"We should be going, then," she said, evenly. "Would you like a moment, my lord, or-?"

"No. I have a matter which requires my attention now. Have a good year, Harry."

He knew Tom wasn't coming along. He also knew he had no reason whatsoever to be disappointed.

Really, what was he expecting, some affectionate speech and a hug? It just wasn't Tom, and he hardly needed such affection himself anyway. It was for children.

He nodded once, sharply, and turned away just as quickly.
"Don't kill anyone I like. Bye."

He liked to think his shoulders weren't hunched or anything.

"Bye Harry," Bellatrix called after him. He really didn't think the Dementors had been good for her. He didn't know what exactly she was trying to do, but, if it was making him uncomfortable - then it was working.

He followed Narcissa and tried to ignore Draco.
"I really can find my own way. People will talk if I turn up with, well, you. No offence."

"Nonsense, it's no trouble," Narcissa said, pleasantly, with a thin smile to him.
But that really hadn't been the issue.

He'd sneak off when he could, Tom's instructions to stay with the Malfoys be damned.
Bastard knew they made his skin crawl.

Albus Dumbledore straightened in his chair as he felt the the wards around his office signify that someone was approaching, and someone in particular.

He couldn't say he wasn't expecting this.

He steepled his fingers beneath his chin, popped a lemon drop, and fixed his eyes on the door.

"Hello Tom. I was wondering when you would come and pay me a visit." Riddle stepped into the office, seemingly without a care, shutting the door shut behind him. "I am, however, rather surprised that you're not seeing Harry off. It seemed such an ample opportunity to rake your teeth into him further."

"I'm here to apply for the History of Magic teacher, Headmaster," the Dark Lord said instead, smoothly.

"That position is already taken."

"Is it?" Tom asked innocently. His eyes narrowed barely perceptively; it didn't take an idiot to work out what the man in front of him had done to Professor Binns. "I find the position...lacking, and I'm sure the Board of Governors would agree."

He smiled back.

"I'll make sure to give you application due consideration, Mr Riddle. However, I'm sure there will be other candidates, despite the suddenness of Professor Binns' departure from the teaching staff."

"You do?" the Slytherin Heir murmured. "Interesting theory, Professor Dumbledore, considering 80% of students or more have received failing grades or dropped History of Magic in over the century he has been teaching, due to inadequate teaching, since Binns began teaching. Only about 2-5% of these students were inspired to go into historical fields after they graduated. Miss Bagshot, though a noted Historian, is far too old to teach here and is senile and those few others who are capable are already settled in careers and research around the world - and whilst you may not care about the historical education of your students, I'm sure the Ministry would disagree, and frown upon your inability to fire Binns to find a more suitable replacement when the problem began to be evident."

"Professor Binns was a historic part of this school-"

"I'll say." Riddle's dry tone did nothing to amuse him, nor did the implicit reference to the ghost's age and now untimely first and second passing. "Again, I think you'll find the Governors in full acceptance of my taking up the position, and it would merely be inconvenient for both of us if you continue to refuse me."

If Riddle was here, he was closer to Harry. He still had the opportunity to influence the Boy Who Lived. But, if Riddle was here, he could also keep an eye on and limit his activities, with the aid of the rest of the staff.

He certainly couldn't do as much damage to the Wizarding World - but he suspected Tom knew that too when he started this.

It was a game and a gamble, and one he saw no choice but to play.

"You have a schedule planned out for all seven years?" he inquired, instead, and Riddle's eyes gleamed.

"I have just the thing, sir. Everything is sorted. You'll find my report on your desk at the end of the week."

Then he walked smartly out again.

Dumbledore frowned after him, rubbing his temples, several fingers stained black.

Sometimes, he thought he was getting too old for all of this.

Harry slipped away the second he was on the platform, however much he shouldn't have done.

The Malfoys didn't want him around, anyway, and he'd already attracted far too many awkward and suspicious looks for keeping company with them.

Since when did him being kidnapped and reaching an arrangement with the Dark Lord mean he was suddenly best buds and free game for every Death Eater and snake out there, anyway?

Bellatrix Lestrange seemed to think so anyway, or maybe she was just crazy.
He didn't know.

He'd never been formally introduced to the Death Eaters and, frankly, considered his limited experience with them, he didn't really want to be either.

He didn't know.
He supposed they couldn't all be all bad, but...

It seemed like a betrayal.

He didn't know was starting to crop of far too habitually in his mind as a statement - and not a good one to have at that.

He dragged his luggage along, thankful for the feather-light charm Tom had taught him. The Slytherin seemed to prefer the idea of giving him the means to do something himself, like cast the spell, rather than take the simple and easy method of doing it for him.

Harry didn't mind. He rather liked it like that actually; it was refreshing to be treated like he was more capable, as opposed to some stupid child who needed to be protected and couldn't handle anything, and all new spells to try were dangerous without the right assistance, or 'too far out of their level.'

Sometimes he wondered - and he blamed Tom for making him think such things - that Hogwarts was almost too structured. He loved Hogwarts, and understood the reason for it of course, but maybe if there was more a focus on what students could do, rather than restricting their abilities automatically by age, then perhaps classes would run more smoothly.

Then he couldn't help but think that was horribly elitist, and that the old way was probably best for forming friendships...

But it wasn't like he was proposing; well, he wasn't proposing anything, but it wasn't like he thought they should be split up by talent, merely that the professors should perhaps push boundaries a little further, challenge their limits, and sort out who could handle higher level stuff.

Hermione obviously could, and he couldn't help think now that she must be dreadfully bored in classes that were constantly at a level too low for her.

That was probably why her homework was always so amazingly long and well-researched, she had time, and would find it fun to see what she could do, even if the teachers wouldn't acknowledge it.

He didn't think it was done out of spite or anything. Unlike Tom, he thought people as a whole were probably well-meaning, but..

The thought lingered.

He scanned the station for signs of red Weasley hair, or bushy brown, with the clamours of other people's heartfelt goodbyes throbbing in his ears.

The next second the explosion had him thrown to the ground, coughing.

If this was Tom - he was going to bloody well kill him!

And then there was screaming.

A/N: MUHAHAHA! Does this count as opening a new 'arc' in style? :P I am still skimming third year more so, but hee hee, I definitely have some things planned. I don't think the revision is having a good affect on my mental health.

Thanks for the reviews, they are really so appreciated, I read every one of them even if I don't always reply and they encourage my stupid updating, so mutual benefit? ;) Anyway. Thanks. I hope you continue to enjoy the story, as ever.

PS: For the numerous people who seem confused as to why Dumbledore would ever let Tom teach (I thought I explained it quite well in the chapter, but apparently not):

Tom had exorcised Binns and due to the terrible boring nature of his teaching, there are very few wizards who have gone over to study history in their later life, and most of them had solid jobs in research etc, or stuff like that, as opposed to being a history teacher, and considering Tom 'killed' Binns the day term started, there really wasn't much time, and Tom has connections among the school Governors so Dumbledore really didn't have that much choice in the matter.

Dumbledore's trying to make the best of a bad situation, by having the other teachers track Tom's movements, along with him doing so too. If Tom's teaching, he can't do as much in the Wizarding World, like in the Ministry, or devote all of his time to Lord Voldemort related stuff. He also cannot directly teach pro-Voldemort history, because that obviously wouldn't be accepted by society, who wouldn't even later acknowledge the return in the books, and they may have flaws, but they won't openly allow people to teach pro-Dark stuff, would they? Schools don't work like that.

Voldemort applied for the Dark Arts post, which has far more people available to teach it, and had just graduated and so didn't have the same network. That's why it's different, and how Tom wangled the job.