Harry supposed he should have expected this.
He was sat on a chair in Dumbledore's office, a steaming mug of cocoa in his hands that he didn't much fancy drinking. Lemon drops hovered by his left knee.
His spine was prickling with all the staring. Professor Dumbledore sat behind his back in the steepled-fingers pose that Harry was beginning to view as characteristic, Professor McGonagall was standing by the bookshelf, Snape dour and considering by the door, and Lupin sitting exhausted in a chair to the side.
Harry swallowed.
He'd just finished explaining about Pettigrew, Sirius, and (with some obvious omissions) what had happened to lead to a Ministerial investigation on the matter. The Prophet was abuzz with the whole matter, and Harry suspected the only reason he hadn't been thoroughly interviewed and questioned was because he was at Hogwarts.
"Maybe you should ask Professor Snape about it. He met Sirius over the summer," Harry said, chin jutting up. The Potion Master's eyes narrowed at him, just a fraction.
Of course, Tom's presence and involvement in any meetings with the Light side seemed a disaster waiting to happen, but that at present moment in time Harry wouldn't have minded the company. Though he stood by his actions, either way.
"He what?" Lupin growled, low in his throat.
Everyone's gaze turned to Snape, giving him a blessed moment of reprieve from scrutiny.
They soon turned back to him, however.
"Is Mr Black going to be asking for custody?" Dumbledore asked. Harry's mouth dried.
"No. I told him not to. Tom would slaughter anyone who tried," he said matter-of-factly. Lupin turned even paler at that.
"Harry, my boy," Dumbledore began.
"Don't tell me it's not my responsibility. Sirius already tried, and he's wrong," Harry snapped, fists clenching in his lap. "You told me it was best I didn't know too much about what the Light side was doing during the summer. You can't use me against him now, and expect me to go along with it without a care. I care about what happens to people, even if you don't!"
Ever since Pettigrew said it, the doubts had been nagging at him. That Dumbledore had sacrificed his parents to stop Voldemort. He didn't even think it was true, necessarily, but he couldn't stop thinking about it.
"Mr Potter!" McGonagall looked scandalized.
Dumbledore's eyes flickered.
"I would leave not caring about my allies to Lord Voldemort," the old man said quietly. "You know you can't believe everything he says, Harry. We talked about this."
Harry let out a shaky breath, hands flexing in his lap. He nodded tightly.
He'd joked that things felt like a custody battle over the summer, but it was even worse now.
And stuck in the middle of proceedings, there seemed no real way to win sometimes either way. Pleasing Tom tended to mean aggravating everyone on the Light side, and helping them led to the dangers of Riddle's wrath.
Honestly, he could see why Pettigrew had picked pissing him off, over risking angering Tom. He knew Dumbledore was a powerful wizard, and very clever – he knew too, that he was said to be the only one that the Dark Lord was afraid of.
But Harry didn't think Dumbledore would start killing people for his disobedience.
"Harry," Remus leant forward. "You're not on your own in this. You should have told me about what was going on with Sirius. That was why you were asking me questions, wasn't it? And because you're not on your own, if you feel you or anyone else is in danger, you can tell us that too. We'll help. The Order will keep them safe."
Harry's jaw clenched.
"Like you kept me safe? Like you kept my mum and dad safe?"
The silence that followed could have swallowed him whole. Dumbledore's gaze sharpened.
Harry wished he hadn't said anything at all, but it was all spewing out. Bubbling out of him because it was really hard keeping it back.
Everything was just building and building and getting more complicated and he couldn't breathe.
"You feel abandoned by us?" the headmaster verified softly. Harry couldn't look at that wizened old face, but the sense of sadness in the room seemed enough to suffocate him.
What could he even say to that? His head hurt. It had been aching since yesterday.
"No, sir. I know you'll do everything you can to help me," he mumbled. But he also felt that maybe that wasn't enough. He'd needed help this summer, desperately, and it hadn't been available. It had been him, and Tom. And the Fidelius had been supposed to protect his parents, but look how that turned out.
He could feel them studying him.
"Could I have a moment alone with Mr Potter for a moment…" Dumbledore requested.
Everyone left. Some with more reluctance than others. Harry stood up, turning his attention to the spindly and fascinating instruments around the man's office. Fawkes cooed gently at him.
He felt a hand settle in his shoulder, and it reminded him painfully of Tom. He stiffened a little.
"Do you know why we haven't entirely removed you from Mr Riddle's influence?" Dumbledore asked. Harry's eyes widened, startled, and that conversation definitely took his interest. He turned to face the man.
"Because I have a contract with him. There would be magical … stuff. You can't," he said.
"You're a minor, Harry. Your magical vow is not to the same effect and responsibility as that of a fully grown adult." Dumbledore smiled gently. Harry's eyes nearly bugged out of his head now.
But Tom had said … Tom said … well, Tom said a lot of things, but still. Really, such reptilian manipulations should not surprise him. But somehow every time they still did. His chest tightened.
"Then why?"
"Because I believe you could end this war before it even began again. And you are strong enough to endure him."
Harry stared, heart hammering. Dumbledore gave his shoulder a squeeze, before his hands dropped to fold neatly behind his back.
"I don't think I can do that," he admitted, barely audibly.
The Light Lord continued. "I believe in you. But as our dear Professor Lupin told you, you don't have to be alone in this. I have known Mr Riddle since he was a boy, and I know his tricks. He will do everything he can to isolate you. Someone who is fighting alone will never be as much of a threat to him as a group. He cannot understand love, or friendship. You can."
Harry shook his head, laughing without humour.
"He understands it. He just doesn't agree with it. Caring is a liability when everyone will just use –"
"Your parents cared. Were they weak?" Dumbledore's head tilted.
Harry hesitated. "They're dead because they trusted the wrong person."
"And do you believe they would be happy alive without love in their lives? Alone without each other? Without their friends? Without you?"
There was a thick lump in his throat.
"I – I don't – they –"
"You're allowed to rely on people, Harry. You're allowed to feel lost. The people who truly matter will still be there to welcome you back. It is not a weakness to care, whatever Lord Voldemort would have you believe. There is hurt, yes. But it is this that makes us human."
"Tom doesn't think much of humanity either," Harry muttered.
"Tom is frightened of anything he believes can hurt him. He would rather survive a thousand years, than live a single day freely. For all the pain caring can cause, it can give the same amount of power. A power and support system that Mr Riddle will never tap into. He is alone. You do not have to be."
Harry's head was spinning faster than ever.
It would have been easy to accept, if Tom was only ever cruel. If he was only the fear Harry felt, of his friends dying and of sense deprivation. If he was only everything dark. But he wasn't.
He felt like he was going to be sick again.
"If I don't have to do it alone, why is it me that has to stop this war from happening? Why do I have to be your piece at his side?" Harry's voice cracked. "I'm just–"
Why was it all about him, if this was a group effort?
Dumbledore was silent for a few long seconds. The nausea rose.
"Professor Snape tells me you've been making great improvements with your Occlumency."
Harry's brow furrowed.
"He said that?" He had to admit, he was sceptical that Snape would ever say anything nice about him, even if the looks he'd been receiving from the greasy dungeon bat had been more considering as of late. Of course, they had something like a truce as he had with a lot of Slytherins … but that didn't mean Snape would ever say anything nice about him.
He could have sworn Dumbledore's lips twitched in amusement at his expression. But the old man looked as placid as ever, but for the sudden twinkle in his eyes, there for just a second.
"Indeed." The amusement faded. "Would you mind if I gave you a brief test?"
Harry's eyes narrowed.
"You want to check if I can defend against Tom before you tell me anything," he concluded. "Must be something important." Something important about going it alone and why it had to be him. He squared his shoulders. He had to know. "Go on then."
He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't what he got when their eyes met.
Tom's legilimency from all he'd see was vicious, just like Snape's which always left him with a headache.
He didn't even feel the gentle whisper of Dumbledore's intrusion until the man was in his head. He supposed it was something that he noticed it at all – the tell-tale bloom of memories that he might not have been thinking about otherwise.
He was immediately fighting.
He'd initially, in his first lessons, tried brute force of will to knock Snape out. Like he would use to overpower a spell. It had limited success.
It was after the Boggart that he first started to truly get a hang of it. It was still a slow process, to get used to the method and to sustain the right amount of concentration, but…
He thought about sense preservation. The darkness. The nothingness. It wasn't the type of clear mind that Snape had tried to teach him, and when the man first faced it he recoiled. It was a frightened blackness, a memory without taste or sound or smell.
By most standards of life – an impossibility. He felt Dumbledore jerk back. The office came back into focus.
He staggered back, nearly knocking something over as he grabbed the edge of a shelf for balance. Dumbledore smiled at him, and he felt the warm weight of Fawkes settle on his shoulder.
The phoenix nibbled his ear, before hopping onto Dumbledore again after he'd stroked him … her?
"Very impressive, Harry," Dumbledore praised. He could feel blue eyes searing through his skin. "May I ask after your method? It's not something I have come across before. I thought I'd seen everything by now – but the mind is a fascinating thing."
Harry suspected Dumbledore had gone easy on him too, and that the attack could have continued. It had been a probe, nothing more.
"Memories of sense deprivation," he murmured. "Tom wouldn't be able to stand it," he added, pointedly, maybe even defiant. "What were you going to say?"
The silence stretched, with his blood rushing in his head. Fawkes' wings fluttered, as the phoenix cooed softly again.
Dumbledore seemed hesitant, and Harry's fists clenched.
"Tell me," he insisted. "I'm in this now. I deserve to know! I'm not a child."
"No," Dumbledore said, very quietly. "Perhaps you're not anymore. But do you trust me, my boy?"
There was a right answer here, Harry knew. "Of course, sir."
Dumbledore rounded his desk slowly, settling down, with fingers steepling once more. Harry considered his options.
What he wanted. What Dumbledore wanted. How to get what he wanted.
Tom's trio of considerations for every opponent and situation. He swallowed and stepped forward, sinking into the seat opposite, back straight and posture perfect.
"We're in this together, sir," he said, giving a small, hopeful smile. "Aren't we?" His head tilted, like he knew Tom's did when he was confused about something. As much as Tom was ever confused about anything.
Dumbledore had gone still in turn, suddenly, and Harry nearly held his breath.
The Light lord still seemed to be hesitating about something – perhaps the lasting strength of Harry's occlumency skills when under the Dark Lord's assault.
Harry could understand but … surely he had a right to know? This was his life. Ignorance was not going to help him, when he had enough of a disadvantage to Tom already.
"Has Mr Riddle told you anything about Horcruxes?"
The days sped closer and closer to Christmas – hectic, but Tom revelled in that after fifty years of stasis. He'd always been at his best under pressure.
Harry seemed to be coping well, though the boy seemed tired and distracted. He did his lessons, handed in all the essays even when Tom edged up the number again just to see if the teenager would adapt to an even more increased workload.
Maybe it was because they were both so busy as to barely find breathing space, and thus saw each other far less than they had to some extent grown used to, that it took a while for him to notice the distance in Harry's behaviour.
Polite, unfailingly. It pleased him at first, that maybe some of his comments had finally sunk in as the boy learned how to behave. Now he was starting to think that there was something wrong here.
Dutiful, always – all his reports said excellent progress, and even Lestrange was impressed.
It was probably just thirteen. Turbulent age, Narcissa had taken it upon herself to comment 'idly.' Perfectly normal, to strive for independence. And he had far more important things to concentrate on then his errant teenage Gryffindor.
He'd started noticing more and more discrepancies in the behaviour of some of his Death Eaters. Additions to raids that he hadn't organized, but which could have been enthusiasm. A shiftiness.
Maybe just something in the air.
And yet…
"Are you all packed?" He caught Potter as he was leaving his office on a Saturday night, just before the end of term. Winter had fallen, with thick planes of snow on the ground and the smell of ferns in the Great Hall. Lights and baubles and Christmas decorations appearing one night.
If he was a nostalgic man, he would have felt a twinge then. Hogwarts at Christmas was a beautiful thing, even considering his own distaste for the season. He had some … fond memories, it could be said. But by the comparisons of his childhood, that wasn't hard.
"Packed?" Harry paused by the doorway, fingers tightening around his bag. He looked more confused than he had any right to.
"Christmas holidays starts tomorrow."
"I always stay at Hogwarts for Christmas," Harry said. It shouldn't have irritated him as much as it did, the assumption. The boy was staring at him now – and Tom couldn't help but think that six months ago green eyes would have been bright and wide with surprise. Now, there was barely a flicker of expression at all.
The messy hair was the same as ever.
Now he really was starting to sound unnervingly like a nostalgic man. It wasn't like Harry wasn't shaping out well, he should be happy. Everything was, as far as he could tell, on track for his ultimate endgame with the boy.
But maybe he'd acclimatized. Got used to the space of Harry in his life, as he was.
He was so dutiful and obedient that it threw Tom's plans off, even, considering he always left time anticipating the boy's defiance.
Faced with it, or at least a version of it in that comment, the nostalgia vanished.
His eyes narrowed.
"Not this time."
"It's the holidays," Harry was starting to sound agitated. "Give me a break, for Merlin's sake! You don't need me at the cottage. You'll probably just be in your room plotting anyway whilst I practice magic. I don't want to go."
"I wasn't offering a choice. Get packed, we're going."
"No."
He couldn't believe this. He took a step forward, and Harry's posture turned rigid. But the Gryffindor didn't step back.
"Excuse me?" His voice turned very soft, velvety, as he crowded the boy's space inch by inch.
"I want to stay at Hogwarts." The firmness of Harry's voice was both accented and ruined by the shifting deepness of his voice. "All my friends are here. I'll see you at the Malfoy's Christmas party."
Some alone time in the cottage was sounding more and more perfect. He'd been concerned about this happening. Of course, he liked to think it wasn't as bad as it could have been, considering Harry hadn't been entirely out of his influence. Obviously it was merely that, and nothing else.
But it was unacceptable nonetheless. He smiled, reaching out and ruffling dark hair into something even more untamed, before his grip tightened.
He'd been dealing with Death Eaters all day, it was a commendable effort not to curse the living daylights out of the little brat. To crush all resistance away with an iron fist.
That, as he'd learnt in the very first days of their acquaintance, inevitably made Harry lash back at him even worse than before. The boy's expression was already taking an edge, regardless of the shadow in his gaze. The bob of his throat.
"I'm sure we can come to some kind of arrangement," he said sweetly. "Just like last time.
Because I'd hate to think you were being unreasonable just as we were getting on so well."
Harry looked away, mutinously, jerking his head unsuccessfully away from his hold.
"What type of arrangement do you want?"
Tom studied him, considering his options. Of course, it was difficult to tell if this was Harry being Harry, or if he had a serious problem on his hands. But he couldn't say he appreciated the attitude either way.
"You know our contract, Harry." He brushed hair away from the boy's forehead, hand sliding to grip the back of his neck merely to gauge his reaction to the gesture. "Three nights with the Light side, situation dependent."
"So I'm still your prisoner then."
There was something in Harry's tone – and Tom could feel the tension in the teenager's muscles too, beneath his fingers. Harry had made this comment before too. Soulmate and prisoner, as if he truly believed them to be a dichotomy.
They didn't seem so mutually exclusive to him.
"Oh, always," he breathed. "One way or another. People do tend to form the most convincing prisons after all."
Harry glared at that.
"Spend Christmas on your own then," the boy spat back. This time, when Harry pulled back, it was roughly, with a sharp twist until the space between them grew. This time, when Tom stepped forward, there was nothing slow and stalking about it.
One second, the thirteen year old was turning in a huff, the next second Tom had him pinned up against the office door like a seventh year's fantasy. Potter just looked annoyed.
"You're being unreasonable, child." He almost sang the words out, and the more lilting and playful his voice grew, the colder the look in his eyes. Harry swallowed.
"I'm not a child. Why do you even need me there anyway?"
"Maybe I simply want the pleasure of your company again. I can kidnap you again if it makes it easier for you?"
Harry let out a sharp breath, dropping his gaze.
"Fine. We have a deal then," the boy muttered.
"Are you sure?"
"I said we have a deal, so just stop it." Harry's voice was barely audible this time. "What time are we leaving tomorrow so I'll have my things packed in time?"
Tom smiled with satisfaction, stepping back. Short term satisfaction, at least. His bad mood lingered like a headache, despite the rush-relief of an oncoming break. However short.
"Good boy. And after lunch sometime, I'm sure you can enjoy a good lie in."
Colour rose along the teenager's skin, teeth gritting.
"Kind of you."
"Cheeky."
Harry glanced at him again, something considering in his eyes.
"So can I go now or not?" he asked, far too sullenly. Tom kept smiling back, stubbornly, teeth bared. Conclusion: something had definitely shifted. He didn't like it, and it required investigation.
Really, trophies were never supposed to be this high maintenance. But souls had their prices, he supposed.
He was half tempted to say no, simply out of spite.
Instead, he gestured indulgently at the door and turned away as he heard it open and slam.
A familiar diary rested warm and nearly-quivering in his pocket.
A/N: Deleted that annoying A/N chapter of mine, in case you're wondering about the shift around in chapters haha. Enjoy!
