By the time their weekly lesson with Lupin came around that evening, both Harry and Tom were well rehearsed in what they were going to say. Harry however, still paused just outside Lupin's office.
"What if Lupin refuses or goes to Dumbledore?"
Tom squeezed Harry's hand briefly.
"He won't, it'll be fine."
"And if we're wrong about Black?" Harry asked.
"Then Lupin will be able to confirm our suspicions either way," Tom said, and he raised his hand and knocked once before pushing Lupin's door open.
The full moon was a few days ago now, but Lupin still sounded and looked more tired than usual. He was hunched at his desk, pieces of parchment and old newspapers scattered across it. Niamh was curled up next to him, ears perking upwards as Harry and Tom entered.
Lupin set down his quill and fixed them both with a very firm stare. When both Harry and Tom remained silent, Lupin pushed himself up from his chair and moved around his desk.
"Now are either of you going to tell me what happened in Hogsmeade?" he asked. "I assume you used one of the secret passageways given that you avoided the dementors-"
"Were you following us?" Tom interrupted.
Lupin frowned. "Professor Dumbledore had his suspicions you might go wandering, I was only to keep an eye out. I wouldn't have found you if it wasn't for the commotion with Scrimgeour." Lupin looked pointedly at Harry at this.
"I slipped up," Harry shrugged. "It wasn't anything really."
"Harry, you did more than slip up," Lupin said. "To react the way you did, something significant must have occurred. It's important we understand why so that it won't happen again. You heard Scrimgeour, the Ministry won't tolerate any further incidents."
Harry and Tom merely exchanged glances.
"If you don't talk to me I can't help you," Lupin said, his voice raising slightly. "You need to take this seriously-"
Tom tilted his head, his eyes unwavering from Lupin's own. Then with the smallest signal to Harry, Tom nodded his head.
"Okay," Harry said, startling Niamh who had also been watching Tom. "We'll tell you what happened, but you have to answer some of our questions first."
Lupin looked quite taken aback at this, his mouth parted slightly, before he nodded.
Tom wasted no time in diving into their practised speech.
"When was your dæmon bitten?"
Niamh rippled her snout and growled, her presence huge despite here werewolf form remaining hidden.
"Not one month after she first appeared," Lupin said.
"That certainly must have done some damage," Tom said. "Your soul being tarnished before you even got to know her, no wonder you've taken pity on Harry."
Professor Lupin suddenly looked more like a wolf than ever before. His mouth twisted into an almost snarl as he glared at Tom.
"What is the point of this?" Lupin demanded.
Tom merely flashed a smile.
"Tell me about Sirius Black," Harry said suddenly. Surprise crossed Lupin's face but it was fleeting and he lent forwards, looking more exhausted than normal.
"Harry-"
"You're friends with him," Harry said.
"I haven't been Sirius Black's friend for twelve years," Lupin said tersely. "Not since he murdered all those people."
Tom crossed his arms, leaning on the side of Lupin's desk.
"Black's an unregistered animagis," Tom said. "Wouldn't have anything to do with you being a werewolf now would it? I'm assuming he didn't learn how to do it alone, it's very dangerous."
"Sirius-" Lupin started. "Just what are you asking exactly, Sirius could have learnt after he left school-"
"He could have learnt from Lord Voldemort," Harry said.
"Exactly," Lupin said, but the conviction clearly wasn't there, and his eyes slipped every so slightly to the door that led to his own personal chambers.
"So where did my father learn it?" Harry asked.
Lupin, who had so far looked remarkably calm, paled. Even Niamh jerked, her ears shooting upwards as all hostility faded.
"How do you-"
"Sirius Black is my Godfather," Harry interrupted. "It would make sense for my dad to learn as well if they were such good friends."
Lupin didn't respond, for lack of being able to speak, he looked truly unnerved and bewildered.
And then the next question, perfectly planned like everything else. Tom had taken out his wand, twirling it deliberately in his fingers, so that he had Lupin's undivided attention.
"Is there a chance Sirius Black can be trusted?" Tom asked softly.
The silence resounded around Lupin's office. Even Niamh had frozen, wasn't making a sound. It took all of Lupin's resolve to keep his composure.
"W-why do you ask that?"
Tom only shrugged a little too innocently and shared a look with Harry.
It was enough to totally unsettle Lupin as his gaze hardened.
"What are you not telling me?"
"That depends," Tom said with a brief smile. "You're holding back as much information as we are. You picked up Ron's rat, care to share what you know?"
Lupin was gripping the edge of his desk, but before he had time to speak, Harry cut across him once again.
"Is Ron's rat really Peter Pettigrew?"
Niamh's snout rippled upwards whereas Lupin looked alarmed.
"How-how could you possibly know that?"
"So Pettigrew is alive?" Tom murmured. "Well that's interesting. Why would someone who is supposed to be dead hide away for twelve years, any ideas Harry-"
Despite not being on the Animagis Register, Peter Pettigrew hadn't been too hard to find. Tom had scoured through old newspapers with Sirius Black's portrait, before finally locating a person who had a rat for a dæmon. To see the visible effect it had on Lupin through was more than they had expected.
"Stop. Just stop it both of you."
Lupin's voice barely held steady, but his eyes were hard.
"Both of you had better explain everything right now," Lupin demanded. "And that means everything. Don't leave anything out."
Instead of any clarity for Lupin, Tom only added to it.
"Well we have a slight problem," Tom said. "Sirius Black has Lyra."
"What-" Lupin's eyes widened.
"That's what happened in Hogsmeade. Riddle got to Lyra, but Sirius Black intervened."
"Why are you only telling me this now?" Lupin had drawn his own wand abruptly and had already reached for his cloak. Tom side stepped him so that he couldn't make cleanly for the door.
"Tom, get out of the way. This isn't funny. We need to tell Dumbledore immediately."
"Can Sirius Black be trusted?" Tom asked again. "It's rather important we don't leave Lyra with her if he's about to kill her, or hand her over to Voldemort. You don't need Dumbledore to answer that question."
Lupin looked ready to contest, but Tom still held his wand deliberately visible.
Niamh looked tempted, her teeth bared, but Lupin's shoulder's hunched, and he looked more tired that before. He cast a brief glance in Harry's direction.
"Wait here."
He left only for a moment, returning with Scabbers who was curled up in the corner of his cage, asleep.
Niamh's was watching the small cage carefully, as if ready to bring her enormous jaw down on it.
Lupin set the cage on his desk with a heavy sigh.
"Yes," Lupin said. "Ron's rat is Peter Pettigrew, I believe Peter has been merged so long with his dæmon that he no longer remembers he is human."
"That's convenient," Tom said as he tapped his wand gently against the bars.
The rat didn't react, it merely continued sleeping, its small chest rising in small and uneven patterns.
"How long has Ron's rat been sick?" Lupin asked.
"Awhile," Harry shrugged. "Since sometime last year I think, sometime when me and Tom went missing-"
"When Sirius escaped from Azkaban," Lupin clarified. "Despite no longer retaining any memory of his previous life, Peter still reacts in terror to Sirius' name. I believe he fears retribution."
A chill descended through the room. Harry and Tom had discussed the possible reasons for Pettigrew's actions, but to hear implication was enough.
Lupin looked across at Harry, his expression pained. Niamh shifted, her own fear exaggerated from Harry's influence.
"I don't know how much you know-" Lupin started, his own breath misting in front of him. "Sirius was sent to Azkaban for murdering all those muggles. But he also betrayed your parents to Voldemort. He told Voldemort where they were hiding."
"I know."
Harry couldn't say anything else, so Lupin continued.
"Sirius was sent to Azkaban without a trial- I believed he was a Death Eater-"
"Until you found Peter Pettigrew," Tom said when Lupin's voice faltered.
Lupin nodded.
"Niamh could smell Sesti when we were in Hogsmeade. I thought at first that she had been mistaken, but when I saw Ron's rat up close, I knew it was Peter. They could be no other reason for Peter to hide, not unless he was the spy. Unless Peter murdered all those people."
Harry stared at the rat, coldness wrapping the room. Scabbers stirred, curling his small body in on itself from whatever instinctual terror consumed him.
"Why?" Lupin asked suddenly, genuine confusion lacing his voice as he curled his fingers tightly into Niamh's mane. "If you knew Sirius had Lyra why didn't you say anything? You couldn't have known he was anything but a Death Eater."
Harry looked away from the rat and Tom slipped his hand into Harry's own, giving it a small squeeze.
"Sirius Black told me he could find my dæmon," Harry said. There was far more too it, but the indication was enough for Lupin. "When Riddle had Lyra everything felt wrong, I-"
"Black got to Lyra just in time," Tom finished when Harry stopped talking. The room had sunk another couple of degrees. Lupin kept Niamh close, but he didn't nothing to stop the fear penetrating his very soul.
"Riddle will still be hunting Lyra," Lupin said. "Sirius will only have delayed him."
Tom nodded.
"If Black truly means Harry no harm, then he will attempt to bring Lyra to Hogwarts. We need to be ready for him when he does."
Harry took a calming breath, which didn't help with Niamh present.
"I want to keep Lyra hidden," Harry said at Lupin's furrowing brow. "I won't be able to keep her with me, but at Hogwarts she would be close and safe."
Lupin's expression flicked to alarm.
"Harry, you do understand that we are here to help you. Keeping secrets from Dumbledore is only going to cause complications for you, and for Tom."
"Dumbledore stuck me and Tom in that guillotine," Harry said darkness swirling as the room plummeted to even colder temperatures.
"Speaking of which," Tom said. "How do you think Harry's parents would have reacted? That one of their closest friends stood by and did nothing while Harry's soul was being ripped from him."
Lupin's face hardened.
"That's uncalled for-"
"Is it?" Tom said coolly. "Lord Voldemort did more to protect Harry from the guillotine then you."
"Voldemort was concerned in your wellbeing only, not Harry's."
"Still had the same result," Tom said.
Niamh growled and Lupin's face whitened. He looked sickly pale.
"If you genuinely want to help then there is so more you can do," Tom said without a care for Lupin's faltering composure.
Now that certainly caught Lupin's attention and it seemed that everything seemed to slot together.
"You want me to hide her," Lupin said.
"Lyra is my soul," Harry said. "I need someone I can trust to keep her safe until I can control myself."
Harry and Tom had chosen their words carefully, deliberately focused to manipulate Lupin.
"If you do agree, we're going to need you to keep hold of that rat, keep him secure and secret," Tom added.
"Without Peter then Sirius will remain hunted-"
"And if the Ministry pardon Sirius Black then he'll come straight out of hiding, with Lyra," Tom said. "Lyra needs to stay hidden, the Ministry can't have her either."
"But if Sirius gets caught he'll go straight back to Azkaban," Lupin said.
"In that case, either the Ministry will have Lyra or she'll be on her own again. Either case, you can use the rat to free him."
"And if the dementors get to Sirius first?" Lupin said, fear betraying him. "If they-"
"Devour his soul?" Harry said lightly.
Lupin jerked at this, Niamh whined slightly, ears downwards.
"Black's evaded the dementors before, and he knows how to get around unseen, he's been hunted by the Ministry for months and they are no closer to finding him," Tom said.
"Sirius might slip up, then Lyra will be exposed to the dementors as well," Lupin said. "Are you willing to take that chance?"
"Yes," Harry said, no hesitation in his voice.
Lupin surveyed them both for a moment, but the conviction was clear in both of them.
"Okay," Lupin said finally as Niamh pushed her large head against him. "If Sirius brings Lyra to Hogwarts I will keep her safe and hidden for you."
The morning of Harry's first quidditch match, the winds reached howling point and the ran fell harder than ever.
Tom had piled enough food in front of Harry to feed him for the entire week. As it was he merely had a few bites of toast before staring longing in Neville and Cyrilla's direction.
It seemed like Harry's appetite was matched by the rest of the Gryffindor team. Oliver Wood hadn't eaten anything and his small jackdaw was flittering around just above the table.
Even Celendia and Demetria weren't bounding around as usual, they were skirting around Fred and George looking thoroughly unhappy. Fred was currently attempting to cast a water repelling charm on the huskies.
Alicia Spinnet had tucked her chinchilla into her hood, while Angelina's sparrow had settled in her hair, clearly not keen to fly.
It was almost a relief when Wood finally stood.
"Right, changing rooms," he said.
The team reluctantly followed.
Even the walk across the grounds was a challenge and by the time they reached the pitch, most of the dæmons looked thoroughly soaked through and miserable. According to Wood, there were little reasons a quidditch match would be cancelled.
The team changed into their scarlet robes as Wood cleared his throat.
"This is the first opportunity Gryffindor has had in years, we've finally got a decent team again and I for one do not want to waste this opportunity."
Wood didn't seem tempted to give any more of a pep talk, instead he motioned Harry across.
"Harry. It's on you okay, try and make this a quick game and catch the snitch early. Although if we come under pressure, it would be nice if you could well-"
"Scare a few dæmons," Harry said.
Wood smiled grimly.
"Just don't let Professor McGonagall see you do it or she'll have my head."
Tom who had just pulled his own Gryffindor robes over his head, shot Harry a look at this.
The wind was just as strong on the pitch, and Harry staggered sideways, clutching his broomstick. If the spectators were cheering Harry couldn't hear any sound over the continued rolls of thunder.
The Hufflepuff's were approaching from the other side of the pitch. Harry spotted several dæmons looking thoroughly miserable in the small cages which hung under the broomsticks. Cedric Diggory's dæmon was sitting on his shoulder, the bright plumage of his kingfisher clearly visible as she flexed her wings, eager to take flight despite the storm.
Wood and Diggory shook hands while Madam Hooch's dæmon circled above their heads.
A moment later and the whistle was blown.
Harry kicked off hard, soaring high into the air. He could barely hear the roar of the crowd above the wind, nor see his teammates who had soared upwards alongside him.
Within five minutes he was soaked to his skin. Tom who was shivering violently had his arms locked tight around him. Harry couldn't feel the chill but he still had to shift his broom to avoid the bursts of wind which shook them. He flew backwards and forwards across the pitch. Lightning illuminated the stands below, revealing crowds huddled under umbrella's, but the snitch was nowhere to be seen.
Cedric Diggory was circling around just below Harry, his kingfisher soaring beside him.
The commentary barely reached Harry's ears as the Gryffindor chaser's swerved about fiercely in the storm, darting towards the opposite side of the pitch towards the three goal posts.
Harry dodged a Bludger and he felt Tom's numb hands dig into his waist. Harry pulled his broom around scanning the pitch below.
But something odd was happening. An eerie silence was falling across the stadium. The wind, though as strong as ever, was forgetting to roar. It was as though someone had dimmed the lights, as if Harry's good eye had suddenly gone blind.
And then a horrible wave of cold swept over him, a cold so penetrating that Harry hadn't known since his transformation, just as he became aware of something moving on the pitch below.
Tom squeezed Harry's waist, but his fingers held no strength in them.
"Don't look!"
Tom was terrified.
Before he'd had time to think, Harry looked down.
At least a hundred hooded cloaked figures had swarmed the pitch far below. A flash of lightning and Harry could see their hidden faces, knew they were dæmonless, their skin rotting and hunger as fierce as his own.
It was as if Harry's breath was sucked from him, his very existence falling through an icy mist.
Harry was back by the cauldron with Voldemort and Riddle towering over him, his fingers scratching into the snow.
Harry's skin was rotting, limbs burning as flesh dropped from his hands, the shadow gouging inwards and Harry knew what would happen, yet he could do nothing to prevent reliving every detail. Something was crawling over his right eye, gouging inwards.
The distant grip on Harry's waist had slackened, and Tom was slipping, unconscious and falling from the broomstick. Harry hardly noticed for every dæmon was suddenly revealed in a bright flicking golden light.
The dementor's below were hidden from him, like a black hole to his dead eye where only darkness existed. Harry's fear was paramount, his worst memories flashing in his mind as the darkness swarmed him. He wanted it to end. He didn't want to feel the flesh drop from his body.
And then Harry was nothing, only his instinct remained as every dæmon became a target. All fear extinguished. The darkness that had been so terrifying was now a comfort. Harry could only see the dæmons, their bright lights his only source of clarity.
People were screaming as Harry angled his broomstick downwards.
Tom was lost, his eyes rolled up in his head. He couldn't see. He was drowning in cold. There was a rushing in his ears as though of water. He was being dragged downwards, the roaring growing louder.
And then from far away, as it it hadn't happened months ago, he was back within St Mungo's. Tom could barely draw breath, his chest tight as the hospital walls pressed in. His footsteps traced the same path, one foot in front of the other as he walked towards where Harry's decayed body lay.
Tom's heart pounded as oxygen flooded his head, but the was only one way forwards, one option left to him.
Tom's finger's traced down to rest on Harry's exposed bandaged neck.
Everything hurt. Tom moaned and rolled over, only this made everything hurt even more. He kept his eyes locked shut, his head throbbing. A warm duvet covered him but did nothing to stop the relentless shivers which raked his body.
Very slowly Tom peeled his eyes open, wincing at the bright lights above him.
He was lying in the empty hospital wing, with no sign of Madam Pomfrey or her dameon. The wind was still howling as rain lashed at the windows. The match must have long since ended.
It took great effort as Tom pushed himself into a sitting position.
There was a quiet knock on the door, and Professor Dumbledore entered. He looked solemn as he approached the end of Tom's bed, pulling up a chair with his wand before he sat upon it.
Tom took a deep breath and his chest burned with a sharp pain. He couldn't meet Dumbledore's gaze so instead looked at his hands resting above his covers.
"Did Harry get anyone?"
"No."
Tom nodded tightly his jaw set.
And the realisation that had torn through Tom since he had awoken, but this time his voice came out like the smallest of whispers.
"Where is he?"
"Harry is back in your room, Professors Snape and Lupin are with him," Dumbledore said.
Tom had known it from the start, ever since Harry could not see their bond. Tom hadn't wanted to test it, hadn't wanted to go far. It had been broken irreversibly by the Basilisk.
The distance between them, despite being less than the castle's width, stretched out as if they were worlds apart.
"I won't abandon Harry," Tom whispered, and he turned away from Dumbledore, pushing his sleeve to his wet face. "I said we wouldn't be separated again, I promised him."
Fawkes gave a soft coo, as Dumbledore sighed.
"You can't continue to sustain Harry. Not like this. Every day you're deteriorating, despite your best efforts."
Tom laughed deliriously.
"Congratulations, job done then."
"Tom," Dumbledore said calmly. "You need to have some prospective. Without your strength, what hope does Harry have of hanging on? You need time to process what has happened, to recover, dæmons in Azkaban deteriorate in weeks and you've spent months by Harry's side."
"Harry doesn't always effect me," Tom countered without hesitation, but his voice betrayed his rising anxiety. "And with the potion Professor Snape gives him-"
"Tom, regardless, you are still subjected to the torments of your worst fears, fleeting moments of no happiness. I know that Lord Voldemort was fuelled on hate and fear, I would not see you suffer the same fate."
Tom didn't say anything, instead he looked down at his bedsheets.
"I believe your worst fear has helped in your resolve," Dumbledore continued, voice washing over Tom. "It is what you fear most, yet it is the one thing you are adamant at fighting against."
"What do you know about my worst fear?" Tom snapped, his voice barely holding.
"Scrimgeour told me what happened in St Mungo's," Dumbledore said, his voice soft. "What you attempted to do-"
Tom slammed his hands to his ears, coldness descending. Harry didn't even need to be near.
"And if you had succeeded and killed Harry-" Dumbledore continued.
"Shut up-" Tom snapped, "Shut up!"
The potion bottles that had been at Tom's bedside exploded, their contents spattering green liquid onto several of the nearby paintings. The occupants screamed and fled out of the frame, disappearing from sight. The candles flickered and some extinguished, plunging the room into a semi darkness.
Dumbledore didn't react.
This was worse, Tom curled in on himself, the memory all too raw, his tears thick now, but their was no hiding.
"I thought he was lost," Tom said, his the barest of whispers. "That nothing would bring Harry back-"
"You don't have to justify your actions, Tom," Dumbledore said. "What else could you have done with the knowledge you had?"
Tom glared at Dumbledore, fists curling as his whole body tensed.
"There is no excuse for what I did," Tom hissed. "I will not make the same mistake again."
"Then you are a better man than Lord Voldemort. Who rarely admits his mistakes and would rather forget he has such weaknesses."
"I want to forget," Tom snapped, magic snapping around him. "What I nearly did to Harry, I can't even- I'm second guessing everything-"
And Tom had tried so desperately to forget, to pretend that he had not been so desperate to end it all, to disappear back into the oblivion that the basilisk had offered. It had been so easy at first, too much had happened, Harry had been distraction enough, despite Harry's ability to sink Tom into a coldness, a fear like no other. But the boggart had been something else entirely, a harsh reminder, leaving Tom's fear uncensored, that he could suppress it no longer.
Dumbledore peered at Tom over his half moon spectacles and Tom hated it, he wanted to curse the Headmaster, to hear him scream.
"Forgetting would not achieve anything," Dumbledore sighed. "Our memories are precious, even the ones that hurt the most."
"Is this why you're so adamant on forcing Harry to relive his transformation in the penseive?" Tom snapped. "The answer is still no. I will never subject Harry to that-"
Dumbledore surveyed Tom for a moment, finally he weaved his hands together and nodded.
"A compromise then, I ask that you watch Harry's memories, Tom. I believe you will learn a great deal from them. Harry does not need to relive them."
Tom stared, but the Headmaster gave nothing further away with his old and wary expression. Tom hated to admit that he was curious, more so since he'd found the hidden diary piece that Harry had kept from him.
But it wouldn't matter now. If the Ministry found out that Harry and Tom could separate themselves, then Fudge surely wouldn't hesitate in removing Tom. Scrimgeour's words echoed in his memory. It only takes one horrific mistake. Dumbledore however, seemed to know what Tom was thinking.
"I will not allow anyone from the Ministry to remove you or Harry from this castle. Whether it be together or apart."
"I guess you have to keep me away from Voldemort," Tom muttered.
Dumbledore only smiled at him.
"Tom, you will always be welcome at Hogwarts. I hope one day you realise this."
"Do you think that would stop them? Fudge won't let this go. If he can't have Harry there's nothing stopping him from taking me."
"I have constantly protested against the use of dementors around the school, particularly as Voldemort regains his strength and regathers his old followers. It will only be a matter of time before they stop listening to the will of the Minister. This is merely one example, and one that Harry suffered greatly from. It is because of Fudge's mistake that Harry fell today. No, Fudge will not act. He understands that he cannot remove you when you are solely responsible for Harry's stability."
"Right," Tom said his fists curling into his bedsheets. So Dumbledore was blaming the Ministry.
"However," Dumbledore continued. "I will advise that for your own well-being you should remain apart from Harry for a short period."
Tom was already shaking his head, his voice raising.
"No. I will not leave Harry alone. I won't give up on him." Not again.
"Then I will leave the decision solely with you," Dumbledore said. "I ask you at least consider it, even if only for a few hours at a time. But I will say this, I will never stop you from returning to be by Harry's side again."
Tom's gaze shot up at this, his expression darkening.
"Is that an apology?"
"Presented with the same circumstances two years ago I would act the same again," Dumbledore said. "It is my own misfortune that I did not realise just how different from Lord Voldemort you are Tom."
"Your misfortune," Tom spat, glaring. "I hope you realise that it's not my reckoning that you have to fear. Harry hasn't forgotten."
Dumbledore merely nodded, as if accepting the inevitable.
"Then I can only hope he will forgive."
There was nothing more Tom had to say to this. He shifted the covers, making to get out of bed.
"You stay right there."
Madam Pomfrey had appeared from her office, Kulang was right behind her, his small paws working hard to keep up.
Tom ignored her, despite his body protesting.
"Stay still," Madam Pomfrey instructed, her hand reaching out to push him back down before freezing just above him. Instead she drew back and noticing the exploded potion bottles on Tom's bedside table, withdrew her wand and summoned another bottle. "Drink, and don't leave a drop. And get back into bed-"
She didn't bat an eye at the fierce look Tom was giving her.
"You won't make it ten paces outside this room, but go on then if you think you can."
Tom couldn't feel anything but the ache in his bones. He wished he could stop shaking, wished his eyes didn't feel raw from tears. Reluctantly he relented, laying back onto the pillows.
"Good," Madam Pomfrey said. "You're staying here tonight, we'll see how you are in the morning."
"Then I will leave you in Madam Pomfrey's capable hands," Dumbledore said with a smile.
Tom glared at him, his hand itching towards his and Harry's wands that had been placed on his bedside table.
It was the next evening when Tom finally escaped the hospital wing. He'd slept for the best part of 24 hours, the dreamless sleep potions amongst others Madam Pomfrey had ensured he'd taken had been effective. Tom felt better than he had in weeks, but that still didn't stop his thoughts from spiralling.
Each step should have ricocheted through his core and burnt from the inside out. Instead Tom kept walking but there was nothing, no pull of Harry's soul protesting at their separation. The Basilisk really had destroyed their link beyond repair. Yet it was the absence of pain, with nothing to remind Tom of his guilt, that didn't sit right. If it hurt it would have been at least some punishment and he could have forgiven himself.
But there was no forgiving his actions. If Tom had had his way, Harry would never have woken up and Tom would have returned to his peaceful oblivion.
The portraits peered down as Tom walked silently. He had never felt so exposed. Harry had always been with him.
Dumbledore's words stirred in Tom's head.
Always welcome at Hogwarts.
Instinctively, Tom's fingers curled around the small empty glass vial that he had kept in his pocket for months. For the first time in weeks, Tom's chest softened. Harry's oppressive chill was continuous that Tom had forgotten what it was like to be away from it. Even when Harry was happy and the effects did not impact Tom, the mental freedom of not constantly having to be on his guard was immense.
A shame so deep crossed over Tom. He didn't want to go back to their tower.
Instead his footsteps found themselves tracing a route he'd not been in months. The castle remained quiet as he approached the portrait of the Fat Lady.
Someone swore loudly behind him.
It was Ron and Hermione. Ramiron and Sephronia were skirting around their legs, looking completely unnerved to see Tom alone.
"W-Where's Harry?" Hermione asked.
Tom didn't even spare her a glance.
"Not here. Open the portrait."
The common room which had been buzz of activity, died as soon as the nearest dæmons spotted Tom. Dæmons scurried instinctively away, and the room was so quiet as everyone stared.
Tom ignored them. Half a dozen second years were crammed at a small table in front of the fire, parchment, quills and textbooks scatted about.
"Move," Tom hissed.
The second years scampered, a couple of their dæmons took immediate flight as two birds flew into the air. Ron sat down immediately, Sephronia jumping onto his lap, where Hermione dithered, Ramiron looked anxiously after the second years, before Hermione joined them in front of the fire.
Slowly, the common room became to come to life again, the dæmons content that Harry wasn't nearby settled, whereas Gryffindor's peered in Tom's direction, curious to know how and why they were apart.
Ron and Hermione looked anxiously between themselves but they didn't say anything, only waited as Tom pressed his fingers to his temple.
"What happened?" he asked.
Raminron and Sephronia exchanged brief nervous glances.
"You fell off," Ron said. "Must've been about fifty feet?"
"Dumbledore was really angry," Hermione said in a quiet voice. "I've never seen him like that before. He ran onto the pitch as you fell, waved his wand, and sort of slowed you down before you hit the ground-"
"Harry," Tom stressed, "What happened to Harry?"
Hermione shuddered as Ramiron brushed against her leg.
"It was like he was one of them," Hermione said. "As soon as you fell, Harry was lost. He wasn't Harry anymore-"
"Fawkes appeared," Ron said. "Burst out of thin air and stopped Harry mid flight."
"Dumbledore did something and Harry sort of slumped on the broom, and then he went straight to you. Professor Snape dealt with Harry while McGonagall and Lupin sorted the dementors, they went straight back to the school boundary."
Ramiron, who had leapt onto the chair, tentatively brushed against Tom's arm. Tom didn't pull away. Instead he moved to stroke a hand absently against the otters fur, clinging to the small amount of comfort the dæmon offered. He almost pulled away, as he could still feel Harry's desperate hunger coursing through him.
Hermione didn't seem to mind, she seemed to be biting her lip and wanting to say more. A dæmon should never be alone. Ron seemed to be thinking the same thing, but he was far less tactful.
"Why aren't you with Harry?" Ron asked. "I didn't know you could still separate-"
Tom was silent for a moment before answering.
"Dumbledore thought it was best that we spend time apart," Tom said quietly. "And we've been able to do so since Riddle broke our bond. We've just never had the need to test it."
"So what? Your connection is like a Death Eaters then?" Ron said. "I'm surprised you didn't try it for Quidditch. I thought you hated flying."
Tom didn't comment on this, instead he lifted his head to survey the relatively normal Gryffindor tower.
"I take it we lost?"
"Diggory got the snitch just after you fell. No one blames Harry of course but-" Ron trialled off as Sephronia growled slightly.
"Well, people were terrified. No one had seen Harry like that-" Hermione said. She reached into her school bag and pulled out a number of books and a handful of parchment.
Tom frowned as he noticed the title of several of the books she had extracted.
"Are you learning the Dark Arts?" he asked, giving Hermione a sharp look. "Who signed that out for you?"
Hermione sniffed at him but didn't protest when Tom lent forwards to pick up The Dark Arts and Everything You Don't Want to Know.
"Well you said I didn't understand dark magic, and well you had a point. If there's a way to help Harry then I better understand it," she said coolly. "It was Professor Dumbledore actually who signed my permission slip."
Tom didn't want to ask. There was no point wasting energy on false hope. Even so, he sighed and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose.
"Have you found anything?"
Hermione nodded, but also bit her lip.
"Well, a few things, but the magic is well-"
"Dark," Tom finished, as he flicked over a couple of pages.
"Dæmons are the purest form of magic," Hermione said. "Even though its not been proven, most witches and wizards believe that dæmons are the source of our magic. It's been theorised that if someone loses a dæmon then their magic becomes unregulated. I assume you've heard of an Obscurus?"
Tom nodded, his expression heavy.
"What's an obscurus?" Ron asked.
"It's an unstable uncontrollable dark force," Hermione said as Ramiron made a whining noise. "It's a manifestation that can sometimes appear instead of a dæmon."
Both Ron and Sephronia looked horrified.
"What do you mean instead of a dæmon?"
"Dæmons usually appear at the age of seven," Hermione said. "If a child has suffered immense physical or phycological abuse then sometimes they'll suppress their magic, the result means that their dæmon will never appear and instead an obscurus will form."
"The obscurus will usually kill the child," Tom said. "So what has this got to do with dementors?"
"Well dæmons and obscurus are both derived of the same source of magic. No one really understands why either form, but it's rather telling that a dementors transformation can only be triggered once a dæmon has been devoured."
"What are you saying?" Tom said sharply.
"It's the stolen dæmon that turns the person demented, nothing else," Hermione said quietly, as she opened up another book to a rather grotesque looking depiction. "It's not actually the act of devouring a dæmon itself that causes it."
"So when Harry took Quirrell's dæmon?" Ron said.
Hermione nodded.
"Yes, the dark magic that consumed Harry manifested from Quirrell's dæmon, most likely from the same source of the dæmon which has the potential to form an obscurus."
"So how do you explain the darkness that surrounding Harry before he took a dæmon?" Ron asked frowning. "If that wasn't dark magic-"
"That," Hermione said looking rather pale. "Was Harry's magic overreacting in an attempt to find a dæmon. It was unregulated and uncontrollable and desperate to seek an equivalent to Lyra."
"But it felt so similar-" Sephronia said.
"And that's the terrifying thing," Hermione agreed. "It's all so confusing, but it seems like it's all related, our magic, dæmons, dementors, obscurus, just one thing can tip the scale in the wrong way. I mean I wouldn't be surprised if Harry has problems with his magic-"
Tom didn't respond to this.
"So in terms of any sort of cure, it doesn't look possible," Hermione said.
"But what about Lyra?" Ron said. "Dementors seek souls because they are trying to regain their soul. Surely once Harry has Lyra back he'll be okay again?"
"No," Hermione said quietly. "They've done experiments on that." She flicked a few pages of her book before handing it to Tom.
"It's horrific, but hundreds of years ago they used to remove people's dæmons, let the human devour someone else's dæmon to transform, and then as a fully fledged dementor introduce them back to their own dæmon."
"And?" Tom pressed.
Hermione shook her head.
"Nothing changed. The dementors didn't recognise their dæmon. They devoured them same as all the others."
"But Harry's different," Ron said. "He's half human, so that's got to count for something."
Hermione nodded but she didn't look convinced.
"Harry might not devour Lyra, but that's not to say he'll be healed by her either."
"But you said you'd found something?" Tom pressed.
Hermione nodded.
"Only wisps of ideas. It's like I said before, Harry has to have a perfect replica of his soul. I haven't found any books on how to go about that, but you must know something Tom?"
Tom stilled, his fingers pulling away from Ramiron.
"That's what you are, isn't it?" Hermione said leaning forwards eagerly. "You're the prefect representation of You Know Who when he was a child, surely we could do the same for Harry."
"You can't create more of a soul," Tom said. "You can only tear one apart."
It was the same thing he'd told Harry.
"But Voldemort still has Nagini doesn't he?" Hermione frowned. "Riddle was desperate to find her."
"Riddle's in denial," Tom said quietly.
Hermione blinked at this, her eyebrows furrowing but Tom didn't offer any further explanation.
It only took a moment and then Hermione gasped, her hand flying to her mouth to cover it. Startled, Ramiron leapt up and scurried into her lap, but she didn't reach out to her dæmon. Instead, Hermione stared at Tom, tears swelling in her eyes.
"But that's horrific-"
Tom nodded, his lips pressed tight together.
Ron looked between the two, his brow knitting together.
"What-"
Tom fixed Hermione and Ron with a very hard look.
"There is no saving Voldemort's soul. If you want to help Harry, this isn't the way."
Tom spent the night in the Gryffindor dormitory. He pulled the drapes around his bed shut, ignoring the other boys and their dæmons who were whispering in hurried voices. Tom placed both his and Harry's wands on the pillow beside him as he lay fully clothed with eyes wide open.
Every second away only added to Tom's simmering guilt. But he couldn't deny his exhaustion, the very ache and heaviness of his own being that had been stretched too far.
Harry had been alone, before Riddle had found him.
And Harry remained alone now.
Tom rolled over, the snores of the other boys already filling the room.
It was an uneasy sleep that Tom fell into, so come morning it was no surprise that Harry's desire for dæmons was seeping through their connection all the more strongly.
It was still early, but Tom got up and left the dormitory all the same.
The walk through the castle felt as alien as it had the day previous. Despite the corridors remaining empty, Tom resisted the urge to draw his arms around himself. He quickened his pace, head down as he walked alone.
Tom knocked on Snape's office door, half expecting him not to be there.
It swung open abruptly, the hooked nose face of Snape staring gauntly down at him. Laraine, his dæmon, was nowhere to be seen.
Tom stepped into the office with no invitation, instead he approached the pensieve that was sitting out on Snape's desk.
The air temperature seemed to plummet several degrees despite Harry not being present.
"Have you seen it?" Tom asked with a hard edge to his voice, but he didn't look in the basin, instead he looked reluctant about approaching it at all.
"I have," Snape said.
Tom walked around the pensieve, gazing at the blackened memories within.
"What would you do?" Tom asked quietly.
"You already know the end result," Snape said. "There is more to see and understand."
Now that caught Tom's attention, his gaze sweeping over Snape unwaveringly.
"I understand," Tom said coolly. "I live it every day."
Snape's mouth curled into a horrible looking smirk.
"Then why are you here? You've refused at every other instance."
Tom placed his hand on the brim, watching the memories swirl within. He didn't have to do this, but the insistence from Dumbledore and even Snape in every other Occlumency lesson was enough to sway his suspicions.
What did they want him to see.
Tom's expression sharpened as his wand itching dangerously in his hand.
"Why am I here?" Tom repeated softly. "To master self control, to stay any influence over Harry's temptation. But we both know that's not true-"
Snape didn't say anything, but he didn't deny it either.
There was only one way forward.
With a shaky breath, Tom plunged into Harry's memories.
Tom had expected to see the cauldron and Voldemort's rebirth, but he was greeted with an entirely different scene entirely.
He was in the Chamber of Secrets.
The room was immense, large stone pillars adorned the room as water trickled down limestone covered walls, torches barely flickering in their brackets so that the room remained dim. Harry was on the floor, just before the giant pedestal of Salazar Slytherin. Harry was leaning against Tom's petrified form who was standing rigid, unmoving, arm outstretched.
It was strange to see Harry's unblemished face again, without the decayed ashen skin and his dead eye. Harry however, looked anything but healthy. His skin had a sickly hue, his eyes bloodshot and his whole body seemed to tremble as he clung to Riddle's diary. Riddle was no where in sight.
Tom waited, expecting to see Riddle appear.
But the second ticked by, turning into minutes as Harry waited alone.
Harry had pulled the diary open, his hands already scratching the quill into the page, the ink seeping it. Riddle still did not appear.
Another minute passed. Nothing.
Harry threw the diary away hard. It landed face down in a puddle, its pages seeping with water.
Finally Riddle was there and Harry was already leaning in, for the comfort he so desperately needed. Riddle obliged, his palm pressing to Harry's sweaty forehead, his slim fingers pulling Harry closer, but it wasn't enough.
Harry had calmed, but the shadows and creases in his expression had barely faltered.
Tom watched, his fists curling tight.
Riddle was muttering to Harry now, his words barely legible to Tom, but it didn't matter. The damage was already clear.
The memory faded, blurring into another, that was unnervingly similar to the first. And then another, where Harry was clinging to the Mirror of Erised as Riddle shattered everything Harry held dear.
Of course, Tom had seen fleeting moments of Harry's memories with Riddle during Occlumency, but the memories had been exactly that. To see Harry's memories in detail was something else entirely.
Another memory formed, and this time Harry was alone, upstairs in the room that Tom did not recognise. Thick dust coated every surface, including a rusted mirror which Harry was standing before. The large bay windows were covered in wooden boards so that the room was dark.
Harry had sank down into the broken mattress, rolling over to put a hand out to where Tom would normally be.
And then Harry was sitting up, his fear barely contained as Riddle was finally there. As he should have been this entire time, that he dared to leave was incomprehensible to Tom.
Riddle was already pulling Harry up, a cloak swung around his shoulder's.
All of this which Tom had slept through. Yet of course, the worse was still to come. The final memory that Tom had expected to see emerged.
The cauldron bubbled as Riddle dragged Harry with his bloody arm towards it, squeezing Harry's arm as fire rippled against Harry's bare skin.
Tom thought he wouldn't be able to face it.
His Harry.
Alone, surrounding by the worst possible human beings. Tom knew what would happen, yet to see Riddle discard Harry with no meaningful hesitation rippled through Tom like nothing else he had ever known.
The rest was nothing Tom had not expected. Harry alone, crippled by the emptiness that Riddle had imposed. His sudden want for dæmons unleashed as he advanced upon Quirrell's offered dæmon.
There was nothing Tom could do but watch the inevitable.
Harry's decent into darkness, the deterioration of his body.
And Tom's suspicions has been confirmed. Dumbledore had lied. Watching Harry's memories was never to teach Tom about understanding Harry's desires. Tom had been under no delusion from the start.
And Dumbledore had known it, had counted on it because there was only one outcome that could possibly have emerged. For Tom had learnt something.
The reason why Harry had clung to the diary piece despite Riddle's betrayal.
Riddle had the power to manipulate souls as well as Tom. Harry should have barely noticed that Riddle was any different from Tom.
Riddle could easily have ensured that Harry was malleable to his every will. Instead Riddle had done nothing of the sort.
Harry had been left barely functional but with his own free will, which meant that any connection between Riddle and Harry had been genuine. And that made Riddle's actions to discard Harry all the more terrible.
Tom surfaced from the blackened memories and turned his icy glare onto Snape. Snape in turn, moved his eyes slightly to the right, just so there gazes weren't aligned.
The slight indication of Snape's true allegiance would have been interesting in itself, and Tom would have pressed the Potion's master further had it not been for the burning rage that consumed him. Instead all that Tom could manage was the deadliest of whispers.
"You're playing a dangerous game, Severus Snape."
Snape did not respond, there was nothing he could say. Tom gripped his wand all the more tightly in his hand, knowing that his next actions were suddenly so clear to him.
He would kill Riddle.