"Just bloody well kill the damned thing!" Trevor Parkinson hissed as he retreated back towards the door, bumping into Neville who was standing there. He slammed into the door, which was already barely hanging on one of the hinges after being blasted open by Draco. The impact was too much for the poor thing and it hit the half rotten, wooden floor with a thud, making every one of the four Auror's in the room jump.
They were in a run-down house in Knockturn Alley which had seen better times. It looked like something out of one of those muggle horror movies that Dudley had preferred. Harry hadn't been sure the roof would hold up when they had entered, but thankfully it still did. The house did however give a slight stir every now and then as to remind them that it was just still standing out of its own will, and that there was a time limit on how long it would remain.
The current problem however wasn't the fear of the house collapsing on them, or the three dead bodies, it was the seven feet long runespoor in the middle of the room. The three heads were changing directions continuously, snapping and snarling at the four Aurors. The orange and black body was posed to strike. Behind it on a table, there was a large glass container, which Harry assumed had housed the snake until something had made it break. There was glass all over the floor, and from what he could see of the belly of the snake there was several wounds from where it had glided over the broken pieces. Harry assumed the container had been caught in the crossfire of whatever fight had taken place in the room.
"We can't kill it," he heard Draco say behind him as he too inched closer to the door, moving carefully as to not agitate the snake even more. The left head snapped forward and Harry scrambled out of the way. Pushing at Draco, the four of them tumbled out through the door. Neville scrambled to his feet and quickly set up a simple ward, trapping the furious snake within the room, along with the three dead men. Harry allowed his head to fall back onto the floor in relief as the ward came up and prevented them from dying from being bit by a runespoor.
Trevor was dusting of his robes which had been coated in dust as he had fallen to the floor when Draco bawled into him. Standing back up, he adjusted the cuffs of his robes before looking at Neville with and incredulous look. "Why in seven hells can't we kill it? It probably killed the three in there, and it will kill us if given the chance."
"Because, you idiot, the wizard who reported this mentioned a lot of spells being cast around in the house, and that snake can't do magic, which means the snake knows what happened, and is currently our only witness," Draco snapped from the floor, gesturing towards the snake that had slid up to the ward and the right-side head was pushing its nose against it as if testing the ward. He jumped back when he saw how close the snake had gotten. With a grimace he too pushed himself to his feet and held out a hand towards Harry to help him get up. Harry eyed the hand, and then sat up and took it, letting the Slytherin pull him to his feet. Well up he too dusted of his robes, keeping an eye on the snake that was slithering along the ward, seemingly looking for a weakness in the magic.
Trevor looked like he thought Draco had lost his marbles. Eyes wide and his jaw slightly open. "Witness? And how exactly do you propose we talk to it? There aren't flushed with parselmouths around and Harry lost his ability during the war. At least stun it.
"We can't do that either," Neville broke in, he too was keeping an eye on the snake to ensure the ward he had set up was holding. "Snakes don't react well to stunning spells; it might kill it. Not to mention that they are red listed as being nearly extinct and it's therefor illegal to kill them."
Trevor stared at him. "What? Why the hell would we want to keep those things from disappearing of the face of the earth."
"It doesn't matter." Harry tore his eyes away from the snake who had gone deadly still. The right head seemed to be studying them, while the middle and the left head was engaged in some sort of discussion. "That is our only witness, so we have to keep it alive." Only problem was that he couldn't speak to snakes anymore, not after the war. There was of course the most obvious solution to that problem. It wasn't unheard of using animals as witnesses, primary snakes though as there were few wizards or witches who had the ability to speak to other animals. Their testimony was not recognized by the court of law thought, as it was too easy for a translator to either translate wrong by intention or by mistake, but it would help them in the investigation.
"Unless you in some magical ways have regained your ability to talk to snakes, then I don't see how," Trevor said, crossing his arms over his chest.
Harry exchanged a looked with both Draco and Neville, before he sighed. As much as he didn't want to fetch Tom, there really wasn't any other options. That would mean he had to return home and get him. He hadn't brought Tom with him to work that day, wanting to give his more or less pissed of slave a chance to adjust to his new reality. He hadn't seen Tom that morning at breakfast and hadn't gone looking either. He had however instructed Kreacher to bring Tom whatever he wanted to eat and drink. That was one of the rules he hadn't used the bond to enforce.
"No, I haven't," he told Trevor. "Fortunately thought I do have an indenture slave that does."
######
The fire crackled as it attacked the new log that Tom had just reached in to place on the coals to prevent the fire from going out. Eagerly it licked its way up the sides, the fire growing as it was fed, casting warmth out into the somewhat cold room. Tom followed the fire's progress with his eye, trying to focus on what he was seeing in order to get a break from his own thoughts that was just a complete chaos at the moment. He pulled the blanket he had taken from the bed better around himself and pulled his legs up to his chest. Resting his head on top of his folded arms.
His stomach growled. He hadn't gone down to breakfast and Harry hadn't come to get him either. He wasn't sure what that meant. A quick look at the clock on the nightstand told him that Harry must have left for work without him. He didn't know how he felt about that either. Logically he assumed Harry had wanted to give him a day to adjust to everything.
Why the hell did slavery always come with an abundance of stupid and humiliating rules? The question was of course self-explanatory even if he might not want it to be. Kneeling and the title were a show of respect to the winning party, acknowledgment as to who had won, to show the world who had lost. The whole reason behind the rules of conquest was that the winning party could claim his enemy as a spoil of war. The laws and the rules were in place to punish, to humiliate. And Tom had to admit it really worked. Having to ask for permission for almost everything, kneel and bow his head, not meet the eyes of a free person was a lot harder than he had thought it would be.
The thought about the night before and his master's decision to use the bond to enforce the rules made anger rise in him, and on the heel of the anger there was the overwhelming feeling of helplessness. He buried his face in his arms as slow tendrils of cold panic started to wrap around him, silently gliding over his skin and slowly, oh so slowly started suffocating him, making him tremble and shake. He bit his lip in hope that the pain would ground him somewhat. It didn't work. The panic felt like a wave that was slowly cutting of his air supply as it reached higher and higher. His breathing became laboured, and he struggled to fill his lungs. The slight pain he suddenly felt came as a surprise, until he realized he had gripped his hair with both hands and was pulling on it to the point of it being painful.
He gasped as he suddenly couldn't breathe. You have to calm down. There is no reason for you to panic. Everything will be fine. Taking small gulps of air, he managed to get his breathing under control. Letting go of his hair he instead rubbed his hands over his face. Breathing deeply, he slowly let the air back out. Again. And again. Slowly he could feel his heart slow down.
The room came back into focus. He blinked and tried to focus on the flames in front of him. A loud rumbling from his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten yet. He had become used to eating regularly the last three weeks, and his body was protesting at the lack of breakfast. He hadn't felt up to facing Harry that morning and now that Harry had left for work, he wasn't even sure if the bond would let him eat. He tried to remember the rules his master had put in place the day before and if the rule about asking for permission to eat had been one of them. His memory came up blank. He could of course just try and see what happened, but the risk of having his fear about the rule being in place confirmed made him hesitate. It wasn't like he hadn't gone without food for long periods of time before. Both the Warden and the guards had used food as a motivator and reward for good behaviour. It was strange to think that the body got used to intermittent eating when given enough time.
It was painfully in the beginning, but after a while the pain dulled to a more consistent ach. It was followed by fatigue and dizzy spells, but as long as he had been fed eventually, he had survived. The price for the food however had always been decided by the Warden, who used it as he saw fit. In the beginning he had withheld the food to aid in their effort to break him, later it had been to further humiliate and degrade him. He hadn't been allowed to feed himself for more or less 2 years, not until Harry had come to his cell for help and had refused to hand fed him.
He could feel himself slipping and tried to blink and focus his eyes on the fire to avoid being pulled under by his memories, but a recollection swam to the front of his muddled brain despite his best efforts.
Voldemort stumbled and clutched the wall to try and avoid falling back down. It worked for a couple of seconds until he took the next step and put weight down on the other foot. The soles were more damaged on that one and the moment he put his whole weight on it, his brain shut down and he fell to his knees. Swearing he sat back on his heels and punched at the floor with his right hand, almost relishing in the pain that radiated back up his arm.
The feeling of helplessness and panic that had been growing in him for the last year and a half had grown from being subtle to being ever present in his mind. He couldn't do anything about the abuse and lately the unwanted sexual attention. Nothing. There was no one to complain to, no one who could or would come to his aid. The panic grew and the thought of this, being treated like a toy to someone's amusement, without any consideration to his wishes or well-being, was going to be how the rest of his life would be like was devastating. He tried to breath, to force himself to take a deep breath, hold it for a couple of seconds, before letting the air out slowly. Closing his eyes, he tried to keep an even pace as he pulled air into his lungs before slowly letting it back out.
Opening his eyes, he stared down at the stone floor. His vision was blurry, and it wasn't until a drop of water landed on the back of his right hand, that he realised that his vision was blurry because of tears. Blinking in surprise, he lifted his hand and wiped it along his eye, staring in surprise at the moisture he could see there.
The sound of the door opening, shocked him into motion and he quickly wiped his eyes, not wanting the guards to see the weakness. Looking up he saw the Warden enter, a tray in his hands which he placed on the table. The poor thing trembled slightly before regaining its balance and steadying itself. Voldemort tried to use the seconds it took the Warden to turn back around and sit down on the chair, to school his features into neutral ones but had a feeling he wasn't completely successful.
"Good boy," the Warden praised, apparently thinking that finding Voldemort on his knees for once meant that he had elected to kneel out of his own will when he heard the door open. Voldemort didn't bother to correct him, or to mention that he was as far from a "boy" as possible. He was over 70 years old for Merlin's sake. If the misunderstanding could save him though, from some pain and humiliation, then all the better. The sight of the tray however made his stomach come back to life and it growled painfully. Voldemort frowned. He wasn't entirely sure when he had eaten last time, as the days seemed to blur into each other due to that fact that there were no windows in the cell and the light was kept at a constant level no matter if it was day or night. He did know it had been quite some time thought. The last times the Warden had brought the tray and demanded that he kneel and call him sir, Voldemort had either ignored him or told him just what he thought about that.
That had of course led to only more pain as he had been punished for his disobedience, and his stomach was currently feeling like it wanted to eat itself. The only good thing about starvation was that it had turn into more of a dull ach as time went on and the stomach had concluded that it wasn't getting any food. The downside was the lack of strength and dizzy spells that followed as the body started eating on the only other thing it had available, muscles.
"Hungry, pet?" The words were slightly teasing, no doubt because the Warden knew just how hungry Voldemort had to be after all this time. The man seemed to have an uncanny ability to know just how far you could push a human before you pushed too far. Voldemort was sure the Warden knew and played a part in the abuse Stanley administrating, if only to make sure the guard didn't go too far. Not that Voldemort could die, but he had a suspicion that the Warden and guards didn't know about the horcrux's.
Silence stretched as Voldemort considered his options. He was already kneeling, and the Warden seemed to believe it was out of his own free will. It wouldn't hurt his pride all too much to tack on a "sir" somewhere in his response. Worst thing that could happen was that the man saw through his ruse and denied him food. The polite sir he didn't have much problem forcing out. He had, after all, spent seven years at Hogwarts calling his professor by their title or sir.
In the end, he lowered his head and tried not to let his anger and distain for the man in front of him show when he spoke. "Yes, sir."
"Good boy," the man said again, and made a gesture towards the floor in front of him as he spoke. Voldemort's answer had apparently been convincing enough, or the man simply didn't care.
Voldemort closed his eyes for a moment, before speaking. "The chain, sir." The chain that kept him tethered to the wall made it impossible for him to move over to kneel in front of the Warden. At hearing his words, the Warden rose and unclipped the chain from the wall before sitting back down.
Following the slight thug on the chain Voldemort moved so that he was kneeling in front of the Warden. He made sure to keep his head down and his hands loose in his lap. He wasn't desperate for food yet, but he would take the opportunity he was offered. Normally it was the demand to kneel that spoiled the whole thing as he couldn't bring himself to do it, and if he now could get away with the Warden thinking he had knelt on his own, then he would take it.
He barely managed not to flinch away from the hand that reached out to card through his hair. He was though surprised when the hand gripped his hair and forced him closer so that he was situated between the man's spread legs. The other hand came up to run alongside the left side of Voldemort's face before softly letting the thumb ghost over his lips.
The panic started up again as he tried to pull away but had nowhere to go. He lifted his hands to push away, but the Warden captured both his wrists in one hand.
"So beautiful for a mass murder, it's almost unfair. I can't really blame Stanley for his actions. Come here and be a good boy, and I'll make sure you have a week of rest and food." The voice was soft and lower than usual and there was an undertone that Voldemort couldn't quite place.
Not grasping the situation, Voldemort struggled against the hold until he connected the dots as the Warden let go of his hair and loosened his belt and pants before shoving them down. Revealing just how he felt about the situation as his member was standing tall and erect.
Apparently, the price for food had gone up. Voldemort tried to force himself to struggle, to refuse, but in the end, he knew that it was futile. This was going to end how the Warden wanted. Just as it had when Stanley had first tried to rape him.
The feeling of helplessness that had plagued him lately came back in full force and the panic started back up as he realised that his life had become even worse, if that was possible. If this was what he had to look forward to for the next eternity, then he wasn't sure he wanted to survive. That though and admission alone broke something in him, and he could feel his body move, but his mind retreating into its own little world and Voldemort could feel himself losing control over his body's movement as it moved and acted on its own.
The sound of something hard knocking against wood threw Tom out of his memory and he gasped in air until his brain managed to grasp that the sound was someone knocking on the door. Before he could muster enough air to answer, the door opened slowly, and Harry came into view.
"Tom, are you all right?" Was the first question from his master. The man looked like he wanted to rush over but seemed to manage to stop himself just in time. Tom nodded and took a couple of deep breaths. The other to not lie was still active and he was all right after all. And he was all right, wasn't he? As he finished the thought a sharp pain hit him. It felt like needles were forced into his skull and he flinched. Before the bond could intensify its punishment, he rearranged his limbs so that he was kneeling on the floor. The pain faded away as the bond more or less purred at his obedience. He gritted his teeth at the pleasure as much as he normally did against the pain.
Of course, his stomach decided that was correct time to complain about the lack of breakfast and growled loudly. Loud enough for his master to hear at least.
"Did you eat breakfast?" Harry asked, coming into the room and taking a seat in the chair in front of the desk, turning it so that he was facing Tom on the floor. "I didn't want to wake you after yesterday."
Tom wondered if he could get away with a shake of his head.
"Why not?" Harry asked.
Tom knew he didn't have choice other than answering. Still, he hesitated as long as he could, not sure how to answer. When the bond shocked him though he picked the first words that came to mind. "I wasn't hungry." The lie was exposed a couple of seconds later when the bond lashed into him again. Greeting his teeth against the pain he tried to amend the situation. "I'm sorry," he forced out.
The bond still wouldn't relent though. The longer he waited the worse the pain became. He fell sideways and had to catch himself against the floor with this right arm. He breathed through the pain until he could manage to speak the true reason out loud.
"I wasn't sure if the order to ask for permission was active, and I didn't want to test it." The bond shocked him once more and he bit his tongue before forcing the last word out, "master". The humiliation made him blush as he lowered his head, but there was no laughter or anything from his master. When the silence stretched too far, he finally looked up and met Harry's eyes. There were only filled with concern and something that looked like regret.
As much as Tom wanted to, he realised that he couldn't blame Harry for using the bond to force his behaviour. The man had given him two weeks to come to terms with things, weeks Tom had spent ignoring the whole thing – the promise he made, the situation, everything. Although he did know deep down that the problem wouldn't go away and that the only thing he was doing was delaying the inevitable.
Harry sighed and rubbed both hands over his face. "I didn't put that down as a rule," he explained as he lowered his hands. His face was serious and his hair slightly wild, not that Tom ever had seen his hair resembling anything close to orderly. "It would just be impracticable for you to seek me out every time you wanted something to eat. Eat and drink whenever and whatever you want."
Tom didn't reply. If he had paid attention last night instead of panicking, then he probably would have noticed that Harry hadn't used the bond to force that rule. For a moment they stared at each other and for the first time Tom noticed how green Harry's eyes were. A strange feeling, like an itch under neat his skin drew his attention. It wasn't quite an itch either, more of a pull perhaps. It was distant and he had to focus in order to feel it properly. Harry rose from the chair and walked over to the fireplace. He leaned against it and stared into the fire for a couple of seconds. Tom wondered if he had come home just to check and see if Tom was in the process of tearing down the house or something equally stupid.
"I was planning on leaving you home today after," he waved a hand in air and Tom took it to mean 'after everything'. "But as it happens, I need your help with a witness." He gave Tom a crooked smile and Tom could feel his curiosity lifting its head.
"We are having a slight problem with communication," Harry continued, and Tom could hear the amusement in his voice. "Luckily, you will be able to help with that."
The last thing Tom wanted to do was to leave the house to help the Aurors with the rules in place through the bond. He did speak several languages of course, but the bloody Ministry should be able to find a decent translator to help them out without having to resort to Tom's help. His disdain for the idea must have shown on his face, because Harry sighed and the slightly amused look on his face faded away to a more serious one. He walked over and retook his seat by the desk.
"No, I'm not letting you hide out here," he said. Tom felt anger rise in him although a part of him knew he was being ridicules and childish. He wasn't hiding. Sure about that? A small voice in his head asked. "This is the deal we made. I claimed you under the rules of conquest with the stipulation that you help us out with the cases. That you didn't consider the fact that you had to behave like a slave in public, and what that would entitle, is not my problem. You are coming with me, either out of your own free will or I'll use the bond and force you. Whatever grace period you have had the last three weeks is over and I'm expecting you to recognise your position and behave as such."
Tom swore inwardly and could feel the slow tendrils of panic slowly starting to spread, almost choking him. He'd really had no idea what he was getting himself into. You chose this, he tried to remind himself. No, I didn't, he thought, there was no other options. There weren't any other choices.
######
The small room outside the interrogation room was filled to the brink with Aurors. They stood completely packed, and every time one of them moved Harry could feel an elbow or a hip or something poking into his side or back. Everyone was watching the one-way mirror on the wall, quietly muttering between themselves as they watched.
The reason for the large turnout of people was of course Harry's slave. The rumour that the only witness from Knockturn Alley was a runspoor had spread like wildfire and adding to that the information that the dark lord was going to interview the snake, had drawn every Auror that weren't out on a mission to the viewing room.
A couple of witches whispered among themselves to Harry's right, and from the little he could pick up they were discussion how wildly unfair it was that the defeated dark lord looked so handsome. Harry couldn't blame them. It seemed like the universe was playing some cruel joke. One should not be able to be a dark lord and look like Tom Riddle did. And then it hit him. Somewhere during the last weeks, he had stopped thinking of Tom as Voldemort. He had also completely forgotten just how much suffering and pain the seemingly harmless youth in the other room had caused. The deaths, the torture, the torn apart families. At some point Voldemort had gone from the monster in his memories and dreams, to a half-broken human that had gotten a taste of his own medicine and now was struggling to cope and was completely dependent on Harry for everything.
The thought of Tom being entirely reliant on Harry shouldn't give him a power rush, but it did, and Harry frowned. He wasn't sure he liked his own reactions to the whole thing. The long speech that Hermione had forced him to sit through about how power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely came to mind. He pushed the whole thought process away; he could ponder on it later in the silence of his own room.
Tom was sitting on the floor. His left leg was bent at the knee, and he was resting his left arm on top of it, a quill in hand. He occasionally twirled it around his fingers. In his right hand he had a sheet of paper pinned to a wooden pad to make it easier to write on. Every now and then he would write something down. The sounds in the room were audible for everyone in the viewing room, but all everyone could hear of course was hissing sounds from the conversation that was being conducted on the other side of the glass. The runspoor was curled up on the floor in front of Tom. It weaved from side to side as Tom seemed to have a conversation with the right-side head. The left head seemed to chip in every now and then, while the one in the middle seemed to be lost in its own thoughts.
Thank Merlin that Tom had been able to calm the creature down and had been able to convince it to come with them and tell them what had happened. They had conjured up a carrier for it and Tom had coaxed it into it. While they had set up the interrogation room, Harry had floo-called Charlie Weasley. He had wanted to know if he knew some sanctuary where they could send the runespoor. It deserved better than being locked up somewhere. Charlie had checked around and had found a sanctuary for magical creatures in Africa. The director of the foundation that was responsible for the sanctuary was due to arrive later that afternoon to pick up the snake. From what Tom had told him, the runespoor had been very pleased with the solution and it had helped convince the creature that they could be trusted.
As Harry listened to the conversation, he felt a stab of sadness that he no longer could speak or understand parseltongue. That ability seemed to have been connected to the horcrux, and when Voldemort had killed it, the ability had seemed to vanish with it.
"It's beautiful to listen to," someone in the crowd said, and that gained a couple of affirmatives from several others.
"Harry, is it a magical language or? I thought you had restricted his magic." The voice belonged to Dennis Frostwood, a muggleborn wizard that had joined the force recently. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see several of the room's occupants turn their head slightly to follow the conversation. Harry could understand their curiosity. Robards seemed to have been very light on the details when he had told the Aurors about their newest addition. Draco had told him after that the news that the dark lord would be working with them hadn't been well taken by everyone. Several had voiced the desire to show the defeated dark lord just what they thought about him, while others had believed it was something of a poetic justice that the dark lord was enslaved and forced to help the Aurors in their work, the very same people who had hunted him and his followers all those years.
"I don't know," Harry answered honestly. "His magic is completely restricted, and he can't access it, so I would assume it isn't. From what I've gathered – the ability to speak to snakes is genetic in some way and has been passed down through his bloodline."
"Riddle isn't exactly a pureblood name?" Someone commented. Harry hesitated. He wasn't sure how much he wanted to reveal about Tom's past, but at the same time anyone who wanted could figure his past. He was pretty sure the new edition of Hogwarts: A history, that had been released the previous year had contained a chapter about the Heir of Slytherin.
"He's a half blood." Harry turned his head and locked eyes with Draco. "His mother was from the Gaunt line which is a descendant from Salazar Slytherin. His father was a muggle whom his mother dosed with amortentia," Draco continued. Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to strangle Draco or thank him for having taken away the choice about sharing the details of Tom's past or not.
Someone snorted. "Well, that explain the lack of empathy. Children conceived under the influence of amortentia is said to lack empathy and to be unable to love."
"They can love," a witch said from behind Harry, "but the lack of empathy and the fact that they often grow up in toxic homes makes it more likely that they become sociopaths."
Harry nodded. That made sense. "He grew up in an orphanage during the second muggle war. The conditions and rations made surviving a struggle. His mother died in childbirth and his father abandoned them," he said quietly. He heard a couple of "ohh" behind him, probably from some of the muggleborns who had learned about the second world war in school.
"What happens to the snake after this?"
Harry couldn't be more thankful for the change in topic.
"We're shipping him off to sanctuary in Africa," Neville said, coming to the front of the room, staring in. Tom was nodding to something the snake was saying and looked to be sketching something on the piece of paper. He nodded again before asking a quick question. The snake flicked its tail in an irritated movement and seemed to draw closer. A shadow of fear snuck up on Harry. He was suddenly a bit worried for Tom. He hoped the snake wouldn't suddenly decide to bite Tom. Neville had the antidote in his pocket, just in case. The first thing Neville had done when Harry had gone to get Tom was to apparate to St. Mungo's and get the remedy.
The door to the room opened and Robards came in, Sommerseth close on his heel. Sommerseth took one look at the crowed and simply demanded "anyone who isn't assigned to this case, get back to work. The cases won't solve themselves and that snake can't solve more than one."
The Aurors ducked their heads and shuffled out, some muttering under their breath about the unfairness of it all, and they reminded Harry of disobedient children having been chastised and sent to bed. In the end it was only Harry, Neville and Draco left, together with Sommerseth and Robards. Trevor had been called away on a rush case with his normal team, much to the man's annoyance.
"You can't blame them, Marcus," Robards said as he came up the window and looked in. "It isn't often we have an animal as our only witness, and even more rare that we actually have someone on staff that can communicate with the animal. It could seem like this little idea of yours Marcus wasn't so bad. At least not for the Auror department. Riddle seems like he is well suited for this. If you could only get him to behave Potter, so that I don't have to get more creative complaints from people who have no good intensions."
Harry ducked his head. "Yes, sir." The reminder of the meeting he would have to take Tom to after the weekend was not something he was looking forward to. He felt irritated too that people had used the law to complain just because they could, irritated that Tom's behaviour was anchored in legislation, but as irritated as he was, he could still understand them. The part about the slave's behaviour was affixed in a bill was though harder to understand, and the insane rule that anyone could report the slave if it was not acting as it should. Although, since the slavery was supposed to be both a punishment and redemption, he assumed it was to make sure that the slaves weren't given a cosy living.
"How is it going?" Sommerseth asked, leaning against the wall and peering through the glass. His black and crimson robe was impeccable as usual, and for a moment Harry thought that the black and red would be gorgeous on Tom. When he realised what he had been thinking he almost slapped himself. Looking into the room he let his eyes trace the outline of Tom's face. There was a lock in front that always slipped down over his eyes, and Tom would push it away ever so often with an impatient flick of his hand. The cast had come off during the Christmas break and Tom had regained full strength and function of the arm with the help of a couple of potions.
"Honestly?" Draco asked, crossing his arms. "No clue. Tom keeps nodding every now and then, which I hope is a positive sign and the snake is talking, but other than that? No idea."
A silver cat came bounding through the door and the voice of the witch who acted as an administrative coordinator for the Auror department announced that the director for the sanctuary in Africa had arrived. "I'll go," Neville volunteered, heading for the door.
"Good, Longbottom," Robards said, nodding his head. He turned his head slightly and caught Harry's eyes. "You didn't bring Riddle in with you this morning – everything alright?"
Harry really didn't want to explain why he had left Tom at home that day. "Yes. Everything is fine." He didn't believe his own words, and from the look Draco threw him, neither did he. Luckily the chance of any follow up questions was delayed when Tom looked up from his notes and directly at the window. He waved a hand in a "come in" movement and Harry assumed he had gotten everything he needed from the snake.
"Be careful," Sommerseth cautioned as they approached the door, "you can never be too sure about a runespoor."
As Harry came into the room, Tom switched from his sitting position to a kneeling one for a couple of seconds, before pushing himself to his feet. Harry nodded slowly to himself. That had been a smooth way of both fulfilling the bond's requirement, and not look like he was kneeling. He straightened his robes and then handed a sketch to Harry. Draco took up position beside Harry and they both stared at a drawing of a face. A middle-aged man, moustache, bald, large, round glasses. He wasn't what Harry would call attractive, nor someone you would notice if you walked past him on the streets.
"Okay?" Draco said, looking from the sketch to Tom, then the snake and back. Tom met his eyes, before flinching slightly and moving them to the wall.
"This is Taylor Tassler," Tom began. "He's a smuggler and scoundrel. Not too bright, but he has his uses. He killed the three people in the building."
Harry glanced briefly at the snake behind Tom, but it seemed to be in a quiet conversation with itself as the left and right head talked quietly while the middle one still looked like it was lost in its own thoughts.
"And how do we find this upstanding citizen so that we can give him a fair trial for murdering three people?" Draco asked, his voice turning sarcastic at the 'upstanding citizen' part.
Tom glanced over at Harry and met his eyes. There was something in them Harry could quite grasp. A seriousness combined with hesitation. When he spoke, he clearly was addressing Draco, a smart move to avoid having the bond punish him for not using the correct title when addressing Harry. "I need to talk to Lu-," Tom hissed in pain before trying again, "I have to talk to Lord Malfoy, your father."
The look on Draco's face was hilarious. He simply stared at Tom as if he couldn't quite catch what he had said. Then he blinked. "Oh yes, I'm sure he will be thrilled to see you again, and in his house."