Chapter Eleven
The next day started with a messenger Patronus arriving in his bedroom before dawn. I'm here, the beetle said in Skeeter's voice. Tom cast a Tempus and groaned. He hadn't set a time for their meeting, distracted as he'd been. Of course she would enjoy this sort of petty irritation.
None-the-less, this was probably the best time for him to meet with her. No one would be likely to notice him leaving at this hour.
Stepping outside was a relief in a way. Though it had only been a few days, technically, he still felt the stifling effects of confinement, made all the worse by his unique situation. He hesitated on the doorstep, remembering Quirinus Quirrell. How in Merlin's name had Voldemort survived a year occupying that idiot's head, trapped within a turban of all things? He shook off the thoughts, chiding himself for letting himself get distracted, and continued down the steps.
The moment he left the concealment of the Fidelius Charm, a woman with gaudy red glasses emerged from the shadows. She greeted him with a predatory smile, eyes glittering in the flickering glow from the street lights. "It's so lovely to see you again, Mister Potter."
Tom resisted the urge to grimace, pasting on his most charming smile instead. "You as well, Miss Skeeter," he replied. "I must confess, I didn't expect you to use a Patronus to contact me." It made a perfect example of why casting a Patronus was no indication of how 'good' a witch or wizard might be.
"You never know what you might need in my line of work, Harry," she said with no small amount of smugness. "May I ask why we're meeting here of all places?"
Tom shrugged a patently teenager shrug. "I ran away from the muggles Dumbledore left me with, and his people found me and brought me… elsewhere. That led me to meeting you here." The Fidelius really was a spectacular piece of magic, no matter how personally inconvenient he found it. It was only a shame that, to his knowledge, the caster and Secret Keeper couldn't be one and the same.
The interview was relatively painless as far as such things went. Once Skeeter disappeared with the sharp crack of Apparition, Tom returned inside, content that Skeeter would have something in the paper within the next few days. Unfortunately, immediately upon entering the house, he came face-to-face with a furiously red-faced and scowling Mrs. Weasley.
Silence stretched out between them. Tom shut his eyes and focused on his breathing, trying to keep himself calm. He was too tired to deal with this woman right now.
"Well?" she finally demanded.
Tom opened his eyes and stared past her, jaw clenched and eyes tightening with the effort to ignore her. Then, not answering, he brushed past her and started back up the stairs toward his bedroom.
Mrs. Weasley's voice ratched up a level. "Don't you walk away from me young man!"
Luckily for her, because Tom's wand was already in his hand before she'd finished yelling, curtains flew open and a screeching voice interrupted the confrontation. "Blood traitors in my house! Kreacher! Where is that wretched son of mine? Remove this filth, this disgrace to the House of -"
Tom hurried the rest of the way to his room and tossed a silencing charm at the door. He needed school to start, because he really wasn't sure he could keep putting up with this nonsense. He wasn't someone who put up with things. He never had been. Here though, surrounded by Dumbledore's faithful, he could do nothing more without endangering himself.
He spent the rest of the day curled up in his bed, with only a quick trip to the library under Potter's Invisibility Cloak to retrieve some books.
He was, as promised, trying to determine the answer to the question: what was happening to Potter's soul? Much as he didn't much care about the boy's fate himself, it was still an interesting exercise in piecing together information to compile a theory.
A quiet knock drew him out of his thoughts. He considered the door in resignation. "Come in," he called, under no illusions that his privacy would have been respected even if he hadn't invited the person in.
It was, to his relief, Hermione. In her hands, she had two very shoddily made sandwiches. At his raised eyebrow, she smiled awkwardly. "Dinner? Sandwiches are about all I can make," she explained. "I'm not sure why cooking is so much different from Potions, but…" With a sheepish shrug and only slight hesitation, she crossed the room and, after handing him his share, sat on the edge of the bed and started eating quietly.
Tom cocked his head, but the girl didn't seem as though she wanted anything from him. He frowned, but murmured his thanks and started eating as well. He hadn't even realized he'd missed lunch, let alone dinner.
As they were finishing, Hermione glanced over the books spread across the bed. A tremulous smile tugged at her lips. "Have you found anything?" she asked softly.
He shook his head. "Nothing concrete, but I never expected to due to the subject. I have some theories though." Seeing her interest, he indicated one of the older books, a treatise on the various types of demons. "Some people believe dementors were originally summoned demons. If that were the case, it would be theoretically possible to negotiate for Potter's soul." Of course, records of humans successfully negotiating with demons were far and few between, but that was neither here nor there.
"However, while they have similarities, there are significant differences as well. Demons are exceedingly intelligent and motivated by their own interests. I won't say dementors lack intelligence per se, but their thoughts are rather linear, and they have difficulty with complex instructions. Their motivations are merely the instincts of any beast. They want to survive and reproduce."
Hermione's brow furrowed. "I didn't think demons were real in the first place," she admitted, "but I agree that they don't seem to be the same things based on that information."
Tom nodded. "Demons exist, but even just peering across the veil separating them from us is absurdly dangerous. Enough so that I've never attempted it, tempting though their power might be." He paused thoughtfully. "According to Rookwood, the Unspeakables do possess a device that allows them to cross that veil, but as of 1981, none of them who had done so had managed to return."
Hermione looked distinctly unenthused at that, but she let it pass without comment. Tom wondered if it was the artifact itself or the presumably dead researchers she objected to.
Sighing, Tom continued, "Then there's the belief that dementors are merely wizards who've had their souls removed. That one is simply ridiculous. I've watched countless people be Kissed, and not a single one did anything but eventually die." He shook his head. "No, I think they are actually something more like Hogwarts."
"Hogwarts?" Hermione interrupted, sounding offended.
Tom smirked at her. "Not in behavior, of course, and I don't mean the castle as a building, but rather the castle as an entity." He held up a hand to silence her questions. Her impatience was a habit he needed to purge from her. "It's fairly well-known that objects with enough magic imbued into them develop a sort of sentience over time. The size of the object matters, it seems, and Hogwarts is recognized as the largest object to develop in this manner. In another hundred years, it may advance to the point that it can even communicate with us."
Nibbling her lip, Hermione nodded slowly. "So you think dementors are man-made?"
"To a degree. My theory is that after enough soul magic was performed in a certain area, the residual magic coalesced into something that actively drew in more souls. With the power of the souls it devoured, it would have advanced at a frankly terrifying rate until it became the first dementor."
Hermione frowned. "Why would anyone do that much soul magic in one specific area though?" she asked, her expression quite clearly unconvinced.
Tom shrugged. "Soul magic was once rather common. What could be more powerful than offering up the soul of a human being? Where muggles offered ritual sacrifices of the flesh to the gods, wizards offered up their very souls. Eventually, humans developed other methods of obtaining their desired results, and such sacrifices ceased. I would imagine one of the lost ancient cities would be the site of this genesis. Perhaps Sodom?"
Hermione blinked. "As in Sodom and Gomorrah?"
Tom raised an eyebrow. "You sound surprised."
The girl flushed and averted her eyes. "I just… didn't think you would be the type to know biblical stories."
Tom snorted. "I was raised in an orphanage run by a thoroughly Catholic woman. Of course I'm aware of such tales. Like most muggle myths, there is some degree of truth, though the line between reality and fantasy is difficult to discern after so long."
A look of concern was not the reaction he'd been expecting. Hermione shifted forward slightly, then hesitated and settled back down. She remained quiet for long enough that Tom decided to move on.
"In any event," he said, shooting the books on the bed a look of disgust, "it doesn't help Potter. I was hoping learning about their origins would give me some sort of clue, but I've found absolutely nothing of use thus far."
Hermione looked stricken. "Then -"
"I'm not giving up," Tom interjected. "Once we get to Hogwarts, I can send Hedwig with a letter to Australia. Their government might know something." He grimaced. "Though it's a tossup whether they'd be more likely to reply to The-Boy-Who-Lived or Lord Voldemort. I suppose I shall have to take a chance."
Hermione licked her lips. "You… You're really trying to save him." Her lips twitched up in a small smile.
"Of course I am," Tom retorted. "I swore to. I always…" He stopped himself, remembering Lily Potter. He hadn't always kept his word as Lord Voldemort. "I will always keep my word, if possible," he amended. He had to become that sort of person. Now his previous actions were a hindrance, making it even harder for others to trust him once they discovered his identity.
A hand took his, and he started violently before calming. Hermione wouldn't try to hurt her only chance at saving Potter. Her smile had become stronger while he was thinking. "Have you spent any time considering the bond?" she asked.
Of course not, he'd have liked to reply. He wanted nothing more than to forget it existed on his end whatsoever. Unfortunately, that answer would hardly make him seem more trustworthy. On the other hand, lying meant being untrustworthy, and it was possible she might be able to sense that.
His hesitation was answer enough, it seemed. Hermione huffed. "Try it."
Suspiciously, Tom turned his attention to the thread of magic connecting him to the girl beside him. There was a sense of exasperation and concern, a touch of wariness, and something else that he could best describe as… warmth? It was… good, he supposed, brows furrowing as he considered it more carefully. He'd been so uncomfortable with the very idea of the bond that he hadn't even realized that he could use it to monitor what the other side was feeling. "The book didn't mention this," he murmured.
However, it seemed there was some discrepancy between how different people experienced emotions, as he couldn't put a name to everything he was receiving from Hermione. He'd wondered on occasion if the senses were like that. Everyone agreed that grass was green, but if he found himself in another's body, would the color he saw be the same color he considered green? That, of course, he'd resolved upon finding himself in Potter's body (although he reserved the possibility that he and Potter were simply similar in that one, very small way).
He prodded the bond between himself and Severus, experimenting. The man felt... mostly irritated. Tom snorted. Naturally. Suddenly the emotion shifted. It was similar to the warmth from Hermione, but darker.
"See?" Hermione asked. "It's not that I didn't believe you, because I can feel your determination. I just… I was surprised how whole-heartedly you're approaching it. You don't feel like someone who's doing something simply because they have to."
Tom found his face warming and wondered if Hermione's feelings had somehow affected his body. He resolutely ignored it, but he made a mental note to pay more attention to the bond. It could potentially provide useful information. He nodded. "Thank you, Hermione. I hadn't noticed that aspect of it." On one hand, if he needed to lie, this made it even more difficult, but on the other hand, those he bound to himself would have no difficulty accepting his words when he was speaking the truth. He would have to experiment with Severus to determine how Occlumency affected things, if at all.
Hermione curled her legs up under her as she shifted her attention to one of his books, and it suddenly struck Tom that Hermione was quite pretty. That would be useful. Humans, magical and muggle alike, naturally found themselves drawn to attractive people. He would have to put her in a publicly visible position within the Ministry once he became Minister. She would probably prefer to work as an Unspeakable, he acknowledged, but it would be a shame to waste her on their esoteric research.
Shaking off that line of thought as something better suited for the future, Tom cast a quick Tempus. He blinked. "It's quite late," he commented. "You should head back to your room." He gave a wry smile. "Unless you want to listen to Mrs. Weasley's opinion on girls who spend time in a boy's room late at night." He didn't doubt it was a lecture they were better off missing.
Hermione clearly agreed. She winced and closed her book. Just as she was swinging her legs down off the bed though, the door opened.
It was Ginny. Amid twin sighs of relief, she stepped inside. "There you are," the redhead exclaimed. "You've been in here for ages." She stopped, looked at them more carefully, and rolled her eyes. "Have you been reading this whole time?" she asked, hands on her hips. "I don't even know why I'm surprised." Despite her words, she was smiling fondly. "Come on, Hermione. Better get going before Mum comes up."
Hermione stood and joined her. Just before leaving, she turned and sent Tom a smile. "Good night," she said. "I'll see you in the morning."
AN: When spellcheck informs you that you've spelled Quirrell's name wrong… and corrects it properly. Why does my computer know Harry Potter names better than me?
Anyway, I disappeared on vacation to Colorado for a week, then took some time while my daughter started school, but I'm back. I suppose this would have been more useful coming before the Disappearance of SilentAngel, but… I have trouble remembering to add author's notes, since I'm mostly writing this to practice the aspects of writing I have trouble with.