The sting of death

Dear Harry,

Dumbledore told me he's worried about you, said you've been acting strange. Maybe it's you're growing up. It's probably because you're going into girls' bathrooms? Either way he says it's not safe for you to stay with me next summer.

Tom was going to murder Dumbledore. He'd Polyjuice as a student and bait the Headmaster into leaving his castle, preferably all the way to Hogsmeade. Then he'd cast the spell right at the man's back, in front of everyone, so they could see how insignificant and stupid he truly was.

It took a dozen readthroughs before the meaning of the words stayed with Tom, his fury abating.

Anyway, I say fuck that, and fuck him. I'm pretending to play along for now, but don't worry, you're not setting another foot in the Dursleys' house while I'm still alive. I've tried to find the sods, the wards protecting your childhood home are very well done.

The wards on mine are better.

I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to talk much, but I've been thinking, what you said about Dumbledore not getting me a trial and I—

At this point there were several indecipherable lines, scratched out and cramped into the margins in angry black splotches.

—I don't know what to think, Harry. I'd rather we look out for each other, though. If I were a better man I'd say you promise not to go talking to ghosts, and I promise not to keep looking for Pettigrew. But I'm not that man anymore, I spent too long losing my thoughts to those monsters, so I'm going to hold on to what I've got.

Be careful. Things aren't safe, not out here and not in the castle. There are whispers of a man moving around Knockturn all summer, with magic like You-Know-Who had. Something's coming, and it won't be good.

I love you, Harry, though I know you're a bit more careful about throwing around your feelings. Work on finding out where the holes in your memories went, I think that's the key to a lot of this. I'll be right here fighting for you and with you, every step of the way.

Yours,

S. O. B.

Tom's fingers kept up their stroking of Hedwig's downy feathers. The clever owl had brought his letter right to the dorm window, rat-tat-tatting at the window soft enough not to wake his dormmates.

"You're a very good girl," he reminded her. Not as lovely as Nagini had been, or Ssbnh, but it wasn't her fault that she was only an owl.

He read over Sirius' effortless calligraphy once more before penning his reply.

Dear S.,

Hogwarts isn't the same as I remember.

I'm looking forward to the other schools arriving soon, the cup will be a good distraction. Don't be alarmed if I end up in the competition.

Dumbledore said Hermione and Lupin will be returning, but he has yet to pinpoint the exact date. Him insisting I not worry is only making me worry more. What if she's been changed by her travels? What if she no longer wants to be my friend?

Tom scratched his nose with the tip of his pen, careful the ink didn't smudge.

I can help you find Pettigrew over the Yule break if you like. Talking to ghosts is a part of my plans, otherwise I wouldn't be doing it.

Have you had any success setting up a name for yourself? The man I told you of does excellent human transfiguration. You might become Alphard's bastard, he's already been struck off the tapestry. Perhaps a half-blood. Call yourself something mundane like Archibald just to spite Walburga. Pretend you were hiding from the deranged Sirius Black.

Hedwig's feathers were ruffled coming in, and while I'm hesitant to fling accusations I do suspect someone is trying to search my mail. Purchase a dangerous owl for further correspondence, or visit me in Hogsmeade yourself.

You're right, these are dangerous times, though I'm more worried about what we're not hearing than what Knockturn rumours profess. When He returns it'll be loud and dramatic, not some balding man slinking through an Alley asking questions.

I know you're a Gryffindor, but please don't do anything stupid. If you're gone I will be forced to return to the muggles, and I will not forgive you for that.

Sincerely,

H.

Shaking the cramp out of his wrist, Tom rolled up the parchment. A set of protective runes in a wax seal did the rest.

He set Hedwig off into the brisk air and huddled into his sheets, wishing for the consistent warmth of the dungeons, wishing for a time-turner that'd let him skip forwards past Herbology the next morning.

xoxox

The detention with Severus was even more disappointing than the man's lessons. Tom had been delegated to Argus Filch, a doddering man with a cruel streak that would have been excellent, had he not also been a squib.

Magic was everything, and for the Lady to have refused to bless the man must mean something terrible was wrong with him. Tom kept his distance, letting an enchanted rag shine trophies while he completed his Transfiguration essay.

When the hours was up and Filch pretended to hear nothing of it, Tom flung an Obliviate at the man and let the rag continue until it ran out of magic.

If he was going to go to the effort of getting assigned a detention, the Professors should at least supervise him themselves.

For all that he was fond of his little potions master, Tom couldn't help find him…boring.

xoxox

"I'm going to the bathroom," Tom told Weasley at Saturday over breakfast. "If anyone asks, tell them I've gone to the library."

The stupid boy beamed with pleasure, revelling in the apparent trust instead of contemplating consequences, or leveraging what he'd learnt. Thankfully, Weasley knew better than to try come along.

"Myrtle," Tom greeted the empty bathroom. "Myrtle, I've returned. We need to talk."

Her giggle came from the second stall. Tom stalked up to it and slammed the door through her body.

"What did you tell Dumbledore?"

"Hello Harry. It's good to see you, too. Are you feeling better?" Her laugh made him want to smash her into a faucet. He'd never murdered someone via plumbing before, it'd be useful for cleaning away the blood with the drain already right there, but of course the girl was already dead.

"You lied to Dumbledore. Tell me why."

"You're welcome, you know." Her smile made her face look fat. Tom watched her eyelashes flutter and supressed his sneer. "Harry, I know you were going to go on an adventure, down to the chamber. I want to come with, and you're going to let me."

If she hadn't been a mudblood and a sobbing, pimply mess, she'd have made a good Slytherin. It was time to learn if a dead basilisk's stare could petrify a ghost. Tom had looked up the spells, if it were easy to harm a ghost someone would have dealt with Binns long ago. "Why?"

She floated down to eye level without fear. "Nobody comes here except to cry. I want more from my death than I had from life."

"Swear you will keep my secrets, on your name."

She did, and so Tom led the way to the tap and spoke the phrase. They had a minute to pass through before it would close, he didn't need more than a second. "Follow me," Tom said, and jumped.

xoxox

The ghost lit up the path with a soft glow. It took several reinforcement and repair charms to make the tunnels passable, just like Tom's first time down in the pipes. Myrtle kept to herself, only squeaking once at the massive shed skin they moved past.

The apothecary would buy it. Next time, Tom would bring something bigger than his space-expanded bookbag and trusty mokeskin pouch.

When they reach the chamber, the first thing that hit him was the smell.

Ssbnh lay there, rotting like a common rat left under the floorboards. A noise rose in Tom's throat, and he ran to her.

There were claw marks cutting sharp, jagged lines across her beautiful eyes. When Tom tried to pry one open, a gelatinous mess dripped down her face. Turning, aside, he vomited.

"Harry?" Myrtle whispered.

"I'm perfectly alright," Tom said back. Coughing once, he looked at what had once been Salazar Slytherin's own familiar, the last line of defence for the castle should the muggles invade.

"Is that the it? The basilisk?"

"Yes." He wiped the sweat from his face and charmed his robes clean.

"I…I thought it would be bigger."

Tom would gladly have arranged for Myrtle to be murdered by a larger venomous snake. He watched her float around, peering at statues and murals.

"It's beautiful, but in a terrible way," she said. "Thank you for letting me come."

"You're welcome, Myrtle." It wasn't like he'd had a choice. Turning his back, Tom ducked through the hidden alcove to Slytherin's study. A packing spell collected his old notes and copied books for him, though the original tomes were charmed to remain. He'd thought to come back here and research like he had in his first life—now, with the basilisk contorted just beyond the door—Tom couldn't stand the thought.

"I'm leaving."

Myrtle was floating below the ceiling, looking at the paint crumbling off the water-damaged plaster. "Bye Harry."

Her smile was bright as her own pearlescent glow. Tom spun on his heel and left.

Day 23 of an update every day this month. Thank you for reading, and Happy Christmas to those of you who're celebrating it tomorrow.

As always, you'll find more of this posted on ao3 already.