Author's Note: Fair warning, Harry's abuse is explored a little more in this chapter. I know it's been shown in all the chapters, but there is a point where there's a steady stream of it in quick succession. It's not graphic, and is just a quick mention, but I still felt the need to warn for it. Also, Harry's horcrux is beginning to get more active now.
Chapter Seven: The Article, the Train Station and the Cries for Help
Harry said nothing as Tom approached, twigs snapping beneath his steps, rocks kicked in his path. He heard him, then felt him standing over him, like an obelisk that would always shadow him. He had ran off from breakfast table, newspaper crumpled in his fist as he burst through the door, the screen slamming harshly in its frame. But that had been some time ago- twenty minutes, an hour...two. Harry did not know how much time had passed with him sitting in what had once been a garden, reading the article over and over again. Reading it so many times that he had memorized it all.
'Harry Potter- otherwise known as the Boy Who Lived- has been reported missing. Sources have determined that after arriving at King's Cross following the end of his third year, Potter never made it home. Living with his muggle aunt and uncle, his disappearance was not reported until over a month had passed, the official Ministry report coming back at 3:26 this morning after a formal search of his home revealed no further leads.
'Finding Mister Potter is our highest priority,' Minister Fudge stated during a press conference, the news of the missing teen quickly making waves through the community. 'All efforts are being made to ensure his safe return.'
When asked about what led to Potter being gone for over a month without any report or welfare checks, Fudge quickly dismissed the question. This comes as a particular concern, given the escape of convicted Death Eater last summer, Sirius Black, whose whereabouts still remain unknown-'
"I can bring you back. If you want," Tom offered after a moment, his voice soft as he cut through Harry's internal monologue, the constant and unending rereading.
Harry shook his head, not looking up from his own image, the lines from where the paper had been crumpled, folds cutting across his head, his eyes and lips. "No, I don't. I don't want to spend the next few weeks answering their questions and being treated like a delinquent."
"They're worried," Tom said.
Harry snorted. "Yeah, so worried they didn't realize I was gone until almost the whole summer had passed." It was too easy to ignore the reality, the summer with Tom existing on a separate plane of existence, in a different universe adjacent to his own. He could pretend that nothing existed outside this little world, and that he would return to it seamlessly when the time came.
But the article had distorted all of that. It had dragged him painfully back to reality- a reality where it took weeks for someone to even realize he wasn't there.
He felt Tom sit beside him instead of saw it, heard him shuffle into a seated position. He tucked his feet under his knees, crossed his ankles, curled his hands over his knees. It should have looked awkward- he was so tall and lanky, how could it look anything but? Yet he seemed entirely content, natural. Ever at ease in himself where Harry struggled to look comfortable in what little space he occupied.
"You said it yourself, the Dursleys probably hid it," Tom said. He was playing the Devil's advocate, Harry knew. Though whether he was doing it to provoke Harry, or simply to help him think from a different perspective he didn't know. He wished for just once, Tom would stop speaking in riddles and half-truths.
He sighed, burying his head in the crook of his elbow. "You win, Tom."
A moment passed, stretching between them like an eternity. "Pardon?" Tom finally prompted.
"You win. You're right, okay? Yeah, my home life is awful and I'm sure my aunt and uncle were more bothered to have their home searched through than the fact that I've been gone. And Dumbledore doesn't care, and yeah you or Voldemort or Black all could have killed me by now and no one would have even known," he spat, surprising himself with the malice in his words, the bitterness with which he spoke that sounded so unfamiliar. But there was a comfort in this unfamiliarity, as if finally acknowledging the truth he denied for so long had absolved him of the burden of justifying it. He didn't have to make excuses for others, because he had accepted that none of them were good enough. None of them were good enough for letting a child go missing for so long. Even the writer of the article struggled to hide her condemnation, the Minister offering no comment. There was no excuse for it.
"Still, if you wanted to go back, I can bring you back. You'll have to face them eventually."
"I know. But not right now," he said, the words going unspoken. They got along just fine without him for five weeks, a few more wouldn't hurt. It was incredibly vindictive, he knew, but he wasn't feeling very charitable at the moment. "Besides, they'll just be mad that I ran away on my own and wasted all their time."
Tom shrugged. "They think Black took you against your will. No need to let them think otherwise."
"It's not that simple, Tom," Harry muttered, knowing that the lie would only be stretched so far before the cracks begun to show. They would catch him in it, and what would they do then? What would Harry tell them about his summer? How differently might they look at him if he knew the truth?
'Oh, don't worry, I just spent it with an errant piece of Voldemort he seems to have misplaced. We didn't kill anyone this summer though, so all set here then, yeah?' he imagined himself saying, standing in the center of a court room. Dumbledore the judge, the Weasleys the jury.
Who then would play the role of executioner?
Tom sighed, running a hand through his hair as if irritated by Harry's sullen mood. "Stop thinking, won't you? It's harder to keep you and your guilt out when you're in such a foul state," he mumbled.
Harry bristled, cheeks flaming in indignation that his conflict was putting Tom at such an inconvenience. As if Tom had ever been anything but that for him. There was so much he wanted to say to him, all of it curling within him, lodging in his throat and suffocating him. He wondered if he could die from all the things left unsaid, if the unfamiliar burn of hatred and anger that warped within him- turned his blood to mercury, his bones to iron cages- could make him rot from the inside out. He was well acquainted with being impulsive, brash decisions acted out on the whim of a flitting emotion. Of anger and the humiliation of having been slighted.
But this bubbling within him was entirely foreign and he all at once wanted to hurt the boy beside him. It was frightening, the way his fingers flexed on their own volition, as if readying to wrap around Tom's neck. The way his veins thumped noisily below his skin, suddenly too loud. He clenched his jaw, as if doing so might stop him from slinging out the words that tried to crawl out. They were insects, crawling up his throat, prying through his lips. Shiny, luminescent shells of beetles crunching under his teeth as he fought against freeing them.
He wanted to curse Tom- literally and figuratively. He wanted to blame him for all of this- but what was all of this? Was he mad at Tom for setting off this chain events, from throwing Harry of course all because of a silly little book? Or was he mad that Tom had been correct? That he had been mistreated and forgotten about? Angry that he had been perfectly content with what little he had in life until Tom made him want more?
A thirst that would never be quenched now that it was realized.
He was startled when he felt an arm settle over his shoulders, pulling him into Tom's side. He stiffened at the touch, unsure of what to make of it. He hadn't been this close- physically- to Tom since before he escaped the diary and their relationship had been much simpler. The gesture seemed almost perverse now, but even as he told himself to shirk away from his touch, he melted into it, the tension that had knotted his muscles and made his bones tremble evaporating.
Just as quickly and easily as it had come, the anger and hatred and need to hurt had left at Tom's touch. As though there was a part of Tom that Harry needed, a part that he yearned and sought for and didn't even know he was looking for until he suddenly had it.
He hated that he could loathe Tom so much, but still fall into his touch like nothing had passed between them.
"Did you at least enjoy your summer with me?"
Harry scoffed. "You're a prat, Tom."
All the other things he wanted to say forgotten, the bugs swallowed as he settled into Tom's side.
-xXx-
He was filled with rage, a twisting rage that ignited him, burned him, turned into something hideous and foreign. He could hardly see, his vision quaking in his wrath, the world before him fuzzy and nebulous- the remembrance of a dream, the silhouettes of two people before him all he could see in the haze. And his scar was inflamed.
Could someone die from too much pain? How much agony could someone be subjected too before it all became too much? Before your senses shut down, your brain turning to a mush of collapsed synapses and gray matter?
He wanted to reach out and cup his head, cradle it as if that might somehow abate the pain. But he couldn't move- he wasn't bound, and he didn't feel the taut pull of restraints as he tried to break free. He was simply trapped within a nothingness, an insubstantial being. An observer. An observer to what?
He wanted to scream- and he thought he might have, a nonexistent mouth stretching wide and a nonexistent exhale accompanied with a sharp shout. But he did not hear it- all he could hear was the rush of blood in his head, a tidal wave that threatened to crash against him, toss his body against the jagged rocks of a cliff. An avalanche as a mountain trembled and shook and snow raced down its side.
And when the rushing sound softened, when his rage had reached a crescendo so great he was almost deafened, he heard a faint hissing sound. A high-pitched voice that chilled the boil of his blood, made him shake despite the heat and fire that was in him, around him. "Find him!"
"My lord," someone whimpered, put their plea was cut short.
"Find him! Bring him to me!"
"We can use another in his place-"
"Crucio!"
The word- which sounded less like a word, more like the hiss of a serpent that curled inward, ready to pounce- brought with it screaming. Tortured, anguished cries that filled Harry, mingled with his own. His head felt like it would split in two from the pain and cacophony of noise. A noise that dragged on, hours, years, trapped within it. An entire lifetime ensnared within the screams.
When it finally ended, his ears rang and it felt as if cloth had been swathed over his head. Everything sounded distant. Muffled. There was murmuring that he could not distinguish, a hissing voice- different from the one that commanded the others. A warning, an intruder.
"The muggle caretaker is outside the door-"
Heavy, dragging footfalls, the sound of a body being tossed to the floor. His silhouette was visible, growing steadier as Harry's vision finally settled to the scene, anger sharpening in focus. He was an older man, curved and hunched over, graying hair.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Green light exploded before him, engulfing the room and filling Harry's gaze. Blinding him. When it receded, the old man was lying prone before him, mouth wretched in a silent scream, eyes wide and glassy. Was it that quick? The light leaving them just like that? All the warmth and light taken in an instant, whisked away by those words and carried off in a wave of emerald?
"Nagini."
Something was curling around him, sliding pass and down from where he sat, sliding along the floor. A snake, impossibly large, scales glistening gold and brown in the light. And then it lurched, jaw unhinging to wrap around the man's head, fangs sinking into skin, tearing into flesh, muscle. Bones crunched, snapped like twigs as the serpent continued to slink forward, the man disappearing-
His stomach churned at the sight, and he tried to avert his gaze but he couldn't. Again, he was that nothingness, unable to escape, unable to look away. His head throbbed, his body trembled and their was a distant screaming, an echo that hadn't ceased.
"Find him. I will not start over."
"How?"
"Crucio!"
Cries racketed in his head. His vision shook once more as anger consumed him. Blood coated the floor. Limbs twitched frantically, searching for help that would not come. Fangs severed deeper into flesh.
"HARRY!"
He awoke with a shout, eyes opening wide and flicking about him- still trapped in that between world, between waking and sleeping. Nightmares and daydreams. The screaming had ended, though the sound remained, buried deep into his subconscious. And the rage had left him, replaced with fear and panic as his chest rose and fell rapidly, hands trying to reach out for his wand.
He was here. Voldemort. It had been Voldemort and he was trying to find him.
But his hands were bound, sheets entwined around him, and he flailed, trying to free himself. "Harry, stop!" a voice called, and there were hands on him, a firm pressure on his shoulder, pining him down.
"No! I need- Voldemort. He's angry. Wand. I need it. He wants to find me," he spoke, the words choppy and hoarse, his throat sore from his screaming. He couldn't think, the ache in his head still present, the ghost of the dream still vibrant in his mind. The crunch of bone, the tortured pleas.
"Voldemort's not here, just me. Just Tom," the voice came again, and he felt someone tugging the sheets loose from under him, tossing them aside and he could finally move.
"Tom?" he asked, his gaze settling on the boy crouched beside him. His face was distorted, his vision still shrouded in a haze, tears and sweat obscuring the world from him. But he could see the curl of his hair- messier than usual, had he been sleeping before Harry woke him to his screams? His blue eyes were trained on him, a sharpness to them that seemed surreal when everything else melted together.
But it was Tom, he recognized him just enough, and without thinking- perhaps it was the relief that sagged into him, or the need for something solid and real to remind him that he was no longer trapped in Voldemort's head- he leaped forward, wrapping thin arms around Tom. Fingers twisted into his cotton shirt, head burying into his shoulder.
He sobbed openly, body shaking with each shuddering cry, and he couldn't be bothered to care or be embarrassed. He cared only about the relief that it was over, that he was no longer forced to watch the men twitch in agony, watch the snake take on the daunting task of eating a man whole. It was different from the dream he had months ago, when he was the snake and could see nothing beside jerky movements, quick flashes of color. But watching the snake launch and bite down and sink itself down until less and less of the man became visible- it was a sort of torture he never wished to experience again. To be so helpless as others suffered, killed before him while he could do nothing but watch and hear every terrible sound-
A hand settled on his back, tightening the embrace. Another curled over the back of his head, fingers smoothing down strands of erratic hair. It was undeniably calming, a warmth blossoming from where his body connected to Tom's. Just as Tom's touch had quieted the rage he felt earlier that day, so too did it help abate the despair and fear he felt in that moment.
He knew he should have questioned why, certain that even touch deprivation couldn't result in a response so immediate. But he didn't care to, for once content with letting a little mystery slip by. All that mattered was that his heartbeat was beginning to slow, that his veins and capillaries no longer felt as if they would burst. That the sharp, stabbing pain in his scar had turned to a dull ache.
His breathing became less ragged, and if he could close his eyes and focus on it, he could hear Tom's own heart beat against him, a steady, calming staccato.
Funny- it seemed to beat exactly in time with Harry's own heart.
-xXx-
"Can we go to the muggle village later today?" Harry asked, fingers burying in the dirt as he dug out the entirety of the plant- root and all- and began shaking away the excess dirt.
Tom reached a hand to steady his wrist, saying in a stern voice, "Stop that, you'll damage it and ruin my potions. And why? We don't need anything." It was dangerous too, but he didn't say that. Two weeks had passed since the Prophet ran the first of many articles chronicling Harry's disappearance. Two weeks since Tom had awoken to the sound of screams and thrashing, to Argos practically breaking down his door in his attempt to get Harry help. Though he was more than confident in his wards- the fidelius charm only one of many layers guarding them from intrusion- he wouldn't dare wander outside of them for anything other than an emergency.
It was bad enough that Harry insisted on returning to school instead of staying with Tom. Though, he did have a point- no matter how wonderful a teacher Tom might be, Harry still wouldn't be able to use his magic. And what point would that be if Harry couldn't truly learn to defend himself?
Harry shrugged, gingerly cleaning off the roots now. "I just want to stop in. Maybe get a new book to read. Besides, I'd like to say bye to Miss Woolton."
Tom narrowed his eyes at him. "You just hope she'll give you some more free biscuits and scones."
"You ate just as much as I did!" Harry countered, his tone accusatory, lips pinched in a pout.
Tom rolled his eyes, turning his own attention back to the plant as he carefully dug it from the ground. "No. I'll send you some scones at school if they mean that much to you. It's not safe to leave the wards."
"It's a muggle town, though. Not like it's crawling with too many witches or wizards who will report me."
"No," Tom said again, his tone curt. Truthfully, the aurors weren't the ones he was concerned with. They meant no real harm to Harry, even if he would spend the remaining days before school answering all sorts of questions, straining even Tom's occlumency as he tried to keep the boy's wards up between them. He would be safe at least, and Tom was confident he could disappear before they would even take notice of him- it's not as if many even knew who Tom was, the memory of the Hogwarts student long gone.
No, the aurors and Dumbledore were the least of his concern. Not when Voldemort had become enraged at the news of Harry's disappearance. When he had sent the two men he had out to search for him.
When he purchased the farmhouse, he had hoped that it would be far enough from where Voldemort might roam that their paths wouldn't cross until he was ready. But how did one think differently from themselves? How did one make unpredictable moves across a chess board when the one they played against was themselves?
At least when Harry returned to school, he could relax a bit. His horcrux would be safe there- certainly not even Voldemort would be desperate enough to try something so risky while he was still so weak.
"What potion are you making anyway?" Harry asked, clearly trying his best to not sound disappointed.
"Draught of peace. I've got an order for it, so we'll have to focus on it to make sure it's perfect. Can't make any foolish mistakes, and it's very difficult to do," he answered. It was a difficult potion, one that Harry wouldn't even be expected to make unless he wished to get his NEWTs in potions. But despite his young age, he was bright, and so long as Tom kept an eye on him, he wasn't too terribly worried about what sort of damage he would do.
He could hear Harry mumbling to himself, though it wasn't anything against Tom. He was talking about the plant, the fluxweed, and the magical properties it had and which potions it was most suitable for. Committing to memory all the things Tom had taught him about potion making in the few short weeks.
"What a good little student you-" the taunt died on his lips, smirk slipping from his face as Tom caught sight of something just off in the distance. Just outside his wards.
"Tom?" Harry asked, brows furrowed. He turned in the direction that Tom was looking, craning his neck. He gasped, jumping from where he knelt in the garden, his wand at his side. "That's the man from my dreams! Wormtail."
Everything happened too quickly after that, a succession of events where not one thing led to the other, as they all began at once. Argos rose from where he had been lounging at Harry's side, snarling viciously and taking off at a run, dust picking up from where his paws kicked at the ground. And Harry was running too, skidding as he went down the slope of the hill, arms spread out on either side to keep him steady and making it look as if he might take off into flight at any moment. He was running after Argos, right towards Wormtail, the sound of barking booming through the air, dispersing in the open plot of land.
"Harry, stop!" Tom yelled as he went after them, his own wand raised. They were safe so long as they stayed within his wards, a task that Harry seemed to ignore, continuing his descent down to the plateau of land where Wormtail wandered, his wand raised. How had they even found this town? Tom had tried so hard to find something small and obscure, off the beaten path and as far from wizarding society as he could.
Had that been his mistake? Had it been too obvious a place to hide? Had he circled so much into trying to avoid Voldemort's path that he sat right in it?
Argos was nearing the edge of the wards, the curved edge glistening if Tom looked at it from just the right angle, though Wormtail would see nothing. So long as the damned dog would. Stay. Put!
"Incarcerous!" He shouted, flicking his wrist in the direction of the mutt. A rope, appearing in mid-air, wound itself around all four legs, tightening until they were bound and Argos could run no longer, rolling to his side and squirming against the bindings. His barking had become snarls, deep, growling snarls not umlike the ones a rabid, wounded animal would make. And still, even as he was ensnared in the ropes, legs pinched in the center and his back forced into an awkward arch, he kept trying to move closer to Wormtail, trying to propel himself through the dirt with a thumping tail and quick, jerking movements.
"Argos!" Harry called, changing his direction as he took a sharp turn to the right, crouching at the dog's side. He was tugging at the ropes, trying to undo them even as they became tighter at his prodding. "Tom! Undo it! Now!"
"No," Tom said when he was close enough, his wand lowered, pointed at the dog.
Harry threw himself over top it, turning his body into a shield, his own wand raised and aimed at Tom. "No! You can't hurt him! He's my friend!"
Tom came to an abrupt stop, eyes flicking over to the figure approaching the wards, the squat and ugly man raising his nose as if he thought he might sniff Harry out. He settled his gaze back to Harry, slowly raising his hands to show he did not intend to harm either of them. Yet- Black would certainly pay for stupidly trying to endanger Harry that way. Despite his appearance, he wasn't a dog, and he should have known better than to try to leave the wards of a fidelius charm.
"Harry," Tom implored, trying to sound calm even as panic flooded him. Just a few feet, that's all that stood between them and the wards. Just a few seconds late and Black would have exposed the lot of them. And for what? Revenge? He would have exposed Harry to a Death Eater all because of a past that had been buried and forgotten. Anger followed the panic, but he tried to bottle that up, knowing Harry wouldn't respond well to that. "Harry, he can't see or hear us. I promise you we are as safe as we can be so long as no one steps. Outside. That. Ward."
He spoke to Harry, but his gaze flicked to Argos, the dog's hackles raised to bare his teeth. "If so much as that mutt gets out, he'll reveal us all." Brown eyes widened in understanding, but he still continued to snarl, canine fangs poking out menacingly.
Harry turned to look behind him, at Wormtail. He was close enough now that Tom could see the thinning strands of blond hair a top his head, the beady eyes which never seemed to settle as he prowled around the land. He was wearing tattered and filthy clothing, corduroy pants that were torn at the hem, a grimy vest over a sweat and dirt stained oxford. Close enough that Tom could count the buttons.
"But he's..." Harry started, wand shaking in his grasp. "He's right there."
He looked torn, like he didn't quite believe that they were safe. Like it was impossible to be only feet from someone and still invisible. As if he hadn't seen enough magic to understand this.
"Harry," Tom started again. "I know you don't trust me, but please, if I ever needed you to trust me, it would be in this moment. I promise you, nothing is going to get through. I won't let anyone hurt you. But I need you to trust me."
Harry chewed his lips, looked back once more to Wormtail, who had thankfully started to turn in the opposite direction, walking towards the muggle village miles away. He lowered his wand, turning to Tom. "He works for him. How am I supposed to just let him go?" he asked, but it was not out of rebellion, not the tone of someone looking for a reason to obey what was told to them. It was the tone of someone who felt guilty, as if he was committing some sin by inaction. As if his self-preservation meant someone else would die.
'Bloody Gryffindor,' Tom thought.
"Go back to the house, Harry. Unless you're prepared to kill him yourself, he's just going to go back to Voldemort and bring him here." That did it. If the boy was horrified at the prospect of letting a murderer wander away, it was nothing compared to the prospect of having to kill someone for their silence.
Slowly, he rose to his feet, though he didn't turn his back on Wormtail, walking backwards to Tom and in the direction of the house. When he was at Tom's side, Tom settled a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Levicorpus," he said as he pointed his wand at Argos's still struggling form, lifting the dog up into the air. He carried him that way as the walked up the hill, watching in silence as Wormtail wandered further away from them, neither one of them wanting to lose sight of him.
They did not leave the house for the rest of the day. Or the next. And Harry didn't question it when Tom conjured up a second bed to fit into his own room, telling Harry that they would share a room until he left for school.
Tom trusted his wards to keep them safe, but it didn't help the anxiety he had felt at seeing Harry just steps away from Voldemort's grasp. He would be thankful when Harry was finally back at school, and if Black tried to get himself killed afterwards Tom wouldn't stand in his way. But he would be damned if he put Harry in danger again.
He needed to protect his horcrux, he told himself.
-xXx-
(September 1, the beginning of the school year)
Dumbledore stood against the pillar, looking out at the crowd around him. The crowd that moved like a sea around him, people barely paying him notice as they dragged suitcases behind them, chatted and laughed with their traveling companions. All the sounds echoed, ricocheting off the high ceilings of King's Cross station, creating a bubble of noise. The screeching, metallic sound of someone speaking over an intercom cut through, but most ignored it, unable to discern the words from the tinny squeal. He could see the others in their assigned spots, an Auror by the ticket booth, Kingsley by the pillar marking the exit for another platform. All dressed as muggles, trying their best to hide in the crowd.
"What makes you so certain Potter will even come here? I doubt a kidnapper would be so considerate to return him for school," Snape drawled beside him, arms crossed over his chest.
Dumbledore did not answer. He wasn't certain, not entirely. But there was a chance, however slim it was, Harry could arrive, and they weren't going to miss the opportunity. They had exhausted all possible leads- Black seemed to have just disappeared after the summer ended, leaving not a single trace to where he might have gone off to. They had withheld the information of him being an animagus from the public, fearing that if he saw it printed in an article he would do something disastrous. Desperate.
Best to keep their cards close to their chest.
"We've warded the whole area- even outside of the station. The moment Harry walks through, it will recognize his magical signature. Be prepared in case he isn't alone," was all he said, clasping his hands in front of him and returning to his careful scrutiny of the crowds around him.
-xXx-
Harry dragged his trunk off the bus, apologizing as Hedwig was tossed in her cage when he failed to see a ridge in the sidewalk. Receiving a none too pleasant glance from the driver before he closed the doors and drove off- he had initially refused to let Harry on with the owl, but after a great deal of pleading and even trying to muster up a sad story for exactly why he needed to keep the owl, the driver had relented.
He paused as he stepped back, allowing others to pass him, searching through the crowd. Tom had promised to make sure Harry got to the train safely, but would do so from a distance. He supposed it made sense- Harry had been missing for the whole summer now, and anyone arriving with him in tow would surely be subjected to hours of questioning. And if they learned who exactly Tom Riddle was-
Well, it would all just get too complicated. Too messy. For both of them. He understood it, but he didn't like it, the image of Wormtail standing before him still so concise. Like he had stepped right out of Harry's nightmares to haunt him, to inhabit this world. He had always known that Voldemort was out there, somewhere, in some strange form; not quite dead, not alive. But passively knowing it was different from this feeling. This feeling of being hunted.
He felt better knowing that Tom was somewhere, in a peculiar disguise that for some reason Harry couldn't seem to commit to memory. When he was looking at Tom, he had no issue knowing it was him in disguise, but the moment he looked away all distinguishing features escaped his grasp. Had he been a blond? No, no- brunet. Or perhaps he was bald? It was a curious charm- a glamour, he had called it- but Harry wished there had been a way for Tom to conceal himself without changing his appearance. There was little comfort to be found in the face of a stranger.
That was a notion he preferred to keep tucked away for now. Forever, if he could manage. When, exactly, had he begun looking to Tom for comfort? When had he become the person to put him at ease, instead of the one who unsettled him? When did he begin looking for his face in the crowd- not out of fear or paranoia, but because it made him feel safer? Less alone?
It would be a lie to say that the summer had been unpleasant. In fact, he couldn't much think of a summer that had been better than this one. He had whiled it away in the skies, on his broom and racing Hedwig. He would on occasion visit the muggle town, Miss Woolton always offering him some of her fresh baked biscuits- 'a couple extra for your brother, too,' she would say with a wink. He had celebrated his birthday even- nothing outrageous or even spectacular. But there had been a cake and Tom had even (grudgingly) agreed to fly with him for a bit, each racing to catch the snitch first. Harry always caught it- something he was better at than Tom.
Even the parts he thought he would dread had actually been alright. Practicing occlumency, making potions- he was actually good at it when he didn't have a teacher who would give him detention for breathing. And Tom didn't just instruct him, he taught him about the potion and why it worked, how each ingredient contributed to the elixir. Which herbs played well together and why, which combinations to avoid. He doubted even Hermione knew the sort of stuff Tom taught him.
But when had he crossed that line? The line from forced politeness, regarding Tom with the same level of care he would a blast-ended skrewt, to actually enjoying the time he spent with him? The easy companionship they had had before he left the diary. Had it been when he awoke, crying and screaming in agony and Tom had held him, letting him cling to him for an embarrassingly long time? Or was it when Tom had stopped him from attacking Wormtail, making good on his promises to keep him safe from Voldemort?
It was...confusing. It was the only word he could think to describe it. The constant shift in his relationship with Tom. But he couldn't let himself settle in that comfort, no matter how easy Tom made it. He was certain that the moment he did, the boy would strike, like the monster he pretended not to be.
Was it pretending though? He had seen inside his head, if only for a few moments, some stolen glances in a past that he sure Tom did everything he could to bury. The orphanage hadn't been a lie, like he thought, and Tom certainly didn't seem monstrous then- just a young boy being dragged to a hospital, tears streaming down his face, all because he was different. Because he was like Harry.
"Harry Potter," a voice called, startling him from his thoughts and he came to an abrupt stop just as a heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder. Hedwig hooted loudly at having been jostled, her cage swinging in an arc at Harry's aborted step, but he ignored her, turning to look at the man standing uncomfortably close to him, holding him in place.
The man met his gaze, one eye- a glass eye- spinning rapidly in its socket, a band holding it in place that wrapped around his head. His face was carved with deep scars, white, messy seams that held the skin in place, a chunk missing from the tip of his nose.
Harry dropped hold of his trunk, hands digging through his pockets for his wand- but the man had grabbed hold of his wrist- not painfully, but firm- and shook his head. "No need for that, come on, keep walking," he said, grabbing hold of Harry's abandoned trunk and dragging him towards the station, an ambling unsteadiness to his gait. "Alastor Moody, an auror for the Ministry," he added as Harry tried to free himself from his grasp, gazing through the busy streets for Tom in his mysterious disguise.
"How did you get here?" the man- Moody- asked, his hold on Harry's wrist only tightening as he continued to try to pry himself free.
"The bus," Harry spat back, not bothering to hide the surliness. Tom had said the station would be crawling with Aurors, it was the entire reason he wouldn't escort Harry himself to the platform. But he had barely made it ten steps away from the bus stop before being manhandled. He wasn't prepared for this just yet.
"Did you come alone?" Moody asked, choosing to ignore Harry's tone.
He hissed, the familiar twinge in his eye flaring back to life. He bowed his head, gritting his teeth in pain, his eye crumpling into a squint.
Moody grumbled, shoulders stiffening as if becoming more alert. "That's a no, then."
"Harry!" another voice called, and he twisted in the direction of it, watching as Arthur Weasley came from the opposite side of the street, looking odd in some muggles which didn't match in the slightest: green plaid trousers paired with a fluorescent purple oxford that might have been intended for a female, the buttons swapped for the wrong side.
"Mr. Weasley," he called out in turn, grateful for the familiar face, even if it did remind him too much of Ginny. Even if it did remind him of all the reasons he hated Tom in the first place.
"Harry, are you alright?" Mr. Weasley asked when he approached, but Harry didn't have a chance, pulled into a tight hug. It was not comforting, not the way Tom's had been. It just made it worse, his stomach twisting into knots, the words sitting on his tongue. 'I'm the reason your daughter is dead. I don't deserve your concern.'
He felt filthy, like he might cry from the weight of the guilt and the blood on his hands. He almost confessed, the words slipping from his lips before he could stop it. But he didn't get too far before his eye erupted in pain, and he pushed away from the embrace, a hand curling over his eye.
"Harry-" Mr. Weasley said, but Moody interrupted, his tone brusque.
"Black's here, let's get him inside to Dumbledore." They were pulling him then, each flanking either side of him, Mr. Weasley carrying Hedwig's cage as Harry continued to clamp his palm over his eye, fearing that it might pop out from all the pressure.
He didn't want to see Dumbledore, though. He had hoped against all logic and reasoning that the whole matter of his disappearance would be blown over. He had hoped that they would see he was alright and send him off with a pat to board the train.
Would he even get to board the train? Or would they withhold him from school until he told them everything? Until he found a way to tell them about Tom and Ginny? And even then, what? Would they send him to Azkaban?
Another auror flocked to their side, one with short, spiky hair the color of bubblegum. She followed just behind Harry, close enough that if she tripped she would stab him with the wand she held at her side, hidden behind the folds of her coat.
He was beginning to feel more and more like a prisoner, the closer they came to the station.
They entered through the large doors, spilling out in the center of the station, ticket booths on either side of them, an information desk in the middle of it all, the crowd parting around it. He could see them now- all the aurors. They were the only ones not moving, running to departing trains or purchasing their tickets. They stood pressed against the columns, arms folded over their chests as they looked over the sea of the people, a stern look on their face. Most didn't move from their position, like statues keeping guard, but some did step down, threading through the crowd to approach the small group that was forming around Harry.
It felt like an ambush.
"Did Black drop him off?" a man with sandy hair that brushed over hazel eyes, thin scars marring his face asked. He looked at Harry as he said this, the attention making the young boy shift in discomfort.
"Tongue-tying curse, keeps touching his eye in pain, but I think so," Moody answered. Harry didn't feel the need to correct him.
'Let them think what they want,' he thought, recalling Tom's opinions on the matter.
The man shook his head. "It just doesn't make sense though. Why let him go back to school? Why take him at all?"
Harry felt himself bristle, irritated by the way they spoke of him, as if he wasn't even in the same room. Or was a child that couldn't understand what they were saying, didn't know that they were speaking so openly in front of him. 'I'm right here,' he thought with bitterness.
Arthur gave him a curious look. "Of course, Harry. Sorry, we don't mean to talk about you like this," he said, smiling sadly, a bit bashfully.
Did he say that out loud?
"Er...it's alright," he mumbled, cheeks warming that he had snapped and hadn't even realized he had spoken it. But it was forgotten, the group coming to a stop as Dumbledore and Snape came to gather around him, a circle with him at the center.
Was this the court he had imagined? The judge before him, the jury surrounding him?
"Thank heavens, Harry," Dumbledore began, placing both hands on Harry's shoulders and squeezing them. He didn't have to lean forward, tilted at the hip like he once did, so much had Harry grown. There was only a few inches between them now, and he never thought the man had looked smaller, never looked so tired, eyes framed with large, purple bags.
Had Harry done that?
"I'm so glad to see you're alright. You are alright aren't you?" he asked, voice warm with concern.
"Fine," he mumbled in response, feeling the same anger from before, the one that had only been quieted when Tom slung his arm around him. 'I could have killed you by now,' Tom's voice came back to him, unbidden.
Dumbledore gave him a dubious look from over his half-moon spectacles, lips pinched before saying, "Harry, we have some questions for you, but here isn't really the place for it. We're going to go somewhere-"
"I have to get to school," Harry interrupted, genuine panic filling him. He recalled, with startling clarity, the way Tom had been dragged away, little feet kicking the air, scuffing the floor in a tantrum.
Dumbledore's eyes softened, a curious glint to them. When he spoke next, it was slowly, each word chosen carefully. "We'll bring you to school, a little late is all. We just have some questions."
He felt his skin begin to itch, crawl over his bones and he started to bounce on the balls of his feet, a manic energy rocketing through him. "You can ask them here. I don't want to go anywhere else."
"You're not in any trouble, Harry. You understand that, don't you? This isn't about you, we just need you to tell us about what happened over the summer," Arthur said, his voice caring. Fatherly.
Harry gasped in pain, pinching his eyes closed as he dug his nails so sharply into his palm he formed crescent shaped imprints. He gritted his teeth, shaking his head as he said, "I can't tell you about it." He was all at once- in a perverse, twisted way- thankful that Tom had cursed him the way he had (tongue tying curse, Moody had called it). It absolved him of the responsibility of telling the truth, an easy way out for him. No matter what, he couldn't be implicated in any of it, because he was cursed to keep quiet.
"Can you undo it? The curse?" someone asked.
It was Moody who responded. "Only the caster can."
"Would veritaserum override it?"
"No. Legilimency however-"
Harry looked up, squinting through the pain in his eye, the lights that suddenly seemed too bright. No. They couldn't use legilimency. He was nowhere near strong enough at occlumency, and he couldn't let them see the truth.
Couldn't bare to let them know the truth.
Dumbledore frowned, eyes finally lifting from Harry's face to meet Moody's. "I can't." The words were soft, so soft Harry wasn't sure he had heard them. But he did, and he tried to not show his relief. He didn't understand it- surely, Dumbledore was more than capable of breaking the meager barriers Harry could manage- but was thankful for it all the same.
But that meant-
"You've been trying to read my thoughts?"
He didn't realized he said it until all eyes turned to him, brows raised at the venom that was so unfamiliar in Harry's words.
Dumbledore considered him for a moment. "Harry-"
"How many times have you tried to read them, then? Have you never been able to get in or only recently?" he asked, the anger shifting, morphing into something else. Humiliation at what Dumbledore might have seen. All the private and intimate thoughts he had not once given him permission to view. Betrayal that Dumbledore had done so anyway. "What have you seen?" The words made him feel small, made him seem small.
"I've only ever done it once or twice, when I thought you were in trouble-"
"What have you seen?" he asked, more forceful, the despair that had saturated his tone almost gone again, his emotions flipping faster than he could control them.
Dumbledore hesitated in his response. "Just some moments from school Some childhood memories. Nothing for you to be embarrassed of-"
With that, a seal had been broken. The insects crawling up from his belly, millions of legs skittering up his throat as they finally fell free. Little venomous spiders, ugly beetles, an unstoppable stampede of unspoken words. He hardly recognized himself as he spoke.
"Oh, that's all then? Just some childhood memories, yeah? Which ones? Anything good? Did you see the time I had to walk home from primary, and the Dursleys locked me outside? It was winter then, if that jogs your memory. Or what about all the times I didn't get to eat, sometimes for almost a week at the time? All the times I was locked in the cupboard? They used to lock it every night when I was younger, because I had nightmares and tried to crawl in bed with them. It was easier for them to lock me in than comfort me. Did you see any of those?"
He was shaking, jaw clenched so tightly he thought the bone might shatter into a million little fragments. Dumbledore looked as if he was going to speak, but Harry continued, the bugs and insects falling from his lips, unhindered. "I've had a couple of broken bones- did you see the real reason I had them, or the reason I was told to give the doctors and my teachers? Speaking of doctors, they always told me I was underweight. That I needed to eat more. Not as if the Dursleys cared enough to follow doctor's orders. So which did you see? Which one of these childhood memories shouldn't I be embarrassed of?"
There was an indiscernible expression on Dumbledore's face, one that might have made Harry smile smugly if not for the mounting anger.
"I've spoken to your aunt and uncle, and I don't have the words to express just how truly sorry I am for the life they gave you-"
"That wasn't my question. What did you see? Did you see any of that? Even just one?" His gaze was challenging, green eyes hardened, narrowed as he inclined his chin. The silence that followed was as damning as a confession.
Harry swallowed thickly, feeling his bravado waver. Once more, Tom's words came back to him. 'I care because Dumbledore clearly doesn't.' Harry grabbed his trunk which had been deposited by Moody, ripped Hedwig's cage from Mr. Weasley's hands as he stepped aside. No one made to stop him, astonished and pitying eyes following his movements. He didn't want their pity, though. He never wanted pity.
"I was offered a home for the summer, away from all of that. And I took it," he answered, taking a few more steps back, in the direction to where he knew Platform 9 ¾ would be. "And now, I want to go back to school."
"Harry," Dumbledore called, just as he had turned his back to him. He hesitated a moment, considering just walking away. But something in his voice wore down at his resolve, a chisel that hit against the walls he tried to build. He turned, raising a brow. "I never saw any of those memories. I knew your aunt and uncle weren't the kindest, but I didn't think..." He broke off, searching for the words to say. As if any of them could erase the moment that had transpired. Could make the bugs crawl back into his mouth. "I'm sorry," he finally said, looking worn. Rueful. "I am truly sorry that I didn't think to look more closely. But Sirius Black is not the solace he's made himself to be. He can't be trusted."
"Sirius Black did more for me than anyone else," Harry sneered, knowing it was a lie but not bothering to talk around the truth anymore. He just wanted to board the train, to leave all of this moment behind and return to what little normalcy he had.
He turned back and left for the platform. And this time, no one stopped him.
-xXx-
"Should someone...follow him?" Arthur asked, the first one to speak. Harry was quickly disappearing, lost in the rush of others as the crowd enveloped him. "Just to make sure he gets to the train safe, at least?"
"No," Moody answered, his voice like gravel, rough and worn. "There are aurors all the way down to the platform, and on it itself. They'll make sure he gets there alright. They'll send word to me when he does. We'll give him some time to cool down, get settled in school before we try speaking to him again. Whatever happened, it's gotten him all sorts of twisted. The Headmistress knows to keep an eye out for a dog. He'll be fine."
"Then we should try to find Black. You said he's here, right?" Tonks said, a frantic quality to her as she looked around. As if Black might appear behind them, leap from the swarms of people that meandered through the station.
Dumbledore sighed, raising a hand to rub at the space between his eyes. "Black wasn't the one who took Harry."
"What?" they said in unison, Moody shaking his head in agreement with the older wizard.
"What do you mean? He said it himself?" Lupin hissed, making a gesture to the direction Harry had run off in.
"Exactly," Moody said, turning to look at Lupin as his glass eye spun rapidly around, as if it might discover the person who truly was responsible. "He said it himself. Something that the tongue-tying curse specifically prevents. Black didn't take him."
Tonks was shaking her head, crossing her arms over her chest only to let them slip back at her side, then grasp her hips. "No. No. It has to be Black. Who...who else would do it? Most of the former Death Eaters are locked up. And even then, I can't see Harry just making friends with You-Know-Who's followers. Black at least made sense. He was friends with his parents, escaped at the time this all started."
"Did he?" Moody prompted, rubbing his chin in thought. "We think it started around then. But maybe it started earlier. Or later, even. It's not exactly as if it would have taken a lot of sway to get Harry to trust him. If you were him, where would you rather spend the summer?"
A moment of quiet between them, disrupted only by the shuffle of a new crowd arriving, the brass voice booming over the intercom. Lupin was the first to speak, a measured quality to his voice that suggested he was struggling to remain leveled. "Did you mean it? When you told Harry you didn't know? Or were you just lying to get Harry to trust you again?" He squared his body so that he was more appropriately facing Dumbledore, jaw clenched and fists tighten at his side. If there was something hard in his tone, no one mentioned it.
Dumbledore inhaled slowly, shaking his head. "I wasn't lying, Remus. I knew Petunia had been estranged from Lily, but I didn't think she would subject Harry to such cruelty. Arabella never saw any of that, though she did express that there was some contempt for him. But we never thought it went beyond that. If I had expected there was abuse, I assure you I would have stepped in." He paused, swallowing a lump that sat at the bottom of his throat, suffocating him. He had stepped in, once. Years ago, shortly after the deaths of Lily and James Potter. Harry had been surrendered to an orphanage, despite the letter that he had left for Petunia. Despite telling her that she was the only safe place for her nephew, the blood she shared with Lily keeping Harry safe. He had made them take him back.
Because he wanted Harry to be safe.
If he had known what would happen, if he had thought to watch a little more closely, he never would have left Harry there. He thought he would be safe.
He thought Petunia had loved her sister, once. That she might learn to love Harry too.
"I've failed him, Remus. Nothing I say or do can make up for that. I'm sorry. I tried to find the safest place for Harry, and in doing so, I've placed him in far greater danger," he admitted.
Lupin sighed, his shoulders slipping as he ran a hand down his face. He looked tired. Worn- older than his true age. "He's safe now, at least. That's what matters," he muttered. There were no platitudes, nothing to abate Dumbledore of his guilt. No one mentioned that either.
"So we're certain it's not Black," Snape said, a tinge of poison to his words. "That leaves us with no leads, no clues and a teenager who is physically unable to tell us a thing? Excellent."
The sarcasm and bitterness was evident, but Dumbledore paid it no mind. His focus fell on Moody, who had turned away from the group, eyes following someone as they left for the exit at a brisk pace. Even his glass eye had stilled.
He looked to the man Moody studied so closely, but there was nothing of note. Long blond hair that curled around his jaw, a slightly crooked and long nose, stubble covering his chin. "Something the matter, Alastor?" he asked, startling Moody from whatever had transfixed him.
He hesitated, then shook his head, "No, I...there was someone I thought..." he looked back to the crowd, trying to find the man once more. But he was gone. "In the right light, I thought I saw the shimmer of a glamour."
"A glamour? What did he look like?" Arthur asked, voice high on alert as he twisted frantically, fingers gripping the wand that he hid in his sleeve. He rose a hand, signaling to one of the aurors against the pillars. Black might not have taken Harry, but someone did. Someone who had just wandered pass them.
"I...don't remember?" The uncertainty sounded foreign to the auror, and Dumbledore opened his mouth the describe the appearance, having been the only other one to see the man.
But it was gone, the memory slipping from his mind like it had never been. Was it cropped auburn hair? No, no...a mass of curls? Dark skin? Pale skin?
He struggled for the memory, searched for the features he knew he had seen but had somehow forgotten. It was gone, just like the man.
Like a ghost.
-xXx-
When Tom arrived home, it was to a farmhouse that had seemed too quiet. He could hear Argos- Sirius- barking from where he was locked away in what had been Harry's room, throwing his body up against the door. He would grow tired soon, and when the fight finally left him, Tom would reward his cooperation with a chat. A proper chat- wizard to wizard instead of wizard to canine.
He wouldn't release him, just temporarily undo the curse that trapped him in that form. Just so they could talk. He wasn't even sure what he would do with him, in the end of it all, having given his fate little thought. Harry was painfully attached to the mutt, and had even threatened Tom to keep him safe while he went to school. Killing him would only undo the progress, the trust that Harry had begun to place back into him.
He smiled as he thought back to the summer, Harry walking around him the first few weeks. Only arriving in the kitchen for food when he was certain Tom had left, roaming the perimeters and corners of the home as if doing so somehow kept him safer. As if the shadows might obscure him from sight.
It was a true delight, watching it all unfurl. How Harry shifted from only sitting with him for an hour a day to study his occlumency, jumping at the slightest provocation, to sitting beside Tom as they made potions together, doing all of his prep work and listening earnestly as Tom added them in the correct order. Stirred it clockwise. To Harry practically always at his side, eating meals with him. Gardening. He even tried- with only one success- to get Tom on a broom and play some Quidditch with him.
In just a few weeks he had become pliant, trusting Tom slowly. So slowly, he doubted he was even aware of it. It was sad, really. Not in a pathetic way, but in a genuine manner that Tom knew to be sympathy even if he had never experienced it before. He had heard the word before, knew what it meant and how to emulate it. But it had always been a ruse, one that never went beyond kind eyes and soft words.
So what about Harry had stoked the ashes of a flame he thought long extinguished? Perhaps it was the connection, the link between them that bound their souls together that made him saddened by how easy it was to earn his trust. How sad it was that Tom fulfilled this role Harry needed so desperately that he fell into it seamlessly.
Yes, the connection had to have been it. It was the reason why Harry had sought his embrace the night he awoke, his tumultuous thoughts quieted as they came together. Two slivers of something that felt whole in the other's presence. A part of Harry's soul belonged to him- the part of him that trapped onto Harry, feeding from him like a parasite- and it was calming to have something that was his so close to him once more.
The calm was gone now, Harry's absence in the home like a storm that loomed overhead, black clouds rolling above him. His nerves were frayed, an anxious energy within him that he hadn't felt in a long time. Not since he was trapped in the diary. But it was better this way- Harry was safer at the school, where Voldemort couldn't touch him. Where his magic could grow and he could learn. Black was still the target he needed him to be and no one would press Harry too hard about his summer, knowing the limits of a tongue-tying curse.
Telling himself this did nothing to ease his nerves, however. It had been so nice to have a part of a soul back with him, he almost regretted splitting it in the first place.
Almost.
The thought spurned him then, and with renewed purpose he wandered into his office- the one hidden in a charmed closet in the potion laboratory. It wasn't anything grand, just a small desk and chair, some oil lamps and a cramped bookcase with all the tomes he knew Harry would be horrified with if he stumbled on them. It was just a small carving he had made for himself. A place to keep the two halves of his duality separate.
He had put off most of his research with Harry around. He had other priorities, and couldn't afford for the young boy to get suspicious. But he was gone now, and he could finally return to it.
But where to begin? The notes he had scribbled in his journal? The books he had marked?
His eyes fell on the untitled one fitted on the top shelf. Slim and black. He reached out before he even knew he was, holding the diary that had started this all for the first time since stashing it away. It was damaged, the pages caking together with dried blood which colored them maroon. The cover was crisp and made a crinkling sound as he pulled it back. His name, imprinted on the bottom in gold lettering. TM Riddle.
He hadn't even so much as looked at it, handling it as little as he could after making off with it from the Chamber, leaving behind the corpse of the girl and Harry to find his way back to the school, still in a daze from the possession.
He supposed he'd have to study it at some point, begrudgingly admitting it was necessary for his research. Even if touching it filled him with dread, reminded him of the claustrophobia that clawed at him. Of the sepia toned world that was just as dead and inactive as he was, a faded, unrefined version of the things he could not have. Reminded him that he wasn't alive, not really. Just trapped between two horrifying states of being.
He had never been meant to be sealed within, it was never his intention. And holding the diary only reminded him of the decades spent in its pages. Trapped, before Harry had helped him escape.
He was grateful for that. Another emotion that was new and unfamiliar to him.
He sat down in his chair, opening the diary on the desk before him. He had to hold it p[en with his palm, flattening it as it fought to remain shut. And then he simply stared. Stared until the words appeared.
'Is anyone there?' came the frantic, sloppy writing. Desperate was the word that came to mind. He could imagine a hand shaking too much, unable to steady. Pressing so hard into the parchment that it left a reminder of the words. 'Please, help me. I just want to go home.'
He slammed the diary shut, quieting Ginny Weasley once more.
Another day, he told himself, sliding the diary back onto the shelf.
-xXx-
Author's Note: Dat Cliffhanger tho.
Harry's got it rough. Puberty and all those hormones and harboring a piece of soul from a dangerous, monstrous dark wizard? Being a teenage is hard enough, jeez.
I hope you enjoyed! A huge thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review! Next up: Harry finds comfort in familiar faces, the schools and the tournament are introduced and Harry finally has a little bit of a heart to heart with someone who's not a murderous psychopath. Aww.