For the second day in a row, Lord Voldemort woke to the sight of Harry Potter laying next to him. Tom's eyes traced over Harry's sleeping form and he resisted the urge to pull the boy closer, not wanting to wake him just yet. Tom's dreams had been disturbing—he'd been trapped in a cold stone room that looked nothing like the room he and Harry had been imprisoned in and yet it had felt similar, with an atmosphere of powerlessness and desperation. He'd been tied to a chair, and the room was lit with the glow of a mysterious silvery light, and someone was speaking behind him but he couldn't make out the words. Just before he'd woken up, the dream had changed and he was no longer in the stone room but rather a dark forest, and he'd looked down to find himself holding his own bloody heart in his hands—suddenly Harry was there and Tom frantically told him that they had to fix this, had to put it back before it destroyed him, but Harry was unconcerned and said 'it's okay, Tom,' and he smiled and reached out to take the heart.
The dream itself had been disquieting and annoyingly on-the-nose near the end—evidently his subconscious had grown lazy—but there was a sense of distance to the first part of it that made Tom question whether the dream was even his or if it might've been one of Harry's leaking through their connection.
Harry slept on peacefully though, and Tom chose not to disturb him. The boy needed his rest after what he'd been through over the past few days. He needed rest, and apparently he also needed someone to convince him that he deserved to live and be happy and have the things that he wanted.
Voldemort knew without question that he would be the one to give Harry whatever he needed—his obsession with Harry Potter was as intense as ever, it had only reversed its direction. He found it unnerving at best and absolutely terrifying at worst, how quickly he had become so affectionate and protective towards Harry. Tom rationalized that a large part of it was because of the Horcrux and their connection, and perhaps there was some merit to Hermione's suggestion of bonding through shared adversity (he refused to call it trauma), and then of course the myriad similarities between their lives and personalities.
But none of those things accounted for him experiencing that unprecedented guilt yesterday—Lord Voldemort did not feel guilt—he did not question or regret his actions because he always did precisely as he meant to do, and anyone who got harmed because of it simply shouldn't have gotten in his way. Yesterday though… yesterday self-recrimination had drowned out every argument he tried to use to justify his moment of violence towards Harry. It didn't matter that he hadn't even left bruises, or that he'd done much worse to him in the past, or that the boy should've expected it—Tom was haunted by the handful of seconds when he'd felt that old instability and violence and he'd wanted tosqueeze, to crush whatever dared to defy Lord Voldemort. The impulse had faded almost immediately, and he'd made sure to hide his growing horror with himself as he'd fled the room with the locket Horcrux.
It was a momentary lapse, he insisted—a complete fluke brought on by an extreme situation, and it was never going to happen again. He was not unstable, he told himself. He was in control. He was not the kind of monster that manhandled someone who had been abused in the past. He was not a danger to Harry.
He was also not quite ready to face him this morning, which he realized as Harry shifted in his sleep and started to stir. Before Harry could fully wake, Tom whispered, "Dormiensus," a mild sleep spell that would gently nudge Harry back to sleep but which wouldn't force him to stay that way. It was not cowardice, Tom told himself as he climbed out of bed and dressed—it was being a merciful Lord, because Harry needed to rest. It was completely unrelated to the fact that Tom needed a moment alone to regroup.
At times he'd been nearly overwhelmed by the onslaught of intense emotion over the past two days—both Harry's emotions and his own, some of which he'd never felt before or at least never this strongly. The guilt, most notably, was new. As was the intense, obsessive affection he felt for Harry. He'd meant it when he told Harry he cared for him more than he'd ever cared for anyone—he'd just failed to mention that there had only been a handful of people throughout his entire life that he'd actually cared about beyond their usefulness to him, but even those rare few instances paled in comparison to what he felt for Harry.
He'd told the boy things he'd never told anyone; he'd rearranged his entire world-domination plan to make it palatable for Harry; he'd literally killed half of his followers because they'd rioted and rejected said plan; he'd let his guard down around Harry and shown him genuine affection; he'd felt actual guilt for grabbing Harry's throat and then practically demanded that Harry fuck Tom's throat in recompense; he'd arranged himself a job at Hogwarts in order to stay close to Harry while they set their political schemes in motion, and to top it all off he was letting people call him Tom again… Maybe they really had both lost their minds, as Harry had suggested.
"Unacceptable," Tom muttered. The ritual was responsible for this madness and excess sentiment—it had to be. He needed a bit of distance to sort himself out, needed to get out of Harry's orbit just for a little while, needed to research what the hell was going on with his emotions. He grabbed the ritual journal off the nightstand and shoved it into his robes, inside a pocket charmed so that only he could put things in it or take them out. From the same pocket, he removed the locket Horcrux and leaned down to carefully place it around Harry's neck as he slept. It wouldn't do to have the boy wake up and think he'd been abandoned, after all.
Tom straightened up and simply looked at Harry for a moment before drawing his wand. He silently cast every detection spell in his vast repertoire, thoroughly checking first Harry and then himself once again for any kind of compulsions, enchantments, love potions, or any other mind-altering spells, potions, or curses. Just like the other five times he'd run through this routine (always at moments when Harry was somehow distracted so he wouldn't ask questions), there was absolutely nothing magical currently influencing either of them. It made no sense. He put his wand away and then brushed a lock of hair out of Harry's face before turning and quietly heading for the door.
He was reaching for the doorknob when the sound of shifting fabric and then a yawn made him pause and look over his shoulder. Harry was waking again, one arm blindly searching across the empty mattress.
"Voldemort?" Harry murmured sleepily as he opened his eyes. He noticed the locket around his neck and reached up to rest a hand over it, smiling slightly. Then he sat up and caught sight of Tom by the door, and asked mildly, "Sneaking out on me?"
Tom tensed and said, "I was unaware that I needed your permission to leave my own room." It came out quite a bit harsher than he'd intended, judging by Harry's taken-aback expression.
Harry blinked, then sarcastically said, "Good morning to you too," before clumsily prodding at their mental connection and attempting to get a read on Tom's emotions.
Tom slammed up his Occlumency barriers to block the connection, then sent a glare at Harry and snapped, "Stay out of my head!"
Harry flinched, his expression a mixture of surprise and annoyance and concern. "Tom—?"
But Voldemort ignored him and stormed out of the room, not quite slamming the door (such behavior was beneath a Dark Lord) but shutting it a bit harder than necessary.
Harry was left staring at the door, wondering what the hell he'd done wrong. He threw the sheets off of himself and swung his legs out of bed, intending to chase after Tom and demand an explanation for this newest snit, but the tapping of an owl at the window caught his attention. He would've just ignored it, if not for the fact that it was Pigwidgeon. Harry sighed, then stood and went to open the window—it was probably best to let Tom cool off a while anyway.
"Hey, Pig," Harry said, petting the tiny owl with one hand while he took the letter with the other. "I don't have any treats, sorry." Pig gave him an unconcerned hoot before flapping his wings and excitedly flying around the room. "Don't take off, I reckon they'll want a reply."
Harry attempted to open the letter only to be repelled each time by something like a shield charm. He could hold the envelope, but when he tried in any way to open it his fingers glanced off of some kind of force field.
"How the hell do I open this thing?" Harry muttered, grabbing his wand. "Alohomora," he tried, feeling silly when nothing happened. "Er…Revelio!"
This time a line of tiny writing appeared:Mr. Moony informs you that the key to the letter is the same as the Map.
Harry smiled, tapped his wand on the envelope and said, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."
When he tried to open the envelope this time, he succeeded and pulled out the letter inside. He'd been expecting it to be from Remus, but the handwriting was completely different. He didn't immediately recognize it, so his eyes skipped down to the signature—Love, Ginny.
Harry felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. Ginny. He hadn't even thought about Ginny since all of this started. Hadn't once thought about whether he was somehow betraying her by being with Tom. True, he'd broken things off with her—to protect her, yes, but also secretly because dating her had felt rather too much like living someone else's life and he knew deep down that they weren't right for each other—but despite that, he'd known that she was expecting him to come back to her. And she'd signed the damn letter with 'love.'
Guiltily, Harry dragged his eyes back up to the beginning of the letter and started to read.
Harry--What the actual fuck is going on???
Harry laughed in spite of himself, but quickly kept reading.
I know you're on a secret mission that you can't tell anyone about, but Lupin came back from talking to you looking like someone stepped on his tail, and then Ron showed back up at the Burrow and he's been Obliviated! The Order said that despite the safety risks (Dad and Lupin put a ton of concealing spells on Pig, don't worry, nobody should be able to intercept him) someone had to reach out, and they thought you'd be more likely to reply if it came from me… I miss you so much, Harry, and it kills me thinking that you're out there somewhere in danger and I can't do anything to help. Please let me know you're okay—and, if you can, tell me what happened with Ron. He says he had a fight with you at Grimmauld but he can't remember what about, and he said that Snape was there (are you okay? Did Snape Obliviate him?) but he can't tell us anything else about what happened or what you've been doing on the run. Ron's really worried about Hermione—is she all right? Please write back, Harry, even if it's just a "I'm okay." I really miss you, and hope to see you again soon. Stay safe.
Love, Ginny
Harry sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at his feet.
God, but this was awkward. He couldn't let Ginny keep thinking he was waiting for her too, but he couldn't bloody well tell her the truth, especially not when the entire Order was guaranteed to read his reply. He could be vague—and he could let her and the others know that the war was over, at least, and that he'd see Ron and Ginny again at Hogwarts if not sooner—Merlin, he was going toteachat Hogwarts. Was he going to have to teach his friends? Teach Ginny? He and Tom hadn't really discussed the particulars of that arrangement, but Harry had assumed he'd be taking a few of the younger years and kind of sitting in on his own year because while Tom wouldn't technically be his professor and wouldn't be responsible for any of his grades, Harry still needed to know the material for NEWTs.
Harry shook his head and focused back on the present—he needed to write back before the Order tried to track him down and stage a rescue or something. There was a desk in the corner of Tom's room, and Harry sat down at it and opened drawers until he found some blank parchment and a quill.
He wondered for half a second whether he should check with Tom first, but then he considered this morning's strop and muttered, "If he doesn't need permission to leave, I sure as hell don't need permission to write a letter."
He dipped the quill in ink, then wrote:
Ginny (and the Order),
I'm okay, I promise. So is Hermione…. I'm sending two pages, and The Order can read the first one, but the second one is just for you Ginny, all right? I don't really know where to start, but things have changed a lot over the past 3 days. There's going to be a public announcement soon (not sure yet when or where) that the war is over. I recently ended up in a crazy life-or-death situation along with Voldemort, and we had to work together to survive it. Yes there's quite a bit more to it that that, and no I will not be giving details. All I'll say is that it has to do with our connection, and that he has no intention of killing me anymore. We've agreed on a truce, and he's going to stop with the violence and the blood-purity rubbish. I'm not sure how much he'd want me to say, so let's leave it at that for now.
About Ron… There were some details about my involvement with Voldemort that he just couldn't handle. He tried, I think, and he stuck around because he thought he and Hermione could talk me out of it or something. But in the end we had to Obliviate him to protect him and to protect our "secret mission" as you called it… Ron, if you're reading this, I want to talk. I don't want to lose our friendship over this. Hermione misses you too, and she's still upset about the Obliviation. We'll see you soon, and I hope we can all get past this.
Yes, Snape was at Grimmauld too, briefly. He's actually been on my side this entire time, strange as that seems. His reasons aren't mine to share, but I trust him now and the Order shouldn't consider him an enemy. Dumbledore's death was not murder, it was pre-arranged by Dumbledore himself—he was already dying from a slow-acting curse, and he'd basically ordered Snape to kill him when the time came.
Anyway, all of this has probably been a shock, but I hope you all can relax a bit knowing that the war is over and Hermione and I are safe. And we'll be back to Hogwarts in September too, with a bit of a surprise. Please don't try to track me down and rescue me—I don't need it, first of all, and also Voldemort has become extremely protective of me. It wouldn't be pretty.
Hope you're all well,
Harry.
He set down his quill, read over the letter again, and decided that it would do. He hoped that the letter would give the Order enough information to keep them from doing anything stupid until the official truce announcement was made, and until Harry had a chance to check in with the Weasleys and Lupin and the others in person. And he'd been careful to avoid stating outright that Hermione was the one who Obliviated Ron—Harry was willing to take the fall for that if it would help Ron and Hermione patch things up.
Harry picked up a second page, sighed, and started writing the harder letter. After several false starts—which were wadded up and fretfully Incendioed—he ended up settling on:
Ginny,
I miss you too, and I hope that you're staying safe… I wouldn't normally put this kind of thing in a letter, but I also don't want to spring it on you at Hogwarts. The thing is, I will always care about you, but we won't be getting back together. I'm seeing someone else now and it's serious. Again, I'm really sorry to tell you this through a letter but I don't want to lead you on. I'll understand if you hate me, but I hope we can stay friends.
See you at Hogwarts,
Harry
Harry sighed and set down the quill, thinking that surely there was a better way to do this, but he wasn't about to ask Hermione or Draco—or, god forbid, Tom—to help him with it. It would simply have to do.
Harry sealed the two letters into an envelope with Ginny's name on it. "All right, Pig," he called, and the tiny owl flew over to land on the desk, eagerly sticking his leg out. Harry attached the letter, and said, "I hope those concealment charms on you are still active, because I have no idea how to do them. Be careful." Pig hooted at him once, then took flight and swooped back out the window.
Harry rested his elbows on the desk and put his face in his hands, wishing for another well-timed distraction so he could avoid the hurt and confusion from how Tom had snapped at him and blocked off their connection. "I didn't even do anything," Harry grumbled into his hands. But then again, this was Voldemort he was dealing with—all of the unexpected tenderness and affection had lulled Harry into nearly forgetting how unpredictable and volatile the man could be.
He sighed again and stood up, walking to the dresser and grabbing a change of clothes out of his bag on top of it. He had been too tired last night to even think of unpacking his bag into one of the dresser drawers, but after this morning's display Harry deliberately left his clothes in his bag—if he got relegated to a guest room then at least getting his belongings wouldn't be a drawn-out embarrassing ordeal. He ignored the pang in his chest at the thought of Tom sending him away, and he quickly got dressed. He put on jeans, a dark green tee-shirt, and a grey hoodie, and then headed out into the sitting room.
He opened the door to the sight of Draco and Hermione anxiously sitting at a small breakfast table near one of the enormous windows. Nagini sat coiled in an armchair not far away, apparently guarding them. All three of them turned to look at Harry, and Hermione and Draco both stood and walked towards him wearing relieved expressions. Harry moved forwards too and they met in the middle of the room.
"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, throwing her arms around him while Draco awkwardly stood next to them. "Are you all right? He was in such a foul mood when he left, and he warded your room so we couldn't go in—"
"I'm fine," Harry said, hugging her back and giving Draco a small smile. "He just woke up on the wrong side of the bed."
"He what?" Draco asked, confused.
Hermione let go of Harry and chimed in to explain, "It's a Muggle expression. It means he was in a bad mood for no apparent reason."
Draco quirked an eyebrow and said, "That's normal for him, from what I've seen."
Harry shrugged, "Before, maybe. He's been different since the ritual. But maybe that's wearing off or something."
Hermione patted him on the shoulder and said, "Come on, have some breakfast," nudging him towards the table.
"And call the snake off, would you?" Draco interjected. "I think he told her to guard us—she's just been sitting there staring the whole time."
Harry glanced at Nagini, who was indeed staring silently at the three of them from her chair. "Good morning, Nagini," he hissed, stepping closer to her.
"Harry Potter," she greeted. "What did you do to upset Master?"
"I honestly don't know. He started snapping at me as soon as I woke up, and then he stormed out."
Nagini tilted her head and studied him for a moment. "Master has a temper. Doesn't always make sense."
Harry laughed. "I've noticed." He paused, catching the concerned looks from Draco and Hermione, and he wondered whether laughing in Parseltongue sounded especially creepy. "Did he tell you not to let us leave?"
Nagini shook her head slightly and said, "He only asked me to watch them until either you or he returned, and not to let them cause trouble."
"We won't be causing any trouble—you don't have to keep watching them if you don't want to."
Nagini rolled her eyes. "Yes, Harry Potter, I am aware that I have free will." Harry laughed, and on impulse he reached out to pet her on the head. She leaned into the touch for a moment before pulling away and slithering from the chair to the floor. "Silly humans," Nagini hissed as she went back to the door next to Tom's, which opened on its own for her when she pressed against it and hissed, "Open." She slithered into the other room, and pushed the door shut with her tail.
Harry turned back towards the small table, where Draco and Hermione were already seated across from each other, watching him cautiously. Harry took the spot that gave him the view out the window.
"I take it we're not prisoners, then?" Draco said, feigning nonchalance. It was clear to everyone that Nagini unnerved him.
"Nope," Harry said. He chuckled, then added, "I didn't know snakes could be so sarcastic. She's brilliant. I wish you two could talk with her."
"You could translate for us sometime," Hermione suggested, taking a bite of the eggs that had appeared on her plate.
"I'll pass," Draco muttered. Louder, he said, "Have some breakfast, Harry," and he tapped his wand on an odd square tile affixed to the center of the table. A second later, a plate of French Toast appeared in front of Harry along with a large dish of treacle tart.
Harry grinned and told Draco, "Those are my favorites."
"I know," Draco said. He blushed when both Harry and Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. "I mean," he blustered, "your table manners are so atrocious, Potter, that it's difficult not to notice what you eat even from across the Great Hall."
Harry snorted at the attempted deflection, then nudged Draco's elbow with his own and teased, "Stalker."
Draco scoffed, and said, "Oh, you're one to talk!"
"Boys," Hermione said, her scolding tone somewhat defeated by the smile she couldn't quite hold back, "No fighting at the table."
"Fighting? Us?" Harry said, faux-incredulously.
"How dare you suggest something so preposterous?" Draco added, feigning offense.
Hermione smiled and rolled her eyes, then went back to eating her eggs. Harry dug into his French Toast, and Draco was eating what looked like crepes.
"So, er," Harry said awkwardly after a moment. "Did Voldemort say anything when he left?"
"He wasn't thrilled that I'd invited Draco in," Hermione said. "Even though I'd intended to go to the library, and he was very clear last night about me having a chaperone."
"He muttered something about being overrun by insolent brats," Draco added, looking slightly offended.
Harry's heart sank. "Right. Nothing else?"
"Not to us—he talked to the snake and then walked out," Draco said.
Harry sighed, absently playing with the chain of the locket Horcrux. Hermione noticed and said, "He left you the locket though—that's a good sign, right?"
Harry shrugged, and Draco asked curiously, "Locket?"
"Slytherin's locket," Harry said, pulling it out from under his shirt so Draco could see it. "Family heirloom," he said, shooting a pointed look at Hermione, who seemed to understand his silent message not to reveal that the locket was a Horcrux. He didn't want to risk angering Voldemort any further by spilling his secrets—and he didn't want to risk Draco being punished or even Obliviated for knowing too much about a Horcrux either.
Draco eyed the locket and started to reach for it before pulling his hand back sharply as if burned when he was within a few inches of it. "It feels really Dark," he said, looking wary.
Harry huffed a laugh. "What did you expect?"
"Doesn't it bother you?" Draco asked.
Harry shook his head and tucked the locket back underneath his shirt. "It just feels warm to me. Like Tom's magic." He ignored the look Draco and Hermione exchanged, and picked his fork back up and forced himself to finish his breakfast.
They split the treacle tart among the three of them, at Harry's insistence. Once they'd finished eating, Draco tapped twice on the tile in the center of the table, and all of the dirty plates disappeared, presumably back to the kitchens for the house-elves to clean.
Harry left the table and flopped down on one of the huge sofas by the fireplace, with Draco sitting on his left and Hermione his right.
"All right," Hermione said in a no-nonsense tone, "out with it. Stop moping and tell us what happened."
"I told you," Harry said, waving his hand in frustration. "He was in a shitty mood, and he snapped at me and blocked off the connection and left."
"You didn't mention that he blocked the connection," Hermione said, sounding concerned. "Harry, tell me exactly what was said."
Harry raised an eyebrow at her, but complied, telling her what happened as close to word-for-word as he could remember. "I woke up and asked if he was sneaking out on me, since he was dressed and at the door. He got pissy and said he didn't need my permission to leave his own room. And I said, well good morning to you too, and I tried to use the connection to see what he was actually feeling because sometimes he exaggerates the whole Dark Lord act when he's not really as angry as he seems. But then he shut me out hard with Occlumency and said to stay out of his head, and then he stormed off." Harry sighed, then glanced at Hermione and made a regal little 'go on' gesture with his finger, waiting for her analysis.
Draco laughed under his breath, and when Harry glanced at him and raised an eyebrow, Draco said, "Nothing, just," he imitated the hand gesture, "you're starting to pick up his mannerisms."
Harry frowned and looked back at Hermione, who said, "Harry, I think he might just need some space." Harry and Draco both gave her a dubious look, but she went on, "No, really. You've both been through so much over the past few days, and there's a lot to process. I mean, doesn't the connection ever feel sort of, you know, stifling?"
"So now I'm stifling him?" Harry said, not amused.
Hermione threw her hands up. "I don't know—I'm just guessing. But has he ever been in an actual relationship before?" she asked, looking from Harry to Draco.
Draco laughed and said, "How would I know? He doesn't talk about his love life at Death Eater meetings."
"We haven't really had the ex talk yet," Harry added dryly.
"Okay, well," Hermione said, "if this is all new to him, then he's not used to talking things out with a partner as an equal—he's used to being on his own, and being in control, and putting on 'the Dark Lord act' whenever he doesn't want to deal with something. And it probably does feel stifling to not even have the privacy of your own mind and your own emotions to process everything that's changed in the past few days."
"Yeah, I can imagine that last bit," Harry said bitterly.
Instead of taking offense, Hermione patted his knee and said, "I know, Harry."
"If anybody should be having fits over their mental privacy, it's me—he's the bloody Legilimens. But you don't see me trying to shut him out," he vented. Harry leaned back against the sofa and let out a long sigh, one hand reaching up again for the locket, clutching it through his shirt like a talisman. "Am I completely crazy for wanting this to work?"
"Probably," Draco said, but when Harry glared at him, Draco smiled and squeezed his shoulder in a reassuring way. "But if it makes you feel better, ever since the Dark Lord told us about the truce, he's acted like an actual human person instead of an insane nightmare."
"Are you sure you're not just fooled by the pretty face?" Harry joked.
"Don't call him pretty—he Crucio'd Aunt Bella for that," Draco said, only half-teasing.
"Thought he Crucio'd her for trying to attack him?"
"There was that too," Draco admitted.
Harry's lips twitched in a half smile, then he turned to Hermione. "What about you? Think I've gone mad?"
Hermione sighed. "I think there's a lot going on that we still don't know about, and the best way to get to the truth is to research that ritual."
Harry smiled humorlessly, chose not to call her out on the non-answer, and said, "I suppose we should head to the library then." Harry stood up, but Hermione grabbed his hand before he got far.
"Harry, I'm here for you, and I'll do whatever I can to help," she said, "but I'm not just going to tell you whatever you want to hear. Not with this."
Harry squeezed her hand, and said, "All right. I do appreciate the honesty, Hermione."
Hermione smiled, then asked, "Library?"
"Library," Harry confirmed. "We need whatever we can find on blood magic and soul magic."
Draco chimed in, "We might as well go straight to the private library, then. Father wouldn't leave anything like that downstairs." He stood up to follow Harry and Hermione, and caught Harry's eye to ask, "Was there more than one ritual, then?"
"Nope. Just one really complicated ritual that shouldn't be possible, according to Tom."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "And you think the three of us can make sense of something that the Dark Lord deemed impossible?"
Harry shrugged. "I don't know. But we have to try."
Draco nodded and said, "All right. But for the record, I'd rather be playing Quiddich."
Harry smirked and said, "We could, later. I wouldn't mind beating you in a Seeker's match."
"You're on, Potter." Draco reached the door first, and held it open for Harry and Hermione, closing it carefully behind them as they all stepped into the hallway.
The private library was on the third floor, on the opposite end of the manor from the corridor Harry and Tom had christened the night before. When they reached the top of the stairs, Harry's eyes flicked briefly towards the entrance to the glass corridor, but he quickly looked away. He didn't want to think about that—about the truly amazing blowjob, or the oddly romantic gesture of preserving Harry's handprint on the window—because after how waspish and closed-off Tom had been this morning, it made Harry second guess himself too much. It made him question whether Tom had meant any of his promises or confessions, and whether he regretted anything they'd done together, and whether he resented Harry for the fact that Tom was stuck with him. And last night hadn't been perfect either, no matter how Harry preferred to dwell on the happy moments—they had argued more than once, and Harry had broken down and cried into Tom's shoulder at one point. Merlin, was this going to be his life now? An emotional roller-coaster ride where he constantly second-guessed everything?
Harry followed Draco and Hermione blindly as they chatted with each other on the way to the private library, not taking in a word of what they were saying. Draco opened the door to the library—another of those massive dark wooden doors carved with elaborate designs—and then pompously announced in his tour guide voice, "Here we are, the much coveted private Malfoy library, where one can—oh," he abruptly went silent, an embarrassed expression taking over his face as he continued in a much more subdued tone, "Apologies, My Lord."
Harry looked up so quickly that he almost strained his neck. Yes, there was Tom with a pile of books in his arms, on his way out of the library.
"I told you to stop calling me that," Tom said in a neutral tone. Was he still angry? He didn't sound angry, but part of that might've just been Harry's wishful thinking. He didn't dare prod at the connection after how Tom had reacted that morning.
"Sorry, Sir," Draco said. "We can come back later. We didn't mean to interrupt—"
"I was on my way out," Tom said dismissively, stepping around Draco towards the door. He paused, and for a moment his eyes locked with Harry's.
Harry's breath caught and he was embarrassingly relieved just to be acknowledged. Instead of poking at the connection again or yelling or demanding answers for that morning, he just awkwardly said, "Tom."
Tom stared back at him silently, expression blank, then he replied, "Harry."
By the time Harry worked up the nerve to say anything else Tom was already turning to leave, and Harry closed his mouth again, both frustrated and embarrassed as Tom left the room and shut the door behind him.
Draco and Hermione both audibly let out breaths they'd been holding, and Draco said, "Well, that was the most awkward moment I've ever had the discomfort of witnessing."
Hermione elbowed Draco and gave him a sharp look, then she turned to Harry and asked, "Did he say anything through your connection?"
"Nope," Harry said, crossing his arms and staring at the floor. "Not a word."
Draco spoke up again, asking, "Did either of you happen to notice which books he took? Might be a clue to what's put him in that mood."
"Wasn't looking," Harry muttered.
"I was," Hermione said, "but the way he was carrying them hid the titles."
"Of course," Draco complained. "And he probably took all of the ones we were coming for."
"We should still have a look around," Hermione said, walking to the nearest bookshelf and glancing over the titles. She threw Draco a look over her shoulder and asked, "Were you serious about having cursed books in here?"
"Yes, but there's a spell, hang on," Draco muttered an incantation and several books scattered throughout the shelves lit up with a green glowing light around them. "That identifies all of the harmful ones. Don't touch them."
"That's convenient," Hermione said, looking impressed. Draco preened a bit.
Harry, who was only halfway paying attention to them, finally found his nerve again and said, "You know what, this is stupid." He started for the door, thinking that Tom couldn't have gotten that far away—he could find him, talk to him, sort out whatever the hell had gone wrong.
"Hold on," Draco said, grabbing Harry's arm.
"Space, Harry," Hermione reminded him, though she didn't look away from the bookshelves.
"This is stupid!" Harry repeated. "Ignoring each other, and worrying aboutspace—if something's wrong, we need to talk about it and fix it, not waste time playing games."
Draco scoffed and said, "No, 'stupid' would be charging after the Dark Lord and bothering him when he wants to be left alone."
Harry scowled and tugged his arm free. "Maybe for you it would be."
Draco scowled back. "Right, I forgot, all of the rules are different for The Chosen One," he said, sneering the title and crossing his arms.
"Don't call me that," Harry said.
Draco opened his mouth to retort, but a pained shriek from across the room distracted them both.
"Harry!" Hermione called a second later.
Harry and Draco both rushed to her side—she was cradling her right hand, which had a deep horrid gash lengthwise across the palm. Blood dripped down to the floor, where a book lay forgotten at her feet.
"What happened?" Harry asked. He pulled off his hoodie then wadded it up and pressed it firmly against the wound to help stop the bleeding. "Here, keep pressure on it," he said.
"Cursed book," she said, hissing in pain as she used her good hand to hold the sweater to the cut. "It feels like the blood in my hand is burning."
"Why did you touch a cursed book?" Draco demanded.
"It wasn't lit up!" Hermione snapped. "Do you have a nurse or a Healer here?"
"This isn't Hogwarts," Draco said shortly. He took out his wand, nudged the sweater aside for a moment, then cast, "Episkey," at the wound, but absolutely nothing happened.
"Okay," Hermione through gritted teeth, "do you happen to know the counter curse?"
"Of course not," Draco said, peering at the book on the floor with a look one would usually reserve for road-kill. "That thing looks ancient—and it should've lit up if it was cursed."
Draco waved his wand and cast the curse-revealing spell on it again, but nothing happened.
"Clearly your spell is flawed," Hermione snapped, "and if you haven't noticed, I'm bleeding rather badly!"
"Draco, quit mucking about and just call Tom," Harry interrupted, nodding towards Draco's left arm.
Draco gave him an incredulous look and said, "You don't summon the Dark Lord unless he's asked you to for a specific reason."
"He can fix whatever this curse is," Harry insisted. "Call him."
"You call him," Draco said, gesturing towards Harry's scar.
Harry glared, then closed his eyes and reached for the mental connection. Still blocked. He gathered up all of his concern and slowly-growing panic over Hermione's injury, then threw the emotion at the connection as hard as he could. It hit an invisible wall and didn't go through—Harry wasn't sure whether Tom would've even felt Harry trying. He sighed in frustration, and said, "He's still blocking me out. Just fucking call him."
"Potter, he Crucios people for summoning him unasked!"
"Guys, this really hurts," Hermione said faintly, "and it's spreading."
Harry glanced at Hermione's hand—the cut was slowly creeping past her wrist and further up her arm, peeking out from behind the sweatshirt she kept pressed against her palm. The blood that flowed from the wound hissed like acid when it dripped to the floor.
Harry turned back to Draco and snapped, "Tell him I forced you," then he grabbed Draco's wand out of his hand and stepped in close.
"Potter!" Draco protested as Harry grabbed Draco's wrist to hold him still, then pressed Draco's own wand against his left forearm, making a guess at where the Mark was beneath his sleeve.
"How does this work?" Harry asked.
Hermione's pained hisses and choked off whimpers were getting louder.
Draco glanced at Hermione uneasily and then pulled his arm away from Harry just long enough to roll up his sleeve and expose the Mark. "Fine," he said anxiously, "give me back my wand and I'll do it." Harry handed Draco his wand, and watched him close his eyes and press the tip of it to the Mark. A tense moment passed, then another, and another, and nothing happened. Finally Draco shook his head and said, "He must be ignoring it."
"Harry?" Hermione said faintly, "I don't—" she swayed on her feet and Harry darted forward to catch her and gently lower her into an armchair. He pressed his sweatshirt more firmly against the spreading wound, and put Hermione's other hand on top of it as she blinked a few times.
"Keep pressure on it, as best as you can," he reminded her, and she absently nodded and clenched the sweater tighter in her good hand. Harry straightened back up and ran a hand through his hair as he paced in front of her chair. "Fuck," he muttered, then turned to Draco and asked, "Can't we call a House Elf or something?"
Draco shook his head, "After the incident with Dobby, Father made the rules for the Elves extremely restrictive—they aren't allowed to heal people, transport people, leave the house, or take messages to people without direct orders from either Father or the Dark Lord."
"Fuck," Harry swore again. "Wait, what was that spell Severus used to heal you last year? Vulnerus something?"
"I don't remember," Draco said, throwing his arms up in agitation and shooting a concerned look at Hermione, "I was half-conscious and bleeding to death at the time!"
Harry abruptly stopped pacing. "Call Severus," he said.
"What?"
"Through the Mark. Call him!"
"We can't summon each other—only the Dark Lord can do that."
"Well we have to try something!" Harry shouted. He grabbed Draco's left arm again and lifted it up. "It's like a Protean Charm, right?" Maybe if he pretended he was sending a message through the DA coins, he could make this work. "Hold still, I'm going to try something."
He ignored Draco's incredulous expression and leaned down to press his scar directly against the Dark Mark. He closed his eyes and reached out like he was reaching out to the connection with Tom, focusing instead on the Mark. He gasped when he actually linked into something—it felt like a net of magic and it was astounding, but Harry didn't linger. He reached out and felt around for one specific Wizard—when he found the thread connected to Severus Snape, he mentally grabbed it and pulled, while simultaneously broadcasting the thought 'Hermione's been cursed in the Malfoy private library, I need you to heal her.'
A few seconds later there was a crack of Apparation somewhere behind him. Harry dropped the connection and released Draco's arm, ignoring the astonished look Draco was giving him, then he spun around to face the new arrival.
Severus stood there, giving Harry an astounded and horrified look reminiscent of the one he'd worn when he'd rushed in to save Draco from Harry's Sectumsempra. It only lasted for a second, and then Severus visibly set aside this newest impossibility for the moment and focused instead on the task at hand. He strode over to Hermione, carefully pulled the bloody wadded up sweatshirt away from the wound, and began casting diagnostic spells. She had finally passed out, either from the pain or from a progression of the curse.
"How did this happen?" Severus demanded.
"She touched a cursed book," Harry said, pointing to where it lay on the floor. "Please, Sev, whatever you can do…"
Severus stepped away from Hermione and cautiously approached the book, casting diagnostic spells on it as well. After he got what he needed, he cast some kind of containment field made of light around the book.
Draco said, "I cast Nocere Revelaro on the entire library, and that book didn't light up."
"It wouldn't, you imbecile," Severus snapped. "That spell only reveals what's harmful to the caster. This curse targets anyone who isn't Pureblood who touches the book."
Draco blinked, then paled and asked in a small voice, "Is she going to be all right?"
"If you shut up and let me work," Severus said, kneeling beside Hermione's chair then holding his wand above the wound and casting a series of spells. One of the spells made Hermione's body seize up for a moment before drawing an ugly swirl of black smoke out of the wound and incinerating it in the air with a piercing shriek.
Harry hung back beside Draco, extremely worried but not wanting to get in Severus's way. The wound on Hermione's arm stopped spreading, and then, after a few moments of Severus's attentions, it stopped bleeding and started to heal.
"I swear I thought the spell would show everything," Draco said quietly. "I didn't mean for this to happen."
"I know," Harry said. "It's not your fault."
"Then why do I always end up hurting people?" Draco muttered, more to himself than to Harry.
"It was an accident, Draco," Harry said, not even thinking about it before grabbing Draco's hand and squeezing it reassuringly the same way he would've done if it were Hermione who was upset.
Severus's caustic voice cut in with, "I do believe I asked for silence," as he continued to cast spells over Hermione. Her arm and hand appeared fully healed, save for a red raw-looking stripe of re-grown skin.
Harry rolled his eyes but went quiet, relieved that Hermione seemed okay. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Draco was blushing. Odd, Harry thought, for Draco to get that embarrassed over such a slight reprimand from Snape. Surely he was used to worse? Unless—oh, right.
"Er, sorry," Harry murmured, squeezing Draco's hand slightly to indicate what he was talking about. "Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he rambled, starting to pull his hand away.
"It's fine," Draco said quickly, squeezing back and not letting him.
Severus finally stood and said, "She'll be all right after a few hours of rest, and Dittany will reduce the scarring. That was an incredibly nasty curse." Severus finally turned around and immediately noticed Harry and Draco's linked hands. Severus raised an eyebrow, gave Draco what appeared to be a warning look, then demanded, "Explain."
"It's nothing," Draco said quickly, reluctantly pulling his hand free and blushing again.
Harry shrugged and told Severus, "We're friends now."
"Friends?" Severus said dubiously, giving Draco another look for some reason. "It is rather too late to take my previous advice, Draco," Severus said cryptically. "It would be—detrimental—to appear quite that close to Potter. Especially in the Dark Lord's presence."
"I'm well aware," Draco said meaningfully.
Harry's brow furrowed as he looked back and forth between Severus and Draco. "Er—you two can stop talking in code or whatever you're doing. Both of you know about me being with Tom now, and about the ritual. Oh, and that I'm a Horcrux."
"You toldhim?" Draco asked incredulously.
"Potter, you imbecile," Severus said at the same time.
Harry held up a hand towards each of them and said, "Hush, or you're going to wake Hermione."
"She's in an induced slumber to promote recovery," Severus said. "She won't wake for at least two hours. It's very fortunate that you called me so quickly." He paused and gave Harry a piercing look. "Speaking of which—how on earth did you manage to use the Dark Mark?"
Harry shrugged, and said, "I put Draco's Mark against my scar and reached out like I was trying to talk to Tom, and then I treated it like I was sending a message through a Protean charm."
Severus looked equally shocked and impressed. "The Mark is no mere Protean charm—it's a much more complex variation that the Dark Lord created himself. It's supposed to be impossible for anyone except him to contact or summon the Death Eaters through it."
Harry shrugged again. "Well, I do have a bit of his soul, so," he trailed off. "Anyway, thank you," he told Severus, "for helping her. Tom's in a snit and he's been shutting me out, and he ignored it when Draco tried to summon him—"
Severus immediately turned on Draco and demanded, "You what?"
Draco crossed his arms and said, "Potter made me."
Severus scoffed. "Oh, what did he do, bat his eyelashes at you?"
Whatever Draco was about to reply was interrupted by the library door banging open to reveal a furious looking Lucius Malfoy.
"What is the meaning of this?" Lucius demanded. His wand was in his hand but not pointed at anyone just yet. "First the wards tell me someone's been severely injured," he noticed the unconscious Hermione and the blood on the chair and the floor around her, and his lip curled at the sight, "And thenyou," he said directly to Severus, "come tearing through the wards uninvited rather than Apparating at the gate like a civilized person!"
"I was summoned," Severus said coolly. "The Mark let me through the wards, per protocol."
"The ward register doesn't show that He summoned you," Lucius said, sneering, "but by all means, continue lying to my face. That is, after all, your signature talent."
Severus's expression tightened but his voice remained calm. "Your ward register might be confused. It was an unconventional summons, but a summons all the same."
Lucius clearly didn't believe him. "Perhaps we should call the Dark Lord here to verify that."
Severus waved his hand in a 'go ahead' motion. "Apparently he's not in the best mood today, but if you're feeling brave enough to waste his time, I certainly won't stop you."
Harry looked between the two men nervously, hoping that Lucius wouldn't call Sev's bluff.
Lucius gave Severus a long cold stare before saying, "You know, even after you killed the old fool, Bellatrix still questions your loyalty. She has the most interesting things to say," he trailed off expectantly.
"Last I heard, Bellatrix was locked in the dungeon for disrespecting the Dark Lord," Severus said dryly. "And you are, of course, referring to the occasion when I fulfilled an Unbreakable Vow to save your son's life? My godson's life?"
Lucius sneered again and said, "I've come to regret that appointment very much."
Severus casually lifted a hand to examine his fingernails and said in a bored tone, "That's tragic, Lucius, really."
Harry couldn't hold back a snort of laughter at that, but he tried to disguise it as a cough.
"You know what, Snape?" Lucius snarled "I don't care that you're somehow the Dark Lord's favorite right now. Clean up the mess that Mudblood made and get out of my house."
Harry opened his mouth to tell Malfoy Sr. where to shove it, but to his surprise, Severus got there first.
"Do not," Severus said in an icy tone, "use that word in my presence."
"Don't tell me how to speak in my own home!" Lucius raised his wand and so did Severus.
Draco's shoulder nudged against Harry's, and when he caught his eye he anxiously motioned for the two of them to step back a bit. Harry was reluctant, but Draco nudged him backwards and stood slightly in front of him. They both sidled over far enough to stand in front of Hermione in case spells started flying.
Someone cleared their throat from the doorway.
"One of you better explain what's going on," Tom said in a deadly tone, "immediately."
Harry's eyes riveted to where Tom leaned against the doorframe in a deceptively casual manner. The connection was still blocked off, so instead of feeling the usual tingle of relief at being close to him, Harry just felt his own nerves and anger.
"My Lord," Lucius promptly jumped in, "Snape claims he was summoned here. The wards allowed him to Apparate in but they didn't register a summons."
Tom tilted his head slightly and glanced at Severus, and then back to Lucius. "I didn't summon him," Tom said softly, "but I certainly felt something disturb the Mark's magic."
"It was me," Harry said, looking defiantly at Tom.
Tom finally turned to look at Harry, his expression blank. Even without the connection open, Harry could tell that this was a furious-because-I-feel-threatened blankness.
"Lucius, out," Tom ordered.
Lucius blinked, the triumphant look vanishing from his face. "My Lord?"
"I said get out!"
Lucius scrambled to obey, his expression furious once his back was to Tom. He didn't shut the door behind him, but Tom waved his hand and closed it, then threw a few privacy and silencing spells at it for good measure.
"What," Tom said, stepping closer to Harry, "do you mean, it was you?"
Harry crossed his arms and didn't reply.
"Do not," Tom said tersely, "test my patience right now. Answer me."
"Why should I?" Harry finally snapped. "You've ignored me all morning."
"And that gives you the right to tamper with complicated Dark magic and commandeer my followers?"
"Hermione could've died!" Harry shouted, taking a step towards Tom. "She touched a cursed book, and I couldn't even call you for help because you're blocking me out!"
Tom's expression didn't change, but he peered around Harry at Hermione's unconscious form. "Is she all right?" Tom asked.
Harry blinked, surprised that Tom cared. In a much calmer voice, Harry answered, "Yeah, thanks to Severus. But it was bad—the cut kept growing and she said her blood felt like it was burning."
Tom glanced over towards Severus and asked, "Which curse was it?"
Severus nodded respectfully and said, "My Lord, it was a combination of a Blood Searing Curse and a Cutting Curse, activated by touch and designed to only target those who aren't Pureblood."
Tom gave Draco a very unimpressed look. "Draco, I believe I asked you to chaperone Miss Granger—to keep her safe and out of trouble while she is a guest here. And instead, you allowed her to pick up a cursed object?"
Draco paled and looked at the floor. "I'm sorry, My Lord."
"It wasn't his fault!" Harry cut in, his temper flaring again. "He did a spell to identify the cursed books, it just didn't show all of them."
"Oh," Tom said in a falsely cheery voice that dripped with derision, "so then it wasn't carelessness on his part, just incompetence. I'll adjust his punishment accordingly."
Draco paled even more, but Harry pointedly stepped between him and Voldemort.
"Harry, don't," Draco said under his breath, but Harry ignored it.
Harry gave Tom a furious look and said, "You blocked off our connection and then you ignored it when I made Draco call you through the Mark—Hermione suffered longer than she had to because of that. What kind of punishment does that earn you?"
Tom's eyes narrowed and he took another step closer to Harry. "I am not," he nearly hissed, "at your beck and call to clean up your messes. Don't you dare presume to act as though I am."
Harry took a step forward too, leaving only an arm's length between them. "Don'tyoudare say all the things you said last night and then shut me out for no reason!" Harry snapped back.
"My reasons are not your concern."
Harry scoffed. "Beg pardon, but they very much are."
Tom tilted his head slightly, then looked directly into Harry's eyes and pressed in a bit with Legilimency.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut and reached for the Occlumency barriers Tom himself had created in Harry's mind. "Stay out of my head," Harry snapped, petulantly throwing Tom's words from that morning back at him. He opened his eyes again but made sure to look at Tom's shoulder instead of his face. "Just fucking ask me what you want to know."
"Why does it bother you so much that I closed the connection?" Tom asked quietly.
Harry scoffed and said, "Besides the fact that Hermione might've died because I couldn't contact you?" He paused, and when he continued it was in a much softer tone. "It feels like I'm missing a limb when I can't feel you," he confessed. He looked up into Tom's eyes, tacitly giving him permission to check his mind for veracity. Tom did, but only for the briefest of moments before retreating and simply meeting Harry's gaze.
With a nearly imperceptible sigh, Tom closed his eyes and then reopened their mental connection—not intruding, not prodding, just removing the barrier he'd placed between them.
Harry sighed in relief and swayed forwards towards Tom. He reached out, but Tom deftly side-stepped and instead went to Hermione's side while Harry pulled himself together. "Thank you," Harry said quietly after a moment. He finally glanced over and absently noticed the incredulous expressions both Severus and Draco wore after witnessing the argument.
Tom didn't reply, instead saying, "She would recover more comfortably in her bed, I'm sure." He lifted his wand and started the movement for a levitation spell, but he paused, seeming to sense something. He turned and asked Severus, "You used Essentia Instaurabus?"
"Yes, My Lord," Severus answered, finally snapping out of his shock.
"Right," Tom said, putting his wand away and instead bending down to carefully pick Hermione up in a bridal carry. Apparently sensing Harry's concern over whatever that spell meant, Tom glanced at him and explained, "Essentia Instaurabus is a healing spell that puts someone into a magically induced sleep and continuously draws on their magical core until they're completely healed. It's inadvisable to use unnecessary magic on or around her until she wakes—it can disrupt the healing process." Tom carried Hermione towards the door, and Harry hurried ahead of him to open it. "Come along, all of you," he said over his shoulder, and Draco and Severus fell in line behind Tom and Harry.
"Draco?" Severus asked quietly. "Do you still have any of the Dittany salve I made for you?"
"Yes, Sir," Draco answered just as quietly.
"Go and fetch it," Severus instructed.
Draco nodded, and split away from the group.
"Bring it to my rooms," Tom called after him.
"Yes, Sir," Draco said again before turning a corner.
Tom, Harry, and Severus continued on, with Tom carrying Hermione in the lead and Harry and Severus following behind him.
They were silent until they descended the marble stairs to the second floor, then Tom suddenly asked, "What did it feel like, Severus, when Harry called for you? Was it different than when I call?"
Severus was quiet for a moment, then he replied, "When you call, the Mark burns. When Harry did, it was more like the buzz of an electrical shock."
Harry blinked, then said, "I'm sorry—I didn't know it would hurt you."
Severus gave him an odd look, then said, "Don't be stupid. It was only for a moment, and I've endured much worse than a little shock."
"I know. I'm still sorry," Harry said, meeting Severus' eyes and trying to project his sincerity. Severus held the eye contact for a moment before simply nodding and looking away.
The three of them turned a corner and arrived in the corridor leading to Tom's rooms. Tom approached the door, carefully shifted Hermione in his arms, then leaned the back of one of his hands against the door and hissed, "Open," in Parseltongue. Then he prompted, "Harry?"
Harry opened the door, muttering, "Am I your doorman now?"
Tom sniped back, "Would you rather I drop her?" Then before Harry could get angry he quickly continued, "You're the only other person authorized to open this door from the outside. If Severus tried, even after I'd unlocked it, the doorknob wouldn't turn for him."
"Oh," Harry said, holding the door open for first Tom and then Severus to step through.
As Severus passed, he caught Harry's eye and gave him a very pointed warning look, silently mouthing 'Mind your tongue.'
Harry shook his head slightly, then confidently mouthed back, 'It's fine.'
Severus rolled his eyes skyward and continued walking past. Harry imagined Sev was cursing the day he'd sworn to protect such a headstrong brat—or maybe he was asking Lily's spirit to give him the patience to go on. That second thought sobered Harry's mood considerably, and as he closed the door he decided to make an effort to be more mature and patient while he tried to sort things out with Tom.
Harry glanced to the left—Hermione's door was open and Tom was already tucking her carefully into her bed. Severus lingered in the doorway of the bedroom, and Harry walked over to stand next to him.
"You said she'll sleep for two hours?" Harry asked.
"At least. She should wake fully recovered," Severus replied.
"Thank you," Harry said sincerely. "Really, Sev, I owe you."
"No you don't," Severus said quietly. "I was only doing my duty."
"Well, still, I'm extremely grateful. I'll—I dunno—buy you an apothecary or something."
Severus stared.
"Or not an apothecary," Harry continued awkwardly, "if you want something else."
Severus shook his head as though to clear it, then said in an odd tone, "Your father made me that exact same offer once."
Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Really? Why?"
"I think he thought owning a business would keep me from joining the Death Eaters."
"I thought you hated each other, though."
"We did. Mostly. It was complicated," Severus said brusquely, looking away and folding his arms to signal an end to the conversation.
Tom was standing next to Hermione's bed, his head tilted and his curious eyes fixed intently on Severus. "So many things you've managed to hide from me, Severus." Evidently he'd gotten much more out of the brief exchange than Harry had. "I've never found anything other than hatred for James Potter in your mind."
"Hatred is easy, and uncomplicated," Severus replied quietly, sounding resigned to having been caught out, "and a very effective Occlumentic shield to hide other feelings behind."
"Other feelings?" Harry asked, his eyebrows going up again.
Severus remained tellingly silent.
"You should tell him," Tom suggested. "He gets furious when things are kept from him—he completely wrecked Dumbledore's office once."
Harry's brow furrowed, because he didn't remember telling Tom about that. Maybe it had leaked through their connection when it happened? Or maybe Tom had glimpsed it on one of his Legilimency dives into Harry's mind?
"This hardly seems the appropriate time," Severus said, waving a hand towards where Hermione slept, "and it's a rather long story."
"You said we've got at least two hours before Hermione wakes up," Harry said, nervously running a hand through his hair.
Severus glanced at him and then quickly looked away, snapping, "Stop messing up your hair like that!"
Harry froze. "Oh, er, sorry." He remembered how his dad had done that in the Pensieve memory, and while it wasn't exactly the same gesture, apparently it was close enough to bother Severus. "I could, er, lose the glasses too. I mean, Tom fixed my eyesight so I don't really need them anymore." He took his glasses off, folded them closed, and hooked them over the neck of his tee-shirt.
"You what?" Severus said, looking back at Tom. "That's an incredibly risky procedure that is only supposed to be attempted by specialist Healers."
"You didn't tell me it was that risky," Harry said, glancing at Tom.
"It isn't risky when I perform it," Tom replied. "I've done it several times as a favor to supporters who couldn't afford a specialist Healer. I could do the spell in my sleep."
Harry stared at Tom for a moment longer before accepting his answer and turning back to Severus. "So why did my dad never fix his eyes? I know he could've afforded it."
"One of the possible consequences of failure is permanent blindness," Severus said. "He didn't consider it worth the risk."
Harry's eyebrows went up. "I probably wouldn't have either."
Tom repeated, "There was no risk, Harry." Then he walked towards the doorway, and Harry and Severus both moved aside so he could pass. Tom walked across the huge living room and picked up one of the wingback chairs by the fireplace, manually carrying it back to Hermione's room and placing it next to her bed. Then he went back for the second one and brought it as well. Tom tilted his head suddenly, seeming to hear something no one else did. "Draco's here," he said, a mere moment before two loud knocks sounded on the door. Right—the proximity wards. "Let him in."
Harry went over to the main door and opened it to admit Draco, who held up a jar of greenish salve with Severus' spiky handwriting on the label. "Come on," Harry said, closing the door. "She's in here."
He led Draco into Hermione's room, past Severus who asked, "I trust you remember how to apply the salve?"
"Yes, Sir," Draco said.
Harry's stomach sank as he abruptly realized, "I never apologized for that, did I?"
Draco looked uncomfortable as he took a seat in the chair closes to Hermione and rolled up the sleeve of her injured arm. "Don't worry about it, it's in the past," Draco told Harry.
Harry ignored that, sat down in the second chair, and said, "I am sorry, Draco. I didn't know exactly what that spell would do, and if I had known then I never would've used it."
Draco kept his eyes fixed on the jar of salve as he opened it. "Well I was about to throw a Crucio at you, so I think we're even."
"Would it have worked though?" Harry asked quietly.
Draco paused, and finally looked at Harry—albeit at his feet. "I've cast Unforgivables before, Potter."
"But you have to mean them," Harry said. "You told me you never really hated me."
Draco scoffed and turned his attention back to the salve, gathering some on his fingers before carefully applying it to the reddened stripe of skin on Hermione's hand and wrist. "Whatever. Apology accepted, as long as you'll shut up about it."
Harry smiled and said, "I think I can manage that."
"While we're at it," Draco said, "sorry for stomping on your face on the train last year. I was—under a lot of stress at the time."
"I know," Harry said, patting Draco's shoulder. "It's forgiven."
"Harry?" Tom said from the doorway. "We have a conversation to finish with Severus."
"Oh, right," Harry said, standing up.
"I'd like to stay until she wakes up, if that's all right," Draco said, glancing from Harry to Tom.
"Yeah," Harry agreed right away.
"If you must," Tom added.
Draco nodded to both of them and said, "Thank you," before turning back and resuming his task of applying the salve to Hermione's wrist. There was still a shadow of guilt in his expression as he did.
Harry headed for the door and Tom pulled it closed, casting a soundproofing spell between the two rooms.
"You aren't to punish him for this," Harry said immediately. "It wasn't his fault to begin with, and he's already punishing himself enough."
Tom's eyebrows went up, but then he schooled his expression and said coolly, "You aren't to tell me how to discipline my followers."
"Let me rephrase it then," Harry said, "I know you're not bat-shit insane anymore and so do they," he said, gesturing vaguely from Severus to the closed door that hid Draco. "So handing Crucios out like candy isn't going to increase anyone's loyalty."
"You know," Tom said in a chilly tone, "for someone who insists I'm not insane, you certainly make a point of explaining the obvious rather often. As one would do for an insane person."
"Well, sorry," Harry said, "but you haven't exactly made a lot of sense today." He paused for a moment, then gathered his courage and asked in a rush, "What was that about, this morning?"
Tom met his eyes in silence for a moment before answering, "Not something I care to discuss in company."
Harry glanced at Severus, who was sitting across the room at the breakfast table and watching the two of them with a cautious, curious expression. "Let Severus leave, then," Harry suggested.
"No. I, for one, want to hear about the torrid affair with your father that he managed to hide from me for over twenty years."
"I object to that description," Severus spoke up.
"Then by all means, set the record straight," Tom said, before smirking and adding, "figuratively, of course."
Severus gave Tom a flat look, then tapped the tile in the center of the table with his wand. A bottle of Firewhisky and three whisky glasses appeared. "This conversation will require alcohol."
"Naturally," Tom said, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder and guiding him to the table. They both sat down and Harry mourned the loss of contact when Tom pulled his hand back.
Severus opened the whisky bottle and poured each of them a generous glass. Tom slid one of the glasses to Harry and claimed one for himself. Severus took the third.
Tom drank first—it was the unwritten rule, of course, that Severus never would. Harry followed Tom's lead, blinking a bit at the burn as the whiskey went down. Severus finally took a drink, then cleared his throat.
"So," Severus said, in a tone that made it clear he wanted to be literally anywhere else, "you've both stumbled across the memory of the incident right after my OWLs, in which Potter Sr. dangled me upside down and threatened to take off my pants in front of a crowd." Harry guiltily looked down at his drink and Severus continued, "Lily came to my defense, and to my eternal shame I lashed out and used a slur that she never entirely forgave me for." Severus paused, perhaps to gather his thoughts, or perhaps just for dramatic effect. "What you don't know, is that a few days after that incident, Lily went to Potter and told him all about my abusive home life, hoping that it would make him leave me alone." Harry's jaw dropped, because if he were Severus he would've been furious at her. Severus noticed Harry's expression, nodded in his direction, and said, "Quite," making Harry wonder if Sev had used Legilimency on him, or if his expression was simply projecting his feelings that obviously. "I still think spite was at least part of her motivation, but that's irrelevant now. Potter—James," he corrected, noticing how Harry kept twitching as if answering to his surname, "found me waiting for Lily outside the Gryffindor common room late that night, and he apologized, tried to be friendly to me. I didn't believe a word of it and hexed him in the face before leaving—then I ran into Lily and she told me what she'd done. We argued," Severus said, hesitating a moment before continuing, "and ended up shouting about some rather private things in the hallway, which James overheard because naturally he had followed me."
Harry was dying to know what Sev meant by 'rather private things' but he didn't quite dare to ask. Tom, however, had no such compunctions and asked "What private things?"
Severus uneasily glanced between Tom and Harry before staring back down at his glass and answering, "The fact that Lily and I were each other's first." Harry blushed and took a drink while Severus kept talking. "I'd expected James to be a complete arse about it, but instead he suggested that we take a Wizard's Oath not to reveal each other's secrets while we all still lived, and he offered up a secret of his own."
"What was his secret?" Harry asked. "Or can you even tell me?"
"I can—we phrased the Oath in such a way that if one of us died, the others would only be bound to keep each other's secrets. And as they're both gone, I can speak freely," Severus said, his tone clearly conveying that he wished it were otherwise. "James was bisexual," he said, rather anticlimactically.
Harry blinked—yet another thing he had in common with his father. But, "Was he ashamed of it, or what?"
Sev waved a hand and elaborated, "No, but it was a bigger deal back then, especially for Purebloods. There was the expectation to marry and carry on the line, and male pregnancies have always been riskier and more complicated, so Pureblood families rather frowned upon their heirs turning out queer. Certain families still do."
"What happened after the three of you made the Oath?" Tom asked, taking another drink.
Sev took a drink as well, then said, "Well, James seemed to grow a conscience overnight, and he made it his mission to befriend me and make up for everything he'd done. We became…very close," Severus said pointedly. "He eventually convinced Lily to give me another chance, and then I convinced her to give him a chance—one thing led to another, and the three of us were together in secret for most of Sixth Year. It was," he paused, took a deep breath, "the best year of my life. Probably the only time I was truly happy."
Tom took another sip of whisky and stared at Severus with a fascinated expression. "I never saw even the barest hint of that in your mind, yet I can hear that you're speaking the truth."
Severus picked up his glass and raised it to Tom before drinking. "As I said, I hid it behind the memory of years of genuine hatred for James."
"Fascinating," Tom said, seeming to reevaluate his understanding of Occlumency—and of Severus himself—on the spot.
"What happened though?" Harry asked, feeling—as he had after Sev had shared his memories back at Grimmauld Place—once again like his entire perception of Severus Snape had been turned upside down.
Severus' expression tightened, and he glanced at Tom before saying, "Our Seventh Year was when the war really ramped up. Choices had to be made, loyalties declared."
"But," Harry said, feeling wrong-footed and confused, "if you all loved each other, why would you—"
Severus sneered and interrupted, "Assuming it was all my fault, Potter?"
"I meant plural 'you,' the three of you, why would you pick different sides?" Harry asked.
"There was outside interference," Sev said tersely. "Misinformation. Misunderstandings. I don't care to go into detail." He threw back the rest of his whiskey and stood.
"Did you, though?" Tom asked before Sev could walk away. "Love both of them?"
Sev froze, and the air in the room seemed to chill a few degrees as well. There was silence for a long moment, then Severus said, "That's not something I care to discuss with the man who killed them."
Unfazed, Tom continued, "I only wonder because you didn't ask me to spare him. Just her."
"Only because I knew you would flat-out refuse, especially after the Brighton incident—"
Tom's mood darkened instantly and he interrupted, "We do not speak of the Brighton incident!" and Severus gave him a hint of a spiteful smirk.
"Well now I have to know," Harry said.
"It was the third time your father defied me, and that's all I'm saying on the matter," Tom said curtly, folding his arms.
Harry turned a hopeful look towards Severus, but Sev merely said, "I'm forbidden from revealing the details, but it was truly Marauder worthy."
Harry grinned, then gave Tom a half-teasing, half-pleading look and said, "Come on, Tom, tell me. I promise not to laugh…much."
Tom shot a glare at Harry, then finished the rest of his whisky and slammed the glass down, standing abruptly. "I think not," he said. "Have fun bonding with your honorary step-parent at my expense. I have better things to do," he said coldly, heading for the door to the hallway.
"Tom, wait," Harry called, but Tom ignored him and left, unabashedly slamming the door in his wake. Harry let out an exaggerated groan and buried his head in his arms on the table. "Damn it! I thought we were doing better," he complained, "we were at least talking."
"Trouble in paradise?" Severus asked sarcastically.
"Obviously," Harry said. "He didn't shut me out again this time, but I still have no clue what I did to upset him this morning. Hermione thinks he just needs space, but," Harry trailed off, shrugging.
Severus was silent for a moment before drawling, "And I suppose you want advice from your 'honorary step-parent'?"
Harry looked up hopefully. "Yes, please."
Severus sighed, then sat back down at the table and said, "Fine. Tell me what happened."
Harry repeated the summary he'd given Hermione and Draco, then asked Sev, "So? What do you think?"
Severus looked shocked, and he wasn't even bothering to hide it very well. "Speaking from personal experience," he said, after a long moment, "I think that what I've witnessed and what you've told me seems remarkably like what happens when someone who has always despised love as a weakness realizes that they're falling rather irreversibly into it."
Harry blinked. "What?"
Severus twitched his head and said, "I grew up listening to my mother claiming to love my father, even when he hit her, and hit me, and beat her nearly to death a few times before finally following through. I swore I would never give someone that kind of power over me. Then there was Lily—but Lily was safe, and kind, and good, she wasn't anything like my father. But James was…dangerous. He had already hurt me and humiliated me repeatedly when we were nothing to each other—when we became friends and then more, and when I realized what I felt for him, I took a huge step back. I was distant, even cruel, trying to push him away to protect myself. Obviously it didn't work, but—what you described happening between yourself and the Dark Lord sounds remarkably similar."
"But," Harry said, his heart pounding and his stomach swooping as though he'd just done a Wronski Feint, "you said he can't love.Hesaid he can't love."
"And I'm sure he wants to believe that, particularly when love is a such an unacceptable weakness."
"But it's not," Harry argued.
"And yet it hurts, and it changes your priorities, and it can change the way you think and behave, and it gives someone else control and power over you—"
"What if I tell him first?" Harry interrupted. "So he'll know he has the same power over me?"
Severus went silent and stared at Harry. "You're joking, right?"
Harry shook his head, reached for the Firewhisky and poured himself another drink. "I know this is crazy, and I haven't forgotten everything awful that he's done, and I know it's only been three days, but—" Harry trailed off, not wanting to say the actual words out loud yet—he wanted the first time he said it out loud to be to Tom himself—but he'd said quite enough for Sev to get the drift.
"Fuck's sake, Harry," Severus said, then took a long drink straight from the bottle.
Harry quickly finished his own glass to keep things fair. He coughed a bit after, then said, "It's not like I wanted this to happen. Really it's all Dumbledore's fault, him and Grindelwald and their stupid fuck-or-die plan."
"Yes, well," Severus said, "their stupid fuck-or-die plan might've saved the world, if it's somehow given the Dark Lord the capacity for empathy and love."
Harry stared down at his empty glass. "Does that mean it's not real, then, if he only feels that way because of the ritual? He told me his mum used a love potion on his dad, so he was born unable to love."
Severus raised an eyebrow at the mention of love potions. "That particular assumption has been a matter of controversy for many years—the modern thinking is that it's a combination of nature and nurture: children known to have been conceived under love potions statistically have a lower-than-normal capacity for empathy—when you add to that the inevitably toxic home life that results from one parent essentially raping the other and holding them prisoner with a potion, the combination tends to produce psychopaths at worst, and a legacy of domestic violence at best. It's not that they're unable to love, it's that they never learned how."
Harry tilted his glass and watched the few remaining drops of whisky slide from side to side. "Tom's mum stopped giving his dad the potion after she was pregnant. She must've thought that he'd grown to actually love her, but he left first chance he got. She died giving birth to Tom."
"Well," Severus said somberly, "it's no wonder he thinks love is a harbinger of doom."
Harry glanced up to meet Sev's eyes. "So what do I do?"
Severus looked at him for a long moment, then said, "I would advise against telling him how you feel just yet. Obviously he's not ready to acknowledge his own feelings, let alone yours. But don't let him push you away either—he's going to keep distancing himself. Don't allow it."
"Is that how my dad worked things out with you?" Harry asked cautiously.
Severus took another drink from the bottle, then set it down and said decisively, "If you don't mind, Harry, I'm well past my yearly quota for emotional sharing. Forgive me for not wanting to rip open even more old wounds."
"Right, sorry," Harry mumbled. "Wait—why'd you say so much about my dad in the first place when I said thank you?"
Severus sent a wary look towards Hermione's closed door, then said, "I've dealt with a variation of that Muggleborn-targeting curse before…and I was nearly too late the first time."
"My mum?" Harry guessed.
Severus nodded. "Seeing it again brought old memories too close to the surface, and I made the mistake of saying too much and piquing the Dark Lord's curiosity."
Harry was quiet for a moment before saying, "I'm glad you told me."
Severus nodded, then stood and said, "I'm going to go check on my patient," gesturing towards Hermione's door.
"All right." Harry stood as well, nodded towards the door to the hallway and said, "I'm going to go not let Tom distance himself." Then, on impulse, he stepped forward and pulled Severus into a hug.
Severus tensed up, then said, "Stop doing that, Potter. It's years too late for me to be any kind of a parent to you."
"Just let me have this, Sev," Harry said, not letting go.
Severus sighed, but finally lifted his arms to hug Harry back briefly. "There, now let go."
Harry did, grinning despite Severus' prickly attitude. Severus turned and swept towards the door to Hermione's room.
"Go easy on Draco, will you?" Harry called after him. "He's blaming himself for Hermione getting hurt."
"Don't tell me how to deal with my godson," Severus replied, but there was a lack of any real bite to it, so Harry chose to take that as a good sign. Severus ducked into the bedroom and closed the door behind him.
Harry took a deep breath, then headed for the main door. He opened it, stepped into the hallway, then immediately froze.
Tom was sitting at the round table in the hallway, bent over a worn-looking book. Harry took a cautious step towards him—he had thought he would have more time to mentally prepare.
"So, er," Harry said eloquently, "this is your 'better things to do'?"
Tom didn't deign to look up from his book. "I'm researching our Obliviation problem, so yes, it is."
"Any luck?" Harry asked, sitting down in the other chair.
Still without looking up, Tom reached over for a different open book, and spun it around to face Harry. "Left hand page, second paragraph," Tom said shortly.
Harry peered down at the paragraph and read aloud, "While Obliviation is irreversible without causing debilitating damage to the mind, a sufficiently skilled Legilimens or Occlumens can resist Oblivation at the moment of casting by deliberately burying certain memories in the subconscious. These protected memories will surface at a later date, usually through dreams, déjà vu, or moments of unexplained knowledge during which the Wizard knows information without knowing how or why he is so certain of its validity."
"Must you read out loud like a Neanderthal?" Tom sniped, still not looking away from his own tome.
"I don't think Neanderthals had books. Or language, for that matter," Harry said, reminding himself not to let Tom get under his skin, not to let him push him away.
Tom slammed his book closed and Harry winced. Apparently being a smart-arse was the wrong move.
Without a word, Tom stood and started to walk away. "Fuck," Harry muttered. He scrambled to follow Tom, jogging a bit to catch up and frantically wondering what the hell he was supposed to do. He stepped in front of Tom, blocking his path, and made a split-second decision. "Fine," Harry said, "we'll do this your way." Then he dropped to his knees in front of Tom.
Tom froze, looking properly shocked, then he demanded, "What do you think you're doing?"
"Apologizing," Harry said simply. "I still don't know what the hell I did wrong, but whatever it was that upset you so much, I'm sorry. Let me make it up to you?"
He reached for the button of Tom's trousers, but Tom seized his hand and stared down at him. Harry chanced a look up, and was relieved to see Tom's expression softening. Harry made a bid for the trouser button with his other hand, but Tom captured that one too. Then he sighed and pulled Harry to his feet. "You didn't do anything wrong, Harry," he said, sounding tired and a bit guilty and impossibly fond.
Harry immediately took the opportunity to glomp onto Tom in a tight hug, relishing the closeness and the happy buzzing of their connection that always started up when they touched. Then Tom wrapped his arms around Harry to return the hug, and the connection didn't just buzz, it sang.
Harry sighed, letting out a breath he felt like he'd been holding all morning, and said, "This is better than fighting, isn't it? Better than space. Just—us, together. The rest doesn't matter."
Tom looked down at him, brushing a lock of hair out of Harry's face. "You're barely making sense."
"It only has to make sense to us," Harry said, a bit of desperation in his tone as he tried to say more than what he was saying without saying anything that Tom wasn't ready to hear. He wasn't quite sure that he succeeded, but since Tom was leaning down to kiss him, Harry counted it as a win.
When their lips met, it felt like coming home to Hogwarts after a summer of hell, like casting a Patronus for the first time, like real food after three days locked in his cupboard, like the first time flying with nothing beneath him but shadows and Dark magic—they both pulled back at the same moment, realizing that their memories and emotions had begun to blur through their connection without either of them consciously intending it.
"That was unexpected," Tom said cautiously.
Harry nodded his head and leaned in again. "It was us. It was perfect." He kissed Tom, longer and deeper this time, burying both hands in Tom's impeccable hair.
Far too late, he heard the footsteps approaching from around the corner, followed by a choked-off noise of surprise.
Harry reluctantly pulled away from Tom and turned around to find a rather shocked Lucius Malfoy staring at the two of them.
"Lucius," Tom said coldly.
"My Lord," Lucius said uncertainly, "sorry to…interrupt."
"Explains a lot, doesn't it?" Harry asked cheekily.
Tom flicked Harry's ear and said, "Behave," then bluntly asked Lucius, "What do you want?"
Lucius cleared his throat, and a hint of annoyance crept into his expression when he said, "I was hoping that someone—perhaps Mr. Potter here—could explain why there is a herd of Weasleys outside my front gate demanding entry."
Harry blinked, remembered the letter, then glanced guiltily at Tom and said, "Oops?"
A/N:So, I tried to have this finished in time to post on the 31st for Harry's birthday, but alas, it just wasn't meant to be. Happy belated birthday to Harry anyway, and to myself (July 30th).Also, I hadn't originally intended to upend canon too much, but I recently became obsessed with the James/Severus, Severus/Lily, and James/Lily/Severus ships, so, yeah. I am also working on a separate fic that will be Sev and James and Lily's backstory (up to a certain point—I intend to give them a happy or at least hopeful ending in that fic). Stay tuned :)And finally, I'm thrilled and honored to announce that over on Archive Of Our Own dot org, the awesome RIDDLEy has translated The Mirror of Eidrokcuf into Chinese! There's a link at the bottom of this fic (on AO3), under "Works inspired by this one." Thank you again, RIDDLEy! You're amazing!As always, comments and con-crit are very welcome!