A/N: After a long, unplanned hiatus, I have retunred. *evil grin* Thank you so much for continuing to review my assorted stories. It reminded me of what wonderful people we have in our fandom...especially the slashy corner of it.
Thank you Pepperjack Candy (Really? I love Tom. He has so much potential.), npetrenko, Cedar, Cinead Born of Fire, Mordain (*laughs* I do hope that you've stuck around for this bit. I'll try to make it as interesting as I can.), Nimloth, Cindy, Kazza, Bibayb, anonymity, theMuse, and spelldome.
To continue...
***
Life was bizarre after that. Every morning Remus Lupin came to tutor Tom. Moody left the office at noon to run Tom through his training. Three days a week Severus stopped by and taught Tom how to "brew glory and stopper death", sometimes extending the lesson well past midnight. Tom studied constantly, but he never complained. In fact he never spoke, save to answer a question or utter a spell. Percy would watch him study, would watch those large, haunting eyes scan down a page and the shadows the light cast upon Tom's smooth, blank face and wonder what he was thinking. But he didn't dare ask and there was always work to be done.
It seemed that, unbeknownst to most people, there had been a huge spike in dark activity. That meant there were creatures to catch, laws to impose, damage to fix, and reports to cover up. Percy had never been so busy in his life. Though he was nearly always bone-tired, he loved it. He loved coordinating everyone and dispatching aurors and collecting their reports and slamming the door in Ms. Skeeter's face. He was in his element the way he hadn't been since the troll incident at Hogwarts so many years ago.
But he dreaded coming home, dreaded meeting that silent boy with the seraph sweet face. Everything about Tom made Percy nervous- the slow, graceful movements of his fingers, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way he pursed his lips- it all seemed so unnatural. And Percy found himself bewitched, staring at the boy thinking //Too perfect. No scars, No flaws. He can't be real.//
He went home anyway. Tonight he found Tom sitting at the little table in the corner that served as a dining room. For once, he didn't have a book in his hands. Percy sensed something was wrong immediately. "Tom?" Tom raised his eyes and the light reflected off the path of tears down his face. He smiled by way of greeting. Percy shuddered, though why, he couldn't say. "Are you okay?"
"I was thinking."
"What on earth could you have been thinking about that was worth crying over?" Percy demanded.
"Nothing," the boy muttered.
"Nothing? Tell me what qualifies as nothing." He took a chair across from Tom.
He couldn't explain why he was doing what he was doing except that Tom seemed so very fragile and he'd never forgive himself-- most importantly his mum would never forgive him-- if he just ignored Tom and let the boy cry alone. So Percy just accepted it and got ready to sound paternal and imposing.
"Percy, do you remember your childhood?" Tom asked carefully.
"Of cour-" Percy started to say. Then he actually thought about it. Most of Percy's childhood was full of embarrassing incidents he didn't want to recall. Some of his adulthood was too, come to think of it. Consequently Percy didn't have many sharp memories of his childhood, more like distinct impressions and vague discomfort.
"No," he finished quietly. "Not really." It seemed Tom relaxed then. It was barely perceptible. Just a slight dropping of his shoulders and the slightest curve to his lips. "Why?" Percy asked. Too late he realized that the tone of his voice should have been less suspicious and more concerned. Tom's shoulders tightened back up and he drew himself back into his chair, his back ramrod straight, like it had been beaten into him at an early age. // Great people skills there, Percy.// Percy tried again.
"I'm sure it's not unusual. A person can't be expected to remember everything that happens to him. Is there something about your childhood you'd like to discuss?" //Absolutely fantastic, Weasley. Now you sound like a therapist...// Tom's tilted his head up curiously, his eyes seeming to absorb the light in a way that sent mild shivers down Percy's spine.
"There's nothing to discuss," the boy replied flatly.
"What do you mean?" Percy asked, furrowing his brow.
"I don't remember any of my childhood. I can't remember where I grew up, my mother's face, my friends' names." Tom chuckled almost inaudibly. " Hell, I can't even remember my full name. My entire life, until the night Dumbledore brought me here, is just blackness."
"Maybe you aren't trying hard enough." Tom shook his head.
"Every night I try. I try so hard my head aches and my brain is soup. I can't remember anything I haven't been taught here."
Percy was silent. Then something occurred to him. Maybe Tom had been a victim of Voldemort. (Percy had dropped that You-Know-Who nonsense a week ago. Voldemort was so much more efficient.) Maybe Dumbledore had performed a memory charm on the boy to save him from those painful memories and sent him to Percy for protection. Yes, that made sense. Maybe Tom held a vital clue of how they could finally defeat Voldemort. That's why this boy was so important. And Percy was ashamed of himself for foolishly letting his imagination run amuck and sever him from someone who needed him. When he spoke again, he did his best to be gentle.
"I'm sure there's a reason. Maybe it's just what's best. In time, your memories will come back."
"You think?" Tom asked, his voice soft and low. His gaze dropped to the table.
"Absolutely, just don't think about it too much. It'll come in time." Tom nodded and awkwardness fell rather clumsily between them. Tom drummed his fingers upon the table. Percy fidgeted in his chair.
"Say, what do you do for fun?"
"Study," Tom replied, spreading his hands flat.
"Seriously," Percy said, noting that Tom's hands were impeccably groomed.
"I am serious. For fun I study the books Dumbledore left me. "
"You sound like me when I was your age."
"Do you know how old I am?" Tom turned his hands up. The reflected light off his immaculate palms was blinding.
"I would guess that you're about sixteen and in desperate need of a hobby." Tom laughed, his fingers forming a steeple.
"And who are you to tell me of hobbies, Mr. Former Head Boy and future workaholic?" Percy was taken aback. //Can't rightly argue with that one...//
"I haven't been home a lot, have I?" Tom shook his head. "How's this? Tomorrow, we'll get up bright and early and leave this place."
"And go where?"
"It doesn't matter. Anywhere but where we're supposed to be," Percy replied with uncharacteristic spontaneity.
"I have classes," Tom said, but a small smile flitted over his lips.
"And I have work."
There was an odd finality about their statements. Tom wouldn't neglect his education and Percy would never neglect his job and they both seemed to accept that. In the ensuing silence, they came to an understanding about one another.
And nothing further needed to be said.
***
Comments, suggestions and criticism are always a pleasure to recieve. Be a dear and review!
Much love,
J. Silver
Thank you Pepperjack Candy (Really? I love Tom. He has so much potential.), npetrenko, Cedar, Cinead Born of Fire, Mordain (*laughs* I do hope that you've stuck around for this bit. I'll try to make it as interesting as I can.), Nimloth, Cindy, Kazza, Bibayb, anonymity, theMuse, and spelldome.
To continue...
***
Life was bizarre after that. Every morning Remus Lupin came to tutor Tom. Moody left the office at noon to run Tom through his training. Three days a week Severus stopped by and taught Tom how to "brew glory and stopper death", sometimes extending the lesson well past midnight. Tom studied constantly, but he never complained. In fact he never spoke, save to answer a question or utter a spell. Percy would watch him study, would watch those large, haunting eyes scan down a page and the shadows the light cast upon Tom's smooth, blank face and wonder what he was thinking. But he didn't dare ask and there was always work to be done.
It seemed that, unbeknownst to most people, there had been a huge spike in dark activity. That meant there were creatures to catch, laws to impose, damage to fix, and reports to cover up. Percy had never been so busy in his life. Though he was nearly always bone-tired, he loved it. He loved coordinating everyone and dispatching aurors and collecting their reports and slamming the door in Ms. Skeeter's face. He was in his element the way he hadn't been since the troll incident at Hogwarts so many years ago.
But he dreaded coming home, dreaded meeting that silent boy with the seraph sweet face. Everything about Tom made Percy nervous- the slow, graceful movements of his fingers, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way he pursed his lips- it all seemed so unnatural. And Percy found himself bewitched, staring at the boy thinking //Too perfect. No scars, No flaws. He can't be real.//
He went home anyway. Tonight he found Tom sitting at the little table in the corner that served as a dining room. For once, he didn't have a book in his hands. Percy sensed something was wrong immediately. "Tom?" Tom raised his eyes and the light reflected off the path of tears down his face. He smiled by way of greeting. Percy shuddered, though why, he couldn't say. "Are you okay?"
"I was thinking."
"What on earth could you have been thinking about that was worth crying over?" Percy demanded.
"Nothing," the boy muttered.
"Nothing? Tell me what qualifies as nothing." He took a chair across from Tom.
He couldn't explain why he was doing what he was doing except that Tom seemed so very fragile and he'd never forgive himself-- most importantly his mum would never forgive him-- if he just ignored Tom and let the boy cry alone. So Percy just accepted it and got ready to sound paternal and imposing.
"Percy, do you remember your childhood?" Tom asked carefully.
"Of cour-" Percy started to say. Then he actually thought about it. Most of Percy's childhood was full of embarrassing incidents he didn't want to recall. Some of his adulthood was too, come to think of it. Consequently Percy didn't have many sharp memories of his childhood, more like distinct impressions and vague discomfort.
"No," he finished quietly. "Not really." It seemed Tom relaxed then. It was barely perceptible. Just a slight dropping of his shoulders and the slightest curve to his lips. "Why?" Percy asked. Too late he realized that the tone of his voice should have been less suspicious and more concerned. Tom's shoulders tightened back up and he drew himself back into his chair, his back ramrod straight, like it had been beaten into him at an early age. // Great people skills there, Percy.// Percy tried again.
"I'm sure it's not unusual. A person can't be expected to remember everything that happens to him. Is there something about your childhood you'd like to discuss?" //Absolutely fantastic, Weasley. Now you sound like a therapist...// Tom's tilted his head up curiously, his eyes seeming to absorb the light in a way that sent mild shivers down Percy's spine.
"There's nothing to discuss," the boy replied flatly.
"What do you mean?" Percy asked, furrowing his brow.
"I don't remember any of my childhood. I can't remember where I grew up, my mother's face, my friends' names." Tom chuckled almost inaudibly. " Hell, I can't even remember my full name. My entire life, until the night Dumbledore brought me here, is just blackness."
"Maybe you aren't trying hard enough." Tom shook his head.
"Every night I try. I try so hard my head aches and my brain is soup. I can't remember anything I haven't been taught here."
Percy was silent. Then something occurred to him. Maybe Tom had been a victim of Voldemort. (Percy had dropped that You-Know-Who nonsense a week ago. Voldemort was so much more efficient.) Maybe Dumbledore had performed a memory charm on the boy to save him from those painful memories and sent him to Percy for protection. Yes, that made sense. Maybe Tom held a vital clue of how they could finally defeat Voldemort. That's why this boy was so important. And Percy was ashamed of himself for foolishly letting his imagination run amuck and sever him from someone who needed him. When he spoke again, he did his best to be gentle.
"I'm sure there's a reason. Maybe it's just what's best. In time, your memories will come back."
"You think?" Tom asked, his voice soft and low. His gaze dropped to the table.
"Absolutely, just don't think about it too much. It'll come in time." Tom nodded and awkwardness fell rather clumsily between them. Tom drummed his fingers upon the table. Percy fidgeted in his chair.
"Say, what do you do for fun?"
"Study," Tom replied, spreading his hands flat.
"Seriously," Percy said, noting that Tom's hands were impeccably groomed.
"I am serious. For fun I study the books Dumbledore left me. "
"You sound like me when I was your age."
"Do you know how old I am?" Tom turned his hands up. The reflected light off his immaculate palms was blinding.
"I would guess that you're about sixteen and in desperate need of a hobby." Tom laughed, his fingers forming a steeple.
"And who are you to tell me of hobbies, Mr. Former Head Boy and future workaholic?" Percy was taken aback. //Can't rightly argue with that one...//
"I haven't been home a lot, have I?" Tom shook his head. "How's this? Tomorrow, we'll get up bright and early and leave this place."
"And go where?"
"It doesn't matter. Anywhere but where we're supposed to be," Percy replied with uncharacteristic spontaneity.
"I have classes," Tom said, but a small smile flitted over his lips.
"And I have work."
There was an odd finality about their statements. Tom wouldn't neglect his education and Percy would never neglect his job and they both seemed to accept that. In the ensuing silence, they came to an understanding about one another.
And nothing further needed to be said.
***
Comments, suggestions and criticism are always a pleasure to recieve. Be a dear and review!
Much love,
J. Silver