YourSide, Their Side and the Truth

Part XVII - Sleeping Beauty (17.45)

Disclaimer: Harry Potter doesn't belong to me, this is a fan fiction, by a fan for the fans

Author's Notes: Chapters 17 through 45 now have detailed chapter plans, so expect chapters to be coming more regularly and rapidly, hardware willing.

The classroom was suspiciously empty. Taking a tentative step forward, Harry took a deep breath and knocked on the door. The sound echoed eerily, bouncing hollowly against the walls until the sound increased to a deafening roar.

He didn't like this, one bit.

Cautiously holding out his wand, he stepped forward again, muttering "Lumos" as he did. His wand flared to life, throwing light against the walls and abandoned desks. The room was neatly in order, the lesson plan scrawled on the blackboard in definite strokes of black and white. Stepping forwards still, he jumped as the door slammed behind him. Feeling sweaty and lost, he spun around on his heel, lifting his wand up to look at the door. The wooden door was awash with a deep red scrawl. "Enemies of the heir, beware."

Harry let out a gasp, that rang sharply in the room, and the lamps on the wall flared into life. Spinning again, Harry twisted to see the flame-drenched room. "Nox," he whispered quietly to his wand, which fizzled into darkness again.

"So, Potter, you think you know how this world goes."

Harry twisted to see Peeves, the poltergeist - human! - sitting on the edge of the teacher's desk, swinging his legs and looking remarkably pleased with himself.

"Where am I?"

Peeves shook his head, shaking in laughter, the bells on his hat twinkling. "I don't think that's the right question at all, Potter."

Harry frowned. "What should it be?"

Peeves shrugged. "What do you think it should be?"

"I'm not in the mood for games, Peeves."

Peeves dropped off the edge of the desk and skipped over to Harry, forcefully pressing one of his hands to Harry's shoulder, pushing him down. "Potter! Potter! Potty-potty-Potter! Potter's the one doin' it, pickin' his nose and chewin' it, he thinks it's candy but-it's-not." Peeves stared at Harry as he sang the playground song. "But it's -snot-," Peeves added maliciously, skipping back a few steps. Harry shook himself. "So you think you know how this world goes?" Peeves' voice was flat now. Serious. "I don't think you do."

Peeves grinned widely at Harry, his teeth growing wider, wider, seeming to snap out of his body. Peeves shuddered, dropping to the floor, writhing in pain as his skeleton pushed him inside out as it expanded. Blood sprayed on Harry's face as Peeves exploded, leaving a grinning intact skeleton and a pile of guts. The skeleton advanced, reeking of death, decay and destruction.

"You see, Potter," the skeleton mouthed, in Peeves' high-pitched accent, "you don't know how this world goes at all."

Harry's mouth dropped open in an endless scream.

Tom lurched upwards, his fragmentary dream of noises and sensations broken for the fourth time that week by a hollow scream. His blindness had made all of his other senses more acute, more discerning and that included his sixth sense - which was telling him something was desperately wrong. Azkaban did give you nightmares, but not ones that didn't end up with you waking, sweating and gasping for air.

Harry had stopped screaming, and was instead twisting on his bed, whimpering, grunting, sobbing for breath, but he was still asleep.

Putting out one hand unsteadily, Tom pushed himself up; feeling his way around the wall as he stumbled to the door. He rapped sharply on the cool surface, stepping backwards involuntarily as the small hatch was thrust open and a large, brown eye blinked sluggishly through at him. Steeling himself, Tom was more than shaken by the sound. Gathering what little resolve and strength he had, seeing that huge eye would have probably unnerved him too much, Tom leant forwards; steadying himself with one hand against the wall.

"It's my room mate. He's in a bad way."

Fully expecting to be told to shove off and go back to sleep, he was surprised when a deep gravely voice told him to step back from the door. A minute later, a jangling sound made Tom frown. Keys? A key was pushed through the keyhole, and Englin stepped in; breathless.

"What's the matter?"

Tom stepped back, sitting down on the edge of his bed. "He's been like this for the past five nights."

Englin's eyebrows shot up, but the wizened old administrator realised the blinded young man wouldn't be able to see his gesture of surprise. "I see. Why didn't you say anything sooner?"

"People get like that in here," Tom said slowly, shrugging. "It's a thing that happens, especially to the innocent."

Even though Tom couldn't see Englin's expression, he could almost imagine the narrowed, cold expression that swept across Englin's narrow face. He could hear the quickened breathing, the barely-audible gasp, and he could feel the tension in the room. He'd hit a nerve somewhere.

"Well. We'll let the Powers That Be decide on his and your fate, Mr. Riddle," Englin said coldly. "But for now…" His gaze moved to the slender young man, twisting and turning in the sweat-drenched sheets. "For now I have to deal with Mr. Potter. Can't let our sickness care be monitored because of lack of care. We have a service to administer here to the public."

Startled, Tom shuffled backwards as something large - presumably one of the giants - lumbered into the room. The logistics of it all would have amused him, an eleven foot giant trying to crush himself into a seven-foot high cell, but for the fact that Harry was in obvious distress.

"Will you tell me if I can do anything?" Tom asked finally, as the giant pulled Harry out of the room. Englin paused in the doorway.

"Of course."

The door slowly slid shut, with a resounding clang, before the sound settled down and Tom was left alone with his own thoughts - not a very savoury place for anyone to be left alone in.

"Where am I?"

Harry shut his mouth at Peeves' mocking expression as the solid poltergeist moved in front of him.

"Still that same question. Potter, you're supposed to learn from your mistakes. The Powers know I didn't…" Peeves shook his head in amusement. "I'm here to teach you which way up the world goes."

Peeves stood back, revealing a twisted burnt landscape. A building burned merrily in the distance, covered in a heavy black smog, and the burnt corpses of large beasts strew around on the ground. Harry's heart leapt into his mouth as he realised the building was Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"The world isn't supposed to be like this." Desperate, Harry turned to Peeves, who had a definite grin on his face. "Please, tell me it isn't supposed to be like this!"

Peeves shrugged. "I cannot tell you what your own heart knows." He stepped forwards, his hat jangling as he walked. "See this world, Potter. This isn't how the world is supposed to go. It's supposed to be like… this." On his final word, Peeves snapped his fingers. The world twisted, blurred. Harry felt a force pulling him, like a hook behind his navel, reminisce of the Portkey journey. He slammed forwards to the ground, choking. He scrambled to his feet… and immediately felt sick. The floor twisted away to staircases that paved the whole places from floor to ceiling. If floor and ceiling there were. The whole place looked like a twisted optical illusion, upside-down platforms, sideways steps, the light thrown at different angles so he couldn't tell where the ceiling or floor was.

"Welcome to the world as it should be, Potter." Peeves walked out in a bright-red Quidditch garb, stepping off the edge of one of the upturn staircase onto a waiting broomstick. "Welcome to my world. Can you ask the right question now?"

Harry watched as Peeves flew closer, hovering silently in front of the startled raven-haired boy for a second.

"Surely you have a tongue inside that head of yours," Peeves said eventually, shifting on the broomstick. "So? What is your answer-- of a question?"

"And if I decide not to answer?" Harry asked, sounding a lot braver than he felt.

Peeves shrugged. "That's up to yours. But if you don't, your life… is snuffed out. Like a candle. Gone. Poof!"

Harry swallowed in fear.

"Damn plagued sleep."

Those three muffled words made Tom's eyes snap open. He'd managed to drift off into a restless sleep after an hour of worrying over Harry. Footsteps were coming, closer now, and Tom got the feeling that whoever it was - Englin, perhaps - was coming for him.

His guess was rewarded by an annoyed fumbling at the door. The door swung open with a crash, and Englin stormed through. Pulling Tom up by his shoulder, he yanked the lanky man off his bed and through the door; slamming the door closed as he did.

"You're pretty close to the Potter boy, are you not?" Englin demanded as he pulled Tom along the corridor. Tom stumbled on the rocky surface, wishing for the millionth time he could see where he was going.

"I would say so," Tom said quickly in-between breaths as they scurried down hallway after hallway. "He has half of my powers, they transferred between us when the Dark Lord had control of him."

"That may be close enough," Englin breathed with a relieved sigh. "Potter's in a plagued sleep."

"Again?"

Englin stopped in the corridor, gripping Tom's shoulder tightly. "This has happened before?"

Tom's face twitched. "Harry said something about it happening last month. Peter Pettigrew - as inhabited by the Dark Lord - spelled it on to him. I wouldn't be surprised if he's used the key-word option of the Charm."

Englin paused for a second, before yanking Tom again and pulling the startled man after him. "Tell me more about this key-word option."

Tom gulped. "Well, it's where the Charm is performed so that when the caster says a key-word it can be reactivated, even after a long period of dormancy. The caster must be pretty desperate, seeing as the key-word option works only once and then leaves the victim immune from it for quite a long period."

"Right." Englin's voice was neutral. "Pettigrew. I'll see to it he gets half rations. May break his resolve a little."

Englin slowed, and from the accompanying stench of bleach, Tom assumed they were nearing Azkaban's infirmary. The stench of the sterilising bleach was more prominent as Tom was shoved through the door.

Tom didn't need Englin's help to find Harry. The muted gasps of pain and fear led Tom straight to Harry's bedside, and, fumbling around, Tom managed to find a hard rigid chair and sit on it. A thin, bony hand clutching at his shoulder told Tom that Englin was just beside him, and he let out a sigh. Lifting one hand, Tom let it trail over Harry's face, tracing the scar, his cheeks, brushing back his hair from his forehead.

"You know what to do, I presume," Englin said stiffly. "I shall turn away."

Tom felt Englin shuffle and twist, and an additional shuffle from the corner, probably from a guard or something. "You know," Tom said, speaking gently as he leant forwards, "Draco Malfoy's lucky. He can love Harry and get his love returned. I'm so jealous of that."

Englin almost turned at the heart-breaking tone in Tom's voice, getting the implication immediately and feeling a hollow feeling in his belly. He chided himself for feeling pity for one of the prisoners, but this time… This time… It couldn't be helped. The whole situation was a heart-breaking and shattering one.

"My answer…" Harry fumbled with his fingers, twisting them in the sleeves of his robes. "Must I answer immediately?"

Peeves snickered lightly, hopping off the broom and descending next to Harry with a solemn frown. "We do not have all the time in the world." He spun around in a dizzying circle around Harry, disorientating him further. "Some of it, yes, but all of it? No."

Harry frowned, bit his lip, and looked around. The solid stone staircases twisted away into eternity, fading away into a twist of stars and galaxies, nebulas and dust clouds, todays and tomorrows. The answer hit him like a cold slap, and he looked up at Peeves; green eyes locking with dull grey ones.

"By Joves, I think he's got it," Peeves declared. He leaned forwards, resting his head on folded hands.

"I think…" Harry twisted on the spot, looking up to the ceiling. "The question should be… Who am I?"

Peeves started to clap furiously, and then everything went blurry. Peeves himself started to fade into the background amidst a roar in the background that was steadily increasing in volume. Two arms came out of nowhere. They slid around Harry's waist, and he turned in the embrace, and smiled up into the silvery eyes and shock of blond hair.

Tom pulled back from having brushed his lips against Harry's, unable to voice his own agitated feelings. A soul-destroying minute passed, dragged out so it almost felt like an hour, but at the end of the minute Harry's eyes snapped open and he shifted slightly, his eyes closed.

"Draco?"

Tom winced inwardly at the plaintive sob that escaped Harry's lips. Instead, he swallowed, and moved forwards; enclosing Harry's hands with his own. "Harry, you're in Azkaban's hospital ward. You were plagued. Plagued sleeping again."

Harry groaned, rolling over before pushing himself up. Englin rushed to Harry's side, feeling Harry's forehead for a temperature. Harry pulled away irritably.

"I'm fine, sir. Like Tom said, I've been through this before. All I need is some sleep and I'll be okay."

Englin frowned at the forced words. Harry was obviously not fine, but what help was required could not be got within Azkaban. He swallowed. "Well, if you're sure. I'll send Balin with you to escort you back to your cell. If you get worse, then call." The old man helped Harry get to his feet, and then helped Tom as well. "Oh, I might as well give you your mail now, too. One owl for you, Mr. Riddle."

Tom blinked, surprised. "Thank you," he said abruptly, as Englin tucked a scroll of parchment under his arm and disappeared.

The shuffling in the corner got closer, and Tom paused for a second. The figure could only have been about seven-foot tall.

"'Ullo, me name's Balin. I'm yer 'ost for the e'ening." Balin chuckled at his own joke. "An arf giant I am before yer says anything."

Getting down the winding corridors was easier with Balin's support made things a lot easier, and Tom and Harry spent the time leaning on each other for support and chatting.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Harry nodded, clutching onto Tom's arm. "Yes. Thank you, I mean, for what you did. I know what you had to do. I.. thanks."

"Don't mention it." Tom forced his face into a smile. "It was the least I could do. I figured that we were close enough, seeing as you share some of my more interesting gifts."

Harry smiled ruefully. "Yes. Well, I guess I should be thankful about the Parseltongue thing. Got me in a bit of bother at school, though, they all thought I was the heir of Slytherin."

Tom laughed. "Oh gods, let me guess, my diary self ran rampant. Yes, that was one of the more sillier things the Dark Lord tried to do."

"Silly or not, it almost cost a lot of people their lives," Harry snapped abruptly. He stopped at Tom's sudden expression. "God, I'm sorry! That was completely tactless."

Tom shrugged it off. "It's all right."

"No, it isn't. It's just my own stupid fault. I say things I don't mean all the time," Harry sighed.

"No you don't. If you say them, it's probably what's in your heart. And you shouldn't coop that up." Tom shuffled, and Harry squeezed Tom's arm tighter. "I think… that that was how come I got… possessed."

Harry turned, staring at Tom with widened eyes.

"You mean…"

"I mean that if you suppress your emotions, then… then it finds it easier to keep a hold on you," Tom breathed. Harry almost stopped, but a sharp cough from Balin made him remember to keep going.

"So… maybe in an innocent… Total innocent…" Harry's face contorted into a weird expression. "But who could be a total innocent…"

Tom faltered in his step for a second, prompting both Balin and Harry to support him. "Harry, what are you going on about?"

Harry shrugged gracefully, before taking Tom by the elbows and steering him into the Juvenile section of Azkaban. "I'll tell you later." His gaze lurched up to meet Balin's, and the half-giant shuddered at the furious green stare directed at him, and Balin didn't say another word as he bundled the two men back into their cell. Even hours later, he was sure he'd just witnessed some decision being made, one that would affect great consequence.

Half an hour of furious silence swallowed, punctuated by a brief five minutes to wolf down the meagre lunch provided. Tom folded his legs and rested his head against the wall, listening to the echoing sounds from the other parts of Azkaban. It took him a brief second to distinguish Harry's muffled breathing from the sound of clanging from other parts of the fortification, but when he did, he was surprised by the clarity of his hearing - a side-effect, he supposed, of the effects of blindness. Shuffling to one side, the scroll of parchment rustled and he pulled it out. Unrolling it partly, he smiled, letting one finger trail across the textured surface.

"Do you need a hand with that?"

Tom lurched up instinctively, even though that action would do nothing, at the sound of Harry's voice. "No," he said briefly. "The words have been raised. I can feel them."

Harry blinked, startled. "That's a good idea. Almost like muggle Braille, I suppose." He shrugged eventually. "Who's it from?"

Tom paused for a second, his fingers darting over the upraised words. "Fleur Delacour." He bit his lip at Harry's sharp intake of breath. "You know her?"

"You could say that," Harry said, his tone low and tremulous.

"She's been sending me letters since I've been in," Tom explained, his fingers darting across the surface. "Telling me about her training. Her letters are Charmed, so only I can read them. She's very talented."

"I remember," Harry said softly. "I've met her again, recently. She's very pretty, part-Veela. Boys tend to gravitate to her… Made Hermione the most jealous I've ever seen her, if I recall correctly."

"She mentioned that once," Tom said softly, almost in surprise. "Not about the part Veela thing though. She says she likes having a friendship with someone who doesn't want to know her because of her ancestry."

"I can relate to that," Harry said sourly. "I suppose it's a two way thing. Not many people would be willing to accept you."

"They don't know why I was like I was," Tom said lightly. "They'll understand eventually."

Harry nodded, and watched as Tom ran his hand down the scroll. "So, you like Fleur?" Harry found himself smiling as a dull flush coloured Tom's cheeks.

"She's a great friend," Tom said delicately.

"But not the one, right?"

Tom cursed Harry's perceptiveness. "No… There is… was… someone else."

"Hm." Harry sounded sad. "Not going to happen, though?"

Tom smiled self-deprecatingly. "Got it in one."

"I suppose all those you used to know must be dead or really old… Fifty years is a long time…" Harry sounded thoughtful, and Tom relaxed slightly. Harry was thankfully way off track.

"Yes it is… Wait a second…" Tom started. "She's going to India. Must be there already. She says to say Ryan and Sirius are going with her. They've tracked down what's causing these attacks!"

"Great!" Harry smiled, then fell silent for a second, lost in thoughts. "I wonder how Hermione is."

"Write. Ask them," Tom suggested. "There's parchment on the lunch tray they pushed through."

Harry pulled a face. "Doesn't Englin read all out-going mail?"

Tom laughed. "Yes. That's why you keep it neutral and clean."

The air was filled with rustling, and scratching, as Harry reached for a piece of parchment and started to scrawl a letter to Hermione and Ron. He paused mid-sentence, absent-mindedly sucking the end of the quill.

"Can you easily write back to Fleur?"

Tom nodded. "Yes, thanks to the natty Charm Fleur used. I trace the words with my finger, and the Charm lines them up into proper words, and I get close enough results for it to work. I'll tell her that you say hi."

Harry smiled his thanks, and then remembered again with a lurch that Tom couldn't see. "Tell her I say hi to Remu-- Ryan and Sirius as well." Harry paused. "Natty?"

Tom chose to ignore that last statement. "Will do," he said instead, in reference to Harry's request, before bending his head, and getting back to the difficult task of writing his reply to Fleur. Harry watched Tom again with a small smile, happy to see Tom actually doing something for himself and in the process of finding at least friendship, if not love, before he bent his own head down and concentrated on scrawling a letter to Hermione and Ron.

More than an hour later, Harry deposited the ink and quill back on the tray after neatly addressing the parchment to go to Hogwarts and Ron and Hermione. Tom passed over his parchment too, and allowed Harry to address it for him. Harry whistled at the length of Tom's letter.

"Wow, nice length letter," Harry exclaimed softly. Tom smiled again.

"Hypocrite," Tom said succinctly. Harry blushed.

"How did you know my letter was quite long?"

Tom shrugged. "You spent an hour writing it, and your quill was scratching the entire time. Unless you were doodling pictures of Professor Snape in a tutu, I'm guessing it was pretty long."

Harry nodded slowly. "I guess I didn't know how much I missed them."

His words hung in the air, a broken reminder of the inner pain Harry was going through, and Tom let out a deep breath before shuffling backwards on the bed and lying down on the narrow mattress. Harry stared into space for a second before rapping on the door sharply. The door swung open a bit and Balin popped his head through.

"Finished writin' yer letters? Oh great." The half-giant frowned at Tom. "Is that young un all right?"

Harry shrugged slowly. "I don't know. But he will be."

Balin's face cracked into a half smile. "Aye, that he will." He looked at Harry for a long second, ice-blue eyes narrowed and perceptive. "I think you will be too. Mayhaps it will take a long time, master Potter, but you'll be all right. In th'end, we all are."

Harry dully handed over the two rolls of parchment with a perfunctory smile, and Balin took them with one great hand, pulling the door shut again behind him. Stepping backwards, and staring at the wall, Harry followed Tom's lead; dropping into the bed and pulling the thin blanket up and over his head.

"He's right you know," Tom said quietly. Harry peered sleepily over the top of his blankets.

"In what respect?"

"We're not all right," Tom said slowly.

Harry contemplated the quiet words. "I 'spose not," he agreed eventually.

"But we will be," Tom added with conviction. "We will be, Harry. Things have to turn out all right."

"Because, because, because," Harry muttered to himself. Tom shifted, confused.

"What?"

Harry blinked, aware that he'd said that phrase out loud. "It's what my dad used to say as a reason… Because, because, because…"

Tom smiled, a genuine smile this time that made Harry grin in response. "Because, because, because. I like it. Your dad was a genius."

Harry let out a forlorn sigh. "I'd like to think so."

Tom twisted, a stab of something pounding through his chest. "I… I'm sorry Harry. Sorry for everything."

Harry almost laughed out loud. "You've nothing to be sorry for, you daft coot. No, the thing that needs to be sorry is out there." Harry jerked his head towards the cell door. "He's out there, and he will pay. I stake my life on it."

Tom nodded slowly at the words, a cold chill running up his spine. Harry Potter desperately meant those fervent words, spoken with clarity and a harsh edge he'd never experienced before. Tom felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise unwillingly and he shivered, the only thought running in his mind that he was glad he was not the one standing in Harry's way, for whoever it was their life would not be worth living.