Chapter Eleven -- Serpentine
Harry Potter's eyes batted open. Startling white assaulted his sensitive, sleep-ridden corneas. The lights had already been turned on. Harry slowly rolled over to check the timepiece next to his bed -- Four o'clock in the morning. But who would be up at four o'clock in the morning on a weekend? On a Saturday? Harry groaned and lifted his head from the down pillow.
Tom Riddle sat at the desk in the corner -- Lengthy off-white fingers flicking through paperwork, quill perched between the thin line of his lips. He looked so contemplative sitting there. A slight smile darted onto Harry's lips.
"What are you doing?"
Tom was more than startled but grabbed the arm of the chair to steady himself. He turned around to face the young boy who was lying on the bed, looking at him expectantly. He took the quill out of his mouth and tossed it down onto the desk.
"You shouldn't disturb someone like that," Tom said, trying his best to scold but not succeeding. "I'm just working on some projects."
"Those projects for Dumbledore?" Harry leapt to his feet and walked over to the desk, trying to get a peek over Tom's shoulder. Tom quickly shoved the paperwork into one of the desk drawers much to Harry's dismay.
"I told you," Tom sighed. "Dumbledore doesn't want you to know about those yet."
"I know," Harry said, his voice bridging on a whine. "But couldn't you just give me a hint. What are they being used for? What are they about? Why are you doing them? Anything!"
"I wish I could, Harry," Tom replied. "But I can't. You'll find out about them later, I'm sure."
"Whatever they are, you're certainly a dedicated worker," Harry commented. "Four o'clock in the morning?"
"I was slipping off the bed," Tom shrugged. "Figured I'd get up and work since I couldn't sleep."
"If you were falling off the bed, why didn't you just move over?" Harry asked, crossing his arms against his chest and raising an eyebrow as if to say, "You stupid git."
"It's a small bed," Tom answered.
"So? So you could have moved over, Tom."
"No, I couldn't. You didn't want me to touch you, remember?" Tom started to open the desk drawer again but Harry quickly put his hand over the other man's.
"Don't," Harry said simply. "It's four o'clock in the morning on a Saturday. No one should have to get up this early."
"But work . . ." Tom began, pulling his hand away from Harry.
"Work be bloody well damned!" Harry smiled, grabbing Tom's hand and pulling him up from the chair and over to the bed. Harry quickly hopped into the bed, yanking the comforter over his form.
"Turn off the lights then," Harry yawned, cozying into a pillow.
The lights flicked off. Harry felt Tom getting into the bed next to him but he noticed that Tom stayed on the edge of the bed, keeping his distance.
"You falling off the bed?" Harry asked. "And reply honestly."
"A bit," Tom sighed. "Good night, Harry."
"I don't think so," Harry said obstinately. "Get over here."
Tom moved over a little.
"Farther," Harry sighed, exasperated.
Tom moved over a little more -- A couple of inches at most.
"Oh would you just move to the middle of the bloody bed! Let me get an arm around you at least!"
Tom sat up, a little shocked. Crimson eyes narrowed into slits as he tried to fathom what had happened to change Harry's steadfast opinions. He moved over to Harry's side but still looked puzzled.
"Now just lie down," Harry demanded.
Tom lay down on the bed and Harry curled up against him. The boy rested in head in one of the hollows of Tom's unnaturally bony chest.
"What has gotten into you?" Tom asked, a little bit unnerved.
"Nothing," Harry replied. "I just . . . I've been a bit ridiculous, I suppose. You'll have to excuse me."
"Of course you haven't been ridiculous," Tom stated, running his fingers through Harry's mess of hair. "What are you talking about?"
"I wouldn't touch you . . . That's rather ridiculous, wouldn't you say?" Tom noticed that Harry's eyes were closed tightly against his pale flesh.
"Not at all," Tom whispered. "I killed your parents. I was responsible for the death of that friend of yours, Cedric Diggory. I even attempted to take your life. I have quite a bit of blood on my hands, Harry. It's hard to touch a person who's so unclean."
Harry was silent for a few moments -- Eyes clenched shut.
"Open your eyes, Harry." Harry brought his head up from its perch on Tom's chest and he opened his eyes, gazing upon the haunting visage. "It's all angles and lines," Harry thought looking at the smooth contour of Tom's face. The lips were thin and drawn-out and the jaw was sharp. The nose was long and flat. The cheekbones were high and prominent. The eyes were slightly slanted and a deep shade of scarlet -- Somewhere between the color of an American Beauty rose and the color of blood. His eyebrows arched up in a thin, definite line of ebony -- Making him look stern yet elegant. His skin was a refined ivory. He was amazingly serpentine.
"Not all that unpleasant to look at," Harry murmured, more to himself than to Tom.
Tom reached a finger up to touch Harry's cheek, echoing a movement he had made in the Little Hangleton churchyard a couple years ago.
The world fell into black for a few minutes.
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"Hello Harry."
Harry spun around to face a black work robe with a Hufflepuff crest sewn on it. Harry's eyes traveled upward -- The lean neck, the pretty face, the soft gray eyes . . .
"Hello Cedric. I'm dreaming, aren't I."
"Yes," Cedric smiled. "How are you doing? Are you dating Cho yet?"
Harry blushed wildly and wrung his hands nervously but when he noticed the amused look on Cedric's face, he relaxed a little.
"I did date Cho for a while," Harry said softly. "We broke up."
Somewhere from the blackness the words echoed -- "Kill the spare." Cedric didn't seem to hear them but Harry was startled for a moment.
"Why? Are you seeing someone else then?"
Harry flinched. This dream Cedric seemed to know all of the right questions to ask in order to unnerve Harry.
"Yes, I am."
Then the unavoidable . . . "Who?"
"You're a dream right?" Harry asked shyly. "That means you can't hate me or anything."
"I never hated you, Harry," Cedric said gently. "I know that you were a bit jealous of me but I never hated you . . . even when you did try and steal all the glory." A wide grin from Cedric told Harry that the last statement was a joke -- Thank God.
"You might hate me after this," Harry replied.
"Just tell me who, Harry."
"Lord Voldemort," Harry whispered, shuffling his feet in the darkness. Cedric looked incensed for a moment but, like the kind and compassionate Hufflepuff he was, he thought a moment before reacting.
"Let me guess why I'm currently in your dreams. You're worried that everyone over on this side wouldn't approve."
"I had no choice, Cedric!" Harry protested, arms flailing helplessly.
"In that case, I definitely don't approve and I'm ashamed of you," Cedric said firmly, very unlike a typical Hufflepuff. Cedric turned on his heels and began to walk away.
"Wait!" Harry called after Cedric. "Before you go, I want you to tell everyone . . . Tell my parents and tell everyone who ever fell by his hand and that I love him too! I love him no matter what he's done and no matter who he's hurt and no matter how he's made my life a living hell because I forgive him all that."
Cedric turned around and smiled.
"That was all you had to say."
"What?" Harry asked, cocking his head to the side.
"You have my -- our -- approval, Harry. You don't have to be afraid anymore."
And the blackness around him faded.
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"Harry! Harry!" The call came from out of the blackness and Harry opened his eyes to see deep concerned crimson. "You just nodded off in the middle of a conversation and I really think that maybe we should get some sleep. You look . . ." And without another thought, Harry sat up and kissed those thin, drawn-out lips.
"What invoked that?" Tom asked quietly after the boy stopped.
"I have some approval," Harry smiled.
Author's Note: Ah, peace and calm! You know it can't last for long but it's certainly nice for one chapter
This chapter is dedicated to the memory of Cedric Diggory
Harry Potter's eyes batted open. Startling white assaulted his sensitive, sleep-ridden corneas. The lights had already been turned on. Harry slowly rolled over to check the timepiece next to his bed -- Four o'clock in the morning. But who would be up at four o'clock in the morning on a weekend? On a Saturday? Harry groaned and lifted his head from the down pillow.
Tom Riddle sat at the desk in the corner -- Lengthy off-white fingers flicking through paperwork, quill perched between the thin line of his lips. He looked so contemplative sitting there. A slight smile darted onto Harry's lips.
"What are you doing?"
Tom was more than startled but grabbed the arm of the chair to steady himself. He turned around to face the young boy who was lying on the bed, looking at him expectantly. He took the quill out of his mouth and tossed it down onto the desk.
"You shouldn't disturb someone like that," Tom said, trying his best to scold but not succeeding. "I'm just working on some projects."
"Those projects for Dumbledore?" Harry leapt to his feet and walked over to the desk, trying to get a peek over Tom's shoulder. Tom quickly shoved the paperwork into one of the desk drawers much to Harry's dismay.
"I told you," Tom sighed. "Dumbledore doesn't want you to know about those yet."
"I know," Harry said, his voice bridging on a whine. "But couldn't you just give me a hint. What are they being used for? What are they about? Why are you doing them? Anything!"
"I wish I could, Harry," Tom replied. "But I can't. You'll find out about them later, I'm sure."
"Whatever they are, you're certainly a dedicated worker," Harry commented. "Four o'clock in the morning?"
"I was slipping off the bed," Tom shrugged. "Figured I'd get up and work since I couldn't sleep."
"If you were falling off the bed, why didn't you just move over?" Harry asked, crossing his arms against his chest and raising an eyebrow as if to say, "You stupid git."
"It's a small bed," Tom answered.
"So? So you could have moved over, Tom."
"No, I couldn't. You didn't want me to touch you, remember?" Tom started to open the desk drawer again but Harry quickly put his hand over the other man's.
"Don't," Harry said simply. "It's four o'clock in the morning on a Saturday. No one should have to get up this early."
"But work . . ." Tom began, pulling his hand away from Harry.
"Work be bloody well damned!" Harry smiled, grabbing Tom's hand and pulling him up from the chair and over to the bed. Harry quickly hopped into the bed, yanking the comforter over his form.
"Turn off the lights then," Harry yawned, cozying into a pillow.
The lights flicked off. Harry felt Tom getting into the bed next to him but he noticed that Tom stayed on the edge of the bed, keeping his distance.
"You falling off the bed?" Harry asked. "And reply honestly."
"A bit," Tom sighed. "Good night, Harry."
"I don't think so," Harry said obstinately. "Get over here."
Tom moved over a little.
"Farther," Harry sighed, exasperated.
Tom moved over a little more -- A couple of inches at most.
"Oh would you just move to the middle of the bloody bed! Let me get an arm around you at least!"
Tom sat up, a little shocked. Crimson eyes narrowed into slits as he tried to fathom what had happened to change Harry's steadfast opinions. He moved over to Harry's side but still looked puzzled.
"Now just lie down," Harry demanded.
Tom lay down on the bed and Harry curled up against him. The boy rested in head in one of the hollows of Tom's unnaturally bony chest.
"What has gotten into you?" Tom asked, a little bit unnerved.
"Nothing," Harry replied. "I just . . . I've been a bit ridiculous, I suppose. You'll have to excuse me."
"Of course you haven't been ridiculous," Tom stated, running his fingers through Harry's mess of hair. "What are you talking about?"
"I wouldn't touch you . . . That's rather ridiculous, wouldn't you say?" Tom noticed that Harry's eyes were closed tightly against his pale flesh.
"Not at all," Tom whispered. "I killed your parents. I was responsible for the death of that friend of yours, Cedric Diggory. I even attempted to take your life. I have quite a bit of blood on my hands, Harry. It's hard to touch a person who's so unclean."
Harry was silent for a few moments -- Eyes clenched shut.
"Open your eyes, Harry." Harry brought his head up from its perch on Tom's chest and he opened his eyes, gazing upon the haunting visage. "It's all angles and lines," Harry thought looking at the smooth contour of Tom's face. The lips were thin and drawn-out and the jaw was sharp. The nose was long and flat. The cheekbones were high and prominent. The eyes were slightly slanted and a deep shade of scarlet -- Somewhere between the color of an American Beauty rose and the color of blood. His eyebrows arched up in a thin, definite line of ebony -- Making him look stern yet elegant. His skin was a refined ivory. He was amazingly serpentine.
"Not all that unpleasant to look at," Harry murmured, more to himself than to Tom.
Tom reached a finger up to touch Harry's cheek, echoing a movement he had made in the Little Hangleton churchyard a couple years ago.
The world fell into black for a few minutes.
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"Hello Harry."
Harry spun around to face a black work robe with a Hufflepuff crest sewn on it. Harry's eyes traveled upward -- The lean neck, the pretty face, the soft gray eyes . . .
"Hello Cedric. I'm dreaming, aren't I."
"Yes," Cedric smiled. "How are you doing? Are you dating Cho yet?"
Harry blushed wildly and wrung his hands nervously but when he noticed the amused look on Cedric's face, he relaxed a little.
"I did date Cho for a while," Harry said softly. "We broke up."
Somewhere from the blackness the words echoed -- "Kill the spare." Cedric didn't seem to hear them but Harry was startled for a moment.
"Why? Are you seeing someone else then?"
Harry flinched. This dream Cedric seemed to know all of the right questions to ask in order to unnerve Harry.
"Yes, I am."
Then the unavoidable . . . "Who?"
"You're a dream right?" Harry asked shyly. "That means you can't hate me or anything."
"I never hated you, Harry," Cedric said gently. "I know that you were a bit jealous of me but I never hated you . . . even when you did try and steal all the glory." A wide grin from Cedric told Harry that the last statement was a joke -- Thank God.
"You might hate me after this," Harry replied.
"Just tell me who, Harry."
"Lord Voldemort," Harry whispered, shuffling his feet in the darkness. Cedric looked incensed for a moment but, like the kind and compassionate Hufflepuff he was, he thought a moment before reacting.
"Let me guess why I'm currently in your dreams. You're worried that everyone over on this side wouldn't approve."
"I had no choice, Cedric!" Harry protested, arms flailing helplessly.
"In that case, I definitely don't approve and I'm ashamed of you," Cedric said firmly, very unlike a typical Hufflepuff. Cedric turned on his heels and began to walk away.
"Wait!" Harry called after Cedric. "Before you go, I want you to tell everyone . . . Tell my parents and tell everyone who ever fell by his hand and that I love him too! I love him no matter what he's done and no matter who he's hurt and no matter how he's made my life a living hell because I forgive him all that."
Cedric turned around and smiled.
"That was all you had to say."
"What?" Harry asked, cocking his head to the side.
"You have my -- our -- approval, Harry. You don't have to be afraid anymore."
And the blackness around him faded.
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"Harry! Harry!" The call came from out of the blackness and Harry opened his eyes to see deep concerned crimson. "You just nodded off in the middle of a conversation and I really think that maybe we should get some sleep. You look . . ." And without another thought, Harry sat up and kissed those thin, drawn-out lips.
"What invoked that?" Tom asked quietly after the boy stopped.
"I have some approval," Harry smiled.
Author's Note: Ah, peace and calm! You know it can't last for long but it's certainly nice for one chapter
This chapter is dedicated to the memory of Cedric Diggory