XVII
The results of a bombardment of owl posts were littered all over the aged wizard's desk. The Ministry was in chaos, that is, of a political sort. Having made their report, the Aurors painted a frightening picture of the wizard Golden Boy – one of Albus' greatest fears. He truly accepted now that the situation was largely his fault, after all, he knew the boy was sneaking out, and likely to meet a man condemned. But he sensed it was essential, for whatever reason, not to intercede just yet.
Eyeing the newest addition to the pile with a heavy heart, he pondered the possibility that he'd made a grave mistake. He sensed the change in Harry the day he was returned to them. The strange gem in his ear emitting an amount of dark magic seemed testament enough that all was not as it once was with the boy. But even in that his instincts urged him not to interfere. Deciding a probing conversation couldn't do much harm if conducted carefully, he set out to have a chat with his troubled Gryffindor.
And what a stone he'd uncovered.
Harry was not a stupid young man. While Albus had been alarmed at the direction of Harry's reasoning concerning the persecution of Lord Voldemort, he did not think it was one born of brain-washing or Imperius. The boy was searching, almost desperately, for a way out of the role handed to him by the 'good guys'. The thought angered the headmaster the more he thought about it. He'd warned those fools at the Ministry that the boy's power did not make him solely responsible for the destruction of Voldemort. But content they were to hide behind a child – and now a young man.
Evidently that young man had finally slipped out of that role, with some help from the dark lord.
Albus skimmed the last letter again, deciding how best to respond. It was a summons from the Ministry. Given that he'd known the 'suspect', perhaps better than any of them, it was being requested that he aid in his apprehension.
Suspect. He was a teenager. A teenager that they had no trouble thrusting out into the war to save their skins and they wanted him captured quickly before he became the dark lord's tool instead. He resignedly selected a fresh sheet of parchment and began to head his affirmation when a question surfaced within his mind in Harry's voice.
But…but what if he's changed?...
At the time it seemed like the optimism of a youth fighting the harsh realities of life. But, eyeing the Ministry's letter, he felt his reluctance increase. Clearing the parchment with a wave of his wand, Albus began anew.
I've always had faith in you Harry.
ooo
Harry woke first, something of a novelty considering who was sleeping next to him. Riddle's top half was uncovered and his bare back was facing Harry. Unguarded. Again. This really was jaw-dropping stuff. He squinted and tried to focus on the pale flesh in front of him, but it was a lost cause without his glasses, wherever they were.
He watched the fuzzy vision of Riddle's back rising slightly with his breathing before it dawned on him he should probably find his glasses and get up. Riddle turned over, facing Harry but he still appeared to be asleep.
Harry glanced over his shoulder, trying to pinpoint the location of his glasses without disturbing the sleeping dark lord. He knew Riddle had taken the time to remove them and set them down, but where exactly was becoming something of a problem with his impaired vision.
He gradually shifted his body so that he could peer over the side of the bed at the floor and nightstand. Ah. He quickly set them on his nose and turned back to Riddle to find his eyes open and fixed on him. His face was expressionless, but Harry was getting better at interpreting his lack of expressions. His muscles tensed as Riddle reached for him wordlessly, pulling him closer and down beneath him. He kissed him, pressing his wiry form on top of the younger wizard, and in affect, his erection.
He couldn't possibly want another go this early in the-
Harry's thoughts were briefly cut off when Riddle reached between them to pump both of their sexes roughly.
A few dizzying moments later, Riddle lay beside him once more massaging the bridge of his nose. Harry stared up at the thick velvet canopy once again too tired to move.
"Good morning to you too."
Riddle grunted something in the way of a reply and waved a lazy hand at the windows. The drapes flew open violently fast letting in what was clearly afternoon sunlight. Realizing the implication that they were actually dithering around in bed like a couple of…
"Tom, we really have some things to sort out," he announced much more calmly than he felt. Harry's dark-haired companion opened his mouth to reply when a muffled squawking caught his attention. He rolled out of bed, uncaring of his nudity, and followed the sound out into his office. The sable-feathered bird awaited him with a number of envelopes clutched in his talons. There was also a rolled copy of the Daily Prophet. He thumbed through the letters first, recognizing the emblems on their waxy seals as those belonging to three of his Death Eaters. One seal in particular nearly caused him to drop the creamy envelope to which it was melted. Sounds of Harry getting up led him to slide it into one of his desk drawers with a passing spell of irrational fear he didn't have time to speculate on. His young charge poked his head out of the doorway.
"Is it bad?"
Seeing as how he had not yet opened any of the letters, he couldn't really say. Not answering, he sat down in his chair and opened the first one. It, like the other two, were supposed letters of concern – their Marks had vanished and they sought direction. It was to be expected, as was the blandish tone of each letter. What he didn't expect was the urge to burn the letters and forget they all existed.
Something of his internal dilemma had either made its way onto his face or across the link he shared with the younger wizard, because Harry was fixing him with something akin to a concerned stare.
"No. It is not 'bad'."
He scanned the Daily Prophet briefly, his brows rising after the first glance. He handed Harry the paper and left him to get dressed.
"I think there may be a few items of interest for you," he insisted from out of sight.
"I agree," Harry responded at length, " I'm fucked."
Riddle's amused chucked floated through their link but he said no more. Harry read one article after the other with panic threatening to erupt within him.
"THE BOY WHO LIVED TO BETRAY US?"
The article explained about his recent disappearances and the 'terrifying' possibility that the wizard golden boy was no longer theirs. There didn't seem to be a lot of proof, but there was much speculation. Lucius' death had also been thrown into the mix. There was a stormy photo of Draco Malfoy and his weeping mother at the bottom. Civilians were advised to not to make any contact with Harry Potter if seen, but to alert the ministry immediately.
Like a criminal.
His hands were shaking so badly by the time he'd read the articles, the paper rattled. He shouldn't be so shocked, but he was, as if the weight of present events had been made real by those very articles. By this time everyone would have read the paper, and no longer trusted him.
Shit. Ron and Hermione…
He would have rather it came from him, but apparently they were to find out with the rest of the world about his actions, that is, unless Dumbledore had gotten to them first. If that was the case, there was no telling what they did or did not know.
Riddle returned, fully dressed, and glanced over Harry's distraught expression and lack of dress. "It didn't take as long as I thought it might. I'm vaguely surprised they printed it."
"I…what?" Harry had barely understood him, only realizing he'd spoken at the last second.
"The paper. I imagine the Ministry would continue it's pathetic attempt to coddle the people, taking all measures to avoid panic." He leaned over the front of his desk to take another look at the paper. A familiarly unsettling grin tugged suddenly at the corners of his mouth. "It seems they've abandoned that plan."
Harry looked up at him, still unable to say anything. He couldn't help but feel like it was all over somehow. Riddle rolled his eyes.
"Do try not to look so utterly stricken."
"This is…not good."
"Does it honestly matter? The people will believe whatever they want to believe. We'll have ample time for reshaping their opinions."
"What do you mean?"
Riddle rolled up the newspaper and it disappeared in a puff of smoke.
"Get dressed. We'll have lunch, and we'll talk. There is much to discuss."
Harry's gaze was fixated on where the smoke was quickly fading from the air. "Who sent it, by the way?"
"Sent what?"
"The newspaper," Harry replied, nodding his head toward the last of the smoke. "I mean, I didn't think you subscribed…"
The paper, now that Riddle thought about it properly, had been attached to the letter hidden in his desk. Until he read the letter, he preferred not to mention it.
"My ever-faithful followers," he replied with the proper application of derision. "Apparently, they thought its contents might be of some interest." He didn't feel any probing from Harry, but even so he was quite the skilled Legilimens – it went without saying that his Occlumency was equally superior.
Harry shrugged tiredly and went to go fetch his clothes. Lunch probably was a good idea, if his spinning thoughts didn't drive away his appetite.
Riddle waited a few moments before returning to the letter in his desk drawer. He held it down in front of him as if unsure it could be trusted…a simple cream envelope.
…A simple cream envelope with a very important crest.
He sat down before opening it and skipped to the signature, assuring himself that the sender was indeed Albus Dumbledore. It was a rare thing for the headmaster to send a letter using his own family seal instead of the school's, and the only time Riddle had received such a letter was in his sixth year. He'd been invited for a talk in the headmaster's (professor at the time) private study, and the man had been so genuine that it was the first and only time he doubted his chosen path to greatness.
It's a bit late for this, old man.
He read the letter slowly, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered the headmaster's request.
Dear Tom,
Yes, it has been quite the collection of years since the last time I began a message this way. But I won't waste your time with the incessant ramblings of an old man. I'd like for you to join me for a talk. The place is yours to choose – just send a port key with your response. I'd tell you that I mean you no harm and that my wand is remaining here in my office but I don't expect this letter to convince you. All I ask is that you come alone. I patiently await your response.
Albus Dumbledore
ooo
Harry observed the activity across the table, more than a little discomfited by what he was seeing. He supposed it might have been amusing in some way, had Riddle actually been aware that he was well, eating like a man starved. It had taken several moments into the meal for him to realize something was not quite right with the other wizard's behavior. In fact, Riddle was on his second serving of whatever the hell appeared in front of him before Harry realized that Tom Riddle didn't eat like that – he barely ate at all.
Therefore, while his first serving of cream of potato and chicken soup grew tepid, he silently watched Riddle's food disappear at alarming rates while his wineglass filled steadily of its own accord. He assumed Riddle would have to slow down sooner or later, or risk throwing the lot back up. It couldn't be healthy to eat that much, whether you needed food or not. But instead of slowing, he paused altogether, having finally realized he was being watched rather adamantly.
"What?" he demanded after a particularly large swallow.
Harry was at a momentary loss for words. What could he say – you look like Dudley at Christmas dinner? Instead he cleared his throat and pushed potato chunks around in his bowl.
"You might want to…take it easy. You seemed pretty intense there."
Riddle's expression in all of its rarity indicated that he hadn't the slightest idea what Harry was on about. Harry's brows creased in growing concern. "Your food. You're taking in a lot for someone who hasn't eaten like that in a while. Just thought you'd want to…go slow," he clarified, watching him with cautious uncertainty. The irony of the reversed situation stirred an odd feeling within him. He remembered being told something along those lines some time ago.
In response the older wizard's brows furrowed, his knife hitting the wooden surface with a sharp clang. He looked absolutely stricken.
Riddle's unease hit Harry like a solid force, such was his apparent bafflement. He stood up, eyeing his ravaged dishes as if he no longer knew how they came to be in that state. Harry stood up as well, but only eyed Riddle calmly from across the table. It wouldn't do to panic with him.
"Are you alright? It's not that big a deal…"
"No. It…" He stared at his hands as if they were foreign objects before gripping the back of his vacated chair. And, as if simply releasing a breath, the panic faded from him altogether leaving him to appear weary. He waved a hand at his semi-ravaged meal and watched it vanish with a vacant expression. Harry found that his appetite had gone as well.
"So I take it this means you need food now?"
Riddle's pallor was ashen, even in the golden lighting. He looked absolutely devastated.
"It would seem that way," he spoke so softly his voice barely carried across the table.
Harry took a few steps closer, now getting a better look at the older wizard.
"Tom, this may sound ridiculous, but…I think you're becoming human…again." Riddle looked about ready to say something before leaving the room altogether.
ooo
Riddle refused to consider the possible truth in what Harry said and what it could or couldn't mean. He silently left his home and any thoughts of what happened in the dining room. He was about to meet Albus Dumbledore, despite the obvious possibility of it being a trap. He knew it was ridiculous, but something made him curious. Besides, curious hardly meant reckless. He'd implemented a number of protective spells on the manor and himself, most of which he'd invented himself. If there was danger, he would know.
Dumbledore had given him the option of choosing the meeting place, so he'd chosen the Norwegian enchanted forest for he knew it extremely well. More importantly, it knew him. The portkey he'd sent the headmaster would only function once he'd arrived so he apparated to a thickly wooden section of the forest and sensed his surroundings.
Yes, just as he remember it to feel.
He waited, knowing it would only be moments before he was joined by another. When a pop sounded behind him, he flinched, instantly cursing his degenerating body for the reaction that Albus didn't need to see.
"Ah, Tom. Interesting location," the headmaster remarked, curiously sniffing the air.
Riddle had just developed the nagging suspicion that Albus was familiar with the location when the latter smiled.
"Norway. Imagine if I hadn't warn outer robes," he continued, sitting on a nearby bolder.
"How can you be so sure that is where we are?"
"Sunspell blossoms, my boy. They only grow in two enchanted locations, and well, I'd say it's a bit nippy out here for the Amazon."
Riddle raised a wry brow, hoping to hide his surprise and annoyance at having chosen a location familiar to the old man. "Intriguing as your knowledge of magical flora may be, I was under the impression that you had something to tell me."
"Ah. Yes. Before we get to that, do you mind…?" he asked, indicating the boulders they had for chairs. "I seem to have forgotten my wand."
Riddle didn't trust him. Why would his enemy come unarmed? It had to be meant to lure him into a false sense of security. If that was the case, he had to be ready for anything. He pursed his lips and took out his wand. Soon they were sitting in Victorian armchairs in the middle of a frosted forest.
"You've done a lot with yourself. I never imagined you were the type for self help, at least not the mortal kind."
"Your point, Albus? "
The headmaster paused for a moment only raising both grey brows.
"Direct. More so than I recall, at least. The Tom that ventured into my office seeking extra credit was quite content to be more, shall we say, artful." He eyed the younger wizard from under his brows knowing the familiar gesture would have an effect on him.
Riddle despised the 'look' the headmaster was now giving him and was, just as the headmaster said, normally content to be more subtle with his feelings. But today he was direct, and in no mood for games.
"What you presume to recall has little to do with the here and now, Albus. In fact, whatever you think you know about me I can assure you is poorly conceived. Now, state the meaning of this encounter."
"You're losing them, Tom. And you know of whom I speak. I've come to make you an offer."
The Dark Lord hadn't exactly been expecting this but the old man had his attention.
"What is it you think you know Albus? I'm intrigued to hear your findings."
"They're confused and not so certain of your control any longer. And I wonder if it is because you are as well. The raids have died down completely and I don't believe it's because your followers have lost their fire. You don't know what you want anymore Tom."
Judging by the battling expression Riddle was fighting to suppress, Albus knew he'd gotten it right, or at least some of it. Now if he could just keep that ear open. Riddle had finally settled his expression on bemused.
"Now Albus, there have been periods of inactivity with my followers on a number of occasions. What on earth makes you so certain there's an abnormality? That I'm…confused?" he finished with a degree of amusement. But Dumbledore wasn't so convinced.
"You're right. There have been periods of inactivity. And normally I would have thought nothing of it, but circumstances being what they are, I'm willing to consider other possibilities. And," he continued after a pause, "I have the odd habit of listening to my students."
"Ah, Harry. So he's what this is about after all."
"I suppose you might say Mr. Potter has given me cause to reconsider my evaluation of you, or at least part of it. You know some things will never change." The headmaster stood and began to pace slowly, stopping to observe an oddly shaped branch. "I was reminded that while the rest of the wizarding world was content to either duck from your shadow or acknowledge you as Lord Voldemort, I've never done either of those. In fact, you've never ceased to be Tom Riddle to me."
Riddle snorted at the notion but let the man continue.
"I do believe you've had some contact with young Mr. Malfoy, as of late. Tell me, or not, why you let him live?" Into Riddle's silence, the headmaster continued. "Draco made the announcement of his father's demise and was as calm as can be expected of the Malfoy heir. However, he was the least bit forthcoming with the details. My speculation is that you held them both against their will for a time, and lost either patience or interest. But that doesn't explain why you let the boy live. That doesn't sound a whole lot like…oh Lord Voldemort. Now, if I am wrong, and I have been quite wrong before, you can ignore this entire conversation and our 'war' as we're so fond of calling it will continue. But if I'm not wrong and you are facing a dilemma, perhaps this will help you decide: I'm offering you a chance to give up your role."
Before he could stop himself, the words fell from his lips.
"What are you proposing?"
"Your death." As he spoke he stood up and reached into his robes. Instantly on his guard, Riddle was out of his chair with his wand aimed to defend himself. But the attack never came. He found an ordinary object thrust in front of him.
"What are you doing, old man?"
"I do believe I'm offering you a book, if you'd reach out and take it."
He eyed the moderately sized tome long enough to determine that there was nothing visibly wrong with it.
"I can assure you, Tom, that there is nothing extraordinary about this book besides the story itself. A muggle wrote it, in fact." He took a step forward, extending the book once more. "You were always fond of an extra challenge."
"Those days have long since faded."
"Then consider it…self help."
Riddle made no move to accept it so the headmaster set it on a nearby stone.
"It's from my personal collection so do be kind to it."
Riddle had lowered is wand to his side but he was far from relaxed.
"And, please tell Mr. Potter that I support him, as always. Though, I would be overjoyed if he returned to complete his education. Good day, Mr. Riddle."
This time when the headmaster reached into his robes he pulled out a muggle ink pen and pushed in the cap. He disappeared in a whirl of purple mist. Riddle stared through the cloud until it dissipated. The book was still where the headmaster had left it, although a thin blue serpent was winding its way around it.
"It's safe, you know."
"Why, thank you," he replied dryly. snatching up the book as the snake disappeared into the bushes. 'The Art of War' – a decent read, if he remembered correctly. But why on Earth would Albus, beacon of hope and all that was light, offer him aid? Perhaps it was more in the way of aid for Harry…
…had he really referred to him as 'Harry' in front of the headmaster?
Something intangible twisted in Riddle's chest. He needed to get back…and he needed a drink. He disappeared with the book.
-o-
AN:
peeks from behind rock
Hello again, and thank you for all of the encouraging reviews. I know its been a ridiculously long time…but there it is. It feels short for as long as it took me to produce...
Besides getting thrown off balance a bit by HPB…life is somewhat time-consuming. I will say that the story will contain no spoilers from HBP, tempting as it might be. I don't know when the next update will come around, but I should be able to work more consistently now that I've gotten the flow back. I can't thank you enough for your comments/criticism. Please continue to let me know what you think.
BD