Chapter Five
That afternoon, in the library, Tom sighed and put his head down on the table, cheek pressed against the rough parchment he'd written Potter's homework on. It'd taken him a good three hours to finish just the Potions essay, testament to how distracted he'd been since the young Auror had left his room.
She'd been flirting with him. Of course, he doubted she meant anything much by it. By her reckoning, he was a boy just entering his fifth year of Hogwarts, and he very much doubted a woman in the prime of her life would be interested in a boy with three more years of school left. That wasn't what was bothering him.
The problem was Potter's peers. The boy was, he had to admit, at least as attractive as he'd been before he'd traded away his good looks for more power. Additionally, the Potters were an old family - almost certainly rich - and Harry Potter was the sole inheritor of the family's fortune. He was also famous, which held its own appeal. Even given the Prophet's recent forays into lies and slander, he would almost certainly encounter more flirting and worse from girls who were, from his point of view, hardly more than children. In a society that considered love potions acceptable and even, to some witches, romantic, worse could be much, much worse.
Whatever else he might be, Tom was not a pedophile.
It wasn't a moral issue, of course. He'd had a number of Death Eaters who were interested in children, and he'd never expressed any more disapproval than, perhaps, a bit of mockery. Who, or even what, his servants slept with was none of his concern.
The real problem was that, beyond what rituals involved it, he had no interest in sex, period. It was messy in all senses of the word, and for what? A few fleeting moments of physical pleasure? He had happily traded in his manhood for greater magical stamina a good forty-some years ago and never once regretted the loss. Yet, somehow, here he was.
And while he wasn't precisely morally opposed to having sex with children, because morals were nothing more than irritating social constructs he was quite happy to ignore, he had to admit that he felt even more disgusted by the idea than he felt toward sex in general, which was saying something. It wasn't as though he'd grown morals though, he assured himself. Morals weren't genetic. Potter couldn't possibly have 'gifted' him with them. It was just… impractical. Children were all manner of clingy and emotional, far more so than adults. And they would be inexperienced. And immature. And -
"Homework?"
Tom started worse than a scalded kneazle. It was just Ginny, arms loaded with books and a heavy bag slung over her shoulder. Cheeks flaming, he glared at her. If only he had his wand, he thought, but it was in his room. Why? Because he didn't want to risk using a spell Potter shouldn't know, especially here, where Molly Weasley hovered in the background, watching for misbehavior. He'd done Potter a favor, really. Parents appeared to be far more trouble than they were worth. (Though he supposed that the Dursleys were likely far worse than the Potters would have been, it was hardly his fault the boy'd been sent to live with that filth.)
Ginny sat down next to him, dropping the pile of books onto the table as she did, making him twitch. "Jumpy much?" she asked, tone teasing.
Would it be an overreaction to remove her tongue? Probably, he admitted. "Just lost in thought," he said as smoothly as possible. "But yes, I was doing my homework before that." He gestured to the pile of books. "And you?"
She smiled. "I explained things to Sirius. After Wormtail, he can understand needing something extra to trust your friends, so he helped me find books about vows, oaths, contracts, bindings, you name it. I'm sure we can find something useful here."
Apparently, he'd been so lost in thought, he'd managed to miss Ginny and Black in here searching. Tom's brow furrowed as he examined the stack. Some of these were titles he'd never seen before. "Why would you do that?" he asked at last.
She shrugged and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Partly because you and Hermione are my friends, and mostly because 'studying with Harry' gets me out of cleaning duty."
The blunt honesty startled a laugh out of him. Tom ignored the tight fingers of alarm tightening around his chest at this unexpected aid and took a book. This was information he needed, after all. He could handle whatever recompense she desired later. "Thank you, Ginny," he said, forcing out an easy-going smile.
"No problem," she said and pulled a book of her own from the bag. He glanced at it, and the alarm coalesced into something hard. It was a book about soul magic. One of the ones he'd used to piece together the Horcrux ritual, in fact. He took a steadying breath. Many vows and oaths involved the soul. There was no reason to think this book was anything but research to help her friend.
Still, as they passed the afternoon reading, he couldn't help noticing the distressed look in her eye whenever she looked up from the tome's yellowed pages, her face a bit more drawn each time.
Several hours later, just as his stomach was beginning to alert him to the dinner hour, the library door opened. Hermione entered. She spotted them and strode over with a confidence Tom thought was mostly just show. "Mrs. Weasley says dinner's ready," she said quietly, the waver in her voice betraying her anxiety. "She wants you to come down."
Ginny snapped the book on soul magic shut and stood. "Let's go then," she said, smiling tightly at Tom.
He nodded distractedly. He'd just spotted a reference to a type of slavery contract that could be interesting. "I'll be down in a minute."
He missed Ginny rolling her eyes and Hermione casting a dubious look toward the book in his hands. Unfortunately, the contract in question had very specific requirements. He sighed and closed the book. No one, much less Hermione, would sign a slavery contract that needed to be read, in full, out loud, then signed in their own blood of their own free will. Fine print wouldn't help there.
He left the library, rubbing his eyes tiredly. In all honesty, he knew what he wanted to use. The problem was that he needed to be able to present how he knew it. Since the book he'd found it in hadn't been written in English, that was problematic.
He heard Ginny and Hermione from behind a door as he reached the stairs and stopped, intrigued by the hushed tones. With a glance each way, he pressed an ear against the door.
"-different." Hermione sounded worried.
Ginny, though, sounded just resigned. "Different how?"
"He's… I don't know. Harry never studies unless I make him. And he forgave Ron after the First Task without even a real apology, but now he wants an oath from us? And he's always been a little… skittish, but the way he avoided Ron this morning was just…" There was a pause. "And most of all… He called his relatives abusive." Her voice was soft, almost inaudible. "He's always avoided admitting it. He usually doesn't give us much information about them at all, really."
Ginny sighed heavily, and it was several moments before she replied, slowly, as though she was still thinking through her words. "I think that the Harry you were friends with is gone." Another pause. "It's up to you if you think this version of Harry is worth the effort. If you do, then join us in the library tomorrow. We'll find something we can use to prove ourselves to him. If not, just say so."
There were footsteps, and Tom hurried down the stairs, keeping to the edges to minimize any creaks or groans from the ancient wooden steps.
He entered the kitchen and sat with a distracted smile toward Black and a muttered word of thanks to Mrs. Weasley. Gone. It was a common-enough turn of phrase, of course. A fair way to describe things even if you assumed Ginny had no idea of his true identity. His mind poured over his limited interactions with her. She'd entered the kitchen just after Dumbledore this morning. What if he suspected? Would he set a fourteen-year-old student to spying?
He snorted to himself. It wasn't even a question. No matter how Light Dumbledore pretended to be, the man didn't defeat Grindelwald with love and friendship. If Dumbledore thought it necessary, he would risk Ginny's life in a heartbeat.
The girl in question entered the room and sat next to him. She didn't appear afraid. Perhaps he was merely jumping to conclusions. After all, why would Dumbledore use this girl in particular? So far as he could tell, she and Potter didn't have any close relationship. There had been no sign of letters from her over the summer, and it didn't seem that Potter had expected any.
A diary. A small form motionless on damp, lichen-covered stone. Phoenix song and a ruby-encrusted silver sword. Black ink.
'She won't wake.'
The memories hit him suddenly, as though Potter's mind recognized his thoughts and wanted to shove his face in the utter wrongness of his supposition. He groaned as a headache bloomed along with the memories.
"What's up mate?" came Ron's muffled voice through a mouthful of food.
Tom looked up to find not just Ron, but most of the table staring at him with varying levels of concern.
Ginny's hand touched his arm. "Are you alright?"
He flinched away and shook his head once, quickly, trying to dispel the headache. Instead, his vision swam, and a long hallway appeared, ending with a door. The image faded, leaving him once more in Grimmauld Place's kitchen, breathing heavily, sweating and shaking.
The pain receded.
Tom took several deep, calming breaths and stood. His stomach roiled at the sight of his mostly untouched dinner. "Sorry," he said. "I'm not feeling very well. May I be excused?"
"Of course, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, starting to rise.
Black beat her to it. "Come on, kiddo, let's get you to bed."
The pureblood man guided Tom out of the room, not quite touching him, but close enough to catch him should Tom fall. Tom wanted to protest, but it was a fair possibility. Given Black's anxious expression, he was grateful the fugitive was willing to restrain himself even this much.
Once they reached the room he was staying in, Black stopped at the door. Tom avoided the man's gaze as he climbed into the bed and laid back. Black hesitated a moment, then stepped in and sat on the edge of the bed. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked softly.
Tom almost snapped at him. Wanted to. But he didn't know what had just happened. Was that normal for Potter? Or was something desperately wrong - something beyond being possessed by a horcrux belonging to his parents' murderer. "I saw something," he said haltingly. He tried to think how much he could admit to without accidentally revealing himself. "It was a hallway and a door. It was…" He knew that hallway, but would Potter? He had to chance it. Mysterious visions could very well come with mysterious information, so it was safer here to know something he shouldn't than not to know something he should. "It was the Department of Mysteries."
Black jerked back as though struck, then leapt forward and grasped Tom's shoulders. "Where did you hear that?" His voice was rough, harsh.
That answered that, Tom supposed. He tried to ignore the way his heart pounded anxiously at Black suddenly fierce proximity and the bruises he could already feel forming under the man's fingers. He shook his head helplessly. "I don't know. I just know."
Black looked at him searchingly for several more seconds, then sighed and pulled away. "Sorry, Harry. It's just..." The man shook himself and smiled weakly. "Sorry." He ran a hand through his long shaggy hair. "Was it a vision?"
A vision? Tom frowned. Was Potter a Seer? He hadn't seen any indication of it in his memories, but then he certainly hadn't had time to closely examine all of Potter's past year. He waited a moment, curious if Potter's brain would provide any information of its own accord, but nothing came. He gave a wry smile and sighed. Of course it couldn't be that easy. He would have to work hard tonight - perhaps stay up overnight. Looking back at Black, he shrugged. "I don't know."
Black considered him and finally nodded. "Well, you look better now. Get some rest tonight, and let me know if you're still feeling out of sorts in the morning." He stood. "Do you want me to send up some dinner? You didn't really get to eat much."
A flash of inspiration struck. "Yeah," Tom said with a smile. "You can just send your house elf if you want - I saw him earlier."
Black grimaced. "Kreacher isn't… Well, you'll understand once you meet him, I guess. Probably best to get it over with." He left, muttering to himself about ordering the elf not to poison any food again.
Several minutes later, the clearly resentful house elf appeared with a tray of food. "Food for the nasty halfblood," it grumbled.
Before it could disappear, Tom pointed his wand at it. "Imperio." He examined the elf's suddenly slack features and breathed a sigh of relief. The spell hadn't flowed as easily as he was used to - the boy's magic clearly wasn't used to casting Dark magic - but it had worked. "Tell me how you escaped the cave Lord Voldemort left you in, and what happened to Regulus Black."
Tears welled up in the thing's eyes even through the curse. "Good Master Regulus ordered Kreacher to return once the Dark Lord was being done with Kreacher. Then Master Regulus ordered Kreacher to bring Master Regulus to the Dark Lord's cave. Master Regulus ordered Kreacher to return here with the locket and destroy it, but Kreacher is being a bad elf! Kreacher is being unable to destroy the bad locket!"
Taken aback, it took Tom several moments to process the information. One fact stood out above all else. One of his horcruxes (another one, technically, he supposed) was in this house. His eyes gleamed. "Elf, retrieve the locket and bring it here."
This time, Tom felt the elf's will struggle against his. It didn't matter. The Imperius Curse was a matter of willpower, and no elf could muster up enough will to break free from his curse. A snap, and the elf was gone. A moment later, it was back, this time holding his horcrux.
"Give it to me." Another, even briefer struggle, and then he had his horcrux back. He pointed his wand at the elf once more. "Obliviate. Confundus. You gave me my meal, insulted me, and left. Now leave."
It did, and Tom was alone, finally. Or, he thought, almost alone. He held up the locket, letting the pendant dangle before his eyes, and smirked. He wasn't sure yet what to do with his other horcruxes, but he was certain that gathering them would be necessary. At least something had gone right today.
AN: Spent today making tiramisu cupcakes for my birthday tomorrow. Daughter licked off the icing, ate the tiramisu filling, and left the plain cupcake behind. I wonder what kind of cupcake Tom would like best...
