Year Six: Chapter Fourteen

Halloween started, like the days before it, dim and misty, and dark stratus clouds sprawled across the Great Hall's ceiling with no intention of going anywhere soon. Tom didn't want to be the sort of superstitious idiot who would take this as a sign that Halloween would be going terribly, horribly wrong, especially since nothing terrible had happened on the rest of the days with the exact same gloomy morning atmosphere, but… Well, he also couldn't help but think that the weather was at least appropriate for whatever catastrophe was bound to happen.

That in mind, Tom was paying close attention to his mental state and his surroundings. He thought it likely that the bond would choose today to make some dramatic gesture, like last year, but he wasn't discounting the possibility that the entire school might explode or something else entirely unreasonable.

Ginny and Hermione both regarded him with some amusement, though Tom felt an underlying current of nervousness from Hermione at least. That made sense, he supposed. She'd been closer to Potter, and so she had more direct experience with the way Fate absolutely hated the boy. She, at least, recognized that Fate might simply have transferred that hatred to him.

Tom barely noticed what he was eating. He wasn't even hungry, really. He was just pushing his food around his plate and pretending he didn't feel nauseous. After a brief sip of his pumpkin juice, he stole Hermione's full glass of water rather than drink any more of the overly sweetened swill. Hermione frowned at him but said nothing and simply took his glass, Vanished the contents, and refilled it with a simple Aguamenti.

Then Tom knocked over the glass trying to set it down. He blinked. That was… unexpectedly clumsy.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked as she cleaned the mess.

Any other day, Tom might have brushed it off, but given that today was Halloween, and he was looking for something to happen, he took stock of himself and scowled. The soles of his feet were tingling, and his hands were off somewhat too. "No," he said shortly. "Something's -"

Pain lanced through his head, and his heart thumped against his chest. Severus! he sent, panic briefly overwhelming him before he forced himself to focus again. The tingling had moved onto burning, and he realized his hands were going numb. A curse? Unlikely. This sort of progressive increase in symptom severity more likely indicated poison. Tom clenched his teeth and looked up to the front of the Hall, searching out Severus. Thank Merlin. The man was already on his way.

The moment he was close enough, his servant started casting diagnostic charms. "What are your symptoms?" he demanded.

"Peripheral neuropathy," Tom bit out. His head throbbed in time with his heart. Usually, danger sped him up, a welcome effect of adrenaline, but now he had to struggle to think, his usual brilliance gone dull. "Cognitive impairment." And now he had to struggle to make his mouth and tongue say the words properly. A distant portion of his mind noted that, assuming he survived this, he'd have to restart the whole Animagus ritual. That was annoying. He shook himself. Focus. His chest had started hurting at some point, and though he was still inhaling and exhaling - if faster than normal - he was starting to feel something much like the panic he'd felt when his head was held underwater. That had been terrifying. Almost as terrifying as his revenge had been satisfying. He blinked. Focus. "Can't -"

In front of him, Severus's expression was grim. There was an interesting effect happening around him though, the light streaking and blurring so that everything else was weirdly difficult to see. Tom only vaguely noticed when the man pointed his wand at him, and he didn't have any time to react when he heard, "Avada Kedavra."

A horrible wrenching pain, and everything went black.

Or, well, he found himself abruptly disconnected from his body, which meant losing his physical senses. That also meant his ability to think returned just as suddenly. This wasn't the same nothingness he'd experienced before, being torn from his body only to find himself waking a decade and a half later with no real memory of the time between.

Tom was annoyed to realize that the Killing Curse was not, in fact, painless. Even now, disembodied, he felt a sort of echoing ache. Assuming he was brought back - and he did expect that Severus had some sort of plan in that regard - he thought he'd feel the effects of that curse for quite a while. Of course, that would only matter if he could feel it over the pain leftover from whatever poison that had been. It wasn't one he was familiar with, but in all fairness, poison had never been his preferred method.

On the other hand, that did mean that everyone he'd murdered with the Killing Curse hadn't had a clean, painless death, a belief he knew people comforted themselves with. That was a relief.

Losing his physical senses didn't mean losing all sensation, he noted. Cold tendrils of something dark and eager twined their way around his heart - or, he supposed, his soul - and he felt more than heard Tom Riddle and then frustration and a feeling of not yet and soon. Then warmth he recognized as Hermione wrapped around him while a fire like Ginny tore away the other presence. After a moment - an eternity? - a shield like Severus drew itself up between him and the darkness.

Being sort of dead was a very odd experience, Tom decided.

Once that was done, unfortunately, everything just… held. Tom couldn't really tell how much time was passing, and he felt a sudden surge of sympathy for his diary horcrux. A lifetime of this was enough to drive anyone insane. While he wouldn't dream of criticizing the people working to save his life - they'd better be working to save him at least - he did wish they'd hurry up. How difficult could it be? Remove the poison, fix his body, and stick him back in. Somehow. The Hufflepuffs managed it, so it clearly couldn't be that hard to return a soul held within this type of bond.

He drifted for some time, occasionally sensing other things around him. Where even was this anyway? One such encounter intrigued him. He could feel something familiar shrouded by something that tasted of cold and despair and hunger. Also familiar, but it was getting difficult to remember things now, and he couldn't think what it reminded him of. He drew closer to the familiar things, wary but intrigued.

The familiar warm thing noticed him and reached toward him with a sense of longing and frustration and hope and pleading. He reached back toward it curiously.

Then he felt a jolt, and everything hurt - his abdomen, especially, felt like his organs were burning, dissolving in acid - and he opened his eyes to the blinding white ceiling of the hospital wing. Tom groaned and tried to sit up, and that hurt even more.

"Mister Potter!" Madam Pompfrey bustled over and pressed one hand against his shoulder. "Don't try to move just yet, Mister Potter." She shot a disapproving glare first at him, then at someone next to him, then started casting diagnostic charms at him. "I don't know what you were thinking, performing a bonding ritual with a teacher of all people," she muttered, as though that was really the issue. Then she sighed. "But it's good that you did." She examined the results of her spells with seeming satisfaction. "Well. While unconventional, your approach does seem to have been effective, Severus. I doubt Mister Potter will experience any permanent disability from the experience." She shot one last disapproving glance at Tom, then left with an admonition not to move more than absolutely necessary and call her should anything change.

Tom turned his head to find Severus at his bedside. Though never attractive, precisely, his appearance now was positively ghastly. Tom almost laughed, but even thinking about the effort involved made him wince. "You look terrible," Tom rasped. "What happened?"

Severus took a shuddering breath, all the evidence of whatever emotions he felt, and nodded. "Tincture of Thallos. Pureblood families of the darker persuasion sometimes use it to treat certain… diseases one may catch from sexual encounters with muggles. Occasionally, it is used by squibs to remove unwanted hair. In small enough doses, it causes nothing more than brief gastrointestinal discomfort."

Tom closed his eyes. He'd heard of it, but had never paid it any mind since neither of those uses were of interest to him. "And in large doses?"

"It damages the heart and lungs extensively. If death from either of those is prevented, nerve damage results in crippling physical and mental disabilities that, again, result in death over time. Furthermore, it is one of several substances that react poorly to the magic inherent in a bezoar." Severus swallowed uncomfortably. "I brought you to Poppy immediately after, and she has agreed to withhold the relevant details of your 'treatment.' I found it necessary to explain to her the nature of the bond, as well as why I believed I could prevent your soul from permanently departing this plane."

Tom frowned. Merlin, even his face hurt. "No one else saw?"

"Only Misses Weasley and Granger." The man raised one eyebrow. "Do you truly believe I would kill the Boy-Who-Lived in the middle of the Great Hall if I was uncertain I could do so discreetly?"

Of course not, but Tom saw no reason to continue that train of thought. It was enough to know that Severus was unlikely to find himself a resident of Azkaban. "Do you know who did it?"

"If the perpetrator's identity has been discovered, I have yet to be informed. I've been focused on restoring your body."

Tom nodded to himself, then cursed because that motion hurt far more than turning his head had. "Fair. What day is today?"

"It is still the evening of the thirty-first. A dead body is significantly easier to fix than a live one." Severus glared at him. "That said, your body is only healed enough that you're not in danger of passing away in the middle of the night. You will remain under Poppy's care until she deems you fit to leave."

Tom snorted. Like he could even try to escape right now anyway.

Severus rose. "Miss Weasley and Miss Lovegood have been waiting outside for some time now, I believe. I will let them know you're awake." He turned and near-fled the Infirmary.

A moment later, Ginny and Luna entered. They both felt full of twitchy, zig-zagging emotions Tom didn't care to identify. He already felt exhausted, but he made an attempt at a smirk toward Ginny, though he suspected it fell flat. What didn't hurt in his face felt numb and slowed. "Do you remember our debate about Halloween?"

The red-head faltered, mind casting back to the conversation in question. Then she rolled her eyes, sighed, and sat next to him in the chair Severus had vacated. "You're such a prat," she muttered shakily.

Tom basked in the opportunity to project a firm sense of I told you so at her, made all the better by the irritation rising up to replace her less-pleasant emotions.

Luna, being Luna, threw herself onto the bed and curled her body around his, ignoring the grunt of pain this elicited. She was crying. Tom shifted uncomfortably. It wasn't as though he'd planned to get poisoned. In fact, he'd never even considered the possibility, considering how he near-religiously checked his meals… He frowned. He hadn't forgotten this morning. The poison must have been in Hermione's water… which meant he wasn't the target.

"Where's Hermione?" he demanded suddenly.

Luna lifted herself partially off him, and he realized her eyes were rimmed red. She felt fragile. He cupped a hand around the back of her head and pulled her back against his chest, looking to Ginny for the answer.

Ginny nodded with a small, sad sort of smile. "Malfoy came up while we were waiting for Snape to finish healing you. He said he knew who'd done it. Hermione went with him." She shrugged a little, obviously not worried.

Tom considered whether he needed to be concerned. He could still feel Hermione through the bond, though she felt… flat. He didn't think she was in danger at the moment, in any event. If, by chance, she did die though, he now had proof that he could hold onto her. All six of his bonded were important, in that they kept him tethered to his body, but beyond that, they were his, and he couldn't begin to describe his satisfaction at knowing that he could hold onto these things even beyond their deaths.

"What was it like, being dead?" Ginny asked after a moment. "I could feel you, sort of, but you felt like you started… fading, I guess, after a few hours. That was just before Malfoy left with Hermione."

Tom felt phantom cold fingers graze his cheek, a toneless whisper in his ear. He shook himself, grateful for the pain it caused this time. There'd been no pain there. Not really. "It was unpleasant," he said shortly. So perhaps he couldn't hold onto them indefinitely. Or was it a matter of will? Perhaps not. Severus, at the least, had more than enough willpower to overcome such a limitation if that were the determining factor. Tom wondered how he might extend the time between death and this apparent 'fading.' Then he paused, a fragment of the experience coming back to him. "There was something… " He stopped, the memory breaking apart once more. It had felt important, but the harder he tried to grasp it, the less he could recall. "Nevermind."

Madam Pomfrey kicked the girls out not long after. Tom was to stay in the Infirmary for another few days. Though they'd removed the poison while he was dead, they hadn't had enough time to heal all (or even most) of the damage already caused. Tom was in for a night full of nerve-restoratives and potions to repair the various damaged organs, the former of which included many of the same ingredients as were found in pain-killing potions, meaning he couldn't take anything for the pain until he'd finished his course of restoratives.

Tom woke to the most unwelcome sight the next morning: a pair of glasses atop a too-long nose attached to a too-nosy Headmaster. He grunted and tried to turn away, but a sharp pain through his… well… everything stopped him. "Good morning, Headmaster," he said instead.

"Good morning, my boy," Dumbledore said, tone grave. "I know you're still recovering, but time is of the essence. Do you know anything about Mister Nott's whereabouts?"

Tom blinked. Was Potter meant to be psychic? "No sir," he said quite truthfully.

The old man seemed to sag. With a heavy breath, he nodded. "I see. You -" He hesitated, closed his eyes, and gave himself a little shake. At last, he smiled weakly. "Well, given his abrupt disappearance directly after your poisoning, I suspect he is the culprit."

"Do you think he ran?" Tom asked.

Dumbledore seemed to struggle with his reply, but finally simply nodded and said, "I suppose that is the most reasonable explanation." He turned away and left the Hospital Wing looking infinitely older than Tom remembered him being.

Something was off there, Tom thought. Dumbledore couldn't possibly suspect Tom of doing something to Nott. Logically, if he suspected anyone, he must suspect one of Tom's friends. Hermione, probably, since she was probably absent at the same time. But the way he came to Tom rather than track her down… It felt like, almost… Tom was struck again by the thought that Dumbledore acted a bit as though he believed Potter had been possessed by the horcrux. Yet again though, he could think of no reason Dumbledore would continue to just… let him be. Did he still hope that Potter was here, somewhere in this body, and was simply letting sentiment overcome his good sense?

Tom shivered. That was distressingly plausible. How long would that hope continue to protect him, if that were the case?

"Good morning, Tom," Luna whispered, sliding into the chair by his bed. She looked significantly better today. "What are you thinking about?"

Tom flinched then cursed. She'd surprised him. "Do you think Dumbledore knows?"

Luna tilted her head. "I'm certain he knows many things and suspects many more things. Whether those things are the thing you're speaking of though?" She shrugged. "He isn't acting against you."

"Not yet," Tom said bitterly.

"Well, you haven't put much effort into acting like Harry Potter after all," she said. "But if he isn't doing anything about it, he either doesn't know or doesn't care."

Tom blinked. "Doesn't care?" How could Dumbledore possibly not care that he had Tom Riddle in his school once more?

Luna's lips twitched. "You feel offended," she noted. "But what I mean is that you occupy the same space. It matters to Harry Potter's friends, but why should it matter to the Headmaster whether the Chosen One's name is Harry Potter or Tom Riddle, so long as they act like a student and take on Lord Potter's responsibilities, and, when the time comes, vanquish the Dark Lord?"

With a frown, Tom conceded the point. He didn't like the idea though. It went against everything he thought about Dumbledore. Surely the man would care more about one of his Gryffindors.

"Tom?" Luna asked suddenly, voice small.

"Hm?"

The blonde looked down at her hands. "I want to finish the ritual. All three parts. The ones you've done the second part with were able to help, while I just…" Her voice was choked. "I had to just sit and hope that they would be enough, and Ginny says they almost weren't, and I don't want you to go too." She bit her lip, expression pleading.

Tom had been very much hoping that the destruction of the cup would be the end of things, but on the other hand, if it provided a better safety net, it only made sense to continue. He nodded. "If you can think of a way to do it," he said. He hesitated, opened his mouth, then closed it and shook his head. "If you can," he repeated instead.

Hermione still hadn't appeared in the Hospital Wing by the time Tom was released, though Ginny assured him that the muggleborn girl had reappeared in the girls' dorms. Tom wasn't sure what to make of that, and Ginny didn't know any more than he did about it. Through the bond, Hermione continued to feel flat, but with an undercurrent of turbulent emotions he couldn't quite grasp.

"Are you listening, Mister Potter?"

Tom grimaced and nodded. "Yes, Madam Pomfrey."

The Hospital Wing matron frowned, but didn't call him on the lie. Instead she simply sighed. "I've healed what I can of the damage caused by the poison. The remaining effects may subside in time, or they may remain. It's hard to know at this point. If they begin worsening though, you must return here immediately. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Tom said. His skin still prickled in his extremities, and his chest felt a little tight, but it was nothing he couldn't learn to live with if need be.

Madam Pomfrey smiled slightly. "You may also experience lightheadedness, heart palpitations, shortness of breath, and nausea. These, while potentially alarming for the one experiencing them, are perfectly normal after having your soul apart from your body for an extended period of time. I've instructed Severus as to the appropriate potions, should these symptoms become overwhelming, but there's no indication you will experience any long-term complications from that, at least."

Tom stared at her. "Normal? What do you mean? There's a precedent for this?"

The woman hesitated. At last she said carefully, "Like muggles, anyone wishing to become a healer must take a series of oaths before becoming licensed to practice. Unlike muggles, our oaths are magically binding, and they cover a wider range of topics." She thought for a moment. "I believe there is a story about the muggle who provided the magic to create the bombs the Americans used in the war? Something about not having intended their work to be used to kill?" She shook her head. "Magic can ensure such a thing never happens. There exist many types of magic that could easily be abused, and the groups responsible for them will have taken oaths to keep the magics hidden and used only for their intended purposes."

Before Tom could reply, she moved on with a shake of her hands. "In any event, you are hardly the first person to perform that particular ritual, nor will you be the last, I'd think. However, I'll admit, you're the first in my experience who chose to perform it with a professor." Her tone was remarkably disapproving. "I am aware of the three different levels. Severus tells me you have completed the first two."

Tom nodded slowly, not sure where she was going with this.

"Well, you may be aware that the third level requires a level of intimacy that would be quite inappropriate between an adult professor and their underage student." She fixed a gimlet eye on him. "If I learn you've attempted the third part of this ritual before your seventeenth birthday, both you and Severus will live to regret it."

If his face went a bit green, she didn't comment on it. Perhaps she thought he was disturbed by her threat rather than her assumption about his relationship with Severus.

With impeccably terrible timing, Severus arrived to escort Tom to Gryffindor. As they walked, Tom scowled at his servant. "Pomfrey thinks I'm - that we're in a relationship," he hissed. "Why didn't you correct her?"

His servant had the temerity to look utterly unconcerned. "Poppy will believe what she wishes. Denying it would only lead her to watch us more closely. It doesn't matter regardless, as we are not."

Tom shot the man a disgruntled look but didn't argue any further.

Entering the Common Room was an unusual experience. Tom had plenty of experience with people kneeling and groveling and showering him with empty platitudes. He had significantly less experience with people being genuinely glad to see him because they'd been concerned for him. It wasn't a terrible feeling.

AN: Tincture of Thallos is based somewhat loosely on chronic thallium poisoning with the assumption that magic could speed things up drastically.