A/N:

-handwaves technical terms- i am not a computer expert but i know enough to sound like i know what i'm doing. i also renamed the previous chapter because it didn't vibe with the rest

Chapter 8: Number 4 Privet Drive

The Dursleys lived in a tidy neighbourhood full of lush, well-groomed lawns and spotless pavements. Tom counted the numbers on the doors as he walked along. He had begun somewhere in the thirties and moved on from there. As of now, he was approaching sweet number sixteen.

Tom checked the time on his phone. In just under thirty minutes, the Dursleys would enter Hogwarts Online for their scheduled meeting. Harry would be waiting to greet them. He would lead them into the greenhouse, not knowing what fate awaited them there.

It was unfortunate, Tom thought, that Harry, too, would have to be trapped inside the glitch until the ordeal was over, but the final outcome of freedom would more than make up for any trauma inflicted by Harry's vile relatives.

Tom hummed a few bars of a song he'd heard playing over the radio on his ride to Surrey. Truth be told, he was excited. His plans were at last unfolding. Borgin was dead and Tom was free. With wealth finally within reach, he could work towards grander goals, to having the life he rightfully deserved.

The pleasures he had denied himself would be denied no longer.

As Tom walked, the house numbers continued their steady decline: fifteen, fourteen, thirteen. The switchblade in his trouser pocket swayed with his movements, occasionally bumping against his thigh. Tom wrapped his hand around the handle and held tight, savouring the heavy weight of the metal against his palm.

Was Harry thinking of him? Waiting for him to return?

Around him, the neighbourhood was waking up. Cars pulled out of the garages and people picked up their newspapers from their doorsteps.

Tom dropped his hood and face mask. If he hunched his posture and ruffled his hair a bit, he could be mistaken for a lanky teenager.

To his right, the numbers continued to decrease. Seven, six, five...

Number 4 Privet Drive was identical to its surrounding counterparts. There was nothing to distinguish the house aside from the brass number four nailed to its door.

Tom did not bother with the door or the doorbell. He headed directly for the gate that led to the backyard. There was a digital lock on it, but some people tended to cheapen out on the gate locks compared to the ones on the doors.

Tom examined the numpad for a moment, then punched in the numbers 2-3-0-6. Their son's birthday.

The light switched to green and beeped cheerfully in response. Pathetic. Tom opened the gate, stepped through, and gently closed it behind him. From there, getting into the house itself was laughably easy. The door to the back porch was already unlocked.

Tom pulled the hood of his jacket back over his head as he entered the dining room. There was no one inside to greet him. The son no longer lived here, and both parents were immersed in the virtual world of Hogwarts.

Outside the dining room was the main hallway. Stairs leading to the second floor lay on the left side. On the right side, a door that led to the living room.

Tom took the stairs up two at a time. He scanned the rooms that he could see—master bedroom, bathroom, bedroom, bedroom—and singled out the smallest bedroom for examination. The door was slightly ajar. Tom crept up to it and applied pressure to the wooden surface, pushing slowly so that a sudden creak would not give him away.

Inside, as Tom had hoped, were the Dursleys. This small room, likely once a bedroom, had been converted to an office. There was a desk facing a large holoscreen, a fancy VR-implant cleaning station, and two squashy office chairs.

Vernon Dursley was a large man with thick, greying hair and an unattractive moustache. His eyes were closed to the point of squinting and his face was faintly purple.

Petunia Dursley was thin and blonde, with the face of a horse. Her plaid dress was spotless with neatly-ironed lines. She looked precisely like the type of woman who would throw a fit in a Tesco.

Tom perched himself on the edge of the desk and stared at their motionless forms. He watched their chests rise and fall with each passing breath they took. These were the people who had murdered Harry. Had abused him and enslaved him.

Now Tom would make them pay.

The Dursleys' holoscreen was bright and colourful; their session had not yet timed out. Tom opened a new browser window and purchased a private server using the payment information that was already saved onto the machine. When the request for verification popped up onto the screen, Tom pressed Vernon Dursley's finger against the sensor and smiled as the transaction went through.

Server space was two-a-penny if you went small enough. The cost of hosting the property that Tom had paid for was next to nothing. Ten pounds covered the entire year and then some.

Tom opened up his laptop, which was signed into his secondary account, and moved his property onto the new server, which he then transferred to himself.

Ten minutes had elapsed since the start of his planned meeting with the Dursleys. By now, they would be trapped in the greenhouse. Curious, Tom glanced over his shoulder to check on them. Their bodies remained at rest, but their faces were pinched up like they'd swallowed something sour.

Now for the difficult part: uploading them to the server. Uploading a consciousness to a game server was only permitted in extreme cases—to do so without just cause would result in criminal charges. Not to mention emergency services would be automatically dispatched to this location once the deed was done.

Tom had a private server and a private property owned by his fake secondary account. He knew that what he wanted to do was possible because the Dursleys had already done it to Harry. It was simply a matter of getting it done.

Once he activated the upload, the metaphorical countdown would begin.

Tom exhaled loudly. He was getting ahead of himself. He still had to find Harry—the physical location of Harry's data.

Tom brought up the start menu for the Dursleys' machine and typed 'Harry' into the search bar.

Several hundred results filled the screen. Tom swiped them all away and exited to the main screen. He navigated to the hard drive and opened it up. Inside were several dozen neatly-labelled folders in alphabetical order. Petunia's work, no doubt. She was immensely irritating, but she was organized.

Sifting through a few promising folder titles revealed nothing. Perhaps the Dursleys were not as stupid as Tom had originally believed. They had taken the time to actually hide the evidence of their misdeeds. Then again, if possible murder charges were not enough to scare them into good behaviour, little else would.

Tom abandoned the holoscreen and examined the rest of the desk. A wireless speaker and wireless headset. A miniature laser printer. No storage devices.

What was it that Harry had said? That his relatives had used his cousin's computer? Tom left the office and entered the other bedroom, the one that would have belonged to Dudley Dursley.

This room was clean. The bed was made and the air was somewhat stale. Tom wrinkled his nose and knelt down next to the only machine in the room, an outdated desktop model that had fallen out of use maybe a decade ago. But the light was on, and Tom could hear the faint whir of a fan within.

Perfect. Tom laid a hand on top of the computer. The metal vibrated faintly against his fingertips as he bent over to examine the back. Three wires extended from the machine—one monitor cable, one power cable, and one ethernet cable. If he removed them all, Harry would be disconnected from Hogwarts.

Tom switched the monitor on. The desktop was empty except for the single program window that kept Harry alive.

A keyboard and mouse sat on the desk, but they were not connected. Tom plugged in the mouse and moved the cursor to the tiny little 'X' shape in the top right hand corner of Harry's window. To remove the computer's hard drive safely, he had to shut everything off. That included Harry.

There was no time to feel emotional about what he was going to do. Tom held his breath. He shut the program off.

The screen was now empty.

For all intents and purposes, Harry was now dead.

Tom exhaled deeply, powered down the machine, and got to work. He pried the metal cover off the side of the computer, exposing the machine's insides. Everything was coated in thick layers of dust. Tom pulled his face mask up over his nose and mouth, then gingerly rotated the machine to rest on its side.

Carefully, then, he extracted the hard drive. He hoped that the stupid ancient machine hadn't corrupted any of the data. To be safe, the drive would have to be cleaned before he plugged it back into anything. Tom opened up one of the nearby dresser drawers, retrieved an old, baggy shirt, and wrapped up the drive before depositing it into his bag.

Now that Harry was securely in his possession, Tom allowed himself to relax. The rest of what he had to do suddenly felt minuscule by comparison.

Tom returned to the office. He switched the holoscreen back on and started the process of uploading the Dursleys to the private server. The progress bar slid slowly across the screen while Tom retrieved a second shirt from the second bedroom. He folded the fabric neatly in half and circled back to the office for the second time. The Dursleys lay in their chairs, unaware of their impending fate.

When the upload was complete, Tom clamped a shirt-covered hand around Vernon Dursley's face. Satisfaction burned through him as the man twitched and spasmed underneath his grip. The Dursleys' minds were trapped on the server, leaving their physical bodies as nearly-comatose husks that were too weak to fight back.

When Vernon was dead, his ugly face purple and swollen like a ripe plum, Tom turned to Petunia. She went much quicker than her husband had. Her corpse was also aesthetically pleasing. Her long neck drooped awkwardly against the headrest of her chair, the chalk-white pallor of her face offset by splotchy pink cheeks. She might have simply been a fatigued housewife at rest.

Tom gave his hands a disgusted shake. He would sanitize them before he left the house. Then he gazed upon the Dursleys one final time to savour the moment. The moment of his triumph.

The Dursleys' deaths would be ruled as accidents just like Harry's. VR implants gone wrong. People would mourn them for a while and then life would go on. Some silly little deaths weren't enough to dissuade society from changing their lifestyles.

Tom put on his headset and connected it to his laptop, then dropped his laptop back into his bag. He cleaned his hands with sanitizer, then left the house, making sure everything was the same as it had when he'd entered it. He was confident that nothing would be traced to him. This perfect house had served as a backdrop for the perfect crime.

As Tom retreated from Little Whinging, he transferred the server data to his laptop. The transfer took longer than the Dursleys' upload had, but that was to be expected. When it was complete, Tom deleted the server, disconnected from the internet, and shut all of his devices down. He would not contact the brokers until he purchased a new device.

By now, the neighbourhood was properly awake. Tom hopped on the nearest major bus route and let it carry him towards the city center. He purchased two new laptops, a new phone, and an air duster. He confirmed with the brokers that the transaction had gone through.

Tonks had provided a confirmation number and a screenshot of the sales transaction. Tom checked his bank account to verify the money was there, then thanked her and Moody for their services. The news of the sale did not fully satisfy him. In his mind, the money had been a foregone conclusion. What he needed right now was to lay eyes on Harry and Dursleys.

Tom paid for a hotel room and set himself up with a VPN. He split his new wealth over three different bank accounts. Then he transferred his server to one of his new laptops and booted it. Now that there was no need for an internet connection, he could host the server locally on his machine.

Tom logged onto his main account and entered the server. The rotting house was exactly as he'd left it. As was the special greenhouse he had so lovingly prepared. As Tom examined the glass walls, pride swelled in his chest. He was excited. He was excited for the Dursleys' reactions, but most of all, he was excited for Harry's reaction.

Tom double-checked his settings before he entered the greenhouse. There was barely any room inside to walk. Not wanting to take chances, he had crammed the entire space with plants. A few steps from the door were his petrified victims.

The Dursleys' avatars looked nothing like their physical counterparts. Vernon was thinner, handsomer. His hair was thick and brown like dark-roast coffee. Petunia was blonde and beautiful, not a wrinkle in sight on her face or clothes. Tom was not impressed. Too many people wasted their time online, bolstering their pathetic lives with fake, glamorous visuals.

Tom walked over to Harry and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Harry's eyes, vibrant green, flickered in Tom's direction. Tom liked to think he had gotten better at reading Harry's microexpressions. He could tell Harry was anxious.

Carefully, Tom picked Harry up and carried him out of the greenhouse, away from the plants. Then he manually invoked the dialogue option which would override the greenhouse alerts.

Harry snapped to life right away and whirled on Tom. "What have you done?" Harry demanded.

"I've handled it." Tom smoothed a hand down the length of Harry's arm and took the boy's hand in his own. "I have your data. You're safe now. You will never have to work for them again."

Harry went very still. His face was impassive for the longest time. Then he glanced at where his relatives were standing, frozen, in the greenhouse. "You took my data?" he asked quietly.

"I did."

"You—" The side of Harry's mouth lowered in a frown. "You broke into the house?"

"I did."

"They'll come after you."

"They won't." Tom smiled. "They have no proof."

Harry shook his head. His avatar flickered as he pulled his hand away and walked over to the glass. "They'll know. They'll go to the police."

"They can't do anything," Tom promised. He came to stand behind Harry's shoulder. He itched to wrap his arms around Harry's waist, but he knew that this moment required delicacy. "I told you, Harry. I've handled it. They will never touch you again."

Through the slightly-tinted glass, Harry's aunt and uncle could have been statues. "Are you going to blackmail them?"

Tom pondered Harry's question for a brief second before deciding on the truth. "I have trapped them here. Permanently. A punishment to suit their crimes."

Harry's apprehension drained from his face, leaving a blank slate behind. "What do you mean you've trapped them here?"

"I've punished them," Tom said. "I've disposed of their physical bodies and imprisoned them in the greenhouse."

"You murdered them?" Harry's voice shot through a few octaves. It was the most outrage that Tom had ever heard from him.

"They aren't dead. I saved their consciousnesses to the server."

"You murdered them," Harry repeated. His eyes glowed bright, harsh neon green under the gloomy digital sun. "Tom, you—you can't. You can't. They can't be—" He broke off again. His hands were glitching with hints of red and blue.

"Why does it matter?" Tom said fiercely. "They aren't really dead. This is what they deserve for what they did to you, don't you see? And now you're free. You're free to do whatever you like, to build all the gardens you desire." Tom paused for breath, his heart beating frantically in his chest. He took Harry's hand in his again, willing Harry to understand. "I have money now. I can give you as many gardens as you like."

Harry twisted away. "They're dead, Tom."

"I did this for you," Tom said. He was bewildered by Harry's angry reaction. He did not understand why Harry wasn't happy. "We can leave them here, if you like." If Harry wanted to leave them here, then Tom would return later on to exact justice. They would regret every ounce of harm inflicted on their nephew. "You won't have to look at them ever again if you don't want to."

"They're dead," Harry repeated in a monotone whisper.

"That's right," Tom said in a low voice, attempting to soothe. He drifted closer, close enough that if they had been in the real world, his lips would have ghosted the back of Harry's head. "They can no longer hurt you. You're safe with me, Harry. I promise you."

"I didn't want this," Harry said, but the words were very quiet.

Tom heard the meaning that lay beyond those words. He heard the acceptance.

"We'll live at my manor together," Tom promised, "and you can rework the grounds if it makes you happy." He shifted forward so that Harry's back was pressed against his chest and watched in the reflection of the glass as Harry's eyes slid shut. Tom felt calm. Relaxed. Everything had gone according to plan and Harry was safe.

Harry, conversely, did not relax in Tom's embrace. His body was stiff. Tom wanted to know what Harry was thinking. Was he pleased? Satisfied that his relatives would be put in their place? Did he feel gratitude towards Tom for saving him?

"This had to be done," Tom said slowly. "You have to understand that. They never would have given in. They would have kept you until the day they died, or until some other filthy pig paid to own you."

Harry's digital form blurred in and out of focus, pure static uncertainty. Tom's words were true. The Dursleys did not care for Harry's well-being. But Tom was his saviour. Tom had rescued him from slavery and abuse. Harry was safe now. He was safe.

"I will disconnect us," Tom decided. "And I will move you to another device so you can access the manor." Harry would be happier at the manor.

There was a lengthy pause. "Alright," Harry said. He gave Tom's hand a squeeze.

"Is this what you want?" Tom asked. He wanted reassurance. He wanted Harry to agree with him.

"Yes," Harry said. He opened his eyes and rotated in place so that they were looking at each other. His eyes were still unnaturally bright. "This is what I want."

Tom touched fingertips to the side of Harry's face. "Everything will be fine," Tom said. He would shield Harry from a cruel world. Harry would never be discovered and taken away from him. Harry would be protected, free to build gardens and live a full life by Tom's side.

And when the time came, when technology and politics had advanced enough to permit it, Tom would consider joining him. Two files of code running side by side. He could have bodies built for them. He could build an android form that would let Harry exist in the real world. A body would let Tom touch him in a way that virtual reality could not.

"You are safe with me," Tom said, a final utterance of those words, a vow to himself as well as Harry.

Harry's resulting smile was wan, but it was real. It was a real smile. This world was not real, but Harry was real. The two of them were real, and Tom would stop at nothing to keep Harry by his side.

"I hope so, Tom," Harry said softly. "I really, really hope so."

A/N:

i want to say there will be one more chapter and then an epilogue. please attempt to hold me to this promise sdklgjsdkl