In the last chapter: Days after his resurrection, Tom summons Philias to him and has some of the blanks filled in about Harry. Though, ultimately not all of his questions are answered, and Phil tells Tom that if he wants to know more he'll just have to meet Harry himself. Tom shuts himself away in his room to think things through. Weeks later, Harry has yet to have heard from Tom, but has been getting constant updates from Philias and even a few of the house elves residing at Riddle Manor. Harry is anxious about seeing Tom and as such has been restless and increasingly distressed. Sirius and Remus noticed and became more and more worried about Harry. Having put it off for long enough, Harry decides to confide in his parents at the next opportunity.
The passage of time could be a dreadful thing. The soft ticking of iron clock hands and the gentle sway of the pendulum never seemed steady or equally measured out when someone was listening. Harry closed his eyes and attempted to quell the rampant fidgeting of his limbs by purposefully dragging in and out his breaths to be out of sync and much longer than the rhythms of the clock.
As his thoughts quickly bypassed his attempts and consumed his attention once more, Harry sunk his blunt white teeth into the delicate warm flesh of his lower lip and sprang up from his bed to resume his pacing, imagining each step stripping yet another thin layer off the gleaming floorboards.
"Are you absolutely sure that this'll be alright?" Harry hissed into the empty evening air as his cold thin hands wrung together, squeezing as if he could rearrange the bones under his skin.
There was a deep exhalation of air that ruffled a few small black curls atop Harry's head, though the young man paid the disturbance no mind.
As I plainly told you before, it matters little to me whether you tell them or not. It will hardly change anything for me no matter the outcome. Harry huffed in annoyance, thinking that he probably should have gone to Anthony for advice. Instead of an immortal celestial representation of the end of all things. It wasn't easy being mates with Death.
However, if you're asking me about my opinion for what would help you emotionally . . . I hold very little doubt that those two wizards will continue to support you and if their support is so important to you, I'm sure you'll have no trouble gaining their approval. Death added moments later with a slightly begrudging tone.
Harry ceased his pacing and took a bit of comfort in the rare offering of consoling words from his longtime companion.
"You don't think it may be too soon?" Harry inquired tentatively.
If you are going to venture down this path with those two even partially aware, you will need to take action now as things will be changing rather soon.
Harry's attention immediately shifted.
"Why? Do you know something? About Tom?" Harry's questions whipped out and in his distracted state, the temperature in the room suddenly dropped dramatically and the lights overhead waned and flickered for a few moments.
With ease, child, it would serve no one to work yourself up and draw unnecessary attention. Harry exhaled roughly and forced a bit of self-awareness back into his frazzled mind, so he could reign his magic back in. As time went on and Harry grew more and more exhausted and agitated with each day since the resurrection, he found that his carefully maintained control on his magic had also been suffering.
There are no changes yet, but it won't be long now, and you will need to be ready. Death amended, and Harry felt an unexpected wave of respite overshadow his apprehension. He straightened his spine and let his shoulders drop back into his usual refined posture as he took a few steps towards the door.
"Then I suppose I'd better deal with matters here first." He spoke aloud, firmly, though it was more to himself than to his impassive friend. Harry didn't leave himself another moment to hesitate and swiftly left the asylum of his bedroom to join the festivities in the lower levels of Grimmauld Place, where celebrations for his fifteenth year were just beginning. Death lingered in the room a moment longer, unmoving skeletal grin gleaming in the soft light as he watched his young protegee leave.
Tom will certainly have his hands full.
Despite Harry's fierce determination at the beginning of the night to persevere through all the tiring interactions and social niceties, it didn't take long for his resolve to disapparate with his patience and he withdrew into himself much quicker than he usually did at such events. His mind had been poisoned by rogue thoughts, whispering to him all the things that could go wrong with the important conversation he was planning to have later that night. By the time everyone had sat down for supper, Harry had thought through dozens of different outcomes or questions and exactly what his responses would be.
Anthony ended up cornering Harry and wringing out of him what was wrong. When he explained to the blonde just what he was going to do and how worried he was, Anthony gave him a sympathetic look and offered to be there with him while he sat his parents down. However, as much as he appreciated the support, Harry knew it was something he needed to do alone and that they may not take it well if they find out someone else had been privy to such information about their own adopted child before them. Harry thanked Anthony, but told him that they should wait a while before bringing anyone else in.
Also—and Harry didn't say this to Anthony—if Harry were to bring someone in to help explain things to Sirius and Remus, he'd most likely bring in Philias first. They might not trust a practical stranger who'd apparently been meeting up with their underage child behind their backs, but there was something to be said about the way adults trust each other's judgment over a few teenage boys. Though, if Harry were to introduce them, he's certain it wasn't going to be anytime soon.
Eventually the night came to a close and everyone was sent home. Remus had apparently noticed Harry's behavior and mistook it for feeling unwell, so he tried to send Harry off early before Sirius could try to suck them all into a few more hours of eating leftover cake sitting on cushions in the living room as they were known to do. However, Harry was quick to get the attention of both adults and ask them to sit with him by the fire instead. His serious demeanor had them shooting him curious looks but also not saying a word as they complied.
It didn't begin as smoothly as Harry had hoped. There were a few false starts and he stumbled over his words a bit as the nerves got to him. Remus, though, seemed to catch on that Harry was planning on telling them something important and had offered his warm comfort by reaching over from his spot on the couch and briefly squeezing one of his hands. He told him to take his time and that they would listen to everything he had to say until he was done. Those words had gone a long way in helping Harry speak, and once he got going, it just rolled on out as if his mouth had disconnected from his brain and he was just a passenger in his body as the long tale unfolded.
He started with telling the truth of what had happened that night in Godric's Hallow, not allowing himself a moment to linger on the way his two beloved guardians paled and had mixed expressions of part disbelief, part horror. This lead to his years after that night and unexpectedly, Harry found himself going off into a tangent about his relatives. He'd never thought he'd be revisiting that part of his past again—not willingly, at least—but it just came tumbling out unrestrained. Whatever came to mind was immediately output without any deliberation or delicacy.
But then his stories of isolation, resentment, and strict lessons with religious overtones became interwoven with his first encounters with his companion and later, magic. It was a surprise to both adults when he revealed he was a parselmouth, but Harry wasn't very shocked they didn't know, as it was a language he used sparingly, only when entering and leaving the chamber, as well as talking to the Basilisk. Besides, it is hardly the most interesting and rare language he was fluent in, minding the language of the dead.
Then he talked about his eleventh birthday and the gift he'd been given by Death. Hearing of his second death, Sirius closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands while Remus looked like he was fighting the urge to reach over and pull Harry from his chair, so he could hold him in his arms protectively like a child. Harry did his best to explain the parameters and process of his immortality, but he knew he wasn't the best at explaining something that, to him, felt so intangible and inexplicable—though, perhaps at that point it was falling mostly on deaf ears.
The next few years were summed up sparingly, as Harry still wasn't sure exactly what he wanted to say about the whole 'Tom' situation, so he went with saying nothing at all. Mostly, he talked about how Death had protected him and guided him throughout the challenging years and even played a big part in Harry reuniting with Sirius and Remus.
By the end he was left with two very concerned and bewildered adults.
"But what does . . . he want? Is this temporary? Will he suddenly take it away? Are there any side effects? Does he have you do anything for him?" Remus asked, leaning forward in his seat.
"It is hard to say what Death might want exactly, but I can say with confidence that he has my best interests and wellbeing in mind. No, it is not a gift he can take back. There haven't been any side effects to my knowledge. And the only things he has ever asked of me have been for my own benefit and gain, it has also always been clear that I don't have to do anything I don't want to." Harry tried his best to answer and appease his anxious parent.
Both adults continued to question Harry for quite some time and at a point Harry offered to allow them to safely meet and converse with his companion so that they might be able to ask more questions. However, when the room suddenly grew cold and the fire dimmed as his curious friend drew close, they both assured Harry that wouldn't be necessary and the conversation soon shifted to something else, everyone feeling drained and emotionally wrung out from the intense moments of openness they all felt.
Harry could tell it would take them a while to even wrap their heads around what they had learned, much less come to accept it. They both seemed to be beginning to realize the magnitude of Harry's situation and what he'd been through. Despite this, though, they knew it would be impossible for them to completely treat Harry like an adult, even if he had every right to be, considering what he'd experienced.
Harry soon excused himself, knowing that the pair had a lot they wished to discuss with each other in private about what he had told them.
The gentle sound of wings beating the air and the sharp ring of a beak pelting the glass had Harry looking up from the book he was reading, expecting to see his owl had returned from her trip. However, instead of large pale feathers glistening in the midday light, he was mildly surprised to see a shock of pitch black. Curious, Harry approached the window just as the large crow had settled onto the old sill just beyond the glass. It couldn't be an animagus, as the wards would never permit it to enter if it were, so Harry figured it to be just a regular animal.
Harry waited for the bird to fly away when he approached the window, but instead its head only tilted so that one of its glossy black eyes was trained on him. Intrigued to see just how brazen the animal would be, Harry wretched open the old window, ignoring the horrid screech the metal and wood gave when being forced into motion. The bird, however, didn't fly away at the ruckus, it simply stepped over the lip of the sill so that it was mostly inside.
After a few more moments of them both just watching the other, Harry broke the stillness and extended his hand out to the crow and watched as the creature wrapped its feet around Harry's hand, surprisingly mindful of its own sharp talons, with almost practiced ease. Harry wondered if the bird was perhaps trained to be so well behaved.
As the crow had been completely civil up until that point, Harry chanced a tentative stroke across its feathers and it was then that he noticed what had felt so off about it. Harry froze as he interpreted the odd information his magic was telling him. This crow was dying. He could feel it. As surely as he could feel the heat of a flame or brush of fabric against his skin. He knew that the crow was of decent age and quite ill. And, for some reason, it had come to Harry.
But just as he knew of the bird's imminent demise, he knew that it had come to Harry because it was dying. Harry looked down at the creature still perched on his hand with a swell of understanding. This was just one of those things he couldn't entirely explain, but also knew he held some sort of responsibility. Just as he had a couple of years ago when he had broken into Gringotts and ended the suffering of another unfortunate creature.
This was not quite the same though. The crow was in little pain and had not been abused and tortured as that dragon had been. As the dragon's death had been a mercy, the crow felt more like a gift, an offering. Harry continued to sooth the crow and gently stroking its feathers as he moved deeper into his room, away from the window.
The crow seemed to revel in the reverent touches and Harry smiled softly and whispered words of comfort and assurance to it. Then after several minutes, the dark creature fluttered its wings and sat itself comfortably in Harry's hands. Harry silently called out into the empty air and felt a disturbance in the space around him, his eyes never leaving the crow.
The crow's dark eyes shut, and Harry leaned down to place a gentle kiss atop its smooth head, which then sank down onto his hand. He then carefully shifted the crow in his grasp and laid it gently in the awaiting skeletal hands. He looked up into the eyeless gaze of his friend.
"A gift." Was all that he said, his friend nodding once and swept back beyond the veil where he belonged, Harry watched as the translucent barrier slid over the still little creature and it suddenly opened one glassy black eye. The veil thickened, and the last thing Harry saw before he could no longer see through it, was the flutter of onyx wings just as it took flight.
After several moments of deep thought, Harry was about to return to his book, when a familiar white owl came swooping through his open window. Harry smiled and quickly relieved the tired bird of the small note attached to it's ankle. Half of Harry's mind was still on the crow as he opened and began to read the letter—which was from Philias, he realized—but as soon as he processed what he was reading, all other threads of thought ceased.
The time had finally come, he was to meet Tom.
Harry dropped the letter on his bed and moved to his wardrobe. The letter from Philias had told him to come only when he was absolutely ready—the hesitancy in Phil's words were not subtle—but Harry had been waiting for more than two months and he would not wait another moment, even if he weren't really thinking about what he would say once he was actually once more face to face with Tom.
Harry sifted through his clothes looking for something appropriate to wear. It was midsummer, so the heat that day had led him to wear a thin white linen button down and light grey trousers, but the sudden news had his magic unexpectedly lively and uncontrolled, which was causing the air around him to plummet in temperature and knew that he could certainly stand to wear something a bit more formal and appropriate for meeting company. Harry quickly changed into clean clothes with thin dark blue robes over it in case the heat was to return, he wasn't stuck in thick sweltering robes.
Harry was about to apparate out when he remembered his parents and left a hastily written note stuck to his door saying he had gone out to meet a friend. It had been several days since he'd confided in Sirius and Remus and they had yet to bring it up again to let Harry know where they stood on the matter and how they felt about it—though Remus did seem to have mostly accepted it, as he wasn't avoiding Harry as much and had begun treating him mostly as he used to. Sirius, however, seemed to be having a harder go at things and would perhaps need more time.
Harry wasn't completely comfortable going off on his own without telling them beforehand that he was leaving—not with how up in the air things were right then between them—but this was something he could not let wait any longer. So, with one last determined sigh, Harry turned on his heel and disapparated with a quiet snap.
The small village of Little Hangleton was colder and damper under the cover of thick dove grey clouds and fearsome gales of wind. Harry apparated to the edge of the Riddle property and only took a brief moment to glance around him at the surrounding area before he made a swift path towards the Riddle Manor that stood tall and impassive in the distance. He felt the wards hinder his stride as he passed slowly through them, like walking through molasses as they carefully checked over him.
Harry assumed that him being invited to finally meet with Tom meant that the wards had been altered to allow him entry, but if they were still so slow at clearing him, then the wards must have been very powerful. Though, he expected no less from Tom, he couldn't help but wonder if the wards had been like that before the resurrection or if Tom had erected these particular wards afterwards. Harry knew that, logically Tom would be both physically and magically recuperated enough after two whole months to be doing any sort of magic or activity that he wished, but a part of him still held on to his deep concerns about him doing anything to overexert himself and would continue to do so until he could confirm in person that Tom was ready.
As Harry approached the set of large doors painted in a blue so dark it almost looked black, he cast out all other thoughts than just the present and preparing himself for meeting the newly resurrected Dark Lord.
Harry was met at the doors by a house elf with a low bow. It was one he recognized and had met with several times to ask after Tom and make sure the other was eating properly. A small flicker of heat warmed his cheeks at the reminder of his rather uncharacteristic fussing right before he was about to meet with the man who had unknowingly been subject to Harry's worry.
Composing himself as he walked behind the excitable little elf, it was a full minute later that Harry began to even notice his surroundings and only got a good look at one long hallway of the Riddle Manor before he'd arrived at a nondescript door and was motioned in by the elf before it popped away.
Harry quietly entered the room and cataloged the space in moments. Steely grey blue walls, rich wood flooring, a single fireplace at exactly half the length of the room, a small table at it's very center with a chair set up on either end. Other than that, the room was barren; no paintings, rugs, plants, other furniture or decoration of any kind. Absently, Harry wondered if the room was ever used outside of this instance as it was so sparsely furnished and the small table at its center was too small for any sort of meeting beyond two or three people.
The second thing Harry noticed, was that Tom was not seated at the table, but was instead off to the right, gazing out of one of the large windows. For a tense moment, Harry feared the other wizard had watched him walk up to the Manor and hastily tried to recall if he'd done anything embarrassing during those short moments when he didn't think there might be eyes on him. Fortunately, Harry then remembered that the way the room was situated, it would have its windows facing the land opposite of the long gravel driveway.
Harry waited silently several steps from the door, not planning to take a seat before it was offered.
Tom turned at the sound of the door opening and closing softly, and in the pale light of day, he caught his first proper look at Harry Potter. The last time they had been face to face, it had been under the veil of darkness and Tom had been too disoriented and confused to remember anything other than a flash of pale flesh and glassy, startling light green eyes. He had vague memories of a time before that, years ago when a piece of him had possessed a professor at Hogwarts, but since that had happened after his almost-death, those memories crumbled like sand between his fingers whenever he tried to grasp them too tightly.
His fair skin was smooth and even, like porcelain, though it looked soft to the touch and almost seemed to glow in the somehow flattering cool overcast light coming through the window. His features were elegant and without lines or wrinkles, but also sharp and attractive.
His expression was carefully blank, but even then, his eyes held such intensity. Cold, vibrant green bore into him, made all the more haunting by the contrasting black veil of long lashes. Those eyes didn't look real—in fact much of him didn't look real. As if Tom were examining the expertly crafted visage of a doll—it made it hard to look away, to not seek out imperfections for your mind to process that what you're looking at was, indeed, alive.
Tom's gaze settled on the soft violet hue curled under his bottom lashes, barely there like faint lilac petals had bloomed under his skin, but the sight did not bring relief. The proof that Harry was indeed there and real, and had obviously been troubled by some hardship that softened his stare into something more human and frail. Instead he felt curious about what it could possibly be that had chased away the young wizards sleep and then Tom was remembering that night again.
In his disorientation and fatigue, he distinctly recalled the way this strong—powerful wizard had fallen against him and he had to support him to keep the boy upright, it had been an instinctual response. Even though the wizard before him was maturing and coming into his height and build well, when they had been so close, pressed together, Harry had felt so small and delicate in his grip.
Looking now, he could see it even from that short distance. Harry's posture was straight, confident, with long limbs and a decent height for his age. However, looking past the other's prevailing and poised presence, there were many things about him that would otherwise contradict the image he tried to portray. For example, his long, slender neck and thin shoulders, his full round lips gave his mouth an innocent natural pout and were a dark pink like they'd been stained by sweets. His hands were small and thin and almost feminine in nature, like they had only ever moved with grace and been held with great care.
Unknowingly, Tom glanced down at his own hand as if to seek the differences. Although his hand was smooth and without callouses from his recent rebirth and apparent youth, it was certainly bigger, and the hard lines of bones and tendons made them look powerful and capable—imposing.
Catching himself in his own odd behavior, Tom resisted the draw to keep analyzing Harry's features and instead met the young wizard's gaze straight on. He made a low sweeping gesture towards the table and chairs he had prepared.
"Please, have a seat." At the rich dulcet tones of Tom's low baritone, they both quietly took a seat and Tom waited silently for Harry to speak first, too curious to know what might be on the other's mind to interrupt.
"I will say that I have been anticipating your invitation. I hope that my being here means you are ready to speak with me?" Harry asked calmly, looking completely at ease sitting across from someone so undeniably dangerous, however, if most of what Green had said was to be believed, then Harry was not one to be taken lightly either.
Harry knew what Tom was doing, letting the moments of silence stretch on. Tom wanted Harry to fill it, to come pouring out with all his answers without any sort of resistance. However, Harry's objective was not to only share his knowledge with Tom and hope for the best. He was also looking for answers of his own. He needed to discern what the other wizard was thinking and what path he was looking at for the future. Harry had already concluded long ago that depending on Tom's choices and actions after the resurrection would determine whether he told Tom the truth about his last remaining Horcrux still living within Harry, whether he supported Tom in his endeavors, or whether he deemed the other too big of a threat and had to get rid of him before he could mutilate this world any further than he already had.
Finally, Tom conceded and spoke up.
"Yes, well, I heard some rather interesting things from Philias and I can't help but wonder if there is any real truth to them." Harry's dark eyebrow rose and touched one of the low hanging sable curls on his forehead. Tom was playing it safe, being vague in his approach in case he was wrong. Though, if they were going to dance around each other that early on, Harry feared he would never get the answers he needed. So, he cut past the rubbish and chose words he didn't have to chew on long before speaking.
"I do hope he was able to answer some of your questions. I told him quite clearly to answer anything you asked. Although, I'll be honest, I didn't think he had enough to offer to warrant you waiting so long to meet with me. I assure you I have much more to say." Harry caught the small tug at Tom's lips as he turned slightly as if to hide the gesture. Perhaps it was a little early to be subtly scolding him, but Harry couldn't help feeling a little upset still with how distressed he'd been while waiting for Tom to make up his own mind.
"Then I suppose we should actually start. Forgive me for making you wait." There was a small atmosphere of rare, non-mocking amusement to his words that had Harry automatically relaxing and debating whether or not to respond in kind.
"The resurrection ritual . . . tell me what you did." His words were not hard nor cold, just calm and curious.
This was the third time Harry would be revealing his secrets to someone—and in such a short amount of time too, considering how long he had kept them hidden for—however, when Tom asked his first question, Harry found that the words came easily and didn't tighten nervous knots in his stomach or cause his fingers to tremble as they had the other times. Curious. Somehow, Harry didn't believe that it was just Tom's natural ability to coerce or manipulate that had made him feel at ease, as those things tended to feel very obvious to Harry in the past and always made his skin crawl.
"Well . . . when I heard that you were going to attempt to resurrect yourself, I knew I had to intervene." He started, but paused at the slight furrow that appeared between Tom's straight dark brows.
"Why?"
"Because I knew that the magic that you were attempting is incredibly complex and that there are little to no reliable resources out there for you to get it right. You were using methods from a very old form of soul magic, but one that had come from rumor and word of mouth, combined more prominently with a form of transfiguration that is very dangerous. Over all the ritual was likely to either kill you or leave you horribly disfigured and magically crippled." Tom seemed to absorb his words and took a moment to think before refocusing and speaking up once more.
"I can accept that, looking back, the ritual I had planned out probably would have been as dangerous as you said, but what I want to know is how? How did you know? And how did you find a ritual that would work this well?"
Harry took his time before answering.
"I knew it wouldn't work because, through the guidance of a friend, I have been studying a far more reliable form of soul magic. As for the ritual itself, it was not something I found, rather, it was something I made."
"Who is your 'friend?'" Tom spoke quickly in the break between his words before Harry could continue explaining. If he was not talking about something serious, Harry might have been half the mind to smile at Tom's sudden impatience.
"Now that is quite the question, isn't it? My friend is someone who has been with me for almost my entire life and is responsible for pretty much raising me throughout a large portion of my childhood." Harry paused briefly, scrutinizing Tom's open expression for a few beats before diving right in. "Philias informed me that you are aware that I cannot die, correct?" Tom seemed surprised that he would be talking about something of such importance so soon, but Harry was not one to hold out for dramatics.
There was a short nod from Tom.
"Good. But what Philias doesn't know is how. You see, the night you attacked me, we were not alone. Just beyond the shadow of the veil, Death had been there to see the both of us die. However, since he couldn't take you, he decided to take action of his own and brought me back with the intent to one day give me a gift that would ensure the world would not fall to ruin so soon because of the mistakes you had made. Ever since that night, he has watched over me, guided me, protected me, and eventually befriended me." He waited for Tom's reaction, watching patiently as the other was quick to grasp the information he'd provide and come to his own conclusions.
"Which means that Death is the one who has been teaching you soul magic." It wasn't a question, but Harry nodded in confirmation. He was also glad that Tom had linked it back around to what they'd been talking about originally.
"Yes, I've been learning it for roughly two years now and that is what I used to create a far more reliable ritual. In short, I used a combination of runes, soul magic, and a potion to bring you back." Harry hesitated for the first time in their conversation before he went on. He hoped his impression of the man across from him so far wasn't wrong, or what he was going to say next could turn out quite disastrous. "However, no matter how much time and effort I put in to creating the perfect ritual to restore you to your peak physical and magical condition, it would have would have all melted away like wet clay in a river had there not first been a solid foundation for the body to form itself around."
His carefully spoken words caught Tom's attention and had him settling his deep, dark blue gaze on Harry.
"What do you mean?" His words didn't have the dangerous bite Harry was expecting, which at least allowed him to hold the others stare without faltering.
"I mean that soul magic is finnicky stuff and I've learned that it is at the core of all magic. Something that is not widely known, is that the soul and magic are not the same, but so closely interwoven that one cannot be without the other for those of us born with magic. One way to look at it would be a sponge. If the soul is the sponge and magic is the water, then without the sponge the water would simply slip away, formless and without anything to properly wield it. On the other hand, without the water, the sponge would dry up and become brittle and unusable. For someone with magic, the same could be said. All past experiments and explorations of wizards attempting to forcibly take magic away from another by draining their core, have all resulted in that wizard's death. Now, if a wizard were to damage and remove portions of their soul, it would mean causing a complete unbalance of the mind and body and would result in a large portion of that person's magic becoming untethered and therefore unusable." Harry could tell as he spoke, that Tom knew exactly what he was referring to.
"The Horcruxes. That's why it feels this way. Like I've been half asleep for years—decades even—and only now feel like I can think again. I've never felt stronger or more in control of myself before this." Tom sounded like he was speaking more to himself than to Harry.
"I figured just as much, that it would have this type of effect." Harry's voice brought his attention back to the conversation and Tom leaned forward in his chair slightly. Harry was surprised that the conversation so far had been so civil, and he had yet to see any sings that might point towards Tom being unstable anymore.
"How? How did you undo the Horcruxes?" Harry could hear more behind his words, something he wasn't asking, but only just. He wanted to know what this meant as well, was he no longer out of Death's reach? For a moment Harry wanted to say 'no' that Tom had one Horcrux left and that he shouldn't be afraid, but he knew that he couldn't, not quite yet at least.
"Soul magic. I tracked down the Horcruxes and when I had them all, I placed them all in one singular vessel." Harry remembered that summer afternoon when he'd done his first bout of soul magic on a large scale and the memory of how it had . . . affected him had heat rising in his cheeks but he avidly ignored it as he went on, forcing the memory down so that he could focus. "With them combined, I kept them close and protected while I waited for the time when I would need to preform the ritual and could combine all the Horcruxes in with the original soul so that the rest of the body had something solid to form itself around."
Harry watched as Tom lifted a hand to the collar of his clean dark robes and gently pulled on a familiar gold chain until the gold and emerald locket came free. Harry himself was shocked to find how much he missed the locket. Even if he knew most of his comfort had come from what had been housed within the locket for so long, the locket itself felt so familiar to him now and had been a source of comfort and strength for so long that it was hard looking at it only a few feet away, knowing it had been warmed under Toms robes and that he would perhaps never feel the smooth surface under his fingertips or the weight of it against his sternum as he slept. Seeing as the locket was also a Slytherin heirloom and was clearly important to the other man if he was wearing it even now, he doubted he would ever be able to ask for it in the future, no matter how good of terms they are on later.
Tom spent a long time staring at the locket, brows furrowed, lost in thought, but this time Harry let him be without interruption. Tom had a lot to think about and rushing it would help no one.
"Why are you helping me?" Tom didn't look up for a moment as he spoke, but when their eyes did meet, Harry felt slightly overwhelmed by the intensity he saw there. It didn't feel like they were several feet away in an almost uncomfortably large, empty room. No, it felt like Tom was only inches away and it was doing dreadful things to Harry's composure and focus. Harry felt a low current of warmth and he suddenly wasn't sure if it was Tom's magic, which he knew from experience to be smoldering like a small compressed sun, radiating immense power, or if they really were as close as it felt and what he was feeling was Tom's body heat. Either way, it was quite distracting.
It took Harry a moment to gather his thoughts and even had to look away to clear his head a bit before he looked back up and was able to actually answer Tom.
"Because you made a mistake. . . You were young, trapped between two worlds, both at war, and you were scared. You were scared and, so you sought out a solution, but it was misleading and deceptive. I'm helping you because you lost yourself somewhere along the way and I need to know if Tom Riddle—not Voldemort but Tom—can survive this world without giving in and devouring himself to get rid of his fear." And now it was Harry's turn to let his stare settle heavily on Tom and the other shifted his eyes down to where one of his hands rested on the table.
"I don't care if you wish to live a quiet life, or if you want to follow your ambitions and bring about the biggest change to our way of life that the wizarding world has ever seen. I'm not here for my own political goals, because I have none, I'm not here for my own moral's sake either to try to turn you 'good.' I'm here for two reasons, one to make sure you don't destroy this world out of fear, and two, because Tom Riddle deserved better than this. Say what you will about my motives, but I'm not here for my own personal gain, I'm not here to guide you to the light, I'm not here to be your moral compass or to convince you to be a good person. I have laid the pieces out in front of you, it is up to you to mend them. I'm not going to fix you, Tom, that isn't my job." Tom looked up and something heavy crossed the space between them and settled over their shoulders.
Harry let the silence draw out for a while before asking a question of his own for the first time since they started talking.
"So, tell me, in the two months that you've been on your own, what did you decide? Now that your Horcruxes are gone, are you going to keep trying to find ways to make yourself invulnerable? Are you going to continue trying to conquer this world and get it under your thumb so that it can't bite back, or are you ready to let go of your fear and not allow it to consume you anymore?" Harry asked. They weren't easy questions, and he hadn't planned on asking them so outright when he'd arrived. He'd hoped to subtly coax out the answers he needed without Tom knowing what he was doing, but after explaining why he had helped Tom, he felt too open; the atmosphere was too thick and raw for him to pull any punches right then.
It had been a risk to be so forward and invasive with Tom, especially when he wasn't sure of the others character after the resurrection, but he was feeling more confident when Tom didn't immediately close off at his questions.
Tom released a breath and Harry could tell that this was something he'd thought about a lot in the time since they'd last seen each other. It was a promising sign. If this had been the first time that Tom had thought about it, it would be likely that he felt no regret or remorse for his mistakes—would have perhaps not even seen them as mistakes.
"What happened before . . . I cannot hide behind the excuse and say that it doesn't count for anything because I wasn't myself. I did terrible things, I made mistakes that will never leave me, and I can't promise that I will be able to fully atone for them, but I can promise that they will never happen again. Death is not something I can avoid forever and in the most literal sense, it has found me; in the form of sending you to me. I cannot yet say what will become of me in the future or what I will decide to do, but I know that I never wish to fall so low again. I believed that because magic can do anything, that it meant there was no limit to what I could do—I didn't think about whether there were certain things that no matter how tempting they are, shouldn't be touched.
"I just . . . I was terrified that one moment I would be here, with plans for the future, desires and goals still unfulfilled, and then the next I would be gone and none of it would matter. To think that this breath could be my last, or that song, or that laugh, or that drink. The possibility that when it all ends, that there could be just nothing and I could be stuck, in the darkness, alone. Thinking about it had nearly driven me mad, but now . . . now I know that there are worse things than death." Harry's jaw clenched as he watched Tom, seeming almost unaware that he was talking aloud.
There was an unfamiliar earnestness in his dark eyes that pierced through his chest and for some reason he felt like if he were someone else, he would not have seen this, that Tom would not behave like this. Tom would not have shown this to someone weaker than him, it was hard to describe but Harry understood it, strangely. Because of their strength, because of their power, they could be honest—they could be vulnerable around the other. Harry didn't need to use Tom's fears to over power him, and Tom didn't need to use what Harry cared about to attack him. They didn't need to hold blades to each other's throats because they had something stronger that could do far more damage.
But even still, Harry had gotten his answer. He could feel the approval of his companion in the back of his mind, reassuring him that he wasn't letting his emotions get the better of him and that Tom was being genuine.
Once he felt that he'd given Tom enough time to sort through his thoughts, Harry spoke up in a lighter tone than before to work as a gentle hand to guide Tom out of his own head.
"It's not." His words brought confusion to Tom's expression and he offered a small smile, just barely a tug at his lips. "You said you wondered if, after you die, it's just going to be darkness and nothingness, but it's not. I've died quite a few times and I assure you that the afterlife is not to be feared. To be honest, it's almost hard to leave it each time, it so indescribably beautiful and peaceful. It captures the most dazzling and marvelous parts of this world and embodies it to the fullest."
"Then why do you come back?" It sounded like the first thing that had popped up in his head and Harry's smile deepened when he saw the small flash of what could have been a wince or embarrassment in Tom's expression. The question sounded insensitive, but Harry didn't mind.
"Because I have things I still wish to do here, and . . ." His gaze turned to the window, catching the lush green tops of trees and distant hills, "This world can hold just as much beauty if only you allow yourself to see it. Things are wondrous, not because we look at them and deem them that way, not because we allow them to be—they will be wondrous whether we think so or not, it is our choice to understand it and see it, or to ignore it. I am still learning to see." When he looked back, Tom was watching him.
He didn't want to break the moment, the air heavy with something he couldn't quite place, but he had one last question. When he spoke, it came out as almost a whisper.
"Do you still fear death, Tom?"
However, that feeling lingering in the air didn't dissipate or crumble, the words simply floated through it like fog and reached the other a little slower than they should have.
"No."
Something brushed over his shoulders and an easy breath loosened itself from his lungs. He once again felt relaxed—almost serene—sitting across from Tom. What he said next was easier than he'd thought it'd be when he'd left Grimmauld Place earlier.
"Not all of your Horcruxes were used in your resurrection. One was left out." Tom tensed, and a wash of conflicting emotions crossed his face, but whatever he settled on, didn't look quite like relief—more like, concern? "It won't affect you, physically, mentally, magically since it was the smallest one you had created and is less than one percent of your soul. I'm sure you weren't even aware of it's existence before now." Tom seemed dumbfounded—well, as dumbfounded as someone can look when they'd all but mastered the art of composure and self-control—by this news.
"Why would you—how did you—Why?"
"Because, I put a lot of time and effort into saving you from the brink of complete destruction and it would be a shame for all of that to go to waste if you were to get hit by a bus or accidentally ate some expired meat or something." His light attempt at humor didn't penetrate Tom's shock, but then again, he really didn't expect it to. "And you needn't worry, it is as safe as it can be. Only I have access to it." He heard a short, amused huff from the back of his mind, but ignored his friend.
"Where?" At Harry's faint smile, Tom blinked several times, still as confused as ever.
"Exactly where you put it, fourteen years ago." And with that, Harry reached up to gently touch the scar that he would never lose no matter how many times he died and came back. Tom's eyes brightened with realization, though he still didn't seem to know how to feel about it. Harry's expression became more serious then.
"For as long as I am your Horcrux, there will be a way for me to bring you back. . . However, I am just as capable of leaving that piece behind in the afterlife should I choose to and make you actually mortal. I of course will never hold that over your head as a threat, since destroying your last Horcrux can't kill you, I hope that you never mistake it as a threat and misunderstand my intentions. I just hope you understand that you are not invincible and if you decide to go back down that path you were on before, I will not hesitate to do what needs to be done—everything else is your choice." Harry said, and the strangest thing happened, Tom almost looked relieved by his words, as if the thought of being bound to immortality and horcruxes permanently had frightened him. Then again, he could only imagine how horrible they had been for him before, or how hellish it had been to drift bodiless and helpless for a full decade.
"Then I will trust that it is in good hands." Tom said smoothly, appearing more relaxed than before. Tom smiled easily at the other boy and Harry suddenly felt a soft brush of warmth up his spine at the sight, accompanied by the ever-pleasant low baritone of Tom's voice that tickled the insides of his ears.
Seeking a quick path out of the lingering words of trust and commendation, Harry snatched one of the absent thoughts that had been floating around his head for so long that he didn't really think twice before giving it voice.
"Actually, while I'm here I'd really like to check you over to make sure everything with the resurrection ritual went alright. Considering that the ritual was something I had constructed, there was no way to properly test it all the way through and I'd like to be sure that everything is working properly. Would you mind terribly if I indulged my worries and did a short work up? Nothing too invasive, I promise." Harry spoke quickly, already standing up and preparing to round the table on Tom. He was determined to do his examination whether Tom liked it or not. Harry had been driving himself up the wall for two months now, aching to get a proper look at Tom to be sure that his spells and preparations had worked.
Tom quirked an eyebrow but already amusement was tugging at his lips. Remembering his few trips to the infirmary during his Hogwarts years, Tom merely expected for the raven-haired boy to cast a few examination spells and be done with it, so he nodded in assent. However, when Harry pulled his wand out, it was to cast a tempus charm and set it on the table with the time still hovering above the tip of the wand.
Harry then stepped up to Tom, who was still seated, and reached for his arm but paused at the last moment.
"May I?" the other boy looked confused, but raised his arm slightly and allowed Harry to gently grasp his wrist. Tom remained still as he felt soft, slightly cool fingers slip under the edge of his sleeve and seek out the thrumming vein just below his palm. Suddenly, he realized that Harry was going to be checking his vitals, by hand, as he either didn't know the healer spells, or knew the muggle way better. Tom blinked and unconsciously swallowed as he shifted his gaze away from the other boy's face, which was far too tempting to examine, this close.
Harry pressed his fingertips into Tom's pulse point and turned his attention to the tempus still being displayed above his wand and began to count the beats, and keeping in mind the rhythm and strength of the pulse. He was glad to note that there were no irregularities in the rhythm and that Tom's resting heart rate was strong and steady.
Harry was already moving on from there, absorbed in collecting and remembering data instead of his proximity to Tom. Squeezing his fingertips to check capillary refill and make sure that his circulation was doing alright.
Harry asked Tom questions as he worked: was he experiencing any numbness or weakness in his limbs or muscles, how much and how often was he sleeping, how often did he eat in a day and how was his usual apatite, had he used his magic yet, was it working properly for him and how long did it take him to reach magical fatigue, did he have any health concerns or things that seemed odd? Tom was fairly good at answering all of his questions, as the wizard seemed quite in tune with his body and had been keeping an eye on his health well enough—though not as closely as Harry would have hoped.
Harry signaled for Tom to lift his chin by giving it a gentle nudge with his knuckle and then bent down a little while his fingers prodded and pressed along the softer underside of Toms sharp jaw to feel his lymph nodes. Once he was sure the lymphatic system was just fine, Harry turned his face towards Tom's and pulled his chin down slightly so that he could get a good look at Tom's eyes, trying to get a glimpse of his pupils and make sure they were working alright, as it might indicate something was wrong with his brain or nervous system if they didn't respond right.
However, it seemed right at that moment, Harry came out of his own head and his focus on tests and data shattered as he realized just how close he was to Tom and the position they were in. Tom was still sat in his chair, head tilted up at an angle and Harry bent down over him, their faces only inches apart and captivating dark blue eyes having arrested him. Harry was once again reminded of the night of the resurrection, when he'd first looked upon Tom's face and had been enraptured by him.
Harry's lips parted every so slightly, eyes wide as he tensed, as if afraid he'd sway closer if he didn't hold himself rigid. His gaze moved from the penetrating beam of midnight blue to the dark little mark at the corner of his eye and sliding down the smooth, flawless expanse of alabaster until it found another little dot on his jaw, and then another just barely visible from that angle, disappearing around the bend of his sharp bone structure. Harry felt gentle whisper of breath along his chin and skating under to brush down the skin of his throat and slip over the collar of his robes. From this close he could smell the clean and alluring scent of eucalyptus and something deeper, richer that he couldn't name but desperately wanted to know right then.
Harry's gaze moved back up to Tom's eyes, which had not left him once and seemed to have been looking back at him just as avidly. After a few more pulses, Harry blinked and straightened up, out of Tom's personal space. He could feel the heat tickling up throat and blooming high on his cheeks. Tom turned his face away slightly and coughed into his hand to clear away some of the tension that had grown moments before in the silence. Harry didn't think he imagined the slight color in his face as well, but he wasn't exactly looking at Tom's face anymore, instead looking somewhere off to the right.
"Thank you, I think that was enough to answer my worries. Your vitals are strong and healthy, from what I can see, there's nothing to worry about. Though, I will still suggest that you be sure to eat proper meals regularly, get more sleep on a regular basis, and do not overexert yourself magically. It's only been two months since you did the impossible and essentially came back from the dead, it would be alright to take your time and allow yourself rest every now and then." Harry spoke as he turned around to pick up his wand from the table and stuff it back in his robes.
"If you don't have any other immediate questions, I think I should be on my way, as I have people expecting me to not be out for too long." Harry was already walking towards, the door without looking back, feeling the heat in his cheeks grow with every passing moment. However, before he made it out of the room, Tom called his name and, hesitantly, he turned to find Tom standing as well, looking a little out of his depth and not quite sure what to say.
After a moment, his shoulders dipped a little as he didn't seem to find the right thing to say exactly and just came out with it, not nearly as guarded and composed as he had been at the beginning of the meeting.
"Tomorrow- . . . would you be able to return tomorrow at around noon?" No talk of unanswered questions or more to discuss, just a simple invitation. After a moment, Harry blinked and nodded, looking at Tom once more before slipping from the room before his brain caught up with him and did something stupid, like turn the offer down. This was just their first meeting, there would certainly be more to follow. Harry left the Manor in a daze, barely being of enough mind to get himself safely apparated back to Grimmauld Place.
In the raven's absence, the remaining boy dropped heavily into his chair, eyes blankly watching the empty chair across from him. His mind was still buzzing with what it had learned, but most of all, it was reeling from the thunderstorm of a boy that had just left him. He wondered if his absence would always feel like the content and fatigued lull after a ravaging storm.
He turned his head and looked out the window, searching for what the other boy had seen earlier when he had smiled so softly, wistful, and his words danced through his head like bells.
"Things are wondrous, not because we look at them and deem them that way, not because we allow them to be—they will be wondrous whether we think so or not, it is our choice to understand it and see it, or to ignore it. . ."
"I am still learning to see."
