Chapter 3: Unravel

When he came to, there was a bright light. It hurt so much that he jerked back and tried to close his eyes.

Hands held his eyelid back, forcing him to stare into the void.

"You have quite the concussion my dear," a soft voice t-sked before pushing him back down in the bed. Her hands were soft and firm, nothing like Uncle Vernon's meaty paws. "No sudden movements or you might hurt yourself. Are you feeling any pain?"

Funnily enough, he didn't. A glance at his arm revealed that that was probably because they were pumping him full of drugs. Not that he minded. The drugs made him feel fuzzy, lightheaded- safe.

"Is 'Tunia 'ere?" he managed as the woman shined the light in his other eye. "Did she save me?"

The woman jerked the light away from him, causing black spots to blot everything out.

"I'll send the doctor in a few. Just rest for a mo', okay dear?"

He didn't like the sound of that. Had his aunt gotten hurt because of him?

He shifted restlessly, worrying the IV with his free hand.

Are you feeling alright?

Harry started at the voice tickling his inner ear. There was no one there. It almost sounded like- Before he could think much more about it, the door opened and a very tall man in a blinding white coat entered.

The man's hands were twice as big as Harry's face. But Harry wasn't scared of him, not like he was of Vernon.

"Mr. Potter. You've had quite the ordeal," he rumbled. It was reassuring, like the lull of thunder under the patter of rain.

Harry nodded uncertainly.

"I need to ask you a few questions to be sure you're recovering alright. You've been out for a little under 24 hours. You cracked a rib and completely re-shattered your arm. There was a little internal bleeding, but we managed to get you patched back up." He remembered the blow to his jaw and felt it. Not even tender.

What on earth had happened?

"Head wounds tend to bleed more. That was less severe than it looked. No need to worry about that. Mr. Potter, can you tell me your first name?"

"Harry," he croaked.

"And when were you born?"

"July 31st."

"And what happened last night?"

Harry looked away.

"Listen, Harry. You can talk to me. We just want to see your uncle brought to justice. Did your aunt do this to you?"

Harry looked up, startled. His aunt?

"Aunt Petunia was fighting with Uncle Vernon because she didn't want him to punish me. He hit her and then he punished me."

Harry's loose tongue was really getting to be a problem. His uncle might cut it off next time.

"How did he punish you?"

Harry shook his head. He couldn't tell. Bad things happened when he told. No one ever believed him. He'd just get locked up in the cupboard for weeks.

The doctor knelt by his bed and placed one of his giant hands on Harry's lap. "I can help. We can get you someplace safe if you just tell me."

Safe? "How could you possibly keep me safe?"

"Your Aunt Petunia. Did she hurt your Uncle Vernon after he punished you?"

"I don't know. I passed out after… Is Uncle Vernon in the hospital, too?"

"Harry, I don't know how to put this. Your Uncle Vernon isn't here anymore. He is in heaven."

There was a long silence as Harry shut his vibrant eyes. The doctor leaned closer, preparing to comfort the child.

He jerked away when the boy's eyes snapped open. They were like emerald glaciers, a sea foam green found on the roofs of ancient German churches.

"Heaven?" the boy cocked his head. "Why would he go there?"

The doctor looked like he wanted to say more, but Harry interrupted innocently.

"I always thought Uncle Vernon would do better in Hell. Bad people don't go to heaven after all. What do ya know? I guess he made the cut. My parents are probably there too then. Maybe I'll go if it's really that easy to get in."

The doctor looked flabbergasted. "H-hell?"

"Well, yeah. You can't steal money like he did or beat an innocent child to death and not end up in Hell."

"S-steal? B-beat?"

Harry nodded again slowly. "S-steal. H-hell. B-beat. What are you? A broken record? I thought doctors were supposed to be smart."

"Harry…"

The boy looked the doctor directly in the eye and smiled, "I'm not Harry."

Harry didn't know where he was. After that doctor man had said that Uncle Vernon was dead, everything faded into a dull roar. He closed his eyes because everything was too bright, too loud. The beep of the machine was almost as scary as the heavy breaths of the doctor.

How had Uncle Vernon died? Did Harry…?

His freakishness had never killed anyone, right? (But part of him was remembering that one time when the scary man had chased him out of the park and tried to do strange things to him in an alley. They both ended up on a busy street, but only the man was hit by the car. They said he died instantly.)

It's okay.

That voice. It was there again and Harry didn't know what to do.

What was it?

A thought occurred to him and it filled him with such sweet relief. Harry hadn't killed Uncle Vernon. Tom had.

Or had he? If Tom had come from the book it must have been because of… Oh, but it wasn't possible. No matter how freakish Harry was, he couldn't make someone come out of a book. He just simply couldn't.

Yet, if Harry was right, Tom had protected him. He'd come out of the book and protected Harry from his beastly uncle.

Which meant Harry had killed him.

He hadn't wanted Uncle Vernon to die. At least, he didn't think he did. Now he'd be off to jail and he'd never get anything to eat and he'd never see the light of day…

Harry hadn't bloody well told Tom to help him, had he?

Oh, but he had. He'd screamed and screamed for help, and someone had answered.

Blast it! Why did Tom have to kill the man? That wasn't what Harry had meant when he'd asked for help. He just wanted Uncle Vernon to leave him alone.

Then again, that was operating under the assumption that Tom had killed him rather than Harry or a loose a chandelier.

It still could've been Harry who'd done it. He wasn't sure.

Harry finally stretched himself to full height and yelled, "WHAT DID YOU DO?" hoping he was right and it was Tom who'd done the deed.

The blackness blurred into grey and then white and then he was standing on a soft bed of grass in front of a glistening lake. Stormy grey clouds formed a formidable wall overhead, but they didn't seem inclined to let loose rain.

Harry zoned in on a dark-headed boy perched at the lake's edge, letting the tips of his leather oxfords trail in the water.

The boy twisted towards him, eyes dancing with warmth like the logs on a fire.

"Hello, Harry. It's nice to finally meet you." He stood and took hold of Harry's limp hand.

"Tom?" the child barely managed to croak.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle at your service," the young man actually did a bit of a bow, smile widening as he took in Harry's six-year-old form. "My, my you're a skinny thing. And young. I didn't realize you were so young." Tom went quiet for a moment, staring at Harry. He ruffled his hair affectionately, but Harry flinched from the contact. "No worries. We'll have you safe and well-fed soon enough."

"Where are we?"

"This was a place I used to go when I needed to think. Its rather soothing, wouldn't you say?"

Harry looked out at the dark waters. Soothing maybe if he could swim. What if Tom pushed him in?

Harry didn't want to ask his next question precisely because he didn't want to die. But he felt compelled to. He had to know. "What did you do to Uncle Vernon?"

"I saved your life." That smile promised sin. It promised things he didn't want to know. But he had to know.

"How?"

"I temporarily possessed you and took care of the problem."

"You mean I killed my uncle?"

"No, I did."

Harry should have felt something other than the icy numbness. But he didn't. He couldn't.

Until, with a whoosh of breath, warmth heated his frail body. Relief. Something told him. He was relieved.

His uncle was finally dead. Vernon Dursley couldn't hurt him anymore.

"Are you going to go back to the diary? I don't want you to have to go back there." His chest tightened for his friend. His friend. It was really selfish, the reason he didn't want Tom going back to the diary. He didn't want to be alone again. And this time he'd really be alone. No family, no friends. Just Harry.

Tom's face darkened. "I'm stuck, actually. You've got a strong mind for a four-year-old, kid."

Harry's face went slack with relief before his jaw tightened. "I'm seven and a month and four days."

Tom's face scrunched up. "Well, I think you've been out for over twenty four hours. Technically it would be seven and a month and five days."

"So what does that mean? You'll be here making mean comments for the rest of my life?"

"I'm not quite sure yet. We'll see."

"They think Aunt Petunia did it, you know," Harry said suddenly. He twisted his fingers frantically. "Should I tell them? I mean, it was me even if you were using my body. What if…"

Tom smiled slowly, resting a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Why would you tell them anything? What has your aunt done for you?" Tom's nose twisted into a sneer. "Why should you go to jail when she hurt you just as bad as he did? They're muggles. She deserves worse than what she's going to get."

Harry paled. "But in jail they don't feed you and… and…"

"And if she doesn't go, you will."

"What about Dudley?"

Tom's face twisted with contempt. It was very unbecoming on his face, but still rather satisfying. No one ever looked like that when they talked about Dudley. "Your whale of a cousin that almost beat you with a cricket bat? They'll do the same for him as they will for you."

Harry swayed before plopping down on his bottom. "We'll both be shipped to a state home. They'll kill me there, Tom! I'm a… a… freak!"

Tom's smile turned cold. He sat beside Harry, draping his arm carefully around the kid's shoulder. "You're young, Harry. An adorable four-"

"Seven."

"Seven-year-old with wide green eyes and a terrible backstory. No one wanted me in the muggle world because they knew I was different. I think- Let me have the light for a moment and I'll get you somewhere safe. I'll get you somewhere where you're wanted."

"Have the light?"

"Control. I need control of your body Harry if we are going to make this work."

Harry jerked upright, knocking Tom's hand from his shoulder. "Control? Are you going to kill someone else?"

"Nothing like that. I'm trying to keep us safe."

Maybe Harry shouldn't have trusted Tom so explicitly. But Harry was only seven and Tom had saved him once before. Sure, the whole food fiasco had almost gotten him killed, but Tom hadn't let anything happen to either of them. Tom was exactly like Harry, as far as Harry was concerned. Why wouldn't Tom keep his word? Kids were different than adults; they told it how it was. They were far more trustworthy.

"Okay. How do I do it?"

"Just let go."

And Harry fell asleep.

So, the tension is building. Our young hero is out from under the Dursley's thumb, but where will he go next? Will Dumbledore swoop in and save the day with his sparkled star robe? Tune in next week; same Potter time, same Potter channel.