After an incredibly long year and a half of slowly working his way through the Potter Library, Harry had finally found a relevant book.
See, the thing about book searching in a personal library is that there are no organisational signs, or helpful labels. There isn't a way of searching through the whole library immediately, or at least not that Harry knew. This meant that the only way he was going to find something on dimension travel was skimming through every possible book in the impossibly large room.
It wasn't quite as bad as one might think, some books were in a completely different language, probably Latin, and usually he just threw them aside, since he couldn't read them anyway. Others were clearly on different things entirely, like magical creatures, or basic potions, and Harry would need only put them back on the shelf.
It had been a rather sunny day, Tom was playing quidditch with his father and Sirius, Harry had claimed feeling sick, and was supposedly in bed having a nap.
He reached a particularly clean shelf, missing an inch of dust like the others. It had still obviously not been touched for decades, but it must have been one of the last shelves visited by the owners. He knew it looked promising when the first book he opened was titled 'Odd magical theory for beginners'.
Sure enough, the entire shelf was full of books that Xenophilius Lovegood might have drooled over, including Dimension travel.
He wiped the dust from the cover of the small, thin book, the gateway home, to Hermione, and Ginny, and Ron, and everyone else. He delicately opened the fragile-looking book, for fear it would disintegrate in his hand.
"Gateways and portals, a Guide to This Universe and Others"
This was it. This was what he needed to leave.
He was about to start reading, when he was pulled from his trance.
"HARRY," Came a distant yell from Lily, "TIME FOR LUNCH!" He closed the book with a satisfying snap, putting it back on the shelf, not taking his eyes off it as he slowly walked away. After a moment of consideration, he snatched it back up and ran for his bedroom.
As he ate lunch, all he could think of was the book, hidden, in his drawer, under his clothes, in his room. He barely took in what his parents were saying, until a familiar name popped up.
"Dumbledore should be arriving quite soon, so …"
"Dumbledore?" Tom interrupted, having clearly been engrossed with his own thoughts.
Ah yes, he had made himself quite a friend of the family since their fourth birthday. He had missed the party entirely, turning up the very next day. It was quite a clear memory.
"Hello there, my name is Professor Albus Dumbledore." He smiled, leaning down ever so slightly over the two boys.
"You must be young Tom, and you must be Harry."
"Hello Professor." Tom smiled back.
"Hello. It's nice to meet you." Harry could hardly stop himself from grinning at the man, it was nice to see him again after so long.
"Now, I hear it was your birthday tomorrow, I apologise for not being at your party, but I had some urgent business to attend to. I hope this makes up for it." He explained, presenting them with two packages.
Tom immediately tore into his, and Harry quickly followed suit, pulling out a pair of woolen, maroon socks. Looking over, he saw Tom with a pair of turquoise ones. Although Tom looked slightly perplexed, Harry couldn't help but smile at the first non-colour-coded gift he had received in three years.
"Thank you!" Harry exclaimed, already pulling on the hideous socks. Tom, having seen Harry's enjoyment, quickly copied him, smiling a thank you to Dumbledore.
Dumbledore gave Harry an intense look, possibly not expecting such an enthusiastic response. Lily looked on, defeated, at the unmatching socks. James just had an amused face the entire time.
Suddenly, Harry felt something in his head, it was indescribable, but he still knew what it was, he recognised it from the last time. It was the feeling of a mental poke at his supposedly 'perfect' occlumency shields. He quickly looked to Dumbledore, who gave a minute shake of his head to Lily and James, who suddenly sobered.
Tom,who was on the floor shoving his equally hideous socks over his own socks had missed the moment entirely.
"Yes Tom, Dumbledore, we told you he was coming over later. Harry dear, are you feeling better? He wants to talk to you both about something quite important." Lily's face was concerned.
"Yes mum." He acknowledged.
"Good, now, if you're both finished; wash your hands and make yourselves presentable, honestly." She chided, looking at the mud covering Tom's shirt, apparently he'd fallen off his broom.
When both children were clean, and wearing their latest pair of Dumbledore Socks™ (from their fifth birthday, salmon for Harry, and neon orange for Tom) they were led by James into the drawing room, a recently repainted room that Tom had begun to frequent.
"Hello professor." Harry greeted politely, as he himself was greeted with the mandatory mental poke that accompanied every Dumbledore visit. He had no idea why he kept doing it, it probably wasn't going to go away. At least it wasn't meant to be threatening, he knew that it was a very concerning issue for the order.
"Hello my boys, how are you?" He smiled back at them, giving no sign (as usual) of the mental probe.
After a brief ramble from Tom about quidditch, Dumbledore's face became serious.
"Tom, Harry, have you ever wondered about the scars on your foreheads?" He asked.
Tom looked confused, clearly not knowing what to say, while Harry was breathless. Wow. He was going to have this talk with them. Right now. Here. In the drawing room. God, where was this when he actually was five.
"Well, when you were babies, a very dangerous wizard was fighting against the ministry. He had many supporters, and he wanted to get rid of all the muggleborns in the magical community. He fought with dark spells, and dangerous people. One night, he came to the house you lived in. He came, to kill you both." He was cut off by a shocked gasp from Tom, and a still shocked silence from Harry, who was fairly sure he'd stopped breathing several minutes ago.
"He stupefied your parents, who tried very hard to protect you both, and sent the killing curse at you." He paused.
"No one knows how you survived that night, but you were found soon after by Sirius, and when your parents were awoken, they discovered the remains of the man, Voldemort. They decided to bring and raise you here." He finished.
"But.. Why here?" Asked Tom, who seemed to accept the story.
"Well, you remember I mentioned he had many followers? Although he had somehow been stopped by you that night, his followers were still at large, very dangerous people. Your friend young Neville, his family was attacked in the early morning after Voldemort was defeated, if his parents had not been here at the time, they may have been killed.
Voldemort's followers, after hearing of the demise of their master, wanted to come after you both, which is why you are here. It is protected, and it is safe. That is why your mother never takes you out, and few people come here." Dumbledore explained, gently.
Tom looked as though his entire world view was changing, and Harry tried to mimic the look as Dumbledore turned his gaze to him. To be honest, Harry had figured that was why they never left the manor, not that they had ever really asked to, it wasn't exactly a cramped place.
"Why are you telling us now?" Harry asked, genuinely wanting to know the answer.
"Well, the last of Voldemort's followers have been arrested, or cleared of any charges, and your parents wanted you to be able to experience the world now that you are both nearly six. There is, however, one last thing that you need to know. Because of all of this, you are both incredibly famous in the magical world. Your friends know your story, but have been asked personally by me and your parents to not mention it to you. We really didn't want to ruin your innocence, but it would be unfair to keep it from you any longer."
Harry remembered how his own Dumbledore had waited a good 16 years to tell him anything, and wondered if the same would be repeated here, since everything they had been told was common knowledge in the wizarding world.
"Why did he want to hurt us?" Harry asked, innocently.
Something flashed in Dumbledore's eyes, but his face remained unchanged.
"He was insane, and your family is known for your mother's muggleborn status. Who knows what he was thinking when he tried to hurt you as well." Dumbledore passed off.
Huh. Figures.
"Thank you for being so mature about this boys. Now, I hear from your mother that you, Harry, are feeling a bit poorly, so I should leave you to your rest." Dumbledore smile returned.
Tom looked too engrossed in his own thoughts to even register that Dumbledore was leaving. Harry began to leave along-side Dumbledore when Tom grabbed his hand.
"I'm feeling a bit sick. I think I caught your illness." He grimaced, lacing his fingers with Harry's in a familiar way. Harry had never gotten round to stopping that, but he made it quite clear that it wasn't welcome. " I think I'm going to rest as well."
Excellent.
When Tom seemed to be asleep, Harry reached into his drawer, pulling out the book gently. It was unbelievably thin. He began to read.
Harry personally wasn't the biggest fan of reading, especially not non-fiction, but this was hypnotic. Maybe it was the knowledge that this would get him home that kept his interest, but it didn't matter.
Page after page of flicking through the debate of whether it was possible or not, until finally, a mention of the way it worked.
"Many theorists believe that to invoke something as powerful as dimension travel, one would need an equally powerful source. Although it could be invoked in many ways, such as runes, rituals, or of course the philosopher's stone, there must be a source of magic that this medium transfers. To use a muggle term, as a battery to a light bulb, there must be power to invoke the change.
Many have argued that phoenixes are the only known creature to travel through dimensions freely, and may possibly act as a medium, helping those who wish to travel to the other side."
That was it. That was all that it said. It then carried on to a near-propaganda argument over whether it was possible or not. Frantically he flicked through, scanning each page, politics, diagrams, possible cases of disappearances that could prove it, but there was nothing more on the actual specifics of getting home.
Tears started forming in his eyes as the overwhelming urge to panic came over him. He violently wiped them away, jumping out of the bed and running through the manor, right back to the library.
He threw the book onto the dusty shelf, ripping book after book from it, checking them, begging for another of them to be helpful, but his search came up empty.
"Harry?" Came the cautious voice of Tom. He must have woken up when Harry left and followed him.
In his blind rage, Harry could not take Tom at that moment, he wanted to be alone, he hated this, he hated everything about this stupid world, with stupid Voldemort.
"Just shut up Tom, shut up! Leave me alone! I hate you!"
Tom's eyes widened, filling with tears as he ran out of the library, and in that moment, Harry couldn't find it in him to care.
He curled up alone, against the bookcase, and cried.
Dinner was an uncomfortable affair. Tom had red-ringed eyes, as did Harry. Lily seemed to chalk it up to the illness they had both supposedly been facing.
Tom kept his eyes down the entire time, facing his lap, refusing to look at Harry, not talking, except from the occasional grunt in response to a question from Lily or James.
Harry was feeling more and more guilty every minute, but goddamn it he refused to feel bad for Voldemort, literally Voldemort! This was all just an act, an evil plan to…
To..
Well Harry didn't actually know. He'd thought about it for years, but it was never apparent what his plan was. Even with all the subterfuge, when he could have slaughtered anyone at any point over the past four years, and yet he didn't. He could have imperiused everyone at their last birthday, the full order and Dumbledore himself, and yet he didn't.
He found himself thinking about it all evening, having been engrossed in a way home, he had never discovered Voldemort's plan, and every theory he had was disputed by the small Hermione-voice in his head.
Even as he got into bed, opposite from a still sombre Tom, staring at him, he couldn't figure out his angle. What was his plot?
It was then, in the dark, lying in bed, that Harry sudden got a sinking feeling about Tom.