You've all been waiting for it--Harry's Super Fun Descent into Evil!
Well, really, this is more like Harry Tests the Plastic Kiddie Slide of Evil. Or maybe Harry Dips His Toes Into the Inflatable Rubber Pool of Evil. But hey, it's something, I'll say that much. This is a very transitional chapter and I really enjoyed writing it, especially the new scenery, so I hope you guys like it.
Chapter Thirty-Five: Change of Scene
Try as he might, Harry wasn't able to retrieve his father's map. No matter where he saw them, the twins never seemed to have it handy. And he knew that what he'd said to Malfoy was all talk: if it came to a confrontation, the Weasels were unfortunately older, more skilled, and therefore more likely to beat the living snot out of him.
The remaining winter months passed in their slushy, drippy glory; the fifth-years became occupied with studying for their O.W.L.s. Harry had to divide his time between work, Malfoy, and Tom. At the same time, Ron Weasley more of his free time around Hermione Granger, trying to loosen her up despite the fact that she became unbearable in a blur of studying and color-coded schedules. Unbeknownst to him, his little sister was busy as well, discovering an entirely different side of Hogwarts from wandering it at night, map in hand and her cat Dog keeping lookouts.
May arrived, the weather still chilly and a little rainy, though the sun made a few appearances. Harry and Malfoy stayed up late finishing the assignments they were bothered to do; the night before the last Quidditch match, Harry fell asleep quickly, hoping for a deep, dreamless night.
He was disappointed and, actually, a little happy to find himself back in the place he always met Tom. However, he was startled to find that the gray skies and snowy woods had suddenly disappeared, to be replaced with a golden summer field capped with a cloudless blue sky that he rarely saw at Hogwarts.
Tom was lying elegantly on a slope of the tall, golden grass. "Hello, Harry," he said as the younger boy lay down beside him.
"Change of scene?" Harry inquired, plucking a stalk and chewing on it in the corner of his mouth.
"I think you've got summer on the brain. This place is in your head, after all, not mine," Tom said, laughing a little.
Harry grinned. "Yeah, that's probably it. These O.W.L.s are a right pain in the bum."
"I remember taking those. Luckily, school came rather easy to me," Tom said thoughtfully.
Harry snorted. "Lucky for you. Me 'n Malfoy have been up till two each night with all the homework they keep dumping on us."
"How are things between you two, anyway?"
Harry paused to consider. "Better. He's still sour at me for not getting the map my dad and his friends made, and he's still asking a lot of questions about the whole, er, Parseltongue thing. But with all the studying, he's too exhausted to be too angry."
Tom turned on his side and faced Harry. Harry noticed that his heavy black cloak and red scarf were gone, and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up with the tie unfastened. "What do you say to him when he asks about Parseltongue?"
Harry shrugged. "I dunno…mainly I just mumble something so he can't hear, and he gets exasperated and lets me change the subject."
Tom grinned. "I'm sorry I got you in a mess. I thought you'd be happy, really. But at least now we get to share something."
Harry chewed his stalk harder, hoping his anxiety didn't show on his face. However he felt about Tom being able to see with his eyes, where he went and what he did, he definitely wasn't as happy about it as Tom was. But he didn't want to offend his friend—he was one of the closest that Harry had, besides Malfoy.
He looked back at Tom, slightly surprised to see him gazing around at the field wistfully. "I can see the summer sky, and feel the warm breeze, and smell the wheat, here," Tom said softly. "But it isn't real. I haven't felt real ground beneath my feet in so long." He turned his gaze onto Harry. "I miss my body. I miss being alive."
Harry heard the pleading in Tom's voice and nearly shuddered. "What are you trying to say?" he asked slowly.
Tom sat up and put his hand on Harry's arm. "Would you help me, Harry, to be alive again?"
Harry had always known the question would be brought up again, and wasn't surprised. He avoided it for a few moments by murmuring, "The sky and the grass don't usually look this good in the real world, anyway."
"Harry."
He sat up as well. "What you're talking about is necromancy, Tom, isn't it?"
Tom shook his head. "No. I'm not dead, I'm not a corpse. You wouldn't be unleashing a zombie on your friends. I'm a memory—I just need a vessel…"
"A body," Harry finished for him sharply.
"Harry, I know you, and you know me too. You love me—I am one of your closest friends, aren't I? What is one sacrifice for friendship?" His hand strayed to Harry's cheek as the other boy realized what Tom was asking him.
He drew away quickly. "You're asking me to kill someone!"
"I'm asking you to exchange one meaningless life for a more important one," Tom said softly.
Harry shook his head, springing to his feet. "It doesn't make it right—I can't kill—"
Tom rose as well, but slowly and coolly. "Doesn't our friendship matter, Harry? What is one life balanced against mine? I know you yourself have thought how much more real I seem than the people around you. How can something that happens everyday be so wrong, anyway?"
Harry turned away. "No. Not a chance. I can't kill someone, don't you understand? That's a crime, they'd lock me away in Azkaban—"
Tom's breath was on his neck; he'd approached him from behind. "There are other ways to bring me into physical being, Harry," he spoke into the boy's ear, voice turning soft and dangerous. "I could possess you, and drain you until there's nothing left, and I will grow more and more real." He put his hand on Harry's shoulder, making sure Harry could feel the edges of his fingernails.
Harry's breath hitched. "You can't do that—not to me…"
"I don't want to, Harry, I don't want to. Don't you see how much better it would be if you did what I asked?"
Harry whipped around. "I'm not going to kill someone for you, Tom," he said firmly, watching Tom's expressionless features warily. "But I want you to promise me you won't—you won't possess me, or drain me, or…" he trailed off, aware of Tom's grip on his arm.
The handsome boy smiled sadly. "Of course not. You know I'd never do anything like that—not to you, Harry." He sighed and turned away. "Perhaps, someday, a chance will come—"
"Maybe," Harry interrupted. "But I'm not going to become a murderer, today or any day."
Tom faced him again, and smiled secretly. He had no need to touch Harry to make him feel reassured or welcome. All he needed was to speak, or to listen, and Harry was his again. "All right," he said, "good luck on your O.W.L.s."
The golden field and the beautiful sky faded away as Tom walked over the crest of the hill they'd been sitting on and out of sight.
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