A/N: See disclaimer in Chapter 1.
Many thanks to the Alpha Fight Club crew for all their help on this, particularly darklordmike, BajaB, BennyS, Scaryisntit, respitechristopher, Nukular Winter, and Voice of the Nephilim. I also wish to acknowledge Viridian/S'TarKan, who wrote a scene in Nightmares of Futures Past that inspired one of the scenes here. (A cookie and a Chapter 6 A/N shout-out to the first to recognize which scenes I'm talking about).
I'd initially intended for this chapter and the next to combine into a single chapter, but together they would have gone over 13k words, which I felt was a little long. Expect Chapter 6 (titled Don't Disrespect the Lemming) soon.
Chapter Five: Five's a Crowd
My companion shifted closer to me beneath the covers and I caught a face full of hair. I opened my eyes a crack and blinding rays of sunlight scorched my retinas. I fumbled for my wand and tapped my eyelids, muttering a charm to shrink my pupils so that I could see. A quick glance at the position of the sun showed it was mid-morning and that I probably should get up, though my warm bed and even warmer companion made it a close call.
Last night, rather than crash in the same hotel as a loud, incredibly drunk Viktor and his two lady friends, Milenka and I had opted for my place instead. Halfway through the evening, I slipped on a limiting pendant, so I never got much more than mildly intoxicated and could still pull off the cross-continental dual-Apparation. As my place was still under the Fidelius, her technically illegal, one-night immigration wouldn't be flagged by the Ministry.
I took stock of my other companions, the ones in my head. Tom was insensate in an alcohol-induced doze. Molly, on the other hand, was up and she was upset for some reason. I peeked across the bond to find her in the kitchen in front of a stove, her family arrayed in front of her. Several stony faces looked at her with disappointment. Damn.
"Kreacher?" I whispered.
A loud pop jolted my companion awake, but she drifted back to sleep.
"Wretched, foul-blooded scion of the blood-traitor calls for Kreacher?" He has such a delightful way with words in the morning.
"Yeah. Can you fetch some breakfast for Milenka and me?" The elf glared at me, then at the lump beside me in bed, and attempted to spit.
"Ah, ah... no spitting," I said.
The elf snarled, showing his teeth, and then dropped to his knees and mashed his head into the floor, nose-first, where it made a wet "Scrick" sound as it broke in two places.
"Kreacher remembers nasty Master's command. May Kreacher at least bleed with dignity?" he said with a pitiful voice as blood dribbled down his sodden pillowcase and onto the floor.
"No, absolutely not. Heal yourself and clean that up. That's an order." Iknew that if I let him have his way, he'd intentionally bleed all over the floor, the bed, our clothing... Bastard would probably take blood-replenishing potions to keep up the flow.
I watched as the recalcitrant elf thought about his options, then deflated as he had none. Two angry snaps of his fingers fixed his face and the mess.. Back at the Burrow, Hermione, with a pained expression on her face, stepped slowly into the kitchen and seated herself upon an inflatable 'O'-shaped cushion. It was impossible to miss the glare she sent at Ron, who moved to sit beside her.
"Kreacher can prepare a breakfast for foul-blooded Master and his half-breed whore, but Kreacher is an old elf who has trouble working the stove…"
I interrupted him. We went through this ritual every morning and I knew the score by now. "Fine. Take some Galleons from my bag and pop to Diagon Alley and get take-away from the Leaky Cauldron. Please get two of the usual and do not poison anything." He deflated at the last. With an extra-loud crack that rattled the windows, he disappeared. I leaned over to kiss my companion behind the ear. She swatted at me in annoyance.
Despite her crankiness, Milenka was good people—the kind you do make breakfast for in the morning. Or at least send out for it.
Last timeline, she and I met four years after the war. I was in Bulgaria, chasing down Selwyn and his gang, remnants of one of the last Death Eater cells, and led a team that tore apart their compound. In their dungeons, we found Milenka's uncle a hair's breadth from death. Debts had gotten the best of the unrepentant gambler, and he'd borrowed from the wrong sort of people, the kind whose collectors, the Death Eaters in question, were acting as the equivalent of toe-cutters in the Muggle world. After a few too many missed payments, Kirill—minus feet and fingers—was kidnapped and held for ransom. Though he never walked again, a grateful Milenka, herself an orphan and widow, got back her only living family. She and I became good friends.
Hard as it may be to believe, we'd never slept together before last night. I had a strange feeling in my stomach—last night was the first time I'd ever cheated on Gin, barring Pollies who looked just like her and who don't really count.
Kreacher reappeared with a loud pop. "Master's breakfast, including nasty, bitter coffee. Mistress would have approved of torturing bestial harlots with coffee." He said the last with a sneer and then thrust a tray with utensils and a paper bag into my hands.
"Thanks," I said, wincing as he vanished with another extremely loud crack.
"Jopa!" Milenka swore, grabbing at my pillow and pulling it over her head. She wasn't a morning person.
A blurry, frowning Arthur Weasley ghosted into view—Molly must have been really upset, projecting as she was. As I spread the breakfast and coffee on a tray for my companion, I caught fragments of what her sons and husband were saying.
"Mum, you sure you're you?" Fred folded his arms across his chest and asked thoughtfully, "Which of your children got his anus sealed with a sticking spell after he made prefect?"
George rolled his eyes. "Please, George. Everyone knows about Percy." He turned to his mother. "How could this happen, Mum? Is something bothering you?" Ginny, sitting beside him, nodded in agreement.
"I don't know," Molly said, feeling thoroughly embarrassed.
I hurriedly slipped into a clean pair of boxers and dressing gown.
"Milenka," I said, nudging the half-Veela gently.
"Let me sleep," she murmured in Russian, her native tongue.
I answered in Bulgarian, my Russian too rusty to trust to get the point across to a groggy lady. "I've got breakfast for when you wake up." She nodded and pulled the covers tightly around her body.
"It's a right mess, that's what it is," I heard Charlie say as he picked up a dark brown scone and bit into it, disgusted. "What will our guests think?" he asked, his mouth full.
I plucked a spoon from the tray and concentrated, saying, "Portus," then instructed my sleepy companion on how to activate the Portkey back to Bulgaria.
Arthur stepped behind her and hugged her about the middle. "Mollywobbles, when I married you, I never thought I'd see the day when something like this would happen. I know you've had a lot on your mind lately, but... wow." He gave her another squeeze, then grabbed a scone and tea and sat at the table.
Molly looked to her youngest son, who shook his head. "I feel like I don't even know you anymore, Mum," he said sadly. Beside him, Hermione took his hand in hers, her eyes bright.
I slid into a pair of slippers and Apparated to the Burrow, appearing with a quiet "pop" in front of Molly. "Stop it, all of you! How can you treat her this way?" I stepped back and pulled her into an embrace. "You have no idea how much she loves and cares for you. I can't believe that you'd let a thing like last night tear you apart as a family."
"You're way out of line, Potter," the twins chorused, suddenly a lot more serious.
"No, you're out of line, treating her like garbage just because the reception got a little out of hand."
"Hardly 'a little out of hand,'" Hermione stated, starting to stand, then returning to her seat as pain registered.
"Harry," Molly said, "let me handle this, please."
"No, Molly." I looked into her brown eyes and felt a tug on our bond. "They need to understand what a precious person you are. I'd have hoped family would stand together at times like this, but I guess I was wrong." I made eye contact with each Weasley, who stared back at me with surprise and defiance. "Listen, it's partly my fault, what happened."
"Harry," Molly interrupted.
"No, it's time they knew." I turned to the Weasleys and after a deep breath said, "Last night happened because Molly and I share a Soul Bond. The alcohol and some of the magic I was exposed to affected her."
Gasps filled the room as Arthur looked to his wife. After a moment, she nodded hesitantly. He deflated, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"How?" Hermione asked.
"Time travel." Over the next half hour, I shared with them my story, of how I returned from the future to save them and a shattered world, about how the misunderstanding with Ginny had happened before, and about how the Soul Bond had gotten confused and attached to Molly instead of Ginny, my one-time wife. The news of death and tragedy was sobering.
After a long silence, Ron asked, "That's all fine, Harry, but what does this 'Soul Bond' whatsit have to do with Mum burning the scones?"
"What?" Hermione blurted, her confusion matching my own.
George and Fred looked at each other, then laughed so hard they couldn't stop. Charlie cracked up as well, then recovered enough composure to say, "Harry, you thought Mum's striptease was what this was about? Oh, that's rich."
"Well, yeah." I said as Hermione nodded.
"Psh. That was nothing," Ron said, snickering, finally catching on.
"Something like that happens at every Weasley gathering, Harry," Arthur said with a chuckle. He took a bite of one of the darkened scones and chewed slowly.
"Oy, remember Aunt Muriel last year at the reunion?" George asked his twin.
"How could I forget, oh brother of mine? One hundred plus and sky-clad," Fred said.
"Wanted to gouge out my eyes with a grapefruit spoon, I did," George added.
"Saggy tattoos." Charlie said, shivering.
"This was all about… scones?" I looked to Molly, who nodded, smiling weakly.
"Mum burned the scones, Harry," Ron said, solemnly. "Can you believe it? To a crisp, even!"
"And they were too small, to boot!" Ginny added, smearing butter over hers.
"But…" Hermione started, confused.
Arthur patted her on the thigh. "Weasleys take our food very seriously."
"I guess I made a complete bollocks of that?" I buttered some toast, not wanting to brave the brown scone-like lumps. The others had left, each finding they needed some time alone before what was sure to be an awkward brunch. Arthur obviously wanted to speak with Molly, but not at the expense of her finishing preparing the meal, so he left for his shed instead.
"Yes, Harry, but I do appreciate the gesture." She gave me a warm hug. I'm not ashamed to say it, but somehow things just felt right in her arms, as if something in the universe just clicked into place. Maybe some of it was my growing up without a mother. Maybe it was that I'd missed holding a Soulmate. Maybe if she weren't married… I banished the thought as quickly as I could, but Molly didn't miss it. With an impudent wink, she pinched my bum and went back to work at the cooking, humming to herself.
Hermione appeared in the doorway, looking upset. "Harry, can you come here please?"
Molly, looked like she had the brunch preparation under control, so I followed my friend into the study, where Ron was sitting. "I noticed you didn't say anything about Ron and me. Did we get together? Did we at least die happy?"
"Actually, you two didn't die, but everyone else did. You married right after the final battle and had three children."
"Bloody hell!" Ron shouted, grinning like he'd won the Galleon Draw.
Hermione shot him a glare, then asked, "What about my parents? Did they survive the war?"
"They came back from Australia and restarted their dental practice." I looked at my hands, which were clenched tightly. I really hated thinking about those dark days, when it seemed we'd buried half the country. There were times I'd envied the dead.
"Ron and I, w- were we happy?" she asked hopefully.
"Yeah. You still had rows now and then, but anyone could see that you were in love. You had a great family, two girls, Molly Sue and Ginny Emma, and a boy, Anaximander Arthur. It was probably the only thing that kept your dad going, Ron."
Ron still had his mouth open in shock. "Anaximander? What the hell kind of name is that?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "He was an ancient Greek philosopher, perhaps the smartest man of his time." She gasped and looked at me with wide eyes. "Harry, you destroyed us. Ron, me, my family, our children..."
"Huh?"
She stood up and pointed her index finger at me. "Did Professor Dumbledore say what would happen to the other timeline?"
"What do you mean?"
She started pacing slowly, her bow-legged walk obviously unpleasant, and spoke in her lecturing voice, "Time travel of the kind you did is extremely dodgy. I read all about temporal paradoxes when I had the Time Turner. You can't just separate someone from the earlier timeline in any way that could change things without setting up a kind of ontological absurdity. When you came back, one of two things must have happened: Either you would cease to exist, leaving the other timeline intact and the other Ron and me living happily with our family, or else the other timeline disappeared forever." She stopped in front of my chair, staring straight into my eyes. "You're here. You killed us, Harry."
"What? No! Albus never said anything about…"
"He probably didn't think you'd survive, mate," Ron offered, finally recovering from the shock of hearing he was a father three times over. "Probably figured you'd stuff it up and die."
That sneaky bastard! I'd even spotted the errors in his portrait's equations—no wonder he got so bloody depressed toward the end.
"I can't believe it," Hermione gasped, stepping back. "You killed billions and ended the lives of billions more before they were born. You're a thousand times worse than Hitler was!"
"But you're here, Hermione, and so is everyone else. You never even met your other you."
"I don't even know you. You're not our Harry," she said, shaking with emotion. "You're someone else with Harry's memories in Harry's body."
"Of course I am—I'm the same Harry as I was!" I stood to face her.
"Then we were the same 'we' that we were," she countered. "You can't have it both ways… God, I can't believe it. Coming back was insanity! You're a- a mass murderer!"
Arthur wandered into the study as she spoke, his mind on the plugs in his hands. "Harry, I hate to bother you , but you said that the third prong was to 'earth' if the device went 'live.' What did you mean by 'live?' Do the muggles have a way of animating toasters? And do you feed them dirt, or just bury them in the ground?"
Hermione stared at him, her mouth opening and closing in silence. Then she ran from the room, weeping. I felt Molly go to console her.
Arthur scratched his head, confused. "Bad time?"
Ron started to follow his future wife, then turned back to me, looking smug. "She's got a point, you know. Whether you meant to or not, you destroyed an entire universe for your own happiness. Kinda proves my point about your being a selfish prat, Harry."
"Harry, about those plugs." Arthur said after a pregnant silence.
"I'd rather not talk about plugs, sir."
"I suppose not." He slumped into the sofa, his head lowered. "I always knew this day would come."
"Sir?"
"Molly's a free spirit and I'm lucky to have tamed her for as long as I have. I'm dreadfully sorry to have taken what's rightfully yours."
"Hold on—she belongs with you."
"Nonsense, the magic says otherwise." He chuckled mirthlessly. "It's funny—I'd thought she might run off with Sirius, what with that brilliant motorbike of his. I enchanted the Anglia to impress her you know." He gave me a pained look, then his eyes brightened. "Did Sirius happen to leave you his motorbike? Perhaps we could arrange a swap—Molly for..."
"What? No, never!"
"I understand. It really was a brilliant machine."
"That's not what I meant at all."
"Of course not. Well, all I ask is that you treat her right. Molly's a fine woman... absolutely glorious in bed." He scratched his head. "Will she be staying with you, Harry?"
"Absolutely not."
Arthur sighed and pursed his lips. "Oh, then I suppose the two of you two can share the master bedroom. Tug the gold tassel for the mirrors. The bottom drawer of the bureau has the whips and bindings. Molly's... well, she can show you the rest I'm sure." He patted the horsehair couch. "I'll just, er, make my bed here. It's a good couch, a sturdy couch. We've known some good times, this couch and me, that we have. Well, maybe not the best of times, you know, but not bad times, still." He blinked, as if remembering something. "Unless you don't wish for me to stay around, that is..."
"Sir, I'm not going to sleep with your wife."
Arthur corrected me. "Your wife now. She's Bonded to you."
"But..."
He got angry. "Oh stop with it, Harry. I think we both just want to her to be happy." He stood and straightened, adopting the tone he used with his sons. "Now you're going to do your husbandly duties, Harry Potter, and you're going to like it—Merlin knows you will. And I'm not going to listen to any more complaining out of you, young man. Do you hear me?"
I nodded, wanting the conversation over as soon as possible. I needed that Bond fixed, and fast.
"Stiff upper lip, Harry. Stiff upper lip." He left and I remained, completely flummoxed. I dropped onto the couch and spent a few minutes contemplating the embers in the fireplace. As it was summertime, a charm kept it cold, much like the lump in my stomach. Was Hermione right? Was I evil? Insane? And if things didn't work out, just what would become of Molly's and my relationship? I could tell that, consummation or not, the Bond was strengthening fast.
I suddenly felt like vomiting and I was quite sure it wasn't the toast.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and I looked up to see that it was Ginny with a distant look on her face. I could guess what she wanted and after my chat with Arthur I wasn't looking forward to the discussion.
I returned my gaze to the fire. She remained behind me and I somehow knew that she was looking at the flames too. This had to be as awkward for her as it was me.
The silence stretched for more than a minute before she asked, "We had a Soul Bond?"
"Yeah." There was another long silence.
"And we were married."
I nodded. "We had some good times together, the best," I whispered.
"And did we do… it?"
"Yeah."
"A lot?"
"A whole lot, in every way imaginable."
Silence stretched for two minutes, maybe more.
"Were you any good?" she asked.
"You seemed to think so."
"Good."
I tapped a heavy, brass knocker against a reinforced steel door as Molly hugged her daughter and husband and watched them leave for the observation deck of the Transferral Room. A small door slid open and a single eye appeared, a lady's brown eye.
"Can I help you?" a high-pitched voice asked. Curious. She wasn't the corpulent orderly who had turned us away for misfiled paperwork the last six times we'd tried doing the ritual.
"I'm Harry..."
The door jerked open and a short witch with a round face looked up at me, wide eyed. "Oh, Harry Potter! It's so great to see you again. You remember me, don't you?"
"Um, yeah, Miss..."
"Merryweather. Hufflepuff two years above you." Lovely. Lupin's Lolita.
"Lau..."
"Laura, right! I knew you'd remember! Oh, I can't wait to tell the girls in the office!" Molly cleared her throat behind me.
"It's great to see you again, Laura, but we have an appoint..." She interrupted me again.
"Appointment, for the room. Right. Here, these came for you." She handed me two large canvas duffles.
I stared at her.
"You need it to yourselves, got it." Laura stared at me for a moment, starry-eyed, and then blushed. "Oh. I guess I'll just be going then." She grabbed her handbag and scurried out of the room.
"Do you get that a lot?" Molly asked.
"Unfortunately." I unzipped the first duffle and removed a tiny, disfigured humanoid figure, like a doll for parents who want to give their children night terrors. With a too-large head and gangly limbs, the fleshy mass was a temporary storage receptacle for a soul—Molly's. I placed it upon one of the compass points of the thaumaturgic circle in the center of the room. At the opposite point, five meters away, I put Tom's homunculus, which was more wrinkly, but without the shock of red hair atop its tiny, partially flattened head. I was grateful for the obvious differences—I didn't think my lunch would stay down if I had to tell them apart solely by malformed genitalia.
I stood in the center of the circle and placed my wand at a third compass point, behind me. I let my eyes close halfway and breathed deeply, pushing my magic into the circle. In an instant, the air hummed as the subtle charms of the room resonated with the Bond Molly and I shared. My chest tightened as a soft blanket of warmth awakened and wrapped about us. As Molly climbed upon the dais at the final compass point, I spared a peek up at the observation deck, where Arthur and Ginny looked on. Gin's hands were gripped tightly in front of her chest and Arthur was pacing behind her. They were at least as nervous as I was.
"Are you sure about this?" Molly asked.
"As much as I can be. If this doesn't work, nothing will." Molly nodded and folded her hands across her abdomen, willing herself to stop fidgeting, but not succeeding.
I started a low chant in ancient Gaelic, a tongue I didn't speak until recently. For several minutes, nothing happened, save for a general darkening of the room, the rows of antiseptic white globes of light upon the ceiling turning dull grey. A light breeze started to swirl about, blowing my robes tight against my body. I chanted louder and pushed more magic into my spell. My chest suddenly felt tight, as if something vital were being sucked from me. A drop of perspiration trickled down my temple.
With a loud crackle, the circle lit up in brilliant silver, its runes stoked with magic. An aura of white bathed Molly and me. Between us was an ethereal cable, writhing and twisting, the physical manifestation of the bond. Knotted with it were three black fibrils of malefic phantasm. As I'd anticipated, one snake-like thread, my link to Tom's horcrux, traced up to my forehead. The second, my tie to Tom's disembodied soul, fastened to my chest. The third, oddly enough, was directed toward the observation deck. I didn't know what to make of that, but I couldn't worry about it. Time was of the essence.
I took a deep breath and started the trickiest part of the ritual, where I'd place Molly's and Tom's souls into their homunculus containers, then separate the bond from Molly's long enough for her to move back to her body. Then I'd reattach the Soul Bond to her homunculus, which would retain enough of her essence to fix the Bond. I'd put it under a stasis spell and seal it in my Gringotts vault, the end result for me being Soul Bonded to a mindless entity in a sensory deprivation chamber. Unfortunately, I didn't have a choice but to let Tom back into my head, since his last horcrux ensured he could return anyway.
What made this dodgy was that I'd need a measure of cooperation from the souls in question and Tom hadn't spoken to me in weeks. But, given how many times we'd tried to use the room and had been turned away because of bureaucractic administrivia, I needed to seize the chance before the Minister changed his mind. Besides which, with the Bond strengthening, I was running out of time.
My lungs burned as the magic reached a crescendo, the ancient verses of the ritual touching me in a spiritual way. I curled my left hand and Molly's chest heaved as her soul ripped from her body. I splayed my fingers and pushed the glowing blue essence into her homunculus. Its bulbous eyes blinked open, but it lay still.
I took another deep breath, then dug deep inside myself, seeking Tom's essence. After a moment, I found it, but it was slippery and eluded my grasp. I reached again and this time pulled harder. Tom snarled as I drew him out of me and crammed him unceremoniously into his own homunculus.
Perspiration soaked my body as I started on the final part of the ritual, the delicate separation of the Soul Bond from Molly's homunculus. Tense minutes passed as I worked, the operation taking longer than I'd hoped. Then I felt a stabbing sensation in my right side and fell to my knees, the Bond only half-severed. A circle of red expanded on my robes. I looked up and saw that Tom's homunculus had seized Molly's wand and was holding it over its tiny shoulder bazooka-style as it ambled toward her prone homunculus.
On a scale of one to ten, this rated a solid, "Oh shit."
I ground my teeth together and grunted loudly as I abandoned caution, ripping the Bond away from Molly's homunculus and causing it to fly backward and smash into the wall. The Bond whipped in the other direction, shattering the window to the observation deck, leaving a jagged scar in the white-washed stone. The ground started to tremble and large cracks formed on the ceiling. A few of the globes of light fell and glass shattered on the floor.
Molly's tiny body screamed a horrid keen as racking pains seized her. I wrapped both hands about my Bond and wrestled with it, trying to tame the uncontrollable magic. Through it all, Tom moved closer. I could only manage to grunt, "Molly, Tom. Your wand."
Homunculus-Molly blinked her bulging eyes and somehow figured out what I was saying because she rolled aside, dodging a Killing Curse at the last minute, and bounced up on her elastic bum, then pushed up clumsily onto her stubby legs. She pattered toward my wand on the floor and grasped it with both hands, cradling it to her chest. Tom aimed a blasting curse toward her, but she slashed the wand downward in a two-handed grip and shielded herself somehow, though fell backward in the process. The curse exploded against her makeshift shield and instead of being pulverized into red mist, she was blown up into the air. She flipped a few times and landed ungracefully on her head and left arm, bending each in the wrong direction. Fortunately, the elastic bones of her homunculus body refused to break, though a few shards of glass poked into her body.
"Stand still, wench!" Tom shouted in a tiny voice and sent a cone of blue flame after Molly, which missed when she ducked behind the stone dais upon which her body lay. I felt a surge of feedback in the room's magic from the disrupted ritual and a fan of green lightning arced from the ceiling to the floor, smiting the thaumaturgic circle and creating a magical backlash that drew my Bond upward in a spiral, where it slammed into the stone. Huge blocks shuddered, then dislodged and fell to the floor. Molly lurched forward, barely avoiding being crushed by a massive slab, but she loosed her grip on my wand, causing it to clatter onto the stone floor.
Tom whipped his body around in a pirouette and a spiraling orange ribbon of light flew toward her with a hiss. Prone and wandless, she couldn't hope to block. Her eyes widened in terror as the curse approached.
I wrenched the bond downward and flopped it into the path of the curse. The two met and a shockwave of force blasted outward and I felt something travel up the bond and absorb in my abdomen, where it shredded at my insides. My eyes watered with the pain and I dropped to one knee.
The Bond shifted upward again and the trailing bit of the curse passed by. It smote Molly's container on the left side of her head, slicing off an ear and puncturing an eyeball. Her left hand, which she'd raised to shield herself, fell to the floor with a meaty "thwap."
"Molly!" I tried to say, but spat out a mouthful of blood instead.
Setting her remaining eye in determination, she dove for my wand, placed its butt on the floor, and aimed the tip toward her mouth. Tom rushed the dais, the end of his bazooka wand glowing organ-pulverizer-blue. He whispered the incantation for his curse.
"Engorgio," Molly squeaked desperately and a white jet spat from my wand's tip into her face. Just before Tom's curse struck her, she grew to the size of a mountain troll.
Tom's curse had no effect on the enormous Molly-fiend. His feet squeaked on the polished stone as he tried to stop, but he stumbled into her ankle. Molly turned, noticing him, and looked down with a growl. She punted him hard, her toes caving in his chest and the force whipping his head hard forward hard enough to snap his rubbery spine. Tom's dying container and its disembodied head careened toward me faster than I could dodge and I was knocked off my feet and outside the circle.
Free from the confines of the controlling runes, the Bond sucked an enormous gout of power from the room and, with a deafening roar, expanded to a meter across, whipping around uncontrollably. I watched in horror as it smote Tom's broken body and head, liquifying both instantly and absorbing his dark soul back into the bond. The wall behind him collapsed and large blocks of stone toppled forward. I scurried backward out of the way of an errant block and watched, helpless, as my Bond whipped sideways, smiting Molly's container.
She looked at me with terror and mouthed, "I'm... melting!" A moment later, her enlarged homunculus turned into a mass of green-coloured goo and the diffuse, blue haze of her soul sought the bond before it faded. I didn't get to see her fate because just then, Ginny screamed and backed up as the swirling tip of the Bond angled upward toward her, apparently drawn to the source of the third black tendril. I crawled back into the broken circle, lay upon my back, and put every ounce of energy I had into stopping it.
After an eternity of struggle, which left me drained and delirious, the tip slowed, then stopped just short of her. We both breathed a sigh of relief at the averted disaster. Then the Bond surged forward and buried within her chest.
I felt it affix to the new target. Ginny's eyes went wide, then narrowed, as seething hatred bled over the Bond.
She and I were together again. Until death do us part.
"Please, oh Merlin, please tell me this isn't what I think it is!" Ginny yelled, sounding more angry than scared.
I didn't have time for her whining act. Over the bond, I said to her, "Ginny, shut up. Molly, are you there?" There was a pause, but I felt her—at least a bit of her. Her soul was damaged, clearly, but largely intact. "Molly?"
"I'm here," she said weakly. She sounded distant, as if talking through a long tube.
"Whose head are you in?" There was another pause.
"Ginny's, I think." That was good news, at least. If she felt that distant in my own head, I doubted there would be enough of her to save.
"Mum? What do you mean in my head? How the bloody hell can you be in my head?!" Ginny screamed. Arthur moved to hold her.
"Shut up, dear." Molly said. "Harry, I'm okay, I think, but a little disoriented."
I breathed a sigh of relief. "Understandable. I'm going to check your body—I'm pretty sure it's still alive, but, it's not going to be easy to put your soul back."
"Will someone please tell me what's going on!" Ginny shouted.
"Shut up!" Molly yelled, sounding more like herself.
I looked over at Molly's body, which was lying motionless atop the dais and had miraculously avoided being crushed by two-tonne blocks of falling stone. Her kind face, lined with age, was placid and her lips had a slight upward curl. Her chest rose and fell slowly, as if she were merely sleeping.
Time to check on my parasite. Exerting no small force of will, I drew what remained of Tom forth and, well it's hard to describe, but I squeezed. He hissed in pain, but I didn't relent, not after the bastard had nearly gotten us all killed.
Like Molly, Tom was hurting from his encounter with the Bond, so when I gave him a command, one backed by fury and magic, he had no hope of resisting.
"Well?" I asked his shade.
"Who the bloody hell is that?" Ginny asked, this time in her mind.
"Shut up, Ginny," I said, then turned to Tom. "Talk, bitch."
"I had to," Tom said tiredly. "If I didn't, I'd never get the chance again."
"What the hell were you trying to accomplish?" He didn't answer, so I crushed him some more.
"Stop!" he shouted. "I'll talk, just.... just stop." I let up the pressure a bit. "I sought to slay the harridan and possess her body."
"Why? You knew you couldn't succeed, not with your horcrux in my head."
He fell silent once again, so I ramped up the pain. He screamed for a long time, a sound that I found disturbingly gratifying—maybe I did have a touch of insanity after all, though I could tell by Molly's stoic silence that she didn't disapprove. Not a bit.
But someone did. "Stop it! Stop it please!" Ginny pleaded. "Tell him!"
"Tell me what?" I asked, meeting Ginny's eyes. She looked away quickly.
Tom sighed, knowing the game was up and he was in no position to oppose me. "I shall. Just stop your infernal torture." He gathered his thoughts and then spoke. "I have another horcrux, Potter, a sentient one."
"Impossible. Albus and I destroyed all of them." My blood went cold as I remembered the third black tendril.
"Not all. I sensed that my diary had imprinted enough of me into the waif to act as one."
"Ginny?" Molly asked. "Who is this other being?"
"Um, nobody?" Ginny said sheepishly.
"Excuse me? A nobody? Moi?" an effeminate voice asked.
"Tommi, don't!"
He ignored her. "Hi everybody! So fabulous to meet you all!" he gushed. "Especially you, Tiger. Rrrrawrr." Somehow, I just knew that he was speaking to me.
"Who the hell are you... Tommy?" I asked. The voice sounded strangely familiar.
"Why Tommi Riddle, that's who, you silly goose. And it's Tommi, spelled with an 'i', not a 'y.' And dot the 'i' with a smile, please."
Then he giggled. Not a chuckle, nor a guffaw. Not even a cackle. I swear—it was an an honest-to-Circe giggle from Tom Riddle, or at least the impression of his soul fragment, what remained after five years in Gin's head.
"Tom? You knew about him?" I asked.
"Not as such," Tom groused, "but I did sense enough of my essence in the castoff waif to warrant her protection. I'd ordered that she was not to be harmed. She is a pureblood, after all. I'd intended to capture her and make her my consort. I was most displeased with Rookwood after she suffered an injury in the raid at the Department of Mysteries."
"Ahem, puhlease. My girl in a fling with Mr. 'Black and Snakey?' Ick. That look was sooo last century. Now this fine hunk of meat..." Again, I shivered. "I'd dress him in bacon and eat him on toast."
"Ginny?" Molly asked. "How long has this boy been in your head?"
My wife was evasive. "A little while...."
"You never said anything? Why?" I sputtered. Mab's muff! How'd she hide this from me before?
Tommi sensed my question and answered. "Oh, don't be silly, Tiger. Ginny-girl just wanted you to herself. Though we've been super-close friends for forever, this girl don't share."
"Tommi," Ginny warned.
I felt a strange urge to strangle Gin's ride-along; his "thuper" lisp having grown intolerable after fifteen seconds. "Right then. So it's the five of us in two bodies."
"I can't believe I have Mum is in my head," Ginny lamented. "This is horrible!"
"But Tommi Riddle is okay?" Molly said acidly. "I've only been here for a short while, young lady, and I can already tell from what I've seen that you've got a terribly dirty mind. And this Dean Thomas—you and I are going to talk about what exactly you got up to in that closet!"
"Mu-um!"
"Don't 'Mum' me, little girl. You're going to degnome the garden until you get that boy curiosity out of your head!"
"Right," she said aloud, rolling her eyes. Arthur looked at her, confused, the past minutes having been done inside our heads. I'm quite sure he thought we all were going around the bend. "Oh, that's just rich," Ginny continued inside her head. "Because nothing gets your mind off penises like grabbing those little pink heads and tugging and twirling until they vomit all over your hands."
"Stop this at once with the naughty language!"
"Penis, penis, penis, penis.... Boy bits, Mum? And did I mention that the gnomes go stiff when you hold them long enough?"
"Gah!" Molly said.
Ginny smirked. "Dean and I aren't even together. That's old news. I'm with Colin now."
"Yes, and you'll kindly watch where you put your hands next time you're with that boy. He's just as bad!"
Tommi said to me conspiratorially, "I'm pulling for you. Though Colin has the cuddlier arse, he doesn't have the full package."
I wondered when, exactly, Tommi had seen my arse... or "package," for that matter.
"Can someone please tell me what's going on?" Arthur asked, unable to contain his curiosity any more.
"Shut up," Ginny, Molly, and I chorused.
"Right," he said.
