On ne voit bien qu'avec la couer. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux.
(It is only with the heart that one can see rightly. The essential is invisible to the eyes.)
¤
Ron still had marks on his arm were the tentacles bit into him.
Madame Pomphrey had said they were gone after she healed him last year, but Ron knew better. They were still there, just hidden. He would never be free from the effect that the brain from the Department of Mysteries had on him.
'Watch your back.'
It had hurt terribly. It was the crashing of a thousand minds upon his own, forcing in mountains of knowledge that contradicted itself and stretched in millions of directions. Nothing could help with it, no matter how he tried. His world often faded out as he was bombarded with images and voices he'd never experienced before. Not to mention their constant advice…
Then he'd discovered Hermione. Her voice, her touch anchored him to the real world, giving him something to focus on. He couldn't have been happier when she became his girlfriend. Ron loved her, and now she would be able to help him all the time.
He tried to tell her once, how the brain had effected him, but back then his words still wouldn't come out properly. She merely stared at him for a moment, then smiled and patted his arm patronizingly.
"Don't worry Ron, it's just the shock. It'll pass," then she walked into class, convinced that she was right.
He never tried to tell her again, and just settled for being with her; his anchor.
'Don't trust her.'
However, in the past week the voices and images had slowed, bringing clarity to his mind. He assumed that the information he'd gotten from the brain was finally settled in. At last, he was able to truly focus on chess, schoolwork, and his other best friend.
Oh, Harry.
What had he done?
'Idiot.'
¤
In his dim bedchamber, Voldemort sat alone except for Nagini. He'd forbidden anyone to disturb him unless there was a true emergency, on pain of prolonged and bloody torture.
On second thought, he'd torture them anyway. He needed to relieve some stress.
-Massster, what isss wrong? You have been sssitting asss if frozen to that chair,- Nagini asked him from her place on the floor. Voldemort brought a hand up to knead his forehead. He still had a headache from his attack on Potter's mind six days ago.
-Leave me be, Nagini. I need to think.-
The snake hissed her displeasure at being so easily dismissed but obeyed, curling up on the rug and falling into sleep.
Voldemort did not care about his callousness; his mind was fixated on Harry Potter. A thousand different things involving him were rushing wildly about in his head, and even with Occlumency he was having a hard time organizing everything. His unchecked emotions didn't help the matter at all.
Harry Potter. Aspen Noir. If he calmed himself enough, his mind didn't have much trouble accepting the fact that the two were one and the same. After all, he'd been in the boy's mind twice; first when he possessed him at the Department of Mysteries, then the occurrence in the graveyard. He knew how he thought.
At the thought of the Department of Mysteries, he grimaced.
The boy knew the entirety of the prophecy, and he had passed it on to him.
Neither can live while the other survives…
That one line struck him. The marking him as an equal part came as a shock when he analyzed it, but Voldemort dismissed it. It was in the past now and there was nothing he could do about his actions.
Neither can live while the other survives…he had a fine example of not 'living'. What kind of life did he live now? He snarled under his breath, fingers itching for his wand. He was well aware that this existence wasn't something that anyone would desire. In fact, he knew most would pity him for knowing the truth. The prophecy said he wouldn't be able to live a full life until he killed the boy.
His personal feelings aside, it would be impossible. The boy had achieved true immortality, unlike his own farce with the Horcruxes. Voldemort's face contorted and he ran a hand over his bald head as he was so prone to doing these days. The rituals were driving him slowly insane, but Potter would have to suffer none of these consequences. He dared to venture a feeling of…jealousy.
A few simple stages were all it took for Potter to gain his immortal life.
He stared down at his own wrist, lost in memory. As Tom Riddle, he had helped him out of love.
Voldemort shook his head and looked away. His thoughts were becoming more foolish by the second, but he couldn't fight them. He'd loved Aspen Noir with all he'd had to offer and in return…
Skeletal fingers gently settled on the ring around his neck.
In return, Aspen had pledged his eternal love.
Voldemort was not unintelligent. He knew that when Harry Potter came back to this time he could have simply acted like nothing happened. He could've fallen back in to his Golden Boy stature. He could've quietly hunted down his Horcruxes and obliterated them without his knowledge. Then…he could have killed him.
Voldemort squeezed his eyes shut tight. He'd come to a decision.
He ripped the chain from his neck.
¤
Harry couldn't sit still. He twiddled his holly wand between his fingers. He'd finally gotten it back a few days ago in a blank package on his bed. Up until that point he'd been sitting still in class, mildly embarrassed and pretending he didn't have a wand.
It'd been a week of nothing. No Death Eater attacks, no meetings, no emotions across the link that Harry kept open. Nothing.
His only consolation was that Voldemort hadn't started cursing him into mush the moment he recovered. It was a tiny hope for his acceptance that Harry clung to with all his might.
Still, the hope was dying.
Harry sat in the back of the library at a dusty old table. Most students didn't like to sit in the back unless they had something to hide. However, Harry was here out of habit. It was where he always sat with Tom. He sighed and pocketed his wand.
He had a few things to wrap up before he left. If Tom didn't accept him, Harry would leave. He just needed to keep his promise and make sure Draco and his mother were well-protected first.
Harry frowned as he heard footsteps approaching. Not many bothered coming back here. He looked up between the bookshelves to see the last person he expected.
Ron Weasley shifted hesitantly where he stood.
Harry felt a sharp stab of guilt as he looked at his former friend. He hadn't been thinking very rationally that day, or the months before that for that matter. He knew he should apologize. Really, losing Ron and Hermione's long-time friendship over such a stupid thing…
"Er, Harry? Could I please sit?" Ron asked, fidgeting.
Harry nodded slowly, feeling a little bubble of hope rise in his chest. Maybe he would still have a friend.
¤
Ron had never been one for apologizing; not when he accidentally broke Ginny's toy broom, or when he once nearly blew up the Burrow's kitchen with accidental magic. But Ron knew he'd have to apologize now.
Ron sat down beside Harry at the dusty table. He stirred, feeling uncomfortable with the other's flat stare leveled at him. It didn't look like Harry was going to start talking anytime soon. He cleared his throat.
¤
"I...I want to apologize," Ron was fidgeting, and as much as Harry had hope, he couldn't help feeling pessimistic after the recent week.
"What for, Ron?" Harry said with a weary sigh, peering up through a stray hair that had fallen over his eyes. He wanted to hope...he wanted his friend back. With the possible loss of Tom, he could use a friend so badly...
"I'm...really sorry that I didn't tell you about me and 'Mione. I mean...we should have, I know. But I've just been so...I don't know," the redhead sighed and viciously stabbed a hand through his hair, "But I'm sorry. I should have written over the summer, and I should have told you that we were dating. You're my best mate, Harry, and I don't want a repeat of fourth year." By now Ron's ears were burning red, showing his embarrassment and apprehension.
A small smile managed its way to Harry's lips, "You don't have to apologize for that. I was being an arse anyway, I guess… I shouldn't have taken out my frustrations on you."
"Well, we were both right idiots, weren't we?" he said bluntly.
Harry's smile widened, "Yeah, I guess we were."
"Friends then?" the redhead asked tentatively, holding out his hand.
For a long moment Harry looked at him, biting his lip hard enough to be painful. Ron was his first friend. His best friend. Even if he couldn't come out and tell him of the last months, he needed the support right now. He gave a sharp nod and let the hope overtake him, "Yeah, friends."
¤
As Harry clasped Ron's hand in his own, the voices reached a deafening level, conflicting advice echoing off the walls of his mind.
'Don't trust him.' 'He's after you, too.' 'You're such an idiot.' 'Friends only exist to betray you.'
Ron gasped as he pulled away, both his hands moving to push against his temples.
"Ron?" Harry's concerned voice called, "Ron, what's wrong?"
Ron jerked spastically, wishing to pull back the long sleeve of his robes and bare the marks the brain had felt on him. He willed his body to move, to seek help, because Harry was Harry and surely if anyone would believe him...
¤
That night, Ron buried his head into the pillow and sighed.
He'd wanted to tell Harry about his problem, really. It was just that the other looked so worn down are sickly lately, he didn't have the heart to worry him more.
'Stupid, don't tell him anything!'
Plus, the voices were constantly ridiculing his decision. It didn't help with his confidence at all. They kept telling Ron to be wary around Harry, that there was something wrong with him. As hard as Ron tried, they just couldn't be ignored.
He sighed again and turned over.
'Might as well try to get some sleep.'
'Don't forget the shield charms.'
He waved his wand lazily before going to sleep.
¤
That night, Harry buried his head in his pillow but made no other movements.
He stayed that way for a long time, his mind a mass of confusion, hope, and guilt. He didn't know what had caused the sudden change in Ron's mentality, but he was grateful for it all the same. Now if only he found time to talk to Hermione, perhaps he could start to share his secrets with his friends.
He and Ron hadn't had much time to talk after the initial overtures because they both had class afterwards, but Harry had noticed something…different about him. He couldn't pin it down. It was like Ron was moving differently; a bit more wary and distant; plus, the sudden headache he'd had was a bit strange. But then, Harry himself had changed a great deal and hadn't really talked to Ron in a while, so maybe he just hadn't noticed his behavior before.
As if Fate was protesting the general turn of today's thoughts, he suddenly felt it.
Over his bond of eerie green, a sense of beckoning began to tug at him.
Harry's breath stopped. Tom was calling.
¤
A/n: Yes, writer's block is killing me. Empy is the only reason this thing got off the ground.
Sorry if this squicks anyone, but Voldemort will be staying scaly, for a while at least. OMG look! More plot!
The Ron and Harry scenes were written entirely (with a little editing to suit my purposes) by EmpyrealFantasy in her effort to kill my writer's block. It's being used with her permission. Review please!