Another nice long chapter. I hope you all enjoy, and please let me know what you think. :)
Chapter 13
The next morning when Harry awoke, he felt absolutely awful. Had he been wrong to tell Tom the whole prophecy? He didn't think so, actually. It concerned Tom as much as it did Harry, and Tom had every right to hear it. Harry hadn't been happy that knowledge of the prophecy's contents had been kept from him; he couldn't do that to another person. He really hoped that, like Harry himself, Tom just needed a bit of time to adjust to what he'd heard. Harry couldn't bear it if Tom decided to go back to hating him, not to mention the renewed danger to his life. He almost reached for the link to Tom in his mind, wanting to have some clue about the man's emotional state, but he stopped himself. He knew Tom wouldn't appreciate it. Difficult as it would be, he knew that he would have to leave Tom alone unless (until? he hoped) Tom came to him. Heaving a sigh, he dragged himself out of bed to begin his day.
The day did not improve as it went along. Harry went to his classes listlessly, not failing when asked to answer questions or demonstrate spells, but not volunteering to do so either. His friends had obviously noticed something was wrong, but they both knew Harry would never discuss his problems in public, and they had not yet had a chance for private conversation. That afternoon, after classes had finished, Harry knew his friends, especially Hermione, were going to try and get him to talk about what was wrong. He did not want that to happen, so he claimed he needed to go to the loo, saying to his friends that he would meet them in the common room. As soon as he had turned the corner out of their sight, he cast a Disillusionment Charm over himself. He had learned that spell over Christmas break, figuring that he might not always be able to get to his Cloak quickly enough. Grateful that he had thought of that, his now invisible self put on his Cloak, just in case the Charm wore off, and wondered off toward a lower section of the castle that he had yet to thoroughly explore. It was an old, dusty area, full of nothing but unused classrooms and the old Hogwarts kitchen, which had been destroyed in 1506 by some students whose idea to prank the school by putting Effervescent Elixir in all the pumpkin juice had gone awry. No amount of magic had been able to completely remove the resulting orange sparkly goo, and thus they had decided to build a new kitchen rather than repair the old one. According to Hermione, anyway, who had probably read it in that history book she was so fond of.
The dust on the floor and the walls was thick, without so much as a footprint to show that anyone had been there. Harry was slightly surprised at this. He knew Fred and George had been interested in visiting here after hearing the tale of the orange goo, and he would have thought other students would be attracted by the peaceful solitude. Well, whatever the reason no one else ever came here, he was grateful to know that he would be left alone.
He wondered aimlessly around for awhile, and he eventually found the ruined kitchen. Oddly, there was no trace of any orange goo, sparkly or otherwise. Much to his surprise, when he looked into the corner of the kitchen, he saw a woman sitting in a rocking chair, calmly knitting what looked to be a scarf. She had golden blond hair framing her face in two braids. She was quite short, a little bit plump, and she had kindly brown eyes. She reminded him somewhat of Mrs. Weasley. Then he noticed that she, like Salazar, had a slight glow about her. Could she be the spirit of one of the founders? Harry's eyebrows rose as that thought occurred to him, and the woman giggled softly.
The fact that she was in a kitchen, and a kitchen deep underground at that, made Harry fairly certain that he was addressing the spirit of Helga Hufflepuff. Had that not been enough information, the fact that the half-completed scarf was done in stripes of yellow and brown would have made Harry absolutely certain.
"Hello, um...Professor Hufflepuff?" Harry said questioningly, not quite certain how to address the woman before him.
"Oh, very good, Harry, I knew you'd figure it out," she replied, beaming up at him. "You can call me Helga, by the way. I'm not a professor anymore, and even when I was, I encouraged familiarity."
"Oh, right then. Thank you, Helga," Harry said, feeling slightly awkward.
"Why don't you have a seat and tell me what your problem is?" Helga said, waving her hand as she spoke. The wave of her hand caused another rocking chair to appear, facing hers. Harry sat, finding it to be quite comfortable.
"How did you know I had a problem?" he asked.
Helga smiled, a sweet motherly smile that made Harry feel better to see it. "If you didn't, you wouldn't be here," she stated simply. "You see, what happened with the pumpkin juice and the Effervescent Elixir was no accident. Salazar has his Chamber, Godric has his hat, Rowena has her—well, you'll find Rowena's place soon, I expect, and I have my kitchen. The problem was that Salazar's Chamber could not be found or entered by most people, but Godric and Rowena both enjoy company, and frequently talk to those around them. Everyone assumed that since my kitchen was such a public place I must want to talk to people, too. Well, I don't, especially not when most of them didn't really want to talk to me. They wanted to know about the secrets of Hogwarts, or wizarding history, or the other founders. So I caused the 'accident,' and I made sure no one was able to clean it up. After they'd given up and built a new kitchen, I cleaned the place up and I cast a few spells over it. Now, the only people who can find this place are people who need my help, and even then they have to be people I care to talk to. It's been about fifty years since the last person who came here." As she spoke, her knitting needles clacked together. She seemed to be using her hands to knit, not magic, and yet the scarf was coming together faster than Harry would have thought possible. Already it had grown another six inches. Helga noticed Harry staring at the scarf and smiled. "I make all the scarves for Hufflepuff students. Feel it," she commanded.
Harry obligingly reached out and touched the finished part of the scarf. Much to his awed surprise, the seemingly normal wool was as soft as a kitten's fur and radiated warmth. "Godric can't do that," she said smugly. "Makes you wish you'd been Sorted into my House, doesn't it? But on to business, now, what brings you down to my kitchen?"
"The magic of Hogwarts, apparently," Harry said dryly. "I didn't want my friends pressuring me to tell them what's wrong, and when I thought about a place I could go to be alone, this place came to mind, even though I've never been here before and I already have several places I usually go to for that."
"Oh, a stubborn one. Seems that trait has yet to breed out of Salazar's or Godric's line. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by that, they both had stubbornness enough for a thousand years. You might as well just let it out, boy. Tom discovered the hard way that 'the magic of Hogwarts,' as you put it, won't let you leave until I decide you're ready."
"Tom? You mean Tom Riddle, right?"
"Of course I do. He was the last person to visit me. He ended up staying down here for three days before he finally talked. He tried all sorts of magic to fight his way out—quite the impressive show, actually, but the magic of Hogwarts is strong, especially for those linked to Her by blood. So young Gryffindor" (she emphasized it to remind Harry of his own blood link to the castle) "will you be talking, or will we be spending some time together?"
"You make this sound like some sort of torture chamber—'we haff vays of making you talk,'" Harry said, though smiling.
"I don't know how everyone got the idea that I was the nice one. I think Godric keeps calling me 'sweet' and 'kind' in his little song, just to annoy me. I have to take whatever opportunities I have to show that it isn't true."
"I'd go around spreading the truth for you, but then I'd have to explain where I found you, and that would lead to other people trying to come here. They wouldn't be able to find you, of course, but then they'd believe I was lying about meeting you in the first place, and it wouldn't do any good."
"Not to mention the fact that you still haven't told me what's wrong, so you can't leave yet anyway."
Harry grinned in a manner that he hoped was charming. "You can't blame me for trying, right?"
"I could, but I won't. But you're still not leaving until you tell me your problem."
"You know, I came down here because I wanted to escape from people pressuring me to talk to them."
"What we want and what we need is not always the same thing."
"You're right!" Harry exclaimed. "That's just the answer I needed. Thank you!" He stood up and turned to go. Upon walking out the door of the kitchen, he found himself simply re-entering the room. Helga was smirking at him.
"Your acting would have fooled most people, but let's just say Salazar wasn't the only one with a unique power, and mine means that no one, not even the most gifted Occlumens, can lie to me," she said gently.
Harry resumed his seat in the rocking chair and rocked sulkily for a few minutes, pondering what Helga had just told him. He couldn't make anything of it, though, so he decided to just give in. "You really want to know what's bothering me?" he asked softly.
"Yes, Harry. I do," she replied, and a gentle caring seemed to be exuding from her eyes to surround him.
"Even though there isn't anything either of us can do about it?"
"You can talk, and I can listen."
Harry was about to give a sarcastic reply, but something made him hold it back. The positive emotions that seemed to be flowing from the woman were soothing him, melting away his barriers. "Well, it begins with a prophecy," he found himself saying.
"The prophecy regarding you and Tom Riddle? Godric told me of it."
"So you know that Tom has been trying to kill me since I was a baby, right?" Helga nodded, and Harry continued. "Well, recently, Tom must have decided that that wasn't the best idea after all, and he and I have become…friends, I guess." Harry blushed as he said this, but Helga chose not to comment on that. "We've spent a lot of time together, and he's been teaching me about magic. Yesterday night I told him what the prophecy said. He knew there was a prophecy before, and he knew the first two sentences, but he didn't know the whole thing. I told him the rest of it, and now he's really angry with me. I think--" Harry paused, and took a deep breath—"I think he's going to try to kill me again."
"What exactly did he do when you told him?"
"He yelled at me to leave, immediately."
Helga didn't respond immediately; she took several minutes to consider what Harry had said. Finally, she said slowly, "Harry, do you remember the night when Dumbledore first told you the entire prophecy?"
Harry was astonished that she would ask that. "How could I possibly forget?"
"So then you must remember how you felt when you heard the prophecy for the first time. Tell me about that."
"I was angry. I couldn't believe Dumbledore had kept such important information from me for so long. I was confused. I didn't really understand exactly what it meant. And I was scared. I don't want to die, and the prophecy made it sound very likely that I was going to, and soon." The words seemed to pour out of his mouth without any prompting from his brain.
"And how did you react to all of those emotions?"
"I—I guess I lashed out at Dumbledore, without thinking about it. It wasn't really his fault, except that he hadn't told me sooner, but he was there, and it was easy to be angry at him."
Helga smiled, a smile that was not quite smug, but still implied that she knew something Harry did not. "You've probably been told this before, but not by anyone who could know as well as I do—you and Tom Riddle are very like each other."
"What?" Harry said, not understanding where this was going.
"I would be willing to bet a great deal that when you told Tom the entire prophecy, he felt exactly the same way you did. Angry that the knowledge had been withheld for so long, confused as to what, exactly, it meant, and scared of the possible consequences."
"Scared? Why would he be scared? He doesn't have anything to fear from me. If we ever fought, I mean really fought, without Dumbledore or anyone there to save me, he could kill me in an instant."
"Perhaps that is true now, but your potential is obvious to those who have the eyes to see it. You are the Dark Lord's equal in power, if not knowledge and experience, and I don't need a prophecy to tell me that. There are perhaps four or five wizards in the entire world who have the potential to challenge Tom Riddle, and I daresay you are the only one who could stand next to him as his equal. Tom has never had an equal before, and so even if the prophecy did not exist, he would fear you."
Harry still looked doubtful, but he decided to agree, for now. "Okay, maybe he was scared of me. I still don't understand what you're trying to say."
Helga sighed. Most people were unable to see their own emotional situations clearly or objectively, and it seemed that Harry was no exception. "Must I spell it out for you? You and Tom felt exactly the same way when you heard the prophecy. You have very similar personalities. Is it really so difficult to predict that you would react to hearing the prophecy in exactly the same way? You lashed out at Dumbledore as a convenient target. You weren't really angry at him, but it's not really possible to attack Fate, and he was there."
"So you're saying Tom isn't really angry with me, just with the circumstances?" Harry puzzled out. "And he yelled at me because he needed to express his anger somehow, and I was the only one there?"
"It makes sense, doesn't it? And consider this—you, in your anger, verbally attacked and destroyed the office of a man you considered a mentor; almost a grandfather.(1) Tom has seen you as an enemy for far longer than he has seen you as a friend, yet he did not even attempt to harm you. In fact, I believe his telling you to leave was for your protection, to ensure that you were not within his reach if his anger got out of control."
"So-so you don't think he's really angry with me?" Harry asked hopefully.
"No, Harry, I don't believe that he is."
"So what should I do now?"
Helga gave him a look, the same kind of look that Professor McGonagall gave students who asked questions about things she had already explained thoroughly. "I think you know."
"Give him time to sort out his feelings on his own and wait for him to talk to me?"
"Isn't that what you would want him to do, if the situation were reversed?"
"Yeah, it is," Harry said, feeling more confident now.
"Treat others as you would have them treat you," Helga said, chuckling a bit. "I know it's a simple, maybe even childish concept, but the wisdom we learn as children is just as valid when we become adults."
Harry suddenly realized that there was something else he needed to say. "I'm sorry I was so rude to you earlier. I really appreciate your letting me come down here, and your help."
"It was my pleasure, Harry. Most people who come to see me are somewhat impolite at first. Since I do technically kidnap them, the hostility is understandable."
Harry laughed. "Will I be able to find you if I want to come see you again some time?"
"I expect you to come see me fairly often. At the very least, I want to know what happens with Tom," she said, as if discussing a muggle soap opera. The thought made Harry smile.
"Alright. I'll be sure to let you know." Harry looked at his watch. "It's been really nice, and I'll come back, but dinner starts in ten minutes. Am I allowed to leave now?"
"You may, and remember, if you don't come back on your own, I can always kidnap you again."
Harry smiled and turned to go. "Goodbye, Helga. Thank you again."
"Goodbye Harry. Oh, one last thing."
Harry, who had been about to walk out the door, turned back to face Helga. "Yes?" he said.
"When Tom came to see me, I told him something. When you see Tom again, I want you to remind him of what I said."
"What was that?"
"Not all power comes from magic."
"What?" Harry said, quite confused.
"It's not a message for you. You don't need to understand it. But he will. Tell him."
"I will," Harry responded, though slightly miffed at having information kept from him again.
Helga chuckled. "I'm not keeping it from you for your own good, or because I don't think you're ready to know. I'm keeping it from you because it's not really any of your business. If Tom wants to tell you what it means, he will. Think of it this way, you know I won't tell anyone any of your secrets, either."
"How did Rowena get the reputation for being the clever one with you around?" Harry asked impudently.
That made Helga laugh out loud. "I'll have to tell her you said that. Go on now, go get something to eat."
"Goodbye, Helga."
"So long, Harry."
Harry left the old kitchen, following his own footprints in the dust to find his way back to the part of the castle he was familiar with, and trying to remember how to get back to the kitchen for future reference. He'd felt too depressed to eat much of anything at breakfast or lunch, but now that his heart had been lightened, his appetite had returned. He also needed to find Ron and Hermione. They were sure to be worried about him by now.
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Lord Voldemort had been through quite a wide range of emotions throughout the past hour. When Potter had first told him the prophecy, he'd been furious. Not only did the prophecy say that Potter would have the power to kill him, it said that in the end, one of them would kill the other. He didn't have a problem with teaching the only one who had the ability to kill him. He was confident in his ability to keep Potter in line. But the 'either must die at the hands of the other, for neither can live while the other survives' part was damning. It seemed that they were destined to fight each other, a fight from which only one of them would emerge alive, and he had been unwittingly equipping his mortal enemy to succeed. He knew Potter had the power to be his equal, and though he would never admit it to anyone, he was frightened of what might happen at the end of that fight.
Then, after his initial anger had died down, he had been confused. 'Neither can live while the other survives?' Well, he and Potter had both been alive for sixteen and a half years now—one and a half if his years as a bodiless spirit were not included. Wouldn't that fact prove the statement false? Unless there was some different meaning between the words 'live' and 'survive.' Perhaps 'live' meant having a full appreciation and enjoyment of life, while 'survive' simply meant continuing to exist. If that were the case, that sentence could still have two meanings. To stop surviving could mean to die, of course. But it could also mean to come into a full life. So it could mean that he would never have a full life until he killed Potter, or it could mean that he would never have a full life until Potter did, too.
And that was if he even believed in the stupid thing. Potter had been right when saying that Lord Voldemort was not the sort of man to believe in predetermination. He had believed all his life that his fate was in his own hands. After all, it was supposed to be a certainty that all life ended with death. But he had refused to give Death any power over him. Why should Fate be any different? In the classical plays, men who had prophecies hanging over their heads brought about the foretold result by their attempts to avoid it. Had they never heard or acted on the prophecy, it never would have come true. Had he, by attempting to kill Potter as a baby, made the same mistake? Had he not heard the prophecy, he would never have gone after the Potter family; never attacked Harry. Harry would never have been 'marked as his equal,' and then the rest of it would never have come into play. Loathe though he was to admit it, it seemed that was another thing Harry was right about.
How often did prophecies actually come true, anyway? The Hall of Prophecy in the Department of Mysteries held thousands of prophecies, each contained in its own sphere.
What percentage of those had actually come to pass? He had no idea, and that seemed like important information. Now that the first part of the prophecy had been set into motion, would the rest inevitably come to pass? In hindsight, he had to wonder why he hadn't considered any of these questions a long time ago, before he attempted to kill Potter.
Well, he would do his best to rectify that mistake. He was quite reluctant to lose Harry as his ally. It did seem that the prophecy could be ignored without consequence. Yet it was quite a risk not to kill the boy now, while he was weak, rather than allowing him to live and grow stronger. He would have to give the matter further thought, and do more thorough research into the nature of prophecies. He resolved to summon Rookwood in the morning. Having sorted through his feelings, for the time being at least, he was able to return to sleep.
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Harry knew it would take some time before Tom was willing to speak to him again. He felt confident that Tom would, in time, get over his anger, so he was willing to wait. In the mean time, he would continue practicing the Unforgiveables. Hopefully, Harry would still be able to visit Tom for the Easter Holidays, and he wanted to be able to really impress the man when they met in again in person.
For three more nights, he practiced the Cruciatus curse, changing his target from a spider to a mouse, then to a dog, and finally to a monkey. Then he put a Glamour spell over the monkey, causing it to look like a random, nondescript person. He was now casting it with a perfect success rate. He knew it wouldn't be the same when he actually cast it on a real human being, but he was fairly confident that he would be able to when the time came. On the fourth night, he decided to move on to the Imperius curse, since he needed it to accomplish his task for Salazar.
As with the Cruciatus curse, he began his practice with a conjured spider as his target. He found it surprisingly easy to control the creature. In fact, he was able to do it on his first try. So he conjured a toad, which also responded perfectly to his commands. He decided that practicing on animals probably wouldn't really work, because animals had very little intelligence and will. For this curse, he would need to have human targets to truly practice. He knew it wouldn't be safe to do that on Hogwarts grounds. Sighing, he decided to spend the rest of the night studying another book on Parselmagic.
The next morning, Hermione had Ancient Runes class first thing in the morning, while he and Ron did not have a class until later in the day. That meant Ron would undoubtedly have a lie in. Harry decided it was the perfect time to make his first attempt at hatching a basilisk.
Unlike Ron, Harry did not usually sleep late in the morning, so Hermione was not surprised that Harry joined her for breakfast. The two friends discussed inconsequential things, and soon Hermione left for her class. In parting, Harry said he fancied a walk, and then headed out the doors of the castle. Once outside, he cast the now very familiar Disillusionment Charm over himself, and added his Invisibility Cloak over that. He also cast a Silencing Charm over himself to ensure that his footsteps would not give him away. That done, he began walking toward Hagrid's hut. Or rather, the chicken coop behind Hagrid's hut.
Hagrid himself was busy teaching a class of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw third years, so the hut and the surrounding area were unoccupied. The chicken coop had a very mild ward around it, but the ward was intended to keep out foxes and other predators, and so it had no effect on Harry. He remained invisible and silent while entering the coop, not wanting to cause the chickens to squawk in alarm. His original plan had been to take one or two eggs that were close to hatching, but then he had a better idea. If he took one chicken and one rooster, he would have a continuous supply of eggs for his experiments, and he wouldn't have to take the risks of stealing more if his first one or two tries didn't work. He would have to replace them, of course, since missing chickens could draw suspicion, but that was fairly easy. Stepping outside the chicken coop, he Summoned two sparrows and Transfigured them into a chicken and a rooster. The Transfigured birds wouldn't have exactly the same properties as the real chickens. The hen would not be able to lay eggs, for example. But Hagrid would likely just think that the chicken had gotten old, and it should not cause any alarm. Harry selected a young hen and a young rooster. He placed the Imperius curse on both animals to ensure that they would remain quiet and passive while he carried them away. He switched them out for their Transfigured replacements, Disillusioned them, and carried them away under his cloak.
Returning to the castle, he quickly entered the Chamber. After removing his cloak and the Disillusionment Charm, he was greeted by Salazar. "Is this what I hope it is?" the spirit asked.
Harry put a look of mock-confusion on his face. "I didn't think you could eat anymore. Why would you care about fresh eggs?"
Salazar was not having any of Harry's games. "I notice that you only brought the chickens. You haven't forgotten the toad, have you?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes Salazar, I am in fact incredibly stupid, and I forgot that without the toad a chicken egg would only hatch out another chicken." As he spoke, he began setting up an enclosure for the two birds, complete with water, heat, grass, and plenty of sticks for nest building. He put the two birds into their fairly large pen, and the hen immediately began collecting sticks. The rooster began crowing, drawing a grimace from Salazar and a Silencing spell from Harry.
"If you did not forget, then where is the toad?" Salazar rebutted.
"I want to attempt it with a Conjured toad first, to make sure no one suspects anything. I know it might not work, since the Conjured toad won't, magically speaking, be exactly the same as a 'real' toad. But that's why I brought these two birds down here. If my first try doesn't work, I'll have more eggs, and I can try again."
"I see. That's quite clever of you, lion cub."
"I'm glad you think so. Well, that hen should be laying an egg or two in the next few days. I want to put the toad over the egg as soon as it's laid to increase the chances that it will work, so I'll come to check on it as often as I can. And I'll stop by every morning to feed them and clean up their pen."
"I look forward to the results," Salazar said before vanishing.
Harry knew he didn't have much time before his first class, so he too vanished from the Chamber.
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The night was dark. There was no light; clouds obscured the shining of both the moon and the stars. The only illumination came from the curses flying all over the field. Small puddles showed that there had been a fall of rain earlier, but the sky was, for the moment, still. He was standing outside of Hogwarts, which had become nothing but a ruin. A frenzied battle was raging all around him, and he himself was fighting viciously. He was throwing curses and striking down Aurors and Order members with ease, never once being hit by any of the curses thrown in return. Standing next to him, fighting with the same casual ease, was—himself?
Suddenly, he realized he must have been pulled into Harry's mind, and now he was witnessing Harry's dream.
Harry stole a moment to look over at him, and felt awe, respect, and another emotion that he wasn't quite certain of. (Apparently, being in Harry's mind like this, he could feel Harry's emotions.) The battle continued raging, and the two black haired men fought together in perfect coordination, a display of power and skill that was greater than anything anyone had ever seen before. They moved so well together that they seemed to be one person, and their enemies seemed to just melt away before them. Tom, separate from Harry's emotions, was enthralled by the sight, and thrilled at the idea that this vision could come to pass. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and he desperately wanted it to be real.
Suddenly, Harry's bushy haired friend appeared on the battlefield. Panic rose in Harry's throat as he watched her fight the Death Eaters, and he attempted to defend and protect her. But he would not leave Tom, and so he was unable to stop the bright green curse that struck her in the back, killing her instantly. Grief and pain overwhelmed Harry, and in turn Tom. Tom couldn't take those emotions. So he quickly pulled back to his own mind, bringing his little serpent with him.
Harry blinked sleepily, and rubbed at his eyes. "Tom?" he said, sounding uncertain.
Tom couldn't help himself. He pulled Harry into a hug. Then he said two words he'd never spoken to anyone before. "I'm sorry, Harry." He hoped he wouldn't have to explain what he meant.
He didn't. Harry always knew exactly what Tom meant. "You don't have to apologize. When Dumbledore told me the prophecy, I reacted the same way. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it sooner."
He let Harry go, and they both sat down in their usual chairs. "You're right Harry. I had someone look in to it for me. There are at least three thousand prophecies in the Department of Mysteries, and of those, only around two hundred have ever come true. When a genuine Seer makes a prophecy, what they see is one possible future, the most likely outcome at that moment. But the future is always in motion.(2) Everything we choose to do, or not to do, can and does change it. If there is a significant enough change in circumstance, the foretold future is averted. As you said, it doesn't have to be true."
Harry smiled, and Tom didn't think about why he was so happy to see Harry smile. "I'm glad you think so. I know it's only been a week, but I've missed you. I hated the thought that you were angry at me."
"I'm not angry at you anymore, Harry. Your dream of yourself fighting by my side was beautiful. I hope that it will come to pass."
That made Harry frown, and Tom realized that he'd just said something rather stupid, and corrected himself. "Not all of the dream, Harry. I'm sure you know that I would never destroy Hogwarts. Like you, I've always felt that the castle was my home. I would protect it as strongly as you would."
"And what about Hermione? I know people will have to die, but not her. I'd never forgive myself if she died."
"Did I not promise you that at least five of your companions would be protected?"
"You did. But I haven't made the list yet. I was too busy thinking about you being angry with me."
"Make the list, my little serpent. My promise still holds true."
"I'm glad I'm on your side now, Tom. Dumbledore would never make me that promise. He'd just say that my friends had the right to face danger if they wanted to. And they're not even his enemies!"
"Your loyalty is worth it, Harry." Tom meant that, absolutely. What was leaving five brats alone in exchange for Harry's power joining with his own? Perhaps he didn't even need to kill Harry when this was all over.
Harry yawned. "I'm really glad to see you, but I haven't been getting a lot of sleep recently. And I have my first Occlumency 'lesson' with Dumbledore tomorrow evening. Could we talk more tomorrow night?"
"Of course, little serpent. Write your list. Contact me before you go to sleep, and I will see you tomorrow evening."
"Oh! Before I go, I just remembered. I talked to Helga a while ago."
"Helga Hufflepuff? Did she kidnap you and force you to talk, too?"
"She did, though I was only there for about an hour," Harry said somewhat arrogantly.
"It would seem that you give in far too easily," Tom replied teasingly.
"No, I just know not to fight battles I can't win. You should be grateful for that. Anyway, she wanted me to give you a message."
"What is it with the interfering old revenants all wanting to talk to me?" Tom asked with a mock anger.
"Well, she doesn't want a conversation. She just wanted me to remind you of what she told you before."
"I was there for three days. She said a lot of things. Was there any one thing in particular?"
"Not all power comes from magic," Harry stated flatly. "She wouldn't tell me what it meant, though. She said I'd have to ask you."
"It is not anything important," Tom said with a slight frown. "Weren't you about to go to sleep?"
"Oh, right then. I'll go now," Harry said, slightly disappointed.
"Goodnight, Harry."
"Goodnight, Tom."
The next day, when Harry nipped down to the Chamber to perform his daily check on the chickens, he found two new eggs in the nest. If his experiment succeeded, he didn't really want to end up with two basilisks, so he only took one egg out of the nest. That egg was gently placed into a new nest, with a Warming Charm cast over it. After all, a toad wouldn't generate the heat necessary to keep the egg alive. Having settled the egg, Harry Conjured a toad and used the Imperius Curse to make the animal place its body over the chicken egg. To make sure the toad couldn't go anywhere if the Imperius curse slipped, he Conjured a cage around the egg and toad together, and put food and water where the toad could access both without having to leave the egg. He would continue coming every day to observe the progress.
"And so the first attempt begins," Salazar's voice came dryly from behind him.
"Hopefully also the last attempt," Harry replied. "I have some work to do in the library now."
Salazar smiled. "I'll leave you to it, then. Thank you, Harry."
"Don't thank me yet, after all, it might not work. You can thank me when we have a new baby basilisk."
Harry moved into the Chamber library and pulled out a scrap piece of parchment. He needed to make his list to give to Tom, the sooner the better. He decided to start by listing everyone he knew and cared for, his friends, Order members, and his classmates. He could narrow the list down from there.
He knew Hermione would be on the list. Hers was the first name he circled as a definite 'yes.' He crossed out Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, knowing that they, like his own parents, would rather die than see their children killed. Percy Weasley was also discounted for his disloyalty to his family and his accusations against Harry. He crossed out most of the Order members, leaving only Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks. Seamus and Dean, along with most of his classmates, also left the list. Harry wasn't especially close to them, and most of them had believed that Harry was the murdering Heir of Slytherin, and later on an insane, attention-seeking liar. That didn't mean he wanted them dead, but he didn't have any particular motivation to save them above other people, and they weren't directly involved in the war, anyway. That left him with ten people: Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Fred, George, Bill, Charlie, Remus, Tonks, and Neville. From there, it became much more difficult. He finally decided that Tonks, as an Auror, could take care of herself, and besides, if something happened to her, at least she was an adult who had chosen to fight. Neither Bill nor Charlie lived in England, which made them less likely to get hurt. So he crossed them off the list. Now he was down to seven people, and he was terribly torn. Despite his recent falling outs with Ron, the boy had been his first friend, and his best mate for almost six years now. Ron's name was circled. Nor could he leave out Ginny. He may not love her the way she wanted him to, but he still cared for her deeply and thought of her as a sister. That was three people on the list. He could only choose two more. He knew choosing only one of the twins was worthless. Neither one would want to live without the other. So that meant he could choose either Fred and George or Remus and Neville. Reluctantly, he crossed Fred and George off the list. He really liked them, and they had done their best to protect him as well as if they had been his older brothers. But Remus was his last connection to his parents and Sirius. And if anyone deserved protection, it was Neville. True, Harry and Neville weren't particularly close, but Neville had always stood behind Harry. His parents were worse than dead, and it didn't sound like his grandmother or any of the rest of his family really cared for him. Life had not been kind to him thus far, and Harry couldn't help but sympathize. So that made his list.
Exiting the Chamber library, he found Salazar in the main room, watching the egg that would hopefully hatch out a basilisk. Harry laughed. "It's going to be another twenty days before anything interesting happens with that egg, you know." Much to Harry's satisfaction, Salazar jumped. Harry snickered.
"Don't laugh, you impudent whelp. When am I going to have another chance like this?"
"To stare at an egg? Any time you want, really. I'd love to stay and stare with you, but I have my so-called 'lesson' with Dumbledore in fifteen minutes."
"Be careful, Harry," Salazar warned. "You are skilled, but don't let yourself become overconfident, especially not around that man." Salazar went back to staring at the egg, and Harry left the Chamber.
He arrived at Dumbledore's office exactly at 7:00, gave the password, and allowed the stairs to deliver him to the door. The door was already open, and so Harry entered without knocking.
Dumbledore had obviously been expecting him to do just that. As soon as he entered the familiar office, the door closed behind him. "Good evening, Harry," Dumbledore greeted casually.
"Good evening, sir," Harry replied softly, trying to seem nervous.
"Our session tonight will begin with your Occlumency lesson. I hope that you are not overly anxious?"
"No, sir," Harry answered, though he was looking down, wanting to give the impression that he was not the least bit confident.
"Relax, my boy," Dumbledore said. "I daresay that though I shall be a hard taskmaster, you shall not find these sessions with me as trying as those you shared with Severus. Shall we begin?"
"Yes, sir." As if Harry actually had a choice. He did his best to pay close attention to what Dumbledore was telling him about shielding his mind, though he was putting more effort into checking the 'locks' on the memories that Dumbledore absolutely could not see.
"Now, you understand the theory, but the only way to hone your skills is to practice. I cannot promise you that this will not hurt. However, I have procured from Madame Pomphrey a headache potion, which you may have if you are in need of it at the end of our lesson."
That was unexpectedly thoughtful. "Thank you, sir," Harry replied, genuinely grateful. He no longer got headaches from practicing Occlumency, but he could still appreciate the consideration the gesture showed.
"If you are ready?" Dumbledore asked. When Harry nodded, he looked deeply into Harry's eyes, and Harry felt the probing attack begin. He did his best impression of a beginner at the art, and held his shields for about ten seconds before opening his mind to the touch. Dumbledore was looking for memories of who Harry had told the prophecy. Harry allowed Dumbledore to see part of the memory of him telling the prophecy to Hermione. After that memory had played, Dumbledore withdrew.
"I notice that you have only confided the prophecy to Miss Granger," he commented. "If I may ask, why was Mr. Weasley not present for the discussion?"
Harry would really have liked to tell the old man that it wasn't any of his business. But he needed to keep up his act. So instead, he replied, "Ron and I were having a—disagreement at the time, sir," with a rueful smile.
"If you will excuse me prying just a bit further, what about?"
Now that was really none of the Headmaster's business. Harry allowed his rueful grin to turn more sheepish, and said, "Girls, sir. I'd rather not say more than that."
Dumbledore smiled. Harry felt another, more delicate probe at his mind, one that he knew he wasn't supposed to be aware of, so he allowed the intrusion, displaying memories of Ron yelling at him for being around Hermione, and the memory of Ginny asking him if he fancied anyone for good measure. The intrusion was over quickly.
Dumbledore openly invaded Harry's mind three more times before apparently deciding that it was enough. Each time, Harry held his erstwhile teacher out of his mind for a little bit longer.
"I do believe that is enough of Occlumency for tonight," the Headmaster declared. "Let us now move on to further study of Tom Riddle's adult life." He pulled out the Pensieve, along with two vials of memory. "I collected these two memories from Morfin Gaunt, Tom Riddle's uncle." He pulled the stopper out of the first vial, poured the silvery contents into the basin, and gestured toward it.
Harry pushed his head forward into the basin, and the memory began to play.
A small young woman with dark, lank hair was bending over a bubbling cauldron, stirring in an ingredient. Harry couldn't see what the ingredient was. She leaned over the book that was open next to the cauldron, feverishly concentrating. Her lips moved as she read from the page, and then she began to stir the potion counter-clockwise.
"§What are you doing?§" a hissing voice asked, startling the woman. The hissing voice came from a squat, ugly, and dirty young man, and the woman was clearly quite frightened of him. Still, she held her ground.
"§Nothing, Morfin,§" she replied, her hands trembling. "§Just making a potion for Father's cough.§"
Morfin walked across the room and picked up the book that was next to the cauldron. Looking over Morfin's shoulder, he saw the heading of the page the book was open to. "Amortentia," it read. Harry knew that particular potion was not a cough remedy. But apparently either Morfin could not read, or he did not share the knowledge of Amortentia's purpose, because he only said, "§Hurry up, then. I'm hungry. You have to cook supper soon.§"
Just then, from outside the window, there came the sound of hoof beats. The woman raised her head excitedly to see out the window. Then she seemed to remember that she was not alone, and she quickly looked back down at her cauldron.
"What're you lookin' at, then, eh Merope?" Morfin asked.
The woman, whom Harry now knew to be called Merope, kept her eyes down and said nothing.
Morfin went to the window and looked out, and Harry followed him. There, just outside, a tall and handsome man sat astride an equally handsome bay horse, pausing to let his horse have a drink from the stream. Harry knew instantly that this had to be Tom Riddle's father. The resemblance between the two men gave it away instantly. The horse finished drinking, and the man rode off.
"You was lookin' at that filthy muggle, weren't you?" Morfin accused. "Just you wait'll I tell Father. Then he'll have to give me Slytherin's necklace. You aren't worthy of it, you filthy little blood-traitor slut."
Merope grasped at the locket around her neck, holding it tightly. "No, Morfin, please! I wasn't looking at him, I swear! I just wanted to see who was there!"
"Oh, and who else ever goes by on horseback? Stop lying, you were lookin' at 'im, and I'm telling Father."
"Telling me what?" a new man spoke. He, though slightly taller and cleaner than Morfin, was still no exemplar of good hygiene.
"Merope was looking at a muggle. You know, that man what rides his horse by here every day. She fancies him, don't she?" Morfin said smugly.
"What!" the man exploded. "My daughter, a pure-blooded ancestor of Slytherin, looking at some dirt-grubbing muggle?" He smacked the girl with the back of his hand, and she tumbled to the floor. "That's right, stay on the floor, stay down there with your muggle. And give me the necklace. A nasty little muggle-lover like you isn't worthy of wearing something that belonged to Salazar Slytherin."
Merope was shaking, tears were running down her face, and she obeyed silently. Her hands unclasped the necklace, and handed it up to her father. As the necklace was passed, Harry took a closer look at it. It was made from silver, and it had an ornamental "S" on the front. "Be grateful I don't take your wand, you worthless lump," the man snarled. "And have supper on the table in an hour." Both men left the room, the older man angry, the younger smug, and Merope, still trembling, rose and went back to her cauldron. The look on her face, though frightened, was also determined. And there the memory ended.
Harry pulled his head up to find Dumbledore looking at him expectantly. "Well," he began, "the man who rode by on horseback was obviously Tom's father. And I suppose that woman—Merope—must have been his mother. She used the love potion she was making on the man?"
"Though I do not have evidence that would stand up in court, I would be prepared to wager a great deal that that was the case. The man—Tom Riddle Senior, later married Merope, giving the village of Little Hangleton quite the scandal to discuss, the son of the wealthiest family in town running off with the tramp's daughter, after all."
"Not to be rude, but I can't see how else Merope could have attracted his attention," Harry said somewhat wryly.
"Neither could any of the villagers. When Tom Riddle returned to the village half a year later, without his wife, he spoke of having been 'entranced' or 'bewitched.' The villagers all thought the girl must have pretended to be pregnant by him, and that he left when he discovered she was not."
"So Tom Riddle escaped the love potion?" Harry asked.
"Doubtful. Extremely doubtful. Merope was, as we saw, determined to escape from her father and her brother. Tom Riddle was not only a fancy for her, he was her way out. He had the money to support her and the standing to protect her. However, soon after she ensnared Tom and left her family, her father and brother were arrested and sent to Azkaban following an attack on Tom and an ensuing fight with several Ministry officials. By that time, she was pregnant. I believe that, in her own way, she loved Tom, and she hoped to have his true love in return. Perhaps she thought that he had grown to love her too, perhaps she thought he would stay for the child. Knowing that regardless of what happened, she was safe from her family, she must have stopped giving him the potion."
"But he didn't stay."
"No, he did not. I know very little of what happened to Merope after that, except that she came to London. Now, Harry, do you recall the necklace Merope wore, before her father took it?"
"Yes, sir. Did she take it with her when she ran away?"
Dumbledore smiled. "Very good, Harry. She did indeed. Remember that necklace; it is quite significant to our discussions."
Harry knew perfectly well why that locket was significant--he probably knew even more than the Headmaster about its eventual fate. But he continued to play dumb."Yes, sir," he said. "You said there was another memory to see?"
Dumbledore nodded, and unstopped the second vial. Pouring it into the Pensieve, he said, "Whenever you are ready."
Harry let out a breath, and then plummeted in to the second memory. Tom Riddle Junior, the young Lord Voldemort, was now a young man. Harry guessed that he was about sixteen years old in this memory. He was inside the ramshackle building that Harry recognized as the Gaunt cottage. It had not changed much in the intervening years, except to become a bit more broken down, and even filthier. It was only occupied by one person, a now much older Morfin Gaunt.
Morfin, obviously drunk and filthier than ever, did not seem to notice Tom's presence at first. When he did, the reaction was immediate. "YOU!" he bellowed. "YOU!"
And he hurtled drunkenly at Riddle, wand and knife held aloft.
"§Stop.§" Riddle spoke in Parseltongue. Morfin skidded into the table, sending mouldy pots crashing to the floor. He stared at Riddle. There was a long silence while they contemplated each other. The man broke it.
"You speak it?"
"Yes, I speak it," said Riddle. "Where is Marvolo?" he asked.
"Dead," said the other. "Died years ago, didn't he?"
Riddle frowned. "Who are you, then?"
"I'm Morfin, ain't I?"
"Marvolo's son?"
"'Course I am, then..."
Morfin pushed the hair out of his dirty face, the better to see Riddle, and Harry saw that he wore a black-stoned ring on his right hand, a ring that Marvolo had been wearing in the previous memory.
"I thought you was that Muggle," whispered Morfin. "You look mighty like that Muggle."
"What Muggle?" said Riddle sharply.
"That Muggle what my sister took a fancy to, that Muggle what lives in the big house over the way," said Morfin, and he spat unexpectedly upon the floor between them. "You look right like him. Riddle. But he's older now, in 'e? He's older'n you, now I think on it. ..." Morfin looked slightly dazed and swayed a little, still clutching the edge of the table for support. "He come back, see," he added stupidly.
Tom was gazing at Morfin as though appraising his possibilities. Now he moved a little closer and said, "Riddle came back?"
"Ar, he left her, and serve her right, marrying filth!" said Morfin, spitting on the floor again. "Robbed us, mind, before she ran off. , Where's the locket, eh, where's Slytherin's locket?"
Tom did not answer. His face was kept carefully blank, but Harry could see that he was both shocked and angry. Morfin was working himself into a rage again; he brandished his knife and shouted, "Dishonored us, , she did, that little slut! And who're you, coming here and asking questions about all that? It's over, innit. . . . It's over. ..."
He looked away, staggering slightly, and Tom moved forward. As he did so, an unnatural darkness fell, extinguishing Tom's lamp and Morfin's candle, extinguishing everything. . . .Harry found himself soaring back into the present again. The soft golden light in Dumbledore's office seemed to dazzle Harry's eyes after that impenetrable darkness.
"Is that all?" said Harry at once. "Why did it go dark, what happened?"
"Because Morfin could not remember anything from that point onward," said Dumbledore, gesturing Harry back into his seat. "When he awoke the next morning, he was lying on the floor, quite alone. Marvolo's ring had gone.
"Meanwhile, in the village of Little Hangleton, a maid was running along the High Street, screaming that there were three bodies lying in the drawing room of the big house: Tom Riddle Senior and his mother and father. The Muggle authorities were perplexed. As far as I am aware, they do not know to this day how the Riddles died, for the Avada Kedavra curse does not usually leave any sign of damage. . . . The exception sits before me," Dumbledore added, with a nod to Harry's scar. "The Ministry, on the other hand, knew at once that this was a wizard's murder. They also knew that a convicted Muggle-hater lived across the valley from the Riddle house, one with a history of mental instability. So the Ministry called upon Morfin. They did not need to question him, to use Veritaserum or Legilimency. He admitted to the murder on the spot, giving details only the murderer could know. He was proud, he said, to have killed the Muggles, had been awaiting his chance all these years. He handed over his wand, which was proved at once to have been used to kill the Riddles. And he permitted himself to be led off to Azkaban without a fight. All that disturbed him was the fact that his fathers ring had disappeared. 'He'll kill me for losing it,' he told his captors over and over again. 'He'll kill me for losing his ring.' And that, apparently, was all he ever said again. He lived out the remainder of his life in Azkaban, lamenting the loss of Marvolo's last heirloom, and is buried beside the prison, alongside the other poor souls who have expired within its walls."
"So Voldemort stole Morfin's wand and used it?" said Harry, being careful not to refer to him as 'Tom'.
"That's right," said Dumbledore. "We have no memories to show us this, but I think we can be fairly sure what happened. Voldemort Stupefied his uncle, took his wand, and proceeded across the valley to 'the big house over the way.' There he murdered the Muggle man who had abandoned his witch mother, and, for good measure, his Muggle grandparents, thus obliterating the last of the unworthy Riddle line and revenging himself upon the father who never wanted him. Then he returned to the Gaunt hovel, performed the complex bit of magic that would implant a false memory in his uncle's mind, laid Morfin's wand beside its unconscious owner, pocketed the ancient ring he wore, and departed."(3)
Harry remembered something. "In the memory we saw before, of Voldemort talking to Professor Slughorn, he was wearing Marvolo's ring."
"Indeed he was. It seems you have an eye for the important details of the story. Now, speaking of that memory, have you made any progress in accomplishing the homework I set for you?"
Harry's face fell. He'd actually forgotten about that. He'd have to ask Tom again for advice on what to do. "Er—no, sir," he said quietly. "I guess I've just been so busy studying lately…" he stopped, seeing the look of disappointment on the old man's face.
"Did I not tell you that having this memory was imperative for defeating Voldemort?" he said sternly.
"You did, sir." Harry made sure to appear chastised.
"Studying is important, Harry, but you cannot forget that you also have other priorities. Until we have that memory, we cannot continue our study of Tom Riddle's life. I will see you next week at this time to continue your Occlumency lessons. Goodnight."
Harry stood awkwardly. "I'll try harder, sir. I promise." Dumbledore looked at him, but gave no reply. "Goodnight, sir," Harry said, and he left the office. He kept up his appearance of a scolded student running away with his metaphorical tail between his legs until he was well away,
Why couldn't the old man just leave him alone? Any other student would be praised for focusing on their studies; Harry was reminded that he had 'other priorities.' Other priorities that Dumbledore had failed to give him any aid in accomplishing before this year, and even now was only giving him knowledge of the enemy, not tools to fight. Maybe what Tom said was true, and Dumbledore really didn't want Harry to ever grow beyond a certain level of ability. Harry felt a renewed sense of gratitude for Tom and his own decision to defect to the Dark Lord's side.
Arriving back at the Gryffindor common room, Harry spent a cosy hour with his friends, drinking hot chocolate and eating biscuits. Harry wasn't sure of the reason, but Ron had apparently decided that he was not in love with Hermione after all, and that made the atmosphere far more comfortable between the three of them. Perhaps it was Harry's spell, but Harry suspected it also had a great deal to do with the way Lavender Brown was nearly constantly flirting with him. Ron clearly appreciated the attention, and Hermione was relieved to have Ron's focus taken away from her. Eventually, Hermione left to go to bed, and Ron left to spend some time "getting to know" Lavender. Harry was just as glad to give his friend some privacy, and to have an excuse to go to bed. Using the link between them, Harry notified Tom that he was about to go to sleep. A wave of anticipation came back to him, and Harry fell asleep smiling.
"So, little serpent," Tom greeted, "Another visit to the bee's nest. I hope you were not stung?"
"The bee's nest?" Harry asked, confused. He was surprised to note that Tom's armchair had been once again Transfigured to a love seat, and the arm chair he usually sat in was missing. Shrugging inwardly, and secretly quite pleased, he sat next to Tom
Tom laughed. "Dumbledore is Old English for 'Bumblebee.' Rather fitting, wouldn't you agree?"
Harry hummed in assent. "To answer your question, no, I was not 'stung,' as you put it. Well, not too badly, anyway."
Tom looked at Harry, slightly alarmed. "What do you mean by that?" he demanded.
"Relax, Tom, he didn't do anything worse than lecture me. He wanted to know if I had made any progress toward getting Slughorn's memory. I said I'd forgotten about it, and he gave me quite the guilt trip. Well, he tried to, anyway."
"Ah, yes, the 'quest' Dumbledore assigned you. I admit that I had forgotten about that as well. While I am certain that you can withstand his lectures, it would not do for him to become suspicious of you due to your lack of effort. I will think on this. In the meantime, you'd best pretend to be making an attempt."
Harry groaned. "I guess that means I have to start going to his stupid club meetings and sucking up to him like you did."
"Excuse me? Did you just claim that I was sucking up?"
"Tom, you brought him a box of his favourite sweet. Sucking up doesn't get much more blatant than that."
"I do not suck up. I flatter when it is necessary," Tom replied, his nose stuck slightly up.
"Whatever you say, Tom," Harry agreed teasingly. "Of course, copying your example is exactly the wrong way for me to go about what I'm supposed to be doing, since Slughorn knows I'm after something. But Dumbledore will see that I'm trying. So it's a good plan, except that I have to sit through those meetings."
"Perhaps you are not a Slytherin after all," Tom said.
"Why would you say that?"
"A true Slytherin would have been attending those meetings all along to make the friends and connections necessary for achieving their ambitions."
"I'd rather not have the kind of friends who only want to use me for their own gain."
Tom sighed and shook his head. "Yes, you certainly are a Gryffindor. Slytherins know there isn't any other kind."
Harry wasn't quite sure if Tom was serious or not. He didn't really want to find out, either, so he changed the subject. "Dumbledore gave me my first 'lesson' in Occlumency tonight," he said.
Tom seemed equally glad for the change. "Oh? I trust you did well?"
"He did not see anything I didn't want him to see. I began with blocking him for ten seconds, and then held my shields for a little bit longer each time. I think I did a good impression of struggling, too."
"Very good. Was there anything else to the meeting?"
"Yes. He showed me two more memories."
"Memories of myself, I presume?" Tom asked with one aristocratic eyebrow delicately arched.
"Yes. One was about how you killed your parents and blamed your uncle for it." Harry started with that memory because he had a question about it. "Tom, why did you kill your father and your grandparents?" Harry asked seriously.
Tom simply looked at Harry for a moment, considering his answer. "My father betrayed and abandoned me and my mother. I do not know much about my mother's life after he left, but I do know that it was not easy. She had no food, no money, and ended up in such poor health that she died in childbirth. My father might not have killed my mother, but he was responsible for her death. My grandparents knew that my father had taken a wife. They may have even known that his wife was with child. But they did not insist that he remain with his wife, nor did they ever care to find out what had become of the child."
Harry nodded. "Dumbledore said you did it to get rid of your 'unclean' family, but I thought it would be something like that."
"If you already knew, then why did you ask?" Tom asked, with just a touch of acid in his voice.
Harry took a deep breath. "Because of what I saw in the other memory," he answered. "You probably already know that your grandfather and uncle weren't very nice people," he began.
"Indeed," Tom said. "I do not support magical folk marrying muggles, but I am also aware of the dangers of inbreeding, and Marvolo and Morfin were two exemplars of what can happen when too many cousins marry each other. They were prone to violence and fits of temper."
"Well, they mostly took it out on your mother. She really wanted to get away from them, and at the same time, she saw your father, Tom Riddle, go riding past her house every afternoon. She fell in love with him, and she knew that he could help her escape her family. But, well, to put it nicely, you get your looks from your father. There was no ordinary way Tom Riddle would have married Merope Gaunt. So she made some Amortentia."
Tom was silent, processing the information. Harry continued. "Tom Riddle senior wasn't the nicest guy; he and his family were kind of snobby. But he didn't marry Merope or have a baby with her because he wanted to. She forced him into it. A nicer or more responsible person might have made sure the baby was taken care of, but I can see why he wouldn't want to. It must be awful to be forced to feel that way about someone."
Tom began to experience a most unpleasant feeling. It was something like heartburn, or maybe indigestion? No, it wasn't something with a physical cause; it was something emotional. It couldn't be—guilt, could it?
Harry, having gotten the difficult part over with, still had more he needed to tell Tom. "Anyway, there's something else you need to know. Merope's brother caught her looking at your father, and he told Marvolo about it. Marvolo smacked his daughter, and took a locket that had belonged to Slytherin away from her. He said she wasn't worthy to carry it. After Dumbledore showed me these memories, he told me to remember the locket, and Marvolo's ring. So the ring must be another of your Horcruxes?"
Tom was amazed at how much Dumbledore had been able to discover about his past, and once again thrilled at the lucky chance that had brought Harry to his side. "Yes, they are," he said, pleased that he had such a useful spy. "So Dumbledore is aware of those…I believe I shall have to move the ring from its current hiding place, and you know what became of the locket, though Dumbledore does not. Thank you, Harry. Your help has been, and continues to be, invaluable to me."
Harry smiled, positively glowing from the praise.
"Now, do you have that list for me?" Tom asked.
"I do," replied Harry.
Tom got out a quill and a piece of parchment. "Here," he said, pushing the items toward Harry. "Write down the five names." Harry did as he was told, writing the names Hermione Granger, Ginevra Weasley, Ronald Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and Remus Lupin. Tom looked at the list, but did not comment.
"I did have a question about this," Harry commented as he finished writing.
"Yes?"
"You said you would tell your Death Eaters not to hurt these people, either. But won't they be suspicious of that? Won't they wonder why you would order them not to hurt my closest friends? They might gossip about it, and then it could make its way back to Dumbledore."
"That is a good point, and one that I have already thought of. I will simply tell my servants to capture them alive and unharmed because I wish to use them as hostages and to take information from their minds. If they are captured, I will have them placed in a top-security dungeon, where they will be cared for as well as the pretence allows. Within a week, I will send Severus down to release them and secrete them back to a safe place, thus freeing them and elevating my spy's status in Dumbledore's eyes."
Harry nodded, but then frowned as he thought of a possible problem. "What if Snape tells Dumbledore that you ordered him to release a prisoner?"
"He will not," Tom said confidently.
"How can you be sure?"
"First, Severus is a Slytherin, out for his own skin. He never tells either myself or Dumbledore more than he thinks he has to. Second, he seeks the respect of others, and though he would never admit it, he greatly enjoys impressing people. 'I cunningly plotted to get the prisoner out, risking worse than death to save him' sounds far more heroic than 'the Dark Lord ordered me to take him away, so I did.' Third, it would confuse him. He would not want to say anything until he knew why I had ordered him to do so."
Harry nodded again. "Tom, how long do you plan on having me keep pretending?"
"Perhaps until the end of the war? You are the most useful spy I could ever have, after all, who would suspect the Chosen One?" Tom continued to think out loud. "But I fervently wish to have you fighting by my side when you are ready, and that cannot happen without revealing your true allegiance." He paused for a moment, tapping his chin with an elegant finger as he thought. "I think we will simply wait for the right moment. When to reveal the secret will depend greatly on the speed of our progress."
"That makes sense," Harry agreed. Then, shyly, "I know I didn't say this before, but I liked the part of my dream when we were fighting together, too." Tom and Harry smiled at each other, looking deeply into each other's eyes. Intense green and red gazes met. Ebony covered heads moved closer together. Tom's head, seemingly of its own accord, began to tilt ever so slightly to the left, just as Harry's did the same to the right. Harry's hand came up to touch Tom's cheek. Tom's bangs fell forward, gently brushing Harry's face.
Then, unbidden, Harry's voice echoed in Tom's mind: 'It must be awful to be forced to feel that way about someone.'
Only iron control kept Tom from pulling away entirely. Instead, he moved his head further to the side, put his arms around the smaller man, and pulled him into a hug.
Harry, for his part, was momentarily confused. His arms went around Tom automatically to return the hug. What had just happened? Or really, what had just not happened? Without releasing Harry's illusory body, Tom pushed Harry's mind back to Hogwarts.
(1)Yes, I know, in canon Harry destroyed Dumbledore's office because of Sirius' death, and actually calmed down after hearing the prophecy. This story is obviously not canon, and this small change was necessary for the plot.
(2)Yes, this is stolen from Yoda, only with corrected grammar. I don't think Tom would ever have seen Star Wars, so we can all let him believe he's being original.
(3)This scene is taken almost word for word from HBP, with minor changes.