To Kill You With A Kiss
~Chapter 7~
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Author's Note: Thanks to all the lovely people who reviewed this story! Your comments and reviews mean a lot to me. I won't normally update this fast, but I've had a lot of very important work to avoid this week.
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Harry walked slowly back from Hogsmeade in the golden light of a long-ago day in September. The path itself was familiar, but some of the trees that grew alongside it were different in this time. He paused and ran his fingers over the bark of a massive oak tree. This tree will not be here in the future; I wonder what will happen to it? Perhaps it will be struck by lightning? Or perhaps it will be cut down? I don't suppose I will ever find out; it's not the sort of thing anyone will remember. It's just a tree, after all, part of the unremembered landscape of the past.
Am I still inside someone's memory? If so, are my actions changing what that person remembers? Perhaps there is a person, somewhere is the future, who is being driven to insanity right now by what I am doing to the recollections inside his mind? Oh, nonsense! If this is indeed someone's memory, he must already be insane...
I wonder if any of this is real? I can feel the rough bark of this tree under my fingers; how can this not be real? Perhaps this is reality, and my recollections of the future just some strange dream? Perhaps I am Elias Black of Slytherin House, who dreamed wondrous dreams of a scarred boy named Harry Potter, and imagined that his handsome young teacher would one day become a terrifying monster?
"Lost in dreams, Elias?"
Harry looked up, startled.
"Are you all right?" Tom Riddle touched his arm gently.
Real. His touch feels real. We are standing here together, Tom Riddle and I, on a golden day in September, under a tree that no longer exists. But right now, in this moment, the tree is real, and so are his silver eyes. The crimson-eyed Lord Voldemort does not yet exist.
"I'm just... thinking..."
"Would you like to go for a walk?" Tom asked softly. "It's a beautiful day for walking, and I could use some company."
Harry nodded silently.
They veered off the path and walked together over the heath that stretched beyond it. The Forbidden Forest was a dark blur at the horizon, but the shadowy forest seemed strangely weightless and insubstantial in the golden light, as if it were nothing but a black cloud lingering in the distance. They wandered, side by side, over moors covered in purple heather. They marveled at the colors, but the heather tore at the bottom of their robes, so in the end they had to pull their robes off and carry them. They were both wearing ordinary pants and shirts underneath.
If someone saw us now, they wouldn't know that we were wizards; they would just think we were two boys roaming around the countryside. They wouldn't know that Tom is a professor, and that I'm his student. They would just think we were friends.
They walked till they tired, and then they flopped down in the heather, side by side. It wasn't very comfortable, of course; the little shrubs poked them through their clothes, but it felt good to rest in the sunshine anyway.
Harry glanced over at Tom, who was lying in the heather with his eyes closed, and tried to remember that the boy by his side was Voldemort. Somehow, that thought seemed terribly unlikely in the September sun.
"Ouch! My hair is stuck..." muttered Tom suddenly, and Harry, laughing, leaned over and helped untangle his dark curls from the heather.
"It's not safe to lie down in the heather, Tom, unless you have straight hair, like me."
Tom sat up with a smile. "Well, you may not be stuck, but you have little twigs in your hair, all the same. Here, let me... You can't go back to school looking like that."
How odd, to feel his fingers through my hair... It feels pleasant.
"Do we really have to go back to school? I think I'd rather stay out here in the sun."
"Mmm. Me too. But don't tell anyone your professor said that." Tom smiled.
"I won't." Harry studied the face of the boy beside him. The strange guilt he had tried to brush aside all day finally surfaced. "Tom-?"
"Yes?"
"Are you... sad? About Walburga?"
Tom looked down. His face flushed a little. "News travels fast, Elias. Or are you reading my mind? You'd better not; there's no knowing what you'd find there..." He shrugged. "I don't really know how I feel about what happened this morning. Of course I am disappointed that she ended our engagement. I had a vision of the future, you see, of myself as a respected Hogwarts professor, perhaps even headmaster one day, with a lovely pure-blood bride by my side. I suppose it's always difficult to give up our dreams of the future."
Harry swallowed. "Yes, I suppose it is."
Tom tore awkwardly at a little piece of heather and shredded it between his fingers. "I thought I was in love with Walburga, and yet I seem to mourn the loss of my perfect future more than my loss of her. Perhaps you were right about what you said, Elias."
"Right about what?"
Tom looked into the distance and whispered: "Perhaps I'm not the marrying kind after all."
"Oh." Harry didn't know what to say. Perhaps it would have been better, after all, if you were. Better for you. If you learned to love someone, perhaps you would not become Voldemort. But I had to to what I did for Sirius.
"Elias?" Tom leaned forward. "I can sense him in your mind again, that terrifying figure who killed your parents. You think of him quite often, don't you? I can catch glimpses of your thoughts, horrible images from a graveyard."
"The graveyard. Yes." Harry studied the heather intently.
"So you met him again, then? Later on?"
"Yes, I met him... again..." Harry didn't want to look up.
"Are you still afraid of him?"
Harry felt something brush against his face, a light touch, almost like a caress. Tom's hand. His hand against my cheek.
He could hear his voice tremble as he answered: "Yes."
"Don't be afraid. I won't let anyone harm you." Tom's voice was a whisper.
Oh, Tom, if only you knew.
"It's curious, isn't it?" said Tom quietly. "This strange connection between us... I have felt it since the moment I saw you. I have never been able to see into someone's thoughts before, not like this. I wonder what has created this bond between my mind and yours?"
I have often wondered about that myself, Tom.
"It sounds odd, I know, but somehow it feels as if you are a part of my soul." Tom spoke softly, as much to himself as to Harry.
A part of your soul? Something began to stir in Harry's mind. I am a part of Voldemort's soul? His splintered soul, whose fragments are concealed in the horcruxes he created...
Horcruxes?
Oh, God. No. Not this... No, it can't be... A horcrux?
"Elias?" Tom's voice came from somewhere far away. "Are you ill? Merlin, you look as pale as death. What is happening to you? Are you going to faint? Come, let's get you back to school. Lean on me if you want, I'll help you back. Why are you shivering like that? Sit down, then, if you can't walk. I'll get help for you."
Harry saw, as if in a haze, Tom pull his wand from his pocket. Tom drew his breath and whispered hesitantly: "Expecto Patronum." Harry watched, in mild surprise, as a shimmering silver form sprang from Tom's wand and ran in the direction of the school.
"My first patronus," Tom said with a slight smile. "I think it's a stag... It should bring you help in a few moments."
Harry nodded and sank down in the heather, trying not to look at Tom.
A horcrux?
He closed his eyes, but it didn't help. He could still feel Tom's gaze.
The Dark Lord produced a patronus. I wonder what his happiest memory is?
He felt his thoughts reaching out for Tom's mind, but the only recollection he could sense was that of his own laughter as he untangled Tom's curls from the heather.
...
"I don't need to go to the hospital wing."
Professor Dippet sighed. "Don't be silly, Elias. Tom is quite right. You need some rest. It's only natural, of course, that memories of your tragic past will occasionally distress you. But when that happens, my dear boy, you need the capable care of Madam Derwent rather than the company of your Slytherin friends."
"But we will take such good care of him, Professor! Honestly, we will!"
"I hardly think you are the best cure for a nervous shock, Mr. Malfoy." Armando Dippet shook his head.
"Oh, but I really think he is, Professor. I'm feeling much better already." Harry managed a weak grin.
Professor Dippet wavered. "Well, if you are absolutely certain..."
"Oh, I am, Professor. I... I just didn't eat today, that's all. I was so excited to go to Hogsmeade, you see. It was my first visit."
"I've got sausage," put in Abraxas helpfully. "And pies. In the common room."
"Do you?" Professor Dippet blinked. "Well, I suppose that's all right, then. Although I don't think Tom Riddle will be very pleased about this."
...
"What the hell happened to you anyway?" murmured Abraxas, his mouth full of pie. "Tom said something about a memory of a dark wizard attacking you in a graveyard, and someone getting killed."
"Mhm. Do you have any more of that sausage?"
"Yes, of course. Here. Orion promised to bring me some butterbeer, but he's vanished, that scoundrel. Never came back from Hogsmeade. That dark wizard who attacked you - want to talk about it?"
"No."
"Okay. Fair enough. Want some sardines? They are really good for hangovers; they might help for bad memories, too. "
"All right." If I ever go back to the future, Abraxas Malfoy, I want to take you with me. You are a lot more helpful than Hermione.
...
"Now that is a grassy hill!" Professor Beery closed his eyes in ecstasy. "Professor Dumbledore has really outdone himself this time! And the fountain, too! The perfect setting for the romantic finale of our pantomime. The Fountain of Fair Fortune will be the absolutely magnificent! " He opened his eyes again. "Oh, excellent choice of costume, Elias; that emerald cape brings out the color of your eyes. Miss Meliflua, you look captivating, as always. I will leave this final scene in your capable hands, then, Tom. I'm going to check on the progress of the Great Worm."
Tom Riddle turned to the actors. "Now, this is the moment when the heartbroken Amata, so cruelly abandoned by her lover, walks upon that... grassy knoll, was it?... and raises her eyes and sees the ever faithful Sir Luckless by her side. Take it from there, please."
Araminta positioned herself gracefully upon the grassy hill and raised her sapphire eyes to Harry.
"Finally," said Tom softly, "after all these lonely years, you have found the one your heart was yearning for. Can you put a little more yearning in that glance, Araminta? Oh, excellent; that's really very good. And then you, Sir Luckless, sweep her up in your arms."
He looked sternly at Harry. "Sweep her up, Sir Luckless."
Harry sighed and swept.
"...and then your lips meet hers in a passionate kiss."
Harry looked doubtfully at Araminta. She looked radiant in her sapphire blue silk gown. Her eyes sparkled, and her lips were full and moist and pink. They should have been so easy to kiss. Harry sighed and leaned in. Muggles. She wants to make Muggle-hunting legal... He tried to push the image of the poor Muggle family who had been attacked by Death Eaters during the Quidditch World Cup out of his head. A mother, a father, and two children. Attacked because they were Muggles. No. Mustn't think of them. Uncle Vernon. Must think of Uncle Vernon, being chased down the street by Araminta with a spear... Maybe Dudley, too.
He pressed his lips to Araminta's, hard.
Araminta pushed him back, none too gently. "What the hell was that?"
"A kiss-? suggested Harry hopefully. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see John Lupin smiling.
Araminta sighed. "Elias? Have you ever kissed anyone before?"
"Of course I have." Harry thought back to Cho's sloppy kiss under the mistletoe, and Ginny's...
"And did the girls you kiss seem at all...happy about it?" There was a note of exasperation in Araminta's voice now.
Harry thought for a moment. Well, Cho had cried, that was true. But Ginny had seemed happy enough. She had done most of the kissing, though, and Harry had sort of just gone with the flow. It was clear that Araminta did not expect to do most of the kissing.
"Now, come here, Elias." There was a hint of laughter in Tom's voice. "Let me show you... First of all, it won't do to rush in like that, like you are trying to ambush her. First, you have to gaze into her eyes, deeply, like this. And when you see her glance soften - excellent, Miss Meliflua, that's just what I'm talking about - you lean towards her, like this... And then you cup her face gently in your hand..." He guided Harry's hand towards Araminta's cheek - "... and you touch your lips, ever so gently, to hers. Better, Mr. Black, considerably better, but you may try breathing next time. You sounded like you were choking."
Harry tried. He gazed into the brilliant sapphire eyes, leaned towards Araminta, touched his hand lightly to her flawless face, touched his lips softly against hers. But he couldn't stop the thoughts racing through his mind. Muggles. Running for their lives, pursued by Araminta with a shotgun. Old Mrs. Figgs. Hermione's parents. Hermione herself. Harry couldn't help it. He winced.
"Merlin! What are you doing?" Araminta sounded very annoyed now.
Tom Riddle sighed deeply. "Take a little break, Elias. Understudy, please? Oh... er, very good. That was... ahem... breathtaking, Mr. Lupin. Now that is the proper way to kiss, Mr. Black."
"Right." Harry glanced at Lupin, who was still clutching Araminta in his arms. I have to find Augusta Moon, Neville's grandmother. Maybe she can help me with one of those vomiting charms, so I'll be sick on the night of the performance.
...
"That," said Abraxas Malfoy, shaking his head slowly, "was the worst kissing I've ever seen in my life."
Harry flushed. He looked around the classroom. Fortunately, everyone else seemed to have left by now. "Well, I'm not that good at it, okay?"
Abraxas was grinning at him now. "Okay? No, Elias, that's not okay at all. Someone has to teach you how to kiss properly..."
And before Harry knew what was happening, he felt himself swept up in a pair of strong arms, and soft lips pressed against his own.
"Abraxas, what are you-?"
"Stop talking," breathed Abraxas against his mouth. "Oh, Merlin, your mouth. Just let me... No, shut up."
Harry obendiently shut up. He had no idea what to say anyway.
Warm. The lips that trembled against his own were warm, not cold and hard like Araminta's. Hands roamed through his hair, stroked down his back... Without thinking, Harry reached up and buried his hands in Abraxas' soft white-gold curls. No memories. No horcuxes. Just my fingers in his hair, his mouth against mine. Abraxas moaned slightly and pulled him closer.
Harry could feel Tom's presence before he could see him.
Tom stood in the doorway; his face was white, and it showed no emotion whatsoever. But Harry could feel something simmering, white-hot, beneath the surface.
"Mr. Black?" Tom's voice was calm and unperturbed. "I am so sorry to interrupt, but I need a word with you."