To Kill You With A Kiss
~Chapter 9~
...
Red. The first thing Harry saw when he opened his eyes in the shimmering, hazy light of dawn was something red. It seemed strangely familiar, but for a moment he did not understand what it was. He reached out sleepily and touched the crimson that floated before his eyes. Soft. Like velvet. Almost like...
He sat up abruptly in bed and stared in horror at the red velvet curtains that surrounded his four-poster bed. His bed. His own bed in the Gryffindor dormitory.
No! This can't be real! Gryffindor Tower? Oh, please let this be a dream! Perhaps I am still sleeping under my silver sheets in the Slytherin dormitory, Tom's scent still lingering on my skin, dreaming of these scarlet curtains and this golden light?
No. The red velvet was all too real in his hands.
Tom! Oh, God, Tom!
Was he nothing but a dream? No, he can't have been a dream; I remember him so vividly, I remember his kisses against my skin, the way his hair felt under my fingers... His shirt! I remember noticing, just before I drifted off to sleep, that the shirt I was wearing was his...
Harry felt his shirt with trembling fingers. It was his own shirt, the one he had been wearing when he had entered Dumbledore's office, before he had looked into the Pensieve.
No! It can't have been a dream, it can't, it can't.
"Look, he's awake now. Are you feeling any better, mate?" Ron's familiar freckled face appeared in his vision.
"Ron?" Harry stared at him. Real... Ron looks much too real... No. No. No.
Ron shook his head slowly. "No, I think he's still ill. Merlin, what happened to you, Harry? We found you passed out in Dumbledore's office, in front of the Pensieve."
"The Pensieve-!" Harry stumbled out of bed. "I must go back to the Pensieve. There must be more to the memory, there must be away to go back..." He could hear the panic in his own voice now.
"Harry, you are ill. You need to stay in bed." Hermione's voice was gentle.
Hermione?
"What... What are you doing in the boys' dormitory, Hermione?" Harry looked at her, perplexed. Perhaps this is just a dream, after all? Why was she wearing that dark red silk dress? It looked like a nightdress. Her hair was even messier than usual, as if she had just woken up. She shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be here. I should be in the Slytherin dormitory, on a long-ago day in September. I will go to class with Alphard and Abraxas and Araminta, and in the evening, I will see Tom.
September? He glanced around the Gryffindor dormitory. So light; everything was so terribly light. The white sunlight of early morning was streaming through the tall arched windows, casting an almost unearthly sheen over the scarlet and gold beds. The windows were open, and the air smelled sweetly of spring.
Hermione's face was pink. "I spent he night here, Harry. With Ron. Oh, don't look so shocked; we are not children anymore. Luna's here too; she is sleeping over in Neville's bed, behind the curtains. The world is falling apart, Harry. No one cares much about the rules right now, not after Dumbledore died and Snape took off with the death eaters. McGonagall saw Ron and me walking up to the dormitory together last night, and she simply smiled and wished us a good night."
"Dumbledore..." Harry sank back on his bed. "He's still dead? Nothing has changed?"
"Oh, Harry." Hermione stroked his hair gently and sighed. "He is dead. Nothing can change that, unbearable as it is... We went to his funeral, remember?"
"Then Voldemort-? The horcruxes-?" Harry's mouth was dry. "Everything is as it was?"
Oh God. Tom. Tom became Voldemort?
"Afraid so, mate." Ron's voice was kind. "Although I'm having a hard time remembering when I wake up in the morning, too. I wake up thinking that this will be a nice ordinary day, and then suddenly I remember that Snape... killed Dumbledore. It seems impossible, doesn't it? I guess you were right about him all along. And about Draco, too."
"Draco?" whispered Harry. "Is he still here, or did he leave with the death eaters? I... I have something to ask him." I must know if his grandfather ever mentioned someone named Elias.
Hermione snorted. "Well, I have quite a few things to say to him, too, but he shoots curses at me whenever I try to talk to him. He left with Snape, but I saw him back in the castle last night, with Crabbe and Goyle. The teachers are too dumbstruck by everything that's happened to contact the Ministry and have him arrested... He's gathering up a few precious belongings, no doubt, and stealing a few books on dark magic out of the library. Madam Pince seems to have given up on protecting the Restricted Section; she just sits there in a daze as students walk by with all kinds of rare ancient volumes... Go right ahead and see if you can catch him before he leaves, Harry; I wouldn't mind seeing you give Malfoy a piece of your mind."
"No, I have to speak to him in private."
Hermione smiled. "All right. Just make sure you don't get hurt, Harry. Wait, what's that?"
She reached past Harry, for something that glittered by his pillow. Something silver...
"Oh, the fake horcrux. When did you take it out of my robes? I thought I had that, in my pocket..." She reached for her robes, which were carelessly slung over Ron's bed and pulled something silver out of the pocket.
For a moment, the three of them stared in silence at the two identical silver lockets.
"Oh." Hermione looked at Harry, her eyes wide with wonder. "But then... But then the locket you have must be the real horcrux..."
Harry picked the horcrux up in his hands and stroked it with a trembling finger. Tom... It was all real, after all! I am holding a piece of his soul in my hands...
He fastened the silver locket around his neck.
"Where did you get that? You went and found a horcrux overnight? That's amazing, even for you." There was admiration in Ron's glance now. "You really are something, you know that, Harry?"
"I... I found it inside a memory... In Dumbledore's office. I have to go back..."
"You found the horcrux inside a memory?" Hermione stared at him. "Yesterday, in Dumbledore's office? But how is that possible, Harry?"
Harry shook his head slowly. "I have no idea how it was possible. But it was... I have to find a way to get back."
"We are coming with you, Harry." There was a note of determination in Hermione's voice.
"No!" Harry felt panicked. "No, this is something I have to do alone. There is someone I have to meet..." I have to find Tom again. Oh, God, I have to find Tom!
"But we want to help you."
Harry couldn't help smiling at Hermione. You are a good friend, Hermione, although you would never have thought to give me sardines for bad memories... "If you really want to help me, perhaps you could look up a few things for me. Do a little research..."
"Yes, of course, Harry. Stop groaning, Ron; we'd be happy to go to the library."
"Love to," said Ron absently; he seemed momentarily distracted by the silky fabric of Hermione's nightdress.
"Perhaps you could find out more about someone named Elias Black. See if you can find out what happened to him."
"Elias Black?" Hermione frowned. "I have never heard about him. Does he have anything to do with horcruxes?"
Harry smiled. "Yes, I suppose you can say that. Elias Black was a horcrux. I am just wondering what... what happened to him."
"What? He was... Oh, Harry, are you sure? Can a human being be a horcrux? I have never heard of such a thing before. Fascinating... I'll see what I can find out, Harry. Anything else I can look up for you?"
"Well... Er..." Harry felt himself flush as he recalled Tom's frantic kisses against his skin. "Do you happen to know of any good books about spells to use for... What I mean is... Surely, there must be spells that people use when... You know, when two people..."
Hermione looked utterly confused. "What?"
Ron burst out laughing. "I never thought I'd say this, but you can be a little dense sometimes, Hermione. Harry is looking for..." He whispered something in Hermione's ear, and she blushed scarlet.
"Oh. That kind of spell. Why, yes, I think can find you a few useful ones."
"This had better not involve my sister," muttered Ron.
Hermione took Ron's hand and squeezed it. "Ginny? Well... If this is about Ginny, Harry, maybe you should pay a little more attention to her. I saw her holding hands with someone down by the lake yesterday, a boy who definitely wasn't you."
"Well, I'm actually looking for something that doesn't involve... girls... You know... If two boys were to..."
Hermione smiled slightly. "I see. Well, I had wondered... I'll see what I can do for you, Harry. Wait... It's not Malfoy, is it? Because if it is, I'm going to Obliviate that thought right out of your mind this instant."
"Draco Malfoy?" Harry felt an absurd desire to laugh. "No. Definitely not Draco." Although his grandfather was a good kisser.
"Told you it was Dean," said Ron cheerfully. "I can sense these things sometimes, Hermione, even if you won't believe me."
...
Harry found Draco in an empty classroom, stuffing rare books and stolen potions ingredients frantically into a bag that looked much too small to hold them all.
Harry leaned against the doorway. "Can I help you with that? I think there are spells you can use to fit all those things in, but I don't know them. Hermione might, though."
Draco threw a fanged leather-bound volume at Harry's head and went on packing. "Get lost, Potter."
"I wondered if I could have a word with you, Draco."
Draco sighed. "No, you damn well can't. Leave me alone, or I'll use this Dark Mark on my arm to summon the Dark Lord here right now. I'll find a way to let him in through the defenses, just you see."
"All right." Harry felt his heart bearing faster. I wonder if the Dark Lord would remember...?
Draco glanced up. "All right? All right what? You don't think I'd do it, Potter? You don't think I'd deliver you into his hands?" He sneered and brushed a stray lock of white-gold hair out of his eyes. "Merlin! Why are you smiling at me like that?"
"You just reminded me of someone for a moment... Listen, Draco. I was wondering if you would do me a favor?"
"A favor." Draco looked at him with cold, grey eyes. "Right. Any time, Potter."
"I was wondering if you could give Voldemort a message from me."
"Oh, Merlin." Draco looked at him with an expression of distaste. "What sort of message would that be, Potter? Something heroic and melodramatic, no doubt. Beware of the Boy Who Lived? Tremble Before the Chosen One? I will smite you in the end? What?"
Harry swallowed. "Just tell him..." Just tell him what? That I am his soul? That my skin still remembers his skin? "Just tell him that... that he's got the wrong shirt, all right?"
"The wrong shirt?" Draco stared at him. "You want me to tell the Dark Lord that he's got the wrong shirt?"
Harry nodded, wordlessly.
Draco sighed deeply and shoved his books aside. "You've finally lost it, haven't you, Potter? Can't say I blame you, really. All the stuff that's been happening... It's enough to drive anyone crazy. Even the Chosen One."
"Draco? Can I ask you something?"
"No."
"Your grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy... Did he ever mention someone named Elias?"
"Elias?" There was a hint of curiosity now in Draco's frosty grey glance. "How do you know about Elias? Who was he anyway?"
"That's what I'm trying to find out."
Draco shook his head slowly. "Well, let me know if you do. My grandfather, who was a great wizard, died of dragon pox a few years back. He was getting very feverish towards the end, and his ramblings were mostly quite incomprehensible. But in the end, his mutterings were reduced to a single word, a name he whispered urgently again and again: Elias. It's a bit of a mystery; nobody in the family had ever heard of someone by that name. If you have any clues as to his identity, please tell me."
Harry swallowed. "I think his name was Elias Black. Some people say he was the illegitimate son or grandson of Phineas Nigellus Black. That's all I know. Did Abraxas... Did your grandfather say anything else about Elias? Did he mention what happened to him?"
"Elias Black?" Draco smiled slightly. "Yes, that makes sense; our family has long had connections with the ancient and noble house of Black... No, my grandfather said nothing else about Elias, just his name. But then, right before he died, he sort of lit up suddenly and whispered: "Oh, well. There was always John..." That's all I know."
Harry blinked. John? Not John Lupin, surely? John Lupin and Abraxas Malfoy? No, that can't be possible. Can it?
"Draco?"
"You still there, Potter?"
"What is your grandmother's name?"
Draco forced a screaming vellum-covered volume into the bag. "Mrs. Malfoy."
"No, I mean her first name..."
The cold, grey eyes regarded Harry with suspicion. "Acacia. What's it to you?"
"Acacia? Really?" Tom's first kiss... She was in Ravenclaw, and she was a clumsy kisser. I suppose Abraxas would have taught her a thing or two, though...
"All right, what's with your sudden obsession with the Malfoy family? Wait, you are not obsessed with me or anything, are you, Potter?" Draco's white-blond hair fell over his face. For a moment, he looked like Abraxas.
Harry smiled. "I don't think I'm the one who's obsessed with you, Malfoy." He didn't really know what made him say that, except that Draco looked so very much like Abraxas.
Draco stared at him for a moment, wide-eyed. Then he bent down over his bag again, his face scarlet. He muttered something that Harry couldn't quite hear; it sounded like "...going to kill Goyle..."
...
Outside in the hallway, Harry ran into Slughorn, whose pockets were bulging with strange little flasks. The plump old potions master was a little out of breath, as if he had been running.
"Just... safeguarding some of the rarer potions ingredients from the school storage, Harry. Won't do to let the death eaters get their hands on these things, you know."
"Of course, Professor."
How much older Slughorn looked than when Harry had last seen him! He had gained both weight and pompousness over the years.
"Can I ask you something, Professor?"
Slughorn sighed. "Yes, of course, my boy. Here, give me a hand with these, will you? I think I should bring them to my rooms for safekeeping..."
Harry carried the little bottles gingerly in Slughorn's wake. "I was wondering if you recall a certain person... He was a student of yours at one time, I believe..."
"Ah, yes." Slughorn smiled a little now. "I have had a great many interesting students through the years, Harry, and I pride myself on remembering most of them."
"What about Elias Black, sir?"
One of the bottles Slughorn was carrying fell to the flagged stone floor with a crash. A shimmering silver liquid formed a glittering pool amid the broken shards on the stone floor.
"Oh, let me get that, Harry. Here, hold these other ones for a moment, will you, while I clean up? Scourgify. Now, you were saying, Harry-?"
"Elias Black, sir."
"Elias Black." Slughorn's face showed no emotion whatsoever. "No, I can't say I have ever heard about him. Where did you come across his name, Harry? Is this someone from long ago?"
"I believe he was here in 1945, sir. He was sorted into Slytherin. It was a few months after Dumbledore's famous duel with Grindelwald."
"Ah, of course. 1945. Yes." Slughorn began walking again, so fast that Harry struggled to keep up. "I do have an excellent memory, Harry, but you can't expect me to recall every little detail from half a century ago. Black, you said? I recall several Blacks, of course: Alphard Black, Cygnus Black, their cousin Orion. But I don't seem to remember... Elias, did you say?"
"Yes. Elias Black. Do you happen to recall anything else from that autumn, sir, following Dumbledore's defeat of Grindelwald? Do you remember anything else that happened during the Autumn term of 1945? Anything at all?"
Slughorn sighed. "Oh, it's all so long ago, Harry. The autumn of 1945? That was the semester Tom Riddle taught at Hogwarts, wasn't it?"
"What?" Harry stared at Slughorn. "Tom Riddle... taught at Hogwarts?"
But that only happened inside the memory I visited, didn't it? In reality, he applied for the post, and Armando Dippet turned him down.
Slughorn looked at him, wonderingly. "Of course Tom Riddle taught at Hogwarts, Harry. Have you been sleeping through your History of Magic lessons? Every child knows that the Dark Lord taught Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts for one semester, before he disappeared to immerse himself in the Dark Arts. I am disappointed in you, Harry - how can the Chosen One not know the most fundamental facts about the Dark Lord he is to defeat? That won't do, my boy, that won't do at all."