~To Kill You With A Kiss~

Chapter 16

...

Author's note:

Thanks for all the reviews and comments! I'm amazed that so many people found the last chapter, actually, since story alerts have been very sluggish lately. This has been a frustrating week with all the errors on this site - hopefully they'll be fixed soon!

In case anyone's wondering about the strange name of the house elf in this chapter: "Neck" is an old English name for a type of water spirit.

...

Tom pointed his yew wand at the wrought iron gates in front of Malfoy Manor. To Harry's surprise, the gates swung open before them before Tom had even uttered a spell.

Tom smiled slightly. "I think Malfoy Manor recognizes me, Harry. It must think that I am Voldemort. Or perhaps the magic of the house remembers my wand. It's rather odd, isn't it? There are now two identical yew wands in this time, one belonging to me, and one to him. I wonder what will happen when we point them at each other?"

They walked in silence up the path that led to the manor house. The gardens were in bloom now. At Hogwarts, spring was always a wild rush of colors, but the gardens of Malfoy Manor were of a paler hue. White lilies, blue-tinged rue and silver-green wormwood grew under pale green weeping willows. Snow-white climbing roses adorned steep iron trellises, and white marble fountains were surrounded by the faded hues of silverweed and artemisia. Ancient yew trees, cut into the shapes of strange beasts, grew along the garden path, fantastic topiaries against the darkening evening sky. The air itself felt different in here, loftier and more austere, as if it belonged to a different, colder spring. The gardens were silent at this hour; no birds were singing. Only the eerie lament of distant peacocks echoed among the trees.

The white manor itself hovered like a ghostly apparition in the deepening twilight, a pale expanse of marble, stretching its tall spires against the dark sky. They walked up the sweeping marble steps and found that the heavy front door opened before them, as the gate had done. They stepped into a vast entrance hall, wands held out in front of them.

"I don't see anyone." Harry's whisper echoed in the silence of the great hall. His glance swept over the solemn dark portraits on the pale walls, the tall, narrow windows with their pointed arches, the dizzying vault of the ceiling far above... No wonder Draco became what he is; who can imagine a child laughing in this hushed cathedral silence? Somehow, I think I'd rather have my cupboard under the stairs.

"Elias? Oh, Merlin, I must be dreaming."

Harry spun around, his wand at the ready. The marble hall was empty, and he couldn't understand where the voice was coming from.

"Up there, Harry," whispered Tom. He pointed his wand at one of the portraits.

"Oh." Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he looked up at the portrait of a handsome man with long white-gold curls. "Hello, Abraxas."

How old was Abraxas in the portrait? Forty? Fifty? Or maybe even older; it was never easy to tell with wizards. His features were more refined and chiseled now, and his face had lost some of its rounded softness, but he was still Abraxas.

"I didn't know that portraits could dream. This is a dream, isn't it, Elias?" Abraxas' voice was soft.

Harry could hear Tom muttering under his breath: "Abraxas. Of course. He just had to be here, didn't he?"

"It's my house, Tom." Abraxas grinned, looking very much like his seventeen year old self all of a sudden. "Where the hell else did you expect my portrait to be? Slughorn's office? Or maybe in Elias' bedroom? You never did forget me, did you, Elias?"

Harry couldn't help laughing. "You are as impossible dead as you were alive, Abraxas."

Abraxas' portrait beamed. "I'd like to think so. I always was a bad influence, wasn't I? Speaking of bad influences, Elias - between you and me, Tom didn't turn out all that great in the end either. He comes by here quite a bit; both Lucius and Narcissa seem to adore him, but I can't help thinking to myself: Elias really would have been much better off with me..."

Abraxas' glance lingered on Tom. He frowned slightly. "This is a dream, right? I've imagined you walking in that door often enough, Elias, but I really don't understand why you brought him along. Tom, I really must insist that you get out of this dream right away. I would much rather be alone with Elias."

Tom pointed his wand at the portrait and said coldly: "It's not a dream, Abraxas. Now, shut up, will you? Any minute now, someone will hear us, and we will lose the element of surprise. Oh, Merlin! I hear someone coming..."

Distant footsteps echoed against marble floors, drawing closer. A solitary black-clad figure stepped into the hall, wand outstretched.

"Who's... who's there?" Draco's voice sounded small in the vast room.

"Hello, Draco," said Harry softly.

Draco looked as if he had seen a ghost. For a moment he stood frozen, staring at Harry with wide eyes.

Then he grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him towards the door. "Are you crazy, Potter? What the hell are you doing here? Don't you know that this is where the Dark Lord and the death eaters gather? No one's here right now; they are all out searching for Harry Potter. Yaxley reported that you'd been spotted near Ottery St. Catchpole, so they all set off to find you. But that was hours ago; they'll be back any minute. Get out, Potter! Quickly, before they find you here!"

"Wait a minute." Abraxas sounded baffled. "This dream is getting stranger and stranger. Why does my grandson think you are that Potter boy they are all looking for, Elias?"

"Shut up, grandfather!" hissed Draco. "Harry, get out of here before the Dark Lord comes!"

"Hey, there's no need to take that tone with me, you ill-mannered child!" Abraxas's voice was indignant. "Merlin, young people these days! And for your information, young man, the Dark Lord is already here."

"He's here? Where?" Draco was deathly pale now.

Abraxas sighed. "Right there, you idiot. Next to Elias, the one you think is Harry Potter."

"What?" Draco stared at Tom, uncomprehendingly. "The Dark Lord? No, grandfather, he's not..." Then his glance fell on Tom's wand, and Draco sank down on the floor, shivering uncontrollably. "You... You are the Dark Lord-?" His whisper was almost inaudible.

"I suppose you could say that." Tom's eyes glittered as he pointed his wand a Draco. "And I will have you know, you treacherous nitwit, that I do not like to have my correspondence intercepted. Why didn't you give me Harry's message? I'm going to hex you for that, you foul little..."

"Oh, leave him alone, Tom." Harry pushed Tom's wand aside, impatiently. "Draco, can you show us the room where Voldemort and the death eaters gather?"

"What?" Draco's voice was a whisper, and his glance was blank with confusion as he looked up at Harry. "But... but Harry, he is vv-Vol..."

Tom sighed. "Oh, just do as Harry tells you, Draco. I'll deal with you later."

"Wait, now even Tom thinks Elias is this Potter boy? I'm getting a headache," muttered Abraxas.

Draco scrambled to his feet and gazed bewildered up at his grandfather's portrait. "Why are you calling him 'Elias', grandfather?" he whispered. "He is Harry Potter..."

Harry and Tom followed Draco out of the hall. Behind him, Harry could hear Abraxas' portrait mutter: "Maybe I shouldn't have encouraged Lucius to marry a pure-blood witch after all. Too much inbreeding among the few remaining pure-blood families, that's the problem. That's probably why my poor grandson isn't quite right in the head..."

Draco led Harry and Tom up an immense marble staircase. There were no portraits or tapestries here to soften the cold beauty of the grey-white marble walls. In the upstairs hallway, they came upon a small frightened house-elf dressed in a ragged sea-green towel. He looked terribly out of place against the flawless marble walls, like a bewildered insect trapped inside the otherworldly beauty of some great basilica. The elf jumped anxiously aside as they approached.

"No need to tell anyone about my guests, Neck," said Draco curtly.

The elf bowed deeply. "Of course not, Master Malfoy, sir." His glance flickered apprehensively to Tom. "Is there anything the Dark Lord requires, sir?"

Tom stared at the elf. "What? How do you know who I am... Neck, is it?"

The elf gazed up at him with enormous sea-green eyes. "House-elves are not easily fooled by appearances, sir. You are the great Dark Lord, sir, and my master told me to obey the Dark Lord in all things."

"I see." Tom swallowed. "I am the Dark Lord?" Harry reached out and squeezed Tom's hand gently, and Draco made a small strangled sound by his side.

"Well..." Tom looked pensively at the little elf. "You are about to see some very strange things, Neck. Some of them may seem impossible, but they will all be part of my plan. I want you to promise me something: No matter what you see, and no matter what is said, I want you to protect this boy right here." Tom touched Harry's face lightly. "Make sure no harm will come to him. From anyone. Not even from me. Do whatever it takes to keep him safe. Do you understand me, Neck?"

The little elf bowed so deeply his forehead almost touch the cold marble floor. "Neck gives you his word, my Lord."

The house elf vanished, and Draco, silent and pale, led Harry and Tom into a vast banquet room. It was cold in here, even on a spring day. Dozens of empty chairs surrounded a long stone table. Draco pointed to the seat at the head of the table with a trembling hand. "That's ... That's where the Dark Lord sits..." He glanced uncertainly over at Tom.

"Excellent!" Harry sat down in the ornate chair and ran his hand over the elaborate serpent carvings. "Then this is where I'll wait for him. Here, Tom, you'd better use this for now." Harry pulled his invisibility cloak out of his pocket and threw the shimmering fabric to Tom. Tom nodded and vanished under the cloak.

A moment later, Harry could feel a hand stroking gently through his hair, and he smiled. "I'll be right behind you, Harry," breathed Tom in his ear.

Draco sank down in one of the other chairs and stared at Harry. "So, Potter... You... The Dark Lord..." His voice didn't seem to be working properly. Draco buried his head in his hands and groaned. "This is all just a dream, isn't it? None of this could possibly be real..."

"It's all real, Draco." Harry leaned back in the chair, his eyes on the door. Any minute now, he will walk in that door...

"How can that be?" whispered Draco. "The Dark Lord wants to kill you, Harry. And yet you wander in here, with someone who is apparently the Dark Lord himself in disguise, and now you are sitting in his chair, waiting for the Dark Lord to arrive, even though he's already here. And my delusional grandfather thinks you are some long dead lover of his named Elias... How can this not be a dream?"

Harry coughed. "I was never your grandfather's lover, Draco. It was just one kiss, that's all."

Draco moaned softly and put his head down on the stone table. "Wait, you kissed my grandfather? You? All right. I get it. This is not a dream. It's a bloody hallucination, that's what it is. It all makes sense now. I, Draco Lucius, the last son and heir of the noble House of Malfoy, have lost my mind; I have gone completely, raving mad..."

Harry sat up straighter, wand pointed at the door, heart racing. He's here. I can sense it. Footsteps and murmuring voices sounded outside.

The door opened with a slow creak, and a pale dark-clad figure entered, followed by a dozen or so other dark, shadowy forms. Voldemort! Harry sensed a sudden thrill of fear, but for a moment, he couldn't tell whether the fear was his own or Tom's. Then he saw the scarlet eyes of Voldemort staring at him with absolute incomprehension, and he suddenly realized that it was Voldemort's fear he had felt.

Voldemort stood frozen in the doorway. Behind him, the dark-clad death eaters gasped and drew their wands. Harry heard his name whispered by many voices, and the whispers, echoed strangely in the great marble hall, made him think of the hiss of a large serpent.

"Draco?" Lucius Malfoy stepped out from the dark flock, staring at his son in disbelief. "Draco, you... found Potter? You managed to bring him here, to the Dark Lord? Oh, well done, my son, well done indeed! I am proud of you."

Draco glanced blankly up at his father for a moment, emitted a strange, hollow little laugh and put his head back down on the table.

"Harry Potter?" Voldemort's voice was soft, no louder than a whisper, and yet there was something about it that made Harry shiver. Tom. Oh, God, his voice sounds like Tom's... "What an unexpected pleasure, Harry. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming. No, Rowle, Dolohov... Put your wands away, it won't do to frighten the boy. Do not touch him; he is mine. He will die by my hand, no one else's."

Voldemort came slowly towards him, wand in hand, walking like someone in a trance. Behind him, Harry could sense Tom's fury and the power of the yew wand that trembled in his hand. But he could also feel something else, a different Tom in front of him, drawing closer and closer. Voldemort. Tom of the future. I am your horcrux, too... He could sense Voldemort's emotions flooding his mind now, darker and more tangled than Tom's. Fear. Anger. Hatred. A cruel need to harm. Possessiveness. And something else: A strange desire, a sweet wanting he doesn't even understand himself...

Harry glanced up into the pallid, inhuman features of the man who had once been Tom. He reached out and brushed the deathly white cheek with his hand.

*Do you remember me, Tom?*

Startled, Voldemort shied back from his touch. "What is this, Harry Potter?"

*Do you remember that you once loved me?*

"He speaks Parseltongue?" Lucius Malfoy's voice seemed to come from far away. "How very odd; Potter's not even a Slytherin. But perhaps there is some Slytherin blood in him after all..."

"Silence, Lucius!" Voldemort's voice was soft, almost kind, but the death eaters took a few hurried steps back. A long, white hand touched Harry's hair almost imperceptibly, then withdrew rapidly.

*I must be dreaming after all. Harry Potter is here, waiting for me, speaking the language of my soul. Tell me, child, how you come to know this ancient magic tongue? Are you, after all, a serpent soul like myself?*

"So the little hero can speak like a snake..." Bellatrix cooed. "Let's see if he can scream in Parseltongue, too-" The next instant, she whimpered on the ground, hit by Voldemort's Cruciatus curse.

"Please, Bella! You interrupt my conversation with my guest." Voldemort's voice was gentle, but as cold as the icy marble walls around them.

Harry felt Voldemort's eyes searching his face, as if he expected to find some answer hidden there.

*How very curious, my child, that you can speak like a serpent. How is that possible? Are you, after all, a descendant of the great Salazar Slytherin as well?"

Harry glanced up into the half-familiar face of the man who was no longer Tom.

*No. I'm not a Slytherin, Tom. I'm you.*

The scarlet eyes widened. *You are me? What do you mean by that, child?*

Harry reached out and touched the pallid face again. Voldemort skin was cold under his fingers.

*Can't you feel it, Tom? I am your soul. I am your horcrux...*

Harry sensed the shock that ran through Voldemort's mind, the strange jolt of recognition.

*You are my... horcrux?*

"Why are you listening to him, my Lord? He is bewitching you through his strange speech. Avada Kedavra!" Bellatrix' furious curse came out of nowhere, a sudden flash of green. The curse would have hit Harry squarely in the chest, but Tom's counter-curse blasted the killing curse back. Bellatrix howled and ducked. All at once, the room seemed to explode in a shower of rapid bursts of light and frantic screams.

Tom threw the invisibility cloak off and fired a series of rapid curses at the approaching death eaters. Dolohov fell to the ground, and Rowle crumpled behind him. Harry caught a sudden glimpse of Voldemort's face, distorted in shock as he caught sight of Tom.

"Stop! Don't hurt them!" But Voldemort's startled whisper was drowned by the sound of the death eaters' screams. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Bellatrix fire another Avada Kedavra curse in his direction. He tried to lift his wand, but he knew in his heart that it was too late. But something fluttered in front of him, something light and small, and it intercepted Bellatrix' killing curse. Harry looked down, and to his shock, he saw that the little house elf Neck, who had not been there a moment before, lay still at his feet. "Oh, Merlin, no!"

Suddenly, Harry felt Draco grabbing his hand. "Harry! You need to get out of here, now! Hold on tight."

The next instant, everything went black. There was no more Malfoy Manor; there was only Draco's hand cluthcing his, and Tom's arm around his shoulder, and a terrible pressure closing in around him from all sides. Harry gasped for breath, but his lungs felt constricted, and it felt as if tight iron bands were wrapped tightly around his body. He closed his eyes.

We just apparated somewhere. We are no longer inside Malfoy Manor. Where are we? When Harry opened his eyes, he saw that he was standing with Draco and Tom on a well-manicured lawn.

"Good idea, Draco!" whispered Tom. "Very quick thinking." He glanced up at the row of identical neat suburban houses. "Now, where on earth are we?"

Draco laughed shakily. "The only place I know of where Voldemort and his death eaters can't get at Harry. Let's hurry inside, before they find out where we are. The protective spells around this house should hold until your seventeenth birthday, Harry."

Harry stared at the flawless home. His heart sank in his chest "How did you even know where this place was, Draco?"

Draco snorted. "Of course I know where this bloody house is, you idiot. It's the only thing the death eaters have been talking about for the past month. The house where Harry Potter goes to hide, the one place where they don't know how to get in. The one place where they can't get in." He walked up the steps and pressed the doorbell firmly.

Tom looked quizzically at Harry. "I don't understand any of this. Where are we, Harry?"

Harry sighed deeply and tucked his wand into his back pocket. "We are at Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Tom, I'm afraid you are about to meet my aunt and uncle."