Author's Note: I laughed forever because this is the first time a reviewer has ever told me that I should get more reviews. It'd be nice, but I write for fun. Either way, thanks for cheering me up, Mr. or Miss Anonymous (Nick).
Disclaimer: I own my laptop. That's it… Okau, I own some Cheetos, too, but nothing else! I promise!
Warning: Language. Violence. Slash. Non-slash. (Male/Female)
(***Tom Riddle***)
Tom gave a shaky smile as he walked onto Hogwarts grounds. His charmed, eighty-five year old body shook with fake tremors while he leaned heavily on the wooden cane. Even from there, Harry's magic rushed at him, making breathing enjoyable again. It was nowhere near as glorious as the feeling he had gotten when he had been in the potions classroom, which the young man spent hours in every day, but it was still there. Slow, paced steps walked up to the Quidditch Pitch. Narcissa held onto his arm to keep him steady, just like she would have for a true relative in his or her older years. Lucius strode stiffly on his other side with Bellatrix and Rodolphus behind them. Bellatrix was fully disguised from the Polyjuice potion, just as Rodolphus was disguised with a simple charm. Tom, by far, had the most complicated disguise, what with having to hide even his magic, but he didn't care.
"Narcissa, Lucius, good to see you've made it." Dumbledore's nearly hoarse voice came from in front of them, just like his horribly light magic. "And… why, I don't believe I've met the rest of your group." Tom could feel Harry's magic. It was less than a mile away and waiting to be taken, just like the boy. Easily, Tom formed a kind smile on his lips and looked Dumbledore directly in his twinkling blue eyes.
"I'm James, a distant cousin a Lucius, and those two," he gave a shaky motion with his right hand, left leaning even more heavily on the cane, "are my children: Alison and Daniel." They both nodded in greeting, like good children would. Dumbledore's smile widened further.
"Ah, the joys of family. I do suppose I'll let you be on your way, if you don't mind." A soft chuckle followed the old coot as he walked away. Dumbledore knew. Tom knew by the way that Dumbledore had looked at him that he knew. Yet, the old man hadn't made a scene, instead choosing to let them pass, probably to let them see a taste of his weapon's power. Dumbledore didn't know that Tom was well aware of that power and had come to take it for himself. Ah, well, some things he would just have to find out on his own. So, at that same, steady pace, they continued. By the time the small group actually reached the Pitch, the stands were nearly full. Tom steered them in the direction of the werewolf, intent on furthering his plans. When the two groups – one of two, the other of five – met, the youngest male Black was the first to speak.
"Cissa," the man pointed to Narcissa, "Malfoy," the index finger moved over to Lucius, "Rudy," then to Rodolphus, "Bellatrix," again, it moved to the proper person, "and random guy. Moony, who's this one?" This time a thumb was jabbed in Tom's direction. If they were anywhere else, Tom probably would have used Crucio on him. He doubted that there would be any dispute over his identity if he did so. Before Lupin answered, Narcissa questioned him.
"How?" She was obviously referring to his knowledge of Rodolphus and Bellatrix. A wide grin broke out on the Black male's face.
"Bellatrix's still got that 'look-at-me-I'm-insane' glint in her eyes and Rudy still carrying himself with such a lazy, nonchalant posture that he couldn't be anyone else." He explained it all like it was the resolution to the war, which, clearly, it wasn't.
"Rudy?" Tom didn't have to look to know that Lucius's upper lip was curling in distaste. The infamous Black grin only got wider.
"It suits him, doesn't it?" The animagus undoubtedly thought so.
"No." The answer came from four mouths at once – Lucius, with disgust lacing the word, Narcissa, who sounded just as amused as the werewolf, and Rodolphus himself, who simply sounded bored – but Sirius Black wasn't deterred in the least.
"Yes, I thought so, too. So, again, who's that? C'mon, Moony! I promise not to tell!" Dark amusement glinted in charmed green eyes at the promise. For just a moment, they flashed crimson; all the answer that the young Black required. The fun was about to begin.
(***Draco Malfoy***)
Draco strode onto the long platform with a smug grin that didn't completely fit his face. He wasn't feeling nearly as self-assured as he looked. In fact, he would almost go as far to say that he was nervous. Almost. Thankfully, excitement overrode that feeling. He was going to face Harry Potter, and if there was any truth in the Weasel's words, he was going to win. The Boy Who Lived stepped slowly onto the opposite side of the platform, wand held almost limply at his side. Potter didn't look like he wanted to duel. Somehow, that helped to calm Draco's uneasiness, if only just a little. At Severus's signal, they both went towards the center, bowed, and walked back. Draco knew that his stance was perfect, as Severus himself had been his instructor, but Potter was a completely different story. It seemed to have degraded since Second year as Potter simply stood there, looking almost relaxed, with his wand pointed directly at Draco. The young Malfoy's grin became slightly more genuine.
"Begin!" Severus's voice echoed under a Sonorus spell. Potter's didn't. It barely reached Draco's ears, right along with a well-aimed spell.
"Petrificus Totalus." The words were a whisper on the wind. Draco went down before he could so much as blink. What the hell? Embarrassment burned in Draco's mind as his eyes locked onto his father's. Disappointment was there, but anger was dominant. His father wasn't happy and there was no doubt in Draco's mind that he would be paying for his failure later. Neither the roar of the crowd nor the counter curse reached his ears. The only thing he saw were his father's eyes until a hand broke the contact. Potter's hand. The bastard was offering him help standing up. Surprisingly enough, Draco had the urge to take the help. But as Draco's pride welled up in his stomach, he slapped the hand away and stood before walking off with as much dignity as he could muster. Damn it all to hell.
(***Narcissa Malfoy***)
Narcissa watched her son get up, his confidence gone. His pride: destroyed by loss. His dignity: crushed by the final bout of offered help. The Dark Lord had gotten his revenge. Draco had been humiliated. Lucius had been humiliated. But who would pick up the pieces? Narcissa couldn't; not with all that was on her plate; not with the Dark Lord hovering over her shoulder. Lucius wouldn't. If anything, he would make it even worse. That left it all up to Severus. Blue-grey eyes shut calmly as the next contestants went up on the platform. A light hand placed itself gently on her shoulder, causing her to open her eyes.
"He's going to be alright, Narcissa." Remus. Remus Lupin. His words were as kind and open as his beautiful blue eyes. For the first time in a long time, Narcissa felt like she could trust someone.
"Of course he is. He's a Malfoy." Lucius's cold voice cut through the moment, but Remus didn't stop smiling.
"So he is." Remus's voice held the same warm smile that his face did. With that, Remus leaned back over into his seat, breaking eye contact with the female Malfoy. His hand remained. Narcissa's lips twitched mentally upward behind her mask. Perhaps, as long as he was there, things would be alright. Pained, light grey eyes flashed through her mind. Perhaps.
(***Blaise Zabini***)
Blaise looked at Draco without pity, for that would do nothing other than shame the youngest Malfoy even more. It didn't matter to him that his best friend had been beaten. What mattered to him was that Hermione had been telling the truth. Even if he lasted against Potter's first attack, there was no way that he could beat the younger boy. Sure, Blaise couldn't see magic like a few of the older Deatheaters could, but there was definitely something in the air.
"Draco?" Draco didn't respond, too busy sulking to even lift his head. Blaise continued on as if he had. "How serious do you think the Dark Lord is about Potter?" Again, the Malfoy heir offered no answer. Dark, Italian eyes turned to meet silvery grey. At least Draco was looking up. "If he is then your failure will only make him more interested in Potter. In a way, you're helping the Dark Lord get what he wants." Something flashed behind light grey eyes at that thought. A smirk with a tint of smile fell onto Draco's lips.
"Do you think I'll get a reward?" For once, the Malfoy heir was joking, and that evoked a small smile from Blaise.
"No." And then everything seemed alright again, if only for the moment.
"Next up is Blaise Zabini," Blaise looked up, prepared to take his seventh win of the night, "and Hermione Granger." The smile vanished. So much for seven being a lucky number.
(***Hermione Granger***)
Hermione could practically hear herself swallow as she stepped onto the platform. She was fighting her new crush in front of her lost love for the sake of her best friend. Why did things have to be so complicated? Quickly, she walked towards Blaise and gave a bow.
"Good luck." Good luck, indeed. Blaise nodded, apparently not in the mood to give a verbal response. Hermione turned on her heels, Blaise doing the same in her mind's eye. They swirled back around to face each other, Hermione immediately zoning in on Blaise's stance, trying to find a hole in his defenses. There were no faults. Chocolate brown eyes narrowed. There weren't any faults yet. Everyone slipped up. It was human nature. All she had to do was wait for him to do just that.
"Begin!" Professor Snape's deep, wonderful voice flowed from thin lips in that quiet way of his, amplified only by magic, not adrenaline.
"Expelliarmus!"
"Stupefy!" Their spells were called out simultaneously, amazingly, but neither blast hit its target.
"Salvio Hexia."Hermione cast a protection charm, just in case. After all, the best offense was a good defense, correct?
"Obscuro!" A blind fold quickly wrapped itself around Hermione's eyes, blocking her vision.
Instantaneously, Hermione cast a Supersensory charm on herself, heightening all of her senses by an incredible amount. She felt the next spell coming towards her easily, eliminating the need for sight. Her new instincts kicked in before her mind could, allowing her to propel herself over the harmful beam of magic. Putting her now sensitive hearing to good use, Hermione listened for his footsteps. She forgot about the crowd. She forgot about the teachers. She forgot about Harry. Step.
"Incarcerous!" The gold and red clad girl swung around before casting her spell. Thump. Color rushed back to Hermione as the magical blindfold released her. She didn't smile.
"Immobulus." Somehow, the spell that rendered Hermione immobile, that lost her the duel, sounded seductive when whispered like that. Swiftly, she berated herself for thinking such a thing at such a time. She had just lost! Blaise had tricked her, knowing that she had been relying on her earing to find him. Blaise Zabini had outsmarted Hermione Granger. It wasn't nearly as horrible as Hermione had thought it would have been.
"Winner: Blaise Zabini." There was Snape's voice again, smooth as silk and cold as Antarctica. Damn her sensitive hearing.
(***Rodolphus Lestrange***)
Rodolphus watched Potter step onto the platform yet again with something akin to fascination. The boy had faced eleven people already, and not one of them had managed to land a single hit. Magic, magic without a trace of Light or Dark flowed from him like sprays of water from a crashing wave: just enough to taste and taunt, but not enough to satisfy. It was no wonder that the Dark Lord was so interested in him. The boy was positively entrancing. Every move made was unpredictable yet completely calculated. Personally, Rodolphus wasn't sure if he would actually want to face Potter. Yet, at the same time, he had an itch to do just that. Under a variety of dangerous spells, would Potter change his tactics? Would the boy dare fire a deadly spell if his life were at stake? Rodolphus hoped so. A Dark spell used by that strange, pure magic would be simply delicious.
"He's not even trying." Sirius's voice shone with pride as he said those words.
"What?" That was impossible. Intense planning was put into every move. Rodolphus could tell by the way he held himself in complete confidence.
"Sirius is right. He's not trying. Harry just wants it to be over." Lupin spoke next, making Rodolphus frown lightly.
"Impossible. The boy has obviously been practicing nonstop for this." Lucius's disbelieving tone announced Rodolphus's doubt. Sirius's barking laughter insulted their idea.
"Are you kidding me? He's just toying around! Harry has been able to kick my arse in a duel since Fifth year! And I'm amazing! Just wait, I've got a feeling the next duel going to be a lot more exciting than this." Rodolphus took his eyes off of Potter, who was walking off of the platform victorious yet again, for a moment to see Sirius's large grin. When he looked, he also got a glance of the Dark Lord, leaning forward on his cane but not to act, to get closer to Potter; to get a better taste of Potter's magic. Charmed green eyes followed the boy's lithe body as he practically strode off of the platform for a short rest right before the final duel. Harry Potter had somehow managed to pull off what many a man spent years trying to do: capture the Dark Lord's attention. And captured it was. Even after Potter's body vanished from sight, charmed green eyes were staring. Suddenly, Rodolphus knew that he wouldn't get the chance to face Harry Potter any time soon. To the extent that Rodolphus was concerned, Potter was as good as the Dark Lord's.
(***Ronald Weasley***)
Ron gripped his wand with slightly sweaty palms, only just beginning to feel nervous. He had already beaten twelve other students, proving that he was, in fact, a good dueler, but Harry was, too. And Harry was his next opponent; his last opponent. They were the only two left, and Ron was having second thoughts. What seemed like ages ago, Harry and he had been the best of friends. What had happened to them? A not large yet not small hand fell onto Ron's shoulder.
"You're doing wonderful, Ronald." Percy's voice wasn't comforting, but Ron welcomed it with open arms. He had to know that this wasn't all for nothing.
"What if… What if we're wrong?" That fear had been weighing down on him throughout the entire tournament. The fingers – bony fingers, he noticed lightly – curled tightly on his shoulder bone.
"We're not wrong, Ronald. Harry's been tricking you; tricking all of us. It's your job to stop him before he truly turns to the Dark. It's your job to set him straight." Ron clenched his eyes shut. He still didn't realize why being horrible to Harry would set him straight.
"But… How do you know?" Sure, he was jealous. Ron was extremely jealous of the Boy Who Lived, but that didn't mean he didn't still care for what used to be his best friend.
"He's been stealing your glory since First year, trying to undermine the Ministry of Magic since Second year, and trying to steal Hermione from you since Third!" Ron's anger flared once more at that. His anger against Harry had never been an act, but before last year it had always been contained. There had always been reasons to trust Harry that trumped the reasons not to. Now, those reasons were gone. But Percy had assured they would come back in time, and that if they didn't, at least Hermione would. "He's no good, Ronald. You have to stop him. For the Ministry's sake. For Hermione's sake." Any unsure emotions that Ron had carried vanished at Percy's final words.
It was for Hermione. And, as he walked out to the platform, heard everyone cheering – cheering for whom? It seemed as if they all wanted Harry to win. Again, jealousy reared its ugly head, pairing up with anger to turn Ron into the person he had been for the past two years, all goodness buried deep within him. Harry wasn't meant to be a Savior, to be praised. Ron was! Ron pushed back the tears of loneliness, of need, and allowed the fury to take over. The past few days of training: dodging the Whomping Willow and practicing every light spell and curse he could come up with. It was all about to come to fruition. He was about to take down Harry Potter.
(***Harry Potter***)
Harry walked onto the platform, his senses immediately zooming in on six magical signatures and a lack of magical signature. Four were easy to place names to: Remus, Sirius, Mr. Malfoy, and Mrs. Malfoy. The other two were a bit harder but not impossible. He could identify Bellatrix because her dark magic was sparking up crazily, just as it had when she had tried to stun Sirius into falling into the Veil. Lastly, Rodolphus could be identified by the lazy way his magic floated about him; threatening yet disarming, much like the Dark Lord's did at times. Lastly, it took an incredible amount of power to completely hide a magical signature. That made the old man with a lack of magical signature actually a young, immortal man with more power than most could imagine. Harry bowed at the waist without thinking, simultaneously planning on the easiest and least painful way to take out Ron. The red head would be nowhere near as easy to get rid of as the others. If not for the slight increase of skill than for the ties that Harry still felt bound them together.
"So it all comes to this…" Ron's voice sounded so serious that Harry couldn't help but smile. It was just a duel. Ron, apparently, didn't think the same thing. "What're you laughing at?" Red brows furrowed in confusion.
"Begin!" They didn't need to be told twice.
"Stupefy." Harry whispered unnecessarily. He had to show them some power, but there was no reason to let them know all of his secrets; like the facts that he could do silent and wandless magic for instance. Ron dodged with a barrel roll before shooting back an intense Body Bind. Harry quickly put up a shield charm in defense.
"Protego." The words felt right on his lips, no matter how pointless they were.
"Does this seem funny to you? The war? All the people getting hurt?" The Weasley's voice was an angry snarl as the man put out yet another blast of magic, more dangerous this time. Harry didn't bother putting up a shield as the magic brushed past his head, singing some of his hairs.
"Of course it doesn't! But how is that my-" Ron cut him off angrily by casting Furnunculus, which Harry ducked to dodge. Boils weren't exactly on his list of things to try on today. The last of the Potter line didn't even attempt to toss a spell back at him.
"What do you mean, how is it your fault! None of this would be happening if you hadn't survived in the first place!" And suddenly, the roar of the crowd wasn't so loud, and the happiness in his soul didn't shine so brilliantly. His once best friend wanted him…
"You wish I had died?" Harry's question was nothing more than a breathy whisper, but it seemed like so much more. It echoed in his mind and screamed in his ears. Certainly, Ron didn't hate him that much, not after all that they had been through together. Certainly, Harry wasn't that bad…
"Bloody hell, yes. If you wouldn't have survived then Professor Dumbledore could have killed You-Know-Who fully and we wouldn't be in this position right now! It's all your fault! Expulso!" Harry allowed the spellto knock him backwards, barely feeling the painful wound that had manifested itself in his chest. At least Ron hadn't put enough force behind it to kill him. Or perhaps he just wasn't powerful enough… The thought didn't settle well in Harry's stomach. "And if the rumors are true then we're in even more trouble!" Green eyes blinked as a Diffindo rushed towards him, dodging more out of habit than anything else. The Severing Charm cut off a large chunk of the platform easily.
"Rumors?" It shouldn't have made a difference – there were always rumors circulating about Harry – but it did.
"About you. About you being the next Dark Lord. About you being evil!" And just like that, Harry's thin line of patience – the one he had been teetering over like a tightrope walker for the past few days – snapped. Why did everyone have to make him the bad guy when he did nothing other than mind his own business? Effortlessly, barely noticing the painful burning in his chest, Harry flexed his body backwards until he stood upright oh his hands before flipping back onto his feet.
"Are you really that stupid?" Harry snarled at Ron, feeling his magic flare up around him. The red head's mouth opened to form a retort, but Harry wasn't going to listen. Not anymore. "There's no such fucking thing! Good and evil, right and wrong, from whose perspective are you judging that!" Blue eyes narrowed at the question not in anger but confusion. "Do you really think that if I don't consider a muggle any better than a bug that I'm going to have a problem with killing them? No. Does that make me evil? No. It means I have a different perspective!" Those same blue eyes widened again, showing Ron's shock.
"You hate muggles? Merlin's Beard," the young Weasley took a step back, "maybe you really are the next Dark Lord…" This time, Harry's magic didn't just flare. It erupted. His magic flew out of his control for just a moment, knocking Ron backwards to the edge of the platform.
"You're not listening! Do you think it actually matters whether it's the Light or the Dark that wins this war? Do you think that the same side will be in control one hundred years from now? Two hundred? No! Yeah, Voldemort was incredibly stupid to so much as think about destroying all of the muggles, but that could have changed by now! You never know! No one knows!" Not a single soul in the crowd was speaking. No children were crying. No people were moving. They were all focused on Harry. Ron quickly stood up.
"Wh-what do you mean?" He sounded unsure, scared, just like the multitude of people looked.
"Muggles outnumber wizards six fold. There are six billion people on the planet. Only one billion of them are wizards. One tenth of those wizards are muggleborn, just like one thousandth of the muggles are squibs. You would have to kill all of the squibs along with the muggleborns. That leaves us with eighty million wizards, and every generation will have at least ten thousand squibs. We'd have died out in no time." But the disgust didn't vanish from Ron's face. No immediate comprehension flashed across his face. Ron didn't get it.
"So you're on the Light's side?" Ron questioned, missing the point completely.
"No. The Light is just as wrong! What do you think will happen if muggles are alerted of the existence of magic, huh? Do you think they'll just accept it and everything will be fine and dandy? No! The Salem Witch Trials happened for a reason! The only reason that we don't want to murder muggles is because we're the ones with power! You fear the things you can't control and kill the things you fear! It wouldn't work!" Blue eyes widened, making Harry think that perhaps something had finally gotten through.
"Bloody hell… You've put a lot of thought into this." Ron breathed deeply, knuckles turning white from his tight grip on his wand. "You're totally barmy! The Ministry should have taken you away when they had the chance!" At that, the burning fury racing through Harry's veins froze over. It hurt to have enemies. It hurt to have friends. It hurt to be alone. Would it ever stop hurting? Harry didn't know. At that point, Harry didn't care.
"So you really believe that Light magic can't hurt you because it's good, and Dark magic can't help you because it's evil?" Harry questioned, voice quieted but not any less angry. From an onlooker's point of view, it probably sounded as cold as his eyes. Ron gave a quick nod of agreement, gripping onto his wand tighter still.
"Of course it can hurt you, just not break a bone or anything serious! Stunning spells and stuff like that can be used for defense!" Ron was as stubborn as he was stupid. Harry didn't so much as bat an eyelash.
"Fine. What was the very first bit of magic that we learned at Hogwarts?" It was a simple question, but the red head didn't have an answer.
"How the bloody hell should I know?" Green eyes closed for a moment as the words were unnecessarily shouted before reopening them, an almost cruel glint shining through. People were watching. He needed to calm down, to think about what he was about to do and the consequences that it would bring, but he didn't.
"Wingardium Leviosa." At the whispered spell, Ron flew up into the sky, dropping his wand in the process. The Weasley went up and up, into the clouds and out of sight. One hundred feet. Two hundred feet. Harry stopped him, allowing the boy to panic for a moment. "Enunciate the Leviosa." And then Ron dropped. Ron fell towards the ground at an accelerating speed of 9.81 meters per second squared until he hit the ground. Luckily for Ron, Harry used his magic to cushion the body's impact. The Boy Who Lived wanted to teach him a lesson, not kill him. Not yet. "That was extremely Light magic, but don't worry. It couldn't have done anything serious like break a bone. Your arm isn't shattered and your leg isn't broken. Three of your ribs aren't cracked and you don't have internal bleeding. Sure, you would if it were a Dark spell, but it wasn't, so you're safe, right?" A pained groan was the only response. Ron had passed out. "Of course you are." His hand curled into a fist, nails biting into the palm of his hand. No roar of excitement broke out at his victory, but whispers, shouts, plot formed in the crowd, growing in their intensity with each second. They all doubted him; believed him evil.
And then Harry walked away, focusing on the self-inflicted pain in his palm rather than the Ron-inflicted pain in his chest; both mentally and physically. He walked until the castle was in sight, until he could the entire front of the magnificent castle. To think that they had been best friends for the past six years; that Ronald Weasley had been Harry's very first friend. That small fact raised the worry that Hermione would do the same one day. No matter how much he knew that she would never do that to him, the fear was still there: the fear of being completely and totally alone yet again. Fuck. He was losing control all over again. Harry closed his eyes and just as he felt a hand try to close around his arm, he disappeared; vanishing to his sanctum. The green eyed boy dropped to his knees in the ruins of his underground sanctuary, feeling a cold breeze brush his bangs out of his face; like the hand of death telling him not to worry. Slowly, he gave into that call, allowing his worries to freeze in the wind and break away, if only for a moment. Feeling cold, helpless, and hurt, Harry gave in. There, in the Chamber of Secrets, next to the bones of the Basilisk, Harry allowed himself to cry a single tear.
(***Tom Riddle***)
Tom Marvolo Riddle watched the spot where Harry had exited from with intense crimson-charmed-green orbs. He had been able to taste Harry's magic from his spot near the top of the stadium just as well as if they had been standing next to each other, and it was delicious. More than the magic, Harry's views had Tom's mind going at a thousand miles a minute. While he agreed that his ideas when he was younger weren't ideal, it didn't mean that Harry – or anyone else for that matter – could say such a thing. Now, he was simply going for complete, dominant separation. He would be recognized as the ultimate Dark Lord and have complete rule over all and separate the muggles and wizards entirely. Any muggle-born children would be taken away and adopted by a wizard or pair of wizards. Separation wasn't anywhere near as out of the question as Dumbledore seemed to think, and, apparently, Harry agreed on that aspect. It meant nothing more than that Potter wasn't going to be as useless as he had thought. The young man might even climb the ranks, once he learned his place, of course. In terms of power, he would easily trump Rodolphus, but Tom wanted loyalty as well as power. Only when the Granger girl – who had chased after Harry when he had left – walked over to them did he tear his eyes away.
"How's Harry doing?" Lupin questioned over the roar of the crowd. Immediately, some of the people around them quieted, trying to discreetly listen in on their conversation.
"Excuse me, Miss Granger, but perhaps we should go somewhere more private…" Narcissa cut in while sending an icy glare to the surrounding wizards. They looked away, as they should have, but didn't resume their conversations. Granger simply nodded. The group of eight – Tom, Rodolphus, Bellatrix, Lucius, Narcissa, Sirius, Lupin, and Granger – got through what Tom could tell was nearly a riot without being noticed, gaining three more people – Draco, Blaise, and Pansy – along the way. They slipped out of the Pitch noticed only by Albus Dumbledore, who Tom held eye contact with the old fool for a good few moments before walking away, still leaning heavily on his cane. Dumbledore wouldn't – couldn't – follow them. The man had a riot to deal with. Granger lead them all to what Tom remembered as the Room of Requirements, pacing in front of it three times before stopping to wait for the door to materialize itself. They didn't have to wait for long.
The room was white with eleven white chairs circled around one large, white table. Tea sat innocently in front of each chair in small, delicate white cups. Tom, rightfully, headed straight for the head of the table, losing his disguise, though not releasing his magic, on the way. By the time he got to his seat, eight out of the eleven people were on their knees. It was a pleasant sight. Yet, Tom wanted more. He wanted the other three to bow to him as well. He wanted full control.
"Rise and be seated." His followers did so with swift efficiency, leaving the three closest friends of Harry Potter standing in the same spots as when they had come in. Lupin turned to Granger before motioning to a chair, obviously knowing that this wasn't a battle he wanted to fight, before sitting himself down in between Sirius and Narcissa. All attention – besides the longing glances being cast at Tom – was on Granger.
"Harry's not well. The Light is turning on him, and," suddenly, the girl's mouth twisted into a snarl, "Mr. Malfoy, if you don't want to hear about Harry's well-being than I assure that there is enough force in this room to make you leave." Tom very nearly could have smirked at that one. Even he had seen the elder Malfoy's lips turn down in a sneer and he hadn't been paying the slightest bit of attention to the younger male. Lucius schooled his face into that of neutrality before giving an obviously reluctant nod. "As I was saying, the Light's been turning against him. The problem is that if he doesn't start showing some loyalty to either Dumbledore or the Ministry of Magic soon, everyone's going to assume that he's on your side which, obviously, he isn't. What most people don't know is that he isn't all for the Light, either." Tom watched in curiosity as Blaise turned to Granger. Whatever information he received here would help him immensely in his quest to get Harry. That much he was sure of.
"What are you trying to say, Mudblood?" The question looked as if it was on the tip of the Italian's tongue, but Bellatrix beat him to it, throwing out an insult at exactly the wrong time. Tom reminded himself to teach the slightly insane female Black a lesson once they weren't in the middle of negotiating getting him what he wanted. Luckily, Granger didn't seem to take any offense. If anything, she held her head even higher.
"I'm saying that Harry is neutral." Quite abruptly, things got a great deal more complicated. It was easy to sway the beliefs of a person with an ambition. It was easy to plant ideas into the head of someone who just wasn't sure. It was not easy, however, to convince someone who could easily see both the pros and the cons of each side well enough to know that joining a side would do no good. It was much harder to put out something worthwhile that would have a neutral person convinced to give in to a certain side.
"But he's always been neutral. Why is it so important that he pick a side now?" Sirius intervened, clearly not happy with the predicament his godson was being forced into.
"Because he doesn't have a choice anymore. The war is reaching its climax and both sides want him." Lupin replied to the question before Granger could so much as open her mouth.
"What does he want? What's enough to sway the great Harry Potter out of neutrality and over to the Dark side?" Draco inquired next, only light resentment in his voice. The Granger girl's eyes stared Draco down for a moment before turning to Tom. Her eyes held fear, determination, and compassion. Faintly, Tom was tempted to delve into her mind, but he quickly decided against it. There were always signs left behind when leaving a mind, and skilled Legilimens have no trouble picking them out. He wasn't about to risk Harry's alliance without so much as speaking to the young man first.
"A talk. He wants to talk with you. Alone." Tom could feel victory beneath his fingers as the condition was spoken. "He wants to know if your ideals match up to his better than Dumbledore's." If Tom weren't such an astounding Occlumens than the sweet feeling of triumph may have flashed through his eyes. "Agreed?" She was completely serious, but Tom could see her wavering as fear tried to get the best of her. It was an amusing sight, to say the least.
"Agreed." This, he was sure, would be fun.