61 – Weakening Emotion
Harry sat alone, staring off into space. Not a sound reached his ears, in spite of the steady ticking of clocks and faint creaking of footsteps in the distance, which might have caught his attention at another, less troubled time. For now, he was as good as deaf. Nothing happening around him could pull him out of his current state of mind, which had been persistent, yet ever-varying, for solid weeks now. Often, he couldn't find it in him to do anything more than to think – and even that became too agonizing after too long. What he wanted most was to just be, but even that wasn't much of a desire for him.
He was thinking about Emeric. No matter what he tried, he couldn't bring himself to stop mulling over these thoughts again and again. He attempted to distract himself, as well as to purely suppress the emotions that arose within him, but this only resulted in deep, finely-cut anger and frustration that was overwhelming. He felt surges of sharp pain in his chest that he couldn't stop when he thought about this for too long. He knew Emeric's death was a terrible fate for anyone to have, no matter how many awful things he might have done in his lifetime. Harry wasn't even sure how it had happened...
It wasn't justified – this was the thought that kept running though Harry's mind, pulling him back into a state of numb contemplation during the day, keeping him up at night. Emeric hadn't done anything bad enough to deserve death, as far as Harry knew. Grindelwald's people had taken part in horrid activities, many of which well-publicized in various newspapers across Britain and Europe, but Emeric alone couldn't be held guilty for much of it, if any. Emeric had never tried to murder anyone, he had merely loved a man he couldn't have.
Harry made an involuntary movement with his head, as if to shake away an invisible fly. Emeric never loved him – he had obsessed over him. There was a huge difference between the two ideas; Emeric would have done so many bad things to Harry without mercy. Tom had mentioned this before, had suggested it recently. Emeric would have done nothing but cause pain, and Harry believed this – he knew it must be true because he remembered so clearly the immediate change to fury that had appeared in Emeric's expression, as if it only took one small thing to set him off into rage. It was a look that was so much his own, but it still reminded Harry so intensely of every mad man he had come across before.
There had been another side to him, however. Harry remembered this well. There was a soft, comforting side to Emeric that had shown through quite often, breaking the rage even at his worst, and it had been there constantly whilst they worked together in England. An odd crushing sensation dawned upon Harry. When he wasn't crazed out of his mind for reasons Harry still couldn't quite understand, Emeric was a lonely, sad boy who had nothing to be mad about. He was a hard-worker, a Hufflepuff if ever Harry saw one. This was the side of Emeric that had gotten close to Harry... and closer...
But he was mad! He was utterly insane, and no amount of rationalization could possibly change this. Harry was more confused than ever; he began rubbing his face with his hands in stress. He felt as though by killing Emeric, he had killed two people at once. Guilt, shame, and self-hatred entwined themselves around Harry's very being, crushing him steadily when he reflected that he had murdered the lonesome boy he once knew. But as for the crazed man who had broken through the surface of Emeric's normal state, Harry felt as though there had been reason to attack him. That side of Emeric could easily have done worse things, if Harry hadn't fought back...
Harry didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about anything at all to do with Emeric. Towards the end of his life (and perhaps secretly before that) Emeric was far from sane – Harry had to remember this, and nothing more. He wasn't the gentle, harmless man Harry thought he knew during their work together. It had all been lies, a ruse. Harry had a right to kill Emeric... He would only have caused more pain, as Tom suggested. Harry had killed a murderer, not an innocent boy. Emeric had been obsessed, not in love...
Harry didn't need to do much more than to think of Tom to see the difference between Emeric's obsession and how love really was. For real love, Tom was going to stay with him forever, was going to continue protecting him and loving him with everything he had, just like Harry would to Tom. Emeric had used Unforgivable Curses against Harry, he had gone into bursts of unexplained rage for nothing, had tried to kidnap him, to force him into a relationship. Tom was the love of Harry's life... It made Harry wonder sadly if, for Emeric, he had been the same thing...
Harry felt so much joy thinking about Tom, being with him, being close to him... It filled his heart with ecstasy to just think about staying by his side forever, never having to part with the one true thing he loved... Because he had already lost all else he loved...
Without questioning it too harshly, Harry reminded himself that Tom wasn't to blame for many deaths directly. In the end, he hadn't killed a lot of people, which was always a little surprising. Dumbledore, for one, was responsible for the death of many, and other people – Death Eaters and Order Members alike – had taken part in killing others, with or without meaning to. It was a lot to do with Snape and Pettigrew that Harry's parents had died, anyway. No one, not one person, had been innocent in the wizarding wars.
The fact that Tom had only murdered for Horcruxes told Harry that, after everything, Tom wasn't killing for pleasure, surely. Harry had thought of this only recently. In the eyes of a man who truly believed himself genius, it was almost no surprise that Tom would quicken inevitable death in others to gain immortality. At the expense of the father and grandparents who would have hated him as much as he hated them anyway, Tom had traded their lives for the ability to keep learning forever, to stay always with that which he loved, to fulfil his dreams (or destiny, as he thought of it), and to be renown for his sheer, unquestionable greatness.
That was it, Harry thought suddenly. Tom was just taking precautions to protect his own greatness, in fear and distrust of those around him. The war would be accidental, a fight made against a wizard who had more power than others were comfortable with. All those fighters who would be be killed shouldn't have fought at all, the witches and wizards who got in the way should have known, the families that were to be hunted down and ripped apart for voicing their thoughts... the innocent Muggles unaware of what was happening... slaughtered in their own homes and cursed to do things for a dark wizard's pleasure that they could never understand...
Harry felt sick. He switched from seemingly understanding to suddenly hating himself in an instant. Trying to rationalize the massacre of thousands of innocent witches, wizards and Muggles was a new low. People who had done nothing wrong morally – children who had been left on their own, if not taunted and harmed in ways Harry shuddered to think about – can't have suffered for merely getting in the way of a genius. They had found themselves in the midst of a forceful, needless war. A war, moreover, that should not have started at all...
"Jonathan?" Nott was standing in the doorway of Harry's sitting room. It wasn't clear how long he had been there for, but it couldn't have been for long. Harry hoped not, anyway.
"Hey," Harry greeted, sitting up a little straighter.
"I was just leaving," Nott said. His bright eyes stared back at Harry, but there was no telling what his thoughts were. "Since the training with Tom is almost complete, there's no need for me to stay here anymore."
After a slight pause, Harry nodded, indicating he had been informed of this already. Tom wanted to have both houses alone with Harry, which wasn't a bad idea in his opinion.
"I thought I should say goodbye, anyway," Nott carried on, filling the silence. "Even though... well, we don't talk much anymore."
Harry was taken aback by this claim. He tried to think when he last spoke to Nott, and how often... Admittedly, he hadn't been much in the mood for conversation these last few weeks, not since Emeric's death. He was sure he hadn't stopped talking to Nott completely, however...
"I've been busy," Harry said. This wasn't a lie, but guilt was ripping at him, trying to catch hold of him for reasons he couldn't understand.
"I know."
Nott almost looked sad, but Harry didn't know why. He sat in a state of continued confusion, feeling sorrow creeping up on him too. But why? There was nothing to be sad about. Harry was beginning to feel paranoid and he regretted Nott knowing Occlumency so well. Those bright eyes saw something they didn't like, Harry could feel it as they bore into him.
"I heard some rumours," Nott mentioned slowly. He was cautious, which wasn't usual behaviour towards Harry. "Someone tried to get to you in that battle. You fought them."
Is this was it was about, Harry wondered? Emeric's death? It seemed unrelated, somehow, yet it was all that fitted. Harry wanted to be sceptical about it, but it was difficult. The idea that Nott disapproved of all this, as well as that he was acting peculiar about it, confused Harry about the emotions that were flooding over him...
"I heard you killed him," Nott mentioned.
"Yeah, I..." Harry couldn't finish his sentence. As much as he tried to pretend this information was worth nothing more than a light comment of agreement, he couldn't do it. Silence is better than to speak revealing words, Tom had always told him, and beyond this he was scared that by letting his voice out, what he was feeling would come pouring out too.
Nott's voice was quiet when he asked, "Why?"
This, beyond all else, guilted Harry. Nott was genuinely grieved by recent events, Harry could tell by the subtle air of hopelessness that leaked through his soft expression. "It was a mistake."
Harry wasn't sure if Nott believed him – he wasn't sure if he even believed himself with these words, but somehow he cared to say it anyway.
"Well... if you ever need someone to talk to... I'm not far away."
To this, Harry had no response. As much as he wanted to believe (for the sake of simplicity) that Nott meant this as an offhand comment, the claim was too unusual for Harry to ignore. The sincerity in Nott's eyes was alarming. At first it sounded as though he was attempting to take on an authoritative role, but the more Harry thought about this the less it made sense. The only reasonable explanation was that Nott had meant this as nothing more than a friend... and this, more than anything, bewildered Harry.
"Well, I should go."
"Right..."
After a moment, a smile broke though Nott's serious expression. It was short-lived. It seemed as though it had occurred to him, in just that moment, that this wasn't the end. "I'll see you around, Jonathan."
"See you around."
With that, he was gone. Harry listened to the sound of him leaving, mulling the conversation over in his mind to try and make sense of it. Unsuccessfully, he sat in solitude.
He felt empty. All of the happiness he had felt earlier from thinking about Tom was long gone, replaced by a sensation that the world was crashing down around him. He regretted that he hadn't once mentioned Lestrange; Nott was probably still struggling to accept the loss of his best friend, the boy he loved, and Harry hadn't even considered it. What was worse, Nott asked if he was alright, of all things, when Harry was in no need of reassurance. He wasn't alone like Nott was, he wasn't caught up in lonesome sorrow... He had Tom to talk to, anyway.
Harry wasn't sure why he was thinking about this, or anything else related to the odd encounter. Nott was just a follower of Tom, and of him, so it didn't matter what he meant by this confusing farewell. Likely, all of his words had been said in politeness, nothing more. The things he said were probably only odd because he was in need to find something, anything, to talk about. Harry was sure that Nott would have brought up Lestrange if the thought was bothering him, anyway... But then, why did all of this still make Harry feel bad?
Before much time passed, Harry heard his front door opening. For a fleeting second he let himself believe that it was Nott; he felt a sense of relief at the idea of being able to talk about Lestrange, or about why Nott had acted so odd in his goodbye, yet this was all just Harry's imagination running wild. A familiar voice ask after him, saying his real name, and soon Tom appeared in the doorway to Harry's sitting room.
"Good evening," Tom greeted softly, smiling. "How are you?"
"I'm – good," Harry managed, distracted by his thoughts, "a bit tired though... I suppose today was busy?"
"That assumption would be correct," Tom said, still looking very content. He sat down besides Harry, close to him on the couch they now shared. "A lot has been accomplished, as always."
Harry was slightly discomforted by the sharp grin that spread across Tom's face at these words. "I see that Occlumency with Nott and Lestrange is finally ending."
"Yes indeed," Tom confirmed in a light tone, "they did better with their work that I could have hoped so soon."
"You seem impressed by it," Harry remarked. "That doesn't happen often."
"I'm merely satisfied. Since they accomplished Occlumency on schedule it leaves us with far more time to be together, alone."
This made Harry smile a little. "So this is about what you want then, not about what they accomplish?"
"You could say that," Tom said, leaning in a little closer with a smirk, "because I do want you, very much..."
"Very funny," Harry said. He moved away from Tom a little.
"What makes you think I'm joking?" Tom inquired. His hand was rubbing up and down Harry's leg slowly, lightly. "We have all the time in the world together, to do as we please..."
"I'd rather hear about your day first."
Harry was half afraid that Tom might get annoyed at him, but far from it Tom was suddenly laughing. Harry hadn't heard him laugh like this in a long while. "Something rather amusing happened this morning. I'm sure it will be of interest to you – here, I brought the Daily Prophet just for you."
Harry's stomach clenched in fear of some morbid, depressing story being the headline of the newspapers yet again to Tom's amusement, but he found he was wrong. The Prophet's big story was over some political debates that Harry had very little interest in, but his eyes didn't have to focus on this for very long. What caught his attention was a less important story on the cover, accompanied by a small photograph of a wizard he recognised very well, smiling smugly and dumbly up at him.
"Avery?" he asked in disbelief.
"The very same."
There was a short caption next to the young Death Eater's photo that read: 'British hero fights off Dark Wizards; saves small German town.' Harry began turning the pages, silent in disbelief as he tried to find the story. He fell across a page that had yet another photograph of Avery looking proud and (to Harry's eyes) completely bewildered and amused that people could make such a huge mistake in assuming that he was some sort of hero. Harry began reading.
In what officials have described as a 'lucky turn of events' for one British holidaymaker visiting northern Germany for the weekend, Gethin Avery fought and defeated three wizards who are currently under questioning for attempting murder after an attack on a small wizarding village late last night. Ministry officials were called to investigate unusual magical activity that arose fear in the close wizard residences, who witnessed fighting between the three unnamed wizards in question against the British Hero.
"They just came out of nowhere," describes Avery readily when questioned about the traumatic event. "They knew a load of foreign spells – Dark Magic, like – but it didn't scare me."
When asked about the possibility of these Wizards having connections to the recently defeated Gellert Grindelwald, Avery responded, "Oh, definitely. Some of those spells I saw, you wouldn't of known them if you weren't a part of some Dark Arts group. But I figured, if they were weak enough to attack a harmless village like that, anyone up for a fight would be able to stop them."
The public is eagerly awaiting more updates on this shocking story, as investigators are looking into the uncanny spells that were used against Gethin and a number of Ministry workers in the three criminals' desperation for escape. It is currently unknown what drove the three Dark Wizards to start their attacks upon the cheery little village...
"I don't believe this," Harry said, shaking his head. "The Daily Prophet thinks that Avery is some sort of hero?"
"It was the best explanation he could give the German Ministry for why he was there," Tom informed him, appearing amused. "The Ministry didn't think twice about it, not knowing that Lestrange, Rosier, and Mulciber fled the scene before the villagers caught sight of them. Avery made this all up, being Avery, and for once the story fooled someone. There was enough truth in it to last, even if Avery played the heroic victim in the Prophet's tale."
"And people believe this?"
"They have no reason not to. No one suspects Avery of taking part in any sort of illegal activity."
"This is mad," Harry said, watching Avery smirk up at him from the paper. "Isn't it a bad thing that people back in England will hear about this?"
"It's irrelevant, no one will know that Avery is in fact a part of another Dark Arts group fighting against Grindelwald's people." Tom smiled. "There's nothing to suggest it, and Avery is now in favour of the public, whilst Grindelwald's followers are being thought about badly once again. Since people are reminded of them again with this, it will only be harder for them to continue operating well."
"This is brilliant."
Tom was blatantly happy to think about all these things falling into place.
"You seem optimistic today," Harry mentioned. Tom had been this way for weeks, and though it did nothing to stop his relentlessness towards his devoted followers, Harry felt more comfortable in the joy Tom shed upon him. He was making Tom very happy.
"It makes me see the possibility of us defeating Grindelwald's people soon, very soon," Tom said. "By sending our followers out as often as we can within the next few weeks, this war could be won by the next full battle we request from our enemies."
"That soon?" Harry asked, bewildered.
"There's nothing to stop us now. The only reason we haven't defeated them fully is because of a greater number of fighters on their side, but now we've levelled it out. If they don't surrender now, we will defeat them all."
"There are still loads of them," Harry pointed out, "we're hardly level in numbers."
"In numbers of wizards, yes, we are a smaller group still. However, with the addition of Dragons as well as Inferi, I would say there is no chance that Grindelwald's people could win."
Harry had forgotten about the Inferi. He tried to push the thought out of his mind, but it was difficult. He forgot what he was supposed to say to Tom now. He was going to mention that there was still a chance of failure, but he thought better of it.
"There's something else I wish to discuss, however," Tom said.
"Yeah?"
"It has been on my mind a lot lately that there were only ever two reasons for us to be here in Albania: for the Diadem, and to raise Dragons, before fighting Grindelwald's people. Now, the Diadem has been long since found and has been put to it's use, and our remaining Dragons are not only fully grown and trained adequately, but are also helping us to quickly defeat the wrath of Grindelwald's remaining followers."
"So, you want to move away from Albania?"
"There's no reason for us to stay much longer."
"Where will we move? Back to England?"
"England will welcome us back again warmly, I dare say."
"If we do defeat Grindelwald's people soon, that is," Harry added.
Tom smiled. "We will."
Despite the fact that Harry believed these words mostly, he added, "You can't know that for sure."
"We've had so much success ever since our last battle," Tom reminded him, "there's not a doubt in my mind by this point. We fought them greatly that night and are continuing to do so. You fought them so well, in spite of the risks..."
Tom's hand found it's way to Harry's, where it began touch all of his fingers, caressing him. He was watching Harry with pure desire in his eyes. His hand slid from Harry's hand back to his leg before he seemed able to resist.
"Once all of this is behind us, once Grindelwald's people are gone," he said in a low voice, "we will be free..."
Harry made no response. Tom was getting closer to him, leaning in more, as he continued to rub his thigh.
"We'll have everything we ever wanted," Tom whispered, his breath brushing against Harry's ear now. Harry closed his eyes. "I'll give you anything..."
His voice had become strong with desire. He continued to caress Harry, exploring other parts of him now, while he kissed Harry's neck. He soon moved to his mouth instead, however, finding it more desirable to feel Harry's response in this way. Harry could tell Tom's desire was to have him as soon as possible, he could feel it in the way he touched him, the way he spoke, the way he kissed. But somehow, Harry didn't feel as much the same way.
"What's wrong?" Tom asked when Harry pulled away.
"I – I dunno..."
Tom watched him silently for a second, appearing a bit annoyed.
"I was... well, just thinking about Macnair."
Tom' was alert now. "Why?"
In truth, this was just a cover for the real problem: Harry couldn't find the will to go through with intercourse these days. "It's just, the way that they attacked him... it wasn't fair..."
"Please tell me you aren't comparing sex with me to rape?"
"No, that's not it," Harry said. "But with what happened to Macnair, it makes me think about how Emeric would have done the same thing to me. If he had managed to capture me... if he had taken me somewhere else..."
Tom stared blankly at Harry's obvious discomfort and sorrow for the whole ordeal. "But he didn't."
"He could have..."
Tom was unsure why any of this was being talked about. He couldn't understand why Harry was feeling this way, but despite this he attempted reassurance. "I would have searched for you. I would have found you."
"It might have been too late, or –"
"It wouldn't have been. I would never let it go that far."
Harry averted his eyes, wishing that he could just believe all this without question. The idea of Emeric still haunted him, and the idea of what he could have done scared him even more.
"You've been this way for weeks," Tom commented.
"Yeah, well..."
"Emeric is dead. Nevermore will he be able to chase after you – you're safe now, Harry."
Harry didn't respond. He couldn't help it, and couldn't deal with talking about Emeric's death. He wished he hadn't brought it up, he could have avoided this conversation entirely. He felt tense with the entire situation, just waiting for the day when he wouldn't be able to hide his emotions about it any longer.
"Don't get him and I confused," Tom said.
Harry looked back at him now, shocked by these words.
As soon as their eyes met it seemed as though Tom wanted to be sure he kept his attention. He raised a hand to touch Harry's face, placing his fingers beneath his chin softly. "I am not Emeric. I will never do as he did."
Harry tried to shake Tom off, not wanting to go through with this. "I just –"
"Don't look away."
Harry fell silent, looking at Tom in confusion. His eyes appeared so soft with desire, it wasn't hard to keep focused on them, in truth. His other hand was back on Harry's leg.
"Tom, I..."
"Just don't look away..."
It was difficult to think about anything else as he stared into Tom's eyes, feeling his hand against him, listening to the sound of his breathing. Apparently Tom enjoyed watching for Harry's reactions to the way he touched him, because he seemed to be enjoying this greatly. He had completely convinced Harry that sex wasn't such a bad idea, and that he didn't have to think about things that worried him... Tom's hand was moving closer to him, finding that he had indeed succeeded in striking desire in the other boy.
Harry's head rolled back to rest against the soft couch-back behind him before he could help it, as he let out a long sigh of craving. "Tom..."
He could feel Tom moving, getting into a better position by sitting on top of him now. With the excuse to, Tom began kissing him deeply, his breath caught and his determination to make this work evident. Harry could feel Tom's arm next to his head, pressed against the high-backed couch, ensuring their closeness. Tom was breathing against him, trying to regain control.
"I want you to look at me," he hissed.
With effort, Harry opened his eyes. Tom was a dark shape hovering over him in this already dimly-lit room, but he could still make out those dark eyes watching him, half-closed as they stared down from above. All Harry knew was that he wanted Tom, and wanted to get lost in being with him in this way. His eyes wished to close in desire, but he continued looking up at Tom's face.
"Anything you want," he was hissing once more, "I will give it to you. Just don't look away..."
– X –
Even as days passed, Tom continued acting as gleefully towards Harry as he had since the night of Emeric's death. Any time Harry so much as entered a room Tom would stop all he was doing to greet him, his smile wide and his consideration for the watchful Knights around him almost non-existent. Harry had been met with warm welcomes from Tom in the past, yet not this often, and not quite this openly. When Tom wanted to, he could make anyone who pleased him feel like the only person in the room, he could make them feel like a star.
The steadily more obvious favouritism that Tom was showing towards Harry hadn't gone unnoticed by the Knights of Walpurgis, however. Lestrange for one still cared deeply about it, even if it was clear that understanding Harry's position in Tom's life stopped him from wishing so avidly that he could get as close to his leader; he wanted nothing more than to be an appreciated follower. Other Knights understood it more blandly that Harry was being praised for his help in the recent battle, and although Harry tried determinedly to not think about it, he had a sinking fear that the Knights believed they would have to murder more to become Tom's favourite.
"Jonathan can't have killed as many people as Mulciber," Dolohov said in a low voice one evening, after a long meeting with the Knights and Tom. Harry knew he shouldn't eavesdrop, but these words had caught his attention before he could help it. "Voldemort thinks Mulciber's filth, and he's killed more than any of us lot, even."
"Then it can't be about how many wizards are killed," Lestrange's drawling voice responded. "I'm telling you, it must be about who is killed, why, and how."
"What's the difference?"
"The difference, you bumbling idiot, is that Tom sees it as degrading for us to kill anyone in sight like Macnair does. He praises the right kills – Jonathan succeeded with slaughtering that wizard in the last battle."
Harry tensed a little at this, not much appreciating the wording.
"Fuck off, Tom don't give a shit about who's killed," Dolohov slurred. "I reckon Jonathan just killed more people we don't know about."
"That could be true," another said.
"As if we'll ever know. He won't tell us anything."
Harry had to try hard to avoid thinking about this overheard conversation as more days passed. He didn't like any of what the Knights were talking about, yet he was in no position to do anything about it, besides to try and ignore their words. He tried to remind himself that they all believed he was already as much a murderer as Tom anyway, so nothing had changed. He wouldn't, however, refrain from reading the minds of the followers during some of the meetings they sat through together, or at other times when he had to talk to the Knights. He felt a dire need to know what they were thinking.
Currently not a Knight was in sight, despite the fact that Harry was standing in their building, ready for a gathering that was to be held in one of the meeting rooms. Although he hadn't been informed on what this meeting was supposed to be about, he had a bad feeling that it might be for something he wasn't quite keen about taking part in.
"So, what'd you bring me here?" Harry asked curiously as he walked alongside Tom. He didn't know how to ask this slyly.
"With our recent success," Tom began, "there have been a lot of new gatherings, since we have the time to meet in larger groups now."
"But what for? To discuss plans?"
"Not exactly."
They were heading for one of the medium-sized halls, so duelling practice was ruled out. They only had enough room for that in the biggest rooms, or outside. "Has there been a recent change?"
"I would have told you about it before, if that were it."
"Did you capture someone?" He almost stopped himself from asking this at all.
"No. You needn't worry yourself by guessing why I might have brought you here, it isn't because I have some dark deed for you to take part in, or anything of the sort." He smiled. "I merely want you to attend a lesson with a few of the other Knights, for once."
In honesty, this was one of the things that had been worrying him a little. It wouldn't be at all as bad as watching a captivated follower of Grindelwald, but learning the Dark Arts for combat did make Harry a little uncomfortable. "You could have said it before..."
"I didn't want to scare you off."
Harry thought privately that he had been right to think about this in advanced.
As if guessing Harry's thoughts from the silence, Tom stopped walking and stepped in front of him, annoyed. Tom's last words had blatantly been a test, and Harry hadn't passed. "Why are you opposed to learning how to defend yourself?"
"I don't need the Dark Arts to defend me," Harry commented, surprised but ready for this argument. "I know how to fight."
"You don't know how to fight well enough." There was real concern behind Tom's annoyance, which made Harry wonder if he knew about the long fight he had faced before Emeric's death. "You must learn how to defend yourself as well as possible, to fight well."
"You've taught me more than any of the others."
They both knew this wasn't saying much, but Harry stood by it anyway. It was the truth.
"And anyway, I thought you said it was getting too dangerous to allow me to be a part of the Dark Arts lessons?"
"It was getting too dangerous, yet only because I had to teach so many in so little time," Tom explained. "Now I have time for smaller lessons for you – and now it is more important than ever that you become an even greater fighter."
Ignoring the complement, Harry thought about this. "You've been teaching me privately at home. What changed?"
"I want you to practice magic with the others."
Harry wasn't quite sure how he felt about all this. He understood that there wasn't anything harmful in learning how to defend himself, but old reluctance to agree to take part in the Dark Arts was hold him back. He didn't want to know what certain spells and fields of magic were for, what they did, why and how they were used... Admittedly Harry was interested, but he refused to start learning the worst parts of the Dark Arts because of curiosity alone.
"It is of great importance for you to understand it, Harry."
This made Harry think of Dumbledore. Even he had learnt about Dark Magic, despite all the good things he did throughout his lifetime. Dumbledore had guessed the magic Voldemort used for the cave, he had understood how Horcruxes worked – he knew it so well that he knew Harry himself was a Horcrux. He had doubtlessly learnt so much by even the age of seventeen thanks to Gellert Grindelwald. Not because of a desire to be a Dark Lord, but because of curiosity, and love...
"Well," Harry began, unsure, "it wouldn't hurt to try..."
"It'd be great," Tom said, smiling at him now. "It will be worth it."
Harry smiled back a little bit, not because he agreed but because he enjoyed seeing Tom so happy. He felt his hand being clasped, so he entwined his fingers around Tom's without hesitation. They couldn't touch like this much for long, of course, but it was enough to convey shared understanding and affection. Harry felt a lot less bad about the idea of joining one of Tom's lessons as their hands parted. Tom turned wordlessly to lead the way.
Before they had taken so much as two steps, however, a noise made them stop. From far back along the corridor they stood upon came an ear-splitting screech, which made Harry freeze in shock. The scream carried on and on, making Harry think first of torture and second of pure wrath and frustration – from what, he had no idea. There were other, normal, voices trying to yell over the sound of the screeching, to little avail.
"Shut it up, won't you?"
"Well I can't fucking stop it, can I!"
"You're not doing it right, you have to – Stop provoking it! That isn't going to work, Dolo – !"
Then, quite as suddenly as it began, the noise stopped. Tom had risen his wand, shooting a spell to the distant door to close off the sound as well as any sight of what Dolohov and the others were doing. Harry thought he had heard that screech once before, at some dark time long ago, but he couldn't quite place when, where, or why.
"What was that?"
"I merely asked the Knights to move a few creatures," Tom said shortly. "It's nothing to worry about."
Harry wanted to ask more about it, but Tom appeared in no mood for such delays. It made him wonder more what might be going on in that room, but he had to abandon his curiosity. Tom was walking away and he got himself distracted easily by wondering what lessons Tom might have in store for him.
When they entered the meeting hall, ten other Knights stood waiting for them patiently. Among them Harry caught sight of Gonson, Lestrange, Mulciber, Dorn, Nott, and Weiß at first glance, all gathered to a wall to one side. As soon as they saw Tom enter the room, they drew away from their idle conversations, giving him their fullest attention. They had been practising with Tom on their own for hours before this, but it didn't occur to them that this was any reason to be less formal to their Lord.
"Now that Jonathan has arrived," Tom began without hesitation, "it would be wise for me to inform you all that, for the remainder of this lesson, you will all be the test subjects for a few pieces of magic that I want Jonathan to learn. This is, naturally, why I have kept you all here so late. Pray you should not dissatisfy me in your attempts to follow my request well..."
Confusion was clear on the faces of many of the Knights, but not one of them dared to make a comment on this. In an attempt to politely ask what was going on, Lestrange said, "I thought Jonathan was taking private lessons with you, my Lord?"
"Today I wish to teach him something that requires a third wizard for the magic to be tested upon," Tom explained. "It is magic that can, with practice, be used cunningly in battle. I would have requested only one of you to join this lesson, if it weren't for the fact that one wizard alone might fall too quickly to be of any further use."
The Knights visibly tensed. It was clear that they were fearful of the fact that Tom could very well be referring to magic powerful enough to leave them completely robbed of energy and strength. They were well aware of the fact that whatever this magic was, it was soon going to be used against Grindelwald's people by Harry. Moreover, they were all aware that Harry had so recently murdered an enemy of theirs.
"Are there any volunteers?" Tom asked, somewhat mockingly.
None of the Knights responded.
"Very well. I'll leave the ten of you to decide amongst yourselves who should go first."
With that, Tom left his followers to talk it over awkwardly. None of them wanted to be thought of as weak, yet none of them liked the idea of being the first to see what would happen when they stepped forwards to face Harry defencelessly. Leading Harry across the room to where the Knights wouldn't hear them, Tom evidently wished to explain what he had to do.
"Why don't you want them to hear?" Harry asked in a low voice when they were out of earshot.
"It involves Legilimency," Tom explained softly. "If I were to explain that to them now, it could only end badly. Now..."
They stopped walking and turned to each other. Tom took a moment to compose his thoughts.
"What I am about to teach you is both a very complex and very useful piece of magic. It is an advanced form of Legilimency, one that is difficult to perfect, but if mastered right it will be amongst the most useful pieces of magic you may have learnt from me so far."
"It sounds complicated."
"It is, but I'm confident you will be able to comprehend it. As I'm sure you will have already guessed by the mention of Legilimency, this spell is possible only through the ability to fully read an enemy's mind. The idea is that, through a series of pinpointing the most sensitive areas of your victim's mind, you will be able to evoke powerful emotions within them, to manipulate and control their state of mind for better or for worse. Through dragging their focus-point back to certain thoughts to provoke darker emotions – sorrow, loneliness, dejection, fear – you will be weakening them from the inside."
Harry was a little taken aback. "I... I don't know if I can do this spell, Tom."
"I assure you, it isn't as difficult as it sounds. It is one of the simplest forms of possession, even if it is the most complex form of Legilimency you will have learnt so far."
The idea of of this being considered a form of possessing someone made Harry feel a little uneasy. "But I thought you said you wanted to teach me magic that I could fight with?"
"That's what will make this an interesting lesson," Tom said, his tone light enough to tell Harry of his enthusiasm. He had doubtlessly combined magic in such a way that it became somewhat of his own invention. "You see, normally this type of magic would be learnt as a rudimentary platform on which to torment those who are already under physical restraint; it would be a subtle form of torture to constrain the mind. But the way you are to learn it first, the way I am to teach it to you, is through focusing on using it as a destructive force, as a way to ensure that all of your enemy's abilities are affected by pure emotion, once you learn here how to preform the spell with ease."
As much as he didn't want to think about it, Harry couldn't deny that this was a wise use for a spell. It was fascinating, purely captivating, and no amount of guilt from his own mind could stop him from seeing this clearly. It didn't seem like a particularly sinister spell, but as often with things in relation to the Dark Arts it was nothing more than intention that made this evil.
"The true brilliance of this magic arises from the fact that you will also have time to fight your enemies in other ways," Tom mentioned. "Legilimency takes a lot of concentration, but due to it being almost always entirely through mind-power, you will have flexibility to fight if you work hard enough. What is more, when an enemy is soon weakened by your spell they will be almost entirely unable to fight – assuming you do the spell well enough, and if you avoid them feeling strong emotions such as hate, love, hope, courage, happiness, and confidence."
"This is brilliant... Did you think of this piece of magic yourself?" Harry asked, knowing this was likely.
"I did indeed," Tom said, grinning. He seemed satisfied to say it.
"I just hope I'll be able to manage it."
"You will," Tom assured him. "Now, allow me to explain what you should avoid, and how to avoid it..."
Tom's explanation was complex, but it only took a few minutes for him to go over every detail before he felt confident enough for the lesson to begin properly. The Knights appeared to have decided who was going to face the wrath of this lesson first, because when Harry and Tom turned back to the other side of the room they saw Gonson standing a little further on from his fellow Knights, waiting for the two of them with pride.
"Well, well, Gonson," Tom began softly, "I must complement you on your bravery this evening."
"I'm always eager to see what new magic you've considered worthy of teaching, my Lord."
Tom appeared amused, perhaps feigning it. "Let us hope my new experiment works out well for you."
Harry was standing opposite Gonson by this point, around the centre of the room. Tom stood along the same wall the Knights, except he was closer to Harry. He planned to watch the process of this magic closely, Harry knew, to see how it would turn out.
"Now, if you would raise your wand, Jonathan..."
Harry did so, all the while focusing on accessing Gonson's thoughts to the best of his abilities. Legilimency was so emotion-based in it's natural form, Tom had assured him confidently that it meant this wasn't going to be difficult to succeed at, to manipulate the emotions being used.
"Begin."
Concentrating hard now not only on Gonson's thoughts, but also on the words Tom had told him to speak, Harry began to chant, "Haberemperi, Virtutemanimi... Haberemperi, Virtutemanimi..."
The room was very quiet. All of the Knights waited in growing apprehension, watching the wizards before them with a burning fixation encouraged by fear. It helped none of them to listen to Harry speak this enchantment at a very slow, very entrancing pace as he went over every syllable, careful not to mistake it. It was pulling the entire room into a circle, into a sort of trance.
"Haberemperi, Virtutemanimi.."
Harry was begging to latch onto the emotions that were running through Gonson, which were very strong with fear that it was almost too easy. The low hum of Harry's voice was only adding to Gonson's sense of growing unease, which Harry could focus on easily now. This wouldn't even be a case of forcing the current emotions to fade into darker ones, Gonson was readily negative in his thoughts. All Harry had to do was exaggerate them more...
Harry felt as though he was literally pushing Gonson's emotions at a slow and difficult, yet hugely possible, pace. Like a ghost, like a phantom, he was commanding Gonson's own subconscious to be the shelter of his interference, to allow dark feelings to rise to the surface of the Knight's mind with no sure cause, striking further panic within him. There were no thoughts given to Gonson for him to understand what was happening, but already it was clear from his panicked eyes that he could feel Harry possessing him.
"H-how are you doing this?" he demanded.
"Haberemperi, Virtutemanimi..."
It was all about balance. He didn't have to do much more than drag Gonson's focus-point back to the depths of negativity, nudging him into place in the rare occurrence, here, that his emotions would try and rise up again to optimism.
"This isn't funny," Gonson said. "Tell me what you're doing!"
"He's too angry," Harry heard Tom whisper from besides him. In his concentration he hadn't heard him arrive. "Anger means the will to fight..."
Focusing more on where he was with Gonson's state of mind, Harry began to work out where sorrow was instead. He could see the slow fade on Gonson's face as he slid past frustration, worry, fear, terror, hysteria, sadness, then finally sorrow, edging towards despair. Just from feeling those emotions sour through him without real reason, Gonson was already being tormented wholly. Different focus points of emotions could mix, but sorrow, random sorrow is what Harry knew would weaken him best.
He wasn't wrong. Not a minute passed before the sorrow had taken full affect. Gonson was shaking his head in disbelief, confusion, and fear, which was being provoked from Harry's focus on sadness. His eyes had welled up with unexplained tears as if he were a child once more, whilst he stared at Harry with a look of utter helplessness. Before Harry knew the Knight was weeping for what must have looked and felt like no reason at all. Harry had struck something within Gonson that caused a long series of forgotten sorrows to crash down upon him. He fell to the ground in utter hopelessness, crumpled and defeated.
Harry stopped the magic. He felt suddenly horrible as he watched the sobbing Knight before him, not only because Gonson had stood so proudly and so readily before, but also because a sense of desire for the magic to continue had gripped Harry throughout the process of this spell. This was often the case with the Dark Arts for Harry, and it made him feel dreadful. It was a feeling of addiction and of craving that made Harry hate himself, yet somehow he couldn't quite overcome it...
Tom was walking away from Harry, passing him without so much as a glance as his eyes fixed on the fallen Knight. Gonson sat hunched over in his own tears, staring off into space in total confusion and trauma, as well as embarrassment for what had happened.
"You've done well, Jonathan," Tom said softly. "Very well..."
He was standing above Gonson now, staring down at him even as the Knight continued to avoid eye contact.
"Although Gonson was already a weakened victim, and an easy target to begin this spell on due to many factors, this magic will come in useful to continue to do what we just witnessed... as well as many things similar. The goal here was to leave the victim in a state of such unhappiness that they want to be defeated, they want nothing more than to cry endlessly, clutching at their own painful chests in agony..."
Still Gonson refused to look up. It looked as though he wanted nothing more in this moment than to simply disappear.
"What's the point though?" Mulciber asked from the crowd. "So some idiot like Gonson can cry over a spell that didn't even fucking do anything to him?"
Many of the other Knights – being quite a bit brighter than Mulciber – tensed at these words, far from agreeing to his opinion on the matter. There was a long silence as Tom continued to stare at Gonson, thinking.
"Since you appear unable to comprehend even the general concept of this spell, Mulciber, perhaps you would be best off taking Gonson's place to feel the effects of the magic?"
"Alright then," Mulciber said, "and I'll tell you one thing, I won't be crying like a baby over nothin'."
Tom might not have heard Mulciber. He had reached a hand out to Gonson, and to Harry's surprise he tipped his follower's chin up, to make him look at him. To the other Knights this might have seemed an odd, even somewhat sinister, gesture of praise, but Harry understood that Tom was doing nothing more than examining the affects of the spell at a close range. When he saw what damage had been done, a smile crept upon his face, whilst a low tone of laughter sounded promptly from him.
"You're free to go now, Gonson," Tom informed the Knight as he stepped back, walking calmly towards Harry again, "you've done your work here."
Gonson was still embarrassed and uncomfortable even as he stood up to go, his place soon being taken by the seemingly prepared Mulciber.
"Let's do this, then."
"What shining confidence," Tom commented dryly. "Yet I cannot say that your readiness is quite as admirable as Gonson's was... We shall indeed begin, shortly."
The subtle insults behind Tom's words hadn't gone unnoticed by Mulciber. Harry wondered whether Tom was setting Mulciber up with anger to make it more of a challenge, to give Harry the difficulty of starting with irritation, rather than fear.
Macnair's soulless eyes continued to bore into Harry. Although he didn't have his wand at the ready, Macnair made no secret in his expression of utter brutality that he was prepared to fight if he needed to, yet in his thoughts he was sure that Gonson had merely fallen from the pressure of waiting for Harry's spell to actually hurt him. Although Harry wasn't intimidated in the least, Macnair was under the illusion that he was, when in reality Harry was suffering from a sickening sensation at the idea of having to preform this spell on Tom's Knights.
Tom, who was watching the battle from over Harry's shoulder, had but one piece of advice to give. In a low voice he said, "Search for Mulciber's doubt."
This was a wise idea, Harry thought. There was no denying that not a trace of any other weakening emotion would be found in the mind of someone like Mulciber. He rarely felt any truly moving emotion anymore.
"You may begin."
Harry raised his wand. In the moment he did so he saw a spark of alarm in Mulciber. "Haberemperi, Virtutemanimi... Haberemperi, Virtutemanimi..."
But the alarm was fading quickly, since Mulciber was relieved to see there was no obvious affects of the magic so far. Harry focused harder, knowing it was his only lead into a weak part of Mulciber's mind. He had to be careful to avoid disrupting the rest of the deeply irritated, singeing mind. "Haberemperi, Virtutemanimi... Haberemperi, Virtutemanimi..."
"We must all bear in mind that it is easier to perform this incantation when the victim is dreading it's arrival," Tom explained, "but nonetheless it is in no way simple. Even against an enemy oblivious to the entire process of the magic, Jonathan could gain a satisfactory reaction from them in a matter of minutes, to about the same degree as we watched Gonson suffer."
"This is bollocks," said Mulciber, "it don't even seem like anything's happening."
"Look at Jonathan, Mulciber. Don't get him distracted, now."
Reluctantly, and after what might have been the begging of a scowl, Mulciber turned back to Harry.
"Haberemperi, Virtutemanimi... Haberemperi, Virtutemanimi..."
"Is that chanting, or do you just keep fucking up the spell?"
"Silence," Tom ordered.
"But he's the one who should shut up, can't even work do a non-verbal sp-"
"Silencio."
Mulciber's mouth kept on moving for a second before he realised Tom's spell. The idea of being forced to fall into silence annoyed him greatly, which didn't help Harry's quest to avoid agitating such anger... but then something changed. As the silence carried on, it became apparent that hearing Harry speak this incantation was unnerving Mulciber. He had only made fun of it to mask his fear, and this above all else was clear.
"Haberemperi, Virtutemanimi..."
Mulciber shifted his position as the these words were repeated again and again, showing the building discomfort that he was going through. Harry tried, but couldn't latch onto this particular emotion, yet he knew that a better, purer feeling would finally be felt in Mulciber soon...
The room was dimmed and quiet as Harry spoke the words over in a loop, chanting them and having them echo back, surrounding everyone – Mulciber most importantly. Harry was aware of the fact that the Knight before him wanted very badly to look away from his unmoving eyes, but a mix of remembering Tom's instructions and feeling a deep sense of sudden fixation stopped him.
"You're close to getting to him now," Tom hissed, making the action seem like a mere whisper to the others. "Remember what he has done, Harry, it will help encourage you to find his weak spots. Unusually for common people, it will be hard to find a weakness like fear in Mulciber's mind. He has strengthened it with suppression, aggression, and a love for all that is evil..."
"Haberemperi, Virtutemanimi..."
"Bring back memories."
Harry was trying. The magic had been explained to him, but Mulciber was of a far higher difficulty level than Gonson had been. Flicking through Mulciber's mind, he tried to find the darkest part of it that he could. In honesty, this wasn't hard.
"Show him why he should never question the power of weak emotion."
Shadows and shatters of memories were making themselves clear as Harry dived into a dark part of Mulciber's mind. Flashes of violence more than anything were making themselves known from a part of the mind that was normally suppressed by the young Death Eater. Harry could feel the very energy with himself beginning to drain more clearly just by attempting to see such a rare part of another's mind. The memories held many emotions.
"Show him his memory," was Voldemort's only instruction as he watched the process of Harry's magic. "Any one of them - any memory that will strike the emotions we need to see..."
Harry did what he was told. It was taking more effort than ever before, but he was determined to do it, driven by a sudden sense of revenge against the crimes Mulciber had committed, mixed with that low-burning, evident craving that soared within Harry's very veins when it came to these lessons. Mulciber suddenly seemed to crumple, in mind more than body, as the sharp piece of memory were dragged to the front of his mind, digging in deeply.
He was opening his mouth and widening his eyes suddenly, as if the memories were causing him physical pain, causing him to shout behind the strong silencing charm Tom had cast. This memory, so long suppressed, was striking emotion in Mulciber in quick succession, like the notes of a music box played twice their normal speed, plucking away at his array of forgotten feelings. It was playing a song in Mulciber's simple mind that he had chosen to ignore so long ago.
"Choose one. Taunt him with it."
Again, Harry followed his orders. The emotion he chose to exaggerate in Mulciber was fear, simple fear. It was horrific to watch him: a tall, muscular, strong wizard of the Dark Arts suddenly screaming at the top of his lungs without a sound, staring into Harry's eyes with a familiar expression of utter helplessness. His eyes were the eyes of a child, of a boy who had grown up so many years ago and who had changed into a soulless, brutal man, only to be suddenly broken for the first time. His adult shell had cracked, the pureness inside him shining through for the first time in years.
It was in a gesture that reeked of desire to witness the suffering of others when Tom raised his wand. He was breaking the silencing charm.
"AAAAAAAAAAUGH! AAAAAA–""
If the terrifying sight of Mulciber screaming without sound had been bad, it was nothing compared to this. The volume of his terror caused the ears of everyone in the room to split, whilst an odd sort of vibrating affect could be heard accompanying the burning pain. Everyone recoiled in some way the moment they heard it; Harry crashed into Tom, nearly causing them to fall over together, whilst many others had similar reactions, jumping back to the wall behind them, covering their ears, and staring with shocked faces at the Knight behind all of this. Mulciber had dropped to his knees in continuing agony, gripping his head with his hands as though he couldn't get away from his own mind.
"MAKE IT STOP! GET THEM AWAY FROM ME! DON'T LET IT HAPPEN AGAIN, DON'T LET IT HAPPEN!"
"Tom!" Harry tried to shout over the sound of Mulciber. "TOM!"
"DON'T LET IT, DON'T LET I–"
When the shrieking ended, catching Mulciber's voice in the act of violent sobbing now, Harry's ears were ringing, numbed by the heavy attack that had been inflicted upon them. He stared at Mulciber, listening to the soft, high pitches in his ears. It took him a moment to realise it when Tom was walking towards the very centre of the room, to get a closer look at Mulciber. He didn't need to get very far beyond Harry. It was clear, even to the other Knights, how badly he was suffering. He was feeling real emotions again.
"This is better than I could have hoped," said Tom. He spoke softly, yet everyone heard him, despite their damaged ears. "Both the planning of the spell and the actual delivery of it.. It's perfection."
Nobody said a word. Mulciber had rolled onto his side to begin weeping there, his back to the other Knights. Harry had never seen such sadness from such a brutal man before. And it was all due to his magic... somehow, he had done all of this...
"Allow this, above all, to be a lesson on the weakness that every human is born with. Despite all your training, despite your physical and magical ability to help get you through the basic challenge we see in Grindelwald's people, let Mulciber today be a reminder to you all of the affects of weakening emotions... Fear, guilt, sorrow, loneliness, as well as stronger feelings of jealousy, emptiness, deep woe, frustration, hopelessness... and remorse, dear remorse, can all be used against you as a weapon..."
The Knights were stunned. They attempted to hide their disgust, worry, and fear as their eyes scanned over Macnair (who continued to wither, kick, and scream on the ground like a tormented child) even as Tom's back was turned to them. They didn't want to be picked next, or ever. To their relief, however, they got lucky.
"You may all leave," Tom said, turning to them once more. "You are of no more use to me this evening; Jonathan succeeded far more easily than I could ever hope with this new magic."
Harry couldn't help but feel happiness strike within him as Tom glanced at him, his expression full of pride. The craving for the Dark Arts that resided in Harry strengthened, somehow, at the sight. He felt deeply accomplished. He could tell Tom was overjoyed. He felt happy about this too, up until a moment that broke the chain, when he felt as though someone was looking at him.
He wasn't wrong; Nott was staring at him. His expression was blank, his eyes innocent yet toned down a little in this moment, as if a stifled sorrow had flooded him because of something he saw from Harry. No sooner had Harry seen this, however, Nott looked away, soon getting himself lost in the crowd of Knights.
A feeling of emptiness gripped Harry again.
"Mulciber, you leave too. Go get yourself sorted out."
Harry was confused by his own emotions, not just because Tom had talked of almost all emotions beyond anger being a weakness. It wasn't long before the room cleared. Soon, it was just Harry and Tom standing together.
"You did wonderfully," Tom said softly, once the room was quiet from fading footsteps. The door closed.
"It wasn't hard," Harry responded shortly.
"It was new magic," Tom reminded him, "it was a successful experiment, an exceedingly useful find."
"I never said it wasn't brilliant magic."
Tom smiled. "I'm thinking now that perhaps there is a way to lock a victim in a perpetual state of one exaggerated emotion. Evidently it carries on for longer than the spell itself with Gonson and Mulciber, but it could be improved. In much the same way that depression is said to lock it's victim in a state drawn to sorrow, a whole range of emotions could be focused on, could keep our enemies weakened..."
"This is a lot to think about," Harry mentioned, only mildly surprised. He reflected that this is probably how Tom would end up being the most skilled Legilimens the world will ever have seen; the subject fascinated him.
"It could go further into possessing victims," Tom said, his grin broadening even more, somehow. "There could be whole branches of magic for us to invent form this one successful discovery alone."
"Yeah..."
The smile faltered.
"It is – brilliant," Harry added.
This wasn't a lie, but his tone gave away his true thoughts. Tom wasn't amused. "Do you dislike the idea?"
"No," Harry said, lying this time, "It's not that."
"Then what is it? You seemed happy earlier."
"I was, earlier. It was... well, it was brilliant that I managed to get the work done so quickly, it felt great. But, I don't know anymore..."
This was a very vague answer; Harry was surprised Tom even attempted to understand it. "What don't you know?"
"It's just... It doesn't feel right."
"What doesn't?"
"Everything. All of that magic."
Tom's eyebrows were creased in concentration. "Is the magic flawed in some way?"
"No, not at all. I just feel like... like..."
Harry was twirling his wand between his fingers, looking down at it now as he tried to think what he was even saying. He had no way of explaining that he hated the feeling of performing the Dark Arts to Tom, it wouldn't make sense to him. He didn't know how he was supposed to talk himself out of this one.
"Is it your wand?"
Harry looked up. "What?"
"Your wand," Tom repeated, "Emeric's wand. Is this what this is about, does it bother you?"
There was a moment of silence.
"Yes," Harry said, seeing this as the perfect opportunity to stop Tom from truly knowing what he had meant. This wasn't a full lie anyway, he hated the feeling of Emeric's wand, especially for combat magic.
"If it stops you from appreciating magic, we should replace it. I could get you a replacement within the very hour if you'd be willing to change a Knight's wand for the wand you own now."
Harry wasn't sure about this – mainly due to fear of giving Emeric's Wand (a potential Elder Wand) to a Death Eater (which it might work a little too well for for them). "I'm not sure..."
"Did you have a certain wand in mind?"
Harry thought about the Elder Wand. He remembered thinking about it, obsessing over the Deathly Hallows at one point, during his final year of Hogwarts with Tom. He had seen it before as a way to succeed, as the only clear path forwards to defeating Tom in the future. A lot had changed since then, of course, but Harry still saw the Elder Wand as a secure, safe item. It was something that would guide him on, something that would protect him. It always protected it's Masters, as it protected Dumbledore now, and as it... as it...
"I want Grindelwald's," said Harry suddenly.
"Grindelwald's wand?" Tom asked slowly, unsure.
"Yes."
There was a pause. Despite Tom's hesitance Harry was excited at the idea that he had found the perfect excuse to go chasing the Elder Wand without Tom even realising it. It fitting into his fake past, it made sense. It was a wand that Harry truly did want, at any rate.
"You are aware that, ever since Grindelwald's defeat, the wand in question has been under the ownership of no one other than Albus Dumbledore?"
"I know," Harry said in a rush, "but, if I'm going to bother getting a wand that isn't my own, it may as well be one I actually want."
"The wand chooses the wizard, Harry," Tom mentioned, perhaps quoting Olivander directly. "We can get one made for you; we can search through thousands of wands to find you a match, one that chooses you directly. Even if it is that you desire no other wand, I must warn and remind you that Grindelwald's may not accept you as it's master."
"Well, it probably works for Dumbledore, doesn't it?"
"Dumbledore was strong enough to conquer it."
"So I noticed," Harry responded. This made him wonder how Dumbledore had won against Grindelwald at all.. Despite the fact that Dumbledore had been faced with the greatest Dark Wizard of all history, the man who had gained so much power and who had caused so much pain that hundreds of witches and wizards had flocked to his potential downfall at the risk of their own lives and safety, Dumbledore had defeated Grindelwald, fighting against the master of the Elder Wand...
Harry pushed the thought out of his mind. "Can't we can get it from him anyway? We're defeating Grindelwald too."
"We're fighting against Grindelwald indirectly."
"Loads of his followers now follow you, Tom," Harry pointed out.
"It would be difficult to get the wand from Dumbledore."
"I would really like that wand, Tom."
Tom shook his head. "It is exceedingly risky."
"It's the only wand I want," Harry said honestly. "If I just had that, I'd be completely set. We could work out a plan, we could set it all up until it's perfect – even if it takes months, I'd be willing to wait that long."
Tom was mute. He took some time to brood about it, blatantly going over everything that could go wrong. "You must truly want this wand."
"I do."
The thought seemed to drag Tom into a state of low spirits. "I would be risky. Very risky..."
Harry had a suspicion that Tom felt it was too dangerous, and his heart sank. He dreaded to think that a rejection might be the only response Tom could give him at this point. Harry wished Draco's wand hadn't snapped, so he could just use that one instead. Harry felt vulnerable thinking about Emeric's wand...
Then, out of nowhere, a gleam of excitement expressed itself through Tom's eyes. He had thought of an idea, and Harry was eager to hear it if it meant he could perhaps get the Elder Wand. "What is it?"
"I thought of something," Tom said. He was staring at Harry, thinking deeply now, as if he was sure of his idea whilst being unsure on how to present it.
"Yeah?"
"Yes..." Tom took a few steps closer to Harry. He took his hand. "I want you to have this wand, since you desire it. However, I don't want you to get hurt – I don't want you to end up getting into a terrible situation by getting caught by a wizard like Dumbledore."
"So?" Harry pressed.
"So, I want to make sure you'll be safe."
"I will be," Harry assured him, "We can plan it out, we can set it all up."
"No, that isn't good enough."
Harry was confused. "Then, I can't have the wand?"
"You can," Tom told him, "you definitely can... but there is something I'd like very, very much for you to do first..."
Harry was about to ask what he had to do first, but he stopped. That look in Tom's eyes told him everything he needed to know. The mad, wild happiness had returned as Tom relished in the glory at having finally found a way to rationally encourage Harry to take part in a certain area of the Dark Arts... "Tom, I... I don't want to make a Horcrux."
"But once you are safe, once you are immortal," Tom began, evidently expecting this, "you can do anything you like. I will help you with anything, with everything. All that I'm asking is that you join me in staying alive forever, to be together, to love each other forevermore."
"Tom -"
"You already killed Emeric." At this point Harry tried to back away, but Tom held onto his hand. "Your soul has already cracked – why not go through with being with me forever, now? Why not use it to your advantage, to be sure that you are as safe from danger as I am, as safe from the clutches as death as you can possibly be, so you and I, Harry, can do wondrous things together?"
Tom's tone was so confide, so reassuring that Harry found it difficult to remind himself that this was Horcruxes they were talking about, the most evil piece of Dark Magic Harry had ever heard about. He had been thinking about Horcruxes so much lately, the concept had lost it's true meaning. He no longer feared the things as he ought to, he no longer worried so much about them. He wondered, now, weather this was because his soul was already cracked. This seemed the worst part about the creation of Horcruxes, yet here he was, with a soul split neatly in two by Emeric...
Did it really make a difference, by this point, if Harry made a Horcrux? He already felt different, cracked and broken, ever since Emeric's death. He understood there he didn't have much else to live for beyond Tom... so why not live forever with him? Why not take this final step to being with Tom, after all these years of staying together? The idea wasn't so bad to Harry in this moment in time. He felt as though this was an inevitable fate. He didn't once think about the subsequent consequences, because in honesty he didn't really care.
He had spent many long years clutching onto the old morals that he had been trained to think since his very first years at Hogwarts. It was in longing for his friends that Harry had kept away from being with Tom fully, but his friends were long gone now. He couldn't work out why he had stuck to the same ideas; there was no one watching him, no one here to judge him for loving a man that he simply couldn't resist. The only thing holding Harry back was himself. His lonely self. It never occurred to Harry that this was depression speaking, depression suppressing his inner instincts. All he knew was that he loved Tom, and this is what he wanted to do.
"I think you're right."
Even Harry himself was surprised by the confidence in his tone.
"I think I should make a Horcrux."
Tom was stunned. He stared at Harry unblinkingly, as if afraid he hadn't heard him properly, as if he wasn't sure whether Harry had meant to say this at all. When Harry didn't take it back or change his words, Tom was left looking more astonished than Harry had ever seen him before.
Without saying a word, Tom took yet another step forwards, lifting a hand up to touch the side of his face softly with the tips of his fingers. Harry could feel Tom's hand shaking, he could see that his pupils were widely dilated. Tom brushed a piece of hair behind Harry's ear, a grin dancing across his lips, before fading a little, and breaking through again more strongly. The next thing Harry knew, Tom was kissing him vigorously.
"I love you," was all he could whisper. He presses his lips against Harry's again, and again, but could do no more beyond this. He stood centimetres apart, still quivering in a mad happiness and joy that he couldn't control, with or without a smile. His breath brushed against Harry, his hand urging him closer gently. Once again, the only thing he could say in a whisper was, "I love you... I love you so much..."
"I love you too, Tom."
After one more kiss, Tom moved back a little to look at him in this dim light. Harry had never seen so much joy mixing with desire in Tom's expression. He was shining with a new sense of gratification, doubtlessly basking in his accomplishment at having convinced Harry to be with him, now and forever. The uncontrollable, sharp smile kept breaking across Tom's face without warning, but somehow, now, Harry didn't hate it so much. Harry was in no state by this point to question the decision he was making; he was smiling too.
"How does it work?" he then asked. This was a question that had been playing on his mind a lot lately, especially since Emeric's death. "I know how the soul cracks... but how does one end up with a Horcrux from there?"
"A difficult piece of magic must be preformed to break the soul fully," Tom explained in a low voice, appearing overjoyed at the chance to explain this to Harry. "One must sever the soul completely or the magic will fail – and there are no second chances. After preparing for the magic, making sure that everything is as close to perfection as possible, one must be prepared to do what it takes, to prove themselves trusting of their own power and worthiness..."
"Do you mean I'd have to kill again?" Harry asked, thinking that this was the only thing that Tom could be so vague about concerning 'doing what it takes'.
"You won't have to kill anyone else, no..."
"Then what is it?"
Tom watched him carefully. "You must be prepared to risk your own life. You must be prepared to kill yourself."
Harry was confused. He didn't even know where to begin asking what this meant.
"You come alive again, of course," Tom explained, "but in order to allow your soul to split fully, it must be out of your body, it must have room to become two parts."
"So, you're saying that in order for immortality... I have to kill myself?" In disbelief, Harry couldn't help sounding harsh. "Won't my soul just disappear into the afterlife?"
"There is a short stretch of time – very short – where one's soul drifts in this world. This is how even Muggles have the ability to come back to life if they are lucky after a close-to-death experience. You will die theoretically for about a second, but your soul will not have time to drift onwards because we will make preparations before this; we will prepare your body as well as the object you choose for a Horcrux to carry your soul. Thus, your soul will be caught between choosing where to go. It will split where it is in the act of feeling a very deep connection to both you and your desired Horcrux."
"So, once dead, the soul has the chance to go to an item designed to be a Horcrux?"
"Yes."
"But, wouldn't that mean that souls could just latch onto anything once a person dies after murdering?"
"One must prepare the item and body first," Tom said again.
Harry understood this, but there was something else bothering him that he simply couldn't ask about directly. He wanted to know why a piece of Voldemort's soul had attached itself to him when he accidentally killed himself in Godric's Hollow, after killing Harry's parents, then trying to kill Harry. Voldemort had blatantly preformed the initial act of creating a Horcrux – killing himself so his soul was free – but why, then, did a shred of soul attach itself to Harry? He wasn't prepared to be a Horcrux...
"What happens if you, for example... make a second Horcrux? What happens to the soul then?"
"Killing will break the soul again, of course, then you will have to go through the act of creating a Horcrux just like before. There are a few complications that many Dark Wizards overlooked after their desire for a second Horcrux... but I shall explain this later."
Harry didn't care to hear the complications, in honesty. "What happens if you die when your soul is split again? A lot of wizards must, if they create Horcruxes. Surely they kill again."
"A soul split more after Horcrux creation acts the same as it would if you had only killed once; the soul is still able to hold together, it would still be strong enough. It would merely have the ability to split for another Horcrux if one wished for it to, but it could not split through normal death."
But you killed yourself, Harry thought to himself. You killed yourself in Godric's Hollow, and you never realised what that meant... Was this the answer, then? Voldemort had released his soul by accidentally killing himself, and the act of doing so had caused a shred of it to break off in his weakened state, to rest inside Harry instead? But how was Harry a good holder for a shred of soul? Harry knew that he wasn't an intentional Horcrux, so he can't have been prepared as one... He was an unknown carrier of Voldemort's shred of soul... but why?
"So, when a Horcrux is made, does the soul just hide there?"
"In the beginning stages of a Horcrux, yes, the shred of soul merely hides within an object. However, what makes a Horcrux truly a Horcrux isn't the mere act of giving the shred of soul shelter, one must also let the soul take full possession of the object in question. In order to ensure safety, after sealing the soul in completely, the soul must be given encouragement to take over the object wholly for it to become a Horcrux. It must have an intelligent understanding of it's surroundings and of the dangers around it. It must affectively become a living creature."
Thinking back to the time Harry spent with Ron and Hermione holding that Locket, Harry felt a little unnerved, even now. This all made sense, considering how the Diary had taken possession of Ginny Weasley, how the Locket had tormented Ron so much, how Dumbledore had been so drawn to the Ring... Pieces of Voldemort had been right by them, taking total advantage of their curiosity. He had fed off their darkest emotions...
If a Horcrux had to be sealed in order for the soul to take full possession of it's resting place, this would explain why Harry wasn't possessed by his concealed shred of Tom's soul. Harry supposed that, since he himself was a living being with natural intelligence and an unwillingness to allow himself to die, like most beings, he was doing the same job a Horcrux might do. He wasn't feeding off of people's misery, but he was a perfect unknowing carrier of a shred of soul as a human; he did it's job by living...
"What would you like to use as a Horcrux?" Tom asked. "What object?"
Harry had no idea. He thought of the Elder Wand, but didn't like the idea, even if he could have it soon enough. He thought of the other Deathly Hallows, of the Cloak... but he wasn't very keen upon the idea of drawing too much attention to the Deathly Hallows, least Voldemort (in the future) should think back to Harry's Invisibility Cloak being used as a Horcrux. Eventually he came up with a suitable answer.
"I want something of Gryffindor's. Anything."
Tom thought this over quickly. "That's an unusual choice."
"I can't think what else I'd want," Harry explained. "It'd mean we have items from all the four house founders, at least."
After a minute, Tom smiled. "I would have found an object similar on my own, yet what could be better than to complete my collection with you?"
"It'd make sense... I can't think of anything else."
"It'd be good," Tom said. "We could begin our search this week, before proceeding to make the Horcrux as soon as we find it."
Harry was surprised. "So soon?"
Tom grinned that wide, sharp grin. "The sooner the better, my love."
Dear readers, excuse my lateness, I spent a rather long time staring into space, wondering how Horcruxes are made, and why JKR describes the act of creating one like the act of splitting an atom. You'll hear more on it. Also, don't worry, I know where I'm going with this fic.
