Dear readers, Here's a slightly rushed but otherwise suitably long chapter!
I'd like to take a moment to apologise for neglecting this story as of late. I've been very, very interested in writing the end of 'Their Verdict of Vagaries' that I've become distracted from 'A Soulless Solace' a little bit. I'm also working on a few other small projects at the moment, but I definitely won't cease writing this fic for any reason. Once I start a project, I rarely give it up – which can be both a very good and very tedious thing. To keep things simple, I promise this story will be updated whenever it's possible.
Thank you all. x -Angstier
15 – The Burrow
The boy's dormitory was blissfully empty. Harry glanced at the thin, clear windows around him and caught sight of the sun setting fast in a whirl of bright colour. Shades of crimson and gold darkened smoothly into black, ending the day with an air of triumph and courage that couldn't have been less fitting for Harry's state of mind. He ignored the sight, but listened nevertheless to the troubled winds that howled and pressed against the castle walls as he packed his trunk.
It was around eight O'clock in the evening and he was taking full advantage of the few minutes of solitude he could grasp from Ron and Hermione. Almost every Gryffindor was crammed into the Common Room downstairs, talking anxiously and curiously about the recent events of the school. Three days had passed since the Death Eaters attacked Hogwarts, but rumours, stories, theories, and myths continued to spring up at each passing hour. The students were terrified and looking for answers. They weren't the only ones, either.
McGonagall, the Ministry, and the entire Order of the Phoenix was still awaiting Dumbledore's return with growing impatience, desperation, and uneasiness. There were complaints about Dumbledore's absence, his incompetence, and the disorganised state he had left his school in. Most parents and students were furious at him, while the Ministry was cold and cruel. A noticeable chunk of students had already been taken home by their parents and McGonagall and the Order grew uneasy as their responsibilities grew. Harry wondered how long it would be before they stopped waiting for Dumbledore and started searching for him instead.
McGonagall was still in charge of Hogwarts and she did her best to remain strong for her students and fellow Professors, but there was nothing she could do to keep the school going when the Ministry and most student's parents were in an uproar of panic. Several people had been killed and wounded in the Death Eater attack, so nobody felt that Hogwarts was safe. All classes had been cancelled and tomorrow was the last full day at the school. Wounded Order members and students were being transferred to St Mungo's hospital and still Dumbledore was no where to be seen. Harry often wondered what repercussions Dumbledore's absence must be having on McGonagall alone.
The atmosphere of the school had grown anxious and frantic over the week. Harry could see brooding worry grow on the faces of the older students, a mix of innocent excitement and a need for reassurance on the younger students, and somber, dreading expressions on the faces of his teachers when they thought no one was looking. The war was coming fast. There were rumours that Hogwarts might not open up at all next year and surprisingly, Harry wasn't bothered. He had no intention of returning here, not when the Order of the Phoenix could become his enemy at any moment and the Death Eaters could clearly find their way in too. He'd have to leave as soon as he could, to fight his own war, to stay alive...
It was this awareness that caused Harry to pack his trunk a day earlier than necessary. He didn't want to catch the attention of the other Gryffindors, lest they should be curious to see what, exactly, he was packing. If he was going to leave Hogwarts for good, to fight against the Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters, he'd need to stay prepared. He had learnt that Draco gave Crabbe and Goyle the Polyjuice Potion throughout the year from Slughorn's private stock, so he couldn't resist taking a few samples for himself before the secret was known. In small phials, he kept the potion safe at the bottom on his trunk.
He was only vaguely aware that Tom sat at the end of his bed, watching him. He was careful not to touch any of Harry's carefully folded clothes, or his rolls of parchment, ink-pots, quills, and books. They spoke to each other as often as they could manage lately, but ever since Dumbledore's death, Tom had taken up the habit of watching Harry calmly without comment. Harry supposed he did it just because he could; they no longer lost their magical ability when Tom stayed visible for hours on end. Dumbledore's magic was truly a powerful tool.
Harry pushed the thought out of his mind, ripping up a scrap of parchment a little more forcefully than he first intended. When he glanced up, he found Tom hadn't noticed. He was looking down at his pale, thin fingers, which were entwined in the Locket's delicate chain. Only, this wasn't Salazar Slytherin's Locket. It wasn't even a Horcrux. On the first evening after Dumbledore's death, they had recognised this object as a fake. The ornate, serpentine 'S' engraved on the real Locket's surface was nowhere to be seen and this object was smaller and bland. It became warm at Harry's prolonged touch and there certainly wasn't a shard of Voldemort's soul concealed inside it.
"You're not going to get anywhere gawking at that locket all night," Harry said heavily, speaking for the first time. "You may as well give it a rest."
"I shan't be here all night," Tom assured him softly. "I'm merely thinking."
Annoyed by unrelated thoughts, Harry let him carry on in peace. He thought bitterly of Dumbledore's magic and what use it was to them. He often wished they had used another wizard, not Dumbledore, for the power they needed...
"I wonder only who took the real Locket," Tom mused, not for the first time. "Who would have power enough to discover Lord Voldemort's secrets, if not Albus Dumbledore?"
Harry had no answer. He couldn't say he was particularly bothered, either. His adventure with Dumbledore into the Cave had now been meaningless, but he felt no anguish at the loss. He, in fact, felt nothing. Voldemort's real Locket was still out there somewhere and as far as he was concerned, there were more pressing matters to attend to at the moment.
"Dumbledore clearly struggled to find this locket," Tom muttered, his dark eyes alight with curiosity. "After all, he was gone from Hogwarts for days at a time in search for any single Horcrux. If another soul defeated him in a hunt for Slytherin's Locket, why is it that Voldemort does not know? Who in the world could have outsmarted both Dumbledore and Voldemort so swiftly, so masterfully, that neither of them suspected a thing?"
"There's no point asking me about this," Harry said dully. "I don't know any more than you do."
Tom pursed his lips, his head tilted to the side. With a wave of Dumbledore's wand, he levitated the fake Horcrux into the air to watch it from all angles. It span slowly before his dark, red eyes as if falling through water.
More often than he could ignore, Harry got the suspicion that Tom knew more about the Cave and the Locket than he had first let on. It made him wonder whether Tom shared some of Voldemort's memories and whether he, too, was connected to him in some way. He hadn't got around to asking.
"This is not a convincing replica," Tom observed, "but I believe that's far from the point. It's not what the thief replaced the Locket with, but how..."
"If Dumbledore couldn't get past that potion, I don't see who else could have. Unless it was Voldemort – but then, why would he put a fake Horcrux in the Locket's place?"
"My thoughts exactly."
They both mulled it over for a moment. Harry busied himself with dusting off an old pair of clean socks that had slipped to the bottom of his trunk. He wondered, for a fleeting second, what Dumbledore would have thought about all this.
"I don't suppose we'll ever know," he murmured.
"Why ever not?"
Tom's question was delicate and untroubled, but when Harry did not answer at once, his gaze fell upon him. Harry wished he wouldn't stare. He averted his eyes to a pile of parchment by his trunk, trying to get his thoughts together.
"It's just... all the knowledge we would have about Voldemort and his Horcruxes died with Dumbledore, didn't it?"
He never looked up to see Tom's reaction, but he waited. He didn't like to speak of Dumbledore's death aloud and he certainly didn't want to see anyone as worried or doubtful as he was about his own fears.
"There will always be more information, more knowledge, in the world than what resided in Dumbledore's mind," Tom told him softly.
Harry was only momentarily reassured. "Yeah, but we can't exactly go asking around Flourish & Blotts for books on the Dark Arts, can we?"
"I wouldn't recommend being quite so obvious, no."
Harry couldn't tell if Tom was being serious or not. It occurred to him that Tom wasn't speaking about books and libraries, after all, but deeper knowledge. At the thought, he remembered something he'd need to pack.
Leaning forwards, he reached a hand under his bed. Tucked into a corner near his night-table was an old rucksack filled with several books. He pulled the books out one at a time, being careful not to damage them.
"I think I should pack these as well," he said. "I don't reckon they'll be missed – if Madam Pince knew they were gone, she would have hunted me down weeks ago."
Tom smiled gently, amused. Harry stacked the books up and shoved a few folded robes aside to make room in his trunk.
"Speaking of the like, I have something for you," Tom announced.
"Yeah?"
"Yes. Think of it as an addition to our collection."
"Of what?"
Harry glanced up, wary, but Tom was gone. He thought, for a second, that he had dashed across the room to grab something, but he was nowhere to be seen. Then, as quickly as he had left, Tom appeared across Harry's bed. He stood with Dumbledore's wand withdrawn, levitating what had to be at least twenty books bound in leather of brown and black.
"What are those for?" Harry asked at once, alarmed.
"There is much for us to learn," Tom said, smiling gently. "I thought it prudent to gather as much information as possible before leaving the school."
Oblivious, apparently, to Harry's shock, Tom flicked Dumbledore wand. The books began organising themselves in the air, drifting down to fall into place systematically by the others. Harry had stood up, but he couldn't remember when. He could barely begin to show his confusion.
"How do you expect me to steal all of these?" he asked in disbelief.
Tom seemed close to saying 'it'll be easy', but he refrained. He stood up straighter. "There is no easier time than now to take information from the depths of the Hogwarts Library. These books shan't be missed soon. They are vital to our safety."
Harry wasn't so sure. He knew the look of Dark Arts books and he suspected most of these fitted the description.
"I can't just read these in public," he said bluntly.
"Then don't. I can teach you how to hide them, if you'd like."
"No, I know how to hide them, but..." Harry shook his head. "I don't even know if all of these will fit."
Tom took a step forwards, glancing at the trunk. "We have the aid of magic, do we not?"
"That's not my point."
Tom looked up at Harry, watching him. He didn't drop his gaze even when their eyes met. Harry's exasperation and distrust confused him. It was then that Harry realised he might be being too paranoid. It was pretty unlikely that all of these books contained dark magic and if he started getting suspicious about them, it wasn't as if he couldn't neglect them at will. He felt it was better to have the information, just to stay safe.
Shaking his head, Harry realised what little time he had left here, so he began rifling through his trunk to make as much room as possible for all of his possessions. His bed was now clear, so Tom perched himself on the end of it. Harry had forgotten, temporarily, how adorable Tom looked when he tried to understand how situations had gone wrong. Harry decided he should explain why he was stressed.
"I know this information is important," he said, "but it's dangerous – you can't deny that. I'm going to have big enough problems as it is answering people's questions, especially when the Order realises Dumbledore is really gone. If I'm found with these books, it's over for me. I'm the last person Dumbledore saw, I'm the last person he spoke to, so they'll already be suspicious of me. I don't know what I'll tell everyone..."
The situation didn't seem bothersome to Tom. "Lie to them," he said. "Tell them Dumbledore did not divulge his whereabouts to you."
"It's not that easy."
"In what way?"
Harry shook his head, unable to explain himself. A sickening feeling of nausea was starting from his stomach and rising.
"Do you fear you cannot lie well enough?" Tom inquired after a pause.
"I... I suppose."
"I can protect you, if you are unable to invent a suitable tale."
"Won't they notice you're not me, or that I'm using Occlumency?"
The answer seemed to be 'yes'. Tom was silent for a moment. "Around certain Order members, you will need to lie on your own. If it is worrisome to you, I can teach you."
Harry's trunk was too full to close properly. He supposed he would need to Charm it later on. The simple problem wasn't enough to distract him from feeling awkward about all of this. "I suppose..."
Tom stared for a moment, as if deciding something. "You needn't be ashamed to ask for assistance," he said, "nor should you fear telling a lie if it is for your own safety. It is through a love of knowledge and an acceptance that no soul can know everything that wise men and women are born. If you are too prideful to allow new information to enthral you, you will not prosper."
Harry was surprised to see Tom had guessed his discomfort so smoothly. He felt oddly encouraged and comforted by these words. If he was going to protect himself from this war, he supposed he had to get used to learning a fair amount of quite obvious information and skills.
"So... how can I lie to the Order?" he asked, keen to get started.
"You must twist your story," Tom said simply. "Take what truly happened and warp it into a far more suitable tale. The Order is aware that you left Hogwarts with Dumbledore alone, but they needn't know you visited the Cave. Even your closest friends do not know. If you keep this information sealed under the pretence of keeping promises to Dumbledore, it will not only keep you safe, but will lead the Order and others to believe you are uncommonly loyal to your now-missing Professor. Grief is a useful shield."
"Do you think they'll believe that?"
"Yes."
"What if they already know about the Cave, what if Dumbledore told them?"
"Dumbledore did not often put his trust in others. He instead used other wizard's ignorance as insurance for his own safety, forcing the Order to stay in the dark while he was trusted without question."
Harry knew this too well. He tried hard to push a strong pang of annoyance out of his mind.
"The Order is aware that Dumbledore would have kept you, too, in the dark," Tom carried on. "This is what will protect you. You must feign ignorance."
"But if the Order finds out, if they find the Cave –"
"Then you will deny knowing the Cave's existence. You will feign remorse at his death."
"What if I don't feel it? What if they find out that I – that I..."
"It is not a surprise that he left you with neither a warning nor an explanation... You followed all of his orders. You returned to Hogwarts. You allowed him to go off on his own because you trusted he would stay safe. This is what you will tell the Order of the Phoenix."
"But I never –"
"Dumbledore died in an accident you weren't aware of," Tom interrupted, speaking clearly and forcibly. "He left you alone and ordered you to leave while he took on a dangerous task in a place you've never been."
"But what if they find out that I –"
"They won't know a single thing," Tom told him gently. "They won't know where you went and why, they'll know only that he kept you safe yet failed to save himself from death."
Harry stared at Tom with a somber, worried expression. He supposed this lie fitted well enough, but he wanted to know that the Order wouldn't trip him up. He was terrified of being caught in his lies.
"Now tell me: what happened that night?" Tom asked.
Harry understood that Tom wanted him to repeat these lies as practice. He clenched his jaw for a moment, worry washing over him.
"I – I left Hogwarts with Dumbledore," he said slowly. "I can't say why, because he wants it to be secret but – but something went wrong."
"Dumbledore didn't explain anything," Tom suggested.
"Yeah, he – he said he needed to be somewhere. He said that if I wanted to stay safe –"
"You needed to go back to Hogwarts for safety."
Harry nodded stiffly, trying to remember that. "I don't know where he went. He wouldn't tell me. He wouldn't even tell me why. That's all I know."
"Remember that you trusted Dumbledore," Tom added. "Remember that you're as confused and worried as everyone else."
Harry nodded again, his expression sullen. He didn't want to do any of this.
"We will need to improve the explanation of why you left the school, but the Order is more than aware that Dumbledore supplied you with extra training over the course of the school year. It is best to keep secrets safe with loyalty and ignorance."
– X –
The last full day at Hogwarts flew by so fast, Harry felt he missed it. He supposed it had a lot to do with the constant talking going on in the Common Room and the questions other students fired at him without a second thought concerning Dumbledore and the Death Eaters. It was only after a particularly difficult conversation with Ginny (involving an explanation that life was getting too dangerous for them to logically date) when Harry decided to retreat to the boy's dormitory. He spent the evening alone in bed, reading. The high point of that day was he only had to drop one of Tom's books due to it being full of too much dark magic.
The trip back to London on the Hogwarts Express the following day was equally as awkward for Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Earlier that morning it was announced to Ron that Draco Malfoy would be staying at the Burrow and he was furious, to say the least. No matter what Hermione did to try and calm him down, he refused to stop pointing out why McGonagall's choice was wrong and why Malfoy didn't deserve anything but to return to the Death Eaters. When Hermione eventually gave up trying to reason with Ron, her attention fell upon another painful subject: why Harry and Ginny had broken up. It made Ron more irritated than ever. He asked a fair amount of simple, blunt questions that made Harry cringe in discomfort. He hadn't realised just how little Ron knew about his relationship with Ginny.
When the train arrived at King's Cross station later in the evening, Hermione was visibly relieved to leave Ron's company and meet her parents on the platform. On their way off the train, Harry thought he spotted Ginny's flaming red hair in a compartment further down and he hastily averted his eyes. Behind him, Crabbe and Goyle were talking thickly about something he couldn't quite catch. He supposed Draco, too, was nearby. How would he react to standing on the platform when his parents were nowhere in sight? Would his Slytherin pride allow embarrassment to overthrow anguish at the sight of Mrs Weasley and the Order waiting for him instead?
Harry's questions weren't answered soon. He found Mrs Weasley, Tonks, Lupin, and Mad-Eye waiting on the platform for all of them as usual, smiling and waving towards Harry, but before he could greet them (and awkwardly ignore Ginny), Hermione pulled him aside. There was a serious, concerned look in her eyes.
"You're going to be alright, aren't you?" she asked him gently.
Harry was disarrayed by her honest care. In all honesty, he wasn't sure how to answer this. To keep himself from divulging the truth, he brought her attention to a lighthearted thought. "It's only the Burrow, Hermione. I'm pretty sure I've faced worse places."
She smiled faintly, but it barely reached her eyes. "I'll be there in a few weeks, but I can't say things are going to be easy. In all honesty, I – I don't know how things are going to change."
Harry tried to ignore it when her eyes shone a little brighter. He felt a wave of guilt and terror and he couldn't find the words to say.
"I know you're not going back to Hogwarts next year," she said. "I know there's a war coming and that if Dumbledore doesn't return soon –"
He turned his face away slightly before he could stop himself. She noticed it and doubtlessly mistook his guilt for fear. Her sorrow worsened, but before he could really take in the sight, she leapt forward and pulled him into a hug.
"Hermione," he murmured, "it's – it's alright."
He wasn't sure she believed him. When she pulled away, her eyes were still shining and her expression didn't change until she noticed Ron standing sheepishly nearby. A smile broke across her face. She moved forwards to hug him next.
"You'll have to write to me, both of you," she said. "Even if you're at the Dursley's, Harry."
"Assuming the post isn't being monitored," Ron added darkly. Hermione's hug had only slightly lessened his foul mood. Hermione pretended not to notice.
"My parents are here now," she said, "I have to go. But take care!"
Harry and Ron mumbled words of farewell, then she was gone. Harry felt an odd mix between affection and loss. He wondered if he'd even see her again. Before these lonesome thoughts could get to him, however, he saw Ron's face drop into an ugly scowl. His eyes were fixed on a moving target several feet behind Harry. Draco Malfoy had arrived, stalling for time so as to avoid as many Slytherin eyes as possible. Harry's heart dropped when he saw that Ginny, too, looked upon Draco like an outcast, like a threat. The only relief was the Order members, who all made a point to act calm.
The trip back to the Burrow was long and more awkward than ever. They were taking Ministry cars back to the Weasley's house and Draco was absolutely appalled. He sat in the back of one and stared out of the window for the entire trip, not saying a single word. Harry refused to look at Ginny, never mind talk to her, while Ron kept starting conversations and stopping them abruptly as if he feared saying too much in front of a Slytherin. Harry couldn't imagine how they'd survive the summer like this.
There was more than enough room at the Burrow for everyone, especially as Percy's room was free for Draco, but Harry didn't think this was going to sort out any rivalry in the house. As usual, he was staying in Ron's room and although wasn't fond of the idea, he supposed Fred and George's room was reserved for any Order members or other Weasleys who might visit. It would be suspicious to Ron if he asked to change rooms, so he stuck to sleeping on his camp bed with less solitude and less time to read the books Tom had given him. He wondered whether he'd ever get time to speak to Tom alone.
On their first night back at the Burrow, Ron decided to open a conversation about the recent events at Hogwarts. Harry thought, at first, that he was doing this in anger at Malfoy staying over, but it became clear that his hatred of the boy was fading when interest caught him. Harry had avoided talking to Ron and Hermione about the Death Eater attack so far, but he supposed his luck couldn't last forever. He was laying down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, while Ron sat up idly in his own bed, his shoulders slouched.
"Where do you reckon Dumbledore is?" he asked, as if the idea fascinated him. "It's not like him to disappear when all of this is going on. I mean, if the Death Eater attack won't make him return to Hogwarts, what will? There's no way McGonagall knows where he is. She never would have closed the school if she knew."
"Who knows?" Harry asked flatly. "He could have circled the world half a dozen times by now."
"Did he say anything to you? The night you left Hogwarts, I mean?"
Harry's heart leapt, but Ron didn't notice a thing. "No."
"Where did you even go?"
"We were hunting a Horcrux."
"I know, but where?"
"Does it matter?"
Harry's question was harsh. Ron's silence told him he was being too cold.
"It's just... it wasn't anywhere interesting. We found something, though."
"A Horcrux?" Ron asked at once, interested.
Harry nodded. He had decided to tell Ron and Hermione this much, in case they didn't realise he would be hunting Horcruxes soon. It wasn't as if they'd tell anyone. Heaving himself up from his bed for a moment, Harry reached around his neck for the fake Locket's chain.
"You're wearing it?" Ron asked in disbelief.
"I don't reckon it's a real one," Harry told him dully. "It's not like the one I saw in Voldemort's memory. It's cheaper, different."
"What do you mean? Where's the real Horcrux?"
Harry didn't answer. He became aware of Tom sitting at the end of his bed, invisible to Ron. As Harry took off the Locket, Ron's eyes were huge. He clutched the Locket by its chain, holding it up.
"Pass it here, then," Ron suggested.
Seeing no reason to object, Harry did so. Ron reached out a gangly hand, but before he could quite grasp the Locket's chain, Harry had let go. It fell to the ground with a heavy thud and a crack.
"Shit – sorry!" Ron exclaimed. "I didn't mean to –"
He stopped. On the ground, the Locket had cracked open. Harry, Ron, and Tom stared at it in shock, before Harry leapt forth. There was something inside the Locket's window.
"Is that a note?" Ron asked.
It was. Wedged in the Locket's insides, the note was written on a scrap of parchment. Harry realised this was a fairly obvious thing to expect and he couldn't see why both he and Tom missed it.
"I reckon so, yeah..."
"Let's read it, then!"
Harry was already on it. Tom moved closer, his dark eyes falling upon the thin writing. It read:
To the Dark Lord
I know I will be dead long before you read this
but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret.
I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can.
I face death in the hope that when you meet your match,
you will be mortal once more.
R.A.B.
Harry read the note over several times, his brow furrowed. When he was finished, he lowered the Locket for a moment to think and Ron reached out his hand. It was passed. Ron read the note inside hastily, mouthing each word slightly until he reached the end. He was awe-struck.
"R.A.B.," he murmured, "but who was that?"
"I don't know," Harry answered. Ron shook his head slowly and they sat in silence for a moment. Harry couldn't say this letter made him feel much different. It gave him a clue about who outsmarted both Dumbledore and Voldemort, but what use was this information to him? It might interest Tom, but it wasn't much help. With a lack of feeling, Harry moved to lean back on his bed. He stared blankly upwards, barely thinking.
"Did Dumbledore see this?" Ron asked, oblivious to Harry's sudden desire to be alone. "Did he mention anything?"
Harry shook his head. "I only just found that..."
Tom shifted where he sat, hissing, "A lie would have fitted."
Harry shook his head again, closing his eyes.
"It could be why he took off," Ron reasoned. "He might have known who this R.A.B. bloke is."
"Unless our thief, too, is at the bottom of the lake, I don't suppose that's plausible," Tom hissed.
Harry laughed before he could help it.
"What's funny?" Ron asked.
"It – er..." Harry cursed himself for his own stupidity. "It's just like Dumbledore, isn't it? Running off without a word, following clues and keeping me in the dark..."
"I suppose," Ron murmured, clearly at a lack to understand how this was funny.
"It's just – he must have wanted it to be a secret. If that's why he's gone, I don't suppose he wants the Order to know."
"Let's keep it quiet then," Ron said firmly, as if this settled things. "At least until Dumbledore comes back."
Harry's spirits plummeted. He stared at the ceiling, trying hard not to show it, but his expression was sullen and dark. It was hard to ignore the realisation that Dumbledore was not coming back. He would never be seen again and if Harry wanted to keep on living, his body would never be found either. Harry closed his eyes.
Ron seemed to get the impression that Harry was distraught. He waited in awkward silence, fearing what Harry might do.
"You don't reckon he got into any danger, do you?"
The question was so innocent, so hopeful, that Harry couldn't take it. With swift anger, he sat up in his bed. He didn't dare look at Ron. He stared stared instead at the carpet between them, his jaw clenched.
"Just forget about it," he murmured.
He stood up and Ron began to protest. "What? Where are you –?"
Harry didn't care how obvious he was making his anger.
"Harry, wait!" Ron called after him.
Harry paused at the doorway, his back to Ron, who had stood up. He wavered for a moment, trying to get his thoughts straight.
"He's going to come back, mate. There's no way Dumbledore could be defeated by whatever challenge he's facing in the search for R.A.B. You don't have to worry."
Ron thought he was scared and angry at Dumbledore's disappearance. It was for the best that he thought this way, Harry realised. Ron's words reassured him that he hadn't just messed up all of his lies in one go. All Harry could do was nod stiffly. Then, without a word, he left Ron's room for the bathroom to get ready for sleep. They didn't speak about Dumbledore again that night.
The following morning, Harry awoke feeling tired and apathetic. Even after a warm mug of coffee, his state of mind did not subside and although Ron avoided speaking about Dumbledore in front of him, it appeared that Ginny hadn't thought to consider his stance on the subject. She was talking seriously about the possibility of Dumbledore tracking down Death Eaters. Snape had fled Hogwarts with Voldemort's other supporters on the night of their attack (a fact that angered and terrified many) and she was convinced Dumbledore was on his trail.
"Don't let the ferret hear you say that," Ron murmured, glancing around as if he expected Malfoy to show up at any second. "He'll go off on one if he realises his parents are in danger from Dumbledore too."
Biting his tongue, Harry pretended he hadn't heard this. There was no chance he could explain his views on Malfoy without angering Ron for a few more painful hours. Nobody knew he had kept Malfoy away from the Death Eaters except McGonagall and a few teachers. Ginny was unaffected by Ron's joke, as if it went without saying. It was no surprise, suddenly, that Malfoy hadn't come down for breakfast at all.
Harry wanted to separate himself from Ron that morning, but he failed to notice any of the hints Harry dropped and he was oblivious to his bad mood, which lasted for days. Ron stuck by his side almost constantly, often acting as if none of them could be safely alone in the house with a Malfoy in their midst. His determined closeness and ignorance made Harry wish he could be around Tom instead. For a week, this wish never came true.
The only time Harry could be alone was when Ron was distracted. This barely ever happened now that Hermione was gone, but one night after dinner, Ginny decided to engage him in a detailed conversation about Tonks and Lupin. Harry had been avoiding Ginny ever since arriving at the Burrow, so he knew it would bother no one when he slipped out of the kitchen. He went outside for some fresh air, to clear his cluttered head, and for almost an hour he watched the sun creep towards the distant trees alone. Tom was not here. It was only when the sun began to fully set that someone approached Harry.
It was Malfoy. At first, Harry was stunned to see him – he had been hidden away in Percy's room all week, never joining meals, never talking to anyone. Harry couldn't say he blamed him. Malfoy strolled past a patch of low-growing vegetables and berries, scowling at an ugly gnome that bumped into his shoes. His pale, pinched face was brooding when the gnome scuttled off. It was a minute or two before he even noticed Harry sitting on a bench in front of him. When he did, he was momentarily embarrassed.
Harry wondered what Ron would think about the 'enemy' standing so close. He decided to say something, to break the silence.
"I suppose you're avoiding the Weasley's too?"
Malfoy was confused. "Why would you be avoiding the weasels?"
Harry smirked before he could help it, thinking of Ron calling Malfoy a 'ferret' in turn. They hated each other equally, apparently. His spirit dropped again when he thought about Malfoy's question. "Sometimes I need a break."
Malfoy said nothing. His eyes reduced to slits as if he couldn't decide whether or not Harry was lying.
"I'm surprised you're even outside," Harry commented. "You must have been upstairs for – what? A week now?"
Malfoy straightened up slowly. "Don't pretend you wouldn't be hiding too if you had anywhere else to be, Potter."
Harry was tempted, solely, to comment that Malfoy had nowhere to be either, but he refrained. It wasn't fair, given the situation. Malfoy was tense and irritated and he still looked ill.
"I suppose you must hate it," Harry mentioned, "being here. Seeing their family."
This was the wrong thing to say. Malfoy's face twisted into a scowl at once. Without a hint of restraint, he spat, "Don't project your problems onto me, Potter!"
"How am I pro–?"
"I'm not the one with two dead parents!"
He said it before he could help himself, surely. For the first time, his face was flushed with colour – in anger or embarrassment, Harry couldn't tell – and he was glowering. Harry thought he should be annoyed at Malfoy, but he wasn't. He felt nothing, except maybe sorrow for Malfoy's situation. He felt a sudden need to express this feeling, but it all came out wrong. In a quiet, brave voice he spoke his mind honestly: "Not yet..."
Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke. They instead paused with their eyes locked, taking in the truth of these words. Draco was shaking. Why didn't he turn and run away, Harry wondered? Or start a fight? That's normally what happened in these situations. It reminded Harry of their worst fight, at Hogwarts. He wondered if Draco was still scarred and if he forgave Harry for the spell he had used. Was he impressed by that magic? Or terrified of it? Did he think Harry had meant to hurt him so badly? And did he think it made his attempted Cruciatus Curse forgivable?
In a swift movement, Malfoy turned away. Harry couldn't tell if he looked more angry or upset; he was gone before Harry could fully take in what had happened. He thought they should both win rewards for holding a conversation for even this stretch of time. The idea made him smile faintly, until the chill of the shadows surrounding him caught his attention. He wondered if he had pushed things too far. He wondered if Draco would be more troubled than ever tonight. Guilt impaired his ability to see beauty in the quickly setting sun, so he headed for the house.
He found that Ginny and Ron were no longer alone in the kitchen. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin were standing by the fire, talking quietly with Mrs Weasley, whose smile was faint and ineffective against the air of urgency and dread the Order brought. Even before saying a word to the new arrivals, Harry could tell Lupin and Kingsley had been waiting for him. They looked towards him when he entered the room and their eyes followed him even when he sat down next to Ron. He hated to think they could sense guilt within him. Molly cleared out of the room, calling Ginny along with her. Remus and Kingsley asked to speak with Harry alone.
Harry was nervous at their request, but he had been preparing for this. It became apparent as soon as their conversation started that the Order was desperate for information on Dumbledore's whereabouts. Lupin and Kingsley inquired why Harry had left Hogwarts with Dumbledore that night, where they had gone, and why Dumbledore had left without so much as a warning. Harry repeated everything Tom had told him to, finding that these lies were surprisingly easy to tell. He could feel Tom's presence in his own mind as he spoke, waiting.
The more he told his story, the more he was sure that Lupin and Kingsley bought it, but they weren't pleased to hear it. As members of the Order of the Phoenix, they were obligated to conceal how lost and worried they truly felt, but Harry saw a desperate, sorrowful look in their eyes when they exchanged looks. Harry soon learnt that many Order members, Mad-Eye most of all, believed Dumbledore's absence was a very; very bad sign. Harry got into the habit of eavesdropping on Order members whenever they showed up at the Burrow from that day on.
He hated to see everyone around him grow worried as days passed. What would they do if they knew Dumbledore was dead? And if they knew he was murdered by Harry's hand? Dumbledore was an important wizard to so many people – to the entire wizarding world, really. Even Gellert Grindelwald had been unable to defeat him, so why had Harry succeeded? He felt it was because he had cheated. He had waited until Dumbledore was weakened and he had used his connection as a mask for what he truly was. A murderer. A scared, lonely boy who didn't want to face death...
Ever since the Order inquiry, Harry couldn't sleep. He often found himself staring into space at night, reliving Dumbledore's death. When he eventually did fall sleep, he would awake some nights in a cold sweat, panting and terrified by what his own dreams had in store for him. One of these nights, a week after the Order's inquiries, Harry got out of bed and stumbled towards Ron's bedroom door. Shutting it gently behind him and stepping as quietly as he could down the hall, he headed for the bathroom.
Inside the small room, he washed his face with cold water, clutching the sides of a sink in distress at his own thoughts. It was that night that he looked up and saw his reflection differently for the first time. Even without his glasses on, he felt he could see himself better than ever and he had changed. His eyes were dark around the edges and they stared back at him with more intensity than ever before in his reflection. He found himself resembling someone else, someone close. He wasn't sure who, until –
He saw Tom standing behind him. With a soft, composed expression, Tom stared at Harry through the mirror. Harry initially tried to ignore him, but he still noticed how handsome Tom's dark features looked in the dim light. They hadn't spoken properly in days. Harry was too unsettled about the situations going on around him to care much for what Tom had to say.
"Could you not sleep?"
Harry turned off the sink's tap. He shook his head once in response, clenching his jaw shut.
"The Order does not seem at all suspicious," Tom commented. "You did a good job of lying to them. I admit, I was impressed."
Harry wasn't sure what to make of the complement. Tom carried on speaking softly.
"It is unlikely that the Order will think you are hiding a murder, unless they find information and evidence that is so far unobtainable for them. As things currently stand, we are safe."
"I know," Harry said dully, folding a small towel in his hands. "I'm not worried about that."
If this surprised Tom, Harry didn't catch his expression. He was tranquil.
"We may be able to stay here a little longer than I first thought," he said. "I wish only that we had more time alone."
Harry glanced up. Tom's expression was calm and innocent through the reflection, but Harry hadn't fallen for his smooth words. Blankly, he said, "We'll have time to study when we get out of here. I'd rather not risk it."
As soon as he said it, he realised that might not be what Tom meant. There was a comforting, adoring look in his eyes. It seemed as if he was tempted to kiss Harry, but instead of feeling enchanted by the sight, Harry was oddly uninterested. What would be the point in kissing Tom right now? He was a spirit that currently lacked a body. Harry wasn't interested in being kissed for his own gain – the idea put him off quite a bit – and he was sure Tom wasn't able to feel physical attachment yet. If Tom appreciated how he looked or how he was in spirit, they could both relish in that comfort without the aid of touch.
In all the rush that had been going on over the last few weeks, Harry hadn't taken much time to consider what things were like now Tom had absorbed Dumbledore's magic. In all honesty, he had avoided wondering if Tom was more whole, because he hated the idea of taking advantage of their new power unless it was strictly necessary. Kissing Tom was not necessary, regardless of how handsome he looked in the dim light. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, shaking off a mental image of Dumbledore being dragged towards the edge of the lake...
Something in his expression must have given his thoughts away. Tom didn't approach Harry, but he continued to watch him as if fascinated and enchanted by his mere appearance and being.
"You should sleep," he said eventually, noticing Harry's weary stance.
Harry didn't want to, but he supposed he wouldn't be able to stay up without catching unwanted attention tomorrow. Without a word, he made to leave the bathroom. Tom disappeared as quickly as he had shown up. Harry didn't see him again that night.
– X –
The next morning, after a particularly uncomfortable, anxiety-filled sleep, Harry awoke to find Ron's bed empty. He was glad to see it, in all honesty; it had been a while since he could stay in bed for as long as he liked, talking to no one, left to his own thoughts. His mind wandered over certain information he had learnt through Tom's books, certain powerful spells that could help him with staying safely hidden in the future. He wondered whether he was strong enough to cast them. When he eventually did get up, he showered and got ready with a lack of haste. It was still early in the morning, around nine O'clock. Harry thought he should head downstairs for breakfast.
He heard several familiar voices on his way to the kitchen. It became apparent why Ron woke up early: Hermione had arrived at the Burrow. Harry was relieved – both because he missed her and because he thought she might be able to distract Ron from now on. He needed time to speak to Tom and study magic alone. Hermione was talkative enough throughout breakfast, but Harry thought he could sense she was a little tense. When the conversation began turning to recent murders and Death Eater attacks in the news, he assumed that was why.
It became very clear throughout the day that Dumbledore's disappearance was on Hermione's mind a lot. She was reluctant to bring it up at the wrong time, in case she were to put Harry off before she could properly ask, but numerous times she glanced towards him when the name was mentioned. Later in the evening, when the rest of the house had gone to bed, Harry, Ron, and Hermione moved up into Ron's room to have their first private conversation since Hermione's arrival. Harry couldn't say he was he was glad to be a part of it.
He sat on his bed with his legs crossed, facing Ron and Hermione. The conversation quickly turned to the last week of Hogwarts and Dumbledore's absence. Hermione sat on the end of Ron's bed, catching Ron's attention wholly as she spoke. Ron was lounging up near his pillows, a focused, brooding look on his face. Hermione was keen to get a clear picture on everything happening around them and Harry's presence gave her the excuse to start bombarding him with questions.
"You must have some idea of where he is," she reasoned, her gaze stern and desperate. "What did he say to you the night you left Hogwarts together?"
Harry drew in a breath, averting his eyes and shaking his head once as if the question annoyed him. He recited Tom's lies. "I've told everyone a hundred times: Dumbledore said he had to be somewhere important. He said I should go back to Hogwarts alone to stay safe. He wouldn't tell me where he went."
"He didn't give you any inclination of where he had to go?" asked Hermione.
"No," Harry lied.
She appeared unsure. She watched him for a long moment.
"I still reckon it has something to do with R.A.B.," said Ron. He then turned to Harry, adding, "I told Hermione about it already, I hope you don't mind – the Locket was on your bed."
Harry nodded curtly in understanding.
"If that were the case, why would Dumbledore not mention it?" asked Hermione. "I can't see him running off to investigate this without a bit more information for himself. This could have easily been a trap set up by Voldemort."
"He must have wanted to keep R.A.B. a secret," Harry answered. How strange it felt, to talk about all of this as if it were really happening. "He wanted to deal with this on his own."
"But why? If somebody else is hunting Horcruxes, we should all know about it, surely."
"Well, maybe he ran into trouble?" suggested Ron. "Or, I dunno, he thought he knew who R.A.B. was, but he's still searching for him?"
Hermione shook her head, thinking it over. "Honestly, I'm not sure about this. It isn't normal for Dumbledore to disappear for so long without telling anyone. I just wish we had more information."
"Well, we won't until Dumbledore comes back," Ron said flatly. "There's no point worrying when we can't do anything to help."
"We don't need Dumbledore to fight all our battles, Ron. He may have taught us what we know so far, but–"
"But that's just it, isn't it? He's the only one who knows about this stuff. None of us even know where to find another Horcrux, never mind how to destroy one – he didn't tell you that, did he, Harry?"
The answer was 'no', but Harry felt suddenly vulnerable and unprepared when the realisation struck him. Hastily, he tried to find a way to admit that he knew nothing. "I guess Dumbledore didn't have time to, er..."
Ron was unsurprised, yet disappointed to hear it. Harry barely noticed. He began thinking about whether or not Tom knew how to destroy a Horcrux. He decided he should ask later on. Ron spoke to Hermione before he could wonder much more.
"I don't suppose you've read anything new about it?"
To their surprise, Hermione's cheeks reddened. "Well... now that you mention it, I – I did manage to, erm..."
Shaking her head in embarrassment and looking away, she reached for a rucksack she had placed by Ron's bed. From it, to Harry's astonishment, she withdrew a few dusty, black leather-bound books.
"You're kidding!" Ron exclaimed in disbelief, his mouth agape. "Where did you get those?"
"They were – well, they were in Dumbledore's office," Hermione explained in a rush, "Oh, but it wasn't stealing! It had been days since he was at Hogwarts, I – I didn't think he'd be back in time. Anything could have happened before then and I -"
Harry was no longer listening. Without thinking, he sat up, his eyes fixed on the books. Hermione passed him one absentmindedly when he reached out a hand. Ron and Hermione barely looked away from each other at all as they spoke. Harry ran his fingers along the book, feeling its surprisingly unharmed surface. His brow was furrowed, his eyes alight.
"Dumbledore taught Harry about Horcrux for a reason, didn't he?" Hermione was saying, "He let you and I know about them too because he wanted us to fight this together – to fight Voldemort together. At Hogwarts, I had the most awful feeling about Dumbledore's absence... I thought it only appropriate to take whatever information we could. I don't think Dumbledore would disapprove."
Ron was somewhere between disbelief and admiration for her quick thinking. In a stunned voice, he said, "I dunno what we'd do without you, Hermione."
If she smiled fondly, Harry didn't see it. He wondered how informative these books were and whether they described Horcruxes to a full extent. He wondered, too, why Dumbledore had removed these texts from the Hogwarts Library. Had he heard rumours of books going missing? Or had he planned to pass these onto Harry before the end of the school year? There was something captivating about this book, about the very feel of it, the look of it, the smell...
He became aware, however, that he was being watched. Ron and Hermione had stopped talking and when Harry looked up, it was to see their eyes upon him. He stared back blankly, unsure what they had seen in him and why they had stopped. Ron looked away hastily, unsettled, while Hermione glanced at the book in Harry's hands. He had been holding it, feeling it, for a few minutes now and it hadn't escaped her notice. Harry got the impression they were alarmed in some way.
Ron decided to carry on talking. Hermione joined him calmly, but from that point on, Harry felt something had changed. They spoke about Dumbledore's disappearance for hours that night and almost repetitively over the following days. Harry hated their curiosity more than he could safely express. No matter how clear he made his annoyance and reluctance to talk, Ron and Hermione refused to stop asking him to repeat what he knew. Since he was the last known person to speak to Dumbledore, they thought he was their best, last connection to Dumbledore's fading trail. Harry's only opinion was that they wouldn't want to see what where that trail ended.
The more they bothered him, the more Harry found himself drifting away. He spent the majority of his time in Ron's room, waiting for Ron to get bored and leave so he could study the books Tom had given him. Eventually, Ron gave up trying to drag him into conversations with Hermione and he no longer cared whether he spent all day reading in bed or sulking in a corner. He believed, quite usefully, that Harry was terrified of being hunted down by Voldemort, so he needed to read up on magic. Harry wished he could believe it was that simple.
After avoiding his friends for the first week of Hermione's stay, they seemed to get the message that he preferred being alone. They were used to this already, so they made no fuss about it. Harry found himself reading and talking to Tom for hours on end, missing meals too often, being late for them even more. Every now and then, he drifted in and out of the Burrow and its garden when Ron and Hermione were up in Ron's room and it was during one of these nights that Harry completely skipped out on dinner. When he returned to the Weasley's kitchen, he found he wasn't the only one, either.
Malfoy had crept downstairs for food late, as he often did. Mrs Weasley had made a habit of keeping meals warm for him in the oven; she understood his situation and she was compassionate enough to know that his distance was normal. Out of all the people staying at the Burrow and all the Order members who visited it to speak to Malfoy, Mrs Weasley was the only person he showed a hint of respect for. Harry supposed it was either because she reminded him or his mother or he knew he'd be chucked out by her for putting up a fuss.
When Harry saw Malfoy standing alone in the kitchen, holding nothing but a glass of water, he was glad to see he wasn't angry at him or visibly upset in any way. Malfoy hated staying at the Weasley's house and he made no secret of it, but this seemed the least of his problems when he stared off into space, thinking. Three weeks had passed since the disappearance of Dumbledore and Narcissa Malfoy. The weight of so many disappearances was starting to trouble everyone at the Burrow.
Harry's immediate reaction to seeing Malfoy was to ignore him. He made his way to the other side of the kitchen, looking for a plate while he tried not to dwell upon why Malfoy was still here. The latest news, to his knowledge, was that Narcissa Malfoy had run away from the Order of the Phoenix when they tried to approach her. Nobody had heard a single word from her and her whereabouts hadn't surfaced anywhere. Harry hoped the Order was still looking for her and that they hadn't simply given up. The thought made him suddenly less hungry.
Harry waved his wand and allowed food to begin dishing itself onto his plate. He was distracted by Malfoy's presence and he was unsure why he was staying around, doing nothing, saying nothing. It was only when Harry's plate glided towards the table that Malfoy spoke. Harry was about to sit down.
"Potter?"
He looked up. "Yeah?"
There was a long pause, in which Malfoy's tired grey eyes rested upon him. He was fidgeting with the glass in his hand, apparently unsure how to speak.
"I..."
Harry waited. Despite his fragile attempts to preform Legitimacy, he was able to read Malfoy's mind. He had mastered the skill of Occlumency in an uncanny amount of time. Harry often assumed it was in preparation for killing Dumbledore.
"I appreciate what you did," Malfoy managed abruptly. "After the battle... hiding me..."
Harry stared, stunned. This was the closest thing he could get to a 'thank you' from Malfoy, he supposed, but it wasn't something he ever expected to hear. He didn't feel he deserved it.
"I wouldn't let them capture you," he said hastily. "I knew you were innocent."
Malfoy didn't seem so sure. For the first time, he looked away, dropping his eyes to his empty glass. A shadow crossed his face. Harry thought about the task Voldemort had set him and what damage the guilt of potential murder had had upon him throughout the year. Harry realised he might be the only person around who knew what that guilt felt like. Malfoy knew what it was to struggle for survival. Harry hated to think he'd feel as much pain one day.
Malfoy left the room without another word and he never looked back. Harry found he was even less hungry than before, but he tried his best to eat the meal in front of him. After that night, he didn't see Malfoy for a few days. He continued to avoid eating meals with the others and he stayed up in Percy's room most of the time. Harry wasn't sure what he did for hours each day and why he choose to be alone.
"He's probably sending letters to the Death Eaters as we speak," Ron said during dinner one evening. "We'd better watch out, to be honest."
Harry clenched his teeth shut tightly. Ron spoke like this more often than even Hermione could take and it only got worse as time passed. To Harry's surprise, there was a clattering of cutlery; Hermione had ceased eating to glare at Ron.
"Honestly, don't you have any consideration?" she asked, furious.
"What?"
"Don't you understand what he's even going though?"
"Well, I can't tell you that, but I can tell you he's gone through a lot of Death Eater training over the–"
"This isn't a game, Ron! We aren't at Hogwarts anymore, this isn't about which Hogwarts House we're in!"
"Yeah, but this is my house! And at this rate there won't be any Hogwarts thanks to his lot!"
Taking his chance, Harry stood up to leave. He couldn't take their constant arguing on a good day, never mind when it was about something he felt strongly uncertain about. Hermione fell silent from the argument and called after him, disappointed and frustrated, but Ron didn't care that he left and he never stopped complaining. Harry headed straight for Ron's room, knowing they wouldn't be up here for a while.
He grabbed his rucksack from underneath his bed, pulling out the book he was most interested in currently. He found he couldn't focus after a minute or two. Not only did thoughts of Malfoy bother him, but Tom's presence always distracted him a little. Tom smiled lightly from Ron's bed when he glanced up from his book.
"Are you enjoying that one?"
"Sort of," Harry answered truthfully. "I'm not sure how all of these spells are useful for me. I only really care about staying safe and hidden."
Tom inclined his head in understanding. "Is there something else on your mind?"
He had noticed Harry's distraction, Harry supposed. Avoiding the subject of Tom's mere presence, Harry decided to speak about Malfoy. "I'm just thinking about the end of Hogwarts. The Death Eater attack. The Cave."
Tom sat up a little straighter on Ron's bed, tilting his head. "What bothers you about it?"
Harry tried to think. He drew in a deep breath. It was difficult to know where to begin. "It's just, with everything Malfoy did towards the end of the year, trying to kill Dumbledore, letting the Death Eaters in the school... I suppose I'm worried about guilt."
"Guilt? For Dumbledore's death?"
"Yeah."
Tom thought about it. Harry wondered if he had ever felt guilt for the murders he had committed.
"Dumbledore's death was a necessity," Tom said. "It was vital to our survival, not only because his magic is essential, but because he marked us for Death. We needed to end Snape and Dumbledore's plan of letting Voldemort kill you."
"We could have taken magic from any witch or wizard," Harry reasoned, "and anyway, we still have Snape to worry about, don't we?"
Silence. Harry looked at Tom and realised that for the first time, he was bewildered.
"What is it?"
Tom did not answer at once. Slowly, silkily, he said, "I'm afraid Severus Snape is no longer a problem..."
Harry tried to think this through, but he was unsuccessful. "Because he's a Death Eater? You think Dumbledore's word can't protect him in the Order anymore, or –?"
"He made the Unbreakable Vow," Tom reminded him.
"What's that got to do with anything?"
Tom remained silent, allowing Harry to think it through. His mind wandered, again, to when he had duelled with Malfoy at Hogwarts. He thought about how he had almost killed Malfoy with the use of 'Sectumsempra' and how Tom had wanted Malfoy dead. Harry remembered this well, because killing Malfoy would have revoked Snape's end of the Unbreakable Vow. Snape would have died and they would have been left with nothing but an already ill and dying Dumbledore. Harry didn't see why any of this was relevant, until he realised –
"Snape wasn't able to kill Dumbledore... He wasn't able to protect Malfoy..."
Tom nodded, watching him figure it out.
"If I hadn't saved Malfoy, he would have been killed by the Death Eaters... That means Narcissa got what she wanted, only – only it wasn't because of Snape. He had a responsibility, but he never fulfilled it!"
"Yes."
"So this means – what? I carried on the Vow for him?"
He could see in Tom's face that this wasn't the case. His heart suddenly plummeted.
"Or Snape – Snape's...?"
"Dead, yes."
The word rang in Harry's ears, sounding suddenly very far away.
"He's – he's dead?"
Harry couldn't comprehend it. Dumbledore's death was bad enough, but killing Snape too in the process? He didn't know what to think. He didn't know what to say.
"An Unbreakable Vow is a very powerful piece of magic," Tom explained calmly, perhaps wishing to help Harry grasp the situation. "It is my belief that since Snape failed to protect Draco, he faced the consequences of breaking such a powerful promise."
Harry refused to believe it. This was too much. "Then where was his body? When did he die?"
"I assume Snape fled with the other Death Eaters in the hope that Draco was amongst them. They would have dealt with his body."
"But – but why didn't you tell me about this sooner?" Harry stammered. "You must have planned this, surely."
Tom's tilted his head a little. "Does this displease you?"
"I don't – well, yeah," Harry managed.
Tom wasn't sure how to react. "Do you not admire this plan?"
"Admire it?" Harry repeated. "That's not what this is about, Tom."
He waited, his eyebrows furrowed, his red eyes alight with curiosity.
"You kept me in the dark," Harry explained flatly. "You didn't give me a clear idea."
"I wanted to protect you."
Harry clenched his teeth, glaring for a moment. "Don't play that."
"Play what?"
"That – that game! Pretending I can't look after myself, pretending it's in my best interest that I do whatever it is you want. I can look after myself, Tom, I'm not a child and I deserve to know the truth. I've had enough of that shit with Dumbledore and the Order as it is."
Tom shifted where he sat coolly, surprising Harry with some genuine respect. He thought over his words, neither angry nor keen to treat it as something insignificant. His voice was calm when he said, "It was never my intention to treat you as Dumbledore treated you."
Relief found Harry, along with a soft feeling of happiness. "Well, now you know."
"But you might not have killed Dumbledore if you knew it would kill two souls."
His moment of relief evaporated. Tom still believed he did the right thing.
In response to Harry's stony expression, Tom decided to explain himself.
"Dumbledore and Snape betrayed you. It was their firm belief that you must die at Voldemort's hand and it is my belief that you would not have killed Dumbledore if you knew it would kill Snape also. You were mere bait in the eyes of your Professors, but I could not let you die at their cruelty. You had to prove yourself worthy of fighting, worthy of vanquishing Voldemort."
"You're wrong," Harry murmured coldly.
Tom was stunned. A steady and almost offended look appeared in his eyes. "You think so?"
"Yeah, I do."
Harry turned to face him, his expression gone. He thought about how Snape and Dumbledore were two of the closest people to him in his life. He wondered how many others would die at his hand, or the hand of this war. When he spoke, his voice was a low murmur.
"You're wrong to think I wouldn't kill them. It's all I could do, isn't it? It's all I could ever do..."
He couldn't tell what Tom felt. He was no longer offended, but that same calculating look stayed. It was as if he was rearranging his thoughts to make this conversation clear in his memory.
"At any rate, it's probably easier that I killed them both at once," Harry carried on. "I don't reckon I could have taken down Snape in a duel... I don't care who I've killed to survive, Tom, but don't lie to me. Don't pretend I can't take the truth, because I'm more than capable."
In silence, Tom nodded once respectfully. In spite of his better judgement, Harry felt Tom was honestly going to tell him everything from now on. As if to comfort him further, to prove he was listening, Tom wrote a promise in words.
"I shan't keep you in the dark next time."
The words were comforting, but it made Harry wonder for the first time if there would have to be a 'next time'. He wasn't ready to kill another person. He didn't think anyone was going to chase after him, but there was still the possibility that more people in the Order of the Phoenix knew about Dumbledore's plans for him. He feared this often. In every glance Lupin, Tonks, Mad-Eye, and even Mrs Weasley cast him, he feared that pitying, sorrowful, knowing look in their eyes. He feared they judged his position in his war and that they hoped, secretly, for his death to end Voldemort's reign quickly. He feared they contemplated selling him out to Voldemort every time they glanced upon his scar, his mark of Death...