17 – St Mungo's
Harry felt blinded and stunned. In was in frantic, desperate fear that his legs kept him moving forward and kept him climbing every step of the Burrow's staircase, but his actions were not his own. When his hands slid over surfaces and brushed open doors, it was Tom who controlled it. He was stuck in a focused, frantic state of mind – Harry could feel it in the way pressure built up within them, tensing his every muscle, leading him as far away from the Order of the Phoenix as possible.
"Where are we going?" Harry hissed in Parseltongue to himself, hoping it would be heard.
Tom didn't answer, but marched them onwards. It took a minute before Harry realised they were heading for Ron's bedroom.
"Ron and Hermione are up there," he whispered. "They'll know."
They drew to a stop. Tom heeded his advice, but there was no sign of light from the bedroom. They crept forwards. Sure enough, when Tom brushed the door open, they found it was blissfully empty. Wasting no time, Tom hurried them inside, switching on the light. Harry's heart beat faster in his chest and followed the movements when Tom dragged the trunk out from underneath his bed. From where they stood, he grabbed books, clothes, quills, and parchment nearby.
"It is not safe with the Order here," Tom whispered to Harry, through him, using his own mouth, his own voice. "If Snape is alive and well, we cannot risk he finds us here... He may already know too much."
Harry understood, but didn't know how to express it. He wanted to run as much as Tom did, but didn't know where they were supposed to go, what they were supposed to do.
"Where can we go from here?"
Tom didn't answer, but packed up the trunk quickly, grabbing books, folding up robes. They cleared the room in minutes flat of all of Harry's possessions. In that moment, Harry was glad that Ron and Hermione had evidently chosen to take a late-night stroll on their own. He slammed the lid of the trunk shut and reached in his pocket the Cloak, unravelling it hastily. Tom moved them across the room for a travelling cloak first, throwing it over Harry's shoulders and fastening the clasp at his throat.
"Harry?"
Ginny had arrived. Harry froze up in terror at the sound of her voice, wheeling around. Tom became so still within him that his power loosened as if he had stepped away. Harry was the only one moving and turned to face Ginny, drained of colour. She had caught up with him, making sure the Order didn't hear her on her way. Her brown eyes were serious and swept across the room, where she saw the trunk.
"Where are you going?" she asked him slowly.
Tom slipped Dumbledore's wand into Harry's back pocket, the movement going unnoticed. Harry turned away from Ginny nervously, holding his wand at his side.
"Harry," Ginny said again, her tone serious, "what's happened to you?"
He didn't answer her, but his mouth was dry. There was nothing to say anymore: his decision had been made and he was going to leave the Burrow tonight with Tom. His head span at the idea, making him wonder all at once how soon Ginny might warn and Order and what he could do to stop it.
"Just leave it out, Ginny. Please..."
Desperate to get away, he turned for Ron's bedroom door, dragging the trunk forcibly.
"Harry, wait!" said Ginny furiously, grabbing his arm.
"Get off –"
"No, listen to me!"
"You can't make me talk to you!" he spat harshly.
"Yeah, well neither can Ron or Hermione!"
Harry looked at her then. He felt like a child under her knowing gaze and felt drunk under the weight of fear. She was the only person who had taken so much time to search for truth within him.
"Listen to me," she said in a low voice, "you can't just keep running away, Harry. It doesn't work."
"What would you know?" he demanded. His tone was harsher than he wanted it to be.
"I know what it's like to be haunted by Voldemort," she said, staring at him closely, "probably better than anyone else here. This might be the real deal now, especially with Dumbledore gone, but you know I once had Tom Riddle in my head."
Blood drained from Harry's face and his stomach dropped – she noticed it. To give himself time, he began stammering. "I don't – you can't know – it isn't..."
Ginny stared at him. Slowly, she turned her head to one side, her brow furrowing. "That is what you're scared of, isn't it?"
Harry looked away, feeling sick. She can't have known about Tom. Surely she didn't know. He shook his head, tearing his arm from her grasp. "I need to take a walk... Please, Ginny, don't follow me. Don't tell them where I've been."
Her eyes widened then, her lips parted. Only when he turned away did Harry realise why: he had said exactly what Draco did in his note. He didn't think twice about it, but turned towards the door. He could sense Ginny staring at him, stunned, but he didn't look at her. He couldn't bring himself to.
"I'm sorry..."
She didn't say a word. He raced for the stairs, out of Ron's bedroom, and was glad when she didn't call after him. Lower and lower down the Burrow's staircase, he couldn't leave fast enough. His heart pulsed heavily in his chest, making him feel lighthearted with adrenaline.
There was no one on the first landing. He blessed this fact and grabbed the front door's latch, making more sound than he should have and pulling the trunk hard. He felt the pressure build when he stepped outside, pulling the trunk with him, shutting the door behind him as quietly as possible. Tom had grown silent with him, allowing him to panic at the idea of the Order catching them.
"Tom?"
In moments, he felt something shift within him. Suddenly, Tom stood before him.
"We have to leave," Harry told him seriously. "What are we going to do?"
"We must get away from here," Tom told him quietly, "and with haste."
"We can't Apparate," Harry pointed out shakily. The reality of this situation was crashing down on him hard. "I can fly, but I – I can't go far with that alone."
"What matters is that we put a distance between the Order and ourself," Tom told him. "Let us get away from here and move towards London; it will be easy to hide there."
Harry tried to nod, but ended up shivering where he stood, glancing around to see if Ron and Hermione were near. He could see no signs of them. He pulled his travelling cloak in closer. The Burrow's broomshed wasn't far away.
"Come on..."
Tom followed him wordlessly. Harry threw the shed door open, rummaging around for his Firebolt. He became wholly conscious of the fact that he couldn't use magic, not even to light his way into grabbing the right broom. He managed to pull the Firebolt out, but his hands were shaking at the idea of Ginny alerting the Order and the Death Eaters finding him mid-flight. It was only when he levelled out the broom and hastily pulled his trunk up, attaching it to his Firebolt, that he felt cold hands cover his own. In the moonlight, Tom watched him closely.
"You needn't fret," he said quietly, "for we have the advantage. We'll be gone before they know..."
Despite himself, Harry nodded at Tom nervously. The moment didn't last; when Harry blinked, Tom evaporated into the same ghostly form as before, trying to take shelter in him. He allowed it. With a growing sense of anxiety and foreboding, Harry mounted the broom. He was no longer shaking due to the step back from reality that Tom's possession had over him. With the trunk secured, he threw the Invisibility Cloak over his shoulders, drawing up the hood and kicking off the ground, hard.
The Firebolt charged towards the heavens as if driven by his terror. Harry held on tight, leaning in and speeding towards the outskirts of the garden in seconds. He felt it when he hit the magical barrier that protected the Burrow from the world outside, but didn't pause to wonder whether there were Death Eaters lurking beyond it. The countryside flashed by beneath him and the only thought on his mind was to get away from the Order as quickly as possible. Wind rushed in his ears and nauseous worry threatened to overcome him at any moment.
Past hills, towns, and stretches of dark field, Harry sped across the country at hundreds of miles an hour. There was nothing freeing about his quick escape, nothing calming about the wind that rushed in his ears and the clouds that passed quickly over the pale moon. Not even the fixed stars overhead could clear his anxious mind, which was now fully aware that Snape could divulge what he knew at any moment and the entire Order of the Phoenix could be on his trail. By the time Harry reached London, he felt as if a great stretch of time had passed, but he wasn't at all tired. He landed in the heart of London with a heavy, plummeting descent.
The moment he hit flat ground, he glanced at his surroundings dizzily from beneath the Cloak. It felt as if he was stuck in a nightmare now more than ever, because the yellow-lit streets of London were strange. Being in Muggle London made him nervous, especially with nothing but a broomstick and a trunk full of magical equipment by his side, but he wasn't careless enough to visit any wizard districts tonight. He would be recognised almost anywhere he went; there was no way to change his appearance properly without the use of magic. A low, nervous feeling rose from the pit of Harry's stomach. Tom brought his hands up to remove the Cloak.
"Where are we?" Tom hissed to him. Harry followed his movements and folded up the Cloak in his hands.
"There is an inn nearby," Harry told him. "Across the road, beyond this alley. We won't be found if we stay there tonight."
Harry, in truth, wasn't confident about it, but he explained it calmly nonetheless, glad when Tom made no objections. Feeling nervous, he helped guide the Invisibility Cloak over the Firebolt, hiding it from Muggle view. Tom then attached the broom to the back of the trunk. Harry's mind was on the wand hidden up his sleeve. The idea of walking into a Muggle inn and staying the night there terrified him, but he could see no other option.
"Come along," Tom murmured, urging them onward. Harry was almost reluctant.
They headed into the building up ahead, where a plump innkeeper eyed Harry's robes and trunk sceptically, his face contorted. Harry handed him an unfair amount of Muggle money and headed up for the room that was given to him almost without speaking.
The room itself was dim and dingy. There was a thin, single mattress with stains on it visible even through the yellowed bedsheets. It smelt like alcohol and piss throughout the whole inn and although Harry tried to convince himself that no one from the Order of the Phoenix could ever hope of finding him here, he wasn't altogether sure that the Death Eaters couldn't trace him in this random inn, on this random street of London.
Harry removed the Firebolt from his trunk, putting it on the corner of the room and making sure the door was locked. When he turned around, it was to find that Tom had stepped from him to sit on the very edge of a hard wooden chair. The room was too quiet; it made Harry feel like their quick escape from the Burrow somehow hadn't happened at all, except his pulse still drummed in his ears, telling him he couldn't settle down. Harry shook the wand from his sleeve, slipping it into his hands. He stared down at it for a moment, twirling it between his fingers.
"I don't suppose I'll need this for a while," he murmured. "It's probably best to keep it away."
Tom inclined his head once, his eyes following Harry. He advanced towards a bedside table. Harry felt incredibly vulnerable leaving the wand there, but he understood nothing could be as dangerous as accidentally using magic now. It was then that he realised Dumbledore's wand was still on him too. He removed it from the back pocket of his jeans, realising Tom wouldn't be able to pick it up...
"We'll be safe here for the moment," Tom assured him softly from his chair, noticing his hesitation. "You needed fret."
Harry didn't believe him. He couldn't bring himself to drop the sense of foreboding he clung to. He bit his lip, looking out of the grimy window above the bed. The street outside was dark and quiet, without much to show but the faces of stark houses and a yellow streetlight staring directly at the ground below it. It was too still, too quiet.
"We won't really be safe from them until we put up some defences," he murmured, "but we can't, can we? Because even if you used magic, the Ministry would know it's through me."
Tom remained quiet for a moment. "A wise observation. Yes."
Harry balled his hand into a fist. He wasn't shaking in fear anymore, but he felt wide awake, on edge, and scared.
"I admit," Tom began slowly, "that as long as we stand together, I cannot protect you. We will have to wait until your seventeenth Birthday before either of us can use our magic at all."
Harry had thought as much. He tried to think it over, but felt nervous, swallowing a few times, trying to keep calm. He was distracted by the view outside, where a strange mist clouded up the yellow streetlight, an unnatural darkness settling in. Dementors were nearby. He figured, after a moment of fright, that this was normal for all of London by this point in the war.
"You don't think they'll really find us here, do you?" he asked Tom. "The Death Eaters, I mean."
For a moment, Tom gave no answer, but moved forward in his seat, placing his hands together. Harry didn't hear any movement, but caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. Tom was barely more than a ghost.
"I shall watch over you tonight. It is important for both of us that you rest..."
Harry didn't want to hear it. Turning away from the window, he clenched his jaw shut for a moment, his eyes scanning his trunk at the end of the bed. He headed for it, throwing open the lid. At the very bottom of the trunk, crammed against a corner amongst a pile of books he had to take out, were newspapers. At least a dozen of them, crumpled and flattened. He threw half of them onto the bed, sifting through the ones in his hand for yesterday evening's edition.
"You're searching for information?" Tom suggested, clearly curious.
Harry nodded, picking out the paper he needed and discarding the rest.
"We'd better start from somewhere, hadn't we?" he said. "Since we're going to be stuck here for who knows how long. We may as well know what's going on... I'll find a way to get more editions of the Prophet."
Tom seemed to think it was a good idea. He stood up to inspect the newspapers Harry neglected, appearing interested. Harry scanned articles for signs of stories involving dark magic, hoping to gain a bit more information on what was happening in the war. He felt glad to do at least something to prepare himself. He couldn't bring himself to even sit down. They would have to keep running. There was no time to rest. He felt near enough ready to fight, or to stay up all night talking to Tom about plans.
"If anything happens with the Order," said Harry, "we'll be able to figure it out straight away. Same goes for whatever the Death Eaters are up to. It's not as good as listening to meetings, but we learnt so much from the the Order about the Death Eaters that we're bound to understand at least some of what happens next. At least to catch up."
Tom nodded slowly. "There are many wizarding newspapers that could guide us. Moreover, there are wizards who could divulge valuable information, willingly or not."
Harry glanced up at him then, his brow furrowed. Noticing the look on his face, Tom smiled lightly, appearing calm.
"You have an Invisibility Cloak," he observed. "It is useful."
"I don't want to do anything too dangerous," Harry said flatly, "at least not until I turn seventeen."
"A wise decision," Tom agreed softly.
Harry wished it could have been any other way. Without magic, they wouldn't even be able to ward off a Death Eater tracking them, if it came to that. He figured they would have to move every few days, throwing off anyone intent upon stopping them in their tracks. As if to support his plans, Harry spotted a block of text that confirmed his fears.
"Here, take a look at this –"
He held out the Daily Prophet at arm's length. Tom didn't take it. It was a moment before he realised why.
"Oh, er..."
Tom's expression wasn't unkind, but Harry felt strangely guilty when he pulled the newspaper back. It made him wonder just how close Tom was to a ghost in this form, reminding him that he didn't even exist. The thought made him feel strangely dizzy.
"There was another fight in Diagon Alley this morning," Harry explained hastily. "It has to have been Death Eaters – they captured a wizard who recently wrote up an article against the idea of 'Blood-Purity'. It's not something they were happy to hear about."
Tom was genuinely interested. He took a step towards Harry, glancing over his shoulder at the paper. Although he wasn't in his physical form, Harry felt as if he could sense his presence in another, unexplainable way. It made him feel safe. Like he wasn't alone.
"We should keep this information," Tom mused, speaking softly.
Harry turned his head away a little. It was difficult to step from Tom without seeming rude, but he wasn't sure what to think when hearing his voice by his ear made his heart leap.
"Well, it's a lot to get through... I think I'll get started on it, see what else I can find."
Moving away from Tom, he perched on the side of the thin, uncomfortable bed, his hands drifting over the Prophets he had collected so far. Tom took a seat opposite him from the same wooden chair, unable to move a single sheet of paper. They spoke at length that night about possible ways to gain information, deciding that they would need to venture into wizarding communities during the day, but Harry wasn't scared. With the Cloak at hand, they would be safe enough. Tom said he should rest until morning, but Harry didn't think he could.
He found that he was right. There was no way he could fall asleep in this strange room tonight, not with threat of the Order and Death Eaters lurking over him. It wasn't until the early morning light crept in at five O'clock that he shut his eyes and slept. When he awoke, he jolted awake, realising where he was and what had happened. The Burrow felt a long way away. Tom was waiting on the other side of the room. He hadn't moved from where he was last night, nor did he look surprised to see Harry sit up, feeling wide awake.
"Can you not sleep?" Tom asked him.
"No... What time is it?"
"Eight O'clock."
Harry rubbed his face with one hand, breathing out heavily. He stood up, throwing the bedsheets off of himself and shivering, his breath visible. Fog was pressing up against the tiny window behind him, reminding him of the dark creatures that lurked outside. He decided to stand, reaching for his jeans, which he had thrown over the nearest chair last night. Once dressed, he took his wand from the bedside table. It caught Tom's attention.
"Are we leaving?"
"It's early, but Diagon Alley will be open," Harry explained, shivering where he stood. "If we leave now, we'll get there by nine."
For a moment, Tom looked surprised, but he wasn't slow. When Harry picked up Dumbledore's wand too, putting it in his back pocket, Tom seemed to remember they were on a mission using only Muggle tactics and inclined his head gently, standing. Harry felt almost guilty, seeing him stand there as nothing more than a spirit.
"Come on."
Harry reached first for his travelling cloak, then the Invisibility Cloak. He knew his belongings would be safe in the trunk for now, but felt unsettled that he couldn't lock it or even the room more securely with magic. Brushing the thought away, he threw the Cloak over his shoulders, slipping the room's key into his front pocket and beckoning Tom, who could see him clearly. They left the room.
In the early morning darkness, there was no one downstairs in the inn. Harry marched through the squat hall without pausing. Once outside, the bitter winds that howled around him made him shiver and clutch at his wand, but there were no Dementors around as far as he could see. Tom caught up with him, his red eyes scanning the streets further ahead.
"You're not going to like this," said Harry apologetically. "If it'll help us avoid the Death Eaters, it'll be worth it, but walking everywhere in London is slow, even with Muggle transportation."
"I know," Tom agreed. For the first time this morning, he smiled, but it was a hollow, frail gesture.
Harry wasn't sure what this look meant and stared. Until he remembered; Tom grew up in London. Realising his mistake made Harry embarrassed. "Oh, sorry, I didn't –"
"It's alright," Tom interrupted gently, smiling again. "It is rather a good thing. I travelled London very often as a child and equally as much as a young adult, so I know it well, and since I was unable to use magic out of Hogwarts, I became used to avoiding it when travelling... for the most part, anyway."
"For the most part?" Harry repeated, interested. He continued strolling down the street by Tom's side, unsure how much he could ask. Tom hadn't spoken about his childhood before. He was thoughtful about it, staring at the ground as they walked, and Harry's eyes were transfixed to him.
"I discovered certain ways around getting caught for underage magic," Tom explained calmly, "but not without failed attempts. Ironically, it was at the age of thirteen that I too received my first complaint from the Ministry. In London, I used magic."
"The Ministry caught you?" asked Harry, stunned. "What did you do? Did any Muggles see it?"
Tom laughed then, but again it was hollow. Harry waited for him to elaborate, eager to understand. Tom was careful when choosing his next words.
"If any Muggles were unfortunate enough to have seen me, I doubt it would have caused any problems. I doubt, moreover, that they would have remembered it as anything significant... No, the Ministry was not so concerned about shielding wizarding identity back then."
"Why not?"
His question was blunt, which seemed to make Tom hesitant. Harry didn't understand why until a still, grave expression crossed his face. He appeared suddenly decades older, holding onto deep-set sorrows for a time long gone.
"London in 1939 was a very different place," he explained gently.
At once, colour rose to Harry's face. He had forgotten, not for the first time, what Tom had had to face in his own childhood.
"Sorry," he murmured quickly, "I didn't think – I forgot that you're older than me."
Tom was not offended, but appeared mildly confused at this. "I am seventeen years old. You'll be the same age in three weeks."
Harry stared at him wordlessly, feeling too clumsy and confused to carry on. It didn't make him feel better to hear this; in fact, it felt worse than ever to realise just how much Tom had witnessed at such a young age. Time didn't make people wise, experience did. From where he stood now, Harry couldn't think of anything in his life that could compare to watching the Second World War erupt in the heart of London around Muggles who could not defend themselves against it.
"Shall we go?" Tom asked him promptly, failing to notice how Harry's heart sank.
"What do you –? Oh. Right, yeah, Diagon Alley..."
Harry pulled the Cloak around him securely, glancing around. Still, there were no Dementors, but London was misty and a mass of light grey cloud obscured the entire sky, blocking out the sun. Travelling into central London was tedious, but Harry was glad of something to do. Tom remained awfully quiet throughout the trip and Harry thought at points that he was indeed bored, but he realised eventually that Tom was watching out for threats. Especially when they approached Diagon Alley. They had to be safe.
From underneath the Cloak, Harry wove through crowds of people, stealing editions of the Daily Prophet and listening onto gossip in the first hour. Diagon Alley wasn't how he had expected it to be; pedestrians on the street had thinned out significantly since the last time he visited. If he had hoped to gain a sense of comfort in the wizarding world, he suddenly felt he might have been better hiding out in the safety of Muggle anonymity. Even when early morning and noon approached, the few people wandered down Diagon Alley's main streets and did so hurriedly, with frightened faces.
"What are they scared of?" Harry asked in Parseltongue at one point, catching Tom's attention.
Tom scanned the surrounding area, watching witches and wizards pulling their cloaks around them protectively and urging their children into walking faster. Tom disregarded the open book he had been staring at the mulled the question over.
"There are many threats in our world at this time. Most of all, the threat of who to trust and who to regard as a dangerous figure, involved in any side of this war. Nobody takes chances."
Harry felt oddly unnerved to hear it. He felt for the Daily Prophet sticking out of his pocket, wondering if this would be of any use to him. As if reading his mind, Tom spoke.
"Harry, take a look at this."
Following his voice, Harry turned. Tom's delicate hand pointed towards a book on the closest shelf, with a dusty crimson jacket and golden lettering. The book's spine read: Secret Wizarding Organizations of Mid-Twentieth Century England.
Harry wasn't altogether sure why it was important. "What about it?"
"It could prove to be useful," Tom told him. "We should take it."
"I can't pay."
"Then steal it."
"What?"
Tom didn't seem bothered, even when Harry gaped at him.
"Steal the book," he said again. "It will be far more useful to us."
Hesitantly, Harry moved closer. When he knew no one was looking, he slipped a hand from under the Cloak to take the book from its shelf.
"It's under no security," Tom assured him. "Now, come along..."
Without a word, Tom started to leave, giving Harry no choice but to follow. None of the workers in the small bookshop seemed aware of his thievery – or even able to react to it if they had. Out on the main street, Tom seemed to decide it was time for them to leave and Harry couldn't find any argument; he wanted to get away from the dismal witches and wizards around him. It was a long trip back through London.
When they returned to the small inn, Harry got started with reading through the Daily Prophet, circling any important news articles he found. He was about halfway through the paper, reading stories on Muggles tortured and witches and wizards disappearing when suddenly Tom stood up.
"We should begin moving," he said, "to find another inn before sunset."
Harry lowered his quill, confused. "Are we not safe here?"
"It's best not to risk detection," Tom explained shortly. "We shouldn't stay anywhere for longer than necessary."
Trusting his word and seeing the logic, Harry stood up and started packing. They were able to move relatively quickly, using the same method as before of dragging the trunk and shielding the Firebolt with the Invisibility Cloak, buying their way into another inn. Throughout their journey across London, however, Harry couldn't shake a feeling of foreboding that came with realising how closely they were being followed and tracked. Even Tom seemed worried about it.
Days passed by in the same way as before; Harry and Tom slipped into as many safe wizarding communities as possible, stealing newspapers and listening onto common conversation for hours on end. Harry had begun to collect a good archive on news stories that could be linked to the Death Eaters, the Order, or even wizards on the run like Draco Malfoy. He wrote notes on possible connections to associates of the Order, convicted Death Eaters, and witches and wizards he knew, and theorized with Tom how they could use this information to find certain individuals and to keep the Order away for as long as possible. It was all in the hope of defending himself.
Only about a week into their escape, however, Harry began to notice something strange. Death Eater activity in London was rising significantly, with more Muggles being attacked now than ever. Sometimes these stories happened at random, but on one particular occasion, Harry opened the Prophet to find that the Death Eaters had not only found somewhere he had been, but had killed a bar-tender and innkeeper at a certain Muggle inn he had stayed at... It was this, more than anything, that frightened Harry into doubting their safety.
With weeks before his seventeenth birthday, Harry found he couldn't sleep at night. He couldn't stand the idea of Death Eaters finding them now and felt that every moment passing by put them at greater risk of being found. During the day, he poured over every morning paper, paranoid, and every night he lay in bed, listening to the sounds that carried through the thin walls of the rooms he rented. One evening, an idea struck him. It was a thought that had been at the back of his mind for a long time, brought forwards only in desperation and in fear of the Death Eaters being a significantly greater threat than they first thought.
"What if we got you a new body?"
He asked the question heavily, impatiently. He was sitting at a desk in another dingy inn, squinting at the Daily Prophet in the dim light of a flickering lamp. Tom was perched on Harry's bed behind him, but didn't respond at once. He froze, stunned.
"You could get a body with a spell," Harry reminded him, "You said so. Or that – that you could possess someone, right? You could take a dying person's body."
Still, Tom was hesitant. He tilted his head. "Why do you suggest it?"
"At the rate we're going now, we're not going to last until my seventeenth birthday," Harry said in a low voice. "I need you to be here – properly here. That way, at least one of us can use magic again. Finding a body is worth the risk. We're in London already, right near St Mungo's."
Tom nodded slowly, but didn't at first seem convinced that Harry meant what he was saying. "It is perhaps our safest option... but there are risks."
"What sort of risks?"
Tom straightened up, ready to explain himself slowly.
"If we were to be caught, the consequences would be drastic."
"What, worse than the Death Eaters finding us?" asked Harry in disbelief. His spirits were plummeting. "Nothing could be worse than what we're going through already."
Tom didn't seem to sure. He was quiet. It looked as if he was thinking over a plan.
"I can't stand this anymore, anyway," Harry murmured in an afterthought, his back still facing Tom.
"Can't stand what?"
Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair, trying to find the right words. Tom spoke so softly, so curiously, it made it difficult to speak.
"Having you like a ghost," murmured Harry. "It's like you're not even here, but you're the only one I can trust, Tom. I just want to know you're actually here. That I'm not – not just going mental, or something."
"You aren't," Tom told him softly. "The magic I have preformed at better times surely proves as much."
Harry couldn't say he felt sure about it. He brought a hand up to his face, rubbing his eyes tiredly.
"I think this is the only thing we can do," he said. "Getting you a body, I mean. That way, we'll be safe. We can use magic early. I don't know how much time we have..."
Tom smiled faintly, the movement being noticed by Harry only because of the mirror at the back of his desk. "If this will make you feel safe, then I suppose there is no better choice..."
It seemed decided from that moment on. Neither of them said a word of doubt against it, at the very least; they promptly spoke about how they could slip into St Mungo's Hospital undetected. In the darkness of this dingy in, they made plans and ruled out whatever possibilities were most risky, eventually deciding after many nights in different rooms that they could manage all of this without the use of magic if they timed it right. The more Harry spoke about it, the more encouraged he felt that this was their one way to be safe; with so many pressing dangers hanging over their heads, the idea of trespassing into St Mungo's to steal and possess a body seem positively simple – and in Harry's case, something he never really thought about too much.
By the time another week passed, Harry felt that their plans were solid enough to put into action. After choosing a Muggle inn relatively close to where they needed to be, Harry and Tom waited one night to make sure everything was clear before heading toward the hospital at nine O'clock in the morning. Approaching St Mungo's filled Harry with a sense of determination and a longing for safety, so even when he slipped past the entrance of the hospital through a deserted department store in a familiar street of Muggle London, Tom at his side, he felt encouraged by the lack of complications and confident when he threw the Invisibility Cloak on.
St Mungo's was surprisingly unguarded, even at these crucial early stages of war; he easily snuck past the patients waiting in the emergency room. Past witches and wizards with blown up faces and arms that twisted and flailed around wildly, children whose feet refused to touch the floor and whose levitation ended with them danging off of their parents arms rather than successfully flying. All in all, the place seemed busy and welcoming. Even the Healers, who wove in and out of rooms, speaking to patients and calling their names for appointments, didn't seem to notice a thing when Harry slipped by. He clutched the Cloak in closer to himself, wondering where to go from here.
At the far end of the room, behind a desk where three witches rustled through parchment and spoke to impatient patients, there was a floor plan. Harry squinted at it and darted through the crowd to get closer, almost being pushed back and stepped on by people nearby. The sign read:
Ground Floor: Artifact Accidents
First Floor: Creature-Induced Injuries
Second Floor: Magical Bugs
Third Floor: Potion & Plant Poisoning
Fourth Floor: Spell Damage
For a moment, Harry didn't know which floor to pick. People could die or be seriously injured from any of these causes. He didn't suppose it mattered whether or not someone was dying of a magical illness, a backfiring spell, poisoning, or anything of the like – all Tom had cared about in their plans was that they choose someone on the verge of Death. When Harry glanced at Tom under the Cloak, he appeared calm, tore his eyes from the sign, and spoke in low Parseltongue:
"We'll search every floor."
Harry tried to nod and turned from the main desk, heading for the nearest door. Down endless corridors, past countless patients, Harry wandered with Tom at his side, trying to take in every room and ward that flashed by. He was in search for anyone who looked terminally ill – a hunt for weak prey in the most strange context, making him feel like a phantom, a reaper. He glided through the halls without a wand, but with Tom armed as his only weapon.
It didn't take long for them to find what they were looking for. In fact, it was only after rejecting many obvious and damaged vessels – a patient bandaged up from a magical explosion, a child dying of horrid spider bites, an old man dying of Dragon Pox, covered in scars, blisters, and greenish skin – that they found a perfect body. On the forth floor, for Spell Damage, they heard a woman crying.
Harry was edging towards a Healer clad in green robes, scribbling notes by an old witch's bed, when he first heard it. He knew at once what those sobs sounded like and froze, motioning for Tom to stop too. The wail of despair could not be mistaken as anything but anguish caused by news of approaching Death. Harry strode across the room and glanced down the hall. Several Healers, all wearing the same lime green robes, filed in and out of a single bedroom, talking hurriedly in groups and passing on information about the patient in question. Harry decided to head towards them, but before he could so much as slip into the room, three sorcerers were ushered from it.
A Healer was saying something about not upsetting the patient's condition, but the sorcerers, a man and two women, stood holding each other with grave faces, asking for more information. Harry didn't hear a word anyone said, but from their actions alone, he knew someone was dying.
"We're going to continue attempting magic on her," another Healer said gently from the doorway, speaking to the family. "If you wouldn't mind, the waiting room outside has been cleared for your use..."
Understanding the situation, the three strangers before Harry wiped their eyes and asked more questions, following a young Healer down the hall. Harry felt his heart beat faster sickeningly. More Healers were filing in and out of the room with serious expressions, but in a matter of mere minutes the room would be free. They were already leaving the door open for minutes at a time, unguarded.
Harry headed into the room as soon as he could, his curiosity growing. From beneath the Cloak, he saw a young witch lying in bed. Healers were moving out, taking notes, speaking somber words. The girl can't have been much older than nineteen, but her eyes were closed and her breathing slowed. She was sweating where she lay, her expression almost peaceful. The moment he set eyes on her, Harry knew she was the perfect person to use. This girl was dying...
More than this, she was in perfect condition. There were no obvious scars, blisters, warts, or wounds on her, no flaking skin, hair loss, or signs of Death. She was dying from Spell Damage, but from what Harry heard from the busy Healers, it was internal. With unjust excitement and relief, Harry inched to the far side of the room, transfixed. This was his way to find safety, his only escape, and she was perfect. Since her family could no longer have her, he didn't feel guilty in that moment, nor in the moments that followed.
The last Healer left the room. The moment he did, Harry knew what would come next and knew that Tom agreed with him. Although they barely looked at each other, they stood beside her bed in unison, stunned into silence when the last Healer closed the door behind himself. No one was going to realise that this perfectly-preserved body was the product of possession. No Death Eater would recognise her and neither would anyone from the Order of the Phoenix, or any of Harry's old friends. His heart hammered in his chest, his eyes wide.
"What do we do?" he hissed, speaking to Tom.
"It requires no further magic," Tom told him gently. "Only my own possession..."
As Tom reached out a hand calmly towards the dying girl, Harry felt suddenly defenceless and useless, glancing towards the closed door. There was no one outside. The hallway itself looked clear through the small glass window. By the time he looked back around, keen to ask Tom again how this worked, he found he stood alone. His eyes flickered around where Tom had been, his stomach knotting uncomfortably, but he was nowhere. Until Harry glanced back at the girl.
At first, she appeared the same as before. Dark brown hair twisted and curled around her face, her full lips slightly parted. She had no idea what importance she would play in the upcoming war even in death, but Tom, apparently, knew it only too well. Stunned, Harry watched the girl with wide eyes, noticing it when her hand twitched, her eyebrows burrowing momentarily. She shifted where she lay, as if waking up, except she appeared in pain. Without daring to breath, Harry watched her move and shake uncomfortably, never speaking a word, until she lay still.
Harry thought, for a moment, that she had died and that Tom had deserted him, but her chest continued to raise in fall with every breath, growing calmer by the moment. She had stopped struggling. She no longer looked worried. There were movements behind her dark eyelids. The girl began to move again, taking in a deep, slow breath, but at the sound of it, Harry knew it was not her own. She began rising from the bed.
Harry had never expected this to be such an unusual sight. The girl's first movements were slow, but not in pain – if anything, she appeared to be moving with precision and fascination. Every breath appeared a blessing and when she placed both hands firmly at her sides, sitting at the edge of the bed, she twisted her head to the side, breathing slowly, as if it were unfamiliar. When she opened her eyes, it was to reveal brown eyes that stared into space with a strong, focused stare. Harry knew in that moment that Tom lurked behind the girl's mind.
Still, Harry didn't move. He didn't dare to speak. The girl he had seen seconds ago, laying peacefully, was gone. He wondered, suddenly, whether she was dead yet and what her family would think about never having a chance to say goodbye. He had never thought about what this moment would really be like, how Tom's movements would look in real life, how this girl's soul could disappear as if it didn't mean a thing. Still, Tom didn't look at him, but glanced at the room around them, fascinated, drawn to it, awed.
Tom seemed determined to stand up in the girl's body, bringing her legs attentively over the edge of the bed, her pointed feet touching the floor. When she stood, Tom smiled delicately. Harry recognised that expression and felt suddenly scared. It was honestly Tom's soul.
"This is far better," the girl spoke softly.
Harry felt frozen, unsure. He didn't know what to do or say.
"I won't be able to see you under the Cloak like this," she then added, "so it might be prudent to stay close to me."
Harry didn't like the idea of her walking out of the hospital like this. He took the Cloak off at once, folding it up in his hands.
"We should leave under the Cloak together."
Her eyes flickered to Harry then. Tom's smile deepened. That was the one gesture that convinced Harry he wasn't speaking to a stranger. Every delicate movement, every choice of word, was all Tom's choice.
Only, in that moment, something changed. Likely due to Harry's sudden appearance from under the Cloak, a thought was triggered from the young girl's soul, so her expression fell. The girl fought Tom. The same way Dumbledore had reappeared in his own body, the girl's eyes widened, her lips parting, and she spoke.
"What am I doing here?"
Harry froze, stunned. He didn't respond.
The girl's eyes closed. When she reopened them, her expression was strong, calm, and somewhat annoyed.
"Tom," said Harry immediately, "I think she –"
"What am I doing here?" she asked again, her voice shaking heavily. In her own soul, she seemed affected by the sickness that Tom avoided. Her voice had completely changed. She was weak, thirsty, and terrified.
"I don't –"
"Leave her. She'll keep fighting."
Harry stared, completely lost. "Tom, what's happened to her?"
"I can't kill her yet and she isn't used to it."
"Why can't you keep her quiet? Tom?"
Tom had stopped again, twisting her head to the side, struggling. By this point, it became apparent that the girl was crying and Harry was horrified. Tears welled up on her eyelashes and overflowed over her dark skin. Her voice began raising, her breath caught up in an uneven panic, her voice louder this time.
"What are you doing?" she positively shouted. At Harry or Tom – it didn't matter which, because they both heard her. "Get away from me!"
"Don't shout!" Harry pleaded hurriedly, glancing at the hall. "I'm not –"
"Get away from me!" she shouted the moment he reached a hand for her shoulder. She backed up quickly, stumbling, in pain. "Get away!"
"Don't –!"
"Someone!" the girl screamed then, terrified, "Please, he–!"
She fell silent then. At first, Harry didn't know why. She was still screaming, but not a sound came out of her mouth and her eyes widened more. She clutched at her ears as if deaf and because of it, Harry realised she was clutching Dumbledore's wand. Tom had put a Silencing Charm on her. She screamed silently more and more, shaking in terror, making Harry realise he was doing a terrible thing. She was trapped in her own body, fighting Tom, screaming for help.
Except, every few moments possession took over her. It was like watching Dumbledore all over again and the more he stared, the more Harry realised that this girl wasn't just dying. They were killing her. Tom was taking her energy, stealing her body, and silencing it when she fought. Again and again, she resurfaced as a crying, dying, terrified girl.
"Wait!" Harry blurted out, horrified. "Tom, don't –!"
His words were cut short only when the door opened. A Healer appeared.
What happened next was a bur. Blood drained from Harry's face in an instant and he stood still, staring. The girl was screaming and crying without a sound by his side and the Healer saw it clearly, witnessing a dying girl stand possessed. It was then that Tom emerged more than ever, but Harry rather felt this only made things worse: the Healer caught sight of a third soul staring back, not saying a word.
Without thinking, Harry grabbed the dying girl's arm. The Healer had already disappeared beyond the doorframe, panicking, speechless, and only one thing could come next. Harry pulled Tom closer and threw the Invisibility Cloak over them both.
"Come on!"
It was as if the girl's soul was hiding, because all Harry could see now was Tom. They tore across the room in unison, Tom struggling to control the new body. Down the hallway outside, Healers were shouting at each other and looking around wildly, heading straight for the room; Harry urged Tom away from the door, tearing down the hospital in the opposite direction. Healers noticed their patient was missing and shouted instructions, searching, withdrawing their wands. Harry could barely drag Tom fast enough around the nearest turn, speeding onwards.
"This is bad!" he said in Parseltongue. "Tom, what do we do?"
"We run."
Harry didn't doubt the advice for one minute. Soon, the hospital could be closed and a full-scale investigation could take place to find him. Harry dragged Tom's thin body onwards as quickly as he could, scared of damaging her. Even when he held the girl's thin wrist, he could tell she was so much on the verge of death that running seemed impossible. Down corridors with Tom at his arm, breathing heavily, dodging patients and Healers. People were being carried on levitating stretchers and speaking to each other, blocking corridors. Harry and Tom outran every Healer who knew what had happened, but only by a margin; people shouted behind them, passing the message on.
"There's a Necromancer in the hospital!" a witch shouted breathlessly to another Healer at one point. "A young girl is missing!"
Every step, Harry pulled at the young girl's arm and shoulder, trying to keep the Invisibility Cloak over them and trying to dodge every sick patient that flickered by. His steps were quick and hurried, but even as he clutched at the girl's shoulders, he could feel that Tom was losing control over her body; the dying girl's soul struggled, trying to go back, trying to get out from under the Cloak.
It felt like a miracle to Harry when they descended several floors in an unguarded stairwell and reached the emergency room and entrance hall. No one here knew of the crimes he had committed yet, so when he barged past patients in a whirl of desperation, witches and wizards looked around but had no idea anyone was hiding under an Invisibility Cloak. Through the main hall, up a flight up steps, towards a large door with sunlight shining through it, until –
"We made it!" Harry exclaimed in Parseltongue, his voice shaking in pure relief. "Tom, we made it, we're safe now!"
Bright sunlight engulfed them wholly, warming Harry's skin even through the Cloak and stunning him into a state of ecstasy. He felt like he could have run forwards in celebration, could have ripped the Cloak off and laughed in joy, but instead, he grinned madly, speaking in a rushed voice, still leading Tom away from the entrance of the hospital. It took a glorious moment for him to realise something was wrong. When he looked at the girl that he clutched close, he found her expression was grave. Brooding worry overtook all else and her brown eyes were shadowed.
"What's wrong?" he asked Tom quickly, bewildered.
Tom did not answer at once. Her grasp was delicate when she reached for Harry's hand on her shoulder, following him as far away from the hospital as possible. In that moment, Harry's spirits plummeted and he waited for an explanation, knowing that expression meant something bad. Up ahead, a sea of Muggles swarmed by the streets of London monotonously, but Tom seemed to have other plans for their escape.
"Take my hand..."
Harry did what was asked of him, momentarily hesitate at the idea of Apparition. He had become so used to avoiding magic and travelling London by Muggle transport that it felt suddenly unsafe. It only heightened the sense of dread that found him. His heart hammered in his chest and he reached for Tom's hand. She rose Dumbledore's wand.
'Crack!'
They Apparated together under the Cloak, spinning a thousand miles an hour in a whirl of panic. It was the quickest escape from St Mungo's Hospital, but Harry felt stunned to be suddenly outside the inn they were staying in. Tom appeared to have gained more control over her body and pulled Harry towards the nearest deserted road, where they tore off the Invisibility Cloak, barely checking to see if anyone was watching them.
"This way," Tom murmured quietly.
"We're going back to the inn?"
"We need to pack."
"Why?"
Harry didn't understand what was going on; they were safe now, they could use magic forever from this point on – proven by the fact that Tom had just used Apparition without hesitation. He felt charged with energy, ready to run or to celebrate their lucky escape, but Tom was nowhere in the same state of mind.
"What's happening, Tom?" Harry asked impatiently, terrified. "What's wrong with you?"
Tom met his gaze with tense reluctance. "I'll explain everything inside."
Having no choice but to believe it, Harry watched as Tom threw the Invisibility Cloak back over the dying girl, hiding her body from view. Harry headed inside the inn and raced up the stairs with growing impatience, hearing Tom at his heels.
In his room, he closed the door behind the both of them nervously, realising that everything felt exactly how it had been before, except Tom's footsteps were lighter and when she pulled off the Cloak, her appearance was different. Tom's soul still felt the same to Harry in a physical body as it did in an illusion, making his head spin as he tried to understand how all of this worked. The girl in front of him stepped across the room without hesitation, raising Dumbledore's wand to pull Harry's trunk from under the bed.
"We need to move as soon as possible," she said quietly, her expression as dark as before. "You needn't help me; with magic, this will be quicker."
Regardless of what she said, Harry stepped forward and tried to catch Tom's eye. She didn't look up, but summoned the nearest books, lining the base of his trunk with it.
"Are you going to tell me what's happening, Tom?"
Her jaw clenched shut momentarily, her eyes narrowing. She wasn't pleased to have to explain everything here – nor pleased, apparently, about anything to do with this situation, despite the fact that Tom's soul had found a worthy vessel. Hurriedly, however, she explained the situation.
"Our haste to find me a body today has resulted in a most dreaded failure," she said quietly, her higher voice far different to the tone Harry was used to, but eerily similar to how Tom had always sounded. He had never noticed before how characteristic Tom's delicate, confident rhythm of speaking was, even though he possessed a stranger. "I suspect the consequences of such a mistake will be severe..."
"What failure?" asked Harry at once, "What mistake? We found you a body, Tom, we possessed her, so you're fine."
She shook her head wordlessly, her lips pressing together in irritation. "A Healer witnessed what happened. She saw you standing beside a witch who should have been at Death's grasp..."
"So?"
She turned to face him then. It stunned Harry to see how alive Tom's soul was in a body. Every movement she made, every expression that crossed her face, was exactly how it had been before. The more Harry stared, the more he realised Tom didn't know what he was looking at, because nothing amazed Tom about her new body except the act of being alive itself. She treated the entire situation like nothing had changed, which made Harry realise that nothing, indeed, had. This girl stared at him the same way Tom's soul always had, her brow furrowed, thinking deeply.
"That Healer witnessed us during a crucial moment of possessing a body," she carried on seriously. "She witnessed not only the resurrection of a dying patient, but your presence at the scene itself."
"What does that matter, though?" Harry asked, honestly confused. "Even if the Healer saw us, what difference does that make to us now? We can use magic, we can hide from the Death Eaters and the Order using your magic. That's all that matters."
Tom shook her head, her expression defeated. "What do you think might happen now that Healers suspect an act of Necromancy happened within the walls of St Mungo's?"
Harry thought it over briefly. "They can't know we possessed her. They'll just think I know this girl or that she and I planned this together."
Tom shook her head again, unconvinced. "You're forgetting what the Healer heard prior to entering the room and why the Healer happened upon us at all; she heard this witch's pleads for help and saw her struggles to overpower me. Healers are warned about acts of Necromancy, though they cannot predict that this was mere possession."
A low sense of dread pulled Harry's spirits lower, making him worry. "So, you think St Mungo's is going to tell the Ministry someone was brought back from the dead?"
"No," said Tom quietly, her brown eyes fixed on him. "I think Healers are going to warn the Ministry that Harry Potter took part wholly in stealing and abducting the body of a dying girl."
Harry's heart leapt at her words and he stared, his mouth agape.
"They – they can't know that!" he stammered, frightened.
"Can't they?" she asked him delicately.
Harry tried to think, tried to make sense of everything.
"No," he said flatly, "they'll think I know her. There's no way they'll think I'm some Necromancer, or anything!"
Tom was not convinced. She had finished packing Harry's trunk and looked down at it, tilting her head to the side, thinking.
"Once the Ministry sends Aurors to begin questioning the Healer who saw you," she said, "and once the Healer admits that she is convinced she saw Harry Potter beside the possessed girl... I cannot imagine the consequences."
"There's no way the Ministry will believe that!"
"They'll suspect it. That is what remains most dangerous to both of us. They will suspect it."
Harry's face contorted into a look of disbelief and his mind raced to find a way out of this, to avoid the idea of failure. His mouth felt suddenly very dry. "So, what happens next? Is the Ministry just going to chase after me with pitchforks and fire, calling me a Necromancer?"
"I don't believe it will be so quick, no."
"Then, what will happen?"
Tom thought it over, drawing in a deep breath. She looked up from the trunk, clutching Dumbledore's wand in her first more tightly for a moment. After limited hesitation, she spoke.
"Very shortly, the Ministry – and by extent, the Aurors – are going to be alerted to a corps theft and to your involvement in it. Although nothing can yet be proven and although there may be speculation as to whether or not this is theft, abduction, or a plan between this young witch and yourself, what we do know is that not a single Auror in the Ministry of Magic will be uninterested in the news. It will be a matter of hours before the Order of the Phoenix is warned."
Harry's heart pulsed sickeningly in his chest, his head spinning. In an attempt to gain back some control over this situation, he found the nearest solution.
"I don't care what the Order thinks, anymore," he said flatly. "I don't care if they know where I was – not if it means I'm safe from them now."
"You're forgetting a crucial detail," Tom added, her voice low. "When word reaches the Order of the Phoenix about your involvement in today's incidence, few will fail to pair it with any news Snape may have brought to them about your involvement in Dumbledore's death... Even if Snape hasn't yet voiced his theories, many witches and wizards already suspected you are hiding something. It would be a miracle if this did not damage their image of you..."
That was the final push. Harry turned away suddenly, clenching his jaw, running a hand through his hair. He couldn't believe that any of this was happening and he wished Tom would stop talking, stop detailing exactly how terribly they had messed up today. Harry realised he was shaking, overwhelmed by everything that was crashing down on them.
"So... so, what does that mean?" he asked. "The Order is after us anyway, at least looking for me. Do you think they're going to start hunting me like a Death Eater, or something?"
"They will panic," Tom responded softly. "They will suspect something is wrong, even if they cannot yet prove it."
"If they can't prove it, then so what? They'll think I'm involved in something – the Aurors will think it too – but they won't be able to prove it. Not even enough to send Aurors after me... If I have a bad reputation, then we'll just have to find a way to prove to them that I'm not a Necromancer."
"What about murder?" Tom asked him delicately. Her eyes were fixed on his determinedly, as if all of this appeared to her to be a dead end. Harry stood stunned, staring back. "How might we prove that you are not, indeed, a murderer?"
Harry was speechless. He wanted to be outraged, wanted to find a way out of that too, but he knew what Tom was trying to do. She reminded him that he could not escape crimes that he was wholly responsible for. He had murdered Dumbledore in the Cave and had, only today, taken part in stealing and possessing the body of a dying girl...
"As you have rightly pointed out," Tom carried on, "Aurors and the Order will, as of today, have a bad image of you. However, your bad reputation will not be limited to their minds alone. As we are both fully aware, there is a most powerful network of Death Eaters working within the Ministry itself. How many hours do you suspect it will be until word gets out to Lord Voldemort that Harry Potter is not only less pure than the Death Eaters first suspected, but wholly outside of the Order of the Phoenix's control?"
Harry faced her wholly, but his mouth twitched, his expression pained. He wanted to ask what Tom thought Voldemort would do if he found out that Harry supposedly had the ability to use Necromancy or at least take possession of someone. It then struck him that if Snape was working for both sides, he may have to answer to his Lord about news on Dumbledore too...
"If he finds out that I – that I'm –..."
Harry couldn't get the words out. Before Tom could ask, his expression crashed and he turned away. In a whirl of nausea, it struck him suddenly that he was a murderer. He had killed the only person on earth that Voldemort had ever feared, but far from feeling encouraged by it, he felt as if he were a monster. His head span wildly and he clutched at his skull, staring into space, unable to even express what was on his mind. The Order of the Phoenix would find out what he was. The Death Eaters would know, Voldemort himself would know. Not a single witch or wizard would be on his side except Tom...
"We may soon have the Order and Aurors doubting you," Tom carried on seriously, unaffected by Harry's turmoil, "but that is nothing compared to being hunted by Death Eaters who believe you are a Necromancer and trainee in the Dark Arts. While the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry do not approve of corpse theft, the Death Eaters, worse still, do not appreciate competition. Soon, they will see you not as an enemy, but as a genuine threat. Given their distance from you, moreover, there is a strong possibility they will suspect that old rumours about your power are true."
Harry spun around then. Tom watched him with a look of strong contemplation, but Harry ignored her thoughtful worry and jumped straight to the point.
"Old rumours?" he repeated. "What's that supposed to mean?"
She tilted her had to the side, surprised. "Don't tell me you have forgotten?"
"Forgotten what?"
"How the wizarding community saw you before your reintroduction into our world."
Harry didn't understand, but a low, burning emotion was starting in the pit of his stomach, like an old wound was being slowly reopened. It felt worse than almost everything, which he could barely believe. "What do you mean? How did people see me?"
Tom did not look mirthful nor excited to recite the past. She straightened up a little where she stood, her new face heavy with the weight with intelligence far beyond her years. Harry watched her movements and prepared to cling onto her every word, feeling frightened.
"Do you not remember what it was like entering our world for the first time?" she asked him delicately, appearing wholly interested. "Do you not recall how strangers treated you with an array of emotions upon your first visit to Diagon Alley and how Rubeus Hagrid, under Dumbledore's instructions, watched over you during it? Moreover, when you first arrived at Hogwarts Castle, do you not remember how Draco Malfoy approached you boldly before the Sorting, suggesting the two of you become friends, despite the unlikelihood of such a suggestion?"
Harry didn't understand, but despite this, couldn't manage to shake a sense of foreboding. "What about it? What's Malfoy got to do with any of this, anyway?"
"It was Lucius Malfoy who instructed Draco to become your friend," Tom told him, sounding sure about it. "In an attempt to win you over, gain information, and place Draco in a position of power lest the rumours be true, Lucius did the only thing he could think of doing upon realising the timing of your arrival to Hogwarts. He attempted to win your favour."
"Why would he do that?" Harry asked, confused. "Why put so much effort into finding out more about me?"
"He wanted to know if the rumours were true," Tom explained quietly, appearing fascinated by her own words for the first time – not in mirth, but in a need to express the severity of the situation. "It's why Dumbledore hid you at infancy, sending you to the Dursleys and the Muggle world; he wanted to keep you away from the many witches and wizards who were curious about you. He wanted to steer you from certain influences. Since Voldemort's downfall, people questioned whether or not you held some great power, greater than the Dark Lord's, unknown to anyone."
"But I don't," said Harry quickly, interrupting her. "I don't know any magic he doesn't."
Tom thought it over. She chose her next words slowly.
"Although you and I know what truly happened today," she said, "it isn't difficult to frighten a group of people who spent years waiting for something like this to happen. The Death Eaters feared you the moment you defeated their Lord in Godric's Hollow; even more so when you defeated him again and murdered Quirrell in your first year at Hogwarts. Although their suspicions died down the moment Voldemort was reborn in the Graveyard, nothing can stop the affects today's news will have on many of Voldemort's followers. Those who act in fear act dangerously."
Harry didn't want to believe any of this. It made complete sense to him that this is how the Death Eaters had felt about him, but neither Dumbledore nor anyone from the Order of the Phoenix had ever put it this way. He struggled where he stood, grimacing at the idea of the entire wizarding world fearing him behind his back.
"If you need further proof," added Tom, noticing his expression, "let us not forget that the Death Eaters spent thirteen years after Lord Voldemort's downfall hesitating to make any attempts to bring him back. I'm sure you cannot have forgotten how many witches and wizards spoke to their Lord in the Graveyard, giving excuses for their abandonment. They were not disloyal. They were merely too cowardly to take action against you, believing that you were a more powerful wizard than Lord Voldemort himself, capable of magic that Dumbledore's Prophecy alone foretold."
Even as Tom explained it, her enthusiasm fell and was replaced by a tone of sedateness. A stunned moment passed between them, in which they both seemed to understand the weight of what all of this meant: Death Eaters were going to suppose Harry was indeed involved in the Dark Arts. Voldemort would once again be forced to prove that Harry was not a greater dark wizard than himself. Above everything else going on, every fear of the Order, Aurors, and Death Eaters treating him as a threat, one thought stuck in Harry's mind.
"But I'm not," he said quietly, staring at Tom with a look of desperation. Even though he stood still, he felt himself trembling, overwhelmed by everything that had happened and was going to happen now. "I'm not a Dark Lord."
Tom's expression fell. Her eyes flickered between Harry's without a word and she watched him as if searching for something, waiting for something. Before Harry could make sense of any of it, she nodded once, looking away.
Tom turned her attention to the trunk beside them. With Dumbledore's wand still in hand, she took Harry's Firebolt, wrapped it up in the Invisibility Cloak, and attached it to the trunk for the final time.
"We should leave," she said softly. "It is already late and already a dangerous time for us both. A war is coming."