Chapter 37:
Okay. That wasn't what he was expecting at all. Harry felt his anger subside for a brief moment with his amazement at the question - how on earth did he answer that? It was so obvious that it didn't need explaining. Well, he'd thought it was.
Tom was staring at him expectantly, impassively, waiting for him to speak.
"Er, you imply it often enough," Harry said. The Slytherin heir frowned slightly. "Not to mention, you're a stone cold genius. You think everyone around you is thick by default. You once told Cassius Parkinson that he had the brains of a dissected goldfish!" He drew in an inaudible breath. This wasn't a good path to be walking down with Tom. "Can we do the Occlumency lesson now?"
"I don't think you're thick," Tom replied. Harry almost growled in annoyance. For a psychopath with little empathy or conscience, Tom had an alarming habit of drawing him into these types of uncomfortable conversations.
Actually, it was probably because he didn't feel like normal people that Tom did drag him into such conversations, the awkwardness just seemed to pass over him in the face of his never-ending thirst for knowledge.
"Okay. Sorted. Occlumency?" Harry kept his voice even and composed. This talking about feelings stuff made him seriously ill at ease, especially with Tom. The other was too good at seeing right through whatever he said to what the actual issue was - probably a side effect of learning how to manipulate the emotions of everyone around him. Blasted Dark Lord. Tom worked by reacting in the most beneficial manner to those around him, he tended to know what people wanted and would use that accordingly to get what he wanted out of them.
"You have a shockingly low self esteem," Tom mused. Harry scowled.
"No I don't," he snapped. "Stop bloody trying to psychoanalyse me."
"You know 'psychoanalyse' suggests that I'm right?"
Harry glared. He was still angry with Tom, and his insistence wasn't helping that. Though, he did notice with some smugness that the young Dark Lord was careful to stay out of his reach.
"You do know that psychiatry demands a level of mental stability?" he returned. "One which you decidedly lack."
Tom was silent, the air around him taut with friction.
"Occlumency?" he said finally, though his tone suggested that the conversation wasn't over, only stalled for a later date.
"Occlumency," Harry agreed.
It was a half hour later and Tom was rather noticeably on edge. Harry was pretty sure that he knew why, but he certainly wasn't going to address the issue. Learning Occlumency meant that Tom had access to some of his memories, which meant he had gained some hints as to the Dursley treatment. Of course, Tom been aware that his childhood wasn't exactly ideal, but he'd never really pushed for graphic specifics.
He still didn't have them, but the few flashes Harry knew he had come across weren't pleasant. Or maybe it was the fact that his attempts at shielding so far were proving pathetic that was what was souring Tom's mood; Harry hoped so, it was certainly souring his. Passing out was getting repetitive.
"Can't you offer anything a little more specific than clear your mind?" he demanded irritably. Tom's eyes flashed.
"No attitude," he reminded coolly. Harry forcibly quelled his tongue, the apology he gave tasting bitter and foreign on his tongue. Damn it, but he needed these lessons more than Tom needed to teach them. They both knew it.
"I can't, not yet," Tom continued, his voice a fraction less frosty. "I need to see what your automatic reaction is going to be, when you have it, because that will determine what method I'm going to be teaching you."
"If it's automatic," Harry said. "Shouldn't I already have had it?" He leaned back against the foot of the sofa, his head throbbing as viciously as it had that morning. It made him feel nauseous.
"No, your mind has not yet reached the point where it will do anything to keep an intruder out," Tom said.
"My breaking point," Harry murmured, a wry grin twisted the corners of his mouth. Merlin, that was just so typical.
"Your breaking point," Tom agreed softly.
"Now I know why you agreed to teaching me with so few catches," he said, softening the grin to show that he was only teasing. Tom put a hand over his heart, the picture of innocence.
"Can you hear that, Harry? It's the sound of my heart breaking! I may never recover from the harshness of your judgement."
"How will you ever survive?" he replied dryly. Tom smirked, shaking his head in mock sadness.
"Alas, I'm uncertain. It's tragic. I suppose I'll settle with finding your breaking point."
Harry laughed.
"And I thought you liked me," he pulled a pout. Tom rolled his eyes, before levelling the yew wand in his direction again.
"On the count of three - okay?"
Harry nodded, bracing himself. In a moment, he felt the invasion. His mind jerked at it, pushing weakly at the sense of something unwelcome and not right.
The graveyard, lit by the poisonous green flare of the killing curse…playing against Cedric in that quidditch in third year…his first time on a broom…laughing in the common room with the Slytherins…a flash of the reptile house when he was eleven…standing with his hands against the window pane, watching the Dursley's stuffing themselves on their Christmas dinner, a sharp wind cutting at his skin…
Harry opened his eyes, slumped on the floor again, cradling his head in his hands. Merlin, his head. If it was bad before, the most recent mental attack left it screaming. It was as bad as it was before, to the point where he was getting the urge to smash all the lights into broken pieces of darkness. He rubbed his eyes.
"Why did you stop?" he asked, not looking up. He could hear Tom's footsteps as the other approached him from the couch opposite, where he had been sitting. Every time shoe hit floor felt like a small needle had been stabbed into his mind.
He felt, more than heard, Tom crouch in front of him, dark eyes studying him in an unnervingly intense manner. Of course, he should have been used to it, Tom's gaze was normally intense if you managed to draw its focus, but still. It wasn't something you got used to, only something that you got better at ignoring.
"Because you look like you're about to collapse for real and not wake up again instantly when I leave your thoughts," Tom said simply. "What is it?"
"Nothing," he winced, risking a glance up. Shit, that was too bright, he immediately looked down again. "Let's go again."
Tom frowned. Instantly, the room grew dark, all but one light eclipsed. Harry almost breathed an audible sigh of relief. A hand caught his jaw firmly, tilting his face up to study it.
"You have a headache."
"It's fine," he lied. "Let's go again - I won't learn anything just sitting here." He needed to learn, all that awaiting him without occlumency was the whirlpool of torture that was being sucked into Voldemort's brain in many a sleeping moment.
"No," Tom refused. "Enough for today. Occlumency is a long slow progress, not a one night quick fix. Forcing it is liable to do more damage than good."
"But-"
"I said enough," Tom's voice was soft, but completely unyielding at the same time. Harry debated silently on whether to push the issue or not, but decided against it as pushing too much could result in a refusal to teach at all. "How long has your head been paining you?"
"A while…" Harry shrugged, taking no notice of the displeased look on the Slytherin heir's face.
"And you didn't think to maybe mention it?" Tom demanded, before shaking his head. "Dear god, you're going to be death of me one day. Up."
His jaw was released, only for his arm to be seized and his body yanked up off the floor.
"Of course I am," he muttered, shooting Tom a grin. "Nobody else would have the guts to consider murdering you."
Tom arched an eyebrow.
"Watch it," he warned lightly. "I could take that as a threat, and I doubt you'd like the consequences of that."
"Probably not," Harry agreed mildly, not really troubled. His head was pounding too much for him to consider anything but his immediate response to their conversation. Tom's eyes flicked to him.
"Headache not subsiding?" he asked. Harry shrugged once more.
"Right. Let's go," Tom said, sounding annoyed.
"Where?" he asked warily.
"Hospital Wing, genius."
As his horror whacked into him at full force, Harry could only think of one thing to say…
"See, I told you that you make remarks that imply I'm thick."
A/N: Thanks for the reviews, hope it's satisfactory (or preferably more, but I won't get my hopes up too high...) and bid you adios for now. I should catch some zeds.