Chapter 49:
Harry slowly sank back into his seat at Dumbledore's explanation.
Horcruxes. Part of a soul trapped in an object, creating a pseudo immortality.
Oh god, it all made a horrible sort of sense. Hadn't Tom even said something to him about being the 'original' soul? How could he have not questioned that? Stupid.
It would explain why and how Tom changed from Tom to well, Voldemort. Currently, sure there were similarities between the two of them, alarming similarities which never failed to send shivers dancing like devils up his spine, but there were also noticeable differences. Not just in appearance. Salazar.
"So you think Voldemort has made a…horcrux? He's immortal?" He demanded, trying not to let his voice shake.
It was horrific. It was just too horrible to even imagine. Dumbledore might call this dark magic, but it went way beyond that. This magic was old, and black and absolutely tainted. To split the soul…that was wrong. Seriously, genuinely wrong. He felt sick.
Dumbledore appeared grave as he rooted through his desks before pulling out a rather familiar diary.
"I believe he's made several," the Headmaster stated. Several? "I knew the moment you brought me this that this was a different type of magic, very dark, very powerful."
"Several?" he repeated. Dumbledore nodded.
"I need more evidence, but I believe so, yes."
Harry blinked.
"He said, at the graveyard, that he'd travelled further, experimented more than any other wizard…something like that. He could have been talking about horcruxes."
They sat in silence.
"So, if we destroy the horcruxes, we destroy Voldemort -" he stopped. Nausea clawed up his throat with monstrous talons. "How can you…tell if something is a horcux? Does it have to be an inanimate object or?" Dumbledore stared at him, startled. Harry closed his eyes. Shit. Oh shit. "Is that why I have to do it sir? Cause I'm a horcrux? Can only Voldemort destroy his horcruxes? And I'm - sir, I'm a parselmouth."
His mouth felt dry. Dumbledore's head tilted, it seemed as if he were furiously thinking something through. Harry just wanted an immediate denial. He felt filthy.
"Yes, that is why," Dumbledore leaned forward, eyes blazing with sorrow. "You understand why I didn't want to tell you my dear boy…you are so young." Harry swallowed thickly. So what? He killed the horcruxes and then killed himself?
He wasn't even a bloody soldier, he was a sacrifice. He needed to talk to Tom. Wait, no, he couldn't do that! What if that conversation was the one that gave him the idea of horcruxes in the first place? How could he even start such a conversation?
"I-I need time to think," he said, rising numbly. Dumbledore scrawled him a pass for his missed class. The door was unlocked once more.
"Harry," Dumbledore spoke up, quietly. He paused, outside the door. "It's not Voldemort who started making horcruxes. It's Tom." He was silent for a moment.
"Goodbye, professor."
***FATE'S FAVOURITE***
He entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, halfway through the lecture. Carrow sneered at him as he walked in.
"I've got a pass from the headmaster," he said flatly, to pre-empt her no doubt snide remark. Her lips pursed as she took the note, reading it, before scrunching it irately in her hand. The whole class was alight with whispers and stolen glances in his direction. Not looking at anyone, he simply dropped into an empty seat at an empty desk in the back corner of the room.
Right now, he really didn't want the cliché pressure and catwalk style gawping as he weaved his way down the aisles to sit either by Tom or Ron and Hermione. It was too much of a statement of alliance either way, and he was TRYING to be grey.
His left arm throbbed, the snake twisting into existence and hissing questions at him. He didn't care to reply, or look up.
Peevishly, Carrow called attention back to the front of the room and her lecture on the defensive and offensive uses of freezing spells.
On auto pilot, he took out parchment and a quill, but didn't tune in to take notes, staring intently down at the table. He could sense Ron and Hermione trying to catch his eye every now and again, but pretended to be oblivious. The throbbing in his arm grew distinctly more painful as he continued to ignore that too. His things were already packed once more by the time the bell rang for break.
There was a bustling around him, one that he felt both hyperaware of and dull to at the same time. His insides felt awash with ice. Every now and then, he caught his fingers compulsively digging nails into his own arms, marked by crimson beads and a slight stinging sensation.
He started for the door. The next second, it felt like he'd rammed into a wall - or, at least, his arm had. It was as if a vice had clamped round it, preventing him from going further.
Actually, he didn't know if he was being fantastically paranoid, but he could have sworn he'd felt the smallest leash-like tug that he should come back. The Slytherins reached him at the same time Ron and Hermione did. He could practically feel Tom's irritation at that. Oh god, feel it. Horcrux. The nails tightened again.
"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, distressed. Her hand closed on his, tugging his fingers away from each other. Nail marks, so similar to those that disguised Tom's snake on his arm, glared up at them from the whiteness of his skin. "What's wrong?" she demanded. "What did Professor Dumbledore say?"
"I'm fine. It's nothing," he replied. His words sounded lame even to himself, and Zevi's Snape-esque arch of the brow confirmed it.
He tried to continue walking again, only to find his arm still locked in place.
He glanced at Tom, infuriated. The other gave no reaction, no change in countenance, but Harry could somehow sense the air of mockery, the challenge. Normally, Tom would have eased off at this point, having proved that he could pull Harry around on puppet strings and make him go along with things, if he wanted to.
This time, the pressure didn't yield. This time, Tom was feeling particularly inquisitive (and why had that earlier seemed like a good thing?) and not particularly happy with him. This time, Tom had no qualms about forcing his dominance, his control.
He wanted to tell Tom to let go, but that would mean admitting to the mark, and hadn't told anyone about it. Of course, he could always say it in parseltongue but…horcrux. That was why he could speak Parseltongue. That was probably why he was reasonably good with Dark Arts. Hell, how was he supposed to know what was him rather than Voldemort? His fingers curled and Hermione tightened her grip on his arm.
"Harry, you're not bloody fine!" Ron said angrily, worriedly. Everything seemed to building up, his stress levels rocketed up to boiling point. Screw nobody knowing.
"Later," he told Tom. "We're not doing this now." Tom was hardly one for yielding, he wasn't in the habit of making concessions. Yet, with Harry, he was normally willing to compromise, so would agree to later, right? That was a compromise. That was how they worked. Tom got his way (unless Harry himself particularly cared, because then he would concede to anything) but Harry got a 'rare' concession. It worked. Tom's eyes were hard.
"Yes, we are," he replied. Harry resisted the urge to swear. Yeah, Tom was in a really bad, stubborn mood. The problem was he wasn't being 'biopolar', so Harry couldn't use that. He had no ground.
When he gave no response Tom smirked before walking away. Harry could feel the mark tugging at his very bones, burning. If Tom got any further away, he was going to end up being psychically dragged along behind him if it didn't ease up. Bloody Bastard. He hoped he wasn't expected to keep his temper.
"Let's go, golden boy," Tom called over his shoulder. Harry's fists clenched.
"I'll see you guys later," he told Ron and Hermione, tightly. "You'll give evidence of this when I'm tried for his murder, right?" They started to speak, but he was already walking to catching up with Tom.
"Ease up, asshole, you're about to rip my arm off," he hissed.
"In." Tom opened the door to an empty classroom.
This was an unfairly horrible day. It wasn't even Halloween.
A/N: Well, here you go. I hope you liked it/like it. Mucho thanks for your amazing reviews, they're inspiring. My internet access is limited, so my updates may become even more irregular than they already are for the summer. Apologies.
Review Challenge: Because I am so inspired, and because I haven't updated Destiny's Darling in ages, I have decided that on every 100th review (next one is 700, and oh my god, aaah, 700 reviews! Wow) will get to give me a (non slash) scenario to write regarding this fic/universe. If you want to take it up, you don't have to. But I thought it would be fun.
Okay, bye.
PS: Yes, I still haven't shut up. Sorry. Question; Do you want Fate's Favourite to have a happy ending? Cause I'm hitting a possible turning point within the next chapters?