Chapter 58:

Harry was finally released from the hospital wing several days later, after he had been near smothered to death by Madame Pomfrey. And Ron and Hermione for that matter.

They seemed to have taken Tom's instructions that he should be lectured to heart - his best friends now took every opportunity to drill his own worth into his skull.

While this was somewhat nice and reassuring to hear, it was starting to get just a tiny bit annoying. He had heard their arguments the first time, repeating them didn't make them any more convincing. Sure, he understood that they would be upset - not upset, distraught, apparently - if he died, but Harry didn't see how that was actually going to change anything in his attitude. Okay, so they cared about his life because they were his friends and they cared about him, but…that didn't change the fact that he would still happily take a killing curse for them. It wasn't nobility, or a lack of self-worth, it was purely selfish because he wasn't sure he could cope with someone else he loved dying on him.

They just didn't understand that. He was bloody terrified of losing them. His life wasn't worthless, but it was worth less than theirs, to him at least. They weren't happy with that, and Harry couldn't help but feel annoyed that they didn't get it.

Tom hadn't visited him apart from that one time, but Zevi had theorised that it was more because Tom didn't see the point, or how visitation was necessary if it had no effect on his recovery, rather than a lack of interest. He would rather do something useful. Harry was reluctant to admit the theory made sense, if your mind worked in such a distorted way as the young Dark Lord's. He also didn't blame anyone for trying to avoid the white prison.

Either way, now that he was out, he had a couple of questions to ask Tom, which had been bugging him as he lay awake at night (the visions were slowly returning, Harry presumed it was something to do with the paradox, though he wasn't sure what, and that wasn't the point anyway.) He was curious to have the conversation anyway.

He needed to know why Tom hadn't told Voldemort about the horcruxes, as he'd said that the silencing charm had worn off when Harry had blacked out.

He didn't have any lessons with the Slytherin heir until after lunch, when they had Defence against the Dark Arts.

Salazar, he felt so paranoid, irrationally irritated, with a paranoia that only grew as he couldn't help but panic on whether the emotion was actually his or not. He couldn't help fearing that the connection was somehow going to swell to stronger levels, until he could no longer distinguish where he ended and Voldemort, or even Tom, began.

The feverish whispers and pointing, everywhere he went, weren't helping his mood either…they were probably, at a pinch, what was causing his irritation in the first place.

The students seemed to have, if possible, gotten worse in the time he was in the Hospital Wing. The worst part was that no one would confront him about their suspicions or questions openly - they all went quiet, gaping suspiciously, whenever he walked into ear shot. It wasn't even just a few select groups, it was over and over again, a vicious cycle. He probably shouldn't have expected any better from the ravenous public.

At least Hermione had got rid of Skeeter.

Nonetheless, when lunch came, Harry wasn't sure he could stomach the thought of the Great Hall.

He slowed as he, Ron and Hermione approached, uneasy. They both stopped to look at him.

"I'm just going to go to the kitchens," he muttered.

He felt silly avoiding the whisperers, but he just didn't have the energy to deal with it, not yet. They'd had three weeks to get over the deaths of the Hogsmeade raid, he'd had a few days. The loss of life was an open wound, festering and unpredictable, and his temper was already frayed from a morning of people craning their necks to look at him and either glaring or looking doe-eyed. Sickening.

"We'll come with you," Hermione offered immediately, with an understanding smile.

"No need," another voice, Tom, said. A hand took his arm, smoothly. "I can keep him company."

Harry didn't protest, he needed to talk to Tom anyway. Ron sighed heavily, turning and walking silently into the Great Hall in response. Hermione dithered helplessly on the spot for a moment, anguished and torn.

"Go with him," Harry instructed, lightly. "I'll see you guys later."
Hermione nodded, sending Tom a suspicious look, to which the other pulled a smile of pure innocence.

She still didn't believe, after Tom's repeated comments, that his and Tom's relationship was totally platonic, despite his arguments to the contrary.

"We'll see you after lunch," she said pointedly. Harry inclined his head, agreeing, not having time to watch Hermione walk away before Tom had stated a bright "fabulous" and promptly started dragging him in the opposite direction towards the kitchens.

"You know," Harry stated. "I'm not actually hungry."

"Doesn't mean you're not going to eat," Tom replied. "Have you actually ingested anything outside of caffeine today?"

Harry wrinkled his nose.

"Of course I have," he said. "I was with Her, she stands over me hovering until I do." Tom looked amused. "So, I presume you want to talk to me?" Tom wouldn't do this without reason.

"Whatever makes you think I'm not simply seeing that you're fully recovered?" Tom returned.

"Cause you could have done that by coming to the Hospital Wing anytime in the last three days," he replied. Tom waved a dismissive hand.

"Why would I do that? You had ginger and the know-it-all to hold your hand, besides Zevi insisted on telling me everything about your recovery in extensive detail, anyway."

Harry felt a flash of annoyance, distracted momentarily.

"You could at least try and get on with them, you know," he said. Tom raised his brows.

"With ginger and the know-it-all? Why would I want to do that?"

"I suppose saying 'because it would be a nice gesture' wouldn't do anything for you?" he tried.

"How well you know me," Tom smirked. Harry didn't smile.

"I'm serious," he snapped. "It would make things a lot easier if I didn't constantly feel like a piece of rope in a tug-of-war game."

Tom stopped outside the kitchen doors.

"And why would I be interested in making things a lot easier, for you?" he questioned. Harry sneered, before ignoring Tom and tickling the pear.

In the seconds after the door opened, a small force smacked into his leg. Wha-? Dobby.

"Mr Harry Potter, sir! What is you doing here?" the small elf squealed happily. Harry immediately felt guilty for not visiting earlier.

"Hey Dobby, how are you? How's Winky? I was - we were - wondering if we could get something to eat. I don't really want to be in the Great Hall today. And it's Harry," he added uselessly, knowing the elf probably wasn't going to pay attention to that.

"Of course, anything, sir," the elf said enthusiastically.

A moment later several platters were offered up to them, and Dobby took a step back, babbling about his socks and the general life at Hogwarts. Then the elf looked at who 'Harry Potter's friend was.' The change was instantaneous, the cheerful elf deflated, eyes widening, lower lip trembling.

Tom ignored it, taking the food with a nod to the other house elves and walking out again. Harry hesitated.

"It's a long story," he offered, disregarding Tom's shout for him to 'come on.' "Thank you for the food."

Dobby was studying him with an uncharacteristically solemn expression on his wizened, wrinkly little face. There was understanding too, merciful understanding that neither Ron or Hermione had ever shown in regards to why he spent time with Tom.

"I hopes you knows what you are doing," the elf whispered.

Harry took that as a dismissal, leaving the kitchen, making a mental note to visit again soon. Tom seemed slightly impatient when he walked out, though he merely offered him a roll.

Harry took it, and they walked along in silence, before dropping to sit in an empty classroom.

It wasn't the most glamorous of picnic spots, but Harry suspected that Tom was as aware that Harry was here because he wanted to talk about something, as Harry was that Tom was here because he wanted something too.

"Who's the elf?" Tom asked finally.

"Dobby, he's a friend of mine," Harry said, jutting his chin out in defiance. Tom's mouth twisted into something like a smile, but without the genuine warmth.

"Figures," was all he said.

Harry chewed carefully on his roll as he regarded the other. Tom was staring back just intently, rules for social norms forgotten and cast aside like junk.

"You look tired," Harry noted.

"So do you," Tom returned. "Nightmares?"

"Visions," he replied, noting the lines of Tom's jaw tighten slightly. "You didn't tell him," he continued after a moment. "About the…" he trailed off. Horcruxes. "Why not?"

"What makes you think I didn't?" Tom dared, resting back on his hands, assessing. "You were unconscious." Harry paused, thinking it over.

"You didn't," he repeated, firmly, though he suddenly wasn't so sure. "Did you?" he jolted upright at the thought, glaring at the other.

A lazy smirk tugged across Tom's lips as he too leaned forwards.

"What would you do if I did?" the Slytherin Heir dared, close now.

"Hospitalize you," Harry replied, without skipping a beat. "I don't want him to know."

"I gathered that from the silencing charm," Tom said dryly. "Why not? Why don't you want him to know? Ashamed? Does the idea of my soul repulse you?"

Harry suddenly felt just slightly trapped.

"Did you tell him or not?" he demanded. Tom laughed, not entirely pleasantly.

"No, so you can relax, golden boy." Harry felt his muscles loosen marginally.

"Then why did you make me think you did?" he questioned, annoyed. Tom shrugged.

"You're fun to bait."

Harry scowled.

"So why didn't you tell him?" he asked again, starting to lose patience.

"Curious?"

"Yes!" Harry exploded. "So bloody well tell me already, you smug git."

"Eloquent," Tom remarked. Harry narrowed his eyes, moving to pack the stuff away. The Great Hall seemed preferable to this. "Oh don't sulk, sunshine, I'll tell you," Tom said, rolling his eyes.

Harry paused, turning to face the other again. "But first, I want you to guess," Harry recognised the challenge and appraised the other carefully. "And think aloud while you're at it," Tom added.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because it's interesting to listen to," Tom said. Harry rolled his eyes, but complied, knowing he was unlikely to get the answers he really needed without it.

"Okay, um…well, you didn't tell him at first because I silenced you, but you were going to, so something obviously changed." Harry thought back furiously. "He was about to kill me…you were buying time, but then Voldemort decided he wanted to kill me the long, painful way, rather than immediately, so you lost your incentive to tell him?" he offered. "Are you going to tell me if I'm right?" Tom made a keep-talking motion with his hand. Harry chewed his lip in thought. "I'm drawing a blank, you might have to tell me," he said.

"You know the answer," Tom said, gaze intent. Harry's brow furrowed. This was another test, wasn't it? The food was discarded around them.

Cautiously, oh so cautiously, he focussed on the connection he normally struggled so hard to avoid. He noticed Tom smirk slightly.

"Cheating, my dear? How unsporting of you," the young Dark Lord stated, though he didn't sound…or feel…particularly angry, more mocking.

Harry didn't reply, concentrating on the faint emotion: burning curiosity, fascination, pleasure and…possessiveness. There was a lot of something that could be considered possessiveness.

Then it clicked. And he wasn't happy with the answer.

"You don't like sharing," he realised, incredulous. "Even with him - note, again, that I'm a person not a possession." Harry paused. "Is that why you're against Ron and Hermione, you know they were there first, right?" He couldn't quite get over his shock.

"My horcrux," Tom smirked, as if that excused it. "You seem to be taking this remarkably well."

"Don't take it as a sign of surrender, it's only because of the overwhelming relief that Voldemort doesn't know about this that I'm not screaming at you. Just because you like the idea of being kept alive for all eternity, I don't. Especially when it involves an eternity of smothering and torture."

"Well, if you don't like what you hear from me, the best solution would probably be to stop prying," Tom commented lightly.

"Oh, and just let you get along with your evil plans that I apparently wouldn't like in peace? Society would crumble."

Tom chuckled.

"Ever the cynic, you don't believe I would make a good world leader?"

"Is that what you're planning? World domination?" he questioned, warily. Tom didn't reply, and Harry knew he couldn't take that as confirmation or denial, when it could be either one just as easily. "I think you'd make an excellent world leader," he said finally. "I just don't think it would be the type of world I'd, or 90% of the population, would want to live in."

"Ouch," Tom put a hand over his heart. "That hurts. Right here."

"Yes, empty spaces are known to ache when something's supposed to be there. People get phantom limbs too," Harry smirked.

Tom flicked a hex in his direction, which he swiftly dodged, still grinning. The smile faded after a moment.

"So, what did you want to talk to me about? We have defence against the Dark Arts in ten."

A/N: Another long chapter; am I on a roll? Thank you so so much for all the amazing reviews I've been reading. They make me go fan girl…well, author girl, smiling whenever I read them! And, which you guys probably care more about, makes me do more super fast updates. Hope you enjoy this one as much as the others - The Fictionist.

PS: Review challenge on for 900 :)

PPS: I need to think of something special to celebrate 1000 reviews, if I get there, with you guys...any ideas?