Parseltongue
Chapter 60:
Tom's wand was also out in an instant, as he blocked the spell rushing towards him.
"Harry, be reasonable-" Riddle started.
Harry ignored it, sending another spell, which Tom dodged, before sending a volley back. Harry started to dodge too, before realising with horror that the invisible clamp, the mark, was still keeping his arm locked in place.
He blocked in the last second, smashing the curse back to its caster. He tried not to panic at the thought that his usual duelling style, based more on movement than shielding (though his shields were strong too) was obsolete. His seeker reflexes were of no aid when he didn't have space to move.
He sent back an even more determined blast of magic, which Tom disintegrated as it approached him, sending it back in the form of a disarming spell.
"Both of you stop it!" Hermione shrieked, trying to get between them. "This isn't the time -" his best friend drew her wand as a curse narrowly missed her, pointing it at Tom.
"Hermione-" Harry snarled. "Get out of the way!"
"No," she said stubbornly. "Can't you see this stupid? V-Voldemort's outside and you two want to start trying to kill each oth-" a parseltongue stunner hit her chest on, causing her to stumble back in surprise, before dropping.
Non parselmouth's couldn't block spells cast in snake language, Harry didn't know why, but it was really useful. Except when he was duelling Tom - then it was much like if they'd been duelling in English, regardless of their changes in language.
"Hermione!" he tried to take a step towards her, but the mark tugged him back, right as another spell slammed past his shields. Some dark curses were also not blocked by simple shield charms, however strong.
His wand clattered out of his hand, his knees hitting the floor, his body falling and…stopped just before impact with the ground. A hand rested firmly on his shoulder, keeping him upright.
"Hero complex," a voice murmured, chidingly, close to his ear, the breath tickling and warm. "You're a powerful wizard, Harry, and a formidable dueller…but even you can't fight me when confined to a square metre of movement."
"You don't fight fair," Harry hissed.
"I know," Tom said softly, switching to English once more, leaning back slightly. "Now, are you done with the temper tantrum?"
In response, Harry drew back with his fist and punched. Tom made a noise of pain as the blow made impact with his stomach, before reaching a hand to catch hold of Harry's free wrist (the one not trapped by the mark), so tightly that he could feel his bones grind together.
"That was foolish of you," the Slytherin Heir commented, no longer sounding quite so forgiving or friendly. Harry merely bared his teeth in reply, glaring from his somewhat humiliating kneeling position. Tom was crouched in front of him, same level, eyes dark and intent.
"Let go of me," Harry growled.
"What?" Tom arched his brows. "So you can attack me again? I don't think so, hero. No, you're going to listen to me explain my actions."
"What's there to explain?" he snapped. "You lied to my face, you knocked out my best friend-"
"Saved your life," Tom added, in a helpful, dangerous tone of voice.
"You told Voldemort I was a horcrux!"
"I know. I was there," Tom stated, sounding irritated now. Harry shook his head, incredulous.
"And you don't see anything wrong with that?" he demanded. "No, of course you don't, you're a psychopath who doesn't give a damn about anyone else-"
"Silencio." Harry felt his words die in his throat, no sound coming out, and shut his mouth in a thin, hard line.
"Frustrating, isn't it?" Tom mocked. Harry narrowed his eyes. "Would you like me to put the rest of you in a body bind while we're here, too? Or are you going to sit nicely and behave?" The other paused, mouth curling cruelly, before he added. "You can blink twice for yes and three times for no."
Harry wanted to ask how many times he had to blink for 'go screw yourself'. Tom waited for a moment, before questioning:
"Do you really want to make this more difficult for yourself? I'm trying to help you out here."
Harry sighed, silently. Why did Tom have to be so confusing? He wasn't supposed to be considerate in his own twisted way while simultaneously holding him on his knees after betraying him to Voldemort. It made his head hurt.
"Do you?" Tom demanded harshly, shaking him when he didn't answer. Harry finally blinked three times, his jaw clenched angrily. No, he didn't want to make this more difficult.
"Okay, good," Tom said, loosening his grip.
Harry glanced down at his wrist…he could already feel the finger shaped bruises tingling beneath his skin, ready to rise and mar his flesh purple and yellow and green.
Tom pointed his wand at it, causing Harry to stiffen, and Tom to pause at his reaction, studying him, before muttering a smell. The next second, his wrist felt cold, iced. He felt even more confused. Then those pale, long fingered hands moved to his temples, and he jerked back, but Tom merely tightened his grip slightly, anticipating the movement.
What was he doing? Harry opened his mouth to ask, heart thudding a hammer and nails rhythm against his rib cage. Tom caught his gaze.
"I'm showing you the memory of what happened after you blacked out, it won't hurt you."
The next second, all the world but Tom's hands on his head faded away.
He was on the battlefield, watching it happen, noticing the confrigo rebound back in his direction, knowing this was where everything went black for him. He looked to see Tom, the non memory Tom, standing next to him, watching the scene before them, and turned his head around again to observe.
Tom…the memory Tom…lunged forwards, catching hold of him…the memory of him (god, that was confusing!) and cradling him close, stopping him from falling, glaring at his elder self. Harry's chest…his chest…was in tatters, blood everywhere. Harry wasn't surprised his heart stopped.
"Fix him," Tom demanded, harshly. "You said you didn't want him dead."
Voldemort laughed, coldly.
"I have no objection," the snake faced man hissed, "if he happens to die."
"He's a horcrux," Tom stated flatly. For the briefest second, Voldemort lost his composure, red eyes flashing with shock and wonder and possessiveness, before hatred won out, a sneer crawling across the lipless mouth.
"I have plenty of other, better ones," Voldemort replied.
"Five," Tom said coldly. "The diary is destroyed, and soon Harry will be too, if you don't help me! And I assure you, if you let him die you'll quickly find those remaining five dropping to zero."
"You dare -" Voldemort began, before starting to circle the two of them on the floor, predatory.
Harry noticed Tom glance down at him, hand fluttering across his pulse points to find traces of his heart beat with a slight panic. This must have been about the time his heart stopped.
"So weak," Voldemort spat, ignoring the Death Eaters who were shifting uneasily at the prolonged conversation of parseltongue. "Can't you see he makes you weak? Look at you, boy…sitting in the dirt. It's pathetic."
"Then by all means, let him die," Tom murmured, eyes venomous. "Get rid of my weakness, my only weakness mind, make me invincible, oh do," Tom's lips were drawn back over his teeth, more animalistic than human, his last pleads dripping with sarcasm and something else. "But bear in mind, gramps, that you will be the first person I come after. I will bring your world to the ground." Tom paused. "And we both know I could."
There was a moment of silence, so loud it could have been a scream.
"Fix him. Now."
Voldemort looked disinterested, with traces of fury flickering like serpent tongues in his aura, before he beckoned a nameless, faceless Death Eater over.
All Harry could tell was that she was female, with sweeping blonde hair. He vaguely recognised her from somewhere. Tom's grip on him tightened, possessively, causing the women to pause, before she continued, beginning to work on healing him. Tom's jaw was rigid.
"My lord-" a dark, curly haired death Eater began, tremulously. "What are you doing?"
Voldemort didn't answer her, staring down at the three of them. Tom was paying the Dark Lord only inches from him absolutely no heed, until he spoke again.
"He won't thank you for this," Voldemort sneered. "And he won't stay once he finds out you told me about his…condition. He's no different to anyone else. The only person you can trust is me."
Tom glanced up, expression unreadable, but didn't comment, turning his attention back to the blonde Death Eater's work. Harry saw Voldemort looked noticeably irate at this casual dismissal.
"He'll understand," Tom said, finally, causing Voldemort's sneer to deepen. Tom looked up sharply. "He'll understand," he repeated. "He's mine."
And with the shouts of people approaching; the memory faded out once more.
Harry felt himself land back in reality, staring at Tom's face.
The other slowly removed his fingers from Harry's temples, studying him carefully. Harry pulled his knees to his chest, his mind spinning. He could see Tom's reasoning, and knew some would consider his reaction to be irrational, or over the top, but he'd…it would have been better if Tom had just flat out told him, rather than a play a charade and lie.
It was the endless, remorseless lying he couldn't stand.
He felt distinctly awkward, absently running his hand across his arm when the mark released it back to his side. Tom was still watching him.
Harry had reacted just like Voldemort had said he would…Salazar, bile clawed up his throat.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, avoiding Tom's gaze. Tom shrugged, seemingly carelessly.
"Why are you so scared of him knowing?" the Slytherin heir asked after a moment.
That was the big question, wasn't it?
Harry shifted uncomfortably, stretching his legs out. They clicked all too loudly in the quiet of the room.
He knew he should be rushing to confront Voldemort, but this conversation…seemed important. Even if he didn't like to openly admit it, he cared enough of Tom's opinion, all of his banter and apparent lack of respect aside, to be able to run away in good conscience.
"I-" his throat felt dry. "I couldn't see his reaction, Voldemort's, that is. If it was like yours…" he swallowed thickly, examining his fingers with more attention than strictly necessary. "He can't be like you. At all."
His explanation felt weak, stupid, he couldn't put it into words to express the utter terror of it all.
"Even if he wasn't like you, him keeping me alive for an eternity of torture, never killing me…I can't face that." He looked up at Tom, his thoughts a mess. "I'd rather just die." T
om's eyes were boring into his skull, as if the other were lifting his thoughts out of his head. With a flash of insight, he realised that when Tom looked like he was performing legilimency on him, but wasn't, that he could be using the connection to pinpoint emotions.
"I-" he tried again to explain, probably sounding like a total moron with all of his stopping and starting. "I hate him," he said fiercely. "You know that, already, don't you? I hate Voldemort, I hate what he's done and I hate what he stands for…if he reacts like you, when I have to…I have to kill him, Tom.. Apparently, I'm the only one who can, and…I can't just let him destroy the world and keep hurting people…if he's like you…I can't…I can't do that so easily."
He couldn't just kill Tom, he never had been able, not since he'd found Tom wasn't Voldemort, and that inability was only growing the more Harry got to the know the bizarre, brilliant, damaged wizard in front of him
. He felt increasingly nervous when Tom just stared at him, not replying, but resisted the urge to clear his throat or give his anxiety away so easily. Instead, he raised his brows.
"Hello?" he asked. "Anyone in there?" Tom smirked slightly at that.
"God, we're messed up," the Slytherin Heir stated finally. Harry felt a laugh startle out of him. Tom's head tilted to one side "Do you really think it's your job to get rid of Voldemort?" he questioned.
"Me and everyone else in Britain," Harry said, shrugging, trying to ignore how odd it felt to be talking about defeating Voldemort with Tom.
"Yes, well everyone else in Britain we're a couple," Tom reminded dryly. Harry snorted. There was a moment of silence, as his thoughts turned to the Dark Lord outside at this very moment. His scar ached.
"He planned this," Harry realised. Tom glanced at him.
"What?" he asked.
"Voldemort," Harry clarified. "He planned this. He knew how I'd react…he wanted us to-" he searched for the right word.
"Break up with each other?" Tom offered. Harry smirked, shaking his head. It worked as well as any other way of putting it, he supposed. Or maybe Tom's twisted humour was growing on him.
"Yeah…your first time getting dumped," he added, innocently, causing Tom to narrow his eyes. Harry grinned.
"It would be the other way round, sweetheart," Tom said. "I can assure you of that."
"I punched you, I tried to walk out… so you got…" he trailed off at Tom's expression, smothering laughter.
"Shut up."
"Shutting…" Harry said, glancing at Hermione, the amusement draining from him. "So, Voldemort, give him in hell?"
"Give him hell," Tom agreed.
They rose.
A/N: Another quick update! And a longer one too…but, admittedly, it's because I have been writing ahead for the last couple of chapters, cause I've had free time and inspiration. It will probably stop either now or tomorrow, because my holiday is ending, so I won't be as bored or with as much free time.
I hope you guys still like story, I personally like this chapter, though I wasn't sure on the last one. And wow, is this is a miracle? I actually don't hate one of my chapters!
Thanks for the reviews, they are much appreciated. I love reviews, they keep me writing this story =)
PS: Anyone feel like returning the favour with recommendations for a good story? Just no OCs, or Self Inserts, they annoy the hell out of me. And with Harry as one of the main characters. Cheers. But don't feel pressured.