Chapter 64:
It was odd, he'd expected an almost immediate confrontation with Lestrange, but there wasn't one.
It was stupid of him to expect an immediate change in the other's actions due to the fact that he'd had that conversation with Tom, because obviously Lestrange didn't know about it, so therefore had no real reason to suddenly and drastically force confrontation, but still. It was disconcerting.
He'd agreed to go the Little Hangleton with Tom, though the thought scared him more than he would admit aloud. He hadn't ever expected to return there after fourth year, he hadn't wanted to, he still wasn't particularly favourable to the idea. But he was going anyway. It must have meant something to Tom to actually flat out request something like that, with the possibility of rejection.
He was in Divination class with Ron, none of his-the past Slytherins took Divination, but Draco was also there, across the class room.
He got on better with the younger Malfoy now, after the whole thing with the Rememberall.
Ron didn't.
He couldn't help but note that the blonde looked miserable beneath his pureblood mask. Harry would have been miserable if he only had Crabbe and Goyle for company too.
His head was throbbing. Really throbbing.
The strong incenses around the room were overwhelming, suffocating, and the smell of Sherry didn't help matters as Trelawney wafted around them.
He couldn't concentrate.
Ron was staring at him with concern, but he focussed on not being sick, on thinking through the fog. Trelawney was gushing at Parvati's work, her voice sounding shrill and ringing in his ears. He slumped down further. Oh god his head.
If this was Tom's doing he was going to kill the bastard.
"Harry, you alright there, mate?" Ron asked, lowly, leaning across the crystal balls cluttering their table. "You look kinda green."
"I'm fine," he said faintly, offering a smile.
Ron didn't look the slightest bit convinced.
The next second, the pain exploded into epic proportions, as if someone had just whacked a sledgehammer at his skull.
A moan slipped past his lips, his fingers carding furiously into his hair, tugging, desperate to somehow alleviate the sensation.
It faded after a moment, leaving him breathless with relief, only to start again, like waves. It was then that he realised what was happening.
Voldemort was mentally attacking the Occlumency barriers Tom had put up in his head, what seemed so long ago.
A sense of panic bursting into his chest; he wasn't ready for this, his Occlumency sucked. He could do nothing but try and ride it out The next attack almost made him pass out, and he stood up shakily. He had to get out of the classroom, while he could still think to do so.
"Potter," it was Malfoy, his face stark white with terror, his voice cracking.
"Not now," he croaked, placing a hand to his head, staggering out. It was hot and sticky, he yanked it back to see his fingers were smeared crimson.
Oh shit. His scar was bleeding. That was why Malfoy was panicking.
He could sense the other students murmuring now, sickly excited, and hear Trelawney gasp and Ron curse loudly.
"Oi, go back to your work," his best friend ordered, roughly.
The next second, someone - two people - were gripping each of his arms, keeping him upright. He could barely see, blinded by agony.
He knew it had barely even started. Voldemort was pissed. He knew now that he'd been played. Somewhere, distantly, Harry could feel relief that this confrontation would soon be over with, and a reluctant thought that Voldemort hadn't take very long to catch up to what they had done. He'd expected as much. Voldemort did still originate from Tom, and Tom was a genius.
He looked to each of his sides - Ron and…Draco? If he was in a more coherent state, he would have commented that miracles could happen, as the two sworn enemies appears to be working together.
As it was, he focussed on keeping his feet moving one in front of his other, trying not to succumb and fall into Voldemort's mind, lest he shatter the barrier completely. It was crumbling, he could tell that much, crumbling fast. The next wave had his knees buckling beneath him, as he stumbled to lean against the wall.
"Harry?" Ron's voice was high with panic.
"M'okay," he mumbled. "M-aah," he trailed off into swearing, clenching down on his tongue. There was copper in his mouth.
For a few moments, all he was aware of was coldness, the surfaces around him, pressing against his body. He was lying across the floor now, un-remembering of when exactly that had happened, but he didn't mind. The floor felt so nice and cold against his skin.
"What do we do?" Draco was repeating. "Potter - Harry - what do you want us to do?"
He groaned, curling in on himself, not replying.
He could hear screaming, tortured screams, it was only minutes later that he realised they were his own, echoed further by the corridor. A tear slipped humiliatingly from his eye, but he laughed, wildly. The barrier was still holding up, just about, and Voldemort was angry. They'd hit a nerve.
"Harry, please," Ron said, shaking him lightly. "We need to get you Madame Pomfrey, what's happening? Is it him?"
"For Salazar's sake, don't shake him - he's already in pain-" Draco snapped.
"-I know he's in bloody pain you git," Ron snarled back. "What do you suggest we do then, if you're so clever!"" Harry winced at the loud volume. Tom. He wanted Tom.
"What was that?" the next second Ron was leaning closer, almost in his face. "Riddle? What the hell do you want him for? If he's done this to you-" Ron began dangerously, protectively.
"Of course he's not doing it," Draco sneered, "Honestly, haven't you watched them together at all? Do you know what class he's got - Harry?"
More pain, so intense he could concentrate on nothing else.
He could sense that Dark presence even clearer now. Tom was good at Occlumency…but his, and as an extension Voldemort's, legilimency was even stronger. Cracks were beginning to show in his defences, small chinks that he could feel the invading mind forcing wider, into gaping holes of which to enter through. It felt like his mind was being torn apart. It was being torn apart.
He couldn't think - he - he didn't know how much time had passed - he - he didn't think there was any point getting Tom. If the paradox was failing, it wasn't like he could do anything, this was just going to be even more humiliating…and yet…
"Harry?" it was a new voice. A
familiar voice, and old voices - Ron's? - were being shoved out of the way and replaced. This new voice was soft, mercifully soft and quiet, yet so loud.
Tom. It was Tom. He'd actually come. Harry didn't understand…Tom could feel his emotions. Coming this close was going to hurt, even if it wasn't to the extent Harry was under.
Tom swore.
Somewhere a bell rang, or maybe it wasn't a bell, he couldn't tell much of anything anymore. Footsteps pounding beneath his head…or maybe that was his heartbeat.
Fingers, cold fingers, closed around his, pulling them away from his head. He struggled against it…pressing tightly helped a little, something physical to ground him from the mental invasion.
"Harry - Harry let me see," the voice was commanding, firm, and he instantly obeyed it, his fingers peeling away. He could hear horror from somewhere, but knew it wasn't the figure in front of him.
Who was it - oh - oh yes. It was Tom. Why was Tom here? This was going to hurt him too.
"You're lucky I'm not squeamish," the Slytherin heir remarked, the hands on his face became insistent…not letting him be swallowed by the peaceful blackness. "Okay, look at me, Harry, come on, that's it, let me see those glaring green eyes…" he cracked one eye open slightly, the world spinning around him.
"There we go…" Tom said, sounding just the tiniest bit patronising.
Harry wanted to say he wasn't a child, but couldn't find the words.
"If this isn't a breaking point, I don't know what is…focus on me, okay? Focus on blocking him out, push against, fight it, whatever feels natural, but don't let him in, are you doing that?" the voice demanded.
Who? Tom. It was still Tom. What was happening?
Oh, yes, he was forcing his way into the Potter boy's mind, the insolent child. How dare he try and make a fool of the Great Lord Voldemort. Horcrux indeed. It seemed Tom, the nuisance, had left some traces of his presence, but it was nothing that he couldn't overcome. He was stronger than the teenager he'd been…no.
That wasn't right.
He was Harry, wasn't he? Rage pulsed along his blood stream, affection. Tom was still blocking his mind…ha ha…Tom Riddle, the mental guardian. Hilarious.
"Tom?" he murmured.
"Who else?" Tom replied dryly. He would have replied, but the pain was peaking again.
His hands shot to his head, only to be grabbed and pinned to his side, he struggled against it, but couldn't move, surrounding by something…arms…rocking him slightly. A cold voice in his head.
So weak. So pathetic. Can't even protect his own mind…the audacity…kill someone. He didn't want to kill anyone.
"Harry, Harry please, you have to fight him…" Hermione was there too.
When had Hermione got here? She was too loud, screaming, was she screaming? Someone was screaming?
Oh. It was him. Who else was here? Who was holding him? Tom. When had Tom got here?
Ha…Tom was actually deigning to near hug him.
"God damn you," a voice hissed, near his ear, the breath tickling. "Are you even trying in there? Put a bit of effort into this you lazy slacker. You're ruining my reputation here…I probably look absolutely ridiculous…and you're bleeding all over my shirt…that's two shirts you owe me now, you do realise…"
Harry laughed at that. The cold voice faded back slightly.
"Hey, he's stopped screaming!" Someone noticed, excitedly.
Stopped screaming? So happiness was good then? Being happy meant no more pain. He needed to be happy. What…what was happy? He was so tired.
"Hey, hey, stop that," the voice was back, demanding. "I didn't say you could take a break…don't you dare pass out on me. Think of all the rumours that would go around if you swooned on me, you wouldn't want that, do you?"
No, he wouldn't. It could be quite funny though. He felt laughter swelling in his chest.
People did seem awfully keen to think he was gay. He wasn't though…he'd liked Cho. Cho was pretty. Cho cried too much. 'Cause of Cedric.
Happy…why should he be happy when he killed Cedric? The voice in his head was growing stronger again, clawing at his memories like it was a rope ladder.
Pain. But not mental pain. A different pain. His arm. His left arm. It was burning. Burning like fire. Like Red Hot chilli Peppers. But they didn't burn. Except in your mouth.
The pain in his head was flinching away, away from the heat…except there wasn't really heat.
There was…blackness.
Why was it always him?
A/N: I hope you like the chapter. Thank you so so much for the reviews =) They seem to have got me in the habit of super fast updates, despite the fact there is work I should be doing. I will find the balance.
The 'slash' thingy is now up as chapter 12 of Destiny's Darling, if you're interested. I hope you like that too. Please give me some feedback, first time trying that angle. I think, from the comments I've got on it so far, that has generally been quite well received. Yay! Success…are you guys looking forward to my reaching 2000 reviews now? ;)PS: Another question, another plot twist thingy question…I can go two ways with this story. Do you want me to go the way in which we'd now be half way through, or the way in which we'd be quarter of the way through? (ISH)
Anyway, bye. Hope you liked it. =)