Chapter 66:
It was about a week before Christmas when Harry and Tom snuck out of the castle to go to Little Hangleton.
Harry had eventually decided on getting Hermione a necklace with lots of protective charms woven into it, including those he'd added himself. He could only cross his fingers and hope she liked it.
He was a tangle of nerves, a mess that he couldn't smoothen out or undo no matter how much he struggled with it. The thought of Little Hangleton froze the blood within his veins to crimson ice. Tom seemed subdued too, his eyes cast in darkness. Their bickering had faded into nothingness, non existent.
"So, how are we getting there?" Harry asked quietly.
"I've organised a Portkey," Tom said.
Harry swallowed slightly. Right. Portkey. Because that held no similarity to last time at all. He didn't reply, not trusting himself to speak, simply nodding in acknowledgment. His heart pounded.
"It better not be a bloody cup," he tried finally, weakly, anything to break the silence. Tom's lips curved fractionally, but there was no other response.
Harry clenched his fingers around his wand, but reached out to take the portkey when Tom offered it. It was a packet of muggle playing cards. With a yank at the navel, and a spinning sensation, they were gone.
Harry landed with a thud, spread-eagled gracelessly on the ground, the smell of grass in his nostrils. He dreaded looking up, irrationally terrified that they would be the graveyard.
"Do get up, you look like an idiot," Tom murmured. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, mentally trying to steel himself like he'd been doing all week. It wasn't working.
Gathering the scraps of his Gryffindor bravery, he opened his eyes, lifting his head.
It was the sodding graveyard.
Was Tom doing this on purpose?
His muscles stiffened.
"Lovely spot you've picked," he commented, scrambling warily to his feet.
"It's the only place where we wouldn't be seen by the villagers, if they were looking," Tom replied, without inflection, though those eyes studied him ruthlessly, as if picking all the secrets out of his head. "We would have come here anyway."
Harry's chest felt tight, and he plunged his hands deep into his pockets to hide the way they curled and uncurled into relentless fists. Shaking. His jaw was clenched, his eyes flicking around the scene.
Noting difference. Searching for differences. Needing them. Finding only similarities.
What was he doing here? Why was he putting himself through this? Nausea rolled in his stomach. He knew why. Tom. It was always Tom. Of course it was for him. The bastard.
Seemingly satisfied that he wasn't going to faint or anything, Tom's gaze darted away from his, his footsteps careful as he wandered around the graveyard.
Harry felt a lurching in his gut.
This was Tom's Godric's Hollow. This was where his parents were buried…the parents he'd grown up to murder.
Harry trailed after him, silent, desperately wondering why he was here.
Why had Tom asked him to come?
They stopped in front of the grave of Tom Riddle Sr. Harry had to look away, able to remember distinctly being tied to it…the cauldron in front of him, his leg aching, his arm cut. Tom was a sadist for bringing him here. He knew-oh god.
Tom didn't know. Tom knew it was a graveyard, but Harry had avoided going too far into the specifics. He didn't know it was this graveyard. Shit.
He struggled to push down the panic, try not to hyperventilate. He was not going to collapse. Not now. He'd never told Tom because the times when they talked about it was early, when he wasn't sure of Tom, only aware that he might not have been pure evil.
Of course he hadn't completely spilled his guts. That came later, with other things, never this. The wound had always been far too raw. He'd talked about the graveyard, but in paranoia he hadn't gone into detail about the ritual so Tom wouldn't know it was this graveyard.
He'd seen flashes of it in Harry's memories, and Harry knew Tom could piece it together in seconds if he actually thought about it.
But Tom…Tom was distracted by his own demons.
Harry was just here for company, for…he didn't know…moral support or something.
He was not going to screw up an extremely rare show of trust and vulnerability, or clear progress, with the other by throwing up over his shoes or something. Bile burned his throat…and Tom was speaking.
"I was always planning to kill him, I guess I did it…do it," Tom said softly. Harry snapped to attention. Tom glanced at him, before back at the stone. "I came here instead, to this time…"
He seemed to be talking more to himself than Harry, soft murmurings, musings. The other smiled, thinly, lost in thought.
Harry couldn't help but feel torn between revulsion and fascination.
It was rare to hear Tom talk so openly about his past, in all the times Harry had known him he'd only ever made allusions, and references, small things.
It was strange, in a way, that Tom knew so much about his life and he knew so little in return…and yet…it felt like he knew Tom regardless, the person he was now, mysterious history regardless. Maybe he was just reading too much into it.
But at the same time…Tom was telling him now, no blackmail involved. That had to say something. He only wished Tom wasn't telling him here.
"You really hate him, don't you, your father?" Harry asked.
"Yes," Tom said, his voice so terribly cold. "I do." The next time he spoke, his voice had softened again. "When I was child I used to dream that he'd come and take me away from the orphanage. That he'd be like me, that there was someone like me. It was stupid of me, really."
Harry shook his head, cautious to concentrate on Tom, not the place they were in.
"That's not stupid," he replied. Tom looked at him, something desperate in his gaze. "I used to wish so hard that some relative of mine would come and take me away from the Dursleys…I'd spend all my nights praying for it, trying to imagine what they'd be like…or what it would be like to have a proper family…" he trailed off, awkward.
"Never happens," Tom finished bitterly, his magic spiking suddenly, lashing furiously out at the grave before them. "He was disappointment. A muggle. He left my mother immediately when he found out what she was, never looked back, never even bothered to look for his own son."
Tom looked at him, the shadows almost tangible upon him.
"I want to rip his heart out," the Slytherin heir declared.
Harry forced himself not to look away, near holding his breath. "
Muggles, disgusting creatures, "Tom muttered, sharply seeming to dismiss the moment. "They're pathetic, the lot of them, they can't stand the thought of anything different."
"Not all of them," Harry said, anger visible in his voice for the first time. He knew he should have been more patient with that comment…but despite his best efforts, the location was getting at him, biting away at his tolerance, increasing his stress levels by the second.
Tom didn't seem to be bothered by it, merely giving him a pitying look. Again, Harry couldn't help but wonder why Tom had asked him along on this trip.
A moment later, Tom looked at him again, intently this time, head tilting slightly, as if only just noticing him properly.
Harry resisted the urge to freeze... ,anaging to attract Tom's attention, especially when he was already so distracted, was not something he'd planned on doing.
He'd banked on avoiding it. actually. It was the only way he could get through this night.
Tom was studying him, trying to assess what had him more stressed out than normal, before he looked around the graveyard, as if to look for clues.
Penny in the air.
Harry could feel the smallest confusion, then see the recognition, the comprehension of what was troubling him, the shock. T
om's gaze snapped back to him, demanding.
Penny drops.
A/N: This actually will be my last superfast update in a while. They will slow down now. Sorry. But I'm glad you're all liking the story. Please review; I'm in a bad mood and need cheering up.
Thank you for all the reviews you've given me so far. =)
Oh: CHALLENGE:
A reviewer, Everlasting Purple, gave me a review that said this - "What you could do if you wanted to would be to make almost a contest type of thing where your fans write write slash for your story and send it to you for you to post the one or ones you like best. Or people could send you idea they would like to write and you could them permission to write it and post it themsleves." This gave me an idea. By all means, do the original thing that Everlasting Purple suggested, I'd go a long with it, but anyway, my idea was…do the next chapter/bit with Tom confronting Harry about Little Hangleton. =) I would LOVE to read it. You don't have to, but…I think it would be awesome. I'd post the winner on DD, if that was okay with the writer. Send it to me in a PM or something.
I think it would fun, and it is essentially just for fun, because I will still post my version as the next chapter…but *shrug.* Any takers? *HOPEFUL SMILE.*