Chapter 79:
He sat in the second row at the funeral, next to Sirius and Remus. It was a quiet, small affair, largely limited to the Weasley's and close members of the Order.
Dumbledore was there too. Harry's tie seemed to be constricting around his neck, growing tighter and tighter until he felt like he couldn't breathe, his head spinning as he watched people making speeches through tears and rigid stoicism. Was it the tie, or the lump in his throat that blocked his airways?
Sirius hand was on his shoulder; the only grounding thing in the world.
My father was a great, loyal man…
The words of individual Weasley's blurred past his ears, sounding like they were being issued from underwater. He felt nauseas, his head stuffed full to exploding point, making it difficult to concentrate. He felt numb.
And I know that he will be remembered, in the ways that it matters…
Yes, he would always remember Mr Weasley, and the way he'd ask random enthusiastic questions about aeroplanes and the functions of rubber ducks with complete solemnity. The way he had shown Harry what it was like to have a family, the way he had treated Harry like one of his own.
He would NEVER forget that.
Because he was brave, and he died in the most honourable, noblest of ways…
A snake attack…what was honourable about a snake attack? There was clearly something that the Order was keeping to themselves, but Harry felt sick even contemplating wondering why, now.
He stared blankly ahead of him, unseeing, Molly's sobbing catching on a tight hook inside his chest, scraping against his heart. His fingers curled into fists, his body rigid as he repressed the urge to shake with all the emotions that were wrestling for dominance in his insides….so many emotions, and yet he was so numb. They were distant hurts, separate to his own, a tsunami kept at bay by the fragile veils of his composure.
He died defending what he believed in.
Harry didn't know what to believe in anymore.
They returned back to Grimmauld Place after the funeral - a cremation - for the Weasley's couldn't afford…Harry had offered to pay for the arrangements, but no one had let him.
The cremation, Harry suspected, was also to avoid the chance of being raised again as an inferi for Voldemort, but Harry kept quite about that.
Fred and George were laughterless, and Molly was clutching the empty urn so tight Harry feared it would shatter. Ginny was being hugged crushingly by a haggard, grouchy looking old crone, whom Harry had heard been referred to as 'Great Auntie Muriel.' Ron was pale, lacking in life, clinging to Hermione.
When they walked in, Harry stopped dead at the sight before him.
Moody was scowling, muttering curses, clutching a handkerchief to his bleeding nose. Dumbledore strode forward immediately, eyes glinting.
"Alastor, old friend, what happened? Where's Mr Riddle?"
If this was what he thought it was, Harry's tenuous self control was going to snap. This week had been just slightly on the crap side, and his patience wasn't at its utmost.
"The little bastard cursed me," Moody growled. "I'll kill him, I'll kill him when he comes back-"
"He left?" Dumbledore demanded, "where? When?"
It sounded like what Harry thought he was, and a cold ice of fury flooded his insides, cracking barriers to release a Dark Side he had rarely let come to play since returning to this time period - he'd been too bothered with maintaining his connections with the Light.
"Oh?" he questioned, coolly, "I didn't realise that concerned either of you. Is he a prisoner that is not allowed to come and go as he pleases?"
"Harry-" Dumbledore began, in his grandfatherly voice, with strains of frustration.
"You know," Harry interrupted, in a light, thoughtful tone of voice, "I'm surprised he only broke your nose, if you were trying to prevent him for leaving…were you?"
"He is the Dark Lord, Potter," Moody snarled, "of course we not going to allow him free reign and come and go at Headquarters. CONSTANT VIGILANCE."
"Well, with you lot it kind of seems like he doesn't have the option to be anything else," Harry snapped back, equally angry.
He'd just been at a funeral - could the universe honestly not give him a break? Without piling crap on him constantly? It seemed not.
"He's not stupid," he continued, tightly, "and psychopathic nature regardless, he can actually tell what you think about him. He's not going to change if you don't let him."
"He's not going to change anyway!" Moody growled, taking an advanced step towards him, wand starting to raise higher.
Harry noticed the Weasley's were looking extremely uncomfortable, even in their subdued state. Moody stopped suddenly, staring over his shoulder.
Harry felt the magic before he turned around, but did so anyway, to see that Tom had indeed returned from his 'errands' and was leaning against the door, tapping his wand casually against his thigh.
He really did have impeccable timing; Harry often wondered if he had a device that told him when the most dramatic moment to arrive would be.
Dark eyes were scanning the situation, alight with possibilities and split second reaction times. Tom gave Moody a cursive glance, smirking lazily.
"Nice face," the Slytherin Heir remarked. The Auror bristled, a probably dangerous spell on his lips, and Harry moved automatically.
It was only when everyone gaped at him, that he realised that he had stepped to stand between Mad Eye's wand and Tom.
He couldn't bring himself to care; too furious, too tired.
"Either of you freaking start and I will kill you," he said dangerously, not even sure himself on exactly how serious he was about that. "This week has had enough death without you two getting into a pissing competition with each other and adding to it."
Tom's eyebrow arched slightly at his choice of words, but the yew and phoenix feather didn't lower. Neither did Moody's. Harry's aura sparked.
"Wands away, now," he hissed.
"You can't tell me what to do, Evans," Moody snarled, wand aiming at his heart.
"Alastor," Dumbledore said sharply. "Enough. This is enough. Mr Potter is right, now is not the time."
The Headmaster gave a half glance at the Weasley's, still despondant and largely drained of energy, and Sirius and Remus, both looking ready to blow at the Auror for pointing a wand at Harry.
There was a tense moment, then Mad Eye lowered his wand, magic eye rocketing wildly in his eyes, before both fixed on Tom with a deadly intensity.
"I'll be keeping my eyes on you, boy," Moody warned, limping past with an air of fury.
Tom smirked, seemingly nonchalant, calling over his shoulder to the Auror has he sauntered further into the room.
"I hope you don't mind if I don't return the favour…I prefer that which is more aesthetically pleasing."
The door slammed shut in response, violently, eliciting a flinch from Ginny, who was immediately pulled closer by...it was Charlie, wasn't it?
"May I have a word, Mr Potter?" Dumbledore asked, coolly.
The Headmaster didn't wait for a reply, walking past and taking hold of his arm with a surprising strength, pulling him into the living room. He felt Tom's gaze burning like lasers into his back, and shot back a pointed 'don't do anything' glare.
Yay. What a great week.
A/N: This chapter was horrendously difficult to write. I wish I could just skip it. I hate it, t'is deplorable. I have come to the conclusion that the only chapters I can write are those that revolve around Tom and Harry. Thank god that is the main point of this fic.
On the sunny side; thank you for the reviews, the next chapter should/WILL be better (how can it not be?) and…it's my birthday on Thursday! Wooo…heh, that request was a bit early, I underestimated by insane updating, anyway…and no, that wasn't a repeat of my earlier request, I'm not that ungrateful, just hyper.
The next chapter should be up soon enough, if that placates you at all from…this. I will refrain from calling it a proper chapter…
Adios!