The end of the school day was marked by the growing realisation that he was going to have to deal with Dumbledore after dinner…and the offhand observation that he was going to have to come up with some way of excusing his absence from the common room every so often.
Sure, he spent a lot of time outside the common in the evenings, in the room of requirement, but he was with Tom. Damn. He'd have to miss out on his training that night, to see Dumbledore…but, it was important for the war effort, wasn't it? Supposedly anyway.
Nonetheless, he'd agreed to go, and he could always back out if these 'lessons' were a waste of his time. He was sitting in the common room, keeping an eye on the time, waiting for the clock to strike seven.
In Gryffindor, going off to meet the Headmaster would be no problem.
In Slytherin…well. They weren't too fond of Dumbledore in Slytherin. He checked his watch once more.
"Are you waiting for something?" a voice asked. Parkinson.
Harry blinked, more surprised then he would admit that she had actually come up to him - and more particularly the rest of the past Slytherins and Tom - in the Common Room. None of the current day Slytherin's had ever done that, only approaching if they were specifically called over.
He sensed Abraxas, Zevi, Alphard and Lestrange all flick their eyes immediately, subtly, over to the Slytherin Heir. Harry didn't care to look up to read his expression.
"I've got some stuff to take care of later," he replied. She nodded, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear.
"Anything I can do to help?" she asked.
"Er, not really. Thanks for the offer, another time maybe." He hoped his smile was convincing.
"Well, aren't you two just adorable," Tom drawled, suddenly, lazily. The air felt rife with tension, and Harry wasn't completely sure why.
"Oh, um-" Pansy looked flushed now, glancing at Harry as if seeking back up.
"Of course," Tom waved a dismissive hand, "I dare say it would be more romantic if you weren't attempting to use him, and he wasn't planning on gaining information from you behind my back - I find it absolutely hilarious, by the way, sweetheart, that you've now decided to forgo the normal route of simply asking when you want to know something."
Because that wasn't an awkward, and carefully blunt thing to say, especially from someone who was more than adept with subtleties.
"I mean," Tom continued, smiling cruelly, "you could of at least chosen someone who was pretty…are you that desperate? For shame, Harry."
Parkinson's mouth opened once, then closed, and she looked like she was going to cry. Shit.
Harry felt absolutely awful. Just because he was going to use her for information didn't mean he was happy with her being humiliated, even if he didn't like her. Tom had a brutal, cutting tongue that he wouldn't wish on anyone, except perhaps Voldemort, Umbridge or Peter Pettigrew, and the first would be weird.
All the other Slytherins were staring rather fixatedly at anything that wasn't the Slytherin girl, utterly silent. Parkinson's jaw clenched, slightly, her lips trembling barely noticeably.
"Riddle…" Harry warned dangerously.
"Harry," Tom smiled at him, disarmingly, before surveying Parkinson with an icy, terribly amused gaze. "You're wasting my breathing space. Bye bye now."
The girl turned and walked away without another word, visibly shaken, heading for the dorms.
No one went after her.
Harry's brow furrowed. Bloody hero complex. He stood up instantly, about to follow her, only for a hand to snatch out and grip his wrist as he moved past, tightly.
"What's stuff?" Tom questioned, as if the entire prior conversation hadn't just happened.
It took Harry a few seconds to realise what Tom was talking about.
"None of your business," he said shortly, attempting to free his wrist, scant moments away from snapping out his wand and cursing, hard.
Harry could sense the whole of the common room watching them, and was suddenly aware that for all he bickered with Tom, it was normally more discreet and private than this - at least when it was on a relatively serious, non banter level and didn't involve either of them being genuinely angry. That they truly fought in front of an audience wasn't unheard of, but it was rare.
"Let go," he ordered, coldly.
"She's just a girl, and not a very useful one at that, don't be so uptight," Tom hissed. "You're causing a scene."
Harry didn't bother switching to parseltongue; serve the arsehole right if he wanted to keep the contents of their conversation under wraps.
"I'm causing a scene?" he repeated, delicately. "Damn it Tom, what the hell is wrong with you? She didn't do anything - she didn't even approach me with the intention of betraying you!"
Tom studied him calmly for a moment, infuriatingly calmly.
"Hero complex flaring again?"
Harry felt his magic spark, and Tom dropped his arm as if scalded.
He regarded the other flatly, anger subsiding somewhat to wary exhaustion.
Stupid Tom and his stupid freaking mood swings. He was fine earlier! In the room of requirement when they talking. Damn it- if he'd actually given Voldemort concussion of Harry's behalf he was nice as far as Tom could be in his over protectiveness.
Harry could feel his own viciousness rising in response to Tom's rather obvious power play and efforts to control.
He knew that there was a reason for it, an explanation for why here and why now, but right now he was too frustrated and too something to go searching for it in the convoluted corners of Tom's psyche.
"You want to know about stuff?" he questioned, sweetly, causing any insincere smile on Tom's lips to freeze in place. "Meeting with Dumbledore, actually. Light side stuff. Wouldn't expect you to get it."
If the tension was high in the common room before, it was stifling now, and terrified.
Harry turned to find Parkinson without another word…and then his arm locked into place.
Why was-oh. Crap. He'd challenged Tom in his, for want of a better phrase, Dark Lord capacity with that last bit. Publicly. In the middle of the common room.
The other had to react, or lose face, and Tom was never willing to that for anyone. Not even him. He didn't have time for this.
He felt his back stiffen as Tom rose and came to a halt, right behind him. He didn't turn, but tightened his grip on his wand, ready to react on a split second notice.
"Light side stuff?" the Slytherin Heir questioned, with a chilling ring of pleasantness. "Pray, do tell?"
"…Is even less your business than the last," Harry said.
Fingers entangled in his hair, wrenching his head round, causing him to abruptly shift to accommodate the movement unless he wanted to get his neck snapped, or, at least, be highly uncomfortable. His wand was pointing at Tom in seconds, just as Tom's was pointed at him, each too close to miss should they choose to cast.
"These are the lessons the old man promised you."
Right. Dumbledore had stated that in Tom's presence hadn't he? No point denying that then - not that Tom had phrased it as a question.
Lestrange twitched oddly.
"Which I'm going to be late for soon," Harry replied pointedly.
He could see thoughts spinning in Tom's gaze, consequences and tactics and incentives for not pushing this and preventing Harry from going to the meeting….which he probably could, due to the bloody mark (and he really needed to add that to his growing research list, along with time and the possibility of alternate universes.)
He met the other's gaze squarely, trying to silently relay the fact that Tom would not like the ramifications of acting like the control freak he was.
The question was…would Tom be willing to concede anything to him without being paid back twice fold?
When they'd first met; there would have been no question regarding the resounding 'never.'
The whole of Slytherin seemed to be holding its breath.
"Don't expect this to be a regular occurrence. You'll refuse the lessons."
Harry automatically stamped on the rage swelling in his stomach at the sheer audacity of that order, keeping his face neutral. He merely inclined his head, enough to look like he was agreeing, but not actually committing his words to anything.
The hold on his arm released, and he immediately took a step back. He checked his watch - five minutes until seven.
He'd talk to Parkinson tomorrow.
He arrived at Dumbledore's office with his head whirling.
Having taken a step out of Tom's presence…and that always made it easier to think, and no, he was not going to analyse that…he was instantly cataloguing possible motivations behind Tom's actions.
Because, Tom was a bastard, and a sadist, a psychopath…but he was also someone who planned and considered his every word and action at genius speed in his mind before acting on them, if he had the time to do so.
So, what had changed to make Tom feel like he had to assert his power again? Vulnerability.
Tom always lashed out when he felt vulnerable or in some way uneasy, or uncomfortable…so, what had happened that would have made Tom feel vulnerable?
Well, there was the possibility that he'd had a run in with Voldemort, which Harry knew from experience could screw with anyone's head. Then there was the fact that Tom was starting to open up to him, like he claimed he'd never done to anyone before.
Yeah. That seemed about right…especially if one went by Hermione's hypothesis of 'Tom acts more psychopathic than normal after periods of niceness, as if to compensate that he would/could care and feel like everyone else.'
It would, if that was the case, pass…and Tom was getting better with that.
The 'nice,' (well, Tom's idea and version of nice anyway) was slowly starting to crawl past Tom acting like a total bastard. He'd been largely 'nice' in Grimmauld, when they were alone…ooh…was that another factor?
Tom in private and Tom in public.
Tom in public had a certain reputation after all, and that was one that didn't allow the space for anyone to seriously challenge him without repercussions. Damn, he was confused.
Sometimes he wondered why Tom couldn't be simple?
But, he supposed, nothing about them was…their whole dynamic was actually rather twisted if he wanted to study the tragedy close enough, which, just for reference, he didn't.
He knocked on the door, entering.
The old man was sitting behind his desk, as always, fingers steeped beneath his chin.
A Pensieve lay on the table.
A/N: Mixed feelings on this chapter. Not my worst, but no where near my best.
The good part is...I am now over halfway through this story! It's got to the turning point to start ending/resolving, or however you phrase that.
I hope you guys are still enjoying the story...and frankly, if you still are I am AMAZED that you guys have stuck with me for this long. I probably wouldn't have - too long, and a bit rambly in places. I should work on that...but, the plot is ticking along beneath so all is good...
Thanks for the reviews :) They mean a lot. I've read all of them at least five times; they keep me inspired.