Chapter 96:
Zevi's head spun round, immediately, at the utterly dangerous, deadly aura that descended on the room, transforming his breath to dragon's smoke in its chill.
His eyes widened before he could help himself, any words of celebration that had been on his tongue catching somewhere in his chest.
Harry.
Tom.
The younger boy looked unconscious, skin alarmingly flushed, body held inches from the floor by Tom's grip - who seemed to have caught him instinctively.
The party came to an complete stop, silence falling.
He swallowed; suddenly wishing he hadn't drank so much. He felt sick, but he walked forwards with determined steps, fully aware that he was probably the best potions based healer in the room, and that they were all dead if Harry was injured in a more…permanent manner. There was no guarantee of safety for temporary damage either.
Crap.
"My lord?" he asked, hesitantly, going for the title as Tom wasn't in the best of moods. "What happened?"
Tom shook his head, wordless for a moment, still half cradling Harry's head and upper torso in his lap. The Slytherin Heir's other hand reached blindly for the shattered glass, fixing it with a wandless reparo, as he studied it with a manic tint to his scrutiny.
"He just collapsed…I don't know why."
It was the second part of that statement that absolutely terrified him: in both content and the significance of Tom openly admitting ignorance in the middle of their common room.
Tom hissed something clipped in parseltongue.
"Poison," the young Dark Lord continued, mind speeding with analysis of the situation. "Magic activated, Harry's careful with his drink. No one but a Slytherin can get in here -" The tension in the room shot up. "-Abraxas check the other bottles, the poison would have to be inactive in them - Bezoar - accio bezoar."
A moment later, the poison antidote came zooming in from the other room, violently fast, and Tom immediately forced it into the younger boy's mouth, posture not relaxing.
No change, and Harry was beginning to twitch.
"Bezoar," Tom muttered, "- most poisons - Zevi, what poisons aren't cured by the bezoar?"
His mind jumped into action, even as his body froze at the lethal stare focussed on him.
"Aconite. Cyanide. Hemlock. Botulin."
Another venomous hiss of parseltongue.
"The other bottles are tainted," Abraxas interrupted.
Tom's jaw tightened and no one was stupid enough to outwardly start panicking, lest they attract attention.
The next second, his Lord's eyes snapped to him once more, with something dark and desperate lurking there.
A plea.
An order.
HelpHim-FixHim-DoSomething!
Zevi almost choked on the intensity and pressed fingers to his temples, frantically trying to think through panic.
2-6 hours for Aconite to kill, Cyan - shit, it was Cyanide.
Harry's skin was red.
Cyanide caused the body to not be able to process oxygen, causing the blood to come to the surface… Unconscious with large, sudden doses.
"It's Cyanide," he said quickly, striding over. "He's got Cyanide poisoning…fu-we need to get him to vomit; if he's ingested the poison recently..."
"Will that work?" Tom demanded, though he was already aiming his wand at the younger boy and he didn't waste any time in casting the spell to cause him to throw-up, shifting his grip so Harry wouldn't choke on his own sick.
The next second, alcohol spattered onto the floor. More, and more, and more. It wasn't working!
"Prince," Tom all but growled, threat in his voice.
Zevi almost felt like he was going to cry, shutting his eyes to the scene before him, trying to think logically - and fast. The magic in the room, Tom's magic, abruptly shifted, and his eyes snapped open again.
"Magic activated," Tom said flatly. "The caster is still fuelling the magic."
And then there was a slow, mocking, clapping noise.
His Lord's head lifted, locking on the noise.
Lestrange. Zevi felt his insides plunge.
"Wow, that's…disappointing," Lestrange said. "Normally, you would have come to that conclusion within five seconds of the event - can't you see he makes you weak? Emotionally compromised?"
"You did this to him," it wasn't a question, and there was no intonation or feeling in the Slytherin Heir's voice. "Fix him."
"I'm doing this for you, Tom," Lestrange said. "It's for your own good."
"My own good?" Tom questioned, softly. Far too softly. Zevi saw his eyes flick down, so fast, assessing Harry's deteriorating condition, before back up to Lestrange's face. "I see…you, perhaps, feel that my priorities are not as they should be?"
"He takes up all your time, it's not healthy," Lestrange said, a whining hint to his tone now. "I mean, I'm sure he's good enough in bed, but you could just hire a whore for that, you're giving him the delusion he's something special to you."
Tom looked at the other for a moment, still no expression on his face. Zevi felt torn between horror, dread, and boiling anger. How dare he!
"That's not a delusion."The Slytherin Heir said the words very calmly, quietly, but his eyes-Salazar his eyes were blazing, burning. Lestrange took a step back; seeming to suddenly realise that he may have misjudged the situation when Tom set Harry aside, rising to his feet, wand twirling menacingly in his fingers.
"I-What?" Lestrange whispered. Tom smiled, cruelly.
"Harry is special to me, Lestrange," their Lord clarified. "But I understand that you may be feeling a little…neglected? Fix him, and we can talk about this further."
Lestrange's face tightened.
"No," he breathed. "We can talk about this now, while I actually have your attention."
"Oh, I assure you," Tom purred, stalking over to the other, pressing lips to Lestrange's ear, causing the other boy to shiver and stop backing away. "You will most definitely have my attention from now on."
Tom paused, leaning back, voice low and his magic…seductive, dangerous, but suddenly so very seductive. A glance around the room saw that many were, indeed, gravitating and leaning towards the beguiling, magnetic aura.
"Fix Harry, and I promise I will give you all the attention you deserve. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"You…promise?" Lestrange asked, voice suddenly weak. Zevi felt his insides jerking, the scene before him painful to watch.
The adoration on Lestrange's face hurt, and the painful chord that if it wasn't Harry, many of them in this room may have once tried this stunt against a favourite themselves.
"I'll swear on it if it pleases you," Tom replied.
"I-," Lestrange hesitated.
"For me?" Tom added, smiling charmingly, a hand on the other boy's shoulder.
Lestrange smiled back, shakily, not looking quite there, pupils blown and Zevi closed his eyes.
Honey and flies.
The next second, the redness was draining from Harry's features, and he was throwing up again, before shuddering and going completely still.
Alphard shot over, pressing fingers to Harry's pulse, before looking at Tom and nodding.
He was healing.
In an instant, Tom had dropped Lestrange as if he were filthy to touch, striding over, dropping next to Harry himself, his own fingers going to the pulse point.
The focus in his eyes was…striking. Lestrange looked startled, before his face twisted.
"You said you'd give me-"
""Lacero"
The dark curse was cast immediately, just shy of the pain of the Cruciatus, and Zevi got the feeling that if Tom wasn't in Hogwarts and aware of Dumbledore noticing Unforgiveable wards and coming to stop him, the torture curse would be what Lestrange was under.
Tom didn't look over, calmly watching the process of Harry's healing.
Calmly…but he wasn't calm. Lestrange's screams attributed to that - and the way his skin was shredding and growing and tearing itself to pieces over and over again. Bones snapped and promptly fixed to break again, bruises forming in a mottled dance of rage.
After a while, Tom cut the curse and looked over to the panting body on the floor, whimpering, expression flat.
"How are you enjoying my attentions, Lestrange?" he asked, pleasantly.
"My-my lord-"
"I'd kill you; but that would disturb the time line of events and obliterate reality," Tom continued, voice taking on a hint of callous fury. "And I'd sincerely love to torture you further, but the attention you deserve from me is non-existent. I wouldn't waste the time it took to spit on you, let alone degrade myself to doing those things that you desire." Tom smiled, but it wasn't a nice smile. "You are nothing but a disgusting, pathetic cockroach - worthless."
Tears were rolling down Lestrange's face; crushed.
Tom looked around the room, taking in the hatred and anger directed at Lestrange from every single occupant. Alphard looked like he wanted to castrate the bastard.
None of them were fond of the brunette, indeed, even before this and now…attacking Harry? Poisoning him? Insulting him in front of their faces?
The Slytherin Heir spread his hands to take in every green tie in the room.
"Impressive me, but just leave him alive - I'll deal with him after my higher priorities. For now, he's all yours. "
Lestrange took one look at the dozens of malevolent wands pointed his way, and fainted.
Harry blinked, his head pounding, something soft beneath him. His bed.
He moved to sit up, only for a hand to press firmly against his shoulder, slowing his movements, though not pushing him down.
His throat felt raw, his insides twisted as he was half propped into a sitting position, and then allowed no further. Tom. The young Dark Lord was sitting next to him, a book discarded.
There was no one in the Dorm room outside of them, and it was oddly quiet…the noises from the Common Room were blocked off. Silenced. He had a sudden flash of déjà vu, and reached sluggishly for his wand.
"I swear to god if you drugged me again-" he began, warningly, only to start coughing. Salazar.
Tom handed him a glass water, silently, eyes piercing. Harry took a couple of sips, experienced enough by now that he couldn't drink it too fast. "What happened?"
"Lestrange poisoned you."
Harry's head was spinning. Poisoned? As in-?
"Seriously?"
"You have another near death experience to your growing list, it would seem," Tom replied tightly, fingers wrapped absently around his wrist…his pulse. The snake was vivid on his arm.
"There goes this being a good year, and that was, what, not even to the end of the party? Fate hates me," Harry scowled.
A laugh startled out of the other's mouth. Harry hesitated, glancing at the other.
"Where, er, where's Lestrange now? You didn't-"
"Kill him? That would blow up the time line," Tom said, not sounding pleased with that.
"Did you…" Harry swallowed, taking another sip of water, feeling uncomfortable. "You didn't…er, torture him, did you?"
"Not as much as I should have," Tom said disgustedly. "He'd enjoy it coming from me - but give me time, and I'll come up with a solution to that soon enough."
"No, it's fine, don't-" Harry began.
Tom gave a warning tisk.
"Don't torture him? Don't worry about it?" the young Dark Lord offered, dangerously. "He tried to kill you, hero. Don't even go into the realm of defending his actions. I won't hear of it."
"Actually, I think he was just desperate for you to notice him," Harry mumbled. "At any cost." Tom's eyebrows raised, and Harry continued quickly. "You said he fancied you, and you've been, I don't know-"
"Lestrange is a needy, jealous little prick who has absolutely nothing to do with how I treat you," Tom hissed, suddenly, and Harry froze. "So cut the guilt and the hero-complex right now, am I making myself clear?"
"I-"
"Am. I. Making. Myself. Clear?" Tom demanded, livid. Harry swallowed.
"You-" he began, again, stubbornly.
"I will not watch you to collapse or nearly die in front of me again, Harry," Tom said, nearly in a whisper, staring him down, fingers digging into his shoulders. "And I will not tolerate your idiotic disregard for your own safety any longer. You have officially lost the right to plead mercy on behalf of the people who would seek to harm you."
"I don't-" Harry tried.
"Shut up," Tom ordered. "You scared the s*** out of me tonight, so don't even bother attempting to argue with me on this, because you're wasting your breath."
Harry didn't think he could have retorted to that, even if he wanted to, he was so stuck in shock.
You scared the crap out of me tonight.. his throat felt tight.
Tom's glare subsided when he didn't speak, and he dragged a hand through his hair.
Instead, Harry struggled for his composure, managing a weak smirk.
"Alcohol really does lower your verbal inhibitions, huh?"
Tom rolled his eyes.
A/N: So. I'm not sure how that turned out. If you recognise it, it was either influenced by JK or Eos9 (so, the awesome bits, basically.)
Thank you so so much for the reviews. I was totally thrilled. I read each one at least five times, and then work more quickly on updating for you because I feel all fuzzy and loved. Psychology calls it reciprocation, I believe…
And I have the horrible stress of uni applications, so each comment is like a ray of sunshine! And that sounded really sappy...eh...