Chapter 99 (100 =O!)
Dumbledore approached him the next day at dinner, as if the increased amount of whispers and giggling, and looks snuck in his and Tom's direction weren't bad enough.
He narrowed his eyes at the evil fourth year.
"Harry," Dumbledore greeted briskly, before dropping several items on the table in front of him.
Tom and the other Slytherins had gone rigid, not even bothering to veil the dislike they were radiating for the aged Headmaster. Dumbledore ignored them, and Harry looked down at the books now on his table.
A compilation of time, and timely enchantments…TARDIS: Time and rewriting days in spell….Alternate Universes - Are they possible?
His annoyance vanished almost completely, though he couldn't help but remain vaguely irritated that Dumbledore was showcasing their deal right in front of Tom - he'd gone and requested it in the middle of the night for a reason! He sighed.
Dumbledore would have his manipulations, even as he fulfilled vows to help.
"The Ministry also told me to pass this along to you," the old man stated quietly, handing him a letter and a leaflet, before continuing up to the head tables.
The whispers buzzed even louder in his ears.
He tore the letter open, disregarding that Tom's attentions had fixed on him rather pointedly.
Sirius' Trial. It was about Sirius Trial - apparently being held at the end of the week, and he banned from attending, as a minor, and instructed simply to send his memories relevant to the case.
Harry's brow furrowed with annoyance. He was pretty sure they were supposed to give more than a few days warning time. It must be like when they changed the place of his Hearing, in the morning of the day it was set to occur.
His lips thinned, and he pocketed the letter, nodding at Ron and Hermione meaningfully from across the hall.
He then turned his attention to the books, only to find Tom had already picked them up, and was eyeing them with an unreadable expression. Harry held his gaze for a moment, silently, holding out a hand.
Tom's jaw tightened, and Harry smiled back brightly, but with a level of demand in his gaze now, for Tom to hand the books back over.
The Slytherins were watching them cautiously, and those who managed to glimpse the title of the books had widened eyes and breaths caught on hooks in their chests.
Tom continued studying the books, and Harry reached out to take the texts instead - the young Dark Lord allowed that, though he didn't particularly do anything to aid the return of the books, but nor did he shift them away.
"Now what did you concede to get hold of those, Golden Boy," was all he murmured after a while, with a hint in his voice that this was another conversation they were going to have at some point.
Harry ignored him, and flicked open the first page of TARDIS with resolute determinedness, his lip twitching with amusement at the title.
Tom was heading towards the Slytherin Common room in the evening, when his path was blocked by a familiar figure - Granger.
He kept his features neutral, raising a brow.
She was the best out of Harry's lions and light side associates, but considering his general disdain for Harry's non-Slytherin (and even some of his Slytherin) friends, that wasn't all the high praise it initially seemed.
"I need to talk to you," she said, her cheeks a bit red, presumably with embarrassment.
He withheld his irritation expertly; he was the one who decided when they talked. Oh well. It was for a good cause.
The more of Harry's light side connections that were severed or switched over to the Dark instead, the less reason he had to support the light or ever return there.
It was simple, really.
And Lestrange would most certainly bleed with the degradation of being put in his place by a mudblood, and a girl at that.
"Have you made up your mind, then?" he asked.
She bit her lip, chewing it, without being aware of the action it seemed.
"I need more data," she said, sounding vaguely confident at least.
Her bitten lip revealed her though. Gryffindors.
More data? Ravenclaw streak; analyse decisions to death until she made them, and she didn't feel comfortable with the idea either.
"More data outside of the fact that he would have killed your best friend?" he returned.
Her eyes sparked with rage in memory, as he knew they would, but after a minute they cooled to a more rational emotional state once more.
"Yes," she said, firmly, but now she appeared nervous, and he just knew he wouldn't like her line of query.
He absently wondered whether silencing her and leaving her somewhere would anger Harry too much. Probably.
"Do you…do you like him?"
Harry, not Lestrange.
"If I liked him, would I be torturing him?" he replied evenly.
"I meant Harry," she said, staring at him.
He resisted the urge to close his eyes. Did he really have to have this conversation? Would she be able to tell if he just obliviated her? She'd just hunt him down for the conversation anyway though…this question and topic had been dancing in the air around her for a long time coming now.
He shrugged, elegantly.
"Sometimes," he replied, "other times not."
Of course he did! Stupid girl; did she think he would tolerate Harry and his disrespect if he didn't have any affection for him?
Her lip was bitten again.
"As, um, more than a friend?" she clarified.
"I never thought you were one for rumours," he said, continuing his walk. He almost cursed her audacity when she hurried to walk along beside him.
"I'm not!" she snapped, magic flaring (rather pathetically in comparison to Harry's.) "But that doesn't mean I don't see the same evidence which the rumours come from, and its more than slightly suggestive."
He spun to face her sharply: she was just going to follow him all the way to Slytherin at this rate, and she couldn't be allowed knowledge of where the entrance was.
"Oh?" he questioned, smiling, with a dangerous lilt to his tone. Stop following.
Her fingers played with the hem of her sleeve, anxiously.
"You touch him almost all the time," she said quickly, "and you call him 'sweetheart' and 'darling' and always have at least one fraction of your focus on him at any given time, and-"
"Have you ever tried to hold Harry's attention in a conversation he doesn't want to have?" he asked, abruptly. She came to a halt, her confusion clear on her face.
"Yes, he…" her eyes widened slightly. "He evades."
Well, she wasn't slow on the uptake.
"Holding onto him stops him from running away," he replied, "and simultaneously ensures his concentration and attention on the matter at hand, especially with me."
"Why especially with you?" she was quick to demand.
His jaw tightened fractionally, but he smirked, taking a step towards her, placing a hand on her shoulder, same as the day before, and another hand on her jaw like he would have with Harry, though unlike with Harry he got the immediate desire to let go and go wash his hands or something.
As a rule he generally didn't like touching people unless he felt it was necessary, and he certainly didn't like them touching him without express permission…Harry was the exception to that.
He figured it was due to the Horcrux, and if it wasn't…well, the Horcrux explanation suited him fine, so there was no need for deeper analysis on why Harry was yet again different then anyone else. Her muscles immediately kno
tted, his fingers dancing over her pressure points.
"Do you feel comfortable this close to a Psychopath who could and would snap your neck in a few seconds?" he asked rhetorically, staring at her.
He felt her swallow, the fright near radiating off her.
"Harry's not scared of you," she returned, defiantly though quieter now. "And you wouldn't snap his neck."
She was intelligenct and perceptive, he'd give her that. Best of a bad lot. Still.
"No," he murmured, the smirk broadening. "But I would hurt him, if he pushed me, and he knows that. He also didn't grow up in a touch friendly environment, he's wary and focussed on it by instinctive default."
She took a step back, away from him, and his eyes gleamed. That was better.
He had a feeling she wouldn't be seeing his constant 'touching' in nearly so fond a light - admittedly, it was fond, as well as warning and controlling, with Harry, and flirtatious on a playful level that didn't really mean anything, but as he'd told the other boy actions were very rarely only motivated by one thing.
There were multiple layers to everything he did, and 'touching' wasn't an exception.
"I wouldn't let you hurt him," she near growled, venom in her tone, warning.
"Oh please," he scoffed, mocking and cold. "And you would stop me…how? Whether you aid me or not, Hermione, and things are more beneficial for both of us if you do aid me, you don't want to even attempt to get in my way. You're very smart, and fairly powerful…but you're not on equal terms with me, and you never will be."
She glared at him, and he almost tilted his head back at the fierceness in it, but smiled back.
"I'm so glad we had this chat," he said cheerfully. "Do you have enough data now?"
He didn't wait for a reply, striding away, smug in the knowledge that she wasn't following this time.
"Yes, you do care about him…" she called after him.
He quickened his pace, and didn't look back.
Mudblood.
He need to talk to that Lovegood girl as well sometime.
Ginny had looked even more pale and drawn when Harry had seen her, wasting away and that was what led him to be sitting in an empty classroom now, turning the golden Locket over and over in his hands.
He'd warded the room, heavily, and Tom had seemed busy enough earlier that he wasn't liable to come charging in - the Slytherin Heir thought he was reading those books, and he did intend to that as well.
He drew in a shaky breath, and didn't give his mind a chance to baulk from what he was doing. What was another deal now?
"Open."
If anyone could tell him about Horcruxes and their effects, it was…It.
He honestly didn't know what to call it.
Black smoke issued once more from the locket, forming that figure with searing bloody eyes. It seemed to look around the room, before fixing its attention on him.
"Harry," it greeted, coldly. "I was wondering when we would talk again."
"V…what do I call you? For the sake of this conversation?" he asked bluntly. "You're not Tom, but you're not Voldemort either."
It was silent for a moment, staring at him icily, with a touch of…amusement?
"Call me Marvolo," it said finally. Harry nodded, warily.
His mind was baulking, despite best efforts, but he clamped a lid on his panic and revulsion.
"Right, erm, Marvolo, I need your help."
"I know," it said, and if it had a mouth not shadow, he would have bet 'Marvolo' would be smirking at this point. "You want to know if we are affecting the red-headed wench."
"Are we…?" Harry questioned, wondering if it would reply.
"Yes," Marvolo said flatly. "She's emotionally open to you, and so your inferiority is latching onto her."
Inferiority...must mean the Horcrux in him.
"Why?" Harry demanded, horrified, sick to the stomach.
"Because we want life," it hissed, taking several steps towards him, causing Harry to back up, his head pounding. "You try living in a single object for as long as we have, to have no control, barely the company, and no capacity for sensation."
Harry felt bile, and bizarrely, sympathy claw up his throat.
"No capacity for sensation?" he questioned.
"We can't eat, we can't drink, sleep, dream, we can't wander around as we please or talk without being summoned…" it explained, tone acidic.
Like the Diary. The DiaryTomHorcrux was trying to come back to life, regain a body.
"Why her?"
"Because she offers it," Marvolo drawled, witheringly. "You of all people should know, Harry, that the scars we cut are permanent."
"Permanent?" Harry demanded, taking a step forward. "Do you mean she can't be fixed? Can't be-"
"Oh," it smirked. "She can. Of course she can."
"How?" he demanded. "Tell me how!"
There was a pause, and it said nothing. Harry deflated, eyes narrowed and glaring.
"You-"
"What do I get in return for my assistance in this matter?"
It's voice was silky, smooth, deadlly.
And in an instant, Harry knew why it even participating in this conversation, and that the knowledge it had so suspiciously freely offered, wasn't free at all…it was a fish hook filled with bait that he could scarcely refuse.
His muscles knotted, his fists clenching. He felt light headed.
"You have a price in mind," he stated.
It nodded, drifting towards him, and this time, he stayed his ground.
"If you help me come back to life and restore myself a body, I will take care of it for you. all your friends and your family will be safe from us…and from you," it offered, persuasively.
Shadows wrapped around him in tendrils, drowning him, enveloping him, scarlet eyes so close that he was sure their image would burn onto his retinas.
A voice whispered into his ear, breath and tone as bitterly cold as liquid nitrogen and Antarctic winds.
"So…darling…what do you say?"
A/N: Whoa. 100 chapters…and 52 reviews needed to hit my goal of 2000. I've had some ideas for what request to fulfil; I'm currently leaning towards something slashy (or my attempt of that, which is apparently less slashy then when I don't intend to do something slashy, but you know, now I'm just determined to get it right haha) with a drunk Tom, and a sober Harry…but by all means, please comment, cause I haven't started writing yet and I'm open to ideas and flexible. So, um yeah.
Anyone watch children in need? I dressed up as Alex from Clockwork Orange for the sixth form fancy dress to raise money. Twas fun.
I hope this wasn't too disappointing, for a 100th chapter. I'm not sure about it.