Chapter 103:
When Harry was sure that Tom was gone, he looked carefully down at his knee.
He knew it was a sign of Tom's utter rage and annoyance with his actions that the other had just left him with a shattered knee cap.
As odd as it sounded, especially considering this was the teenage Dark Lord, Tom did seem to have got in the habit of fixing up his injuries, or making sure they were tended to.
He winced. It was the fingers all over again.
His knee had swollen to like double its normal size, and was all purple and blotchy. That was going to hurt for a couple of days, even when he fixed it.
He directed his wand at it, muttering the right healing spell, before sagging back into the chair, panting with his eyes squeezed shut.
It would have been easier to just remove the bones a la Lockhart, and then skele-gro them back, and probably less painful, but…that would require going to the Hospital wing. So, on the first spell he just fixed the bone pieces back together. The second spell, which he wasn't looking forward to casting, would force the oddly fixed bones back into the right shape.
He gritted his teeth, vainly trying to ready himself, holding onto an arm of the chair in a white-knuckled grip. The locket heating around his neck, but he ignored it, aiming his wand at his knee again.
Ow. He hissed despite himself, pretty sure the arm of the chair was going to splinter with the pressure he was putting on it.
After a minute, a painful minute, he breathed again, and warily bent his leg to see if the spell had worked properly.
It had, with nothing but the lingering ache of a ton of bruises. He would have to get some bruise balm for that before his next Quidditch practise.
The Horcrux burned, and this time he hissed an irritable "open."
Marvolo appeared before him, red eyes surveying him intently. Harry cautiously tested his weight, ignoring the shadow. He almost buckled when he stood - pins and needles!
A hand shot out, catching his stumble forwards, and his gaze dart up. Marvolo didn't remove his grip, still studying him.
"I can walk fine," Harry muttered, cheeks heating, shoving the other's hand off. "You still need to tell me how to save Ginny by the way, I saved your life, you owe me."
"I owe you nothing, it's the best case scenario for both of us if you want to play Patchwork people," Marvolo drawled. "Sneaky of you to try though. Clearly, you've spent too much time around us."
"You appear far more cheerful with my company," Harry noted, suspiciously. "Is the sight of me in pain that amusing to your normally dour countenance?"
Marvolo, laughed, with that coldness still present.
"Yes, your pain is highly amusing to me, but no, I gain nothing currently from driving you to ignore me. I'm stuck with you as my only company it seems, and I would prefer not to spend my existence in boredom with no one to talk to."
Harry blinked, something in the phrasing catching him. Maybe the stuck?
"How old are you?" he asked, suddenly, causing the other's eyes to narrow. "Like, when you were made?"
It stared at him for a moment.
"Why do you want to know?" it questioned. "And what do I get in return?"
Harry bit down on his frustration.
"Conversation," he sneered, aware that he should probably be heading back to the Common Room, but he still had something he needed from the Horcrux.
Red eyes flashed, furiously, before cooling.
"Twenty two," Marvolo stated.
Harry could feel that old curiosity swelling in his chest, and mentally cursed himself.
"How come you look like a shadow? I mean…you've been, er, draining Ginny so shouldn't you have changed?"
In an instant, the shadow before him morphed into something that made Harry take two steps back in utter shock.
It was an older Tom, still bloody eyed, and unhealthily pale with hollowed cheeks and a waxy sheen to his skin, like a blurred photograph…but, it…he looked human. The hair was the same, as was the posture.
Harry's eyes widened. He swallowed.
"How come you normally look like a shadow then?" he asked shakily.
Marvolo favoured him with a very Tom-ish "stupid question" expression, but it was defined harder and crueller around the edges.
"It takes less energy."
Harry stared openly.
Somehow, it was difficult to hate Marvolo as intensely in this more humanoid form, just like he hadn't been able to hate Tom. Marvolo was studying him once more, a taunting, dangerous smirk on his lips.
"I doubt Tom would appreciate you checking me out so obviously." Harry spluttered, looking away.
"I'm not! For Salazar's Sake what is wrong with you!"
Marvolo was silent for a moment, still smirking.
"…touchy subject?"
Harry's aura flared with annoyance.
"You need to stop draining Ginny," he said, instead, clipped.
"Bless you, little boy, trying to give me orders. You lost your deal…I dare say you sacrificing your life energy would no doubt make Tom burn me alive, if his reaction is anything to go by, and thanks to you he's expecting it now, so I wouldn't be able to escape like I intended to initially."
"Then we can make a new deal," Harry said tightly, reigning in his desperation, and irritation. Seriously, the older Tom was now commenting on the whole dating thing? He supposed they both had the same twisted humour.
"One that fit's the new situation and criteria. You can't have a body right now…but you don't have to be shut up in the locket without any contact all the time. Release Ginny, tell me how to save her, and I will let you out every once in a while, and talk with you all you want," he continued.
It was a harsh offer, and a brutal manipulation as Marvolo had pretty much admitted to his desire to avoid the isolation of the Locket.
Yet…
"Let me out every day, and talk to me for at least an hour and you have a deal."
There was a gleam in those eyes that warned him of the Horcrux's knowledge of his manipulation, and the promise of its own schemes and plans.
It was a tough bargain, and Harry carefully showed no expression.
"Deal. Now, tell me how to save her?"
Severus Snape dropped his eyes, falling to his knees before the snake-like figure on the throne before him.
Times like these contrasted to him, even more strongly, of having the young Dark Lord in his Potions Classroom, and with the Potter spawn at that.
He kept his features impassive with the skill of a lifetime of masks, his façade so deeply ingrained that it had settled to be his skin.
"Rise, Severus…" came the silky, dangerous voice.
He steeled himself, and met that crimson gaze, which assessed him guardedly.
"My lord," he murmured, in response, self-loathing at this submissiveness and betrayal of pride long since squashed by the repressive hands of self-preservation and survival.
"What do you think of them?" the question came abruptly, coolly, coloured by a cool disinterest. He knew who 'them' was instinctively, and shuddered, knowing he would have to tread exceedingly carefully.
"Potter and Riddle?" he verified, not letting his tone show his unease.
The Dark Lord inclined his serpentine features in acknowledgement. He didn't know why this pathway of conversation unnerved him so, or surprised him, he should have expected his lord to pursue it eventually.
"Potter is an arrogant spawn of his father," he started with the easier, the Dark Court fully aware of his hatred of the elder. "Largely mediocre as always, but admittedly with a new level of confidence."
A new level of magical talent too, a shockingly Slytherin side to his personality and a disconcerting lack of hatred for everything stereotypically non Gryffindor.
And wit.
He had the tongue of Lily Evans.
But he was still a Potter through and through!
Brash and cocky, even more disrespectful and unruly, reckless and prone to get himself killed! Nothing like his sweet Lily.
He couldn't be.
He clamped down his thoughts.
"Riddle is brilliant in all of his classes-"
"-I'm fully aware of their individual characteristics," the Dark Lord cut in, coldly, tersely. "That is not what I was asking."
Severus' mouth ran dry. What do you think of them? Them as a together, the relationship.
Stupid.
"Forgive me, my lord," he murmured, knowing he could evade no longer. "They appear rather…" he resisted the urge to clear his throat, mind flashing to scenes he'd much rather forget. "intimate….intense. They evidently share a lot of passion."
He didn't sign up for this conversation!
The Dark Lord's eyes didn't leave his face, pressing for more, more details than the minimalist outlines he liked to offer.
"They…revolve around each other, utterly fixated to the extent that many would consider their deep involvements with each other to be emotionally and physically harmful."
He glanced at the red eyes, vainly trying to gauge the hidden intentions he saw there.
"They…flirt and bicker constantly, and always seem to be dealing with underlying issues that they keep private even from their closest associates, but appear to enjoy each others company regardless."
"Flirt?" the Dark Lord demanded.
He would have preferred a Cruciatus to this, and the Dark Lord suddenly seemed in the mood to give it too.
"Touch each other, tease…I believe Riddle is in the habit of calling Mr Potter 'sweetheart' or 'darling.'" It took his every effort not to mumble the last.
The Dark Lord's eyes cleared, with a horrible laugh, cold.
"You sound almost as if you believe them to be lovers."
He could feel the danger in the cutting razor's of his lord's aura, and wanted nothing more than to apparate and nurse a brandy somewhere away from the rest of the world.
"I believe many lovers would be…envious of their relationship."
"They're not!" the Dark Lord's tone was final, unyielding, a hiss of sudden anger.
There was a pause, wherein the Dark lord studied him, something suggesting he was seeing something more than what was being offered.
"Do they seem happy?"
The Potion's Master barely retained his shock, choking on the unexpectedness of the question. It was a traditionally caring question, but the tone was clinical. Severus mentally pursed his lips.
"Yes."
The Dark Lord nodded, thoughts hidden in his cloaked demeanour.
"Keep me updated on them, Severus. You may leave."
He needed a drink.
The next day, Harry was unusually restless and jittery, casting tempus charms nearly every minute and spending the time he wasn't checking the time glancing over at the Gryffindor table with a resolute expression on his face.
He exchanged a few words with their Lord, but was largely silent.
Zevi guessed that it was due to his Godfather's trial, and whatever the commotion last night had been about.
Certainly, for anyone who had invested such time to study of the 'Slytherin Duo' as he, it was clear to see that things were strained between the two of them, and the tension if they're gazes were so thick that anyone stuck in the crossfire was bound to get smothered and drowned in it.
Alphard seemed a little worried too, and stared at Harry's summoned clock as often as Harry did, though he refrained from casting the tempus charm himself.
Another significant change was that the Locket, Slytherin's Locket, that had once nestled discreetly around his Lord's neck, now hung around Harry's.
He really wanted to know what had happened for such a change to occur, but was once more left to mull over his discontented theories and unsatisfied desires for more than scraps of information.
He only wished that, some day, he would be privilege to the whole tale, because, tragedy or happy ending, he was sure that it would be epic.
As breakfast ended, the doors to the Great Hall swung open, framing the figure of a man.
Sirius Black.
And he was smiling.
A/N: So, erm. Okay chapter? Thank you SO much for the reviews to the last, I'm glad you enjoyed it so.
I felt so awkward writing the line "He only wished that, some day, he would be privilege to the whole tale, because, tragedy or happy ending, he was sure that it would be epic" haha, it sounds so arrogant to label my own invented story as epic. Note. Zevi's opinion not mine, and I dare say the epicness would vary on the storyteller :P