Chapter 117:
Tom couldn't help but notice the glamour-disguised exhaustion on Harry's face the next morning.
He couldn't help but feel gratified and…something else at the realisation that he, and his ultimatum, were at the cause of the younger's lack of rest.
He wasn't sure what he'd do if Harry decided he did want to back off…some part of him felt he would respect the other's choice, and then the remaining part of him just whispered that he should drag Harry along with him anyway if he refused to play willingly.
His insides twisted, inexplicably.
He didn't want to force the other into this, despite what some people seemed to think about his intentions towards Harry, but, would he? If it came down to it? Quite possibly.
He twirled his wand through his fingers, idly.
If Harry did choose to continue this game, of his own volition, surely it would prove that the other actually was his friend? Not just pretending for gain, or out of kindness, or, even worse, pity, like Granger suggested. Harry knew he wouldn't get this chance to leave again - the restrictions he placed on the other without hesitation was evidence enough of that.
He'd loosed the so Harry could wander around Hogwarts freely while he was making his decision, but the boy wouldn't be able to go further.
Would Harry run now at first opportunity?
His fingers curled tighter around his yew and phoenix feather.
He supposed all he could do was wait.
"He's actually giving you the option of walking away?" Zevi gaped, staring at the stressed - lost - boy in front of him.
Harry nodded, meeting his gaze with uncertainty.
Damn. Tom really did care about the younger; he'd never done anything like this before…had he? Harry probably didn't even realise the full significance of Tom's overall behaviour, to him, their interactions were relatively normal…but Tom, Tom was different with Harry, and that was just from his outsider perspective, without being privy to the more personal moments and conversations.
He studied the half Gryffindor, half Slytherin before him with open curiosity, knowing the other was waiting for his thoughts on the situation.
Harry had approached him almost sheepishly for advice, clearly not used to or comfortable with seeking guidance, but needing it desperately.
Harry…what did he say to Harry? Did he tell him to stay, as his Lord would not doubt want, or answer more frankly and as the confidant Harry was implicitly asking him to be?
His loyalty would always be to Tom, and he feared Harry walking away and the consequences if he did, but..did the duties of friend and follower have to clash?
It was evident that whatever caused Tom to offer this rare ultimatum was the same attachment that tore Harry apart to respond to it.
From a logical perspective, Harry should duck out now, flee and never look back…but this wasn't about logicalities, was it? As much as both Harry and Tom liked to rationalise their dynamic, and even had reasons and justifications for their actions, a large part of their relationship was undeniably an emotional one.
"Do you want to leave?" he asked, finally, knowing that he couldn't make this decision and that he wasn't supposed to either.
"Yes…no…I don't know," Harry mumbled, frustrated. "I should leave. It's what's best for me and everyone else."
"But not what you want to do," he noted, shrewdly.
"If I wanted to leave, I would have gone a long time ago," Harry sighed, impatiently, irritably, his fists clenched. "But this isn't just about me!"
And that was it, wasn't it…
"I think," he said, slowly, cautiously. "That though you should consider the ramifications and consequences to your friends and everyone else very carefully, ultimately, you can't make this decision for them this time. You're the one who's going to have to live with it."
"But what happens to them effects on whether or not I can live with or not!" Harry returned, miserably. Zevi allowed himself to roll his eyes.
"That's because you're too big on heroics," he pointed out. Harry snorted. There was an uncomfortable silence.
"Do you think Tom would be happier, in the long term, if I left?"
Merlin. What a question.
It was apparent Harry still viewed his and Tom's dynamic as somewhat one sided, and, he supposed, from Harry's perspective, Tom's feelings would be mind-boggling because he had no comparison.
He did, but Harry didn't because he only saw Tom when Tom was around him, he couldn't see how extraordinary it was even if he was told.
When Harry was around, all of his Lord's other toys or relationships pale to insignificance, much like Harry's did on his side of the spectrum. It wasn't that they stopped having other priorities, and cared about nothing else - his own personal theory, anyway, was that Tom and Harry's dynamic was so intense, so complex and consuming, that they simply didn't have time or space in their lives and minds for any other considerations when they were dealing with each other. Except, of course, if other considerations could have some effect on their current issue of the week.
He shook his head, determined to clear that thought and direct his mind back to the matter at hand, seeing Harry was getting anxious about his lack of reply.
"That," he stated, softly, "is something you need to take up with Tom himself."
Hermione looked around the library, before marching over to where Riddle was sitting. He flipped his notes out of view when she stopped at his table, glaring.
"Careful," he drawled. "Your face might get stuck in that expression…though I admit it might be an improvement."
She put her hands on her hips, furiously, ignoring the insult.
"What's this about an ultimatum you've given Harry?" she demanded, unable to bring herself to be flustered by the sharp snap of his sudden, undivided attention. "If you don't want him, you should just tell him, not torture him further for your own sick amusement!"
Riddle's eyes flickered, darkly, but he remained unreadable.
"It's not my intention to torture him," Tom returned, quietly. "I take it he sought your advice on the matter…how unusual. What did you say?"
"That he would, in the long run, be better off without you," she snapped, acidly. After a moment, her voice softened, despite the annoyance she held for both his callous, sexist ways and the pain he was causing her best friend. "You're going to end up leaving him. You have to, you must know that…unless you think he can sort out this time paradox?"
His eyes flashed, cooling.
"And yet," Riddle murmured. "He's the one leaving me, otherwise it would be a simple decision for him to stay."
Hermione's heart stopped. Suddenly exhausted, she dropped into the seat next to him, ignoring his contempt.
"He does care about you, I was wrong to imply he doesn't," she admitted. "If he didn't care, it would be a simple decision for him to take your ultimatum and leave. Even you can see it isn't easy for him, by any stretch of the imagination."
Her lips thinned that he would make Harry make such a horrendous choice, when her friend already had so much to deal with.
He watched her without expression, but without the dismissive air he normally had when having a conversation with her too.
"I get the feeling you don't like me very much," he stated, not sounding overly bothered by the fact. She looked away, incapable of holding that piercing stare.
"It's Harry's opinion of you that matters, not mine," she replied.
"I dare say it matters," his tone had frozen to lethal shards, and she got the sinking feeling that she'd walked straight into a trap, "when you're trying to poison him against me because of that opinion."
"He asked for my thoughts on the matter," she replied coolly, lifting her chin. "I gave them. Much like any of your pet snakes would advocate their view on the topic, and probably have…unless you hold their tongue in this subject also? Because Harry wouldn't thank you if that was the case."
He met the accusation of foul play unflinchingly, merely arching a brow.
"Is there a particular reason you're disturbing my work?" he questioned after a minute. "Has ginger found out that you're locked at the knees and got bored?"
Hermione flushed, burning with rage.
"My relationships are none of your concern!" she snarled, her cheeks hot with discomfort and embarrassment. "And I'm here to make sure you don't screw my best friend over further with your psychotic mind games."
"So I can screw him in other ways?" Riddle questioned, smirking. The smirk vanished before she could reply, as he continued. "Please, don't flatter yourself, if I wanted to torture him or break him into a million pieces there would be nothing you could do about it, so stop whining - it's unattractive, and repeating this conversation is getting tiresome."
She glowered at him, eyes narrowed.
"I don't care how much of a God-complex you have, if you hurt him I will find a way to destroy you," she threatened lowly.
He blinked lazily in response.
"…how do you know he wouldn't enjoy my hurting him? Debatably, he's got a masochistic-"
"-Will you stop your vulgar jokes and insinuations for one second!" she near hissed, as if she were the snake. "Just because you don't seem to take his emotional welfare seriously-"
Her mouth slammed shut, her voice silenced as he rose abruptly from his seat, towering over her.
"Do not presume that I don't take Harry's welfare, emotional or otherwise, seriously." Riddle's voice was low, deadly, murderous. "You, of all people, should know the opposite is true. So, do us both a favour and use that brain which you seem to be so proud of and think before you fling your words at me like a spoilt two year old. It's a waste of my time, and it makes you sound ridiculous."
He wasn't glaring, but there was death in his gaze.
Her hands closed automatically, instinctually, around her wand, but before she could even make a move towards drawing it her wrist froze in place.
The terrifying thing was that he gave no visible indication of his magic use - no words and no wand, not even a hand gesture to replace his wand. She suddenly cursed that this corner of the library was so dark and, relatively, private.
"You punched me last time," he continued menacingly. "Do not take the liberty of thinking it is forgotten or that you remain unscathed out of any reason but my generosity."
He studied her, flatly, and she felt like a mouse trapped beneath his scrutiny. How did Harry stand it?
"I could have snakes devour you alive the second you stepped into the shadows alone," he whispered, leaning forwards, hid voice velvety. "I could turn your blood to acid so that you burn alive, or even arrange for Mr and Mrs Granger to be brutally assaulted on their way home from work, girl."
Hermione could scarcely breathe for the nausea, horror and fear that swallowed her.
"But," he purred, and in no way any less dangerously, "I shall not. You are here because of your loyalty and friendship to Harry, and I must admire you for that."
She felt her wrist unlock, but wasn't stupid, or composed, enough to attack him. She'd been in dangerous situations before, but never, she felt, so close to death without any talent or knowledge to aid her with it.
Her hands trembled imperceptibly, for she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing it.
"Rest assured, Hermione," he continued, sitting back elegantly into his seat, as if his threats were nothing. "I won't break him or kill him. Despite my, what was it…ah…psychotic mind games, my self control is impeccable, more so, I am perfectly aware of what Harry can or cannot tae from me, and when to stop. Is that all? Lovely." He smiled, coldly. "Bye bye now."
Resisting the urge to flee immediately, she scrapped together the last dregs of her Gryffindor courage and met him face on.
"I'll hold you to that," she promised.
But he had turned back to his work, disinterested.
Harry couldn't believe he was doing this.
Two days had passed since Tom had given him the ultimatum, and as soon as he thought he'd made up his mind, his mind promptly threw back into confusion and indecision.
He didn't know what to do, and nothing anyone had said was truly helping. He'd been able to figure most of what they suggested out for himself.
Tentatively, he lowered his Occlumency barriers, searching out for the mind at the furthest crevices of his awareness.
He bit his tongue as he felt the mental equivalent of a bullet slam into him, the second he got close, while his scar simultaneously exploded with pain. He could taste copper in his mouth.
Then, to his shock, his relief, the attack ceased, and there was but a shadow at the corner of his thoughts, alien and yet familiar.
He felt a stray, or maybe not so stray, thought drift to him, almost warily.
[What is it?]
It was actually working! He hadn't expected to work, it had been a stupid notice…and it was working, he hadn't thought it would actually work. What did he do?
[Voldemort?] he tried.
[No] came the immediate response. [The other person you have a mental link with.]
Harry's eyes widened, marginally pained, and he almost choked on air or thoughts at the very Tom-like reply. His insides squirmed at any resemblance.
Oh he really couldn't believe he was doing this…
[I need your advice.]
Silence. Utter silence, and just as Harry was about to give up and shut his barriers again, a thought came.
[This is about Tom.]
[Yes.]
[You do realise I could strip your mind apart seeing as you've foolishly lowered your shields.] He got a sense of scathing, and a horrible image of himself lying on the floor, drooling, in a vegetable like state. He shuddered.
[Yes.]
There was another silence.
[What about him? Make it quick, I'm not your therapist.]
Harry shot back a memory of the ultimatum, sick with nerves and incredulity at his own actions.
This was desperate and reckless, even for him…but, Voldemort knew Tom better than anyone else, he wasn't an idiot enough to deny that, however dissimilar the two were.
Voldemort knew Tom Riddle, or remembered him. Voldemort also knew Harrison Evans and Harry Potter, to some extent, certainly, even if he seemed to choose to ignore that fact for whatever reason.
Still.
He was insane for doing this. Tom had finally driven him over the edge.
He almost missed the subconscious, faint, foreign emotions that slipped past his own.
Shock.
Confusion.
Rage.
Disgust.
Fear.
Longing.
All merging into one complicated mess.
Tom's book on empathy was helping…that was where he'd got the idea of using the link to actually talk to Voldemort, without risking meeting the Dark Lord, and how he could better distinguish the emotions he was getting without feeling overwhelmed.
[Stop pretending!]
And then the link abruptly slammed shut with enough force to send him reeling.
Harry's eyes open in the empty classroom, the room spinning dizzyingly. He felt like he was going to empty the contents of his stomach and his forehead was wet with blood.
He bit his lip, absently cleaning himself up.
Shit.
What had he just done?
He couldn't believe he'd just asked Voldemort for advice. What was wrong with him? And what was wrong with Voldemort?
Not that the other had offered anything really…
And yet, for the first time, he thought he knew which decision he might give Tom tomorrow.
A/N: So, holidays end for tomorrow and it's hint the ground running with reality. And I don't have a laptop. So I thought I'd post this now...I hope you like it, and I'm aware it's very monologue-y, but I wanted to do the decision justice. What do you think Harry will pick? Who knows, I might add further conversations at some point, but I didn't want to be overwhelming and just variations of the same conversation over and over again cause you'd get bored...and I already do that circular dialogue pattern with Tom and Harry to a certain extent.
Please vote on my latest poll, if you haven't already.
And, um, yeah. That's me done for now. Next chapter should be interesting ;)
Wish me luck for my exams!