Chapter 120:
It was late that night that Tom found himself leaving the grounds of Hogwarts, cloaked by shadows, those aware of his absence knowing well enough by now not to mention or think on it.
Harry had gone to meet Dumbledore, and he'd allowed it, content with the knowledge that he'd know if Harry was betraying him or doing anything untoward, and having business of his own to contend with.
He had let the restrictions stay loosened, knowing that he could tighten them anytime he wanted while he kept a small fragment of his attention upon the link.
Harry was still at Hogwarts, and that was enough, for now, though he was marginally annoyed but not surprised that the other had refused to tell him "everything" and had instead relapsed into a mutinous silence. It was payback for not sharing his own plans, he knew, but he'd deal with that later.
He appeared instead at Malfoy Manor, striding up to the gates without hesitation, and obliged to find them open for him. Peacocks strutted about the elaborate grounds, but he paid them no heed.
He didn't knock, not caring to act the humble student here, and walked straight in. As he shut the door behind him with a swish of his wand, Lucius Malfoy rounded the end of the hallway, his wards having clearly alerted him of the arrival of a guest.
The man, a spitting image of Abraxas, nodded coolly in greeting, mercury eyes surveying him with a wary respect and cautiousness. He doubted that Voldemort had introduced him in an honest manner, but the littlest Malfoy had a loose tongue by all accounts.
"He's in the drawing room," Lucius said quietly, a hint of fear in his careful posture. "My lord."
He resisted the urge to smirk with practised ease, gratified to hear that particular address once more. His followers knew his preferred names well enough, but they also knew that he forwent it for 'Tom' around Harry. He didn't think Golden Boy was quite ready to see his 'empire' presented so obviously.
Harry wasn't stupid, he knew the other suspected the dominion that played when he wasn't around, but he also knew that what many may have assumed to be signs of obliviousness etc was more a sign that Harry was rather pointedly ignoring certain details until he felt more equipped to deal with them, or was forced to.
He nodded back, making his way there, aware of the gaze on his back. His stomach knotted slightly despite himself at the thought of this meeting.
He hated coming into direct contact with his elder self, it was a bitter reminder of how much he was capable of failing, and failure was never an option.
"Tom," came the greeted, with a glass of white wine tipped altogether mockingly in his direction.
The Dark Lord sat upon an intricate throne like armchair before the fire, high backed, posture ramrod straight and scarlet eyes piercing like ice-picks. "I was wondering when you would seek me out without my provocation." He was favoured by a thin, coldly amused smile. "I'd offer you some wine, but I don't think you're quite old enough and we are not in France, but you may take a seat if it pleases you."
"Why thank you," he replied smoothly, no warmth in his tone either, as he transfigured another armchair into a throne to suit his purpose…a better one. Voldemort's eyes narrowed, but he continued as if he hadn't noticed. "And I'd go easier on the wine yourself, the years have evidently been unkind to you so I wouldn't encourage the deterioration of your appearance further."
"Your concern is touching, what is it that you are here for?"
"Thankfully not good conversation," he replied sweetly, before he grew serious, leaning forwards. "What is your game in interfering with Harry and myself? I believe I have already made it apparent that your involvement in our affairs is unwelcome, and that I will destroy you if you continue."
"And yet," Voldemort murmured, surveying him, "you are here rather than fulfilling that passionate declaration." He gave a tisk. "It is not as easy for you to destroy a part of yourself as you'd like to think, is it, child?"
He was silent in response to that, his scrutiny raking over the bloodless face, so different to his own, admittedly pale, features. Voldemort's eyes cast back over his features in equal fascination.
"Potter cares for you. He's a liability and a traitor, but he seems to genuinely care about you."
Tom's head tilted to one side.
"Jealous?"
"Bewildered and disgusted with the both of you," Voldemort returned icily.
"And jealous enough to admit you're bewildered," Tom taunted, with a smirk, before that too was gone. "One of the few emotions you seem to have enough humanity to still feel. It's odd how stripping our soul strips us down to our essential characteristics."
Hatred.
Anger.
Jealousy.
Bitterness.
Fear.
Envy.
Pride.
Obsession.
Everything dark about them, because without his persona and humanity that was all a Psychopath could be.
He tapped his fingers against his chair, locking their masked gazes that nonetheless revealed too much to each other. They knew each other best, after all, followed by Harry with an unparalleled insight, and perhaps more.
Harry shined light in a heart consumed by shadows, blinding light that caused monsters to both cringe in place of something more tender, and lash out in assertion of their territory.
Voldemort stared back, with a cruel twist of the lips, not saying anything for a moment.
"And you…" he murmured. "What are your feelings regarding the boy?
""Come now, old man, anyone walking in would think you were planning to give me the talk."
Voldemort's lips thinned with revulsion, filling him with a sadistic glee.
"Severus seems to believe I need to…Hogwarts accepts Howlers, so you tell me, must I?"
The glee promptly disappeared.
"One might wonder, and indeed they have, from the blatant obsession you show the boy."
"Well, in that case one might accuse you of paedophilia in turn," Tom sneered. "But that would be extremely disturbing considering he was but one years old when you first expressed your own interest in him."
There was a tense, furious silence.
"I'm not a paedophile."
"Severus Snape has no measure of our dynamic by which you could hope to judge it," he returned, equally venomous. The elder took a large sip from his glass.
"Touché," he acknowledged. "But you might want to answer the question if you wish to avoid such misconceptions."
"And you might wish to answer my queries in turn if we don't wish for our curiosities to circle incessantly forevermore without conclusion."
"One question for one question?"
"Consider it as a deal. Elders first. What is your plan regarding Harry and myself?"
Voldemort's fingers twirled around his wand, but for obvious reasons, neither relented to temptation of torture.
"I want the two of you to stop pretending that you have any hope for a future together and will act accordingly to prevent such a future from happening. Why are you so invested in Harry Potter?"
"Because he intrigues me and I enjoy his company and our games," Tom replied. "Why did you target him when he was a baby?"
"Because of a prophecy," Voldemort said, with a considering expression. Tom just about caught his shock.
"What did the prophecy say?"
"It's my question, I believe," the Dark Lord goaded, mirthlessly. "What is your plan regarding Harry and yourself?"
"I plan to keep him with me and ensure that future you seem so eager to prevent."
There was a flash of irritation on the other's features, an over-exaggerated apocalyptic rage that emphasised the mental instability of the wizard before him. He presumed it was because of his vagueness, but Voldemort had started that.
"What did the prophecy say?" he demanded, softly, leaning forwards.
Harry closed the door to Dumbledore's office behind him, offering Fawkes' a smile before surveying his headmaster without expression.
The grandfatherly man was buried in a stack of papers, half moon glasses resting on his crooked nose, and for just a second Harry felt a flash of that innocent fondness for the ancient wizard before everything else came flooding back. Dumbledore rested his quill, unsmiling.
"I wasn't aware we had a lesson planned for today, is there something you require?"
For a moment, Harry mourned the loss of the relationship they'd had, or the one he'd once thought them to have. It was clear the man was annoyed and suspicious of his earlier interactions with Voldemort, and his lack of openness regarding the subject of their discussion.
He'd been evaluating what approach to take all day, and with Tom, he may have been more wary of the 'bluffing' tactic as the other had the horrible habit of pinning him, sometimes quite literally, into waters he didn't want to go when he tried.
With Tom, taunting or slyness worked better.
"Why didn't you tell me about the prophecy?" he demanded, softly. "Didn't you think I had a right to know?"
Dumbledore's eyes widened with shock, before narrowing as the old man tried to assess how much he knew and how to reply.
Harry kept his features utterly neutral and expressionless, revealing nothing. This rarely worked with the Slytherin Heir, but Tom could actually read his emotions without needing to decipher however well veiled an expression he possessed.
"I wanted to give you a childhood," the Headmaster said. "I was going to tell you when the time was right. I presume Voldemort told you."
When the time was right…first year, his question. Why had Voldemort tried to kill him as a baby? It was because of this prophecy, whatever it was.
Harry considered continuing the bluff, but in the end switched tactics. This was too important.
"He told me to ask you about the prophecy…so who would you rather I heard it from? You or him?"
Dumbledore was silent for a moment, before summoning the pensieve to the table between them and depositing a memory into the liquid.
"He only knows half, so I'd strongly advise you not to discuss it with him, or Mr Riddle for that matter. They are not friend to you."
And a figure - Trelawney - rose from the silver sheen on memory.
Tom sat frozen, breathless, as Voldemort hissed:
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month does…"
"…and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"
Harry's blood chilled, with no emotion capable of surfacing past his utter shock and horror. No. No. No. This was all wrong. Dumbledore was lying he had to be.
"You don't know the rest?"
"Dumbledore does…and Potter."
They both winced at the tumult of emotions that suddenly swirled in their heads, painful emotions going too fast for him to decipher, but all thoughts locked tight behind Occlumency barriers he suddenly wished he hadn't taught so well.
"Go to him," Voldemort instructed. "And we shall speak at a later date."
Tell me everything.
A/N: Um, so, I hope that wasn't too abrupt. Heh…I was bored of revising, and needed stress relief…so have this chapter. EXAM TOMORROW! Freak out! Adios.
Thank you so much for the reviews! I'm sorry I never respond to all of them, though I do try and respond if you have a question I can answer without destroying the plot for you. Nikki…thanks =) I'm honoured. I'll pester you if I ever manage to get my book published ;) Be warned.
I know this chapter isn't way long, but...it's good quality...;)
Well, it's longer than my shortest beginning chapters anyway, it was only quite recently that my chapters started getting anything that could be called long...
And this seemed like a good place to stop...and one thing I will not deny about my writing skills is that I'm good with ending chapters :P