Chapter 122:
Two days had passed since the Prophecy revelation, and Harry prayed to Luck that no more would come up.
He also had a detention for destroying the Astronomy Tower, even if it was temporarily…but what was a detention in the scheme of things now? It was Valentine's day in two days, and that was far worse than detention, even if the detention was with Snape.
The whole prophecy scenario was a bit worse than detention too, just a bit.
The current situation was a) either he or Voldemort killed one or other B) Tom killed Voldemort and saved him, Tom killed them both, Tom killed Harry and became Voldemort. The bitter irony with the second interpretation of the prophecy, the better one, was that Tom once again held all the controls and the all situations.
If Tom suddenly teamed with Voldemort to end him, what could he really do? Tom might not be able to threaten his friends, but he knew that if Voldemort did Harry wouldn't be able to help but comply.
The Slytherin Heir had never seemed so dangerous before, but he knew he would never be able to walk away from in. Not truly. The connections went too deep, and it was cutting deeper every second.
He still thought he could add another option though, his control.
The fourth option in interpretation B…make Voldemort be Tom-to-Voldemort in an eternal time loop, and Tom would live, and he would live.
It was essentially the same as the third option of interpretation b, except for the fact that his friends didn't get sacrificed.
It was odd. In a way, he was on Tom's side in the prophecy - they were avoiding interpretation a - but then they were both still racing for the conclusion they wanted.
Hermione was making some leeway with the time spell, and Harry had three Horcruxes to still track down.
Hufflepuff's cup, and two as of yet unknown objects. He'd been trying frantically to think of what they might be. With two Horcruxes, Voldemort still looked like Tom, more or less - Ring and Diary.
With cup and locket, and possibly one of the two unknowns…he looked waxy, like he had when he requested the job. But why had he requested the job? Because he genuinely wanted it, because he wanted to be at Hogwarts, he wanted to be able to influence people.
The Horcruxes were in places of significance, both Dumbledore had confirmed that. So far there had been the Locket, the origin of which he didn't know, and the ring which was to do with his family and in the place that connected him to his pure Slytherin ancestry.
What other places could be significant to Voldemort? Or Tom.
Hogwarts.
He knew how much Hogwarts meant to Tom, and as inconceivable as it might initially seem, it was possible that there was a Horcrux hidden at Hogwarts.
What places in Hogwarts was special to Tom/Voldemort? And safe? Not the Slytherin Common Room, a curious snake could come across it and compromise it.
The Chamber of Secrets. Possible…but when would he have got a Horcrux there? If his next ones were the cup and Marvolo
. How would he have got a Horcrux anywhere in Hogwarts for that matter, unless….unless that was another motivation to coming up to the school for a job interview.
Hermione and Ron may have laughed if they knew his thoughts, but he just knew that there was a Horcrux in Hogwarts. The question was where: the Chamber…or the Room of Requirement…a room that could be anything, and provide any type of protection that one needed to hide a soul.
It could be a room in a thousand, and no would come across it unless they were specifically looking for it, would they? But what would it be?
So far all but one of the Horcruxes had been linked to Hogwarts…and with that overwhelming link how had Dumbledore not thought a Horcrux was here? His thoughts were a mess.
He didn't have the time to sort them out, not anymore, not properly.
It was February, so he had until about…June?
Four months to solve a time paradox. Four months to track down three Horcruxes, for Hermione to create a time-travelling spell, four months to find a way to get Voldemort to feel remorse…and four months to also get the ring off Tom.
Before he may have scoffed at the question of how much could possible happen or go wrong in four months…but this last year alone had been so full of twists that it felt unreal. Four months in which to beat Tom, who had an unfair head start.
There was no more time for games and sidetracks.
He needed to be clever, and this was the test on how much he knew Tom and Voldemort, wasn't it? His future and the future of the Wizarding world depended on how well he could second guess them. No pressure.
Deductions so far: his time was running out, and there was a Horcrux in Hogwarts.
Hogwarts was key, something that seemed to link things.
Except the Diary. The origin of the Diary was Lucius Malfoy…and, oh, he was stupid.
What if another Death Eater had a Horcrux too? Somehow. They would have to embody something Tom/Voldemort admired…Malfoy's were pure. The purest of the old dark families.
The Death Eater would also have to be extremely loyal.
Questions to still think on: what were the remaining Horcruxes, where were they, and who was the loyalist of them all?
"-Harry!"
Harry startled abruptly out of his thoughts at Hermione's voice. Both her and Ron were staring at him, with some measure of worry.
It was dinner, and he was at the Gryffindor table for once. Somewhere along the line, probably when the lions had kicked him out, the routine of breakfast with Slytherins, lunch with Gryffindors and dinner with either had fallen into the forgotten crevices of memory.
"Sorry, what?"
"Are you alright?" Hermione asked, with the air of someone who had asked this question before. Harry smiled, automatically.
"Yeah. Fine."
The smile faded a bit under the expressions they wore. He curled his fingers tighter around his cutlery.
"You've been very quiet," Ron prompted tentatively.
"I have stuff to think about," he muttered, studying them.
He wanted to tell them about the prophecy, he really did, but was it their burden to carry? If they were worrying from silence they were going to worry a lot more over a fated murder situation. He sighed.
They were his best friends.
He didn't know. Not now, at any rate.
"It's complicated," he admitted. "I'm not sure if I'm ready to talk about it."
His best friends, unlike a certain Slytherin Heir, would accept that - they may not be happy about it, but they would accept it if he didn't look to be about to drop dead or anything. Hermione looked down at her plate.
"What did Riddle do now?" Ron demanded.
If it wasn't simultaneously so sad, so irritating, he would have laughed at the assumption that Tom was to blame. To be fair, it was a justified response. He just couldn't find the fact that his best friends hated his…well, other really close friend, for want of a better term. Not that Tom was any better regarding Ron and Hermione…he only hoped Tom had never acted on his psychotic behaviour…surely Ron and Hermione would tell him if he did?
He chewed his lip, before going for it, lowering his voice, knowing well enough that the loud babble of the lions around them would mask their conversation well.
"Ron, do you know who Voldemort's left hand is?"
The red-head went startlingly pale, like porridge, flinching at the name, and for a moment he felt almost guilty for asking.
There was a fuzzy warmth of trust and loyalty in his stomach when Ron still answered, not questioning why he wanted to know.
"Lucius Malfoy, the slimy git. That's what dad always said."
Harry felt a small swell of disappointment, but deftly crushed it.
"No one else?" he asked, trying to relay that this was important.
"Bellatrix Lestrange," another voice said, quietly.
Harry stiffened, whipping around, only to relax as he noticed that the words had come from Neville. Neville was often with Ron and Hermione now, and the shy boy seemed largely trustworthy enough.
He frowned that the other Gryffindor had heard though, from across the table, and scanned his eyes around quickly to see if their conversation had drawn anymore unwanted attention. It hadn't.
"Bellatrix Lestrange?" he repeated, the name stirring something, a memory…but where?
Okay, firstly, why would Neville know her name? From his Grandmother, from-oh. The trial. He knew the name from the trial from Dumbledore's pensieve, in his fourth year (calling it last year was too confusing.)
She was one of the Death Eaters that had tortured Neville's parents into insanity. He swallowed down bile, meeting the other boy's hard gaze.
"Thanks," he said softly.
Neville's eyes narrowed.
"Why do you want to know about Death Eaters?" There was no accusation in his tone, but there was something inexplicable that demanded answer.
Harry blinked, not expecting it, and surveying his fellow Gryffindor closer. He'd changed…a bit. He'd gained confidence since Harry had last truly talked to him, and he'd never honestly got to know Neville.
"Because I need to find something, and I think a top ranking Death Eater - not Lucius Malfoy-" he shot Ron and Hermione a meaningful look, and knew instantly that they knew he was referring to the Diary, the Horcruxes.
To his credit, Neville didn't question this, maybe sensing that Harry wouldn't answer just like he sensed the new confidence in the other boy, merely appearing thoughtful.
Harry tilted his head, considering.
"It might be someplace significant to the Wizarding world, and the thing itself is probably small and portable, but valuable…it would have to be safe."
Neville's brow furrowed, and he favoured him with a strange expression, opening his mouth to say something when Harry's scar exploded with pain, just as an otter patronus appeared in the hall, before the staff table.
Everything went deadly silent, and Harry stifled a moan, a horrible feeling in his stomach at the tumult of emotions rolling towards him through the link.
He struggled to tighten his Occlumency barriers, boost them into something stronger, all the while keep a watery gaze on the otter.
St Mungo's is under attack. St Mungo's is under attack. We need help. The Death Eaters are coming. Come quickly.
And the world erupted into chaos.
Students were screaming, with the staff frantically trying to calm them. S
ilently, Harry stood up, trying to wave his way through the stampede, his mind whirling.
St Mungo's? Under attack? That made no sense! Why was Voldemort attacking St Mungo's…what was the motive? It was a key place for any resistance against him, a crippling blow to the ability to recuperate after raids…but…Tom never had just one motive, even ulterior motives, and he wasn't naïve enough to assume Voldemort didn't share that trait.
A diversion? Another wave of pain engulfed his head, and for a moment it swallowed him and his shield wavered, giving him a flash of a gold marble fountain, screaming people, before his shields snapped up with a sharp burst of emotion.
The Ministry.
The Prophecy.
Shit.
"Harry!" Hermione caught his arm, fiercely. "You can't be going there! Voldemort wants to kill you, it's stupid, Dumbledore will-"
"Harry." Another voice. Tom's.
The Slytherin appeared by his side, only the dark glint of his eyes suggesting anything was wrong.
Harry turned, dismissing Hermione for the moment with an apologetic look, but not having time to observe social niceties.
"It's a diversion," he explained quickly. "Voldemort's after the prophecy-"
Hermione and Ron both gave a sharp intake of breath, their stares burning into the side of his face. He ignored that too; he'd had enough practise ignoring Tom, Salazar knew.
"-I know," Tom replied, before casting a glance at his best friends and grabbing hold of his arm to push him in front and manoeuvre them both away through the crowd which was beginning to calm under McGonnagal.
Dumbledore had gone.
"Come on, let's go," Tom murmured.
Harry barely contained his surprise, having expected a massive fight about this. Tom must have picked up on it, for the elder shot him a look.
"It's disaster for both of us and our respective plans if gramps gets hold of that Prophecy before we're ready…and I don't trust you enough to leave you unattended because I know full well that you're going to find a way to get there even if I handcuff you to my bed - and yes, I did consider it-" Tom added at his alarmed, disbelieving expression "-and therefore, you're coming with me where I can at least keep an eye on you."
That was the most insulting explanation he'd ever heard.
"I don't need you to babysit me," he snapped as the doors to the Great Hall slammed behind them.
Tom's grip on his arm tightened.
"Indeed," the young Dark Lord's voice was dry, "babysitting is a temporary job and you get paid for it…keeping you relatively unscathed is full time occupation and has none of the monetary perks."
Harry didn't allow himself to gape at the response.
"This is coming from the boy who throws childish temper tantrums when he can't get his own way? Dealing with your mood swings is a full time occupation!"
"I can still stun and handcuff you to something immovable," Tom said pointedly. Harry sneered.
"Oh yeah, sure, run into Voldemort alone. I'm sure he'll leave you unscathed…well, physically. He might just obliviate you, but hey, no big deal. No. I'm coming with you."
They studied each other for a brief moment, fully aware there was still some tensions that needed to be worked out. There normally was.
Tom nodded. He nodded back.
"We can use the floo in Dumbledore's Office," he hissed, deciding that from now on it might be prudent to keep all plans and decisions in parseltongue, so no one but them and Voldemort could hear - which was better than everyone. By the flash of approval on Tom's features, the other agreed wholeheartedly. "I know the password," he added.
"Lead the way."
Sprinting, they reached the office in record times, and Harry muttered the password, feeling absolutely no regret in entering without permission.
He grabbed some floo powder, stepping towards the fire place, only for Tom to yank him back roughly.
"If they see us, they might curse on sight. We need a plan. A disguise."
"Are we assuming Death Eaters, as the ministry members would all be dealing with St Mungo's?" Harry questioned, thinking furiously. Tom inclined his head, and was silent for a moment, before he smirked, flicking his wand.
Two bone white masks appeared in the other's hands. Harry's heart dropped.
"Enjoy your lucky day of being a Death Eater, darling, and put it on."
A/N: So, not the end ;) and not the best chapter either. But the next one…the next one should be good. I think I've come to the conclusion that I have varyingly bad bad filler chapters after big events, and then more things happening which the filler leads onto. Like mini story arcs in the big story arcs. Huh. I truly apologise for the crappy filler chapter…but…have hope for the next one?
I'm quite busy with reality, so I don't know when the next one will be, but I promise to try and make it epically brilliant. I've found that if I don't force myself to write these, admittedly not up to par, chapters to stepstone to the next part, that I just stall writing this story at all. Can't go too long without updating or writing then...
Thank you tons for the reviews - you guys are AMAZING, I cannot say that enough times. Tom and Harry love you =)
PS: On my Writer's Network site (link on my profile) on which I post all my original work, I've uploaded the first two chapters of my novel. Anyone care to check it out and tell me what you think…?