Chapter 127:
Tom studied the sleeping boy before him, for a moment, his features carefully expressionless.
He prided himself on his self-awareness, and general awareness, and so the revelations of the night came as no shock to him…not really.
He'd known for a while that sometimes he was…not as well equipped to deal with the emotional onslaught being around Harry created as some others might be, and that there were small, miniscule shifts to his character when the other was in his company, but this was the first time he had admitted it explicitly aloud. It was…daunting.
He'd made reference to it, of course, like when he'd told Harry he was only 'Tom Riddle' around him etc, but he'd always on some level been able to tell that Harry didn't understand the full vulnerability of that statement. Now though...
For a moment, he considered sorting through the protective charms Harry had no doubt placed on his Munin Band and ripping the thing off, so he could obliviate his friend, but in the end decided against it. He'd see how things played out before he acted too rashly - impulsive reactions were what damned Voldemort to thirteen years without a body, after all.
Besides, Harry was tricky like that, he never quite responded exactly like Tom thought he would…or, at least, he thoroughly surprised him every so often, so it was only best to be cautious in case this was one of those times. Still.
It was undeniable that Harry was different to him than any other person - an exception his every rule. It was a weakness, a liability that he both struggled to tolerate and accepted with a shocking ease. He didn't understand it.
Voldemort would no doubt rationalise his abundant urge to protect the younger to be due to the Horcrux, self-preservation, his soul recognising its missing fraction…and yet… Harry had always been a Horcrux, and his emotions regarding Harry hadn't always been the same, nor did Voldemort show any inclination of the same sentiment. The Horcrux, he was sure, had its part to play, but it was too simplistic to attribute this influx of…caring to it alone.
Did he care? He found the very idea of it to be disgusting and weak, but he supposed he did.
To care: 1) to be interested in or concerned about something. 2) To feel affection or love and concern for somebody. 3) To look after somebody or something.
The lexical evidence certainly suggested he was infected by caring; Harry was very interesting to him, he did hold a certain level of affection for the other, as otherwise he wouldn't be having these emotional responses and he looked out for Harry, although the reasons for that were tied to self interest.
So…he did care, although he highly doubted it was in the fluffy way some assumed. He was dark, and so tended to be his emotions. His care wasn't light and gentle, it was fierce, violent and possessive. He had no such scruples about denying that.
The idea of caring though…it was a liability, he'd said that already.
Caring about Harry gave Harry the opportunity to hurt him where others couldn't, and that was a dangerous position to have anyone in, nor a dilemma he had experienced before.
He was Tom Riddle, no one got closer to him than he allowed…except Harry. He didn't allow the boy in, he shoved his way past defences anyway, regardless of Tom's opinion on the matter! It was maddening. The logical thing, the reasonable thing to do, would be to expose of the threat…but he wouldn't.
That was the nature of this problem, of this caring: it prevented him from willingly taking efficient actions that he would normally have used.
He didn't want Harry gone, and so the threat grew. Hell, he drew the boy closer, where he should have been pushing him away.
His only consolation was the knowledge that whatever emotions he had, were probably mutual. Harry was different with him as well in turn. The closer Harry got to him, the closer he got to Harry, and so if events ever did go awry, he had the same poison of care and weapons of intimacy at his disposal.
Nonetheless, it was unnerving.
How did common people deal with so many emotions? It was sickening. He hated this lack of control - because, it was always around Harry, or regarding him, that his self-control slipped.
Harry was lucky that he'd always managed to reign control in so fast, stopping at dislocated fingers or punched faces or confessions too unguarded for comfort.
He never showed anyone to full force of his genuine personality, there were always masks, deceptions or dilutions involved, because he knew no one could survive the full brunt of his character.
Except Harry.
Except, he used that word a lot with Harry, didn't he? His only exception.
Harry hadn't fled, though Tom had given him the unprecedented opportunity to. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. He sighed, heavily.
Pathetically, he almost felt he should keep vigil over the boy, but that was both ridiculous and time consuming. Harry wasn't even awake! And he wouldn't be waking any time soon, just, probably, having nightmares he couldn't escape.
He shook his head to clear it, taking a step to the door of the Hospital Wing, before, inexplicably, hesitating.
How restful could sleep with nightmares be? He knew that was why Harry had fought against taking the sleeping draught in the first place- he didn't want to be trapped with his demons.
Besides, this reasoning was redundant: he knew he wouldn't stay, he never did, and this time would be no different because he had a busy schedule and errand to take care of. He had noted Granger and Ginger's surprise that he hadn't already left earlier though, and, more importantly, he'd noted Harry's.
What did it matter if Harry had nightmares? He never slept well, and he definitely wouldn't tonight, after torture. His torture. His jaw clenched. He considered for a moment, before coming to a decision, pulling the white mask out of his pocket.
Salazar.
Caring was bloody inconvenient.
Then he left.
Harry wandered around the castle in search of Luna, having been discharged from the Hospital Wing some half an hour earlier.
Tom had been gone when he woke up again - and, to be honest, Harry wasn't surprised at that, especially after the conversation they'd had. He'd fully expected Tom to withdraw completely, grow cold, as if to wipe the confession from ever happening.
What he definitely hadn't expected was Tom to deliberately leave a sign of acknowledgement.
Tom had left him one of the White Death Eater masks, which, in itself, was taunting, but then it had been modified. It made him smile, because he knew it was the Slytherin Heir's response to his comment about the thing when they were at the Ministry, on how he should change the design.
The bottom half was gone completely, making it more elegant and less skull like, leaving the eyes and the top half of the face covered, and instead of being pure white, half of it was black. The eye holes, he noted, matched the size and shape of his own.
It looked more like something you'd wear to a masquerade ball now, but then, he supposed that was Tom's somewhat mocking reply - that his arguing over aesthetics in the middle of a battle didn't fit war, much like the mask itself didn't fit a battlefield.
He still preferred this version though; not that he'd wear it, on principle. He'd shrunk and pocketed it.
The real point of the gesture wasn't even the mask, it was the fact that Tom was specifically alluding to remembrance or caring about his opinion.
Or maybe he was just looking into too much. Whatever.
It was Tom though, and so it was stupid to not read into it, as everything Tom did had to be read into as that was normally where everything important was kept, under initial surfaces.
He found the blonde Ravenclaw by the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He knew he probably should have gone to find Ron and Hermione first, but they'd ask him about the Prophecy and everything, he knew, and he didn't want to talk about it.
It wasn't cowardice…it was having different priorities.
Besides, he could ask Luna about the resurrection stone, and, he just generally enjoyed the girl's company. Sure, she said some odd things and believed in strange concepts, but she was also smart.
She could have been as smart as Tom, he suspected, but in a different field. She seemed to see things other people didn't, just like Tom.
Not that she was simply the female, less psychotic replacement he was using instead of talking to Tom, even if, on hindsight of his thoughts, it might sound like that. He sighed.
"Hello, Harry Potter, how are you?" she asked, as he approached. "I hope you're feeling better."
He frowned at the sight of her. She had no shoes on, and only a thin cardigan on top of her dress. It was Saturday morning, and so she wasn't wearing her school robes.
"Luna…your feet, aren't they cold?" he questioned. She smiled gently.
"No, not really. I'm used to it."
"Your shoes-?"
"Have been mysteriously replaced."
His eyes flashed dangerously.
"Mysteriously replaced? Someone took them? Who?"
"It's all a bit fun," she shook her head, dismissively. He took two advanced steps forward, taking hold of her shoulders.
If this was what he thought it was…he knew people called her Looney, but for whatever reason, self-absorption perhaps, he hadn't made the connection. Merlin.
"Luna, the others…are they?" he swallowed, not sure how to phrase it. She stared at him with her wide blue eyes. "They shouldn't be allowed to take your stuff. Tell me who did it, and I'll get it back and make sure it doesn't happen again," he said.
She smiled again.
"That's kind of you, but it's okay. I've always found that the things we lose have a habit of returning to us."
"Luna-" he tried again, helplessly. It was so infuriating when people wouldn't accept help when they needed it!
"Did you want to talk to me about something?" she asked, mildly, but it cut over him, and her gaze had become a fraction more piercing. He let his hands drop, not sure what he could do, and hating it.
He'd think of something. Luna was too nice for people to treat her wrongly. She didn't deserve it. He tugged off his cloak, offering it to her, and after a moment, she took it.
"Thank you," she replied, almost too quietly to hear.
"Anytime," he murmured. They stood in silence for a moment.
"You never answered," she mused, finally, not shying from his gaze. He seemed to have picked up the habit of openly studying people from Tom. Most people grew uncomfortable with it. He blinked. "How are you?" she clarified, lightly.
"I'm fine," he replied. "You know me. Always am."
"Hmmm," she said. "And how's Tom?"
"He's fine too," he replied, if a little awkwardly. Her head tilted.
"I have those umbrella's if you still want them," she offered. He felt a grin tug at his lips.
"Thanks, Luna, but I think we're okay."
"Then why are you here talking to me?" she asked. "Instead of him."
"Am I not allowed other friends outside of Tom?"
"Are we friends?" she asked. "That's nice. I've never had a friend before." His heart drew cold at that, the casual statement, the echo of the last conversation he had with Tom, and that it was the same for her. "And I don't think he really wants you to have other friends outside of him."
"Well, he doesn't get a say in the matter," Harry replied, wondering if he should have been more disturbed by the statement. Probably. It was Tom though.
Not that Luna was necessarily right - she thought he and Tom were in love with each other after all, which was just ludicrous. There was another silence, but it was companionable
."What are you doing out here, anyway?" he asked curiously. Her smile shined even brighter.
"I was feeding the Thestrals. They're really cute!"
Cute? Thestrals? Really? He smiled back, with some amusement.
"What about you? Are you looking for Tvuna plants?"
"Tvuna-?" he began, before shaking his head. Never mind.
"Actually, I was looking for you," he said.
He felt bad suddenly - he didn't want her to think that he was just using her for what she could tell him. She looked at him, expectantly.
"I was wondering if you could tell me anything more about the resurrection stone…I've looked around for it, but I can't find anything about it in any of the magical object section of the library," he stated. "It's fine if you can't," he added hastily.
"Sure," she said. "It's one of the Deathly Hallows.
" "The Deathly Hallows?" he wasn't sure if he'd heard right.
"Yes," she replied. "The story goes that three brothers met Death on a bridge, and, having magic, they managed to escape him. Devious Death offered them a reward - a Deathly Hallow for each of the brothers. The first brother asked for a wand so powerful that it could never be beaten, and so Death fashioned him one out of a nearby elder tree. That became the elder wand."
She drew a line in the dirt with a flick of her wand.
"The second brother, taunting Death further, asked for a stone to resurrect the dead."
She drew a circle that touched either end of the line.
"The resurrection stone," Harry murmured.
"Yes," Luna agreed. "And then, the third brother, the youngest, asked for something that would allow him to go henceforth from that place without being followed by Death, so Death, unwillingly, gave him his own cloak of invisibility."
Luna drew a triangle to encompass both circle and line.
"The Deathly Hallows," she stated. "The first died drunk on power, avenging an old enemy in a bar and boasting of his power. The second, died of love, calling on the ghost of his love, and withering because she was just a shadow and faded. He hung himself to join her."
Harry felt sick.
"The third," Luna looked up at him. "Lived a long life, before greeting Death as an old friend."
Harry stared down at the mark on the ground before him. It looked similar, somehow, he'd seen it before.
"They say that the person who possesses all three Hallows becomes Master of Death."
"Master of Death…what does that mean?" he asked.
Luna shrugged delicately, still appraising him. Harry chewed his lip.
"Luna…if these hallows are so powerful, how come more people don't go looking for them?"
"Some do," Luna said softly. "And some find them. The elder wand has a bloody history, as the old owner must be defeated for the wand to pass into new ownership…but most people believe it to just be a fairytale."
That made more sense, especially as these Hallows sounded like the holy grail of the magical world. Another thought occurred to him.
"But the resurrection stone has been - it's one of Tom's family heirlooms - its been in his family for years…"
"Three brothers…" Luna murmured. "The brothers Perevell."
Harry's heart stopped.
"Perevell?" he repeated, dumbly. "As in, but I'm, I-"
He and Tom were both Perevell heirs. He had an invisibility cloak.
Salazar. His mouth felt dry. Did that mean-?
Luna's eyes glittered like her irises were made from sapphires, catching the sun.
"Do you think Tom's after all the Deathly Hallows, or just the Resurrection stone?" he asked.
Harry couldn't see the young Dark Lord turning down a wand of extreme power, or a cloak that hid him from death. Perhaps selfishly, Harry was more glad than ever that he'd never told Tom about his father's invisibility cloak.
Luna swiped earth across the symbol. The one he'd seen before…but where?
"Tom Riddle mustn't become the Master of Death," the blonde said softly. "Nothing could stop him from anything, if he did. Not even you."
Neville walked distractedly up from the Herbology Greenhouses - he'd been helping Professor Sprout with some of her Mimbletus Mimbletonia for extra credit.
He had one himself, so he knew what to do with it, and it was really quite fascinating how they'd developed different defence mechanisms for the different attacks they could come under, and that a plant would be so almost sentient.
Most people just assumed they didn't have feelings, because they were just there, but you could tell a lot from a plant. He balanced his notepads carefully in his hands, heading towards the Common Room to meet Ron and Hermione. That had been…strange.
At first, he'd felt horribly guilty, as if he was trying to take Harry's place…but…well, he liked being friends with them.
He liked Harry, but Harry wasn't coming back to Gryffindor tower anytime soon, that was perfectly evident. He'd seen his ex dorm mate with Riddle, and they just…jazzed.
They worked well together, and though some of the rumours about the two of them made him cringe (he didn't want to know that much detail, fantasised or not, about anyone's private life!) they seemed happy.
Ron and Hermione, on the other hand, had been crumpling while their friend flourished. It had been clear to everyone in the tower that they'd struggled to find their balance without Harry as a buffer, as two people instead of the steadfast, once thought inseparable, Golden Trio.
He thought they had it quite well worked out now, though it wasn't perfect. But, what in life was perfect?
So lost in his thoughts was he, that he very nearly walked into one of the many people spinning in his contemplation. Harry. He came to an abrupt halt, to avoid skidding into the other, only for it to have no effect as Harry promptly walked into him, apparently similarly lost in thoughts.
"Oh-sorry!-Neville?"
The stared at each other cautiously for a moment, as if searching for offence, before relaxing.
"Hey Harry, knut for your thoughts?" he asked.
Harry grinned, sheepishly.
"Not worth that much, I'd be robbing you, mate," he replied.
Neville was silent for a moment, not quite sure what to say. He hadn't ever talked to the Boy Who Lived that much, and even less now.
Though he knew Harry and Riddle got on like a house on fire, he still worried that the other was annoyed that he was stealing his best friends or something - and Harry could be terrifying when he was annoyed or a person somehow got on his wrong side.
Neville didn't want to go there.
"Gringotts," he blurted out, finally, when he could no longer stand the weight of the rather intense scrutiny he was under.
He suspected Harry had picked it up from his Slytherin friends - Riddle, not the purebloods, as they had more decorum and wouldn't be seen dead breaking societal expectations regarding looking at someone so closely for such an extended period of time.
Harry's brow furrowed
."Excuse me?" That was the purebloods. Before, Harry would have said 'What?' or 'Huh?'
"Gringotts," he repeated, quieter, shuffling his feet. "You asked yesterday about safe places to keep things, magical places of notes. Well, Gringotts."
Obviously.
Harry's expression seemed to freeze, his thoughts dancing too fast to be deciphered behind his eyes.
"I…thanks Neville," he said, sincerely. Neville felt a hand clap his shoulder in gratitude, and smiled back, a bit uncomfortably. "Really. Thanks. That's…Gringotts. Of course. Why didn't I think of that?"
Harry seemed to largely be muttering to himself now, and somewhere in it, Neville had the strange sense he'd been dismissed. Harry probably wouldn't call it that, and would never purposely dismiss someone, but it was the sense he got.
The next second, the other snapped out of it, giving him a slightly apologetic look.
"I'd love to talk, but I got to run…library. Stuff to do. Another time, yeah?"
"Bye Harry," he said, somewhat bemused as the other took off at a sprint.
He adjusted his bags and continued up towards the common room.
Alecto Carrow looked up sharply as the door to her office creaked open. She'd been penning a letter to her brother, Amycus, and now laid down her quill and taking hold of her wand instead.
"Who's there?" she called. If it was some stupid child looking for help on their Defence against the Dark Arts homework…she lifted her wand higher at the lack of response, wondering somewhere in her mind if she was simply being paranoid.
The next second, a blinding pain shot through her left arm, and her wand promptly clattered to the floor as she barely refrained from verbalising her agony.
Cold fear swept over her as she curled over her burning appendage. Was she being summoned? Had she done something wrong. She sank to her knees, almost sighing in relief as the pain dulled, before muting almost entirely.
The fear didn't leave her, nor did the sudden magic in the room. Dark, intoxicating, powerful magic that caressed her skin like the edge of a knife.
Measured footsteps approached her, calm, soft.
"Hello Professor," a velvety voice drawled. She looked up, before frowning, and the terror in her stomach plummeted to new pits of dread.
"M-Mr Riddle," she greeted, coughing, trying to bolster her tone. "What is the meaning of this?"
She knew he was important to the Dark Lord, in his…favour or something, as she'd been ordered to show him lenience (not that she found trouble with that, he was clearly brilliant unlike some other dimwits, albeit being a half blood.)
A cold, cruel smile swept across his lips.
"By that address, I assume you do not know who I truly am. Tut tut, and they let you teach Defence? But, then, I suppose it was always ironic that a Death Eater should teach that subject…"
"I don't know what you mean-" she began, automatically. Her left arm throbbed wildly, and she suddenly had a horrible feeling. He was a time traveller, wasn't he? And her mark…
"Now now," he murmured, "let's not waste time I'm on denial or evasion. You're not Harry, and so your inability to surrender to uncomfortable truths are in no way endearing."
She swallowed.
"W-who are you, really?" she whispered.
The Dark magic teased her, and he crouched before her, that charming smile still upon his face.
"Let me give you a clue," he replied softly.
Blinding pain ran down her left arm again, and she screamed, praying someone would hear, but knowing they wouldn't due to her own care in warding her quarters.
"My lord…?" She didn't understand. She'd seen him with the Dark Lord, they couldn't possibly…the Dark Lord couldn't possibly be two people at once…and…
"Harry would have got it by now," he sighed, shaking his head, before rising and circling her prostrate form. "But, for the sake of my limited time, I shall save you the agony of having to think too hard…I am the Dark Lord when he was still young, when he was still but a student."
The horrible feeling in her heart encompassed her, enough to almost make her faint. No. No. This was…
"I-what do you require of me?" she asked, trying not to whimper. "My lord."
He gave a somewhat pleased sounding hum, but it was dangerous too, utterly so.
"Well, it's simple really, I rumour has it you've been reporting on my activities to my older variant-"
"-I'll stop!" she promised, her breath catching, her voice barely a shriek. "I didn't-"
Pain.
It felt like it lasted forever, focussed again on her left arm, and in the coherent corners of her mind she knew it was so anything that happened could never be traced conclusively back to him.
Brilliant. She hated it. The helplessness
. Blood trickled out of her mouth as she nearly bit through her tongue, copper flooding her taste buds.
When it was done, she lay on the floor, panting, her face slick with tears.
"Do not interrupt me again, Carrow," he said quietly.
She heaved a shuddering breath, silent, wishing the ground would swallow her whole.
"I want you to take a message to Voldemort, for me," he continued, as if the interruption had never happened. "A special message, will you do that for me?"
"Anything," she agreed, fervently.
This was the worst situation ever - at least with the elder she expected it, and could brace herself for his presence. In a way, he was more frightening than the Dark Lord, for he was tagging questions onto what were clearly orders, taunting and deriding her vulnerability and servitude further.
"What do you want me to tell him, my lord?"
"Tell him?" Riddle's smile widened, dazzling, but there was ice and malevolence and absolutely no conscience in his eyes. "Tell him this is war."
Then his wand slashed, quicker than lightning, and blood poured out of her stomach, slices.
"Hurry along now, professor. You'll be dead and useless within five minutes."
She staggered to her feet, clutching the wound, shocked, numb, unable to comprehend. It was so sudden.
She glanced down.
Words. He'd cut words into her skin.
HE'S MINE.
She glanced up at him, terrified, to find he'd wandered over to her desk, and turned only to raise his eyebrow at her, raising a glass of wine that he'd poured for himself as if in toast.
Vision hazy, she fled to the Dark Lord.
Harry dropped into his customary seat next to Tom in the Common Room, late that evening. At dinner, the whole hall was subdued, quiet with the horrors of what had been called the 'St Mungo's Massacre.'
He'd seen the papers, the pictures made him sick.
The fact that the Ministry had rather obviously been attacked simultaneously only exacerbated the fear. It reminded him of being in the past, when Grindewald's sign was splattered on the prophet every other day…oh. Stupid.
Grindewald's sign.
It was the mark Luna had drawn - the Deathly Hallows symbol.
He went rigid. Grindewald had been after the Deathly Hallows? But then, surely, Dumbledore must know something about them too?
"What?" Tom asked, having obviously caught the change in his posture. He shook his head.
"It's…nothing," he murmured.
The Slytherin Heir's head tilted, clearly not buying that, but he didn't comment. Harry's thoughts were racing.
Dumbledore must have known something about Grindewald, he remembered, back in the past, there was all this talk about how Grindewald didn't dare attack Britain because of Dumbledore.
So Dumbledore must have known something, there must be some form of connection there, somehow.
A Dark Lord didn't forestall world domination on rumour and hearsay alone….would they? He didn't know.
Then there was Gringotts. He needed to find a way to break into the Lestrange vault, and for that, he needed a Lestrange.
His eyes drifted to the far corner of the Slytherin Common room, fixing on the slumped, dejected figure.
He should have felt more sorry for the twit, but he couldn't - the bastard had tried to kill him! Sure, he didn't like the thought that Cygnus been tortured for it, but he had no objection to this banishment, at least not while his thirst for vengeance remained unquenched.
"Now I really am curious," Tom remarked, and he flicked his gaze back again, not at all surprised that Tom hadn't yet returned to his dodgy looking book and notepad
. Speaking of, he needed to burn that notepad, taking the educated guess that Tom was working on a time spell. He only hoped Hermione and he got there first, before the other.
"What about?" he asked, though he had his suspicions.
Tom was in the armchair across from him - the one he lounged in like it was his throne when it wasn't the middle of the night and only Harry was around to witness him stealing a sofa for himself. He often wondered why Tom didn't take the sofa otherwise, it wouldn't be that he couldn't get away with it.
Maybe he didn't like the thought of touching those he considered inferior? He'd alluded to such distaste of personal contact before…
"Your latest plan for sabotage," Tom replied. He could feel the rest of the Slytherins begin paying rather more obvious attention at the blunt statement. "Presumably involving Lestrange?"
"You're fishing."
"You keep looking at him."
"He's a good-looking guy," Harry said mildly, with a slight smirk.
Tom's eyebrows arched. Alphard spluttered, seemingly choking on air, but was ignored.
"So's Tom," Abraxas said, apparently hoping to sound clever. "And therefore that defence against sabotage is invalid."
Harry made a show of studying Tom in a comparative way, before glancing over at Lestrange again.
"Lestrange is more my type, more, er, manly."
Tom leaned forward, book almost discarded now, considering him with an unreadable expression.
"Why?" Harry asked, to break the silence more than anything else. "Are you jealous?"
Zevi dragged in a sharp breath.
"Incredibly," the Slytherin Heir replied.
Harry's smirk faltered before he could catch it under the dangerous, somewhat possessive way Tom was surveying him.
He wasn't completely sure if Tom was joking or not, it was hard to tell with how good Tom's acting skills were.
"Why?" the other returned, head tilting. "Are you trying to make me jealous?"
"I-" Harry suddenly felt very wrong footed. Out of his depth.
"Because considering I'm a psychopath who knows where you sleep, that's probably not a good idea."
They stared at each other for a minute, and Harry could practically feel the tension building.
"Do you know if there's any back story between Dumbledore and Grindewald?" he asked abruptly.
Tom smirked.
A/N: Have you SEEN the size of this chapter? :O It's shocking. What happened?
I hope you guys appreciate it.
Thank you so very much for all the reviews in the last chapter. I felt really loved :)
I had something I meant to say here, but I've forgotten what it is...I'll get back to you!
PS: Up to Chapter 5 of my novel is posted on Writer's Network, link on my profile, if you're interested ;) Tell me what you think (a million forms of gratitude for those who already have)
Until next time...