Chapter 131 (ANNIVERSARY!)
Voldemort studied the letter in his hands, impassively, excitement shadowing his thoughts.
This was…good.
Lestrange was still a fool, though. Honestly, did he think he would survive the ensuing consequences of this unscathed? Idiot. Before Harry, he'd never seemed quite so stupid, but he supposed Potter was, unfortunately, more attune to him and his variants than most people.
It was the Horcrux - nothing else. His lip curled in disgust.
My Lord Voldemort…your friend…did the repulsive child truly think that to hold an ounce of truth? Cygnus Lestrange was nothing to him, and so easy to manipulate that it was pathetic.
Even as he grew old, all he had to do for the man to do anything for him was to show the merest appreciation, tolerance or favour. It only proved the dangers and weaknesses of sentiment.
Still, the boy was useful for now, so he allowed the impudent address without scolding or punishment, even encouraging it to coax every last scrap out of Lestrange before he cut him down again. It was simply too amusing watching him shatter, just as he managed to begin fixing himself again.
Soon…Riddle had to be dealt with too, his younger counterpart was becoming all too troublesome. His army had lost a crippling amount of men, and it was only in taunt that the rest were spared from being hauled to the Ministry.
Rage burned in his heart.
He'd make Tom pay though, and this…development, would be the perfect way to deal with three problems at once. He would capture Potter when he left the safety of Hogwarts wards, use him against Tom to make the point of his superiority, break the bond linking their lives together, kill the Boy-who-lived and reign forevermore supreme with no one capable of challenging him, no prophecy child, and no ghosts of times he yearned to forget.
He folded the letter neatly, returning to his plans to free his followers from the grasp of the impotent ministry.
They were replaceable, every last one of them, but it would be too much of a concession and sign of weakness to allow the Ministry to keep them.
The Wizarding population were all still reeling from the loss of their Hospital, and soon enough, he would have the country on its knees.
A grim smile crossed his lips.
There was a tickle at the back of his thoughts.
Potter.
He didn't think the child would have the gall to contact him in such a way again, through their connection, but it seemed he was wrong.
He contemplated ignoring it, but, ultimately, curiosity got the better of him.
[If I'm to be your regular therapist, I shall have to begin charging, you realise?]
Harry couldn't believe he was doing this again, but he couldn't help himself.
He had no other option, and so clenched his fists and searched out for the Dark Lord at the end of his mental link. He wasn't stupid, he didn't trust Tom not to plot around his Horcrux, to relentlessly trap him somehow in the decision.
Also, what if he couldn't feel remorse after? He couldn't take the risk of this…horrible thing going badly.
He felt sick.
[If I'm to be your regular therapist, I shall have to begin charging, you realise?]
Came the thought. Harry snorted, despite himself, despite the knife-twist of Voldemort giving such a Tom-like response.
[I assure you, if I had any desire for a therapist, which I don't, I wouldn't pick you if you were the last sentient thing on earth.]
[Such vitriolic words for one who so recently sought my council.]
[I have an offer for you.] He sent the thought abruptly, tiring of the small talk quickly. He didn't have time for it.
[And what makes you think I have any interest in negotiating with you?]
[Because you want me dead, and I what I'm offering, I daresay, may make that so far failing crusade easier for you.] There was a silence.
[My, my, have we finally driven you to suicide? I can't claim disappointment.]
He was hit by a barrage of the different ways he could achieve his death, and barely refrained his nausea of the graphicness with which Voldemort pictured a knife going through his stomach.
[You need a girlfriend, if this is what you fantasise about in your free time.]
He felt an immediate wave of foreign revulsion, and smirked.
[What is your offer?] came the response, tinged with fury and loathing.
Harry sobered instantly.
[There might come a point within the next four months when my disposition…changes. I want you to…if I turn on my friends and start acting psychotic and unstable or generally show a massive shift in personality…losing my morality, essentially…]
[Get to the point]
[If that happens, then I want you to take an oath that you'll kill me.]
Shock. Absolute shock.
Harry gained some vindictive gratification from so thoroughly surprising the other, even as his insides squirmed at the request. But…he wouldn't allow himself to spiral.
He couldn't become what he hated, and he knew Tom would never agree with this back up - he didn't even trust Tom to stop him from spiralling.
It was more than obvious that Tom had no problem with him losing his conscience, he'd most likely view it as an improvement. Improvement.
Sometimes it seemed Tom always wanted to change something about him…his morality, essentially. Yet, he wouldn't be himself without it, whatever Tom claimed?
Being a psychopath himself, the Slytherin Heir probably didn't understand how morals and ethics could be so grounding and fundamental to someone's character, as he couldn't imagine having any and the difference it made.
Hell, Tom probably genuinely thought he was doing him a favour! It just would have been nice to be good enough for one person as he was.
[What exactly is the situation here?]
[Will you take the oath or not?]
There was silence on the other hand, and, Harry held his breath.
It was twisted, so twisted and wrong, but he needed a yes...
[Take a death vow in turn that you will let me kill you, if the conditions apply, I'd suggest unbreakable, but that would require a bonder. ]
Harry blinked. Double ensured.
Perfect.
[I Harry James Potter vow that I will let Lord Voldemort kill me, if the aforementioned conditions of our deal - ergo, that I have undergone a huge personality shift, turned against my friends and abandoned my morality - so mote it be.]
There was a pause. His head was pounding from this prolonged contact, copper in his mouth.
[I Lord Voldemort vow to kill Harry Potter if he undergoes a huge personality shift, turns against his friends and/or abandons his morality. So mote it be.]
Then the connection abruptly cut.
Tom sat down to dinner, feeling thoroughly pleased with how this day had gone. He'd got Harry to agree to the Horcrux, to life, and felt thus secure in continuing his work on the time spell.
A productive day, all in all.
He graciously ignored the twinges and occasional bursts of emotion coming from Harry. It wasn't…this was just how Harry worked.
He raged and struggled and fought on every single thing, exhausting himself into submission…or the closest he got to it, anyway. When he had a Horcrux, himself, he was sure all Harry's doubts would slip away.
He'd be happier.
Tom was freeing him.
It wasn't like the other wouldn't find something else to challenge him, when it was no longer debates about the ethics of his plans. It wasn't like Harry would suddenly become amenable to every little thing. Did it?
His eyes tightened with annoyance.
What was he even thinking these thoughts? He wasn't going to tell Harry not to go through with it. He wanted this. Of course he did. It was ridiculous that he should have any qualms on the matter.
Harry would be immortal.
It wasn't like he wouldn't have time to work out any potential glitches, and, in eternal life, even if Harry did flee in sulk and rage, he'd have to come back eventually.
Besides, if Harry left, he would just revel in the challenge of hunting him down, and then making sure he stayed put. Golden Boy would no doubt make a fascinating prisoner, if it came to that.
Naturally, he'd prefer it didn't, but if he did, it would be…an interesting experiment. He speared his jacket potato thoughtfully.
"What are you thinking about?"
Harry.
He glanced sideways at the question, amused at the reaction he'd get if he did reply brutally honestly regarding his thought tangent. He suppressed a smile, instead shaking his head as if in dismissal.
"Just contemplating the future," he said, easily. Harry's eyebrows arched with curiosity.
"Sounds ominous."
That time he did smirk, noting the shift in his friend's posture, to something more wary.
More people were filing into the Great Hall in great gaggles, bunches and crowds. It was why he always came either early, or late, to avoid most of them.
Zevi was seated opposite Harry, more because he knew the two got on well then any hierarchical meaning for once, Alphard was therefore seating opposite him, and then Abraxas was on his left, and Draco - unfortunately - was next to his grandfather.
Harry of course, was on his right.
Lestrange approached the table, trying to meet his gaze, but he simply made a minute gesture that the girl, Daphne Greengrass, next to Alphard shift along slightly to make space.
He glanced at Harry.
The boy tensed almost imperceptibly, but gave no other acknowledgement. Abraxas, Zevi and Alphard stared at him, but he knew they wouldn't dare comment on the change of arrangements.
Lestrange looked unbelievably smug; it was enough to make Tom want to crush him like an annoying bug. He looked about to say something, only to stop as a black hawk dove once more for their table. He dismissed the inner circle drama instantly, casting several wards, before catching the letter. Harry had definitely gone still now, and it was noticeable.
"Is that his retaliation?"
He was probably worried someone else was dead or butchered.
He slit the envelope, ignoring the attention of the Staff table as ever, reading silently. Parseltongue.
Ask Harry about the deal he just made with me, child. Check.
Hermione kept a careful eye on the Slytherin table.
It seemed, if one didn't, that they missed a lot. Like a teacher's head being sent in a parcel. Bile clawed up her throat at the thought.
It made it a little harder to keep track of everything going on at the Gryffindor Table, but she was rewarded with the instant knowledge that something was wrong, a few seconds before it happened.
A black hawk swooped down, Voldemort's owl - another murder? Who was the letter for, Harry or Tom? - and Riddle picked it up after a moment, reading it. She was too far away to see his expression, but even from a distance it suddenly felt as if the hair on her arms had rose. She shivered.
He'd gone completely still, frozen, and Harry's figure was radiating with concern. Her best friend's hand reached for the letter when Tom remained seemingly unresponsive, and then Tom did snap into action.
He caught Harry's arm in what had to be a painful grip, saying - or, rather - hissing something. Harry's hand retracted, wrenching out of the other's grip, his stance abruptly defensive.
They exchanged a few more words, the Slytherins around them freezing too, as if caught in a fight between two wild animals, and scared to draw attentions to themselves lest they bring harm unto their own persons.
Harry made an aggravated motion with his hands, slamming his cutlery down on the table, before exiting the hall. Riddle, without hesitation, took after him, but something about it suggesting it wasn't a mutual departure.
Harry had been looking to seek isolation, Tom was…continuing the conflict. The fight.
"Come on," Ron muttered, having evidently been watching too, his warm eyes alit with worry.
"We shouldn't-" she began.
"C'mon," he insisted, standing. Trying to act casual, and not sure if she was succeeding, she rose with him. They followed.
"We really shouldn't be eavesdropping like this, it's not right-" she started again.
"Do you want to find out what they do when they sneak off like that or not?" he asked. "You did say you were curious. Anyway, Harry might need our help, do you honestly trust Riddle? We can't help him if we don't know what's wrong."
"Harry would like privacy," she whispered, but, to her enormous guilt, she found herself frozen on the spot as Tom caught up with Harry, seizing his arm to pull him to an angry and violent halt.
For a moment, she wondered why they, normally so careful - paranoid even - hadn't taken this to a locked, warded and soundproofed classroom as was custom. It must have been the heat of the moment, coupled with the expectation that everyone was at dinner. It wasn't like the corridor wasn't empty and off the beaten track.
What happened next was nearly too fast to follow, but it appeared Harry had twisted in the grip, throwing Tom backwards into the wall besides them, hands clenched furiously on the front of his shirt a moment later.
"Leave it," he hissed. "I'm not telling you, so just let it go."
Riddle's hand closed around Harry's wrists, agitated in comparison to the calmness of his voice.
"Careful, darling…pinning me up against walls like that, people might get the wrong impression." The tone was infinitely mocking, with an edge of mimicry that made her wonder even more strongly as to the content of their previous conversations. Harry's jaw clenched, but he didn't let go.
"I mean it-" he began.
"-Besides, aren't you supposed to be the masochistic one out of the two of us?" Riddle continued, interrupting smoothly. "Interesting to see you so feisty though, maybe we could play with that sometime, but, over all, I think I infinitely prefer it like this."
And then the roles were reversed, their bodies spinning, Harry's back hitting the hard surface with an audible smack, the breath knocked out of his lungs.
She realised, for perhaps the first time as Tom was normally the one tugging Harry around, that, in terms of physical strength, they were very evenly matched.
Harry could probably spin them around again just as easily, on that strength, except that while his grip had been on Riddle's shirt, Tom's right hand was clamped down on her best friend's shoulder, his left on Harry's throat. Harry's grip had been out of anger, supposed to be somewhat temporary when it was made…this was designed to hold like chains.
In the back of her mind, Hermione couldn't help but wonder if Harry was fully aware of the even match, and what he would have to do to reciprocate the gesture.
The difference between them seemed to be that Harry was more guarded about getting so close and about social boundaries, less willing to cause serious damage, while Riddle clearly didn't care in the slightest.
She exchanged a look with Ron, who seemed simultaneously planted to the spot.
This…wasn't what she had expected.
Sure, in public the two of them were rather tactile and intense, she knew now that their public demeanours were nothing - nothing - compared to this. In company, they seemed to orbit each other, shifting instinctually as if by gravitational balance, but maintaining a degree of awareness to the surroundings.
This…this was different.
They were both single-mindedly focussed, and touches that were before mildly restraining had gained a new intimacy. How badly in denial was Harry when he said he didn't fancy Tom?
Maybe he wasn't gay so much as interested in this one person who was, on the off chance, irrelevantly, male? On the other hand, if she didn't already think they were in love with each other…in the context of Tom and Harry, maybe many would interpret this physical closeness to be another power play?
Obviously, it was another level for them to fight on, and for either one to be physically dominant stripped the other of some level of control, and hence, it was multilayered. Even if it was attraction, it wasn't that alone. It was too aggressive and demanding.
Harry glared.
"Once again you seeming to be making the fundamental mistake that you're in charge of me," he said coolly. "It's none of your business."
"None of my business?" Riddle's grip tightened. "I dare say, sweetheart, if you're making deals with my future counterpart, that the content of such deals is very much my business…Voldemort seems to think so."
"Voldemort likes causing trouble."
"What in Salazar's name did you promise him?" Tom snapped, appearing to lose patience.
"I'm not telling you," Harry returned, slowly and clearly. "Get your hands off me."
"Why?" Riddle's voice switched abruptly to a purr, his grip changing. "In case people think we're a couple? More so than they already do? Why does that thought make you so uncomfortable, Harry, it's not like the media don't print other untruths about you on a regular basis…what is it about this that…flusters you so?"
"That tactic isn't going to work," her best friend said, but he'd gone rigid. If she noticed that, she knew Riddle had too.
"What deal did you make with Voldemort?"
"Not telling." Harry shifted against the hold, and a short struggle ensued, brought to a cold end as Riddle, well, essentially cheated, by using the mark.
Tom's lips curved.
"Hmm, stubborn," the Slytherin Heir murmured, making a tisking sound. "But, you know, we can stand here until dinner is over, if it suits you…does it suit you, Harry? Are you enjoying this? I mean, we already established the thrill you get from-"
A hiss, savage, in response.
"-Oh, I do love it when you talk parseltongue, but you might have to clarify what you mean… will I stop it? Stop what, Harry? What am I doing to you?"
She didn't know how Tom dared to keep pushing, Harry's magic was boiling, his temper visible in his dangerous, icy gaze. There was a silence.
"What, no witty repartee, darling? Your tongue is normally far more…engaging."
Harry's expression changed, suddenly smiling in a far too sweet manner for it to be sincere.
"Careful, Tom, at this rate people might start believing you have a heart capable of human feeling and desires. You wouldn't want that, and, honestly, I thought you had a better sense of self control than this, more decorum, but perhaps I was wrong."
Riddle's eyes narrowed dangerously.
Like weakness, implications of a lack of control seemed to come from a similar weaponry, just as cutting. Tom's hands dropped, but he didn't step back, a considering expression on his face.
"Note to self, don't presume to show concern for my reckless best friend, even if he habitually expresses a tendency towards suicidal plans and schemes."
"T-"
"You know, you really should make up your mind…do you want me to show my 'humanity' and care, like you so claim, or am I to be an emotionless shell when my thoughts conflict with what's convenient for you?"
"Well, I don't know, I suppose it depends on whether you plan on showing me your actual emotions, or if you're simply using your considerable acting skills to manipulate the outcome you want," Harry replied, without missing a beat.
They stared at each for a moment, both unyielding. She was actually somewhat amazed that they'd lasted this long, as they apparently showed no desire to compromise on any tiny thing. They were a very love/hate couple…pair…duo…couple.
She didn't care what Harry said, they were clearly a couple!
"You make a deal so soon after ours," Tom's voice had grown more clinical, games removed. "Making me believe that you are attempting to counter your agreement with me, it has been perfectly evident that you're not best pleased by my plans. You've already thought of remorse as a method, no doubt, as you would have stalled negotiations if you didn't see at least one loophole on something you're so dubious about. There are, frankly, no other loopholes as I would have otherwise covered them, implying this deal is a back up if your current loophole fails you."
They were eyeing each other warily, intently, doing the shifting thing without their awareness.
She couldn't help but admire how quickly Riddle's mind was working, he was like - like Sherlock Holmes or something! No, Moriarty, more like. Moriarty was the evil one, the criminal mastermind.
He was Moriarty…but did that make Harry Sherlock? That seemed a bit off, not because her best friend was stupid, but, and she felt horrible thinking this, he'd never been particularly intellectually brilliant either.
Merlin to Tom's Mordred?
"Just let it go," Harry said, again, but quieter this time.
"You're reckless, and, much like me, you can't stand losing. This, coupled with your passive desire for suicide -" Harry appeared about the protest this, but Tom didn't allow room for the interruption - "and the fact that all Voldemort wants from you is your death makes me incredibly worried about your deal, and your supposed solution."
Hermione's eyes widened at the implication. Oh no.
Harry looked away, and that was confirmation more than anything he could say, and, for a split second while her best friend's attention was elsewhere, she saw Riddle seem to deflate and sag into himself.
"I sincerely hope I'm wrong, though I highly doubt it as I'm always right." There was no sign of the lapse when Harry looked back, only that deadly expression. "I would hazard a guess that Voldemort must be alive for your back up to come into fruition…so I'll assure you now that the next time the two of us shall meet that he is dead. Puts a bit of a spanner into your overarching plan for this whole mess, but, oh well, you probably shouldn't have made such a stupid deal in the first place."
Tom backed up, but Harry didn't move, staring at the Slytherin Heir.
"I won't forgive you."
"I don't need you to forgive me, I just need you to stay."
Riddle swept off without another word.
Lestrange unravelled the piece of paper, keeping a discreet eye out on everything around him
We go to Gringotts on the Friday, two days from now.
Be ready.
A/N: So, um, disappointingly fillery for my two year anniversary. If it makes you feel better, I plan on doing a DD special once I have a soilid idea for one :/
Thanks so much for all the amazing reviews and support you've given :D Your feedback rocks my world!
90 reviews to go for 3000? *fingers crossed.*
Much love and affection,
The Fictionist.