Chapter 132:
"Tom - Tom Riddle!"He stopped at the unwelcome call, intoned with an uncharacteristic sharpness.
"Miss Lovegood," he said coolly, turning. She came to a stop before him, her eyes wide and beseeching.
"You can't do it - you can't!" she protested. He stared at her, vaguely repulsed.
"Can't do what?" he demanded. "What's wrong with you?" He shook his head dismissively, turning away from her. Abraxas shot the girl a bewildered, marginally contemptuous look, following after him.
"Harry," she whispered. "You can't do that to Harry. You're killing him."
He stopped, frozen for a few seconds, before he turned again, slowly.
"Go on," he informed Malfoy. "I'll be there momentarily."
Abraxas nodded, making no comment, as was proper. Harry would have made a comment, but the boy had, unfortunately, insisted he would spend the day with his Gryffindor friends.
Ugh, he hated them.
Granger at least possessed a modicum of intelligence, but ginger had no redeeming qualities that he had come across.
"What do you know of Harry?" he demanded, dangerously. Blue orbs shimmered with the barest veil of tears.
"I know what you plan to make him do," she murmured. "And you can't go through with it, you mustn't!"
Again, with the uncanny knowledge of things she shouldn't and couldn't possibly know.
"Did Harry tell you?" he asked, not able to comprehend that the ex Gryffindor would. Besides, they both liked their privacy, and…
"No," she smiled at him, thinly, too serious. "Of course he didn't. I just…know."
"How?"
"I have my ways, you have yours," she waved a hand, as if sweeping the matter aside as irrelevant. "You must promise me you won't force him to make one."
He stiffened. It was one thing for personal plans to be alluded to, and another to hear a more direct reference to Horcruxes coming from the lips of this bizarre young Ravenclaw. Still.
"I shall promise no such thing, and it's not your business besides. Good day, Miss Lovegood."
Her hand shot out as he turned once more, grabbing his arm with a surprising strength for someone seemingly so dainty and whimsical.
"Please," she begged. "He wouldn't be the same - it would destroy him, you must know that-"
"What is your obsession with interfering with mine and Harry's relationship?" he hissed. She blinked at him, earnest and so very annoying.
"Harry's my friend, I don't want to see him hurt," she replied, a stubborn edge to her tone, her chin jutting out with defiance, before growing softer. "You care about him, I know you do, I told you not to break him and then you-"
"He's strong, I wouldn't give him anything he couldn't handle. Damn it, girl, I'm not stupid!"
"Then stop acting stupid," she growled, her frustration at odds with the lightness of her voice. "Stop denying how much this hurts him, it's clear as day - you must be able to see it in his eyes? He hates this, and when it's done, the guilt will eat him up and devour him whole and you won't be able to fix him!"
"If you know my plans so well, you'll know this is non-negotiable, so refrain from wasting my time," he snapped. "Let go of me, or I will remove your hands myself."
Her hands dropped, and, gaze hard and frosted, he spun sharply and strode away down the corridor, only to pause for a second time at her call.
"You're scared he'll die, that he'll leave you…but to force him to do this is pushing him away-"
"I'm not forcing him to do anything he hasn't agreed to-"
"And I'm sure he had so much choice in the decision," she said flatly. "Pinning someone to agreement is not the same as a willing offer, and you know it!"
"Oh, I know," he drawled, "I just don't care. It's for his own good."
She stared at him, before running to catch up, a lilt of skip still present.
"There must be another way," she murmured, desperate.
"There is no other way, leave me be. I have better things to be doing to catering to a little girl's sudden alarming heroine streak."
"The Master of Death could prevent his death," she said, quietly. He studied her clinically, expression carefully composed.
"Why do you care so much?"
"Because Harry is lovely, and kind and noble and deserves better than to have his soul, so beautiful and pure, be butchered, especially by someone who's supposed to be his friend. I-he won'tbe the same, on some level you know that. You'll regret this decision for the rest of your life."
"I have little time for hunting Hallows," he replied, with marginally less bite than before. "Maybe later."
After Harry had a Horcrux.
"If he goes too long without it, he won't have enough left to take it back, and you won't be able to take back the tragedy either."
He narrowed his eyes, trying to squash the doubts that relentlessly refused to leave him. He wouldn't be having this problem if it was anyone but Harry, but then, if it was another he would hardly offer them immortality.
"Just think about it," she whispered. "For his sake."
Then she was gone.
Harry met Lestrange with cold eyes, not caring to speak a word. This was business.
"You know," the irritating man said, not quite meeting his gaze. "You haven't conceded anything to keep me from telling Tom everything. He'd stop you, wouldn't he? It would hardly be my fault…"
"You know our deal?" Harry smiled, icily. "Doesn't have an expiration date, does it? I could have you abandoned again by the time the week was out, if it so involved frequent positive attention before that."
Lestrange glared at him, fearfully.
"Fine, come on then. What is it that you're looking for anyway?"
"None of your concern," he replied promptly. He kept a careful eye to make sure that people were around…alone was a matter of perspective anyway…wasn't it? He had Tom and Voldemort attached by a mental connection, technically, he was never alone.
"So we're just going to stand and walk in silence, then?"
Harry didn't bother responding. He had no desire to talk to Lestrange.
Soon, they arrived at Diagon Alley, taking the Knight Bus from the outskirts of the school grounds. He gained some comfort from the familiar streets, but not much.
He was, in a manner of speaking, robbing Gringotts. It was daunting.
He didn't trust the other boy an inch either.
"You know," the slimeball began again, seemingly incapable of keeping quiet.
"Probably," he interrupted. Lestrange's jaw clenched.
"He'll get bored of you, he gets bored of everyone eventually. He drains them dry and pushes until he founds all the blackest parts of you, then he'll discard you because you're not shiny and new anymore. It's what he does. You're only good as long as you're useful or interesting."
"You really are remarkable, Cygnus," Harry sighed. "But the remarkable thing is how you somehow manage to project your own situation on everyone around you as if their lives were as pathetic and pitiful as yours. Pray, tell, where is it you learned how to be so incredibly obnoxious?"
"One day I'll make you regret the insults you pay me," Lestrange snarled, face twisting from its split-second confusion. "You are exceedingly lucky you have Tom watching your back for now, not that you deserve it, but you can mark my words that when he's through with you, I'll be waiting."
"Then you'll be waiting a long time." Literally. Forever. Horcruxes. He repressed a shudder and flinch, nausea rising.
"You make me sick."
"The feeling is entirely mutual, so do stop torturing me with your voice, the previous silence was much preferable," he replied coolly. Lestrange seethed.
"I don't understand what he sees in you."
Harry could feel his temper growing dangerously close to fraying.
"I don't know," he replied casually. "M
aybe it's my witty conversation, my charming good looks, the fact that unlike you, I'm not a clingy, needy little twit." "Not clingy? Please, you're all over him like some cheap whore! You're arrogant, insolent-"
"As opposed to a discarded doormat?"
Lestrange's eyes closed briefly. Harry felt a vindictive streak of cruelness possess him, spurned by rage and hurt.
"Ah, bless, you're not going to cry again, are you?"
"Shut it, Evans." Lestrange's tone was wild with fury, but contained, smaller. "Let's just get this over with."
Finally, an opinion they could agree on.
Hermione paused, stopping at the sight of Tom Riddle.
A blush rose unbidden from her skin, at the sheer intimacy she'd seen from that now so stoic figure, only two days ago. It almost felt odd to face him after that, she felt like she'd walked in and intruded on something so private and personal that it felt uncomfortable to watch it.
She'd come to the conclusion that watching Harry and Tom at such an intense, clashing level was like watching a supernova - too bright to be witnessed for too long, immensely dangerous in its blistering heat and force, beautiful and mesmerising, something that, if you got in its way, burned and destroyed you without remorse.
She'd seen Harry that morning, and though neither of them had quite plucked up the courage to admit to their eavesdropping, it had been somewhat awkward.
The point was that he'd asked them to cover for him - apparently he had something that needed doing, preferably without Tom's knowledge.
Still flustered, they'd both agreed, with the promise that he would fill them in when he got back, and that it wasn't terribly dangerous.
The problem with that was the way Riddle's eyes had snapped over to them, most likely seeking Harry out even if he was supposedly having a 'Gryffindor day.'
Harry, obviously, wasn't with them.
The Slytherin Heir made his way over, features smooth, but with a dark tint to his appraisal.
"Where's Harry?" he asked, not even bothering with a greeting.
She supposed the only reason they ranked on his scale of awareness in any significant way at all was because they were best friends with Harry.
She exchanged a look with Ron, trying not to show her panic.
"He just went to get something from the Gryffindor Tower," Ron said, smiling.
"His stuff is in Slytherin," Riddle replied, the dark tint growing more prominent.
"No, most of his stuff is," Ron disagreed. "He left some things with us."
She was pleasantly surprised, as horrible as it sounded, that he managed to lie so well in the face of Riddle's scrutiny, and give plausible responses.
It was easy to freeze under the study of the young Dark Lord, like a mouse caught beneath a cat.
"And he needs that 'stuff' desperately?" Tom enquired.
"I assume so, or maybe he was just taking the opportunity to visit, he did spend four years there. I didn't ask as I don't obsess over every single one of his actions like a jealous boyfriend," Hermione replied tartly.
His attention switched to her, his eyebrows raising slightly. She almost blanched as she realised what she'd just insinuated about his behaviour, but steeled her courage and refused to take it back.
It was true. He did sound jealous and obsessive.
"That sounds reasonable," he said, calmly. She almost sagged in relief. "Now what's the truth?"
Damn. He folded his arms, magic crackling.
"I can tell when people lie to me, and wouldn't suggest you attempt it again. Where. Is. Harry?"
"I have no idea," she replied honestly. His eyes narrowed, and he surveyed the two of them critically.
"He asked you to cover for him, probably on the premise that he wasn't doing something stupid. Note to the supposed best friends, Harry lies, especially when he's up to something stupid and he say where he was going?"
Hermione was alarmed to note the stressed strain that had entered his otherwise neutral tone.
She debated over lying again, painfully aware of the deadly gleam hidden behind his poised surface.
The boy before her might look like a handsome, model student…but he was lethal. He was the teenaged Dark Lord.
"He didn't say," she said quietly, ignoring Ron's look of outrage. "He's not really in trouble, is he? He wouldn't-"
"It's Harry," Tom returned. "He would. Salazar, when did you last see him?" the other demanded menacingly.
"This morning."
"Hermione!" Ron snapped. Tom rounded on her boyfriend.
"Your best friend had a habit of getting himself into trouble when he's alone for five minutes, what do you…Lestrange." Riddle stopped abruptly, head tilting with thought, expression frozen, disregarding Ron entirely.
He hissed something, and somehow, she strongly suspected he was swearing under his breath. He spun, turning on his posse of Slytherins, who had followed their lord over, remaining respectfully quiet.
"Has anyone seen Lestrange?"
There was a silence from the Slytherins.
"I saw him this afternoon," Prince offered, after a moment. "At lunch."
Riddle looked back at the two of them sharply.
"We last saw Harry at lunch," she replied, answering the unasked question. Ron looked about to tear his hair out.
"Harry trusted us Hermione! Why are you talking to him?" he whispered harshly. Riddle's jaw was clenched.
"Harry trusted you with what?" he wasn't looking at Ron, his attention focussed solely on her and Merlin, it was so intimidating and she didn't view herself as easily spooked.
"He asked us to cover for him," she said, ignoring the angry growl from Ron.
"I'll presume from me, judging by your rather panicked expressions when I approached you," Tom said, not seeming to be speaking to them so much, as to himself.
Really, he was only bouncing ideas at them to look at things in different ways and gather evidence. She should have probably been more offensive, but it was rather fascinating watching his mind work.
"Which means he was doing something he either doesn't want me to know about, that I won't agree with, or won't. Probably his plan then…he's feeling the pressure of our impeding deadline."
Hermione almost asked what this plan and deadline exactly was, even though she sensed that she really didn't want to know. Harry would tell them.
"Lestrange is linked into this…he needed Lestrange for something, made some type of bargain…what does Lestrange have that Harry needs?"
"Nothing," Alphard muttered, but it was very softly, timidly, despite the bolster of the tone. Riddle ignored the comment but for a withering expression that had Black cowering.
Hermione thought.
Power, no. Harry, by all accounts, had more influence then Lestrange as well as more magical talent. It had to be something Harry could only get from Lestrange, as otherwise HArry wouldn't work with him, it was more than clear that they had no love lost for each other.
What could Harry only get from Lestrange?
He'd been talking about finding magical objects…a secure place for keeping magical objects.
She glanced at Ron, and something about his expression told her he'd already worked this out, but was being stubbornly silent. She probably shouldn't have felt so upset that he'd worked it out before her…the only thing he trumped her knowledge tended to be things about the Wizarding world itself…oh.
"Gringotts." The words were out before they'd fully formed, and Tom spoke the same observation simultaneously
. On some level, she was smug about that, despite her worry. Ron's mouth twisted. Tom ignored them without further comment, heading towards the entrance hall, and her boyfriend hurried after him.
"Have you ever considered that he might not want you there?" Ron demanded angrily, flushed, ducking into Riddle's way. "You never give him any space."
She suspected that he'd suddenly had a flash back to how little space could be between them and she needed to stop thinking about that. Riddle's eyebrows arched.
"I considered it," he said lightly. "Then I promptly discarded it because I have no tolerance for limitations. Move."
"Or what?" Ron dared.
"Or I'll hex your balls off," Malfoy snapped, drawing his wand along with the rest of the Slytherins. "For Salazar's sake Weasel, your best friend is liable to be in trouble and you take now to be a good time to act like a stubborn idiot? Well, I suppose the latter was always true, but the first part is not a complimentary addition."
"It's called loyalty-"
"It's called intelligence," Zevi interrupted, eyes narrowed.
For a moment, Hermione feared it was to degenerate into a full out brawl, then Lestrange came running in, face white.
Riddle shoved Ron aside without a seconds thought, meeting the other boy, a wand sliding almost immediately under his chin, hand on his collar, choking.
"Where's Harry? What happened?"
Harry wondered back out the cart again, relieved to find Lestrange hadn't tried to lock him in a vault or have him caught as a thief or anything.
Everything had gone smoothly. He tucked the Horcrux - Hufflepuff's Cup, and he couldn't decide if that was a good or bad one to have got, as now it left two unknowns - into a heavily warded bag.
He'd ensured only he could open it, just in case. Lestrange had eyed him suspiciously, looking very much like he wanted to comment.
Thankfully, he had inflicted Harry further by following through with this desire.
He was grateful it had worked out, it had only been a hunch, after all…a smile tugged grimly at his lips.
He should have known it was too good to last.
Just as he was entering Diagon again, there were several cracks around him. Death Eaters.
On instinct alone he dodged the stunner Lestrange had sent close range at him, knocking several of his opponents out with the same movement with several sharp slashes of his wand.
Freaking Lestrange!
A mind blowing pain shot through his scar, and several more apparation cracks were head.
Then he was duelling, fiercely, with Voldemort.
It would have gone okay if he was just duelling Voldemort, but the other masked figures were all shooting spells at him too.
He was duelling Voldemort and his inner circle Death Eaters simultaneously.
Of course he'd lose, he wasn't superman!
That didn't stop the bitterness and shame that crept across his mind as the world went black, countered only by his satisfaction of having taken half the enemy down with him.
He knew nothing more.
A/N: So, this was supposed to be up yesterday, but FF Login was playing up. Sorry about that. Next chapter should be up soon cause I actually like that one, and this one was so hard to write. Ugh.
Thank you so much for all the reviews and support :) I feel very loved and honoured!
50 more (approx) for 3000. I still need a solid idea for the DD anniversary oneshot, feel free to make requests.