Chapter 137:
Harry sighed, standing in a corridor a bit off the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room. He hadn't been able to stand it in there any longer, he'd tried, he just…he felt Tom come up behind him.
"Is Lestrange still crying?" he asked softly.
"No," Tom replied, and Harry didn't even need to search to hear the satisfaction in the other's voice. "I knocked him unconscious. It was giving me a headache…and, I gather, you?"
He recognised the subtle question as to how he was feeling, but mused over answering. His insides where churning with guilt and horror, and he knew Tom could sense it.
"Don't worry, I won't break down in front of the Malfoys," he reassured quietly, instead.
Tom simply stared at him in silence, and Harry couldn't decide if the familiar weight of the Slytherin Heir's gaze was calming or suffocating.
"We broke him," Harry said, finally, not planning to have the words slip out.
"Yes," Tom agreed. "And, I must say, it was stunning. Consider me impressed, darling." He was quiet, and the other continued after a moment. "Now that, I'm certain, should have elicited some response, be it witty scorn or otherwise. What is it?"
"You wouldn't understand," Harry said, convinced that to be true.
"Your guilt? I imagine not," Tom replied immediately. "But I can listen if it helps." There was a pause, and he could feel the other hesitated on the brink of saying something. "Harry, you must comprehend that this was about survival, you had no other choice. He deserved it, besides."
"Two wrongs don't make a right," Harry murmured.
"He tried to kill you - twice!"
"And in response we destroyed him," Harry snapped, before closing his eyes, breathing deeply, running a shaking hand across his face. "We destroyed him…I…what makes me better than Dudley? The Dursley's, they-"
The next second hands were fiercely tight on his shoulders, seizing his full attention.
"No," Tom hissed. "Don't do that. That's completely different-"
"How?"
"Because you didn't deserve it, you were a child, an innocent, you did no harm to them that should justify their abuse."
"And yet, I know what it is like to be prey and then forced that same horrible feeling on another person, a classmate…how can that ever be right?"
"It's survival of the fittest," Tom replied, without missing a beat. "We're better than them."
"More powerful, perhaps, but not better…I'm not like you, Tom, I'm-"
"If you're going to say you're on the level of the likes of Lestrange-" Tom began tightly, the first strains of frustration and fury evident in his voice.
"-I know what it's like-"
"Damn it, stop!" Tom ordered, fingers gripping even tighter, before seeming to regain composure. "Listen to me very carefully, Harry, you do not want to go down that route. Your conscience will tear you apart, and I'm not willing to watch that happen."
"If my conscience will tear me apart, I shouldn't have done it in the first place-"
"And what would you have done instead? Rolled over and let him keep trying to kill you until he succeeds? Stepped aside to let him murder your friends, perhaps?"
"I-of course not, don't be ridiculous!" And with those words, he realised the point Tom was making. Lestrange wouldn't have stopped. Necessary evil. It still felt so wrong.
"You empathise with people too much," Tom murmured after a while.
"And you too little," he returned. "You don't regret it even the slightest, do you?"
Tom didn't seem to find that worth answering, and, to be fair, it was a stupid question. He knew Tom didn't regret it, and nor did he feel guilt. He glanced at the other, who was studying him intently.
He swallowed.
"Does it frustrate you having to deal with my moral crises and ethical dilemmas so often?" he asked lightly, in an effort to inject some normalcy to the situation again.
"No more than my psychotic amorality insults your own sensibilities," Tom replied, with a wry smile. "It feels somewhat like talking to a brick wall at times, I confess, but…"
Harry grinned, despite himself.
"Revenge does taste just a little bit sweet though, doesn't it?" Tom persisted.
"I won't torture unless I absolutely have to, you can add that to our list of policies."
Tom smirked at him, before inclining his head that they should be going to meet the Malfoy's now, walking away.
"Pity," the young Dark Lord called back softly, over his shoulder. "Here's to hoping you have to because as I have said, it was rather magnificent to watch."
Harry rolled his eyes in sheer disbelief.
Narcissa watched as the two of them - Harry Potter/Evans and Tom Riddle - came to a halt before them. If they had seem united the day before, it seemed they had been together for years today.
She studied them curiously.
Being a Black, she too, like her husband, had heard the stories of the Slytherin Duo - hushed over fires, with an air of secrecy about them, not to be repeated in the Dark Lord's hearing.
She could see now why their lord may have been so angered by these names, the memories they evoked.
"Do you still seek political asylum?" Tom questioned, evenly. "Or are you going to continue on your way out of Britain?
""Would you prevent us from taking our son with us, if we did?" she asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.
"No," Harry replied. "Unless Draco himself has some serious, valid objection to moving."
Draco gaped slightly, staring at him. Abraxas expression was utterly neutral.
"And you're current aim is to get rid of the Dark lord?"
"Our current aim is to get rid of that particular variation of the Dark Lord," Riddle stated.
She felt her husband tense next to her. It was somewhat eerie how confident, composed and powerful these two teenagers were.
They stood side by side, not quite touching, but not quite as far apart as two men would normally stand from each other when they had the room to physically be further apart.
"And you seek a temporary alliance…what are your terms and conditions?"
She ignored the slight annoyance radiating from Lucius with ease. He was the one that had got them into this mess, and she would get them out.
Many assumed her to be a mere housewife, hostess and mother, with Lucius as the head of the family. He was. He was head of the Malfoy family in official business.
She was head of their family, at home, and would not yield to have it any other way. She ran their house, he ran their life outside it. And he'd ran them to disaster and an increasingly insane Dark Lord.
No more.
"You will give us an oath of allegiance and loyalty for until Voldemort - the current variation-" Potter added, with a half glance at Riddle, "is defeated. You will help us accomplish that goal, not harm or sabotage our allies in that cause, or the cause itself. In return, we will protect you and your family from the Dark Lord and his followers to the best of our ability."
She considered for a moment, her eyes steeled.
To be fair, she already knew her response, Lucius be damned, and she thought they knew it too.
"That is satisfactory," she replied.
Her husband dipped his head in acknowledgement after a moment, eyes hard. They drew up their oaths, all of them. Her stomach fluttered slightly.
She sincerely hoped this time would be better, that the Boy-Who-Lived would balance out the young Dark Lord. They stood in silence for a moment, then Lucius spoke, in a gesture of goodwill.
The other two were the ones in power, after all, and getting some favour if they were going to rule the world would not do any harm.
"The Dark Lord has sped up his plans," her husband said, quietly, meeting Potter's eyes specifically. "He'll be here within a month to finish everything. He raises his army, even now, in preparation."
To the boy's credit, Harry's jaw only clenched fractionally at this statement, the allusion to imminent attempts on his life, the final confrontation.
Riddle studied them sharply, his gaze piercing.
"Then, it seems, we have no time for idle chit chat. I'll have Abraxas get you the details of your new placement."
The next day dawned, quickly, and the evening, even quicker.
Tom had alternated between working on his time spell (he was almost done with it) at the back of a classroom, and working on their manifesto with Harry in their joint frees.
They were still more tossing ideas between them, and he could feel Harry's cautiousness with what they were doing, but the other was still participating though, which was the main thing.
He couldn't say he understood Harry's hesitance in ruling Britain - he clearly had the ideas on how it should be run - but he knew Harry felt the sentiment. He would work on it. It was a daunting task, after all, it was only natural for Harry to have some qualms.
A year or so a go, he had been a mere puppet in someone else's plans after all, and Tom knew he himself didn't always encourage the other to lead out the two of them (why would he? It was hard enough getting Harry to take anything resembling an order already!)
But he knew Harry could lead, he wouldn't be bothering if the other didn't have a natural flair for it, all he needed to do was coax those qualities out like he'd been trying to do with many other aspects of Harry's personality, which the boy chose to hide.
Like his Slytherin side, the boy had once hidden that, and now he was considered part of the 'Slytherin duo.' Progress. It wasn't that he didn't acceptHarry's current personality, it was that he was merely smoothing over the rough edges, shining some aspects and doing a bit of rearranging with what was already there.
Besides, Harry was trying to do exactly the same for him - weren't they both compromising and changing for the other? He gave a light tug to the other's arm, signifying a change in destination.
It was time to teach Harry how to kill.
He couldn't say he wasn't excited.
This was his trade, after all, and Harry seemed to enjoy (perhaps pointlessly) teaching him about morals and the muggle world and all the things he liked. It was the same difference.
He thought it prudent not to forewarn the other about their activities for the night though, Harry would only be unnecessarily flustered and difficult.
It was easier dragging him along then fighting over the issue, and, dare he say it, more entertaining?
"Where are we going?" Harry asked warily, brow furrowed. "Tom?"
"Preparation for your Horcrux."
The other stiffened fantastically, and he hid a smirk, grabbing hold of Harry's arm when he seemed about to stop walking and falter.
"We're doing it now?" Harry was clearly trying to sound nonchalant.
It wasn't working, those killing curse eyes were filled with sickness and horror.
It wouldn't break him though, like Lovegood claimed, it couldn't…he had reacted rather badly to torturing someone…well, to the aftermath of torturing someone…the actual act had been a stroke of genius.
He supposed it had been Harry's first time, more or less, but, in his eyes, that just made it all the more impressive and he even more determined to cultivate the talent.
It would get better.
It was more than obvious that the other did possess a cruel streak, after all, and that he was capable of it. He just needed to learnt to blunt his conscience a bit.
It wasn't like the other's overall personality would change for it…he relentlessly pushed Lovegood's words out of his head again. What did she know?
"For Salazar's sake, you could have given me a bit of pre-warning," Harry hissed.
"No, we're not making it now," he relented, with some amusement. "I just need to test to see if you'd actually be able to do it. Relax."
"Meaning?" Harry questioned insistently. Tom tilted his head to survey the other, watching the sudden flash of realisation, and the way the other paled.
So sue him, he was sadistic, it wasn't like he gave Harry anything he couldn't handle.
He stopped as they came to the second floor girl's bathroom (he'd noted Slytherin had warded differently down in his chamber, and the normal wards weren't present to detect magic, however dark or illegal it was) and felt Harry go even more rigid against him.
"Open. Stairs," he commanded.
He tightened his grip automatically on the other, at the slight step back Harry almost took a step back, before pausing, shoulders pushing back with determination.
They descended.
Harry's stomach was churning again.
This was so messed up, and, yet, he'd agreed to do this. He only had one Horcrux left, and he'd hunt Hogwarts for the last Horcrux tomorrow.
He'd checked, earlier, amongst other awkward conversations and topics, how Hermione's time spell was going. She was on the final stages. He supposed her job was marginally easier than Tom's, because Hermione wasn't trying to do anything particularly unnatural.
Still, everything was falling into place.
It would probably be a good idea to burn/dispose of/hide Tom's notebook of spells and stuff though, however much trouble he'd be in for it.
He'd do that tonight, he'd seen the other with it often enough, and knew where it was for Tom always kept it on his person. Inside jacket pocket.
He just needed to get close enough, and for Tom to let his guard down enough, for him to get it. Unfortunately, that required Tom being in a good mood, and thus, playing ball with the Horcrux thing. He shuddered.
He couldn't believe he was getting killing lessons! Ugh. If he wasn't messed up before, he certainly would be after this.
Mice. About ten mice in a cage.
"I can't believe your making me do this," he muttered. "What about the wards-"
"There's a reason I picked the chamber," Tom said patiently.
"What did you do with the Basilisk?"
"As if I'd tell you, I don't trust you with its fangs."
Harry swallowed, suddenly feeling claustrophobic.
"I can't do this," he said. "Don't make me do this."
"It's a mouse, your owl kills them all the time," Tom stated flatly.
"I'm not seventeen, my wand has the trace on it," he tried.
"That's why your using my wand…I dare say it would work well enough for you."
He stared.
Tom was actually offering the use of his own wand to someone else? To him? Wow.
He didn't have to be fully versed in everything Slytherin, or even everything Tom, to realise how significant that was. A wand was a Wizard's most precious item.
He took the item automatically, aware of how vulnerable it made Tom. The other held out a hand, and he presumed it was for his own wand.
He traded, though he knew Tom would have kept hold of both wands if the situation was reversed.
Tom's wand didn't feel quite right in his hand, but he could feel that there was a connection. He skimmed a finger across the yew, absently.
"It's not the mice," he offered, softly. "It's the steps after that…the humans."
"You have the whole world to pick from," Tom replied. "You could pick a criminal for all I care, or a homeless person no one cares about."
"Doesn't make killing them right."
"This isn't about wrong and right, I just thought those less unsavoury types might be easier for you to deal with murdering. Someone will end up dead, either way, as we do have a deal. But anyway, your skipping ahead. We're still on the mice stage."
"You haven't made one yourself yet, have you?" he questioned.
"No," Tom said, quietly. "As you well know, I fully plan on both of us returning to the past, making a Horcrux to tie me here would be redundant as the act would be distorted and cancelled out for happening in the future."
"And mine wouldn't be?" he asked.
"Your Horcrux is what will help keep you in the past, instead of plummeting into oblivion," Tom returned. "Different concept. If I was only searching for your immortality I'm sure I could come up with a method you'd find more agreeable."
"But seeing is I'm going to win, you forcing me to make one is also redundant-" Harry began, desperate.
"-And yet," Tom interrupted, "not having you make one, ensures your victory as otherwise mine is still a highly plausible outcome, and therefore, you're making one and a new deal is not negotiable."
Harry sighed, staring blankly at the mice, scrabbling in the cage.
All of a sudden, they looked so fragile, so fleeting.
"I just point the wand and say the words?" he questioned, quietly. "Fine. Avada Kedavra."
That horrible flash of green filled the room, and…nothing happened.
Tom glared at him in reproach, before approaching, placing his hand above Harry's, adjusting his grip on the wand.
"No," the Slytherin Heir corrected. "Don't be so crude. You can't just 'point the wand and say the words,' you have to mean them. You have to want your target dead with everything you have, and it's more of a sharp flick then a mere point. See - Avada Kedavra."
Green light flashed out from beneath both their hands, and one of the mice dropped, dead. Harry swallowed, wide eyed. Had a sort of…rush just gone beneath his fingers?
Harry would have let go of the wand in shock, but Tom's fingers were steady and firm around his.
"That was you…right?" he verified. Tom rolled his eyes.
"More or less."
"More or less?"
"Your hands are the ones touching the wand, Harry. We both cast the spell, I just had the proper intent."
"Lovely," Harry muttered. "Always nice to know I'm standing this close to someone who simultaneously possesses murderous intent."
Tom laughed.
"I'm disappointed if you ever thought I wasn't capable of killing you in under a second, even if I never proved it.""
Even more reassuring," he drawled sarcastically, trying not to think about the mouse, though his eyes kept flicking to it.
But he was aware of the closeness, if he turned, just slightly, he'd be able to reach out and grab the notebook. He never thought there would be a good time for Tom to creep him out by pseudo hitting on him, but it would certainly make it easier to reach into his jacket pocket…and then harder to run.
But that was always going to be a problem.
"It wasn't meant to be reassuring," Tom smirked. He'd gathered. The fingers loosed on his once more, and the other took a step back, slipping with an uncanny ease between professional business…and whatever their other thing was. Because that wasn't quite friendship, with the whole threatening death.
Frenemies? He snorted at the thought, earning a raised eyebrow.
"Again," Tom instructed after a minute.
Harry felt a wave of sickness. Sharp flick. Mean it.
"Avada Kedavra."
Tom sighed.
They'd been there for an hour, and Harry still hadn't managed to kill one of them.
He'd got hopeful when one of them slumped, but then it turned out the rodent was just unconscious.
There was nothing wrong with Harry's technique, his execution and wand movements and pronunciations were flawless.
It was the intent that was the problem.
Harry didn't want to kill, and probably had no subconscious objection to stalling, and so, the spell didn't work. He needed to combat that.
He flicked Harry's wand at one of the mice, marvelling at how well the Holly and Phoenix feather worked for him, even if it wasn't perfect. Harry shot him a startled look.
Mouse to rat. A copy of Peter Pettigrew, actually. A little incentive.
"Now try," he suggested. Harry eyed him warily, but flicked his wand at the 'rat,' eyes immediately hardening at the exact replica.
"Avada Kedavra."
The rat stopped moving.
Harry's eyes widened, and he stared down at the wand with an expression of horror. He didn't drop his wand though, for which Tom was thankful.
He walked over. Dead. A smile tucked the corners of his lips.
"Okay. I'm done. No more," Harry said, too quickly, eyes darting away from the mouse cage.
Though Tom had managed the curse on his first attempt, he was fully aware that this was a remarkable feat for someone with a conscience.
No one else he'd seen had picked it up so quickly, though he couldn't claim to have had another pupil either. Something like pride stirred in him when he surveyed the transfigured mouse.
Harry handed the wand back to him, not looking at it, and not looking at him either. He took it without comment, trading wands back again.
Nausea was rolling in through the link, and Harry had turned white as sheet. He studied the other intently.
It was honestly bothering him.
He supposed most people would have qualms about this curse. Harry would get better with it.
Still. Those green eyes were haunted. Beautifully haunted, disturbingly haunted.
And yet, a little changed from the jaded way they'd been before. Another chip at the other's purity.
For a bizzare moment, he mourned the loss.
This was probably the first time Harry had deliberately killed, outside of a battle, not in self-defence, to someone/something that had never harmed him.
"No more," Harry repeated, softer.
Lovegood's cursed words ran through his head again. He suppressed it.
This was best for them both.
Wasn't it?
That night, Harry opened his eyes. It was about four O clock in the morning, and everyone was asleep, their breathing heavy. He sat up slowly, his movements careful.
His eyes flicked over Tom, who was curled up in a ball in his sleep, clothes neatly folded beneath his bed.
Lestrange was whimpering in his sleep. He winced.
He crept silently to his feet, well used to sneaking about in the dead of night from his time with the Dursley's. He felt Nagini's eyes on him from her cage in the corner of the room, yellow slits gleaming in the darkness.
"What are you doing?"she hissed.
"Keep quiet or I'll turn you into a belt," he ordered tersely. He went over to Tom's bed, avoiding the wards. He fished about. Notepad. Locked draw.
Crap. He bit his lip, so very tense, glancing at the sleeping Dark Lord next to him. His stomach knotted with nerves. He'd surveyed this thing earlier, and for many a time now, he thought he knew how it worked.
After about half an hour, he managed to extract the notebook, flinching anytime that someone shifted.
Pages and pages of Tom's writing, calculations and diagrams and thoughts and notes. It looked very complex.
This must have taken months.
Tom was going to be so pissed off about this. He glanced at the other again, before looking back down.
Before freezing, and looking back again.
Violet eyes were open. Watching him calmly.
Shit.
A/N: Bit of a filler, sorry. :/
Your reviews for the last chapter were truly amazing, I'm glad you approve (?) of my dealing with Lestrange.
And I hope you enjoy this chapter too :)
Much affection.
Still aim to do a DD oneshot. 3000 reviews and an anniversary one. Really stuck for ideas though. Help?