Warning (some of you have asked): there are about 30ish (max) chapters left for Fate's Favourite, as far as I'm aware, unless something I've drastically forgotten or am inspired by drops into my head.
Chapter 138:
Harry was frozen in absolute horror, his gaze fixed on Tom's open eyes.
He was so surprised he almost yelped. He was glad he didn't.
Upon closer perusal, he felt a sense of utter incredulous, hysterical relief and disbelief settle upon him.
It was a glamour. Tom's eyes were glamoured to be open, to follow any movement.
He wasn't actually awake.
Most people would have shrieked or started explaining or somehow make noise at the seeming confrontation, the open eyes, which would have woken the Slytherin Heir up for real. It was a defence mechanism.
Harry could feel his frantic heartbeat slowing again, and turned his attention, even more cautiously, back to the notebook. He wanted to laugh, horribly. Trust Tom to 'sleep' with his eyes open.
He shuddered, the stare in some way unnerving him even more now. He honestly thought he was going to have a heart attack.
He didn't know if Tom had another copy of this spell, he probably did, but Harry still felt he needed to do something. Besides, maybe he could wheedle Hermione or Marvolo into looking at it and telling him how he could sabotage the attempt. He sighed.
He didn't have much time left.
Lucius said Voldemort would attack within a month, from what he'd experienced with Tom at least, that meant his deadline was liable to be around two weeks away.
He had so much to do. And he needed to give Dumbledore a forewarning. As welcoming as his bed still looked, he dressed and, with the notebook and some other stuff, he slipped out into the very early morning.
Zevi startled awake at the violent magic that filled the room, deadly and dangerous.
He was instantly alert, tensed, his eyes flicking over to Tom, even as he dared not move.
His lord's eyes were blazing with fury, his wand clenched tightly in a white knuckled fist of self-control. He shivered, huddling further under his duvet, as inconspicuously as he could. He glanced over at Harry's bed.
Empty. Long departed. Back at Tom.
Oh dear. What had Harry done now?
Harry looked up as Tom stormed into the Great Hall, straight over to the Slytherin Table where he sat, slamming his palms down on the table. Harry was mildly surprised.
He'd expected Tom to wait until privacy, or the common room at least, which was why he'd chosen to go and have a long breakfast in the hall. Thankfully, most the students were still in bed, and not down. Some of the teachers and a few students were there though, and stared.
"Where is it?" the young Dark Lord demanded.
"Where's what?" Harry returned calmly.
"My notebook. Which you stole. Where did you put it?" Tom's voice was very constrained, enough to increase his already rather strained nerves. He smirked in response.
"Should probably keep more than one copy of important documents, you know," he replied, knowing full well that he'd charmed the copy he had to wipe any other documents it was linked with too.
He'd tried to burn it, but the papers were fire-proofed. And cutting proofed.
The next second hands were wrapped around his throat, suffocating, and Tom's face had an almost blank look to it. Harry's hands flew up automatically, but he forcibly stopped himself from trying to prise the choking fingers away.
He stared back as evenly as he could, ignoring the horrified gasps around the hall.
"Tell me where you put it!"
"Take your hands off my throat," Harry returned, albeit breathlessly, his head starting to spin.
"I should kill you."
"You won't."
Black spots were entering his vision, and Tom was glaring, murderous, and then…the other let go, shoving him back as if disgusted, dropping into the seat next to him.
Harry spluttered, unable to help himself, heaving in air, dizzy, smug.
McGonnagal had hesitated on approach to their table - she'd seen them in the past, so many times, he thought her natural instinct was to leave them be in all honesty, as other people interfering tended to make things worse and neither of them appreciated the intrusion to their games - clearly torn between her duty as a teacher with what probably looked like a serious murder attempt, and would normally be immediately prevented, and staying where she was.
In the end, seeing Harry was released, she went back again, her attention sharp.
Harry rubbed his throat, clearing it with a cough, before straightening a moment later, shaking the near-death experience off.
"Can you pass the tea?" he asked innocently. Tom's eyes were narrowed, but the next second the pot smashed down on the table next to him. "Cheers." He poured himself some tea, sipping the concoction carefully, soothing his abused throat. He could feel Tom's gaze on him.
"Where is it?" the other demanded again. "What did you do?"
"If I told you," Harry replied evenly, "there wouldn't have been much point to taking it in the first place. Since when have you glamoured it to look like your eyes are open while your sleeping, by the way? It's bloody creepy."
"I could tear your mind apart with legilimens," Tom warned, relentlessly, not rising to the bait.
"Sure you could," Harry agreed. "But that would defeat your objection to my plans, would it not?"
"Your plans…" Tom murmured, reaching out with lightning fast reflexes, tugging on the locket until it was taunt around his neck, not quite strangling. "If you don't give me back my notebook, I will ensure your plan can never succeed."
Harry blinked.
"Because you're so helpful currently," he said, eyeing the ring on the other's finger, near the locket. Nagini was in her cage near them, sulkily ignoring them (he didn't trust to leave the snake unattended or outside of his proximity, to many people's displeasure) and the cup was in the moleskin he'd spelled and invested in.
He wrapped a hand around the locket himself, just in case Tom tried to yank it from around his neck and in attempt to alleviate the way the chain was digging uncomfortably into his skin.
"I could destroy him, you know," Tom said, eyes holding his, not even glancing down at the Horcrux in question. "Your plans would be shattered."
"You took an oath not to harm those I care about, currently, I find I care about him."
"To care," Tom stated. "To be interested in something, to feel love, affection and concern for something, to look after something. Your relationship with Marvolo does not fit all that criteria, as though he interests you and you are no doubt concerned with him in relationship to your schemes, I know perfectly well you hold no love or affection for him."
"You can't relegate everything to dictionary definitions," Harry tried. "Example: love. You can love someone in different ways, and, thus, do not have to fulfil all dictionary definitions and criteria of love to love someone. Ergo, you can love your family without it being in anyway intermingled with, erm, sex."
"Not according to Freud," Tom smirked briefly, before his expression grew more serious. "But, regardless, your 'care' of 'Marvolo' is not sufficient to prevent me from destroying him. Can you afford that?"
"If you wreck my plans, you'll never get your notebook back," Harry stated furiously. "Then the timeline will implode, do you want that? No? I guess we're going with my plan by default then."
Tom laughed, coldly.
"Because you were going to give me my spell back - which, just in case you wanted to know, took ages to write - if I promised not to harm them, right? No. Give me my notebook, or you can watch the timeline implode and enjoy the feeling of knowing you could have prevented it," Tom said, voice nearly a hiss in controlled rage.
"You're bluffing."
"Oh contraire, darling, I told you, I would rather we both lost than you beat me."
"That's just petty," he growled. "Is staying in the future so terrible for you?"
"Is going to the past so terrible for you?" Tom returned, immediately. "And it's your method that I find objectionable, namely, you ending up with the ravaged mind of a one year old."
"Well, snap," Harry replied, infuriated. "Your method is evil."
"Please," Tom scoffed, with an utterly patronising expression on his face. "Don't be so black and white, it really doesn't suit you. There's no such thing as good and evil."
"Only power and those too weak to seek it?" he demanded, harshly. "Besides, you like dictionary definitions. Evil: a. immoral, b, something that deliberately causes great harm, pain or upset or c, malicious. Your plan is all those things, and, hence, evil."
"And your plan?" Tom returned, regarding him remorselessly. "Immoral - suicide is a mortal sin…definition of suicide, killing yourself and/or deliberately going against one's own best interests…ending up as a vegetable, hero? I would say that makes your plan immoral."
"T-"
"-Something that deliberately causes great harm, pain or upset…I have made my distaste of your plan completely clear to you, and your fulfilment of it would cause me great upset. Malicious…intentionally causing another pain, having your soul sealed back together is agonisingly painful, and often lethal. Would you look at that," Tom said, too lightly. "Your plan is evil."
Harry glared at him. His plan was NOT evil!
"Well, your plan is more evil," he snapped. "More people are harmed."
"No one is harmed, actually," Tom stated, "conversely, I dare say those that don't and never existed would have less suffering or harm upon them. Well, I suppose you would be distressed, but other than you…now, let's look at your plan again, shall we? I'm upset, you're better off dead than as a vegetable, Voldemort's probably better off dead too, thousands die with the weight of the first war with Voldemort, your parents included, and all your friends will probably also be distraught at your sacrifice. Sounds like your plan is more evil."
Harry had never felt so frustrated before.
"Yes, that's if we live in a world of dictionary definitions. Real life is a bit different-"
"-Give me my notebook," Tom demanded again, cutting over him, dangerously. "Or real life can end."
They appraised each other. Would Tom really let the time line implode if he didn't get his way? Yes. He didn't even need to think about it.
The Slytherin Heir was petty enough, certainly. His fists clenched.
Tom seemed to sense his advantage, like a shark scented blood, and pressed onwards, dropping the locket, only to place his hand on Harry's shoulders, fingers partially splaying across his neck, mockingly gentle against where not ten minutes ago they had choked.
"I'm pretty much done with my plans, golden boy, I can wait you out." Tom paused, head tilting in a tauntingly cavalier way, smiling with a debonair pleasantness. "Of course, I wouldn't wait too long to return my notebook, if I were you, considering we have a four month deadline until the world necessarily self-destructs under a time paradox. Unless, of course, you're willing to watch that happen, hero?"
Bastard. Bloody bastard.
He'd thought they were finally level, as he didn't have to worry about his friends (and they were certainly more evenly matched) but it seemed not, for Tom was still willing to cross boundaries he wouldn't, and couldn't. Ugh. Morality was oppressive, but he still wouldn't give it up or discard it.
Tom turned back to his breakfast, appearing for all the world as if nothing had happened, but for the white-knuckled tension bleaching his knuckles, and the dangerous air around him.
"Oh," the young Dark Lord added, pouring cereal in the bowl. "You'll be fulfilling your part of that deal tomorrow night."
That deal. Horcruxes. Tomorrow!
His teacup shattered.
A/N: So, um, hi =) I really hope you enjoyed the chapter…it feels rather old school, in that it's one conversation and moment, as opposed to lots of different povs. It seemed like a good place to stop though. Thank you so much for all the reviews - and I'm glad you are all enjoying the DD oneshots, those of you who haven't read them, feel free to check them out - they are very much appreciated.
PS: I have discovered that it is tragically difficult for me to find other Tom and Harry stories to read =( I think it's cause I'm writing this with them as how I would personally view them, my perfect interpretation of the dynamic, and now I get annoyed at other stories when either Harry, Tom or both are too sappy or OOC or whatnot. Damn it! I've ruined my own genre for myself. T'is sad. I do still have some I like, and can read without characterisation bugging me, but…*sniff.*
Curse Fate's Favourite.