Chapter 139:
Harry felt sick, shaking, absolutely nauseous.
The last day had passed in a blur, as if speeding up just to torture and taunt him. His hands shook, his stomach churned. Salazar.
He kept praying Tom would suddenly give him another ultimatum, or anything, instead of allowing this to happen. He was terrified.
He'd spent the last day trying not to think about it, instead taking the time to warn Dumbledore of the oncoming war, searching for the Horcrux and studying Tom's notes in the relative safety of the Room of Requirement.
He'd considered dumping the notes there, next to a weird tiara thing, in a room utterly crammed with a strange accumulation of things that appeared lost, forgotten or discarded. Harry was certain he could have visited that room every day for a year and still found something new and interesting to snatch his attention. He'd even seen one of the chess pieces from his first year.
He hadn't had the time to get distracted though. Now, it felt like he had even less time.
In the end, he'd given the notes to Hermione, to keep safe. Tom couldn't harm her, and he barely paid his Gryffindor friends enough notice for their to be in any danger of him suddenly realising that the notes were in his friend's (warded, he'd taught them) trunk.
Hermione and Ron had questioned worriedly about the withdrawn, pale state he had lapsed into, but he'd kept his silence well despite their best attempts to draw answers out of him. He'd hardly exchanged a word with Tom since their argument at breakfast yesterday.
The Slytherin Heir was still pissed off with him, and he didn't think he could stand to be around such shrewd and psychotic company at the present time. He couldn't believe Tom was forcing him to do this, and so quickly too, he could hardly kill a rat - how on earth did the young Dark Lord suppose he'd manage to kill a human, an innocent, in cold blood! It was absurd.
It was punishment for stealing the notebook, he just knew it. Punishment and the time pressures they were both under.
He wanted to curl into a ball and cry, pathetically, but that would solve nothing…at least he had his deal with Voldemort just in case…Voldemort….maybe he could arrange for Voldemort to temporarily kidnap him? Surely he couldn't make a Horcrux then! And Tom, as cruel as it was, would also find himself distracted from the ridiculous idea.
Of course, upon his return the Slytherin Heir would probably be even more determined to stop him from having the opportunity of dying…oh this was such a mess.
His stomach hurt. He thought it might be nerves. Ha, nerves! Who was he kidding? He'd left nerves behind for full blown panic.
Merlin, this was a nightmare.
He felt someone come up to him, but didn't glance up. A small hand touched his shoulder lightly.
"Have you tried really telling him how you feel?" Luna asked softly. He felt irrationally irritated by the comment, too stressed out for it.
"Look, I get it, you think Tom and I love each other, but right now I really don't need you to-"
"-not about that," she said, sadly, and he came to an abrupt halt. He turned his eyes to her. "I mean about why you don't want to go through with your deal."
He stared, gob smacked.
"H-How do you know about that?" he demanded incredulously. She shrugged, her eyes intent, but not as sharply cruel in its piercing quality as Tom's.
"I just know things sometimes," she replied quietly. Harry sighed, before accepting it. It was Luna, after all. Who knew, maybe she did know something in a way other's didn't.
"He knows how I feel," he muttered. He'd told Tom how much he hated Horcruxes when they first struck the agreement, the other hadn't listened, and he'd always made his hatred of the things perfectly clear. "He doesn't get it. He probably thinks I'll straighten out and stop being a wimp, you know…after."
After. He shuddered.
"I don't think I can stop him," he confessed, voice hardly above a whisper.
The next second her arms were around him, not in the crushing, possessive way that Tom's rare almost-hugs were (like after Mr Weasley) but gentle, soothing in a different way. He may have flinched, if only for a moment.
He didn't tend to enjoy hugs all that much, but this one was…okay. Even if he felt a bit girly. Her hand stroked his hair, where Tom's would have gripped roughly, the tight as fierce as the rest of his hold.
He needed to stop comparing Luna and Tom, he really did. He closed his eyes, suddenly aware that shivers were racking his body, silent sobs of absolute fear and dread.
"I'm scared, Luna."
"I know," she murmured. "It's alright, everything will be okay, I promise…"She couldn't possibly promise that. He was pitiful.
Tom would sneer to see him now, no doubt.
He swallowed, harshly, trying to calm the raging storm of his tumbling emotions. He didn't hug her back, not daring to, knowing the way he would probably cling would shatter something so seemingly delicate. It would hurt her, certainly.
He stayed limp in her arms, but it didn't seem to deter her as it had Hermione in these occasions. He'd hugged Hermione before, but those had normally been brief, greetings, or from a time when he didn't smash everyone around him quite so much.
He used to be so innocent. Now, look at him, he was about to do the worst thing he could possibly imagine!
"What do I do?" he asked, over and over again. "What the hell do I do?"
Out of all the people Harry associated himself with, Tom thought Luna Lovegood was by far the worse.
She wasn't put off like any of the others, and held no fear for him, and simply followed him chucking annoying comments and psychoanalysis at his back if he refused to talk to her when she desired it.
And she'd kissed Harry. And slapped him. She'd harmed him, and kissed him, and Harry was far too fond and fascinated by her.
She was the most irritating person he'd ever had the misfortune to encounter - including Lestrange!
Her blue eyes fixed upon him despairingly with a shocking clarity when they met, and she came to a stop in his path. He came to a stop too, reluctantly, hoping she'd make it quick, only for her to order him to follow her, and be discreet and watch.
He'd debated ignoring her, but when she'd looked about to take hold of his hand to get her to come with him, he'd relented grudgingly. He honestly didn't know what Harry saw in her, at all. She was crazy.
He found himself pausing though, when she approached said golden boy, as he stood off to the shadows. He clenched his jaw. What was she up to?
He strongly considered leaving, but found himself transfixed in his analysis.
It was very rare that he got to analyse Harry without the other being aware of his gaze, however nonchalant Harry might react regarding his scrutiny.
His friend's shoulders were slumped, and he was startlingly pale, like a ghost. He also appeared to be trembling almost imperceptibly. He swallowed. Harry looked terrible.
What was the blonde trying to prove?
He almost stepped out, but curiosity swayed his movements. Lovegood placed a tentative hand on Harry's shoulder, to which the other hardly reacted to.
"Have you tried telling him how you feel?" she asked.
He stiffened. She was talking about him. The sneaky bitch. He felt a flash of admiration, before dismissing the feeling. She was talking about the Horcruxes, of course, but he felt the annoyance radiating off Harry. He smirked at the others response, the assumption Lovegood was talking about their "relationship."
In all fairness, the blonde did talk about it a lot. He settled down to watch, somewhat amused and taking more entertainment from the conversation than anything else, until Harry told Lovegood that he didn't think he could stop him.
He snapped to attention at the sheer terror that had infused into Harry's voice, the resignation.
He saw Luna embrace the other, and wondered if the girl was deliberately trying to provoke a reaction. He would be incredibly displeased if she was, not only for the audacity of the attempt, but that she was using Harry when he was obviously vulnerable to do it…if she was playing with his emotions!
Salazar, only he was allowed to play with Harry's feelings and emotions like that. Besides, though he would play with Harry's emotions on so serious a matter, he would damn well make sure to do it in private. His eyes narrowed to slits.
Now she was stroking him. Merlin. Bitch. Harry wasn't a dog, as amusing as it would be to drag him around in a collar simply for the novelty of it, and the priceless reactions.
Still, it was clear Harry was seeking the comfort. Most people liked comfort like this, didn't they? Even Harry. He'd kind of hugged the boy before, though he couldn't exactly call it mushy and entirely comforting. Except, it wasn't really a hug, but…a hold.
A hold was a good word for it.
Hold: a, to grasp something in your arms, b, to support (as he was sometimes doing when he offered that) c, to fix something in position/to keep in custody/stop someone from leaving/keeping something by force (always true), or e, to possess something.
Those were the relevant definitions and fit much better than "hug" which was like an affectionate cuddle. As if!
"I'm scared, Luna," he heard Harry admit, very softly, he almost didn't catch it. So quiet, a whisper, that he was almost convinced he hadn't caught it and had misheard something else instead.
Harry? scared? His Harry? About the Horcrux? Was that the uncomfortable twisting he'd been feeling in his gut since yesterday? Fear through the link? He'd assumed it to be Harry's guilt, for the physical symptoms upon him were often similar for both emotions.
His mouth felt dry.
He reminded himself that this was a necessary thing, and that even if it wasn't a good thing, he didn't care for 'good' anyway. Lovegood offered meaningless, paltry consolations.
"What do I do?" Harry stared at her, with the desperate eyes that had so often fallen upon, like when the other had negotiated aid for his Godfather's safety. He'd always loved seeing that desperation as Harry looked at him, it made the other seem so alive, and the power rush was intoxicating! "What the hell do I do?"
What indeed. Was Harry faking this? Had he plotted it with the crazy blonde? He'd have to test that.
He was doing the right thing. He was right. He was right, right, right. He had to be.
Had he ever mentioned that he hated Lovegood?
Harry entered the Slytherin Common Room, his features a mask to hide behind. If he was going to be stripped of his soul, than he might as well start by concealing his emotions and not having a mental breakdown.
He didn't know how they were doing this, but he suspected they must be leaving Hogwarts. Tom pretty much met him at the door, and soon, they found themselves on the streets of London.
It was evening, early spring. The air was crisp, but not freezing, and they wore muggle clothes once again.
He felt light headed with panic, watching as Tom's eyes scanned the crowd. Harry could just picture a predator stalking its prey, meticulously searching for its next victim.
He shuddered, drawing a glance.
"So, what do I actually have to do?" he asked, making sure to keep his voice low.
"All you need to do is kill someone-" Tom began.
"-Careful," Harry hissed, looking around him. Tom smirked.
"Notice me not charm, sweetheart, relax."
"How the hell can I relax with what we're about to do," he muttered darkly. "All I need to do, ha!"
He could feel the Slytherin Heir studying him openly. He shook his head.
"So what, I do the deed and you cover the rest of the spellwork?" he confirmed.
"Yes," Tom said. "Simple."
Simple. Right. His guts twisted again.
"Do you want to pick or shall I?"
"P-pick?"
"Pick your target," Tom said evenly, arching his brows. "Seeing as it's you I would suggest a homeless person or a prostitute, someone less likely to be missed. Personally, I'd make it a bit more grand, but…"
Harry could feel his shoulders stiffening.
"Are you going to be a bastard about this all night?" he demanded.
"My parents were married, actually, however coerced the union was."
Harry almost threw his hands up in frustration, wanting to throttle the young Dark Lord.
"You could at least act like murder is a big deal to you," he snapped. Tom's features closed further.
"And there was me thinking you were the champion of honesty and being true to yourself." The other looked at him, gaze dark. "Murder is not a big deal to me. It's just another means to get what I want. Here, do you have any money on you?"
"Money? Why would I need money?"
"You want to kill your whore on the street?"
Harry's eyes flashed dangerously, and he spun, nearly whacking into Tom in the process, pathetically almost in tears with fear, dread and self-loathing.
"Stop it, alright!" he growled. "I know you're pissed about the notebook but can you just cut it out with the bloody attitude. Some of us have a conscience and you are not helping!"
"I'll pay then," Tom said, seemingly ignoring him, pulling money out of his pocket, and walking callously up to a pretty, overly made up young girl in too little clothes.
Harry immediately just wanted to give her his coat to cover her up a bit, it was a cold night besides.
"Hello, how much do you charge?"
"Depends what you wanted," the girl said, eyeing them both warily, a smile pasting onto her face. The urge to throw up was increasing.
"An hour, in a hotel room." Tom shot a look back at him, before dropping his voice. "My friend can take forever to get started, but I'm sure it'll be worth it in the end."
Harry flushed a burning red with mortification and rage. To her credit, the girl showed no change in expression.
"Fifty quid in advance, and an extra ten for every extra you want," she replied.
Fifty? He had no idea how these things worked, but were people really that desperate? He tried not to visibly shudder, lest he hurt her feelings. This was awful.
"Fabulous," Tom smiled charmingly.
They soon stood in some - admittedly, not cheap like he'd expected - hotel room.
She sidled over to the bed, appearing only marginally uncertain. The Slytherin Heir set up locking and silencing charms with subtle flicks of his wand, fully ignoring the girl now. She looked so young!
"So, how do you want it?" she asked.
Tom was utterly dazzling as he swept around the room, lighting candles for the ritual and generally setting up. He was making no effort to hide that he was doing magic now, and the girl's eyes were growing wide.
"Lay in the middle of the candles," Tom ordered. The girl had tensed, rigid, looking about to bolt.
"Oh god," she moaned. "You two, you're not like some weird Satanists are you, look, I'm not looking for trouble-" she began.
"Lay. In. The. Candles," Tom ordered again, very clearly. "Or I will make you do so."
"Tom, for crying out loud," Harry snarled.
He'd just about had enough. He couldn't do this. Salazar, he really couldn't do this. He was going to pass out, or vomit, or…in seconds, the other had rounded on him, encroaching on his space, causing him to hastily retreat a few steps only to find Tom following him.
"Backing out of our deal, hero?" he questioned, too softly.
"Deal?" the girl squeaked. "What deal? W-who are you? What do you actually want?"
"Simple," Tom replied coldly, not looking at her, his eyes fixed upon Harry's own. "Magic exists and we need to kill you for a dark arts ritual to ensure immortality. No, it probably won't hurt, now shut up and lie down. Isn't that what you're good at?"
"I can't even kill a rat," Harry tried desperately. "I'm not backing out, I just literally can't do this, Tom, please, don't make me do this. It's so wrong-"
"All you need to do is point your wand and intentionally kill," Tom interrupted, flatly. "I will do the rest. It's not that difficult."
"I can't!" Harry said loudly, "you know I can't, you're just freaking punishing me for stealing your god-forsaken notebook, which, by the way, is crap as you'd do exactly the same thing if the roles were reversed. Well, I'm sorry, alright? Sorry I don't want to watch my world get blown to oblivion-"
"-Harry-"
"Do you want me to get down on my knees and beg, fine!" Pride writhing with agony, but fear and sickness raging even worse, he dropped without question at Tom's feet. "I'll even give you the notebook," he said, more softly, but still fast and frantically, staring at immaculate shoes, not sure if he'd ever felt so humiliated. "Just don't make me do this-
"Get up."
"-Please, I swear I will, but-"
"Get. Up."
His gaze flicked to the other's face involuntarily at this switch to parseltongue, able to sense the emotions in the the Slytherin Heir's serpentine tone, but not read them.
He swallowed, staying where he was.
The girl was huddled by the headboard of the bed, completely terrified, watching them, muttering to herself as if in prayer. Harry didn't blame her.
He looked back down at the floor, too ashamed to hold that unyielding, intense gaze.
Fingers, so different to Luna's, threaded through his hair, playing almost reassuringly with the strands, before tightening into a sudden, painful tug that hauled him upwards off the floor, simultaneously bending his head back to force eye contact. Tom's own head was tilted slightly to the side.
"You're right," the other murmured, velvety. "I am doing this to punish you, but, it also needs to be done. I will not have you die on me."
"Tom, please-"
Tom tapped his nail against Harry's bottom lip, twice, rather pointedly.
"Cease the begging, darling, it really doesn't suit you."
"And a destroyed soul will?" he asked quietly. Tom's eyes were narrowed as he surveyed him with an indecipherable expression, considering. "You must know I wouldn't actually be the same," Harry continued, "unless a change is what you want. I…you've been on edge all evening-"
"-If I said it was, would you stop whining and kill the bitch already?"
Harry faltered. Tom wanted him to change? Of course he did, he didn't believe in morals. His jaw tightened.
"A deal's a deal," he said dully.
He couldn't actually not do this, if Tom wanted him to. They had a deal.
Steeling himself, nails digging into his palm, he held a hand out to switch wands again for the spell, rigid. He felt sick. Sick sick sick. He swallowed thickly.
He probably looked a right mess to the Slytherin Heir - Tom was probably deploring and disgusted with the weakness he was showing.
"What's your name?" he asked the girl, kindly, nearly snatching the wand out of the other's hands, walking over to her.
"T-Tracy," she stammered. "Please, Harry, was it? Just let me go, I don't want to die, and I know you don't want to do this. You seem like a good man, a noble man, don't let this happen-"
"In the circle," Tom cut in, indifferently.
Tracy was sobbing wretchedly by now, before giving a cry of shock as Tom flicked a wand at her, forcing her movement. Harry shot him a dark look.
Finally, everything was ready.
Harry was trying to steel himself, but couldn't. He couldn't do this.
He glanced at Tom for a final time, just for a second. Then he closed his eyes, pointing, hating himself so much.
"I'm so sorry Tracy. Avada Kedavra."
A/N: Well, I suppose this chapter was kind of expected to be dark.
Note, I know absolutely nothing about prostitution outside of the vague, horrible concept.
Thanks for the reviews, I won't say I hope you enjoyed the update as that feels somewhat wrong considering the nature of the content of said update. Erm, yeah.