Chapter 144:
Tom resisted the urge to rub his headache away, frowning down at his notepad.
The ring, his safety, glittered upon his finger.
Harry couldn't do something stupid without the ring, and he would never willingly relinquish it to the other. The time spell was almost done, he just hoped it would be done in time.
He sighed, infuriated by how distracted he felt. Harry. Harry was so bloody inconvenient for productivity, he always limited it by at least fifty percent.
When he was there, he was either helpful, or, at least in part, incredibly distracting to be around with his schemes and his games and his challenged.
Yet, the other not being there was equally distracting, as though he didn't have the ex-Gryffindor playing with him, he instead had to wonder what the other boy was up to instead.
It was maddening. He'd never used to be like this. It wasn't that he couldn't work without Harry there anymore, he could, and normally was more than content to wile hours not playing actually doing some work while his friend was otherwise occupied…but it was the closeness of their deadline, and the way they had parted, that lingered so heavily and annoyingly on his thoughts.
What he did has been reasonable, utterly logical and calculated.
He needed Harry pushed back a bit so he had time to think with a clear head and finish his spell without having to constantly stop the other from attempting to destroy his work again.
The former was failing miserably.
He couldn't stop thinking about it, the shock and frosting over of green eyes when he called Harry "Lestrangey" and all else that he'd said. He may not have been as careful as he normally was.
Voldemort had shaken him more than he cared to admit, and Harry's own actions hadn't helped.
Why. Had. He. Stopped? Harry never stopped when he called him, he slowed down to allow them to walk together often enough, but he never stopped so abruptly and obediently.
It wasn't how they did things.
It was very suspicious.
So maybe his words had been harsher than normal, but Harry was annoying him. Breaking like that, crumbling…he wasn't allowed! That was why he'd pushed like that, wasn't it?
Wasn't it?
Anger and a need to push the other away from him. Harry was a liability to have around, a weakness he could scarcely afford on the brink of battle as Voldemort had so adamantly shown him…had he really destroyed Harry?
Probably. He broke everything he touched, and everything he got close to, he didn't know when he'd expected Harry to be different.
Except that he was.
What had Voldemort even been going on about? Harry wasn't in love with him - that was absurd! He'd know if the other boy was. This was such a mess.
He hated messes, he preferred to stand neatly above human relationships and play puppet master…and now, he was tangled!
The irony, the bitter irony!
When had the strings got wrapped so tightly between him and Harry? It was odd, he'd invested a lot of time in dragging the other closer, pulling the webs around his arms (quite literally with the mark) his legs, heart, throat, mind, anything to tug the boy closer for his possession and inspection.
He'd always kind of thought he still had control over the situation, though Harry got his own jabs in and held his own remarkably and thrillingly well...
First, it had been exhilarating, a new type of danger, having to offer strings of himself in return to keep the other boy, but now…things were complicated, complicated and twisted and he couldn't walk away any more.
He was just as invested as Harry was.
Somehow, Harry always seemed to forget that.
Harry didn't want him to die or become Voldemort, couldn't he see it was exactly the same as he not wanting Harry to die or be a vegetable?
Why was he even thinking about Harry?
That was the whole point of shoving him back in the first place, right?
He felt Zevi drop quietly into a seat next to him, waiting for acknowledgement.
He flicked his eyes up, noting the other appeared anxious in his composure.
Stressed. Bags under his eyes. Potion stains on his fingers. He looked back down at his spell.
"What is it, Zevi?" he asked, obliging the other with the question. Prince hesitated.
"May I speak…openly, my lord?"
He flicked his eyes up again warily, favouring the other with part of his attention. He paused for a moment, wondering he was going to regret this, before inclining his head, not quite in acceptance, but a signal that he was willing to try listening.
He'd always appreciated the boy's calm logic and perceptiveness, as well as his obvious talent in potions among other things. What he didn't appreciate was Prince overstepping his boundaries.
Zevi swallowed, gathering himself.
He cast an eye over his notes again, making corrections here and there, but listening, shifting his gaze up every now and then.
"You shouldn't push him away," his follower said finally. "Harry, I mean."
"As opposed to some other person you would discuss with me?" he returned, raising his brows mockingly. Prince flushed, swallowing again, fingers pressing into each other until they turn white.
"You'll lose him if you do, especially if you plan to follow through with your plans, and it won't help anything, with all due respect to your reasoning," Zevi added smoothly. "It's just…pushing him away won't protect him from harm, be it from…Voldemort or anyone else, it makes him more of target because they think they'll be able to get away with it. I mean, we know what Harry means to you-"
He cast the other a dangerous, warning look.
"What I mean to say," his follower hastily corrected, "is that we know better than to act without your guidance, but…other people…"
"I see," he said. "Is that all?" He turned more fully back to his notes.
"No!"
His hand inched slightly towards his wand.
"No, my lord," Zevi murmured, more softly.
"Then speak, or hold your tongue and leave me in peace."
"You're allowed to be human, Tom - my lord. He…Harry's not going to view you differently if you're…if you admit how much he means to you."
His fingertips spread over his wand, and he heard the other swallow again, no doubt turning a little paler. He kept his eyes firmly on his notes. Zevi continued with an almost brazen determination, voice dropping even quieter.
"He won't judge you for losing control, showing vulnerability, when you lash out at him he-"
"He what, Prince?" he demanded, staring at the other now, viciously. "Careful."
His follower looked almost sick with fear, but pressed on nonetheless.
That was, no doubt, Harry's influence upon them. They were gaining a horrible habit of doing what they thought was right in serious situations, and not whatever Tom demanded on them without question or murmur.
Oh, they would never mutiny against him, but…
"He'd be more confident with himself if you didn't constantly give him mixed signals."
"Are you trying to tell me to play nicely with my toys?" he questioned sweetly.
Zevi met his eyes uncomfortably at that, then looked away, clearly unable to stand the intensity for long, not in its most concentrated form. Most people couldn't bear the brunt of his personality, they needed it diluted or softened in some way.
"If things do go badly, do you really want to end everything on a bad note between you?" Prince replied. "He's willing to sacrifice a hell of a lot for you, Tom, you, he's not Lestrange, he won't stay if he believes himself to have become unwanted."
He had half a mind to send the other away instantly, with a sharp curse at that. Instead, he found his gaze slowly rising, to the pleading look on Prince's face.
"I've already made my opinions on the matter clear to him numerous times."
"He's only human too, my lord, and a deeply damaged one. It's not his instinct that anyone will care for him for any extended period of time."
Like him. Always expecting a goodbye, unable to fathom why anyone would want to know him so well, and not flinch from the darkness that they find.
"That's all I wanted to say," Zevi muttered.
The boy left as silently as he came.
Tom itched to torture someone.
What was the point of emotions and relationships again? They were so inconvenient and sticky.
"You want us to stun him? Have you gone nuts?" Ron demanded.
"Keep your voice down," Harry hissed. They both stared at him as if he'd gone completely barmy, or said something ludicrous.
"So, let me get this straight," Hermione began slowly. "You want us to stun Tom, tie him up and then guard him so that you go and fight Voldemort,…with the time spell….and create a time loop?"
"Yes," he said simply. He hadn't told them about the adverse effect removing the Horcruxes might have though.
"No way!" Ron deadpanned flatly.
"Why not?"
"Because I agree with him, you can't expect us to let you go and fight Voldemort on your own, you could die! Let us come with you!" Hermione near shrieked.
He stared at her, with a sudden unnerving ice.
"Do as I say, Hermione. This isn't up for argument."
"Oh it's not is it?" she demanded. "Why did you ask then?"
"Politeness," he stated. They gaped at him.
"And - and you expect us to just go along with this?" Ron asked lowly. "Never mind that we probably couldn't stun Riddle anyway."
"Will you do it or not?" he returned irritably.
Hermione was staring at him, wide eyed, tears beginning to form in her eyes.
"What's happened to you?" she whispered. Harry cursed.
They couldn't find out like this, it was so…not right.
He forced his expression to soften, pressing a hand to each of their shoulders, forming a circle, summoning a light compulsion to his finger tips. He'd imperio them if this failed, it was too much hassle.
He'd have done that in the first place if he didn't like them so much.
"I know you're just worried about me," he smiled, reassuringly. "I'm sorry for being so snappy…I was just hoping the two of you would trust me on this, you know? You're my best friends, I thought I count on you."
"We are," Ron said fiercely.
"Then will you do it?" he asked.
"I-"
"I'll be fine facing Voldemort, I've got it all sorted out, I promise. I won't die, you can even yell at me after for being a reckless idiot. Come on, Ron, mate? Hermione?"
"I guess, if Riddle doesn't see us coming, we can try," Ron conceded.
Harry flashed him a brilliant grin, receiving an uncertain one in response.
"And you, Hermione? You know we need you, it wouldn't be the same."
"I-alright," her voice sounded very faint. "If you promise me you'll be okay!"
"I always am. Thanks guys, I really appreciate it!"
"What are friends for," Ron beamed.
Hermione's eyes rested on him cautiously.
He engulfed them both in a hug. This might be the last time they were ever like would miss them.
He blinked away the tears that threatened to burn in his eyes.
Next; back up plans.
The next day bloomed early, and he just knew that today was the day. He could feel it in his gut, the anticipation, the weird tension that wasn't his own.
Voldemort had said two days, which, logically, meant that he would attack today, trying to catch them off guard. It was just a matter of when.
"Harry," Tom's voice came quietly behind him. He didn't bother stopping this time. Why should he stay for the other to insult him?
Besides, he wouldn't want to be boring.
A hand seized his, pulling him to a halt.
"Not stopping today, I see," the other stated.
"Make up your mind," he snapped. Tom sighed, before shaking his head.
"Do you have a moment?"
"Not particularly, and nor should you, don't you have a spell to finish? Plans to finalise? Lives to ruin?"
"I'm sorry - alright!" Tom growled. Harry blinked, taken aback.
"W-what?"
"I'm sorry, Harry…don't make me say it again."
He stared at the other, who met his gaze unwaveringly. Then, he turned away.
"You're a psychopath, you're never sorry," he replied quietly. "That would require being able to feel guilt or sympathy."
Tom grabbed his jaw, roughly, yanking his head around again.
"I'm sorry," he repeated again, firmly. "As much as I can possibly be, I am sorry. I was…wrong to make you one." A Horcrux. "I should have listened to you."
Harry was silent for a moment.
"You saying goodbye or something? You don't do apologies, you find them pointless."
"Now you're just being difficult."
"It's part of my new inferior personality."
"What, do you want flowers too?" Tom snarled suddenly. "Will you just accept the damned apology I'm trying to give you."
"What…so you can do it again? See how many times you can pull me back to you? See how dependant I am?" Harry was nearly screaming at the end, suddenly furious.
Tom reared back.
"Welcome to my freaking life, golden boy!"
He stopped, frozen, silent. Tom glared at him, furiously.
"Do you really think I would be trying so hard to save you if this wasn't mutual?"
"But-yesterday-"
"I don't like being wrong. I was pissed off. I wasn't in control. I lash out. I've told you before, have I not, that while you tend to withdraw I lash out?"
Harry bit his lip. This was such a strange conversation.
He really didn't want to end things on a bad note between them, and maybe Tom, sensing it, didn't want to either, just in case…
"Comes with the job description of being friends with a psycho I suppose," he shrugged. A small grin tugged at Tom's lips, something undecipherable in his gaze.
The next second, unusually, but not altogether unwelcomingly (and he sounded like a total sap!) arms closed around him, pulling him tightly in, the grip almost painful in its fierceness. Last time.
It would be easier for Tom if they ended badly, he'd decided. Then there would be less to mourn, and maybe he'd be angry enough not to go all out to stop him.
His throat felt thick.
Did Tom somehow know of that plan? Was that why he was being like…this? He didn't know.
He was sorry too. So sorry. Sorry that he was going to have Tom stunned, and sorry for everything he would leave behind.
"You're reputation is going to be in shreds," he muttered instead.
"You're more important than my reputation."
Harry felt wrong footed, incredibly wrong footed, and tried to pull back to see the other's face. Tom wouldn't let him. Tom was never this nice.
He started to get a sense of unnerve, fear. Crap.
"…you have a sedative about to stab me in the back or something, don't you?"
"Sorry, darling…and I really am, but…I can't let you go through with your plan."
Blackness.
Lucius Malfoy tore into the Great Hall, looking around for either Riddle or Potter. Abraxas noted him, crossing over immediately. Mumblings and explanations broke out, and the teachers rose at the head table.
"Where are they?" he questioned, not needing to clarify who 'they' were to his father. "I need to talk to them, now."
"What's happened?" Abraxas demanded, clasping his arm tightly. "Narcissa, is she-"
"The Dark Lord's ready. He's marching on Hogwarts now."
"…not good."
A/N: oooh...getting close now, isn't it? :) I've been so looking forward to writing this!
Thanks for the reviews, on the last burst, aren't we? There should be about fiveish chapters left, I think, but don't quote me on that, I don't write in a particularly planned/scheduled manner...