Chapter Thirteen:
White.
Everything was white, was he dead?
No, death was not supposed to be painful, and he ached all over, and felt like he'd been encompassed by something cool and gooey. Harry's mouth was filled by the metallic tang of deep sleep, his head pounding. The memories of what had happened, the fight, came to him in snatches, and he tried to spring up sharply, reaching for his wand, only to groan as pain rammed sharply through his body, dizzyingly.
"Wouldn't do that if I were you," came a rather menacing sounding drawl.
Harry's eyes focussed as his head finally stopped spinning, and he sank to lie more firmly against his pillows. Pillows. White. Hospital wing. Great. He turned his head, more cautiously this time, to the bed next to him.
Riddle. Even more fabulous.
How long had he been conscious-shit. Tom knew. He studied the other warily. He realised now that the gooey chill around him must be the same moldable ice-packs that surrounded Tom's form.
He smirked to see the Slytherin Heir covered in bandages too; especially across his chest. The minor injuries had all been dealt with, but the bandages on his chest were still there, much to Harry's satisfaction.
Riddle's eyes narrowed dangerously, but the matron came in before either of them could speak, fussing over him, running all sorts of tests on both of them.
"What, what exactly happened?" Harry asked, testing his croaky voice out, determinedly not looking at Riddle. "How long was I out? When can I leave?"
The Medi-Witch's lips pursed with disapproval.
"You have both been in a coma for the last two weeks," she replied tightly. "As for what happened, that's what I and the Headmaster would like to know."
Harry resisted the urge to swallow.
He was on thin ice with the faculty already, due to how he'd played with his grades, and he had the feeling Dumbledore had always been suspicious of him as a time-traveller. He always seemed to be staring at him in class, at any rate. Dippet had never seemed wholly impressed with him in the first place.
He was...his stomach plummeted with a sudden fear. Was he going to get kicked out of Hogwarts? From what little he'd seen before passing out, he'd torn Tom's chest to ribbons with his spell. Not that the bastard hadn't fully deserved it...and crap.
Suddenly, staying in the public zone of the Hospital Wing sounded like a good thing, for once. If Tom had been relentless before, what was he going to be like now? He dreaded to think of it.
"It was all a bit of a misunderstanding," Tom stated, next to him. Harry barely refrained from whipping his head around, or visibly showing his surprise.
"A misunderstanding?" came another, cool voice. Dippet.
"Yes," Tom said, quietly, in that model-student voice of him.
Harry couldn't help but be transfixed by the display of Riddle's impeccable fluency in lying. He looked genuinely contrite and even a little sheepish as he ducked his head, but it wasn't overly done.
"I...we were both a little drunk, you know how the Slytherin Halloween Parties get, sir." Here, Tom glanced up with just the tiniest hint of boyish mischief, maybe even complicity, but it was subtle, not pushy. Was Dippet a Slytherin? Harry remembered that he was, from somewhere. Tom continued, now biting his lip, as if subconsciously. "And well, Harry was missing home and I may have said something tactless, and things escalated."
"Escalated?" Dippet repeated incredulously. "You've both been in a coma for two weeks - you almost killed each other! This sort of behaviour simply isn't tolerated at Hogwarts."
Harry's eyes widened. He hadn't realised it had come that close, what would have happened to the timeline if it had?
"I expected better, of both of you," Dippet said stiffly. "You should be more responsible."
The Headmaster's eyes flicked to him, and Harry nearly groaned aloud. What would Dippet say if he knew Tom knew he was from the future?"
"Of course, sir," he said quietly. "It won't happen again, Headmaster..." he turned to Tom, having to refrain from gritting his teeth. "I'm sorry, Tom," he said, knowing this was what the man was at least partially aiming for. He wasn't lying either, he was very sorry Tom knew. "I wasn't in my right mind." No, the git had drugged him and forced Veritaserum down his throat! "It won't happen again." Tom would never get him in such a vulnerable position again.
Tom's eyes shone at him, as if accepting the challenge, the fire carefully concealed from Dippet's watch, even as he offered a flawless, apologetic smile.
"I am to blame as much as you...I feel we may have got off on the wrong foot," the other said. "Perhaps I could make it up to you? You seem to be having some trouble with the consistency of your spellwork, perhaps I could help?"
Harry nearly gaped at the smooth way Tom slipped that in. Consistency? Consistency! Tom's dealings was the reason he came across as inconsistent!
"Are you not too busy, Tom?" came a concerned voice. Dumbledore. Despite his annoyance with the man, Harry nearly melted with relief. Tom's eyes flicked over to the Deputy Head, flashing a smile, before flicking back to Harry for a moment.
"Of course not, I can manage, thank you, Professor," he replied. "It's the least I can do."
"I think it sounds like a great idea," Dippet said, watching them both with speculative eyes. "You can work out your...differences."
Harry's head snapped to the man.
"What?"
"You will also both be in detention together for the next two months," Dippet continued. "And fifty points will be deducted from the each of you for your appalling conduct. We are at war, gentlemen, such divisions within the school will not be tolerated."
At least he wasn't getting expelled...though he was almost certain that was because of his status as a time traveller and their need to keep an eye on him more than anything else. And Tom's testimony, which was just odd. He supposed Riddle didn't want him leaving before he had his answers.
"Yes sir," they both said, quietly. Dippet left, with a glance at Dumbledore, who studied the two of them for a moment.
"Is Mr Riddle's account of events true, Mr Evans?" he asked, softly. Nigh unnoticeably, Tom's eyes darkened, the lines of his jaw tightening. For the briefest moment, Harry hesitated, now would be the ideal time to prove to Tom that he didn't have trust issues, to involve the future headmaster.
"Yes, sir,"he replied, after only a few seconds. "It is correct."
Dumbledore stared at him, hard, for a minute or so, his blue gaze moving between them.
"Very well," he murmured. "And there's nothing either of you wish to tell me?"
They glanced at each other, almost involuntarily, their gazes meeting, before they looked at Dumbledore.
"No, sir," they both replied. Dumbledore nodded, once.
"Rest up then boys, I hope there won't be a repeat of this...Mr Evans, if you could come to my office once our dear Madame Wilson releases you..."
"Yes sir," Harry said, quietly, resisting the urge to sigh.
It seemed he'd outrun his grace period. He could feel Tom' scrutiny burning into his skin.
After a whimsical comment about youth, though he looked somewhat perturbed and troubled, Dumbledore left.
Gratified to finally be left alone, and hopeful that he wouldn't be interrupted any time soon, Tom angled his body towards Evans once more, appraising him. He himself had only woken up only half an hour or so before the other boy, he was told because his injuries had been more physical then Harry's, of which they had no clue the cause.
They assumed a curious case of magical exhaustion, but he knew better. It was the curse scar...the curse scar of a rebounding Avada Kedavra curse...presumably his.
Harry Potter was utterly remarkable. Even more of an enigma than he'd assumed - by definition, no one survived the killing curse! But this boy had. He'd never felt so fascinated. Evans returned his study, warily.
"You owe me, Harry," he said, very softly, but he knew the other heard. Harry's eyes narrowed.
"How exactly do I owe you anything?" he growled, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. Tom's brows arched.
"Because I'm the reason you're still at Hogwarts."
"No," Harry replied, smirking just slightly. "I'm still at Hogwarts because I'm a time traveller, and they can't afford to leave me without supervision."
"You can't possibly be that naive," Tom stated, a vague disbelief settling over his skin. Could he be that politically oblivious? Could the one person he'd truly played with in years be utterly unaware? He'd thought it before, he knew, but the reminder was nonetheless startling. "If they truly thought you were a threat...say if you tried to maliciously murder a fellow student...then they would have you contained in the Department of Mysteries before you could inflict any more damage on the timeline."
The boy's eyes widened. He clearly hadn't thought of this, but nor, to Tom's fascination, did he immediately protest with some weak claim that 'the ministry would never do such a thing.' Promising.
"You owe me," he repeated. Harry shot him a dark look.
"I wouldn't even be in this situation if you could leave well enough alone!" he snapped.
"What if's are pointless," he dismissed. "You can't rewrite the past..." he shot the other a sly , cruel smile. "As you're no doubt bemoaning."
It was more than clear Potter wanted him dead.
Harry merely shot him a hard look in return, eyes blazing. His grin vanished to something more business like.
"This is not the right place for such conversations," he continued. "When we leave here, you will explain your statements." There was no question in his voice, no request. Harry 's dark look intensified.
"Like hell I will," he stated flatly. "You know too much already."
Tom's eyes flashed.
"We can do this in a civil manner, of I can use legilimency on you, and tear your mind apart. Which would you prefer?" he asked, dangerously.
Harry opened his mouth to reply, and he couldn't just feel himself waiting for the boy's move and then...his mouth snapped shut again, his eyes moving over Tom's shoulder. Tom barely refrained from smashing something at the second unwanted interruption, but plastered a charming smile upon his face, turning.
If he had less decorum, he would have groaned.
Myrtle McKenzie. Ravenclaw fourth year.
She had the most pathetic crush on him.
It was honestly sickening. He glanced at Harry, who had turned as white as sheet. He wondered why, unable to imagine anything special in Myrtle's future.
He hoped she died. Why had she even been let in? She was intruding. She was also clutching a bleeding nose, and followed by a penitent Rubeus Hagrid. The oaf was flapping his large hands around, appearing distressed.
The second Year was famous around Hogwarts already, for his rough, bumbling ways and antics with dangerous animals. Really it was appalling that he'd even been allowed in.
Professor Kettleburn was very fond of the...he couldn't even call the creature a child. He wasn't human, he probably had giant blood or something. No wonder he was stupid.
"I'm really sorry!" the oaf repeated, face twisted anxiously. "I di'nt mean t' hurt ya."
"Were you not looking where you were going?" he asked, 'innocently.' The oaf looked at him, confused, before nodding.
"Yeah-tha's what happened! I d'int mean t' hurt anyone."
Meanwhile, Myrtle gasped, whipping round to face his bed, giving a high-pitched squeak, turning as red as the blood pouring from her nose.
"T-Tom," she said thickly. Her eyes roved over his bandaged form, and he had to resist the urge to yank the duvet up. She was ugly, pimply with lank hair and a horrible disposition - and he knew Olive Hornby and all the girls in her year made her aware of it, so he didn't know where she found the audacity to pine after him like a bitch in heat.
Her eyes darted away from him when they met his, finding something frightening there, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. It drew people to him, that spark of subtle danger, they craved it in their lives, wanted to solve him, tame him, but none of them ever would. It repulsed them to equal measure, when it showed, alien to them and their pitiful humanity.
"You should get the nurse for that," Harry said quietly.
His gaze snapped to his enigma, but the boy didn't flinch from him. He was the only one who never had, not really.
He had his moments, that was a given, but so far he had never backed down or shied from any challenge Tom had set. It was riveting,.
He wondered how long it would be before Harry was broken too, stripped down to something base, in shards in Tom's fingers. Had this really been the boy who survived the killing curse? What other secrets did he possess? Tom wanted to tease them all out , know and own the boy, entirely for himself.
Rain cut through the grey sheets of rain outside, splintering it. The world was broken.
Emerald eyes bore into his skin, cutting through. He couldn't help but wonder what Harry Potter Evans saw when he looked at him, if he saw the truth at all. He flashed a dazzling smile.
The boy moved his gaze away.
He let it be, partially due to the audience, partially due to the distance between them limiting his actions, and partially because he knew eventually he would steal it back. Harry Potter. Harrison Evans.
He couldn't resist the jail bait.
He had to possess him.
Harry couldn't help but gape at the two people in the Hospital wing.
He wanted to warn them, the words on the tips of his tongue, that the other Slytherin lounging so vulnerably - however he tried to hide it with his smiles and his strong posture - on the bed would ruin all their lives.
One hospital wing, and they were all the victims of Tom Riddle. It should have been a club or something. Before he could dwell on the dark thought any longer, Matron Wilson bustled in, hearing the kerfuffle.
"Oh, you silly girl!" she cried. "What have you done this time?" she asked, half despairing. "Episkey."
The nose immediately fixed itself, and with a quick tergeo, the blood too was gone.
She turned to Hagrid...and oh...Hagrid. He couldn't believe he hadn't sought the young version of his friend out earlier.
Harry cursed himself silently. He'd got too caught up in Tom. He feared that may have been becoming a problem. It was so easy to get drawn into the Slytherin Heir, lost in his endless games and personas, not able to find a way out.
It was frightening, but, on some level, he almost enjoyed himself. When he just played, and forgot the importance, the rest of the world and his worries seemed to melt away. Then he remembered with an alarming suddenness , everything flooding back.
He could feel those eyes on him, taunting, just daring him to turn around, look, and let himself dance on the edge of his pedestal again. To come right up to the edge, to flirt with the danger and unyielding force of will that was the Slytherin Heir.
The moment was broken when the gaze moved on, releasing him from its field of gravity.
No.
He'd got himself in too deep already.
He just needed to get home.
A/N: Hope you guys continue to enjoy the story, and that I continue to live up to your expectations :) Thank you for the AMAZING reviews. I feel so loved!
PS: I'm hitting major exam season, hence why my updating has slowed, and will continue to slow, because I want to pass and get into my uni of choice. Sorry about that, but, you know, in this case real life must take priority. But I thought I'd scribble out this for you first, apologies if its fillery...Wish me luck! See you around...
- The Fictionist