Chapter 18:
Lestrange stood with Mulciber at the corner of the main courtyard, stamping his feet against the chill that seeped through his warming charms. His face was twisted into a vicious scowl that had people staying well away from him, warily.
He was one of Tom's elite, his favourite, after all. That demanded a certain respect.
Or, it did from most people anyway.
Harrison bloody Evans didn't seem to be picking up on how things worked in Slytherin; it was bitterly unfair.
The rest of them had all had to work their way up, prove themselves after months and months of hard effort, years even, but Evans had just skipped all of that. It was utterly infuriating. He didn't deserve it!
"What's so special about him anyway?" he muttered, resentfully. "Nothing, that's what!"
"Well, he's not scared of Tom," Mulciber returned, with some unease, eyes darting about edgily, shoulders slumped and hands buried in his pockets.
"Yes," Lestrange sneered, "that's because he's a bloody moron. Don't tell me you're suddenly joining his fan club too, Mulciber?" His eyes had turned cold.
"No, 'course not," Mulciber mumbled. "I just think it would be...prudent, to tread carefully. He belongs to Tom, after-" the dirty-blonde haired boy cut off when Lestrange's hand was suddenly at his throat, eyes glinting ominously. "Get your hands off me Lestrange, or I'll find some better company...Malfoy, perhaps?"
Cygnus' eyes narrowed, but after a second, his hand slid away from Mulciber's throat, who made a show of straightening his shirt and tie out again.
"I know you don't like his affiliation with Riddle" he proceeded, albeit more carefully now, though more with a sort of sulky wariness than the true fear that would have been present in Tom's presence. "But you can't deny it. At least for now, Evans is kinda untouchable, even if one disregards his apparent duelling skills. He's Riddle's project, not ours. You'll need his permission to do anything...unless you fancy acting without his...guidance?"
"Oddly enough, I think I know what /Tom/ likes far better than you," Lestrange replied sweetly. "You agreed with me before your apparent change of heart, that Evans needed to be taken down a couple of notches...unless you think he is worthy and deserving of our Lord's attentions?"
"...no, of course not," Mulciber muttered, after a moment. "But, well, it's Riddle's decision, isn't it?"
"You're a coward," Lestrange said coldly. "A useless coward. When I best Harrison Evans, the rest of you will be sorry. I thought I may have been able to rely on your assistance, but it seems not."
"What are you going to do?" Mulciber asked cautiously, shifting uneasily from one foot to another, pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulders to ward off the biting wind. "You going to ask Tom for permission -?"
Lestrange simply smirked.
"Tom only plays until his toys are broken."
Tom had been 'testing' and 'teaching' him all week and Harry was absolutely exhausted. Yet, perhaps strangely, it was a good type of exhaustion - an intoxicating exhilaration, because Tom never gave up, and allowed no room for surrender or anything less than everything Harry could give.
It was, well, it was like nothing Harry had ever been witness to before; it almost reminded him of Hermione, except Tom was more ruthless and had this way of motivating him which Hermione had never had.
It reminded him, again, of the danger of Tom versus Voldemort , (and when had he even started making a distinction?) Voldemort ruled by fear, and whilst Tom appeared to do that to to some extent, the true threat of Tom was that he made you want to impress him. It pissed Harry off completely, but he couldn't help but acknowledge that Tom spurned the sentiment in everyone - himself included.
He'd never minded Hermione beating him, but with Tom, the same thing infuriated him. Maybe because Tom was annoyingly good at everything.
The point was; Tom made Harry desperate and determined to match him, to not lose and be the weaker, the inferior. It pushed him to work even harder, when all serious dangers seemed initially distant.
The intense concentration and absolute focus Tom was dedicating to the whole matter was unnerving and somewhat...addictive. It was terrifying. He really didn't like it - or rather, he didn't like that he may have liked the feeling a little bit.
That was probably how Death Eaterism began, and the thought made him shudder, sick.
Never.
He refused.
Despite all of this, the one thing Harry wasn't consequently soaring ahead in under both his own training and Riddle's tutelage, was Dark Arts.
He couldn't quite get himself to do it - a fact which seemed to aggravate and madden Tom to the extreme.
When Harry had tried to suggest the initial spell success had been a fluke, and that he was in fact a Light Wizard, he'd ended up with the Slytherin Heir's fingers wrapped rather alarmingly around his throat.
Duelling momentarily stepped aside for physical tussling again, before Riddle seemed to gain control of his unequivocally violent temper once more.
Harry's heart was still hammering minutes later, and Tom had in turn become chillingly courteous, though he in no way denied or expressed regret for his actions.
Indeed, his eyes had positively gleamed instead.
Now, however, the spark had shadowed to a dak burn.
"You're conflicted," the young Dark Lord stated, almost randomly.
"Excuse me?" Harry demanded lowly, before scowling. He'd meant 'what'. Not excuse me. Bloody hell, the purebloods were rubbing off on him...
Riddle stared at him.
"What do you want to do with your life, Harry?" the other asked, too softly.
Harry's brow furrowed with confusion, not seeing the link between the question and the Dark Arts Tom was trying to teach him.
The Slytherin Heir repeated the question, moving closer to him, a smirk caressing his lips when Harry automatically stepped back, before holding still.
"I-I don't," he began, bewildered. Tom cut in, seemingly only waiting for him to speak.
"Do you wish to continue being the light side's little lamb?" Riddle took yet another step closer.
"The Golden Boy, largely untainted and pure on his pedestal? Trapped and chained by the bars of innocence and the cage of everyone else's expectations?"
There was barely a foot between them now, and Riddle - nearly uncharacteristically - refrained from closing the gap, arms tucking neatly behind his back instead.
Harry couldn't have looked away, even if he wanted to, and Tom didn't remove his gaze either...he didn't even blink.
"What do you want to do with your life, Harry?" he asked for the third, and Harry suspected the final, time. All of a sudden he realised the link between the question and the Dark Arts.
Before, when he'd accepted the offer of learning, he'd thought of it as an entirely logical thing, pros and cons influenced by Riddle's own logical and matter of fact approach to the topic.
He hadn't even considered the lifestyle implications, the way using the Dark Arts changed his identity - 'the Gryffindor Golden Boy' - completely.
On some level, he'd clung to it, and to the belief he was essentially and fundamentally light, and so obviously hadn't been able to cast the spells...he hadn't allowed himself to.
It was eerie, disconcerting, that Tom had picked up on this when he himself hadn't.
In the same way, Riddle seemed to intuitively realise when he had reached this conclusion, because he continued as if he hadn't paused to allow Harry's thoughts to assimilate with his own.
"I once told you that you wanted to fall," Tom murmured. "I also said that the monsters in the dark were waiting to pull you down, but...whilst this is undeniably true, I'm not going to grant you the mercy of dragging you into my world, darling. It's your choice, will you jump?"
Harry's eyes narrowed. All week, Tom had been asserting a relentless effort into controlling him, shaping him. For the other to suddenly step back was jarring.
A second later, his fists clenched, because he realise Riddle wasn't truly handing over control at all, not really.
He doubted the young Dark Lord ever would. This was...conditioning. Deliberately giving him the decisions he didn't want, and the rope with which to hang himself; all bundled up and presented in the velvet allure of power.
"Nice try," he replied, finally. "Not going to work. I know what you're trying to do."
"I'd have been disappointed if you didn't," Tom smirked. Harry paused. The smirk broadened.. "People say we fear falling, which is why heights frighten us...but when we are perfectly in control of our motor functions, and there are safeguards to prevent us from falling, such a fear would seem irrational." Riddle studied him for a moment. "We don't fear falling, Harry, we fear jumping...our desire to fall."
"And you still think I want to fall?" Harry laughed.
Riddle raised his eyebrows.
"You're here, aren't you?" The other finally moved, holding out a hand, as if to shake. "So, my dear, still the Golden Boy?"
Feeling ridiculous, Harry took the proffered hand after a moment - there had never really been another choice, had there? - and Tom shot him a blinding grin, a whispered incantation. The next second, the Slytherin Heir had spun them both, so Harry's wand was snapping out.
The spell was successful.
What had before been a crack in his persona, splintered and burst open.
Harry swallowed, staring at the destroyed training dummy.
"Very good," Tom purred. Then, he was walking away, with that smug nonchalance that implied he'd got everything that he wanted, and Harry had behaved just as Tom thought he would.
Harry's jaw clenched, his eyes flashing, and he snapped a spell out again - despite how Tom whipped around to block, startled, this too hit its target.
Solidly.
Riddle crashed to the ground, and Harry sauntered over, crouching.
"If I want to fall, what are you, the already fallen, but a boy who wants to be something higher, a god? Why else would you magpie 'gold' for your own design?" he questioned.
They stared at each other, and, for a split second, Harry was about to hold out a hand.
He walked out the training room instead, to the sound of Riddle's laughter ringing so unnervingly in his ears.
A/N: Apologies for the long wait, been working on novel stuff, and then I've been away without an internet connection so I couldn't update. I know this isn't my longest chapter, and once again, potentially fillery (though I rather like it) but yeah, peace offering? Haha. I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for all the reviews :)