One of the paths from the Chamber of Secrets led straight to the forest, and there was a small clearing not subjected to any apparition wards. Tom was standing in front of Harry, the holly wand in his hand lifted to Harry's eye level. Tom already removed the tracking charm from it, all that left was to test if they could both successfully apparate. They waited several weeks to preserve enough energy in the diary just for this. Tom was confident in his skill, and Harry was willing to put his trust in him. Right above Tom's hand, Harry clutched the wand, the only point of connection they'll have for a side-along apparition. It was risky, yet Tom's confidence grounded Harry, his dark eyes betrayed only excitement at the challenge, not a spark of doubt.
A flash, a tug, a whirl, and they landed at a dark corner of Knockturn Alley. Harry hit the ground, his palms scraping on the pavement painfully as he stumbled to slow down the aftershock of apparition, his back hit the wall catching on a sharp stone. Tom was there too, smug and composed as ever. By all means, it was a successful landing, if not a bit rough, but Harry could handle it. Already he could feel the pain subsiding, as he stood, brushing off the dirt from his clothes. Looking up, he noticed it was Tom hovering a healing charm over him, and Harry shot him a grateful look before looking around.
They departed on Friday right after dinner, with plenty of time before Harry had to go back to Hogwarts. Most people were still out and about, roaming the streets.
Over their muggle disguises, Harry and Tom were covered with simple black cloaks. Harry adjusted his hood, hiding a good portion of his face behind, if only out of habit. His face was magically disguised too to hide the scar, and alter the colour of his eyes and hair. The delusion was set to last for about an hour, enough time to go through the magical part of London, including a couple of stops they'd make on the way. Tom needed new books to read, and Harry had to pick himself a dagger or two.
He forgot to get one in time for the Halloween ritual, so he didn't try performing it last October, not entirely disappointed yet still curious to try it again this year. The ritual wasn't supposed to be difficult and now that he had more knowledge about Necromancy and the other side, he expected to wield a different result.
Apart from the tool for rituals, Harry also considered something more dangerous that could be used for defence. His duel with Ron showed him how disadvantaged he was, and having something on him at all times could make all the difference. Not necessarily to use the blade as a weapon itself, but to have more possibility to apply Parselmagic, an object to transfigure into tiny deadly pieces of metal or anything Harry's creativity would allow him to.
The shopkeeper at Borgin and Burkes eyed them suspiciously, and then suddenly paled rapidly upon catching a glimpse of Tom's face. The same disillusionment spell couldn't be applied to Tom's face, so he only relied on covering it with his hood, but they doubted anyone would still recognise him. Tom didn't show any recognition, and only fixed his hood slightly, ignoring the shopkeeper.
He went to the book section of the shop, tracing the covers with mild interest. There were mostly older editions, and Harry hoped Tom hadn't already read everything.
"You don't have to hold yourself back," he said, just in case. "Money is not an issue."
"Good. I wasn't going to," Tom retorted, not taking his eyes from the books.
There was a steadily growing pile soon, and Harry left him to it, going about the shop in search for a dagger. The one for the ritual was a standard one, easily found, but he took his time selecting the other one, scrutinising the blades of various proportions. His eyes lingered on a solid black shade, almost hidden away. Only silver scales of a snake carved at the handle, gave out a subdued gleam, making it stood out.
"This one?" Tom inquired joining him after a while. He pointed at exactly the one Harry was eyeing, casting a quick detecting charm. No curses were revealed, so Harry picked it up carefully. The dagger looked heavy but weighed almost nothing, it was cold to the touch, except for scaled coils entwined around the handle, it was quite small and fitted in Harry's hand well. On closer inspection, what Harry took for a snake, appeared to be a dragon instead, its body looped around in place of a handle with a feral head at the end. The blade itself stretched in a winged curve, all the way to the tip, dangerously sharp.
"An interesting choice," the old shopkeeper suddenly appeared behind, and Harry turned around to face him, prompting to elaborate. "That you picked it out from all the others is astonishing in itself. The dagger tends to hide itself from weaker wizards." The man appraised the dagger with interest, rubbing his hands enthusiastically. "I almost forgot we even had one of those, it's extremely rare when someone brings attention to it, allowing me to see."
"Are you trying to up the price with your flattery?" Tom demanded.
"No!" The man paled, subconsciously taking a step back. "If anything, I'm willing to offer a generous discount."
Harry hummed, tracing the dagger, the texture of the scales pleasant to the touch and very subtly it thrummed under his fingers. The high quality was unquestionable, the power contained within a high probability. There wasn't any price attached to it, and Harry imagined it cost a lot. Whatever number the clerk would name now, there was no real way to check if he wasn't being fooled. But Harry saw the price range on the rest of the selection.
"50 galleons," he stated his own price before the owner could.
"B-but," the man stammered, realising his blunder. "The blade is rumoured to have belonged to Morgana herself! The original price goes way over hundreds, I can only…"
"Yes?" Harry lifted an eyebrow, raising the dagger a bit, just so the man could follow his movement with frantic eyes. Harry wasn't stingy, he certainly had money, but he didn't like the way this man followed him with a hungry look the moment he realised it, too. "As I understand, it's your luck that this dagger finally found a buyer at all."
The man visibly tensed, then darted his eyes to the pile of books Tom selected before, which should amount to a remarkable sum in itself. He must have thought better than to argue with a prospective client, because he nodded, although reluctantly, with a foul look on his face.
"50 galleons it is."
Harry smiled viciously.
The man went ahead to conclude the bill and pack the books, and Harry heard a low hiss beside him, "He would have charged you thousands, making a generous offer to drop the price in half." There was a smirk spreading on Tom's lips. "Not sure about Morgana, but the bit about its power must be true."
The dagger gave out an interested thrum at the sound of Parseltongue and Harry glanced at it again, sizing it up in his hand. He would need to find a suitable holster to carry such a thing around. As soon as he thought about it, the handle moved, surrounding Harry's wrist, wrapping around firmly, the sharp tip and the edges now covered in soft scales, leaving Harry unharmed. He thought about wielding it, and the dagger slid into his palm ready to use, without much delay. After a moment of admiration, Harry retreated the blade again, and it snaked around his hand, not so tightly, but secure. There was a soothing throbbing as the scales moved along his skin.
A sense of serenity settled within Harry, and he became acutely aware of three things: this dagger was exactly what he was looking for; he'll have a great time trying it out with Parselmagic; and it was, in fact, priceless.
The tea parlour they ended up in was mostly quiet save for low music and hushed conversations of other patrons. The oriental decorations and the smell of incense made for a cosy atmosphere.
Tom took in the surroundings with appreciative hum.
"This place hasn't changed much since I last was here," he said once they settled at a low wooden table. Colourful pillows were randomly surrounding their seats.
"You went here a lot?" Harry tried to picture Tom in a place like this, which wasn't hard given he had the exact visage in front of him. In a warm light, Tom's sharp features took on a softer edge.
"I used to go here when I needed a quiet place, the owners back then allowed me to stay as long as I wished, even though I had no money to order anything." Tom's smile wasn't quite nostalgic, but almost predatory instead. "I was still charming enough to get occasional samples for free."
Harry couldn't decide whether it was as simple as that or mind manipulation was involved; with Tom it could be anything. The silence settled, just as their order was brought up.
"So you don't actually mind that we stopped at a muggle place." Harry noted, taking a good look at the fairly charming tea set.
"Where do you think wizards get their tea? Or any food supplies, for that matter." Tom held his cup, bringing it up to smell, but didn't attempt to drink. "Most of the magical plants and herbs aren't for drinking but for Potion brewing. We are forced to squeeze between spaces undetectable to muggles. It would be a waste of land to try to cultivate anything else with good variety and quality. Much easier to make business with muggles than produce our own. Even Malfoys must have stocks in muggle companies."
Harry listened to Tom talk with interest, he never actually thought about any of this, and this angle of viewing muggles was a novelty to him. For how purebloods vehemently defended their purity and scorned muggles, he still could easily picture Malfoys, or any other family, using them effortlessly for their own gain.
Harry tried the tea, it was bright amber in colour, flowery soft to taste, but with a pleasant tang to it, almost spicy.
"So, you don't actually see muggles as a problem?"
"They are the problem, they are poison. Worms beneath our feet." Tom scowled. "But worse, are the wizards who allow themselves to be poisoned with ideas."
Harry refreshed his cup of tea, giving it a meaningful look, and Tom scoffed.
"I never said they aren't capable worms."
"They can be useful, yes." Harry agreed, taking a long sip, savouring the tea. "I used to be invested in their science until I found out about magic."
Tom nodded somewhat hesitantly.
"It got only more advanced than I remember. I can't say I have fond memories."
"You had to live through the war?" Harry realised.
"Yes, and in a muggle orphanage. I had no protection of Hogwarts or magic whatsoever. If I couldn't perform wandless magic, or haven't figured out how to remove the Trace from the wand, I might have already be dead."
Harry could imagine how horrible it was. An experience which unsurprisingly pushed Tom further to seek immortality. Harry couldn't offer comfort, only silent understanding.
The longer the tea brewed, the deeper golden its colour became, the taste transformed, adding new notes borderline on bitterness.
"One of my favourites," Tom commented, watching Harry. His own cup stayed on the table, as he drew circles over its rim. "Funny how I can almost imagine its taste, but in reality I can't even feel the smell."
"Not even that?"
"Only the warmth."
It must be a really daunting experience living as a soul without a body, Harry couldn't begin to imagine what it actually felt like. Tom was free in a way, without the need to eat or sleep, only the possibility to escape the diary and use the magic made everything not as devastating.
"I can see why you'd wish for a body," Harry said eventually, and to his surprise, Tom shrugged dismissively.
"It's not strictly necessary." Tom leaned back in his seat casually. "My state as of now is convenient in its own right. Better than what I had indefinitely trapped in a diary."
Harry observed Tom carefully, there was no pretence in his posture or words. For how he strived to get outside, Tom seemed oddly calm about the prospect of not having an actual body. They were still going to try and see what happens if Tom completely drained someone to death though.
The voices around gradually hushed down until everyone in the room, apart from them, became hazy with sleep.
"We can't kill everyone here, Tom," Harry remarked, putting his cup of tea down.
"No, just that one." Tom inclined his head in the direction of a man, who only recently entered the parlour. It was a lone man in his forties with an unkempt appearance.
"He doesn't have any family." Tom explained, and Harry realised that for a while now Tom was probing every single mind around them, checking for a suitable victim. "Besides," Tom's expression turned darker, "His thoughts are far from pure. He'll hardly be a loss to society."
Harry looked at Tom and then again at the man, considering.
Tom's all knowing eyes were on Harry. "Isn't that what you wanted to avoid at Hogwarts?"
"You know me so well." Harry admitted. He wasn't much inclined to go completely random with this escapade. Random meant a greater risk and loose ends. It was fascinating how Tom took all this into account and was actually humouring Harry. "Is this how muggles are chosen for the Yuletide hunt?" He wondered, recalling that particular tradition.
"Not that I participated myself yet. But from what I heard, no. Not at all. They are just picked randomly." Tom's eyes flickered with uncontained amusement. "Those who enjoy killing for fun aren't as considerate as you."
Harry shrugged. "Careful mostly. I don't want to deal with any problems."
"You just want to control everything, aren't you, Harry?"
Harry only allowed a small smile at that.
They trailed behind the muggle under the Invisibility Cloak. It stretched along to accommodate Tom's height, the whole ordeal not as inconvenient as it could be, since they weren't even bumping shoulders. Still, "Can't you just go back to the diary?" Harry whispered.
"And where would be the fun in that?"
Harry let out a sigh in acquiescence. The alleys were getting darker, with only dim street lights flickering by. Not many people passed by at the later hour, the area changing quickly to the less presentable part of London.
Just as the muggle approached the door, fidgeting with the keys, Tom effortlessly flipped the wand from Harry's holster, throwing a spell at the man.
"Nothing illegal," Tom reassured. "Just a slight compulsion."
The man stopped and waited for Harry and Tom to approach, inviting them inside. The door closed with a gentle click, and Harry threw the Invisibility Cloak off. Tom, presiding any confusion and screams from the muggle, threw a couple of spells his way, and the man stilled, falling gracelessly to the floor, only his haggard breath still heard.
"So troublesome." Harry observed. "It was so much easier to control a muggle with Parseltongue."
Tom's eyebrows rose, not finding any trouble in throwing yet another spell, silencing the man completely. The unpleasant smell sticking to the room also disappeared.
Harry huffed, not entirely convinced. He knew that for Tom magic was effortless, he wielded it like breathing. For Harry, while the path was already open where he could learn and potentially use it like anyone else, he never stopped considering other forms of magic available to him. The way he dealt with Petunia at the time when he had the least options wasn't a point of weakness to him. Remembering it brought a rush of complete ease, the idea of simply using words and nothing else to render a person unable to disobey. Subtle, undiscoverable, unescapable.
"Still," he mused. "I might ask Nagini for another sample of her venom next time I see her."
"Heartless," Tom threw at him without any real accusation in his voice. Harry arched his brows in a 'that, coming from you?' gesture, but it was probably fair.
He knew Tom was exceptionally protective of Nagini, caring about her well-being, not overusing her powers just because they caused her to weaken for a time being. Even as Voldemort, seemingly careless whether she'd get spotted in Hogwarts in her full size, he allowed her to roam as she pleased, stretching her entire length of muscles. His reluctance at conducting the contract ritual and the fact it actually managed to stop him from attempting to kill Harry, wasn't just for show either. It was actually working, and Tom proved it by never even considering harming Harry, taking the threat towards Nagini's life seriously.
Harry was under no delusions that Tom could have harmed him numerous times if not for that holding factor. Now, after so many conversations and growing understanding between them, Harry saw that Tom might not want to harm Harry on his own accord as well. Yet he was still a powerful wizard even in his half-soul existence, especially with such easy access to Harry's wand, that worked so perfectly for Tom. Harry could only send a mental gratitude towards Nagini who somehow managed to slither into the depths of Tom's hardened heart, making him care at all.
They sat by the cold fireplace, clearing a space on the carpet, having no desire to sit on the dingy couch. The man was lying unconscious between them, and Tom wasn't holding himself back from taking all the life force out of him.
Harry watched as life slowly left the man, wondering if he'd feel anything once he died. While it was strictly Tom who was causing the death, Harry wasn't shying away from his own responsibility. They were accomplices in this murder. He noticed when it happened, but nothing stirred inside Harry as the man drew his last breath. Tom stood up, taking a few steps, stretching up and examining his hands.
"Was it fun for you?" A question, that suddenly occurred to Harry, given how he felt absolutely nothing.
"Killing a muggle?" Tom tilted his head. "It is exhilarating in a way to hold such power over someone's life."
"But?"
"It hardly means anything when the opponent is so weak."
Harry nodded and also stood up, approaching to inspect Tom closer. "You look better, but still far from corporeal."
"Not much to be expected from a muggle." Tom glanced back at the man, reversing all the spells he cast on him and the room before. "At least I don't have to concentrate as much to deal with the floating issue." Tom demonstrated it by stepping hard on the floor.
They found a backdoor and left the house invisible, covered by the Cloak. The streets were empty, and soon they weren't hiding themselves anymore, just pacing along at a leisurely pace, like this was their goal all along, slowly approaching the wizarding part of London. The air was fresh with a distinct smell of recent rain, puddles on the cobbled ground reflected the lights and added a new sloshy sound to their footsteps. Harry could detect, that Tom indeed stepped more firmly and louder than before. Yet, occasionally, Tom's shoulder would brush over Harry's and there'd be no sensation, no touch one would expect from a tangible body.
"You don't look upset." Harry broke the long, and oddly comfortable silence.
"Why would I be upset?"
"Didn't you want to have an actual body?"
"It certainly would've been delightful. But it's enough to be outside the diary like this."
"Is it?"
"What would I even do with two bodies of myself out and about?"
"Wouldn't you want to have a fresh start?"
"A fresh start would imply that the previous one has got rotten. I don't quite see it as such. I may have made mistakes, or have regrets. But I still have my life, and as long as I have it, I will cling to it and continue forward."
"You are talking about the other version of Voldemort now?" Harry was starting to pick up on subtleties in Tom's speech like this, even though they still threw him sometimes.
"Yes."
"What was your initial plan for creating this horcrux then? If someone's life isn't enough, how were you planning to regain your body?"
"That was something for the main soul to figure out. This horcrux, was always meant to be a tool, an insurance."
"I didn't expect you to be so calm about it."
Tom scoffed. "Half a century of entrapment in a diary will acquaint you with patience. You can say I mastered it by now."
"But what are you going to do?"
"Do I have to do anything?" Tom stopped then, turning towards Harry.
Harry looked at Tom's eyes, and he could almost see what answer to that question Tom wanted to hear. Confined that he was in a diary, he actually was free in a way, without any need to plot anything for his survival, for world dominance, for any greater achievements. Without a body he might be, his soul was relishing the glimpse of simply being, a life devoid of responsibilities and his own ambitions weighing heavily on his shoulders.
"No." Harry shook his head, and Tom's lips spread into a pleased smile. His posture relaxed.
"There is only one path ahead of me," Tom said, looking straight at Harry, his gaze stopping for a moment at the lightning-bolt scar. "I never imagined seeing it as such, but mistakes are supposed to be corrected."
"What do you mean?" Harry looked back, the shadows on Tom's face dancing under the flickering street light.
"The horcruxes, they compromised my mind, my power. And I haven't even noticed it for fifty years, only stripping myself further until barely a shadow remained."
"Voldemort… is still powerful." Harry felt the need to say.
"Not enough."
Surely, Harry knew the difference was there, in the strength of a soul he felt, but when it came to power, Voldemort was always intimidating, rightfully feared. Even from what Harry saw with his eyes, he had no doubts that he interacted with a powerful wizard. If Tom was saying that this was only a shadow of himself, of what he could be, then what would the full level of his power look like? How insanely powerful Tom might ever be, without the constraints of insanity, with his entire soul, unscattered to pieces? Harry held his breath as understanding dawned on him.
"You want to mend your soul… to combine the horcruxes."
"Indeed."
"But wouldn't that mean." Harry's throat suddenly felt dry. "If Voldemort can even be convinced to do so… wouldn't that mean you'll disappear?"
"Of course not. I'll take my rightful place. If anything, I am discarded now."
"I mean…" Harry suddenly struggled to find his words. "If Voldemort absorbs the part of the soul that is you…"
"I know what you mean, Harry." Tom stepped closer, his eyes still heavy and intense. "Haven't I told you already, that Voldemort and I are one and the same?"
Harry nodded, he accepted the concept and, with how Tom talked, was always reminded of it, yet it was difficult sometimes not separating the two. They were separated, two pieces of the soul, despite Tom's view, it was still an undeniable reality.
Harry searched Tom's face for any indecision, but only found it within himself. If Tom were to get absorbed into the main soul, it would be the right thing to do, it would be a good thing. Harry's instincts told him the soul shouldn't have been separated in the first place, it was a mistake, it was indeed a mistake, even Tom admitted to it. And Harry should be glad, he should be encouraging Tom's decision to right his wrong, it would return a proper soul to him, make him as powerful as he always should have been.
Harry closed his eyes, a buzz of a street lamp suddenly very loud in his ears. When he opened them again, he saw Tom with a knowing look on his face. Harry never could hide anything from him, could he?
"Are you doubting my memory of all things? Really, Harry?" His tone wasn't mocking, but there was an edge to it, almost on the verge of offended. He leaned in even closer, not allowing Harry to break the eye contact. "I don't intend to forget you."
Harry let out a breath, but not relaxing yet, still fixed on Tom's eyes. He saw no deception there. "Good." Harry's voice was low, but firm. "Good," he repeated. The confidence returned to him, Harry didn't even realise it was slipping from him. "If you ever will, I'll make sure to remind you."
He stepped around Tom, as casually as he could, resuming the walk, the sound of footsteps letting him know that Tom followed. Harry didn't have to look back to know that a smug smirk was also there.
Harry approached the girls' bathroom on the first floor and paused before the door. The sign 'out of order' that he placed before was still there, but the door wasn't closed properly, not the way he left it. Someone was there. It was always the possibility, and signs like this weren't a sure way to stop anyone. Students avoided this particular bathroom because of Moaning Myrtle, and now that she wasn't there, they naturally became less avoidant. They wouldn't find anything anyway, that's why Harry didn't attempt to ward the place off more thoroughly. Any strong magic surrounding the place would only draw more attention to it. Harry asked Ananta not to roam free, suggesting taking a route to the Forbidden Forest instead, and he hoped the Basilisk listened to him.
Preparing to deal with whoever was inside, Harry wrapped the Invisibility Cloak around himself and opened the door carefully. No one was there. But the signs of foreign presence were still inside the room. Scattered on the floor were books and parchments, torn. Even Reparo wouldn't help, since most of the bits were evidently flushed down the toilet. There were even shoes in one of the cabins, completely ruined. He inspected the scene with distaste.
Harry waved a hand, focusing on levitating the stuff from the toilet and placing it on the tile floor, in case something was still salvageable. There was a small book that looked untouched, its leather cover holding strong, protecting the pages from being entirely soaked. It might be the only thing here that could be recovered, unlike the written homework on the scattered parchment, or the shoes that had no magical protection on them.
He sighed, summoning the book closer and subjecting it to warm and clean air, allowing it to dry faster. The pages crinkled from the rough treatment, and Harry picked it up carefully so as not to make things worse. From what he saw, the book was something to be treasured, and it was full of drawings. Peculiar creatures that Harry had never seen before, breathtaking sceneries captured in ink or watercolour. Some creatures were funny looking, some more intimidating, a house elf, a tree, a spread of flowers, a thestral. Harry flipped the pages, positively intrigued. A talented hand was showing through each stroke, careful attention to detail incorporating not simply the visage but the essence itself. The style wasn't always realistic, there was an edge of fantasy all throughout, whimsical and magical.
It was truly fascinating. And something like this was almost flushed down the toilet? Harry closed the book gently once he reached the blank pages. They were still usable and with how much care was put into the drawings, Harry couldn't believe the owner wanted to get rid of it. The evidence thrown around the floor spoke of malice. Someone did it on purpose, with clear intent to harm, to bully. Harry's grip on the book tightened. He will make sure to return it, even though there was no name on the sketchbook.
He stepped outside, thinking that the owner might come by, looking. He didn't have to wait long before he noticed a barefoot figure slowly making her way along the corridor. Harry detached himself from the wall and approached the girl.
"Hello, Harry," Luna Lovegood said cheerfully, as if she wasn't forced to go around barefoot on a cold floor.
"Hello, Luna. I found this," he said, offering her the sketchbook, and Luna's face brightened as she hugged it to her chest, relieved.
"Thank you, Harry, I was just looking for it." She turned to leave and Harry placed a hand on her shoulder, stopping her.
"Only this? What about your shoes?"
She smiled mysteriously. "Probably nargles took them. They can have them."
"That wasn't nargles." Harry's voice came out strained. He didn't know what nargles were, but he knew what he saw. Luna's smile faltered at that, before shakily returning again, and she shook her head stubbornly, eyes distant.
Harry couldn't do anything if he didn't even know who the real culprits were, the urge was still there as he took in the fragile form of a girl, who was so obviously bullied but refused to acknowledge it. She shivered, her bare feet stepping in place to accommodate for the cold temperature. It was already past curfew, Harry planned to spend the night in the Chamber of Secrets, but Luna Lovegood now became a priority.
"I'll walk you to your common room," he said. She looked unsure but didn't object.
"Do you need help with your homework?"
She flinched a bit, but the smile remained. "I'll be fine," she said airily.
Harry wasn't convinced. He could make out that at least one of her ruined homework was for a Potions class. And Snape was never fine with missed or hurriedly written essays. They reached a turn that led to the Slytherin dungeons, and Harry stopped. His common room was much closer than the Ravenclaw tower.
"You don't have to go up with me all the way, Harry. It was kind of you…" She started in a soft voice.
"No, you're not going up on your own, Luna. Not now."
He took her hand and led her down the stairs towards the Slytherin dungeons.
She didn't protest and looking over the shoulder Harry saw that same serene expression on her face, and a little smile, her eyes darted around with interest. What was wrong with that girl?
He let go of her hand at some point, when he was sure she followed him. When they entered the common room, some Slytherins turned towards them, making a double take upon noticing a Ravenclaw girl behind Harry. Their expressions were stony but the eyes betrayed surprise and severe curiosity. Harry glared at them and no one dared to question him. Most of the Slytherins were already in their dormitories preparing for sleep, only several upper classmates lingered, either catching up on homework or playing snapping cards. Harry walked towards the couch near the fireplace with intention. The third-years lounging there noticed him and shot up, vacating the seats immediately, and Harry guided Luna to sit there.
The fireplace was crinkling softly, creating a pleasant warmth. Luna inspected her surroundings with rapt curiosity.
"I have never been in the Slytherin common room before. It's comfier than I imagined." She made no move to relax, perched at the edge of the couch, still looking around. "Is that the Giant Squid?" Her voice was full of excitement, as she sprung towards the large window, almost pressing her face entirely to the glass.
"Just wait here." Harry told her, and she nodded, while her attention was still fully captured by the Squid.
Harry caught curious glances all throughout the room, but he ignored them, making it for his dorms. Everyone there was already asleep, or whatever they were doing under the closed bed hangers. Harry cast a small ball of soft light and reached under his bed, taking out his trunk; he usually kept it in full size at school for easier access to his things. He took out his first year books, some parchment, and quills. Hesitating just a moment, he reached to his clothing section, procuring dragonhide boots, one of the new pairs he had yet to wear. It was of good quality, with magical adjustment to size and weather, as well as basic protection from mean spells.
When he returned to the common room, Luna was still in front of the large window, but now she sat fully on the armchair, a sketchbook on her knees as she captured the form of the squid on the page. Already it was almost coming to life. Harry looked around the room and a couple of Slytherins shrugged, seemingly losing interest in the commotion. Harry was under no illusion that the gossip won't spread to the entire Slytherin House tomorrow. He hardly cared.
"Luna." He called, and she looked up, her vibrant silvery eyes full of unrestrained mirth. "I'll wait for you near the fireplace." He didn't have it in him to forcibly stop the process. Luna Lovegood might be acting strange, but he understood what it meant to be invested in something. Her art was screaming of how she actually cared about it, and Harry was glad her artbook wasn't damaged irreplaceably.
The couch was still empty, no one dared to occupy it in Harry's absence. He placed his things on the near table. Taking advantage of the moment he took out the diary, it was with him the entire time. They were planning to have an Occlumency lesson tonight and Tom preferred to conserve his energy before that.
"There was a bit of emergency," he wrote.
"So I gathered," Tom replied, and Harry explained everything that occurred. While Tom could get a sense of his surroundings, he wasn't aware of the full picture.
"So noble of you," Tom teased. "If it isn't a perfect image of a shining hero."
"It's not."
"No?"
"One doesn't have to be a hero to act like a decent human being."
"What do you even care about this girl? Is she your friend?"
Harry glanced at Luna, thinking about it. He didn't particularly care about her. She saw him interacting with Binns once, she kept her word and acted friendly towards Harry, but never pushed for Harry's attention either. Her art was mesmerising, something Harry could appreciate simply for the beauty and soul poured into each stroke, she acted oddly but not in an unpleasant way. They didn't talk much at all yet, but silence didn't cause any discomfort. He saw no reason not to act friendly in turn.
There were also some things Harry couldn't stand and walk past. He was a victim of bullying once, and he knew how vulnerable a person subjected to it could be. Was it heroic to try to reach out a hand to someone who was turned away by everyone else? The semantics didn't matter. There were only things right and wrong in Harry's mind.
"I'm not opposed to making new friends," Harry answered truthfully. Tom didn't believe in friendships, so Harry tried to explain what he thought the best he could.
When it came to his peers, Harry found it hard to connect with anyone in the same way he did with Nagini, or Tom, or even Narcissa. But he didn't mind erratic company of the twins, or simple conversations with Neville, or snarky exchanges with Pansy. He didn't know if it was enough to call someone a friend. He acted friendly towards most of the students, careful not to disrupt a potential connection he could use, while also playing up his role as the Boy Who Lived. And if he got on friendlier terms with someone over the others, he failed to see any problem with that.
"I'm finished with the squid." Luna said, plopping onto the couch beside him, just as Tom expressed an interest to see the memories of her drawings that left such an impression on Harry. He scribbled a promise and closed the diary, hiding it inside his robe.
"May I see it?" He asked and Luna nodded, opening her notebook on the last drawing. The finished sketch was stunning. He voiced as much and added. "You have a real talent."
Luna shrugged. "I always liked to draw, ever since my mum showed me how to use paints and brushes." Her eyes became distant again, and her expression saddened, but her smile was still there, confusing Harry as to what her actual mood was.
"Is your mother an artist?" Harry inquired, genuinely interested, since he was on the lookout for more information about Mastery of Art for his own research.
Luna shook her head. "No, she was an extraordinary witch with varying interests. She died during one of her experiments." Luna's voice dropped to a whisper. "It was quite horrible."
"You don't have to talk about it," Harry offered after a moment of silence.
Luna gazed at him, her eyes a mix of sadness and curiosity. "It's okay. I still feel sad about it, seeing it happen right in front of me was horrible, truly horrible." She smiled sadly, and Harry finally placed the meaning of that smile. Luna was sad, but she covered her sadness, convinced there was still a brighter side to things. "I still have my dad, you know. And it's not like I'd never see her again."
"You think so?" It was the first time Harry heard someone express such a view like it was a sure thing.
There was this curiosity again in Luna's pale grey eyes. "You don't find it strange?"
"No, that's… that makes sense to me." He didn't know how to explain it without disclosing his knowledge of Necromancy. Maybe that wasn't necessary because Luna believed in the same thing. "Don't you have a portrait of her?"
"No. I have a photograph, and I tried painting her myself. But we don't quite have the money for the actual portrait, you know."
"Maybe one day."
This made Luna smile, now brighter, not a sad smile. Harry flipped through her sketchbook, pausing at the drawing of a thestral.
"I can see them too," Harry shared.
"Oh." He could see sympathy in her eyes. It was almost unbearable.
"It wasn't someone important to me," he settled on a half-truth.
Still, Luna looked sympathetic and understanding. It was good though that she didn't press for details. "We should go see them," she offered instead. "There's a herd in the forest, and Hagrid lets me feed them sometimes."
"We could do that," Harry agreed. He was intrigued by the creatures too. "But first," this reminded him why he was talking to Luna in the first place. "You'll have to have shoes to walk anywhere." He took his dragonhide pair from the table. "Here, try these on."
She blinked, taken off guard, but held the boots without question. Still, she was hesitant to put them on.
"They are completely new, and size adjustable." Harry tried to put her at ease, but she shook her head.
"I'm not worried about that. It's just… You are too kind, Harry."
Harry let out a chuckle. "Would you believe me that I have more shoes than I know what to do with them?"
This brought a laugh from Luna, and she finally tried the boots on. It was a simple pair, black in colour, with only some brown leather highlights. They were coming up just above her ankles, and the soles were a bit on a thicker side. They fitted perfectly when adjusted to her foot size, it was probably not her usual style, but they suited her just fine.
She stood up briefly, testing her walk, and jumping up and down a bit. "That's so cool!" Her enthusiasm was evident. "Thank you, Harry."
He waved a hand dismissively. "There are also protective charms on them, I hope they'll be enough to ward off the nargles."
He said it lightly, but his tone was serious, and suddenly Luna's mood dropped. "I…" she shifted uncomfortably, fingers picking at her sleeves in a nervous gesture. "I'm sorry. I… it wasn't actually nargles."
"Sure not."
She met Harry's eyes helplessly. "Nargles would never do that. I should apologise to them, too."
"That's your concern?" Harry raised an eyebrow.
"I'm sure they didn't mean to do any harm."
"They, whoever they are, certainly meant to harm. And they did. They were wrong to do so."
Luna looked at the floor, not trying to defend her bullies anymore, but Harry didn't like that it looked as if he was berating her.
"I'd say it to their faces if you tell me who they are."
Luna's head snapped up and she shook it. "I'll be fine, really."
"It's not a question whether you'd be fine or not. Although, I'll be making sure you are. It's whether they understand they did wrong by you."
Luna's silvery eyes glazed as she held Harry's gaze, he knew he could be intense, but she didn't waver, only allowing softly, "Just the girls in my year. I… thank you, Harry, but that won't be necessary. I'm sure they'll understand eventually."
Harry looked at Luna for a bit longer before he sighed. He won't be doing anything if Lovegood wasn't agreeable to it, after all, he really wasn't some hero in shining armour. But it was still good to know who to keep an eye for and avoid associating with.
He motioned to the table with a set of first year books there. "Take those too. And I'll help you with the homework."
Luna beamed at him, picking out a blank parchment along with the Potions book. Just as Harry suspected, this particular essay was the most urgent one.
Harry woke up from someone whistling close to his ear. He opened his eyes only to see Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott grinning like buffoons. Harry resisted the urge to groan, he wasn't in the most comfortable position on the coach, a book tucked under his cheek instead of the pillow, and Luna Lovegood was curled at his side. She blinked awake at the sound, too.
"So the rumours are true." Pansy giggled coming from the other side of the room alongside with Greengrass, who summarised said rumours plainly, "Potter brought a girlfriend to spend the night."
"Loony Lovegood, who could have thought." Blaise drawled, smirking.
"Her name is Luna." Harry glared at Blaise, who placated like it wasn't a big deal.
"I'm not Harry's girlfriend," Luna said almost at the same time, with absolute calm, peering at Daphne and other Slytherins that started to gather around.
"If you say so,Luna." Pansy hummed, taking note of the books and essays lying around. It was absolutely obvious what they were doing all night.
Apart from catching a couple of hours of sleep, they managed to finish all the lost Luna's homework and even went ahead with the Charms assignment that was due next week. Luna started to pick up all her things, using Harry's spare expandable pouch, when someone cleared a throat and all the Slytherins involuntarily straightened up.
"Good morning, Professor Snape." Luna even managed to smile, an eerie contrast to Snape's perpetually grumpy face.
"Good morning, Miss Lovegood," he gritted out. "I'm sure you are aware that staying after curfew anywhere instead of your own dormitories is strictly prohibited."
Luna tilted her head, seemingly unperturbed, but a little shake in her hands gripped over the book betrayed some nervousness.
"I'm not sure why you are bringing this up, sir." Harry got up and went over to help Luna collect the books. "Luna Lovegood here expressed a concern over one of your assignments, and we agreed to meet first thing in the morning to catch up before breakfast." He lied through his teeth, and passed Luna a book with a meaningful look. Her eyes slightly widened, but in the next moment she was nodding confirming the words.
Snape pursed his lips. "Is that so?"
"Can confirm, sir." Pansy didn't miss a beat.
"Yes, Professor." Blaise said with the confidence of a seasoned liar.
Nott and Daphne simply nodded, others stayed silent, not objecting. Snape grumbled, "Very well, I'll be paying extra attention to that assignment then." Before striding resolutely from the common room.
A solid half a minute later the stretching silence broke with a burst of laughter.
Ginny Weasley nibbled on a piece of toast, lost in thought, when a wave of hushed murmurs reached her ears. She looked up to see a unified group of Slytherins enter the Great Hall, like a force to be reckoned with, and her eyes widened when she spotted Luna at the centre of it, alongside Harry. It was a clear message to anyone watching that if they were to mess with Luna Lovegood they'd be messing with Slytherins too, and first and foremost, with Harry Potter. Luna went on to the Ravenclaw table, her first-year classmates looking extremely uncomfortable, their eyes wide as they gazed between her and Slytherins.
Ginny avoided looking at Harry, her eyes trailing after Luna, worried, hoping her friend was okay. As if sensing her gaze, Luna sent a reassuring smile, and Ginny relaxed. Luna was the very first friend she made on a train, and sometimes Ginny wished they were both sorted to the same house. Luna was one of the most interesting individuals she met in her life, and it was saying something considering Weasley family members were far from boring. Due to her odd behaviour at times, Luna struggled to fit in with her housemates from the very beginning. It never seemed to bother her. Always brushing off any concerns, she inevitably pulled Ginny into conversations that made her forget all about it, until something troublesome happened again.
She wanted to help, but never knew how, and she wasn't blind. Ginny hoped Harry's stance will show those pesky girls how wrong they were. No one liked to mess with Slytherins. And Harry… Ginny hated that she understood perfectly well what thoughts were roaming through the heads of other girls, their faces confused, but also watching Luna in a new light, clouded with jealousy. An ugly pang of it reverberated in her own heart too. But no, Ginny shook her head. Let others wallow in envy and their poor choices. Luna was a hundred times better person than any of them, and the fact Harry also could see it, made a pleasant feeling spread in her chest. Ginny never doubted Harry was kind and, even though a Slytherin, willing to offer a helping hand.
It pained Ginny, remembering her own interaction with him, how she made a complete fool of herself. Luna asked her why she complicated things so much, why wouldn't she just talk to Harry and try to be his friend first. But Ginny simply couldn't. Every time she got close to Harry, she froze, unable to utter anything. She envied those who could just simply talk to Harry. And Ginny didn't want to be his friend. She was in love.
She was so desperate to get noticed. She needed to know what Harry felt. To learn that it was nothing, crushed her into a bigger despair than she imagined any negative feeling would. Even when she tried her best, when she stood right before him, his beautiful green eyes glazed over her with cold disinterest. Every time Ginny remembered, tears were threatening to fall down, so she took a sharp breath and focused on her friend.
Luna ignored everyone as she sat among Ravenclaws, waving a hand over to the Slytherin table, cheerful. Ginny turned around to see Harry Potter waving back, with a full on smile. Oh. This was bound to agonise everyone even more so. Ginny felt her cheeks heating up in a blush and her heart skipped a beat. Harry was charming.
Already some girls around giggled as if Harry was waving at them. But Ginny was nothing like other girls, she was different, and she wasn't a Gryffindor if she were to give up so easily. She clutched a vial of potion in her pocket with determination. It was probably very risky and dangerous. Ginny probably should know better, especially with all that transpired before, but it was her chance and even now she still wanted to believe in heroes.
It was another week, and Harry and Tom were sitting on a bench in a park. They managed to slip out earlier, so the sun was still up. It was a warm day with people bustling about, none of them suspecting the two figures resting in a shade might bring the end of life to one of them. Not that it was absolutely necessary. The muggle's full life resource from last week sustained Tom's form better than the scrapes he was getting from Hogwarts students. They stopped with them because it was only more fuss over less gain, and instead returned to muggle London for another kill. The energy could be stored within the diary, and it was no telling how many more opportunities like this they'll get. And Harry certainly didn't hate the break in the usual pattern of his Hogwarts days.
"One of these people is a witch," Tom said after mentally scanning the surrounding people. His magical ability also improved, having to think less about sustaining his strength, and muggles in particular were never a challenge for his Legilimency.
Harry sat up with interest. Testing the effects with someone magical was an intriguing thought.
"Very weak though, barely has any magic." Tom continued, his eyes closed, as he concentrated more. "Not surprising that she chose to live as a muggle."
"What else?"
Tom sighed, opening his eyes. "Nothing special really. But she has a family, two kids." He looked at Harry with interest, anticipating his reaction. Harry didn't have to think hard.
"We won't kill her then."
"You are too compassionate." Tom said like he was expecting Harry to say exactly that.
"There are enough orphans in the world already, don't you think?"
"I don't care."
"Right. You certainly wouldn't."
They exchanged a glance, and Harry found himself saying, "You'll have no qualms about killing a child either."
Tom's face turned contemplative. "I can't imagine going after a child without a reason."
"So if you had a justifiable reason to kill me, would you?" Harry didn't bother to pretend it wasn't about him anymore, and it didn't surprise Tom.
"After all that I know of you?" he retorted easily. "It depends on the reason."
"That's why I said justifiable. And that means yes, you totally would."
"I'd rather we both stayed alive, now that I know you are my horcrux." Of course, it was what Voldemort must have realised too. "Apart from it." Tom shrugged. "Wouldn't you? If, say, it was a matter of survival."
Harry stayed silent for a long moment, he couldn't really deny the logic of killing someone to survive. That's what they were essentially doing right now, but could he really kill Tom if he had to? He never really had a reason, that was the point of forming his contract with Voldemort. Harry had no reason to break it. Would he really place his own survival above all? He didn't want to die, that was true, but he wasn't as obsessed with it as Tom was. If he had to choose…
Harry shrugged too, his silence an answer in itself.
"There's your answer." Tom leaned back on the bench, and closed his eyes, preparing to search for a different victim. "We are quite alike, Harry."
Harry didn't correct him. But if he had to choose, he'd rather they both stayed alive.
They found another wizard, practically a squib, living alone at the outskirts of London. They tracked him down, much like they did with the previous victim. Tom looked invigorated, the effect from taking the life of a magical person was certainly an improvement. His soul still didn't magically transform into a living body, but the result pleased Tom nonetheless.
"With the way I feel, it may last me weeks, no, months. Depending on how I choose to use my magic. Maybe I can even try wandless…"
His words were cut off by a sudden siren signalling nearby and bright lights coming into view outside the window. It was a police patrol. The area they ended up in wasn't anywhere nice, the man lying now lifelessly on the floor, was one of the drug addicts, a troubled sort, the death breathing down his neck anyway. Harry would think there was not much of a life resource left, yet the fact he wasn't a muggle seemed to make all the difference.
The police car stopped just outside the man's house. Tom and Harry froze, listening to the approaching footsteps. They exchanged a long meaningful look before glancing in the direction where the backdoor might be. They couldn't apparate now, it took some time to concentrate for Tom, and within the muggle parts of town and so close to witnesses, it might instantly alert the Aurors. Slowly, stepping as silently as they could, they made it to the backdoor. There was an insistent knock on the front door, just as Harry threw the Invisibility Cloak and Tom threw a silencing charm over both of them.
The front door wasn't locked, and it wasn't going to stop the cops even if it was. Harry and Tom were absolutely calm, only a few steps before they could escape, as the front door burst open.
"Kicked the bucket, huh." One of the voices said.
"Damn, the bugger still owned me a tenner." Another voice cursed.
Tom wandlessly unlocked the door, the silencing charm following them, muffling all the possible creaks it could make. Once outside, they took several steady steps before Tom grinned widely and Harry caught a gleam of mischief in his eyes. It was the only warning, and still Harry was left momentarily confused, when Tom bolted into a run, the Cloak slipping off. Harry watched the retreating form and smirked, ready to accept the challenge. Harry was nothing but fast. Even with some distance already forming, he was confident he'll catch up in no time. So he ran, the cool air of the night rushing in his ears.
He was beside Tom in no time, not stopping even though no one chased them. They exchanged wild glances and passed street after street, unexpected lightness carrying Harry further as the night only grew darker. Only when Harry was rendered breathless, they tumbled down to the soft grass mingled with sand, finding themselves at a coastline amidst the sound of waves beating at the rocks.
Harry fell on the ground like a starfish, trying to catch his breath and calm down, so did Tom, although with much more grace like he hasn't exerted any energy at all, already composed. But the mood between them was elevated. Briefly, the thought occurred to Harry that Tom could have made it to the diary all along, easily escaping the immediate danger, but he banished it, looking over at Tom and meeting the eyes full of uncontrolled mirth.
In the dark and clear sky the full Moon made its way higher, the circle of it shone brightly like a distant friend calling out. Numerous stars captured Harry's attention, making him drink it all in, mesmerised. He tracked his eyes over the shining dots almost automatically, marking them out in his mind. Ursa Major and Minor, one of the easiest to spot. A distinct shape of Leo, a lion, paradoxically more resembling a mouse. Most of the outlines didn't really make sense to Harry, but it was like a game, trying to piece together as much of the night sky as he could recall.
At some point he started to point out his observations out loud, not noticing how serious his tone got, completely immersed.
"Vega and the Lyra are also easy to see, close to Cygnus. Draco is right above, Arcturus in the Boots, one of the brightest here." He skipped his eyes down closer to the horizon, "Andromeda is barely there, just below Cassiopeia…"
"Are you trying to recite the Black Family tree?" Tom interrupted, and Harry laughed, breaking out of his concentration.
"No," he managed to respond. "But what wouldn't sound like the Black Family tree?"
In the moonlight Harry could see how Tom smiled, making a gesture to thoughtfully rub his chin as if it was a truly difficult question.
"The North Star?"
Harry scoffed imagining anyone with a name like that and let his eyes wander through the sky in search of it. "There." He pointed.
Tom followed in that direction and hummed. "Not the brightest one."
"No. A common misconception. Just because it's a special star doesn't make it the brightest."
"What makes it special?"
Harry was sure Tom knew all of this and was just humouring him, allowing Harry to talk at length. So Harry continued, "It's the only star in the Northern Sky that doesn't change its position, due to proximity to the North Pole. That's why it can be used as a guide, always pointing directly to the North…"
In a few hours they stayed like this, Harry dozed off, only stirring later at the chill of the night, or more like early morning. Harry propped on his elbows taking in the surroundings. Tom was sitting on the ground in a relaxed posture, hands resting on his knees, his back to Harry, gazing at a distance. Harry sat up, only briefly casting a glance that way too, at the soothing waves of water. Tom peered at Harry over his shoulder and for several long moments they just watched each other silently, wordlessly, as if sharing a secret.
Harry saw a rosy hue of the morning reflecting on Tom's face, way before he noticed the sliver of the rising sun behind the horizon. Tom's eyes, uncharacteristically soft and warm in that light, slowly trailed back to the scenery.
It was beautiful.
Ron was in the middle of figuring out what move to make next, he was already down two pawns and bishop, and if he kept like this, he might lose again. Against the whatever entity that made the enchanted chess move as his opponent. It was a birthday present from Albus Dumbledore, the most expensive gift he ever received, and it was awesome. Ron was dying out of boredom, even playing chess day after day for two months straight made the novelty wore off pretty quick. Still, he had no better entertainment here at the hospital wing. At least the chess games never repeated its pattern, he could even choose different levels of difficulties, so it was really cool and far more engaging than reading books.
While he was technically recovering, and potions made it so he didn't feel much pain anymore, Madam Pomfrey was still against him resuming his classes. And there wasn't much point now. He was allowed to take his exams later in the summer, his parents and brothers promised to tutor him for that. Somehow, he managed to miss almost the entire school year… At one point it seemed like a great opportunity to slack off. Not having to go to boring classes? Sign him up! But then, McGonagall said he was still expected to turn in essays and make assignments, otherwise he might be held back one year. That was a scary thought, to be left behind by all his classmates. So he gritted his teeth and wrote the essays and did the readings. Granted, not as much was expected from him given his state, so it still felt like a good deal.
But spending all his time in the hospital wing was excruciatingly boring, if not excruciatingly painful as well. Madam Pomfrey took great care of his health, but, well… The process of regrowing his bones took a lot of time because she wanted to make sure it was done properly and didn't affect any of his internal organs. And even when the regrowing itself was done, he still had to stay, to be sure that nothing had gone amiss. In fact, it had gone amiss a couple of times and the process had to be repeated all over again from the start, and it was always just as long and painful.
Throughout that experience, what he had the most was time. And throughout this time, he had all the opportunity to think. A lot.
Of course, he was angry at first, he missed the final round of try-outs for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, he had to experience so much pain just because of that idiot Professor… He was angry at Harry Potter too but the more he replayed that duel in his mind the more he became angry with Lockhart instead. He would have been fine. Stupefy, however strong, was something anyone could handle, his skull was thick, and he wasn't even all that out of it when Lockhart came to rescue. Ron could have actually died, that's what Madam Pomfrey said. All his ribs were gone with a single flick of a wand! Only because Professor Snape put a quick stasis charm on him, he was safely transported to the hospital wing. To think that he ought to be thankful to that slimy bat… Ron wanted to cry. He did cry, almost every night within the first weeks of his stay, out of pain and out of the sheer unfairness of it all.
He was jealous too, of course he was. Who wouldn't? He always thought that he and Harry could be the best of friends. But then Harry got sorted into Slytherin… and despite this Neville Longbottom was still on friendly terms with Potter, even his twin brothers… It didn't take a genius to realise sooner or later that the problem lay with Ron. For Ron, it took longer, but he had enough time to figure it out. He was acting rather foolishly, wasn't he?
Throughout it all, Dean and Seamus visited him once or twice to make sure he was fine and on the way to recovery… eventually. But after that ultimately stopped, not really giving too much thought about him. More than ever before Ron had to face a simple truth, that he had no real friends among his peers. After a week or so, the only classmate to visit him regularly was Hermione Granger who did it only because the Professors told her to. She came to nag him about the classes, and lent him his lecture notes and told what assignments Ron was expected to do.
There wasn't really much else to do so he did his readings and wrote his essays, eventually starting to look forward to Granger's visits. The twins also visited him every day, as annoying as they were, but Ron came to appreciate their presence. They didn't stay for long, but they always brightened his days, making him feel like not everything had to change in his life. Ginny didn't forget about him either, but she slipped to singing praises about Harry Potter all too much for Ron's comfort.
Ron had the biggest family, yet he still felt so incredibly lonely. If only he could have kept Scabbers with him, but he knew he couldn't take care of the rat in this state, so Percy looked after him in the meantime. Percy was too busy with his prefect duties, and only checked on Ron from time to time, not that Ron complained.
Mum and dad could visit him too with a special permission from Dumbledore. Seeing his parents was nice, but not usually fun. There was a bitter resentment still lingering in his chest whenever he was reminded of his mother's instant dismissal about the actual cause of Ron's suffering. She was an avid fan of Lockhart and still didn't see any wrong in the man. Maybe if she saw him in person for more than ten seconds, she'd understand. It was disheartening that Ron had to be scolded like a child for getting himself into trouble, while the real culprit was being defended instead.
Other students got admitted to the hospital wing on a semiregular basis, but they were from different houses and years, not to mention different states of sickness or injuries, thus not very willing to talk to a sullen Weasley.
One day Neville Longbottom got himself scraped by Mandrakes, it wasn't serious, but Professor Sprout warned against the infection, so he obediently checked in with Madam Pomfrey. As she was busy sorting through the necessary potions, Neville waited near the opposite wall to Ron's bed, staring out the window, very pointedly not looking at him.
"I'm sorry." Ron's voice cracked in the overall silence of the large room, filled with mostly empty beds as of now.
Neville turned around with his eyebrows furrowed and looked at Ron as if he only now noticed him lying there.
"What are you sorry for?" he asked as he slowly came closer and eventually sat on the nearby bed, his eyes not leaving Ron, prepared to listen.
"I…" Ron swallowed, feeling apprehensive. It was hard admitting he was wrong, but it was harder to live with himself once he realised he was wrong. So he had to get it out of his chest. "I'm sorry I was acting like a stupid idiot. That I got angry with you for nothing, and made it hard for you in Gryffindor." Ron was so ashamed of his behaviour, it was so unlike Gryffindor, so far from noble and brave. Even Dean and Seamus tried to talk him out of it when Ron persisted to be an angry idiot, and ultimately weren't supporting him anymore. "I was wrong…"
Neville bit his bottom lip, worrying it nervously. He was clearly uncertain and maybe even uncomfortable at the whole situation. Eventually, he whispered, "Okay."
Ron breathed out with relief.
Neville stood up just as Madam Pomfrey returned with the potions. Taking them with words of thanks, Neville was about to leave, and on impulse Ron called after him, embarrassingly hopeful, "Will you come again sometime?"
Madam Pomfrey was already out of earshot, but Neville still whispered barely audible and with his back to Ron. "I may have forgiven you, but we are not friends." And he hurried to go away.
Yet, on the next weekend he returned with a pack of self-shuffling cards. They didn't talk much, only played a few times, but Ron couldn't help but smile afterwards nonetheless.
Neville took to visiting him once a week, always with a set of games, but gradually the ice broke, and they managed to talk. Ron found out that listening to Neville talk about Herbology was far more interesting than whatever Granger tried to lecture him on. Ron didn't mind hearing stories about how practice classes went, and it even helped him a great deal with his own assessments. To his surprise, Neville also got a hang of Potions and was able to give advice or two to Ron.
"Partnering up with Harry in Potions was a huge help. And he tutored me a bit since last summer," Neville explained to a bewildered Ron, and an uncomfortable silence fell after that.
Ron was once again reminded what an idiot he was. If he weren't such a massive idiot maybe he could have been Harry's friend too. He got jealous and frustrated when things just kept getting not the way he expected, and instead of admitting things weren't really so bad, he focused on every little negativity that he adamantly believed ruined everything.
"Yeah, well." Ron averted his eyes, not really sure what to say.
Neville still came by only once a week, which was better than nothing, but still left most of the days for Ron to spend by himself. So this enchanted chessboard Dumbledore got him for his birthday really managed to cheer him up, occupying his mind for the longest time. With great consideration Ron moved his knight in preparation to eat the black pawn in the next move…
The hospital wing doors swung open and someone burst in with great urgency. Ron nearly jumped, and his hand dropped abruptly, scattering all the chess pieces on the bed and floor. Thankfully the game could be restored from where he left off easily, but that was the last thing on his mind, because the one levitated towards the hospital bed was his sister!
Ginny appeared unconscious as Professor McGonagall guided her to the bed, George and Fred trailed behind looking stricken. Another woman, who Ron hadn't seen before, entered through the doors, in toe with Professor Snape. To the sound Madam Pomfrey ran from her side room and already was hovering her wand over Ginny. Professor Dumbledore soon followed, looking very serious and concerned.
Ron sat on the bed in pure shock, nothing had prepared him for what he was seeing before his eyes. The twins noticed him and came over sitting on a near bed, not a single smile on their faces. Ron knew his brothers, and he has never seen them like that, they were scared shitless.
Ron looked from one to another, questioningly.
"Some idiot messed up with our invention!" George bit out in an angry whisper.
"We were all at the dinner in the Great Hall when it happened." Fred whispered too, his voice calmer, but no less frustrated.
"She suddenly started coughing, like one might when getting a cold."
"It was mild at first but then…"
"Then she seemed unable to stop."
"And flowers, bloody flowers!" George gripped the sheets of the bed in a tight fist.
"She started coughing them up."
"And soon really struggled to breathe."
"Thank Merlin all the Professors were there, they reacted very fast."
That explained the crowd. Ron glanced in the direction where Madam Pomfrey still worked on diagnosis. The Professors were all in a quiet discussion, occasionally sending the twins and Ron contemplative glances. A particularly sharp glance was sent their way by a witch Ron didn't recognize.
"Who is she?" Ron managed to ask because he really, really had no brain power to process what the twins told him before.
"That's Yvonne Macmillan. New History Professor, we told you about her."
Ron recalled, indeed, they were quite impressed. And not only twins, also Hermione gushed about how interesting the new History of Magic became, even Neville shared his amazement at how History wasn't just an additional sleep hour anymore.
Pomfrey let out a long sigh and approached the Professors.
"I haven't seen anything like this before. I managed to put her into a stable state, but I'm not sure how long it will last." She held out a nearly empty vial to Professor Snape. "Have a look at this, Severus. I found it in her pocket."
Snape took the vial, examining it critically. He sniffed it carefully and his face contorted in disgust. "It's not something I recognize."
Dumbledore took a turn examining the vial too. "It doesn't smell that bad, Severus. In fact, there is a distinct note of raspberries."
"Raspberries or not, they've gone foul, and you won't convince me otherwise."
The twins listened in with their backs straight, faces crossed with unease.
Snape turned to them, narrowing his eyes. "I would assume this is one of your creations?"
"No!" They exclaimed simultaneously. All the Professors were looking at them now, eyes disapproving and not believing.
"Is it not true that you were behind all this flower frenzy?" Professor Macmillan asked, voice light but firm.
"Well, yes…" The twins deflated. "But someone obviously messed it up."
"This was never our intention."
"And it wasn't even supposed to be taken in a liquid form!"
"I do believe that to be true," Dumbledore observed kindly, yet his eyes were lacking his usual twinkle.
"I will still make sure to inform Mr and Mrs Weasley of everything," McGonagall said with authority, and the twins paled. Ron paled too, because he knew what it's like to have his mother's temper directed at you.
"We shall investigate it further, but the priority now is Miss Weasley's health and wellbeing." Macmillan concluded and Madam Pomfrey sighed tiredly again.
"I'm afraid my hands are tied until we at least figure out the cause." She looked at Snape expectantly, and he nodded.
With a vial in hand he turned to leave the hospital wing, but then stopped, sending the twins his usual nasty glare. "Come along. Both of you." Fred and George obliged without any struggle.
They returned an hour later, every second of it stretching dreadfully, as Ginny seemed to be getting worse.
Everyone looked at Snape expectantly.
"There is no evident problem with the physical properties of the potion. The initial concoction was based on an emotional aspect, unique to each individual. Since it was tempered with, the most likely cause for Miss Weasley's state is…" Snape paused as if it was physically difficult for him to say the next part. "Unrequited love." And he sounded positively repulsed.
Ron gaped at his brothers, dumbfounded, and they gave minute shrugs, yet their serious faces very much confirmed Snape's words. There were gasps and exclamations of shock from Professors and Pomfrey appeared lost.
"The matters of heart are a delicate thing, aren't they?" Dumbledore sounded tremendously tired.
Snape ignored it, choosing to offer more explanation in a bored tone. "The potion does resemble a very twisted version of Amortentia that doesn't target the object of… affections." The last word was coated with the utmost contempt. "But makes the performing individual into a target instead. Which apparently has gone drastically wrong, not achieving the intended result. I will be looking into it to see if there's any possibility to derive an antidote."
"Thank you, Severus." Pomfrey sounded somewhat reassured. "In the meantime, maybe, bringing the… object of her affections, as you put it, could be helpful."
The twins blinked at that and shared a look, rushing to the door.
"We'll bring him," Fred shouted halfway though.
Ron was suddenly overcome with an impending sense of trepidation. He knew for sure who they rushed to find, yet he wasn't sure how helpful this would be. With a strange hunch Ron was willing to bet more chances on Snape creating an antidote from scratch. Snape left to do just that, while the twins took much longer time than anyone anticipated.
They came back, subdued, out of breath and without Harry Potter.
"We couldn't find him."
"He's not even on the…" Fred abruptly trailed off.
And George shook his head. "Not anywhere."
Ron wasn't alone in his disappointment.
"We'll go have another look." Both twins were on the verge of panic and Ron started to get jitters too. It's not like bringing Harry Potter was an absolutely certain way to help. But Ginny could use any help, any at all.
Ron stared at the doors for a long time, waiting for them to open again, before he was brought to reality by an excruciating sound of never stopping coughs. He dreaded looking Ginny's way, and when he did, he wished he didn't.
