(TW & AN: Sexual scene. And murder. A Halloween special for the 100th chapter? For you? I shouldn't have xx)
Poison Tree, Grouper
Throwing poison seeds into the wind
Make the poison tree to grow in me begin
Let your branches fork my veins
Let your honey tide in me
Blood loving, poison whispering
Oh, beautiful poison tree
Let your power grow in me
Let your sorrow pour in me
Take away my blood and bones
Make your flowers deep inside of me
Least I'll still have company
In my insides, tiny poison tree
I seal my love in me
Tiny beautiful poison tree
The instant he woke, Tom was taking thoughts and feelings out, tucking them back in his 'side' of Harry's head rapidly, with the demeanour of a kicked dog.
"…Guess that makes us all liars and thieves and liars just like our fathers. I'm so tired. And he thought you were beautiful and I thought it was foul like you are and I'm not lying. It's not mine unless I take it. Choo choo. Literally kill me."
"What the fuck," Harry hadn't meant to say it out loud, clamping his mouth shut when he nearly woke the Dark Lord—who talking in his sleep in Parseltongue.
Or Crux was, if the train noises and talk of liars was anything to go by. Maybe both of them.
'Were you… Okay.' Harry thought, getting his bearings, 'Putting your- okay. The first thing, that I think of is… You put your jealousy in there, so you wouldn't feel it, then got mad at me for being jealous?'
'Yes.'
'And your guilt? For what?'
'All of it. Everything.'
Harry wasn't surprised to find no satisfaction at the thought, '…Special sauce?'
'No.'
'Not shocked, why would you tell me what the hell that is.'
'I'm sorry.'
He was still bound to the Dark Lord, dulling the anger and the fear. Feeling any at all through the bliss was a concern.
'Are you gonna be… Okay? With all of that?' Harry wondered. Under the annoyance that Tom was Tom, there was a bubbling concern.
"I'm hungry I'm just fucking HUNGRY what's the big deal all the time scared scared SCARED smart like a fucking whip you are liar all will suffer dawn would you throw him to the wolves over and over and over? My shadow pinned against a sweating wall the mind enters itself and GOD THE MIND AND ONE IS ONE IS ONE-" He thrashed and woke himself violently, nearly yanking Harry's arm out of its socket in the process.
He needed to soothe Bed Sheet—not understanding the frantic Parseltongue. "He's sleeping. Sleep talking."
"What?" Voldemort snapped, disconnecting their hands and rubbing his face, out of the bed in an instant; like it was filled with ants.
"Bed Sheet wanted to kill you, I think." Harry sat up, and the Lethifold shrugged, muttering Eldritch noises,
"For sleep talking and trying to tear my arm off," he rolled his shoulder for good theatric measure.
Voldemort watched him briefly, eyes narrowed, "What did I say…?"
"At one point? Choo choo." Harry made the hand gesture.
"Get up."
Crux requested entry and Tom allowed it instantly, sweat on the back of his neck, nerves jumping his insides into his throat as he stood.
'Un-surprise inspection. Show it to me.'
Tom took him into his private thoughts without a word, a place Harry hadn't been in for what felt like forever.
"…What's in this bookshelf?" he couldn't read the titles; the question a distraction.
"…I don't know."
They left the Manor before the sun had risen entirely. Crux was cheerful when he came out, the same time as he was side-along Apparated back to the school.
'Dream. On Halloween, I think? Feels fitting even though I have to wait THREE WHOLE DAYS TOM. You'll fight him tonight and make him feed me.'
'Alright.'
'…As for the setting, I was thinking Wool's Orphanage?'
Harry immediately balked, and stopped on the wooden bridge to grip the rail. 'No? You can't do that, it's…'
'What? Sick and twisted? You're funny, Harry. Keep up. KEEP UP. The Orphanage. Your old room. Yes?' He turned his attention to Tom. 'I want to make him RUN, so longer hallways. Make them GO FOREVER.'
'…Yes.'
'…Tom, you don't have to do that… It's… You can't make him do that?' He insisted.
Voldemort had stopped to watch him, almost looking through him. "What?"
Harry ignored him.
'I can, and I am. I'll see you there, Harry. It'll be fun.' Crux was gone before he could answer, and Tom was the one to resume walking.
'…Tom.'
'There is no point discussing it. I… I made a mistake. I can't have this ruin everything. I'll do what I have to.'
'But won't that hurt? Being there?'
'He is punishing me as much as he is punishing Voldemort. I don't have a choice.'
'…What was your kill them plan, again?'
'I considered some kind of stasis. A permanent sleep, or equivalent.'
'How would we even do that.' Harry didn't think mentioning that the Dark Lord had the same idea for them was a good idea.
'With supreme difficulty. I can do this. I can do what he asks. If you're with me.'
'I'm always with you.'
By Tuesday lunch, the Dark Lord had permanently dismissed Harry's Death Eater guard. Something that would have been elating in any other circumstance, but he was trading the followers for the Dark Lord himself, a constant, grumpy, infuriatingly attractive companion.
He was left briefly in Voldemort's office with a sleeping Nagini, her hot rock set up at the bottom of the short staircase across from the desk. He was told not to move an inch, so naturally, he snooped. He opened cupboards and drawers, a few sticking in place in refusal. He pulled books from the shelves and glossed over titles. Profane rituals, blood magic, sacrifices of various kinds, dark arts; dozens of neat, flowing notes in the margins that Harry couldn't help tracing his fingers over.
Tom was quiet, twinges of the weight he'd been forced to carry bubbling over now and then, closing his throat when it did. He'd apologise for it each time, which was worse in Harry's eyes. The fifth time Tom said, 'I'm sorry,' he told him to stop it.
The Dark Lord found him with a heavy tome in his hands that he didn't bother to hide when he felt the thread announce him.
"…Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son. Flesh of the servant, willingly sacrificed, you will revive your master. Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe." Harry intoned. "Keep this one on the shelf for nostalgia?"
"Sure. Nostalgia. Put it down."
"Where'd you go?"
"I despise you," the Dark Lord sat down as he casually declared hatred.
"Yeah, okay." Harry sighed, slid the book back into its slot and wondered what he should be doing with himself.
"You will attend hand-to-hand combat training this afternoon, and Defence with Cassiopeia, tonight. For now," he said as though reading Harry's mind, then slammed a heavy book on the desk, "Magical theory. The basics. Read."
He was relieved to be let out of the Dark Lord's sight, his intensity exhausting. He made hand-to-hand combat seem like a casual afternoon nap. Draco was giving him pointed looks, sitting directly next to Reed with ram-rod straight posture, Pansy oblivious beside him. Bed Sheet cooed nearly silently at the back of his head as though enjoying the excursion.
When Reed met his eyes, he felt the familiar and foreign sensation of her mind searching for purchase.
'Ready?' Tom thought.
'I don't know, are we?'
She was allowed in, and Tom pinned her consciousness down. She allowed it, the only reason he was successful.
'I, and everyone else, has accepted your plan. I think I host instead of all the eggshells in here?' Reed thought. 'I can pull them into my head. Not here, that many people, I'll be… Distracted. You haven't been in classes? We almost thought you wouldn't be here?' It was bizarre to hear her Scottish accent in his head, so used to the Dark Lord's voice. Or his own.
'Yeah. He's 'Taken charge of my education'. Even Ginny? Ginny agreed?' Harry thought.
'Yeah, Avalon and Eris too.'
'Whoa, no. I mean, Eris? Why?'
'I don't know, I didn't ask. Do you want me to ask?'
'No, no. It's… When?'
'That's what I was going to ask you?'
Three groups of two were grappling with each other on the mats, and Harry pretended to watch. 'I suppose the next time we'll all be in the same room is in the Chamber on Thursday.'
'He'll be there too?' She thought, 'The Dark Lord?'
'Yeah. How distracted will you be?'
'It'll be obvious. My nose will bleed. I won't be able to hear or see anything outside my head.'
'What if he's distracted, too?' Harry thought, a plan forming.
'Maybe? I can get Ruby to take care of the blood. How distracted? By what?'
'I'll work something out.'
During Defence Against the Dark Arts that night, the Dark Lord watched from the tree line while Harry and Cassiopeia stood as far away as possible.
"Everything. Spill it," she said, arms crossed as she watched her students duel.
"Uh. So much. He's… And Tom. And my Horcrux," he shook his head. "Bed Sheet, even. These dreams."
"Mm. What?"
"Everything is a mess, and I don't know how to fix it." He sighed, watching the fog of his breath float away, "My Horcrux… Cassiopeia." He struggled to find the words while she frowned at him.
"I will not be fighting you tonight," Tom said, apparently deciding Harry wouldn't find the words.
"Oh?"
"Harry's Horcrux has control now. I fucked up. He needs to be fed, and the best way to get that done…"
"Is to trick Tom into it." She rolled her eyes, "What do you mean you fucked up?"
"I don't want to talk about it," Tom said.
"You're difficult to help, you know that?"
"Yeah," Harry said. "I know."
Tom requested entry to the Dark Lord's head and was denied; instead, he was followed back.
'Come over here and fight me,' Harry thought.
There was silent refusal in his mind.
'You're supposed to duel me twice a week, remember?' He continued, 'I choose now.'
Voldemort Apparated to appear in front of him—made Cassiopeia squawk a laugh and several students yelp. He extended an arm to Harry, and he raised his eyebrows as he took it.
"Don't wanna lose in front of-" He didn't finish his question, shot through the tube to reappear outside the little house with the wards.
"Lethifold comes off," Voldemort snapped, wand already in hand, mask vanished.
"Well, yeah, don't want him to get hurt," Harry muttered, hoping that Bed Sheet would actually come off when asked. "Bed Sheet? We're gonna fight. It's a… Friendly fight. Do you know what that means?"
The Lethifold unclasped and floated free, hovering nearby in the shape of an empty robe, watching them.
"If it comes near me, I'll blast it to bits."
"Sure you will," Harry said, curse on his arms, smirk on his face, more than ready to fight anyone, but particularly him. "Wand to a nuke fight?"
He flicked his wand immediately, predictably, and Harry dodged the non-verbal Cruciatus.
"Boring."
The spells were rapid-fire after that. Harry did more dancing then fighting back until it was clear the Dark Lord was tired. He swept his legs out from under him with the curse during a slowed barrage, giddy adrenaline spiking when Voldemort fell to his knees. He knew Liquida Tenebris would trigger the light, so he was aggressive the instant he made contact, binding his legs together and forcing his wand arm to his side.
He screamed, an animal howl as he erupted, blinding gold light blasting Harry off his feet, flipping him through the air and sending him rolling down the smooth slope. He didn't need to offer any further input, the Dark Lord unable to stop once he'd started, violent fury at the centre of the explosion. Harry watched with singed eyebrows and smouldering robes. Bed Sheet was hovering beside him, and he shook his head to reassure the Lethifold as he got back on his feet.
"It's okay. This is what I wanted. It's fine."
When the light sputtered to nothing, the jagged red serpent reduced to crimson steam, it looked suddenly less fine. Voldemort's eyes were incredibly wide, teeth bared as his entire body shook, inhales rocked him on his knees, and spittle flew from his mouth. He sprang off the ground to run at Harry in a full sprint.
"Oh, shi-" He summoned the curse on impact, but it did little.
Voldemort strangled him as though trying to squeeze right through his neck, arms vibrating with the force he exerted on Harry's windpipe.
Bed Sheet intervened, wrapping casually around the Dark Lord's arm, chewing as he went. Harry thrashed upward before the bliss hit, brought one knee sharply up into his crotch and rolled with the other to force the Dark Lord onto his back. That was the end of his onslaught; the warmth and the fuzzy lack of oxygen bleeding from Voldemort's fingers slumped him uselessly, held up by the hands squeezing air from his lungs. He started laughing in the Dark Lord's face, coughing, choking, comfortable.
Harry was thrown off like a sack of potatoes, and Bed Sheet released the Dark Lord. Blood poured from his right arm, shoulder to wrist, sleeve shredded to ribbons along with the flesh underneath. He was oblivious to it. He scrambled to his feet, panting.
"What is wrong with you?"
"What's wrong with me? What did I do?" Harry rasped, holding his throat, backing toward the wards while Bed Sheet returned to his shoulders.
"Inside. Get—inside."
He didn't wait to be told again, jogged up the slight hill into the house and closed the door behind him. He assumed the Dark Lord wasn't going to follow him in. He didn't. Again, he was glad for the warmth of Bed Sheet, the room dark and cold. He glared at the chair with the bindings and sat in Voldemort's seat instead, resting his head on the desk.
'Are you okay?' He wondered.
'No. It's alright.'
'Is it though?'
Tom didn't answer him. He fought a fresh wave of grief down, and Harry told him again not to apologise when he felt him preparing one. He scrunched his face up on the wood and cursed his Horcrux.
Voldemort didn't enter the house for what felt like at least two hours; his robes were repaired, and he was no longer bleeding, but pale, nearly grey. He swayed on his feet, transfigured two armchairs into beds, and didn't look at Harry.
"Do you not have Blood Replenishing potions?" He remembered the muscle repair potions in his own pocket and took one semi-needlessly.
"I do. This helps. Bed."
Harry wasn't sure what exactly it helped, but he didn't press.
Voldemort woke before Harry did, and kicked his bed as they disconnected to announce it.
He rolled his eyes as he got up, once again before the sun had risen. The Dark Lord took a Blood Replenishing potion and then shoved Harry toward the door.
"What is wrong with you, is the real question, for the record," he muttered it, not that quietly.
"What is wrong with me? What's wrong with me? Me?!" He pinned Harry in the corner behind the door, quick as a viper. Bed Sheet flared and he ignored him. "You. You're what's wrong with me. You taint everything you touch, like a creeping cancer; nothing is sacred. YOU'RE WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME!" Voldemort dropped him and stepped back before the Lethifold got involved, shook his head with force and gestured at the door like nothing had happened. "Go."
Harry half expected to be Crucioed in the back, but a different projectile slammed into his head as he crossed the threshold, in the form of his Horcrux.
'Clever clever. He hated that. It was enough for now,' Crux spoke to Harry first, then Tom, '…How's it going, sweetheart?'
'Get it over with,' Tom thought, yanking him into privacy.
Harry was side-along Apparated to the school, Crux left without a word shortly after. He was taken to his room to shower and change, and the Dark Lord didn't bother with the cloak. He walked right into the Room of Requirement with him. No Death Eaters were stationed at his door, but he didn't think it would be long until someone saw him coming or going.
It was a rapid and uncomfortable shower; the locked door felt fragile. His eyebrows weren't too severely singed. The bite still bruised on his collarbone from the Castelobruxo trip.
When he exited, he found Voldemort rifling through his chests. He had tossed things on the floor, piles of potion ingredients and abandoned textbooks at his feet. He was reading a letter and dropped the envelope when he met Harry's eyes. He recognised it, a letter from Ron. Written by his hand under Ginny's control, sent to him at the Dursleys. He didn't recall the contents, just that the tone was off. At the time, it was something he'd dismissed as emotional delicacy on Ron's part. In hindsight, he should have suspected something was wrong with him sooner.
"Find anything good?" Harry asked, smoothing his hair back because Tom hadn't bothered.
"…No."
He ran drills by the lake before breakfast. It was freezing outside, the grass frosted, crunching underfoot. Voldemort pushed him harder than Tom ever did, and he was no help, quiet in Harry's head, not contributing to the brutal exercise. He needed a Pepper-Up and an adrenaline shot halfway through it, a muscle repair before and after.
They collected Nagini afterwards, and it was the Dark Lord's familiar who insisted on the Great Hall. She was petting Bed Sheet while they walked, which probably seemed wildly bizarre to any of the early-rising students they passed. Voldemort walked ahead of them, and Harry was again grappling with the irritating jealousy, the knowledge that if he had requested the hall for breakfast, he likely wouldn't be allowed to step foot inside it ever again.
Nagini sat beside him at the Slytherin table, and the Dark Lord took his chances on distance by sitting with the staff, making them all sit with impeccable posture and wide eyes, apart from Lydia—she cracked a boiled egg with a spoon, looked half-asleep.
Zabini and Greengrass were at the table, whispering at each other, eyes flicking to Harry repeatedly. A pair of scheming Slytherins seemed infinitesimal compared to his daily agenda, so they held his attention for less than a minute.
"…Nagini, who was Credence?"
She coughed bacon onto her plate. "…Who told you about Credence?"
"You did. You mentioned him the night you remembered. But I- we watched it happen. When you told Voldemort that you thought Grindelwald's prophecy was about me."
She nodded as though it was fine and made sense, "He was Aberforth Dumbledore's son. Aurelius." She let that shock sink in but held up her hand when he opened his mouth, "He didn't know it, when I knew him. When I loved him. He was raised as an orphan named Credence Barebone. An Obscurial. It didn't kill him, like it should have, when he was young. It's believed it killed him… Killed him not long after…"
"It's alright." Harry stopped her, not keen to make the Dark Lord's familiar cry in his line of sight.
"Good morning, Harry. Hello Nagini." Luna sat beside him and reached for a pitcher of orange juice.
"…Hello, Luna. Where's Neville?" He searched the immediate area but didn't find the Gryffindor.
"Oh, we split up." She winced, "Disagreed too many times, I think. He's very brave, but sometimes he's too thick." Luna frowned slightly, then nodded, and poured herself a juice.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Harry said awkwardly, suddenly between two women whom he'd accidentally asked about their doomed relationships.
"Don't be; it wasn't your fault. I'll be alright. He did complain a lot? In a sort of… Worried way. He meant well."
"…Okay."
"Is that a Lethifold, Harry?" Luna asked, spreading jam on toast. "It's not made from a Lethifold, right? That would be ghastly." She reached out to touch Bed Sheet, then sighed with relief. "Alive. Very clever creatures, Lethifolds." Luna didn't bother asking how he came to be wearing one. "I heard they like fingers."
"…What?"
Bed Sheet was purring, mumbling nonsense at Luna's words. He noticed his immediate surroundings had fallen quiet, staring at him.
"They like fingers," she repeated.
"To eat…?"
"What else would they do with fingers?" She bit her toast.
He was relentlessly worked through the day, reading paragraph after paragraph of theory in Voldemort's office while the Dark Lord scribbled at his desk.
Nagini slept on her hot rock, true to her word, snoozing the week away.
By the time the light turned orange, Harry's eyes were strained, and he didn't see the point. "You know, this magical theory would be really helpful for someone capable of magic use."
The Dark Lord sighed, put down his quill and summoned a bottle of whiskey from a bookshelf with two glasses. "If my theory is correct, you needn't worry about that for long." He poured two nips and threw one across the desk so that Harry had to catch it before it shot off the end.
"What theory?" He asked, draining the glass immediately.
"That your core was reassembled poorly. Resulting in a lack of… Volume control. Nagini's venom and her magic act as a glue for the destruction you wrought upon yourself, but it is not conducive for most magic."
"And you're gonna fix it?" He ignored the 'Wrought upon yourself' comment for the sake of everyone's wellbeing.
Voldemort drained his glass and snatched Harry's, refilling them both. He stood up, and Harry took his glass before he came back to throw it at him. The Dark Lord tapped his wand on a cupboard, springing it open. He levitated a thick, bound stack of parchment onto the desk, retook his seat, and drained his drink.
"Profiles," He said, "Of the competing students."
They were on their third drinks before the Dark Lord removed the first one.
"Júlia Nunes Castilho." Voldemort said after he opened the parchment that separated the profiles.
A moving picture of her stared up at them, short brown hair, not smiling. The Dark Lord didn't say so, but Harry assumed he expected a rundown of his opinion.
"She seemed like she's fast. Like she runs a lot. She looked really excited to be there." Harry took the profile, ran his probably tipsy eyes over it and found he could scarcely be bothered to read the words. "Who made this? We were just there. Do you have one on every single student?"
"Yes. Though some are not particularly complete." He poured another drink for himself, but not Harry, so he presented his glass.
Voldemort didn't refill it, and Harry narrowed his eyes and snatched the bottle when he put it down, resulting in a glaring match. He pointedly poured another drink, and the Dark Lord knocked the glass off the desk, bouncing and then shattering on the stones. Harry took a swig from the bottle and smirked when the Dark Lord yanked it back.
"Now you've made a mess."
Voldemort flicked his hand and vanished the shards of glass, the puddle of whiskey. "Indeed I have." He drank, poured, then drank again.
Harry searched the pile for a particular student, her name escaping him, but not her face. Nosiphiwo Mboweni. The Dark Lord glared at the open profile and then at him. He could tell by the slight glassiness of his eyes that he was drunk. He wasn't sure if it was a good or a bad thing, and Tom was too busy licking his wounds to do more than check in periodically to be sure he wasn't being strangled to within an inch of his life.
"Is the prophecy she gave you why you're all…" Harry gestured vaguely at him.
"Why I am what?"
"Uptight?"
"Uptight." He laughed and fell back in his seat. "Uptight." He laughed again. "Uptight?"
"That word's stopped making sense," Harry muttered.
He leaned in, suddenly intense, tapping his temple furiously, "There is a monster in here, clawing to get free. What consequence is this fucking prophecy beyond that? What the fuck am I beyond that?" He sat back and snapped his mouth shut.
"…Clawing to get free? You're making it sound like he'll… Like that's possible?"
"The Unspeakable-" Voldemort stopped himself again, shaking his head like he was baffled.
"The Unspeakable what?"
"Have you ever had a dream—a nightmare so intense—so real you can't…"
"Yeah, loads."
The Dark Lord stared without blinking for a long moment, frown slowly melting into a whisper of fear before he poured himself another drink.
"What were you gonna say about the Unspeakable?"
He swirled his whiskey, hummed a humourless laugh and drained it, then resumed intensely staring, "I would very much enjoy being there when he finally understands. Will you be the one to tell him? Tell him what he has become? What you have done, knowing it? Nothing would bring me more satisfaction than watching his face."
It took Harry a moment to understand that he was talking about him, not to him. Tom watched dully in his head, barely flinching.
"And make no misguided mistake; it will break him."
"…Fuck you," Tom said, yanking the bottle from Voldemort's hand and drinking the remaining quarter.
Any curiosity about what he was hiding from himself had been sufficiently squashed. Tom's fear of it and the Dark Lord's enthusiasm, combined with the dizzyingly high stakes hinged on his wilful ignorance, swiftly demolished the daydreams about sneaking a peak.
As he ran hungover drills on Thursday morning, he figured it ranked about midway in his list of priorities and fears.
They'd slept in Harry's room, dragging Nagini with them while she resisted—bed Sheet cocooning him in a way that was fast becoming his favourite way to sleep. Voldemort had held his hand too tight and silenced himself, something Tom was briefly lucid enough to be irritated about.
'Are you okay?' Harry felt like he was asking for the millionth time, Tom's despondency freaking him out.
'I don't want to lie to you. I don't want to scare you.'
By midmorning, he pretended to read in the Dark Lord's office. Bed Sheet wasn't as dense as Harry felt he should have been, and when he asked if the Lethifold was hungry, his hood nodded and crackled, the base of the cloak flaring and rippling.
Voldemort didn't let Harry ask; he pressed his wand to his Dark Mark and made himself anonymous instead. The Dark Lord met his followers at the eagle statue, apparently too paranoid to give the password away. He couldn't hear the conversation, assumed it had something to do with a prisoner for Bed Sheet.
Crux was in his head before Voldemort returned to his seat, and Harry was thinking at him before he could stop himself, a half-baked plan, unapproved by Tom. 'If I… Needed your help with something…?'
'Oho, like what?!'
Harry wasn't sure if his enthusiasm was encouraging or concerning.
'I'm assuming you know about the plan with Reed?' With each word thought, he expected Tom to stop him.
'Assume I'm omniscient. I know everything.'
Harry had to ignore the words for his sanity, 'Reed's worried about him noticing. In the Chamber tonight.'
Tom didn't stop him, but his nerves frayed every time he truly registered what he was doing.
'What's your opinion on this plan, Tom?' Crux asked, zeroing in on the weird silence.
'What will it cost,' Tom thought.
'You sound like proper shit. Good. I dunno, I'll think of something. Deal?'
'Does this plan with Reed even really matter? Everything…' Harry didn't have the rest of the thought, so he let it hang there.
'I don't want you alone in this.'
'Touching. Do we have a deal? I'll distract him plenty. I'll start right now.'
The Dark Lord had returned and muttered something about feeding Bed Sheet later, eyes on his parchment with white knuckles. Harry turned a page of the book in front of him for effect.
'Who's paying the price?' He wondered.
'Whoever I want, pipsqueak,' Crux thought, then, 'Probably Tom though.'
'Do it,' Tom thought.
'Excellent. Bye.'
He was gone, and Harry scrunched up his face, 'I asked because I didn't want it to be you. I think you've been punished enough, right?'
Tom didn't answer him.
"I know you are not reading that," Voldemort said.
"…What?"
He picked up the book and smacked Harry in the face with the pages, "What is this about?"
"Er… Runes?" Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"This is a book of Latin poetry. That I handed to you an hour ago."
"Oh. Well, I can't read Latin."
The Dark Lord's eyes unfocused and wandered away, the book still in hand but slowly lowering. He dropped the book on the floor, picked up Harry's wrist, and squeezed it until he gasped. Harry melted quickly thereafter, grinning at the desk he'd put his face on.
By Thursday night, the Dark Lord was sufficiently agitated. Every few hours throughout the day, he'd picked up Harry's arm and turned him to jelly, Crux keeping up his end of a hastily made bargain that Tom had taken into his own hands in the last instant.
'Wish you hadn't done that. I think you're stressed out enough. What if it's bad?' He thought.
'It's already- I don't want you paying his tolls.'
'Yeah, and you always get what you want, right?'
Voldemort was oblivious to the argument that had to have been plain on his face and in the air around him as they descended into the dungeons for duelling. Most likely having his own internal war.
'I hate that he chose the orphanage…' Harry thought.
'There's nothing we can do about it.' It was almost a snap, 'I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you.'
'…I know.'
The Slytherin Common Room was cleared half an hour before time, on the Dark Lord's orders. He opened the door to the snaking tunnels that led to the Chamber, and Harry followed behind him. His stomach jumped with anxiety every time Voldemort winced, more conscious with each passing moment of the dream Tom would be forced to stage.
Harry only wondered how the others would get in once he'd dropped into the water from the mouth of Salazar Slytherin. He could only assume Nagini would open the way.
Voldemort removed his mask the instant he was clear of the water, scowling at Harry as though he'd freshly insulted his mother.
'Well, here's hoping I don't seem obvious when Reed does her brain thing, because he's looking at me pretty hard.'
'…He almost always is,' Tom thought.
"Where did the Basilisk go?" Harry asked in Parseltongue.
"Away from here. Lethifold comes off when duelling. Make sure it understands."
"He," he corrected automatically.
Cassiopeia was first through the statue, "Ever thought about fixing this? A ramp? Maybe?" She called as she dropped into the water.
The students, Nagini, and Lydia followed, falling into the water one by one. Harry the only one who couldn't dry himself.
Harry sat away from them, and was reassured by the satisfaction that oozed from the Dark Lord as a result. Cassiopeia swanned to the stones beside him—dragged Lydia with her, Nagini and Hannah following after—and fanned her black dress over her legs. The vampire dried him when he started shivering.
"I hear you're at the Malfoy Manor tonight?" She asked.
"News to me?" Harry said.
"Oh. Well you are. Was going to ask you why."
"Am I inconveniencing you, Cassiopeia?" Voldemort asked, loud in the echoing chamber.
"Yes?" She shrugged, "All the time?"
"…Greengrass. Jager. Up." He turned away from Harry.
He immediately looked at Reed while Eris and Daphne took to the runway lined with massive snake heads. Reed nodded when Harry did. It was like being hooked by a fishing line; both irresistibly yanked into her mindscape.
Ginny was already there. 'Harry? …Tom. This is weird.'
Reed was quiet, pretending to ignore them.
'…Yeah. Weird.' He didn't know what to say to her.
He watched Voldemort watching the duel with one part of his mind; the other saw an approximation of Ginny projected in Reed's head. She was the first one there.
'I don't know what I can and can't say…' Ginny thought.
'Thanks to your boyfriend, Reed knows more than you do. Apart from the fact that I killed Bellatrix. Know she knows that, too.'
The projection of Tom was difficult to ignore, silent and observing, his eyes torn between Reed and Harry. He found it almost impossible not to lean into him unconsciously. He seemed to be having the same problem.
He refocused on Ginny, knew the others wouldn't be far behind.
'…Oh. I wanted… I don't- I don't want things to be the way they are,' She thought, nervous energy radiating.
'Neither do we,' Tom said before Harry could snap an angry retort.
'So, I've convinced Eris to apologise. Really apologise. And this. With Reed? I think it's… I mean, maybe not a good idea, but it's better than nothing?'
'…Apologise? Him? Why would he do that? Better yet, why would you believe he's gonna mean it? Look, fuck Eris. I don't need his apology, Ginny, because what he did is so small now that I don't even care. Tell him I don't care. And to stick his apology up his ass.'
'…Harry, are you… What's happened?'
'…Sorry, I am being repeatedly elbowed in the ribs by Draco Malfoy,' Reed thought.
'If you're in, Ginny, you're in. I'm tired. I've got so many fucking problems right now; you can't be another one. I don't have the time or the energy.'
'He's stopped you from going to your classes?' Ginny asked, pressing for the real problem, one that he could barely articulate.
Haunted by himself. A monstrous version of himself. 'He's teaching me now. If you can call whatever this is teaching.'
Reed was awkward in her head, wandering around and inspecting nothing in a formless space.
'Bring Draco in. Does he know about his aunt?' Harry thought.
'…Not as far as I can tell,' Ginny thought.
As soon as the Malfoy entered he was thinking rapid fire, 'Harry. We were thinking, this is fine the first time, of course, but we need….'
'To not be doing this directly under Voldemort's nose?' Harry thought.
Tom shocked him by snorting, and Draco finally registered his presence.
'…Merlin. You look so real?' Malfoy thought.
'I am, in fact, real.'
Harry again fought the powerful urge to lean into him, glued his eyes to Malfoy with probably too much intensity, 'What do you propose we do instead?'
Avalon, Ruby, and Pollux were pulled in as one unit, and Reed's demeanor changed.
Her jaw tight, eyes bulging, hands held out before her, 'Ruby.'
'You got it!' Ruby chirped, '…WHAT?' Her chirp became a squawk when she saw Tom.
'Oh yeah,' Harry thought, looking at Tom, 'that's not Voldemort. Technically speaking.'
If Pollux was surprised he didn't show it, approached Tom without expression, brown eyes perpetually, almost absently wide under his mop of curly dark hair, 'A Horcrux. A human Horcrux.'
Tom nodded and so did Pollux.
'What's that? Pollux? What's a Horcrux? Reed?' Ruby spun on the spot.
Draco filled the silence when no one answered her, 'Well, that depends on you. Your schedule.'
'I don't know my schedule. He's pretty much always with me now,' Harry thought.
'Eris and Daphne are done fighting. Voldemort looks really angry? He wants you, Pollux. To fight May. Am I the only one surprised?" Ruby reported, still slack-jawed at Tom.
Pollux was ejected.
'…Right.' Draco's projection paced in Reed's head as though it was familiar territory.
Harry tuned into reality and found Voldemort fuming at the stones, not looking at the beginning duel or him.
'So, we'll have to come to you, then?' Malfoy's enthusiasm to endanger his life on Harry's behalf was troubling and endearing at once, and he felt a twinge of guilt for killing his aunt.
'…Draco, were you close with Bellatrix?'
Ginny balked and backed away, stood by Reed and Avalon, and frowned in Harry's direction.
'Not… Really?'
'Okay. I killed her over the weekend.'
Avalon laughed, which Harry found bizarre.
Draco did an excellent job of standing still, no reaction on either of his faces, 'Oh. Well. That's something I'm not supposed to know. He sent them away on the weekend. My parents. My mother would… She'd need some time… She won't take this well.'
'Yeah. I'd say I'm sorry, but…'
'It's something I'm going to pretend not to know. No hard feelings,' he shrugged, grimaced, and refocused, 'Where are you usually?'
'…Okay. Either his office or the sitting room he turned into an office at the Manor.'
'Well we can't follow you there,' Draco thought.
'Who are you, then? If you're not Voldemort?' Ruby asked Tom.
'You think we should just loiter outside the Dark Lord's office?' Ginny asked.
'I second that this is a stupid idea,' Avalon thought.
'I didn't say it was stupid; I just think it's risky.' The youngest Weasley lightly shoved the necromancer. 'You said you'd behave.'
'I am, I am behaving, Ginny.' She grinned.
Reed had taken Harry's dismissal of Eris to heart, and hadn't pulled him in when he sat down. 'We won't need to stand outside his door, we just need to be nearby and not spotted by the Death Eaters.'
'There are bathrooms within range,' Draco thought.
'He wants you, Harry. To fight with Smith. What's his first name again?' Ruby asked. 'And what's a Horc-'
Harry and Tom were forced out before she finished her thought.
Zacharias—although Harry had demolished him in hand-to-hand combat—seemed too confident for his own good. The Hufflepuff seemed less so when he asked Bed Sheet off his shoulders.
Muttering erupted, and Hannah Abbott screamed. Lydia clamped her hand over her apprentice's mouth. Cassiopeia giggled louder than all of them.
Nagini scrambled to pet Bed Sheet in Harry's absence, smirking. She stood beside the hovering hooded cloak and whispered to him, too far away for Harry to hear.
He raised his right hand and summoned the curse, and Smith drew his wand.
Neither of them had landed a single spell before Bed Sheet was draped over Zacharias, bringing him howling to the stones in the blink of an eye.
"Oh, Bed Sheet, no," Harry said. Then, "Fuck."
He frowned at a manically grinning Nagini as pandemonium erupted. Zabini, Greengrass, and May Magnus scattered, screaming and tripping toward the bathroom exit, sprinting past Harry.
"That was Nagini!" Harry snapped when Voldemort raised his wand at a happily crunching Bed Sheet. "She told him to do it; I saw her!"
The Dark Lord gave Cassiopeia a long-suffering stare. She broke into uncontrollable laughter, fell silent as she collapsed face-forward onto the stones and slapped her thigh like a seal. The rest of them were open-mouthed, standing, unsure on their feet.
"Did you tell the Lethifold to eat a student Nagini?" Voldemort asked.
"…He was hungry, and you've wanted to eliminate one."
"Eliminate, dearest. Eliminate, not kill." Just like that, the issue was dropped.
"If I told Bed Sheet to eat him, you would have gone batshit insane!" Harry said, then his face went red as he realised he'd said aloud what he'd been grappling with only internally, in plain English, in front of a crowd of people. That he was jealous of Nagini. "Are we done here," he snapped before the glee on the Dark Lord's face became a gloating speech.
"We certainly are now. Cassiopeia, take them and find the rest. See them through, Nagini."
"Bed Sheet," Harry grumbled, and the Lethifold returned to his shoulders, clean and fat, purring an Eldritch tune.
"Nice Lethifold," Draco muttered as he passed, shaking his head and faking confidence.
Ginny moved Eris along like a mother might a toddler in a toy store, her eyes wide as he gaped at the Lethifold and then at Harry.
He didn't look at the others, Voldemort taking his attention when he approached. The Dark Lord replaced his mask and hood with a smug look on his stupid, handsome face and took Harry's arm.
As Cassiopeia had said, he was taken straight to the Malfoy Manor; the Death Eaters stationed at the gate stared at them as they passed. When they arrived in the office with the black walls, the Dark Lord removed the mask, still smirking.
"Do you have a problem with my familiar, Potter?"
Harry rolled his eyes, "No. No problem with her."
"You are lying," he seemed free of Crux's influence if the continued smug grinning was anything to go by.
"I have a problem with you. Not Nagini. I'm not lying, and none of it matters anyway. Don't raise your wand at Bed Sheet again," Harry said, the threat falling out with the rest.
"Oh? And what will you do?"
"Something you won't like, I bet," he muttered, throat suddenly tight as he registered how close Voldemort was standing. "You don't even really care that Bed Sheet killed Zacharias, but you'd pretend to if I'd done it."
The Dark Lord smiled and walked Harry into the corner, "You seem upset."
"I'm not upset I'm right."
"Upset. Wait here." He abruptly left the room, and Harry realised he'd been holding his breath.
"…Bed Sheet, don't listen to Nagini."
The Lethifold gave a shrug and a rumble, and Harry felt like Bed Sheet was being vague.
When Voldemort returned, he directed him straight into the narrow room; chairs still transfigured into beds. The Dark Lord was frowning when he collapsed fully dressed onto the mattress on the left. Harry kicked his boots off while Voldemort silenced himself, and he wished he'd never said anything about the sleep-talking.
Harry was getting used to waking up feeling incredible. Sleeping as though he had never had a care in the world, wrapped in a warm, intelligent cocoon, and being washed repeatedly in comfortable bliss improved his mood considerably; at least until reality hit. That morning in particular, when his eyes floated open, still bound to the Dark Lord, his first coherent and memorable thought was 'Home'.
One that was dislodged by Voldemort flying out of his bed as if chased, yanking Harry onto the floor in the process. He smacked his head into the small round table on the way down.
"…Good morning," He grumbled while the Dark Lord disconnected them, not sorry at all.
'Are you okay?' Harry wondered, checking his forehead for a lump.
'…Please don't ask me that.'
'Okay? You're freaking me out.'
'I can do this.' He seemed to be telling himself.
Crux chose that moment to slam into his head with the subtlety of a freight train. 'Good morning, my favourite pair of crybabies. Uh uh uh, don't; I didn't mean start crying. You're welcome for your little chat with your friends. Smooth like butter, thanks to me. Wanna know something, Harry? I'll give it to you for free.'
'Sure. Fine. Sure. What.'
'I've caught him thinking about bending you over random and occasionally public furniture and other assorted objects thirty-two times this week. Those are just the thoughts he lets slip like, 'Oops, teehee,' You know what I mean?'
Harry barely had the time to put his boots on before the Dark Lord was out the door.
'Bet he just thought about it then,' Crux continued. 'He's spent weeks thinking this next trick up. Swears it's not for you, but it's for you. Like most things are, lately. Look at that mask on him. So stupid. Thinks he's scaring anyone with that?'
On that front, Harry felt like he agreed. The mask wasn't scary. He followed cluelessly behind Voldemort, his Horcrux chattering commentary as he was led into the deepest part of the basement. Barred doors told him they were visiting prisoners. He couldn't see anyone from his angle, but there was light inside.
"…Bed Sheet ate already?"
"Oh, did he?" The Dark Lord snapped the retort like it'd been waiting on his tongue.
'He's touchy 'cause he's horny and scared of me. By proxy, that makes him scared of you. Having any thoughts yet, brickhead?' Crux thought.
'…What?'
'That's too bad. Anyway, enjoy your stupid present; I'm going to make your boyfriend cry now.'
Tom dragged him into obscurity while Harry made a face at the bars Voldemort had unlocked, before he realised he was supposed to go first.
Inside the cell was Ollivander, working at a long, thin table by firelight, two Death Eaters milling around in the cell with him. "Ah! Final touches, give me one moment, please." He bowed repeatedly, eyes wide.
Harry tried to get a look at what he was working on, but Voldemort stopped him. Ten minutes passed while the Dark Lord paced, and Crux left his head while they waited. Harry could only assume they were there for a wand, though he wasn't sure how a new wand would fix his core.
When Ollivander turned with the wand, the Dark Lord snatched it from him.
"Snakewood. Thirteen inches. Horned Serpent horn core. This does not belong to you. You are merely using it," Voldemort said in Parseltongue.
Tom lit up for the first time in days and stepped forward on Harry's behalf to take it, mouth hanging open. Harry had forgotten about the Snakewood tree, the branch it had dropped. It had been shaped to form a winding serpent, its head resting on the back of his hand when he held it. Eyes set with emeralds. Perfectly weighted and made for him, a sensation not unlike the one he'd felt when he held his holly wand for the first time, though sharper, like bitter electricity thrumming up his arm, intertwining with his core.
"Emeralds from Castelobruxo," Voldemort said in a hissed whisper.
"This is beautiful," Harry almost said, 'Thank you,' stopped by Tom. "Did you steal the emeralds? When?"
'This sure as damn hell is mine,' Tom thought.
"Cast in Parseltongue," the Dark Lord said.
"Sciron's horn?" Tom asked.
"Yes. Cast."
Ollivander was watching with interest, wringing his hands as Harry raised it, and Tom cast, giddy words tripping over themselves in Latin.
"Serpensortia. Engorgio. Wingardium Leviosa. Reducio." He summoned a black snake, enlarged it, levitated it, then shrank it back down, flawlessly. His magic finally worked on the right frequency, with full control over the volume.
Harry laughed, almost shrill, as he watched the snake whip indignantly in the air.
"This wand does not belong to you," Voldemort repeated.
"Of course," Tom said, breathless, twirling it in his hands.
'Now I feel bad,' Harry thought.
'Don't. He's earned everything he gets from your Horcrux.'
'Do you think you've earned it, too?'
Tom didn't answer him.
It felt like it was to spite the exhilaration of being able to use his magic that he was forced to attend Ancient Runes. All he could think about was the Snakewood wand in his pocket, singing a siren song in Parseltongue while he stared through the droning professor.
Pollux sat beside him, muttering about the book he was reading. As far as Harry could tell, the book had nothing to do with runes.
"The blood vessels in your body are long enough, end to end, to circle the Earth more than twice," Pollux said.
"Did you tell Ruby what a Horcrux is?" he whispered.
"No. She hasn't stopped asking."
"You could tell her, really."
"I know. I don't want to explain it."
Pumpkins lined the Great Hall that night, the school ghosts scaring first years as though they were being paid for the service. Harry's nerves jumped repeatedly while he sat with Nagini at the Slytherin Table—again at her request.
The Dark Lord sat next to Snape, and Harry thought it was a good thing he was sitting so far away because the plan was all over his face.
As though drawn to Harry's discomfort, Crux requested access to his head. Tom let him in without hesitation, nothing left to hide.
'I'm so excited I could BURST. How's your stick? Did it make you want to suck his cock?'
'It made me feel guilty for enabling you,' Harry thought, ignoring the cocksucking comment.
'That's sweet. I'm hungry. Must be nice to just put food in your fucking face when you're hungry, huh? Leg boy? HUH?'
Harry had been holding a chicken leg and put it down.
'You're gonna pretend you're tired early tonight. He'll follow you like the hopeless DOG he is, and we can get started.'
'Don't say 'we'; this is all you,' Harry thought.
'Literally couldn't do it without you but tell yourself whatever you fucking like. I'll see you tonight, sweetheart.' He thought the last part at Tom, and then he was gone.
'Hate him.' He had taken to putting his hand in his pocket and holding the wand, his wand, to cheer Tom up.
Harry could tell that he wasn't coping with the weight of it, just as he'd predicted he wouldn't. Quiet and focused in his head as though every second was an effort.
'Almost hate him more than I hate Voldemort? I think I do? For what he's doing to you.'
Tom didn't say anything, a wave of guilt and fear instead.
'Don't apologise again, Tom, I mean it. I'm fine. I'm worried about you.' He thought when he felt one coming on. Harry seemed to make it worse somehow.
That night Harry drew his wand in the Room of Requirement, smirking uncontrollably while he silenced his bed. It was a consolation to watch Voldemort's face twitch with the reality that he had given him his magic back.
He'd given him his magic back. He was giddy every time he thought about it, like he was free-falling. The enthusiasm was dulled when the Dark Lord reached out, and he remembered the night's agenda.
Bed Sheet wrapped him tight, and Voldemort cut off the circulation to his fingers, so it didn't really matter anymore.
Tom stood before him in a non-space, a void, dark at the fringes, lit somehow at the centre, though there was no source.
"I need… They're not coming, alright? This isn't real, just a dream. We're not here, and they're not coming," he took Harry's face in both hands, "Alright? This isn't real."
The familiar room was forming around them, Tom staring into his eyes, not blinking.
"This isn't real," he repeated, and Harry nodded, holding his hands—almost squeezing his face.
He pulled Harry, forehead to forehead, towards the wardrobe that Dumbledore had set ablaze upon his first meeting with Tom Riddle. He opened it as though he wanted to blast the doors off, expanded the interior, and stepped Harry into it without taking his eyes away.
As soon as he shut the wardrobe and sighed a shaky sigh, the doors flung back open.
"The FUCK do you think you're doing, hiding in the dark?" Deep red eyes, sharp grinning teeth. Tom still didn't look at him, fixed to Harry like he was a lifeline.
"What does it matter? You're doing your… Thing. What does it matter what we're doing?" Harry asked his Horcrux.
Crux grinned, "That's the price," wider, "For the conversation with your friends. He watches."
Tom waved a hand, one panel of the wardrobe's left door becoming translucent as he did, "Enough?" He didn't look at Crux, still pressing his forehead to Harry, resting on his shoulder while he forced even inhales.
"It's enough," Harry said, warning Crux with his eyes as he inspected the door from the other side.
"Fine. He's not asleep yet, irritated he can't listen to your sappy sleep talk without acting like the PSYCHO he is."
"You make train noises," Harry snapped.
Crux snorted and shut the wardrobe. Light spilled in through the glass-like panel, and Tom whispered so quietly he had to strain to hear him.
"I used to be afraid of the dark. Now I'm afraid… I hid all this from myself not simply because I couldn't bear it, Harry, I… This endangers the plan. The way I feel. I'll make mistakes. I can scarcely think."
He didn't say anything, afraid to stop his words once he'd finally started.
"I aimed to deal with it once things were through. Once you'd won. It's been days, and it's… I'm trying. I'm trying." His face was buried on Harry's neck, his words nearly lost. He could feel the tears on his cheeks.
In that instant, Voldemort was pulled in, announced by his loud and immediate refusal to be where he found himself, met with a gleeful cackle from Harry's Horcrux.
"They're not real," Tom said.
"They're not real," Harry agreed.
"HOW—ARE—YOU—DOING—THIS!?" A rattling slam and a choked giggle sounded between every screamed word outside the wardrobe.
"Despite everything, this is working," Tom whispered, and Harry breathed an unamused laugh in his ear.
"Is it?"
"I've—been-" Crux was talking through a chokehold; a glance out the panel showed him pressed against the door, unphased as he dangled, trying to wrap his legs around the Dark Lord—until he was dropped, "I've been thinking it purely ironically, but I guess you are handsome."
The Dark Lord was pacing, laughing, wild.
"In a SMUG LYING SCARED asshole kind of way. Gotta say this would be a lot more fun if you were still snake-faced. Know what I mean? It'd feel more… Who're those people again? You know it." Crux was pacing too, grinning.
"…David and Goliath."
"Yeah. Them. It would feel like that, you know? Because you'd look more like a MONSTER." He paused to laugh, "Don't look at me like that; YOU'RE THE MONSTER HERE. You've got it all funny in your head."
Harry heard the door to the bedroom open.
"I'll give you a head start," Crux said.
"…Goliath was a man. I'm not running from you."
"Metaphor holds. You will."
"I won't."
"YOU—WILL."
They stopped discussing and started snarling at each other—crashing into every piece of sparse furniture—loud as they scrambled for control. Harry wasn't sure who'd started it; he was no longer looking at them.
Tom had taken his face in his hands once more, again declared them not real, "Remorse is memory awake, her companies astir—a presence of departed acts at window and at door."
Harry held his face, too, smoothed the tears away, though they kept coming. Torn between kissing him and crying, a lump in his throat.
"It's past set down before the soul, and lighted with a match, perusal to facilitate of its condensed despatch. Remorse is cureless—the disease not even God can heal; for it is his institution—the complement of hell."
Harry did kiss him then, met with a hungry enthusiasm from Tom that had him instantly tearing his shirt off, gasping when Tom did the same, the sound hidden under the violence outside.
"I don't want to give you the wrong impression," Tom said, holding Harry's hands as he tried to get his pants off, "Of what this will be like."
His stomach dropped and rolled when he realised he'd read the signs correctly, "I'm not going to get the wrong impression," his voice was raspy, unreliable, difficult to whisper with, "I don't care. I want this. I want you. They're not real."
Tom released his hands and caught his mouth, fingers in Harry's hair and at his buttons at once. He kissed like he was starving; Harry was lost in it, sound and sight melting away into sensation. Deaf and blind to everything but him, more real than anything he'd ever felt. He fell back, dragged Tom with him as he undid his buttons and freed his cock, afraid the adrenaline pounding through his veins would wake him as he lifted his hips for Tom to slide his pants off, gasping whimpers.
Harry pulled him in with his legs and his hands, seeking his lips again, couldn't get enough of the sensation—so intense he moved with it, drumming in his stomach and rolling his hips every time he made a delicious sound, every time Tom's cock brushed his—until he was mad with it, ears buzzing, heart pounding as Tom reached between them to position himself. Harry covered his own mouth, decided he was too loud even through the animal rage outside. He met his lips again to moan into them instead, rocking on Tom's slickened cock—lubricated; he didn't know when—inching down while Tom held himself still, shaking hands trailing all over him.
When Tom's hand found Harry's cock, he pulled him all the way in, knee-jerk, freezing them both. He was glad for his mouth; his volume increased with each experimental movement; heat blazed through him when Tom began to move—swearing into his mouth. Fulfilling a burning need he'd scarcely realised he had.
"I feel real here. With—you," moaned whispers, interrupted by Harry's tongue.
'You are real.' Harry had to think it at him because he was lit by fireworks inside. Deep pleasure erupted and razed his understanding of the English language. Tom rocked steadily faster, moaning continuously into Harry's frozen mouth. Blinded, wrapped around him tight until Tom went rigid, biting Harry's lip and closing his eyes.
"…We're not really here," no longer a reassurance, Tom's voice broke on the words.
(AN: Tom recites Remorse is Memory Awake by Emily Dickinson.)
