Quiet Company, Jack Harris

All these long nights
With your eyes wide
And I'm tongue tide
While the waves take you away
Heavy silence
When your mind is
Occupied with
All the things you didn't say

Hold steady now

You can shout at the rain
Searching for someone to blame
Curse the wind, fan the flame
Yell until your lungs are drained
I can't offer you the promise that the words will fill the space
Get as loud as you need
I'll be your quiet company
To ease the pain

When the sunrise
Hits your sad eyes
And you realise
That the world's not gonna wait
It's so cold now
That the fire's burnin' out
Talk your soul down
When there's a ghost you wanna chase

Harry had hoped that Tom would take over and end the scene, that he would call enough enough as Voldemort periodically thrashed beneath a smug Horcrux—his red eyes on Harry. He didn't.

"You know, Morty… Settle down I'm TRYING TO TALK." He sat back heavily, still cross-legged on the Dark Lord's lap. "I said you know sometimes I wonder what it is about him that's so… I don't know. Lucky? Is that the word you'd use, Morty?" He waited for him to answer, a long silence.

"The fortunate son. The Golden Boy, shimmering, shining, splendid, almost as smart as a full box of rocks. I suppose it's not 'Sometimes' that I wonder, I've been told I lie can you believe that legs? I think about it all the time. Why you, over there, living, breathing, fucking flying around on a broom on occasion," he laughed sharply and stood up, and Harry got the sense that he was about to be in trouble.

"And I think that even though we're made from the same stuff, that I'm just a branch off your tree, HE FUCKING HATES ME, but he wants to nibble on your cock?"

Voldemort screamed into the gag again, but Crux focused on Harry. Even Tom had snapped out of his melancholy, watching Harry's Horcrux like a hawk. He didn't think it mattered at all to Crux that the hatred and the attraction bleed across the lines for both Tom and the Dark Lord.

"Sometimes I think that it must have been because I was your worst part. Maybe I was always tainted, something wrong with me just like there's something wrong with him, right? Compatible. But then I wonder, was I always this way, or did he make me? I don't remember being desperate to feel blood on my hands in the crib, know what I mean?" He was close, expression somewhere between confusion and rage.

Harry got the sense that he'd gone off script. If ever there was one. He looked at Tom for a fraction of a second, and in that time, Crux closed the remaining distance and pressed his forehead to Harry's. The diadem cut into his hairline. He pushed back anyway.

"DON'T LOOK AT HIM LOOK—AT—ME." He closed his eyes and took a breath, "Why you? Why you and not me. Answer me."

Harry shook his head and groaned into the gag to remind Crux that it was there.

"Sirius bought me my first broom. Did he tell you? Did HE EVER TELL YOU?" He squeezed Harry's face, fluctuated between whispering and screaming, spit flying from his shark-like teeth.

"I broke it immediately and it didn't fly more than a foot off the ground or any faster than a snail but it was a crazy five minutes. HE WAS HERE FOR YOU. He was here because YOU FELL FOR HIS FUCKING LIES. THE STUPIDEST TRAP." He pointed at Voldemort—silenced by Crux's rage, "Hook line and SINKER because you can't help but FUCK EVERYTHING UP BODIES STACKED AROUND YOU BEFORE YOU COULD STRING A SENTENCE TOGETHER-" He stopped himself, laughed, then dug his fingers into Harry's neck.

He didn't flinch, didn't feel like he could afford it. He'd guessed why Tom hadn't ended it. Because it would be obvious then that Crux wasn't the one in control. At best, they'd just piss his Horcrux off.

"What do you think, princess? Did he make me a monster or was I one already? Did my removal from you stunt your growth? Would you have been worse if you still had me, if I was still you, or no different? Better? Stronger? Certainly you'd be smarter. Or is that because I've had a lot of time to think? A lot of time in that disaster brain? I'll give him this, though he's absolutely cooked beyond comprehension; he's swimming in neurons, aren't you, Morty?"

Crux abruptly let go and spun to face the Dark Lord. When he reached him, he took his robes in both hands and used one foot to kick the heavy chair back onto two legs. Dangled him before the veil.

"I would like to formally congratulate you on your immortality, Voldemort." He cackled as though it was the funniest thing he'd said thus far, "Forever. That's a long time." He kicked the chair repeatedly, and though it was heavy, it scraped along the stones, closer to the translucent fabric.

"And I keep thinking, who should I blame for this?" He let go, and the chair slammed back into the stone. "The stupid seer who was too brain-dead to realise she'd been Obliviated and Imperioed? The fucking BRILLIANT mind of Albus fucking Dumbledore, always manipulating, NEVER doing it right," he was pacing rapidly, almost talking to himself.

'We should end this? Right? Did he do what he came here to do?' Harry thought.

'I don't know. He's driving me fucking insane. I don't know. Let him rant.'

He looked at Tom and found his tone indeed matched his face.

"Or my parents? Do I blame them for possibly the greatest poor judgment, for TRUSTING A FUCKING RAT IN THE LAST MINUTE? Sirius wouldn't have told a soul, an IRON-CLAD Secret Keeper-" He laughed so hard he stopped making sound, and then it just looked like he was crying, bent at the middle, face near his knees, shaking.

"OR YOU? You?" He shot upright, pointed at Tom and then at the Dark Lord, "For marching up my front path and blasting the door in? FOR KILLING THEM? FOR RAISING YOUR WAND AND MAKING ME—WHAT—I—AM?" He screamed so hard in Voldemort's face his voice broke.

The Dark Lord didn't flinch and hadn't moved throughout. Either hypnotised or disassociated, Harry couldn't decide.

"I could put it on you, too." Crux spun to face him, and he couldn't help the way his eyes bugged.

"For figuring it out, for waking that Horcrux up, for looking at all the pieces and deciding YOU'D RATHER HIS COCK IN YOUR ASS THAN TO FIX IT YOU'RE NOT—ANGRY—ENOUGH," he screamed until he was hoarse and then was laughing again, couldn't seem to decide which one of them he wanted to shout at. He turned and nodded on the spot.

"They will mark each other equal… Each will hold power the other knows not… The Dark Lord's equal shall rise as the seventh month dies," He intoned without emotion, sending Voldemort rabid in his bindings once more, "…Or shadow devours the Earth."

Harry saw the light sputtering from his Horcrux's hands, red-gold rage splitting through rifts in his skin, "…Fire ever-burning in the night. You say you hate me, but holy fuck do I hate you more. I—HATE—YOU—MORE," he held the Dark Lord's face in his hands and burned him.

They howled at each other while his skin bubbled and melted away.

'…That's enough.' Tom thought.

The instant he woke, Tom was on the defensive, wand in hand while he scrambled to push all memory of involvement in the dream into hiding; rolled off the bed when the Dark Lord tried to drag him off, spells flying not long after.

"Hey! Hey! HEY!" Harry yelped when the curses turned green, and leapt across the Dark Lord's bed to escape him, Nagini contorting on the floor and making it difficult, "What the fuck I didn't do this?"

Voldemort was feral, eyes wild, breathing like he'd nearly drowned—chest heaving, hands shaking, the Elder wand in danger of snapping—light popping from his palms like strobes.

Nagini was human; the three of them were cramped in the small room, and the wallpaper was singed and smoking. Bed Sheet had come off, floating above Harry's bed, mouth un-stitching, seeming undecided in advancing.

"…What happened?" Nagini asked, slowly stepping in front of the Dark Lord, one hand outstretched.

He took her arm and Disapparated.

"What was that?" He asked out loud, just thinking it didn't feel like enough.

"First…" Tom trailed off into thought, 'A lesson. Like he wants to help you. Help us. But then it was as though he didn't. I believe he spoke some of the prophecy we have not heard; I cannot tell if any of it was intentional.'

'A lesson in what, though?'

'Harry… A lesson on Voldemort.'

Bed Sheet returned to his shoulders, and he stood purposelessly in the tiny room. 'You're being vague? He was just being an asshole? I don't get it?'

'He was showing you what works.'

"…What works." He repeated, understanding as he said it, "…No, I don't like that."

'Don't you?'

Harry ignored Tom's tone and how his heart felt like it would burst clear of his chest and decided he was done standing still.

He didn't wander the dark hallways of Malfoy Manor long before he crossed paths with Lucius and Draco.

"Harry Potter." The elder Malfoy was immediately posturing, and Harry rolled his eyes.

"Not so long ago, I would be simply breath-taken to find you wandering my manor unchaperoned."

"Sure."

Draco had gone pink, trying to get his father's attention without words.

"And yet here we are. Here you are."

"Yep. Well spotted," Harry said.

"And why is it that you are here, hm, Potter? An elaborate ruse?"

He laughed while Tom stepped forward, which probably made him look unhinged. "Imagine how stupid I'd feel at this point, Lucius. Everyone's dead. What fucking ruse."

"Father," Draco's voice was surprisingly steady, warning enough to draw Lucius's attention, "I'm going back to Hogwarts. Should I take him with me?"

"I had other plans for you this morning."

"I can run drills with Blaise."

Harry raised an eyebrow at the blatant lie and pursed his lips to fight the smirk.

"…Why are you unchaperoned?" Lucius asked.

"Voldemort tried to kill me," Harry shrugged.

There was a long, confused silence.

"Happens all the time," he shrugged again, "If he cares where I went, he knows how to find me." He was walking, dragged Draco with him, and hoped the blonde's father didn't bother mentioning ever having seen him.

Unlikely.

"Okay, first," Draco began the instant they were out of earshot. He gestured wildly at Bed Sheet. "There are rumours your cloak ate Finnigan? No one has seen him. And I watched it eat Smith. Grangers scratched up like she got caught in a sack of Kneazles."

"His name is Bed Sheet," Harry said.

"…Right. And second," he stopped in the foyer, "—It won't eat me, will it?"

"He. I don't think so."

"…You don't think so?" Draco squawked, then glanced around, "The Dark Lord tried to kill you this morning? Just casually?"

"I don't think it was super casual. But yeah, he threw a few wordless green curses."

"…Second, your Horcrux?" He shuddered, and Harry moved him toward the front doors.

They hadn't encountered anyone else, but he wasn't about to risk it.

"Best not to talk out loud about him ever," Harry muttered, gravel crunching underfoot.

"Okay. Yeah."

"Bed Sheet ate Seamus," He said when they reached the gates, six masked Death Eaters stationed alongside it, "Who told you that?"

"When? Pansy heard it somewhere; I didn't ask."

"I dunno, Sunday? Monday? Who cares when." He decided as he said it that it had to have been Monday.

"…Where are you landing?" Draco asked.

"You know it's better if we aren't seen together," Harry muttered.

"I don't understand why?"

"Mutual. I'll see you in Reed's head." He Disapparated before the blonde responded, reappearing outside the boat house, fairly sure Draco wouldn't choose the Apparition point with countless stairs.

He had almost a dozen hours to himself and used them to brood. Dissecting Crux's dream, even though Tom didn't want a second of it, didn't seem inclined to help him understand. As though enough had been said.

'Doesn't it feel like… I don't know.' He couldn't readily pinpoint what it felt like.

Like they were being played. Like he couldn't understand his Horcrux's intentions. He knew Tom couldn't either. In too deep to reverse, under Crux's thumb and his whim. He didn't think it out loud, didn't particularly want to drive Tom's mood further into the ditch. Harry figured he heard him think it anyway. If he did, he didn't respond to it.

When the Dark Mark burned—just after nightfall, he'd watched the sunset from his bed—the sting was aggressive. Urgent. The map told him that the Dark Lord was outside the school, with Cassiopeia, Nagini, Lydia, and over fifty students and Death Eaters, the number growing as he watched. Fear dropped him out of bed, boots on before he inhaled, Bed Sheet ruffled by his adrenaline.

If Voldemort's mood had followed him through the day—undoubtedly, if the look on his face that morning was any indication—he might have been about to commit a thoughtless massacre. To self-soothe.

He flew down the stairs, three or four at a time, wand in hand to catch himself if he did launch too enthusiastically. Hyper-aware that he'd seen Ginny's name on the map. Luna. Reed. Draco. With them likely came the others, but he'd left the map on his bed. The Mark hadn't stopped burning, insistent on his arm, pulsing as he bolted for the entrance hall.

Tom took over his breathing when it became clear it wasn't happening on autopilot, lightheaded when he pushed through the crowd gathered around the heavy doors. Some were trying to come back through, a few screaming, others laughing, almost pandemonium.

It didn't take him too long to figure out why they were panicked; the floor was covered in dark green frogs. Hundreds of them, some of them squashed in the commotion. By the time Harry shoved through the students, staff, and Death Eaters, the shrieking picked up in earnest, and all attempts to get out of the school became attempts to get back in as a swarm of flying insects hit the school like a wall. His wand was in his hand but he didn't think to use it.

Instead, the bugs—loud as they swarmed, locusts, Tom told him—were burned out of the sky by a wave of golden heat. By then, Harry, Nagini, Cassiopeia, and the Dark Lord were the only ones still standing in the courtyard, overwhelmed by locusts and frogs. He used the curse, swept the stones with it, then arced it through the air—Voldemort doing the same, gold-red and black-green splashing into each other, almost uncontrollable under collision— before he asked Cassiopeia what the fuck was going on, yelling over the hissing buzz.

"It's funny you should ask," she was deflecting the bugs, too, but Harry didn't think she seemed bothered or surprised, "Okay, we get it!" She shouted, at whom, Harry wasn't sure.

Almost instantly, the plague was gone, and he gratefully dropped the curse. In their place stood the Almadrasat Alsihria Kom Ombo students—over fifty in total—their headmaster before them with his hands on his hips. Shirtless despite the fact it was November. Present despite the fact it was November. His bright blue eyes said mischief, but his expression was something like anger.

"Cassiopeia." Voldemort spat, spinning to face her.

The staff, students, and Death Eaters filed back out, chattering and falling silent in waves.

"Me? Why me? Why are you looking at me?" The vampire held her hands up as though the Dark Lord had a gun. "…Okay, it was partially me, but also," she gestured at Har-im-hotep, and the Djinn made a 'Come here' motion.

Voldemort didn't move. "I know you know I said December. I heard you say it." Any word said aloud in public seemed to hurt him physically.

Har stepped forward, gave the impression that he was admonishing a toddler, hands still on his hips, "And yet if you tried to prove it in any court of law, you'd have absolutely nothing to substantiate that claim. You know I cannot read. Or speak English. Just like you, apparently, ignoring all attempts at correspondence. We need to talk."

His students were silent behind him, dressed in white, not shivering. And, Harry noticed with a decent amount of discomfort, all staring at him.

"I have had enough of fate," The Dark Lord said.

"Unfortunately, fates not had nearly enough of you." The Djinn looked at Harry while he spoke to Voldemort.

He could feel hundreds of eyes on them and at once decided that it was undesirable and the one thing he could control. Harry raised his arm and summoned the darkness again, though instead of popping frogs and locusts, he herded the residents of Hogwarts back inside. Careful not to touch them, but happy enough to scare them.

"What is going on?' He wondered.

'I… Don't know. It appears Voldemort has been avoiding Har-im-hotep. Cassiopeia has not avoided him.'

'Is this what she was talking about when she said help was on the way?'

'…I hope not.'

"You will leave and return in December if you possess an iota of sense," Voldemort said.

Harry watched him almost exclusively, trying to get a read on his mood. On how bad it was precisely.

"Did you have anything to do with this? Don't fucking lie to me." The Dark Lord spun on him as though he felt the assessment.

"…I had no idea. I still don't know what's going on?" Harry figured the rushed Parseltongue and the swearing meant he was still pretty mad.

"…I Thought we might stay until December. A long way to travel, you understand. And it seems the only way I can be sure my words reach your head is by witnessing your head," Har said.

"Why do you always blame Harry? How could he possibly have been talking with Har, with you watching him all the time?" Nagini asked, her hands also on her hips.

Cassiopeia put her hands on her hips, too, though she couldn't have understood the serpent tongue.

"I second that. Everything is always my fault?" Harry said.

"Almost everything is. Almost everything is?! Every problem I have, there you are at the root of it."

"Same? Me too? There's you? I think you're putting way too much stock into things neither of us can control and not even fucking looking at what you've taken-"

"DON'T—START. Cassiopeia get him away from me."

She didn't need to, he Disapparated.