Words as weapons, Seether

Keep me dumb, keep me paralyzed
Why try swimming, I'm drowning in fable
You're not that saint, that you externalize
You're not anything at all

It's oh so playful when you demonize
To spit out the hateful, you're willing and able
Words are weapons of the terrified
You're nothing in my world

Say can you help me, right before the fall
Take what you can and lead me to the wolves

Hermione found him at breakfast a few minutes after Ginny had stormed away. She replaced the tracking spell nonverbally, presumably under the table, while she frowned at him. The thing in his head was incensed as it alerted him, angrier than he'd ever felt it. Harry fought it and his own rage down as he locked eyes with her. He knew he was glaring as he entered her head but didn't try to stop it.

"-Understand why it's not sticking… Can't find anything in the library about the Room of Requirement, can never find him afterwards but then he just comes back downstairs to the Common Room? Dumbledore swears that he hasn't found anything strange, that I should be less aggressive, but he's just getting worse and worse… There's no way that he could possibly… But he's always looking at me like-"

The thing pulled its magic back.

'Stop scowling directly into her head and eat your breakfast,' it snapped. Harry obeyed, refocusing on the food he'd been ignoring and pretending Hermione had never sat down in the first place.

Two days later, in defence, the thing in his head resumed its needling about letting it practice on Snape.

'Legilimency is much different when used against Occlumency,' it had said this before.

'And so, the risk of getting caught is insane,' Harry had said that before, too. He was squeezing his quill too tight, bending it, as he kept his eyes firmly away from the Defence professor.

'Your fear of the truth is boring me,' it told him while he ignored it, 'Don't you want to know what he swore? Why?'

'He swore to help Malfoy. I don't care why anymore.'

'And what about Dumbledore?'

This gave Harry pause. There were several questions he'd like to cross reference in that man's head.

'And so first, we fry smaller fish,' it insisted.

'I wish you'd shut up,' Harry told it, heart hammering as he looked up at Snape, who was looking over the room and talking about the danger of underestimating a dragon.

'I know,' it said as it threw its magic across the room, landing with feather lightness on the man's eyes.

Harry watched, blood thrumming in his ears as the thing entered Snape's mind with surgical precision. Everything inside was walled shut, mountainous structures with no visible give cropped up in the man's mindscape like colossal tombstones.

'Occlumency appears and acts differently in each person. A unique signature and style of protection. Snape's is formidable, some of the most impressive Occlumency I've ever seen. I'm familiar with his mind, but there are places even I have been unable to access,' it told him as it moved fluidly between the structures.

It seemed to know where it was going as it snaked through his head.

'When I show you this, I want your assurance that you will not react. You understand the situation we would be in.'

So, it already knew what it was going to show him. 'Well, that's ominous, maybe just show me what he had for breakfast?'

'If you can't control your reaction, I will. If you'll allow it,' it had paused outside a memory, older than most of the others.

'I… How bad is it?' Harry was aware that they didn't have much time; that Snape would eventually stop talking and break eye contact with the room.

'It will raise several questions, I'm sure.'

'Well… Then…' Harry paused, debating, wanting to see it, and wanting anything but to see it, 'Do it first. Control my emotions first.'

There was a flicker of surprise before it did as he asked, then wormed into the memory through a crack in its facade.

Harry saw a little red-headed girl from Snape's perspective, maybe nine years old, her green eyes twinkling as Snape transformed the falling leaves of a tree into tiny fluttering birds, flitting about her face and getting caught in her hair as she giggled.

'Your mother,' the voice said, sounding like it was standing right behind him.

The instant it spoke it quickly but gently removed its magic from the Defence professor's head. It was right. It did raise several questions.

'Why would you show me that,' Harry asked first, eyes back to being glued on his parchment while he used the emotion-free time to digest what he'd seen logically. The two of them barely seemed old enough to be Hogwarts students, both of them dressed in plain clothes. So, they'd met beforehand?

'I feel it is important, but I've only been able to guess why. You know almost as much as I do, now.'

'Almost.'

'Almost,' it repeated.

'Why would he give up my parents if they were… Friends?' Harry wondered, and there was a long pause.

'There were… Two possibilities. He seemed to have hope that your mother wouldn't be the… Target.'

'Give me my emotions back now.'

'Are you sure that is… Wise?'

'Now,' he repeated, standing up and walking out of the classroom, ignoring Snape calling after him. As he did the detention that was threatened if the Chosen One didn't return to his seat right now.

It waited until he was clear of the room to release his emotions, and he was overcome with them. Confusion and rage, the rage mostly directed at the thing in his head. For showing him, for existing, and for playing a part in killing his parents. He hated it for being part of the man who'd ruined it all, for one line of a prophecy. He could feel the thing retreating from his ire, so he made sure it heard him.

'For one line that was fucking fabricated,' he hissed in his head, 'Two possibilities? Why not kill all the options and be thorough for once in your life Tom?'

He'd stopped his tirade instantly when he noticed that he'd called it Tom, both shocked into silence.

He refused to acknowledge it for several days after that and it seemed fine to let him, until the morning of the Slytherin versus Ravenclaw Quidditch match.

'It's been a week,' it said, referring to the spell and the familiar hunger beginning to itch.

He was sat in the stands, watching the teams enter the pitch. Ron and Hermione either side of him, though none of them had exchanged a kind word all day. All week. Harry thought that they weirdly felt like sentinels. Like gargoyles.

He spotted Malfoy's blonde head on the pitch. So, he'd been reinstated on the team. Suddenly not as busy? Harry wondered, not for the first time, what the three disasters that the Dark Lord referred to were. He was one of them, he'd assumed. But what were the other two? Why had things gone so quiet? Harry felt like any problem he presented had been swiftly dealt with by the Vows.

Hermione startled him by talking, "I saw Professor Dumbledore in the halls after dinner last night. He asked me to tell you he'd like to see you this evening." Her tone was wooden and formal. Harry just nodded. He knew the headmaster hadn't told her this in passing in the halls, but it made no difference.

Harry finally silently acknowledged that it was time to cast as he watched the players kick off into the air. He was fairly certain Slytherin had the Cup in the bag that year. Malfoy was a better seeker than the Ravenclaw offering by a mile, and so Harry stood up, Hermione and Ron following him without a word as he left the stands.

The things he had felt, learned, and seen were beginning to leave deep marks inside his head. He felt unreal as he dragged himself across the grounds, "friends" in tow, feeling hollow, sick, and numb.

He'd frequently thought about how it felt when the thing had controlled his body. How it felt to be trapped inside his head, however willingly. He didn't like thinking about how it would feel if he were unwilling. Like it was. He usually followed these thoughts up with awe at how powerful the thing was. How it moved, cast, reacted. Leagues above him. Thriving in it. He wanted that; he was past denying it. That thought would invariably bring up the same questions. Why, if this was his enemy, practically preternatural in battle, was his education so lacking? So lacking that it felt deliberate?

He hadn't even thought about Snape and his mother, every time he broached it, on purpose or by accident, he'd build a rage he felt like he couldn't hold.

Harry didn't say anything to Ron or Hermione as they entered the Common Room, nor did he say anything when he ascended the dormitory stairs, locking himself in his curtains, silencing them, then casting the solid ward.

'You know why it feels deliberate?' It asked.

"Because it's deliberate," Harry bit out.

'Do you remember when I said I could show you how often he'd used Legilimency on you?'

"I don't want to know," he growled, but he did want to know; it knew he did, so it showed him anyway.

It felt as though almost every interaction he'd ever had with the headmaster whipped past his mind's eye, bound by the same silver thread Dumbledore used to see into his head. Countless times a year, searching over and over for… Something. When it finally stopped, he realised that tears were streaming freely down his cheeks.

"I- said I didn't want to know," it came out in a whisper, and before it could reply, "Liquida Tenebris."

As it crushed him, it, and his thoughts, he realised he was still crying.

He'd let the way it felt wash him out entirely until sometime past the start of lunch. He didn't want to get out of bed even once he felt like he was able. Outside seemed worse than inside as he dragged himself for food, the spell doing little for his sour mood. Hermione had apparently waited for him the entire time, looking at him with suspicion from an armchair.

"I was taking a nap, alright with you?" He snapped before he could stop it.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd taken a nap. And he hadn't been taking one, but that felt beside the point. It was far, far more likely that he was napping over feeding a piece of Voldemort its dark breakfast while it showed him all the times the headmaster had betrayed his trust.

She looked appalled and returned to her book, not following him out of the portrait hole for once.

"I'm afraid I have unfortunate news about the Horcrux we were searching for, Harry," Dumbledore began as Harry sat down; ready when the headmaster entered his mind; his face a mask, "It seems as though the trail has gone cold."

Harry narrowed his eyes while the thing in his head scrambled for the thought that this was somehow Harry's fault; that Voldemort had been warned by either his thoughts or his memories, "What do you mean, Sir? It's lost?"

"Well, you could say it was always lost," Dumbledore said, more to himself as he turned over the Chosen One's memories, shaking them for details, "But I have lost all trace of it."

"Of course, as always I will alert you at once when I have word." The headmaster said, smiling sadly over his spectacles as he sent Harry out into the night feeling worse than he started.

Harry once again fell into an uneasy rhythm, Ginny avoiding him with expert precision, Ron avoiding him in all other ways, Hermione scowling at him whenever he breathed in her presence. Interspersed by the thing in his head needling, questioning, agitating him. While he felt guilty and hated it for making him feel that way. When he slept, he saw its memories, or it saw his.

By Thursday it told him the spell was due. They were set to see Cassiopeia on Saturday, and neither of them had broached the subject of who was going to fight the vampire. He cast the spell that night, letting it knock him unconscious.

Friday brought more weird, pointed looks from Malfoy, and so he'd found him during the break. Ron and Hermione were busy fighting over lunch when he snuck away, finding the Slytherin in a second-floor bathroom with Zabini on the map. He'd been running and all but kicked the bathroom door open. Anxious to get it over with without bringing Hermione's attention to it.

Both Slytherins had screamed, jumping apart when he entered, Zabini tucking something quickly into his robes. Harry found that he didn't care. The dark-skinned Slytherin stared at the Boy Who Lived until the blonde shooed Zabini out of the bathroom.

"Here," Malfoy said, once he was gone, producing another white envelope, "I'm not supposed to ask what that is, so I won't."

"Okay…" Harry said, shaking his head, exiting the bathroom, and stuffing the letter into his inner pocket.

It burned a hole there until bedtime, Hermione hadn't let him out of her sight since he'd vanished for fifteen minutes at lunch. He stuffed it under his pillow as he got ready for bed, then lit the inside of his curtains with the tip of his wand once he was locked inside. He tore open the envelope immediately.

Henceforth, I allow Harry James Potter to discuss the nature and contents of his Vow with the witch known as Cassiopeia Maria Bearstrom.

Tom Marvolo Riddle

There was a small blot of what looked like blood on the letter, and the paper itself hummed with magic he couldn't identify.

'I want to talk to her,' it said as soon as he'd finished scanning the words.

Harry knew it would want that, but Harry was suddenly far more wary. What would it say to her, with free reign? What would she say to it? Harry could feel it deflate as his paranoia grew.

Unbidden he thought about the panic he'd watched it go through when it came time to give up its freedom; the way it had just wanted to sit in her presence, and he felt guilt rising like bile.

'I don't owe you anything!' Harry snapped inside his head when he felt it watching his train of thought.

'Well aware.'

Harry shook his head, frowning hard.

'I can't really expect you to go in and talk to her with my best interests at heart,' he continued.

'No, you can't.'

'It's a stupid idea. I don't understand why he would go through all that effort to make the Vow and then let her in on it.'

'She is Cassiopeia.'

Harry's heart hammered as he tried to understand why he still felt like he was more likely to allow it than not. All the reasons not to aside…

'Fine. Fine. Fine! Talk to her,' he'd snapped, rolling over angrily as he jammed his eyes shut.

By Saturday night the thing had suggested that they Obliviate Hermione. It had suggested 'to infancy', to be precise. Harry could feel it pacing corner to corner in his head, agitated. They had no further ideas on what to do with Hermione, as Harry wasn't about to Obliviate her. Though she was proving to be a colossal nuisance. The Chosen One was taking solace that she seemed to still suspect it was the room doing the cutting of the tracking spell. That if he made it to the room fast enough, he would be pretty much walking right back out.

Which was the only plan. So, that's what he did. He broke into a sprint as soon as he was free from the portrait hole.

He was more nervous than he was the first time, the lack of the Vow in her presence changed the situation. As soon as he came to stand in front of the cabinet the thing in his head was pulling on the threads of his control, begging it gently from his hands. He fought hyperventilation as he let go, falling backward into his mind, losing all sensation as though he'd fallen into the ocean.

It tucked his belongings in the usual drawer and entered the cabinet. Harry was debating whether or not he should just make himself small, try and ignore the intensity of its emotions and the meeting altogether. It was as nervous as he was. Possibly more so, but it was also thrilled. There was something else, too, crowded out on purpose and hidden from his mind's eye. Harry was still trying to work out how to not watch when Narcissa Apparated them to the now familiar house.

It thanked her then ran to the building, bursting through the door before Narcissa had Disapparated. Cassiopeia was sitting in the high-backed chair, Nagini at her feet. Both watched them enter. The vampire gestured for it to sit, and it did. Harry could feel his heart leaping with adrenaline as she smiled at them.

She scanned his face for a moment. Searching for it, Harry assumed. It didn't say anything or change its expression as she watched but her eyes lit in recognition regardless.

"I have some questions," she began, "Tell me how it is you're controlling his body?"

"He has to allow it," it told her.

She startled them both by squawking, half laugh half disbelieving shriek.

"He has to allow it?" She repeated, incredulous, "How on Earth would you get him to allow it?"

Harry felt a slow smile form on his face. Smug. He then noticed that she was reading from something in her lap.

"Alright, don't tell me, I'll guess. Okay… Dreams. Tell me about… Dreams? It just says dreams," She flapped the small notebook in the air.

The mention of dreams wiped the smile off Harry's face.

"He… Dreams- when he dreams, most often, they are my memories. Sometimes, they're his." Harry could see several more thoughts pop up at this that it quickly hid.

This only served to bring his attention to the discussion with more interest.

"Let me ask you something, Cassiopeia, what does he dream about?" It asked.

She smiled, flashing her fangs in response.

"Liquida Tenebris?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

It sighed, looking from her to the snake, who was also watching him intently.

"Specifically?" It asked when she didn't elaborate.

"Why? I mean… That spell is- you know?" She gestured vaguely with her hand.

"It was his idea," it said, and she guffawed all over again. Harry remembered the dream.

'It was your idea,' the Chosen One snapped.

"Okay, it was both of our ideas," it added when Harry objected.

"And… Why?" She asked again, leaning forward.

"Honestly, I think you and the Dark Lord need to put your heads together and ask yourselves why Liquida Tenebris."

She smirked at him, readjusting in her seat and looking down at the notebook.

"Two… Distinct magical signatures… Who does the casting? Of Liquida Tenebris?" She read out loud.

"We both do," it told her, which was news to Harry. He thought back to when it said "ours".

"You both do?" She shook her head and Harry got to wondering how big a deal the spell was.

"Yes," it deadpanned, "Think. Cassiopeia."

She watched them for a moment, searching their eyes again. She looked down at the notebook once more.

"How much do you remember?" She asked, looking back up.

"Everything." It said without hesitation.

"How much can he see?"

"He can see you right now."

"And what can he see of your memories?" Her eyes had widened when it had told her Harry could see her, but she breezed past it.

"The dreams are involuntary and… In terms of content and risk, random. He can only see my active thoughts when we are like this. I can hide… Some," at its words, Harry saw those thoughts, surfacing then vanishing at their mention, too fast and numerous for him to catch.

"…Noted," she locked eyes with it, and Harry felt it warning her with his face, "And when he's in Tom's head? Voluntary?"

'Noted,' the Chosen Oneparroted.

"No, but…" It gave her a pointed look and the Boy Who Lived wondered if that meant it could be voluntary.

"And… How is he coping?" She asked, not looking at the notebook, making Harry wonder if it was written down.

"Not- not well."

Harry felt it stop itself before it told her about his tendency to hurt himself.

"Does… Does he know?" She sent it a knowing look and the thing in his head fought panic.

"No. Don't," it hissed as it readjusted the stranglehold on its thoughts.

"Alright, okay. That's it for now, cut somewhat short by…" She gestured at Harry's head.

"Wait," it said, as she stood up, "I don't want to go back yet."

She sat back down as quickly as she'd stood and opened a drawer in the desk, taking out a bottle and a glass as she watched them.

"No, I don't suppose you would, would you? Single malt." She said, shaking the bottle, "One of the downsides… I do miss drinking." She winked at them as she leaned across the table, offering the glass she'd poured. It thanked her, taking a small sip, then a longer one.

"Will you tell me what happened?" It asked after a long pause, eyes locked on a sleeping Nagini.

"When?" She laughed.

"After… And then when- And obviously what happened after that. Edited." It said, making no sense to Harry.

"Alright, after that night… I went to Albania, then Peru, then the far-flung half of Russia, for a stint, even though you said that lead was long gone. The whole time I missed you horrifically and I hoped you were dead, instead of…" She shook her head, "I found her in Africa. There's really not a thrilling story to tell though; she turned me, and I loved her. She's gone now, I'd rather skip over that, thank you. Recently… I'll tell you that he's… Changed. That's why I'm here, now."

"…How?" It asked, finishing the drink and putting the glass on the desk. She poured another and handed it back. It downed that one as well. Harry could feel confusion bubbling at her words, for some reason making it wary.

"Good question."

"Even… Changed, why would you return?" It pressed.

"Good question," she repeated, smirking.

It had returned them to the castle four and a half hours later. It had largely sat in silence with her, getting quite drunk while she told it stories about her travels, how she'd nearly died several times, but her hope of kicking the Dark Lord's tombstone over had allegedly kept her going.

It collected Harry's belongings, used the Time-Turner, and put them to bed. He was surprised when it retreated, relinquishing control. Both were drunk and lightly influenced by Liquida Tenebris, so Harry didn't ask his half-baked questions.

'Harry… Thank you.'

He'd nodded, falling asleep, "S'fine, Tom."

(AN: I'm so fuckin excited for chapter 20 that you get 2 in one day.)