Throne, Saint Mesa

You hate my bad behavior
You cut my loosened tongue
You play the part of savior
I watch you come undone

I bleed applause, I'm fading slow
Alone, distraught, without control
Believe there's freedom, took my soul
I'll burn your shit alive and take the throne

He could tell it was close to midnight, but he didn't want to cast a Tempus and find out how he could screw up telling the time, so, they just assumed he was seventeen.

'…Happy- birthday.'

'Yeah. Great.'

"Oh, there it goes. Sweet seventeen," Cassiopeia stood up from her armchair and dropped a letter from inside her robes on Harry's chest.

He shot up, recognizing Ginny's handwriting.

Harry,

I keep sending letters, just to be sure that they don't come back. It's difficult now, to send them without… Dumbledore is like…

She'd crossed out several lines again.

They say there's going to be a trial, and there are rumours that you'll be there, even though no one knows where you are or…

Another few words were redacted.

They won't let me go, but Hermione is going to be there. I overheard. She told me what she did. She believes it was you who killed Ron and I…

More missing sentences.

I miss you horribly. Everything is all wrong. Please be alright.

Ginny.

"How many letters… Are there?" Harry asked.

"Oh, she's a prolific writer, that one. I've lost count."

"And why would you give us this one?" Tom asked.

"It's your birthday. Yay. Surprise," she deadpanned, but Tom was suspicious.

He scanned the letter again, searching for significance. Apart from Hermione being present at his trial, there was no revealing information. Tom doubted that the Dark Lord would care about Hermione Granger, and Harry agreed.

"You're not about to… Let me reply, are you?" Harry asked, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

She searched his face and leaned forward, "I'll give you three words."

She produced a piece of parchment and a quill from the same pocket she'd taken the letter from while Harry's mouth fell open.

"Give us six," Tom insisted.

"What?" She scoffed, "God, give an inch. Fine."

Ginny,

I'm okay. Don't do anything.

He gave her the letter and she read it, a tiny smile on her face as she left the room.

'She likes you,' Tom said, 'There is no way the Dark Lord allowed us to reply. Even the second letter it… Served no purpose.'

'Or maybe she knows you care about Ginny,' Harry had thought it idly, though it seemed to hit Tom like a sucker punch.

'I- no, I- you care… I just…'

"Settle down, it's true and not a big deal."

Harry began to occupy every waking minute with movement. He'd climb up and down the trees at the edge of the Malfoy property line, sprint until he couldn't, drop to the ground and do as many push-ups or sit-ups as he could stand on a cycle. Tom was itching for a fight, but Cassiopeia refused his requests.

He didn't let Tom practice with their magic, either. They both knew there was no need; it would obey them with intense sensitivity. He wouldn't need to apply effort; they'd already done the learning. Tom just wanted to play with it, and Harry was less keen.

So, he ran until his lungs and legs gave out instead, the nervous energy around the trial building the closer the date came. Voldemort still hadn't said anything about his desire to have Harry kill Dumbledore, even after he'd been Portkeyed back to the Malfoy Manor following the Dark Lord murdering Grindelwald; a memory that Tom often examined, his thoughts racing and held at arm's length from the Boy Who Lived.

Late at night on the second of August, the telltale cracks of Apparition sounded outside the manor, far more than he'd heard the first time. Cassiopeia was with him, reading, idly watching Harry watch through the curtain as hundreds of Death Eaters trailed into the manor in full regalia. The sight sped his heart rate up, their sheer numbers made his hands shake even when Tom told him that they were no longer a threat.

"Yeah. Not to me," he said out loud.

Cassiopeia sniggered and Harry turned to look at her but didn't say anything. He guessed there were around six hundred Death Eaters beneath his feet.

"-Narcissa. So, I looked into the legislation around-" Cassiopeia was saying, before he interrupted her.

"You said he talks in his sleep?" He'd rather Narcissa didn't hear something telling from the brat's mouth.

"It's usually in Parseltongue- as I was saying, I looked into the legislation around necromancy and it's archaic, as I suspected…"

"And you're wasting your time with that right now because…"

"Ah. Viva la… Equality," she tried.

"The Weasley?" He rolled his eyes and sat back in the armchair.

"Fine, yes, I don't think it's very fair that a true necromancer should accidentally resurrect their brother in a moment of hopelessness and then rot away in Azkaban for it ahh you got me," she put her hands up in surrender.

"You believe she is a true necromancer?" As he said it, he realized it had to be the case.

"Surprised you hadn't said as much yourself, she's not old enough to be animating anything more than mice and birds, and I can't imagine necromancy was in the Weasley Summer School roster."

He hadn't cared enough to consider it, wildly busy besides, "And you want to…"

"Are you thick?" She clicked her fingers at him, "We get that old prick back in the country after we change the legislation. Get the little Necromancer all trained up and cozy with the Boy Who Lived…"

He realised he'd leaned forward.

"I'll get things started," she grinned and stood up.

'I don't like that,' Harry thought immediately.

He could see Narcissa sitting in the white armchair, reading by dim wandlight.

'I will grant you it is not ideal for him to take an interest in her. At least Cassiopeia has stopped suggesting our execution.'

'What did she mean by true necromancer?'

'Well… Necromancy can be learned, like most other forms of magic. It is a difficult craft to master, though, and most do not have the stomach nor the will to advance it. So, it is a dying art. On occasion there are those with a proclivity… In much the same way that one can be gifted in any of the nuances of magic, one can be gifted with what is called 'true' necromancy. Ginny is too young to be anything but a true necromancer. An impressive one.'

He couldn't sleep after that, perpetually frowning at the ceiling while his mind raced.

On the fifth, they were finally summoned to speak with the Dark Lord, told by Narcissa in the early hours of the morning that he would be seeing them after lunch. Both had concluded that this was 'The Discussion'. Tom was rehearsing their demands in their head over and over while Harry insisted that he wasn't going to agree even if it meant that he was trapped there, even if he wanted it. He wasn't a murderer. He didn't have it in him. Didn't want to have it in him.

'I will do it.'

'That's not really what I meant.'

'You want to.'

'Not really what I meant either.'

Narcissa collected him from his favourite tree when it was time, a knot in his stomach as he followed her through the manor. She told him she'd wait for him nearby, then nodded for him to enter the dining room. Nagini wasn't inside, and Harry found it annoyed him. His heart thundered, he kept his eyes on the table as he crossed to it and sat down. As usual, it was Tom's job to keep their movements fluid while they were rocked with adrenaline.

Tom glanced up at the Dark Lord, registered his empty glass and looked back down at the wood. Harry was both unable and unwilling to reign in the hatred he felt when he looked at Voldemort, and so they both avoided it.

'Do you truly wish to stay in the Malfoy Manor? Potentially never to see any of the people you love again, have no say in what happens after the inevitable has come to pass?'

'All I have to do is murder Dumbledore.'

'When you stand before him in the moment Harry I swear to you, it will come naturally.'

Harry didn't say that that was exactly what he was afraid of. That he would find it easy. That it would soothe the rabid hatred that had been bubbling like tar in his heart. That he would raise his hand with a savage smile on his face and it would be…

"Your trial date is fast approaching. The headmaster will be in attendance on the day, to testify against you. I do, however, believe he is still holding onto the hope that you are redeemable. You will crush that hope for him," the Dark Lord was reading Harry's face as he spoke, "After the trial, it will be clearer to him where your loyalties lie. Time will be-"

"Wai- wha- my loyalties? I'm not-" he'd been about to say 'not loyal to you' but Tom snapped their mouth shut.

The Dark Lord's lips went white as he ducked his head, eyes momentarily blank before he looked back up at the Boy Who Lived.

"Tell me, Harry Potter. What do you envision? Do you believe if you say the right words to the great Albus Dumbledore you will be ushered back? That if you hold onto your hope that all will be well, it will come to pass? Do you see yourself returning to the arms of the Order, welcomed home a stricken hero? Tell me, I am… So curious."

"No," Harry spat, jaw tight.

It was what he wanted. But he wasn't delusional. The Dark Lord smiled wide. It didn't reach his eyes.

"…There will be a small window in which to act," the grin grew wider, "My followers and I will infiltrate the castle. As will you. There, you will kill Albus Dumbledore."

He didn't panic as he met Voldemort's eyes, who smirked at the head of the table. He'd known this was coming, and it took some of his breath away, but most of his adrenaline came from the same song and dance with Tom; the will we or won't we murder Dumbledore number that was starting to grow old. The Dark Lord stopped smirking and narrowed his eyes, examining their hesitation.

"Why me?" Harry finally asked.

"Present me with someone better," Voldemort said, rolling the empty glass at an angle along the table, "And I will still have you do it. Of course, if you would prefer to stay…" He gestured to the dining room and the manor beyond it, eyes flashing.

"Once you take Hogwarts you plan to keep us there?" Tom asked, though they already knew the answer.

"If you carry out the order, yes."

"And if we do not…" Tom gestured to the dining room.

The Dark Lord said nothing.

"What do you plan to do with the School. Once you have it," Tom asked, more of a demand than a question.

"How interesting that you do not reject the proposition outright…" The Dark Lord clicked his fingers and a house elf appeared, a bottle of amber liquid in its shaking hands as it poured him another drink, "I have enforced mandatory attendance for all magical youth in the country. They will be taught properly. Under my watch," he sipped it then pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Taught… Properly?" Harry pressed.

He thought of Ginny suddenly, how he couldn't help her, couldn't see her. Harry was sure that if he refused the Dark Lord would find another way, and that their usefulness would cease to bolster them, lose them bargaining power. Then she would be at whatever mercy remained at the school. At the mercy of Voldemort, who was freshly equipped with the knowledge and realization that she was useful to him. Mandatory attendance changed things, it put so many children with light-leaning families under the enforced care of Death Eaters. Voldemort ignored his question.

"If we had terms?" Tom said carefully.

The Dark Lord took another mouthful of his drink, but Harry saw his lips twitch, a minute frown, "They are?"

"We are free to discuss the Vow with Ginny Weasley. That she is not harmed regardless of her position, or lack thereof, in the Order; or with you. That she has a choice. That the school largely remains… What it has always been, that we have a say in who you station there, and a say in the treatment of the students," he spoke rapidly.

'Tom…' Harry hadn't agreed out loud, or at all, his heart hammering with the implication that terms were being set.

That he would be moving as a pawn on Voldemort's behalf, that his actions would decide outcomes that he couldn't even readily fathom…

'You no longer need to think about that part,' Tom crooned.

The Dark Lord placed his drink on the table, his face finally schooled expressionless, "I find the terms acceptable," he paused, "Do you?"

He thought about Ginny, Neville, Luna, even Hermione, Pansy, and Draco. All of them. And he thought about the molten rage that had festered, how he wanted to relieve it, how it was sometimes all he could think about. He thought about how Tom was convinced -since he'd seen Grindelwald's face at the sight of them- that they were destined to do it.

"…Yes- I'll- We'll do it," Harry's heart palpitated as he spoke, Tom kept his hands and voice as steady as possible.

There was a sick thrill radiating at the thought of ending Dumbledore, mostly Tom's but Harry shared it. It squirmed as though it were alive in his gut, making him shift uncomfortably and frown at the table.

The Dark Lord laughed then, a loud crack of sound that startled him in his seat.

"Well, now, would you look…" He began as he stood, eyes not leaving Harry, "At yourself."

He laughed again, longer, nearly manic. The Boy Who Lived kept his eyes averted. Shame radiated from him and made him shrink.

"Incredible. Return to your quarters," the Dark Lord ordered when he regained composure.

"-believe it," Cassiopeia said, eyes wide.

"He… Readily agreed. They… had- terms," he told her.

The thrill of the victory had worn off considerably afterwards, and he knew the vampire noticed his twitching, the way he pinched the bridge of his nose repeatedly, shook his head. At first, she had joked about needing pain relief for his migraines, but she had long since given that up for plain suspicion.

"Terms? What terms?"

"He wants the necromancer immune, so you," he paused, sighed, shook his head while she frowned, "You were right about that… He wants a say in how I run the school."

She stopped frowning and laughed at that, "So he knew you were going to ask then?"

"He was not overly shocked to see Grindelwald or to hear the proposition."

"Jesus, how often is he in your head?" She leaned across the space and squinted at him like she might see him in there right then.

"I… Don't know."

"Strong little fucking thing, isn't it? Any regrets?"

"Several."

"Tom… Sometimes when I watch them, they seem…" She hesitated, trailing off before she spoke again, "They seem- close?"

"I know."

Over the next week, Harry retreated into his head, allowing Tom to carry them through the days while he absently watched, feeling equal parts sick and ravenous. The trial was four days away and he had learned nothing else. He wasn't privy to the plan, just that his part was to feign complete ignorance to the first three murders, then commit a fourth.

Tom said that the Dark Lord was likely angling for an Imperius and Obliviation defence, that he would be best served acting as though he'd been cursed and had completed none of the actions under his will, nor did he remember the events themselves, or the events that inspired them. He didn't know if he was going to face the Wizengamot by himself, but he did know that Dumbledore and Hermione would be there, which made his stomach roll each time he thought about it.

He'd been sitting on his bed, staring at a tray of food, ruminating on all of it when his door blasted open. Tom shot up, already calling the curse, but relaxing it slightly when he saw Voldemort, Cassiopeia behind him.

"Resist," the Dark Lord said as he attempted to enter their mind with full force.

Tom did resist, violently, he snapped the cord as it touched them; sending a shock of the curse back in return, which gave Harry a sick sense of satisfaction. Voldemort winced minutely, straightened, and marched back out. Cassiopeia took her place on the white seat, grinning at him like she always was.

"So. Close. Now," she punctuated each word with a clap, "Are you as excited as I am, snake boy?"

"Yes," Tom said without hesitation, while Harry frowned.

'So are you,' he added mentally.

'No,' Harry insisted, though he was practically a billboard.

"He seems confident we won't be facing any charges," Tom said out loud.

"He does seem confident, doesn't he?" She opened her jaw wide, "Like a fatal flaw of his, almost."

Tom carried them through the flurry of the following days, avoiding three run-ins with Zabini, who seemed on all counts to be attempting suicide. At least that was what Tom kept thinking.

While Harry was wallowing in his reality, Tom took several liberties with their magic. He used it for everything, reached it across the table for the butter, summoned books three feet from him, speared mosquitoes' mid-flight while they sat in the grass at twilight, as he blatantly ignored Harry's protesting. He watched Tom admire the beauty of it almost nightly, summoning the green glow like a night light, snaking the curse around the bubble to throw writhing shadows around the room, while the pain spread through him in a now familiar and nearly soothing pulse.

He'd convinced Draco to take him to the library and let him wander. Pansy had joined them, her curiosity surrounding the Boy Who Lived had become infectious and they would often see her whispering frantically with Daphne and Astoria, while they watched Tom's every move.

Tom meandered the shelves, followed closely by Pansy and Draco, while he craned his neck to see the titles closer to the vaulted ceiling.

"…Any books on necromancy?" He asked, running his fingers along the spines.

"I- Necromancy?" Draco coughed.

"Yes. Necromancy."

"Uh, there's loads of books in here?"

Tom shot Draco a look, and the blonde shook his head in bewilderment but moved. They followed him, and Pansy followed them, grinning ear to ear.

The Malfoy Accioed a title once he'd walked a little way into the shelves, and cautiously passed it to Tom, who turned it over in his hands. Thicker and older than the book they'd seen Ginny with. While Tom recognized the symbols, again he couldn't read them.

"Can I keep this?" He asked nonchalantly.

"Keep- keep it?"

"Mmm. Keep it."

"Uh…" The blonde looked at Pansy as though for confirmation, who shrugged and shook her head, looking bewildered and thrilled all at once, "I mean, okay?"

"Thank you," Harry said.