A/N:
Edited: March 2020
Chapter 27
At the start of Potions on Monday Harry had just gotten to Zabini's table when Malfoy took the other seat – his seat – without even bothering to look at him. He was clearly still pissed about Harry's sabotage of his Quidditch star status. Harry did a mental shrug and turned to find another spot. At least he'd gotten a blissfully Malfoy-less weekend out of it.
Although he wasn't really sure why he had switched to the Slytherin team, he knew it would annoy the right people.
He beamed when Ron came walking through the doors. His friend gave a smirk in return. Ron had skipped potions class ever since he'd gotten branded, so this was a pleasant surprise. Harry figured it had to do with an often gloating Malfoy, and too few students to keep them out of each other's paths.
He gestured them both to a seat farthest away from Malfoy – which was to say two tables over. There was no room for talking, as they got to work immediately on the list of forty-two steps that Slughorn had waved on the blackboard. They were making a skin-strengthening solution.
Everyone hastened to gather their ingredients. Ron started cutting different plants into long segments with unerring speed. Harry could hardly keep pace.
Ron grinned. "This feels like gardening." He was sweating a bit; the only student that had kept on his outer cloak.
"Right," Harry said. "I'll dissect the frog then."
Unfortunately their table was right next to Nott. He'd already dissected his frogs and was now carefully adding fire to his and Daphne's cauldron. He'd rolled up his sleeves, and Harry's gaze fell on the red, blistered skin of his wrist, dulling the Dark Mark symbol underneath.
Harry swallowed hard, unable to draw his gaze away. Hadn't Nott gone to the infirmary, if the damage was so severe?
Too late he realised he'd been staring, when Nott caught his gaze.
One corner of the boy's mouth drew upwards. He raised the damaged arm ever so slowly as his grey eyes kept Harry rooted, only to pass a hand through his hair – for no reason Harry could see. Then he stretched casually, which made the mark visible to anyone who looked their way.
Daphne did, and Neville behind him.
Nott winked like they shared a secret, then ignored him once more to focus on his cauldron.
"Show-off. Looks nasty," Ron murmured next to him.
"Show-off?"
Ron paused to regard him. He shrugged. "The Dark Dunce summoned him hasn't he, or tortured him, whatever – gave him his personal attention. He'll be insufferable all day."
He went back to cutting, leaving Harry to blink hard at his frog entrails. He had a sinking feeling that Nott was still watching them, so he took up his knife and mindlessly set to work.
888
Later that week, in the confines of his four-poster, his thoughts returned to the Horcruxes still out there. He remembered wanting to explore the attic of the manor during the summer, but he couldn't remember going there. And he'd lost the pouch to destroy them with. Perhaps it was wishful thinking at this point, but he had to believe the pouch was still out there somewhere.
But in the meantime, there was actually something he could do. A creature nearby that had destroyed a Horcrux once before. In the depth of Hogwarts lay the body of the Basilisk. Unless Voldemort had decided to take a peek, it was still there.
He donned his overcoat, careful not to wake anyone, then took the dungeon corridors towards the stairs and up to the third floor. Luckily the halls were deserted as he walked towards the girl's lavatory.
"Myrtle?" His shoulders sagged in relief when there was no answer.
The faucet's snake seemed to wiggle at him.
"Open," he hissed
The tap glided down and vanished without a sound. A void appeared, grotesque in the cramped space. A sudden push against his windpipe made him cough, perishing the thought that Riddle wasn't tracking his every move. Well, he could hardly kill him, right?
"Harry?"
He jumped, then pulled his lips into a wry smile. He turned his neck to regard Myrtle's pearly presence. The pressure on his windpipe eased for him to greet her.
"You came to visit me?"
He nodded.
"I missed you!"
She still hasn't been exorcised…? Riddle remarked, incredulous.
Shut up, he said internally. "I'm glad you're doing well."
"Well?" she returned shrilly. "You think I'm well? This is a terrible year. Those Slytherin girls, coming here to brew their putrid potions, laughing all the time, silencing me!"
"You could go somewhere else," he tried. "I heard Sir Cadogan is a bit lonely these days."
"You know very well that I can't go anywhere else, Harry," she returned with a silvery frown. "This is my home. And I don't think you've visited as much as you promised."
Nuisance, drifted in his mind.
You caused this mess in the first place, he returned.
"Have there been any other visitors besides the Slytherin girls?"
She shook her head. "No… I was waiting for you actually."
We can still exorcize her.
"I'm being watched, so it was hard to get away."
Myrtle stopped carding her silvery hair, blinking her large eyes at him. "You shook off your guard for me?"
"That's right."
He stood, unsure whether to move forwards with his plan. His eyes were drawn to the black tunnel next to his sneakers.
Myrtle clapped her hands. "Let's play a game."
"I can't right now. Listen, I've got to go down there before they notice I'm gone."
She was suddenly right in his face, , eyes narrowed with suspicion. She looked so young that way. It made him wonder about the mental state of a person after they´d witnessed their own gruesome death.
Harry hissed when an unexpected pain spiked along his scar, and an image of a freshly-dead Myrtle assaulted his mind. I hardly touched her at all before I killed her, Riddle supplied.
He shook his head to dispel the scene.
"Why do you have to go there?"
"What?" Harry thought a beat. "Er… I forgot something. Myrtle I've really got to go, we'll talk later all right?"
With that he stepped over the edge into the abys. Myrtle's frustrated followed him downwards, where he landed softly on a pile of dead snakeskin.
The Chamber of Secrets was just as he remembered it: dank, gloomy, with stone snakes of all sizes on the pillars and ceiling. And deathly quiet.
A dank smell made itself known as he passed into the main chamber. The sense of stale air – magical as well as physical – wafted from what was left of the huge Basilisk, which covered at least a third of the chamber's surface.
The carcass was a dry grey husk now, void of fluids. The basilisk's large eyes were still striking. He crouched down on level with her one remaining fang. His arm remembered the pain from its counterpart with a twinge.
The poison was supposed to be rare and powerful. It certainly had taken Tom Riddle down a notch. He drew back into that moment – of tearing the fang through the pages, hearing Tom scream and scream…
"Ow!"
He tasted blood where his teeth had chewed on his tongue. He scowled when he realised who had caused it. Ignoring his unwelcome host, he stood to explore his surroundings.
Now that he was older the chamber no longer looked as large as it used to. Gliding his fingers along the slightly uneven surfaces around him, he supposed that even wizarding space had it limits when it had to be cut from Hogwarts' very stones.
He looked around. There was symmetrical passageways leading away from the main chamber. He strained his eyes in the green light of the torches for a glimmer of jewellery, or a protruding lever, or something. But no hidden objects revealed themselves. Riddle kept his silence. He didn't even mock him when many minutes of fruitless searching had passed. Probably a bad sign, he thought with a sigh.
Walking back to the main chamber, he felt at the flank of the monstrous tooth of the basilisk. When nothing painful happened, he wrapped both his palms around the base. This caused the layers of dust to smear all over his hands and drift in the air. He sneezed.
Then he pulled at the tooth, hard.
Except for his hands turning numb, nothing happened. The tooth hadn't moved a bit.
Right. This was the same as pulling teeth, times a hundred. He brought out his wand. It couldn't be that hard, cutting through the musk. Alive the basilisk was a creature made from strong muscles. Now there was only a sunken frame, nibbled by time and rodents.
He murmured a severing charm.
The tough material parted from the frame, taking part of the scaly cheek with it. The flesh revealed below was of a darker variety grey.
He sat back on his hunches, carefully lowering the fang-with-skin-bits to the ground. He felt nauseous. The snake made him think of Nagini, his Nagini. He wanted to throw up, but clamped down on the urge.
When he was certain his dinner would stay in, he stood on wobbly feet.
She's grown on you, hasn't she, the youthful version of Voldemort drawled in mock compassion.
"That's all you Riddle," Harry said aloud, lightheaded still. He threw a shrinking charm at the fang, then hovered it to an inside pocket.
A second go-round revealed still no Horcrux-like objects or secret passageways.
You think Voldemort could have put his Horcruxes here? He asked after what felt like a half hour of silence all around. No point in beating around it, the man could hear his every thought…
Without warning his throat closed up – all the way. He bent over wheezing trying to breathe, but it was like he didn't know how all of a sudden, his lungs couldn't fill properly...
You've got some nerve, boy.
Don't call me that, Harry thought reflexively.
Hmm, a strong distaste for the word. Why is that I wonder…
Images flickered in and out of sight, too fast to see. But then something came into focus…
"Boy." Vernon's snarling face came into his thoughts – again thinking preceded self-control. The male Dursley set his claws in young Harry's arm and dragged him back to his cupboard.
Ah, poor Harry. Hated you, did they?
"Shut up," he gasped.
Riddle laughed softly.
All those childish memories of a dark, small space make sense now.
He felt a sudden rage. "That orphanage you went to couldn't have been pleasant either," he snapped. "Luckily Dumbledore came to save you, right?"
Riddle hissed a string of feverish words: You might want to be a bit more careful, Potter, I could crush your tiny mind until you are nothing but a shell for me to use-
So why haven't you done it yet? he returned.
He got a fleeting impression of annoyance. When I'm certain it will work. In the meantime, we shall coexist.
The pressure on his throat vanished.
He straightened. Well, that concluded the useful part of the evening, Harry thought and stalked the black stones towards the exit. There he murmured the incantation for the sticky-rope charm, and a rope shot out of his wand, climbing upwards. He put his weight on the first knot of the rope.
Why was it called the Chamber of Secrets anyway, if there was nothing there…
You're not worthy of its secrets.
Harry sighed as he pulled himself upwards to the next knot. It occurred to him that the same as with Snape, Riddle had taken control of his mouth. "Going to tell on me?"
Of course not, Harry
Right.
I promise. And Lord Voldemort keeps his promises, Tom Riddle said, his tone caressing.
"Thanks," he breathed before he knew what he was saying, winded from keeping his body in line with the rope.
So kind of Riddle to not rat him out to his counterpart, heart-warming really. Perhaps he feared the same thing Harry feared – getting locked away again. Unless he was lying, which was more likely.
You have to promise me something in return though, Riddle went on, ignoring this.
Harry rolled his eyes. Great, zero horcruxes and now a debt to this piece of scum. "What is it?"
A favour, to collect later.
"As long as it isn't killing or maiming, or anything like that."
Deal.
"Harry?"
His feet jerked, making the rope swing wildly. He'd forgotten about Myrtle. As he finished the climb he tried to appear casual, like he did this every other day.
"You went in. Just like that awful boy did, the one who- "
"Yes, well, it was no fun, let me tell you." She was still fixating, so he added: "There's something wrong with the plumbing, have you noticed?"
She frowned in thought. "Yes actually. Every now and then I hear a noise like something large is moving through them."
That would be Nagini. Harry rubbed back his unruly hair. His hand came back filled with cobwebs.
"I have to be off." He went for the door. "Take care Myrtle. See you soon, probably," he called over his shoulder, and was rewarded with a smile.
888
After Transfiguration class on Friday morning, Harry was deliberately slow packing his things. He waved off Dean with a pointed look towards the teacher's desk.
Transfiguration was one of the few classes Dean was allowed in, and Harry could tell by his red cheeks that it lifted his spirits immensely to just be among his classmates and learn magic. Perhaps he should start up some kind of remedial D.A. in the Room of Requirement, he considered. Then all the Muggleborns would be able to study the subjects they weren't allowed to attend now.
Dean shrugged in answer, then left.
"What's on your mind, Potter?" McGonagall intoned behind him. She was leaning back against the desk, arms folded. She smiled warmly, although her eyes were regarding him with a narrow look.
"Sometimes I go to the kitchens to visit Dobby."
He had done so last night. Dobby and the other elves weren't looking any better than they had a month ago.
McGonagall's eyebrows rose slightly at the choice of subject. "Yes?"
"Well, I noticed the elves are looking rather exhausted because of all they have to do. They're clearly overworked – not only do they have to clean the castle, they're also out at night, at the beck and call of every Death Eater now."
Minerva rubbed her brow. "Yes I'm aware, Potter. There's nothing much to be done about it."
Harry threw is hands in the air. "Don't these people have their own elves?"
"Only the oldest magical families." She clasped her hands in front of her. "The new initiates where bend on getting elves to do their bidding as well, when Riddle took over. But of course a house elf is bound to a family. Which make the Hogwarts elves targets for Riddle's henchmen. So you're right, there is too much work for them at the moment."
Harry tapped a nearby desk in thought. "What about employing people to do the work?"
McGonagall laughed. "You are so level-minded Harry. These wizards and witches don't think that way. For the last three centuries owning a house elf has meant wealth and status in the wizarding world. The reality is that Dobby and the others are trapped to do their bidding, just like we are. We're all floating in the same cauldron now."
"This Foundation nonsense that's been in the papers, what about if I used it to help them?"
"Why do you call it nonsense?"
Harry was thrown for a moment. "Just because it's got my name on it, doesn't mean I actually get to change things."
The witch smiled mischievously. "There is power in a name, you know. You might surprise the Wizengamot with your well thought-out plans. They'll certainly give you a chance, at least. And when they hear your ideas, they're going to need a pretty good reason to block them."
Harry snorted. "Right. Know anyone who can help me with that?" But then he knew the answer.
McGonagall's' eyebrows had found their peak. "I am, of course."
888
The Portkey – a small stone – had just dropped him off on the steps of Voldemort's manor. He tossed it onto the lawn before making his way inside on reluctant feet. A letter from the man at Sunday night's dinner had bade Harry to make an appearance immediately after, no explanation given.
Harry cocked his head.
Classical music. It came from the drawing room. He felt a flutter of nerves as he pushed open the French doors.
The Dark Lord was standing near the large windows, appearing to be reading something.
Inside the sound came at him from all sides of the room. The piece of music was beautiful, ancient sounding. A harpsichord and a set of violins played in a mesmerising, rigid rhythm. Harry glanced around but couldn't find anything resembling a wizarding radio.
Without looking up Voldemort gestured towards the settee in front of the large fireplace.
"Sit down".
Harry curled up in one corner of the giant thing. As if sensing him, the fire sprang to life.
The Dark Lord had gone back to his reading. Harry waited for a beat, then sat back in an effort to appear relaxed.
Music was an experience he never really bothered with, despite Dean's valiant attempts to get him hooked on rock-'n-roll. There had been something swinging on last weekend, but he couldn't recall. He felt a blush creep up his neck – he'd been a bit preoccupied at the time. Daphne probably wanted to know what this was about, one way or another.
He tilted his head to rest on the back of the upholstery. There was a theme echoing between the violins and the keyboard, while the minor chords set a dramatic mood.
"Do you know what it is?"
Harry jumped. Damn how that man's voice always managed to make him twitch with nerves.
"I don't. Sir." he added hastily, straightening to glance over his shoulder.
"It's a concerto by Bach. He was gifted in the magical arts, but decided to waste his talent on music."
"Perhaps music was his favourite art," he said after the silence held. Was Bach really a wizard? He wouldn't take the man's word for it. Hermione would know…
Voldemort walked over to sit down on the other side of the settee. Harry tried not to fidget at his proximity.
"You appear tired."
Up close, the red gaze was like the threat of a sharp object nearby. Voldemort's white face was bland, without expression, like Harry's own must be when the Horcrux shard sent calmness through him.
The statement was so unexpected that he couldn't think of a thing to say. He felt annoyed suddenly at his own inability to show some of the hatred he felt for this man. Would he always be a good little boy when in in his presence?
The devil in front of him seemed to expect an answer, in any case. "I came from Dark Arts training with Snape."
"Severus tells me you are interested in the wandless magics."
The music shifted to a much slower pace – the next part probably. Harry stayed silent, wishing he could yell at the man.
"But you cannot summon it at will."
He bit his tongue. Voldemort's lips twitched. "Those feelings you show so readily make your magic restless. The Dark Arts are a state of restlessness. Pour those emotions into a dark spell and you might succeed." He raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure you can pull it off in your next training, what with Severus being your teacher."
Harry thought of the mysterious faith Dumbledore had in Snape. He stared out the window mutinously, not wanting to see the man gloat.
"Skeeter's article caused quite a stir in the ministry."
"Yes well, it doesn't mean squad does it?" Harry spat at him. "It's all bollocks!"
It was eerie to see no change in Riddle's countenance – like Voldemort was already humouring him, and acting up was how he expected Harry to behave.
Harry bristled when no reply came, turning back to the fire. He was bursting to stand, to get away, but finding the courage to actually do it was a whole different story. He felt like he might go crazy…
"You appear to be labouring under the impression that you are entitled to things," the Dark Lord spoke after the silence had become like a third person in the room. "I am giving you a gift, to pursue your interests- "
Harry forced himself to shoot a quick glance. "Excuse me if I don't believe you're going to grant Muggleborns and creatures the same rights as purebloods now." Whatever McGonagall might say, that wasn't going to happen.
Voldemort chuckled. "Harry," he said, and it was nearly affectionate except for the murderous gaze, "I am establishing ways for us to coexist with the least amount of drama, since I have to suffer your presence for quite some time. If I wanted to fake a story, I'd ask Skeeter to report on the Muggle border situation. So," he hissed, How are you finding the ghost of my past?"
Harry knew he was being sidestepped. He opened his mouth, but his throat closed up. He coughed and send a mental curse at the soul shard squeezing his oxygen supply.
"Nosy," he settled on with gritted teeth.
"It talks, does it?" Voldemort breathed, appearing actually interested. He drew closer on the settee, to Harry's horror. "So much turmoil on this subject. Do share…"
His spidery hand touched upon Harry's cheek, where Nagini had left silver markings – the second time he appeared fascinated by it.
Now he'd done it and caught the man's interest. Harry scowled inwardly at his own sloppiness. "He sometimes comments on things."
"Such as?"
"My classmates. How I'm pants at potions, and Malfoy's so great at it," he told his knuckles, trying for annoyance.
A finger turned his cheek towards the horrible face. "You're lying," Voldemort hissed menacingly. "Let's try that again..."
"He's been helping me get back at Nott."
That… shouldn't get him into trouble, should it? Or could Voldemort sense he was now basically justifying torture? He had to remember it was Tom Riddle who had pushed him into it.
Wise to assert dominance early on, Riddle drifted into his thoughts.
The Dark Lord appeared amused again - the change in moods was nauseating. "It pleases me that you are taking advice from my younger self." Harry immediately resolved to avoid saying pleasing things in the future.
Voldemort straightened to summon something from the nearby chestnut cabinet, which he waved onto the round table in front of them. It was a rectangular wooden box, or briefcase. It had the markings of a trick-track board, one of Dean's favourite games. Voldemort turned his gaze back to Harry. Then the Dark Lord draped a black-clad arm over Harry's shoulders.
Harry froze, hardly daring to breathe. He half expected his arm to start burning, or a horrid smell, but no... The man was holding him like it was the most natural thing in the world, like -
Voldemort meanwhile was saying something close to his ear:
"- try and open the box but without a wand; make your magic flow from your fingertips."
Harry nodded to rouse himself, placing shaking hands over the wooden object. He waited, trying to feel something, some kind of energy. Looking down at the object made it seem terribly mundane and un-magical.
Nothing happened.
Voldemort waved his wand over the box: "Try again."
Once more he touched the wood, willing it to open. It did so with a creaky sound.
He blinked at the round wooden pieces. It was like his magic had loosened around him.
"Good. Now make the pieces float."
Harry thought the man would be cold, like a Dementor, but he was actually starting to feel the warmth of his arm through the layers of fabric.
He focused back on the pieces – imagining them floating was no use, he had to capture that feeling of expending his magic beyond the border of his skin. But it looked all too solid. The firm border of the skin only made it harder to imagine how the energy had gotten through earlier.
"Here, feel it," Voldemort said, holding out his free left hand, fingertips turned upwards.
And even though Harry had done much worse things per this man's instructions, and he knew this was silly, touching the man's hand was just out of the question. "I'm not going to-"
"You are thinking too much. You need to feel the sensation in order to master the spell."
Curious despite himself Harry brought his hand closer. He was relieved when he could sense the restless charge to the air without actually making contact. Magic spilled from Voldemort's fingers into the air and over his hand, twisting left and right, stilling sometimes then speeding up again.
So this wasn't about pushing, it was more about freedom.
Harry tried to emulate him, ignoring a nagging guilt in his stomach that he was taking lessons from this murderer now. Who knows, he could use it against him some day.
He thought of his Firebolt cutting through air, the whole sky was his to explore... Something pressed on his fingertips from the inside, the same feeling as when he had got the box to open. He knew he'd gotten it right when the first pieces started to float. Harry let go of his concentration and the wood clattered back into the box. His hand was tingly.
"Very good, Harry."
As much as he wanted to, he couldn't ignore the feeling of pride now that he finally got wandless magic to work.
888
The next week was soon known as the week of the term assignments. Professors were handing them out to all fifth through seventh years at the end of each class.
On Tuesday in charms the class groaned as they got their slip of parchment from Flitwick with instructions: the fifth term assignment this week was yet another theoretical research project. So far only Dark Arts and Transfiguration were practical examinations to test their skills after Christmas holidays (and Harry really didn't want to think about the holidays just now, because Voldemort had made it clear last week that Christmas would be the time when he was to join in the mission to foreign dignitaries).
Professor Flitwick bounced in excitement. "No, no, this really is a fine subject I've chosen for you. Only with a good grasp of the theory will you be able to excel in the field of Charms. And I will reveal now that the person who gets an excellent score on this term assignment… will be allowed to practice duelling with me!"
Harry looked up to see Padma's eyes widen at the chance to win a duelling session with the Professor. Harry wondered if he might persuade the man to show off the moves that had made him a champion later.
"Not to worry, there will be plenty of time for practice. At the end of the year, your examiner Ms. Cammon will test you on your duelling skills."
After class Harry followed Terry Boot to the Ravenclaw table, where he spotted Luna.
"So how are things with you?" he asked as he sat down. He was glad to have an afternoon without Slytherins for a change. Although Draco had to guard him between classes, he had made a deal with Terry Boot to supervise him when he wasn't sharing classes with Harry.
Terry joined in the conversation on Harry's left side: "Do they leave your stuff alone, now?"
There was no need to explain who "they" were. Luna glanced past Harry with her big eyes. "Not really, though they are getting sloppier. Last night I saw Pansy Parkinson wear my necklace, the one I'd gotten from my dad."
"Did you confront her?" Harry asked.
Luna smiled, looking tired. "No. I thought it best to get it back another time, when she's not so taken with it."
Harry clenched a fist underneath the table, while his other hand speared a carrot into two pieces.
"Look, this isn't right Luna," Terry said, shaking his head. "I'll have a talk with her. As Head Boy I can demand that she give the necklace to me."
Luna looked down at her plate, making her butterbeer earrings swing lightly. "I don't think that will help."
"Well," Terry went on, his annoyance making his voice rise in volume, "They can't just do whatever the hell they want. I got my badge to make sure they know they're not above the rules."
"Good for you," Padma across from them raised her pumpkin juice in a kind of salute.
"I hear Dean also has to deal with shit from the Slytherins," Terry said, looking at Harry. "Do you know something about it?"
Harry shook his head. "Don't sleep there anymore."
"That's right you're sleeping with the snakes!" Padma exclaimed. "Can you do something about this? I don't know, threaten Pansy with one of your Dark Arts spells?"
"Sure, I can try." Why not. He wasn't making friends there anytime soon, anyway. Well except for Zabini, he was alright. And Daphne.
"You know I've been thinking. Why don't we start a new club? Something that's for everyone," Anthony said airily, gesturing with his fork. "Flitwick's got me thinking, a duelling club?"
"I'm not sure that the Slytherins will behave any better when they're at wand-point," Padma said dryly.
"At least we can put them down a notch," Anthony, a half-blood himself, smiled thinly.
888
The atmosphere of a Slytherin party was quite different from that of a non-Slytherin party, Harry noticed when he entered the Room of Requirement, which he had found because of a piece of parchment pinned to the wall in Neville's handwriting that said "Extracurricular Muggle studies". Here, between the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravinclaws, everyone was dressed in their favourite costume, dress robes or Muggle suit, the laughter was raucous, people were chasing each other over the dancefloor – it was all very unrefined and very welcome.
Someone pushed a smoking glass into his hand, probably Firewhiskey.
"Harry, you made it!" Parvati exclaimed. She frowned as she drew closer in a shimmering evening dress. "You didn't change into anything, these really your favourite clothes then?"
"Didn't realise we could go all out," Harry said with a grin.
Harry raised his glass for a sip of Firewhiskey. He hesitated with the glass at his lips, eyes drawn to all the rebelling youth surrounding them, before his gaze found Ron who approached them with Lavender in tow.
"I shouldn't."
"Shouldn't what?" Parvati asked
Harry laughed. "I shouldn't be here, unsupervised, I think."
Ron had a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Oh? What are they going to do if they find out eh, Mark me?" He laughed. "Or torture me some more?" He raised his own glass, looking very mature all of a sudden. "Bottom's up, you've earned it."
And proceeded to toss back the entire brown content.
Harry thought it wise not to copy the move just now, all mental passengers considered. Ron was right, the party was a good choice, especially because he could finally forget about said passenger or Slytherins for a whole evening. The music was loudest in the centre of the dancefloor, so his Gryffindor classmates steered him off to the side to hear.
"Just had my initiation," Ron was saying to the group. "Check this out." He pulled up his Weasley sweater to reveal a stomach which had geometrical patterns carved into it. Neville and Lavander grimaced.
"Looks nasty," Neville commented, echoing Harry's thought.
"I know right?" Ron said, grinning and tossing back another shot.
"Hey mate, perhaps slow it down a little," Harry said softly.
Ron pointed at him with his empty glass. "Great. He's a great friend, that one."
"Oh boy," Lavender muttered. "Come on, let's get you some water."
Harry watched them walk towards the drinks table, which had different kinds of moss and plants growing from the side. He wasn't sure whether they were an item now. He should ask Neville later.
"Your idea?" he asked Neville, gesturing to the tropical table.
"That one? Yeah," Neville nodded.
"I imagined a beach in one of the rooms, and it actually appeared!" Parvati said excitedly. "Came like poof out of the floor. You can really get a tan there, even take a swim. I'll show you later."
"Want to see something cool?" Neville said excitedly when the others had drifted off towards the dancefloor. He gestured past the punch bowl, towards what seemed to be a hallway to rooms Parvati was talking about.
Neville was in a weirdly intense mood today. Perhaps Malfoy was starting to get to him, Harry considered as he followed, past a room filled with sea creatures and a Halloween themed room, with orange lanterns and life bats. They waved at Luna who was sipping punch on a giant pumpkin with Hannah Abbott.
In the next magical space an actual cave had been recreated. Harry could see nothing beyond the darkness of the entrance. Around the gaping mouth were glistening stalactites or -mites of all colours, although there was no one here to enjoy it.
"Wow," Harry breathed. "The Room really outdid itself. How did you manage this?"
Neville said: "It took about seven tries before we got it to make more than one theme. Gave me a headache. Common."
They carefully stepped into the unknown between the glistening rocks.
"You organised all this?"
A few meters in, it was too dark to see anything.
"Lumos," Neville said. "Luna and me both."
"Why? I mean it's a great party."
"We thought we could do with a bit of inter-house cheer. Careful, there are tree roots ahead, don't ask me why..."
"No Slytherins?" he said.
Neville shrugged. "We told Blaise and Daphne along with a few younger years, so I'm still hoping they'll show up." His voice was casual in the way of one determined not to feel bothered.
The temperature dropped. With the wand light between them they walked. He wondered what was at the end, or whether this was already the thing Neville wanted to show him.
Further onwards, actual tree roots started to appear from the dense rock formation. Typically something Neville would think up.
Harry, glancing downwards every few seconds, lowered his voice even though he was quite sure there was no one around: "I hear Malfoy is being more of a git than usual."
To his surprise Neville just shrugged, making the light at the tip of his wand tremble a moment. "He's frustrated, I think. The great Malfoy family, out of favour again. Just when Draco thinks he has it all, he's put in his place."
The Longbottoms were loyal to the Order, but Neville they seemed to have left alone. Ironic, that. "You've probably got more freedom than Draco now," Harry remarked.
"Ron showed me a few warding tricks he's gotten from his brother. If I can get a bit of Draco's blood, I could ban him from the greenhouses completely."
Harry grinned. "Just say the word and I'll give him a nice nosebleed, return the favour he did me last year." Neville laughed.
All of a sudden Harry shivered as he felt an aggressive caress of something pass over his back, the sensation like a waterfall. Next to him Neville's shoulders hunched, but he kept pace.
The wards, Riddle suddenly snapped in his mind, making him jump.
What was going on?
"Almost there," Neville said and his intense gaze made Harry's heart thrum with nerves. Riddle was now dragging Harry's feet, apparently not one to take risks. His legs seesawed between two owners and he stumbled.
"Harry?"
Neville's light was meters away. Harry cast his own Lumos to see. His scar burned then. He gritted his teeth, throwing one leg in front of the other with all his might. "Coming."
Something grabbed his arm. He whirled, throwing a Reducto without pause. It struck a shield that lit up the tunnel briefly.
Sectumsempra, Harry thought next, then froze for one second when the person laughed - he must have blocked already. He knew that voice, but how could it be...?
He paid dearly for his moment of confusion when Mad-Eye Moody twisted his wand-arm behind his back with such force that he tipped over.
Positively alive, then.
Harry clamped down on a yell of pain as all the muscles in his arm burned fiercely. His fingers went instantly numb and his wand was jerked away. His arm felt even more lifeless without magic flowing through it.
"Neville," Harry gasped in warning. Mad-Eye chuckled, trapping his left arm as well. "Incarcerous," the man only whispered, pulling his arms in front of him now to bind his hands together.
That made Riddle loosen his muscles completely and Harry dropped down. Moody was ready though, keeping him in a tight hold. He whispered something else and the ropes burned against his skin a moment before cooling off.
Magical suppressant, Riddle whispered at him.
"No wriggling away now," Mad-Eye growled positively gleeful, "You're surrounded."
Lumos spells struck up around him, revealing Shacklebolt and Mr. Weasley. He wanted to speak but Riddle wasn't letting him choose the words:
"How's life without the eye, Moody?" Riddle asked airily from his mouth as Moody pulled him – them – to the left, though Harry knew that inside, the young Dark Lord was seething.
Moody's remaining eye stared him down. Harry turned his head to take in the sight of Order members regarding him with grim expressions. Could they know?
He was tugged back, much more gently, and wrapped in someone's arms. His fingers twitched - he hated being manhandled, but then again these people were on his side...
Magic suddenly snapped to attention over his skin. Clearly Riddle didn't agree.
The one holding him jolted, probably from whatever wandless magic Riddle had brought out. The voice of Remus Lupin said softly: "It's no use Harry. Try to hold on tight now."
Before he could get over the jolt to his heart, something heavy was pressed to his side, a Portkey, and in the next second he was tugged away from Hogwarts.
They landed somewhere soft. The smell of nature hit his nose – tall grass and autumn leaves, standing next to a country road.
"Remus," Harry said hoarsely, trying to turn around but Lupin had clasped his shoulders tightly. He gave him a gentle push to start walking.
"Harry, we can't right now." Remus sounded pained. "First Albus wants to talk to you."
He walked them down the road towards a familiar and welcome sight: the twinkling evening lights of the Burrow. A crunch of gravel told him that at least two people had followed with another Portkey.
Harry swallowed against the burning in his stomach as the dilapidated building filled his sight. The robes cut his arms, making them tingle. They weren't sure about him – or they were too sure. Either way, it couldn't mean anything good.
Mrs. Weasley came out to pull him into a hug. The affront this caused his silent passenger made him smile back at her.
"Oh it's so good to see you again, finally," Molly babbled. "After the horrible news in September-"
"We are on a schedule here, Molly," Lupin intervened behind him, apologetic.
"Of course, we shouldn't dally," Mrs. Weasley nodded with a final fuss of his hair - he had no idea what he looked like these days, never bothered to check - and led him inside towards the kitchen.
There, at the end of the table with a steaming tea set in front of him, sat Albus Dumbledore. Harry knew it but he still wasn't prepared – his knees went weak from a strange mix of elation and fear.
Harry felt defenceless under his blue gaze. The man's yellow robes glimmered where the soft light of the chandelier touched them, giving him a serene appearance.
He was pointed towards the chair to Dumbledore's left. There was a hint of apple pie in the air. Up close he saw that Dumbledore wore matching yellow and orange patterned gloves, which was definitely a new thing.
Lupin nodded to his leader, then left. They were alone.
The old headmaster smiled warmly. "Welcome back Harry to the home of the Weasley family. Tea?" A cup drifted towards him. He curled his hands around the warm tea, glad to have something to focus on.
Dumbledore spoke: "I apologise for this sudden ambush, and for the stringent measures we've taken to smuggle you out. Though I'm sure you agree that both are necessary?"
Harry nodded, going back to studying his tea. The former headmaster seemed troubled. Riddle was silent, perhaps because of the dizzying feelings tugging at his heart every few seconds - he could never get used to his emotions, it seemed.
His old mentor sighed, making him look up. The man's expression was pained as he said: "Before we can catch up, there is something in your mind which I assume you'd rather be getting rid of, correct?"
Harry nodded again, feeling like his vocal chords had dried up. His scar seared then and he bit his lip against the pain.
Dumbledore's gaze was awfully understanding. Tears burned his eyes. Riddle, having somehow wrestled past his aching emotions tilted Harry's head back to heave a loud scream of rage. Harry's magic was pulled from his core – or let out, it rather felt like - to crackle through his palms and over the tea cup.
Dumbledore's ebony wand pointed at him in a heartbeat, which he was kind of glad for. With a murmur of Latin, the pressure against his hands lessened. His hands felt cold.
"Come," the headmaster only said. The man's magic pulled him gently to his feet. The spell tugged him through empty hallways towards the back garden.
Where were the Weasley's?
Clouds made the night into a black hole beyond the porch. None of the garden lights were lit as they came to a stop somewhere in the darkness.
Dumbledore turned to him and lifted whatever had been controlling his movements. His glittering robes made him barely visible in the darkness.
Next the ropes fell from Harry's wrists, and he brought them around to massage the biting streaks gratefully.
Harry's shaking legs told him Riddle wanted to run, but his mentor's steady gaze kept him grounded. This moment was his, not Riddle's and he'd be damned if he released control now.
"Cast a Patronus for me, if you would."
Dumbledore held out what might be his wand. Harry grasped at it, not daring to break the stare to look. He nearly closed his eyes when familiar magic swirled into his arm at the touch. Riddle buzzed against his scar.
"All right."
He thought hard. Seeing Remus alive and well was a good sign. Dumbledore's steadfast support, after all that had happened was heartening as well.
He bellowed the words and a stag jumped from his wand, to his relief. That turned into alarm when it turned around, charging at - him.
Harry stumbled backwards. He fell onto the grass just as the antlers made from pure light were brought downwards and closed the distance to pierce him-
He had fallen on his back, eyes closed but there was no pain, only the feeling of warmth above him, and something pinning his neck to the ground. Opening his eyes made them water against the blinding spectacle of the stag, so he shut them. He was unable to turn his head. Where was Dumbledore?
A horrible cold creeped over his shoulders. His legs twitched in fear. Harry tried to straighten but the Patronus stag held firm. His teeth chattered.
Riddle sketched a vision in his thoughts, of a Dementor bending down to kiss. Get up Potter! You want your soul sucked out for all eternity?
"Hold on Harry, this will take only a moment longer," Dumbledore uttered close to the ground next to him.
There was a rattling noise. Harry whimpered, no longer able to keep his panic at bay. "Please, no," he whispered back.
"We are almost there, my boy," Dumbledore murmured.
I'm not staying for this. You can rot on your own.
Harry screamed when the fiercest pain yet assaulted his forehead. His Patronus, still miraculously corporeal against the sides of his neck, kept his head in place. He couldn't imagine how it was still there, when his mind was being split by Riddle and his soul was about to be sucked.
His screams turned hoarse after a minute, or a few. It felt like a giant hand was squeezing his brain. He must have blacked out because in the next moment, the smell of something burning had him opening his eyes wide to a very different scene.
Dumbledore… wasn't here.
Small fires made a smouldering line in the grass in a circle around him. They were the only source of light, making it hard to see beyond. Whoever had cast it had chased away the Dementor, since the horrible rattling had stopped, thank Merlin.
His Patronus had disappeared as well. But he still had hold of his wand. He sat up slowly, nauseous.
Harry felt a deep stirring of betrayal thinking back to the creature Dumbledore had called. But at the same time it was for the best: clearly Dumbledore knew what Harry was now. Had he always suspected, or was this a recent development? Whatever the case, this was not the time to think about it.
He surveyed the grounds. Figures seemed to be dancing in the dark nearby. He was an easy target here. Keeping low to the ground Harry made for the outline of the Burrow, barely visible. He wondered why all the lights were out, but at least it was good to have the familiar stones at his back.
Edging past the corner, he saw the elder Nott's fierce scowl by the sickly green light of a killing curse; Remus Lupin flew to the side to avoid it, striking out with a blinding white. There, near the gate, was Bellatrix, duelling Tonks. Harry shook his head. Hadn't Tonks and Moody both been killed at the battle of Hogwarts?
He gripped his wand tighter, moving away from the relative safety behind him but still hesitating to join in, when something bright moved his way. It was a spell shooting towards him in a web-like pattern. He gave a startled yelp of pain when it glanced his shoulder with the sensation of a piercing blade.
His assailant hadn't been aiming at him: the ever-growing web sped onwards to clash against the shield of someone behind him with a sound like rain hitting glass. Both spells dissipated, and the darkness was once more thick around him.
Before he could take two steps, an arm on his shoulder stopped him.
"Get inside, Harry," Dumbledore spoke, and Harry detected urgency in his voice. He felt weak with relief.
"Potter!" an awfully familiar voice cut into whatever more the headmaster wanted to say – without a doubt he was the caster of the webbing spell that was now making his shoulder bleed profusely.
Harry shuddered at the sound. He was barely visible in the light of the still-smouldering fire, but Harry could recognise the shape of the man like the back of his hand now. Voldemort's outline drew closer, a mere twenty meters away.
Dumbledore had pushed Harry behind him. He was very glad to have the phoenix leader next to him. Albus was twisting his wand this way and that, and their adversary was responding with similar twitches, his gate never stopping. It looked like they weren't even casting, but Harry could feel the charged air – the spells were probably too fast to see, or undetectable in this poor light.
Harry turned on his heel to sprint for the Burrow, throwing out a shield just in case.
Voldemort let out a high-pitched laugh. He had to be seconds away now. "Oh, Harry," he bellowed, and the fake affection in his tone, hinting at something, made Harry turn his head.
The formidable wizards were conjuring: ropes transfiguring into squirming things – snakes probably – turning into metal, needle-like weapons-
"You think you're safe with Dumbledore?" the Dark Lord went on, lazily incinerating the heavy chains flying towards him. He wasn't even breathless.
"Harry, please," his mentor urged, his focus firmly on Voldemort.
He should go, he was distracting the man-
"What did he make you do, just now?" Voldemort's eyes flashed in rage. "Who do you think banished that Dementor?"
Harry swallowed before resuming pace.
"He doesn't care much about your soul, does he?"
He gritted his teeth as Riddle's voice only got louder as he got further away.
"But the Horcrux isn't really gone, is it?"
Harry frowned, coming to a stop near the window ledge. "What do you mean?" he yelled back.
Dumbledore went rigid, actually turning his head to regard Harry. He appeared perplexed, dismayed even. Voldemort was watching the former headmaster with unholy glee. They had paused in their duelling.
"Yes," the Dark Lord hissed. "You see? Your pathetic attempts are pointless. He will always be mine."
Harry reluctantly turned around again. The wizards regarded him in silence. Harry looked from the one to the other, not getting it.
"Harry, Dumbledore said softly, with a gentleness that hurt his ears. "You just spoke Parseltongue."
A/N: The concerto by Bach is the concerto in A minor for harpsichord, violin, fluit and oboe. It's inspired by the Concerto in B minor for four violins by Vivaldi. Start with the first part here: [that video watching website FFN won't let me post].com (slash) watch?v=QA1L0SsEXxU (I really recommend listening to all three, I can't quite choose my favourite between them. And no, I am in fact a young person, and yes, classical music is the best thing there is. Ahem.)
Please review! That's what I'm writing this for :).