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Chapter 16: Alone at last - Part I

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The Ministry of Magic was uncharacteristically silent during these early hours of the morning. The shadowy halls, lit only by torches and the moonlight passing through the false windows, would have been deserted if not for the rare sighting of a workaholic and the bunch of house elves cleaning around.

The Auror Headquarters were similarly quiet and dark, except for a brightly lit cubicle in the middle of the room. Inside, a young woman with blue hair and numerous piercings was leaning above one of the department’s portable pensieves, gaze filled by its ethereal glow.

"What’s going on, honey?" said the muggle woman who owned this memory. She had been sitting in one of the park benches while her son played in the fake pirate ship, but now he was running back to her with a frightened face.

"Mum, look…!" the muggle boy said.

Tonks, standing near the two muggles, had to wait for the mother to look at the scene for it to come into focus. Over the playground, a dark-haired child was getting to his knees after falling down a big grassy slope. The hateful look distorting his features was out of place on a boy so young.

Tonks had rewatched this memory at least a hundred times, but she still held her breath when the boy raised his hands, wandlessly levitating sand out of the sandbox like it was nothing. He hurled it at another incoming boy, who dove at the last second and curled protectively on the ground as he was violently pelted.

The second boy ended up tackling the other, and soon, the two of them were rolling on the grass. The soon-to-be-dead gardener was rushing to separate the boys… Tonks desperately peered at the scene in the hopes of finally noticing something new. But ‘it’ was close now — Tonks was so familiar with the memory that she could have counted the seconds before it would happen.

Suddenly, Tonks gasped. There!

Just before the Beasts would have appeared, a tiny thing went flying off the boys and landed a few metres from them. It couldn’t have been more than two seconds before the green slash in the landscape.  

Tonks hurriedly rewound the memory. She got as close as she could to the boys, but the muggle woman had been too far to make out what, exactly, had been flung away. There seemed to be a string attached to it… a pendant?

Going back to the beginning again, Tonks tried to make out if any of the boys had worn a necklace of some sort, but she couldn’t see well enough.

She was about to pass to her next memory (the one from a muggle teenager who had glimpsed more of the Beasts), when she heard a door open in the office where her real body was waiting.

Shit! She jumped out of the memory, coming back to her cubicle. She had just enough time to hide the portable pensive under her desk — the copy of these memories was totally illegal — before a mop of dark hair appeared above one of the thin walls.

"You know you’re not a house-elf, right, newbie?" James Potter asked. "It’s freaking four in the morning. Do I need to give you clothes so you can be free and finally go home?"

Tonks could have said the same to the senior Auror; after all, here he was too, at work in the middle of the night, with dark circles under his brown eyes.

But.

Even she was tactful enough to know that some subjects were better left alone. Potter had just come back from extended leave, but it didn’t look as if those months away had helped him at all.

Not that Tonks was surprised. How did you heal from something so horrifying?

"I was just finishing on some paperwork. You know, the Bloomley case." She sighed, rolling her eyes. "Be glad you weren’t on it, Potter. It was a real freak show."

It grated — lying to a colleague that way. But even if Potter wasn’t exactly a stickler for the rules, she didn’t know him well enough, and she was disobeying the Department of Mysteries here. Like Moody would have said: better paranoid than dead. Not that she thought the Unspeakables would kill her for still investigating the Hampstead Heath case, but…

Well, actually, she wasn’t even sure of that. There were concerning rumours coming from that department.

Potter was smirking. It didn’t reach his tired, empty eyes. "Come on, newbie, drug cases are the best. Once, we had this case of illegal tablets that made you believe you were a historical figure from the past? By the end of the day, we had arrested Helga Hupplepuff, Ramses II, Herpo the Foul and Merlin himself. It was a blast."

Tonks chuckled despite herself. "I mean, it was fun seeing all those goblins high as fuck. But then I had to interrogate them. Have you ever interrogated a goblin, Potter?"

"Not since I was a trainee, thank Merlin."

She glared. "Exactly. They all left me to fend for myself against 14 goblins who were tripping balls, just because I’m the newbie and it would be fun to watch. Do you know when this whole hazing thing will be over? Because I’m ready for it."

Potter sent her a pitying look. "Probably when another newbie comes along."

Since Tonks was the first trainee to have been accepted in two years, it wasn’t very comforting. "I’ll kill someone before that," she said frankly.

"Honestly, we’d probably just put you in charge of the crime scene, so I think you’d get away with it."

She sent him a crude gesture for his lack of concern, and he laughed in that hollow, forced way he had now. "Well, I’ll leave you to do your paperwork. I have some myself that I can’t dump onto you yet."

Her heart twisted as she watched him walk away. He always seemed so defeated now, like he didn’t expect anything from life anymore. It was such a contrast to the funny, energetic man that had been the life of the department with his partner Sirius Black ten months ago.

Tonks had arrived just a few months before the attack on the Potter home last February. One of the attackers had thrown a curse so powerful that half of the house had been destroyed — the bedroom where the Potters’ nine year-old son was sleeping included.

They couldn’t even recover the child’s body. It had just been disintegrated.

To add insult to injury, the investigation had been taken over by the International Wizarding Police. Though Potter was sure the attack had come from Grindelwald, that new rising Dark Lord from overseas against whom he had been very vocal, the IWP had actually ruled it as revenge from an international crime-ring Potter had helped dismantle a few months back.

Potter swore that he had fought a Polyjuiced Grindelwald at the scene, but though many in the department believed him, it wasn’t the case of the IWP. The investigation was now officially closed, with even some people sentenced to Azkaban.

Nobody was satisfied, though, least of all Potter. So when he and Tonks met in the Headquarters at four in the morning and the guy was pretending to be here for ‘paperwork,’ she was more than ready to let it slide. Not to mention that with her own side project, not doing so would have been pretty hypocritical.

Losing a child so brutally… She couldn’t even imagine it. Her cousin Draco was nine too, wasn’t he? Sure, with Aunt Narcissa raising him, he must be a right brat, but it was still so young! Not even Hogwarts-aged—

It was like someone had lit a Lumos in her brain. Hogwarts…!

The problem they had been facing with the Hampstead Heath case (before it was stolen from them, that is) was that they couldn’t identify who the two kids were. They were obviously proficient in magic — abnormally proficient, really. Even wizarding-raised kids couldn’t control their magic before eleven, and certainly not without a wand. But whatever, this was another problem altogether.

The main problem was that they had interrogated every wizarding family in London and couldn’t find the boys. Before they were removed from the case, Tonks had been pushing for the theory that they had been Muggleborns, but the others hadn’t bought it, precisely because the kids were too good at magic. Plenty of wizarding children dressed in casual Muggle clothes these days, after all.

Tonks had let go of her theory when it had been pointed out to her that Muggleborns couldn’t be found before they entered Hogwarts anyway.

How did I not think of it then? she berated herself, excitement rising. Hogwarts! They couldn’t know which kid was Muggleborn, but the school had a list of all magical children in the country! The kids were registered as soon as they were born!

She just had to ask them for the names of pre-Hogwarts aged, Muggleborn boys in London, and she would find them!

She smiled avidly, mentally arranging for a secret trip to Scotland later in the day. In a few hours, she might just crack her case.

 

_________________________



"…and school is good too," Harry said. "I have almost straight A’s in everything — I even got an A+ in maths last Thursday. Mrs Cole said that if I keep it up, I’ll even be able to mentor kids above my year, like Riddle. So I should probably calm down."

Mrs Chapson chuckled, her smile deepening the wrinkles around her mouth. "That’s very good, Harry. Though if your grades are doing so well, I do not encourage you to calm down. You might rather explain to Mrs Cole that you’d feel overworked mentoring more students."

Harry rolled his eyes. "That would go well."

The psychologist raised a stern eyebrow. "I think it would, actually."

They shared a smile, and then devolved into silence.

As it went on, Harry started to grow restless. Mrs Chapson was watching him patiently but he knew she would ask something soon if he didn’t find another subject of conversation. And lately, she was obsessed with—

"And how are your friends?"

Harry gritted his teeth. With that.

"Fine," he said curtly.

"Hmm," she nodded slowly. "Did Christmas go well? I know it can often be challenging to spend it in a Children’s Home."

Maybe it was. Harry wouldn’t know, as he didn’t have any previous Christmases to compare it to. "It was good," he said. "They took us to the Town Hall to have a gift distribution."

The gifts had just been some chocolates and the kind of plastic toys you found in cereal boxes, but everyone had been happy nonetheless.

"Did your friends get any good toys?" Mrs Chapson asked.

Harry glared. She really wanted him to say it, didn’t she.

"I guess," he said evasively. "I was with Riddle, so I didn’t see them much."

Again with her slow nod. This woman had the most loaded nods he knew. "I see. You spend a lot of time with him these days, don’t you?"

Harry shrugged, looking at the false plant in the corner. It was gathering dust.

He could feel Mrs Chapson peering at him, kind and yet sharp as an eagle. When she spoke again, her voice was uncharacteristically hesitant. "You spend time with him… and only him. Am I wrong?"

Harry balled his fists under the table, firmly avoiding her gaze.

Of course he was spending time only with Riddle. He had given up his former friends and couldn’t very well make new ones with a guard dog watching his every move.

He hadn’t thought it would be this bad, honestly. Bad, yes. No more tight-knit group of friends, yes. But he had thought that he could still share a sports team with them in P.E., smile at them, or even sit in the same room as they watched a movie with many other children there.

He had underestimated how tyrannical Riddle would be, though. It was like granting him exactly what he wanted had made him even more possessive.

The night of Dennis’s healing, when Harry had still been rejoicing with the others at seeing the boy attempt to walk (he would need time to succeed, as his muscles had considerably weakened), Tom had grabbed his arm and insisted that they leave at once. Harry was marched out with barely enough time to share a look with his friends. He almost called out ‘see you later!’ to them until reality caught him in the ribs like a ball of concrete.

There would be no ‘seeing them later.’ This was it.

"You’ll sleep in my room now," Riddle said. He was swaying on his feet, but his eyes were gleaming with an intense, callous happiness.

"What?" Harry sputtered. "No! What the hell?"

The boy’s grip tightened on Harry’s forearm. "How can I trust you not to talk to them in your dorm during the night? You’re mine, so you’ll stay with me."

He thinks I’m his freaking pet, Harry thought with dread. I need to put a stop to this right now.

He was opening his mouth to protest, when he suddenly had this vision of himself in the blue dorm, sharing a room with Eric, Billy, and Jack, but forbidden from talking to them. Watching them from afar as he was all alone, meeting their sad, forlorn eyes once in a while.

Slowly seeing them get over it and return to normal without Harry in their midst.

He shut his mouth, not protesting as he was led to Riddle’s room. They slipped under the covers of his bed, and Riddle shut the light, saying: "Don’t worry, it’s not for long. Tomorrow I’ll ask Mrs Cole to give us a room for two."

"We’re not ten," Harry protested weakly. "She won’t—"

"She will," Riddle said with authority.

And she had. Harry suspected some compulsion had been involved, because after barely a week of sharing a bed with Riddle — an uncomfortable experience, as the boy kept turning and whining in his sleep — a room for two had miraculously freed up on the third floor. Mrs Cole, who wasn’t generally known to give special privileges to anyone, had granted it to them first. So Harry had been forced to return to the blue dorm and pack his things under the disapproving gaze of Billy, Jack, and Eric.

"This is insane," Harry heard Eric mutter. Then, the boy was striding toward him. "You shouldn’t have to give up your dorm too!"

Riddle stepped between Harry and him. "You don’t talk to him," he had said coolly.

"I talk to who I wan—!"

"Eric," Harry cut in, already tired. He shared a look with his friend. Former friend. Friend. "Don’t, please. I’m sorry."

This had taken the winds from Eric’s sails, and Harry had left with Riddle, feeling horrible. Their new room had a bunk bed, a desk, two small dressers, and a window looking out on the street. They had both agreed for Riddle to take the bottom bed, and that’s how their cohabitation had started.

Harry had expected them to fight daily, but their bickering nowadays was pretty domestic. Unsurprisingly, Tom revealed himself to be completely OCD about the tidiness of their room. Harry learned that there was a wrong way to fold clothes, sweep the floor, open blinds, and take out the trash, and that he was apparently doing all of them. Similarly, Tom couldn’t help but have an opinion on every outfit Harry chose and how he could improve his colour scheme, or his hair, or even the way he brushed his teeth.

What did surprise Harry was how much of a hoarder the boy was. Sometimes, Riddle would latch onto an object — often a stolen one, sadly — and carefully put it away to keep forever. His dresser was filled with miscellaneous clutter; things like a teddy bear, a giraffe figurine, a broken watch, a teacup, women’s jewellery, dried plants, a scarf, or a truly staggering amount of pens. He regularly opened the dresser to take them out and admire them like a human magpie.

Harry had tried to convince him to give them back to their rightful owners, but he had been met with such fierce resistance that he hadn’t insisted.

He didn’t insist on much anymore. Which, to be honest, was probably the reason why things were so peaceful between the two of them. Harry just… didn’t have it in him to keep fighting Riddle. What was the point now? 

Harry’s friends hadn’t accepted the new status quo that easily, but Harry couldn’t talk to them without betraying his promise, and turning them away was the most painful thing ever. They always took care to approach him when Riddle was away — even though the healing was done, the boy kept disappearing regularly, never mentioning where he had gone and coming back dishevelled and tired. (Harry would have asked, but in reality, who cared?)

Somehow, though, Riddle always knew when contact had been made. And even if Harry had rebuffed his friends, it sent him into terrible rages where he was prone to hurting children indiscriminately. Harry had been really paranoid about spying charms for a while, until he discovered the much simpler truth.

Riddle just gave rewards to people who ratted Harry out. This worked depressingly well.

Understanding that they were doing more harm than good, Harry’s friends had finally stopped coming. That’s when Harry had revised his earlier assessment: this was the most painful thing ever.

It hadn’t stopped Riddle’s insane need to keep Harry to himself, though. Incidents had started to befall the people Harry talked to, even if it was in passing. One day, he had just chatted with one of their yearmates in the schoolyard and Riddle had made the boy trip down the stairs, breaking his ankle.

That had shaken Harry enough to speak up.

"You could have really hurt him!" he yelled at Riddle later, when they were back in their room at Wool’s.

"That’s on you!" Riddle shouted back, somehow just as angry even though he was in the wrong. "Just stay away from them, and all will be well! Why won’t you understand?"

"Them?" Harry repeated. " Everyone, you mean! Just say it! Say I’m not allowed to speak to anyone but you!"

"YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO SPEAK TO ANYONE BUT ME!" Riddle bellowed.

They both stopped, looking at each other in shock. Even Riddle seemed a little troubled by what he had just said. Soon enough, though, he shook his head and seemed to take it in stride.

"Now you know," he said harshly.

What Harry had known was that he couldn’t bend to this — that it wasn’t what they had agreed on, and that if he let this go, he was going to end up completely isolated.

But Riddle would just hurt others if he didn’t comply, and Harry… Before, Harry would have probably fought him, but it was like losing his friends had sapped him of all his energy.

So he just turned away, sneering, "Now I know," in a wry tone, to show Riddle what he thought of this.

Still, he basically obeyed. Over time, he came to both crave and resent Riddle’s company, which was annoying. They were glued at the hip, now, their days filled with school, chores, and spell practice. Every morning, Riddle woke him up with a bright "Guten Morgen!" (he had decided to learn German on a whim), then they got on with their day, Riddle chatting away to fill the silence. It wasn’t that Harry didn’t answer when the other talked, but he had trouble investing himself in their conversations now. Luckily, Riddle could talk about anything from magical theory to the latest gossip of Wool’s without losing his wit and dark sense of humour.

The boy often tried to nudge Harry and get him to talk more, but… well, Harry didn’t have anything to say, really.

They went over to Abhika’s every weekend, which Harry liked even less than before. The seer had survived a horrible accident that left her with only one eye and an even sourer composition. She outright pretended that Harry didn’t exist now, even though she was overprotective of Riddle to the point of being a nuisance. She was constantly checking on the boy’s health and forbidding him from casting "too strenuous" spells (a riot, considering Riddle’s near infinite reserves of power).

When Riddle disappeared to do God knew what, though, Harry found himself alone and… close to missing the boy. It was even harder not to think about what his friends could be doing when he was on his own, and Harry often stayed locked in the room to not run the risk of seeing them.

Riddle’s presence helped to take his mind off it, but Harry could never forget that he was a possession to the other boy, and not a friend. He felt like one of those trophies that Tom kept locked greedily in his dresser, like something to be controlled and owned.

Any day now, he was waiting for anger to sweep him up and help him fight out of this dynamic, but it only came in short bursts that were quickly replaced by apathy.

"Harry?" Mrs Chapson’s voice prompted, pulling him out of his thoughts. He blinked, seeing that the psychologist was looking at him in concern. "Do you want to talk about it?"

What’s there to talk about, Harry thought wryly. But then, he stopped short. Mrs Chapson often gave good advice…

"How do you stop someone from being jealous?" Harry asked, a little bit of hope giving him a spike of energy.

Mrs Chapson seemed taken aback by his question. "Well, that depends on the situation…" she said slowly. "Who is jealous of what in this one?"

"Nothing," Harry answered too fast. Mrs Chapson just raised an unimpressed eyebrow, and he sighed. "Okay. Tom, he… He doesn’t really like it when I talk with other people. He’s…" Harry floundered, trying to find non-alarming words to describe the insanity of Tom Riddle. In the end, he just said: "Well, he doesn’t like it."

Mrs Chapson was frowning. "Is that why you don’t see your other friends anymore?"

Strangely, a wave of shame overtook Harry. He didn’t want to admit to Mrs Chapson that he had let himself be manoeuvred into this situation so easily. "Hmm, no," he lied. "I still see them, it’s just… it makes Tom angry. So I just wanted to know if there was a way to make him… stop?"

"I see…" Mrs Chapson said, giving him a look that made his cheeks flush. She knew he had lied, the woman was a walking lie-detector. "Well, you could ask him why he is so jealous. Jealousy often stems from fear that you may lose someone. From the feeling of being inadequate compared to others. A reassurance that you won’t abandon him if you spend time with others might help him calm down. But…"

Harry was trying to imagine Riddle feeling inadequate ever when Mrs Chapson put her hand on his with a serious face. "But," she said firmly, "you mustn’t let your other relationships suffer because of it. If Tom wants to be angry even after you explained to him that there is nothing to fear… then let him be angry. And if after a time, he still won’t understand and it puts a strain on you, then it might be healthier to just let him go. It’s good to be understanding of your friends’ emotions, but it must go both ways, alright?"

It was a little late for that. Besides, Riddle and him were far from ‘friends understanding each other’s emotions.’ The boy didn’t care one iota about what Harry felt.

Knowing now that Mrs Chapson couldn’t help him with this problem, Harry just nodded and changed the subject. "Last time, you talked about something that could help me get back my memories?"

"Hypnosis, yes!" the psychologist said. She smiled. "Now, like I said last time, it won’t be like in the magic shows. I won’t put you under a thrall and make you bark like a dog or jump on one foot. You will be lying down, and I will just help you get into a trance-like state where you will be able to access parts of your mind that are generally in the background."

"Where my memories may be," he summarised, eager.

"That is my hope," Mrs Chapson said. "If you still agree, I thought we could try it on your next session, in three weeks?"

Harry agreed with enthusiasm, a little more energised now that he had this to look forward to. Their session wrapped up quickly after that, and Mrs Chapson held the door open for him.

Right away, her gaze fell on Tom, who was sitting on one of the hallway chairs. Harry searched her face, but he couldn’t guess what she was thinking. As the other boy got up to walk toward them, she put a hand on Harry's shoulder and smiled.

"Good afternoon, Harry. And please, do remember what we talked about."

As he walked away with Riddle, Harry thought back on it. ‘It might be healthier to just let him go.’ Ha! Easier said than done.

 

֍֍֍

 

Tom spent the last day of the year drinking poisons to understand their effects. This was, according to Gellert, absolutely necessary.

Just as it had been necessary to dump him in front of a Troll to see how he would fare, or to pelt him with stinging hexes until Tom’s shield charm was up to the man’s standards. Today, Tom had tried to appeal to his mentor’s humanity by revealing that it was his birthday.

Gellert had just laughed and told him to start by the less foul-smelling potion, then.

He was swaying a little as he made his way back into Wool’s. It was lucky Gellert had Apparated him back there rather than at Abhika’s house, like he usually did. The one-eyed seer would have had a fit and he would have probably been late for supper.

He was surprisingly hungry, considering how much he had vomited today.

He found Harry reading a book in their room. Tom was a little concerned by how much time he spent in there, nowadays.

"Want to go eat something?" he asked.

Harry just shrugged and got up, following him out. Tom saw the way the boy looked him over, probably noticing his pallid skin and shaky hands, but neither said anything.

That was another thing about Harry. He didn’t say much anymore.

It didn’t even feel like the boy was giving him the cold shoulder, which Tom had prepared himself for. No, Harry just seemed… numb. Like he couldn’t care less about what was going on around him.

He’s gonna get over it, Tom repeated to himself one more time as they took their trays and waited in the queue to get food. It had been two months already, but Tom was sure the boy’s true personality would come back at some point. He just had to get used to the new order of things.

"Want a coke, Tom?" Percy Holloway asked him from behind the counter. "Or apple juice? Go for it, it’s a special day, after all!"

Tom felt the familiar, cold haze of anger fall over him.

Percy Holloway.

Not only had this man killed Medusa without a second thought, but he even taunted Tom now? As if this ‘special day’ could ever be his birthday — oh no, the man clearly meant it as New Year’s Eve. All anyone ever cared about. The fact that Holloway wasn’t even aware of his taunting only made things worse, because truly, Tom turning ten wasn’t on anyone’s radar.

He had been able to bear the man’s presence after Medusa’s death, but after seeing her again in the dreamscape…

You’ll get your comeuppance soon enough, old man, Tom thought viciously. And you won’t know what hit you.

Holloway’s smile was a little strained, like every time he talked to Tom, and it was growing worse every second Tom stared at him in silence. In the end, it was Harry who spoke up.

"We’ll take two apple juices, thank you," the boy said, glancing warily at Tom. He pointed at the thermos Holloway kept by him on the counter. "Do you have some in it too?"

The handyman laughed, relieved. "That?" he asked, raising the thermos. "Oh no, it’s coffee. It’s the only thing that can fuel my engine. But," he added with a wink, "I also put a little something else in it just for the occasion."

This led to children around them asking if they could have a taste of his modified coffee, and Harry and Tom slipped away to their table.

Tom was sullen during the whole meal and could feel Harry’s eyes on him. The boy didn’t say anything, though.

Until they went back to their room, at least, where Harry stopped before he could go through the door. "I have to do something. I’ll be back in a few."

Tom perked up from the bed he had just plopped on, immediately suspicious. "Do what? I’ll come with you."

"No."

Tom got up. "Harry…" he warned.

"Tom," Harry said in a firm, yet tired tone. Tom stopped short though, because that was the most present he had seen Harry in a while. "Please stop. Just wait here, alright? I won’t be long."

"At least tell me what you’re—!"

The asshole had already closed the door behind him. Tom thought about following him anyway, but he was already in the foulest of moods. Harry probably wanted to go to the little celebration for New Year’s Eve in the hall, and Tom didn’t want to approach it with a ten foot pole. It was as it should be, anyway, he thought with a scowl. Harry, like everyone else, just jumped at the opportunity to get away from Tom and laugh with other people.

Let him laugh , Tom thought darkly. He won’t laugh for long. Whoever he’s with, I will obliterate them.

Everyone else wanted to dump Tom like yesterday’s trash? They were welcome to it; they could go to hell. But he would burn Wool’s to the ground before he let Harry get away. The boy was his , and it was more than time for him to come to terms with that.

For ten minutes, Tom stewed in darker and darker thoughts, until the door opened again. Tom turned his head, surprised that it had been so quick.

His eyes widened. 

"Happy birthday, Tom," Harry said, holding a little cake with a candle atop. It looked like one of the chocolate Christmas logs they’d had a week ago.

The scene was so far from what he would have ever expected that Tom opened and closed his mouth, unable to form a coherent thought. He looked up to meet Harry’s eyes, and the other boy smiled.

He would do this, even after I… He stopped the thought, which was coming too close to admitting that he had done something wrong. He hadn’t. But still…

"Here," Harry said, hovering the plate in front of Tom’s face. "Make a wish."

Tom had never, not once, blown a candle on a birthday cake, but he had watched many children do it. Looking at the little flame, he felt his throat close up.

"A wish?" he asked unsteadily. "Is it a magical thing?"

"It’s a tradition," Harry said. "But who knows, maybe magic is listening."

A tradition. Probably a superstition, more like, but Tom felt strangely open to playing along. What can I wish for? Immortality immediately came to mind. The power to be indestructible. Becoming rich, leaving Wool’s to have a place of his own… Tom wanted too many things to choose.

But as he looked up and saw Harry’s kind, weary face, one wish suddenly came before all others.

I want Harry to be happy like before, he thought fervently. Then, he blew the candle, filling the room with a sweet, slightly burnt scent.

Harry handed the plate to him and clapped. "Here you are," he said. "Ten years old. Please don’t let it go to your head."

Tom huffed a laugh. "How did you know it was my birthday?"

Harry shrugged. "I overheard someone talk about it earlier."

A few minutes ago, Tom would have been enraged that someone had been talking about him behind his back — especially since that person hadn’t deigned to wish him a happy birthday. But being angry was impossible at that moment.

He raised a hopeful look toward Harry. "Does this mean… that we’re alright, now?"

Harry seemed taken aback by the question. Tom couldn’t fault him, as he was taken aback himself. When Harry just searched his face with an indecipherable look, Tom almost took it back, but then, Harry sighed.

"You know what?" the boy asked with forced cheer. "Let’s go downstairs for the party. I’ll show you how to really have fun."

Tom’s heart plummeted at the deflection, but he shouldn’t have expected anything else. After a moment of hesitation, he decided to follow Harry’s lead, for once. They ate Tom’s little birthday cake together, and then Tom let himself get dragged to the hall where children were busy laughing and playing around with music in the background.

He felt supremely out of place for a bit, but then Harry – who seemed determined to be in a good mood – pulled him into a game of darts. It devolved into chasing each other around after Tom cheated with magic, and then into a prank war, first between themselves and then with the rest of Wool’s as a target. They stuck doors, made coke cans explode in people’s faces, stole candies. They spent almost an hour in the first floor’s bathroom hiding in a stall and making weird, sinister noises come out of the toilets each time someone was coming in alone.

By ten o’clock, their bellies were hurting from laughing too much. When the supervisors herded all children under 12 to bed, Tom felt like he had finally settled his score with New Year’s Eve.

And if Harry got this faraway look when he saw his former group of friends say goodnight to each other in front of the blue dormitory, well, Tom pretended not to notice.

He pretended not to, but he spent the night turning in his bed. The light of the moon was falling on the empty plate that had contained Tom’s birthday cake, and he felt torn in multiple directions every time he glanced at it. One one hand, the sight was thrilling, like a nice little jolt of electricity. On another… Well, Tom couldn’t really put a name on the uneasy, constricting feeling lodged in his throat, but it wasn’t good.

So when he woke up early in the morning after a few hours of fitful sleep, he sighed.

He knew what he needed to do, but the idea was just so revolting.

Still, they couldn’t go on like this. The previous night had been perfect, but he knew nothing fundamental had changed, and it had to. As usual, Tom needed to take matters into his own hands.

He dressed quietly so as to not wake up Harry and left the room.

There was only one person he could go to for this. It would be extremely unpleasant, yes, but at least Tom could take solace in the fact that he had chosen the less annoying of the bunch.

Amy Benson’s dormmates screamed when they opened their eyes and saw him standing in their room. Tom sighed, already at the end of his rope.

"Get out," he commanded curtly.

They almost tripped over themselves to obey him, running out in their night robes and trailing sheets behind them. Benson now sat straight on her bed, looking at him owlishly.

"Are you here to kill me?" she asked faintly.

Well, Tom had said less annoying , not actually tolerable. "Yes, Benson, I’m going room to room to murder everyone," he said. "I want to be as reckless and conspicuous as possible so I’ll be sure to go to prison."

She sat back against her headboard, making a soft thump. The corner of her lips twitched. "You actually have a sense of humour," she said tiredly. "There’s that, at least."

Tom frowned. "What do you mean?"

She looked at him carefully. "Well, if you’re the only friend Harry has now, he should at least be allowed to laugh once in a while."

He glowered. This felt like a jab, because the fluke of last night excluded, he wasn’t making Harry laugh. Not at all, actually, and that was the issue.

He dragged the desk chair over to her bed and sat. "He’s being weird. I want to know how to fix him."

The Muggle perked up, looking alarmed. "Weird how?"

Tom gritted his teeth. "He… doesn’t talk much anymore. He looks like he doesn’t care about anything. There are things that he would have fought me on before that he lets slide now…"

"You mean he’s sad," Benson said, looking at him like he was a dummy.

The uncomfortable feeling squeezed Tom’s insides again. "Whatever,” he scowled. “I want him like he was before."

It was Benson’s turn to glower. "Then maybe you shouldn’t have ripped his friends from him? What did you expect, exactly?"

Tom was caught short. He had expected… Okay, so maybe he hadn’t thought very much about the aftermath of getting Harry all to himself, just about the goal itself. "It wasn’t supposed to be like this!" he exclaimed, annoyed. "Why can’t he just get over you all? You’re just Muggles!"

"Stop calling us that!" she snapped.

"That’s what you are."

"No we’re not! That’s just a word you lot invented so you could feel superior to us." Her cheeks were turning red. "Okay, so I don’t have magic. So what? Would you be nothing if you didn’t have your magic? If so, then your personality must be really lame."

Tom refrained from choking her. He had promised not to use magic on Harry’s little group, and he would stand by it. The silly girl just didn’t understand that they were on opposite sides; she had no idea about the war that was brewing between their people. But Tom wasn’t about to enlighten her.

"I have a talent for drawing," Benson was going on. "Imagine if I invented a mean word for everyone who didn’t? If I separated people in two boxes based on what they could or couldn’t do? That would be dumb, wouldn’t it? People aren’t just one thing!"

"You’re missing the point so totally, I can’t even begin to explain," Tom sneered, showing a cold facade to hide how irritated he was. Drawing, like it could ever compare to the worldchanging force that was magic! "And anyway, that’s not why I’m here. I’m here about Harry."

She leaned forward, bolder than he had ever seen her. "You won’t make him hate us," she enunciated clearly. "You know why? Because he’s a good person. And you know why he doesn’t like you?"

Tom knew what she was about to say before she said it.

"Because you’re not."

Tom closed his eyes to calm himself. No, he had not come here to kill her. Focus on the goal, he thought to himself. Tune out the rest of it. Still, he had to ask. "Did Harry’s goody-two-shoes mindset rub off on you, or was it the other way around?"

But Benson ignored him. "Riddle, you have to return him to us," she said, earnest and almost pleading. "He will never be happy with how things are! I see how you’re isolating him, forcing him to keep away from everyone and to stay in your room—"

"He’s the one staying in the room all the time!” Tom exclaimed, indignant. “I don’t lock him in there–!"

"Of course he’s staying there all the time!" Benson exclaimed, aggravated. "He has nothing to do when he’s out of it! Everything he liked before, he can’t do anymore because these things need other people! Playing games, joking around, watching the telly together… What does he have left, now? Reading ? Doing his homework ? No wonder he’s depressed."

Tom hadn’t considered this angle of things. He himself was more than happy to spend all day reading, but it was true that Harry was a little more on the active side. "We do things together," he objected weakly. "We duel, and we go exploring…"

"And I think he likes it," Benson said, surprising Tom. "But Harry’s not the kind of person who can be happy with only one friend. If you keep him away from everyone, he’ll never be… whole."

Tom shot up from his chair, clenching his fists. "He will !" he snarled, the flames of anger licking up at his throat. "You know nothing! He is mine and no one else can have him!"

Benson recoiled, mouth twisted down. "He’s not yours," she protested. "He’s his own person—!"

"I didn’t say he wasn’t his own person, I said he was my person," Tom cut her off, incensed. "And you won’t get him back, so don’t even try to trick me into it! Now. What can I do to make him better? "

Benson was looking at him with such naked hostility that he was sure she was going to insult him. Then Tom would crack, finally attack her, and he would have to leave without any of his answers.

But the girl just placed her face in her hands and breathed deeply for a moment. When she looked up, she seemed resigned. "I…" she sighed. "Look, just be nice to him, okay? I don’t know, do things he likes with him, give him gifts, tell him jokes… That’s what you do when your friend is depressed." She glared pointedly. "I mean, when you don’t want to remove the reason he’s depressed, of course."

This seems doable, Tom thought, nodding pensively. Harry had certainly earned some generosity lately. If it could get him to wake up and be himself again… Stop that clenching in Tom’s belly…

The boy clapped his hands decidedly. "Alright, I’ll do that. Let’s see if it works."

He walked out of the room without any further ado, but was stopped at the door by Benson’s call. "Riddle!"

He turned his head reluctantly. He had a lot of plans to make, now. "What?"

The Muggle was looking at him with worry. "Please… take care of him, alright?"

Tom scoffed before turning away. "I’ll take care of him far better than you ever could.”

                  

֍֍֍

 

The weeks came and went. Soon, February arrived, and with it, the first year anniversary of Harry’s appearance at Wool’s. 

The afternoon was at an end. In the small office, the blinds were closed and relaxing music played in the background. Harry, lying on an old couch, was breathing slowly in and out. 

"Your body is already relaxing," Mrs Chapson said. “It is remembering all the times it has relaxed here before.” 

In the half-light of the room, her voice felt different. It was low and slow, deeper. It mixed with the music she had set up on her phone until Harry felt like it was coming directly from his head.

“Your peace of mind flows through you like a gentle wave; from your head to your belly, from your belly to your toes,” she continued. “You feel safe. You feel protected. You feel open to every possibility."

This was their third time doing hypnosis, and Harry felt himself slip into the trance more and more easily. Soon, it felt like he was floating into another, fluffy universe.

"Everything that you lived, everything that ever happened to you is stored in your head," said Mrs Chapson from nearby and far away. "Even when you can’t remember it, the memory is still somewhere inside you. It is just hidden behind the curtain."

Mrs Chapson repeated this part every time.

"We dive into your mind. Plunge into the infinite expanse of your memories and thoughts. You are falling into a void filled with sights, sounds, smells and sensations."

The plush cushions of the old couch became the carpet during the last afternoon, where the supervisors had made them sit on the floor and play group games. The chemical scent of Wool’s reminded him of cleaning duty, and of his water battle with Eric last summer.

"The memories are rich and complex. One memory can trigger another memory, and another, and another. Like a path leading to the heart of yourself."

Harry started to wander through memories, going fast and loose. The disgusting fish at lunch. Amy in the distance with false flowers in her hair. Percy slurring his words as he showed Harry how to repair the door of his dresser, his face red and the hammer falling from his hands. Tom muttering wry comments as they watched Spider-Man together on the telly — the boy was a lot more prone to do things Harry wanted, lately, but he couldn’t turn off his snark…

"You feel the memories you can’t remember, " said Mrs Chapson. "Like a hole in a puzzle, you can sense the rough shape of them, even if you don’t know what they are."

Harry tried to feel for the outline of his parents, for his family home and the people he must have known before.

"I want you to focus on the memories you do know close to them. The nearby ones you can still reach. Once you are there and you have a hook, try to remember that moment, as best as possible."

He was back in that pristine train station, facing his other self that pretended to be the original Harry. ‘I just wanted to put a word in for my family,’ his double had said. ‘I know they’re not yours, but remember that the people you knew in your world aren’t that different from the ones in mine…’

My family…, Harry thought, reaching in the dark. I want to feel my family…

The faces of his friends appeared in his mind. He tried to dismiss them, but they clung to him. He saw Dennis as he had been yesterday, walking toward the dining hall on crutches while joking around with Jack. With physical therapy, he could walk better and better, though he would apparently keep a limp.

The healing wasn’t perfect. I wonder if that means my deal with Tom should be revised?

"The more you focus on what you want to remember ," Mrs Chapson was saying, "the more you find a path leading toward it. Every memory you touch can be felt, seen, experienced."

He relived Dennis sticking up for him against Jerry’s gang in the bathroom. Ran alongside them as they played pirates in Hampstead Heath after school until they couldn’t breathe. The feeling of loss was breathtaking. He had lost his best friend because of that deal, yes, but the worse was, he wasn’t even sure that Dennis would have stayed his friend in the end. All because…

‘WE HAVE TO PUT HIM BACK INSIDE!’ screamed Harry, kneeling next to the corpse of Dennis.

‘It is not done. ’ Death was infuriatingly reasonable. ‘We have to abide by the Soul’s wishes. Doing otherwise would incur a grave cost.’

‘I don’t care! DO IT!’ He couldn’t lose another person, he couldn’t lose him like he lost them…

Suddenly, a flash of green passed behind his eyelids. He saw strands of red hair and heard a cold, high voice.

‘Step aside… step aside, you silly girl…’

‘Not Harry! Please, no, take me, kill me instead! Not Harry…’

Harry’s stomach turned, and he was riding a broom in the middle of a storm when he heard the woman scream. The air felt frozen and solid in his chest. Shapes moved behind the pelting rain, closing in on him with their hooded faces and rattling breaths… Harry fell sideways…

"…you always have control," Mrs Chapson was saying from the background of his mind. "You can step out and step back in. They are just memories. No matter what happened in the past, you have control now."

Control, control…

‘EXPECTO PATRONUM!’ rang the loud call. It came from his own voice, his own wand, and the swarm of dementors on the other side of the lake disappeared against the bright, gigantic wave of light.

‘Soul magic," said Death, hovering in the shadows. "The only way to hurt those abominations. The soul at its purest can destroy a Dementor, but I’ve only seen it twice.’

‘I thought… ’ memory-Harry ventured, before stopping awkwardly.   

His thoughts were like spoken words for Death, though. ‘You thought I liked them,’ It spat.

‘They always made me think of death,’ memory-Harry admitted.

‘They are the opposite of me! ’  said Death, more incensed than memory-Harry had ever heard It. ‘Holes of counter-entropy, unchanging and feeding on Souls… They are an offence; repulsive tears in the fabric of the universe!’

Harry followed a tug to another, very similar memory with Death, except now, he was the one who was upset.  

‘He’s too repulsive! How am I supposed to redeem him when all I want is to stab a knife through his heart?!’

‘You said you had to try, ’ said Death in a bemused tone. It never did understand the paradoxes of the human mind. ‘You said that the path you saw was worth it, that he would save thousands, change the world…’

‘It won’t work! I’m not the one for the job. I hate him too much!’

‘You are the only one for the job.’

A voice from far away, leading to another memory…

‘The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...’

The woman’s voice was weak and deformed, like it came from a badly-tuned radio. Intrigued, Harry tried to grasp for the memory, to let more details flow in, but to no avail. It was like a wall of interference was standing behind them.

"Everything is stored perfectly in your head,” Mrs Chapson said , “you just have to access it. Your memories can be touched, seen. Experienced. They are vivid, but remember that whatever happens in them, you have control now."

But the more he reached for the strange prophetic words, the more elusive they were. Where he had first gotten the impression of a woman speaker, now he couldn’t discern their gender at all. Only a few words kept slipping through the growing static — Dark Lord… Either must die at the hand of the other… Born as the seventh month die…

Harry was becoming increasingly frustrated, and Mrs Chapson must have sensed it, because her voice came back from the ether. "Now, in a moment, I’m gonna ask you to wake up again. Remember that those memories are in the past. They hold no danger, no judgement."

Harry tried to repeat the strange prophecy in his head to commit it into another, new memory, but the words kept slipping away.

"One, two… slowly waking…" said Mrs Chapson.

Harry started to float to the surface, head clearing.

"Three, four… more awake…"

"Five, six… almost there…"

"Seven, eight… almost awake…"

"And nine, ten… wake."

Harry opened his eyes to the muddy, cracked ceiling of Wool’s. He could hear children screaming and running in the building, behind the relaxing music.

Harry sat up, face scrunched up in concentration. The prophecy! What was it? There had been a Dark Lord… something about dying…

Mrs Chapson was already sitting next to him on the couch, offering him a glass of water. He distantly accepted it.

"I let it last a little longer than usual," said the psychologist. "You seemed very focused on what you saw. Did you remember some things?"

Harry groaned. "I remembered someone speaking, but… It was so weird. It was as if I heard them from far away, and the more I tried to focus on the memory, the more it scattered."

"Did that person say anything upsetting?"

Harry could barely remember something about a Dark Lord, now — which, by definition, was pretty upsetting.

What suddenly came to his mind, though, were the pleas of the red-headed woman. His stomach clenched as he remembered her scream and the bright flash of green.

"Honestly, all the memories were kind of freaky."

"Do you want to talk about them?"

Harry hesitated — he wanted to talk about the woman. Half of him wanted to dive back into his mind to fish for more details about her, while the other half wanted to forget what he had seen.

Uneasy, he shook his head. "Maybe next time."

Mrs Chapson didn’t seem very happy, but she didn’t push him. After a little more small talk and the insistence that he could ask Mrs Cole to call her if he needed to talk, Harry was free to leave.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t see Riddle, waiting on one of the chairs of the hallway like usual. He startled when the boy got up and put his hand on Harry’s shoulder.

"Therapy didn’t work so she started hitting you over the head instead?" Riddle asked.

Harry’s mouth quirked distantly.

Still, he could barely concentrate on that at the moment. He couldn’t get the woman’s scream out of his head, and his chest felt hollow.

"… called Apparition," the excited voice of Riddle filtered through his thoughts. "You imagine how useful it will be when we can master it? No more crowded buses or subways, no more walking outside in bad weather…"

"Hmm-hmm," said Harry distantly.

Riddle kept walking toward the dining hall where dinner would soon be served, but stopped and whirled around when Harry veered toward the stairs.

"I’m gonna read a little in the bedroom," said Harry, voice flat.

He started to go up the stairs, but Riddle caught his arm. The boy was frowning uneasily. "What is it?" he asked.

Surprisingly, his voice wasn’t demanding like usual. In fact, it was almost soft, and Harry felt himself falter. The red-headed woman was still haunting his mind, taking more and more place.

The words spilled from his mouth before he could take them back.  

"I think my mother is dead."

Riddle let his arm go, his lips parting in shock. He seemed lost as to what to say, and after a few moments, just let out a quiet: "Oh."

Harry turned around and went up to the room. He climbed to his bed and collapsed face first onto the mattress. Distantly, he thought that he should have cried, but he just felt dried up and dead, like a neglected soil.

She was dead and he didn’t even know her. Worse, she had apparently been murdered as she was trying to protect him. Her terrified voice was still echoing in his ears: "Not Harry! Please, no, kill me instead! Not Harry…"

Who had tried to kill him? Was it… the Warpers? There had been a flash of bright, unnatural green light just like the one from their portal… But Harry knew of something else that produced such a light.

The Killing Curse.

Is that why I was dropped here? Because I’m really an orphan?

Harry closed his eyes and tried to bring up anything about his mother — anything at all. He went at it doggedly, digging harder and harder until long minutes had passed and a mild headache was pulsing in his skull.

Nothing. Nothing but red hair and this scene. What a poor son he was, if she had really died protecting him and that was all he could remember about her.

Harry knew he should replay the other memories he had found during hypnosis, particularly the ones with Death and the strange prophecy, but he couldn’t be bothered. Not right now. He had been hoping to get a glimpse of his parents for so long, and in the end…

The door opened. Harry raised his head, his eyes falling on Riddle.

"Good," the other boy sighed. "You’re not crying."

Harry pinched his lips. "Yes, we wouldn’t want to deal with any messy emotions, right?" he sneered.

Riddle seemed taken aback. He stopped a few feet from the bed, looking lost. "Do you… want to cry?"

Harry huffed in exasperation. "No. I was saying that of course you’d be relieved that… Oh, nevermind. Why are you here? I would prefer to be alone."

To his surprise, Riddle swallowed and a faint pink rose to his pale cheeks. The boy hesitated and then, quickly as to expedite a chore, he fished something from his back pocket and put it on Harry’s mattress.

"I got you this," he said tersely.

Harry blinked. It was a square piece of solid, cardstock paper, with a few words written on it. There was also a moving picture of… someone on a broom?

He cast a glance at Riddle, who was standing straight like he was afraid to move, and then slowly reached out for the paper.

‘Congratulations! ’ was written in golden letters at the top. What made him gasp and sit up, though, were the words just under it.

‘You won one hour up in the skies on our latest Comet 290!’

"What…" Harry said, turning a bewildered face toward Tom. "How… Why….?"

"There was this contest at the broom shop in Diagon Alley…" Tom muttered, avoiding his gaze. "I guess I won it."

Harry stared at Tom. Some weird feeling was fluttering in his stomach, ready to bloom if given the chance. "You… you did it for me?" he asked shyly. 

Tom shrugged aggressively. "No! Well, I…. You’re always so happy when you talk about brooms, so I thought… Ugh! Whatever."

The warm feeling inside Harry grew until it could have burst out of his chest, making a slow smile spread on his face. "You did it for me!" he accused gleefully.

Tom’s face was really, really pink. He’s embarrassed! realised Harry. Shit, this made this even better.

"Juste take it, alright?" Tom said curtly.

Their eyes met, and somehow, Tom seemed to mellow. His face grew lax and his tense shoulders deflated, like he was resigning himself to the indignity of having done a kindness to someone else. "It was to cheer you up, since… well. It’s for Saturday, so I wanted to wait and take you there as a surprise… But now seemed like a good time to give it to you."

Harry couldn’t help his enormous grin. He was actually touched by the gesture, but more than that… It felt momentous . Maybe Harry was blowing this gift out of proportions — Tom had done nice things for him in the past, after all, especially lately — but to go that out of his way just to ‘cheer Harry up’? This was thoughtful, selfless… this was something he doubted Tom had ever done before.

Before Harry could think twice about it, he jumped out of his bed and engulfed Tom in a hug.

"Thank you."

Tom turned rigid in his arms like a plank of wood. Harry was so giddy he chuckled, imagining the horrified expression on Tom’s face in that instant. He kept the hug short so as to not overwhelm the other boy, but when he stepped back, Tom didn’t look as much of a prickly cat as Harry had thought he would. He seemed shocked… but almost dazedly so.

"What sort of contest was it?" Harry asked, waving the ticket in the air.

Tom opened his mouth, but no sound came out of it. He had to blink hard and shake his head to look like his normal self again. "Hum! It was a… a  quiz about Quidditch."

Harry boggled. "A quiz about Quidditch? And you won it?"

The boy had never made a mystery of his disdain for the sport — for any sport, actually, apart from duelling. Harry had rambled about it once or twice, but not nearly enough for Tom to have the knowledge necessary to win a contest.

Tom made a strange face — half a wince and half a smirk. "Some trickery may have been involved," he said, waving his fingers playfully.

Harry laughed, loud and candid like he hadn’t done in a while. "I should have known!"

They settled on Tom’s bed and Harry couldn’t help but gush about his upcoming flight, singing all the praises he had heard about the new Comet 290 before. The ache of his mother’s loss didn’t feel so sharp now that he was less alone.



֍֍֍

 

Tom listened to Harry with a smile, relishing in the joy seeping through the boy’s every pore.

He would never tell him that the contest had been protected by anti-cheating charms, and that Tom had studied Quidditch relentlessly to be able to win it fair and square.

 

 ____________________

 

Tonks stomped back to the gates of Hogwarts. Well, this was a big waste of time! she thought, fuming. To think I waited for an appointment since Christmas for that! 

Apparently, as Headmistress McGonagall had explained to her in a polite but borderline disapproving tone (as if it was a crime to even ask), the list of upcoming Hogwarts students was tightly restricted.

"We must protect our students, Miss Tonks — present and future. Muggleborns are particularly vulnerable, especially these days. If some ill-intentioned people learned who they were, they could get into their heads to take preemptive measures and make sure they never arrive to our gates. I’m sure that you understand that it must be avoided at all costs."

Tonks had insisted that she was law enforcement , goddammit, she wasn’t out to attack poor Muggleborn children, but to no avail. The rules were, apparently, the rules.

She had had to take her leave when McGonagall started to inquire about the case she was working on. The severe Headmistress had a 6th sense for mischief, and Tonks was afraid she would guess that she wasn’t here on official business for the DMLE. 

Of course, Tonks had then made a detour by the office of her old Transfiguration professor. (Well, "old"… it had only been two years since she left Hogwarts, but the seventh years looked so young now!) The auburn-haired man could never do things normally, so he had received her with lemon ice cream instead of the traditional cup of tea. Seeing as they were in the middle of February, her mother’s voice in her head had informed her that it wasn’t yet hot enough to have ice cream, but Tonks liked disobeying her mother, so she had thought joyfully, "It’s always time for ice cream!"

Professor Dumbledore had been just as unhelpful as McGonagall, though, even when Tonks had turned on the charm.

"I would dearly like to help you, Miss Tonks. You know you always were one of my favourite students. But sadly, only the Headmistress has access to that list."

"Could you perhaps talk to her?"

Professor Dumbledore had smiled sadly. "You know what, Miss Tonks? For you, I will. I don’t advise you to put too much hope in poor little old me, however. Our dear Headmistress will be quite reluctant to break such an iron-clad rule." His blue eyes had twinkled. "I’m sure you remember how strict she can be from the multiple detentions you spent in this school."

Tonks would have smirked — she was proud of her detentions, had received the highest number of hours since James Potter and Sirius Black‘s time at Hogwarts (both had become Aurors too, now that she thought of it. Was it a strange requirement of the profession?) — but she was too defeated to smile.

"It was my only lead," she admitted.

The professor had then said something unexpected.

"Maybe you could get in touch with the people that came before you? They asked the exact same thing. Maybe they have made progress since then."

She froze on her chair. "What? Who?"

Professor Dumbledore shrugged. "People from the Ministry. They came some time ago… It was during the last school year – in June I think? We were in the middle of the end-of-year examinations." His lips lifted deviously. "They didn’t say what department they came from, but I know Unspeakables when I see them."

So the Department of Mysteries had thought of her lead nine whole months before her. Awesome, not humiliating at all. Sure, they had a whole team and could work all day on the case rather than a few hours in the night like her, but still .

Had they already cracked the case? Maybe she was working her ass off for nothing.

"Did they get to look at the list?" Tonks asked.

"I believe the Headmistress gave them the exact same answer as you."

Tonks didn’t know why it was a relief. Probably because she suspected that the Unspeakables would erase all evidence behind them after getting to the truth.

God, how they irked her. These Beasts had killed a man. They were completely unknown, and those kids that had somehow been involved… It wasn’t fair that some department could prevent the Aurors from getting to the bottom of this. Tonks had never liked secrets, and even less arbitrary orders. They made her skin itch.

I will find out what happened that day, she vowed as she passed the gates of Hogwarts later on. Maybe it will take me ten years, but I will!

She drew her wand and whirled around before her conscious mind had noticed anything odd. She came face to face with a short, bespectacled man with brown hair and a thin, ordinary face.

The man was looking at her in amusement, hands in the pockets of his grey robes like he didn’t feel threatened at all. "Hello, Nymphadora. How are you on this beautiful day?"

Tonks frowned. "I would ask if we knew each other, but if that was the case, you’d know better than to call me Nymphadora."

The man smirked. "Ah, yes. I heard you preferred to be called ‘Tonks.’ A Muggle name, isn’t it?"

Oh, she liked this fellow less and less. "Is that a problem?" she growled.

"Oh course not," he said, his pursed lips making him smarmy as hell. He held his hand out. "You can call me Ian." He leaned forward, saying conspiratorially, "I have been following your work most assiduously."

Her blood froze in her veins.

The forgettable appearance. The superiority. The low-key aura of danger, subtle enough that he could probably hide it at will.

Unspeakable .

Quickly, she looked away from his eyes. All Unspeakables were trained in Legilimency.

The man laughed, letting his unshook hand fall at his side. "Have no fear, Dora. I don’t need to enter your mind. After all, I already know all there is to know about you. Especially about your little rebel investigation."

Shit.

"I suppose this is my warning to stop?" she asked.

The man’s face was almost pitying. "You are not the first Auror to ignore orders to drop an investigation. I understand the urge, really. But some things must stay secret, Dora. For the safety of everyone in this country."

"And you get to decide that?"

Ian looked around him, pretending to look for someone else. Then, he cocked his head, eyes glinting. "I think I do."

Tonks looked at him. He was infuriating, yes, but behind it…

She smiled. "You didn’t crack the case yet, did you? You wouldn’t come to me here in person if you had."

The man’s smile turned a bit more rigid. It was intensely rewarding. "What our department does, Dora, is none of your little concern."

"None of anyone’s concern, it feels like," she countered. "You don’t even answer to the Wizengamot."

"You are free to make a petition to change our legislation,” he answered blithely. “In the meantime, though, I encourage you to go home, and get some work done on your real cases. You wouldn’t want to fall behind and fail your probationary period, would you?"

Tonks gritted her teeth. She was well liked in the department and had support from Moody, the most important Auror behind Shacklebolt. But would it matter against a discreetly slipped instruction to remove her? The Department of Mysteries had, to make a bad pun, an unspeakable sway over the Ministry.

"What will you do with those kids if you find them?" she asked.

The Unspeakable looked at her keenly. "Afraid we will torture the answers out of them? Dora, please. We are both public servants here."

Are we, though? No one knew what the Department of Mysteries did. There were rumours, though. Discreet, promptly crushed rumours about what they did, and whether it stayed in the boundaries of the law.

Sometimes, the newspapers printed different reports after the Unspeakables had talked to them.

Sometimes, memories of Ministry officials were changed.

Sometimes, prisoners disappeared and you weren’t allowed to ask where they’d gone.  

No, she didn’t trust children one bit with them.

"You know what, Ian?" she said sweetly, moving closer. "I think I’ll find them first. Is that what you fear?"

"Fear?” lan’s smile widened. “You know, my department may want to shut you down, but I personally feel that the more people work on a case, the quicker we get what we want. So I tell you what: do your best, Nymphadora, and may the better win!” 

Notes:

The plot thickens again... Hope you liked it! As always, don't hesitate to tell me your thoughts! 😀